in which you; an abuse survivor haunted by trauma meet Jamesâ a gentle man who slowly becomes your devoted lover. Through patient courtship and deep emotional trust; he helps you heal by showing you that intimacy can be tender, consensual, and beautiful rather than violent. 5k
àŒ è””éšćĄ àŒ đ f!reader ethel cain / western gothic
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT heavy tw: â ïž grape (no graphic description but still tw), religious trauma and guilt, western gothic, self hatred, intimacy, PTSD, emotional distress and angst, fully consensual gentle sex, mild alcohol use, intense emotional vulnerability. SMUT : gentle sex, praising lots of praising, softness, oral, piv unprotected, comfort, extensive verbal consent, fingering, creampie (discussed and consensual), aftercare, multiple orgasms, body worship.
a/n : please, no hate on this, iâm only human, this is fiction, please donât come at me for writing thisâ when people quite literally romanticize rape on here. this was something i needed to write, i donât want to get hate for it because itâs incredibly vulnerable so please give me a break im tired, take in consideration that this is purely a form of art. That being said, take care of yourself, if you can relate (which i hope you donât.) please please please donât let a monster dictate your life.
âHE GAVE IN TO TEMPTATION. Men are weak, you shouldnât let one moment define the rest of his life.â
The priestâs voice drifted through the dim confessional like dust motes in a shaft of stained-glass lightâ heavy with the scent of old incense and mildew. Father Elias sat on the other side of the latticed screen, his silhouette hunched like a weathered gravestone in the small-town church.
The building itself was a relicâ cracked plaster saints with peeling paint, wooden pews worn smooth by generations of sinners, a rusty crucifix hanging crooked above the altar as if even God had grown tired of holding it straight. Outside, the wind moaned across the empty plains, carrying the faint howl of coyotes circling the bones of dead cattle.
You knelt on the hard wooden step, knees aching, fingers twisting the hem of your thin cotton dress; the fabric clung to your sweat-damp skin, faded like everything else in this godforsaken stretch of America.
Your body felt foreign, animal.
The violence had stripped the softness from you and left something feral in its place: a wild thing with bared teeth and trembling flanks, hiding in tall grass, ready to bolt or bite at the slightest shadow.
Sleep came in fitful snatches, curled tight like a wounded deer, muscles locked against phantom hands. Hunger gnawed but food tasted of ash. Touchâ any touchâsent you spiraling into that dark place where flesh became meat- where your own body betrayed you with memories of tearing and bruising.
You had come to the church seeking absolution for your angerâ but Father Elias offered counsel for the sinner instead.
âYou have to remember that forgiveness is for everyone, even the man who hurt you,â he continued, voice soft as grave dirt. The words landed like stones in still water, rippling through your chest.
You swallowed hard, throat rawâ the confessional smelled of candle wax and old sins and through the screen, you could see the outline of his clasped hands, knuckles white. Everything was so detailed yet so distant.
âFather⊠he didnât just hurt me. He took. I said no. I begged. And he laughed.â
The memory surged, brutal: gravel digging into your back like the teeth of the earth itself, his breath hot and sour like cheap whiskey and damnation, hands pinning your wrists as if nailing you to some profane cross. Your dress torn like fucking temple veil.
Afterward, you crawled into the ditch like an animal fleeing the slaughterhouseâ limbs shaking, throbbing with violation, soul leaking out onto the dirt.
Days blurred into weeks of hiding in motel rooms, washing blood from your undergarments in sink basins, staring at your reflection until the girl looking back became something hunted and hollow-eyed.
The pain had animalized you: instincts sharpened to survival, trust evaporated like morning dew on the sagebrush. You flinched at footsteps, bared metaphorical teeth at kindness, fucked up your own attempts at connection because intimacy now smelled like violence.
A prey animal wearing human skin, yearning for a shepherd who wouldnât lead you to slaughter.
Father Elias sighed, the sound heavy with centuries of doctrine. âHolding on to anger only gives the devil another victory, my child. Let it go before it festers into something that damns you both.â
You pressed your forehead against the cool wood, tears slipping silent down your cheeks. The church creaked around you, wind rattling the loose panes like bones in a shallow grave.
Outside, the vast western sky stretched merciless, highways cutting through it like veins opened for bloodletting. You thought of the manâyour executioner âsitting somewhere in this same county, perhaps lighting candles in this very church, confessing to the same priest.
Forgiven by God while you carried the carcass of what he left behind.
âHe has confessed his sins before God,â the priest said gently, almost pleading. âPerhaps itâs time for you to let this go.â
The words carved into you. Let it go.
As if pain were a coat you could shrug off on the porch step.
As if your body could forget the way it was split open under moonlight, turned from temple to battlefield.
You had become the wounded lamb limping through the valley of shadow, but no rod or staff comforted you. Instead, rage simmered beneath the fearâa wild, gnashing thing that made you want to burn the fields, to scream at the indifferent heavens until they cracked.
âWe all fall into sin,â Father Elias murmured, finality in his tone. âHis happened to hurt you. But grace is for the fallen. Pray on it, daughter. Seek the light.â
You left the confessional on unsteady legs, the animal inside you snarling low. The church nave stretched long and empty, dust dancing in beams of colored light from windows depicting martyred saints pierced and bleeding. You genuflected out of habit, the motion mechanical, then slipped out into the blazing afternoon sun.
The dirt parking lot was empty save for your old pickup, paint sun-bleached and rust-eaten. You drove the back roads with windows down, wind whipping your hair like a scourge. Fields of dying wheat rolled by, golden and rotten at the roots, scarecrows standing sentinel like crucified sinners.
Home was the crumbling farmhouse on the outskirtsâ the same one that would later shelter you and James. For now, it stood lonely, porch sagging under the weight of unspoken prayers.
You stripped in the dim bedroom, standing naked before the cracked mirror.
Your reflection showed the thing you had become: ribs faintly visible from weeks of barely eating, bruises long faded to yellow ghosts on your hips and thighs, eyes too wide and haunted. Scratches from your own nails where you had clawed at your skin in nightmares, trying to scrub him out. Breasts that once felt soft and inviting now seemed like burdens, cunt a site of trauma rather than pleasure.
You touched yourself experimentally, fingers tracing the folds that had been forced open, and flinched at the echo of pain.
No wetness, only dryness and dread.
The yearning was there, buried deepâ a desperate hunger for tenderness that felt like blasphemy in this landscape of judgment.
Nights were the worst. You lay on the iron bed, sheets tangled like restraints, listening to the coyotes sing their hymns. Dreams came feral: running endless highways, hooves instead of feet, the executionerâs truck always gaining, his hands turning into claws. You woke gasping, body slick with sweat that smelled of fear.
Masturbation brought no reliefâ only fragmented attempts that ended in tears, fingers too rough in mimicry of violence, leaving you emptier.
The animal in you paced, wounded and wanting, craving a touch that healed rather than hunted.
Days passed in ritual. You worked odd jobs at the roadside diner, pouring coffee for truckers whose eyes lingered too long, making your skin crawl with animal wariness.
You avoided the church after that confession, but the priestâs words haunted the empty rooms like ghosts.
Forgiveness. Grace. Letting go.
They clashed with the truth etched in your flesh: some sins left teeth marks that no prayer could erase.
You read old Bibles by lamplight, tracing passages about redemption, but they felt hollow.
The God of this land seemed distant, more interested in forgiving the wolf than binding the lambâs wounds.
One evening, storm clouds gathered low on the horizon, turning the sky the color of bruised flesh. You sat on the porch with a bottle of cheap wine, the animal inside restless. Thunder rumbled like distant judgment.
You thought of the man who hurt youâ perhaps he slept easy now, absolved, while you carried the weight of his temptation.
Anger rose, hot and righteous, but so did the exhaustion of holding it.
The priest was right about one thing: it was poisoning you, turning you more feral, more isolated. But forgiveness felt like dying all over again.
So you drove to the edge of town as lightning split the sky, pulling over at an old crossroads where faded signs pointed toward forgotten places. The rain came sudden and violent, washing the dust from your windshield as tears from a penitentâs face.
You stepped out into it, dress clinging transparent, arms spread as if inviting the heavens to strike. Water mixed with salt on your cheeks.
âWhy?â you screamed into the gale- to no one in particular. âWhy why why why.â
That night, back at the farmhouse, you lit candles around the bedroom, mimicking some half-remembered ritual. Naked again before the mirror, you traced the lines of your body with trembling fingers, trying to reclaim it.
âThis is mine,â you whispered to the reflection. But the touch stirred only echoes.
The yearning deepened into ache: for hands that asked, for a body that sheltered rather than invaded, for intimacy slow as desert twilight and tender as a motherâs lullaby.
Longing twisted with carnal hunger. You wanted to be laid on an altar of flesh and worshipped, not sacrificed.
Sleep claimed you eventually, curled fetal like a creature in its den. Dreams shifted slightlyâ a figure on the horizon, boots kicking up dust, eyes like moss after rain.
A lover, perhaps.
A man who understood the animal and gentled it without breaking.
Morning brought pale light filtering through threadbare curtains. You rose, body stiff but the feral edge slightly dulled by the stormâs catharsis.
The priestâs words lingered, but so did your truth.
Forgiveness might come later, or never. For now, survival meant seeking the light he spoke of, even if it led down uncertain roads.
You packed a small bagâ few belongings, a worn Bible, a change of clothesâand climbed into the truck. The engine coughed to life and highways stretched before you, endless blacktop cutting through golden decay, telephone poles like crucifixes.
You didnât know where you were going, only that staying meant becoming more of a beast.
The priestâs counsel echoed: forgiveness for all. But your body remembered the violence, and it demanded proof of another way. Proof that flesh could sing hallelujah instead of screaming damnation.
Proof that a manâs weakness didnât have to mean your destruction.
The desert swallowed your taillights, stars wheeling overhead like indifferent witnesses.
You passed abandoned farms and rusted water towers, relics of dreams long dead. Each mile peeled back another layer of th armorâ fear giving way, inch by painful inch, to the fragile wish for connection.
By the time the sun bled orange across the plains, exhaustion and something like grace settled over you. The farmhouse waited somewhere ahead, empty and beckoning, its porch light a distant votive in your mindâs eye.
You pulled over once more, killing the engine under a sky turning violet. Sitting on the hood, legs dangling, you let the cooling metal warm your thighs. Hands pressed to your stomach, you breathed deep the scent of creosote and possibility.
The rape had made you feral, yesâ quick to run, slow to trust, body a battlefield of phantom pains and instinctive snarls. But beneath it, the girl who once believed in tenderness still flickered, a candle in the ruins of faith.
âForgiveness,â you whispered to the wind, tasting the word like bitter sacrament.
Not for him.
Not yet.
But perhaps space for something new.
For hands that built instead of broke.
For a lover who would kneel in the dirt and kiss the wounds without demanding you forget they existed.
Night fell fully as you resumed driving. The radio crackled with a faint Jeff Buckley melodyâ your heart beat in time, animal and human entwined, carrying you toward the farmhouse where dust settled on empty rooms, waiting for the man who would finally answer the prayer.
In the days that followed, solitude wrapped you like a shroud. You cleaned the old place with ritualistic care: sweeping floors that groaned like penitent knees, hanging faded curtains, placing wildflowers in cracked jars on the windowsill.
Each task was an act of reclamation, pushing back against the wildness. Yet at night the memories returnedâ visceral torrents.
The weight pinning you.
The grunt of conquest.
The way your voice had cracked on âpleaseâ until it became whimper.
You woke clawing at sheets, nails leaving red crescents on your arms, body slick with the sweat of prey.
One afternoon, you found an old rosary in a drawer, beads worn smooth. You held it, running fingers over the cross, and whispered fragmented prayers.
Not for the executionerâs soul, but for your own. For the feral thing inside to find rest.
The priestâs words returned unbidden: âWe all fall into sin. His happened to hurt you.â They stung less sharply now, tempered by distance, but still you rejected the easy absolution.
Your hurt was not collateral. It was a ravine carved through your life, deep enough to echo.
You began walking the back fields at dusk, boots kicking up red dust, dress trailing like a robe. Coyotes watched from the treeline, recognizing kin in your wary stride.
One evening, a storm threatened again. You stood in the open, arms raised, letting the first fat drops hit your upturned face. Rain soaked through fabric, outlining the curves the executioner had claimed, but this time you did not flinch.
Instead, you imagined different handsâ gentle ones tracing the same paths with reverence. The yearning intensified, a deep ache between your legs that was desire and fear braided together.
You slipped fingers under the wet hem right there in the field, touching tentatively. Slow circles on your core, breath hitching not with trauma but with tentative want.
The animal watched, curious rather than terrified.
You did not come, but the act felt like small sacramentâ reclaiming the altar of your body one raindrop at a time.
Returning to the house drenched, you stripped and stood before the mirror once more. Water beaded on skin marked by faded lines.
You spoke aloud to the reflection: âYou are more than what he made you.â
The animal inside softened its hackles, curling tighter but no longer snapping.
Letters arrived sporadicallyâ distant family, concerned friendsâ but you answered little. Isolation was both cage and sanctuary.
In the quiet, you read from the worn Bible and secular books scavenged from thrift stores: stories of fallen women finding grace on the road, of bodies remade through love.
The longing evolved from vague hunger to specific prayer.
You wanted eyes that saw the scars and kissed them anyway. A voice that praised instead of degraded. A sex that filled with consent and care, slow as the turning of seasons.
The priestâs final counsel lingered during a return visit to the church weeks later. You did not enter the confessional this time but sat in a back pew as Father Elias prepared for evening mass. He noticed you, offered a nod heavy with unspoken words.
After the sparse serviceâ a handful of elderly parishioners murmuring responsesâyou approached him in the vestibule.
âFather,â you said, voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. âI heard your words. About forgiveness. About sin.â
He clasped your shoulder lightly, a fatherly touch that did not trigger flight. âThe Lordâs mercy is infinite, child. Even for the weakest among us.â
You met his gaze. âIâm trying. But the animal he left in me⊠it doesnât forget easily. Iâm learning to walk again. To want again.â
He smiled sadly, the lines on his face deep as arroyos. âThat is the beginning of grace. Go in peace.â
You left lighter, though not healed. The drive back felt like pilgrimage. The farmhouse appeared on the horizon, its lights (you had left one burning) like a beacon.
Inside, you prepared simple food, ate at the wooden table, then bathed by lamplight. The water caressed your skin, warm and forgiving.
Fingers explored again, slower, imagining a future loverâs mouth replacing them. Soft moans escaped, echoing off tiled wallsâ sounds of tentative healing.
That night, sleep came deeper. Dreams featured open roads and a man walking toward you, hands open, voice like gravel and honey. James, though you did not yet know his name.
The animal in you perked its ears, in recognition.
The road finally delivered you to him on a night when the sky hung low and bruised, thunderheads rolling across the plains like the wrath of an old testament God.
You had pulled into the gravel lot of a half-forgotten roadside bar on the outskirts of another nowhere town. The air smelled of spilled beer, cigarette ash, and the metallic promise of rain.
Inside, the jukebox wept low country songs, and he was leaning against the scarred wooden bar when you entered, a silhouette carved from the very dust and decay of this land.
James.
Tall and lean as a fence post left too long in the sun, shoulders broad from years of hauling lumber and laying rebar on half-built churches that never quite got finished.
His dark hair fell across his forehead in careless waves, streaked with blond like moonlight on barbed wire.
A faded tattoo of a thorn-crowned cross peeked from the open collar of his shirt, ink blurred by time and penance. Scars traced his knuckles and the line of his jawâ road stories, bar fights, nights spent wrestling with angels and losing.
He was no savior in white robes.
James was a sinner with callused hands and a quiet faith.
A drifter architect of sorts, he built things that stood against the wind: barns for widows, shelters for runaways, sometimes just temporary altars out of scrap wood.
Men whispered he had blood on his ledger from a youth spent running moonshine and worse, but the women who knew him spoke of gentle strengthâ the way he held doors and held silences, never rushing, never taking.
A man who had buried his own ghosts under desert highways and risen with dirt still under his nails.
Your eyes met across the hazy room.
Something ancient stirred in your chestâ the feral animal inside you paused its pacing, ears pricking not in flight but in wary recognition.
He didnât approach like the others, with hungry grins and grasping hands.
James simply nodded once, a slow tip of his chin, and slid a glass of whiskey down the bar toward you when the bartender asked your order.
âLooks like youâve been driving through hellâs back forty,â he said, voice low and gravel-rough, laced with that slow southern drawl that wrapped around broken things and tried to mend them. âthe nameâs James.â
You talked that night in careful fragments, perched on stools while lightning flashed outside. He listened like a confessor who had never betrayed a secret, black eyes steady as you skirted the edges of your story without spilling the blood yet.
He spoke of his own wanderings: building in dying towns, laying hands on structures and souls alike, searching for something real amid the rot.
âI donât pretend to fix whatâs broken,â he murmured. âBut I know how to hold it gentle. The worldâs got enough violence already.â
He didnt come inside the farmhouse that first night. Instead, he walked you to the door, hat in hand, rain dripping from the brim.
âIf you ever want company that donât demand nothing, Iâm staying at the old Miller place down the road. No pressure, pretty.â
Days turned to weeks.
James became a presence rather than a conquest. He appeared with fresh-cut wildflowers for the sagging porch, helped patch the leaking roof without being asked, his hammer strikes rhythmic as prayer.
Evenings found you on the porch swing, sharing silence and then stories. He told you of the churches he restored, of laying bricks like laying down sins, of praying over foundations that might outlast him.
You spoke haltingly of the animal the rape had left behindâ the flinch at sudden movement, the nights curled like a wounded coyote, the way your body had become a locked tabernacle no one was allowed to enter.
James never pushed.
Touches came slow: a hand steadying your elbow on uneven steps, fingers brushing yours when passing a mug of coffee. Each one asked permission with its gentleness.
âYou set the pace,â he would say quietly, eyes on the horizon. âIâve got nowhere else to be.â
Over months, he became your lover in the truest senseâ not through claiming, but through presence. Shared meals at the scarred kitchen table. Walks along the dust roads where he matched your stride, never leading. Nights sitting close on the couch, his arm around you only when you leaned in first, thumb tracing soothing circles on your shoulder.
The animal in you learned his scentâ sandalwood, sweat, and honest earth âand stopped baring teeth. Trust bloomed tentative.
One evening, as summer faded into golden, you sat together on the porch steps. James turned to you, voice soft as grave dirt.
âI see everything you carry, darlinâ. The way that bastard tried to make you into something broken. I hate it down to my bones. But I see you tooâ my girl, still reaching for light. When youâre ready, if youâre ever ready, I want to show you that touch can be different. Yours to command.â
Your heart ached with the weight of it.
Here was the man who had become your lover through patience and quiet devotion, not force. The wanderer with boba eyes and callused redeemerâs hands, ready to kneel at whatever altar you offered.
The farmhouse waited behind you, oil lamps glowing soft, the longing had grown into something ready. James waited tooâ steady, reverentâuntil you took his hand and led him inside, the threshold crossing like the first true breath after long suffocation.
Pleasure wasnât punishment.
Pleasure. isnât. punishment.
Jamesâ fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face, gentle as evening vespers. âYou look like youâre carrying the whole damn county on your shoulders tonight, pretty.â he murmured. âLet me take that weight off you.â
His breath hitched, thhose dark eyes, shadowed by the brim of his worn hat, filled with a sorrow so deep it mirrored the dry riverbeds outside.
He pulled you against his chest, heart thudding steady beneath faded cotton. âChrist, baby. It tears me up inside knowing someone laid violent hands on you. Made you think love had to hurt. Iâd burn the whole fucking town down if itâd erase that night for you.â He kissed your temple, slow and lingering. âBut I canât undo it. All I can do is prove different. Every damn time you let me.â
The wrought-iron bed dominated your room, sheets worn soft from years of strangersâ dreams. You sat on the edge of the bed, knees together, vulnerable as a sinner at the altar.
James knelt before you, large hands resting on your thighs but not gripping. Never gripping unless you asked.
âTell me what you need tonight,â he said, thumbs stroking circles that sent warmth pooling low in your belly. âWe go as slow as you need. You say stop, I stop. You say more, I give you everything.â
âI need you close,â you whispered, voice cracking like parched earth.
All of you. Skin and soul. Show me tenderness, Make love to me like Iâm something sacred.
James rose and undressed first, shedding flannel and jeans with unhurried grace. His body was lean muscle and scarsâ road life etched into him: a knife fight in El Paso, a crash outside Tulsa.
You reached out, tracing the tattoo over his heartâ he shivered under your fingers but stayed still, letting you map him.
âYour turn, if you want,â he said softly.
You nodded.
He helped peel the flannelj from your shoulders, reverent as disrobing a saint. Cool air kissed your bare skin, nipples pebbling. His gaze drank you inâhungry but holy.
âFuck, look at you,â he breathed. âBeautiful. So beautiful. Iâm so lucky.â
Tears stung your eyes and he cupped your face, thumbs wiping them away.
âNone of that shame, darlinâ. Not with me. Youâre allowed to want thisâ to need it slow and deep and loving.â
James laid you back against the pillows, the mattress dipping under his weight as he stretched beside you.
Skin met skinâ warmth against warmth. His hand traced your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, over the soft plane of your stomach. Every touch asked permission.
âHere?â heâd murmur.
Youâd nod or whisper yes, and heâd continue.
You kissed him first, desperate for connection. His mouth tasted of smoke and salt, slow and devouring in the gentlest way, tongues slid together.
He groaned into you, a low rumble that vibrated through your chest. âSo sweet,â he praised against your lips. âSo pretty.â
Your hands roamed his back, feeling the flex of muscle, the raised lines of old scars. He rolled partially over you, careful to keep weight distributed, one thigh pressing gently between yours.
The pressure against your core made you gaspâ slick heat building already, arousal a slow, sacred burn rather than frantic fear.
âFeel that?â he whispered, grinding softly, deliberately. âYour bodyâs getting ready for me, baby. So wet already. Does it feel good?â
âYes,â you moaned, hips tilting up to meet him. âDonât stop touching me.â
James worshipped downwardâ mouth latching onto a nipple, tongue circling with wet heat while his hand kneaded the other breast. Sensation bloomed: sparks shooting to your cunt, thighs parting wider of their own accord.
The old fear flickeredâ rough hands, forced entryâbut Jamesâs voice anchored you.
He moved lower, kissing the dip of your navel, the crease of your hip. Pausing at the apex of your thighs, breath ghosting over glistening folds. âCan I taste you?â
You threaded fingers through his dark hair, tugging lightly. âPlease, James.â
His tongue was heaven and hellâ broad, flat strokes from entrance to clit, then tight circles that had you keening. He hummed in pleasure, the vibration pulling a curse from your lips, âFuckâyes, right there.â
James drank from you like communion wine.
Two fingers pressed at your entrance, circling, waiting. âInside?â he asked, voice muffled against your flesh.
âGod, yes. Slow.â
He slid them in, curling against that spongy spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. The stretch was perfect, full without pain.
Pleasure wasnât punishment.
He worked you open with patient devotion, mouth never leaving your clit. Pleasure coiled tight, intensse âbody as altar, his tongue as prayer.
You came with a broken sob, thighs trembling around his head, walls fluttering around his fingers.
He licked you through it, murmuring, âThatâs my girl. So good, coming so pretty for me. Let it all out.â
Aftershocks rippled as he crawled back up, kissing the tears from your cheeks. His cock rested heavy and hot against your thigh, leaking. You wrapped a hand around him, stroking the length.
âI want you inside,â you said, vulnerable and raw.
All the way. Skin to skin. Fill the places that hurt.
Jamesâs eyes darkened with emotion. âYou sure? We can wait. Iâd wait forever for you.â
âIâm sure.â
James positioned himself between your spread thighs, rubbing the thick head through your slickness. Teasing your clit until you whimpered. âEyes on me,â he commanded gently. âBreathe with me. If itâs too much, we stop.â
The first push was exquisite pressure. Inch by inch, he sank into you, groaning deep in his chest.
âHoly fuckâ youâre tight. So perfect, swallowing me like you were made for me.â Fully seated, he stilled, forehead pressed to yours. Sweat beaded on his skin. The fullness was overwhelmingâstretching, claiming, but chosen. âTalk to me, baby. How does it feel?â
âFullâ fuck⊠safe.â Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back. âMove. Pleaseâ
He did. Long, rolling thrusts, each withdrawal dragging against every nerve, each return grounding deep. The wet sounds of your joining filled the roomâ obscene. His hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in lazy spirals.
âLook how well you take me. So fucking strong. Brave girl, letting me in like this. I love you.â
Emotions crashed through the pleasure. You clung to him, nails scoring his shoulders lightly.
James adjusted, hips undulating in deep, grinding circles rather than pounding. The head of his cock kissed that spot inside with every motion, sweat slickin your bodies, sliding skin on skin.
The scent was headyâ sex and sage and his musk. You tasted salt on his neck when you licked him.
He whispered praises like scripture: âAm so lucky, so fucking luckyâŠ.â
Tears slipped from both of you now, mingling-/ his pace never rushed, even as your second orgasm built.
âCome for me again,â he urged, voice cracking. âLet me feel that pretty pussy squeeze me. Iâm yours. All yours.â
It hit you like revelationâ waves of ecstasy rolling from core outward, cunt pulsing around his thick cock. You cried out, and James followed soon after, burying deep with a guttural moan, spilling hot and thick inside you. Pulse after pulse, marking you with love instead of violence.
He stayed buried, collapsing carefully to the side and pulling you atop him so you rested on his chest.
For long minutes, only breathing and the creak of the old house. His hand stroked your back in long sweeps. âYou okay? Any pain?â
âNone,â you whispered, tracing the tattoo on his chest. âJust full.â
He kissed your hair. âGood girl. You were so good. So beautiful. Iâm so lucky.â
The night stretched on. You talked in the afterglow, voices soft as he told you stories of the roadâ lost highways where heâd prayed for something real.
You shared fragments of the trauma, how it felt like God had turned his face away. James held you tighter.
âMaybe he sent me instead. A sinner to love a saint.â
Later, desire stirred again. You rode him this time, slow and deliberate, hands braced on his chest, he looked up at you like you hung the stars outside.
âRide me however feels good, prettyâ. Use meâ
His hands rested on your hips, guiding but never forcing; you ground down, taking him deep, clit rubbing against his pelvis.
Curses fell from your lips ââFuck, James, youâre so deepââ mixed with his praises: âBeautiful. Take what you need.â
Orgasm claimed you both again, slower, sweeter.
Afterward, he drew a bath in the clawfoot tub down the hall, lukewarm water from th pipes. He washed you with careful hands, soaping every inch, rinsing with cupped palms.
Then you did the same for him, kneeling between his legs, mouth eventually finding his spent cock to coax it back to life with tender sucks and licks. He came down your throat with gentle hands in your hair, whispering, âI love you.â
Days blurred into this rhythm in the farmhouse. Mornings where he woke you with his mouth between your legs, tongue tracing on your clit until you shattered.
Afternoons on the porch swing, his fingers inside you under a thin blanket while cicadas sang.
Nights of full unionâ missionary with eyes locked, spooning with his hand cupping your breast, against the wall with one leg wrapped around him, always slow, always checking.
One stormy evening, lightning illuminating the rusted cross outside, vulnerability peaked.
You broke down mid-act, old memories surfacing as he moved inside you. James stopped instantly, slipping free, pulling you into his lap.
âHey, hey. I got you. We donât have to.â He rocked you through sobs, kissing tears, murmuring, âThat bastard doesnât get this part of you. Only I do, and only when itâs love.â
You eventually asked him back in, needing the reclamation. He entered you again like returning to prayer, movements even slower, foreheads pressed. âYouâre safe, you hear me?â
James proved it time and againâ intimacy wasnât the violence of the past. It was slow unraveling, ecstasy in the flesh. You found peace in the decay âin the creaking bed, the flickering lamp, the man who loved you like the last honest prayer in a godless land.
And in his arms, the truth finally settled over your bones like warm rain on parched earth: you were never guilty.
Not for a single second.
The violence done to you was not divine punishment, not the wages of some imagined sin, not a lesson carved into your flesh by a cruel God. It was cruelty, plain and merciless, enacted by a weak man who chose evil.
You carried no stain. You owed no penance. The blood and the breaking had never been yours to atone for.
đherein đŒ both terminally ill patients, you and James sneak out of the hospital for one final night of freedom, determined to feel everything before morningâ âł.list
đ¶ONTAINS : minors do not interact NSFW content, angst, talks of death and mortality, terminal illness, smut, semi-public (empty beach sex), unprotected sex, piv, crying during sex, very tender sex with hints of soft dom, sea water sex, praising, oral⊠lmk if i missed sum.
A/N: gonna be posting a lot of my old drafts bc iâm working on a long fic⊠so yes in the meantime enjoy :)
Death teaches strange priorities. It doesnât give a fuck about your carefully built resumeâ the grudges youâve nursed for decades or the bucket list you scribbled on a napkin once when you still believed in tomorrows.
No, death walks in wearing hospital slippersâ and whispers that the only thing that matters is the way someoneâs fingers feel against your skin before it all goes cold. It makes you trade morphine drips for stolen nights, sterile rooms for salt air that burns your ruined lungs, and polite goodbyes for the kind of honesty that wouldâve gotten you committed six months ago.
Death teaches you that time isnât money, itâs blood. And youâre both bleeding out fast.
You met James in the oncology ward on a Tuesdayâ same rare, aggressive cancer. Same prognosis: months, give or take.
The nurses called it âthe twinsâ cornerâ because you two were the youngest ones there who still had enough fire left to crack jokes about the food tasting like cardboard.
He had that crooked smile and eyes that looked like theyâd already seen the end of the world and decided to stick around anywayâ you bonded over shared hatred of the beeping machines, the way the doctors talked in probabilities instead of truths, and the fucking rules.
Let me explainâ absolutely no prolonged physical contact. You were both too weak, too prone to infection, too much of a liability if one of you coded because the otherâs touch sent blood pressure spiking.
âFor your safety,â they said. Bullshit.
So you talked. Hours. Days. Whispered across the gap between beds like prisoners tapping on walls. Never touched. Not really. A brush of fingers when passing meds, ashoulder bump during the rare supervised walk. That was it, absolute torture.
But you planned. God, you planned like kids building a fort. You smuggled notesâ saved painkillers for the escape high; a little cash stash from visitors who still pretended you might beat this. One night was the promise; one real night before the morning rounds found empty beds and called it in.
Death would have you in the morning. Tonight, you made it wait.
The escape was clumsy and perfectâ you slipped the night nurse an extra dose in her coffee (thank you, hoarded pills), timed the security camera blind spot, and shuffled out the service door like ghosts who still had legs.
The cold hit like a slap, the winter air sliced through your thin hoodies and you cursed under your breath, lungs already protesting. James grabbed your handâ properly this time, no one to stop youâ and you both laughed like idiots because it hurt and you felt alive.
You hailed a cab with the last of your saved money, the driver giving you a long look but taking the cash anyway.
âBeach,â James said, voice rough. âThe one with the shitty pier.â
The driver didnât ask questionsâ itâs like people rarely do when they see the hollow cheeks and the way you both move like glass about to shatter.
You huddled in the back under the hospital blanket youâd stolen, his coat draped over both of you, his body was fever-warm against yours, all sharp bones and trembling muscle. You pressed your face into his neck and breathed him inâantiseptic, sweat, and hospital air; but it was the scent of a man youâd take to the grave.
And God, every breath hurt. Every breath was holy.
The cab radio played some old song about lovers and purple rain, you both stayed quiet, fingers laced so tight it felt like the only thing anchoring you to the world.
The beach was deserted when you got there, wind whipping sand against your legs as winter waves crashed black and silver under the moon.
You paid the driver extra to fuck off and not report anything, then stumbled down the path together, leaning on each other like drunks whoâd finally admitted they were in love with the bottle.
The cold sand stung your bare feet but you didnât care. You spread the blanket and collapsed onto it, James pulling you against his chest immediately. No rules. No monitors. Just skin and breath and the vast indifferent ocean.
âWeâre idiots,â he muttered, lips brushing your hair. His voice was laced with that blunt honesty youâd come to crave. âShouldâve done this months ago.â
You laughed, the sound cracking in the middle. âHospital wouldâve lost their shit. âBad influences,â they called it. Like touching someone is bad.â
Like touching the person who makes you want to live is worse than the cancer and dying aloneâ devoid of love.
James tilted your chin up, his beautiful eyes already wet. âYou. Youâre the only thing thatâs ever been worth the chemo.â
You kissed him then. Slow at first, tentative like you were both afraid the other might die then and there, but hunger won.
You kissed like you could confuse death into forgetting both of your names. Tongues and teeth and desperate little sounds that the wind stole away. His handsâfinally, finallyâslid under your shirt, tracing the ridges of your spine, the sharp jut of hips that had once been softer.
You were both too thin, bodies marked by needles and scars and the slow betrayal of cells gone rogue, but mortality stripped you down to your truest selves. Nothing hiddenâ no pretending to be strong.
Tears came easy. You cried into his mouth and he tasted them, pulling back only to press his forehead to yours.
âIâm scared,â you whispered, shocking yourself with how easily it came out. No filterâ dying people donât have time for armor. so it seems.
âMe too,â James said, thumb wiping your cheek. âEvery second. But not of this. Not of you.â His hands roamed lower, mapping you like a cartographer who knew the map would burn by dawn.
You shiveredâ not from the cold âand pressed closer, legs tangling with his. The blanket wasnât enough but you didnât care because heat built where your bodies met, frantic and clumsy.
You talked between kisses, the kind of conversations only dying people have the courage to finish. âWhat if weâd met in a bar instead?â you asked, fingers digging into his hair. âWould youâve wasted time on small talk? Pretended we had forever?â
James huffed a laugh that turned into a cough and he wiped blood from his lip without comment. âNo. I wouldâve known. One look and Iâd have dragged you home, thereâs not enough lifetime for you.â
You straddled him on the blanket, the cold sand seeping through but irrelevant. His hands gripped your thighs, reverent and rough.
âI love you,â he said, blunt as a scalpel. âNot the dying-you. I just love you.â
âI love you too, my Luck.â You rocked against him, feeling him harden beneath you.
That was his little nicknameâ the thing heâd given you throughout the months, the thing you so desperately needed; luck.
Clothes came off in layersâ hoodies, shirts, pants shoved down with shaking hands. The winter air bit at exposed skin but your bodies warmed each otherâ touch turned desperate: hands everywhere, mouths chasing pulses at throats, collarbones and lower. You tasted the salt of his skin, the faint metallic hint of blood and medicine.
He groaned when your hand slipped inside his pants, your fingers wrapped around his heavy length, stroking slow and honest. âFuck, you feelââ He cut off with a hiss, hips bucking. âDonât stop. Please.â
You didnât, because thereâs something unbearably beautiful about people with no future making plans until sunrise, and you had absolutely no intentions of letting go. You whispered filthy promises against his ear: how you wanted him inside you, how youâd ride him until the stars blurred, how you didnât give a shit if it killed you faster because at least it would be this.
James flipped you gently onto your back, careful even now, and settled between your legs. His mouth exploredâ teasing nipples that tightened in the cold, dipping lower to taste you until you were cursing and crying his name into the wind. Every sensation was amplifiedâ pain and pleasure braided together.
Hope was too expensiveâ but wonder was free, thatâs why you needed to hold onto this night, before life took you both away. This was all youâd ever dreamed ofâ feeling the awe of a man indubitably starstruck by what he was holding between his handsâ and blessed be the moon and the stars for allowing you to have this.
When he finally pushed inside you, it was slow, the eyes of a lover locked into yours. You both gasped as the stretch burned beautifullyâ you were wet from tears, the want and the sheer defiance of it all; and he moved like he was memorizing every second, thrusts deep and measured because neither of you had staminaâ but you at least had need. He didnât stop until he was at the hilt, so snug where he resided, at least allowing you a moment to catch your breath.
You wrapped your legs around him, heels digging into his back, urging him harder. âMore,â you demanded. âI want to feel you tomorrow when they drag us back. I want bruises.â You begged him for marks, for a proof that youâd felt something good once in your life, and James did just that. He kissed path down your neck, leaving a train of dark brands, until you were clenching around him desperately.
He cursed, raw. âYouâre so beautiful, you know that? Tell me pretty girl, do you know that?â You nodded against him, because if you opened your mouth and talked, it would all come out a string of nonsense, so instead you bit down on his shoulder until you felt him throb inside of you.
It was messy, sand and all, but it didnât stop youâ you were dripping, the sounds muffling with the loud wind, the hum of the sea not bothering you one bit. It was the most devastating thing youâd ever feltâ and youâd gone through a lot. But holding someone so tenderlyâ while knowing you would eventually have to let go, was Godâs biggest lesson to you.
âPlease⊠please, need more.â you urged him, nails clawing at his back.
James buried his face in your neck for a second, teeth grazing your skin, âShitâŠ. baby, Iâm not going anywhere, give me a little breathing room.â
You were aware of just how hard you were clenching around himâ but for your credit, the need was way too intense to hold back.
You obeyed though, unclenching just a bitâ and only then did he come up for a kiss. âThere you go, thatâs my baby.â he kissed your forehead.
You came first, clenching around him, vision whiting out as the ocean roared in your ears and James followed soon after, burying his face in your neck, spilling hot inside you with a broken sound that tore something open in your chest.
You stayed joined for a long time, shivering under the blanket, trading lazy kisses and softer touchesâ fingers tracing ribs, counting scars like constellations. You talked more. About the stupid things youâd missâ hospital food, playing mario kart in the common areas and the way kids laugh like nothing hurts.
But most of all? About the anger that came in waves, asking, why us, why now, why couldnât we have had years?
The truth wasâ both of you were too close to the end to keep pretending you werenât at the beginning of something. So later, recklessness took over. Because fuck itâyou were dying anyway.
James dared you to run into the surf and you did, naked, screaming laughter as icy water shocked your skin, packed sand until the water rushed up to claim your ankles, then your calves, then your thighs. It hurt like hellâ your lungs seized but you splashed him anyway.
He caught you in the shallows, half in the water, half on the land, where the tide licked greedily at the boundary like it wanted to swallow you whole. There was this liminal space, the wet sand shifting beneath your feet, unstable and treacherous, just like the fragile line between living and dying. Waves rolled in, foaming around your legs, pulling back with a hiss. And here you were, pulling him for another frantic fuck, loving each other right on the edge of itâ bodies tangled where the two worlds met, salt and grit mixing with sweat and slick, permanence dissolving into something fluid and eternal in the moment.
Salt stung everywhere.
âFuck, look at you,â he murmured against your ear, even as the cold water made you both shiver. His body covered yours, shielding you from the worst of the wind, his cock already hard again, heavy and insistent against your thigh. âMy brave girl. So beautiful it hurts. So alive.â
You arched up into him, fingers digging into his wet shoulders, nails scraping through the sand that clung to his skin. The water lapped at your sides, teasing your breasts, your belly, cooling the heat building between your legs.
âJames⊠please. I need you again.â Your voice was hoarse from earlier cries, but the need was sharper now, edged with desperation. The salt stung the places heâd bitten and sucked, a delicious burn that made you clench around nothing.
James kissed you deeply, tongue sliding against yours, tasting like ocean and the faint copper of whatever medicine still lingered in his blood. One hand cupped your face, thumb stroking your cheek with aching gentleness while the other slipped between your thighs, fingers parting your folds.
âSo wet for me already,â he groaned, circling your clit with slow strokes. âThatâs my gorgeous girlâ
A wave crashed higher, splashing over your chest, and you gasped into his mouth. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. âYou laugh so pretty.â
You rocked against his hand, grinding down as his fingers pushed inside youâ two at first, stretching you open with tender care. The wet sand shifted under your back, molding to your body like it was trying to hold you in place while the water tugged you toward oblivion. It was messy, primal: grit abrading your skin, salt mixing with your arousal, the push and pull of the waves syncing with the rhythm of his fingers.
âJamesâfuck âmore,â you begged, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his ass. âI want you inside please.â
This was it. This was everything and youâd trade every remaining heartbeat for ten more minutes of his hands on you.
He pulled his fingers free, replacing them with the blunt head of his cock, rubbing it through your slickness. âYeah? You want me to fuck you?â His voice dropped, dirty and loving all at once. âMy sweet, filthy girl.â He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, the stretch burning beautifully against the cold water. You both moaned as he bottomed out, your walls fluttering around him, clenching greedily.
The first thrust was measured, deep, Jamesâ hips rolling like the waves themselvesâpulling back as the tide receded, slamming forward as it surged in. Sand scraped your shoulders, your ass, but the discomfort only heightened everything. âGod, you feel so good,â he praised, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked even in the dim moonlight. âSo warm around me. So perfect. My lucky girl.â
You cried out as he hit that spot inside you, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails that the salt would sting later. âHarder, James. Please, i canât.â
He obliged, surrendering to each of his girlsâ wishes, picking up pace, one hand bracing in the sand beside your head, the other gripping your thigh to spread you wider. âThatâs it, baby. Let me hear you.â
You made the sure the sea heard how full he made you feel, moans getting louder.
âLook at your pretty pussy swallowing my cock. Youâre doing so good for meâ my strong, beautiful girl. Taking it like a champ.â
Pleasure coiled tight in your core, and a larger wave hit, soaking you completely. you gasped, clenching hard around him and your vision blurred, legs trembling. âJamesâ Iâm closeâfuckââ
âMmhh, poor thing,â he whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he leaned down to kiss your neck, sucking another mark into your skin while his hips kept that relentless rhythm. âItâs okay. You should come. I got you my sweet girl.â
James words broke you. The orgasm crashed over you harder than any wave, vision whiting out as your body seized around him, pulsing and fluttering, pulling him deeper. You screamed his name into the wind, nails digging in, back arching so sharply the sand shifted and gave way beneath you.
He kept praising you through it, voice rough and adoring: âYesâ fuck, thatâs my girl. I love you.â
James followed you over soon after, burying himself to the hilt with a broken groan, spilling hot and deep inside you as another ye another wave washed over your conjoined bodies. You stayed locked together, trembling, as the tide gently rocked you. He collapsed half on top of you, careful not to crush, his face tucked into your neck, pressing soft kisses to your pulse point.
After a while, James you just laid there, not even caring about the pneumonia and whatever terrible diseases you were prone to, the salt surely stung but so did the love.
He traced patterns on your back, adoring your skin like it was his own, âIf thereâs an afterlife, Iâm finding you there. Weâll do this right, no hospitals.â
You cried again and James held you through it, rocking you like you were something precious and breakableâwhich you arguably were. The night stretched and you shared the last of the smuggled snacks, feeding each other with sticky fingers, laughing when the wind stole crumbs.
Then came more touches, slower now. His mouth on your thighs, your tongue tracing the veins on his cock until he was hard again and you took him deep, choking a little because you wanted to feel so full of him. He returned the favor, eating you out with single-minded focus until you soaked his face and the blanket. You came down from the high tangled, whispering secrets no one else would ever hear.
Seeâ there are conversations only dying people have the courage to finish. You told him your biggest regret: not saying yes to life sooner. For years, youâd mistaken survival for living, you kept waiting for the fear to disappear before allowing yourself joy, convinced there would always be another treatment, another doctor, another version of yourself brave enough to exist instead of merely endure. You postponed happiness until it became a habit. You treated tomorrow as something permanent.
That was until you met him, though.
You only wished you had arrived there sooner. Not because it would have spared you this endingâ God noâ but because it would have given you more time to love the life youâd spent so long refusing. You looked at him and realized death wasnât what made your chest ache, it was finally understanding how beautiful living had always been, just as it was slipping beyond your reach.
James, when his turn came, admitted his fear of being forgotten. âTheyâll remember the sick version,â he said. âNot the one who made you laugh tonight.â
âThey wonât forget this,â you promised. âNot us. Not tonight.â
Dawn crept closer and the sky lightened to a bruised purple; you dressed slowly, stealing kisses between layers. The cab back was silent, hands clasped, bodies aching in the best and worst ways.
Every step toward the hospital felt like walking into the grave willingly. But you carried the night with youâ the salt on your skin, the marks on your neck, the memory of him inside you while the ocean watched.
Back in the ward, alarms blared and nurses swarmed, you looked at James across the chaos and smiled. He smiled back, crooked and real, realizing that sickness was waiting with its arms opened wide enough to welcome the both of you.
Death would have you in the morning. But tonightâfuck, tonight you lived.
contain nsfw content so please mdni âșïž they will be sorted by authors i really like, with appropriate tags, requests are open for other groups or members đđŸ will be updated regularly as i read!
@ptolemaeiia her works are always so full of emotion and so well written Iâm sorry for glazing but itâs just the truth hehe â€ïž anyways check out her whole cortis masterlist is awesome!
A HEAVEN TO KEEP { angsty, smut } so tragically beautiful honestly I canât even describe how this made me feel, this is one of my favs.
DO NOT FEAR caution { talks of rape, smut, heavy angst} james showing you that consensual intimacy can be tender and sweet. I cried so much, this is heavily ethel cain coded midwestern
TONGUE {smut, long fanfic, angst} this was one of my first reads on coerblr, honestly loved this so much, another 10/10, characters are so interesting and complicated, (bonus I believe itâs originally her Wattpad fanfic)
@castlejames fell in love with their latest work, cannot begin to explain how much I love their stuff. I need more works ! â€ïžâ€ïž
FALLEN ROSARY. religious theme, blasphemy, ponderous sexual tension, dubcon undertone, religious guilt, hint of sub!james. Honestly so good, I love religious themes and this was awesome, so well written and sensible. please I need more of this genre authornim.
FINGERTIPS another 10/10 smut
@yufansbby absolute 10/10
SECRET AFFAIRS smut ever since your rough and turbulent break up with your boyfriend, james, he has been determined to prove that he will stop at nothing to get you back; no matter how low he has to stoop. and you swore to yourself that you would never give in. but after multiple intimate altercations between you two at a casual meetup in your mutual friends house, which lead to a situation not even you thought would take place, how will things turn when you finally fall victim to your ex boyfriendâs endless teasing and temptation?
@hnsbxby filthy i love their smuts omg
STAMINA smut
@angelsboutique I love them so
TAKE IT smut best friend James whoâs always so patient and sweet but gets frustrated one day and just fucks the shit out of you
@kiswritting I love this account so so much 10/10 smuts chefs kiss
HUSBAND JAMES husband! james x wife! reader smut, 18+ content, somno, sad stuff, angsty, mention of miscarraiges
LIVE IN BF live-in bf! james x live-in gf! reader 18+ content, mdni, unprotected sex, comfy sex, baby-trapping,
@wxnizz amazing fanfics omg
BITTERSWEET. smut Your bestfriend helps you get over your ex
FIGHT DIRTY smut +18 james agrees to play the role of your protective boyfriend, only for the arrangement to turn into a dangerous obsession you never intended to happen.
@thvgia awesome works !
WORST BEHAVIOUR smut ! james is insufferable. heâs truly the worst. with his snotty âdonât talk to meâ attitude, and his dirty looksâyou seem to be the only one he has a soft spot for.
@babyonette i love their fic cocktail baby, check out their masterlist !
COCKTAIL BABY smut. a night out never excites you much. same old shit happens, just different day. when your friend invites you out to a bar on a tuesday of all days, you reluctantly agree. you find out that the bartender there is one, the hottest guy youâve ever seen, and two, apparently very into you.
â*ââ§âË religious theme, corruption kink, subtle religious guilt, forced proximity, innocence kink, dubcon undertone, emotional vulnerability, implied virginity loss, mdni
escaping from the convent while still in your religious habit because you didn't manage to pack your things makes you look like a nun ready to persuade the whole city to repent. it is your first time ever stepping your foot in the city where the sky is replaced with neon fluorescent light and the sounds of birds humming and church bells ringing are substituted with upbeat and energetic songs. the heavy rain, most likely a punishment from god to you for leaving the holy place, soaks you. with a trembling body, you sit with crossed arms in the corner, leaning your body against the concrete.
this city was never made for you. or at least that's what he thought. for the first time ever in his life, he never saw someone in a religious habit sit near the club. realizing you were shaking due to the cold, he walks closer to you.
"what are you doing here? aren't you supposed to be at the church or something?"
the unknown man asked. his voice was mixed with the sound of thunder but you could hear him clearly. his look is contrasting with yours. his hair looks steady from the pomade, and his lips are pale pink in an unnatural way. probably faded lipstick from drinking. his collarbone is full of glitter, and so are his eyelids and cheekbones. he has a tie wrapped under his yellow cardigan that pairs with leather pants. and you obviously never see anyone, especially men, wearing such things.
"i ran away."
"huh? from where?"
"the convent, as you can see."
"why?"
"it's a long story."
and that meeting led both of you to chill at his rental room. it was obviously bigger than your previous room in the convent, though it only fit for one person. single bed. a single wardrobe and a vanity and one small bathroom. that previous guy whose name you finally know mentioned that he works as a dancer in the club nearby and is still saving money to afford a better place. and that's when you spilled to him the reason you left the convent. he replied with nothing but just nodded in understanding. he is known as james.
the air is filled with awkwardness. even worse, your soaked clothes started to drip and stain his floor.
"i don't have any clothes that fit you except this tee."
james told you as he hands you his old tee that is twice your size. you were hesitant, but you had no choice. you take the tee and go to the bathroom. you quickly undress and take a quick shower. using the unused and clean towel on the shelf, you dry and wipe yourself. you take the tee james gave and you smell it. he says that was his old tee yet his cologne still sticks on it. maybe, he wore it sometimes. you thought.
you wear the tee. it feels comfortable and refreshing, especially after hours you've been in that habit. the tee fits you just nice except it's a little bit bigger. and you just realized you don't pick anything and you have no undergarments. you doomed.
"just for this one night, and it's okay."
you told yourself. anxiety eats you up automatically the moment you unlock the bathroom door. never in your life have you been in the same room with a man. the bad thoughts conquering your mind make you genuinely want to die. to your surprise, james already standing in front of the door when you unlocked it, causing you to stumble on the sink. he was casually wrapped in a towel.
"i'm sorry. did i scare you?
one of his eyebrow lifts. he was weirded out due to your reaction as if you had just seen a ghost. you shook your head and rushedly left the bathroom. and you sit on the cold floor, back leaning against the wall, trying your best to sleep. james peeks at you before he locks the door. noticing you were on the floor, he told you to sleep on the bed.
"what about you then?"
"i'm going to sleep there too."
"oh."
"don't worry. i won't touch you, god's child."
"âunless you want me to."
a force chuckle escapes from your lips. once he locks the door, you climb on his bed and awkwardly position yourself. the air was chilly and colder than usual, so you don't think the thin blanket is enough to warm you up. this cold weather also makes it hard to fall asleep. knowing you're going to share a bed with james makes it even harder.
james settles up everything before he joins you on the bed. you pretend to sleep with your eye closed but his weight on the bed keeps making you awake. you fidget with your small cross necklace, praying that you can sleep in peace tonight.
"it's too fucking cold. i can't sleep."
james uttered. you want to reply but you refuse to let him know.
"so that's actually my blanket. everything here is mine. so can you let me be in the blanket too?"
you really doomed but you act to your fullest to be cool with it. it takes him less than a second to be in the same blanket with you once you nod your head. the tension is gradually increasing that you feel your heart about to burst.
and james feels the same way too. except he feels worse. the sight of you in his oversized tee, the scent of his old cologne stuck to your skin, and the way he can feel your figure slightly brushed against his chest and thighs makes him go crazy. he feels insane, though he has seen thousands of women almost naked in the club. but nothing comes close to whatever he feels with you now. maybe the thought of you being pure and a child's god leads him to feel that way. the image of you in the habit was vivid in his mind. seeing you in his tee, on his bed, makes him feel dirty.
and he doesn't want you to know that.
with a deep breath, he turns his body and back facing you. the tension and the cold rise at the same time. you can't sleep in this kind of air.
slowly, you face and turn to his body. you carefully tap james's shoulder, causing him to face you. now both of you are so close that you can feel his nose tip slightly brushed against yours. his heart is almost racing to the moon at the sight of your face being so close to him. he swore he would actually pull you and crash your lips against his but he didn't.
"can you hug me? it's beyond cold. i can't sleep."
your words break the silence. you don't know how those words run smoothly from your mouth but you didn't form any single thought after or before you said that. you're desperate for warmth. you're desperate for a place that you can finally call as a safe space.
and you believe, god made you meet him for a reason. he is your new safe space.
without saying anything, james immediately pulled you into his embrace. he hugs you tightly as he runs his fingers in your hair after. you glued your face to his chest. he gently caresses your back. the thought of corrupting you flashes inside of his head when he is just trying to give you the warmth you need. he bites his lower lip, warning himself to stay sane.
but it makes it harder when you're the one who is asking for him to touch you more.
"your touch comforts me. i need more."
he thought you were out of your head until you were the one who reached for his hand and put it on your bare thighs. you never felt such good feelings in the convent before.
"tell me, what else do you need?"
james muttered near your lips. his breath, his lips subtly brushed against yours.
"don't make me run away from you. keep me, and don't call me god's anymore."
your words send blood to james's dick. he didn't even need to think a lot about your offer. his gentle caressing on your thighs turns rough with his fingernails digging into your skin, leading you to hiss a little. his fingers swiftly travel to your core. his thumb plays with your fold before his middle finger finds your clit and rubs it in a circular motion with his thumb next as he slowly thrusts his middle finger inside you. a soft moan escapes from your lips and that's enough for james to leak precum. you're inexperienced, so you just clench on james's singlet, legs shaking and awkwardly spread for james to fit his fingers more inside you.
"oh fuck, you're such a good girl. fuck. you're genuinely a good girl. letting a man like me own you, huh?"
james told as he continued thrusting his fingers. it was slow but loud enough to echo in your ears. his words sound degrading, but he praised you and called you a good girl, so what does that mean?
you clench james's singlet tighter. you look up to him in between your heavy lids. in the dim light, he still can see your reaction. he swears to god, you know how to break him. with your lips slightly parted, james roughly crashes his lips on yours. his tongue then explores inside your mouth. he doesn't care if you don't know how to kiss; he just needs to be your one and only place where you need to be on your knees soon. he promised to take care of you more than god does.
â*ââ§âË religious imagery and (some) metaphor, blasphemy, religious and grey line theme, best friends to lover, heavy angst, forbidden romance, morally messy but consensual intimacy, ownership language, infidelity-adjacent tension, mdni
the news of you going to marry the pastor's son from the metropolitan is not only breaking your heart but also your one and only best friend, james. growing up together in the seaside village, building sandcastles together after bible's reading sessions, cry and sleeping on each other's arms, it's impossible for him to let you go.
and it's not one-sided. both of you knew, though none of you officially confessed. as both of you grow, both of you try your best to not spend your time until late at night alone; both of you try to limit the skin contact, and both of you try to not get nervous when one catches another staring. you believe, it was hormonal changes that made both of you not behave like a child anymore. and for james, he believes both of you were cowards, thinking that one confession might ruin the 'bestfriend' title.
until one night, the day before your wedding, you ran to the old beach cottage where both of you used to stay after collecting seashells, and if you were lucky, you would find an ammonite and asked james to turn it into a charm.
the cottage still looks the same since james always keeps it clean while you're busy doing diakonia. he's not surprised that you still doing charity or any services for the name of god, he knows how devoted you are to your religion. sometimes, he wished he was as devoted as you, but he can't see himself forgetting god for slowly taking you from him and trying to unite you with one of his pawns, that pastor's son.
and that's a thing he never wanted you to know.
"you're not supposed to be here. you're about to be someone's wife tomorrow."
james told you as soon as you entered the small cottage. watching you casually walk in and sit at the edge of his bed stings his heart. as if you just want to rub in his face about the fact you're getting married. and that's just what he thought because there's no way you're going to marry someone that is a stranger and unknown to you.
"james?"
you called. how he loves the way you always called his name in the softest voice ever. he take a quick glance at you and pretends to be busy making a seashell bracelet at his desk. his action hurts you more than you expected. waking up from your seat, you walk to him, pushing his shoulder so hard that he almost falls off from the chair.
"what is wrong with you?"
your voice starts to croak as your tears burst like a broken faucet. seeing you cry is one of james's weaknesses. he tried to not care, pretending as if you were absent until you got on your knees, taking his hand and putting it on your left chest, where he could feel your heart race.
"don't get on your knees for me. i'm not your god you always prayed to."
"then, stop pretending you don't hear nor see me."
your words hit him hard. he finally looks at you before he immediately pulls you into his embrace, hugging you so tight and letting your tears stain his pale blue shirt. it's hard for him to ignore you when you're emotionally fragile like that. both of you don't say anything. just inhale each other's scent. hands roaming and caressing each other's clothed skin. james hugs you tighter when the sounds of thunder and lightning are breaking the sky. the rains come after, fall down heavily and marred the broken glass window. as if god doesn't want you to go back to your place and get ready for tomorrow's wedding.
"why it take you so long to finally hug me?"
"because your god won't allow me to touch you. unless we're married."
the thunder strikes louder on the outside. most likely a sign from god to stop bringing him in any conversation you both have. you pulled away from the hug slowly, taking his wrist with you so you could sit on the bed together. the mattress dips under both of your weights. james sits stiffly beside you. his hand still in yours, warms and trembles a little bit, most likely from the unexpected hug. his eyes darted to your delicate hand instead of your eyes now.
the rain and thunder grow heavier on the outside. james take a quick peek at the window.
"god might send a flood to punish me."
"why?"
"because i'm planning to ruin your wedding tomorrow."
and for a moment, your breath stuck in your throat. james look back at you awkwardly, as if he regrets saying that out loud. but there is no apology behind his eyes. he clears his throat, walking back to his desk.
"once the rain is over, so are we."
you flabbergasted at his words. you knows he just wants to mess with your feelings and make you regret coming to this cottage. but you didn't take him seriously. not until he actually ruins your wedding dress.
"i come here because i don't want to get married to that man why are you so slow and can't take the hint?!"
the pearls and the seashells fall down from his grip before he turns to you. he walks to you once again. the cold weather increases the heavy tension between both of you.
"then, what do you want me to do? kill that man?"
james must beyond dumb you thought. you're tired from keeping your feelings, as it is an actual big sin and you're exhausted from keep on praying to god to erase them, so you decided from now on to ensure it is painfully visible to both god and him that you want nothing else but to be together with him.
you pulled james by his collar and crashed your lips with his. the kiss acted as a symbol of your fragility at first, with your tears laced in between both of your lips along with james pulling your dress ribbon around your waist to make you glued to his chest. he kissed you back passionately as if the world were about to end. both of your hands tremble against each other fabric. you gasp in between the kisses; you look up slowly, matching gazes with james.
"don't use me to escape your wedding."
"i'm not."
you replied with your lips trembling against his.
"then what am i to you now?"
the question breaks you like the lightning breaking the night sky.
you stare at him. the raindrop slides down on the window like his invisible tears that he believes only he can see. the cottage is quailing under the storm as if it were about to get swallowed by the sea along with the rain.
"make me yours,james. i pray to god daily to make me yours."
his thumb swiftly caressed your cheeks as well as your tears that had fallen non-stop. he cup your cheeks after, forcing your gaze to meet his.
"say it again. say it louder."
his voice demanded. his tone came back rougher.
"james, make me yours."
you uttered. eyes never leaving his.
"and what about tomorrow?"
"it will never exist when you claim me as yours now."
james stare deeper into your eyes, searching for clarity and confirmation in your words.
"i love you james."
and that's the word he's been waiting to hear for so long. he pulled you instantly into a deeper kiss this time, making sure every inch of his lips touched yours, his tongue smoothly entering your warm mouth, ensuring every space he got to was explored, leading you to tug into his collar tighter. the kiss is getting hotter and messier as his saliva is dripping all over your chin, mixing with yours as well.
"i truly love you too. i love you so much."
james whispered before his lips travel down to your neck. carefully, he guides your body to land on his bed and pins you down. his hands roaming all over your body, not knowing where to touch because he wants to hold everything and feel everything that's yours.
"don't you think god will be mad at us?"
james asked, almost sarcastically, knowing how faithful you are to god. you shook your head.
"better than married to a man i don't know."
his lips hover against yours before they move to your neck and your shoulder. your answer slightly annoyed him because you still mentioned that man.
"don't talk about that man. don't make me feel i've been compared."
your breath catches. you didn't even mean it in that way.
âjamesââ
"don't choose me just because he is a stranger."
a clear hurt painted his face, though he told you in a monotone. your eyes soften, and hands slowly reach to his face before you caress his cheeks gently.
"you're the one i prayed and asked for, not anyone else. i swear."
james closed his eyes, as if your words were pulling him into another dimension, swallowing him whole.
"say it again."
"i choose you."
his hands then find yours on the bed, fingers locking together; it almost hurts.
"say it properly."
"i choose you, james. i'll forever choose you."
and he finally gives in. james kiss you again but this time slower and more gently. he kisses you tenderly, appreciating you when he finally believes you're his and can never be claimed by others. his lips hover to your jaw next.
"tell me you won't regret everything after this thunderstorm stops."
james commended as his fingers finally land on your thigh, fingertips subtly making contact with it. you let out a dim moan as a response.
"i won't."
he stroke your thighs, his hand moving higher and he stops just right on your clothed core and his lips move along down to your throat, giving it a peck.
"tell me whose you belong to."
his touch and his sayings make your whole body tremble, including your lips and it's not because you're scared but because of how small he makes you feel and how good it feels.
"i'm yours."
though the storm is getting worse minute by minute, with the sounds of rain slicing the sky, he heard your word the most. it was the loudest sound he ever heard that night. the sharp smell of sea salt, the sounds of intense waves crashing combined with thunderstorms, and the smell of familiarity of the shared cabin lead both of you to think that this might be doomsday.
and both of you regret nothing, even if a flood takes everything else to keep you together eternally.
â*ââ§âË religious theme, blasphemy, ponderous sexual tension, dubcon undertone, religious guilt, hint of sub!james,mdni
you're a non-believer and promise to never believe in anything that you couldn't see. going to this unknown church that is located far from your hometown isn't even your choice by heart. if it's not for your individual assignment, you would rather go to a haunted house than this building.
a young priest, maybe one year younger than you, has been noticing your visit to the church almost daily, and he never bothers with the fact that you only visit it when nobody is around. but, the fact that he was watching you at the bench, as well as journaling about religious stuff, annoyed you to your core.
one day, you purposely wear an exposed outfit, a low-waist mini denim shorts with a few rips on the thighs, paired with long boots and pale green checkered flannel with nothing inside it; you just want to see if that priest actually cares or not. he must be fuming watching someone disrespect his holy place, you thought.
"you can't go here wearing such an outfit, young miss."
the priest finally spoke. his voice is deeper than you imagine. his gaze is cold; his jawline and nose are sharp. he has a majestic look. even in a cassock. your eyes swiftly move from his face to the stainless steel rosary before you lock your gaze with his. he has this cold reaction too on his face, nonchalant to be exact, and that amuses you even more.
"you can talk?"
you asked, sarcastically.
"what do you want?"
"i'm an architecture student. i need to analyze this building and write an essay about it."
"what's with the outfit, then?"
"to finally make you talk."
the priest released a deep sigh.
it took both of you less than a minute and you're finally in that church together with the priest named james. he asked you to button up the flannel before he offered his long-sleeved shirts he got at the back of his car to cover your exposed thighs. he follows you from behind; sometimes he takes several glances at you, who are busy analyzing the stained-glass windows, empty seats, and quiet altar while jotting down notes. the smell of old wood and candle wax lingers in the air.
"it looks older on the inside."
"mhm. it's the oldest church in this town too."
you nodded before you turned your body, facing james. he was flabbergasted when you suddenly stopped walking and writing but he managed to stay laid-back. he clears his throat, fingers clenching on his rosary. it seems he is going to face a challenge soon.
"pretty sure you know a lot about this church. tell me more. i need more details than what i can see."
from discussing and asking the history of the church to talking about something personal about each other, the atmosphere in the archive room is getting hotter. you unbutton your flannel and give the shirt back to james. a slow "thank you" escape from your lips.
"if you don't believe what you can't see, do you believe in what you feel?"
james asked, while you were still jotting down. sitting on the dusted floor and your single bang of your hair covering your eyes from the side, he can't deny that you're prettier than this church. maybe he needs to study you more, just like how you're in-depth with this old building. realizing whatever sentiment he feels, james immediately snaps into reality and asks you to go home since it's almost dawn.
but not both of you are ending up home.
james's question made you dumbfounded. you do believe in what you feel. and you believe it is never wrong. you nodded your head, finally looking up, eyes locking with james's who's leaning on the wooden shelf.
and you believe the air and the space you shared with him now twist something in you. and you believe he feels the same way too. the tension is heavy, a tad bit awkward but none of you move. until you stand up, brush off the dust from your back, and walk closer to him before you corner him in between your arms.
"don't you feel a little bit hot, wearing all this up in here?"
you ask. it's only the small gap between you and your powdery scent that makes james having a hard time swallowing his own saliva. you don't even lay your finger on him yet. because you want him, who everyone believes is a total saint and sin-free, to hold you first.
"i'm used to it."
"to what? being so closed with women like this?"
silence. only the sound of breathing and cicadas breaking the air. james stare on the ground instead of looking straight at you. he never commits such a sin that is associated with women. the worst he ever did so far was trying cannabis.
the air feels heavier. none of you say anything. you wait for his response, and he waits for god to help him.
"priest james?"
"don't call me that."
you raised an eyebrow. amused at the sight of him suddenly sounding firmer than usual. the way you call him that just does something he never felt before. and he don't want to feel it again. it make him feel sinful.
"why, you got turned on?"
his fingers once again clenching to the rosary, he fidgets with it as he closes his eyes. in this kind of moment, he needs help from his god, but maybe this time, god really wants to test him to see whether his faith is strong or not.
"you're sure a virgin and very religious. and i adore you for that."
letting out a forced chuckle, you break the proximity by pulling away but less than a few seconds later, the priest takes your wrist. holding it in a tremble. a subtle smile forms at the corner of your lips.
"if you come here for research, make it look like it."
he utters right after he releases the grip from yours. he backfacing you swiftly; his rosary hangs and swings slow, making a clinking sound when it hit the shelf. his hands hold tight the rosary, closing eyes and mumbling something. his action caught you off guard.
"what are you praying for?"
"i'm praying for you to leave before i stop being the man i promised god i would be."
the room sounds quieter; even the sounds of cicadas can't be heard anymore. his words don't make you feel offended. you don't even feel like teasing him anymore as you genuinely feel curious. you move closer to him.
"do you think god will hate you just because of whatever you feel right now?"
he is quiet for a moment before he replies.
"button up your flannel."
"you don't answer my question."
james hold the rosary so tight that the tiny cross starts to leave a mark on his palm. he finally facing you.
"god never hates the feeling. but he despises the action."
"don't do it then."
a snicker escaped from the priest's dried lips. your eyes caught the tiny cross mark on his palm before you looked at his face again.
"leave."
"pray harder to your god. make me leave."
and that's all it takes for james to finally make a move. when you disrespect his god, when you are non-stop teasing and challenging him.
james grab your wrist, brings you to the door and pins you against it. his hands are still on the wrist. even with his whole body trembling, his grip is firm.
"button up your flannel and then leave."
his cheeks burn red. you stare at his face, analyzing his features before finally your eyes land on his lips. you love the fact his hand never leaves your wrist despite him asking you to go.
"do it for me."
maybe he doesn't want to argue anymore. the tension is draining him. without any question, he buttons up your flannel. he try his best to not make any contact with your bare body. however, his eyes can't stop looking at the sight of your nipple. his throat feels like wrapping with a thorn that he can't swallow easily. you enjoy the sight of him trying his best to be a good man to his god. you purposely toying with his rosary, making it harder for him to breathe. and his dick too.
the tiny cross slips in between your fingers, feeling cold from the steel. you're fidgeting with it so hard that it falls off from its clasp. but neither of you bends down and picks it up. you tilt your head, watching james who keeps on looking at your face instead of the cross on the dirty floor.
he has been fighting with his own lust and he knows he is not strong enough to fight with anything anymore. slowly, he grabs your hands to help him caress your stomach up to your chest with the tips of his fingers. his gentle and unsure movement makes your knees turn into jelly. you never expect that you'll shudder from his action too. it turns you weak to see someone who seems so devoted to god trembling over a woman like him. like now.
you caresses his back before locking your fingers in his hair. a small whimper flees from him. he look at you with heavy lids in between your cleavage. his blown-out pupils immediately get you soaked under there. he feels you're prettier when you're looking down on him that he quickly gets down on his knees. his fingertips follow down, trailing your bare skin to your thigh. his eyes still on yours.
"forgive me god, for what i am about to commit i'll repent later."
missing james's black short spiky hair like urghhhhhhhhh i know he's good in every type of hair. he looks majestic in long hair, the blonde hair make him look like a prince but my gosh the black spiky one got my heart and i can't never understand some people say that hair was ugly on him??? that hair enhance the hotness in him!
need that veiny hand to choke me even though i'm not into choking. need that handsome veiny hand to pull my hair. how hot it must be to be treated gently by him since he is indeed a gentleman but imagine how hotter he rips or unbuttons your blouse or unclasps your bra using one hand only while he is mad or when he just needs to use you after a tiring day at the studio . need him to edge me using the tip of his nose though idk if it's possible or not but fuck it just abuse my hole
he traces your face with his calloused fingertips, caressing almost every inch of your skin as his gaze bury in your eyes. you try to not look at him, you feel empty despite of him showing affection towards you. though you feel empty inside, his touch makes your heart race, just like how he held your hand for the first time. it was so intimate and romantic. he pulls you gently to his chest before he wraps his arm around your fatigue figure. he plants soft kisses multiple times on top of your head, whispering that everything is going to be fine sooner. finally, you feel a little better. his warm hugs and soapy scent calm you down. he hugs you tighter when he can feel you're clenching on his polo shirt. "make me feel things" you mumble but he catches it all. his fingers immediately go underneath your green dress, caressing and tracing your back just like how he did on your face. moving down to your waist, you get a goosebump, and asking for more. he knows what you want. his fingers slide down through your undies, fidgeting with your clit first before he decides to enter you. a soft sigh escape from your lips. "feeling better?" and you nod before he kiss your forehead. you close your eyes as his fingers working down on you. every circular motion from his fingertips on your clit make you feel good that your lips start to curve into a light smile until his thumb taking turn rubbing your clit as he shove his middle and index fingers into you, thrusting them gently. that smile faded now it shifts into a moan. "even better now?" he ask with a subtle smirk paints on his face.
ౚà§Ë: heavy religious theme, angsty undertone, james as a temptation/devil/yearner/whatever you want to interpret,grammar error, my longest fic so far
18+
the guilt you have when you realized you had a silly feelings over the farmer's son because once you step into a convent, such feelings are forbidden. though you only saw him when he was helping his mother cutting off the wild grass or cleaning the gutter, you can't get your eyes off from him. sometimes you heard about the girls talking about him too but you're never part of the conversation. talking about how the one and only man around this convent look so good especially when he was holding the grass scythe as sweats and dirt painted all around his dull clothes. obviously, the abbess never know.
but god knows.
that night, when he was sneaking into your room. asked you to try his mother's cookies that they were baking. you're hesitated at first, until he shoved the tiny piece in your mouth without any warning. a giggle slipped from your lips. the cookie was nice, you told him. a few seconds after, an awkward silence filled in your dusty room. as if he knew about your crush on him. he flashed a tiny smile, felt good after a small compliment you gave even it was for that cookie and not him.
"are they all sleeping?"
he asked, almost whispering. you nodded your head. again, the air felt heavy. your finger immediately intertwined with the cross on your necklace. he hummed at your response. it was late at night. you're supposed to sleep too. and he shouldn't be at the girls dormitory.
he sit at the edge of your bed, your toes slightly brushed against his cold jeans. you slowly moved backward, leaning your back against the bedframe. the air were getting heavier and more tense, like it could crashed your body and soul.
"i would be dead if others know you're here."
"and i would be dead too."
you flabbergasted at how monotone his respond was. if he knew it, why would he got here?
"get out."
and he did. that was your first conversation with him and met him up closer. since that night, he would climb to your window and sneak into your room, chilling together on the cold floor. sharing cookies and talking about the boring religious class and stuff both of you did on that day. it's been almost a month, and both of you never get caught.
during daylight, you can't really focus on doing your chores. your head was full with him, replaying all the moment where both of your hands slightly brushed against each other, how he calloused hand ruffled your hair before he went back to his place, and how innocent and kind he were to you.
until one night, when both of you crossed the line.
"james, i don't think you should come here anymore..."
the farmer's son frowned at your words. usually, you would welcome him with a beaming smile as your gentle hands grabbing his arms to let him into your room. a single why escaped from his dry lips.
"we might get caught soon. i'm scared."
he took your hand, guiding you to your own bed before he pulled you into an embrace from behind. you can feel his warmth against your pajamas. you gulped in nervousness. you spent a lot of time with him but never this close, never this intimate where you can hear his heartbeat.
"james?"
he hummed, head rested on your neck. you felt every breath he blew out.
"are you scared of god or them?"
you dumbfounded. maybe god. maybe them. most likely both. but you also afraid of not be able to talk with james too.
his fingers then travel down to your waist, swiftly caressing your bare skin after they succeed entering your pajamas. your breath hitched every time his fingertips made contact with your skin. holding hands and ruffling hair were casual and sweet but this is way too intimate.
"do you love me?"
he whispered as he removed his finger out from your clothes, wrapping your body and pulled you tighter to his embrace.
of course you do. if you don't love him, why would you took a risk and had him in your room? if you don't love him, you won't mention his name in your prayer. if you don't love him, you wouldn't let him to touch you.
" i do."
you replied as you nodded your head. taking his hand back before you plant a kiss at the back of it. james gave you a soft kiss on top of your head in return.
"then, let's run away together."
you knew it. and that's what made your heart ache. you love him. but you love your god more. what made your heart ache more was you knew you won't be able to meet him again this time.
so you choose another way instead of running away.
to let him having you for the first and last time.
"what's the point of you letting a man touching you if you know god forbid?"
he questioned again. you sighed.
"because god always forgive me."
"so let's run away and let god forgive you later."
james mumbled as he hands travel back down your underneath. he roughly gripped your boobs without your warning, as if he has been holding himself for so long. you winced, hands squeezed his thighs.
"but i can't take you from your mother. she needs you more than me."
you said. shame, guilt, and a tad bit of pleasure haunted you that night. you took a quick glance on your cross necklace. a sigh escaped from your lips.
"she ain't my real mother. i need you more than anything else, please let's leave."
you're torn in between.
"i can get my knees down on you, worship you. do your god to that to you?"
his words hit like a bullet. ever since you entered this convent, you always feel guilty and sinful, no matter how many time you read the verse from holy bible, no matter how long you spend your time alone in the church, you feel empty and worthless.
maybe for this time, you should let the devil win, to see if god really going to save you this time.
you let his hands goes further inside you, let him whispered corrupted words that you wouldn't never expect coming from him. he had you shaking and trembling, but you never ask for god's help at that time.
"i wanna own you. please surrender yourself to me. i'll do anything you want."
bestfriends! james zhao x reader [ requested!<33 ]
sypnosis: james and y/n both already tired after being dealing with way too many failed dates and talking stages, what starts as mutual frustration slowly turns into ending up finding comfort in each other through shared love of nicotine and... something new?
warning: sexual content , blunt, drugs mentioned [ MDNI ]
you were standing alone in the street waiting for james to pick you up after a terrible date, you shook your head and let out a tired sigh, sinking into the passenger seat.
ânope.â you muttered, staring out the window. âanother disaster, literally tried to eat my face during the whole damn movie.â james lets out a small laugh, not in a mean way, just like he expected it.Â
âsame here.â he says, pulling away from the curb and driving you both to his place. âactually called it quits tonight with the girl from ryulâs party.â
"i just dont know why this makes me feel like shit, do you think this is a âmeâ problem?â you sighed.
âi donât think itâs a âyouâ problem, dating just sucks sometimes, either a hit or miss.â
âbut like no matter how hard i try, nothing works.â you drop onto his couch, grab your makeup wipes and remove your makeup like its no big deal doing it infront of him, however james was already used to it. james then walks over and sits beside you.
âor maybe you just havenât met the right person yet, but who am i to talk right?â he chuckles to himself.Â
you lean closer to him on the couch. âhey, uh⊠you have some blunt?â you ask, flashing him a small, sweet smile to him in attempt to persuade him.
james sighs at you with a knowing grin, running a hand through his hair. his then eyes flicker between your sweet smile and the exhausted slump of your shoulders. he knows that look too well, you're not just asking for a hit, you're asking for an escape. for the both of you.Â
"yeah, hold on." he moves to the coffee table, pulling out his grinder.
you turn on his tv while he gets up, opening cigarettes sfter sex on spotify and playing a few of your favorite songs of them, of course you had to start it off with apocalypse.
the gentle strums of apocalypse fill the dimly lit living room, the dreamy haze of the song perfectly matching the mood. james watched you sprawl on his couch like you belong there. to which honestly you kind of do at this point.
he's rolled two already, expertly packing them. tosses you one with a lighter. "here.â
"ow!" you winced, "im not good at catch you know that!â
james shook his head at your antics with a playful chuckle and wraps his fingers around yours to steady the blunt. "let me help you out, you klutz." he brings the flame to the tip, the ember glowing orange.
"inhale slowly." james murmurs.
'kisses on the foreheads of the lovers wrapped in your armsâŠ
you've been hiding them in hollowed-out pianos left in the dark'
âugh.. fuck.â you groaned, taking in the blunt so slowly,ames takes a long drag himself, holding it for a moment before releasing it in a slow stream of smoke. his eyes cut to you, noticing the way your head drops back against the couch cushion. the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on him, how close you are, how natural this feels.
"yeah, fuck." jamesâs voice is now low, rougher than usual due to the smoke reaching his throat, he passes it back to you, fingers brushing.Â
eyesâ met while transferring the blunt.
âgot the music in you, baby, tell me whyâŠ
got the music in you, baby, tell me whyâŠ
you've been locked in here forever, and you just can't say goodbyeâŠâ
something shifts in the air between you, or maybe was it just you? was it the smoke making everything feel hazier or how comfortable you both are like this â no pressure, no expectations. just two tired people sharing a joint and some good fuckass music.
âyour lips, my lips⊠apocalypse.â
the tension hangs thick. it was getting unbearable for you, his breath hitches for half a second before he looks away, and yet you just canât take your eyes of the cupid bow of his lips and how plush it looked with the tv screen light, you tried to gaslight yourself it was just the cannabis doing its thing.
"we're such fucking disasters." he murmurs, but his eyes keep drifting back to your mouth. the joint burns longer between your fingers than usual.
"fucking hopeless." you counter back.
he lets out a low and husky laugh, the sound vibrating through the small space between you. his thumb traces idle patterns on his knee, close enough that you could lean in andâ
"yea, hopeless." he agrees quietly, snapping you out of your thoughts.Â
âcome out and haunt me,
i know you want me,
come out and haunt me.â
the music just swells around you, wrapping you both in its velvet haze, almost mirroring the thoughts you were trying to ignore.
james is staring at you now, really staring, and there's something different in his eyesâsomething that makes your heart race faster than any date night ever has. his hand stills on his knee, fingers twitching like they want to reach for you but don't quite know how.
"this is stupid." he breathes, barely audible over the music. his eyes drop to your mouth again, lingering there. "we've been doing this for years.â
"so?â you raised a brow at him.
"so why does this feel..." james trails off, shaking his head slightly, but he doesn't look away from your mouth. "fuck nevermind. i'm high and tired.â
apocalypse was about to reach itâs end. the lyrics hit the both of you like a punch to the gut, echoing your growing desire and need. james swallows hard, the apple of his throat bobbing, as the final notes fade out, he reaches for the joint, pinching the end to extinguish the flame.
"one more dragâŠâ he prolongs his words in a slow rumble.
               âoh, when you're all alone
                    i will reach for youâŠ
                  when you're feeling low,Â
                     i will be there tooâŠâ
but james he doesn't take it. instead, he just holds it between his fingers, knuckles brushing against yours.Â
"i think iâm about to do something stupid tonight, y/n.â he says quietly, voice dropping to barely a whisper. the space between you collapses as his breath ghosts across your lips, mint and nicotine.Â
his lonely eyes search yours for permission, for understanding, for anything.
the song dies out and the screen goes completely pitch black while the television loads the next track, during that split second, james immediately crashes his lips against yours with pure desperate need.
it was shocking, how his warm lips felt against yours in a way that's completely unfamiliar yet somehow so right. then instinct takes over, his hand cups your cheek, fingers threading through hair as he deepens the kiss.
james pulls back as the intro of the next track âcryâ starts, light from the television illuminates the room once again, only for the both of you to just stare at each other. no words needed, the two of you already understand. before either of you can think twice, you re-attached your lips to his.
james realizes you're not pulling away, you were kissing him back with an intensity that matched his earlier, how you wanted it just like he did. arms wrap around you while james pulls you closer as if he was trying to fuse your bodies together.
he groans softly into your mouth, the weed's doing nothing to calm the electricity between you. if anything, it's making everything feel urgent.
ângh.. iâm gonna fuck you so hard now.â he states. james pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it to the floor before reclaiming your mouth in a rough kiss. his hands roam over your chest, fingertips brushing over your nipples before moving down to unbutton your jeans.Â
"condom?â
"hell no.â
the response from you just made james even harder. "fuck, you want me raw? what a bad fuckinâ girl you are.." he groans, kissing you again as he shoves your jeans down your thighs.
james pulls back just enough to yank his own shirt off, revealing his toned chest. james had never looked so sexier to you than thisâall sharp edges and soft lips. he kicks off his sweats, revealing that rock hard dick.
"i'm not pulling out either.â
you tried to fight a groan from all this dirty talk along with the erotic music, his gaze darkens watching your teeth sink into your bottom lip, gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.
"no.. stop doing that.â james mutters, voice strained, but it's clear he wants you to do it again. "unless you want me to bite something back."
he pushes you onto your back against the cushions, positioning himself between your legs. james thrusts into you without warning, burying himself to the hilt in one fluid motion. the stretch burns deliciously, making you gasp against his lips.
"ouuu, you feel so fucking perfect for me.â james whispers, kissing you softly now, contrasting the roughness of his grip on your hips.
the sound of your voice whimpering his name shatters whatever restraint he had left. his thrusts became deliberate that make the couch creak beneath you both. each thrust hits that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. james' lips find your neck, sucking bruises into your skin while he fucks you like he's trying to rewrite your whole dna and make it all his.
the room fills with the sounds of your bodies meeting, skin slapping against skin, and your combined moans. james never sounded so uncontrolled during sex, not with anyone else, but something about having sex with you makes him completely unhinged.
james hooks his arms under your knees, pushing them back until your legs are folded nearly in half. this new angle allows him to hit you even deeper, filling you completely. you're moaning nonstop now, the words becoming incoherent babbling as james destroys your ability to think.Â
he's completely lost in the sensation of being inside you, his eyes rolled back. he realizes something and his thrusts stall for a moment, he pulls back just enough to look down at where you two are joined, watching himself slide in and out of you. the sight makes him dizzy with possession.Â
you're sobbing his name now, clinging to him like he's the only thing keeping you grounded.Â
james buries his face in your neck, not trusting himself anymore, his hips stutter as he loses control completely, fucking you through your orgasm with desperate, incoherent apologies and confessions spilling from his lips.
"needed this for so long⊠i always wanted it to be youâŠâ
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