GIBSON GIRL. (part. 1)
PAIRING - jud duplenticy x fem!reader
SYNOPSIS - when you find someone so good as Father Jud, you either admire him or you hate him; you did both.
CONTENT - !smut. corruption!kink. maneater!reader. fem!masturbation. religious guilt. fucked up thoughts. heavily inspired on the ethel cain song.
WC - 3.9k
NOTE - two hours ago I was like "oh I can't write for jud" and then bang. part 2 here!
The silence in the parish was unsettling, at least to you. Your eyes wandered to the glass so carefully designed in the windows, the stained glass in the shape of saints being illuminated in various colors through the colored panes with the help of the harsh sunlight. Your hands groped along the large wooden pew, steadying yourself as you sat down, the cold wood touching the palms of your hands. It was a very beautiful place, without a doubt, filled with an intense presence and, at the same time, such calm. The scent of wax from the recently extinguished candles mixed with the faint trace of your perfume. You were not sure what you were feeling — everything seemed like a great mix inside your heart: lightness, sadness, curiosity. Being in the church again after running for so long from your faith was overwhelming.
You could not describe what you truly expected to find in the parish; you knew it would not be an unexpected revelation or a feeling of belonging. You had not felt that you belonged anywhere for a long time. You joined your palms over your thighs in an unnoticed act of insecurity. Your heart felt heavy. Your mind was filled with thoughts and, at the same time, unable to settle on any clear thought.
A small noise echoing through the large walls caught your attention, a metallic clink falling onto the stony, cold floor. Your gaze immediately followed the sound, leading you to the figure of a young man a few steps ahead of you, dressed in black clothes and an unmistakable white collar — a priest.
— I’m sorry. Did I scare you? — His voice was sweet, gentle. A melody so pleasant and comforting. Exactly what one would expect from a priest’s voice.
— Just a little. — You smiled timidly. — The doors were open, I hope I’m not bothering you.
— No, no. Not at all. — He quickly walked to where you were, his hands extending toward you with a gentle smile on his lips. — I’m Father Jud. What brought you to the church?
— Nothing specific, actually. I was just passing by and, well, I wanted to take a look inside. Architecture is one of my fascinations.
— It’s beautiful, isn’t it? — He looked around for a second before turning back to you. — Are you Catholic?
— No. Far from it. — He kept staring at you, perhaps waiting for some kind of clarification. You sighed lightly. — I have a complicated relationship with religion.
— We all do, don’t we? — Father Jud let out a low laugh.
— Yours seems very stable.
— It’s not always. That’s the beauty of vocation. Persisting even when not everything is well.
As he spoke, you could not help but notice his eyes shimmering shyly when pieces of light struck them — eyes blue like the ocean with soft touches of green, the eyes of a man who seemed to have lived impressive stories before binding himself to the church. You suddenly wondered what leads a young man to devote his entire life to a religion, to confine himself within “rules” that, if broken, would lead him to hell or eternal regret.
— You’re right. It really is like a relationship, isn’t it?
— With God, yes. Leaving a few parts out. — He smiled again. It was a beautiful smile, captivating, just like him. His features were comforting.
— Why did you decide to become a priest? If you don’t mind me asking. — He shook his head and sat on the pew in front of yours.
— When I was younger, I reached a very low point in my life. I lost myself and got trapped in vicious cycles of sadness, violence… and after a long time, I finally managed to open up and confess myself to Christ, and in doing so I realized that living His love and spreading that love is my purpose.
His words sounded so convincing, so full of passion and truth. Anyone could see and feel that he truly believed in it, that his passion for Christ was strong and immeasurable. And that was beautiful. For a few moments, you stayed silent, simply watching him, capturing the way his hands gestured so calmly and the way the light seemed to seek him — almost as if it belonged to him, beautifully sacred. It was painful. Your back pressed against the cold wood, a small and imperceptible reminder that you were not touched by the light the way he was. That your existence was not even half as precious or meaningful as his. That you drowned in your own greed, ambition, desire, anguish, and frustration, while he was loved by God, so well cared for and protected. Father Jud was everything you would never be. As you were profane and felt desire corrode your flesh and thoughts.
— That is… beautiful, Father. — Your tone was nothing more than a murmur. Jud tilted his head slightly, his piercing eyes measuring your expression.
— What afflicts you? — he asked. His voice so low and serene, as if he were trying not to scare you, not to make any sudden movement, like we do when dealing with a wounded and frightened animal. His eyes met yours. You opened your mouth and closed it again, trying to say anything that made sense, yet you couldn’t. A faint smile of disbelief appeared on your lips.
— I’m not Catholic, Father. I can’t confess.
— We’re not in a confessional. You can speak to me as a simple man having a conversation with a simple woman. — You looked up at the ceiling, feeling cornered.
— Have you ever felt undeserving of Christ’s love? As if… your soul were too rotten to be touched by something divine and pure? — you said, your gaze ashamed and unable to meet his, your fingers focusing on the fabric of your pants.
— I used to feel that way, yeah. — Jud searched for your eyes, watching the way your fingers touched your clothes with such nervousness, your hands suddenly trembling. — Listen, I can assure you that no matter what you’ve done, or what you’ve been through, you deserve God’s love as much as anyone else.
— Do you really believe that? That everyone deserves God’s love? — You lifted your eyes. He nodded. You raised your eyebrows quickly and smiled, almost ironically. — You’re very optimistic, Father.
Your visits to the church became weekly. You didn’t know exactly why, but you were fascinated by him. Father Jud Duplenticy. So devout, insanely good and kind. The kind of man who could be nothing but a saint — and you swore he was exactly that. A saint. Perfect. A mixed and confusing feeling rose in your thoughts every time he was in your presence; you hated him for being so good and admired him for the same reason. But you were flawed, carnal, and profane, as you had admitted yourself. You also desired him, but with fear. If before you already didn’t feel worthy of divine love, now you were certain of it. Malignant and imperfect, broken beyond repair, longing for the piercing gaze of a being so sweet and lovable. How could you feel so guilty and yet ignore such concern? It was a mystery.
You sat every Friday in the last pew, the one closest to the door, and watched him like a hawk, no movement forgotten or left unseen. His words filled your mind and carried you into sleep late at night, with your hands between your thighs, sad and insatiable moans slipping softly from your mouth. Such an intimate and sinful secret. And yet, terribly delicious. You wanted him as much as you wanted to find divinity; it was dirty and wrong. It was you in your purest and simplest essence.
Sometimes you stayed longer than necessary, just so he would notice you and walk over with calm steps, sitting beside you and offering you a serene smile. He was so gentle. You noticed it as you watched him talk and offer comfort to the older parishioners. It was something beautiful to witness. In your mind, everything blended together and confused you. For weeks you avoided the way your stomach twisted and leapt at the sound of his voice, or the way your core seemed to burn, aching and longing for his — not so gentle — touch. You fought against the desire, but it was stronger than you, who had given in to temptation so many times before and so easily. However, after the nights when you would imagine his touch satisfying the carnal will within you, you would lie down, staring at the white and empty ceiling of your apartment. You questioned whether what you felt was truly the desire to be physical with a man or if your desire was merely a joke of your ego trying to induce you to prove that he was no better than you — that Jud was just a man and that, like all others, he would give in to temptation, for we are all flawed and imperfect beings made to succumb to the temptation of the flesh. You wanted to ruin him. You wanted to be the reason a perfect soldier gave up heaven just to satisfy you. How perverse were you for that? That was how the bitter doubt was planted in your mind.
Now you watched him — after another successful mass, talking to an old woman near the door, his eyes drifting to yours from time to time. A silent message telling you to wait for him. Which you would, without any problem. The air in the parish was cold that night, seeming to carry a different atmosphere than all the others. Perhaps it was just your heavy energy affecting your surroundings. You didn’t know yet.
Very observant and yet not noticing the way Jud’s eyes looked so hungry that night. He could barely focus on the conversation with the poor woman in front of him, holding his hands with an almost maternal affection. He smiled one last time, saying goodbye to the woman and watching her leave in short steps from the church. His heart was racing — a lot. Jud sighed, head slightly turned, staring at the floor, watching small leaves in shades of green and brown being carried by the wind toward the church door. He closed the large doors, and the sound echoed throughout the place, making you look at the action with a suspicious expression.
Perhaps he had noticed the malice in your gaze. Suddenly, you felt nauseated, as if you could vomit right there, ashamed. With your arms behind your body, hands clasped together, you saw him approach you. His jaw clenched and his eyes staring at you more intensely than ever.
— Hi. — That was all he said. The anticipation was driving you crazy.
— Hi, Father. Is everything okay? — The concern in your voice was genuine.
— Everything... everything’s fine. — He swallowed hard. You noticed his Adam’s apple move, a subtle detail you really liked about him. — I need to talk to you, all right?
— Of course… Did I do something that offended you, Father?
— No. Just… can you sit down? Please? — His voice was more rigid than his usual tone, tense, restrained. You simply sat, crossing your legs and gripping the edge of the cold pew. Jud did the same, his posture was just as rigid and uncomfortable as yours. Which was strange. None of your conversations had been like this in any of the five months you had attended his masses.
— I need to… be honest with you. — He swallowed hard again, his fists clenching. The sight shouldn’t have, but it made you discreetly squeeze your thighs together. — I’ve been having thoughts. Thoughts I shouldn’t have, regarding you. So I wanted to ask you something. It hurts me deeply, but I would like to ask that you find another church to attend.
He couldn’t even look at you as he spoke those words. Ashamed and frustrated with himself, he had no choice. Jud tried everything: he prayed, fasted, kept vigil to contemplate his decisions, prayed even more, and nothing — nothing removed you from his mind. Nothing erased the sinful dreams he had of you, or the sensation of your sweet eyes staring at him. The desire grew with each passing day and he became resentful. He tried to avoid your presence but couldn’t — he couldn’t deny the word of Christ to anyone, especially to someone like you who had come to him alone, lost and silently asking for help. He wanted to help you and wanted to be a good priest, and he couldn’t at that moment, because every night all he could think about was the soft curve of your breasts or your nails painted in such a deep shade of red, holding a shining rosary, your lips slightly parted as your tongue moistened them in the middle of his mass. It was horrible, disturbing, and incessant. Jud had no other way out. He needed you to leave, to stay as far away as possible — because he feared and knew that temptation could be the first step toward his ruin.
Jud was not naive. He had lived his life before becoming such a devout priest. He knew the danger of the flesh — and with him the temptation was stronger, because he had already tasted it. He did not enter the church so early; he had experienced so many things that could easily lead him to perdition. One touch was all it would take for his vow of celibacy to be broken. Your touch.
You were speechless. Dreaming, perhaps. It was unbelievable. It was impossible, wasn’t it?
— Impure thoughts? — you murmured, as one does when telling a secret. He still wasn’t looking at you. — Since when?
— Three months. — he murmured back, full of guilt.
— And what are they like? — That was enough to make him look at you. He seemed shocked now, eyes slightly widened and mouth half open.
— Improper. — Jud hid his face in his palms, his voice muffled by them. — It doesn’t matter what they’re like. They need to end.
He looked less like a saint now and more like an ordinary man — small, imperfect, almost pathetic and sad. How tragic was that? Beneath all his holiness, that was what hid there. A man. Thirsty for something everyone thirsts for. Your game of hunting the prey — him — had reached its final stretch. He had bitten the hook, and you were ready, oh, so ready to reel him in.
— I’ve had thoughts too. Maybe it’s time for me to confess, Father. — You leaned in calmly, with great precision, and brought your fingers to his wrists. — You. You were all I thought about. All I could think about.
Jud stared at you. So intensely that his gaze burned.
— Do you want me? Want to take me to your room, take my clothes off and see me on my knees? — you whispered as you brought his heavy hand to your face with gentleness, letting your lips touch the tips of his fingers, lightly wetting them.
Jud did not look away. Did not step closer. Did not react. He only watched you, eyes fixed on the movement of your mouth, without even blinking. He could feel the discomfort in his pants, the blood rushing to his cock, igniting something inside his body. A living, bright, dangerous flame. It was desire. You no longer felt the cold breeze brushing against your arms and giving you goosebumps. Now the whole place seemed so hot. Your body was on fire, every small sensation of his skin on your mouth heating you further.
— I can’t. — He closed his eyes, but did not remove his hand from your face. Clearly fighting internally.
— But you want to? — Perhaps a “yes” was all you needed to abandon the small and ridiculous obsession you had fed for months. Perhaps not. — If it’s so good, it can’t be so wrong… can it?
The man absorbed your words as if he were hypnotized, like a sailor drinking in the soft voice of a siren — whom he knew was trying to possess him, drag him to the bottom of the sea, and yet he did not cover his ears. He questioned himself. Was it lack of faith? Was it temptation from the Lord Himself testing him? Jud didn’t know — nor could he focus on anything. He would regret it, that much he knew. But not now. Not when he could focus on the warm touch of your skin.
— Forgive me, Christ, for I have sinned. — He whispered so inwardly that you did not hear him. Slowly removing the white collar and placing it on the pew.
In a second, very quickly, Jud stood and went to you, pulling you up to your feet and kissing you. Hard. His lips were dry and unregulated, with so much intensity that it could hardly be called a kiss — it certainly felt more like a struggle for dominance, full of anger and restrained desire. He wanted to dominate you — perhaps punish you — for having dominated him. And you would let him. Without hesitation, without even thinking. You needed that. The pain. The shame. The forbidden. The secret. It was everything that kept you alive, what reminded you how human you were.
Your hands flew to his hair, caressing, pulling, holding on. When he broke the kiss, you stared at each other. It was the kind of look one never forgets. The kind you could not describe even if you tried. It was a feeling stronger than anything you had ever felt. It was Jud. He grabbed your hand and dragged you with very quick steps. Near the main door of the church, between the last pews, there was an open path. This side corridor led directly outside, functioning as a discreet passage used only by priests when they went to confess in the open back part of the church. Along this corridor, a simple wooden door opened into a reserved, almost hidden space. It was there that the altar boys organized everything that would be used in mass: the candles carefully aligned, the containers of the anointing oils, the vestments, and small liturgical objects. The place carried a faint scent of wax and incense, which you barely noticed because as soon as you entered the small room, Jud was on top of you again. Quick, hungry hands circling your waist, his mouth descending to your neck, sinful and wet sounds filling the space.
It was incredible. He was incredible, different from how you had imagined him — he was not gentle or careful. He was like a spoiled child playing with an expensive toy without any kind of care. He knew it was his, and that was all that mattered. It was messy and desperate, just the way you wanted it. In the dim, nearly extinguished light, you noticed every expression on Jud’s face, his poorly kept beard, his rosy lips, and the small marks on his forehead. He was so beautiful. So imperfect. Vulnerable. Majestic. He avoided speaking, perhaps afraid of scaring you or perhaps afraid of facing the reality of what he was doing; he preferred to keep the bubble intact, to leave his fears and regrets for later.
He held the back of your head with one hand, fingers threading through your hair. His warm breath brushed your ear, drawing an involuntary shiver from you. You brought your hand to the buttons of his black shirt, undoing them hurriedly. He watched every movement, a corner smile on his lips and a look that bordered on something dangerously close to affection. Jud helped remove the shirt and then delicately kissed one of your wrists, never taking his eyes off yours. Then he undressed you with an almost solemn reverence, an absurd serenity for the situation you were in. His gaze traveled over your body repeatedly and attentive, while his fingers traced every curve of your skin, leaving no space untouched.
You tried to do the same: memorize every detail of him, drink in his image until it was engraved in the depths of your mind, until you could see him even with your eyes closed. You did not want to forget him. Between kisses, you felt his hand slide down to your panties, pushing the fabric aside carefully before caressing your core from the outside in circular motions. Jud was precise. Even if somewhat inexperienced, he knew exactly how to touch you. Without hurry, he pushed one finger in, then another, until a low sound escaped your lips, making your eyes close, surrendered to pleasure. His rhythm was firm, controlled, deliberately slow.
He made you sit on the old polished wooden table, the rough contact of the piled papers contrasting with the heat of his body. Jud’s tongue traced paths along your neck, sometimes rising to your ear, sometimes to your cheek, nibbling at the corner of your mouth. It didn’t take long before your orgasm came like an overwhelming wave, drawing a muffled moan from you as you bit his shoulder.
The pain made him hiss softly. Jud pulled your head back and stared at you, breathless.
— You can’t mark me — he said, out of breath.
— Sorry, Father — the title left your mouth like poison.
— Jud. Just Jud. — You silenced him with a hungry kiss.
He fitted himself back between your legs, his pants impossibly tight with his evident arousal. You did not look away from him for a single moment. There was no regret or doubt in your eyes. You brought one hand to the hem of his black pants, while the other teased him over the fabric. His lips parted, his brow furrowing as the wave of sensations hit him even before direct contact. His breathing was heavy, uneven.
You were about to unbutton his pants when a noise echoed through the old church. The door of the main hall opening. A look of panic was exchanged between you. Jud acted quickly, grabbing his shirt and putting it on in record time before going to the door of the small room. He raised a finger to his lips, asking for silence.
— Stay here. — was all he said. He opened the door and closed it again from the outside. His hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
It seems that your priest had to return to his holy duties.
