#priest!benedict | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daydreamtofiction · 4 months

Text

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 10: Baptism

Contents | Part 9 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) The morning after stirs up a new Ellis, one who returns home with a newfound fire.

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, religious imagery, sexual references, scenes of verbal & physical conflict. Readers must be 18+

"Shit."

You stirred slowly at the sound of Father Benedict's voice, his weight disappearing from beside you, making the mattress bounce and the bed frame creak.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit shit." The words left him in a panicked hiss, each utterance catching between his teeth.

You opened one eye, vision fuzzy in the dull morning light, too tired to make sense of what was happening. Why was he swearing? Had he already begun to regret what you'd done?

He hurried across the bedroom in a blur of bare skin and frantic whispers, hopping and stumbling into a pair of underpants as he made his way towards the window.

"What's wrong?" you croaked, watching as he craned around the curtain, peering down towards the ground outside.

A knock at the front door answered your question. He ducked down quickly, adjusting himself in his pants as he slowly rose back up again. Another knock.

"Fuck," he whispered. "Shit, fuck-"

"Father?" a distant voice called out. "Father, are you in there?"

"Is that June?" you asked quietly, eyes widening as you sat up and clutched the duvet to your bare chest, as though the sound of her voice alone was enough to make you feel indecent.

He groaned despairingly into his hands as she knocked again, calling out to him with concern through the letterbox.

"What's going on?" you whispered. "Why is she here?"

"Because I- shitting hell," he hissed. "I overslept."

"For what?"

"Morning bloody prayer. I can't believe I-" He stopped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before unlatching the window and pushing it open. "June! June, up here," he shouted, waving down at her with an apologetic smile. "I am... so sorry, I- I wasn't feeling well last night and I've slept in."

"You slept in?" she replied. Her voice was faint, the wind carrying most of it away. "But I've already opened the church doors-"

"No, no that's fine. Really, I just have to get dressed and then I'll be there."

"Well people've already started arriving. What do I do in the meantime?"

"Tell her to try out some of her standup material," you muttered from the bed.

He choked back a laugh and swatted his hand at you, like a silent telling off. "Just-" He cleared his throat, taking a moment to straighten his face. "Just tell them I'm running late but shouldn't be more than a few minutes."

You weren't sure if she said anything else after that - the woman tended to mumble at the best of times - but the sound of her footsteps fading over the gravel driveway made it clear she was retreating.

Father Benedict shut the window and turned around, blowing out a puff of air as he leaned back against the wall. "I can't believe I overslept."

"You were up late, to be fair," you replied.

He allowed his eyes to wander, just for a moment, over the messy bed, your bare thigh peeking through a gap in the duvet. "Still," he began, shaking it away and rushing to the wardrobe. "I have a responsibility to my congregation, I can't just... not show up, it's..."

You sat quietly as he rummaged through his clothes, hanger hooks screeching as he moved them back and forth along the rail. He pulled out a shirt and shrugged it on, turning towards you as he buttoned it up.

"This isn't how I'd ideally have liked this morning to go. But I shouldn't be gone for more than a couple of hours," he said. "I lead prayer, then afterwards I host a small social meet for some elderly members, but it won't take long."

Your back straightened slightly. "Y-you... want me to stay here while you're gone?"

"Yeah," he replied casually as he grabbed a pair of trousers and stepped into them. "Unless- Do you have to be somewhere?"

"No- well, not until later."

"Okay. Just... help yourself to something to eat, preferably stay away from the windows-"

You giggled.

"And I'll drive you home when I get back."

"You really don't have to-"

"I want to."

You conceded, nodding softly and settling back against the headboard.

He pulled open a drawer and grabbed a pair of socks before hooking his fingers into his shoes and making his way towards the door. "Okay, back soon."

"You might want to fix your hair," you called out.

He stopped, turning back to look at you as he ran a hand through the wild locks. "Better?"

"It'll do."

You sat on the back doorstep of the rectory, warming your hands on a mug of tea as you watched your dress blowing on the washing line. Last night's storm had given way to a mild morning, but the wind still had a bite, making the dress flutter and dance in the air, the bright yellow fabric billowing like a flag at full mast. You never drank tea; why you'd chosen to make some now was a mystery. It just felt right, the kind of thing a normal person would do whilst they sat waiting for clothes to dry.

The garden was quaint and secluded, a boarder of thick bushes and tall trees beyond the mossy stone walls, enclosing the small pocket of green in total privacy. You sipped your tea as birds chirped and bounced from tree to tree, the smell of the toast you'd made still drifting out from the kitchen.

Maybe this kind of life wouldn't be so bad, you thought. You were sure you could learn to like tea, hang washing on the line every morning, make breakfast as birds sang beyond the garden wall. You could bake cakes for parish fundraisers, have a bunch of kids and give them 'sensible' names like Jacob or Charlotte, take them to mass every weekend, say grace around the dinner table. Maybe it wouldn't matter that you didn't actually believe in any of it, because once the church doors closed and the kids went to bed, it'd be just the two of you. And he already knew, but he wanted you anyway.

"God, Ellis, get a grip," you muttered. "One night together and suddenly you're the pastor's wife."

You rose to your feet, pausing on the doorstep to gaze up at a blanket of soft grey clouds rolling in overhead. It was going to rain again, you thought. You made your way back into the kitchen and tipped the last of the tea down the drain, swilling the mug with water and drying it with a tea towel. It was nice to see an empty sink; no plates covered in dried food, no wet, grimy sponges or wine glasses rimmed with Gina's lipstick.

Gina.

Your stomach turned at the thought of her; how she was probably at home right now waiting for you to come back, or maybe she didn't even care that you were gone. Could you even call that place home anymore? Home was supposed to be a sanctuary; a place of warmth, comfort, safety. Yet all that house seemed to be was a collection of closed doors, strangers with familiar faces and rooms you never spent time in.

The sound of the front door latch made you still, a click followed by a creak, footsteps moving through the house towards you. For a moment you worried it may not be him, how you would explain why you were there, alone, wearing clothes that didn't belong to you. But the fear was fleeting, quelling instantly when a deep, rich voice chimed from the living room.

"Ellis? Are you still here?"

"Yeah, I'm in here," you replied.

He stepped halfway through the door with a smile; the same smile you'd come to look forward to whenever you arrived at church. It was charming, gracious, every inch of his face brightening the moment he laid eyes on you. You smiled back, though you weren't sure you could ever produce an expression as naturally warm as his.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

"Look what I found." He moved further into the kitchen, revealing a small leather handbag dangling by its strap over his index finger.

He handed it to you with a smile and you thanked him in a relieved sigh, making your way to the kitchen table and unzipping it with haste. He pulled out the chair beside you and sat down too, stealing a piece of half-eaten toast from the plate you'd left on the table and munching on it quietly as he watched you.

You took out your phone, tapping your thumbs with futility against the shiny black screen. "Dead," you said. "Thought as much."

"I think I have a charger somewhere if-"

"Nah it's okay. Haven't paid my phone bill so it makes no difference anyway."

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he swept the crumbs off his hands. "Do you want to use my phone?"

"You have a phone?"

"Why wouldn't I have a phone?"

"I don't know, just hard to imagine a priest... texting."

"I text."

You couldn't help the amusement creeping across your face, the thought of his name popping up on your screen; what would you save him as? Ben? Father Benedict? Perhaps just Father would suffice. Daddy?- No, Ellis.

"Do you think priests take vows to live like it's the 1800's or something?" he asked.

You shrugged. "I just assumed if you needed to use a phone you'd have one of those old rotary ones or something."

"Oh my god." He laughed, too amused to notice the blasphemous slip.

You slid the phone back into your bag and dragged the zip closed slowly, watching each metal tooth knit together with far more focus than the task required.

He stopped laughing and cocked his head, eyes darting over your face. "Are you alright?"

"Hm?"

"You. Are you okay?"

You remained quiet for a moment, chewing the inside of your cheek in thought. "Y'know I've never liked that question. It's too broad, don't you think? Makes my brain feel all jumbled."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, okay in what sense? Physically? Mentally? Right this minute or in life in general?" You relaxed slightly into the back of your chair. "Sometimes, people don't even actually want to know how you are at all, they're just saying it instead of 'hello'..."

A smile curled slightly at one side of his mouth. "Well I actually want to know how you are."

"In which way?"

"Let's go with all of them. How are you? In every iteration."

"Hm. Well, physically, I'm tired, a little sore, my foot is killing me. But emotionally I feel... weirdly calm; like last night changed something in me. But I'm not necessarily sure that's a bad thing."

"You feel different?"

"Yeah. Don't you?"

He let his head fall slightly to one side, his gaze turning distant, just for a moment. "No." He shook his head, focusing his attention back on you. "Honestly, I thought I would. I went to sleep last night convinced I'd wake up full of regret and shame and- no offence-"

"Mm," you replied sarcastically.

"But I didn't. I still felt... like me. Like nothing's changed."

"Even after all that sinning you did?" you joked. "You sinned a lot, father."

He dropped his head to hide a smirk. "Hey, what happens in the rectory stays in the rectory."

Your shoulders shook with a chuckle, making him smile.

"I like it when you laugh," he said softly. "You don't do it enough."

You glanced across at him; at those sea foam eyes, so striking against the tired red of their waterlines.

"I have a stupid laugh," you replied quietly.

He smiled, shifting in his seat to move himself closer, his body leaning in slowly towards you. "You have a lovely laugh."

It was strange, how even after a night like last night - after growing so familiar with the intricacies of his body and submitting yours so willingly to him - the sight of his face edging closer, lips parting gently in anticipation, was still so butterfly-inducing.

You'd resigned yourself to the idea that you'd never get to kiss him again, that when the sun rose that morning, all of the intimacy you'd shared would be washed away with last night's storm. Yet here you were, gazing at him through heavy lashes, your focus rolling slowly back and forth between his eyes and mouth as you sat perfectly still, letting him come to you. Closer and closer until you couldn't see anything but him, couldn't hear anything besides your own heartbeat, the gentle pattering of rain against the kitchen window.

Rain.

"Oh, shit!" You jumped up quickly and bolted to the back door, throwing it open and hurrying over the grass towards the washing line.

You were back in the dress, although you weren't sure it resembled sunshine much anymore. There were patches that hadn't fully dried, smudges of dirt from holding your shoes in your lap, and a small bloodstain on the skirt. Yesterday, you'd felt pretty when you put it on. Today, you hadn't even dared glance at your own reflection.

Father Benedict turned the heat up in the car, sliding the vents to point the warm air in your direction. You were thankful for it, relaxing back into the seat and staring out the window as he drove, slowing for a red light almost as soon as he pulled out of the church grounds.

"So where are you going to say you were last night?" he asked.

You could tell the question had been itching to get out, dancing on his tongue until he finally found the right moment to let it spill.

"I haven't thought about it," you replied. "Suppose it's none of their business where I was."

"What if anyone else asks?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, sensing there was a specific answer he wanted to hear, one that would free the tension he'd been holding in his shoulders since he'd got behind the wheel.

"I'm not going to tell anyone what happened, Father," you finally replied, trying your best to make your voice sound soft, reassuring, trustworthy.

He glanced over at you for a second before fixing his gaze back on the road, the light finally turning green again.

"Thank you," he said. "I mean, it's not that I- I'm not saying I want to pretend this never happened or anything. I just..."

"Want to pretend this never happened."

He laughed gently through his nose. "No. I just need to figure out the best way to navigate through-"

"Navigate," you groaned teasingly. "God, you sound like an internet life coach."

He rolled his eyes. "Navigate is a perfectly normal word."

"It's a fluffer. You're fluffing up the point you're trying to make."

He looked at you again, longer this time. "Alright. I don't want to give up my priesthood."

"I know. I never expected you would."

"It's who I am. My faith, it's... such an integral part of me. And that's not me saying last night wasn't also me. I just... You've thrown some things into question, made me act in ways that definitely wouldn't go down well if the church found out."

"I made you?"

He smirked. "Mhm, all your fault."

You turned back to the window, biting your lip to suppress a smile. "At least you won't have to deal with me hanging around the church anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I admitted I lied. I'm just a big fat nonbeliever. No reason for me to attend services anymore."

He paused in thought, steering the car smoothly with his large, agile hands. The movement made you shiver; the sight of his fingers curling around the wheel, the protruding knuckles and prominent veins, even more attractive now you knew what it felt like to have them on you.

"So does that mean you won't be coming to help out on Thursday?" he asked, entirely oblivious to your ogling.

"Thursday?"

"The communion session."

You closed your eyes, letting out a long, exasperated exhale. "Shit," you whispered. "I forgot about that."

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," he said. "I can make do-"

"No, no, I offered to help out."

With every traffic light, every turn of a corner and familiar street, you felt the tension turning your limbs to stone. Nerves flooded your stomach at the thought of walking back into that house, confronting the people you somehow wanted to slap and thank at the same time.

Father Benedict bumped the kerb gently, rolling to a stop beside the front gate. He pulled the handbrake, the car plummeting into silence as he switched off the engine, the only sound coming from your deep intake of breath, the sigh that left you as you turned your head to face him.

You took a moment to look at him, to let your eyes skim over every line and curve of his face. You would see him again, of course you would, but not like this.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" he asked.

You nodded, allowing a quick smile before grabbing your bag and the straps of your shoes.

"Ellis..."

You glanced back up to find him staring straight ahead through the windshield, head tipped back slightly against the headrest.

"I meant what I said last night." He didn't look at you. "You shouldn't let anyone who isn't worthy go near you again."

It made everything feel more real, somehow, hearing those words repeated without the cloud of heat and lust surrounding you.

"Promise me," he said, finally making eye contact.

"I promise." The words left you in an awkward stammer, mouth moving before your brain had a chance to catch up.

You undid your seatbelt and reached for the door handle, the hinges groaning and grinding as you pushed your elbow against the door, always forgetting how stiff it was until you found yourself fighting to open it.

You leaned all of your weight into it, but it didn't budge. "It's jammed," you said. "Like actually jammed this time."

He sighed and unclipped his seatbelt. "Honestly, this piece of shit car," he mumbled as he leaned over to help.

His body was stretched across yours, so close you could see the muscles straining in his neck, feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. You pressed your back into the seat to give him more room, watching his throat bob with a hard swallow as he pushed on the door, finally getting it to open.

"There we are," he groaned.

"Thanks," you said softly.

He looked at you, still leant over your body, eyes falling to your chest as it rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths. And when his gaze snapped back up to meet yours, there was an entirely different expression on his face.

"Alfie!" Gina's voice screeched in the distance, turning the heat between you ice cold.

You turned to see her on the front doorstep of the house, her panic and anger clear despite the distance between you.

"Alfie! It's Ellis, she's back!"

You sighed and climbed out of the car, closing the door behind you with your hip.

"Where the fuck have you been!?"

You didn't answer her, walking barefoot over the pavement towards the gate, barely getting it open before Alfie appeared at her side. He pushed past her, steam practically rising from the top of his head as he came bounding down the path towards you.

"What the fuck are you playing at, Ellis!?" he shouted.

You'd never seen him like this before, so aggressive in his movements, clenched teeth and balled fists, the fury palpable beneath his skin.

"Just disappearing like that!? Not answering your phone all night!? Do you know how fucking worried we've been!? We were this close to calling the fucking police!-"

He stopped a few feet away from you, his focus shifting to the tall figure emerging from the car. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he watched Father Benedict approaching.

"Don't I know you...?" he muttered in confusion.

"It's the vicar," Gina called out, hurrying down the path.

"Priest," you corrected bluntly.

"Really, Ellis?" Alfie snarled. "Is this a fucking joke!? I've been up all night with no idea where you were, and you've been with him!?"

He marched angrily towards you, stopping suddenly when Father Benedict stepped in the way.

"Whoa there," your priest said calmly, voice so deep it was almost inaudible.

Alfie took a breath, back straightening as he glared at the man in front of him. "What? You think I was going to hit her?" He sneered in genuine offence. "What kind of man do you think I am?"

"Probably best I don't answer that question," Father Benedict quipped.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's just calm down and go inside," said Gina, grabbing Alfie by the sleeve of his shirt.

He shrugged her off. "No. I want to know who the fuck this guy thinks he is."

"He's the guy who let me sleep on his couch when I said I didn't want to come home," you said. "Because I caught my boyfriend fucking my best friend, in case you'd forgot that part."

"Oh of course you're piping up now you've got this dick head sticking up for you."

Father Benedict smiled, which only seemed to irritate him more.

"What's a priest doing getting all pally with some random woman who doesn't even believe in God anyway? It's fucking creepy, you're a fucking creep." He pointed his finger in his face, spitting the words at him.

"Put the finger down," he said calmly.

"What? This?" He began pushing it hard into his chest, poking and prodding him roughly.

"Oh Alfie, grow up," you said.

"I understand you've been worried about her," said Father Benedict, gripping him firmly by the wrist to stop the childish assault. "But taking your anger out on me isn't going to solve anything. I was just dropping her home."

"Do you want a medal?" He snatched his hand away. "Want me to thank you for harbouring her in your house while I worried sick all night?"

You couldn't help but scoff. "I wouldn't have left in the first place if you hadn't been sleeping with-"

"You shut-"

It all happened so fast you barely had time to react; Alfie turning towards you, pointing in your face as he took another quick, belligerent step forward. Father Benedict intercepting with a swift swing of his arm, his fist cracking against the side of his face and knocking him to the ground.

You took a sharp breath, somewhere between a gasp and a choke, watching as Gina dropped to her knees at Alfie's side with a panicked yell. Father Benedict sucked in the air through his teeth, hissing as he shook his hand, a pained expression scrunching his nose.

"Oh my god," you breathed, grabbing him by the upper arms and pulling him back, dragging him over to the car.

"Fuck sake," he whispered, opening and closing his fist.

"I can't believe you just did that."

"I'm so sorry, I just- I thought he was going to-"

"What the fuck!?" Gina shouted. "Aren't you supposed to be a fucking pacifist or some shit!?"

Alfie groaned, pushing her hands away as she tried to examine his face.

"Just go inside, Gina, Jesus Christ!" you shouted.

You took his hand in yours and he let you hold it for a moment, looking over the grazes on his knuckles in stunned silence. "It's okay, I'm alright," he said, gently pulling away and shaking it out again.

"You prick," Alfie spat as he clambered to his feet.

You sighed, nodding towards the car. "You should go."

He hesitated, eyes darting between his hand and the face he'd just pummelled with it.

"I'll be fine," you insisted. "Honestly. He's a dick but he wouldn't hurt me."

"Forgive me for finding that hard to believe."

"He wouldn't, I swear. I just want to go upstairs, get a shower, get my stuff together. I'll be alright."

There was a deep, reluctant rumble in his throat before he finally gave in, turning to make his way to the driver's side door. You exhaled a shaking breath, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched him get in, trying to ignore the chaos still erupting behind you.

He got in the car and shut the door, concern etched between his brows as he looked at you through the passenger window. You gave a reassuring smile and waved him off, stepping back through the gate.

"Wait, Ellis," he called as he rolled down the window and leaned over. "Here."

You walked closer, plucking a small piece of paper from his outstretched fingers.

"If you need me," he said simply.

You looked down at the paper as the car rolled away, a mobile number scribbled hastily across it, 'I text' written below. You laughed to yourself and closed your fist around it, turning on your sore, bare heels and making your way up the path towards the house.

You'd made it halfway upstairs when you heard the front door slam behind you, the sound of footsteps hurrying after you.

"Wait, Ellis," Gina barked. "Do you not think we need to talk!?"

You spun around, looking down at her as she followed you. "No, I don't."

"I'm pressing charges on him," said Alfie.

"He was protecting me," you replied angrily. "He thought you were about to hit me."

"Look, I don't care about what happened out there," said Gina.

"I fucking do," Alfie mumbled.

"We need to talk about yesterday."

You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs. "You mean when I walked in on you screwing my boyfriend?"

"Ellis-"

"How long? Actually, y'know what? I don't care. You're welcome to him. I was done anyway."

"What?" Alfie shouted, jogging up to catch you.

You walked down the landing to your bedroom, turning just before you reached the door. "I was done. With us."

He pushed past Gina, making his way towards you. There was a bright red mark on the side of his face, a cut on his lip and blood smeared around his nostril. You almost felt bad for him, but then he spoke.

"You are fucking him, aren't you!"

You sighed, opening the door and stepping into your room. "What are you-"

"The priest! That's where you were last night, that's why he just punched me in the face like some fucking yob in a nightclub-"

"Anything to make yourself feel better about what you did, Alfie."

You slid open a drawer and pulled out a towel, wedging it under your arm as you fished for some clean clothes.

"You're not denying it," he said from the doorway.

"I have denied it, you just don't want to listen."

"Bullshit. You've been acting different ever since you started going to that church. I knew there had to be a reason for it. It's not normal, Ellis! And I don't buy for one second you've just made innocent pals with that guy. It's- It's weird! Leaving me here so you can go and spend time with that-"

"Do you know what, fine. Yeah, I slept with him," you began, walking towards him. "And do you know something else? He was better, and bigger, and more skilled than you could ever hope to be."

He swallowed, his face hard and unamused, eyes scanning your face in an attempt to figure out if you were lying or not.

You came face-to-face with him, leaning in to speak slowly and quietly. "He made me come so hard he had to cover my mouth just to keep me quiet."

You elbowed past him, leaving him speechless behind you.

"Ellis," said Gina, standing in the way of the bathroom. "I just want to talk-"

"I don't have anything to say," you interrupted bluntly. "Our entire friendship has just been you keeping me around to make yourself feel better. Patronising me, infantilising me, making me feel so wildly uncomfortable about who I am. You've made it very clear you can have any man you want, yet you decided to fuck mine. All because I stood up to you at the christening, made you feel stupid for half a fucking second."

She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "It's not like that."

You stepped around her, pushing into the bathroom.

"I think I actually have feelings for him, Ellis."

"Of course you do. And you know what? Congratulations. I'm glad it's you he'll be flailing about on top of instead of me."

Her jaw sharpened, teeth grinding behind pursed lips. "Y'know... I think you should probably look for somewhere else to live..."

You gave a dry laugh. "Shags my boyfriend then kicks me out. Classic Gina."

You slammed the door and locked it, letting your forehead rest against the wood for a moment as you caught your breath. That was so unlike you. All of it. The harshness, the sarcasm, the honesty. It felt good. So why were you trembling?

You stripped off your dress and sat on the edge of the bath, gently peeling away the dressing from the sole of your foot. It didn't look as bad as it felt, the dried blood covering a small slice, the skin around it darkening with a bruise.

You turned on the shower, holding your hand beneath the water until it warmed up, watching the stream run off the tips of your fingers like ribbons. This water was going to cleanse you; wash away the dirt and sweat and rain, the anger, the shame. You were going to scrub it all away and step out anew.

*Tags: @evelynrosestuff @thealleydog @lexlexigogh @allie131313 @simpingbestie @ironstrange1991 @witchoftheages @hiddendiary @swds @jyessaminereads @withalittlehoney @hunterofshadows04 @slytherindoctorsat221b @diabaroxa @phoebe221 @hai-kbai @downtownshabby @dara-of-qui-zi @unfilteredmoonchild @classicrebound @bigratbitchsworld @aphroditesdilemma @bloodyxsaint @ployavengersog1 @spectaclebitch @paola-carter @veryladyqueen @gordorio @shjl15 @thedaredevilsgirl @howardtonypotts @ceccille @wllsfer @thelostsmiles @vi0letdaze @stanfanfiction @king-kongbebe-blog @sof38 @doctorscarletwitch @rmoonstoner @intrappolatatrairicordi

*If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please comment below, or feel free to add yourself to the tag list here

127 notes · View notes

vaticanblog · 5 months

Text

Father André

-France

#catholic #religion #religous #faith #vatican #vatikan #christianity #france #priests #priest #catholic priest #catholicism #pope benedict xvi

25 notes · View notes

bedlund · 7 months

Text

official benedictions endorsement/rec/moodboard

#you will read the tags and say thanks op but i don’t care for priest cas. I gently take your hand and tell you this isn’t priest cas #- the same way dta isn’t endverse<3 hope that helps #i’m so so so serious btw my au warriors please give him a chance #fic #destiel #benedictions

51 notes · View notes

strangelockd · 9 months

Text

Here a snippet of a fic I’m working on, let me know what you think. Should I continue? 😏

“Forgive me father for I have sinned in the eyes of our great lord.” Father Sherlock swallows, a tremble ran down his spine at that familiar voice. Y/N.

He gripped his right knee steadying his breath.

A loyal congregant, you have been attending his church for years ever since you moved from across the Atlantic. But what could you possibly have to confess?

“It has been exactly six months since my last confession. For something has been plaguing my mind,” you professed.

Something…or someone?

There was a pause as Father Sherlock shook his head slightly, his long slender fingers gripping the leather bound bible with the other hand.

“What is it my child?” Sherlock craned his head eyeing you through the mesh screen. The dim light making your red lipstick stand out as he grazed a palm over his stiffening trousers.

To be continued…

#father sherlock #priest kink #sherlock priest #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock #because benedict cumberbatch #sherlock smutt #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes

44 notes · View notes

elennemigo · 9 months

Note

what do u think of all the doctor strange 3 rumors? I dunno what it means for our guy.

what do u think of all the doctor strange 3 rumors?

First of all let´s emphasize the word RUMORS. Now, seeing that at least Doctor Strange 3 is being talked about at all, it´s a nice change of pace. I´m taking everything with a big grain of salt, anon. I´m hesitant bc idk how much of this is true and if it´s true, how much of this Marvel is gonna make it right.

I dunno what it means for our guy.

It could mean that we would get to meet one of the most powerful versions of Doctor Strange: in the comic Time Runs Out is introduced Doctor Strange, leader of the Black Priests.

This would be our Doctor Strange, not another variant or from another timeline. Stephen wants to exchange his soul for power and instead he became the leader of the group, being now more powerful than all the members combined. The Black Priests (aka Field Surgeons of the Multiverse) are set to fix incursions and stabilize the multiverse. Clea is not an originally member of this organization but according to this article she would appear so in this adaptation. Besides being the leader of Black Priests, Strange apparently keeps his title as Sorcerer Supreme.

(I´m not a comics expert. I learned all this info recently by researching myself and to confirm more info given to me by others.)

This all been said, if Marvel adapt this story it feels like they are skipping a lot of Doctor Strange storyline and jumping on this bc they need the multiversal line to keep going.

I still want to see more of his past, i still want to see the repercusiones Endgame had in him (i need more than an snarky comment to Dr West in DSMOM), i still want to see his sacrifices validated!

And I also want to have Scott Derrickson back in the Director´s chair and please, please, Benedict as Executive producer, bc the love this man has for this character, no one in that position will match it.

This could be the last Doctor Strange solo movie and i really need to be GOOD, I need it to honor Strange´s story and Benedict´s talent.

Ok this was longer than I expected lol I hope somehow answered your question, anon.

Thanks for asking me about my beloved Strange!

:))

#anonymous #eleanswers #doctor strange #doctor strange 3 #time runs out #the black priests #clea #benedict cumberbatch #scott derrickson

20 notes · View notes

denimbex1986 · 28 days

Text

'Some five years after it was announced, Andrew Scott’s take on infamously charming fictional sociopath Tom Ripley is finally coming to our screens.

Based loosely on the 1955 novel by Patricia Highsmith – which was also adapted into an acclaimed 1999 film – it tells the story of a con artist who swindles his way into the high life by befriending wealthy socialite Dickie Greenleaf.

The show boasts a star-studded cast and a plot with plenty of hairpin twists and turns – as well as being shot in classy black and white. Here’s our breakdown of who’s playing whom...

Andrew Scott as Thomas "Tom" Ripley

Andrew Scott plays the talented Mr Ripley of the show’s title. A small-time confidence trickster who’s struggling to make ends meet in New York City, Ripley’s luck turns when he’s approached by businessman Herbert Greenleaf.

Greenleaf’s son Dickie has fled to Italy to avoid joining the family business and Ripley (who says he’s an acquaintance of Dickie) is charged with bringing him back. This doesn’t go entirely to plan, and Ripley soon yearns for Dickie’s lifestyle.

Scott himself is an established star on both sides of the Atlantic. Born in Dublin in 1976, he balanced school with weekend acting classes, and appeared in his first time role – in the film Korea – at the age of 17. He moved to London five years later and from there worked his way through a variety of smaller roles.

His breakthrough into the mainstream was as the villainous, scenery-chewing Jim Moriarty in the BBC’s Sherlock, opposite Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock Holmes in 2010. Ever since then he’s been a mainstay on our screens – as Fleabag’s Hot Priest, in Black Mirror, and most recently in romantic drama All Of Us Strangers opposite Paul Mescal.

Now, he’s in Ripley. "You don't play the opinions, the previous attitudes that people might have about Tom Ripley,” he’s said about the role. “I have to have the courage to create our own version and my own understanding of the character... It was a heavy part to play. I found it mentally and physically really hard.”

Johnny Flynn as Richard "Dickie" Greenleaf

The easy-going Dickie is the son of a shipping magnate and tremendously rich. He has also fled to Italy with the aim of avoiding family responsibilities – and Ripley is hired to bring him back home.

Flynn himself is both an actor and a singer-songwriter (he plays in a band, Johnny Flynn & The Sussex Wit). Born in 1983 in Johannesburg, he won a music scholarship first to Pilgrims School in Winchester and then to Bedales. He was one of Screen International’s Stars of Tomorrow in 2005, and broke through in Channel 4’s romcom series Love Sick as the main character, Dylan.

Since then, he’s appeared in films such as 2020’s Emma (in which he played Mr Knightley opposite Anya Taylor-Joy’s Emma) and as the young Nicholas Wynton in 2023 film One Life.

Dakota Fanning as Marge Sherwood

Marge is Dickie’s friend, who becomes romantically involved with him as their Italian holiday progresses. When Ripley appears on the scene, she quickly becomes suspicious of him.

Fanning has been acting since the age of five. Born in Georgia to a tennis player and a baseball player, she started off in small plays before appearing in NBC medical drama ER as a car accident victim with leukaemia. Two years later, she became the youngest ever person to be nominated for a SAG Award for her work in 2001 film I Am Sam.

Over the years, she’s appeared in films including The Secret Life of Bees, War of the Worlds and even in the Twilight saga as vampire Jane.

Eliot Sumner as Eddie Miles

Eddie is Dickie’s close friend, who arrives in Italy shortly after Ripley does and stays at his Italian villa. The pair rapidly develop a strong disliking of each other.

Sumner is an English songwriter and actor. Born in Italy in 1990, they are the child of Sting and Trudie Styler and grew up on the family’s estate near Stonehenge. The family gave Sumner their first guitar at four or five, and they wrote their first song at 13, before signing a record deal with Island Records at the age of 17.

Their first band, I Blame Coco, released their debut album in 2010 (Coco was Sumner’s nickname growing up). Since then, they’ve also ventured into acting, most recently appearing in Guy Ritchie’s Netflix series The Gentlemen.

Maurizio Lombardi as Inspector Pietro Ravini

Not much is known about Lombardi’s character, but given his title, we can assume he’s part of the Italian police squad who set about investigating Ripley’s actions as the drama unfolds. No spoilers here, but things are set to get messy.

Lombardi himself is an Italian acting legend. Born in 1973, he decided to become an actor after reading The Count of Monte Cristo aged 14. Since then, he’s appeared in 2016 show The Young Pope with Jude Law, 2020’s The New Pope opposite John Malkovich and Italian crime series Monterossi.

Francesca Romana Bergamo as Ermelinda

Ermelinda is Dickie Greenleaf’s housekeeper and cook at his private home. In the book, this is in Mongibello (a made up town on the coast); the TV series hints at Rome.

Neapolitan actress Francesca Bergamo has, up until now, mainly appeared in Italian language shows. Educated at the San Carlo di Napoli theatre, her main roles have included films such as Il ricordo di una lacrima (2015), Ivan e il suo strano tempo (2013) and Il ballo dei pomodori (2016).

John Malkovich as TBC

What role will the multi-talented John Malkovich be playing? So far, it has been kept under wraps, but the addition of Malkovich – who himself has played Ripley in 2002’s Ripley’s Game – is sure to spice up the show. He almost requires no introduction, but we’ll give him one anyway: born in Illinois in 1953, he made his start in 1976 when he joined the Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago.

From there, he went on to appear in films such as Empire of the Sun (1987), Of Mice and Men (1992), Being John Malkovich (1999) and even the first Johnny English film in 2003. He’s dabbled in fashion (he set up his own fashion company, Mrs Mudd, in 2002) and has been an artistic muse (in 2014, photographer Sandro Muller released an exhibition of 35 iconic portraits of the actor).

Margherita Buy as TBC

Italian actress Margherita Buy has a career spanning decades. A native of Rome, she was born in 1962 and broke through in Duccio Tessari's Una grande storia d'amore (1986). She’s gone on to appear in numerous Italian-language films and TV shows – and is best known for Mia madre (2015), The Ignorant Fairies (2001) and Days and Clouds (2007).

Ripley airs on Netflix from April 4'

5 notes · View notes

curlyjohnlock · 7 months

Text

Here you are with a revised version of my fanfic - Confessio Mortalis - hoping I made it better 😅

Go give it some love 🥰

or visit my ao3 accout: curlyjohnlock

#john watson #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc #martin freeman #sherlockbbc #sherlock fandom #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock fanfic #fanfics #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #priests #john watson is a priest #sherlock x john #instatumblr

7 notes · View notes

wellofdean · 9 months

Link

Chapters: 21/? Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Summary: Dean Winchester hates everything except writing, and after five extremely unfortunate bestselling Vatican-approved Catholic erotica novels, he's starting to hate that. After a couple of lawsuits and one North American book tour, he stops for the summer in Absofuckinglutely Nowhere, Newfoundland on a 6-month visa to try and pump out a final book in the series, and try to find a little room to breathe.

Father Thursday, by contrast, doesn't hate anything; not even really God anymore.

****

Guys, this fic. I am OBSESSED.

It’s a WIP, but updating pretty regularly, and it’s really got everything: Dean and Cas are both recognisable as the Dean and Cas we all love in all their beautiful, well-intentioned but fucked up glory, but they are also totally convincing in the AU. and it’s really quite gentle, sweet and VERY sexy, and just about to ramp up into some truly satisfying, lovingly deployed slapping, and who needs that more than Dean?He positively ACHES to be slapped! Plus, what a hook! Vatican-approved priest porn novelist meets a sexy priest in BFE Canada? Yes, please!

It also does a really interesting and effective thing with canon in that all the crazy shit that happened when Sam and Dean were growing up happened, but Mary died in an accident, there is no Supernatural threat, and John was simply mentally ill, and seen from that perspective, the abuse Dean suffered as a child feels so much more real and inexcusable. And man... I cannot wait for more of Cas’s backstory!

It’s well-written, genuinely compelling so super sexy. Can’t recommend highly enough. Thanks, @mythopoetry! I seriously count the minutes until the next instalment.

#fic rec #benedictions #kalmialatifolia #Aw yes y'all #All the sexy priest Cas you never knew you needed in your life

9 notes · View notes

sherlylocked · 2 years

Text

#andrew scott #jim moriarty #moriarty #hot priest #sherlock holmes #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock #sherlock bbc #doctor strange

72 notes · View notes

apocalypseofvanities · 1 year

Text

the pope is dead commit as many sins as you want until there is a new one they don’t count until there’s a new one to keep count

#sometimes i say things #i don’t know what popes do #i am a former catholic but i did fail ccd #and bite the jesus bread (in my defence that’s how i thought it worked)#and this year i almost hit the priests car #pope death #the pope #pope benedict xvi #rome

19 notes · View notes

krist-420 · 1 year

Text

youtube

Priest and Exorcist Fr. Blount

Saint Benedict Medal

#Fr Blount Priest and Exorcist #saint benedict #power of St Benedict medal #true events #power against evil #modern day miracles #the power of prayer #the more you know #blessing #st benedict #Fr Blount #christian motivation #christianity #prayers

18 notes · View notes

daydreamtofiction · 9 months

Text

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 8: Penance

Contents | Part 7 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) "This was it. This was really happening."

Word Count: <4K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, religious imagery, explicit sexual content from the outset. Smut: penetrative sex/unprotected sex, (some)dirty talk, other things I’m sure but it’s 4am and I’m tired. Readers must be 18+

Kissing him now was different than before.

In the church it had been desperate, chaotic, a deliverance from lust that served neither of you well. This time, though, there was no rage; no fury in his touch, no aggravation in your chest.

Your mouths moved, deep and slow, luxuriating in the taste of one another without the fear of interruption. You weaved your hands into the back of his hair, the silky, damp locks slipping between your fingers. His lips parted against yours, a heavy breath escaping him as you tugged his head back gently, like a hot, satisfied sigh of relief. You wondered how long he'd been starving himself of this intimacy, how someone who kissed like this would ever have the strength to abstain.

His tongue swept into your mouth, so fluid yet dominant in its invasion. You revelled in the taste of him; the cigarette he'd smoked, the whiskey he'd drank at the party, the intoxicating warmth of his breath. This was the same tongue that spoke to god, that gave sermons in church and preached of chastity, now gliding against yours in a sinful union, inciting feelings within you that he'd so adamantly condemned.

You moaned softly against his lips, pressing your body harder against him. His damp clothes were cold now, making you shiver as the rainwater seeped through to your chest. Your nipples began to harden in response, sending jolts of prickly pleasure to your core with every brush against them.

His hands skimmed up your back, the sensitivity of his touch lost against the thick material of your jumper. You wanted him to delve beneath it, craved the warmth of his large palms splayed across your flesh. But his movements were unhurried, and you weren't sure if it was out of reverence or doubt. But then he rolled his hips beneath you, pressing a straining erection up against your centre, and it definitely didn't feel like doubt.

There was a part of you that was surprised to find him so hard, eager, aching to break out of his confines and sink between your legs. But the other part of you knew; from the moment you met him he seemed to know exactly how to burrow straight to the core of you. To delve beyond the awkwardly timed jokes and resigned disposition to the place where it all made sense. Where you made sense. It was like he belonged within the very depths of you, and he wanted to be there. You wanted him there. Mind and body.

The feeling was torturous; the friction, the pressure, the connection stifled by layers of clothing and his forbearing restraint.

"Touch me," you whispered against his lips.

"I am touching you."

"No, touch me." You reached back and gripped his wrists, attempting to guide him beneath the jumper.

He closed his eyes and let out a growling sigh. It made you halt, leaning back slightly to look into his eyes.

"Please don't hate me."

"Why would I hate you?" he replied.

"I don't know. You just seem... angry."

"I'm not angry, Ellis. I'm devastated." He moved his large hands to frame your face, thumbs on your cheeks, fingers curved around the back of your neck behind your ears. "You have... devastated me."

A breath caught softly in your throat, your voice barely audible as you muttered. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

He returned his mouth to yours and you gasped at the newfound fervour in his kiss. Sharp teeth nipped at your bottom lip, his tongue less gentle in its assault. He said you weren't really sorry, and perhaps that was true; a sorry person would have stopped him, spared him, absolved him of his sins before they burgeoned beyond forgivable. But instead you let him kiss and bite and lick at your parted lips, hummed in approval as he brought his hands to your bare thighs - fingertips bruising in their rough grasp - and bore down against the hard bulge beneath his trousers.

There was a fire deep in your core, flames licking and dancing as they swept through your body. Your skin puckered with heat, every touch searing, every kiss and ragged breath drawing the blaze closer to the surface. You had never wanted someone this desperately before, never been so aroused that you could feel it tingling in your scalp, surging in your stomach and pooling between your legs as your clit pulsated with need.

You dragged the jumper over your head, turning it inside out as you impatiently peeled it from your body and threw it to the ground beside the couch. For three years, no one had seen you naked except Alfie, and there was a comfort that came with that. He'd already acquainted himself with the curves and blemishes of your body, the parts you liked and didn't. He'd seen the scar from an old bellybutton piercing, traced his fingers over the stretch marks on your hips. You never had to fear exposing yourself to him. Most of the time you never even had to; his eagerness to shove inside you completely outweighing his desire to fully undress.

For weeks you'd opened your legs for him, closed your eyes as he clumsily thrust into your body and imagined Father Benedict there instead. You would sink into a world of steepled ceilings and stained glass, dark curls and white collars. But when it was over, you would open your eyes and be back in the house - Gina's house - with Alfie's satisfied smile gleaming down at you.

But this time, Father Benedict wasn't a fantasy, and those piercing blue eyes were actually there, trailing over you in silence. You suddenly became very aware that you'd revealed yourself to him; bare chest, uncovered stomach, dips and contours and textures and curves, parts of you that had belonged solely to someone else for the last three years. A shyness washed over you, the urge to wrap your arms around yourself and hide. But as his gaze raked over your body, hands gliding slowly up your sides, you stilled.

A heavy breath fell from his parted lips, the exhale rattling with a soft growl. "Forgive me, Father," he muttered, his voice so low it was barely audible.

You couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic, or if he really was speaking to God; begging for mercy before he'd even taken a bite of the forbidden fruit.

He leaned forward, placing a kiss on your collarbone as his fingers dug into your hips. Your head fell back instinctively, opening yourself up to him, eyes closing as the warmth of his tongue trailed up to your neck. A shiver ran through you like static, raising goosebumps and tightening your nipples into painful, hard pearls. He hadn't spoken directly to you, and yet somehow every insecurity you had began to melt, dripping from your centre in wet, hot desire.

You took his hair in fistfuls as he traipsed kisses down your chest, teeth grazing over the soft flesh of each breast before pausing suddenly. You opened your eyes and brought your head forward, looking down to find him leaning back to examine you curiously.

"Are these bruises?" he asked.

You glanced down at yourself; the motley of reds, purples and browns marring your breasts.

"Love bites," you replied quietly, simply.

He glared up at you, half-lidded, jaw sharp.

"Does it bother you?" you asked.

"The evidence of another man's mouth all over you?"

"So it does?"

He didn't respond, his silence confirming your suspicion.

"Why?" you whispered.

"Because I know he didn't deserve the privilege."

You felt his words spark the nerves in your clit, like the striking of a match. You rolled your hips slightly, trying to ease the sudden ache. "Are you saying you do?"

"No." His tone darkened as he looked up at you. "But I plan to earn it."

You didn't know what you were expecting him to say. But it definitely wasn't that. It made you wish you could see yourself through his eyes - a woman he had to earn. You leant forward and swept him into another kiss; so overcome with need and adulation, the feeling of being desired and appreciated almost as arousing as his lips on your bare skin. He returned your kiss, just for a moment, before bringing a hand to your face, gripping your cheeks between finger and thumb to peel you away.

"After tonight, no one will ever touch you again unless they're worthy of you," he said, his voice so quiet and serious, lips grazing yours as he spoke. "Will you promise me that?"

You nodded, as much as his grasp on your face would allow.

He eased his grip, seemingly satisfied with your response, and allowed you to melt into him again. You fumbled for the buttons on his shirt as you kissed him, popping them open one by one until you reached the collar. It seemed wrong for you to take it off. Even now as you sat straddling him, half naked and panting heavily, that strip of white plastic around his neck was like armour, an impenetrable shield, blasphemous to remove.

"Go ahead," he said quietly, as if sensing your apprehension. "It just snaps off."

"You don't want to do it yourself?"

He closed his eyes for a brief moment. "Just do it."

You pulled at it with shaking fingers but it didn't budge. With a slight huff you tried again, harder, hearing two quick pops, a heavy exhale from his lips. You slid it out, eyes fixed on his as you dropped it to the ground - his commitment relinquished, abandoned, discarded into the puddle of your jumper on the floor.

He undid the last few buttons himself before placing his hands around your waist, silently granting permission for you to peel the shirt back from his body and reveal the smooth, cold skin beneath it. You lay your palms on his chest, dragging them slowly down his torso as you admired the sight, the feel, how he expanded with every breath, tensed with the tickle of your fingers. Some parts of him were soft, tender, malleable beneath your touch. Others were hard and robust, broader than you expected them to be. This person wasn't a dream, wasn't a character or a myth. This was a man.

His throat bobbed with a deep swallow as you leant forward and placed a kiss on his chest, his hold on you tightening, body turning rigid beneath you. You trailed your lips up to his neck, revelling in the taste of him; salt and earth, soap and faded aftershave.

"Tell me about the fantasies," he whispered through a serrated breath.

"What do you mean?"

"I want to know what you pictured when you thought of me."

You paused before moving your mouth up to his jaw, kissing along the sharp edge, the slightest brush of stubble beginning to surface.

"I'll tell you what I was thinking about today in my office," he wagered.

You thought about it for a moment. "Okay. You first."

"I was thinking about you kneeling for communion at the altar." He turned his head, his deep, gravelly voice pouring straight into your ear. "With my cock down your throat."

You gasped gently as a rush of warmth flooded your core, making you roll your hips to ride the sudden, intense wave.

"You give sermons with that mouth, Father," you said softly, voice trembling despite your attempt to sound playful.

His hands glided up and down your back, nails grazing lightly over your goose-bumped flesh. "Now you."

"I never really thought of a specific scene. It's just... always you. But-" you cut yourself off, inhaling the words back into your lungs before they even had the chance to escape.

"But?"

You lifted your head to look at him. "One thing always stays the same."

"And that is?"

"You're never... Gentle."

He buckled beneath you, closing his eyes and letting his head fall against the back of the couch, a stifled groan resonating in the base of his throat. "Hot, fiery Hell," he growled, pushing himself up between your legs.

He felt big; his cock firm and straining as it surged against your sheathed entrance. You wanted to release it, hold it in your hands, run your tongue along every inch. You wanted to acquaint the curl of your fingers with its girth, stroke, grip, tease, watch it sink gradually inside you until there was nothing left of it. For the longest time, sex had been a chore; Alfie's penis a jabbing, graceless thing that prodded around but never truly satisfied. You'd forgotten what it was like to truly crave the intrusion, to feel yourself lubricated and ready before you'd even fully undressed.

He weaved a hand through you hair, wrenching you towards him and swallowing you in another heady, desperate kiss. The other hand slid beneath the rumpled fabric of your boxers, tracing his fingers back and forth over the crease where thigh met hip. You willed him to move further inward, mewling with every almost-touch until the sensation became unbearable. You'd waited so long for this; sat through so many sermons, suffered the ache of uncomfortable pews and unsafe bus rides, the suspicious glare of church volunteers and the boredom of those fucking support groups. It was time to embrace where it had led you to.

You were his penance, but he was your reward.

You reached down and began working to unfasten his trousers, battling with the complicated fly until it finally opened. He came undone with it, breathing a hot sigh into your mouth as you stroked and caressed him through his underwear. He steered his fingers over the junction of your bikini line and you gasped as they slipped easily through your wet folds, gliding back and forth before settling on your clit.

He gave a proud hum as he rolled the pad of his thumb over the tender bud, rousing a storm in your core; sparks of lightning and deep, undulating thunder. You moaned softly, grip tightening around the outline of his rigid length. A shiver rippled through you, making your legs shake, hips bucking involuntarily and pushing you harder against his touch.

Maintaining the pressure on your clit, he moved his other hand to the waistband of your boxers - his boxers, now drenched in the evidence of your desire - silently instructing you to take them off. But you didn't want to leave him, even for a moment. Scared that your brief separation would bring him clarity, grant him just enough time to change his mind. You pressed your forehead to his as you lingered there, staring down into his eyes and searching for doubt in the flecks of his irises.

He removed his hands from you completely - the loss of contact turning the pleasure to a heavy, mournful ache - and tugged at the crumpled material around your waist.

"Ellis," he growled.

You gave in and climbed off him, the weight of your movements inciting a stifled groan in his chest. And in the time it took the boxers to fall to the ground, you were back on his lap, bare pussy grinding against the rough fabric of his trousers; buttons and open fly, the Y-shaped seam of his underwear and confined curve of his cock.

Was God here right now? Spying from the corner of the room like some omniscient voyeur? You'd never been one for exhibitionism. But there was a strange power that came with the thought of your naked body shrouded in a celestial gaze, deities forced to watch but unable to intervene.

You felt Father Benedict shift a hand beneath you, shucking his trousers further down his hips and fisting at his underwear. His cock sprung free against your ass, firm and heavy as it settle along the groove between your cheeks. Your breath turned shallow at the mere thought of having him inside you, a deep shiver rippling through your core like a prophecy of that first thrust.

You lifted yourself slightly, enough for him to reach down and grip the base of his cock, gliding the engorged head through the slick between your legs. He was eager, impatient - maybe he was scared of changing his mind too.

"Are you sure about this?" you whispered, shivering as you felt him prodding against your entrance.

His gaze darkened, like a crisp blue sky in the onset of a storm, and in one smooth, firm slide, he entered you. A sound poured out of you that you'd never heard yourself make before; shock, relief, pleasure, all at once. You marvelled at the stretching sensation, the way your body welcomed every inch of his cock with such ease, your inner walls flexing and moulding around the thick veins and hard ridges as it filled you to the very depths.

His eyes clamped shut, the muscle in his jaw pulsating as he fought to maintain his composure. "I haven't been sure about anything since the moment I met you," he finally replied.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to the dimple at the corner of his mouth, trying to soothe the tension he was storing there. You draped your arms around his shoulders and let your chest fall against his, running your fingers through the back of his hair, the curls that fell over the nape of his neck.

This was it. This was really happening.

For the longest time you'd felt incomplete; a collection of empty spaces and uncharted lands, voids too deep and complex for anyone to explore, even you. But in the short time you'd known Father Benedict, he'd somehow managed to journey to the very centre of those places, laid down roots and watched them flourish, as swift and besieging as English ivy on fractured stone. Perhaps that was why this felt so right; because the hollows of your body were already his to pervade.

He was bigger than Alfie; thicker, longer, the snug fit stealing the air from your lungs as you relaxed against him. No man had ever filled you this completely; flooding your pelvis with a warm, tense pressure before he'd even moved a muscle. You rolled your hips, testing the feel of him, and gasped quietly as electricity surged through your belly.

A deep, husky groan dripped into your ear, long fingers and large palms skimming up your thighs and settling on your waist with a clawing grasp. His voice sent a chill across your skin, even the finest hairs bristling in response.

"Ellis," he rumbled. "I'm really trying not to lose my composure."

You kissed him softly, allowing another slow, controlled rotation. His voice rattled in the back of his throat, nails pressing half-moons into the dips of your waist. There was something charming in his restraint; how even in this moment, with his cock buried inside you, he was still trying to maintain his civility.

You tightened your hold on his hair, deepening the connection until you were nothing but a blur of sweeping tongues and hot, heavy breaths. His body trembled beneath you as you gradually began to move, hips grinding and rotating to the rhythm of your kisses, punctuating each slide of his length with a soft, desperate whimper.

A divine friction resonated in your core; his cock a rigid, firm stave, your pussy a soft, pliant sheath, moving together in both harmony and dissonance, like the trill of a choir. With every upstroke, your nipples grazed his open shirt, and when you bore down, an electric current hummed in your clit.

"Fuck." The word stuck between your teeth before escaping in a sigh.

His hands caressed your back, the wide span of his fingers leaving no part of you untouched; squeezing, prodding, tickling, each stroke perfectly in tune with the motion of your hips. You rested your forehead in the crook of his neck, the feeling of his collar against your cheek making you realise he hadn't undressed. Not really. You'd stripped bare for him, offered your unclad body like a tribute for him to bask in. You were a creature of desire, his Mary Magdalene, completely devoted to serve.

You felt your thighs growing tired, sore and shaking, a heavy burn smouldering in your muscles. You relaxed your pace, dropping your full weight into his lap as you slowed your movements to a lazy grind. The new sensation made you moan softly against his skin, savouring the longer, deeper slides, the crown of his cock sinking right down to your soul.

His head fell back, a swallow thrumming down his throat. "My god," he groaned.

A smile pulled at your cheeks, the lord's name in vain so delicious whenever it came from him. And this one was your fault; your body guiding him to commit sin after glorious sin. You placed a kiss on his neck, seizing a moment of boldness by taking the skin into your mouth and drawing a bruise to the surface.

You half expected him to push you away, chastise you for marking him in a place he'd struggle to hide. But instead you felt his arms flex around you, thighs tensing as he moved to plant his feet firmly on the ground. A jolt of spine-tingling pleasure burst through you as he thrust to meet the languid roll of your hips, turning what was supposed to be a smooth, relaxed gyration into a hard, forceful collision. Your mouth fell open, a dazed cry falling from your parted lips.

He growled softly in response, his control waning.

Your pussy tensed around his cock as he slammed into you again, every ridge and groove of your inner walls melding to embrace him. He brought a hand to your face, drawing you into another fevered, hungry kiss. You obliged obediently, as though you were his to use, a disciple eager to please.

You hummed and groaned against his lips with every pump of his cock, the couch creaking beneath the weight of your union, his hand welded to the back of your head, the other on your backside directing your movements. He was driving you towards completion, filling you with a heat and pressure that grew stronger with every stroke. The feeling continued to swell, expanding deep in your stomach until it was dancing along your nerves; setting you alight.

You'd gotten used to not finishing. Alfie's premature climaxes so normalised that you no longer even protested the stuttering hips and garbled moans. Men came. Sometimes you did too, usually alone with your fingers after they rolled off you and went to sleep. But even in the times you did orgasm, it never felt like this.

Your entire body shuddered, cells exploding and stitching themselves back together again. There was a throbbing in your clit, an ache in your core, the brushing of his cock inside you so sensitive you could no longer tell the difference between pleasure and pain.

He kept your head up with his hand, forcing you to look at him as you rode out every last wave, the aftershocks causing your walls to clench around his cock, coaxing him to his own release. He came soon after with a deep, guttural groan, sinking right down to the root as he flooded you with his seed.

You sat breathless on his lap, still joined to him as he began to soften inside you, his eyes so dark it was like staring into the night sky. If this really was what damnation looked like, then you would happily burn for an eternity.

*If you would like to be tagged in the next chapter, please leave a comment below, or feel free to add yourself to the list here

208 notes · View notes