Penguin Waddle Waddle

penguin waddle waddle

💅🏼 okay so my man king Chris

I want him to take a whole week off and spend it w his queen and her pups. just happy and calm and in love w his family. I wonder how the pups would react to the queen being pregnant again :o but im sure girlie needs a break sometimes from being bred so often !!

Also milk drunk king chris aahhh

- 🐧

awwww, a cute penguin waddling into my askbox💜

our King definitely deserves his week off to give his family the attention they deserve😤

i'm sure the pups would be shocked at first, but will be excited at the prospect of having more siblings to play and go on runs with💜

our Queen definitely needs a break, tho. imagine popping out two sets of werewolves at a time????? that must take a toll on the human body😭

as for milk drunk king chris...

i feel like he would get so completely lost in his wife when feeding... his brain would disconnect completely. no thoughts, head empty, only his precious forever mate and her swollen tits )):

he'd probably take his sweet, sweet time just nibbling and sucking and getting his fill. she'll probably card her fingers through his hair and keep him close and mumble loving words... and when there's no more milk, he'd be the one mumbling all those loving words to his wife ))):

go cat go

pairing: bang chan x afab!reader

warnings: 🔞!!!!, 60s!au, chan is called chris, chris’ obsession with reader having a bush (pubic hair), car sex, exhibitionism, slight voyeurism, cunnilingus, daddy kink, a whole bunch of 60s lingo (i tried my best lmao), fingering, handjobs, lil bitty blowjob, featured changbin & hyunjin too! <3

a/n: inspired by the denim pics from chan’s nylon shoot and this post of mine! this is also a little thank u gift for helping me reach my next milestone!! i actually don’t think this is all that great, but still i had fun writing it! anyways, i love u guys so much 🩷

you’ve been wanting chris to bring you to the drive-in for weeks. work has been busy for the both of you, and you just want to spend time with your best guy and get out for a while.

yet here you sit, not paying a lick of attention to the flick playing on the big screen before you. 

he’d waited until the sound of music came out to take you because you had been looking forward to it for a while. he’s thoughtful like that, always listening to what you have to say and tucking your wishes into the back of his mind. 

it’s a heartwarming story. at least you’re sure it is, but you can’t concentrate on a single thing with chris’ veiny hand resting on your thigh the way it is. 

chris isn’t even doing anything crafty. his fingers drum against your bare skin occasionally when he likes a song, and he likes them all, nodding his head and tapping his foot to the rhythm. his other arm reclines on the rolled down window, drumming on the door every now and then. 

he’s a real hunk today; chris always dolls himself up for you before your dates. his black hair is slicked back in a messy quiff, with a few tendrils of curls left out to kiss his forehead. he’s wearing his new denim jacket too. you’d bought him that with your last paycheck from the diner and squealed when you saw him parked at the curb in front of your house earlier. his muscular body leaned up against the side of his red 1965 ford mustang while he waited for you to say goodbye to your parents. chris had opened the passenger door for you and planted a kiss square on your lips before buckling your seatbelt for you and rounding the car. 

you want him to kiss you again. you want his hand to slide up and touch you over your panties while the other couples in the cars around you eat their popcorn and watch the tuff new flick. 

some of them are already making out, you saw changbin and hyunjin kissing their girls not long after the movie began. in the same car, no less. 

one thing about your longtime boyfriend though, he’s paying more attention than you might think. 

“sweetheart? you’re awful quiet tonight,” chris hums. he squeezes your thigh, and you have to physically restrain yourself from sliding down in your seat so his hand can’t help but touch you where you need it most. 

chris is one step ahead of you though, and he always knows what you want, whether you tell him or not. 

his strong hand dips under your pink skirt. you don’t hesitate to spread your legs, and chris’ knobby fingers brush against the front of your panties. 

when you look at chris, his eyes are dark, but his ears are flushed a rosy pink. he looks back at you, almond eyes locking on yours before glancing down to your bunched up skirt. you know what he’s thinking because he perks up in his seat. 

“really?” chris whispers. he’s excited, and you have to bite your lip to contain the goofy smile from spreading on your face. “sugar, really?!” 

you nod your head and spread your legs wider, hiking the skirt further up your thighs to let him see your panties. he likes these, the white ones with a bow on the hem, but he likes what’s underneath better. especially now. his fingers rub at the mound of your cunt to feel the hair through your panties. the hair you let grow out because he asked you to, hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and cheeks pink. 

“can- can i see?” he asks. 

he waits until you hum your approval to push your panties to the side so he can see for himself. chris tongues his cheek, dimples popping when he sees your cunt glistening in the lights reflecting from the big screen. you’re already so wet it’s matting your pubic hair. 

“for me?” he asks. he’s fine when he gets like this, smug and confident like he knows you’re always ready for him. you can’t help but give him a hard time, so you roll your eyes. 

“who else, dip stick?” 

“hey!” chris pinches your thigh and sticks his tongue out at you when you giggle. 

you might have joked around for longer, but chris surprises you by bending over the center and shoving his face right in between your spread legs. he takes a long whiff, much to your embarrassment, nuzzling his cheek against your bush before gripping your thigh tight and tonguing at your achy clit. 

“christ, you smell so good like this, cherry.” 

chris is choice at this, his lips are plump and soft, and he's been with you long enough that he knows just how to focus on all your pleasure spots in order to get you panting in no time. it gets his woody up in no time too. 

“gonna- gonna have to roll the windows up, chris, please, i-!” you wheeze. you can’t help but be loud for him when he makes you feel so good. you’ve already lost all hope in paying attention to the flick, but you don’t want to disturb anybody else while they’re watching. 

“you don’t want everybody else to know how easy you are for me?” he teases, but his words have truth to them. they’re muffled against your cunt, and you can’t help but grind up against his face in agreement. 

“‘s just for you to know, chris. i’m just easy for you.” 

he likes that. he likes knowing you’ll slut yourself out to him and let him play with you whenever and however he wants. he likes knowing he can get your pussy leaking on the leather seats of his good looking car. 

it takes an act of congress to get him to sit up so he can crank the lever on the driver’s side door and roll his window up, and the second you do the same to your window he’s lapping at your cunt again. 

he sucks on your clit like it’s candy. you’re glad you rolled the windows up because your moans and cries were so loud already, no one else needs to hear the sloppy wet sounds of chris eating your pussy. your hand sneaks down to rest on his jaw, and your eyes roll whenever you feel it flexing as he eats away. 

“daddy, fuck!” you wail, and chris grunts. 

he readjusts your panties so he has more room to lick and pinches at your bush to pull up the skin on your pubic mound. his big, perfect nose is smushed against the crook of your thigh. 

you couldn’t school your facial expressions if you tried, jaw slackened with pleasure and eyes drooping. you almost kick the gear shift when chris’ tongue breaches your hole. your head thunks back against the headrest. 

embarrassingly enough, that’s when you make eye contact with changbin in the car beside you. the curly-headed man gives you a wink and a sly grin, his own eyes drooping; that’s when you notice the head bobbing in his lap. changbin’s got the girl’s red hair held in a makeshift ponytail in his hands. he waves it at you, and you turn away to whimper. 

“such a fox, baby,” chris growls, pulling away from your cunt just to spit down on it. he dives in again and his tongue flicks deftly at your swollen clit. 

you see stars when he pinches the lips of your cunt together and sucks them into his mouth too, and you’re humping his face so fiercely you’re sure his car is rocking. it’s not like anyone wouldn’t know what was happening anyways with your face looking the way it does and chris nowhere to be seen. 

much to your surprise, he pulls back before you can cum, and you tug on his hair in annoyance. 

“you buggin’, sugarpie?” he giggles. 

“yes, candyass! i was close!” 

chris laughs again and cocks his head, cracking his neck before pulling you across the center of the front seat. it’s a tight squeeze, but you’ll never say no to being pressed against your hunky cat’s strong chest. you’re pressed so close together that it’s a struggle to unzip his jeans and pull his cock out. 

“happy to see me?” you mumble against his cheek. chris’ cock is velvety soft but solid in your hand. you don’t even need to spit on the head because it’s leaking like a faucet already. 

“always happy to see you, sugar,” chris mumbles. you know he’s telling you the truth despite how distracted his voice sounds; he’s too busy watching the way your fist fucks his cock to pay attention to his tone. 

“a-ah, daddy, chris- christopher, aren’t you gonna touch me too?” 

chris drapes an arm over your shoulders to hold you and his other slides down to where your panties are still haphazardly pulled to the side. your pubic hair is soaked, matted and sticking together with your need. he hisses through his teeth when he feels it, and two of his fingers bracket your clit in a tight vee. he rubs you like that for a moment until he decides he wants to feel you inside, and those same two fingers travel down to curl themselves inside where you’re gummy and hot. 

“heh- you’re, oh wow. you’re soaked,” he muses. 

your arm bumps against his on every upstroke of your fist, but neither of you seem to care. 

“f-fuckin’ A. ‘cause’a you, daddy.” 

you don’t know who sounds messier at this point, you or chris. your pussy squelches loudly every time he fucks his thick, knobby fingers inside. your hand sounds slick when it polishes the tip of chris’ big cock. 

he won’t fuck you here and you know it, cumming like this is as good as you’re going to get in the drive-in. chris will take you home when the flick ends, walk you to your door, and kiss you on the cheek while your momma watches from the hallway. then he’ll sneak through your bedroom window after he parks his car around the block so your parents won’t know. that’s how he’ll fuck you, nice and deep and slow in your bed, and you’re already needy enough that you know you’ll have a hard time staying quiet. 

he’ll have to gag you with his fingers if you want to keep quiet at all. cover your mouth with his hand while he whispers in your ear about what a golden little slut you are. maybe he’ll quiet you down by shoving his cock in your mouth. 

“i want it inside,” you keen, and chris turns his head to speak against your temple. 

“wanna be inside too, wanna feel how- how warm you are. gonna squeeze me so tight, won’t ya?” you clench on his fingers to show him you will, and chris pulls you into a messy kiss. 

he still tastes like you, and you whimper when he licks along the ridges of your teeth. chan kisses like he does everything else, wholeheartedly and intense. his lips are plush and his tongue is slick and warm. 

the windows are starting to fog up, but you don’t have it in you to be embarrassed. chris is fucking into your fist just like you’re fucking against his fingers in your shared need to cum. he’s just as loud as you are, neck veins bulging and face heating up as he pulls away from your lips to moans openly for you. 

now that your mouth is free, you’re begging. 

“‘m so close, chris- daddy, i’m close! you can’t- can’t stop, please don’t stop. please, you can’t!” 

he’d never dream of it, but he loves to hear you beg regardless. chris’ fingers thrust steadily into your cunt, and the drag of his palm against your clit is enough to have you cumming. his arm tightens around your shoulders while you shiver apart. 

you don’t even notice that your hand has stopped moving on him, but that’s hardly a problem for your fella. his hips thrust into the grip of your fist, and before you can think twice, you’re returning the favor and leaning over to suck the tip of his cock into your mouth. 

chris gives you a choked off groan when he cums in your mouth, one hand squeezing at your shoulder as the other holds your hair back.

when you lean back up, he wipes the corner of your lips with his thumb and slips it into his mouth. 

you’re about to share another kiss when a piece of popcorn hits the passenger side window of chris’ car. 

“dinner and a show, huh?!” hyunjin whistles, and you roll the window down to see him better. his head is hanging out the window of changbin’s chevy camero, smushing the older male against the steering wheel. his hair’s askew, so you reckon he had the same dinner chris did. you wave at the two girls in their car. 

chris tucks your head against his chest and gives both of his friends the bird when changbin starts fake-moaning like a floozy, and all you can do is laugh. 

chan x fem bodied reader | warnings: 18+ content (mdni!!), breeding kink, mentions of cum play & eating, unprotected sex, | words: 0.3k ~ (379) 🐺ㆍ₊⊹

thinking about how chan would literally risk it all just to breed you. unprotected sex isn't practised, the feeling of fucking you raw is such a good feeling to chan. he loves the way he can feel your velvety yet gummy walls hugging his shaft. he loves how he feels your warmth and your wetness. he loves fucking you from behind (either in doggy or with your face buried in the pillows) because he can see his length glistening with your wetness before disappearing inside you. chan especially loves it when he feels your walls flutter around his length and how after one orgasm, you've gone dumb on his cock. you're forever babbling, incoherent sentences. all chan can make out is “more”, “please” and “chan.” he loves watching you grip onto the sheets like it's a lifeline but most of all, he adores it when you beg for him to cum inside you. it's not safe, both of you know that however, it's a risk you're both willing to take. it's a stupid risk that's heightened due to the heavy amount of hormones and lust that's pumping through each other's veins. but chan loves it when he cums inside you, painting your walls white and flooding your cunt. he loves it when you milk him dry. he loves it when he pulls out and watches his cum drip out of your hole only to be pushed back in with his finger or his cock. you love the sudden warmth of his cum flooding inside your cunt. you love how doe eyed chan gets when he watches it trickle out off you. a little bit of cum play never goes a miss either. pushing it back inside, smearing it around your puffy folds and even daring to eat it. it just makes chan even more feral, pinning you down on the bed and fucking you raw once again. the warmth from your cunt as well as his own fluids hugging his fat cock, making him see stars and feel so fucked out. you'd milk him dry until there is literally nothing left in chan, the oversensitivity of his tip would cause him to sob and plead “no more” but his body (hips especially) would have a mind of their own.

channie with dumbification is so cuteness, it also ties a bit into corruption!! and i’m sorry again i haven’t been posting as much 🫶

warnings!!: edging, ruined orgasms, dumbification, grinding, and a bit of degrading

after a long day when you finally get home, you walk upstairs to get into comfier clothes and shower. after said shower you go to you and chans shared room, brushing through your hair as you approach the bed, chan was sat there on his phone, he glanced at you ‘hey hun’ he hums, glancing at you. you cuddled up to him and he put his phone off to the side, pulling you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around you.

he assumed this would be a innocent cuddle session, but that thought was immediately tore up when he felt you gently kissing at his neck. he chuckles a bit ‘what’re you doing baby?’, his grin intensifies when he hears your little whine, he grabs your hips, gently helping you grind on his thigh. 

he would coo at you gently ‘mmm.. dumb baby.. grinding on my thigh? so cute..’ he grinned, feeling how your grip on his shirt got tight at those words, and that’s when he discovered your little.. kink. he chuckled a bit ‘aw.. you like when i talk to you like that? you like being my dumb bunny?’ he smiles, gripping your hips and forcing you to grind on his thigh faster, flexing his thigh and pushing it up into your core. 

he felt how your mewled and whines and gripped onto him harder ‘mm—.. channie..’

you whine, trying to move faster on his thigh, signaling you were close. he grabs your hips, holding them still and pulling you off of his thigh. ‘mmh.. nuh-uh baby.’ he warned, taking out his thick cock, and yanking away your shorts and now wet panties. he grinds his tip against your pussy a bit, coating it in your slick and listening to your whines and mewls of ‘put it in already!..’. 

he smacks your thigh ‘hey. watch your fucking manners bunny, don’t make me fuck them into you.’ he warns, when you stick your tongue out at him, he immediately bottoms out in you, shoving his whole length into you. your wail only fuels him even more. ‘yeah, i said watch your manners. you made me do this’ he growls, starting to fuck you, rough. your sobs make him grin.

‘c-cha— s-sir! sir please.. i-i’m sorry!’ you sobs, gripping roughly at the sheets. ‘mhm, sure you are. you wanna cum bunny? want sir to make you cum?’ he snarks. ‘yes— yes please sir!.. make me.. make me cum..’ you beg, and you get hopeful when he speeds up, going faster. but those hopes are ruined when you just fall over the edge and he pulls out, ruining your orgasm, and stroking himself to cum on your stomach. he had the biggest shit eating grin ever.

‘i said you needed to learn your manners bunny, you can wait.’

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡

ﾟ。 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 𓂃 ⊹ .˚

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: roommate!frenemy!chan x afab!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: with a roommate like Chan, everything in life is a challenge — especially studying for your finals. he’s an annoyance, a cacophony, a statue of arrogance who likes to lounge at home, nonchalantly undressed — half dressed, in the best case scenario. but he’s not impossible to reconcile with — for this once, out of pity, he agrees to a truce with you, though he has but one wish in return: a kiss, on the lips.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: raw smut, enemies to lovers subtones, a lot of bickering, the plot is they’re down bad for each other

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k, I’m sorry idk how to shut up

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: reposting this because tumblr decided to remove it from existence without my notice lmao, I hope it won't keep you from enjoying reading this nasty piece of mine tho :3 your reblogs and comments would be super meaningful because writing this took me some while, I'll be looking forward for your thoughts on this, love you🩷

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚ ༯

You’re clutching your book’s pages for dear life while shooting daggers at Chan — your unevolved roommate, who seems to believe parading around half-naked in your shared flat is totally acceptable.

As he guzzles down an entire bottle of water shirtless, you can’t help but to wish he’d choke, silently plotting his demise as you stare his way without blinking. 

Because you’ve warned him countless times—more than you can tally—to avoid any distractions during your crucial finals week, and at this rate, you’re starting to wonder if his brain shares the same evolutionary timeline as his caveman-esque habits.

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” you finally snap, eyeing him as he crushes the said water bottle and casually flings it away, almost like he’s gunning to annoy you.

“Doing what?” he plays innocent, wiping the sweat from his forehead — just back from the gym and apparently, on a self-display spree.

“I mentioned my finals starting this week, remember? Can't have any distractions.”

“Sure, but how’s my water drinking a distraction?”

“You’re being too loud, that’s how,” you scoff, pointing at the crushed bottle in the trashcan, “so keep it down, and go put some clothes on for fuck’s sake.” 

Oh, so that’s what it was about, he thinks to himself, you’re not just frustrated because of the upcoming exams — you’re also . . . sexually frustrated. 

Poor thing, he ponders, you must be so desperate, maybe he should help you out. 

“Sorry Y/n, I’m afraid I can’t,” so he responds, placing his hands on both sides of his waist confidently — time to show them abs off, “you’re asking for too much, pick one.” 

“What?”

“Pick one,” he repeats, closing in on your seat, clearly aiming to up the ante of your flustered state — what can he say, he just loves how the color red looks on you.

“Because either I’m gonna keep my volume down, or throw on a shirt, not both,” he adds with a smug grin on his face, “it’s your call, make it wisely." 

Make it wisely?

What?

Is he implying something?

Wait, does he think it's about him strutting around shirtless by any chance? 

Is he that naive — enough to believe that his abs have any impact on you?

Hilarious, for real, you almost feel sorry for him.

“You can’t ask me to pick one, it's not fair.”

“And why is that?”

“Because this is my house as much as it’s yours, and I have every right to demand a distraction-free zone for studying, that’s why.” 

Fair point, but he’s got an ace up his sleeve.

“True, but it doesn’t mean you get to dictate my wardrobe.”

Oh my god, does he really wanna go there? 

“Your wardrobe?” you huff, eyeing him up and down with disdain, making a mental note to contemplate his remarkably defined abs later, “It’s common sense to not walk around naked in front of other people, I’m not dictating shit!” 

“I’m not naked, I’m wearing shorts,” he objects, emphasizing on the last word as he points down to his legs — ugh, why are his thighs so ripped, “but fine, I’ll put on a shirt if it bothers you so much.”

Oh?

Did Chan just . . . admit defeat?

Wow, maybe you were wrong all along — maybe he wasn’t so unevolved.  

“It does,” you reply, surprised in a way that’s impossible to miss, “thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” he smirks, a mischievous glint in his eye — this can't be good, “but here’s the catch,” he adds, straightening up, hinting at something intriguing, “You’ll give me a kiss in return, just one.”

Pardon?

Did you hear that correctly?

Or is this some kind of an auditory illusion?

“I’m sorry, what?” you ask incredulously, rising to meet him face to face, “Could you say that again? I think I misunderstood.”

“I’m serious, Y/n,” he replies, stepping closer, narrowing the space between you, “You want your distraction-free zone? Here’s your shot.”

Is he actually serious?

What’s his issue?

Why on earth would he want a kiss? Aren’t you two at odds most of the time?

Is this one of his bizarre kinks or something? 

Seriously, what’s his endgame here?

“You must be out of your mind if you think I’d even consider doing that.” you snarl with a visible disgust on your face, squinting your eyes — almost as if you were daring him to make you. 

And it works, he accepts your challenge, doubles it, then returns it back to you. 

“Fine by me,” he shrugs off, completely unbothered, “I don’t want a shirt weighing on me anyways, It’s already hot in here.”

“We’re literally in January, Chan, it’s freezing outside.” 

Keyword: Outside. 

Does he look homeless to you?

“Good thing that I plan to stay in today then,” he quips, an annoying grin playing on his face, “and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that—”

“Okay, I get it!” you interject, cutting through his list, your patience wearing thin, “I’ll do it,” you mutter, voice barely audible from your embarrassment, “I’ll kiss you, just let me study in peace, please.” 

Please, huh? 

That’s new, he likes it — he likes it a lot.  

“Deal, I’ll be no different than a ghost.” he claims, sounding not even close to reassuring. 

But well, the damage is done, and although you hate to submit, you’ve got no choice but to be obedient to his words — for your exams, no other reason. 

You take a deep breath and slowly raise on your toes, here I go, you think to yourself as you gulp down your pride, and lean in to give him a peck . . . on the cheeks.  

And he can’t even begin to tell you just how disappointing that feels. 

“What was that?” he asks, scowling,

“A kiss,” you retort, confused, “like you asked?” 

Like he asked?

Are you joking?

If you really think that’s what he meant when he said he wanted a kiss, then he doesn’t know whether to pity you or to be pissed at you, or both, in that matter. 

“Do I look nine years old to you, Y/n?” he grumbles irritably,

“Intellectually? ... yeah.” you shoot back, struggling to stifle a laugh, your lip caught between your teeth.

Funny, hah, you think he’s joking around with you? 

Do you really think he’s gonna let you get away so easily, is that why you're all sassy, throwing clever jibes about his smarts?

Maybe I wasn’t clear enough with her, he assumes, as he strides towards you with sure steps, and doesn’t stop until he’s got you pinned between himself and the counter. 

He's just curious to see how your snark holds up when you're cornered and have no place to escape, to test if your confidence is just a front or not. 

But oh boy, won’t you look at that — you're quieter than a library mouse now. 

Eyes down, not a peep — such a surprising turn of events.

“Cat got your tongue?” he jabs, his warm breath tickling your flushed cheeks, “you were in the middle of roasting my intelligence, don’t stop now, go on.” 

“I don’t want to,” you retaliate, still avoiding his gaze, “I already gave you what you wanted, your stupid kiss, now let me go.” 

His stupid kiss? 

You call that a kiss? 

Gosh, you’re hilarious. 

“Cut the crap Y/n,” he grumbles, leaning on the counter, looming over you “you know damn well what I meant by a kiss, so stop fucking around—”

Okay, you will, you’ve had enough of sparring with him anyway.

Thus, before he can finish, you lean forward, seizing his lips in a rough kiss — grabbing his cheeks, drawing him nearer, making sure your noses don't collide as you tilt his head.

But surprise, surprise: Chan responds to your kiss right away, like he's been waiting forever. In a flash, his arms circle around you, hoisting you onto the counter and slotting himself between your legs.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it — but he can’t stop himself, he just really wants to kiss you, he wants to kiss you so bad. 

It's like a switch flipped inside him the moment your lips met — his brain goes on vacation, all he hears is white noise.

And maybe that’s how it should’ve been all along — calm and quiet, no bickering, peaceful. 

He feels breathless as you deepen the kiss, your hands coming to wrap around his neck, nails scratching his nape, making him moan against your mouth — giving you the perfect chance to sneak your tongue in.

It’s quite surprising to you, how eagerly he welcomes you in — no resistance, he just surrenders, and lets you have your way with him. 

And every time your tongue collides on his, it poisons him a little more — making him drunk in your touch, yearning for so much more in desperation, consuming all his patience and leaving nothing behind for him to hold on.

His hands roam around your body hungrily — sliding down from your hair to your neck, wrapping around your throat briefly, gaining a sweet whimper from your lips before moving onto their next stop — your chest.

As he cups your boobs over your shirt, you tilt your head back, giving him space to suck on your skin to mark you as his for good.

And of course, he doesn’t bail on such a rare opportunity — he leans in, and ignites each spot he marks with fiery passion, leaving behind purple bruises of lust.

But that’s not where his exploration ends, he’s got so much of you to discover — so much of you to make his own. Though before he continues with his quest to conquer you, he stops, wanting to ask you a question which he already holds the answer to,

“Gosh Y/n, you drive me fucking insane, you know that?”

You smirk, sure you do, he’s literally bulging in between your legs. 

So “Mhm,” you hum, stealing a peck from his lips — yes, you can’t get enough of him, “I do, because you’re terrible at hiding it.” you say, reaching for the said bulge of his pants. 

Once your fingertips brushes past his hardened shaft over his clothes, he groans, taking it as his sign to get rid of his clothes completely. 

What a good boy, am I right?

He gets you right away, so smart and so muscular — literally your dream guy, minus his unbearable personality, but that’s a topic for sometime else. 

“Oh, that?” he chuckles as he pushes his shorts all the way down to his knees — along with his underwear, god you love him, “I wasn’t trying to hide it, babe.” 

Babe?

Butterflies, stupid butterflies in your stomach. 

“G-good,” you stutter, noticeably flustered as you lean on your back, eyes locked on his veiny hands as he slowly strokes his length, “b-because I want it, deep inside me.”  

Such a bold statement coming from a girl who trips over words, he thinks to himself, in the whirlwind of watching you struggle to kick your pajamas away — you just have to act cute all the time, don’t you? 

Because you know that’s his type. 

“Yeah? Would this be deep enough for you then?” he asks, laying his cock on your stomach, shamelessly teasing you, “I’ll be just above your belly button, are you sure you can take it?”

Oh.

You see.

 He wants war. 

So be it then, you ponder, tugging your panties aside, “less talk, more work, big boy,” you respond, guiding his tip to your entrance, “don’t waste my time talking nonsense, I’ve got exams to study for, remember?” 

Yes, he does. 

You and your stupid exams that you never shut up about — he gets it, he’s never gonna be anywhere near as important. 

You’re not exactly giving him any chances to forget that, nerd. 

Which is infuriating, but it’s fine, he’s way too horny and too damn into you to care. 

That’s why ignoring your words, he slips his cock through your folds, slowly burying himself within your warmth. 

A sigh of relief leaves both of your lips as he fills you in beyond your dreams, stretching your walls just right, gaining a hearty whine from you.

To be completely honest, you’re a little tighter than he expected —yes, he fantasized about you, so many times— and definitely a lot wetter, wrapping around him just perfectly.

He can feel you pulsating, throbbing as you try to adjust to his size, which is adorable and it drives him crazy, although he’s giving his best to contain himself. 

Ugh, just why are you so fucking cute? 

You know that turns him on. 

How is he supposed to keep himself from railing you now, when he’s already all the way inside you? 

He lifts your hips, and presses on your tummy — yep, he’s definitely in your womb, bulging you out so good. 

“You feel this babe?” he then asks, reaching to hold your hand, “I’m so deep inside you, so. fucking. deep.” he says proudly, pressing your palm right over your belly button, where the tip of his dick rests. 

“I do,” you moan in return, eyes rolling to the back of your head — gosh, you look so pretty doing that, “and I wanna feel you more,” you add, almost begging, “please, just fuck me already.” 

. . . 

Please . . . 

Just fuck me already . . . 

It echoes in his head. 

He can’t believe it’s finally happening, he can’t believe you’re asking him to—

“Chan! Please. Move. Do something. I need you!”

—fuck you, god, can you let him have his moment? 

It’s not like he gets to hear you beg for his cock every day, geez, he was just touched, okay? 

He’s totally gonna take care of you, just give him a second to process … uhm, everything, yeah? 

Wanting to engrave this moment in his brain, he looks down at where your hips meet, and that’s when he notices your cute panties with hello kitty patterns on it — adorable, he thinks, unable to stop a goofy smile from spreading his whole face, are you trying to make him fall in love with you by any chance?

Because if so, you’re about to succeed. 

Curious about whether or not you’re wearing a matching bra, he tugs on your shirt and lifts it up to your chin — and voila, you indeed are, plus the fabric is so thin that it’s almost see through, which is not what he anticipated, though it turns him on. 

Alright, enough processing, he’s ready to roll.

Seizing your hips, Chan leads you to the edge of the counter. His hands seamlessly sweep under your legs, elevating them to rest upon his shoulders.

Then, he reaches for your thighs — his favorite part of your body. 

Marveling at their softness and beauty, he can’t keep himself from lightly tapping them, which causes you to wince. Chuckling, “Sorry princess,” he mutters, caressing where he just hit, “didn't mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” you reply, placing your hands on his, “I like it, so I don’t mind.” 

God. 

Please just marry him at this point. 

“You do?” he inquires, now giving a playful smack to your inner thighs, presuming you might be more sensitive there — and he’s right, you are. 

“Yeah,” you hiss, biting your lips, “I do, so much.” 

Well, there goes his sanity then, I guess. 

“You make it impossible for me to stay soft with you,” he states, pulling himself all the way out before slamming back in, “you realize that, right angel?” 

Angel . . . angel, huh?

He does this on purpose at this point, you think to yourself, stupid Chan. 

And stupid nicknames, gosh.

With the power of his thrust, you bounce on the cold marble, back arching in pleasure as you hold onto the sides for support.

Ugh, you love how it feels so much.

“I don’t want you soft,” you respond, breathlessly moaning, “be rough with me, fuck me hard.” 

Oh.

Kinky.

He digs that. 

Say no more.

“As you wish, gorgeous.” he whispers against your skin as he peppers your calves with open mouthed kisses, giving your skin an a class princess treatment before starting his ruthless pace. 

Thanks to his huge biceps, he easily hugs your legs and presses them upon his chest, lifting your hips to meet with his in the air as if your weight feels like a feather to him. 

His other hand rakes over your chest and sneakily tugs down your bra, wanting to provide his pervy eyes a visual feast with your astonishingly beautiful tits. 

As he palms them — roughly, just like you asked, a weak cry leaves your lips, you can’t believe that you’re admitting this but Chan fucks so good. 

Your legs are trembling, your pussy is throbbing, you’re gushing sweat and yet you’re on the clouds — face beaming with pure ecstasy under his gaze, glowy eyes smiling at him cutely. 

He doesn’t know how, but you manage to make both his heart and his cock weak for you — causing him to twitch within your warmth, heart palpitating, a strong thump against his chest. 

“You’re so pretty,” he confesses drunkenly in the magic of the moment, feet swept off the floor with how good you make him feel. There’s no point in denying anymore, he tells himself, he’s so head over heels for you. 

“Then kiss me,” you reply, nibbling on your lower lip.

And oh, how the tables have turned. 

From refusing to kiss him, to asking for him to kiss you — even the history is shocked, raising its eyebrow at this epic flip-flop.  

Chan chuckles at the irony of your words as he frees your legs and lets you wrap them around his waist. Leaning in, he hovers over you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours, 

“I thought you didn’t want that.” he says, sarcastic, his lips on the cusp of intertwining with yours. 

“I was lying,” you retort, smug, “you’re a moron if you still don’t realize that.” 

Gosh, you’re such a smartass, how is he attracted to you?

Honestly it doesn’t matter, because as he inches in, closing the gap between your faces, he notices one thing — no one makes him feel this way, not a soul, besides yours.

So he kisses you with passion, with desire — reaching out for your hands to hold them in his, fingers lacing on the cold surface above your head, perfection.

 And there — butterflies.

Stupid butterflies again.

This time in both of your stomachs, winging you closer to your highs. 

With every passing second, they double in numbers — introducing your bodies to a new level of euphoria, sending cold chills down your spines, it’s poetic. 

A little overwhelming too, for sure, but poetic. 

Your whole body shakes, it’s definitely too much for you to take, tears stain your cheeks — that’s it, you need your release. 

“Chan—” so you call his name, in a short breath that he steals from your lips, “I think I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he whispers, not needing to hear the rest of your sentence — he already knows, “cum for me babe, do it for me.” 

And it hits you then, you’re gonna cum for him — for Chan, yet you’re not even disgusted one bit. 

Instead you’re pleased, you’re happy — because in a weird way, you feel safe, yes you also can’t believe it, but Chan makes you feel safe. 

You’re crushed under his buff body, the rough surface he chose to lay you on causing you a sore back, you’re panting for air and literally dripping sweat down from your ass but you don’t feel uncomfortable in the slightest — you’re holding his hands, you’re kissing his lips, you’re looking at his eyes and simply, you’re alright. 

You’re no more swirling in finals-induced panic — your headache vanished, and stress took a hike.

Overflowing with gratitude, you flash him a smile, before leaning in for another one of those endearingly messy kisses as you unleash your orgasm all over your counter and uhm, his cock. 

You’re so sloppy that he can’t stop himself from cackling as he kisses you back, cute, he thinks, you’re so cute from head to toe, he wants to ruin you. 

And your hello kitty set, he wants to ruin that too. 

God, he just hopes that this isn’t the only pair you own, but if it is, he’s willing to step up and buy you more — money’s no object, even if it costs him a fortune.

Just let him fuck you in them once in a while, that’s all he’ll ever ask, then you can consider your debt paid. 

As Chan gets lost in his own Hello Kitty fantasy, he forgets about his in real life status momentarily — dick buried balls deep inside of you, itching to cum and definitely overstimulated from how long he’s been holding back. 

Luckily, he manages to pull out before accidentally breeding you — not that he thinks it’s a bad idea, in fact it’s a great one. 

Cursing out a husky “fuck”, he spills his load all over your tummy, proudly watching as he paints your glowy skin pearl white — the color he hopes to see more on you starting from today, if you know what I mean. 

And as Chan jerks the rest of his cum out on your stomach, stroking his sensitive, veiny head, you stare at him in adoration, wondering if he recently got hotter or if he was always this way, but you were just too blind to notice. 

The answer is neither — because yes, he was always hot, but you weren’t blind, you were just stubborn. 

Something which you no longer plan to be. 

Thus, reaching your hand down, you pick some of his cum and bring it to your mouth. Then, you swirl your tongue around your cum-coated fingers before sucking them off, making him hiss at the sight as he spurts the remaining part of his arousal onto your thighs.   

“This was perfect,” you comment, swallowing everything that you just licked off, “I’m surprised, in a good way, for once.”

“Can’t believe I’m saying this but I agree with you,” he responds, as he helps you off the counter, “this was amazing, and you look great in this set, you should definitely wear it more.” 

“In this set?” you check yourself in disbelief, “Didn’t know you were a hello kitty fan, Bang.” 

“I am as long as you’re wearing it on your ass, L/n,” he quips, palming your right cheek playfully, “and on your tits, god, I love your tits.” 

“Yeah?” you chortle, circling your arms around his neck, “Wanna hold them as I show you my collection?”

“Collection?”

“My hello kitty underwear collection, thought you might wanna see?”

Oh My God, he thinks to himself, please let her be serious, pleasepleasepleaseplease.

“Please tell me you’re not messing with me right now, Y/n,” he asserts, suddenly serious, “cuz’ if you are, then it’s so not funny—”

“I’m not—” you cut his words, shushing him with your index on his plump lips, “but there’s a catch.”

“A catch?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “I don’t want you strolling half naked in the house anymore, without my permission.” 

Wait, that’s the catch?

But he thought you liked him half naked, I mean, you were literally frustrated about him being shirtless like minutes ago — in fact, you just fucked for that exact reason, no?

He’s so confused. 

“But I thought you secretly liked it?” he asks, and you can’t ignore the worry in his tone, “I mean, we just had sex because of my naked abs. . . is that not good?” 

“It is, and I love your abs,” you confirm, gently caressing his firm packs, “but distraction is distraction, you make it impossible for me to focus around you.” 

Oh.

Well.

If that’s the case . . . he’s fluttered. 

“Plus, as I said, it’s common sense,” you add, “we’re not in the stone age, and you’re not a caveman—” 

Alright.

He heard you the first time.

You don’t have to try and prove your point.

And butcher his biggest personality trait while doing that. 

“Okay, I understand—” he interrupts you, wanting to save himself from more embarrassment, “and I’m in, as long as you promise that this isn’t the last time we see each other naked.” 

The last time you see each other naked?

Pffft, is that what he’s nervous about?

He’s adorable, but please, this is barely even a warm up for you.  “Oh sure,” so you say, “I promise . . this is only our beginning.”

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐳 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 🩷

Disavowed - pt. 3

[5.3k Words/20min. Read - Priest!Chris x Reader - NSFW/Smut - Church, What Are You Doing?, Disgusting Old Men, Jisung is... Nice, Something Feels Off, Harrowing Guilt, Guilty Pleasures, Self-Doubt, Priest Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Hand Jobs, Fellatio, Confessional Sex, Outdoor Sex, Uncomfortable Moments]

[a/n: ty to @therhythmafterthesummer and @magicficwriting for beta reading and previewing 💗]

[Part 1 | Part 2 | Come Say Hi!]

Maybe you were wrong. 

Maybe Jisung was annoying. 

All you’d asked for on Monday was a place to hang out on your breaks, but today Jisung brought you a cup of tea while you hung out in the library. You’d been searching for a little peace and quiet, but the reverend was far too polite to leave you alone. 

Was he being nice? Or was he “being nice?”

This was crazy. You were being crazy.

That bite mark from your first night together still wasn’t gone.

You’d been veritably losing it since Chris kicked you out early on Saturday morning, after you'd attempted to sympathize with him. He apparently saw right through you. You’d tried to feel bad, but no one made him sleep with you. 

Twice. 

He kicked you out right after that. 

“I think you should go.”

You didn’t even try to fight it. Instead, you marched right out to your car parked outside and drove the humbling 30 minutes home before attempting to ignore your fellow boarders curiously watching you come home at the crack of dawn. 

Church was so awkward on Sunday. 

And now you were hiding out in the library again. The front office felt cramped even though it was only you and Roberta, the elderly school receptionist. It was more than likely the presence of Sister Judith looming in the background at all times, lurking in her office, or the occasional intrusion of Father James. The old man had greeted you on Sunday before mass, patting your shoulder but not saying hello. You would’ve preferred it the other way around, but instead you let it go. 

Unlike this whole fiasco with Chris. 

When you weren’t busy wondering how you could make Chris do the right thing and turn himself in, you were hideously consumed with the thought of making him crumble again the way you did on Friday night. He’d been so eager, so overcome and willing to succumb that you were convinced he’d do anything you wanted. A part of you wondered why you were so rabid about this, but another part of you thought that seemed pretty obvious.

You used to never be like this.

Or, at least, you used to be pretty sure that you’d never been like this.

Jisung slid into the chair across from yours, startling you where you were tucked away in a back corner of the library. “Enjoying your break?” the reverend asked chipperly. He gestured at the mug in front of you. “You’ve hardly touched your tea.”

You helplessly shrugged. “It’s not a chamomile type of day, I guess,” you fibbed.

“I have a whole stash if you’d like to try,” he quickly offered, holding up a hand to count. “I got black, jasmine, green, Earl grey–”

“That’s alright, Reverend–”

He humbly waved you off, a gesture that looked oddly familiar until you realized you saw Chris do it the week before. “Oh, please, call me Jisung–”

“Jisung,” you interrupted him in return, “thank you. But I should get going back, shouldn’t I?”

You were lying through your teeth. Shameful. Sister Judith hardly ever left her office, so she’d never know you were missing, let alone care. The only evidence of your overly long breaks would maybe be security tapes, but it’d already been explained to you that footage was wiped every 24 hours. You got up, thanking Jisung again before trotting out of the library and finally relaxing–

Until you rounded the corner and ran into Father James. 

You didn’t know much about the old man. He was fairly friendly and kind, and he admittedly had a decent sense of humor. However, there was no one at school he seemed to spend time with, no members of the congregation that he chatted with after mass. You supposed he lived a lonely life.

Father James looked down at you, brows raised in surprise before he let out a chuckle. “You scared me, lamb. Are you out for a stroll, too?”

“Oh, no,” you panicked, feeling caught. “I was just, uhm, stopping by to say hi to the reverend on my way to, uh, pick up some attendance reports.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Maybe you’d like to escort me to the courtyard? It’s time for my break.” The father patted the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket. You looked down the hall. The courtyard was between the church and the walkway to the church, out behind the gym–

The gym.

What a good escape plan. You’d gracefully leave the father’s company, and get to see how Chris was doing. Father James cheekily offered you his arm and you hesitated before taking it. For an older man, he had a surprising definition of muscle under his shirt sleeve. This made you shiver for some reason you weren’t quite in the mood to unpack just yet.

“I’ve hardly met you, lamb,” Father James smirked. “I hear you’re staying in Mr. Kim’s boarding house with all those rowdy young men. Is his grandson treating you kindly?”

“Er, you mean Seungmin?” you asked. “He’s great. All of them are gentlemen, honestly.” You were confused. Rowdy wasn’t exactly the word you’d use to describe the boarding house and its inhabitants. The most commotion you’d witnessed was a betting pool fiasco for some dating show and discovering who was shirking their dishwashing in the kitchen. 

“And you moved here all by yourself?” he continued. “Not looking to find a beau here, are you?”

You nearly visibly gagged on this new set of questions. “Uh, heh, no,” you babbled, “I mean, yes, I moved here by myself, but–”

“I’m joking, lamb,” the old priest condescended. “That’s you and your business. But if that’s actually one of God’s gifts for you, you’d be wise to accept it.”

“What about you?” you curiously asked. “Do you ever wonder if it was originally one of God’s gifts for you?”

Father James shrugged, his bicep brushing uncomfortably against you and making you take a sidestep as you walked together. “I don’t worry myself with that anymore. I can enjoy plenty of God’s gifts from right here where I’m at.”

That shiver was back, and you’d never been more happy to see the gym before in your life. You craned your neck to see as you passed by the door and sure enough, there was Chris, supervising his class doing sit-ups. Although you’d done nothing to announce your presence, he happened to look up from his clipboard right at that moment. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his eyes widened at his notice of you.

“Excuse me, Father,” you giddily apologized, “Father Chris was one of those teachers I needed attendance reports from.”

“Would you like me to wait for you?” he asked.

“No thank you,” you insisted. “You should go take your break.”

Father James nodded benevolently, watching you leave before resuming his casual stride out to the courtyard. You strolled into the gym, trying to contain how satisfying it was to see Chris be visibly alerted by your presence.

He held your gaze, unyielding as he blew his whistle. “Five laps outside,” he announced to the class, gaining groans in response.

He was cute in his joggers and hoodie. You both waited until his last student trudged outside before he finally let out a sigh he’d been holding.

“Can I help you?” he asked, half depleted, half resigned.

“I’m just seeing how you’re doing,” you innocently answered.

“Friday night should not have happened.”

“Well it happened,” you shrugged, “so now what do you suggest I do? Because I have half a mind to report you for misconduct–”

“You do not have to do that,” Chris blustered. “What are you getting out of antagonizing me like this? Last I checked, it takes at least two to… Do that.”

“Last I checked,” you bit back, “only one of us took vows to not do that. So, again: what would you suggest I do?”

Father Chris reeled, about to snap his clipboard in half. “Go to confession and let it go, would you?!”

You folded your arms indignantly. “Good idea. Thanks for the tip.”

Chris watched helplessly while you ended the conversation before he expected and sauntered out of the gym. Judging by his bewilderment, he was prepared for you to dig your heels in again. But you weren’t interested in keeping up a petty confrontation when you knew you could very well turn in Chris of your own accord. The whole point was to make him do it himself, really turn this around and do the right thing. That was the hard part here, the nuance to this entire debacle that made it so impossible for you to “let this go,” as he put it.

You loved that for something seemingly so easy to you, he was well and truly struggling with it. Despite his vows, he wanted you and he wanted you bad enough to fuck up twice. That was too crazy to move on from.

Not without going to confession first.

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

Confession at Pinewood Falls Church was held on Wednesday nights, after choir practice and youth group. Your housemates were confused, to say the least, when you grabbed your coat after dinner to head back out.

“You’re going… to confession?” Felix ogled. Seungmin smirked in the background, amused. Felix, apparently, ended up in Pinewood Falls filling in for the local librarian.

“What could it hurt?” you nonchalantly asked. “I’m trying to be part of the community.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to confession,” Minho thought out loud, not even looking up. He was reclined on the window bench, paging through the newspaper. From what you knew, Minho was some sort of accountant by trade, but he deemed his work too boring to talk about. “I don’t even know how it works, come to think of it.”

“It’s terrible,” Jeongin moaned. The youngest of all of you, Jeongin was Seungmin’s cousin and worked a blue collar job at the local post office. “You sit in a tiny room alone with the priest and tell him everything.”

“You never had a screen?” asked Hyunjin, sounding distant while he did the crossword from Minho’s newspaper. He was a full-time artist, a job that seemed too simple to ever be easy. “There was always a screen between me and the priest when my parents made me go.”

“You guys never just went to confession?” Changbin butted in on his way from the kitchen, pulling off a pair of rubber gloves after washing dishes. As it turned out, Changbin also worked at a school, but not Pinewood Prep. He actually worked in Briar Bay, humorously enough, at the public school there as a math teacher. “I sort of liked confession, before I ever learned what therapy is.”

“Well I’m going,” you shrugged. “It’s an experiment. I’m trying new things.”

“Have fun then,” Seungmin grinned, humoring you. “Stay out of trouble.”

Fair enough. It seemed that when Chris was involved, that was a good warning to give. You drove your trusty little beater back to school, parking behind the dumpsters by the gym where no one would easily spot you. Chris’ truck was parked right by Father James’ closer to the building, the two sporting annoyingly matching vehicles with eerily similar paint jobs. It was almost like Father Chris was chemically made in a lab to make the old man love him as much as humanly possible, and that made his betrayal of his morals that much more wild to you.

The crowd inside the chapel was beginning to thin by that point. You’d made a distinct effort to come near the end of the night, if for no other reason than to reduce how many people saw you there. A fair line of students and a few choir members still remained so you lingered. Minutes passed, and you watched penitents intermittently enter and exit the two confessional booths. Being left to stew like this was agonizing. For as self-assured as you felt, it was hard not to hook on one thing. 

You’re so bad for me.

He’d said it in the heat of the moment, but the sentiment was driving you, ever since Chris kicked you out on Saturday. You were “bad” for him but he let himself have you nonetheless. The power in that felt formidable. Chris wanted you bad enough to be tested by you, and you wanted him to be. You didn’t fully know what to do with this so it sat, tugging at you.

Father James eventually exited the confessional on the left, sliding a little “closed” sign into place over the door handle. You pivoted, with the rest of the remaining parishioners, to join the line on the right, making sure to pull up the rear now that you knew the right way to go. You counted heads in front of you while you tried to hush your stubbornly persistent thoughts. Finally, you were next, and no one else was around. 

Your breath wavered for a second before you opened the confessional booth door. As much as you wanted to carry this out, there was still some intimidation. Maybe your conscience was trying to get through to you. 

Inside the dimly lit booth, it was clear that it had been, at one point, a traditional set-up where the partition wall was once a screen and the priest and penitent would be in their respective halves. In its present state, this booth was cramped, small with its two chairs facing each other. Chris was seated in the far seat, head bowed in reflection. He was fully robed, and a rosary was wrapped around his hand, currently holding a bible in his lap. 

When he lifted his gaze, you could tell he typically didn’t look all the way up so he could give some grace and privacy, but he did this time. 

And he was nervous. 

You were enjoying this too much. 

Chris swallowed a lump in his throat before motioning for you to sit. You set down your bag and coat. He crossed himself, leading you to mirror him. 

“In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

He waited, perhaps patiently, for you to continue. Thankfully, you did know this bit. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession in a pretty long time.”

You didn’t bow your head. Instead, when Chris looked up from his lap, he found you looking right at him. The young priest cleared his throat a second time and nodded for you to proceed. “Whenever you’re ready,” he assured you. Or maybe himself. 

You were so oddly at peace. Maybe it was his dread energizing you. 

“I unknowingly slept with a priest,” you stated, clear and concise. 

Chris nodded with a frown. “I see.”

“And then I did it again,” you clarified.

“Why’s that?”

You crossed your legs, catching Chris’ eye as if you weren’t just wearing the same skirt and blouse you’d worn to work that day. The move pushed your modest high heel under his robe. 

“You’re not supposed to ask questions,” you chided. 

“I just want to know why you did it,” he defended, dropping any professionalism left by now. 

“I’m more concerned with why he did it,” you challenged. 

“Why do you think so?” asked Chris. 

What a terrible question. 

The priest watched helplessly as you slid your patent leather pump higher under his robe until you were at his knee. 

“Maybe he’s lonely,” you thought out loud, teasing your foot higher up his thigh. 

Chris’ grip on his bible grew tighter.

“Maybe he’s desperate,” you continued. The sole of your shoe now pressed gently against the unmistakable bulge in his slacks.

Father Chris winced when he twitched in response to your touch.

“Maybe,” you emphasized, “he has some regrets that he’s working through.”

“That is more than enough–” he tried to argue, except he was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

Chris’ eyes widened, if not for the intrusion then for you capitalizing on it, slipping onto your knees in front of him in the dim confessional.

“Christopher? You’re not still seeing anyone, are you?”

Father James.

You met Chris’ eye, and he silently begged you to slow down with a firm shake of his head. However, you continued toward your objective, lifting the priest’s robe enough to access his belt and zipper. He was egregiously warm in your hand.

“No, sir,” he finally coughed out, “everyone’s gone for the night. I was just doing some, er, reflecting on my own.”

“Ah,” came Father James through the door. “Will you be much longer?”

Chris stared down at you, silently cursing and nearly ripping his bible in half when your tongue delicately extended to tease his length. “Nh-no,” he half-moaned, half-answered. “I’ll finish what I’m doing and lock up.”

“Fair enough. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

The two of you locked eyes in excruciating silence while waiting for the old priest to leave.

At least, it was excruciating for Chris.

“Why are you doing this?” he feebly asked, curling in on himself enough that he dropped his bible. His hand extended, the rosary wrapped in his fingers leaving little prints on his skin when he fought between wanting to push you off of him and wanting to pull you closer.

You cocked an eyebrow and leaned down to kiss the leaking tip of his erection. “Why’d you lie?”

“This is your confession,” Chris persisted. “What’re you getting out of this?”

There was the question again, only rephrased this time. What were you getting out of this?

Aside, you supposed, from how satisfied you felt watching this man crumple for you.

“What does it matter?” you answered, aloof. “I told you how to make it stop. You like following your calling? You want to make it up to the powers that be? Maybe start with your own confession.”

You got up then, dusting off your knees and coolly grabbing your bag and coat. Chris gaped at you, a myriad of emotions running through him as you abandoned him, hard and aroused in the confessional booth.

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

For all intents and purposes, you were doing great now. It truly felt like, for the first time since you met him, that you had the advantage over Chris.

You only wished, then, that you weren’t in such a terrible mood.

This was Father James’ fault this time. You’d brought the old man his mail, a task Jacqueline used to do, all the way at his office in the back of the chapel. 

“Shame the weather’s turning,” he’d lamented. “But I thought that’d mean you’d start wearing those sweaters you were wearing when you first started again. They were so flattering on you.”

You could’ve puked, and there was still acid in your throat in the thirty minutes that had passed since then. There was something off about that man, something that didn’t sit right with you. No, you were in a horrid mood. 

Which meant it was a terrific time to see if Chris had taken your suggestion to heart.

You strolled into the gym with 15 minutes to spare in his planning period. Finding the gym empty, you checked his office next. 

However, the office was empty, too. You hazarded a quick look around, though, your curiosity getting the better of you. For such a warmly received man, Chris had no photos hanging in his office. Aside from his computer and phone on his desk, he had a filing cabinet, a clock radio, and a bookshelf. From here, however, you could see that the door to the boys locker room was open. You were about to peek inside, when a hand on your shoulder startled you.

Chris looked as pissed as he seemed to typically be lately. He had on his cute sweats and hoodie again.

“Can I help you with something?” he sighed.

“Well, I can see you still have a job, so I’m guessing you haven’t turned yourself in.”

The priest groaned in frustration. “Would you stop toying with me?! Is that all you want, for me to lose everything?”

“What can I say?” you shrugged. “Doing the right thing isn’t always supposed to be easy.”

“Right,” Chris said, “but you’re not exactly making it any easier.”

“You could always admit you just want me instead,” you offered. “That should be easy. You did it just fine last week.”

However, as simply as you said it, this stopped you in your tracks. This was never on your list of demands. Your objective, so far, was to torment Chris until he finally gave up and turned himself in.

But, no.

Something about him. 

You’d accept devotion, too.

Chris glowered in opposition to you. “James was right,” he growled, “you looked better in those sweaters you were wearing.”

The audacity of the remark caught you off guard, and you were suddenly on edge. Not only had Father James made the ridiculous comment in the first place, but he’d also shared the sentiment with Chris?

The sensation of acid in your throat returned and you turned heel at once, prepared to walk out and try to calm the hell down. 

But you barely made it out of Chris’ office before his hand was on your wrist and reeling you back inside.

“Wait wait wait,” he pleaded, “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that–”

He’d already herded you onto his desk, the paperwork there getting shuffled off as he feverishly kissed you all over, your lips down to your neck and back.

“Chris–!” you gasped, your hands balled in his hoodie. “You fucking asshole, why should I–”

“I said it in the heat of the moment!” he backpedaled. “You make me so angry but fuck–”

“You want me?” you taunted, even while Chris shimmied your skirt up around your hips. He pulled your panties aside but paused then.

“I do,” he pathetically nodded, “let me have you, I need you so fucking bad.”

You mercifully nodded, letting out a small, sighed moan when Chris sank into you.

“I swear to God,” he groaned into your shoulder, “I haven’t always been like this, there’s just something about you…”

He trailed off then, lost in how he was fucking you hard into his desk, enough for the surface to rattle and creak. Chris was interestingly quiet. It was as though he were convinced someone would come at any second, or that he’d waste his shot too soon if he didn’t focus. That didn’t mean you couldn’t coax him along, of course. Again, there was something about the way he gave into you that energized you. You threaded your fingers into his hair, whispering sweet little taunts and praise in his ear while you wrapped your legs around his hips. An orgasm didn’t seem to be on the horizon for you, not with how little time left you had in the class period, but it was fun to see how much you could rush him. Soon enough, Chris cursed harshly under his breath into the crook of your neck, his hips shuddering against you as he came.

You held him for a moment while he caught his breath.

Maybe affectionately, you humored.

“I need to see you again,” he murmured into your skin. “Come see me tonight.”

You considered this. That same uneasy feeling returned.

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

Why you said yes was beyond you. 

Day by day, you were playing more and more with fire and close to getting burned for it. 

Not to mention it was a school night. 

But Chris looked amazing in the low light of the Trawler.

He’d even picked you up at your place. Not with flowers or anything, and it’s not like he was going to risk being recognized by coming to the door, but still. The boys that were home at the boarding house were all peeking from around corners or through the front window to see who you were leaving with, but Chris had opted to wear another ballcap tonight for good measure. You definitely aroused your roommates’ curiosity in the first place, however, with how you’d opted for a cute dress to wear under your cardigan. Even now, after all this time, you were still patting concealer on the love bite between your breasts in case anyone accidentally saw down your chest. And as for your ride, Chris’ truck was far more comfortable to ride in than it was to fuck in, but you humored that that was probably the case for most vehicles. 

The worst part was that this was a good time.

Chris wasn’t pushy. He wasn’t gross or crude. When you arrived at the Trawler, he pulled out a chair for you and went to order drinks.

This was terrible. It was like getting a hint of what this could really be like if you were actually willing to keep this charade up any longer.

Because you weren’t going to keep this up.

Right?

Eventually, Chris pulled off his hat and rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, the heater in the bar and the rosiness in his cheeks finally getting to him. He was maddeningly cute, his curls flattened by his cap and the lighting in the bar highlighting the dimple in his cheek.

“How long have you lived here?” you asked. “I know you’re supposed to be moving to Pinewood Falls, but how’s Briar Bay been for you?”

“Gosh,” chuckled Chris, “it feels like a lifetime ago. I love it here, though. And maybe I won’t move to Pinewood anymore.”

“Why?” you questioned, too surprised.

“Because you live there,” he laughed. “And apparently you’re trouble for me.”

The night transitioned to a walk that you knew wouldn’t end up back at your room at Seungmin’s boarding house. He’d been the one to ask, and you accepted.

He held your hand, gentle yet steadfast as though he were afraid you’d leave if he let go. You still couldn’t get much information out of him, but you begrudgingly loved everything you learned. Chris loved studying interpretation theory in seminary. He wanted to live in Briar Bay because of how close it was to the water. While you strolled through neighborhoods, he said he loved the way you glowed in the moonlight.

So he even had a little romance in him.

Your walk led to a field behind the house Chris rented the upper floor of. This was clearly a sanctuary for countless teenagers over the years, with an old bench seat of a truck and a few milk crates laid out in a clearing of the tall grass. This was how you ended up making love to Chris that night, right there on the ratty, beaten bench seat underneath the dark blue sky.

Chris took his time with you, savoring this like either of you might forget again. He brazenly tasted you, an appetizer for him that left you exposed to the night air, and already had you gasping and aching by the time he crawled up in between your legs. Your warmth accepted his own, smoothly stretching to take him deep inside you. It was like you were a few years younger, more naive, simply enjoying each other in the moment. He was generous with his kisses in between thrusts. If he pulled away from your mouth for too long, his lips were cold from the chill of the night, so he simply kept kissing you.

To try and keep yourself from reaching a peak too soon, you kept your eyes fixed on the attic window of the old house. Frankly, you’d been thinking about why Chris had been weird about it off and on for the past week, but now it was a convenient distraction. The window was fogged with dust, further obscuring anything inside, forming a neat little void in your limited vision under the stars. There was a small bit of movement, but you quickly decided that there was a loose shingle in the roof, letting in a breeze that was shaking an old curtain.

“I’m sorry,” Chris suddenly said, jarring you out of your train of thought.

“What?” you worriedly asked, cupping his face and causing him to minorly adjust his angle, making the both of you gasp with an incidentally improved position.

“I said I’m sorry,” groaned Chris. “I shouldn’t even fucking tell you this but I feel like I love you. Is that okay?”

You stared at him, mouth hanging open while you processed this.

This was far too much.

Beyond acceptable.

But you adored it.

“Yeah,” you nodded hungrily, still holding his face in your hands and kissing him again. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

You didn’t wake up alone the next morning this time.

This time, you woke up alone in the middle of the night. 

Same room, same dim light coming from the kitchen. This felt more like a dream. You slipped out of bed, not surprised to find yourself clothed. This time, you distinctly didn’t remember doing anything following your tryst in the field behind the house, so the only gap was from there to here.

Your footfalls felt muted when you stepped into the kitchen. Really, it felt like your ears were full of cotton, like you had a sinus headache. “You’re not kicking me out again, are you?” you lightly teased, only to find that you were alone. 

In fact, the light wasn’t even coming from the kitchen. It was coming from above you.

From the attic.

Yeah. This was a dream.

You spied an old folding step ladder sitting by the refrigerator and dragged it over. The way it creaked and flexed when you opened it didn’t make you feel confident, but you set it under the attic door nonetheless. Whatever it was making your hearing feel muffled was worse, now sounding like a low tone being played in a physician’s office for privacy.

The step ladder felt shaky under your feet. You gingerly pushed up the attic door, peeking inside. The hushed roar of sound raised to the volume of a jet engine.

But there was Chris.

And there was the light.

What a weird dream.

“It’s not fair!” Chris argued, almost whining, his voice strained as though he were choked up. “I’m not as strong as you think I am! I want this, I honestly want all of it–”

"̴̫͕̪̔͐͒Y̵̠̘̦̿̽ó̵̝͚͎̈́̈́u̴͎͖͓̔͆͠ a̴̡̠͕̿̐͠r̸̙̘̓̕̚͜e̸͇̻̓́͑ n̴̦̘͒͆͘͜o̸̘̞͇̓̀̿ b̸͕̟̓͒é̵͖͎̐̀͜t̴̝͖̐͝͠t̴̡̙͍͛̈́͝e̵͔̠͇͘͠͝r̸̼͖̘͑̀͠ t̴̫͍͊̓̈́h̴̘͓͖̔̔͋a̵̟̫͓̾̔͠n̸̡̠͙̓͋͋ a̴̢͉͋͒͘ p̵̢̻̫̐͊͒e̸̘̪͙͑̚͠t̴̟͔͚́̓͋u̴͎͉̐̽̒l̴̞͔͖͘͠a̴͓͙͎̽͊͝n̵̙͉͔̒̓͊t̵̪̘͓̒͛͊ c̵͚͓̘̒̈́h̴͕̪̝̓͠͝i̵̡̘̼͑͊̐l̴̡͎̝͌͛͌d̴͉͔̺̓̓͠.̵͇͉̈́͛͝ T̸̡͎̙̽͝ḧ̴͎͇͔́͆͝é̸͇̺͝ p̸̞̞̘̽͑̿a̸͙̪̪̽͊t̵̙͚͑̚͝h̸͉̼̟̓͌͘ w̵̫͎̺̾̔͒i̴̘̟͊̈́͘͜l̵͕̻̻͆̕͝l̴̪͖͕̒͐ r̵̘͚͛̔͒u̴̝͚̘͐̿n̸͇͕̦͋͝ i̸̪͔͓̐̕͝ẗ̴͚͚̫́͝͝s̸̫͍̓̓͋ c̵̼͙̻̿̐o̵̡̘͌̈́͜͝u̸͇͇͎̚͝͠r̸͎͙̻͆̐͘s̵̠̘̝͒̓͊e̴͓͔̼̐͛͘ t̵͍͓̪͆̽͆o̵͎̻͉̓͐̾ ẗ̴̪́̓̀͜h̸̺͔̽́͒e̸̙͍̺̽̔͠ é̸͓̙̪̕͝n̴̟̙͎̒̿͝d̸̞̼̝̔̚̚.̸̻̫̠̐͛͐ I̴̦̺͎̓͊̚t̵̫̠͙͒͋͝ w̵͔̞̞͑̓͒í̵͙̙͘̕͜l̴̟͓̦̓̿͘ĺ̵̢̺͖̐̽ e̵̢̪̼̓̿̽i̸͍͍͇̐͐̚t̴͕͕͕͌͌̚h̴͚͕̼̔͝͝e̸͖͚̫͐͑͘r̴͔̪̓͌͜͝ s̵̡̺̟͋̽̚u̸͚̪̔̚͜͝c̵͔͔͙̈́͛̈́c̴͎̟̒́͌e̴͉̦͖͐͐͋è̵̪͎̠̔d̸̪̘̼͊͆̕ ò̵͇̼͚̈́̒r̵̠̘͙̈́̒͠ f̸̡͙̺͋̈́̈́a̴͓̼̽͑̈́͜i̴̡̘͖͑̓͝l̵͎̟͉̽͐̚, a̵̺̝̾̕͠n̸͇̘̪̽̓̀d̸̦̫̔͘̚͜ t̴̞͓̟͒͆̾h̸̙͓̔͒͊a̴̢̫̙͐͘̚t̸͉̻͑͋̈́ i̸͓̪̽͝s̸̞͖̦͆̈́̚ a̸͙͉͎͛͋̓l̴͙͇͔͋́͒l̴̢͔͖̈́̓͋.̴͖̝̼͛͑͆ B̸̪͇͌͆̚u̸͓̙̐͒͝t̴͉͚̙̓̓̽ i̴͙̻̘̔̚͝f̴͉͍̘̓͋͑ y̸̢̢̠͊͋͘o̴̡̺͉͊̈́͝u̵̞͎̘̓́ s̴̪͙͙͐̐͐ǘ̵̦͙̘̾̓c̸͎̼͓͛̔̔c̴̝͖̙͐̚é̴͖̠͉͛̿e̸̠̫͉͛̔͑d̸̘̦̪̾̀, y̵͉͔͑̈́͝ó̸̟͕̪̓̚ǘ̴̡͓̝͊͠ w̵̙̻̺̿͒̐i̸͙̟͚͛̀̕l̸̠̻͔̔͛̕l̴̪͓͙̐̚͝ b̴͚͕̦͆̀͌e̵̠̻̓̚ r̵̫̟͚̕͝͠e̴͙̞͚͛͆̕w̸͓̠͕̓͌͑a̵̦̪͊̓͑r̴̼̪̔͜͝d̸͉͓͎̓͠͝é̵͙͓͖̔̒d̵̢̘͉̓̔͝.̴͙͍͖̓͝"̸͎̻͋̀̽͜

“Rewarded? But how?!” Chris begged the voice. The labored gasps of tears marred his stubbornness. How were you so understanding in the middle of such a vivid dream? The attic window shined, almost like a Christmastime storefront, as if it were simply a spotlight recessed in the wall. “I can’t stand it, I feel sick, I can’t sleep, I’m weak and hurt–”

"̸̡̡̠͊̔͒C̴̦͚̘̿͘ë̴̼̟̪́͛a̸͎̪̝͛̀̚s̴͙͕̪̈́̈́͝ë̵̡͕̼́̽͐, m̸̡͓̫̈́̐y̵̪̝͓̿̓ é̴̢̙͉̈́͝ń̸̙͖͍̈́͒t̴͕̝͖͑̾r̸̫͎̝̓̀̕u̴͕͉͋́̾s̵̢̻̻̈́̓̈́t̵͔͙̠͑̾͝e̸͙̻͎͛̈́͠d̴̙͖̪̔̀͠.̴̙̫̙́̔͘ Y̵̡͉͖̽́̐o̴̼͕͊́u̵͓͎͖̓̈́̈́r̴̡̞̓͒͋͜ f̸͓̼̝̔̽͝a̸̢̫̝̓͛͠i̴͖͉͙͑̿t̴̻͇͎̒̈́̕h̸̠͔̪͆͝͝ i̴̢̙͘͠͠s̴̼͕͙̾̓̓ ẅ̸̫̪́́͝a̵̡̻͛͆͝v̵͖̞̽̀͘ë̴̢̘͎́̈́̒r̸̞͍̻͊͒͝i̵̻̞̐̚͠n̸̺͍͖̐̓͠g̸̡̦̘̀͑͘.̸̡͖̻̾͝͝ Y̸̡̝͎͆͘o̴̢͉͉̓̿̾u̴͇͖͓̓̓͘ c̴̼͖̓͐͠ä̵̺̟́͋̐͜n̸͓̼̞͋͌̈́n̴̠̙̐̿͒o̸̙̦̼̾͌͝t̴̙̪̓̾͝ s̸͔̦̔͒̽e̴̞͚̪͑̐͆e̸͔̫̦͑̒͝ t̴̞͖̦͒͊̚h̴͍̘̐͒͝e̵͕̫͍̓̈́̐ r̴͎͓̞͆́͝e̴͍͕̽̾͘͜w̸̟̙͐̔͛á̵̘̼͚͛͐r̸͔͇͎̀̓͝d̵̡͎͙̽̒͘ b̸̼̪̝̽̓̕e̴̟̺͚͋̚͠c̵̡̼̽̒̿à̵̝̼̟͘̕ǘ̵̡͚̘̽̀s̵͚͙͍̽͑̿e̸͓͎̦̿͑͠ y̸̢̪̓́̈́o̴͇̙͛͆̚͜u̴̺͚͖̾͐̽ l̴̪͛̕͜͝á̴̡̢̻̈́̾c̵̢͕͍͐̒̕k̵̙͙̘̔̀͆ r̴̫͖̘̓͋e̴͓̫͖͊͌̀s̸̝̫̻͒̒̀o̵̝̠͐̔͠l̴͙̪̻̿̈́͘v̵̡̦̔͐̾e̴͔͚̼̐̈́̚.̸̢͙̦͑͘͘ Y̴͎͍͉̔̽̚o̸̫̘̘͛͊̓u̵̫͎̘̾͆͠ k̴̡̢̝̽̚͠n̴̝̪̫̈́̿͘o̸͔͉͕͊͋̓w̴͉͎̼̒̚ t̵̟̝̟̿͠͠h̵̘̙̘͆̚͘e̵̝̠͕͊̽̐ r̵̡͙͓͐̀̈́e̸̢͇̻͊̒͠w̴̠̟̙̓͛͝a̵̙̻̟͋̓͘r̴͇͔͋͋͒d̸͓͚̽̕͜͝.̵̪͕̘͒͝ Y̴͓͉̠͊̈́͝ó̸̺͕͓͛̀u̸̟̞͑̿͜͝ w̴̼̘͔͑̓̓i̵͓̠͎͑̓l̵͙̻̪͛̓͝l̸̺̝̘̀͠ ḧ̵͕̟̪́͋̾á̴̫͍̼̽̓v̸̡̼̙͊̈́̈́è̴̪͓͓̒̕ i̵̡̟͙̿̒t̸̘̟͊̈́̿ a̴͚̝͕͐̽̔l̵̙̫̙̓͛̓l̵̞͐͜͠, e̴͎̪͍͊̽̿v̸͓͎͖̐́e̵̢͖̓̈́̽n̸͉͍͔̈́́–̵͎͙̀̈́̒͜"̴͔͇̻̐͌͋

Me. The voice is telling Chris that he can win me, but I don’t understand. There’s a pit in my stomach, like I’ve learned a terrible secret. 

Because I have. 

I feel watched but no one is looking at me. I can’t feel my fingertips. My skin feels like it’s made of static. There’s perspiration on my brow that’s turned to ice. I feel a sharp pain in my chest, and I realize it’s because it feels as though I can’t fucking breathe. My haphazard stance, tiptoeing on the old stepladder, dangerously falters, and I clutch onto the attic door with a pathetic cry. 

Chris looks right at me, gaze snapping in my direction and he looks terrified, pallid and ill and like I’ve caught some small animal running from a bear. 

And I fall

right

back

to

sleep