WARNINGS: extremely dubious consent.  GRAPHIC/EXPLICIT SMUT. please do not read if you are not comfortable, or if you are triggered. In no way is this disgusting yandere behavior meant to be romanticised. I do not condone it and it is portrayed as what it is: horrific and unacceptable. This is in no way meant to romanticise the relationship Anton and Y/n have but written specifically as sinful (it follows the stories' themes and Anton's shitty ideals) and to also show the extent of Anton's warped nature. It is marked with a '❤︎‬' when it starts and ends.

"How are you?" Anton tilted his head to the side politely, smiling down at Sara politely.

Sara stared at him like he was a monster. Like he had robbed her of something. And perhaps he had; but that was no matter, was it? To begin with, every inch—every little bit of Y/n belonged to him—there was no competition, no compromise. Y/n's innocence, Y/n's breaths, his soul...it all belonged to Anton.

"You—!" She spat out, "you're such a...you dirtied him. You tainted him."

"Hm," Anton gazed at Sara, his eyes unnerving her—"what about you? It was clear he was uncomfortable with you. That he was trying to help you," he chuckled, "it was adorable. Simply adorable. He thought that if he cast you aside, then perhaps you wouldn't die."

"What? I was trying to help him," Sara hissed, "what would you know, you creepy priest?"

"You are so foolish." Anton stared at the young girl before him. "You really thought you were helping Y/n? You really think you can understand him? You are nothing but a failed chosen one. You are nothing but a liability," He said sweetly, "you are nothing but ashes."

"People burn," Y/n warned Sara, "they die..."

Why hadn't Sara noticed the misery, the pain that Y/n had gone through? If she was already going through so much agony just from a day, then Y/n had been tortured. From when Sara witnessed that kiss, that sinful, sinful, kiss—perhaps she knew. That her brother had tried. That her brother had truly died and now he was broken. He was shattered.

And the man before him was the one who killed him, figuratively.

"You..."

"You are just like our parents!"

Oh gosh. Oh gosh, had Sara really said that to Anton? Had she? Why? Why did she do such a...the feeling of coldness, the feeling of pure heartbreak that had flitted across Y/n's face had been so brief, so human.

And Sara had missed it.

"You get it now, don't you?" Anton said calmly. Sara trembled when she saw him standing before the crackling fire, eyes so hollow, eyes so detached, like he wasn't even...like he wasn't even human. Like something had carved his humanity out of his soul and had replaced it with none other than the devil. Because what else could describe the pure evil that radiated off him?

"I...I hurt him," Sara whispered in horror. "I hurt him. I hurt him."

"You would be better off gone," Anton turned back to her fully, smiling loosely. There was something so beautiful about him. So sculpted, so unreal

"Don't you think, Ally?"

Sara felt like the words had been dug into her flesh. She felt like she had been punched in her gut.

"W-What...you..."

"Stay out of his way." Anton said, again with that charming, lilting smile of his, "the god dictates it."

The priest brushed past her.

For some reason...

Yes. Y/n needed to atone. Needed to be purified once more.

‪‪❤︎‬

Y/n knew. Y/n knew the minute he was brought to Anton's home, was washed and fed by several maids, and was brought right before the priest.

A sickening part of him knew.

He had always wondered when. When Anton's obvious desire for him would finally break, when the final straw would be until Anton would take him.

And now he stood right before him, washed—his hair still a little damp—robed, trembling.

Shit. It was about to happen. It was about to happen. It was—

Y/n didn't know what to do. He was utterly terrified, utterly helpless.

"To first cleanse your sins," Father Anton said quietly—his hands resting on Y/n's back, tracing circles, "you must purify the body." The motion was smooth, gentle, supposed to be comforting, but instead all Y/n felt was an unwanted heat traveling up his spine, and dread. Thick, sludgy dread.

This was part of the plan, Y/n thought, swallowing. This is part of my plan.

Helen had told him, had she not? That with the priest, he was looking for something else with him. Something deeper. Something akin to lust, akin to desire.

"Yes, Father Anton..." Y/n whispered. He wanted to close his eyes, but he feared the consequences that came with it. Instead, his own trembling (e/c) eyes were forced to stare at pools of liquid diamond—the color that belonged to the priest's eyes.

"You want this, don't you?" Anton purred, "you want this. You admitted it yourself. You needed purifying. And now I shall give it to you. Everything. I will purify your heart, your soul, your body..."

First, his shoulder. Y/n found his breaths shallow and quiet when Anton used one finger to slowly undo his clothes, starting from a simple slip of the shoulder, until his collar bone was exposed.

Exposed, for the priest to see.

Y/n no longer felt like it was him. His mind was growing hazy, his body was responding to Anton's touch in such a way that Y/n was horrified by it. He could feel his own arousal slowly burning his insides, and before he knew it, he was pressed down onto the cool sheets of the bed, stripped of his clothes—Adam and Eve once roamed the Garden of Eden in their naked form freely, Y/n recalled, before the serpent made them sin.

Was this what Anton meant? To return to the roots of mankind, before sin had existed?

It wasn't long before the priest started to undress himself, and Y/n nearly wanted to kill himself there and then when he saw just how—just how huge Anton was—because fuck, how the hell was Y/n supposed to fit him inside?

He watched as Anton dipped his fingers in sweetly scented oil—perhaps even the liquid from a while back, in the confessions room—and coated it liberally on his own cock. The oil was costly, but perhaps, to Anton, there was no better purpose than to anoint one of heaven's own.

Fuck, Y/n started to breathe heavily, feeling Anton's hands slowly grasping at his hips, his touch bruising, and lining his arousal up—Y/n could feel it.

Deep breaths. In and out...

"Ugh—" Y/n let out a soft sound that was quickly muffled when he pressed his face down onto the pillow, ears burning with shame.

There was no greater pain and pleasure than this.

Anton pushed forward ruthlessly into his body. Anton did not stretch him or give him advance warning. If the initial intrusion was painful, it was meant to be, as part of his penance.

"Cleansing," Anton purred, his voice sending shudders running down Y/n's spine, "punishment. This, my dear Y/n, is divine punishment."

Fuck, Y/n teared up as he gripped the sheets, yes. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps this was an atonement of his sins, his crimes towards his own humanity. Perhaps he deserved this for spitting such cruel, careless words at his sister, for showing his weaknesses so blindly to Lucas...

"Anton," Y/n gasped out,  the delicate flesh of his insides was battered and pried open by Anton's enormous girth, "I—I..."

Anton pressed into the hilt and then stopped, giving him time to adjust, and enjoying the trembling shudders of the bruised and violated muscles clenching around him.

"Give it all to me, turn everything over to the Lord and let me purge the sin from your flesh."

"Slower," Y/n begged him, tears starting to roll down his cheeks. He felt so utterly helpless—so pained, yet there was that deceitful pleasure crawling up in his insides, telling him this was what he wanted. This was what he asked for.

In a way, it was. In a viscerally twisted and distorted way...yes. He had planned this, did he not? He had orchestrated this plan, and he would fall down into the abyss with it.

There was no foreplay. Nothing. Nothing that could have told or prepared  Y/n of the pain that had shot up on his stomach—nothing that could have told Y/n that he would have been throbbing with pleasure, aching with sin. His body felt filthy instead of pure, the tears staining his face felt like they were burning. Anton kissed it all away—but that did nothing but to send feverish heat and silent hatred worming into Y/n's insides.

"Oh, Y/n," Anton cooed, his fingers trailing every inch of Y/n's skin, exploring every curve, every flat, "you were made for me. Made to be a vessel for me. You saved me, Y/n...you saved me."

Anton felt God would forgive the sin of his omission—after all, he was the closest being to godhood, and Y/n was so beautiful and precious and pure. God's creation and the wonders of nature—from his mesmerizing eyes, from how the arch of his back highlighted the delicate curve of his spine.

Y/n made a strangled sound, biting back his moan that was about to slip past his lips. The pace remained brutal; relentless, and when Y/n tried to grip on the sheets for some sort of stability to the madness, it failed.

"Confessing," Anton whispered, "is something you were never good at. But perhaps this gives you clarity. Perhaps this will help."

With suddenness, Anton stopped— instead, he pulled out, leaving Y/n's walls empty and clenching around for something. Just anything. Anton pressed one finger to the opening, almost like he was teasing him. Teasing him with inviting warmth, but not giving it to him. The priest was the one who reduced him to such a state, so how dare he? After stripping him of his innocence, claiming he would purify him...

Y/n had never hated someone so much before. He hated him.

"C-Confess?" Y/n managed to choke out, voice hoarse, "y-you want me to..."

Anton pressed the finger in deeper. More. Y/n wanted more. It was not enough.

"Confess, yes." Anton tilted his head, his other hand pressed against Y/n's shoulder, the touch firm and gentle. It was strange how he seemed to treat Y/n like he was so precious, like he was made of  glass, but then his actions would contradict and Y/n would feel the lower part of his body searing with deep, hot pain.

Blood. Y/n could feel it trickle down his leg.

Anton waited until his breathless pants slowed and then spoke, "You may begin."

Y/n's voice was thick with tears as he spoke, "Bless me father, for I have sinned."

The priest's hips began a slow and steady pace, pressing in deeply and then pulling out until the head of his cock caught on the thinly stretched rim. It kissed it slowly, slowly pushing until half way inside. Y/n let out a strangled gasp, sobbing.

"Continue."

Oh, but how? He found it hard to find words scattered here and there, when his brain was a mush and Y/n didn't even feel like he was him anymore. He wasn't him anymore—he wasn't innocent. Anton had ripped away any last remnants of sanity and purity that he had, claiming it for his own, marking him as a sinner.

Y/n...Y/n...who was he even, now? The feeling of derealization pierced his chest.

Anton's cock looked impossibly large as he pressed it against Y/n's gaping hole. It looked like it could split him open. Y/n trembled from the stretch—he wanted more, in a horrible sense, and the only way he could get that was to atone. To confess all his sins to the greatest sinner in the world.

His stunning (e/c) eyes went wet with tears, but it only made his submission sweeter and it only made the priest's cock throb harder as Y/n's body worked to accommodate him; flesh clinging and gripping deliciously as he pushed deeper with each second, but never quite hitting the end.

It was a tease, a long drawn punishment.

Anton's hot gaze dropped so he could watch Y/n's  belly bulge each time he entered him fully. The evidence of his physical penetration into him—Y/n, his innocent, innocent savior—only made the dark feelings in his stomach swirl, twist, knot.

"I'm sorry," Y/n found himself begging, "I'm sorry, Father Anton—I shouldn't have—I shouldn't have—"

I shouldn't have existed.

"I shouldn't have went outside the palace walls," Y/n sobbed, "I shouldn't have met Peter, I shouldn't have—"

"Don't even say his name." Anton's voice was serene yet so damned. "What else?"

"I shouldn't have murdered the man." Y/n babbled on like his mind was shattered; broken beyond repair.

"I shouldn't have talked to Helen—"

Y/n felt another sharp pain crawl up his spine when Anton rammed inside him. The priest's hands went to cover Y/n's mouth, stifling his moans that threatened to slip out.

"Ah, no," Anton whispered, his voice sultry and deep, "we can't have you making such noises, can we?"

"Just—just..." Y/n felt the tears roll down his cheek, felt the way his chest heaved and his hips ached; the way all this felt too much; too overstimulated.

Y/n released; arching his back and feeling his fingers grip on the sheets with reckless abandon. His thoughts were pounding in his head and so was the slow, subsiding heat: what have I done? Y/n thought with misery, with fuzziness and dazed eyes, what have I done?

Anton smiled and leaned forward.

"You have been purified."

❤︎‬