DamiRaeSauceWeekend22
Priest AU! with an eventual Secret Lovers.
As the prompt says, this is 673 words of heresy, mediocrity and 0 clue, cause I know nothing about religion. So, read on your own risk.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sin.
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“Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one. Amen.”
Her sweet voice rumbled through the lonely room as she finished her prayer, crossing herself. He stood quiet observing her from a few rows back. Church was closed, but she always managed to get in, especially when she felt her demon crawling, craving to escape.
Praying would work sometimes, as her faith was strong as her will, but it kept growing stronger each day and it was his work to keep her on edge, or…
He shook his head, erasing the thoughts of the choice he was hoping not to take. He tightened his jaw, he was not supposed to have those thoughts. He had been raised to control and kill demons and other spirits. He was practically born to do so, but now it was different.
She was different.
A whimper brought him back from his thoughts only to find the ebony-haired girl with her head laying on the wood bench in front of her, fighting to resist her demonic heritage.
That was his queue to approach her, and the sole echo of his steps made her shiver. With every step, her breathing turned heavier but she didn’t dare to turn.
“Raven.” He muttered once he was just a few feet away. Raven finally raised her eyes towards the man, and felt her mouth gone dry as her demon screamed at the sight of him, with his rolled up shirt. What a sight, she thought, biting her lips.
“Father Damian.” she said, haltingly. Damian tensed at the call of his name.
“I believe we agreed you would come directly to me if you needed assistance.” He said softly, closing the distance between them.
“Forgive me, Father. I… I thought…” She couldn’t finish her word as he extended his hand in front of her.
“Come.”
He said and her body acted on its own, taking his hand in hers and let him guide her through the church. The sole touch of his hand made her demon stop for a moment, expectant of what was about to happen.
“Kneel.” He said as they were in front of the altar, still holding her hand delicately. She obeyed, gasping at the touch of the cold tile beneath her right before clasping her hands together. “Not like that.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart threatened to burst into flames, but didn’t say or move. In silence, she leaned to the marble floor, but stopped just a few inches from it and grabbed her skirt with her hands, lifting it over her hips. It took Damian by surprise when he realized she was not wearing anything underneath. It was as if she had been expecting this to happen.
He took a moment to admire her exposed center, her pale and soft rear, with her folds pink and already wet with eagerness. His mouth water at that holy sight. It took everything in him to control himself and not let his deepest desire take upon him.
Breath deep.
He repeated as she gripped her hands together in prayer.
“Pray.” She lifted her eyes to the cross hanging in front of them before closing them as Damian kneeled behind her.
“Our Father, who art in heaven…”
The sound of his hand smacking against her exposed skin filled the place, making Raven tightened her eyes, but said no word and moved not an inch.
“hallowed be thy name…”
A second smack caused her to tremble, but she remained silent. They were just starting but she could already feel herself dripping, and she wasn’t sure she would make it to the end.
“I can’t hear you.” His words make her shiver, she could feel his voice whispering in her ear, just like he did many nights ago, even when he was apart from her. “You will stop when I tell you to do so.” He caressed her exposed skin befor smacking it again, stealing a moan for Raven. “That 's it. Let me hear you, Raven.”
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you were raised in comparison.
it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.
you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.
you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.
what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.
it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.
you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.
you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?
a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.
you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.
it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.
something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.
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you’re watching the maury show on your computer when katsuki marches into your room without a word and flops down next to you on your bed.
“ hello to you, too.” you snort. his words are muffled by your sheets but you’re about 90% sure he told you to shut up, you ignore it.
he lays face down on your bed for a while not saying anything and you know he’s had a long day and wants to be close to you without actually talking. you don’t mind, you’ll give him his space until he reaches out himself.
and he does after a little bit, turning his head around to face you as he looks from you to your computer screen, eyes focusing on the woman screaming that the man she cheated on her husband with was 100% not the father of her baby, mixed with the cheers of the audience.
he looks at you and raises a brow “ what’s happenin ?”
“ lady cheated on her husband with his brother.” you respond.
“ his brother ?” he repeats. his eyebrows furrow and you know he’s hooked. if there’s one thing katsuki loves but will never admit he does, it’s trash tv.
you nod, grinning somewhat evilly “his brother. now they’re trying to find out which one’s the father.”
he hums, scooting himself closer to you so he can see the screen too. he flips himself around so his neck isn’t craned at that awkward angle anymore and settles himself down right next to you. hook, line and sinker.
he wraps his arm around your shoulder and shoves his head in your neck, breathing you in. you both don’t say anything. “do you want me to play it from the beginning for you ?” he shakes his head in your neck. you reach your hand up to scratch at his scalp and you smile when he sighs. he holds you a little tighter, pressing feather light kisses into your neck.
katsuki’s never been good at expressing himself with any other emotion that isn’t anger. it makes him feel stupid and weak and soft. he’s had a long fucking day and he doesn’t wanna talk about it, simply wanting to indulge in you but he can’t tell you that, can’t find the words to, so he tries to find other ways to tell you and he hopes you understand and you do.
katsuki’s thankful for you because sometimes he wants to talk, wants to open up about what’s bothering him but sometimes he doesn’t. he doesn’t and you don’t pry when you know he doesn’t and he’s so thankful for you. he presses kisses on your skin and soft bites at your flesh to convey just how thankful he is, how grateful he is for having you. he hopes every warm press of his lips against your skin can convey how much he loves you loving him. and it does, because you turn your head and kiss the side of his head so sweetly and he knows you’re it for him.
he’ll tell you all of this one day, he promises. he’ll tell you all the thoughts swimming around in his head one day, but he hopes this’ll do for now. and unknowingly to him, it absolutely does.
he pulls his head out of your neck and kisses you hard on the cheek one, two, three times and you giggle. you feel him smile into your cheek when he kisses you a fourth time.
“fuck’re they screamin’ about ?” he says and you turn to look back at the screen. the woman is yelling at her husband’s brother vehemently denying the possibility of him being her baby’s father. you feel a little bad for laughing. “ she says he’s not the dad” you answer.
he clicks his tongue “ why the fuck is she on the show then.” he says, turning his attention back to your computer but his grip on you stays secure. you press yourself a little closer to him.
you’re still smiling lightly when you look back at your screen, simply shrugging. “ she said something about her having more sex with her husband than with him.” you answer and he snorts.
“ ten bucks neither one of them’s the father.”
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