#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

[doing-something-unholy]

Father Adrian's journal, Aug 5th

I was dreading a day like this.

I've been trying, really trying, to get back on the path of holiness, but sin has taken root so deeply in my life it's become habit. I think I was having lewd dreams again last night. I don't remember much, a few images... and sensations. My cheek pressed to the altar, hands on my back... something pressing against me, into me... and choking on my words, caught between begging to stop and begging for more.

I woke up drenched in sweat and still hard, and the thoughts wouldn't leave, so I caved to the same sins I've grown so familiar with. I wish I could say that calling it what it is, self abuse, did anything to extinguish the fire of lust inside me but if anything it stokes it higher. Knowing that what I'm doing to myself is sodomy, that it's abuse, that it's wrong just makes me harder. No amount of shaming I can hurl at myself helps, it just feeds into my own perversions. Even now, imagining God Himself being disappointed or disgusted with me, as He rightly should, makes me want to drop to my knees but not in prayer, but just to feel the sweet ache of it as I touch myself again.

It didn't even help. I'm half-hard again now. I was half-hard though Mass, even. I wore my cassock today, despite the heat I need all the layers I can get. Maybe the stifling heat will be a reminder that it is only a fraction of what awaits me if I can't get it together. Maybe I should buy a cage?

I wonder what tortures they have in Hell for slutty priests who break their vows?

[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! ♡︎

[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

[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 🤭)

[dead-air-radio]

Sigh thinking about cults. And my religious truama tw.

Just imagining being super depressed and very emotional and having someone come into my life that is so normal and unassuming at first. Slowly they become a part of my everyday life and their little gestures make me trust them more and more and they are so caring that I become so codependent on them so when they start asking for weirder and weirder things I don't think anything of it. They start managing my diet but I assume they're just trying to help me and they know I want to lose weight even if they feed me weird things.

Or they start having me wear a certain thing almost as a claim. Before it turns into me being so dependent on them I'd do anything and so when I get so sad and sleepy but have the urge to cut I don't see it as a problem when they offer to do it for me. Slicing at my legs before kissing them. At this point they're so friendly and guiding they love to brush my hair and give me things and do things I'd usually do by myself like bathe me. Until I'm just some little lamb for them.

I'm so trusting of them when they say they have smth for me I think nothing about why I need to dress in the white gown they got me and all the jewelry they got me in the past as well as eat a piece of bread thay hes me woozey. And how they want me to wear bows in my hair and be bathed in a certain soap they like until we get into their car and they blindfold me for the surprise it's already Evening when we leave and once we get their they carry me to the surprise.

At first I assume we are just having a little romantic fire in the woods. I can hear the crunch under their feet from the leaves and the birds and other wild life. And the crackle of fire and the heat as we walk past it and I'm placed on smth like stone. When my blindfold is taking off I'm on an altar of sorts and there's a fire ahead of me as well as a bunch of people in masks. Of course I'm frightened holding onto the person I came with arm before they shush me. There's candles and statues around me as well as flowers and by the atlar is a bowl for offerings. The person sits beside me unphased as I cling to them, scared of what's happening. And they address the people. Not realizing he's a leader of the cult and all the jewelry and clothes they've been giving me are actually not only from them but his people as well. All their followers have known a out me for a long time giving them offerings to give the cult leaders little pet, his lamb. When he's done speaking to them he turns to me telling me to lay on the altar stone as he gets on top of me as the watchers look on. He cuts open my wrists while I whimper and shake and push against him confused. He cuts his wrists as well mixing his bleed with mine before licking at his wrists and he puts his wrist by my mouth for me to lick up as well.

Some of the followers that are dressed differently go on to give a spot of sermon as if I'm not whimpering behind them as the leader continues to assualt me and push up the white gown. The sermon is about needing to view the leader take what's his and have smth resemble the lamb and religious symbol of their cult and how I'm the image they should look up to cause the leader has chose me as his lamb to mark infront of them to make me his forever. Him cutting me open by carving his name into my stomach as he fucks me on the altar while his people watch

[kittysir]

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

[doing-something-unholy]

Im kinda into the idea of pretending to be a super strict tradcath priest and have a pretty sinner pin me down and fuck the bad attitude out of me.

I start out angry and defiant, how dare they try to touch me like that, how wicked and sinful do you have to be to lust after priests? My chastising doesn't seem to phase them, they aren't stopping their advance until I'm backed up against the altar.

They got the drop on me and cuffed me and I'm trapped with no way to stop them from putting their hands up my cassock, and I can't stop them from finding the place between my legs where my body is reacting to their touch against my will. I'm demanding they stop this at once, for the sake of their soul to repent, but now there’s a tremble in my voice and they grin at me like a shark that smells blood in the water.

Maybe they call me the sinful one, I was just so tempting they had to touch me, I'm the pretty priest that inspired lust in them. And look how I'm reacting to it, hard already and failing to keep still and bucking into their touch.

It'll end with me bent over the altar, pressed into it with a hand on my back. My pants are long gone and my cassock hiked up so they can fuck me mercilessly, each sinfully good thrust making tears fall from my eyes as I beg God to forgive me for how good it feels to be sodomized.

Maybe afterwards they should deliver the Lord's punishment themselves, and flog me, still tied to the altar with cum dripping down my thighs, while I admit that I'm a whore and beg for mercy.

[sultrydxrling]

PRIEST X DEMON SHAPESHIFTING OF DEATH (GAY / MASC CHARACTERS) AMAB MASC READER! PART 1!

HAPPY 1K EVERYONE! TYSM😊 3,300 words

(Sacrilege / Tongue / creature / drugs / violence / blood / gore/ sodomy ) Purple text is info or side notes

green is where the fun starts

and red is still more or less important back story or context but feel free to skip down to the fun!

(Most of the pictures are just what I find inspiration from. :3)

You stand at an altar, blood on your hands as you stare out into a chapel full of gloom and despair. Your people are suffering.

Various people are caring for the sick and wounded, while others are clinging to the corpses or clothing of their deceased loved ones.

Groans and wails of sobbing bounce off the walls, and the sound seeps into your head as you try to find a reasonable solution.

You turn and decide to consult your library. It was your last hope. Your cassock blew behind you as you walked through the vast hallways and corridors.

You could hear screaming outside and the ripping of flesh from bone through the high windows as you passed them, but tried to pay no mind.

You spent hours examining and scanning through books, each one seeming to get deeper and deeper into acult magic. You found a page that depicted a ritual, It was in a language you couldn't quite make out.

Thankfully there were very well-illustrated pictures. The title of the ritual looked like something close to either " Savior demon" or "savage demon" but you weren't quite sure and ready to take the risk. The pictures depicted a few black candles, a dear skull, a heart of some kind, and a hand holding a blade to its wrist/arm area. By the shape of the organ, you could guess that it was a lamb's heart.

You sent one of the hunters out to look for a lamb and to bring it back or if it could not be salvaged, it's heart.

You gathered the rest of the things, and within about 3 hours, your hunger had returned with a dead lamb over his shoulder. You took it gently, thanked the man, and hung the lamb upside down to drain its blood as you carved its heart out.

You gently placed the heart on a platter to the side and once there was a decent amount of blood in the bucket, you dipped your hand in.

It was a very unpleasant sensation, the blood was cold, and the thickness was enough to make you queasy.

You checked the book page and carefully painted the large symbol onto the brick of the back room you'd snuck off to and began laying out the items in accordance with where they should be.

You washed your hands and prepped your arm for the cut you'd have to make. Trying your best to replicate the length of the cut, you allowed the blood to drip down your arm onto the lamb's heart and then the symbol you'd drawn.

You read from the bottom portion of the page, trying to decipher what you could and pronounce it correctly, it took a few tries but after a while, you were finally able to recite the text exactly.

As you spoke you could feel the words start to pour out naturally as if the letters were pulling themselves from your very throat, the power sourced through your veins as you chanted and the flames candles you had set up blew out in a sweeping motion around the symbol you'd drawn.

You held a cloth you'd carried with you to your bleeding arm and did your best to tie it tightly. Though the cut wasn't deep, it was long and painful and had an extremely annoying sting.

You heard ghostly whispers erupt from the darkness around you. Black smoke spun across every inch of the bricks, collecting in a mass directly in front of you.

You felt paralyzed and clutched the cross around your neck, praying for the best. Your heart sounded in your chest as your breath caught in your throat.

As the figure materialized, a dark closed skeletal figure with large fangs stood, staring down at you with empty sockets. It must've towered over you by almost two feet.

It stared at you curiously before speaking, it sounded like another language that you couldn't gauge.

You spoke softly, "I apologize but I can't understand you-"

It reached forward and pressed its skeletal palm to your forehead. The sharp cold of the bone causes you to recoil slightly. You heard a booming voice, now in your language.

"Hello. Is this better?"

The voice seemed just as cold as the bones that had come into contact with your skin. It was low but about a medium pitch. There was a slight grain to the back of the voice as if to be a scratchy noise in the non-existent throat.

You tried to steal your resolve, barely avoiding stuttering, "Yes. I can understand you now."

"Why have you summoned me? What deal do you intend to make?" The entity leaned forward and down toward you as if to make the size difference clear; to remind you of your place.

"I need help."

"That's why most summon me. Please be more specific-",

You could almost feel an eyebrow raise in the voice it used as if this creature was challenging your intelligence.

"Yes, my people are dying. There are these creatures raining corruption upon my village. I fear that everyone in this church is still in danger. I'm not sure what you can offer. Therefore, I'm not entirely sure what to ask for.",

You looked at the being with pleading eyes.

You looked over the creature, and as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you noticed a thin layer of skin holding the bones together and a tiny shimmer of light in its eyes.

The being studied you. "Do you want safety for your people, defense from the creatures, or safety for yourself? The list goes on."

"I would like all of those things, I suppose, if that's possible. I assume that the defense from the creatures would be helpful, but the stipulations don't guarantee our safety. I would like safety for everyone who's alive and human in my village, me included and possible defense from the creatures."

The entity circled you slowly, floating with its arms behind its back.

" I believe it is within my capabilities. But, what do you have to give?"

"I do not have much. If you have anything to ask of me, I could answer you with a yes or a no."

You felt panicked. You'd assumed this was a deal, but you didn't think you had anything to give that was worthy of all that you'd asked.

"I know you do not intend to fool me. For, I am no fool. I know of your intentions, and they are not of malice, this can change things. I would like your power."

"My power?"

"Yes, dear priest. Your power. You have a say in what the people do. You are the leader and almost the king of this small village. I want your power."

"How-"

"Leave that to me. I will grant you your small wish. By the end of tonight, every living human will be here, safe. Those creatures outside, reaking havock will be dealt with. Tomorrow at sunrise, you will meet me in the graveyard, and we will discuss the terms of our deal properly. Until then, tend to your wounded."

"I'm not sure we have the supplies- but we'll definitely try."

You smiled at the entity,

"What do I call you?"

"Abatu is fitting."

(Ah-bah-tu with a slight 'silent behind T)

"I am Jareth."

Abatu nodded once and disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

As you came to your senses, the candles relit themselves, and you stood. You turned around and there, behind you. There was a pile of medical supplies, not an obnoxious amount, but it was helpful.

Over the passing night, the sounds of the creatures outside subsided and the nuns were able to help bandage and medicate the wounded. Your nurse also helped clean and wrap your arm tightly.

"Thank you, Maridith." You smiled at her gently and bowed your head lightly.

Her cheeks flushed red as you smiled at her, and she looked down at your arm to distract herself.

The night came and went, and you found yourself unable to sleep. You kept thinking about the creature you'd met. It wasn't as scary as you thought it would be.

Abatu was very intriguing, and you wondered about -his?- origins? Abatu sounded masculine, at least.

You found yourself unable to sleep and crept carefully into the sanctuary, deciding to go to the cemetery early.

You weaved between the tired and wounded who lie on pallets on the floor, making your way to the door.

You slipped out into the cold night and looked around, making sure no more creatures were wandering around.

Alas there were none to be seen so you made your way along the bloodied mud path, trying not to dwell on the death that surrounded you. There were no boddies like there were when you had left.

This made you nervous, but your feet carried you absentmindedly to the cemetery as you melted into your own mind.

Once you made it to the dark gated and slipped in, you found a concrete bench and sat to drown in your thoughts, expectations to have to wait a while until sunrise.

A dark figure materialized in front of you as a thick fog rolled across the hallowed ground.

"You are early, Jereth."

You nodded softly. "I couldn't sleep."

"We shall discuss early then. I'm going to need permission to change my features and mannerisms to be exactly like yours. This will help me accomplish something I have planned in the future. However, I will not do anything that will sully or ruin your name."

You thought about this for a moment, with abatu laying out the rules for himself against ruining your reputation; it would make sense to allow this. Especially with what he'd done for you.

"Alright. Anything else?"

"Yes. I'll also need permission to study your anatomy and mannerisms. This will help avoid any slightly off-putting differences that cause people to believe I am not you and cause any uproar."

"Study my anatomy? Meaning-?"

"I'll need to see all of your body to be able to correctly replicate it. Studying your mannerisms, I believe, speaks for itself."

"How would you go about studying my mannerisms? You'd have to follow me around, and people could see you."

"Only you can see me if I wish, dear priest."

You took a breath and pondered. Your cheeks flushed red as you realized he would have to see you naked, but you figured with his tone and the way he failed it out with little to no malicious sounding intent that it wouldn't matter much, but you hadn't been undressed infront of anyone for a long time.

"I suppose I agree to this. Anything else?"

"No, that will be all for now. If I need anything else I shall inform you. I will be taking my leave until tomorrow. Do try to get some rest, Jareth"

You nodded, and Abatu vanished into the darkness. The sun started rising, and a soft blue appeared over the horizon.

You walked absentmindedly to the church, entering the sanctuary and entering your sleeping quarters. you flopped on the bed and undressed down to your undershirt, folding your clothes on the chair.

You climbed into the bed and snuggled under your heavy covers, the day running through your head.

___

You had fallen asleep without really noticing and woke to a slightly uneasy feeling. You pealed your eyes open and looked around the room, finding Abatu at the foot of your bed.

"Good morning, dear priest."

You sat up straight and fumbled for the covers to cover you below the waist. "Hello- I didn't realize you would be here when I awoke. Could you let me get dressed?" "Today is the day I study your body, Jareth. So there is no need to cover yourself for now." Your cheeks burned red hot, and you hesitantly slipped out of bed. Your soft cock hung beneath your undershirt, and the creature studied you curiously. He walked over to you and gently held the fabric of your undershirt. "This too, if you please." You nodded. You slightly regretted agreeing to this, but you couldn't help but fantasize about Abatu now that he was standing so close to you. You felt a pain tugging at your chest. You would be sure to pray after this interaction, for you could feel the lust building. You slipped out of the thin shirt and tossed it to the side. Abatu walked around you slowly. He seemed to be carefully taking in every single ounce of your appearance. You felt his downy fingers slipping across your skin as he traced your muscular outlines and along your spine and shoulder blades. This sent shivers through your body that drew a sharp-toothed smile from the entity. "Your skin is very sensitive, Jareth." "Your hands are cold-" you muttered shakily."Hold your arms out." You did as you were told, your face still burning. His touch was such an odd and new sensation that you could feel the blood running to your once soft cock, now growing in length. You felt increasingly embarrassed, doing your best to avoid covering your face. The creature traced along your lower back with both hands on both sides, then up your sides to your arms, feeling along the muscles in your arms. He felt your hands, lingering along and between your fingers. You couldn't help but grow harder, your length fully erect, your dip aching softly as Abatu gently made his way back around to your front, sliding his cold hands back to your chest and down your midriff. His eyes lingered on your election. "Hm. That has changed since I last looked." You nodded and didn't allow him any explanation. "Why?" "It's just a bodily reaction-" you stammered. "What is it a reaction to?" He seemed genuinely curious. However, you couldn't help but feel that he was teasing you. As you tried to distract your mind you felt your cock twitch, the red on your face stretching to your ears. Abatu took your length into his hand, and it took everything in you not to groan in desperation. Although, you couldn't silence the soft gasp that left your lips. "This part of you is even more sensitive than the rest. Is there a reason?" "It's how humans procreate and reproduce.im not sure if that answers your question." "Possibly, it feels strange." The entity traced his fingers along the veins that ran up and down your length, then up to your tip, and rubbed it softly. You almost collapsed, gasping again and letting out a soft moan. Your tip leaked precum that gently coated Abatu's bony fingers. The mixture of his skin's cold and his touch's softness drove you crazy. "There's something wet coming out. What is it?" "It's- nh~ meant to be- lubrication."

As he touched you, you couldn't help but pause in between every few words, your brain softly churning itself into mush. "Hm. Interesting."

His body gently began to change, first his skin color to match yours. Then, he carefully worked on matching the features of your face. His body worked itself from head to toe to transform itself into you. You looked him over and were astounded. You reached forward to touch him, very gently. You needed to make sure it was real. The creature looked confused but didn't stop you as your hands connected with his skin, and strangled enough, it was still cold. You supposed it wouldn't be easy to change his body heat to match yours but regardless of this, you were in awe. He was still covered in his black closet, which he took off and sat to the side to analyze himself compared to you. You noticed that his or rather, how he saw your cock was hard on him as well. You quietly corrected. "Usually, it looks as you saw before, but this happens when it is touched-" you remembered that it had hardened by itself due to your sinful thoughts and repeated. "Usually." He thought hard and focused, transforming that part of himself to match you when soft. He turned around in a small circle in front of your full body-length mirror in your room. "I think I have managed to match you perfectly." You nodded in agreement. It was so strange to see yourself standing in front of you.

"Alright, Now that I have your form, I'm going to go to my realm and practice the fast-changing process You are free to do as you wish. Once I master your form, I will return to learn of your mannerisms. thank you, and I shall see you another time." With that, Abatu vanished into a cloud of smoke as usual and you let out a sigh of relief, collapsing onto your bed, your cock still throbbing desperately. You were unable to refuse the urge to wrap your hand around your length, spreading the precum along yourself. Groaning lewdly and running a hand through your hair.

you Imagined the creature's hand wrapped around your cock once more, stroking you with purpose as he teased you.

'Why are you so sensitive, My Priest?'

'you're so warm..'

anything you could use to fuel the raging lust erupting from you. you couldn't understand why you felt so attracted to Abatu, his dark mysteriousness, something about him. He was forbidden to you, this was sodomy. you wanted him inside of you, though you hadn't figured out how that would work.

from there your mind worked itself into imagining his shapeshifting abilities. shapeshifting into other horrible demonic creatures, just allowing himself as is to grow something close to a cock with enough length to absolutely destroy you from the inside out.

Abatu watched you from the end of your bed, invisible to your eyes,. He watched you quietly, trying to figure out what exactly you were doing, you had begun to moan, then eventually moaned out his name. You grasped desperately at your neck, squeezing it tightly.

"Abatu!- fuck- Please destroy me- I am yours to use and control!-", everything you called out incoherent to yourself, spewing out of you uncontrollably.

"God forgive me! i Cannot stop! forgive me-", You muttered softly as you felt the orgasm building.

Abatu cocked his head to the side and carefully crept closer to you as he watched your body jerk slightly, now increasingly more curious as to what was about to occur.

"God! I beg- Forgive me! I cannot contain my lust any longer-", your tip ached as your cock throbbed and spewed your warm cum over your chest and stomach, your brain drowning in euphoria for what felt like many minutes at least. your breath caught in your throat as you laid on your bed, trying to grasp for some sense of reality.

The entity's eyes widened slightly as he saw your cum erupt from you, finding himself deeply intrigued. By the dazed smile on your face, it seemed to be something you enjoyed, and you were calling out his name as if to summon him. This must have been something you wanted from him and were too careful to ask for. Abatu had decided that he would try to indulge this for you the next time he was able. He disappeared fully now, back to his realm.

You stood and faltered slightly, almost unable to keep yourself upright. Wobbling into the bathroom area, you gently braced yourself on many objects to hold yourself up. You cleaned yourself off and got dressed, laying your cross over your neck. Making your way into the Sanctuary, you greeted many people, hearing that they were getting better by the day. you shook many hands and gave many blessings before heading over to your bench behind the podium and whispering an apologetic prayer. 'Forgive me father, for I have sinned. Sodomy has overtaken my mind, my thoughts, and even my dreams. Please allow me to redeam myself and send me the strength to repair my faultering loyalty. I have pledged myself unto you and will continue to do your work. In your name, thank you god, and Amen.'

[gojos-thot-patrol]

🌶️

A priest gojo

I don't care anymore if I'll burn in hell for this request but I am craving for IT

I can't get it off my miind

Those "Forgive me Lord", "fuck, your pussy is so good for me" has been haunting my ass for ages. I'll give you my house, my cat ⁿᵒᵗ ʳˡˡʸ, my keychains??? and a kiss on your forehead

I sat on this ask for a few days trying to figure out how to go about it. Mostly because well, I've had a priest Geto in the works for about a month now LMAO.

I figured this was my sign to make it an series!! We're going to do a one shot of each of the men as fucked up priests. AH IM EXCITED!!

Now Presenting, Part One in Sins of the Church...

Starring Corrupted! Priest Satoru Gojo

Satoru saw hellfire in your eyes. He saw damnation and eternal torment. He saw his destruction. And he wanted all of it. He could feel his soul burning out of his chest every time you batted your pretty eyelashes at him, feel his morals weaken whenever you smile, and feel himself lose control every time you stood next to him.

And then he had to remind himself that all of those thoughts were borderline blasphemy. He was a member of the clergy for christ sakes, he shouldn't be thinking of a member of his flock like this. He shouldn’t be fantasizing about you bouncing on his cock while he fucks his own fist. No amount of repenting could remove that sin from his soul. But no amount of denial could remove his desperation for you either. He had never been a phenomenal priest, he was a drinker, took the lord's name in vain, and was far from celibate. But he was trying to do better. He was trying to remove those vices from his life. But you brought out the sinner in him. And if he was going to be a sinner, he might as well win with you. 

This is what ran through Satoru’s head as he sat in the confessional booth, bored out of his mind. He knew it was important for him to be available for this service from 6 to 9 everyday, but it didn’t mean he liked it. He checked his phone. It was 7:30. Fuck. He was about to text one of the other clergy members to see if one of them would take over for him (probably not) when he heard the church doors open. He suppressed a groan of annoyance as he waited to get this confession over with.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned. My last confession was…I don’t think I’ve ever confessed, actually.” The sweet voice rang in his ears. Ho-ly SHIT Satoru knew that voice! It was the voice he had imagined moaning and desperate under him. “Y/n.” He thought to himself.

“Worry not my child,” He said, desperate to hear what you were sinning about. You were the star of his parish, what did you have to confess? Did you say Heck? “You’re at confession now. Confess, and we can go from there.”

“I’m afraid I’ve been having..impure thoughts Father. Thoughts about someone I should not be thinking of in this way.” Jealousy shot through Satoru like a bullet, ripping through his very being. Someone else had caught your eye then. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected anything else. Still, The knowledge that you wanted someone other than him left him seething with rage. He had to know who took his angel from him.

“Who are you having these thoughts about my child?” Satoru asked, knowing you’d answer. You were a good girl, you never said no. But, you did go quiet. Satoru didn’t like that. He was about to prompt you again when you broke the silence. 

“I’ve been having thoughts about Father Gojo. In my dreams he comes to me and I see him in, well…pornographic ways. I know I shouldn’t have these dreams, or think these thoughts, but I can’t make them stop.” Motherfucker, maybe there was a God. Satoru found himself pressed into your shared wall of the confessional, hanging onto every word you said. Your small, desperate tone went straight to his dick, and he felt it twitch with every word you said.

“What happens in these dreams?” He asked. He had to know. He wanted all of the details. He wanted to know if you were as desperate for him as he was for you. How graphic was your imagination? 

“I find myself with him alone in the church. He puts his hands on my waist and lays me on one of the pews. I feel him kiss my jaw, my neck, my breasts..sometimes he puts his fingers in me, other times he just, well…has his way with me. And in the dreams it feels so euphoric, like a blessing from the holy father himself, I-” NO no, keep going! He didn’t stop you! “He always finishes inside of me. The dreams are so vivid that when I awake, I can still feel his seed seeping out of me.” 

Satoru’s cock was impossibly hard and he was struggling to keep his breath even. The passion of damnation burned through his veins. He wanted nothing more than to make your dreams come true. “Have you ever been with a man in this way?” He asked, bracing himself for the answer.

“No father,” You said, shaking your head even if he couldn’t see it. Good girl, he knew you were saving yourself for him. “It’s why these dreams are so odd to me,” you continued, “I’ve never experienced these things when I’m awake, but when I’m asleep it feels so real and vivid I sometimes wake up thinking it might have been real.” 

God Satoru wished it was real. If he closed his eyes he could feel your pussy quivering around his raw cock, hear you begging for him, feel your nails in his back. Shit. He palmed himself through his black slacks, trying to relive some of the pressure you had put him under. He tried to remind himself that he was a fucking priest Goddamn it! But he was a man first. And he needed some release. “I see. Well my dear, your sins are great. And as you know, the penance you must pay has to be greater.” He said, trying to sound as composed as he possibly could considering how desperate he was. 

“I’m willing to do anything father.” You said, all too eager. “Fuck don’t say that.” Gojo thought. It was the last thought of doubt that ran through his mind. He wanted to see just how far you were willing to go. 

“Come here my dear, meet me at the pews.” He said, giving in to the devil on his shoulder. You were a little shocked. As far as you knew, the priest wasn’t supposed to see you at all during confession, it was anonymous. You must have done something truly terrible that the priest had to see you to absolve your sins. Shame filled you as you exited your booth, followed by the most intense embarrassment you had ever felt in your life when you saw Father Gojo sitting in a pew.

“Father!” You gasped, as you rushed over to him. You didn’t even notice how flustered he looked, nor the darkness in his eyes as he stared at your chest. “I-I’m so-”

“On your knees child.” Gojo said, cutting you off before you could start rambling. You paused for a moment, before obeying. He was a priest after all, he had to know what he was doing. Maybe this was all a part of your penance. Gojo placed a gentle hand on the side of your face, and you instantly melted into it, bringing a smile to the clergy member's face. You really did have an angelic face.

“You’ve committed the sin of pleasure my dear.” Gojo cooed, “And to absolve yourself of that sin, you have to give pleasure.” Oh, so this was a part of your penance! 

It was also complete bullshit, Satoru knew that. But fuck, your lips were so pretty. He wasn’t trying to think of any smooth plausible reason for this to happen, he just wanted to make it happen. “Undo my belt.” He instructed, and you did so with only a slight moment of hesitation. “Atta girl, keep goin’.” He instructed, watching as you unbuttoned his slacks and pulled down his zipper. You paused, looking at the way his cock strained against his boxers. You had barely even kissed a boy, and yet you were about to be face to face with a cock that belonged to your priest. 

“Don’t get shy on me now Angel,” Gojo said, gently tangling his fingers into your hair. “You weren’t shy in the booth. This is what you want, isn’t it?” That was a wonderful question actually. This part never happened in your dreams. And honestly, the thought of putting someone's privates in your mouth was disgusting. But, some dark, gruesome part of you did want this. You wondered what he would look like, what he would taste like. You bit your lip and freed the fathers dick from his underwear, earning yourself an audible moan from him. 

“Atta girl…” Satoru groaned, moving your head to take him in. He grinned as you opened your mouth, and damn near came when you finally put your mouth on him. He wasn’t going to be able to enjoy this for long. He wanted something more than some childish head. Though, it was cute to watch you choke on his cock as you tried to take him all it. In any case, spit made for decent lube. 

He moaned softly, his head falling to the back of the pew as he guided you up and down on his cock. He looked back down at you and fuck. The sight of you looking up at him, tears filling your doe eyes, squishing your legs together to try and quell any arousal as you struggled to take in his cock was far too much for him. You were his ticket to damnation, he knew it. He was going to burn in hell for you.

“You’re so good,” He said as he pulled you off of his cock. He got you off your knees and sat you on his lap. “So good for me.” His words filled your head and turned into arousal. You felt electrified with shame and desire. “Lord forgive me,” You thought as he slipped your panties from under your skirt.“Please, I just can’t stop myself.” 

“Have you ever been touched here?” Satoru asked as he ran a finger up your slit, sending shivers up your spine as you tensed around him. You shook your head no. “Have you ever touched yourself  here?” He asked as you represented the question. The answer was yes, but to little results. When you were a teenager, you were curious, sure. But you never got the Euphoric feeling you had read about, so you stopped. As an adult you hadn’t touched yourself in years. 

“Not often.” You said, giving the father the condensed version. Satoru nodded, taking in all the information you had given him. 

“Do you want me to make you feel good Y/n?” He asked into your neck, his nimble fingers finding your clit and massaging circles into it. You yelped with shock. Your entire lower region had electricity pulsing through it, and you swore you felt your pussy clench. You nodded desperately. Satoru stopped moving.

“Not good enough Angel, I need you to use your words.” He said. He knew he was already putting you in a fucked up situation for his own pleasure, he wasn’t about to make it worse by not being 100% sure you also wanted this. 

“Yes, Father, please, I want you to touch me so bad it hurts!” You whined out for him, needing this more than anything. Satoru hummed his approval as he went back to rubbing your clit with his thumb. His fingers now had a new goal in mind. He probed at your weeping pussy. 

“You’re so wet for me angel..” Satoru hummed into your ear, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a slut.” He whispered to you as he slipped a finger into your aching cunt. Slut. That word sent a flurry of emotions through your chest but the main one being desire. You wanted to be his slut. You wanted him to fill you up, to use and abuse you. You wanted to be Father Gojos fucktoy.

Those were thoughts you’d unpack later. Right now, The father had slipped another finger into you, and you were focused on trying to accommodate the stretch. It felt so good but you wanted so much more.

“Father please, I need more.” You whimpered out, shooting lightning through Gojos head. “I need you, Father, please. F-fuck me.” you were so unsure about saying fuck but you were absolutely possitive you needed a cock in you right at that moment. 

Satoru couldn't believe what he was hearing. A part of him thought he might have died and gone to heaven. But, he knew that probably wasn’t the case. Heaven was sinless and pure. There was nothing pure about you in this moment. You were the embodiment of sin and he wanted nothing more than to drown in you. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely, who am I to say no to my Angel?” He purred as he ripped off your blouse and skirt, leaving you bare and exposed to him. He had to take a moment of pause. You were divine in every sense of the word and he needed to take a moment to drink it all in. He found his new religion and it was you. “Lord forgive me, but lust calls to me,” he thought. 

He lined you up and slowly began to lower you onto his cock. You yelped softly, digging your nails into his shoulders as he stretched you out in ways you had never been before. It burned like hellfire but you were too lost in the pleasure to think about the pain. Somehow though all the discomfort you still felt a euphoria like no other.

Satoru couldn’t take his eyes off from where the two of you were now connected. He watched his cock disappear into your tight, weeping cunt, a droplet of pink blood flowing down as a sign that you were now tied to him forever. It was nothing close to what he could have fantasized of, it was so much better. He knew you’d feel good, but he couldn’t imagine how good. 

“Your pussy is so good for me.” He moaned as he bottomed out, pulling you into a passionate and intense kiss. Your head was filled with cotton, you felt yourself lose touch with everything that wasn't Gojo. Gojo, Gojo, Gojo, Your body craved him in ways you didn’t know possible. This was as close to God as you had ever been in all your years as a devout catholic. Your lower waist exploded as he bucked into you, a string of whimpers and moans leaving your mouth as you clung to him. Every stroke of his thick cock pet your g-spot, making you see stars and hear angels singing. “How could something so sinful feel so right?” Was your last coherent thought as Gojo fucked you into oblivion. 

Gojo was absolutely intoxicated by your warmth. He tried drugs before, but none of them could compare to the way your pussy pulled him in. The way your body molded itself to his, the way your breathing fell in perfect timing with his. He didn’t give a shit anymore if he was going to be damned for eternity, He found heaven already, and it was you. 

You felt a sting start to tightly coil inside of your stomach and your legs stiffen. The sparks in your lower abdomen were becoming full on fireworks. “G-Gojo, I think I’m c-clo-!” You didn’t get to finish that sentence before the string snapped inside of you. Your brain released all of its dopamine and ecstasy reserves into your bloodstream, and your vision went white with pleasure. You felt yourself scream out for God, or Gojo. You weren’t sure exactly which one, but you knew that in that moment there really was no difference to you. 

Satoru wasn’t far behind you at all. The moment your cunt began to constrict around him he knew he was finished. A few more thrusts and he was cumming deep inside you, biting your neck to try and keep his volume down. He for sure left a bruise. You both sat there, him clinging onto you like a drowning man clings to a life preserver, you hanging limply off of him like a used doll, both of you trying to catch your breath. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck FUCK. All at once it hit Satoru what he had just done. Shit. he could feel his soul burning in hell already, everything about this felt dirty. He never should have touched you, he-

And then you sighed softly, and slightly readjusted yourself to be more comfortable in his arms. You were so small compared to him, so delicate. It made his heart swell. Nothing involving you could have been dirty, he decided. It was just the catholic guilt talking. He finally lifted you up and pulled out, chuckling softly at the little whine you let out.

“Come on angel,” He purred, “Let’s get you dressed and get you home.”

[berryispunk]

You Make Me Believe In God

pairing: Priest Frankie x f! reader

Part 3 of "Nothing You Can Do Will Save Me"

Previous parts readable here

A huge thanks to my sibling aka the best beta reader in the world, without you all of this wouldn't see the light of day so please give them some applause <3 and also big thanks TO YOU. This fic got an incredible amount of feedback & I just wanted to thank you all for this <3

summary: They meet again, and it’s a brief but fierce encounter. Switched pov for this one.

tags/warnings: domestic violence, alcohol abuse, LONGING, YEARNING, mutual pining , slight power indifference, kissing, swearing, ANGST, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Guilt, Catholicism, small (?) age difference (Frankie is mid 30’s, reader beginning of 20’s), sexual tension, AU, Catholic Church Core, dirty thoughts, small town, inner turmoil, a hint of soft Frankie, Frankie being an ass, reader has a name (Lucy) hair and green eyes, no other physical discription

“For all that is in this world, the desires of the flesh, the desires of the eyes, the pride of life come not from the father but from this world.”

The night before the service you spent tossing and turning in your bed. 

The memory of the last encounter with Father Morales was still so vivid in your mind, it played behind your inner eyes like a damn movie every time you closed your eyes. 

You knew this was wrong, for a number of reasons.

First and foremost the fact that he was your local priest and you a regular church goer. You had been going often when the old priest, Father Thomas, was still there, but since Frankie had taken over the job you found yourself looking forward to every Sunday. Now you even called him Frankie in your head!

Each time you were wearing the prettiest dress your tiny wardrobe had to offer, even daring to put on some sheer lipgloss. Thankfully your father didn’t notice, not that he ever came with you. 

These days he was usually blackout drunk on the sofa as you silently closed the door behind you when you left. You were glad he wasn't around much during service so you could relax a bit while hanging on Frankie’s every word during the homily. 

When Father Thomas introduced him one Sunday there was a lot of whispering, especially from the old housewives who were - understandably - very tired of their husbands. The same men who didn’t have a nice word to say to them even if they spent three hours in the kitchen early in the morning before church to cook some spectacular Sunday lunch. A casserole, some potatoes and vegetables they lovingly raised in their own gardens. Their husbands didn’t care. If some of their spouses tagged along during service, they fell asleep snoring like a tractor. 

However, the wives did not. Their gazes were on Frankie from start to finish, watching his every step and soaking up every word. 

You couldn’t blame them at all. Father Morales was awfully attractive with his dark brown, unruly curls and matching warm brown eyes. When he smiled his whole face lit up, creating small wrinkles around his eyes which were absolutely adorable. 

His cassock did little to hide his broad shoulders and muscular arms that seemed to go on for miles. When his sleeves were rolled up it revealed equally strong forearms. 

The ladies of the parish started to bring along fans to regulate the heat that spread over their flushed cheeks during service. Plus, it made it easier to whisper to their pew neighbor.

Frankie didn’t seem to care much about the lustrous gazes. He was polite to every one of them, his eyes only fixed on their eyes whenever he chit-chatted with some of them after mass. He listened carefully, nodded and gave them his undivided attention like they deserved, unlike their dickheads of husbands. 

They all felt drawn to him just as you did. Although in the beginning you had tried to keep your respectful distance, telling yourself that the gazes you caught during service weren’t meant for you. But as the weeks passed by, you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. 

He did look at you and you mirrored his longing gaze perfectly. Bit your lip whenever his gaze locked with yours and sometimes it seemed like he was struggling to continue his sermon nonchalantly afterwards.

Each time you walked towards him for the sacrament of the communion you didn’t lower your gaze anymore, instead you smiled up to him, opened your mouth willingly so he could put the wafer on your tongue and it made his hands slightly tremble. Maybe there was even a tiny hint of a blush on his cheeks before he cleared his throat to serve the other people in line. 

It was a game. It was fun and a good distraction from the shit you had to deal with back at home. 

Your drunk father who only knew you existed when he was starving, the alcohol not enough sustenance. His hateful gaze on you whenever he was halfway sober. He made you feel so small, useless and made it unbearable for you in your own home. In the beginning it hurt, especially when you thought back at the times your sister was still living at home. 

The whole Davis family used to go to Sunday service and afterwards your mom would’ve made lunch and you and your sister Grace helped. It was so peaceful and loving back then, so different to the coldness you felt now. It seemed like a lifetime ago. 

All that kept reminding you of the good times now was church, so you kept up the tradition, even if it was by yourself and you didn’t even believe that much in God anymore. Because if he’d been real why would he have let someone suffer so much without reason? 

Seeing the hot priest every Sunday was just a bonus. 

When time passed on and especially after you had told him that you were thinking of him whenever you masturbated something changed drastically between the two of you and you didn’t know whether you liked it or not. The tension you had felt back in the confessional only intensified in his office when you poured your heart out in terms of your problems at home. His eyes on you were so warm and full of worry. It was exactly what you needed at the time, but still you found yourself not worthy of the attention. 

Maybe, you thought, if you were a better daughter your dad wouldn’t feel the need to drink himself to death. 

Maybe, if your mother hadn’t left, things would’ve been different too, but you couldn’t be mad at her. She had fallen victim to your dad’s anger and frustration long before you had even been aware of it. 

Seen rationally you knew thinking about that was no use, but you couldn’t stop your thoughts drifting off. They were quickly replaced by something else entirely: longing. You longed for his lips to finally meet yours, something you dreamed about since you got to know he thought about you too. 

So this Sunday you were finally able to attend service again, because the bruise on your cheek had faded enough for nobody to notice, and found yourself walking determinedly towards his office after the church had emptied. Knocking twice and waiting for an answer. As you get none, you quietly said,

“Father Morales, it’s me, Lucy…” But it was still eerily quiet on the other side so you decided to leave again. 

As you were about to leave the church as well you saw him with one of the women of your parish entering the confessional. His hand guided her into it before he took a seat at the opposite side and closed the door. 

For a moment you contemplated whether or not to leave, you even took  one more reluctant step towards the exit but at the last moment you decided to stay. You couldn’t, no, you didn’t want to waste another day not knowing what his lips felt like so you found a seat in a nearby pew and waited, iting your finger nervously as your leg bounced to an invisible melody.

Finally after what felt like an eternity and simultaneously no time at all, the woman exited the wooden box and you took your chance and slipped into the confessional without giving Frankie the chance to leave.

Hastily you murmured, “Forgive me father for I have sinned.” And you only heard a rustling noise at the other end of the screen separating you both. This felt more like a déjà-vu. 

“Lucy?” he asked, a hint of disbelief or maybe even panic in his voice. 

“Hey Frankie,” you said softly as your heart started beating faster. 

“What are you… No, wait. Is everything okay?” The worry in his voice was palpable.

“Yes,” you assured him. “It is now.” 

You had to bite your lip and hold your breath, afraid this little sentence had revealed too much about the whirlwind of emotions inside your chest. 

But as you heard a faint laugh on the other end you felt instant relief. 

“You know we’re in a confessional, right? So if you don’t have sins to confess…”

You couldn’t keep the grin out of your face as you said, “Sins, father? Plenty of them. How much time do you have?” 

His laugh on the other end of the screen was warm and created little butterflies in your stomach. 

“For you? All day.” And you found yourself giggling along with him.

“I really want to kiss you.” You took a quick breath before adding, “I can’t stop thinking about last week in your office. I—” You didn’t even know how to express what you were going to say, but you desperately wanted him to understand. 

His breath audibly hitched on the other end and a few seconds later his face was so close to the screen you could make out his shape clearly. Without thinking much you leaned in too, your right cheek pressed against the screen just to feel him close. 

“I really want to kiss you too. I, uh, I can’t stop thinking about it. But we can’t…” he whispered hoarsely. “No, no… We shouldn’t,” he added and you sighed. 

It’s nothing you hadn’t known before. But it didn’t lessen the ache at all. 

“I know, it’s just–,” you trailed off. 

“Yeah,” he answered without finishing the sentence but the way his voice sounded told you everything you needed to know. His voice mirrored your torment perfectly. 

You were sitting there for a long agonizing moment, your cheek still resting on the screen as the door on your side suddenly opened and he stepped in. His broad frame filled out the small of the confession al instantly and if you’d felt constricted before, it was even more now. His eyes on you were searching but you couldn’t quite place what for. 

“Frankie?” you croaked out and without even wasting a second he leaned down, pulling you up to him and his lips landed on  yours. It was rather gentle at first as his hand tangled in your hair, the other on your hip but it got heated quickly. He pressed your back against the cold, wooden wall of the confessional, his strong and hard frame holding you in place as his tongue sought entrance into your mouth. It all felt so different from anybody you had kissed before. You knew it would. You kissed him back just as eagerly as your hand fisted the fabric of his button-down and gasped into his mouth to which he answered with a soft groan. Your hands pulled slightly at the soft locks in the nape of his neck and you wanted to drown in this kiss. If this would be your last breath on this earth and you’d die right now it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever happening to you.

His hands started to wander over your body, gently exploring. Tracing every curve he could find, the soft of your hip, over your ass which he gave a soft squeeze through the fabric of your dress. He started to grind his front against you making you feel his erection clearly through his pants. It didn’t feel demanding at all but eager, just as much as you were. 

“We need to stop,” he finally panted breathlessly against your kiss-swollen lips. As his eyes opened again they were so much darker than before and it stirred something deep inside of you. 

“Frankie, please don’t stop,” you whimpered needily and he held your gaze, his pupils dilated as he found your lips again with such force you were pressed tightly against the wall with a dull noise. Something had seemed to snap inside of him as his lips latched onto your neck, biting and sucking everywhere he could reach as his knee pressed between your thighs, the fabric of your panties already wet from your arousal and he must have felt it, because he groaned against your neck.

“Fuuuck….” he bit out and no curse word had ever been so hot before. Are priests even allowed to curse?

 “Lucy, I–,” he was almost whimpering at this point, his breath hot against your neck and it made you shiver in the best way.

As abruptly as his lips had found yours he let go of you, taking a small step back in the narrow space and it left you discombobulated. 

“Almighty lord, forgive me,” he murmured, crossing himself and by no means you understood what God had to do with any of this because none of the things the two of you had just done were considered holy. 

“Frankie? What….” Although you were staring straight at him, he wouldn’t even look at you.

“I can’t do this, I am sorry,” he whispered, pained and your eyebrows furrowed, your chest painfully tight and it was getting hard to breathe.

“What?” You blinked, hoping you’d misunderstood.

“I can’t do this..” he repeated and the second time hurt even more than the first. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” you screeched in indignation, anger and disappointment creeping up and probably making you holler through the whole church, the skin on your chest burning hot.

“Please leave,” he said and he still didn’t dare to look at you. Was it shame? Regret? 

“No,” you said firmly, even if your voice was already choked up with all of the emotions brewing inside of you. 

He opened the door of the confessional without saying another word, the intention of making you leave more than obvious and you tried to reason with him. “Frankie, look. What happened, it’s…”

“It can’t happen again,” he cut through your words, like it was so easy for him. 

You felt hot angry tears pricking in the corners of your eyes, your vision blurring up.

Finally he lifted his head and looked at you. Not a single emotion behind his eyes’ brown hues and his face illuminated by the afternoon sun behind the stained glass. The whole scene made him almost glow. How ironic, you thought, making a devil look like an angel. 

You scoffed as your hands balled into fists. “I thought you felt it too…?” You pressed out between your lips with your chest heaving in barely contained anger, or perhaps hurt.

“I am your priest. You can come to me whenever you need guidance, an ear to listen or a prayer but that’s it, Lucy,” he used your name so nonchalantly. It sounded like an insult in combination with the other words in that sentence now.

“I had your tongue in my mouth just seconds ago and now you wanna go back to just being my priest?” You couldn’t contain your anger as your body started to quiver. 

“I am sorry.” He had the audacity to sound sincere. You stared at him for a long moment, his whole body language so much more guarded and indifferent than just a few moments ago and you struggled to interpret his contradictory behavior. 

“Did I do something wrong? I–”

He shook his head, his hands pleadingly lifted and eyebrows raised high but he didn’t say another word.

You straightened your dress, looking him up and down with contempt in your gaze before you left the church at a fast pace, your steps echoed loudly from the walls. Tears finally streamed down your face, making it hard to see, to breathe, to just be with every step that created distance between you and the one good thing that made you truly believe in God.

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