#original sinners

The priest passes by her aisle and meets her eyes for the briefest of moments. Mere seconds have passed since she first laid eyes on him yet it feels like she’s known him for an eternity. How is it possible, she wonders, to see someone for the first time yet feel like her very soul recognizes him? As if some deep, hidden part of her awakened and said, “Finally. There you are.”

Yet Sakura knows—she knows she’s never seen this man in her life. She never would’ve forgotten him if she had. 

And for that brief second that their gazes lock, she sees the same in him. Sees the slightest widening of his eyes that are the color of the darkest pits of Hell, the color of her most obscure and wildest fantasies. She sees the flash of recognition in them and she knows he feels the same. 

Her priest mounts the steps to the altar and stands before the church, breathtaking in his vestments and with the face of a god.

As if in a fever dream Sakura crosses herself when the church crosses themselves. She remains standing as they do, and when her priest says, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” she answers with the rest of the congregation, “Amen.”

His voice is rich and commanding, unlike anything she’s ever heard. It resonates to every corner of the church, and with each word he speaks she swears she hears the voices of God and Satan alike, warring with each other for dominance. It’s intoxicating, riveting.

She sits as the congregation sits. Listens to a man read from the Old Testament, a woman from the New Testament. Her priest reads from the Gospels. She kneels when the church kneels and prays when they pray. 

And when the time comes for the Eucharist, she rises on light feet and nearly floats to the altar. She sees only him, hears only the remnants of his voice, feels nothing but her heart pounding in her chest and knows nothing except for the fact that this day, this moment will change her life forever. Perhaps it already has.

Visions flash through her mind with hypnotizing speed and quality. Visions of black wings caught on fire, of an angel’s halo burning with the force of the sun. Of his mouth on her mouth, his hands gripping her hips to the point of delicious pain. A vision of his body inside her body as they make love beneath a starless sky and she swears the feel of his black hair between her fingers and the sight of him above her is a religious experience in itself. 

Sakura takes the wafer from the deacon and swallows it whole, all too eager for what comes next. 

From her priest she takes the cup of wine. 

As she raises the cup to her lips their eyes meet again. She swallows the wine and he’s looking at her like she’s the source of his greatest desires and greatest fears combined—a siren, deadly and exquisite.

In that moment Sakura feels something so utterly concrete, so full of truth it scares her: without a doubt she will do anything for this man. She feels the certainty of it in her soul. 

“The blood of Christ,” he says so softly she nearly has to lean forward to hear him.

“Amen,” she whispers.

The trip back to her seat is a blur. Each step away from him aches, and she feels tears stinging in her eyes. Joy to this extent is painful indeed and she’s nearly brought to her knees from the force of it. 

The Mass ends and all are exhorted to leave in peace. Yet Sakura feels no inkling of peace and knows she won’t until she speaks to him. She doesn’t even know his name. 

She tells her mother she’ll walk home by herself before making her way to where the congregation surrounds their new priest. He’s extremely tall, however—at least six feet—and as such she’s still able to see him. He meets her eyes over the heads of the congregation immediately, almost as if he were searching for her in the crowd. To him she mouths, “I’ll wait for you.”

She hurries through a side door and from the shadows of the church, completely hidden, watches the cars filing into the street. Her heart races and blood pounds through her veins. Soon all the cars have left and she knows it’s only the two of them here. 

“I was wondering where you went,” a smooth, steady voice says from behind her. “You said you would wait for me.”

She whirls around to face him. Gone are the vestments and in their place he wears black clerics. Her priest looks elegant beyond words, a gift from God Himself. Or perhaps from the Devil. 

“And I did, didn’t I?” Sakura’s surprised at the strength behind her words. She feels about ready to faint from the experience of meeting him alone.

He raises a brow at her defiant tone. A small smile curves his lips as he looks down at her. “Aa. That you did.”

Sakura fidgets beneath his gaze, unsure of what to say next. She figures “I love you” or “Will you marry me?” are a little too forward. 

“Tell me your name.” 

She shivers at the enticing heat his simple command stokes within her. If she didn’t think she was entirely his before, she’s certain of it now. She would do anything to obey that voice, anything to make him happy.

“Sakura. Haruno Sakura.”

He’s silent for a moment. She watches him take in the color of her hair, her eyes. She wills herself to maintain eye contact with him although it’s becoming increasingly difficult. His black eyes seem to peer into her very soul, laying her naked before him. She feels she’ll never be able to hide anything from him even if she wants to.

“Sakura.” Her name on his lips is a symphony. The way he rolls the “r” smoothly off his tongue is the most erotic thing she’s ever heard—he says her name like he’s tasting his favorite, most precious wine, like he’s drunk off of it. 

She flushes at the sound, pleased beyond words. 

“Haruno Sakura.” He reaches out and takes a lock of her hair between his fingertips, the most gentle of touches. He drops his hand all too soon. “Such a fitting name. It’s perfect for you.”

“And who the hell are you?” she questions, trying to cover up her all-too obvious delight with some bravado. 

“Try that again.” Another small, barely-there smile. “More politely, please.”

She glares up at him. 

“Well?”

“Fine. What is your name, Father?”

He looks at her. And looks and looks and looks. Almost as if he too is afraid she’ll disappear from in front of him, never to be seen again. Like he can’t get enough of her. Like she was destined by God to meet him, and he knows she knows it. 

Then her priest says, voice captivating and dangerous as sin, “You may call me Sasuke. It’s nice to finally meet you, Sakura.”

Sakura smiles. 

And she swears she hears the Devil laughing at her from the depths of Hell below. 

A/N: This little piece is heavily, heavily inspired by the "Original Sinners" series by Tiffany Reisz. I began the first book in the series this little piece is based on, The Siren, with zero expectations and here I am eight books later completely and utterly addicted and slightly terrified. If you’re willing to explore some problematic themes and very explicit sex scenes (and hear some very valid critiques of the Catholic Church), I suggest you give it a shot. It’s not for the faint-hearted, trust me. But it is one of the most captivating series I’ve ever read. 

The priest in Reisz’s series is of Danish decent. He’s blond and described as almost God-like. With Sasuke it was fun to write him as almost the opposite, falling moreso into a fallen angel’s role: with black wings instead of white. 

If you’re curious, I picture Sasuke to be around 26 years old in the fic. And just like in Reisz’s books, he would’ve waited until Sakura was 20 to sleep with her (just so you can breathe a little easier).

And thank you to @uchiharvno for giving me the idea to merge these two worlds with her fic “Angel of Small Death,” which you can read here (with a small donation to her ko-fi). <3