#lord do not forgive me for i have sinned | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lxnarphase · 9 months ago

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𓇼 FUCK HER, FLIP HER, BEND HER BACKWARDS !

❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : the church always says sex for pleasure is a sin, and nanami kento is a man of the lord. but fuck, if his wife isn't worth sinning for. wc: 4.3k

❤₊‧⁺...cw : n. kento x fem!reader, religious themes, traditionalist views on sex and marriage, loss of virginity, missionary to mating press, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, nanami loses himself in your pussy, slight cum play, dirty talk

❤₊‧⁺...lunar's note : am i unintentionally coping with religious trauma? possibly but it is fun :33 anyways based of this! forgive me if my writing is a bit rusty, it's been a while but enjoy !!

the two of you have spoken about eventually having children many times, but knowing the steps it took...it kept you both pushing it back, knowing eventually you'd both be ready.

after speaking with doctors, asking for advice from the church, and having you grumble about the neighbors who welcomed a cute baby girl, the two of you figured it was time.

you did your best to act normal all dayl, trying not to seem to nervous or too excited as you went about your chores for the day.

it may just be an act to procreate, but...it's still your first time with nanami. you want it to at least feel special.

there was nothing in the bible that went against that, right?

well, you have plenty of time to overthink since it seems that your dear husband will be at work late. to pass the time, you wait upstairs in your shared bedroom, the TV on as a distraction.

you're so stuck in your own world that you don't even notice him in the doorway before he clears his throat, leaning in the doorway. "oh! hi, honey, welcome home!" you go to stand up, but he holds up a hand, making you stop before you can get up from the bed.

it's silent, aside from the noise from the TV, and you can feel your stomach flip in anticipation.

has...has he always looked that handsome?

he continues to stand by the door, still not making eye contact. "you said it...starts today, correct," nanami questions, focused on undoing the straps of his watch. it shouldn't be attractive, it's such a simple task...yet it has your stomach doing flips as you nod.

"mhm, my, uh...ovulation starts today." it's such a weird thing to say, it just makes everything feel so...clinical. but that's how it's supposed to be, right? those who use sex for pleasure instead of procreation are sinners, or whatever the reverend at the church says.

"mm."

slowly pulling it off, he sets the watch on the dresser before shutting the bedroom door

"good."

dear god in heaven, you think to yourself, struggling to swallow the saliva pooling inside your mouth as he starts to undress. please forgive me for such inappropriate thoughts about my husband.

he removes his suit jacket—black today, it seems—placing it carefully on his desk chair, followed by his cufflinks and tie. his shirt is next, each button popping to reveal his strong, well-maintained physique.

you have to stop yourself from pumping your fist in the air for getting so lucky with such an attractive man as your husband. too busy ogling him like a horny teenager, you miss him undoing his belt before tugging them down and stepping out of his boxers.

once you do realize he's fully undress, you blush hard once he approaches the end of the bed—it took everything out of you not to stare at that...monster hanging between his legs, dear lord—and climbs onto it, making his way to hover over you.

his eyes roam up and down your body, taking in the pretty silky night dress you had on. It’s a soft blue with lacy white trim with little intricate flower designs.

modest, yet sensual.

"this is new," he comments, voice low and sultry. you can't help but wonder if he meant to sound so...so...

you don't find the correct word for it, but this new tone lights a fire in your stomach that has your r thighs squeezing together just a little bit.

"well, i figured it was an important night...you know, finally popping our cherries a-and starting a family?"

it's a weak attempt at humor, your voice clearly giving away your nervousness. you just pray that he ignores it.

a soft hum leaves him, his fingers playing with the intricately designed lace trim. the idea that you want to make this whole ordeal special, that you want to give yourself to him wholly, and that you want to swell with his child...

it pleases him greatly, a small smile touching his lips.

"well, aren't you sweet, my dearest?"

such simple words, yet they relieve so much tension from your shoulders. you can't help but smile back before a little gasp falls from your lips when his hands start to lift the dress up. his hands, they're so big, so hot on your skin.

It's a struggle to remember that this is for the purpose of producing offspring and nothing else, but you try, you try so hard.

but when you hear the hitch in his breath at the realization you didn't have anything else underneath the dress after he pulls it over your head, it's hard to remember.

the thought just about completely leaves your mind at the way nanami, your usually put-together husband, looks so hungrily down at you, a look you've never seen before in those pretty hazel eyes.

his gaze lingers on your body for a moment, mouth opening before shutting instantly, preventing himself from saying something he'd likely regret.

calm down, kento, he reminds himself, taking a second to clear his mind. this is for the purpose of family, not sinful and carnal desires.

even so, he's drinking in the sight of you, unable to stop his hands from rubbing up and down your sides, the soft skin of you, his wife, warming his palms. all his.

"gorgeous," he mumbles, unaware he even said it.

the moment you feel his leaking cock brush against your leg, a thought occurs to you.

neither one of you has a single idea of how to do this.

sure, you both know enough about putting it inside and moving, but that was about it. is there something else you should do? things you should say, places you should touch to aid in the process?

they never explained the actual process of sex in church, and lord knows your mother and father would've keeled over and died instantly if you were to ask them.

'it comes naturally when god deems it your time' the reverend stated once during a sermon. you fight back a frown, realizing that man probably had even less of an idea of how to do it.

however, the feeling of his tip nudging against your slit rips a gasp out of you, bringing you back into the present.

"are you alright? you left me for a bit there," nanami asks, his brow furrowed in worry. if you weren't ready, he was willing to back off. he may want to fulfill this important aspect of marriage, but...not if you don't want it.

"n-no, i'm okay! just...wondering how all of this is going to work out," you softly reassure, giving a weak giggle.

he can't blame you, he isn't very sure either. but as the man of the house and as your husband, he didn't plan on letting you worry. he would do all the work, you just needed to lay there looking so pretty, so soft, so...he realizes he's doing it again, letting his mind wander to places it shouldn't.

"just...j-just relax, we will figure it out as we go along."

with your silent nod, nanami starts to push his hips forward, hissing silently when he realizes the wetness that greets him.

you were this aroused just from...talking?

the thought of scolding you for letting your mind wander crossed his own, but...it would be hypocritical when his cockhead is dribbling precum all over your soft mound.

you choke out a noise of pain when his cock finally notches onto you and starts to push inside. sure, your wetness helped get the tip and the few inches after it inside, but just that is already too much for you, and you're expected to take all of it?!

you do your best not to move, not really sure what you should be doing. you'd be a good wife and bear with the pain if you had to, your nails digging into the pillow under your head as you braced yourself for the rest of his cock.

but this is absolutely unbearable, how do other women bear with this and have 6 or more children?!

a flicker of concern flashes through nanami's eyes at the sound you made, and he stops moving forward. he may be a bit mean sometimes, but he wasn't cruel.

if you both are going to go through with this, he is not going to make you suffer and nor is he going to force you to endure a painful experience.

no true man of god would do such a thing.

"breathe, don't hold it in," he instructs, his voice somehow calm and collected. one of his hands laces with yours, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as his lips brush against your forehead. "i've got you, darling, the pain will pass, just...tell me to stop if it gets too bad. don't hold it in."

giving a soft nod, you try to match his breathing, your body relaxing and making it easier for nanami to slip the rest of himself inside, a near silent sigh escaping him. the tightness and initial resistance that greeted him nearly made him moan, his cock twitching violently inside of you.

something about the physical feeling and knowledge that you saved yourself for him like you promised years before you both got married sent a surge of possession and pride, knowing he has such a loving and faithful wife who is so willing to give herself up to him like this...he can only hope you feel the same knowing he saved himself for you and only you.

so, as a 'reward'—and totally not because he fears you'll strangle his cock off with how tight you are—he's so gracious to you, not moving to let you get used to the stretch and feel of him inside, the room silent except for your matching breathing.

a few moments go by, and you should feel embarrassed when you feel slick drip out of you and down your ass. the realization that your dearest husband, one of the most faithful men of the church, is letting his cock soak inside of your hot cunt makes you whine a little, slick walls fluttering around him.

he's so fucked.

"a-ah...i'm going to move now," he warns, taking your sudden noise as a good sign. nanami shifts his legs just a bit before giving an experimental thrust, his brow furrowing as he slowly finds a rhythm.

the feeling of your hot and gummy walls is absolutely intoxicating, divine, nothing he's ever felt before.

this is what it felt like?

this is what he waited for?

fuck, it felt...it felt so good.

too good.

for you, the pain completely melts away, and you silently thank god and the angels above for giving you a merciful husband who is so kind as to wait for you to loosen up around him.

little do you know, he would rather kill himself than start moving when you're still adjusting to the pain and stretch.

his gentle movements make you all but melt under him, your eyes fluttering at the unbelievable pleasure coursing through your veins.

no wonder your parents preached about saving yourself until marriage, and thank the heavens you listened.

the very thought of feeling this way with anyone but your kento puts a bad taste in your mouth.

meanwhile, nanami chants prayers in his head over and over again as he tries his best to focus on the 'true' purpose for this.

the sticky, wet, and gooey sensation of your plump cunt sucking him, practically weeping each time he pulls out is just unfair.

the poor man, he's fighting so hard to maintain his composure, to not succumb to the base instincts that those soft moans of yours are beginning to stir within him.

"s-shush, darling," he grits out, hips still following his slow, deep pace. "don't...don't make such noises," he all but pleads, voice tinged with a huskiness that betrayed his growing need for you.

“i-i’m sorry! just, it...feels good, y-you feel good, feels s-so good,” you whisper, hands coming up to cover your mouth and stifle those sickeningly sweet noises.

but of course, that isn’t enough because each push and pull of his cock stirs your drooling cunt, filling the room with wet, filthy squelching sounds.

nothing about this is holy, nanami thinks as he grits his teeth, hands fisting in the sheets next to your head.

look at her.

those soft, muffled noises are truly music to his ears, his pace morphing from the slow, deep grind into a faster pace as your soft body gives into the pleasure.

so wet, so damn tight around my cock., like she never wants to let me pull out.

"k-kento, y-you're goin' too deep, i-i can't be quiet, s'too much!"

messy little pussy, 's beggin' for cum, needs it, needs to feel my tip kissin' her cervix as i pump load after load into her womb.

he knows what that little voice is, and no matter how much he wants to claim that it’s the sound of demons pouring their sinful words into his mind, he knows that it's his thoughts, fueled by those dirty little noises that she can't hold back.

how pitiful, how sinful, doesn't she know she's going against all the teachings they've heard preached every weekend in their church?

doesn't she know she's giving into lust?

doesn't she know her pretty sounds are making his dick throb, painting her insides with his hot, gooey precum?

"hush, 'm not going to t-tell you again, you...you need to be quiet," he growls, the command lacking its earlier authority.

nanami also knows lying is a sin, and he's doing a damned lot of it right now as he tries to convince himself that you need to stay silent. after all, this—this is just a process of giving you both a child, just like you wanted, and nothing else.

but he's lying to himself.

he needs you to be quiet or else he'll lose it.

the poor man is barely holding onto his restraint, and these sweet noises pouring from your mouth aren't helping at all.

"y-you make this so difficult sometimes, my dear..." his voice is rough with need and desire, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. "but, by god, you're...you're. absolutely. exquisite."

he punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his hips into you in a way that has the coarse hair on his crotch to rub against your clit. the pleasure it gives you is electric, your legs coming up to squeeze his hips as you try to grind with him.

his words, his simple praise only makes you hiccup his name, crying out louder as your watery eyes roll back as your needy cunt squeezed down on his fat cock.

you're such a sweet thing, trying oh-so hard to mute your sounds. each snap of his hips is all but driving you insane.

“i-i can’t, ken, y-you don’t understand, i-it feels so good, i-i’m so full! you’re pressing against all the good spots, kentoo, i-i love you s' much, b-but i can't!”

be a good fucking husband and do what you were made to, nanami kento.

his teeth dig into his bottom lip, trying to hard to ignore that temptation purring in the back of his mind.

the voice is so much louder now, echoing throughout his mind and muting any prayers or pleads to be mindful of the sanctity of this whole process.

fuck her. give her what she needs, what she deserves.

but it's too fucking hard, he can't his hips are speeding up, his strong hands moving to grip your thighs, unaware of how they start to anchor behind your knees.

breed your pretty little wife and give her a baby like she deserves.

with a deep groan, nanami finally loses all control, fingers digging into your supple thighs to push them to your chest and practically folding you in half.

this new angle has him openly moaning like a dirty whore, allowing him to plunge even deeper into your tight, gummy walls, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each and every deep thrust.

"k-ken, kenny, k-ken," you sob, tears catching onto your lashes as your entire being is assaulted by the endless pleasure your husband is giving you. he doesn't even look like your kento anymore, his pupils blown so wide that you can barely see the ring of greens and brown of his iris.

"f-fuck. 's all your fault, you know that," he hisses, eyes narrowing as he weakly glares down at you. but you can see the hearts in his eyes as he gives in to the pleasure.

his dark eyes bore down into yours, the wet plap plap plap plap of his hips slamming into yours almost overpowering his voice. "if y-you just stayed quiet like i asked, w-we wouldn't be here."

a little spurt of wet gushes out of you, making his fall forward into the juncture of your neck with a groan at the dirty noise it makes,

"god, i-i can feel it, y'know? can feel this sticky pussy—such a dirty little pussy—makin' such a mess. saved it jus' for me, didn't you, baby? mmhm—fuckin' hell, 's tight—thank you god f' giving me such an angel of a wife." nanami is huffing nonsense against your neck, pounding into you with a force that has the bed creaking loudly.

if you weren't being fucked stupid, you would be worried he was about to break the bed.

"you can keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, b-but you jus' had to have the noisiest little cunt."

he's so mean, but it only serves to make you gush even more, the way juices pour out of you and only make the already filthy noises even nastier.

"she's talkin' to me, baby, y'hear it? i'm...i-i'm gonna breed you," he manages to whine into your ear, pulling away to press his sweaty forehead against yours.

his tongue, so pink and pretty—you want it in your mouth, want to taste it want to feel it against yours—runs over his top lip as he watches drool drip down the corner of your mouth while you nod brainlessly.

nanami's never felt so dirty, so unhinged, but it feels so right, feels so fucking good. he never wants to leave your pussy, never wants to pull out, this is where he belongs, buried deep inside you as his cock pumps load after load right into your tummy, giving you what you need, what you deserve.

"yeah? you want that? i'll give it to you, baby, promise, 'm gonna be a good husband a-and knock you up, gonna make you a mommy."

that has you keening, tears pouring down your cheeks at the pleasure it shoots up your spine. you know you're close, but it's different.

it feels different, feels too much, there's pressure you've never felt before from the few times you'd cave in and play with your puffy, swollen clit in the shower when you waited for nanami to get home from work to kiss you to sleep.

no, you feel like you are about to fucking explode. "ken, i-i can't, 'm gonna—s-something's coming," you try to warn, your hands fisting in his hair as you tug and tug and tug.

the pull of his hair makes him moan like a slut, it sounds so fucking good. his eyes are rolling back before he rushes to comfort you, pressing soft little open-mouthed kisses against your lips.

you don't need to fight it, you just need to give it to him, give him what he needs.

"shh, shh, don' cry, y' look t'pretty, honey. l-let it happen, cum for me, i've got you, angel, cum for me s-so i can fill you up," he coos, his hips growing erratic as he feels your silky walls starting to fluttering around him, feeling you teeter on the edge of release.

he shifts, just barely, just enough to better position himself to fuck deeper into you. but that slight movement has his cock smushing against something soft and spongy that makes you sob, growing softer and more pliant under him, and you know you are done for as all you can do is wail his name.

"please, pretty girl, cum for me, show me how good 'm making you feel, soak my cock, c'mon, you can do it."

with a loud mewl that nearly has nanami soaking your walls in cum, you dig your nails into his biceps as you finally, finally cum. and you're right, it is different, your cute pussy squirting and creaming all over his dick.

the poor man is choking back a whine, eyes wide in shock as your cunt just gushes slick everywhere, clenching around him like a vice as you cum.

your juices are soaking his cock and balls, splattering against his lower abdomen obscenely. the thought of making you do that again crosses his mind for a split moment before the need to fill you up for being so good overpowers any other thought.

not giving you a break, he continues his unforgiving fucking, ignoring your cries and pleads for him to slow down.

"nonono, shh, shh, shush, you can take it," he coos against your lips, no longer caring if this was sinning or not. all he could think about was the constant squeezing and spasming of your poor overstimulated slit that was milking him toward his orgasm.

you try to squirm away, but the way he has you folded in half has you unable to do anything but accept his stupidly deep thrusts that make you swear you can taste his cock in the back of your throat.

"t-tha's it." he's panting, slurring his words, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. it’s so wet, so messy now, but he can't find it in himself to care.

no, all he can think about as he looks down at you is how you'll have that angelic glow as you grow round with his baby, and everyone will know you're his, that he knocked you up, he pumped you full of his cum, that you're his you're his you're all fucking his—

"f-fuck, honey, i-i can't..." his hips stutter as he does his best to maintain his rhythm, but his own release is barreling down on him. his heavy balls are drawing up tight as they slap against your ass, your juices still pouring out and soaking all of him.

"'m gonna fill you up, 'm gonna pump this—this sinful little cunt f-full of m'cum, angel, gonna knock you up, gonna have you drippin' with me, g-gonna give you a fuckin' baby, shit—"

with a deep, guttural groan, nanami hisses your name as he buries himself as deep as possible, his hot tip kissing your cervix as thick, hot ropes of his potent cum pour right into your womb, hips grinding into you and giving little thrusts as you milk his cock weakly despite your overstimulation.

it's—it's so much, he's still cumming, how was all of this inside of him? you can practically feel it sloshing around inside of you, and you whimper when you feel it gush out around his now softening cock, dripping down your ass onto the bed.

a moment or two passes, and he sits up, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face and looking down at you.

oh.

you sweet thing, you're an absolute mess. you have tear streaks down your cheeks, your lips swollen from him unknowingly biting them between the little kisses he was giving you, a pretty sheen of sweat on you, and...

his eyes trail lower to where his dick is still nestled inside of you, and it takes everything in him to not accidentally thrust his hips a little bit.

it's a creamy, sticky mess, a mixture of his and your cum seeping out your poor, abused pussy.

"o-oh. sorry, my love. i'm...not quiet sure what happened there. i apologize for such...foul language," he mumurs, his hand stroking your hip. "'s okay," you softly coo back to him, your eyes fluttering shut as you try to catch your breath. "i-i liked it..."

but you quickly learn you've married both a man of god and a curious, insatiable bastard who can't help but drag his cum all over your pussy, quickly finding your clit. and the reaction you give him is one he decides he likes, your hips canting up as your soft, oversensitive walls squeeze around his cock again.

"k-kento, that's nasty!"

all you get in response is a grumbling noise in his chest as it takes you weakly slapping your hands against his chest to get his eyes to snap away from your gooey, creamy pussy.

clearing his throat, he looks down at you, that heated look slowly creeping back onto his face. "perhaps we...we should try once more. just to ensure it takes," he states, doing his best to show some semblance of dominance.

but it's impossible when his hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, his pupils blown as he gazes down at your panting form like he's about to devour you whole.

"after all, a...a big family is what god wants from man and woman, right? so we...shouldn't delay and keep trying." his hand trails up your side before finding its way to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh.

his thumb experimentally rolled your nipple, and the way your body reacted, a soft gasp of his name...how is he supposed to explain the feeling he's getting in the confessional booth?

"y-yeah," he gulps, leaning his head down. you can feel his hot breath against your tit, and you swear you feel drool drip onto your breast. "w-we'll keep trying. jus' to make sure w-we do what the scripture asks."

may god forgive him for being such a fucking liar and a damned bad one at that.

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento x you #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #˗ˏˋ ★ lxnarworks .ᐟ #[💳] kento .ᐟ

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madamechrissy · 3 days ago

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There is no better way for Priest Suguru Geto to show his devotion to all things holy, than by laying you - the prettiest sinner- right on the altar.

There is a giant cross right behind your head, casting a shadow along your skin, the curves of your figure dark against the wall, flickering candles burning where people say their prayers. He eases his fingers down between your breasts, amethyst eyes lit up and reflecting the flames.

How can a priest look so sinful?

"Ah, my sweet girl, tell me what it is you prayed for today," he murmurs, undoing your buttons and letting your breasts spill free. Your wrists are bound by his black rosary beads above your head, your back arches when he plucks your nipple, eliciting a gasp. "Be a good worshipper, you're speaking to God through me."

"Father Geto, my thoughts are too sinful, ah!" He leans down, half of his hair is up, the rest flows silky and dark across your chest, heated breath against your skin.

"You surely are sinful, touching yourself in the pew like I couldn't tell, hah,' he chuckles and darts his tongue, swirling a bud and making you whine out. "Sinful girl, look at you."

"P-lease, forgive my sins- mnh!" he firmly smacks a tit, you arch your back for more.

"Is there any saving such a slutty soul? Tsk..." you're trembling when he slips the dress higher, raising a dark brow. "No panties either. Hmm, why is that, my child? Go on, confess."

Suguru smacks your cunt with a sharp thwack, you sniffle at the sharp pain, gushing wetness everywhere. "I wanted you to see me," he smirks, hovering over you, still in his black robes and golden cassock, fingers slipping up your slit. "Father please. Be merciful..."

"Be merciful? How can I be, when your sinful cunt is soaked like this, when you're touching yourself during my sermons?" He slips two fingers inside you. The stretch is too much, he moans when he feels your cunt gripping him, gummy walls just dripping your juices like fine communion wine, making him salivate. "Tell me, do my speeches get you like this?"

"Yes... but it was because of my ah- fantasies - I mean afflictions! please have mercy on my soul, mnh!" Suguru pulls his fingers back, sucking on them and moaning, his cheeks hollowing. The beads are digging into your wrists, leaving marks in your delicate skin.

"How does a sinner taste so sweet? Here, since you're a little slut anyway."

Suguru gathers your dripping arousal, shoving his thick digits in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. He's chuckling, looking anything but holy when he whispers - 'suck them' - you do just that, you'll do anything for him.

"What fantasies?" the priest shoves your dress until your entire cunt is bare for him, licking a filthy trail down your breasts he's tugged out. "You must tell me if you ever want a chance at redemption, for your filthy thoughts and actions," another sharp smack echoes in the empty church, mixed with your moan. "Confess."

"Mnh, you were drinking me, Father Geto," he raises a black, straight eyebrow, smirking most wicked then.

"I see, and where did you get such a vision, when I'm preaching the precious words of the bible? You get wet from that, like a whore?"

You’re tugging at his hair when he shoves up your thighs, inhaling your cunt and moaning. "You're even wetter now," he laps his tongue up your slit ever so slowly, the pleasure the definition of sin. "Is this what you dream of, when you should be praying, hearing the word of god? Desecrating his altar with your slutty cunt?"

"Y-yes, ah!" He's dragged your cunt to his face now, burying it against you. "God it feels s'good - jesus christ!"

"And you take the lord's name in vain," he murmurs, mouth just full of your cum, rutting his cock against the steps of the altar. You're perfect like this, truly, tied up right in front of the cross, thighs plush on either side of his head. "Tsk, what sort of blasphemy."

"S-sorry, F-father - ngh! More, please!" You're moving your hips up, fucking his face

"And greedy," he nips at your clit, parting your folds and chuckling while you twitch underneath him. "Greed, lust, those are sins."

"I know, y-you must... mnh, save me," you're tugging at the restraints, three black beaded rosaries wrapping down to your arms. You ache to tug that silky hair, spreading your thighs and letting his long, wicked tongue fuck your hole now. "So sorry I'm so - mnh - s-sinful, Father."

He slurps the wetness that pours, curling his tongue in your snug hole and against your spot, feeling you grip him like a vise, tighter and tighter. "Can't stop yourself from cumming on your priest's face, you're so easy, just a little whore."

You are wetter, eyeing his slick face, angular and prominent and coated in you, shaking underneath him. "Please, m'so close!"

"And will this truly help your affliction?" He shoves two fingers back in your soppy hole, making louder squishing noises as he rocks them up and down, pressure building. "How hard will I have to work for your redemption?"

You're falling apart when he scoffs, licking your clit with just one more flick, then your cunt starts spasming, gushing everywhere. He almost cums at your taste, at the sight of you, while you're trembling, letting the pleasure wash over you. Your eyes roll back in your skull, swollen lips parted.

He hasn't kissed those, instead, once you've soaked him down to his black sleeves and rode your orgasm out, he pulls out his glistening fingers. Hovering over you, he softly murmurs - 'open, like the filthy little whore you are - and you obey.

Father Suguru Geto, a holy man of the cloth, sucks your juices off his fingers, gripping your throat with his other hand, and spits your cum right in your eager mouth. He presses a hint of a kiss while you swallow his spit.

"Mnh," You're breathing quickly, the taste of your cunt soaking your taste buds, looking up at him all fucked out, spread before him and the eyes of all the figures watching. "Father..."

"Shouldn't you call me Suguru, since I just spit all your cum in your filthy mouth?" He grips your chin now, you nod quickly.

"Suguru..." You go to move your wrists, but he tugs the rosary tighter, bruising them, watching pretty tears form on your eyes. "I fear I've not learned any lesson at all. I'm doomed to hell, surely."

"You want more, what a greedy girl you are," Suguru undoes his buttons, his robes then until they're parted, revealing his body that just makes you want to sin even more. "Is this what you want, to have your priest fuck your cunt, drip cum all over the church floors?"

You just nod jerkily, mouth gone dry, and he yanks you to him by your hips, shaking his head and tugging yet another Rosary out, wrapping your throat and tugging. "I fear you are doomed to hell." he tugs you to sit now. Before flipping you over, your eyes hit the statue on the cross, staring at your shameful position!

"I cannot look... ah!"

"You'll look," he shoves his thick cock in your tight entrance, gripping the rosary around your neck like a leash, moaning. "Now arch for me, pretty little sinner. I'll have to fill you with the lords wisdom."

I'm going to hell for sureee

#geto smut #jjk smut #geto x reader #jjk x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #geto x you #geto jjk #suguru smut #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #jjk x you #suguru geto #suguru x you #tw smut #divider by strangergraphics

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dontpulloutman · 2 months ago

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spring seventeen.

tags: owen taylor x reader. the starling girl. sexual acts. a/n: so… mr. red flag owen taylor has been stuck in my mind for the past few days and i’m kinda sad there isn’t any fics of him out there. i hope you like it! :)

(masterlist)

Lord Jesus, forgive me. I confess I have been offering myself over to sin, and now I am its slave. I renounce it; I renounce my sins.

You were no stranger to bruised knees. The purples and greens were a familiar sight since the day you were old enough to recite the Lord’s Prayer. Now, at seventeen, there is a newfound fascination with the numbness under your skin.

Your eyes trace the discoloration, fingers poking and prodding at where your blood clots underneath. Knees pressed to your chest, white socks warm around your ankles, your eyes move from your skin to the man pacing the hardwood floors. Phone pressed against his ear.

He runs a hand through his hair, and then down his mouth. Itching at his jaw.

You stare, gaze unflinching when his eyes meet yours. And then, like a flicker of the light, his shoulders lose its tension. He pockets his phone, and then moves slowly, almost hesitant. A warm, calloused hand wraps around your ankle.

“You alright?”

“Mhm,” you hum. Gaze tracing the veins on his hands. The sinew and muscle up his arm.

Thumbs rub against skin above cloth. You shiver at the familiar touch.

“Those hurtin’ you?” His other hand moves to cup your knee. You follow his movements as he guides your legs down to hang against his desk.

Parting your thighs, you welcome him into your warmth.

“Not much. I like them.” His lips quirk at your confession.

“Yeah? You look pretty with them,” you take a breathy inhale when his hands move from your knees to your thighs. The skirt of your light dress making way for worshipping hands. The feel of his thumbs rubbing into your inner thighs makes you want to curl your toes in.

“Of course you think so. You caused ‘em.”

“It takes two, my darling girl.”

Your hands skim his waist, skin against skin under cotton. You grip into the denim of his jeans, thumbs inches away from the dimples on his back. The leather of his belt presses against your palm. Cool to the touch, you shiver at the memory of it stinging your arse.

Pulling him closer, thigh to thigh, you close your eyes as you bury your cheek against his chest. His hands move to wrap around your waist. You feel the miniscule pull of his arms to bring you even closer against him.

“You needed at home?”

You sigh into his chest, “Not in a couple hours. Told them I was helping prepare for youth group.”

His head turns, nose pressing against your temple. He takes his time to breathe you in.

“We don’t have that long, my father said he needed to talk to me.”

Your grip around him tightens.

“Think he wants to talk about my courtship.”

You lift your head to look him in the eye, “They tell you who they want?”

“Misty, I think.”

You chase his eyes, angry at the way they try to run from you.

“You’re not even gonna bother?”

His brows furrow, the confusion on his face feeds your rage.

“Bother with what?”

“Telling them you want me?”

He stifles the want to scoff. You just don’t get it sometimes.

“And what do you think they’ll say?”

You recoil, “You saying they don’t like me?”

He won’t allow you, hands tightening around your frame. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then why won’t you come clean to them?”

His eyes narrow, “Why won’t you?”

“You said you didn’t want me to.”

He gets that look on his face. The triumph of being right. Being older. More knowledged. As if this all made perfect sense.

“You not saying anything just proves it, doesn’t it?”

Your weak attempt at pushing him away is futile.

Lord, my savior. Please forgive me. Shrouded in my lies and in my sin, I have found my salvation.

But an angry beast inside you snarls.

“If you won’t tell them, I will.”

His grip on you almost turns painful.

“Don’t be stubborn. Don’t you trust me?”

“I do,” he tries to cut in but you won’t let him, “But I love you more than I trust you.”

The harsh, biting, and desperate way he presses his lips against yours catches you off guard. You welcome it nonetheless. The way he moves, how his hair curls behind his ear. The way his hands cup the back of your head, pushing you in as if hoping to take more. More than what you have already given.

If this is a sin, then let me burn in the hottest of hells.

“I’ll tell them,” he whispers, lips shining, red, and raw-bitten.

Your fingers gently trace his face. His jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose. You don’t believe him.

Before you turned fifteen, your parents started to have you help out at the family business. For every church event or cookout, it was your family that handled the catering. Of course, church-goers would help pitch in and bring their own dishes, but as the only functioning restaurant within the parish of Pastor Taylor, almost all of the food can be expected from your family.

After the service, you begin your task of helping to set up the picnic tables. Turning the corner to get chairs from the storage room, you get jolted by a grip on your forearm. Back pushed against the brick wall, your mouth parts to scream, but a big, warm hand is quick to press itself against your lips.

“Shh,” you meet Owen’s laughing blue eyes, “It’s just me.”

Trying to calm your racing heart, you give a slight shove against his shoulder, “You scared me.”

“I missed you,” he whispers against your lips. It’s instantaneous and heady. Eager and impatient hands move to push the skirt of your dress higher up your thighs. Your own nimble fingers, practiced, in unbuckling his leather belt. You grip him in your hand, relishing in the sound he makes, burrowed in your neck.

“Fuck,” he’s pushing your panties to the side. Hitching your leg up against his waist, he wastes no time in thrusting into you. Your moan is silenced against his kiss. “We don’t have much time,” you hasten him. Desperation makes him wrap his hands around your thighs, hoisting you up so both your legs can wrap around his waist.

It’s rushed, ending in a few minutes. But you relish in the moans he sings into your ear. Face hidden into the crook of your neck, he shudders. A second passes, a bird chirps from its perch in its nest. And then, he’s putting you back down on your feet. Your hands move to between your thighs, fingers brushing against the slick between.

Owen’s busy with his belt. Your eyes are transfixed with the way your fingertips glisten.

There’s a quick, careless kiss being pressed against your temple, and then a murmur of an “I love you,” before you hear the leaves crunching beneath Owen’s boots.

A week from now, Owen will marry Misty. It will be a beautiful affair with Pastor Taylor presiding over the ceremony. In two weeks, you’ll realize that you haven’t bled. The next day, Owen will leave for Puerto Rico.

#owen taylor #owen taylor x reader #the starling girl

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endlessdreamworld · 8 months ago

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My Sinful Little Angel

a short AU fic featuring secret priest! Sunday of a small village x baker! gn reader

"Thank you again, Mr. Oak," you said as Sunday, the town's resident tailor finished repairing the frayed hem of your apron. "Here," you offer him a half dozen of today's special treat, powdered sugar shortbread cookies filled with raspberry jam.

"Thank you," he gave you a soft smile that made your heart melt. "Here," he offered you up some coins, more than he should but still a paltry amount the judgmental villagers would consider good and proper.

It was part of your little arrangement. You showed up one day out of nowhere, and the town's bakery took you in. You had a roof over your head and a belly full of food, but they paid you next to nothing.

"Tomorrow we're going to be maki--" a knock interrupted your sweet little announcement. It was the baker's son. Sunday didn't miss how your gaze fell to your hands clutching your newly repaired apron, how you seemed so very bashful in the presence of your peer. Oh God in heaven, please smite this wicked fool who dare intrude upon your shared sacred peace and tempt you so.

You gave him a small wave as you headed for the door, "I have to go Mr. Oak, duty calls." You were always so polite and sweet to him, so diligent, always doing more than you should. Sunday noticed the powdered sugar you had graced him with when he paid you for your work and brought it to his unworthy tongue. An ambrosia he didn't earn, one he didn't deserve. You were an angel made flesh, and far too good for a backwater place like this. One day, he swore, he'd do something about it.

As the sun set, he flipped the sign in the window from open to closed before heading off to his second job. Every flock needed a shepherd, and who better to play the role as he? And so the town's church offered a confessional booth service where he served as the confessor.

He settled in behind the screen and prepared his heart for the service. People always had such ridiculous things plaguing them so, but who was he to deny them salvation?

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

It was the sound of your voice. He held his breath. He couldn't help but hear how nervous and deflated you sounded. What heresy could you have committed to feel so low? "Speak freely, child," he spoke in an unrecognizable drawl. Sunday preferred anonymity. It was better when people didn't know who they were speaking to.

You sigh inwardly and steel your resolve, "I've been having sinful thoughts about another. One of my fellow peers."

Sunday has heard those very words before, and he didn't like where this was going. He was quite fortunate to be able to steer you away from such an unholy sin. "What sorts of thoughts?"

He listened to the sound of fabric brushing against the confessional screen, the sound of you squirming from discomfort. "Carnal ones I'm afraid. Whenever I'm with him, I pray his hands linger more than they should. Every night, I dream of clandestine meetings -- of the perverted sort."

Sunday hears how very affected you are, and he isn't going to allow some degenerate sully your pure soul and infect your mind. He was almost certain it was that baker boy with the way you could scarcely look at him, but if he were to do anything about it, he would need to be sure. "Those are quite heavy sins, my dear, but the lord forgives all who wish to repent."

"Thank you Father." He can hear the smile in your voice and he has you right where he needs you.

"To repent, it would be best to disclose the name of this wolf in sheep's clothing that assaults your thoughts and faithful heart."

Yes, give me a name. This whisper campaign to your excommunication will be as delicious as it'll be unsurprising. It'll be my revenge for whoever dares touch you so frivolously, my sweet angel.

You got quiet, the sound of conflict. Sunday's chest tightened, anguished by your misplaced sense of guilt. You were trying to shield whoever this dastard was by the kindness of your soul. He knew you needed one final push. "The lord forgives all who sin, even the serpent who tempts you so."

"Well," you swallowed thickly. Agony permeated your words as you work up the courage to oust the blasphemer, "it's Sunday Oak."

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday hsr #honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yancore

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yanderedrabbles · 8 months ago

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Letters from a Yandere Vampire

December 7th, 1886

Dear y/n,

Please do not think me presumptuous for writing to you so soon, but my heart would give me no rest. I have been unable to stop thinking of you since our encounter at the Duke's soiree.

Perhaps it is my countenance or perhaps my foreign heritage, but London's débutantes seem to find me positively frightful. I had resigned myself to yet another evening of disappointment when you introduced yourself to me.

In all my travels, I have met few ladies with your boldness of spirit. You transformed my dour evening into one of unimaginable enjoyment.

I have included with my letter some pressed flowers from my native Transylvania. You expressed much interest in the botany of my homeland and I hope these will intrigue you.

Your interest in my travels is remarkably flattering. And, if I may be so bold, may I invite you to a dinner at my salon? I have much still to share.

Yours sincerely,

Count Nicolae Drăculești

December 17th, 1886

My dearest y/n,

How I enjoyed our evening together! When we danced, I felt my soul set afire. In my travels, none have so captivated me.

Do not think me hasty, but I have sent my messenger with a gift. I can think of no better place for these jewels than around your neck. Please, accept them with my most sincere compliments.

You amused me very much when you pointed out my teeth. My fangs are indeed much longer and sharper than a normal man's. Perhaps you wish to feel their sharpness against your skin?

The nights grow longer and colder. Do you dislike the winter darkness, I wonder. Or do you only long for someone to share it with, as I do?

Ah, forgive my rambling! I'm writing to ask if you will allow me the privilege of escorting you to the Yuletide ball? I can think of no finer gift to celebrate Christmas.

I must soon depart for my home and I insist on spending more time together before then.

Yours,

Nicolae Drăculești

December 25th, 1886

My love,

Merry Christmas! I walked through the untouched snow and even London seemed beautiful and pure.

In this cold, I can think of nothing but having you with me. A day without you is an eternity past.

It seems I have been waiting for you for centuries. Is it to bold to say you are the woman of my dreams? Forgive this fool his insolence, but when I write to you I feel possessed.

You have asked me at length about my aversion to the Church and silver. You are such a logical creature but there are some things beyond the realm of science.

Seek to know no more, for both our sakes.

Another matter has been bothering me of late. I have noticed Lord Lancaster has expressed an interest in you.

The man fawns over you like a slobering hound. As your companion, it is my duty to advise against him. He is unworthy of your attention, much less your sympathy.

Surely you see that it is you and I that are the more compatible match?

Ever yours,

Nicușor

January 1st, 1887

Dear,

I wished to keep you ignorant of my nature. And yet, you have seen me unmasked. A creature of the night.

It was your blood that did it. A single drop was all it took for my instinct to take over.

I hope you are unhurt. If I were in my right mind, I never would have pinned you against the wall as I did. I never would have forced my kiss upon you.

I could hear your heart racing when I showed you my fangs. Why did you not scream?

Did I fighten you into silence? Or was it something else?

You asked me what you are to me and at the time I had no answer to give. Are you my prey? My meal?

I have spent all night in thought and still I fear uttering these words.

You are my beloved.

My heart belongs entirely to you, wretched and sinful though it may be. No blood is sweeter than yours.

I burn for you, my darling.

I grow agitated at each day that passes when we are not together. My treacherous mind plays such awful tricks on me. Surely you have not cast me aside for another? Or worse, have I frightened you beyond redemption?

Oh, banish the thought! Who has your affection? Your love?

Please, put my poor heart at ease. Meet me in the gazebo at the end of your garden after sunset.

I cannot bear to be parted from you much longer.

Ever your slave,

Nicușor

y/n,

My castle must be prepared for your arrival and I have set forth with great haste to do so. In case you awake before my return, I've left you this letter.

You are currently on board a private train car bound for Transylvania. Do not attempt to leave. My guards have strict orders to ensure you reach home.

You are changed, my dear.

I have bitten you and transformed you into a creature like myself. Upon our final meeting, I intended only to say goodbye. You are too fine and beautiful a creature to be wasted on the likes of me.

But when I saw you in the moonlight, I could not help myself.

You are so beautiful. So bright and lively. You are what my cold halls have lacked all these many years.

My love, I drank your blood. Every drop of it. Nothing in my centuries of existence has ever tasted so sweet, so right.

It can be frightening, I know. But do not despair.

The light of the sun will forever be out of reach, but there are a thousand traits you've gained. Strength. Speed. Immortality.

The grave will never taste your flesh, old age will never hound at your door.

As I am the one who changed you, I am also your Lord and Master. The bond between us is forged in blood. Wherever I go, you must always follow. If I am to die, so shall you. If I am to command, you must obey.

It is a tight leash and not one of my devising, I assure you.

I intend to be your partner and not your Lord. So for both our sakes, my love, do not give me cause to use that power.

You and I have all eternity together. Does it please you as it does me?

I have longed for a bride for centuries. You cannot imagine the loneliness. And in all those years, none have impressed themselves upon my heart as you have.

I have stolen you from the sunshine and into my world of night and blood. I have ripped away any hope of heaven and salvation. No God now, no church or altar.

I am a rogue and a thief and still I beg of you. Please love, do not hate me.

I've made you into my vampire bride.

Your husband,

Nicușor Drăculești

#Haven't actually read Dracula #But the letters were an inspiration #Yandere #Yandere x Reader #Yandere OC #Reader Insert #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #Yandere Vampire #Fem Reader #Yandere Dracula

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faestunna · 16 days ago

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❝ in the river to pray ❞

remmick x f!reader

SUMMARY: You’re a woman possessed. Forget your father, and the preacher. No one could save you now from the demon that’d pulled you under. Water and guilt filling up your lungs.

WC: 10.2k

WARNINGS: dub-con themes, religious themes/religious guilt, fingering, vampirism (death, blood, transition), minor blood play, use of hive mind, violent/brutal death scene, descriptive language, marking/claiming, minor angst, smut (18+ ONLY); masturbation, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), crying, choking, slight size kink, slight dumbification, squirting, creampie, cockwarming

A/N: my first official and original remmick one shot, and i was very inspired by thestrals from hp. i had to change it up a little, but i think it works :) i've never written this many words and idk if i will again but i had fun writing this! there’s a lot of people to thank for this so here we go: thank you to all @flixpii, @madkingcrowley, @confetti-cakemix, and @jaythewriter for beta reading, your enthusiasm meant the world! thank you to @iceemochaa, @vcmpbyt, @matrixfangs, @sinandguilt, and @eternalstrigoii for encouraging me to even write this!! i’ve definitely missed someone, i had so much help/motivation during the month it took me to write this. enjoy!

visualizer | masterlist | taglist

thestral a magical species that can only be seen by those who have witnessed death

likes, reblogs, and comments are always and greatly appreciated! this post is 18+ only. minors do not interact.

IT CAME LIKE a whistle in the wind, bending to the will of the trees surrounding your home.

A phantom. A shadow looming outside your window. A presence at the threshold, ingraining itself to your soul while it waited.

Sweet Lamb.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d tell your father what plagued you. Beg him to take you to the preacher. Beg the preacher to free you from this torment. Beg the Lord to forgive you because you’ve been dreaming of sins.

And it felt so good.

Eventually, you let it in. Stood there at your door looking as if you’d seen a ghost.

There’s a warmth beside you in your bed now, tracing over your body and snaking towards your legs. It knows you like a second skin. Knows just where to touch, where to pull.

You feel me, don’t you?

Eyes dancing over the darkness of your room found nothing. No one.

It spreads to the curve of your thighs, reaching higher than you knew was right. Tendrils that slip past the nightgown that covers you, leaving you bare, but never cold. The warmth stays. Pressed to you so close that you almost believe its words.

You’re not alone.

Never alone. Not when you felt it reaching that inner depth, swirling around the center of you so deliciously.

You opened yourself to it. That gentle force that rocks your core until you’re left babbling back. “I feel you,” you whisper. “I want more.” It laughs back.

More, darlin’? Anything for an angel.

That pressure over your sweet bud strengthens, and it leaves you blooming. Flames of hell ignite across your skin. But it burns so delightfully. Your legs spread even further.

“Fuck,” you let out in a breath. Cursing like you never had before.

The burning turns into a searing. Iron branded on your skin. “I-I’m…”

I know. Let it out all over me. Let the Lord hear you.

You gasp at a sting near the base of your neck, a gentle nip into your skin. Jaw slacked open. Chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. A sense of heaven washing over you like a pulse as the sheets turned soaked beneath you.

The blanket tangled around your leg fluttered, but there was no turn of the air in your room. And you felt the warmth slowly disappear.

Ghostly fingers trailing down your skin until you were cold again. But still, you weren’t alone.

Let him send you down with me.

Your eyes shoot open. And suddenly, you’re sickened with clarity.

A nightmare. A dream. Everything you wanted felt so good to take, and in doing so, you’d surely damned your own soul.

You’re a woman possessed. Forget your father, and the preacher. No one could save you now from the demon that’d pulled you under. Water and guilt filling up your lungs.

You lay awake that night.

The moon bleeds silver light onto your floor boards. Your eyes turn red as you watch, waiting to feel another warmth again. But it never comes. You waited. So still you probably looked dead.

Deep down, there was something you’d never confess:

It was the most alive you ever felt.

The next morning, you wake with the memory of it and dried remnants of a slick between your legs. The smell of sweat in the air. The sound of a voice whispering into your ear forever etched into your mind.

You rise from your bed almost drunkenly. Intoxicated with sin. The ground doesn’t feel right underneath you, as if you’re floating an inch above it.

Something churns in your stomach. Rapid footsteps to the bathroom sink are still soft so as not to wake your father.

You lurch over the basin and gag, but nothing comes out.

The sink croaks as cold water spurts. You splash onto your skin, hoping to remove the remaining flush on your cheeks. Evidence of your crime.

And that’s when you see it. Staring at your crazed reflection in the mirror.

Upon your neck. Almost completely imperceptible.

Two minuscule bumps, red, warm, and tender to the touch. They could somewhat pass as mosquito bites, but you knew well of what it was. The devil had left his mark on you.

YOU DON’T SLEEP at night.

When the sun sets, it shuts its eye on your tranquility. And the demon threatens to appear again. You pull the covers to your chest and lay flat against your bed. You moved your bed to the corner. Lets you see all of the dark around you, not a spot to be missed.

Sometimes, you think it’s come. A slight breeze from the hall or a creak in the floor.

But it never did. No ghost harnessing itself to you.

Your eyes only drift shut at the earliest peek of dawn. You only wake when the air turns hot in the late morning.

The days remain the same. You run to the town to get groceries. You ride your bike past the bridge. You braid the choir girls’ hair.

The other young women in town are engaged, or already married. Swept away as soon as they were old enough. But you find peace in solitude. At least, you tell yourself you do.

You think nothing of the night two weeks ago.

And how it knew how to speak to you. How to feel you. How to provoke every part of you that you denied yourself.

It took you in a chokehold.

And you begged it to continue.

When the memories crept to the front of your mind, you pushed them back like it had never even happened. But you were denying yourself.

And for what? Glory?

What could be more glorious than the way that warmth opened you? The spirit of something beyond the world you knew—settling inside your heart, riddling you with curses and sinful reveries.

You sauntered through the front door somewhat like a ghost yourself. Stomach still full from an early supper. Sweat clinging hair to your skin.

Outside, half the sun casted a golden glow across the land. The boots on your feet were suddenly heavy as you passed the hall.

“Is that you?” Your father calls out.

You stop in your tracks. The radio plays a gravelly broadcast of a song your mother used to sing.

He sits in his armchair. He won’t let you leave until you’ve come and said goodnight. And promise to pray. “How was your walk?” He calls out once you stand in the doorway.

“Fine,” you say breathily. “The ferns are growing in double this year. And the honeysuckles smell sweeter.”

Your father hums. It’s silent for a long moment. You hope there’s nothing else to be said.

Until he speaks again.

“Are you alright?”

Maybe he really did know you better than you thought. Maybe he’d know this whole time of how you’d disgraced yourself. Ruined. Maybe he’d overheard you that night, realized it was lust laced in your voice.

Or maybe he could see the devil in your eyes right there as you glared at him in silence. “Of course, I am, daddy.” His face softens.

You haven’t called him that in years.

“Well…I just worry, is all.” He pats the armrest once. “You look like you ain’t slept a lick.”

A smile twitches across your mouth. The hair around your face is dry now, strung out in different directions.

You look like a mad woman.

Perhaps you are.

“I’m fine, daddy.” The song on the radio ends. “I promise.”

You turn back to the hall. Your father doesn’t speak another word.

The sky turns dark outside your window And the routine begins. Exchange the cotton dress you’d stolen from your mother’s wardrobe, untouched for years, with a nightgown hemmed with lace. Rinse your face—let the water into your eyes because you’re too afraid to close them.

Pull the covers to your chest. Lay like you’re on your deathbed. Waiting. For too long you watch the moonlight shift throughout the night.

But it wasn’t your fear keeping you awake.

It was the addicting taste of temptation. Of lust again. And it tasted of sweat, tears, and something ancient that you couldn’t place.

Your skin felt the air thicken first. Then, your heart.

And you heard it again.

Left you aching for more, didn’t I?

You would’ve gasped if your chest hadn’t suddenly locked in fear. Your eyes darted across the room.

Nothing. No gentle breeze.

Though the voice continued, you felt no warmth like before. You were alone.

“You’re in my fuckin’ head,” you whispered.

I’m everywhere inside you, lamb.

You thickly swallowed.

“Why come back?”

How couldn’t I? When you tasted so sweet?

Your bones turned to butter. Melting right back into the bed just like you had that night. The mere mention of what you’d felt…

Gonna have to do it yourself this time, sweetheart.

Eyes closed, your brows furrowed as you mindlessly slid your hand down your stomach, hovering just above your mound. “I don’t know how.”

Sure, you do. Just do as I say.

A beat. An invitation. One that you accepted.

Put your fingers where I had mine.

Your middle finger touched yourself first. Landed perfectly over that pearl. Your pulse throbbed into your hand as your fingers slid through your folds and gathered your slick.

“Oh- fu-uck,” your voice trailed off, determined to stay quiet again.

That’s it, angel. I’d have you screamin’ if I was there.

Without a command, you dug your palm into your clit. Bucked your hips involuntarily, leaving the springs underneath your mattress squeaking.

You heard its chuckle.

Ain’t that cute. Don’t even need my help, now.

“Don’t leave,” you pant quietly. Fingers rubbing over as much of you as possible.

You remember that night, don’t you?

What I did to you…how it felt.

You nodded. Your entire figure shook under your own touch. To be in control of your pleasure was an indescribable power. With your eyes shut, the memories still burned into your mind begin to guide your hands.

The tip of your finger prods your hole. Traces the velvety opening just past the brim, collecting a warm wetness that reaches your palm.

Taste it.

You hesitate. Put your fingers into the light and watch them glisten with your own sin.

Go ahead, dove.

Its words beckoned you like an inner calling. You do as you're told. You bring your hand to your mouth—still hesitant—before brushing over your tongue. Your lips involuntarily tighten around your finger.

The flavor isn’t anything you’ve had before. A strange taste of what it meant to feel good. To defy what you’d been told was wrong.

To be right.

You didn’t care if it was sinning. And you didn’t care if this temptation was dragging you down. You want this pleasure forever, to feel it sink into your bones.

Without command, you pressed your hand to your cunt again. The heat of the sun in your hold. You don’t hesitate anymore. Push not one, but two fingers inside.

A moan—soft but deep like it came from the very core of you—escapes past your lips. Your other hand flies to cover your mouth.

Well, if that ain’t the most heavenly thing I heard.

So, you don’t stop.

Instead, you huff heavy, muffled breaths into your palm as your other hand works inside you. The sound of your own slick nearly echoes across the room, even under your gown and blankets.

Curl ‘em, just gently. Want you to feel what I feel.

You curl your fingers upward, your back arching at the pleasure. Your chest falls heavy as you try to breathe quietly. It chuckles at you.

You close to it, ain’t you?

You rapidly nod. A subtle shake to your legs because you hardly imagine your hand as your own anymore.

Say it.

“I—” you sputter out, louder than you’d intended. You were desperate for that feeling again—the one that left you trembling in the dark and questioning your own sanity.

You don’t feel crazy anymore. And if you are, then so be it. “I’m so fuckin’ close.”

Now, you’ll do as I say, yeah?

The voice has changed, and you only notice it now. It’s still the same deep tone that whispered sins to you like lullabies, but there’s a drawl—it matches yours.

You nod again. “Y-Yes.” A heat builds up around your hand. It’s coming, and you softly smile at the thought of it.

Then, stop, sweet girl.

You don’t know how you obeyed. Pulling your hand away from you, instantly feeling empty despite the fire coursing through your blood. So close, and yet so far. The euphoric feeling ripped from you like a threat.

“No!” Your other hand shoots straight to your mouth. You pray your father has drunk himself to sleep tonight.

A low laugh.

It’s alright, angel.

“Please.” It comes out muffled through your palm. Your cheeks burn, a single, cold tear sliding down them. Your fingers inch towards your cunt again.

Now, don’t go ruinin’ it, darlin’. Only one who’s gon’ have you shakin’ is me.

The only thing ruined was your impending release.

You do as I say.

But you don’t listen anymore.

Dig the heel of your palm into your cunt again.

It continued to urge you, command you, to stop. But without the force of it upon your body this time, you saw no threat.

“I told you,” you say quietly. “You’re just in my head. A fuckin’ curse draggin’ me to hell. But I don’t care anymore.”

It makes a sound like a sneer. A test. A bit more temptation. Amused at the sight of you now grinding your hips into your own hand, chasing after that desperation again.

Oh, sweet lamb. I’ll do more to you than that.

It coos as your brows furrow. Your veins are hit with waves of shock, leaving you whining into the sheets. A warmth runs over your hand—that feeling again. And this time, guilt doesn’t follow. No overwhelming chaos of regret to salvage what purity was left of you.

You ignore it now. Laugh in a sweaty haze, drunk off of your release, as it whispers its goodbye.

You’ll be beggin’, girl. No one can save you now. No one but me.

YOU AREN’T AFRAID anymore. At night, you lay in bed with a craving for more, eyes glued to the window like it’ll will the ghost back.

But it never comes.

Three nights pass, and on each, you pull another orgasm with your own hands, the memory of its voice coaxing you through it. It’s not the same as having it speak to you, of folding under its will.

Nevertheless, each night you fall asleep with a blush settled over your cheeks. You stay quiet. Your father doesn’t question you again. He only looks the other way when you walk by. If he knew what you’d been doing in the dark, he would’ve thrown you in hell himself.

You suppose his silence is safe.

And it all goes about the same. Ride your bike into town and near the bridge. Get groceries for dinner. Braid the choir girls’ hair.

You aren’t followed anymore. Nothing lurks nearby. For the first time in weeks, you feel free.

The most rotten and ruined part of you. It felt glorious.

But your own hands weren’t enough to bring that spark back into you. Never like it did. It knew you better than you knew yourself. And since it had made no appearance since the night you defied it, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

Charlie Maywell.

A boy your age who worked down at the mechanics shop. He was rough and dirty and spoke with the grit of men twice his age. Most importantly, he was popular among widows.

He was a whore, to put it bluntly. A sweet one. He never broke hearts or left them weeping in the middle of the night.

He couldn’t hurt you.

It only takes a cigarette and honeysuckle rubbed over your wrists to convince him. You figure he hasn’t been with a girl his age in some time.

Maybe that’s why he looks at you like you’re gold.

He lifts your dress so delicately from your frame, eyes going wide when your tits hit the bare air. He doesn’t spend nearly as much time devoted to you as you would’ve hoped, but you’ll take what you can get.

You would’ve preferred to be in a bed. Not pressed against some wall in a back alley where there’s a slight reek of trash.

You gasp when he ruts into you. It isn’t the stretch you felt before, but you’re not empty anymore. Charlie lifts your leg over his arm and leans in, pressing you closer to the wall.

“God, you feel good,” he says into your ear. It’s not right. It’s not the voice you’ve been imagining every night. The voice you were starting to miss.

“Where can I—?” He looks down. It’d hardly been three minutes.

You aren’t anywhere as close as him.

“You can do it on my leg. Just wait.” You close your eyes shut. Charlie’s hips stagger against yours in restraint, desperate to follow your command.

Behind your shut lids, that night comes back to you like a reflection in the mirror.

You remember its warmth, its force and power over you. How it dragged you underwater and dangled air in front of your face. Only to pull you back up with a breath of a new life.

A taste for more.

Charlie leans over you, the corner of his neck now surrounding you. Too close for your comfort. He groans, “I can’t…”

Your fingers dance over your mound again until they reach your clit. And you work yourself like you never have before. Furiously rubbing over your folds as his cock drilled into you.

Your eyes open at your release. The same moment Charlie pulls from you. Drips all over your bare stomach, and you quickly wipe it off with your dress.

His chest heaves. “Damn,” he lazily smiles, stepping away from you.

You fix your skirt and politely smile. It’s shy, as if you hadn’t just felt the rawest part of him.

You don’t speak to Charlie Maywell again.

He’s there, outside the mechanics shop. Rolling a tire down the street. Fixing a neighbor’s engine. And every time you pass, he looks at you. Nods. You do the same, and that’s all it is. An unspoken agreement.

And it still doesn’t return. No creak in the porch floorboards, no tapping at your window. No voice calling out to you like a starved man with eyes on a feast.

Two days pass, and it becomes a little lonely. Your own hands can’t even satisfy your urges anymore.

Instead, you sleep. Maybe it’s your body’s instinct of replenishing itself from the weeks you spent awake. But anytime a moment turns dull, or your core aches for something you can’t relieve, you shut your eyes.

You don’t dream. It’s nothing but black settled over your surroundings like a cloak of ink. A constant shadow.

It looms.

A HEAVY FOG hangs low above the ground in the morning. Gray like curling smoke. It lines the forest floor outside your window with a thick shield. There’s a veil of condensation over the grass, but you don’t remember it raining.

Strangely, it’s the perfect day. You step one foot outside, stunned to feel the noticeable lack of humidity in the air. Even a gentle breeze.

The middle of July, and the sun doesn’t glare down your neck as you ride into town. Your bike even splashes into a puddle. It’s refreshing against your legs that gently pedal.

The sun never comes out. Not a single piece of the sky peeking from the clouds. It looks like rain again, but you don’t go home.

You go to the market.

Buy the best-looking basket of strawberries. Some sweet cream and honey. The brown paper bag crinkles in your arms back to your bike.

You smile and greet a few neighbors passing by, but the streets are nearly empty. It’s innately peaceful in a way you haven’t felt for a long time.

But still. Something follows.

Branches out around you, twisted with vines and thorns, piercing your skin until it draws blood. You occasionally slow to glance behind you, but there’s nothing. No one.

You take a path down the woods. A paved road that you’ve ridden before. Above you, the trees create a thick canopy. Small droplets filter through the leaves and land lightly on your skin.

The moment is sweet again. But you still can’t shake the haunting feeling of a breath down your neck.

The only way you ground yourself is to the quiet flow of the stream nearby. A flow that soon turned into a gentle rush. The river. You hear the sound of your mother’s voice in your head. It’s a pleasant surprise from the ghostly one that’d been haunting you.

She sings to you.

Oh, brothers, let’s go down. Let’s go down, come on down. Come on, brothers, let’s go down, Down in the river to pray.

Running your small hands inside hers through the water. The riverside, a sandy, muddy space between the water and forest. It gleams in the sun.

You approach the bridge and stop to turn back around on the path. Glance down at the river to see maybe a sliver of sun. But now, it only reflects the murky sky.

And your mother’s voice suddenly stops.

Replaced by another one.

A rough one. Coughing and gasping.

“H-Hey,” it calls out, hoarse but wet. A real voice. Not from a memory or a nightmare.

You peer over the edge of the road. The land gently slopes down. At the bottom, where the bridge meets that patch of sand by the river, something rustles in the leaves.

Slow, careful steps guide you down. The hem of your dress becomes wet from the low-lying fauna.

A figure lays against the brick of the bridge. Below its feet is a trail of burrowed-out, disrupted sand. Like it’d been running and flailing in it.

You’re careful not to slip on the leaves when you hear a soft gargle.

“P-please,” it chokes out, and your feet now rush to the bottom.

Once they touch the sand, they stop. Your body goes cold. Your own heart is motionless in your chest from an overwhelming shock. You don’t hear the river anymore. Your lungs have suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

Blood—an excessive amount—drapes over the sand. It runs down the brick wall, where the body leans.

Charlie Maywell.

He’s nearly unrecognizable from the red coated over his face. His work shirt damp with it, the ends of his hair at his chin crusted. And right underneath, his throat gleamed. Fresh.

Raw.

An open wound gushed blood onto his chest. The same one you had your head against two days ago.

“Oh, God,” his jaw shakes when he sees it’s you. The flesh of his throat bobs with his cry. “P-please. You gotta help me.”

You don’t say anything. Not you as you can’t even take a breath.

There’s too much red. And the stench of it hangs heavy in the air. It even follows the trail in the sand to the river. You’re suffocating.

“Hey, hey,” he coughs out. Somehow, his words are still gentle. “It’s okay. You just gotta—” Charlie sputters. “C-cover it.” He takes his own palm and places it over the wound.

His lips—the ones you’d kissed—shake. “Like this.”

But through the cracks between his fingers, the bleed seeps. It stains the fabric of his sleeve, and you watch the faintest remnant of hope fade from his eyes.

“Please,” he cries.

He’s begging you. He’s listening to his own heartbeat slow.

Charlie shakes his head the best he can with a mangled neck. “N-no, please.” The blood coats his teeth and tongue. It drips down to his chin. “Don’t leave, p-please!”

His voice grows weaker. And you back away. Just a step. You watch his chest rise and fall, and then…nothing. His mouth parts open like a ghoul, eyes wide and lifeless.

You scramble on both hands and feet back up the hill. The leaves slide under your palms.

You reach for the side of the road like it’s an anchor. Pulling you back for air, gasping and clutching onto the asphalt.

The bag of groceries falls to the side when you pull your bike up and swing your leg over the side. The basket of strawberries breaks open, and they tumble down the slope. Red running against the dirt.

Blood seeping into the sand. It’s still there, in your mind, pooling around Charlie’s body like a sadistic grave.

It’s darker now, the clouds now a deep, threatening, angry gray. And the far distance, in the wall of the trees that surrounds the road, two specks of red glow. They don’t move.

They blink.

Your feet move faster than your mind. You follow the path the way you came, wind whistling through your hair. It forces the tears welling up in your eyes to fall. The severity of it all threatens to hit you then.

But you don’t let it. Not until you stumble into your bedroom, your bike left by the front door.

You collapse onto the bed. The scent of fresh honeysuckle and sin is still strong. But even in the quiet of your house, Charlie’s voice rattles in your head.

“Please.”

“Oh, God, no.”

It stays, even after your eyes drift shut.

YOU WAKE IN the afternoon once the shock dissipates from your system. It’s odd that your father hadn’t shaken you awake for breakfast, but when you saunter into the living room, it’s empty.

He must’ve left for a good day’s work.

Something lingers in the air. It follows you like a ghost. Reeks of death and everything wrong.

You can still smell the blood as you splash your face with cold water. It does little to refresh your mind, because nothing could ever make you forget Charlie’s body by the river.

His voice, begging. His eyes, pleading. His mouth, sputtering blood.

You see it in your own reflection. For a split second, he’s there. Standing behind you, in a crack in the bathroom mirror.

You don't scream or gasp. If he’s there to take your soul, you won’t fight.

There isn’t much to take anymore.

The next second, he’s gone. A blink of an eye, and you’re alone again.

You try to remember what that voice told you:

You’re not alone.

And where was it now? Had you upset it? Had you scared it away? As the day before comes back to you in fragments, you remember the glow of red in the forest.

Watching you like eyes. A predator stalking its prey. You wish it would just attack already.

YOU WALK INTO town. It takes twice as long, but you can’t stand to look at your bicycle. The dirt road crunches under your boots. Most noticeably, yesterday’s unusual weather hasn’t disappeared.

No beam of hot sun on the back of your neck. No sweat dripping down your cheek.

Just the strangely still air and the weight of fog.

Although it feels like morning for you, the rest of the town continues about their day. The wives sort through the peaches and berries at the market. A clerk signs something off for a truck driver. Children play hopscotch and jump rope on the sidewalk.

Everything is right.

Until something cuts through the air.

A wail—sharp and ear-piercing like it could shatter the windows—comes from outside the police station. All the eyes on the street turn towards it. You stop in your steps.

Because just outside the station, parked on the side of the road, is an ambulance.

You don’t miss a beat. You know what—who—is inside of it. An ambulance is a way of hope, like there’s still a chance for poor Charlie Maywell. But you see it for what it is.

A hearse.

Your lower lip trembles. People on the street begin to murmur.

A woman, with dark hair pinned up into a bun, runs from the station to the ambulance. She sobs as she tries to pull the doors open. She bangs on the windows with her fists.

“Give me my son!” She shouts. A man wraps his arms around her. Pulls her back to the station.

The story lives on to be a legend in the town. How Mrs. Maywell cried for her son in the street that strange gray afternoon. How her husband couldn’t hold her back. How they fell to their knees when they dragged poor Charlie’s body out.

Covered with nothing but a sheet. The slope of his nose piques under it, and below his head, is a horrific splotch of red.

Your eyes dart around you—maybe your guilt is so strong that everyone knows. But the people don’t look at you.

They watch, for a long time, as Mrs. Maywell cries.

“They had to drag her back home.” Mr. Kline says at the bank the next day. Sorting the bills in his hand like he wasn’t holding a thousand dollars.

Eventually, it comes out quick enough for the whole town to know. Charlie Maywell was ripped apart, mangled and mauled. A blood-soaked mess by the time the cops found him. Had his body rotted a few days more, he would’ve been unrecognizable.

Your father only speaks of it once. Hunched over his radio, a beer in his hand. “No more walks. Or bike rides.”

You blink once. Guilt gleams over your eyes, but he can’t bring himself to look at you. You don’t know which one of you failed the other.

“Yes, daddy.”

You kiss the top of his forehead before bed.

CHARLIE MAYWELL IS buried the following week.

His casket—a big, dark-oak thing—is closed. Covered with white roses and wildflowers. The preacher stumbles over his words, cut off by quick sniffles and long breaths.

At the front, near the altar, and closest to Charlie, sat his father. Alone in the pews with the whole town behind him. Eyes wide, stricken with horror at the floorboards like he’d just seen war.

And perhaps he had.

Perhaps, in some way, you could’ve stopped it. Saved not only Charlie from his fate but his father from this grief.

The choir girls sing. You can’t look at them.

You can’t look at anything other than your hands in your lap. Even if they never had been dirtied, the blood was still on them. A stain of a nightmare come true.

“Please!”

Charlie’s voice still speaks to you like he’s just over your shoulder. His breath still fans against your skin. Then, it comes back to bite.

“Please. You gotta help me.”

The nave shudders, and so do you.

Mr. Maywell leads the walk to the cemetery, a full congregation behind him. Every townsperson gathered to mourn.

Apart from you, who slipped out the back door when the rest crowded at the front. You hid by the side of the church as their footsteps dragged against the sidewalk.

Home is all there is. You walk down the path you know like the back of your hand. The town is tainted now. All of its buildings and people, veiled by a shadow. Forever corrupted by the death of poor Charlie Maywell.

When you reach the porch steps, he is hardly at the back of your mind.

“Don’t leave, please!”

Your palms fly to your ears; you’re drowning in his screams. You rush across the threshold, the screen door hissing behind you. Down the hall, past the kitchen to your room.

It does little to offer comfort now. Your pristine white linens drip red until your mind stops deceiving you.

With the door shut behind you, your back slides down against it until you crouch on the floor. You hug your knees to your chest. In it, your heart races and stammers. No amount of deep breaths or mind games can steady it.

You trade your black cotton dress for your nightgown. The lace lining is something of purity and innocence. It’s wrong to wear it now.

You don’t sleep. You hardly ever close your eyes. The hours pass, and you lie awake with a heavy soul. You imagine them lowering the casket into the earth as Mr. Maywell weeps.

Blood in the sand. Crusted over his skin and hair. His tears leaving two clean streaks through it.

And you walked away.

The memory is pressed into your soul now.

Outside your window, the clouds still blanket the sun and sky. You only realize the evening approaches when it all goes blue. The kind of blue that runs a shiver up your spine.

You didn’t kill Charlie.

You simply left him for dead.

And you don’t try to decide which one is worse. In the end, a young man is dead, and you’re coated in his blood. No matter how many times you’ve scrubbed yourself clean.

Eventually, you’ve sunken into the mattress so far you can feel the wooden beams underneath it. You rise and swing your feet over the side.

There’s dried tears lining your face. You don’t remember crying. You stay there, sitting on the edge of your bed

And then—the whistle in the wind.

Distorted and hushed. But direct, like it was only meant for you.

Sweet lamb.

Your eyes widen.

It’s been weeks since it left you. You’d told yourself it was gone for good. Bid farewell and never looked back.

Yet here it was.

Don’t be afraid. Won’t you come outside?

It possesses you, or some dark corner of your mind that wants to give in. Your feet carry you down the hall and back to the screen door.

You almost gasp.

In the distance, far off across the dirt road where the trees loom over you, a figure stands. You can hardly make out his face through the mesh. The door hisses open as your bare feet step onto the porch.

Slowly. Steadily. Watching him watch you. He’s still too far away, but you’ve never seen this man in town.

The ground is dry and soft beneath your feet as you wander further from your house. Every bone in your body screams at you to go back, but his gaze hasn’t left your body since you appeared in the door.

You approach him close enough that you can see the faintest blue in his eyes. His hair is dark and tousled, falling in uneven strands like he carries the night with him.

The sight of you is something else—hair ruffled from bed, faint bags under your eyes, and a grayer complexion that only came with remorse.

“You poor thing,” he says, a tilted smile on his face.

The sound of his voice floods you with clarity. Your knees almost buckle and your stomach twists because this man—whom you’ve never seen before—is more than familiar.

He emanates an ambiance of warmth, one that you’ve felt before. The very one you ached for when it was gone.

“It’s you.”

The words fall from your lips with a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

He doesn’t answer you. He doesn’t need to—you feel it in your bones that this man is your ghost. He simply turns on his heel and enters the forest.

You wait for a moment. Frozen like you’re petrified, but strangely, you’re not afraid.

He glances over his shoulder at your figure near the road. Furrows his brows and calls out, “Come on, now. Ain’t nothin’ in the dark besides me.”

And so you follow him. A generous space between the two of you. He doesn’t urge you to hurry. You don’t ask him to stop. The bottom of your nightgown, brown with dirt, brushes against your ankles. You step over fallen branches and roots. They threaten to scratch and pierce your soles, but you never flinch.

You watch him. Treading through these woods like he knew them. And since you do know them, you know where he’s leading you.

The riverside pokes through the gaps between the leaves. The ground turns into a steep decline, and you grasp onto nearby branches for support.

He hears your steps slow and extends his hand to you, “Careful here.”

When you take his hand, the cold of skin runs through your own, spiking your blood and tracing your spine. He smiles at your surprise.

You step over a fallen log and feel soft sand under your feet. Twilight now hangs over you, filtering the forest and the river in a deep blue. The water laps at the shore in small waves.

You saunter towards it. He stays among the tree line, his eyes fixated on you. He waits for you to move.

But you don’t. You stand there, watching how the rising moonlight illuminates the water.

In your gown, you seem like the ghost now.

He silently steps towards you until his hand can reach your sleeve, settling on your shoulder. “You almost look pure in this, dove,” he plays with the lace. “But I didn’t bring you here to be pure.”

Carefully, he bunches the gown and lifts it up to your hips. You instinctively raise your arms so he slides it off of you. The humid air melts against your skin.

His fingers grace the side of your arm. They trail up the skin until they brush your jaw.

“Christ,” he whispers when your eyes meet his.

Your lips part gently, but the words don’t come right away. “What are you?”

He smiles at that. A hint of awe as his eyes drag down your figure. His other hand places itself lightly upon your waist.

“What do you think?” He asks, his eyes quickly meeting yours before taking in your body again. “I thought I was just ‘n your fuckin’ head’.”

He mocks your ambitious words from that night weeks ago.

You swallow thickly, unable to speak.

He leans in closer and audibly inhales through his nose. He smells you. “Do I look like I’m in your head right now, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flutter shut for only a moment. The fabric of his shirt brushed against your bare chest.

“Do I feel like I’m in your head?”

“No,” you breathe. You glance back at him to see his eyes fixated on your neck. He’s nearly caged you in his hold now, and you don’t fight it.

“That’s right.” He nods once.

His cheek touches yours when he smells you again. The grip on your waist grows tighter before his fingers grab your chin.

“You do as I say, yeah?”

You nod. Slipping into obedience like a dog.

His hands shift your body towards the river, resting heavily on your shoulders. The water reaches your toes, cold and fresh. But when you look down at it, you can still see Charlie’s blood flowing along.

“Walk in there, now,” his voice flows gently to your ear. “Don’t look back until you feel me there with ya.”

You don’t move right away. Not even with a gentle nudge of his hands. Hypnotized by the rippling glow of the water, you can feel him waiting. For you.

“You said that no one can save me,” your voice is stronger now, nearly as solid as the rocks lining the river. “No one but you.”

You turn only slightly. He stands in the corner of your eye.

“Save me from what?”

He gently smirks. Not mockingly or even hungrily, but with adoration. A hint of excitement for what’s to come soon.

“You’ll see.”

His hands on your shoulders prompt you towards the river again, and this time, you obey. The sand turns coarse as the water runs deeper. It bites at your skin with every step you take, but you don’t stop.

Not when it chills your inner thighs. Not even when the surface of it reaches the curve of your breast.

Behind you, back on the shore, you can hear something like a shuffling. Metal clinks. Quiet steps track through the sand for only a moment until a splash.

And the entire river shifts. Afraid.

The water is warmer now that you’re acclimated. You run your hands through it and feel it pulse between your fingers.

Then, a breath.

Hot but comforting at your neck. A warmth envelopes you again.

And he chuckles. “Look at me.”

You turn.

His skin is pale under the moonlight. It catches every sharp line of his torso, casting soft shadows in the dips between lean muscle. There’s a faint sheet of sweat over his collarbones that highlights the curve. His chest and broad shoulders are noticeably still, and you realize he isn’t breathing.

Nor is his heart beating.

“What are you?” You whisper like the Lord can hear you. Like it isn’t already too late for your soul.

He cups water in his calloused hands and pours it over your exposed skin. You shiver, and he smiles. “Is that how you speak to strangers?”

One hand settles on your lower back.

“You’re not a stranger.”

“You’re right,” he hums, amused. The hand runs down to the curve of your ass, taking as much of it as he can into his palm. “I’m not. A stranger wouldn’t know to do this.”

His other hand suddenly appeared at the roots of your hair. He clenched his fingers and pulled, tilting your head up at him. Baring your neck to the moon.

You steady yourself with your hands on his chest, holding back a moan from slipping past your lips.

“Easy, now,” he grins. “I won’t do nothing ya don’t like. I know that Maywell boy couldn’t please you, but I ain’t like him.”

A tear runs down your cheek. Your eyes widen in horror, but not shock.

“You killed him,” your voice shakes. From both fear and from the weight of the truth you already knew. “Didn’t you?”

His eyes gaze into yours so softly it’s almost impossible to believe he could do such a thing.

“I had to.”

“Why?”

He breathily chuckles like your naïveté like it’s adorable. “For you.”

Your brows furrow. “What?” Your lip curls in confusion. You begin to back away for air, but he’s caged you in now.

“You let me in that night. Remember it, sweet girl?” His lips are dangerously close to your skin. “Let me inside of you. Felt every inch of your soul. That’s a bond you can’t break. Couldn’t just let ya go after that, darlin’.”

Words don’t seem to come to you. You can hardly process a thought. His eyes hold yours, unblinking. “What?” You tremble.

“You still don’t get it,” he chuckles. “I saved you.”

There’s a pause before you speak, but you don’t hesitate. “You didn’t save me,” you spit.

His amused smile falters.

And his clutch on your hair tightens as he pulls you down past the surface of the water. Cold rushes in past your lips and nose. It gasps around your skin. You breath is caught in something between heat, want, and fear.

Fear that he could take your life.

Want for him to take more.

Because there’s something about him—ancient and unspoken—that unfurls the thought of an element beyond life and death.

And whatever it is, it brings you relief. Solace for the darkness you’ve been carrying. Cleansed.

When he pulls you up, you break the surface with a shattering gasp. Your hair, now soaked, sticks to your body like a mold. His face is inches away from yours, and there’s a red gleam to his eyes.

There’s no reason to fight. Not when you can feel your soul succumbing to him.

But you do. Your hands on his chest push him from you, startling him to release the grip on your hair. With your heart thumping faster than it ever has, you try to swim through the flow of the river.

Something at the bottom scrapes your ankle. Despite the sting, you rush to the shore, where he laid out your white nightgown upon a smooth, flat rock.

You’re close. Close enough that if you extend your arm, you can reach it.

Until a force much stronger than you grabs at your leg. A grip that’ll surely bruise the skin. And then, another settled on your hips.

His chest is warm pressed against your back. He locks you in his hold again, lips just barely brushing your ear. The sound of his sneer is something both evil and intimate.

“Even the iron still fears the rot.”

It falls from his lips like poetry as he lets the smell of your blood absorb into his soul. His fingers latch themselves softly into your flesh. Behind you, something hard and heavy presses against your flesh.

He holds you steady, but your breath shakes. “I don’t fear you.”

The corner of his lips curl. You feel it on your shoulder. Then, a swift, clicking sound like blade against blade. His chest vibrates with his words.

“You should.”

Two rows of unnaturally sharp teeth break past your skin. Slicing clean and deep. A jolt tears through your body, a confusing mixture of slight pain and intense pleasure.

You instantly gasp, hands grabbing at his arms—but not for him to stop.

You pull him closer.

“Christ, that’s good,” he says almost drunkenly when he pulls from you for just a moment. He recognizes a moan come from you. “Of course, you like that. You know why?”

His tongue licks at the wound where blood flows. Digs his blunt nails into your side.

“Because you’re mine. I made sure of it that first night.”

He groans low in his throat, starved yet restrained. His hold on your body grows tighter, hands splayed over your ribs. He drinks reverently. For the slightest taste of something sacred.

He doesn’t make a mess. Only two small streaks of blood run down the space between your breasts. When he pulls away again, now for the last time, he sighs like a madman.

Your strength is practically nothing against his. And you don’t even try to fight him as he walks you to the riverside where the large rock sits.

The water now rests just at your hips, leaving your skin to gleam under the moonlight

“I won’t drain you—not yet,” he says like a prayer into your neck, pressing kisses against your blood-stained skin. “Not until I fill up every inch of ya, just to leave you empty and beggin’ for more.”

A breath hitches in your throat.

With secure arms, he turns you to him, his blood-covered lips trailing across your jaw. The rock slopes perfectly to align your back against it. It’s smooth and cold and wet as he slides you up.

Once you feel the lace of your nightgown underneath you, you clutch onto it like it’ll save you.

He lurches towards you, grabbing you by the thighs and dragging you back to him.

You’re pinned down by the hips, the nightgown being the only barrier between you and stone. But before he lowers himself, he grabs your bleeding ankle.

A deep inhale through his nose, first. Then, he licks with his tongue flat against your skin. There’s hardly even a faint trace of blood left by the time he’s done.

The night air is cool against you, but the warmth returns when you feel his breath against your slick.

A single string of drool runs from the corner of his mouth.

His chin is still lathered in red—the same red that slowly runs down your body, curving around your breasts.

“You been dreaming of me, sweetness?” He asks while leaving graceful kisses along your thighs. Trailing closer and closer. He doesn’t let you respond before he acts.

He licks. One bold stripe through your folds.

His eyes burn into yours as he watches them lull into the back of your head.

You cry into the dead of night when he seals his lips to your bundle of nerves, his tongue still working to lap at you. Without thinking, your hand flies to his hair, digging into the roots.

But you loosen your grip quickly. Afraid that you’d somehow hurt him.

“Go ahead, dove. Show me how you want it.” Hesitantly, you use his dark curls to guide his head. He chuckles only once into you. “Fuckin’ filthy girl, usin’ my tongue to feel good.”

A moan croaks from you as you grip your nightgown beneath you.

“You don’t know how good you taste, honey.” The noises—slurps and licks and open-mouthed kisses—are obscene in the night air.

You feel a fingertip, rough and wide, prod at your hole, circling the rim before plunging past your entrance.

“Fuck, Remmick!”

He nods, pumping his finger quicker every second. “Could stay here all day tasting this sweet cunt.”

Another digit threatens to stretch your opening, and you roll your hips into his hand, pulling his head closer so the pressure on your clit blooms. Your thighs violently shake and squeeze around him when he adds a second finger.

He growls, “Keep ‘em open, girl.” The roughness of his tone matches the pace of his fingers. “Eyes, too. Want you to watch me when I make you come all over my face.”

“Oh, God,” you whine when your eyes meet his.

Because they now glow. Red.

“He can’t hear you now, darlin’,” he smirks and pulls his mouth and fingers away from you. He takes them in his mouth and hums at the taste. “Not when you’re sinnin’ with me.”

Remmick rises. The blood on his face is nearly completely wiped away by something else that glistens in the moonlight–you.

His brows furrow at the sight of you, lips pursing like he’s looking at his own masterpiece. Red smears the inside of your thighs, the curve of your ass, even your mound.

“Just absolutely filthy…” he whispers to himself.

The skin of his knees digging into the rock under your nightgown. He lifts you like it’s nothing and drags your hips to where his cock hangs heavy and wide between his legs.

Your jaw trembles as you stare at it. The tip is red and leaking as if he’s about to burst. He chuckles at your gaze.

His hands, much larger than yours, just barely wrap around it. “Come here, pretty girl,” he says as he begins to stroke it with his palm.

Something tight forms in your chest when you look down at the small space between you two—where he slides the tip through your glistening folds. He hisses and rubs it against your swollen clit. His head tilts back.

“I’m gon’ ruin you,” he says towards the sky before looking back down at you. “And I’m gon’ be so gentle, you won’t even realize ‘til it’s done.”

The head of his cock pushes past your entrance once, and his hips retract. Only to push himself deeper. Then, again. And again. A tortuous cycle–taking every inch of his length until you feel the base of him flat against your clit.

He groans when he’s fully inside. “Can feel you openin’ around me, angel. Slowly, but surely.”

You don’t make a sound. It’s almost impossible when you can barely take a breath. Your jaw hangs open, eyes fixated on where the two of you connect only to flutter closed when he begins to thrust. Tears collect and threaten to spill.

“Go ahead.” Remmick fills up every space inside of you in a way you’d never felt before. Not even that first night. “Cry, darlin’. Cry all you want, let the river wash it away.”

His hips buck for a moment like broken restraint. He bends down closer to your face to kiss a tear that slips down your cheek. His hands are firmly planted on your hips, and he uses the grip to lift you up just a little, opening your insides in a new angle.

You shiver when he reaches a new depth. It doesn’t seem possible for him to go any deeper.

“There we go,” he smiles. He begins to move faster. Sharper. With more precision and vigor like he’s trying to find every spot inside of you.

“I–” you try to say before he forces a moan from you.

The pace quickens. With every thrust, Remmick draws himself from you nearly completely before shoving himself back inside.

Your body is completely limp as he ruts into you, skin slapping to a delicious rhythm.

“Miss me when I was away?” Remmick chuckles as he pants. Not once do his movements slow or falter.

You nod rapidly, eyes squeezing shut because, even as he fucks you right there like he’d been doing it his whole life, the mere girth of him is still too much to bear. “You w-were gone for s-so long.”

“Oh, I know, darlin’,” Remmick half coos.

His hand grabs you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. Suddenly, his eyes turn dark. “Now, you see me, don’t you girl?”

You see him.

You feel him. It’s more than just a ghostly warmth leaving its trace in the night–he’s making his claim on you now.

“Saw that poor boy by the bridge all bloodied up…” His hand drifts down to your neck, his fingers squeezing just enough to leave you searching for air. “Got you wonderin’ what kinda monster would do such a thing…”

With his hand around your throat, Remmick pulls you up closer to him.

“...What he could do to you.”

Your brows knit. That familiar burning starts in your thighs before pooling around your center.

The tip of him surely leaves bruises against your cervix. He licks at your neck again, right at the spot where he’d drank from you. Every thrust into you pulls another strangled sound from your lips.

You look up at him, not in fear or anger–but desperation. You want more. The trees seem to breathe as they listen.

“P-please,” you manage to choke out.

A chuckle rumbles deep from his chest. “Well, look at you,” he rolls his hips against yours. “Pleadin’ for me to give you more, yeah? You close, ain’t you?”

You nod.

“Bet you didn’t think anyone could make you feel so good bein’ split open,” he rests his forehead against yours. Your bodies sway along with the rapid pace he sets. “That boy sure as hell couldn’t.”

Your eyes go wide and, despite the waves of pleasure coursing through you and pulling you closer to the edge, you’re confused.

But Remmick smiles knowingly.

“Oh, I seen it all, darlin’. He didn’t fuck you like this, did he. He didn’t have you writhin’ and beggin’ all over him.” Remmick’s eyes drift down at his cock spearing into you. “Hurts my heart to know you wasn’t enjoyin’ yourself. He didn’t deserve to see you like this–”

A beat.

“—In all your glory.”

His grip around your throat tightens. His eyes glow red.

“Only I get you like this, ain’t that right, dove?” You nod and try to muster out a yes, but it comes out like an incoherent babble. His lips hover at your ear. “Say it.”

Your back arches from the rock. Something inside you twists and pulls and threatens to snap.

“Y-you’re the o-only one…” Your senses are too heightened to control yourself anymore. And the way you look up at him with glassy, pleading eyes is enough.

The pad of his thumb presses over your swollen clit for just a moment, and you burst.

Your vision goes out as you see only black. You convulse against him like the only thing keeping you awake is the rhythm of your heart.

He stays buried inside of you, furiously rubbing over your bundle of nerves. “That’s it. That’s a good girl,” he praises you as if he wants more.

And he takes it from you anyway.

You hear him faintly whisper “Christ” to himself as he shoots his load into you.

His hips suddenly still while his release rushes through him. The grip on your throat loosens, and with the sudden surge of a full breath of air, you open your heavy eyes.

Only to see how his abs glisten and shine with something other than water. Some droplets even soak your lower stomach.

You’d gushed all over him.

“That’s right, angel,” he says with a breath. “That’s all you.”

Remmick runs two fingers through it, collecting as much as he can before guiding your mouth to them. You take them without hesitation. Wrap your lips around them, swirling your tongue to taste your own release.

“Ain’t that sweet.” He chuckles.

His touch is different now.

It’s still marked with something ancient and violent, but with you, he’s gentle. He carefully sits you up on the rock, but he doesn't pull himself from you.

He stays buried almost as deep as possible, leaving a weight inside you. But is isn't a burden.

“There’s just one more thing to do, angel.”

You cock your head. “What do you mean?”

His fingers brush over the puncture wound on your neck. It’s beginning to bruise now. His gaze at it this time isn't with hunger or even lust.

There's a hint of awe. Some kind of longing like he'd truly been waiting for this moment.

“I fucked all the good outta you, and you still don’t understand," he hums a chuckle. His lips are only inches away from your throat, his hands splayed at your back to keep you up against him.

You involuntarily tilt your head to the other side, baring your neck at him. He brushes your hair off your shoulder. His breath is warm on your skin with every word he speaks.

“You’re mine, darlin’. Always have been.” He wipes away any remaining tears. “Always will be.”

Your gasp echoes through the forest. It shakes the flowing river. His teeth pierce you again, this time with an excruciating, burning heat that leaves fire in your veins. It spreads through you like a promise.

Sealing your fate.

Your hands grasp at his shoulders, clawing at the skin. Not for him to stop, but merely to ground yourself as he drains you of nearly all sustenance.

He growls and groans into you. The weight of his body pins you down to the rock. You’ve nowhere to run. You don’t try to, anyway.

Your skin is ablaze. Every cell in your body seems to ignite. For a moment, in your agony-ridden state, you question if it will ever end. But eventually, the color fades from you.

And soon, so does the pain.

“R-Remm…” you begin to say. It fades into a breath.

A last one.

You wake to the gentle stream of the river. The stars seem to be watching you amidst the dark void of the sky. Waiting. Anticipating to see a girl as sweet as you born into something new.

The breeze doesn’t blow against bare skin anymore. The sheer lace of your nightgown tickles your neck again—but when you look down, you notice that the hem is stained a marvelous red. Your stomach growls at the sight of it, and you realize then, you’ve never felt so hungry.

Nearly starved.

It isn’t solid rock beneath you anymore, either. Instead, you lay upon the soft, lush grass, the sandy riverside only inches from your feet.

He stands at the shore. Dressed neatly as if nothing even happened.

You walk to him with gentle steps. The sand collects in between your toes.

Once beside him, the water laps at your feet. He doesn’t immediately look at you. His gaze is fixated on the water, though you wonder if his mind is somewhere else.

The river runs gently. The moon whispers to the stars. Your own audience in the sky. You’ve become something of the night yourself. You can feel it in your bones.

He’s unusually quiet.

“I see you, now.” You say plainly.

He’s silent for a moment. Letting the words hang in the night air.

“You could see me since you watched that Maywell boy die,” he finally says. It’s soft, but he somewhat scoffs, low and heavy like the words are meant to be against himself.

“No…” You shake your head, still trying to grasp what you were trying to say.

It isn’t just Remmick standing beside you. And now, he isn’t the demon that’d haunted you and lured you in. It’s far more than that.

It’s the picture of war flashing before your eyes. Canons and blood and fire. Men begging for their lives with screams. It’s the image of disease, something twisted and cruel running rampant through its victims, their coughs echoing through your mind. Ballrooms, pubs, cities, and farmland. In all of them, one variable stays the same–him. With more lives lived than you can count.

It’s the sight of him—the same as he is now—running through a field of tall grass. His eyes are wide in horror. The only thing running through his veins is fear. The sound of his screams bleeding into the night until he becomes the very monster he feared.

Drifting through the centuries as a ghost. Alone and forced to the darkness, never to be seen by the sun. Never to be seen by anyone, for that matter.

Until you.

You turn to him then. You picture that face—chiseled and aged not by nature, but by heartache—in the memories that now take up your mind.

“I see you now.”

taglist: @theabhartachsbride @jimmys-tiara @leftoversl1ce @radiorunner99 @polaris-daydreams

#yes this was inspired my ptolemaea lmao #and don't talk to me about this ending okay idk #remmick x reader #remmick x fem!reader #remmick one shot #remmick smut #remmick #jack o'connell fanfic #jack o'connell smut #jack o'connell one shot #jack o'connell

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free-slutt · 10 months ago

Text

𝙊𝙃, 𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙄 𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝙎𝙄𝙉𝙉𝙀𝘿 𝙄 | 𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙀

a/n: i haven't started the show yet, so I'm not familiar with his character in this show. please forgive my cluelessness during this fic.

summary: the reader goes to the church to confess to the priest that she recently sinned. however, the father decides to have some fun of his own.

warnings: mention of religion, 18+, missionary, loss of virginity, oral(fem & m receiving) fingering, nipple play, praise kink, pet names like doll,sweetheart,baby, mentions of anal, spanking, degrading, corruption kink, almost caught

˖⋆࿐໋

growing up in a religious household, i have developed a deep appreciation for my catholic roots. whenever I feel overwhelmed by sadness, anger, or depression, I find solace in the church.

today i couldn't help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt. i found myself hanging out with a boy, and things got a bit physical. even though we didn't go too far, i couldn't help but feel ashamed. i had promised to wait until marriage, but these uncontrollable desires keep creeping up. i've decided to go to the church to talk to the father about my recent activities and confess my sins.

as i made my way to the church, i felt a mix of nervousness and anticipation. i'm meeting with father charlie, a young and attractive man who’s also the priest at the church, which is not something you typically expect in the church. i haven't had a chance to speak with him one-on-one yet, so im feeling a bit apprehensive about what our conversation will entail.

i open the big doors to the church to see it completely empty just to find charlie sitting down on one the church benches.

“hello there” he calls out.

"father, there's something weighing heavily on my heart that I need to share with you," i said as I hurried to sit next to him.

i can feel that irritating uneasy sensation in my stomach. I didn't even give him a proper greeting. the guilt was so overwhelming that it made me stumble over my words.

"what is it y/n?" he turns all of his attention towards me, his big brown eyes digging into mine, as if anticipating something significant.

“i don’t know who to talk to, i can’t talk to my parents about this especially my own father. i’ve been feeling really guil-“

he interrupted me with a gentle smile and placed his hand on my shoulder, assuring me that everything would be okay and letting me know that he was a safe person to talk to.

“father, i need to confess something. i kissed a boy, and he kissed me back. he started to touch me, but i stopped him. i made a promise to the lord, and i feel terrible for breaking it”

as the tears welled up in my eyes, i instinctively dropped my face into my hands, seeking refuge from the overwhelming emotions.

"hey, it's going to be okay," charlie said in a gentle, caring tone as he stroked my hair, trying to comfort me.

“now tell me, did you guys fuck?”

as those words reached my ears, i couldn't help but look up at him, shaking my head as the tears continued to fall.

oh no, i hope he's not going to make me feel even worse.

“no father i swear-“

"shh, no swearing in the church," he said, raising his finger to his lips with a smirk. the irony wasn't lost on him, considering he had just dropped the f-bomb.

it was so quiet for a whole minute, and I started feeling really awkward. i had come all this way hoping for some advice or comfort, but it seemed like he just didn't care.

as I stood up, charlie grabbed my arm, forcing me to sit back down. “i didn't say you could leave. where do you think you're going?”

he replied coldly, smirking, “always so forgiving. it's kind of pathetic”

i stared at him, utterly perplexed, not really sure what he was talking about.

“father, isn't forgiveness what the church is all about?”

“sometimes, but in this case, i really want you to show me how sorry you are. otherwise, you're just going to keep committing the same sin over and over again. you don't want that, right? you don't want your parents to find out how desperate their innocent little girl has become, do you?"

i couldn't believe what i was hearing from charlie. i never expected him to act this way, let alone say things like this. i was at a loss for words and didn't know how to react. all i could do was nod in agreement. the last thing i wanted was for my parents to find out.

“father, i think i should go”

"why are you suddenly so shy, doll?" his hand on my chin made me tilt my head to stare at him.

"you don't think i notice how you look at me during mass when I'm speaking on the stand? you've become so needy that you sometimes cross your legs to stop yourself from feeling those emotions you want to avoid so badly," he says while caressing my cheek, gently rubbing his thumb on my bottom lip.

"i know you think of me taking you to the point where you can't even think straight, cum dripping out of you while i use you for my pleasure. you don't think i notice that? the way you avoid eye contact with me”

“i don’t know what your talking about father”

charlie’s hand rested lightly on my thigh, sending a spark of electricity coursing through my body. as his fingers inched toward the top of my skirt, pushing the fabric up just a little, my breath caught in my throat. each slow movement seemed to stretch time, heightening my senses and igniting a thrilling tension i couldn't ignore.

it felt deceptively wrong—the kind of reckless abandon that sent a shiver down my spine—but the anticipation was intoxicating, and I craved more. my mind raced, caught between instinct and hesitation, as the warmth of his touch settled into a deep hunger, one i found increasingly impossible to resist.

i glanced up, searching his eyes for a sign, a cue that this was more than just a fleeting moment. we held a playful challenge, a promise of the passion we both knew was simmering beneath the surface. my heart raced with excitement and fear, the boundaries of right and wrong blurring into a sweet confusion. with every breath, i felt the world around us fade away, lost to the undeniable chemistry pulsing in the air. i didn’t want to stop it; I wanted to let go completely and dive headfirst into whatever was coming next.

“do you want this as much as I want this?" charlie's voice broke through the haze of my thoughts, causing my heart to race in an unholy rhythm. i felt his gaze resettle upon me, a weight both thrilling and terrifying. my mind was a jumble, each beat vying for clarity as i struggled to focus on anything but him.

his eyes—the deep pools of mischief and longing—held me captive, swaying me like a fragile leaf in a rising storm. the blueprint of his desires flickered behind those intense brown eyes, and my cheeks burned with a shameful blush. I could hear the hymns of the service fade into background noise, a distant echo that paled against the ferocity of this moment.

what was wrong with me? i shouldn’t be feeling this way, not here—certainly not in a house of worship. my skirt brushed against my legs, reminding me of the innocence i used to wear like armor, now discarded in the face of this ravenous yearning. charlie wanted me. craved me. it was a dangerous temptation that had taken root within me, whispering sweet nothings that urged me to give in.

the candlelit corners of the church bathed in shadows, the lure was overwhelming. each passing week at mass had been an exercise in restraint, a careful balancing act over a precipice of emotion. seeing him near the altar in his crisp shirt—as though god himself had stitched him together purely for me—seemed more sublimely wrong every time.

as his eyes swept over me, i wondered if he could sense the tension glittering between us, thick and electrifying like charged air before a storm. j licked my lips, torn between the sanctity of the aisle and the allure of his promise. "I need you, doll. I can't deny it anymore," he murmured like a sin freshly minted from temptation's forge.

i felt a tumultuous wave of conflicting emotions surging within me. the whispered prayers seemed empty as an overwhelming desire ignited like an uncontrollable inferno. "father” i gasped, but the air escaped me, filled with forbidden possibilities. despite everything, all i could focus on were his lips drawing nearer to mine, as if the world around us faded away, leaving only the intense magnetism between us.

in that sacred moment, beneath the flickering lights, surrounded by silence begging to be heard, we hovered on the brink of something vast and insatiable. would we give in? would grace curdle into passion? ignoring the whisper of consequence felt like my true struggle—should we tiptoe across this brittle line, or confess that hunger has only one unyielding answer? together.

as I processed what was happening, a surge of warmth enveloped me, and i found myself surrendering to the moment. his lips danced across the sensitive skin of my neck, light as a whisper but charging the air with electricity. a small moan escaped my lips, betraying the whirlwind of emotions stirring within me. i could feel his smirk, a secret shared just between us, brushing against my skin, simultaneously teasing and thrilling.

his hand roamed over my thigh, a firm yet gentle grip that sent a shiver cascading through my body. "that's it, such a good girl for me," he purred, his voice a low whisper that thrummed like a melody in my ears, both lustful and tender. each word dripped with a promise, igniting the fire kindling deep within me, blurring the boundaries between desire and surrender.

lost in this intoxicating closeness, i reveled in the sensations; the world beyond shifted and faded, leaving only his teasing caresses and the seductive intimacy that enveloped us—a balance of power and vulnerability, inviting me to cross the threshold into unknown territory.

"father, i really don’t think we should be doing this here. It just doesn’t feel right. what if we get caught?" i watched as charlie sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration, clearly torn between desire and caution.

"you’re right," he replied, his voice low and raspy, "but it’s late, and I don’t think anyone’s going to wander into the church at this hour. just relax, sweetheart."

i hesitated for a moment, then nodded, the thrill of the forbidden sending a shiver down my spine. i reached out, intertwining my fingers with his, bringing his hand to my lips and sucking gently on his long fingers. his eyes locked onto mine, filled with a primal hunger that made my heart race. i could see it in his expression—the desperate need to claim me, to tear away any barrier between us.

the air was thick with anticipation, and i could almost feel the weight of his longing as he shifted closer, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. the dim light from the stained glass windows cast a soft glow around us, amplifying the intensity of the moment. i could sense the tension building, a thrilling mix of danger and desire, as he leaned in, caught in the magnetic pull that seemed to draw us together like moths to a flame.

we were on the edge of something wild and reckless, and in that sacred space, everything felt possible.

charlie withdrew his fingers, his intention clear as he replaced them with his warm, teasing tongue. it slipped into my mouth, exploring with a fervor that sent electric shivers through my entire body. he held my neck gently yet possessively, urging me closer, deeper, igniting a fire that burned between us.

i kissed him back with equal intensity, a thrilling battle for dominance that left us both breathless. the taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and urgency that made my heart race. every flick of his tongue ignited a wave of pleasure, pooling low in my belly and making it almost impossible to think straight.

the heat of the moment consumed me; i could feel my body responding instinctively to his every move. the sweet tension built inside me, and i knew i needed him—needed to feel him against me, to drown in that wild connection we shared. my panties were already soaked, a testament to the overwhelming desire coursing through my veins.

charlie pushes my panties to the side allowing his already wet fingers from my saliva to dance around my clothed heat growling like a predator hungry for its prey “let me show you how a real man is supposed to make you feel darling, those little boys wouldn’t know how to handle something so precious like you. i can make you feel so good you wouldn’t be able to walk straight for days”

as he pumps his fingers in out of me the sweet sounds filling up the quiet church was enough for the both of us to go crazy “more father please” he smirked at my neediness removing his fingers out of me putting them up to mouth to signaling me to suck the sweet juices off of his fingers then going back in for a quick rub of my clit

charlie stood up getting ready to unbuckle his pants but before he could even do that a voice filled up the quiet room which caused me to jump and act quick closing my legs and hiding my exposed area “father charlie i’ve been looking everywhere for you” an older lady shouts from across the room as she appears to be in desperate need of his help

he sighed and i took that as my sign to leave before we both do something we might regret later, charlie keeps his gaze on me the entire time “hi, ill be with you in a moment” he spoke up the lady stops in her tracks wondering what a young woman was doing here at almost midnight with the priest of the church she was curious but nothing crossed her mind as she was desperate to talk to the priest

charlie followed me out of the church closing the door behind us “this isn’t over sweetheart” he placed a kiss on my forehead as he walked back into the church.

˖⋆࿐໋

a/n: omggg i hope you guys like this!! i’ve spent almost a day and a half working on this just for you all especially the person who requested this, i will be making this into a little series since it was getting pretty long! anyways i really hope you guys enjoyed this, remember feel free to request anything!

#nicholas chavez smut #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas alexander chavez x reader #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez imagine

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