I'll Consider It (John Ward x Reader One-Shot)

I'll Consider It

   "Bless me Father, for I have sinned," the words are shaky leaving your lips, doubt evident, though barely, in your voice. This is it. You two were the last to leave the church, and you said you wanted to confess. Though, this won't be just a "sin" confession. Either you score yourself a cute little priest, or you get excommunicated from the church and humiliated in front of all your family and friends as a godless pervert. To say that you hope it will be the former is a gross understatement. Your life hinges on these next few minutes, your fate in the hands of your object of desire. You wouldn't rather it be in the hands of anyone else, though.

   Your knees, supported by soft leather padding, quiver as you shift your weight from one to the other. It's awfully quiet. Did you forget something. Oh god, you did. "My last confession was..." Your mind goes blank. "...I'm afraid I can't remember, Father," you admit truthfully. "It's okay, my child, continue." You've never gotten used to being called "my child", especially considering you're at least a few years older than Father Ward. Or perhaps he just looks young. Him addressing you at all sends shivers up your spine, your need for the anointed man growing with each well-intentioned word.

   "My first sin is straying from God. I allowed myself to be tempted, and now I feel my faith will never quite be the same. Worldly influence has crept into the deepest corners of my heart and soul and mind, and I find it hard to expel. Extremely hard." You bite back a snicker--you've never had the most mature sense of humor, but your recent exploits have only lessened the serious, stoic ruse you were once capable of flawlessly upholding. "Hm. Well, my child, as you know, God forgives all..." you prepare to zone out as he read some Bible verse or assigned you Hail Mary's, but he says something unexpected. "What thoughts have sprouted within your mind?"

   The part where you confess. For real. Where do you start? When you first began attending this church again? When you noticed him, standing off to the side, intently listening to the message, as humble and eager to learn as any other member of the congregation? When he looked your way during Mass, and you decided you must take his innocence in the most loving and caring way possible? There's so much to confess and so little time. "Are you alright, my child?" "Yes, this is just very difficult." You lean further into the lattice to speak quietly, his face less than an inch from yours. "I may guide you, if you desire such." "No-no thank you, Father."

   You've practiced this a million times, but of course, during the real thing, you falter. "I've...lusted," you clear your throat afterwards, as if it would cleanse it of the shameful words. He makes no noise. Following a short pause, you continue. "Only with my eyes, though I feel it's beginning to affect my time here." "Is your object of desire another member of the congregation?" You bite the inside of your cheek. "Not exactly, Father." You hear a faint rustling, like someone shifting in their seat. He's getting nervous. "I'm afraid he's ordained," Father Ward inhales sharply through his nose, "I knew, _____, I could tell." Your eyes widen. He had been feigning ignorance this whole time. "I've tried my best not to pay it any mind. Such musings only lead to mortal sin, and mortal sin to damnation," he sighs, deep in thought. "The Lord can still forgive you. You have not acted upon these desires so there is still time to.....My child? Are you there?"

   He gasps as you enter his side of the confessional, ripping open the rich purple drapery without an ounce of reverence. Confusion and fear are communicated only in his deep blue eyes and the slight tension in his shoulders. He doesn't want you to know he's afraid. "This is horribly inappropria--ohhhhmygod....!" In a swift motion, you close the curtain, sitting on his lap. "goodness. Oh my goodness." He corrects himself, ashamed. "You've already caused me to sin well enough! It would be in your best interests to leave now." You place your hands on his shoulders, rubbing the black fabric of his pellegrina, wandering up to the stark whiteness around his neck. He looks up at you, nervous but oddly curious. "Say, Father, what is this called?" "A collar?" "Fitting for a dog like you, don't you think?" His jaw drops, his ego insulted. "H-how could you say such a thing?!" Though his voice raises slightly and his brow furrows, he begins to feel heat stirring within him. The fires of temptation truly know no bounds.

   His resolve is like a twig, forced to bend against it's will. Though the greenness of having been on the tree provides temporary assurance, the sun will soon claim it's last, pitiful, line of defense. You feel his hands plant themselves on your sides. He avoids eye contact as he stops struggling. You lean forward, pressing kisses to the soft, olive skin of his neck, causing quavery, unstable breaths to escape his parted lips. "Hnggg...please." You stop only for a moment to speak. "Please, what, Father?" "I don't--" You bite down lightly, testing the waters. He tightens his hold on you. "Finish your sentence." "I don't think-ah!-we should be doing this here..." He whines as you sink your teeth into him a second time, in that same spot. "There's no one else around. This will just be between us." His heartbeat speeds up beneath you as tears pool in his eyes. You straighten up to look at him directly. "Do you want this? Yes or no?" He looks down at the ground again. "Hm?" He senses you're getting impatient. "...yes. I want it." "Want what?" He winces. "...want you to...debase me. Please. I need it."

   Humiliated, but oddly aroused, he is unable to move as you begin unbuttoning his garb, stopping just below his sternum. You continue your onslaught, nipping at the flesh of his collarbone. He arches his back slightly to push against your groin. "Lord f-forgive me..." He groans, already throbbing beneath his holy regimental. You want to poke fun at him but you'd be lying if you said his reactions aren't causing some intimate sensations for you, as well. At this point, his fingertips are close to leaving bruises with how vice-like his grip has become. Eventually, you see the exact moment his metaphorical "twig" snaps. Inexperienced and passionate, he begins a steady rhythm, grinding into you. The confessional is soon filled with his heavenly gasps and moans. You press your face into his soft chest, inhaling the enticing mix of anointing oils and cigarette smoke. You reciprocate his desperation, rutting down onto him with equal enthusiasm.

   "Oh...oh, oh God! Have mercy on me...!" He pants out, jet black hair pasted on his sweating forehead. Hands fumbling, he pulls you to his chest, a wet spot rapidly forming at the front of his cassock. After what feels like an eternity of this tight embrace, he eases up, muscles unclenching from the relentless torrent of spasms. As the ecstasy fades, it is replaced by guilt. He just--did that. He just consented to being defiled, staining his sacred robes with his impurity. How disgusting. You pepper his face with light kisses, mumbling praises and words of encouragement that he can barely hear over his indignant conscience.

Good.

---Blasphemous

Obedient.

---Ruined

Handsome.

---Weak

   Thoroughly overstimulated and disoriented, he begins to cry, tears spilling down his face. "Oh dear. What's wrong?" "You've, you've..." He pauses to wipe his face on his sleeve. "...that was so much..." "I know, I know. Do you want a hug? Do you want me to get off?" He wordlessly opens his arms and you answer, pressing against him lovingly. "Wanna come back to my place tonight?"

   "...I'll consider it," he teases.