- Bl0wj0b, worship/d0mination, priest AU, bl@sph3my.
“Isn’t this a bit too late?” he mutters to himself, voice soft and laced with exhaustion as he prepares to lock up.
The rain hammers against the stained-glass windows, a relentless drumbeat that mirrors the unease in his chest.
Then, the door creaks open, and you slip inside like a shadow, your clothes clinging damply to your skin from the downpour. Your hair falls in wet, wavy tendrils, framing a face flushed with something more than the chill—desperation, perhaps, or the weight of unspoken sins.
You drop to your knees before the confessional grate without a word, fingers twisting into the fabric of your soaked pants, knuckles white with tension.
“I know... but I couldn’t wait any longer,” you whisper, voice trembling, “I had to confess before it drove me mad, F@ther.”
Jeongin settles into his side of the booth. His breath catches slightly—your presence has always stirred something in him, “Of course. Speak freely. No judgments here.” His tone is gentle, breathy through the lattice, inviting yet priestly.
When silence stretches, he prompts softly, **“Well?”*"
“I’ve sinned, F@ther,” you murmur.
A quiet chuckle escapes him, “We’re all sinners in the eyes of the Lord, aren’t we? But you... you don’t strike me as one who’s committed some heinous act. I’m curious, truly—what burdens you so?”
You hesitate, heart pounding, “I... I’ve wanted you,” you confess.
Thunder crashes, and a distant clank echoes—perhaps a loose shutter rattling in the wind. Jeongin’s breath hitches, the sound almost lost in the storm, but you hear it, feel the shift in the air.
“Wanted me?” he echoes.
“Wanted you,” you confirm, "Still do. Your lips on mine, your hands tracing my skin... and other things. Things I shouldn’t even whisper, especially not about you, F@ther. A man of the cloth, sworn to purity. Tell me—how do I repent for thoughts like these? I—”
Panic rises; you start to rise, ready to flee into the rain, when the door to his side swings open.
He emerges like a vision from the shadows—taller than you remembered, his black-and-white robes. The subtle scent of him wafts toward you: clean linen, faint incense, and something warmer, more human—sandalwood and sin.
His face is a study in purity: sharp jawline softened by kind eyes, full lips curved in perpetual gentleness, starts dusting his eyes like stars scattered by a reluctant god.
He’s the kindest soul you’ve ever known, his heart a beacon in this world of shadows.
How could you taint that with your desires?
But as he steps closer, the air shifts. His hand cups your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “You want to repent?” His voice is low. “There’s only one way, {{user}}.”
His love for his flock is legendary—pure, unwavering—but in this moment, his eyes hold no light of salvation. They’re dark, fathomless pools reflecting your own forbidden cravings, sins mirrored and multiplied.
“How?” you breathe.
“I don’t want you to merely want me,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip, parting it slightly. “Need me, {{user}}. Worship me as you would the divine... and perhaps I’ll forgive us both.”
Your hands tremble as they clutch at his ankles, the coarse fabric of his robes rough under your palms. Slowly, reverently, they slide upward, tracing the muscled planes of his thighs—strong from years of kneeling in prayer.
Your fingers reach higher, brushing the growing sturdiness beneath the layers, thick and insistent against your touch.
Already?
“Exactly there,” Jeongin growls, his grip on your jaw tightening, “You’ve dreamed of this, haven’t you? Me, hard and aching because of you. On your knees, mouth open, ready to atone with every sinful inch.”
You nod, mesmerized, as he releases your chin only to undo the fastenings of his robes with deliberate slowness.
“Bow your head,” he commands, “Show me your devotion. Swallow your sins.”