#and reads her skin bible

[winxanity-ii]

DAMNED DEVOTION [3/3]

ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 ( m. receiving oral/handjob; fem. receiving oral; p in v; overstimulation; creampie, wrap before you tap kiddos; breeding kink; degradation/praise kink; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery ) word count: 5.4k a/n: ahhh, i can't believe i finally finished the final part to this little 'devotion' piece. to thank you all for following along with this series i may have gone a little filthy 😅 also, don't know if you guys care to know, but it's my twin (@k-nayee) and i's 20th birthday today, wheeewwww 🎉🥳! i'll see you all in the next update, and don't be afraid to shoot an ask/request or check out my other works! this is a continuation of my previous one-shotS, '𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍' and '𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.' If you haven't read those yet, I recommend starting there to understand the progression of their relationship….

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

It was a bright afternoon, the sun hanging high in the sky, its rays filtering through the branches of the old oak tree that stood at the edge of the courtyard. The air smelled fresh, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant murmur of conversation.

A group of young nuns-in-training, dressed in their modest habits, sat on the grass, their voices soft with laughter. You were among them, sitting with your legs tucked beneath you, your Bible open in your lap, a pencil in your hand as you made notes from the earlier service.

The warmth of the sun on your skin made you feel content, almost peaceful, and you were momentarily lost in thought, the words on the page blurring slightly as your mind wandered.

"Sister ____!" a voice called, breaking through your concentration.

You looked up, startled, to see one of the younger nuns smiling at you, her eyes bright with curiosity. She had a round face, still clinging to the softness of her youth, her cheeks flushed from the sun. Her name was Sister Olive, and she was always one of the more talkative ones, her energy infectious among the group.

"Yes?" you replied, giving her a gentle smile. The group of nuns-in-training giggled amongst themselves, their eyes flickering between you and something—or rather someone—further down the courtyard path.

You followed their gaze and saw Father Charlie walking alongside another priest, his expression focused, his hands clasped behind his back.

The sun seemed to catch on his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the soft waves of his hair. He looked every bit the holy man, yet there was an undeniable handsomeness to him, something that drew eyes wherever he went.

Sister Olive leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Sister ____, does Father Charlie have a wife?"

Your brows furrowed slightly, confused by the question. "Pardon?" you asked, blinking as you looked back at her.

The group broke into another fit of giggles, Sister Olive glancing towards Father Charlie again before continuing. "I heard that priests can be married if they were married before being ordained..." she trailed off, her tone curious, her gaze turning back to you. "I just wondered if Father Charlie was ever married. He seems like he could be, doesn't he?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at the implication, and you quickly shook your head, trying to keep your voice steady. "No, Sister Olive, he isn't married," you answered, your tone soft but firm.

The young nuns exchanged glances, and another wave of giggles spread through the group, their laughter light and full of the innocence of youth.

Sister Olive sighed dramatically, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Ah, I thought so. He's too serious to have a wife, don't you think? But still... he's quite handsome."

You swallowed, glancing back towards Father Charlie, who was now nearing the edge of the courtyard, his eyes scanning the area as if searching for something—or someone.

You quickly looked away, your heart fluttering in your chest, a strange mixture of emotions churning within you. You knew you shouldn't think of him in that way, shouldn't let the words of the younger nuns affect you, but it was impossible not to.

The memory of his touch, his voice, the way he had looked at you in the confessional—it all came rushing back, making your pulse quicken, your hands trembling slightly as you closed your Bible.

A second later, a shadow fell over the group; the young nuns quickly quieted, their giggles turning into soft murmurs. Looking up, you saw Father Charlie standing before you, a small, knowing grin on his lips.

His eyes locked onto yours, an intensity in his gaze that made your breath catch. He gave a short, polite bow of his head. "Good morning, Sister ____," he said, his voice smooth, almost gentle, before his gaze shifted to the rest of the group. "Good morning, sisters."

The young nuns responded in unison, their voices a mix of giggles and greetings. You looked down at your Bible, mumbling a quiet, "Good morning, Father Charlie," along with the others, your face heating up under his watchful eyes.

You thought that was the end of it, that he would move on and let you be, but then he spoke again, his voice calling your name.

"Sister ____," he said, his tone still polite, but there was something in it that made your heart skip a beat. "I was hoping I could have your assistance with preparing for next week's sermon. I need some help organizing the notes and scriptures. Would you be able to spare a moment?"

You felt your heart race, already knowing that this was a lie, that his request had little to do with the sermon and everything to do with the tension that lingered between you.

Clearing your throat, you forced a smile, nodding as you closed your Bible and rose to your feet. "Of course, Father," you replied, turning to the young nuns. "I'll see you all later."

They nodded, their eyes wide with curiosity as they watched you walk away with Father Charlie. He led you across the courtyard, his pace measured, his hands clasped behind his back.

You followed him in silence, your heart pounding, your mind racing with a mix of anticipation and fear.

He brought you to the sacristy—a room in the church where sacred objects and vestments were kept and prepared for use during rituals.

The room was medium-sized, its thick concrete walls lined with shelves that held ornate chalices, gilded candlesticks, and other sacred items. A large wooden table stood in the center, covered with cloth and a few open books, the sunlight streaming through the small window, casting a warm glow over the space.

The air smelled faintly of incense, the scent comforting yet heavy, reminding you of the solemnity of the church.

You turned around just in time to see Father Charlie shut the door, the soft click of the lock echoing in the quiet room.

Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your throat as he turned back to you, his eyes dark, filled with something you couldn't quite name—something that made your pulse quicken, your hands trembling slightly at your sides.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, and turned back around, your eyes roaming over the various sacred objects lining the shelves. You busied yourself by adjusting the cloth on the table, pretending to study the items, anything to keep yourself distracted from the tension filling the room.

You could feel him behind you, his presence heavy, the air thick with something unspoken.

A shudder ran through you as you felt his hands on your shoulders, his fingers rubbing gently against the fabric of your habit, caressing your shoulders with a slow, deliberate touch. You closed your eyes, trying to suppress the tremble that ran through your body, your breath catching in your throat.

"F-Father Charlie..." you began, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

Before you could say anything more, he spun you around, his hands firm on your shoulders. His eyes were intense, dark, filled with a hunger that made your knees weak. His face was inches from yours, and you could see the way his pupils were blown wide; his lips parted slightly as he looked at you.

"Shhh," he murmured, one of his hands moving up to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. His touch was gentle, almost tender, but there was an intensity behind it that made your heart race. His gaze bore into yours, and for a moment, you felt like you were caught, trapped in the depth of his eyes, unable to look away.

You took a shaky step back, your eyes dropping to the floor as you tried to gather your thoughts. You turned away from him, your hands gripping the edge of the table, your knuckles white as you spoke, your voice trembling. "Father, I... I find myself at war. What we... what we have, it's wrong. It's against everything we believe in, everything we stand for. I can't... we can't keep doing this."

You heard him let out a soft, frustrated sigh, and a second later, his hands were on you again, spinning you around to face him. There was a tension in his jaw; his eyes narrowed slightly, frustration evident in the way he looked at you.

"No," he said, his voice firm, his gaze intense as he held you in place. "No, Sister. You're wrong. This... what we have, it's not wrong. It's not some sin that we need to be ashamed of." His voice softened slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Do you think the love between Jesus and Mary Magdalene was wrong? Do you think He loved her any less because of who she was? Love is not something to be condemned, not when it's real... not when it consumes you the way this consumes me."

His voice dropped lower, almost a groan, his eyes darkening as he stepped closer, his chest brushing against yours. "You have no idea what you do to me. The way you look at me, the way you move, the way you speak—it's made me delirious. I can't think of anything else but you; I can't focus on anything but this need, this hunger for you. You've taken hold of me, body and soul, and I can't... I can't let you go."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing at the intensity of his gaze, the raw need in his voice. You could feel your resolve crumbling, the conflict within you fading beneath the weight of his confession, the depth of his longing.

"Please," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly, a desperate edge to his words. "Please, just let me have you, one last time. If you're sure—if you really mean it, I'll let you go. But please... just one more time."

A soft, almost mousy, "Okay," left your lips before you could stop yourself, the word barely audible, but it was all he needed.

In an instant, he was on you, his lips crashing against yours, his hands pulling you close, his fingers digging into your waist as he kissed you with a hunger that took your breath away.

Your steps staggered back, your body unsteady as he moved with you, following you, his lips never leaving yours. Your back hit the edge of the table, and he pressed against you, his body warm, his touch insistent, his kiss deepening as his tongue slipped into your mouth, coaxing a soft moan from your throat.

His hands moved to your hips, lifting you slightly as he guided you onto the table, his lips trailing down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel the intensity of his need, the way his body pressed against yours, his hands exploring, claiming, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

His fingers were frantic as they pushed up your habit, his touch rough, almost desperate. His lips never left your skin, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, across your chest.

You could feel his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts, his need evident in every hurried movement, every touch. He kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours, swallowing your soft moans as his hands moved beneath the fabric, lifting it higher, his touch hot against your bare skin.

You gasped when he dropped to his knees before you, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, his hands holding your legs apart. Just as he was about to continue, you panicked slightly, your hands flying to his shoulders, gripping them tightly. "W-Wait," you stuttered, your voice shaky, your heart pounding in your chest.

Charlie looked up at you, his gaze questioning, his breath hot against your thighs. His eyes were dark, filled with desire, and his lips were parted, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

You swallowed, licking your lips nervously as you avoided his gaze, your fingers still gripping his shoulders. "I... you always... I mean, you always... please me with your mouth," you stammered, your face growing hot, your voice barely above a whisper. "I-I was wondering if... if I could... return the favor?"

Your words were awkward, your innocence clear in the way you spoke, the way your eyes flickered everywhere but at him. You cleared your throat, trying to steady yourself, your voice going quiet. "I mean... if you want, Father..." You finally forced yourself to meet his gaze, your eyes wide, nervous, and hopeful.

For a moment, there was silence between the two of you, the air thick with tension. You began to worry that you had said something wrong, that you had crossed some line, but then Charlie let out a low groan, his hands tightening on your thighs, his head dropping against them. He muttered something, his voice muffled, and you barely caught the words, "Are you truly an angel, or a devil sent to test me?"

He stood slowly, his hands sliding up your thighs as he rose, his eyes never leaving yours. When he reached you, he cupped your face, pulling you into a deep, lingering kiss. His lips moved slowly against yours, his tongue teasing, tasting, and when he finally pulled away, he left a soft peck against your lips. His eyes were softer now, the intensity replaced with something gentler, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip, his touch tender.

Then, his expression shifted, his eyes darkening, a low, commanding tone entering his voice as he spoke. "Get on your knees," he said, his voice almost a growl.

You felt a shiver run through you, your body reacting instinctively to his words. You stared up at him, your heart pounding, your pulse quickening as you saw the way his eyes had darkened, the hunger there almost overwhelming. His breathing was shallow, his gaze so intense it made your knees weak.

Slowly, you moved, slipping off the table, your feet touching the ground as you lowered yourself to your knees before him. You didn't break eye contact as you descended, your gaze locked on his, the intensity of the moment making your heart pound.

There was something electric in the air, something that made your skin tingle, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

Father Charlie's eyes were dark, his gaze fixed on you, his lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling as he watched you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension between you almost unbearable.

You knelt there, looking up at him, your hands resting on your thighs, waiting, anticipating.

Slowly, Charlie's hands moved beneath his robes, the rustling of fabric almost deafening in the silence of the room. You heard the soft clink of his belt buckle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes widened slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you watched him, expecting him to pull his robes up and over his waist, but instead, he began slipping off the entire robe, his movements slow, deliberate.

Your gaze was drawn to his chest as the robe slid off his shoulders, revealing smooth, tanned skin, the muscles beneath rippling with each movement. He pulled the robe over his head, his arms flexing, the fabric falling to the floor behind him.

Your eyes trailed down his body, taking in every inch of him—the broadness of his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell, the dark hair that started at his navel and led downward, disappearing beneath the waistband of his unbuckled trousers.

There was a dark line of hair, a happy trail that made your breathing stutter, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

Charlie's eyes never left yours as he reached down, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his touch gentle, almost affectionate. His thumb caressed the bottom of your face before his hand shifted, his fingers gently squeezing your cheeks until your lips puckered slightly. His eyes darkened, his lips curling into a faint smile.

"Pull it out," he said, his voice low, almost a growl. He dropped his hand away, his gaze heavy as he watched you.

With shaking hands, you reached up, your fingers trembling as they found the button of his trousers. You fumbled for a moment, your breath shaky, your heart pounding in your chest.

You unbuttoned his trousers, your fingers brushing against the zipper, pulling it down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room. You tugged the fabric down his hips, the trousers falling to his ankles.

Your eyes widened as you saw the large bulge straining against the fabric of his boxers, the outline of him clear, the sight making your breath hitch. Slowly, you reached forward, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down, your gaze fixed on him.

His length sprang free, bobbing slightly before settling against his thigh. You couldn't help but stare, taking him in. The veins along his length stood out, thick and prominent, the head flushed a deep pink, glistening slightly.

You swallowed hard, your eyes tracing every inch of him, the reality of it sinking in. He was bigger than you remembered, the sheer size of him making your breath catch, your heart pounding even harder.

That... that was inside me...

Your cheeks flushed at the memory, the thought of it making your thighs press together, heat pooling in your belly.

"Sister," Charlie's voice broke through your thoughts, his tone soft but commanding. Your eyes snapped up, meeting his gaze, his dark eyes watching you intently. There was something in his expression, a mixture of desire and tenderness that made your breath catch. "Give me your hand," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated for only a moment before you extended your hand to him, your fingers trembling slightly. He took it gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, and you watched as his other hand moved down his chest, his fingers gliding over his smooth skin, tracing the lines of his muscles before finally wrapping around his length.

He let out a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling as he began to stroke himself, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive tip. His eyes never left yours, watching your reaction, his lips parted as he sucked in a breath, a shudder running through his body.

The sight made your mouth go dry, your eyes widening as you watched him, unable to look away. After a few seconds, he shuddered your name, his voice rough, needy. "Touch me," he panted, his eyes half-lidded, his gaze filled with desire.

You allowed him to guide your hand, wrapping your fingers around him, his own hand covering yours, his grip firm. A low, broken moan left his lips at the contact, his head tilting back slightly, his eyes closing for a moment.

You could feel the warmth of him, the way he twitched in your hand, the weight of him almost overwhelming.

Sitting up on your knees, you moved closer, your other hand resting on his strong thigh to steady yourself. Your thumb unconsciously brushed against his leg, the muscles tensing beneath your touch as you focused on holding him in your hand.

You looked up at him, your eyes questioning, unsure of what to do next. Charlie's gaze dropped to meet yours, his thumb reaching out to pull down your bottom lip, his eyes darkening as he dipped it into your mouth for a brief moment. He let out a soft sigh, his voice almost a whisper. "Open wider," he instructed, his eyes fixed on you. "Drop your tongue, just like you're about to eat a popsicle."

You followed his instructions, your jaw dropping open, your tongue hanging out slightly, your eyes still locked on his. He hummed in approval, guiding your hand up, moving his length towards your awaiting tongue.

The tip of him brushed against your tongue, the taste salty, musky, as he rubbed the head across the surface, letting out an appreciative hum. He did this for a few seconds, his eyes watching every reaction you made, his lips curling into a small smile.

Slowly, he pushed himself further into your mouth, just an inch or two, his breath hitching as he watched you. "Close your lips around it," he murmured, his voice strained. "Suck."

You closed your mouth around him, your lips sealing around the head of his length, your tongue pressing against the underside. He let out a deep groan, his hand moving to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you in place. "Just like that," he whispered, his voice thick hoarse. "That's it... good girl."

You began to suck gently, your cheeks hollowing as you moved your head slightly, taking him in just a bit more. The taste of him filled your mouth, salty and slightly bitter, but not unpleasant.

His hips jerked slightly, a low moan escaping his lips as he watched you, his eyes dark, filled with lust. He guided you slowly, his hand on the back of your head setting the pace, his breathing growing more ragged with each passing moment.

"Use your tongue," he panted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Swirl it around the tip... yes, just like that." You did as he instructed, your tongue moving over the sensitive head, and he shuddered, his grip on your hair tightening, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. "God, you have no idea what you do to me," he muttered, his voice strained, his eyes locked on yours.

You continued to move, your hand stroking the base of him as you sucked, your other hand still resting on his thigh, your thumb brushing against his skin in a soothing motion.

His breaths came in short gasps, his chest heaving as he watched you, his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted. He whispered your name, his voice filled with need, his hips rocking slightly, pushing himself deeper into your mouth.

"You're perfect," he groaned, his head tilting back, his eyes closing as he lost himself in the sensation. "So good... just like that. Don't stop." His words were slurred, his voice thick with pleasure, and you could feel him throbbing in your mouth, the taste of him growing stronger as he neared his peak.

His hips began to move more, his breathing turning into short, desperate gasps, his hand guiding you, holding you in place as he chased his release. He muttered your name, his voice breaking, a mixture of moans and whispered praises filling the room as he lost himself to the pleasure.

When he finally came, the taste of him filled your mouth, his hips jerking, a deep groan escaping his lips as he held you there, his fingers tangled in your hair. He panted heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he looked down at you, his eyes dark, filled with something raw, something possessive.

Charlie reached down, his hand wrapping around your arm, pulling you up from your knees with a strength that left you breathless. He yanked you into a kiss, his lips crashing against yours, his tongue licking into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue.

He groaned against your lips, his hand moving to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devoured you, his kiss deep, consuming. His tongue moved against yours, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pulled back slightly, licking across your lips before placing a softer, lingering kiss there.

He pulled away, his eyes locking onto yours, a small, satisfied smile on his lips. Without a word, he lifted you, settling you back onto the table, his hands pushing up your habit, his gaze dropping between your legs as he knelt before you once again. "I need to prep you," he murmured, his voice husky, his hands sliding up your thighs.

His fingers reached between your legs, expecting to find the fabric of your underwear, but instead, they came in contact with your soaked folds. He let out a surprised sound, his eyes shooting up to meet yours, a brow raised in question. You released a huff, your cheeks flushing as you looked away, muttering, "It's laundry day..."

Charlie let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly, his lips curling into an amused smile. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your knee before his hands moved to push your thighs further apart, the stretch making your muscles burn slightly, the sensation both uncomfortable and thrilling. He held your legs open, his eyes fixed on you, watching your every reaction.

Before you knew it, his mouth was on you, his lips pressing against your sensitive flesh, a silent gasp falling from your lips, your eyes closing, your head falling back as your back arched off the table.

The feeling of his tongue moving against you, licking, sucking, made your thighs tremble in his hold, your fingers gripping the edge of the table, your knuckles turning white.

He worshipped you with his mouth, his tongue moving with purpose, teasing your entrance, his lips closing around your clit, sucking gently.

One of his hands moved up, his fingers brushing against your entrance before slowly pushing inside, stretching you, his mouth never stopping, never hesitating. He worked you with a skill that left you breathless, every flick of his tongue, every gentle thrust of his fingers pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your orgasm built slowly, a steady climb that made your whole body tense, every nerve ending alive with sensation. Charlie seemed to know exactly where to touch, where to kiss, how to move his fingers to bring you to the brink, his name falling from your lips in a breathless whisper, your body trembling, your thighs shaking around his head.

But just as you were about to fall over the edge, just as the pleasure was about to consume you, he pulled away.

A frustrated whine escaped your lips, your eyes opening, a mixture of confusion and need in your gaze as you looked down at him. He stood slowly, his eyes dark, a small smirk playing on his lips as he watched you, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your body aching for release.

Charlie licked his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he reached up, his fingers tilting your head back, exposing the line of your neck to him. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss just below your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. His other hand moved to wrap one of your legs around his waist, his fingers digging into your thigh as he held you against him, his body pressed tightly to yours.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Don't worry, Sister," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'll fill you back up and give you what you need." The words sent a shiver down your spine, your core clenching at the promise, a whimper escaping your lips.

Charlie reached between your bodies, his hand wrapping around his length, positioning himself. He rubbed the tip against your clit, the sensation making your body jerk, a gasp falling from your lips.

He moved slowly, dragging the head of his length up and down your slit, teasing you, your body trembling in his arms, the anticipation almost too much to bear.

Then, without warning, he pushed forward, bullying his way into you, the stretch almost unbearable.

You arched further into his arms, your mouth falling open in a silent scream, your body struggling to accommodate him. He let out a deep groan, his fingers tightening on your thigh, his other hand moving to grip your hip, holding you in place as he filled you completely.

His pace was brutal, each stroke long and deep, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in, his hips slamming against yours. His breath was hot against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, his voice low, rough, filled with need. "You... You feel so good... so tight around me," he panted, his words broken by soft moans. "I'm going to fuck you, fill you up until you can't think of anything else."

His hips snapped against yours, his movements rough, desperate, his body pressing you down against the table, his weight holding you in place. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Imagine it, Sister," he whispered, his voice dark, almost a growl. "A secret child... a product of our sin, of our blasphemy against the church." His words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your core clenching around him, your body reacting to the forbidden promise, the thought of it pushing you closer to the edge.

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your entire body tensing, your back arching as the pleasure consumed you, a silent scream on your lips. You could feel Charlie shudder above you, his thrusts growing erratic, his breath coming in short gasps as he chased his own release.

After a few more brutal strokes, he let out a deep groan, his hips pressing against yours as he came, his body tensing, his fingers digging into your skin.

He stayed there, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath hot against your neck as he tried to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling heavily. You could feel his heart pounding against your own, the room filled with the sound of your ragged breathing, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex.

You shivered as he began to pull back, the movement making you wince slightly, your body still sensitive from the intense pleasure.

His softening length slipped out of you, the feeling making you gasp softly, a mix of relief and emptiness settling in your chest. You felt the warm, sticky sensation as globs of his cum poured out, slowly dripping down your inner thighs.

You began to close your legs, thinking he was done, that he would put his clothes back on, but his hand stopped you, his fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, keeping you open.

Charlie lowered himself to his knees once again, his eyes fixed on you, a dark hunger still present in his gaze. Before you could understand what was happening, his mouth was on you, his lips pressing against your sensitive folds.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you felt his tongue, warm and wet, sliding through your slickness, lapping up the mixture of your release and his own. His groans were sinful, vibrating against you, his eyes fluttering closed as if savoring the taste.

Your brain raced, unsure of what to do or what to say, your body twitching beneath his touch, your legs instinctively trying to close, still overly sensitive from your previous climax. But Charlie's hands were strong, his grip firm as he held your thighs apart, his fingers digging into your skin, keeping you open for him.

He was relentless, his tongue moving with purpose, his lips closing around your swollen clit, sucking gently, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.

Your breaths came in short, desperate gasps, your fingers gripping the edge of the table, your knuckles white. You could feel the pleasure building again, a slow, steady climb that made your whole body tense, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

You couldn't hold back the soft whimpers and moans that spilled from your lips, your head falling back, your eyes closing as the pleasure consumed you.

When you came, it hit you like a final, blinding wave, your body arching off the table, your thighs trembling in Charlie's hold. A broken cry escaped your lips, your back arching, your eyes squeezed shut.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Your mind was clouded as the pleasure consumed you, the feeling like the flames of damnation licking at your skin. For I am burned by the fire of desire, a sinner in the eyes of heaven.

And you weren't sure if you minded at all.

A/N: ya know, i think my smut has gotten better, what do you guys think??? and to answer the upcoming question(s) i know will be asked: yes, this is the final part, i won't be continuing the 'Devotion' series/making it into a book 😔 i know, i know. i promise i want too, but knowing me, i tend to bounce around/start new projects out of nowhere, so if i didn't spend weeks planning before hand, it'll grow cold eventually, and i don't wanna put you guys through that 😩 but never fret, i will continue writing for father charlie 😝, he's just too versatile not to. see you guys soon ❤️❤️❤️.

[sacr1ficialang3l]

✞︎Did you feel that close to God when you had me on my knees?✞︎

SAM WINCHESTER X READER

SUMMARY: Sam, Dean, and reader are working a case in Nebraska. But when reader sees her boyfriend in that priest outfit, things get a little wild. 4.0k

WARNINGS: smut (MDNI). oral m receiving. blasphemy (lots, please don't read if you're extremely religious or if you don't like things like this). mentions of religious trauma (Catholic guilt folks unite). priest kink (?). the word father is said multiple times but this is not daddy kink.

NOTES: extremely self-indulgent. I feel like there's not enough religious trauma readers. this doesn't focus on that anyway. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE! this is also my first time writing straight smut, so pls be nice. Enjoy<3

You are trying to act normal, you swear.

It was a quite simple case, a ghost had been hunting down people in a small town in Nebraska. The only connection in between all the victims was that they all attended the same church, which only meant one thing.

Priest outfits.

Sam was standing there before you, hair carefully styled, black suit jacket over his broad shoulders and black pants making him look taller than he already was. But the most important part, the one that made your breath hitch and thighs press together. The clerical collar. 

There was something about it, something sinful about the white stripe of fabric against Sam’s tanned skin. You always thought your boyfriend was hot, but watching him carefully talking with the families of the victims, watching people calling him father. Watching him in that church, bible in hand, a cross looming over you as it rests in the wall behind you, it was driving you insane. 

Your relationship with religion wasn’t the best, that was obvious, but you had never expected for all that guilt and trauma to transform into… this.

But here you are, sitting on a church bench, watching as Sam and Dean talk to the Pastor. You had refused to put on the nun costume Dean had gotten you. (You were sure he bought it at a sex shop. You went to catholic school, nun’s attires didn’t show that much cleavage. Or any cleavage at all.) Therefore, they had decided you were going to be just a new girl in town. A good christian girl.

You were dressed up in a flowy, lacy white dress. It was delicate, and sweet, and pure. You had added some frilly socks and a pair of mary janes. Your hair was wavy and long, falling over your eyes as you looked down at your hands when Sam was handed the communion wafers. There was a dainty chain around your neck, the silver crucifix almost burning where it touched your chest. 

You feel a sense of disappointment when the pastor asks for the communal hosts back. You kind of wished he had made Sam direct the Eucharist. You imagined yourself, walking to the altar to receive communion like a good girl, kneeling in front of Sam. You imagined blinking your big eyes up at him, parting your pouty lips softly, letting him place the host in your tongue. Maybe his fingers would brush against your lips, maybe he’d let his thumb press down on your tongue, making sure you’re receiving The Body of Christ correctly. 

You look up quickly when the pastor announces in a loud voice that Mass would start soon. He invites anyone who wants to confess to do it now, so they can be ready for the Eucharist. The pastor looks down at you, having noticed how his sudden words echoing all around the church had startled you. Your hands were folded as they rested on your lap, and your eyes were so focused on the floor under your feet that they looked closed. He thought you were praying. He smiles at you with kindness, almost as if admiring how you were nothing but a sweet little lamb, so devoted to your faith and so easily frightened.

Oh, if he only knew.

Before the shame and something else you refused to name wash down your spine, someone stands up behind you. The lady, her shoulders hunched and her eyes red, walks directly into the confessional. You and Sam seem to realize at the exact same time who she is. The widowed wife of one of the victims. You watch as your boyfriend quickly walks into the confessional, his big frame squeezing into the priest's compartment. 

The door quickly closes, but not before you can admire Sam’s face, beautiful as ever, being covered by geometric lines that criss-cross his face, the shadows created by the small window in the wooden panel that separates him from the woman. 

Dean comes over to you to give you a quick rundown on all the information they had gathered. Which is to say, not much. You had to admit that Dean also looked good in the costume, but not as good as Sam. But to be fair, you were a little biased. The older Winchester tells you about how he met one of the victims’ daughter, a young woman that was very distressed and asked him if he would want to come pray with her at her house.

You throw Dean a look of disbelief.

“Seriously, Dean? The mourning daughter?”

“We’re just going to pray! You know, a little guided spirituality to heal the heart.”

“Recite one prayer you know, right now.”

Silence. Utter and definitive silence. 

You sigh, rolling your eyes as Dean gives you a wink and leaves the church, that classic mischievous smirk on his face. 

How does he always get so lucky?

Your thoughts are interrupted when the woman in the confessional quickly walks out of her compartment, but the other door stays closed. 

An idea crosses your mind, but it is crazy. It is insane, and dangerous, and sacrilegious.

It takes you about five seconds to get up and walk into the confessional. 

“Hello, father.” You whisper, hands balled into fists in your lap. 

Sam says your name, confused. “What are you doing?” 

You take the courage to turn to him, and you end up breathless. It was quite stuffy inside the confessional, the smell of wood and velvet from the curtains overbearing. It reminds you of Sunday Mass, and Catholic school, and it makes heat pool in your stomach. You can barely see his face through the dumb window, but for what you could see, this was going to stay engraved in your mind forever.

“I’m here to confess, Father.” Your voice is soft and innocent, but there was a slight smirk on your face that made Sam blink quickly, looking completely lost.

“What-”

You don’t let him finish. “The pastor said to confess before Mass, and I’m just following his orders like a good girl.”

That makes Sam choke on his next breath. He looks at you through the grille, but there is something creeping in around his eyes. Lust.

If I wasn’t going to hell before, I am now.

Sam says your name again, but this time there is a strain on his voice. 

“Y-you come to confess?” You could tell he was trying to follow your lead, to play the role you so desperately wanted him to, and in between all the desire, you feel a wave of love for your boyfriend hit you. 

Hell, you were going to kiss him so hard after this.

“Yes, Father.” You whisper, eyes low and focused on your hands. Your voice was small, pure. You were just playing the role Sam and Dean assigned you, after all. “I’ve been bad, Father. I need to be redeemed.”

“I am sure I can help with that.” Sam’s voice still sounds slightly strained, but there was something different. It was the same voice he used when talking to the victim’s families or when he was forced to greet the morning Mass earlier today. Calm, velvety, but with a hint of authority. Of power.

“I am here to help you find peace,...” He almost says your name, but quickly corrects himself. “Tell me about your sins, and I will guide you in how to repent."

You press your thighs together, biting your lip in the darkness of the confessional. You still don’t face Sam, but you can feel his eyes on you. 

“I- I’ve been having sinful thoughts, Father.” You whisper, voice wavery and full of shame. Damn, maybe you should’ve been an actress. 

You hear Sam swallow harshly in the quiet, small box you were both in. No sounds were filtering in, which made you wonder if they would filter out.

“So you’ve been a bad girl, hm?” His voice is so deep, so rumbling. You were sure your panties were already soaked through. “You look so innocent, though.” Sam sounds almost disappointed, and it makes you squirm. “Tell me about them, you little lamb.”

“I’ve been possessed by lust, Father.” You confess, and you have to bite back a smirk when Sam lets out a shaky breath. “I just- there’s this guy, and we’re dating. He’s tall and big and handsome.”

“Sounds like quite the catch.” You can hear Sam’s smile in his words, and it makes you smile too. 

“He is, yeah.” You giggle, but quickly get back into your role. It wasn’t every day that you got an opportunity like this, and you were going to take it. “But when I look at him, father. I just- I feel… things.”

“What kind of things, little lamb?” He asks, back in his priest voice.

“I- I want him to do things to me, Father. Things I shouldn’t want. Things that are not of God.” You murmur, thighs pressing together with more strength.

Sam stays quiet for just a second, breathing heaving. Maybe you weren’t the only one into this. 

“That’s- that’s bad, little lamb.” He declares, when he finally gets a grasp on himself again. “Remember, you must confess everything to get redemption in the eyes of the lord.”

“I- I’ve done things too.” You confess in a small voice. “I’ve touched myself, Father. I just get so… so-” Your cross your legs, the ache on your lower half almost unbearable. “So wet and hot and I just… I fall into temptation.”

Sam’s breath is ragged by now, and you can’t really see his face, but you know what he must look like. 

“You’re quite the naughty one, aren't you?” He murmurs, voice hoarse. He leans closer to the grille, his voice almost in your ear. 

You lick your lips slowly, nodding even if he can’t see you.

“Yes, Father. Please, help me to be pure again.” Your hand moves from where it was gripping your own thigh and starts to run along the outline of the window that separated you from sam. This one was quite big, it went from over the top of your heads until a few inches away from the ground. It was enough. “I will do anything to be holy again.”

You had learned a thing or two in catholic school, and… you found it. The lock that kept the grille closed, but that could be opened when the priest and the penitent wanted to “talk face to face.” You think the situation is deserving

“Will you, now?” Sam, who was often collected and calm, always in control of his impulses, sounded wrecked. “Your sins are grave, little lamb.” He murmurs. “But lucky for you, the Lord wants me to be merciful to you.”

You swallow harshly, hands wrapping around the lock of the grille. You wanted Sam, you needed him. You had never felt hornier in your whole life.

“Please, Father.” Your voice is almost unrecognizable, whiny and pleasing. “Save me from sin, please.”

“Fuck.” You hear him mutter under his breath. 

I just made a man of the lord swear. 

Obviously, you knew Sam wasn’t really a man of God, and he swore like a trucker, but all your mind could think of was the clerical collar around his neck. 

“If you want me to purify you, you’re going to have to follow my every word. You’re going to let me do what I need to do for this cleansing, do you understand, little lamb?”

That was the last straw. 

You quickly unlock the window and pull it until it hits the door of your compartment. 

There he was, Sam with his hair slicked back, a few rebellious strands falling into his eyes. He was sitting in the little bench of the confessional, eyes a little wild and breath heavy. 

And a big bulge in his pants.

As soon as the grille hits the door of the confessional, Sam stands up, his head almost hitting the top of the cramped wood box you two were in. 

“What the fuck?” 

Before he can say anything else, you kneel down, still on your side of the confessional. Your knees hit the few inches of wood that still separated the two of you, but didn’t mind. And finally, you were there, surrounded by the smell of wood, velvet, and Sam. 

You look up at him through your lashes, eyes big and innocent. Your hands were carefully placed on your lap and your thighs pressed together where they were visible, your little white dress riling up your legs, the lace border contrasting against the dark flooring of the confessional.

“I’ll do whatever it takes, Father.” You lick your lips slowly, mastering the look of naivety and fear in your eyes. “Purify me.”

“This is blasphemy.” Sam chokes out, but he still takes a step closer to you, standing right at the edge too. Like this, your face is right in front of his crotch. Your mouth waters.

“Since your sins are so… deeply rooted,” His hand reaches down to you, but he doesn't touch you. His hand hovers over the top of your head, down to your cheek. “I will have to use some unconventional methods.”

His hand brushes your neck, and you think he was going to brush your hair behind your shoulder, maybe even grip your chin and make you look at him. 

Instead, Sam hooks a finger on the cross necklace around your neck and pulls you closer. 

You don't recognize the sound that comes out of your mouth. The back of the chain digs into the soft skin of your neck, and when he lets go of the necklace, the cross falls back against the skin of your collarbones. 

“You know what you have to do, don’t you?” he says gently, slightly condescending. His hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing over your lower lip.

You nod, almost in a trance, and your lips part slightly. San presses his thumb inside your mouth, and you immediately wrap your lips around him. You suck softly on his finger, eyes never leaving his.

“Jesus, you were made for this.” He breathes out, thumb pressing down on your tongue.

He moves his hand away, and with a little whine, you lean forward until your face is pressed to his clothed cock. 

This was all your idea, and you had loved to watch as Sam’s control slipped as you talked dirty. But right now, you couldn’t come up with anything to say. The hard wood pressing against your knees, the cross burning around your neck, Sam’s words, it was too much. You were getting hazy, and all you could think of was your boyfriend.

You open your mouth and press your tongue over Sam’s bulge over his pants. He hisses, still looking down at you. Almost desperately, you reach out and unbuckle his belt. You pull the clothing piece low enough that you had access to his aching cock, covered by his boxers and big. 

You mouth at him over the fabric, little kitten licks over the bulge, soaking the fabric with spit. 

“Come on, little lamb.” He murmurs, voice strained and breathy. “Show me how penitent you are.”

You pull down the fabric of his boxers until his cock sprang free. It curved up against his stomach, a little dark and huge. 

Spit pools in your mouth at the sight. It didn’t matter how many times you saw your boyfriend’s dick, it was a religious experience every time. 

Especially this time.

A whiny little sound comes out of the back of your throat, and you immediately lean forward. 

You lick up the shaft, from the base to the tip. You savor every vein under your tongue, relish on the little choked gasp Sam makes. You continue to give kitten licks all over his cock, almost reverently. 

“Yeah, just like that.” Sam whispers under his breath, and you finally wrap your lips around his tip, bulbous and angry red. His head drops back and it hits the wall of the confessional with a loud bang. “Good girl.” 

You whimper around Sam, the vibrations making him moan as low as he can, not wanting to get caught. You suck on the tip gently, tongue sliding over the slit, tasting his precum in your tongue.

You moan again at the taste. You loved it.

Slowly, you move your head down, taking more and more of him as you go. Sam moves one hand into your hair, not pushing down but pulling at the roots gently. You suck a little harder, tongue pressing against a particularly pronounced vein. He pulls harder, so hard it makes you move one hand from where it rested on your knee to press it against your pussy. 

Soon, you’ve taken all of Sam. He was nestled against the back of your throat, your lips stretched and puffy. You stay still for just a second, giving you throat time to accommodate as it contracts around his length. Sam’s chest rises and falls quickly, his eyes shutting close for just a second before his eyes return to you. 

“You’re sinful.” He chokes out, pulling on your hair, trying to get you to move. 

And you do. You move your head back until only the tip is in between your lips, and then sink back down. 

Your knees ache from where they press against the hard, cold wood. They will probably bruise, and you couldn’t wait for it. Sam continues to suppress moans and groans as you continue to move your head. You don’t use your hands, you let your mouth do all the work. 

You swallow around Sam when he hits particularly deep inside your mouth, and it has him whimpering. Oh, you need to hear that again.

You lean back, catching your breath for a moment. Sam fists his cock and rubs it on your lips, leaving them glistening with your own spit and his precum. 

“Am I doing it right, Father?” You have half the mind to continue your little roleplay, and it is worthy when Sam’s eyes shut down and his fist tightens around himself. 

“Fuck. Yes, darling. You’re perfect. So good for me, so… devoted.”

You lean forward again, swallowing him down. This time, he uses the grasp on you hair to hold you still and starts to fuck your mouth.

He couldn't move much in the small space of the confessional, but his hips piston as his cock hits the back of your throat again, and again, and again. 

Your hand presses down into your pussy harder, a wet patch staining your panties where you were soaked through. You press on your clit as Sam’s thrusts quicken.

“Fuck, yeah. So good for me, such a good girl.” He was clearly close, his glassy eyes focused on you, his voice wrecked as he babbled a little. “So- mmph, so desperate to be pure, to be good.”

As Sam approaches his orgasm, you double down on your efforts. You circle him with your tongue, contract the walls of your throat around him, let your moans vibrate through him every time you press your hand a little harder against yourself. 

“Come on, Father.” You say, leaning back until your lips brushed his tip with every word. “Let me please you. Give it to me.”

Sam’s grip on your hair tightens when you sink back down on him. His thrusts become sloppy and discoordinated. He was a whimpering, groaning mess. 

Finally, with one last thrust that left him settled deep in your throat, Sam comes with a shudder. His shoulders shake, and his head drops back, leaving you with a very clear sight of the clerical collar still around his neck, white fabric against flushed and sweaty skin. 

The image makes you shiver as your fingers press more firmly against your clit, drawing desperate circles over the fabric of your panties. When the first rope of cum hits your tongue, you feel your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks. Your loud moan is only silenced by the cock still in your mouth, but it causes Sam to shake with overstimulation. 

“Swallow.” He demands, and wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.

You stay there, suckling on his softening length as he comes, almost moaning at the glorious taste of your boyfriend. Your head is hazy with the situation and your own orgasm, and Sam has to practically peel you away from him. You whine as he slips out of your mouth, the last bit of cum landing over your lips. 

“Sorry, pretty girl, but I need a break.” Sam says gently, with his normal voice. 

You look up at him, still kneeling down in the confessional. His breathing was already ragged, but his chest hitches at the sight of you. 

Your eyes were glossy and wide, cheeks flushed, and lips puffy, glistening with spit and his cum. You swallow whatever was in your mouth and slowly lick your lips, tongue swiping up all of his release. He groans, head dropping forward. 

“You’ll be the death of me, you little vixen.” He rubs a hand over his face, and you struggle to stand up. Your legs were shaky from your orgasm and your knees were sore from kneeling. 

You had never felt better. 

Sam quickly notices you struggling and grabs your waist, helping you stand up and holding you carefully against his chest. 

“I can't believe I got you to do that.” You whisper, biting your lip as a sense of embarrassment and adrenaline washed down your back at what you had done.

Sam snorts. “I can’t believe it either.” He huffs, looking at you with that warmth and sweetness you loved so much. His hair was even messier now and his lips were raw from biting back sounds. 

Your hand moves up to fidget with his collar, fingers brushing against his skin, and you feel yourself getting worked up again.

“Don’t even think about it, you insatiable little thing.” Sam’s hand wraps around yours and pulls it away. You look at him and pout, which only makes him laugh and press a peck to your lips. “Who would’ve guessed you were so freaky.”

Sam’s teasing makes you blush furiously, and you take a step back from him. It is his time to pout, but he is way too big to be able to reach past the little window opening. You giggle at his dejected face, and after fixing your hair and dress, and making sure there wasn't spit or cum on your chin, you lean over to press a chaste kiss on his lips. 

“Dean is ‘interviewing’ one of the victims’ daughters.” You inform him, pressing your hands to your cheeks to try and dissipate the blush.

“Is that what kids are calling it nowadays?” Sam jokes, crossing his arms. It made his chest look even bigger, and you need to physically restrain yourself from leaning in and taking a bite off his bicep.

“Apparently.” You shake your head. “You need to wait until Mass ends and then meet us at the motel. If Dean is back by then, we’ll debrief all the information we’ve got.” You lean forward once again, squeezing past the little opening until your nose brushes Sam’s. “If he’s not back yet, then I will be waiting for you in our room.” You press another kiss to his lips, this time a little more lingering. “Make sure to bring the priest outfit with you.”

Before Sam can even say anything, you grab the grille and close it again. You make sure to lock it, and walk out of the confessionary as quietly and carefully as you can when your legs are still a little shaky. You slip out the small wooden box, not before hearing Sam’s almost pained groan. 

Thankfully, everyone was still focused on Mass, so no one paid attention to you. You slip out of the church and walk back to the motel, still in disbelief that you and Sam got away with something like that.

The next day, when the pastor asks you why your knees are bruised badly, you can’t help but smirk as Sam blushes behind him.

“Just prayed a little too hard, sir.”

NOTES: I can't tell if this is terrible or not. Here it is anyways.

[sworeidnevercompromise]

✝🪽 fall to pieces: a rafe cameron au about: rafe x preachers daughter!user, reader is inexperienced & rafe teaches her warnings: 18+, brief oral (f receiving), p in v, loss of virginity, mentions of religion, unprotected sex word count: 2.3k ⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ other works

part one 🪽 part two

You aren't supposed to be up this late. Your father wouldn't approve. You have church in the morning, and you're supposed to look your best, and you can't look your best if you don't get your beauty rest.

Your nightly routine usually finished around 9:30-10pm. You would read the Bible, shower, put on your pajamas, brush your teeth, brush your hair and braid it, pray, and then crawl into your soft cotton sheets and go to bed. But something is different tonight. Something is aching in your stomach. You try to push the feeling away, but you can't.

It's not the first time you've felt like this, and it definitely won't be the last. Your body feels like it's burning up, just begging for you to touch it. But you won't. You can't, it's wrong. Good girls don't do things like that.

You're staring at the pink crucifix on your wall, feeling guilty, when there's a tapping at your window. You look over, seeing your friend, Rafe. You rush over to the window, throwing the curtains open and sliding the window up. Rafe crawls inside without saying hello, sitting on the edge of your bed. You stare at him.

"Hey, princess," he says, smiling lazily, "Those pajamas are cute."

You look down at your pajamas- a lacy tank and cotton pajama pants- and blush, because you realize you're not wearing a bra, and he can practically see through your white tank top. "Rafe, it's late. My father will kill you if he hears you."

Rafe raises an eyebrow. "It is late. Way past your bedtime. You're always asleep by ten, that's why you never come to my parties."

You cross your arms. "That's not why I don't come to your parties. I don't party because good Christian girls don't do that."

Rafe waves your comment off with a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever." He pats the bed next to him. You sit down, tentatively. "Why are you up, anyway? Something bugging you?"

You blink. You wonder if you should tell him...no. You can't. Boys and girls shouldn't discuss such things.

He looks at you with his big blue eyes, and...shit. He knows, doesn't he? You get the sense that he knows exactly why you're awake. Gosh. Maybe you should just tell him.

"I..." you blush, trailing off. "It's nothing."

He places a hand on your knee. The warmth of his body heat feels like it's burning a hole through your skin. "Come on, y/n. You can tell me."

You fidget.

He smiles lazily at you, almost hungrily. "Maybe you just need to take the edge off, huh?"

You blink at him. You should probably move away now. Get his hand off your leg. Kick him out of your room. But you don't. You can't bring yourself to. "I...I don't know how."

His hand moves up further, rubbing small circles on your thigh. It feels amazing. The heat in your stomach grows stronger. He leans in closer to you, his breath tickling your neck. "I can think of a few ways..." His hand travels up further, rubbing you through your thin pajama pants. You let out an involuntary moan.

"Mmph, Rafe," you practically whisper, "I can't. You know I can't."

He shushes you, moving off the bed, kneeling in front of you. He's exactly where you kneel when you're praying. He slides in between your knees, moving your legs apart. "Shh, princess. Let me help you, okay? Nobody will know."

You glance up at the crucifix on your wall and fiddle with your silver cross necklace. "God will," you say, but your heart's not in it.

Rafe chuckles. "Yeah?" He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your pajama pants, pulling them down.

"Oh," you say, and your voice suddenly sounds very far away. Rafe smiles at you, tossing your pants to the side.

"Nice underwear," he says, and you don't have any time to formulate a response before he's gotten his head between your legs, teasing your clit through your panties. You moan, slapping a hand over your mouth to hold it in. He laughs, but not in a mocking way, pulling your panties to the side, just enough that he can slip a finger inside of your aching pussy.

"So fuckin' wet," he observes, sliding his finger in and out, "Damn."

You stifle another moan.

He slides a second finger in, and your legs spasm. The heat in your stomach increases tenfold. "That good?" You nod. He shakes his head. "No, you have to use your words, y/n. Tell me. Does that feel good?"

You gasp as he curls his fingers inside of you. "Y-yes, Rafe, that feels good..."

He grins, placing a third finger inside of you. It feels so good that for a moment, you forget that you're sinning. "Yeah? Feels good? You like that?"

You moan, louder than you mean to. "Mmm, yes, Rafe, feels so good, I like it, I like it."

He removes his fingers, and pulls your underwear off with his teeth. You miss his touch immediately, your pussy clenching around nothing. He places his hands on your knees, spreading your legs wider.

"You've got such a pretty pussy, princess. So wet f'me." He drags his fingers over your cunt, bringing your own sweet wetness up to play with your clit.

Your eyes once again fall on the crucifix. You squeeze them shut. Maybe it doesn't count if you're just letting it happen and not giving him anything in return. Maybe, if you pray enough, God will forgive you for liking Rafe's fingers in you so much.

Rafe hums, leaning in between your legs and licking a long, slow stripe up your pussy. He flicks his tongue on your clit, before attaching his lips to the pretty pink bud and sucking. You gasp out a few staccato moans. He keeps licking and sucking, keeps teasing you, his tongue never going inside of you. He pulls away, kissing your lower stomach.

"Rafe..." you whisper.

He looks up at you. "Yeah? Need somethin'?"

I need you, you think, but you can't get yourself to say it. Instead, you just exhale shakily as he continues kissing up your stomach, moving up your tank top to access more skin. He pulls off the tank top, revealing your perfect breasts. He moves you, scooting you further back on the bed so he can sit on it too, pushing you back against the mattress. He cups your breasts in his hands.

"Fuck," he says, "Never seen you like this. Knew you'd be fuckin' gorgeous."

You look up at the ceiling, avoiding his gaze. He rubs his thumbs over your nipples, and you gasp, your back arching slightly off the bed. "Rafe!"

He continues to play with your nipples, and you feel your pussy get wetter, feel the heat in your stomach growing stronger with each passing second. He's above you, now, and he's all you can see. You feel his growing hardness against you.

"Mm. Fuck, y/n. You gotta be quieter. Don't want your daddy to hear us, now do you?"

You shake your head.

He unbuckles his belt, taking his pants off and tossing them to your floor before quickly getting rid of his shirt and tossing that, too. You run your hands over his exposed chest, over his muscles and perfectly tanned skin.

He pulls off his boxers. You stare.

"Like what you see, princess?"

You make eye contact. It feels electric. "Rafe, I've never done this before. I'm supposed to save myself for marriage. This is...this is wrong."

He smiles, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your collarbone. "Feels right, though, doesn't it?"

He's right. It does.

Fuck.

The logical side of your brain, the Good Christian Girl side, is pleading with you to say no. Begging you to push him off of you and forget this ever happened. But it's taken over by the devil on your shoulder. It feels so good, the little devil says. He's so handsome. And he thinks you're beautiful. Just let him fuck you. It'll be good.

You make a decision before you can stop yourself.

"Rafe," you whisper, almost pleading, "Keep going."

He grins wickedly, wolfishly, like the cat that got the cream. "Fuck yeah." And then his fingers are pressing into you again, four this time, moving faster than before, going even deeper, hitting just the right spot.

"F-fuck, fuck!" You're being loud. Too loud. Rafe's free hand clamps down on your mouth.

"Shut the fuck up," he says, going harder. You moan into his hand, tears of pleasure streaming from the corners of your eyes.

You place your hands over his hand, squeezing it harder against your mouth, your moans getting louder.

Rafe grins down at you. "Fuckin' cock hungry, aren't you? Not such a good girl now." You nod before you can stop yourself. His grin grows wider. "Yeah, baby? You want my cock in your pussy?" You nod again. He's practically beaming now, removing his fingers and placing just the tip at the entrance to your cunt. He drags his dick over it, and you can feel the beads of precum dripping onto your already wet clit.

"Condom?" he asks, and you shake your head. He removes his hand from your mouth.

"I don't...have them. I don't have any use for them."

He scrunches his eyebrows for a brief moment. "Ah, fuck it. I'll buy you a morning after pill." He sinks his cock into you, and it slides in perfectly, enveloped by your wet, warm, plushy pink walls. "So fuckin' wet, Jesus. So tight, too. Perfect fuckin' virgin pussy."

You moan again, and his hand is back over your mouth in an instant. Except this time, he slides two fingers into your mouth. You blink up at him.

"Suck," he says, and you do immediately. "Good fuckin' girl. That's right, y/n."

He's moving, now, his dick hitting you right where you need it most, your cunt clenching around him. He removes his fingers from your mouth, smothering your moans with his hands instead.

He moves faster, deeper, harder, both of you gasping.

"Fuck," he says, shifting so his mouth is right by your ear, "You feel so fuckin' good, taking my cock like this." He shifts again, capturing your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. You've never kissed anyone before, not like this, not with tongues and moaning and desire. "If I don't cover your mouth this time, can you be quiet?"

You nod quickly, almost desperately. "Yes, Rafe, yes, I can be quiet, I-"

He cuts you off. "Shut the fuck up. I didn't tell you to talk."

You nod again, moving your hips experimentally. The change of position makes his dick hit your g-spot even better than before. You see stars. "Oh, fuck," you whisper.

He jackhammers into you, clearly on the edge. "God fucking damnit, that feels good. Jesus Christ." He kisses you again, his tongue licking into your mouth.

He grips your hips tightly as his strokes get more sloppy, and then, all of a sudden, he's spilling into you, his hot cum filling you up. You turn, burying your face into your pillow to stifle your moan.

For a moment, he pauses, shaking through the aftershocks, but then he's moving again, flipping you both so that his back is against the headboard as he sits up, you facing him in his lap.

"Good?" he asks.

"So good," you respond, your arms moving to be around his shoulders, "Need more."

He grins again. "Perfect little preacher's daughter beggin' for more cock? What a sight to behold, damn."

You blush. You had almost forgotten why exactly you shouldn't be doing this. But then he kisses you, and instantly you forget again.

He pulls away. "Still cockhungry?"

You nod once again. He grabs your hand, spitting into it before wrapping it around his already hardening dick, his hand moving yours up and down. You run your thumb over his slit experimentally, and he groans with pleasure. He grabs your hips, moving you to sink down onto his cock, not giving you any time at all to process what's happening. It hurts, slightly, the new position foreign to you, but it's good.

"Go on, then," he says, "Fuckin' take what you need, y/n."

You move up and down on his cock, starting off slowly before you get more comfortable, riding him desperately.

"Damn," he moans, "Fuckin' cowgirl, ridin' me like that. Goddamn porn star."

You laugh breathily. "Really? I'm just making it up as I go, I have no clue what I'm doing."

He wraps his arms around your waist. "You're doing a great fuckin' job, princess." He moves his hips up, matching your rhythm, and it's not long before you feel yourself reaching the edge, your pleasure overwhelming.

"Rafe, I'm...I'm close."

He looks deep into your eyes, slamming his hips up into you. "Let it happen, y/n. Come on, cum for me." He kisses you deeply, and that's what sends you over the edge, your legs shaking as you cum for the first time in your life. You shake through it, moaning into his mouth. You feel like it's never going to stop, waves of pleasure overtaking you. He kisses you through it, rubbing your back.

It stops, eventually, and you pant as you come down from it, breathing heavily. "Oh my God," you say, "Rafe."

He smiles, pulling out, lying down and wrapping you in a tight embrace. "That good, huh?"

"Uh-huh," you say, nuzzling into him and getting comfortable. You let your eyes close.

If having sex with Rafe Cameron is a sin, you think, I'm willing to go to hell.

[norman-fucking-reedus]

BEGGING ON MY KNEES FOR CORRUPTION KINK WITH DARYL YOU WRITE SMUT SO HEAVENLY😫😫😫

SWEET LITTLE SINNER

THE YUMMY STUFF: Age gap, (Daryl is in his late 50s, Reader in her early 30s) Creampies, breeding kink, fingering, bit of cockwarming, just smutty stuff, ...petnames 😇, semi-public?? guys they fuck in the church, virgin fem!reader, religious!reader, dont cancel me for this, but religion kink

DO NOT READ IF YOU THINK YOU'LL FEEL OFFENDED BECAUSE HOW YOU FEEL IS NOT MY PROBLEM

OKAY ANON I KNOW IM ANSWERING THIS REQ MONTHS LATER BUT BEAR WITH ME ALRIGHT 🎀

Im playing around with a new posting format and I honestly really like it so far! Im just literal dogshit at summaries so I don't necessarily bother with them (I mean at least I try) but eeeerm guys let me know if its cutie AND PLEASE LOOK AT MY BLOG PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I CHANGED THAT TOO

So after scrolling through the mounds of unanswered asks I have, I found this one and it reminded me of a conversation I had with my sister abt Daryl x a Christian girl who holds herself very high to her faith and has a deeper understanding of the bible

This takes place around the time they find gabriel, and somehow this ended up being a !greene reader, I also had to extend the church for... purposes :3

Believe it or not this is my first time ever writing corruption kink 😭 I got this request back when I was still fresh on tumblr and its been sitting ever since because I just didn’t know what to do (and I still dont)

southern gothic has me in a chokehold and I cant breathe

"Come on! Fight to the fence!" The sound of Rick's voice bellowed over the deafening clang of metal and ringing gunfire, rapidly taking down any walkers that shuffled within range as the men helped the women to climb over the fence first, Carl dropping down and catching all the weapons that were tossed onto the safe side.

Rosita crawled up the chain fence quickly, noticing that you were behind her when she was balanced right on top and extending a hand out to you. "Up and over" She lightly yet urgently joked, and you could only let out a small huff of air as you grasped her hand, and hauled yourself upwards, swinging a leg over to join her in scaling down the other side.

"Let's go! Move your asses!" Abraham shouted as he fired his gun, covering Rick as he made a break for the fence, the redhead man not far behind once the walkers had started to herd up. He threw the firearm over the fence and easily jumped onto half the fence, using a walker's head as a boost to fling himself over onto the other side.

As you and the others hastily gathered your belongings, no one dared to look back at the remnants of Terminus, trying to stay together as you all ran for a safe place behind Rick, expecting that he had some kind of miracle up his sleeve and would find a place to hunker down for a few hours, days even.

Despite the chaos and the destruction that surrounded you, you and the rest of the group hastily gathered your belongings, not daring to look back at the ruins of Terminus. Trying to stay as closely together as possible, you all followed Rick's lead as he dashed through the trees. He was the one who had kept the group alive for so long, and everyone was hoping that he could do it for just a little while longer.

After what felt like forever, you could feel the intense heat seeping into your skin and making your clothes stick to your body. Every step you took felt like a burden, with the fabric rubbing against your flesh. The air was thick with humidity, and you could feel the moisture clinging to your skin, making you feel sticky and uncomfortable. You glanced around at the other people around you, all of them appeared to be struggling in the heat, with their foreheads glistening with sweat and their breathing labored.

As you looked over at Daryl, you couldn't help but notice the solemn expression on his face as he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. It was clear that he had been struggling to come to terms with Carol's sudden disappearance, and had been much more withdrawn and reserved than usual. He seemed to be lost in thought, lost in his own world, and it was hard to know how to reach out to him.

"Right here," Rick spoke as he brought the group out to a small clearing that was surrounded by trees, briefly scanning the area before crouching down in the dirt and beginning to frantically dig.

Abraham scoffed, "Tha' hell are we still around here for?" taking a few steps forward as he analyzed and addressed Rick, watching the man pull out a blue duffel bag.

"Guns. Some supplies," He said bluntly, pulling the black zipper back and further exposing the bag's contents, multiple guns, and other hand-held weapons. "We go along the fences, use the rifles, and take out the rest of 'em."

"What?" Glenn gawked, staring at Rick in disbelief as he listened to the words spewing out his mouth, bouncing around uncomfortably in his head.

Rick started to pull out the variety of weapons one by one, not once turning to meet Glenn's gaze. "They don't get to live."

The latter pursed his lips and huffed, stepping closer to Rick as to get his attention. "Rick, we got out. It's over."

"It's not over till they're all dead." Rick growled, shaking his head.

"They are dead. That place is on fucking fire, crawling with walkers in every which way." Rosita spat, laughing in annoyance at Rick's stupidity.

You shake your head as Rick continued to pull items out of the bag, "We got lucky back there," you said, voice low and trembling. "It's not worth risking our lives by going back in" your eyes meeting Rick's in a plea for him to understand. "God doesn't always give us a second chance. Just play the hand you were dealt" The thought of going back into that walker-infested place made your skin crawl, and you couldn't understand why Rick was wasting his time.

"Does he think he could give me one?" A familiar voice spoke softly from behind your group, faces lighting up in surprise and joy as Carol lightly stepped through the forest, appearing from behind a tree with her signature smile tugging at her lips, stretching all the way up to her ears when all of Daryl's weight barreled into her frame, almost knocking her straight onto her ass with a shocked laugh.

Her unexpected appearance managed to lift the once extremely heavy atmosphere, now bright and bubbly as it was filled with smiles.

"Did you do that?" Rick questioned once it was his turn to hug Carol, not getting a verbal response but the cheeky smile painting her blood-covered face was more than telling. However, it didn't last long once she scanned over the entirety of the group. "You have to come with me."

Carol led the group through the forest and down the train tracks until reaching a small cabin hidden in the trees where Tyrese and sweet little Judith had been holed up waiting for her return, everyone watching as Sasha, Rick, and Carl sprinted towards them, each cradling their respective loved one. It was another emotional yet much-needed heartfelt reunion, especially considering that the last few weeks had been nothing but hell in a handbasket.

"We should get moving, the fire's still burning" The grey-haired woman suggested as she gave the tall, rising black smoke one last look over.

"Yeah. We need to go" Rick nodded as he took stared at the smoke, an unreadable expression on his face and in his eyes.

Daryl huffed slightly, "Yeah, but where?" glancing around the remote area.

"Doesn't matter. Somewhere far away from there."

It had been a long few days since the group had gotten somewhere far away from there, and a long few days since anyone had anything to eat. Stomachs were empty and energy seemed to only be decreasing, the hunger gnawing away at all of you.

As the sun slowly began to rise above the horizon, Daryl quietly made his way into the dense forest in search of something to eat. It was quiet, and peaceful as he gingerly and skillfully walked through the mess of vines and roots at his feet, blue eyes scanning the dirt floor for any sign of movement that might indicate the presence of an animal.

Oddly enough, it felt like he wasn't necessarily alone in these woods, glancing around and over his shoulder more than he typically would. Maybe it was just a nearby walker he could sense before he could see, but he knew way better than to believe something like that. His gut told him that there was someone else out here, and Daryl learned to always listen to his gut.

He instinctively raised his crossbow to be eye level, scanning the treeline as he took careful and quiet steps, moving from the west to the north and then east. There was a slight breeze that ruffled the leaves, tousled dark hair in his face, and flowed a dirty white skirt from a few feet from him, a tiny but audible gasp heard.

It had come from behind a thick collection of bushes, Daryl carefully combing them out of the way with one hand and ducking to prevent anything from getting in his eye. He had a tight grip on his crossbow, ready for whatever potential danger could be on the other side.

Luckily for him though, there was no danger. It was just you, the weird and off-putting Greene who had somehow turned into a new interest for Daryl, not quite being able to put his finger on just what it was that drew him towards you.

You were a quiet, soft but strange Christian girl, much different than Maggie and Beth. Unlike them, you seemed to have some kind of spiritual connection to the bible, a deeper understanding of it that often made others feel oddly safe around you, as if you truly did have God protecting you.

Funny enough, it reminded Daryl of when his parents would drag him to the southern church, forcing him into the small confession box where he would sit and sob for hours, silently begging for God to come save him.

He could hear you softly murmuring something, but the full words didn't entirely reach his ears. You were kneeling in front of a large moss-covered log, hands clasped together with your head down, looking up every so often. He watched how every time you leaned back, your hair fluttered back and fell back into position.

Not wanting to be creepy, he decided to come out from where he had been hiding, a little taken aback when you seemed to not be bothered, as if you had already known he wasn't any sort of threat.

"Hell ya' doin' out here girl?" Daryl grumbled out, standing a few feet behind you. He watched as you repeated the motion with your head a few more times, eventually pushing yourself up off your knees.

You knocked the gathered leaves and a few bugs off your skirt, smiling at him softly. "Prayer. I come out here every mornin' for it"

He scoffed slightly, glancing down at the ground as he rolled a rock under his shoe. "Why bother? Not like s'gon get heard anyway"

“Yeah? We’ll see. I prayed we find a safe place today” You said as you brushed some hair our your mouth, wind starting to pick up in speed.

Daryl hummed, “Pray we also find some food?” flipping his own hair out his face.

“Of course,” You laughed slightly, airy and light. “But with you out here I think that’ll be answered”

The man scoffed again, this time ducking his head at your words. “Yeah right” He mumbled out.

“I mean it. Look, there’s a squirrel in that tree” You point to a nearby oak tree and Daryl follows your finger, pulling the trigger of his crossbow faster than you could even fathom.

The squirrel hit the ground, Daryl stepped over a few roots and bushes to pick it up, pulling the arrow out and tossing the carcass over his shoulder.

“Good eye girly. C’mon, guess yer God is gon help ya’ help feed us” He glanced at you from over his clear shoulder, motioning for you to follow him with a short nod of the head.

You followed as he walked through the thick mess of bushes, the green leaves staining your cowgirl boots as you stepped on them. The birds chirped loudly above head as the sun got higher and higher in the sky, the air starting to increase in temperature.

It was quite a nice walk through the forest regardless of the heat, Daryl making for much better company than you expected even though he didn't have much to say. You filled the silence by humming softly to yourself, staying a few feet behind and looking around the wooded terrain, keeping an eye out for animals and walkers.

Daryl paused for a moment, holding up a finger and then positioning his crossbow again. The weapon fired, and you watched as it struck another squirrel, this time pinning it against a tree.

He yanked the arrow out, sliding it back into the holder on the front of his bow and tossing the second squirrel over his shoulder.

"Need'ta get at least five," He said as he continued walking, glancing at you again from over his other shoulder just to make sure you were still there.

You scoffed slightly at his words. "Five?" You repeated, staring at the angel wings on the back of his vest.

Daryl nodded, peering up into the trees and looking around on the ground. "Yeah. Got a lotta people to feed"

"And you think five is the lucky number?" You joke lightly, a small smile tugging your lips as you stay hot on his heels.

He shrugged, squirrels bouncing with the motion. "Dunno. Depends on how many ya prayed for"

"Well, if you told me, I would've prayed for at least ten" You appeared at his side and bumped his arm with yours, his gaze meeting yours for only a split second before you were suddenly startled by Rick and Glenn's out-of-nowhere appearances.

They pointed their guns at both of you, and you put your hands up to show you weren't a threat. "Jus' catchin' some breakfast," Daryl said as he dropped his arms and nodded at Glenn in greetings.

"Ready to get some concrete under your feet?" Rick asked him as the four of you began to make your way out of the forest and back to the rest of the group, the day only getting hotter and hotter. "I think it's time."

Daryl hummed, a thin layer of sweat starting to form on his forehead. "That is sweet music to my ears, Officer."

"We take the next road we come to, try to get back to going north 'till we find a vehicle." Rick gestured slightly with his hand, gun still in his grip just in case.

You all stepped up the steep hill leading back to the road where the group had decided to set up a temporary camp for the night.

Rick meet Daryl's eyes, placing a hand on his squirrel-less shoulder. "Good?"

"Good"

"–And Father God, I once again call upon you to ask for a blessing, a miracle, an answer. You've got me so far, this group, I ask, will you continue to do so? Will you bestow us a safe place? A home?"

Back on the road once again. It was hot as the group ventured forward, worn down shoes and boots slapping against the burning pavement as you all conversed amount yourselves and entertained one another, Michonne and Carl in some form of competition while you lingered behind, Daryl nearby just in case a walker somehow nabbed you.

He silently listened to the soft whispering of your voice, the gentle lull you used as you spoke your prayers, walking with your head down and the palms of your hands facing towards the sky, almost reaching out in a sense.

There was a few questions lingering on his tongue, but growing up in the southern church Daryl had learned not to ask questions until after prayer. Hell, he had learned not to ask questions period.

Daryl only watched you out the corner of his eye, your plush lips moving slightly as you murmured. There was just something about you that was captivating, the fact that you were almost a mixture of Beth's sweet and softness, Maggie's stern and stubbornness, it made him curious to know what the third mysterious Greene had to offer.

"Amen" You mumbled a little louder than intended, clasping your hands together as you finished and concluded your prayer. You brushed some hair out your face when you lifted your head, catching a glimpse at Daryl's watchful eye.

He looked away when your gaze met his, furrowing your brow slightly with a small and playful smile. "What?" You appeared closer to his side and purposely bumped into him, watching how he staggered a little in his pace.

"Nothin'. Jus' hot as hell out here" Daryl shrugged slightly, sweat rolling down his face and back.

You hummed softly, "Hell is a lot hotter than this, but it is super hot. Just wish we could find a river or something" fanning your legs with the loose fabric of your skirt.

Daryl glanced at you, eyes dropping the flowing motion of the fabric. "Tryna' go swimmin'?" He questioned, because a dip in the cool river didn't sound that bad at all

"We weren't really allowed growing up, swimsuits were always super revealin' so we just stayed inside most summers" You shrugged, a tiny smile on your lips as you recalled past memories with your sisters, even if it was just sitting inside trashing the kitchen. "We weren't even allowed to wear shorts that didn't stop at the knees"

It made sense, ever since the farm you, Beth, and Maggie had always been more modestly dressed then the rest, never wearing something too short even if it was the only option.

But even then, as long as your skirt as, Daryl still couldn't help himself from picturing the entirety of your bare legs, a shiver coursing through him as he tried to wipe the image away as quickly as it had come. You were sweet, almost too sweet for him. He was damaged and tainted, you were pure and holy.

"My moms used'ta watch me 'nd m'brother when we went to the river behind our house 'cause I ain't know how'ta swim as a kid" Daryl forced himself to say, tearing his eyes away from the dingy fabric and looking anywhere that just wasn't where you were.

Of course, it wasn't it that easy, especially when you giggled at his sentence which almost caused him whiplash from how hard he snapped his neck at you.

"Sorry, sorry. Just– You didn't know how to swim? Even I can swim" You covered your mouth as you spoke through your laughter, cheeks starting to hurt a little from how hard you were smiling.

Daryl scoffed, the sound of your giggles being music to his ears. "Laugh it up girly. Won't be funny when I throw ya' in a river"

You did laugh even harder at that, maybe because you knew it might be true. "It'll be hilarious! Even more because you'll be the one finding me a new outfit"

"Jus' a little water. S'not like yer damn skirt s'gon wash away" Daryl rolled his eyes, watching as you fake a look of offense.

"How do you know that? It just might! Then you'd have to cover me up" You folded your arms over your chest, quirking a brow at the older man as he glanced you up and down.

"Maybe I don' want to" He mumbled with a short shrug of his mouth

"What do you want?" You asked with a small tilt of your head.

Daryl's lips moved way faster then his brain, and he found himself suddenly muttering out "Wanna see wha's under tha' pretty dress"

You stared at him for a little, and he wished he could just bury an arrow in his head now, but then you chuckled a bit, nudging his arm with yours. "That's a sin, Daryl"

The two of you fell silent, your words lingering in Daryl's mind as he focused his gaze down on the floor, his ears perking slightly when they caught the gentle sound of your humming, some kind of song that he had surely never heard before.

He didn't wanna admit that your voice was soothing and melodic, it almost reminded him of his mother when she would cradle his trembling body in her arms, bruised and bloodied as the soft vibrations of her humming buzzed through him, comforting him as he softly sniffled into her chest, clutching onto her shirt and wondering what it was that made him so undeserving of God's–

"Help!"

The scream of terror rang out from the forest to the woods, and you all looked around at each other as your movements halted, everyone turning in the direction they thought the cry had come from with their weapons drawn, you subconsciously inching closer to Daryl for safety.

"Help, anybody! Help!" The cries came again, this time audibly and undeniably from the left side of the trees.

Rick nodded his head, gun drawn and pointed as he dashed off the road and into the forest, the group all following closely behind as the screams and pleads for help didn't cease, getting louder and closer which drew the attention of nearby walkers, having to dodge and take out any that got too close.

"Anyone, help! Help!"

As you all sprinted deeper into the trees, the sound of snarling and clicking teeth began to mix and become more audible, eventually leading the group out into a green clearing where there was a... pastor cowering ontop of a large stone rock, slipping off and making a half-ass attempt at kicking the walkers.

There weren't that many walkers, but it was still enough to where Rick felt firing his gun was necessary. The gunshots rang out through the forest, and you covered your ears at the loud noise, wincing slightly as it bounced around uncomfortably in your head.

Daryl took out the last straggler with a hard stab of his knife, wiping the thick blood off his blade on his pants before he slid it back in his holster, appearing at your side as he analyzed the pained expression on your face.

"Ya' alrigh'?" He murmered softly, hands hovering over your face but not quiet touching it, almost as if he was restraining himself.

You nodded, uncovering your ears and glancing at the pastor on the top of the rock, Daryl and everyone else following your gaze.

He whimpered softly and quietly from where he sat, eyes frantically darting between the all of you as if you all were the threat.

"Come on down." Rick said in a loud, stern voice, taking a few steps forward in front as the group took a few steps back.

The man rolled on his stomach and awkwardly wormed his way down grunting slightly and crying out when he slipped the rest of the way and landed on his ass.

A few giggles erupted from you and Maggie, stifling your laughter in the same way you've both always done by simply turning your heads away from the source of humor.

Rick didn't seem too entertained though, glancing the man up and down when he stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off. "You okay?" He raised a brow, emotion unmoving and flat.

"Sorry. Yes, thank you. I-I'm Gabriel." He stammered out, his lips pulling themselves into a small an nervous smile.

"Do you have any weapons on you?" Rick titled his head as he asked condescendingly, taking another step closer to 'Gabriel.'

The man in question chuckled slightly. "Do I look like I would have any weapons?"

"We don't give a rats flying fucking ass what it looks like." Abraham barked out, and you could only nod your head in agreement.

Gabriel mumbled out some kind of understanding before he put on his best brave face. "I have no weapons of any kind. The word of God is the only protection I need"

At that you scoffed, covering your mouth in a fake apology. "Oh sorry, just that, didn't really look like God was protecting you now was he?"

Gabriel smiled nervously and awkwardly at your words, his eyes taking in your attire and the sparkly cross around your neck. "Well, he led a woman of your nurture here, so that must mean something right?"

"Oh of course. It means that you have something we want" You spoke softly, yet your tone was oddly dark. It somehow flipped the aura surrounding the group, replacing it with a heavy presence that just couldn't be explained.

"I-I have nothing to offer. Whatever food I- I had left, it just hit the ground." He glanced down at the ruin pile of whatever it was he had.

Carl stepped forward, fishing something out his pocket and holding it out to the pastor. "We've got some pecans, sorry if you're allergic" He partially joked, taking a step back and behind his dad.

Gabriel thanked him, dumping a few into his mouth and chewing. Judith cooed sweetly from where she rested against Beth, the mans eyes softening as he spotted her. "That's a beautiful child," He said, glancing around at just how many of you there were. "D- Do you have a camp?"

"No. Do you?" Rick asked without hesitation.

"I have a church." Gabriel mumbled, and your ears perked up at the sound of that. Daryl also noted the way your face lit up, while his twisted in distain.

Rick stuck his gun in the waist band of his jeans, aggressively grabbing Gabriel. "Hold your hands above your head."

"How many walkers have you killed?" He questioned, roughly patting the man down in search for any weapons.

"Not any, actually." Gabriel answered nervously.

"Turn around." Rick commanded and he spun the man, continuing his thorough search. "How many people have you killed?"

"None." Gabriel said as Rick spun him back around, narrowing sharp, quizzical blue eyes at him.

"Why?" He almost hissed the words out, whispering them out through the skin of his teeth.

Gabriel was silent for a moment, glancing at all of you before back at Rick. "Because the Lord abhors violence."

"We've all done something, we were all born as sinners. Nobody's perfectly pure." You spoke up from where you stood behind Daryl, shaking your head slightly. Daryl could argue with your words that you were the most perfect damn thing he’s seen, but he forced himself to keep his mouth shut instead. You were pure and holy, he was damaged and tainted.

He looked at you, slightly taken aback. Rick finished his search by nodding in confirmation that he was clear, taking a step back from Gabriel but not too far.

"I sin almost every day," He murmured out after a moment, scanning you all once more before his lips shifted into another small nervous smile. "But those sins, I confess them to God, not strangers."

"You said you had a church?"

You sat outside on the church step with all the other women, plus Gabriel, while all the guys stormed inside to do a thorough search of the building, in search of any weapons or any other people. Although Gabe claimed it was just him and himself, Rick didn't believe him and didn't want to take any risks.

It was quite peaceful, birds chirping above with a slight breeze that brought a little bit of cooling relief from the burning sun. Judith cooed softly in Beth's lap, shaded from the sun courtesy of Carl's hat, too big to properly fit her head but big enough to cover her body.

"I spent months here without stepping out the front door." Gabriel's voice cut through the blissful silence, and you tried not to shoot him an irritated glare. Rick came out first, followed by Daryl and then Glenn. "If you found someone inside, well, it would have been surprising."

"We found a short bus out back." Rick said, hands on his hips as he squinted from the harsh glare of the sun. “Nothing else besides that. I think we can settle down here for a minute”

“Shit ain’t settled ‘till we get Eugene’s ass to Washington” Abraham’s voice barked from behind the man, Eugene and Rosita following suit.

Daryl stood on the step above yours, and you turned to smile softly at him as his large frame blocked the scorching light of the sun from spilling down onto you.

He scowled in response, but only because he didn't wanna make his cheeks any more red than they already were. He turned his head away and decided to just blame the burning sensation on the Georgia heat.

Rick shrugged his shoulders as he dismissed Abraham. "Yeah, well, people are exhausted. This place has four walls and a roof. Safe. In other words, we're staying here."

"Sounds pretty good to me, I've slept inside a chapel before," You said as you twisted your head to look at Rick, glancing inside the church to get a glimpse at the size inside. "Plus we can all fit in there, so why not? We could even do our own version of 'The Last Supper' but with squirrel meat" You added, gesturing towards the string of squirrels Daryl had managed to catch on the journey here.

"That kinda does sound good" Beth smiled as she bounced Judith on her leg, the thought of eating meat making her really hungry. "And we can have a bonfire! It'll be even better 'cause we won't have to sleep outside after we put it out" She gasped slightly when the idea crossed her mind, sitting up a little straighter as she talked about it.

Maggie smiled softly at the two of you as you both made light of the situation, grateful that you had always been able to see the bright side of things and just simply brush things off, sometimes falling and scraping your knee but getting right back up to walk it off.

Out of the three of them, you had always had a much stronger connection to God even as a child, sometimes walking right out of Sunday school because you claimed the teacher "silenced" his voice. Growing up, you only continued to believe more and more, so much to the point that it almost worried Maggie, like you could always see something that she couldn't.

There were times when she found herself a bit envious of you, especially when you both had reached your teen years, Maggie starting to take a dive at rebellion and you still as perfectly holy as you had been at age five, wardrobe consisting of nothing but your pristine white clothes, and the same faded white cowgirl boots daddy had bought for you a decade ago on Christmas. He had gotten you all a pair to wear around the farm when dealing and riding with the horses, you and Beth wearing yours down to absolute hell.

By the time you were both in your early twenties, petty rivalry put aside years later replaced by constant gossip and the latest guy Maggie was going out with, she realized that there was no reason to envy you, because she didn't wanna be you. You were pure, holy, and kept yourself high within your faith, studying the Bible in a way that she sometimes couldn't even wrap her head around.

"We need supplies, no matter what we do next" Rick spoke up as he glanced around at everyone, watching Beth pass over Judith to you to sit in the shade Daryl provided.

Glenn nodded in agreement. "That's right. Food, water, ammunition, anything we can find"

You quirked a brow at Gabriel, glancing him up and down. "How'd you survive here for so long?"

He jumped slightly at the sound of your voice and stuttered as all eyes landed on him. "W- Well, I had God protecting me"

"No, you didn't. God doesn't protect, he watches" You rolled your eyes at him, as if this wasn't common knowledge.

Gabriel was taken aback by your response, mouth slightly agape as he scrambled to find a different answer. "Our annual canned food drive, things fell apart right after we finished-"

"That's great 'nd all, but Rick, seriously, we're gon' get heatstroke s sittin' out here in the boilin' sun" Maggie cut the man off, fanning herself with both her hands even as she was pressed up against your side, trying to hog the shade that you were already sharing with Beth and Jude.

Carol nodded her head in agreement, also dripping in sweat. "Yeah. You said it was safe, so why aren't we inside yet?" She gestured to the church.

"Alright, alright. Everyone inside. Let's cool off and rest our feet. We can discuss what's next later." Rick nodded and propped the church door open so that the group could easily fit through with all their stuff and guns, loud clattering as these things were dropped on the floor.

You followed after Maggie as she helped Glenn haul a bag inside, holding Judith on your hip as she sucked on her tiny fist. The way you held her almost looked natural, as if she was your very own. Daryl tried to pry his eyes away, but he just couldn't. He was drawn to you in a way he couldn't understand.

It bothered him in a way, the world had ended and you treated every day as if it was just an average day, as if dead people walking around was nothing more but an inconvenience. You were a carefree and buoyant spirit, as if your mind was consistently clear and levelheaded.

But it also intrigued him, how somehow someway in a world plagued with darkness that forces people to be tough and hard, you still manage to be soft and dainty, as if the plague hadn't even touched you once.

There was a combination of walker blood and mud splattered all across your white dress, some of it on your sleeves and your face, yet it didn't make you look any less tender, especially now as you seemed to sit cozily in the nave of the church, bouncing Judith on your leg as you softly hummed her a song.

Inside the church was fairly big, the back of it containing a few large offices that Rick deemed the safest the camp out in for the night, explaining that the doors had locks and that if someone were to break in everyone would hear and have plenty of time to wake up, claiming that everyone could sneak out the back door or just fight if need.

"The food lasted a long time," Gabriel said once the large wooden door creaked shut, other members of the group finding a place to settle down. "And then I started scavenging. I've cleaned out every place nearby, except for one."

"What kept you from it?" Rick questioned.

Gabe shrugged. "It's overrun."

"How many?" Glenn pipped in from against a wall.

Gabriel slightly tilted his head in thought. "A dozen or so? Maybe more."

Rick scoffed, hands on his hips as he stared at the man. "We can handle a dozen."

"Bob and I will go with you," Michonne said calmly as she stepped forward. "Tyreese should stay here, help keep Judith safe."

"That'll be okay?" Rick glanced over to the man in question, who nodded his head.

"You ever need me to watch her, need anything for her, I'm right here" Tyreese said with a small smile.

The corner of Rick's mouth slightly quipped upward in a tiny smirk. "I'm grateful for it."

"I'll draw you a map–" Gabriel spoke up but was quickly cut off, "–You don't need to, you're coming with us." by Rick who shot him down with a cold icy glare.

It caught Gabriel off-guard and made his anxiety go through the roof. "I– I'm not gonna be of any help, you saw me up on that rock, I'm no good around those things." He stammered, trying to plead his case nervously under Rick's burning gaze.

"You're coming with us."

The sun had set long ago, and the inside of the church was lit up with a warm candle ambiance that fueled that lighthearted mood, everyone in the group chattering and laughing with one another for the first time in what felt like years.

"I'd like to propose a toast." Abraham loudly announced over everyone and all conversations ceased as the ginger easily captured all eyes in the room, raising his glass of wine that Gabriel had pulled from his own office.

"When I look around this room... all I can see is survivors." He said, scanning his eyes over the nave and everyone inside. "Each and every damn one of you has earned that title."

Abraham was silent for a moment, giving the room one last glance over before tipping his glass. "To the survivors."

"Survivors! Cheers!" You all said in unison, raising your glasses and clinking it against the person beside you, the church erupting back into its previous laughter as everyone resumed drinking and enjoying the night.

You scooted your way over to Daryl who was sat in a corner, purposely getting in his space and holding out your glass to him. "Survivors." You mumbled, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

He glanced at you, a faraway expression on his face as he raised his glass to yours, mumbling out a soft,"Survivors" that was only loud enough for the both of you to hear.

"Now," Abraham said out loud once again, all eyes falling on him. "We get Eugene to Washington, and he will make the dead die, and the living will have this world again." He took a swing of his drink, raising his pinky. "And that is not a bad takeaway for a little road trip."

From where Judith sat snuggly in Rick's lap, she cooed and fisted some of his shirts in her small hands.

"Eugene, what's in DC?" The ginger questioned, all eyes now falling on the scientist for the answer.

He took a moment, clearing his throat before he spoke in his usual flat and unwavering tone of voice. "Infrastructure constructed to withstand pandemics even of this fubar magnitude, that means food, fuel, refuge."

"Restart," Abraham concluded, Eugene giving a short and curt nod at the response. "However this plays out, however long it takes for the reset button to kick in, you can be safe there. Safer than you've been since this whole thing started."

"Save the world for that little one, save it for yourselves. Save it for the people out there, who don't got' nothin' left to do except survive." Abraham spoke, his words of encouragement ringing out through the church's walls.

Judith cooed loudly as she squirmed in Rick's lap, and he smiled at her as he readjusted his grip on her tiny torso. "I think she knows what I'm about to say," Rick joked, managing a few laughs from people. "If she's in, then I'm in too."

"We're all in" Carol interjected, smiles spreading across everyone's faces as conversations and laughter began to fill the room again, people started to celebrate by drinking, clapping, and cheering, the energy in the room upbeat and positive. "Let's do it!" Abraham exclaimed, clearly now tipsier than everyone else as he raised his almost empty glass in the air one more time.

The once warm and cozy atmosphere that the church had inside during the earlier activities had been snuffed out long ago, leaving a cold and empty feeling inside the nave.

It wasn't literally cold, or maybe it was just the cigarette that was keeping Daryl warm, taking long drags from the small stick every minute or so. He couldn't be bothered to go all the way outside, and the natural glow of the moon seeping into the room was more than enough.

Plus, it's not like he was alone, considering that you were sitting in the aisle over from him with your head down.

It had been just the two of you in pure silence for about thirty minutes, and Daryl had only been staring at you for twenty. He tried not to, he really did, but it was hard for his eyes to peel away from the way your dress reflected the light, hands neatly folded together in your lap as hair spilled down your shoulders.

Because of the wine from earlier, there was a slight buzz that ran through Daryl's nerves that somehow encouraged him to stop staring and stand, making his way over to where you were sitting.

"Smoking is a sin, and so is interrupting my prayer," You said once he was sat a few inches from you, not even glancing up at him once.

Daryl let out a tiny scoff, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Yeah, well, s'gon fall on deaf ears anyway"

"Do you not believe in God?" You asked as you blinked your eyes, now turning your head to look at him with genuine curiosity etched on your features.

The man shook his head. "Ain't ever believed in no God," he said, pulling another hit and speaking around it. "Hell, ain't ever believed in nobody"

You sighed a little, leaning back against the bench. "God believes in you"

Daryl scoffed a lot louder at that. "Don' even believe in m'self"

"Well, I believe in you," You said with a shrug, scooting a bit closer to him to bump him with your elbow.

He grumbled as he bumped you back, more so pushing as he held his cigarette between his teeth. "Wha' else ya' believe in? Sandy Clause?"

You let out a small giggle at his butchered version of the fictional character. "Santa, and no, I don't. But I do believe that this is the next world though."

"Why? We ain't dead yet" Daryl analyzed you from the corner of his eyes.

You shook your head, "No, we're not. We never have been. Don't you see? This, this is the resurrection" waving your hands around for emphasis.

"I thought everyone was s'pposed ta' disappear or some shit?" He questioned and you rolled your eyes at him. "Oh come on, I thought you didn't believe in stuff like that. Did you also think that Jesus was gonna fly down from the sky and save us all?"

Daryl huffed as he took a long drag, getting more toward the last few puffs of his cigarette as he raised a brow at you. "Ain't that tha' whole point?"

"That's what people want you to think. They always talk about the resurrection and how Jesus will come back from the dead to save humanity from its wrongdoings, which is exactly what's happening now"

"Tha' hell ya' tryna' say, girl?"

"That God has a plan. He wants the world to be pure again, he wants us to be pure again"

At your words, Daryl scoffed, taking a long and final drag of his cigarette. "Well, m'not very pure unlike yerself" He said as he stomped out the butt of the remaining stick, crushing it under a muddy a boot.

"You're tainted, and its okay. No need to be envious of my non-sinning streak" You jokingly said, flipping your hair which got a tiny chuckle out the older man.

"Now I definitely don' believe ya' ain't ever committed no sin" He said, shaking his head.

You had a small smile playing at your lips, shrugging both shoulders as you looked at him. "I mean, technically walkers aren't people, so I don't really think I've killed anyone"

"Steal anythin'?"

"Thou shall not steal, Daryl. Plus, looting stores is only against the law"

"Well, everyone's told a lie"

"Oh, I'd never lie. The truth will set you free"

Daryl frowned at your words. "Yer startin' ta' piss me off, girl"

"I'm just not a sinner, Daryl. I was raised inside a church, so I spent all my time studying the bible and asking God questions." You said with a sigh, thinking back to when you were still a little girl.

"Wha' kinda questions?" Daryl asked, and you turned once again to meet his gaze.

"Well," You started, taking a moment to think before glancing back up at him. "I've always wondered if you commit a sin inside a church, if it still counts as a sin"

"How would ya' know?"

You shrugged. "I don't, I've never really had any sin to commit"

Daryl hummed, eyes flickering down to your plush lips, tracing the shape of them a few times before shifting his gaze back up to meet your eyes. "Lust is a sin"

"Now that's just unholy, Daryl" You scoffed at him, crossing your arms and turning your head away to hide the heat that rose to your cheeks, because lust was indeed a sin. "It's extremely important to save yourself for the person you're gonna marry. Sex is an emotional gift"

The man furrowed his brows, "How do ya' know tha' if ya' ain't ever fucked?" suppressing the shiver that ran through him at his own words.

Something dark twisted and turned in his stomach just thinking about the idea that you were just as pure as the day that you were born, and he tried not to think about the wildly dirty things he wanted to do to you that he knew would potentially leave a stain. You had probably never even thought of doing something like that, let alone with someone of his nature.

But you had, and you were right now, nervously and subconsciously squeezing your thighs together the more self-aware you started to feel within the older man's presence, feeling his eyes traveling over the length of your body. "I told you, I studied the bible. Sex is the connection of two people who are bound to one another for life, aka being married of course"

"Sex could also just be sex," Daryl shrugged, his brows unmoving as your words confusingly rang out in his ears. "Ain't much of a difference is there?"

You sighed, shaking your head at him. "Of course there is silly. When you're married, sex is a form of art and beauty, as well as conception. God intends for us to use our bodies as a way to communicate with our partner. Any other time, sex is just a form of escape and pleasure, abusing the gift that God has given us in a sinful way, or as you know, lust"

Daryl hummed as you simplified the words for him in a way that he still didn't necessarily understand, but he just decided to pretend like he did. "Ya' ain't ever go through hormones growin' up?"

"Are you asking if I get horny?" You let out a tiny giggle at how his eyes snapped to yours at the blunt question, his cheeks starting to tint pink as he grumbled and looked away. You laughed and wrapped your hands around his forearm, pulling at the man and trying to get him to look at you. "Don't get embarrassed! Are you?"

Unknowingly, you had instead pulled yourself a lot closer to Daryl, and when he twisted his head back in your direction, you were both face to face, noses almost touching.

Daryl stopped breathing for a few seconds as your doe eyes stared up at him, flickering down to where your fingers gripped what you now realized was his very muscular forearm. Sitting this close to him under his burning blue gaze made you feel a bit small, and made a funny feeling form in your lower stomach.

His own eyes flickered back down to your lips, finding himself using his other hand to brush some hair out of your face, curling his fingers at the back of your hand and cupping your cheek in a big, calloused palm, tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. "Maybe I am"

"This is God's house, Daryl." You muttered in a hushed whisper as you curled your fingers around his arm, trying not to downright melt into the warm touch of his hand.

"Think he's gon' watch us?" He whispered back, and your lower stomach tingled in a way that made your whole core heat up, feeling a mild throbbing sensation coming from your private area as you looked up at the older man, running his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

"I– I don't–" You stammered, shifting your eyes away from his as you found yourself at a loss for words.

"Said ya' always wanted ta' commit a sin inna church, righ'?" Daryl tilted your gaze back to his, stroking your cheek with a gentleness you didn't even know he could muster. "Might as well do the one tha' feels best"

"But I've never done something like this... Will it– Will it hurt?" You said as you searched his eyes, the blue orbs going soft and tender.

"M'not gonna hurt ya' at all sweetheart," He said in a genuine voice, holding your face a little tighter. He couldn't even imagine hurting something as dainty as you, especially not with the way you were looking up at him with curious and innocent eyes. "If anythin' I do hurts, tell me, alrigh'?"

You nodded, the corner of your lips twitching into a smile as it felt like there was an entire butterfly exhibit in your stomach, Daryl learning down into your space and first giving your lips a small peck, before pulling you completely flush by the back of your nape, a shiver running up your spine that went all the way down to your clothed cunt, legs squeezing together as Daryl deepened the kiss, your first and hottest kiss ever.

It made your head light and dizzy, leaving you starstruck and dazed when he pulled away with only a thin trail of saliva connecting your lips, Daryl brushing the skin of your cheek once again as you slowly blinked, still feeling airy from the kiss you just experienced.

"Do that again please" You murmured in a tiny plea, feeling both sets of your lips tingle in excitement at all the new sensations Daryl was showing you.

He pulled you in for a chaste peck, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. "Ya' like tha', pretty girl?" He mumbled the words against you, pressing another kiss to your plush lips and swallowing the tiny moan you let out.

You moved to wrap your arms around the older man's neck, Daryl now taking both his hands and gripping you by your waist, pulling a shocked gasp from you at the way his touch made your cunt ache. He carefully moved you to lay on your back, slotting a thigh between your legs and pressing the denim material against your soaked panties, a noise mixed between embarrassment and need coming from your throat.

It felt so good, and you found yourself trying to rut against Daryl's thigh as he started to kiss and suck at your neck, making you giggle slightly as the skin there was more ticklish than anywhere else. His body was big and warm as it was pressed on top of yours, feeling a pulsating sensation traveling through your nerves as you continued to needily hump his leg, whining softly as you tried to further fuel the feel-good moment you were having.

"Let m'help ya' out doll, jus' leave it all ta' me, gon' make ya feel real good" Daryl spoke the words from the underside of your jaw, kissing his way up to your lips before he leaned back, pulling his thigh back and leaving a hand on your hip, courtesy of your fingers scrambling to curl around his for comfort.

"I'm a bit nervous," You said, avoiding his gaze out of embarrassment as you spoke the words. "What if I mess something up?"

"Tha' ain't gon' happen, m'gon do all tha' work fer ya'" Daryl said as his hands moved down to your thighs, lifting and pulling your legs to circle his waist, a shrill shriek tearing out your throat as your dress started to slip down and pool at your waist.

It left your lower half completely exposed, and it was almost an instinct to drop your hands down to cover your panties, a hot blush painting over as Daryl gripped both your hands in one, moving them away and pinning them to your chest. "Nuh'uh, ya' ain't gonna hide from me, pretty girl"

You whined softly as he released your wrists, ducking his head down to kiss and lick your stomach, causing you to jerk from the wet muscle dragging across your skin. His fingers traveled down past the hem of your undies, pushing them midway down your thighs before sitting back up and lifting one of your thighs, yanking the flimsy blue fabric the rest of the way off and stuffing it in his back pocket, pulling you a bit closer as he licked his lips, eyeing the prettiest pussy he's ever seen.

You weren't exactly sure what to do with your hands, deciding instead to clench the cross around your neck in one and prop yourself up on the other, all this being so new and different, dirty and sinful, that you couldn't help but wanna watch.

Daryl placed a hand on your hip, the other moving to gather spit on his fingers. "Gotta get ya' stretched out so I don' hurt ya'"'

"Is this part gonna hurt? I've only masturbated once, but I was too scared to actually finger myself" You frowned a little, feeling your nerves spike as it started set really just how inexperienced you were.

Daryl leaned down and placed a soft peck to your lips, dipping his fingers into your cunt gently and rubbing the digits up and down your slit, pressing down against your clit and moving in a circular motion, his actions on the bundle of nerves sending shivers sparking up your spine, letting out a moan that was deep in your throat right against the older man's lips.

He let out a low chuckle, adding a second finger to his movement against your clit. "Doesn' hurt now, does it?"

You shook your head, body tingling in a foreign way that almost made you feel like you had been tased but in a good way, not that you've ever been tased before. The rough pads of his fingertips against your clit drove you absolutely crazy, the faster they moved the more you found your hips jerking down in a clumsy attempt to speed up whatever high it was you were riding right now, feeling better than you ever have in your whole life.

"There ya' go beautiful, c'mon, cum on m'fingers" Daryl murmured the words out, quickening his pace as he could feel your legs twitching around him, your whines and whimpers getting louder and louder. He spread your cunt lips apart more which revealed your raw clit more, a few harsh strokes to the small bud before you were biting down on your bottom lip and letting your head fall back, a shaky, pleased cry tearing out your chest as waves of electricity coursed through your entire nervous system.

Rather than pulling his fingers away, Daryl dragged them back down your now much more sensitive slit, this time slipping a single digit past your tight entrance, the feeling foreign and oddly unique. Daryl's finger was a bit bigger than average, so you could feel there was a slight stretch to your virgin hole.

Daryl could feel it too, as well as the way you experimentally clenched and convulsed around his stilled finger, giving you a few minutes to adjust to the new feeling.

When he began to slowly thrust the digit in and out, curling the tip of his finger each time in search of your sweet spot, carefully watching the way your face twisted and contorted.

"Ya' alrigh'?" He asked, starting to brush his thumb against the skin where he was gripping your hip.

You nodded, involuntarily clenching around him. "Yeah, it just feels really funny, maybe I just had my expectations too high," You said as you furrowed your brows, a bit upset that 'fingering' wasn't all you chalked it up to be.

"First finger ain't much, second one might feel 'bit different" Daryl said as he pulled the digit back, this time pushing back into you with both fingers, the stretch and drag of the two digits feeling agreeably more different than just one.

This time Daryl just kept up his steady pace, continuing to thrust and curl his fingers into your cunt, starting to scissor you further open. Your eyes trailed down to follow the movement of his other hand as he released his grip on your hip, beginning to undo the zipper of his jeans and shoving them halfway down, the first and biggest cock you've ever laid eyes on.

Your jaw went a little slack, scrambling to find words as you felt panic boil in your stomach. "That– That's not gonna fit!"

"Calm down doll, I swear yer'gon be jus' fine" Daryl murmured softly, reaching down to reassuringly press his forehead against yours, so close that your eyelashes were almost touching. "Told ya', m'not gonna hurt ya'. S'probably not gon' feel tha' best at first but it gets better, righ'?"

Taking his words into consideration for a minute, you nodded your head against his and let your eyes flutter shut as he placed a chaste kiss to your lips, followed by another, and then the feeling of his fingers slipping out of you.

It left you feeling oddly empty, but there was excitement building up as you watched Daryl spit on his cock, using it as lube as he dragged it up your already slick slit, pressing the tip into your hole and easily pushing past, the stretch of his cock slowly slipping into you a lot more painful than expected, your hands finding his forearms where he gripped your waist and squeezing them tightly, wincing slightly as you dug your nails into his skin.

Daryl caressed the skin of your waist with his thumb, trying his best to ease the discomfort he could see and knew he was causing you. "I know, I know, s'gon be alrigh' gorgeous, yer' alrigh'" He muttered, pulling his hips back and pushing them forward again, repeating the motion in long, deep strokes.

Whatever his method was, it was definitely working, each drag of his cock against your walls feeling better and better, your cunt only getting wetter and wetter which made it so much easier for Daryl to increase his pace, trying his best to restrain himself from completely plowing into you like he had been craving to do for days, weeks now.

He didn't wanna hurt you or go too rough, this was your first time for crying out loud, a sweet christian girl who hadn't even dipped her own fingers inside herself, and here he was, a grumpy tainted man who had somehow managed to stuff himself balls deep into her pure little pussy, hugging his cock in a warm, velvety hold that he just wanted to absolutely ruin.

He watched the way your eyes fluttered, soft moans coming from you as your face seemed to be pleasantly relaxed, the tight and fearful grip you once had on his arms now reduced to a lazy and content hold, fingers squeezed every once in a while when Daryl's cock would bump a rather sensitive nerve. "That actually feels good" You mumbled as a small smile twitched on your lips.

But Daryl knew how he could make it feel even better, and his restraint to hold back from completely plowing into you had run down to nothing, a sharp grunt leaving his throat when he snapped his hips forward, shoving the entirety of his cock into you suddenly.

You let out a surprised squeak at the action, Daryl's hands planting themselves awkwardly but firmly on the church bench, your own moving to keep yourself steady as he ducked his head down to begin sucking your neck, setting a rough and unforgiving pace.

"Oh my fuuuck" You moaned out in a shaky, pleased breath, fingers curling into the wood and your toes curling in your boots. It's like you were dancing on cloud ten, each hard bump of his tip to your cervix making your mouth practically water, sending bolts of lightning licking up your spine.

Daryl groaned into the skin of your neck, sucking and kissing against your pulse as he got lost in the warmth of your cunt. "Got such a perfect fuckin' pussy, love tha' s'all fer me"

You whined and couldn't help but clench around him at his words, a shudder running through you when you felt him start to speed up, pulling tiny moans out of your chest at every thrust.

Daryl muttered in a husky voice right by your ear, "Feels so fuckin' amazin' doll, so damn tight 'nd wet, might fuck ya' fer hours" grabbing you by the hip and pulling you impossibly further in his lap, driving his cock faster and deeper into your body, nailing your tender sweet spot dead on which caused you to let out a high pitch cry, Daryl muffling your sounds with a slow but sloppy kiss.

He slammed his cock right into the sensitive bundle of nerves, each thrust making you feel dizzy and lightheaded, knocking the air out of your lungs but it felt so good you couldn't even care, eyes starting to roll back when Daryl slid a hand down to roughly finger at your clit, the way he was stimulating your whole cunt making the entire room spin, a shaky, needy sob spilling pat your lips as your whole body was drowning in pulsing and throbbing tingles, Daryl placing another kiss to your lips as he only went faster.

"Ya like tha' huh m'lil sinner? Goin' against everythin' ya' stand fer, feels real good don' it?" He groaned the words out against your lips, and you downright whimpered at his words, heart pounding in your ears as he worked your clit, still ramming in and out of you at an animalistic pace. You couldn't think, and the only word you could muster was a small, broken "D-Daryl"

Your hips jerked down to clumsily grind against his fingers and his cock, needily chasing the building high of your second orgasm as it became difficult to keep your volume at a low, moans starting to tear themselves right out your throat.

Daryl reached an arm underneath your back and flipped you into a sitting position, straddling his lap with his fat cock now one hundred percent of the way buried inside you, so deep that you were convinced for a second that he was in your stomach. You draped your arms over his shoulders and muffled a lewd moan into his neck, the first thrust sending him deeper than ever.

He held you flush against him and bunched your dress up with one hand, and squeezed your hip with the other, letting out breathy, heavy moans of his own as he bounced you in his lap, the tight and slick drag of your raw cunt against his throbbing cock straight up addictive.

"So goddamn wet baby, ya' was saving this wet ass lil' pussy fer me huh, lil' devil?" As the man spoke, he sounded extremely winded, with deep and passionate huffs, you couldn't help but convulse around him at his words, a tiny noise leaving your lips as you clung to him tighter, whining as his hand on your hip pulled you even closer against his pelvis. "Fuck, so fuckin' perfect doll"

Only choked-off moans and whimpers came from you, trying to muffle your sounds into Daryl's neck as his cock shifted angles inside, driving himself right into a soft and squishy spot that made you mewl, the man holding you down as he continued to slam into that spot head-on. His thrusts were fast and unforgiving, fucking your cunt almost as if he hated you, but his grip was tight and protective, holding your body against his like he loved you.

Which he did, but he just didn't know how to say it. His only hope being that you could feel it in the way he fucked into you, hips starting to falter slightly as your tight cunt milked his cock, practically sucking him in and making it impossible for him to ever want to pull out.

From the way you had started to tremble and spasm around him, Daryl could tell that your orgasm was getting closer and closer, encouraging him to quicken his pace. “Gonna cum, pretty girl?” He murmured as he moved down to pepper kisses across your cheek.

“Yes! Oh my goodness yes” You moaned as your entire body pulsated, each bump of his tip to your cervix sending you further into bliss. Your arms dropped down and you curled your fingers into his sturdy shoulders for purchase as he relentlessly pounded your twitching pussy, keeping your limp body closely pressed against his.

Daryl could feel the boiling heat of his own orgasm rising in his gut, the wet and warm slide of your cunt against the throbbing pulse of his aching cock pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He hitched your dress up further as he adjusted his grip on you, speeding up his pace even more as he started to chase after his own relief, the squeeze of your soft and squishy walls practically making him drunk.

He groaned as electricity licked and burned through his veins, thoughts flashing and racing through his head. “Let me cum in ya’ doll. Gonna get ya’ nice ‘nd plumped up with a lil’ baby, huh?”

That sent tingles shooting down your spine, clenching down around his thickness at the words each time they rang out in your head. Growing up, all you've ever wanted was to have a sweet little baby of your own, and after unlocking such a world like this you couldn't possibly picture life without Daryl at your side.

"Please, please give me that" You almost whimpered as you trembled against his chest, heart pounding in your chest as a heat burned and built up in your stomach. You jerked your hips and made a clumsy attempt to rut down against him, but he tightened the hold he had on your lower half to stop your movements. "I've got ya' gorgeous, m'gon take care of ya', told ya' m'gon make ya' feel good"

Daryl readjusted his position, moving you to sit up properly and gripping you at the waist, pinning up your dress there as well as he started to bounce you in his lap, downright using your body as a sex toy as he plowed right into your sensitive sweet spot, pulling strained and guttural moans from your chest as you tried your hardest to keep your volume down as to not echo off the church's wall, biting back sobs as your hands found their way to Daryl's chest, fingers curling into the strong flesh as all the digits had a hot buzz to them, lungs suddenly not being able to take in any air as your stomach burned, toes curling in your boots and teeth clenching as a wave of scorching hot pleasure washed over your whole entire body, this time not being able to hold back the loud cry that tore it's way out your throat, uncontrollably convulsing around his cock as he thoroughly fucked you through your orgasm, muffling your pleased moans with a messy kiss.

With the way your now overly sensitive cunt squeezed and roughly gripped his pulsating dick, Daryl wasn't far behind in his orgasm, grunting into your mouth as his hips stuttered inside you, cock twitching eagerly as he pumped his load deep into the warmth of your heat, Daryl slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressing it up against yours.

When he pulled away, you were nothing but a puddle of pure jelly, going limp in his grasp as he wrapped a secure arm around your middle, moving to kiss and suck your neck as he covered you back up by dropping your dress, deciding he wanted to stay wrapped inside you a little longer.

"Are you gonna give me my panties back?" You questioned from where you now rested against his shoulder, eyes following the older mans movement as he flicked his lighter, holding the flame up to a new cigarette.

The tip burned red as he took the first and long drag, blowing the smoke up in the air and holding the cigarette away from you by stretching his arms across the bench, humming softly as if taking a moment to think. "Nah"

You pulled back from his chest and gawked at him. "No? There'll be a sticky mess between my legs in the morning!"

He smirked at you, showing a sliver of his porcelain teeth as he did. "Tha's the point, lil' sinner, yer gonna be feelin' me fer days"

The nickname made you blush, turning your head away from the man as you also considered his words, a part of you wanted to feel and experience it all over again, almost arguably a divine slice of heaven itself, and you wanted to taste it once again.

"Well you should never commit a sin twice" You mumbled instead of your real thoughts, cheeks now starting to heat up from embarrassment and a bit of shame, Daryl's cock still buried inside you as a reminder of what you had just done, a reminder that the purity and sacrality you had been preserving for your future man had been completely stripped by another.

Unless, Daryl was your future man, clenching down around him as he took another drag of his cigarette, placing a hand back over your now-covered hip, traveling up to your waist, and squeezing the flesh there. He wasn't the God-fearing, clear-minded, faithful man you had dreamed about as a little girl. Still, he was the strong, protective, and leaderful man that you had dreamed about as a young woman, the man you dreamed of to provide for you and the home you built for another, to protect and preserve the family he's made.

His hand grazed your jaw, fingers caressing your cheek and tracing over the shape of your lips. With his gentle and soft touch, you could feel each blister and callous formed on his hands, the rough feeling of hard work against your skin causing goosebumps.

"Somethin' bad gon' happen ta' us?" He questioned, talking around an exhale of smoke as he did.

"We'll go to hell, Daryl!" You rolled your eyes at him.

He lazily shrugged a shoulder, staring at you with searching eyes. "We'll go together"

Your mouth gaped at his words, stammering as you struggled to find your own. "W– Well I'd much rather prefer we go to heaven together"

"They not gon' let me in" Daryl scoffed slightly as he spoke.

"Not when you commit sins like lust, Mr. Tainted" You flicked his forehead, and he grumbled swatting your hand away, rubbing the reddening skin.

"Ain't my fault, Mrs. Holy, yer' dress leaves little ta' tha' imagination" He muttered, and your eyes widened at his words.

"Are you– My dress goes to my flipping ankles!" You picked up some of the pooled dingy fabric, tugging on it for emphasis.

Daryl shrugged again at that, his eyes now traveling the length of your body where you sat still in his lap. "Don' matter, ever since I saw tha' pretty lil' face I've wanted ta' see the rest of ya', 'nd I ain't disappointed"

You scoffed in disbelief, turning your head in an attempt to hide the heat rising to your face, speaking in a hushed whisper. "My gosh, you speak such foul words in such a sacred place"

"We jus' fucked" Daryl said bluntly, taking another drag from his cigarette as he watched you snap your neck back to him, mouth slightly agape as you scrambled for words. "Y– Yes. But, that doesn't mean you have to talk like that in God's house"

At that, Daryl's cock twitched inside you, a smirk taking over his lips "Ya' said tha' same thing before m'tongue was down yer' throat"

"Daryl!" You hissed, the man chuckling as he gripped your hip and moved to kiss at your already marked-up neck, the weight of your faith starting to weigh heavy as you felt Daryl's cock hardening to life against your walls. "Fornication is straight up breaking the laws of God. We can't– I can't do this again"

The smell of cigarettes and sex painted the church air as you planted both hands on Daryl's chest, pushing yourself up and slowly off his dick with a restrained groan, turning into a sharp gasp when the elder pulled you back down, flush against him.

"Think fornica-whatever s'allot more than jus' sex, 'cause I don' have a problem makin' ya' mines" Daryl mumbled the words into your hair, holding you to his chest with one arm and stubbing out his cigarette in the wooden bench with the other. "God can't stop me from wantin' ya', can he?"

"He can, if you don't truly want me" You muttered into his shirt, and could feel the rumble of his short laughter through his stomach. "'S'good tha' I've wanted ya' fer a while then"

You sighed as you pushed yourself up to meet his gaze, eyes sharp and focused on yours as you moved. "It's more than just want, marriage is a life-long commitment, spiritual and eternal, it's about your faithfulness and loyalty to the person you love, the person you wanna become one body with, share your body with. That's why it's important to save yourself for marriage, to keep yourself pure and clean for the one you want to share it with"

"Aren't we one righ' now?"

"I– I mean– yes, but n– not in the way God intended for us to be–"

"–Why? 'Cause we ain't married? Pretty stupid if yer' askin' me"

He took your left hand in his, bring it up to his lips and placing soft kisses on your delicate fingers, lips lingering against your ring finger.

"Don' need no God ta' tell m'tha' I do or don' love ya', 'cause I know I do, dammit woman, loved ya' since I met ya' on yer' daddy's farm" Daryl scoffed as he finally spoke his feelings into the air, listening to himself and how ridiculous he sounded.

You listened intently, staring at him with glossy eyes as he spoke, your lips twitching and tugging into a tiny smile.

A provider, a protector, a man, a real man, was what Daryl Dixon was, the type of man that you thought could only ever exist in your head and bible, yet here he was, clinging to you and holding you close to him, pressed tightly against and in you, so tight that it felt like you'd just melt right into him at any second, his heart beating erratically in his chest, so much that you could feel it against the beat of your own heart.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" You whispered, watching how Daryl's eyes shifted away from yours in the embarrassed way that they always did. "Tell me!"

The man grumbled as you grabbed his face and shook his head, forcing his gaze back on you as he pulled your hands away with his, dropping them down to his chest and holding them there. "I didn' think ya'd want someone like me"

"What? Someone unholy?" You tilted your head slightly at him.

He shook his head, fingers squeezing your wrists. "Someone damaged"

"Damaged? You aren't damaged, Daryl. You're just tainted" You furrowed your brows, frowning slightly at his words.

"Ya' always say tha'" He mumbled, and you sighed. "Because there's no other way for me to put it. You're just a corrupted soul, but that doesn't mean you're a bad person"

He stared at you, licking his lips as he looked at your own, his cock twitching back to life again. "Even if I wanna corrupt ya' too?"

"And how exactly would you do that?" You laughed, but couldn't ignore the heat starting to pool in your gut, feeling a familiar buzz in your fingertips as Daryl ran his hands up your thigh, bunching the fabric of your dress all the up past your tits, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as the cold air hit them, the older man pulling you close and popping one of your tender nipples into his mouth, rocking his hips to full hardness. "M'gonna slut ya' out, pretty girl. Gonna turn ya' into my sweet lil' sinner, a little holy fuckdoll"

"I'm not a sex toy" You whined as he dragged his tongue across your boobs, involuntarily clenching around him as you tried to defend yourself, but Daryl laughed lowly as he trailed his lips up to the skin of your neck, kissing his way up to your ear and taking the lobe between his teeth. "Not yet, gorgeous, not yet"

GUYS. GUYS I HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS I SWEAR.

I can't believe its done??? I've snipped so many snippets, cut so much out, stared at it for so long, and now its done (after a few decades) so I hope that everyone who I hyped up for this fic was satisfied and it was everything that I had made it out to be

Anyways this fic wouldn't have even existed without @tylermaxxine the local instigator and chronic coffee chugger

[hoonieyun]

the apple ₊ ⊹

pairing: park sunghoon x reader genre: angst, romance, sorrow, lovers to exes warnings: religious themes, kissing, profanity, skin ship, cheating but its just a misunderstanding, mentions of death and suicide, yn and her mom get slutshamed by the church, talks of an arranged marriage, yn and sunghoon both have daddy issues, a lot of internalized trauma and mental issues, major character death, 18+, not proofread lol pls lmk if i need to add anything

synopsis: if life was anything like an apple, it'd be sweet, crisp, and bloomed on your tongue. being with sunghoon started off like that but after one incident, you find yourself teetering at the edge, a rotten apple staring back at you with a singular chunk bitten out of it.

wc: 10595

you’re sitting in a grassy field, leaning against a large tree, fingers grazing past the ink on the worn out pages of your bible. your eyes are attentive as they take in every word on the page, absorbing god’s graces and holding it close to yourself. 

you were always taught to follow in our lord’s footsteps, that his guidance alone will lead you on the right path, and that you’ll find salvation. 

but no matter how long you spent in the church, how long you spent reading the bible, and how long you spent on your knees praying at night– none of it ever stuck to you. 

“yn!” your mother calls your name from the trunk, you hadn’t even realized the car stopped, indicating that you had arrived to where your mother has been driving the two of you for the last 13 hours. “honey, come help me, please. stop daydreaming.” she says with a grunt as she pulls out one of several suitcases from the trunk. 

you blinked several times as a way to ground yourself, taking in your unfamiliar surroundings, the new neighborhood that had white picket fences, cars that were squeaky clean, and well kept lawns. it was something out of the movies; a picturesque neighborhood– the only thing was that usually in those movies when they show these perfect neighborhoods, there was almost always something wrong with the people that lived there. you pushed open the car door with a sigh as you walked to the trunk of your mom’s car to help unload your belongings into your new home. 

the decision that came with moving to a whole new state was all your mother’s. she didn’t really consult you about her decision, just told you that you guys would be moving in one month and to start saying your goodbyes to everyone. 

not that you knew that many people that would care about you were moving away. 

except for your old neighbor, mrs. carol. she was the old lady that lived next door, 3 cats; all of them well fed and you can tell because they wobble when they walk, she had pretty bad eyesight so you often helped her with chores and things during the weekends. she’d always thank you with a freshly baked apple pie, a squeeze on your cheek, and then send you off– but not before she asks if you’ll be going to church that following sunday. 

you nodded in response and left, but the both of you knew that you were lying. 

the last time you saw mrs. carol was the wednesday before you moved. she had noticed your mom was giving away a lot of the things in your apartment and she thought it was just a simple spring cleaning but when she saw you with moving boxes she instantly knew you were moving away. 

“you’re moving away, darling?” she asked, hunched over as she peeks through her front door; her three cats lingering around her ankles. you give her a half smile and nodded, mrs. carol doesn’t do anything but nod back. you thought you wouldn’t see her again but as you and your mom were putting the last of your things into her car, mrs. carol appeared at the top of the stairs at the front of the old and slightly rundown apartment building. 

“yn, sweetie. come here.” she said softly. you quickly excused yourself from your mom and walked over to mrs. carol, telling her goodbye and thanking her for her company whenever you were lonely. “oh, dear. i should be thanking you, you’re such a blessing.” she says, pulling you into a hug. she was like your grandmother in many ways but also not like her at all because it was just you and your mom. 

you didn’t have any other family besides each other so mrs. carol felt like family to you. she subtly places something in your hands before curling your fingers over it, “keep this with you at all times and you’ll never be alone. okay, dear?” she says and you nod, tightening your grip on the item surrounded by your fingers. you couldn’t quite tell what it was but you could feel the metal in your hands. 

she gives you one last hug and sends you off. your mom was standing by the car waiting for you, a small smile on your face as you walked down the steps, “thank you for taking care of my daughter, mrs. carol. i promise to write to you for the holidays.” your mom says as you get into the passenger seat, shutting the door behind you. 

you wave at mrs. carol through the window as the car begins to drive away, a bittersweet smile on her face as she watches your mom’s car get smaller and smaller in the distance. mrs. carol also didn’t have a lot of family. she was an orphan who was brought to the US and when her adoptive parents passed away, she didn’t have anyone else. the extended family of her adoptive parents didn’t claim her, she never married and had no kids, and she was also an only child. 

mrs. carol saw herself in you and oh how she prayed you wouldn’t end up like her. she prayed for you to have a happy and fulfilling life and as sad as it was to see you leave, she continued to pray and hope that this new place would bring you joy unlike how your life was in the town you had grown up in. 

you’re carrying the last box from your mom’s car when you see a boy on a motorcycle pull into the driveway next to yours. the roaring of the motorcycle catches your attention and you find your footsteps slowing down as you watch him park his bike and remove the helmet off of his face. his hair is windswept as the helmet reveals his face, a sharp nose paired with an even sharper jawline. his brows are thick and eyes filled with allure. 

so much so, you find yourself accidentally tripping on a pebble, groaning and the sounds of pots and pans clanking together as you drop the box in your arms. your clumsiness catches your handsome neighbor’s attention and he’s running after you to help you up off the ground. “hey, you alright?” he asks, gently grabbing your arms to pull you up. you wince slightly as you get back on your feet, watching as his hands leave your skin and move to pick up the box you dropped. 

“uhm– yeah. thanks, sorry about that.” you huffed, dusting off the dirt from your jeans. 

“you guys just moving in?” he asks and you nod, telling him that you literally just got there and it’s not starting off as good as you would’ve liked. “oh– i can take that, thanks.” you muttered as you attempted to grab the box from his hands but he refused, walking over to your front door so you have no choice but to follow him so you could open the door for him. 

he follows you around your new house and the two of you wander around a bit too long before one of you says anything else, “hey, i don’t wanna complain but this is kind of heavy.” he says and you start to panic because you couldn’t remember where the kitchen was in your new house. the two of you had walked through the foyer, living room, and dining room but you just couldn’t find the kitchen. 

“shit, sorry! you can just set it down right there.” you say and he squats to put the box down. “sorry, i’m not entirely sure where the kitchen is.” 

“honey! did you grab the last box, i think it’s the pots and pans– oh! who is this, hon?” your mom says, emerging from the back of the house. she walks up to the two of you and you aren’t completely sure how to answer her as you didn’t even know him. 

“oh– hi, i’m sunghoon. i live next door, um i saw her fall and trip so i thought i’d come and help bring the box in. sorry if i’m intruding.” you finally learn of sunghoon’s name as he introduces himself to you and your mom. she thanks him for his help and spots the box of pots and pans she was looking for. she attempts to pick it up but because it’s so heavy she decides to just push it through the house with her foot. 

she returns to wherever she was, somewhere in the back of the house where you assume where the kitchen is. 

“thanks by the way, i’m yn and that was my mom.” you inform sunghoon as the two of you walk back to your front yard. “don’t mention it.” he mumbles and you’re both walking in an awkward silence for a moment until a deep voice calls from a few feet away. 

“sunghoon! dinner is almost ready, your mother is waiting.” the man calls as he stands, hands on hips waiting by the front door of what you assume is sunghoon’s house. “i’ll see you around, yn. let me know if you need someone to show you around town.” sunghoon says with a small smile, before walking back to his house. he sends you one last glance as he walks inside and his dad lingers just a bit longer, menacingly watching you retreat into your home. 

great, not even 24 hours in your new town and you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your handsome neighbor and now his dad seems to be suspicious of you. 

“did your friend leave already?” your mom asks as you enter the kitchen, leaning on the counter and taking a look at your surroundings. the kitchen was practically the size of your old apartment, you were absolutely baffled at the stark difference of your old life in the city to this new one in some small town you didn’t even bother looking up before you moved. 

“he’s not my friend, just some guy who saw me trip and eat shit on the pavement.” you muttered, fidgeting with the knifecase your mom had unpacked onto the kitchen counter. your stomach suddenly grumbles and your mom sends you an amused look, “hungry?” she asks with a chuckle as you pull your hoodie tightly around your body. 

“a bit, are you cooking anything?” 

“not tonight honey, i don’t think we’ll have everything unpacked for me to cook and i still need to find the market in town. why don’t you take my car to that pizza place we saw just a few blocks away? grab a box of pizza and maybe some wings if they have it?” 

you nod at her instructions and do some finger guns, catching her keys as she unhooks them from her jeans and tosses them over to you. “drive safe! just let me know how much it costs when you get home.” 

the air has gotten much colder since you were last outside just a few minutes ago. weird, you thought. it was spring, damn near summer, but this little town seemed to send chills like it was winter down your back. you throw on the hood of your jacket and jog to your mom’s car, sliding into the driver’s seat and buckling up before starting the engine when a knock on the passenger door window startles you, “shit!” you exclaimed as a hand flew to your chest in shock. 

you look over to see sunghoon hunched over with a smile on his face as he waves at you from outside. “can i help you? you fucking scared me.” 

sunghoon laughs at your remark before answering, what a nice laugh you thought to yourself, “heading somewhere? want company?” he asks and you narrow your eyes at him. was it a good idea to let a complete stranger into your car and drive around a town you hadn’t even been in yet for more than an hour or so, maybe not– but since you knew where he lived and he didn’t give you any reason to doubt him, you unlock the car and sunghoon smirks when he hears the car unlock, pulling the door open and plopping down in the seat next to yours. 

“where to?” 

“pizza, i’m starving.” 

“perfect, i’ll show you where to go.” sunghoon says, smiling even wider when he hears the word pizza. 

“holy shit, this pizza is really good.” you say after swallowing a bite. you notice sunghoon stiffening up after what you said, contemplating on whether you should ask him about it because you were worried of offending him. “did i say something wrong?” 

sunghoon wipes his mouth with a napkin before responding, “no, you didn’t. i just have never heard anyone say holy shit before.” he responds, whispering profanities like he was a small child speaking in secret, afraid he’d get caught by his parents. 

you tilted your head to the side at his words and soon realized that he must come from a religious family, one so religious that those types of profanities weren't something he had ever heard uttered– and considering that he looked like he was in his 20s, that was a really long time. you muttered a small apology and he shakes his head, telling you that it’s fine and he doesn’t really mind. sunghoon explains that he comes from a church family, his dad was the deacon and his grandfather had founded the local church in town. 

sunghoon found himself telling you more about himself than he had anyone else in his life, maybe it was because you were a complete stranger or maybe it was the fact that sunghoon felt instantly connected to you, he’s not entirely sure. 

“wait, so you sound like you come from a picture perfect family but why am i getting the feeling that’s not entirely the case?” you asked. 

sunghoon laughs and nods at your question, “there’s honestly nothing wrong– well, aside from the fact that my father wants to control everything in my life including who i marry; nothing really wrong.” he jokes and now it was your turn to laugh. 

“and the motorcycle?” 

“ah, that was just to piss off my dad because he was pissing me off.” the two of you laughed as sunghoon recalled the story. his dad originally gave him his credit card to buy his first car and usually his dad would’ve been there but he was preoccupied with the church so he trusted sunghoon to go alone. 

bad idea. 

sunghoon was already mad at his dad about an argument before that but because his dad kept nagging him about the type of car to buy, what color, what model, making sure that the license plate didn’t have any sort of resemblance to anything blasphemous– sunghoon decided he’d buy a motorcycle instead. 

and because the bike shop doesn’t do returns– he got to keep it. 

that was just a lie he and the shop owner came up with to ensure that sunghoon got to keep it. 

“i should probably get going, i need to bring this box to my mom for dinner.” you say, wiping your hands with the napkin before scooting out of the booth, box of pizza in hand. “here, i’ll carry it.” sunghoon offers and you let him because a part of you feels like he wasn’t going to take no as an answer since the two of you got into a fight on who would be paying for the pizza. 

you eventually agreed that he’d buy you a slice but you’d be the one to pay for the box of pizza you were taking home to your mom. sunghoon agreed reluctantly and all you could do was smile at his friendly eagerness. 

“thanks for the pizza, sunghoon; and for welcoming me into town.” you muttered as the two of you got out of your car. the sun had dipped past the horizon and the moon was now high in the sky when you returned home. you checked your watch to see that it was only half past 8, but it felt so much later. 

“no problem, welcome to edenville yn. enjoy your night and the best pizza in town.” he smiles before walking off and slipping through his front door. you smiled at sunghoon as you watched him enter his home but your eyes traveled to the window in the far side of the home, slightly startled when you see a figure watching you from behind the curtains. 

you recognized him as sunghoon’s dad and as his gaze bore into yours, you duck your head low and rush back into your home, fidgeting with the keys so you could unlock your door and get inside– away from his dad’s piercing gaze. “creepy..” you muttered and your mom suddenly rounded the corner in her pajamas.

“what’s creepy– ooh, pizza. finally.” she says, eyes beaming at the box of pizza as she grabs it from you, taking it into the living room where she’s already got the tv setup with a random show playing it on it. you follow behind her and take a seat on the floor next to the couch, leaning your body and resting your elbow on the cushion. 

“ooh– what’s this?” she asks, pulling out a piece of paper when she flips open the pizza box. “i think someone at the pizza shop likes you, that why you took so long?” she asks, handing you the slip of paper that had a phone number on it with a note that reads, “thanks for hanging out with me, i’ll show you some more spots. text me?” 

you smiled at the note and knew who it was from. 

“well?” 

“uh– no, it’s from sunghoon. the boy next door, he ended up coming to get pizza with me, told me about the town and stuff.” your mom smiles at you teasingly and you’re instantly rolling your eyes at her, telling her that it’s nothing and he was just being nice. 

“yeah.. sure, hon.” she says before taking a bite of pizza, not believing a word you say– and perhaps you don’t believe yourself either. sunghoon was sweet and kind, made you feel welcome and something about him being a complete stranger drew you to him even more. 

him living next door didn’t help your natural curiousity to want to get to know him more. 

and you just might. 

settling into your new home was pretty easy, a few neighbors would stop by at random times to introduce themselves and it was nice– however it just made you think of mrs. carol, hoping that she was doing fine and hasn’t forgotten your reminder of making sure to turn off the stove whenever she was done heating her kettle. 

you learned that the family to the left of your house was the kim family, they had a son named sunoo around your age and assumed similar to sunghoon’s as well. the house across the street from yours was the sim family who you learned had a cute dog named layla and a son named jake, who you later learned is sunghoon’s best friend. 

it was nice that people took the time out of their day to introduce themselves and welcome you and your mom into town but they all had a shocked expression when they’d see the two of you and you knew it was because you and your mother looked close in age. she had you during high school and because her pregnancy came as a surprise, your biological dad told his parents and they put him into boarding school in a whole other country– leaving your mom alone to raise you on her own at just 16 years old. 

you didn’t care what people thought of you and your mom, but you could tell it bothered her so you tried your best to protect her when you could. it also didn’t help that it seems everyone would ask where your father was when they meet you and you’d just have to awkwardly smile before telling them he wasn’t in your life. 

sunghoon’s mom had stopped by very shortly to introduce herself, sunghoon awkwardly standing behind her as he waved at you, cheeks slightly puffed out making him look like his face was made of bread. you couldn’t help but laugh at him. 

“this is my son, sunghoon, he’s told me you’ve already met?” she says, pulling herself forward as he greets you and your mom. you explain to sunghoon’s mother that he helped you move a heavy box into your house and then you two got pizza afterwards. 

she smiled at your words but it wasn’t one of amusement, the smile was more one of irritation that she tried to mask with joy. “didn’t know you liked that place, sunghoon. we’ll talk about that over dinner with your father. speaking of my husband, sorry he couldn’t be here to introduce himself; he’s very busy with the church but i’ll extend his welcome to you both… 

uhm, welcome to edeville.” she says, another fake smile on her face as she walks down the stairs to go back home, turning around and tugging sunghoon’s sleeve when she realizes he doesn’t instantly follow her. 

you and your mom go back inside the house but you watch the two of them walk away from your window, you can faintly see sunghoon’s mom scolding him as they got closer to their house, sunghoon’s head hanging low as his mother scolds him, her pointer finger directed at him with so much aggravation you could almost feel it. 

“what a strange lady.” your mom mumbles, shaking her head before walking to the kitchen to start preparing dinner. you silently agreed and followed her, telling her about how you saw sunghoon’s dad a few times when you first moved in, leaving out the part of when you saw him staring at you menacingly from the window. 

you tell your mom you were going to freshen up before dinner but she stops you before you could leave, “oh, by the way. we’re going to church tomorrow so don’t be up so late.” and you weren’t really sure why you were going to church. it wasn’t until high school when you stopped attending a religious school that had a church open 24/7. that was where you learned of things in the bible like salvation, adam and eve, when god said let there be light, and the garden of eden. 

it’s been maybe 6 years since you’ve last stepped into a church and because you weren’t sure why your mom suddenly wanted the two of you to start attending again, you chose not to question and decided to just see it through. 

observe your mother at church and see why for yourself. 

church the following day was filled with awkward glances and short greetings as your mom introduced the two of you to random churchgoers. you smiled and nodded, keeping it cordial as you didn’t want to cause any problems while at church even if you could tell they were all judging you. 

you spotted sunghoon sitting at the very front of the seat and you could see his mother to his right; you were wondering where his dad was but when he emerged from behind a statue of jesus, bible in hand, you remembered that he was the deacon. 

sunghoon briefly stretches his neck and sees you from the corner of his eye, eyes widening as he waves over to you. a smile on his face that revealed his sharp canines. you waved back at him but his attention is quickly averted to the front of the room when his mom nudges him to straighten up and focus. 

this was going to be one long sunday service. 

you and your mom are walking back to your car when you hear a faint whistling sound, so you look around to see where it’s coming from and you see sunghoon hiding behind a brick wall, waving you down when you finally spot him.

“oh, mom. i think i forgot something inside, i’ll be right back.” you tell her, running off before she could even respond. you round the corner and find sunghoon pacing back and forth, thumb in his mouth as he anxiously bites on the nail. 

“mysterious… is there a reason we’re hiding behind this random brick wall right now?” 

sunghoon looks up when he hears you speak, a smile on his face when he sees you; “hey..” he breathes out. “sorry, need to hide from my parents.” he explains and you nod in response, puckering your lips at the awkward silence. 

“why haven’t you texted me?” he suddenly asks and you giggle at his cute expression. looking up at you through the strands of hair blocking his eyes, a small pout on his lips. “sorry, i guess i’ve just been taking it all in.. why? did you miss me already?” you tease and from the way you could see the blush creep on his cheeks and the way sunghoon shyly turns away from you, you had guessed right. 

“my mom is probably looking for me but i’ll text you tonight, ok?” 

“wait– meet me at this place at 9? ok?” 

he grabs your hand suddenly and pulls a pen out from the pocket on the front of his dress shirt. he quickly scribbles an address on your palm and blows on it briefly to dry it so the ink doesn’t smear. “please come.” he says and you smile, nodding your head before walking back to your mom’s car. 

smiling to yourself as you look at the writing on your palm but before you could get to your mom’s car, a figure stops you in your tracks. you look up to see who was standing in front of you and crane your neck upwards to see sunghoon’s father. 

“yn! how nice of you and your mother to join us for sunday service. welcome to edenville.” he says, a somewhat sinister smile on his face. you returned with a smile of your own, yours much smaller than his. “i know you and your mother are new to town so here’s some advice.” he says before leaning down and getting closer to your ear. 

“i know the kind of girl you are, stay away from my son.” he whispers and it sends a shock to your system, his breath tickling your skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. when sunghoon’s father pulls away, he’s got the same wicked smile like he was trying to put on a face for those around who may be watching the two of you as anyone outside of this conversation would just be seeing the kind deacon of the church welcoming the new girl into town. 

you swallowed the lump in your throat before walking off and staring at the address on your palm again, only now it feels less exciting and more unnerving. 

you had been contemplating on whether or not you’d go out and meet sunghoon at this address. you decided to write it down in your phone just in case the writing on your hand would smear and become unreadable. you had looked up the address and found out it was a waterfall just a few minutes on the outskirts of town. 

it was around 8:30PM and you still hadn’t decided if you were going to show up or not. you stared at the ink on your hand and then back at sunghoon’s contact in your phone. you weighed the options and the warning from sunghoon’s father weighed heavily on your mind, on the other hand; a part of you naturally gravitated towards sunghoon and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to see him. 

that’s how you found yourself telling your mom that you were going out for a quick drive and that you’d be back soon. sliding into the driver’s seat and inputting the address into your phone so you could follow the GPS. it was only 15 minutes away so you’d definitely get there by 9PM, you just hoped that you could find sunghoon quite easily. 

before you drove off, you took note that there was only one car in sunghoon’s driveway, his motorcycle nowhere to be seen so you assumed that he was already there. you made the drive to eden falls silently, wondering about what the night will bring and how you were really hoping sunghoon’s father wouldn’t catch wind of your secret rendezvous with his son. 

the drive doesn’t take long before you’re pulling onto a dirt path, your headlights shining over a boy leaning on his motorcycle, he uses his hands to block the lights and you quickly shut it off before stepping out of the car. 

“you came.” sunghoon says enthusiastically and you can’t help but smile at him. you jogged over to sunghoon and are surprised to see him extend his hand out for yours, so you accept it. he gently wraps his hand around yours and guides you to a small bench just a few feet from the falls. you could see the large waterfall to your left and assumed that below would be a large pool of water where the waterfall led to. the loud rushing of the waterfall fills your ears but not enough to drown out sunghoon. 

“i almost thought you weren’t going to show up..” 

you shyly look away for a second before turning back to him, “i almost didn’t…” you confess and sunghoon looks at you, urging you to elaborate. you weren’t sure if you should tell sunghoon about what happened with his dad but because he didn’t give you any reason not to trust him and given his relationship with his dad that he’s told you, you decide to tell him what happened. 

sunghoon was shocked to find out the news and he’s shaking his head in disappoint when he listens to what you have to say. he’s profusely apologizing and explaining to you that his father had previously mentioned not approving of the new neighbors because your family was incomplete– meaning he didn’t like you and your mother because you didn’t have a dad present. 

you scoffed at his words but couldn’t be too mad when sunghoon rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. “im sorry… but if it makes you feel better i definitely don’t feel the same way as my dad. as a matter of fact, i think you’re probably the best person i’ve ever met.” sunghoon doesn’t know why he’s telling you this, his naturally shy demeanor melting away whenever he’s with you. 

“sorry– i don’t know why i said that, please forget what i just said.” 

you laugh at him, squeezing his hand slightly, “don’t apologize– it’s cute. plus, you’re also probably the best person i’ve met in this town, by a large margin might i add.” 

you and sunghoon spend the next hour or so learning about each other. you learn that he was a figure skater as a child but had to stop when he turned 18 because his father told him it was time for him to man up and follow in his footsteps, it irritated you that everything you’ve learned about sunghoon’s dad was something terrible and it hurt you to know that sunghoon had to deal with such an overbearing father. 

outside from the daddy issue’s that you and sunghoon bonded over, you also learned that he really like tiramisu, he had a small dog when he was little named gaeul, and he also had a small interest in fashion but it never went anywhere because he knew his dad would just shoot it down. you frowned at his words but sunghoon seemed to be optimistic regardless. he came off as shy at first but he warmed up to you fairly quickly, whenever he laughed it was hearty, he loved to crack corny jokes, and he had a habit of zoning out randomly. 

“we should get going, it’s pretty chilly.” 

sunghoon agrees and the two of you walk hand in hand back to your vehicles but not before he quickly shrugs off his coat and wraps it around you. once again you try to refuse but sunghoon insists on you wearing it because you mentioned being cold. you smiled at him with a small thank you and he smiles at you, eyes crinkling as he watches his large coat cover up most of your body. 

“thank you for tonight, sunghoon. i had a lot of fun.” 

“me too. i’m glad you showed up.” 

“i’m glad i did too..” 

you and sunghoon part ways as you walk over to your car that is parked just a few feet away. as you’re turning the key in the engine and starting the car, you’re startled when you hear a knock on your window, jumping at the sound. 

sunghoon laughs to himself when he sees your reaction, apologizing when you lower the window down, “you really gotta stop doing that..” you chuckle and he apologizes again. “don’t show anyone this spot, ok? it’ll be our own little oasis.” sunghoon says while he sits on his bike, helmet hanging from his arm before he slides it over his head. 

your own spot with sunghoon. you liked the sound of that. 

two months into living at edenville and everything seems to be normal. the judgemental glances have died down for the most part, you only noticed it most when you went to church with your mom since church was only one day out of the week for only an hour, you choose to just ignore them. plus, seeing sunghoon in his sunday’s best was a great way to balance out the awkwardness at church. 

“man, my dad was on one today.” sunghoon huffs as he takes a seat on the bench. the two of you would text each other every day and fall asleep on the phone every night, sunghoon was becoming a regular part of your routine and you would become the highlight of his day. you weren’t necessarily one for relationships, the only boyfriend you’ve ever had was the boy who gave you candy during valentine’s day when you were in the 4th grade but aside from that, you weren’t ever interested in dating. 

being with sunghoon felt so innocent and calm yet he revitalized you and made your days brighter. whenever the two of you needed to relieve some stress or just wanted some time alone together, you and sunghoon would send each other a water emoji, indicating to meet at your spot at eden falls in the next 10 minutes– and every sunday after church, you’d meet there too. 

“his service was extra long today, thankfully i had some coffee beforehand or else i probably would’ve snoozed through all of it.” you muttered, kicking around a pebble on the ground with your shoe. sunghoon hums in agreement, you could tell there was something on his mind and you wanted to tell him that he could tell you anything, that you'd listen and be there for him no matter what. 

“cmere.” he says, offering his hand out to you and you take it eagerly. sunghoon’s hand basically covers yours as he takes your hand in his and it surprises you when he pulls you into his lap instead of the empty spot on the bench next to him. you fall into his lap with a small hum and he laughs in admiration. scanning your face, sunghoon’s eyes trailing from your lips to your eyes that were already planted on his. 

“you look so pretty..” he whispers, slowly brushing some of your hair behind your ear so he could get a better view of your face. he smiles at you when you get shy but he holds you firm but gently to stop you from hiding away from him. “your lips look really soft.” sunghoon says, causing you to bite down on them momentarily and you can feel and hear sunghoon take in a sharp breath. 

“ca– can i kiss you?” 

your lip falls from in between your teeth and sunghoon’s eyes are glued to them, almost like he was studying their shape, every line and engraving on your lips– his eyes flutter upwards to yours and you blink several times at him before nodding.sunghoon’s hands travel from your waist to the back of your neck and he pulls you closer, connecting your lips with his. 

soft. 

sunghoon was right, your lips were soft. incredibly soft. 

as humiliating as it may sound, this was your first kiss– but as your lips matched sunghoon’s rhythm and as your mouths melt, and blend, and fit into each other's, all you could think about was the fact that you’re pleased to have sunghoon as your very first kiss. 

when you pull away from sunghoon and your eyes flutter open, you find that sunghoon has a dazed expression on his face– like he was in some dreamland while he relished the feeling of your lips on his. a string of saliva keeps the two of you connected for a brief moment before it eventually breaks as sunghoon sighs at the absence of your lips. 

“i was wrong..” he says and you furrow your brows at him. 

“your lips aren’t just soft, they’re really soft.” you laugh at his remark, playfully slapping him on the chest as the two of you laugh. he holds you close to him for just a moment longer before you both decide to go home for the day. since it was still sunday, sunghoon’s dad would be expecting him for dinner. his family had dinner every night but on sunday’s it was mandatory for him to be there per his father’s orders. 

as you’re walking away, sunghoon quickly grabs your wrist and pulls you back towards him, your hand lands on his chest again and he kisses you some more. lips dancing together with more passion than before– “hoon, come on. your dad’s probably gonna be upset.” you say after pulling away. 

“fuck that guy.” he huffs and you laugh in amusement at his use of profanity. sunghoon wasn’t one to use them often but you found it funny that when he did use them, it was to damn his father, the deacon of the church. 

you shoot him a wink before getting into your mom’s car and driving off, sunghoon riding on his motorcycle in front of you. his broad shoulders covered by his black leather jacket, his long legs straddling each side of the bike, and the feeling of your lips lingering on his face. you couldn’t tell because of his helmet, but sunghoon had a smile on his face the whole time he was driving home. 

sunghoon gets home before you do because you’ve decided that you guys can’t arrive home at the same time to avoid suspicion, specifically from his parents. you get home about 5 minutes after he does when he sends you a text that he’s arrived home. you send him a heart emoji before pulling into your driveway and heading inside. 

you spend the rest of the night just lounging, doing minor house chores and having leftover soup for dinner. your mom was working overtime so she wouldn’t be home until much later in the night but you didn’t really mind because it was nice to be home alone every now and then. 

it’s around 10pm when you’re suddenly awoken by someone yelling outside, their voices were loud enough that you could hear it but still faint that you couldn’t fully comprehend what they were saying. you were planning to just go back to sleep until you hear a string of profanities followed by the sound of a door slamming. you decide to look out the window and find sunghoon’s dad pacing back and forth in their backyard pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, irritation clear in his actions. 

you could only assume that sunghoon must’ve been arguing with his dad and that’s where all of the noise was coming from and from what you’ve heard about his dad from sunghoon himself, you were worried for him– but you didn’t want sunghoon to know that you were basically eavesdropping on him and his father. you ultimately choose not to do anything about it but you keep it in the back of your head all night.

over the course of the next few days, your interactions with sunghoon have decreased to just short stolen glances and the occasional text message. whenever you ask if he wants to talk on the phone when you go to bed or meet at your spot, he gives you some excuse of why he can’t, one that you don’t fully believe but choose not to argue over. 

you’re chewing on your bottom lip as sunghoon’s father is going over the service, extending god’s praises to everyone at the church as they all hail in his words. you weren’t paying attention because all you could think about was how it’s been a whole hour of being in this church and sunghoon has not once turned around to glance at you, even when you sent him a text saying that he looked handsome, he just looked down at this phone and quickly stuffed it into the pocket of his trousers. 

you weren’t sure what was going on with him but it was getting to a point where it bothered you more than it should. you and sunghoon weren’t official but you spent so much time together that it felt like those moments were special enough to mean something. it did to you but you weren’t sure if it did to him. it also didn’t help that it seemed like sunghoon was suddenly distancing himself to you right after you kissed, it was humiliating honestly– to have your first kiss with a boy that you were starting to really like and all of a sudden he’s barely even speaking to you anymore. 

sunghoon sat upright, face forward, and shoulders back as the service was ending. you were going to talk to him one way or another, just not here. you couldn’t risk causing a scene at church of all places, you weren’t religious but you had enough respect not to start any problems there. 

you weren’t sure how you were going to get sunghoon alone to talk but the opportunity arose when you saw him head to the back of the church once service was over. you figured that if you could quickly slip away before his parents were to find him then you could quickly talk about what’s going, maybe figure out what’s been going on with him and get clarification on the distance that’s been created between the two of you. 

you tiptoed towards the back of the church, glancing behind you to make sure there wasn’t anyone following or watching you. you pick up the place slightly out of fear that you would be caught or the small window of privacy would slip away but you’re halted in your steps and crouching behind a wall when you see sunghoon standing there. 

for a second you think he’s alone but when he shifts slightly, you can see him crouch downwards and hug someone. a girl. you didn’t really know her but you recognized her from church. she was always there every sunday, sitting in between her parents as she wore a white frilled dress with matching shoes. 

you’re left speechless at the sight before you and you didn’t know what to think. were they dating? just friends? but your mind went to the worst possible option as you come to the conclusion that sunghoon has probably stopped talking to you because he no longer found interest in you now that he was with this new girl. she was beautiful, her skin appeared as soft as silk, her hair was done perfectly, and her smile could rival the sound of an angel singing. 

she was perfect and you were far from that. 

you’re about to run away when your body collides with someone behind you, sunghoon’s father. you fall to the ground with a grunt as the gravel pinch into your skin– gathering sunghoon and the girl’s attention. 

“yn?” he asks, letting go of the girl in his arms. 

“what are you doing here? are you ok?” he asks, running over to you in an attempt to help you off the ground much like he did the first time you met– but this time his father stops him. putting out his hand to prevent sunghoon from getting any closer as they all watch you. 

your eyes bounce from sunghoon to his father, a scoff leaves your lips as you stand onto your two feet, dusting the dirt off of your clothes. you couldn’t be there any longer so leave, pushing past the deacon and ignoring sunghoon’s attempts at calling your name to stop you from leaving but his dad holds him back. 

“let me go!” he shouts, snatching his arm away from his father. 

“why do you insist on going after that girl? she’s nothing!” his father yells and thankfully you’re far enough that you don’t hear any of it, which also means you don’t hear sunghoon’s defense. 

“i don’t give a damn. she’s everything to me even if i have nothing.” sunghoon says, jaw tightening as he glares at his father. sunghoon and his dad have gotten into arguments several times but lately it’s gotten more frequent as he’s noticed you and sunghoon have become closer even in your attempts at hiding it. 

the argument that you had faintly heard between him and his dad before all of this went down was about you and the girl that stood just a few feet away from all of this. she didn’t play a part in any of this, at least not willingly. when sunghoon got home that night he and his dad got into an argument because sunghoon was late to dinner, now it would’ve been fine if it was just any other dinner but this wasn’t just an ordinary dinner. 

sunghoon’s father had invited a good friend of his and his family to have dinner with them. this man was of high status as he was the town’s mayor and with his attendance came the attendance of his wife and daughter. the dinner was filled with tension as sunghoon would attempt to push back at his dad whenever he could to try to embarrass him in front of his uptight friend but that was when his father dropped the bomb on sunghoon. 

“sunghoon, mayor kim here and i have been talking and we think it would be a good idea if you and his daughter were wed. we’ve gone over all of the details already.” those words were ringing in sunghoon’s ears, vision beginning to be tainted red as he could feel his blood boiling. marriage? with a random girl? when he had you? he wasn’t about to let that happen. 

he looked over at the girl who seemed to be just as shocked as he was but before sunghoon could fully process everything, he abruptly slid out of his chair, the wooden piece of furniture slamming to the ground as he left the room without a single word, his mother apologizing on his behalf. his actions at dinner, although justified, is what led to the huge argument with his dad that you had witnessed and what would eventually lead to him distancing himself from you when his dad ends their argument with a few simple words. 

“if you don’t stop seeing that girl, i’ll make sure you don’t see her ever again.” 

sunghoon didn’t know what his dad meant by those words but he had never seen his father so angry before. his eyes bore into his son’s with a type of fury that instilled fear inside of sunghoon. so much so that he decided to stop talking to you out of fear that he’d lose you completely if he did, at least this way he could admire you from afar. 

“sunghoon if you follow that girl you’re only damning yourself. she’s corrupt and i refuse for my son to be corrupted by some whore.” his dad says and this sets something off inside of sunghoon. his vision turns red again and before his dad could react, sunghoon’s left fist is connecting with his dad’s face, a cracking sound emitting from the contact. 

his father stumbles back onto the back of the church, leaning on the wall for support as he clutches his jaw in shock. the girl standing to the side gasps and runs over in shock, making sure that sunghoon and his dad are okay. 

“sorry, you had to see that.” sunghoon mumbles to the girl. 

“it’s fine… go..” she says, pulling out the handkerchief from her purse. sunghoon furrows his brows at her words for clarification. 

“go after her.” she says, giving sunghoon an encouraging smile. 

so he does. sunghoon runs after you, knowing exactly where he could find you. he wished that he brought his bike but his dad insisted that they all arrive together to church in the same car so that they appeared to be the perfect and well put together family that they tried so hard to look like. 

sunghoon had been running through so many things in his head while his father was at the front of the church doing his usual service. all sunghoon could think about was you and how guilty he feels for ignoring you and how hurt you must’ve felt but because he was afraid of his father and wasn’t sure what he’d do to you if he continued to see you, you chose to silently protect you– but he was growing tired of it. 

he craved you more than you could think. he missed the way you laughed at his stupid jokes, the way you smiled at small things like seeing a caterpillar scooting across the surface of an apple, and how your lips felt against his. 

sunghoon wanted to feel the softness of your lips against his so badly and he’d make sure that your kiss from before wasn’t going to be the last. when the service ended, sunghoon hurriedly rushed out of the church and told mayor kim’s daughter to meet him back there. he was planning to apologize to her and tell her why he acted that way and surprisingly enough, she understood him. 

she mentioned how her father was setting them up for an arranged marriage because both of their fathers didn’t approve either of their lifestyles and who they fell in love with. sunghoon, who fell in love with a girl from an incomplete family but found a way to complete the missing puzzle pieces in sunghoon’s heart and kim minjeong, the daughter of the mayor who had fallen in love with yoo jimin, the chief of police’s daughter. 

sunghoon was relieved to hear that minjeong was as opposed to the idea of an arranged marriage as he was and they decided to hug it out in solidarity with each other– and that’s when it happened. sunghoon’s father somehow had seen you creeping behind the church and was going to put a stop to whatever you had planned and eventually that’s how it all played out. you saw sunghoon hugging a girl and paired with his father’s intimidating aura, you felt so small and could feel yourself crumbling under all of their gazes. 

sunghoon’s lungs were burning as he continued to run, the pavement under him made his feet sore with each step he took but he didn’t care. he was going to get to you no matter what, he was going to explain everything, and he was going to kiss you and show you how much he loves you. 

his father was wrong. you weren’t corrupting him, you weren’t a bad seed or the temptation of the apple that the snake gave to eve. you were his salvation, his light, and you’re the only person who has shown him true happiness. 

and he wasn’t going to let that go. 

you had made it to eden falls fairly quickly, your mother not questioning on why you wanted to take the car but she could tell something was bothering you and decided that she’d talk to you about it once you’ve had some time to clear your head. your mom wasn’t privy to all of the whispers of the people in town and especially not to those in the church. 

she heard their comments about how she was a slut or a whore because she didn’t have a husband and it didn’t help that people took notice of your closeness in age; adding more fuel for them to judge you and your mom when they figured out that not only did you not have a dad, but your mom also had you when she was a teenager. 

but your mom didn’t care. sometimes it would bother her but then she thought about you. her beautiful daughter who smiled through adversity and the mundane, you were an inspiration to her and when she heard about your budding romance with sunghoon she was elated. she gave you the usual mother daughter talk when it came to boys but she pushed you to go after what you loved. 

she wasn’t going to stop her daughter from finding love just because she didn’t have someone to call husband. you didn’t deserve to live in the mistakes that she made but if you heard her call these things a mistake you scold your own mother and tell her that everything is the way it should be and you were happy to have her as a mother. 

you’re wiping the tears off of your face as you sit on the bench, letting the loud rushing sounds of the water drown out your thoughts but your heart is pounding too loud and your head is aching too hard for any of it to be drowned out. 

was this what heartbreak felt like? 

but no matter how hurt you felt, you couldn’t just let sunghoon go like that, you refused. your mother told you to fight for what you believed in and for those you loved; your mom was a testament to that as she showed you day in and day out how much she cared for you, going as far as working so hard that she was able to move you out of your small one bedroom apartment to the house you lived in now. 

you decided you would fight for sunghoon, show him how much you loved him and wouldn’t stop at anything to get him back, not even if his father or anyone else at the church tried to keep the two of you apart. sunghoon came into your life like a miracle. everyday was the same back in your hometown and you were starting to think it would be like that for the rest of your life but when you moved to edenville and met sunghoon, everything changed. 

you smiled more, you laughed more, and for the first time ever; you felt what love was like from someone other than your mother. 

that feeling was too good to let go of and you sure as hell weren’t going to let go of it. 

with a deep breath in and out, you close your eyes to gather yourself before deciding you’d take the car to find sunghoon and tell him everything you’re feeling; but the sound of a soft thud catches your attention. your head turns toward the sound and you find no one there and just as you’re about to get up and leave, you see an apple fall from a tree just a few feet away. 

you hadn’t noticed that there was an apple tree at eden falls but since you were usually engrossed with sunghoon you hadn’t really paid attention. you looked around to find that there was only a single apple tree in all of eden falls. you find yourself walking over to the apple tree but are careful in your steps because of it’s closeness to the edge of the falls. 

the tree seemed to be calling to you as the wind that blew past sounded like a song. the apple in your hand snapped off as you lightly tugged on it, like it was ready to be pulled off and eaten. you weren’t sure what came over you but you found yourself shutting your eyes as you brought the apple to your lips and took a bite. a crunching sound from the bite filling your ears as you chew on the apple. it was sweet and crisp, almost blooming on your tongue. 

however, when you open your eyes and look down at the apple in your hand, a horrendous gasp leaves your lips as you see the inside of the apple was black and rotted, maggots crawling throughout the crevices of the fruit. you spit out the apple in disgust, wiping your mouth of the feeling as the idea of the rotten fruit and worms cause you to gag.

you drop the apple in a startle and before you could react, your feet are slipping on the mud that surrounds the base of the tree and you feel yourself falling over the edge of eden falls with nothing to hold onto to pull yourself back up. 

the fall is slow, you can hear the water in your ears before you can feel it but the impact of the freezing cold water was enough to shock you out of your trance. you flailed underneath the water, fighting to get out and poke your head through the surface before you ran out of air but it seemed like eden falls led to an endless pit of water and despair. 

they say when you die that your life flashes before your eyes and when you take your final breath as your eyes close shut, all you could see was sunghoon and his smile. a smile appears on your face as your body continues to sink lower into the body of water. your body is dragged around until it couldn’t be moved any further, leaving you floating in the basin of eden falls. 

when sunghoon arrived at eden falls, his eyes lit up at the sight of your mom’s car, it gave him enough energy to run even faster to your spot at the bench but when he got there; you weren’t anywhere to be seen. 

he looked around, yelled out your name, called and texted your phone, but nothing. 

maybe he was too late but your mom’s car still being there left more questions than answers. he dropped his head in disappointment but not in defeat, he was going to fix all of this but he just wasn’t sure how. when he finally opens his eyes, tears begin to fall onto the dirt below him and that’s when he sees an apple with a single bite taken out of it. sunghoon looks at the fruit and wonders where it could have come from since there weren’t any apple trees in all of edenville. he wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his blazer as he sniffles, picking up the perfectly good apple that glistened under the sun. 

no maggots or signs of rotting to be found. 

for the next week or so sunghoon does everything he can to get in contact with you but they all fail. he eventually walks over to your house to talk to you but your mother answers the door with tears streaming down her face. 

when he asks her if everything is alright she goes to explain that she hasn’t seen you since last sunday. it’s now saturday afternoon and sunghoon realizes that the car isn’t in the driveway, meaning it’s probably still at eden falls, but where were you? 

he extends his care and worry to your mother before going back inside his house to grab his phone and call you once more, but something on the tv catches his attention as the newscaster’s voice boldly says, “breaking news: deceased body has been found at the edge of eden falls on the other side of town.” 

sunghoon easily recognizes the sweater of the deceased girl, it was you. 

his world is instantly crumbling and he blinks at the tv, hoping that it would just miraculously disappear and that the news wasn’t true. he can hear your mother wailing from outside as she runs out of your house, running over to where they had mentioned you were found. 

this can’t be true.

you were gone and it was his fault. 

the next day at church, sunghoon is forced to sit through his father spewing some bullshit about your passing. your mother hadn’t shown up to church because she was in too much pain dealing with your death. sunghoon could barely stand to listen to his father and his lies, telling the people of the church of how much he prays for your mother, that you were a good girl even though he said you were corrupted, but it isn’t until his father says a certain thing that sunghoon finds himself storming out of the church. 

“she was broken… and she’s in a better place now.”

“what the fuck did you know about her?” sunghoon spits at his dad, the people of the church gasping at him. “you didn’t know anything about her, you called her corrupt and said she’d ruin me and look what fucking happened. 

you drove her away from me and she’s gone! it’s your fucking fault!” he shouts, veins protruding from neck and forehead as he yells at his father. “i loved yn. i still love her and that isn’t going to change, even if she’s gone.” sunghoon grits his teeth as he stares at his dad with so much anger his ears were turning red and his jaw would start to tremble as the anger surged through him. 

sunghoon’s father was making it seem like you had killed yourself because you were “broken” and “corrupt” and whatever bullshit he knew that townsfolk would believe but sunghoon wasn’t having any of that. sunghoon knew you had your fair share of issues but you never showed any signs that would lead you to killing yourself, he just knew you wouldn’t but there was no way to prove him wrong. 

he knew that he was to blame for some of this, that if he didn’t distance himself away from you and if he just fought for you harder then none of this would’ve happened. that you’d still be here, he’d be able to hold you in his arms, feel your soft lips, and tell you just how much he loved you. 

sunghoon’s father made it seem like you were the apple that was used to tempt adam and eve but he knew better than that. you were eve, a beautiful woman who held the world in her heart and sunghoon was the apple and your eventual downfall. 

the garden of eden

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[alexispunkkk]

unspoken sin

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god only knows — chapter 2

read the series!

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- warnings: religious trauma + so much guilt, struggles with purity, toxic/complicated family relationships, blasphemous themes, death in family, grief, sinful thoughts in a religious space, impure thoughts, sexual desires, sexual thoughts during a church service, funeral, crying, angst, description of heavy desire, praying, mentions of the bible.

- summary: a late-night visit to the altar after a day of struggling with impurity during a funeral service

- word count: 4.8k

- author’s note: oh im going to hell for this series, but its so okay! exciting that we meet joel officially for the first time this chapter, enjoy!! also made a tag list, join below

on ao3

JOIN THE TAG LIST FOR POST NOTIFICATIONS WHEN I UPDATE!!!

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The church itself hadn’t changed much.

Maybe seemed sadder, quieter–but it was the same old church you’d grown up attending like it was your second home. Narrow stained-glass windows throwing fractured reflections across the wooden pews that used to leave little crescent marks on the backs of your thighs when you sat. Hymnals tucked behind the seats, pages curled at the corners. Praying too long, too hard.

The ceiling fans creaked and only stirred the heat, blowing dust around. Neighbors and cousins and recognizable men from all across town in stiff suits and fake smiles, all showing up for the funeral. The least they could do to honor one of the most honest men in town. 

You hadn’t attended in years and it felt both like no time had passed and a whole lifetime had passed–the building was familiar, but the people were different. Judgy. 

You in particular had changed. Probably the most. And that’s what everyone seemed to be noticing. 

The scent of old wood polish hit your nose when you slipped into the pew. Back row, alone, without your family. A few years ago you would’ve sat in the front with your father, an angelic smile plastered onto your porcelain face that everyone once adored. 

An old hymn was being hummed by the choir, slow and low, worn and sincere voices groaning the same way as the old wood is. Your uncle’s casket sat up at the front, closed. Surrounded by lilies that are wilting and a single photo of him, at least ten years old–before his diagnosis, before the quiet. 

He was one of the only people in town who saw you for you, even as a child. Not just the preacher’s daughter, not a girl with scripture carved permanently into her spine. Not just by your last name, but your own identity.

He’d slip you little candies during service and nudge your shoulder when you tended to fidget too much during too-long sermons. But he didn’t judge, he was right alongside with you through it all–telling you that “even Jesus would be tired by now,” urging those little giggles out of you that your father would shush you and swat at your arm for. 

The weight of the world hung on your shoulders in the back of that church, or the weight of Him that always was nagging you. Now, it’s dawning on you that it’s shitty only to show up back to town for such an unfortunate event. You’d skipped town for two years, not even returning over the summer when college was out. Found a new life, ditched the religious aspect to the best of your ability.

But it all comes crashing back at the sound of the preacher’s voice–your father–speaking at the front of the church. Voice low and steady, words more scripture than memory. He spoke of mercy, of trial and suffering, illustrating heaven as a reward. 

Just like you would as a kid, you listened, but you didn’t feel it. The words seem to hit your ears and bounce off your skin, back into the stale air. Hollow and rehearsed.

You always wondered if anyone else felt like that. Were you a bad Christian? Was anyone in the church actually grasping the same shit your father had been spewing for years? 

You asked your uncle one time. Nine years old, sitting next to him in this very church, but of course in the pews up front. Legs swinging, you turned to him during a sermon on temptation. 

“I don’t always feel it. The holy part.” 

The admission was brave, but it was before the guilt of religion started weighing you down. It was all you knew, so it didn’t seem as big of a deal–a nine year old doesn’t know better. Children are curious.

He hadn’t shushed you like many others would have, hadn’t told you to listen harder or pray better than you were. Your uncle leaned down and whispered right back.

“Feelin’ God ain’t the same as hearing about Him. Some folks shout about him all day and can’t feel it. Still feel empty.” 

The next and only thing was a squeeze to your knee, warm and grounding, before pointing to the front of the room to get your attention back on your father.

“You’re still a good girl, you just feel different.” He added on the way out that day. 

It stuck with you, a reassurance that no one else would ever be brave enough to say out loud, especially to a nine year old in the most religious bloodline in town. Not your father, who believed closeness to God required discipline, obedience, and utmost devotion. The other girls in Sunday school cried after altar calls and always seemed to glow with faith that you couldn’t manage. Not them. You weren’t them.

But your uncle didn’t try to fix you. He made space, reassured you that you weren’t sick or a bad Christian. Still a good girl, still an active child of God. That moment was the one thing that’s kept you from going deranged with your thoughts that you’re totally impure.

And now, years later and at the man’s funeral service, someone else in the room’s presence hung onto you in the same way. No one else had ever really managed it, but the stone gaze of Joel Miller across the room seemed to stick just as much.

He never looked at you with pity, he was one of the only men who didn’t preach kindness he couldn’t practice. Rough, but honest. As a child, he’d treat you as a human rather than a prodigal thing who needed saving and attention.

Joel ended up in the pew ahead of you, a few people down. It made it easy for you to get a good look at him when he didn’t have the opportunity to stare at you like he was earlier when everyone first entered the church.

As you remembered, his figure is still as stone, and his presence radiated the same energy that your uncle’s once did. A strange sort of safety, even if you didn’t know him anymore. The same safety and warmth you felt years ago in that whispered moment during a sermon when he assured you that you weren’t a fake Christian.

A good girl. 

You remember him younger, standing beside your uncle and father on Sunday mornings, oftentimes seen with a beer in the summer. Smelled faintly of cedarwood, cigarettes, and motor oil. Of trust, somehow. Even before you were old enough to understand the way many men could hurt. 

Joel watched you grow, he always seemed to simply exist on the quieter edge of your world. Never making that large of an impact, but just always there. A presence. Lingering safety that you didn’t have plausible reasoning for. 

Now, he’s older, but radiates a similar energy–just a tad different. The lines around his eyes deeper, eyes darker, shoulders broader. Like he was aching, curious, yet sad somehow. Not how you remembered the sociable contractor back in the day.

He used to have that Jesus glow, but now, surrounded by scriptures and sermons and even the lingering weight of death in this church, it felt like he held his own secrets. Felt like he was the only one who could listen to your struggles with purity and guilt without throwing a fit. But you don’t know him anymore. You don’t know that, and you certainly won’t go telling him about this. Your plan is to leave town as soon as possible and head back to the city where there was less of a nagging weight of religion. 

And for someone raised to believe her worth only existed in how closely she could act in accordance with her father’s values, feeling simply seen by someone–feeling a strange sense of comfort–felt more holy than anything else in the room. 

At the reception, they served sweet tea in plastic cups and biscuits on the same tables in the church basement that were used years ago. The heat managed to press through the windows, even underground, making the whole ceremony more suffocating than it already was.

You strayed away from talking to people to the best of your ability, and many of them silently understood that you’re not the same young girl anymore, keeping their distance. The occasional “he’s in a better place now”  or “we’re praying for your family” was spoken, and you nodded politely. Said your “thank you’s” and moved on. 

Not hungry, not in the mood to socialize. Your damn favorite uncle died, after all. 

Joel Miller’s brooding figure lurked in the same way yours did, just occasionally speaking to a neighbor by the back wall. And you watched him. Not obsessively–at least you don’t think so–but just… drawn. Each time your eyes drew back to his frame, something inside you folded in on itself. 

Even after leaving the church for a couple of years, you at least tried to remain purer than the average person. To be decorous, have some restrain–and you succeeded, for the most part. Your father taught you that. 

Boys in college never usually distracted you too much, and the sinful thoughts never got too bad, which was reassuring in a time of such adverse guilt. But, oh, Joel. 

His body doesn’t ask for attention, but he knows how to hold himself with an attractive confidence. Solid and steady, like a wall that could only be moved at his will, no matter the force. Thick waist, legs built to carry weight. Nothing was ever soft about Joel Miller, especially now. He’s large and pulled tight by years of doing what has to be done, and each step he takes carries history. Hard work. 

Somehow and some way, it hit you just now. Stirred something inside you that you didn’t know was possible. Not desire, not really. Not in full, at least. But a kind of noticing that you’ve never experienced. An unfamiliar flush began low in your belly and made you shift your weight onto another foot. Made your thighs subtly press together each time he moves.

He just looks so useful and built. Broad, thick in all the right places. Moves slow, steady, and worn, in a quiet decision rather than a pace. The suit jacket he’d thrown on for the funeral seemed old, rolled up too high on his forearms because of it’s small size. It exposed his hands–his big, working hands. Broad palms and the thickest fingers you’d ever see, made entirely for building and breaking. Rough and calloused, littered with scars, just like the rest of him. Rested heavy on his thighs when he sat, unmoving by his sides when he stood. 

And God help you, part of you wanted them. 

It’s a horrible fucking thought. Perhaps the most impure moment of the recent months, absolutely wrecking you. The heat and simplicity of it, the fact that he was barely looking your way anymore. 

Oh, it’s so wrong. Not because he’s older or because of the big man he is. Sure, the age difference is one thing, you shouldn’t be attracted to someone of his generation. 

But because of where you are. You aren’t supposed to feel that way in a church. Especially not today. Your uncle just died, the one that reminds you of Joel, and your terrible mind is stuck on the thought of his hands. The hands that once held you in his arms at your christening. 

Pulses of guilt passed through you, and he stood across the room, unaware of how the simple sight of his hands just cracked your faith open all over again. You feel stained, like you’d never be able to scrub the sin from your bloodstream. No baptism could ever be enough. You’re a bad Christian, watching a man’s hands when they aren’t folded in prayer. 

All you can hear for a few moments is your father’s voice in your head, sermon after sermon about purity and clean hearts. Eve and her hunger. Not even just temptation, but feelings of genuine uncleanliness. You want to cry. Disappear. Crawl barefoot to the altar and let the shame bleed out through your palms. 

Or, just maybe, to crawl to Joel and sink to your knees like you would before the altar. Not in worship, but in want. Taken instead of saved. Mouth open, but not for scripture. 

You can’t, though. It’s the Devil’s trick, making sin feel like reverence. So instead, you sat down in a pew like a good daughter. Like a good Christian. A good girl. Even though you feel deep down like you’re just faking it now and you’re none of those anymore. 

And when Joel finally did glance your way, it wasn’t intruding, and it soothed the thoughts. It was careful. Soft. Grounding, in the same way the talk with your uncle as a child was. Reminded you that he was once a figure of safety, and you absolutely cannot be looking at him that way. 

But that’s so hard. 

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The sun dipped low by the time you returned later that night. The church often looked smaller in dark lighting, almost less holy in some fucked up way. When there was an absence of attendees, it seemingly stripped the building of its religious power. But the flickering porch light remained on, casting a weak glow on the stone steps leading up to the sacred doors. 

Your father has kept the keys to the church in the same spot since you were little, tucked inside a little wooden box behind a potted plant out on the side. A dumb spot, you know, given anyone could easily take it. But the people in town weren’t like that, they’d never cause any harm in the church. They’d never think unholy thoughts during church, they’d never abandon their religion. They’re not like you.

Some part of you hoped that he’d moved the key for whatever reason, but it remained where it was. The same brass key and the same door that creaks on its hinges. The same sanctuary you grew up with but became slowly less fond of–even angry with–over the years.

You didn’t turn on the big overhead lights, but left the little sconce lights near the altar glowing, in fear of drawing attention to the church and the fact that you have to come here after hours to redeem yourself. They offered a soft glow to the pews. 

The same spot you sat in as a child called your name. No, you hadn’t sat there during the funeral earlier, but it felt a little less scary now that you’re alone. The second row from the front, center-left. You spent so many years there going from enjoying Sunday mornings to counting down the minutes until sermons would be over. Your knees occasionally had gone raw from prayers here.

The first truth of the evening is when you folded your hands and stared at the empty room.

“Dear Lord,” you whispered, “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

It wasn’t meant for anyone else’s ears, and when the church is empty you can be somewhat honest with yourself. Maybe not entirely. Some things can’t be brought up in church, no matter how hard you try.

You didn’t bow your head tonight. Instead, you stared up at the cross suspended by two cables behind the altar. Framed by an old, dusty, velvet curtain. And you wondered, for the millionth time, if He was really listening. 

“I don’t know if you still see me,” you continued, knees trembling under you while tucked against the padded bar of the pew ahead. “But I’m here, finally, and I’m trying. I promise.”

Promising to Him that you were trying felt scary after two years of not even praying, you didn’t know if that bit was true enough. You still have doubts greater than any form of confidence in yourself, which seem virtually impossible to come over. They get better for a few days, and then you spiral. And today, it was the worst of it. 

You remember the sermons about impure thoughts, hearing your father preach on and on about lust and pride. You remember the way your Sunday school teacher once called you a stumbling block for asking too many questions. You don’t wanna be that. 

Ever since the reception, you spent hours trying not to remember the way Joel’s shoulders filled out his suit and the way his sleeves rode up to expose his hard-working, calloused hands. You failed, of course.

“I don’t want to be this way.” Your eyes were getting wet, blinking to stop the swelling of tears slowly building, hoping everything would just stop and go away.

“I want to be clean again. I want to be good. I wanna be what I was supposed to be. Please.” 

It’s like you almost forgot how to pray, how to speak to Him. You’re begging him, crying, trying your best to hold onto your old self and get back to the pure and fresh little girl everyone loved. What is wrong with you?

The pew Bible in front of you caught your eye, and you reached for it, flipping it open as if you knew where to look. Psalms felt like a safe choice. 

Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. 

The words of David were aching and pleading, the same way you were begging Him. The same way Joel’s gaze felt earlier. Aching.

No, don’t think about him. 

Your lips moved silently with the verse, repeating it over and over to unlock that part of your brain that once had so many of them memorized. It still lived somewhere deep in your bones, never left, but the way you sat and said it now wasn’t the same. Trembling, regretful, begging to be made new again. 

Beneath the scripture and under the lingering guilt, something new was stirring. A quiet voice you hadn’t heard until now. It told you that you weren’t a bad Christian, but just human, that you feel things and don’t have to beat yourself up over it. It sounded like the talk with your uncle that crossed your mind damn near a million times today. 

“Lord, I just don’t want to feel ashamed for wanting. Not for trying, either.” You shut the bible and admitted, voice slightly softer now that you’ve calmed down. 

As much as you hate to admit it, coming to the church did subdue the thoughts and feelings for a bit. 

The sanctuary was still silent–no thunder tonight, but no light from heaven. The old creak of wood and hum of air vents. And when you stood and walked up to the altar, your legs were a little steadier. 

“I’ll try again if you’ll have me.” 

You said, kneeling at the foot of the stage. You didn’t expect an answer. Part of you wanted one, but another part of you, so very deep down, knew that you’d never get one. 

It was just you for a while, the only lost soul who’d think to show up at church in the middle of the night out of pure fear that anyone else could find out about your buried guilt. Emptied pews, palms pressed together and fingers loosely threaded together. Whispered pleas, guilt balling in your chest.

You cry for a bit. You don’t know what else to do, but it felt right–felt good to get it out for once after bottling up any religious baggage you’ve been carrying. Eyes burning and lashes damp, the worst thing occasionally came to mind before you managed to push it back out: Joel’s figure earlier with his head bowed near the casket. Even that made something shift in your belly, made your skin prickle. And that felt sinful. 

There’s nothing you want more in that moment than to come back, to be the girl you used to be. You prayed over and over for Him to give you a sign that it’s the right choice, that you still belong here. 

Like a scornful insult to your prayers, God sent something else. Like he was rejecting it, making you worse.

The air shifted just as you stopped crying, but your face is still damp and sticky with tears. A quiet breath can be heard, not your own. You didn’t hear the door open, and you can sense him before you see him.

The same weird presence your mind was focused on earlier at the funeral: weirdly safe and familiar, but from the outskirts of your life. A faint smell of cigarettes and cedar, maybe whiskey. The heavy sound of boots taking two practiced steps into the church before abruptly stopping. 

Joel stood still just inside the entryway when you looked over your shoulder, and the door shut with a soft thud. It cut off the distant sound of crickets outside, making the room unbearably quiet. The soft lamplight cast a long shadow, accentuating the thick, hardened figure of the man you just tried for thirty minutes to clear your dirty mind of. 

Like a strange sort of reverence, two sinners trespassing at the same time, neither of you spoke. Just looked. Slow breath, tired shoulders, and a few quiet steps closer to the altar after a moment. 

Your gaze turned back to the altar, feeling his presence behind you like an unbearable heat. Not fire, but lower and heavier. Like coal. Making you break a nervous sweat. 

“Didn’t think-” He begins, voice crackling in the back of his throat. He stops to correct it, clearing his throat before continuing. “Didn’t think anyone else ever came here this time of night.” 

His voice is unmistakable–yeah, that’s Joel Miller, alright. But it sounded ever so slightly different. Much, much lower. Rough, tortured. 

Joel Miller once glowed with the light of the Lord upon him, never missing a day of church and attending every event in town. He was never married, never had kids, but still got along with everyone. Beloved. Despite being so popular, he was a lot less of a preacher of kindness–he only sermonized what he could manage himself, which is why you always carried higher respect for him.

Now, he’s the same man, but deeper. He just seemed so tired, like he was equally as punished by the Baptist Church as you were. The only other person in town to break out of the sort of psychosis everyone fell into for their whole lives. But it came with baggage, and the two of you could sense it in one another. 

You froze, turned so slowly. Wiped the tears subtly off of your cheeks, pretending like you weren’t crying. The lights from the sconces carved shadows into his withering face, deepening the lines of ages that once weren’t there.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just been comin’ here sometimes. Thought this was my spot when it hits midnight.” 

He finishes, hands crossing over his chest. Not defensively, but nervously–weirdly nervous for a man you’ve always known to exude such relaxed confidence. And those damn hands from earlier were out again, peeking out from the worn sleeves of his flannel as if the Lord was testing you in his church. 

You nod, voice caught somewhere in your throat before you find it, only after seconds. 

“I– I used to, too. When I was younger. A teenager.” You forced a breath because you could hardly manage any, having to manually breathe. “Back when I was more of a believer. Thought someone would answer.”

Joel’s lips only twitched, an awkward little curl of a half-smile. It felt good. No one has given you anything real upon your return to town, not even your own father. Or maybe it was just an ache–it’s hard to tell when both of you are afraid to turn on the big lights.

He doesn’t have much to say about the believer comments, but you can tell he wants to speak on it. That he could read the flickers of guilt smoldering behind your eyes, that he can relate. For all you could tell from his darkened gaze, he also was struggling to get back into the neverending routine of prayer. Joel Miller once believed he’d get an answer, but something in him changed, and he’s stuck in the same boat as you.

You don’t know what comes over you, but after being in town for a day and hardly speaking, you have to tell someone. None of your old friends are here and your father would be the worst choice. Joel is the only one your mind goes to.

“I tried to come back. Today… tonight. Thought if I walked through the doors again and got on my knees up here it'd feel the same. It’s complicated.” 

There’s a beat of silence and he nods, once, nice and slow. His eyes never leave you, never shift down from your face to the body of a woman you’ve blossomed into since the last time he saw you. It almost balanced you, relaxed you. Felt real nice after all the judging gazes this afternoon.

“It never does.” Joel quietly agrees, standing fully stoic as if he was afraid to move. Just like you.

“You looked different today,” he continues, voice a little quieter while he finally lets his gaze shift down a bit. The newfound familiar heat started in your belly and crawled up your neck, causing your hands to tighten in your lap. Shame. Maybe desire. Simple recognition. “Not just older. Somethin’ in you… changed, or whatever.” 

You look away quickly, feeling it all crash down in seconds. You spent the last thirty minutes regaining the old bruises on your knees, knelt down at the altar and begging Him to forgive you for leaving, for thinking about Joel the way you did in the church today. Joel doesn’t move too fast or lean forward.

“But it’s good.” He adds, trying to sound hopeful to make either of you feel better. “The change. You don’t gotta be what your father wants you to. You never had to stay.” 

Another breath and heavy silence, and for the first time in years, you feel seen. Joel hasn’t seen you since you were eighteen, and after two minutes of being in the same room as you he somehow knows everything that’s trumpeting in your brain. 

And you trust him for it. Feel the need to open up, forgetting about whether or not He’s watching.

“I had, um, thoughts. Today. During the service.” You start, voice like you’re out of breath, barely there. “About you. Hated myself for it, that’s why I came.”

Joel looks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him upon hearing that. Entirely stricken, sighing and shaking his head. He moves for the first time, stepping forward towards the altar. 

“Don’t.” He says quickly. “Don’t do that.”

You can’t speak much when he denies you so quickly, but soon he’s knelt down next to you. He’s kneeling, but not with the proper, sanctified intent–he’s facing you, not the altar. Like it’s not there, like you aren’t in a church right now.

“You don’t even know what I thought.” You respond, voice dwindling when you feel a rough hand meet the back of your head, stroking down so gently to offer you some companionship. It started soft, a light touch at first, a question. Gentle. Hesitant. But in seconds, each stroke from your scalp and down felt like a long-forgotten comfort, especially in the rough hands of Joel.

But he knows. You both do. And still, he shakes his head again.

“Don’t gotta tell me, kid. I know. I know the weight of guilt better than anyone.”

You swear your heart has never beat so fast, absolutely slamming against your ribs. And it’s not at all because of the attractiveness of the man next to you, but simply because of the fact that you’re perceived for the first time in your life. You don’t ever bring up your religious trauma with your friends at college, and wouldn’t dare speak of it to anyone back home, so you’ve always been out of luck when it comes to talking about it–but here you are. A man who’s been silently beside you your entire life, and he gets it. He’s not making you feel ashamed or guilty, he’s just as broken as you are.

Joel Miller is sitting beside you in your father’s church and both of you are trying to remember what it feels like to be clean. And everything has changed. Neither of you believe like you used to. His hand is in your hair, and he smells divine, and it’s all too much. 

@joeldarling

[the-maid-of-witchwood]

My good friend, gimme your Steph and her ships headcanons

But of course!

Solo headcanons:

Steph was a hidden pregnancy, nobody knew she was there until her mom (Georgina) went into labour - her parents didn’t want children

Becky was one of her first nannies but only lasted a couple months as Solomon found her really soft and annoying, so as soon as Georgina died, she was fired

She and Grace first met as babies but neither of them know it

Steph was a pretty spoiled child

Shop is her favourite class and the only one she’s consistently getting good marks/attendance for

Mr. Houston is her favourite teacher

Is part of the Smoke Club but isn’t frequently there as much these days

Had a very big Heathers phase, still kinda does

She also had a Hunger Games phase before that and got really into archery, took up classes. Her aim is extraordinarily sharp

She’s actually really athletic and good at a handful of sports, she just doesn’t really bother in school anymore

She is a really avid music listener but cannot read sheet music or play instruments for shit

Really into rock specifically

The online girlie™

Loves horror - films, TV shows, games - and has always been really invested in creepypasta

May or may not have told some scary stories to the Monroe boys’ at the country club and scared them shitless

Seriously, if Steph was in charge of the prank, she could have given Max a heart attack

Is actually really good at debate because her father made her take classes and she gets plenty of practice when getting involved in internet drama

Clearly wins a lot of arguments against him now that she’s older, which gives her the power and cockiness to just wave away his influence and orders (until he gets at her phone of course)

She also is really good at politics

She’s actually really close with Jason and Kyle - childhood friends, basically her older brothers

Cheats at games

Is the “Dakota” in their group’s DND (see StarKid Rolls the Dice)

She’s dyslexic

Was diagnosed late in high school as Solomon was convinced she was just stupid and making excuses as to why she couldn’t do her work

Steph and Miss Tessburger do secretly care about each other. Neither will admit it. Wouldn’t go as far as mother-and-daughter relationship, but definitely tone their bitchiness (to each other) down if they notice the other is having a bad day

Steph puts her money into crypto. Sorry, I can’t imagine Solomon knows what it is or why he’d bother with something so silly

Fidgets with her rings a lot

Is really confident in her own skin, as she should be because she is so beautiful and literally has the school falling after her

Is actually a really good photographer

Her Insta page is undeniably killer

Someone get this girl a proper camera though because the phone can only do so much

In middle school, she, Brenda and Stacy did wear pink every Wednesday

She is incredibly well travelled - having had the money to go anywhere and her father only taking the best holidays - and she really enjoys travelling

One of the taller girls

Claims she doesn’t do dressing up because it’s lame, but gets really into Halloween

Flawless makeup and hair always

People haven’t seen her otherwise for years

Once bribed Grace to let her paint her nails in exchange for having to listen to Grace tell her about the bible. They keep doing this. Steph wipes it all off at the end of the school day so Grace doesn’t get in trouble with her parents

Has a lot of opinions on Spotify Wrapped (both general and hers specifically)

She and Zoey are near identical, leading to the latter always getting mistaken for Steph (as the more well known of the two because local celebrity, the Mayor’s daughter) but Steph has been mistaken for Zoey once or twice by Sam. Kicks him every time

Doesn’t like fake nails

Is a very physical person, especially when showing love

Spends a lot of money on her loved ones

The most competitive person

Lautity:

Pan for pan!

Steph makes a lot of corny pan related jokes, Grace finds them really funny

Again, Grace fell first, Steph fell harder

Steph tries going to church with Grace but really struggles with it

She will, however, attend events at church (bake sales, charity auction, etc) and just messes with the pastors by asking silly questions

Insert Mariah’s “Yah, Father!” here

Is probably Mark and Karen’s least favourite person for that reason

Don’t worry, she gets on really well with Grace’s aunt, Lucy. These bitches talk so much gossip and shit on Grace’s parents (and the Jerries because fuck them)

It’s because of Lucy they met as babies but that’s a story for another time

Grace tries watching horror for Steph but doesn’t like it, spends most of it curled up and hiding in Steph’s side. She still agrees to watch every time

Steph watches documentaries with Grace and asks her questions throughout because Grace talking about her interests is precious

The nerds help Steph write a love note for Grace

They then help Grace make a meme for Steph

Steph has tried and failed to play Grace’s flute

Steph buys Grace sheet music for the dumbest songs (Never Gonna Give You Up, Coconut Mall, All Star, the Mii song, etc) and has her play them for the group, forcing the nerds to listen to them and then tell Grace how good she is

Ruth makes them go see Wicked together as a friend group, purely to have Grace and Steph unknowingly go as Elphaba and Glinda by just wearing their regular clothes/colours. Steph, having definitely seen stuff for the film is prepared, they both show up dressed as completely different movie characters

(Steph went as Jessica Rabbit and Grace went as Sleeping Beauty)

They also didn’t watch the movie at all because they spent the whole time staring at each other and kissing

Burnerphone (Lex x Steph):

The only Steph ship where she loses her dominance

Lex won’t put up with her entitled, rich girl bullshit and will tell her when she’s being a brat

Steph will be more of a brat in the hopes of getting told off for it in the bedroom

They knew of each other when Lex was still in school and interacted in passing but that was about it

They met later through Ziggs at a party

Smoking buds

Lex gets on fairly well with Steph’s friends, though they are awkward because Lex is the epitome of “older, cool college girlfriend” in spite of not in college

Steph smuggles Lex into all the senior events they missed (homecoming, lock in, ditch day, prom, graduation) - probably bought Grace off to keep her quiet about it

Same music tastes

Gets on really well with Hannah

Steph doesn’t really do kids but she makes an exception here

Sends Hannah a photo of a random spider she finds almost every day with the caption “dude, is this ur webby?”

She has absolutely dragged Pamela for filth, if not gotten physical, in most of their interactions

Pamela is convinced Lex is dating Steph just for money

Steph only goes to Toy Zone to flirt with Lex and annoy the fuck out of Frank by shooting him with a nerf gun

Lex isn’t comfortable with a lot of fancy, expensive dates, so they usually just drive out somewhere quiet and have a picnic together

Steph convinces Lex to audition for plays in Hatchetfield

Firephone? Firelight? I don’t know what their ship name is or if they even have one but (Brooke x Steph):

Essentially the more chaotic, less chill and pyromaniac version of Burnerphone

They are Grace’s worst nightmare and honestly Miss Mulberry’s too (and half the HFFD and HFPD)

Smoking buds

Brooke brings out Steph’s impulsivity to its full power

Steph encourages Brooke’s don’t give a fuck attitude

Personally responsible for all the fire alarms going off in Hatchetfield High

If these two both leave to go to the bathroom together, you might as well grab your shit and head outside now

They are big time gossipers

Definitely get into the most insane situations

Seriously, playing Never Have I Ever with them is an experience because you get to hear about all their stories which are really good but totally nuts

Probably meet up when being sent to the Principal’s office, go off, make out and then come back like nothing happened

Queens of the Smoke Club

I already did Lautski and Lautskity for Pete

[misserabella]

homecoming

hazel callahan x fem! reader.

summary; loving her was a sin, but if there was a hell, you’d go with her.

cw; +18 content, minors dni!, we’re in the 80s!, both reader and hazel are 18!!, inspired by homecoming from ethel cain, homophobia, angst, pining, both reader and hazel being in love, kissing, crying, hair pulling, mentions of the bible, god and hell, fingering (r! receiving)…

you’re staring at her, and she can’t be more beautiful. it hurts. everything about it hurts. her suit matches her beautiful eyes, and her hair looks so soft you just want to dip her fingers in and tug. tug her closer. until there is no distance in between the two of you. until you can breathe from her lips, until nothing else exists.

but you can’t. and it just breaks you apart like a porcelain doll smashed against the floor.

her name is just as beautiful as her. hazel. like the spring, like the earth and the green. and just like the season, she brings butterflies to your stomach, makes goosebumps bloom like flowers on your skin. and she’s so warm…

she’s a sin. but such a pretty one… maybe they all are. would it make a difference? everything else evaporated as she takes your hand, like the blood in your veins. you want the blue in her eyes to bathe you clean.

“dance with me?” she asks, as if you could resist, as if you weren’t on her knees and begging for her to a god that forbid this sickening love that drenches your bones.

and you nod, ‘cause there are no words you could muster. not when she’s this close, when her fingers are laced in between yours and her cologne is suffocating you.

you’re more patient now than you ever have been.

her smile is blinding, and you can just follow her to the mass of teenagers dancing in the middle of the room, even when your heart is about to burst out of your chest and your stomach is tying in knots.

you’re more brave now that you ever have been.

her hands are on your waist, and your arms are around her neck. and you’re dancing, slow. you feel like one of those princesses in the fairytales your mom would read you when you were just a mere kid, with glass heels and satin fluffy dresses, in between the arms of a prince. you wanted to smash the crystal below your feet and break it to pieces, dance bare feet on the remains of the happily ever after that you won’t get.

“you look beautiful.” she whispers, and your cheeks redden. your heart flips, and you wish this weren’t the way it all goes, but you can’t help but say it back.

“you too.” you stare into her eyes, shying when she smiles, pulling you closer against her chest. you swore you could feel the quickened heartbeat of her heart. hazel fears you do.

you could feel her breath on your neck, through your homecoming dress before she speaks again.

“can i tell you a secret?” you nodded, your soul blooming in a field of flowers when she spoke those four words against your ear. “i’m desperate for you.”

and even though you felt complete, you couldn’t help but want to push her away, punch her in the face. ‘cause your love was so big. you wanted it to be her problem too.

there, just inches away from her, from her plushy reddish lips…four left feet in a room, always all over her. why had you had to fall in love with her?

and you both knew this was how it goes. you both get too close ’til you fucking explode.

you only tugged her closer, burying your face on her neck to hide your blushing, your nerves, but mostly your fear. you couldn’t look her in the eyes, into this sin.

“don’t look now but everyone’s staring at us weird.” she said, and your breath hitched.

“is it just me or there’s no air in here?” you could feel your chest tighten, millions of eyes on you.

but you’d take it all. stand there and bleed under the knives their eyes sent you if that meant you could stay in between her arms just one more minute, one more second.

“just breathe. i’m right here.” she promised, holding you tight.

everyone was watching you. you couldn’t breath.

“can’t we just leave?” you muttered, and she nodded. you wanted to run away with her, run to where no one would know you, would see you.

she took your hand, and you followed as you two left the prom, the hallways of your high school felt sickeningly cold, yet she kept you warm, hand on hand.

it was all a blur as you two ran through them, eyes on the back of her head, on her flowy soft black hair, and before you knew you were inside the bathrooms, your back against the cold tiles as she looked into your eyes.

“tell me i shouldn’t.” she whispered against your lips, one of her hands cupping your cheek. your eyes met her lips.

your fist tightened on the jacket of her suit, knuckles turning white as you leaned closer to her, until your lips were hers and hers yours. you closed your eyes, relishing on this love that you were gifted, this cursed love that you couldn’t scape.

tears were soaking your eyes, ruining the makeup your mother had helped you put on. you were gutted. your hands found her hair, tugging. you wanted to hurt her. break her just like she had broken you.

“i wish you were a boy…” you muttered in a sob, and hazel’s eyes fell. she silently kissed you again. and you let her. they said love hurt, and you were ready to die for it.

the kiss only got deeper, so deep you were drowning. you wished there was no god. no heaven. no hell.

“i love you.” she muttered against your neck, softly kissing it, pressing you harder against the wall.

“don’t.” you begged. “please, don’t.”

“i’m sorry. i’ll go to hell for it. but i do.” tears were brimming her eyes as well.

you kissed her to quiet her. you needed her to hush it all. to not speak up this forbidden love that hung in between the two of you.

her tongue pushed inside your mouth and you moaned.

“please, hazel. make me forget…” you pleaded, starred eyes staring into her soul, and her shaky warm hands crept under the skirt of your dress, pushing aside your panties to feel how wet you’ve become for her. you cried out when you felt her fingers dive in between your slick folds, her fingertips tracing soft circles against your clit. you pulled on her hair, making her grunt.

“you’re so beautiful…” she repeated, if she could she would say it over and over again until she’d lose her voice. a whimper fell from your parted and swollen lips when she pushed her middle finger inside you, fucking you slowly. it was as if she were trying to make love to you. to convince you that this was no sin. just love.

you could believe her.

“i love you.” you cried on her shoulder, your hips pushing against her touch. “i love you so much it hurts.” she kissed your cheek, your forehead and your lips.

she hushed you, her free hand coming to softly brush your hair as she added a second finger, curling them and making you moan. “just focus on me, alright? just me, sweet girl. i’m right here, baby.” she kissed you once again, painfully slow and sweet. you could feel yourself rotting in it, vanishing as your orgasm approached, whimpers and whines being swallowed by hazel as she worked you towards it.

“hazel…” you called out for her.

“i know. i know. just let go for me, princess, let go.” you cried out as it hit you, your hips sputtering and your chest rising in a deep breath. you whole body shook at its intensity, and hazel made sure to help you ride it until it became too much for you. she pulled her fingers out of you just to push them into her mouth to taste you. you were heaven on her tongue.

you needed a taste.

and as you kissed her, holding her close to your heart, you whispered.

“if there’s a hell, i will go with you.”

and that’s a promise no god could break.

-

a/n; relatable

[libbythatcherssecretgf]

Some like it Violent

Helen x fem! reader

——————————————————————————

Synopsis: Helen and you have been friends since before her & Eddie got hitched. However, there are things that she didn’t give up for him.

Word Count: 2.0k~

Content Warning: Vag!nal F!ngering, Biting, bre@the play, smoking k!nk, rough s3x, (previously established consent), scratching.

Minors DNI

Tags: @ahsfan05 @imorynn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @gayestswiftie @renyfisher @liliastriangle

Note: Everything is consensual & previously discussed within their relationship. Don’t like it, don’t read! This is for my kinky bitches who like it rough. 💋

——————————————————————————

Of course she didn’t get the chance to ever voice her general love for woman. Not all of it was sex, but it didn’t matter that much at the time. Her sexual fluidity meant she flew under the radar from the Bible thumping conservatives that lived around her. Kissing girls behind sheds, swapping spit with boys behind the dumpster. Didn’t matter the risk, she was gonna do it. She craved it, she craved the rush, the pleasure it gave her.

She spent most of her adult life having hook ups, meaningless ones. There were some guys after Richie’s pops. But none of them stayed around enough for them to even be considered a relationship. The entire time she was fucking woman, and it was always the hottest sex she’s ever had. She was a kinky bitch after all, and most straight guys idea of kinky was calling her a “slut” and pulling her hair. Both of which she’s not into, and found it deeming the way they said it to her.

You met Helen on a whim, a hot summer night in the late 70’s. She was a young divorcée with a toddler at home. Who using drinking and clubbing as a way to escape from the life she never imagined she’d have. It was sweltering it that club, hot bodies with little clothing jam packed together. Dancing the night away, with brains disillusioned by booze and whatever sort of substance they could get their hands on.

You’re dress what tighter then you’d normally wear ever. Your friends had dolled you up and gave you a few shots to pre game. Was it stupid, absfuckinlutely, was it dangerous, yeah. But you were freshly 21 and were going with a group. So you felt it was safe enough.

When you got there, the club was packed. It was already way too loud and way to suffocating. You immediately had that put to regret in your stomach. Gripping onto your friends hand for dear life while the group of you navigate the swarm of people.

Then that’s when you her. Helen in all her glory, tanned to the gods, skin tight cheetah print dress riding up so high that it’s practically showing her panties off. Her hair long and curled, swaying with her as she dances. The lighting made her look like an Angel was sent to heaven. Time seemed to stand still in while you drank in that first glimpse of her.

At the time the unknown woman seemed like such a far away, distant fantasy. You never thought she’d even look your way, let alone go out of her way to speak to you. But that’s exactly what happened. You had been standing with your friend group, sipping at a whiskey sour. When you felt a warm hand rest on your bare shoulder. Before you saw her, you smelt her perfume. Was it cheap, yeah. But it spelt heavenly in the moment.

————-

1992

Helen was with the guys in her & Eddie's basement. All of them were playing a poker match, sitting at the table smoking cigarettes & sipping on cheap beers. Alchol wasn't cheap afterall, and professional gambling, as much as she was good at it. Didn't exactly make you rich, even if you're safe like she is.

She's wearing a tight leopord print dress, that ends about mid thigh. Her cleavage is deliciously displayed, showing off her tanned skin. Her Italian genes her in full swing during the extra hot summers. In which she'd lounge outside at the public pool. Reading one of the trash smutty romance novels that middle aged woman seemed to not get enough of.

She pushed her glasses up from the brim of her nose to look at her cards. Focused on the game, she doesn't hear you come in. But she quickly realized it when she felt arms encircling her waist. The smell of your familiar perfume, mixed with a little colone filled her nostrils. Helen's red pointed lips upturn in a genuine smile, turning her head to look up at.

“Hey Babygirl, I didn't know yah were coming today. I woulda picked yah up."

Her thick Bronx accent was prominent as she spoke. It was incredibly attractive to say the least. With a large smile, and a light blush wafting over your cheeks. You rest your chin against her shoulder.

“I wanted to surprise you.” You’re voice sounds softer then usual. You liked making her happy.

“Well, it’s a pleasure baby.” She murmurs, while pressing a kiss to your cheek. Leaving a bright red lipstick mark in its wake.

The boys were all snickering at the affection, weather it was out of amusement or jealousy. Well that’s up to your own imagination.

You sink yourself in the chair behind her, leaning against the mini fridge and grabbing a cold beer for yourself. Using your belt buckle to open it, then taking a large swig of the cold burn against your throat. It helped you wake up after a long week. Not to mention Eddie wasn’t around, which meant you could ravish Helen without and distractions.

~~~~~~~~

Today was one of those nights where Eddie was working another Shitty Bar party, meaning that the both of you had the house to yourselves. Although Eddie new perfectly well about his wife having sex with you. It wasn’t something you did when he was home.

After eating some leftover take out from last night, the both of you are in the living room. The curtains all drawn, and the only light is the tv illuminating the both of your figures. Helen is straddling your lap, causing her dress to ride up to her hips. Exposing her burgundy laced panties. While the both of you make out heavily. Lips locked, tongues exploring each others mouths.

“Mmm baby, it’s been to long.”

She whimpers against the soft skin of your cheek, while your nails rake against her back.

“I know, I missed you. We need to get a routine or some shit going. Because these month long dry periods are making me nuts.”

She hums, a tiny smirk on her lips. While she starts to lightly grind against your lap. Caressing your neck, while placing sloppily open mouth kisses against your throat.

“Then stop keepin me waitin”

she purrs against your skin. Causing you to hastily pull her dress down enough to expose her bra. Immediately starting to nip and suck at the newly exposed tanned skin. Your nails digging into her hips to keep her still. You feel her playing with your hair, while she’s already making filthy sounds.

Her dress was scrunched up to only covered her belly. While you hastily made work of removing her bra, palming at her tits that fit perfectly in her hands. While leaving hickeys and bruises in your wake. The both of you already getting impatient. Her grip on your scalp was getting getting tighter, and she was grinding harder against your pelvis. Making it obvious how soaked her panties were.

This only fueled the fire in you, flipping the both of you so you’re on top of her. She laughs at that breathlessly, while your hand gently puts pressure on her throat. Not enough to affect her breathing, but enough to make her smile with an added boost of heat pooling in her stomach.

“You’re such a pretty whore baby.” Your voice is teasing but smooth. The smirk never leaving your lips, as you slide her panties off her with your free hand. Exposing the tan lines of her skin. Her moans were already starting to get needy, and there was a lot more where that came from.

Taking your hand and grinding your palm against her mound. She starts to lift her hips in the same rhythm as you’re. Using your index and pointer finger, starting to lightly tease her labia for a few moments. Then swiping your fingers down to collect her wetness on your fingers. Carefully sliding both of them inside at once.

She hums in contentment, placing her hand over the one on her throat. Smirking up at you, and letting out a long moan when your fingers curl into her g-spot. Starting to pump in out of her her, increasing the speed roughly. Making it so she couldn’t do much to react other then moan. Her eyes rolling in the back of her head. Once she’s dripping, you go a bit slower so you can circle her c!it.

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna come. Shit!”

She whines, then her hips slam up against your hand and her stomach tightens. Legs shaking, while she comes undone. Letting go of her throat and pressing kisses to it. No marks left behind, you didn’t want to hurt your baby.

“Good girl. You did such a good job for me baby.” Planting kisses from her clavicle to where her jaw connects to her skull. You remove your fingers and move her legs to a more comfortable position. Letting her catch her breathe, while watching her pant.

She looked fucked out, pupils blown out and her hair was sticking to the sweat of her forehead. Lipstick was smudged all the way from her perfect nose, to the bottom of her chin. Your lipstick was probably the same way. Both of you were a mess, it was perfect.

Letting her breathe, you contort your body so you can reach for the pack of cigarettes you left on the coffee table. Putting it between your lips, holding it between your teeth while you light it with one hand. The other gently caressing her thigh. A soft, and reassuring gesture that you weren’t going anywhere.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke through your nose, you notices she staring at you. Smiling at her, you wink and move to straddle her belly. Kissing her again. Her hands snake around your back again under your tank top. Her acrylics digging into your flesh, causing a delicious pain that shot to your core.

“Babydoll, you’re so fucking sexy. How’d I get so lucky? hm?”

Her accent gets thicker when she’s being sincere. The added lust didn’t help either. Helen holds your chin so you look at her, admiring your beautiful face with so much sincerity you felt slightly embarrassed.

The sun was beginning to rise, and the golden rays were making her hair shin. Her brown eyes shining like honey. God, you loved this woman. It’s crazy how one random night. You’d met the woman that’d stolen both your heart & your libido.

She plucked the cigarette from your lips, taking a long drag. Her slender fingers wrapping around it. Chest lowering while inhaling. Lifting her chin, she exhaled the smoke. Causing her tits to rise up and her eyes closed half way. She looked so hot like that.

“My turn beautiful, or are you gonna keep that mouth of yours busy with that cigarette? Hm?”

You tease, while brushing her hair behind her ear. You wanted to see her face, how perfect she was.

“Of course doll.”

She almost giggles, leaning sideways to put the cigarette out. Wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing you deeply. The sunlight enveloping you both in a fragile warmth. While you passionately made out. Tongues fighting for dominance in each others mouths. While you’re holding her waist tightly. Her nails scratching against your breasts.

The fun was only just beginning, just another night in New York City. ~~~~

—————————

I’m so sorry this took so long. I hope you all enjoyed this! Xxxx

[war-sword]

a different blizzard

summary: you're on patrol with Ellie when a snowstorm unexpectedly hits. you smoke weed to pass the time. words: 6,033 a/n: whoa. so if you're already my follower: hi, IM BACK, but i'm so sorry because i am pivoting. like fully fully. so, if this is NOT your speed i will 1000% respect you unfollowing me or whatever. but if it is, then god bless you and you're really a soulmate follower. if you are new- hi and welcome! if you would like to be tagged in future ellie fics please just send me a message or reply to this post! cw: this fic is explicit

read on ao3

Earlier in the afternoon when you’d looked at the thermometer and read 10 degrees, you knew you’d be frozen to the bone by the end of patrol. You felt the burn from where the icy wind had cut across your cheeks, flushing now that you were in the basement of the lookout building. Your bare fingertips could feel the fire on your skin even in their frigid state.

Ellie slides Shimmer’s bridle off and hangs it on a piece of metal that juts out from a crumbling wall. “I’m sure I look even worse.”

“Windburn?” You ask, examining Ellie’s cheeks as she walks your way, headed for the bales of hay that were stored in the room behind you. 

“Yeah,” she replies over the grind of rusty metal hinges. Your own horse, Minnie, pushes her shoulder against you as she tries to follow Ellie into the room while making hungry horse sounds.

“Oh, rude!” You shove back against Minnie, who grunts as she relents and takes a few steps back. You pull off her bridle as well, while Ellie throws hay out of the room into separate piles for the horses. Gentle chewing noises fill the room to join the muffled howling of the wind outside in an ambient symphony. 

The blizzard that had come on wasn’t unexpected, but you and Ellie had gotten so caught up on your supply run that you’d failed to return to Jackson within the critical window before the snow started falling in earnest. The closest lookout was within short radio distance, so at least people knew where you were. But as you make your way up into the higher levels of the lookout you knew you had made the right choice to stop: the entire world outside the windows is blinding, solid white. “Jesus.”

Ellie shoves her hands in her pockets and makes a face at the snowstorm, gazing out the big window in the main room. You discard your backpack and saddlebag next to the table and flop onto the ancient couch. “I was originally thinking just dinner, but now I’m thinking breakfast, too.” Ellie turns back towards you, a sideways smile on her face and brow up. “You wouldn’t happen to, uhh…”

“...Have anything?” You finish, reaching into the saddlebag closest to you, drawing out a pouch familiar to both you and Ellie. Her smile grew. 

“I’ll make the beans.”

Ellie looks on excitedly as your practiced hands roll the joint, a skill you’d honed by rolling up tobacco for friends and delicately pulling apart a scavenged bible whenever you were lucky enough to get your hands on some real bud. Between you lie the remnants of your dinner; deer jerky, homemade crackers with soft cheese and, of course, canned beans that Ellie had seasoned. She scraped the bottom of her can and licked the spoon while she watched you work. Smoking was how you’d first found yourself looking at Ellie a little differently, and she brought that time up now. “I’m thinking of the first time I really had fun on Halloween,” she says, chin in hands and eyes bright watching the joint take shape. 

You’d snuck away from the party that was taking place at the Slate’s house, the one later at night that was for older kids and adults who didn’t have small children to entertain. You’d only had a pinch left in your supply, and so, naturally, were being insanely stingy and had gone off alone to roll your joint in the shed tucked in the back corner of the property. Ellie, Dina and Kat had burst in on you mid-lick of the paper, which had resulted in a comical 30 seconds of you sitting there with your mouth open. 

The immediate embarrassment was short lived, however, and you ended up packing the weed they’d brought for their own meager bowl with yours into the joint. It ended up being decent, and from the amazing high and best halloween party experience in your whole life you learned the power of ‘matching’. While seemingly obvious, in the small social ecosystem of Jackson, knowing who was who with weed was difficult. Being secretive was essential. You only smoked with your best friend. Well, until a few months ago when you two had a huge falling out. Since then, Ellie became your smoking buddy. 

You look up and smile at her, unscrewing the very bottom compartment of your grinder. It let out a squeak as the underused threads resisted. Ellie’s eyes lit up even brighter. “Ooh, when did I become so special?”

You gently tap the kief from the very bottom of the grinder evenly along the joint, scooting it into place with the edge of your nail. “You’ve always been special,” you joke, looking away innocently for a moment to lighten your reply. 

Truthfully, you wish Ellie was more than your smoking buddy.

Much more.

It didn’t help that smoking with someone was quite an intimate experience if you let it be. Of course, it was sometimes just hitting a pipe at a party or smoking someone’s offered leftovers. But with Ellie, those little things came with late nights spent at her place or yours, sharing food, and–like right now–spending cold Wyoming nights tucked close for warmth. The smoke would hardly leave each other’s personal space. For you, Ellie had always been such a comfortable fit. You never felt awkward if you were dressed in five mis-matched layers with your hair poking out of a toque like you were a kid, or if either of you were fresh off hours of patrol in the saddle, fighting infected in the wilderness. And the talks, of course. On good days it was divine to waste hours away together, listening to Ellie’s records or playing video games. You’d need to smoke on your worst days too, finding Ellie in the gun room or in the food hall after dinner to ask to meet up later, when your family pissed you off or whatever work shift you’d done that day had been horrible. She’d always listen, no matter what.

So what? It was impossible to not develop a huge, fat crush on Ellie Williams. One could only take so many midnights cuddled up under a shared blanket with a pretty girl as you clung and giggled together in the haze of a shared high. 

Much like the drug you shared, denying yourself her presence would have made life so, so bland and unbearable. Which was why it was worth it to practice torturous self-restraint so you could keep seeing Ellie and share in these small moments, rituals, without upsetting the delicate balance. You’d already lost someone recently who you hadn’t even been dating; just somehow fucked up being just friends. There was no way dating Ellie was in the cards.  

Now, you’re stuck with her overnight in one of the only lookouts that doesn’t have a heating stove of any sort. A joint and a tangle of blankets on the floor to share for warmth isn’t your brightest, but you’re sure as fuck about to do it.

After a brief discussion of where best to smoke, as opening a window was simply not an option with the negative temperatures outside and hardly any warmer indoors, you agreed the small bathroom was the hotboxing location. First: it was non-functional, and therefore not likely to be entered if you left the door closed if second: you opened the window later, above where the tiling ended in the shower tub, and left it that way for the room to air out the next day after the storm had passed. The walls of the room were already rotting in the corners, and with the tiles some water and wind wouldn’t make it any worse for wear. If someone happened to notice, then hopefully not much damage would be done to the structure. 

You fiddle with the filter end of the joint while Ellie piles your jackets and every cushion and  throw the lookout had to offer into the tub. “Impressed?” Ellie turns your way, still crouched on the ground with her elbow resting on the edge of the tub, looking goofy and proud of herself. 

“Very much so.” You chuckle and get in the tub, clutching the joint in one hand and your lighter in the other. 

You tuck your limbs up together in the bathtub, grumbling and kicking each other playfully as you settle in facing one another. You flip the top of your lighter and spark it, bringing the flame up to the end of the joint. “This is a luxury, if you think about it,” You say once the joint hits smoothly and burns evenly. You tap the ash off in a dirty corner of the tub and pass it to Ellie. “Being trapped in a blizzard?”

“No–a whole joint for two people, dumbass.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Sorry I’m not a mind reader.” She hit the joint, sucking in extra air through her teeth and coughing on the way out. “The kief in this is definitely a luxury though. You can feel it.”

“Like I said, you’re special.” When you took the joint back, you delicately put your lips around the cardboard where her’s had just been, unable to not think about it.

After passing the joint back and forth for about ten minutes, you felt the high settle into your muscles. Into your nerves, lighting your senses up. Your legs that were tangled with Ellie’s found themselves pulling closer, and her foot gently moving across your calf sent it jolting. Then her hand was there, steadying you, pulling you in closer. Smoke came out of her nose as she laughed, your fingers pressing as you passed the joint between you, the smoke curling in the air slowly. The literal haze softened all of Ellie’s edges, making her look soft and glowing and perfect.

You feel a sore spot forming as you shifted against the faucet poking into your back, so you leaned forwards into Ellie’s space. “I can’t sit this way, it’s too uncomfortable,” you complain.

Ellie widened her legs and opened her arms, ushering you in. The joint dangled from her lips as she smiled while you gave in to all your urges and settled into her chest, deciding you could indulge yourself just this once. Ellie offered, after all.

You watch from a new, tantalizing angle as she inhales on the joint by just closing her lips all the way around it, smoke pouring out of her mouth on the exhale while she settles you up against her. She offers the joint to your lips where your head rests on her shoulder. “Mmm, much better,” you sigh, and your lips brush Ellie’s calloused fingers as you take your hit. 

Your heavy eyelids flutter and you look up at her face, her green eyes in the dim light of the bathroom reflecting the joint glow as golden. Her gaze flits over your face, jumping from feature to feature, and then her other hand reaches up to gently brush your hair back from your forehead. You can feel every follicle of hair shifting, so delicately moved by Ellie’s touch. A shiver runs through you, making you cough. You squeeze your eyes closed, hoping Ellie didn’t see them almost roll.

“Cold?’ Ellie questions, taking the joint away from your mouth and back to her own. She takes a few drags in a row, filling her lungs with fresh air in between.

“‘Lil bit,” you say, half lying. It is cold as fuck here. You stretch like a cat around Ellie, getting out all the tremors building in your muscles. Ellie offers you the joint again, but you shake your head. “No more, I’m fried.”

“What about re-fried?” Ellie jokes, bringing up dinner from earlier. You groan in frustration and try to roll out of the bathtub. Ellie’s arm that isn’t occupied with the joint wraps around to pull you back. “Noooo!”

“Noooo, you! I’m sick of your corny jokes.” I love your stupid ass, corny jokes. I mean, if a man said that shit it would be so stupid. But you make it… cute. “Unhand me!” Please, never let go. Actually, put that shit out and let’s go get on the bedrolls. “I’m fried and cold! Can we go back where it’s warmer?”

You still as Ellie puts out the joint on the side of the tub and places it in the soap divot in the wall for safekeeping. Getting up is harder than anticipated, and the two of you clumsily gather blankets and cushions and squeeze through the tiny doorway, stale smoke following on the way out. You abandon your cushions haphazardly and throw yourself down on the bedrolls previously laid on the floor; with the sleeping bags insulating you from the ground it would be warmer, and easier to share body heat under the blankets. Together. Of course. 

“This was dumb, we should’ve just smoked in here,” You mumble into the floor.

“Shhh,” Ellie soothes, and your muscles feel so leadend you just lie there while Ellie throws the blankets at your feet before joining the heap on the floor. Ellie begins to pull off her layers right in front of you, and you don't bother to turn your gaze away. A sliver of her stomach appears above the hem of her pants as she pulls off her hoodie to strip to her undershirt. Warmth licks through your body from bottom to top, catching on your heart and hitching your breath on the way up. You imagine sliding your fingers, then your tongue, over freckled, scarred skin. Your arm twitches. 

Ellie moves to get under the blankets, but your hand catches her wrist as she tries to pull the blanket up. “No pants.” Your hand travels of its own accord down to the waistband of her jeans, just barely brushing her skin. It feels like all you can bear, all your very cells can take before they glued themselves and never leave. You hook your finger in a belt loop and pull back with some of your weight, pulling Ellie in closer, just as much as you dare. Slowly. Also falling away, but gripping on even tighter. “They’ve got outside on them.” 

Ellie looks down to your hand where it connects with her. Her lips open almost on a question before her teeth catch on the inside of her bottom lip. Her gaze turns up at you. “You’ve got outside on you.” Ellie reaches up and shoves your shoulder. You lose your grip and catch yourself on the other hand, but then decide to prop back on your other arm. The perfect view to watch Ellie undress. 

She unzips her fly and shoves her fingers down at her hips, pulling off her jeans and her thermals all at once, revealing surprisingly skimpy underwear. You can’t help but take a breath at the sight of so much of Ellie at once.

She grins for real, then, letting you stare at her as she yanks off her sock layers to finish with her pants. You reach up and pull your knit off your head, snaking your arms out of your thick sweater. Your clingy thermal layer is all that’s left beneath. 

Ellie moves in first, so it seems natural to meet her in the middle. 

Her fingertips come gently to rest beneath your chin to steady as your lips meet. Nothing to feel about the first time they touched, as it was so quickly replaced by the second, the third, and the fourth; each time overwhelming the last so all you can think about is how much more you want of Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

“Hnnmm, Ellie.” Your hands reach for her neck as her other goes for your waist, her body pushing yours back against the bedding. 

She mocks you back between kisses. “We’re still not even.” She pops the button of your own pants. You sit up against her and start to move your hands to your hips, but before you can Ellie kisses your cheek instead of your mouth and you stop. Ellie continues kissing across your face, the hand on your jaw moving to– “Let me do it for you.”

Her hand reaches around your butt to grab the middle of your waistband and pull everything but your underwear off at once. Holy shit. Her mouth moves to your neck just as her hand brushes between your legs, and you try to disguise your twitch as lifting yourself up to make it easier for her to pull off your clothing. But there’s no need to hide anything as Ellie pushes you down flat again, hands diving back up to touch your neck and move your hair out of the way, not caring about leaving your pants abandoned at your knees.

You try to focus your swirling mind to coordinate your limbs over your high and now this new addition of Ellie, feeling the warmth of her so close to you at last. You open your neck to Ellie like an offering, sighing as she goes in for her claim with an open mouth. You put all your focus into yanking off your jeans and woolen socks, leaving your thinnest one on your right because you just cannot be bothered a singular second longer. Ellie’s thigh slots between your free legs at last, and you lay back at last to let Ellie slide her hands under your shirt. Your own go up into her auburn locks and across her strong shoulders.

One gentle pull is all it takes to get Ellie to come back up to your lips. You’re ready for more, and Ellie’s going to give it to you.

With her weight on top of you, it starts to feel real. Your lips, entangled with Ellie’s as she makes little noises into your mouth. Sounds you’ve only imagined a million times, finally from the girl herself. The heat of her body pressing into you, the bare of your legs brushing together feels electrifying in the cold room. The heat between your legs on her thigh. Your senses are overwhelmed with her.

“Is this okay?” Ellie barely breathes the words against your skin. Your own breath is caught in your throat as she pulls your shirt up, just exposing the bottom of your breast. 

“Oh my… Fuck, yes.” You answer. Now your lips find themselves at Ellie’s neck. Your tongue darts out across her skin, and her body shivers its own answer, her hands stuttering as they trace across your sensitive skin. She tastes chilled and flushed at the same time, salty from sweat and the trail; of ever present old wood that undercut everything, that smelled like her room in the garage at Joel’s house. You work up her neck towards her ear, memorizing and tasting Ellie the whole way. 

Her hand fists into the hair at the nape of your neck as your tongue flicks across the thin skin behind her ear. Ellie gasps aloud. Her hips press down onto you, and you groan and lean into her grip on your hair. All of the sudden, Ellie pulls away. She pushes up onto both her hands, looking down at you below while you try to calm your heaving breath. Ellie’s entire body shivers again. “Fuck, I’m fucking cold. Get under here.” 

You giggle, in both relief and agreement as Ellie pulls  the blankets this way and that. You roll and lift as Ellie maneuvers them below you before pulling them over top of you both. Enveloped in the thick quilt, you let your hand skim down her hip and leg. It’s  easier when you can't see so much of her, just focusing on the feeling. Ellie settles down again, still on top of you but content to tuck your hair behind your ears for the moment.

You take in Ellie’s freckles up close as you move your fingers back up her thigh and catch onto the thin band of her underwear. “Not what I expected from you, Williams, but it does explain why your butt always looks so cute.”

Ellie groans and buries her head into the crook of your neck, rolling her body to get your hand to let go. “I’m not very good at keeping up with my laundry, okay?” She grumbles.

You laugh and Ellie presses a quick kiss to your neck and then your cheek. You turn your head to meet her for a third on the lips. “How long have you been looking at my butt?” Ellie smirks.

Now it’s your turn to be embarrassed. “Long time. Longer than I’d care to admit,” you say simply. 

“I never felt confident judging your… interest.” Ellie says after a beat. You can see the green clear as day in her eyes, even in the dim lamplight. Her gaze goes downcast, where her hand is still gently moving under your shirt and across your side in a soothing manner. 

“Well, you know I’m interested now.”

Her hand skims up again, her thumb trailing slow underneath your breast. “As long as you can accept my spotty laundry habits,” Ellie deadpans. 

You grab Ellie around the neck and pull her in as you laugh, enjoying how she tries to kiss you through it all. “‘Course.”

You deepen the kiss, opening your mouth just the slightest to let Ellie know what you want. She responds eagerly, taking your bottom lip between hers. Her hand that’s up near your head cradles your face as you kiss, the other that’s still exploring under your shirt creeps up. With each minute that passes, the kisses turn more heady and Ellie’s gentle roll of her hips across yours has you meeting her in the middle. 

Ellie runs her thumb across your nipple, exposing it by finally pushing your shirt to your collarbone. You groan into her mouth as Ellie thumbs it again. She pulls away for a second to let a sliver of spit fall from her lips to your chest. The wetness combined with the cold air makes goosebumps raise all over your torso and arms, and the gentle pad of Ellie’s thumb rhythmically moving across your nipple has you feeling dizzy. 

You want to kiss Ellie again, but you’re beginning to feel overstimulated between the amount of touching and your high. The juxtaposition of the freezing room and her warm hands, the hard floor and her gentle touch, how the Ellie of real life was nothing–and everything–like the Ellie in your dreams. Your breath becomes shallow as you watch Ellie slowly, almost reverently, lower her mouth to where her finger had been. 

She sucked, and pain and pleasure came in equal amounts. A moan pulls from deep in your chest. “God, Ellie.”

“Yeah?” She heaves in a breath of her own, and you feel her hands shake  as she pushes up the other side of your shirt so she can do the same to your other breast.

Your mind reels over the idea that Ellie is, actually, sucking on your tits right now, and your hands grab anywhere on her body they can like she’s the only thing connecting you to reality. You lift one of your legs and hook it around Ellie’s, pulling your thigh firmly between her legs. She fits perfectly on the ridge of your thigh muscle. Ellie rolls her hips just like you hoped she would, and you smile to yourself. Ellie doesn’t indulge herself too long, though, and opens her mouth to blow cool air across your wet skin. You cry out, and she goes in to soothe with quick short strokes of her tongue that has your thigh jumping up against her.

You will yourself in a coordinated manner to grab where your shirt was bunched up beneath your arms and pull it all the way off. One of Ellie’s hands comes down to cup your butt, pulling you up against her and bringing you even closer. A level of touch, of closeness that makes your heart beat so wildly you aren’t sure if you’re ready for it.

“Yeah,” Ellie says again, this time more like praise for you rather than her asking. “That’s good.” She drags her lips up your now fully naked torso, tongue coming across your neck. You’re practically panting as she marks your neck and behind your ear, and you run your hands up Ellie’s back to push her shirt with it.

“You’re good” you mumble, squeezing your thighs around Ellie’s. “Wanna feel your skin.”

Ellie obliges by letting go of you with one hand, then the other, to pull her arms out of her tank top, finally getting to feel her chest flush with your’s. You wrap your arms around Ellie as far as you can, wanting as much of you touching as physically possible. You need to kiss her again, but between your pathetic open-mouthed breathing and the weed, you’re experiencing a level of dry mouth previously unknown. Ellie seems completely the opposite, the way every inch of skin that her mouth had touched on you was slick in a way that made every minute movement from either of you feel delicious. 

Ellie’s a woman on a mission you by no means want to detract her from, but you desperately need your canteen. “Ellie…” 

“Yes?”

You tug at her hair gently. “I need a drink. Please.” You pull back a bit, and reach for your bag at the edge of the bedrolls. 

Ellie quickly detaches and reaches the same direction, her fingers going a few inches further than your own to catch on the strap of your bottle and bring it within your grasp. You both sit back, and while you work to unscrew the top of your bottle, Ellie resets how your legs are slotted together. She goes back to gently kissing across your collarbone and shoulder, unbothered as you take several much needed sips. 

You put the cap back on and discard your canteen beside the bed, bringing your arms around Ellie again, brushing across her back. You dip your head down in her direction, wanting more kisses. 

You want more than just kisses, too. Now that you’re past the most intense part of your high, warm at last, hydration in your body that livens you on the inside. You lick into Ellie’s mouth deeply, tasting the smoke that still lingered. Desire curls deep within you, the need for Ellie you’d felt for months. A need that no amount of ranting to friends, dreaming, crying alone, journaling, or late nights alone in your bed with your hand down your shorts would ever make go away. You were never able to pawn those feelings off on anyone else: they were only ever for Ellie.

You push yourself up the smallest bit, encouraging Ellie’s hands lower and arching your back to meet her touch. Ellie feels what you want almost immediately, hand going to your ass, pulling one of your buttcheeks to the side as she digs in with her fingers. “Mmm, you are gonna be good,” she purrs, a finger gently teasing along the skin that leads down between your legs. 

Ellie readjusts her grip, going even lower this time, pulling on your leg where your ass and thigh meet, and you feel your folds separate. Not only feel, but you hear it, all of the wetness you’ve been leaking coming apart from each other. Your underwear shifts and the fabric sticks to your sensitive cunt. Even with the brush of your skin and both of your heavy breaths, Ellie hears it too. 

You feel her grin as she pulls away from your mouth and puts her lips up to your ear. “You know how fucking hot that is? How hot you are?” Ellie says to you, cradling your body that’s melting into her with a little bit of mortification and a whole lot of want. “So gorgeous. Imagined this so many times…” Ellie goes on as she slides her finger between your skin and your underwear, pulling it down and to the side. 

“No… way,” you manage to get out, your voice wavering as Ellie’s finger drags through your folds. Her rough fingers on the most sensitive part of you feels unreal.

“Yes.” Her other hand tugs your underwear further, tapping your knee for you to move it so she can take them all the way off. “Pretty girl on my lap. Watching you feel good.”  Ellie throws your underwear to the side and wets her middle and pointer finger in her mouth before reaching back around to touch you again. This time as she pulls you open, one finger works your clit while the other presses against your opening. You whine into Ellie’s shoulder, clinging to her, while you arch your back into her touch as far as you can. “Being perfect,” she coos.

Perfect for her, but you’re no longer feeling apprehensive. Ellie was already accepting you at your most desperate.The high from smoking gave over into another. You pull at Ellie’s underwear again, this time grabbing the front. Your fingers brush across her pussy, feeling her stubbly pubic hair and the soft skin of the inside of her thigh. “Want it like this.” 

Ellie practically throws you to the side in her hurry to take her underwear off, which has you almost laughing over her shoulder; but you’re back sitting up a second later, this time with Ellie’s fingers touching herself and reaching for you again. You watch Ellie openly as she spreads herself open, and your mouth genuinely begins to water at the sight. Even though it’s mostly obscured in the dim light and shadow of Ellie’s legs, you can see the creamy whiteness of her own arousal. You can almost taste it on your tongue, feeling greedy as Ellie’s finger drags it across her own clit. Something snaps in your brain. 

In that same moment, hardly a second, Ellie is pulling you back in so you can finally fit together: comfortable and perfect and electrifying. Ellie plants a hand down to steady herself, while you wrap your arm around her waist. You shift against each other, moving skin and limbs until you’re slotted together perfectly as one. Your nails scrape against Ellie’s scalp when you sink a hand into her hair at the first roll of your hips together, and it makes her moan the loudest she has all night. 

“Fuck yes,” and she captures you in a kiss.

Your noses are pressed into each other's cheekbones, sharing the same breath, Ellie calling you ‘pretty’ and ‘babe’ and ‘my girl’ as your hips chase the allure of your orgasm with the help of Ellie’s touch. You can hear the change in pitch of the noises you’re making, everything just tumbling out of your mouth as you hold Ellie tight. Your clit presses into Ellie at just the right spot, and you’re seeing white.

“Oh my god, Ellie–I, holy–I’m,” you stutter, your muscles getting tighter and tighter.

Ellie quits moving as much, and your cunt throbs at the loss of friction. You moan as Ellie tries to back away, to put her hand between you and where her own pussy had been, but you pull your hips back together and put a hand on Ellie’s knee to keep her down. “No,” you huff, moving against her again, the pleasure flooding back with the easy glide. “Want it like this.”

Ellie’s eyes go wide, and you close yours before you can see the expression on her face as she watches you take her. “Anything. Anything you want,” she says breathlessly as she goes in to kiss you, lifting herself up against you, as her own muscles start to shake. 

“Want your come in me.” You pull yourself against Ellie, thinking of you becoming one, Ellie’s spit and cream and sweat and love all in you at once.

Ellie offers you the perfect angle, and wraps her arms around your back and shoulders, cradling your neck as you fall over the edge with a final grind of your hips. You cry out her name and let her support you as she keeps the pace with her own hips, until you are shaking and stammering for her to slow. “Oh, Ellie. Please, I’m…”

You lose all ability to form words when she stops and holds you a bit up and to the side, sliding a finger into you. You’d come how you wanted, and it was amazing, but somehow Ellie knew you were feeling empty, that your pussy craved to clench around something, how good it felt now as she put in another finger and you could feel your muscles around her. 

“Fuck,” Ellie breaths out, blowing a strand of hair from her face. She watches your expression as she lazily pushes her fingers in and out, touching you just enough to make your comedown easier and avoiding your sensitive clit.

You take several deep breaths before managing to lift your head. You lock eyes with Ellie, amazed by how beautiful she looks. You make an indiscriminate noise and reach down to still Ellie’s hand in you. 

“Okay now?” She asks. You nod. She pulls her fingers out slowly, drawing them across the outside of your pussy one last time before she puts them in her mouth. Ellie hums in pleasure and closes her eyes for dramatic effect. You barely have the energy to huff, let alone laugh, but your hand moves down to where Ellie’s legs meet.

“Want me…?” You ask when she opens her eyes and looks down at you. Ellie shakes her head. 

“No need.” She says, pulling both of your legs, which are already feeling unuseable, to the same side so she can cradle you in her lap and plant more kisses on your head. 

“Oh,” you say with a bit of relief at the realization of your own exhaustion. “Whe–”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ellie kisses your lips quiet. You put your hand up to keep her there for a moment, before letting go. “Lemme go get the joint.” Ellie says.

“Okayyyy, fiend.”

You roll off her and over, covering yourself in the quilt that had eventually been crumpled at the base of the bedrolls. Ellie reaches for her flannel and pulls her underwear back on, before scurrying back to the bathroom in the cold. 

While Ellie is gone, you reach back for your canteen. You take another drink from it, then reach into your bag and dig around until you find your lighter and one of your unused bandanas, not wanting to waste the clean rags in your medical kit. You wet the cloth with some of your water and wipe between your legs, making a face at your own sensitivity and the cold of the water. Ellie sprints back in and dives under the blanket right next to you, and you swap the cloth with her for the joint. Ellie accepts the cloth gratefully, and slides her legs from the blanket for one more moment to clean herself.

Before she closes her legs, you lean over and press a kiss to her inner thigh. “You are next though.” You pull back.  

Ellie tucks up her legs and gets back under the blanket, face going red. “You wanna… eat me out?”

“After we smoke again.” You grab your huge sweater, throwing it on to cover up since your body was starting to cool down again. You let the quilt pool at your waist and spark up the joint. Ellie watches from the floor, a smile playing on her lips. Her hand reaches out to caress your uncovered hip, like she can’t not touch you. 

“Can all our smoke sessions be like this?” She asks.

“Hear me out on this one,” you say, taking a drag from the joint. “Maybe even when we’re not going to smoke.”

Ellie snorts and reaches for the joint. When you put it back between your lips and innocently clasp your hands behind your back, she pulls you in by your neck and plucks it from your mouth on her own. 

[requiemforthepoets]

between worlds ⟢ CL16

part one of you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be series

𖤓 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒘𝒐 ☽

PAIRINGS: charles leclerc x celestial!reader

SUMMARY: charles was never meant to see you—no human beings can see you except for those souls you have to guide to the afterlife. but somehow, charles did, and ever since he did, he had been very persistent to catch you, and when he finally had you in his line of sight, you decided to disappear on him once again.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: bible angel names references, some people may find this fic offensive, concept of divine beings and heaven & life and death, no use of y/n, angels and devils, mentions of papa leclerc (beginning is set in 2017) and jules bianchi, fluff, falling (literally & figuratively) in love, named side characters, angst but with a happy ending, purely written fic, a little but of world building (concepts), mentions of death, bad/evil people, cursing, not proofread, and typos.

WORD COUNT: 6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the first part of the series! again, i would like to reiterate, this fic may not be some people’s cup of tea, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. there will be a bunch of fast forward, but don’t worry, i’ll include everything as much as possible so that you will still be able to follow through. i wanted to limit the series to five parts, so each chapter will be lengthy. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this first part!

As a Celestial, the warmth of human life and ache of human loss are always at a distance, intangible. Watching over humans and guiding them in unseen ways, you walk through the lives of people that are filled with laughter, sorrow, and strength. Your purpose is very clear, that is to help them transition from their earthly ties to the beyond. It was an endless cycle, yet you often marveled at the peculiarities of humans.

Beside you on many of these journeys is Gabriel, a fellow Celestial who, much like you, watches over humanity from afar. Though you and Gabriel guide people through their last moments, neither of you truly understand them, they are bound to the sensations you and Gabriel could not understand, things that you could never feel—touch, taste, the warmth of sunlight on their skin, and how humans held onto life fiercely. Their happiness and fears are a foreign concept, ideas that stir something within you and Gabriel, but will always remain incomprehensible without the senses the only humans possess.

2017

On an ordinary night by human standards, you had found yourself once again in Monaco, within the quiet sterility of a hospital room, where the soft hum of machines filled the room, a steady rhythm of life intertwined with impending loss. You knew, as you often do, that someone would soon pass—Hervé Leclerc, a man whose life was filled with passion for his family and his love for racing, lay fragile and silent on a hospital bed.

You stood nearby, unseen, feeling the quiet tension of the room, and watched as his family gathered around him. His wife, Pascale, sat at his side, holding his hand, her touch featherlight, as if she feared pressing too hard might shatter what little life remained in him. His three sons, Lorenzo, Charles, and Arthur, surrounded them, their eyes solemn yet determined, trying to be strong for their father and each other. As you waited, you felt Charles approach his father, bending down so only Hervé could hear him, and took a deep breath.

“Papa, I did it. I signed a contract to race in Formula 1 with Ferrari.” Charles softly murmured.

The statement hung heavy in the air, and you could sense the hope in Charles’ words—a gift, an offering of peace for his father in his final moments. Though you knew that it was not entirely the truth, you understood, in your own way, that it was a kindness, and an act of love. Hervé’s eyes remained closed, yet his breathing steadied, a faint smile curling on his lips. You knew that he had heard Charles.

Hervé’s spirit, though still connected to his mortal body, seemed to hover beside you, taking in the scene. He looked on, his gaze was soft and reverent as he watched his family, as if he was imprinting this final memory of them deep within his being. His presence was calm, accepting, and you felt like it was already time.

“Tell me,” you asked gently, stepping closer to him. “What was your favorite thing in life?”

You always ask this question to them, in their final moments, what their favorite thing in life has been. They would always recall something that is deeply personal, yet beyond your comprehension.

“My family,” Hervé answered as he looked at you, his ethereal form somehow both weary and joyful, his essence luminous even in the face of mortality.

“My sons, my wife. Watching them grow, finding their own passions, their own dreams…that was my greatest joy.” His gaze lingered on Charles, and you sensed an overwhelming pride emanating from him.

“I remember how Charles would always run into the house after a day of racing, his eyes filled with excitement. I could feel his dreams even then.” His voice trailed off as he was reliving those memories.

You just stood there beside him listening, absorbing his words, though the feelings themselves eluded you. Humans and their intricate emotions, it was like a puzzle with no answer. Your existence was outside the realm of these emotions, yet there was a beauty in his words, you glanced back at his family, sensing how they held Hervé’s life within their own, like a thread woven through each of them.

It was then that something had shifted. You felt the air grow thick, as if some unseen barrier dissolved, and turning, you saw Charles looking directly at you. His eyes were wide, face pale but intent, as if he was unsure of what he was seeing but could not look away. Humans were not supposed to see Celestials, they could only feel a faint brush of your presence, perhaps. But Charles’ eyes are fixed on you, gazing at you with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. You froze, unaccustomed to this kind of attention, as though he was staring into something beyond the grasp of reality.

“Charles?” Arthur’s voice had interrupted him, a gentle nudge that pulled Charles back, though his eye still lingered on you. “Why are you staring at the wall?” He asked Charles, glancing at your direction as well, but you knew that Arthur saw nothing there.

Charles hesitated, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. He looked at Arthur, then back at the space where you were standing, his lips parted, as though he was about to ask Arthur, too, could see you, but he held back. He was still clearly torn between questioning what he had just seen and dismissing it as a trick of the mind. With a sigh, he chose silence, giving his little brother a faint shake of his head, brushing it off. He turned his attention again back to where you had been standing, but you were already gone, as silent and unnoticed as the night.

But, at that exact moment, a part of you had wondered, could he have truly seen you? Could he have felt the faintest echo of your presence, of your purpose?

You drifted back to Gabriel with the faint impression of Charles’ gaze lingering in your own consciousness—a reminder that even in your unseen world, sometimes the divide between the humans and Celestials could be momentarily bridged.

2024

Seven years. Seven years had passed since that quiet night in the hospital, but that moment with Charles had lingered in your mind like an echo. Since then, you had found yourself drawn to him, but not in a way that disrupted your purpose as a Celestial, but with a curiosity that seemed to grow with each passing year.

You had watched him move from promise to reality, the white lie he had told his father on his deathbed eventually blossoming into truth. Just a few months after that night, Charles had signed his contract with Ferrari, the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, and in some inexplicable way, you felt as if you had been there to bear witness to it all. Each race, every success and setback, despite going through a lot, you found yourself watching over him, a silent guardian he would never know.

Today, you sat with Gabriel atop one of Monaco’s high-rise buildings, the sparkling Mediterranean stretching out before you, and the entire principality sprawled below like a living diorama. The streets buzzed with celebration as the 2024 Monaco Grand Prix had come to a close, and Charles had finally claimed his victory in his home race. It was a win seven years in the making, a win that is not just for himself, but for the memory of his father, his family, and Monaco itself.

From above, you could see him clearly amidst the sea of red Ferrari colors, arms raised in happiness, face radiant with the kind of happiness only humans are capable of. Right in the middle of the chaos, he ran towards his little brother, Arthur, engulfing him in a hug that spoke of shared dreams and sacrifices, of family and bonds invisible, but deeply felt.

You just watched them in silence, the sight stirring something in you that had been dormant for as long as you had existed. Charles’ embrace was firm, his grip grounding, there was nothing restrained or hesitant about it. You felt a pang of longing, a wish as faint as stardust, and without turning your gaze from what was happening below, you murmured to Gabriel.

“Gabriel,” you began. “Do you ever wonder what it feels like…to feel someone’s touch?” Gabriel just looked at you, his brow furrowing slightly, a rare expression of contemplation on his normally serene face.

“Touch?” He echoed, as if the concept was foreign, a thing only humans grasped. “I’ve thought of it, perhaps, but…it is a human sensation. One we’re not meant to experience.”

“But don’t you ever feel…curious?” You pressed, your gaze drifting from the celebration below to Gabriel’s face. “We guide them, witness their lives, but we never feel what they feel. We only see it.” You let out a soft sigh, though it held no breath, a habit you had picked up from your time observing humans.

“To feel someone’s hand, to know the warmth they carry within themselves. It seems as if it would make understanding them so much easier.” You added.

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, his gaze had softened when he turned to look at Charles and Arthur below, watching as they held each other in a tight embrace that was filled with laughter and unspoken love.

“Perhaps,” he said, in a thoughtful tone. “But our purpose is not to feel as they do. If we were to experience what they do, to carry their joys and burdens…wouldn’t that make our task harder? Wouldn’t we lose sight of our main purpose?”

“Maybe…” you trailed off, there was a note of hesitation coloring your words. “But at times like these, it’s hard not to wonder. To see the way they hold each other, as if through touch they share parts of themselves they can’t express in words, it feels like we’re missing something that is essential.”

Gabriel tilted his head, considering your words. “I do understand,” he said quietly, though there was a trace of doubt in his voice. “But we are Celestials. We exist beyond the limitations of human senses, we are meant to guide, not to partake.”

You turned back to the scene below, watching as Charles lifted his gaze to the sky, as if looking for someone, or something, that could share in his win. You imagined, for just a moment, what it would be like if he could see you there, perched above, watching him as you had all these years. What would he think, if he knew that something beyond human comprehension had been by his side, through each win, each loss.

“It’s strange,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Even after all these years, after guiding so many, I still don’t understand why they hold onto each other so tightly. Why do they need these moments of closeness?”

Gabriel gave a gentle nod. “Perhaps that is the beauty of humanity. Their mortality gives weight to every touch, embrace, and word. They cling to these moments because they know that their time is finite,” he replied quietly. “For us, existence is boundless. But to them, it’s fleeting. They reach for each other because they know it won’t last.”

“What do you think it would be like, if he could feel our presence?” You asked. “If he knew we were here, watching over him.”

“He sensed you once,” he reminded you, as he gazed softly at you. “That alone was a gift, rare and precious. Perhaps that moment, as brief as it was, is enough. Enough to remind us that we are a part of their lives, even if they never know it.”

For a long while, you and Gabriel sat in silence, watching as Charles continued to celebrate, his family and team surrounding him, arms draped over each other’s shoulders, and their laughter echoing through the streets. Though you could never fully grasp the intricacies of their lives, in the moment, you felt a rare, almost painful longing, a sense that maybe there was something beautiful in being bound to the world as they were. Something in their fragility made them magnificent.

Meanwhile, for Charles, that night in 2017 would always remain etched in his memory, shadowing his every step like a faint, haunting whisper he could never quite shake. It was something he never really fully understood, something he never spoke of, not to Arthur, not to Lorenzo, and certainly not to her mother, Pascale. Charles had kept it buried in the recesses of his mind, an unexplainable experience he half-believed and half-dismissed, but that, no matter how hard he tried, wouldn’t let him go.

The moment he had seen you inside his father’s hospital room, his first instinct had been confusion. In a place so intimately reserved for family, for whispers of love and tearful goodbyes, you were a stranger, someone so unfamiliar standing quietly at the edge of the room. Your form was as clear as anyone else’s, not blurred or shadowed like a moment of illusion. Yet, what unsettled him the most was that no one else seemed to notice you.

At first, Charles told himself that it must have been the weight of the moment, his grief playing tricks on his mind. After all, in that fragile state, it would be easy to imagine things that were not there. He watched you out of the corner of his eye, cautiously, hoping to see you disappear, to prove that it had been just a figment of his imagination. But you stayed, your gaze resting softly on his father, with an almost reverent patience, and as the minutes stretched on, his conviction that he was truly seeing someone, is real.

The memory of your gaze, so steady and detached, left a strange impression on him. Charles found himself glancing at you repeatedly, his heart pounding as he tried to think about who or what you were. He wanted to ask you why you were there, how you had come un unnoticed, but something about your presence was ethereal, inexplicably untouchable. You didn’t seem bound by the rules of this world, as if you were simply just passing through, a visitor from some place beyond.

Then, Arthur’s voice had snapped him out of his trance, asking him why he was staring at the wall. Arthur’s words were practical, a rope that pulled him back to the room. Yet, the second he had turned back to look at you, you were already gone—just as quietly as you had arrived, leaving no trace behind, it was as though you had never been there at all.

Over the years, Charles tried to put that night behind him, brushing off the memory as a momentary lapse in judgment, a strange vision conjured by the heartbreak of losing his father. But even as time passed by, the memory of you still lingered. He felt you in many ways he could not describe, as if you existed in the peripheral spaces of his life, just out of reach, yet somehow undeniably real. Every so often, in the hushed stillness of a race night or in the lonely hours before dawn, he would sense something—an invisible presence, a faint familiarity. It was as though you were watching over him, an unseen guardian who drifted along with him from one country to another, from one track to another.

Sometimes, he thought he caught a glimpse of you, a brief, shadowy figure in the distance, a subtle hint of movement where there should have been none. Once, while preparing for a race in Silverstone, he was warming up in the garage when he thought he saw you standing by the edge of the track. His heart had leapt, his mind suddenly thrown back to that hospital room, but when he looked again, you were gone, leaving only the flicker of your image imprinted on his mind.

Even his teammate, Carlos, noticed too. There were times when Charles would falter mid-sentence, his gaze drifting as if he was seeing something beyond their conversation, beyond the present. Carlos would follow his line of sight, seeing nothing but an empty space, a shadow that Charles seemed inexplicably drawn to. He would often give Charles a curious look.

“Are you alright, mate?” Carlos asked, looking at him weirdly. Charles just shook it off, smiling tightly, and offering a quick nod. “Yeah, yeah. Just tired.”

It became a pattern that he could neither understand nor dismiss. The feeling of your presence was both comforting and unsettling, a reminder that he was somehow never truly alone, even in the depths of solitude. There moment he had questioned his own sanity, wondering if he was simply haunted by the memory of his father’s death clinging to something he could not let go. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake the feeling that you were real, that he had seen you.

At times, he would catch himself searching for you in the crowd, hoping for just one more glimpse. Charles wanted answers, an explanation that would either ground him in reality or confirm that he is not going crazy, that his life had crossed paths with something beyond the ordinary. But as the years went by, he learned to finally accept your presence as a quiet, unspoken truth, something woven into the fabric of his existence that he would never fully understand.

SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX

The Singapore Grand Prix has always been one of the most electrifying events of the season, the country is a home for night racing—a race that is held under the city’s dazzling night lights, set against a backdrop of towering skyscrapers, and a sea of spectators from different parts of the world. The vibrancy, palpable energy, it all felt foreign to you, like watching scenes play out on a distant plane of existence you could never fully enter.

This year, the circuit was alive as ever, buzzing with the energy of fans and flashing cameras, the constant pulse of music and chatter weaving into the humid tropical air. Charles was in his element, navigating the crowds and the chaos with the ease of someone who had grown accustomed to the demands of fame. But in the middle of the swirling mass of people, someone unusual had appeared, unnoticed by most but utterly unmistakable to him.

You hadn’t meant to be seen. For years, you had existed on the fringes of Charles’ life, watching from a distance. But something about Singapore piqued your curiosity. It was the sheer energy of it all—the press, fans, and the kaleidoscope of colors. For someone like Charles, who seemed perpetually surrounded by people and yet remained alone in many ways, you wanted to understand just a little more about the life he lived. So you wandered through the paddock, watching from the shadows, taking in the sights and sounds, studying the excitement in the faces of those who adored him.

Then, as if some force had finally decided that it was time. You had found yourself standing right in the open, in the midst of it all, no longer bound to the periphery. There you stood, calm and composed, while people streamed around you, their movements fast and chaotic, yet never once brushing against you.

Charles arrived shortly after, dressed in his Ferrari team uniform, stepping into the crowd as he made his way through. However, his steps began to slow down as he walked, and his focus shifted the moment he saw you, your figure stark against the colorful, shifting background. You stood perfectly still, framed by the buzzing energy around you, as if the world had momentarily paused just for you. You were dressed entirely in black—turtleneck, tailored trousers, sleek shoes, and a long trench coat that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it—you appeared like a shadow against the vivid scene, an undeniable presence, a figure of quiet, captivating stillness. The Singaporean heat clung to everything and everyone, beads of sweat visible on even the most acclimated locals, but you felt none of it.

For a moment, Charles thought his mind was playing tricks on him again. He blinked numerous times, expecting you to vanish, for your presence to disappear into the crowd as it had so many times before. But this time, you didn’t fade. You just stood there, watching him with a calm, knowing gaze that seemed to pierce through the noise of the crowd. His breath was caught in throat, and he almost faltered in his step. You were no longer a flicker in his peripheral vision, no longer a question lingering at the edge of his mind. You were unmistakably there, standing directly in his line of sight, unyielding and unfazed by the swirl of people passing around you.

Your gaze met his, and in that instant, he felt the weight of something intense, a connection that defied explanation. It felt like it was a bridge that seemed to span years and memories, drawing him back to that hospital room in 2017. Charles remembered your face so vividly, and here you were, the same mysterious figure who had watched over his father in his final moments. He knew instinctively that you were not something ordinary, everything about you, from the calm in your expression to the impossible composure you held, marked you as something beyond human.

Charles could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, a strange mixture of awe and disbelief surging through him. He wanted to reach out to you, speak to you, but the weight of the moment made it very impossible. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention, especially from the media and fans who circled around him, unaware of the encounter unfolding before them. He didn’t want to appear crazy, pausing in the middle of the crowd to address a person that, for all he knew, only he could see. So he kept his expression carefully neutral, his gaze lingering on you as he moved forward with deliberate steps, passing just a few feet away from where you stood.

As he brushed by, he felt a soft, cool gust of wind graze his shoulder—a breeze that did not seem to belong in the humid heat of the Singapore air. It was as if your presence had left a subtle mark on him, an unspoken reminder that this moment was real, that you were real. Charles continued walking, the weight of your gaze lingering on his skin, the connection between you evident as he moved away. His mind whirled with so many questions, with the need for answers that he had long since buried but that now surged back with renewed urgency.

Who are you?

What were you?

Why did you seem to appear only at the most pivotal moments of his life, watching him with a calm that suggested knowledge he could barely fathom?

But as he glanced back over his shoulder to look at you one more time, you remained exactly where you were, standing with your hands casually tucked into the pockets of your coat, observing Charles with the same quiet intensity. He didn’t need words to understand that, somehow, you were there for him, that whatever role you played in his life was not a figment of his imagination but something far more profound. It was as if, by some cosmic design, you had been an integral part of his life, even if he could not understand why.

It was both terrifying and strangely comforting for Charles, knowing that you were there, connected to his life in ways he could not even explain. Though he continued to walk away, blending back into the crowd, he could still feel your presence, like a steady anchor amidst the chaos of his world.

The night had already fallen over Singapore, casting a warm, beautiful golden haze over the circuit as the city lights reflected off every glass surface, every curve in the architecture. The air still held the weight of the humid day, though there was a subtle breeze stirring now, drifting through the emptiness of spaces high above the throngs below. This was where you and Gabriel often met, removed from the world you observed, yet close enough to feel its pulse.

You sat together on a ledge that overlooked the bright labyrinth of the track, each car flickering past like the streaks of light, their paths twisting through the city like a thread woven into the heart of human life. Gabriel sat beside you, posture relaxed, gaze steady on the crowds moving below. He had a serene presence about him, as all Celestial did, though his was tempered by a slight curiosity, a kindred spirit in your shared wonder at the lives below, though he carried the wisdom of countless lifetimes.

“Today…” you began, breaking the silence between the two of you. “I saw him again. Charles.”

“And this time…he really saw me. Not just a passing glance, not a flicker. He truly saw me, Gabriel. It was different.” You added.

The words felt very strange in the open air, as though they held a weight that went beyond their sound. Gabriel’s gaze turned towards you, a subtle light of interest in his eyes, nodding as though encouraging you to continue, so you tried to put it into words that felt almost too elusive to capture.

“When I first saw him years ago, in the hospital room, I thought that maybe he only sensed me. It’s not unusual—though I know that some humans have that…intuition. They feel our presence, but they never truly see us,” you paused, searching for the words.

“But this was different. I was standing right in front of him, in the open, and he looked at me as if…as if he recognized me. As if he has always known I was there, even though we’re not supposed to be seen. It’s as if there’s a connection between us—one I can’t fully explain.” You continued.

Gabriel’s expression softened with understanding, a hint of knowing in his gaze. He looked out over the city, his voice a low murmur that held the weight of something ancient.

“Sometimes,” he began. “There are rare occasions when certain humans have a heightened sensitivity. They can feel what others cannot, see what lies just beyond the veil of human sight. They can perceive glimpses of our world, though they never fully understand it.”

You considered his words, recalling the many faces of humans who had felt your presence, brief shivers down their spine, faint chill in the air. “But this doesn’t feel like that,” you said softly. “This isn’t just intuition. It’s more than that…I—I think he truly sees me. As if I'm as real to him as any other person in his life.”

Gabriel met your gaze, his eyes thoughtful. “There are many possibilities,” he said, his voice holding a trace of reverence. “It could be that Charles was born with a rare gift, a unique soul attuned to the spiritual realm. Sometimes, humans like him are able to see beyond what others can, though they seldom realize it. Perhaps, he was always meant to see you, even if he doesn’t understand why.”

“But why him? Of all people, why would I form this…this kind of connection with him?” You leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, feeling a mix of wonder and bewilderment.

“Maybe it isn’t for us to know,” Gabriel replied gently, his gaze soft with empathy. “But there’s another possibility.” His tone grew contemplative, as though he was drawing from knowledge buried deep within him.

“Sometimes, when a Celestial spends enough time around a particular human, they may develop a tether—it is a bond that links their existence to that person’s life in a profound way.” Gabriel replied.

“A tether?” Gabriel nodded at you.

The word felt heavy with significance. You had heard of it, of course, in ancient stories, tales of Celestials who had unknowingly bound themselves to a single soul, a single life, whether through empathy, admiration, or something far more elusive.

“A tether is rare, but it does happen. It is formed not by choice, but by some force beyond even our understanding. When a Celestial is tethered to a human, it is as if they share a part of their essence with them. It could be because you watched over him so closely after his father’s passing, you saw him through one of the most pivotal moments of his life.” Gabriel explained.

The notioned lingered between you, reverberating like an echo. You had indeed been there, unseen, at some of his most significant moments, his quietest doubts, his rare happiness. You had felt compelled to follow Charles’ journey, though you could never quite explain why.

“But if I’m tethered to him, what does that mean for us?” The question was one you had not thought to ask before. It felt really impossible, like trying to decipher the meaning of a shadow that has been casted by an unseen light. “Is it my responsibility to stay close to him…to protect him?”

“Not necessarily.” Gabriel considered this, his expression calm and wise. “A tether isn’t a duty. It’s simply a bond. It doesn’t force you to act or change your purpose, but it can shape how you experience your existence—how you feel, and perhaps, in rare instances, it allows the human on the other end to see us, as Charles did today.”

You let Gabriel’s words sink in, the idea that your connections with Charles might be something outside either of your control. A rare, inexplicable bond that went beyond the boundaries you had come to know.

“Does he know?” You wondered aloud, the thought both terrifying and exhilarating. “Can he sense it as I do?”

“It’s possible,” Gabriel murmured. “Even if he doesn’t consciously understand, he may feel it. An inexplicable comfort, a quiet sense of your presence. Humans don’t often recognize such things, but in their hearts, they understand more than they realize.”

“I thought I understood my purpose,” you said quietly. “To guide, protect from a distance, never to interfere. But this…it feels like something more. I didn’t think I could feel this way.” You closed your eyes, absorbing the realization that your connection to Charles might be as real to him as it was to you.

Gabriel gave you a look of quiet understanding. “Feelings are not foreign to us, though they are seldom as strong as what humans experience. It is only natural to be curious, to want to understand what draws us to them, and what makes them so fascinating to us.”

He paused, then added softly, “but remember, the tether doesn’t mean you must change your purpose. It only means you’ve shared part of yourself with him, and in return, he has shared a part of his essence with you. It’s a gift, though one we may never fully understand.”

You nodded, a deep sense of acceptance settling over you. Charles might never know the truth of who you were, or why he saw you, but perhaps that was the beauty of it. He would carry the sense of your presence, a constant and silent connection, and in a way, it would be enough.

You just sat in silence with Gabriel, looking out over the glittering cityscape, you felt the comfort of his companionship. The two of you were bound to different souls, different journeys, but you shared the same questions, same yearnings.

As the night wore in, and the world around was now silent in the aftermath of the race, and the Singaporean circuit lay quiet, already emptied of the usual buzz of engines and the thrill of spectators. Only a few distant voices and the gentle hum of machineries being packed away punctuated the stillness.

Charles lingered in the Ferrari motorhome, his mind far from the day’s race. Finishing in P5 and scoring point should have filled him with satisfaction, yet something lingered beneath it all, a presence far more pressing. You. The image of you, standing amid the crowd, hauntingly calm and out of place, had filled his thoughts since he had passed by you that afternoon. He had always known you, even though Charles was certain he had never seen you before. The fact that you were gone the moment he had looked away haunted him, and now, despite the silence around him, his mind raced with the need to see you again.

As Charles stepped out of the motorhome, running a hand through his damp hair, he slowed, his eyes searching the dimly lit surroundings as if hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Then, just beyond the edge of the shadows, there you were. You stood there, calm and still, a silhouette framed by the city lights, a vision of dark elegance against the fading glow of the circuit. You were wearing the same all-black ensemble he had seen you in before, a stark contrast against the remnants of bright lights and flashes that had filled the paddock earlier, and the subtle breeze caught your coat, giving you an almost weightless presence as if you were somehow apart from the world around you.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. Charles’ gaze lingered on you, studying the way your features seemed almost unreal, too striking to belong to the ordinary world he inhabited. It was as though everything he had ever seen had paled in comparison. He could feel some type of strange warmth radiate from you, a kind of serene beauty that pulled at him and silenced everything else in his mind. If ethereal were to take a human form, it would look like you, he was sure of it. Then you spoke.

“Hello, Charles.” You greeted him.

Your voice was soft, almost like a gentle breeze yet clear in the quiet of the evening. There was a soft smile on your lips, one that carried both mystery and warmth. Charles’ eyes widened, his heart seeming to stop for a second.

“I know that you can see me.” You said gently, the faintest trace of amusement in your voice.

For the first time, Charles felt a strange mixture of exhilaration and vulnerability. He had spent so many years convincing himself that you were just a figment of his imagination, yet here you were, standing mere feet from him, speaking as though you had been waiting for this moment just as he had.

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He was torn between asking if you were real and confessing that he had thought about you since that day at the hospital, wondering if he had imagined you. He felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him, everything he knew upended by this encounter, but before he could gather his words, a voice had brought him back.

“Charles!” A friend called out, waving him over from across the clearing, and instinctively, Charles turned his head to. “We’re already heading out, you coming?”

Charles nodded in acknowledgment. But the moment he glanced back to look at you, you had already disappeared. A rush of frustration flared in him, sharper than anything he had felt in recent memory. The moment he finally had you there, standing before him, speaking to him as though you understood this strange, silent connection, you had vanished again, leaving only the soft night breeze in your wake.

He just stood there, his chest tightening with an unnameable sense of loss, staring at the empty space where you had just been. Charles could still feel the subtle warmth of your presence, a lingering trace of your smile that had somehow left an imprint on his mind. His hands clenched and unclenched as if he could somehow reach for you and pull back, his jaw set in determination.

Though you were gone again, the mystery of you wrapped around him tighter than ever, leaving him certain of one thing—he would see you again. He had to.

taglist : @charlesgirl16 @chloes-book-corner

[theegyal]

FADED [ Annie X Smoke ], Fanfiction (Sinners 2025)

Sorry for the grammar mistakes, syntax, I trynna corrected it though so it will not be unbearable.

Thanks you all for your likes and COMMENTS ! I love reading those. You make me so happy.

Tag list : @bigjh ; @boonoonoonus ; @saralance03 ; @stormynovashambler ; @lsc72 ; @prettyisasprettydoes1306 ; @unholyxthoughts ; @lizbehave ; @tadjoa @queenofklonnie22 @katezy2x @m0netm0netxo12 @prettygirl2800 ; @thefutureemmywinner ; @atomicearthquakemusic7 ; @thelifeoflagab

Chapter 7

Stack caught Mary in a strong, almost possessive embrace the moment she crossed the threshold.

The woman settled at the bar, her eyes briefly meeting Stack's before turning away, a subtle smirk playing on her lips.

Lottie swallowed hard, her stomach knotted. She forced herself back into the crowd, took a fried fish plate and carrying toward Mary.

"Here you go," Lottie said, setting the food before Mary with her usual practiced, jester face.

Stack lowered his hand, grabbing Mary waist in a small hug.

"You okay there, little Charlie?"

Lottie's heart fell down her rib cage. Since childhood, she'd been used to people mocking her figure and attitude, masculinizing her whole being because of her features and Creole origins. Children weren't used to them back then—calling her names for holding her proud flat nose, her coiled, oily-textured hair. The only ones who ever treated them—her and Annie—as little girls were the Twins. She was only ten at the time when fifteen-year-old Elijah gave her that little name: Lottie.

Both boys and Annie started calling her that way. And from that moment, she never cried again—not even when the other children mocked her boyish look.

One rainy Saturday, she was playing rope with Annie in the twins' backyard when a car parked nearby. A pale-skinned little girl stepped out, and by her side stood an old brown-skinned grandma with a grayed-out afro.

She introduced the girl to them with a gentle grin.

"Mary, say hi!"

"Hello, my name is Mary. What's your name?"

Infused with incredible joy, Charlotte replied:

"My name is Charlotte! And here is my sister Annie!"

The mixed girl—consciously or unconsciously—chuckled and said:

"Hehe, you look like Uncle Jo's nephew. Same nose and eyes! Imma call you little Charlie! Nice to meet you!"

At that instant, the three of them—the old lady, Annie, and Mary—laughed heartily. As for Charlotte, she felt something break inside. Something that, somehow, could never be fixed again.

Back in the Juke, never did she expect Stack to call her by this derogatory name.

Her hands trembled as she steadied the tray.

She looked down, swallowing the ache that said she'd never be more than "little Charlie" in his eyes.

"Oh, ah'm fine" regaining her composure she replied to Stack then redirected her eyes to Mary "Great meal Ma'"

At last, she didn't have time to be sad. As soon, she studied the room, she let them be.

Lottie's steps felt heavier with each table she served. The laughter and holler of the juke joint blurred into a dull roar in her ears. Even the whistle and vulgarity of the old men stopped reaching her.

Butterflies died in her belly, pain knocking her throat, suffocating her to death. All she had always been was little Charlie to him.

Why couldn't she let go of these useless feelings? Stack never saw her—not really. For him, Delta's women including her, were field's bitches . The man always dreamed big, eyes set on more than what this dusty town could give. Lottie should've taken the first "no" as bible's word.

The memory of that day still vivid. She had

Confessed to Annie first. Her sister had laughed gently, not mocking—just surprised. She said it was normal, that sometimes feelings creep up on you when you are not looking. Then she told her: "Go on and tell him, baby. What's the worst he can do?"

So Lottie had done just that. Same day. She'd carried a tray of food to the twins’ house, used it as an excuse just to see him. Both Stack and Smoke were sitting out front, smoking cigarettes and surely scheming like they always did.

Her heart pounded in her chest. This wasn't fifteen-year-old Stack no more.. The boy became a man. Dressed like a dandy, gold to his teeth, rings on his fingers, alluring at finest.

She stood at the bottom of the porch steps, tray trembling in her hands.

"Brought y'all some fried cabbage and neck bones," she said, trying to sound breezy, like her heart wasn't about to give out.

Smoke surprised, steadily smiled, pulling the plate toward him with a nod. Stack didn't even look her way at first—just puffed slow on that cigarette, eyes squinting off toward nothing. It was her first time seeing him, all serious and concentrated.

"Appreciate it," he muttered eventually, still not meeting her eyes.

Lottie's palms were slick with sweat, her voice catching as she tried to speak. "Can I talk to you a sec?"

That got his attention. He raised a brow, then stood with a stretch, walking off toward the side of the house. She followed, legs weak as paper.

"What ? No bastard done putting alien in your sweet biggie ass belly, I hope ?" Stack joked, golden-ringed fingers playing with his cigarette.

Lottie was too stressed to play along. She was already regretting coming here. Now that she stood in front of him, the words stayed stuck low in her gut.

"So! Whatchu want?"

To hell with her fears. No matter what happened after this, she wouldn't regret saying it.

"I love you," she said, eyes locked on her shoes.

What she got back was coughing—then laughter. Stack damn near choked, bending over himself as the laugh ripped out of him.

He wiped his mouth, still chuckling, and leaned back against the wooden wall.

"Aw, hell, Lottie," he said, shaking his head. "You serious?"

She didn't answer. Couldn't. Her hands were curled tight at her sides, nails digging into her palms. Her heart pounded so loud, she couldn't hear much else.

Stack stared at her for a second, then looked away, dragging deep on his cigarette. "You jus' a kid. Always been. Annie lil' sister, runnin' 'round here with your knees ashy and your nose runny. Talkin' 'bout love."

His voice wasn't diminishing. Tone not even rude. But it didn't have to be.

That flat speaking cut sharper than anything else.

Lottie didn't cry. Not then. She just nodded, slow. Stood there a moment too long, gathering pride and force to move out of his way. The following minutes, she turned and walked away.

Her chest burned, but her eyes stayed dry.

With the same jester mask, she waved Smoke a good bye.

Lottie made it past the trees, out of sight, out of earshot—then her breath caught. Like someone punched her right in the lungs.

She pressed her back to a tree, her chubby arms wrapped around herself, head tilted to the sky like the clouds might eat her whole. They didn't, they couldn't.

The first tear rolled without permission. Then another. And then she folded in half and cried, again and again. She cried until there wasn't nothing left but hiccups and the quiet hum of regret.

She didn't tell Annie what he said. Not that night. Not ever.

"Why am I thinking about this ? Reminiscence no good" she whispered to herself while serving the last plate of food.

The Cajun girl did not acknowledge the thanks and summons of customers. She headed to the small bedroom where she tidied up her stuffs.

This time, she wouldn't cry. She was grown now—curvy, beautiful, healthy. Her worth would not be defined through someone else's eyes. All she needed was to freshen up and come back.

"Damn, Charlotte. Push that fat ass up."

She claimed internally, trying to push herself.

"You didn't come all the way for Stack, dummy.The fuck he was in delta for ?"

She fought the flood of salty water burning behind her eyes.

" if he tastes for unfried plantains. His bad."

No use. No matter how and many times she tried to convince herself, it didn't stick. The moment she shut the door behind , she collapsed on the floor, all strength gone,crying.

She was ridiculous. Wearing such alluring clothes thinking it would please his stare, even more, entertaining him.

Rain ? Her fat ass lied.

That blouse was crafted like this with thin fabrics. And she even shortened the skirt herself. That man done laid up with every heifer in Delta but her. She thought that, maybe tonight he'll stop seeing her as jolly little Charlie or his precious Lottie. She was no longer the child in jumpersuit.

"I gotta focus. Yeah, Charlotte. Do your work."

She stood, legs trembling beneath her, palms against the wall for balance. Her face was still damp from tears. She grabbed a rag and dabbed it dry, then poured a trickle of rose water in her hands, patting it onto her cheeks like it might erase her ugly vulnerability.

A small round mirror hung crooked above the dresser. She leaned in, staring at her reddened eyes, the puff beneath them.

She reached into her tote and pulled out her working dress — A deep wine-colored one with the low back and soft, stretchy fabric that tight around her curves. She'd saved it for a night like this. Well. Maybe not exactly this.

She peeled off the blouse and skirt, folded them brutally. Stepped into the dress slow, smoothing it over her belly and hips. The mirror didn't smile back, but she didn't flinch.

Wooden necklace. Rose gold earrings. Bit of powder to take the sweat shine off. Lips glossy.

Then she sat down on the edge of the bed, still for a breath, her thighs pressed together, her hands loose in her lap.

The music thumped from the next room, faint but still. She closed her brown eyes and breathed deep.

The girl who'd just cried on the floor earlier, was still here somewhere within. But she didn't get to come out.

Not tonight.

By the time she reached the saloon doors, music came rushing back all at once—Slim on piano, hands skipping wild and fast across the keys, Sammie strumming slow on guitar. Pearline's voice floated above it all, worn and wide.

Lottie pushed through the door, the heat of bodies and Blues wrapping around her like steam. Her eyes swept the room. Nothing had changed. Same sweat-stained men leaning too far over their whiskey. Same women laughing too loud.

She walked slowly, hips rolling easy beneath the cling of the wine-colored dress. The hem kissed mid-thigh, and the neckline dipped low enough to make fools out of men with wandering eyes.

She passed the tables, took an empty tray from the corner, though no one had asked her to.

One man straightened in his seat. Another gave a low whistle.

"Lord, girl," one shouted, raising his drink like a toast.

Lottie didn't answer. She smiled.

Pearline's voice hit the seraphim note, transporting the crowd.

" PALE PALE MOON, I WANNAAA"

Charlotte slipped near one dark corner of the room, where no one could peep her doings. As she walked through the crowd, a man followed her close.

The Cajun woman lean on the wall seductively, her red gloss plumping her thick pouty lips.

I wanna howl

Pale, pale moon

Pale, pale moon

I wanna scream

Scream

Pale, pale moon

Pale, pale moon

Pale, pale moon

The man approached her,

"Well, now," he said, eyes tracing every inch of her dress. "You lookin' mighty fine, miss. Mmmh. What's your name?"

She smirked, "Whatever name pay my rent, Sir."

He laughed. Already had his fingers grazing her hip. His breath smelling moonshine and spices.

"Dem got a room just yonder," he said. "Ain't too loud."

"60 dollars , sir."

"30  dollars, ma'am."

Lottie lifted her brow, smoothed her hand down his chest like a tease. "Ain't not good, papa. Sixty's or none."

The old man gave a little shrug and was about to answer when suddenly—

"90 dollars."

Her spine snapped straight.

She didn't turn, didn't even dare to breathe.

That voice came from her left, behind the old pervert. Calm, deep. Time stopped for a second. Then started again

"90. I'll pay 90 dollars, Miss Ma'am." He hit her with this corny yet tantalizing nickname.

It was quiet as hell after that. Even the piano seemed to hush.

She turned aside, carefully. Her eyes open wide, like he'd slapped her clean across the face. Knocking good sense into her brain.

Stack stood a few feet off, arms stuck at his sides, jaw tensed. His gaze swept from Lottie face to the man in front of her, and then back again.

She pulled herself upright, chest rising fast. Trying  to storm back but nothing came.

"You scared off my client tryna be funny?" she asked.

"Ain't laughin'," Stack said. "That what you want? I'll pay."

Her lips parted, but she couldn't find the air. Her heart slammed hard against her ribs.

"Don't play with me" she said.

"You want 60, I say 90. Hell, I'm bein' generous."

Lottie stood quiet for a second. Then, flipped, something in her face changed.

She took her back off the wall, sliding aside Stack. A faint smile, one he'd never seen before, played on her lips.

It wasn't the sweet, shy smile of "Lottie." This was something that promised trouble.

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm as she moved past him, then trailed them down his bicep, her touch feather-light and lingering.

Stack stiffened, his gaze locking onto her.

Lottie turned, her body now angled towards Stack, her hips swaying subtly. The wine-colored dress stretched taut across her curves, emphasizing every swell. She lifted a hand, her glossy red lips parting in a slow, slutty smirk.

Her fingertips, adorned with rose gold rings, ghosted over the lapel of his dandy jacket, then skimmed lower, tracing the line of his shirt where it met his belt.

"Generous huh ?" Her voice, a growling purr. "And where do you want me to benefit from this generosity ?"

She leaned in, close enough for him to smell the sweet rose water on her skin, close enough for her breath to warm his ear.

He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. "Lottie, come on now, this ain't you."

She laughed, a throaty sound that was entirely new to him.

Her eyes, dark and unyielding, met his. "And who is 'me,' Stack? The little Charlie you always laughed at? The girl who cried herself to sleep because you couldn't see past her ashy knees? No, darling. That girl's gone."

Upstairs, the room had gone quiet, save for the soft creak of the bed beneath their tangled limbs and the hum of the juke joint still vibrating faintly through the floor.

Annie lay curled on her side, facing Smoke, the lamplight warming the curve of her shoulder. Her fingers drew idle circles on his chest, following the rise and fall of his breath like it was a rhythm she'd known all her life.

"You are quiet, Elijah," she murmured.

Smoke blinked slow, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers he couldn't reach. His voice came out softer than usual. "I ain't tryin' to ruin the silence. It feels... safe."

She smiled faintly, "Mmh. Safety... A rare thing for us, isn't it ?"

He turned toward her, propped up on one elbow, and tucked a curl behind her ear with his rough knuckle. "Everything seems difficult to us, Annie..."

Annie looked away for a second, heart hitching in her chest.

"Listen—" she began, but a knock at the door cut her off.

Three soft raps.

Smoke groaned. "Goddamn timing. Always someone with a problem."

"Oh, what's goin on, again ?" Annie asked, already sitting up, gathering the dress they'd flung somewhere by the dresser.

"Better not be 'bout them damn free drinks," Smoke muttered, pulling on his shirt with one arm and buttoning as he went.

He opened the door to find Sammie.

"H—hm, I'm sorry, Smoke. There's people outside. We said no, but they still insist."

"Where's Stack?"

"Downstairs. He asked me to fetch you..." Sammie scratched his head, eyes flicking toward the stairwell like he was scared to bother

"Want me to come with you?" Annie asked behind him, already reaching for her shoes.

Smoke didn't hesitate. "Please."

Out front, three white people — a woman and two men,  stood beneath the low porch light. The trio looked like they'd walked out of a dust storm: coats too heavy for the heat, boots caked in road dust, eyes too gloomy for wanderers or drunkards.

Mary, Stack, Cornbread, and Slim were holding the line, arms crossed, unimpressed.

"They say they can play," Cornbread muttered. "Say they just want a shot."

"Then let 'em prove it," Stack said. "One tune."

The tallest of the three stepped forward. A white man, hollow-cheeked and smiling like a grave. He cleared his throat, eyes shining too bright.

He hummed a song, beautifully sang yet ghoulishly written.

I picked poor Robin clean, picked poor Robin clean

I picked his head, I picked his feet

I woulda picked his body, but it wasn't fit to eat

Intrigued by the commotion outside and curious to heard a so familiar song here, in Mississippi Lottie practically stormed outside, Smoke and Annie arriving simultaneously behind her.

— Remmick ? Lottie said,  eyes wide opened.

Her knees buckled.

Terrified, she fell down, her body making a loudly thud, as it touch the ground.

Annie rushed forward, but it was too late. Lottie was already down, eyes rolled back, lips parted in silent disbelief.

"Oh, my love," the stranger started "How meaningful to see you... again."

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

AN: Source for tarot reading

Transcript under the cut

Morgan: Ever done this before?

Nancy: Can’t say that I have.

Morgan: Are you as put off about this as that other bible thumper?

Nancy: [rolls eyes] We’re not all the same. I’m more than my faith.

Morgan: I don’t doubt that. I’m sure there’s many layers to you. Where are you from?

Nancy: Brindleton Bay.

Morgan: Really, I’m from Portridge, a small town south of the Bay. Originally.

Nancy: Yeah? So, how did you end up a Fyres?

Morgan: Great question. My mom was his secretary. Super scandalous shit, which would explain while the Royal Barbie hates my guts. He’s not a bad step dad though. Hell of lot better than my actual dad. So, your parents-

Nancy: Isn’t the probing developing a bias or something?

Morgan: Just a little small talk. So, is there a question you want answered? Perhaps, a question about your past, your present or your future?

Nancy: I-

Nancy Narrates: [I want to get forget my past. I want to survive my present. I want to escape my future. Could there really be an answer for all that in those cards]

Nancy: I don’t know...

Morgan: That’s ok. You intention will guide us.

Morgan: Pick three cards that call to you. Based on the three, we will see what the cards have to say about your past, present and future.

Nancy: And you believe in this?

Morgan: We believe what we believe in, right? You have your three?

Nancy: I think so..

Morgan: Let’s take a look.

Morgan: Your past—the Upright Fool. Innocence. Curorsity. Something new and exciting—perhaps a first love in your youth that swept you off your feet?

Nancy Narrates: [Already I hated this...]

Morgan: Your present- the Reversed Star. Insecurity. Self doubt. A loss of faith. Interesting. Perhaps a struggle with one’s own faith? Are you having any doubts, Nancy? About yourself? About your God?

Morgan: Your future- the Upright Devil. Lust. Obsession. Temptation. Could be for the material things of life, or maybe a desire of the flesh.

Nancy: [clears throat] That all seems incredibly vague.

Morgan: [grins] Does it? Your poker face could use some work. Let me ask you something. Who exactly did I remind you of? Someone from your past?

Morgan: Your silence is very telling. I have a real gift for reading people.

Nancy: I’m sure you believe you do.

Morgan: [laughs] I really do!

Morgan: Tightly wound, fidgeter. You bite the hell out of your nails, right at the skin on the tips of your fingers, unconsciously. You pick at it until it bleeds. It’s the only thing that’s keeping you tethered to your own body. The pain, that is.

Morgan: Right?

Geoffrey: You made it! And making friends! Sorry, am I interrupting girl talk?

Morgan: It’s cool, boy wonder. Want me to do your reading?

Geoffrey: Are you kidding? Of course I do!

Nancy: Actually, I think I want to g-

Geoffrey: Really quick, Nance, then I’ll walk you to your dorm!

Geoffrey: Upright Death for my future sounds kind of scary when you think about it, huh? She said it could mean profound change. Sounds promising.

Nancy: [tsks] That could mean literally anything. That whole practice strives on vagueness. You can never be wrong if you’re bound to be right.

Geoffrey: Yeah, but it’s about how you perceive it, right? It’s unique. She did yours, didn’t she? What did yours say?

Nancy: Yeah, I um, don’t remember.

Geoffrey: Maybe you can ask her again. You two seem to hit it off.

Nancy: [huffs] Please. I am not going back to that shabby bar. She’s a sham. Those cards mean nothing. It’s stupid.

Geoffrey: [sighs]

Nancy: What?

Geoffrey: [blows raspberries]

Nancy Narrates: [Truth was, I was more curious than anything]

Nancy: So. Those cards. Could they...I don’t know- tell me something that could happen in a week? Like if I asked if I’ll pass my Statistics exam?

Nancy Narrates: [I was completely captivated by this otherworldly experience, whether I’d admit it outloud or not]

Nancy Narrates: [and Morgan was always happy to indulge me]

Nancy: [whispers] So I past my exam. How does this even work? I mean, how could they know? The cards. Could you do another reading after the debate?

Nancy Narrates: [But of all the questions I did ask, there was one that burned inside me more]

[heavy metal spills into the hallway]

Morgan: [startled] Nancy?

Nancy: Is this a bad time? I know it’s late...I can come back another time. I just have so much on my mind and I can’t sleep.

Morgan: You want another reading?

Nancy: Is that ok?

Morgan: Of course it is, Nancy. Come in.

Morgan: Sorry for all the smoke. I can open a window.

Knox: Babe, who’s this? It’s not my birthday.

Morgan: [smirks] Want me to get rid of him? I can.

Knox: Hey! I’ll be quiet! Won’t even know I’m here.

Nancy: I don’t mind. I just had a question.

Nancy: Could you do a reading for someone else, even if they’re not here?

Morgan: [hums] Not really...not without their permission or their intention. Who is this person to you?

Nancy: [looks away] Someone from my past. Someone I need to forget but- I can’t.

Morgan: Did this person hurt you?

Nancy: [shakes head] If anything, I hurt them. I ruined them with my... [lowly] um, perversions. I just need to know if they’re ok. If they hate me for it.

Morgan: [softly] I see... Here’s what we’ll do. Just like before, I’ll do a three card spread.

Morgan: Set your intention. Clear your mind. Ask your question. The first card is ‘you’. The middle card is ‘them’. The third card is the relationship.

Nancy Narrates: [‘Vanessa, do you hate me?’ ‘Do you blame me?’ ‘Do you regret loving me?’ ‘Do you know that I never stopped loving you?’]

Nancy Narrates: [‘Do you know that I’m sorry?’ ‘Do you know that I miss you?’ ‘Do you know that I need you?’]

Morgan: [exhales] It says... that you are a filled with love, Nancy, even though the world around you wants to drain you of it. There’s just too much of it inside of you and your friend-

Nancy: [weakly] Vanessa.

Morgan: [smiles] Vanessa. She loves you all the same. She may be experiencing her own hurt in this world, but having loved you keeps her strong. You two brought something bright and beautiful into each other’s lives.

Morgan: You can’t rid her from your life, because she’s apart of you, and...I- I think that’s a love worth fighting for, Nancy.

Nancy: [between gulps] Right. Right, thank you. Thanks, Morgan.

Morgan: Wait, Nancy, you don’t have to leave. It’s ok-

Nancy: It’s fine. I uh- I should go.

[door clicks shut]

Knox: Uhh, did you just make all that up?

Morgan: [weakly] I don’t know why I did that..

[twobluejeans]

HEARTBREAK ON TOUR!

charles leclerc x famous!reader

summary: in which the lavender haze has been lifted. or in which america’s it couple splits.

part 9:foreign affairs, series masterlist

faceclaim: madison beer

ally’s radio 📻: PART 9! anyways, stan y/n l/n for clear skin and good grades!✨😌

INSTAGRAM, july 18

liked by carlossainz, landonoriss, and 12,654,234 others

yourinstagram mood :') gonna cry all day lol. thank you for your warmth. thank you for listening n hearing me. i love you.

View all 64,627 comments

ntltcy/n whoever said the second slide is so real

danielricciardo I said what I said

zendaya ma’am is taking up all 10 spots on the 10 ten…that’s my best friend ❤️!!!

channeleclerc16_ she should just stick to acting…

beyonce well deserved! the song brought actual tears to my eyes

 yourinstagram beyonce  screaming crying shaking…thank u, i love u always

leclerc_pascale beautiful girl congrats

 yourinstagram leclerc_pascale  thank u mama

drewstarkey on repeat i fear 

ferarrileclerc i mean ... since the song is about charles that means he got another number one hit! charles congrats baby!

harrystyles A beautiful song from an even more beautiful person. Congratulations, Y/n/n—H.

ypurinstagram thank u sweet angel. miss you!

redlipclassicy/n harrystyles yourinstagram WHAT THE FUCK

JULY 18, 2023

Lola Ransdell Under Fire for Using the N-Word in Resurfaced Tweets

Not a good look.

BY ALLY JULY 17, 2023 11:15 AM

Lola Randell has some explaining to do. The 25-year-old came under fire on Sunday when Twitter users began resurfacing tweets of the model using the N-word in 2020. The receipts included direct messages and Instagram comments, in which Ransdell called her friends the racial slur, as well as tweets from Ransdell claiming that she could use the N-word because she’s “not white.”

In screenshots resurfaced by the Twitter PopHub, Ransdell can be seen calling someone an “ugly” N-word. The screenshots also include a group chat with some of her friends, in which she is called out for using the N-word. In her response, Randell explains that she can use the derogatory term because she’s not white. (Ransdell’s mother is Brazilian, but that still does not excuse her behavior.) “I’m not white tho so that’s awk,” Ransdell responded.

However, the receipts don’t end there. Along with the first screenshots, some users also resurfaced other old tweets, in which Ransdell said that she returned a “different race” after she spent some time tanning in Florida. (She accompanied the tweet with an emoji of a man with a turban.) Another screenshot also shows Ransdell liking a 2020 meme comparing Jay-Z to a Ransdell. One user also claimed to have a video of Ransdell rapping the N-word, though the audio is unclear.

Ransdell allegedly once tweeted, "leaving to Florida white but coming back to NY a different Race." The statement was accompanied by an emoji of a white blonde man and an emoji of a darker-skinned man wearing a turban.

A post from 2019 read, "With @chanteljefferies and that awkward moment when ur at a Chinese restaurant and your waiter isn't Chinese...."

The following year, she allegedly threatened, "Shut up before I smack you back to your own country!"

Screenshots also show the youtuber allegedly liking an Instagram post from 2018 about how only men and women should marry because the Bible says so.

Then there are the women-hating posts.

Ransdell allegedly liked an undated Instagram post showing a photo of Selena Gomez that posed the question, "Would you smack her for $835 BILLION?!" The person whose reply was featured in the meme read, "I'd smack her for a sweet tea from McDonald's."

In 2018, Ransdell allegedly tweeted about transgendered women" being "wicked slutty."

She's also been accused of openly hating on her boyfriend’s former partner, Y/n L/n.

Once a fan of Charles (and even of Charles and Y/n together), Ransdell  seemingly turned on the 26-year-old singer when "Your/Ship/Name" was on the rocks.She allegedly once followed a Y/n L/n  hate account on Instagram and allegedly favorited/liked a tweet from 2022 that showed a picture of Y/n and read, "She collects guys as if they were infinity stones."

How these receipts surfaced is unclear (many of them are private messages between Ransdell and her friends, so someone must have leaked them on the internet), but it’s certain that people aren’t happy with Ransdell using slur, even as a joke. After the tweets resurfaced, many users took to Twitter to call out Ransdell for her offensive behavior, as well as demand accountability and an apology from her and her Formula One boyfriend, Charles Leclerc. 

SEE MORE RELATED POSTS:

• Charles Leclerc finally addresses messy breakup with Singer Y/n L/n.

•Harry Styles just commented on Y/n L/n’s Instagram post for the first time in 7 years.

• Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince: Harry Styles and Y/n L/n’s relationship timeline

INSTAGRAM, july 18

liked by f1wh0re, corneliastreety/n, and 546,782 others

y/naflorals CHAR!ES SPEAKING ABOUT MOTHER TODAY IN AN INTERVIEW

View all 512 comments

dressy/n no comment.

lewismercedes ur joe king…ur joe. king.

leclerc16charles as a charles fan…idk either i’m sorry

TWITTER, july 18

INSTAGRAM STORIES, july 18

yourinstagram 9m

viewed by charlotee_siine, lewishamilton, and 245,321 others

TWITTER, july 18

ally’s radio 📻:i don’t like this chapter 😞. also pls know that anything that was mentioned within lola’s article is not something i condone!! pls don’t think i’m a bad person, it’s literally only just for the plot😭!! i got inspo off of hailey biebers old tweets sooo. if u see ur username but u weren’t tagged, it’s bc tumblr wouldn’t let me :( if u asked me to tag u and i didn’t, pls send me a message or inbox me bc it might’ve gotten lost 😭 i try to stay up-to-date but sometimes i miss people so pls lmk!!!

taglist 🦢🪩: @incoherenciass@dakotali@405rry@topaz125@sassyheroneckgiant@hevburn@itsmytimetoodream@ivegotparticulartaste@crowdedimagines @asterianax @haydee5010@scenesofobx@christinabae@magical-spit@dessxoxsworld@myareadsbooks@honethatty12@hopefulinlove@diasnohibng@gentlemonsterjennie1@hummusxx@eugene-emt-roe@taestrwbrry @perjarma @cxcewg@chimchimjiminie16@glow-ish@allywthsr @millyswife@mrsmaybank13@black-swan-blog27 @stargaryenx@lilsiz@ohthemisssery@leclerclvr@slytherinjimin3nthusiast@shessthunderstoms@cool-ultra-nerd@ncentic@playboykenz @canvashearts @tinyhrry @xeliaaaa @ifionlywould @gaviypedrisbride @callsignwindow @dhhdhsiavdhaj@chasing-liberosis@laneyspaulding19@a-daydreamersday@saikikusouswife@motorsp0rt@lifesuckslife@shessthunderstoms@drewsandsebastianswife @sainzluvrr@ietss @agustdlvr @sarahkaliii @sweethoneyblossom1@sticksdoesart @ayoanna @c0wgirlswag @ifionlywould @l1ghtaura @ellesmythe @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[k-nayee]

Saints and Sinners Devil All The Time

wc: 3.9k a/n: Song Inspiration: Take Me To Church by Hozier; recommend you listen while reading!!

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The heat clung to Arvin like a second skin, the late afternoon sun turning the school parking lot into a sweltering wasteland.

He stood next to his truck with a cigarette hanging from his lips, the brim of his cap casting a shadow over his eyes as he waited for Lenora—something he did every day, watching the doors of the school for her figure to appear.

His patience was wearing thin, the relentless humidity weighing on him, but he didn’t dare leave without her.

Not here. Not in this town.

His eyes scanned the yard, and that’s when he saw it: Lenora, standing off to the side, clutching her books like a shield.

She was surrounded by a trio of girls, their voices sharp and mean, cutting thick through the hot air.

Arvin could see the way she shrunk, trying to make herself smaller as their words slicing into her without mercy.

A surge of protectiveness flared—the same way he always did when someone threatened her,

He flicked his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with a curse under his breath.

Just as he was about to intervene when you appeared, striding through the dust and heat with the kind of confidence that turned heads and stopped conversations.

You walked right into the middle of the scene unbothered by the sneers and whispers thrown your way.

“Didn’t think she’d need a slut to protect her,” the leader of the group spat, her posse snickering behind her.

You didn’t even flinch. Cool as ever, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a effortless precision that had Arvin mesmerized.

“Slut, huh?” you echoed. There was something almost playful in your tone, like you were amused by her attempt to insult you. “Ain’t that what your boyfriend calls me when I see him?”

The girl’s sneer faltered, her eyes narrowing as she tried to hold her ground. “Wha...what’re you talkin’ about?”

"Your name’s Gina, right?" you asked, exhaling smoke into the humid air.

Gina stiffened, sensing the shift in conversation. "Yeah, why?"

You shrugged, flicking ash off your cigarette and giving her a once-over that made her bristle. "Just something your boyfriend mentioned."

Gina blinked, her face twitching with confusion. "And what the hell's that supposed to mean?!"

"You know you're cuter than I expected," ignoring her question you blew smoke into her face, making her take a step back. "Then again, don’t remember much he said when his face was buried between my legs."

The other girls gasped as the color drained from Gina’s face. She opened her mouth, but she struggled to find the words in a sputtering rage.

Arvin, caught between surprise and amusement, couldn’t stop the choked chuckle that escaped his throat.

His sudden sound made everyone turn, including you.

Your eyes landed on Arvin, still smirking as if you’d known he was watching the whole time.

Gina, humiliated and seething, took the chance to storm off with her friends trailing behind her.

"You...you disgusting WHORE!" she screeched over her shoulder, her voice cracking in anger.

You didn’t miss a beat. “Funny, that’s not what your boyfriend was saying,” you called after her, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Ate me up quicker than a sundae in July!”

Arvin shook his head in disbelief as the trio disappeared from sight, trying (and failing) to suppress his grin.

He glanced back toward you and Lenora, who was still clutching her books like a lifeline, her face flushed with embarrassment.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Lenora murmured, her voice soft, full of gratitude but laced with worry. “People already—"

"—talk about me?" you cut in with a shrug, flicking the cigarette butt to the ground and crushing it beneath your boot.

“Don't worry 'bout it Bible Thumper.” Your tone was playful, the nickname clearly something affectionate between you and her.

You lift your chin, gesturing toward Arvin’s truck. "Looks like your ride’s here."

Lenora gave you a small smile, casting a final glance at the ground as she shuffled over to the truck.

Arvin hadn’t moved though. He was still standing there, watching you.

You were dressed in a tight, low-cut top and a short skirt that hugged your curves—clothing considered vulgar by small-town southern standards, especially for 1965.

The bright red bandana you had tied in your hair made you look even more rebellious, standing out like a beacon among the pastel dresses and modest cardigans the other girls wore.

Then there was the fact your brown skin was a rarity in Knockemstiff, Ohio. The town wasn’t overtly racist, but had an undercurrent of prejudice was always lingering like smoke in the air.

You raise an eyebrow at him, catching him staring. "Got a problem with your vision church boy?"

Arvin flushed, realizing he’d been caught.

"No, uh... no problem," he muttered, fumbling with the brim of his cap before awkwardly tipping it in your direction and stumbling back toward the truck.

Lenora was already in the passenger seat, her wide eyes watching the exchange with mild curiosity.

He shot you a final glance before getting behind the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.

As the truck rumbled to life Arvin couldn’t help but steal one last look at you in the rearview mirror.

You were leaning against the side of the building with another lit cigarette, your form growing smaller as the truck rolled away.

The road stretched out in front of him but his mind lingered behind.

It wasn’t until a few miles down the road did Arvin work up the nerve to ask, “That girl...back there. She, uh...you know her?”

Lenora didn’t look up, instead trained on the frayed strap of her bag that she was nervously fidgeting with.

“Her name’s ____,” she said, her voice soft with fondness. “She’s been helpin’ me. You know, with the girls at school.”

Arvin frowned, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Helpin’ you? Didn’t seem like the kind of person who—”

Lenora snapped her head towards him, eyes fierce. “You don’t know her, Arvin.”

“She’s good!” She continued, more certain, like she needed to make it clear before he could form any more judgments. “She’s not what people think.”

Arvin raised an eyebrow, giving Lenora a sidelong glance. He wanted to believe her, but it didn’t add up—not with what he’d heard, not with what he’d seen of you.

“Doesn’t even come to church,” he tries.

Lenora shrug, facing the window. “Doesn’t make her bad Arvin. Jesus loved Mary Magdalene, didn’t he?”

The statement hit him harder than he expected. He wasn’t sure why, but the comparison lingered.

Lenora, despite being the town’s purest soul, seemed to see something in you that no one else did.

“Mary Magdalene,” he muttered, as if testing the words on his tongue.

“Mary was a sinner, wasn’t she? A woman with a reputation. Jesus showed her love and forgiveness. He saw her for who she really was, not what people thought of her.” She paused, her eyes back on her lap. “I think ____ is a lot like that.”

Arvin fell silent. He had grown up hearing stories of redemption, how Jesus saw past sins to the heart beneath.

It was one thing to hear those stories in church—to recite scripture and praise, but to apply it to someone like you? Could it be that simple?

He thought about the way you had stood in that parking lot and how you defended Lenora without hesitation.

You did cared about the insults thrown. You didn't falter when they spat the word slut in your face.

Then there was Lenora, tucked behind you, her wide-eyed innocence protected by someone the town swore was trouble.

Arvin didn’t know what to think. Part of him—the part raised under his grandmother’s strict moral code—wanted to reject it, to cling to the safety of what he’d always been taught.

People like you with a reputation weren’t to be trusted. They were trouble. They’d drag you into the dirt with them if you weren’t careful.

But another part of him couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The way you had looked at him, with that teasing smile like you knew something he didn’t. Like you weren’t afraid of him, or the town, or anything.

There was something so free about you, so untouchable...and it was dangerous.

It stirred something deep in him, something that had nothing to do with right or wrong.

“I don’t know,” he muttered finally, more to himself than to Lenora. “Just seems like the kind of person you shouldn’t be hangin’ around with.”

Lenora’s head snapped up at that. “I mean what would Grandma Emma say?” he added quickly, trying to justify his hesitation.

He didn’t want to sound like he was being overprotective, but the thought of Lenora getting caught up in your world—it didn’t sit right.

“She knows,” Lenora said, her voice surprisingly firm. “She doesn’t like it, but... she lets me. Because she knows that ____ is kind. She helped me, Arvin. No one else stood up for me the way she did.”

Now that stopped him cold.

If Grandma Emma with all her devoutness and strict adherence to Christian values could allow Lenora to be around you, then maybe...maybe there was more to you than what he thought.

Arvin glanced at Lenora then back at the road. The thought gnawed at him, your image lingering in the back of his mind like a half-formed idea he couldn’t quite grasp.

He was caught between two worlds—his grandmother’s moral code and the inexplicable draw you had over him.

Temptation, that’s what it was. Plain and simple.

It didn’t feel simple. It felt heavy, he wasn’t used to feeling that pull,

But maybe Lenora was right. Maybe, just like Mary Magdalene, you were more than what people said.

Maybe he’d been too quick to judge.

The drive home was quieter than usual, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The weeks that followed your encounter with Arvin in the parking lot slipped by slowly, each day dragging with the heavy heat of summer.

You had begun to linger in his thoughts, creeping into his mind in the quiet moments when he least expected it.

He noticed you more now. At first, it was accidental—a glance here or there when he’d pick up Lenora from school or drive through town.

Sometimes you’d offer him a nod, a faint smirk playing at the corner of your lips as if you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

You didn’t go to church, not like the rest of them.

Every Sunday without fail he'd catch you: leaning casually against the brick wall near the chapel as you waited for service to end.

It was one Sunday, Arvin stood with Lenora under the oak tree by the steps, half-listening to her talk about something from the sermon.

His eyes drifted across the street, scanning the quiet neighborhood out of habit—and there you were.

The sun caught the edge of your dress, and for a second, you looked like something out of place. Not of this town, not of its rules or restrictions.

Like you were from another world entirely.

Without thinking, his gaze lingered too long, and you caught him. Your eyes locked onto his, and for a split second, Arvin felt that strange tightening in his chest.

Embarrassment crawled up his throat, but you didn’t look away. Instead you smiled—the corners of your lips curling up as if you’d expected him to be watching.

He swallowed hard, quickly glancing back to Lenora who was still talking, completely unaware of the silent exchange.

He tried to brush it off—told himself it didn’t mean anything. But the feeling of being seen by you, noticed in that way, was something new.

The feeling stayed with him long after you were gone.

In the weeks that followed he caught himself looking for you more often. He’d spot you from a distance, sometimes walking by the side of the road as he drove by in his truck.

Your posture was always casual, unbothered. Your dress would sway with your movements, your hips rolling in a way that defied everything about this small, stifling town.

There was nothing modest or demure about you, and Arvin couldn’t stop looking.

And whenever you catch him staring, that same smirk tugged at your lips before you’d nod in acknowledgment.

At night, when the house was quiet and everyone was long asleep, Arvin would lie awake, your image burning in his mind.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to think about you.

His grandmother’s sermons about temptation played on a loop in his head, warnings about sin and damnation ringing out in her voice.

But you weren’t just a temptation; you were kind to Lenora, protective even. Arvin had seen it, the way you stood by her side without expecting anything in return.

People called you all kinds of names, painted you as something to be avoided, but none of that matched the way you were with her. It didn’t make sense.

As for Lenora, she spoke more often of you now. She adores you—admire even. That always struck Arvin as odd.

There were days when Lenora would beg you to join her in the woods, sitting under the trees while she read aloud from her Bible.

You were nothing like the type of person he imagined Lenora would fall in line with, but then again, Lenora was far more forgiving than anyone in Knockemstiff.

She defended you like she had something to prove, telling him how you’d been helping her and that people didn’t know the real you.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The afternoon sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky as you and Lenora walked toward the Russell home.

You’d just finished leaving the woods, her familiar chatter filling the silence between you.

Lenora (ever the sweetheart), had invited you in, mentioning that it was Arvin’s birthday and they were planning a small dinner to celebrate.

Knowing the town’s judgment followed you wherever you went, especially in public spaces like the Russell home, you turn it down.

It wasn't until you saw Lenora’s broken expression did you hesitate. Before you knew it, you were walking up the steps with her.

You didn't plan on staying long, just until dinner started.

The idea of sitting down for a family meal, especially at the Russell home, wasn’t exactly something you were comfortable with.

As soon as you stepped inside, the scent of warm bread and mixing chatter of the Russell family greeted you.

Grandma Emma was in the kitchen, her back straight as she prepared dinner. She gave you a brief, suspicious glance when you entered with Lenora.

Earskell seemed to take an immediate liking to you. He was lounging in his chair by the living room window with a grin spread across his face, looking entirely too relaxed.

Arvin stood near the doorway. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, clearly caught off guard by your presence.

For a moment, the room froze. Your eyes met his and the tension was immediate.

You hadn’t been this close to him since that day at the school, and it was clear he hadn’t expected you here—certainly not for something as intimate as a family dinner.

His gaze flickered over you. It was more modest than usual, a subtle nod to Emma’s old-fashioned ways.

With a black knee-length skirt, your light-colored blouse clung to your shoulders, the neckline dipping low enough to be daring in this town.

Arvin’s eyes traced the curve of your collarbone, his throat tightening at the sight.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Arvin muttered, low voice barely hiding the nervous tint beneath it.

You gave him a slow teasing smile, your eyes glinting with amusement as you stepped forward.

“Didn’t expect to be here either. Hope ya don't mind birthday boy,” you replied, the words rolling off your tongue with a soft lilt that made Arvin shift on his feet.

Earskell watched with a grin, clearly enjoying every second of the interaction.

Blissfully unaware of the tension swirling around the room, Leanora hurried back to the kitchen when Grandma Emma called for her, leaving you and Earskell alone with Arvin.

“Well, well, well. If it ain't miss ____." Earskell drawled, his voice carrying a hint of Southern charm laced with mischief. “Didn’t think we’d have such fine company tonight. Sure do brighten up the place.”

You grinned at that, makin your way to sit on the couch next to his chair, arms casually crossed. “You flatterin’ me old man?”

Earskell barked a laugh, eyes twinkling. “Just callin’ it like I see it. Ain’t often we get someone who can keep up with me.”

“You ain’t wrong about that,” you shot back, your voice low and teasing, the crassness in your tone catching Lenora by surprise as she returned from the kitchen. “Though I’m not sure your nephew here knows what to make of it.”

Arvin tensed visibly, his ears burning red at the way the conversation seemed to be shifting toward him.

He stayed quiet most of the time, barely able to meet your gaze. And now, with his uncle egging you on, he felt like a rabbit caught in a trap.

“Boy’s always been a quiet one,” Earskell said, waving a hand dismissively. “But I reckon he’ll come around, especially with someone like you lightin’ up the room.”

Arvin shot his uncle a sharp look, his face flushing even deeper. “Earskell,” he muttered, warning in his tone.

“Ain’t no need to be shy, boy,” he teased, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “Not every day a pretty girl walks through that door, is it?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, giving Arvin a sideways glance, watching him squirm. He was trying so hard to keep his cool, but the flush on his neck and the way his hands fidgeted gave him away.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” you say to him before giving a flutter of your lashes. “Unless you ask.”

Arvin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, the tension in the room thickening for just a moment.

He couldn’t bring himself to respond, instead opting to drop into his chair at the far end of the couch, avoiding your gaze entirely.

The older man didn’t miss a beat, clearly delighted by your banter.

“Now don’t go thinkin’ you can outtalk me, girl,” Earskell said, leaning forward in his chair with a grin. “I’ve got years of experience on ya.”

“I ain’t scared of a little experience,” you replied with a smirk, flicking your eyes over to Arvin long enough to catch him glancing away.

He was practically squirming now, clearly unsure of how to handle the banter and the easy way you seemed to command the room despite barely trying.

You stood after a while, brushing your hands off on your dress and glancing toward the kitchen. “I should get goin’ before dinner’s on. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Earskell laughed, waving a hand. “You’re always welcome here, girl. Don’t let these sour faces fool ya.”

Grandma Emma emerged from the kitchen just in time, wiping her hands on a towel and nodding toward you. “You’re welcome back anytime.”

You gave her a nod, offering a respectful smile despite the subtle weight of judgment that always seemed to hang around Emma.

She wasn’t cruel, not like the others in town, but she was set in her ways—rigid in her moral code.

You appreciated her decency, even if it was accompanied by a thin veil of disapproval.

Earskell leaned back in his chair, grinning as he turned toward Arvin to nudge him. “Why don’t you walk her out boy? Least you can do, seein’ as how she graced us with her presence.”

Arvin flushed at the suggestion, his hands immediately coming out of his pockets as he looked between you and his uncle.

“Uh... sure,” he muttered, the nervousness thick in his voice.

He rose from his seat and awkwardly motion for you to follow him to the door. The walk was short, but every step seemed to stretch out painfully for Arvin.

He could feel your presence next to him, the  faint scent of cigarette smoke and wildflowers clinging to the air.

It was intoxicating, and he cursed the way his skin tingled when your arm brushed lightly against his.

At the door, you turned to face him, your expression softening just a little.

The usual teasing glint in your eyes was still there, but something else had crept—something more intimate, more dangerous.

“Happy birthday,” you say quietly, your voice softer now, as if you didn’t want the rest of the house to hear.

Before he could respond you reach into your bag and pull out a small card, pressing it into his hand.

Your fingers brushed his as you passed it over, the contact sending a jolt through his body.

He stared down at the card, blinking as his mind scrambled to catch up. “What’s this?”

“Just a little somethin’ for later,” you murmured, your eyes locking with his for a heartbeat too long. “Don’t forget to read it.”

Giving him one last smile, you turn and walk out into the fading evening light.

Arvin stood frozen at the door, watching as you disappeared down the dirt road. He could still feel the ghost of your touch on his skin, the weight of the card heavy in his hand.

His heart was pounding, the familiar pull of temptation gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he glanced down at the card.

His name was written across the front in your neat handwriting. And when he flipped it over, his breath caught in his throat:

Meet me at the abandoned barn by the cornfield.

His mind raced, the invitation clear—undeniable. His heart thudded in his chest, and a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him of all the reasons he shouldn’t go.

All the reasons this was dangerous, reckless. His fingers tightened around the card, and for a brief moment he wondered what the hell he was doing.

But he knew, deep down, that he’d be there.

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silver-blue glow over the fields.

Arvin could hear the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears as he made his way down the narrow dirt path toward the barn, the folded card tucked tightly into his jacket pocket.

He’d read it at least a dozen times since you handed it to him, each glance sparking a new wave of heat that crawled up his spine. 

He should’ve stayed home. He knew that. He’d spent the last few hours after dinner sitting on the porch, wrestling with himself.

When he reached the barn door he stopped just outside.

His grandmother’s warnings about temptation played on repeat in his mind, endless sermons about purity and righteousness and the consequences that came to those who strayed.

It wasn’t just her voice he heard; it was the town’s, too—the collective judgment of the people he’d known his whole life.

They wouldn’t hesitate to condemn him, to call him a fool for even thinking about following you here.

Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about you

The way you’d looked at him when you handed him the card, the softness in your voice when you wished him a happy birthday.

The memory of it made his heart race and he hated how much he wanted more of that feeling. More of you.

His fingers nervously twitched at his sides as he took a breath, steeling himself before finally stepping inside.

You were already there, waiting for him.

[little-diable]

Carnal Sin - Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

I desperately needed to get this out of my system, I ain't sorry for that. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader's mother had begged Priest Riddle to let the reader join his bible study, a bratty woman who wanted to make his life a living hell. Now it was time to finally teach her a lesson.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (m), face fucking, man handling, spanking, religious connotations, Tom being Tom

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (2k words)

“How can you possibly believe that?” Her laughter echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls as if demons were carrying the sound. All eyes were focused on her, wide eyes that trembled with fear because of the blasphemous words she kept on speaking. But she didn’t care about them, didn’t even remember their names, no, all she cared about was the pair of dark pupils staring her down. 

“Excuse me?” His voice was sharp, urged on by the need to put her in her place. All other eyes snapped back to him, lowering their gazes in fear of the priest who was known for punishing those who didn’t dare listen. But she didn’t fear him, taunting him whenever their paths crossed. 

“Oh, don’t give me that. You and I both know you don’t believe in any of that yourself. Turning water into wine? That’s witchcraft, and witches should be burned, according to your little storybook at least.” Gasps followed her words, sounds that left (y/n) grinning as if she was the Devil herself, joining the bible study to make it a living hell for those who desperately clung to their belief. For a few seconds, he didn’t speak up, holding eye contact with her from his spot, but as she parted her lips to speak, once again set on laughing words she shouldn’t pronounce, he cleared his throat. 

“We’ll end our session here, I need to have a word with (y/n), alone.” She tried not to pay the heat his words shot through her any attention, trying not to squeeze her thighs together as she watched him rise to her feet. Neither of them spoke a word as the others hurriedly left the room, closing the door to give the two some privacy. Her eyes didn’t leave his frame once, the tall figure she’d imagine whenever she let her hands wander, chasing that high she was desperate for. Priest Riddle was dangerously handsome, fooling anybody whenever he wasn’t wearing his collar.

And yet she knew it was nothing more than a game, a game whose rules he was making. But she had never been good at following rules, set on breaking them like branches snapping beneath her shoes. 

“I wasn’t optimistic when your mother begged me to let you join, you know? I knew you’d only cause me more problems. But I promised your mother to try, to give you a chance. Well let me tell you, (y/n), I’ve never been a patient man. I think it’s time you learn a lesson.” The chuckle rumbling through her left him smirking, something she clearly didn’t understand fully to anticipate what he’d do to her tonight. 

“A lesson? What, should I fall to my knees and pray ten Hail Mary’s?” He crossed the room towards (y/n) with fast steps, hand shooting out to grasp her throat before she could flinch away. A shaky gasp left her at the touch, feeling his cold rings burn into her skin. Priest Riddle stared her down as if she was now living through her last judgment, set on taking her down to hell with him.

“A prayer won’t help you no more, God doesn’t answer the calls of sinners like you. The only one you’ll pray to will be me.” She was forced to her feet for a second, lips parted to let an excited sigh leave her. This is what she had been working for, knowing that he would eventually give in, eventually cross that line he had sworn to stay away from. But even a priest had his enemies, the carnal sin calling his name in quiet hours. 

“Let's hope your mouth knows what it’s doing. Onto your knees, let me fuck those bratty words out of you.” She could have sworn that his eyes grew darker as he spoke the words, watching her drop to her knees without a single protest leaving her. “I should have known, you’ll enjoy whatever I’m doing to you. It’s all about the power you think you have, forcing me to do something I promise I never would. Let me tell you, (y/n), even priests can beg for forgiveness, and forgiveness He shall always grant me.”

For the first time since meeting Priest Riddle, she felt some fear swapping through her, wondering if she was finally burning from the reckless play with fire. It was an unfamiliar sensation, yet so awfully exciting, she could only stare up at him with a smirk. 

He did quick work of his trousers, freeing his hard cock from the confines of his clothes. He was beautiful, a man crafted by God, what a shame he was destined to hide away beneath the black suits he wore. (Y/n) followed his ringed fingers, how he grasped his cock to push himself closer to (y/n). 

“Open that mouth of yours, let’s see how much you can take.” It was a dangerous game, and yet (y/n) had always lived for the thrill. She parted her lips, tongue exposed to his dark eyes. Within seconds he had forced his cock into her mouth, to the back of her throat. She gagged around him, had her vision instantly blurred by tears. 

Without waiting for any commands, she hallowed her cheeks, letting her tongue explore his cock for a moment before he began to move. Priest Riddle’s ringed hand found the back of her head, holding her in place as he fucked her mouth, high on the sound of her gasps, chokes, sounds he’d forever remember. She was a pretty sacrifice, worth the trouble she had forced him through, that much he was certain of. 

“How can there be no God when we get to experience something like this?” His raspy voice left her shuddering, words she could barely focus on, too concentrated on the feeling of his cock fucking her mouth. No other man had ever been this rough with her, and yet she knew that she had been addicted to Priest Riddle from the first day, hoping that they’d eventually end up like this. 

“Such pretty sounds for a woman this dangerous, it’s amazing how you try to fool those around you.” He spat his words as he used more speed for his thrusts, enjoying her gasps a tad bit too much, wanting to force his cock down her throat. But he wouldn’t give in, no, he’d only give in when he was buried inside of her, fucking her into oblivion. Perhaps she’d find her way back to God when he showed her the entry to the pearly gates, torn between two worlds as he fucked her breathless. 

Spit dripped from her chin, making a mess on the dark carpet she was kneeling on. She was desperate for some friction, trying to shuffle closer, and yet he didn’t allow her to go far, held in place by his tight grasp. Their eyes met, his full of danger, hers full of desperation, begging the man to finally pull her to her feet, to fuck her like she needed him to. 

“Do you think you deserve to be touched? Do you think you deserve to cum? I should have known you’ll turn into a cock-hungry whore the second I touch you.” A gasp left (y/n) as he pulled away, forcing her to her feet seconds later. She was pushed towards the black leather couch, trying to sit down though it seemed as if she was too slow for him. With his hand finding its way back to her hair, Tom manhandled her down onto the couch, drawing an excited moan from (y/n). 

“Open those legs, show me how wet you are from sucking my cock.” A whine left her at his words, legs spread to expose her soaked panties to him, hidden beneath her skirt. His cold fingers wandered up her legs, he shuffled her skirt up to her waist before he pushed her panties aside. The groan that left him at the sight of her bare cunt shot shudders down (y/n)’s spine, eyes close to falling shut. “Look at me, don’t you dare to even think of looking away.”

His palm came down onto her cunt, spanking the soft skin with more force than anticipated. (Y/n) choked on her gasps, eyes wide as she stared up at the smirking priest. Her lungs were aching, trying to hold onto her breath as she kept choking on the air flushing through her lungs, too excited to even speak up. 

“I can’t wait to fuck you stupid, force you to take every inch.” Priest Riddle’s words were enough to leave her moaning and gasping as he flipped her around. He had her pressed against the armrest while he positioned himself behind her.

“I’m on the pill, just fuck me, please.” His raspy chuckles filled the room, leaving her walls clenching in anticipation. (Y/n) felt him brush the tip of his cock through her slit for a second before he pushed into her, her eyes instantly fell close, fingers tightening their grip on the armrest with her nails clawed into the fabric. 

“God should strike you down for the sinful words you speak, allowing a man to fuck you because you’re selfish, wanting to give in.” She shuddered against him, unable to speak as he fucked her. His hips snapped against her behind with every thrust, forcing himself even deeper into her cunt, enjoying the way she felt wrapped around him all too tightly. 

“Fuck, feels so good.” (Y/n) mumbled the words, not trusting herself to speak up, voice caught in the back of her throat as he fucked her breathless. This is what they have been warned of, the carnal sin, a feeling so intense only those who weren’t allowed to touch one were able to make one feel. 

“And for that, you will submit to me from now on, you won’t go against me no more. You’re mine now, forever mine.” A sob clawed through (y/n), she didn’t understand the depth of the words he spoke, could only choke on a “Yes”, too focused on her high to overthink the consequences she’d have to face. Consequences of actions she had been desperate to go through with. Drunk on the feeling of her priest fucking her breathless. 

“Oh God, I’m so close, don’t stop.” Her words left him chuckling, she felt him near her ear, growling the words that were about to roll off his tongue.

“God can’t help you now.” She choked on her breaths, eyes rolling into her head as she sneaked a hand down her body. Her bundle of nerves pulsed against her fingers, giving herself the last final push to fall over the edge. The white, blinding sensation shot through her, leaving (y/n) trembling as he kept fucking her. 

His breaths grew shallow, she felt him twitch deep inside of her, about to cum with a devilish grin glued to his lips. (Y/n) had to cling to the couch, scared she’d faint from the intensity of her orgasm, unable to think straight as she was panting. The priest pulled out of her seconds before he came, painting her ass with his cum. 

Wordlessly he pulled away to reach for a towel. He cleaned her with a hum leaving him, staring down at her and the fucked-out expression she wore. Only slowly did she dare to turn around, looking up at him with wide eyes. She didn’t flinch as he cupped her cheek, forcing his thumb down on her tongue for a second. 

“I expect you back here tomorrow morning, don’t even dare to think that this was your only lesson.”