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justporo · 3 months

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Bedroom Hymns

If you thought Astarion was done with you with how you look wearing nothing but his shirt, you are very much wrong. In fact, Astarion is only just starting to enjoy himself as he finally has you where he wants you - on his lap, writhing desperately.

PART 1 | MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: I don't even know what to tell you anymore. This is roughly 6k of just smut and me losing my shame writing said smut. I hope you enjoy - and someone take me out back for overwriting this. Apparently it needed to be let out.

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, blood kink, nipple play, slight edging light dom/sub dynamic, light predator/prey dynamic Wordcount: 6k ~~~

You gazed upon your lover and soulmate beneath you, how he was kneeling under you, some of his curls twined around your fingers. Breath and a feeling for reality were still blissfully eluding you. If you had thought that he’d been a heavenly body descended from the skies eternal to bless you with his presence it now seemed you had switched places.

His crimson eyes were bright in the low light, almost glowing and the way he smiled at you - tips of his fangs visible and the corners of his mouth curled up so far - showed this kind of wild joy one really only felt when indulging in some of the most carnal pleasures. And there was awe in the way he looked at you, like somehow he couldn’t believe his own personal goddess had come and stretched out her hand to him, ever so benevolent.

You felt ethereal, eternal.

And thankfully Astarion was fully devoted to you, a firm believer and frequent worshipper at the temple that was your body. Ready to offer you plenty more pleasure. He’d see that prophecy fulfilled - for his own sake and yours of course. You couldn’t wait to see it all unfold.

If you could have stayed forever in this perfect moment, you would have. But a few things kept dragging you back to a less sleek and paradisiacal vision.

Astarion’s fingertips still digging into your backside, the burn of his handprint there and the dizzy feeling swirling through your head were the testament that he had indulged you plentily. The visible bulge in the thin sheets that were precariously draped around your lover’s waist and its occasional throbs in the meantime were the prophecy for a night long not over.

When you dragged on some strands of the vampire’s hair he answered you with a low growl, eyes darkening. And the kisses he had been trailing along your thigh turned into letting his teeth scrape - he was a predator after all, only allowing you to play with him as long as he deigned it satisfactory. The tables could be turned onto you quickly and the thought made your whole lower body clench.

Maybe you liked this rougher, realer version better than any possible divine vision. Maybe you craved the broken perfection that allowed for your continuous fall into corruption.

Neither of you were saints. But he’d given you so much of him already. But In turn he demanded the same devotion now. More than just a humble offering to show your dedication to him now.

Thankfully, you were more than prepared to offer him everything.

You let him caress your thighs a bit more while his fingers kept kneading your behind, but then you tugged on his hair harder than before, dragging him from his source of enjoyment which he commented with another growl.

“Stop playing with your food and fucking take me, Astarion”, you demanded, voice only slightly shaky, making your own heart race anxiously with the bold words and your core throb in desperate need.

It earned you another slap onto your ass right on the same spot where another had landed before. That and delight reflecting on Astarion’s face for you so openly stating what you desired. Meanwhile your butt stung deliciously and had you bite your lip.

“If you want me inside of you, my heart, then be a good girl and sit”, he replied in a low, almost rumbly tone, practically barking the last word, and with his hands on your behind nudged until your still wobbly legs gave in by themselves.

You saw the open challenge in his narrowed ruby eyes and you weren’t fully decided if it was more threat or promise, but you were enticed anyway as you let yourself obey to his barked command.

The muscles in Astarion’s arms flexed as he let your body slide down along his torso slowly. His hands wandered up from your butt, to your hips, gradually wandering up over the sides of your body while you were coming down on him.Your thighs spread apart on their own while you felt your own heated skin brush against the smooth and cool body of the vampire.

It just felt natural like this: letting your legs open for him, straddling him and feeling how much he craved you immediately as you sank down with a blissful, lewd sigh spilling from your lips. Astarion’s eyebrow and cock twitched in delight as he heard that.

Meanwhile your eyes didn’t stray from his for even a single moment. Nothing in the world could have ripped you from this view: Astarion’s pupils dilating while you sank onto his lap until the black almost blotted out the vibrant red of his irises.

Your limbs still felt weak from the forceful orgasm just moments ago but your body was completely and utterly helpless when it came to Astarion. You already felt lust coil in your abdomen again, when you settled down onto him, legs splayed as far as possible. Your hands had wandered from his hair to his shoulders, holding onto him with a soft trembling.

When you sat comfortably on his lap only the sheets were between his eagerly twitching erection and your obscenely wet and swollen core. His dick strained against your folds and his arms around you tensed at the sensation of finally getting to experience some friction. Immediately it made you grind your hips into him, desperate to feel more than just a taste.

The mixture of your wetness and his hardened length already starting to leak in anticipation of what he was about to unleash onto you quickly had the thin fabric between you drenched and cling to his cock as you already began losing control over your movements and the last of your humility.

Your head lolled back and your hands clenched onto his shoulders with a noiseless moan leaving your throat. The first time he’d made you come tonight had already nearly made you burst into a million pieces. You weren’t completely sure how you’d survive another one.

But gods, you were so eager to feel him.

And even more than that you wanted to please him. Wanted to give him what you had experienced just a few moments ago: pleasure so intense it made you forget anything but your own desire and the body of your lover pressed against you. You wanted to make him feel that again and again until he would have forgotten everything that had come before you. You wanted to be his path to salvation if possible.

You were positive you could do it. And you would devote your whole self - body, heart and soul - to make up for all the pain he was made to suffer.

His shirt in the meantime had ridden up on your upper body while you had slid down against him. It was bunched between the two of you now. Your breasts pressed against him, your nipples already pleasantly peaked, but still covered by the linen.

While you kept slowly grinding against him, Astarion’s hands slid up from your hips over your back and then slid around your torso to cup your tits from below: perking them up by pushing them up and together with his palms. You hummed contentedly as you enjoyed the view of your own daunting cleavage through the loose lacing of Astarion’s old camp shirt as you looked down. Something about seeing yourself like this was adding majorly to your already heightened senses and lust.

When the vampire noticed that he wasted no time pushing further while lifting up his hips a little so you could more tension down there too. He pushed you so far, your breasts squished so hard it stung pleasantly, that it made you squeal in delight.

And you heard a very similar noise coming from Astarion, almost purring for you, as he began playing around with your boobs more. He let them jig down then squeezed them again, letting his thumbs wander to rub lazy circles over their peaks until they were even more clearly outlined, the fabric spanning over them when he tugged the shirt tightly over them.

Your hands sank down to grab onto his arms, fingertips indenting on his biceps and feeling the muscles move slowly under your splayed fingers.

A violent twitch of him between your legs - that your own body quickly responded to - and a breathy moan spilling from his lips had you snap your gaze back from your tits to Astarion’s face. It was filled with admiration as he kept toying and gazing at your boobs that felt deliciously heavy with lust.

Your senses were so heightened, your whole body so tense you were acutely aware of everything you felt: his fingers on your boobs, his cock pressing against your feverishly hot core that couldn’t wait to finally take him, how his own skin started to warm up to your own body that was almost radiating heat from the intense lust you felt.

“I love how your tits look in my shirt, darling,” Astarion whispered breathlessly, mesmerised by the very thing he spoke about. He didn’t seem like he ever wanted to stop

You laughed softly at that. The way he said it sounded almost too innocent for what you were engaging in.

Then his eyes wandered to you, open and wide. As if he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“I love how you look in my shirt, Tav,” he mumbled softly, his face full of desire and yearning for you - and love. And somehow his honest, genuine words combined with how your name rolled off his tongue instead of one of his usual pet names, made you way more flushed and flustered than the fact that you were currently indulging in your most animalistic pleasures without restraint or shame like you’d never done before tonight.

Your own love for him was overflowing inside your chest as you watched him gaze at you with love and admiration in his red eyes. You moved to cup his face softly and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his mouth.

Astarion welcomed you with open lips and a pleased sigh. You kissed him slowly and lovingly, letting your fingertips wander over his cheeks and then over his sensitive pointy ears. He sighed once more and deepened the kiss, letting go of your breasts for the time being to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer against him.

The kiss didn’t stay slow and innocent for long. Once his tongue slipped into your mouth and you were aware how your already teased boobs squished against his upper body, you bucked your hips once more with a moan, grinding against his cock again.

That seemed to remind Astarion of the unfinished business. The vampire hissed when he felt you shift against him again. There might not be much longer before the teasing would make him lose the rest of his sanity.

The mood had shifted again to something simmering and burning hot and bright. But you knew his honest love for you was burning just as hot as your desire for you.

“This shit has to fucking go”, the vampire growled as he tore away from the intense kiss. There he was again, the predator that existed under the thin veil of civility. And you loved how at times you saw it slip, experiencing Astarion letting go a bit off his own reins.

You trusted him fully that he knew exactly how far he could go.

Without further notice he wrapped one of his arms around you beneath your buttocks to lift you up. With his other arm he awkwardly tried to rid himself of the now pretty drenched sheets that were still partially covering him. His impatience made him lose some of his usual dexterity and he cursed under his breath when he couldn’t get rid of the godsdamned thing clinging wetly to his lower body.

You tried to help to kick it away with your feet and you both had to chuckle at your desperate and awkward tries to finally get it away from him in a small moment of hysteria caused by both of your emotions running high and the tension being as taught as a bow string between you.

This wasn’t one of the performances Astarion would have acted out months ago when you had started sleeping with and slowly falling for each other. This was nothing but honest, desperate need for each other and the just as desperate clambering to finally get there.

You threw each other an amused look, your face flustered from the stupid situation and Astarion shaking his head at his own uncommon clumsiness with a small grin.

Then he finally set you down again, his dick now firmly pressed between your bodies, finally free of restraints.

You moaned when you felt him hard against your naked stomach. With your one hand on Astarion’s arm again you let your other hand immediately wander to his hardness, the tip already glistening with wetness. You wrapped your hand around him as tightly as possible with your bodies so tightly pressed against each other already and gave his cock a few tentative strokes. Your thumb stroked over his soft tip and over the wet beads there, pressing down firmly and then spreading some of the slickness around, making the vampire almost whimper from how you handled this sensitive part of his body. His reaction was so visceral that even his balls tightened in response to your confident caress.

Astarion in the meantime pulled up his shirt on your body until he had bared your breasts, the cold air hitting them and their sensitive buds at their peaks making you gasp and shiver. His thumbs went to your nipples again, started teasing them, twisting them, similarly to how he had done before but now with newly found vigour. And the fact that there was full skin-on-skin contact now only amplified the rush you got from his playful caresses tenfold.

You arched your back for him, whispering his name like a psalm, zealously wanting to offer yourself up for him even more, wanting him to indulge in you. Your head rolled back in pleasure as you also rolled your hips and tried to grind against his hard cock, helping with your other hand to make it slide along your clit and your core. The tip diving into some of the wet heat, receiving a taste of what it could be like if only he finally sank into you.

You heard Astarion growl deep in his throat at the sight of you losing all shame for him, desperate to feel him and to be appreciated by him - his own personal succubus. His length kept jerking while you worked for every tiny piece of delicious friction you could get.

The vampire observed how you writhed on his lap, like you were his own personal siren. Every sweet moan that spilled from your lips another part of your irresistible siren song that beckoned him farther and farther still, wanting him to give and take everything. He watched as you flipped your hair back to ground against him even more eagerly, biting your lip, your hand not currently teasing his cock gripping his shoulder for more hold.

Astarion’s eyes glazed over from the pleasure becoming almost too much already, his lips curling up in a senseless smile of pure bliss as he was positively aching. He’d been so patient and enduring and his whole being yearned to be inside of you, to finally have you clench around him while he earned his well deserved release. But he was still urging you on, wondering if he could make you reach another peak before he did.

“Darling, hold my shirt up for me, would you?”, he pressed out breathlessly while you were still grinding yourself against him. You obeyed without even thinking about it, slowly letting go of Astarion’s hardness to do as he asked.

“Good girl,” he purred and praised you with a smirk and one eyebrow jumping up, while his hands slid over your spine: one stayed on the small of your back, the other wandered up further, over your neck until he could curl his fingers in your hair to get some good grip. And then the next time you rolled your hips up against him, he pulled your head back by your hair and with his hand on your back pulled you even closer so he had you arching your back almost painfully. Now your breasts were perfectly presented for him and were held immobile against his torso. You kept tugging his shirt up further.

“Do you want me to take your shirt off?”, you asked breathlessly and felt your whole body flush just from the way your lover held you - fully at his mercy now. Your legs were already shivering from the impossible pose: held and hovering, falling but somehow secure.

“Gods, no,” Astarion groaned with an edge of desperation in his tone and loosened the hold on your hair a little so you could look into his eyes. “I want to smell you on it after I’m done fucking you”, he explained, his voice breathy from lust, eyes half-lidded.

And then without further warning he tugged on your hair again, hard, and went down on one of your offered up breasts. He sucked on its peak, his sharp teeth grazing the delicate skin around it. You whimpered helplessly, your hand on his shoulder gripping even harder, probably leaving marks by now.

While he was sucking and now even biting, drawing just enough blood so he could taste you, he lifted you up enough until his dick could slide along your wet folds and easily slid to your entrance. Your legs were trembling as you felt the tip of him teasingly sink into you just the barest bit.

The pain of Astarion dragging on your hair and biting and sucking on your tits while you felt the head of his cock agonisingly slowly sink into you, finally, had your eyes roll into the back of your skull. A moan of yours slowly became something between a plea and a scream while ever so slowly he let you sink down onto him until he was buried to the hilt within you.

You bit your lip in a desperate attempt to keep some control over your body but after the long and slow buildup just the feeling of Astarion finally inside of you made your core clench around him forcefully.

The vampire kept suckling on your breasts and the dribble of blood he had going there, just a few drops already being enough to make his cock inside you twitch from how exquisite you tasted on his tongue. It only made you clench harder around him.

You whimpered in desperation and let go of the fabric you had still been holding up to have both of your hands claw at Astarion’s back now. In response your lover lifted his face from where he had been latched onto your sensitive skin to laugh softly and haughtily. You felt it lightly but deeply shake through his and your own body.

“I have barely done anything, my love, and you’re almost already coming for me again,” Astarion whispered and clicked his tongue - the fucking bastard.

Then he licked up a single drop of blood from your breasts. It made his cock twitch again in response to that while Astarion hummed in arrogant satisfaction. It made you think of something.

While his hands had you almost immobile you couldn’t resist spurring him on a little more. He had you captive, his prey. But you felt you could tease out the hunter, the predator a little more.

“Well, how about you do some more then, love?”, you asked with an edge of passive-aggressiveness, knowing that your tone already would get the better of him.

You both knew that he was a massive tease and that he delighted way too much in riling you up whenever and wherever possible, no matter the circumstances. Only when it was the most appropriate time to get going did he take his precious time to get to the point. So you would just try and coax him until his already dwindling patience would snap.

Already, Astarion was grumbling at you and he yanked on your hair harder again - how pleasant.

But you also had an ace up your sleeve. Using the little space you had for moving, you willingly clenched down around his cock again while you lifted your hips just a little before letting them slam down again. That earned you a disgruntled groan but you felt how he instinctively had started moving his hips with yours when you did it again. He couldn’t resist you anymore - not with how desperately he was craving you.

And now for your trump card. You moved your head just a little, bringing his attention to your neck that was already conveniently bared and ready for him, just like the rest of your body. And then there was your thundering pulse that had been making you feel dizzy for a while now but sped up even more as you anticipated what was about to happen.

You heard him grunt, obviously immediately understanding what you offered him. He wouldn’t let the opportunity pass, of course he wouldn’t. Not if the pretty morsel was presenting itself so beautifully and enchantingly on a silver platter.

With your hair still in his grip he leaned closer. He deeply inhaled your intoxicating scent that was intensified by the blood pumping through you amplified by your desire. His other hand moved to your butt now and began to squeeze, giving you more room to move and helping you lift up your hips a little with every roll of your body as you began riding him slowly.

Just a moment later you felt his lips on your throat, kissing it open-mouthed, caressing it with his tongue pressing flatly against it, directly over where your pulse was fluttering even faster now, knowing what was about to happen. Merely an instance later you felt the sharp sting of his fangs breaking your skin and then the cold, but titillating sensation of Astarion taking your blood. His hand slid from your hair to the back of your neck, holding it steady for him while the whole sensation brought newly known waves of lust over your body.

You heard his pleased and feral groans as he drank your blood in generous gulps while he gripped your ass harder and you slowly sped up the pace of you grinding onto him.

And then you felt another pleasant sensation while you slowly lost your breath and mind moving on your lover: you could feel his dick inside you physically grow harder as he drank from you and jerk viciously in rhythm with every gulp he took. Your blood giving the vampire a surprising amount of vigour while it also made him noticeably more feral.

The sounds that spilled from your lips became lewder by the second as you felt all of it once: him hitting deep and hard inside of you, his hands gripping you, your breasts jigging with every slam of your hips and the dizzying cold slowly and pleasantly spreading from your neck through your body while your fingers dug into the vampire’s shoulders until you almost felt like you were drifting out of your own body from the pleasure.

With a jerk and some obvious internal struggle Astarion ripped himself away from your neck, his fingers at its back digging into your skin. He slowly released their grip on you, joining his other hand on your butt, so you could take a look at his face. His gaze on you was intense, a few curls had fallen onto his forehead.

All while he kept fucking you relentlessly: now with both hands on your behind it was him dictating the pace, lifting your hips up again while slamming into you with rolling of his own hips.

His eyes were impossibly wide, pupils dilated as much as possible. Some of your blood was dripping down his chin but he didn’t even care, he had only eyes for you and how you almost had lost all your senses already, being taken by him like this and with newly found energy and vitality from your delicious, nurturing blood. And he realised your ploy.

“And here I thought you were only offering out of the goodness of your heart, you little vixen,” Astarion mumbled while he watched your eyes roll back again as he picked up the pace. You were in no state to even answer anymore, the only things leaving your lips were heavy breaths and senseless moans.

But Astarion wasn’t having it. He slowed down until he was thrusting frustratingly slowly.

“Tell me what you want, love,” the vampire demanded, slowly lifting your hips up until he had almost fully withdrawn from you. You only whimpered in desperation in response. Astarion stilled fully, holding you there, in suspense, his gaze boring into you.

“Darling, speak to me,” he said, his voice teasing as he smirked at you. How he was even capable of doing that while he could have just been buried deep down inside of you was fully beyond you. You only groaned in frustration at him, clawed at his back as if mad, needing him to just keep going.

He snorted, still letting you hover right above his cock now - and didn’t move an inch: “Don’t make this harder on you than it has to be, sweetheart.”

That made you break. “As if that was even a possibility, Astarion,” you chuckled breathlessly, feeling hysteria bubbling up inside you

The vampire just answered with a chuckle and then let you pounce down on his dick again, immediately having you claw at him and moan again from the sensation of being filled completely by him within an inch of your life from one moment to the next.

“So she does speak after all,” he teased you with a low laugh vibrating through both of your bodies. Thankfully he kept up a steady rhythm now.

“Now, - tell me - what you - want!”, the vampire pressed out between each thrust. Obviously he massively overestimated your ability to form even simple sentences when he fucked you like that.

“Harder,” you simply uttered breathlessly. Astarion hummed in approval while a grin split his lips, baring his fangs to you once more.

“So it obviously is a possibility,” he replied smugly. You groaned angrily and bucked your hips while clenching around him, making him moan in return. As much as you loved to hear him talk, you would have liked for him to pour that energy into how he was thrusting into you.

But you quickly regretted your insolent behaviour when he suddenly grabbed you and threw you onto the mattress, shortly being withdrawn from you. You gasped and caught yourself with your elbows, but the bedding was soft enough anyway.

Astarion prowled closer to you, his gaze that of a predator closing in on his prey once more. Then as he moved your legs up with his hands he eyed your throbbing core that was desperate to welcome him again. He positioned his hips and his glistening hard length between your legs.

You thought he was just about to make your wish happen with how he pressed up your thighs to spread you for him. But as you looked at his face you found him gazing at you, his messy white curls falling into his face, crimson eyes glinting in awe at the sight of you while his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your legs.

“Look at you, my darling,” he whispered as if to himself. But when he continued his eyes locked with yours: “Look how beautiful you are.” He emphasised his words by squeezing your thighs with his splayed fingers.

He practically moaned the words as he pushed your thighs a little further and finally began to sink into you again.

His mouth was agape as he leaned forward over you, making your legs bend towards your head as far as your exquisite body allowed. His eyes were glazing over with lust and a sound you could only describe as a purr rumbled through his chest as he slowly buried himself into you again until he had bottomed out.

“Look how well you take me, love. My good, good girl.”

You gasped at his praise, eyes wide as he spelled out exactly his thoughts for you. He leaned further over you and grabbed your wrists to pin them down beside each side of your head. Instinctively your legs wrapped around his hips then, your ankles crossed, trying to hold him deep inside you.

It earned you a loving smile, an approving hum. But then Astarion withdrew from you slowly again.

“You’re so good for me,” he mumbled and then slammed into you so hard again it made you yelp. “And so ready.”

“My beautiful darling”, Astarion continued, eyes fixed on you while he thrust again, making your breath almost catch in your throat as you kept staring at him with eyes wide, mouth open as he kept telling you just how much he adored you.

His eyes were soft as he slammed into you unyieldingly, nothing but praise leaving his full lips while he sped up the pace and you felt it wouldn’t take long anymore. Not with how he had kept teasing you, how he had made you work for every inch gained.

You lost all ability to do anything but let your body arch towards his more and clenching around him in eager desperation while he kept going: both with the praise and the thrusts.

“You’re so perfect, Tav, my darling.”

“Can you take me a little harder still?”

“Yes, my good little pup.”

“Look how eager you are, you little fox.”

“You’re a goddess, my love. My goddess.”

You felt yourself lose yourself, your legs already starting to tremble with how tense they were as you felt the orgasm creep up onto you. Meanwhile Astarion’s eyes didn’t leave yours for a second while he hovered above you. Every detail of his perfect face imprinted permanently into your memory: the soft laugh lines and around his eyes and crinkles around his crimson eyes, the perfect aristocratic nose, the soft, full lips he occasionally bit down on as he too kept losing himself in you, showing his pronounced canines. You could have gone forever with tiny details you would never forget in this lifetime - or the next.

All while he kept fucking you unrelentingly and unapologetically.

And neither would you forget how it felt, how with every deep hit within you you partially lost yourself and how you let yourself be taken willingly.

Then he let go of one of your wrists to let a hand wander between your bodies, the pad of his thumb easily finding your clit despite how closely your bodies were pressed together already. And it gave you the opportunity to lift one of your hands to his face and cup it - while he kept going. His head fell a little lower and some of his soft, white curls were tickling your face lightly.

The way he fucked you so hard while he looked at you with those loving eyes was such a stark contrast but it just felt right like that. It made for the perfect mixture. It assured you that now matter how deep and long you’d fall, he’d make sure you find your way back again. And that you’d do the same for him.

Then, when he sloppily started to swipe over the tender bud between your legs, you knew this was about to become your end.

Just for a few moments his gaze strayed from yours, looking at how you were still in his shirt, a sign of how you belonged to him. How you were his and his alone. He’d never forget this image: you coming undone beneath him while his old, dusty shirt was bunched up over your bared breasts, being drenched with the sheen of sweat that by now covered your whole body.

There was nothing on his mind but you and how you made him feel. Becoming almost too much, it was almost as if he could feel his undead heart start beating again.

And he didn’t stop, locking eyes with you again. His words became more incoherent slowly and you noticed from how his pace became a little unsteady that he was about to lose himself completely as well. The muscles in your legs and lower body were tensed so much that it started to hurt but just added to the tension building up inside you. You were ready to snap at a moment’s notice.

“I love you, Tav,” were his lasts words of praise as he slammed into you a final time and you felt his cock twitch violently inside of you announcing his savage orgasm.

“I love you,” you moaned back as - in time with him - you felt how you lost the last of yourself as well. A long wailing moan, exclaiming his name once more towards the heavens left your lips as you felt yourself dissipate into the aether.

He kept fucking you through waves of pleasure making both of you shake while he spilled himself inside of you, his head falling to the crook of your neck where he moaned your name again and again - a continued credo of his devotion to you and only you.

And when nothing of it was left but shaking, trembling bodies and heavy, gasping breathing Astarion slowly lifted his head from your neck and withdrew from you. With a groan he rolled off you and he sighed deeply. One of his hands reassuringly remaining on your body at all times.

None of you were able to formulate a complete sentence again but with still softly shaking hands he pulled down his shirt over your trembling body and then pulled you to his naked chest.

You were thankful for the opportunity to snuggle up against him, legs already tangling with his. Pleasant exhaustion and deep, unyielding love was all you felt as you were lying in his arms. And Astarion felt very much the same as he began to slowly stroke your back.

A whole eternity later it felt like, he spoke again: “I guess you should wear my clothes more often, my love. What comes of it has proven beneficial for the both of us, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

You simply hummed in approval, still way too worn out from how “beneficial” this all had been for you.

“You’re forgetting to use your words again, darling. You should try it sometime, it gets you far in life,” Astarion replied sassily when you offered nothing more in response.

You growled in annoyance and grabbed a nearby pillow. When Astarion was about to keep teasing you, you whacked him straight in the face with the plush thing, causing him to hiss and curse at you.

“I love you, Astarion. And now shut up, you noisy vampire!” you scolded him and tiredly let the pillow drop off the side of the mattress.

Astarion huffed at you.

But then he pulled you in closer to him, pressing his cheek to the top of your head as he closed his eyes.

“I love you too, my little rascal.”

The smile on your lips stayed there when you slowly drifted off to your dreams - and even until you woke up again.

Taglist (DM if you want to be added please): @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06 @marina-and-the-memes

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x you #astarion x reader #bg3

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zorosdimples · 8 months

Text

WHEREVER YOU ARE

pairing ༄ zoro x gn!reader

warnings ༄ brief descriptions of violence. a little angsty at first but it’s fluff i pinky promise!

word count ༄ 796

notes ༄ i’ve been feeling so deeply about zoro lately—i cried over him a few nights ago. this is embarrassingly soggy; i poured my heart out for him. tagging my dearest ai @gojoest <3

home.

a soft breeze carries the word, a gentle whisper that ruffles zoro’s hair and curls over the shell of his ear, fading once the message rests uncomfortably on his tongue. the sea shimmers under the moon’s loving gaze, the lulling lap of waves the only sound that reaches the starlit deck. he should be chilly in the crisp salt air, but as he glances down at you—wrapped in his protective embrace, head resting against his bare chest and the steady beat of his heart—he realizes that he has never felt warmer.

home is a word that has never meant much to the swordsman.

from an orphanage to the dojo to the furthest reaches of the east blue, zoro was born a wanderer, cursed to roam land and sea with little more than three swords and a fierce dream. hunting humans and exchanging souls for bounties that could barely cover a warm meal, a glass of sake, and a dirty bed—it was a monastic existence, devoid of comfort and pleasure. but that’s the price you pay when you make a deal with the devil. greatness isn’t bestowed upon the righteous; greatness is something you must fight for with steel claws and blood in your maw. may the most vicious creature win.

home is make-believe for a demon. it’s a tale told to frightened children who don’t yet understand the cruelty of the world.

joining luffy did not cure zoro’s restlessness. it did not make him a better man—it only redirected his cruelty. the piles of flesh and bone he left in his wake loomed over him still; he trudged through a sticky stream of ichor in his nightmares. destruction in the name of something is destruction all the same. he could feel the shackles of solitude slipping, but he was (and still is) set in his ways. it’s difficult to unlearn that which you believe yourself to be. a lifetime of isolation bred a bone-deep loneliness that he couldn’t bleed out of his chest or escape when he cracked open his rib cage and welcomed eternal darkness.

home is a luxury a man—a monster—like him does not deserve.

you draw zoro from his thoughts as you shift in his lap to face him, wrapping your legs around his waist, smoothing your palms across the strong planes of his stomach. your delicate caresses dance upwards, an act of reverence as you trace over the story of his life.

puckered scars, rippling striae, dappled moles, smattered freckles; these etchings on his tanned flesh tell of his victories and mistakes and birthrights. when you reach his broad shoulders, one hand darts up to rake through his mint green strands, fingernails grazing his scalp in a way that has him chasing your touch. your other hand tinkles his earrings, the golden chimes playing their hymn as they reflect the glimmering moonlight.

zoro’s lone eye is enraptured with your movements, and when your sweet gaze meets his, you press a featherlight kiss to his unsuspecting lips. “what was that for?” he asks with a rumbling chuckle. his hands—rough, capable of atrocities—unconsciously rub up and down your sides with worshipful tenderness.

“i love you,” you confess airily with a smile, as though those aren’t the most devastating words the swordsman has ever heard.

if zoro wasn’t a selfish man he would weep at your words. he would tell you to find someone better, he would show you the mortal weight of his sins, and he would keep his distance from a soul as radiant and kind as yours. but decades of want have conditioned him to be greedy.

hearing that phrase—though zoro has heard it from your lips hundreds of times—has a grin rivaling the brightness of the moon split his sharp features. cradling his face, you stroke his dimples with your thumbs. his hands settle on your waist and tug you toward him, your bodies pressed together like hands in a prayer. he crooks his head so your mouths are a mere breath apart.

“i love you, too,” he murmurs before claiming your parted lips with his own.

zoro still has little more than three swords and a fierce dream. but he also has three warm meals a day, more glasses of sake than he could ever want, and a clean bed to crawl into at night. he’s no longer an orphan; with the straw hats there is friendship and laughter and adventure. if asked, he will insist that he’s not a good man, that he’s a demon. but he’s fiercely loyal to his family—he will cut down anyone that stands in their way to freedom.

and then there’s you. with you, zoro has a love he has never felt before. as far as he’s concerned?

wherever you are is home.

#i hope you all enjoy bc this was SO self indulgent #and very emotional to write #i’m exposing myself here #crawling back into my hidey hole from whence i came #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #zoro fluff #roronoa zoro #one piece #roronoa zoro x you #zoro x you #zoro <3 #༄ kae writes

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cowyolks · 6 months

Text

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Chapter Eight. The Hymn of Nectar

Pairing: God!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Prompt: A prophecy written long ago stated of a human that would become the God’s wife and live in his domain for the rest of eternity.

Words: 2.3 K

Warnings: None? As of now ;)

Previous Chapter Masterlist

It was nice to finally receive some freedom once Simon was back. While you weren’t left completely alone for longer than a couple hours, you could finally have some moments of solitude away from prying eyes.

You had slept well the last couple nights, likely from the promise of Simon personally checking on you every couple hours into your slumber. You’d sometimes feel the fluttering touch of his fingertips against your cheeks—never anything more than that fleeting touch before it disappeared behind your shut door.

You’d wake up to petals of daffodils upon your nightstand near your water basin. He’d put them there, that much was obvious when he stiffened lightly as you walked to the kitchens with the flower tucked beyond your ear.

It was quite humorous to reduce such a powerful God to a blushing boy.

Now, as you finished your morning routine, you’d decided to settle against an old Cyprus tree in the courtyard, just a few yards away from Simon and Keegan, who had started their morning sparring match.

Usually, you’d be irritated at the grunts and clang of iron while you attempted to read a book, but the day was just too perfect to stay cooped in the library.

A low hiss broke your concentration away from the thick journal you were reading. Adverting your eyes upwards, settling on the hunched form of Simon. Keegan stood above him, looking on with only a slight hint of worry behind his usually stoic expression.

Your betrothed was obviously straining too hard. You’d warned him earlier this week to take it easy, but it seemed Simon was a stubborn man. Even though his wounds now resembled fading red marks instead of open gashes, he was still sore. He’d spoke earlier of his wounds, how high-beings couldn’t be physically hurt for long, but evil seeped out of the scars and took long to heal. You’d gulped hesitantly at his words, but settled with knowing that you were safest here, under his protection.

“I say we are done for the day.” Keegan’s voice smoothed over like ice, a chilly reprimand to his ever stubborn boss.

Simon pursed his lips, but reluctantly agreed. His hand clasped around Keegan’s forearm as the shorter God pulled him up to his feet. Keegan whispered something low under his breath, and subtly Simon glanced to your sitting frame before his eyes soften reluctantly.

Before he made his way towards you, Keegan shoved a leather canteen into the God’s hand, before he disappeared with a wink and flutter of his wings.

You’d bookmarked your page as Simon approached you, a small limp in his gait.

“May I sit?” He asked. You nearly chortled at his request. He owned this entire kingdom, and you had just recently pledged yourself to him. Still, he asked to acquire your company.

“You may.” You airily spoke, watching his body slide down the smooth bark of the cypress. His shoulder grazed against your own as his feet kicked out in front of him. Dark eyes fluttered shut beyond his mask, illustrating his relaxing exhaustion.

Your eyes settled upon the canteen, a teasing quirk of a smile trailing amongst your lips. “Drinking this early?”

Simon popped one eye open, a soft grunt escaping his lips as he uncapped the canteen and held it out to you. You rose your eyebrows, but took it anyways. Your eye peered carefully down the neck, finding an odd glowing liquid the color of gold. Similar to the golden ichor that had bled from your betrothed’s wounds.

You mistakenly caught a whiff of the drink, eyes nearly bugging out of your head when such an overwhelmingly sweet scent flooded your nostrils. You resisted the urge to gag, already feeling the thick film of sugar coating your teeth without even taking a sip.

“What is that stuff?” You asked in disbelief as you passed it back to Simon with a wrinkled nose. His eyes twinkled with amusement, just as his hand reached up to lift his helm slightly.

“Nectar, is what it is.” His pink lips wrapped around the lid, just as he took a draggingly long swig. You found yourself flicking your tongue over your teeth, already feeling sorry for him gums and molars.

“Nectar?” You hummed in question, watching before your eyes as the God seemed to glow under the sunny rays. Instantly the knots in his muscles lessened but perhaps it was a trick of the light.

“The drink of the Gods. It has healing properties to a limit.” He offered, just before his eyes flickered observingly to the book you had perched upon your lap.

“That is a good one.” He voiced, gesturing to the leather bound spine folded in one of your hands. You perked, a slight dust of heat rising to your face. The text didn’t have an author, but it was heavily romantic and poetic. A strangled noise fell from your lips as you didn’t bother to hide your surprise.

“You’ve read it?”

Simon’s eyelashes fluttered in amusement, as if the whole situation was quite comical. “Read it to me?” He requested, a slight twinge upon his request had your eyes narrowing in suspicion. Regardless, your nimble fingers found the page you marked and flashed over the next text.

“I found myself trapped against my will. Her hands were the prison, a clasp holding my mind in her unnoticed will. I was disgusted, yet enthralled. I’d never seen such painful beauty. Such as a proud bird with broken wings, this feminine creature was caged in what they had called a Garden. Her eyes— stardrops. Her lips— the sweetest petals. I decided there, in the dark shadows that hid me, she would be mine.” You paused with a breath, a soft smile upon your lips as you began again.

“I would vow–” you started, but were surprised by the gentle voice that was so hushed you hardly heard.

“To adore her for Eternity. To take her as a bride, to make her a Queen.” Simon finished. You bit back your shock at his perfected recitation. His hand flickered to the soft flesh of your cheekbone, warm and calloused. “My mind has been clouded since I have written those pages, it’s as if I’m hearing it again.”

You choked a gasp, realizing then, that the handwritten golden text had belonged to Simon, and you were essentially reading his thoughts, his thoughts about you.

You sat yourself back against the bark of the tree, pushing the book away from your hands as if it had scorched you.

“Simon… I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I was reading your personal thoughts. It was on the shelves in the library.” You stopped your rambling when an amused chuckle musically entered your ears.

“I don’t mind. I’ve made it clear just how much I adore you, darling.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but quickly you shut it again. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything, especially with your short-circuiting brain. Instead you settled on letting out a deep inhale, attempting to subdue your fluttering heart that was entirely Simon’s fault.

He took notice to your flustered body language, instead of ridiculing, he pushed himself off the trunk and stood tall. His large palm extended to you in invitation, it was near embarrassing how quickly your fingers danced across his skin as he heaved you gently off the ground.

The pale lilac of your summer dress fluttered slightly in the calming breeze. Kleo had once mentioned that the weather changed based on Hades’ behavior. It made your heart leap at the brightening of sun and soothing breeze, wondering if perhaps, you helped him cause it. The sundrops danced in his eyes as you looked to him questionably. Crow feet wrinkled, but he gave nothing away, you couldn’t help the soft smile that brushed across your lips as you observed.

Then he maneuvered around you, his form shadowing yours for a moment just so you could vaguely make out the extended muscles of his back and the elegant twist of his abdomen as he sidestepped. The whiff of rich smoke and sweetly scented musk invaded your nostrils, and it took a near Herculean effort not to draw into him like a fish on a hook.

He’d noticed, obviously he had. How could someone so perceptive not? Yet all he did was close his long and calloused fingers upon your wrist and palm tighter, steering you and leading anywhere he wanted. You were far too bewitched to care.

The lack of communication wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything you took more time to focus on the steady patter of his near silent footfalls, the croaking of bullfrogs, and the gentle breeze that brushed against your skin and the Cyprus.

Finally, your ears picked up on a smooth trickling.

While your eyes were settling on unfamiliar territory, Simon had come to an ease. His ever tense shoulders slackening and his body thawing from previous turmoil.

This ground was sacred to him, as personal as his very own skin. While the gardens were not technically forbidden, he was cautious on who entered the space. Only his trusted companions, such as Keegan and the Furies entered there. Here, however—with the soft babbling of a creek and whispering leaves of fig trees, was a secrecy he had not shared.

Until you.

“It’s beautiful…” you’d whispered, almost petrified to use your own voice.

His hand dropped your own, though the warmth of his palm still floated upon your skin. Instead, your head swiveled to follow his movement, just as he reached upon the tips of his toes. Shade settled across his helm, encasing him in more shadow– yet as he plucked the ripest fig he could find, you found him to never look so full of light.

“Simon’s Elysium. He often dreamt of this spot as a mortal. A place pleasant and secluded.” Hades spoke up, all while his fingers pulled upon the soft flesh of the fig, splitting it open and offering a half to you.

A different fruit than a pomegranate. With no promise of devotion or servitude. This fruit was offered as courtship. A way to say “here, take my love as sweet as this fruit.”

You took it from his hands as if it was a newborn, this fruit being so delicate and precise that you didn’t want to bite into it. Not only was it an extension of his love, but it was a part of Simon’s safe haven, and while you were invited, it simply felt wrong to trespass.

As if Hades could sense your inner turmoil, he spoke softly, “Simon still voices his thoughts, he wants you to eat it, to share his paradise that he never fully experienced.”

Sadness ripped at your lungs like scorching wildfire. How could you be so selfish? Simon had given everything to protect his family, and here you stand simply running away because you didn’t want to marry a clansman your mother had picked out.

He was a hero. Regardless of his cold appearance, Hades was selfless—You, you were selfish, selfish enough to eat the flesh of the fig and feel the gentle pressure of Simon’s calloused hands upon your flushed cheeks. The seedy ripeness was overpowering, coating your teeth and tongue and soul.

“Simon calls you beautiful in a mantra. Just as I-” amusement crossed over his features as his eyes rolled. “We—hope to hold your devotion without burden.”

His thumb swiped your lips, collecting the juices of the fruit stained to your flesh. You looked down for a moment, knowing desperately that this was what you wanted. What your beating organ needed.

“I am yours.” You muttered, buzzing from the intensity Simon always managed to carry. You swore you heard him purr as fingertips once more caressed your skin, angling your chin upwards so you looked to him doe eyed.

“May I kiss you?” He asked with such confidence you couldn’t help but nod, knowing words would not escape you. He reached upwards to push his helm off of his head to the soft grass below with a gentle clunk.

You were met with his features once again, all the godly details shining through to display just how effortlessly beautiful he was. A hand fluttered to your waist, so soft and gentle it made you feel like glass. He caressed you softly, keeping one hand enclosed while the other soothed. Fingernails fell heavenly against your scalp, palm wide to caress the whole side of your face. A thumb had your lips parted, just as you looked to him through your eyelashes.

He swayed closer, eyes so intense you felt your heart near palpating out of your chest. He leant over you, so tall he nearly encased you like a shield.

Then came a simple brush of his lips against yours, an experiment.

He was warm, yet cold at the same time. Hades was a wild flame that burned frostbite, it should have made you shiver. But—all you felt was scorching fire licking at your heartstrings.

His forearms circled your hips, keeping you locked to him as he kissed more surely, making you lose your breath as his tongue licked softly against your bottom lip. He tasted of sweetness, likely from the leftover Nectar he had drank before.

You decided then, it was the best thing you had ever felt and tasted. Down to your toes you felt the true passion put off from your souls.

He pulled away, leaving you with the biggest smile that spilt radiantly across your face. His own eyes danced with mirth and joy, the expression making him look younger than he was.

“I’ve waited long for this, my bride. Despite my many millennia that I have expirenced, little days will outshine this one.”

You couldn’t help the warm flush that fluttered across your cheeks at such elaborate words. It was the best day of your little years of life as well. With the day full of laughter and joy in Simon’s piece of Elysium— Eating figs, listening to the trickles of water, and soaking in the warmth of your God.

It was a shame the two of you missed the eyes that watched.

A/N: It’s been a while hasn’t it? This was a short chapter because I wanted this sucker out of my drafts. I’ve been holding onto it and chipping away since FEBRUARY!!! Anyways please enjoy and tell me what you think. Next chapter should be getting into the wedding!!

Tags: @soapyghost @queenqu33f @blueoorchid @lethalchiralium @eclipse-darling @galagcica @dead-noodles @agspgrwasb @toobessed @mooniesyubi @cookielovesbook-akie @vile-villain6661 @peachlcve @ghostslittlegf @erintaro @ghost-with-a-teacup @fante-di-denari @sollucifer @embers-of-alluring @icepancakes @queen-ilmaree @msecho19 @the-abyss-of-fandoms @angstyjellybean @multitargaryen @montenegroisr @lilacsourgirl @thisperspective @pasta-m1lk @badpvn @stupendoustyrantstranger @brainstormbby @lilpothoscuttings @lycheedr3ams

#cod #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #modern warfare #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #Simon riley

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chococolte · 2 years

Text

☼ — calling them a good boy i

word count. 588

characters included. zhongli, childe, aether, xiao

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, possessive & obsessive behaviors, sagau + cult au shit. g/n reader

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. reposting this from my old acc since i got shadowbanned 🤡 lightly edited. part two here!

zhongli

"Good boy," you say. Zhongli's heart hums, singing a hymn dedicated to you within the confines of his chest. He hopes you can hear it. Can you tell how devoted he is to you? His every breath is yours; yours to do with as you see fit.

Zhongli's eyes flutter, a dainty blush forming on his features, only for you to see. His heart beats ardently against his ribcage as your hands tug and gently pull at his scalp, scratching at the surface intermittently.

He kneels before you on your throne of intricately carved Cor Lapis and Noctilucous Jade, his head resting on your thighs. Zhongli's lips tremble with the desire to leave soft kisses upon your skin, to worship with everything you have bestowed upon him, but he withholds the urge; fearing that if he makes any sudden movement, revealing his desperation; your affection would stop.

As you whisper sweet praises to his ears, Zhongli finds himself ever more enamored with you.

childe

"Childe, you're such a good boy."

Childe purrs. Your fingers trail from his neck to his back, lightly scratching at his skin as you go. He leans into your touch, seeking your warmth; a part of him hopelessly praying that he'll drown in it. Would you let him, if he begged enough?

He looks up at you lovingly, worshipful ardor filling his frenzied gaze. "Yes," he whispers to you, his voice soft and breathy, almost desperate. "I'm your good boy. Only yours, your Grace."

You chuckle. Childe finds himself crooning at the sound, thinking the noise akin to an angelic choir's concordant singing. He wishes for nothing more than to lose himself in it. As he pushes himself further against you, wishing for this moment to never end, he kneels his head and whispers faintly:

"Don't leave me, please."

aether

"Aether," you coo," "you're my good boy, aren't you?"

Cupping his cheek, you stroke your thumb gently over his fine, pale skin. Aether leans into your warmth, breathing brisk and ragged. "Yes, yes! I'm your good boy!" He says desperately, urgently, begging that you'll continue your praise.

If Aether had a tail, it would be wagging. "All yours." he adds, a deep red blush blooming on his delicate features. "No one else's."

You hum. His heart lurches in his throat. Do you not believe him? Aether repeats the sound in hishead like a broken record, looking up at you from his kneeling position with zealous devotion. He bows his head, then, and murmurs against your thighs.

"What do I need to do to prove it to you? For you, anything."

xiao

"Xiao," you sing. You trail a gentle finger up to his chin, softly tugging his head to look at you. A pink the same color as the apples of his cheeks tints his ears. "You're a good boy, right? My good boy?"

Xiao swallows thickly, finding it difficult to swallow in your presence. Difficult to breathe. Difficult to look at anything but you. He bites the inside of his cheek, his mind hazy and light-headed from being so close to you: his god. He chokes when you ask him again, your palm resting against his cheek, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

"Y-Yes," he manages to stutter, unable to think of anything else but the sensation of your skin against his. As you pull your hand away, Xiao finds himself quickly adding, "I-I'm only your good boy. Only yours, your grace."

You laugh, the sound echoing in Xiao's head. He prays that he'll hear it more often.

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fayes-fics · 2 months

Text

When The World Is Free - Chapter 10: Hymne à L'amour

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Oral sex (m to f), a smidge of edging, handjob, vaginal sex, woman on top, orgasms.

Word Count: 4.1k. Who is surprised the sex chapter is my longest? Yeah me neither

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is the smutty goodness people. Please heed the warning change. if you want your story chaste, please skip this chapter. There is no plot, just porn. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Portsmouth, UK, September 1939

As soon as your lips meet his, he grabs your face and kisses you back harder than he ever has, a faintly panted growl that makes something turn molten inside. Kissing you like his life depends on it, an urgency in his tongue and lips that stun you.

You go to say his name, but he swallows it and hushes you, his lips never leaving yours as he does so. One hand slides down your front as you kiss, a teasing trail of fingers over your clavicle that makes all your senses fire. He pulls back and stares intently into your eyes as the hand slides lower and cups your breast through your dress.

“Benedict,” you gasp, and the look of victory on his face is devastatingly handsome. He doesn't break eye contact as his thumb swipes gently over your nipple, and your breath hitches a rasping inhale.

“There it is,” he smiles crookedly, “that sound I love to hear.”

His thumb swipes with a little more pressure but still maddeningly slow. You already feel on tenterhooks, heart hammering, body rioting—part of you wants him to be fast, maybe even a little rough, for him to be impatient from the same boiling passion that you feel simmering in your bones. Another part of you wants him to go so slow that you are clawing at him, broken and wrecked, pleading for him to take pity on you as you tremble and teeter so close to something mind-blowing.

Neither of those extremes is anything you have experienced yet, and you want him to be the one to give you both more than you want to breathe—a passion only he can evoke. You have seen glimpses of him untamed, especially last night in the cottage when he sent you away, his whole being seemingly shaking with need; you want to inspire that in him again, now, tomorrow, maybe always.

“Undress me….” a hushed plea you exhale shakily, desperation for him to touch your flesh.

He pulls back a fraction, eyes glittering, hand still upon your breast.

“Like this?” his voice like butter as that hand moves to the top pearl button over your sternum, a teasing crooked smile on his lips as you breathe heavily and stare up at him.

The air feels charged as his fingertips brush featherlight down the sliver of skin he reveals, with each button popping open, leaving a little trail of fire all the way to your navel. The buttons continue to the hem at your knees, and you want to groan as he slips to his knees before you and continues the unfastening at a steady but unrushed pace, staring up to catalogue your face as you look down at him.

You quake as his fingers pass close over the front of your underwear but do not touch, and you want to whimper. He keeps going, deft fingers undoing each button over your thighs, goosebumps raising as you feel his warm breath ghosting between the fabric as he works. When the last is undone, he leans back on his haunches and looks up at you again, eyes blazing.

“Take it off.”

It’s halfway between a plea and an order, maybe both and your body blossoms all over, tangy want metallic on your tongue. The pure desire writ large on his face gives you the confidence to reach up and push the fabric off your shoulders, allowing the dress to part and fall to the floor behind you, hitting the carpet with a soft whump. Your knees almost buckle at the noise he strangles in the back of his throat as you tower above him in bra, underwear and stockings.

“Touch me… please,” it’s a quiet but imploring request.

Almost reverential, his hands raise and ghost over your knees then thighs, not yet touching, almost as if there is too much choice, and he has no idea where to begin. Then they land heavily on the outer flare of your hips, a grip that is strong but not harsh and his face pitches forward, burying his warm nose into your navel and inhaling deeply before dropping a tender kiss right on the sensitive spot at the top of your belly button. You want to curl forward over him, the breath swept from your lungs at this simple gesture. Your hands grip his warm, broad shoulders as he nuzzles into you.

“You smell so sweet,” he almost sounds pained, wistful, his hands sliding around to cup the globes of your button and propel you further into his arms.

He is clinging to you, strong arms wrapped around your hips, his knees on either side of your feet. He drops a line of kisses across your belly that has your abdominals rippling and a shiver running all over you as his fingers deftly unhook your stockings and pull them gently down your legs. Kneeling before you as if worshipping your body. Clinging to you like his very life depended upon it, looking up at you with devoted, blown pupils. It's a potent elixir and makes you want to strip bare for him.

As you step out of your stockings, you let go of his shoulders to reach behind and unhook your bra before the spell is broken, boldly throwing it aside as he makes a joyous noise and pushes up onto his knees, latching onto your nipple with a suction that has you calling out his name. It makes him feral, almost snarling, hands kneading your lace-clad bottom as he sucks harder, and you flood your underwear, the need for him making you shudder.

“Don't stop…” your voice sounds foreign to your own ears, your tooth snagging your lip, eyes fluttering shut as he swaps to your other breast and your fingers card into his thick, luscious head of hair, massaging his scalp with little swirling motions that match the wet tongue circling your areola.

“Please look at me….” he calls, and your eyes reopen to see him looking up at you as he flattens his tongue and licks over your puckered nipple, his eyes flashing fire, wanting you to watch him do this to you, watch your body physically change under his ministrations, your skin flushing darker.

Just as time seems to slow like molasses, he suddenly stands up. A complete change of pace as you are hauled high into his arms, like in the kitchen this morning, your legs twine around his waist on instinct, feeling something hard on your damp knickers as his lips crash into yours, urgent, hot, passionate. Then he is moving, slim hips flexing against your inner thighs and your back is pressed into the wall, the velvet wallpaper tickling your spine, the pictures rattling in their frames as he takes your hands and pins them above your head, fingers sinking between yours, so your hands form a tight fist together, your wedding rings clinking together.

“You make me wild, wreckless, wanton…” he murmurs, breaking the kiss, his being racked with that same trembling you felt before he sent you away last night.

“The feeling is mutual,” you assure, panting lightly, the slightly rough treatment such a contrast to the slow reverence he knelt before you in.

It’s a compulsion, a magnetic pull, something in your chemistry pulling you to each other even though you met barely days ago. Putting aside the added complication of marriage from your mind as you concentrate on the physical. He makes you bold in ways you never expected and awakens things within you you didn't know even existed. You want him to act on every instinct he has, want him not to hold back. It feels at once ethereal and rooted deeply in something physical—primaeval, dark, damp and earthy, like soil.

Rather than speak words, you tilt your hips where they wrap around his body and rub yourself shamelessly over the hard mass you can feel through his pyjama bottoms. His grip on your hands slackens, and his face buries into your neck, almost biting with intensity as he sucks the cord of your neck and you repeat your move, your swollen nub mashed deliciously onto his hardness, the lace of your underwear just heightening the heady sensation.

“I want to hear you beg...” he confesses, sounding guilty but compelled to utter it, his lips still on your neck. “But I also want to indulge your every whim before you even know you have it.”

That he has the capacity to articulate all the same feelings swirling in your head impresses. You feel you can barely string a sentence together, need overwhelming your usually razor-sharp mind.

“Please….”

It's all you can say in response, but it seems enough. With another untamed noise, you are on the move again, and within seconds, he is lowering you onto the bed, hovering over you in a way that fills your whole field of vision.

“I need to be the best you have ever had…” confessions tumbling from him as he lowers his weight onto you, heat and muscle pinning you down in a way that has you instantly clawing at his t-shirt, fabric straining over the lithe muscles of his upper back.

“You already are….” you admit breathily, letting his legs sink between yours and his knees push yours out wide, his hard quad muscle under soft cotton. The pace slowing again to something decadent, rich like dark chocolate.

He leans up onto his knuckles, the mattress dipping on either side of your body as he does so.

“Do not return to him,” he beseeches, earnest vulnerability clouding his expression. “Even if you do not remain with me, he is unworthy of you…”

Something in your chest cracks at his sincerity. “I will never return to him,” you vow over a shaky breath, too afraid to confirm he is the only place you want to be.

Instead, you do what compels you, curling a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him back down into a kiss. Feeling overwhelmed by him caging you, hands gripping your waist as your tongues tangle, your pelvis mashed to his, wanting him to be as naked as you are.

“Take this off,” you almost whine, plucking at the sleeves of his t-shirt as you surface for breath.

He chuckles at that and sits up slightly to whip it off, a glimpse of a toned torso before the heat of his chest is lowered over yours, and you lose all power of thought. Fingers tracing the contours of tendons you feel flexing on his shoulders as his hands wander, sending a current shimmering over your body until he hooks his fingers into your underwear and starts to tug them down your hips. Shuffling lower, his mouth is again hot on your breasts as your underwear slips further, somehow untangling from you just long enough to discard them. You are utterly naked under him, knowing he can scent your arousal as he drops lower, lingering close to your belly button again, kissing, always kissing.

When he slips lower still something clenches low in your gut.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, a thread of alarm that he is muscling your legs over his shoulders.

He smirks at first then his face falls to one filled with concern. “No one has ever done this to you?” his ask laced with incredulity.

You stare down the plane of your body to his handsome face framed by your own thighs. “N-no,” you stumble out, always unable to lie to him, even now.

“A man cannot claim to love a woman and not do this,” he seems to seethe with an indignation on your behalf - that you have not experienced this before.

“What are you going to do?” you whisper.

His expression changes again - like an entirely different man inhabits him, a seductive look that has your face flushing. Without answering, he lowers his jaw between your legs and ploughs his tongue into the gathered, dewy wetness. You are on a cliff edge, a complete tumult as you inhale - sharp, ragged - the warm muscular swipe of his tongue in a place so intimate. Your hands grasp his forearm on instinct, needing something to hold onto as he does the same again. You swear out loud and writhe, the intensity making your body want to buck hard. A strong hand curling around your pelvis and locking you down to the bed. The static over your skin buzzes, a thrill zipping up your spine as you are held down and, well, devoured.

He is not gentle, using his whole face to wring a medley of novel sensations. The stubble of his face rasping the delicate skin between your legs, his lips suctioning hard on your folds, his tongue roughly lapping at the hardened pearl hiding there, a shock running high up into your pelvis from how he does so, you can feel yourself swelling and throbbing harder under his attentions. Drawing uneven gulped breaths, occasionally feeling a twinge so strong your abdomen clenches, your head raising off the pillow, a jolt so hard that your whole body seems to contract with a wave of pleasure.

Your hands grasp his hair, steering your pleasure, licking your dry lips. Now you understand why women talk in hushed tones about sex. This makes you want to scream and thrash and never stop. Just as you feel yourself spiralling somewhere truly heady, breath quickening, body boiling, he stops and sits back, looking triumphantly down upon your rippling body, his handsome face glistening in the lamplight with your arousal.

“Why did you stop?” Each word feels an effort to grit out, a large hand holding you down on your lower belly, his middle finger hooked into your belly button as you undulate under his hold.

“Because I want to see you like this,” his voice rich, decadent, sonorous, the tone bordering on smug as his eyes rake over your flushed torso, peaked, puffy nipples, swollen weeping slit, admiring his handiwork.

Even as you are in upheaval, your eyes fall from his victorious face to the bulge in his pyjamas, wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine. A desire to take him to the edge and then sit back and observe, watch him writhe and flex. Unable to resist, you grab him with a force that makes him startle, his hold on you slackening in surprise. He is so hot and hard, and your fingers wrap around the outline and rub up and down his length. His eyes flash fire as your other hand moves to the drawstring to untie the bow. He doesn't stop you; he assists, climbing out of them as you stare covetously.

You didn't realise men could look so different until now, did not know what you have been missing, almost an apprehension about the scale of what you see. He guides your hand back to his flesh once his clothing is discarded. Velvet smooth and warm, you wrap your hand around him, noting the difference from the only other one you have touched. The noises he makes are different, too; needier, leaking over your knuckle as you squeeze in an upwards motion, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily, and his eyes closing as you glance at his face. So very different and so appealing.

“I have never….” you begin but feel unable to say it.

“You don't have to,” he replies rapidly, eyes popping open.

“But I want to…” you admit tacitly, an urge you have never felt before.

A wolfish grin claims his face, and he gently removes your hand, crawling over you, cupping your face and kissing you deeply, your naked bodies pressed together, his cock branding hot against your belly.

“Another time,” he asserts over your lips, and something inside you vaults that this isn't a momentary, fleeting opportunity. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he is almost hesitant, a benevolence that makes your heart skip, the moment turning tender, loving almost.

“I've never been more certain of anything,” you whisper, heartfelt, genuine, your hands running his sides, stopping to grasp the belt of muscle low around his middle, pushing yourself off the bed and into his warmth to emphasise your point.

With a soft smile and a sotto voce request to let him prepare, he rolls away and gathers a tin from his nightbag. Your stomach flutters with butterflies as you realise he is reaching for latex protection. You watch the play of muscles in his back as he does so, unseen, and you reach out and run a soothing hand over his spine on instinct, wanting to touch him any moment you can. He twists and smiles at you, grabbing your hand and kissing your fingers before turning back and crawling over you, a caring streak running through his evident desire.

Then he is upon you again, kissing with fiery intent, caressing your breasts and stomach, sweeping you back into a state where your blood runs hot, your skin glowing with want, that lantern behind your ribs that seems to burn just for him fully ablaze as he nudges your hips open gently with his, a hand guiding himself close to your body now.

“Look at me,” his request silky, and you cannot do anything but - his pupils a sea of inky glass blackness you can see a mirage of yourself in as he pushes into your body.

You thought time stopped when he first kissed you a few days ago. But that was nothing compared to this. A searing stretch so slow but so much more than you have experienced before, your toes curling into the sheets, your fingers digging hard into the rope of muscle pulled taut between his shoulder blades. Still, your eyes do not stray from each other as he keeps going, you holding your breath until he bottoms out, the feeling of fullness overwhelming. He holds still to allow you to adjust, even as you can see how much he is holding back, almost a shake in his being.

“I’m not made of glass,” you entreat.

His thumb sweeps your bottom lip, his wedding ring cool against your jaw where he cradles your face.

“But you are precious to me,” he counters, and the swell of emotions those words cause almost knock the wind from your lungs.

But then he starts to move, and you can barely breathe, regardless. He withdraws and then surges back in a wave. The tug deep inside makes you gasp, grab onto him, wrap your legs around his calves, toes tickled by the downy hair there. It is so wholly other than anything you have experienced; the past pales. This is what intimacy truly is. A wash of emotion that you could have gone through life and not known something like this.

“Are you alright?” his face creased with a tender concern as he moves slowly.

“I never knew what I was missing…” nothing but truthful.

His whole demeanour softens, his eyes soft and down-sloped, holding still buried within you; his words seem to echo through your body from where you are joined as he answers.

“You deserve the world, y/n.”

Emotion bubbles behind your ribs and blooms into sheer want - an impetuous need to channel the words you want to say but daren’t into action. Screwing your eyes shut and biting the edge of your tongue to tamp the urge to ask him to fuck you thoroughly, carnally, take you somewhere no one has before. But it's like he can sense it, for when he starts to move again, it's a snap of his hips that drives him deeper than before, making you moan loudly and rise off the bed, curving bowlike into his body.

You hiss your approval and he does it again, watching you carefully, cataloguing when you open your eyes again and meet his stare challengingly. Telegraphing silently that you want him to be merciless. The bed squeaks in protest as you start to move together, you pushing down as he thrusts up, your right and flying to the headboard to provide leverage, as his teeth scrap down your neck, over your clavicle, suckling hard on your breast as you speed up.

The sharp zing of sensation right down to your core makes you swear under your breath, spurring him on, his shower-damp hair an array of curls shaken loose as you go faster, his gaze like a thick veil you wear, sweeping your face, your body, glancing down to where you are joined, his breath hitched hard at what he glimpses You look too, drawn to the sight like never before, a want to see your body being invaded by him, somehow making it seem real rather than a fevered, lustful dream.

His right hand hooks behind your neck and tangles in your hair, hauling you up to meet his greedy lips, kissing artlessly but full of open-mouthed sighs and moans as you move yet faster, a sheen breaking out over both of your bodies. Your left hands clasp together on instinct, wedding bands clinking quietly, your eyes drifting to the sound, then back to each other. As if you had almost forgotten what you have done to allow yourself to get to this very moment.

It makes you fearless, so with a flick of your hips that surprises him, you are able to flip him over while he stays inside you, a need to ride, to take control of your own pleasure, something you have never done before. The flash of admiration on his face is priceless, his hands immediately grasping your waist and encouraging you to rise and fall on his cock, finding a whole new world of pleasure, angling to hit your swollen pearl on his pelvis when you sink.

He watches you with hooded eyes, whispering encouraging words, the slight burn in your thighs worth it for the looped call and response of his body and yours, moving faster now, letting him fuck up into you, again meeting each other halfway, as enthused as the other to wring all the pleasure you can from each second.

Then with a lopsided smile, his large hand spans downwards from your hip, his thumb sliding between your legs and hooking over the hood of your clit. The jolt makes you cry out and shudder, his resounding groan loud as you clamp hard around him.

“Don't you dare stop this time,” it’s almost a command through gritted teeth, and he looks surprised and so aroused you feel him ripple inside you.

He does as bidden, his blunt thumbnail catching perfectly around the side of your clit, the pad mashed against you as you ride hard now, muscles protesting, a bead of sweat sliding down your spine from your hairline. You are climbing again, just as he had you when his tongue was there; the memory of it drives you harder. Until you feel that dam breaking, your whole body wound tight and suddenly snapping with a violent release, a technicolour explosion behind your eyelids. Slamming down on Benedict, who calls out roughly as you come around him, gripped upon him tight as you flutter, his cock feeling so huge you swear you will still feel its imprint tomorrow. It never seems to end the sensation racing down your limbs to fizzle in your toes and fingers, a true livewire. Underneath you, Benedict grips your hips with a curse and a long, low groan; you feel him breaking, too, a pulsing ripple travelling up his length as he spills into the latex between you.

You slump forward onto his chest, heaving gulps of air, feeling so many contradictions - sated but still hungry, energised but exhausted, aching but ready to go again just to chase that intangible high. Benedict's lips are hot on your damp forehead, and you push off him slightly, a hitch in his breath as you do, your lips meeting in a prolonged kiss, an endnote to this symphony.

“I've never done that before,” you confess over a gratified giggle.

His smile is warm, his hands running up and down your back in soothing strokes. “Which part?”

“Both being on top and that…” suddenly shy to state the word.

He looks momentarily shocked. “Then I am so glad you got scammed,” he says with a conviction that makes you frown fleetingly. “I could not allow a world where you would go back to America and never have an orgasm…”

He is sincere, but something in the way he says it makes you break out into happy, carefree peals of laughter that has him joining in as he slips from inside your body.

This lighthearted moment seems to break any tension there may be about words you could say; it means you are still giggling together as he rolls you aside and, after discarding the condom, pulls you into his arms, both of you suddenly bone tired from the rollercoaster of a day.

“I am so glad I got scammed too,” you offer sleepily; he huffs a laugh, matching smiles as sleep claims you both almost instantly.

Benedict taglist pt 1: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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doumadono · 4 months

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I have come to confess for sinful Sunday that I have heirophilia, and I have it bad, and as much as I love religious imagery, I also love the thought of demons who play as false priests or saviors. If there was anything I could ask for, more than anything, could we get some Sekido x fem reader where he degrades and yells at the reader to repent for their sinful lust even though he's obviously the one who's been fucking them while they prayed for mercy?

SINFUL SUNDAY

Warnings: non-con, hierophilia

A sense of unease settles upon you as you enter the church, greeted not by the familiar warmth of a congregation but by an eerie emptiness. The air carries only a faint hint of iron, and an unsettling stillness replaces the usual harmonious chorus of communal hymns. A glimpse near the entrance hints at something amiss – perhaps blood, though uncertainty veils your perception. The ordinary atmosphere, once brimming with the warmth of community and shared songs, now feels cold and distant, shrouded in an unspoken disquiet.

Abruptly, a towering presence advanced from the confessionary. "How may I assist you, my dear child?"

Your uncertainty lingers, but you muster a response, "I came for a confession, but… isn't the mass supposed to be happening now?"

The figure, a man with dark hair, smiles as he draws nearer. "We've adjusted the schedule. Nevertheless, I'm here to help. Follow me, my child."

A furrow forms on your brow as you observe him guiding you to a different section of the church, revealing the rectory where priests reside between masses.

As the door shuts behind you, a chilling shiver races up and down your spine - a premonition that danger lurks right behind your back.

Sekido, the false priest, clad in the vestiges of religious garb, becomes the harbinger of damnation. "You need to repent for your lust, I can smell it lingering on you, little sheep."

Torn garments leave you exposed, and you frantically attempt to shield yourself, using your hands and tightly pressing your thighs together in a desperate bid for modesty. "Please, Father, please let me go..."

Sekido's lips curl into a sly smirk in response to your pleas. "I am not a Father, but for you, my dear child, I can certainly play the role of a daddy."

He picks you up easily and throws you onto a tiny bed standing near the beautiful stained glass window.

Laying on the bed, you feel the sting of his firm hand on the meat of your ass, on and on, each spank punctuated by a low growl of Sekido. His commanding voice reverberates, demanding, "Confess your sins, woman! I insist on hearing your confessions!"

You plead with him, your voice a fragile murmur, "Please, please, release me…"

Sekido, in his relentless resolve, dismisses your entreaties, administering a more forceful spank to your exposed flesh, leaving a red mark in a shape of his hand there. "You're destined for damnation, the gates of heaven shall forever elude your grasp."

Tears stream down your face, a silent plea for mercy, as you desperately attempt to crawl away. The disconcerting sound of a zipper being undone reverberates through the air, accompanied by the subtle rustling of fabric, signaling the descent of his obsidian pants.

Before you realize it, the crimson, swollen tip of his dick teases against the tender entrance of your ass.

A sharp cry escapes your lips, a melody of anguish, as he thrusts into you unyieldingly, affording no respite for your senses to acclimate. The relentless intrusion establishes a vigorous, unrelenting rhythm, each forceful thrust sending tremors of intensity through your form as you cry and scream, suffocating on your own tears.

Sekido seizes a handful of your hair, yanking your head back, causing your back to arch in response to his forceful advance. As he pushes deep into you, his balls resting against your ass, he leans forward, his voice a sultry whisper against your ear, "You relish the intensity, don't you? I can see you do, your breath quickening like a bitch in heat. You like the demon's cock splitting you open, yeah, woman?"

The agony courses through you, pushing you to the brink of unconsciousness, while an unfamiliar heat simmers in the depths of your abdomen.

Sekido releases his climax inside you, a guttural groan escaping his lips, accompanied by a triumphant exclamation, "Yes! Yes! Take it, bitch, take it all!"

The scarlet-eyed demon departs, leaving you sprawled on the bed, your consciousness wavering, tears marking your face.

Sekido adjusts his trousers, offering gentle pats to the now reddened flesh on your ass. "You did well. Your next confession awaits this Sunday, remember to grace the damn chapel with your presence."

taglist: @aliorailrow

#doumadonos sinful sunday 🔥#sinful sunday #anime smut #divider by cafekitsune #sekido smut #sekido #hantengu clones #sekido x reader #sekido x y/n #sekido x you #kny smut #demon slayer smut #sekido kny #kny sekido #kny x reader #kny x y/n #demon slayer x reader

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shadeysprings · 6 months

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The Tears on Ivory

—Priest!Lee Bodecker x Church Pianist!F!Reader

Summary — The new priest of your church asks you to sing for him.

Warnings — noncon, public sex, face shot, religious references, and other dark themes. There may be more that I forgot so I ask that you read with caution.

A/N — Kindly blame @vellicore and @flordeamatista for such sexy sinful ideas. But I mean, who could even resist this belly daddy? Not me. No beta so may be sloppy.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

A sense of unease washes over you when you see Father Bodecker standing by the royal doors, bidding the last child and his parents goodbye. Choir practice just ended and you collect your music sheets from the stand of the piano, yet you do it with haste, not wanting to be alone with him in the great hall. But the sound of the wooden doors closing is just as loud as your beating heart.

“Leavin’ so soon, Sweetheart?” His voice echoes through the night air and you turn to face him, watching as he slowly walks up to you.

“It’s gettin’ late, Father.” You tell him with a smile, doing your best to hide the fear that begins to bloom in your core. “My daddy wouldn’t want me stayin’ out too long. Says it ain’t safe for a lady bein’ alone in the night.” You explain, hoping that the mention of your daddy would keep him at bay.

“But you’re in the house of God with your priest. Ain’t nowhere safer than here, right?” He’s closer now, intense blue eyes trained on you and the smirk he sends your way brings a chill up your spine. You look away, not wanting him to see your dread, and focus on the white tab tucked underneath the collar of his black shirt.

“I hear you singin’ with ‘em kids—such a lovely voice you have.” You take his compliment but keep your guard up as you cradle your purse in your arms, keeping the bench between the two of you. “I want to hear it again. One of ‘em hymns for tomorrow’s mass.”

“I’d love to, Father, but—”

“You know, disobeying the will of the priest is equivalent to disobeying the will of God.” Your hand trembles with how he says those words, swallowing thickly as you try to calm your nerves. “You wouldn’t want that, do you? To disobey the Lord?”

You shake your head.

“Good girl.” The praise makes you feel nothing but disgust. “Now, why don’t you get back in that chair and start playing?”

And just like that, you do as you are told; setting down your purse on the side of the piano and taking your seat once more. Your spine tenses and your hands shake upon setting them over the keys when he goes to stand behind you, feeling the excess of his stomach brushing against your arm.

Just play, you tell yourself, and you hope then when you do, when you’ve done what is being asked of you, that he will leave you alone.

Ever since Father Bodecker - Lee as he likes to be addressed - arrived in your quaint town as the new priest, things for you have never been the same. The sense of trepidation never once came across your mind when you were first within his presence, but it soon blossomed, quite strongly, in your opinion, when you saw the way he looked at you each time you stayed behind to practice the songs for the mass.

How his hands would mindlessly touch you, innocently from the outside looking in, but you know to yourself that they’re beyond appropriate especially for a woman as yourself and even more for the man of God. His lips utter words of vulgarity, ones you know someone of his profession should never say.

But what had you fearing his presence was once, before Sunday mass, while you were practicing the psalms on the podium, you saw him enter from your periphery and stood behind you, too close for your liking. You thought he was simply curious about what you were reading but such thoughts ultimately vanished when he pressed his hands on the wooden surface of the stand and you felt something hard dig into your backside.

You’d only ever escaped when one of the parish volunteers arrived earlier than expected and you heard the growl of disappointment that he emitted. Yet you know deep down that won’t be his last attempt, especially after seeing the determination in his sapphire eyes, a promise of a next time.

As you reach the end of the song, you startled upon feeling his hands rest on your shoulders, his thumbs massaging your muscles and his warm breath scattering against your cheek.

“You play so beautifully, Sweetheart. Singin’ those praises like an angel.” He’s so close and you feel your heart pounding wildly against your chest, panic completely setting into your bones. “Why don’t you sing another praise—for me this time.”

“I’d love to, Father, but it is already getting late.” You tell him as you move to stand from your seat but his hands keep you firmly still and you gasp in shock when he leans you forward, pushing you against the keys that cry upon being pressed. “Father—what are you doing?” You ask frantically, eyes wide in fear as you struggle against his hold.

“I just want to hear that sweet voice of yours.” His voice is laced with darkness and your knees almost buckle when he pushes away the bench from underneath you, hand lifting the skirt of your dress. “I wonder what other sounds you can make, huh? I’m dyin’ to hear.”

You claw your fingers against the piano when you hear the sound of his zipper being undone, struggling much more to set yourself free. But you’re rendered helpless against a man his size, his feet pushing your own apart and a gasp wretches from your throat when in one swift move, he’s inside you—your walls stretching in pain from his girth.

Tears spill from your eyes as he moves his lips in a sadistic pace, each of his thrust sending you shivers of agony, making every second of his assault unbearable. His groans mix with the sound of ivory and your pleas for him to stop, Father Bodecker panting and mumbling a slew of curses when he continues to plunge, harder and faster, unrelenting of his sinful intent.

You beg once more, your nails digging into your skin as you try to push him back, but such a gesture is futile—benefiting him further as it allows him to slide deeper into your core that begins to grow damp with each torturous second.

He calls out your name in the flurry of notes, his hips moving erratically that you feel something foreign, something new, something forbidden pull at you from within. You grit your teeth and shut your eyes as you endure the sins he brandishes on your soul.

But all at once, he’s gone and you’re empty, the walls of your abused cunt clenching around nothing. A grunt is then pulled from your lips when you're effortlessly pushed onto your knees and you stare up at him in horror when he grabs the back of your head, keeping you in place.

That’s when you truly see the devil he truly is. He’s no man of God but a spawn of the underworld.

He groans once more, his cock stiff and throbbing in his hand as he strokes it once, twice, seeing his eyes shut tight with his face twisting in bliss and you’re shocked to your core when streaks of hot, white essence paint your face.

Disbelief engulfs you, along with anger and shame—that he would do this to you and in the house of the Lord.

A dark laugh escapes him as he looks down on you, his hand cupping your cheek as he smears his seed on your face then tapping the tip of his cock against your lips.

“Blessed are you among women,” He quotes. “And blessed is the one who has shared the seed.”

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x female reader #dark lee bodecker #dark!lee bodecker #the tears on ivory #priest!lee bodecker #dark fic #the devil all the time #shadeysprings fics

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eelnoise · 8 months

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upon crimson wings

zoro x afab reader

cw: blood (slight bloodplay), religious terms, implied body worship, a little steamy at the end but generally SFW

a/n: continuing my current zoro obsession with this fic that i couldn't get out of my head (sorry). also messing with formatting this time instead of being lazy

Zoro was not a religious man. No, he found the very notion of reverence visceral. Though as he turns back toward you, both having emerged victorious after a merciless assault from a group of marines, he's met with a heavenly scene.

You're facing away from him, surrounded by the wages of spilled blood that pooled beneath your feet, the remnants of singing steel permeates the now hallowed ground upon which you both stand. There was a certain beauty in chaos, and never had Zoro felt it quite as clearly as when he watches you tear into your foes with reckless abandon. The image makes him shiver - not in fear or revulsion, but at something far more primal, deep within his gut.

He's speechless as he observes you wiping the excess carnage from your blade and his eyes widen in delight at the sight before him, his attention fixated on your divine form. It was truly beautiful - a stunning vision that he couldn't have even dreamed up.

"I'd say we took care of that little rat problem." Your words are heavy with pride and exertion, and the sound ignites a fire within his veins.

And when you turn to him, visage tattered and torn and splattered in crimson, his mouth goes dry. You're immaculate, and for once in his life, Zoro is fighting the urge to exalt, to sing praise, to deify you.

A low rumble escapes Zoro's lips as he continues to stare like a starved man would stare at a feast. He's seen you wield that blade countless times, but never have you looked as divine as you did right now, standing amid a symphony of steel and blood. You're right, the two of you could handle these rats with ease, but the more pressing matter was the effect you were currently having on his heart. Zoro takes a step forward, taking in the vision of your face, bloodied but not conquered.

You peer curiously at him as you sheath your sword, taking note of the lack of a usual snarky reply to your words. "Zoro?"

His eye flickers to yours, lips slightly parted in awe. You were a muse that had descended to grace him with your presence, and any words he tried to muster died in his throat. "Yeah?" He manages to ask quietly, his voice a raspy, barely audible whisper.

It dawns on you then - exactly what he's thinking.

He wants you.

Your war-torn, bloodthirsty appearance had overwhelmed Zoro, and it was clear in his gaze. Your lips twist into a devious smirk, keen on taking advantage of this rare opportunity of power you've been given over him. You know exactly how to proceed, and you do something he doesn't expect, something that has his nails digging into his palms.

You lick blood from your lips.

Blood runs cold beneath Zoro's skin, a primal, raw emotion fills his mind with urges he cannot fight. Ever a man of action over words, and before you can react, he's upon you. Large, calloused hands envelop your waist his lips were on yours in a starved, feverish kiss. The metallic tang of blood only spurs him further into devoted bliss.

You writhe in his grasp as he leaves your lips to trail his tongue down your cheek and onto your neck. He's fully prepared to kneel at your altar, to partake of and rejoice in each beautiful proverb that falls from your sweet tongue, to bathe in every hymn you bestow.

Zoro was not a religious man, but he was ready to worship you.

#one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #ronoroa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #sorry for dumping my religion kink on yall

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yoonia · 2 months

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the bedroom hymns ● chapter xiii

⟶ Chapter summary | Once again, the magic portal have granted your wish to a broader adventure, allowing you not to only see the magic realm with your own eyes but also learn more about it. And you have found someone who is willing to guide you through it.

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy AU, Fairy Tale retelling ⟶ Word count | 5,2k words ⟶ Ratings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature for future chapters; include some form of classism, black magic, alcohol consumption ⟶ Story Masterlist: The Bedroom Hymns | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢ ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi ⟶ Author’s note | This took a bit longer to finish, and since it got a bit too long, I decided to split this part into two separate chapters. As mentioned in the previous chapter, the setting in this story may be included in the other stories that are also parts of the Once Upon A Fantasy collab. There won’t be any spoilers and you won’t have to read the other stories before getting into this to enjoy it. Have fun reading!

chapter xiii. red strings-1

You never realised it then, or perhaps you simply have forgotten, but your hand seems much smaller in size compared to Yoongi’s.

Yoongi easily reminded you of it the moment he first came to greet you, taking your hand and kissing the back of it like a noble gentleman. And he has yet to let go of that hand since.

Yoongi has his hand and long fingers wrapped around yours, engulfing your hand completely in a gentle hold while he takes you across the meadow. He keeps his pace slow to allow you to follow him comfortably while enjoying the view.

All around you, the world seems to sway with the wind, drifting away out of your touch while he keeps you grounded to him. Every urge you had to pinch yourself to once again make sure that you are not dreaming has long vanished, when the warmth of his hold, his touch, the deep timber of his voice, and his whole presence are enough to let you know that he is real, and that he is truly here with you.

You can still feel the tingle on your skin, right where he pressed his lips. Slowly, you can feel that tingling sensation surging through your body, until it resides deeply in your chest, making your skin flush and your heart thrumming rapidly in your chest the longer you are with him.

Meanwhile, Yoongi remains oblivious—or he pretends to be.

He keeps his eyes mostly looking ahead as he continues guiding you to walk with him between the rows of crops, merely throwing quick glances over his shoulder in the middle of explaining to you about the farmland, the crops, and the farmers who are working diligently in the fields to gather the crops before the sun starts to descend.

Yet you can barely pay much attention to his words. Still feeling dumbfounded that you get to see him again, in a place that is no doubt far, far away from where you met him last. You are also getting more curious to know the meaning behind the pleased look that he is giving you—one that seems to be hinting that he may have somehow expected to be seeing you today.

“I assume it is just another coincidence that you are also here, traveling through the farms?” you playfully ask him as he comes to a brief pause right in the middle of the field.

Here, the row of crops have grown just as tall as your shoulders, and it would have made you feel as if you are being swallowed in them if not for Yoongi who is keeping you close and helping navigate your way through them. His face appears between the swaying crops as Yoongi glances over to you and smiles.

“What if I told you that it may not be a coincidence?” he says to you with a calm voice and just a tinge of tease in his words. “Perhaps it has been decided by fate that we would be seeing each other again.”

“Fate?” you muse with a smile, “So you believe in such a thing?”

Yoongi tilts his head and gives you an unwavering smile. “Don’t you believe in fate?” he asks, his voice sounds playful, but he does seem genuinely curious to hear your answer that you find it quite endearing.

“I think the Fates are the ones that hold the key to every coincidences, no matter how small,” he later adds as he pulls you to walk by his side, the hand that has been holding yours is now placed at the small of your back, guiding you through the thick meadow while he continues to speak, “like how I caught a little dove one day in a market full of people, watched the beautiful thing fly away with almost no hope of ever seeing her again, and yet here we are, walking hand in hand across the cornfields.”

Your cheeks burn because of his words, yet you hide it by looking away. “You’re speaking with too much jest.”

Yoongi leans down, denying your effort to avoid his eyes. “You don’t believe my words, then? That it was all thanks to fate that we got to see each other again?”

Trapped under his attentive gaze, he makes you feel nervous. Yet you find it hard to look away from him. Not that you even want to.

“Since you saved me the last time we met, I suppose I can learn to trust you,” you say to him while biting back a smile and feigning annoyance, acting as though his comment didn’t send your heartbeat racing a mile a minute. “You know what? I think I can trust you. I don’t see the harm in having a little faith, after everything that you’ve shown me so far.”

“I feel honoured to have earned your trust,” he says with the corner of his lips tilting up to a smile. He straightens up and continues to guide you through the rest of the meadow until you finally reach the edge, where trees are lined up to mark the estate’s borders and a dirt road spreads wide on the other side. “A wise man once said that a little goes a long way.”

You laugh at his comment. “Are you the wise man in question?”

As he takes you under a tree, letting the canopy of leaves above your head shelter you from the pale golden afternoon sun, he turns to you with a gaze that looks so deep it makes you want to drown in it.

“If you want me to, then I am willing to become one for you.” Yoongi smoothly says, while you can see his gaze dancing with mirth. “I’ve said it before, haven’t I? I can be whatever you want me to be.”

“Is that so?”

With a shrug, Yoongi simply continues to add, “I can be flexible. I can be whatever and whoever you need me to be. A mercenary, a guide, a guardian, a friend, a farmer.”

His eyes seem to glow under the shadows formed by the thick leaves above you as he silently gauges your reaction. When you say nothing to him in return, he then simply continues with, “and I can be wherever I want to be, or in places where I am needed. Across the borders, across the land and mountains, and beyond the sea—”

Yoongi lifts a hand and tugs gently at the hood of your cloak until it falls back, revealing your face and hair. He catches a stray strand of your hair that has slipped from its bind with his delicate fingers and carefully tucks it to the back of your ear. A gesture that feels so intimate that the flutters inside your chest go wild.

And he makes it feel even more intense with his eyes never leaving you as he speaks to you softly, “I can continue following your shadows, if only you’d let me, making sure that you’ll never find yourself feeling like you are all alone in this wicked world.”

As he finishes talking, you can almost hear the unspoken words that he is withholding from you. You can see it through his lingering gaze, in his secretive smile, and in the way he is looking at you knowingly, silently telling you that he knows more than he is letting you on.

In that moment, you finally realise the reason why you are able to recognise this look, and why you feel so familiar with it.

Because you have seen it before; through your father’s eyes, when he first welcomed your arrival at the Stargrave Castle and on the day he passed you the magic keys; on Nanny Abigail’s smile, whenever she brought up any story about your mother and the memories from your childhood that you had long lost; and in the reflection that you see in the mirror whenever you have to lie to your lady maid about your past afternoon activities while she is brushing your hair to help you prepare for the day.

A look that holds a secret, something that is so deeply concealed and carries a lot of weight that it makes you feel like you are standing on the precipice of your sanity.

As you fall silent, Yoongi reaches out, delicately catching your wrists with his hands. Without saying a word to you, he gently runs his thumb across your skin, and your body reacts almost immediately.

You feel yourself swaying before you realise what is happening. You start leaning closer, your chest brushes against his, and that is when you can feel it.

A tingling sensation runs through your body the more you lean into him. It seems to begin from the touch of his fingers on your skin, yet it quickly spreads all over his body, brushing against yours while drawing you further into him.

You remember feeling this same sensation whenever you walk across the magic portal, which has been growing stronger as you continue using your father’s magic, and the more you continue using his magic keys.

Magic. What you are feeling is magic. And it is coming from him.

“You,” you gasp softly once realisation dawns on you. Your head is spinning as your mind slowly starts putting all the pieces together until it becomes almost too overwhelming for you to think clearly. Yet you still manage to find your voice, allowing you to question him, “You’re not a regular human, are you?”

Yoongi simply smiles in return and tilts his head. “What makes you say that, little dove?”

He makes no move, so you take the initiative by stepping into his personal space, getting even closer to him to test your theory. So close, that your chest nearly brushes against him, and you can feel the magic growing stronger, radiating from his body in a soft hum that fills your senses—as if the magic that is coming out of him is welcoming your presence.

Being this close also allows you to feel the soft thrum of his heartbeat vibrating from under his thin white shirt, almost in tune with your own. You have no idea what to make of this, so you put that thought aside as you try to focus on the murmurs of mana that are trying to reach out to you.

With a deep inhale of breath, you look up, meeting his gaze to whisper, “Because we’re no longer in the human realm. And just like me, you would need a special means of travel to be here.”

Like the magic that you can sense coming from him. A strong spell. A portal.

You bite your lips, having no idea how to question his ability without having to reveal your secret in return. You can almost hear your father’s voice, reminding you to keep the magic portals and his keys a secret through the echoes going inside your head.

“Within each one of the silver doors, there is a strong kind of magic. One that has been so demanding of our family’s powers, exists under my control, and it is also the type of magic that should be kept secret, no matter what. Once you go through them, you will understand why it is important for me to defend this castle and our home territory.”

Noticing your hesitance, Yoongi brushes has fingers on your wrists once again, drawing your attention back to him to see his smile. “Perhaps, if you would give me a chance, I can explain everything to you.”

“Yes, please explain,” you find yourself whispering back to him, “Tell me everything.”

Yoongi nods and starts glancing around. “Not here,” he murmurs as he slides his fingers between yours, entwining them together. “Follow me. This conversation may require us a place to sit down and be comfortable, preferably with a few glasses of drinks to share, maybe a meal? If I remember correctly, you have a taste to sweet and savoury snacks.”

Hearing that he remembers about your previous ‘date’ brings a smile to your face. “Where are you taking me?” you question him as he begins taking you away from the flourishing meadow. “Are you thinking of kidnapping me now that I vowed to trust you?”

“Sounds tempting,” he teases with a wink. “But I promise, I’ll keep you safe until you are to return to—” Something flickers through his gaze. A deeper secret. A question. But it is gone when he continues to add, “wherever you came from.”

He reaches out to you with his free hand, playing with the hood of your cloak to place it back in place, as if hiding you from sight. “I want us to have some privacy as we chat. Which would be quite impossible to do now that the farmers have caught your presence,” he says while his throws a subtle glance over your shoulder.

Carefully, you follow his gaze and steal a quick glance to see a few farmers surreptitiously watching you from under their bamboo hats with curious eyes.

How odd, you wonder. They paid no mind to me at all earlier while I was walking through the fields. As if they couldn’t see me.

You turn to look at Yoongi again, wondering if he has anything to do with the unwanted attention. Maybe they are looking at him, instead of you, and wondering why he was pulling a random stranger across the fields?

You have so many questions, and for some reason, something tells you that he may have all the answers. But how much can you truly trust him? How much can you share in return?

You keep these questions to yourself, however, and instead follow him without a word as Yoongi once again begins to guide you with him, taking you further away from the pastureland and the curious farmers through the dirt road.

“Y’Old Whispers.”

When Yoongi talked about taking you to a place that would be comfortable and safe enough for you to have a chat, you didn’t expect him to be taking you to this place.

Written in ancient letterings, the tavern’s name—which is engraved right above the tavern’s front doors—draws you back to the conversation that you had earlier with the farmers. You are beginning to question if fate truly does have a hand in leading you to this place, albeit through Yoongi’s hands.

Located on the other side of the farmer’s village, the old tavern sits right in the intersection where the dirt road crossing the farm estate and the farmer’s village meets the gravel-covered road leading towards the busier downtown. A stone bridge hovering over the nearby bank that borders between the farming region and the more advanced town seems to be the connecting route that helps people travel from one region to another.

Right now, the path seems vacant. Which isn’t much of a surprise when most of the villagers are still so hard at work. There is nothing visible except for the scattered dirt and carriage tracks that have been imprinted on the gravel road. There are empty carriages parked on the side of the road, which no doubt would be filled with crops by the end of the day.

“You’ve heard of the place?” Yoongi asks after hearing you whisper the tavern’s name with such familiarity, while you merely shrug, feeling intrigued to find out what you may find inside more than you are curious to know how Yoongi could have known about this place.

Just like how he knew exactly where to take you during your great escape back in Narlès.

“A kind local farmer who I encountered earlier today told me about this place,” you explain to him, “He said something about it being the perfect place for travellers to recoup, rest, and gather some information.”

Yoongi seems pleased to hear this. “I guess that means I made a good choice of bringing you here, then,” he proudly boasts, “Still not convinced that this is the work of fate?”

Choosing not to share your brief thoughts about fate, you simply give him a coy smile. “We’ll have to see.”

Chuckling softly, Yoongi takes your hand in his and guides you to enter the small tavern. He pushes the old wooden door that swings open with a creak, and the sounds from within filters out through the door; the low murmurs of conversation shared between the patrons, the sounds of clinking glass and cutleries, and a faint melody of a lute being strummed from somewhere inside the bustling tavern.

“Shall we?” Yoongi invites you to walk in first as he holds the door open.

Walking into the tavern, a blast of warmth welcomes you. The air inside is thick with the scent of seasoned timber and the comforting aroma of hearty meals. There is also the strong scent of brewing alcohol wafting around you. Yet what draws your attention is the scent of aromatic herbs which seems to be coming from the kitchen, making you wonder what kind of sustenance and brews that this place may be offering its guests.

Looking around, you cannot help but compare this place with The Rare Roots.

Inside, the tavern seems much smaller and perhaps more humble.the atmosphere seems a bit calmer, compared to the loud and rowdy air that you had often seen back at The Rare Roots.

Just as you had expected, the light inside is kept dim, but there are wide windows on the other side of the tavern that are open towards the bank and the dirt road bordering the village. The windows allow the golden sunlight to filter into the room, adding natural warmth within while the hearth at the end of the room remains unlit.

Perhaps it will remain that way until later in the evening, when the night turns cold and the hot meals no longer bring enough warmth.

At the corner of the room, there is a young man playing the lute while serenading solemnly for the patrons who are dining and drinking around him, most seem to be chattering mindlessly over the tune that he is playing.

So that’s where the music was coming from, you wonder with a smile, admiring the musician who seems to be enjoying himself despite the lack of attention he seems to be getting.

Yoongi places a gentle hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards the main bar. The bar, which seems to be made of old wood, is stretched along one side of the room, right at the far back. Under the dim light, you notice the ornamental carving adorning the front side of the bar which appears slightly worn down and is fading with age. There is a story there, you realise, although you might not be able to know what it’s all about when you know almost nothing about this place.

Behind the bar, wooden shelves fill the wall from the floor to ceiling, with an array of colourful bottles and tankards lined up within the racks. Hops filled with the local brews are lined up at the sides, and you notice that there is also a hint of a rich aroma of herbs wafting from within.

Right at the bar stands the bartender, a seasoned figure with a mop of unruly ginger hair on top of his head, a dust of five o’clock beard around his sharp jaw, and a friendly twinkle in his eyes. He glances up from the glass that he has been busy polishing in his hands, offering a nod of acknowledgement at Yoongi while the latter greets the bartender as if they are old friends.

“Business seems to be running well today.”

The bartender grins at Yoongi as he sets down the glass that he was working on, switching it with another from the counter, continuing his work to polish the glass as he answers Yoongi, “’Tis harvesting season, this is. Folks come by during their breaks, have their meals and drinks here before going back out to the field there. More folks will come in the evening for tomorrow’s work, but yer not staying here that long, I bet.”

You take a quick glance around the room, soaking it all in. Noticing only now the distinctive features of the patrons filling the tavern to realise that the ‘folks’ that he mentioned seem to vary. Sitting in small groups, they separate themselves between travellers, local and foreign merchants, mercenaries on duty, and also commoners and locals who look like farmers and workmen who have no doubt been working for the harvest.

Turning back to the bar, you find that the bartender already has his gaze on you. He silently watches you with a knowing look in his eyes, as if he is trying to read you. But then a friendly smile appears on his face as he turns to Yoongi once again to ask, “The usual?”

Yoongi nods. “You always know what I need.”

The bartender chuckles. “Don’t I know it better than other folks would,” he says with a quip. “The table’s been cleaned in the morning. I somehow had a hunch you’ll be stopping by today.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi says to the man before guiding you away from the main bar, going past the corner where the musician is still playing his lute, and then turning to the small stairs that is hidden from view on the other side of the fireplace.

The short flight of stairs takes you to a more private quarter right above the crowded ground floor. Instead of a closed room, the space you are walking into is an open balcony. There is a row of tables and seats set up near the railings and outer columns that are covered with vines, a smaller version of the bar’s wall mounted shelves you saw downstairs stretches out on the adjacent wall, all filled with similar bottles of drinks and tankards lined up in order.

Yoongi walks ahead with a familiarity in his attitude, looking as if he owns the place. He then goes towards one of the nearest seats and pulls it back for you. “Milady,” he says with an overly dramatic poise, making you think of a refined noble. The notion only makes you smile as his action seems a bit too graceful for a man wearing a bamboo hat and cotton pants covered in dried soil.

“Thank you, my kind Sir,” you accept his offer by playing along by curtsying at him, which draws out his deep chuckle. After helping you settle in your seat, Yoongi walks around the table and claims the seat right across from you. “I suppose it’s safe to assume that you are a regular to this place?”

Yoongi smiles. “This place has a great view, as you can see,” he says, pointing out at the balcony.

You take a look around, realising that he is right. From the balcony, you get to see the sight of the vast farmland that you visited earlier—which you had suspected to be a part of your father’s secret estate—that is fully visible on one side. Looking over to the other side, you get a clearer view of the village’s borders; the river, the intersection, and the crossing bridge leading towards the main town.

Seeing all of this, you realise that this private space would be the perfect spot for you, or anyone else, to watch the comings and goings between this village and the neighbouring town.

Turning back to the table, something catches your eyes that makes you stop. Right in the corner of the table where you are sitting at, there is a familiar-looking crest that have been skilfully engraved into the wooden surface. The same crest that you had once seen printed on the reports handed to the King by the royal advisors about the suspected rebellion rising among the commoners.

It only takes a moment before it dawns on you.

“This is a viewing spot for you and your brothers of the mercenary, isn’t it?”

Yoongi has a smile on his face when you look back at him. For some reason, he seems—pleased, that you manage to catch on so easily. “You are quite perceptive,” he says. “That is correct. Me and my men often gather here. Sometimes we’d be here for work, either it’s for aiding a merchant who has some business in this place and needs our protection. Other times, we would come here to do a simple surveillance work, but we mostly use this place as a rendezvous spot and to recoup just as you had suggested.”

Right as you are about to question whether the bartender or any of the men downstairs have been a part of his army, the bartender himself appears at the doorway, approaching your table with an easy smile on his face. The worn wooden floor creaks softly beneath his heavy steps. His looks remind you a little of the barkeep, Sir Elias, who is just as friendly and as massive as this man looks—although you must admit that the older barkeep back home seems to be a bit taller and more muscular.

You lower your hood to greet the kind bartender as he sets down a pair of tankards filled with the local brew and a large plate filled with fried meal; spicy chicken wings, deep fried sweet potatoes that have been chopped in small strips, flour-coated fried vegetables and sausages, with buttermilk biscuits on the side.

Yoongi takes a peek at the plated fried meal and raises his eyebrows.

“Hey,” the bartender says, shrugging and crossing his arms, “You said to get you the usual.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I was thinking about your special stew and seasoned chicken. The biscuits are fine,” he says, before turning to you, “You’ll have to forgive O’Moran here, as he rarely serves a distinguished lady in his business.”

“That there is true,” the man, O’Moran, admits proudly before bending down at the waist for his own version of curtsy. “The name’s O’Moran, M’lady. As a local establishment, I must shamefully admit that we’re lacking in our fancy menus. The stew might take a while to boil. We’ve been busy since dawn, so we keep running out of our specials today.”

Smiling, you simply regard him with a nod. “That’s quite alright, Sir. I’m actually more curious to try on your local brew. I’ve heard good things about the special drink that was said to help mend exhausted travellers like myself.”

There is a glint in his eyes as he listens to your compliment. You figure it may have something to do with the secret behind the drink’s special healing effect. You can almost hear the wheels in his mind turning as he silently tries to figure out who you are.

“Then you are in for a treat, M’lady. This here is our special brew. Made not only to restore your health, but also magic for some,” he says, drawing a smile from you.

“Then I shall savour the drink, together with the snacks that you served us,” you kindly say to the man, who later scoffs at Yoongi.

“See? The Lady doesn’t mind your boys’ favourite snacks,” he boasts with a chuckle while Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Do you folks need anything else?”

“We’ll be fine. I’ll call you up if we need anything else,” Yoongi says to the man, while O’Moran shrugs.

“I’ll leave you folks be, then. I’ll go down and have a look at that stew and bring you some when it’s ready,” he says as he turns away. “And some refills to that drink,” he adds with a wink.

You thank the man one last time before he walks away, disappearing through the small stairs to return to the crowded bar and the kitchen downstairs. Once again, you are left alone with Yoongi in the privacy of the secluded balcony, accompanied by the trickling sound of the flowing river nearby and the breeze that is slowly cooling down as the day is closing into dusk.

Taking one of the drinks, you take a careful sip of the brew, tasting it in your tongue. A rich taste of herbs fills your mouth, and you take your time savouring it.

Closing your eyes, you focus on the other sensations that are rising from within as warmth starts flowing through your body. A dust of tingles spreads through your skin, while everything else on the inside seems to be mending together. Your exhaustion slowly melts, your chest seems to feel lighter and it feels easier to breathe, while your muscles no longer feel as tense as they were after dealing with your royal duties before venturing through the magic door this afternoon.

“This is…quite nice,” you mutter as you open your eyes, loving the way your body feels after drinking it.

You look up, noticing that Yoongi is watching you closely while he is enjoying his own drink. “I assume that as you’ve heard about this place, you must know what this drink does to our bodies.”

“You can say that,” you answer him with a grin. As you watch him taking another drink, the words from the old farmer return to you, reminding you of what he mentioned before about the local brew being made in this place—

“Just say yer new ‘round here and he’ll have ye the fine brew of his that’s said to be good for young elves.”

Earlier, his words had only made you think about how it was supposed to refer to you, making you wonder if the farmer had indeed sensed something about yourself which you haven’t been able to identify for yourself.

But now, as you watch Yoongi closing his eyes briefly as he savours his drink, you begin to question about his secrets. “What are you, really?” you find yourself asking him as the curiosity grows on you. “Who are you? How do you travel between realms?” Your eyes briefly turn towards the engraved emblem by the table and wonder, “Is it safe to assume that your men is capable of doing the same thing?”

“So many questions,” Yoongi muses with a soft chuckle as he puts down his drink. He carefully leans forward and says, “So many things to unpack. I don’t even know where to start.”

There is something in his voice that makes you feel wary, the hidden challenge that he seems to be giving you making you grow alert against him. It makes you want to draw back, to take back all the words that you had just given him the moment you realise that the more he reveals his secrets, he would only make it fair by demanding the same honesty from you in return.

“You can start by explaining what you can,” you carefully say to him, allowing your curiosity to win.

Yoongi taps his fingers on the table, contemplating his answer. And just as expected, he responds to you by saying, “And what do I get in return? What do you have to offer for an honest answer?”

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lz-didyounotice · 2 months

Text

Wrong Doctor

This gif do not belong to me.

Heyyyyy! How are you lots? So. This one took longer than expected, liked none of my drafts and ended up with a totally different story than what it once was… But in the end it turned out okay. This one takes place a few months before “An hymne to love”. Sorry if the writing seems a bit funky.

Froggit-

Warning : english is not my first language. Lots of fluff, mention of kids going missing.

—----------------------------

The night enveloped her in a blanket of light, the moon casting its ethereal glow upon the valley. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, the chill creeping into her back as she stood in this tranquil surrounding. Her hair danced gently in the breeze, her eyes shut, savoring every subtle shift of the wind against her skin.

In that moment, barefoot and grounded, she reveled in the sensation of grass brushing against her, its touch both enchanting and soothing. The wind whispered softly, a silent companion as she indulged in dreams of a life among the stars.

She had intended to linger for hours, captivated by the celestial spectacle above, immersed in the profound silence of the night. Despite the creeping cold, her breath materialized in wisps of white her thoughts, consumed with whimsy, as she attempted to conjure ephemeral clouds with each exhalation, watching them dissipate into the darkness. To an outsider, she would have seemed to hang on a single string of sanity with only the calming movement of her chest and the shelter of her leather jacket for warmth. For her, the onset of winter was a long-awaited embrace, promising transformation as the yellowed fields would soon be blanketed in snow.

Breaking the silence, the faint sound of footsteps approached from behind. The rhythmic rustle of grass grew louder, drawing nearer . She kept her gaze fixed upon the heavens, as though committing every star to memory.

The stranger hesitated to speak, his attention taken by the beautiful figure he now stood next to. Her short, ginger hair glowed under the moonlight, her eyes bathed in a soft, bluish luminescence. As their eyes met, something ignited within her as she beheld the familiarity of a man she had never expected to see again.

His unruly hair and long trench coat framed a face adorned with dark brown eyes, each holding the mysteries of the universe. A small smile graced her lips as she admired the beauty of his presence.

Breaking the silence, his voice, warm and soothing, punctuated the night. "A splendid night, wouldn't you agree?"

Gazing back at the stars, she could only nod in agreement. “Splendid doesn't begin to describe it,” she murmured. Sensing him gazing away, she inquired, "And what brings a gentleman like yourself out here in the middle of night?"

"I could ask you the same," he countered.

“I find… comfort in this place… Makes me think of home.,” she confessed.

Seemingly intrigued, he pressed further, “And what might be your name ?”

With a soft smile, she adjusted her short hair before responding. “You can call me ‘Sunny’. And you? What shall I call you?”

“I'm the Doctor.”

“The Doctor? Doctor who?” Her inquiry was tinged with playful curiosity, yearning to see the smile she once cherished.

“Just the Doctor,” he replied, a faint grin playing upon his lips.

“I had a friend who went by that name…” she reminisced.

Intrigued, the Doctor couldn't resist probing further. “What happened to him? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I had to go somewhere he could not follow…” she replied, truth trapped between her teeth .

“Did you tell him ? About where you were going ?” he inquired gently.

“It was the reason we met in the first place. He knew it would happen eventually. But I don’t think he was prepared for it…” she finally admitted.

The Doctor couldn't help but wonder about what remained unspoken. The possibility of meeting one of his future companions filling his hearts with warmth and curiosity . ‘Sunny’ sounded familiar. He was sure to have met her somewhere before but didn’t want to pry further.

“Anyway, have you seen something strange ‘round here recently ?” he inquired, redirecting the conversation.

“Besides you?” she teased.

“I'm being serious.”

“Well, not far from here lies a small village. There have been reports of missing children in recent weeks. What's most unsettling is that the parents seem to forget they ever had them in the first place.”

“How does one forget their own children?” the Doctor pondered aloud.

“I've wondered the same. And with no one reporting them missing, there's been little effort to find them. It's as though they vanish into thin air,” she explained.

“Now that’s dreadful. At least I know where to search.” the Doctor resolved, turning his full attention to her. “Do you happen to have a vehicle we could use to get to town ?”

“If you ask so kindly, I might be able to lend a hand too. Come on” she offered with a warm smile, leading the way towards her home.

—----------------------------

Soon, a small cottage came into view, its white walls adorned with creeping vines, a charming composition of rustic brick and verdant foliage. Adjacent to it stood a barn, spacious enough to shelter two vehicles within.

Hurrying to the porch, the ginger-haired woman donned her shoes before darting towards the barn.

“I must warn you, there’s not only vehicles in there.” Finally opening the doors, a sort of large laboratory came into view. Filled with spare parts, prototypes made out of domestic machinery. The Doctor's eyes gleamed with a childlike fascination as he explored each and every invention he could put his hand on. “‘Careful with that, wouldn't want you to blow up anything.” she quipped, her tone lighthearted as she watched him tinker with her modified mixer.

"A bit rubbish, don't you think you could have used a different lens for these? The blast could be fuller." Searching for two helmets, the ginger haired girl tried to not be offended by the Doctor's comments. “I do with what I can find, Doctor. Anyway, most of them are just smaller scale machinery.” Finally finding what she was searching for, she tossed a black one to the timelord. “Catch! I hope you’re not afraid of speed my dear.”

Looking confused, the doctor examined his helmet, and realized what they would be driving. “Oh- That’s brilliant!”

—----------------------------

Long had it been since she had such a thrilling adventure. Dodging monstrous aliens and unraveling mysteries alongside the Doctor. She even found herself yearning to join him aboard the TARDIS once more. Yet, she knew it was a temptation she couldn't succumb to, lest she alter the course of fate.

As they rode back on her motorbike, she relished the sensation of his arms encircling her, his laughter mingling with the rush of wind. His presence behind her, his warmth seeping through her, felt like a dream she never wanted to end.

Upon returning home, she resolved to embark on a journey of her own—a quest to reunite with her lost lover. But as the Doctor passed by the door, she invited him to share a cup of hot chocolate with her, an offer he accepted with eagerness.

Seated together on the couch, they savored each sip, savoring the fleeting moment of companionship.

“You know, your friend was lucky to have you by his side,” the Doctor remarked, his gaze thoughtful as he sipped his drink.

Smiling softly, she leaned closer, resting her head against his shoulder. “I believe I was the fortunate one. I only wish he could see himself as I see him.”

“And how do you see him?” he inquired earnestly.

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“A complete and utter idiot…” she confessed, her tone affectionate as laughter bubbled between them. “But a kind idiot.”

As their eyes met, an unspoken understanding passed between them, as if this moment was meant to be.

"I hope you find him soon. He must miss his companion," the Doctor remarked gently.

“I miss him too,” she whispered, her heart heavy with longing.

—----------------------------

The Tardis was Shimmering. Her to be slightly altered beauty, scratched from previous adventures. She had missed the feeling of her wood beneath the skin, how comforting it actually was.

Standing outside of the TARDIS door, the Doctor had extended an offer for her to accompany him, albeit temporarily, but as much as she appreciated the offer, she knew her destiny lay elsewhere.

“Before I go… Though I'm not supposed to know, could you perhaps share your name?” the man requested softly.

“I suppose it won't hurt,” she conceded, stepping closer. “I'm (Y/N).”

“It was a pleasure meeting you (Y/N)” he said with a wistful smile, finally setting foot into the blue box.

“And it was a pleasure to see you again, Doctor,” she replied.

And as the TARDIS vanished from sight, (Y/N) felt her heart swell with determination. She wanted to burst out, claim the very air in her lungs and scream out her farewell. Though tears welled in her eyes, they weren’t tears of sadness, as hope came through. Hope to be in his arms, reunited with her beloved once again.

#doctor who x reader #doctor who x imortal reader #the doctor x reader #10th doctor x reader #doctor who #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor x reader!oc

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kit-williams · 5 months

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@moodymisty I've brainrotted this into existence

I went with chapter serfs though I could see the Black Templar also just snatching up a civilian

tw: Yandere Black Templar, Yandere Flesh Tearer, Blood mentioned google translate/translation dictionary German, female reader (first try doing a y/n or reader)

Black Templar

He was sick... he had to be sick. It was the only thing that made sense to what was going on. As Flagging himself in the mornings more wasn't helping him... it was only making it worse. As his Taube would be there tending to the gouges in his back at the end of the day. Their delicate hands going over his skin.

He called them his dove after he wanted their delicate hands touching his armor. They way she would chirp out those hymns and the pleasant hum of her devotion to him to the God emperor. They way her brow would knit in worry as she would look over his back and flit and flutter around like a Taube... his Taube. How she would coo at him and fill the small room with her singing... her laughter... her life.

He wanted to carve himself open and create a space for her. A place she could roost and listen to his hearts beat for the God Emperor and her. He had two hearts... he could devote a small part of one to her... she didn't need much... but how he wanted to give her so much more he wanted to make the overseerer bleed for making her tired he wanted to make them bleed for causing her to cry.

He looked over his shoulder as her doe like eyes looked into his own as he felt the corner of his lips turn up and the concern melted away, "I suppose I'll clean your helm next since it offends you my lord." She says with her small bit of laughter as she continues to clean the flogging wounds on his back.

"Do you remember the next verse?" His voice rumbles softly.

She nodded and hummed as of course it was not the liturgy the Black Templar knew but she was but a mortal... he would not fault her for what her duty was.

Flesh Tearer

His mouth moved over her neck as she whimpered softly. Those milky white eyes darting around as he scraped and licked from his favorite blood thrall. He knew he took too much, as he sucked on her skin till it blossomed into a hideous bruise, so that she couldn't leave his quarters. He was so kind to let her stay here with him. Her tiny trembling hands as she weakly pushed against his neck. All the serfs of the Flesh Tearers were blind or blinded as if they could not see Chaos they would be less likely to fall right away.

He pulled his mouth away and slowly ran his tongue over the bleeding bite mark. How her body trembled and twitched as she felt so dizzy and cold, tears overflow her eyes as she felt so scared. His bloody tongue lazily runs over her teary cheeks as his face pressed against hers like a large cat.

He crooned softly, "Oh little one... did I take too much again... you look much paler than you normally do. So cold too." He said with a smile etched upon his face as he held her chin as she tried to get up and failed.

" 'm fine." She slurred trembling as when he let her go she just fell over whimpering and bleeding on his bed.

"My silly little blood thrall. You aren't fine in that sense... it seems your delicious blood riled me up again. Let me make it up to you." He purred and he grinned like a maniac as she just curled up and covered her head whimpering knowing that she wasn't leaving this room for a few days and would only be able to leave when he would be distracted long enough to let her hide from him. But until then she was the focus of his tender mercy.

#i wrote this #warhammer 40k #yandere #yandere space marine #Black Templars #Flesh Tearers #Space Marines #writting #x reader #space marine x reader

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kittenofdoomage · 1 year

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Obeying Temptation

Summary: She’s not a good Christian girl by any stretch, but he might still have some fun corrupting her.

Pairing: Alpha!Demon!Dean x Omega!female!reader

Word Count: 8481

Warnings: soooo much blasphemy, religious themes, smut (incl. fingering, full penetrative sex and oral sex), A/B/O (incl. scenting, knotting, marking, mentions of bodily fluids), angst, drama, demonic possession, mentions of breeding kink, dirty talk, derogatory names, hands on throats, biting, bruising, abandonment, slight dubcon and implied murder of religious clergymen, ambiguous ending

Ao3 Link

Author Note: Happy New Year everyone, enjoy some blasphemy before 2023 kicks in 😈

Church had always felt like a chore. In truth, it was more her mom’s thing than Y/N’s, but she obeyed the rules of her mother’s house, since she was stuck living there until she could find a job that paid better than minimum wage. Every Sunday, she put on one of the hideous Sears dresses her Aunt Margaret sent every birthday and followed her mother to church. Her mom didn’t make her sit at the front with the rest of the gossipy old ladies that liked to speculate on the love lives of the other attendees, at least.

It was hard not to zone out when Father Taggart droned on about the importance of community and keeping Jesus in your heart, and if she could have gotten away with it, she would have played on her phone until the service was done. She’d never understood the purpose of “God’s House”, preferring to believe His house was everywhere, seeing as he was supposed to be ubiquitous.

Today’s sermon was more of the same. Y/N sat away from most of the other parishioners, listening as the greying vicar rambled through Matthew 22-something, her attention wandering around the stone archways of the old building. As her eyes drifted, she noticed someone in the darkness to the left near the confessionals, a good few meters away from the pews.

He stepped forward, white collar catching her gaze first. Another priest? she wondered, and his eyes met hers. A smile tugged at his lips but it was nothing like the smile she would expect to see on a vicar’s face. This smile was calculating, cunning… predatory. Despite the distance between them, she could tell he was an Alpha, unusual for a man of the cloth; she wished she could see him more clearly but he was almost entirely bathed in shadows.

“And now, I would like to invite a new voice to speak,” Father Taggart announced, and Y/N dragged her eyes from the shadowy priest to the front again, though she could feel him watching her still. “May I introduce Father Crowley, who will be standing in for Father Grayson now he has retired.”

She remembered Father Grayson, though she’d only met him a few times when she’d picked her mom up from her Wednesday night prayer group. He was at least a hundred years old, she was sure of it, bent double and hair as white as snow. Maybe he should have retired a few years earlier.

The man who stepped up with a polite nod at Father Taggart was in his late forties, or maybe early fifties - she was never very good at judging age. He had dark hair and a slightly unkempt beard, but she supposed he was attractive. For a priest.

“Thank you, Father Taggart,” the newcomer crooned, his British accent making a few of the older ladies whisper among themselves. “It is a pleasure to be speaking to you all today. As he explained, myself and Father Winchester will be standing in for Father Grayson until a suitable permanent replacement can be found.” He smiled, looking out upon his audience. “I’m sure we will feel right at home in your wonderful parish.”

Y/N glanced back to the shadows, wondering if the mysterious Alpha was Father Winchester, but he was gone. She shuddered, feeling a chill in the air as Father Taggart gave Father Crowley a further welcome, then called everyone to stand for the last hymn.

Hymns had always been the part of church she enjoyed. Singing in general was a hobby, one to be practised away from anyone who would hear her, so hymns offered her a way to sing without being singled out in a crowd. The church organ player situated herself, then began to play as Father Taggart instructed the mass to turn to Holy God, We Praise Thy Name.

The mysterious priest didn’t appear again.

It always took forever to get her mom in the car after services, usually because she was still chatting with her friends. Y/N hung around the grassy front, toying with her keys as she waited, listening to her mom pass comment on the “hot new priest”.

“You know he’s still twenty years younger than you, right?” she called out, making her mom glare in her direction.

Agnes, her mom’s best friend, prodded her. “Did you see that other one?”

“No?” Her mom frowned, glancing over at her daughter. “There was another one?”

“Mmhmm,” Agnes nodded. “Younger. Very handsome. Maybe Y/N…”

“Oh, god, Agnes, please,” Y/N interjected, holding a hand up to stop the older woman. “I’m not interested in any guys, priests or not. Besides, I thought they’re supposed to be celibate?”

Agnes and her mom chuckled. “That’s a common misconception,” her mom advised, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Trust me.”

“I don’t wanna know,” she mumbled, scrunching up her face in disgust.

“Oh come now, dear,” Agnes chided softly, “you can’t expect to live at home forever. We all have a body clock, you know, Omegas most of all.”

It was difficult not to roll her eyes at the outdated opinion, so she decided not to engage in yet another discussion about how Omegas weren’t just breeding sows. Jingling the keys, she turned her attention to her mother, giving her a tight smile. “Can we get going, Mom? I wanna enjoy the rest of my weekend.”

Her mom rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Agnes.”

“Take care, Judith. Goodbye, Y/N!”

“Bye,” Y/N muttered, already marching towards the car. Judith followed at a leisurely pace, ignoring the impatience of her daughter as she climbed into the passenger seat. Turning the key in the engine, Y/N glanced back to check the rear of the vehicle, making sure she didn’t hit the black classic parked behind her.

“Agnes is only worried, you know,” her mom started.

“Mom -”

“I know, I know, none of my business. But I would like to see a grandchild…”

Y/N gritted her teeth. “Mom.”

Judith went quiet, clamping her mouth shut with a grin. Y/N pulled the car out of the spot and sped off, hoping that her stern tone was enough to put the subject to bed. They were silent the whole way home, and when they got inside, Y/N retreated to her room to lose herself in something distracting.

By Monday morning, she’d forgotten most of the encounter, and began her week at work with a smile. Her job kept her busy, and though she hated the majority of her duties, she liked that it occupied her mind and she never had to take it home with her.

Sunday rolled around with a storm, the second of the week. The weather had been all kinds of crazy since summer had hit, and when she arrived at church with her mother, they had to run in to avoid getting drenched. Judith toddled off to her usual spot, and Y/N, once again, found sanctuary at the back. It was emptier than usual, likely due to the rain, and she could hear it on the church roof above the crowd.

Father Crowley stood at the front, waiting for everyone to get settled, and when Y/N looked around, she couldn’t see Father Taggart. Her mom was sitting with Agnes, both of them whispering to each other, and they fell silent when Father Crowley called for quiet.

“I have some grave news to give you all today,” he began, and several parishioners sat up straighter. “Father Taggart has been taken ill, so he will not be conducting service today. I would like to ask you all to hold him in your prayers, and hope for a full recovery.”

Y/N tensed, a new scent tickling her nose. The pew she was sitting on was empty save for her, and she looked to either side, searching for the source of the smell. It was thick and rich, invading her senses, inexplicably Alpha.

Movement from the darkness at the left of the church caught her eye. She focused, seeing him standing in the shadows by the door that led out to the graveyard, and for a second, she could have sworn his eyes were black. Her hands shook as she clutched the church-copy of the bible, unable to take her eyes off of him.

Father Crowley was speaking again, delivering a sermon every inch as boring as Father Taggart’s, and Y/N wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. She stared at the mysterious priest in the shadows, feeling her heart rate speed up, and a light sweat broke out on her forehead. Her lips parted as she panted lightly, suddenly aware of what was happening.

She needed air.

Getting to her feet, she tried not to stumble, being as quiet as possible as she headed for the main entrance. No one seemed to pay her much attention, most of them listening to Father Crowley, so she escaped unnoticed, closing the door behind her.

It was still raining. The only thing that protected her was the awning over the doorway. She didn’t care, gulping down fresh air as she tried to control herself. “It’s too early,” she muttered, shaking her head.

The door opened behind her. “Is everything okay, sweetheart?” It was her mom, and Y/N turned, nodding.

“It’s fine, Mom, I’ll just go wait in the car.”

Judith didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?” she whispered. “It’s Sunday, it might be a while.”

“Can I help you, ladies?”

The low rough voice made them both turn, and Y/N almost yelped at the sight of the mysterious priest. In the dull light of the storm, she could see every detail of his handsome features, and her mouth went dry as she drank in all six feet of him. “My daughter isn’t feeling well,” Judith explained before she could stop her.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Y/N insisted. “I can wait in the car.”

“If you’re feeling unwell, you can sit in the rectory until service is finished,” the priest offered.

Judith smiled, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, Father Winchester, that would put my mind at ease.” She glanced at her daughter. “I don’t think you’ve met yet. Y/N, this is -”

“Father Winchester,” Y/N whispered, staring at him. “I’d really be okay in my car.”

Her mom frowned then, reaching out to take her hand. “Please, Y/N, I’d be happier if you weren’t alone out here.”

She wanted to scream. Father Winchester was an Alpha, though her Beta mother wouldn’t scent it. He smiled at her, and she felt a thread of fear knot in her stomach. “It’s only next door,” he said smoothly, gesturing to the covered walkway that ran around the side of the old building. “Your mother can come and find you when she’s done.”

Her mother’s pleading gaze made her heart drop. She nodded reluctantly, and Judith beamed, clasping her hands over Y/N’s, tilting her head as she gazed at the priest gratefully.

“Thank you so much, Father,” she gushed, patting her daughter’s hand before scurrying back inside.

Father Winchester held out an arm, gesturing to the footpath. “It’s this way.” He stepped off, and Y/N followed. His scent filled her mouth and nose, making her stomach churn, and she couldn’t help staring at his muscular frame from behind him.

The rectory was a neat little house behind the church and the graveyard, far enough away from the other buildings that it was eerily silent. It was still raining, less enthusiastically than it had been before, but enough for her to feel her clothes getting wet as she followed the priest across the back of the graveyard. He paused after he’d opened the front door, holding it for her to slip past, and she felt a chill as she did. The door closed behind him, turning to face her as she hovered in the hallway.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked politely. It felt forced, and his intense stare made her insides quiver.

“Uh, sure.”

He smiled - the same predatory look he’d given her before. “The kitchen is through here.” Leading with his hand, he didn’t wait for her to follow, though she did, letting her gaze travel over the aged wallpaper and the few old pictures hanging on the walls. Most of them were religious or with the church itself as a subject, and for a moment, she wondered if Father Taggart was home, seeing as he was ill.

“How is Father Taggart?” she asked curiously. “Father Crowley said he was taken ill.”

Father Winchester barely spared her a glance as he filled the kettle with water, placing it on the stove top. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he muttered, his tone indicating a lack of regard for the man in question.

“Where is he?” she pushed, hoping that she wasn’t alone in the house with such an odd man.

He turned his head, grinning at her. “He left this morning. Staying with relatives in Florida. Warmer air.”

It sounded like he was mocking her, but she couldn’t see what the point would be, so she shrugged and let it go, looking around the kitchen for somewhere to sit. There was definitely space for a dining table and chairs in there but the space they could have occupied was empty.

“How are you feeling now?” the Father asked.

His question caught her off-guard. “Uh, okay, I guess,” she stammered, hugging herself for some small measure of comfort. “Probably allergies.” She was lying through her teeth; the gentle ache beginning in her belly told her exactly what was happening.

He hummed like he didn’t quite believe her. “Are you sure?” he pressed, turning to face her. “Lying is a sin, Y/N.”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head hurriedly, fighting the urge to back up and show his intimidation of her. She dropped her hands to her sides, trying to appear casual. “Well, I mean, storms kick up all sorts of allergens,” she managed, shrugging.

Father Winchester sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “You know, I gave you the chance there,” he scolded softly. “But I can see you’re going to be difficult about it.”

A lump formed in her throat. “About what?” she rasped, feigning innocence.

“I can smell you.”

The statement made her freeze, and she met his eyes like a frightened rabbit. He was facing her now, stalking her almost, and even though he was scaring the crap out of her, a tiny part of her was sending a thrill down her spine. His eyes shone as he stepped closer, and her knees trembled.

“Been able to smell you since you got out of your car,” he continued, coming closer still. “Sweet. Ripe. Just begging to be plucked.”

“Father Winchester, I -”

He scoffed, silencing her. “It’s Dean.”

She frowned at the odd correction, never knowing a priest to be so informal. But then, she’d never known one to be this inappropriate toward her. “This is wrong,” she whispered, finally backing away from him, only to find cupboards at her back two steps later. He was so close now, close enough to grab her, close enough that he was blocking any escape.

A smirk curled his lips, making him even more devastatingly handsome. “Then why can I smell how wet you are, sweetheart?”

Y/N whimpered, pressing herself into the cupboard door. “You shouldn’t be acting like this,” she denied. “You’re a priest, a man of the cloth -”

He was suddenly up against her, and she sucked in a breath, words fading as his scent overwhelmed her. “I’m an Alpha,” he murmured, reaching up to cup her face with one huge hand. “You’re an Omega. I know you feel it, I know you want it.”

She shook her head, her only struggle against his hold. He chuckled, leaning in like he was going to kiss her and she knew she should have resisted but she didn’t. His face got closer and right as he was about to brush his lips over hers, he went left, pressing his cheek to hers instead. The hand at her jaw tugged at her jacket, pulling it down until her bare shoulder and throat were exposed.

“I wouldn’t force myself on you, Y/N,” he crooned, mouth right against the shell of her ear. “It’s so much more satisfying to watch you try to fight it.” He chuckled, running the tips of his fingers up over her bare arm. “And you’re going to beg for my knot before long.” His fingers slid over her shoulder and up to her throat, stroking over the spot where an Alpha would lay his claim.

A shudder ran up her spine, and she could feel wetness in her panties. No doubt he could smell it, how aroused she was just from a few moments in his presence. “I don’t -” Her mouth was so dry, she couldn’t speak. Working some saliva up, she managed a tiny whine, and Dean pulled back to look her in the eye.

“Try again,” he ordered softly.

“I don’t think th-this is appropriate,” she stammered, too aware of the hand still lingering on her throat.

“Why not?” he teased, grinning at her. “Your body wants it. Every second, your scent’s gettin’ stronger, princess.”

This is wrong, this is wrong, she chanted in her mind but already she was imagining it, conjuring fantasies based on the hard lines of his body that held her against the cupboard. “Please,” she keened desperately.

“Please, what?”

The kettle began to shrill loudly, and the tension in the room snapped. Dean stepped away, leaving her to crumple in on herself, and she panted against the cupboard, watching him as he continued to make the tea.

She wondered for a second if she’d imagined it but her jacket was still hanging halfway down her shoulder, and she could still feel his touch on her skin. Her panties were soaked through, and when she straightened, she felt the ache in her belly turning raw.

The front door opened, and she heard her mother’s voice. Relief swept through her, but Dean didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by the arrival of company.

“Oh, of course, Father, we understand,” Judith was practically swooning over him, “after all, safety comes first.”

“Absolutely, my child,” Father Crowley replied and the front door shut loudly. “Now let’s see where your daughter has gotten to.” His voice got louder as they approached the kitchen, and when he entered, he smiled at you. “Here she is.” He glanced at the other priest. “Safe and sound.”

Judith didn’t notice the odd tone he spoke with, but Y/N did. She stood still as her mother came closer and began to fuss, pressing one hand to her daughter’s forehead. “Oh dear,” she mumbled, flustering a little as she realized what was ailing the younger woman. “I suppose we should get you home.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Father Crowley interjected, glaring at Father Winchester, who smirked back.

“Thank you for looking after her, Father,” Judith cooed, smiling at both men.

“Take good care of her, won’t you?” Dean requested, all charm as he stared right at Y/N. She swallowed down a whimper, ducking her head so her mother didn’t see her reaction to him. “She’s a very special girl.”

Her mother clutched her chest, giving him an adoring look. “I will, Father Winchester,” she promised, taking Y/N’s hand but her daughter was already moving, desperate to get away from the scent of him. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” Judith admonished, making her freeze in her tracks.

She turned back, stomach churning, palms getting sweaty. “Thank you, Father,” she mumbled, curtseying like she was a child at Sunday School.

“I’ll keep you in my prayers,” he replied, a filthy smirk on his lips.

Judith didn’t linger this time, following as her daughter dashed for the door and out into the fresh air. The door closed behind them, and Crowley turned to Dean, arching one eyebrow in his direction.

“Feeling a little more enthusiastic about this?” he taunted. “Though you’re behind. I’ve already got three in the bag, what’s so special about this one?”

Dean’s smirk grew. “Didn’t you smell her?”

Crowley hummed. “Not something I’d be attuned to,” he shrugged. “This meatsuit’s a Beta.”

“You’re missing out,” Dean chuckled. “All she needs is a little push and she’ll be begging.”

“Seems like a waste of time.”

The younger man growled. “I thought we were here to have fun.”

“We are,” Crowley confirmed hesitantly. “I just thought it was a little more damning of little old ladies and less chasing tail.”

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes. “Whatever floats your boat. We should get rid of Taggart. He’s gonna start stinking up the joint.”

She’d been mistaken in thinking getting away from Father Winchester would slow her predicament. If anything, by the time she arrived home, the heat was getting stronger. Her mother parked the car and ushered her out, ordering her to her room to rest while promising noodle soup.

Usually, she’d sleep through most of a heat, ensconced in her personal space, and it would be over within three or four days. Even at her age and unmated, she managed them easily, but this one was early, way off her regular cycle. It felt stronger too, crippling her in hours, and by the time her mom brought her soup, she was at the point of begging for unconsciousness. Judith was concerned - Y/N dismissed it, assuring her mother she only needed rest and sending her away.

Every time she closed her eyes, Dean’s face, his scent, tormented her.

Monday didn’t bring any improvement. She strayed from her nest only to use the bathroom, snacking on comfort foods and watching shows when she wasn’t sleeping. Her mom checked in before she went out, and while she was gone, Y/N used the private time to take the edge off, cursing herself when she imagined Dean being the one to satisfy her.

She fell short of satisfying herself, only succeeding making the longing worse.

On Tuesday, her mom was home, and expressed a desire to call the doctor, but Y/N waved her off again. Her fever was beginning to break, she just had to ride it out.

In the afternoon, someone knocked at the door, the noise disturbing her sleep. She laid in her bed, listening as her mother greeted whoever it was, and for a moment, the low voice that answered didn’t register. When she realized who it was, she bolted upright, staring at the door in horror as she heard them coming up the stairs.

Her mother knocked at her door seconds later, and Y/N snatched the covers, pulling them up to her chin. The door opened without her consent - nothing unusual for Judith - and she stepped in alone, even though Y/N could smell Dean just outside in the hall.

“Y/N,” she murmured, “Father Winchester has come to check in on you.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Y/N grunted back. “I’d rather not -”

“Nonsense,” she insisted. “Maybe prayer will help take your mind off of it.”

The utter disregard the older woman suddenly had was alarming, but Y/N didn’t have a chance to question it as Father Winchester entered, smirking at her. Judith smiled, glancing over at her daughter as she wilted in the bed.

“I’ve got to run into town. Will you two be okay?” Judith asked, ignoring the horror on Y/N’s face.

“I’m sure I can assist Y/N with whatever she needs,” Dean drawled, still grinning, eyes locked on her. It didn’t appear that Judith caught his double meaning at all, as she quickly retreated, leaving her Omega daughter to the Alpha’s mercy. He waited until he heard her reach the bottom of the stairs, then he pushed the door almost closed, licking his lips. “Mmm,” he exhaled, “I can taste you in the air, pretty thing.”

“I could shout,” she threatened quietly. “Mom will -”

“Go ahead,” he dared. “But I already know, you won’t. Because you’ve been thinking about me for three days.”

Her cheeks flushed with fresh heat but she held his gaze in defiance. He tucked his tongue behind his teeth, his expression mocking her, and she scowled, hating the fact that he was having an effect on her.

Downstairs, the front door shut, leaving them alone.

Dean moved closer, lowering himself onto the bed by her thighs. He didn’t touch her, but his proximity was enough to make her tense, the desire in her belly growing stronger with every whiff of his scent. “Don’t worry,” he soothed, lifting his chin. “I won’t touch you unless you ask nicely.”

She ground her teeth together. That same tiny part of her that had sprung up back at the rectory, the Judas in her soul that made her quiver at just his voice; it was screaming now, pleading with her to give in. Keeping her mouth shut, she focused on remaining still, unreactive to his presence.

“Ooo, hard to get, huh?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Your scent betrays what you’re craving, baby. I bet you’ve cum half a dozen times on those useless plastic knots.” He looked around the room, obviously looking for evidence. “Where do you hide them?”

Y/N kept her eyes on him, unwilling to give away her secret.

“Gotta be somewhere mommy won’t find,” he continued, getting to his feet again. “She’s so nice. I doubt she knows what a little cockslut her daughter truly is.”

Her stomach clenched, and she looked down at her knees underneath the quilt. Dean laughed again, wandering over to her dresser. He smoothed one long hand along the top of it, glancing back at her in amusement.

“No, not in here, too obvious,” he mused aloud, scanning the room. Spying her closet, he strode over to it, opening the doors. He inspected it without touching anything, looking back at her again to check her reaction. She continued to keep her eyes down, chewing her lip to silence herself. “Not even gonna give me a hint?”

The rise he wanted wasn’t forthcoming though he didn’t seem bothered by her refusal to play his game. He stalked closer, trying to get her to look at him. She kept her head down, resisting, but when his knee hit the bed, she couldn’t stop her eyes darting towards where her shoebox lay.

Dropping to one knee, he reached under the bed, finding the only thing that was under there. He pulled the box out, glancing up to see her shameful expression, and he knew he had his prize.

“Let’s see,” he hummed, tugging the lid off.

Y/N only owned two toys, a vibrating wand and a dildo. Dean went for the dildo first, holding it up in scrutiny as she tried to will her bed to swallow her whole.

“Oh, baby. You’re in for a treat.” He clicked his tongue, smirking at her. “This is tiny.” It hit the floor with a thud that made her flinch. “But this one might be useful.” He dropped the shoebox, throwing the wand onto the bed; it landed between her knees. “Which one do you like best?”

She hesitated. He waited patiently, staring at her, and she shivered, letting the covers fall to her shoulders. “I-if I tell you… you won’t hurt me, right?”

A frown dampened his smile. “Do you think I’m going to hurt you, Omega?”

The use of the title made her shiver again. Her whole body ached, the arousal becoming unbearable and only enhanced by the scent of a potent Alpha so close. “I don’t know,” she confessed.

“I told you - I won’t touch you until you ask me to,” he repeated.

“Th-the wand,” she rushed out, and his smile returned. “The kn - the other one feels too fake.”

He chuckled, tilting his head a little. “Tell me the truth, princess,” he moved closer, sitting on the bed again, this time on the opposite side, “have you ever taken a real Alpha knot in that sweet little cunt of yours?”

She couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped. “Yes,” she whispered. “Once.”

“Lemme guess,” he mused, tapping his chin with one finger. “Highschool sweetheart. Thought he was the one, only for him to pop your cherry and leave you high and dry, right?” Her gaze dropped, and he took it for confirmation, laughing lightly. “Oh, darlin’, I’m gonna blow your mind when I get inside you.”

His words were so crude, so unbecoming of a priest. No one had ever spoken to her like that and she was ashamed to find his filthy expressions arousing. “Y-you said you wouldn’t force me.”

“I won’t,” he assured her. “I told you, you’ll beg me for it.”

Faking bravado, she lifted her chin, staring at him. “How do you know?”

“Because you’ve got my scent now,” he breathed, “Omega.” She shuddered, unable to suppress it, and fresh warmth invaded the space between her thighs. “See? Just my voice makes your pussy clench, doesn’t it? How many times have you imagined me fucking you to get off?” She whimpered, breaking eye contact. “Honesty, Y/N.”

“A lot,” she rasped truthfully, because she hadn’t counted.

He grinned triumphantly. “You wanna cum right now, don’t you?” She nodded, clenching her hands in the covers. “Then pick up your little toy and make yourself cum.”

The idea of refusing floated in her mind but she was so aroused she could feel it soaking the sheets underneath her ass. Dean watched her, green eyes hungry as they fixed on her, and before she could contemplate what she was doing, she pulled one hand out from the quilt and grabbed the wand.

He sat back a little, hands in his lap. Swallowing hard, Y/N hid the wand under the covers, turning it on so he could hear it, sliding it between her thighs. It didn’t even occur to her to fake it, and when the vibrating head touched her clit through her thin panties, she whined loudly.

“That’s it,” he purred, rubbing his crotch through his black slacks. “Aren’t you warm under all that?”

Desire controlled her, overriding her common sense. She pushed the covers down, shifting so she was a little flatter before pressing the wand to her sex again. Dean was stroking himself through his pants now, watching her as she writhed against the stimulation.

“I think you’d cum quicker if you took your panties off,” he suggested.

She nodded, too lust-drunk to fight it anymore, and in a few seconds, her panties were off and across the room. Dean watched as she spread her legs, bringing the wand’s head to right where she needed it. The intense need in her core only got her to the edge quicker, and she shuddered through an orgasm under the priest’s stare, feeling shameful as the pleasure subsided.

“Did that feel good?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whimpered, legs still twitching as she pulled the wand away and turned it off. Her cunt clenched around nothing, and she squirmed, desperate to feel more friction. Dean’s gaze dropped to her slick pussy, and he bit his lip, obviously restraining himself. The realization dawned on her that she didn’t want him to show control… she wanted him to touch her. “Please,” she forced out, chest heaving and breath coming in short pants. “Touch me.”

His lips curled into a sly smile and he chuckled. “Told you so,” he murmured, reaching out to slide his hand over her knee and up her bare thigh. “But you need to be specific. Where should I touch you, Y/N?”

“M-my,” she hesitated, feeling the warmth of his hand so close to where she wanted it, “my pussy.”

He grinned. “You learn quick,” he muttered, finally cupping her sex with his hand. She groaned, unwittingly canting her hips into his palm. “Oh, you’re so wet and warm, little Omega.” A finger dipped inside her, making her mewl pitifully, but he only laughed, teasing her with a little more of it. “Tell me what you want now.”

“I want -” She stopped, licking her lips as her breathing got heavier. “I want you to make me cum.”

“Like this?” He thrust his finger into her up to the knuckle, and she cried out, clutching the sheets underneath her. “So tight too,” he groaned. “You’re going to burn me alive.”

She twisted, nodding desperately. “P-please, more.”

He fucked the single digit into her, letting her body adjust before he penetrated her with the second. Her voice became hoarse, and her cunt throbbed around him, slicking every stroke as he opened her up. His wrist twisted, allowing him to press his thumb to her clit, and her whole body trembled.

“Just opening up for me,” he praised, looking down at her hungrily as he kept his fingers moving at a steady pace. “I bet you’ll gush all over my hand, won’t you, dirty little whore Omega? Look at you, all ready to beg for what you really want.” She moaned and nodded, rocking her hips in time with his thrusts. “Wonder how hard you’ll cum with my knot stretching that perfect little cunt out? You wanna feel my seed in your belly?”

It was too much. With a hoarse shout, she came, clenching hard around his fingers as he held them deep, his thumb continuing to work at her clit until she was dripping down his wrist. She was crying with pleasure, unable to vocalize anything as she shuddered from head to toe, and when Dean pulled his hand away, her legs collapsed, leaving her in a messy heap, eyes closed and chest heaving.

She could hear him lick his fingers clean.

“What do you want now, Y/N?” he taunted, leaning over her. She whimpered, opening her eyes to look up at him.

“Want your knot, Alpha,” she keened, reaching for him.

He tisked, pulling away before she could touch him. “That’s not good enough,” he chided, shaking his head and smirking at her. “If you want it that bad, you’ll come and get it.”

“Wait,” she mumbled, pushing up onto weak arms as he walked around the bed. “Where are you going?”

“Not far,” he replied mockingly, pausing at the door. “Like I said, if you want it that bad…” He trailed off and shrugged, disappearing out of the door. Y/N scrambled to follow, reaching the doorway with only her t-shirt on, but as she stepped out into the hall, it was empty. Father Winchester was gone.

She stared, pouting at nothing. Had she imagined it in some sort of heat fever? No, she could smell him, feeling his lingering touch in her most intimate places - how could he leave her like that? He’d watched her get herself off, made her cum with the briefest of touches, and then he just… vanished?

With her climax, her heat was given a brief reprieve, and her judgment became a little less clouded. She knew what Father Winchester - Dean - was doing. It was immoral and wrong and why was she still craving him? She should have been disgusted with herself, she should have thrown him out, she should have -

But she hadn’t. She’d let him make her cum and she’d enjoyed every second of it.

Shame washed over her. She retreated back to her room, covering her face with her hands as she made a frustrated noise. All she could think about was him, all she wanted was him. It felt like he’d cursed her, when all he’d really done was talk dirty, and she’d broken like a twig.

Maybe she should let his superior know what he was doing. She was fairly certain priests weren’t supposed to seduce their parishioners, especially not with the ferocity Dean displayed. Except… except then he might be made to stop, and that tiny part of her from before was getting bigger and louder by the minute.

She dressed quickly, repeating the same cycle of thoughts in her head. They weren’t really doing anything wrong. He wasn’t the celibate kind of priest, and she was a single unmated Omega. Their only sin was sex before marriage, which she’d never exactly been big on, judging by the three guys she’d actually slept with in college.

By the time she was dressed, she almost had herself convinced. At the bottom of the stairs, she grabbed her coat and keys, pleased her mother hadn’t taken the car. When she opened the front door, she knew what she was going to do, and she was at peace with it.

The church was quiet when she pulled up, the windows sparkling in the afternoon sun. Y/N sat in her car, nibbling at her finger as she watched the door, concerned someone would see her. There didn’t seem to be any sign of life, so she climbed out, taking careful steps up to the door to try the handle. She wasn’t surprised when it opened, and she slipped inside, closing it behind her.

Inside was empty. At the far end by the altar, candles burned, and the smell of frankincense hung in the air. Moving forward, she listened out for anyone lurking, slowly heading for the front pews.

The door clicked loudly behind her. She turned, seeing Dean with his hand on the lock, and he turned his head, lips curled in another filthy smirk. His eyes were dark, almost black, she thought, but when she blinked they were normal. Dismissing it as a trick of the light, she turned to face him, unconsciously holding a breath.

“Well, well,” he chuckled, swiping a thumb across his full lower lip. “You didn’t waste any time.” He strolled towards her, bumping his hand off of each pew as he went. “It’s barely been an hour.”

She bit her lip, watching him draw closer. There was weakness in her knees, and her heart pounded in her chest so hard, she thought it might burst. Dean chuckled, slowing to a stop just within reach.

“Father Winchester,” she whispered, trying not to sink to her knees. He bared his teeth and she swallowed. “Dean.”

“Try again.”

A shuddering breath left her lips. “Alpha.”

He hummed, reaching out to grasp her chin in his fingers. “Yes?”

She knew what he wanted, what she had to say in order to get what she wanted, what her body was craving like an addict. Still, she struggled to get the words out, unused to expressing her sexual needs aloud. “I need... I need your knot,” she whimpered.

He tisked, releasing her. “Not good enough.”

Her legs gave out, and she dropped with a frustrated cry. “Please,” she wailed, “please, Alpha, I need it. Need you to knot me.” Dean groaned, palming his crotch, looking down at her hungrily. Y/N lifted her head, panting as she pleaded with him. “Need you to fuck me.”

His jaw hung half open as he tore at the buckle of his pants, pulling his half-hard cock free. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, watching as his erection thickened and filled out, the bulge of his knot obvious at the base. “You’re learning,” he mumbled, stroking himself as he stepped closer. “Open up.”

She obeyed, kneeling a little straighter as he offered himself to her, tapping the heavy crown against her bottom lip.

“Wider.”

Her jaw ached already but she did as she was told, instinctively brushing her tongue across the weeping head. His taste was tangy on her tongue, and she swallowed it down, lifting one hand to touch him. He didn’t resist, watching with his chin tucked into his chest as she took the initiative and started to explore his shaft with her tongue.

“Keep going,” he murmured, stroking her face before cupping the side of her head. “That’s it. Good little cocksucker.”

She moaned around him, feeling her own body respond to what she was doing. Her pussy throbbed and her skin prickled with heat, and her movements became more enthusiastic, much to the Alpha’s delight.

“Take it deeper,” he instructed, and she complied, eager to please him. His cockhead nudged the back of her throat and she gagged, pulling away at the fear of throwing up. Dean stopped her going far, quickly tugging her back. “Keep trying,” he ordered. “You’ll get used to it.”

Cautiously, she opened her mouth again, feeling the weight of him on her tongue. He thrust forward a little, and she swallowed, concentrating hard to control her gag reflex. Dean moaned as she kept doing it, rocking his hips to keep up the pressure.

“Fuck, you got a sweet mouth,” he groaned. “But I bet your pussy feels even better.”

He pulled away without warning, and Y/N spluttered as she landed on her hands, gasping down air. Dean’s hand slipped around her upper arm, pulling her to her feet; she stumbled, grabbing onto him for stability. Without waiting, he tugged her toward the altar, roughly pushing her against it.

“A dress would have been better,” he commented, yanking her pants down to her ankles as she squeaked in alarm and grabbed the cloth-covered altar table. Two fingers quickly pressed against her sex, sinking into her without warning. She cried out, clutching the table, bending over without thinking. “Still so wet,” he muttered, fucking the two thick digits into her.

“Please,” she wailed, unable to take any more teasing.

“Impatient now,” he chuckled, pulling his fingers free. “Don’t worry, baby,” she heard his pants drop as the heavy belt buckle hit the floor, “gonna make you feel all better.”

He pressed in behind her, letting her feel the weight of his cock as he slid between her thighs. Holding it against her pussy, he reached around for her throat, pulling her up straight.

“Look up,” he commanded quietly. She obeyed, lifting her eyes to the wooden crucifix above them, the carved image of Christ staring back. “I want you to look at Him while you’re taking my knot.”

He pushed into her, and she cried out, digging her fingernails into her table underneath her, struggling to keep her gaze where he wanted it. His thick shaft settled deep in her warmth, creating a pressure in her belly that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Fuck,” he cursed, his grip on her throat loosening for a second. “Just as good as I imagined.”

Y/N whimpered, fighting to keep her head up as Dean started to fuck her with slow, purposeful strokes. Her hips dug into the altar with every thrust, and his hand kept a steady grip on her throat, forcing her to look into the eyes of the crucified messiah as he defiled her.

It felt too good to care.

Her first climax came quickly, and her cries bounced off of the stained glass windows, echoing around the old building. Dean didn’t slow or stop, grunting in time with the slap of his skin on hers. His other hand grabbed her breast through her shirt, squeezing without a care for how rough he was being but her only noises were of pleasure. She was getting off on the way he used her, the bruises he was bound to leave on her skin.

“You really are a sinner,” he groaned, feeling her pussy clench around him again. His hand dropped to her belly, the fingers at her throat forcing her up a little straighter. “Bet you’re ripe right now,” he murmured, close to her ear. “That empty little womb just begging to be filled.”

The thought of what he was suggesting shouldn’t have made her wetter, shouldn’t have had any effect on her at all, but she would be lying if it didn’t. Her whole body shuddered at the depravity of even thinking about carrying his spawn, and she let her eyes roll back and fall shut. Dean chuckled, slowing just a little to watch her slick cunt swallow him over and over.

“I’m gonna knot you,” he panted, palming her ass, releasing her throat as he kicked her feet apart a little wider. Her belly and breasts came flush with the altar, and he hummed when his cock stabbed a little deeper. “Oh, baby,” he purred, “you’re so ready to be filled up.” Y/N whined, pushing up onto tiptoes to stop from slipping. “I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

His hips snapped into her with more force, punching a cry from her lips. He started to fuck her hard, hard enough that she knew she’d have physical marks from the wood colliding with her hip, if not from his fingers gripping her flesh tightly. She couldn’t hope to stop herself from screaming, cumming hard as she felt his knot beginning to swell.

“That’s it, Omega,” Dean growled, slapping her ass as she clenched around him. “Fucking cum on my knot.”

With one last thrust, his knot popped, thickening inside her as warm spurts of cum filled her belly. His teeth found her throat, and in the throes of pleasure, she didn’t resist, crying out as he broke the skin and left a permanent reminder of his touch. She slumped forward when he released her, gasping through the last of her orgasm, going limp as he finished. He groaned with a low chuckle, squeezing her ass again, enjoying the last few squeezes of her warm walls around his cock.

“Wanna hear a secret?” he murmured, pulling her up and holding her there, practically impaling her on his knot. His lips brushed the shell of her ear and she shuddered, almost wheezing in his grip. “I’m no priest.”

Was he expecting her to be surprised? No priest acted the way he did.

“Then what are you?” she asked, expecting him to say anything but what came out of his mouth.

He chuckled. “I don’t think you’re ready for that, little Omega.”

How she had made it out of the church and home without anyone seeing her was a stroke of luck, and she managed to avoid her mother for the rest of the day. Her heat subsided quickly after her encounter with Dean, but she still wasn’t entirely satisfied. After their encounter, he’d disappeared without answering her questions, and every time she’d returned to the church later on in the week, there was no one there. The mark on her throat ached, and though it hadn’t been deep, she still kept it covered to avoid questions from anyone who might see it.

Shame kept her from attending church on the Sunday, having decided by that point that Dean had used her. She feigned a migraine, letting her mother take her car, and then she ate junk food in her room while watching reruns of old sitcoms on television. When her mom returned a few hours later, it was with surprising news.

“Father Taggart passed away,” Judith said after Y/N came down to see what had happened. “No one is sure what happened, only that the bishop is saying they didn’t send any replacement for Father Grayson, and no one knows what happened to Father Crowley or Father Winchester.”

“That’s strange,” Y/N mumbled, recalling Dean’s words while he’d been buried inside her. The majority of her soul was in pain at the abandonment of an Alpha - again - and that this time, he’d left something of himself inside her.

“Oh, and did I mention?” her mother continued. “Mrs. Whiting was found dead two days ago. Another mystery. Her husband is still missing.”

Judith carried on, musing over all the gossip she’d heard today, and Y/N tuned it out, trying not to pay any attention to the emotions crushing her chest. She should have been more careful, should have been wary of the handsome Alpha - she definitely shouldn’t have offered herself up to him like a brazen hussy.

She had to keep her involvement with him quiet. The last thing she wanted was attention from the police. It was easier to keep her head down and carry on, deal with her own stupidity and not let herself be fooled again.

When a few days passed, she let it sink in. A night of crying to the most tear-jerking movies she could think of, and she felt a little better. She kept going, and days turned into weeks, and Dean was a brief thought that flitted through her mind occasionally. His mark faded to an easily-disguisable scar, and she continued on with how her life had been before, ignoring the longing for excitement that he had brought her. The only change was church, despite her mother’s protests.

She never expected to see him again but she wasn’t sure she could walk back into the place where she’d let him own every part of her.

It was almost a relief when her period came. His comments about her fertility had lingered in her mind, burrowing deep until she was in a panic. But her cycle continued as it had before, and she thought she could finally forget him entirely.

She didn’t notice the black car parked along the street, didn’t recognize it at all, though she’d seen it before. She didn’t even pay attention when she saw it outside her office, or at the grocery store. It was only when she walked past it for the sixth time outside the pharmacy, and the door opened, that she finally saw who it was.

Dean stared at her over the top of the Impala, and Y/N froze on the sidewalk, feeling like time had slowed down. He smiled awkwardly, unlike the predatory smirk from before, and she frowned, tilting her head at him.

“You’re back,” she blurted out.

“Kind of,” he replied haltingly.

It had been about six weeks. She was due her heat again. “What do you want?” she asked.

“To talk.” He sounded sincere at least. “To explain.” There was something in his voice, something that tugged her forward. “You’re my Omega, Y/N.”

She took a breath, knowing without even thinking about it that she’d listen. “What if I don’t want to talk?” she challenged. “What if I don’t want an Alpha?”

Dean smiled again, but once more she noticed the difference in him. “Is that true?”

“No,” she confessed quietly.

He gestured to the passenger door. “You wanna get in?”

It felt like opening that door would lead her somewhere, and not just into this man’s arms. Whatever he had to say, she felt like she needed to hear it, that this was not only the door to his car, but the door to her future. She looked up, smiling at the bright sunny sky, then dropped her gaze back to him.

“Yeah.”

Feedback is appreciated!! Thanks for reading 😘

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