#priest x fleabag

[kiekiecarrera]

multifandom meme > [15/15] ships - fleabag x hot priest (fleabag)

I love you. It'll pass.

[achillieus]

modern dating is embarrassing i want to meet someone the old fashioned way (he’s the local hot priest who will question god because of me)

[bellamysgriffin]

It's God, isn't it? Yeah.

[siobhans-roy]

It’s not fact. It’s poetry, it’s moral code. It’s for interpretation to help us work out God’s plan for us.

[dubblebubbleibuprofen]

It’s God, isn’t it?

[outlawinthisworld1117]

Perhaps in another life | Fleabag AU

☆ pairing: priest!Yunho x fleabag!(fem)reader

☆ genre: Angst, Smut, there is some light fluff as well because I genuinely cannot resist writing it in everything I do.

☆ summary: It's just a Fleabag au... I don't really know what to say here. Yunho is the Priest and you are Fleabag…

☆ warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! Religious themes, fingering, oral (f), Praise kink?, edging, vaginal sex, protected sex, aftercare (idk if I need to put a warning for that? but I've seen other ppl do it before so...), pet names (Angel, baby, good girl), Priest kink??, reader does call him Father sometimes, requited love that can't be pursued... ouchie.

☆ word count: 3.8k

☆ authors note: I heard that Yunho is (most likely) Catholic and my religious trauma manifests in interesting ways >:). This work is fiction and purely self-indulgent (really as all fanfics should be), it doesn’t reflect any of the members personally. The fourth wall break text is highlighted in red!

You weren’t good at love, never had been, and probably never would be. But it wouldn’t stop you from trying because he was all you could think about. Day and Night. Always on your mind. You met him at a family dinner you were unwillingly dragged to. Jeong Yunho. Pretty name. He was the only one that asked about you the entire night. No one ever cared to ask about you, but he did. How could you not form an attachment? You ran into him again while on your way home from work. You were able to see him better in the sunlight. Beautiful smile, really tall, kind eyes… his hands. Oh, Lord. His hands were gorgeous, and his neck was so— Shit… He was wearing a clerical collar. Fuck. He was Father Yunho. 

He’s a priest. I want to fuck a priest…

That didn’t stop you from seeing him though, nor thinking about him the way you did. How could it? Religious trauma manifested in strange ways. You would visit him at his church. He always welcomed you with a smile, and you would talk for hours. Sometimes about God, you weren’t religious and probably never would be, but sometimes he would ask about you. How you were doing. What your job was. How long you’ve lived here. Where you grew up. Your favorite color. The movies you enjoyed most. Your ex-boyfriends. Your future plans. What you ate for breakfast. He was so curious about everything you had to say. Shit. This was dangerous. You didn’t care though. You would ask about him and the more you learned the more you felt yourself falling for him. Your conversations started to become more intimate. Oh fuck. You were so attracted to him and you could tell he felt the same way about you.

How you ask? Well, it’s simple. Let me recall what happened yesterday, shall I?

“I’d better get going Father, lot’s of stuff to do today—”

He grinned, “Oh fuck you calling me Father like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it”

That’s how… 

And we made out in the confessional box right after.

You felt sick. Nauseous. Your head was pounding.

I really shouldn’t have gone out last night.

Or maybe your headache wasn’t from the ridiculous amount of alcohol you consumed, but instead, of each thought about him that consumed your very being. You didn’t know. What you did know was that if your bus didn’t show up in the next couple of minutes you were probably going to throw up all over the bench you were sitting on. Putting your head in your hands helped distract you from the throbbing against your skull. Though it couldn’t help you with what would happen next. Taking a deep, mind-clearing breath, you lifted your head up from your hands and there he was. Sitting right beside you. Like a damn apparition, waiting to jump scare you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!—” He waved his large hands expressively.

“How long have you been—”

“Literally like two seconds,” He clarified quickly.

You exhaled, what felt like your entire soul, out, “W-why? What are you doing here?”

He smiled at you. It always made you feel weak. Such a beautiful smile, but it was quickly replaced with a pursed frown. His eyes became serious as he stared into yours. Then at your lips. Lingering for a moment before going back to your eyes.

“I don’t think you should come by the church anymore. Actually, I don’t just think… this is me pleading with you to not come by anymore.”

You just stared at him, unable to breathe, your chest felt so tight.

“And I mean that with the greatest of compliments,” he gushed before he got up and left. Just like that. He was gone as quickly as he had arrived.

What. the. fuck…

Regardless of his intent, it didn’t matter if you never went to that church again because you would still see him. At your house. Later that night. Knocking on your door like his life depended on it. So when you opened it up for him, he rushed in looking frantic. Pacing back and forth in your living room before sitting down on your couch, imploring you to do the same. So you did. He wasted no time to speak.

“I’ve sacrificed a lot for this life— I…” His words faltered, unsure of what to even say or why he came to your house in the first place.

You seemed to understand why he was there though. Nodding you took his hand, squeezing it gently in hopes that it would provide him some shred of comfort.

He took a relaxed breath, staring at the floor for a long time before he spoke again, “I shouldn’t have done what I did yesterday. I have to make sacrifices, yet I chose to be selfish. You…. You make me want to be selfish more than anything.”

You didn’t even realize he had moved until you felt his breath tickling your face. He was so close to you. Staring into your eyes, searching, begging, praying that he would find an answer he so desperately craved.

“It’s okay to be selfish, Father,” You whispered, “You’re not going to burst into flames. It  just makes you human.”

His palm was on your cheek, caressing it as he moved just a little bit closer to you. His breath seemed strained, building up to being labored. You had no idea the effect you had upon him, “I know. But… I can’t. I can’t allow myself to be selfish with you.”

Oh my god. We’re going to fuck.

“Why not allow yourself to, Father?”

He’s totally going to fuck me right here.

“I cannot be intimate with you—”

Oh, yes, yes he can.

“— oh for FUCKS SAKE. What is that?” He leaned back from you, his hand moved from your face to your thigh as his eyes were once again searching yours.

“What is what?”

His hand is…

“THAT! Right there. Where do you go when you do that?” His eyes were locked in on you, with extreme clarity, like he could effortlessly read the inner workings of your soul.

“I— I was just thinking…” You whispered, overwhelmed by his detailed observation. No one had ever noticed you like he did. No one. It made you feel hot.

“What are you thinking, Angel?” He pleaded sweetly as if he didn’t just shock your entire being.

Angel…

You stayed quiet, feeling exposed in front of him, worried that he could read your thoughts. He started to rub along your thigh, stilling before he spoke with a deep husky tone, “We’re going to have sex, aren’t we?”

You nodded slowly, “Yeah…”

That was all he needed before moving his other hand to cup your face, quickly closing the gap between you as he ardently placed his lips upon yours. He started slow, mapping out your lips with his. He was so observant, noting every touch, taste, and feeling with small, curious movements. Warmth blossomed in your chest, he made you feel so wanted and cared for. He always made you feel this way. And then, as if he was suffocating and you were his oxygen, he began kissing you fervently. Pouring every ounce of selfishness he could into this act like he would never get to do it again. You carded your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, never wanting to let go of him out of fear he would slip away forever. Begging to be let in, he pressed his tongue lightly, and you gladly obliged, parting your lips like they were the Red Sea. He tasted of red wine and he always smelled so good. Like a room full of unscented candles that were just blown out. Smokey and sensual. It turned the warmth in your chest into a burning desire. You couldn’t help the sounds you were letting out as his hands explored over your body. His dexterous, long fingers traced along you, memorizing how you felt beneath him.

“Do you know what you do to me, Angel?” He moved your position so that you were lying down, his weight pressing on top of you, enveloping your senses completely. You could feel what he meant on your hip. Oh; And his pants were restraining him. A lot. Oh, Jesus… Hallelujah.

“Yunho…” You breathed lightly, aching for more of him. To which he understood, perfectly, like he always did.

You wrapped your legs around his waist when he picked you up from the couch. Easily. His arms never letting go of your ass on the way to your room. He groaned at the friction he was getting from you as he walked. Once he set you down he began loosening his collar. You watched tantalizingly as he began to slowly unbutton his shirt. He was so beautiful, his chest was lean and sculpted, like a marble statue. You whined when his shirt slipped off completely, feeling embarrassed from the noise that escaped your lips. He grinned at you as he moved forward, causing you to lay flat against your bed. His long fingers teased at the hem of your shirt before he pulled it over your head. His breath hitched when he saw your bra. A black, lacy one you bought recently in the hopes he would be seeing it. 

Dreams do come true.

“Stop that. I want you present here with me,” He begged, tipping your chin so you were looking at him again, as his lips attached to your neck in a feverish haste. Nipping and licking along you like you were a sweet treat he was enjoying for the first time after Lent. Small moans escaped his lips, causing heat to shoot to your core. He moved down from your neck to the mounds of your breasts, kissing lightly while his hand explored your inner thigh. Every small movement made the warmth inside you grow. Snaking his fingers up to the button on your pants he undid it quickly, expertly removing your pants and tossing them to the side with the rest of the discarded clothing. Your panties matched the bra, earning a small hiss from him that shot a thrill through you.

“You’re quite good at this Father. Like you’ve done it before?” You teased him. His eyes were dark and needy, admiring you lying beneath him as he towered above you. The dark patch from your core caught his attention, hitching his breath. He looked different from his normal self. Hungry. Possessive. Almost like a demon had taken over. An incubus of a man before you.

“I had a life before the church, Angel,” Was all he avowed before kneeling down to worship you. Sliding his fingers under the waistband, he grabbed the edge of your panties with his teeth, and slowly… pulled… them… off. The act made you arch your back and let out a gasp; It was singlehandedly the most toe-curling thing you had ever witnessed. He trailed kisses along your leg, starting at your ankle and moving up. Feathery kisses on your calf. Light ones at your knee. Nibbling on your thigh, and ending up between them, where you needed him most. Your breath had become ragged, matching his. He shuddered when he looked at your core, pulsating around nothing.

“Oh fuck… look at how wet you are for me,” He whimpered, gathering your arousal on his fingers, and showing it to you. You moaned at the sensation of him touching your folds. He sinfully grinned at your reaction before latching on to you with his mouth, swiping his tongue along you salaciously. It ignited a fire with you. Each lick felt like a pleasure you had never experienced before. You were more turned on than you had ever been in your entire life and it was all because of him. His touch made your skin feel like it was on fire in the best way.

“Please— I,” Moaning out, unable to express how he made you feel. You could feel a familiar coil building within you, his ministrations against you were heavenly, “Yun, that feels so good.”

He slipped in one long finger, curving it up, immediately finding your g-spot. He was so fucking good at this. It shocked you. A celibate man who still had all this expert knowledge years later. God, what couldn’t he do? The spring inside you was close to snapping, and he grinned against you, “You gonna cum, Angel?”

“Y-Yes I’m gonna—” He pulled away from you, leaving you right on the edge of bliss. Release escaped you and you cried out, “No, no…Please, Yunho, please.”

You grabbed him gently, but franticly, by his hair, trying to put him back. He just chuckled, the vibrations of his voice buzzed through you, “What’s the rush baby? You’ve waited a long time for this. I’d like to make it last.”

He crawled up to you so that your faces were parallel once again. Kissing you softly, you could taste yourself on him, which made you shiver. Arching your back, he took the opportunity to take off your bra swiftly. He looked at you with heavy-lidded eyes, breathing you in, and then commanding, “Take them off.”

So you did. Unbuttoning his pants quickly so that he was free of them. You might just convert to Catholicism after this because you don’t know what you did to deserve that. He was perfect and painfully hard; there was precum already leaking from his pretty red tip. Experimentally, you reached out and wrapped your hand around him, and the sound that he let out… was pathetic. He screwed his eyes shut and whimpered into the crook of your neck, “FucK-uh! Angel… not yet. Please”

He hadn’t been touched in so long that he was afraid he would burst at the slightest stroke from you. It made you feel unbelievably powerful, so, teasingly, you did it again and he grabbed your wrist, “Behave. Don’t make me say that again.”

“Or what, Father?” You purred into his ear.

“Or I’m going to have to make you repent, Angel,” He glared at you lustfully. It shot a thrill through your entire being, “I’d chose your next words carefully…”

You stayed silent, not out of obedience, but because you didn’t know what to come back with. When you first met him you never would’ve expected him to be like this, but you weren’t going to complain. He grinned, thinking that you had learned your lesson, “Good girl.”

You could’ve come right then. Good girl? It’s like he was trying to kill you. You loved hearing him praise you and he caught onto it quickly. He trailed his fingers lightly up and down your inner thighs as he kissed along your jaw, it made you shudder.

“You’re going to keep being good for me now, okay?” He sighed, breath quivering. You nodded numbly, enjoying this unseen side of him.

“Yunho, please…” You begged him to do something, anything.

“Of course Angel, you’ve been so patient,” He kissed your forehead before he rubbed his fingers against your folds, teasing around your opening. You gasped when he pressed two digits in, all the way to the knuckle, he hissed, “Fuck… you’re so tight, baby. I’m going to have to stretch you out first.” 

He began to move them, curling into your sweet spot again, pumping in and out while his thumb found your clit; he could already feel your walls loosening around him. As he worked you down there, his lips attached to one of your nipples. It made you cry out. He licked and tugged at the swollen bud before moving to the other one, repeating his actions. The coil in your abdomen wound up quickly and you knew that he wouldn’t have to go much longer. Grasping at his back you took a second to look at him, his face was flushed, and his lips were red from kisses. He was so beautiful it made your heart hurt. Lazily he rubbed circles along your clit as he continued his movements, “Can you cum for me, Angel?”

His words sent you spiraling into ecstasy, your walls trembling around his fingers as he skillfully guided you through your orgasm. Waves of pure pleasure crashed over you, and for a fleeting moment, you could have sworn you glimpsed heaven itself. You took a moment, trembling and breathing heavily, to gather yourself. It was undeniably one of the best orgasms you had ever experienced. When you finally opened your eyes, he was positioned at your entrance, condom already on. His eyes found yours, like a prayer for your consent, to which you nodded in reply. He rubbed slowly along your folds, gathering slick before he steadily began to enter you. He was stretching you out way more than his fingers did, but it wasn't painful; you gasped as he finally bottomed out, “You take me so well, Angel. Are you alright?”

You nodded your head lazily, “More than alright, Yun.”

He kissed you, so lovingly, so sweetly, it made you blush. Every movement of his lips against yours was infused with a depth of emotion, while his hands lovingly caressed your face, his thumb softly brushing against your cheek. He obviously couldn’t say how he felt, but you knew. You knew unmistakably in that kiss. It brought tears to your eyes and, of course, he knew why they were there. You two just understood each other so well. He was inside you, and yet that was the most sacred, intimate thing he could have done. He delicately kissed away the tears on your face until they vanished, and then, tentatively he began to move.

Starting slow, he gently pulled out a bit at a time, allowing you to fully adjust to the movement. When he sensed that you were ready for more, the pace quickened. You clung to his back, as he withdrew to the tip and then thrust back into you. It was as if he was perfectly made for you, with every thrust meeting that sweet spot inside you over and over again. The heat in your core began to intensify, each whimper and moan from him sending waves of pleasure coursing through you, “FUck-ah! Mmm Angel, fuck you feel s-so good.”

“F-Father…” You tightened around him with each thrust, the room alive with the sounds of squelching and skin meeting skin, intertwined with the breathless whimpers from both of you. It left you feeling delightfully dizzy. He pressed his face into your neck, teasing, and nipping along it, leaving behind little marks that would greet him in the morning light, “God… Yunho, Please, more please.”

He was ramming into you at an ungodly pace with an intensity that felt almost divine, the coil inside you teetering on the brink of snapping once more. Attacking your neck with fervent nips and tantalizing licks that sent waves of pleasure humming through you. His movements began to grow frantic, his rhythm wavering as he neared the edge with you. Your second orgasm surged through you unexpectedly, his clumsy thrusts elongating the pleasure to new lengths. With a few erratic movements, he tensed in your embrace, a chorus of moans, whimpers, and whispered curses escaping his lips as he reached his peak. He relaxed in your arms, letting his full weight rest on you as you both came down from your highs, feeling the rhythm of each other’s heavy breaths intertwining in the stillness.

“I can’t believe you did that, Father,” You whispered, in a post-high clarity.

He chuckled against you, resting his chin on your chest, smiling as he looked up at you, “Yeah… me either.”

He tenderly kissed your cheek before pulling out and disposing of the condom. With a gentle smile, he got up and went to your bathroom, returning with a warm, wet rag to clean both you and himself with. After he was done he grinned, “Go use the bathroom, Angel, and then come back here, okay?”

You came back out from the bathroom wearing a comfy T-shirt and a fresh pair of underwear, and he was waiting on your bed, with his boxers back on. He looked absolutely adorable with his tousled hair and those sleepy, drowsy eyes. He pulled you back onto the bed, nestling close to you, awaiting blissful sleep to lull over you both.

His hair softly ticked you awake. He was wrapped around you like he had used you as a body pillow at some point during the night. You hadn’t slept that great in a while. Your stirring had woken him up. He inhaled deeply, holding you tightly for a moment before releasing you. A radiant smile lit up his face, and you could see the gears behind his eyes whirring with life.

“What are you thinking about?” You titled your head to capture his attention.

He just grinned at you, “I just… I don’t know what this feeling is.”

“Is it God or is it me?” You playfully joked.

“I don’t know,” The smile on his face wavering slightly, taking your question seriously into consideration. It made your heart drop a bit.

Your feet ached from a long, exhausting day at work. You were glad to finally be on your way home. Looking up at the bus stop schedule you saw that yours was about twenty minutes away.

Great…

You heard a sharp inhale next to you and a small chuckle, “Might be quicker if you walked, Angel.”

Yunho was sitting next to you at the bus stop, once again.

“Long time no see stranger,” You smirked.

He smiled at you warmly, but there was a look in his eyes that squashed your joking mood. He just dryly laughed and stared into your eyes for a good while. Those loving brown orbs of his were full of sincerity and anguish. You nodded slowly, a suffocating ache in your chest made itself present.

“It’s God… isn’t it?” You choked, the lump in your throat had become overwhelming.

“Yeah…” He sighed, taking hold of one of your hands in his.

You just let out a small laugh and smiled, tears welling into your eyes, making it hard to see him, “You know, the worst thing is that I fucking love you. I- I love you.”

“Angel—”

“No, no. Let’s not. Let’s just leave that out there for a moment okay?” You interrupted, the tears breaking free from your eyes to roll down your red cheeks, “I love you.”

He squeezed your hand, a warmth that provided little comfort to you now, before he whispered, “It’ll pass”

You bit at your lip, trying to prevent yourself from having a breakdown at the bus stop. So you plastered on a fake smile, choked back your tears, and nodded. You stayed like that, with your hand in his, for what felt like a fucking eternity, until he got up.

As he began to walk away he paused, turning to you one last time, confirming what you already knew, “I love you too.”

Fucking hell...

And then he was gone. Your bus was there, magically, and he was gone. Perhaps in another life, he wouldn't be. But this was the one you had.

a/n: This is my first time writing smut and posting it somewhere. So I am very open to feedback and constructive criticism. If you enjoyed please consider reblogging, it lets me know that I should continue writing <3

Masterlist

[doloriads]

Living In The Memory Of A Love That Never Was / Pining

Writer In The Dark / Lorde, Fleabag / 2x06, Hannibal, Unknown, War Of Foxes / Richard Siken, Yellowjackets / 1x01, Long Long Time / Linda Ronstadt

[nilla-bear]

[switchbladekillerqueen]

I wanted to write something creative here but literally forget everything when I look at this. My god.

[jazziejax]

IM LITERALLY FREAKING OUT RN!!!!!!! Why am I currently writing a whole series on priest Art & Patrick called Love Lies Beneathand look at these photos that just dropped. IM A PROPHET!!!!!!! I HAVE SIGHT, I SEE!!!!! totally not in a blasphemous way though, I don’t get down like that. THIS IS A SIGN THAT EVERYONE SHOIKD GO READ IT!!! I LOVE YOU ALL AND IM SO EXCITED!!!

[grocerystorelist]

the body of christ – matty healy

brash and rogue, you don't know what to do with how you feel about the new priest in town. so, you find yourself in the confessional booth... aka priest!au

minors dni. dom/sub undertones, oral fixation, oral sex, unprotected sex, the man hasn't kissed anyone in a decade let him live!! wc: 3.2k

The church is dark when you approach the confessional booth, the heels of your boots ringing out and echoing throughout the cavernous room. You wonder if he hears you. A single lamp is turned on next to the booth, yellow beams dancing across the shifting fabric. You can hear Matty shuffling around inside, the shiny tips of his shoes barely visible beneath the black hanging.

It’s been a week since he kissed you, all teeth and tongue on the bench outside of his apartment, an insistent hand burning a path around your waist.

“I’ve come to confess, Father.” You smirk to yourself, crossing your ankles and shifting on the wooden seat to sit on your hands. There’s something girlish about the way you’re sitting, and you remember when your parents used to make you frequent this very booth several years ago. Then your confessions were about swiping your best friend’s eyeshadow palette, worried hands picking at your bright blue nail polish as you pleaded for forgiveness from an elderly priest. Now, the darkness of the booth no longer scares you.

“I’ve been having all of these thoughts… fantasies, if you will.” You strain your ears to your left, hoping to hear a gasp, a reaction from Matty. “I think about him all the time, and I don’t know what to do because he just won’t let himself.” A low ache settles itself between your legs, and you know that he can hear your legs cross and uncross themselves as you try to relieve yourself. As you smooth your black skirt down your thighs, you finally hear a shaky breath through the tiny window.

“I wanted him right there on a bench a few nights ago but he stopped himself after kissing me.” Your mind flashes back to the witty back and forths of that night, dangerously toeing the line of inappropriate.

“It was dark and quiet and the only thing I could hear was his heart pounding against mine.” Your cunt throbs, filled with the image of you climbing on top of him on the bench. “I tried to get off when I got home, but nothing worked.” A beat.

“What did you do?” He breathes out. In disbelief, you manage to say through the haze, “I touched myself. I touched– I was so desperate for anything. “ The wood of the confessional booth creaks as you continue.

“I couldn’t stop thinking of him bending me over, the way his fingers looked wrapped around the bottle that night.” A thunk emanates from beside you, a groan resonating throughout the booth as you squirm. “I wanted his head between my thighs, I wanted to get down on my knees in front of that bench as he fucking ran his mouth.”

“Have you-” Matty starts, hesitating. You interject before he can continue. 

“I’ve never had anyone before.” You run your tongue over your bottom lip. “But I want him.”

“Stop.”

“What? Father-”

“Kneel.” You wait until he repeats himself, sliding off the bench and settling yourself on the floor. “Kneel.” Hands clasped, you close your eyes, waiting for his next directive. In the few moments of silence, your mind wanders before you ground yourself, feeling the grain of the wood through the knees of your tights.

Suddenly, the curtain is ripped open, velvet whipping inches away from your face. You blink through the spots in your eyes to adjust to the light filtering through the stained glass. Dust motes float in a haze around Matty’s head, and you swear you see a halo for a moment. Lips barely parted, his chin is tilted up, considering you as he looks down his nose.

His eyes bore through you, brown irises giving way to widening black pupils. You rise on your knees, breathing shallowly and staring up at him, waiting for him to cut through the thick soup of tension between you two. Matty’s hand rises and his eyes flick to it, as if he can’t believe he’s reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

The heat of his palm reaches you first, and you instinctively stretch to reach his hand, brushing your reddened cheek to his cool fingers. Matty’s fingers twitch away, only to return to your bottom lip, thumb collecting your sticky red lipgloss. He pushes in further and you take the chance to suck on his finger, gently tonguing at the intrusion. The rest of his fingers come to rest on your jaw, curling around the back of your neck.

He drops to the floor of the confessional and mirrors you on your knees, eyes scanning over your flushed face. Matty slowly pulls his thumb out of your now open mouth, where it joins the rest of his fingers on the side of your face, the glistening digit smearing spit over your cheekbone.

You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly his lips are on your lips, and you’re gasping wetly as his hand travels down to rest on your hip, pressing you into him. He kisses and kisses and kisses you, a decade of desire being unleashed in the span of a few seconds. You grip onto Matty’s black shirt, running one hand through the gel that holds his curls in place. Delight blooms in your mind, and you grin as you kiss him. A sharp tug has Matty moaning into your mouth, tongue running over your bottom lip before you let him in.

You let out a giggle, realizing you’re the first person he’s kissed in ten years if you don’t count all the hands he kisses in blessing. Matty pulls back, a questioning look on his face, and you take in the string of spit that stretches between your mouths, the rise and fall of his chest, the shadow of the veins on his forearms. Now that you have him, you want to devour him.

He asks first, though. Matty’s hands slide down the back of your skirt, toying with the hem and tracing circles on your sheer black tights.

“Let me taste you,” he tips your head up, pressing a firm kiss to your lips as your head spins. You nod emphatically as you pull away, getting to your feet to sit back on the bench of the confessional. Matty rises too, and you look up at him as he undoes the top button of his black shirt, yanking his white collar out of the lapel and discarding it behind him. It hits the wood of a faraway pew, echoing through the silence. 

All you hear is the blood in your ears as Matty gets back on the floor and hooks one hand underneath each knee to drag you to the edge of the bench. You feel your cunt throb with anticipation. He flips your skirt up, sucking in a breath at the visible lace of your underwear. Matty’s hands slide beneath the waistband of your skirt, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps as he fumbles for the elastic of your tights. He hasn’t looked up at you in a minute, transfixed by how the pale skin of his hands looks against the black of your tights.

You lift your hips to help Matty pull your tights off, his hands running reverently down you. They stop at your knees, grasping the meat of your thighs, digging in and pushing your legs apart to bare the damp red lace of your underwear.

“Did you wear this just for me?” Matty rasps out, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. You whimper your confession, hands falling behind you as you struggle to keep yourself upright, his kisses nearing the lace covering you. He licks at the fabric, contributing to the growing dark spot on the fabric between your legs. Your hips jump, and he presses down with a hand on your hip, silently telling you to stay in place.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. All wet for me.” His breath ghosts over you as he hooks his fingers on your underwear, slowly tugging down. “Is this what you looked like after I kissed you the other night?”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out before he pulls them off, balling them up and stuffing them in his pocket. Matty finds your clit with an assured finger, rubbing circles. He bites down into the flesh of your left thigh, tongue soon following to soothe over the spot. Through the daze of the headrush, you see purple blooming as he traces his tongue toward where his finger is focused.

He attaches his lips to your clit, sucking and lapping at it with the same fervor as he had kissed you earlier. Matty eats you like a man starved, like it’s water in a desert, like you’re the sweetest fruit and all he wants is to consume you.

“Matty-” you moan. He slips his tongue into you, nose bumping your clit as he traces your walls. You grind into his face as he brings one of your legs over his shoulder, pulling you closer to him. 

“So sweet making those sounds for me, love,” he says, withdrawing from your cunt to grin devilishly up at you. Matty’s hair is unruly and all over the place, chin glistening with you. He looks like he’s found heaven on his knees, and he brings a hand up to swipe your juices off his face. With a smirk, he brings the hand up to your lips, pushing two fingers in. You take them down to the knuckle, laving around them, and you see Matty reach for the front of his trousers, palming himself.

“Such a good girl for me,” Matty groans, pulling his fingers out of your mouth. “Going to make you come so hard you forget your name, your prayers” He reattaches his lips to your clit and brings his soaked fingers to your fluttering hole, slowly thrusting one in. 

The fire in your lower belly is rapidly building, the waves of pleasure reaching new heights as he carefully stretches you around another finger. “Matty, shit, fuck,” you whine, rolling your hips. He diligently laps at you, and the euphoria hits you, trembling on the bench. You feel yourself spasming around Matty’s tongue as he continues to lick you through the ecstasy, legs splayed out for him. 

Eventually, you push him away, bringing your thighs together and grinning dopily down to him. Matty is disheveled, his face covered in your juices. The hard line of his pants practically reaches out to you. I did that to him, you think, sticky and sweaty on the bench. Matty comes up to kiss you on the lips, peppering your face with soft devotion as he tugs your skirt down over the evidence of his worship.

The two of you sit together in silence for several minutes, the rise and fall of your chests perfectly synchronized.

“Good first?” Matty mumbles into your hair, playing and twisting your locks. You twist to look at him, an incredulous look on your face.

“You’re one to talk!” Your mouth drops open, laughing at the incredulity of his question. “You haven’t had sex in ten years.” Matty’s face drops momentarily before he runs his hand sheepishly through his hair.

“You’d probably never believe it, but back in the day I used to be quite a catch.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “That’s why they sent me to seminary. The girls couldn’t get enough of me.” You hide your face in his neck so he doesn’t see your reaction, eyes crinkling and mouth widening at the thought of a Matty your age being the talk of the town parties. 

Shaking your head, you stand up and push through the curtain, waiting for him to follow you. He emerges from the darkness of the booth like an angel, pushing back the sleeves of his shirt where they’ve started to fall down his forearms.

Matty presses a chaste kiss to your nose as his arms bracket you against the confessional. You tilt your head up to capture his lips, pulling him closer as he trails kisses down your neck. You let him for a moment before you slip out around him, spinning on your heel and smoothing your skirt down. Matty looks dangerous now, not understanding why you’re pulling him away from the booth — his eyes tell you he would take you right over a pew if you let him.

“The rectory,” you say, taking his hand in yours. Matty walks with purpose, his strides long, and you struggle to keep up with him.

“Can my poor girl walk after what I just gave her?” You roll your eyes at the endearment, focusing on putting one leg in front of the other. One wobble and you would answer his question, which you aren’t allowing tonight.

A few minutes later you lie on his soft white sheets, legs parted as you lazily slip your fingers through your folds. Matty stands at the corner of the bed as he pulls his dress shirt out of its tuck, nimble hands unbuttoning and sliding the garment from his shoulders. 

“Didn’t know priests could be so fit,” you giggle. “Is there a priest gym?” Matty throws his head back in a laugh.

“The dress code is cassocks, and it’s just rows and rows of priests on weight machines.” He jokes. “It’s practice for lifting babies out of water.” You pull a serious face, nodding solemnly. 

“I hope I’m not intruding on your priest gym time tonight.” Instead of riffing off you, Matty decides to lift you up, spinning to land you on his lap. The rough fabric of his pants zaps the nerves in your clit, and you unwittingly grind down, making contact with his length. The air in the room is charged once again, ions waiting to be aligned to carry the spark between you both.

In one move, Matty kisses you square on the mouth and rolls you over. He towers over you, eyes zeroing in on your dripping cunt. You grasp for his belt buckle, yanking it out of the loops and throwing it into a far corner. His hands replace your own as he tugs his pants down first, revealing his tight black boxers.

Your mouth waters at the sight, but your reaching hands are gently stopped as Matty breathes a question. “Condom?” He raises an eyebrow, and you frantically shake your head no. “On the pill,” you briefly explain. Matty’s eyes darken as he slides his boxers down. His cock slaps against his stomach, red and weeping.

He circles his hand around it, stroking and tugging. “You look like a wet dream,” Matty says reverently, sliding down the bed to position himself over you.

Your hand joins him on his cock, and together you guide him to your soaked entrance. He swipes through the mess, coating himself in your cum. Torturously slowly, he finally presses into you.

“So tight love, you feel so good.” You grasp at his forearms, fixating on the curl dangling from his forehead. Matty’s abs flex under your fingers as he slowly pushes into your cunt, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His pants throw a hot spear of need through you, and he stills as he bottoms out. He’s bigger than anything you could’ve imagined. Matty stills between your legs, the two of you suspended in a tableau of sacrilege. 

“Move, please,” you whisper, hugging him close as the pressure subsides into pleasure. Matty draws out slowly, and you feel every ridge dragging within you. Pleasure runs up your spine, and you whimper as words leave you, hoping he can tell you want, you need more. 

He slowly rocks back into you, hips setting an agonizing pace. You feel so hazy, and you have no idea how to make your mouth work and tell him to give it to you faster, harder. Your head lolls backward, eyes blurry with desire.

“Ask me,” he says, and you shake your head, not understanding. He reaches up to his own forehead, down where the two of you are connected, then to his left and right shoulders. 

“Oh-” you gasp, reaching up with both hands to take hold of Matty’s fist. You press a kiss to his knuckles.

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.” Matty moans, his thrusts finding a new vigor. He drills into your cunt, kissing spots in you that have stars exploding behind your eyes.

Bending down, Matty laves over your tits, sucking your left nipple into his mouth as he rubs at your clit. He rolls your nipple between his teeth, spit pooling on your chest. His mouth leaves your breast only to be replaced by a hand expertly tugging and twisting at your nipple. 

You spread the spit from your tits, pressing down on your lower belly at the hard bulge of him inside you. And shit – you feel him, tightening your body’s grip on his cock.

“Do you like that, love, me filling you up so well?” Matty groans, dragging his hand down, interlacing your fingers and covering your hand with his. He pushes down to feel his dick in you, watching himself thrust in and out as the head pokes at your belly.

You mewl, digging your heels into his lower back, letting him roll further into you, cock hitting places so deep in you you didn’t realize they existed. 

“Where do you want me?” Matty asks with a hoarse voice. You lock eyes with him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “In me.” He swallows the rest of your sentence with a kiss, tongue fucking into your mouth in time with the buck of his hips.

“Taking me so well,” his hips set a frantic pace. Your eyes roll back in your head, spots dancing across your vision. “Come for me, love.” You fight the sensation off, wanting to come with him. Matty’s hand burns circles around your clit as he thrusts mercilessly, filling you over and over. 

With the first clench of your walls around his cock he twitches, a low grunt slipping out of his mouth as he hoists your hip up with one hand and somehow hits deeper. You think you might die if you don’t come soon. Hurtling towards the edge, you light up on the inside as you convulse underneath Matty. Eventually, you topple over, arching up into his chest as his cock begins to pulse inside you.

Sticky warmth fills you, and he fucks you through the last waves of his own orgasm. “You’re fucking perfect,” he moans, one hand next to your head as his hips still. His cock softens in you, but neither of you makes any move to shift.

You smile blearily up at him, and he dips his head to press a sweaty kiss to your forehead. His bed suddenly seems all the more inviting, and you both nearly drift off before you start to feel your cum dripping out around him.

Matty shakes some sense in himself to get the both of you cleaned up, and you wince when he slips out of you. The sudden emptiness colors your vision as you clench around nothing. He pads back to the bed with a washcloth, gingerly wiping your folds of cum and throwing the square into his laundry. He slips on a pair of boxers before handing you a matching pair, tugging a faded navy shirt over your head and gathering your hair to pull through the neck.

You feel as if you’re about to burst from the tenderness as you gaze at Matty curled towards you, perfect mirrors of each other. 

“Stay,” he whispers, kissing you.

“I will.” You close your eyes, hands reaching out to intertwine with his.

[maybeinanotherworld]

if i had a nickel for every time i've audibly gasped upon hearing the words "it will pass" spoken during a breakup, i would have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it's happened twice

[notwiredforthisworld]

"i love you/it'll pass" and "i don't know what to do with it/with what?/all the love i have for her, i don't know where to put it now" and "don't make me an optimist, you'll ruin my life" and "love is awful, it's painful, it's frightening, it's all any of us want and it's hell when we get there, so no wonder it's something we don't want to do on our own" and "i want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far i think i've been getting it wrong" and "women are born with pain built in, we carry it within ourselves throughout our lives" and "i think you know how to love better than any of us, that's why you find it all so painful" and "people make mistakes, that's why they put rubbers at the end of pencils" and "don't make me hate you, loving you is painful enough" and

[farfromstrange]

I Want To Fuck A Priest | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

PART 6 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You have a thing for the priest you met at a farmer's market. Thankfully, he has a thing for you, too.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), porn without much plot, Priest!Matt, blasphemy (!!!), church setting, improper use of a priest's collar, improper use of a confessional booth, improper use of the act of confession, praise, prayer, oral afab!receiving, slight Dom!Matt, Catholic guilt, Fleabag reference, seriously if you are religious or triggered by the improper use of religion DO NOT read this!

Word Count: 2.8k

A/n: This is for those who watched Fleabag and then saw all the 'Imagine Matt as a priest' and 'Charlie Cox once played a Spanish priest' posts and thought, "Same!" when Fleabag said, "I want to fuck a priest." I see you, and I feel you. I wrote this after re-watching Fleabag one night, but I added a little poetic twist while editing because before, it was just completely plotless oral sex. While that isn't bad, I needed to add some vibes. You're welcome.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

The church bells ring as the clock strikes midnight. The night sky is void of dark clouds. In the darkness above the massive walls encasing the holy ground, the stars shine brighter than the city lights. New York City, the city that never sleeps, makes an exception for the house of God in the dead of the night, it seems.

It’s been…several years since my last confession. 

The graveyard attached to the church looks threatening in its vacancy. It’s void of human souls except for the dead ones buried there. A raven claps its wings in the distance, following the gush of wind that brushes through the trees. 

The bell rings twelve times before it stops, but the echo bounces off the stone walls and shakes the stained-glass windows, which seems to drag on for an eternity. 

The last time I confessed my sins was before my communion. I don’t know if that makes me a bad Catholic, but lately, I’ve been having sinful thoughts, and I need to get them out of the way before I collapse under the weight of them.

You considered for the longest time whether or not you should come here. Faith has been your enemy for the longest time. You don’t believe in the Catholic Church, and yet you have found your way here, in the middle of the night, when everyone should be asleep in their beds. 

This isn’t a normal night, by any means. You often lay awake at night and question your purpose in this life, but lately, you’ve been feeling like you’re drowning. Sins are subjective, and you never paid much mind to the term until now. 

The thoughts you find yourself having late at night when you’re awake and lonely are far from holy. They aren’t ideal. They make you wonder just why you are thinking this way now.

But no man has ever been like him. And the worst part about it is that wanting him alone is an unholy train of thought you should have never submitted to. 

You tried ignoring it, carrying it all by yourself, and trying to heal whatever complex you may have that could have led to this obsession in the first place, but your life has been a mess for long enough that it doesn’t even surprise you anymore, and no matter what you tried to do, you couldn’t stop fantasizing about him.

He is the reason you came to church tonight to confess your sins. But you’re not here to find your way. You’re not here to ask for guidance from God. You told yourself that the unholiness of your thoughts needs to be cured and that is why you came here—to make this situation better for yourself—but the thought is ancient; it’s the twenty-first century and you’re the kind of person who knows exactly what they want and how to get it. The truth is, you’re here to get what you want, even if it will land you in the pits of hell for all eternity. And even if it kills you.

“You don’t do this kind of thing often, do you?” the low voice asks from the other side of the confessional booth.

You shake your head. “Not at all, Father. When I went to Sunday Mass this weekend, it was my first time in a church in a very long time,” you admit to him, “and this is my first confession since I was a child. I…I’m not really a devoted Catholic, you understand. I’m merely struggling right now, and I…I am in desperate need of guidance.”

Your lip quivers. Your voice resembles a tidal wave that comes and goes as nature pleases.

He can’t see you. It’s not the curtain that is separating you and is starting to feel like worlds apart—he can’t see you. He can only hear and smell you, and that alone makes your thighs clench with need. 

Should you be doing this in a church? Should you fantasize about a man of God and want to claim him, coming to his sanctuary to tell him the truth and mess with his head? You know that it’s wrong, but the wrong thing often feels too right to stop. 

When you met him at the farmer’s market the other day, he was so endlessly kind to everyone, including yourself. He invited you to Sunday mass, and you went. You went on a walk with him afterward, and there seemed to be something there, but he couldn’t act on it because he is who he is and what he is. He made a vow. He can’t have you, no matter how badly he wants to, and one look into his unfocused hazel eyes when he took off those red glasses he always wears told you that he does want you. It led to another sleepless night among many, and now you’re here.

You’re so utterly selfish, but God, you can’t stop it. When you want something, you would do anything to get it. He makes you feel things you never felt before. It’s terrifying, but you have to allow yourself to jump into unknown waters if you want to learn how to swim.

He clears his throat, and you can hear the chair creak under his weight as he shifts. Is it possible that you’re doing the same to him that he is doing to you?

“I want to start by saying that you’re really brave,” he says. The sound of his voice is enough to make you shiver. “But God offers people guidance in a symbolic sense. I can take your confession, tell you how to repent for your sins, but I can’t tell you what to do.”

You sigh. “I wish you would though.”

A chuckle passes his lips. “Why don’t you start by telling me what’s weighing you down, sweetheart, and we will go from there?”

Sweetheart. 

Yes, you think, this is your one-way ticket to hell. 

“I’ve been having thoughts,” you confess.

“Thoughts?” he asks.

“Yes. Unholy thoughts.” Your breath comes in weak puffs of air. The booth seems to cave in on you. You wish he would step out of his booth into yours and stuff his cock into your mouth. For him, you would shut up. You would do whatever he tells you to do, and you would do so gladly.

Fuck. You want to fuck a priest. 

But lucky for you, Father Matthew wants to fuck you too. He’s here, at midnight, because you were lost and he was still there—he told you he spends his nights at church sometimes because the city gets too loud for him. You couldn’t go anywhere else because any place where he isn’t doesn’t seem worth visiting.

Matt sucks in a sharp breath. You imagine him swallowing, his white collar constricting his labored airflow. You imagine him pulling at it to free himself, but he can’t. Those sinfully thick fingers of his would feel even better on your skin. 

“Unholy thoughts,” Father Matthew asks, “about whom, sweetheart?”

He’s pushing your buttons with that nickname. It’s so not professional. The lines are starting to blur.

“A man,” you tell him. 

“A man?”

“A man of God.”

The confession causes a bout of silence. You could have heard a hairpin drop. 

His chair creaks again, and his voice reminds you of an animalistic growl right before an apex predator attacks its prey. “And what unholy thoughts have you been having about this man of God?” he inquires.

Your inner walls clench around thin air. Sweat drips down your temples, and the arousal soaks your underwear. Your nipples strain against your shirt. If you grip the seat any harder, you will soon find wooden chips under your nails.

You lick your lips. “I’ve been thinking about him touching me,” you whisper. “And I want to touch him.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“And in your thoughts, does he satisfy you?”

Your answer comes promptly, “Always.”

There is not a scenario in which Father Matthew could possibly leave you unsatisfied. 

The chair creaks again. Something in the air shifts. 

Your voice is breathless and needy, and so fucking desperate when you speak into the silence, “Just tell me what to do, Father.”

“Okay,” he says. His leather shoes drag across the floor of the booth and toward the curtain that marks the exit of his side. The next word out of his mouth knocks all the air out of your lungs, “Kneel.”

You don’t even have time to question his request. Within seconds, the curtain through which you’ve stepped into the confessional booth is torn to the side, and there he is, in all of his glory, right in front of you, and his thick cock is straining against his black slacks.

You pinch yourself, but you’re not dreaming. This is real. This is what you wanted, and you weren’t imagining the mutual attraction due to delusions. He does want you, and he is about to break every rule in his book—and the lord’s book.

You sink to your knees. The only thing you can see on his face is pure, unbridled lust and the ugly truth of Catholic guilt. He must loathe himself for wanting you. 

Matt removes his glasses, revealing his beautiful eyes to you. In the dim candlelight, they appear almost black.

“What’s my sentence, Father?” you ask.

His hand brushes your cheek. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“No.” He steps into the booth and closes the curtain behind him. “Tonight, call me Matt.”

That is the last thing he says before he gets on his knees before you, and he captures your lips in a bruising kiss that is strong enough to make the angels howl.

His hand rests around your throat, feeling your pulse. He may not be able to see you with his eyes, but the way he touches you paints a perfect picture of your presence, and you feel every last ounce of his devotion. 

He explores the depth of your mouth with his tongue, tasting you, loving you. His hands feel beautifully rough against your skin, just like you imagined they would be after years of praying. He sees himself as the hands of God. A messenger. His goodness makes your heart swell and your core flood with more than unbridled arousal—this is human nature in all its emotional glory, and you no longer feel ashamed. You can’t possibly when he is holding you like this.

He exhales into your mouth—no, he breathes life into your soul. “You’re the most sinful yet purest thing I have ever laid my hands on,” Matt says.

You gasp against his luscious lips. “I wouldn’t want to make you turn your back on God, or–”

He cuts you off, “I did that when I first thought about your body on mine and coming so deep inside of you that you’ll carry me with you for days. I don’t care about God because if having him means that I can’t have you,” he says, “I don’t want him anymore.”

You swallow his words with a kiss. Turning a priest against God was never your intention, but you are not in charge of his feelings, nor will you ever be. Matt wants you badly enough to abandon religion, and you will carry that with you until the day you die. 

He lifts you back onto the edge of the wooden chair, pulling at your clothes and your undergarments. The moonlight hits his face as the cold air of the church hits your bare pussy. He looks ethereal like this, on his knees for you. His hazel eyes bore into your soul. He wears his heart on his sleeves and a collar around his neck. 

Your priest crosses his chest. He asks God for forgiveness. And then, with one gentle tug at your thighs, he buries his face in your wet cunt, and he feasts as if your sex was the last supper. As God’s disciple, he is determined to eat up every last bite offered to him. Every last drop from your cunt is his, and your lips part in a moan that echoes through the church like the bells did when it hit midnight.

“Fuck,” you cry out. 

He flattens his tongue against you, licking a long stripe over and then through your folds. He twirls the tip of his tongue over your clit, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves with such precision, your walls clench at the sheer explosion of pleasure. You have never felt anything like it. He turns something unholy into heaven, and you’re drowning in the river to the Garden of Eden.

His lips suction around your clit. The obscene squelching of your velvety walls fills the booth. It sounds deadly noisy to you. You want to cover your mouth to stop the moans from traveling, but he traps your hand with his, guiding them to his hand, telling you to guide him.  

Instead, one of your hands moves to his collar. It’s his turn to moan. You tug at the symbol of his priesthood, forcing his tongue deeper into your hole. He laps up your juices as though his life depends on it. 

“Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned,” Matt murmurs against you. 

You moan again, louder this time. He is repenting for wanting to dive into your pussy until he gets swept away by the tide, but it is far too late to back out now. Your pleasure has become his priority. 

“Lord God,” he repeats, “in your goodness have mercy on me.”

The pleasure is turning into a tight knot in your lower abdomen. You can feel it consuming you and your senses. You’re floating. The light at the end of the tunnel is not so far out of reach anymore. Every suck and every lick at your folds, and every thrust of his tongue into your tight walls pushes you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

In your goodness, have mercy on me. 

He bites down lightly on your clit. Your toes curl, and his name comes out in a groan.

Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt. 

Right now, you are his God. By drinking your arousal like holy water and pushing you toward an orgasm he is repenting. The symbolism makes your heels dig into his back as you buck your hips against his mouth, and when he adds one of those thick fingers, curling them up against that sweet spot inside of you, you can barely stand it anymore.

Create me in a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.

“God, Matthew!” your moan interrupts his plea for penance only briefly.

He swats your thigh. “No blasphemy when I feast at the altar,” he says. The vibration of his voice adds to the knot, tightening it, and threatening it to burst.

You’re almost there. Almost…

“Have mercy on me, a sinner,” he continues. His tongue slides between your folds once again, gathering your slit. His fingers curl upward again. He’s mixing different prayers, or maybe these are his own words, but you are not sure how much longer you can hold it. But he wants you to hold it. You don’t want to disappoint the man who is worshiping at your feet, your pussy, his altar, and you are his salvation as much as you are his saving grace.

“In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good,” he prays, “I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things—but fuck, I don’t.” 

Does that mean he loves you? It is too soon to tell that, but he is devoted, and devotion can be just as sinfully sweet as the rawest feeling of love.

“Have mercy on me, God. Amen!”

His collar is starting to tear under your vice grip. 

Matt thrusts his digit into you until it disappears, and he finally decides to show the mercy he was begging for to you. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he says. 

Your thighs lock around his head as the knot breaks in two. You come, hard, and the wave tears him down with you, shooting his cum into his slacks like the good Catholic boy he is.

You let go of his collar when your orgasm has done its damage. 

“No,” he stops you. 

“No?” you ask, still breathless.

“No,” he says, lifting his head to grin at you, not like a man of God but the Devil himself. “I have not done nearly enough penance.”

As a priest, Matt is used to being on his knees until they’re bruised; until he can’t stand straight anymore, so he has to remain there, cowering before a God he more often than not does not believe in.

Before you can protest, he dives back into your endless ocean, and you have no choice but to lean back and take it. 

He is not the only one doing penance tonight, after all—you both are. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

[kiekiecarrera]

multifandom meme > [5/7] episodes - fleabag 2x01

Is there a reason you’re not drinking? He’s an alcoholic. Oh, fun! My parents are alcoholics!

[dubblebubbleibuprofen]

Sooooo I’m watching dr who…