Exaltatus
Father John Ward x Fem Reader (SMUT)
Psalm 71:2-3 In your righteousness deliver me and rescue me; Incline your ear to me and save me.
Be to me a rock of refuge, A strong fortress, to save me, For you are my rock and my fortress.
Warnings: extremely emotional and traumatized pastor has sex with you in a church, blasphemous language, mild angst & brief mentions of suicidal ideation, immense amounts of fluff, smut written weirdly scientifically because thats how i am
A/N: This was written in September of 2023, fresh off of my multi-day playthrough of the Faith Trilogy which quickly became one of my favorite video games of all time. I funneled an uncomfortable amount of real-world imagery into this, as someone who was raised Roman Catholic in a historical New England town with a centuries old central church LOL. Although this fic is a bit old now, it's still one of my favorite works I've ever written, and I felt it would be a disservice to not post it here, since it's been up anonymously on AO3 all this time. For this posting, I went back and edited some mistakes I had made, just in case anyone notices any discrepancies between this post and the AO3 one. (And no, I am not Roman Catholic anymore, but having done all of my sacraments up to Confirmation, you're left with a lot of residual memories of that old church smell </3)
AO3 Link
Exaltatus: (Latin) held in high regard, worshiped
A single white 1986 Ford Escort was parked in a small lot full of disrepair, between two spaces, its front right tire sagging into a pothole. The front bumper was more centimeters away from the brownstone foundation of the church building in front of it. You parked across the lot, eyeing the back license plate. The navy blue backdrop posed a stark contrast to the bold white lettering, though both were faded with sun damage, and a splotch of red stained the top right corner and appeared to trickle downward, stopped in time. You close the door of your own car, approaching the front steps of the church. The cold, autumn air stung the inside of your nostrils as you took a deep inhale, relishing in the crisp scent of decaying leaves in red and yellow hues. A single pot of burgundy-colored mums was placed on the top step, a tiny cross embedded in the dry dirt. You gave it a faint smile before turning your attention to the heavy wooden door leading to the foyer of the chapel building.
You knew he was already in there, probably lost in a deep prayer. You pushed open the front door as slowly and quietly as you possibly could, breathing an inward sigh of relief at the lack of sound it made. You stepped into the building, warmth from the ancient boiler system of the building making your body feel immediately blanketed in comfort. You repeated your slow movements, trying to close the door as slowly as you had opened it. You turned around to assess the room in front of you. A modest foyer with a few commodities: two tall chalices of Holy Water, a painted plaster statue of Mother Mary, and a few old chairs with torn up cushions, all lit by the light beaming through the stained glass windows high up near the ceiling. A long table was on the far side of the room, covered in mass pamphlets from the week’s prior services.
Directly through the foyer, and immediately in front of you, was the main chapel. You took careful steps, trying your very best to not make a sound. The matted crimson carpet that greeted you in the chapel’s doorway did not do much to help your efforts, making you resort to a rolling heel-toe motion to reduce the thud of your steps. A cacophony of silence filled the entire space, making you hyper-aware of every little noise you might make, every rustle of your clothing sounding like thunder in your ears. You creeped down the center aisle past rows of mahogany pews with red velvet cushions pushed down from generations of patrons sitting on them. Books of Gospels lay in small boxes nailed to the back of each pew. There was a single ceiling fan high up in the archway of the ceiling, slowly spinning in monotonous circles, doing nothing to push the air around the giant room. A large crucifix was mounted to the brick and brownstone wall overlooking the altar, a foreboding message for all who were to sit and pray in front of it. On the center podium of the altar sat a single lit candle, with a small flame standing still in the dead air, only flickering to the movement of dust particles suspended from gravity.
And in the very front, kneeling on the bottom-most stone step leading up to the altar, was the man you were looking for. A green cushion sat under his knees in a weak attempt to keep them from bruising on the cold, solid floor. His shoulders were hunched over, hands clasped in front of him, clad in black from head to toe. He was mumbling something quietly in Latin, sounds you couldn’t make out through the breathiness of his voice.
He would do this exactly four times a week, at exactly 5:45 PM, no sooner or later. He would park his white Ford Escort in between two parking spaces, enter the chapel, kneel before the cross, and pray like he was taking his last breath.
It hurt to watch, knowing what he’d been through in the years prior. It was his idea to move to a quiet suburban town in central Connecticut, hoping to find some refuge away from the locations he feared so much. “The town needed a new preacher,” he had said. He was now miles away from Sterling and New Haven, his ex-wife, the clinic, the Martins, the demons.
And yet, as if stricken with paralyzing fear, he would still return to that green cushion on the bottom step of the altar, hunched over in a sorrowful prayer to the Lord.
A pitying expression passed over your eyes as you quietly took a seat in the front pew. You stared at the way his collarino hugged his back. It was form fitting but left plenty of breathing room, which he clearly needed, as a very small spot of sweat was pooling between his shoulder blades. The back of his neck was ever so slightly glossy with a thin layer of moisture that accumulated on his hairline, black baby hairs held down to his skin. He had clearly been in this same posture for a while.
You sat and waited, giving him all the time he needed. You knew he knew you were there. You seamlessly fit into his four-day-a-week schedule, arriving at exactly 6:30 PM. It was just as routine for him to finish his worship, turn around, and see you in the front row, staring at him with unbridled love in your eyes, silently telling him that he could take all the time he needed and you would still be there waiting for him.
As if on queue, he lowered his hands, dropped his shoulders, and straightened his back with a satisfying pop in one of his vertebrae. He rolled off of his knees and onto his feet, standing up straight, black slacks falling to cover his ankles which were covered by black crew socks. He released a tense sigh through his lips, and finally turned around to face you.
His eyes were bloodshot and puffy. He'd been crying.
Without a word, you patted the spot to your right side, beckoning him to sit, which he quickly obeyed. Only two long strides and he sat by your side, left thigh against your right, anxiously grasping your hand and holding it in his clammy one as you tucked your head onto his shoulder and into the crook of his neck. He smelled like burnt cedar and myrrh. His thumb grazed over your skin, back and forth, taking in the texture of your flesh. You had so many questions for him, lingering on his wellbeing and mental condition, but he was the one that spoke first.
"How's the weather?" His voice was hoarse, and crackled deep in his throat, his baritone sending a slight shiver down the back of your neck.
You let out a small snort. "That's all?" You raised your eyes up to see what little of his face you could at your angle, but you saw the corners of his mouth lift up in a pleased smile. Relief flooded your veins. He'd be okay tonight. You couldn't help the childish giggle that left your lungs. "It's cold outside, but I like it. I love this time of year."
He squeezed your hand tighter in his. "I'm sorry we didn't have time to go pumpkin picking today."
"Don't apologize," you spoke in a relaxed tone. "There's always tomorrow."
You could hear every inhale and exhale that left his nose. "You're right," he uttered. "There's always tomorrow."
Silence once again enveloped the two of you, your eyes watching the candle burning on the altar, red wax dripping down to the metal plate below it.
"John?" you asked, meekly.
"Hm?" he hummed.
"Are you okay?"
It took a moment for him to respond. His hand grew clammy again, and you felt his shoulder shudder a little as he swallowed a thick glob of saliva in his mouth. "Yeah," was all he said.
You lifted your head from his shoulder, facing him straight on. "Yeah?" The way you stared at him was tender, yet challenging. You couldn't be fooled.
His dark blue eyes fluttered between your sweet face and the candle on the altar, before finally settling on you. He met your gaze, then your nose, then your lips, then back to your eyes, which burned with an intense emotion he couldn't quite describe.
"I'm..." he began. "I'm getting there."
This response made your smile once again. A red flush creeped onto his cheeks.
"That's good enough for me," you replied back. You took the opportunity to angle your body more towards him, reaching forward with your left hand to grab his unoccupied right one. "You're doing amazing."
John refused to let himself cry in front of you. As much as he knew you were always going to be there to comfort him when he needed it, he felt uncomfortable with the way pure sorrow engulfed his entire body, mind, and spirit when he really let himself go. When he cried, it was violent. Years of pent up trauma, images of unholy sacrilege crawling out of his mouth, stinging like a potent venom as his body would convulse with tormented shivers. Sometimes, he was worried he would rip bald patches into his hair with how hard he would pull on his own head.
He knew that you had an idea of how bad it was. He let you in on it occasionally. You knew that deep down, he was fighting with demons that you would never understand, now matter how many times you tried. But you were okay with that, as long as you could wake up each morning with John living and breathing for another day in your arms, in your bed, in your life. He didn’t know how you did it, how you let yourself be so docile in the face of his demons, but he didn’t question it either. Somehow, he was blessed with a rock, a grounding force that kept him on his feet when he didn’t think he had the strength to stand. He found someone to lower the gun from his mouth, to put the knife in a locked drawer away from his reach. Someone to bandage his mental wounds, kiss him into contentment, hold him as tight as a vice yet as warm as an inferno.
That’s exactly what you did. You leaned forward, lacing your fingers in his, holding him within your aura as you placed your lips on his, pulling him into Eden, your scent flooding his brain, making his neurons go haywire. His eyes fluttered closed and he pulled your laced hands towards him, letting go of your fingers to instead wrap his larger hands around your waist, sending electric shocks through your clothing and into your back. You could almost feel his pulse through his lower lip, hammering through his capillaries, flooding his face with a warm, embarrassed heat. You smiled through the kiss, the feeling making him subconsciously do the same. Your happiness was infectious, even when he couldn’t actually see your stunning expression.
Your hands, now free, roamed up his chest to the top of his collarino, thumbs pushing at the satin-covered white plastic tab sewn into the shirt. Your hands trailed up his neck, along his jawline towards his ears, and into his hair, leaving fire in their wake. Once your fingers found their home in his soft black strands, you finally separated for some much-needed oxygen.
John always found it hard to make eye contact with you after kissing you, but as with everything else you did to him, you managed to crack him open eventually. When his azure eyes finally did make their way back to yours, you flashed him a bright, genuine smile, nose wrinkling and eyes closing in bliss.
If John was a demon, you were his crux. You were the blinding white light of Heaven’s gates waiting for him to let go, waiting for him to fall into you, waiting for him to let you be there. This thought finally made a pure smile break out onto his face, a faint chuckle leaving his mouth, unable to stop the giddy feeling that bubbled deep in his stomach like a swarm of butterflies. Never before had he felt a love quite like what you gave to him, and it was moments like this that made him endlessly thankful for your graciousness, your empathy, and your company.
But you didn’t need thanks, he was just as much a fortress for you as well. You nestled into his sturdy chest, breathing in the rich aroma of incense that clung to the polyester of his shirt, fingers trailing back down to wrap around his shoulders and pull your bosom flush against him. The weight of your body made him ease backward onto the pew, cushioned by the flat velvet on the seat below, your body covering him in a comfortable red warmth. You trailed kisses up and down the exposed parts of his neck and jaw, watching with mild pride as he tilted his head back slightly, allowing you to trail a gentle lick of your tongue along his Adam’s apple. You felt it bob anxiously under your movements, making you grin.
It somehow hadn’t occurred to either of you that you were still on holy grounds, in a centuries old church, the front door of which was still unlocked. The crucifix that hung above the altar was the sole witness to your actions, and you’re sure what you were about to do would get you both sent into the darkest pit of Hell. But you couldn’t find any ounce of fucks to give. You’d crawl through every level or torment that Satan would bring you if it meant eternal life with John. And with the way John’s hands gripped the small of your back like he would die if he let go of you, you didn’t think he would mind either.
In a sudden rush of courage, John’s hands swiftly traveled from your lower back to your shoulders, looping under your arms so his hands were planted firmly on your shoulder blades, allowing him to yank you down into an even deeper kiss. Your body felt hot and heavy above his, not aided by the firm leg that propped up and settled itself between your thighs.
A high-pitched noise akin to something like a kitten’s needy mewl left your throat. You didn’t even think you were capable of making sounds like that, but the unintentional gesture seemed to pump more adrenaline out through your lips, into John’s mouth, down to his core, branching out through his veins. He pushed you up and away from him, his leg falling from between yours and chests rising heavily, desperate for the now-stifling air of the sanctuary. You eyed the man in front of you questioning his actions before he took your hand and pulled you upwards to your feet with him. He led you from the front pew toward the altar steps, quickly leading you up the stone and to the pedestal in the center, the wax of the candle that still burned on the plate now significantly shorter than it was when you first entered. He led you around the back side of the altar, your back facing the clergy seats, the hand that wasn’t clasped in John’s stabilizing yourself on the stone behind you as he swiftly caged you in between himself and the sacred table. The force of your body pulled the ceremonial cloth down slightly, creasing it in spots of pressure.
An unopened Bible still rested on the center of the altar. John’s eyes looked over your shoulder at the Holy text, before he bowed his head into the crook of your neck and inhaled a deep, shaky breath.
"God..." he mumbled, the vibrations of his hoarse voice making you tremble in his arms. "Please forgive me for what I am about to do."
He raised his head and locked his deep blue eyes with yours. You could drown in his rich irises, swimming in the scent of him and breathing nothing but his taste. You wanted to devour him. You wanted him to devour you.
He seemed to want the same exact thing. Uttering one last plea for mercy from God under his breath, he spun you around so you were bent over the altar, eyes planted on the Holy book that lay directly in front of you. The crucifix stood over the two of you like a drone, nonexistent eyes watching your every action, judging, punishing. A Father of the Church, a Son of Christ, shouldn’t behave in this way. But as John ground his hips into yours from behind, groaning from deep within his abdomen at the feeling of his hard cock straining in his slacks, he cursed the sacred grounds he stood on. He’d been face-to-face with demons enough times to know that if God didn’t want to save him then, He wouldn’t step in now.
One hand pushed down on the center of your back, forcing you downwards even more onto the stone, breasts pushing down against the hard surface. Your own hands struggled to find a comfortable position to support yourself, and you ended up keeping them limp at your sides. John was much stronger than he looked, and despite how hard you struggled, you wouldn’t be able to push yourself up from under his hand.
He used his other hand to push up your shirt and reach around to the front of your pants to undo the light bindings of the article of clothing covering your legs. Your pants dropped, followed soon by your underwear, crumpled pathetically around your ankles. You couldn’t move, and couldn’t crane your head backwards to watch as John undid the buttons and zipper of his slacks, dropping them to the ground, his cotton boxers, also black, following suit. Your eyes were locked on the Bible that was in front of you, the side of your face gently warmed by the still-burning candle.
Your breath caught in your throat when John leaned over you, both of your bodies arched over the altar stone. He breathed into your ear, sending goosebumps to rise in waves over your exposed skin, a shiver running from the apex of your skull to the very tip of your toes.
"I've always wanted to do this..." he uttered, a barely audible whisper floating into your consumed mind.
You grinned, though he couldn’t see your face very well. “That’s very naughty of you, Father Ward.” Your voice was laced with a bratty tone, but your giddy amusement was still palpable in your words.
The hand he had placed on your back crawled up to your neck, gently looping calloused fingers around your throat to tilt your head back slightly, giving him just a little more access to the lobe of your ear. He bit down on it, not hard enough to injure you, but enough to send a sharp sting through your nerves. His hand around your throat never squeezed, instead served as a cradle of support, holding up your head but leaving you vulnerable to his every move.
“Says the woman who stole my breath away under the eyes of the Lord.” You could just hear the laugh that escaped along with his husky utterance. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve wanted this as much as I have.”
You let out your own airy laugh. You could both read each other like open books. “If God wanted you to stop this, He already would’ve.” You finished your blasphemous sentence bygrinding your exposed pussy onto his cock, desperately craving the friction and warmth that he would soon bring to you. “Father Ward,” you moaned. “You’re not going to keep me waiting like this, are you?”
John hummed, backing up from your form enough to reach his unoccupied hand downward towards his cock, giving it a short pump before easing it into your exposed cunt. He failed to bite down the groan that left his lips, the sound of it bouncing off of the open air around the two of you. You sighed in relief, his warmth, inside and out, flooding your body in waves of deep reds and oranges, like embers being injected into your blood.
You loved when he held you down like this, and he knew it. In this position, you were completely at his mercy, just as the two of you about to fuck on the sacred altar of the Lord left you both at the mercy of God’s seemingly inevitable wrath. ‘Well, if Jesus died for our sins,’ you thought to yourself.
John was never rough. Even if he tried to be, or wanted to make an attempt, he couldn’t ever bring himself to that level of animalistic instinct. Instead, he was slow, careful, calculated. At every moment he was thinking of you, being swallowed in your aura that blossomed out from your skin like a supernova, making electric shocks ride along his fingertips that crawled blindly around your body looking for a place to plant themselves and drink you up. He leaned forward over you, hips slowly gyrating back and forth, barely moving his cock out of you, keeping you plugged up and whining barely audible whispers. He reached his neck forward to leave a tender kiss on the back of your neck before baring his teeth slightly and grazing your vertebrae, sliding the tip of his tongue along the barely-there red mark he left on your skin. He could never be rough with you, ever. But sometimes, he just needed to indulge in your taste.
You were one of the only things left in this forsaken world that made him feel human again. If he didn’t get to taste you, to know that you’re really there in front of you, is living even worth it anymore?
Overwhelmed with warmth, palms sweating as they dragged back down to your hips, holding you against his pelvis, John finally allowed himself to indulge, causing a shaky sigh of relief and pleasure to exit your lungs. He pulled out just enough to rob you of the stability that his hips brought, before thrusting back in and pushing your hips against the cold stone under you covered by scratchy fabric that rubbed uncomfortably against the skin of your thighs and slightly exposed stomach.
You couldn’t think about the feeling of the cotton under you for long though, as John trailed a hand around your hips, dipping in between your thighs, rubbing your clit in gentle, counter-clockwise strokes that left you catching your breath in whispers. John let out a groan from behind you, the feeling of your walls convulsing around his dick when he stroked your clit making him shudder. You were biting your lip, keeping your voice inside your throat, embarrassed at how you might sound crying out into the exposed cathedral hall where your voice could echo for miles without quieting. John was not too pleased with this. He kept his fingers on your clit and upped his thrusting pace just enough as he leaned back over you again, whispering in your ear.
"You're at the altar," he murmured. "Are you going to preach for me?"
“John…” was all you could get out before involuntarily letting out a moan when he pressed down on your clit at the same time as he angled his dick upwards just enough to send a sudden jolt of red-hot pleasure spreading through your whole body.
“The clergy…” John uttered, “needs more than that.” He was clearly so enthralled in the act that he couldn’t speak properly, brain distorted by the feel of you. “Let me worship you. Talk to me.”
You couldn’t help but giggle at his words. “Don’t keep talking about the church. It ruins the moment.” You reached a hand backwards to grab his unoccupied one that sat gripping the flesh of your waist. You made an awkward attempt to lace your fingers into his, instead just settling on holding his calloused hand in yours, squeezing him, holding him to you through another connection. Too many things were happening at one time for him, making him drop his hand from your clit without even realizing.
He trailed kisses down the back of your hairline and neck, down to the dip between your shoulder blades. Hot gasps left his mouth with each thrust. Kiss, gasp. Kiss, gasp. It was wildly hot. You felt a smile grace his lips while they were connected to your skin. “I’m sorry, dear. I can’t help it.”
"I know you can't, Father Ward." You gave his hand a squeeze.
John rocked a decently hard thrust into your hips at his official title, making you moan out loud, closing your eyes as the sound of your voice, predictably, bounced in waves around the empty chamber you were bent over in front of. Souls you couldn’t see were surely damning your voice, your lust. His hand once again returned to the swollen nub at the base of your labia, continuing his swirling motion. Faint squeals and whines were leaving your lips at a higher regularity now, John’s moans growing in volume as his slow but powerful thrusts caused your walls to flex and mold around him.
If lust was so inherently evil, then the two of you were damned from the start, fitting perfectly together like you were molded from the same sinful cloth, destined to be together at the end of every possible life.
You squeezed his hand yet again, groaning under your breath as you pleaded, “John… John… oh God, John.” His name was a prayer on your tongue, a mantra, an orison directed towards no one else but him. Your voice was full of love. It circled around him in pink waves.
John felt a tear form in his eye, slowly sliding down his cheek and onto his chin, dropping onto your skin below him. He flushed, embarrassed, but you clearly didn’t feel anything. Or if you did, you didn’t care, too enraptured in the feeling of his movement against your body. He bit his lower lip, squeezing your hand as tight as he could without hurting you, keeping up his pace. He felt a flame forming inside of him at the base of his dick. It was so hot it almost hurt, sending bullets of pleasure from the tip to his head and back again.
You had the same sensation. Warmth blanketed your lower body in sheets of deep purples and magentas as your legs shook under you, tired from standing upright and straining against the altar stone. It was hot, so hot, and you felt yourself grow even more wet around his cock. You closed your eyes tightly. You couldn’t bear to look at the empty pews anymore. Your mind was composed solely of John’s face, the pleasure he was gracing you with, and the love he injected you with through the pads of his fingers.
A low, guttural sound from John behind you directed your attention back to him. He uttered your name in a tight growl, shoving himself into you. You could feel it too. You were so close, so close to enlightenment.
Suddenly, without warning, it hit you like a bolt of lightning. You cried out, legs trembling, hips gyrating on their own as scorching pleasure rocketed through your hips, thighs, cunt, up to your chest, making your heart palpitate. You could barely control your breath, chanting John’s name along with a chorus of expletives that definitely should’ve gotten you expelled from the church. A cacophony of colors filled the inside of your eyelids like a kaleidoscope.
John relished in the feeling of your orgasm, his cock twitching inside of you with the feeling of his own impending end. He would never hurt you intentionally. He would never be rough with you. But the intense feeling of your cunt clenching around him pulled him violently towards his own climax, causing him to leave a sharp bite into the back of your neck, making you squeal. It wasn’t nearly enough to draw blood, but a deep red indent was left in the place where his teeth marked your flesh.
He'd apologize for it later, knowing deep down inside that it wouldn't take any convincing for you to forgive him. You'd always forgive him.
John’s world was filled with bright colors as his orgasm washed into him, an intense, sweet sting leaving his hips as he came inside of you, not even bothering to think of the potential consequences. Neither of you could care less. You were swallowed up in each other, fused together in mind, body, and soul. John’s body completely covered yours, keeping you pinned over the altar stone, legs still shaking from aftershocks and exhaustion.
What felt like an eternity was only a few short moments before John pulled out of you, regrettably letting go of your hand to feebly stumble backwards. The front of his collarino was creased and felt damp against his torso. His cock was completely spent, flaccid, hanging pathetically between his legs as he caught his breath enough to pull up his pants and fasten his black belt around his waist again. His three fingers that were rubbing your clit were covered in a thin layer of your clear fluid, which he mindlessly whipped on his slacks. You were still bent over the altar, catching your own breath, one hand held out in front of you, the other, the one that was holding his, facing upright by your hip, subconsciously grasping out for his hand again.
John simply looked at your body in a fucked-out daze. You were ethereal even in your most vulnerable form. You were human. You were alive and living and you were in the same room as him, sharing the same space, the same air. Your life was beautiful. You were beautiful.
He didn't even register the tears that were freely falling from his eyes now.
You finally pushed yourself upright, bending down to shimmy your own pants back up your legs. Heart finally slowing down from its adrenaline rush, you turned around to face your lover. Your eyes widened when you saw his tears. You barely had time to say his name before he was embracing you in his arms, holding you as close as he possibly could, one arm around your waist, the other holding the back of your head against his shoulder. He was cradling you, silently sniffling into your neck. You let him unwind for as long as he needed, holding you behind the altar, under the crucifix. Your hands wrapped around his torso, squeezing him full of as much love as you could muster.
"Thank you," he murmured.
Your fingers crawled up to his hair, playing with the short, black baby hairs that sat at the base of his skull. You didn't question his thanks.
He continued. "I love you."
Your heart fluttered. You knew John loved you, so deeply. He loved you despite the horrors he had been put through. He loved you despite his old, lost loves.
"I love you," he said again. "I love you so much. I love you. Thank you."
You smiled, dipping your head into his shoulder, your hairs tickling his neck. His white collar was hard against your face, but the warmth he provided made it bearable. His arms were a fortress around you, and you were his foundation. You didn’t have to question what his words of praise meant. You already knew.
Thank you for making me human. Thank you for making me feel okay. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for letting me love you. Thank you for letting me live. Thank you for being alive.
With a short inhale, you spoke into his chest.
"I'll love you forever, always."
