#church kneeler

[museumsandfolk]

Flag lamb

[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.

[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)

[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.

[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.

[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?

[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!

[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

[disgruntled-foreign-patriarch]

Typical Catholic Church:

Welcome to Our Lady of Pain Parish

The A/C is broken, the kneelers have Legos glued to them, and we slap you saying "Memento Mori" before each Mass

Mass times: Every day at 7AM and 10:30AM on Sundays. We share a priest with 5 other parishes.

[heresylog]

Hi! Anglican here (Episcopalian’s British cousins). Overall the services are very similar in basic structure- a thing that has thrown catholic friends of mine before is that we do have slight variations of some of the prayers (someplacesthe Lord’s Prayer ends in ‘for yours is the kingdom, the power and the glory’ rather than ‘deliver us from evil’ and I believe the creed is slightly different!) and in my own experience quite different hymnals. Idk if you’d want to take communion but probably a good idea to ask the vicar first- most churches are okay with it as long as you’re some kind of confirmed Christian. Usually you can take the pamphlet thing they give you up to the alter to indicate you just want a blessing! Keeping your arms down and if needs be asking also tend to work- most anglicans and Episcopalians I know tend to prefer having the host put in their hands. Most churches have near obligatory cake and coffee at the end, it’s either bad or the best thing you’ve had. Usually worth the gamble! There might be a lot of variation- our tradition focuses a lot on compromise so some low churches seem very ‘Protestant’ while others can be really high church so my apologies for the generality of the advice! I hope you have a good service and a lovely week!

Thank you for your response.

I just got done with the service today. It was extremely modern. All white walls and very minimalist decor. The art depicting the liturgical season was absolutely gorgeous.

The music was very….well, hippie Protestant. I’m glad there was a pamphlet with the order of the liturgy. The Nicene Creed is slightly different and threw me off quite a bit.

The deacon was so nice! I’m glad I got a chance to see her in her element and outside of a professional setting. The deacon is a former catholic I work with so it was nice chatting with her afterwards.

Other things I noticed:

Name tags! Each person puts their name on there. It’s a nice touch. They also asked me to put pronouns on, too. Which was different.

Coffee and tea before service. I’ve never been somewhere that served coffee before service, usually that’s for after. I also felt strange taking it with me to the pews.

No kneelers. I’ve been informed that kneelers are at some episcopal churches. They were not present at the one I attended.

Baptism free-for-all. A new member who had just shown up that day was asked if he’d like to get baptized after service. He asked if he needed to go to classes first and they said that was optional. That kinda made my brain go fritzy.

Holy Ghost vs Holy Spirit. I knew this from watching Call the Midwife but it was still strange to hear. It makes me think of Scooby Doo or Julie and the Phantoms.

Everything is The Great. There are lots of different things described as “the Great.” The Great Amen, The Great Silence, etc etc.

Overall, interesting experience.

[merakiione]

-scarecrow-

you’re a gourd head and i’m the guts scooped out of 

your sunstone shell but even with your stem trimmed 

your spirit breathes and even laughs occasionally

what a beautiful guffaw, malevolent in major ways

but oh hey, look at us, we’re finally reaching the manor on the hill 

i wonder how many of your brethren have made it their local haunt 

a place where your toes never truly brush the polished floors 

but rather hover and collect cobwebs to spin into 

vampire wedding dresses, as sticky as phantom membranes, 

reanimated in an undying will to drink at the spot

where your shoulder meets your collarbone, that inviting juncture

the kneelers in the church are always laid out now

there are imprints in the leather but the atheists stand

black cat back, bridge-bent, why do you hiss at the gloomy corner?

tenebrous in a pelagic way, all those women’s bodies dumped in quarries 

the last time the monstera was watered here seems far too long look how the planter collects grime, bearing and raising dust bunnies

but here now we see that the rippled leaf edges have yet to brown

I suppose even a potted plant can be haunted.

[bathomet-writes]

confessions

summary: A church wasn't the most ideal place for a date, but there were certainly some things Donnie and you had to get off of your chests. What better place to do them than in a confessional booth?

relationship: 2012!Donnie x GN!reader

warnings: romantic, fluff, humor, secret dating, slight hurt/comfort, awkward flirting and confessions (lol), kissing, PDA (sort of)

word count: 5,972

author's note: a request from 🫐 anon!! i thought i could write a 2012 donnie fic without referencing april but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Hello?”

You knocked gently against the oak doors. The Catholic church next to your apartment always loomed over you. The intricate stained-glass windows and crosses became fairly familiar to you over the years. The church was just a part of the tapestry of your life, but you never went inside. Not that you had any good reason to, but you still felt a little bad that the thought never crossed your mind. 

The unintentional guilt just happened to come to a head tonight, as you stood before the main entrance. It was a bit of an impulse decision, but you texted Donnie to meet you here instead of your usual hangout spot. You two had been spending a lot more time together, outside the lair. You really didn’t know why he didn’t want to just stick to his lab or the living room, there was plenty to do there. 

Maybe he just needed to get out of the sewers? Eh, whatever. 

You knock again, listening to the hollow sound echo inside. It was haunting. 

“Uh…sanctuary?” You inquire to no one in particular. 

Shouldn’t churches be open all the time? Reaching down to the handle, you were surprised to find it unlocked. What luck. 

“Woah,” you gasp, creeping into the main area. The nave, if you could recall your bible study lessons, was what it was called. It had been years since you’ve even stepped foot in a church. 

Looking around the pews, there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. No late night sinners praying for forgiveness or old ladies reading the bible. Just a huge, empty chapel. There were a couple candles flickering dimly in lanterns, at the ceiling and around the pulpit, so there must have been someone around. It made you feel a little better about barging in, at least there was an employee still here. An employee of God. 

You chortle to yourself as you get settled. The front row seemed the only appropriate seating option, and you ease onto the worn wood of the bench. The pew was a tad uncomfortable, or maybe it was just the awkward feeling of being inside a church. The holy beauty of the tapestries, the windows, the image of the Virgin Mary and Jesus statues staring wistfully into the audience: all of it sent a chill up your spine. 

“Jesus– I mean…Jeez.” 

Phew, that was a close one. 

You needed to relax. Maybe while you were here, waiting for Donnie, you could try and shake out the ‘ol praying hands. You were probably due for a talk with the Big Guy anyway. This was a judgment-free zone, just imagine Him sitting backwards in a folding chair and air your grievances. 

The kneeler groaned with your added weight as you shifted to get into prime prayer position. At least they had some velvet upholstery. The only comfortable way to sit in a church was apparently if you were on your knees in penitence. You fiddle with your hands, trying to find the best praying gesture. Folding your fingers, or the classic hands clasped together, palms flush? You kind of looked like you were trying to do some hand ninjitsu or something. 

“Just–” You take in a steadying breath, calming your nerves. “There.”

Once you have your hands positioned, you shut your eyes. For some reason, you felt a lot more relaxed now. Having to look at all the religious symbols was making you jumpy. 

And now, the moment of truth. 

“...”

Huh, that was weird. You didn’t even think anything, let alone say anything out loud. Let’s try that again. 

“...Ahem.” You cough.

Perfect. 

“Augh, this is so stupid. I don’t know what to say.” 

You sigh to yourself, reveling in your own self-pity. This was depressing. Sitting like this with your eyes closed was making you almost too relaxed, and you couldn’t think of a simple prayer. The only thing that came to mind was the bedtime one you used to do when you were a kid. Oh no, that was making it worse. 

How did it go again? ‘Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep,’ or something like that. Your eyelids grew heavier with every word. 

Maybe you could just sit here for a second, just to calm down. You fell asleep in church all the time listening to the pastor’s sermons. How was this any different? 

—

Donnie punched the coordinates you sent him back into his T-Phone. For some reason, the results kept popping up as a church! Surely you didn’t mean to send him to a place like that. It just didn’t seem like the kind of establishment you’d want to hang out in. Especially in a…romantic context. 

Plus, he wasn’t too sure how welcomed he would be going in as a mutant turtle. Sure, churches were accepting of all kinds of people, human or otherwise. Wasn’t everyone made in His image? Even Donnie? His brothers, dad, and all the other mutants he knew probably didn’t look anything like what God was supposed to look like. But who was to say? He was a man of science, not theology. 

“Somehow, I feel like everyday we stray further from God’s light.” He sighs, landing on the sidewalk from the perch atop your roof. He felt kind of corny saying that out loud, considering he was now standing face-to-face with the titular building. 

The church…in all its divinity. Donnie gulped, all of the sudden feeling quite small. 

Looking at the GPS, this was the right place. And the tracking pin from your phone pointed in this direction. Even though your apartment was right there, just a couple of feet away. He could see your window from here too. Maybe he could just convince you to move your little congregation to your room instead? It looked so cozy from here, so familiar. 

No, that was ridiculous. Wherever you wanted to meet was fine, it was more than fine! The topic of your hangouts was sort of a sore subject with Donatello. Not because he didn’t want to do what you wanted to do, it was just…

Complicated. That was the best way to put it. 

“Oh well, here goes nothing.” Donnie cracks his neck, putting on a tough face. 

Gathering up all the confidence he could, he bursts through the large double-doors.

“EEP–!”

That wasn’t exactly the entrance he intended on making. The doors were thankfully pretty heavy, so all they did was slowly creak open. At least they didn’t slam against the wall. The ancient hinges screech through the empty hall, announcing his presence.

Donnie’s newfound bravery was replaced with sheepishness. Chuckling, he takes a quick look around.

“No big deal, I’m sure nobody heard that.” He whispers, tip-toeing forward. 

Behind him, the large doors seem to swing back closed by themselves. The loud CLICK of them shutting makes Donnie spin around. 

“No…that didn’t just happen? Was that a ghost? A Holy Ghost?”

The church was empty, save for one person at the first row of pews. They must be a regular here, the way they were bent over in prayer. He walked on, furiously texting you. This place was giving Donnie the creeps. 

“Where are you? Being here feels…kind of sacrilegious.” He winces, glancing around. 

Mindlessly, Donnie made his way to the very end of the pews to stand at the pulpit. The podium cast a long, intimidating shadow over him. Tearing his nervous gaze away, he landed on the person sitting at the front row. They must be pretty deep in prayer, their head was completely slumped over onto their hands. 

Donnie’s heart skips a beat, caught off guard by the patron. He almost forgot someone else was there. He was usually a bit high-strung all the time, but the eerie silence was making his skin crawl. 

Giving them a polite, if not slightly awkward smile, Donnie backs away. “Sorry, thought you were someone else…”

The only response he gets is a muffled snore. 

“Wait—“

Reaching out, Donnie pulls them up by the shoulder. Your head lolls to the side, your eyes slowly blinking up at him. 

This was no patron, it was you!

“Hey! What are you doing?” He whisper-shouts, shaking you about. “I’ve been texting you!”

In your tired state, it takes you a second to realize who just woke you up. And to realize that you were fast asleep. 

“ACK–!” You shriek, practically jumping up. “I– Wait, how long have I been here?” 

Donnie shimmies past you and places his hands on your shoulders again, sitting you both down. 

“Quiet down! What is up with your sleep schedule anyway?” He jokes, giving you a small squeeze. 

You had been having trouble sleeping lately, but how did Donnie know that? You smirk up at him, rubbing at your eyes. 

“It’s kind of the middle of the night. Not all of us are night-stalking vigilantes. Some of us have real jobs…during the day.”

You let out a yawn, shamelessly stretching out into Donnie’s personal space. He rolls his eyes, letting you fall into his lap a bit. He couldn’t argue with that logic. Nor could he protest to you hugging him. 

“Are you into church now, is that it?”

Huffing, you kneel back down to resume your prayer. Donnie follows suit, albeit a bit hesitantly.

“Only when they’re open 24/7,” you frown. “I just wanted to…y’know.”

You really didn’t know why. But, you were curious to see if Donnie could tell. 

He hums to himself while mimicking your pose, kneeling over and folding his hands. Watching his oblong number of fingers interlaced with each other is far more interesting for some reason. 

After considering it, he shuts his eyes as well. “Like Mcdonald's.”

You choke on a giggle, biting the inside of your cheek to stifle yourself. 

“…God? Are you there? Can I get a #5 with sweet and sour sauce?”

Donnie sounds like he has to hold himself back too. Eventually the two of you just crack and give in to laughter. Being together seemed to make you both forget how alone you were in the church. 

You snort, covering up your mouth in shame. 

“Alright, enough! This is a sacred place. Have some respect.”

But, Donnie couldn’t help but laugh at you even more. 

“Aww, that was adorable!” He gushes, poking at your cheek. And he thought he had a dorky laugh!

Damn, you couldn’t resist when he teased you so playfully. But you wouldn’t break. He continues prodding at you, waiting for your stone-cold scowl to disappear. Any minute now. 

“How can the sacredness of this place compete with how silly and cute you are? Honestly? What if Mcdonald’s is my church?”

You have to bury your face in your hands. With a quivering lip and shaky shoulders, you can only shake your head. 

“S-Stop.” You sputter, warning Donnie. He sure knew how to wield humor like a blunt instrument. Not quite as well as his bo staff, but still. 

When he finally stops his jabbering and poking, you flit one eye open. You look to your right, finding him staring at your face, and with such a smug smirk too. 

There it was. 

“Okay, I give. Uncle,” you grin, hands falling to your lap in defeat. “You’re so annoying sometimes.”

“You have no idea.”

You turn to give him a more earnest look. It had almost slipped your mind that perhaps your dates with Donnie shouldn’t consist only of witty digs and banter.

Tonight was date number four, and it was honestly sort of a surprise to you. A week ago, you probably would have sworn up and down you wouldn’t make it to two. Maybe you could chalk the record up to your boundless charm and dashing good looks?

Unbeknownst to you, Donnie was feeling the same way. Call it rejection anxiety or imposter syndrome, but he just didn’t think he’d be so lucky. Not only did you agree to a date, you agreed to multiple dates. As in plural!

You two sit in a comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company. There weren’t any rules against just sitting quietly in a church at night, right?

“Thanks for coming here. My room’s kind of a mess right now, and the lair—“

You stumble over your words. That last part sort of just…came out. You cut Donnie off before he can comment on it though.

“Well, you know what I mean. It can get pretty crowded there anyway.” You wave your hand at him, dispelling any doubt. 

A tiny bit of sweat begins to form on Donnie’s brow. As if you actually think he didn’t notice your sudden change in tone, the way your voice hitched? He knew all your tells.

Still, he didn’t want to really talk about it either. He returns your small smile with his own.

“Yeah, crowded. Haha…” He chuckles. 

“Why must our rendezvous be hidden under the cover of night? Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

The mood was getting a little too dour for a second there. Time to try to lighten things up.

“Ha-ha.” Donnie utters sarcastically under his breath.

“That’s it, you’re embarrassed of me. The public shame, the ridicule!” You throw yourself over his lap again, lying fully on your back. 

Your pathetic attempts to make Donnie flustered were admirable, but useless. Not even if you were making him sweatier. Calmly, he slides down an inch or two down the bench. “No, I just prefer the light of the harvest moon.”

As your head falls against the seat, you give him the stink eye. “We’ve got ourselves a real romantic here.”

You knew you guys couldn’t really go out on daytime dates. New York was still unfortunately not too keen on mutants. You suddenly felt sobered up thinking about it.

“Okay,” you sigh, sitting up. “Let’s just skip all that. How are you, what’s happening in the criminal underworld?” 

“Oh, you know. Foot Clan, petty thieves, same old, same old.”

You nod lazily along as he goes on.

“Actually, there was this fascinating article on genetic engineering I found! I was working on my retromutagen compound, trying to streamline the production process and whatnot. Just when you think you’ve used every kind of molecular centrifuge.”

Suddenly, he stops. He did have a tendency to rant about science stuff when allowed. His brothers usually shut him up after only a couple of seconds though. But you were silent. You were being so nice, it was actually making him blush. 

You cock your head to the side. “Lose your train of thought?”

“Uh, I don’t know?” He scratches the back of his head, looking over to you. “Just surprised you haven’t interrupted me yet. I know I can get kind of boring sometimes.”

Self-deprecation was sadly a part of Donnie’s core personality. You were used to it by now, but it was still a bad habit. Quickly, you slide closer to him and pinch at his bicep, snapping him out of it. 

“I’m sorry— Boo, boo.” You shove a thumbs-down in his face, mockingly wagging it around. 

He rolls his eyes, batting you away. “Please, don’t even joke about that.”

His tone was tired but not too stern. You pull away, throwing your arm over the back of the pew. 

“Seriously, I don’t mind. I don’t know all that much about science, but I do enjoy your infodumping. It’s like being back in Scholar’s Bowl.”

Donnie leans back, following your gaze with eagerness. 

“Do you really mean it?” He looks at you with awe. 

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

You stick your tongue out at him playfully and you’re rewarded with one of Donnie’s rare smiles. The one that’s wide enough to show off his tooth gap. 

Damn, that was cute. 

“But, uh…what’s Scholar’s Bowl?” He searches around the room, trying to look for the answer in his head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

You shake your head a bit to rid yourself of the incoming wave of fluffy feelings. It was hard to focus on what he was talking about with his silly, adorable smile plastered on his face. 

“Just an after-school thing I did. It’s a bunch of quizzes, like a trivia competition?”

You watch as Donnie’s eyes fall back on you, and light up. You had a sneaking suspicion that he’d be interested. 

“So it’s like…a battle of intellect?”

“Yup, all the schools compete against each other. It’s fun and educational.” You muse, twirling a piece of hair between your fingers.

Weird, you didn’t usually do that. You drop the lock with an embarrassed smirk. 

Donnie, despite his reputation for being observant, overlooks your shy expression. The stars sparkling in his eyes must be obscuring his vision. 

“Educational and fun? That’s the best kind of fun!”

You chuckle at his enthusiasm, standing up to work out your restless legs. 

“I could have really used you on my team too. I was always shit at the science and math categories, my forte was pop culture.”

You feel a warmth spread through your fingers and toes, thinking about you and him like that. You two could absolutely demolish a trivia night, or Pictionary. With his book smarts and your…(arguably useless) pieces of random facts, your combined powers would be unstoppable. 

Donnie stands up too, walking behind you over to the side of the pews. There were plenty of hallways and rooms you two could explore, but the church didn’t have much else to offer. It was pretty, but that was it.

“Dang, I didn’t realize this place was so…” He trails off as he follows along. “What’s the word I’m looking for?”

You saunter over to the confessional booth nearby, peeking in to steal a look or two. You’ve never been in one of these things before either. 

“Ornate? Gaudy? Pretentious?” You slip past the corner to open up the curtain, beckoning Donnie to step inside. 

“I was gonna go with sanctimonious.”

He takes your invitation and takes a seat. The booth was only about as big as a cabinet, so it was awkward for him to sit in it. You whistle quietly before moving to the other side. 

“Nice word.” You admit. 

“Thank you.”

You shift around, finding yourselves in another old piece of wooden furniture. “You’d think they’d spend some of the tithes on more comfortable seats.”

Donnie kicks his foot against the built-in bench, shrugging. “You’re not wrong. Splinter used to have this saying: Riches are like the wind, you only feel it when it’s moving.”

You purse your lips together. “That’s profound. But you’re not the one who’s supposed to dispense wisdom right now.”

“Are you asking me to confess my sins?” Donnie sits up, trying to look at you through the privacy screen that separated you two. 

Shifting into therapist mode, you clear your throat and get into a more authoritative position. “I assume it’s been some time since your last confession?”

Ah, you weren’t joking. Donnie tosses you a perplexed look, his eye ridge lowering. Was this some kind of impromptu venting session? He decided to play along for now. There was surprisingly a lot he wanted to get off of his shell. 

“Oh boy, where do I start? I’m still grappling with the fact that I’m a young adult, with hangups and petty problems. I’m a recovering know-it-all, I’m overly-critical, I overthink and oversay basically everything–”

“Alright, let’s just slow down.” You shush, chuckling a bit. “I don’t think I’m qualified to handle…all that.”

Donnie sighs with relief, in spite of himself. He was thankful for you cutting him off, he was this close to oversharing too. He clutches at his chest, absentmindedly feeling his heart rate increase. 

“Sorry, I’m also a hypocrite.”

You raise your hands, trying in vain to pacify him from across the booth. This setup was a little too detached for your liking now, you wish you could go over and hold his hand or something. Anything to help him through his belittling talk. 

“No, you’re not. You can say whatever you want in here, that’s kind of the point.” You smile, peering through the screen. 

It’s hard to make out, but you think he shrugs again. You guess that was better than nothing. Donnie goes quiet on the other side, making you feel like you need to fill the silence. 

“Uh…my turn?” You venture. 

“Sure. Go for it.” His voice sounded only slightly less despondent. 

You take that as your cue. There was plenty for you to vent about too, but you might as well take this opportunity to voice some of your concerns. Nothing that pressing, just things that were lingering in the back of your mind. 

Maybe it would be best to phrase it in the form of juicy gossip. A spoonful of sugar. 

“Wanna know a secret?” You lean up to the thin material of the screen, whispering directly to Donnie. 

“What’s that?” He takes the bait. 

You take in a small breath through your nose. Hopefully he wouldn’t take this the wrong way. 

“I used to hate you.”

A beat of silence follows, Donnie going stock still. His brain seems to lag, like the internet connection cutting out for a second. He knew you were mostly kidding, but based on your shared rocky history, it wasn’t all that surprising. 

But, it was true. You two used to be more like frenemies, locked in a tense relationship of one-upmanship and bickering. It was cute, but rather exhausting for other people to endure. 

“Sounds about right.” That’s all he offers, causing you to take a pause. 

“I mean, only a little bit. I’m sure it was mostly the hormones, or the weird way I like to flirt. It’s more like bullying than flirting.” You scratch an invisible pattern into the side of the booth, sulking into your seat. 

“I know, I would have hated me too. If you think I’m a dork now, you wouldn’t believe how insufferable I was before.”

“I think everyone hates their past self, it’s not that weird.” You frown. 

The two of you look toward each other for a second before chuckling. To the uninformed observer, your laughs sound stilted, even a little forced. Donnie forgot that you two had that in common, the pessimistic tendencies. It wasn’t depressing though. If anything, it was comforting. You got one another, but you were never too enabling. 

“Guess we both have some sins to repent for.” He sets his head onto his hands, feeling slightly less agitated. 

You lick at your teeth, squeaking in response. “Yup.”

For a moment, you consider keeping the next confession to yourself. There was one more ugly thought that sat at the tip of your tongue, but it was embarrassing.

“I, uh…I also kind of hated April.”

Once you start, you don’t wait for Donnie to respond.

“We talked about it before, don’t worry. It’s all water under the bridge. But I knew I had a crush on you, even if it seemed like I didn’t.”

It pained you to admit, but it was true. You were actually pretty jealous of April back then, despite your active denial. Dealing with feelings was complicated for anyone, but being an audience to the love triangle of April, Donnie, and Casey was even more confusing. It was hard to be around them sometimes. You still don’t know how Casey worked into it, he didn’t seem like the type to get caught up in that kind of stuff. 

“It was a mess of unrequited feelings. That’s what it was. It’s actually kind of funny when I think about it now, hindsight and everything.”

You remember how diluted you were, so quick to reject your obvious feelings for Donnie in favor of resentment. You were convinced that you just didn’t like him, for whatever nebulous reason. Not because you secretly liked him and watching him rub his big, fat crush on April in your face made your blood boil. Those feelings were fleeting memories now, but they still weighed on you. 

Jealousy was just about one of the ugliest things to experience, and you feel the old guilt twist at your guts. Ugh, it was sickening. 

“Teenagers, am I right?” You quip, waiting for Donnie to chime in. 

Donnie takes in all your words, mulling them around in his mind before speaking. There was suddenly a lot more that he had to say to you. 

“I’m sorry for keeping this…whatever this is a secret.” He continues to hang his head in his hands, talking into his palm. “I know I’ve been avoiding talking about it–”

Even without the privacy screen, it didn’t take much for you to avoid looking at Donnie too. 

“You’re worried your brothers will tease you, I don’t blame you.”

“No, I’m a coward. It’s like– Why should I worry about what they think? I know they don’t mean to make fun, it’s just how we are. It’s not their fault though, I just don’t…” He leans back, vaguely waving his hands about. 

“Don’t want to–” You add. 

Finally, you both speak in unison. 

“Get my heart broken.”

The way your voices fold over one another, you swore it was like something out of a video game. You can see the little achievement banner now: ‘Embarrassing Backstory Unlocked.’

Your throat grows tight, and Donnie gulps. You both didn’t expect to be so on the same page. It was like you read his mind. 

“Spooky,” he concedes. “You’re really good at this confession thing.”

Slowly, your foot inches out of the side of the booth. You needed to get up again, the wooden seat was starting to make you really uncomfortable.

“You know me, always full of surprises.”

Donnie doesn’t hear the tiny shift of the wood or the sound of you sneaking over to his side of the booth. You stand at the other curtain, timidly rocking on your heels. 

“Same, only my surprises aren’t quite as charming. Some Mr. Right I turned out to be.”

He also doesn’t notice your presence just beyond the curtain. You were so close, maybe a little too close. You think you should stop yourself from overstepping a boundary, but you can’t help but reach a hand out to part the fabric. 

With a dry chuckle, Donnie shakes his head. This was supposed to be better, he was supposed to be different. Deep down, he knew he couldn’t stop the inevitable comparison to April. Why was he messing this up? The second-hand embarrassment made him cringe. 

Then, you grab his attention with the swift movement of your hand. You tear through the curtain and move to sit next to him. The small bench was barely big enough to hold Donnie, but you try to sit next to him regardless. 

“Uh!” He stammers, a redness coloring his cheeks. “I-I don’t think…”

This was definitely too close. 

But you don’t care. You needed to look him in the eye, no barriers or awkward feelings would get in the way.

“Why are you so concerned with being Mr. Right? Why not Mr. We’ll See, Mr. It’s Complicated.” You grab at Donnie’s face, urging him to keep his eyes on you. 

“Wha–?” He furrows his brow, his gaze trained on your lips. Eh, close enough. 

“What I mean is, why are you putting so much pressure on yourself?”

Saying it outloud, the answer was fairly obvious. But your question still stood. 

Donnie’s towering height didn’t deter you from leaning closer, craning your head up to maintain eye contact. Your steadfast and straightforward nature made him a little flustered sometimes, it was hard to keep up with you. 

But, he kind of liked it. You made him feel exhilarated, his heart hammering in his chest from both nerves and affection. His pulse echoes in his ears as he finds the right words. 

“Because I like you. I really like you and I don’t know what to do.”

His eyes go glassy for a moment, but this wasn’t the time to be sad. He couldn’t put all this pressure on you either. But it was the honest truth. He was smart when it came to science and inventions, but love? Real love was a mystery to Donnie. 

When you hear his honest, vulnerable confession, it rings true for you too. 

Slowly, you move your hands away from his face. Then you lean your head against his plastron.

Donnie moves only slightly to look down at you, an expectant expression on your face. Once again, you surprise him.

“I don’t know what to do either, if that helps?” Your lips draw up into a goofy smile. 

Seeing you look up at him so sweetly, Donnie’s heart thrummed even more. It was honestly making him a little dizzy. But there was no roadmap to a real relationship, and you were a completely different person from April. Certainly different from him, but that was good. He liked how different you were, even if you two had similar qualities.

“It does…” He sighs, his hand creeping up to palm at your cheek. “So, now what?”

Shifting the conversation back to the confessional, he smiles timidly and waits for you to answer. He could wait for however long you needed, the tiny room felt a lot less claustrophobic and a lot more relaxing all of the sudden. 

“Oh, right. Just do ten Hail Marys and five Our Fathers and you’ll be fine.”

You flick your hand up to sign the cross at him, signaling the completion of your confessions. There had been enough atonement and self-punishment for one night. 

Donnie’s chest rumbles, his laughter making your head move. 

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” he grins, lifting your head up to meet his own. 

The lilt of his voice makes your throat tighten up again. You didn’t really know why, but his body language was so much more confident than before. And who knew his voice had such an effect on you? You didn’t, that’s for sure. 

“What do you mean then?” You ask, genuinely curious. 

Before you know it, you watch as Donnie lets his eyelids drop and leans in for a kiss. For once, he forgoes talking and allows his actions to speak for themselves. 

For the first time in a long time, you feel your face begin to heat up. You didn’t get flustered that easily, but Donnie was being so…

Brazen. 

You don’t know if you should slap him or smooch him. Maybe you could lean into it, crash your lips into his even harder. There was that old competitiveness again, it was like how you felt around Donnie when you were younger. If anyone was going to pull the first move in this relationship, it was you!

But, you were afraid of what would happen next. You really didn’t know what would transpire here if you let yourself get caught up in his advances. This was God’s house, after all. You could just feel the disapproving look from up above. 

“Hey, Don.”

Donnie stills, his lips ghosting over yours. His breath is warm, and oddly tantalizing. 

Fuck, you were turning into a simp with every passing moment. How uncouth. 

His words and movements are slow, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “Yes?”

“Wrong kind of booth.” You smirk. 

You move your hand to his plastron to push him away, only from Donnie to catch you by the wrist. The bold gesture ignites a fire in your belly. 

“Eh, I’ll just do another Hail Mary or two.” He shoots an indignant, cocky smirk right back at you.

“Wait, wha–”

Donnie flips the script and shuts you up for once, pressing his lips softly against yours. You feel a series of hot flashes overtake your body. As you start to feel motionless, your limbs go slack and your eyes flutter closed. It just seemed inappropriate to look at someone while you were…kissing. 

Kissing. Donnie was kissing you. You have a moment of clarity before you feel his tongue slide hesitantly along your bottom lip. Then, your mind goes blank again. 

You’re somehow frozen in place. The only movement you can muster is your lips parting slightly, your neck angling in such a way that lets you lean into him. A gasp of surprise from Donnie hums against your mouth as you deepen the kiss. 

For what seems like hours, the two of you commit a rather sinful act in the privacy of the confession booth. You feel your eyebrows knit together, reeling from the shameful display. 

Another sound from Donnie, a low chur, makes your eyes open again. That wasn’t a sound you’ve ever heard from him before. You separate when you see his eyes are open as well, staring unabashedly at you. 

He blushes harder, knowing that he’d been caught. “I’m sorry, you just looked so–!”

“You’re so weird,” you cackle. “If I didn’t find you so cute, I’d slug ya!”

Donnie groans to himself as he watches you step out of the booth, leaving him a bashful puddle of a turtle. He bursts out of the curtain, making you shriek in surprise and run away. Bobbing and weaving through the pews, Donnie gives chase as you put up your dukes, playfully inviting him to spar with you. 

“Hey, no running in the church!” He shouts, tackling you to the ground. 

“No! No, don’t tickle me! This is torture!” 

Your manic roughhousing is promptly ended when Donnie’s eyes travel over to a pair of shoes standing before you two. He travels up, finding a rather perturbed-looking priest holding a douter. He must have been in the process of putting out the candles when he caught two strangers coming out of the confessional to candoodle on the floor. 

His face was etched in horror as he pointed to Donnie’s face. “Is that a frog?”

Suddenly, your head whips around to look up. “Oh, shit.”

With all the color drained from his face, Donnie gingerly stands up, pulling you along with him. He is at an utter loss for words, and all he can do is stand there and sweat bullets. 

Thinking on your feet, you grab Donnie’s hand and hightail it out of there before the priest can react again. You would hate to have to deal with the wrath of God right now. 

Donnie, thankful for your decision to make a speedy exit, gladly lets you drag him behind you. Laughing a bit too loudly, he picks up the pace. 

“Peace be with you!” He shouts behind him as you make your way to the main doors. 

Right before Donnie can shut them closed, the priest responds out of habit. Perhaps he was just too shocked to do anything else. 

“And with your spirit!”

With an ominous thud, the doors shut on their own again. They slam in your bewildered faces. 

You wheeze, catching your breath. “I…I thought it was ‘and also with you!’”

Donnie shakes his head, a distant look in the eye. “It’s ‘and with your spirit’ now.”

All at once, your body tenses up and relaxes as you let out shaky laughter. Donnie’s shell knocks against the door as he laughs too, sliding slowly down. 

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs. 

“How dare you use the Lord’s name in vain!” You gasp, reaching out to take his shoulder. “Have you learned nothing?”

Donnie’s laughter dies down a bit as he picks himself back up, leaning closer to you. “Yes, I learned that I like kissing you.”

His suggestive (and frankly cheesy) attempt at schmoozing you makes your laughter stop as well. You bring your fist up to lightly punch his face away. 

��Dork,” you sigh.

“Jerk,” he smiles. 

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