#kink theology

[bethetiesthatbind]

I am torn between a sense of solidarity and devastation that that feeling of existing parallel to places you either used to belong or should belong, is so relatable. People and friends who may want to help but don't know how to, instead disappear back into the familiarity and normativity that is visible to you, but also out of your reach. And you breathe through knowing that they don't know how to help, but more pointedly are too fearful of what that could entail, that might upset their own familiar and norm, to try. Intentions are good, but hope that would inspire innovative action can be all but silent unless you already *know*.

This is not only true in the Church, but in all social circles I have ever experienced, being inside, alongside, or outside.

This is why critical thinking and the kind of liberation theology I have been swallowed into is so incredibly important because when we are so enveloped by Normativity, we are blind not to those who aren't but blind to solutions that could invite them in where we are, we cannot see their obstacles that we've made or perpetuated. We MUST look to the marginalized and we must HEAR them when they spell out what is in the way of connection. They're the only ones who can notice it because of the chasm between our vantage points.

This is why Paulo Freire wrote Pedagogy of the Oppressed that demands universal participation in dialogue, but that the salvation from being or becoming oppressors can only lie in the oppressed.

[bethetiesthatbind]

me trying to explain depths of kink theology as it relates to liberation theology

what studying literature feels like

[bethetiesthatbind]

How Will You Kiss at Midnight?

“Mercy and truth have met together; Righteousness and peace have kissed.”

- Psalm 85:10

How Will You Kiss at Midnight?

Biblical kisses show us that there are numerous kinds of kisses, times, and places for kissing:

kisses for blessing and anointing

kisses for tenderness

kisses for greeting

kisses for regret and apology

kisses for reconciliation and forgiveness

kisses for mourning

kisses for farewell

kisses for hunger and desperation

kisses for affirming human connection

kisses for hubris and self-congratulations

kisses for contracts

kisses for deceit

kisses for love that is better than wine

kisses for longing

kisses for cleansing

kisses for humility

kisses for unbridled thankfulness

kisses for relief

kisses for joy

kisses for holiness

Participants of these holy kisses can be among anyone, a parent, a sibling, a lover, a friend, a stranger. Fire has tongues that can burn or purify or protect. Isaiah kissed the coals of the seraphs; Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were protected within the furnace; God sent a pillar of fire to guide and protect the Hebrews leaving Egypt; tongues of fire lit on the shoulders of Jesus’ disciples to bless their ministries to be blessings unto the world.

Holy fire may kiss us with ecstasy and with ruin and with rejuvenation.

Who will you kiss at midnight?

How will you kiss at midnight?

Happy New Year.

[bethetiesthatbind]

Like Sapphire

Her Nazarites were brighter than snow

And whiter than milk;

They were more ruddy in body than rubies,

Like sapphire in their appearance.

- Lamentations 4:7, NKJV

Note: I am in no way comparing Lil Nas X to the fall of Zion. Stay strong in your splendent justice, king. You are like sapphire in your appearance.

[holysaintscathedral]

My hand kink 🤝 the knowledge that priest's hands are anointed and therefore holy.

[suckmysourgrapes]

Sometimes I do collage

[crucifiedlancelot]

I love studying anthropology and theology

It does make it a little awkward when I'm looking at priest kink art and see something inaccurate. My mind decides to focus on that instead of the very nicely rendered fucking.

[wild-solovei]

The tormented, who are they if not martyrs turned sour for lack of knowing who they should burn for ?

- Cioran, Aveux et Anathèmes.

[amore-mortis]

Ch. 4

The morning sun poured in through the windows of the parish office as the priests gathered for breakfast. The room was decorated with dark, heavy furniture and portraits of religious figures from times past. A large, oval-shaped wooden table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs.

At the head of the table sat the older, and larger, Father Thomas. His face was stern but kind, his hair was past thinning, it was gone, and his eyes were deep-set behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. To his left sat Father James, a shorter man with a ruddy complexion and a jovial laugh. He wore a well-tailored black suit and a large silver cross around his neck. To his right sat Father William, a tall and thin man with sharp features and piercing blue eyes. He wore a simple black cassock and had an air of solemnity about him.

As the priests began to eat, they engaged in small talk and shared stories from the previous day's work. Father James recounted a particularly heartwarming visit to a sick parishioner, while Father William shared a troubling encounter with a non-believer who had mocked him for his faith.

Father Mills sat at the far end of the table, his face downcast and his eyes avoiding the others. He picked at his food, unable to eat much due to the shame he felt over his dream about Father Thomas's niece. He stole glances at the other priests, studying their faces and wondering if they could see the guilt and shame he carried within.

Father Thomas noticed the look on Father Mills' face and made mention, "are you feeling alright?"

Father Mills shook his head and mumbled something about not sleeping well the night before. "These damn nightmares," he remarked, "I'll be fine." He'd mentioned the nightmares before, the first few times it happened. This time, however, it wasn't a nightmare, but a moral tragedy.

Father James expressed concern and suggested that Father Mills take a break from his duties for a day to rest.

Father Mills waved off their concern, but deep down he knew that he needed to confront his feelings and deal with the shame he carried. As the breakfast conversation continued, Father Mills tried to appear engaged, but his mind was elsewhere, consumed with thoughts of his own pride and the shame it had brought upon him.

The breakfast table was set with fine linens, delicate porcelain, and steaming dishes of eggs and bacon. Father Mills sat at one end of the table, his eyes fixed on the plate in front of him. He had barely touched his food, his mind preoccupied with the events of the previous night.

As the other priests chatted amicably amongst themselves, Father Thomas cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Father Mills," he said, "I wanted to speak with you about something."

Father Mills looked up, his expression guarded. He knew that Father Thomas was not one to beat around the bush, and he braced himself for whatever was to come.

"I have a proposition for you," Father Thomas continued. "My niece, Mary, has expressed an interest in becoming a lector for the church. I was wondering if you would be willing to tutor her."

Father Mills felt his stomach clench with anxiety. He knew that he couldn't refuse Father Thomas's request, but the thought of spending extra time with Mary made him uneasy. He had grown fearful of her in that he couldn't deny that he felt a certain attraction towards her.

Despite his misgivings, Father Mills forced a smile and nodded. "Of course, Father Thomas," he said. "I would be happy to help Mary in any way I can."

Father Thomas smiled warmly. "That's wonderful news, Father Mills," he said. "I knew I could count on you. Mary is a bright girl, and I have no doubt that she will make an excellent lector with your guidance."

Father Mills forced a smile, but he couldn't shake the sense of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he had a duty to Mary and to the church, but he couldn't help but feel that he was playing with fire.

Father Mills excused himself from the table, feeling a sudden surge of nausea rise within him. He made his way down the hall, past the bustling sacristan and into the small lavatory at the end of the corridor. Closing the door behind him, he leaned heavily against the wall and took several deep breaths.

The image of Mary, innocent and beautiful, filled his mind once again, and he could feel his heart begin to race. He had accepted Father Thomas's request to tutor her, but what if he could not control his growing feelings towards her? What if his desire led him to do something he would later regret?

The thought of such a thing made him sick to his stomach. He doubled over and retched into the basin, the sound of his own dry heaving echoing off the tiled walls.

After several minutes, he straightened up and splashed some cold water on his face. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, and the lines of exhaustion and worry etched into his face stared back at him.

Taking a deep breath, he composed himself and exited the bathroom, determined to fulfill his duty to the church and to Mary, no matter the cost.

As Father Mills sat at his desk, his ballpoint pen scratched meticulously over the page, carefully crafting the lesson that would prepare Mary for her first time as a lector. He pored over the holy scripture, carefully selecting the passages that were most pure and virtuous, ensuring that Mary's innocent eyes would not stray to anything impure or sinful.

He read and reread each line, his mind consumed with the task of preparing her for her holy duty. He chose passages that spoke of faith, love, and hope, each word chosen with such care that one would think he were painting a masterpiece rather than a mere lesson.

As he wrote, his eyes would occasionally wander to the portrait of Mary that sat on his desk. The image seemed to flicker in the dim candlelight, almost as if it were alive. He would catch himself staring at it, lost in a trance of admiration for her beauty and purity.

But he quickly shook himself out of it, reminding himself of his duty as a priest and a teacher. He could not allow his thoughts to wander, especially not when it came to Mary, the young woman whose soul he had been entrusted to guide.

Finally, after hours of careful preparation, Father Mills laid down his pen, content that his lesson was perfect. He leaned back in his chair, his mind at ease, and allowed himself a moment to gaze upon the portrait of Mary once more, his heart filled with a mix of pride and desire.

His attention turned to next Sunday's homily. He figured, since he was still sat at his desk in his small study, that he should finish next week's homily as well. The dim candlelight casting a warm glow over the room. He was deep in thought, his pen scratching away on paper as he crafted his homily for the upcoming Sunday Mass. The topic was love, a subject close to his heart, but also one that he knew could be dangerous if not approached with caution.

He chose his words carefully, referencing the selected passages from the Bible that spoke of the purest forms of love, the kind that would not lead him astray from his vow of celibacy. He wanted to inspire his congregation to love as God loved, to love their neighbors as themselves, to love even their enemies.

As he wrote, his mind kept drifting to Mary, his beautiful and virtuous student. He felt a warmth in his chest as he imagined her reading the scripture passages he had chosen, her voice ringing out clear and sweet, touching the hearts of all who heard it.

But he quickly pushed these thoughts aside, reminding himself of his duty to God and his vow of celibacy. He could not allow himself to be distracted by earthly desires, no matter how tempting they might be.

[bethetiesthatbind]

For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said,

“This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying,

“This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.”

For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

- 1 Corinthians 11:23-26, NIV

eat her like you need her

[wishmaker-astra]

What? Are you even talking about? I’m not a theology student

The demiurge while the most powerful is primitive, it creates and creates but it has no intelligence behind it. Arceus and Giratina respect The demiurge as their creator, but nothing more and in some ways feel above it, at least when Arceus doesn’t feel lower then dirt.

To put it weirdly nothing is the most simple form of something, the farther something gets away from nothing the more real it is, which is done through the process of endless combining and recombining of other things, this creates intelligence, but also makes things weaker.

The demiurge while asleep is nothing and thus can only create something barely more than nothing. When the demiurge is awake it is a effectively the average of nothing and everything it made, allowing for creating something more. This allows for the power of being a direct creation and the existence of being more.

Gender is a made up concept that only exists on certain paths of being more. Thusly there will be unlikely any creator with a gender or female one for that matter for a extraordinarily long time.

lol, neither am I, I'm just an astrophysics doctoral student. you're running with this long enough and enough skill you should look those things up to power up your shitpost game next time you mess around with someone

Ok, ok, interesting, continuous change as creation, implied pantheism or potentially emanations of the divine with the ex nhilo depending on how you spin that, we're starting to get a base you could do actual theology with.

But circling back, how does wishmaking factor into this. Are you saying I'M the demiurge ex nihlo, and how does that interact with me being Arceus's pet?

[laligraves]

say you're sorry

priest!joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~2k summary: You ask Father Miller for forgiveness. masterlist | AO3

warnings: HBO Joel, TLOU AU, mean!Joel, power imbalance (since Joel is a priest), some proofreading, reader has hair that Joel can grab, no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, daddy kink, references to catholicism, oral (m! receiving), some gagging, spanking, lap sitting/riding, unprotected sex, creampie, some very light cum eating

a/n: this is a different priest joel and a different reader from my other priest fic :)

His office is big, airy, smelling of incense and cologne. Theology books and bibles in a few different languages are organized on the wooden shelves. A cross complete with a sorrowful looking Jesus hangs on the wall behind his desk. 

“These figs are divine,” Father Miller groans, “your mother gave me some cuttins’ but I’ve never been able to grow a tree myself.” 

He bites into the fruit and moans at the splash of sweet juice that soaks his tongue. 

“Here, take a bite,” he offers. 

His hands tighten in your hair and he pulls your mouth away from his spit-covered cock. You whimper at the loss but he shushes you with a stern bite, and you quickly comply.  

“Reminds me of somethin’ else that’s sweet,” he whispers as he watches your throat move in a swallow. 

“Please, daddy,” you moan, “I wasn’t done.” 

Father Miller gives you a soft pat on your cheek, trailing his fingers down to tug at the rosary that hangs between your breasts, before pushing your head back onto his cock. 

He spreads his knees wider in his desk chair. 

“What a beautiful way to ask for forgiveness. Figs and your mouth on my cock.” 

If his big dick wasn’t in your mouth, you’d cringe from embarrassment. Your own selfish and jealous actions led to his disappointment and your need to ask for forgiveness. 

“Envy is a sin. You choose to have these emotions and these moments of insecurities,” Father Miller murmurs in that tone that makes you squeeze your thighs. 

“When those thoughts begin, it’s your responsibility to come to confession. You have to talk to me so I can help.”

Father Miller does it again, yanking you back from his cock and tilting up your chin with his finger.

“Did you hear what I just said?” 

“Ye–yes–” 

“Repeat it to me,” he interrupts. 

“I need to–to ask you for help when I’m feeling jealous,” you choke out. 

His hand tightens in your hair and he pushes himself deeper into your mouth. You gag, tears pooling on your waterline from the burn in your throat. 

“Good girl.” 

You want to run your hands down his strong thighs and feel the clench of his muscles, but they’re bound behind your back with your soaked panties. Aside from the rosary, the panties around your wrists are the only clothes you wear. 

You massage your tongue on the thick vein that spans underneath his cock. Spit dribbles down your chin as he begins to move your head up and down. 

“Fuck, just like that, honey,” he groans. “Got such a perfect mouth.”

You moan at the praise. Honey, the name he’s reserved just for you. Even at bible study on Wednesdays and at Mass on Sundays, he’ll call you honey, no matter who's around. 

“Those other women who come here, they seek advice. I can’t turn them away.” 

You let the tears fall from your eyes, partly from the cock spearing down your throat and also from the fact that he’s right. It’s his responsibility to listen to his congregation. 

Even if you know the women stare at him with dreamy eyes and fantasize about his broad shoulders, Father Miller must give them individual attention. 

He clenches his teeth the moment your nose hits the curly hair at his base. You swallow and fight through the burn, sucking at the salty taste of his skin. You clench your thighs again, hoping for any type of stimulation. 

“Aww,” he coos, “what does my poor little sinner need?” 

You whimper on his cock, wanting to move your head away so you can tell him how much you want him, but his hand keeps you in place.

“Nothin’ to say?” he mocks, “You don’t want me to eat your little cunt, honey? Make you cum on my tongue? Just want to keep suckin’ daddy’s cock?” 

Slick drips from your pussy. Mean, mean, mean, you chant in your head. You’re sure you look like a pathetic mess; shivering and crying hard enough to ruin your makeup. 

Father Miller laughs and wipes the tears from your eyes. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” 

You’re roughly pushed off, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his dick. You continue to sob as he yanks you up by your arms and bends you over his desk.  

“I said enough,” he snaps, landing a hard spank to your ass. “I won’t repeat myself.” 

Your shiver as your tits make contact with the cool surface of the desk. The rosary presses to your chest, indenting the soft skin.

“Such a beautiful cunt for a sinner,” he whispers. 

His hands massage your ass and he pulls apart your cheeks to stare at the puffy mess between your thighs. You try to move out of his grasp, embarrassed at how he can see every delicate inch of you, but he spanks you again. 

“Can’t seem to stay still,” he growls, “after everythin’ you’ve done, you still wanna disappoint me?” 

“N–no, daddy. I’m sorry, I’ll–I’ll stay still.” 

His leather shoe pushes on your ankle and you spread your thighs wide. He runs the tip of his length up your slit, ghosting over your sensitive button. You push your hips back and try to sink onto his cock, but he presses down on your lower back to keep you still. 

“Little sinner,” Father Miller scolds, “instead of trusting me, you accuse me of sleeping with other women. After the oath I gave to this church?” 

“I was wrong! I’m sorry,” you cry, hot tears rolling down and landing on the desk. 

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll help you repent. Count f’me.” 

He moves slightly to the side and uses a large hand to spank you hard on your right cheek. You yelp, immediately choking out a one before feeling his hand massage your other. 

You push up on your tiptoes, presenting your ass to him, hungry for his touch. He starts off soft, slow, squeezing the plump curve of your ass. His palm lands harsher and you welcome the sting of each slap, pushing back into him, heart beating faster with each number. 

Once he gets to fifteen, he lands it right on your pussy. You push up on the desk in surprise and try to beg for more, daddy, please–I’m so close. 

“No more, baby,” he coos, “did so well with your spankin’.” 

“Please, daddy,” you whimper, “please give me your cock. Please fuck me.” 

His hand tugs on your hair and he makes you stand to your full height. 

“This is punishment, honey,” he whispers in your ear, “you’re gonna have to work for my forgiveness.” 

You’re not sure what else he could possibly make you do but he spins you around and you watch as he sits down in his desk chair. 

“C’mere,” he growls. 

His hands wrap around your waist and you're pulled into his lap. You’re unbalanced, still unable to use your hands but he reaches around you to keep you steady.

With his other hand, he teases the fat tip to your entrance.

“You’re gonna ride me. Maybe after I’ll forgive ya’.” 

“Yes, yes,” you chant, slowly sinking down on his cock. 

His strong hands slide to grip your waist and his fingers dig into your soft skin. You throw your head back and stare at the ceiling with blurry eyes, your teeth digging into your bottom lip with each inch that’s stuffed inside of you. 

“That’s it, honey,” he murmurs, “take my cock, take it.” 

You can’t speak, can’t ask for more from your daddy. The angle is new, something you two have never tried before, a stretch that makes you dizzy and the air in your throat stutter. 

He helps you with the last few inches, praising you for having such a perfect cunt, feel so good wrapped around me–made just for me, honey. 

Father Miller gives you time to adjust, kissing your chin, nipping your neck, running his lips over the rosary that sways between your breasts. 

His tongue lashes over your nipples and he sucks as much of your tit as he can get, into his mouth. He’s mean, leaving indents of his teeth on your skin. It’s exactly what you want–what you need. 

He knows right when it’ll become too rough, too much for you, and he’ll kiss, swipe his tongue over the hurt, rain praises on your skin. 

The both of you fit awkwardly on the big chair but you make it work, digging your knees into the leather and bracketing his thighs to grind slowly in his lap.

“Look so pretty on my cock, honey.” 

He’s taken you from behind, bent over his desk with your hands clawing at the wood. He’s taken you in the tiny confessional, your body folded in half while he stares into your eyes as he finishes inside of you. 

Not like this, though. Not with your hands behind your back and his on your waist, helping you bounce and grind on him. 

You tremble in his hold, feel each kiss of his fat cockhead to the syrupy end of you. 

“Ne–need to c–cum,” you choke out, remembering you can use more than just whines and whimpers to talk. 

His cheeks are red, his hair is in disarray, and you notice sweat on his neck, peppering along his clerical collar. His thighs shift underneath you and he plants his feet more firmly on the ground. 

“Wantcha’ to cum on my cock,” he demands. 

Father Miller uses you like a toy, moving your body how he wants it, burning the memory of his cock into your pussy. His lips find yours in a sloppy kiss when you tilt forward, almost falling from how fast he’s using you. 

He’s so big, buried deep in your pussy, splitting you open. Your clit brushes on the curly hair at his base with each rock of his hips and you're there–cumming on Father Miller’s cock, opening your mouth in a silent scream while you shake in his hold. 

You soak his cock and the front of his dress pants with your slick. He’s groaning at each pulse and flutter of your pussy. Take it so well, honey he murmurs around your nipple. Milkin' my cock, baby. 

He moves you up once, twice, and keeps you pressed to him, spilling his seed in your cunt. Without even trying it knocks another orgasm from you, just as you were coming down from the first. 

Father Miller bites at your mouth, bringing up his hand to squeeze your neck and accept his kisses. His cock twitches slightly inside of you as he spills, marking you deep. 

He yanks off your panties and you immediately move your hands into his hair, tugging through the strands and pressing your body even closer to his. Your breathless, shivering in his hold from the two orgasms that were shocked out of your body. 

Just as quickly as it happens, he pushes you off of his lap. You land in a limp heap on the floor, eye level to his soaked cock. It’s covered in the both of you. 

“Give it a kiss, and say you’re sorry.” 

You happily follow his command, pressing a kiss to the tip, licking away the stickiness from your lips and give him a I’m so sorry, daddy. 

He smiles at you before reaching to take the rosary off from your neck and placing it in your hands. You stare up in confusion and watch as he rises to his full height. 

“Now, I want you to kneel here,” he says, grabbing you by your upper arm and dragging your naked body right in front of the cross, “and do two Hail Marys and three Our Fathers.” 

Your thighs shake from the exertion but you do as he says and kneel in perfect form. You bow your head in prayer and begin, hearing him zip up his dress pants and walk out of his office. His cum slowly drips out of your swollen pussy and onto the hardwood floor. 

[bethetiesthatbind]

just found out I'll never be abandoned by god which means he's always watching what I do and is pretty into it. you should come over.

just found out i've been abandoned by god which means he's not watching anything i do anymore. you should come over.

[rebee-sweetie]

I have three main head cannons for Bakugo, which these are smutty head cannons, so read at your own risk. 18+

First of all, This man is very into rough sex. You are constantly sore. Half the time he’s pissed off from hero work, Deku, or some extra. Which means for you, the sex is rough. He’ll pound into you against a wall, the bed, the table, honestly anywhere. The lewd sound of slick skin on skin slapping each other. If your cunt isn’t sore by the time he’s done with you, his theology is he didn’t go at you hard enough. His goal is to fuck you till you can’t think straight and he will fuck you dumb. Bakugo loves to find every part of you that is sensitive, inside and out. Sucking on your nipples and pulling away with a hollow popping sound, maintaining eye contact the entire time. He makes sure that every part of you is overstimulated. Your nipples so sensitive that gently brushing it will make you gasp and wiggle in his grasp. Or your clit will be swollen and gently circling it will make your entire body jolt. Bakugo’s crimson eyes are constantly dark with a deep hunger for you. There isn’t a single spot he hasn’t discovered and he’ll tell you,

“M’ the best, Your body outta know it too. You’re gonna continue to cum on this cock till I’m done with you baby.”

Second of all, this man likes marking you up and he wants you to mark him too. It’s bound to happen in the heat of rough sex. Lewd noises, loud moaning, and the sound of hot panting breath. If you’re against the wall, his fingers will be digging into your hip fat. Leaving burning, tingling markings on the tender fat there. When looking in a mirror hours later it’ll still be there. Sucking and marking up your neck, chest and whatever else he can get a hold of. He loves to slap your ass and see a hot, red, welt impression of his large hand on your soft cheek. He finds marking you up incredibly sexy and it makes him all the more feral. When you sink your nails into his back, leaving long, red stokes on his back, he lets out such a deep, husky groan it makes your pretty little pussy quiver. Bakugo will lean down, nibble on your earlobe, lick up on the cartilage of your ear, A gentle low rumbling chuckle escaping him and huskily ask,

“Do you like that baby? Do you like when I groan for you? M’ fuck you till you can’t fucking walk. This pussy is mine now and your gonna know it too.”

Third of all, and the final head cannon. This man has a praise kink. I absolutely can’t be convinced otherwise. For how bad this man struggles with an inferiority complex, he loves being praised. He will never admit that he loves praise and will constantly down play your praise by saying “Yeah I know!” Or “Of course m’ the best.” Nonetheless he acts like he’s above it because my man here also has a pride issue. But he’ll play that shit on loop all day long. Doesn’t matter if it’s rough sex, a quickie, gentle sex, whatever, he loves hearing you praise him. Anything from telling him how good he feels, how sexy he is, or how he has the body of a god, he wants to hear it. He loves how dirty you get with it sometimes and simply can’t get enough of it.

[leeknow-thoughts]

୨୧ GLIMPSES OF THE LUSTFUL

𝝑𝝔 cw : blasphemy kink???, churchboy!Jeongin, toys, smut

𝝑𝝔 a/n : the years of my life spent in the Catholic church came in clutch with this fic

Growing up Catholic had its perks, but its drawbacks as well. The tradwife stereotypes for women along with the general theme of sexual repression.

You had grown up with Jeongin, going to church together and going to the same Catholic school with the boy. Over the years, you had lost your faith, Jeongin however only grew in his faith, it never bothered you, and your lack of faith never bothered him.

Eventually, you both went off to the same college, a few states away, and figured it would be easier to live together. It was easier then having to make new friends and less risky than having complete strangers be your roommates.

"My theology professor is trying to kill me, I think," you joke to Jeongin over dinner.

"How so?"

"Because I'm not religious, and I told him that, and he started like interrogating me, it was weird," you confess, taking a bite of cereal.

"Is he religious?"

"I suppose so, I mean I told him that I was raised Catholic, so he started assuming the worst," you explain.

"Isn't that religious discrimination?"

"I don't know what to call it, but it was weird," you shrug it off.

"Sounds weird, but any whom," Jeongin changes the subject, "tomorrow I'm leaving early to help with this fundraiser at church, so don't be surprised if I'm not here when you wake up tomorrow."

Jeongin's whole weekends revolved around church, whether it was because he was helping plan a youth trip or assisting the nuns or even helping run a fundraiser, he kept busy with the volunteer work. And of course he was also an avid participant in Sunday Mass, communion, and other traditions.

"m'kay," you figure, rubbing your tired eyes, "my mom and dad are coming over tomorrow," you inform him.

"Oh, fun," he retorts sarcastically.

"Yeah, fun," you say in that same sarcastic tone as him.

"D'you need help like hiding anything?" Jeongin asks timidly.

"Hiding anything?" you ask.

"Like," Jeongin blushes, hiding his face in his hands before he speaks, "s-sex stuff."

"Oh, I mean if you wouldn't mind?"

"I just don't want your parents to freak out on you, remember last time?"

How could you forget the last time your parents came over and they accidentally found a condom in your bathroom, immediately going into a five hour long lecture about how they expected better from you and that you needed to go to a confessional to be forgiven for your sins of sexual impurity.

"Yeah, trust me I remember," you chuckle, "that would be nice, I have all that shit in a box, so I'll just give you the box."

You rise up from your seat at the dining table and walk into your room, grabbing the medium sized box from the closet and walking into the living room with it when suddenly, you trip, and the contents of the box spill everywhere.

"Ow, fuck," you groan, clenching your knee, which you hit on the ground.

Jeongin is quick to stand up and rush to your side, helping you up. You watch as his face eventually turns to the spilled contents of the box. "What in the fuck is that?" he questions.

Jeongin never swore. He thought swearing was pointless and made someone sound trashy, but here he was, swearing.

"It's a dildo," you whisper an explaination.

"B-but wh-why does it l-look like that?"

"It's supposed to look like a dragon, like, uhm, dick," you explain with an embarrassed tone.

"That's really weird, I hope you know, also that thing is so like big how does it- how do y- how can it- how-"

"A lot of lube, and a lot more patience," you half-joke.

"And what is this?" Jeongin exclaims as he picks up the rose shaped toy.

"I-it's a clit sucker," you explain as you grab it from him and put the toy back in the box.

"And what are these?" he holds up a pair of nipple clamps.

"Nipple clamps," you inform him.

"Why in the hell would anyone ever use something like that," Jeongin speaks to himself.

"Don't knock em till you try em," you insist.

You take the nipple clamps from his grasp and put them back in the box before Jeongin is picking something else up, "and what is this?"

"It's a butt plug."

"But why does it have a tail? Ew wait this thing has been in your butt!?"

"It's clean!" you exclaim, "it has a tail because- well-well because I just like it I d'know?"

"Weird," Jeongin mumbles as he puts the toy in the box.

"And what is this?" he holds up a flogger.

"A flogger, you hit people with it," you explain as you take it from the boy.

"But wouldn't that hurt?"

"That's kind of the point, Jeongin," you hum, "hold out your arm, it's not as bad as you think it is, I promise."

After a moment of thinking it through, Jeongin holds out his arm, you lightly hit him with the flogger, "oh that isn't bad at all," Jeongin hums.

"Mhm," you nod, placing the flogger back in the box.

"Oh, what's this?" Jeongin holds up a tentacle grinder.

"It's a grinder," you tell him.

"What does it do?" he asks sheepishly.

"Well," you pause, embarrassment creeping onto your face, "you like grind on it, like you grind your clit on it."

"Oh," Jeongin's face falls before putting the grinder back in the box.

"I hope you don't think I'm weird or gross or anything now," you confess to him.

"I-I d'think y-your weird," he promises, "I promise, y-you're not weird for having s-sex. It's n-natural."

"But you don't have sex, so I j-"

"Who said I've never had sex?"

You stare at him blankly, "you-you've..."

"Well like it's not sex but like I've masturbated before," he confesses.

Your lips make an o shape as you nod your head, "oh, th-that's good?"

"That's good!?"

"I d'know what to say! I was just surprised!"

"Well I mean I'm human y-you don't think I'm weird do you?"

"No! Of course not!" you insist.

The silence that passes between the two of you is almost deafening. You glance down and that's when you notice it, the bulge in Jeongin's pants. "Je-Jeongin," you mumble.

"I-I-I should go to my room!"

Just as he's about to get up you grab his wrist, the way he looks at you tells you a thousand words. "Stay," you practically plead with him.

"I-I haven't, I don't know how-" he whimpers under your intense gaze.

"I'll teach you," you reassure him, "anything you want, I'll teach you."

No words are exchanged between the two of you as he leans forward and slams your lips onto his own. He's messy and sloppy and inexperienced. "Calm down," you muse to him, "enjoy this, we have all the time in the world," you reassure him.

You gently cup his jaw with your left hand, your right hand running through his hair, "darling, calm down," you mumble against his eager lips.

"Can't get enough of you, d'you know how many nights I've had to listen to you whining and whimpering and falling apart on these things? Hm?" he groans into a kiss, "how I've beat my cock to the thought of you? D'you know about that?"

"Jeongin," you murmur, melting further and further into the kiss, "thought of you too," you confess.

"Want to watch you," he states, breaking apart from the kiss, "I want to watch you fuck yourself, the way you do at night."

That is how you find yourself naked on your couch, Jeongin watching you intently as you ride one of your dildos. "Hmm, so all you do is ride that toy and think of me? That's pathetic," he scoffs, watching you like he's disinterested, but you can tell from the tent in his pants that he is anything but disinterested.

"And all you do is what? Hm? Stroke your cock?" you remark.

"You know, filthy whores like yourself shouldn't fucking talk," Jeongin stands up and kneels next to you, taking your nipple in his mouth, making you gush around the toy, "recite first Corithians 6:18," he demands.

"J-Jeongin," you whine, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Jeongin is pulling you by your hair, making you look at him, "recite it."

"Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body," you quote.

"That's it honey, yet here you are, riding this fucking toy every night, thinking of me," Jeongin's words are venom, "don't worry though, I'll make a good girl out of you."

You can only whimper at his filthy words.

And that is what started your little taboo tradition, every Sunday night you'd be face down ass up on Jeongin's bed, getting pounded from behind, and you'd only get to cum if you could recite five Bible verses for him.

Jeongin was definitely no priest but he brought you closer to the pearly gates than any real priest ever could.

[bethetiesthatbind]

I appreciated this post before, but I *needed* to reblog for this tag.

Free my man he did all of that but I need to fuck him nasty style