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Thank you to @picklepunch for sharing this post with me, because this photo of Jensen looks like he's taking communion and that just got my priest!kink sitting up and begging.
And got me thinking about 'shine a little light on my soul' by @sixtysevenautomatic
And now, as soon as I'm done re-reading Presence by @ani-coolgirl, I'll have to go and re-read it next.
always sign me up for priest-kink theology :D OR wingfic deruning
[wip meme]
So, there's a thing Lois McMaster Bujold has mentioned a couple times in Q&A's/posts/interviews or whatever, about how the World of the Five Gods is not so much speculative fantasy as it is speculative theology, and something about the way The Curse of Chalion (in particular) approached its gods/prophecies/grace just really stuck with me.
As such, when playing with the priest/demon supposed-to-be-a-smut-ficlet idea, it kept... not being smut, and instead kept turning into: how do demons and angels and priests and faith WORK in the Shadow World anyway?!?
Which turned into this:
It begins with a prayer.
It's an especially bright one, sharp and powerful in its desperation. It has the weight of Angel-blood behind it, making it louder, making it sing.
It's been a long time since Magnus heard a Nephilim pray.
Most of them don't know how, not really.
The few that might aren't willing to take the risk.
True prayer, the kind that Angels and Demons can hear, the kind that supposedly goes all the way up to God, down to Lucifer, requires the sort of submission the Nephilim are too arrogant to attempt. You have to give yourself up entirely to your question, open yourself up entirely for the answer.
Which means you're vulnerable to whomever, whatever, decides to answer. Very few people can hold tight enough to their own soul when the world comes calling, and true attempts at prayer end in possession more often than not. Not always by Demons, there are all sorts of spirits in the world, but Magnus has never heard of someone actually being answered by an Angel.
Angels seem like jerks. Magnus wonders, sometimes, if his father is as much of a dick as he is despite the fact that he's a Fallen Angel, or because of it. Wonders if the Shadowhunters were doomed to be as self-righteous as they are because of the influence of their Angel blood rather than the frailties of their human souls.
He doubts he'll ever get an answer.
Sam and Dean should have had to dress up as priests more often there I said it
So I watched fleabag. Do I have a priest k!nk or is Andrew Scott just ridiculously attractive?
Kenosis
https://archiveofourown.org/works/30411720 Another installment in my Destiel ABC is up! Rating: E tags:
Priest Kink
Dubious Consent
Priest Castiel (Supernatural)
Dom/sub Undertones
Face Slapping
saliva
Choking
Improper Use of a Rosary
Light Bondage
Blow Jobs
Face-Fucking
Anal Fingering
Anal Sex
Spanking
Bible Quotes (Abrahamic Religions)
Blasphemy
improvised gags
Come Eating
Come Swallowing
Alternate Universe
Kenosis
6 Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you 1 Peter 5:6 English Standard Version
Dean opens the church doors slowly, not wanting to disturb anyone that might still be praying. Outside, night shrouds the city but the many lit candles inside the church cast a warm and welcoming glow, trying hard to banish the darkness.
Dean knows from experience though that darkness is usually found inside.
He glances down at the white floor. Countless feet have walked on these stones over the centuries, polishing them to a shine.
Carefully, he shuts the doors.
He walks up towards the altar and even though he's been there many times, he can't help but look up at the ceiling. It's dark as the night outside and together with the glimmering round details, it looks like stars covering the sky. The vaults and pillars seem golden –Dean wouldn't be surprised if it was real gold– and he understands the feeling people have of being overwhelmed when entering. It's by design.
Kinktober Day 6
Hierophilia
“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.” Father John swallows, a tremor running through his body at that voice. Helen.
Helen had attended his church for years. Since her family moved to New York when she was a teenager, she had ever been a faithful and pious member of his congregation.
“It has been one week since my last confession but…”
There is a pause. Father John waits. And waits.
“But what, child?” He asks.
There is a hitch in Helen’s breath and Father John squeezes his thighs together, desperate to ignore the ache.
It is not right.
“It has been years since my last pr-proper confession, Father. I have been omitting my sins.”
“Tell me.”
“I…” She pauses again and this time he waits, “Father, I am filled with lust.. It consumes me, day and night. I cannot come into the house of the lord without… feeling myself become aroused.” She whispers the last part, “Even now....”
Divinity school had not prepared him for this.
He had counseled murderers, abusers, countless teenage masterbaters but…
Helen. This was sweet and beautiful Helen.
“And have you,” He swallows again, “acted upon these lusts?”
“Yes father.” She says, and his heart stutters. “I have touched myself. I try not to but sometimes it becomes too much and I have to. If I do not touch myself, it doesn’t go away.”
Oh. He wonders if she is still pure.
“When did you last act upon these feelings?”
“Yesterday, Father. After your sermon.”
“Here?” He asks, and it shocks him to his core.
“I excused myself to the bathroom.” She explains, “I… I felt too hot, Father. I didn’t mean to become aroused but I did. Every time you spoke, I felt myself fill with need. I was so wet I was afraid I would spill down my thighs. I could smell it.”
He bites his lip to cover a groan.
“What made you so lustful, child?”
A moment of silence before she admits, “ I… I hear your voice and I feel myself soak. I see you and I crave you and I know it’s wrong. I know it is.”
Father John realizes his mouth is open and shuts it. Oh. Oh.
There is comfort in knowing they are wrong together but oh. Is she as wet now as he is hard?
Sweet, gentle Helen.
He had always thought her so innocent.
Would she still look innocent with those sweet pink lips wrapped around his swollen cock?
No. He couldn’t think like that. He was her priest. It was wrong. On so many levels. What was he thinking?
But she had come to him.
To confess her sins.
Her dirty sins.
If she wanted him even a fraction of how he wanted her...
“Father?”
He reaches for the door and exits the chamber.
The atrium is empty as he crosses to the side for the confessors and opens her door.
Helen’s eyes are wide and her lips part in surprise as he slams the door behind him.
“Father…” She says again and Father John grabs her head in his hands and pulls her to her feet. He kisses her, hard.
It is so very wrong, he knows it is, but he cannot help the flush of pride that flows through him when she kisses him back. She moans into his mouth as Father John maneuvers her against the conjoining wall to where he sat only minutes before. Her hands reach up, running across his chest.
His own hands wander down from where he had harshly gripped her face. Skirting her breasts, they fall and land on her hips. He pulls her closer and grinds into her.
“Father, yes.” She moans and Father John growls.
It was wrong and forbidden but he was only human. And humans were subject to temptation and Father John knew without a doubt that had Helen offered him an apple, he would have devoured it in a bite before doing the same to her.
He yanks the dress she wears up, the edge past her hips. He bunches it and holds the end against her as he drops to his knees.
It is dark in the confessional but her panties are a pale pink and soaked with arousal.
With a tug, they fall down her legs and onto the floor. Hungrily, he presses his mouth to her center. She is sweet and tangy and delicious. He licks her once, then twice.
She whimpers and he feels like God.
How sacrilegious.
But he cannot bring himself to care.
He looks up at her from his knees. There are much better things to worship than abstract concepts and theories of creation.
He swallows and nips at her thigh.
“Three Hail Mary’s.”
Her eyes fluttered shut as he continued to nibble at her flesh.
“Hail Mary, fully of grace!” She shrieks as he grazes his teeth along her folds. “The Lord is with thee… blessed… blessed art thou amongst women! Oh!” He sucks her clit into his mouth, rolling it along his tongue, “And… blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary! Mother of God!” She moans, “Gooooddddddd! Oh!”
“Keep going.” He orders, sucking her, his fingers dancing at her entrance.
“Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”
“Again.”
“Hail Mary, Full of grace… father, yes!” His finger pushes inside her, exploring her most private places. “ The Lord is with thee…” She stutters out the prayer, crying out as he slips his middle finger inside her at the amen.
“Again.”
He kisses her clit, and stands as she begins again. “Hail Mary, full of grace.” His fingers curl inside her and she looks up at him, so fucking desperate. “The Lord is with thee." Her hand tangles in his hair, "blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ!" She shrieks as his fingers tease her. His thumb presses on her clit and she gasps, eyes fluttering shut.
"Don't stop," he flicks her clit again and she cries out.
"Please…" she means as his lips ghosts hers yet again. "Inside me…"
"Not until you finish your penance."
Helen whimpers, "I-I don't remember where…"
"Holy Mary."
"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners."
Father John removes his hand, stepping back.
He undoes his belt.
He knows it's wrong even before taking himself out but he is so heavy. This woman, who has given him countless hours of hard-on, wants him. Perhaps she has been possessed but he cannot being himself to care as she readily pants out the last of our prayer.
"Now and at the the hour of our death. Amen."
She reaches for him as she finishes her prayer, wrapping her arms around his neck. He lifts her off the ground, pinning her to the wall.
"I've wanted you for so long."
She whimpers as he angles himself against her opening and slides his length inside her.
"Every Sunday, for years," he rolls his hips until he is buried to the hilt, "watching you drop to your knees, saying prayers to God when you should have been worshipping me."
It's all wrong. A life of being pious only to choose hell now. He damns himself more with every thrust inside her but he finds no longer cares.
Maybe he will resign. Leave the church and fuck her every night without exception.
Or maybe he will stay in the fold and keep her like a secret. Fuck her in confessionals and the dark corners of the cathedral. Use her body for his own relief only to shake her hand as she leaves church each Sunday.
Endless opportunities because he has chosen heaven on earth at the cost of a lifetime of inferno.
"Father…" she moans, clawing at his back as he grunts, moving his hips in a thousand new ways. "Please…"
"Dirty girl, seducing a priest? Do you deserve to cum, Helen? Bouncing on your Father's cock while in the house of the lord? That doesn't sound like the deeds of a pious Christian woman."
She only cries out in response, every sound bringing him farther from God and closer to religion.
She clenches around him, her mouth falling to his shoulder and biting the cloth there to keep from screaming as she comes undone. Helen thrashes in his arms as he feels himself join her.
He spills inside of her with a groan, lifting his head to a God he no longer can claim because what god would keep him from feeling this pleasure?
Father John leans into her, thrusting through the last of his orgasm, watching as she quakes around him. Her arms tighten and she buries her head in the crevice of his neck while she pants out her breath.
If he burns for his sins, she will burn at his side.
x
Part 2
“I’ve always wanted to blow a hot priest tbh #liftuptherobe https://t.co/M3o2uuGOoc”
when a gay pornstar says he wants to blow misha 😜😏
🌹🌹
Have some more uncooperative almost!smut. (Priest!kink even, just for you. For Reasons!) Two from very different places in the fics, since you gave me two roses <3 [wip meme]
"Kneel." Magnus starts, and Alec does, dropping as suddenly as a puppet with cut strings, yet somehow managing to look almost graceful as he goes, the long line of his legs folding beneath him, the length of arms falling to his sides. His chin is down, just enough to let him look up at Magnus through his lashes, his lips slightly parted as he exhales.
*
"I dream about you." Alec's voice cracks. "I have for years. Is that what you want me to say?"
Yes. Demons don't dream, but Magnus knows he would dream about Alexander, if he could.
"I'm sorry?"
Alec huffs out something that's almost laughter. "I'm not."
"No?"
"How could I be?" Alec finally meets his eyes again, and they're as dark and damp as the first time Magnus saw them, but they're very far from hopeless.
