tongue
pairing: nun! jang wonyoung x kim jiwon
summary: jiwon gives in to the devil, and has to confess her sins. wonyoung knows exactly how to help her.
content warnings: religious guilt, fucked up wonyoung, dubious consent, pain kink, oral sex, come eating, come is holy ? author is not religious
On Wonyoung's knees, bruises mottled her pale skin in ugly shades of yellow and blue. Every hour spent kneeling before God stained her with another violet mark of devotion. They never seemed dark enough, there was always another hour to offer Him- to make up for the years she spent drowning in her sins.
It never felt like enough, no matter how long she clutched her rosary- no matter the reddening of her knuckles pressed together.
The bristles scrape over the stone in a steady rhythm. She works her way between the rows, pushing dust out from where it gathers in thin lines along the floor. She stepped through the stained glass colors spread across the floor, breaking beneath her shoes as she moved.
When she reaches the front of the Lady chapel, Wonyoung slows. The space near the confessional is usually empty at this hour. She shifts to the narrow space of wall beneath the window, where dust always settles thickest.
"I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't even- I don't really believe."
Wonyoung's grip on the broom loosens, and she glances at the worn wood of the confessional booth. A low murmur responds, something that isn't forgiveness.
"My mom does. She did. I never understood it, she'd make me pause before eating to pray. I would just... sit with my eyes shut."
The broom moves again across the floor, now without rhythm. Wonyoung doesn't mean to listen, her voice drifts far beyond the priest's ears. The partition swallows most of her mumbled words, a hint of guilt to each syllable. "I just don't know what to do. Why hasn't He answered?"
The priest remains silent for a moment, like he was contemplating what to say. "You must have patience, silence does not mean absence. Have trust in Him."
The girl shakily inhales, "But His silence has been the only answer since I was young. I just want to hear- I want to hear something." She pauses, sniffling. "Just once."
"As do many. I have not heard His voice." He says gently. "But I have seen His doing."
"He has only made me. I hate this-" She laughs once, bitterly. "This face and this body. This life. I hate it all. Why won't He undo it?" Through the narrow gaps in the wooden lattice, Wonyoung catches the faint movement of a sleeve dragging hastily across the girl's eyes, blotting away the tears gathering at her lash line.
Wonyoung lowers her gaze to the stone floor. The broom resumes its slow, measured path across the chapel. She fixes her attention on the clumps of lint gathered beneath the rows of pews, counting each stroke, each breath.
The confession was not her burden, and certainly not something for her to listen to. A hymn lingers at the edges of her thoughts, its melody repeating softly, over and over. Wonyoung clings to the familiar notes, anything louder than the low voices inside- beyond that door.
The door eased open on its hinges. Wonyoung bows her head, eyes fixed on the stone floor. She tracks the quiet tap of shoes as they cross the chapel, letting her gaze settle at the hem of the girl's dress- careful not to follow the fabric any higher, or lower.
Moonlight pooling over the floor of her cell, the crucifix above her pillow lay against the wall in darkness.
Wonyoung sank to her knees beside the narrow bed, her hands folding tightly beneath her chin and whispers. "Heavenly Father, I bring before you a troubled woman in need of You. Guide her towards You and do not let her lose sight of You. Amen."
The woman follows Wonyoung even to the brink of sleep, her half-lidded eyes beginning to close yet all she could think of was her words and the sorrow that dripped from them. She pitied anyone whose faith had begun to fracture. Doubt- once it settled in your chest, grew till it no longer fit inside of you. Faith to Wonyoung was an outstretched hand guiding her back to where she belonged, and to let go of it was to risk wandering further till you could no longer tell which path was His fingers or the devil's.
She could only imagine how lost the poor woman was, she remembered that feeling. It stuck to the back of Wonyoung's throat, an aftertaste that lingered years after. Before devoting herself, she latched onto anyone's fingers as long as they were stretched toward her.
Wonyoung wanted to be the one reaching her hand out to the woman. She wanted to hear of the burdens weighing on her shoulders and soothe her with her hand.
Parishioners formed a crowd leading towards the wooden doors, conversations in low mutters and the rustling of fabric as they passed one another led out into the morning sun, slowly dissipating. Collecting abandoned hymnals from the pews, Wonyoung gathers a pile of them in her arms.
A head of blonde hair has not risen with the crowd. She is seated alone in the third row from the back, knuckles growing pale white on the hymnal she was gripping. Her gaze fixed on the crucifix dangling above the altar, Wonyoung hesitates before the woman. "Would you like someone to pray with you?"
The woman glances up at her, freezing once she sees Wonyoung. She straightens herself with a polite smile on her lips. "Oh, I don't know- I don't really pray."
Wonyoung blinks, recognizing the soft tone. It was the woman from the confessional, only now her voice was not stained with guilt. "That's alright, you don't have to."
"I don't really know what I'm doing here, to be completely honest." Her fingers trace the stitching in her dress.
"What's your name? I'm Sister Wonyoung." She sets the collected hymnals onto her lap, careful not to tip them over.
The woman's lips part, then close as she swallows. "Jiwon."
Jiwon would accept her hand, Wonyoung could only hope of it. It was strange to ask for her name when Wonyoung had already heard of her troubles, and the glint of her eyes when she became tearful.
Rigidly in her seat, Jiwon stared up at the crucifix once again. Her eyes landed upon the nails in his skin, over his turned head, over the once crimson paint that had turned to an old brown, dripping down his knees and palms. "I lied." She stammered out, looking away from Christ. "I do pray, all the time. But he doesn't- I don't know." She picks at the skin around her nailbeds. "Maybe it's because I'm not-" She gestures toward Wonyoung's habit, the white veil that conceals her temples. "I'm not like you."
She's silent for a moment, crossing her ankles and staring at her blue flats. "I thought He would help me or tell me something. And now I feel stupid, like I've been seeking answers in no one at all."
Jiwon has a face that will not rid itself from Wonyoung's mind, the pronounced tip of her nose and the plump lips beneath that have a slight tremor as she speaks. "I don't think He is ignoring your prayers. Sometimes the only thing you can do is continue as you were, don't wait for Him."
"I don't understand how you could put so much faith in someone." A thin thread has worked itself free from the stitching of her dress, Jiwon twists it around her thumb absently.
"Did you grow up believing?" Wonyoung watches Jiwon worry at the hem of her dress, unraveling another thread free.
Jiwon exhaled through her nose, a quiet sigh. "My mother did." She folds her hands in her lap, stilling. "She wasn't very religious, I guess. On Sundays, she'd leave the house wearing freshly ironed skirts and doused her hair in perfume." She smiles at the thought, staring at her bitten nails. "She never dragged me along, because I never asked to be."
Wonyoung reaches for her hand, gently placing her palm atop the restless fingers. "Why didn't you attend with her?"
"I did." Her voice was quieter now. "A couple times, I was just curious." The heavy wooden doors groaned open. Jiwon's head perks up, her eyes watching the last parishioner leave. A narrow blade of afternoon light stretched across the stone. Dust stirred within it, specks suspended in the air led by the breeze that followed the light. There was a strange tightness beneath Wonyoung's ribs, warm and insistent, crawling slowly into her throat. The warmth unfurled inside her like a wick beckoning before a flame, a burning sensation that spread inside of her. Wonyoung had spent years learning the language of the body, of the soul- how guilt settled in your ribcage, cradled by the very bones itself, and how joy rose in your stomach, twisting. This feeling was nothing she could describe, not in words.
Looking at Jiwon, she nods. "Was there something that kept you from returning?"
Jiwon's eyes dart from her lap to Wonyoung's unwavering stare, the rich brown of her iris clouded with something Jiwon couldn't name. "It's shameful."
"It's only me listening. Your words are safe with me." She gave a- what she hoped was- reassuring squeeze of her hand.
Jiwon tugs on her lower lip with her front teeth, unblinking. "It didn't start out as guilt, I used to ask my pastors all kind of weird questions. They never gave me a straight answer, but my mother would stare at me silently in the rearview mirror afterwards." Her flats tap against the floor, uncrossing her ankles. "I was," She sighs, a slow exhale. "...Lustful."
Lustful. There were different kinds of lust in scripture; of the flesh, of the eyes, pride of life.
"For what?"
"Skin? Warmth? I'm not entirely sure. God, I hate talking about this." Jiwon looked sheepish, her tongue poking her cheek and her eyes crinkling.
Wonyoung suppresses the shake of her shoulders and the grin that she'd like to give. "Are you still?"
The words seem to die in Jiwon's throat, and she swallows them down. She felt all too vulnerable, beneath the eye of Jesus and under what could be the scrutinizing gaze of Sister Wonyoung. Jiwon was a complete mess, desperate for anyone or anything. She closed her thighs, hoping she hadn't wet the wood beneath her. And Wonyoung was gentle, like Jiwon was an injured lamb. Like she needed to be tended to. Perhaps she did, staring blankly at the stained glass and the blinding sun behind the colours. She didn't want to demean God into someone or something to fall back onto. But Jiwon truthfully didn't have much else. Even Sister Wonyoung- who was kind enough to sit with her and guide her- felt far away. "I'm not sure. I haven't exactly sought it out."
"You've sought this out. That is a step." Wonyoung knows, with clarity that came to her like a stabbing pain, that she should not be near this woman. She should not want to feel the entirety of Jiwon's palm against hers, she should not want to know which fruits she likes or how she takes her coffee. She should not want to know what she hated about herself, what she found undesirable about her face or what she did find desirable. She should not want to know anything, for Jiwon should merely be someone asking for help. But how could she be merely a beggar? With her red cheeks and smooth legs, Jiwon could've been Mary.
It had felt insulting, all the years she devoted to God- and here she was, her wrist bent awkwardly as she tried to hold onto Jiwon. "What if I'll always be here? In this state of confusion, always wondering what to do with myself- always wondering who I should be?"
Wonyoung would the warmth of her hands on her shoulders, but selfishly, she doesn't think she'd be able to let go of the woman.
"You're gonna get out of it. You'll find yourself."
Jiwon stares at her from beneath her lashes. Her glossy eyes and her chin tilted upwards just to meet Wonyoung's stare, it makes her dizzy, blurs her senses. "I don't like who I am." Jiwon's tongue reaches out to the teeth-shaped dents made in her bottom lip.
Pursing her lips, Wonyoung's hands slips from Jiwon's. "Will you come back to us?"
"What?"
"Will you come to church?" She sounded far too eager, like she might jump out of the pew and onto Jiwon.
Jiwon glances at where Wonyoung held her. "I don't know."
This brings a pout over Wonyoung's lips. "I'd like to see you again. I know God has a path for you."
"What path? Sister Wonyoung, I don't think- What are you..." Jiwon's brows pull together, watching Wonyoung slide onto the cold floor beside Jiwon's pressed-together legs.
Wonyoung's stare is no longer comforting, passing over Jiwon's body and face like she was a picture and not a person. "I can free you from your sins. Would you like that?"
"How-"
Shaking her head, Wonyoung grins. "I know what you need, Jiwon. I saw it before you sat down. I saw it this morning."
Jiwon chuckles nervously, a short chime. "You're not gonna do a ritual, are you?"
"The only way to resist temptation is to give into it. You have to sin to repent, it's a cycle." Wonyoung begins to rub the side of her thigh in slow circles. It is meant to be soothing, Jiwon thinks. It doesn't do much but make her breath hitch, and her shoulders slump back onto the wood. How embarrassing, how taboo. Jiwon had been touched, by men and women. In a bedroom, on the couch, in a bathroom. Never in a parish. Never by the hand of God. Never beneath the sculpted eye of His son.
"I've spent many of my days on my knees, on the floor till my skin turns black and blue. Do you know what it's like to spend hours on the ground, whispering all your wrong-doings?" She digs her thumb into Jiwon's thigh, a circle of white scratches. She stops the repetitive movement, and presses her nail into the skin. She watches a half-moon form, watches it raise back into smooth skin.
"No-" She tries her hardest not to wince, hips lifting for only a moment off the pew.
"To weep and let your tears soak the oak, to let it seep into the planks and hope that your words don't fall on deaf ears? No." She angles her nail differently, marking the same spot. "You get on your knees for pleasure, to be blessed with the noise that most try to suppress."
Her wrist trembles, burrowing her fingernail into the crescent mark. "Don't suppress it, Jiwon." She rubs the numbing skin.
Jiwon grinds her teeth, watching Wonyoung revel in the pain that she causes. She stabs her thumb into her thigh, and Jiwon sobs, broken and high-pitched. "What are you trying to prove? Are you calling me a whore?"
"Don't say that. Don't deprecate yourself, Jiwon. You're worse."
Jiwon shakes her head, strands whipping around her eyes and getting stuck in her lashes. "What..."
The floor is mostly clean, save for the few dust balls and shoe prints. Wonyoung grabs Jiwon's knee, pushing it away from the other. "He would want this. I'll bring you closer to God."
Between Jiwon's legs, sat a woman of God. Between her legs, was Sister Wonyoung. Between her legs, was a woman dressed in her habit. And worst of all, between her legs, Jiwon was wet.
Lifting her dress to her navel, Jiwon looks around the church warily. Wonyoung sighs, leaning toward her stomach. "Take them off."
"I- What?"
"These." She hooks a finger into the fabric of her underwear and snaps it against her skin.
Jiwon pulls the lace down her thighs, awkwardly slipping it down one leg. "Pretty." She thinks she hears Wonyoung mutter.
Wonyoung's head dips lower, her lips parting as she approaches Jiwon's slick folds. Watching Wonyoung's habit descend further between her thighs makes her stomach flip and twist into a knot.
Wonyoung's tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of Jiwon's inner thighs before her mouth makes full, wet contact with her cunt. The sudden, overwhelming sensation draws a high pitched squeal from Jiwon's throat as Wonyoung begins to kitten lick. "Sister Wonyoung? What if someone- What if someone sees?" She manages to ask between a string of heavy breaths.
"Let them." Wonyoung's mouth works with a relentless pace, her tongue swirling against Jiwon's swollen clit. She ignores the squirming and shaky exhales from Jiwon as if they were nothing more than meaningless noise, focused entirely on the physical dismantling of Jiwon's reluctance. Each time Jiwon's hips buck, Wonyoung responds by sucking harder, her lips creating a vacuum that draws the very breath from Jiwon's lungs.
"This feels so wrong- Sister Wonyoung, I don't see how God could want this." She gasps at Wonyoung's tongue prodding at her hole, collecting the wetness over her folds.
She feels Wonyoung grin against her wet flesh, her grip on her knee tightening. "I do. I'm saving you, Jiwon. This is your forgiveness." Wonyoung's hand leaves her knee to grip onto the flesh of her thigh, her palm running up and down the side of her leg.
Her tongue flattens inside her, and her eyes drift upwards to see the back of Jiwon's head hit the wood as she mewled. "Oh, fuck."
Wonyoung's shaking hands curl into the plush skin of her legs. "Don't be vulgar." She pulls away, the tip of her nose covered in the evidence of Jiwon's want. "I hope you feel foolish, moaning and writhing in a church after begging for some sort of guidance." She buries her face in her sex then, and pushes Jiwon's thighs towards her skull with a menacing grip. "You reek of sin."
"You aren't much better," Jiwon yelps at the burning ache that shoots up the expanse of her thigh, Wonyoung having smacked the flesh. Pain, nerve endings that send little signals up your spinal cord once contact ensues- how different was it really from pleasure? Sure, the outcome varied. Orgasms, mutilation, moans and screams. They all blossomed into something more meaningful, birth and death.
This was meaningful, what Wonyoung was doing for Jiwon. Maybe it wasn't as grandiose as she claimed, saving the woman and all that. She was no Messiah, no God.
Wonyoung would like to be- to raise and cultivate something meaningless into something with purpose, bending at her will and at her call. She imagined Jiwon, in those earlier years she spoke of, lustful and greedy. She could've rubbed her shoulders and leaned down, hot breath on her earlobe and would watch the girl scurry off to better herself. It would be easy, the girl was begging for the wet suction of her tongue on a church pew.
Jiwon's thighs shook in bursts of tremors, moaning as Wonyoung flicked her tongue over her dripping sex. "Please don't- Don't stop." She shook her head, ragged breaths forced out of her throat. "Wonyoung, oh-"
The hand on Jiwon's thigh rises again and lands with a loud thwack. "Please, please, please, God." The tingling sensation should have occurred by now, the handprint forming on her leg was the sole reason Jiwon had even realized she was slapped.
One shade of paint, probably barely a stroke of murky brown is what Jesus is, staring down at Jiwon as her orgasm crashes over her. Wonyoung doesn't stop, not as Jiwon grips her shoulders and pants. Her head lolls onto the pew's wooden backing, languidly tracing the body of the perched Jesus. His lips slightly agape, crimson down his neck and his mouth.
"Tell me you feel better, now that I've ridden you of your sins. Tell me."
"I feel..." His ribs poke through his abdomen, his stomach concealed by a rag of clothing. She wondered if it was for modesty, if he was naked when he exhaled his last breath. "I feel better, Sister."
Wonyoung presses a sloppy kiss to her inner thigh. "I knew you would." She rests her temple between her thighs. Her hand slowly creeps toward where she leaks onto the wood, and drags her thumb through her folds. Slick collects onto her digit, and she stares at the coating on her nail. "This is God's."
Jiwon glances around at the church. "...What?"
Her lips latch around her thumb, sucking on her finger. "You are so good, you taste less like a common whore now. I've saved you, Jiwon. Thank you." Still on her knees, Jiwon stares down at the nun. "I've brought you closer to where you're meant to be. I've brought you towards salvation. This was always what we were meant to be."
Jiwon begins to pull the hem of her dress down, but Wonyoung catches her wrist. "Your essence must be salvaged."
"My- My what?"