-> a priest by the day, a incubus by night. an unexpected, sacrilegious combination. who knew that one person of such sacrilege have their eyes on you?
pairing: meian x afab!reader
themes: smut, 18+ MDNI, sacrilege (especially at part two), incubus!meian, priest!meian, virgin!reader, noncon/dubcon, mentions of somnophilia, fingering, pet names (little lamb), mentions of corruption
wc: 1.8k [cross-post to ao3]
notes: hello hello! here’s my piece for the decadence open collab by @sugawara-sweetheart as well as for @chiwhorei!’s heavenly bodies collab! this idea has been living in my head rent-free lol for a while now after an entire discussion about this with @kinsurou in the hqhq basement and now felt like the perfect time to write this one! also, I divided this into 2 parts lmao and yes, thank you so much to @meiansmistress, @vanille--kiss, and @anime-nymph for beta-ing this baby! midas’ touch is real, babyyy
chants: the phantom of the opera - andrew lloyd webber
part 1 | part 2
The gentle wind is cool, nipping and kissing against your exposed skin despite the peaking sunlight straining through the afternoon clouds against your being.
It’s another usual Sunday for you, breathing in the crisp scent of dried leaves from the trees leading up to your destination as you walk all by yourself. Your hands toy with the pleats of your black knee-length skirt on the way to the nearest parish that you started attending ever since you moved here. The small bag strapped to your shoulder threatens to slip down the more you play with your skirt, leaving you to play with your fingers in front of your chest instead.
Good thing I wore a thick blouse for today! you shudder with your thoughts, hugging yourself from the cool gusts of wind brushing against your skin as you hitch your bag back up your shoulder.
“Y/N! Good to see you attending Sunday mass as usual!”
“Father Meian! Yes, of course I wouldn’t miss it!” You beam as you undoubtedly shake the large palm in front of you.
Ever since you landed your dream job as a therapist at the nearby mental health clinic and moved out of your parents’ house, you have been living on your own. Being the product of a strict Catholic upbringing, attending Sunday masses has never left your routine; it is already embedded in your weekly life.
The priest accompanies you inside, fully aware of the innocent hand on the back of your waist while he engages you with small talk, internally smirking with the filthiest of intentions.
She won’t know what’s coming...
You have been attending the Sunday masses for quite some time now, and you have been the apple of Father Shūgo Meian’s eye for a while now too. He has always anticipated your weekly visits, and today was no different as he tries to let his fingers bury nicely into your warm, clothed back.
You met him a while back during one of the parish’s charity drives for the marginalized. You had taken it upon yourself to become more proactive, going as far as becoming one of the main managers of the drive. He knows and likes how dedicated you are in giving back to the community and ever since meeting you, he’s been nothing but a smitten man.
He makes sure to praise your warm heart and tenacity as much as he can, and such tender words make you flush as well as make your trust in the clergyman grow. Seeing him and talking with him always made you feel safe and welcome, and it's those feelings that keep you coming back with a smile every week.
You sigh in sluggishness, body aching from being out all day as you let yourself into the comfort of your apartment before closing and locking the door rather arbitrarily.
Being in the mental health field alone is taxing enough, hence why you don’t have any work on Sundays, but it wasn’t really in your plans to actually meet with your friends and stay out late on Sunday right after a church service.
“Good Lord, I really need some sleep tonight,” you shake your head in mixed utterance, slowly stripping off your clothes piece by piece and tossing them into the small laundry basket sitting half-full beside your bed. The pull of your panties and the unclasping of your bra leaves you breathing more deeply and freely, chest steadily rising and falling as you toss them into the growing heap of the laundry basket.
“Fucking finally,” you sigh in comfort as you plop yourself right onto the solace of your sheets and the fluff of your pillows, drowning yourself in the scent of fresh laundry. You let it wash over you to coax your body and your dulled senses to sleep.
If there’s one thing that Meian is pretty much confident in, it’s being able to climb towering buildings with ease and stealth. The slow deterioration of bricks on the walls, gritting with mold, is no match for his polished, retractable claws.
After all, he’s from the nether depths of damnation himself.
This is gonna be a piece of cake.
Of course it’s nothing to him. Anything in this mundane world is nothing against the reins of divine or evil magic at the flick of his fingertips.
For sure, being the juicy morsel that caught his eye entails him knowing an eerie amount of things about you. For instance, he knows you work an 8 - 5 shift at the nearby mental health clinic, and how much you love your job no matter how much it takes a toll on your own mental health.
But he also knows the details no one else knows about.
He knows and indulges at the fact that you sleep fully naked—fully bare for him and only him without your knowledge.
Oh how shameful is it that not even your own friends know about it.
But he takes advantage of it nonetheless.
As he lands right outside your window, he peeks into the insides of your bedroom, clapping and lurching with despicable delight at the lack of curtains so he can fully feast on your naked, vulnerable figure snoring away, so unaware yet so beautiful. He licks his lips, wetting them at the sight of the peaking buds of your nipples. His thick, clunky fingers become restless in anticipation at the temptation to just break your windows and ravage your alluring nakedness.
With the swipe of black magic at his fingertips, he effortlessly unlocks your seemingly secure window. He swings it open firmly as he retreats his fluttering wingspan onto the broad plane of his back just so he can fit to enter into your humble abode.
As soon as he steps inside, he’s seething—seething and breath hitching at how your body’s all flushed from the humid heat of your bedroom. He loves the messy slew of your hair flowing like a confluence of rivers on your sheets while your limbs are unwittingly open as if they’re welcoming him.
As if you’re welcoming him.
His deft fingers twitch in utter temptation, the urge to wreck your virgin cunt that he's suppressed until now coming at him at full speed. Despite being a creature of inexplicable lust, the furthest thing Meian has ever done to you was occupy a small space in your mind, invading your once innocent thoughts with dark, decadent, vivid images of your pussy clenching around his girthy fingers.
“You look like an angel, my little lamb,” he muses with taunt and irony, stepping in front of your wide legs. He undeniably licks his smirking lips at the sight of your pussy all ready for him to abuse with the power of his fingers. “Can’t wait to break this virgin cunt of yours and corrupt them, my little lamb”.
It feels so hot.
Your tummy feels unbelievably hot—scorching hot while you still try to process everything you’re currently feeling for the umpteenth time around. If it weren’t for the fire fueling in your loins, maybe a good night sleep would be in order.
You shudder in amalgamated pleasure and fear, processing the fact that it’s literally been days since you’ve been haunted by gushes and series of blazing hotness right in your lower belly, waking up the next day with wetness pooling and soaking your sheets wet. It’s not pee, you think, trying not to be disgusted because for sure, you know how to control your bladder. Nevertheless, you become increasingly exhausted at the now dreadful routine of changing the sheets every fucking morning.
You can't tell if it's just your dreams fooling you and becoming too vivid. Or maybe it's your own traitorous fingers, exploring on their own as you sleep, making your body know pleasure.
There’s no time or ability to think, something slender and long deftly entering the wet ring of muscle inside the growing warmth of your cunt. It undeniably stretches you—lips widening at the searing blaze of whatever it is that skillfully spreads your pussy apart, your head and eyes blurring and rolling back from the sheer pleasure.
“Oh… My God—” you mewl out in your head, words stuck at the tip of your tongue. Your limbs are beyond saving grace, too tired to even lift a finger. Your eyes succumb to the growing spots of darkness entering your vision and you finally sink back into the deep, dark waters of unconsciousness.
The demon before you on the other hand basks in corrupted glee, drenched fingers pumping in and out of you as he watches your nose scrunch and brows narrow, drinking in the view of your closed, sleeping eyelids. He religiously massages the soft, sensitive spots in the warm, stretched muscle of your insides, watching you with a smirk as the staccato of your cries and moans leave your once virtuous lips.
“O-Oh God!” He hears you wail once his fingers run over the sinful button of your bundle of nerves, flicking and flitting it as he awaits the explosion of your unreleased, pent-up pleasure. Meian’s torturous laughter turns into a righteous ear-to-ear smirk of victory as your stifled moans turn into a scream fest, your very first orgasm ripping and exploding right through you and dripping right down his fingers. As he watches your sleeping body shake and tremble at your intense climax, his deft fingers leave the sopping muscle and he licks them with the searing warmth of his tongue, tasting every drop of your essence weeping down off his fingers and licking them bone dry.
And all it took for him to slowly wrap you around his fingers and turn you into a hot, sobbing mess was only the girth of his fingers.
What if it’s not just his fingers?
His eyes become dark, lidded with purely tainted intentions, pupils dilating at the sweet, pulse-inducing taste of your nectar. “Delectable.”
He massages the growing pulsating of his cock, hardening and straining against the strip of cloth barely hanging and covering his crotch while he gutturally groans in frustration.
Not tonight, he thinks with a plan in mind as a devious smile cracks through his sinful lips, there is a better time for this.
With a frustrated but smoldered anger, he looks at you delectable form one more time, licking his lips still slopped with your juices before he walks over and flies out of your window, with the flutter of his wingspan deliberately closing off your windows with adequate force.
Safe to say, you wake up the following morning, groaning at the sight of drenched sheets, frustrated with having to change the sheets once again.
The groan grows louder when you notice the distilled state of your lady bits and the clear liquid trickling down from it. But this time, warmth and utter pleasure blooms right in your stomach as you caress it with the gentleness of your fingertips, a dazed expression on your face.
