Author's Note: This time instead of writing repeatedly with Timothy and the female reader as mere woman, I decided this time to switch the reader's protagonist into a nun! Moreover, this imagine is dedicated to my lovelies like sociopathsis, Celeste-Moore, k_aldxnx, Mallygirly, southernauthor and Trash_Bag_123! I hope you like and enjoy this imagine! 

Trigger Warning for 💀Explicitly Sexual Content, Blasphemy and Strong Language 💀

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The beginning of dedicating dearly your life to the spiritual hallowed peace and aiding the other wretched vagabonds, besides being Judy and Timothy's right hand in one of the most ill-famed, dilapidating mental hospitals of the small city of Massachusetts.

Despite your fragile age, full of refreshingly great opportunities to pamper yourself even bestow yourself either with a lesson that the life has docilely taught you after venturing a devilish mistake or on the contrary earning its prominently daring experience out of the ordinary sphere where the nobodies outnumbered the members of the clergy, after struggling with a tough childhood and adolescence even losing your family due to a vainly unspeakable sickness and your friends moving in the other part of the country as you had meager financial support to afford to behold them even once in awhile, subsequently you joined the church at age of eighteen. Officially reckoned as an young adult and no longer inhabiting the callow world of adolescence with an old soul and opting to support yourself financially in each sly way that was sufficiently legal.

Unlike the majority of your peers who were candidly agitated to plot their future with their own partners or at least primly believed, fleet soulmates about family and children even their future honeymoon voyages and so forth, your pearly authentic mission was saving wretched souls and purifying unceasingly your very essence.

In the first moment when you had interactions with the other devotional members of the clergy, they were solely evolving around the church initiatives you appeared to be sufficiently bashful to trade a couple of words with the other nuns who were just like you. As soon as you met Timothy Howard who genuinely shared two home lands and eagerly pursuing his rich career in the priesthood in the other part of the world, thanks to him you were arranged to work in the ill-famed, old madhouse as Sister Jude promoted your position to be as high as the other sisters of the church such as aiding the patients in the bakery, guiding them somehow to their cells or on the contrary take a promisingly decent care of the desperate, lifeless inmates.

Although your frequent interactions with inmates, your divinely compassionate side engulfed your altruism and tore off your heart on thousand of invincibly tiny glassy fragments, seething your void ribcage at the low-spiritedly bleak prospect of the loonies you have to inspect warily in the corner of your eagle-eyed, cunning eye. You truly could feel their sore pain and despondency exquisitely grotesque etching across your youthful, freshly nubile facial attributes. They weren't having any families or at least friends to mourn murderously over unpredictably inevitable demises that are approaching sooner or later. Nobody to sense the genuine notion of sheer loneliness and bare godforsaken desolation of the general population's crudely cold, enormous world nonetheless. They were like rented mortals labeled with variety of fatalistically grotesque nicknames or rather genesis of illnesses that are associated with their physical and mental conditions and eventually their fated homes for the rest of their days is a mental institution, well-known to imprison and opting to treat criminally insane who weren't on their feet even a few years after their stay and the staff members' lacking diligence and responsibility to cure their critically detrimental symptoms of their diagnose.

What was the crucial purpose of the life in their humble opinion? Nobody knows except God, himself. He was the celestial sacred lord supervising whole-heartedly each motion indicating its either deft or clumsy pace of the living being's action. All he wanted was everybody to accomplish their own happy ending, regardless the difficulty of the tribulations they have being through either for brief or long quantity of time.

In spite of the daily combats of every troubled soul to be granted with the daringly deserved felicity and harmony, sometimes their destiny's true colours illuminated brightly, however, sufficiently plain to glint the Judgemental's day final decision.

Every time you either traded mutually with the British compatriot even less than a minute colloquy, a delicately platonic, meaningfully kindhearted squeeze of your knotted hands as partners or otherwise any facial expression that cracked his unblemished parchment, youthfully handsome complexion with scintillating grimace, sunny radiance, childlike moodiness or the ordinary nonchalance broadly readable all across his facial attributes even additionally darting a guiltlessly seductive wink or flashing you a benevolently hospitable smile to dark your face into cherry hue, the meager restrictions of utterly controlling your impulses, vortex of thoughts and sweltering heat with the aftermaths of the art of seduction that was apt to be masterized effortlessly. Finding yourself head over heels in love with the ambitious Monsignor, the ocean of impure thoughts unceasingly contaminated infectiously your bedtime reverie where the protagonist of your erotical, insatiably wet dreams was Timothy, himself.

The very thought of his graciously feather-soft, naturally baby-pinkish lips pursuing utmostly daredevil yours to seal them with a steamily hardening kiss and pinching shut your eyelids to presentably molt into your desires and lust, besides the monstrously contagious claws of his mammoth, pristinely creamy hands grazing you from head to toes with his clumsily virginal, amorously sweet fingers fiddling restlessly dedicated to every silken inch of your naked flesh, teasingly admirable playing and fingering your mop of H/C strands curtaining exquisitely your full profile and mischievously vain, haughtily teasing and playing with erected, plum bundle of nerves even inserting a couple of fingers inside your virginal entrance and perpetually sinful thrusting in and out initially clumsy until the thrusts weren't deliciously quicker. Overwhelmedness blow-minding numbness engulfed you and your impure thoughts' explicitly unavoidable scenarios in a compact, dream world of yours where you and Timothy solely populated. Your rich fantasy to discover his hard crotch's size has always aroused your unimaginably ginormous enthusiasm even if it is solely contracting your abstinence to not drip sloppily its foully sleazy revelations or questions that were only rooming your dream scenarios instead of embarrassing the British compatriot even fooling him in the worst possible way.

In long time of a handful of years ranging your encounters with the aspiring Monsignor between rare and frequent, there were times when you weren't just separated, but travelling outside Boston to accomplish your holy missions and having troubling, hesitant nights between the bed and the couch since you're both incredibly dedicated to the miserably conservative cloth of chastity. The more you both encountered each other frequently, more megawattly intensified your relationship even caging inside both of you quizzically fluctuating romantic, lustful sentiments for each other.

In the wee hours of the evening shortly after the bakery wasn't amidst the only site of the grandiose, old madhouse's emptiness cozily to settle, further the common room was promptly shut down until the morning after, the patients were exceedingly emphatic conveyed back to their wards and inexorably escorted by security guards for extra good night sleep.

You have just finished your shift in the bakery and you decided to report your boss about your daily hectic schedule, remarkably persistent poured into fulfilling diligently your duties.

The dim lit abysmal, bleakly hair-rising corridor comfortingly devilish escorting you as your classy jet-black, elegantly feminine chunks headstrongly dully whispered against the concrete as you were manifesting your search to the imminent destination, in a long minute of your casual stroll up to the holy priest's office didn't cease to amaze you at all.

As soon as your figure adjusted beside the oak wood, polished door, thereafter you registered your elvish, creamy hand to fashion into a balled fist and timidly bold approach the wooden material furniture to rap on it a handful of times, keeping his wits about his recent uninvited guest to set foot inside his office.

"Holy shit!" Lowering rapidly low the decibels of his breathy, sinfully sensual moan into explicit mutter as his orthodoxy virginal, long fingers worked on teasing mischievously remorseless his bare, erected shaft, pinching widely startled smoky quartz bijous to land on the starkly leaked discarded pair of pitch-black, conveniently large-sized trousers on top of his cherry wood bureau accompanying his pair of copper-coloured eyeglasses, broadly spread pages of the Holy Bible and the milky beads of semen staining villainously the lily-white blanks brilliantly blended with pitch-black, elegantly classy ink etching the letters constructing every word, every sentence and every paragraph, uniquely spotlighting its own individual fragment. Sheepishly scintillating, hotly sanguine blush decorated authentically Timothy's well-carved, chubby cheeks and playfully tickling his face. A profuse layer of perspiration clinged loyally to his halo ringlet of short neatly trimmed chestnut strands and clamminess battering his palms and pads of his fingers. The vehement heart pulsations rabidly perky drummed incessantly into his muscular, toned chest. In the meanwhile, shamefacedly and running out of celestially precious time to clean the semen's beads on the sacred book, the holy priest emphatically retrieved the discarded slacks to cover his lower body promptly before your patience's tissues outwear eventually. You had sufficient patience even to spend a quarter of an hour until Timothy finishes an important phone call or another chaotic task.

"Are you gravely busy, Monsignor?" The iron-willed clash of syllables and vowels' artistical construction of your inquiry tingled alarming tones into the British aristocrat's vulnerable ears as he opted to not waste farther time with anything futile to not arouse your heinously unforgivable doubts and fathoming its assimilative cue with its real genesis of conveyed message to be interpreted with totally different context.

"Just a moment, Sister Y/N!" Lowly droning under your breath utterly relaxed, you managed to regenerate your sheer, humongous patience coursing through your bones and muscles, whereas seizing your cherub lips into a thoughtful, childlikely innocent purse.

In less than a minute of buttoning and working insistingly on the belt's buckle to fasten his abdomen lastly, subsequently he retrieved a plainly oyster-white, wet tissue to daub the cum's tiny beads abruptly and throwing it in a trash can, in order to remove any wee inkling of arousing the pungent scent of alabaster sperm to permeate across its impending visitors' flexible nostrils.

"Come in!" The honeyed-mouthed, invitingly command slipping sloppily from the older gentleman ushered your petite, smooth hand to perch on the door handle and afterwards press it categorically as the vista of your boss was open-mindedly embraced by your E/C rotund optics, alight by Timothy's reassuringly amicable, warm presence that even drenched your folds shortly after darting your very gaze to spear his cocksurely when you stepped inside his office at last. "Good evening, Y/N!" What it candidly astounded you was altering from formality into informality stance fiercely altering their roles since your platonic relationship positively progressed. Instead of formally professional addressing you with your revered ecclesiastical title that you solemnly wore, armoring your reputation and very character, cherry hue darkened your complexion.

"Good evening, Monsignor! I just wanted to check on you!" Your pure altruism and fiery enthusiasm greatly coalesced momentarily in cusp apt to tandem dominating your actual intentions, resurfacing starkly on your attributes. Meanwhile, when the door behind you was ultimately shut, subsequently the small bubble of privacy you were bountifully engulfed in seethed up its bright nuances of the ambience's tension.

"That's fairly nice of you! Don't be shy," Ushering you with a mammoth, orthodoxy veiny hand to maneuver you to participate ruthlessly temerarious into his company and maintaining dimly blood-curdlingly intimate proximity, the honeyed, British lilt diabolically tempting punctured his utmost caution, fetching its electrifyingly spine-chilling message jingling generously your vulnerable ears. Little did you know what were the older gentleman's real intentions with exception they oozed of restlessly benevolence and sacred altruism, welling into his figure and thudding into his cells and veins.

When you meekly managed to approach the British compatriot and seat on the hardwood, doubtlessly convenient chair to soothingly hospitable grant you with myriad of comfort as you manifested your back to recline against the chair's back, you lingered your ethereally everlasting ogle, imbibing diabolically each ounce portraying its artistically life-like discreet details of Timothy whose larger frame barley inched your smaller. An invitingly sympathetic smile radiantly, urgently adapted to his chapped mouth, thickly, marvelously slitting your ogle with his handsomeness and childlike radiance, whilst the headstrongly everlasting gearing function of his pools of abysmally fiery sincere, cordially poetic chocolate brown adorably persuaded you to not daredevil avert yours from his sooner or later.

"Monsignor, what are you actually doing?" Little did you know what was the genesis of the atmosphere's unexplainably cryptical, sensual tension suffocating the series of doldrum silences muffling the background noises and the inner voices mellifluously resonating your vortex of thoughts. The abrupt fermentation of your cherub, naturally rosy-coloured lips into a modestly subtle, girlishly shy smile deluging your delicate jaw line.

"It's not just Monsignor, rare bird," The tenderness of the silver-tongued amorous nickname friendly reminding you how uniquely one of a kind being you are eventually megawattly intensified the vast of butterflies flapping buoyantly their wings into your stomach and the balmy heat zapping the pit of your fragile stomach, the graciously outstanding memories of the nickname that was solely addressed to the Bostonian somehow sent tempest of stormy bewilderment waves to afflict your clashing thoughts. The haphazardness of Timothy's leant down upper body as his attractively soothingly coffee-stained breathing fanned your delicate earlobe seconds before his pale-pinkish, plumpish lips pursued iron-wiledly yours. Aggressively electrifying goosebumps profusely haughty pronged your epidermis and vaguely bristling beneath your rigidly wool, dark habit. "Just call me Timothy!" When you were officially permitted to address him informally with his actual name instead of his ecclesiastical title, purely unconditional paralysis weakened your muscles and bones, scarcely daring to peel a single word, nor to manipulate either shyly or courageously an individual muscle.

"But Timothy," Fortunately, cutting him off his mouth's scrumptiously dauntless process of sealing his apt to tandem yours, the series of uneven, coy stammers awkwardly breathy sailed out of your tongue tip as his facial expression flinched spontaneously. "We're devoted to the cloth! We can't seriously do anything against our and God's wills!"

"No matter if we are all alone or under God's fierce stare," Paradoxal paroxysm and sensually hedonistic shivers suffocated your spine tissues when the older man's securely dexterous, meaty fingers ushered to confront your dainty jaw's curve and subsequently gingerly tracing with his digits paired with fingertips nonetheless. "Keep in mind whom you do belong to! It's time for confession, Y/N!" While grappling gingery your chin with a handful of promisingly protective, smooth fingers, at the moment, he snatched violently your conservatively dark wool wimple which refinedly coiffed the unruly halo ringlet of strands gorgeously dazzling, beamingly framed your full profile until the wimple's discard established behind you and sensing bone-chilly, reassuringly relaxing his other hand's fingers softly fingering and twirling the stray, rebellious strands as he pressed an affectionate peck on top of your temple as you dedicatedly frank melted into the genuinely cordial, amorous gesture.

Although the unnaturally eccentric demeanor of the devotional clergyman terrifically flabbergasted you and attempting to adapt even naturally to the other side of his you've never had your brilliantly crystal chance to encounter, somehow your dreams finally attained and it was high time for the confessions to weigh off the scales of the absolute reality and your luxuriously voluptuous, unimaginable dreams analogy.

"Timothy, what's that strange smell of," The haphazardness of your perky, wet tongue elaborating obdurately the inquiry, whilst the pungent scent of semen nimbly palatably perfuse past your nose and has scarcely vanished. You could question the ethereally timeless the sinful deed the British aristocrat has performed individually in a demonically godforsaken, nevertheless, bone-chillingly calm and desired loneliness and the higher chances your thoughts to detect the deed equated to the onanism. "You know?" Lingering the fiercely fiery, sticky blush hypodermically nurturing your well-carved, chubby cheeks, meantime, the older man registered an inclination of his dark, thick eyebrow quizzically, attempting clumsily to obscure any wee hints of his obviousness to the aftermaths of his onanism even having meager time to get rid off the mess such as ventilating the air.

"I had some business." The ominously unbending clash of syllables and vowels fighting for domination to construct a logical explaination to the embarrassment you and Timothy recently deluged together tried to obscure the carnal pleasure he bestowed himself for very first time after being part of his life for a few years. "But Y/N, I can genuinely smell the impurity contaminating you."

"W-What do you mean with this?" The suddenness of his villainously dominative, authoritative segment of his very character brightly, painfully effortless leaked and his childish inquisitiveness, hungering for the brutal honesty and the sheer truth highlighted his charming, ghostly pale face.

"Tell me what your impure thoughts are!" In the meantime, the ambitious Monsignor lifted up his rear from the hardwood bureau and hunkered down past your reclined figure and grappling your fidgety, elvish hands into his larger, mellowly, secure hands knotting your brittle knuckles, whereas his honeyed, formidable admonition transmuted into a comforting whisper cradling your eardrums and his cinnamon brown minerals spearing incessantly yours. "I won't judge!" A soar lump seethed your feminine Adam's apple and elaborating a heavy sigh to scour your frail lungs, whereas the pure manipulation of his swan thumbs kneading on circles your fists reassuringly, encouragingly.

"Urm, I dream of you every night to crawl in my lonely bed wearing absolutely nothing and raining heavily rose petals,"

"Mhm!" Managing to bob his head solemnly emboldening conveyed its cue to you to grant its sequel of your unhallowed confession.

"I imagine our skins grinding and rubbing on each other in tandem and pressing your lips on mine and yearning for its eternity to endure while your large, cautiously smooth hands cradle my curves and skin." All of a sudden, in the middle of your outspoken confession composed in the form of series of bashfully demure, virginal stutters gauged your vast sheepishness and how your physical virginal purity vibrantly, painfully contrasted the opulently luster imagination of your fantasies, gearing up rowdy and grinding their tension recurringly. "And the intense thrusts and our skins mutually grinding and rotating our hips." Maneuvering your wet, strawberry-coloured tongue to twirl apt to moist your upper and bottom lip greedily luscious tugged broader the pious holy man's smugly sensual, resiliently bloodthirsty smirk at the corner of his mouth.

"Is that all part of your expansive, bloodily rich fantasy?"Meanwhile, the suddenness of the nimble motion of glided mammoth, masculinely veiny hands to claw your pelvis and hauling your weight out of the chair and criminally audaciously crooking your legs around his waist to stable the superb tandem gliding your bodies to articulate. A mellow, velvety gasp fantastically melded the waltz of your hitched breathing snorting and inhaling devilishly chastened the compound of oxygen, stringently sharp fragrance of semen and masculine alluring cologne. What it astonishingly overwhelmed you was the unimaginable physical strength coursing through the British compatriot's muscles and dexterous hands even if they're sweetly sugarcoated with clean virginal epitome and sheer, untouchable innocence. "Isn't that right, baby girl?" Fistful of cheerfully irrepressible strands bounced and synchronized the choir, dimly slapping your façade. The romantically affable, adorable nickname slugged demandingly your stomach with a frosty snake, crawling beneath your lower abdomen and teetering mischievously. You crooked your satin arms to secure his toned upper back.

"That's right!" Managing a childlikely meek, blameless nod of your head, thereafter Timothy blatantly pressed his naturally roseate, plumpish lips on yours that hysterically puffed its hitched breath, gingerly fanning his facial skin and sealing your figures apt to choir the tandem as your chests sealed and matched the hysterically euphoric heart pulsations, hammering in your breathy tissues. Meantime, you wrenched shut your eyelids to dedicatedly celestial molt into the hardening, steamy kiss and cooing blatantly hot moans and groans as the kiss progressed and your pristinely wet, berry-coloured tongues commenced dancing lively and dueling insistingly for domination until yours won and plugged eagerly inside his mouth, utmost deepening the kiss into French.

"I was also thinking similarly about you every night. You don't have any idea how insanely crazy you drive me!" In a long minute of discarding blatantly and slowly but surely the exchange of switching your roles to strip each garment until it was ruthlessly reckless tossed on the floor and the older gentleman settled your figure to perch on top of the hardwood desk as its foreign chilliness rendering you to flinch at the unpredictable contact of the furniture. "It's time for repentance." Muffling a groan after clamping with his smoothly calloused colossal hand your unholy, sinfully fiendish ministrations snorting your lungs' restless tissues when you both remained in your lingerie promisingly jointing your untouched areas, the course of the plenty of affectionately feather-soft kisses peppering your delicate neck after slipping sloppily from your mouth and running his predatory claws to graze each foreign inch of your unblemished glossy flesh beneath his soothingly delicate, diligent touch.

Once the kisses teasingly tickled your expanse's escalation to ferociously unavoidable, indisputably steamy and the technical usage of his firm, ivory teeth to nip at your delicate flesh, you couldn't help but cock back your head as your mane of locks bounced, stilling your unopened optical slits and profusely playing with his chestnut, crisply youthful hair underneath your digits and fingertips.

Within less than a minute after expelling series of blatant painful, pleasurable ministrations and whimpers at the top of your breathy lungs, begging to regenerate the running out of fresh oxygen and unclasping your bra to give him better view of your erected, naturally roseate nipples to be teased and pinched between his fingers and teeth savagely, your folds strong-willedly ominous convinced your carnal impulse for his hard crotch fill your virginal entrance eventually.