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sadslay · 6 months ago

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- NEED YOU ⋆☆ 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings - inspired by, mentions of scars & blood, nsfw content, this is short im so sorry

the first time you saw abby was when her and her people came to the seattle claiming to be fireflies. you had only heard whispers about the group, but no more then a week later abby was sitting in your waiting room with a bloodied face and fists. when you called her in she sat down quietly with her hands gripping onto the bed. the first thing abbys eyes stared at was the scar sitting in the base of your neck.

“abigail right?” you asked, beginning to gather what supplies you needed to clean her cuts.

“just abby.” she corrected, watching you closely as you spun back around with some clean water and a rag.

you knew exactly what brought abby here. an hour or so earlier there was an altercation with one of the young soldiers and it resulted in them getting up on medical leave while abby only came out with a few cuts and some bloodied knuckles. although you didn’t know the exact reason as to why abby lashed out, you were able to put together the pieces. from what you had read on her file and what you had heard around the base, abby was a fifteen year old ex-firefly that had recently just lost her father. you knew what headspace abby was in right now and it was not something that could be ignored.

“how long have you been at the base for?” you asked, fully knowing she had been here for nine days.

abby sat in silence as you cleaned the sticky drying blood from her left eyebrow before quietly replying, “just over a week.”

once you had cleaned the blood you were able to see the small cut running through the end of her eyebrow. lucky for her, it didn’t need stitches only a bit of medical tape to prevent infection. the silence between you and abby was heavy but surprisingly not awkward.

as you taped up her eyebrow, she asked, “i don’t need stitches?”

you shook your hear as you grabbed a near by cloth to begin cleaning the cut on top of her cheek. “no.” you spoke softly. “but your cheek’ll need stitches.

the rest of her visit she didn’t talk. you told her that the stitches were not dissolvable so she would have to come in a weeks time to get them removed and at the end of it all, she quietly thanks you and left swiftly.

⋆☆

carefully removing her stitches with a pair of tweezers and surgical pliers, you put all your focus into making the whole process as pain free as possible. you had noticed abby fiddling with her hands, most likely to keep herself distracted, and you could feel her eyes lingering on the base of your neck. no doubt she was intrigued by your scar, just about everyone was, but abby was different. abby hadn't once asked about your scar or looked at it in a disgruntled or disgusted way, in fact she rarely looked at it, but when abby did, she looked at it with intrigue.

"did you pick a job yet?" you asked quietly, managing to pull her eyes away from your neck.

"no." she replied quietly. "the job i wanted was taken." she added, the disappointment in her voice was so clearly evident.

you removed the last stitch, allowing abby to take in a deep breath as you put your tools down on a near by table. "n'what job was that?" you questioned.

“anythin’ in medical.” she shrugged as you began to clean your station. you let out a soft chuckle as you peeled off your rubber gloves making abbys eyebrows furrow. “whats so funny?”

you weakly shrugged as you turned back to abby, subtly assessing her face to see if she needed a cover while it continued to heal. “just didn’t expect that from you.” you mumbled, beginning to gather a small amount of medical tape to cover the cut on her cheek. “thought you’d wanna be a solider.”

abby scoffed. “just cause i’ve gotten into a few fights?” she asked as a smirk began to ghost over her lips.

gently applying the medical tape to her - mostly - healed cut you tried your hardest not to smile. “well yeah, ‘nd from the looks of it you can throw a good punch.” abby grinned, clearly proud of herself. “i treated her ya know?”

“you put her medical leave?” abby asked, raising an eyebrow as she watched you closely while you began to pack up your station.

“god no.” you chuffed. “i’ve sent worse injuries back into the field, it was issac that put her on medical leave.” you explained, beginning to take off your green medical apron and hanging it on the back of your office door. “it’s ‘cause he realized that if she couldn’t handle a civilian then she shouldn’t be a solider.”

abby thought for a moment, eyeing you up and down as this was the first time she had seen you out of uniform. “he’s got a point.” she mumbled nonchalantly as she remained completely focused on you.

“i could put in a good word for you ya know?” you mumbled, leaving up against your desk. “he owes me a favour.” you added as a soft smirk began to creep onto your lips.

“you think i’d be a good solider?” abby asked, pushing herself away from the medical bed to stand opposite to you.

you nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “i think if you got into gym and really trained you’d be one of our best.” you admitted. “then you get some good benefits around the base.” you added. abby folded her arms across her chest and thought for a moment. “maybe you can tag along with me one time.” you shyly suggested.

“i like the sound of that.”

⋆☆

as seasons passed you and abby grew incredibly close. first it started as weekly catch ups at the gym and the odd visit to your office after hours as she’d refuse to have her medical done by anyone else, and then it became more frequent. abby would stop by your office before she would get sent out to do a run for issac and any chance she got she would invite you to lunch in the food hall or even drop off lunch right to your office.

with all of abby’s attention you quickly become infatuated. abby had a way of making the simplest things give you butterflies. you quickly realized that your feelings towards abby were not just platonic and after years of fighting you had come to terms with the fact that you had fallen in love with her. so when she asked you to travel halfway across the country - on a limb that the man that you had only heard stories about- to hunt down the man had killed her father you had to go with her.

while the group had stopped in butte for a few days, you found yourself scavenging around the rundown motel when you overheard abby talking to owen. you stopped in your tracks, quietly listening as the pair hadn’t spoken in months.

“‘cause she’s fuckin’ useless.” owen muttered in a hushed whisper.

you heard abby let out a sigh causing your eyebrows to furrow. “we needed her hear incase we got into trouble. she’s a good nurse.”

were they talking about you?

“what about mel?” owen asked. “just cause you wanna fuck her-”

“watch it!” abby snapped. “i brought her along because your fucking girlfriend can barely do her fucking job.” abby quipped her voice was stern as she grew more frustrated at own. “i bought her along because shes fucking useful, no other fuckin’ reason.” she spat.

after that owen stormed off, walking out into the hall were you stood opposite to each other. he gave you a pathetic smile before walking straight past you. slowly you began to fill with frustration as you march towards the door own had just walked out of.

“you know if you wanted a fucking medic to come on this fucking scouting mission then i would have sent one of my students with you.” you snapped bitterly as you slammed the door behind you.

abby frowned as she realized you had heard her conversation with owen. “come on,” abby groaned. “you know i didn’t mean it like that.” she mumbled, looking down at you as she inched closer to you.

you rolled your eyes at the blonde, coming to your wits end with her as she had been distant from you for weeks. “how’d you mean it then?” you quipped.

“it means i like you dumbass.” she smirked, taking that final step to bring the two of you together.

scoffing at the idea you tried to step back, “if you like me so much, how come you’ve been avoiding me?” you asked, bumping into the door behind you.

abby smiled at your naivety as her arm rose, boxing you in against the wall. “because i can’t control myself around you anymore.” she spoke barely above a whisper.

chocking on your words only made abby’s smile grow. “shhh,” she coed. “i know you like me too baby.” abby hummed, her nonchalant cockiness about the whole situation made your cheeks flush pink.

“do not.” you tried to protest, even you could hear the bullshit making abby chuckle under her breath. “fuck off.” you spat, barely louder then a whisper.

“you really want me to go?” abby asked, her head dipping slightly to be at your eye level, only for you to avoid her eye contact all together. her hand parted from the wall before shortly reconnecting her hand with the the bottom of your chin. “look at me.”

only abby could make a demand sound so soft you thought. you hesitated for a moment, knowing what would happen if you did look at her, but you were weak at the knees and desperate for any attention from abby. your eyes finally met abby’s turning your stomach into knots.

“you really want me to leave baby?” she asked again, her breath kissing your ear.

looking up at her, you began to feel light headed as something you had dreamed about for months, maybe even years was finally beginning to come true.

“please don’t make me say it.” you shamefully whispered, as abby slowly combed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“oh baby.” she snickered, her soft seductive chuckle gave you goosebumps. “but i want to hear you say it.” abby smirked.

there was no point in fighting it anymore, abby knew you liked her, there was no more denying it. “i want you to stay.” you spoke ever so softly. abby grinned as you took in a shallow breath before continuing to whisper, “i want you.”

that was all the confirmation that abby needed, to hastily press her lips against yours. it was so messy and polarizing to anything you had ever experienced before. abby’s hands grabbed firmly onto your hips as she pulled you against her, her touch alone was enough to make your knees buckle. your hand grasped onto the base of abbys neck as you almost felt light headed. the whole experience was so euphoric but ethereal at the same time.

“so needy baby.” abby breathed into your neck almost making you audibly moan.

desperate for some friction, you pulled yourself even closer to abby. “shut up.” you breathed, barely able to have a coherent thought as you began to rub against her thigh.

abby let out a breathy chuckle as her hands dipped down to your thighs before hoisting you up to sit around her waist. her hands held onto your ass firmly, relentlessly squeezing as she slowly lowered herself to the ground. as she sat down with her back pressed up against the door your legs knelt on either side of hers.

her hands roamed up and under your thin singlet, scratching at your skin before her hands returned to your ass. you rolled your hips against hers making your core tighten as your hand snaked up her arms to her neck. you slowly pulled away, leaning in close to abbys ear as she continued kissing the soft spot of your neck. your breathing was heavy and everything that abby was going made you feel so, so good.

as you leant up against abbys ear, your finger tips scratching the back of her neck you whispered, “i need you.”

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musouie · 11 months ago

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── .✦ 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊

pairing: priest!levi ackerman x fem!reader

cw- sacrilege, blasphemy, power play, voyeurism, paranoia, degradation, loss of virginity, p in v, choking, whipping, sex in a church // ao3 version - 7.7kwc

synopsis: Father Levi believes you to be a demon in human guise. His only solution? To fuck the evil out of you.

Your head hung heavy as 'amen' tumbled from your lips, weighed down by shame and the burden of confession. Your chest was tight with it, your tongue sour from it, and you would hold back the admission if you could, but it was nigh as much a bother to suppress the truth as it was to speak it.

Thus, it spilled out onto the cold stones of the chapel's floor. Twisting around your body like fog, insinuating around you like arms, tightening about your shoulders as if to wrench them down in penance.

Each time you uttered it – the truth – the ropes of guilt that bound you drew taut...

You should have swallowed it.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” The words felt clumsy and overly articulated upon your tongue, thick like grease, coated with bile. “I have known temptation.” They stuck to the back of your throat. “I have failed to resist.” Like flies in the heat, they squirmed. “I have broken the commandments” — They peeled off like paper and scattered in a foul haze about you — “in thought.”

“How so, child?”

His voice came slowly, ponderously, from the other side of the lattice. It almost crawled around the cold confessional as if he might approach you and set his cold, clammy hand upon yours where they trembled in your lap. Where they clenched your dress.

“I have wicked in...tents.” You heaved, the effort of forcing your words past your lips almost too much. “And done unmentionable deeds.”

“It is not wholly uncommon to be guilty of such. Tell me what has come about,” he implored, and the faint trickle of skin-on-skin told you he interlinked his hands.

Trembling and gripping your thighs as you relented, "I have dreamt foul things. I have thought sinful thoughts.” Blasphemous. Monstrous. Weeks and weeks and weeks. “I have sullied my flesh in darkness.” The nightmares were so terribly lucid, they'd spill you from sleep, soaked and hot and — you clenched your legs together. “I have roused myself to impure pleasures.” Shamefully, each time in succession.

“And in your unconscious moments, how do these thoughts manifest?” His voice did not rise. He did not shun you. At that point, your terror took on a new dimension when you considered that he already knew the answer.

Your next confession came a whimper, no louder than a mew, and the priest shifted in his seat. “There is a man — I see him in my sleep — but he is not real.” You paused. “Or rather, this version of him isn't.”

“This version?”

“He looks like someone I know.” Your nails sunk into your inner thigh. “He acts like him, too. He talks, walks, and even smells like him" A shudder wracked through you "But it is not him. He would never...”

“Ah.” Is all the priest could manage. There's a grunt, then silence. But a silence so full.

Then, quietly he spoke, and the soft inflection of sympathy he allowed to colour his tone caused your grip on your flesh to loosen in surprise.

“Lust is no foreign notion, Child. At the very eve of creation mankind was driven by it. What man is not?” You knot your hands together. “It is part of the human experience, the human consequence, and acknowledging it is the first step towards redemption.”

“This is not mere lust, Father,” you said, or whispered perhaps.

“Sin never is.”

You swallowed hard, relieved by his understanding, yet the sting of shame lingered. “I am aware, Father, but it feels... overwhelming. It consumes my thoughts, my prayers. I fear that it is all that I am.”

“Lust?”

You nodded, a gesture unseen. “Lust. It all but runs through my veins.”

“Well, the path to-”

“-Father, you do not understand!” you interrupted, your voice bordering on a whine. It carried far louder than you'd intended, rattling the rafters, and the volume frightened you. Your eyes darted to the stained windows.

“...And why might that be?”

“I cannot help but act on it…I...I touch myself," you admit, this time with your voice much softer. “My fingers meet my warmth most days than not, an insatiable craving that haunts my waking hours. I find release as the sun rises, and again as it falls, the same man haunting my thoughts each night.”

“I- see…” came the priest’s response, and silence descended once more.

You assumed that he was coming up with a satisfying response…something to quell your worry and to ease your mind.

However, unbeknownst to you, on the other side of the confessional booth a naughty priest was breathing raggedly into the palm of his hand as a tent grew in his breeches.

“Father…?” you called out, panicked, nerves betraying your curiosity in a shrill whine. Silence was, after all, often never a good thing.

But this silence? No, he couldn't tell you of it; how he was clamping a hand to the source of his torture to still the throbbing. He couldn't tell you how his mind was flying, like a bird darting this way and that in flight, from blasphemy, to Hell, to gluttony, and all of the many awful sins this would lead him to committing.

He gulped, and tried his hand at speaking.

But he needed a second to compose himself. That was the truth. A selfish moment to collect his thoughts, in which he could keep his voice from hitching under the strain of his excitement. This was sin, most definitely, but the things that he was thinking-

He opened his mouth with a swift exhalation then, and in his breath a serpent was coiled. Subdued, but coiled. “F-Forgive me, pray continue.” He said with a crack in his voice. “For there is no surer way to be washed anew than to unburden oneself of everything.”

His sentence petered out, and you heard him gulp. It must not just be yourself, then, who was nervous.

Somewhat calmed, you continued,

“...I-It is not only that...I wish to touch him too. I envision it. Oh, I do, I do. I imagine him taking me, Father, in as many ways as there are stars in heaven, whispering devotion into my ear the same way that the Devil does in the late of the night. Oh, Father, I know that not even God can absolve me of such an offense. As much as I pray for forgiveness, I know he will not grant it. Will refuse to."

The priest audibly swallowed. Was it just him or had the temperature risen? He licked his lips, his breath suddenly seeming stuck within him. Why was he breathing so heavily? He wanted to exhale softly through his mouth, his shoulders rising slightly in his bid for air but… He could not.

“It is all just indecent up here, Father. Indecent, obscene, and vile. How can God find affection for one with a mind as corrupt as mine?”

“Child,” he said, in that strained voice once again, “how can He extend His love to any among us? We are all stained, all guilty of transgressions; it is His mercy that distinguishes Him.”

A shaky laugh fled your lips, and it rattled throughout the wooden panel of the confessional. “But Father, do you, too, grapple with such earthly desires? Could you possibly understand my plight?”

The question slipped from your lips before you could keep it, and the immediate silence in the still air made your heart pound. You wanted to retract it, swallow it down—

But before you could open your mouth, the answer came.

“...I am, after all, a man of flesh and blood.”

Your gut twinged, a sudden rush of warmth flooding your body like hot water had been spilt, because the priest's voice was husky, and quiet as it was, it was rough with an emotion you had never heard from his tongue before.

Something rawer, something far less pure.

You swallowed thickly.

“W-Well how do you expel such thoughts, Father? I have yet to learn, so if you, too, carry heavy sins such as I...”

Again, the priest let out an unsettling noise. A sound from his lungs of forced expulsion.

“With discipline,” he said firmly. “And with prayer. A shepherd is no use to his sheep unless he possesses a rod. The mind is not so unlike the flock, oh child. We must bring it under control, lest it wander into damnation. If you say that you are a beast, if your mind is a slave to flesh, then tame it, child.”

You pressed your lips together. Tightly so, that your chin began to tremble. “...And what if it does not work, Father? That is what I fear most. What if the carnal urge is far too potent, that not even the Lord himself can tame it…that not even the Holy Trinity, in all their might, can dominate it in its entirety?”

A silence settled between the two of you. A kind, eerie and silent as it was—a pit of sorts, hollowed out into the chapel's stone floor—that left you with the sense that you could fall into it. Or be sunk by it, should the tension prove too much.

“...Do you want to be saved?” The priest asked, his voice dropping considerably in its volume. Perhaps he had inched forward. Perhaps he was all but a breathing shadow, here but a spectre, as half as solid as he was in the eyes of his parish.

“Yes…” you whispered, because though you had not said it out loud, that was, indeed, the singular purpose for your visit. Saving yourself from whatever horrible, deadly thing preyed on you in the night, whenever it found you.

“Then simply have faith.”

“I am trying but…”

“But what?” came harshly.

You lowered your eyes, staring at your feet once again. The cool, worn surface of the confessional's wooden bench pressed against your palms. “Nothing, Father.”

And he said not a word in return. Not for a long while, at least.

It was a silence that stretched on and on and on, a silence that threatened to engulf you, a silence punctuated only by a shaky exhale from beyond the lattice. “Tell me… are- are you a virgin still, child?”

The inquiry was soft, fraught, more intimate than his last, and your head snapped up. A beat or two passed before the gravity of his question properly hit you. When it did, you felt the flurry of a blush bloom across the flush that already coloured your cheeks.

“Yes, I…” you faltered. “I have never given over to temptation. Not yet, Father.”

The last part was stated slowly. Deliberately. Delicately.

He sighed, a sound laden with relief. “Then your temptation shall be greater than any others’, for the Devil desires to rob you of your innocence and purity.” He could see your hand rise to your mouth. “You must resist him, my child. You must counter your lewd thoughts with two prayers and quell your desire with two verses.”

“Father,” you whimpered, and his cock throbbed and pulsated.

His chest heaved as he reclined against the bench, trying his hardest not to palm his crotch, though it was proving more difficult by the second.

He found it repulsive and vile that he was growing aroused at a penitent’s vulnerability, at their struggles. But your whines and your fantasies had gotten the best of him.

He had spent so long under the thumb of cold celibacy, and it had taken merely fifteen minutes to undo that resolve. But now, nothing was as abhorrent as his indecency. Nothing except how much he now desperately wanted to seek his own release.

He too, needed to repent.

“It must be done, lest you wish to be defiled.”

You felt a surge of heat in your veins, a fire that burned your flesh. You knew not what to do, for you were torn between obedience and curiosity.

What was this strange feeling that stirred within you, this longing that you could not name?

“Father,” you whispered pitifully, “please, have mercy on me. I do not understand what is happening to me. I do not want to sin, but I cannot help myself.”

To this the priest spoke sternly, as if to scold you. “My child, you are under the influence of a dark and powerful force. A force that preys on the weak and the innocent. A force that lurks in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. A force that you must resist at all costs.”

And it was then that you realised what this longing was. This longing that you could not name.

“Father…”

You wished to be defiled. To be ruined by a darkness that you could not see, could not touch, but could very well touch you. You wished for it to slither into your room in the dead of night, to use you, corrupt you, until your legs could not hold you up any longer.

“Let us pray,” the priest declared, and rustling sounded.

You bowed your head.

“God the Father of mercies,” he began, “through the death and resurrection of His Son…”

Your breast heaved, and your breaths grew short and sharp as a heat bloomed within you.

“...has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins.”

Your hand crept from the bench to the lap of your gown, slowly and without your registering it.

“Through the ministry of the Chapel, may God give you pardon and peace.”

Your palm glided across your thigh and to your clothed crotch.

“I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father…”

Your breath caught as a lone finger swiped against your slit, and you repeated the motion to re-experience the blissful feeling.

“...and of the Son…”

You threw your head back as your fingers picked up pace.

“... and of the Holy Spirit.”

Distracted by the heavy breathing that he assumed was a result of weeping, the priest opened his eyes with concern and peered through the wooden partition, through a small hole, scarcely large enough for a finger.

Through that hole he saw you, a vision of sin, splayed across the bench with your legs spread and your mouth ajar like a harlot who knew no better.

He knew it. He knew it well, then, that his fears had come to pass. You could not be saved, never, for you were-

“Amen,” you moaned.

The priest closely watched as your eyes widened and your fingers slowed, and as you hastened to compose yourself, even though you thought none could see you.

You crossed your legs, concealing the dark stain on your gown’s crotch, before smoothing your hair and clearing your throat.

He caught only a fleeting glimpse of your expression as you straightened and looked up. Shock and astonishment did he see dancing in the depth of your gaze. As though in the midst of your passion, you had quite forgotten where you were, and your surroundings, and everything else besides.

Had you not known yourself? Were you unaware of your actions? Had you lost yourself in your rapture, the darkness so seductive? How easy it was to succumb!

When finally, you opened your mouth but could not speak, and so the priest said:

“And... I absolve you of your sins.” Though his voice shook, stricken with rage. "God has heard you! Go forth in peace.”

His stomach twisted, his mind blanking, his soul shrieking, cursing your damned whorish nature as you timidly murmured ‘thank you, Father’, and rose with the shuffling of fabric.

He could smell your arousal from even where he sat. It was a stench that filled the box, a poison that seeped into his nostrils. The urge to burst out and grab you by the hair in an unsolicited liaison became staggering as that rancid smell embedded itself onto the insides of his cheeks. Mercy, he could not wait to be rid of you.

He quickly drew the Sign of the Cross, his hand lingering on his right shoulder to ward off lingering evil. “You have confessed and sought forgiveness,” he grunted.

He gathered his belongings, a Bible and rosary, and prepared to leave. “As penance, you must recite ten Ave Marias, five Pater Nosters, and one Actus Contritionis.”

“Yes, Father.”

You bowed your head and kept it low, lifting it only to exit the booth when you felt it shake with the momentum of being closed.

Only then, did you rise from the bench, your soaked underwear rubbing against your thighs, before you turned the latch on the weathered, wooden door.

Once you emerged from the confessional, you were surprised to be met with a dim chapel. Just how much time had passed?

Your eyes flitted through the pews in search of another, only to realise the chapel was deserted, save for the priest whom you bared your soul to.

You looked for him then, head pivoting left and right until you caught sight of him upon the pulpit, blowing out the candles that adorned where he stood one by one.

You strained your eyes trying to recognise who he was, following him in his graceful pursuit to each candle. It was only when he turned his profile that you recognised him. Father Levi.

Warmth spread across your face as you recounted everything you confessed.

In your yearning, you had hoped the confessor would be an elder figure, someone who you cared little for and someone certainly not the object of your desires.

Father Levi must have known that it was him you spoke of - that it was he whom you wished would take you. He had to have known.

The countless times he caught you gazing at him, fixating on the movement of his rosy lips, or that one instance when your gaze lingered a moment too long on his—

His eyes found yours over his shoulder, piercing through the shadows. You quickly averted your gaze to the floor. Christ, you thought, nibbling on your lips, had he caught you yet again?

With your head down, you scurried to the nearest pew and knelt, facing the altar. You shut your eyes and began to recite your prayers, your voice wavering slightly as your mind strayed to being alone with the mid-aged priest. He was so near - so within your reach, so alone. Was this fate?

On the fourth prayer, you heard a faint shuffling in front of you. Footsteps. But you ignored them. Alas, a cold hand on your shoulder is what drew you from your prayer, causing you to flinch.

“Be not afraid. Pray, go on,” Father Levi urged, his handsome face smiling down at you. You remained at his waist-level as you recited them.

But how could you go on with him standing right in front of you? All you had to do was move your head, the slightest of the slightest, and you’d be kissing the fabric over his groin.

Through the veil of your eyelashes, you peered up at the priest, who regarded you with a stern expression - as though he heard every filthy word you’d just thought.

He frowned. “It is alright, my child. God rejoices in your penitence.”

You held his gaze as your prayer poured from your lips.

After a while, his austere demeanour softened, surrendering to something less severe as you reached your seventh Ave Maria. Your breath hitched as he began to rub your shoulder.

“That is it, you’ve but three more.”

“Yes, Father,” you whispered breathily, relishing in the tender pressure of his thumb gliding along the curve of your neck.

With closed eyes, you surrendered to the caress, a moment of long-desired fulfilment. And with every completed prayer and every completed verse that emitted from your lips, his thumb climbed higher.

Father Levi thumbed the soft expanse of your throat, his eyes darkening as your pulse fluttered under his touch. You seemed so innocent, so pure, so chaste. But your actions belied that image; the things you had told him, the things you had revealed…

You tilted your head ever so slightly and your mouth parted. Through half-lidded eyes, you stared at him unabashed, your sultry lips appearing like a most obscene invitation. He could not hold your gaze.

Unable to endure your wantonness, he made the Sign of the Cross with his free hand.

Then, in an instant, his touch transformed, slender fingers encircling your throat with a sudden ferocity that left you gasping for breath. “I know what you are,” he snarled, bending over so his angular face was mere inches above yours.

“Father, what are you doing?”

You tried to free yourself from his vice-like grip, to rise to your feet and gain some advantage, but he was too strong, and he forced you back down onto your knees. With a wicked smile playing on his lips, he leaned closer to your ear.

“Did you take me for a fool, child? Did you think I would not notice how you have poisoned me? Tainted me?”

A shiver coursed through you as his breath brushed your cheek.

“Please, Father, have mercy,” you begged. “Whatever I have done, please have mercy.”

“Mercy? You do not know the meaning of mercy. You’ve never even seen her, spawn of Lucifer.”

“P-Pardon?”

In a tone that resonated with an otherworldly chill, he hissed, “Confess, child, for the devil has taken up residence within you. Your sins are a stench that even the hounds of hell recoil from.”

Then, fear gripped you tighter than Father Levi ever could. “Father, please, I am not what you think. I know not what you speak of!”

“You lie! I am not as weak as Adam. I shall not be so easily deceived by Satan and his marionette. For what other would be stirred by lust within the sacred sanctuary of a chapel, worse still, at the hands of a priest?"

“Father…please…” You writhed against his hold. “Release me.”

“For 7,000 years our kind has been at war, and one such as you shall not be the cause of my corruption.” His free hand rose, fingers twisting into his dark hair. “I must root you out. Dig into your core. Take a chunk out of your heart.”

A wave of desperation tore through you at the sharp sound of his breathing, and you begged, “Please, Father. I am not your enemy. What can I do to prove my intentions to you? By God-”

“Do not speak of God!” he roared, spit flying from his lips. “Do not profane Him. Those who have sinned cannot speak His holy name.”

“Father-”

He cocked his head to the side, jaw clenching, the hollows of his cheeks stretching his skin taut. “Do not grovel, so. It is a pathetic sight. What worth is a demon if he is feeble?”

“So then I am no-”

The priest’s fingers dug deeper into your flesh. “Quiet with your nonsense,” was forced through clenched teeth. “I’ve grown tired of your excuses. You are but a demon, sent to tempt me, to test my faith, to make me fall.”

“Faith,” you breathed, the word a defiance, and you tried with all your might to steady the tremor in your voice, “is it so delicate that I, mere flesh and bone, could fracture it? Have you strayed so far that a mere nudge would send you plummeting?”

“Enough.”

“Is this the strength of your faith, Father?”

“Enough!” he bellowed, releasing your throat and shoving you into the pew as if eager to relinquish you from his grasp. Like you were nothing more than vermin in his hold.

“You shall not make me falter. You shall not sow seeds of doubt within me, you cursed creature!” His face twisted into something so uncharacteristically grotesque, marred with a rage so fierce it could cast angels from their heavenly perch.

With trembling hands, you instinctively sought your throat, quickly drawing in air that your lungs so desperately yearned for. Each breath a gasp that tasted of dust. Through your blurred vision, you could see Father Levi’s figure retreating.

“Father, where are you going?” you managed to croak.

“I am going to fetch the whip,” he said. “You need more than words to atone for your sins. You need agony. You need blood. You need God's wrath.” You watched through lidded eyes as he ascended the steps to the pulpit and vanished behind the heavy drapery. You trembled against the cool floor and rasped the remaining of your ten Ave Marias.

As you lay in your heap, something dawned upon you: You could have fled. You could have escaped and hidden within the refuge of your own abode. You could have condemned him. But instead, you remained, awaiting the lash upon your flesh.

Is this what you desired? Were you indeed…corrupted? A vessel for Satan? There was no other answer, for why else would you harbour such thoughts… and why else would your underwear be dripping?

You heard his footsteps echoing in the corridor, growing near’r and near’r, no doubt with the instrument of your punishment in hand.

You watched as he slowly descended the steps, brandishing a braided whip with a handle adorned with symbols of crosses and saints. The silver metal of the whip glinted in the dim candlelight as he held it aloft, but none shone brighter than his cruel smile.

He seized you by the hair and thrust your face into the cold floor where many had trodden, your arse high in the air. “Are you ready, child? Are you ready to feel the wrath of the Almighty?” he asked.

The flickering light from the remaining candles cast long shadows, gracing you with the ability to see his arm rise. You heard him murmur, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit...”

And then, you felt the whip strike your back, tearing your flesh, drawing forth a crimson tide. You screamed, a sound driven by sheer ecstasy, and he struck again. And again. And again.

You lost count of how many times he lashed you, how many times you cried out, how many times you begged for mercy only to appease to his iniquity.

“Oh, God!” you cried out at one point.

“How humorous. You are turning to the wrong Father for refuge. My God has forsaken you, little demon. He is unresponsive to your pleas.”

You buried your face into the crook of your sweaty arm, stifling a sob behind the prison of your teeth.

“Your resilience is admirable,” he snarled, his voice a low growl. “But futile. You are mine, little demon. And I will break you.”

As the whip found its mark on your arse again, the sting faint now, he fisted your hair and wrenched your head back to face the vaulted ceiling. “Now, tell me, just how did you do it? How did you poison me? How did you breach the sanctum of my mind?”

You parted your parched lips to answer, but he interrupted. “Do you comprehend the extent of the erection I endured tonight? No? Allow me to enlighten you, then. It hurt to sit. To think. All that consumed my thoughts was the desire to relieve myself within that confessional—” Your breath caught in your throat.

“—Which was unlike me. Unlike what I stand for…yet it was all I craved. I wanted nothing more than to pump my shaft until I had given my all. Until I was worn and spent upon that bench, and until you had finished in the room over.”

A strangled noise escaped your throat. He had seen you?

“Yes, I saw you,” he admitted, a flicker of regret crossing his features as he realised his slip of the tongue. All he could do now was deflect. "Not only did I see you, but God saw you as well. Have you no sense of shame?”

Without thinking, you ground your hips back into his crotch, his bulge grazing against your clit. You both moaned before you could suppress it, and he quickly released your hair, his hand shifting to your hips.

“Sex-crazed beast. Sex-crazed demon.”

He ceased in his lashing, dropping the whip to the ground, and brought his newly freed hand to your other hip as you continued to grind against him. “You satisfy yourself during prayer and you satisfy yourself even now. Is that all that you are?”

“I told you, Father!” you moaned.

“You did,” he murmured, his grip growing tighter. “You did. You are a paradox. A sinner who revels in sin.”

“Yes!”

“But when I am done with you, you shall become something holy.”

You only let out a whimper, one of which was laden with anticipation.

With your face still pressed against the floor, you shivered as the chill of the air unexpectedly met your skin as your gown rode up. It rose from your ankles to your knees, before the priest bunched it up over your waist.

“Your smell is so potent I can taste you on my tongue.” He hooked a finger around your underwear, slowly revealing your tight pussy to the chapel.

“You’re sodden,” he declared. “You’re filthy. It is only right that I, the vessel of sanctity, be the first to take you, to taste you, to fill you with my sacred essence to your brim.”

You licked your lips, salt coated in its cracks. Your tongue lingered momentarily at the corner of your mouth, a fleeting contemplation. With all the desperation you could muster you whispered, “Purify me then, Father.”

The priest needed no more from you. He began to undo his cassock, slowly freeing each button as he watched your puffy pussy clench around nothing.

“Are you certain that you’re untouched?” he asked.

“I am certain. I have allowed no other to touch me, Father. Pleasure has only been derived by my own hand.”

“And now, my own.”

Father Levi, with the speed of a starving man, unzipped his trousers and lowered his underwear, his cassock at his sides, before he freed his fat cock and held it in his hand.

It was a burning red, far too long neglected, and bubbling with beads of precum at the tip. He rubbed his thumb across his slit before dragging it down his shaft, lubricating it before he’d press into you. For your sake.

“Try to still in your excitement, harlot,” he grunted as your hips swayed. As your bosom heaved. You reached an arm behind your back, fingers hoping to revel in the touch of another, but the priest swatted your limb away.

“We are not making love. Do not reach for me.” His pale skin stretched taut over the hardness of his cock, the veins pulsing as he stroked himself with his calloused hands. He stole a glance upwards and feasted on the sight of you laid bare before him, his eyes round with greed. Oh, how you glistened in the candlelight.

He situated himself between your parted legs, leaning his weight forward against you.

The warmth of his chest bore down upon you, his breath hot as it escaped his parted lips. He rubbed the tip of his cock against your folds, your pussy practically drooling, before he dragged it down to your opening and your thighs tightened around him.

“Father!” you panted, but it was not enough. Not for either of you. The feeling of him bare was enough to send you over the edge, but if you finished, then you knew there would be no more of this.

“Worry not, little sinner,” he rubbed your lower back with his thumb, “The pain shall only be brief.”

The priest spat on the crown of his cock, anointing himself. Then, without warning, he shoved his cock into your tight, virgin little cunt, a gravelly groan slipping past his lips at your warmth. He could hear a small wail from beneath him, from you, but it was muffled by the floor, by his breaths, and by the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Your cunt eagerly swallowed him, your walls gripping him so tightly that all the priest could do was groan. He relished in the pleasure of it all, his cock finally wrapped in the embrace of another, celibacy broken and ethics aside. Far aside. Granting him the freedom of animalistic grunts as he pumped in and out of you with a wild abandon.

But eventually, your pleasure gave way to pain and you let out a second wail. “Father, it hurts!”

A virgin’s first is scarcely easy, so Levi paid little mind to your suffering. To the feeling of your hymen tearing around the tip of his cock as he slid against your walls.

Perhaps, he should’ve prepped you first — softened your impending agony. But you were a demon. Demons needed no sympathy. Demons needed no mercy.

Instead, he rutted his pelvis into your plentiful, supple backside and said, “Your screams are a symphony, a hymn to the fallen. Let your cries reach the ears of the devil, for even he shrinks at the price you pay for salvation."

“Yes, Father! Yes, Father,” you chanted, toes curling at the sweet agony of his fullness.

“Do you sense it?” The nails of his fingers pierced into the soft skin of your round hips, leaving crescent moons in their wake. “Do you sense the ebbing of the darkness?”

You only nodded.

His grip tightened, the coldness of his touch a stark contrast to the burgeoning warmth that spread throughout your being. With hasty hands he shoved the skirt of your gown to your shoulder blades. “That is the Lord’s will. With every thrust I draw out evil, and with every moan it escapes through your breaths. Yield to it, my child.”

“I am, Father. Make me clean. Make me sacred — something the Lord can cherish.”

He leaned over and licked the contours of the welts on your back, born from the numerous lashes you endured.

As you felt the warmth of his tongue against your even warmer skin, you mewled, and he pounded into you even harder, fucking you into the floor. “You shall be purified.” A shaky moan slipped past his lips, “Christ, you shall be purified.”

“Fuck, I…need you, Father Levi!”

“You do need me. For whom else could save you?” A vulgar squelching echoed throughout the chapel, a product of your bodies and your pleasure.

“Only you, Father.”

“Only I,” he affirmed.

The priest watched with a slight frown as you took his cock, sucking it in with fervour and clenching around him until all he wanted to do was come inside of you. To fill your womb with him and watch as your stomach bloated. He was miserable.

Above all, he yearned to rub your swollen clit, to grasp your erect nipples, to fuck your mouth until his seed was all that remained. Until eventually, you’d have to swallow all of him. But he had to remind himself that this was not the pursuit of pleasure. That he could not act on his mortal impulses.

But as you writhed beneath him, your moans blessed to his ears and your juices dripping onto the floor, Levi felt that the Devil, too, might have made his mind his living-quarters.

“Stop that,” he whispered harshly, eyeing the sheen of your sweat, trying to focus on something else.

“Ah-” you whimpered, your throat hoarse. “Stop what?”

“Tempting me.”

“It is not by my will, Father. I do not know how to.”

“It is by your will, vixen. Break the connection you have on my mind.”

By now, your thighs had begun to burn and your knees began to ache. You couldn't hold yourself up any longer. But as your form began to collapse, the conflicted priest seized your hips tighter and rammed into you from an entirely new angle.

You let out a surprised cry. "Yes, Father! Fill me up."

Your words were met with a grunt. You could feel his cock twitching and pulsing, ready to burst. And you too, were ready. With a shaky arm, you weaved it beneath your torso in search of your clit. The lack of stimulation was almost too much to bear.

But as your fingertips ghosted your mound, a mere stretch away, the priest caught your wrist in his grasp and pulled your arm back roughly.

“Look at you now. How can you claim to not be a demon and yet act as you do?”

“Father, you’re hurting me.”

“For the wages of sin is death. But the gift of God is eternal life. You will not rob that from me.” His eyes, twin pools of righteous fury, bore into you, unrelenting. “Your pleas for mercy are but the siren’s song of the damned.”

Releasing your arm, he seized your chin once more, his fingers clutching your face as if fearing you'd vanish before him. “Beg for forgiveness.”

When you said nothing, he pressed himself further into you, kissing your cervix. “Beg. Beg loud enough so that the angels above can thread through your words.”

“Father,” you began, your frustration getting the better of you. “Perhaps you are just weak.”

You heard a growl before a rough slap marked your arse. “I should just strangle you right here,” he hissed.

“Then do it, Father,” you challenged, you begged, and the words cascaded from your tongue without a second thought.

The priest pressed his nose to the back of your ear and drew in a sharp breath. For how long could he steel himself in his duty? “You are so…”

He dared not say more, afraid of what might come out. ‘Deliciously sinful’ died on his lips, and he exhaled softly as if to blow the remnants away.

He then rolled his hips against you, heavy balls, aching for release, slapping against your backside rhythmically as he needily whimpered in your ear.

He had lost control. You could feel it in the way he clung to you, in the way he fucked you, in the way he moaned. It may have begun with the intent of purification…but it morphed into something else. Something more vulnerable.

Such vulnerability, such honesty of the flesh…such deviance would require not only holy water, not only cleansing, not only the embrace of silence, but total extermination. He had tasted of the fruit of Eve, of Hell, and now there was no one who could absolve him.

The obscene, choppy whimpers and whines that leapt from his throat were all the noise he could manage — all the noise you could manage. The two of you, bound by your own sins, were unable to utter anything else.

As you arched your back to feel more of him, his breathing grew irregular and curt, and a low, guttural groan was all the warning you received before the warmth of his seed splashed inside of you, coating your walls and dripping onto the floor.

You clenched around him, milking him for all he was worth as his thighs quivered and his nails split your skin.

Through his haze, he leaned over and growled in your ear, voice tight, cock pulsing as he emptied everything into you. “And he that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh: the Lord shall have them in derision,"

He was referring to the damned, to you, before he added with a grunt, “and doeth his pleasure on them.”

Father Levi buried himself within you one last time, watching through half-lidded eyes as his seed spilled from your well-fucked cunt. His abdomen seized and his thoughts floated elsewhere, bliss flooding his senses, carrying him off somewhere far beyond, to a place he'd yet to be.

And with each tremor that coursed through his being, each throb of his cock, the priest spilt more and more of himself into you. It was...quite a lot, some of it dribbling down your leg with the consistency of his cum, painting your skin.

From where your faces were beside one another, you could not hold his gaze. Instead, you opted to breathe through your parted lips, focusing on the way the tip of his cock quivered inside of you, a ghost of a smile dancing along the corner of your mouth at the prospect of having sated him.

And once all was said and done, Father Levi pulled out of you slowly, the curve of his tip dragging along your walls, parting from your folds with an almost sullen-like reluctance. His semen followed shortly after, oozing down his shaft and glistening against his bare skin, and he watched as it left you, thick and heavy. Levi was breathing raggedly, and his weight against you was bearable, until suddenly it was nothing.

He withdrew his hands from your hips, and as his touch relinquished its hold, your body crumbled to the unforgiving ground, spent and bereft of support. A pallor of exhaustion clung to your form as you lay there, chest heaving in tandem with the rugged breaths from behind you.

You looked over your shoulder to see him kneeling above you, tucking himself into his pants. You then faced forward. “Is it done, Father?”

“It is done.”

The sudden heat of his palm burned your shoulder blade, and it was with a great sense of repulsion, a great sense of loathing that the priest gently ran his thumb along one of the welts, sending a light sensation down to your core, leaving you wondering, “Father?”

There was a lull in which only the crackling of the candles and a faint wind filtered through your ears. But then Father Levi stood to his full height, taking a step back, his cassock whispering as it fell back into place.

Without uttering a single word to you, he rounded the pews, reaching up to extinguish the last of the candles as he walked. All at once, he engulfed the room in darkness, leaving only the pale moonlight to illuminate your heaving form.

“Cleanse yourself and then depart,” came harshly from the priest, who began to head towards the entrance of the chapel, his feet dragging against the floorboards, the grooves from centuries worth of stepping echoing softly.

“But it is dark, Father,” you explained meekly.

He halted.

“Surely, you cannot mean for me to walk home in this darkness?”

“I cannot control the hands of fate. Not the hour and certainly not the dark.” He chided.

“You...you would abandon me, Father?”

His form was illuminated by the pale light outside, a mere silhouette now, an entity that was neither completely one of flesh and blood nor one of in-humanity. Something more ambiguous.

It was nearly impossible to distinguish between dark and light. Was it skin that hung from his bones, stretched from muscle? Or was it the clothes he wore that skewed everything, that marked the sins upon his figure, the stains of the day?

You shivered, curling in on yourself.

Perhaps it was both. Perhaps he was both.

Your fingers dragged across the marble floor; numb, paling, fingers curling into claws. But it was as though you did not possess such extremities. Your arm ached at the exertion, heavy and burdensome as you attempted to rise to your feet.

Meanwhile, the priest stood unmoving in the doorway. Merely leaning against its door frame as his palm lazed at the side, head bowed.

Perhaps he was trying to gather his thoughts, recollecting the entire hour that had long since been. His mind must have been racing, perhaps. Or perhaps it was sluggish and slow.

His breath was heavy against the silence, and it seemed that his lungs had decided to operate at maximum capacity despite his efforts to even them out, exhaling deeply.

“So it is done,” Levi reiterated, head turned so that you may not see the paleness in his face.

A gleam of perspiration still lingered and did not seem eager to leave any time soon. He wiped at the slight sheen and looked down at his clean palm, brows creasing.

“Dried already.” His murmur was for the wind only, but you caught every bit of it, heard every breath; from the sharp inhales to the soft curses, and it brought you a sense of fear.

The air held a thickness, you were aware, from the incense and the embers and the musk of bodies, but mostly from him—the perspiration. It pooled in the crevices of his skin, the nooks and folds and every pore that delved too deep.

You rose unsteadily, grunting as a searing pain rippled through your abdomen and back. You winced and cupped the flesh, feeling the soreness.

But such thoughts of pain were fleeting when he decided he'd had enough of the air and your fidgeting, turning around to address you once more.

“If you fear the night then stay in the confession booth and reflect upon your deeds. For surely your demon will protect you.”

And then a gust of wind rushed in, the sheer force knocking what little was left of your dress downwards.

Your breasts peaked out from the fabric and your nipples perked due to the cold. And yet, despite the humiliation, and despite the filth, it felt good when Father Levi's eye flitted over you, longingly and with loathing.

From where he stood, far from where you were, the only thing in sight were the peaks of breasts, drenched in a film of perspiration and semen. He gripped the handle as his eyes landed on a bead of seed glistening on the skin above your bruised breast, and he exhaled shakily as he watched it run slowly downward.

It delved in the curve of the skin, and he felt something inside him prick with desire, a hunger pang, and his grip on the door threatened to bend the metal.

It was as if your skin was reaching out to him, beckoning him once again.

“Tsk,” his lip curled, and he spat the bitter taste in his mouth onto the floor. His face contorted in pure disgust.

He looked you straight in the eye. “The decision rests solely with you.”

“But Father…”

“But what? Is this not enough for you? The door is open, my child. Go, lest Satan returns to his infernal torment of my soul.

“Torment?”

“For I am weak and powerless in his presence. As I was in yours.”

With a frown, he pushed through the door, shutting it with a resounding thud, severing the icy gusts of wind and leaving you alone in the chapel.

He would not succumb to temptation again.