𓍼ོ♱⃓ ༘ Forgive me father~
pairing: sam winchester x afab!reader
genre: PURE FILTH, MDNI, priest kink, p n v, roleplay, use of ‘father’
warnings: tiniest mention of religious trauma but it’s just one comment meant as a joke
You had survived demons, ghosts, and things that wore human skin. But you were not prepared for Sam Winchester in a priest’s outfit.
The black shirt fit him too well, tailored close through the chest, stretching just enough across his shoulders to make the fabric look like it was working overtime. The white tab of the collar was stark against his skin, a sharp, unforgiving line that drew your attention straight to his throat. To the place your eyes kept returning to no matter how hard you tried to behave.
Which somehow made it worse.
You stood a next to Dean in the small town church, pretending to read a flyer while very deliberately not looking at him. Except you were looking. Constantly. Every time he shifted his weight, every time he leaned down to murmur something to Dean, every time he ran a hand through his hair and the sleeve of his jacket pulled tight around his forearm.
Your thoughts were not appropriate. Not even a little. The irony of it, of wanting him this badly while he looked like he belonged behind a pulpit made heat pool low in your stomach. You pressed your lips together, steadying yourself, silently begging your brain to calm down.
Sam glanced over at you, concern flickering across his face. He smiled softly, the kind that always felt like it was meant just for you, and something in your chest tightened.
You had to look away. Dean noticed. Of course he did. He leaned closer, voice low and smug. “You okay there, or are we unlocking some repressed religious trauma?”
You shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood “Shut up” you hissed, mortified. Dean smirked. “Just sayin’. Guy looks like he’s about to hear confessions and you look like you need one.” Sam straightened, clearly catching the edge of the conversation. “What?”
“Nothing,” you said quickly, cheeks warm. “Nothing at all.”
But Sam watched you for a second longer than necessary, something curious and heated sparking in his eyes. Like he knew exactly what effect he was having and didn’t hate it.
The case wrapped quickly after that. Blessedly. Mercifully. The vengeful spirit haunting the old chapel had been dealt with salt and iron, the air still thick with the acrid scent of burned sage as the three of you stepped out into the crisp evening. Dean clapped Sam on the back, already rambling about the nearest dive bar, but you lagged behind, your gaze snagging on the way Sam's collar caught the fading light. It was ridiculous how that simple piece of fabric twisted something deep inside you equal parts reverence and raw desire, the forbidden pull of defiling something so pure.
Back at the motel, Dean vanished into the night with a wink and a promise to "give you lovebirds some space." The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with Sam in the dimly lit room. The bed sagged under your weight as you sat, peeling off your jacket, but your mind was elsewhere replaying the image of him in that church, voice steady as he recited a false prayer, hands steady on the holy water. The collar encircled his neck, a symbol of authority that made your pulse race.
Sam didn't move to remove it. Instead, he shrugged out of his jacket, letting it drape over the chair, the black shirt clinging to his broad frame. He caught your stare in the mirror across the room, a slow smile curving his lips. “You've been staring all day,” he said, voice low and measured, like he was delivering a sermon. He turned to face you, leaning against the dresser, arms crossed. The white tab gleamed under the lamp, drawing your eyes inexorably downward. “Kneel, if you want to confess.”
Your breath caught, heat flooding your cheeks and lower. the command in his tone sent a shiver through you. You slid off the bed, knees meeting the worn carpet, looking up at him through your lashes. The position felt vulnerable, worshipful, your curves accentuated as you arched slightly, waiting.
Sam's eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide. He stepped closer, towering over you, one hand reaching down to tilt your chin up with firm fingers. his thumb tracing your lower lip. “Tell me your sins” he demanded, voice dropping to a husky whisper that belied the priestly facade. “Every filthy thought you had about me in that church. Confess, and maybe I'll absolve you.”
The words spilled out in a rush, your voice trembling with arousal. “I imagined you bending me over the altar... your fingers inside me while you whispered prayers. I wanted to corrupt you, Father, suck your cock right there, make you break your vows.”
A low groan escaped him, his free hand adjusting the growing bulge in his pants. “Such blasphemy” he murmured, but there was no reprimand, only hunger. He guided you up by the arm, gentle but insistent, until you stood before him. His fingers worked at your shirt, peeling it away to reveal the lace of your bra, thumbs brushing the swell of your breasts. “For your penance, you'll worship me first.”
You nodded eagerly, hands trembling as you unbuckled his belt, the sound loud in the quiet room. His pants fell, and you sank back to your knees, the collar at eye level as you freed his thick cock hard, veined, tip glistening. It bobbed free, and you leaned in, lips parting to take him in, tongue swirling around the head. Sam hissed, fingers threading through your hair, guiding you deeper. “That's it... show me your devotion.”
You sucked him slowly, hollowing your cheeks, the salty taste of precum coating your tongue. His hips rocked gently, fucking your mouth with controlled thrusts, the white tab bobbing with each movement a profane sight that made your core ache. One hand slipped between your thighs, rubbing your clit through your jeans, and you moaned around him, the vibration drawing a curse from his lips.
“Enough” he rasped after a few minutes, pulling you off with a wet pop. He hauled you to your feet, spinning you toward the bed and bending you over it, hands shoving your jeans and panties down in one swift motion. Cool air kissed your exposed pussy, slick and ready, but Sam didn't rush. He pressed against your back, the fabric of his shirt rough against your skin, collar grazing your shoulder as he whispered in your ear. “Beg for forgiveness, sinner.”
“Please, Father” you whimpered, pushing back against him. “Fuck me... absolve me with your cock.”
He chuckled darkly, the head of his dick teasing your entrance, sliding through your folds. Then he thrust in deep, filling you completely, your walls clenching around his girth. You cried out, fingers gripping the sheets, as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against your ass. The outfit stayed on, shirt half unbuttoned to expose his chest, but the collar remained, a constant reminder as it pressed into your back with each drive.
His hands roamed one cupping your breast, pinching the nipple until it hardened, the other circling your clit in firm strokes. “You feel like heaven” he growled, pace quickening, the slap of skin echoing. Sweat beaded on your bodies, your soft form yielding to his strength, every thrust hitting that spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyes.
The coil tightened, and you shattered, pussy pulsing around him, juices soaking his cock as you came with a sob. Sam didn't stop, pounding through your orgasm until his own hit burying deep, spilling hot cum inside you with a guttural moan. He finally tugged the collar free then, collapsing beside you, pulling your trembling body into his arms.
The motel room smelled of sex and faded incense from the church, a perfect blend of sin and salvation. Sam pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring, “Forgiven?”
You smiled, tracing the faint red line where the collar had been. “Always.”
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