#miguel galindo fanfiction
[ read on AO3 ]
Pairing:Miguel x Reader/Nun (Latinx, WOC)
Word Count: 2415
Story Summary: Miguel is hiding in Mexico under an assumed name in his Aunt’s church, where he catches the eye of one of the nuns about to take her vows.
Story Warnings: Sacrilegious themes, NSFW, some praise kink, loss of virginity, explicit smut (18+)
A/N:This is written solely based on the events of episode 4x04, so my assumptions about Miguel’s story may not be accurate, and obvious spoilers for this episode. I also am not a religious person and those elements are based on surface research I did and there will be inaccuracies. But you’re probably not here to read about my thorough understanding of Catholicism, right?
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You tend to your daily chores as you watch Madre Superiora’s nephew from the window— the mop of dark curls flop over his sweaty brow, as he bends over the rusty water pump. He wipes the sweat off with the back of his hand before filling the basin with cool fresh water. Splashing his face, he lets out a satisfied sigh.
“Are you ready, Sister?” Sol Sofia asks.
You sweep the same patch of tile over and over again, and she senses your mind is elsewhere.
He catches you staring at him, his lips curling into a quiet taciturn smile. Martin pauses, and waves. This was how Madre Superiora hesitantly addressed him, almost a year ago when you found him on the doorsteps of your church, a somber and broken soul. She was as surprised as the rest of you to see him. “Mi sobrino… Martin,” she finally said, but some days you could have sworn she called him by another name. She forbade the order from speculating about her nephew and his history. He is here to give penance, and reminded the sisters that gossip is a sin of speech.
For the first few months Martin found odd jobs on the church grounds, rising at sunup to go to the quarry to collect stones for the wall in the cemetery, and working till sundown. He kept to himself and took his meals separate from the sisters. You always brought him the food, as you were burdened with the most chores as the newest of the convent. It was simple sustenance in keeping with your vow of poverty— a bit of bread, and some soup. He never spoke to the other sisters, only his Tia, but nodded in gratitude when you would hand him his tray. As the months wore on, you found yourself developing a soft spot for him. “You take on too many strays,” the other sisters joke, as you tear off heartier and heartier pieces of the daily loaf for Martin. He notices this too, and finally one day he speaks to you. “Thank you, Sister.” His voice was deep and velvety and did not match the gruff and rugged exterior. For the first time in your brief life, you felt like you were hearing the voice of God.
“Ready?” You repeat, distracted. Your throat is parched, and your response is clipped. It must be the summer heat.
“Yes. To answer the call?” Sol Sofia says. Ah, yes… You will take your vows, and devote your life to Him, to God tomorrow.
The two vows of Poverty, and Obedience you understand — to live a quiet life in complete love and service, and to want for nothing before the eyes of our Lord. This is something you know well since you entered the church as a novitiate. But since the arrival of Martin, it is the third vow of Chastity with which you struggle. You have prayed for God to grant you the wisdom to take on this sacred promise. You read about such sinful desires in the Holy Book and wonder if the Lord is testing you, by burdening you with such unbridled lust for this stranger. It is wrong! It is sinful to think about pleasures of the flesh! You prayed nightly for a resolution to no avail, waking up with your heart racing and an unfamiliar wetness between your legs from dreams unfit for repetition.
Martin returns to his work and you continue with your chores. You white knuckle the handle of your broom, as a heat creeps up the neck of your habit. You tug on the collar, needing to catch your breath.
“Yes, Sister,” you finally answer. “I wish only to live to serve Him.”
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In the evening you return to the chapel after the other sisters have retired for the night for one final opportunity to ask God for counsel.
Sitting in the first pew, you take in the quiet and the beauty of this sanctified space illuminated by candlelight. “Father in heaven,” you pray, folding your hands and closing your eyes. “I open my heart and my mind to you. I pray for your forgiveness and ask you for guidance.”
“I believe in your grace with all my heart, but I know you hear my thoughts and know they are impure. I want to be good; I want to be clean, but I am struggling with my faith and my vow of chastity. Before I am yours forever, I want to know if I could belong to another… if only for a night.”
The large wooden door to the chapel creaks and startles you.
You let out an audible gasp, head spinning to see the interloper. Martin! Did he hear you? You wonder.
“Hmm, my tia keeps pestering me to have a conversation with God, but I see you’re already here bending his ear,” he says, walking down the aisle. Before you can object, he takes a seat next to you in the pew.
“It’s late. I’m just about to turn in for the night,” you stumble over your words. “I will take… I will take my vows tomorrow, and need to pray on it one last time.”
“Did your conversation with God clarify things for you?” He asks with genuine interest.
You gulp, lips trembling. “Not one bit.”
“I’m sure whatever problem vexes you can resolve itself tonight,” He gently unfolds your hands and when you do not retreat, he strokes your knuckles. “May I? I never properly thanked you for your kindness, Sister. I imagine it can’t have been easy to have me here, an extra mouth to feed, a stranger seeking sanctuary.”
This is your calling. You chuckle nervously and cite the life’s purpose you believe you hold so dearly.
“I live to serve our Lord. My body is a vessel for his goodwill,” you say, as your cheeks burn, and you avert your eyes from his gaze.
“Sister, do you believe your body could be a vessel for anything else?” His voice is silky, and his words slither inside you.
You are a novice in many ways, and yet you understand his meaning. Beneath the long white robes of your habit you squeeze your thighs, unsure if you wish this throbbing sensation to subside. His forwardness both surprises and excites you.
“I have prayed—” you say quietly, uncertain of how to respond. You have dreamed and fantasized about this moment. “—I have prayed for an answer. Lust is a sin, but I worry my faith is wavering.”
His laugh is hearty. “Desire, it is a natural sentiment. I do not think our good Lord would want you to deny this feeling.” He dips his head seeking affirmation. “Do you desire me, Sister?”
You finally work up the courage to face him. He is still holding your hand. Martin’s curls are slicked back, fresh from the bath. His lips are wet and his eyes sparkle as he takes you in.
He is so beautiful, like some sort of Messiah. But you still dance around the question. You are afraid of giving power to your words.
“I heard you ask God if you could belong to another for tonight, but tonight you belong to no one,” he says simply.
He is giving you a choice, and so you choose honesty.
“I don’t want to wonder about what I’ll be missing before I give myself to God,” you say, reaching for your rosary. You rub it in your hands hoping it will give you the answer you seek.
He approaches as if you are a frightened, skittish deer. “I can show you.”
He bows his head for a kiss, his beard tickling your skin. The sensation of his warm lips on yours spreads through your body and you push into his touch. He lets go of your hand and snakes it around your waist. His nimble fingers undo your tunic, and you let it fall to the floor.
You pray God will forgive you this one indiscretion.
Martin’s hands are skillful, grabbing and squeezing your tits, and caressing your neck as his tongue dances across your lips. His eyes are hungry, fixed on your chest, and the curves of your exposed flesh.
It is new, but you like this— this feeling of being devoured.
He stands up and drags you to your knees, unbuckling his belt and pushing his trousers down. You have never seen a cock before and your eyes grow big as he presses it against your face.
“Can this pretty mouth be a vessel for me?” He whispers.
You give him a hesitant lick and he sees how far he can push your lips apart before it is too much for your throat and your conscience. Shh shh, he says. He doesn’t force it, and your shallow, innocent sucking is enough. Martin’s breathing is restrained. You can feel him get harder and harder in your mouth.
“Do you touch yourself, Sister? Do you know how to?” He asks again, voice husky with want.
Mouth full of cock, you shake your head shyly. He brushes your cheek with affection and removes himself.
He sits you down on his lap, one arm tight around your waist and your bare bottom rubbing against his erection. “Like this, Sister,” he says, guiding a trembling hand between your legs.
With his guidance, he works your fingers over your wet pussy, letting you set the pace and explore your body. It’s all so new and the sensations are so overwhelming, like a sin waiting to be absolved.
“It feels wrong, but in a good way,” you breathily admit. “I don’t know if this is how—”
He cuts you off. “You’re doing so well.” He kisses your shoulder and pushes your hand aside gently. “Let me help you.” His firm fingers rub your swollen clit and you feel yourself losing your mind. He teases your folds and slides two digits in, checking your reaction to this intrusion.
“Yes… oh my,” You sigh.
He mutters a word you dare not repeat as your tight pussy grips him. He slides in and out of you at a punishing pace. Your eyes roll back when his thumb circles your little nub and you choke back tears, thighs shaking.
“You just came, mi amor,” he says, proud as can be. He holds up his hand to show you how you’re dripping with sweet honey. You collapse against his chest as he licks you clean.
The strange feeling between your legs went away for a brief moment, but at the sight of him sucking those long digits clean of you, it returned immediately. You turn to kiss him, threading your fingers through his dark hair, hips rocking against his throbbing cock.
“I want more, please.” You do not recognize the voice of this woman. Martin only grins at the little monster he has created.
“Isn’t greed a sin?” He teases.
He sees your lip quivering and catches it between his teeth. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” His kisses are wetter, harder, but he is as good as his word. Every part of your body that he touches comes alive.
The pew is small but you make do. He sheds the last layers of his clothing, lays you out beneath him, and pulls your leg over his shoulder. In the flickering candlelight his big brown eyes look even more ravenous, his sweaty muscles glimmering. He grins and lays a playful kiss on the inside of your knee, never breaking eye contact.
He collects the wetness from between your legs and uses it to stroke himself before carefully pushing himself inside slowly and firmly. If you have to spend a lifetime atoning for this moment, you know it will be worth it.
You gasp. This is different and hurts more than his fingers. As he makes his way deeper and you feel yourself stretch, you start to ache but can’t help but want more.
“Shhh, I know… I know…” He soothes, and the pain slowly dissipates. You learn to grind back against him, bodies moving in unison. Your fingers crawl down your belly to touch yourself just the way he showed you.
You cry out his name, and his hips stutter. He shakes his head no. “Shh.. shh…,” he hushes, as a big hand comes down to cover your mouth, before finding respite at your throat. He is of two minds, squeezing only hard enough to silence your words.
His hips buck desperately, fingers pressing into your flesh, fucking you hard. He feels you coming and unclenches the grip around your neck. Your body is exploding into a million pieces and becoming whole in the blink of an eye. The sensation is too much to bear. Your veil is loosening and falls to the floor.
“I don’t only want to be a vessel for God, I need to be filled as a woman,” you beg, tears rolling down your face.
Your body is shuddering as he slowly pulls out. “Come here,” he orders, pulling you up and shoving your head into his lap. You know what to do, as your mouth closes over his cock. You can taste him, you can taste you, and what you made together. His creamy hot seed flows down your throat, consecrating your body in the empty chamber of this chapel.
The candles have burned down to the last of their wicks, and you and Martin will soon be enveloped in darkness.
He pulls you to curl up on his lap, and you hear his heartbeat slow. You press tiny kisses to his sweaty neck, breathing him in.
“Can we stay like this a little longer?” You ask, and he nods. He doesn’t want to let you go either.
You trace the ring dangling from a gold chain around his neck, and he reaches to clutch it protectively. “It belonged to my mother,” he finally says.
“And this one?” You take his left hand in yours, playing with his fingers.
He stares at the gold band and twists it. “I broke a promise to a wife I had in another life,” he says simply. There is hurt in his voice and you do not press further. He fingers the silver cross nestled in your bosom. “And you? Has the Lord answered your prayers?”
“Tomorrow, I will be married to God, Martin.” You know you can never take back tonight.
“It’s Miguel,” he says, the last flames extinguished. “My name is Miguel.”
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Epilogue:
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Thoughts? Comments? Thank you for reading!
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