#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 :)

[vulpinesaint]

so glad i was raised catholic. i don't know what i would do with myself if i was raised protestant. try and appropriate catholic iconography and feel really bad about it probably.

[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."

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[southislandwren]

Bro there’s a rainbow sign in the lobby saying “everyone is welcome” do you REALLY think we’re the flavor of Catholics that kneel 🤔

[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 �� ࣪ ᥫ᭡ | request here ♡

[nicholaschavezslut]

MAKE YOU MINE - father charlie mayhew

★warnings: nsfw content (dni if you're under 18), smut, degrading, blowjob, cussing, oral, use of "father" during sex, size kink, (m! receiving)

!! English is not my first language, sorry for grammatical mistakes!!

The soft glow of the scented candles danced through the stained glass of the church window, casting gentle, colorful reflections that flickered across the stone walls. You had been sitting on the kneeler of the old, traditional church pews for quite a few minutes, silently whispering your prayers in your head. Suddenly, faint footsteps echo in the distance, growing louder and louder. "It's not often I find someone so young so late here. Is there something on your heart you'd like to share y/n?" the moment you heard that low-pitched, warm voice, you knew it was Father Charlie. A young, handsome priest who had just moved to this lonely town a few months ago. Word had spread quickly- every girl in town seemed to have found a reason to attend mass. Whispers of Father Charlie's striking looks and commanding presence echoed through the pews, as if the very sight of him was enough to draw them in. He was aware of the effect he had on many young women, but it never seemed to faze him. His passion for the sharing of the word of God was evident in every prayer he spoke, every prayer he led. It wasn't just his looks that drew people in ; it was the way he lived his purpose so wholeheartedly, without a hint of ego, that made him truly captivating.

She hesitated in telling him the truth, torn between the respect for him and the uncomfortable feeling of guilt building up inside her heart. She was afraid that he might see through her and know the sinful thoughts she couldn't shake. Cause the truth was, she had been falling in love with the priest. No matter how many times she tried to suppress those thoughts, they would just grow back and stronger. You took a heavy sigh and replied reluctantly: "Hello Father, uhm- I've just had some thoughts and decided to come here, nothing special."

Father Charlie studied her carefully, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He didn't quite believe her- something about her words didn't ring true. His voice was gentle, but insistent. "Come with me." , he said, nodding toward the confession booth. "Let's talk more privately. I think there's something you need to share." Y/n follows him, heart racing and uneasiness building up inside her. When they entered the booth, the air was filled thick with anticipation, the heavy wooden door creaked shut behind them. He looked at her, gaze steady as he motioned for her to sit. She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether she should speak the truth or continue to hide behind her shame. But Father Charlie, sensing her nervousness, gently encouraged her, his voice low and steady. " Take your time.", he would say, his tone warm yet firm. "This is a safe space."

The priest leaned slightly closer, offering a reassuring warm smile. After a long pause, she finally spoke quietly "I-it's him..." she murmured, her gaze dropping to the floor, utterly ashamed of herself. "The way he carries himself, the way he speaks..I can't stop thinking about him and I feel so guilty..." She couldn't bring herself to say it outright, but the truth was clear- her thoughts were consumed by a man of God.

"Who is the man you're referring to Y/n?" Charlie softly asks with a genuine hint of concern in his tone. Y/n stays silent for a few more seconds until she softy replies: "It's so embarrassing father, I cant speak these impure thoughts...you might think differently of me after this. He nurturingly chuckles and reassures her: "Y/n, I promise you can tell me. We get more confessions like these than you think. it's human nature and it's completely normal. No wrorries."

"It's you, Father" she confessed, barely above a whisper. "I never meant for it to happen, but it's you..and- God I can't stop thinking about you. I feel so guilty.." The room goes silent. She doesn't dare to look up. She braces herself, expecting to be thrown out of the church any moment now. All of a sudden, she feels a big, warm hand holding up her chin. "Look at me, I'm not mad. Now get up and get on your knees." , The handsome man speaks up, feeling the buldge in his pants growing. She could barely comprehend what she had just heard, the words swirling in her mind like a blur. "you heard me, get on your knees." he speaks up again.

She obeys and slowly gets up, her hands shaking of emancipation, nervous about what was going to happen next. Without warning, he pushed her to her knees, forcing her into a position of submission. She looks up at him in admiration, knowing she's deeply in love with this man and everything about him. The best thing about him being his beautiful dark brown eyes. "What are you waiting for? unbuckle my belt you slut." , he aggressively speaks. She does as he says, and slowly moves her hands toward his belt, slowly unbuckling the belt and letting out a heavy sigh, nervous about what was about to come. She was soaking and was hoped he wouldn't notice. Once she pulled his pants and boxers down, his cock jumped out. It was huge, the biggest she's ever seen. The tip was bright red and dripping with precum. She slowly stroked his cock a couple of times and then started licking his slit, making him moan. "Fuck..." Charlie breathed out. Without warning, His hands started pushing her head and gripping her scalp, and even though it hurt, she liked it. More than she shouldve. She took him further in her mouth, the church filling up with disputable and obscene noises. There was no doubt that anybody in the radius of 20m would hear everything. She sucks off what's left that she couldn't fit in her mouth.

"mmm fuck, just like that baby, such a fucking good girl for me" she finally feels him twitch. He puts her hair up into makeshift ponytail to make the process easier for her. He looked so done, but she didn't care, cause in her eyes he was the most handsome man to ever exist, he was majestic. Instantly, he finished in her mouth and pulled away. "You did so good baby, but we don't have time to finish this anymore, the service is about to begin."

It's safe to say, her wildest dream came true.

[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.

[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.

[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?

[boundinparchment]

Con Clavi - I

You serve the church of the Tsaritsa, under Father Pantalone. Faith is a gift you received long ago but a certain heretical Harbinger is determined to push those boundaries. Il Dottore/Female Reader. Eventual Pantalone/Female Reader. Reader is a Canoness/Nun. Inspired in part by straw-bunbun's Priest Pantalone art. Story is rated Explicit. Minors DNI. Religious symbolism, corruption, many many liberties, eventual smut. Dead Dove applies. Available on AO3 here.

You suppressed a shiver as you listened to the reading by the man standing at the pulpit.  This hour was always the most difficult, you found, not because of the service itself, but because it was always coldest just before dawn.  Of all of the hours of the Divine Office, Prime was, by far, the most tedious.

Those who wanted to stop in for service before they began their day of work did so and were scattered amid the pews.  

Father Pantalone continued on with a prayer concerning work and called for a blessing from the Tsaritsa for those whose safety would be compromised that day.  He treated Agents and miners as equals in his service; before the eyes of Her Most Holy, all were human, Hers to protect.

Your knees ached from genuflection, the wooden kneeler only marginally better than the stone beneath it.  There was no cushioning here.  Some said it was because the Father was a stingy miser; others claimed it served as a reminder that the Tsaritsa’s love was the true comfort.

After this, you would eat in silence before delving into a contemplative study for the morning.  Terce would be observed, and then you would begin your day.  

As a canoness, it was expected of you to take on a social service as part of your dedication. You spent most of your mornings and afternoons educating noble daughters in-between observations of the canonical hours.  

You felt more like a governess than a nun at times.  If not for your strong pull to the faith, you would have considered such a position.

Fate had other plans.

And it was better than nursing.

You needed the Father’s opinion on a particular student prior to their appointment, now that the thought crossed your mind.

As service wrapped up, you responded with the appropriate, “Glory to the Tsaritsa,” before the procession exited the sanctuary, accompanied by song.  

The Father usually waited in the narthex to see people off.  With so few in attendance, save the monastic communities, perhaps you would be able to speak with Father Pantalone early...that would save you the headache later.

You waited until the congregation cleared out and then made your way over to the golden-eyed priest, smoothing out your white tunic, the color expected of your order.  

“Good morning, Father.  May I have a word?” you asked.

“Blessing be upon you, sister.  What can I assist with?”

He always wore a smile, as he did now, one that fooled the common person into making a decision to put even their very last mora into the donation tray during mass.  Such an act would, to some, seem disingenuous, corrupt even.  It ensured that the church remained open.

Towards you, the gesture was an attempt to keep you from taking too much of his time.  If he were approachable at this hour, you would not seek him out again.

“One of my students was recently betrothed, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yes, I gave approval on the match to both families.  The announcement should be out this week, Archons willing.  Is there reason for concern?”

His smile grew tighter as the words passed his lips.  A strange man, Father Pantalone; full faith in the Tsaritsa but a strange disdain for the rest of the pantheon.  Your revered mother once said that with the way he balanced the church’s books, one would think he worshipped Deus Auri (or Yanwang Dijun as you once heard used).

Usually the request you were about to make would have gone to the revered mother you served but both families supported the church financially.  They paid for the recent reinforced ceiling above your head and the doors that kept out the cold.

Doors that were pushed open by a single figure with a white cloak, bird-like mask over his eyes, and a vicious grin.  His blue hair was plastered with snow, which he trudged in without so much as a toe-tap.

Only Harbingers such as the Father himself wore martial bands on their cloaks, you knew.  And this man certainly wasn’t Tartaglia.

“Shut the door, Dottore.  You didn’t have to bring the weather with you,” Father Pantalone snapped, his smile dropping instantly.  “What are you doing here at this hour?”

The man you now knew as Dottore waved an errant hand and the front doors to the church slammed shut with a final gust of wind.  

“I’m heading back to the Palace after an examination of the northern chasm.  Surely even you wouldn’t allow a fellow heretic such as myself to freeze, would you?  Doesn’t everyone have a place among your flock, Father Regrator?”

He spoke with an arrogance that made your blood boil even more.  As if his interruption wasn’t enough.

The priest regarded the other man with exasperation and disdain, his authority immediately undermined.  It was well-known that Father Pantalone held the Tsaritsa in the highest regard, which most used to refute the rumors that he was nothing more than a money-hungry clergyman.  It was an accusation you never thought to be rooted in anything other than envy and spite.

But Lord Harbinger Dottore spoke with a level of certainty that only came with his position.

Father Pantalone turned his attention back to you, intent on ignoring Dottore, who was now looking up at the ceiling with a sharp-toothed snarl.

“Excuse my colleague’s interruption, Sister.  What were you saying?”

“The young lady wrote a recent essay regarding the duty of the faithful.  It was an interesting analysis on the purpose of marriage and how one might consider matchmaking to be an antithesis to fate.  Her family’s recent choice is clearly a source of contention.”

“A topic that you’re more than equipped to handle, Sister.  After all, you ran away from your own betrothal, did you not?”

You swallowed the dark desire to ask the Tsaritsa to damn him.  

“Something I’m certain neither family wishes for her to emulate.  It would be a shame for them to blame the church if that came to fruition.” The quick, humble save fumbled from your lips as your eyes darted between the Father and the other Harbinger.

Golden eyes disappeared in amusement as the priest gave a soft chuckle.

“I suppose you are correct, dear Sister.  I’ll speak to the Revered Mother about the matter.”

His tone was dismissive; you would receive nothing else from him and determined to escape higher political matters, you bowed and began to head out of the narthex.  You caught whispers before Father Pantalone’s voice rang out again, stopping you in your tracks.

“Sister, you are on your way to breakfast, are you not?”

You turned and regarded both men again.  Dottore’s obscured gaze was no longer on the ceiling but on you and you felt your skin crawl.  Anyone in service to the Harbingers, to the Tsaritsa in any capacity, knew of Il Dottore, the Second Harbinger of Eleven, and his unusual stance on the world.  

Completely unfaithful in the Seven, including the Archon he served, and yet he held a station only surpassed by Capitano.  He was outranked by empathy, some said, for the Captain was often willing to lend his strength to all who asked, provided their goals aligned.

“I am, yes, Father.”

“Please take our guest to the kitchens and see he leaves through the back entrance when he’s finished.  I would rather he not be seen coming and going from the front doors and not immediately combusting.  I have a schedule to keep but even I am not unkind to blasphemers.”

In any other capacity, you would have found his remark humorous.  Father Pantalone’s posture was rigid, his jaw tight, and although he smiled, nothing in his brow signaled he enjoyed nor believed the words that came out of his mouth.  

And you had no choice but to agree, even if it meant interrupting the usually silent breakfast, for Father Pantalone had already walked away.  Naturally.  You asked something of him; it was only expected he would ask something of you in return.

To Dottore, you said: “If you would follow me, Lord Harbinger.”

You led the Second Harbinger through the side corridors and back outside, along the covered walkways around a courtyard.  The sun had yet to rise, torches imbued with Pyro throwing shadows as you made your way to the kitchens.  Dottore stopped for a moment, and when you no longer heard a second pair of footsteps, you paused and turned to find him regarding the snowy courtyard, the fountain frozen.

The firelight made his shadow look like a hulking bird.

“Is your student wrong, in your opinion, Sister?” he asked.

“I’m not quite sure I understand your question, my lord.”

You did but you weren’t going to outright answer him.  Not when he was keeping you from the warm hall and your morning coffee.

“To consider an arranged marriage sanctioned and approved by the Tsaritsa to be an attempt to control fate.  That by your student not having a say in the matter, having no control over her life, her own fate is undermined?”

It was too early for this, you thought bitterly.  And Pantalone said too much in front of the wrong person.  Not the first time your own history slipped through during conversations it shouldn’t have.

“That would depend on whether one believes it is the Archons or Celestia who has control over fate,” you said at last.  “Archons interpret the Heavenly Principles but there is a divide on whether the Archons act on their own or Celestia can override their will and therefore they are nothing more than figureheads.  Either way, free will is…difficult to define.  Some find comfort in it; others prefer the idea that another power is in charge of everything.”

“Diplomatic, Sister, but not what I asked,” Dottore chuckled.  “I suppose I should expect as much from someone in Pantalone’s realm but you strike me as someone who has defined free will for herself.”

You suppressed a shiver as you watched a black bird, some kind of corvid that lived around here, flew from a nearby tree and settled into the snow.  It buried its head before it wiggled, covering itself as it played with the newly-fallen powder.

“One should have a say in the long-term decisions of their lives,” you replied.  “Marriage is one of those decisions.  Many know how to wield a hammer and nail two pieces of wood together.  Some can build houses.  Others simply rely on that skill to repair what needs to be fixed and leave it at that.  Faith should be a compass, a guidebook; nothing more than a tool by which to live.”

The corvid made a sound as it wriggled and hopped about, soon joined by its companions.  Here, the birds were well-fed and clever for it, often seen as blessings of the Tsaritsa for their playful and comforting nature.

Elsewhere in the nation, they were absolute menaces.

Your answer seemed to satisfy him, for Dottore’s chest rose and fell once, warm breath snaking from his nostrils as if he were a long-lost dragon.

He fell in step with you again and when you reached the kitchen, he left your side and settled in front of the fire almost immediately.  Attentive eyes fell on you as you spoke to the cook about making sure the Harbinger left through the service entrance.  

In silence, you brought a cup of coffee and a plate of food to Il Dottore.  The only acknowledgement you received was a silent turn of the head along with a slight nod.  

At least he had the decency to respect the atmosphere.

Normally, the smell of coffee and warm bread was enough to shake you from the cold.  You would have spoken softly about what others were reflecting on that morning, sought guidance on which verses might provide insight.

Not today.

The coffee tasted burnt.  The bread felt stale.  The meat was cold.

And too many people were watching.  As if they knew.

You left your hot drink unfinished and tucked the errant bread into your pocket.  As you wished your fellow Canonesses a good morning and departed, you felt ice bloom over your shoulders, unfamiliar and attentive.

As you passed the courtyard, you paused only long enough to break up the bread and feed the eager birds.  They fluttered and squawked, picking up the pieces eagerly.

This morning’s reflections would be tedious but worthwhile.  Reminders of why you came to the arms of the Tsaritsa to begin with.

[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.

[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.