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chososdiscordkitten · 1 month

Text

Kneel.

Synopsis: Priest!Nanami being completely and utterly tormented by nasty thoughts of reader (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Pairing: Nanami x Fem!Reader Content: pwp, plot before porn, catholicism, questioning faith, sooo much guilt, reader is 29, nanami is 34, reader kinda mysterious -.-

MDNI

Nanami’s life as a priest was busy- no time to be bored, nor time to yearn for more. Two or three funerals a month, mass every day- more than twice on Sundays. A handful of weddings a year, the many church groups he would oversee. His schedule was almost always fully booked.

His life was steady- a routine he followed every day. A life he was riding down happily.

And when that peaceful life hit a bump, Nanami felt his life could be derailed entirely if he allowed it.

‘I do it for my god.’

‘I do it for my parish.’

That’s what Nanami reminded himself of when your eyes would catch onto his.

Preaching Sunday mass to the churchgoers- trying to direct his words to everyone. But whenever he did a scan of the room, his eyes stuck onto you for a brief moment.

Unable to shake the split-second thought of how you were the kind of woman he would have talked up in his 20s. He would shoo them aside before his expression could show what he was thinking. Placing his focus on preaching, instead of you.

You, who always sat at the very back of the church hall. And always with a questioning peak on your brow.

But only you never stayed long enough after the service was over for him to properly introduce himself. Always walking out the minute the church-goers stood up to bid farewell to their neighbors.

Even if he was held back by shaking hands- praising him for such a wonderful sermon. Nanami’s eyes still caught a glimpse of you that left the giant wooden doors of the church. Even more so, the clicking of heels against the tile- proud steps away from him as though you had completed your task.

Never did you stand for the sacramental wine nor the offering of the body of Christ. You only stayed in one of the pews at the very back and watched the line of merry people take them from his hands. A tilted head in curiosity with a small smile, as though you were poking fun at them in your mind.

Day by day, sermon by sermon, you started inching towards him. One pew after the other. And when he finally noticed how close you had gotten, a mere 4 benches away from him. Nanami could see you up close now- the revealing collarbone that stood prominent with every inhale you took, the curve of your neck when you tilted it to the side. And every slight squint you would make as he spoke.

Seeing you from a distance was one thing- being able to hide his catching gaze whenever he would address the flock.

But now, he could see you even closer, his eyes catching onto how your lips would slightly purse. Almost in disbelief—when he would recite direct words from the Bible. Caused him to stutter over his words, excusing himself quickly before continuing.

The part that made his mind reel was the congregation avoiding you. As though you weren’t even there. And Nanami knew this was impossible. A beautifully haunting churchgoer would’ve been swarmed by the single men of the church.

But to you, they never mattered. Always swatting them away with one harsh look- at times, the aura you held was enough for them to steer clear. And the women of the flock didn’t find it very church-like that you did not greet them upon entry nor bid goodbye to your neighbors when the service was over.

And the blatant isolation only made Nanami worry- knowing the church’s people can be judgemental at times.

The Father blamed his priest nature for wanting to introduce himself. Knowing you had been attending for a few weeks now, and wanting to see if you were finding your way in the congregation.

Seven years wearing the white collar made Nanami think he had some sense when it came to acknowledging a troubled soul. However, the unfazed expression you would hold as he spoke and the slight look back at him when you would leave the church, left the man more troubled than you could ever be.

At once, while he was speaking- preaching the words he carefully chose from the good book. Nanami’s eyes caught onto yours. Stuttering over his words as he watched you raise a brow and tilt your head, all with a vexing smile on your painted lips.

As though you were taunting him for the stumbling, he saw it in the way you looked at him. Nanami felt your gaze on his skin as he spoke. Felt it burn into him with every word.

And when you finally lined up with the others during the eucharist. His jaw clenched, a sprinkle of nerves coating his hands as he watched glimpses of you through the line of people. Even lined up- you stood out.

As you came closer to him with every person he gave the small wafer to, Nanami felt his heart start to pound. Never spoken to you- never even introduced himself. And his heart was racing.

When you stood before him; Thick eyelashes and plump lips greeted him with a small smile.

Blinking softly and looking up at him, parting your mouth and pressing the tip of your tongue to your bottom lip. Nanami inhaled, his hand lightly trembling as he held the little cookie.

Looking into his eyes as he placed the weightless wafer to your bottom lip. His adam’s apple bobbing with a gulp, watching you pull the wafer into your mouth with a grin before leaving the line.

The interaction wasn’t longer than a second- but it shook the Father to his core. Knowing that for the first time in the seven years of being in the priesthood, the first time since he was ordained– he had questioned his faith.

For the rest of the mass, Nanami couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind. With every blink, he saw a flash of you, softly batting your eyelashes up at him with your lips parted. Even more so when he would scan the audience and see your face, a smirk on your expression, as though you were aware of the torment you had inflicted on the priest.

Nanami didn’t know what brewed in his soul; he had no clue what called him to you. Why you were so tempting.

That evening, when the large room was emptied. The Father prayed. He prayed and repented for the wisping thoughts that dared enter his mind.

‘Let me help this woman,’ he prayed, ‘Let me help you find your way.’ as though he was speaking to you directly, unaware of what plagued you or why you ended up in the church's halls.

Pleading with the ethereal being in the clouds to help him. To help him see why you were put before him. And what lesson you were meant to teach him.

Even as he was preaching the words written in the Bible. He would pray in his mind- begging the Lord to rid him of the plaguing thoughts of you.

When he would kneel, close his eyes, hold his hands together against his lips and pray to his god; Nanami always expected some divine insight to race into his mind once he rose from his knees. He always hoped his god would tell him how to fix his issues.

And so far, it had been a one-sided conversation.

Tuesdays were spent sitting on the uncomfortable wooden confessional bench, hearing the same issues the regular churchgoers would come to confess.

‘Anger, gluttony, greed.’

It was always the same—the same menial sins from the same people. Nanami often wondered if they had not tired from the repetitiveness. If they were not as exhausted as he was from listening to the problems they refused to fix.

After the last regular left the booth, Nanami checked his watch. Noting there was only 20 minutes before 6pm. Part of him wanted to leave the booth then and there. Lock the doors of the church and continue his work in the office.

But something told him to stay.

Knowing he was right as he heard the heavy doors open, and the light clacking of heels hitting tile. Getting closer and closer as the Father awaited the curtain next to him to open.

He cleared his throat as he heard someone ease onto the wooden bench. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” he spoke, hearing your voice whisper an ‘amen’ along with him.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Nanami closed his eyes- almost in pain hearing your voice ring through his ears.

Silk and smooth as he expected. “It has been 14 years since my last confession.” your tone conveying a small smile- the same grin you would have on your lips during mass.

The man couldn’t speak- his cheeks ran with slight tingles as he heard you.

“I’ve committed a handful of sins, Father. I don’t know where to start.” tilting your head to the side and awaiting the mans guidance.

He inhaled, shaking off the feeling of thinking it was you behind the screen. “Of all of them, which seems to be the one that weighs on you most?” his tone was steady- stark contrast to his pained expression.

“The one that plagues me most-” lightly humming, almost taunting him as you thought. “May I be honest?” you spoke- hearing quiet shifting beside you.

“Of course. Please- be honest.” Nanami urged, eager to know why you were placed in his path. Why you.

The grin that arose on your cheeks was one that shouldn’t have. “I have been lusting after a man I shouldn’t be.” You spoke with a light rasp in your tone. Proud shoulders, not daring to falter their posture.

Nanami clenched his jaw. Pondering if he genuinely wanted to tread through these waters.

“I have thought vile things while in his presence.” spoken just shy of a whisper- loud enough for him to hear. “I try tempting him.”

It wasn’t your words- nor the sultry tone you took that bothered the Father. It was how callous they fell from your lips. How easily you admitted these sins and how unapologetic you sounded.

Even if you had not physically done anything— the sins were only committed in your mind—your confession showed him you were on the steps to show some kind of penance.

“Do you know the ‘Act of contrition’ prayer?” Nanami asked, hoping the words would bring him back to stable ground.

“I do.” you spoke softly, awaiting his instructions.

Gulping softly, “Kneel.” he commanded, his tone sending a direct spike of warmth down your spine.

Slowly shifting onto the ground, placing your elbows onto the wooden seat, and interlocking your fingers together. “Pray.” the Father spoke in a curt breath, his tone all but begging you to.

You closed your eyes. “My God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee,” softly reciting the prayer as the Father mouthed the words as you spoke them.

Even as you recited the rest of the prayer- instead of helping, this only fed the rot growing in Nanami’s brain. Now, knowing you were aware enough of Catholicism and still thought of vile things, he refused to imagine.

And as he recited a prayer of absolution- he begged in his mind for you to pray for him as well.

Pray for him to find the strength to keep the box of carnal thoughts he locked away when he was anointed at bay.

Even if the priest didn’t believe it, “God has freed you from your sins,” he said. “Go in peace.” knowing that, as it was on Sundays, you would go in peace, whereas Nanami would be left more troubled than when he started.

And as he heard your voice whisper, ‘Thank you Father.’ before the clacking of heels descended onto the tiles. The thoughts inside that locked box dared to reawaken themselves.

Thoughts he reserved only for his early twenties, no longer having the right to access them now. But you- you shoved the reservations aside. Made room for yourself in his mind- what plagued him most was how unsure he was if it really was you behind the wooden fence of the booth.

Nanami would be lying if he said he had never prayed as hard as he did once you left the confession box. Making sure to lock the church doors and light a candle.

Standing at the center of the aisle, the statue of his god looking down at him with tears in his eyes. As though his god was disappointed in him.

Nanami fell to his knees, defeated and scared of what was planted into his brain.

And as he started his prayer, the words sounded as though he was asking for mercy. Pleading with his god to forgive him, to rid him of you and the infiltrating things he pictured as you spoke. He begged for help on his hands and knees- even a light tear leaving his closed eye.

Sunday’s morning mass came and went. Nerves filled his hands as he awaited the afternoon mass to start.

Nanami awaited you- his eyes locking onto the door anytime it opened. He held off the mass as long as he could. And the realization that you were not showing up affected him more than it should have.

And when afternoon mass started, he thought it might’ve been his fault. Had he assisted you better in your confession, maybe you would have shown up.

Nanami made up a handful of excuses on your behalf, that you were sick- or just busy.

But none of them were true. None of the excuses Nanami made up satisfied him enough to still his mind.

And as he was gathering his belongings from the lectern, the church empty and dim as he accumulated his thoughts. The sound of the large doors opening caused him to look up.

The figure of you walking down the aisle in his direction, calf-length black dress and the same black heels that clacked against the tile. your cheeks lightly damp from the heavy rain that echoed through the halls.

Even dressed modestly- the sight of you still troubled the man.

Nanami knew it was only you, him, and his god in that room now. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to use the congregation as an excuse to look away.

He parted his lips to speak, only you spoke faster than he could- “Father, I was hoping we could talk.” a low tone- different from the one you used when you sat in the confessional. But speaking with the same ease that he heard the last time, it made him realize that ‘anonymous’ confession wasn’t anonymous anymore. Nanami was sure it was you now.

And as though his prayers worked- your face looked almost remorseful.

“Not as a confession.” you reiterated, causing the man to gulp lightly and try to gather his thoughts. “Just to talk.”

Ending up sitting in his office- a small room at the very back of the church. Small windows being pelted with heavy raindrops.

Set up in the same way a principal’s office would be. Sitting across from him, desk separating you from the priest.

Even if he sat in the chair that technically held the power- the aura that surrounded you made a chill run down his spine when he eased into his chair.

“How are you finding the congregation?” he asked, words he had been thinking since he noticed your seclusion. And being able to ask you without worrying it wasn't you sitting beside him.

Crossing your ankles and lightly easing onto the arm of the chair, you softly smiled, “The people are kind. I know I can sometimes come off standoffish; they still try.”

Nanami felt a tension in his throat, as if he had taken an overly large bite of a meal he wasn’t ready for. “I had noticed you had not engaged with the others.”

“Did you?” you asked- taking on that little upturn in your tone. Your low eyes watch the man before you gulp. The white collar became tight from the words that sounded all too tantalizing than they should have.

“It made me worry.” he looked down at the calendar on his desk- full of black pen marks of that month’s activities.

You lightly furrowed your eyebrows, “Worry?”

“Worry that you weren’t finding your way in the church.” he reiterated, trying to shake away the nerves and make this as you asked. Just a talk.

Nanami wanted to bring up your confession- he needed to know why you wanted to tempt a man. He wanted to know if you were speaking of him.

“When I see you leave immediately after the service,” he continued, feeling the light searing your gaze onto his skin.

“I never had the chance to properly introduce myself-” he spoke, flashing his eyes at you.

“Do you introduce yourself to every new church member, Father?” You asked, words that almost made the man cough.

“I try to.” he admitted. Even if every cell in his brain told him to lie- to say ‘Yes, I do.’

“I imagine it’s quite difficult- so many people.” you thrummed, softly turning your head to the side and looking at the walls. Decorated with old paintings that had been hung there long before Nanami had been anointed.

His mind reeling with questions a priest shouldn't ask a member of his flock.

“I am.” you hummed, looking back at the man whose eyes widened slightly. Unsure if you had heard his thoughts or- “Finding my way in the church.” elaborating on his confusion.

“Were you raised catholic?”

The little grin that rose on your cheeks should’ve told him everything, but it only caused more confusion for the man. “I was,” you mumbled, looking at the body language he held as he sat.

Tense broad shoulders that made your thighs press together whenever your eyes caught them. A furrowed brow that would twitch when you started speaking. “Around 16 or so, I left the church.”

“And what brought you back?” he spoke—clearer and without fault. He aimed his intentions at helping you instead of trying to aid his wandering conscious.

Looking down to your hands, “When I moved back here- something told me to come see the church.” lightly shifting in the chair as you spoke, “Imagine my surprise when I saw a priest I wasn’t expecting, walk before the congregation.”

He took those words as a negative- as though you were disappointed that he greeted you and not another priest.

“Were you raised in the church?” you asked softly, watching his eyebrows pinch in the slightest.

He took a light breath- “I was.” nodding softly and recalling the memories of his youth. There was a small silence- waiting for him to continue as he expected your voice to speak up. Knowing this was to counsel you- not the other way around.

“Continue, Father, please.” watching his eyes squint and think on it.

Lightly clenching his teeth, he said, “I went to an all-boys Catholic school.” He softly blinked, looking down at his hands.

“So you always wanted to be a priest?” you asked, the question coming off more sarcastic than genuine.

He scoffed with a small hearty laugh- clearing his throat and sitting up. “No- no, I didn’t want to join the priesthood until I was 23.” he elaborated, watching you softly nod.

“What made you turn back to religion?” repeating the question he had asked you earlier, only with a more seductive tone.

‘Because of haunting women like you.’ was all he could think as you awaited his answer.

“I wanted to help people—I want. To help,” he said, words he hoped you would hear and pick up on his urge to assist you.

In your mind, a sneering comment flashing in red- 'You want to help?' almost like a challenge.

“When I came to confess earlier this week-” you brought it up. That’s what Nanami held onto in his mind. You brought it up. He didn’t.

“I still felt plagued by what I spoke to you about, father.” looking at him with a sprinkle of feigned sincerity in your eyes.

Only to the man before you- that false sincerity was seen as an urge to rid yourself of your sins.

His face was still- unshowing any emotion that throbbed in his mind. And you took it as him not remembering. “I recited the prayer of contrition,” you spoke- some attempts to remind him.

Only the Father knew precisely what you were referring to. “I remember.” he assured, softly nodding and allowing you to continue.

“After- I felt even worse.” Bowing your head to hide the smile on your cheeks as you toyed with your hands. “They didn’t stop after I left- if anything,” the words spilled from your lips, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin from what you were insinuating.

“They got worse- more filthy; once I left, Father.” your expression hidden from him- and your tone soft, hinting that this indeed plagued you.

You sighed, “It was unbearable.” accentuating the word with a pained tone. Smiling to yourself, “I’m sure you know the feeling, Father- as though one light breeze would make you combust at that moment.”

“I couldn’t even bring myself to come-” Nanami’s hand dared to clench at your words, “-to Mass this morning; that’s how shameful I felt.”

Answering Nanami’s question without having to ask it- “I thought it would be less frowned upon if I stepped into the church after mass.”

Nanami gulped at the insinuation- all too fearful of what you spoke of. “Have you prayed on this?” he asked, air threatening to choke his words.

Looking up at him with pinched brows, lips parted ever so slightly. “I have never prayed so much in my life before this.”

Your words conflicted with. If you were so godly and sure of Catholicism. Why do your eyes tell him another story? Why do your eyes glimmer with hints of intent- as though you were looking at prey?

“Why do you think these thoughts have yet to leave you?” he spoke- words he said as a priest but meant as a person.

“I think a masochistic part of me urges me to continue returning to the cause.” Words that rung true in his ears- knowing that he was the same. That, he very much could have excused you- tell you he was busy or that he could not talk at that moment.

But the same as you, Nanami allowed himself to allow you access to him. The excuse of closure and the urge to help, used to defend himself to the god above him.

Spoken in a whisper, “Like an itch I can’t scratch.” the Father started contemplating how far it would be if he admitted to the same thing- how bad it would truly be, if he confessed that the very same thing had plagued him.

Nanami was about to part his lips to speak- but the little reminder on his phone rang beside him. Looking down and seeing it- a parish meeting. “Maybe we should continue this next week.” he spoke- almost relieved that he would be able to escort you from the room thick with tension.

“Have I taken too much of your time, father?” you asked- voice churned with the slightest hint of false distress.

Nanami inhaled- “Not at all.” with a smile, “I just have a parish meeting in a few minutes.” he excused. Pushing his chair back and standing.

And as he walked you past the church’s pew benches- a few inches to your side. “How does next Sunday sound?” he spoke, a low tone laced with the tiniest hit of smugness.

Shoes clicking against the tile as he walked. And as you turned your head over to him, a mindless hand was placed on your back. The lightest touch guiding you towards the door.

“Sunday is perfect, Father.” you mumbled, watching his hand open the large door and await you to step out.

And as he watched you leave his church- he almost closed his eyes in relief.

Thinking of the movement Nanami hadn’t made since his days in college- a little action he would use on the opposite gender. It flustered him more now than it ever did.

Life as a priest didn’t require him to touch women- ever so often holding their hands in his as they spoke to him. A handshake, a side hug from the overly enthusiastic housewives after his services.

But that touch- the feeling of your back pressed against his palm. It sent shocks of fear mixed with excitement down his spine.

During the entire parish meeting; the Father’s mind was fogged. Unsure what he was getting into- or why he was so determined to walk head first into this. Even if it was you who caused him to contemplate his life in the priesthood.

Nanami would help you find your way, even if it killed him trying to. Reminding himself of the words in his mind.

‘I do it for my god.'

'I do it for my parish.’

PT 2

(a.n) ....hehe

1K notes · View notes

satoruhour · 7 months

Note

need reader to have a confession with priest!geto about how they feel guilty for touching themselves late alone at night and priest!geto helps them by just fucking their brains out as a “penance” for their sins.

yes, i’m okay in the head btw! (lie)

AU REVOIR, O HEAVEN !

wc: 12.2k

warnings: DARK CONTENT, SLOW BUILDUP, CORRUPTION, priest!geto, fem!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, geto in late 20s), long descriptive fic that goes in depth of christian lore, lots and lots of christian references / metaphors / analogies, comparison to Satan’s banishment and fall from heaven, religious themes used in inappropriate ways, questions of religion and life, multiple scenes of f! and m! masturbation, fingering, clit stimulation, virginity loss, both f! and m! receiving oral, cumshot, praise, degradation, spitting, sex in a religious place, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

for a small town like yours, it was a no-brainer that everyone knew everyone; and everyone’s drama as well. from the baker’s daughter being a whore to the mayor of the town being sacked for purposes that have since been twisted by word of mouth. that was another thing: word got around fast, and it was particularly suffocating in a conservative town such as yours. people were not outright about the obvious choices they favoured, but there was the older generation who were not shy to turn down progressive ideas.

because of that, the previous priest was kicked out because of the misuse of funds from mass collection and offertory. it was one thing to see a bunch of notes missing from the sack and the money counter but it was another thing to see that money going into funding a new strip club that was opening in the next town over.

it was simply unheard of, and the parishioners basically gave him a free ride to that very strip club by excommunicating him from his own church. it was unbecoming of a priest, especially in such a small congregation that everyone made sure the new priest to transfer here was a God-honouring one.

you hope he was. you’ve always felt the obligated need to serve your god and your parents. always the good girl, following the Ten Commandments, saving yourself for marriage. it was the natural order of a christian, and you could only hope that you’d get even a fraction of the eternal life they preach about in mass. but lately you’ve been having some . . thoughts, and you pray that this new priest could help you immensely, even if you had to do a hundred Hail Mary’s at the pews.

it was peculiar, the first time it occurred to you. the area where your body separates into two and forms two legs — the centre of it all, the middle where Eve had it covered in statues and paintings with a leaf, the middle where you had only learned of it in anatomical drawings. you knew what the vagina, cervix and the ovaries were, but seeing the convergence of pink and maroon between your legs confused you, even scared you.

and the next was when you’d had a guy come up to you whilst doing up your university application, saying something along the lines of how cute you were, would you like to grab a drink some time? and you were left dumbfounded and unable to answer. you let your eyes travel over his features, of the exposed arms of his button up shirt and the thickness of his forearms, you let your eyes skim over his plump thighs before you’re asked “are you okay?”

“n . . no sorry, i already have a boyfriend.” you lie through your teeth and all the guy does is sigh before walking away — but now you’re left with a bigger problem . . why was the thing between your legs throbbing? you swear you can feel your panties getting wet as well, but you aren’t quite sure why.

that night you’re lying in bed with a lewd website shining right in your face, as you’ve laid here for about two hours already, going through in your head whether you really wanted to do this. your hands had been clean, untainted from the moment you were born, but you imagine going to university and knowing not a thing about sex and that makes your whole body burn in embarrassment.

you chicken out and fall asleep.

“honey! come down here, i want you to meet someone.” your mother calls out to you, running about like she usually does. she’s always overworking — caring for the newborn, cooking the meals, cleaning the place. why don’t you ask dad to help sometimes? / nonsense! he works so hard and deserves a break! i don’t mind. / but he just lazes around at home after work . .

you’re pleasantly surprised to find a long-haired man at your front door, clad in a thick and loose turtleneck sweater with a gentle smile on his face. that uncomfortable feeling returns to your core and you land a hand to your stomach to calm the churning that’s happening.

“hello, and you are?”

you’d never think you would see one of God’s angels on earth in actual flesh in front of you. you’re convinced God is looking over you and you think you might see heaven when that silky voice repeats himself again.

“hi, kind miss, are you alright?”

“h . . huh? oh! yeah, uhm— who are you?”

your mother smacks you on your shoulder and sidles up to your side, holding onto your arm a little tightly that it hurts just a bit.

“don’t be rude!” she whisper-shouts to you, “this is geto suguru, and—”

“and i’m the new priest for the church.”

that catches you off-guard. he’s the new priest that was just transferred over? he looks anything but a holy man of God, what with his long hair and gauges in his ears; if you didn’t know any better you would think he was the one paying for the strip club instead. he seems to read your mind.

“i know i look . . a bit of a delinquent, miss, but i promise you the word of God is what i strictly live by. i honour and praise him with all that i can.”

“ah, i’m sorry if you thought i thought that way, father.” you mumble, giving him an awkward smile that he misses because he’s too busy focusing on the way you say father. you’re prepared to close the door on him already; the pulsing sensation between your legs isn’t fading and your whole body feels like it burns in hell. you rub your thighs together for some sort of relief, nothing.

“that’s usually the response i get, so i thought i would preface it first.” a little laugh leaves geto’s lips and if it wasn’t for you holding on for dear life on the door, you definitely would’ve buckled under your knees. “no hard feelings.”

“he’s a charmer, ain’t he?” there’s another sheepish laugh from the pastor at that. “told me he’s been going around giving cakes to all the people as a way to thank them for letting him take over the church.” your heart melts at that — he looked so hot and had a heart of gold, too?

“what cake did you get us, father?” you blurt out and you have no time to take it back, but the preacher doesn’t seem to mind. you also don’t seem to mind that barrier of authority that was established ever since he‘s introduced himself as the new priest of the church. it felt . . friendlier, less intimidating than the previous. it was probably mostly due to him not wearing his cassock or collar, though.

“chocolate.” that one word possibly ignited every nerve in you. the smooth lilt in his voice paired with the slight smirk. it was detrimental. you were going to hell, you were condemned to eternal damnation.

“how’d you know i liked chocolate?”

he shrugs, “lucky guess.” wrong.

he had come around the day before already, but you were too distracted with work and pressured with a deadline that music drained out everything else — one look at your side profile and the hard-working first year university student was all it took for geto to return again today with another cake of your liking. oh! you’re such a sweet one for asking what flavour we like; frankly, my dear boy, my husband and i don’t really eat cake but her . . loves it for some reason. i wonder where she gets the sweet tooth from, honestly.

geto could only thank his saviour that your mother had promised not to tell you he already came around yesterday. and it looks like she didn’t.

“i should get going, miss . .”

“(y/n).”

geto simply nods his head, resisting the urge to call your name pretty and only manages a decent call to your mother. “mrs (l/n), i’m heading off, thank you for having me. (y/n).”

you return his smile, hesitantly, inching the door close with immense difficulty — you wanted to see him walk away with that imposing height of his, of the proper gait he carried himself with and the politeness in which he greets people of the town.

that night you locked yourself in your room, muttering out some dumb excuse of having to study for a test when in reality you were more interested in the feeling between your legs. it both excited and scared you when you first find a comfortable position on your bed, stalling for a good half ’n hour before the clinking cutlery of dinner happening downstairs had brought you to your senses. there were countless articles open in your safari tab, none of which helped your growing dilemma — a tear in the Red Sea between the sin of pleasure and the liberation of acting on it. you felt like Moses, treading in the centre, on the fence.

one last text made you yelp out loud.

[8:03 pm, read]: R u coming down 4 dinner?

it was your mother, as if she knew what was happening behind doors.

[8:03 pm, delivered]: nope, sorry mummy. need to study for this test, its important !

[8:05 pm, read]: Alright, alright. I left out a serving of what we cooked tonite. Heat up if u need to with the microwave O.K.? Don’t sleep so late!

you simply favourited her message, losing all motivation from before; until your mind crosses over dinner and goes straight to that chocolate cake, and then to the person who had brought it.

“Farewell happy fields / Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.”

“geto . . geto suguru.” the name feels foreign. it does sound like a countryside name but it felt like he had come from the city instead. “geto . .” you sigh, letting your hands tremble and move along your body. they brush over your chest, over your nipples and you recoil a little from the strange feeling. they harden under your touch as you continue to repeat his name.

each murmur of his name is a step farther from God, dipping your toes into the waters of hell as your fingers travel lower, lower, lower. you press a finger against your clit unknowingly, and you let out a loud moan; you immediately slap a hand over your mouth.

but the pleasure’s too much, and so you try again. one hand goes back to your nipples, squeezing your tits and playing with them while your fingers rub pathetic circles along your core.

“su . .” you gulp. “geto—”

you pant softly to yourself as you continue to rub your clit, messy, inexperienced circles in whatever shape or form. as long as it felt good to you, you were doing it. you made sure to keep your moans in as your hips bucked into your hands, back arching off the bed in needy movements. your hands were getting tired, clutching at the bedsheets.

long hair, built physique, crucifix on his neck. funny, you never noticed that before, but now you imagine it clearly, dangling over your face. you’re imagining geto fucking you, thrusting his cock into you as he groans out your name.

you’re at the end of your tether, feeling the deep plunge of your body in Satan’s lair the same time you cum for the first time in your life and your body shakes so violently. you flail around on your bed, bite into your shirt, anything to keep you quiet from the immense orgasm you had just felt. your pussy clenches around nothing and your hand aches so much it might fall off, but it just feel so damn good that you only have a minute’s rest before you’re rubbing at your clit again.

scooping up a little of your cum, you marvel at the clear liquid, sucking on your finger to try the thing that’s always drenched your panties. and soon you’re conjuring the image of the long-haired priest yet again, never really studying for that test you made up or even eating dinner — all you do is rest and come again, each time more wrecked than the last time.

you dreaded going to church the next morning.

it had slipped your mind that service was to continue once geto has gotten settled down in the rectory, a small outhouse at the back of the church that had been revamped. you’re not sure on how father geto was able to get it done up so fast but, you’re not one to question.

with the short walk to church, you regret not eating the night before, groaning softly at the discomfort of your growling stomach. what you were more worried of though, was what would happen to you once you stepped foot in the church. was your body going to go up in flames? were you going to get ridiculed by the townspeople? were you going to get called out by father geto in front of everyone?

“what’s gotten you so worked up?” your father was walking behind and smoking, as always, not giving a shit about your mother and the newborn.

“nothing . . just, wondering if i got everything in my head for my test.” your mother coos, and your baby brother in the carrier thinks it’s because of him. he babbles into your mom’s shirt, giggling.

“you’ll do fine, honey,” the reassurance worried you only more. you were lying outright — you had no test, you weren’t even studying, you were busy—!

“i raised a smart girl, didn’t i?” you can only manage a smile, reaching the church within minutes. taking the chance to mutter a short prayer and a plea, you take a deep breath and that light from above Lucifer’s kingdom seem to call out to you again.

stepping into the simple but cozy church, you dip your hands in holy water. Father, Son, Holy Spirit along your forehead, chest and shoulders before you trail behind your mother, suggesting places for you to sit at the back. she only waved your hand away, pointing towards the front. we always sit at the front! why the sudden change? / nothing . . maybe thought we could switch it up a little.

the mass starts after a few minutes of waiting, and you have the luxury of wallowing in your self-pity and guilt for those few minutes, trying to get the very filthy imagery of father geto above you, father geto between your legs, father geto himself out of your head. you fail, it’s only amplified when the bell rings and the congregation stands up.

everyone waits in anticipation for the new priest in this small town, hoping he won’t disappoint them like the last one. but they already seem to be in good spirits as he makes the entrance down the very short church. two altar boys follow behind him in the procession, accompanied by an organist and a duo of choir singers, straining to have their voice heard over the loud instrument. he’s already made some friends, nodding to the excited kid who whispers and the shy girl who waves her hands at him. but while everyone feels anticipation in hopes of a good sermon, dread is only making your legs feel like lead, you feel lightheaded, dizzy even.

because whatever you had imagined last night was him in his sweater get-up, and it just now sinks in what a disgusting thing you were doing as you watch the rich purple of his chasuble sway alongside his stole — the very image of him in his priest robes (in Lent season too, not to mention) — meant to deter you from more thoughts, only fed your desires.

geto suguru made being a pastor look so natural, and attractive, that it was almost criminal.

“good morning, brothers and sisters, how are we all doing this morning?” there’s a few murmurs around, but geto doesn’t falter, instead pressing on with his very convincing, beautiful speech; as does he with the rest of the mass. he conducts himself with as much professionalism as he can, handling the Eucharist with proper hands, giving a sermon whilst giving you too many eyes, distributing Holy Communion with a gentle, accepting smile; your skin burnt when he handed you the body of Christ, a soft inaudible “amen” hanging off your lips.

father geto was all the talk after, some hanging around to catch a minute of geto’s time if they could and you were no different, purposely looping your arm through your mother’s and slowly down your pace.

“goin’ out for a smoke.” your father gruffly tells the three of you, two of which understands better. your newborn simply cuddles deeper into your mother’s breast, humming softly into the nap.

“’kay.” it was opportunistic, now, as your eyes flit around the place to find geto talking to two older ladies. he’s politely bent down to reach their heights better, chasuble now removed and simply in his alb, one patting his shoulder and the other giggling. you think you imagine it but his eyes dart over to you for a moment and then off to the other parishioners.

“how are you two lovely ladies doing?” you hear him before you see him and the voice startles you a little, jumping back from brushing your baby brother’s almost non-existent hair.

“fine.” it comes out kurt and abrupt and you burn when your mother nudges you like yesterday.

“think what she means is that we’re perfectly fine. how was your first mass?”

father geto looks around the church, recalls the altar boys, ingrains each church-goer into his head, “i hope the congregation likes me.”

“oh, nonsense! i’m sure they do,” your mother reassures. she was always good like that, putting others before her and making sure they see the best in themselves, “that was a very riveting sermon you delivered.”

“yeah—! yeah, i . . really enjoyed it, father geto.”

a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “did you now?”

you nod, and he continues, “you enjoyed me telling you that sin was revolting?”

when he phrases it like that . . you swallow, “isn’t that what God’s whole schtick is?”

and that makes father geto laugh, because for such an innocent flower like you, you make it sound like you were forced to go to church and made to learn the basis of why God exists and now you just don’t know what to do with it. it’s common for people at their university age where they’re exposed to more views and mindsets, to question the religion you were born in and think about what it meant to be tied to a god you didn’t even really know existed, and when that happens, Christianity turns stagnant and boring.

“yes, pretty much, miss (y/n), but His schtick also involves forgiving anyone who has sinned against Him. after all, that’s what He died on the cross for.”

“y . . yeah, i know, father geto.”

you only realise now his purple chasuble matches his eyes, eyes that swirl with the colours of amethyst. they’re much brighter in the parish lighting, and they hold your stare much longer than yesterday. there’s the tugging feeling at your stomach again that goes right down to your centre and it throbs; your eyes flutter and blink to get you out of your head.

“good that you know . . of course, it’s not an invitation to sin. self-restraint and chastity still exists,” you hate how he puts an emphasis on the latter word, because he could be referring to anything, “but we need not be worried for our lives. we only need to pray and repent in prayer, and God will have mercy on us.”

but well, if God didn’t want you to sin, how then can he explain creating such an attractive person? if God valued his followers’ self control, why did he have to plant such lewd, inappropriate thoughts of his preacher in your head?

father geto could probably see your dilemma with how hard he was staring at you, and he only makes it worse by putting his larger hand on your left shoulder. it descends deeper to your upper arm and the skin there ignites—

“i hope you liked the chocolate cake.”

you manage a small smile, “haven’t had the chance to try it, sorry, father.”

“don’t apologise.” you forget your mother and baby brother is even beside you with how he talks to you. you’d love to be on his chest, hearing the deep rumbling of his voice or even have his hands be somewhere else but your arm. you don’t know how simply talking to you has got him doing everything in his power to restrain himself; not even a prayer from God could help.

“The mind is its own place, and in it self / Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.”

what you don’t know, either, that the hand on your shoulder was between his legs just last afternoon, trying so hard not to sneak under his cassock. he could barely keep his moans in, palming his bulge from above his robes at the mere thought of you. no touching means less sin, right? he comes to that pathetic conclusion easily, so all he does is bury himself in the outhouse after distributing his cakes, hips positioned over his pillow and he grinds.

the feeling for father geto was so archaic, been so long since he’s given up his life to God right after graduating university. all the carefree times that he’s experienced — drinking in dorms, going to parties, getting some nice quick fucks in between exams — were going to stop for good. but that doesn’t mean he stopped lusting.

lust. one of the seven deadly sins, a weak point for father geto’s journey as a pastor. it’s obvious now too that he hasn’t really left his older ways, bucking his hips into the fabric of his pillow. he thinks of you, your sweet little eyes and your cute outfit at home, he thinks of your face twisted into pleasure as he’s positioned between your legs.

father geto twitches, friction against the underside of his cock feeling so good after years and years of holding back — with a pretty face to think of, too. his hips ruts in short thrusts, desperate for that high and he chokes on a moan imagining your sweet voice begging to cum. and so does he, shooting such a large, hot load into his underwear that even his cassock is stained with his cum. but unlike you, he’s already thinking of his next round — if he’s doomed to die by lust, then might as well go all the way.

father geto spares a glance towards the door just to be safe before flipping over on his back, and pulls his robes above his lower half. the sight is dirty, underwear painted a darker colour and cum sticking to every part of the fabric. once he wraps a hand around his cock, geto is gone, pumping it so fast he might have gotten a burn along his length but it’s all rewarded by the second quick orgasm he reaches — spurting ribbons of cum all over his holy garments.

it’s why he didn’t have time to write a proper sermon for the morning mass. he was up all night, stroking himself — just, from the thought of you.

it was father geto’s turn to have uneven breaths as you asked if he was okay, hand on your shoulder shaking. but the visions of last night is overtaken quickly by his need to impress the other parishioners, and so he gives you a tense smile.

“enjoy the cake.” it sounded like an innuendo if you’ve ever heard one, but you mutter a soft thank you, before heading off back home with your family. that contact with your shoulder is all you can think of, giddy at the warmth of his hand and eyes.

“baby, could you open the door for me?” your mother calls out to you, hastily wiping her hands on her apron and abandoning the kitchen to tend to your crying baby brother.

“ok, mummy!” the doorbell’s been rung twice now, jogging a little to the door to prevent the person from waiting. you didn’t think to look through the peephole, a tight-knit (conservative) community made you trust anyone, opening the door to find father geto standing in front of you.

“o-oh. hi, father . .?”

he was dressed in his roman collar, a black shirt with a white strip around the neck and some black jeans. it wasn’t as casual as the first day, and it still held an ode to God even on a weekday.

“hi, (y/n).”

“ohhh! it’s father geto, come, come!” your mother bellows throughout the house, baby brother on her hip as she bounces him to get him to stop wailing. “are you hungry already?”

geto displays a meek smile, “a little, mrs (l/n), since you mentioned how big of a feast you were cooking.”

your mouth drops in recognition; was that why she was so preoccupied for the whole day? doing the maximum in the kitchen not just because it was for your father’s recent promotion at his job, but also for dinner with father geto.

“you’re having . . dinner with us.” it’s more of a statement to yourself than a question to the priest, but he still catches on and assists you by closing the door himself, and taking off his shoes. already, he looks part of the family, looking like a hard-working husband coming back from his job to you. instead, he’s answered the vocation of priesthood, and not matrimony.

“it looks like i am.” it’s such a sly comment, like he already knew the effect he had on everyone. this sucking up was just to get every church-goer to like him more, and it’s working.

geto is charming at the dinner table as he is at the parish, cracking jokes that make both your parents and you laugh, talking about his university life and telling a myriad of stories that he’s gone through.

“what did you major in in university, father?” it felt such a weird question, especially with an honorific attached to something that you were doing at the moment — it felt out of place that someone so close to your age was already pursuing a lifetime commitment of serving God.

“my studies focused mostly on philosophy and theology. i minored in linguistics.” there’s a chorus of ooh’s that echo throughout the table, cleaning up the last bit of food on his plate before he continued. “i’m currently going more in depth for latin, which is a stunning language, beyond those who say it’s dead and should stay dead.”

that only makes him hotter, and you cross your legs beside him, looking at him from the corner of your eye at you play with the last meatball on your plate. the sauce leaves a trail of red from the tomato, somehow mirroring the murder of your old self — or what you thought it was. it was more of a knife wound, a cowardly stab in the arm.

that dinner with father geto only deepened your sense of guilt.

it was the way the priest was quick to stand just as your mother does, offering to help with cleaning up the dinner table. even when she brushes him off, he insisted, answering for her when he only silently takes the plates to the back. all your mom does is shake her head with a smile, letting you help as well. your father just watches curiously, entertaining the baby with his canned alcohol.

“i’m embarrassed i can’t fight back against you well enough to stop ya from cleaning up at my own house,” your mother confesses, already having used her last breath to tell him to not help with the dishes as well. you scrub at a stain on geto’s plate over and over, a stubborn one at that until you finally are able to get it out. it still leaves a faint red glow, though.

“it’s nothing, really, mrs (l/n), i’m happy to help whenever.” father geto’s eyes rake over your figure as you clean alongside your mother, heel bouncing up and down; to non-existent music or in impatience he wasn’t sure.

she just takes the soapy plate from your hands with a laugh, “c’mon, it’s okay, my dear. go entertain father geto.”

it was the way his courtesy shined through when he doesn’t enter your room until he has gotten verbal confirmation from you, guiding him in with a uneasy hand as he looked around your quaint little space. it was filled with photos, some plants, tons of research papers and a messy table to match, but all he did was reassure you. you take note of his flowing hair and the laid back hairstyle he liked to don when it wasn’t for mass.

“how is university treating you?” you’re stuck on being completely honest and lying with every answer, but father geto has a face that makes it difficult to lie to.

“it’s . . alright, i guess,” you settle on your bed, crossing your legs and hoping he wouldn’t pick up any of your essays. thinking is manifesting, though, and his hands naturally go for the paper with the many red markings on the front page.

“Paradise Lost? by Milton?” ah. that paper. you shoot up from the sheets before he can read it, because frankly your thesis in that paper was weak and wasn’t well supported, but you still believed it deeply. you were just having a little bit of trouble straying from your reverence for God. you only manage to clutch the top of your paper, but geto is adamant on reading it, piqued by genuine curiosity.

“the retelling of Milton’s Paradise Lost humanises the experience of Satan’s (or Lucifer’s) fall from glory . .” he trails off, reading over your evidences and analysis. you feel like you’re being read like an open book, laid out bare for vultures to pick at and for God to enumerate your sins until you felt no shame.

with his head still tilted down, father geto has to look up through his lashes and bangs, seemingly making you cower more and more in your spot as the unsolicited advice for your essay dies down on his tongue. the size of his hands has you hypnotised, and he decides it’s against his own values to give feedback about a text he so childishly brushed off when he was in university, even if he had to read it to complete four years in the seminary. geto places a hand upon yours and the heat is dizzying; you can’t help but think if he was just normal person, instead, holding your hand like this.

it was the way he let you explain yourself a little better through your own words. it was a premature essay, anyway, made to test out your close reading and citation skills. but he found your interpretation of Milton’s poem to be much more insightful than he expected it to be — you think maybe, your understanding of the text grows the more you learn about your body, how you like to be pleasured; you feel like Lucifer.

“i . . don’t necessarily think you are born into evil. it’s multi-faceted and loaded, this question. God our Father would do anything but create evil willingly, it’s just unfortunate that the people that bring up their offspring contribute to the shaping of their identity and outcome.”

“then, how . .” your lips twist as you think of a way to word the question, “how would that justify evil existing? wouldn’t the fact that evil is developed somehow meant that God created evil in some shape or form, in the first place?”

father geto rushes to answer but—

“why did he have to create the serpent that tempted Eve in the first place? couldn’t he have just left them alone in Eden?”

“...there to dwell / In adamantine chains and penal fire / Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms.”

you frown, not expecting the other to answer but instead just wallowing in your thoughts. you never thought the talk with father geto would turn into some philosophy lesson, but the more you chatted with him on the bed, the more the conversation seemed to steer that way.

your own faith wavers in the night, a quietness settling over the two of you like a cloak of stars. the mass of each star weighs heavily with your questions up in the air until you faintly hear his answer.

“i don’t . . know, miss (y/n).”

“ah! no no— sorry to dump everything on you, father geto,” you scratch the back of your head, “it was just passing thoughts. i’ve never thought to think of this before.”

it was morbid, it was macabre. it was like looking over and seeing a skeleton in your place instead of flesh and skin and yet each question after question ignites something in him that no one has excited before. he can already feel lust influencing the other six, pumping through his veins at a life void of God, void of religion, a free place to think of the omnipotence of a higher being that no one was sure really existed.

“it’s okay . . it’s natural to ask. it’s natural to inquire. God,” he nods like he was in a trance; the word feels weird on his tongue, “God would want this.”

that night you did anything but sin, clutching the essay between your hands and digging your knees into the floor with elbows on your bed until they ached and you prayed. you wished blessings on your family, you wished blessings on the parishioners, you wished blessings on father geto and you wished eternal damnation on yourself.

there’s a heavy pull on your heart when you go to sleep a few minutes after and the dream you have of your body turning to soot and burning with each feet into flames makes you crave salvation all the more — like all a bad dream, it will be fine as long as you pray, and pray, and pray.

but the flesh desires what the heart denies: the more you ‘hang’ with father geto (by God, he was perfectly okay with that word when you let it slip to your mother. he merely throws up a peace sign in a ‘cool’ way and then immediately cringes, but it makes you laugh), the more you find yourself attracted to his morals, to his ideals, to the natural way in which he exists. he could speak for hours on end, voice sounding like birdsong and a chilling breeze all at the same time.

his voice did wonders in your head, as well, coaxing you into betraying your own code; and you betray it easily. that phantasmic voice leaving you to remove your top and pinching your nipples as soft little moans leave your mouth. the imaginary sway of his crucifix above your face while you harshly abuse your clit and dip a finger into you for the first time. the feeling is so foreign and weird that you shamelessly think of the slight lilt of his voice helping you: “it’ll feel better soon, (y/n). c’mon, finger your pussy for father geto.”

father geto had a natural talent for talking and preaching. that downturn of tone like hitting a dead-end when he holds a point above your head (“but”) and then resolves it into perfect cadence like chords ending a phrase when he proposes a solution (“God will take care of everything”). he does it so much you think he’s rather convincing himself more than he’s convincing you, though.

“perhaps this parable that Jesus uses tells us rather to look within ourselves, to look within the vineyard that is us. the owner have done everything: kept the roots tied so it would not be trampled, making sure they get all the sunlight and water it needs, yet . .” he pauses a little, looking at the almost full parish now that he’s won over the hearts of your town. his eyes flit down to you at the second pew, shooting you a quick smile.

“and yet he yields sour grapes. we pray, we act civil and diplomatic, we are giving, but are you truly doing it for the glory of God? is that maybe why we only get the sour grapes — not satisfied with the ‘thank you’ after doing a favour or silence from God after praying daily?”

geto looks over the last bits of the scribbled sermon, a little more coherent than last week, but still done with thoughts of you. there’s multiple smudges of his words that he has to squint and stutter a bit, caused by the frantic cleaning of his cum upon the paper.

“we all . . naturally expect things back, but to be Christian, to be a follower of Christ, we would have to abandon all thoughts of that.” father geto’s mind wanders to last night as his eyes look for you again. “we would need to be generous, to be kind without needing anything in return.”

father geto integrates into the church easily, shown in how his sermons capture the hearts of many. albeit, they never really take in the true meanings of the preachings he gives, but it’s enough for geto if they nod and mutter amen like fools in mass; whatever they do out of it is out of his hands.

but along the many preachings he does, there is one subject he fears approaching: lust, the one thing that threatens the downfall of his vocation and yet he cannot get enough of it. each walk and meeting with you only heightens his desire, makes his cock throb beneath his robes. each sunday he wishes he could split his soul in half — one as the confessor and one as the confessing — and repent in the confessional box.

“today’s gospel from Mark, chapter 6 talks about lust, briefly.” there’s a shake in his voice, eyes now scrambling over the congregation to find you in a much more revealing top contrasting with the out-of-place cardigan you have on. he’s sure it was mrs (l/n) that had made you put that on before you left the house; the house where he’s memorised the placement of your shoe rack and how your door creaks when it’s opened too quickly. geto is so fucked.

geto clears his throat before continuing, seeing you adjust your body for a moment, “King Herod is tempted by his flesh when he sees one of Herodias’ daughters dancing, so much so that she tempts him to commit murder. a clear beheading, just from giving into her body, and when she asks of him, he delivers like a dog. this calls us to truly think of the desires that we possess. they need not be sexual,” soft whispers emerge, a taboo subject, “they can also be related to money, to power.”

“lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust,” geto is sweating by now. he pulls lightly on his collar when you press your arms together in retaliation and he has to look away from the way your tits perk up so perfectly.

you had to know what you were doing, surely. partially — you were feeling cold, but you stifle a smile when you realise how geto’s eyes linger a little longer on you, or rather your chest, before he coughs and continues,

“when we are driven so terribly by the feeling that we abandon all morals just to please this person, thing on earth is when we tread into dangerous territory. no earthly possession must make you feel this way,”

the irony settles in his bones after he says it and his dick twitches at the thought of having you under the podium right now, sticking his fat cock down your throat while you struggle to keep the gagging noises to a minimum.

“no matter . .” a gulp, “how rewarding the aftermath must be.”

father geto knows you both are braving the edge of God’s merry kingdom. it is just a matter of who falls first.

“your place is in the kingdom of God, meant to fulfil eternal life with Jesus and the Lord which is what we all should be keeping in mind and working towards, ignoring all the distractions that will soon fade and die off.”

geto coughs again in the mic and breaths shakily, finally tearing his eyes away from you before he concludes the sermon and eases into the Offertory and Eucharist. he buries himself so deep in the procession in order to get you out of his mind, and it’s shown in the haste in which he carries the mass. it feels like he rushes so much that even the day outside follows too, because evening seems to arrive earlier than usual.

the sun sets outside, illuminating the altar. it taunts you like reminding you of the beauty of your faith; it deepens the need developing in your core.

“body of Christ.” you can faintly hear it being repeated over and over at the front, just a few steps away from your turn and you wish you weren’t standing behind your dad’s hulking figure so you could actually prepare yourself for father geto. you’re greeted with his cascading hair tied up into a bun and the cup containing Jesus’ body, gold and shining. you see your stretched reflection before your eyes snap back to the pastor in front and you will your hands not to hail routine.

instead, you stick out your tongue for the father to put the communion on and you take in the little panic of his hands and the choked sentence of body of Christ. his eyes drift down to your pink tongue, to the small twitch it does when he places the host on it and he cannot wait for you to get out of his sight, lest he be overtaken by the sin he particularly preached about just minutes ago.

“any test to study for tonight, darling?” your mother asks after dinner, meaning to ask after seeing you be so fidgety like you needed to be somewhere.

“uh . . no, not exactly, but i do have something i need to do.”

“oh! what is it, sweetie?” she doesn’t read your expressions, you mannerisms, so you were safe from that, but you willed your voice to not break. your body is on fire, you needed to quell your needs, now.

“just— i promised father geto i would meet him later for a confession, since he’s so busy, he could only propose a late timing,” no, you didn’t. either way, you give a reason, explain yourself before she can speculate, works every time.

“oh, okay . .” she trails off, seemingly unaffected, “just don’t get home too late, alright, darling?”

you nod even though she’s too focused on the dishes, pressing a hand to her back in thanks and she carries on, carefree, while you sprint to your room. lock the door, get your phone out.

“ . . ings turns into greed when we act on that initial lust . .” the words recorded just hours ago leave the phone speakers on a low volume, already lighting a flame in your pussy when your hand brushes over the microphone and he stops at the same time, “when we are terribly dri . .”

you sigh loudly when your hand starts to make its way down to your centre, rubbing slightly to the sound of his voice. your clit is just begging to be touched, begging for your inexperienced hands flicking your nub in every which way. impatient, your hands dip into your cunt and your jaw drops open at the intrusion of your fingers, just as your eyes widen and your imagination has never worked as well as it does now.

you can see geto’s amethyst eyes boring into yours, you can see his hips fucking into yours and yet it doesn’t give you the same kick as you think it would — you’re fucking yourself with your fingers even faster, circles on your clit increasing in speed and messiness and you smear your juices all around.

“father— father geto—” it was pathetic, the way you moaned for a man of God, but the feeling of your cunt clenching around what you wished was his dick was too good, the coil in your stomach still feeling rather uncomfortable but welcoming and you’re unravelling with a silent scream soon, back arching off the sheets.

“s . . suguru, f-fuck,” the swear word feels weird on your lips, as with his first name, but the trembling of your virgin body is so delicious that you just keep rubbing and rubbing, taking so long to come down from your high as your pants get heavier and heavier. and then his face starts to fade off, eyes turning into lilac air and you’re glancing towards the crumpled essay on your bed with guilt festering in your chest.

“ . . mptations of the flesh are childish, are temporary. they lead you to do foolish things that have no place in the kingdom of God. we may repent and put it past us but the memories that our tainted bodies possess, they remember the sinful things that you did.” the recording of father geto dies out as with his powerful conclusion, speaking so loudly into the mic that it screeches with feedback, you remember. you don’t even know where the guilt builds up from, in your torso and your heart, despite questioning the faith you were in for all your life.

if God did not want us to sin, why did he create temptations and ask us to pray for forgiveness?

you roll over and remove your fingers with a small whine, taking up your phone and opening up the contact with father geto hesitantly. it was meant to be a strictly professional exchange like the conversations he’d had with many other parishioners: updates on the church, changes in mass timings, but your chat was filled with questions from you and answers from him. you didn’t dare ask him anything out of the faith.

[9:37 pm, delivered]: uhm. father geto? are you there?

oh god, it’s you. the you who on the second walk around the town exchanged numbers with him because he found your thoughts so intriguing.

[9:39 pm, read]: Yes, Miss (Y/N). What is it?

you take a deep breath. better to ask for that confession, you couldn’t risk your mother asking about it tomorrow.

[9:40 pm, delivered]: is it alright to have

[9:41 pm, delivered]: can i come over to the church, for a bit

father geto straights up in the rectory, getting closer to the socket where his phone was charging and hovers over the screen. his hands are clammy when typing a response and he manages it in about three minutes.

[9:44 pm, read]: Of course, my dear. The doors of the church are open for the congregation at any time.

bidding goodbye to your mother, you stay on the lit path to the church and you’re bathing in anticipation, too excited to see father geto that you bump into a dark shadow. almost resembling a hard wall, hands emerge from its sides to clutch at your biceps.

“miss (y/n), what is it? what has gotten you up so late at night?” if he was still in university, he would’ve laughed at how he asked that question. hundreds of texts of u up? that mimic the nature of the question right now.

“i was hoping . .” you ignore the tingly feeling of the way in which his hands leave goosebumps along your biceps and then to your forearms. finally, they clutch your hands between his, meant to be like a warm hug but instead is like fire, licking at your fingers and wrist like you’re at the stake. “i was hoping that i could, request you for a confession?”

the priest across you swallows with a nod, swiftly putting a hand across your back to lead you to the booth. you both could’ve done it perfectly fine in the pews, sitting across each other. “the confessional is where we will feel the strongest compulsion of Christ. come,” he answers your question before you can ask it, “take your place on the kneeler behind the curtains.”

father geto showers in the same sea of anticipation when he makes sure you’re okay before heading over to his side of the confessional. he’s imagined this scene over and over — you on the pew kneeler, breath warming the velvet curtains — he cannot help the bulge that forms.

the first words he speak behind the curtain shock you, voice sounding so close yet so muffled and distant.

“come, now, (y/n), make the Sign of the Cross with me.”

Father, Son and Holy Spirit

upon your head, chest and shoulders you do it, taking a deep breath before you start. “bless me, father, for i have sinned. it has been . . about five years since my last confession.”

geto nods, the soft carry of your voice in the late night having an effect on the priest. the hold he has on the crucifix of the rosary is so tight it makes an indent on his skin, the only thing on mortal flesh to keep him from falling.

“What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield.”

your thighs rub together, hot breath sending chills down your clutched hands and down your arm as you ponder over the things you’ve done — “i’ve . . lied to my mother at times, to my friends when they ask me where i’m from. i have stolen money for my own needs, n-not— that high of an amount but um . . still a fair amount.”

“what did you need to buy, sweetheart?”

the name surprises you, but you simply ignore it. “i wanted new clothes — was all the rave at uni when the girls wore miniskirts and little tops. unfortunately it didn’t suit me.”

geto swears under his breath when the image of you in such skimpy clothing infiltrate his thoughts. his curiosity overtakes him; overwhelmed with emotion, he never had the chance to see what you were wearing before he pulls back the curtains and hopes your eyes are closed and they are: pulled tight with quivering eyebrows. there, like a sinning Christian is you in a thin camisole, cleavage showing beneath your arms. he peers lower, gasps softly to himself when you’re wearing a skirt.

“father? father, what’s wrong?” you think you hear the swift swoosh and the rings of the miniature curtain clatter.

“n—nothing is wrong, miss (y/n). are there any other sins you want to confess?”

you swallow, “i . . i’ve wished misfortune on my father.”

not the sin he was hoping for but he wasn’t surprised; his head moves in understanding. he had seen your father — merely a ghost in the house and hardly contributing to fostering the family. it goes against what Mary and Joseph stands for as the Holy Family, but father geto has seen a lot of absent fathers and incompetency to truly be taken aback anymore.

“i’ve also . . i’m not sure whether to tell you this, father geto.”

your breaths were all you could hear in the silence of the church, an eerie quietness settling as if the critters and animals of the earth strived to listen to your ultimate sin, too. Beelzebub, Asmodeus, possibly even Lucifer himself clawed themselves up from hell to eavesdrop.

“of course you can, my dear.” the wind through the wooden confessional box sounds like the hisses of the three demons, like they have had holy water sprayed on them from the mere sounding of his voice; but they look hopefully for a server of Christ to fall exactly like they did.

“it’s, related to my body, father. i,” gulping, you continue with a prompt from the other, “i’ve had this growing need, like, one has when they’re hungry. they have the need to fill their stomachs. or— or a sudden pain you have to massage yourself through, like a cramp in the arm of sorts.”

“well . . is it your torso or your arm?”

“it’s . .” you spare a glance towards your centre under your very, very short skirt, the familiar pulsing of your clit turning more and more prominent. “it’s related to my pussy, father.”

you hear a choke from the other side, and then you realise your choice of words.

“ah— m-my bad! i meant my . . vagina, father geto.”

“no— no u-uhm, the previous term was fine. could you describe what you did? how far did you go so i c-can . . give you the appropriate penance?”

behind the curtains, geto have already started palming his bulge, massaging the ache in his length that still continues to grow and harden. the way you describe is so terribly innocent and unknowing, a deepening urge to corrupt you running through his veins.

“i played with um— my breasts, first. i pulled up my top and felt around my nipples, but i got impatient and . .” geto hangs on to every word of yours, shifting to get his robes out of the way. it was just like the first night: his underwear stained with so much pre-cum it’s probably changed the colour of the garment. he peels it away and the lack of restraint leaves him sighing softly while you ramble on—

“i tried playing with that . . thing between my legs.” you recall the quick google search from that first night, “i played with my clit, father.”

geto stifles a groan into his hand just as he starts to stroke himself softly. “y . . yeah, and?”

“i tried to um . . fit my finger in. it was uncomfortable, at first,” you cannot ignore the pull of your core; your hand shimmies past the clasped hands and down to your skirt. you have no panties to swipe to the side: you came here without any. your finger rubs gently at the throbbing bundle of nerves, a soft whine leaving your lips before you remember you’re in the midst of a confession.

“but i . . i got it into my pussy soon enough. and then i put in another finger.” there was a more audible grunt from the other side, the confessional weirdly heating up immensely as you follow your confession: two fingers easily glide in from just how wet you were.

“when?” there’s a strain in father geto’s voice when he asks it, maybe because he was trying so hard to keep quiet. his jaw is locked as he pumps his cock slowly because his tip is leaking so much that even a simple movement would give him away.

“w-wha—?”

“w-when did you first start . . touching your pussy, (y/n)?” hearing a priest say such a lewd word makes you clench around your fingers.

“after you came to deliver t-that chocolate cake . . father geto.”

“f-fuck—” geto squeezes his eyes shut and it’s like he’s a university student again losing his virginity for the first time by the hands of some random chick pumping him. the implied confession has him stroking faster; it was after that trip he made to your house, it was after seeing you stand at the door like a good little girl, it was because of him, right? right?

you snap back the curtains and your mouth waters at the scene: father geto hunching over the little window that separates the two of you and his head hung low; his cassock gathers around his hips and his cock— good Lord, his cock was so big, clutched tightly between his left hand. his tip was weeping, an angry red as it continued to push out globs of pre.

“f-father!” geto doesn’t seem to care, giving you a drunk and nonchalant glance as he continues to stroke his shaft. he knows it’s wrong, doing this in the house of the Lord but it feels so fucking good. “y-you—”

you’re at a loss for words, pointing to his exposed bottom, but even though you’re speaking out against him, you can’t help but follow his hand as it moves up and down like a spell. his eyes are simply pleading, hips bucking up and you would think he was a parishioner instead. shaking in the presence of God, in the presence of you—

you stick your hand past the squeezy window, drawing his interest and before you know it you’re blindly bumping into his erection. there, he silently grabs your hand, guiding it to his shaft. he uncomfortably leans down to look at your face, eyebrows still furrowed but your tongue stuck out and his dick twitches in your hand.

“s-shit, baby . .” geto swears under his breath, and again when you pull on his dick to the window. uncomfortably his body lightly slams against the partition, a soft thud coming from the booth as his head collides with the wood, “(y/n) . .”

he can’t see you, but he can hear you. “may i, father geto?”

you don’t wait for his answer, gauging mainly from the heavy breaths coming from above you. they really do need to change the confessional, too, because you can clearly hear every word he mumbles out from the holes in the partition.

“shiiit—” when you kitten lick his tip, collection the pre-cum that continues to leave his tip, and it feels better than his Rite of Ordination and when he finally got to host his first mass. it’s better than that prophetic dream he has of God calling him to serve Him and the churches in the city with church-goers of boring faces and predictable stories.

here was a rural place, a place where he never expected such a pretty girl to practice the Christian faith, only to falter in the presence of a pastor. he’s gotten such a cute little slut to corrupt. you start to bob your head slowly, unsure of what to do apart from putting his cock on your mouth. your teeth grazes his skin a little and he hisses.

“no teeth. suck in your cheeks,” he cannot see you but he wishes he can, and he knows you listen to his advice when he feels only the smooth glide of your mouth and he wishes it was your pussy that you fingered.

“going deeper, darling,” geto grunts when he pushes his cock past your mouth and into your throat, the sweet gag you do making him dig his forehead deeper into the uneven wooden partition. he can hear your struggling sounds, the muffled moans with his cock down your cavern. but he cannot go any longer without seeing you and reluctantly he pushes you off, still holding your hand and you seem to catch his drift soon enough.

you’re as eager as him, bouncing off the kneeler and leaving your side of the booth, and you’re opening the door to his. the reality of the situation fully sinks in, geto standing there with his cock dripping with your saliva and your camisole pulled down under your tits.

“oh . . baby,” geto coaxes you into him, under a little spell of his when you trail in a light as a feather. you don’t resist his hands pushing you down to your knees, and just like earlier, you’re sticking your tongue out and the priest looks at you from under hooded lids.

“did you touch yourself to me, little girl?” it comes out stronger than intended but you seem to like it, even when your answers are cut off by him slapping his tip on your tongue. it’s so heavy, his cock, and thick too that you can help but suckle on it when you get the opportunity.

“ever since that day, father geto.” you look drunk, swirling your tongue around the tip and continuing to talk, “i . . i imagine you above me and sometimes i dangle my crucifix thinkin’ it’s yours.”

a small laugh escapes the priest. “did you now?” it’s reminiscent of the time where you praise his sermon. his laugh is cut off as you continue to suck him off, hands still confused. he helps you by bringing your hands to the places you can’t reach and you follow like second nature. “dirty fucking slut, aren’t you?”

“i promise i didn’t know anything before this . . father.” you look up at him through your lashes, big doe eyes proving every last bit of your innocence. aht, partially. you did watch a video of this chick blowing her boyfriend, cumming with your own fingers in your throat, wishing it was geto’s cock in your mouth instead.

but having a real cock in your mouth? it was divine, better than the body of Christ in melting on your tongue. your ministrations speed up, the obscene noises of you gurgling reverberating in the wooden box late at night. it would be even worse at the altar where it would echo everywhere.

“y—yeah, baby, that’s it, that’s it . .” his eyes are shut tight, intoxicated on the way your warm mouth feels. you whine into his shaft, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he was in you.

“mmf— mmph!” your moans sends vibrations up his body, interrupted when geto thrusts his hips into your mouth suddenly and your nose meets with his pubes, eyes rolling back from the muskiness of his body. it smells like incense and sweat, filling your senses as he keeps you right up to his hilt.

“ohh . . fuckfuck fuucck—!” the father pulls you off to let you breathe, pleasantly surprised when you start pumping him violently, tongue stuck out again. there’s a hint of light from the outside that highlights the pinkness of your tongue and he’s never wanted to cum this badly before.

“i’m cumming— baby, baby, i’m g’nna c-cum—” there’s a long, drawn out whine from father geto upon feeling the warmth of your hands stroking his cock so obediently, resting his tip on your tongue where you’d willingly drink his cum like wine. geto shoots his load into your mouth and is the loudest he’s ever been; he doesn’t care who hears him, he doesn’t care if he gets transferred out tomorrow, all he wants to think about is you on your knees and your nipples hardened from confessing to him. he’d like to bet that your pussy was drooling too, hips bucking into the soft skin of your hands.

some of his cum gets onto your face and on your lips, and geto almost cums again when you use his tip to smear his seed around your face, sucking lightly on his tip.

“dirty girl . .” he pulls on your biceps to bring you up, and your lips meet instantaneously like you were meant to be separated for eternity, doomed only to meet for one day a year. it’s messy and sloppy, drool drips from your sides of your mouths as your lips merge together.

“was that your first kiss, baby?” father geto can tell by how you don‘t know how to follow his lead, teeth clashing and breathing uneven.

“am i that obvious?” you frown, feeling self-conscious, but geto is quick to reassure you.

“father geto’s going to teach you everything you need to know, alright?” he brings you in with a finger to your chin, hovers over your lips like a tease.

he teaches you everything you want to know and more, like how the front of the church looks like and how cold the marble of the altar feels against your back as he eats you out and the sensations are all too much for you. he teaches you that using God’s name in vain is alright when it comes to moaning out how good he makes you feel and how your penance is whatever he makes it out to be he teaches you how you can take not one, not two, but three fingers up your pussy.

they’re so much thicker than your own, one hand pushing on your shaking thighs to keep them open while his three fingers move in and out of you. you’re leaking so much, your virgin cunt dripping like holy water down the white marble and onto the matching marble floor.

he teaches you his first name and he makes sure you say it.

“su—suguru . . god, r-right there—” he latches his mouth onto your clit, suckling and flicking his tongue impatiently because he just wants to see you cum. your legs stretch out to knock over a candelabra and the clatter of the metal against the ground is enough to wake up a whole village but you. don’t. care.

your hips grind onto his tongue, feeling the borderline painful stretch of his thick fingers in you but they reach all the right spots that you can’t find it in you to care.

“you taste so good—” geto spits onto your cunt and goes back to sucking on your clit, “pussy’s so fuckin’ sweet, holy fuck.” your noises come out of you non-stop as you bury your hands in his hair, finally knowing what you sound like in an unrestrictive space under the apse.

father geto teaches you how to take a cock up your cute, tight pussy, not bothering for a condom when basically all of your clothes have been discarded throughout the night. it’s almost midnight and your mother have fallen asleep on the couch, unaware her sweet, sweet daughter is losing her virginity in the place she was baptised, where she got her first communion.

the first push into your drenched cunt is painful, mushroom tip stretching you out slightly as you clutch tightly onto his forearm, brows knitted together at the girth of his cock.

“been wanting . . to fuck this pussy so bad, baby,” geto grunts it out, obsessed with how his length slowly disappears into you. he can feel each ridge of your gummy walls, hugging him so snugly that there’s several moans that leave his lips, “have you been— thinking ’bout this as much as i h-have?”

your jaw stretches beyond your limit when he eases himself inch by inch into you, thanking the hells below that your vision was finally coming true. above you there’s that same crucifix, sterling silver with amethyst stones embedded into the design, you remember, catching the light of the lone spotlight above the both of you. there’s a similar glint in father geto’s purple eyes.

“all the time, father—” you moan out, pulling him by his necklace to your lips that are more experienced now, each minute that passes is one more atom of your body turning black from the fire that licks at you from below the altar. you kiss the lips of your parish priest, whimpering slightly when his hips buck and you feel the stretch more clearly now.

“is this what Isaac felt when Abraham tried to bind him for a sacrifice on Moriah? helpless, confused, betrayed?”

geto lets out a hum, sucking hickeys into your neck and you think it’s a million times better than questioning a God that never showed himself, who never really had the intentions of the people in mind, who created sin to watch the downfall of men while he enjoys his time in his kingdom.

if this was what was meant by losing yourself to your devils, you would gladly shake hands with Lucifer and hope the warmth of the fire in hell would be a hug warmer than any hug you’ve received by people of the Christian faith.

“well, baby, do you feel helpless?” thrust “confused,” thrust “and betrayed?” thrust

he punctures each word with a snap of his hips and the pain gives way to pleasure and soon he’s already lost in the comfort of your pussy, hips starting a pace easily that emphasises just how wet you are. the echoes of your weeping cunt and the lewd slapping of his balls into your ass is like the bell ringing during mass, loud, resonating, it shakes your whole body.

“mmfuck . . helpless, m-maybe,” you whine out, legs wrapping around his back, “confused, n-not— suguruuu, yesyesyes!”

you try again, “n-not really. betrayed . .”

you feel like a sacrifice, but it was willing, of a confession that has led to this lewd showing of just how much the temptations of the flesh were insanely undeniable. there’s a murmur of i don’t think i can last much longer into your ear, cock driving into your tight pussy so harshly you’re hoping the small altar doesn’t move.

“b-betrayed, i think—” you squeal when father geto angles his hips up and it kisses your cervix just nicely, sending multiple chills down your body. your moans penetrate the holy air, hair splayed out like a painting and geto knows this is better than any Eucharist he’s ever tasted.

you clench around his fat cock, and he twitches, switching to short, pathetic thrusts into your pussy and he cries out your name as he cums deep in you, giving you all of his seed deep in your womb. your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of your first load, the warmth already hooking you in and you pull so hard on his hair he has no choice but to follow your hand.

you let him handle you deep into the night, taking you off the altar and pushing you up against it, entering you again and you brace yourself against the marble.

“s-sorry, sweetheart, you were saying?” he also wants to apologise that he hadn’t made you cum just yet, but your pussy’s so fucking heavenly he just has to be in you again.

“i-i feel a little betrayed,“ you sag over the altar, back arching into his hold. father geto is fixated on the movement of your ass fucking back onto him, “that a priest would break his m-marriage to God for me.”

“i thought they were supposed to be men of God,” you barely manage to form sentences. geto’s laugh at that startles you, as with the hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling. payback. you love it, however, a sweet Christian girl turned into a slut, and the last bits of the thread unravels when father geto reaches around to rub your clit.

“’m gonna— cum, suguru—” you whine out, body turning to mush with how hard he rams into your pussy. by now there’s a ring of white around the base of his cock, your juices slowly starting to coat it, too and Lucifer succeeds at sin yet again.

you cannot blame Eve when the serpent is as beautiful and cunning as geto suguru, nor can you blame her when his thick cock just reaches so deep into you, tip kissing your sweet spots and his hand impatiently drawing messy circles on your bundle of nerves.

“that just makes it the best though, right?” geto breathlessly says, “a holy man fucking a virgin raw in a holy place where prayers are said.” your legs are spreading further and further, his sweaty body engulfs yours, you’re dizzy, “you’re too tempting, sweet girl. tempting enough for me to want to abandon priesthood just so i can be buried in this pussy for fucking eternity.”

and you cum, head and heart going a hundred miles per hour as your body trembles in his hold. “there we go, little slut, thereee we go . .” you can feel the chill of the sterling silver into your back and his smile before he orgasms a second time into your waiting pussy, a second, heavy load let go into your pussy. it’s so warm and filling, and you already want more, more, more.

lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust.

“aw,” father geto coos at your fucked out face, flipping you around to give you a sloppy kiss and forcing himself to his knees just to watch his cum drip out of you, “does she want more?”

“always, father.” you answer with a drunken smile, putting a leg on his shoulder. again, your finger hooks around his crucifix, and you drag the priest down deeper into hell, somewhere father geto would‘ve always ended up.

somewhere where he would renounce his priesthood and worship something, and someone: you.

“Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.”

a/n: LOOOONG MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. also i put the author’s note at the bottom this time bc i wanted to format of the fic to look the best without my goofy words ruining it! hope you guys liked it :) / tagging @crysugu @omgeto @kazushawty @suguruplsr @hydrovillette @slttygeto @hyomagiri @jabamin

part two ✶

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freelancearsonist · 1 month

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Won't You Suffer for the Angels to Fly?

➔ Joel Miller x fem!Reader - 2k

➔ Joel finds religion in the last place he expected to--a preacher's daughter.

➔ Rated MA for pure blasphemy. a lot of religious imagery and defiling of holy places--please read at your own risk. unprotected p in v sex, creampie, squirting, fingering (f receiving), corruption kink, HEFTY age gap (r is early 20s [unspecified], joel is 56), reader uses feminine pronouns and has female anatomy [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

➔ this is for my mid to plus!sized readers :) you're beautiful and valid and i love you. this was written in basically one sitting after i binged mike flanagan's midnight mass in one night. thank you to my lovelies @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @shakespeareanwannabe for talking me through this <3 title is from "heaven only knows" by bob moses

The Bible teaches–at least according to what Joel was able to gleam from the Easter service–that everything happens for a reason. That every pelting raindrop in its descent from the sky, even before it lands heavy and dark in his hair or soaks the lush green landscape of Jackson, has a purpose.

He’s struggled a lot with purpose ever since hearing that existential crisis-inspiring sermon that Tommy had dragged him to.

In the preacher’s defense, it went over well with everyone else. So many people are lost nowadays, adrift in a world that doesn’t seem to have space for them. They need that hope, that reassurance that they’re here for a reason. That they’ve survived hell on earth not out of luck, but out of purpose. He pulled out the big gun that everyone needed to hear on one of the two days a year that everyone in Jackson has their ears open to him. It was tactful, and Joel has to acknowledge that. Your father is clever, if not cunning.

It’s a trait that you’ve learned directly from him, whether purposeful or not. But you sat right in the front row and nodded along to every word, accepting without thought or conflict that purpose is in every action, every reaction, every change of tide and every gust of wind.

And if everything has a purpose, your purpose must be to torture him.

You never have anything but a smile on your face for Joel. Joel, a man older than your own father, a man whose hands have broken every commandment that you hold so dear. A man that should know better than to let you get under his skin and infect his dreams.

He wonders what it would be like to hold someone so perfectly untainted in hands that have killed and destroyed and sinned. Hands that are strong, hands that are experienced, hands that are greedy. He’s certain he could teach you all about greed. He could make you beg, plead, sob for more and more and more until the only thought remaining in your pretty little head is how much you want to take from him. Until you become a glutton at the altar of his generosity.

And oh, how generous he could be once he had you begging. Minding your manners and asking nicely for what you need, of course, but he would never deny you anything you asked of him.

“Can I help you with that, Mr. Miller?” He hadn’t even noticed he was struggling–and he wouldn’t be, really, if he wasn’t so distracted. Putting new legs on a pew isn’t the issue after all; it’s the fact that you’re sitting there on the stairs that lead up to the altar and absentmindedly swinging your legs as if you’re taunting him. As if you understand that his resolve is slipping with every passing second he’s alone in this room with you.

“Joel.”

“Hmm?” You shift your posture to lean closer, and that skirt that’s already way too short to be worn by the pastor’s daughter, in a house of God of all places, rides just a little further up your deliciously full thighs.

How is he expected to work, to keep his mind on the job, when all he wants is to know what those thighs might feel like wrapped around his head?

He clears his throat and adjusts “You can call me Joel, sweetheart.”

He sees it, then. It’s so subtle, but it’s not imagined. You squirm at the pet name, at the raspy drawl of his voice, and it changes everything for him.

He sees in his mind the sweet girl, barely out of her teens, who sits in the front pew with a Bible in her lap. He sees the girl who sings so sweetly to the tune of every hymn. He sees the girl who’s so shy that she blushes every time she catches his gaze.

And then he sees everything underneath the act. He sees the girl who’s bold enough to wear a bright red dress to the Easter service. He sees the girl who makes eye contact with him across the dining hall every night to watch the way he reacts to her lips wrapped so tantalizingly smoothly around her spoon. He sees the girl who knew he would be alone in the chapel today–the girl who wore an easily accessible skirt just for the occasion.

You bookmark the page you’re on and set down the book you were reading, eyes fixated on him all the while. “Is there something I can help with, Joel?”

There certainly is, and it’s not the pew he’s supposed to be repairing.

He remembers, vaguely, hearing something about how God spares guilt from sinners when sin is necessary. It must be necessary to teach you a lesson, then–as you stride over and kneel beside him, your eyes heavy with anticipation and lashes fluttering, he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

“Hasn’t your daddy taught you not to dress like this?” He takes the hem of your skirt idly in his hand, rubs the silky fabric between his thumb and forefinger. He’s not touching you, not really, but his hand is so achingly close. An inch or two, and he’d feel your warmth–those plush thighs that God created to rule over Joel Miller’s mind, body, and soul; ‘til death does he finally know peace, amen.

You shake your head and even manage to seem smug as you say, “No. He just teaches everyone else to resist temptation.”

“I’ve never been much good at that,” he murmurs.

He thinks that you know that. He thinks that you’re his crucible, his most important moral trial–that maybe, if he can turn you away now, he’s a good man.

Joel Miller is not a good man. His kiss is crushing. It’s hellfire, it’s brimstone, it’s everything you’ve been taught to fear your entire life. You melt into it so prettily, accepting your damnation with parted lips and eager eyes. A wanton moan gets caught in your throat when his hand slips further up your skirt.

No panties–in a place of worship, no less. He should bend you over his knee for this transgression, make sure you understand how filthy you are. But there’s hardly time for that now, not when he’s even more desperate than you are. And you are desperate–dripping down his fingers into the palm of his hand as your teeth leave perfect little indents in the plush skin of your bottom lip.

His free hand grips your chin firmly, guiding your eyes to his. He wants to see your depravity, the flickering embers of lust in your eyes as you come on his fingers and cry out for salvation from the all-consuming pleasure.

“Oh my God–”

His hand tightens around your jaw just the slightest bit in warning. “No, baby. You moan my name when I’m touchin’ you.”

And you do–thighs trembling, eyes watering, you cry out his name like a prayer as your cunt pulses and squeezes around his willing fingers.

There’s an unpracticed tremble to your hand as you reach to work open his belt, and it makes his cock throb under the confining material of his jeans.

You want every inch of his skin pressed against yours, so desperate for it that you’re nearly in tears when he pulls your fingers away from the buttons on his shirt. He’s not foolish–no one steps foot into this place during the week, but he knows better than to tempt God’s sense of humor. This has to be quick and contained, and you know it too; you picked your little skirt for exactly that reason.

He catches a glimpse of your glistening need as you settle over his thighs, and once again he battles to resist temptation. He whispers in your ear as you settle your chest against his and grind that fluttering, sensitive cunt along his length–promises himself more than you, really, that he’ll bury his face in your folds and drink from you next time. Next time–the promise makes you clench impossibly hard around nothing.

His eyes have never been quite as heavy as they are when you start to sink that dripping heat down his cock. Head tipped back, throat exposed, completely at your mercy. He has to force himself to look up at you–to worship the goddess enshrined on his altar, all his for the taking.

You bite into your lip nearly hard enough to draw blood as your hips settle against his, completely overwhelmed by the burning stretch of his size. He’s a challenge, certainly, but one that you are determined to overcome.

“Easy, baby girl,” he grumbles as you start to rock against him before you’re truly accommodated. His hands rest heavy on your hips–not anchoring, but encouraging. As wrong–as depraved–as this may be, he wants you to enjoy it without pain. “That’s right, nice and slow.”

It doesn’t stay that way, though; the desperation mounts to a boiling point until you’re bouncing fervently in his lap. It’s delicious, the way the thick head of him drags against something deep and sensitive within you. He guides you when your thighs start to burn, grip tightening enough to leave forbidden bruises in the soft flesh of your hips. His mouth presses to yours, breathing the oxygen straight from your lungs as he presses his hips up. There’s nothing you can do but take it, pliant in his hold, head rolling back to accommodate the wet drag of his mouth and the tickling scratch of his beard against your throat.

He feels it before you do–a subtle flutter as your cunt tries sucking him in even deeper. And maybe, if he was a good man, he’d lean away from it and have mercy on you. But he’s not a good man–he’s a greedy, wanton, desperate man. He angles his hips and thrusts as hard as he can, shoving you into your release with force.

You overflow with it; gushing over him like a flood, staining his hastily pushed down jeans and the floorboards beneath.

He pushes you onto your back like you’re weightless, adrenaline coursing as he starts to slam into you. It’s not polite or sweet or loving–he fucks into you and empties himself like an animal. He growls deep in his throat as his cock pulses within you, instructing you to “take it, baby girl” as if you’d consider anything less.

You don’t know where your release ends and his begins. All you know is his weight on top of you, his mouth on your jaw, the collective breathless pants that fill the room as you both come down together.

You’re not sure how long it is before he pulls out of your warmth with an actual whine, breath heavy against your neck where his face is so comfortably nestled.

And you start to laugh, because you wish you’d worn panties after all–you don’t know how you’re going to get home with the mess of cum that’s dripping down the curve of your ass.

He even chuckles with you, until he tears his eyes away from your blissed face and sees the cross hanging heavy on the far wall.

“Th-that…” he gulps. “That can’t happen again.”

“It can,” you assure him, and he supposes you’re right.

You keep your head down and your eyes to yourself on Sunday, even as you spot the barely-noticeable stain on the hardwood floor next to the newly-repaired pew on the right side of the aisle. It’s so faint that no one would notice it unless they were looking for it, but it’s glaringly obvious to you. You should be ashamed; you should be begging for forgiveness. But then you meet Joel’s watchful eyes, and the shame washes away. How can you feel guilty over an act of worship?

THE END

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joelsgreys · 7 months

Text

fall into temptation | two

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter! Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. mentions of hickies, but i try to be as vague as possible. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, mention of biblical verses, reader has several pet names (little dove, sweet girl, darlin’ girl, baby, babygirl), angst, jealousy, hints of possessive Joel, hints of soft dom Joel (if you squint), reader talks about leaving her faith/family, Esther makes an appearance, Seth also makes an appearance idk he’s nice to reader but we still hate him and will hate him even more in the next chapter. SMUT. mention of virginity (brief), reader is inexperienced but she’s not clueless, masturbation (female, minor mentions of male masturbation), public sex, oral sex (f receiving).

word count: 11.8k

Your soft, breathless moans fill the church just like a sweet, angelic hymn—a song of praise, devotion and adoration for the rugged older man whose lap you were currently straddling, your legs resting on either side of him as he sat in the wooden pew, his long, thick, calloused fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. Your pale blue blouse was unbuttoned and open for him, both cups of your plain, cotton white bra pulled down to give him access to more of you and your smooth, supple skin to ravage.

“Joel,” you gasped out his name, hands tangling in his unkempt salt and pepper curls as he flicked his warm tongue over a sensitive, hardened nipple—it only added fuel to the flames burning deep in your lower belly when he moved his mouth to the other, his lips wrapping around the peak to show it the same amount of attention. He lifted one of his hands and he cupped the breast that his mouth just abandoned, his fingertips brushing against the gold cross that was hanging from the long, delicate chain clasped around your neck. You still wore it every single day despite being the furthest you had ever been from your faith—there was something oddly fascinating about seeing the religious symbol next to all of the marks that Joel left on you, how it was surrounded by all of his sinful love bites. Your hands gripped at his hair even harder, breath catching in your throat as he rolled your nipple between his fingers, giving it a hard but pleasurable pinch. Arching your back, you found yourself grinding your hips into his in an attempt to relieve the intense pressure building between your thighs. “Joel, please—please, I need more.”

Groaning, Joel released your breast and trailed his mouth up north, his lips latching onto the delicate spot right under your jawline. He suckled gently at your pulse point, being careful so as not to leave a visible mark behind. The ones he left on your chest and shoulders were easier for you to hide, but your neck was out of the question seeing as your father made you wear your hair up in braids all the time—you wouldn’t be able to cover them up. The primal in him almost craved to send you back to him with your neck covered in his hickies. Joel wanted to make it known to your father that there was now a real man in your life, one who planned to break the chains and set you free from a life of control. You’d yet to fully express your desire to leave, however if and when the time came, Joel wouldn’t hesitate in taking you away from him.

He would take good care of you, protect you, keep you safe, and the only worship you would know from that point on would be Joel’s worship of your body every single night in his bed.

“Christ, darlin’ girl,” he groaned into your neck, his fingers digging harder into your hips. Surely, you’d have bruises there in the morning. “Keep it up and you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, babygirl.”

Desperately, you rubbed your soaked clothed cunt against his bulge. He was rock hard and throbbing for you, straining against the zipper of his jeans. It wasn’t enough to feel him through his clothes, not anymore. You needed more of him, so much more. You dropped your hands from his hair and reached down for his own, picking them up off of your hips and moving them to your thighs. You guided them underneath your skirt and slid them up higher and higher, closer and closer to where you needed him the most, where you were aching for him to finally touch you. As Joel’s fingertips brushed the crease in between your thigh and your hip, along the soft, thin cotton of your panties, he jerked back, pulling his hands out from underneath your long skirt.

“No, little dove,” Joel chastised, lightly shaking his head at you. “Not tonight, sweet girl.”

“Joel,” You whined out his name. “It’s been almost a month! Are you kidding me right now?” You kept your word to him—for over three and a half weeks, you had been patient, just like he’d asked you. You had been sneaking out and meeting him in the old church house every night, spent hours upon hours sitting with him in the pew, or at least, you started the night sitting with him but at some point, you’d end up sitting in his lap instead. Half naked, hands tangled in his hair, your lips swollen with his kisses that you’d become so addicted to. He would never let it go further than that, though, and it was really beginning to wear your patience thin. It really did seem as though he planned on making you wait an eternity for him. You let out a small, frustrated sigh. “Okay, so if not tonight, then when?”

He leaned back against the pew, mulling it over in his mind for a minute. “Don’t know yet.”

You stared at him in utter disbelief, gaze wide.

He didn’t know yet?

“Joel,” you said his name slowly. “Do you not—is it because you don’t want me? Is that what it is?”

Joel’s hands reached up and he cupped your face, cradling it gently in his palms. His eyes met yours.“Of course I fuckin’ want you,” he said, shaking his head again. “More than anythin’ I want you, baby.” He paused and bucked his hips upwards, brushing his hard on against you through your panties. “You feel that, darlin’ girl? You feel my cock?” When you didn’t respond, Joel gave your face a soft, but firm squeeze as he bucked again, eliciting a moan from you. “Just asked you a question, little dove.”

Breathless, you nodded and replied, “Yes, Joel. I feel it.”

“Then don’t ask somethin’ like that ever again,” he warned you, firmly. “That understood?”

You lifted your hands to his, fingers curling lightly around his wrists. “I’m sorry,” you apologized. “It’s just that I don’t understand it. If you want me, why haven’t you touched me?” You could hear the little tremble in your own voice—you hoped Joel hadn’t caught it, but the softening in his dark brown eyes made it clear he had. “I want you to touch me. You have my full consent, you know. I want this, Joel. I want you so badly. Please, just touch me already.”

“Baby, I told you. I don’t wanna rush it with you—”

“But why not?” you pressed, cutting him off. “Why wait when we both clearly want it?” Unable to help yourself, you exhaled a small, breathy laugh. “Why wait when I’m already sitting in your lap half naked with my breasts in your face?”

Joel sighed. He knew you were trying to lighten up the mood. “Baby—” he trailed off and softly grazed your cheeks with his thumbs. He tried to think of a response to give you but the truth was, Joel didn’t have an answer for you—he himself didn’t seem to fully understand why he was so hellbent on taking his time with you, waiting when he could have had you back on the first night and every night since.

He wasn’t just torturing you.

Hell, he was torturing himself too.

When he would go back home, Joel would fist his cock, his heart pounding almost violently inside of his chest, guttural grunts and groans spilling from his lips as he came to the mere thought of you. He almost found it amusing that you had the audacity to think he didn’t want you when every night, he’d shoot his load onto his stomach as he moaned out your name over and over again quietly underneath his breath.

He wanted you just as much as you wanted him, if not so much fucking more.

But there was something holding him back from it and he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

For as much as Joel enjoyed spending your nights together with you straddling his lap, mouths fused with one another as he copped a feel of your body, making out like a couple of horny teenagers sitting in an old car on some hill that overlooked their tiny town—he vaguely remembered those nights in the cab of his dad’s old pickup—he found it wasn’t the only reason he looked forward to your company.

He liked being with you, liked being in your presence.

He actually liked talking to you.

There was something so endearing about you, the way you talked about working in the town’s schoolhouse and how you absolutely adored spending all day with a bunch of little ankle biters. He liked that you’d been comfortable enough to tell him of your life before the outbreak, about how, despite the religious, strict upbringing, you’d had a decent childhood. You spent your afternoons after parochial school at the river skipping rocks with your sisters. You were the rebel of the three, pulling your braids out in the car on the way to morning mass and spilling your juice on your dress on purpose—you told him about the way your parents would have to put you outside in timeout for being unable to sit still during services and Joel couldn’t help but laugh when he pictured a little girl with messed up hair and a dress stained with grape juice, feet dangling as she sat on some bench outside of a church with the other children who couldn’t behave themselves.

“It got so bad my mother had to start bribing me,” you’d told him with a sheepish little grin one night. For once, you weren’t in his lap. Instead, you sat in the pew while Joel laid back, stretching out on the bench with his head in your lap. His gaze had been fixed on you as you lightly scraped your fingernails against his scalp through his hair over and over. “It was the only way. The night before church, Mama, she would tuck me into bed and promise me she’d spoon extra strawberry ice cream into my bowl for dessert all week if I behaved during service.”

“Was strawberry your favorite?” he’d asked, curiously.

“It was. What about you, what was your favorite?”

“Was more of a chocolate kinda guy myself,” he’d answered, closing his eyes as you continued to toy with his curls.

Joel looked forward to spending his time with you. After his long, grueling patrol shifts, all that he had to go home to was a silent house, the air under his roof filled with unmistakable tension. Ellie had told him she was thinking of turning the garage behind the house into her own space—when he offered to put his past experience as a contractor to good use, she shut down his offer for help, mumbling something about having already asked Tommy. His brother confirmed it, informing him he’d be helping Ellie move into the garage that same week.

That night, seeing you had been the one thing, the one fucking thing that kept him from heading over to the bar to pitifully drown himself in bourbon.

“Joel?” Your soft voice snapped him from his train of thought, your fingers squeezing his wrists. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine, darlin’ girl.” He offered you a small smile, his thumb sweeping your bottom lip. “You’ve been a real good girl for me, sweetheart. And I promise, you’ll get what you’re askin’ for soon. But not tonight.”

You pouted against his finger.

“C’mon baby, put the lip away,” Joel chuckled and pushed it back in with his finger. He let both of his hands fall from your face and pulled at the cups of your bra, gently tugging them back into place. “All I need from you is a little more patience, alright?”

“Fine,” you huffed out in defeat, rolling your eyes.

“Y’know, you’re awful cute when you’re annoyed,” he remarked with a playful smirk. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead and with his lips still against your skin, he murmured, “S’real late, little dove. I need to get you home now.”

Reluctantly, you nodded and climbed off his lap.

You started buttoning your blouse, but Joel stood, reaching out to stop you. “Wait. Let me do that for you, baby.”

Dropping your hands to your sides, you swallowed harshly, arousal pooling between your legs all over again as you looked down, watching his hands. Oh God, how those large hands of his just did you in—how was it possible that watching those hands do something as sweet and innocent as buttoning up your blouse for you had your cunt aching, dripping down the insides of your thighs?

“Joel,” you managed to choke out his name.

He finished with the last button. “Yes, darlin’ girl?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He touched your cheek and smiled wistfully.

“Just wanna take care of you how I can, that’s all.”

Turning your face, you pressed a kiss into his palm with sweet affection he hadn’t known in well over two decades.

After switching off all the lights in the church, Joel locked the door and slipped the key under the mat where you kept it hidden. He took your hand in his and the two of you started the fifteen minute walk to the residential side of the commune. Your place was down the road from his, a two story white and yellow cottage you shared with your family. Joel walked you up the front porch steps to the door, dropping your hand. He kept his voice quiet as he turned to face you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, same time.”

“Tomorrow night, same time,” you parroted.

Joel leaned down, brushing your lips with his own, softly. “Go on and get some sleep, my little dove.”

Your eyes widened slightly—had Joel meant to say it like that? My little dove?

Had he meant to call you his little dove? His?

“Goodnight, Joel.” You bit back a smile and turned towards the door, opening it. Slipping inside of the house, you closed it behind you quietly before you carefully tiptoed your way up the stairs. The house was older and the hardwood floors creaked as you walked down the hallway. Slipping off your oxford shoes, you carried them in your hands as you tried to make it to your bedroom without waking one of your sisters—or worse, waking your father. He was a heavy sleeper, but you still took extra care not to make any noise as you padded past his door. Finally, you made it to your bedroom and slipped inside.

Breathing out in relief, you flipped on the light and turned around only to see one of your sisters there in your room, perched on the foot of your bed with a small smirk on her face. You dropped your shoes on the floor and let out a small, startled yelp.

“Leah!” you gasped, a hand flying to your chest. It surprised you that neither the sound of your shoes hitting the floor nor your scream woke Lydia—she was in the bedroom on the opposite side of your paper thin wall. “You just about gave me a heart attack! I thought you were an intruder!” you hissed. “What are you doing in here just sitting in the dark?”

Leah’s smirk widened.

“I’ll tell you that when you tell me why Joel Miller’s walking you home at two thirty in the morning, my sweet baby sister.” She watched with a glimmer in her eyes as all the color drained from your face. “Is he the person you’ve been sneaking out to see?”

Heat prickled at the back of your neck. “Oh stop it right now, Leah. You and Lydia already know that I go to the church house at night to pray—”

“For hours?” Skeptical, she raised an eyebrow and stood up, walking over to you. “And where does he come into play in all this? Hmm?”

You quickly racked your brain. “He, um, he was—he was walking home from the bar. He saw me as I was leaving the church and he was nice enough to offer to walk me home so I didn’t walk alone.”

Leah snorted. “That’s bullshit. For one, the church and the bar are on opposite sides of the commune and two, Joel Miller isn’t a fucking gentleman who just offers to walk a lady home on a whim. You two were together all night, weren’t you?”

“Of course not, all he did was walk me home—”

She reached out, roughly tearing open the front of your blouse and sending buttons flying all over the room.

“Leah!” You pulled the fabric over your chest but it was too late—she had seen the marks that littered your chest and shoulders.

“Oh, he did more than just walk you home.” Leah’s eyes widened slightly. It was hard to tell if she was shocked—or if she was impressed. “Wow. I did not think you had it in you, baby sister.” She shook her head and sat back down. “And with Joel Miller? Of all the fucking men in the commune—you decided to go for the most feared man in Jackson? I mean, how the hell did that even fucking happen?”

You hung your head in defeat.

There was no way around it.

You’d been caught.

“It’s—it’s a long story.”

She patted the spot next to her. “Well, it’s the end of the world and we’ve got nothing but time.”

Sighing, you took a seat beside her. You started to tell her all about what happened the night you had decided to leave The Tipsy Bison alone—how Kent had assaulted you, how Joel had saved you before the unthinkable happened. You told her how you’d taken Joel to the church to clean up his hand, how you asked him to kiss you after patching him up.

“Wait a minute, Kent called me a slut?”

You glared at her. “Leah.”

“Right. Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “So you and Joel have been seeing each other ever since?”

“Almost every night,” you admitted. “Except when he gets stuck with evening patrol. Or has a double shift. He had to do a few of those as a punishment for what he did to Kent.”

Leah let out a small, nonchalant, “Hm.”

“You know, for somebody who just discovered I’m seeing a man who’s twice my age, you don’t seem to be the slightest bit surprised by it.”

“Oh, please. Don’t think I don’t remember the way that man was staring at you that day when walked by him at the stables,” she grinned at you. “I knew Joel had a thing for you when I caught him staring at you. I just didn’t think he’d act on it,” she added as she leaned back into her elbows. “You do know what people around here say about him, right? I’m sure you’ve heard about things that he’s done—he’s killed people. With his bare hands, too.”

She didn’t sound all too concerned.

She sounded like she was curious about it. Fascinated, even.

“I’m sure he did what he had to do to survive—the same way most people in this town have. Besides, Joel isn’t the monster people make him out to be.” You paused. “I see a different side of him, Leah.”

Leah chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you do.”

“Leah!” You smacked her leg lightly, biting back a small laugh. It was a relief, having her to confide in without receiving any kind of judgment.

There was a brief, momentary silence, broken only when she asked, “So—the church house, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s pretty fucking hot. Makes me wish I would have thought of that myself.” Leah’s smile faltered and she sat up. “Please tell me you wipe down the pew the that he fucks you in, though.”

You nearly choked on your own breath of air. “No! I mean, it’s not like that,” you sputtered out. “We do get together at the church but we don’t—we don’t do that. We haven’t done anything.”

“Your tits are covered in hickies. You can’t possibly tell me that you’re still a daisy fresh girl,” she said.

“Unfortunately, I still am,” you muttered, sourly.

“What do you mean?”

“I want him to—” You stopped, unable to say it.

Leah raised an eyebrow. “To fuck you?”

The blood rushed to your cheeks. “Yes.”

“You won’t burst into flames if you say it, you know.”

Ignoring the jab you continued on, “But he won’t. I keep asking him, but he won’t touch me. He keeps telling me he doesn’t want to rush it and he wants to wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“I don’t know, but I wish I knew. I want him so bad but he won’t budge. I’ve practically begged him to just take me already.”

“You little sinner,” Leah teased.

“Being with him doesn’t even feel like a sin. It feels so right, Leah.” Peering at her, you confessed, “It’s like the closer I get to Joel, the further I step away from God—from our faith.” Without thinking about it, you reached up and clasped your cross. You had expected it to trigger some kind of emotion in you but as your fingers curled around it, you found you felt absolutely nothing. “And the scariest part of it all is that I don’t even feel an ounce of guilt for it.”

“Well, I would say that’s a fucking good thing.”

“Papa would be so ashamed that I have strayed so far away from our faith.”

“Oh please.” Leah rolled her eyes and stood up. “It doesn’t matter. Papa doesn’t have to know.”

“But Leah—”

“We’re already living in fucking hell, baby sister, so you might as well start enjoying yourself.” Pausing at your door, she shot you a teasing little wink over her shoulder. “What better way to start than to get fucked by big, bad Joel Miller?”

Leah disappeared, quietly closing the door behind her before you could even think of how to respond to her.

Later on, in the earlier hours of the morning, you’d found yourself tossing and turning in your bed.

The ache between your legs made it impossible to fall asleep.

Rolling onto your back, you stared up into the dark of your bedroom, chewing nervously on your lip as you slipped a hand under your quilt and brushed a finger along the waistband of your pajama pants.

You’d never in your life touched yourself. Sure, you had been tempted once or twice before—but as of late, the urge was becoming too difficult to resist.

The throbbing between your legs wouldn’t stop.

You needed relief.

Release.

Hesitantly, you slipped your trembling hand under the elastic band of your bottoms, fingers anxiously skimming along the elastic band of your panties. It took a minute or two to work up the courage—but you finally slid your hand into your underwear. You closed your eyes, fingers brushing against the soft curls on your mound. Moving your hand lower and lower, you slowly dipped your index finger, sinking it in between your folds. You gasped out softly, the feeling of your own wetness igniting a fire that you knew you would only be able to put out by making yourself come.

You thought about Joel and imagined it’s his hand in between your thighs instead of yours. You softly grazed your clit with your index finger once, twice, and then started rubbing the sensitive bud in slow circles, jolts of pleasure shooting up your spine.

Suddenly, you withdrew your hand.

Less clothes—this would feel so much better with less clothes.

Kicking the quilt off your body, you peeled off your pajama bottoms and panties, sending them to the floor along with the blanket. Eagerly, you pulled at your oversized t-shirt, yanking it over your head. After discarding that too, you leaned back, resting comfortably against your pillows as you dove your hand between your legs. The other cupped one of your breasts, pinching and rolling a hard nipple as you rubbed your clit. Soft, quiet little moans begin to fall from your lips—remembering Lydia was just on the other side of the wall, you bit down on your bottom lip in an effort to keep the noise down.

You could feel Joel’s hands and mouth on you, still smell his scent on you from earlier.

Woodiness, spice, and musk.

It’s become all too familiar to you.

Just like his touch, just like the sound of his voice.

“You feel that, darlin’ girl? You feel my cock?”

Just the thought of that man had you on the edge and you moved your fingers faster, the wet sounds of your own slick filling the air around you. As your desperation mounted, you imagined Joel’s fingers plunging into you—long and thick, stretching your pussy out in an effort to warm up your tight, virgin walls to take his cock for the first time.

The coil that was wound up deep in your belly was close, so close to snapping. You thought about his goodnight to you at your front door, and it was the way Joel had called you his little dove that pushed you right over the edge. You clawed at your sheets as your cunt convulsed, your velvet walls fluttering around nothing. Biting down on your lip again, you tried your hardest not to moan out Joel’s name.

Just up the road, Joel was up in his bedroom lying in his bed, trying not to groan out your name as he came too.

You covered your mouth, stifling yet another yawn with the palm of your hand.

The late nights with Joel were starting to catch up with you and waking up early for Sunday morning services had been particularly difficult for you that week. You’d overslept, but still managed to get up, get dressed and make it to service on time—still it meant nothing when your father expected his girls to be present at the church house two hours prior. All three of you helped set up for mass and while it was often Leah whom he scolded for not showing, later that morning it was you who would be on the receiving end of his agonizingly long lecture about honoring obligations, especially those to God.

You weren’t looking forward to it.

Sighing, you leaned back against the pew. You and your sisters always sat in the front—the very same bench that you straddled Joel’s lap in every night.

You sagged slightly against Leah who chuckled as your father began delivering his sermon. The topic on the table that morning was lust of the flesh.

“How appropriate,” she whispered, nudging you in the ribcage with her elbow. “Better pay attention.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, elbowing her right back.

Lydia, who sat on the opposite side of you, leaned over, pressing her lips against your ear. “Um, since when does Joel Miller come to church?”

“What?” You shot her a strange look before taking a glance over your shoulder, following her gaze—it threw you for a complete loop to see him standing at the very back of the church near the doors with his rifle hanging over his shoulder. Throat bobbing harshly, you whipped back around in your seat.

What was he doing here?

“Jesus, he can’t bring a gun in here!” Lydia hissed, shaking her head. “Is he insane?”

Leah, who had caught onto the slight commotion, glimpsed over her shoulder. She put a hand on the pew between your bodies and lightly pinched your leg, fingers squeezing the flesh on the side of your thigh causing you to jump slightly in your seat.

“Ouch! What did you do that for?”

“He wants you to meet him outside.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Why else would he be here?” Leah rolled her eyes at you. “And besides, he’s gone.”

Perplexed, you looked over your shoulder again.

Your sister had been right about the latter.

Joel had seemingly vanished into thin air.

“Don’t make it so obvious,” she murmured. “Give it a minute or two and then go—pretend that you have to use the bathroom. And don’t take too long,” she added. “Or it’s going to seem suspicious. Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Smoothing your skirt, you waited two minutes just to be safe and then leaned over towards Lydia. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go use the bathroom.”

“But I thought you hated using the outhouse.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “A girl’s got to pee.”

Excusing yourself, you stood up and quickly made your way around to the side of the church, making your exit as inconspicuous as possible. Thankfully, everyone was too focused on your father to notice you making an exit.

Once you’d slipped through the first set of double, wooden doors, you exhaled the breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding back. You then pushed through the second set of doors, stepping out onto the porch of the church house.

You looked around, but there was no sign of Joel.

“Where did you go?” you mumbled to yourself.

Maybe Leah had been wrong after all.

You walked down the steps and around the side of the church only to find him leaning against the old building, his hand wrapped around the strap of his rifle.

“What are you doing here?” you questioned as you approached him.

“Well good mornin’ to you too, my little dove.”

Your heart fluttered wildly inside of your chest.

There it was again.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, sheepishly. “I’m just—I didn’t expect to see you here, that’s all.”

Joel stepped towards you. “I know. I’m on my way to the stables to head out for mornin’ patrol,” he explained. He placed his hands on either side of your waist to pull you closer to him. “Wanted to see you, baby.”

“You did?”

He chuckled softly. “What? That strange?”

“We’ve never seen each other during the day.” You frowned at him. “Isn’t this kind of risky, Joel?”

“Ain’t no one around but us.” Joel leaned his head down, brushing his mouth softly against yours. He was warm and still tasted like his morning coffee. Pulling away slightly he stated, “There’s somethin’ I have to tell you, too. I ain’t gonna be able to meet up with you tonight, sweetheart.”

“Did you get stuck with double patrol again?” Your disappointment was evident in your tone. Tommy and Maria had already reprimanded him for Kent’s beating, were the double shifts still necessary?

Joel shook his head.

“No. Tommy’s birthday is today. They’re throwin’ a big party for him at The Tipsy Bison. M’real sorry—”

Flashing him a sincere smile, you lifted your hands and placed them on his chest, assuring him, “Joel, there’s no need to apologize for anything. It’s your brother’s birthday. I wouldn’t expect you to miss it just for little old me, you know.”

“I know you wouldn’t, sweet girl. S’just that—”

He paused, momentarily hesitating.

“What is it, Joel?”

“Wish I could take you with me. Y’know, as my—”

Joel stopped once again, his neck burning.

You raised an eyebrow, grinning. “As your date?”

“I was gonna say as my girl. But yeah, that works too.”

His girl.

Your heart fluttered again. “I would love that. More than anything.”

“Your old man, he wouldn’t like that, though.”

Your smile faltered. “Joel, please. Don’t—”

“I ain’t wrong, sweet girl. What would your dad say if he knew you were with someone like me? A man twice your age with more blood on his hands than the fuckin’ town butcher.”

“He wouldn’t approve—but I don’t care, Joel. I just don’t care. I like you,” you confessed, clutching his jacket. “I like being with you. And I know who I am, it makes things complicated, but—” Stopping, you chewed apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“But what, little dove?” he prompted. “Tell me.”

“Maybe—maybe things could change someday,” you said, softly.

Realizing what you meant, Joel’s brows shot up.

“You would leave?”

“I would,” you confessed. “For you Joel, I would.”

He couldn’t believe it. “Don’t go sayin’ somethin’ if you don’t really mean it. Might get my hopes up.”

“But I do mean it,” your voice was earnest. “Really, I would, Joel. I would do anything to be with you.”

Joel took one look into those sweet, innocent little doe eyes and groaned. “Fuck, darlin’ girl. C’mere.”

Crashing his lips to yours, he spun you around and pinned you up against the wall of the church. Next to you was an open window—you could hear parts of your father’s sermon coming from inside as you melted into Joel’s arms. His tongue brushed along the seam of your mouth, silently demanding more. Your lips parted, granting him the access that he’d been seeking. His tongue curled with yours and he swallowed every little moan and whimper, drinking them down just like water.

Joel reached down and lifted your long floral skirt, slipping a hand underneath the lace trimmed hem of it. His rough, calloused fingers dragged up your thigh and over your hip, lightly grazing the band of your panties.

“Joel,” you gasped, tearing your mouth from his, a look of complete shock crossing your features. He couldn’t be serious—in broad daylight? Outside of the church where your father was preaching to the congregation at this very moment?

But even the shock of it all did nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop the arousal from pooling between your thighs.

Joel skimmed your cheek with the tip of his nose.

“You wet for me, baby?” Before you could respond to the question, he cupped your cunt through your panties, eliciting another small gasp. “Oh fuck, my sweet little dove. You’re fuckin’ soakin’ for me.”

Heart pounding painfully against your sternum, all you could do was nod your head and fist the lapels of his jacket even tighter. Your knees trembled and you were grateful to be securely pinned between a wall and this big bulk of a man, otherwise you’d be a crumpled heap on the ground by now.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” he cooed, though he knew exactly what he was doing to you. “Hm?”

“It’s just that I—oh Joel,” you mewled his name as he cupped you harder in his hand.

Smirking, Joel pulled the damp cotton fabric aside and slid his index finger along your slit, your sweet slick coating his digit. “What do you want, my little dove?” He asked quietly against your cheekbone.

You opened your mouth to respond, but it seemed as though you’d forgotten just about every word in the English language.

“Gotta tell me, sweetheart.” His finger grazed over your clit, sending shock waves through your whole body. “Use your words, babygirl,” he coaxed, nuzzling your cheek. “Gonna have to tell me what you want from me. Ain’t doin’ anythin’ unless you ask me for it.”

“I—I want you to touch me. Please, Joel, touch me more. I need you to touch me more.”

That’s all Joel had needed to hear.

He slowly pushed a finger into you, biting back his groan—you were wet, warm, and so fucking tight.

“Joel,” you moaned out his name.

Joel quickly covered your mouth with his opposite hand. “Shh,” he shushed you. “The window’s wide open. Someone could hear us if we’re too loud. M’gonna need you to be real quiet for me, alright? Think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, your reply muffled by the palm of his hand. “Mhm.”

“That’s a good girl.”

His hand dropped away from your mouth.

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip, holding a cry as he pushed his finger further inside of you. It didn’t hurt, but you felt the pressure between your hips intensifying—on several nights you’d plunged your own fingers into your throbbing cunt in effort to pleasure yourself, but his were just so long and so thick and he reached spots you simply couldn’t reach no matter how hard you tried.

“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight, baby. You think you can take another one? Hm?”

Your legs spread further apart for him in reply.

“Eager little thing,” Joel chuckled, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek before slipping a second finger into you. He bit back guttural groan—if your pussy felt this fucking good around his fingers, then how would it feel around his cock?

“Oh God,” you hissed, bucking down into his hand as his thumb swept your clit in a circular motion.

“He ain’t here, little dove,” he murmured. “S’just me.”

Releasing his jacket, you grasped at his shoulders. Your skin stretched taut over your knuckles as you held onto him, silently willing yourself to somehow stay tethered to this earth.

Joel dropped his head into the hollow of your neck and slowly began to pump his fingers in and out of you. “This sweet little pussy feels so fuckin’ good.” He licked a stripe up the column of your throat, his fingers curling inside of you and hitting a spot that made your knees tremble. “But y’know what, I bet it tastes even fuckin’ better.” He lightly nipped you on your chin and withdrew his hand from between your legs, sinking down onto one knee.

You watched with wide, shocked eyes as he took a hand and bunched your skirt in his fist to keep the fabric out of his way. With his other hand, he lifted one of your legs and draped it over his shoulder. It brushed lightly against his rifle.

He placed a gentle kiss on the inside of your knee.

Heart pounding with anticipation, excitement, and apprehension, you reached down, tangling both of your hands in his soft hair.

As Joel began trailing his lips further up the inside of your thigh, part of the sermon carried out of the open window, your father’s voice loud and clear as he preached to the congregation.

“For this is the will of God, your sanctification:

that you should abstain from sexual immorality…”

Joel glanced up at you. “Y’tell me if you want me to stop—”

“Don’t,” you choked out. “Please. Don’t stop.”

Planting one final kiss on the inside of your leg, he pulled your panties aside and brought his face into the apex of your thighs. His mouth met your warm core, his tongue slipping between your slick folds.

Your father’s voice continued on—he sounded too close. He often paced around as he preached, and he must have drawn closer to the window. “…that each of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor…”

You bit back a helpless whimper as he dragged his flattened tongue up, down, and then up again, lips tasting every inch of you he possibly could.

“…not in the passion of lust…”

Joel pushed your skirt up even further, completely exposing you. His mouth wrapped around your clit and he swirled his tongue around the swollen little bundle of nerves, groaning into you as he lifted his other hand, thrusting two fingers into your pussy.

“…like the Gentiles who do not know God.”

Your fingers gripped his curls like a vice, your nails scraping against his scalp—with every lick, suckle, and kiss of his tongue and thrust of his digits, your release drew closer and closer.

“Joel,” you whispered his name, desperately. “Joel I’m so close, I’m so so close—”

He groaned into your cunt, the vibration of it along with the way his thrusts quickened and the way he devoured you like a man starved sending you right over the edge you’d been teetering on. Feeling you convulse around his fingers, Joel pulled his mouth away from you and quickly rose to his feet. He had made it just in time—sealing his mouth over yours, he muffled your loud cries of pleasure.

His lips, his tongue, they lingered with the taste of you.

Joel’s fingers slowed as he helped you ride out the crashing wave of pleasure. Letting go of your skirt, he slipped his arm around you, holding you steady against himself so that you wouldn’t keep digging your back into the wall. “I’ve got you, darlin’ girl. I’ve got you,” he murmured against your lips. His gaze met yours as he grazed your clit one last time, sending aftershocks throughout your body that made your knees buckle. Smirking, his arm tightened around you. “So fuckin’ sensitive, sweetheart.”

He withdrew his hand from between your legs and brought it up to show you—you felt the blood rush to your cheeks at the sight of his fingers. You’d left them dripping, coated completely with your slick.

“Open your mouth, baby.” His command was firm, but still soft, gentle. You did as Joel told you—your eyes fixed on his, you parted your lips slightly, just enough for him to slip his fingers into your mouth for you to lick clean. Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you slowly sucked your release off his digits, a hint of shyness in your half lidded gaze. “You like how you taste, don’t you, my darlin’ girl? Hm? Like how fuckin’ sweet you are?”

Moaning around his fingers, you nodded, and then released them with a small, wet pop.

Joel groaned. He had half a mind to put you down your knees right then and there and have you take care of the straining in his jeans. Instead, he let go of you and checked to make sure your skirt looked okay. He then reached up and smoothed your hair, saying, “You gotta go back inside now, little dove.”

Before you could say anything, the sound of Lydia calling out your name caused you to jump slightly.

She must have come outside looking for you.

“Go,” he nudged you. “I’ll head around the back of the church so she don’t see me.”

Joel started to whirl around to take off in the other direction when you caught his arm, stopping him.

“Baby, what are you—?”

Standing on your toes, you kissed his cheek softly.

The innocence of it, and the smile you flashed him after the fact, knocked the fucking wind out of his lungs.

He watched, mouth agape, as you spun around on the heel of your shoe, hurrying back to the front of the church house to meet your sister.

It was late in the evening.

You were sitting cross legged on your bed—Lydia’s laying on the small, circular shag rug on your floor surrounded by several composition books and plastic, single subject folders. “Toss me some of those,” you said, waving your red marker in the air. “I can help you get through them quicker.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Um, don’t you have your own students’ homework assignments to grade?”

“Lyd, I teach three, four, and five year old children. I’m not exactly having them write papers trying to interpret Shakespearean sonnets,” you giggled. “It doesn’t take that long to grade alphabet worksheets or stick figure drawings.” You waved the marker once more. “So, do you want me to help you or not?”

Before she had the chance to respond, the door to your bedroom burst open and Leah waltzed inside donning a strapless, floral printed dress. Her locks were out of their braids, cascading down her back and a pair of strappy brown sandals, which she’d secretly traded a pair of earrings for in exchange, adorned her feet.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Lydia asked, shaking her head as she sat up.

“We,” she emphasized, “Are going to a party.”

You frowned. “If you’re referring to the party down at The Tipsy Bison, that’s a party for Tommy Miller they’re throwing. It’s his birthday today, Leah. You can’t just show up to someone’s birthday party on a whim or uninvited. That’s just bad manners.”

“Actually, I bumped into Maria Miller at the bakery this afternoon when I went to buy rolls for dinner—she was picking up Tommy’s cake. She mentioned the party to me and extended the invitation.” Leah grinned. It’s almost like she’d forgotten about how she had tried getting into her husband’s pants just months ago while she was still pregnant with their son. Leah swore she didn’t remember that—which part of you honestly believed. She had been drunk out of her mind the night she tried making a move on Tommy Miller. “She said that we were welcome to join in on the festivities. So come on, ladies. Put on your best and let’s get going!”

“Sorry, I’m going to have to sit this one out,” Lydia said with a sigh. She gathered all of her things and stood up. “I have a dozen papers to grade. But you two go on and have fun.” She walked towards your door, elbowing Leah on the way out. “Behave.”

“Don’t I always, big sister?”

Scoffing, Lydia glanced back at you. “Please make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble?”

“Wait a minute, why do I have to babysit her?”

“Because you’re the good one.”

“Not anymore she’s not,” Leah muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” she piped innocently.

Rolling her eyes, Lydia bid a quick goodnight, then disappeared.

“Well come on then,” Leah walked over to you and grabbed your arm, dragging you off your bed. “We need to get you out of these drab clothes and into something cute!”

You huffed, “What I’m wearing is just fine—”

“Don’t you want to get all dolled up for Joel?” She teased, lowering her voice as she pulled you to her bedroom just across the hallway. She shoved you inside and then closed the door behind her. “Look all nice and pretty for him?”

“Leah, I can’t talk to him at the party,” you told her as she lifted her hands and started taking the pins out of your braids. “It would raise an eyebrow—the last thing I want is for people to talk and it getting back to Papa. Or to put Joel in a weird spot at his own brother’s birthday party.”

She raked her fingers through your hair, taking out your braids. “Well at the very least, you can be eye candy for him to enjoy,” she stated with a smirk as she fussed around with your locks, which were textured from your braids. Once she was satisfied with your hair, Leah made her way over to her closet and started to dig inside a cardboard box that she kept tucked at the very back of it. She plucked a garment from it and tossed it over her shoulder at you. “Here, wear this one. I think Joel would like it on you.”

The dress was beautiful—a vibrant daisy yellow with a detailed eyelet embroidery and thin straps. You held it against yourself and let out a small scoff as you said, “Leah, I can’t wear this.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you can.” She threw a worn, tan leather cowboy boot at you, followed by the other. “I don’t have another pair of sandals but these go with the dress a hell of a lot better than oxfords do.”

You shook your head furiously.

“I can’t wear this dress, much less out to the bar. It’s way too short—it’s inappropriate.”

Leah snorted. “Honey, Joel Miller made you come in his mouth outside the church house and a short dress is where you draw the line? Seriously?”

You opened your mouth to respond, then clamped it shut—she made a fair point. Without giving your sister anymore grief, you stripped out of your skirt and blouse and slipped the yellow dress on. You reached up take off your cross, but decided against it and left it alone.

Less than an hour later, the two of you walked arm in arm into The Tipsy Bison.

“Wow,” you breathed out, looking around in awe—the bar had been completely transformed and you almost didn’t recognize the place. The bar’s owner Seth liked to keep the place dim, but since it was a special occasion tonight, he’d strung lights across the room from ceiling to ceiling. He had also taken all the tables and chairs and moved them all aside, creating a makeshift dance floor. In a corner of the bar, a band had set up to play live music. Currently on the microphone was Pamela, a woman who ran the town’s general store, singing a lovely rendition of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac.

“Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’

‘cause I’ve built my life around you

but time makes you bolder…”

“Come on, let’s go grab a drink!” Leah tugged you over towards the counter. The both of you went up to Seth, who was helping his bartenders serve the dozens of party guests. She smiled sweetly at him and said, “Two glasses of whiskey, please. I’ll have mine neat and she’ll have hers on the rocks.”

You wrinkled your nose.

You didn’t even like whiskey.

You could never choke down more than a sip, two or three if the ice watered the liquor down enough.

“Of course, Leah.” Seth nodded. He looked over at you and did a double take in the middle of his pour that almost made him miss the glass. He let out a low whistle. “Well, look at you! Never seen you this dressed up before.”

“Doesn’t she look pretty?” Leah beamed proudly.

“Just about the prettiest thing in the whole room,” Seth remarked with a wink as he placed your drink in front of you. “You two girls have fun but be careful. There’s a lot more drinking going on than usual—any one of these heathens bother you, you come tell me and I will kick their behinds out of this party. Got it?”

“Thanks, Seth!” you both chirped in unison.

Taking Leah’s hand, you led her across the bar and over towards a small vacant booth to sit. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone came over to whisk your sister away from you for a dance. You could see, out of your peripheral vision, a group of drunk patrolmen crammed together like sardines in a tin in the booth adjacent to yours throwing glances at Leah already.

“They’re looking at you too, you know,” she said in a matter of fact tone, lightly clinking the rim of her glass to yours before taking a drink.

“Well, they’re wasting their time,” you mumbled as you lifted your glass to your lips and took a careful sip of the bold amber liquid. It burned, making you cough and sputter violently. “Nope, I can’t do this. Here,” you shook your head and shoved your glass towards her before standing up. “I’ll be right back, I’m going back to the bar to ask Seth for a glass of water or something.”

Cutting across the dance floor, you were quick but careful not to bump into anyone as you made your way back to the counter.

“Back for another already?” Seth asked, chuckling as he took the bar towel in his hands and draped it over his shoulder. “I really didn’t take you for much of a drinker.”

Smiling sheepishly, you admitted, “I’m not.”

“Ah, I see now.” He nodded in understanding. “I’ve got fresh squeezed lemonade?”

You grinned. “Lemonade sounds really good, actually.”

“Coming right up.”

As you stood there waiting, you leaned against the counter and glanced over your shoulder, your eyes subtly scanning the room for Joel. There were way too many people—more than half the town turned out for Tommy Miller’s birthday and the bar had to be well over its maximum capacity. Exhaling a tiny sigh of defeat, you grabbed the glass of lemonade Seth set in front of you, kindly thanking him for it. Whirling around on the heel of your boot, you froze for a second realizing someone had been standing behind you waiting for you to move, so close you’d nearly crashed right into his broad chest.

“Oh, m’sorry about th—”

The man you’d almost ran into began apologizing, but then abruptly stopped short, his familiar, dark brown eyes widening in complete and utter shock.

“Hi Joel,” you breathed, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him.

Joel hadn’t necessarily dressed up for tonight, but he wore a much nicer shirt than his usual denim or plaid—instead, he’d gone with a long sleeve brown corduroy button up. The material fit snug over the broad planes of his chest and his shoulders. If that alone wasn’t enough to make your knees go weak, then the way he’d left the top two buttons undone would finish the job.

“What are you doin’ here?”

“Maria extended the invitation to us,” you said in a small, shy voice—you didn’t quite know how to act with Joel with so many people around. Part of you worried people would notice and start talking. The other part of you couldn’t care less if they did. You feared your father finding out, and yet at the same time, you were ready for him to know that you had a man in your life, a man that you were certain you were slowly but surely starting to fall for more and more with every passing moment. “She invited us all, but it’s just me and Leah here tonight.”

Joel’s gaze swept over you, his throat going dry as sandpaper. “You look real different,” he said, doing his best not to let it linger too long.

Nervously, you asked, “Good different or bad different?”

“Good different.” He’d murmured it so quietly, you almost didn’t catch it over the music. “You look so fuckin’ beautiful.”

A bashful little smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Thank you.”

Before another word could be exchanged between you and Joel, a stunning woman with short brown hair, intense eyes, and slender, mile-long legs only further accentuated by her tight denim skirt came up beside him. She slipped her arm through Joel’s and shot him a perplexed look.

“Joel? What’s taking so long with those drinks?”

The color instantly drained from Joel’s face.

Simultaneously, your heart dropped, deep into the pit of your churning stomach.

The woman’s eyes flickered over to you.

“Wait, you’re one of John’s daughters, aren’t you? Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you,” she said with a kind smile. “I don’t think we’ve ever officially met each other since I got to Jackson, but I’m Esther. I work in the commune’s infirmary. You work over in the schoolhouse, don’t you?”

“I do.” You offered her a small smile in return, hoping that it didn’t look as forced as it felt.

Joel tried meeting your gaze, but you refused.

“You must teach Ellie’s class, then,” she stated, an unmistakable hint of relief in her tone.

Because what other reason could Joel Miller have to be talking to you of all people at this party?

“Yeah, that’s it. I teach Ellie’s class.” Gripping your glass so tightly in your hand you were worried that it would shatter, you cleared your throat and in the most polite voice you could possibly muster under the circumstances, you said, “I should probably be getting back to my sister. It was very nice meeting you, Esther.”

Without even bothering to wait for her to respond, you stepped around Joel and quickly hurried back to yours and Leah’s booth. You slid into it, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill over.

Leah frowned. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Afraid you would crumble if you spoke, all that you could do was nod over towards the bar where Joel and Esther were waiting for their drinks. She had a hand on his back, rubbing affectionate circles into it as she lightly rested her head on his shoulder.

“Fucking asshole!” She hissed, angrily. “I ought to go up there and give him a piece of my mind—”

You cut her off, sounding miserable.

“For what, Leah? For being with someone who is a lot closer to his age than I am? Someone who isn’t a strict preacher’s daughter?” Your voice broke off slightly and you paused to recollect yourself. “Why did I ever think someone like him could ever—God, I’m so stupid. I’m so, so stupid.”

You dropped your head into your hands. You knew you couldn’t completely blame yourself, after all, it wasn’t like you had made up all those nights you’d spent with Joel in his arms or just imagined all the things he had said to you.

Still. It didn’t make you feel any less foolish, like an incredibly naive, dumb little girl who hadn’t known any better.

“Good evening, ladies.”

Pulling your face out of your hands, you looked up, your gaze meeting that of a handsome young man with blond hair and deep blue eyes. Offering you a polite smile, he extended his hand.

“I hate to see such a pretty girl look so down. How about a dance or two to cheer you right up?”

Glancing over at the bar, you could see Joel’s eyes were now fixed intently on you as Esther chatted with one of the female bartenders behind the counter.

You didn’t even hesitate.

Turning back to him, you accepted his hand. “I would absolutely love to dance with you.”

He knew what you were doing.

Oh, he knew exactly what you were fucking doing.

And it was working like a goddamn charm.

Joel leaned back into his chair and kept a cool and calm, collected demeanor on the outside—despite feeling anything but on the inside.

Jealously bubbled in the veins underneath his skin as he watched Nathan, a young man who couldn’t be much older this his late twenties, reach for your hands, placing them on his shoulders. Joel inhaled a sharp breath at the sight of the patrolman taking your waist, pulling your body flush against his own as he led you in what had to be your third or fourth dance of the evening, this one slower than the rest of them as the band struck up a romantic ballad.

He wrapped his fingers around his glass, holding it in an iron grip as Nathan held you even closer, way too fucking close for his liking. Joel had half a mind to walk out onto the dance floor and rip you out of his arms. It would cause a scene though, and that was the last thing he wanted to do at his own brother’s birthday party.

And then there was you.

You weren’t making things any easier for him. Your arms wrapped around the man’s back, fingers lost in the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck—smiling up at him with a flirty little glimmer in your eyes. If Joel didn’t know any fucking better, he’d think you were actually enjoying yourself with Nathan. But it didn’t matter whether or not it was just an act, you being in the arms of another man bothered him.

It fucking bothered him.

“Don’t go rearrangin’ that kid’s face too.” Tommy’s voice came from beside him. Maria had gone back to the house to check up on Noah—Ellie offered to watch him for the night despite never having been around an infant before in her life. Being the worry wart mother that she was, Maria decided to swing by and see how the teenager was faring alone with a five and a half month old. Esther, who had finally grown sick and tired of being brushed off by Joel all evening, decided to go with her, leaving the two brothers alone.

Joel turned to look at him.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” he replied with a shrug. He lifted his glass to his lips, draining the rest of his bourbon in one gulp.

“Spare me the bullshit, Joel. You’ve been watchin’ those two like a fuckin’ hawk all night long. Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on between you and the girl?”

“Nothin’s goin’ on between us.”

Tommy snorted. “Then why do you look like you’re just about ready to go over there and knock Nate’s fuckin’ head off his shoulders?”

“Just makin’ sure he don’t step outta line with her, that’s all. After what happened with Kent—”

“Whose nose you fuckin’ shattered with your fist,” Tommy interjected. “It ain’t ever gonna heal right. Hope y’know that.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “He’s lucky I didn’t fuckin’ kill him after what he tried to do to her, Tommy.”

“Look, I ain’t sayin’ Kent didn’t deserve it, but that ain’t the way we handle things around here.”

Joel rolled his eyes.

“You and Maria gave me this lecture already.”

“I know, but a reminder don’t hurt.” Tommy traced a circle around the rim of his glass. “I ain’t stupid. I know that somethin’s been goin’ between you and that girl. And whatever it is—it needs to stop, Joel. It’s bad enough that she’s half your fuckin’ age but she’s also one of the preacher’s daughters. When I told you it was best to keep your distance from his girls, I said it for good fuckin’ reason, brother.” For the sake of not stirring up an argument at his own party, Tommy decided to leave it at that. He stood from the table and picked up his empty glass. “M’gonna go get a refill. Can I get you one too?”

“No thanks,” Joel mumbled, a slight bitter edge to his tone.

“Hey.” Tommy lightly clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m just tryin’ to look out for you, Joel. Alright?”

When Joel didn’t respond, Tommy shook his head, dropped his hand from his shoulder, and made his way across the bar over towards the counter.

Shoving his brother’s warning out of mind without giving so much as a second thought, Joel glanced over towards the dance floor once again. The song had just ended and the band announced that they were going to take a brief five before their next set started. Setting his glass down, Joel watched your every move, and more importantly, Nathan’s every move.

Standing on the tips of your toes, you’d whispered something into his ear with a small grin before you planted a kiss on his cheek. Then, you spun on the heel of your boot and started off towards the bathrooms located at the back of the bar.

Trying to be as subtle as possible, Joel stood from the table and followed suit. He caught up to you in the short, dimly lit hallway and once he saw that the coast was clear, he grabbed your arm with one hand and covered your mouth with the other hand to muffle the sound of your scream. “S’just me!” Joel hissed into your ear, pushing you through the nearest door—the bar’s supply closet. Once inside the tiny room, he locked the door, flipped the light switch, and turned to face you.

You stood there absolutely seething.

“Joel, what is the matter with you?” you spat angrily at him. “You almost gave me a heart attack just now! What’s your problem?”

“Could ask you the same fuckin’ question,” he shot back, though he kept his voice low, calm.

For as mad as he was, he didn’t want to raise his voice at you.

“Let me out.” You started towards the door, but he was quick to block it. “Joel, let me out right now.”

“Not ‘til you explain to me what you were doin’ out there dancin’ with that little prick all fuckin’ night long.”

Lifting your chin, you feigned innocence. “Oh, you saw us?”

Joel glared at you. “Don’t you play dumb with me, little dove.”

The sweet nickname that once put a smile on your face suddenly made you feel sick to your stomach.

“First of all, don’t call me that, okay?” There was a slight, trembling edge to your tone. “And second, I honestly could have sworn that you were too busy with your girlfriend to even notice me and Nathan—oh, and speaking of Nate, he’s out there waiting for me to come back from the bathroom right now, so if you wouldn’t mind stepping side so I can leave, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Joel didn’t budge. “Listen, you got the wrong idea about Esther, darlin’ girl. The wrong fuckin’ idea.”

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid or something?”

“Just wait a second, let me expl—”

You cut him off with a scoff.

“You know, you really had me fooled, Joel. I fell for it, I fell for all of it. Do you even realize I was willing to leave my family for you?” You curled your hands into tiny fists at your sides. “Everything that I have ever known and built my entire life around, I would have walked away from it all just to be with you.”

He let out a loud, frustrated sigh.

“Christ, can you just let me fuckin’ explain?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, your gaze fell, dropping to the floor as you gave him a chance to speak.

“Esther, she ain’t my girlfriend.” He paused briefly, then added, “but I ain’t gonna lie to you either, sweet girl. She’s someone that I used to—”

Joel paused once again, trying to think of the best way to phrase it, but you beat him to it.

“Sleep with?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging. “But it didn’t mean a goddamn thing. Tommy and Maria introduced us months ago. He wanted me to meet somebody I could settle down and build my new life with here in Jackson. Nothin’ came out of it except for a few months of meaningless sex.”

“Joel, I don’t want to hear about you screwing her. Please, just let me out,” you pleaded, trying for the door once more.

“Baby, stop.” Grabbing your shoulders firmly, Joel walked you backwards and pinned you against the wall. “Look at me.”

“No,” you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze just like you had earlier that night back out in the bar.

“Look at me.”

Finally, you brought your eyes up to meet his.

“When I started seein’ you, I put an end to it. Told Esther I couldn’t keep on doin’ what we were doin’ and it had to stop,” Joel explained. “But she hasn’t been able to accept I want nothin’ to do with her. She’s fuckin’ been all over me tonight and I let her for the sake of not causin’ tension at the party. She’s my sister-in-law’s best friend and last thing I fuckin’ wanted was for Esther to go cryin’ to Maria about me again. But then I saw you here and—” He trailed off.

“And what?”

Joel dropped his hands from your shoulders. “And I stopped carin’ about anythin’ else but you, darlin’ girl. Nothin’ else fuckin’ mattered to me but you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

He stepped back, lightly shaking his head.

“‘Cause I think I’m fallin’ for you, little dove.”

Joel wasn’t just making the confession to you.

He was making it to himself.

Your breath hitched in your throat and you grasped at the wall behind you, your fingernails scraping at the old, chipped paint.

“It’s the reason why I haven’t—m’afraid if we take the next step, it’s gonna ruin things, y’know?I don’t wanna lose what I’ve got with you. I wouldn’t be able to handle losin’ you.”

Somehow, you managed to find your voice. “Joel, I can promise you, you’re not going to lose me.” You stepped forward, delicately placing both hands on his chest. Even through the thick fabric of his shirt you could still feel his heartbeat thumping against the palm of your hand. Hard. Fast, almost too fast. “You couldn’t lose me. It’s just not possible.”

His own voice was just above a whisper.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m falling for you too.”

Tilting your head up, you stood on the toes of your boots and brushed your lips against his softly. Joel slipped his arms around your waist and he whirled you around, pinning you between himself and the door. His tongue swept roughly along your lower lip before coaxing its way into your mouth without any kind of resistance on your part. He reached up and cupped the back of your neck in his palm.

“Joel,” you whimpered his name into his mouth as your back arched off the door, demanding more of his touch.

Breathless, Joel pulled his mouth away from yours eliciting a desperate, frustrated moan from you.

“No, please don’t stop,” you whined, pressing your chest into his. “Please.”

“That little stunt you pulled out there,” he said, his lips ghosting yours, “I ain’t all too happy ‘bout it. I hope y’know that.” Although he was teasing you, there was a seriousness to it. “Tried to make me jealous, didn’t you, babygirl? Well, it fuckin’ worked. Got me all riled up.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Accompanying the apology with a sweet, innocent bat of your eyes, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and dragged a hand slowly down the length of his chest. “Let me make it up to you?”

“And how’re you gonna do that, little dove?” Joel’s voice grew hoarse as he felt your hand going lower and lower, over his stomach and down towards his belt buckle.

Fingers brushing over the brass, you smirked, “I’m sure I can think of something.”

Joel bit back a groan, feeling the blood rush to his cock. Before he could say anything, you pressed a feather-soft kiss into his neck, your hand cupping him through his jeans. “Fuck,” he hissed the curse through gritted teeth. He planted his hands on the door behind you on either side of your head as his knees buckled slightly.

“Let me show you how sorry I am,” you cooed into his warm, flushed skin. Just as you started sinking to your knees, he stopped you.

“Wait. Not here. Ain’t putting you on your knees in some dirty fuckin’ supply closet next to mops and brooms,” he gruffed. “M’gonna take you home to my place.”

You frowned. “But what about—”

“Kid’s at Tommy and Maria’s babysittin’ Noah. Ain’t comin’ back ‘til tomorrow. Besides, she’s livin’ in the garage now.” He unlocked the door and took your hand. “C’mon.”

You glanced up at him with wide eyes as he pulled you out of the closet. “People are going to see—”

“Exactly. Want everyone to see you’re mine.”

Swallowing harshly, you let Joel lead you back out to the bar where the party was still in full swing.

You felt the heat prickling at your face and neck as several people stopped in the middle of what they were doing and began to whisper. Even Leah, who had been dancing, stopped mid-shimmy, her eyes wide with shock at the sight of Joel Miller openly holding your hand in his.

“Joel,” you murmured nervously from behind him. “Joel, everyone’s staring at us.”

He held your hand even tighter.

Let them.

#fic: fall into temptation #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller series #joel miller self insert #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction

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comfortless · 4 months

Text

In Our Angelhood

König x fem!reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. silly & odd strangers -> lovers au, loner/loner dynamic. canon divergent. mentions of physical and emotional abuse, violence, hurt + comfort, mentions of religion & religious imagery (Catholicism), light horror/unease, sexism (from a minor, non-canon character), reader and König are both in their 20s. virgin!König -> smut, unprotected piv.

notes: listen…. I was raised catholic but simply do not remember most of my life in the church. take this as a silly fairytale instead of simmering on the religion bits. <3 reader is implied to be a virgin too but we’re not harping on that who cares.

wc: 10k.

You haven’t had it easy, but seeing the angel wander into the cathedral with purple and yellow stains painting his cheeks, his throat, is safe harbor. Oil on canvas to burrow in like booklice. You like the way he takes the front pew, doesn’t hide himself despite the horror that’s been made of his face; tempts god by raising a hand up to press on the bruises, shivers from the pain. His brow pinches when his gaze drifts upwards, as if to think: You allowed this, look at it!

Most days, he doesn’t pay attention to the sermon, his hands consistently prod at his face or twitch someplace bedded down in the fleece lining of the pocket of his hoodie, always dark green or black. You’re not paying attention, either. You could fall into that absent stare easily, find yourself lost in whichever world bathed in static and hellfire that he’s dreaming up.

The Father is wary of him, no doubt. The man fidgets constantly in his place, toying with the unseen thing in his pocket whilst the priest prattles on about the Holy Mother and the blood of a son she watched led away to slaughter. The angel seems to only display intrigue when preaching shifts to mentions of the wrath of god, of sin, of Hell, as if he knows he’s bound for all of it. Heaven’s not spotless, either, full of cobwebs where God exonerates his wrath.

Sitting beside him is unheard of, the other parishioners stay away, whispering behind upheld palms that ‘there’s just something wrong with him’, but you choose to move from your pew to place yourself at his side, crossing the rows of curious gossips with careful strides as you approach his seat. The wooden bench creaks when he tenses, and you can feel his eyes dart to your form while you remain facing forward, but not a word is spoken during service nor after.

You make a habit of sitting next to him each time he wanders into the church with his fresh bruises. A few weeks of this and he comes back with a gash striped down from below his right eye to his jaw, an ugly maroon trail. He makes a point to sit on the opposite end of the bench that day, and you’re left to stew in the rejection that your attempts at providing your comfort and your friendship have failed.

“What happened to you?” Your voice comes out as a mere squeak, staring up at that horrid cut once the sermon has concluded. You’ve got him cornered between the floral dress cloaking you and the wooden bench brushing against the backs of his knees. It’s almost endearing how the sight of a woman speaking to him, caging him in like this makes him panic, his lips part and his eyes dart.

His chest heaves as a sigh leaves him once his head is angled away, eyes staring at the stained glass just over your shoulder.

“Accident.”

It’s said so simply that one wouldn’t believe it to be a lie if he were simply a voice, rather than a fully grown man cowering in your presence. For half a moment, you wonder his age before a response comes to mind. Assuredly he must be like you, mid-twenties and despondent, he comes here all alone, but you never see him around town. It dawns on you then, that the man probably still lives with his parents, maybe they force their fallen angel to attend church just to be rid of him for a few hours.

“Looks bad.” The response isn’t an insult, but you can hear the way his breath is hissed through his teeth, see the way his jaw tightens as though he took it as one.

“Es tut mer leid,” is all he says in reply.

You take a step back, keeping your eyes on him as you fold your arms behind your dress innocently. The other parishioners have long since fled by now, dusted off their sins like crumbs from their hands and passed the doors of the cathedral with sideways glances at the mismatched two still stood before the altar. You get the sense that maybe you’re the only sinner left in this place when König nervously meanders a step away, but when he walks several stunted strides away, stops to give you a glance over the shoulder, that weight rapidly disappears.

His expression shifts, somber and yearning for something that he can’t bring himself to say before he turns away and leaves you to mull in the disaster of your first conversation.

You begin to worry when he stops showing up for homilies, several weeks of sitting alone on their shared pew. Mass is no different, he remains a distant phantom. The cause for his accident could have very well been the cause for a life ended too soon and you worry yourself sick, shifting in your seat until the courage to ask if anyone knows his address is ripped from your tongue. The answer comes relatively easy, coupled with a flighty look from an older woman who claimed to have seen him seated in the front yard of some decaying home, shooting at a barrel with some gun you almost dare to wonder if he entirely, legally owned.

Despite your better judgement you find yourself staring blankly at his front door an hour later, clutching a brown, paper bag full of goodies from the local bakery for him. The muffled shouting from within keeps you from knocking, the voices of two men in some uproarious vocal war seeping out in whispers through layers of insulation and wall. You feel like a terrified animal, rooted in place as you try to make out the cause for such anger within. The dull thud of flesh meeting flesh pulls you back to reality in such a rapid fall, your knuckles wrap at the door immediately. It all falls silent inside, and a part of you is left fearing for your own safety there, as if those words and furious blows would be focused on you for even daring to bring this angelic stranger a slice of raspberry danish and a blue velvet cupcake.

The door swings open with the whine of hinges that likely have never been oiled, and König has never looked worse. His face looks sickly from bruising, the gash partially healed yet split from a fresh blow readily seeping blood against his thick fingers pressed to his cheek. Your chest fills with a rage you’ve never known and you feels your fingernails curl into the bag like claws, ready to push past this weathered angel and beat the Devil himself with your bare hands.

Instead, you smile at him.

“I brought you something.” You hold up the bag to him, and you’re grateful that he accepts it without asking why you bothered at all or how you even found this accursed pocket of Hell.

“Danke.”

He shifts a little in place as he opens the gift, and though he could not bring himself to smile, the way his larimar eyes seem to swim a little displays his gratitude where words fail him.

A part of you might even pay the smallest bit of gratitude to the fact that he doesn’t mention just went on inside there. Though your eyes search his with blatant curiosity, he turns away each time, allowing the words to remain unsaid. You don’t pry, it’s not your place. You know treading here was not your place either. Angels don’t haunt you like stalking predators, they haunt you with a call, a silent song. Fate seemed a ridiculous concept, but you’re drawn to his very presence as you have been since the moment you first laid eyes on him.

You know you’ve finally won his friendship when you find yourself across from him at a picnic table with a coffee he purchased for you in hand. It’s not how you would have ordered it, some overly sugary thing nearly spilling out with whipped cream and caramel, but it suits what you’re feeling. You ignore the taste, sated enough by a conversation that comes so easily between the two of you that you feel you’ve known him for far longer.

König is actually rather teasing and boastful when he isn’t being questioned about his appearance or what goes on in his family home. He tells you of his dream of becoming a recon sniper with ease, and how the Austrian military denied him despite how ‘perfekt’ he was for the role.

You listen intently as he carries the conversation forward, tells you about his rifle, right down to explaining the anatomy of such a thing.

“Scheisse, you don’t care.” He breathes a laugh too soft for a man his stature after he speaks, wiping away a bit of icing from his bottom lip with the knuckle of his index.

“Yes, I do!”

“Nein, nein, girls don’t play with guns.”

So, maybe he’s a little old fashioned and odd, but his voice is sweet like spiced honey, and you couldn’t fathom any place you would rather spend a gloomy afternoon than seated across from him.

“I bet I could be a better sniper than you,” you jest, taking a sip from your coffee with a little grin on your face when you note the slight furrow of his dark brows and the challenging flicker in his eyes.

His face softens as quickly as that surge of determination had come, taking to look you over with a newfound appreciation in his stare instead.

“I could teach you.”

You spend a moment explaining that you were simply kidding, and his eyes light up as a tinge of red seeps into the mottled colors of a sky in the midst of a storm across his pale cheeks. Like the first break of sun when the deafening rain finally falls to a calming drizzle.

“Shouldn’t you know how to protect yourself, though?” He asks, sheepishly turning his head away, focusing his gaze on fallen leaves instead of you. Extinguishing your own steadfast gaze is difficult, when you find yourself further captivated by the man in front of you. Everything about him is enigmatic; even the sparse glimpses into his life he’s offered to you leave more questions than answers.

“Maybe.” You shrug absently as you lower the styrofoam cup back to the table, hands curled around it.

He turns back to you then, slipping a hand into his pocket to fish out a butterfly knife, latch closed around the shiny handle. It’s the very same color of his eyes, barely a quiet blue, though the blade itself is wicked steel, expertly sharpened. You ogle it in your hands for a moment, flicking it open before he swiftly takes your wrist and firmly shakes his head.

“Careful,” he gruffs as he retrieves it, brushing over your fingertips as the blade is taken back into his large hand. He dutifully shows you how to twirl it, performing a series of little tricks without even having to look at the weapon in his hands. The blade’s dance is swift and graceful, not one cut sullies his fingers. His chest puffs in pride when he notices the way your eyes try to keep up with the steel, and the tricks become more elaborate.

“Can I try?”

“Nein… let me show you how to use it first. Bitte.”

With a nod, you find yourself being led away deeper into the park, leaves crunching under the toe of the man’s boots just in front of you. Assuredly, you shouldn’t be so trusting of a titan with a weapon, especially after hearing the violence going on within his own dwelling, yet you don’t question yourself. He fills lapses of silence with a soft hum, likely some song he knows from his homeland, it’s a pretty tune coming from him. The cadence of his voice is something that sets your mind at ease when he does speak— always a rasp with a nearly giddy lilt to it. It’s pretty.

The trail leads you both down to a fallen tree, the trunk is thick and deteriorating, bark springing up with succulent, golden folds of what he tells you to be laetiporus. König guides you down to your knees with a gentle press against the back of your neck, the large hand is shaking when his calloused fingers meet your flesh. He descends next to you and places the blade in your hands once more, guiding you with a patient nudges to your wrist. The base of the fungus is gingerly cut with each metered motion from you both, and eventually a large clump of it falls free right into the lap of your dress.

“Not the best for foraging, but…”

“I like it,” you chime with a smile, marveling at the little blade in your hand before your gaze settles to the cluster resting on your lap. “What do we do with this though?”

König shrugs, lifting the cluster of mushrooms to your face, clutching it as though it were a bouquet of flowers with a wolfish grin on his face.

“Eat it.”

“It’s dirty, you eat it.”

Those broad shoulders shrug again as he peels a bit of it off and shoves it between his lips, chewing the filthy things several times before swallowing it down. Your nose scrunches in feigned disgust, before a laugh leaves your lips at the crooked grin he gives you in answer.

“That’s so gross, König!”

It’s possible that he’s been yearning for someone’s focus to shift upon him like this, not in anger or disgust, but something far more gentle. He lets you keep his knife, and the rest of the afternoon is spent filled with comfortable conversation as you wander around the forest together. When the sun begins to set, you actually find yourself a bit disappointed that he doesn’t suggest a bout of stargazing or something more.

It’s all felt too natural to let go of so soon, and you’ve no idea when you’ll see him again. A seed of warmth takes root in your chest when he walks you back to your home. The friendship is something you’ve both needed it seems, because his smile doesn’t even falter when he leaves you at the door to retreat back to the horrible place that he calls home.

— ཐིཋྀ —

You’re sick the next Sunday. A small cold, nothing worthy of fretting too much over. Over the counter medicine does the trick to keep you somewhat comfortable as you lie back against the sofa, ample pillows and blankets surrounding you. There are chores begging for your attention: the dishes stacked in the sink, a laundry basket full to the brim, and you can’t recall when the last time that you vacuumed was. A few days of forgetting and these things overlap into a miserable, tedious pile.

You wish you weren’t so quick to call blame to one particular reason.

Spending time with the angel has left you carrying a weight you’re not certain you can continue to bare. In fact, your cold may have come from fearing for his safety. Whatever ghouls he keeps locked up in that house, tormenting him endlessly… it’s difficult to keep yourself together when you haven’t seen him in days. He could very well be dead. There’s some comfort in knowing that he knew how to protect himself; he had shown you, and his stature was undeniable evidence of such. It just doesn’t feel enough without the physical proof.

He allowed himself to be hurt anyway. It was strange. Some people were simply difficult to comprehend, and you didn’t even begin to know how to unravel the strange spool that’s rolled into your life now.

Especially not when realization hits and you come to terms with one simple fact: You miss König. His eyes, his strange interests, even the overly-sweet drink he purchased for you— you find yourself missing all of it; the light and the darkness. He knows where you live; he walked you home, and yet, he hasn’t stopped by. You imagine it must be that you merely misread the supposed closeness. It didn’t matter. König was just an acquaintance, after all.

You take your mind off of him by turning on the television, a hand rested over your aching head and the other thumbing at the remote in search for anything that could hold your attention longer than a few seconds. The town is small and the news is never interesting; a traffic jam on a road you’ve never traveled, a safe at the grocery store, the sorts of things that come as nothing more than a buzzing to fill the empty air. Focusing on a movie sounded far too tedious, too. Eventually you give up, turning the television off and tilting your head back to stare up at the ceiling, all white and empty.

The bell tolls again, it’s ringing far softer now from within the walls of your home, drawing your attention back to the woods— to König. Gentle chiming is a strange thing to remind you of the bloodied titan. It exudes a sense of peace, like the safety of church bells. You feel your conscious slipping, curled into yourself there as your eyes flutter shut.

Only, the calm is short lived. A knock comes only minutes later, the soft graze of knuckles against your door as though whoever lurks outside didn’t actually want to disturb you too terribly. After a fifth knock, you notice they’re not leaving. It was probably best to answer sooner rather than later so you might be left to your sulky slumber.

It takes a moment to gather your bearings and straighten yourself out enough for company. Your head is still aching terribly, brain fogged by the weight of your sickness. When the latch of the lock clicks and you haphazardly swing your door open, you’re met with the view of a broad chest covered in black.

“König?” You murmur, raising your head to look up at him. It’s not the sight of his face that you’re met with, only his eyes visible beneath the black fabric concealing him. The remains of an old t-shirt, and you had your doubts that whatever he had hidden beneath it could be any more intimidating than he looks now.

“Es tut mer leid,” he huffs, his voice a bit tight as he stares down at you, pupils slightly dilated and irises flicking from your face to the room just behind you. He looks a total contrast to you, unable to help the slight upturn of your lips from just the sight of him. Perhaps he had missed you, too. “Can I come in?”

Again, you should be apprehensive, but in the end you step aside and gesture for him to enter. He readily obliges, stepping past you as he ducks beneath the door frame and walks a bit stiffly to the center of the room.

“You alright?” You manage, shutting the door behind you and leaning against the wood. The flutter in your chest makes it difficult not to break into a more obvious smile— you’re happy he’s here, even in such a sorry state.

“Ja, just…” König pauses for a moment before taking to the sofa, seeming so much smaller than he truly is when he finally seats himself. “You know Lukas?”

Lukas, a parishioner. The man with the ever-present smirk on his face. You had seen him before, spoken to him in passing a time or two. He wasn’t particularly pleasant. You had even heard him join in with the others, commenting on König’s appearance— a bully and a gossip, no different from most of the others. The man couldn’t have been any younger than you or König, still, he had all of the maturity of a teenager.

“Yes?”

“They kicked me out because of him.”

You tilt your head, furrowing your brow in confusion. It wasn’t like the church to turn anyone away, especially not one who had been a part of the congregation for as long as König had. Your bewilderment spurs him to continue.

“At the cathedral.”

“I got that,” you hum out a bit hoarsely as you pad over to sit on the couch, opposite of him. The pitiful look he shoots you then, through the holes in his makeshift mask makes him look like little more than a pleading puppy, begging for comfort that he would never actually request. “It’s alright, König.”

“Nein… I will not get to see you as much.”

If König were not a grown man wearing an ominous veil over his face, you would almost dare to think he was pouting. It’s ridiculous, but it warms your heart that he cares; he enjoys the time spent with you just as much as you did. Perhaps more, if what you’ve gathered about him supplied any hints. He didn’t seem to have anyone at all— only you.

What the church won't tell you is that angels hurt sometimes, too. The Father will tell you that they're The Lord's army, just as impervious to bullets as they are to temptations. With an abundance of wings and eyes, they are such fragile things… how could they truly be invincible? Unlike the seraphim thriving in a heaven far beyond your reach, or the battered angel seated beside you, you won't deny yourself a reprieve or a request for comfort.

“We could just make our Sundays for us, yeah?” You don’t think to stop yourself when you extend the offer to him. The way his eyes seem to light up then is nothing short of a burning ember. Missing tedious sermons couldn’t be that sinful. God could turn the other cheek for now, you thought.

“I would like that.”

You hum in response, reaching for the little bottle of ibuprofen on the coffee table as that ache in your head begins to throb again. König’s eyes track you the entire time, shoulders slumping and eyes narrowing when he pieces it together.

“You don’t feel well..,” he says sternly, already rising to his feet to explore your home before a protest can even leave your lips. You hear the sounds of cabinets being flung open in the kitchen, the refrigerator flung open before he returns to kneel at your side with a glass of water. You weakly fumble with the lid of the bottle, offering him your thanks as he holds the cup out for you. Childproof lids are a pain, clicking incessantly rather than just opening when you need them to; each second feels like an hour passing as he stares at you like the strangest little creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

You feel your face warm in embarrassment when he sets the glass aside and pries the bottle from your hands, opening it up with ease before slipping two of the pills in your waiting palm. You down the medicine with a sip of water, nearly choking on it when he raises his hand to your forehead and gently presses against it to check your temperature.

“I’m fine, König,” you huff out, playfully batting at his hand. He remains insistent, not drawing away until you assume he’s convinced you aren’t feverish. “It’s just a cold.”

Your angel has never seemed sweeter than now, with worry painted clear in his blue eyes. He remains quiet, lost in thought for a moment before gently pressing you back against the couch with the press of his fingertips against your shoulder. The throw blanket is tucked over you in an instant. If the thought had occurred to you before, you imagined he would likely be rather clumsy when caring for another, and yet this all feels practiced. He’s told you he’s killed, in the military, yet you couldn’t imagine such gentle hands doing anything of the sort now as you curl up with a mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Sleep.”

You didn’t want him to leave. Impulsivity is enough of an excuse to take his hand, intertwine your fingers. He doesn’t pull away, not until your eyes close and sleep takes you once more. Only then does he leave your side and your home, locking the door behind him.

— ཐིཋྀ —

“Yeah… he said he saw a demon in there. All shadow.”

“Come on… that’s a lie. You know he was just scared!”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t think he would lie about something like that!”

You’re not trying to eavesdrop. It’s just that teenagers are never keen on keeping their voices down, at least not around here, it seemed. You’re already ten minutes late, having promised König you would meet him at the coffee shop at noon. You don’t have time to be standing around listening to children chittering about town myths. Especially not ones that make you feel so uneasy.

When you had heard them, they were always about the haunted church tucked far away from prying eyes, hidden somewhere in the forest circling the town. No one knew where it was for certain, but many claimed to have wandered there. None of those stories really held any weight; there were no pictures or other fragments of evidence, just voices. The only thing that made those tales seem believable was the bell. You had heard stories about it since you were a child. They ranged from seeing specters, to smelling perfume wafting about in the small graveyard supposedly next to it with no one else around, and even a strange one about finding a corpse there.

Seeing a demon was a new one.

You supposed that someone or something had to be ringing that bell at the odd hours during the day and throughout the night. It was never on time, always several minutes after the beginning of an hour had begun. The thought was a little eerie, and if you thought too hard about it— a little sad. Picturing some poor lost soul stuck there for an eternity, damned to ring a cursed bell only for no one to ever come. In retrospect, it really was no wonder why it reminded you just a bit of him; damned to haunt this town and return time and time again to his own personal Hell.

When the bell chimes again, the children take off towards the noise, leaving you alone on an empty street. Their shouts about how they were going to find that demon and chase it out echo until they’re too far away to make sense of the rest of the conversation.

Your heart feels a bit torn. It was best to leave things like that alone, but… the poor thing must have been lonely, lonely like him.

Maybe it’s a sign from God, as if to remind you of how you’re treading deeper into the dark with every passing Sunday.

You haven’t attended mass since you and König started hanging out. You consider that it’s your own guilt spurring you to fear this unknown thing lurking out in the woods, if it even existed at all. There was something about forsaking a religion you had grown up with for a man you had only just met that was both exciting and heartbreaking.

The walk to the coffee shop feels almost unbearable, your steps sluggish, yet the second you make it inside with the little bell chiming above your head you’re put at ease. König hadn’t taken your tardiness as initiative to leave. The man was tucked in the far corner of the shop, seated at a table too small with his own drink and yours before him.

“No hood today?” You ask as you approach, staring at his scarred face in reverie. The cut below his eye had mostly healed, and you don’t note any new bruising.

He shakes his head with a little smile, gesturing for you to take a seat— not across from him but at his side.

“Do you want me to wear it?” He asks once you’ve taken your seat.

“No, I like seeing you.”

König is handsome. The realization dawns on you, sharp and searing like a bolt of thunder when he flashes you a lazy smile, propping his elbow up on the table to rest his cheek against his open palm.

To quell your sudden embarrassment, calm the warmth pooling along your cheeks, you tell König about what you had heard on your way here. He listens in silence as you prattle on about the haunted church that no one has ever truly found, about the demon lurking in its depths. It sounds silly, even to your own ears as you recount the ridiculous myth you had heard in passing, but König looks a bit more rigid with each word you breathe out.

When you finish, he slowly shakes his head, eyes focused on the door as you take a sip of your coffee.

“You don’t really believe that,” he says.

“‘Course not. I just thought it was interesting...”

“Do you want to see it?”

You pause for a moment, considering the offer. Perhaps with König there you would feel safe, sate your curiosity and enjoy a little adventure as well. You still had the butterfly knife he had given to you, too. Your own little token of protection, and if that failed you would still have an angel at your side. Maybe he would teach you those intricate little dances on the trek there, hold your hand when you found yourself too afraid to brave whatever may come. If you couldn’t find the place at all then that would be nothing more than a nice memory to look back on.

“I think so.” The thought of feeling his warm hand in your own again is enough to spur you on. That feeling may have been more terrifying than any demon at all.

“We will go tonight then. I know where it is.”

“Oh… that soon?”

König gives your shoulder a playful, gentle nudge.

“Ja. I’ll take you.”

— ཐིཋྀ —

It’s not a date.

It’s a misadventure.

Still, you find yourself preparing for it as though it were a date. You bother with a stick of mascara and a bit of lip oil, a dress just slightly more revealing than the ones you wore to service. You tell yourself that you’re dressing up for the memory, not for the angel. That doesn’t stop you from ogling yourself in the mirror, tugging down your dress just a bit so it fits over your cleavage in a way that seems appealing.

You imagine the Holy Mother would probably chide you well if she were to step down from Heaven and see you now, tell you to remain chaste and pure until your wedding night. Oddly enough, it doesn’t tear you up with guilt— it only makes you giggle a bit as you lift the hem of your dress and twirl in place.

It isn’t a date, it’s the least romantic thing you could think of, but he’s coming to whisk you away into the night and it feels like one.

König, gentleman that he seems to be, doesn’t keep you waiting either. You both had settled on going right as the sun began to set after you had finished your coffee and informed him that you needed to finish a few chores and get ready before going on a night long endeavor. Just as the light outside began to turn to a pumpkin glow you hear the knock at the door. It’s louder than the last time he came by— he’s excited too, you can feel it without even gazing upon him.

You take your jacket, patting the pocket to ensure the knife is in its proper place before bounding toward the door, a skip in each step. Tonight would be special, sweet, and tender; it would be all of the things you had repressed since you first saw him.

As you turn the knob and pull it inward, the man hardly has the courtesy to hide his eagerness either. His face visibly flushes when he sees you, all dressed up just for him. You wished you could read his thoughts, have just one moment where you truly had some sort of telepathic ability as you once believed was possible when you were a child.

Graciously, as the two of you begin to venture out towards the woods, with you trying to match his lengthy strides as you walk side-by-side, you don’t need any telepathy.

“You are so pretty,” König mumbles, facing forward rather than looking directly at you. His voice is the quietest you had ever heard it now, barely above a whisper.

If you had the courage to kiss him right then, you would have reached for his scarred face and peppered a dozen over every mark, held him like that until his cheeks went up in flames.

“So are you,” you huff out instead.

Though he doesn’t outright call you a liar, something tells you that he doesn’t believe the words you’ve spoken. The angel falls silent, doesn’t turn to you and merely continues to lead you further out as the sky swells with a brilliant purple, the silhouette of a crescent moon peaking out from high up above. You would tell him a million times if it would make him believe you, then. He doesn’t fiddle with a concealed blade in his pocket around you, and together, he seems so much less lonesome and battered. You know that he’s comfortable with you; his discomfort stems from somewhere within, something you couldn’t reach to pry away from him.

You believe that you’re patient. You could bear anything he had to offer, good or bad; you would accept the burdens just as readily as the gifts— knives and the taste of sugar on your tongue.

The streets of the town aren’t as quiet tonight, and though there are no children with their silly stories idling about, you recognize the voice of a man a few meters off. When you look away from the tree line in the distance, your gaze settles on Lukas leaned up against the wall of the old antique shop. The place hadn’t been touched in ages, yet baubles and little porcelain dolls all covered in a generous layer of dust still lined the shelves in the window. His cell phone is propped between his shoulder and his cheek as he speaks, until his green eyes settle on König who halts in place at your side.

You know that your fantasy of a perfect evening is ruined the moment Lukas rushes a goodbye to whoever was on the receiving end of that call and slips his phone into the pocket of his coat.

“What’s going on here?”

The man is no demon, but he’s arrogant and cruel like one; he sounds enough like one when he laughs in your direction— looks enough like one when he makes a cupping motion before his chest as if to signify your breasts.

König doesn’t respond, but he steps in front of you, shielding you behind him as though you’re a little lamb in need of a snarling maw to keep you protected. You don’t need him to protect you, not truly. You aren’t a little girl, nor are you the one that shows their face covered in a mask of pain.

You’re finally getting a glimpse, a little look at what he must face every time he dares to cross paths with another person.

“We’re just taking a walk,” you say confidently, as you raise your hand to give König’s sleeve a little tug.

Let’s just go.

König doesn’t budge, unmoving like a gargoyle as he stares down at the smaller man before the both of you. His large hands clench at his sides and you see the flames of Hell flaring up in his blue eyes.

“Skipping mass to fuck the freak, is that right?” Lukas tuts with a roll of his eyes.

You’re amazed how Lukas displays not an ounce of fear— even you’re afraid. König wouldn’t hurt you, a part of you was certain, but the way he looked now was so unlike the passive, lost angel you had taken him to be. You take a step back, realizing that whatever comes to pass next is not something that you could stop even if you cling to König and plead for him to clear his mind and let this go.

They’re just words, despite the way they claw at your heart.

“Didn’t think you were such a slut.”

König is no longer much of an angel in your eyes when he leaps at the other man and lands a blow directly to his unsuspecting, smirking face. The sound is a loud, a horrible crack. It’s not like the soft thunder of sudden emotion, but one of a tooth being dislodged from the smaller man’s jaw. Lukas falls back, directly onto his backside against the hard sidewalk with a low groan of pain. His hands reach up to clutch at his face, bright blood trickling from his mouth like a stream.

It’s not enough. Not to König.

Your eyes squeeze shut the moment you hear another thud, and the third sends your running without so much as a thought in your head. The sounds of your own shallow breaths deafen the world around you, drowning out the violence taking place behind. You don’t consider where you’re headed, your eyes remain closed until the sounds of pavement against your soles dissipates and you’re left only with the thumps of your shoes hitting soil.

It’s dark when you stop to gather your bearings. The canopy of tree limbs, crooked and curved above you, blocking out any glimpse of even the moon. You can’t even see your hands when you hold them up in front of your face. When the adrenaline begins to subside, you feel foolish for running away— especially now that you find yourself horribly lost in an unfamiliar area. You turn back to look for the way that you had came, but see no lights from the town piercing through the dark.

You’re alone here, bathed in inky black, in perfect silence.

There are no footsteps chasing after you— König isn’t coming, not to save you. Not when you saw him for what he truly was, you imagined he read the accusation across your face when you ran away from him. It hurts you, too, to think of your lonely angel turned devil. How he saw the word ‘monster’ written in your eyes, wide with fear as you left him. You wondered if he could cry at all, if he was now.

You didn’t even care if Lukas was okay.

You doubted the man was even conscious anymore, lying limp in a puddle of his own blood. Whether he deserved it or not wasn’t for you to decide, but a part of you considers that he certainly did.

Trying to retrace the steps you took in flight proves futile, if anything you think you’ve only sunken further into the woods. Terribly lost and vulnerable, you reach for the knife in your pocket to try and regain some courage only to find it’s no longer there; you must have dropped it somewhere.

The walk feels aimless and fear creeps up on you from every small thing. A snap of a twig off in the distance sends you running once more despite the aching in your chest and limbs. The thought of being utterly helpless with no one in sight to lend their aid brings the sting of tears to your eyes.

Worst of all, however, is the bell.

Closer, it sounds dreadful. A haunting cacophony of noise roars above you, not far off. The bell is rung softly at first, a gentle pull of the rope held fast within it before it begins to grow more desperate, louder still. You swear you’ve turned in the opposite direction when you make it into a clearing, only to find yourself faced with the chapel of myth. The tower housing the dreadful bell is shrouded in shadow, and the damned thing actually has the courtesy to fall silent when you step past the last tufts of shrubbery to make it out into the open area.

The air feels colder here, suffocating almost, as though you’ve been doused in ice water. The silence is more dreadful than the pain emitted from Lukas’ bloody mouth, worse than the ringing of a bell or the droning of another dull sermon.

You don’t fall to pieces, but you do drop to your knees, sullying the ends of your dress with dirt as you stare up at the ominous, white building before you. No demons poke their heads from the windows, no whispering fills your ears from the graveyard mere paces away. It’s void and empty, and that feels somehow worse.

It would be a long night, but you knew wholeheartedly you were not going to find your way home without the sun to guide you. Catching a glimpse of your flesh in the dim light reveals a menagerie of small cuts and bruises, flesh marred from scraping tree limbs and slamming into broad trunks in the darkness.

There was no way that you were sleeping, despite the way you ached for rest. Even blinking made you feel vulnerable and exposed here. This was not an unholy place, but perhaps the most sacred you had ever lain eyes on. It was untouched and wild, even the descriptions of angels written in scripture seemed less so.

You find your footing for long enough to seat yourself at the side of the small building, your head rested against the wall as you draw your knees up to your chest. The sound of your own breath fills the silence in the air, but you don’t feel alone anymore. It’s paranoia and you know it, there’s no way such a humble place could be haunted. Still, the feeling of being watched causes your skin to prickle, and you long more than ever for König’s knife to be fitted between your fingers.

It’s when the sounds of footsteps draw near that you lose all composure. Somewhere off to your right, something was walking towards you— too quick and heavy to be a curious animal.

You rise to your feet in haste and go to the only place you can think of to find sanctuary— directly into the old church, slamming the heavy wooden door behind you. It’s empty inside, apart from an overturned desk and a few chairs you can make out from the dim light leaking through the window. Everything is bathed in dust and it smells nauseatingly sweet and sour, like cobwebs and musk, a combination that does little to set you at ease.

Though the room is small and empty, several doors and a small hallway are off to the back and you imagine the demon leering at you from one of them, just out of sight as you stumble to crouch behind the altar.

You don’t remember when last you prayed, and you don’t bother with it now, either. A prayer wouldn’t save you from whatever horrid thing come crawling out of the woods hunting for you. As if sensing your defeat, the door begins to creak open, the hinges whining as the godforsaken beast began to lumber inside, just as the bell strikes up again.

You swear you can hear the rapid beating of your heart above all other noise, and though you wish for nothing more than to squeeze your eyelids shut and bathe out the sight in nothing but dark, you can’t look away.

The demon is impossibly tall, shrouded entirely in shadow just as the children had said. Its eyes don’t glow and you can’t catch sight of fangs or claws, but it’s ominous enough as it slowly wanders inside, turning its head to look around the room— to look for you.

Your palm rests over your mouth to muffle your breathing, but to no avail. Panic swells within you, its grip tighter than any corset, any vise.

Until your eyes adjust to the dark figure properly. The damned thing is nothing but familiar, comforting even. No demon could ever make you feel as warm as an angel. Your vision fills with unshed tears, relief and regret overpowering any lingering dread.

The demon is not some screeching beast that clawed its way from Hell at all, only…

“König…” You breathe out quietly as you drop your hands to the wooden floor below you and slowly crawl forward. His shrouded head cocks in your direction, and if not for his stature it may have been even cute the way he rushes toward you; thundering steps as the angel no longer walks, but runs in your direction with his arms outstretched.

You lack the time to flinch back from the suddenness, because the moment he reaches you, you’re pulled into a pair of thick arms, shaking as they curl around you tightly. Your face presses into his chest as you circle your arms around his middle in turn.

“Let’s not do that again,” he rasps, pulling you somehow closer as his veiled chin rests against the top of you head. “I am sorry that I scared you… He just…”

“Stop apologizing,” you whisper as your fingers dig into the fabric of the dark hoodie. You didn’t want to hear another apology, not from him; English or German it mattered not, all that concerned you was the fact that the two of you were safe. Heaven and Hell all the same.

König sucks in a breath above you as he carefully pulls you to your feet. The bell and the darkness surrounding no longer brought you fear, only calm in such a protective hold.

He brings you back home, carrying your weight with ease as the forest disappears behind you. The hood over his face remains in place, and a part of you wonders why he even bothered to wear it at all. Perhaps not to scare you further if Lukas managed to open up that wound, or more likely so you wouldn’t have to see the face of a man so easily moved to violence at all.

König drops you off at the door without another word. The butterfly knife you had left behind someplace in the forest is slipped into your hand, the blue handle clasped shut. The weight no longer feels like that of a developing bond, but of parting.

The sting burrows into your heart instantly as he turns away from you. With his first step you find yourself grabbing at his arm, pulling him back with a desperation you had never known prior.

“Please stay,” you voice hoarsely, digging your fingernails into his sleeve. “We were supposed to… to spend tonight together.”

Not here, of course, but out there shivering in fear of the unknown. This doesn’t feel unfamiliar, you know what you’re doing when you offer to let a beast into your home, to lead him to your bedside and hold him throughout the night, and not a word of it slips out carrying the burdens of apprehension.

He turns toward you as his long fingers circle your wrist, thumb brushing against the back of your hand. If you could see his eyes now, you would find the creep of longing buried in a sea of blue.

“You want that?”

“Of course.”

Your bedroom seems even smaller with König inside of it, your bed even more so. The tumble beneath sheets is clumsy, and he has to bend his knees in a way that digs against your own flesh just to fit properly. The veil is cast off with only a muttered complaint in his mother tongue, something you could decipher without even knowing the words. You shush him with a kiss, sweet and gentle when his face is bared. A silent apology for your momentary fear, for your desperate sprint away, for making him wander into that cursed place to bring you home.

He reciprocates clumsily, all too eagerly searching beneath the sheet to grip at your waist as his tongue pries apart your lips. You break apart with a sigh, looking all the part of an adoring devotee as you melt against him, head tucked in the divide between his shoulder and the column of his neck.

“I thought you were afraid.” König sounds a bit dazed, fingers gently prodding against the fabric of your dress as his hand drifts lower to hold your hip. “I was worried.”

“I just don’t understand,” you answer in a soft murmur. “Why you…”

Your voice trails off as he pulls you closer again, his mouth pressed firmly against the crown of your head as he presses a kiss there. There’s a vulnerability to his touch, soft and tentative as his hand trails along your spine, resting just above your rear.

You could ask him anything now and you know that he would supply an answer, tell you any secret you would like to hear, but you don’t. In due time. Right now all that you craved was his closeness as you both drift off to sleep.

— ཐིཋྀ —

The haunted chapel is less so during the day. You haven’t heard the bell toll since last night, any lapse of conversation is filled with the chirping of birds or your own shy laughter each time you marvel up at the man seated next to you, his hand petting your hair, your cheek, anywhere he can touch. There’s nothing ominous about the place anymore, all filled with the bright colors from the stained glass windows as sunlight drifts through, painting the room of broken furniture and cobwebs with softness and warmth.

You’re lying on your back over a soft blanket you had thought to take along, the picnic basket König had pried from your hands on the walk here, once filled with pastries and fruit, now empty discarded at your side.

He tells you of why he stays in that house, deals with his father’s abuse— all for an ailing mother that’s never loved him, not as she should. König takes care of her, demonstrates love the best he knows how despite the absence of it during his childhood. You hadn’t asked, but he speaks more freely with each moment that’s passed since the kiss. It makes you somber, angry almost, that someone you saw such beauty in could be treated this way. You’re no savior, you can’t pull him free from it all, but to offer the angel a reprieve at all is enough. At least, to him.

He even assured you that Lukas, or ‘the arschloch’, was absolutely fine. A few loose teeth and a broken nose wouldn’t kill him, but maybe it would teach him to keep his gossiping mouth shut.

In turn, you tell him more about yourself. He kisses you after each description of hurt, cherishes you endlessly with that adoring gaze, gives you the cutest laugh in response to you telling him that in truth, you wouldn’t have cared if he had punched a hole straight through Lukas. You just hadn’t wanted him to get into trouble, to leave your side.

“You’re like an angel to me,” you murmur softly, your eyes closed as he lays next to you after the innumerable kisses you’ve shared this morning alone.

The words stifle him momentarily, and your eyelids open only to see the man staring back at you with a look of utter devotion. It’s torture for him, maybe, the way you supply him with every spoonful of sweetness he hadn’t tasted prior. He remains silent when his hand grazes the hem of your dress, and you nod to him in silent consent before the delicate fabric is swept up over your head and brought to rest on top of the basket forgotten.

Kisses are sweet like the coffee he gifts to you, but the ones he supplies now are far more urgent, warm like the steel of his knives after being caressed by rays of the sun for too long. It’s worship in a sense, the way he tastes the salt of your flesh from your neck to collarbone, and further to the space between your breasts. Your bra is pushed down, blue lace resting just below your sternum before your mind catches up to you.

“Should we..?” You ask, though it’s not the wrath of God that you fear, only that his clumsy kisses and bereft demeanor all signal that perhaps he didn’t have much, or any experience at all.

His pupils are dilated, eyes nearly black when he seizes the plush skin of your tit in a hand, the pad of his thumb brushing over your stiffened nipple.

“Ja… I want to..,” he mutters quietly, chin resting against your tummy as he gazes up at you. “Can I..?”

König looks cute like this— breathless and pleading, an unhinged sort of desire bared plainly in each word he breathes. Two decades and then some of never having this… and now you’re in his grasp, beneath the roof of this holy place.

“Yes,” you whisper to him, reaching lower to ghost your fingertips over his face, already flushing in color. He leans into your touch pressing a kiss to your palm before rearing back enough to slot his fingers along the hem of your white panties. His breath is almost ragged when he tugs them down enough, to reveal your soft mound and a grin creeps across his lips when he finds you already wet.

Your back arches when the back of his cold hand meets your core, petting you appreciatively there, pulling a shiver from you that only spurs him to carry on. The underwear is discarded in almost record time and the rip of the delicate lace tearing from your body echoes throughout the little chapel. A sulking protest nearly leaves your lips before a long finger is slipped into your slit. König probes at your entrance, gathering your slick onto his fingers with a soft groan that leaves you breathing shallowly. For all his inexperience, he’s eager; eager to prod at you until the digit finds that spongy, sweet spot that brings you to moan. His thumb toys with your clit with each mewl of encouragement spilling from your lips, gently flicking before circling over you until you’re tightening around his finger and soaking the blanket below.

“Are you close?,” he asks through a desperate pant, free hand pawing at the bulge in his trousers.

You shake your head weakly, thighs trembling as he thrusts his finger into you again. “Just feels good.”

That only spurs him to make you come, a second finger thrust into you so quickly you feel your mind go fuzzy. The sounds are obscene enough without the quickened pace of his hand. You’re teetering on the edge within mere moments, crying out his name only to be left entirely empty.

“Hah..” He gives you a little laugh when he realizes what he’s done, torn you away from a near perfect bliss. You stare at him dumbly, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as he deftly unbuckles his belt and pries his cock from his pants, flushed red and leaking headily. “I want to feel it…”

To his credit, he’s done well to prepare you for the girth of him, and you’re already too far gone to whine over the loss of relief. “Then feel it. Please.”

There’s no hesitation when he grinds his tip through the mess of slick painting your sex. When he finds that pressing himself against your clit wills you to grind your hips back against him he practically growls. He continues the motion several times before his patience entirely dissipates and the head of his thick cock is thrust into your entrance. König’s head drops against your chest at the sensation of your walls enveloping him, but he doesn’t growl or groan as you anticipated— he hisses, a gruff inhale of breath through gritted teeth.

You’ve fallen into rapture with the first thrust, filled entirely by the length and weight of his cock slowly spearing into you. He’s careful, forcing himself to continue languidly rather than taking you like you know he wished to, a starved man deprived for far, far too long.

König pulls back, grasping at your hips to tilt them upward, looking down at where your bodies connect. You know he’s in that dangerous state of pure euphoria, you feel it too as his cock twitches inside of you, tip hitting your cervix in a way that’s both nearly painful and causing you to leak further.

“You have.. an engel’s pussy,” he grits out.

It’s… embarrassing and ridiculous, his attempt at dirty talk, but despite your shame you pivot your hips forward, grinding against the mess you’re both making on the patch of dark hair above the heavy cock impaling you.

“König… please keep going.” Your voice a mere whine.

He obliges without a second wasted, pulling himself out to slam back into you. There’s no rhythm to his thrusts, not for a while, but each still manages to hit that spot inside of you that screams for his attention. König isn’t trying to be rough or selfish with you, keeping one hand grasping desperately to your hip as he plays with your clit with the other— pinching softly, deftly rolling his thumb over the sensitive bud; continuing his motions until you’re spasming beneath him, clutching him like a vise and weaving your fingers into his shirt to pull him down to you.

You moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue past your lips, rolling it against your own in time with every rapidly faltering thrust. Your climax hits like a flash of blinding light with a mere circle of his thumb, accidentally in time with the head of his length brushing against that sweet spot. It’s not a hiss that König emits then, but a loud groan as you milk him entirely. He comes with you, cock throbbing as he stills entirely, every muscle in his body pulled taut as he floods your cunt with his seed. You hold him close to your breasts as his gasps soft, riding out the fleeting waves of pleasure until he wills himself to pull out and lie at your side.

“Mein Gott..,” he huffs, curling an arm over your waist. You giggle as you relax against him again, turning on your side to bury your face against his chest. Everything feels like the summer despite the chill outside, the winter doesn’t touch you here, nothing could. The stress of yesterdays melt away, the longing finally subsiding, too.

The world fades away there in that old church, cradling you both within its walls until the sun begins to set, golden light filtering into a hazy gray, before you both have to force yourselves to tear apart from the other and carry on home.

“Will you come by tomorrow?” You ask him quietly, as you stand at your doorstep, a hand lingering on the knob.

König nods, hugging you tightly from behind as he leans over to press a kiss to your cheek, another against your jaw as you smile sweetly at him.

“I will come every day, if you want me to.” He murmurs, drawing back just enough to search your expression for any signs of doubt, fear. You don’t feel either of those things, only love; as though being bonded to him like this is something hallow and sacred in its entirety. Nothing clandestine— you would run to the church right now with his hand in your own and make a mockery of all who have used their words to harm him if it would prove anything at all.

“I do want you to.”

He presses a kiss to your temple as he turns you around to face him, squeezing you a bit tighter when his hands find your hips. You kiss him in turn, leaving a trail of demure little kisses along the chest of his dark shirt.

In time, he wouldn’t have to leave at all. For now, the light the two of you share seems just enough.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction #könig fanfiction #konig fanfiction #cod fanfic

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st4rfckerz · 3 months

Text

church mouse | priest!anakin skywalker x reader

word count: 4.0k

warnings: MDNI 18+, blasphemy, age gap (reader is in her 20s), mild manipulation, infedelity, pet names, dubcon, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, virginity loss, rushed ending dead dove do not eat

summary: After confessing your sins to the priest, he encourages you to talk to him privately.

The sun shone brightly outside the church windows, casting warm rays across the peaceful town square. Birds sang melodiously in trees lining the peaceful avenue leading to the church building. Inside, candles flickered gently, casting warm light on the ornate wooden pews filled with devoted parishioners.

Many attendees wore their finest clothes as they listened intently to Father Anakin's sermons, occasionally whispering prayers under their breath or reaching for their rosaries. The scent of incense mixed pleasantly with perfume and cologne wafting through the air.

"Today's lesson is about finding solace in our faith during difficult times, we have all faced trials and tribulations throughout life, but remember that God is always with us, guiding us through these dark moments," he paused dramatically, letting the words sink in before adding. "Just like how I am here for you all, If anyone needs guidance or support outside of church hours, please don't hesitate to visit me personally."

The crowd applauded politely, some even raising their hands in praise.

Anakin stood tall and proud in front of his congregation, his hands resting gracefully atop each other in prayer position. "But first, let us pray," he began solemnly. Everyone followed suit, kneeling on their knees, and bowing their heads in unison. He led them in a heartfelt prayer asking for strength and guidance throughout the week ahead. Your eyes were closed tightly as you prayed fervently, the beads of you rosary clicking softly in rhythm with each breath you took.

The prayer ends and you raise your head. Anakin's warm eyes met yours briefly before returning his gaze to the congregation. "Remember, my dear friends, if you ever need someone to turn to in times of trouble or doubt, I am here for you. Now, let us proceed with the sermon." He said softly yet firmly.

Anakin's sermon lasted well beyond the usual hour mark, his words resonating deeply within you. He talked about sin and repentance, forgiveness and redemption. Each sentence seemed tailored specifically for you, hitting hard at places you didn't even know existed. His voice was mesmerizing, lulling you into a trance-like state where all you could think about was him.

After thanking everyone for attending church today, Anakin announced that confessionals would remain open for anyone who needed to speak with him privately. He urged those waiting outside the confessional booths to enter one by one. People started lining up outside the confessional booths, waiting patiently for their turn to unburden themselves.

You hesitated briefly, unsure whether you should go or not.

Finally, mustering up courage, you walked slowly towards the nearest booth, taking deep breaths to calm yourself.

You couldn't help but notice how many women seemed particularly entranced by Father Anakin; they hung onto his every word during sermons and lingered longer than necessary after Mass ended. Some even approached him directly after services, seeking personal guidance or counsel.

When it was finally your turn, you nervously stepped inside the dimly lit booth. The thick wooden panel separated you from him, giving you some semblance of privacy. You hoped no one could hear what you were about to say.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned." You begin timidly.

You could hear his soothing voice responding softly, "What is it my child? Remember, here you can speak freely without fear of judgment." His deep baritone reverberated through the wooden walls, making your knees tremble slightly.

Unsure of how to begin, you struggled to find the right words. Your voice trembled slightly as you managed to spit out the confession that had been weighing heavily on your mind for days now.

"I had an encounter with a boy and it was wrong," You explain. "He touched me Father." The admission felt like a heavy stone being lifted off your chest, but also brought forth a wave of guilt and shame.

Your heart raced faster than ever before, and you could feel sweat forming on your palms as they clutched tightly onto the confession railing.

Anakin's eyes narrowed slightly, a slight frown creeping onto his otherwise serene face.

His warmth radiated off him like a furnace, making you feel as if you were melting in his presence. "And did you enjoy it?" he asked bluntly, his tone laced with curiosity rather than judgment.

Slightly taken aback you respond meekly, "No sir."

After a brief pause, he continued, his tone becoming more commanding. "Meet me in my office once everyone has left." With that cryptic statement, you hear his door open, signaling the end of confession time. After gathering yourself, you cautiously left the booth and returned to the previously vacant pew.

As everyone else left the almost empty church, you sat in silence and waited. The sun casted a warm, golden light through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the pews surrounding you. It was only you and a woman only a few years your senior. The woman's eyes lingered on Anakin hungrily as she waited for him to acknowledge her presence

The woman, dressed in a somewhat modest dress and heels, stood in front of Anakin. They engaged in conversation for several minutes, their voices low enough that you couldn't make out what they were discussing. Anakin gave you a small nod towards the hallway leading to his office, indicating you should wait outside while he finished up with the other woman. Reluctantly, you stepped into the empty hallway, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. Every step felt like walking on eggshells, and every sound echoed loudly in your ears. Finally, after what seemed like forever, you reach his office.

With haste, you slip inside and shut the door. You sat nervously in the chair, trying to compose yourself as you waited for Anakin to finish his conversation with the woman. The office itself was tastefully decorated, featuring a large wooden desk with numerous religious trinkets and pictures of Jesus Christ adorning the walls. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with volumes on religion, philosophy, and psychology. A large cross hung prominently above his desk, casting eerie shadows across the room.

The door creaked open, and Anakin stepped inside, closing and locking it behind him. His long legs striding confidently towards you as you remain sitting in your chair. Reaching out, he gently caressed your cheek with his warm palm, his fingers brushing against your jawline. His touch sent electric shockwaves through your body, making it hard for you to focus on anything but him.

"Did you enjoy today's sermon little lamb?" He asks softly.

"Yes Father," You managed to croak out, your voice cracking slightly. "It was very moving."

Anakin walks over to his desk and sits down across from you, his presence nearly overpowering as he leaned forward in his chair. His large frame loomed over you, making you feel small and insignificant yet simultaneously drawn to him.

"I noticed how attentive you've been during my sermons," he admitted with a slight smirk. "It's quite flattering, actually." You couldn't help but blush at his candid admission, feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment and excitement wash over you.

"Now, tell me more about this encounter you mentioned during confession," he said calmly, leaning forward slightly. His presence was suffocating yet strangely comforting, making it difficult for you to form coherent sentences. "What exactly happened between you and this boy?"

"W-well the other day me and this boy were studying together, and then he kissed me." you admitted sheepishly.

"Is that all he did?" Anakin pressed, his eyes boring into yours. His question caught you off guard, and you hesitated before answering truthfully.

"No sir, when we kissed he put his fingers...inside me." Your face flushed even brighter at your confession, and you felt heat rising in your chest. Anakin's expression remained unchanged, but you could feel the heat emanating from him intensifying.

"Was it consensual?" he asked bluntly, his eyes boring into yours.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. On one hand, you knew what you had done was wrong, but another part of you couldn't deny the thrill and excitement it brought you

"Yes Father," you whispered softly, barely audible above the ticking clock on his desk. You hung your head low in shame, tears threatening to spill over at the thought of betraying your faith. "But I didn't...you know." Anakin's brow furrowed slightly, his eyes searching yours intently. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze intensifying. Anakin paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully.

"You didn't have an orgasm." He stated bluntly, his tone devoid of judgment. You shake your head quickly, too embarrassed to speak again.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, his forearms resting on his knees. His icy blue eyes bore into yours, searching for some hidden truth that you refused to admit. "It's natural for a young woman like yourself to be curious about her body and sexuality," he said matter-of-factly. "But remember, these desires must be channeled appropriately. God created us with these urges, but we must learn to control them."

Anakin rose from his chair, towering over you as he extended a hand towards his own seat. "Please, sit," he commanded softly, his voice carrying an underlying command that left no room for refusal. You hesitantly stood up and walked tentatively towards him, your heart racing wildly in anticipation of what was to come.

Anakin stood behind you as you sat in his big, leather chair. He opened a large, leather-bound Bible on the desk, flipping through the pages until he found a particular passage. "Read this passage aloud for me," he commanded softly, his hands resting lightly on the arms of the chair. "I believe it might resonate with you." You cleared your throat and began to read the passage about self control, giving it your best effort despite the heavy breathing behind you.

"2 Peter 1:4 Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature, having escaped the corruption in the world caused by evil desires." You read quietly. Anakin listened intently as you read the passage, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your nape and down your spine. With each touch, your brain became foggier, making it difficult for you to concentrate on the words written centuries ago.

"That's beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and husky. Anakin leaned forward, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you understand what these words mean?" he whispers.

"Yes Father." You reply quietly. Anakin's fingers traced lower, brushing against your cleavage through your top. "Good girl," he praised, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Now, I want you to close your eyes and imagine that these words are being spoken directly to you by God Himself."

He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Imagine that He's telling you, 'My child, I love you unconditionally. You are mine, and no one else can ever take that away from you.' Do you feel it spreading throughout your body?" A surge of warmth washed over you like a tidal wave. It started at your feet and spread upwards, engulfing every inch of your body. You shivered in delight as goosebumps formed on your skin.

Anakin flipped the Bible page to another passage, his fingers brushing against yours lightly as he did so. "Now, read this one aloud for me, 1 Thessalonians 4:3-5" he commanded softly, his warm breath tickling your earlobe.

You obediently did as he commanded, trying hard not to focus on the growing arousal between your legs. You clear your throat and speak again.

"For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust like the Gentiles who do not know God."

As you read the passage, Anakin's lips traced slow, gentle kisses along your neck, his breath hot against your skin. Each touch ignited a fire within you, making it increasingly difficult to focus on the words written on the page. Anakin's lips reached your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin.

"You're still pure, aren't you?" he asked softly, nipping lightly at your earlobe. "No one has ever claimed you like this before?" His hand reaches down and slides underneath your skirt, brushing his knuckles against your wet, cotton panties.

"Yes." you managed to choke out, your voice cracking with desire. Your body arched into his touch, begging for more. You bit your bottom lip hard, trying to suppress the moan escaping your throat as he continued to tease and torment you. You felt your resolve crumble beneath his relentless assault on your senses. His words had substance, they seemed so full of meaning. You were mesmerized.

Anakin groaned lowly, his voice low and husky. "I knew there was something special about you, my church mouse," he whispered in your ear, his breath warm and intoxicating. Anakin's hand moved to the edge of your panties, his warm fingers pulling them to the side. His thumb teased your throbbing clit, circling around it slowly. "You weren't this wet when that boy touched you, were you?" he purred, his voice filled with satisfaction.

"N-no Father, I wasn't." you moan softly, unable to contain the growing need building inside of you. Anakin's fingers plunge into your aching cunt, moving in and out of your tight entrance slowly at first, his thumb still circling your sensitive nub. His breathing grew heavier, matching the rapid pace of your own as he continued to explore your most sacred parts.

"That's my girl," he praised, his voice laced with lust. "Feel how much you need me?"

You nodded vigorously, unable to form coherent words as his touch escalated. Each curl of his fingers inside your drooling cunt heightened your arousal, making it nearly impossible for you to concentrate on anything else. His touch was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before—it was both rough and tender, possessive yet caring. The combination of his power and gentleness left you feeling both terrified and exhilarated at the same time.

Soon your body tensed up, and you could feel your orgasm building rapidly. Anakin pulled his fingers out of your core just as you reached the brink of ecstasy, leaving you hanging on the edge of orgasm.

"No, why'd you stop?" you whine softly as you turn around to face him. You pouted, your lower lip quivering in frustration as he denied you the release you so desperately craved.

A smirk played at the corners of his lips. "Not yet, little lamb." he teased, his voice laced with power and control. Anakin stood up straight again, his erection straining against his pants. He pulled your chair back slightly, creating enough room for him to stand in front of you. His large frame loomed over you as he placed a hand on your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

Anakin's eyes bore into yours, searching for any signs of hesitation or deceit. "Do you pray every night?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded earnestly, unable to hide the truth from him. "Yes, Father. I pray every night before bed." Anakin knelt down in front of you, his broad shoulders framing your body. His hands moved to rest on your knees, his thumbs rubbing slow circles over your skin.

"What do you pray for? What do you ask of God?" Anakin asks softly, his eyes searching yours intently.

You glanced down at your lap, unable to meet his piercing gaze. "I ask for strength and guidance, mostly." you mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

Anakin's eyes narrowed slightly, studying your reaction. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his voice low and husky. "Good," His hand moved up your leg, lifting your skirt enough to expose your panty-clad pussy. "I can't help but notice how devoted you are during my sermons," he said, his voice dripping with false concern. "It would be a sin for me not to reward my favorite student.

With one swift motion, he yanked your panties down to your ankles, exposing your slick coated cunt to his hungry eyes. Anakin placed your leg on his shoulder, giving him better access to your now-exposed folds. His warm, wet tongue traced slow circles around your entrance before dipping inside, his tongue flicking against your sensitive spots with expert precision.

"Read again," he commanded, his voice mumbling against your warm flesh. "Proverbs 18:21."

You fumbled with the Bible, your hands shaking slightly as you tried to focus on the words written on its pages.

"The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit."

Anakin hums in approval against your mound, causing a rush of vibrations to flow through your body. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, trying to block out the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. Your grip tightened on his hair, pulling him closer, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

You whimpered, your body tensing up in anticipation of imminent orgasm. "Father, I-I feel it coming again." you managed to choke out between moans.

Anakin's hand moved to your entrance, two fingers slipping inside of you, stretching you wider. "That's it," he said, his voice low and husky. "Let go and let yourself succumb to His will."

A wave of pure ecstasy crashed over you, your entire body convulsed, and a string of lewd moans escaped your lips. Your orgasm was unlike anything you had ever experienced before—more intense, more powerful, and more fulfilling than any previous encounter. It felt as though the heavens themselves were opening up to claim your soul.

Anakin's tongue continued to lap up your juices, his eyes locked on yours as he savored the taste of your arousal. With a smirk, he stood up straight again, towering over you in all his glory. Anakin's eyes were ablaze with desire as he stood over you, his hardened cock straining against his pants.

"We're not quite done yet," he said, his voice low and raspy. "Stand up."

He reached down, undoing his pants and boxers in one swift motion, freeing his thick member from its confines. It stood tall and proud, glistening with pre-cum, its head flushed a deep crimson.

"Bend over," he ordered. Slowly, you stood up and turned around, your back facing him. Anakin's hands gripped your hips, positioning you over the desk. You felt his cock poking against your ass, and a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine.

Anakin's large, calloused hands gripped your firm ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading them roughly. His fingers traced slow circles around your puckered entrance before moving lower, teasing your wet folds. He held his member in his other hand, rubbing the head against your entrance, teasing you mercilessly. "Do you still want this sweet girl?"

You gave a soft, breathy moan of approval, your hips wiggling slightly in anticipation. Anakin's hand connected with your ass cheek, a sharp slap that made you yelp in surprise.

"Speak up."

You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure. "Yes, Father." you finally managed to utter, your voice trembling with need.

"There you go." he coos his voice filled with faux sincerity. "Now, relax and let me take care of you." Anakin's cockhead pushed past your tight entrance, stretching you slowly but surely. A sharp cry escaped your lips as he began to thrust into you with deliberate slowness, his hips rocking back and forth in a rhythmic motion.

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk tightly, nails digging into the wood as he claimed possession of you, filling you completely. After several deep thrusts, the initial pain subsided, replaced by an overwhelming wave of pleasure. Anakin's hands keep hold of your hips, holding you steady as he pounded into you, filling every crevice of your tight passage. Your moans turned into whimpers, becoming more desperate as he picked up speed, his tip kissed your sweet spot with precision.

"Thaaat's it, give yourself to Him, let him cleanse you." he managed to grunt out between gasps for breath.

Your hand slipped off the desk, accidentally knocking over a family photo frame that fell to the floor with a loud crash. Anakin didn't seem to notice or care, his focus entirely on claiming you, taking what he believed was rightfully his.

The tight coil in your stomach began to build up once more, and you knew it wouldn't be long now. You arched your back, your hips moving in sync with his, begging for release. His pace quickened, his breath hot against your neck as he growled out, "Cum for me angel, I know you're close." His words were like a trigger, sending waves of ecstasy through your body.

Anakin groaned, his hips bucking wildly as he felt your worn cunt clamp around him. With a final powerful thrust, he erupted inside you, filling you to the brim with his hot seed. His cock twitched and pulsed, draining every drop of his essence into you.

You collapsed against the desk, panting heavily, your entire body covered in sweat. Anakin leaned forward, his lips brushing against your shoulder. His cock slowly pulled out of your sore cunt, leaving you feeling empty and drained. He stepped back, admiring his work, his cock still semi-erect, dripping with your fluids. He extended a hand to help you steady yourself. Anakin turned to you, his eyes softening slightly. "Are you ok sweetheart?" he asked, concern etched on his features.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. " 'm fine," you managed to mutter, your voice hoarse.

"You did so good for me," Anakin panted, his eyes glazed over with fufillment. He helped you pull your panties back up your legs, his fingers brushing against your sensitive folds, causing a shiver to run through you.

Anakin sat back down in his chair, and motioned for you to sit on his lap. "Come here." he smiles. You tentatively approached him with wobbly legs, unsure of what he had in mind. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close, so you were sitting sideways on his lap, your legs draped over his thighs. Anakin placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, his breath tickling your scalp. You remained like this for a moment, both caught in your own thoughts.

Breaking the silence, Anakin spoke softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your arm. "I want you to know something angel," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I would never hurt you, physically or otherwise. Our interactions are between us and God's eyes alone." You nodded, still processing everything that had transpired.

"If anyone ever finds out about today, we won't be able to see each other like this again." Anakin's hand tightened slightly, his fingers digging into your skin. "Do you understand me?" he asked, his voice taking on a threatening edge.

You nodded solemnly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand Father."

Anakin placed another soft kiss on your head before resting his cheek against your temple, his hand still firmly holding you in place.

"Good girl." he whispered.

Your eyes wander off and you suddenly see a cross hanging on the wall, the sight of it immediately brought an uneasy feeling to you. It felt like it was casting a small ominous and disapproving aura.

Uncertainty and confusion warred inside you, but there was also a strange sense of belonging and connection.

As you stare longer you feel as if it's judging you and looking at you as if it is not happy with what you have been doing.

You remain in his arms, you felt an odd mix of emotions, the sense of euphoria and bliss you felt with Anakin being so tender with you was overshadowed by the feeling of something not being right. You feel a tinge of regret for what you took part in but a part of you wants to do it again.

Maybe next Sunday.

#nai writes ୨୧ #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin #anakin skywalker x you #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #st4rfckerz

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sillyzel · 2 months

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✨The Amazing Digital Circus Hunters AU

The players in the circus are playing Caine’s game, “HUNTINGG” or maybe, uh, they’re like bounty hunters with powers..

Each player has unique abilities and can be used when they’re “hunting” for stuff in Caine’s game! Just-, Just that, simply.

(More under the cut)

Each of the players have unique abilities. Or, yeah, weapons. They use the weapons to help hunt stuff, of course. OR to KILL stuff. Players are kill-able but will respawn. Cuz, why not? If you’re an NPC, maybe you might just, die, yeah, die.

What are they hunting for?? Duh, it’s like, for ranks or smth. Higher u rank, more powerful u become, but when u get killed by anyone, well u gotta start over again. Who knows what u can achieve if u keep that first place…

OK!1!1!1 MORE ABOUT THE PLAEYRSZSZ

Pomni - Police… with a sword.

Pomni is… yeah, that. Why? Bubble just thinks it’s cool. Yeah, she does have a gun too. Pomni’s sword can get longer and shorter, but it is limited. Sword can electrocute some bozos, but needs charging after 5 uses of electro-power thing blah blah. Gun? Normal police gun.

Ragatha - Bare hand fighter, most of the time.

She is, a bare hand fighter. KICK AND PUNCH, yeahhhhh, but uses the spear sometimes. She keeps about 3 spears in her back. Rather than using the pointy part, She usually uses the wooden part more. Pointy stuff has poison. It stings and it hurts making the area that got cut/stabbed with that feel numb. Possible cramps, ig…

Gangle - Chainy chainy stuff with a slim cutter on it’s end.

Gangle’s… weapon, can cut OFF your limbs… BUT that’s rare! Only if she did it right. Usually only cuts deep… nvm, it depends if she is using it the riiiight way! The chain can go longer, with limit, of course! Making the chain go shorter takes more time.

Zooble - FIRE STAFF MUAHAHAHHA 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Zooble. I can say Zooble is like, an alchemist? Only if it’s fire-related. Basically, ya know, Staff with fire magic. BUTTT staff might lost its control sometimes. Zooble can use the staff, whenever. There’s always a “water-looking” bottle attached to the stuff. That thing is minimizing the chances of the staff to lose control. Also minimizes the fire a bit. Zooble can take it off, for about 20 minutes while using it. More than that, it burns the whole tent.

Jax - PEW PEW guns

Some sick guns. Yeaaahhh let’s goooo!1!1! 2 small guns and 1 big gun. 3 in total. The two smaller guns work differently. One works very fast and shoots 3 bullets at one click. One just shoots one per click, doesn’t deal much damage, but will make the enemy feel not-so-good and pass out, sometimes. Big gun? Fast, big bullet. Uses are limited. Only 3 times a day.

Kinger - DARK MAGIC GUY?!?!?

Exorcist? Dark magic? Whatever. Magic book. Yeah, he uses magic book to make and control magic. Just like Zooble, Kinger’s weapon can lose control too. Rarely. Magic book has no limits. The magic just- won’t work well if it’s closed. Quite hard to keep it open, y know.

BONUS - Links Abt this thing yes.

I have a feeling it’s not gonna be so “noticed” by other people, but I enjoyed making it while boredom.

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hoshigray · 9 months

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Swim in Waves, Chill in Caves ༄ S. Geto

"I went to the beach with my friends!! Only for me to...run into Gojo again!!? And to make things crazier, I met his attractive best friend who heard "so much" about me??!! Thanks to Gojo's nonstop blabber-mouth, Geto was interested in me in ways I would rather not be known for!"

A/n: Yessir, three for three, it's time for the third part of my summer series!! It's now Geto's turn to have a piece of Y/n, and, like Gojo, this is my first time writing something for Geto! In case you aren't aware, this fic is linked with Gojo's fic as the plot from his fic propels the actions of what's going to transpire in Geto's narrative. I hope you enjoy this, and tysm for 1.7k followers, giving each and every single one of ya a hug (unless you don't like hugs, then I send you finger guns, pew pew!!)

Also, this is connected to the Gojo fic previously released. So if there are references that have you like "???," you're free to go read that fic first before diving straight into this one. And yeah, without further ado, please enjoy this piece~☆

Series m. list!! This entry has been updated along w/ its contents.

Cw: Geto x fem! reader - explicit content, so minors DNI - age difference (the reader is at least in their 20s; Geto is around early 30s) - oral (m! + f! receiving) - heavy depictions of a blowjob - semi-handjob - sex at an open area; cave by the beach - 69+ doggy style/backshots + missionary position - unprotected sex but Geto doesn't shoot inside (PSA: wrap it up, or get the fuck up) - fucking while the sun sets, lmaooo - pet names (baby, cutie, sweetheart, sweetie, princess) - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - Gojo is here so expect some silliness.

Wc: 7.2k (7.9k with bonus scene...I stayed up til 6 am finishing this)

Dear Diary...It has come to my attention that I've seen you this summer way more than I anticipated. Truthfully, I never expected to need you again. While life for me is unpredictable right now, the only thing I can turn to is you...

"Hey, Megumi!" Your body jerks at a familiar voice. "Have you seen Y/n?"

"They said they went to grab something real quick." Another familiar voice. "Now help me with this cooler, Itadori."

"Right, on it!"

It's now coming down to the middle of summer. An entire month and a half of internship has kept you busy, constantly building new skills within your career exploration. In addition, you gain new skills and insights from your colleagues. And now that your practicum is almost over, you can't help but feel a rise in accomplishment.

So, how do you celebrate? By going to the beach with your best buds! Oh yes, the gang — Yuuji, Megumi, and Nobara — who are all proud of all you've done this summer thought it's best to go out and hang out this weekend! You weren't one to turn down a lovely day at the beach with your friends, so you packed up your cutest bathing suit, hopped in Nobara's car with the rest, and the four of you drove to enjoy the day together.

With the smell of the ocean hitting your nostrils and the rays of the sun bathing your skin, the day was going great as you and your friends enjoyed every moment of it!

That is until during the delightful moment that you bumped into a familiar face — a face you didn't think you'd ever see again, not with your friends present at the very least. And it's thanks to said familiar face you've once again stumbled upon an unpredictable dilemma.

So much so that you are hiding from your friends, inside a guest room at a beach house, writing in your diary. And yes, said beach house doesn't belong to you, not even your friends. So how did you end up in some random person's estate? Well, leave it to your pen and paper to retell what conspired today.

Firstly, my friends and I just finished lunch at this seafood restaurant (NTS: they offer superb seafood boils). Having walked along the boardwalk for about half an hour, it was time to head for the beach...

The sun was blazing hot outside, yet the ocean breeze kept heat bearable. Many people were at the beach this time of year, families building sandcastles together and surfers riding the active waves. Not to mention the many children bringing life to the setting by playing around in the shallow tides.

You and your friends were able to find a nice, comfortable place to put your stuff at. Before swimming, the four of you figured it'd be great to stretch your bodies around and play some beach volleyball! There was only one problem: other families and athletes had taken all the nets, and none of your brought one of your own (plus they're expensive). So what do you do? Use what ya got and just pass the ball!

"I got it!" Yuuji shouts as he dives to prevent the ball from hitting the sand, propelling it up for Nobara to set up for you.

"It's yours, Megumi!" you call out the raven-haired friend who digs the ball for Itadori to pass.

Five minutes become ten, and ten minutes become fifteen. Before you know it, thirty minutes of constant back and forth between the volleyball has you all engrossed in the game, completely forgetting about the body of water that is waiting for y'all to participate. Although, you all were having way too much fun to stop.

Well, until Nobara jumps and spikes the ball a little too hard and hits Itadori right in the face, the ball flying further away from your direction. You call out to say you'll get it while the brunette argues with the salmon-haired other ("Nobara, you did that on purpose!" "Oh, shut up. Let me see your face, ya big baby.")

Your eyes never leave the ball as you run to catch it from the air. I got it, I got it!

However, you should've paid attention to what's in front of you rather than above. Because had you done so, you would've noticed the dark-haired man who jumped up to catch the ball mid-air. Shocking you for a split second before you come bulldozing to another person, bringing you both down to the sandy ground.

You assess no sense of pain on your end and then realize you're on top of the man you came crashing towards. So apologies are quickly thrown to the other below you while you slowly get up. "Oh my God, I'm so, so sorry about that! I should've looked where I was going!"

"No, no, you're fine..." the man you notice has snow-white hair mumbles under his breath, taking off his dark circle shades to flick off any sand. "Damn, you got a strong tackle; someone outta scout you for a scholarship."

The comment was meant to bring humor to the situation. You stifle a giggle. "Please, I really am sorry abo—" Before you could finish that sentence, your eyes start to take in all of the man's appearance — whose tall figure you're still crawled up on. White hair and lashes, beautiful blue eyes, tall, lean build with chiseled abs I want to rub against—HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE!!!

You remove yourself from the male and stand to look at him from above. Even with the blue Hawaiian shirt opened up to proudly display his pecs and abdomen and the black and purple swimming trunks, the surname you said was the only candidate for who you were looking at. "GOJO!!??"

The man you have spoken with on an online dating app not too long ago. The man you went on a blind date. The man you slept with on the same night. Satoru Gojo peeks up at you before putting his sunglasses back on, sky blue eyes widen with recognition, and a cheeky smile creeps up on his face. "Well, well, fancy seeing you again, princess."

The familiar pet name causes your face and ears to be covered in an agonizing heat beyond the sun's authority, especially when the white-haired man stands up and dusts off the sand on his shirt and swimwear. His height that once had you taken aback the first meeting, doing so the second time around, and of course, the fucker had to have his abs out for you to gawk. "W-What are you doing here?" Your perplexity was still adamant in your question.

"I'm here to enjoy the nice summer sun, aren't you~" he replies with his usual chipper attitude. "Actually, though, I always come down to spend a weekend with my close friends — it's kinda like a tradition we do every year. One of them has a beach house not too far from here."

You blink. "Close...friends?"

"Yo, Satoru," another voice behind Gojo hooks your attention. "You know this person?"

The man who spoke was another fairly tall man — not absolutely towered by Gojo, but fair enough for you to notice the slight difference. Long jet black, draped hair kept in the back with bangs that partially cover his left eye. A matching Hawaiian shirt with a red color (and, unfortunately, also exhibiting his stomach and pectorals) and black and red trunks complete the look. And he's holding the volleyball that pummeled poor Yuuji's face.

You only stare at him as Gojo does the introductions. "Hmm? Oh, Y/n. This is my best friend, Geto. You know, the one I told you about."

Geto, Geto...The name is repeated until it rings a bell, and everything around you comes to a standstill. Suguru Geto, the best friend of Satoru Gojo since high school. Just when this day couldn't get any worse, you not only bump into your one-night stand but meet his infamous partner in crime from their days of youth. And worse, he's just as [if not more] attractive than the slender snow-haired fellow!

"Wait! He's THE best friend??" You exclaim, and Gojo happily confirms your suspicions.

"Yeah, that's him! The one whose hair I barfed on when I chugged that beer at the house party and gave me a weed brownie as payback!"

"Is that story the only thing you want people to know me for?" Geto glares at his friend, but the taller other only shrugs off the complaint. Geto sighs and turns to you, and then his brows draw upward while surveying your figure. "Y/n...You mean the one who—"

"Hey, Y/n!" Your stomach drops to the ground remembering you didn't come to the beach alone, turning around to see the other three make their way to you. The salmon-haired man, his face red from Nobara's spike, resumes speaking. "What's the holdup?"

You try to answer until Gojo cuts you off with a joyful salutation. "Megumi!"

Your raven-haired friend doesn't return the exact manner, greeting with a scowl. "Gojo..."

What the fuck!!? "You two know each other??"

"Of course! Me and Megumi have been pals since he was in his elementary years." The high school teacher informs you as if it was a known fact, feeding more to your stupefied mind. "Known his dad for years; we're practically family friends!"

"More like an annoying uncle..." Megumi rolls his eyes before turning to face you. "Don't get mixed up with this guy, Y/n. He may seem like a likable guy. But he's just a carefree clown who doesn't take things seriously. Both out and in private life." Based on the emphasis on that last assertion, Megumi is aware of Gojo's philandering activities. You nod at your friend's advice, but the gulp to ease the uncomfortable bob in your throat is difficult to swallow. I'm afraid that's too little too late...

Gojo places a hand on his heart and conveys a faux hurt expression. "Jeez, Megumi, your words cut deep, you know...Besides," your body goes rigid when the tall man wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Me and Y/n have already been introduced before."

"Hm? How do you know this dude, Y/n?" Nobara is the one to ask the question for the other two, and now you're pushed into a predictable corner you couldn't foresee coming today of all days.

The reason why you went on a blind date with Gojo in the first place is because of a dumb bet, thanks to Nobara. And after said date, you told the brunette about it — minus mentioning that you went with Gojo. The only thing you noted to her was that the person's name started with an "S" and the last with a "G" ("Wow, can you be vague enough, Y/n?"). Nothing about their physical appearance other than the guy being tall. Now, with the said guy who fits the criteria slouching close with his arm around you, the countdown to your eventual, embarrassing demise begins.

You turn to the tall man, a mutual signal for aid. But before Gojo could say anything, the other male behind him intervenes — "Y/n met Gojo through me," Geto admits disingenuous. "We were at a diner, and we saw them walking by and got to talk with them for a while.

Everyone turns to look at the dark-haired man, you and Gojo bearing a look of confusion. But you don't say anything; neither of you does when Geto gives you two a quick wink for reassurance.

The trio stares at the two men before Nobara walks up and takes the volleyball from Geto's hands. "Is that right...Well, Mr. Man Bun—"

"Geto."

"Yeah, whatever," the correction doesn't faze her. "Since you and your friend here seem to be acquaintances with Y/n, how about you come play some ball with us. I saw you jump to catch the ball, so don't complain about some old man bones."

You squeak from the boisterous laugh Gojo lets out, "Ohoho, don't start something you can't finish. Ever heard of respecting your elders?"

The brunette grins, "Nah, fuck that."

"Hmph, that's what I like to hear." Finally, Gojo lets go of you and walks with the three to play by your spot. A giant sigh isn't enough to convey the emotional distress you're experiencing, especially now that your one-night stand is now socially fitting in with your best friends.

So much for acquaintances...

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Two hours fly by excruciatingly slow because now that Gojo has met your friends and has been spending time with them, you can see that they start to like and adapt to his friendly attitude (can't say the same for Megumi, the raven-haired friend taking his presence in a tolerable form). Perhaps hadn't you known the man prior, you would've felt the same. Unfortunately, though, this is the exact man that had your tipsy ass bouncing on his cock in a hotel room after drinking three cocktails. Memories of that night have your face transition to an insufferable heat.

To make matters worse, Gojo had the brilliant idea of bringing you guys to the residence he and Geto were staying at. A simple yet lovely and cozy two-story beach house by the boardwalk that his other close friend owns, overlooking the beautiful ocean. Said friend — Shoko Ieiri, a well-acclaimed surgeon — welcomed the four young adults to her space, telling them to make themselves home. And when Yuuji opens his big dumb mouth saying that the four of you haven't checked in to a hotel yet, the older woman insists you stay in her spare rooms on the bottom floor! Because any friend of the snow-haired idiot is a friend of hers.

So now your turmoil grows tenfold, seeing your friends getting closer and closer to Gojo's inner circle, the pit of your stomach stirring into an uncomfortable swirl of emotions. If you hadn't met the man before this trip, you'd enjoy being in the same boat as your friends and not kicking yourself repeatedly as your two worlds collide unintentionally.

You sigh heavily, watching Yuuji and Nobara play Uno with Gojo and Shoko at the kitchen island while Megumi and Geto discuss themselves on the living area couch. Figuring you might need some fresh air, you get up and exit the relaxing home to enter the back porch, the sun's heat greeting your air-conditioned skin back in its natural warmth.

You sit on the rocking chair facing the oceanfront, the gorgeous view of the body of water for you to see. You close your eyes as you rock yourself, and the summer breeze brushing against your skin puts your body into a calm trance. Being outside helps you collect your thoughts in this jarring situation. It's evident now that this moment with yourself was necessary to ease the mental gymnastics you've been experiencing since before you came to this beach house.

So in tune with the quiet surroundings around you that you almost sink into your tranquil state. Almost. Until you hear the door open, snapping your eyes open to see whoever it is that decided to disrupt your personal reflection. And you silently gasp at the man who pays you a visit — Geto.

"Hey," his soft tone smooth like butter, inviting himself into your space as he sits in the rocking chair parallel to you, blocking the ocean view with his appearance. "I figured you'd still be out here; your friends were looking for you, and you've been sitting here for about ten whole minutes."

"I have!?" You chirp at the fact, to which the man chuckles and nods to confirm. "Huh...I didn't notice. I was just enjoying the silence, I guess."

"Hmm, I get it," the dark-haired man hums at your answer, then looks around the porch. "I don't blame you; with a view and place like this, I'd be out here all the time too."

By nodding, you agree. "You're extremely blessed to be friends with Ms. Ieiri. Get to spend time with her and Gojo at this wonderful beach house."

"Pssh, I'd say I'm more lucky to be a friend of Shoko's than with Satoru," the light chuckle he lets out activates a small smile from you. "You've already heard stories of me and him being roommates in college, barfing on my hair and such."

"Yes, I have, and I'm on your side wholeheartedly. I'd get back at him too, from all the stupid pranks and stuff he's put you through." Your agreement has the older man laugh some more. "But, I can tell Gojo you are close, having been together through thick and thin...Oh! And, I guess I have to thank you for your help back on the beach; your excuse about me meeting you two at a diner."

Geto leans and rocks with the rocking chair while his dark eyes are on you. "No problem. I figured your friends wouldn't know about your date with him. He's told me all about it, so I just mixed some words around to make it sound plausible for your friends."

You just nod and croon to his response. Until your brows furrow and you look straight at him. "Wait, what do you mean 'all about it'?"

You watch his eyes narrow slightly, the uneasiness in your stomach returning to haunt you. "I mean what it means. He mentioned every detail — from your cute outfit when he picked you up to the fun dinner you had at the diner. And..." The grin on Geto's face only exacerbates the feeling of dread that was once gone. "I'm sure you know the rest."

"The rest?" you gulp.

"The rest."

Sure enough, before you could express anguish to the man before you, the door to the back porch opened again with vigor. And the one behind it is the person you didn't want to see right now, or else you just might strangle that playful smile off his stupidly charming peachy face. Gojo exclaims, "There ya are! Shoko ordering takeout while your friends are finding a movie to watch, then we'll eat some s'mores around the fire pit when it gets dark out. Come inside Y/n~"

Geto only watches your adorable face harbor an expression that could only have Death itself clutch its pearls. But not wanting to do anything crass, you take a deep breath and get up from your rocking chair. "Umm, I'll pass on that. I was thinking of just walking around the boardwalk, maybe swimming in the waves while the sun's still up. Wanna come along, Mr. Geto?"

The sudden invitation takes him aback, but the man rises from his chair. "Sure, I'm down for that."

"Ehhhh, you're goin' without me?" Gojo exhibits a pouty face that doesn't work on you.

"Sorry, Gojo; just stay here and be hospitable. My friends seem to like you, anyway. Plus, I don't feel like dealing with you right now..." you mumbled that final part for only you to hear, excusing yourself past the white-haired other so you could grab your shoes from inside the beach house. And Geto only observes the interaction quietly as it baffles his best friend, who turns to him and points in your direction.

"What did I do?" is his question. And it gets more confusing to him when Geto only follows you back inside, leaving the conversation with a smirk.

"What didn't you do, Satoru?"

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"And then, when he was out like a light, I dumped the whole thing on him."

"No way, Geto!"

"Way." The man's smile broadens as he watches you fail to hide your laughter behind your hands. "It's what he gets for resetting my alarms and making me miss my oral exam. Plus, he ate my entire cereal box I hadn't used yet."

"So you thought the best way to get payback was to dump a whole basin full of spoiled milk and cigarette ashes on him while he was sleeping?"

"You know when you say it like that," he cocks his head. "I probably should've pissed in it, too." You playfully hit the older man in a fit of wheezed laughter, and he joins you in entertaining his silliness.

You and Geto have been out for quite some time. Your agenda was just comprised of taking a nice quick walk around the area and swimming to cool your mind from Gojo, and then you'd return in a more calm slate. What you didn't foresee was Geto taking up your offer to come along. And, you have to admit, he's been great company for you.

Not only did he give you a mini tour around the area, showing you all the little local shops and places to eat that he recommended to try. But he also wanted to join you in your swim, discarding his Hawaiian shirt entirely to the sandy ground and exposing his beautiful upper body. You did tell him that he didn't have to while trying not to drool over his gorgeous abs, but your concerns didn't waiver his decision. "I'm still wearing my trunks for a reason, cutie." When he uses that nickname on you, let him do as he wishes.

The two of you swim in the calm ocean, enjoying the comforting feeling of the water and play fighting with Geto anytime he'd splash water your way. Call it childish, but you were enjoying yourself. Enjoying him being around.

Soon the sun goes down, and the sky is painted in a stunning array of colors as it sets. Not too far from the shore, Geto treats you to a small ice cream shop that sells notorious homemade ice cream, and he takes you to one of his favorite secret spots. With one hand with a cup of your favorite ice cream and a plastic spoon in the other, you and the raven-haired man watch the sunset in a cave and talk amongst yourselves. Small waves crashing on the sandy and rocky front fills the empty cave with a comfortable atmosphere.

"Unbelievable," you say through tiny giggles. "You're no better than Gojo; both of you were insufferable."

"We still are," he takes another spoonful of his ice cream. "Even as adults, we're still the same intolerable duo who managed to get college diplomas."

You laugh some more at his joke. "I still find it hard to believe that he's a teacher and you a district attorney." The man only shrugs while finishing his ice cream. "But, honestly, it's kinda nice knowing you guys never changed through the years. Still the same no matter what."

"Yeah, I'm still a slick, sly bastard, and he'll always be the blue-eyed sheep that doesn't know when to shut up."

You glance to the side to look at him, staring at the open entrance of the cave where the sun is covered by clouds in its descent to the horizon. Your eyes gradually peer from his handsome face down to his well-sculpted physique, the sun's warm glow painting his skin beautifully. You've noted this before, but Geto is a remarkably attractive man.

It's seen by the structure of his face, his olive skin contrasting the long draped hair that goes past his shoulders. His black eyes make you feel as if you're staring at an endless void, captivating enough that you sense him seeing through you. And his black gauge earrings stand him out from the crowd, but they fit perfectly with his personality and body.

He's so hot is what you think to yourself, but it's a thought that has you quickly assess what the hell you're doing. And when your eyes go back up to his face, you see that he's looking dead at you, eyes narrowed with a guileful smile. You turn away in shame, for looking longer than necessary and for thinking such indecent thoughts about the best friend of your one-night stand. You are not about to do this right now, Y/n. Pull yourself together!

"Uhh—Ahem, speaking of that not knowing when to shut up," you cough to steer back into conversation. "I can't believe Gojo would go into such detail about our date. Especially...that."

The man shrugs again. "I mean, that's just how we've rolled; I tell him things about my life, and he tells me about his — including his playboy love life. Besides, I'm sure you have moments you share with your buddies."

"True, but..." you groan with your left hand on your face. "I'd rather not be known for explicit things I've done. And what's worse, having to see you — his best friend — and you know about me from the date two weeks prior is just adding salt to the injury.

Geto doesn't say anything right away, just watching you experience hopelessness so he can find the proper words to express it. "I get it, kinda how I don't like him telling stories of me to people I don't know...However," his hand steadily moves from the rocky surface to your right hand, and he sees your shoulders jerk at the action. "I'd be lying if I said I'm not kinda glad to hear about you."

Your breath hitches at his words, glancing back and forth to his hand sliding across yours and his face. He resumes.

"To be frank with you, I've never met any of the people Satoru's hooked up with, nor did I ever care to. So you can imagine me being perplexed seeing you in person. And to my surprise," his slender fingers pry to intertwine with yours, and you allow him. "After hanging out with you today, I'm seeing what Satoru sees in you. You're very breathtaking."

Geez, he's a smooth talker, too, huh. Your cheeks go intolerably hot, unable to avert your eyes from his. "Umm, Geto—"

"And it got me thinking, ya know: can such a cute, sweet thing really do such things?" The grip of his hand tightens around yours. "Had me intrigued just from looking at you..."

You gulp before saying your words carefully. "Are you...saying you're interested in my...services?"

His brows lift for an instant. "Only if you're up to demonstrate."

This day keeps getting stranger and stranger, and now you're met with the most bizarre moment that could ever transpire. Wide eyes only look back at the man who awaits your answer, and you internally curse Satoru Gojo for putting you through this entire mess of a day!

But a small part of yourself has you battling a moral battle. It's not every day you bump into your one-night stand on a random weekend and be given an opportunity to fuck their best friend that same day. What you're going through right now is only something you'd see in crappy movies and fanfictions (a/n: ouch).

And besides, it's not your fault that this is happening to you. It was Gojo's, yeah. If the man knew when to keep your name out of his mouth, you wouldn't have to go through this madness — and worse — his closest friend wanting to fuck you.

It's his fault that you're now straddling Geto's lap on top of the smooth rocky surface inside of a cave, smacking lips and exchanging passionate breaths. It's his fault that you're whimpering sweetly in Geto's ear as his hands sneak inside your bathing suit to fondle your breasts, pinching the nipples now erect from his touch. It's his fault that you're grinding on his best friend's erection and kissing all the way down from his neck, abdomen, and finally to his pelvis — where you remove his swimming trunks to reveal free the hard cock ready for you.

It's all Gojo's fault...But thanks to him, you can treat yourself to this alluring piece of a man before you. Your suspense and enjoyment climb up from the thought of it.

The two of you are positioned to do the sixty-nine, both of your swimwear discarded off your bodies. Your cheeks go hollow as you take the tip of Geto's dick inside your mouth, your tongue swirling around the glans of his cock, resulting in a hiss from the man below your ass.

"Hmmm, damn, haven't done this position in a while," his hands roam around your buttocks, spreading your asscheeks to further expose the vulva. Your essence shimmering from the setting sun has the man whistle at the sight. "So pretty down here, too."

The compliment pushes you to push your face further to suck in more of his shaft, covering the limb within your oral cavity inch by inch until it hits the back of your throat. You give yourself a short while to get used to his girth in your mouth before you start bobbing your head, soft lips sliding up and down the veins decorating his length.

The raven-haired other groans at the feeling of your mouth around his cock. "Mmmm, yeah, just like that, sweetheart. Just like that..." And before you know it, he brings your ass down to him for his tongue to lick your tempting folds. Your yelp is muffled, and the lapping motions of his wet muscle on your chasm send shivers up your spine.

But you don't let it distract you from the cock in your mouth, resuming your task of pleasing him. You bring a hand to pump his shaft, sliding to and fro from the top to the base. The action causes him to jerk into your mouth with pleasure, and the grip around your ass tightens. He's enjoying it, and it pleases you knowing you're making him feel good.

"Mmmph! Ohh shit—Ummph!" He removes his lips from your cunt, his moans more audible than the sound of waves in the background. "Shit, if you keep at it, I'm gonna—Shit, shit, shit..." It's here that your movements go faster and more sensational, kissing and sucking the head of his cock while you massage and knead his scrotum. The jolts of his legs become apparent, signaling that his release is close. "Oh, fuck...Princess, I'm gonna cum!"

Taking his comment into account, your mouth takes in his cock back in, his size now adapted to your mouth and throat that you bob in comfortable haste. Your tongue brushing up and down the underside of his cock has his fingernails dent marks onto the flesh of your ass. And when his hips snap up to your face, his climax hits your mouth that very second, his load spilling into your mouth and down the glossy walls of your throat. You accept his come, sucking and drinking his bitter fluid with no complaints.

"Haaah, hmmm, did so good, baby. So fucking good...Mmmph!" His cock is still sensitive from experiencing his orgasm; regardless, you don't let him go until you clean him up entirely. And when you finish, a soft 'pop' leaves your puffy lips from his pink glans. He snickers when you turn to him over your shoulder, licking your lips from any remnants. "Heh, damn, you're really good at this. Makes me feel bad that I didn't get you to finish either."

Your smile's bright as the warm glow that bathes your skin. "Don't worry about it," you comfort him while removing your body from on top of him. You lay your face down with your cheek kissing the ground, your hands coming to spread your ass for Geto to gaze at your messy vagina. "I know you'll do a better job where it really matters."

The smirk on his face gets broader as he gets on his knees, moving to your inviting form. "I'll be sure to not disappoint just as you haven't for me."

"Don't jinx yourself," you tease the older man and giggle when he playfully smacks your butt. You bite your bottom lip with the feeling of his cockhead gliding on your folds, your fluids lubricating him as your entrance throbs in anticipation. When he aligns and pushes his dick into you, you remind yourself to breathe steadily and brace for the slight pain bound to happen. One inhale one push of him. Another intake while gradually forcing himself onto you. When you sharply gasp, you know he made himself inside. Tears water up your eyes as he slowly drives his length into you, your tight walls gripping onto the foreign limb intruding.

Geto gives himself a few seconds to adapt to you when the base of his length kisses your southern lips. He starts with slow thrusts, and your body follows his steady cadence. You hum to the blissful sensation of his cock grazing your walls.

"Mmngh, God, Y/n, you feel so fucking good on me," the man rasped, jet-black strands from his bands now sticking to his sweaty forehead and cheek. "...Trying to make me go crazy."

"Mmmph! Haaaah, haha, please, go all out on me," you coax him. "Don't think I can take it?"

Your snarky question has him chortle, and a sudden deep thrust prompts a shriek to sneak past your lips. "Don't say I didn't warn you, sweetie."

He dials up his pace to a faster tempo. The change-up has you whimpering, and you clench around his length, which has the man hiss at the abrupt contact. The electrifying waves of pleasure strike you when he hits your weak spots perfectly, and more moans seethe out from your pretty lips when he increases his speed.

"Nnngh!! Y/n, baby, you're too tight on me," he whines, but his hips don't stop smacking into your ass. "Fuck, oh fuck....let me see your face."

You allow him to maneuver you onto your back, situating you into the missionary position. His cock slides back inside you with ease with a cry from your mouth, your arms wrapped around his neck while he pounds into you. And in this position, with the sun just about to sink into the horizon, you can make out a hue of purple in his dark eyes. So enchantingly irresistible that it takes another harsh thrust to bring you back into reality.

Geto's pelvis slams into your chasm hard — plugging his dick further into you and hitting your sweet spots with scary precision. Your screams fill the cave with an echo, adding to the ranchy air between your sweaty bodies.

"Ohhh! Hoooh!! Getooo, you feel so good! S' goo—Oh fucking Christ, Ahhhnn!!" He grinds the base of his cock into the entrance of your vulva, scraping your tight, velvety walls to the point of tears rolling down your face.

"You too, princess—Hmmph!!" He groaned, jabbing your cunt where you form incoherent sentences. Head pounding and mind foggy, you lock your legs around his waist, caging him. "Gonna cum, sweetheart?"

"Yesss, yessssss!!" Your response slurs in babbles. You feel it crawling up your bones, goosebumps prickling your skin. "Gonna cummm, cumm—Ahhhhh!!" Unbeknownst to you, Geto snakes a hand down to your clitoris, using his middle and forefinger to swipe and grind on the tender bud. And when he flicks and pinches it, your orgasm is finally granted to you.

Your legs shake and tremble around the black-haired man, gripping his shoulders as the walls around his girth contract around him as you experience your crescendo. With the flutter of your cunt, a few deep thrusts are propelled into you before he removes himself from your embrace, taking out his cock to ejaculate his seed onto your stomach. His come paints your tummy, feeding more to your disheveled appearance.

The two of you look deep into each other's eyes while experiencing the final shocks of your climaxes; heaving bodies eventually calm down and fall back to regular breathing. And when it vanishes altogether, the sun has already submerged below the horizon line.

"Hmmm, well," Geto is the first to break the silence. "That was better than I expected. Thanks for indulging my curiosity."

You shake your head and laugh short-winded. "Glad I washed your expectation." Your smile grows larger when he winks at you.

"Think we should start heading back?"

"Mmmm, yeah. But can we just stay here for a few minutes? Kinda like being in your secret spot."

Geto chuckles while positioning himself to lie next to you. "Sure thing. And don't worry, I won't say a word about this. We're in my secret cave for a reason." He laughs harder when you roll your eyes, his hand finding yours to hold again. This time, you reciprocate.

"Yeah, I'd hope so."

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KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

The pen in your hand stops writing when a sound from behind alerts you of someone's presence. While seated, you turn to see Gojo in a more comfortable change of attire — swapping his trunks for black basketball shorts and his blue Hawaiian shirt for a dark blue zip-up hoodie, although it wasn't zipped at all. He's very much casual with what he wears, especially when guests are in the house...

"Found you~ Itadori has been asking for you, and everyone's gathered around the fire pit outside," he takes a few steps into the guest room where you've been cooped up. However, you turn back to the desk in front of you and continue writing. Aware of your reluctance to look at him, he brings it up.

"Y/n~?" Your brows furrow at his sing-song attitude, relying on annoyance to have you speak with him. "Are you mad at me about something~?" The sigh you let out has to be about the tenth time from this day, shaking your head while sucking your teeth silently. You know what, it's just the two of us in the house...

"Yes, Gojo," your face doesn't leave the diary on the desk, but your hands stop writing. "I am mad at you."

"How come?" He adjusts his dark shades and then jerks at the sudden sound of your pen slamming onto the desk surface. And he's never seen a look that could kill on your pretty face before.

"Why don't you go ask Geto why I'm so mad," your tone isn't entirely furious; if anything, it's calm. But its connotation doesn't go unnoticed by Gojo. "Or better yet, why don't you retell him all about how 'y/n's blowjobs are like this' or how I'm 'so tight it's insane.' Surely that'll refresh some memories, huh?"

The room isn't completely silent, apart from the ticking noises of the clock on the wall by the bed. Gojo stands utterly still — same for you. The only thing that will activate any movement depends on his answer.

"....Ohhh!" He starts off as if a lightbulb just went up. "You mean he told you I told him—"

"Yes." a blunt response stops him from finishing. "I'm not mad about you telling him about what I did on that date. But would it have killed you to use probably another name for me? My friends don't know about you, but imagine my surprise when I found out your best friend's first impression of me is how I bounced on your dick!" It's commendable that he doesn't interrupt you while you speak because you might throw something at him if he did. And you're sure he knows it as well. "Does that give you a better idea as to why I'm mad?"

"Yup, loud and clear..." Now that you two are on the same page, you turn away from him again and return to writing, aware that the tall other is still behind you in the room. Especially when you hear him take a few more steps close to you, it takes everything in your power to not headbutt him when he places his chin on top of your head. This guy and his lack of respect for boundaries...

"Aww, come on, Y/n. I didn't mean to upset you like that." His usually loud voice is hushed for you, as if someone would come up and see the two of you like this. "It's a big surprise for me that I'd ever see you after last time, and I guess I figured I wouldn't. Which is why I told Suguru about you. Sorry about that, honest."

You couldn't focus on writing since he called you by your name, listening to his words and the sincerity they carry. And for a moment, you almost give into his sweet voice. But you held on strong for your dignity. "Apology accepted, but I'm still mad at you."

"Whaaaaat~, what was the point of accepting my apology then!?" You can't lie; it's cute when this tall man complains like a child. His giant hands move to your shoulders, massaging them to ease tension. "I'll make it up to you. You'll be here for a weekend, so let me treat you!"

A brow lifts up to that offer. "Treat me how?"

"I can start by going out there and having a s'more ready for you if you finish up whatever it is you're doing."

Five seconds go by. Ten. You exhale heavily through your nose, but a small smile creeps up on your lips. "Fine."

"Nice!" You roll your eyes when he fist-pumps the air. "By the way, what are you doing?"

Oh shit!! You immediately cover the pages of your diary. "Nothing."

"Is that a diary?" The giddiness in his tone crawls back up, much to your dismay. "Am I in it?"

"No, you're not!" You flip the diary with the pages on the desk surface, hiding the contents entirely. I already wrote about you before, anyway!

"Woah, I saw my name!" You get up from your chair and push Gojo out of the room. "D'aww, Y/n, you're such an angel thinking about me so much that I'm in your diary~."

"Shut up, Gojo! Go make me that s'more already!" You pushed him back out of the room, your face hot from embarrassment. And it gets even hotter when you see the huge grin plastered on his dumb face.

"You know you're cute as hell when you're flustered like this, right, dollface?"

And with that, you slam the door on his face, not caring about the groans of pain that he expresses. Waiting for his footsteps to draw away from the room, you sit back at the desk and groan into your hands for a few seconds. When you feel your composure is confident enough, you grab your pen and finish writing the last statements in your diary.

...Needless to say, being involved with Satoru Gojo undoubtedly has its consequences. I had said I'd love to see him again, but this was not the second meeting that I had in mind...But not gonna lie; it's nice to know that he was thinking about me while I was gone. Can't be mad at that handsome man-child for too long.

As for his friend, he truly is a mysterious person, knowing more about me than I do him. And for him to say that he was interested in me not just by Gojo's account but from seeing and hanging out with me? With what happened a few hours ago...I'll have to keep my guard up with him this weekend.

One thing is for sure, though: this is definitely a beach experience I'll never forget. Oh, Suguru Geto, you made sure of that. And just like your pleasant smile and purple eyes, I'll treasure it deep within my heart.

˚₊‧꒰ა Bonus ☆ Scene!! ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The weekend has finally come to an end, the Sunday sun coming down to bid farewell on the beach setting, and you and your friends say goodbye to Shoko and thank her for letting her stay at her beach house along with her friends ("No worries, any friend of Geto and Gojo's is a friend of mine." The older brunette said sipping her juice from a pretty glass. "Stay safe out there.")

The drive home was fun, blasting music from the radio of Nobara's car while feeling the wind from the windows as everyone gets dropped off. The first to go was Megumi, then Yuuji at his grandpa's place. All that was left was you and Nobara, the two of you enjoying the calm drive to your house as the moon watched over your return home.

When she stops at the front of your home, you express your thanks. "Thanks for the ride again, Nobara. Had a great time with you and the guys." But she doesn't respond, just looking at the steering wheel. Concerned, you question her. "Nobara? You okay?"

It's evident the brunette has something parading her thoughts, because she lets out a massive sigh before facing your direction and asks the following question. "Did you go on that blind date with Satoru or Suguru?"

One blink goes by. Two blinks. ".......Huh."

"Don't 'huh' me, Y/n; I know ya heard me!" She smacks the steering wheel in slight exasperation. "Don't make me repeat myself."

You internally groan at the situation you're in. You knew this talk was bound to happen, but God, you just wanted to get in your bed and go to sleep after this very exhausting weekend. Okay, think, Y/n, think!

"...No," you avoid eye contact answering. "No, I did not."

"Are you sure about that?" Of course, the other has more questions. "Because when you told me about your blind date, you said they were tall with their first name starting with an 'S' and their last name a 'G.' And low and behold, we go to the beach, and I'm met with not one, but TWO fairly tall men who both check those boxes. Not to mention that the date was at a diner, and they both just happen to have met you in a diner?"

Oh, for fucks sake, God, please just strike me down right here and now. "What? Am I not supposed to meet people at a diner? Or go on a date in a completely different diner?"

The brown-haired woman furrows her brow before continuing on. "I don't know, you tell me. Those two seemed quite friendly with you all weekend, especially that lanky sheep, Gojo. The way those two looked at you or how oddly close they got. Looks and sounds fishy to me."

You scoff at her observations as they are accurate and are doing a remarkable job of making you nervous right now. "Nobara, many people in this world have those initials. For all you know, I probably went on a date with Selena Gomez or Seth Green. I mean, when you say you're crushing on M.Z., I don't immediately think of Maki Zenin. My mind goes straight to Mark Zuckerberg."

The disgusted look on Nobara's face almost had you laughing on the spot. "Don't play with me, Y/n! And don't you dare disrespect my queen's beauty to the looks of a pale salamander, or I'll smack you. I'm gonna ask again: did you go on a blind date with either of those two?"

"No!" It's amazing how quick you went with a lie. Who could blame you? It was easier than telling the truth, especially with what happened this weekend.

The two of you hold a mini staring competition, Nobara searching for any tale of a lie on your face. But with another sigh, she gives up interrogating and stares at the roof of her car, followed by you leaning back on the passenger seat while your brain does mental gymnastics in victory.

A few seconds of silence goes by before your friend says anything more. "Hmm, that's a bummer." You peer at her with bewilderment painted on your face. "They both looked like they got some good dick."

"Are you fucking serious— You know what, goodnight, Nobara." You don't bother listening to her try to back herself up on her statement, just grabbing for your stuff and closing the passenger door. Ignoring her shouts as you walk to the front door to unlock it and shutting it to finally free yourself from this weekend-long nightmare.

You groan to yourself as you slide down the door. Honestly, fuck this summer...

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wannab-urs · 4 months

Text

Title: Under Your Skin

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: You’ve worked on Chucho’s ranch since you were 15 years old, grew up with Javi, loved Javi… He comes back after nearly 20 years to find you hooking up with a certain former secret agent. He’s jealous, for sure, but of who?

Warnings: mdni, 18+ post season 3 of Narcos, AU where Jack gets kicked out of the Statesmen instead of burgered, Javi being bi and repressed, Jack being a bisexual slut, SMUT, MMF dynamics, oral (f receiving), javi being a dick, oral (m receiving), javi tries to hit jack, gay kissing (!!!), making out, face sitting, reader kinda gets used and likes it, nipple play, throat fucking, Eiffel tower moment, brief f masturbation, brief m masturbation, pet names (sugar, cowboy, baby, hermosa), truly unreasonable amounts of cursing i’m sorry i talk like this, and also unreasonable amounts of southern phrasing, again sorry I talk like this, unprotected PIV, creampie, cum eating, teasing Javi, actually 90% porn with like a little backstory, kind of enemies to lovers, they’re all ranch hands technically, also they’re all romantically into each other but also javi is dumb and jack can’t believe anyone would want him for more than sex haha oops :) WC: 3.5k

A/N: This is my @pedrostories Secret Santa gift to the lovely @javier-pena!! I hope it’s everything you wanted ahhhhh. I hope it's ok that this has nothing to do with Christmas and really doesn't even take place in the winter. I saw that you like Whiskey and Javi P, cowboys , and poly fics and like... could not resist. I tried my hand at enemies to lovers, a trope I love to read, but I think it came out pretty mild. I am so excited for you to read this!!!!! Happy Holidays ❤️

credits: dividers by @saradika // Thanks for the beta @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, @beskarandblasters, and @idolatrybarbie

Jack Daniels Masterlist | Javier Peña Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Working on a ranch isn’t easy, and it usually isn’t even all that fun. But it does have its perks. One such perk is currently on his knees with his face buried in your pussy. One of your legs is over Jack’s shoulder and you use it to pull him even closer, grinding your clit on his hooked nose. Just as you’re about to come, the door to the tack room slams open. You and Jack jump apart and you quickly start stuffing your legs back into your jeans.

“For FUCKS sake, Daniels. This is the third time this week. Get back to fucking work.” Javier Peña, face red and chest heaving, looks like he just caught his girlfriend cheating on him. “And you. You should fucking know better.”

You fasten the button of your jeans and smirk at Javi. “Know better than what, Javi?”

“Than to fuck around with some asshole like Daniels.”

“He’s nicer than you,” you snark before storming out, making sure to slam your shoulder into Javi on the way out the door. He ruined a perfectly good orgasm.

You’ve worked on Chucho’s ranch since you were 15 years old, taking care of the horses at first before graduating to fixing the fences and caring for the cattle as well. You and Javi had been best friends before he ran off to Colombia, spending every day after school and every second of daylight in the summer together on his father’s ranch.

You had been in the back pew the day he never showed up for his and Lorraine’s wedding. You like to think you had something to do with that. He clearly, clearly, wanted out of Laredo, wanted nothing to do with the wife and 2.5 kids and picket fence life he was barrelling toward.

His bachelor party was just the two of you drinking in the hayloft, you begging him to do what he’d always wanted to and him going on about duty and obligation. You’d almost kissed him that night, but stopped yourself. He was getting married the next day, for fuck’s sake. You’re glad he listened to you, in the end, even if he disappeared without so much as a goodbye.

In the years he was gone, you never really forgot about him. The truth was that he had been your first love, but you’d never worked up the courage to tell him, and then he was getting married and then he was gone.

Jack looked so much like Javi that when he first showed up on the ranch, you asked if he was Javi’s cousin or something, a long lost Peña. He assured you he was from Kentucky and had no relation to the Peñas. Jack had been some sort of law enforcement, and the reason he was here on a ranch in Texas was a mystery to everyone but him. There were rumors he was fired, banned from law enforcement altogether, but nothing could be confirmed. He doesn’t seem like the type to have a bad past, but you never really know.

Jack is charming in a loud, overly confident sort of way. He’s smart as a whip and funny to boot. He’s a damn good time and he’s never asked anything of you but a good fuck and better company. It’s really more than you could have hoped for with Javi gone and no other prospects in town… that you had any interest in anyway.

Now, nearly a couple decades after he left, Javi is back working for his dad. He won’t talk about Colombia, even though everyone calls him a hero. You’d think he’d want to brag about his accomplishments down there, but he reminds you of war vets, the way he shuts down when anyone brings it up.

He’s different now than the old Javi, your Javi, was. He’s surly, quick to snap at people, smokes like a freight train, and never does anything but sit in the bunkhouse and drink. You think you could handle all the change if he’d just talk to you.

You were so close as kids, but now it’s like you don’t know him at all. The bright, funny, hot-headed kid you knew is gone and some asshole has replaced him. He barely speaks to you at all, but he treats Jack even worse – insinuating Jack can’t do his job, calling him an asshole at any given opportunity, even up and leaving a room when the man walks in. It’s ridiculous and you can’t figure out why he’s acting like this. Jack has never so much as looked at Javi sideways, even after all the harsh treatment.

You head to your room in the bunkhouse, all your work taken care of for the day already. It’s not like you were neglecting your job to hook up with Jack, as much as Javi might like to think that. You push open the door to your room and find Jack lounging in your bed, shirtless and barefoot.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” Jack smiles at you, his eyes scrunching at the corners. God he’s cute.

“Hi, cowboy. Made yourself at home, did you?” You start stripping out of your work clothes, not caring about Jack’s presence. Nothing he hasn’t seen before. Jack gets off the bed and pulls your mostly naked body into his chest, nuzzling your neck.

“We got interrupted earlier.”

“Fucking asshole. He’s just mad he’s not getting any.”

“May be more right than you know, sugar.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him but shrug off the comment, dropping to your knees and working at Jack’s belt buckle.

Javi hates that son of a bitch, he really does. He’s always sneaking off work to fuck whatever willing idiot falls for his charming smile and his stupid broad shoulders and his long bowlegs.

He can’t believe you of all people fell for it, keep falling for it. Sure he’s pretty, but the guy is an asshole. Two days ago, he caught him in the store room with his hand down Jose’s pants. The guy is a slut, plain and simple. You’re too fucking good for him.

Javi isn’t completely sure why Jack gets under his skin so bad. At least not in any way he’ll admit to himself or anyone else. Jack is charming without being sleazy, smart, good at his job, funny. There were rumors that Jack had done bad things in his past, though there’s nothing about the man that indicates he had, aside from his silence on the topic. Something Javi can’t honestly hold against him, considering his own refusal to open up. There’s no real reason for Javi to hate him, but he does. Everything the other man does sets him into a rage, his face hot, chest heaving, fists clenching. He wants to put his fist through a wall.

He’s not quite sure where he went wrong with you. Sure, leaving for nearly 20 years does a number on a friendship, but he’s pretty sure it shouldn’t be this bad. You haven’t done anything wrong, other than fuck around with Jack, but every time he speaks to you now it’s a biting remark. A criticism of your work ethic, your choice in bed fellows, even your outfits. It’s like he has no control over his own damn mouth.

Javi knows he’s in the wrong, knows he should apologize for his comment earlier. He heads to the bunkhouse to find you. Your room is two doors down and across the hall from his. Javi doesn’t bother knocking, pushing the door open.

“Hey, do you have a sec–” Javi freezes in your doorway, catching an eyeful of you with Jack fucking Daniels’ cock in your mouth. Jack catches his eye and fucking winks at him. Javi ignores the twitch in his jeans and closes the door, stalking down the hall to his own room and slamming his door behind him.

Twice in one day? Seriously? He takes back the apology before he can ever offer it to you. This is just ridiculous. What do you see in Jack that you don’t see in him? And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Javi wants you for himself and he’s pissed that Jack got to you while you he was off not catching Escobar.

There’s a knock on his door and then, “Peña?” Fucking Jack Daniels.

“Piss off, Whiskey. Not in the mood.”

Jack opens the door anyway, steps inside and shuts it behind him. Javi takes his disheveled hair, still bare chest and feet. The man hadn’t even bothered to button his jeans. Javi is on his feet in the other man’s face in seconds. “I said piss off, Daniels. Something about that you don’t understand?”

“No need to be hostile, Peña, I just wanted to check on you. Stormed out of there pretty quick.” Jack doesn’t back up an inch.

“Forgive me if I don’t want to see her with your cock down her throat.”

“Why, Jav? You like her or something?” Javi shoves Jack until his back hits the wall, hard. “Or is it because you’re afraid you’ll like it too much?” Javi sees red. He swings on Jack, but Jack catches his fist and pulls the other man into his chest.

“Fuck you,” Javi growls it, lips almost grazing Jack’s, their mouths are so close together.

“That an offer?” Jack smirks. If Jack didn’t know better, he’d think he heard Javi’s breath hitch in his throat at that. Before he can wonder if Javi is gonna try to hit him again, Javi crashes their lips together.

Jack drops Javi’s arm and grabs the collar of his shirt in both hands instead. Jack licks into Javi’s mouth, slots a thigh between Javi’s and feels the other man’s cock getting hard against his leg. Jack walks him back toward the bed, tugging at the buttons of Javi’s shirt.

Suddenly, the door opens and Javi flies back from Jack as if he’d shoved him, sprawling on the bed. Jack doesn’t even turn to look at you, just stares Javi down.

“Hey, I heard…” you trail off, taking in the scene in front of you. Jack standing in the middle of the room, looking even more disheveled than the state you’d left him in. Javi spread out on the bed, shirt half untucked and half unbuttoned, his dick clearly hard in his jeans. “What am I looking at here?”

“Nothing,” Javi spits out.

“Me and Jav had a little fight, but we kissed and made up, Sugar.” Jack winks at you and you feel your cheeks heat, feel a flutter of arousal in your belly.

“Oh really?” You run your tongue along your top teeth, trying and failing to contain a smirk.

Javi furrows his brow at you. Do you sound… excited? Jack glances back and forth between the two of you.

“Why don’t you close the door?” Jack asks you, his voice low. You kick the door closed behind you and walk over to Javi. You take his face in your hands and tug him toward you until he’s sitting up on the bed.

“Close your mouth ‘fore flies get in, baby.” He snaps his jaw shut and you press a chaste kiss to his lips. “This okay?” Javi nods slowly. You climb onto the bed, straddling Javi’s thighs, and kiss him again, deeper and longer than the first.

Jack makes his way across the room and settles on his knees behind Javi, gripping his hips and pressing his lips behind his ear.

“How about this? Is this okay?” Jack whispers.

“Y-yeah,” Javi honest to god stutters. This is not where he thought this was going. He doesn’t even like men. Not usually.

Javi kisses you like his fucking life depends on it. He sucks your tongue into his mouth, tangles his own with yours. Drags his mouth down your jaw line, your throat, leaves a mark on your collarbone. You finish unbuttoning Javi’s shirt and Jack pulls it off him and tosses it on the floor before he sucks his own mark into Javi’s neck and Javi bites back a moan at the feeling. He buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“I um- I don’t really-” Javi’s face burns hot. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

“It’s alright, I gotcha.” Jack runs his hands up and down Javi’s sides, soothing him. “Let’s start with something you’re familiar with, huh? Or at least I hope you are.” Jack slides off the bed, silently communicating with you what his plan is.

You push Javi until he’s on his back in the center of the bed. You stand up and strip your panties and t-shirt off before you crawl up his body, dropping kisses on the soft curve of his stomach, his chest, his throat. You settle your knees on either side of his head, your soaked pussy hovering just over his face. This he can do, he thinks.

He grabs your thighs and licks a stripe from your core to your clit. You moan, one hand braced on the wall in front of you and the other fisted in his hair. He pulls you flush with his mouth and starts moving your hips for you, making you ride his face. He thrusts his tongue in and out of you while you grind on his nose, much like you had Jack’s earlier. They’re both so fucking beautiful, fuck.

Jack gets situated between Javi’s spread thighs and takes in the sight of you straddling his face. It might be the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. Your head thrown back in ecstasy, Javi’s strong arms pulling you back and forth on his face.

Jack palms Javi through his jeans and he hears him moan into your skin. Jack strips his own jeans off, then drags Javi’s down far enough to free his cock. Jack’s mouth waters at the sight. Javi is thick, long, uncut. Fuckin’ gorgeous. He sucks the tip of Javi’s cock into his mouth, savoring the salty taste of his precum. Javi lets out a deep, muffled groan straight into your core and it sends you over the edge. Your cries only encourage Jack more and he takes Javi to the root, bobbing his head up and down the man’s length.

Javi holds you to his face while he works you through your orgasm. He finally lets you go, and you fall to the side to catch your breath and shake off the aftershocks.

Javi slides both hands into Jack’s hair, thrusting lightly into Jack’s mouth. Jack reaches a hand between his own legs and strokes himself while he lets Javi use his throat. You just came, but the sight of the two men together has your cunt clenching around nothing. You drop your hand to your clit and rub circles in time to Javi’s thrusts.

Javi pulls Jack off him abruptly. “Fuck- you’re really good at that.”

“I know,” Jack smirks at Javi, his voice rough.

“I’d really like to come in her tight little cunt though, instead of your mouth.” Javi looks over to you, eyes full of lust. “If that’s okay?”

“More than okay, baby.” You shoo the boys off the bed and lay across it with your head hanging off the edge. Jack moves to stand by your head and slips the head of his cock between your open lips. Javi feels a twinge of jealousy at the way you both seem to know exactly what the other wants without saying a word aloud. But then you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer to you and he lets it go. If this is the only time Javi gets to have you, he’s not going to waste it being jealous of the guy who just sucked him off.

Javi drags his cock through your soaked folds. “So wet for us, baby.” Javi groans as he pushes inside you, slowly sliding in to the hilt. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Jack cradles your head in one hand while he shallowly fucks your throat, playing with your tits with his free hand. He tweaks your left nipple and you moan around his cock. Every thrust from Javi pushes you further down Jack’s length, forcing him to fuck your throat. You’ve never been used like this before, like some sort of proxy for two men to fuck each other, but you fucking love it. You feel close to coming again already, and no one has touched your clit in minutes.

Jack pulls Javi to him and crashes their mouths together. Javi lets Jack plunder his mouth for a moment before sucking on the other man’s tongue, drawing a moan from the cowboy’s throat. He may have never kissed a man, but he’s been with enough women to manage that.

The two men sync up, thrusting into your holes at the same time and you feel like you’re ascending to another fucking plane of existence. There are no thoughts in your head except for Javi and Jack and how fucking amazing you feel. And, briefly, the thought of them both stuffed in your core, stuffing you fuller than you’ve ever been. You clench at that thought, and Javi has enough presence of mind to drop his hand to your mound, rubbing messy circles on your clit.

Your body tenses, back arching as you get closer and closer to the edge, which only serves to open your throat up more for Jack. Javi grabs your hips with both hands and starts pulling you onto his cock, hitting your g-spot every time. Suddenly, your entire body tenses and your pussy flutters around Javi’s thick cock. Your vision blacks out as your eyes roll into the back of your head, coming harder than you ever have before.

Jack comes down your throat with absolutely no warning, too lost in Javi’s mouth on his and your mouth around his cock to say a word. You grab his hips and hold him deep in your throat, swallowing around him. The force of his orgasm knocks him forward on the bed, hands planted on either side of your hips and face buried in the crook of Javi’s neck as he paints your throat.

Javi thrusts into you a few more times before his hips still, flush with yours. He comes deep inside you for what feels like forever, his cum spilling out of you and dripping onto the bed.

He pulls out of you slowly, dropping a kiss to your thigh before he goes to get a towel to clean you up. When he comes back, he finds you with your legs thrown over Jack’s shoulders, the man eating Javi’s cum out of your cunt. Javi’s spent dick gives a valiant twitch at the sight.

“Guess I didn’t need the towel then?” Javi jokes, tossing it onto the bedside table and climbing back onto the bed. Jack sucks your clit into his mouth one last time and pulls off with a pop.

“Guess not,” Jack smirks. You and Jack settle in beside Javi, Jack pulling the man’s head to his chest and you resting your head on Javi’s torso. You all sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“You’re not uh-” Javi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “You’re not gonna tell my old man I-”

“That you like boys?” you snicker.

“Not foolin’ anyone in those tight little jeans you wear, Jav.”

Javi presses his fingers into his eyelids and takes another deep breath. “Guys I’m serious.”

“Of course. We won’t tell anyone. Not til you’re ready.” You lean up and kiss his cheek before nuzzling back into Javi’s tummy.

“So you gonna tell her, or am I?” Jack looks like a kid in a candy store.

You sit up quickly. “Tell me what?”

“Don’t–” Javi tries to plead with Jack.

“Sugar, he tried to hit me for messing around with you,” Jack interrupts. “Think he might have a crush.”

“What the fuck, man?” Javi’s brow furrows so deep you think it might get stuck that way.

Jack ignores him and addresses you, “He’s always starin’ at you and checking up on you and asking you for shit he can damn well get himself.”

“Javi, is it true?”

Javi looks up at the ceiling as if he’s praying for God to have mercy on him.

“Yeah, hermosa. It’s true. Lo- Liked you since I was a kid.”

You smile so wide it hurts and wrap your arms around Javi, pulling him to you for another long, deep kiss. “Javi, baby, I was in love with you before you ever even got with Lorraine. And I never stopped loving you. Jack was just a stand-in, until he wasn’t.” You look over at Jack with a wince. “Sorry, Jack. No offense?”

“None taken, sugar.” Jack smiles good-naturedly and kisses you on the forehead. “Could we do this again sometime? Or are y’all cuttin’ me out of the deal now?”

“You’re not going anywhere, cowboy. Javi likes you too.”

“Wait really?” Jack seems genuinely surprised.

Javi drops his head into his hands and groans. “I need a fucking cigarette.”

Oh and here's a silly little moodboard thing I made

#pedrostoriesgift23 #Javier Peña #Javi P fics #Javier Peña fanfiction #Narcos fanfiction #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels fics #Jack Daniels fanfiction #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman: The Golden Circle fanfiction #Agent Whiskey fics #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrostories

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hauntedhokage · 4 months

Text

a welcome confession

Priest!Nanami Kento/Fem!Reader and some Yuuji Itadori/Fem!Reader (some Sukuna/Fem!Reader)

act i of a lamb's devotion | act ii not posted | act iii: salvation | ao3 series

summary: an introduction to the town’s new priest and an evening with your best friend bring about the most interesting confessional you think you will ever experience.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: MDNI, alternate universe - no jujutsu, sex in an alleyway, use of “good girl”, “little one”, “little lamb”, unprotected sex, hair pulling, Sukuna talks a bit, priest kink, blasphemy up the ass, improper use of prayer and a confessional booth, description of sexual acts, male masturbation, mentions of a small age gap (around sevenish years, reader is in her early-mid 20’s and Nanami is in his early thirties), mentions of demons, reader has both parents,

Nanami Masterlist | All Masterlists | Ko-fi |

A new face in town was a big deal. Your return to town was also a big deal, which made you grateful for the new priest who pulled the attention away from you and onto him. You felt for the guy, but you also couldn’t be bothered too much because your mother was very concerned with how you’d find a suitable partner now that you were back in the small town and your father wanted you to use your education to get a better job than just bar tending at the local dive.

The new priest gave them something else to talk about when you stopped by for breakfast, and that was just fine.

“Oh, honey, you just have to come with us to Mass. Father Kento delivers a wonderful sermon.” Your mother had said, gently patting your hand in her own way of telling you that she missed you going to church with her. Your father had only looked at you before drinking more of his coffee, and you’d sighed before agreeing. But you knew that to take the sacrament you’d need to go to confession, and that has you going to the church on your way to the bar one evening.

It looked the same as it did before you’d left, but you supposed churches never change. Maybe got fresh coats of paint, pews replaced as they reached their end of life, but never a true overhaul. Not the church. There was still the dent in the wall from where your middle school boyfriend had fallen headfirst while trying to act drunk off the communion wine. Some things don’t change - churches were one of those things.

“Good evening.” The greeting has you turning, adjusting the way the strap of your bag sits on your shoulder and you almost choke on air when you see the man who had to be Father Kento. Priests weren’t supposed to be handsome; how could they guide their congregation to resist temptation if they themselves were the temptation? Maybe this was a test? Did you already fail?

“Uh, h-hi- hello. You must be Father Kento?”

“I am,” he nods, resting a hand on his hip as you take a step closer. “And who might you be, little lamb?”

And you introduce yourself, taking the hand he extends in a firm handshake as you explain who your parents were to provide more recognition. It clicks, and there’s additional recognition in his face that tells you that he’d been given a heads up about you - or at least told that your mother would love to see you in the church again. She was very open about how she felt, never anything truly negative but she wanted the best for you and thought you’d find that in the light of the Lord.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

“I was wondering when you held confessionals, Father. Before they were on Saturdays in the early evening, has that changed?”

“No, I still hold confessionals at that time. I also try to hold confessionals before the youth group starts on Wednesdays, but you can always stop by whenever you’d like. God’s house is always open.”

“Yeah, I need to confess before Sunday. If I can’t take the sacrament the town will crucify me, so…” you trail off, knowing that what you said was likely the worst thing you could say to a priest besides confessing that you wanted to climb him like a tree. You needed to leave, plain and simple, before you ended up making a total ass of yourself in front of the hot priest. “But, uh, I’ve gotta run to work. Thank you for talking with me for a moment, and welcome to town, Father.”

“God be with you little one. I’ll see you soon.”

“Thank you, Father.”

The bar you spent your evenings at was small. You wouldn’t call it a dive, it was just the only real option that wasn’t the strip club on the other side of your small town or drinking at home. You were told that business picked up when word got around that you were working there, as your father’s friends and some others you’d grown up with were curious as to what the hell you were doing back here. If they asked, you were just feeling homesick and wanted to make sure your grandmother’s house didn’t go uninhabited (since you knew your mother wouldn’t sell it).

It was easy work, you liked it.

“Hey, pretty lady.”

And then there was Yuuji. Your childhood best friend, the boy you’d on-off dated through high school, your adult best friend and the only person you know who fully understands how you feel about being back in town. He was your favorite person, always stopping into the bar to say hi and have a drink - always tipping nicely even though you put the cash back into his wallet after your shift. Right now there wasn’t anything serious between you, but the sex was incredible now that you’d separated for university and come back with other experiences. If you thought hard enough about it, you could probably see yourself falling into the small town curse and marrying him. That was just how things worked around here.

“Hi, Yuuji. How was the shop today?”

“Busy,” he laughs, accepting the glass of water you hand him with a grateful smile. “But Mother’s Day is around the corner, y’know.”

“Yeah, which reminds me-”

“I saved an arrangement for you. I know you said you were working on your thesis all day.”

“Yeah,” you mumble with a sigh, leaning forward against the counter as he does. “You wanna come over tonight?”

“You know I do. But I wanna do something with you tonight.”

“Do what?”

He leans in closer, gesturing for you to do the same. You comply, leaning forward so that you were basically laying on the bar so he could properly get close to your ear to whisper, “I wanna fuck you in the back alley.”

“Yuuji,” you whisper back, gently swatting his arm when he lets out a small laugh. “You’re so bad. What if someone sees?”

“Who’s gonna be snooping around by the dumpster at one in the morning? I’ve been thinking about you all day and I don’t wanna wait until we get to a house.”

And you don’t stop him after your shift, grateful for the way he catches on when you lock the front door of the bar first before going between the bar and the bank next door to get to the back door to lock it. The keys are still in your hand when he’s got you pressed against the cold brick wall, his kiss bordering on frantic as his hands travel your body to the button of your jeans.

“Wanna fuck you from behind so I don’t have to take these off all the way, you gonna let me?”

Of course you would. There were logistical reasons why it’d be the best way, but you can’t think clearly enough to list them after he’s got you turned against the wall and your pants down around your thighs. When did Yuuji get so fast?

“You’re already soaked, girl,” he groans, teeth grazing against your jawline. “Don’t have time to finger you, just need to get inside you.”

And you don’t complain when you feel the blunt tip of his cock graze your clit before dragging back along your slit until he’s teasing your entrance. Only for a moment, then he’s pushing inside while his fingers dig into the soft flesh at your hips. His pace is bruising from the start, everything about the way his body touches yours rough and consuming.

“Don’t ruin that pretty face on the brick, I’d never forgive you.”

If that was a concern, he’d offer something to protect your skin since Yuuji was always so sweet - even when he was impatient. But you supposed that maybe the environment and potential for exposure had him on edge to the point where he wasn’t thinking clearly. Not that you had much time to think for yourself, as the immediate quick pace he set did well to clear any consideration for his behavior as his hips knocked into your ass with bruising force. You’re trying your best to keep quiet, but the few muffled moans that snuck out from behind your hand were enough to have one of those large hands grab the back of your neck much like a kitten would be grabbed for corrective actions.

“Keep quiet,” he hisses in your ear, his voice low and warning of impending danger. “Don’t want anyone finding us, do we?”

You can only shake your head, earning a “good girl” growled into your ear that has your knees weaker than they already were and him chuckling at the desperate whimper you let out when his hand moves from your hip to play with your clit.

“Come for me like the little slut you are, and I’ll fill you like you want so badly.”

You don’t fully remember how you got home. You’d basically blacked out after the second round in the alley, returned to coherency as your back hit your mattress with Yuuji easily climbing onto you while removing the rest of his clothes. It was everything you wanted, what you were convinced you needed, so you’d never complain when he bit down hard enough to break skin or dug his fingernails in deep enough to draw blood - you’d never complain when Yuuji let himself go. It was nice that he trusted you enough to allow himself to relax with you.

You didn’t really appreciate how mean he could get sometimes, but he was always so sweet to you outside of sex that you supposed it could be forgiven. People said things they didn’t totally mean when they got lost in the moment, perhaps it was just that? You wouldn’t want to make him feel bad, which you knew would happen should it get mentioned, so you were just going to leave it alone until he said something truly hurtful. No harm, no foul - right?

“Hey, pretty girl.” Yuuji murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep and his hand carefully rubbing your side.

“Hi Yuuji,” you whisper, catching his hand to hold in your own and bringing it to rest against your chest. He was warmer than he had been the night before, more cuddly and like his normal self. What had happened last night? “Doin’ okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. You okay?”

“Yeah. Little sore but that’s normal after a night with you.”

“Want me to kiss it better?”

“No, you’re good, but can we lay here for a minute?” You feel small asking him something like that despite him being in your bed in your house. Maybe it was how cold he seemed last night before getting you into bed for another round, or that dark glint in his eye that you know you saw when you looked back at him in the alley. But he tells you that he wants to be with you for as long as he can, adjusts how you laid in his arms and presses his forehead into your neck and you’re feeling that warmth again that makes you feel the opposite of small. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I just feel bad that you’re hurting because of me. I honestly feel like I blacked out during it,” he mumbles into your shoulder, gently peppering your skin with kisses. “Like I was there, but watching and not actually doing. It was good though?”

“It was great and you’ve got nothing to feel bad about, but let’s not make a habit out of fucking in alleyways.”

“But it was hot, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you murmur into your pillow, truly content to simply lie there with his warmth at your back. Any uneasiness you’d had about his behavior from the night before has dissipated, the sweetness emanating from him doing a great job of eliminating any bad feelings about him.

“It’s really nice having you back.” He comments after a moment of quiet, something that had you humming softly as you considered that. It was nice to see him, but you’d hoped for more for both of you. More than this small town and living in the houses your grandparents bought. Bartending while trying to find something better that actually used the degree you worked so hard for while he ran a flower shop - you always thought that the two of you would leave and never come back. Maybe find each other again, but not here.

“Still not sure if I share that sentiment, Yuuji,” you whisper, giving his arm a gentle squeeze as you feel him kiss your neck. His lips linger, and you can feel his breath against your skin as he waits for you to continue your thought. “I feel so small here, y’know? Like, I felt small out there too but it wasn’t suffocating like it can be when you’re here.”

“No, I get it. Out there you can do anything, be anyone. Here you’re just the same kid you always were, and you don’t really get to grow up until the people who made you a child leave in some way or another.”

He absolutely understands, and it’s relieving to have somebody else who knew what you were feeling about being back in your hometown. Like you; Yuuji had also gotten out and explored, went to university and had a life that wasn’t this small town.

And just like you, he’d been sucked back in.

He never talked about the true reason, just said his grandpa needed him and then he stayed. Too much here that he’d inherited that needed to be managed, like the flower shop, and he couldn’t leave it all or else that would be disgracing his grandpa’s last wishes. That was how he always was, though. Self sacrificing until the end.

You’d heard from some mutual friends who went to the same school as him that Yuuji had gotten really sick, knocked out of commission for at least a week and then he disappeared for a while. It was only when he’d posted on social media about his grandfather’s passing that anybody knew where he really was. But he wouldn’t talk about it, and any questioning of what happened just had him shrugging it off as being unimportant. He was fine now, that was what mattered.

But maybe he wasn’t fine? You can’t help but think back to the way his mood shifted so quickly last night; how the man who laid in your bed until he had to go open his shop was a completely different person than the man who fucked you in an alley. Something had clearly happened, and you’re afraid to ask him just what it was that he was trying to hide from you.

The church is quiet when you enter. One of the older women your grandmother had been friends with was leaving as you were heading up the front steps, stopping to tell you how nice it was to see you back at the church and in town again, then leaving you with a kiss on your cheek and a promise to pray for you. Typical for that generation of women in town, and you dreaded the day your mother and her circle evolved into touchy old ladies who were very open about their opinions of the younger ones.

You hoped you missed that part of becoming an old lady.

Your grateful that the church is empty, glad that there is nobody around to witness you entering a confessional booth for the first time in years. Grateful that you would only have an audience of one (spiritually two?) on this afternoon.

Two knocks are placed against the wood surface of the door, the wood a new, darker version of what once had stood there and missing the various dents and scratch marks from decades of use. Even the seat in the booth had been replaced, the aging cracked bench replaced with a cushion should you want to sit rather than kneel.

You choose to kneel, performing the sign of the cross as you take a deep breath to settle your nerves.

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been…” fuck, how long had it been since you last confessed? Your freshman year of college and maybe just a month or so in? “A few years, I guess, since my last confession.”

“May I ask why?”

“I confessed once in college, tried to involve myself with the church groups on campus but they were rather radical. Their beliefs didn’t align with what I had been taught, and the priest at the chapel by the school did not feel welcoming to me.”

He hums, and you think you see him nod through the divider in the window that separated your side of the confessional from his.

“Anyway, I’d like to confess that I have not been actively attending church over the past few years, and have been committing many sinful acts.”

And you tell him everything you could recall, every detail that weighed heavy on your shoulders since returning back to this small town. How you spent more time with a bottle in your hand than a bible, how you let yourself fall victim to many temptations - the biggest ones being lust, gluttony, and sloth. How you partied heavily, often found yourself waking up next to strangers and knew you’d had sex with them. How you didn’t care, and wanted to continue having premarital sex because you enjoyed it.

You even tell him about Yuuji. You weren’t planning on it, but the words tumble out of your mouth without any true restraint.

“You’re close with your friend?”

“He’s the only person who gets me,” you reply, looking up from your hands with hope that you’d get to see Father Kento’s face as he listened to you. “I don’t think I’d ever be able to resist temptation when it’s related to him. Even last night, he wanted to do something different and as risky as it was I went with it. Because it was him, y’know?”

“Tell me about it, please.” That…he wasn’t asking for details of your sex life with Yuuji. There was no was a priest would desire details like that. It’s an absurd request. “The only way I can truly absolve you is to know what the true temptation is. Please, let me help you.”

He must have noticed the way you paused. You should have left, you know that you should leave and tell your parents that this new priest was weird and they should stop going to this church. A ton of churches streamed their sermons online, they could do that instead. You could avoid confessionals all together, and get away from this man.

Those are all things you should have done.

Instead you confess your latest sin: having sex in an alleyway with Yuuji. And Father Kento wanted details, so you spare none; telling him everything about the event that you could recall while trying to ignore the sound of his increasingly labored breaths that followed the rustling of some of his clothes on the other side of the divider.

You tell him about how rough Yuuji had been, how much you enjoyed it despite it being a little scary. How he carried you home after giving you a couple of the most mind blowing orgasms and filling you with his cum, only to peel your clothes off in your bedroom for a softer yet still cold second round.

But you can’t ignore your suspicions about what is happening on the other side of the confessional booth.

“…Father?”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Preparing to give you absolution, little lamb.” Absolution didn’t come with a belt buckle being undone, last you checked. “Do you have any more sins to confess?”

“No, but I fear for sins I may commit later.”

“I’ll protect you from them.” He sounds so certain despite the strain in his voice. Your eyes strain to get a better view of how he was preparing your absolution, but you know penance must come first. “God has spoken to me. He has shown me just how important you are, entrusted me with your road to the heavens.”

You’re not sure how much of this you can believe, but you’re too enamored by the thought of performing such a less act with a priest in the confessional booth to care. This was more than just a scandal, this was excommunication in progress should you be caught in the act. More than that, you’d both likely be banished from the town for this.

But worst of all - you were so turned on it was almost painful to be robbed of the sight of the attractive priest.

Was he big? He had to be, considering the size of the man himself. But was he bigger than Yuuji? Thicker? Was it possible he had any experience despite the vow of celibacy you knew priests had to take? There were so many questions bouncing around in your head that you couldn’t focus on just one, but you’re relieved that you don’t have to when he starts talking again.

“Your penance, little lamb, is to abstain from those sins. Abstain and pray to our Father God that he may see your willingness to walk the path of his light.”

“Thank you, Father,” you whisper, watching as the light is blocked out by his imposing frame as he stands. His hand is moving at a quick pace, and you can see much better when he moves the wooden screen that was providing minimal anonymity for your confessional.

“Pray the Act of Contrition for me, and I will give you your absolution.”

You’re practically leaning through the window, wanting to be closer to him and his already weeping cock as you whisper, “Oh, my God.”

How were you supposed to pray a promise to abstain from sinful acts when you got to see a cock like that? Even in the dim lighting you could see it perfectly, looking proud as his hand glided along it to further simulate. Just a taste of that red flushed head would likely have you reeling with all efforts towards this confession wasted. Did you need God’s plan when Father Kento’s cock was practically in your face?

“Continue your prayer.”

“I am heartily sorry for having offended thee, and I detest all of my sins because of thy punishments,” you continue, but your heart is not in the prayer because now the priest is fucking into his fist and you can’t help but wish it was your mouth he was fucking into. You’d pray your heart out if it meant that you’d be rewarded with a taste of him. “But most of all, because they offend their, my god, who are deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of thy grace to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen.”

“Amen,” he echoes, and your mouth falls open when the most sultry of groans leaves him. He had to be beautiful when he was about to cum, you’re sure his cheeks flushed and his lips parted so he could breathe properly. “Are you ready to be cleansed of your sins that you came to confess today?”

“Yes, Father, as long as you deem me worthy.” You aren’t expecting him to lower himself to your level, but you’re pleased to see his face in front of yours. He truly was very handsome, and you smile when he leans in to place a gentle kiss to your forehead. To feel such intimacy with a supposed holy man who you’d only spoken to once before your confession felt absurd, but there was something very different about Father Kento. It was like he saw right through you, you were sure he did, and you weren’t complaining about it.

“God will always find you worthy,” he breathes, using his thumb to gently coax your mouth open. His thumb presses against your tongue, and you feel only slightly self conscious when you feel like he’s scrutinizing something before he requests that you leave your mouth open before he stands again and leaves you to watch with an open mouth as he pumps his cock to completion and allow the ropes of warm cum to hit your face and tongue.

You’re swallowing what had come into your mouth when he kneels before you again, this time his hand coming to rest atop your head as he cracks the faintest of smiles at you.

“When you feel temptation, little one, you come to me. My job is to help you fight the temptation and resist evil.”

“But don’t you have to maintain celibacy?” You supposed that was probably a stupid question, considering what had just happened and the evidence of the event that was still splattered across your face. But it was still a valid question, considering he was a priest and everything you knew about the priesthood went against the last twenty minutes you’d shared with him in this confessional booth.

“Sweet lamb, this is not an act of pleasure. It is an act of God.”

“Of course,” you murmur, closing your eyes as he brings the handkerchief he’d pulled from his pocket to carefully wipe his cum from your face. “He’s entrusted you with his plan.”

“He has, and I intend to ensure that you’re protected as he’s requested of me.” He was an interesting priest, that was for sure, but his brand of protection was something you’d happily indulge in. He would allow himself to become your temptation, which might have defeated the purpose, but maybe the intimacy of a holy man was different than anybody else? You’re not sure, and you don’t think to ask the question aloud out of fear that he’d think it was a stupid question - you’d asked enough of those today.

“May I ask you something, lamb?”

“Anything, Father.”

“Do you know anything about something called Sukuna?”

174 notes · View notes

anchoeritic · 1 year

Text

— PREACHER & THE PEW.

pairing: dbf!joel miller + fem!reader

synopsis: excusing yourself from sunday service, you find yourself being followed out by your dad’s best friend: joel miller, waiting to give you something real to believe in.

warnings: eighteen plus only content, minors do not interact or you will be blocked. slight age gap (reader is in her 20s), allusions to secretive relationship. talks of religion, sins, etc. use of cigarette. sexual content: vaginal intercourse, clit play, fingering, handjob, nipple play, breeding kink.

WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED, you quietly prayed with the rest of your family, listening to the lines being recited in front of you.

sunday church service was a regular event, you’ve been attending for as long as you remember.

you never really looked forward to it; as your beliefs were much more forced on you than you’d liked. yours were much different than theirs but they still pushed you to go for your own good.

being the child of a great man was something you had to keep up with, as well as your reputation as the golden one.

your father was a hero and he stuck to his beliefs, promising a good future for him and his children.

you never blamed him for it though, times were different back then. it’s all he’s ever known in his life.

sunday services were… something to say the least. if you were being honest, your goal was to make your father happy, and to see one of his friends; joel.

he was one of your dad’s older friends. he used to come over for dinner from time to time during your breaks between semesters, but he’s gotten busy since then so you haven’t been seeing him much anymore.

but when you do, it’s usually at church. he began coming after your father invited him to, you never thought much of it until you and joel started to send each other sneaky glances across the room.

it would be a quick look between verses, just to see if your eyes would connect, and they always would. every time you’d look over, you’d already catch him staring right into your soul.

with all those people in the room, you’d expect him to catch a glimpse of everyone, but it was just you he wanted to look at.

whether you were in the middle of your prayers; eyes closed, hands clamped together, or sitting with your family hand-in-hand, he could never stop looking at you. you were truly beautiful.

it was like he was picking you apart and reading you piece by piece, studying you, instead of devoting his time to worship the grounds of his very god.

“father?” you called out, squeezing his hand in signal. looking over, you watched his head nod, silently excusing you. “i-i need a breath of air, excuse me,” letting go of him to take a step outside.

walking yourself out the building quickly, joel watched you with confusion distorted on his face. it wasn’t ordinary for you to just step out during a read, and especially in front of steve.

he let out a low huff, turning his head back around to look back at the front, just to get up from his seat instead.

“fuck it,” he mumbled under his breath, taking one last glance at the exit before leaving through it, following behind you shortly.

where he found you wasn’t a surprise; leaning against the wall behind the church with a cigarette between your lips, waiting to be lit.

you sent him a tight-lipped smile, showing off your dimples. “nice to see you attending sunday services, joel.” you teased, taking the cig out of your mouth, and putting it back in your pocket.

he walked closer to you, standing right beside you now. “isn’t nice to see that you’re not,” he shot back at you, smirking. “what’s goin’ on, sweetheart? what’s got you leaving during it?”

you shook your head, confused, “just needed some air, nothing’s wrong.” some truth was behind your words, but you’d be lying if you said it took up the entirety of it.

you turned to him, looking up. “why’d you follow me out here, joel?” you asked him, squinting your eyes. the answer was known but you wanted to hear it, hear it come out of his mouth.

“was worried ‘bout you, peach.” he leaned closer to you, looking down at you with furrow brows. “— doesn’t hurt to check up on my favourite girl.”

his finger slipped into your back pocket, sneaking out that cig you had tried to hide from him earlier.

“didn’t see you as the smoker type, but i’ll admit, i’m not surprised.” joel twirled the cigarette between his fingers before stashing it back where it rightfully came from.

“not surprised?” your fingers found their away around his cold metal ones, barely touching them. “answer the question, joel.”

he laughed, shaking his head at you. “why don’t you answer mine, peach?” with his face already close by yours, he leaned even closer, making you back up into the hard wall behind you.

“what’s with those fuckin’ looks you keep givin’ me, hm, sweetheart? you thought i wouldn’t notice the way you look back at me?” joel’s words seethed through his gritted teeth like venom.

you felt small under him as his body towered over yours entirely, engulfing you under his dark shadow. this side of joel was new to you.

“i-i don’t know what you’re talking about… you’re always looking at me.” you replied back naively.

you knew what you were doing and you absolutely loved how much of an impact you had on the man. “i don’t understand, joel.”

his arm quickly rose up from his side, setting itself right behind your head, trapping you from leaving.

“i know how to handle little things like you, cupcake. this ain’t my first fuckin’ rodeo.” his breath fanned over your face, heating up your cheeks.

“now quit actin’ stupid and put that brain to use.” he spat. your eyes widened at his sudden change in tone, the heat between your legs growing warmer each second.

you stayed quiet, not wanting to give in, but apparently that provoked him even more. “you still wanna act dumb?”

next thing you know, his hand was wrapped around your throat tightly. that’s going to leave a mark. “fine, i’ll just fuck it outta you.”

and with that, he smashed his lips onto yours. surprised at first, you gradually grew into the sweet kiss, devouring him.

you were a flustered mess, this wasn’t something that was on your bucket list this year but you certainly weren’t complaining.

his kisses were nothing but the best. hands roaming your body, lips showering you in hot kisses, how could he worship a god when you were right there. beautiful like aphrodite, words as venomous as a serpent, everything about you resembled his superior.

he believed in you. you were his religion. there was nothing better than his peach being the silver lining to his destroyed painting.

“fuck, cupcake.” he mumbled against your lips, the feeling of your arousal rubbing onto his dress pants. panties soaked, you bucked your hips against his thigh, trying to create friction between the two of you.

your head was thrown back in pleasure, joel’s lips filling in the empty spaces on your neck with his small love bites. “joel, please.”

his hands held onto your waist tightly, keeping you in place as you bucked your hips. “god, you’re going to be the death of me.” he nibbled your jaw softly, earning a pornographic moan from you.

“i can’t take it anymore, turn around.” joel let out a breath, tightening his grip on your waist.

he pulled down your pants hastily, leaving your panties on while you tried to undress him as well. both your hands were flimsy, you were in a rush to get what you wanted, what you craved.

if it wasn’t for joel running after you, you wouldn’t be in this position right now; getting ready to be fucked by him behind your local church.

the sun shined down on his body beautifully, showing off the old scarring on his skin. he was glowing under the light, he looked something straight out of those romance novels you read.

“you look better than my imagination, peach… fuck, what am i going to do with you.” he bit his lip, running his hands down your thighs, one sliding down low enough to tease your pussy.

his finger slipped through your folds like nothing, your own wetness acting as a lube for him as he slipped a digit in slowly.

he watched as your face scrunched up in pure pleasure, smiling at you. “oh, my peach, if only you could see how good you look for me right now.”

“that’s a face of an angel right there and it’s all for me, ain’t it, baby?” he slipped another finger in, thrusting them faster into you.

whimpers escaped from you, hips buckling for some sort of release. “it’s all for you, joel— mhmm.. s’all yours.” you moaned, feeding into his ego.

before you could reach your final release, joel pulls out his fingers from you, leaving you begging for more. “not so fast,” he mumbled, licking your juices off his fingers.

“the only way you’re cumming is in on my cock,” he whispered seductively, kissing the edge of your jaw. “now, wouldn’t you want that, peach?” his hands toyed with your erect nipples, twisting and turning them.

you could only respond with a whine loud enough for his cock to twitch. he no longer just wanted you, he needed you.

his large hand wrapped around his cock, listening to your pornographic moans of pleasure. “tell me you want this too, y/n. tell me to fuck you,” he practically begged you, his pre-cum leaking from the tip.

reaching down, you placed your hand on the head of his cock, rubbing your thumb over the small slit to collect the pre-cum. “shut up and fuck me, miller.”

in less than a second, his tip was already lining up to your entrance, ready to push into you. he wasn’t playing around, he knew what he needed, what you needed, and he’s going to fuck you stupid.

with a swift thrust of his hips, his cock slid into your pussy perfectly, stretching you our wider than you expected.

“joel!” you cried out, digging your nails into his back. you nestled your face into the crook of his neck, hiding your louder moans from the public. you wouldn’t want your father finding out about this.

his thrusts were restless, the rhythm never slowing down. he was like a sex machine, ready to be operated. sweat beaded off his forehead as he fucked into your hole mercilessly.

he didn’t care for the marks you were going to leave on him, he wanted them. it would remind him of his greatest memory with you; fucking you behind a church.

“you feel fuckin’ amazing, peach— shit.” he cursed at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him tightly, pushing him closer to his release.

you were on the brink of yours; eyes rolled back, thighs shaking from the sudden stimulation, it was coming and you knew it.

“‘m gonna cum..” at this point, you were drawing blood on his back from how hard you were scratching your nails, the pleasure was too good.

he groaned, somehow quickening his thrusts. “cum on me, sugar, cum on my cock.” his arms tightened around your waist, squeezing you.

that was your final push towards the edge as you came all over his cock with a cry. you were trembling in his arms; overwhelmed.

he used the opportunity to finish inside of you, filling your pussy up with his hot cum.

both your chests heaved up and down, trying to catch a breath and process what had just happened. no words were said, just the sound of your heavy breaths being collected.

it was silent for a couple more seconds before you calmed down; your head rose from his neck, looking back up at him. “joel,” you whispered.

he looked down, replying with a soft nod. “y-you can’t tell my dad that we did this,” you asked of him. your father would kill you if he found out.

it was one thing to have a silly little crush on your dad’s best friend to actually screwing him.

“don’t worry about it, cupcake.” he pressed a warm kiss to your forehead, tucking a strand behind your ear.

“this’ll just be our little secret.”

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader

765 notes · View notes

satoruhour · 5 months

Note

If you don’t mind (tho ofc you don’t have to write it if you don’t wish to), could we get a pt 2 of that priest geto fic? Where him and reader have been secretly fucking every damn where but especially in the church ever since that night, they both realise they have a thing for breeding kink so they don’t bother with protection either. Obv they have to hide what they’re doing and reader secretly gets away from her house at night to get dicked down frequently. and he knocks her up so they ultimately run away together ( or somewhere along those lines it’s totally up to you)

We missed you!! So good to have you back :D

DOMINE DIRIGE NOS !

wc: 7.8k (when will the horrors stop) / first part here ✶

warnings: DARK CONTENT, LORE, priest!geto, fem!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, geto in late 20s), christian references, religious themes used in inappropriate ways, questions of religion and life, brief mention of abortion, described scenes of f! and m! masturbation, face-sitting, fingering, clit stimulation, both f! and m! receiving oral, praise, mild degradation, sex in a religious place, semi-public sex (blowjob while geto is conducting mass oop), deep-throating, lots of unprotected p -> v sex, LOTS of creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, abandoning home, n*sfw under the cut

“father geto?” you curl deeper into geto’s back in the rectory, the uncomfortable mattress below you just reminding you of your upbringing in this suffocating town and the proximity of everyone. since that night, the two of you have been insatiable, using the House of the Lord for anything holy and instead are filled with violent moans and constant skin-slapping. even to you, the Church has started to look darker and darker, painted with the sin of Pandæmonium’s pillars, each time you enter it.

mass is all about locking eyes with the other, a game to see who falls first. sometimes you’d come in the shortest dress you can find, staring up at him from the second pew from under your eyelashes just like how you’d suck his cock. sometimes father geto would have his hair tied up, revealing his neck and jawline — the priest had not much to experiment with, but it took equal effect on you, anyway. clenched thighs, stuttered words, fluttering eyes.

father geto fortunately finds it easier to evade parishioners after doing his morning greetings to everyone; with another older priest who didn’t request the rectory, he could hide away to stroke at his cock all he wanted while the other took over the later masses. you, however, needed to reject the holy pastor ever so often to stop your mother from thinking vile of your absence.

it still was father geto, though, so whenever you mentioned his name after morning mass, she lit up like a switchboard, happily ushering you away to spend time because it was always encouraged to improve your faith.

— improving your faith in a non-existing god, perhaps.

“you don’t have to call me father when we’re alone, baby,” geto reassured, accommodating you when you turned around to meet him halfway.

“yeah?” you whisper, like someone could hear you. it was taboo, shameful even. the neighbourhood good girl with a deadbeat father coalescing with the newly transferred priest — it was the blasphemous, sent to be burnt at the pyre sort of sin. the rectory felt odd, your house felt odd; there was no place for people like the two of you, driven by lust and forbidden love and sin in the eyes of God, but what could people do when sin just felt so right?

you relish in the father’s gasp when you grind your butt against his crotch which are concealed behind his trousers, biting your lip with a smile when you catch his small grin at your mischief. you continue your ministrations, rolling your hips and bringing his hands to your chest. your clothing has become shorter and shorter ever since you convinced him of your little sin back in the confessional booth of skimpy tops and skirts. geto takes over, fingers slipping under your camisole to pull down your bra, fondling with your tits and playing with your nipples.

“sneaky little baby, hm?”

“s-suguru—” you whine, hips bucking and cunt already clenching. “need your cock, tongue, anything—”

“i’m getting there, doll, wait for me,” he pants, hurriedly unzipping his trousers. his erection is pulsing and throbbing by now, letting out a small sigh of relief when he finally pulls down his underwear, but you’re confused when you’re turned around and before you can reach to sit yourself on him—

“sit on my face first, darling,” he slyly smiles, beckoning you forward. here, father geto suguru looks anything like a pastor and if you close your eyes and listen, the repetitive tweets of the morning mass birds sound a little sweeter and the rushing water of the stream nearby remind you of a countryside house far away from your parents, your faith, your life. but forbidden has a time limit without the luxury of listening in, so you only settle for a pout when you hear the slick noises of him pumping his cock.

“you did say tongue,” he grins, “i don’t disobey scripture.”

“i’m not the Bible, suguru,” you jest with a small smile.

“you are scripture to me — anything you say and do, i’ll follow.”

and that’s the first time it’s truly cemented in you how much father geto was truly willing to throw away, but you hardly have any time to react before he easily settles one leg over and pulls you toward his mouth. it’s so violent, the way he loves you that there’s a small hmph that sounds from his throat when your sweet, wet pussy meets his mouth. after, it’s just endless groans as he laps at your clit while you fill the rectory with your sinful moans, grinding your hips into his mouth over and over while he just hums in agreement.

“that— that’s it, useme, useme—” it comes out slurred and slippery, just like your dripping cunt and his leaking cock, wet sounds that surround the both of you as geto’s tongue continue to assault your sensitive clit. he licks and sucks endlessly that you have no choice but to grab onto his hair for support and he does to same to both your thighs.

“father suguru—! hnfuck . .” you whimper out, looking down at him with hooded eyes while he meets you with the same intensity. below you are just streams and streams of your juices flooding his chin and hair; he just ever so lightly dips his tongue down to your needy cunt, plunging it in and your back arches involuntarily, “o-oh, god!”

geto laughs into your pussy, arm still clutching your thigh but the other goes back to his neglected dick, pumping it in time with his tongue as he swirls it around and you just clutch tighter and tighter. you definitely soaked through the sheets by now, but you follow his command, riding his face over and over until you feel that familiar feeling in your stomach.

“su— suguru, i’m g’nna . .” you moan out quietly, but your priest already knows what’s in store for him, abandoning his own ministrations entirely to please you as he pulls you all the way up to his face, positively cutting off his air supply in the process but he doesn’t care. he only suckles on your clit harder and with more pressure before switching to licking, abusing your puffy clit until you’re speechless and all that comes out of you are ah’s. “cumming, cumming— fuuckk . . !”

“cum on my tongue,” suguru manages to get out in between breaths, “give me all y’r cum, darling.”

those words are enough to send you over the edge, hitting your high with a soundless whine as your hips roll into his face and relentless torture, body continuing to convulse in his hold at the climax. if, before your continued praises sung God, now they were just full of father geto’s name, enunciated through the lips like a passionate blessing before mealtime. suguru, suguru, suguru, even Lucifer was ready to make ready his throne for the both of you.

“shit— sweet as always . .” father geto moans, slurping up all of your cum and making a mess, so much so that you’re giggling shyly at the lewd noises. you rest upon his heaving chest, noting wet patches that stain his black shirt — he came as well. “you treat me so good, don’t you, doll?”

your face twists, “i think i should be the one to say that, father geto.”

“don’t—”

“i like it. rolls off the tongue nicely,” you smirk, easily scooting downwards before settling your pulsing cunt onto his softening cock. but he knows you can get him up at any instance, just as you start grinding your clit along his shaft. the pleasure-filled moan he sounds out never gets old, echoed at the front of the Church of not, “father geto.”

all he shoots you is an unimpressed look, but he can’t keep his look up because the sight of you always inspires a thousand sermons and questions of morality.

“i like the dangerous aspect of it, father geto,” you reason with a sultry voice, grabbing his hardening dick and teasing his weeping tip along your folds. the both of you shiver. “it reminds me of how a holy man like you so easily fell for some pussy and got addicted to it.”

“pretty slut’s developing a dirty mouth,” he laughs, “carry on.”

“fucked a clueless, innocent girl in such a holy place,” you whined when his tip nudges past your pussy and into your gummy walls, spreading you open so deliciously.

“need my help?” you shake your head defiantly, sinking down slowly with calculated steps, gasps escaping your mouth as his cock continues to impale you inch by inch.

“and then claimed her right at the apse of the Church. on the altar, where bread is b-broken and wine is shared.” your eyebrows have knitted together from the pure stretch, descending down fully where you sit a little uncomfortably. no matter how many times you take him, he’s still big and full in you, needing a few moments to adjust as you wiggle your hips.

“can man prevent himself from chasing after his darkest desires?” father geto asks, bumping up his hips just a little and he grins at the little whine you let out.

“no, but God can,” you reason and yet you know you wouldn’t want anything to have changed between the two of you. you still would have wanted father geto’s downfall, you still would have wanted to see him stroking his cock behind the velvet curtains of the confession box.

you momentarily lock eyes with geto, drunk off the feeling of his length in you and the friction of your clit against his pelvis that you naturally gravitate towards him, feeling tired from all the grinding from earlier. he coos, receiving you without any judgement just like how a good priest should do and you feel most at home in his hug.

“what if my God is my darkest desire?” you barely make the connection before geto starts to thrust up into you, not too harshly but not too gently, either. you limp forward and just let him do the work, praising and worshipping you with every snap of his hips from below you.

“o-oh, baby, you’re so tight . .” suguru mumbles, littering kisses all over your neck and face while you struggle to keep yourself up, held up by your weak elbows as you try to meet his eyes. it’s the purple eyes you want to see as he fucks you dumb on his cock, full of lust and only on you as you drop all of your walls for him to enter. suguru tries his best, too, treating you as gently as he can out of the bedroom, which frankly isn’t much, but he tries. he brushes away your hair when it gets into your tongue during communion, he massages your knees in the rectory, he brings chocolate cake whenever he can.

he tries in the bedroom, too, but you are just too much for him. too much in the way that the devil’s whispers start to sound more and more like O Emmanuel and too much in the way he can feel the swell of his heart when even your name is mentioned. father geto doesn’t want to name it love, because in his position it will simply come off as manipulation, deceit.

father geto needs to know you are willing, too.

“father g-geto,” you whine, hands upon his face and sweat lining your brow, “faster, p-please—”

he chokes out a moan, “o-of course, sweetheart.”

you just feel so damn good, clenching so tightly around him that he cannot stop rutting his pelvis into you. he can feel the ripple of your ass with each thrust, the snugly fit tip hitting your g-spot ever so often to pull out the most beautiful moans from you. you’re both so wet and sloppy that you both can hear it — the squelching of your cunt paired with the pre-cum of his cock, mixing at your connected bodies in noisy pap! pap! pap!’s.

“s-suguruuu . . pleasepleaseplease.”

“whaddaya want, baby? words,” geto slurs as well, hips never stilling but now grinding in circles. his glutes and thighs burn but he won’t stop until you tell him what you want.

“i w-want your cum, inside me,” you mewl out like it’s a secret, like he hasn’t been cumming inside you for the past multiple times that you meet, “w-want you to breed me.”

suguru chuckles like it’s a dangerous bet, like he hasn’t emptied his balls deep in your pussy before, “you’re still on the pills, right, baby?”

ah . . the pills, that’s what you wanted to ask him to get more of at the beginning.

you nod hurriedly, “yes— i am, f-fuck—!”

“oh . . my darling’s close,” father geto grunts out, angling his hips so his cock reaches deeper in you, arms trapping you in an eternal embrace like Eve and the devil’s Serpent. you give him lazy, intoxicated kisses, sucking at the skin until there’s bound to be purple and he does the same to yours, albeit lighter.

“y . . yeah, i’m yours, suguru,” you whimper softly, voice breaking from the sheer pleasure once your hand sneaks in between to rub softly at your clit. you suck in a breath when both his cock and your hand find that sweet spot, moans suddenly overflowing into his neck with repeated “yes”’s and profanities until you cum with a cry of suguru’s name, juices spraying everywhere. it’s messy and filthy, your cum soaking his balls and staining the sheets.

“that’s it, thaaat’s it . . squirt all over my cock, baby,” geto continues to ram into your pussy as he praises, hips faltering in the slightest bit, “that’s a good girl.” it only makes you clamp down on his cock harder, making him hiss.

“i w-won’t last long, sweetheart—” he warns you but it’s not enough before he’s stilling in you, pupils blown wide as he shoots spurt upon spurt of hot cum into your cunt, filling you up to the brim as his cock twitches in you. you shiver at the feeling, breathing heavily in his arms as he continues to pump you full. slowly you recover but he stays plugged in, heading back to your position on elbows.

“she’s satisfied?”

you grin with a sigh, “very.”

“that’s all i ever want.” father geto smiles, gently bringing your head down for a gentle kiss on your lips. it turns heated soon enough, the gesture prompting your hips to move again on his very sensitive dick. but with the distant clack of shoe upon cobblestone that increases in volume, the both of you freeze.

“father geto?” it’s a boy’s voice, possibly one of the altar boys.

“what is it?”

the boy seemed to be relieved, as if stepping near the rectory was a sin in itself, “father nanami unfortunately can’t lead the night mass at eight tonight, will you be available?”

you shoot him a disappointed frown, but it is still his job after all. all he manages is a forehead peck.

“a-ah, yes, i am,” father geto thinks if it’s worth asking the next questions, “how many people usually show up to the night mass?”

“not too many, father geto, but it serves mostly the truckers and people in our town who have night shifts.”

you nod since you’ve never attended the night mass at all. father geto has conducted it; it was right on that fateful night where you had texted him about an unnamed confession.

“thank you, go in peace . .” geto shouts his reply and then looks at you with a small smile, speaking softly, “i have an idea.”

it’s only the afternoon when you make it back to your house for lunch before heading back out again like you planned with suguru earlier, following him from a safe distance until you’re out of earshot and sight of the congregation, even if no one was there. he kisses you gently in the sacristy, body pressed up against decades old of wooden cabinets and drawers. you have no idea what your priest has up his sleeve, so your eyes blindly follow his figure that brings out a toolbox proudly, taking out a hammer.

“don’t even know why the sacristy has a toolbox.”

“. . you’re insane,” your mouth drops open when he gives a hint of homily and sermon that you connect the dots, following him a little worried to the apse. there, stands the podium where he gives his readings and sermons, hands going straight for the board that’s nailed shut. turning the hammer around, using the claw at the back of it to remove the nails that hold it down, removing the nails of the lectern one by one with muscles bulking under his robes before it’s revealed.

“looks . .” he whistles lowly at the pristine condition of the wooden podium, “. . i forgot they gifted me a new podium when i transferred.”

“new priest privileges.” you nudge him in the side.

“i’m probably going to get transferred out soon, too,” he jokes with an arm around your waist, and in a perfect world, this would be the two of you looking at your newly built home in those terrible films. instead, you’re here, faced with temptation and sin.

“are you gonna be okay? we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to—” you cut him off with a hand to his crotch, sparing a glance towards the double doors. the church was small, yes, but there was still a good amount of people that attended it, even if the night mass garnered less.

“i’ll be okay, suguru. i’m wet just thinkin’ about it,” the other only hums at your revelation, bending down with you as you slot yourself into the dark place, pockets of light fighting to get in from the amateur job of the podium, “you better go prepare.”

“you’re a gem.” with a soft kiss to your forehead, father geto leaves just as the first parishioner shows up for mass: a whopping 43 minutes before the start of mass. you’re not surprised by the faith in this town, sometimes coming in to complete a rosary, do some extra prayers or partake in confession — but you realise you’re going to have to stay in this lectern for 43 minutes and more before he starts his homily. it’s a perfect fit, but trying not to rattle the box while adjusting yourself seemed to be the most difficult thing.

he had no helpers tonight, no altar boys, such a prime time to commit such a foul act in the eyes of God while he finishes up on the Gospel and you feel your fingertips tingling when he walks from the altar to the podium, dress shoes clicking against the wood of the floor of the rickety Church.

thank god the alb is huge and so is the podium, and thank god there aren’t any pews at the sides of the church. you know he spares some glances, too, so after a few moments of silence to reflect on the words of the Gospel, you’re lifting the alb right to where his boner was. you palm the area in wonder, at the clear sin of the act that you’re currently committing and this is all new to you apart from fucking when the place is empty.

“so big . .” it’s like he hears your whispers, cock twitching under your hold when you slowly remove it from his trousers, slotting his hardening dick through the boxers and zip hole without bringing too much attention. you trail your thumb over his tip that’s leaking pre, a difficult thing to see in such a dark place but you know it’s there when you kitten lick the mushroom tip.

you can hear a falter in his sermon, a stutter of words. leaning forward, you awkwardly switch onto your knees before wrapping your mouth around his length and it’s more clear now when you’re closer to the source of sound.

“. . ory of G-God, excuse me,” geto coughs as if he’s got something stuck in his throat, pulling at his chasuble that feels like choking him at the neck. your mouth continues its teasing, holding onto his thighs as you continue to suck on his fat cock. even now, you struggle to take it all in your mouth, pumping at the bottom while you bob your head. you can only pray that the broadcasted words of the sound system can cover up the obscene noises that your mouth makes.

“mmhh . . j—just, sorry,” the less-than-thirty church-goers don’t pay any mind when his hand snakes down from the top of the lectern toward you, offering his fingers and it’s like salvation after being stuck in there for God knows how long. you grasp at the hand, using your hand to stroke his shaft while you suck on his fingers. in a moment of bravery, you stick your head out as the other wills not to look down, but with a calculated glance to everyone that’s either asleep or zoning out, father geto rewards himself with one gaze while you switch from fingers to his cock.

“oh . .” he restricts himself before any pet name can escape, seeing your pliant mouth take all of him just like that first night but someone coughs and it snaps him out of the daydream, hand going back up.

“we should prioritise the Lord at every part of our day,” geto breathes heavily when he feels you deepthroat him, hands dripping the sides of the podium that you were sure the cheap wood would splinter under his grip. you focus on getting him in your mouth when he steps closer to you and you let out a small sound of surprise; he takes that small break to quickly bun up his hair, all wet from the sweat on his neck.

“mmf—!” there’s a small relief that leaves your priest’s mouth at having his tip hit the back of your throat, muttering a lot of uhm’s and repeated words. he wants to cum, and he wants to cum quick from how his hips thrust into your warm mouth, wanting to do away with conducting mass and to just be in your pliant pussy.

“. . a-and to make sure all our actions honour the Lord our Saviour,” his hips continue to move, continually buried up to the hilt in your mouth over and over as he fucks your mouth. you receive it willingly, hands taking action to play with his balls and that has his thighs tensing up. “and while you continue to live your life in praise—”

“f-fuck,” it’s whispered away from the microphone but you hear it, length twitching in response to your hands before you come off with to breathe. both hands stroke his cock while you suckle on the tip, driving him into insanity that he’s struggling to finish his sermon.

“you’ll be given the greatest graces in Heaven,” father geto shoots his cum down your throat and it’s so much, muscles pulled taut as he continues to buck his hips needily. you can feel him slump forward and out of breath while you continue to milk him and his words start to slur just a tad bit and while you clean him of his semen, you giggle to yourself under the podium as he gathers himself for another look down at you.

the final blow is how you stick out your tongue to show him the cum that’s left, a grin spreading that he just has to give you his hand again as you hold it gently, “—together in eternal life with God Almighty and Christ.”

“i hope i wasn’t too obvious on the lectern two weeks ago,” father geto laughs into your neck at your place, seemingly so long ago where he decided to step into your room and questioned your thesis on Paradise Lost. it felt like it was just last week he was bringing cake to your place, sitting in on dinner, walking with you around the town. now you sit in his lap in the living room of your house, unassuming because of the five day vacation that your parents decided to take. your mother stayed with your father for what, you never could figure out, but with the baby dropped off at the family across the street (your mother knew you’d be busy with university work) and them out to the next town, you did what every university student would do.

you sneaked priest geto in on sunday night, letting him take you on every surface he knew you’d spread your legs for him on, and now sat, freshly showered and the television turned down to a low, you could only hope this was what a life of matrimony could look like. all the dreams and fancy stories your mother tells you, you think you could twist this sick relationship and forbiddenness into something normal for at least five days if you convince yourself enough.

“you were stuttering on every sentence,” you mumble into his hair that starts to smell more and more like yours, arms encircled around his neck while he sits in a mere singlet. “you like my mouth too much.”

“ego te adoramus.” father geto hums quietly, pulling away from the embrace as he looks up at you and he sighs. if only he had found you sooner before starting his theology degree, before he could hear God’s call for him into priesthood. he would be happy being your childhood friend, anything.

“do you ever wish you weren’t a priest?”

geto swallows, brushing away the strands from your face and adjusts you on his lap, “sometimes.”

“my parents were open with my choice, as they always are, but they valued how much i liked to explore and try new things. they only said that i should choose this path carefully because they knew time is something that no one can get back,” he explains, hands stroking your sides carefully and you let yourself dream that you were just a normal couple, “some friends were weird about it, telling me i would miss having sex and whatnot, but i still value my relationship with God and the many things i’ve learned from my journey in the seminary.”

“but?”

“i didn’t expect to . . meet someone like you so soon,” suguru laughs when you shout a small hey!, feigning annoyance, “someone so bright, and loving and kind. someone that embodies what Jesus and the Church stands for, and something i’ve never seen in ages. unconditional compassion.”

“your praise is too heavy,” you swat away his hand, only attributing your disposition to your mother’s exemplary way of raising you, “is simple kindness that hard to see?”

“you shadow a lot of priests in conducting masses, baptising people, giving first communions, and you see a lot of personalities — some that are vile for people that regularly go to Church. it’s disheartening to see Christians who are clearly wrapped up in their privilege and pride and think they’re the most important religion to exist. you hear it in history books, through word of mouth.” geto looks just like a boy, frustrated with the world that he lives in that a scowl settles into his features and his hands ball fabric into tight fists.

you manage to relax him a little, running your thumbs over his face and hands; he twines his fingers with yours. “i thought that if i went in, i could at least try to reshape the community. bit by bit, open their minds about abortion, about the queer community, but it is proving hard when the first church you’re transferred to is a small town.” that gets a giggle out of you.

“you’re not wrong, suguru, for trying your hardest. it’s so admirable. i’m trying to unlearn things about the Church that my mom has taught me too, and it’s all interesting reads alongside my second year of uni. if you can change one mind, there’s the potential to change many others.”

geto lets you rest your forehead on his, closing his eyes to just feel you, “thank you.”

he’s not even sure when to tell you that he’s fallen in love, the hardest he’s ever done since in high school with his first love, or in university studying theology, and he’s not even sure it’s love. all he knows is that when he looks at you, a life until silver hair is all he can think about.

“you can do it,” you break the ice softly, placing a peck on his lips, “i believe in you.”

“i don’t think they would wanna believe a sex-crazed priest, darling, not when i wanna give you the life you deserve.”

you sigh, hiding your face, “i don’t think we can achieve that, suguru, not while you’re still married to the Church and i’m supposed to be celibate.”

“that’s out the window—” and he laughs when you slap him on the bicep, finding that you’d want him to laugh more. he does it sometimes when he gives sermons, recounting a specific story about his mother, or while baptising a baby. it’s pure like a young boy’s laughter, something to be protected, the way his eyes crinkle and lips stretch . .

“what if i break priesthood for you?”

what?

“no . .” you brows furrow, “don’t say stuff like that.”

“why not, my love?” you continue to shake your head, standing from your place on his lap and he’s confused — wouldn’t you want this?

“don’t call me that—” your safe space, your room is the only place all you can think in, and you escape to it before he can catch a thread of your clothing. father geto calling you that means he’s officially fallen, chained to the river Styx. the descent was fun, but you didn’t want to be the reason why he’d truly throw away all of his hard work, you didn’t want him to be shamed, nor did you want to be called out for being a temptress. self-serving while serving others — maybe that’s how Christians operated and you were the walking proof of it.

geto thinks he’s messed up big time and unsure of the reason why as he lets you stay in your room to cool down. he only sends out a text simply to check on you, but it takes you an hour before you’re ready; once he hears the click of your door, he’s heading up the stairs and pushing open the door gently.

just like that first night, he’s cautious when he enters your room as if touching your sacred place will have him reciting rosaries as penance, as an apology for staining your heart and your body. you stand.

“i don’t want you to leave everything behind just for me . .” you sound out, sniffling softly and the priest’s heart already shatters at the sound, “all your hard work, the years you did in the seminary and then just dumping it all just for a chance with a woman who you don’t even know whether will be suitable as your lover.”

geto’s expression softens in the dark room, only illuminated by fluorescent light from your bedside table lamp — “i won’t leave anything behind; all those years, all the studies, all of it mattered because somehow it still led me to you. if that isn’t God’s doing, i don’t know what else it was. my definition of Christianity has been entirely reimagined, entirely changed when i look at you, a person filled with nothing but pure lovingness and soft-heartedness and yet i still feel proud when you said you wished harm on your father because i know that Christ didn’t ask men to gouge their eyes out for nothing.”

he grabs your hands, stroking the back of your palms and stepping close to you as much as you will let him. suguru plants feather-like kisses onto skin before continuing, “i will always carry my Christianity with me, the shame, its history and if i fall, so be it. Lucifer had fallen many times after, crouching by Eve’s ear to whisper sin, turning into a serpent to give her the forbidden fruit, sentenced to rule Hell because he himself is Hell.”

“and are you dragging me down with you?”

“i have been dragged to the darkest pits of Hell from the moment i saw you, and if anything, while i worship God, i cannot ignore the olive branch that you hold out to me like a saving grace, like you ascend the same pedestal that the Trinity sits on.”

you swallow, eyes breaking contact and he’s quick to rectify that, both palms on your cheeks and your face is tilted upwards.

“our God will always be there for repentance if you wish so, but allow me to indulge in the blasphemy and filthiness and sacrilege of craving someone so desperately that my body burns from thinking about her and my knees want to strike the Earth whenever she’s around me.”

the sentence takes you aback before he’s leaning forward, but abruptly stops short— it’s rushed, can i kiss you?

“yes. yes, suguru—”

and he kisses you with the force of a thousand suns and the most detrimental winds of the pacific, arms going from your face right to your body as he wraps you in his love. geto deepens the kiss just as he always has, but the feelings that spark in you differ greatly from just mindless kissing during sex. it’s full of passion, full of possibly everything he’s kept bottled up as he walks you to your bed, yelping in surprise when the back of your knees hit the mattress.

“do you still have your pills, my love?”

your fingers bunch up the same sweater he wears on the first day, “i . . ran out . . a while ago.”

“i’m surprised those pills work even after i cum so much in you,” that really draws a hearty laugh from your stomach, “but whatever happens, i’ll be here.”

“the feeling’s just too good—” you giggle, squealing when father geto lifts you off the floor and puts you on the bed.

“if you test positive, and if you want to keep it or abort it, i’m okay,” geto hovers over you, looking at you with so much love you wonder how you miss it the many times you’ve been together, “i’ll support you in everything that you do.”

a peak of silver shines in the moonlight under his sweater and you realise this feels like the first time you lost control over your lust, the first time you touched yourself. like heeding a call, his crucifix falls from the safety of his sweater and almost hits you in the face if not for suguru pulling away in worry.

“was it just like this?” he teases with a small smirk, knees already nudging your legs apart, “you imagined me fucking you with this dangling in your face?” your face heats up at the mention, at the fact he still manages to remember that confession and you nod whilst biting your lip.

“well, you get to live it now,” geto grins, leaning down to plant a kiss to your lips before having his way with you.

and have his way did he — you aren’t even sure what round you’re on at the moment, simply subjected to getting you face smushed into your pillow as he pounds into you from behind. geto grunts as he eases his cum-filled cock back into your sweet cunt, hands travelling everywhere over your sweaty back.

“are you okay, baby?”

you turn your head with arms still buried in the pillow, a cock drunk smile on your face, “splendid.”

“goin’ in— shiit . .” geto sinks into you easily, your mixed juices proving easy before getting himself right up to the hilt. his mouth hangs open in pleasure, pants leaving both your lips before he starts to thrust and the wetness is just straight-up obscene. with a wordless tug, father geto brings you close to him, wrapping an elbow around your neck while the other settles for your tummy, feeling the muscle that curls around you. he doesn’t trap you so tightly, simply holding your limp body up as his pelvis rams into you.

“your pussy’s just so good, darling,” he mutters into your neck as your head tilts back in ecstasy while your body trembles in geto’s hold.

“s’full, suguru . .” you whine, hands flailing for his toned arms that encircle your body while he thrusts, cum spilling from where you were connected onto your sheets. it was a blessing your parents were out because father geto doesn’t hold back with the way he fucks you, voice carrying throughout the house and permeating the walls that you hoped the neighbours wouldn’t hear.

going for multiple rounds meant the two of you were highly sensitive, jolting when his hand sneakily drew circles along your clit and matched his pace, while his length in you kept twitching and pulsing from the way your gummy walls wrap around him. “s-suguru — i need you, p-please—”

“i’m here, sweetheart,” geto chokes out, hand wrapping around the expense of your neck and turning your face, indulging himself in a sinful kiss that you return immediately. tongue and saliva is everywhere, hands and hips never slowing down when it comes to you and your sweet pussy. “i’m here, always, amie.”

“i’m gonna c— fuck— shit,” you tighten around his cock at the name, moaning into his mouth like a mantra, like a mystery that cannot be solved as he cums with a guttural groan into you and you shiver from the feeling of him filling you that you forget all about your own pleasure, body shaking with mini orgasms instead. “lay forward . .”

it’s softly spoken, and you obey, eyes fluttering close when he pulls out slowly and geto’s fixated on the drip of his cum that falls from your pussy. flipping you over instantly, he smears your juices together and all over your centre, smiling at how your legs close in on each other at the sensitivity. his tip’s filled with your cum, a messy painting of your repeated rounds.

“you’re the most stunning right here,” he breathes out as he rests on his calves, cock still hard. his hand trembles as he strokes himself, moaning softly at the warmth that he misses already and he’s brought to attention again when you whimper softly. you’re fingers play lazily with your folds, finger rubbing circles into your clit and all he can think about is pumping you full of his cum again when you look at him from under your eyelashes, with a subtle pout and the plea of the eye.

“fuck me again, father geto,” you mumble, “fuck me until i’m full of your cum.”

the priest only grunts lowly at that, trailing his angry tip along your pussy and collecting your juices before slipping in. the both of you gasp at the sensation, more of you when his hands close around your knees and push. he’s forcing your legs right up to your chest the same time he enters you, sending you deeper into desperation that you writhe on the bed.

“ohh . . tha’s a perfect pussy right there . .” suguru slurs, body pushed against your bent legs as his cross swings back and forth like an omen, like a crow watching your movements, “will you be mine, my darling?”

your voice comes out in high-pitched whines at his question, so intimate, so loving in such a dirty space. you can only manage nods when he starts to move, this new position allowing him to reach much, much deeper into you that you preen at the overwhelming feelings that bubble in your chest.

“yesyesyes! r-right there, suguru—” your back arches off your childhood bed, where you first prayed, where you first read the Bible, where you did your homework, where you first fingered yourself, all overthrown by the sheer blasphemy that geto suguru wished to indulge in, and you give it to him just like that, “f-fuck! love your cock in me, father!”

“o-oh . . you’re playing a dangerous game, c-calling me that, baby,” his eyes also struggle to stay open, committing your pleasure-filled face to memory as your jaw slacks and your eyes roll back. he can see your tits move with his rough thrusts as well, licking his lips while feeling you fuck him back, “are you close?”

“mhmm—” you’re humming, mumbling incoherent sentences at this point as your mind fogs at the neck-deep euphoria you were in. with the room that’s filled with sex to the nasty, sloppy noises of his balls hitting your ass, and soaking wetness that can be heard from a mile away, the both of you are lost to the claws of Hell. geto knows you’re close with the way your cunt tightens and your breathing escalates, using his thumb to rub at your clit and now you truly feel like you’re going insane.

“c-close . . haah—” your eyes try to stay open to look at the sight above you: messy-haired and body lined with sweat, the beautiful entity of abstinence and temptation all in one person. you fumble with his shoulders, wanting to pull him closer so you can admire him up close while he drives you to your high. the moment of vulnerability only spurs geto on, drawing out the brutal, carnal need he has for you.

“is that it? you wanted this?” he grunts out through gritted teeth, “you wanted me to fuck your pussy until it knows the shape of my cock?” the words muttered sends goosebumps throughout your body. you nod, “you wanted me to defile this pretty pussy so no one else can fuck you, isn’t that right?”

you whimper at the words as he pushes your legs further into your chest, “cum on my cock, darling.”

and you do. generous with it, you’re gushing all over his length as he continues fucking you through your overstimulation, thumb slowing its ministrations on your puffy clit as he chases his own climax. “taking my cock so well, so good like the good slut she is,” the other says through a small grin, hips stuttering when you give him a small yeah in return.

“another load for you, baby,” father geto groans out loudly before he switches to quick, fast thrusts into your warm, welcoming pussy before cumming with a whine, shooting thick ribbons of white deep into your womb. your moans are swallowed by geto as he continues to fill you to the brim, painting your insides and enjoying your slow, needy kisses.

“she’s had her fill,” you mumble softly, feeling sleepy while the other only hums in agreement. slowly, geto lets your legs down which only plop down on the bed, unsheathing himself from you and relishing in the way the cum dribbles out, glob after glob of cum leaving your pussy and onto the sheets, “are you okay, suguru?” he takes your shaky hand, interlocking your fingers with his as he scoots up to you, closer until he’s just over you.

“always better with you here.” you roll your eyes, tugging on the crucifix and pulling him into you where your lips collide, feeling him collapse by your side even as your mouths continue their movements. all you do is smother each other with hands, one through his sweaty locks and his grabbing your waist. you want to live through the feeling of his front against yours for eternity, deepening the kiss with your tongue and moaning softly when his fingers squeeze your ass secretly.

“you just stay here and i’ll clean you up,” with one last peck to your temple, father geto navigates your house like he lives there, getting a rag and wetting it before he cleans you up gently, fabric travelling along your skin like a kiss of hellfire as he massages your legs, your arms. there’s a multitude of things before the two of you succumb to slumber, going to the toilet, grabbing something to eat and then wallowing in some late night conversations (“do you think you find me in other universes?” / “i’ll find you in every one.”) until finally, you two settle in each other’s arms.

it’s like a still painting that would be studied by future literature students, scrutinised by art critics all over the world of a sacrilegious relationship that should not have place for love, that should not have place for purity, but the feeling of geto suguru’s arms from behind wound tightly and protectively around your physique feels like both the good and bad of the secular world. love and lust can coexist.

just as father geto worships, your luggage is quickly packed up a few weeks later alongside a pregnancy test that looks awfully reminiscent of the cross in the church. picture frames emptied, laptop and papers packed, a barren land of what used to be the place of a God-serving, holy girl — and even if knowledge caused her downfall, she was more than willing to own up to it. the room looked larger and drab with everything gone; you aren’t even sure how you fit everything into the luggage.

the fallen angels watch over your encounters with crinkles of the paper of your farewell letter, the squeaky floorboards, and the atmosphere of the night sounding like vacuum from its sheer silence as you snuck out of the house and into the stark night, hands clasped within each other’s while gravel below your feet reminded you of your situation. you weren’t sure if you were walking to salvation or away from it, but at least you knew Eden was by your side, with the lavender scent of your shared shampoo on both your heads and his saccharine words.

after walking for what felt like forever to avoid detection, geto waves excitedly to a car in the distance which seemed to house two men — one blonde that looks awfully like father nanami and the other, a white-haired man.

“i called up some friends,” suguru brings your connected hands to his lips and his tired eyes soften even further, pressing soft pecks along your fingers and face. your priest catches you in a sensual kiss, humming into it and mumbling sweet nothings that sound just like Lucifer in Eve’s ear, but you’re too enamoured with the sparks you leave on one another to notice the commencement of your coronation at Pandæmonium.

“we’ll be okay, amie. ego te amo ut dum stellae luceant.”

“Rise, then, to the thrones of Moloch and Paimon, of Belial and Beelzebub, of the infamous angel who challenged his Creator and clawed his way from the Stygian pool to Pandæmonium made of demon blood and soot-filled fingertips. Rise to Lucifer, and take your rightful place on the throne overflowing with hate and vice and villainy, and rule Hell just as how he would’ve wanted it.”

a/n: another insane piece .. pls dont look / tagging @mysugu @slttygeto @screampied @suguruplsr @na-t0 @peachsayshi

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