Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Female Character(s)
Characters: Andrew Hozier-Byrne, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags:
Bisexual Female Character, Forbidden Love, hot priest, Catholicism, Criticism of the Catholic Church, Inspired by Fleabag (TV), POV Alternating, no happy ending, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Dominant Woman, Submissive Man, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Explicit Consent, Oral Sex, Eventual Smut
Summary:
About a woman who already deconstructed her catholicism and who is trying to seduce a priest to “save” him from it, as she thinks. About a priest who thinks he has chosen his life path well, trying to bring his “friend” back to church, to “save” her. Fleabag-inspired priest!Hozier romance and smut. What can I tell you. This is for all the (ex)catholic women <3
Chapter 12: I Could Break Beneath The Weight
Word count: 836
Read also on AO3
Fic under the cut ↓
Notes:
Hi ! just so you know, I haven't forgotten about my blorbos :) in fact, I'm putting them in the tumbler again :3
Andrew
Andrew couldn’t focus on the rites for the next couple of hours, replaying that conversation, or rather, that monologue, in his head. It’s not exactly like he didn’t know about the Church’s problems… when he was younger, he had hoped to be the one to fix them, in his youthful naivety. And then he just kind of stayed…
Suddenly it struck him, a thought that felt like twisting the knife, that Father Kevin may have been speaking from experience. Andrew’s guess quickly triggered his disgust.
Nevertheless, Father Kevin clocked him right; he hadn’t been faithful to his vows. When Andrew had taken them, not so long ago, he really thought he would never touch a woman again. And yes, there were a couple of pretty parishioners every now and then who seemed to like him for more than just a good sermon and a kind word; usually some young girls giggling around him, or women trying to flirt with him; but he had always managed to ignore such behavior, redirect himself to prayer, to avert his eyes.
Until Mary.
What was it about her that he gave into temptation? Gave into sin?
What was it about her that made him risk disappointing God? Disappointing the parishioners, the curia, and, the worst part, disappointing his mother?
He’d been thinking a lot about that.
***
The night between Good Friday and Good Saturday finally fell. Jesus Christ was in his tomb, there was another hectic day of clerical work ahead, and Andrew was tossing and turning, emotions not letting him sleep.
He kicked his legs in anger at the memory of that conversation; he trembled from the horrors of what might have been going down under Father Kevin’s reign here; Jesus, what still might be going on right under Andrew’s nose. He shook with guilt how he hadn’t noticed it sooner, and from shame that he was the corrupt one now.
He reckoned that this conversation was bound to happen at some point; but this wasn’t how he wanted to proceed with it. He blamed himself for being too stunned to speak. This is not what he had signed up for. This is not how he saw the Church.
He felt like all his ideals were betrayed, even if he literally did betray them himself only days prior. He’d expected his mentor to scold him, threaten to relocate him, make him cut ties with Mary.
However, a very small part of him, very small, and he was not proud of it, felt relieved. That he was met with… understanding. There was, perhaps, some twisted comfort there.
When he heard the early birds sing and noticed the day start to rise, all the exhaustion finally led Andrew to be honest with himself.
There had always been signs.
But he had so much faith in how the Church could rehabilitate itself that it rendered him completely blind to how it actually was.
It had been quietly draining from him for years. He remembered that brief moment, it lasted maybe only half a day, when he almost resigned, right before coming to this parish. But he had nowhere to go, no plan, no back up, no other profession he saw himself do. Where does he put all this faith now? Where does it go?
Right now, he thought of Mary. How his love for her started to fill all this emptiness…
Wait.
Love?
***
Andrew got up from bed on Good Saturday morning, somber and exhausted; he hadn’t slept a wink. He wished he was like a river, clearing itself at all times, never static, escaping into the ocean. He felt confined to his anxieties, to his guilt, to his head, to this room, to this parish, to this city, to this island, and to this church.
He fulfilled his duties, one by one, his mind wandering elsewhere. To someone else. Mary.
He was thinking about that one little thing she’d said to him on St Patrick’s Day; that he could leave, if he wanted to.
Well, he didn’t.
He hadn’t.
He wouldn’t.
Andrew came such a long way, from a scared kid to a hesitant clerical student, to an eager priest. He became a vicar in such a young age, he now thought he might have been perhaps too ambitious, too idealist, because the injury of finally seeing the once revered institution for what it really is has been so sobering. He caught himself wishing to become oblivious to all this again, but he realized his heart, once full of goodness and love for the Church, now started weighing too much on him, suffocating him, bringing him down to earth.
On confession duty, he was so much in his head he was spiraling. He felt more and more confined, claustrophobic even, couldn’t stand being in the confessional. He took a break, much to the parishioners’ dismay, saying it was an emergency.
Well.
A priest having a crisis of faith certainly is one.
hey lovely!! could i request something with Andrew Garfield and costar!dom!reader and prompts 57,69,83 from the smut prompt list?? (if ur comfortable w this ofc!!)
your wish is my command
prompt week
57) "i wonder what your girlfriend would do if they knew what you were doing right now."
69) "come here, baby, let mommy take care of you."
83) "aww, poor baby, you want me to take care of it for you?"
warnings SMUT 18+ minors DNI, established relationship but still costars, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), mommy kink, dom/sub, tit kink, pet names. hand job, cream pie
you had a day off, while andrew had to film. you had been dating for a year, and started dating before getting cast opposites in “The Amazing Spider-Man”, him playing spider-man, and you gwen.
when he came home, you could see that you were going to have to take control. you didn’t mind taking control, but it was rare. you were laying in your bed watching a crappy tv show when he came into the bedroom and stood at the door with glassy eyes, and said “mommy”. that’s all you needed for you to open your arms and say, “come here, baby, let mommy take care of you." he took his shoes and shirt off, leaving him in his shorts, and laid down on you and put his head in your neck. he started rutting against you and whimpering. you tugged on his hair and he sat up and looked up at you. “hi baby boy”. all he did was make grabby hands and made eyes to your tits. you knew what he wanted, but wanted to coax it out of him. “words, baby” “can i suck on your tits mommy?” you smiled and took your shirt off. you were already ready for bed, so you weren’t wearing a bra.
“come here, baby” he immediately situated himself to where one hand was on one tit and his mouth on the other. you had a hand in his hair, and whispering sweet nothings to him. even though you two were dating, you still liked to play with him, "i wonder what your girlfriend would do if they knew what you were doing right now." he just whimpered and started rutting against your leg, to where you could feel the bulge. he took his mouth off for a second and said “it hurts mommy”. you just smiled and said, "aww, poor baby, you want me to take care of it for you?". “yes please mommy”. you helped him take his shorts off and he got back to his original position and you had a hand on his cock. it was red and dripping with pre cum. he was a whimpering mess in your hands. you could tell he was close by how he was rutting in your hand.
“mommy, can i cum in you?” you nodded and he took your underwear off. you were already dripping, so he slipped his cock right in to your folds. all that could be heard were moans, whimpers, and sweet nothings. before he could tell you he was going to cum, he shot white ropes into your cervix, which triggered yours as well. once you both came down, he stayed in you until you told him that once you clean you both up, you can take a bath. before you went to clean you both up, he finally kissed you. you got in the bath first and he laid in between your legs and said “i love you, mommy” “i love you too, baby”
i can see sub!andrew being pussy whipped as well 😔 like he loves eating u out not only for his own pleasure, but also because he just loves making u feel good! he does not feel fulfilled if he doesn’t get a taste of u everytime u guys have sex! and it’s not like groupie!reader is complaining either cuz andrew’s tongue is so skillful and she praises him so much whenever he does it <33 he gets off on that and he prob cums in his pants when he eats u out
sub!andrew gives the best fucking oral ever and it’s because he’s so desperate to make you happy. seeing you feel good makes him feel good without even touching himself, and while he’s lapping through your folds and sucking on your clit, he’s moaning and whimpering at how you’re pulling at his hair 😮💨
i’m also just thinking about the wet spot that’d appear in his boxers when you cum in his mouth and you’d tease him all about it. “my boy’s such a mess for me” “do i have to clean this up for you, puppy?” and he can look as tough as he wants i know he folds when you talk to him like that
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Female Character(s)
Characters: Andrew Hozier-Byrne, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags:
Bisexual Female Character, Forbidden Love, hot priest, Catholicism, Criticism of the Catholic Church, Inspired by Fleabag (TV), POV Alternating, no happy ending, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Dominant Woman, Submissive Man, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Explicit Consent, Oral Sex, Eventual Smut
Summary:
About a woman who already deconstructed her catholicism and who is trying to seduce a priest to “save” him from it, as she thinks. About a priest who thinks he has chosen his life path well, trying to bring his “friend” back to church, to “save” her. Fleabag-inspired priest!Hozier romance and smut. What can I tell you. This is for all the (ex)catholic women <3
Chapter 9: A Moment’s Silence
Word count: 935
Read also on AO3
Fic under the cut ↓
Notes:
Huge warning for blasphemy in this chapter lol!
Mary
Mary’s lips moved insistently over his; he was sheepish, not like yesterday. She sucked on his bottom lip and felt him shake; he liked it. So, she moved to suck on his upper lip too, butterflies erupting in her stomach. He slowly became more eager.
She kissed him more, hungrier this time, and he fell into her rhythm. When Mary asked for entrance with her tongue, he stifled a moan, and she felt his hands spasm on his sides. But he didn’t dare touch her, didn’t make any forward move. She could do anything to him in this confessional, and he would comply.
She moved her attention from his mouth to his jaw, not kissing, but straight up sucking his skin, gently at first, but when she got to his neck, he let out an unbridled whine. So she sucked on him harder, eliciting even more noises that he probably wasn’t even aware of.
Mary smirked at how pliable he was in her hands. She was holding the back of his neck with her right hand, to angle him just right, and her left slid back down to his right thigh. Very, very high up his thigh.
She was delighted to hear his panicked gasp.
“I—,” he stuttered. “You don’t have to— It’s not like I—” he kept on mumbling, clearly overwhelmed.
Mary raised her eyebrows at him. “But do you want me to?” she asked. Andrew only looked at her, lips parted and swollen form being kissed by her, eyes darkened and hazy, like he didn’t understand.
She sighed, feigning a scoff or impatience, but it was all a mask she put on because she thought he might react well to it.
“Do you want me to touch you — here?” Mary moved her hand dangerously close to his erection. She could already feel it straining against the thick fabric of his jeans.
His nod was minimal, but frantic. It seemed like all words have flown from him.
Keeping eye contact with him, humming lowly, Mary reached for his belt buckle, then button and zipper with just one hand. He was trembling all over, breath stuttering.
She kept her mouth close to his, but glanced down for a second to pull him out of his boxers. He was long, leaking, with substantial girth.
When Mary looked at Andrew’s face again, his eyes were closed. As she started stroking him, he cuddled his head into the nook of her neck, losing himself in the feeling. She didn’t need any words to know he was enjoying it.
After a moment of this, she decided to actually kneel down. Admiring his member from up close, she twisted her wrist to see the underside of him; an enticing, pulsing vein called to her.
She sucked the tip of this pink beauty into her mouth, just a little, pulling his foreskin down, and Andrew whined. She smirked again, shooting him an evil grin, while his expression betrayed something like disbelief.
She kept on sucking him, pushing more and more into her mouth, until he hit the back of her throat. She hummed in appreciation, but she still didn’t manage to fit it all. She checked on Andrew, and he was a mess; his face was flushed, a few loose curls fell on his forehead that was beading sweat.
He covered his eyes with his hand. He was, obviously, ashamed of how they were doing it, of where they were doing it, and of how quickly he was probably going to come.
Mary, learned by experience, angled her head a little differently, to align what should be aligned, and with a couple of tries, finally managed to take him as far as he could physically go. He groaned something indescribable and it kept her motivated to control her gag reflex.
As Mary found a manic pace that had him writhing in pleasure, as if he wanted to break away from it, she was fully conscious of how her throat would be sore tomorrow. But she was surprised that he was actually taking it so well; he didn’t dare tug at her hair or push her head. She needed to be in full control of the situation; it may sound weird, Mary thought, but she was, in fact, in a more vulnerable position here; she could actually choke, he could only lose his dick.
She pulled off of him for a second to say “What a good boy,” without thinking much of it. She immediately went back to shoving him in and out of her mouth again, rougher, making sure to suck as well.
He only managed to brush her arm with his hand, in a desperate attempt to warn her, before he came inside her mouth.
Andrew’s biblical moan reverberated through the thousand-year old walls in an unholy melody. Mary swallowed the generous come, continuing her movements gently, not to overstimulate him, while the sight of him coming undone definitely made up for any sores.
When he was spent, Mary carefully took him out of her mouth.
After a moment, he slumped, with a palm still over his eyes, in shame. Mary wanted to soothe him, to remedy this feeling the way she had unlearned it herself, but something in his shaky breath told her to give him a moment to find his clarity.
He let out a sob and finally dared to look at her, with eyes so deep as if the whole cosmos was in them. And she felt like she was God.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Female Character(s)
Characters: Andrew Hozier-Byrne, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags:
Bisexual Female Character, Forbidden Love, hot priest, Catholicism, Criticism of the Catholic Church, Inspired by Fleabag (TV), POV Alternating, no happy ending, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Dominant Woman, Submissive Man, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Explicit Consent, Oral Sex, Eventual Smut
Summary:
About a woman who already deconstructed her catholicism and who is trying to seduce a priest to “save” him from it, as she thinks. About a priest who thinks he has chosen his life path well, trying to bring his “friend” back to church, to “save” her. Fleabag-inspired priest!Hozier romance and smut. What can I tell you. This is for all the (ex)catholic women <3
Chapter 11: In Darkness and in Secrecy
Word count: 671
Read also on AO3
Fic under the cut ↓
Notes:
A very short chapter, but brace yourselves!
I posted Chapter 10 and 11 on September 30th, make sure to check both of them!
Andrew
It was Good Friday morning, and Andrew woke up tired from yesterday’s evening mass. Normally, he would be happy to be active in more nocturnal hours, but the time around Easter always meant a lot of work for him, with very little sleep. He had a full itinerary today; liturgy, Stations of the Cross, confession, not to mention the time before all of these to prepare and time after to wind down.
Mrs Johnson had left some light breakfast for him yesterday; today was one of the two days in the whole year with strict fasting. How great.
His busy morning passed in a blur.
Somewhere between his confession duty and the 3 p.m. liturgy, the most important part of the day, he was stopped in the sacristy by his superior, Father Kevin, who had been serving as the rector of this parish for longer than Andrew had been alive.
“Oh, Andrew, good to see you now,” Father Kevin said, his schedule for today apparently a little less tight. He was a man in his 60s, closer to 70s really, but with very little signs of any fatigue or age.
“Yes, Father?” Andrew asked. He would lie if he said he didn’t see a mentor in Father Kevin; all those 7 months ago, when he arrived here, Father Kevin took him under his wing and said, if Andrew was doing good work, that he might become his successor after he’d “be with the Lord”. But, as Father Kevin had joked, it wouldn’t happen for “another 50 years”.
“Well, I wanted to talk to you a little, in private, should I say,” he guided him by the arm towards a more secluded corner.
“Of course.” They stood in a nook, the issue to be discussed apparently confidential.
“It’s about that girl of yours… uh, Mrs Potocki’s daughter, I think?”
Andrew didn’t speak.
“The daughter is just as beautiful as the mother in her day, eh?” Father Kevin said. Andrew would rather forget the crude gesture that came with it.
“E— Excuse me, Father?” he tried to say. Were his eyes and ears deceiving him?
“I just wanted to say that you should be more careful.” Father Kevin leaned in, giving Andrew a long look. His boss was also his confessor, so unfortunately there were no secrets between them.
“I don’t understand—“
“Well… You’re young, you don’t know how much easier it was in the old days… But if you want to keep seeing her, you shouldn’t do it in church.” He wasn’t scolding him; he was giving him advice. “I wouldn’t be telling you this if you weren’t so damn obvious, boy”.
“But— But we’re just trying to be friends…” Technically, Andrew didn’t lie. He and Mary were, in fact, trying to resist temptation to fuck each other’s brains out. It was only his great fault that he had failed most times.
“Sure. Sure you are.” Father Kevin said insincerely. “It’s just that our parishioners would be very disappointed if they saw you two—”
Andrew’s eyes grew round.
“But, but… We’re not… I’m not…” Andrew’s head was spinning. He heaved, trying to center himself. “Am I not allowed to have friends?” was the only thing that came to his mind.
“Of course. Of course you’re allowed, Andy,” the way he said his name, like he was a father talking to a son… was starting to get uneasy on him. “You can be friends with anyone you like.” Father Kevin’s suggestive smile made Andrew’s insides churn. He could not believe that this was happening. Was he delirious from fasting?
Father Kevin continued: “There’s only so much I can hide if that lovely, lovely girl was to talk. You’d be transferred, and it won’t be to the Dublin Cathedral, I’ll tell you that much,” he laughed.
Andrew felt like he was punched in the gut.
“Well, now, I’m glad you understand.” Father Kevin straightened up and patted Andrew’s back. “Stations of the Cross, shall we?”
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Female Character(s)
Characters: Andrew Hozier-Byrne, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags:
Bisexual Female Character, Forbidden Love, hot priest, Catholicism, Criticism of the Catholic Church, Inspired by Fleabag (TV), POV Alternating, no happy ending, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Dominant Woman, Submissive Man, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Explicit Consent, Oral Sex, Eventual Smut
Summary:
About a woman who already deconstructed her catholicism and who is trying to seduce a priest to “save” him from it, as she thinks. About a priest who thinks he has chosen his life path well, trying to bring his “friend” back to church, to “save” her. Fleabag-inspired priest!Hozier romance and smut. What can I tell you. This is for all the (ex)catholic women <3
Chapter 8: You Can Sharpen Your Knife
Word count: 1579
Read also on AO3
Fic under the cut ↓
Notes:
Blasphemy warning lol
Mary
After tossing and turning all night and reflecting on that situation all day, Mary decided to do something about it.There was really nothing to lose; she reckoned long ago with the fact that most priests were corrupt, in one way or the other. If she was to corrupt one more, it wouldn’t make much of a difference.
She took a stroll towards a familiar direction just as the sun began to set and found her interest just where she thought he would be at 7 p.m.: locking the church door after the last service of the day. His back was turned to her, but she did recognize his tall frame.
“Good evening,” she greeted him nonchalantly.
“Mary?” He turned. It really amused her just how it startled him. “God Bless.” He averted his gaze and blushed, and Mary was hoping that the expression she saw on his face wasn’t disgust. “Good to… see you here.”
He was wearing his usual black soutane; it stretched long from the collar on his neck down to his feet. The only parts of him uncovered were his face and his hands. He wore his hair, those dark brown curls with a grayish hue, combed back into a bun. Priest or not, he looked delicious.
“I came to ask for confession,” she said plainly.
He furrowed his brows, worried or terrified, and still couldn’t look her in the eye. He seemed restless, balancing on his feet from left to right, as if he was debating whether to acknowledge what happened between them yesterday.
“It’s outside of my usual hours…” he tried, but she was sure his resistance would be short-lived. He scrunched his face as if in pain.
“Yes, I know…” She tried to look as repentant as she could pretend to be.
“I really shouldn’t…” he started, but his docile nature made it sound more like an invitation than a refusal.
“I don’t know what else to do… Please?” she motioned to the big, sturdy gate, one she used to walk through every Sunday of her childhood. She asked nicely this time; the pout and the watery eyes may have been a bit much, but it worked on him. He seemed to be one of those men quite prone to female charm while at the same time quite ignorant of it.
“Come in,” he yielded, turning the big key to the left again. He invited her courteously to the confessional; it was one of the older designs, guaranteeing the most privacy; it looked a bit like a telephone booth, but all the walls were made of wood; wood that had soaked up the incense over all the years of its duty. Mary purposefully breathed in that well-known scent. It carried memories of all her past confessions: shame and guilt; but she reckoned, with satisfaction, that they did her no harm.
Anxious anticipation crept up on her, though, as she took her spot on the kneeler. She thought about all of her “sins”… and how she had sworn to herself never to return to confession. But on the other side of the crisscross divider was the real reason for her coming here: Father Andrew himself. She wanted him, even though his performative servitude irritated her. His faked chastity displeased her; his misguided piety fueled her rage. How could he carry himself so lightly to a church that has caused so much tragedy?
That anger added to her courage; or rather, her audacity. Was Father Andrew really so naive to think she was confessing for real? Or did he see through her but decided to play along? And wouldn’t the latter make him a bad priest?
They settled in their respective places, and the fact she didn’t see him fully, but only felt his presence, did make it easier to start:
“Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been…” she sighed, a little shakily, “many years since my last confession.” She still formed her hands into a clasp. “And my sins are…” she paused, as she had always have on that part. Funny how her vocal chords trembled, as if on muscle memory. It wasn’t easy to be this vulnerable; even if for an ulterior motive, disrespecting the sanctity of confession didn’t come easily to her.
She thought about something she’d fantasized for a long time now. She decided to leave the yesterday’s situation unaddressed for now.
“ My sins are many…” she continued, “but the most recent one is that…”
She couldn’t help but smirk and she was pretty sure it was audible in her tone too.
“I’ve touched myself and had lustful thoughts…” She heard him inhale sharply as she paused, “… about you, Father.”
His exhales on the other end were unsteady. When he finally answered, his voice sounded tense:
“Tell me about it.”
Oh.
“I thought about you giving me communion…” she started.
“That’s hardly unholy—”, he interrupted her.
“... communion of another kind.”
He sucked in a breath. His silence was deafening.
“Do you know what I mean, Father?” Mary asked.
“I do.” His answer was immediate.
“I could show you,” she offered. She wondered if he interpreted her eagerness as desperation.
The silence fell again.
“Not here, not now, I beg of you,” he prayed. Now, who is desperate?
“Shouldn’t I be the one begging?” she asked. “For forgiveness?” There was a hint of mockery in her voice.
He humored her, “Do you regret your sins?”. And yesterday…
“Not really, no,” she chuckled flatly. “I’ve stopped regretting my sins long ago.”
He only breathed in. The air was thick.
“… is that a sin in itself?” Mary asked philosophically. It was the first time the thought occurred to her.
“It is a… fault, yes,” he admitted. “Do you want to do something about it?”
“No,” she said a little louder than intended.
“Then this is not a valid confession, Mary. You know this.” He was supposed to be stern, but his voice was more like painful. “If you want to fix it one day, God’s love will help you.” He was definitely trying to be gentle. “But mostly you need to want to help yourself”.
The times when a clergyman would intimidate her were long gone, and his attempt at guidance fell on deaf ears. Mary only wanted her fantasies to come true and she wasn’t going to back down.
“I guess this confession is over,” he conceded, but neither of them moved.
Even though absolution wasn’t something that Mary was striving to achieve, she still resented being deprived of it, even now.
“Can I at least ask you for a blessing, Father? To do good?” She tried to negotiate her way back into God’s grace, somehow; but at he same time, she couldn’t hold back her disdain.
“Yes, you may.” If Andrew felt relieved, it was ill-advised.
Mary, as quick as a lightning, came out of her booth and opened the small door to the priest’s. He sat there, startled and surprised.
“What are you—”
Before he could ask, she stepped into his booth and knelt in front him. His face contorted in shock and he stuck his head out to look left and right in conspiration.
“Mary! Someone might see—”
She yanked him back into the confessional, pressing her hand to his chest. His legs might have parted as if to invite her in, but it could be argued it was unintentional.
“We’re alone. Now bless me as is your job,” her command was much rougher than what he was used to.
He gave her a long, long look, eyes dark, nostrils fuming.
Father Andrew raised his right hand to make the sign of the cross.
“I bless you, Mary—”
She put both hands on his knees.
“Ah!” his gasp was almost comical. She laughed.
“I’ve always wondered what you wear under this.” She ran her hands up his thighs, where the fabric of his soutane stretched.
“I told you, not here—” he resisted but it was pathetically weak.
“Tell me to stop,” she dared him. And then she saw him melt.
He breathed out heavily and lowered his head in defeat. That was his response.
“That’s what I thought.” Mary stroked his thighs once more. He didn’t budge, didn’t swat them away. She moved them down to undo the buttons of his soutane, one by one, from the lowest up, as Andrew watched her intently. He did wear his black jeans underneath. She leaned closer and closer to him, kneeling in between his legs. When she undid enough, she slipped her hand on his inner thigh. He let out a short gasp again.
She wondered when was the last time he had been touched like that.
Before she would move any further, she decided to look into his eyes. He stared at her hungrily, pupils blown wide. She straightened up.
They weren’t on the same height, him sitting and her kneeling, so she got up and sat on his left thigh, their heads aligned. She snaked her right arm to the back of his neck and gently tugged at his hair there. She directed him even closer to herself. She breathed in his scent, earthy and woody, and very distinct, as he seemed to twitch as he bowed a little lower. They were so close that his long eyelashes brushed her cheeks. Neither of them said anything.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Female Character(s)
Characters: Andrew Hozier-Byrne, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags:
Bisexual Female Character, Forbidden Love, hot priest, Catholicism, Criticism of the Catholic Church, Inspired by Fleabag (TV), POV Alternating, no happy ending, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Dominant Woman, Submissive Man, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Explicit Consent, Oral Sex, Eventual Smut
Summary:
About a woman who already deconstructed her catholicism and who is trying to seduce a priest to “save” him from it, as she thinks. About a priest who thinks he has chosen his life path well, trying to bring his “friend” back to church, to “save” her. Fleabag-inspired priest!Hozier romance and smut. What can I tell you. This is for all the (ex)catholic women <3
Chapter 10: The Working of My Hands
Word count: 1800
Read also on AO3
Fic under the cut ↓
Notes:
I am back, lol!
Enjoy this silly little chapter :)
Mary
“Mary, I promised Father Andrew you’d help with the palms,” Mary’s mother said right after the Palm Sunday mass. It was another ploy to get Mary involved in church. How ironic.
She saw Andrew’s panicked expression; he knew very well what might happen if he and Mary find themselves alone in a room again.
“Of course, mama. How can I be of help, Father?” Mary asked him, and he didn’t reply, his face was blank as if he didn’t register, so she winked at him. He jolted and collected himself.
“Ehm, here, Miss Mary…”
He showed her to the corridor, leaving her mother behind on the courtyard. They walked with the boxes in silence for a bit, until they were out of earshot of anyone.
“The palms. I’m guessing you have to store them somewhere? To burn them later?”
“Oh. Ehm. Yes. We… do…”
“Where do you put them, then?” she indicated a couple of boxes with said palms.
“We go into the…” he motioned down with his fingers, but he kind of couldn’t speak.
“To the pantry downstairs?”
“H-how do you know the old pantry downstairs?”
“This is my parish, remember I used to sing in the choir here? I went in every corner of the church then.”
They walked down the narrow stairs leading to the pantry and storage rooms.
“Ehm, careful, with your head,” Mary noted, remembering he was 2 meters tall.
“I know…” he pouted like a teenager, but she heard him his his head anyway and suppressing a curse word.
“Oh wow, this room is smaller than I remember. Last time I was here, I was playing hide and seek with my friends, and I was 10.”
“Oh yeah? And what kind of game are we playing now?” he asked, and by his expression Mary recognized that it surprised even himself.
Mary smirked.
“What makes you think I’m interested in playing a game?” Mary mocked. “I’m just helping you with the palms, like a good little parishioner,” she batted her eyelashes at him theatrically.
“Yesterday… and the day before…” he started.
“Very unholy, how naughty of me…” she feigned. “You’ll give me penitence?”
“Yes, Miss Mary. I’ll give you penitence.” He got closer to her, the boxes forgotten on the floor.
They were so close to each other now that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He breathed heavily and his gaze traveled from her eyes to her lips repeatedly, as if he couldn’t decide anything ever in his life. He was stopping himself from what they both really wanted and it enraged her.
“Fuck you, calling me ‘Miss Mary’ like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it,” she mocked him, straight into his face, her nose brushing his.
“You think it turns me on?” He asked in a low voice, pressing her closer to the old cupboard right behind her.
“You think I don’t see it?” she bit back.
“God knows, you are—” his hands spasmed on his side as if an invisible force was holding them back.
“God? You’re involving him in everything?” she laughed, openly trying to catch him off-balance.
“Yes, well, that’s kind of my job here. What would you have me do instead?” he asked, a little too desperate for it to be considered a rhetorical question.
Mary scoffed and held her head even higher now, giving him a nasty, unimpressed look. “You’re so very scary, I’m trembling. Careful cause I might bite,” she hissed through her teeth at him.
She supported herself back on the old cabinet behind her, not breaking the tense silence, sizing him up as he heaved. A sudden power overcame her, and she said:
“Kneel.”
His eyes were wide as teapots and he didn’t budge, like his brain short-circuited.
“Did I stutter? Kneel.” Mary ordered. Her tone was so stern that Andrew obeyed this time.
“Look at you. Pathetic, kneeling in front of your parishioner.”
Andrew closed his eyes as if in shame. Shit, was that too far?
“And?” he whispered; as if he desperately needed her to continue.
“Do you think Jesus would like you talking back to me like this?” Mary scoffed.
Andrew sucked in a breath.
“No… Miss Mary.”
Now she was more pleased. She lifted his chin with her hand. It startled him.
“What would you be willing to do?” she asked him before she’d lose control just from being turned on by the power he yielded to her.
“Anything,” he said absentmindedly.
“That’s not really an answer, Baby Boy,” Mary scolded him.
“What would you like me to do, Miss?” he asked, fast and eager.
“Kiss me,” Mary ordered, and he got up.
Andrew
The sheer force of his hunger pushed her back against the old cupboard in the small pantry. The wood creaked in protest, but it went mostly unheard.
“I’m so sor–”, Andrew tried to whisper when Mary pulled back for air, but she quickly shut him up with another kiss. Her hands traveled from his cheeks to the back of his neck, and she weaved her fingers into his hair. He was out of breath, his moves were erratic, lips pressing on hers even harder. When Mary tugged on his hair to pull his head back, Andrew let out a pathetic whine. She only grinned in satisfaction and continued what she wanted to do: bite his neck.
Her deft hands found his priest collar that obstructed the way, and she not so gently ripped it off. He jolted in an instant, as if it could kill him.
She straightened up to look into his eyes, with a questioning but smug look. He yielded to her touch again, coming back slow, and angled his head to expose his neck to her, heavy-lidded eyes watching her, waiting.
“Please,” he whispered so much more devotedly than his morning prayer.
Mary wasted no time and granted Andrew’s wish, licking and sucking on his sensitive skin to soothe him, and when he seemed to have calmed down, she bit him again. His whine was even louder this time, but it didn’t occur to either of them that they might be heard.
“I told you I bite”, Mary whispered to him; he was putty in her hands. He leaned down to snuggle his head into her neck, like a dog to his trusted owner.
“You did”, he responded, “can I do that to you too?” it came out barely as a mumble when he grazed his mouth over her ear.
“Of course.” Her voice was so confident that he had no further questions. He dipped his head even lower, almost uncomfortably for a man his height, but he wouldn’t notice any pain when what he got to taste was so sweet.
Andrew felt like all the air has been sucked from the room. His lips on Mary’s neck were careful, exploratory. But kissing a woman is not something you forget how to do, no matter how many years passed. It felt like hundreds, though, as if his desire was older even than his faith.
He sucked on her skin and listened to her breathing getting heavier, he sucked again, harder, and she let out a hum of approval. It was controlled, like she was teaching him; but he wanted to make her whine.
Andrew put his teeth on her. This time she scoffed.
“Harder.”
He wasted no time to fulfill her command and bit Mary’s neck like she was a summer fruit. Her grip on him tightened as her hands found his arms, caressed the cotton fabric of his modest shirt up to his back and she pulled him closer, parting her legs. She leaned against an old kitchen counter.
“I want more from you,” she stated.
“What do you mean?” he asked even though he could take a guess.
“Give me your hand.”
Well. He had never felt so compelled. But... they weren’t going to have sex in here?
Andrew lifted his right hand, and she took it in hers. She gripped his index and middle fingers and... put them in her mouth slowly. He watched her suck them in, incredulous.
Then her hands left his, and before he could realize what she was doing, her jeans were unzipped and she was shoving his hand down her underwear. Andrew sucked in a breath and as he felt the first drops of her wetness on the pads of his fingers.
“I haven’t done it in years,” he admitted, partly as an excuse if he won’t be able to satisfy her.
“Oh, I can tell,” Mary teased him, and that’s when he squinted his eyes at her and gently pushed his fingers inside, past her folds.
If she was surprised by it, she didn’t show it.
“Now that’s a good boy,” she cooed and it was like a dam broke in him. He leaned onto her, changing the angle to a more comfortable one, if such even existed in this position, and started pushing his fingers in and out of her. Their mouths were close, but they didn’t kiss; he was too focused on the working of his hands.
After a moment of this Mary apparently realized she needed to take the matters into her own hands, literally, if she wanted to come. She touched Andrew’s wrist, and he leaned back to look at her questioningly.
“Here,” she instructed him, pulling his fingers out and placing them on her clit. “Like this,” she looked straight into his eyes as she showed him how to caress her up and down, but he averted his gaze. He’s never been a multitasker.
After a moment of repeating these movements, Andrew asked, “Like this?” and Mary nodded frantically. It was starting to take effect on her.
He didn’t dare to stop as her moans became more frequent, and the sounds of her wetness obscene. She gripped him even harder, one hand back in his hair and the second one guarding his wrist.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she warned him. He focused on the motion, and Mary’s head fell back as she whispered his name.
A chant of moans followed, and he felt Mary’s body convulse in pleasure. He watched her face contort, long column of her neck exposed. He kissed it gently as she came back from her high, dripping deliciously on his hand. She pushed it away when she was done, and hummed.
“Oh, I really needed that…” she said as she redirected his head so she could kiss him. The sweet brush of her lips on his was so innocent compared to what he’d just done.
“Did I do it right?” he asked, as if the whole parish couldn’t hear her moans.
“You were alright, I guess,” she confirmed with a smirk.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Female Character(s)
Characters: Andrew Hozier-Byrne, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags:
Bisexual Female Character, Forbidden Love, hot priest, Catholicism, Criticism of the Catholic Church, Inspired by Fleabag (TV), POV Alternating, no happy ending, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Dominant Woman, Submissive Man, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Explicit Consent, Oral Sex, Eventual Smut
Summary:
About a woman who already deconstructed her catholicism and who is trying to seduce a priest to “save” him from it, as she thinks. About a priest who thinks he has chosen his life path well, trying to bring his “friend” back to church, to “save” her. Fleabag-inspired priest!Hozier romance and smut. What can I tell you. This is for all the (ex)catholic women <3
Chapter 7: I Drank Dry the River Lethe
Word count: 1864
Read also on AO3
Fic under the cut ↓
Notes:
Here’s something for HAND enjoyers :3
Mary
On the last day of March, the weather was finally better, to Mary’s delight. She finally felt spring in the air, and like some other kind of change was happening with each day’s lengthening — a change she’d long been waiting for.
She started getting ready for classes at the workshop; she had three blocks lined up for the afternoon. She checked the list of reservations and recognized Andrew’s name. So, he was coming.
She then carefully reviewed the contents of her wardrobe, and after some consideration she decided to wear a dolled-up version of her workshop uniform; a very tight, very low neck tank top, red plaid shirt that she won’t button up, and high waist jeans that made her ass look bigger. She wasn’t sure if he was more of an ass or a boob man, so she chose the jeans just in case.
***
He came in as the last one, fashionably — or rather, inevitably — late, and his face lit up when he spotted her. He showed his teeth in a wolfish smile, but it was far from predatory; it was playful. The corners of his eyes crinkled and he bowed his head slightly.
The class went fine, as usual, even if for the most part of it she was shooting Andrew lustful gazes, that he either ignored or didn’t identify as such. They did chat a bit, but given she was working and that there were other people around, they didn’t really stray from the very general topics.
After the class ended, and everyone was getting ready to leave, he was fumbling with the tools, stalling, clambering about. When he was the last one left, and Mary was closing the door and turning off the overhead lights, he asked:
“Could I maybe… stay and help you clean?” while making puppy eyes.
Mary raised her eyebrow.
“Because we’re friends now…” he argued, making her laugh.
“Sure, why not.” She had thought he didn’t want to be seduced but now he was creating an opportunity. So, he was into it, right?
There wasn’t much to clean because one of the workshop rules was that all the attendees are to clean up after themselves. Mary only had to sort some glaze bottles on the shelves, and she showed Andrew her system for it.
He nodded sagely, as if she was showing him some secret archive.
He then offered to put the unused clay slops back into their packaging, but he was comically useless at it.
After that, Andrew took to clean his hands from all the excess clay. It was a small workshop, so the sink was just near the office space situated in a nook. He was rubbing his long fingers over his palms, when Mary stepped closer to him.
“I’ll show you how it’s done,” she said, still in her teacher voice, and he hummed an ‘okay’.
Mary set the water to warm, and took a sponge from the shelf over the sink; she rubbed it gently on Andrew’s hands and then on her own. He kept quiet, as if contemplating. She then took a small brush from a nearby drawer, and handed him a second one. Then she started scrubbing the clay from under her nails, and Andrew followed her, his movements much less refined.
As they dried their hands, together, with the towel that was always hanging by the sink, Mary said:
“Oh, I think you need some cream for those hands, yeah?” she absentmindedly made her voice sound instructional. “Mine always get dry after throwing.”
She presented the tiny tube to him. She always had it at the ready. “Would you like some?” She had already put some on her hands and it filled the air with a discreet, elegant smell. “It’s apple,” she explained.
“Yeah,” he nodded, and waited until Mary would hand him the cream. But she had a different idea.
“Sit down,” she said.
Andrew didn’t even react at first. His eyes went dark and wide as she lifted her chin to indicate the chair.
He sat, looking up at her obediently. The scent of her, her closeness, all of this seemed to cancel out any alarms going off in his brain that this was all very inappropriate.
There wasn’t a big height difference, because, even sitting, he was still huge. Andrew didn’t budge as Mary stepped closer, in between his open legs. As she stood over him, his eyes were just in line with her breasts.
Mary squeezed some more cream onto her open palm and put the tube away on the desk.
“Give me your hands.” She reached out slowly and he offered them without thinking; she saw his eyes hazing.
She felt his ridiculously long fingers and large palms as he put a little bit of their weight on hers.
“They’re so…” she inhaled slowly, ghosting her thumbs over his wrists “… nice,” she said with a grin she hoped would be enigmatic to him. He only responded with a confused look.
Mary started massaging his palms with hers, distributing the cream through every knuckle… every muscle… every tendon… as if she wanted to make a sensory map for herself.
He kept quiet, exactly as she liked a man, and she decided to focus solely on his left hand.
She held it soft side up in both of her palms, and started slowly rubbing her thumbs into the soft valley of his palm. She made slow circles, feeling the lines of his tendons with the rest of her fingers on the back of his hand.
She then went on to intertwine his fingers with hers, feeling that his were almost two times as long. For a second they held hands, like lovers do. He let out a tiniest gasp.
It was so lovely to have a man giving into her. He watched her expectantly through hooded eyelids, mesmerized, frozen in place. He shuddered when her eye line met his. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but decided against it, seemingly not wanting to break this volatile moment.
Mary silently asked for his right hand, and did the same, but even slower, harder, more thoroughly, as if she wanted to mold him into obedience. She turned his hand back side up, and circled his every knuckle, as if counting rosary beads.
“Gotta make sure it’s evenly spread,” she said in a voice that was meant to feign innocence. He just stared at her with his mouth open.
Mary looked at him, at how beautiful he was; his soulful eyes, so trusting and kind, his long brown hair in adorable curls; ones she desperately wanted to feel in her hands; his untrimmed beard… she was wondering if it would feel too harsh on her thighs; his broad shoulders, his spread legs, the size of him that made her almost faint; she needed to know how well he would fit inside her…
With all of these thoughts, the lust shut off her brain.
Mary closed the gap between them, forcing her lips on his parted mouth and moved them frantically, holding him by the back of his neck. She was about to caress his upper lip, when she heard him gasp and yelp, almost losing balance on the chair.
She pulled away.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have—” she started, her vision still hazy from the kiss. She panicked, waiting for his rejection, ready to be damned again. But he shook his head and pulled her close to himself.
“Please—” he whispered against her lips, desperately asking her to resume the kiss. Their noses were touching and she could feel his hot breath on her skin, his warmth and his earthy scent. Their lips aligned again. He kissed her like he hadn’t done it in years: hungry but slow, relishing every second of it. His hands found themselves on her waist. With the way she was holding his head, her shirt pulled up, so he touched her bare skin between the hem of her shirt and her jeans. Goosebumps erupted on her skin, and she pressed herself even closer to him.
They went like this for a while, and completely lost themselves in the kiss. She moved to nibble on his jaw and neck, harder and harder, and he was pliant in her grasp. His hands kept caressing her waist; she wanted so much more of them. But this position: him sitting on a chair and her standing in between his legs, wasn’t the most stable one. She was never too afraid to reach for what she wanted.
Mary pulled him up by his shirt, and he obeyed. Still kissing, she led him to stand, as she sat on her desk, glad that she always kept it clean. She pulled Andrew in between her legs and wrapped them around him. Then she laid back, so that he would be on her.
It was all like the most frantic dance; he moved his hot lips to her neck, sucking on her as she moaned. He gasped when he heard the sound, breaking for a second, but continued, down to her chest. Mary started pulling on her shirt, trying to give him access and guiding his hand to touch one of her breasts. His breathing got unbelievably heavier as he caressed her and Mary smirked at how desperate he was; she loved it.
She slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders, and not so gently pressed his head so he could lick her nipples. He glanced at her face, just for a second, as if he couldn’t believe the privilege he was granted. The first lick was soft, tentative. As he heard her hum in approval, he got bolder, instinct guiding him to suck one nipple while lightly pinching the other with his hand. He changed sides, eyes wild and focused on his task only. He whined, planting wet kisses all over Mary’s breasts after he got her nipples all swollen and red.
He was definitely a boob man, then.
All this was sending impulses straight into her core; the lust for all of him, to have him now, was overwhelming. He was intoxicating; the wait, the excruciatingly long wait for even the slightest touch, his repeated refusals (for a good reason, after all), and the fact that it was all forbidden.
She regretted now that she had chosen to wear these jeans; a skirt would have been much easier to manage.
She reached for his belt, minding her handbag in which she had condoms she’d bought precisely for this kind of occasion, and her hand landed over his member. He was startled, as if a lightning shot through him, and immediately got off of her.
“No, no, I can’t—” he said, heaving, and took a step back. He put his hand over his heart in an attempt to catch his breath. When he looked at her again, she saw despair in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, I can’t,” was all he said before he stormed out of the shop, Mary still lying on that desk, gasping for air, pulse rushing, skin burning for him.
