#church kneeler

[museumsandfolk]

Flag lamb

[ivy-saurs]

phoenix wright fainted in the middle of a prayer in spirit of justice? he’s just like me fr

[glitterslag]

recent wanderings :)

[monicaalexandraaa]

OH YES YES YES !!!!!!! I just knewwww this was gonna be amazinggggg and it is🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️The priest and his nunnnnnn😍She knows exactly what to do to have some fun with him. Even with a “punishment” he loved it and she knew it too😏love love loveeeeee them !!!!

The Habit | priestrry blurb

Summary: The priest returns home from mass to find his pet dressed in a sacrilegious nun costume and he knows just what she's doing.

A/N: Based on this request! Thanks for the idea, Maggie!

Word Count: 2,857

Warning: smut, spankings with a paddle, mentions of church, penance, and prayer, dom/sub dynamics, blasphemy

Forgive Me, Father Masterlist

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

She couldn't believe it when she spotted the nun's habit at the second-hand boutique. Well, it wasn't a traditional habit. It was sacrilegious. For one, the tunic was far too short. The scapular was cheaply made and the cincture was faux leather with a gaudy buckle at the front. There was no coif and the veil was sheer.

Biting her lip she lifted the hanger and held the costume up to the light. She hadn't really been looking for a costume but the small section at the front with the display sign that read Second-hand Halloween!! was calling to her. And she imagined wearing her sheer white thigh-high stockings and high heels with it, waiting for Harry to come back home after Halloween mass, kneeling and "praying".

Halloween mass wasn't something their old church did. But this one had a lot of young families with small children and so this was the church's way of keeping the day holy. Instead of dressing up like little evil gremlins and going house-to-house to hoard tooth-rotting candy, they'd get together at church.

Poor kids. Y/n always hated that part of her childhood was lost due to the dread of what would happen to her soul if she were to partake in worldly, heathen Halloween traditions. But Jesus, it was just candy and costumes and carved pumpkins. The older she got the more she resented the church's fear-mongering. No one would understand it except Harry.

So, she decided to purchase the habit. Play a little game with her priest and find out what he'd do. He'd punish her for it, certainly. For the sinful affront to the church. But she knew he'd love it. It could be their own little Halloween party. The priest and his nun…

When she got home she showered, making sure to get every spot clean and plucked smooth just for him. Just how he liked it. She put the costume on and tucked her hair under the veil. Looking at herself in the mirror she grinned to herself –Father is going to lose his mind.

Her heart was pounding in anticipation before he even pulled into the driveway. The sun had already gone down and she watched from their front window when he stepped out of his car. He was wearing his vestiment. She loved it when he kept it on. Normally he'd take it off before going outside but perhaps he'd been in a hurry that night.

Y/n knelt down at their coffee table and pressed her palms together, bowing her head in mock prayer. She bit her lip to tamp the smile as she knew that the moment he stepped in he'd see her bare thigh and then the sheer white stockings as well as the scant hem length of the tunic.

She heard the door open and then close, the deadbolt click into place, and then the floorboards creak before it was silent. She squeezed her eyes closed and the only sound she could hear was her heart ravaging behind her ribcage. She knew he'd seen her and he was assessing. Deciding what he should do to her.

The sound of his shoes hitting the wooden floor as he stepped in closer behind her triggered an icy, fast-moving river to coast down her spine. His presence loomed as he stood directly behind her. She couldn't see him but she could feel him.

Shifting her knees below her she pressed her thighs together and felt the chilled thrill of anticipation spread over her entire back and prick at her shoulders.

Harry placed his hands on the table on either side of her, caging her in and she felt his robe drape over the back of her shins, "What is this?"

Swallowing thickly she turned to look at him, his face so near she could feel his heat, and keeping a straight face (that she knew would just get her into even more trouble) she said, "I'm praying, Father. What does it look like I'm doing?"

She watched his eyes travel down her outfit and then back up to her face, "It looks like you're asking to be spanked right now. Where did you get this?" He tugged at her tunic.

"I bought it with my own money. Why? Do you like it?"

"Not what I asked," something dark flashed behind his eyes and Y/n knew she was in for it.

Y/n feigned confidence, blinking at him with a soft smile, "But do you like it?"

The priest's jaw ticked as he narrowed his eyes, "Back in position, pet. Continue praying."

She turned back toward the table and closed her eyes when she felt Harry's hands ghost up her bare thighs and then lift the fabric of her tunic up and over her ass. His hands were warm on her bum, large palms smoothing over her skin as she felt her body tremble.

"Keep praying to God. I'll be back to penance you."

All those yummy electrifying, spine-tingling zaps Y/n loved so much were firing off all over her body. Every bit of her skin was sizzling in expectation. She knew he'd spank her by the way he'd pulled her tunic up over her ass. The humiliating position would have anyone faltering, but Y/n fed on it. Needed it.

She recited her prayer of contrition, the simplest of prayers, "Lord Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Lord Jesus, Son of God…" And as she was mindlessly mumbling the words, not taking them to heart (because she was a sinner after all), she peeked toward the hallway with one eye and saw Harry step into the living room holding her special leather-bound paddle. It was her Goldilocks paddle. The one that was just right. It wasn't the least painful of the collection but it also wasn't the most painful either. And Harry had brought it out knowing this. Knowing it was her favorite.

Her heart tugged in her chest the closer he got and then he was stood over her frame, still in his vestments. The soft breeze of his movement against her bare bottom filled her veins with chilled water that cracked into ice when he dropped to his knees behind her.

A feather-light hand skimmed the back of her thighs as he pressed his other hand between her shoulder blades to push her down against the wood of the table, her bare breasts under her tunic tightened at the pressure of being face down.

"Keep praying out loud as I absolve you with this paddle."

Her cheek was smushed into the wood as she clumsily spoke the prayer of contrition when he struck her with the first blow of the leather against the soft skin of her bum.

She gasped as her pulse sparked, "… have mercy on m –me… a sinner…"

The second stinging smack against her skin was better than the first. She could feel his hand press into her low back to keep her steady, her tunic pushed up to her mid-torso. The fiery heat of his palm on her skin lit up her insides when he issued a third and then a fourth.

She hiccuped her words between panted breaths and burning skin, "Lord…" a sharp inhale pulled in through her teeth, "… Jesus, S –Son of God…"

Y/n loved getting spanked. It was her favorite, punishment or not. And the priest knew it too. Which told her she wasn't in all that much trouble. He was putting on a show, just like she was. Paddling her pretty bare ass was his pleasure just as much as it was hers. Every biting swat sent a thrum between her legs that settled into an empty ache.

Even for Harry, as he swatted his pet with her favorite paddle he had to concentrate so that he didn't just give in to his lust. She looked… naughty. Beautiful. He didn't know how she always took his breath away but she did. She was his most coveted, most treasured thing. While the men in his church would go to him for confession and talk about losing interest in their wives (even newly married men in their 20s) or having seen a pretty new thing and wanting to trade the old for the new… the priest couldn't wrap his mind around ever looking at Y/n like she could be traded in. His obsession with her hummed in his body constantly. She was his everything. His perfect match. His soulmate.

The haze in the room grew thick between them as Harry dropped the paddle. He was overwhelmed already. When he had first arrived home he wanted to just hold her and lie with her and talk about his day but she was offering something a little more therapeutic with her sexy nun costume. She always seemed to just know what he needed, even more than he did.

The priest slid his palms up her thighs and teased at the curve of her ass, making her stomach tighten as she was now speaking in breaths barely above a whisper, too loud and the moment would fizzle she feared, "Lord Jesus, Son of God…"

She puffed out a shaky breath as his fingers slid up toward where she was already wet for him. Vibrating, aching, empty…

The brush of his fingers over her entrance should have been the warning she needed that he was going to push one inside of her, but she still gasped in surprise when he did. Harry's deep groan reverberated down her spine as he fucked her slowly with his finger and pressure built in her guts as she kept herself still, lying over the table in compliance for him.

In and out, he fucked into her with his thick digit and then a swat to her bottom with his big palm sent a toe-curling rattle through her nervous system. That was her favorite method of being spanked. With his bare hand. She loved the leather paddle but nothing was better than having her Father's hands on her skin. Nothing.

When he pulled his finger out and grasped the back of her neck, he turned her to face him, rising to his feet as she stayed kneeling before him. The corners of her vision were blurred with hazy lust as she looked into his eyes, the green of his irises all but melted away into the darkness of his pupils. Liquid lead, darker than shadow. It was that possessive gaze that told her she was his and his alone. Not even God could have her.

"It's in our nature to be sinful. Even for me, you are a temptation I cannot resist. My forbidden fruit, so ripe and sweet just for me."

"Just for you, Father."

His fingers wrapped around the front of her neck as he pulled her up to stand in front of him, his tight grip pinching into the sides of her throat, "Just for me."

He pulled her against his chest and softly grazed his teeth over her neck, drawing warmth upward to her jaw as he sponged his lips toward her mouth. And when he moaned at the contact she melted into him as one of his arms wrapped tight around her low back. Her tunic was still folded above her ass and she felt his other hand grope at her cheek.

Soft and damp kisses with the tip of his tongue made her dizzy in his arms until he parted from the kiss with a gasp, "In the room now. Get on the bed."

Y/n felt like she was floating as she moved one foot in front of the other toward their room, heels clacking against the wooden floor until she stepped over the wool rug underneath the bed.

She climbed up and sat to her bottom as the priest followed close behind and lifted her legs one by one, pulling her heels off for her.

Y/n knew what she was doing when she skipped her panties and now her reward was his graveled sigh as he spread her legs apart and pinched at her thighs. He swiftly pulled his pants down and moved his robe to the side, eyes burning down at her, "Pretty little nun forgot her undergarments, didn't she?"

Nodding softly, she bit her lip as she let her eyes coast down to where he was gripping his thick length and aiming it at her cunt, the warm tip dragging through her wet crease.

"Forgive me, Father. I forgot."

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, the smallest expression of humor on his face, "You want my forgiveness and then follow up with a lie? Now we both know you didn't forget. My pet did this on purpose."

A throaty moan was forced from her chest when he buried himself in. He pulled at her thighs to drag her ass closer to the edge of the bed as he lifted her hips slightly upward for easier access.

And that's why she had done it all. For that exact thing. So he'd lose his mind and fuck her to within an inch of her life. So he'd spank her and place his hands on her, give her all his attention, and quell the empty ache.

He let out a ragged moan as he admired how his cock disappeared into her pussy. It'd always be one of his favorite views. With her thighs locked around his waist he rocked into her with heavy thuds, bottoming out and watching as her face scrunched and she hissed. The bite of pain from having her guts punched so deep was just another issuance of her penance.

But the pain of it, the way he stretched her out on his big cock, forced himself into her tummy… it unraveled all the tense stress of the day in an instant and soon her body was pliable and molding. Every thrust sparked a need for more, more, more… and her need for more was only sated by his next plunge through her gushy walls. It needed to feel that way. To ache and burn and pinch.

Y/n reached to place her hand over the top of his where he held her thigh, "Oh ffff… god!"

"So dirty and needy…" he panted. "My poor pet. Nothing to do but make sure she's satisfied, yeah?"

"Mmm…" her moan was punched out of her body as Harry thrust in sharply.

Molten heat spread through her muscles, starting with where he was plowing into her with his big cock and traveling up her naval to her chest.

"Rub your pretty pussy for me. Show me how good you do it," Harry's words were slurred as he slid his eyes down to her neglected, throbbing clit. She needed just a little more and he loved watching her do it.

Her choked groan filled the room as he slid in and out of her pussy in long, heavy strokes, wet and slushy. His swollen ridges fit into her grooves as his tip dragged through the spongy spot at her front wall until she tipped and singed and cried out.

A succession of puffed breaths left his mouth as he felt her spasm around his slick length and her legs vibrated, back arching sharply as she released around him. Milking, suctioning…

He gritted his teeth and watched his pretty pet in her orgasm. Like an angel, warm, glowing, exalting the most high.

Dropping her legs he climbed over her body, cock tucked inside of her to the hilt as he pushed a hand behind her head and under the sheer veil on her head as he pumped his come into her pulsing walls, coating her cervix with his warm spend.

She felt his lips capture hers as he groaned into her mouth, his cock twitching and throbbing his release into her guts.

The squeaky springs under her back slowed as he caught his breath and softly smeared his mouth over hers as she sighed in relief.

Her heart still smoldered for him. The pang of her despair was softened with him lying heavy over her body post-orgasm but she would never not ache for him. Running her hand up and down his sides over the smooth material she kissed him back and smiled when she felt his lips quirk upward in a grin.

"You always know how to get me going, naughty thing," he'd pulled away and moved his thumb along her temple.

"I know you better than anyone, Father."

His searing gaze was soulful and deep, full of love and adoration for his pet, "Never thought I'd want to fuck a nun before."

A sputtered laugh poured from her mouth, "So you did like the costume. Knew you would."

"Think it's less about the costume and more about who's wearing it, pet. But I do like it. Yes."

They fell into silence as the priest ran his nose against Y/n's before he pushed himself up and brought her with him, "Now go take off this blasphemous outfit and put your collar back on."

Feedback/Thoughts | Ko-fi | Main Masterlist | Patreon

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

Tags: @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran   @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince

@closureesny @angelbabyyy99 @damnasstyles @malwtilda @love-letters-to-uranus

@itjustkindahappenedreally @ssaama @onlyangellucifer @harryistheonlyoneforme @butdaddyilovehim-hs

@lc-fics @mema10 @hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads @harrrrystylesslut

@elidoho @gotdrxnkonu @cathy-1997 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @tiredinwinter

@princessaxoxo @angeldavis777 @lillefroe @monicaalexandraaa @hsonlyangelxo

@brittanyzelazno @lemoncrushh @golfrry @caynonmoondreams @danaehldy

@mellamolayla @ladscarlett @heartateasee @littlenatilda @virgopr1ncess

@finelinepie @michellekstyles @harrysredroom @harrydeary @mrs-anna-styles211994

@devilsqueen722 @bananabk9756 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @idkkkkkkk123lgb @freedomfireflies

@fruity-harry @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[time-was-over]

i think i’m losing it (vent in the tags el oh el)

[hoffmansgirl]

MILLION DOLLAR MAN. ━ father charlie mayhew ⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 ✿ ⋆˚⊹

∙ a/n. took ages but it's based on this thought of mine & a lana del rey song (loosely) ♡ this shit is really kinky & not for everyone, PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! i'm sorry...

∙ warnings. PURE FILTH. i mean it. corpses, death, all that grotesquerie stuff... slight masochism!? charlie and reader are equally mentally ill... really. blood kink, blasphemy, charlie refers to himself as "god", praise, oral (f&m receiving), multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, knife play, whipping, crying, blood once again. ∙ wc. 3534

❝ 𝕿hat's... beautiful", you smiled, staring at Charlie's work; twelve corpses ━ homeless people, to be exact ━ positioned to resemble The Last Supper.

You couldn't help but smirk at the sight; the man Charlie put in the middle was positioned in a way that represented Jesus. You knew him; he had asked you for money many times, claiming he was hungry ━ you had suspected he spent every penny on meth, though.

You believed Charlie wholeheartedly when he claimed that all he did was for greater good. You weren't scared nor worried ━ if anything, you admired him and his dedication to everything he believed in. You watched him stand in the middle of the abandoned Church, admiring his own work; the image making your heart beat faster. He was covered in blood of his victims, and you should feel ashamed for the heat pooling low in your stomach ━ but you didn't.

Your careful steps echoed in the air as you walked over to Charlie, and he was quick to wrap his arms around you, his chest pressing against your back, covering your little dress with blood in the process.

A rush of adrenaline filled your chest as you hummed, Charlie's touch gentle and soft ━ as you looked at the blasphemous image in front of you, you wondered how'd he get that way. He never talked about his past; saying that all he needed was now, in front of him, clear as day.

"Look at our masterpiece, Angel", his low voice cut through the air like a knife ━ and in the moment you realised that maybe he was worth cutting yourself for.

"Our? I barely did anything", you chuckled, his presence behind you comforting; he was so big, muscular, making you feel safe; how ironic, you thought, looking at the image in front of you.

Charlie's crimson hand lingered on your neck, before he grabbed your chin, making you turn your head towards him.

"You're here, with me", he whispered, his words meaningful, familiar spark in his eyes; the very one that made you fall in love with him. Charlie's thumb rubbed against your lower lip, smearing the blood all over it, adoration overcoming his features as he looked at you. "And it's enough".

You turned to face him fully, taking his thumb into your mouth slowly; Charlie's eyes darkened and he swallowed hard, pressing it down on your tongue. You swirled your tongue around his digit, lapping at the blood, the taste making your head spin. You held onto his forearm, and he pulled you closer, grabbing a fistful of your hair, his sick need matching your own.

Before you knew it, you were pressed flush against the wall with Charlie's lips on yours ━ tongues meeting in a chaotic dance, rolling over each other messily.

"I'd follow you anywhere", you breathed out when he moved down to nib at your neck. He let out a low groan, the sound vibrating against your throat in the most delicious way. "Anywhere".

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?", you chanted, your knees cushioned by the padded kneeler. Charlie hummed softly; your words filled the air like the most beautiful song.

A mix of incense and Charlie's strong cologne reached your nostrils, somewhat comforting and calming as you felt his presence behind you.

"Beautiful", he muttered, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Your heart fluttered at the praise as you shifted, the sheer dress you wore rising up your thighs with the movement. "Go on".

"The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?", your eyes opened, lashes fluttering at the sight of Charlie; he towered over your kneeling form, looking down at you with a hint of awe and adoration in his features. You eyed his chest, covered only by a see-through, white gown ━ he looked like an angel, which, in your eyes, he was.

"And who is your Lord?", Charlie's hand was now in your hair, forcing you to meet his hard, demanding gaze. You meant it when you answered: "You. It's you, Charlie. You're the only God I want to worship".

He expected these words to leave your mouth, but he could never tire of hearing them. You spoke with such confidence, not a trace of regret or fear in your voice, and his his cock twitched at the sight; you were so obedient, so good to him.

Charlie offered you a hand, which you gladly accepted, getting up from the kneeler. Your legs shook slightly as he pulled you close, one of his hands on your face, the other grabbing your hip. His thumb brushed against your cheek, the gesture gentle and loving, his eyes scanning over your face.

"You've been so good for me", he whispered, and you leaned into his touch, pressing your body even closer to his; it simply was never enough. "I love you".

His lips pressed against yours, deliberately and slowly, as if you had all the time in the world. His smell lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Charlie bit your bottom lip, drawing blood in process, lapping at the crimson liquid greedily, careful not to miss a drop. You whined, and Charlie was quick to lift you up in his arms, walking over to the altar.

You tried to deepen the kiss, but Charlie had other plans, dropping you on a wooden chair; the very one he sat in during masses and preaches.

"Greed is a sin", he whispered in a serious tone, brushing his lips against yours for the last time, before he fell to his knees before you. "Patience, my Angel".

You watched with wide eyes and heaving chest as Charlie spread your legs as wide as he could, lifting your dress ━ he gazed up at you, caressing the soft skin of your thighs with his big hands. You shivered when he tugged at the waistband of your lacy thong, and your hips rose up immediately, allowing him to pull it down your legs.

The cold air hitting your ━ now exposed ━ pussy made you gasp, as you clutched the edges of the chair tightly. Charlie chuckled darkly, watching the way your little hole clenched in anticipation.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, pressing soft kisses around your pussy, giving you a sneak peek of what was about to come.

"You're mine to worship", he bit back a moan at the taste of your soft skin, and he didn't even get to the best part yet. "Mine to love", he met your gaze, and you nodded mindlessly, getting lost in his dark irises. "Mine to fuck".

As soon as the words left his mouth, he licked a deliberate stripe from your opening to your clit. Your head fell back, the rush of sitting on the specific chair while having his mouth on you made you feel so powerful. Charlie's tongue moved with purpose, circling around your clit slowly, before sucking it into his mouth. Your breaths came out in shallow gasps, the occasional groans leaving his mouth vibrating against your core, causing you to shake in his grasp.

"Charlie, fuck", you moaned, tugging at his hair, knowing how much he liked it. His eyes fluttered shut as he teased your entrance with the very tip of his tongue, lapping at the arousal that continued to drip out of you. "God, I'm━ I'm sorry, I'm gonna cum", you cried out; the endless flicks of his tongue, the groans leaving his mouth, the sight of his beautiful face between your legs ━ it became too much, fire pooled in your lower abdomen, ready to explode any second now.

Your loud cry echoed across the empty church as you came, and Charlie's eyes snapped open to watch as your face twisted in pleasure, a mixture of curses and shallow gasps leaving your mouth, and he swore he could cum from the sight alone.

He lapped at your pussy, eager to taste every single drop you had to offer. You twitched in overstimulation, slowly coming down from your high, sighing in relief when Charlie moved to kiss your inner thighs lovingly.

Not even five minutes later, you were already in Charlie's room, bloody clothes laying all over the floor; the memory of your latest crime, how you stood by his side the whole time ━ it made Charlie even needier.

You run your hands over his biceps at which desperate groan left his mouth ━ then he was quick to take the butt-less leather chaps and gown off his body before pushing you onto the bed.

Sick smile appeared on Charlie's mouth as he grabbed the metal-covered whip, along with a knife from his drawer; a rush of adrenaline run down your spine at the sight.

You took a second to admire his well-trained body as his back faced you, his muscles clenching as he moved around the room to get everything he needed. You were already breathless, and when he started moving towards you, his gaze predatory and dangerous, you were shaking. Not an ounce of fear in your body as he placed the items on the bedside table, his cock bobbing in the air as he walked; your mouth watered at the sight and his size that never failed to amaze you.

"Get on the floor". The harshness of his voice was enough for you to obey, sinking down on your knees right in front of him. "Worship your man. Let's see if you can handle me", he teased, knowing that in fact, you could, even if you struggled and choked. He challenged you, but you just smiled, knowing that the tables would turn soon enough.

"You know I can, Father", his cock twitched at the nickname ━ before he could respond, you were already grabbing his thighs, face to face with his giant cock, pressing a soft kiss on the tip. He hummed, satisfied, running a hand through your hair, tugging at it, forcing you to open your mouth a little wider. You smirked up at him before obeying, taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue and pressing it against the underside. You hollowed your cheeks, beginning to bob your head, taking more and more of him in the process, getting used to his size slowly but surely.

"Fuck, you have the dirtiest little mouth", Charlie groaned, watching you, beginning to thrust into your mouth as he grew needier. You struggled as he hit the back of your throat, your eyes falling open to look at him. His head fell back, chest heaving with uneven breaths, and you pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you to him, still. You quickly replaced your mouth with your hands, wrapping them around his shaft, jerking him off. Your tongue darted out to lap at his balls, massive and full of cum, and a satisfied moan left your mouth; you loved pleasuring him almost as much as he loved seeing you on your knees for him.

Shameless groan left Charlie's mouth, your small hands around him and your mouth on his balls driving him crazy. "I need to feel you. Now".

Your eyes fell open and you moved to take him in your mouth again, causing Charlie to hiss, taking a mental note to punish you for disobeying him later. Yet he couldn't pull away, not now ━ not when your mouth felt so good, so warm and welcoming. He thrusted his hips lazily, and you stopped your movements, letting him take the lead.

"You fucking love it, don't you? You love choking on my dick. You love letting me use your mouth however I please", he panted, feeling himself getting close, the obscene sounds leaving your mouth only spurring him on further. You tried to nod, which was nearly impossible with the speed in which he was fucking your throat.

"I'm gonna cum. Fuck, swallow it, swallow it all", he hissed, head falling back; your nails digged into his thighs, soft moan leaving your occupied mouth, and that seemed to be his last straw.

His cock twitched, and spurts of his hot cum finally painted your tongue and the back of your throat.

He pulled off your mouth with a swift movement, and you swallowed every single drop, the taste making you whimper, as you tried to catch your breath.

"Good fucking girl. Show me", he grabbed your chin, pressing his thumb against your lower lip; you obeyed, chest heaving with uneven breaths and throat sore, as you sticked your tongue out. His eyes darkened, a satisfied hum leaving his mouth, before he forced you to stand up, only to practically throw you on the bed like a doll.

Charlie grabbed the knife from a nightstand; your eyes widened and your legs closed, a spark of excitement running down your spine.

Charlie spread your legs, kneeling in between them; knife forgotten for just a second as he tugged at your dress, determined to get it off your body. It was thrown on the floor in an instant, and he was already lining himself up with your entrance.

You moaned in unison when his tip stretched you out ━ smug smile adorning his face at the visible impatience building within you.

"You're so tight", he rasped, pressing your thigh against the mattress. You cried out when he buried himself inside of you fully in one, swift movement. Your walls struggled to adjust to his size, and you tried to catch your breath. "So warm. My God. You really are an Angel, aren't you?", Charlie muttered, grabbing the knife while beginning to thrust into you ━ and your pussy clenched at the sight.

Then he pressed the flat side of the knife against your skin; the coldness on your burning skin made you gasp. The feeling of Charlie's thick cock fucking into you over and over again, combined with the thrill of being completely at his mercy making you gush.

"You have no idea how badly I want to cut my name into your skin", he groaned, pressing the blade into your skin lightly. You gripped at the sheets and your head fell back. The sound of your skin slamming together filled the room, along with your cries, and Charlie's loud breathing.

"Do it", you begged, and Charlie's hand wrapped around your throat, cutting your airflow in an instant.

You should be scared; he was the one having all the control, and, most importantly, he held the knife against your skin. Yet, in your sick mind, there was no room for fear ━ not when he slammed into you as if his life depended on it, mumbling incoherent praises right above you.

The truth was, you had all the power over him; he sacrificed everything for you, only for you.

So when the blade pressed into the skin on your chest, cutting through it, some blood flowing out of the wound ━ all you did was moan, feeling your orgasm taking over you slowly ━ and Charlie's hand left your throat, letting you take a deep breath.

"I'm going to cum", you cried out, the sharp sting of where he cut a big C into your skin leaving you whimpering.

Your blood covered his chest and stomach as he leaned down to press his forehead against yours, running the flat side of his knife over your cheek. The pain combined with pleasure of his restless thrusts sent you spiralling, and your back arched into the air as you soaked his cock.

"Good fucking girl. Come on, give me everything you got", he talked you through the waves of pleasure, sick smile on his face as he watched you cry from overstimulation. You took a second to calm down, enjoying the way he was balls deep inside you, pressing wet kisses down your neck. His hips grinded against yours involuntarily when he reached the bloody C carved out on your chest; he greedily licked at the wound, groaning at the taste.

You whimpered, letting him clean you of your own blood, before you gained enough strength to push him back against the bed, sinking down on his cock.

Charlie's eyes widened ━ he was partially surprised at your sudden dominance; he wouldn't let you do it often; but this time, it just felt right.

You lifted yourself enough to reach the whip from the nightstand. Charlie understood; he understood immediately, sitting up, as you sink down on his thick cock yet again. Some more blood flowed down your body, and he was unable to look away, his eyes almost pleading.

"How many?", you asked casually, although your voice was strangled, your cunt spasming around him in anticipation.

But there was no answer from him. So, smiling wildly, you swinged and whipped his back; the metal cutting through his skin.

Charlie cried out, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips. The pain left him trembling, and you were quick to press a soft kiss against his lips. Charlie responded immediately, whimpering into your mouth, his hips snapping upward to meet yours.

"I asked you a question", you whispered, tugging on his hair.

"I... Five. Angel━ J-Just move", he pleaded, and you smiled sweetly; the contrast between the delicious roll of your hips and the whip cutting through his skin yet again made him lightheaded, and he only imagined how much blood flowed from the wounds.

"You're doing so good for me", you praised, beginning to ride him in an inhuman speed, switching between grinding your hips down and bouncing on his big cock. The stretch made you moan, and Charlie was unable to speak, feeling as if he could cum any second now.

Third whip and he was begging you to stop, yet you knew that's not what he wanted. His eyes pleading and wide, and before he knew it, he was cumming inside of you, biting on your shoulder, a desperate cry leaving his mouth.

"Good boy", and you bounced faster, trying to distract him from the pain as you lashed him for the fourth time. "Doin' so good for me. You need to take this. It's your penance". And he was nodding, knowing you were right ━ and he was ready to take any kind of punishment if it meant he could be with you.

After the fifth and last whip, Charlie fell back on the bed, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. He was paralysed ━ more from the pleasure and overstimulation than pain. You let the whip fall on the floor, giving him a minute to breathe.

But Charlie was needy ━ no, he was desperate to feel you trembling under him. A squeal left your mouth when he lifted you off him, pressing your upper half flush against the bed. You arched your back, dizzy from pleasure and need ━ your hips grinding into the air in search of his cock again.

Charlie plunged into you again with one, swift movement, feeling as if he could cum again just at the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him deliciously.

You were a whimpering mess when he started thrusting into you in an inhuman speed ━ and you were almost convinced that you could feel his cock in your throat from how deep he was.

"Say my name", he demanded, tugging on your hair, yanking your head back to rest against his chest. The change of angle caused you to gasp, and you did exactly what he asked: screamed his name, the sound echoing through the room and corridor. "You're taking me so good", he stilled for a moment, letting you buck back into him, enjoying the way your ass bounced with every movement.

Charlie, unable to control himself, spanked your ass, obsessed with the way your skin got red, the crimson handprints contrasting with your pale skin.

He let you fuck yourself on his cock, a creamy ring appearing at the base ━ his cum leaking out of your used hole with every sway of your hips. You clenched, holding onto his thighs for balance, and Charlie let go of your hair only to tilt your head towards him.

Your clouded eyes met his, and Charlie smiled lovingly, pressing his lips against yours ━ sweetly and gently.

"Cum for me, Angel", he whispered as you grinded your hips down, almost passing out from the intense pleasure. Your skin felt hot, legs ready to give out any second now.

Charlie sensed it immediately, and he helped you by thrusting up into you, meeting you halfway, a satisfied moan leaving both of you.

It wasn't long until he came inside of you, filling you to the brim for the second time. His orgasm triggered your own. Charlie caressed your sides until you stopped shaking, whispering soft praises into your ear.

A few minutes later you were cleaning Charlie's back, muttering occasional "sorry" when he hissed in pain.

"I'm taking you on a trip tomorrow", he said softly, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your delicate hands taking care of his back. You nodded, not pressing any further.

As long as you were with him, nothing else mattered.

hoffmansgirl © 2024

ꗃ ⋆ ࣪ . nicholas chavez masterlist 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ | request here ♡

[domm1etae]

sent to tempt me - chapter one

chapter one: the first glimpse

chapter summary: Yunho arrives at his new dorm, hoping for peace and quiet, but his expectations are shattered when he meets his unexpected and enigmatic roommate

pairing: yunho x mingi

genre: smut (not yet but there will be eventually), angst, fluff, romance, m/m, non!idol!ateez, sub!yunho, dom!mingi, drama, coming of age, collage, religion

rating: 18+ (for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually) | mdni

word count: 2.2k

warnings under

collage, roommates, sub!yunho, dom!mingi, bad boy mingi and religious church good boy yunho same-sex attraction, m/m, teasing, dark themes, homophobia, self discovery, pet names, strangers to lovers, religion and religious topics, aaaand more will be added soon hehehe

 next chapter | AO3 | this fics masterlist

author's note: my first series, yaaaay! I’m so excited about this, and I hope you’ll like it. let me know how you feel about the first chapter in the comments. also, should I make a tag list for this?

Yunho grew up in a house where silence spoke louder than words. Yunho grew up in a house where everything had its place.

Every Sunday morning, he woke up to the scent of his mom’s freshly brewed coffee and the sound of his dad humming hymns in the kitchen. Breakfast was always ready by 8:00 a.m. sharp, the same time they left for church.

His family wasn’t unkind; they loved each other in the way a well-rehearsed choir loves its conductor: faithfully, dutifully, but not too loudly. The Jeongs didn’t argue or slam doors. They lived in neat, quiet harmony, with Bible verses framed on the walls and a family portrait taken at the church picnic hanging above the mantel.

Yunho always knew his role in this symphony of order. He was the son they prayed for, the one who didn’t talk back or skip curfews. At 13, he was the boy who stayed late after services to help clean up, stacking chairs and sweeping floors while other kids hung out in parking lots blasting music. He was the one teachers praised, neighbors admired, and his parents held up as an example, they always smiled proudly, calling him “their angel.”

And Yunho liked being good.

At least, he thought he did. Until the dreams started.

Dreams that left him waking up in a panic, drenched in sweat, begging God for forgiveness before he even got out of bed. Dreams that weren’t about the soft curves of a girl’s body, like he knew they were supposed to be, but about sharp jawlines, strong hands, and broad shoulders.

It wasn’t just the dreams. It was the way he couldn’t stop looking. At first, it was small things—admiring how his classmate’s uniform shirt stretched across his chest during gym class or wondering why he felt so warm when he saw certain smiles. He convinced himself it was normal. Just admiration, nothing more. But it didn’t stay fleeting.

He prayed for hours at night, whispering to God to make it go away. “Please, Lord,” he’d say, clutching the cross on his bedside table until his hands hurt. “Don’t let me feel like this.” But the thoughts didn’t stop.

He never told anyone. Not his friends, not his parents, not even the priest during confession.

He thought about telling Father Lee once. After Sunday Mass, he lingered outside the confessional, hands trembling, heart racing. But when he finally stepped inside, knees pressing into the wooden kneeler, the words froze in his throat.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” he managed, his voice barely audible.

The priest’s calm, steady reply came through the lattice screen. “What troubles you, my child?”

Yunho’s hands gripped the edge of the pew until his knuckles turned white. He wanted to say it. He wanted to confess. But the weight of it, the shame—it was too much.

Instead, he mumbled something about talking back to his parents and skipped dinner that night, too sick with guilt to eat.

Books became his escape.

Yunho discovered literature the way some kids discover a secret hideout: by accident, but it quickly became his sanctuary. He wasn’t one to seek it out; books, like distant cousins, were something that didn’t seem to fit in his world. But on a lazy summer afternoon, when his parents were busy with their own lives, Yunho wandered into his father’s study. The room smelled of old wood and dust, filled with shelves of books that always seemed too formal to touch, too thick to bother with.

It was there, buried under a stack of untouched textbooks, that he found an old copy of The Great Gatsby. The cover was faded, the corners of the pages slightly curled, but something about it called to him. There was no reason for Yunho to pick it up—he wasn’t interested in the world of the Roaring Twenties, the glamor or the excess—but something about the worn edges, the ink fading in places like a secret waiting to be unraveled, made him curious.

He sat down on the living room floor, cradling the book in his hands, the cover smooth under his fingertips. When he opened the first page, it was as if the world had shifted. The words seemed to leap off the page, weaving a narrative that was both foreign and familiar. He got lost in it: the parties, the glamour, the yearning, the tragedy. The way Jay Gatsby’s life felt so full of promise, yet so hollow at the same time.

There was something about the way words could paint entire worlds, how they could make you feel things so vividly that it almost hurt. With every turn of the page, Yunho found himself sinking deeper into Gatsby’s world, a world that was both dazzling and dark, where no one was who they appeared to be. For the first time, Yunho could relate to the idea of masks—of playing a part and feeling alone, no matter how many people surrounded you. It was as if the book had taken something deep inside of him and pulled it into the light.

For Yunho, books weren’t just stories; they were freedom.

They were a bridge to a place where no one judged him, where no one expected him to be perfect. In the pages of The Great Gatsby, there was no family name to live up to, no prayers to recite, no duty to be a certain kind of son. There was just the raw, beautiful act of existing without judgment. The characters, flawed and human, didn’t try to pretend they were anything other than what they were. They loved, they hurt, they sought something more—but they were always, in some way, authentic.

Books gave Yunho a place to escape the life he had to lead—one that demanded perfection, one that demanded silence when all he wanted was to shout. Every character, whether they were noble or tragic, flawed or redeemed, felt real to him in ways his real life didn’t. He could be whoever he wanted to be when he opened a book. He could think things that scared him, feel things that frightened him, all in the comfort of knowing it wasn’t real.

He read everything he could get his hands on—Shakespeare, Frost, Brontë. Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Hamlet—the classics that made him feel like he was standing on the edge of something monumental. He fell in love with the way poetry could turn pain into something beautiful, the way prose could make even the simplest moments feel profound. Each word he read felt like an invitation to a world he was never allowed to explore in real life.

There was power in poetry. The kind of power that made you feel seen even when you weren’t speaking. A line from a poem could echo in his chest like a secret whispered into his ear—how the pain in the words felt like his own pain, and yet it was shared, universal. He began scribbling lines in the margins of his notebooks, quoting his favorite poets, trying to capture something of the way they made him feel. But his words never seemed enough. His words never seemed to touch the depth of the feeling, the longing he couldn’t explain.

In books, there was no shame. No guilt. Just characters and their stories, raw and human. No one to look at him with pity in their eyes, no one to ask questions he couldn’t answer. He was free in a way that no one ever told him he could be.

When the acceptance letter from the University of Seoul arrived, Yunho saw it as a sign.

A fresh start.

A chance to focus on his studies, to leave behind the heavy silence of his house, the suffocating expectations of his family. To be free, not just in his mind but in the world. He dreamed of quiet nights in a tidy dorm room, stacks of books surrounding him, the hum of a desk lamp keeping him company as he read well into the night. He imagined himself walking the leafy campus, the world sprawling before him—endless possibilities, untouched and waiting. He imagined being the kind of student who got lost in lectures, who lost track of time in libraries, who got so caught up in books and ideas that the rest of the world felt far away.

He imagined a life where he didn’t have to hide who he was. Where his thoughts didn’t feel like a burden. He could be a literature major, someone who was known for his intelligence, for his passion for the written word, without anyone ever asking about the things he kept hidden. No one would ever know about the turmoil inside him, the yearning that crept up every time he thought about something or someone in a way that didn’t feel right.

The thought of a fresh start was everything he’d dreamed of. It was the chance to begin again, to bury his fears in books, to embrace his studies without the guilt.

But when he stepped into his new dorm, those dreams started to crack.

The first thing Yunho noticed about the dorm was the smell.

It wasn’t bad—just different. A faint mix of cleaning solution and something else he couldn’t quite place, something organic, maybe even a little musky, like a place that had been lived in. It hit him instantly, a sharp contrast to the scent of the fresh air outside. As he stepped inside, the small living room greeted him with beige walls, mismatched furniture—an old, faded gray couch with a wobbly coffee table in front of it, and a tiny kitchenette tucked into the corner like an afterthought. The kind of space that made you think the people who built it were more concerned with efficiency than comfort.

There were two doors leading to separate bedrooms, just like the housing brochure promised, and a narrow hallway that led to a cramped bathroom. It was basic, functional, nothing fancy.

Yunho let out a small sigh of relief. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. It was quiet—blissfully, eerily quiet. The kind of quiet his mom had warned him about, the kind he’d been desperate for since they’d first dropped him off at the university.

“Call us when you get there, alright? And eat well! Are you sure you’re not forgetting anything? Don’t forget your vitamins—oh, and make sure you pack extra socks!” His mom’s voice had been a constant hum in the back of his mind the entire journey. She was always so concerned, so fixated on the little things.

His dad, quieter but just as insistent, had kept reminding him to stay focused on his studies and “be a good boy.” It wasn’t that they didn’t trust him, but they’d never really let him out of their sight long enough to be sure he could take care of himself. So, as Yunho unloaded his suitcase into his new dorm room, his parents’ voices still echoed in his head. “Eat well,” “Take care of yourself,” “Stay safe.” They said it as if every part of his life depended on their supervision.

But now, as he stood there alone in his new room, he felt a little freer than he expected. Sure, the place wasn’t what he’d dreamed of, but it was his. No hovering, no expectations. It felt… private. Safe.

He dropped his suitcase by the door and took a moment to look around. For a second, the room felt empty—like it was waiting to be filled with something, or someone. Yunho had imagined this moment a thousand times in his head, but it didn’t match what he had expected. He’d pictured coming here to study, to read in peace, to finally get a break from the pressure of his family and the silent, constant burden of expectations that never seemed to ease. Here, he thought, would be his fresh start.

Then he saw it.

A black leather jacket draped over the couch.

It looked expensive, the kind of thing Yunho had only seen in movies or on mannequins in department stores. The leather was soft and worn, creased in places where it had clearly been lived in. The silver zippers glinted faintly under the fluorescent lights, and as Yunho stepped closer, the scent of cologne hit him—sharp, musky, and a little too out of place in a room this plain.

Yunho frowned. His roommate must have arrived already.

Curious, he stepped closer and reached out, fingers brushing against the cool material. It felt smooth under his touch, almost like the jacket had been designed to be a piece of armor—something protective, something that spoke of confidence and mystery. A strange thought flickered in his mind: Who was this person?

He had barely processed the thought when he heard a voice, smooth and low, slicing through the silence.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have left it there.”

Yunho froze, his breath catching in his throat, as the sound of another voice rippled through him.

 next chapter | AO3 | this fics masterlist

[ainsi-soit-il]

It's funny enough when it's related to not drinking or not dancing or not sitting on the front row. But my favorite examples are like. keeping the car window the windows rolled up when you have road rage. focusing your slide show presentation around three main points. things that are not cultural distinctives whatsoever And Yet it makes perfect sense.

As a non-Baptist I love it when a Baptist describes some innocuous thing they do and follows it up with "because I'm Baptist".

[luvissues]

ngl been thinking about religious johnny at least once a week

i don’t mean in the “church every sunday” way or in the “monthly penance” way. johnny doesn’t have time to bury himself behind the walls of a confessional; his knees dig too roughly into the kneeler, rugged fabric of his jeans scraping and tearing at it. he would be in there for hours if it meant confessing all his sins, and even if he can’t see the priest, he’s not sure he could subject the poor man to such horrors.

his faith is something that lingers on the back-burner. he calls out for it when things go south on a mission, when he finds himself compromised. ponders on it for a moment when he registers the bullet sinking into his head- barely has time to hope that he might’ve done just enough good to redeem himself, if this means he’s going to face the big man upstairs now.

but the way he is with you is certainly going to wipe away any of the good deeds he’s done, and you’re sure of that. how could he wear a cross round his neck when the way he acts towards you is nothing short of sinful?

and when he’s nestled between your legs or towering over you from behind, hands roaming and grabbing and pulling in a way that seems both unaptly malicious and reverent, you faintly give a thought to what the scriptures say about worshipping false idols.

(to johnny, it seems more of a sin not to devote himself to you in this way. when asked, he’ll murmur something about how faith isn’t true without works- and he’s simply thanking the father for what he has, hen, but what is a man if not true in both word and action?)

he’s a tried and true bastard, a worn soul. and maybe he doesn’t have to go to confession, not if the way he treats you can compensate for all the bad he’s done.

that’s what he seems to be going for, anyway. because even if the way he acts is nasty and depraved, he never looks to you with anything but utmost veneration.

the balancing act between the two often leaves you confused, sure, but to him? it makes perfect sense. he’s a good ol’ boy, lass, just trust him. how else would he honor his father, if not by taking care of the most precious thing he’s created?

[ghcstao3]

“Never took you to be the religious type, LT.”

Anyone else would have missed it, the barest flinch in the minute curling of Ghost’s fingers, in the harsh, unnatural blink he forces to recenter himself. But Soap isn’t anyone else, and knows exactly what that rare moment of Ghost being caught off guard looks like.

They’re in a church, still half-abandoned from the previous mass, still waiting on newcomers to trickle in for the next service; it’s the in-between, it’s purgatory, it’s the Father milling about in preparation while Ghost sits in the middle of everything, alone, hunched in a pew.

Soap was surprised to find him here. He himself rarely frequents church, not since enlisting. Today had been an exception for Soap—something inexplicable had drawn him in; a scratch at the back of his conscience, a prickle at the nape of his neck and trailing down his spine. Lured by nothing, only to discover his lieutenant has also been beckoned to this place of no movement, and little life.

Though, it’s more fair for him to be here—he lives in the city. Soap had been visiting his sister.

“I’m not,” Ghost says. His eyes keep strictly ahead, faced bathed in the dim light that penetrates stained glass windows. “Just paying my respects.”

To his credit, he never asks why Soap is also here. It’s more than possible he already knows.

“And who’s earned such an honour?”

Soap only catches a moment of a sidelong glance.

“Does it matter?”

Soap almost misses it, the quiet, “At least, anymore?”

“It matters as much as it means for you to be here,” Soap says slowly, testing. He’s never been permitted into the most personal of Ghost’s life, so he endeavours to tread lightly. Soap has long since learned the lieutenant has limits.

Ghost seems to consider his words, head inclining ever so slightly. A hum, low and nearly imperceptible in his throat. “I suppose.”

Soap hooks his foot under the kneeler attached to the pew just ahead, gently pulling it down before sinking to his knees. He rests his elbows on the backrest of that same pew, clasping his fingers together in a distantly familiar way he never expected to practice again. He can feel Ghost’s gaze burn holes in the back of his head.

“May as well pay my dues while I’m here,” Soap reasons.

Ghost scoffs. Yet all the same, he still joins Soap in prayer.

Soap never finds out who it’s intended for.

[vivgst]

To love is to sin?

Uh... hi I've been awfully inactive here but i thought i could drop this stuff i made some months ago btw i'm sorry for all the wip i just left here, i don't think i have the ability to write anymore :/ and this is not proofread

My knees were resting on the kneeler and my hands remained together in a prayer position despite pausing when I heard footsteps approaching. Feeling uncomfortable at the familiar presence now hovering behind me, I stood up, looking at the large statue of Jesus that loomed over the entire holy place. It made me feel small, and the eyes filled with love that had once brought me comfort now rested on me, filled with judgment and reproach. 

“How long has it been since your last confession?” His hoarse voice seemed to come from the ground and rose through my body, enveloping it in a thick layer of guilt that almost made me feel suffocated, and I had to avert my gaze from the statue to respond. 

“Quite a while, however, my forgetfulness does not question my faith.” I spoke calmly; I was in the church, the place that had been introduced to me as safe, here I should not fear.

“Have you followed the commandments? Have you not desired anyone?” She looked at me; I couldn’t know for sure, but I felt it, I felt her gaze burning into my body, and I sensed that she drew closer, she, like the statue, judging me, but she had no right.

Of course, I had been a victim of lust, the worst evil that surrounded us and tainted our souls, and although I felt incapable of admitting it aloud, I could not lie in the house of God; He had received me with open arms to heal my heart, and I owed Him, as we all did.

“I am devout and a good woman; that does not make me any less human.” I spoke calmly, turning to look into her dark eyes that shone brighter today than ever, the light from the altar candles I had lit for my comfort illuminating her clothing.

“You need to admit something else.” Her voice came out broken, filled with emotions that I did not stop to evaluate because it was not my place to do so; instead, my gaze left her face, and I turned away again.

“I am a good woman, devoted and virgin.” The words slipped from my lips with insecurity and discouragement, and I closed my eyes wishing to fall asleep and wake up somewhere else when I felt her hands on my hips, her lips hovering over my ear, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down my skin. 

“No, you’re not.��� 

I was. I was telling the truth, which is why my lips parted slightly when she touched me so gently, why I felt the heat of sin burning between my legs with the promise of tormenting me, why it was so easy to feel tempted to run into the arms of the devil and melt into her warmth, because I had been in heaven for too long, freezing. 

“I am. I have not been touched by a man.” I murmured, the mere thought causing a sense of discomfort to settle in my stomach, threatening to make me feel sick. 

“You were touched by me.” My eyes filled with tears at her desperate words full of anger, at the reminder that my heart had been cursed with something sacrilegious. “And I swore you eternal love before him.” She continued, her hand grabbing my chin to make me look at him, his gaze now seemed harsh, that of an angry brother, the statue seemed to grow as I disappointed his father, our father.

 "Our love is tainted, it is forbidden." I tried, I murmured in a pathetic voice as the tears continued to slide down my cheeks while guilt consumed me alive, my mind trying to forget the memories of that day, the greatest act of love and rebellion I had ever committed. "I will get marry, I will have children with someone who can give them to me naturally, and I will be happy." I paused in a futile attempt to convince myself of my own lie. "And when I look back, I will no longer see you there, because you should never have been." And I was grateful, grateful that her hands no longer touched my skin and that I could no longer feel her breath caressing my hair, I was grateful that she was gone because I could not turn around to witness how I was losing her.

[multifanhoe99]

Kinktober Day 13- Religious Play

Pairings: Priest!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Sacrilege, mentions of masturbation, degradation mixed with praise, spanking, hair pulling, facial, hard dom!Hyunjin, squirting, nicknames (my child, Father, my pet, my love, literally all the other times he calls the reader a whore and a slut).

=Let me know if I missed any.=

18+ MDNI

PROMPT LIST

MASTERLIST

You were nervous while waiting in line. Ironically you were sweating like a sinner in church because that is exactly what you were at this moment. You were waiting to give your confession. How long had it even been since your last one; you couldn't remember. You took a deep breath and stepped into the confessional. Settling on the kneeler you waited for the priest to speak.

Soon, you heard the sound of the other door opening and closing. Then, you heard, "Hello, my child."

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I am not sure how long since my last confession," you replied.

"Very well, tell me your sins," he said. His voice was like velvet, and it sounded so familiar. You couldn't quite place where you had heard it before.

"I have sinned so much and I am afraid that I keep sinning," you said feeling ashamed.

He responds softly, "Please, explain."

You gulped, "I keep having impure thoughts, and they aren't just about anyone. They are about a man of the cloth. Sometimes, I even pleasure myself at the thought of what I would like for him to do to me."

"A man of the cloth, you say? My, my, that is serious. Who might this man be," he replies.

"It is Father Hwang," you say, "I can't seem to get him out of my mind. I want to kiss his beautiful lips, I want him to whisper filthy words to me. Mostly, I want to know what his body looks like under his robes. I also wonder what sort of lover he might be. Will he be soft and gentle or will he be rough and commanding?"

"Well," he pauses, "This is a very serious sin, my child. I will have to come to your side to give your penance as it requires me to lay hands on you. I am sure you understand."

"Yes, of course, Father," you said and waited for him to walk the short distance from his side to yours. When he walked in you looked up to meet his gaze. The sight in front of you was shocking and made you embarrassed. Stood there before you was none other than Hwang Hyunjin himself, the man you have been fantasizing about for weeks now.

He walks up to you. He towers over you even more so than usual as you are still kneeling. "Now my pet," he begins his voice taking on a more sultry tone, "I have the perfect penance for you and I think you'll really enjoy it. Go ahead and turn back around." You did as you were told. You turned back around still kneeling and your elbows returned to resting on the elevated part of the kneeler so that you were in the perfect praying position.

Hyunjin stood behind you and then whispered into your ear, "You know, the only way to get rid of these impure thoughts and fantasies is to act them out. That way there is no more curiosity and then we shall be forgiven after prayer." You couldn't believe what you heard it made you nervous and excited at the same time. Mostly excited though as you could feel a wet spot growing in your panties at the thought.

"I want you to give me one Our Father and don't stop no matter what happens do you understand," he asks while pulling down your panties and flipping up your skirt to reveal your bare ass to him.

You began, Our Father, *SMACK* a loud and hard spank landed on your right ass cheek. It was painful but it also felt so good so you continued. Who art in heaven *SMACK* h-hallowed be thy name *SMACK* th-th-thy kingdom c-come *SMACK* thy will be d-done *SMACK* on eeeearth as it issss in heaven *SMACK* This went on until you had finished the prayer. All he had done was spank you and it had you dripping down the side of your legs. You were already so fucked out and he had barely started.

"Well done my naughty little slut," he said praising you and degrading you all at once, "You are doing so well for me. Now, turn back around for me? That's it, it's now time to purify that pretty little mouth of yours." He kisses you deeply while he undoes the belt, zipper, and button on his pants and pulls them and his underwear down just enough for his cock to spring free. His lips tasted like cherries and you wondered if his cock was just as sweet. As if he had read your mind he pulled away from the kiss and replaced his lips on your with the head of his cock. You gladly accepted it into your mouth.

"Look at you," he said while lazily moving his hips to fuck your mouth, "You are just a greedy little cock whore for me aren't you?" You nodded and he smirked. He held on to your hair which was put up into a ponytail and began moving his hips faster. His thrust were fast and deep he hit the back of your throat each time. You were slobbering and gagging all over his cock and he had to pull out sooner than he wanted to or else you would have made him cum before he even got the chance to pound your sweet little pussy. You choked and sputtered when he pulled out trying to catch your breath. You were a fucked out mess. Tears streaming down your face mixing in with the drool falling from your chin. Not to mention your pupils were blown wide and you were so wet it was dripping even more down the side of your leg.

"Turn back around," he commanded and you obeyed, "I am going to fuck this pretty pussy until you beg for me to stop. Look at this you're soaked I bet I could just slide right in. You'd like that wouldn't you?" You couldn't even speak anymore opting to nod vigourously in response. He lined himself up with your entrance and pushed through your walls. He was right, you were so wet he slid all the way in with no problem. He still gave you a moment to adjust before setting a rapid pace. He wasted no time roughly slamming into you while one hand pulled back on your ponytail and the other snaked around your front to play with your clit. The pleasure was overwhelming and just when you thought you couldn't take anymore he found the angle that had him hitting the spot that made you see stars. Everything all together had you screaming and clenching tightly around him and he knew you were getting close.

"You want to cum, slut? Beg for it, if you beg I shall grant it to you," he said.

"Ple-plea-please Father, let me cum I can't hold it any longer please let me c-cum please please please," you begged him.

"Very good," he praised, "Go ahead, cum for me. Cum all over my cock like the good little whore you are." His words were all you needed to have the biggest orgasm you've ever had. You were pretty sure you blacked out for a moment it was so good. Your eyes rolled back and you had squirted all over him. It was mind-blowing. He pulled out and started stroking himself.

"Are you ready for your final blessing," he asked, stroking faster. You nodded, closed your eyes, and opened your mouth. He came a few pumps later all over your face.

"Go now in peace," he said smiling at you.

"Thank you, Father," you said," We need to do this again sometime Hyunnie. I came so hard, look at the mess we made. This was the best roleplay idea ever."

"I agree, my love," he said, "Now, let's get cleaned up and we can worry about this mess later."

You laughed and reached for him so he could help you up, "I think it will have to be a bath though. I actually don't think that I can walk or stand up on my own right now." One thing was for sure after tonight, you would both definitely be doing this again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: HOLY SHIT!!! Bless the anon who suggested this because I had a blast writing it! This man literally makes me so feral and just imagining this while writing had me feeling some type of way! Anyway, my asks are still open please send some stuff in so I have things to do when Kinktober is over.

[moongreenlight]

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish who never much considered himself religious before joining the force. Never put much thought toward God or where they stood with one another.

He’d get a flick to the back of his head or a tug on his ear if his father ever heard him take the Lord’s name in vain. He’d still grudgingly put on the same outfit he’d worn for years, reserved for weddings and funerals and church every Easter and Christmas. Sit as still as he could for mass that seemed to drag on for years. Try not to fidget with the buttons on his shirt or set his feet on the kneeler- however tempting it was.

And when he first started trying to join the military, he sat quietly on the couch with his mother and grandmother while they prayed over him for his safety and prosperity. Barely listening, but appreciating the sentiment nonetheless.

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish who even years after moving out; still sometimes braces for the sting of his father’s hand when he says ‘Jesus Christ’ on the field, hundreds of thousands of miles away from home. Who still takes his leave on Easter and Christmas when he can appease his family and tag along to church. Still finding it almost irresistible to put his feet up on the kneelers or drop his head into his hands. Who still takes some degree of comfort in the smell of frankincense and myrrh, reminding him of his childhood.

He had never thought much of religion during his time in the service. Knew a lot of soldiers needed the freedom of forgiveness, but he had simply never needed that kind of reprive. Not until Las Almas did the good lord weasel himself into Johnny’s mind. He said a quick prayer. Our Father. The only one he could remember on the spot. The one he’d said a hundred times over at the dinner table. It was a bit shocking to hear the words echo through his mind, like he couldn’t believe he was hearing it again. But for some reason it provided him a shred of comfort.

And after he survived, he thanked God. Mumbled under his breath, but he figured it would be enough to somehow work its way up to the big man. Thank you.

After that, he began to say an Our Father before every mission. Sometimes aloud, mostly just reciting it in his mind. Almost meditative in its routine. Not for forgiveness, he’d come to terms with the fact that he was likely too far gone for that. But for his safety. Like his mother and grandmother had done all those years ago. Every time he prayed, he returned. It became almost automatic. Load up, say a prayer, complete the mission, go home.

Usually when he got back to base, when he was back in his bunk and his body was aching for sleep, he’d thank God once more. Almost friendly in his communications. “Thanks, pal.”

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish who’d recently fostered a relationship with God as more of a talisman of luck than anything else and the demon that attached themselves to him not a heartbeat after his first kill. The demon who has yet to reveal themselves to him, but is always there. Protecting him. Returning him home safely. Who hisses and spits from just above him each and every time he thanks God when it was truly them who had control over his fate.

One reblog and I’ll make them kiss.

[luvrseung]

𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 - TEASER

## synopsis! You were always filled with the urge to destroy perfect things. It just felt wrong to leave things untouched. People weren't an exception. So, what are you supposed to do when an angel appears in front of you? Well... ruin him of course.

## pairing! innocent! heeseung x corrupted fem! reader

## wc: undecided

## cw! biggg themes of religion,, religious guilt is very heavy through this (maybe i'm projecting), suggestive?

## a/n! hellooooo everyone! ive been writing so many things but keep falling uninterested like halfway through. this one tho!!!!! i am very motivated to write it and cant wait to share it! so heres a little teaser :P my reason for this being so religous-y is because i find the juxtaposition of something so pure and untouched with something so dark and corrupted really beautiful! also in no way am i trying to make fun of any religion. i was quite religious myself! i value and respect anyone in any religion! this piece was also kind of a reflection of my own inner turmoil... anyways! i hope you enjoy and please stay tuned to the end for a poll determining something tehe...AND LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS OFCCC!! NOW ENJOY!! ALSO NOT PROOFREAD SO PLS KEEP THAT IN MIND!

Every Sunday, your mother would wake you up early in the morning to attend church with your family. The thin line between filial obligation and genuine devotion blurred with each sunrise. Your parents approached church with a fervor you used to share. Honestly, you found it quite boring, like a duty. Don’t misunderstand, whispers of belief still flickered within you, undying embers that display a gentle glow. Even in moments of despair or dark times, you often find yourself praying to the Lord; but on top of the catholic school you had gone to for your whole life, you found Sunday services tedious, as en extension of what you went through on a daily basis. You also spent the last two nights wasted beyond belief, and you waking up early for church was the last thing you wanted to do. This Sunday was nothing special, unfortunately. Peeling yourself from the comfort of your bed, you slowly get ready for service.

Sitting in your pew, your mind can’t help but wander. Thoughts of anything and everything fill your mind, in attempts to keep you awake during the priest’s sermon. A gentle nudge from your mother jolted you back to a semblance of piety. Her whispered reprimand, "Focus, darling," carried the weight of disappointment and a subtle plea for adherence. You plastered a thin smile on your face and offered a barely-there nod. You have stared at the front of this church so many times, you could draw it without reference.

The vibrant hues of the stained-glass windows, the worn kneelers that bore the indentations of countless prayers, the stoic statues flanking the entrance, it all felt more familiar than comforting. Behind the granite altar, sat the deacon and altar servers; like usual. Except this time, your eye catches an unfamiliar face on the right side of the deacon. He sat toward the end, two other altar servers on his left side. He was dressed like the others, clad in the customary floor-length white robe. His hair was a dark red, a little bit longer, and parted a little toward the side. His eyes big, as his attention is on the priest and his words.

A sardonic chuckle bubbled up in your chest, a silent stir in the holy air. Angelic. That new altar server looked angelic. How utterly cliché. If you were any closer, your blatant staring would be a cardinal sin in its own right. Minutes bled into an eternity as you wrestled with the tedious sermon and the incredibly good-looking boy behind the priest. Just as his monotone reached a fever pitch, a stirring announced the impending communion. Relief, both welcome and unwelcome, washed over you. Relief from the droning sermon, yet unwelcome because it meant the inevitable procession of the altar servers – and your unexpected fixation. With a practiced efficiency, the servers rose, their white robes billowing as they glided down the aisle. Luck, or perhaps a touch of divine irony, had placed you at the very end of the pew, closest to the spectacle about to unfold.

Angel boy, as you couldn't help but label him in the traitorous corners of your mind, drew closer. His face, bathed in the soft glow of the stained-glass windows, held an enigmatic quality. Was it the hint of a smirk playing on his lips, or the way his eyes seemed to hold a depth that transcended the sterile walls of the church? The closer he got, the more the sanctity of the ritual blurred with a curiosity that felt both illicit and strangely sacred. Your eyes locked. Inevitably, undeniably. And your eye contact lingers for a beat too long. A smirk, barely contained, played on his lips before he flicked his gaze away. But not before a telltale blush bloomed at the tips of his ears. He finally makes his way out of your view. Shame, hot and unwelcome, flooded your cheeks as you watched him disappear down the aisle. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a loud drumbeat against the backdrop of solemn hymns.

The taste of forbidden fruit lingered on your tongue, a mix of guilt and a desire you couldn't quite place. The once-tedious ritual now felt charged with a newfound tension, the air thick with an unspoken something that threatened to shatter the carefully constructed walls of your - currently dwindling - faith.

The altar servers returned, their white robes whispering against the polished floor. As the line snaked its way forward, a playful thought tickled your mind. A sly smile played on your lips, a secret shared only with yourself, as you approached the angel-faced boy holding the communion bread. With hands demurely clasped in front of you – the picture of a devoted daughter – you tilted your head up, meeting his gaze. His eyes, the color of rich chocolate, widened momentarily before flickering down. A hint of rose stained his cheeks. You see his adam’s apple bob as he gulps.

He held a piece of bread out, his voice a mere tremor. "The Body of Christ," he murmured.

“Amen.” You reply, leaning forward slightly, your arms pushing your boobs together and showing cleavage that you know he can see. Instead of extending your hands, you kept them clasped. You stick your tongue out as your eyes look at him through lowered lashes.

He cleared his throat, his hand trembling slightly as he held the bread closer. He placed the bread on your tongue with a slight tremor in his hand. You retracted your tongue with a triumphant smirk, the taste of the bread a mere secondary sensation to the unexpected jolt of electricity that had shot through you at the contact. You met his eyes again, a playful glint in them. A single word, more so a sound, escaped your lips, a soft "Mmm," before you retreated back down the line, a smile playing your my lips. The sign of the cross felt almost sacrilegious in this new context as you maintained unwavering eye-contact with the angel boy.

The brief exchange ignited a thrill within you. This wasn't just harmless interest. An unknown urge, long dormant, roared awake. You craved the challenge of chipping away at that perfect exterior, of shattering the halo that seemed welded above his head. Maybe then, you could see the real boy – and maybe, just maybe, a part of you yearned to be touched by his innocence. Or break it… who knows?

The weight of Monday settled over you uncomfortably and unwillingly. Another week of school stretched before you. In homeroom, surrounded by your friends – Jay, Sunghoon, Jungwon, and Minji – you couldn't help but relive the memory.

Sunghoon, slumped over your desk, groaned, "Church yesterday was enough to put a saint to sleep. I swear, I drifted off right after the Our Father."

"Then why'd you drag yourself to the early service?" you chuckled.

"Blame Minji," Sunghoon mumbled, accusatory eyes flickering towards her.

Minji, unfazed, countered, "Hey, it's not my fault you crashed at my place. You know my parents prefer the eight o'clock mass."

Jungwon chimed in, "Maybe we should stop going out so late on Saturdays?"

Four pairs of eyes shot daggers at him. "Thank the lord I snagged a free pass yesterday," Jay said with a smug grin. "Parents out of town mean no mandatory church duties."

"Yeah, but you missed a nice show," Jungwon piped up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What show exactly, Wonnie?" you feigned innocence, a subtle warning lacing your voice. Jungwon wasn't fooled. "The little performance you put on with the new altar server. You're sick and twisted.”

A playful smirk spread across your face. "Maybe I am, but you love it," you declared, smothering him in a teasing hug. Jungwon squirmed, laughter escaping his lips as he tried to fend you off.

Minji chimed in, “Care to elaborate?”

A conspiratorial glint sparked in your eyes. “Yes, yes mother…Let's just say there's a new, really hot, altar boy… and he’s perfect! Too perfect, if you know what I mean.” A beat of silence follows, confusion falls over everyone before you respond, “Need to ruin him a bit.”

The boys rolled their eyes in unison, but Jay couldn't resist a question. "How exactly do you plan on achieving that, Miss Mother Mary?”

You roll your eyes, feigning annoyance, “Well-“

The shrill of the first bell sliced through your conversation like a choirboy's off-key note. Your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Kim, swept in with a stern expression, instantly silencing the room. You exchanged helpless glances with your friends and raise both your hands in false defeat as they walk away from your desk and to their respective seats. Leaning in with a conspiratorial glint, Minji whispers, “You better tell us at lunch, bitch,” she points her finger at you and you laugh her off with confirmatory nod.

Before the morning prayer could play through the speakers, Mrs. Kim cleared her throat, silencing the room with a single, sharp rap on her desk. "Good morning, class. Today, we have a new student joining us. Please welcome him warmly." Her gesture towards the door was all it took for the air to whoosh from your lungs. Your jaw practically unhinged itself as the angel-faced altar server from Sunday, walked into the classroom. A breathless gasp escaped your lips, “no fucking way”.

You couldn't believe your luck. Here he was, the object of your amusement, deposited right into your everyday life. An unholy grin split your face, the possibilities swirling in your mind like incense smoke in a cathedral. This was exactly what you prayed for the night before.

You tap sunghoon’s shoulder, who was sitting in the seat in front of you. He leaned back, brow furrowed in confusion, as you leaned in to whisper, "That's him." Sunghoon's eyes widened, his mouth forming a perfect "o" before snapping shut in realization. He whipped around in his seat, confirming your words with a silent nod. Jungwon had already caught your message through a glance. You threw him a devilish smile, his lips twitching with barely contained amusement. He leaned over to Jay, who was seated next to him, and relayed the news in hushed tones. Sunghoon, mirroring your earlier action, tapped Minji's shoulder diagonally across the aisle, sending the news rippling through your little group like a clandestine prayer chain. A silent wave of excitement washed over you and your friends. This unexpected turn of events proved to be far more entertaining than any Sunday service. The prospect of having him, the object of your wicked plan, in your daily life was a delicious twist of fate, and you couldn't wait to see how it would all unfold.

“Hello everyone, my name is Lee Heeseung. It’s lovely to meet you all.” He scanned the sea of faces before him, his gaze drifting casually across the classroom. Then, something – you – caught his eye. Your hand twirled a strand of hair with practiced ease. The other waved at him, not a simple greeting, but a slow, deliberate movement that sent a shiver down his spine. You knew exactly what it looked like. An invitation, a subtle message almost saying ‘I know you thought of me last night’. A flush crept up Heeseung's neck, a telltale sign mirrored by the rapid bob of his Adam's apple. He could practically feel the heat of your gaze on him. Mrs. Kim brought his attention back to her, “Nice to have you here Heeseung, there’s an empty seat in the third row by the window.” His gaze met yours once more. He made his way towards his seat, two rows ahead and two rows to the right. Your eyes never left his figure when you noticed the all-too familiar blush at the tip of his ears.

The first bell pierced the charged silence, jolting everyone back to reality. A flurry of activity erupted as classmates gathered their books and shuffled out. You darted playful glances at your friends, their attention firmly fixed on Heeseung. Laughter bubbled up inside you, barely contained. With a final shove of notebooks into his bag, Heeseung seemed to hesitate, catching your eye across the room. You couldn't help but smirk, so excited to ruin him. Picturing how different he would look with pierced ears, a cigarette in his mouth, and you on his lap. You just couldn’t wait. The familiar weight of Jay's arm slung around your shoulder grounded you momentarily. "First period, babe?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement. "Actually, jongseongie,” you began, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes, "go ahead with the others. I have a… matter to attend to with a certain altar server."

Your friends, well aware of your little new toy, burst into laughter. Jay, however, rolled his eyes playfully. "Imma wait for you outside then,” he announced, resignation coloring his voice. “Or.. you could go to our class? You can’t keep avoiding Giselle forever you know.“

“I do nottt wanna see her _. Also, you know she never liked you, so she gets mad when we walk in together.”

“Whatever you say, Jay.”

He flashed a charming, albeit fake, smile before disappearing out the door. With a final playful roll of your eyes, you turned your attention to the angel at the center of your growing intrigue. Heeseung, now the sole occupant of the classroom, seemed strangely hesitant, his gaze lingering on you. A slow, confident stride carried you towards him, the promise of a delicious encounter hanging thick in the air. Everything about him was a siren song, drawing you in with an irresistible pull. His large, doe-like eyes, framed by dark red hair that tumbled playfully just above his brow, seemed to speak pure and sweet nothings into the air. It’s as if the cruel world hasn’t reach those beautiful big eyes yet. But the most captivating detail was the way his ears, like delicate seashells, flushed a brilliant crimson whenever your gazes met. You already pictured what they’d look like adorned in silver. A slow, predatory smile played on your lips as you sauntered towards his desk. Resting your palms on top of his desk, you leaned in close, the scent of his nervous cologne filling your senses. Your voice, normally laced with mischief, took on a sugary sweetness that would make even the most hardened saint wince. “Nice to see you again, altar boy,” you purred, drawing out the words.

His blush deepens, spreading from his ears down his neck. He stammers a reply, stuttering, "H-hi… I, uh, didn't expect to see you here."

“Likewise…” your smirk widens, reaching out your hand, nails painted red, “I’m _, nice to meet you Heeseung.”

He hesitates before his hand reaches yours, responding to your introduction with a shy smile, his doe-eyes sparkling up at you the whole time. Oh how you wish to swim so deep in those beautiful eyes.

"Well, altar boy," you teased, your voice laced with a sweetness that sent shivers down your own spine. "I'd love to chat more, but wouldn't want to keep you from your first day, would we?"

Fishing out a red pen, you held it between your teeth and uncapped it with a flick of your thumb. "Real quick, though," you bargained, a playful glint in your eyes. You extend your left hand, palm up. Hesitantly, he mirrors your gesture, placing his right arm within your grasp. You scribble your phone number on the smooth skin of his inner arm, finishing it off with a perfectly drawn heart.

"Call me, Hee," you purred, leaning in conspiratorially. "I'll be waiting." With a wink that could melt glaciers, you retreated, your hand brushing against his again as you slipped past him. Out in the hallway, you met Jay, a mischievous grin plastered on your face.

Heeseung, left speechless in your wake, peered out from the now-empty classroom. His fingers traced the inscription on his arm, the warmth of your touch lingering alongside the heat of his blush. With a shaky breath, he tucked your phone number beneath his sleeve. He should probably get to his first period class, but his mind was already swirling with the image of you.

© luvrseung - do not plagiarize, repost, translate, copy, or alter any of my content please and thank you.

AUTHORS NOTE: HELLOOOO!! now for the poll: would you like smut in this? yes or no!

[ryanthedemiboy]

Also isn't "the Lord be with you" "also with you" etc a Catholic only thing?

Alright, this fic i'm reading has had two Protestant churches have kneelers. The internet says nothing about anyone besides Catholics having kneelers.

Do you know any non-Catholic churches with kneelers?

[propheticeve]

In the shadows of a brutal era in American history, where oppression and cruelty reigned, a powerful form of resistance took root: the Praise House. For enslaved black individuals in the Antebellum South, the Praise House stood as a sacred sanctuary, a place where they could defy the oppressive Christian views imposed upon them by their slave masters.

In a world where the power structures dictated every aspect of an enslaved person's existence, the Praise House emerged as a symbol of defiance and strength. It became a space where faith, culture, and the indomitable spirit of the African diaspora could thrive despite the dehumanizing conditions of slavery.

Meetings in the Praise House were not confined to the familiar rhythms of Sunday mornings. Instead, these gatherings typically took place on weeknights, a subtle act of rebellion in itself. The slave masters preferred their human property to attend white-dominated churches, where carefully curated sermons served as a reinforcement of the slave system, often using scripture as a tool of control.

Within the walls of the Praise House, the enslaved black community found solace in the absence of opulent Christian symbols and trappings. There, empty space was favored over altars, kneelers, pulpits, and even chairs and pews. This minimalism provided the space needed for the powerful and spiritually charged "ring shouts," an integral part of the all-night sessions of prayer and song. These gatherings were more than just expressions of faith; they were acts of resistance, defiance, and a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

Even in the most degrading conditions, religious life and practice served as a source of strength and unity for the slave community. The Praise House became the focal point of their lives on the plantations, a place where their identity was preserved and their spirits were nurtured.

As time passed and the shackles of slavery fell away, the significance of Praise Houses remained unwavering. They continued to serve as the heart of the African community, a testament to the enduring strength of culture and faith.

Today, we at My Mind and Me Inc and the Temple of Living Word a 501c3 non profit based in Atlanta are on a mission to rekindle the traditions of the past and return to our Southern hoodoo roots. Our goal is to open our own Praise House in Atlanta, where hoodoos, practitioners of African Traditional Religions (ATRs), and individuals of all backgrounds can practice openly, without judgment. In this sacred space, we will offer open altars, prayer sessions, spaces for practitioners to teach, and, of course, the continuation of the cherished tradition of ring shouts.

To make this vision a reality, we need your support. Be a part of a bigger picture, a story of resistance and resilience. Donate today and help us build a Praise House that stands as a testament to the enduring strength of culture, faith, and unity. Together, we can create a space where souls find solace, healing, and renewal.

Join us on this sacred journey, and be a part of history.

Please SHARE! SHARE! SHARE!

Atlanta family TAP IN

@mymindandmeinc @realconjuhwoeman