#priest!miguel

[peterspinkrobe]

Confession - priest!Miguel O’Hara x Reader [part 2]

Word count: 2,270 (oops)

Rating: mature for suggestive content. Mentions of masturbation. You have a dirty mind… tsk tsk. Religious content. Mentions of parental death (sorry for not tagging last time).

A/N: Thank you for your feral support in reading part 1! The art above is again by @Ejpuki on twt. They drew this moment from part one and JUST LOOK AT IT! They also did a pre-reading which I greatly appreciated. Go support them over there <3 I only tagged the people who explicitly stated bc I don’t want to overstep. Also, I guess I should watch Fleabag? Enjoy! part three is cookin’ in my noggin’

// Psalms 32:3-4

When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy on me;

Rumbling sounds drone from the engine in a constant hum as the bus wheels roll down the asphalt, occasionally shuffling the passengers inside. Yourself included.

The wheels in your mind are conjuring images of too much skin, friction, and want. The mental pictures… different positions and other things that you’ve only read about - all featuring the same tall deacon from your small church.

You curse yourself for both your overactive imagination and forgetfulness for having left your headphones at home. Some loud music would drown out the whir of the bus and push out the flashes of lewdness that plagued you.

Reverend O’Hara, you learned that’s what transitional deacons are usually called after inquiring about the proper title on Google the second you got home from that communion, occupied the majority of your mind. He took up residence in your thoughts without even asking permission and you didn’t know the proper way to absolve your sanity of him. It had only been two weeks since you’d met him, two Sunday services, but you were hooked. This trip into the city was supposed to get you out of the house and help clear your mind of its recent inhabitant.

The methods you were currently using were certainly of no help. Nearly every night, for the past two weeks, you’d given into temptation. Allowing the streaking images of what you could only envision his toned body looked like to remain longer in your mind’s eye. His thumb on your lip, the quick swipe across - became more inquisitive of the inside of your mouth in your imagination. You pressed into yourself and thought of those long, thick fingers. You carried yourself away on highs with only his hands in mind. You yearned to baptize him in your waters.

You buried fingernails into your palms to ground yourself as the scenery outside the bus began the change drastically, pulling you out of your daydream.

Your hometown along the Catskill Mountains was enveloped by the natural world - tucked into valleys of the vast countryside. In the three weeks you’d been back home, you had already gotten used to surrounding greenery. You’d forgotten the toll that city expansion was having on the rows of vegetable and orchard farms in the surrounding areas.

Your gaze out the window watched tree lines and grassy hills give way to glimmers of futuristic architecture as the bus entered Nueva York. The rhythm of wheels on tarmac became a backdrop to the din of honking horns, shouting pedestrians, and blaring sirens. You had only recently left a city not too different from this one, but the drastic change in landscape from the mountains made your head spin. The inertia of the bus braking and accelerating over and over on the intersecting streets only added to the motion sickness. You recognize the next stop as the usual one you and your mother used when coming into the city. You quickly get off the bus, blessing the steady ground underneath as your boots hit the pavement.

Towering structures of carbon fiber and glass dominated the skyline, some illuminated by bright neon light displays, others blending into the afternoon sunshine. Advertisements for fast foods, fast money, and fast cars flickered on screens everywhere. You look to where the bus carried you from and, in contrast, the countryside stretched out, calling you back. Despite the slight familiarity in the maze of metal, the sudden change in surroundings made you slightly anxious.

The steady stream of citizens didn’t help your nerves either. You take a moment to get yourself together before following the foot traffic flow up a familiar street.

Your eyes recognize a food spot from a bygone era and you can’t help but smile. You picked up the pace as you headed to the establishment your family used to frequent. Timeless Treats is still here?! You pull on the long handled door and a wave of music, chatter, and sugar hit you at once. Much more pleasant than the waves of anxiety from moments before.

Entering the quaint eatery, you’re transported into a cozy atmosphere reminiscent of an old fashioned diner. A cheerful man at the front waves you in and shouts for you to ‘sit where ya want!’.

You recognized the vintage decor: rusted signs with cartoon mascots and ads for ice cream floats that cost only $2. Imagine! You select one of the smaller retro tables with two stools and hear a jukebox play a song you don’t recognize but tap your foot along to.

There was more to this diner than what it seems at first glance. A few more glances noticed the subtle touches where the diner had embraced the future where it mattered, with high-tech kitchen appliances that helped the staff immensely. A holographic menu pops up across the portion of the table you're sitting at and you slide your finger along the options.

This bakery specialized in delicious treats with a futuristic flare, with many favorites being popular since the establishment opened generations ago. Your eyes fell onto the pastry menu and your curiosity piqued as you ordered the ‘Time Traveler’s Torta.’

All the hustle of the city had occupied your mind until you were sitting alone at the table. Your eyes scanned the other occupants and you wondered what they were all talking about with their sugary sweets. It made you think of him again.

Dammit. A whole ten minutes without thinking of Reverend O’Hara, that’s a record! You couldn’t help the images of Miguel that fluttered now. Only this time you pictured him sitting at the table with you. The two of you share a dessert and you smile at the thought. You visualize his thumb coming to your face to wipe whipped cream from your lips only to plop the finger into his own mouth. That moment as mass replayed in your mind with differing flavors of spice on repeat.

The torta arrives and you gawk at the presentation of the treat. A classic cake with layers of light vanilla sponge, intricately placed swirls of sweet cream cheese frosting, and decadent chocolate sauce. This sweet was the perfect balance of timeless and futuristic as it sat on an oblong, ornate plate.

You savored the flavors as you ate and continued to imagine a date with the deacon. You ask yourself if deacons can even date and the thought pulls you out of your delusions for a moment. Get it together…

As you scooped the last bits of the pastry into your mouth, you pondered your dilemma. Mom always said that confession cleared a clouded consciousness, but there was no way you’d divulge this information to her. Her hypothetical reaction to your crush on a clergy member makes you shiver.

An idea comes to mind that makes you think to yourself that you’ve really gone mad.

The madness pushes you from your seat after paying for the dessert. There’s a slim chance what you’re looking for is actually there considering the cities expansions. That doubt doesn’t stop you from following a semi-recognizable path down the busy streets.

Every tall figure you pass makes you do a double take. The idea of the deacon brushing alongside you making you smile. You turn a corner as your imagination creates sweet scenarios with Reverend O’Hara and stop in your tracks. You cause people behind you to push into your back and spit harsh murmurs at you.

It was still there.

You were surprised for good reason. You were headed towards a relic of past times, nestled between buildings of glass and metal. There was some scaffolding supporting it as the building you headed towards was centuries old. Other than that - the structure you now stood and stared at jutted towards the sky in the old brick and mortar style you were used to seeing in your hometown.

But the Cathedral of Nueva York wasn’t like the humble church in your hometown. The ornate bell tower and large cross atop the chapel in front of you proved that. The only thing to change about the building was the name as the state itself saw many changes a few decades ago - including the name of the actual city.

You find yourself reminiscing on the few times you’d been to the church as you walked inside. Your family used to attend the fancy Easter services and Christmas plays. Those trips stopped after your father passed, and your mother rarely came to the city at all anymore. You remember seeing pictures of them on their wedding day at this very church. Priesthood is a tight knit group and Father Steen knew the head priest, who extended their church for their wedding services.

Given it was a weekday afternoon, there weren’t many souls inside. Despite the numerous options for seating, you sat in your usual middle pew, aisle seat.

You eyed the part of the church that had brought you here in the first place. The confession booth. Its cherrywood exterior made you think of those eyes that bore into yours that day of communion. You shake your head but the visual remains.

The church in your hometown didn’t have a confessional booth. Even if they did - why the hell would you confess there? To the subject of your lustful desires? So many questions and doubts enter your mind.

Could you really do this? Confess to a priest that you pined over a man in his chaste brotherhood? Think of the judgment!

Another thought occurs to you: their whole shtick was that only one entity could do the judging. And it was confidential. If you received some good ol’ fashioned Catholic scolding and Hail Mary’s, maybe that would be enough to get you back to your senses. Reverend O’Hara is a man devoted to God and cannot be hindered by the whims of a degenerate like yourself.

Emboldened by the potential to relieve yourself of your corrupt thoughts, you stand and approach the far right front of the church. The confessional is smaller than it looked from how you remember as a child and teen but it doesn’t stop you from nearly yanking the door open. You don’t even knock.

Thankfully no one is on the confessing side as you burst into the tiny box. The confined space became even smaller as you closed the door behind you quickly. Your mind races towards impure thoughts of the deacon pressed against you in the tight booth space. His height would force him to bend slightly over you and the visual almost knocks you onto the bench which would probably be right at crotch level…

You remember the times you’d done this before and cry out the usual, “Forgive me, for I have sinned and it has been many years since my last confession…”. Who were you even asking for forgiveness? You think for a moment about the last time you were in this booth. You felt so guilty about stealing from the general store all those years back. This was a different kind of confession. This would hopefully absolve yourself of the sinful attraction to the forbidden.

You start light, fumbling over the words, “I’ve gotten drunk and high, uh, a good bit while in college. I lied to my mother and got into major trouble as a result. I’ve been selfish and lazy.”

The anonymity and the release of it all lit a fire under you and you kept going.

“While I’m in this confession booth, and I know it is a sacred and holy place”, you sigh and hear shuffling on the opposite side of the wall, the priest waiting patiently on the other side. “I’ve been struggling with my faith and don’t believe in god…”

You hear the clergyman start to interject but the voice that comes out of you has a fierce tone.

“I’m not done.” Now it was the priest’s turn to sigh and you see movement through the small slits in the partition, but hear nothing else. You continue. The most scandalous part to admit had yet to be said.

“Father, I’ve been lustful over the deacon at my church.” There’s silence on the other end and before embarrassment can take over you continue, “I’m constantly thinking of him and having impure thoughts that drive me to-“ oh god, here it is

“Touch myself. Daily. With this deacon on my mind.” You can’t stop the heat from painting your cheeks a deep red.

“I feel guilty because he isn’t for me to think that way about. From just the two times I’ve seen him, I know he is a good man who does good things. He’s on a path towards righteousness. He’s worthy.” To your shock, you feel tears form and they begin to fall.

“I’m a sinful nonbeliever. Definitely not someone he could be with, unworthy of devotion of any kind. And I’m not good.” Your breathing becomes shaky as the tears fall harder. Despite the fact that you feel your words are the truth, you can’t help but imagine him there now. Comforting you as you cry.

Now that you’ve finished confession, you expect to hear an outburst of disapproval or at least ‘50 Hail Mary’s’ to absolve you of your confessed transgressions.

But that’s not what you heard next.

You hear your name. You hear your name in that sweet music that’s been ringing in your ears the last week or so. This time the musical tone is cautious. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief as your eyes glue to the wall where the music came from.

To confirm your suspicions, you grab the knob on the partition and yank it back.

Through the small window you see a familiar pair of eyes analyzing your face, heavy with worry.

Reverend O’Hara had just taken your confession…

I pray you liked this, dear reader.

Tagged ppl - @friendlynbhdzero @ceoofghosts it won’t let me tag you @hoelychildofgod

[barleyo]

Take Me to Church.

Priest! Miguel O'Hara X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: Hello, my blessings! I hope you all can see what I was going for with this, I mean, Miguel is Catholic. I also hope this doesn't seem rushed! I'm not very well versed in religion, so I hope none of this comes off as blasphemous or disrespectful. Much love to all of you, and thank you for your continued support!

Wordcount: 3.3K

Tags: Dub-con, loss of virginity, manipulation, p in v, coercion, power dynamic, abuse of power, use of "Father" in a religious way, not an inc*stual way, HEAVY talk of religion (sin, penance, etc.), oral (f receiving), desk fucking, implied age gap

Miguel O’Hara was the leader of his local congregation. He was a devout man, trusting God’s will above anything else, and leading the church to trust just the same. He led them onto a holy path, clear of temptation and sin.

He himself, however, was not free from these temptations. No matter how much he had prayed to clear himself of these thoughts, they still remained. He beseeched God to forgive him for what he had thought, what he had felt. 

Nothing seemed to stop his mind from falling into the gutter, especially not her presence. 

Lord, forgive him for his sins. 

Forgive him for giving into her allurement. 

(Y/N) had knocked on Miguel’s office door. Normally, she would refrain and not impose on his valuable time, but for some time, something had bothered her deeply. Having nobody else to turn to, she came to his door, tail figuratively between her legs. 

“Father O’Hara? May I come in?”

“Yes, my child, do come in,” he said, his voice kind, yet firm. 

She walked in, awkwardly closing the door behind her and standing by the door. 

“Please, sit.” He pointed to a chair across from his desk, and removed his small reading glasses that sat on the tip of his nose. He removed the small stack of papers that he had been going through off of his desk, turning his full attention to the woman. “What seems to be the issue?”

“Apologies, I don’t mean to take up any of your time, I can see that you’re busy–”

“Nonsense, child. I am never too busy to give assistance to one in need. So?”

“Right, right.” She took a deep breath, clenching her fists in her lap. She quickly started muttering something under her breath before looking up to meet his eyes. 

He looked at her with his deep, dark eyes, filled with curiosity. Part of her felt that he could see right to her soul, that he knew exactly why she was there. Perhaps he had known the second it started. 

“Come now,” he said, arms crossed over the desk while he looked at her, head slightly tilted, “you are safe here with me. Unburden yourself and your soul, dear girl.” 

“Father, I– I believe that I need to look for forgiveness from God.”

“And why would that be?”

“My mind, Father,” (Y/N) said, chewing on the inside of her cheek, pricking blood from the thin skin.

“Ah, a matter of the mind, is it?” His brows furrowed together, creating a small dimpling near his forehead. Shifting in his chair, Miguel straightened his posture, as if he were preparing himself for what she had to say after the fact. “Care to explain further?”

“They’re bad thoughts, sexual in nature. And, I just feel that,” she paused to swallow a lump in her throat, briefly covering her mouth while she did so, “that they plague me.”

He felt his chest tighten. She felt what he had felt, though, he doubted for the same reason. 

Miguel hummed, clearing his throat quickly. “Is that so? So, you have been having unwanted sexual thoughts?” 

(Y/N) clung onto his words, feeling her face flush when hearing him say it out loud. “Yes, but that isn’t all. I— well, goodness, I’m so embarrassed.” She held her face in one of her hands, looking down at Miguel’s own hands that laid flat on the desk, avoiding his deep gaze.

She felt one of them reach out to lay over one of her hands, even before she could see it happen. Her head tilted up to see his face morph into a look of reassurance. 

“Do not let shame stop you from seeking full forgiveness.” Letting his hand linger for a second longer than he knew was acceptable, he slowly inched it away and continued with a sigh. “Speak only the truth, and allow me to guide you into the comfort of God’s shining light. Go on, now.”

“I have given into these desires.” She hung her head, face contorted into an ashamed look, eyebrows knitted together and mouth in a tight, thin line. She sat and waited for him to respond to her confession, but heard nothing. “Father O’Hara…?”

Miguel felt his face grow warm. Unsure if the tightness he felt in his chest was jealousy or judgment, he simply kept quiet, thinking over the woman’s words. 

Finally, he spoke, with a slight cracking in his voice, straining out of his throat. “With a man?” he asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

“No–! No, Father, no, certainly not,” she rushed, trying to clear her name as quickly as possible. “Certainly not, no. It’s not that.”

“Then what have you done?” His heartbeat slowed once more, feeling a bit relieved. 

“It was only once, maybe twice, that I’ve done it– touched myself with these thoughts in mind.” (Y/N) absentmindedly rubbed at her temples while she spoke.

He felt a pang of guilt strike his chest as his pants tightened slightly. He knew it was wrong, he shouldn’t have been excited over this, but how could he control himself? 

“It’s perverse and explicit, I cannot go into detail, for my own sake, but just know that my actions have haunted me since, and I just don’t know what to do. Father, I need your help.”

She was weak in her flesh and desire, it would be easy to prey on her, to fulfill his own desires. She was malleable under his guidance, and he knew it. Miguel also knew that what he felt was wrong, but it did not stop him from hesitating to answer her plea, mulling over what to do with his influence. His heart and mind were fighting, passion and righteousness in an entanglement he wasn’t sure his body could host much longer. 

“Your sins will be forgiven, as they always will be,” he said, “but you must reach out to God to fight against the base desires that you have given into. We all sin, do we not?” 

“We do, yes,” (Y/N) answered, lips coated in shiny spit from her incessant chewing and biting as she tried to keep herself grounded.

Miguel felt his eyes dip to her lips, the clear sheen of saliva practically sparkling in the low light of his office.

“Right, well,” he shook himself out of it, “we all sin, and God makes no exceptions. As long as you seek out his light, his light will shine on you, and you will be forgiven, my dear. Believe in that, and believe in the love God has for you.”

Miguel O’Hara was the leader of his local congregation. He was a man of God. He served God, and only God. He should not think these things, he knew better. 

Why couldn’t he keep his mind off of her? Why couldn't he be the holy, resilient man he knew he needed to be?

The second she left his office that day, he could not stop himself. His mind raced while he imagined what she was doing on her evenings alone. It drove him crazy. Had she gone back on what she promised? Was she sinning again, hands between her legs, panties to her knees, wanton moans escaping her spit-soaked, puffy lips?

He thought he was stronger than this, and yet there he was, praying to God for the strength to fight against his urges, urges he had for that sinful, tempting woman. A woman who returned the next week with the same problem.

“I must say, my dear, I am extremely disappointed in you,” he said, standing behind her chair, leaning down to her ear. 

He was a hypocrite, and he knew it. He was a sinner, a filthy sinner, and he knew it.

“Father, I–”

“Quiet down.” He placed his finger over her lip, silencing her while he continued. “You have forgotten my words. You trail out of God’s light, do you refuse forgiveness? Do you enjoy this sin?”

“No, Father O’Hara. I’m sorry,” (Y/N) choked a sob back. She felt her tears stream down her face faster than she could wipe them off. 

“Penance, I’m afraid, is not a fitting punishment, dear girl. God has not turned away from you, and he never will, but,” he whispered, placing his hand under her chin and forcing him to look at him from her chair, “you must pay for what you have done. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know,” she sniffed deeply. “What must I do?”

“Do not worry about that, I shall show you. Here,” he stood up straight and tapped on his desk, “sit here.”

(Y/N) followed his directions and sat facing him. “I don’t understand, what will this do?”

Miguel didn’t answer her, instead slotting himself between her legs, kneeling before her and looking up to her through hooded eyes. He pried her legs apart with his hands, pushed her skirt upwards, and leaned in, exhaling against her clothed cunt. 

“Look at that,” he nudged the wet patch on the front of her panties. “Is this what your thoughts are about?” he asked, eyes still focused on her heat. “Hm?”

“N-no, no that would be wrong!” She tried to close to her legs, but her hands held them forcefully apart.

“Do not lie in the house of God, my child,” he said flatly.

“This– this is wrong–!” She interrupted her own sentence with a small moan as she felt him lick a stripe of the fabric of her panties.

“There is nothing wrong with me absolving you of your sin, that’s all I am doing. I shall let your sin travel from inside of you to the outside. Do you not want to be free of your evil thoughts?”

A look of confliction flashed on her face. “But we aren’t married, isn’t this sinful in itself?”

“God commands me to take no wife, we are both free from that. It is my duty to guide your soul onto a holy path, won’t you let me do that?” Miguel slipped her panties down to her ankles, waiting for her to answer him.

“Father… please, just please— help me,” (Y/N) said, eyes darting away from him, shame creeping all over her body. 

Miguel O’Hara was the leader of his local congregation. He was a man of God. He served God, and only God. He should not think these things, he knew better. 

Why couldn’t he keep his mind off of her? Why couldn't he be the holy, resilient man he knew he needed to be?

The second she left his office that day, he could not stop himself. His mind raced while he imagined what she was doing on her evenings alone. It drove him crazy. Had she gone back on what she promised? Was she sinning again, hands between her legs, panties to her knees, wanton moans escaping her spit-soaked, puffy lips?

He thought he was stronger than this, and yet there he was, praying to God for the strength to fight against his urges, urges he had for that sinful, tempting woman. A woman who returned the next week with the same problem.

“I must say, my dear, I am extremely disappointed in you,” he said, standing behind her chair, leaning down to her ear. 

He was a hypocrite, and he knew it. He was a sinner, a filthy sinner, and he knew it.

“Father, I–”

“Quiet down.” He placed his finger over her lip, silencing her while he continued. “You have forgotten my words. You trail out of God’s light, do you refuse forgiveness? Do you enjoy this sin?”

“No, Father O’Hara. I’m sorry,” (Y/N) choked a sob back. She felt her tears stream down her face faster than she could wipe them off. 

“Penance, I’m afraid, is not a fitting punishment, dear girl. God has not turned away from you, and he never will, but,” he whispered, placing his hand under her chin and forcing her to look at him from her chair, “you must pay for what you have done. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know,” she sniffed deeply. “What must I do?”

“Do not worry about that, I shall show you. Here,” he stood up straight and tapped on his desk, “sit here.”

(Y/N) followed his directions and sat facing him. “I don’t understand, what will this do?”

Miguel didn’t answer her, instead slotting himself between her legs, kneeling before her and looking up to her through hooded eyes. He pried her legs apart with his hands, pushed her skirt upwards, and leaned in, exhaling against her clothed cunt. 

“Look at that,” he nudged the wet patch on the front of her panties. “Is this what your thoughts are about?” he asked, eyes still focused on her heat. “Hm?”

“N-no, no that would be wrong!” She tried to close to her legs, but his hands held them forcefully apart.

“Do not lie in the house of God, my child,” he said flatly.

“This– this is wrong–!” She interrupted her own sentence with a small moan as she felt him lick a stripe of the fabric of her panties.

“There is nothing wrong with me absolving you of your sin, that’s all I am doing. I shall let your sin travel from inside of you to the outside. Do you not want to be free of your evil thoughts?”

A look of confliction flashed on her face. “But we aren’t married, isn’t this sinful in itself?”

“God commands me to take no wife, we are both free from that. It is my duty to guide your soul onto a holy path, won’t you let me do that?” Miguel slipped her panties down to her ankles, waiting for her to answer him.

“Father… please, just please— help me,” (Y/N) said, eyes darting away from him, shame creeping all over her body. 

A hot, wet feeling placed itself between her thighs. Miguel spread her legs as far as they would go while he delved into her, tongue working through her slick folds. 

“You are already wet, you really were thinking of this, weren't you?” 

He smirked and brought his head back down, placing wet, messy kisses from her inner thigh to her throbbing clit. He honed in on the nub, wrapping his chapped lips around it and swirling it around with his tongue. 

(Y/N) looked down and watched as his brown hair moved back and forth as he lapped at her cunt. Hesitating, she reached her hand out and gripped his hair, holding him in place, and rolling her hips onto his face. Her hips stuttered as she moved, moans catching in her throat. 

“F–Father, it feels– I feel—”

“I know, you are very close.” 

She looked confused, not sure what he meant. “Huh–?”

Miguel pulled her hand out of his hair and pushed her down on the desk, flat with her legs in the air. He spat directly onto her cunt, spreading it with his tongue. He craned his head back and locked eyes with her, replacing his mouth with his fingers, circling her clit quickly with his thumb.

“Do you feel that tightness building up?”

“Yes, make it stop, it feels odd, please. Make it stop,” she said, grabbing onto his wrist while her rubbed her. 

Miguel shushed her, placing his other hand on her thigh. “Just wait, (Y/N).” 

Thumb still focused on her bud, he pushed his tongue into her entrance, feeling her tight walls fight and clench against his prodding. He slurped at her walls and dripping arousal. 

“No, no– I–!”

Her hips involuntarily rolled against his face one final time before she felt the tight coil in her stomach burst. Her thighs squeezed over Miguel’s head and kept him in place as she came, legs shaking and mind blurring. 

(Y/N) let go of his head quickly, sitting up on the desk and pulling away from him. He wiped her slick from his mouth and chin, cleaning his face from the sheen of her cum. 

“Father O’Hara, are you okay? I didn’t mean to do that, I don’t know what came over me…”

“Hush, now. Save your words for what is to come,” he said, standing to his full height. 

He pulled her body back to the edge, pushing her down, flat on her back. Pulling himself out of his pants, he adjusted right at her entrance. Before pushing in, he took hold of both of her hands, holding them above her head. 

“This will hurt. You will bleed, but you must relax. Do you understand?” He saw her nod. “Good girl.”

He pushed into her, slowly inching his tip forward. (Y/N)’s hands clenched, fingers dug into her palms while he painstakingly forced his hips further. 

“Relax,” Miguel whispered as he dipped his head down to be level with her ear, “don’t squeeze so tight, just let me work you open.”

He bottomed out, sliding all of his length into her. 

“No, hurts s’bad, can’t take it ‘nymore!” She whined loudly, tears flowing out of her eyes due to the harsh stretch of his cock.

He was so big, and she was so small. He should have been careful with her, and he should have treated her like the fragile little thing she was.

It only made him fuck her rougher. 

His muscled hips pull out of her, tip barely staying inside.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t take it, I–”

“Yes, you can.”

He snapped into her. His thrust knocked the wind out of her lungs, having her choke on her words. (Y/N)’s hands immediately flew to his clothed shoulders, gripping onto them. To steady herself, she dug further into them, practically ripping the fabric of his shirt. 

The sound of her half-pained, half-pleasured noises send him back to his movements. He starts thrusting, quickly fucking into her heat. 

“You are taking me so well, you sure it’s your first time?” he asks, smirking.

“Yes, Father. I-I’ve never done this before,” she said through gritted teeth, “Dunno if ‘m doin’ it right.”

Miguel grunted and deepened his strokes. “Just let me do it, just gotta– gotta sit there n’ take it.” He allowed himself to kiss the tip of her cervix with his cock’s head, shallowly impacting onto the sensitive spot. 

His hands fall to her hips. He grips onto them and holds her in place, keeping his brutal pace. He eyed the thick, white ring of her arousal forming on the base of his thick length, watching it grow and shift as he pounded into her fluttery walls.

“S’happening again, fix it–! Please, Father,” she felt a strong pang of ecstacy crash over her.

“Mhm..”

A few scattered thrusts nudged her over the edge. (Y/N)’s walls clenched repeatedly over Miguel’s dick, squeezing him tightly with her velvety, slick cunt. 

“Fuck, c’mon now, relax.” His eyebrows knitted together as he massaged her hips, trying to get her to relax. “So tight, damn.” He finally pulled himself out and took to pumping himself in his hand. (Y/N) watched him fist his cock between her legs.

“Ah–”

He came onto his palm. The sticky, thin seed covered his palm. Miguel licked his cum off of his hand, watching as (Y/N)’s face heated up as he did. He cleaned it off, letting his tongue dart between his fingers to tease the girl before stopping and wiping the rest onto the girl’s cheek. 

“Come, down now,” he said, pulling her off of the desk. He chuckled as she stumbled over to the door, legs weak. 

“Thank you, Father,” (Y/N) croaked out, holding onto the doorknob. “But, what– if I keep thinking those thoughts, what do I do? Will I be forgiven?”

Miguel took his spot at his desk, wiping away at the wet spots left on the wood. 

“If you continue to be plagued by such thoughts,” he said, “do not be afraid to come back to my office. Remember, we all sin, but we can always fight for forgiveness.”

[migueloharassin]

✞✟𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖓 𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗✟✞

✟𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔰 𝔱𝔬✟

Miguel was still not as experienced in faith as he wished he was. He wanted to be so deep in it... Soaked with it... Filled with it. He wanted to feel the strength coming into his body, piercing through it, spreading across his skin. He wanted his heart to beat along to the harmony of it. To never lose the right path.

But for long months now he felt lost... He doubted in any signs coming to him. He was alone. He had no one... No one. The brothers of his - other deacons, were not enough to him. He wanted more... He was greedy... Selfish maybe. Everyday he apologized for it, kneeling in front of the cross, almost crying as he held his hands clasped together, leaning his forehead on them. He muttered the quiet apologies, taking his time with every confession. He wanted to be close to Him. But He was far away... Distant from Miguel who felt desperate to become someone even better.

Even that one day wasn't different. Once the church was empty - he stayed, still dressed in the beautiful, green and golden robes, whispering the pleads for help in his never ending travel through loneliness. His hands shook softly, brows furrowed as he closed his eyes to maybe... See something. See the vision that the God would send him. But his preaching stopped once he heard someone sitting next to him. The person he hadn't seen in the church at all... And it's been a year since he was there. The smooth lines of their jaw. Their troubled eyes.

His posture relaxed just slightly as he decided to speak up quietly, hoping to not startle the young person. "May I help in any way?"

@indiestarter

[jagawriterr]

I saw this meme and immediately thought about Priest Miguel 😳 @peterspinkrobe

[eyesxxyou]

Version/reboot of Confessions with Miguel where the reader is tempting the new priest in training. I wanna write it soooooo badly

[cioemyr]

hi, not sure if you know but the askbox on miguel's blog is closed. tumblr does that to new blogs by default :/

Hello! I fixed the problem. You can send me messages there now!

[tarjapearce]

Heathens (Pt. 1)

Priest! Miguel O'Hara x Nun!Reader

art by @maxro_art on IG (Her Deliverance AU is ❤️❤️🤌🏻)

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. If you're sensitive regarding religion, please don't read this. Masturbation in holy places, explicit language, wet dreams, Female anatomy, oral ( F receiving) Gentle Dom Miguel, Corruption kink, overused tropes cause yeah, a tinge of yandere undertones if you squint, mutual lust, Not Proofread ~

Summary: Father O'Hara had a little lamb ~

A/N: Another for the Miguelverse ~ Reblogs and comments are much appreciated c:

Main Masterlist

From all the places you could've find solace from war, The house of God was the least of lieus in your list. Not that you had a choice.

Family long gone after unsuspected explosions decimated your town, followed by constant tragedies such as losing friends along the way either by enemy and merciless hands or sickness. In the end, it was only you. You had outlived them all despite your short age. And now, they lived crammed up in your memories.

Happy, smiling and very much alive. Sometimes you'd see familiar faces on stranger's bodies. Grief had slowly nested within your soul and when all hope seemed lost, the chapel had saved you from what surely would end up in your premature death.

The blackest of black matched the crispest white you had ever seen, they were all donned in their beatific robes, prayer beads dangling at every gentle step they did. And there it was, epiphany unfolding itself before your experienced in horror eyes. It was your call.

All the answers to your laments and aching heart were sent as them. Nuns of the Mistbourne Parish. A church located in the outskirts of a now rundown by conflict Nueva York. The church that now played a major role in taking in as much people within their sacred walls, before they could be dispatched to a more adequate place.

Without hesitation, you had joined. And now, six years later you still remained with them. Early twenties had settled right for you as a nun. Ever devoted, compassionate, and diligent.

As time went on, the main city was reconstructed, burying it's dark tragedy under freshly built towers, hiding the pain under the rugged carpet full of concrete and wire homes, like nothing ever happened. Like if war had never stepped upon it and gave it a much needed renewal at people's lives expenses.

But no matter how many changes time brought, life in Mistbourne's Parish remained the same. Untouched by the technological advances from the outer world. There was always something to do, as simple as it was. And so far, you've been satisfied with it.

The only alterations worth of mention was your holy family expanding.

A new couple additions to the staff. More sisters, an eighty percent of them were beyond fifty. You were the youngest, their child. After all some ended up raising you within the house.

And him. The new priest.

The tallest and bulkiest man you've ever seen. As much as staring was considered rude and borderline a sin, it was unavoidable to do so, when his rusty brown eyes fell upon you. Their color unique, like he was. Never in your life had you seen someone like him, or another man besides the butcher and the guard. He had definitely been a regular man before coming here.

The soft weary expression lines in his sharp countenance revealed his own fair of lived experiences.

He towered over you, crisp white dot on his black rimmed neck line, parading his status with modest pride, and golden praying beads dangling on his narrow hips, you held yours while asking forgiveness for keep staring.

"Father."

Father O'Hara. In his mid thirties, broken family also torn by war, wearing his vows in the shape of a ring on his right hand.

"Sister"

His voice deep yet gentle, like a lullaby. His steps took him away to his own residence. The rectory outside the church.

It made sense as to how some workers were renovating it in the past few weeks. The parish last priest had been sent off in sacred duties, only to realize later that he had killed a man. Cops and detectives surely made a show out of it.

Dark times, according to Sister Lianne, one of your mother figures. But now, Father O'Hara had taken his place, erasing all traces of the previous man with concise and pithy actions.

He took his role seriously. Said masses on sundays, visited the sick, baptized people; but his most popular feat was to hear the confessions. The most intimate secrets revealed to him by either your fellow sisters or people from the town that came to expiate their sins in hope to be forgiven.

You'd sometimes run into each other, bumping casually in the narrow wooden floored halls, you'd often apologize, only to reciprocate a polite smile on both ends. He'd sometimes help you out by carrying things a bit too heavy, or you'd help him out lighting up the altar for his speech.

Yet, his hands in one occasion took an accidental taste of your body dimensions underneath your beatific robes, while preventing you from falling down the stairs. He'd scold you for being careless and carrying things that obscured your sight.

After many sorries on your behalf, you returned to the cells and went straight to your own dorm, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His hands felt burning upon remembering the dents of your form, the curve of your waist and certainly the warmth that irradiated from you, so so close from his.

Unexpectedly it had brought memories from his past. His old life where he'd have his lovely and temporary companion for the night impaled deliciously with himself before war and hell broke loose. Before he was forced by the subversives that raided his town to create a new fake identity in the spot as they heard him speak spanish or fight a war he hadn't started, much less would end. And so, his life as Father O'Hara begun.

Odd enough, the sudden and thoughtless choice had granted him peace after witnessing so many terrors his fellow human could be capable of. His need of help has always been stronger than anything and when he finished licencing some sacrifices were required.

Poverty vows weren't an issue since his previous life had been modest yet good enough to go by. Little difference between his current lifestyle.

The obedience vow took him a little longer to fully yield. But he accomplished it to a T, just to avoid more trouble. He faked it until he made it.

His chastity vow had been a quite the challenge to perfect, but no matter how much the temptations paraded before him in the many parishes he was assigned to, he didn't give in. His libido had been sapped out of his body, like a campfire after completing it's useful cycle.

Not because of his brand new sanctity invested by holier-than-thou elders, but rather a broken mind full of grievance and other negatives that always haunted him. The gunshots and bombings too fresh in his mind.

It had been years since he touched someone in a way that wasn't holy. Since he had provoked things in someone else that clearly would make him go under the laicization from the clergy without second guessings.

Until he held you the other day.

Both of your eyes too enraptured in eachother that had sent an igniting spark to his spine. Reviving all those inactive nerves he thought his existencial toll severed long ago. His eyes had gave a brief rake over your face.

Wide and round eyes staring back, both in awe and surprise straight into his soul. Nose flaring softly just like your mouth, whose bottom lip trembled at the little erratic breaths your lungs exhaled upon being in physical contact with a man for the first time in ever, while cheeks bloomed with a not so discreet flush. And your body heat.

Jesus all mighty.

It was dangerously tempting. For a brief moment his past self had taken over, but quickly vanished upon hearing steps. Earning you to fix your crucifix and cowl nervously and him to fist his hands to refrain himself to take another taste and fix his collar and cassock.

To his conclusion, the robes you wore did not match what was underneath. He noted much, but having you wear that loose habit only fuelled his now active and sinful imagination. An opposite from your habits' purpose.

Priest life was hard, and the Celibacy vows were his biggest damnation. Mind often plagued with 'I shouldn't have done this.' 'This is ridiculous' 'Fucking idiot' 'Why did I even lie about this?' But even so, priesthood was better than ending up dead or mutilated by mines somewhere in the battlefield, in the middle of a war he didn't started, much less would end.

Government later was forcibly recruiting all those men, be them widowed or married. It didn't matter. War wasn't for him. Neither Priesthood.

But he'd bear it. He'd bear it until he was put in another parish church full of older and witty ladies he'd definitely wouldn't lust after.

----

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sweet voice behind the confessional punctured walls, perked up his ears. He had memorized a lot of things, your voice included.

"I... I haven't confessed in weeks. But it grows me concerned that... my mind is somewhere else."

Silence. You were met with silence as expected, it also encouraged you to keep talking.

"A man has flooded my thoughts and no matter how much I try to occupy myself, he's there. Leading me to temptation and sin."

A man?

His brow quirked as he slanted over the little wooden division between you, to hear better and take a peek on your face. The only men he could think of was the guard, the butcher and himself. The only men inhabiting the same area as you.

"How does this man tempts you?"

"He... He visits. In my dreams I mean and..."

A low 'forgive me, God' echoed in your stall. His throat dried and his hands rested on each side of his knees, gripping at the fabric of his pants.

"He does things I know I shouldn't partake in... But, it feels too real."

"You sound scared. Does it frightens you?"

"Very much so. But it is a strange sort of fear, Father."

"What kind of fear then?"

It took you a long pause to muster

"A fear of him stopping his visits in my mind."

He gulped.

Your hands took the crucifix and held it tighter, "For him to stop doing such sinful things to me, even in my dreams."

"Have you sinned in the carnal affairs?"

"N-No. I would never. I've never engaged in them, Father."

His groin twitched, as a hand raked over his scalp. A shaky breath that was forced to come out in silence. Only when he thought you couldn't be more innocent, there you were proving him wrong.

"Ever?"

"I promise to you with my life, I've never."

"I must know" He wetted his lips with his tongue, "What kind of things does this man does to you?"

"W-What?"

Your spine straightened up instantly, eyes wild, staring another hole into the already punctured division. Cinnamon color in his skin, the only brief glimpse you managed to see. But even so, his gentle yet cornering voice brought you down from your initial jump.

"I need to know, so I can dictate a penance."

The flush on your cheeks returned, burning bright upon remembering the all too lucid dream you've been having about your secret man. That, even though visited frequently, you still didn't know his face, just his body as it smothered yours wholy in a constant merciless and scorching rut.

All what you remembered was him feasting between your legs like a starved man. His hands maneuvering your soft mounds to then give a gentle squeeze.

"His hands are the ones that bring the sin, Father."

"Explain yourself"

His voice was sultry, buttery rich and smooth on the other side of the stall. A subtle order. To your dismay, that same demon had a similar voice tone. Alluring, speaking to you in a foreign language it had you mewling and asking for forgiveness every time you remembered, cause you had begged the faceless man for more.

"He touches and... t-tastes places I shouldn't allow no man to delve in." With a thick gulp you continued, "His tongue is... marvelous."

His eyes widened for a second as his hand hovered over his crotch

"Marvelous?"

"I feel the biggest sinner by admitting this. Please, do forgive me."

"Accountability is part of the process."

He tried to sound as professional as he could, but little did you know his mind was torturing his already crumbling resolve with such vivid details. Celibacy wasn't a problem, until now. Hearing such sinful words coming from such a unsuspecting thing like yourself, a virgin that is, made his old self to re-emerge.

Disguising himself as a sheep, while he fought through his holy learning years to tame his wolfish appetite.

There were plenty of ewes in the flock , but so far the only one that made his mouth water was you. A perfect little lamb. And now, this. We're you set to making him break his vows?

No. You weren't. He was reaching his limits to break celibacy and you were just having wet dreams about someone that definitely made him wonder about your past life. A past lover? No. Not even that. A possession? A demon? No. Definitely not.

He had heard things whenever on lunch duty. Mindless talk that revealed more to him from others and you than they intended to. You, a nun. Picked up from a ravaged village nearby and raised within  the nuns, meaning, you had zero idea of what pleasure meant.

He believed, but wasn't a complete blinded idiot to faith. Your body was asking for physical and forbidden relief. Just like his.

But again, the golden band around his right hand not only forbid but also was the perpetual reminder of what was a stake.

"I know, Father. But... this man has such power over me that has pushed me to sin. He... he has pushed me to take such vulgar matters in my own hands."

Maker's mercy

His cock twitched harder and he was unable hold back and gave a firm  squeeze while biting his lip to quiet himself at the long forgotten and heady pleasure that was drowning his body in an alarming rate.

As if done of being fed lies and a quick and sloppy handjob for ages. It was disgusting how easy was to sin, how well his body ached and reacted to such stimulus. How effortlessly his old habits had caught up to him.

He was the one that needed a penance now, cause he couldn't shake the image of you spread with your legs wide open, naked, sliding your fingers in between your weeping folds. You'd certainly have your mouth shut or lips bitten to avoid having anyone hear you.

He had closed his eyes while his jaw clenched, occasionally sweeping his tongue over his lips to keep them moist.

"Say it. Say your sin."

He commanded in a voice that had your cheeks flustered and your pearly nub a throb. His hand half squeezed half stroked over his clothed groin. Swollen and needy cock begging to be set free and properly taken care of.

"I..." A dry gulp and your hands went to your crotch, begging your nature to behave. Cheeks impossibly red.

"I've enjoyed touching myself after dreaming a man... f-fucks me, Father."

The word 'fuck' coming out your delicious looking yet pure lips, had his teeth gnawing at the insides of his cheek, self control harder to keep under the leash. It barked, howled even demanded for more explicit details.

Instead, he sighed quietly and cleared his throat. The sudden noise had you gripping the skirt of your habit in shame.

Miguel didn't say much besides the prayer of absolution and a couple of more prayers as your penance. The same right hand that was squeezing his cock was now being kissed by you, to confirm your forgiveness. Plump, warm and soft lips caressed his ring finger.

And once you were gone, his hand took control on its own, slid under his soutane to stroke himself. If you felt like a sinner, he was the devil himself.

The vice like grip in his own cock made him shudder, sensation foreign yet so welcoming after years without it. A little whine escaped past his gaping mouth, exhaling pecaminous breaths as he stroked like teenage boy that just discovered masturbation for the time ever. Sloppy, desperate and wet motions echoed in the now sullied stall.

He fisted his hand tighter, thick fingers coaxing a much needed release, hips rutting into his choking hand. Quiet whimpers and an array of curses flew out his mouth.

His flushed tip swayed and shook under his own rough ministrations while his jaw clenched, he clawed at the chair when hot and thick spurts of his cum dribbled down his hand and wrist before time; pooling in the hollow of his palm while earning a gutural growl that dissolved into a shaky whimper, as he curled against the wooden and punctured wall for a brief lapse of seconds to regain his composure.

"Fuck..." He had to lay against his chair to keep the light-headedness at bay, drowning in his own made pleasure, panting like he had run a marathon for hours.

He shouldn't have lied back ago. And  definitely shouldn't have become a priest. He was soiling their already tainted reputation. His old self was back to stay.

He cleaned up his hand under his robes to then leave to change. He was given a glimpse as you were picking up some harvest in the orchard while he was making his way back home.

---

Window's glasses echoed with the soft rain. The parish has been quiet during weekdays, but busy for you. As winter approaches the harvest must be picked, the grains sorted and the meats stored.

You saw Father O'Hara less and less, and when you did, they were mere glimpses. He was as busy in meetings with other priests, or preparing for the mass that was now given twice a week.

If you weren't in the garden or the laundry, you were in the choir.

Lingering yet brief gazes chased each other. He had heard some nuns speaking about him, some had wonderful things to say, saying that he had been one of the most efficient priests the church has had.

Others mentioned between hushed and bashful whispers about his physical condition and how they caught him go for runs at crack of dawn a couple of times.

And you, just wanted to go to confession again and ask for forgiveness. Not to spill the advantures you had in your dreams with a man that oddly resembled like Father O'Hara, but to unleash your heart's desires to wonder what was beyond the parish.

It was your life, all you've ever known so far. But one of those trips to the city during a beneful visit to another location, had left you amazed. How could a world so different like yours could be considered bad and straying?

But again, vows. Your vows bound you, and once broken, there was no turning back. But right now all that mattered was to get to the dorms. The rest was out in another visit to the city, you were to stay to finish your tasks in the kitchen.

Weather changed so abruptly that one moment you were taking the last basket of vegetables inside, to then run for the dorms to seek refuge. But they were far and the only thing in sight was Father's O'Hara rectory.

It was either getting a terrible fever from the cold and unforgiving rain or ask him to lend you an umbrella to mitigate the glacial numbness spreading through your body. Another reason you barely went out during these days, rains in the countryside were merciless.

Miguel was tending his own garden when the rain begun drenching. Even more when the thunders broke the peaceful white noise. He removed his soutane and shirt off leaving his inner vestments free, but the desperate knock on his door made his undressing ritual to stop.

While quirking an eyebrow, he approached the door and opened it. Eyes widened in surprise upon seeing you, soaked through your bones. lips blue and shivering from the cold.

"P-Please-"

"Jesus. Come in."

He ushered you in, then rushed to get a towel. A frown in his face deepened upon hearing your teeth clatter, clothes stuck to you like a second skin.

"C-Can I... borrow your... u-umbrella?"

Without much though he smoothened the towel against your face, drying it.

"An umbrella? Really?!"

A vehement shake of your head, while trying to get him off you.

"You're freezing cold, the dorms are too far for you to leave. Don't be stubborn."

"I... I don't h-have clothes."

You mumbled through rattling teeth while your eyes darted hazily over his naked torso. He sighed.

"Unbelievable. You're freezing to death and you're worried about clothes. Get them off, I'll put them to dry."

He grumbled while taking more logs into the fire to what would be his living room. If it wasn't for the glacial and biting freeze that refused to leave your body and the foggy thinking in your brain, your cheeks would be beyond red. Crimson even from such simple act.

A weak nod you gave. Your hands stopped bracing your shivering body to focus on removing the cowl and headdress. Releasing through shaky motions your soaked hair that wasted no time to stick on your face and neck.

The next was your crucifix, and praying beads, the tempo you removed them could make a slug to easily win the race, this alarmed him greatly. He had seen what hypothermia did, way before turning himself into this holy persona.

Without much thought, he peeled off your habit that weighed you down.

"Qué mierda más pesada" (Such a heavy shit)

He held you by one arm as he removed the outer layer off. Your eyes drooped and he gave you a little shake.

"Hey, hey, look at me."

Eyes concerned raking over and it dawned on you. Those eyes, the same beautiful and unique eyes were the same that visited in your dreams.

A difficult gulp rolled down your throat as Miguel kept undressing you while grunting. Wet clothes were a pain in his beatific ass. Shivering dicreased, but your lips remained blue, a new shade of purple drawing over them.

"I-It's so cold" You mumbled through laborious breaths.

"Course it's cold. You're soaked! What were you even doing?"

The way he scolded you felt like someone you've known for years was giving you a lecture. So casual, homey, normal. It was Miguel O'Hara speaking, not Father Miguel. The ever gentle and patient man you've been helping.

"Jesús bendito, con cuánta cosa te vistes." (Holy Jesus, so many layers.)

He murmured while pushing you to his chest as he removed the dress that covered your underwear. It felt like a heatless body had been thrown over him, but the warmth irradiating from him felt heavenly. Your form instinctively nuzzled your head on his chest. He had to stop to gulp at the sensations

Even though his mind slapped itself, His couldn't help but wander over your shivering and weak body.

"W-Wait"

A small dark patch hovered above the joint of your legs. Taut peaks followed by lovely areoles ever standing and shivering under the flimsy white fabric of a short nightgown that proved even harder to remove since it clung to you like a second skin, refusing to abandon your body.

He peeled you off of everything despite your protests, but was sufficiently prude to not look over your naked form. A minute too slow and it would be late. Like the young boy in his arms, that had died out of cold once the subversive groups arrived in the forsaken town, they had forced him and the rest to go through a frozen river. He made it, but the boy didn't.

His mind wasn't in the tip of his cock.

That will come later.

But his brain had only one single purpose right now. To keep you alive but for that he needed keep you warm.

Despite the recklessness of his actions, he pulled a freshly folded duvet around  while pulling you ontop of his chest and sat together near the fire. Hands moving to dry your hair as much as he could. Your skin was full of goosebumps, frosty to touch, that relished into any source of heat available. His torso, the duvet and the raging bonfire made your head spin.

It felt like his hands, rubbing some life back into your arms while he shielded your body, embracing your form with his torso and limbs. Like a paramedic on duty. Your cheek smooshed against his solid chest, it made him shudder with your own coldness but eventually the body heat treatment would be effective.

"Sorry" it was all you managed before your teeth shuddered again, and his fingers caressed your neck, placing a new wave of delicious heat on your skin.

"You'll be fine."

Your body was slowly but surely returning to it's temperature. Miguel remained there, basking you within his body, fingers gingerly caressing as much cold skin as he could under the duvet. Even his breath provided a little heat. Your erratic breaths collided against his skin, earning a discreet shudder from him.

You had drifted off to limbo, trying to sleep a bit, but unable to completely do so. Not when a man, the Parish Father nonetheless, was holding and nursing you back to an acceptable temperature with his own.

"Father O'Hara..."

Miguel's ears perked up upon you mentioning his name.

"It's Miguel."

He mumbled while drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The fire and the duvet had kept you toasty to curl even more towards him. Teeth no longer clattering.

"Thank you, Father."

"Stop."

His eyes rolled in annoyance, as his hands stopped caressing your skin to then rub his face.

"Stop calling me that."

"But that's your-"

"I don't like it."

He grumbled while looking down at you.

"Call me Miguel."

"I can't do that. Feels too disrespectful."

"I'm not Father O'Hara here, understood?"

You nodded

"Are you cold?"

"I am. Not as before but yes. Has it stopped raining?"

His own smell was making your mind a puddle, some of that fragrant incense remained etched on him.

"No. Just got worse."

You sighed while resting your head on his chest. Heartbeats a mellow lullaby.

"I'm sorry for all of this."

"You were cold and soaked." He pointed dully and bored.

The duvet was brought closer to your chest while staring at the flames. Fingers tracing a lazy and mindless pattern in his abdomen.

"I was picking up the last batch of harvest when rain poured on me."

Your toes curled in as a soft breeze flickered the fire and he tilted his head to watch you closer.

"Now I'll have to explain why there isn't enough corn."

"We'll go by. It's ok."

"Are my clothes ready yet?"

A snort that  would be translated into an 'Are you kidding me?', your brow furrowed.

"You'd be lucky if they get dry during the night."

Another defeated sigh. But a sudden thought however made your cheeks burn faintly.

"D-Did you see me naked?"

"No."

Oh.

There was a silent pause before you spoke again. Curiosity tempting.

"Have you seen other women naked?"

He huffed playfully while pushing your hair away from your lovely and sweet face.

"Yes. I was a regular man before all of this."

His fingers curled up in his hand, morphing into a lazy fist

"Do you miss it?"

"Would be a liar to say if I don't."

"You... You've had sex before?"

He chuckled while with an open palm, took a taste of your skin, deliberately roaming your lower back. You shuddered.

"I did. Plenty of times."

Your audible gasp made his eyes droop hazily in a smirking grimace.

"I was told it felt marvelous."

You looked up at him and he pulled your chin upwards, he really had to keep his restrain under a leash to not take you here and there, instead, he cupped your face and hovered his lips over yours

"Do you want me to teach you, Sister?"

He was the demon. The very same one that visited in your dreams and left you a soaked mess. A little too late you'd noticed that he wasn't wearing his vow ring. It was placed somewhere else you truly couldn't care less at the moment.

You only nodded.

"Use your words, dear"

"Please", you gulped, "Teach me."

It was in that moment that he sealed your lips with his. Your first kiss ever. Chaste and sweet at the beginning that slowly turned into this obscene display of his mouth assaulting yours with his tongue in between gentle licks and bites of his lips.

A shaky whine then a whimper escaped your throat upon feeling his hands skimming down your spine. He only let you go when you tapped out for air.

"How often am I on your mind, pequeña?"

Finally the demon in your dreams had turned into a reality. Eyes were closed, unable to look at yourself melting under his touch. Nipples perked against his chest.

Plump and hot lips caressed yours but they stopped. Hands pulled you upwards, Miguel turned you around so your back was now colliding with his chest.

"You're still cold."

Cheeks grew impossibly red while he slowly peeled off the duvet out of your body, leaving you bare before him. You gulped as he moved your hair to a side and slowly kissed up and down your neck.

His hands were unable to resist any more and cupped your mounds, like in your dream. Calloused palms, rough against soft breast.

"Qué maravilla. Is this how your dream goes?

Legs smothered together, a little strip of hair etched to your pubic mount. He hummed in appreciation to then part your legs above his. Cunt pulsing at the coolness of air brushing past it.

Both of your legs dangled ontop of his as you remained nested above. Your heart beat at the playful moves his middle and index finger pulled on your nipple as his free hand darted over the joint of your inner thighs. You could feel him trembling underneath, the restrain made his breath hitch.

Your own turned erratic once more as he slid three fingers in between your folds. A shy Ah escaped your lips while he used two of them to part the outer labia

"Look at that, little one. Is that what you touch when thinking of me?"

Drunk eyes darted between your legs and his skillful hand, the engorged and pearly clit peeked out as one of his fingers flickered slowly. Focusing the right amount of pressure in it that had your moans shaky. He paused to adjust his fingers as they caressed and rubbed as much flesh as they could.

Mouth etched to your ear. Deep and needy breaths fanned behind you

"So so pretty. Look at that"

He made a show of his fingers coating themselves in your slick. One of his digits hovered over your entrance, slowly it disappeared inside. A muffled groan echoed in the void space

A wet and shlicking sound came from his ministrations, head unable to move, too enraptured into watching him sliding in and out. Skin bloomed with a new wave of goosebumps as his tongue licked your neck and earlobe, rewarding you for taking one finger deliciously, that he licked up clean before going back to rub at your clit.

"Want to add another?"

A breathless and hissing yes.

You didn't know who was with you right now since Father O'Hara couldn't. Your brain still refused to believe they were the same man. One preached and talked mass every Sunday, the other had your head spinning while his fingers explored your insides with such gentleness it only increased your whimpers and need for something more and bigger within you.

"Does that feel good, Hm?"

A dumb nod while more escaped your mouth repeatedly

"More?"

"Please!"

How could he deny to such petition? Even most when you were gripping him so deliciously and pulsating with every stroke he delivered in, grazing at your sweetest spot.

"Like this?"

He increased the tempo and your breath hitched, hips moving to meet his fingers aiding them to reach deeper and deeper.

Breaths turned into short and shallow pants, blood rushed to your cheeks. One of his digits pushed past between your lips meeting your moist muscle that wasted no time into kissing it. All you could hear was yourself and your weeping pussy that demanded for more.

But they weren't enough. Brain was sent into an override when the climax washed over you. All the pent up need and lust drowned you. Strong pulsations dictated the contractions that trapped and milked Miguel's fingers. Mind split in two in a shattering and core shaking spasm.

Mouth gaped, eyes heady and drunk with blind hot pleasure, body convulsed while an array of mumbles and clumsy curses flew out of your mouth to finally end with a delicious quivering cry.

"It's okay, shh, it's okay, pequeña." He cooed you through it while kissing your neck. Heart pounding in your ears.

It took you a moment to breath properly. How could you have missed this? How could you remain so ignorant to this? Alienated from something you were often told it was dirty and condemning.

He had only touched in the right places and you were melting. But why stopping there? You knew he also wanted you, his hard on pressing over your lower back, begging to set free.

"M-More"

He shook his head with a proud smile

"Can't do that, preciosa"

A capricious whine came through your throat, "Why not?"

"Cause, as much as I'd love to take you until you recite the bible backwards to me, you know what could happen."

"You don't want me, then? Why stopping now?"

"Far from that. And we must be discreet. Wouldn't want you to be whipped by Sister Lianne."

He took your hand and kissed your wrist. While his other limb pulled you closer to him.

"I am the only one that shall leave marks on you, my dear. Is that clear?"

"Yes, but-" He took your chin in a gentle but firm grip.

"Is that clear?"

You nodded with a pout.

"Lay on the bed."

"What? "

"Lay on the bed, so I can taste you."

Miguel could fulfil that fantasy. With Bambi-like steps you pushed yourself up and walked over his bed. Plush surface welcomed your body under a creak.

"Spread them."

Toes curled up for a second before spreading them open. Clit already tingling with a foreign yet needy sensation.

He kneeled before you, like he did every day he worshipped the Lord. But this time it wasn't God, but you. Nose nuzzled over your inner thighs while taking a whiff of your scent. Tantalizing and so alluring for his own senses.

Slow and deliberate kisses were placed above your flesh, the strip of hair that decored your pussy, to finally sink in between soaked folds.

The mewl you gave only made him feast upon you. Hands grope the sheets by instinct as he spreaded you further.

His tongue lapped and curled at your hole, slurping it without refrain and inhibitions. Devouring it like it would be his last meal.

Your dream had felt too vivid, yes, but this was completely different. This was in a whole new different level. His corruption had tainted your soul and it was gladly welcomed into your arms.

Legs twitched and shook while your head was thrown back, chest heaved with shallow breaths, unable to breath properly as his tongue was set into fucking your drooling hole.

The way his tongue fucked, dribbled and guzzled your cunt had you mewling and moaning the filthiest things you didn't think possible you could get out.

Good was an understatement, heavenly was a measly word to compare what you felt like. It was maddening and he gave you no rest.

Have you ascended? No. He just wrapped your supple thighs around his head, preventing you from squirming too much, holding your hips in place as his sloshing and assailant mouth gave you no rest.

You hadn't recovered completely from the other orgasm when a new one had approached. Lurking around your senses.

His name was moaned, over and over and when your hands were done of clinging onto the sheets, you held onto his hair. Silky and smooth chocolate locks slid under your fingers.

Eyes peeked over you, and he had to pause for a moment to squeeze his cock. Aching and weeping for him to let him free and make you his. But that would come later.

That would come much later when he had more leisure time and when he'd get protection. As much as he wanted to wreck your snug cunt, he didn't want you to be whipped and shamed like another nun was when the higher ups found out she was pregnant by an outsider.

"Miguel"

His name on your lips rich and tasty, like him.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance to immediately go for your clit. Plump lips pursed and captured the engorged nub. While his hands pushed your legs up and folded them, giving a complete access to your pulsating pussy.

He slurped and souped while his tongue teased. Wet laps sent jolts through your spine each time he tasted you.

Too much. Too good and too soon, yet he didn't stop. He shook his head like a mad dog subduing it's prey and that move alone had you gushing over his mouth. He quickly gobbled it all down.

You whined, cried and blabbled, even tried to pull his head away but he delivered you a last stroke with his tongue to then lick his lips clean.

"Please"

You mumbled through blown breaths as he watched you with a lust blown glare.

What had he done out of you?

"Greed is a sin, my dear."

What had he created?

"But if you're good enough, the wait will be worth it."

His little lamb was so willing for him, aching to be tainted, corrupted even more. And his task was to banish such whims.

He'd given you a taste of what laid ahead. A promise of a much unholy reward if you followed this path with him. But your resolve had been made the first time you came.

He'd be your first and last. There wasn't any need for another to teach you what he was compliant to demonstrate.

You'd be his to fuck. His to tame and corrupt.

You'd be his.

---

Taglist:

@plumplumpurin

[maxroldana]

I didn't expect so many people to be interested in my Priest! Miguel AU series, a lot have been asking where they could find it. All this time I've just been posting the parts on Instagram (and occassionally twitter).

I've compiled all the parts and will be posting them in order here as well!

Deliverance | Priest! Miguel O'Hara AU:

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Extra]

[Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

[Part 8 [1/2] [2/2]] [Part 9 [1/2] [2/2]]

[Part 10 [1/2] [2/2]] [Part 11]

[Part 12 [1/2] 2/2 WIP]

- -

Updates: usually every other week/ every two weeks

- -

[lovesclinic]

HOLY┊priest!miguel takes your virginity.. and god does it feel holy

priest miguel x fem!reader

genre: filthy filthy filthy

Warnings: religious mentions, degration, praise, loss of virginity, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it)

You move into a new neighborhood. As soon as you start unpacking and settling in, your next door neighbor comes by and asks you to join them at the sunday church service. You agree to join them.

that’s how you met the hottest priest, miguel o’hara..

which led to this..

Father Miguel's heart raced as he approached you, his eyes filled with unholy desire. He couldn't resist the temptation any longer. "Sweetheart," he whispered, his voice thick with lust, "

You're everything I've ever wanted." He pulled you closer, pressing his hardened erection against your soft skin. "Your body is exquisite."

His warm breath tickled your ear as he whispered, "I can't get enough of you." He teasingly slapped your ass, causing a wave of pleasure to rush through your body. "You're so fucking perfect,"

His lips met yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue invading your mouth as he tasted the sweetness that was uniquely you. His hands roamed over your body, tracing patterns on your supple skin. Despite his size, he was surprisingly gentle, his touch almost reverent.

he praised, his hands roaming over your supple curves. "I've dreamt about this moment, about making love to you." His fingers traced the outline of your panties, teasing the sensitive skin beneath them. "You belong to me, sweetheart."

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. "So perfect in every way." He moved his lips down to the base of your neck, nipping and sucking on your skin. "You're addictive,"

“Avoiding sin is an ongoing journey. Sometimes, we stumble and give in to our base instincts. It's important to recognize those moments and seek forgiveness." He paused, his gaze trailing down your body before meeting your eyes again.

"My beautiful girl," he whispered against your ear as he ran his hands down to squeeze your plump bottom cheeks. "You're perfect just the way you are." His fingers traced teasing circles on your sore, aching bum, making you squirm with desire.

His other hand slid up under your skirt, pushing it aside as he exposed your bare leg to the cool air of the room. "I've waited so long for this," he murmured, his fingertips brushing against your sensitive inner thigh. "

You're going to love this, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and sensual. "I'm going to make you feel so good, baby." He lifted you up into his arms and carried you to the altar, positioning you on the cold, hard surface.

he growled, his voice thick with desire now. "And I'm going to have you until I can't stand it anymore." His hands moved down to your ass, gripping them roughly before he gave them a firm slap.

"I've dreamed of this moment for so long," he confessed, his voice full of longing. "I need to feel you inside me." Before you could protest, he picked you up and turned you around, pressing your plump bottom against the hard shaft of his erection.

"Say yes," he pleaded, nudging you forward. "Let me take your virginity." His other hand slipped between your legs, teasing at your swollen clit. "And I promise, I'll make sure you scream with pleasure."

You tried to squirm away from him, but it was no use. He was too strong, and the desire in his eyes was intoxicating.

"Please," he whispered, his voice hoarse with need. "I need this, baby." He let go of your hands and wrapped one around your back, lifting you up off the ground. Before you knew it, his thick, hard shaft was buried deep inside you, filling you completely.

Please, don't fight this," he begged. "I've dreamed of making love to you for so long." He kissed you softly on the lips, his tongue tracing the outline of your plump bottom lip.

You gasped as he thrust deep into your tight, virgin pussy. The pain mixed with an intense pleasure that made your head spin. "Oh fuck," he moaned, his hips slamming against your ass. "You're so tight."

“Yes," you cried out, your body arching towards him. You couldn't believe how good this felt. He slapped your ass hard, the sting making you gasp. "Fuck," he growled, "You like that?"

His hips began to move faster, his cock pumping in and out of your pussy with a wet, slick sound. You could feel him getting closer, the head of his cock rubbing against your sensitive G-spot with every thrust. "I'm close,"

"Fuck," Miguel groaned as he plunged deeper into your pussy. "You feel so good." He started moving his hips in a steady rhythm, lifting you off the ground with each thrust.

You nodded, biting your lower lip. The pleasure was overwhelming, and you couldn't help but moan his name. He picked up the pace, his hips slamming against yours in a rhythmic motion that sent waves of pleasure through your entire body.

You dug your nails into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he took you harder and faster. The head of his cock brushed against your G-spot with each thrust, sending electric shocks of pleasure straight to your core. "Oh god," you moaned, "

"Don't stop," he groaned, his hot seed spilling onto your thigh. "I'm close." Heat spread between your legs as he continued to pound into you. You could feel him getting bigger inside you, stretching you even more.

Your body tensed, anticipating the explosion you knew was coming. "Now," he growled, "you feel me cum, baby?” His hips bucked violently, pushing him deeper inside you as he filled you up.

You cried out as he took your virginity, your body trembling from the intense pleasure. As he pulsed inside you, you could feel his seed mixing with your honey. "Oh my god," you whispered, your legs shaking uncontrollably.

You screamed as pleasure ripped through you, taking your breath away. Your body was rocked by intense waves of ecstasy as you came, your pussy gripping tightly around him. "Oh fuck," he groaned, shooting his load deep inside you.

Miguel leaned down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His tongue danced with yours, tasting the sweetness of your love juices mixed with his seed. His hips slowly began to move again, pulling back before pushing forward once more, his cock twitching inside you.

“You feel so good," he groaned, his hips pumping faster. The bed creaked underneath you as he took you harder and faster, his thrusts growing deeper with each passing moment.

"That's it, baby," he whispered against your lips. "Feel me." He thrust harder and deeper, his body moving in perfect rhythm with yours. You could feel every inch of his cock inside you, stretching you to your limits.

The room was bathed in their combined moans and groans as Miguel pounded into you, his seed filling you up with each powerful thrust. After what felt like an eternity, Miguel finally released his load, filling you completely.

With a long, low groan, Miguel's hips bucked violently one last time, pushing his cock to the very depths of your love canal. His hot seed pumped into you, filling you up as he held himself deep inside.

As he reached climax, so did you. Your body convulsed around him, milking his cock of every last drop of cum. Your orgasm was intense, your voice echoing through the room as you screamed his name.

Miguel's thrusts slowed down as he felt you cumming, his cock twitching inside you. Finally, he let out a long, satisfied groan, filling you completely with his seed.

Miguel's body tensed as he felt your walls clenching around him, his seed spilling deep inside you. He held onto you tightly, their skin slapping together in rhythm with your shared ecstasy.

As your shared orgasm finally subsided, Miguel leaned down and kissed you deeply. His tongue traced your lips, tasting the sweet nectar that was a mix of their love fluids. He pulled out of you slowly, his cock still semi-hard.

[baynetta]

Miguel as a young pastor, leader of the church’s choir. It’s a quiet town. Young girls when they’re not attending they’re crochet activities they’re helping the church choir. I swear the sweetest harmonies can make the coldest soul melt. Miguel was proud with every single one of the choir except you, you yet again refuse to sing. You know that’s what gets him mad, but you also know that’s what keeps you apart from the other girls. You’re his mess, that needed a little discipline during the after hours.

So the best part of the day is coming home late when mom notices the red scratches Miguel left in your entire inner thighs, because he can’t just help himself to leave such a sensitive private part without his mark on it. And the purple bruised neck tired of being sucked and abused all afternoon by that cruel merciless man.

“my poor defenseless little lamb what kind of beast would have donde this to you?”

[sha-n-dowbannedlol]

OH!

had to put my phone down for a bit

EDIT: to those asking for the bot, here it is 😋😋😋

[peterspinkrobe]

Temptation | Priest!Miguel O’Hara x femreader [part 4]

W/C: 7,1k+ Go read the other chapters

Warnings/Rating: 18+. Religious content. Some Spanish. [smut spoilers ahead lol] ~~~~~~~~~~~ Reader has a vagina. Oral (f receiving). Some overstimulation. That’s all, babe.

A/N: so so so sorry it took so long. Thank you for your patience. I got real wrapped up in the chapter and work has been working me. Looking up flower symbolism and shit. Also, turns out the Bible has smut too. The scripture quoted throughout is from Song of Songs 4-7. Let me know what you think. Pic is something I found on Google (shame)

The chill of the evening air reminded the two who stepped into it that August was bleeding into September. Change was in the wind that carried hues of summer - fluttering down from trees that were shedding their warm colors for leaves of yellow, red, and orange gradients. The sun set earlier day by day as autumn approached the little town hidden in the Catskills mountain belt.

As the sun buried itself deeper into the horizon, it cast an expanse of purples and blues on the clouds above the two making their way into the courtyard behind the church. The pair stole away, silently sneaking out a side door, while the others enjoyed their supper inside. They were accompanied only by the statues of winged angels frozen in time - pouring bowls of abundance into the garden.

Wildflowers burst from patches along the walkways as the tall man guides the follower to a bench situated beside a maple tree. He ducked to avoid the overhead branches as he sat down and invited the other to join him there.

Wild Asters sprouted on either side of the bench in large clusters, long stems shooting up petals of white and red. The one still standing admires the stark contrast between the backdrop of the natural world and the seated one’s black clothes and collared neck. No words have been exchanged since they stepped into the open air but the silent invitation of the large hand patting the open space made the other feel tingles, nonetheless.

The black clad man kept his hands in his lap and shot sideways glances at the one beside him. Their nerves caused them to bounce their knees rapidly. The silence and their nervousness was too much for the man to bear. He wanted to calm them down and reassure them that all was well. He placed his large hand on the other’s knee, halting the bobbing leg. The sudden touch caused them to look up at him into the stormy dark eyes that showed nothing but concern and curiosity. He spoke their name and the song brought them back to Earth.

__________________________________________

“Your confession last-” the deacon began, but was interrupted by your nervous apology.

“I’m so sorry that you had to hear all that. I am so embarrassed and I understand if you think I shouldn’t come here anymore. The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble or-.” This time you are interrupted by that large hand squeezing your leg gently. You look down and see the long-sleeved black dress shirt rolled up to his forearm, the muscle there too tight for it to roll up any further. The veins in his arms protrude and you trace one with your eyes that trails up his arm to the back on his hand. His palm envelopes your kneecap and the long fingers create a cage around the joint. You swallow your words and silently curse the clothes separating skin.

“Please… let me finish.” He brought his other hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sounded strained, as if he had to get the words out or he would burst. Like the things he had to say were compacted in his skull and caused pressure to build between his eyes. You fell silent again and your eyes darted between the scrunched lids of his eyes.

“Ever since your confession I have been wanting to speak with you. I tried calling after you that day but I know I must have scared you.” Fear wasn’t the primary motive for hauling ass out that church as much as it was shame, but you didn’t want to interrupt him. “And then you weren’t here on Sunday… I realize after your confession that you’re only really here for your mother, but I so wished you were here that day so we could talk face to face.” He continued slightly solemnly.

“I hated that we didn’t get to speak on your struggles further and we weren’t able to close the confession as you deserved. You need to know that I hold no judgment towards you - that session was between you and Him. Everyone's path is different and faith isn’t cookie cutter.” He was so impassioned that when his eyes finally met yours again they lit up with excitement in his explanation.

“I owed a fellow man of the church a favor and I took over his confession shift that day last week. The fact that you came to confession that day… on that day of all days. To you all that may seem serendipitous or coincidental, that you felt that strange urge to release those doubts on the day that I was in the booth, but we in the business like to call that ‘God’s Timing’.” The worry and stress seem to melt away as he talks about your interaction in the booth, very different from the reaction you were expecting. His eyes brighten when you, him, and God are being mentioned in the same breath. He becomes more animated and gestures to the expanse of nature around the two of you.”You were meant to go there that day and say those words, I was meant to be there to hear them, as we are meant to be here now in this garden.”

His chest rises and falls from the excitement he feels. He was certain that this is what is felt to be overcome with the Spirit as he had seen in other churches. For the words to fall out without filters and not hold back the faith. When he lowers his eyes to yours again there is a soft smile in them that matches the one slightly stretching his lips.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe in what I preach,” He says this suddenly and his smile slowly fades into something more serious. “It doesn’t bother me that we don’t share the same faith in Christ.”

Heavy pause follows the revelation and you dare not interrupt him, giving him the time to express himself as he did for you in the booth. The setting sun shines rays into his eyes and they reflect back deep amber irises. Their brilliance bounces across your face like he is studying every inch of it - as if your countenance were a difficult passage in Numbers to interpret.

When he speaks again, you find that you aren't as drunk in the music of his voice. The notes are grounding and almost meditative.

“But what worries me is that you don’t share the same faith in yourself that I do. That you don’t see yourself as worthy of blessings when you are a blessing yourself.” The light chill in the air can’t keep the heat from creeping up your chest and neck. His tone became lighter as he went on.

“You are more than deserving of good things. I know our internal thoughts make us feel otherwise, but I need you to know that what they say to you isn't the truth. We all have personal demons that make us question ourselves.” He tilts his upper half more towards you and his large shoulders jut against the backdrop of maple branches and stirring leaves.

Slowly, so slowly, he slides his hand centimeters up your leg so it’s resting more on your thigh.

“I must also confess that I…” He inhales sharply and releases the words with his exhale, “I’m fighting against every urge in my body to maintain myself when I’m around you.” His brows furrow lightly as his other hand comes to cup your chin again, like he had that first time you’d met. The voice is now the smoky room of a jazz club reverberating lowly in the small distance between the two of you.

“Trying to uphold the principles that have nearly been beaten into me when you are in the same room,” he starts to lean in, “you don’t even have to be in the room, mí vicio, for temptation to threaten the sanctity of my profession.”

He tenses ever so slightly, you feel and hear the hesitation in his touch and voice.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or abuse my position..” he starts to pull his hands away, but you quickly grab his hand on your leg and grip his wrist to hold him there. His eyes widen at your response and his mouth hangs open slightly. A pointed canine dipping into his plump bottom lip as you move his hand to cup your cheek.

He brings his face to yours and looks into your eyes again before his stubborn raising escapes his lips, attempting to put his faith before pleasure, “Tell me to stop… tell me we can’t do this.” He presses his lips together and turns his head away a little. The anguish in the words makes you think he might crumble from the war in his mind.

You respond by closing the rest of the gap and pressing your lips onto his cheek. There is an evening shadow of hairs that poke into the soft kiss. He brings his eyes forward to lock back with yours and your noses bump together. Your breathing mixes and his shoulders rise and fall heavily and it seems as if he’s bracing himself with the grip on your leg. The temptation of just being close to you causes his lips to tremble.

“I don’t think you’ll burn in hell if we kiss,” you try to lighten his tension some and he does chuckle as you feel the shaky breathing on your cheeks.

“Funny.” He quips, but he doesn’t say aloud that he’s already burning. His insides are on fire at the feeling of you in his hands. He knows his soul is doomed if fantasy is enough to condemn. He’d burn for the images he’s pictured of you, the positions his imagination puts you in, and for the way his body is reacting to your permissive responses now. The fact that you want this as much as him makes holding back more difficult.

The anticipation that hung from your pout was too much for him and he whispered to himself before pulling your chin up and kissing you.

Just a press of lips against lips. They brushed against each other as your noses moved to accommodate for the space removed. That first kiss was brief, an innocent expression of the brewing affection between you. Yet, it was laden with complex emotions. A small jolt of electricity sparks from Miguel's chest at the kiss and his heartbeat echoed like a drum in his chest.

He was taken aback at how the simple, sweet kiss had made his head spin and when your lips parted he saw your eyes reflecting desire in their haze. Your eyes closed again and allowed your lips to guide the way.

The two of you traded little pecks and pleasure courses through his body. His hand from your knee now held your right hip and the cupped palm now snaked behind your neck and held your head to his as he deepened the kiss. It was harder to hold back as the deacon’s lust, his want, his desire, was too strong. He peaked down through slitted lids at your hands holding the chest of his shirt in fists and grunted against your closed mouths.

Unadulterated passion overwhelmed him and he poked the tip of his tongue to your lips in request. In those cold showers he had taken to try and control his thoughts, he had instead sinfully prayed to feel the inside of your mouth with his tongue, his fingers, and his currently tented dick. Your receptiveness made him nearly whine when you opened your lips in invitation. The buzz in his brain made him lose his inhibitions as he greedily licked into your mouth. He explored your slick cheeks and your tongues clashed together in their first meeting.

As your tongues danced between your mouths, you found that you were the one having to pull away for breath. Father Miguel’s face had reddened from lack of oxygen since he was prioritizing kissing you inside of breathing. His eyes would open halfway, his eyebrows would knit together in a pleading manner, and his pursed lips were swollen when you pulled away. Strands of his dark hair dangled into his forehead. The desperation on his face and in his grip on you was certainly a sight to behold. It was alluring that he was so affected just by kissing, you imagined just how sensitive he must be. It would be a lie to say you weren’t also feeling warmth pool in your belly at the exchange of kisses. You held his face in your hands and your bodies pressed against each other when he wrapped his arms around you. His voice dripped with yearning as he spoke:

“Let me show you how worthy you are…”

The words were a whisper in the wind, a secret kept by the rustling leaves, but they held a vow he intended to uphold.

_______________________________________

Getting away from your mother was surprisingly easy. She was wiped from cooking and everyone was shooing her home, telling her they would handle the clean up. The only real clean up was from the dishes they had dirtied as she had done most of the kitchen keep up as she cooked.

You should’ve been tired too but your mind still whirred from the excitement earlier. The promise of another rendezvous had you eager to volunteer in the clean up. Your mother looked at you again with pride when you told her to go on ahead and that you’d meet her home later after finishing here. If only she knew your true intentions.

Getting Father Miguel away from his parish was another story. You were washing your hands in the kitchen sink as the last of the trash was being taken out. Discretion was attempted as you stole glances at him helping others with their things and wishing them a blessed evening. At one point he catches your eye and his conviction nearly crumbles, but to you he maintains his composure. He gives you the aforementioned signal of a nod and shaky smile and you dry your hands before excusing yourself from one of the church members on your street. You make it seem as though you’re leaving for the night, but head towards the opposite end of the hall when the dining room door closes behind you.

You try to keep your nerves together as you enter the room on the far left end. You try not to think about Father Steen’s name on the door. You try not to hear the innocent farewells and blessings from the other side of the church. You try to look away from the surrounding symbols of sacrifice for sins you were actively committing. You try to calm yourself and your racing mind as you settle in the chair opposite to the one at the desk.

Curiosity temporarily overtakes your other worries when you crane your neck to see the pages that are open on the desk in front of you. It’s obvious what book it is but it’s hard to tell what chapter given it’s upside down, eleven size font, and single-spaced.

You don’t notice the noise completely dying down in the other room as you scan the office. You’ve never actually been in this office so you don’t know what belongs to Father Steen or the deacon. You do recognize the Catholic vestments that were worn by the elder but there was one you hadn’t seen that was separated from the others.

You could tell as you approached that it was much more fancy than the humble ones worn by either of the church heads. Its red satin underside was soft and silky against your inquisitive, yet careful, fingertips. The emerald green top portion was trimmed and detailed in intricate golden lacework. Embroidered red and white flowers weaved with golden stems and darker woven patterns accentuated the colors even further. It was sturdy and seemed handmade as you held the matching stole that hung from the hook beside it.

A knock on the door brought you back to reality and you murmured a ‘come in’. Funny how he was knocking to come into his own office.

He opened the door and walked through the threshold - the top of his head not even an inch away from the frame of the door. He saw you standing by the robes and smiled. He approached you and looked at the robe with you, feeling the fabric himself.

“This chasuble is a Spanish cut. It came from the priest that ran an orphanage in the city and it was a gift to me when he passed.” There’s reverence in his voice as he explains the importance of the robe, and the true weight of the words doesn’t go unnoticed to you. There’s still so much you didn’t know about him.

“Obviously it’s way too fancy for regular service but I always carry it with me. Bring it out for weddings and Easter. Best part? It’s got pockets.” You share a laugh as he wiggles his fingers in a hidden pouch along the inner lining on the front of the robe. He wiggles his eyebrows as well making you laugh more. The sound of it makes him beam at you and you can’t help but feel whiplash from the range of expression he’s given in such a short time.

From a near blubbering mess just from your lips, to this coy attitude now after congregating with his congregation. That tingle returns to your gut at his confident smile and you think of what was going through his mind when you left to come into the office. Did he watch you leave as he shook hands and embraced his newfound flock? Did he feel any impatience with the others who hung on his words? Did he have a change of heart and is attempting to let you down gently? You understood that this was a big No-No in his vocation… maybe post-kiss clarity and being surrounded by the ones trusting his judgment was making him have second thoughts.

Your doubts cause you to speak up, unfortunately spoiling the upbeat mode but you had to make your concerns known.

“I don’t want to make you do something you’ll regret.” His smile fades at the comment as you continue, “you could lose your job.”

He turns towards you from the garments you were admiring.

“Think of the consequences…” you stamper as listens to you, “you could lose the influence and respect you have amongst your fellow brothers in preisthood.” You brace yourself on the chair behind you as you slowly back up past it. He follows you closely.

“Breaking your vows would be a sacrilege.” Your back hits the desk but the deacon still approaches you. “You could be cast out.”

His hands are on your hips and face and your breathing quickens as he leans in, his voice a husky whisper, “For a nonbeliever, you’ve really done your research.”

You know his cocky demeanor is only temporary; when you start kissing again he’ll be back to incoherence. It doesn’t stop you from blushing up at his towering frame.

“Are you sure you want this? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…” he says and starts to pull away as he had before, so careful not to overstep. Again you put your hands on his chest and it takes everything in you not to squeeze the muscular pecs stretching the front of his shirt.

“I want this. So badly. What I don’t want is you feeling guilty. I know what I want but I also know what is right. I don’t want to be the cause of any turmoil or strain in your spirituality. I’ve caused too much wrong to be the reason you break sacred vows important to you.” You both cling to each other against the desk.

“How could I regret this?” He asks so quietly it’s like he’s asking himself, or silently asking God. “Are matters of the heart to be ashamed of?” The storm in his eyes brewed at the idea of even having to explain himself and his feelings to someone above him in the church. For a man who has never been married, never seen God in the loving embrace of another, to try and tell him what love couldn’t be. How could he be expected to turn away from the act of God placed before him now? How do those in the church not see that to love Him, to truly flourish in His image, is to cherish and admire His other creatures? He scans your face and the hand there moves to gently hold your hands on his chest. How badly he wished to banish any doubt clouding your mind.

“I don’t know how else to explain it other than I have developed a deep connection and affection with you and I wish to learn more, so much more.” His breathing is slightly ragged and you feel the rise and fall under your hands. “Your confession, if you still feel the same, makes it nearly impossible for me to deny this anymore.”

“I cannot deny my feelings and continue to serve the church in a capacity that forbids me from you.” You’re speechless at the words and the abrupt honesty. “I’m making these decisions with my eyes wide open.”

“Deacon, I-“ you begin, but he cuts in to say,

“Please, call me Miguel. Not sure how much longer I’ll be a Deacon after this gets out…” He can’t hold back now that you’re alone so he kisses you because he can. Because there is nothing to hold him back from doing so, and your lips feel so good pressed to his. Hearing you say his name causes a low groan to come from his throat and he parts when you frantically protest against his lips.

“What do you mean? No, no one can know! Not yet… oh my god what would my mom think?! She’d believe I corrupted you, and I have, haven’t I?” Your nervousness and the fact that you were more afraid of the judgment from your mother than that of God Almighty made him chuckle again as he nuzzled into your neck and laid kisses up to your ear.

“Corruption and change are not the same. You have brought about a change in me. While I no longer feel I am the same man I once was before meeting you, I am happy for it.” He moves a hand slowly up your back to cradle your head and he feels like King Solomon taking his Queen to bed in Song of Songs as he kisses your neck.

Your neck is like the tower of David,

built with courses of stone;

on it hang a thousand shields,

all of them shields of warriors.

“Please,” He whispers into your ear and takes the lobe between his lips in a tease, “let me reveal my devotion to you.”

Your only response is your fingers entwining in his hair and a gasp, but it’s enough for him to capture your lips again. This time he wastes no time easing your mouth open with his tongue.

Your lips drop sweetness

as the honeycomb,

milk and honey are under your tongue.

He hasn’t had a woman in his arms like this is such a long time. Excitement overcomes him and his hands aren’t sure where to rest on your body. He wants to learn you only by touch. Allowing himself to be led blindly by faith in your embrace. He cups your breasts over your shirt and moans open mouthed into the kiss. You mewl at the abandonment of restraints you both had been holding yourselves back with. You’re not too lost to the feeling of his hands sliding back down and under your shirt. He traces your spine up and down and grabs at newfound flesh.

“You’re skin… tan suave.” He’s breathless again from the frenzy of kisses and touches he’s covering you in. He nearly loses it wondering how soft the rest of you was. The thought brings his fingers to your bra and he undoes the clasp there. He pulls away to see them fall slightly and his teeth dig into his bottom lip and he nearly growls before pulling your shirt up to reveal the loosened bra still veiling your breasts. His eyes are hungry, but he still asks, “May I?”

You’re frustrated at how long this is taking. Usually this sort of thing is a quick ordeal without all this checking in. You take a deep breath and remind yourself who you’re dealing with. You reassure him with a curt, “No more asking.”

Something snaps in his brain and he’s pulling your bra off and quickly replacing the cups with his own hands. He massages them both, lifting them lightly to feel their weight and admiring how your nipples react to the exposure to air and his fingers. The theories of intelligent, immaculate design are confirmed to him as he gazes at them and appreciates them.

At first, you’re on edge about the intensity in his eyes as he looks over you. Then you realize that you don’t know the last time he’s been with someone and that you just aren’t used to time being taken on you. You attempt to regulate your breathing and relax but when he gently tweaks the buds of your breasts between his large fingers your back arches.

He nearly drools at the sight of your body’s reaction and brings the hardened nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tip and caught it in a suckle. You moan and the last thing he sees before your shirt drops over his head is you tossing your head back. He grins devilishly and grazes his teeth over the sensitive nub before moving to give the other some attention. He doesn’t leave it unattended for long when his fingers run his remaining spit over the delicate pucker.

You pull your shirt up and off, discard it somewhere in the room. You couldn’t go any longer without the enticing image of his face in your chest. His lips parted briefly from your right tit so he could mumble, “Dios, me encantan tus tetas…”

The praise and slightly blasphemy of the Lord’s name used in marvel of your body made your head spin. His free hand gripped your hip, then the flesh of your back, ghosting over your soft belly. His fingertips then slip into the hem of your pants and trail fire in their wake. You buck your hips involuntarily and ignore the dig of the desk in your back side.

He pulls away to see your face and the feedback your body gives him. He accepts it eagerly and continues to tease and pull at your pantyline while pinching and pulling at your nipples.

“Please, Miguel-,” The breathlessness in your voice and the flush of your face makes his already hard dick twitch in the restriction of his pants. His name in that sweet, needy tone made him moan out a ‘yeah?’

“I need you.” Your eyes are glazed from the pleasures he’s bestowing upon you. A sheen of sweat shines on your bare chest from the heat of the moment. Your body is on fire and this is only second base. The sensitivity levels of you both were turned up high, but maybe the taboo of it all was causing such an intense reaction. Or maybe you were feeling the same fervent connection he revealed to feel for you. The same string pulling you to one another.

Any resemblance of control fell away from him completely at your pleading pout. His lips crashed down onto yours again and an image of you he’d had in his mind many times flashed and he knew what you needed.

His hand swiftly unbuttons your jeans and the sound of the zipper is in slow motion as he inhales your breathy moans and pleas. His hands move to either side of you and he peels the denim off your burning skin.

He pulls away from you and looks in your eyes as he begins to lower himself. He kisses every inch of newly revealed skin. You’re suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious because you haven’t had a need to do any sort of landscaping for a while. This hadn’t exactly been planned. You look down at your nearly naked body and blush at how he is still completely clothed. You see the dance of his curls as he pulls the jeans off your feet. Then he’s on his knees.

This man of God, in his uniform of black with the white collar slightly askew, knelt before you as if you were an altar to pray to. His hands roamed from your ankles up to your thighs and then down your backside. He squeezes the flesh all over and they never truly settle in one place. He’s intent on learning each curve and dedicating every mole to memory. He catches your eyes and is emboldened by the lust in them so he leans up to press kisses along your abdomen. He murmurs against your tummy at how beautiful you are and how you can stop him at any time. Then, his fingers are hooked around the sides of your panties and he begins to slide them down.

He can’t help but take his time. There were a couple reasons. The first was this was simply too amazing to rush. He’d been in situations like this, and knowing what was coming next excited him. Pulling you out your jeans and spreading your legs brought wafts of your scent into his nose. The aroma was robust and earthy and it drew him in as your panties came down. It had been so long… the smell of your heat made him nearly light-headed but he inhaled deeply. He couldn’t get enough. He had to taste you.

Your panties were still around your knees when he buried his face into your pubic hair and took a deep breath in. You nearly buckled in embarrassment but his arms wrapped around your legs to bring you to his face even more so. He hugged your crotch for a moment and the smells went straight to his cock. It’d been so long since he’d been presented with such a pretty pussy and he had to appreciate the moment.

He pulls you out your panties the rest of the way and pushes you back against the desk. The back of his hand presses to your inner leg and you oblige him by spreading them both for him to get a better look. He sighs as he sits back on his heels and admires the image that has been in his mind for the last couple weeks. The offering of your own communion already glistening from the heavy petting and kissing is more captivating than his imagination could ever be. He paws at the hardness in his jeans and takes a mental image for later.

Motivated by the hunger in his eyes and the way his eyes move in the need to see it all, you start to lose the voice in your head that makes you worry about your body. You bring your hand down and spread your lips a little for him, a little moan escaping you. He nods as if being given instruction and wordlessly brings his mouth to you.

You cry out his name from the touch of his lips to your sensitive flesh. He’s simply kissing the parts you presented to him so graciously. You lean back and brace yourself more on the desk as his hands come up to massage your inner thighs. He moves lower and looks up at you before dragging his tongue slowly up from your seeping pussy to your clit. Your hips buck again and he grins deviously.

The grin and his lewd teasing showed a transformation in the man, as if this part of him laid dormant just beneath the surface of sacredness. His eyes seemed to shift to an alarming red in the lighting. His fingers dug into you like claws. His teeth seemed more pointed when he flashed those wicked grins up at you. He was the one on his knees, but he was the dominant force.

He brought his hands to his new heaven and spread the pearly gates with his thumbs. He blew gently on the exposed, heated skin and you whined from the lack of friction.

Blow on my garden,

that its fragrance may spread everywhere.

Let my beloved come into his garden

and taste its choice fruits.

The stretch of your legs and the wetness that shone between them looked so inviting. He massaged his thumbs up and down, rubbing your lips together and then apart again. His mouth watered at the sight and he licked his lips.

“You’re so wet for me…” he breathed the words before plunging into your waters. The tension, teasing, and time carefully taken on you had driven you crazy but the satisfaction of his tongue on your clit drove you mad. You arched your back and placed your hands on his broad shoulders, the pleasure bringing you to smile and moan in delirium. No longer were you worried about his job, the way you looked, or if he was interested in you as much as you were into him. He was definitely proving that now as he at you out like his last supper.

You surmised that he had to have had some kind of experience with this as you gawk at the expert movements of his tongue. At first, he prodded with the relaxed muscle to test the waters. Now, he was buried into you up to his nose. His tongue would flatten when he wanted a wider range of flavor and you’d feel the large pad lapping you up. Then he would tighten it and drag circles around your clit, sometimes licking into your tightness as if he were starved. He took note of how your body twitched when he pushed his tongue inside you to taste the velvety smoothness of your tight walls. He saw how you jerked with too much stimulation on your delicate bud. He groaned at the sight of your body moving above him, the way your hair hung in your face. The vibration of his convulsing tongue inside you as he groans makes you toss your head back and chant Miguel, Miguel,…

Fueled by the mantra of his name, Miguel goes back to swirling around your clit. He decided his tongue isn’t long enough to feel as deep inside you as he’d like and pushes his middle finger into you halfway. The promise of penetration causes you to grind on the finger and consequently onto his face as well.

He’s sometimes closing his eyes as if he’s in prayer while consuming communion. But the buck of your hips and your weight shifting down on him made his eyes snap open so he could watch your immodesty through lustful eyes. He pulled as you pushed, maintaining the single digit only halfway. He wanted to take his time feeling you and becoming acquainted with what you had so graciously offered to him. When he pulls away from you to speak, the sight of his puffy lips and chin shining with your wetness nearly makes you fall forward.

“Be patient, please,” his voice drips with desperation, “it’s been so long.”

You let out a low whimper but complain no further when he wraps his lips around your clit again and starts moving his finger inside you deeper, finally. You arch your back and your fingers entangle in his hair.

Your light pulling on his hair pulls another moan out of him and he can’t help but rub the underside of himself as he pleasures you. Your wet noises make him want to bathe in your scent and sleek walls. Your moans make his cock twitch in his tightening pants. He flattens his tongue on your swollen clit and languidly licks around and at it directly. He greedily adds another finger so he can gauge just how tight your opening is, but has to ease it in slowly as you cry out.

“Ooh, so tight.. so wet..” He murmurs against your slick as he wiggles the two fingers inside you. “Todo para mí?” This could easily be interpreted as coy, but the tone is earnest. He truly feels blessed with the gifts you’ve so graciously given. He flicks the tip of his cock over the pants as he sweeps his fingers to graze a particularly delicate spot inside you. As soon as his fingers touch that bumpy groove you see stars in your vision. The direct stimulation to your most sensitive space and this new sensation was nearly overwhelming.

“Miguel, ‘s too much.” You pant and attempt to push him off for some reprieve.

He lifts his head with worry in his eyes. His fingers straighten and pump inside you at a grudgingly slow pace. The slightly sweaty strands of hair stick to your thighs as he gently rests his head on it. Leaning on his devotion.

“I just want to make you feel good.” His eyes trail back to watch the way your pussy clings to his fingers when he pulls them out slowly. He seems entranced with the way you stick to his fingers even when they aren’t inside you. You look down to watch the lewd scene and see just how hard his cock is and how he’s got a grip on it through the clothes he’s still fucking wearing. “As good as you make me feel.”

You melt at the words and when his thumb comes up to press around your glistening pearl. He slid it across the top, just above the screaming bud, as if flipping through the thin pages of the Good Book. He ghosted over the area you found tried and true when you were doing this alone and your body, your voice let him know.

He slides his fingers back inside, unable to hold back any longer. His pace is shaky at first, but becomes stable again.

“Mmm, is that good for you?” He begins rubbing small circles in the spot you so beautifully inclined him towards. You nod and moan in response and then he asks you something that nearly knocks you off the table:

“Will you please cum for me?” He asks between heavy breaths that feel warm on your slit. He wondered how you looked, felt, smelled, sounded, and moved when you orgasmed. When he first placed that wafer in your mouth he wanted to be the reason that it happened. He wanted his name to be the one you called out. “Fuck, I need you to…” the curse and the words from the holy man made your insides twist and burn. The steady driving into your core and thumb on that sweet spot causes you to close your eyes and roll your hips with the rhythm.

He says your name and your eyes snap open again.

“Look at me.”

The way his large body slumps between your legs and the background of Catholicism surrounding the two of you hits a dirty switch in your brain and you’re nearing the edge. He can tell by the tightening of the muscles in your thighs and the way they nearly straighten out to give yourself more purchase.

“Just like that. You’re so close aren’t you, tell me.” You cry out a yes!! through your gaped mouth.

“Cum f’me, please. Cum for me just like this. Just for me.”

The words, the perfect pace of his fingers, the way he’s looking up at you… you reach your climax and fight to keep your eyes open as he asked.

Through your lashes you see that he’s grinning up at you. Your slick still on his mouth and stringing between his lips. The type of grin that shouldn’t be on a priest’s face. That’s two things that shouldn’t be on his face now as he licks around his pumping fingers to devour the flow of juices he’s poured out of you.

Your thighs clench around his head and your body spasms, he pulls his mouth away to look up at you between the trap of your thighs.

“Yesss, just like that you look so good. Such a good girl.” He mumbles with a mouth full of your slickness.

He moves his thumb off the hood of your pulsing nub to not overstimulate you, but his fingers remain inside you. The way you pulsed and squeezed around him mesmerized him. He matched the pulses to the grip on his length in a futile attempt to simulate the intoxicating spasms brought onto you by just his hands.

He tries to memorize the heartbeat of your warm burrow as it begins to ease on your come down. He’ll try to emulate the sensation later - on himself - but he knows and dreads the fact that it would not compare to the readied womanhood presented to him. He bites his bottom lip and groans.

You notice how he holds himself and you can’t pull your eyes away from the tent he’s holding back in his pants. Your arms, still a little shaky, move down and you grab his face. You pull a little and he obliges and stands again. He snakes his large arms around your naked body and doesn’t seem to care about any mess you might leave on him. You pull his face to yours and kiss him. His puffy lips are warm against yours and when your tongues touch you taste yourself and feel another coil form in your gut. You pull away and tell him, in a raspy voice,

“I need you. All of you. Please?” Encouraged by your orgasm, you reach your hand down to grab the erection that’s been begging for you.

He hissed your name through his teeth at the sensation and grabs your wrist. He was already embarrassingly close to his own orgasm after having watched you and toyed with himself. Your grip on him made his knees nearly buckle.

His protest made you worry and your arm seized in its place. You let go of him and stare up into his eyes to see where you went wrong with him.

“What’s wrong, Miguel?” The concern in your voice makes him bore his eyes into yours.

“Nothing, no, nothings wrong. You did nothing wrong. I do want this, oh God, you don’t know how badly…” It’s almost as if he’s gasping the words. Your touch, it set him on fire. But, he didn’t think he should, or could, have you the way he really wanted. Not now. Not here. “There’s something you should know. It’s not embarrassing for me, but it’s important you know.”

The seriousness in his tone has you scanning his face for any more information. He says your name and then reveals the truth and you’re left speechless. His tone is matter of fact, the words shocking.

**

**

**

“I’m a virgin.”

You are a garden locked up;

you are a spring enclosed,

a sealed fountain.

Taglist: IT WONT LET ME TAG MORE THAN 50 I’m crying I’m so sorry I’ll try commenting tagging the rest

@soniajustneedssimping @venusisajpeg @cassidysbbg @haveclayeveryday @fishtail111 @sirbird @thecrowstears @elizzybeth-2005 @tayleighuh @crispypugfs @trashcansally @cheezit-luv3rr @marsout @eliiilamar @hamuuko @jagawriterr @oharaswifexx @limenysnocket @xthejazzdalorianx @y0mill @livingmeat @stranded-dream @its-oevy @be-be-la-la @jxylxx @usagijoestar @queenofroses22 @zaunsin @ceoofmiguel @otomebois @fairycwhores @killakungfu-wolfbitch @buffalolover10177 @jaywalksalloverme @jalxnnie @deepinballs @vomitsama @aurora-burrow @wlalspj @tieonatrenchcoat @cicato @firstghostempathtaco @yallhearsm @mumbi-222 @carmenxhuuuu @dv-ocean-blog @multi-fandom-chick-blog1 @jellybeansupmyass @cheyjellyfish @elyissly @laikve @coffeejellypng @staycgoindown @variouslyalloya @redflame5975 @botchedlove @thatoneenchilada @buck-uwu @donnie-spectacular

Chapter 5? It might take some time tho…

[atlasscrumpit]

🔞Priest Miguel au🔞

(Priest au means Miguel is a Priest duh. Also means that if you don't want to read about things that may offend your religion that do not read on! If you read on and still get offended that is your problem and you're dumb as hell. It's like someone warning you not to walk into wet concrete yet you walk in it and blame the guy who laid the concrete)

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

Miguel watched everyone leave, exhausted from his day as he took a sip of water to clear his throat.

When he turned back around he saw someone still sitting.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" He asked as he began to walk towards them.

From the moment he saw your eyes he knew exactly what you were.

He took a step back and gripped the cross around his neck.

"Leave now." He growled as you looked at him and tilted your head.

"I'm not causing any harm." You said innocently as he looked at you with such hatred and disgust.

You hated the fact that he despised you only based on the fact that you were a demon.

"You look at me with such disgust, yet you have no idea who I am." You said, staring into his eyes.

"You are a demon, a disgusting creature sent here to tempt me." He said as you looked away and chuckled a little.

"It's sweet that you think you're important enough for me to tempt. I'm not here to cause any harm, just here to see what all the fuss about religion is." You muttered as he continued to keep his distance.

"You don't fool me, demon. I have spent my life learning about heaven and hell." He said making you chuckle again.

"Yet you know nothing about heaven or hell. But, I should be honest with you. I don't work for hell, not anymore at least. I'm here on earth to see why humans like it so much... I find it interesting that everything that you consider a sin is everything that makes a human...human. You preach a God that wants to make his people suffer, a God that would torture you if you didn't follow. Do you know who else does that? My master in hell, your God isn't that different from him." You say slowly circling the priest like a shark.

"Do not compare God to a demon! He protects, he loves and he keeps us safe." He said as you smiled and continued to look at him.

"Don't think of yourself as so high and mighty. You are filled with sins, all of them and I know how badly you want to let go." You whispered slowly approaching him.

"Don't you want to see what it means to be human? And not just a worthless follower? Don't you want to feel?" You whispered as Miguel began to feel an odd sensation in his body.

"Stop this now demon, before I destroy you!" He shouted before he backed away and braced himself against the podium.

"All I'm doing is letting your desires free. Heaven and hell is a plague! The sooner you see that the better." You said before the sensation stopped in Miguel.

"Why are you doing this? Why me!" He shouted as you stepped back a little and took a breath.

"I don't know..." You whispered as he looked at you in shock.

"You don't know why you're here?" He asked as you chuckled a little and looked away from him.

"I've been running from my destiny for centuries... I felt like my time was running out when I started being plagued with visions...of you. I tracked you down and I found you here...and now I don't even know." You muttered as the priest looked at you in confusion.

He couldn't believe how human you were, he didn't expect a demon to act like this.

"You ran from you duties?" He asked, you noticed he was starting to relax a little more.

"My purpose was to destroy this world... To end all life. But, that's not who I want to be." You admitted while the priest listened in disbelief.

"But it's your duty, you cannot turn your back on your purpose." He said as you slowly approached him.

"I know why you're angry... Because you've had thoughts of leaving your duties behind to live a life of sin. Isn't that right, father?" You whispered before you stood in front of him and looked into his eyes.

"That's the difference between you have I, I am not weak like you to give in to my sins!" He shouted as you sighed a little.

"Is this really a sin? When it feels so good, father?" You whispered before pressing your palm to his crotch that was half hard.

"Enough." He whispered breathlessly and you continued to palm him through his clothes.

"I need you and you need me. We were meant to help each other break free from those who are controlling us. Let go, father." You whispered before he gripped your wrist roughly to stop you.

"On your knees." He growled as you smirked a little and kneeled before him.

You looked up and could see the sins brewing in his soul.

"You've lived your life as someone's slave for too long." You whispered as he reached forward and held your face in his hand.

"Tell me your name, little demon." He said, looking down at you.

"My name in Hell isn't one that can be pronounced by humans... So, call me Y/N." You replied as he nodded a little.

"You'll address me as Father, little one. I am your superior here, I am above you in every sense of the word... But, you could prove very useful to me." He whispered as you looked into his sinful eyes.

"I can see how much you want to be worshipped, father. Let go of everything you've learnt and let me worship you." You whispered before he slowly went to his knees and looked into your eyes.

You leant forward and kissed him softly as he gripped your hair.

You finally broke the kiss and he looked at your face.

"Was this your plan all along, little demon? To tempt me?" He asked caressing your face gently as you watched his eyes.

"It wasn't my intention, father. But... I can tell how much you want freedom from this, freedom to love, live and...fuck." You whispered as his thumb gently ran over your bottom lip.

"You want me to free you...and you want to free me. I can't give up my life as easy as you." He replied as you leant in and kissed him again.

"It is easy, father. Just let go, let me show you what you're missing." You whispered, leaning in yo kiss his neck before you started to palm at his crotch again.

"Naughty demon..." He whispered, moaning a little before he kissed you again.

"Show me what I'm missing, little demon."

[migueloharassin]

✟𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔦𝔤𝔲𝔢𝔩 𝔬'𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞✟

Heavily based on @peterspinkrobe 's fanfiction - the true piece of art, filled with passion and tension between both of the main characters.

When I found the mentioned story - I fell in love instantly and immediately messaged the creator about the possibility of using the inspiration to create this account along with the roleplays (that would possibly and hopefully arrive here at some point).

I would love to thank the amazing writer one more time before I start organising the account and create the first startings for the roleplays! I think you brought faith into our hearts again (not really for God... at least not the one everyone talks about... but Miguel is doing a great job at creating his own small church :3).

Miguel's masterlist.

@peterspinkrobe 's masterlist.

[homiesondaweb]

Everytime I see the Parental Miguel tag on a fic my skin itch. (Especially a Miles or Hobie centric fic)

HE BEAT A 15 YEAR OLD INTO THE SIDE OF A TRAIN HE NEEDS TO BE LOCKED TF UP 🗣️🗣️🗣️

[bmj-arts]

Priest AU Miguel 👀🛐

bonus art below // suggestive ⚠️‼️