#tw priest kink

[bloodibambiidoll]

† Pray To Me †

♱ Kinktober Day 1 ⟢ Rafe Cameron ⟢ Priest/Corruption ♱

Warnings: Sacrilegion all over the place, nun!reader, improper use of a crucifix and rosary, face fucking, spanking, cum licking, unprotected sex, choking, a lil bit of blood, biting, spit kink, corruption 18+MNDI

Rafe was damn near possessed by you. Ever since you arrived at the covent you were all he could think about and watching you take your vows only made him want you more. You weren’t like the other nuns who surrounded him. They were either all doe eyed virgins who followed his word as if he were god himself or elderly women who haven’t been touched in so long they got flustered every time he licked his lips or smirked at them. All of them wanted to fuck him and several of them have. Rafe knows he’s a shit priest, probably even a shit person. If the sick satisfaction he feels from making a woman who vowed herself to god and only god kneel before him with his cock down her throat is anything to go by. Every single woman, and even some men in this church throw themselves at Rafe’s feet, all except you.

No matter how hard he tries to get you to warm up to him or even just smile and talk to him in any semblance of a friendly tone his efforts are fruitless. You were always glaring at him when he spoke with this look in your eyes like you couldn’t wait for him to shut the fuck up. You weren’t ever straight up rude because that would be inappropriate but your voice was always monotone and you never gave him more than one or two word responses. And Rafe knows for a fact that’s not just how you are because he’s seen you laughing with the other nuns and you give the other priests friendly smiles. It was only him you treated this way and it was about damn time he found out why.

You never took confessional with Rafe because you specifically requested that he never be the one on the other side of that wall but he knows for a fact you always go on Monday nights. Almost like you’re starting the week with washing yourself of your sins.

He has no idea what those sins are though. You showed up a few months ago and didn’t say much about your past, just that your mother’s dying wish was that you follow in her footsteps and take your vows. He has no idea who you were before that. He doesn’t even know what your hair looks like aside from the tiniest strand that slipped out of your coif once. If he hadn’t honed it on it seconds before you tucked it away he still wouldn’t even know what color it was. So he decides to take matters into his own hands and give Father Daniels the evening off. Maybe you’ll even say something about why you hate him so much. Either way he can’t wait to learn literally anything about you, anything he could use in his favor.

You feel like you are going insane. You have this itch that you feel like you’ll never scratch. And that itches name is Father Rafe Cameron. You came here after your mother’s death fully prepared to give up all your worldly possessions, swear off men, and follow whatever path god had laid out for you. You weren’t a virgin by any means. The life you lived before this was filled with sex, drugs and chaos. But as your poor mother who always tried her best despite the fact that you never saw eye to eye lay dying she begged you to take your vows. Just like she did after you were born, after all your so-called father put her through. You rejected this notion your entire life. You dyed your hair and got tattoos in your friends living rooms. Screamed at your mom every Sunday when she tried to get you to go to church with her. You left as soon as you were eighteen and hardly ever visited. But something about the way she seemed so at peace, so happy to go and be with her god, and the love in her eyes as the light left them had you changing your mind. You don’t agree with a lot of the bullshit the church spews but you’re still trying your best to follow your vows without also losing your morals and sense of self entirely but this man is making it damn near impossible.

Rafe is for lack of better words, infuriatingly gorgeous. His dirty blonde hair is always slicked back to perfection, showing off his striking blue eyes and beautifully refined bone structure. His large frame filled out the black slacks and button up shirt he wore deliciously, his Roman collar hugging his throat. The way his big hands gripped the Bible while he read scripture and each time he licked the tips of his fingers before turning the page you had to clench your thighs. The way that he walked around like he was god himself, flirting with everyone in sight while looking down at them as if he could read their impure thoughts about him. It all was just leading you further and further down the path of sin.

Rafe had every single person in the covent wrapped around his finger. But it wasn’t out of respect, no. They either feared him or wanted him. You’ve heard through the grapevine that several of your sisters have indulged in the sins of the flesh due to him and you can’t say you blame them. But you don’t want to just indulge in him, you want to drown in him utterly and completely. Devote your blood and your life to him. And you know he wants you too. He’s basically told you that he would burn this entire church down for you. Fulfilling your mom’s dying wish becomes harder everyday. So each Monday you confess your blasphemous thoughts to Father Daniels. You’re sure he’s either judging you, turned on or both but he never says more than a few words aside from a grunt of acknowledgement here and there. That’s about as unbiased as you’re going to get. You sigh to yourself as you adjust your veil on your head and open the confessional door.

Rafe was practically vibrating with lust as he sat opposite of you in the confessional booth. He caught the slightest glimpse of you as you entered but he pressed his back against the wall and hid his face in the shadows to ensure you didn’t see him. Not yet at least. He intends to make himself known when the time is right.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned. It's been one week since my last confessional.” Your sweet voice fills the wooden box confining the two of you and vibrates through Rafe’s soul. Lucky for him he’s been in this booth with Father Daniels enough to know the man hardly speaks so he just gives you a grunt of acknowledgement, encouraging you to go on. “Everyday I swear it gets harder to not commit the sins of the flesh. No matter what I do to push down these impure thoughts, or run away from them, they continue to eat my insides.”

Rafe feels his cock stir in his pants at your words. Are you talking about him? Do you have an ex from before you came here? If that was the case, that wouldn’t do. He hums low in his throat and you take that as a sign to go on.

“It’s like he’s everywhere I look, father.” You sigh deeply and Rafe can hear the slight thud of your head hitting the wood behind you. “I’m as rude as I can be to him without being inappropriate but nothing deters his affections it seems.” You stir slightly, as if waiting for a response but when Rafe stays silent you take a shaky breath. “My fantasies about Father Cameron used to only haunt me at night, with my hand between my legs. But now it’s as if every waking moment of my life I am consumed by my cravings for him.”

Rafe exhales deeply through his nose as his cock hardens in his slacks. He feels saliva pool in his mouth and it takes everything in him not to reveal himself right this moment. But not yet, he needs to know more.

“I want him so badly, father.” Rafe hears the beads on your rosary click against those pretty little rings you wear and all he can think about is pulling it taunt around your throat. “I think about him fucking me more than anything else. More than any of my vows. More than god. I find myself wanting to kneel at his feet instead. And each day this promise I made my mother starts to feel more and more meaningless if I can’t feel his thick cock inside me.” You wait a few beats to see if he will respond but when you’re met with silence you fill it with more of your filthy fantasies. “I fantasize about him bending me over the pews during service and how his big hands would feel gliding across my body, those long fingers deep in my pussy. I want him to fuck me like a slut and make me pray to him like he’s my god while I beg him to cum.”

Arousal builds in your stomach and you rock back and forth with your legs crossed subconsciously seeking friction. The tiny red thong underneath your tunic cupping your cunt like a dirty little secret. Rafe can’t take it anymore, his thoughts turned primal the minute you said his name and the longer you go on the tighter his pants get until he feels like the zipper is going to burst from how hard he is.

“You’re right, those are some very impure thoughts…” Rafe’s voice is low and filled with lust and it makes you gasp. Your hand clutches the rosary around your neck tightly to your chest and your foot darts out and smacks against the door in front of you.

“Father - Father Cameron?” The sudden sound of his voice has your heart rate spiking and your clit practically thumping between your legs. The mixture of arousal and fear shouldn’t feel so delicious washing over your body, but it does. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, doll, it’s me.” Rafe licks his lips, feeling like a mountain lion that cornered a fawn. “If you want me to fuck you like a dirty little whore, all you have to do is ask.”

“I think you know why I couldn’t do that…” Your chest heaves as you struggle to breathe. This can’t be happening.

“Mmm, why? Because god doesn’t want you to get your pussy stretched so far you feel like you're going to split in half?” Rafe chuckles darkly as he leans against the screen separating the two of you, just barely making out your outline. “To be honest, it doesn’t seem like you really care about that.” You start to protest but Rafe shushes you. “It’s too late to make excuses, sweetheart. You told me all I needed to know. Get out of this booth and kneel on the ground in front of it. Now.”

In your mind you know you need to protest, walk out of this room and go to bed like none of this ever happened. But your pussy has a mind of her own. So you push the door open softly and step out before settling on your knees in front of the door Rafe is behind. After what feels like eons but was probably only a few seconds the wooden door swings open, revealing Rafe’s large frame. He has to duck down to go through the small opening before stepping toward you with a wicked look in his eyes and a cheshire smirk painted on his perfect lips. He towers over you, glowering down at you for a moment, taking you in. You were so fucking perfect for him. Those big wide eyes that at first glance seemed innocent but he now knows the dirty thoughts that hide behind them. Your lips are red and plush, like you’ve been biting them the entire time you’ve been here. And the way your hands are clasped in your lap is just the icing on the goddamn cake.

“Fuckin’ look at you.” Rafe’s large hand cups the side of your face and he runs his thumb along your bottom lip, smearing the bit of spit that gathered there. His other hand abruptly grips onto your veil, pulling it and your coif from your head in one swoop. Your hair falls free and Rafe can finally see you for the first time. The hand on your face turns rough as he grips tightly onto your jaw, his other hand gathering your hair so he can yank your head back to look at him. “So goddamn gorgeous. Show me the rest of you. Take that shit off.”

It isn’t a question, it’s a command. And it makes your pussy clench around nothing. You expect him to release his grip on your face but he doesn’t so you push your robes down your arms to the best of your ability. Not only did you have on the pretty little red thong but you had on the lace bra that matched. Rafe’s eyes nearly exploded out of his head at the sight and he never felt like he was going to cum in his pants until he caught sight of the upside down cross tattoo nestled between your tits peeking out through the red lace. You struggle to shimmy your robes the rest of the way down your hips so Rafe decides to help you out by yanking you up by your hair enough for your hips to raise off the ground. The sting of your scalp makes you whimper as you remove the rest of your clothes. You're kneeled in front of a Rafe in the middle of the church in nothing but red lace, white thigh highs, little Mary Jane’s and your rosary. It should feel crude and unclean, you should feel shame, but you feel nothing but carnal desire.

“I fuckin’ knew you were a little whore.” Rafe growls and yanks on the beads around your neck, pulling them tight until they’re slightly cutting off your airflow. “Open your mouth.” You stick your tongue out for good measure and he leans down and spits on it before shoving two of his fingers down your throat, causing you to gag. He curls his fingers in the back of your throat before fucking your mouth with his long digits.

Rafe revels in the way saliva gathers in your mouth and drips down his fingers and wrist as he makes you gag for him. That tiny amount of mascara that you think you’re getting away with that he never misses starts to stream down your cheeks as a few tears escape your eyes. And your hair is more beautiful than he could’ve ever imagined. He pulls his fingers from your mouth with a gasp and his large palm cups your face, rubbing your spit across your lips and chin. Rafe never lets go of your hair as he undoes his belt and pulls his cock out. “Now be a good little nun and suck my fuckin’ cock.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice as you push yourself up further onto your knees so you can grab onto his shaft. It's thick and heavy in your hand with so much precum dripping from the tip that some drips onto the red carpet. “Well, don’t fuckin’ waste it.” Rafe yanks your head down so far your face is inches from the ground, hovering directly over the drops of his cum. “Clean it up.”

You hesitate for a moment because what he’s asking you to do is so fucking disgusting but when you glance up at him, towering over you like he really is a god, you can’t help but let your tongue dart out and lick the floor. His cum is wet and salty but you hardly get a taste before the feeling of the rough carpet replaces it.

“Oh, you’re so fuckin’ disgusting. Now choke on my dick.” Rafe pulls you back up to his cock and you run your tongue around every inch of his shaft before taking it in your mouth, all the way down your throat.You swallow around him causing your throat to squeeze his dick and then pull off all the way and spit on his head, watching the drool drip down his shaft and onto his balls.

“Jesus Christ, you’re such a sick, little, cock slut.” Rafe growls and grips onto both of your cheeks so he can shove his cock back down your throat. He gives you no time to process before he’s brutally fucking your mouth. You gag and drool without breaking eye contact with him and Rafe swears to god he might end up being the one praying to you at night. He pulls you off his cock and onto your feet by your throat and then he’s kissing you filthy. He practically devours you with his tongue as his hands travel down your body. He pulls on the hook of your bra before yanking the lace from your tits, giving him a full view of your tits but also that little upside down cross tattoo inked between them.

“Jesus Christ, I knew they’d be perfect.” Rafe looks at your tits like they’re the most delicious delicacy he’s ever seen before leaning down to take a nipple in his mouth. He licks and sucks until you’re dripping with his spit and then he bites down on your cleavage so hard he breaks the skin. His fingers lace through your rosary and he uses it to pull your face forward, almost like a leash. “Go bend over that pew, I’m going to make your nasty little fantasies come true.”

“Fuck, Father, are you sure we should be doing this here? What if someone comes in?” For the first time since you found out Rafe was behind that wall you are aware of your surroundings. You’re practically naked in the middle of your church, letting your priest defile you.

“Oh, don’t get shy on me now, sweetheart. And it’s daddy, to you.” Rafe exhales through his nostrils while pulling the beads so tight that they choke you and pinch your skin. “Never wanna hear you call me ‘Father Cameron’ again. From now on it’s my name or daddy. Got it?” You nod and that isn’t going to do it for him. “Use your words to address me. Tell me you understand.”

“Yes, daddy. I understand.” Rafe’s lips break out into a sinister smile. He has you right where he wants you and he’s never letting you go now.

“Good. Now be a good little fuck doll and bend your ass over that pew for me.” You oblige him, feeling equal parts aroused and humiliated as your body bends over the wooden bench. Rafe straight up growls at the sight of you. Those white socks squeeze your plush thighs, cupping the bottom part of your perfect ass that has that little red thong nestled between it. Your pussy is so fucking creamy the crotch of the lace is white and it’s smeared on your legs. And the star of the show? The little bow tramp stamp tattooed on your lower back.

“Well, would you look at that…” Rafe says in a sing-song tone as he approaches you. One of his hands grabs your ass roughly while the other comes to trace a finger along the ink on your back. “You're a lot more naughty than you let on, aren’t you, Angel? Maybe I should punish you for your sins and make you beg for forgiveness?”

“I’m not - I’m not sure what you mean by that, Fa- daddy.” You catch your mistake at the last second, but Rafe doesn’t miss it. Both of his hands come down on either of your asscheeks causing you to jolt forward with a yelp.

“It means I’m going to beat this little ass and you’re going to say ‘thank you daddy’ for every single one.” Rafe spanks your ass with his hand again but the crucifix on top of the Bible next to him is just too good to pass up. He picks it up and runs the cool wood along your ass. He glides it through your dripping folds causing you to look back with a moan. “How about eighteen, since you’re such a sinner? Count.”

“Are you going to use -“ You don’t get to finish asking because your question is quickly answered by the sharp sting of the wooden cross in your ass. “Oh, fuck! One, thank you daddy.”

“Oh good, you’re a quick learner.” He hits you with five more before leaning over to whisper in your ear “that’s six.” And then six more, each harder than the last and you thank him for each and every one. “That’s another six, little sinner.” You expect him to do the last six in succession but after three he pauses to roughly rub the end of the cross against your clit.

“These next ones are gonna hurt real bad.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he kicks your feet further apart before bringing the crucifix between your legs and smacking it against your pussy.

“Oh my goddd, S- Sixteen! Thank you daddy!” Your legs are shaking as you brace yourself for the last two blows. Rafe glides the cross along your inner thigh and back up to your ass before flipping it over and spanking you with the bronzed Jesus, once on each cheek. “Jesus fucking Christ! Seventeen! Eighteen! thank you daddy.” Your body falls limp while you pant, trying to catch your breath as your ass and pussy throb.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me.” Rafe rips your panties down your ankles, not bothering to pull them off all the way and runs his fingers through your folds. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy. I’m gonna goddamn destroy you.”

He brings his fingers to his lips and sucks them clean with a groan. You hear his belt buckle clank and his zipper being pulled down before you feel the head of his cock tapping against your clit. He runs it along your folds, gliding through your wetness with ease. Rafe slides his cock through your asscheeks, smearing your cum around your little hole. He lines up with your dripping entrance and slams into you balls deep in one push. Then he’s fucking into you brutally, no build up, no mercy.

“I knew this little cunt would be so goddamn tight.” Rafe snarls in your ear while one hand grips your ass that’s already breaking out in cross shaped bruises and the other comes up to lace around your rosary, using it as leverage as he continues to buck into you with reckless abandon. “You’re such a depraved whore, letting me fuck you in the middle of the church where anyone could walk in. You're no saint, you're just a sick little pervert.”

“You’re just as disgusting as I am, Rafe.” You glare at him over your shoulder and he looks like the definition of sin. He yanked his collar off and a few buttons down of his shirt at some point showing the gold chain cross against the top of his toned chest, his blonde hair is a complete mess, and the smile painted on his lips is one only a devil would wear. He yanks your rosary until your back is flush against his chest and it’s so tight around your neck you’re surprised it hasn’t snapped.

“Oh, baby doll, you think this is disgusting? If you could see the things that go through my mind when I look at you then you’d know what the meaning of vile really is.” Rafe growls in your ear and angles his hips so his thick cock is hitting you so deep it has your pussy dripping down his balls and onto both of your thighs. He continues to choke you while finding your clit with his other hand so he can rub rough circles on it. “You gonna come for me? Tell me I’m your god while you cream all over my cock.”

“You’re - you’re my god! Please make me come, god!” You writhe against him and he runs his tongue along the length of your throat before biting down on your neck until you bleed. It sends you over the edge, euphoria overtaking you as your pussy gushes around him.

“Yeah, that’s my good little slut, cum for your god.” Rafe presses on your lower back so you're bent back over the pew before gripping onto your hips and pounding into you like a man possessed. “You’re mine now. I own every corrupted piece of you. Your soul. Your body. Your blood. It’s all fuckin’ mine. Tell me.”

“I’m yours, I’m all yours. You’re my god, daddy.” Rafe roars as his hands come down on the bench either side of your head and his hips flush against yours. His cock twitches inside of you while ropes of his cum pump into your pussy. The feeling has an explosion of pleasure washing over you as you cum right along with him. After a moment Rafe pushes off of you, his cock slipping out of you and leaving you feeling empty. His large hands grip onto your shoulders, pulling you up and flipping you over so you’re looking at him.

“I meant that shit, you’re fuckin’ mine. Go pack your shit. We’re leaving.” He captures your lips in a messy kiss and god, you wish you had it in you to turn him down and pretend this never happened. But you’ve had one hit of him and now you're addicted. You’re his.

Tagging Rafe mooties: @babygorewhore @cxrrodedcoffin @oceandriveab @starkeysprincess @eddiesxangel @cameronsprincess @nemesyaaa @rafeinterlude @rafeyscurtainbangs @gri959 @dreamliners @starkeyisthelastname

Divider by @strangergraphics

[undercover-sub]

Hiii! I gotta ask, if it's not too personal! How'd the religion / priest kink come about? Have you played into it at all?

Im fascinated, I wanna know everything! 😄

Heyaaa! Good question, I wish I had a proper answer for it 😅

I did grew up catholic (some people say that explains everything^^) but I'm not religious and I've excommunicated quite some time ago.

I think it's not really the religious aspect of it that I personally find enticing, it's the imbalance of power. And the idea of worship that comes along with it. There's just something about the piety of a priest (and their vows) being broken for you or their own "impure" urges that does something for me. The idea that they can corrupt you due to their position of power - or the other way around (like the idea of them being so attracted and/or enamored by you that they turn away from god?!?). And I'm a huge fan of body worship, both giving and receiving. Also, just so the list is complete: men (or women, or enbys) wearing cassocks, for some reason I can't actually name, are freaking attractive 🙈

I haven't really played into it though. Loads of people are not really into it or find it weird, which I can understand. And if anything, both parties should enjoy it. Maybe I'll be lucky to find somebody who's into it one day.

Thanks so much for the ask! 😊

[gladiatorcunt]

- A ROTTEN TREE BEARS ROTTEN FRUIT | I.

god loves you, but not enough to save you

cw: kinktober prompt (whipping/flogging), blasphemy, inaccurate religious practices, lyrical sadomasochism (more so sadism on his part), erotic religious imagery and references, this dynamic is so weird, implied (as in in my mind) bi reader and charlie, plus sized reader, reader’s chest referred to as ‘breasts’ & ‘tits’ and their crotch referred to as a ‘hole’ but they do have a seperate one other than their ass, pregnancy fantasy, vomit mention, don’t know shit about the show fuck you ryan, blood kink, interchangeable ‘charlie’ & ‘mayhew’ based on pov

do not translate, repost, or feed this work to ai |

kinktober 2024

“Shh, let me clean you up, Father.” You smile, so softly, he could snap your neck if he squeezed hard enough.

You run your nails over his back, trimmed to an appropriate length. Father Mayhew sighs the way Adam might’ve when Eve’s walls clenched around him, God never being more important than this bliss. You’re so devoted, so devout in your worship but he’s beginning to think that you cry out to a different God than he does. If you even believe in an invisible one anymore when you have a savior in the flesh.

“Thank you, dear. That’d be great.” The pulls are pulled from his lips like rotund wooden beads, as if he has no choice but to endure the stretch as they exit his body one by one.

You shuffle off the bed and kneel behind him, stroking your fingertips down his back like he’s a marble statue you just can’t help but reach out and touch. The opposite of Delilah cutting Samson’s hair, you only want to imbue him with your pure love from the inside out. Spooning milk and honey over the tender welts.

His eyelids crinkle as you kiss the nape of his neck, blotting your lips with rouge. There is no inch of his back left without, and when you arrive at the bigger gashes you lavish the cut with your tongue. Drinking his life away and cleaning him up like a good little whore, servicing the man becomes the only thing of importance to you. You dip the tip of your tongue in the recess of the deeper wounds, and caress his tensing abs from behind when he grits his teeth and traps a curse behind them. You only kitten lick him, but often he wishes you would get real dirty with it, caressing your tongue over his muscles in broad and messy swipes.

His scars from previous lashings glint in the low light of the candles surrounding you. You give them their just desserts of course, grateful pecks of attention and acknowledgement. Soothing his pain, that is the only excuse you have to encroach on the verge of breaking your vows. Father Mayhew gives you a purpose and stops your bleating with a heavy hand if you forget your place. Stern hand to raw and stinging flesh.

Sometimes there is no pillow when you kneel behind him.

The next step is that you turn around and face the wall after picking up the cattail whip off the bed and returning it to its rightful owner. You’ve already discarded your habit, no tunic, coif, or veil left on your person. They’re folded neatly beside you, only your rosary nestled in the embrace of your heaving breasts. Your peaks harden in the stuffy humid air, all the oxygen in the world confined to this small room.

He saddles up behind you, his sweaty chest so close to the flesh and contours of your back. Father Charlie breathes you in, taking whiffs of your debauched scent in between silent prayers. He never allows himself to be as forward as you are, his thread of control over his desire has not snapped yet. There are boundaries he can push, but lines he can never cross.

“Good lamb, God recognizes your penance and forgives your soul.” He whispers, dragging the strips of leather down your back until goosebumps rise to the surface.

When you least expect it, he strikes. You muffle a shout into the wall and Father Charlie’s cock jumps under his towel. Briefly he imagines slamming into your tempting body dry, with no preparation, making you sure you feel as much pain as possible. The way you’d wince with every step around the church, the begging in your puppy dog eyes when you’d take communion. How he could hold it above your head like a bone in the shape of a fractured cross, dangling just out of reach of your gorgeous mouth.

The devil gives him dreams of fucking your throat until you’re vomiting and hoarse.

Every droplet of bed peeking out from the cracks of your skin to say hello nourishes him. He shushes you when you’re unable to hold back your sounds, cooing when he notices you humping the air after the fifteenth hit. You just can’t help yourself, nerdy by nature and nurture.

You start soaking the pillow beneath you, imagining what he must look like. A man and his broad hulking body curling around you as he hurts you. Your hole suddenly feels so empty, you have a night of riding your pillow ahead of you, you just want to be good for him in all the ways you’re supposed to be.

As you let a demon of sex control your body, he spies a flash of a white lacy thong nestled between your plump ass cheeks. He knows that if you had also worn a towel, he would’ve hooked his fingers under the fabric and pulled it off. You don’t get to hide any part of yourself from your Father. And he knows he will have to give himself another lashing for those thoughts alone. Even the secret wedding he plans as he strokes his angry red cock, always edging himself, he’s afraid of what would happen if he lets go. How loud the iron gates would be when they creak open. Like the way he wants to spread your ass open and toy with the hidden puckered hole.

His words are in his actions, reopening your old wounds and bringing the warm leather across your back one last time, he hopes your blood soaks through the material. Staining it, the way you have already stained his heart. Father Charlie grins despite himself when you slump against the wall, sliding his bible-roughened hands over your love handles and sticks his pecs to your shoulders.

“You did lovely, today. The Lord thanks you, and I’m so proud of you, you know that?” His thick fingers brush along the bottoms of your tits, never going higher.

He wants to slap them, wrap the beads of your rosary around them until the flesh bulges, painting your nipples in a mix of both of your blood. Marking your souls irreversibly. Marriage of the spirit, a ritualistic wedding in the eyes of the beholder. You shiver like a mouse in front of a snake, and beads of precum fall from his cockhead.

Did Saint Teresa have these feelings when she had the vision of an angel piercing her heart with their golden spear? Did Saint Sebastian when he was pierced by those arrows under the order of the Emperor? Did David when he wrenched Goliath’s head back by his hair and bested him into humiliation? Did it compare to the covenant he formed with Jonathan?

He kisses your glittering scars in thanks and washes your blood away with his lips and tongue too. But unlike any other day in which you’ve done this, he stands up with a grunt and pulls you up with him. Father Mayhew falls backwards onto his bed and so you follow dutifully, and because the hold he has on your wrist is strong to the point of bruising. You lay your head over his heart and pant into his skin as he teases your plush thigh, tracing crosses into the chubby expanse of skin.

“No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” He cajoles, walking on that burning tightrope with you.

He wonders if your cunt would be just as chubby, if you’ve ever thought about humping the organ bench, riper than the forbidden fruit, and he mentally catalogs an extra long session of repentance. To be fresh and clean again. Father Charlie will go through his sermons with his lighthearted tone and charming personality, desperate to hide that he’s thinking of plunging his tongue in your asshole. Sipping and slurping up your musk like it’s the only holy water he needs to live. Or entice you into eating his ass, you would love being able to serve him properly, no doubt.

To nourish you with his fragments, his vertebrae and viscera. The body and the blood. The teeth and the testicles.

He’ll sit in quiet contemplation in front of the pulpit, pouring wine over your body in his mind. Following the red trail with his tongue as it trickles down the valley of your chest and dips in and out the folds of your belly. He’ll leisurely open his mouth on a silent moan at the top of your mound, the hairs like yellowing blades of glades against his philtrum, in a perfect paradise there’d be blood there too. His own personal, pervertedly literal, red sea.

You’d look so beautiful, swollen and fat with a child growing in your womb. A shame that can never happen, but a blessing that no heretic of a man could snatch you up and take you away from him. Your flock is here, and the heavy crook of his staff is all you need to guide you back home when you go astray. Trapped in his thighs, molded by his hands, punctured into line with his cock.

[greengoblinswifey]

You’re My Religion- Father Charlie Mayhew x Fem!Reader

summary— what begins as a confession turns into a heated encounter at the altar with your mother’s priest. they say god forgives all but after this, you’re not so sure.

warnings— EXPLICIT CONTENT. degrading kink, praise kink, daddy kink, priest kink, unprotected sex, creampie, face fucking, face slapping, spanking, spitting, blasphemy, gaslighting, mentions of hell, mentions of drugs.

a/n— written while listening to religion by lana del rey.

You stepped into the dimly lit church, your heels echoing off the stone floor, drawing the eyes of everyone already seated. Your mother sat in the front, her lips pressed into a tight line, her eyes narrowed in disapproval as they roamed over your outfit, lacy, white, and far too revealing for the sanctity of the place.

You could feel the heat of judgmental stares as you made your way forward. A white garter peeked out from beneath the hem of your dress, resting against your thigh like a silent rebellion. It wasn’t just the dress; it was everything, your lateness, your attitude, your recent choices. Smoking behind the house had been the last straw for your mother, who was determined to have you confess your sins to Father Charlie Mayhew. You’d done worse but she hadn’t found out, might as well do as she asked.

Father Charlie stood at the altar, his presence imposing yet alluring. He was young for a priest, with sharp features softened by the flickering candlelight. His eyes briefly lingered on you as you approached, dark and inscrutable, before his expression returned to one of serene composure. His hands clasped in front of him, holding a Bible, as though the words inside it could shield him from whatever thoughts were swirling in his mind.

You slid into the pew beside your mother, her disapproval palpable. “You’re going to talk to him after the service,” she whispered sharply, not even glancing your way. "You will confess and make things right."

You barely heard her. Your attention was fixed on Father Charlie. Something about the way he looked at you, even for just a second, made your pulse quicken.

He stood at the pulpit, his voice echoing through the quiet church as he continued his sermon. The congregation sat in attention, but his eyes kept flickering toward the front row, toward you. You sat beside your mother, legs crossed, the lacy white dress slipping higher as you adjusted in your seat.

His words wavered for a moment, his gaze slipping to where your dress had risen, revealing more of your thigh. You could feel his eyes on you, feel the subtle heat of his attention even from across the room. A wicked thought crept into your mind, and slowly, carefully, you parted your legs, revealing the scarlet lace of your thong.

For a brief moment, Father Charlie’s voice faltered. His eyes caught the sinful glimpse of red beneath your dress, and he quickly looked away, clearing his throat. His fingers tightened around the Bible, knuckles white as if he was trying to anchor himself to its holiness.

He paused, then spoke, his tone harder now, deliberate. “We must be wary, brothers and sisters, of the dangers of lust, of temptation. Of the Jezebels who seek to lead good men astray with their wicked ways.” His words cut through the air like a blade, but his gaze briefly darted to you once more, betraying the battle raging beneath his composed exterior.

Your mother shifted beside you, her disapproving eyes narrowing as she looked over at you, suspicion flickering across her face. She didn’t know what you had done, not fully, but she felt something was wrong. The sermon had taken an oddly personal tone, and she wasn’t oblivious to it. You could feel her judgment creeping in, but it only fueled the excitement that stirred within you.

Father Charlie continued, though his words seemed to be more for himself now than the congregation. “We must resist. Resist the lure of sin, no matter how enticing it may appear. For we know that the path of temptation only leads to destruction.”

As he spoke, his eyes met yours again, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire room had disappeared. There was no congregation, no mother, no church. Only the two of you, caught in the tension that simmered between righteousness and desire.

As the sermon ended, Father Charlie closed his Bible, but the tension between you lingered in the air. You bit your lip, feeling his gaze burn into you even as he tried to avert his eyes. Throughout the sermon, you had kept your legs parted, teasing him, the red lace of your thong on full display. He’d stolen glances, his composure faltering more than once, but somehow he had managed to make it through. Now, with the service over, the real test was about to begin.

Your mother, determined to show her righteousness, practically dragged you over to him. Her hand clutched your arm as she led you to the front of the church, where Father Charlie stood, his posture stiff and his expression carefully neutral.

“Father,” your mother began, her voice stern, "this is my daughter Y/N. She’s been...not of God lately. I’ve begged for her to come here so she can cleanse herself, confess her sins, and find her way back to the Lord.”

Father Charlie’s eyes flicked to yours for a brief second before he straightened, clasping his hands together. “I understand,” he said, his voice smooth and steady, though there was an undercurrent of something else, something darker, in his tone.

“Since she found her way into church late,” your mother added, giving you a pointed look, “I trust she can find her way back home. Keep her as long as you need, Father, until you’re sure she’s, renewed.” Her eyes darted to your dress, her distaste clear, before she turned to leave.

As she walked away, you watched the door close behind her, leaving you alone with Father Charlie. He stood there, silent for a moment, before finally speaking. “Confession is a powerful thing,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “It requires honesty, humility. Are you ready to confess?”

You gave a slow, deliberate nod, your lips curling into a soft smile. “I think I have a lot to confess, Father.” Your voice was low, teasing, as you looked at him through your lashes.

His jaw tightened, but he motioned for you to follow him to the confessional booth. Once inside, he slid the screen between you, his silhouette barely visible through the latticework. “Speak, my child,” he said, the formality of his words clashing with the tension between you. “Confess your sins, so that you may be forgiven.”

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to push further, testing the boundaries. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," you said, your voice soft and sultry. “I’ve been thinking wicked thoughts. Lustful thoughts.”

He was silent on the other side, but you could sense his tension, feel the weight of his conflicted desires.

“I’ve done things, drugs, other things,” you continued, your tone growing more seductive. “Things I shouldn’t. With people I shouldn’t.” You shifted in your seat, your legs parting slightly, knowing full well he could sense it even if he couldn’t see. “Sometimes, I just can’t help myself. The temptation is too strong.”

Father Charlie cleared his throat, clearly trying to maintain his composure. “Temptation is the Devil’s work," he said, though his voice wavered. "You must resist it.”

You bit your lip, leaning closer to the screen, your voice barely above a whisper. “But what if I don’t want to resist?”

There was silence. You could hear his breathing, shallow and uneven. His hand shifted, and you imagined him clenching his fists, fighting the very thing you were offering. “You must,” he finally said, though it sounded more like a command to himself than to you.

You leaned back in your seat, a mischievous smile on your lips. “But daddy, don’t you want to help me?”

His breath hitched, and you knew you had him. At the same time you both exited the booth, his face looking flushed as he did.

As the tension grew between you and Charlie, your fingers brushed lightly over his chest, feeling the warmth of his body beneath his clothes. You leaned in, close enough that your lips barely touched his ear. “Daddy,” you whispered, your voice filled with temptation, “I’ve been such a bad girl. A dirty sinner. Punish me. Give me a preview of eternal punishment.”

His breath caught at your words, his hand grabbed your hair as he pulled you back to face him, his eyes dark with restrained desire. “You don’t know what you're asking for,” he growled, though his grip on you betrayed his true thoughts.

You smiled up at him, your lips curling in a teasing smile. “I think I do,” you murmured, arching your back to press against him, your hand slipping around his neck as you pulled him even closer. “Right here, in front of the cross, I don’t care.”

Charlie’s eyes flicked toward the large cross behind you, but his gaze quickly returned to your lips, unable to resist the pull. “You’re going to hell,” he muttered, before gripping your waist firmly, lifting you onto the altar as if he couldn't control his actions any longer.

Your legs parted naturally, and you wrapped them around his waist, pulling him in as his lips finally crashed against yours. The kiss was intense, filled with the heat of everything you both had been holding back. His hands roamed over your body, but even as he touched you, he still kept control.

“You're such a bad girl,” he said between heated kisses, his voice low and commanding. “here, of all places.”

You grinned against his lips. “I wanted you,” you admitted breathlessly, “and I knew you couldn’t resist, I always get what I want.”

Charlie’s grip tightened, his hand moving to your throat in a possessive hold. “You need to learn some discipline,” he growled, pulling you closer. “And I’m the one to teach you.”

Your pulse raced as you felt his control over you grow. The cross behind you seemed to sway slightly, but all you could focus on was the fire between you. His hands were everywhere, and every touch made your breath catch, your desire building with each second.

“You wanted to be bad?” he whispered harshly against your ear, his voice filled with both heat and command. “Then you’ll have to take what comes with that.”

Before you could respond, the cross behind you shifted, tilting dangerously. You gasped, glancing back just in time to see it tumble forward, crashing to the ground. The loud thud echoed in the church, but neither of you moved, the sound only fueling the intensity between you.

With one final, wicked smirk, Charlie leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “There’s no turning back now.”

He shoved you to your knees and you ripped your thong off, your fingers dipping to your sopping pussy as he rid himself of his robes and presented himself bare in front of you. “Suck this priest cock,” he demanded. Without waiting for a reply, his cock was sent into the back of your throat making you gag.

“That’s it little bitch,” he groaned, “take whatever the fuck I give you.”

You took him in, your mouth working around him, your cheeks hollowing as you surrendered to his brutal rhythm.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. “Just like that. You’re doing so well.” The way he spoke made you want to please him even more, and you found yourself pushing back against him, eager for more.

But then he pulled back, looking down at you with a mixture of pride and mischief. “I think you need a little discipline,” he said, the hint of a smirk on his lips. Before you could respond he grabbed your hair and pulled you over his knee as he sat at the altar, he then delivered a sharp smack to your ass, making you gasp.

“Did you like that?” he asked, watching you closely. You nodded, a thrill of excitement coursing through you. “I thought so,” he replied, his hand coming down again, the sound echoing in the church.

“Let’s see how many more you can take,” he taunted, giving you another hard spank, each one leaving a burning sensation behind. The mix of pleasure and pain made your head spin, and you found yourself craving more.

“Daddy,” you gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I can take it. I want more.”

“Such a naughty whore,” he chuckled, the heat in his gaze intensifying. “But I’ll give you what you want. Just remember, you asked for it.”

He placed a kiss on your ass before his hard hand came down again, causing you to yelp. He chuckled darkly at the sounds you made before he gripped your jaw, making you open your mouth and spat inside. He continued his assault on your ass whispering darkly to you.

“This is what you like? Is this what whores like you enjoy? To be violated by their priest? Hmm?”

“Y-yes father,” you moaned, feeling his sharp hand come down again, you weren’t sure how much you could take but you didn’t want to let him know.

“Alright whore, back on my cock, make me cum and maybe I’ll give you what you so desperately desire.”

As you knelt at the altar, the irony of the moment didn’t escape you. Typically, this was a sacred space meant for prayer and reflection, a place where you sought forgiveness and guidance. But here you were, on your knees, not in a plea for redemption but in a silent prayer of your own worshipping the man who stood before you. Worshipping his big, thick, leaking cock. Thank God for him.

The flickering candlelight casted shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the way his lips curled into a smirk. You felt a thrill rush through you, knowing how wrong this was, yet wanting it more than anything.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice low and teasing. You got to work, spitting on his cock and taking him as deep as you could in your throat as tears left your eyes, as you did so he ripped your little dress off you making you gasp. The little sounds you made on his dick made him moan in pleasure. You continued sucking and not long after he held your head own as you gasped for air and came down your throat.

He clearly hadn’t released in a long time because there were still small ropes of his cum he pumped onto your face. With a smack, his hand came down across your cheek then he spat on you, making you stick your tongue out.

“Disgusting whore, you’re fucking filthy, sent from the devil himself.”

“Make me yours then,” you panted and Father Charlie smiled down on you.

With a swift motion, Charlie gripped your waist, bending you over the altar. The cool wood pressed against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat building within you. You felt exposed, your heart racing as you heard him move behind you.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “So willing to give yourself to me right here in God’s house. I wonder what He would think of this.”

You could barely focus on his words as anticipation coursed through you. “I don’t care,” you managed to reply, your voice breathless. “Just please, Father.”

He chuckled, positioning himself behind you, and for a moment, you felt the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders. “You might need to repent after this,” he teased, his tone playful yet filled with raw desire. “But I’m sure God will forgive me for what I’m about to do, you, a fucking slut, not so much.”

You shivered, knowing this was all so wrong, yet feeling every bit of it was right for you. “Just take me,” you urged, your body craving his touch.

As he pushed into you, a loud gasp escaped your lips. The sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and guilt flooding your senses. He was so deep inside your pussy, tearing you apart with a burning stretch. “Holy—” you started, but he interrupted.

“‘Thou shalt not commit fornication,’” he quoted, almost mockingly. “But we’re not fornicating, are we? We’re just, exploring.”

You could only moan in response, the feeling of him filling you pushing all thoughts of right and wrong from your mind. “Yes daddy,” you breathed, lost in the moment. “Just exploring.”

He began to move, his thrusts deep and steady. “You know, sometimes the line between sin and pleasure is blurred,” he murmured. “But I think we’re in good hands. God will forgive me, won’t He?”

“God can’t see us,” you managed to say between breaths, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge.

“Exactly,” he growled, picking up his pace. “And you’re going to come for me. Make it worth it, bitch.”

He slapped your ass harshly, making you moan and open your eyes to look at the holy water on the altar that fell to the ground and splashed on you. You could swear it burned your skin.

As the pleasure washed over you, the world around you faded, leaving only the sensation of Charlie’s body against yours. You felt yourself tightening around him, waves of ecstasy crashing through you until, with a final gasp, you came undone.

“God, you’re beautiful when you’re like this,” he praised, his voice thick with lust. He pulled out, letting you catch your breath for a moment before lifting you effortlessly. “Now, let’s take this to a more fitting spot.”

With that, he guided you toward the chair where the priest would usually sit, its authority mixed with your reckless abandon. He sat back, pulling you onto his lap in one smooth motion. The air was electric with anticipation, and you could see the flickering candles casting shadows around the room, the only witnesses to your sin.

“Get ready to worship,” he growled, guiding you down onto him. As you sank onto his length, a loud moan escaped your lips. The thrill of the position combined with the sinfulness of your surroundings sent a shiver down your spine.

“Look at you, taking me right here,” he said, gripping your hips. “You’re my little slut, aren’t you? Just my bitch to fuck.”

You nodded, feeling the words stir something deeper within you. “Yes, I’m yours,” you breathed, moving your hips to find your rhythm.

He thrusted up into you, each movement deliberate, as he leaned closer. “And you love it,” he stated with a smirk. “You love being my temptation, my little distraction. If God didn’t want me to be tempted, He wouldn’t have created you for me to enjoy. This tight, wet, leaking pussy for me to enjoy.”

With each thrust, the sensation built, and you felt the heat of his words mingle with the heat of your bodies. “You’re going to take all my cum inside you, aren’t you?” he commanded, his tone a mix of dominance and desire. “You want me to fill you up, to pump my cum into your tempting little pussy?”

“Yes, father,” you gasped, your body responding to his every word. The sensation of him filling you pushed you closer to the edge once more.

Just then, the cross above you trembled, tilting ominously before falling upside down. A collective gasp echoed in your mind, but you were too lost in your desire to care. The flickering candles burst into flames, sending wisps of smoke into the air as if the universe itself was reacting to your sinful act.

“Look at that,” he chuckled darkly, his thrusts relentless. “Even God can’t help but take notice of what we’re doing here.”

“Just don’t stop,” you urged, feeling the intensity build again and tears fell from your eyes. The mix of danger and pleasure was intoxicating.

“Never,” he promised, his eyes dark with lust. “I’m going to fill you up, and you’re going to remember this forever.”

With a few final powerful thrusts, he buried himself deep inside you, moaning your name as he released, filling you completely.

As the final waves of pleasure rolled through you, you both collapsed against each other, your bodies slick and exhausted. Breathing heavily, you felt the weight of the moment settle in. The reality of what just happened hung in the air, a mix of satisfaction and consequence.

Charlie pulled back slightly, his gaze locking onto yours, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. “You know this is all your fault, right?” he murmured, his tone both teasing and dark. “You tempted me, made me filthy.”

You shivered at the heat of his words, the intensity in his eyes igniting something deep within you. “I didn’t make you do anything,” you replied, a challenge in your voice. “You wanted this just as much as I did.”

He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. You made it impossible for me to resist. Look at you, so innocent yet so depraved.” His fingers traced your cheek, a contrast of softness against the edge of his words. “You walked into this church, dressed like a temptation itself, and now look where we are.”

His gaze flicked toward the now-upside-down cross, a symbol of your defiance. “You should be ashamed, everyone would chastise you if you said anything,” he continued, his voice lowering to a husky whisper. “But I know you’re not. You loved every second of it, just like I did.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words. “Maybe I did,” you admitted, unable to hide the thrill coursing through you.

Charlie straightened up, adjusting his posture, the authoritative presence returning. “Good. Remember that when you’re here alone, naked and exposed.” He smirked, taking a step back, his eyes dark with desire. “You think this is the last time I’ll see you? You’re wrong. You’re mine now. Your very being belongs to me. I am your God now.”

“You’re my religion,” you whispered.

With that, he turned, walking away toward the back of the church, leaving you breathless and alone. You stared at the cross, the flickering candles around it now extinguished, a stark reminder of the boundary you had crossed.

Naked and vulnerable, you felt a mix of fear and exhilaration wash over you. The reality of your actions hung heavy in the air, but the thrill of the moment lingered in your veins.

[pansy-tranny]

(Minors dni)

I want to perform as a drag king SO BAD. I've got a whole concept planned out and everything. Horny catholic priest named Father Ash Wednesday who performs to Nine Inch Nails songs (specifically, The Hand That Feeds). A mesh top with the roman collar and top surgery scars would serve catastrophic levels of cunt. I could even wear a cassock on top of all of it and take it off on stage. Giving communion wafers to the audience. Chains. Blood. It'd be so easy to use a crucifix as a phallic symbol. Do you see my vision

[puppymuttelias]

Fantasy where you're the preacher's special helper. You go in early, stay late, sing in the choir, carefully sweep after every sermon, and often the two of you read scripture together. Though at times you quietly kneel at his feet, entirely stripped of your clothes, as he recites verse after verse. He has a beautiful cadence and the act of leaning in to suck his cock is as familiar as prayer. The hand gently guiding your head as he speaks holy words feels like a blessing. Even when you gag on his cock or your sinful cunt drips on the floor he is still so forgiving. So kind to cum down your throat and call you his good blessed boy. So sweet, so holy under his guiding hand. - 🙏 anon

Just imagining his voice echoing in the empty church as i suck his cock, him being so gentle with me but making me gag and blessing me with forgiveness at the same time makes me have such sinful thoughts, hes so so kind giving me the gift of cumming into my mouth.

(This is such an amazing concept and is going to be on my mind for ages thank you 🤭)

[erenash]

Kiss Me on the Mouth, Love Me like a Sinner (JayVik)

Jayce Talis is grieving and goes to a confession booth almost every day to repent and try to heal.

Plot Twist: The Priest is Viktor!! YAY

-------

I don't own any rights to these characters.

Don't like it? Don't read.

Everything I know about this kind of stuff is from Flea Bag edits, so you've been warned.

TW: depression, mild drinking, mentions of grief and dealing with it, mention of the death of a child, religious stuff in here, okay, okay. (also available on my AO3: ashes_to_ash)

------- Part One

Jayce wasn’t sure what could be worse.

The before or the after.

In the before, everything was simple, easy, and drawn out for him. He would have graduated with his master's in Chemical Engineering and worked for Piltover Enterprises as a project manager.  His entire future was sealed with a golden stamp.

That was almost a year ago.

Before the accident. Before he killed an innocent child.

He hadn’t meant for his thesis project to go so horribly wrong.

“Tell me about the accident again, Jayce,” the calm voice on the other side of the thin wooden lattice urged him. “From the beginning.”

The distraught man choked out a laugh. “You already know everything. I’ve been here practically every day.”

“For the last two months, I’m aware.” Then, a soft chuckle before the voice said, “You take up a lot of time in my booth, though I’m not complaining. Not many people come to confession in this city.”

“Are you allowed even to tell me that?”

“What we talk about is between us and God. You can share whatever you wish with me,” the voice promised him.

Jayce never went to church after he moved to the States. His mother would drag him tooth and nail every Sunday to sing, pray, and find community in their small town outside Guadalajara. 

But he never craved that understanding, that sense of belonging, the hope of it all—until Henry died.

“It was supposed to save lives,” Jayce started for the hundredth time, rubbing his unshaven jaw with one hand. “Neutralize toxic waste. Clean up the planet, make things better for everyone…That’s what I told everyone, what I told myself.”

There was a beat of silence before the priest pressed for more. “You always start with this. Why?”

“You already know the reason–why do you make me retell it every time?” 

“Because you haven’t let yourself truly feel all of it, Jayce,” the voice explained. “It’s been almost three years now, and you only just started coming here months ago. You talk and talk, but it’s as if you’re reading a story sometimes. So, let’s try this again—Tell me what happened from the beginning.”

Jayce hoped the priest could feel the burning hot glare he sent through the wooden panel between them. “I’m starting to think you enjoy watching me fall apart, Father.”

There’s another soft chuckle. “If I wanted to watch people fall apart, I would have gone into politics or poetry, not priesthood.” He sighed gently, then tapped the wooden panel twice with one knuckle, his tone lilting with his thick Czech accent that the pained man had grown so accustomed to hearing daily, “Come on, Jayce. Start from the beginning. For yourself, not for me.”

He knew that Jayce knew that it was for himself. It always was. The priest didn’t need to hear this story every time. Jayce knew that.

Logically? Jayce understood grief: the stages, the emotions, the rage, the range of it all.

He’d researched it a few weeks after abandoning his thesis and master’s program, locked away in his room with thousands of calculations for how the accident could have been prevented.

On paper, grieving and moving on was easy, tangible, reachable.

In this small confession booth, with his fingers ink-stained and his heart heavy—Jayce never felt so far from everything.

“Dr. Heimerdinger was all for my project, and the advisor for the department backed him. I threw myself into the work, and I thought it would fix many things wrong in the world.” The words felt bitter on his tongue. “That’s when the cracks first appeared. The compound wasn’t stable. The reactions were violent ones when the conditions were not one hundred percent perfect. I told her. I told her we—I told her I needed more time.”

“Her is referring to?”

“Mel Medarda, the advisor for the department,” Jayce’s stomach twisted as he thought about how it all played out. “She waved off the Doctor, and I’s worries, saying that science works that way—it’s always messy until it isn’t.” His throat felt as if it was about to close up as he choked out, “She called it a ‘calculated’ risk. But it wasn’t her risk to take, was it? It was mine. I was the one in the lab. I was the one who signed off on the demonstration. I was the one who—” A sob cracks under his lungs and bubbles up out of him, cutting his words off.

The voice whispered, “Keep going.”

Shaking his head, Jayce continued. “The day of the demo, I was running on fumes. Stress, guilt, fear—I felt like I was suffocating, but I kept telling myself it would be fine. We’d rehearsed it, controlled everything. What could go wrong, right?” Fingers shaking, he grips his hands into fists, balling up the material of his sweatpants. “But then the sun hit the containment unit. And the reaction—it was so fast. One second, everyone is clapping; the next, there’s this BOOM—and the air turns to poison. Everyone’s running away coughing, and that’s when I saw that boy—Henry.”

“The one with the curly hair.” The voice remembered from when Jayce told him that fact last week.

Another sob rakes through the former golden star of the chemical engineering program. “Curly hair, big blue eyes, he stood there holding his mother’s hand. I didn’t even think to tell them to back up—Now, all I hear when I try to sleep is his mother's scream as she holds her son’s body. The medics couldn’t save him. The press swarmed us.”

The priest asked as if he didn’t already know, “What did Mel do?” 

“She acted as if the entire thing was a freak accident,” Jayce scoffed as he wiped his eyes with his sweatshirt sleeve. “Like it could not have been predicted. And me? I just stood there. Frozen. Watching Henry’s mother scream while I did nothing.”

Another pause. “You feel like you failed him?”

“I didn’t just fail him, Father,” Jayce stated, his hands opening and closing as he shut his eyes. “ I killed him. My hands, my signature, my experiment, my cowardice. And you always drag me right back here, to the scene of the crime, as if reliving it is going to fix me.”

“I’m not doing this to make you relieve it, Jayce,” the priest told him with a heavy sigh leaving his mouth before he added, “I’m helping you carry it. Every time you come here, every time you tell me this story—you’re giving a little bit more to me.  And one day, you’ll stop coming because it won’t weigh you down the same way. But that only happens if you keep going.”

Jayce probably owed this priest his life, and he wouldn’t even know how to start repaying him. “I don’t even know what made me start coming here. I don’t know how to keep going.”

“You come here because part of you believes there's more to your story than this,” the priest said, then let out  a small laugh before he finished with, “And you come here because you don’t have to face it alone, Jayce.”

He didn't respond immediately, but his shoulders relaxed a fraction.

Jayce could feel his eyes begin to pulse with heat, but he blinked the tears away as a tidal wave of vulnerability washed over his heart. “Sometimes I feel like you know me better than I know myself, Father. And I hate it,” He admitted, more to himself than the man listening. 

He’s never even laid eyes on the person behind the wooden lattice. He’s only ever heard his voice through his most challenging moments in the last eight weeks. The confessional booth feels like a second home to Jayce now, though he’s still not sure if that’s comforting or damning. 

“That’s not uncommon. People tend to reveal more in moments of vulnerability than they realize. But knowing you... that’s not my job. My job is to listen.” The priest said it so quietly that Jayce wasn’t sure if he believed him. Leaning forward on the small seat, his palms sweating as his fingers trembled, Jayce said slowly, “But that’s the thing. You do know me. You’ve heard every awful detail of what I’ve done, what I think. And you just sit there, calm and understanding, like some perfect saint who’s never screwed up a day in his life. It’s not fair.”

As if considering his words carefully, the man of God spoke after a few minutes, “Much of life is not fair, Jayce. There’s beauty in knowing nothing is perfect–including me. ”

“Then tell me something real .” “I have never told you anything untrue.” Jayce groaned in annoyance. There was nothing he hated more than a perfect circle. The priest always had a way of bringing him back to the start of everything.

“I just hate feeling like you’re untouchable,” he confessed, running a hand through his messy hair. “You’re truly like God. I’ve never seen or touched you–yet you’re always here. Talking to me, guiding me. It’s infuriating.”

So softly, as if more to himself than to Jayce, the priest professed, “ Untouchable . That’s the last thing I’d call myself.”

“Then prove it. You’ve heard my story a dozen times now. Give me something real about you. Just one thing. Anything .” He was practically begging, one hand flush against the thin panel between them. If he squinted in the dim light of the confession booth, he could make out a figure on the other side. 

Jayce would do anything to feel less like something that was created to hold grief. He always knew his heart was too heavy to carry alone. He never realized it would never get better–he always thought it would get better. That was the promise regarding grief–that it would get better. But it never did. And if this was how it felt because he killed one child he didn’t even know, how was he supposed to handle losing anyone else in his life?

“You think it’s easy, listening to people’s worst moments? Feeling their pain, their anger, their guilt, and not being able to take it away? I chose this, Jayce, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t weigh on me,” The priest shifted, pushing his weight against the back panel of the booth as he sighed heavily.

“That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking for something real. Not ‘ I carry people’s burdens ’—everyone knows that’s part of the job. I’m talking about you . The person , not the Father. Do you ever let yourself be vulnerable? Or are you just sitting there, soaking up everyone else’s messes while pretending you’ve got none of your own?” He regretted the words before they even left his lips. Jayce was always the culprit for making a mess of the before and the after.

He was about to lose the one person who had to listen to him cry and mourn about the same thing, the same accident, for weeks without complaint. The voice Jayce would crave at the darkest hours of every night finally broke the heated silence, “My name is Viktor.”

------- Part Two

The sound of the door closing behind Viktor echoed softly in his quiet apartment. He set his dark wooden crutch against the wall and leaned his weight on the worn table beside the door. His breath came shallow as he eased the brace from his right leg, the stiff leather straps creaking as they loosened. His hips ached with the familiar throb of a day spent sitting too long, standing too much, and listening too intently.

With slow, practiced movements, he shrugged out of his priest's cassock, draping the black fabric over the back of a chair. The starkness of his pale undershirt against his skin made him feel vulnerable, though no one was there to see. He rubbed his hands over his face, pausing to press his palms into his eyes as if he could block out the intrusive thoughts.

Thoughts of him.

Jayce.

The name alone sent a shiver through Viktor’s chest, like the first note of a hymn he couldn’t resist singing. He hated it, this weakness. This hunger . It was preposterous, of course. Entirely unbecoming of a man who had taken vows of service, of restraint, of devotion to something higher than himself. 

Yet there it was–there he was–gnawing at the edges of his carefully constructed life.

He moved to the small kitchen, flipping on the light and squinting as it illuminated the worn linoleum floor. The apartment was modest but comfortable, provided by the church. He had been content here for years—almost a decade by now. The quietness of his evenings the simplicity of his routines, had once felt like blessings. Now, they felt hollow.

He poured himself a glass of gin, gripping the counter tightly as a fresh wave of guilt rolled over him. He could still see Jayce’s broad shoulders framed in the dim light of the confessional booth, the flush on his tanned cheeks as he spoke with such raw, anguished honesty. Viktor had spent years counseling others, listening without judgment, but with Jayce, it was different.

Drinking was not something Viktor typically did; he preferred to be sober most evenings–it kept the sinful thoughts at bay. When he drank, they’d come to him twicefold, making him doubt everything that’s led him to this life of quiet celibacy. He wasn’t always this reserved person; he hadn’t always dreamed of closing himself off from the rest of the world and stepping up to the high table to sit alongside God and all his disciples.

The shame of his thoughts burned hotter as he recalled how many times he had lingered near the stained-glass windows of the cathedral after Jayce’s confessions. He would stand in the shadows, hidden behind the heavy curtains, and watch as the slightly younger man made his way out to his car.

Jayce always moved with the weight of someone carrying an invisible burden, his shoulders tense, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Viktor’s eyes would trace the lines of his figure—the way his suit jacket stretched across his frame, the unruly strands of his dark hair catching the faint glow of the streetlights.

And every time, Viktor would curse himself for looking.

He sank heavily into the worn armchair by the window, stretching his aching leg before him as he took another drink from his glass. The golden accents on his crutch glinted faintly in the low light, a reminder of the concessions he had made to age and injury. 

He should have been used to this, the dull throb of pain that was now as much a part of him as his breath. But tonight, it felt sharper, more insistent, as if his body were rebelling against the tension coiling in his chest.

He wanted Jayce. Not just in the fleeting, physical way that would have been bad enough. 

No, Viktor’s hunger was deeper, darker, more damning. He wanted to take Jayce’s grief, his guilt, and swallow it whole. He wanted to hold him, to cradle his head against his chest, to promise him that the world wouldn’t always be this cruel.

And more than anything, he wanted Jayce to need him.

It was absurd. Blasphemous. Viktor was a priest—a man who had devoted his life to service, to faith, to God. He had no right to want anything for himself, let alone someone as broken and beautiful as Jayce.

But he couldn’t stop.

Jayce’s voice echoed in his mind, low and rough, filled with a desperation that Viktor had never encountered before. Jayce spoke like a man who had already condemned himself, who believed he was beyond saving. And yet, he always came back to Viktor, day after day, looking for something—comfort, absolution, maybe even hope .

And Viktor? Viktor gave him what he could. But it was never enough.

He leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. His hands trembled as he clasped them together, a gesture of prayer more out of habit than intent. He whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of his shame.

“God, forgive me.”

But as the words left his lips, he wasn’t sure if he meant them. Because some small, selfish part of him didn’t want forgiveness.

It wanted Jayce.

Viktor’s eyes opened slowly, drawn to the faint glow of the church’s steeple visible through his window. He sat there for a long time, staring into the night, trying to convince himself that he could let this go. He could be the priest Jayce needed, not the man Viktor wanted to be.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

He hadn’t felt alive like this in years—not since his college days, not since before the ache in his leg became permanent, not since the walls of his faith became a refuge instead of a choice.

And Jayce? Jayce was a fire he couldn’t seem to extinguish.

Viktor closed his eyes again, the ghost of Jayce’s voice lingering across his heart.

He wanted to save him.

But more than that, he wanted to keep him.

And that was a sin Viktor wasn’t sure he had the strength to resist.

------- Part Three

Jayce stepped through the heavy oak doors of the church, his footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness. The air was cool and faintly scented with beeswax and incense, and the sunlight filtering through the stained glass cast fractured rainbows onto the stone floor. He paused just inside, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets as if he could anchor himself to something solid.

He wasn’t here to confess, not really. He was here for him . For the man who had become an unwelcome fixture in his mind, a name he couldn’t stop repeating to himself in quiet, desperate moments.

Viktor.

It was all Jayce could think about these last few days, tracing the letters into the margins of his bible, whispering the name into the stillness of his apartment, feeling its weight settle deep in his chest. He hadn’t felt this fire to figure someone out in years. It burned through him like hunger, like need, like something he couldn’t control even if he wanted to.

For the first time since going to that cathedral, that church, that goddamn booth–Jayce felt something other than grief raging through his chest.

And it terrified him.

For months, Viktor had been a voice in the dark, steady and soothing, a presence that seemed too solid for the booth that confined him. Jayce had built him in his mind, piece by piece—a broad-shouldered, calm-faced figure with kind eyes and hands that could hold the weight of a thousand sins.

But it wasn’t enough. It never was.

Jayce needed more than the phantom he’d created. He needed to see Viktor, to put a face to the man who had listened to him unravel again and again. He needed to know who Viktor was, not just as a priest but as a person .

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for—closure, maybe, or clarity. But deep down, in the part of himself he refused to acknowledge, he knew the truth. He wasn’t here for absolution or answers.

He was here because he’d fallen for a man he could never have.

Jayce made his way down the aisle, his hands brushing over the backs of the pews as he walked. His legs felt heavy, his heart thudding unevenly in his chest. Instead of heading to the confessional, he slid into a pew near the front, his knees brushing the worn wooden bench as he sat.

The church was empty, save for a single figure at the altar.

Jayce’s breath caught as he took him in for the first time.

He wasn’t what Jayce had imagined. Viktor was more petite and leaner; his frame was a mixture of fragility and quiet strength. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and he moved with deliberate slowness, his hand resting lightly on the wooden crutch propped against the altar. His cassock hung loosely on him, and even from this distance, Jayce could see the lines of pain etched into his face—the faint crease between his brows, the tightness in his jaw.

And yet, there was something magnetic about him.

Jayce’s chest tightened as he watched Viktor light a candle, the flickering glow illuminating his features. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense, but there was a calm dignity and a weight to his presence that made it impossible to look away.

This is him, Jayce thought. This is the man who’s been holding my soul together for months. The man I’ve spilled everything to. The man I can’t stop thinking about.

His heart sputtered painfully in his chest, and he clenched his fists against the polished wood of the pew, trying to steady himself.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected Viktor to feel so... real .

Jayce’s pulse roared in his ears as he fought to reconcile the Viktor in his mind with the one standing in front of him. He was flesh and blood, imperfect and human, yet the pull Jayce felt toward him was overwhelming.

It wasn’t fair.

You don’t even know him, Jayce told himself. Not really. You know his voice, his words, the way he listens. But you don’t know him.

But Jayce couldn’t shake the truth that had settled in his chest like a sinking ship.

He’d fallen for Viktor.

Not the idea of him, not the comfort he provided, but him . The man who bore the weight of others’ sins while quietly carrying his own. The man who had become an anchor in Jayce’s storm, steady and unyielding.

It was wrong. He knew that. Viktor was untouchable, not because of his title, but because of who he was—because of the walls he’d built, the life he’d chosen.

But knowing it was wrong didn’t make it any easier to look away.

Jayce’s hands shook as he shifted in the pew, the faint creak of wood breaking the silence. Viktor’s head turned slightly at the sound, his gaze sweeping the room until it landed on Jayce.

Their eyes met, and Jayce felt his heart thumping erratically, his breath catching in his throat.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Viktor began to make his way toward him, his crutch tapping softly against the stone floor.

Jayce’s pulse quickened with every step, his chest tightening as Viktor stopped a few feet away, his gaze steady but searching.

Softly, hesitantly, Viktor spoke, “You’re not in the confessional today.”

“I needed to see you.” 

And just like that, the walls Jayce had spent so long building began to crack. Because in Viktor’s eyes, he didn’t see judgment or distance. He saw something much more gentle, something that made his heart ache.

He’s real, Jayce thought again, and it terrified him.

Viktor adjusted his crutch and studied Jayce for a moment, his expression carefully neutral, though his golden-brown eyes flickered with something Jayce couldn’t quite place. Curiosity, maybe. Or wariness. “You needed to see me?” The question echoed throughout the empty cathedral.

Shrugging, doing his best to remain nonchalant, Jayce said, “Yeah. I figured after months of baring my soul to a faceless voice, it was time to... you know, put a face to the name.”

Viktor lets a small smile creep across his mouth. “And? Was it worth the effort?”

“Jury’s still out. You’re not exactly what I pictured.” Jayce’s cheeks burn as he tries to contain his own.

An eyebrow raises in amusement from the priest. “No? Should I be flattered or concerned?”

Letting his body lean back against the pew, the man sighed playfully before answering, “Flattered, I guess. You’re not what I expected, but that’s not a bad thing.”

“ And what did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Someone... taller. Broader. Like you could bench-press the weight of everyone’s sins or something.” The admission was a stupid one, but it was honest. 

A laugh escaped Viktor’s lips and then another, making Jayce grin wider as the priest told him, “I assure you, my strength lies elsewhere. Bench-pressing is not among my talents.”

“Shame. Would’ve been a great party trick.”

“I’ll keep it in mind for my next performance,” Viktor assured him dryly as he sat on the pew a few feet away.

The easy banter caught Jayce off guard. Viktor’s voice, so often calm and measured in the confessional, now had an edge of humor to it, a warmth that made him feel almost... normal. Like they weren’t priest and penitent, but two men having a conversation.

It was dangerous, Jayce realized, how easy it was to talk to him like this.

Shifting slightly, his gaze flicking to Viktor’s crutch before he could stop himself as he said, “So... you’ve got a name, and now I’ve got a face. Guess all that’s left is figuring out the rest of the puzzle.”

Another eyebrow raised in his direction. “I wasn’t aware I was a puzzle to be solved.”

“Oh, come on. You’re a guy who spends his days listening to people’s darkest secrets and still manages to stay calm and collected. There’s gotta be more to you than that.”

“Perhaps. But I’m not sure it’s the kind of ‘more’ you’d find interesting.”

Jayce tilted his head at the priest, his voice lowering slightly as he gave him a look. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

The shift in tone made Viktor pause. He glanced down at Jayce, his brow furrowing slightly as if trying to read the unspoken weight behind the words. Jayce felt exposed under that gaze, like Viktor could see every flaw in his carefully constructed armor.

“Why are you really here, Jayce? It’s not just to put a face to my name, is it?” The priest was…nervous. Jayce wasn’t the best at reading everyone, but he could read this. He saw the way Viktor’s fingers dug into his cane, the slight pinking of his pale cheekbones, the glint in his eyes. This was mutual.

Clearing his throat, Jayce looked toward the altar of candles. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I just... I’ve been carrying this thing for so long, and you’re the only one who hasn’t looked at me like I’m broken. Like I’m... unfixable.”

“No one is unfixable.”

A cold laugh escaped his chest before he could stop himself, “You don’t know that. You don’t know me.”

“You’re right. I don’t know you—not entirely. But I know enough to believe in you, even when you don’t believe in yourself,” Viktor’s words fell over his grief-stricken soul like a warm blanket on a snowy night.

Jayce’s lungs felt tighter at the words, at the calm conviction in Viktor’s tone. He looked away, his jaw clenching as he tried to find something, anything, to say in response. But Viktor, as always, was patient, waiting him out in silence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jayce repeated his confession from the other day, “It’s not fair, you know. You know so much about me, and I know next to nothing about you.”

“I think you know more than you realize,” Viktor’s face twitched as he gave Jayce another wry smile.

“Not enough.” Jayce figured that Viktor could tell him every molecule about himself, and he would still want more from the priest. Always more.

“What would you like to know?”

Blinking in surprise, Jayce blurted out, “What?”

“Ask me something. Anything. I’ll answer if I can,” Viktor offered, leaning back against the pew.

There had to be some code of ethics about this, didn’t there? Jayce’s mind began to swim rapidly at everything he wanted and couldn’t ask.

The openness in Viktor’s tone caught Jayce off guard. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Viktor to offer him anything beyond the walls of their usual confessions.

His mind raced, a dozen questions rising to the surface, but only one made it past his lips. “Why do you do this? Why be a priest?”

Viktor’s gaze became distant as if he’d traveled to another timeline. Jayce almost told him to forget it; it was such a personal question, after all. Then the priest responded gently, “Because once, a long time ago, someone listened to me. And it saved my life.”

The simplicity of the answer hit Jayce harder than he expected. He stared at Viktor, trying to piece together the man behind the words, the weight behind the confession.

“Do you ever wish you’d chosen different instead?” Another far too personal question.

“Sometimes. When it’s quiet and I’m alone, I think about what my life could’ve been. But then someone like you walks in, carrying the kind of pain that no one should bear alone, and I remember why I’m here. Why I made the choice I did.”

Jayce thought he saw it for the first time—the breaks throughout Viktor’s calm facade, the quiet pain he carried, the humanity he kept so carefully hidden.

It made him want to know more.

It made him want to stay.

 After a long silence, Jayce responded, his voice softer, “Guess you’re not as untouchable as I thought.”

“None of us are. Not even priests.”

For the first time in weeks, Jayce felt like the weight he was carrying wasn’t his to bear alone.

With another chuckle, Viktor added, “The collar’s just for show, Jayce. Underneath, I’m just as human as you are. Full of doubts, regrets, and questions I don’t have answers to.”

The sunlight began to pour through the stained glass windows, painting the cathedral in a kaleidoscope of shifting colors. The faint smell of incense lingered in the cool air. Jayce leaned forward, hands pressed together as if in prayer, trying to keep his breathing steady though every inch of him felt coiled tight. He turned his head to lock eyes with the priest.

Viktor sat still as a statue beside him, watching him as if waiting for another confession to slip sinfully from his lips. The golden light framed him, catching on the streaks of silver in his hair and the faint lines on his face. Jayce couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He wanted him. God, he wanted him. And not just in the dark, desperate way that kept him awake at night, turning over memories of Viktor’s voice, his patience, his kindness. Jayce wanted to know him, wanted to peel back the layers until he understood every sharp and soft edge of the man who had somehow become his reason to wake up every morning.

What felt like hours later, Viktor finally whispered, “It’s almost closing time.”

“Should I take that as my cue to leave?” Jayce didn’t let himself look away.

“Not necessarily.”

Jayce’s heart stuttered at the response. He raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the way his pulse quickened with sarcasm. “Not necessarily? That’s cryptic, even for you,” He rolled his eyes before meeting Viktor’s once more. He wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but he felt as if he were being challenged, and it excited him.

Pausing, pursing his lips slightly, Viktor said, “I was thinking... you’ve been coming here for months now, spilling your soul in the confessional. Perhaps it’s time for a different kind of conversation.”

Jayce couldn’t help that both his eyebrows shot up his forehead in question, “A different kind? What does that mean?”

The priest shrugged as if it meant nothing, “It means... I live just next door. And I was going to pour myself a drink to end the day. You’re welcome to join me.”

Jayce blinked, caught entirely off guard. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, trying to process what he’d just heard.

A priest. Inviting him over. For drinks.

“ A drink? Are priests even allowed to drink?”

A low, warm laugh tickled Jayce’s eardrums as Viktor stood with a slight groan. “We’re not monks, Jayce. And even monks are allowed wine.”

The snort that left his nose made his cheeks redden as he nodded. “Fair enough. But isn’t this, like... wildly inappropriate?”

Father Viktor’s smile faltered slightly as if remembering the totality of his position in the church. “If you’re uncomfortable, you’re under no obligation to accept. I only thought... it might help.”

Help. The word lingered in the air, heavier than it should have been. Jayce stared at Viktor, at the quiet vulnerability in his expression, and felt something in him give way.

He should have said no. Of course, he should have said no. It wasn’t ethical, wasn’t appropriate, wasn’t safe . But Jayce had never been good at denying himself things he wanted, and he wanted Viktor.

He wanted more, more, more of him, in any capacity he could get him in.

Grinning despite himself, despite the grief that was ebbing fatally around his world, despite the hope he needed from Viktor’s voice, he said, “Well, if priests are allowed to drink, who am I to say no?”

Viktor’s smile returned, small and faintly relieved, and Jayce felt its warmth settle somewhere deep in his chest.  “Good. Then follow me.”

Jayce stood, his heart pounding as Viktor began making his way to the side door of the cathedral. The sunlight glittered on the polished stone floors, casting long shadows as Jayce followed him.

With every step, Jayce felt the weight of what he was walking into.

And yet, he didn’t stop himself.

------- Part Four

The first thing Jayce noticed when he stepped into Viktor’s apartment was how quiet it was. Not the hollow, sterile quiet of a simply empty place, but the kind of quiet that felt lived-in. It was cozy, warm even, in a way he hadn’t expected. The soft scent of old books and faint incense lingered in the air, mingling with the faint creak of the floorboards beneath their feet.

It was nothing like Jayce’s sleek, modern studio in the city. This place had history. 

The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with books, their spines worn and faded, interspersed with small, unassuming decorations—a cross here, a brass clock there, and a single framed photograph on the far table that he couldn’t quite make out.

The apartment reflected the man who lived in it: unpretentious, thoughtful, and far more inviting than Jayce had prepared himself for.

Viktor leaned his crutch against the wall near a small kitchen alcove, his movements slow and practiced as he reached for two tumblers from the cabinet. Jayce watched him without meaning to, his gaze trailing over the measured, careful way Viktor moved, his limp barely noticeable as he crossed the room.

How is this my life right now? Sitting here, about to drink with a priest— He swallowed hard, correcting himself —with Viktor. Not Father Viktor. Just Viktor.

It was strange to think of him like that. Bizarre, and yet... riveting.

Viktor set the glasses on the counter and uncapped a bottle of gin, the clear liquid glinting faintly in the light as he poured. He didn’t skimp, filling each glass nearly halfway before sliding one across the counter to Jayce.

“Is gin okay? It’s all I have, I’m afraid.” The priest looked almost as nervous as Jayce felt.

Jayce let himself grin as he picked his glass up. “Gin’s fine. Hefty pour, though. You trying to get me drunk, Father?”

The man raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into another small, amused smile as he set the bottle down. “First, it’s Viktor. And second, if that’s all it takes, you may want to consider eating more regularly.”

Jayce snorted, but the truth hit a little too close to home. He’d come here on an empty stomach, his nerves too shot to eat before heading to the church. Now, the gin was already warming his chest, the taste sharp and almost medicinal as he swallowed his first  sip.

He leaned against the counter, trying to keep his focus on his drink instead of Viktor, but it was impossible not to notice the way the man moved, even as he shrugged off his priest’s cassock. The black fabric fell away to reveal a simple white button-down, slightly wrinkled; the sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms.

Jayce almost choked on his second sip.

Jesus Christ. He grimaced internally at the irony. How does someone look like that in something so plain?

The man was all lean lines and quiet strength, the crisp white of his shirt making his pale skin and dark hair stand out in a way that was almost distracting. No, scratch that—it was definitely distracting.

 “You, uh... clean up well.”

Viktor glanced at him amusedly as he sat at the small table near the window. “It’s just a shirt, Jayce.”

“Not on you, it’s not,” He muttered into his glass as he took another drink.

Viktor raised a thick eyebrow but didn’t comment, though the faint curve of his lips suggested he’d heard. Jayce downed another sip of gin, the warmth in his chest spreading now to his limbs, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just the alcohol.

After a moment, leaning back slightly in his chair, Viktor smirked. “You’re staring.”

Snapping his head up, his cheeks flushing, Jayce moved his eyes from the priest’s slender neck and shoulders to his golden gaze. “I am not .”

“You are. Should I be concerned?” The man laughed and took a long drink before setting his glass down and running his pointer finger along the rim as he looked at Jayce.

“Only if you don’t like the attention.” He really shouldn’t be drinking with the man he’d been dreaming about on loop the last few nights–or every night since they’d met.

That gave Viktor pause. For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or curiosity. Jayce couldn’t quite tell, but whatever it was, his pulse quickened.

“I’m not sure what to make of you, Jayce. You’re brooding in a pew one moment, and the next, you’re... this.”

Jayce leaned on the table, his elbows biting into the wood as he put his head in one hand. “This? What’s ‘this’ ?"

Tilting his head as if Jayce was playing with him, Viktor said steadily, “Bold. Confident. Flirting , even.”

He let out a warm puff of air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But he did. Of course, he did. The gin was making him reckless, and Viktor’s quiet, understated charm was making it impossible to keep his head on straight.

Jayce swirled the liquid in his glass, his gaze drifting back to Viktor, their eyes locking incredibly quickly. The man looked impossibly at ease, one hand resting lightly on the table, his crutch within reach but forgotten for the moment.

“I meant what I said, you know. About wanting to figure you out,” He confessed in a murmur across the small table.

Expression unreadable, Viktor asked, “And have you made any progress?” He knocked back the rest of his gin and said, “I think I’m getting there." The priest kept his eyes level as he drained the rest of his glass before grabbing the bottle from between them and pouring them each another glass. Jayce didn’t hesitate to take another long drink, needing the liquid courage to keep sitting here and talking to Viktor as if he didn’t want to fuck into him like it was the end of the world and the beginning of everything.

“You know, for a priest, you’re surprisingly good at keeping secrets. I can’t decide if it’s infuriating or impressive,” He taunted, lowering his glass.

Viktor snickered lightly as he drank. “It is part of the job description, Jayce. I thought you’d appreciate that by now.”

“Oh, I do. But it also makes me wonder... what are you hiding?”

Viktor’s lips twitched into the faintest smile, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I think you already know more than you realize.”

The gin had worked its way through Jayce’s veins, dulling the edges of his nerves but sharpening everything else. The quiet hum of the apartment, the soft clink of Viktor’s glass against the table, the faint scent of cedar and something herbal that clung to Viktor—it all felt too vivid, too close.

Jayce leaned back in his chair, swirling the last sip of gin in his glass as Viktor sat across from him, perfectly composed as always. Except he wasn’t, not entirely. 

Jayce had caught the way Viktor’s gaze lingered for a beat too long, the way his fingers brushed over the rim of his glass as if trying to keep them occupied.

There was tension between them now, electric and unspoken, and Jayce wasn’t sure if it was the gin or something more, more, more that made him bold enough to speak. “Not enough. Not nearly enough.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, Viktor didn’t have a quick response. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, his eyes locked to Jayce’s, and Jayce felt his ribs slink around his lungs like a vice.

The moment stretched, the silence heavy with everything neither of them was saying. Jayce stood abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the floor as he moved closer, unable to stop himself.

Barely a whisper, he held his hand out to the man before him, “Viktor.”

The sound of his name shattered something in Viktor. He stood slowly, leaning his palm into Jayce’s for balance, his gaze steady but masked. Jayce stopped moving, letting his fingers curl around Viktor’s, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might bruise his chest cavity.

He wasn’t sure who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was Viktor—but suddenly, the space between them vanished.

Viktor’s lips were softer than Jayce expected, but his grip was firm, one hand curling around Jayce’s jaw as the kiss deepened. Jayce’s breath hitched, the taste of gin and something distinctly Viktor overwhelming him as he pressed closer, his hands fisting in the crisp white of Viktor’s shirt against his lower back.

This is insane. This is wrong. He told himself as he backed toward the couch, gently pulling Viktor with him.

But it didn’t feel wrong. Not with the way Viktor’s hand slid up his back, his touch warm and grounding. Not with the way Viktor pulled him closer as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

Jayce tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers moving to the buttons of Viktor’s shirt without thinking. The fabric slipped under his hands, revealing skin warm to the touch, and Jayce swallowed hard, his breath coming faster as Viktor’s hand traced the line of his spine.

The back of his knees hit the couch cushion, and his lips ghosted across Viktor’s as he spoke, “I’ve never... I’ve never wanted someone like this .”

Viktor’s voice was low, barely more than a growl, “You’re not the only one.” Then he shoved Jayce gently but firmly onto the couch behind him as he climbed on top of him, straddling him slowly to avoid jostling the leg with the brace too much.

The confession sent a shiver down Jayce’s spine, and whatever restraint he’d been clinging to dissolved completely. He surged forward, capturing Viktor’s lips again, their movements increasingly desperate, frantic, like they were trying to burn away the weight of months of unspoken tension.

Jayce’s hands roamed over Viktor’s chest, his shoulders, the sharp lines of his collarbone, every inch of him solid and real in a way that made Jayce’s head spin. 

He’s not untouchable.

Jayce had spent the last few days tracing the letters of Viktor’s name into the roof of his mouth like fucking hymns–but now he had him, in his arms, against his chest, against his heart.

The thought sent a rush of heat through him, and he pressed his forehead against Viktor’s, their breaths mingling as his fingers slid lower, exploring the contours of a body he’d only ever imagined. Viktor’s grip tightened on his waist, grounding him, anchoring him in the moment.

The rest was a blur—heat and skin and the quiet sound of Viktor’s name falling from Jayce’s lips, over and over like a prayer. Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Vitkor, Vikt-

------ Part Five: Bonus Content

Jayce’s mouth was hot against his as they fumbled their way across the threshold of the two-bedroom apartment they’d just moved into a week ago. Pulling him closer, Viktor felt him kick the front door shut, and a lock clicked immediately after. This was heaven, the former priest decided as Jayce’s fingers slid to undo the buttons on the front of his shirt. He didn’t save Jayce Talis; in fact—Jayce saved him.

Viktor's breath hitched as Jayce's calloused hands slipped beneath his shirt, caressing the chilled skin. He arched into the touch, his own fingers tangling in Jayce's thick hair. The taste of whiskey lingered on Jayce's lips, a reminder of their celebratory drinks earlier that evening.

"Bedroom," Jayce murmured against Viktor's neck, nipping gently at the sensitive skin. " Now ."

They stumbled down the hallway, leaving his cane and a trail of discarded clothing in their wake. Viktor's bare bottom hit the black duvet, and he gazed up at Jayce, drinking in the sight of his lover silhouetted in the dim street lights filtering through the curtains.

As Jayce sunk onto the floor between Viktor’s knees, Viktor's mind flashed to the life he'd left behind—the cold stone walls of the church, the small comfortable apartment that ended up feeling more like a prison the longer he got to know Jayce. Carding his long fingers through Jayce’s hair, it had grown a few inches since their first time sleeping together around two months ago, the man below him hummed happily as he looked up at Viktor through his long dark lashes.

"You're beautiful," Viktor whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Jayce's eyes softened at the words, and he leaned forward to press a warm kiss to Viktor’s inner right thigh. A shiver traveled across his body as heat pooled in his stomach at the sight of the man before him.

"So are you," Jayce replied, his hands tracing gentle patterns on Viktor's calves, minding the brace he still wore on his right leg. "I still can't believe you're here with me."

Viktor's heart swelled with a mixture of love and lingering guilt. He knew he'd made the right choice, but years of indoctrination were hard to shake. "I'm exactly where I'm meant to be," he said, as much to reassure himself as Jayce.

“So am I,” And with that, Jayce dove forward to take Viktor’s half hard length into his slick hot mouth.

Viktor gasped, his head falling back as pleasure coursed through him. Jayce's tongue swirled expertly, drawing out soft moans that echoed in the quiet room. Viktor's fingers tightened in Jayce's hair, guiding him gently.

" Jayce ," he breathed, "Oh, God..."

The irony of invoking a deity he'd renounced wasn't lost on him, but coherent thought was quickly slipping away. Jayce hummed around him, the vibrations sending jolts of ecstasy up Viktor's spine.

Not to mention, having Jayce on his knees as if he were praying as he sucked Viktor off. He’d dreamed of moments like this one for weeks before it finally happened that night he’d asked Jayce to his apartment for drinks.

Viktor's mind swam with memories of that first night, the way Jayce's lips had felt against his own, tentative at first, then hungry and desperate. How they'd fumbled with buttons and zippers, laughing nervously between heated kisses. The guilt and fear that had plagued him for so long melted away in Jayce's arms, replaced by a burning desire he'd never known before.

Now, as Jayce worked him with practiced skill, Viktor marveled at how far they'd come. His hips bucked involuntarily, and Jayce steadied him with strong hands on his thighs. The sight of Jayce's head bobbing between his legs, combined with the exquisite sensations coursing through him, threatened to push Viktor over the edge far too soon.

"Wait," he gasped, firmly tugging Jayce's hair. "I want... I want you to fuck me.” Jayce released Viktor’s cock with a wet pop from his mouth, his chin and lips covered in pre cum and his own saliva. His dark golden pupils blown wide and his cheeks flushed.

Jayce smiled, a predatory glint in his eyes as he slowly rose to his feet. "As you wish," he purred, leaning in to capture Viktor's lips in a searing kiss. Viktor could taste himself on Jayce's tongue, and it sent a thrill through him.

With gentle hands, Jayce eased Viktor further onto the bed, positioning him against the pillows. Viktor's breath caught as Jayce crawled over him, their bodies aligning perfectly. The weight of Jayce above him felt like an anchor, grounding him in this moment of bliss.

"Are you sure you want to tonight?" Jayce asked, his voice husky with desire but tinged with concern. Always so considerate, even in the throes of passion.

Viktor nodded, reaching up to cup Jayce's face. "I've never wanted anything more" he murmured as he tugged him down for another kiss.

One of Jayce’s huge right hands traveled to Viktor’s smaller waist and hips easily as he gripped him obsessively before moving to grab the bottle of lube left on the bedside table.

Their lips continued to move against one another for a moment until Viktor began getting impatient and he tugged on the hairs at the base of Jayce’s neck, eliciting a whoreish moan from the much larger man. It sent a round of pre cum leaking down the tip of Viktor’s cock as he pushed his hips up to Jayce’s, their members sliding together as they ground against one another.

Jayce groaned at the contact, his hips stuttering against Viktor's. With practiced ease, he flipped open the cap of the lube bottle and coated his fingers generously. Viktor spread his legs wider, inviting Jayce's touch.

The first finger slipped in easily, Jayce's movements slow and deliberate. Viktor's breath hitched as Jayce added a second finger, stretching him carefully. The burn of the stretch mingled with pleasure as Jayce curled his fingers, searching for that spot that would make Viktor see stars.

" Jayce ," Viktor moaned, his back arching off the bed as Jayce found his prostate. "Please, I need you inside of me."

“I wanted to fuck that confession out of you, but we never got that far,” Jayce murmured, pressing kisses along Viktor's jawline down to his collarbone as he worked a third finger in. Jayce traced his favorite word with his tongue across the left side of Viktor’s chest a few times as he scissored his fingers to open Viktor up even further. Mine, mine, mine.

Viktor's hands raked across Jayce’s tanned broad shoulders, absolutely digging into the skin, leaving angry red lines.

A hiss left Jayce’s mouth as he moved to tongue over Viktor’s left nipple.

Viktor's mind reeled at Jayce's words, memories of suppressing his desires in the confessional booth as Jayce would pour his grieving heart out. He'd fantasized about Jayce taking him right there, sacrilege be damned. Now, with Jayce's fingers working him open, those fantasies paled in comparison to reality.

"Maybe we can roleplay that sometime," Viktor gasped, surprising himself with his boldness. Jayce's eyes widened, then darkened as he met Viktor’s gaze in the dim light.

" Fuck , V," Jayce growled, withdrawing his fingers. "You can't say things like that and expect me to last."

Viktor whimpered at the loss, but soon felt the blunt head of Jayce's lubed up cock pressing against his entrance.

Jayce paused before he slowly pushed forward until only the pulsing head of his huge cock was locked into Viktor’s heat. And he stayed like that, his large hands coming down to rest on Viktor’s hips before traveling up and playing with Viktor’s hard nipples again.

Viktor gasped, his body trembling with anticipation as Jayce teased him mercilessly. The fullness of just Jayce's tip inside him was already overwhelming, stretching him in the most delicious way. He squirmed, trying to push down and take more of Jayce's length, but Jayce's strong hands held him firmly in place.

" Patience is a virtue, sweetheart," Jayce murmured, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. His fingers continued to work Viktor's nipples as he pinched them sharply, sending jolts of pleasure straight to his groin.

Viktor sent him a stern look, his mouth falling open as he panted in wanting. “If you don’t start fucking me like the entire world is ending tonight I won’t let you look at me naked for a week, Jayce.” Leaning down to bite Viktor’s ear, Jayce chuckled darkly. “As you wish, Father Viktor.”

With those words, Jayce snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside Viktor in one swift motion. Viktor cried out, his back arching off the bed as he was suddenly filled completely. The stretch burned deliciously, bordering on pain but quickly melting into intense pleasure as Jayce began to move.

Jayce set a punishing pace, his powerful thrusts driving Viktor into the mattress.

Viktor's heaven and earth narrowed to the exquisite sensation of Jayce moving inside him, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

"Oh God , Fuck," Viktor moaned, his fingers digging into Jayce's back. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Jayce's breath was hot against Viktor's neck as he pounded into him relentlessly. "Never," he growled, nipping at Viktor's earlobe. "You're mine now, V. All mine."

The possessiveness in Jayce's voice sent a thrill through Viktor. He'd belonged to the church for so long, but this— this was true devotion.

This was worship in its purest form.

Jayce shifted his angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting Viktor's prostate with a drive that would put the most devout follower to shame.

Viktor cried out in ecstasy, his vision blurring as waves of intense pleasure crashed over him. Each thrust sent sparks shooting through his body, building towards an explosive release.

He didn’t know sex could be this good until he met Jayce.

" Jayce, Jayce, Jayce, " he panted like a fucking psalm, his voice raw and desperate. "Fuck, I'm close... so close..."

Jayce's rhythm faltered slightly as he groaned, clearly nearing his own climax. "Come for me, sweetheart," he urged, his voice husky with desire. "Let me see you fall apart all over my cock. Let me fill you with my release.” Nodding desperately, Viktor sighed in pleasure, “I want you to fill me to the fucking brim, pretty boy.”

Jayce's eyes flashed with desire at Viktor's words, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He reached between their bodies, wrapping his hand around Viktor's neglected cock and stroking in time with his powerful thrusts.

The dual stimulation was too much for Viktor to bear. With a strangled cry, he came entirely undone, his release spilling over Jayce's hand and onto his own stomach. His body clenched around Jayce, pulling him deeper.

" Fuck , Viktor," Jayce groaned, his movements becoming inconsistent. "You feel so good, so tight around me."

Viktor gazed up at Jayce through half-lidded eyes, drinking in the sight of his lover lost in ecstasy. "Come for me, Jayce," he whispered the command, voice hoarse. "Fill me up, make me yours."

The man above him let out a guttural moan, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside Viktor. The sensation of Jayce's hot release flooding him sent aftershocks of pleasure through Viktor's oversensitive body. But Jayce wasn’t finished just yet, he chased his orgasm, fucking his release into the former priest like his life depended on it. It leaked hot and heavy out of Viktor as Jayce pushed in and out of him slowly. Jayce’s head fell back as he whined at the overstimulation of his cock being milked by Viktor’s tight hole, already half hard again.

Viktor's breath hitched as Jayce continued to move inside him, the overstimulation bordering on painful yet exquisite. He could feel Jayce's release pulsing out of him with each slow thrust, coating his inner thighs. The sight of Jayce over him, head thrown back in ecstasy, was almost enough to make Viktor come again.

" Jayce ," he whispered, voice raw and trembling. "Look at me, love."

Jayce's eyes, dark with lingering desire, met Viktor's. The intensity of his gaze made Viktor's heart skip a beat. Slowly, deliberately, Jayce lowered himself until their foreheads touched, his hips still moving in lazy circles.

"You're so fucking—ugh, you’re everything to me," Jayce murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Viktor's lips. "I love you so much, V."

Viktor's mind swam under the devotion woven throughout Jayce’s tone and actions. He’d do anything the former priest asked of him without a second thought. The power of that kind of love was intense, it almost made Viktor hard again.

Viktor's heart swelled with emotion, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Jayce, pulling him even closer. "I love you," he whispered against Jayce's lips. "More than I ever thought possible."

They stayed like that for a long moment, bodies intertwined, breaths mingling. Viktor reveled in the weight of Jayce above him, the feeling of fullness and connection.

He was sacred , he thought. He was divine.

Eventually, Jayce carefully pulled out, both of them wincing slightly at the sensitivity. He collapsed beside Viktor, immediately drawing him into his arms. Viktor nestled against Jayce's chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"We should clean up," Viktor murmured after a while, feeling semen leaking from him and coating his backside and legs more, though he made no move to leave the warmth of Jayce's embrace. Church bells tickled against his ribs when Jayce’s laugh thundered around his eardrums like that, and he couldn’t help but smile against the man’s collarbone.

"In a minute," he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on Viktor's lower back. "I want to savor this moment a little longer."

The former priest hummed contentedly, melting further into Jayce's embrace. The mess between his thighs was sticky, but not enough to make him want to leave the cocoon of heat and affection they'd created.

"Do you regret it?" Jayce asked softly after a few moments of comfortable silence. "Leaving the church, I mean."

Viktor lifted his head, meeting Jayce's golden stare. There was a wash of vulnerability in those dark eyes, a flicker of doubt that Viktor wanted to extinguish immediately.

" Never ," he said firmly, cupping Jayce's face with one hand, his fingers pushing into the tense muscle of his jaw. "Not for a single moment. You are everything I need and more.”

Jayce's face slackened at Viktor's words, a tender smile spreading across his face. He leaned in, capturing Viktor's lips in a sweet kiss, his tongue tasting Viktor’s for a second before pulling back a hair.

"You're everything to me too, V," Jayce murmured against Viktor's lips. "I never thought I'd find someone who understands me the way you do."

Heat washed across Viktor’s body. He traced his fingers along Jayce's jawline, marveling at the man before him. "We found each other when we needed it most," he said softly. "I may have left the church, but I've found a different kind of faith in you."

Jayce's arms tightened around Viktor, pulling him impossibly closer. They lay in comfortable silence for a while, basking in the afterglow and the warmth of each other's embrace. Viktor listened to the steady rhythm of Jayce’s heartbeat and lull of his breathing.

“Don’t ever leave me.” “I will never leave you.” It was the easiest vow Viktor ever made.

[desecratedclergy]

The Priest's Personal Eucharis♱ (pt. 1: Holy Wine)

a note:

I've made text posts talking about it before so I don't think this theme is too unexpected, but this is my first time posting art of this particular blood kink. Although it was part of the reason I made this blog, I'm still shy about sharing art of it, as it seems to be one of the bigger taboos. Of course I understand why it's regarded as such. Just keep in mind it will continue to be a recurring theme here, so if you've been able to tolerate my rambling text posts but visuals are too much, I won't be offended at all if you'd rather unfollow. Protect your peace! ♡︎

[berryispunk]

Nothing You Can Do Will Save Me Masterlist

Priest Frankie Morales x OFC

Explicit 18 +

Current word count: 15,1 k (updated after every chapter)

series tags: Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Guilt, Catholicism, YEARNING, small age difference (Frankie is mid 30’s, Lucy beginning of 20’s), slow burn, sexual tension, ANGST, AU , Catholic Church Core, dirty thoughts, small town, mentions of drug abuse, domestic violence, alcohol abuse, kissing, swearing, SMUT

Work is currently unfinished

Summary: Father Morales started his service in a new parish, hopeful to continue his life in the name of God. The girl in first pew catches more than just his eye and soon he starts questioning his vows. How much is he willing to risk to be with her?

Part Ⅰ "Flesh and Faith"

Part Ⅱ "This Town's Too Small"

Part Ⅲ "You Make Me Believe In God"

Part Ⅳ "Who Will Rise And Who Will Fall"

Part Ⅴ "Divine Temptation"

[xxxsugarcyanidexxx]

Walks out of the confession booth with kiss marks all over my face. "You should see the other guy." The person left over in the confessional is drenched in blood and is over taken by tremors

[neetdogboy]

(Said like a game show host) Violate! That! Priest!

uncropped bc this site is scared of priest pussy

If you recognize my art style no you don’t <3

[quemaiglesias]

He´s so pure and naive guys!!!!!

[kittysir]

priest who takes a drink of wine and spits it in your mouth for communion <3

[puppymuttelias]

Unf, right? The echos would be gorgeous. And moans echoing in an empty santuary? 🥵 Just moaning "Mmm God!" While being fucked at the pulpit only to have him yank your hair and urge you to say it again and louder. So eventually you're cumming on his cock staring out at the pews and screaming "Jesus! Ahh! Oh God! Oh God!" Til your throat is raw -🙏

Uhn imagine being forced to pray to god whilst committing such a sin, being forced to beg and pray for forgiveness until i literally cant speak anymore because of how good everything feels so instead they decided that if im not going to pray then theyll put my mouth to use and fuck my throat til its broken

(ANON YOURE SO LOVELY THANK YOU FOR THESE AMAZING THOUGHTS 🫶)

[orangeboulevard]

I Expressly Forbid It (OneShot)

Kinktober day 14!! Seven minutes to spare, would ya look at that!! Woohoo!! Heavy religious elements in this one guys.

Dynamics: priest x demon, slight sub/dom

Content: bruising/ bite marks -> virgin -> ice play

Word Count: 951

He knelt before the altar, a private moment. Doubt had been swarming his mind recently, his faith teetering on a precarious edge, he was feeling... Lost, as cliche as that was. When in need of guidance, who does the priest go to for advice? 

"Have you been losing sleep, Father?" A polished nail traced his jaw, his eyes snapped open at the sudden touch and the sultry tone. 

It was her, or it, he should say. The countenance of the woman was one that could only be seen in ancient paintings of beauties with bare figures, the ones that a person couldn't help but avert their eyes from. Avert his eyes, he did, but not before catching a glimpse of her dark hair that fell upon her exposed pale shoulders; likewise, her delicate collar bones, like ivory carvings, were on display. A tantalising image. This was God's design, how else could one be tempted towards sin if its creatures were ghastly to look upon?  

"I slept well enough," he whispered as he rested his clasped hands on his lap, "What is it that you want?"

"For you to look at me, Father, would be nice," she chuckled, but she knew he wouldn't; he knew the rules of associating with Mephistophelian animals such as her.

"Child, are you in need of advice, of confessional? Do you wish to repent?" He asks this question every time; he couldn't actually believe her answer would change, did he? 

"I do confess to being naughty," she chuckled; she knelt beside him, "I will not change my ways, Father. Am I a bad girl? How many hail Marys should I say for Daddy?" She laughed loudly at his scoff and flushed cheeks. 

"Tell me, lamb, why do you keep returning?" His eyes flicked quickly from her knees, which he could see in his peripheral vision, and back to the altar. 

"Well, you calling me lamb makes me feel all tingly inside," she joked, "But can I not just visit a friend, are we not friends? I enjoy your company." 

"We are not friends." 

"You're right. We're not. I don't do what I'm about to do to you to friends." 

His body went rigid at the sensation of her hands rubbing against his chest, he closed his eyes, muttering a prayer under his breath, as he felt her use her teeth to pluck off his clerical collar. Her nimble fingers began to undo the buttons of his shirt. He wasn't stopping her, utter sacrilege. 

He tried to remember his teachings: 'My Father’s house has many rooms-'

"Your hands are anointed, are they not?" She said quietly, pulling him from his prayers, "Are they not holy? Can they cleanse me? I want to be holy for you, Father. Make me a good little lamb." 

His breath came out as a shuddering sigh; this had been a long time coming; she had been leading him from the path of the light for a while now- he had let her, let her consume his thoughts. He was going to go to Hell for this. He was definitely going to Hell for allowing her to take his hand and cup her breast with it, his fingers playing with the soft flesh. She sighed contently. He could just hear the smug smirk. 

He was going to break his oaths tonight, disrespecting his fundamental morals and code of honour, his celibacy vow. How could he say no now? He was too far gone. Under her palm, his erection rose. She shifted, and he placed his hands back onto his lap. He didn't know what to do, but she knew that she was going to help him, corrupt him, steal that deliciously tangible virginity, and mould him into her personal play toy. 

'If that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?'

Her hands parted his black shirt, undressing him gently. Her fingers played with the pink nubs of his nipples, her touch growing frigid and painful for a second. He gasped and flinched back. 

She grasped his bicep, "Stop, don't move, Father." 

He eased back forward, her touch provided a strange feeling: one moment warm and tender and the next bitingly cold and pinching. His nipples were red and swollen, sore; the kitten licks she offered to them after elicited a soft sigh of relief from his parted lips. 

He groaned when she bit down on the sensitive flesh. However, his voice raised to a yelp when her teeth, or more precisely, her fangs, broke the skin. She began to palm him again through his trousers, as she kept nipping and leaving bleeding red bite marks. It was a confusing combination of sensual gratification and discomfort, his brain was starting to confuse the two feelings.

'And if I go and prepare a place for you-'

"Is the door locked, Father?" She asked, pulling away from his chest. At his blank expression, she chuckled, "Let's just hope no one comes in. Don't be too loud." 

She stood up and walked around the other side of the altar; from where he was knelt, he had to bare his entire neck to look up at her. A pose of reverence, baring the arteries and shortening the field of view, to be devout is to be vulnerable. By her name, he was devout, unable to look away as she stripped her dark clothes from her tormentful form. She bent over the altar, waiting for him.

'-I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.'

[living-viscera]

bless me father for i have sinned. forgive me for every lust filled touch against myself or another. for every dirty thought i think when i see a sliver of skin. for the taste of blood i crave, for the sounds of pain. forgive me father for the pleasure i get from listening to them suffer. for every unholy night for my own pleasure and the scratches left on my back.