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owlsbride · 4 years ago

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Icha Icha and Prejudice: The Book Club

Chapter IV: That Inner Voice

Eleven o'clock in the morning and Sakura was already upset. It was her first official vacation day, and it didn't start it as she had hoped. She had planned to sleep late, wake up in the most glorious and easy possible way with the felling of a long needy rested body. After all, she had to realise that Shizune and the Hokage were right, she needed to rest for a while, she was reaching the limits of her strength, and like this, she wasn't going to last long. So even if she was still a bit mad about the resolution, she finally came to terms with it, and it was ok.

What she has not been able to imagine was that after her furious outburst in the Hokage Tower, yesterday night, she would find herself immersed in a crazy game that Kakashi planned in less than a minute just to annoy her, disturb her, and of course, tease her. Dammed, he was smart. God, she hated that man.

'Yeah, tell yourself that till you believe it.'

Suddenly, she repeated Kakashi's recent message in her mind with a highly pitchy tone. It was not her sensei's voice, though.

'Hello there, Sakura.'

So she was back. After years of silence, her bitchy inner Sakura's voice came back to torment her mind and life. She turned on the bed, sinking her head in the pillow ready to grumble, and silent a scream of fury trying to escape from her frustrating throat. Perfect timing for the remarkable comeback. Perfect timing.

After her teen years, Sakura, under the Godaime tutelage, decided that inner Sakura was no longer necessary. She was pretty capable of analysing all the facts in front of her as well as her feelings, thoughts and attitudes, she no longer needed her alter ego to push her to act in this or that way, nor to show her the right path when she was lost. Generally, the correct direction of the inner Sakura was always the wrong one, but that she had only been able to see it after her failed attempt of relationship with Sasuke or any other man in the village.

The inner Sakura was impulsive, arrogant, prejudiced, and without a doubt much more daring than Sakura herself, and that did not suit her.

So, one morning, and just like that, the work, stress and the effort to make her inner voice disappeared went straight to the trash been, cause she was loudly back.

'Don't tell me that you didn't miss me.' the voice in her head said almost sad.

"No, I didn't. Not even a tiny bit." Great, now Sakura was talking to herself out loud.

'You are harsh with both of us, Sakura'

"No, I'm not. I worked hard for you to shut up, so, please..." Sakura pleaded.

'And yet, here I am.'

"What do you want?"

'The question is, what Do You want' annoying or not, inner Sakura's question was accurate and sharp. What was what she wanted?

"Arghh... fine! If you are here to stay, I hope, at least, for you to be useful."

'I'm all yours. Now get up, girl, we have things to do.'

Sakura finally accepted that the voice was back and resolved to went through everything with her in her mind. She didn't have much of an option, cause apparently, inner Sakura was not going to disappear any time soon. It was better to have a good relationship with her mind at this moment. Three weeks off was too much to think on her own. Maybe she had called her back. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism to go through her own personal hell with Icha Icha. Inner Sakura could be much more helpful with her sharp, bold thoughts. She was a natural teaser and a skilful trickster at times. She was the not so innocent part of her mind that incited thoughts that Sakura preferred to suppress. The inner Sakura's silence was what had allowed her not to have sex in all this time, putting all her libido in her work, making her see each man who passed by the hospital as an object of study and not as a possible good laid. Except maybe for Kakashi.

Hatake Kakashi, the Rokudaime, her Lord Sixth, her eternal sensei. The very same, that when he got sick or came back injured from a mission, he just wanted to be cared for by her. The one used to listen to her ramblings every day about new ideas, supporting all her projects. The one that one way or another was always by her side. Kakashi, the man with silver hair who aroused the entire village's curiosity and sighs even though no one, not even her, knew what was under the mask. The same man who could be severe enough to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, but who also read Icha Icha in public and even dared to flirt with her without shame or openness.

'You're so into him.' Inner Sakura spoke again suppressing a laugh.

"Oh please, It's not like that." Sakura dismissed her.

'How long are you going to live in denial, Sakura?'

"What do you mean?"

'Can't you see it for your own?'

"No..."

'Thank god I'm here then.'

Sakura stopped the conversation with her inner self because she really needed a cup o coffee first. She had spent the first hours of her morning texting with Kakashi and talking to herself, and it was already exhausting. How was she supposed to survive both of them? Passing by her living room to the kitchen, Sakura directed her view to the orange book on the table. Sooner or later, she would have to start reading. But first thing first: Breakfast.

After almost half an hour, Sakura finally was ready to face her destiny and her thoughts.

'Are you ready?' Inner Sakura was jumping all over her mind like a child in a kermesse.

"I guess..." Sakura answered nervously sitting in her couch, crouching her legs and taking the book in her hands.

'Imagine the things he had done with that book' Her mind was torturous libidinous.

"Let's just don't think about it, ok?"

'Oh, come on, don't act as if you were a virgin Sakura... Just imagine, the shower, the couch, the bed...'

"Please, don't be grossed" Sakura answered blushing deeply. Something burning was forming inside of her, and she was sure it wasn't just her chakra.

'You slut, you have already thought about that. You are so hot with him.' Inner Sakura was celebrating.

"Shut up."

Chapter I: The sunset. The light was slowly extinguishing on the cornfields making the shadows that were projected throughout the space even more orange. The summer rain's soft scent had left a persistent sweet aroma mixed with the lavenders that were only a few meters from where she was standing. The heat and humidity created a soft layer of sweat on her body, mixing her own body scent with that of her surroundings. She knew that she must have run away as soon as she saw him arriving at the village. Instead, she only could make it to the cornfield, a familiar place for both of them.

So cliche, Sakura thought with a grin on her face. She was sure that Kakashi was having it way harder than her. Though she had to recognise that even if Jiraiya didn't have Jane Austen's prose, it wasn't that bad. So far, it was an easy, perfectly innocent reading.

'Really Sakura? is that what you are thinking? A neat prose?' Inner Sakura jumped in her mind again a bit upset because up to now Sakura wasn't able to find nothing too thrilling in the first pages. Sakura didn't pay her any attention and kept reading, she was starting to relax about this whole thing of Kakashi's little obsession. It wasn't that bad.

He followed her without hesitation. He knew he would find her staring at the horizon, waiting for the night breeze to cool her feverish skin. She had always liked to feel the summer wind run across her ivory skin, bristling the hair on her arms, making her shiver. Her tousled hair floating freely, like her thoughts. He knew he would find her there, and right there, he would claim her just for himself.

Sakura sighed, the things were already starting to heat up but in a really smooth and slow path. The Sannin knew how to build tension and, what she heard Ino said once, a good slow-burn romance scenario. Inner Sakura was in silence, and she was immensely enjoying the reading. Actually, she was starting to think that she could spend the entire day at home reading. After all, it wasn't that hard.

Bzzzzzt Bzzzzt Bzzzzt

Sakura looked for her cellphone. Inner Sakura was already starting to complain about the interruption, but she suddenly stopped.

Bzzzzzt Bzzzzt Bzzzzt

18:30 H.Kakashi: Yo!

18:30 H.Kakashi: What are you doing, Sakura?

Sakura didn't know if to answer and play difficult, Inner Sakura was highly excited about those short, silly messages. Of course, Sakura answered, she had to follow the inner lead.

18:32: Hello, Sensei

18:32: Reading, you?

Sakura didn't come back to the book. She just fixed her stare in the device in her hand.

Bzzzzzt Bzzzzt Bzzzzt

18:35: H.Kakashi: And?

Kakashi wasn't going to answer her, she was sure. She would have to give him something first. She knew her sensei like the palm of her hand.

18:36: It's ok so far

Bzzzzzt Bzzzzt Bzzzzt

18:36 H.Kakashi: What?

18:36 H.Kakashi: Just ok?

18:37 H.Kakashi: Do you even know how to read, Sakura?

Sakura burst to laugh out loud in her home alone. He was such a spoiled child.

18:40: Yes Hokage Sama, it's ok, I haven't read much yet.

18:40: What about you? Working? Reading?

Bzzzzzt Bzzzzt Bzzzzt

18:41 H.Kakashi: Actually, both.

18:41: And?

Bzzzzzt Bzzzzt Bzzzzt

18:42 H.Kakashi: Work, awful, reading, quite interesting.

18:42 H.Kakashi: Tell me, Sakura, is it possible?

Sakura asked herself what was he talking about, Inner Sakura, invited to re questioned him.

18:45: What?

Bzzzzzt Bzzzzt Bzzzzt

18:46 H.Kakashi: To have five daughters and take care of all of them, in a simple civilian life, plus a wife and listen to them all the time talking without a stop

Sakura laughed again.

18:47: So... You are feeling bad for the poor Mr Benett, right?

Bzzzzzt Bzzzzt Bzzzzt

18:47 H.Kakashi: Who wouldn't...

18:48 H. Kakashi: Listen Sakura...

And for a moment he didn't say anything more.

18:55: What now?

Bzzzzzt Bzzzzt Bzzzzt

18:55 H.Kakashi: Would you like to have dinner? Unless you already have plans. We don't need to talk about the books, in fact, we don't have to talk at all

Sakura stood frozen. What was wrong with him. Even if it was just a simple text, she could read need in his words.

'Don't you dare to say no' Inner Sakura adverted, forming a fist with her imaginary hand.

19:00: Rough day?

Bzzzzzt Bzzzzt Bzzzzt

19:00 H. Kakashi: You can't imagine.

Sakura smiled.

19:01: Then you'll have to tell me.

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hesesols · 4 years ago

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of soap suds and broken dishes

Summary: There will never be a right time for some conversations. In which Rukia has some exciting news to deliver and the timing is ... less than ideal.

Rating: T

FF/ao3

Chapter 1: Timing Is Everything

Her hands started shaking even before her mind processes the gravity of the situation.

The plus sign on the pregnancy test stick is staring right back at her and no amount of heavy breathing; thigh-pinching; fervent prayer that this is all a bad dream she's ten seconds from waking up from; is going to change that.

She gulps.

Ichigo.

Ichigo needs to know.

She needs to tell him and part of her is scared shitless of what he's going to say.

She doesn't tell him.

It's not intentional on her part- at least for the first few days after she found out.

It just slips her mind sometimes about her new condition and then there's the fact that she could never seem to find the right time to tell him. This doesn't feel like the sort of thing that is light enough to be shared over the breakfast table or when they're cuddling in bed with their bedclothes on, mind switched off, body wrapped around each other.

Outside these hours, their lives are bound to the vigorous demands of the mundane world and its limitations. Time is finite in this world. Him with his busy university classes and lab sessions, her with her odd shifts at the local coffee shop and double-life as a seated officer of Gotei 13 meant that dinner is sometimes take outs and pizzas served on cheap plastic plates, wine in everyday mugs, excuses they make to ignore the presence of the growing pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

That there are mornings when Ichigo will jump out of their bed with a curse and start throwing on wrinkly clothes from the day before, screaming about how he's late as he shuts the front door with a bang that's loud enough to rattle the whole building but not before he rouses her, barely awake and squinting from the brightness with a goodbye kiss.

That there are nights when she will come back after a week-long stint in Soul Society and the ache of separation hits her more than she would care to admit but Ichigo leaves the light on. He greets her with his pretty eyes and hungry kisses and they'll spend that morning and the next in bed, making up for the lost time in the coil of their needy bodies.

This is a snapshot of real life for the two of them living together in relative anonymity in the Human World. She loves Ichigo and he loves her. Society has come a long way since feudalistic times and what Nii-sama doesn't know won't hurt him.

Take away the Shinigami aspect of their lives- the crazy out-of-this-realm misadventures they get swept into, wars between worlds waged and won in the span of a summer holiday, the battle scars adorning their bodies and they're literally as normal as their next door neighbours, human and barely out of their twenties, trying to find their place in this strange cruel world, somehow made warmer with Ichigo's hand in hers.

Being with Ichigo just makes her happy- happy enough to live in the now and not think ahead. She doesn't want to ruin what they have, doesn't want to upset the resemblance of a normal life she's constructed and cocooned herself in within the confines of their tiny apartment.

They haven't even talked about the future in so much as to where they would live after he graduates from college. Springing this on him just seems cruel- cruel when his life is only just beginning, about to take flight and she's gone ahead and done the unthinkable to clip his wings.

What if he's disappointed?

What if he doesn't want the baby?

The last thought renders her physically sick. Sud-covered hands reach instinctively for her baby bump that's barely showing.

For now, anyway.

Give it a few more weeks and he's bound to notice something. He's not that dumb (or at least she hopes he isn't). There are only so many times she can say no to the casually-offered beer and wine or mumble something along the lines of that time of the month to disguise the however many trips to the bathroom before he catches on.

"I'm home."

The sudden noise makes her jump and she loses her grip on the slippery half-washed dinner plate. It clatters to the floor, broken.

Shit!

Swearing comes entirely second nature when she cuts herself on the edges.

"Rukia?"

"In here," she calls out to him, holding the cut finger under the running water. Truth be told she's more upset about the broken plate- there were four in a set with matching bowls and now they're one short- than her injuries. The cut doesn't even look deep and the bleeding is bound to stop soon.

"Let me see."

Ichigo seems to think otherwise as he unceremoniously drops his bags and the heavy groceries by the door, eyebrows furrowing deep as he crouches down next to her, inspecting her wound.

Though calling it an inspection may have been a stretch.

He barely even glanced at it before he's hollering at her to stay put while he grabs the first aid kit.

"You're being ridiculous! It's just a cut!"

He should know better- what with his experience of violence and theoretical knowledge as a future physician. She's been through worse. They both have. Cuts that are deep enough to see gaps of bones in between, torn ligaments, broken bones, ruptured organs, a fist through the stomach- the memory makes her shudder now more than ever. He shouldn't be fussing over her for a flesh wound that barely registers on her scale of pain.

But he doesn't let go of her hand and merely grunts when she calls him a fool for making a big deal out of something as trivial as this.

"It'll heal quick. I don't s-"

She hisses, surprised by the sudden sting of antiseptic over broken skin. His gesture is uncharacteristically apologetic when he presses a kiss to her knuckle.

It doesn't make sense.

She's suffered much, much worse in her line of duty. He knows she has and she has survived, grew stronger and thrived. With every cut and blow that aims to knock her down, she rises up, bloodied and valiant to meet the next challenge. Yet she doesn't think she has ever seen him quite so serious, cleaning her cut and dwarfing her hand in his like she's soft, fragile like glass and twice as likely to break. Lord knows that she has never been neither of those things.

"I'm sorry. We don't have any bunny plasters but Yuzu left some Hello Kitty plasters in the first aid kit the last time she restocked it for us and I think you'd like them- why are you crying?"

Tears.

She can't remember the last time she felt them running down her cheeks. Have they always tasted so salty?

Through the burn of them, she sees his panicked face. His fists clench tight and grip at her as he holds her- shuddering breath and all, waiting for her to still and quiet so she can tell him who to hurt and who to maim.

This idiot!

Look at what he's reduced her to- this teary-eyed walking bundle of hormones who tears up because her boyfriend/baby daddy gave her some Hello Kitty plasters when she cut her finger.

"I'm pregnant, you dolt."

Ichigo wears his heart on his sleeves and the vulnerability on his face- the sheer multitude of emotions- shock, awe, joy, love, above all, love- when he absorbs the impact of the news and embraces his new reality is enough to make even a hardened warrior like her choke on the waterworks.

His eyes widen and the grip on her tightens as he presses her deeper into his embrace.

"H-How long?"

"It's early."

She thinks she's barely passed the sixth week mark.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to!"

Her hands fist at his clothes. She has lost count of the number of times when she wanted to reach for his hand under the covers as they spooned against each other and whisper it soft and slow into the night and put it to rest.

But every time she wants to open her mouth and speak, doubt makes her swallow those words whole because-

What if this isn't what he wanted?

This isn't something that they've planned for and she is too in love with the tranquillity of the moment, the peaceful look on his face, smiling at her- like she makes this life worth living for, to even consider ruining it. Is it wrong for her to think that the news can wait for another day if only to make tiny beautiful moments like these last a little while longer?

"…There just doesn't seem to be a right time to tell you."

He deadpans, "and you think now is the perfect time for us to have this conversation?"

There are soap suds in her hair, dirty dishwater stains on the front of her shirt. He has dark circles under his eyes, stinks of alcohol sanitizers, looking tired like he hasn't slept well for days. In the background is a precarious mountain pile of dishes to be washed waiting in the sink, shattered pieces of a broken dinner plate on the kitchen floor that still needs to be swept away.

Them in the comforts of their own home- the very essence of their domestic mundanity stripped down to the bones- messy, loud, less-than perfect; but at its heart, once the initial embarrassment of her housekeeping skill or the lack-there-of passes, is love.

She sighs, resting her forehead against his chest. "This is all your fault. This would have never have happened if you listened to me when I told you it's your turn to do the dishes."

"You could have waited?" he challenges, "You know class ends early for me today."

Rukia rolls her eyes as she informs him rather drily, "We ran out of clean plates two days ago."

Laughter rumbles low and throaty from him, his heartbeat thrumming steadily from his chest- a symphony strung along with bits of heart and soul, hopes for tomorrow that sooth her.

When the laughter dies, he buries his face in her hair, soaking up the warmth of her tiny body with his. He holds her, drawing lazy circles on the skin of her bare arm, tentative as he asks.

"Rukia. Were you afraid that I'd be disappointed? Or angry?"

She squirms in his arms, ashamed almost when she tells him, "A little of both."

A snort followed by a fond exasperated "Idiot. I love you and I promise to love you and to love our child forever and always and-" his breath catches, his world whirling, and he's looking at her like she's made of starlight and moon dust and- "you're carrying our baby!"

The hard lines on his face soften, his hands clearly shaking and the disbelief from the happiness that threatens to leave him in tears as he presses kisses to her- "We're going to have a baby."

The heat of his open palm is reassuring on her still-flat stomach. She smiles, mirroring his joy, and keeps his hand there, holds it in place with her own.

"We're going to have a baby."

There is never going to be a right time she realizes.

But that's ok.

It's ok if he's there with her, holding her hand through it all. As long as he's there with her, she thinks, she is brave enough to do anything. They can take on the world and be none the wiser for it.

He is her rock and he grounds her. Now more than ever when her soul feels light enough that she just might float away.

"As far as your brother is concerned, this baby is conceived immaculately. Agreed?"

She snorts and kisses his forehead. As if Nii-sama is the person he should be worried about!

Clearly her absentminded idiot is forgetting about his overly enthusiastic father and the man's over-the-top antics and flair for drama during the bi-monthly Kurosaki family dinners, scheduled to happen sometime this week.

Rukia humours him anyway. He'll catch on soon enough.

"Agreed."

FF/ao3

Reblog, review, like or comment or even ask to send some love my way :D

#ichiruki #ichiruki month 2020 #IR month 2020 #of soap suds and broken dishes #mine #fanfic #us against the world #warning: FLUFF #all is well #686 who?#day 9: us against the world

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yandere-wishes · 5 years ago

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Twisted Wonderland// Yandere!Staff//

Note that due to a lack of content to work with these characters might appear a little too identical to their Disney counterparts. Director Crowly will later either have his Oneshot or will be added to this. Bear in mind this post may be edited once the game is released.

Warnings: Certain parts of this fanfiction may include abuse and toxic relationships

Divus Crewel

Divus is a sadistic and cruel yandere. His attraction to you was practically imidate. It could be established on simply your outwards appearance, gorgeous eyes, exquisite figure, full lips. Waves of lust coursed through him whenever he laid his stormy grey irises on you. To him, your beauty is not something that needs to be hidden, on the contrary Divus shall go to great lengths to flaunt your charm. Nor does he particularly wish to keep your physical appearance "safe". Lord knows that his punishments are harsh and will always leave many marks. For Divus it's more so about keeping your beauty for himself.

"My, my what a lovely little puppy you are..."

More often than not the monochrome haired man will view you as an exotic pet and he'll strut you around as such. He'll dress you in the most elaborate (and sometimes skimpy) outfits there are. All in shades of black and white with taints of red, silver or gold. Sometimes it'll be a skin-tight halter dress. Other times it could be a spotted mini flared skirt accompanied with a fitted crop top. And of course, you'll always be wearing a red collar as an extra precaution so everyone knows exactly who you belong to.

"...Know come here so I can give you a treat"

As statted before Divus is immensely sadistic, any little stunt has a very painful punishment. Most times he'll chain you up and burn you with a cigarette. Twisting the tip as you scream out for help and mercy all while your skin sizzles. He isn't above using beating you, either using a wipe or his baton. In the end, Divus might even make you thank him, depending on how creative he gets with your punishment. In his warped mind, the scars left by these punishments only make you more beautiful.

Mozus Trein

Mozus is the manipulative type, preferring to twist your thoughts and feelings instead of ever really physically hurting you. He'll spin every word that has ever escaped either of your vocal cords. Twist and mangle them into a beneficial misrepresentation for his selfish desires.

Mozus will prefer to keep you locked away somewhere secluded, most likely away from the college and all the bothersome students and nosey teachers. This will, of course, be hell for you. At first, it was the inability to move for six hours a day. Chained up in the attic with a locked door and no windows. At first, it was modifying, every little noise sent you into an agitated state. If you weren't busily panicking or failing to free yourself. You would sit down and cry and cry and cry until Mozus got back. He'd scold you for being weak but would then sit next to you wiping away your fallen tears. Cooing about how he was here know and you needn't be scared.

"(Y/N)...."

Soon you'll begin to anticipate your capture's return. Despite still getting scared of pretty much every bump, you'd try and compose yourself not wanting to look weak in front of him. You'd visually brighten up when he'd finally walk through that dreaded door, so happy and acquiescent for his company.

After he witnesses how compliant you've become he'll permit you a tiny ounce of freedom. He'll unchain you before he heads off to work. You'd still have to remain in the attic while he'd lock the door and hide the key somewhere. Once he sees that you've made no attempts to escape we'll slowly permit you to roam throughout the house in his absence.

Oh, but he'll always leave you with a large list of chores to complete before he gets back. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc. They must all be done perfectly and in six hours. If even the slightest mistake is made you're back to being chained up in the attic. Mozus is a smart man, he knows the more your mind is preoccupied with day to day tasks, the less likely you are to make any foolish attempts at an escape.

"....I have a job for you"

Mozus is indeed in love with you, that why he tries to keep you compliant and by his side. You're safe here, sure you don't see it know and probably hate him for robbing you of your precious freedom. But in due, you'll see his ways and will love him for all he's done for you.

Ashton Vargas

Ashton is very picky when it comes to dating anybody, sure women constantly throw themselves at his feet but really what's the point? Those women may be attractive but their also needy and demand constant attention. Ashton has a very hard time devoting much time to anyone else but himself. If he's in some form of a committed relationship with anyone then they would have to be able to stand on their own two feet and give him space.

So it shouldn't be such a huge revelation that he somehow begins to find the quite girl somewhat attractive. The narcissistic man will soon begin to obsess over someone other than himself.

He'll follow you around, trying to remain out of sight. It's difficult not really, his rather...buffy to be well hidden. He'll practically fall in love with everything you do. The way you're off in your little world oblivious to everything around you. The way there is a certain glid every step you take as if your walking on puffy clouds.

Ashton will talk to you, boast and gloat about practically everything. His looks, his strength, his charming persona. I'm sure you can imagine the vigorous punch it'll be when you show indifference to him. You might not even say anything, yet he knows that you don't care.

"Oh, love..."

This will cause the Night raven PE teacher to go into a frenzy of sorts. His attention won't be constantly on you per se... more so when he isn't thinking of himself, you occupy the better halve of his thoughts. On one particular night, Ashton will take note of the lack of attention he's been paying himself lately. A great portion of his attention is spent on you. Where are you, what are you doing, are you with someone else? The images of you with anyone other than him drove him crazy.

The kidnapping was rather unorthodox, he simply barges into your residence, breaking either a door or window in the prosses. He'd pluck you up, throwing you over his shoulder and simply walk out like everything was normal. You can scream and fight all that you want it's useless, Ashton is just way too strong.

"....You're so lucky to have me by your side"

Once Ashton has you in his grasp things will slowly go back to normal.... as normal as things can be. His main focus will still be himself but he still notices you. He makes sure that you know he does truly care for you even if you are second best.

Sam

Sam is a sneaky manipulative yandere with certain protective qualities. Sam doesn't really care what he has to do to gain your affection. Name your price and it shall be yours! Jewels, riches, expensive clothes, anything, anything at all! All the storekeeper asks in return is your stark love and affection.

At first, he'd lure you, by gifting you little trinkets. Than jewels followed by exquisite dresses. He'd fool you quite easily making you think that he really only has your best interest in mind. You begin to listen to him, do whatever it is he asks of you.

It starts off innocently, helping at Mr. S's Mystery Shop -*cough* fantasy costco *cough*- inventory, helping confused customers, etc. Then it got more personal... asking for your help with dinner, laundry, cleaning the house when he was preoccupied with the store. It was like you live there now, so when Sam "officially," asked you to move in with him you just couldn't decline...

"Don't test me (Y/N)...."

That's not true, you did dismiss the invitation at first. But then when you tried to go back to your own home, back to your family and close friends, things seemed off. Their actions were odd and sluggish. They never acknowledge you're presence, never really spoke to you either. You found yourself fleeing back to Sam's store, crying in his arms about how your loved ones did want you anymore. Shockingly, Sam was still all so kind as to let you move in with him. So kind so sweet as he'd always been.

"I have friends on the other side."

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thecrownedbeastarchive · 6 years ago

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Unholy (Priest!Michael LangdonxReader)

Author’s note: This was a Millory fanfic I wrote a few months back. I edited it to be a Michael LangdonxReader fanfic. I thought you all would enjoy it! More fanfic to come thanks to your requests. 💜

Warnings: public masturbation, blasphemy, domination, bondage, nsfw

You were a faithful churchgoer. From your first breaths to now, your parents had instilled in you a sense of dutiful religion. The first thing you’d done after moving away from home was find a local church; and you found a perfect one in The Cathedral of Our Lady of Purity. The congregation was warm and welcoming, you felt at home instantly. The church leaders were devoted men of God, upright and holy. You believed they were the perfect shepherds to your soul. All except for one. A tall, young priest by the name of Father Michael Langdon.

Your trepidation had no basis in outward appearance. He was by all accounts a calm, disciplined man who took great care for the disenfranchised and delivered the most impassioned sermons you’d ever sat under. He was charismatic, helpful, walking in a regal dignity one expects of a representative of Christ. Perhaps it was his looks that so unnerved you. Often when looking upon him at the altar, you would compare him to the stone and stained glass angels encompassing the sanctuary. His golden hair would glow from the streaming sunlight, casting a halo around his head. His face was artwork, not one feature ill placed or imperfect. His eyes were blue as the heavens, and could hold you fast in your place like a command from God himself. His lips…You shook your thoughts away. Father Langdon had plagued your mind for three months. You would scold yourself, commanding your body to free itself from carnal desires; but the image of his mouth, his body, his manhood hidden under black trousers you wanted to see free and throbbing-Oh God! This was your reason for going to confession today. You’d been neglecting it, but now you knew you couldn’t give allowance to your sins any longer. The Cathedral was as grand and opulent as any; white columns, golden holy imagery welcoming the searching soul. There was a smattering of people, elderly men and women praying, some deacons milling about. The left door of the confession booth opened and a middle aged man stepped out, tipping his hat as he passed you. You entered the booth, making the sign of the cross upon sitting down, and took a deep breath, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 3 months since my last confession.”

Your blood chilled when a familiar dulcet voice came from the other side, “I would have pegged you for more of a faithful confessor than that, (Y/N),” the voice chuckled.

Your legs tensed as you instinctively fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, “Father Langdon…”

The lattice of the window separating you still allowed the general shape of his blond locks to peek through, “I’m sorry, I know that’s not an appropriate thing for a priest to say at confession. I just hate how formal this has to be. I consider us friends, (Y/N),” his voice inexplicably dropped to just above a whisper, “Don’t you?”

You swallowed, your chest thumping, “Yes, but would a friendship at all impede this sacrament?”

His silence made you clarify, “I mean, for there to be bias on both sides.”

He hummed, a vibration that made your breath catch, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. There is no one better to confess to than a friend.”

The booth was suddenly cramped, musty. Your throat dry like a desert.

“The Lord has also given me a unique talent,” he continued, “an ability to discern the darkness of human souls. Those hidden sins, forbidden lusts that wake them late at night,” his tone was penetrative, “cause them to writhe upon their bed. I can unravel their mysteries and bring them to the light.”

You closed your legs even tighter, desperately ignoring the pulse between them, “I don’t have any dark places.”

“None?” He played with every word like a cat with its prey, “If we say we have not sin, we are a liar and the truth is not in us.”

You cleared your throat, the heat beneath your skirt begging for attention, “I meant, of course I have a sinful nature, but I simply don’t possess as deep a dark place as you speak of,” you dug your nails into your thigh, “I’ve never been one to contemplate on sinful things.”

A tense silence hung in the booth before he spoke, “I can sense that in you, (Y/N),” he finally said, “A purity of heart. Yet surely you didn’t come to confession to brag about your own holiness.”

Your voice trembled, barely leaving your mouth, “Of course not.”

His smile was dripping off his tone, “What is thy sin?”

You closed your eyes, imagining it were any other priest, pushing through with gritted teeth, “I have been assaulted by the Devil in more…potent ways than ever.”

“Are these the Devil’s sins, then?” He interrupted.

You paused, caught off guard, “No, Father, they are mine.”

“Then claim them, (Y/N),” his voice was a whisper, cajoling, tender, “Tell me that you have committed sins…and have taken great pleasure in them.”

Your mind felt hazy, “I have allowed my mind to be filled with perverted fantasies against a fellow Christian.”

“How often, my child, have you dwelt on these fantasies?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his tone was…desperate, “Months. I have welcomed sin into my heart and mind, and have let my imagination run wild.”

“Where does it run to, (Y/N)?”

“Lusts of the flesh,” you dodged coyly, “unbecoming to a young woman of faith.”

“Speak them,” he commanded.

You nearly jumped at the sudden change, “Father Langdon?”

“Tell me of your lusts,” he demanded again.

Your voice was so tiny, your heart leaped into your throat, “I don’t think-��

“Sin can only be absolved once it is fully confessed, (Y/N),” you heard him moving, his form leaning closer to the window, “Tell me of your desires. This fellow Christian, as you call them, what do you think of them doing when your imagination takes hold? Are their lips upon yours? Delighting in the sweetness of your mouth with a chaste kiss? Or are they hungry? Ravenous as their tongue dances over yours? Do they bite your lips, drawing beads of blood before licking them clean?”

Your core throbbed at his words. Your mouth hung agape, shallow breaths escaping.

“Are you naked?” Even the way he spoke the word was sinful, “Have your clothes been discarded on the floor in a heap, leaving your sensitive, aching pussy exposed to their lustful eyes?”

Every inch of your flesh was hot and riddled with goosebumps. Not simply from what he said, but how it was as if he’d plucked your own thoughts from your mind and was reading them aloud.

“Are you against the wall?” He stifled a little moan, “On your knees? Spread out on silk sheets, a delicious morsel all for the taking, for devouring? Tell me, (Y/N),” it was like his voice was right next to your ear, “tell me everything that’s in that slutty imagination of yours. Confess every sinful perversion you’ve dreamt about committing,” he chuckled darkly, “the ones you long to have committed against you.”

Your fingers slipped under your panties as if of their own will. You massaged your pulsing clit, your folds already wet with desire.

He continued in agonizing detail, his cadence falling into a steady rhythm to which you pumped two fingers in and out of yourself, biting your lip to detain your ardent whimpers.

“Do you feel their teeth on your soft skin, greedy fingers toying with your hard nipples? Where is their tongue? Is it licking your wetness, spreading it over your lips, or teasing your needy slit? Are their lips gently wrapping around your clit and sucking? Can you hear,” he paused on each word, tasting them, “the slick…wet…sounds? The growling need as they gorge themselves on your perfect, sweet, delectable cunt?”

Hot shame flooded you, but you kept going…faster, harder. What would those poor congregants think if they knew you were making such a filthy scene for the priest?And yet that made your desire grow.

“Can you feel them slide up your body, their hard cock pressing against your soaked thighs? Can you taste yourself on their lips? Do you taste good, (Y/N)?”

An obscene noise almost freed itself from your throat, but you placed a hand over your mouth.

“Do you wrap your legs around their waist like an eager little slut? Are you begging, whining to have them slam their thick, throbbing cock into your pussy over and over again until you cum all over it, screaming?”

His voice was thick with need, “Do you feel yourself stretching around them, taking in every inch? Do you like being filled?” He paused, “Answer me, little lamb.”

Barely trusting your own voice, you whispered, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

You could hear the satisfied grin behind his words, “Do you want to be fucked aggressively? Do you want me to use you as my plaything, my own personal whore to pound my cock into? Do you want to please me?”

You felt yourself climbing towards the edge, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

You sounded so pathetic, “Father Langdon,”

He changed pace, as if sensing your closeness; gently guiding you towards your orgasm, “How about I take you slowly? Whisper blasphemies in your ear while I slip in and out of your yearning pussy? Tell you how you feel like Heaven around my dick. Worship you like an idol, sweet hymns escaping my throat in my moans because you feel so fucking good. My ultimate praise spilling out inside you, anointing you as mine.”

The word was like a signal, releasing your tension as you rode the high. As you came down, your breathing slowed, and your mind gained back enough sense to panic over whether or not anyone outside had heard.

“Does that sound like your fantasies, (Y/N)?” He sounded so casual now, returned to his calm, disciplined self.

“Yes, Father Langdon,” you muttered breathlessly.

“Are you sated?”

You removed your fingers from your panties, quickly searching your bag for a tissue to wipe them on, your face painted red, “For the moment, yet they seem stronger than ever.”

He laughed, “Such is the nature of man. Perhaps we could discuss your sins in further detail at a later time.”

You froze at the implication, and scorned how it made a new wave of excitement crash over you.

“Find a way to…absolve them in a more tangible way.”

You sniffled, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

There was a knowing, excited lilt to his voice, “Peace be with you, (Y/N).”

“And with you also,” you returned quickly, stepping outside the booth and trying to hurry outside in the most inconspicuous way possible. Perhaps it was your own anxiety, but you were sure a few squinting glares were thrown your way.

You had never felt more out of place than at Mass the following Sunday from your sinful encounter at confession. Every utterance of holy Scripture burned on your tongue, the wine of communion soured in your stomach. Even your outfit, a draped white blouse and black skirt with heels felt more scandalous today despite wearing it hundreds of times before. you sat at the end of your usual pew, legs pressed together tightly and hands folded demurely in front of you. Your eyes darted everywhere, terrified that somehow the other congregants could read your mind; because all you could think about was Father Langdon’s dulcet voice as he uttered deliciously sinful words right inside the four walls of the holy of holies. Without a single touch, he’d ravaged you so completely. The hymns you sang erupted from constricted breath as you imagined him slipping his elegant fingers between your legs and bringing you to ungodly bliss. You felt hot to the touch beneath the glass stares of saints and angels. You were thankful another priest delivered the sermon today; grateful how utterly boring he was, how completely dispassionate. One of Langdon’s beautiful orations would have been a detriment to your ability to stay calm. When the service ended, you gathered your purse and hurried towards the exit, desperate to feel the chilly winter breeze.

“(Y/N)!” The voice stopped you in your tracks, “Always a pleasure to see you,” Langdon commented sincerely, walking up to you with his hand outstretched for a friendly greeting. You didn’t accept it, and words spilled out of your mouth hastily, “Father Langdon, I want to apologize for what happened at my confession. I should not have let myself give into temptation so eagerly, and in my sin I led you astray. I pray you can forgive me.”

He cocked his head, offering you a playful smile and sympathetic eyes, “Oh, (Y/N), there’s nothing to forgive.”

Your lips parted in surprise, “But…”

He motioned for you to walk with him a bit further away from the crowd, which you did reluctantly, “Human nature is such a fickle beast. If you tell it not to do something, it desires it all the more. The fruit never looked so appetizing until it was forbidden,” he looked at you, “Have you ever read Oscar Wilde, (Y/N)?”

You shook your head.

“Brilliant writer,” he stopped, your eyes meeting, “Perhaps my most favorite quote from him is, “The only way to get rid of temptation, is to yield to it.” I must confess that quote alone influences more of my theology than some parts of Scripture,” he admitted sheepishly before giving a wink, “But that can be our little secret.”

Heat bloomed in your chest, “I’m afraid I don’t really understand.”

He spoke with his hand, the member gliding gracefully through the air, “Consider what happened at your confession as an extreme form of penance. Getting the sin out of your system, freeing the mind,” he smiled, “As long as it is taboo, it dominates your mind, but when you are allowed expression, you dominate it.”

As irregular as it was, you took some comfort in the holy man’s explanation. Though, the ugly head of jealousy peeked through as you thought of anyone else being “helped” by him, “Has your extreme form of penance worked before?”

His eyes lazily rolled over your figure, smile turning impish, “Are you asking whether or not I’ve made other congregates cum like you?”

Hearing him say it aloud, even so intimately quiet, caused familiar panic to jolt through you; along with a sharp pang of desire.

“No,” he chuckled, “My methods would have me removed from the Church.”

Confused, you tucked your hair behind your ear, “Then why…?”

“Why you?” He finished for you, gazing at you with an admiring look, “You’re different, (Y/N). There’s an aura about you, I don’t see any pretense in your faith. You’re…genuine,” he stepped closer, sending a trail of goosebumps down your spine, “Hypocrisy is such a rampant plague among the faithful. In you I see the true image of God. Divinity given human hands.”

You blushed further, if it were possible, “I’ve never seen myself as anything special like that.”

He took your hand between his, the comforting warmth intoxicating, “Then you do your Creator a great disservice, for he made you with a crown upon your head,” he looked away for the first time, as if embarrassed, “And, well, I was also purging my own sins in that confessional.”

Your heart jumped, “I didn’t think you thought of me in that way.”

He laughed, low and gentle, “I’ve thought of you in every way, (Y/N).”

You had a flashing thought of him pinning you against the pew, but threw it away. “And if you are willing,” he continued, letting go of your hand, leaving a trace of abandonment, “I’d like to make good on my offer for us to discuss this in more detail.”

Your mind demanded you say no. What kind of woman were you to be alone with the priest you lusted over?

“How so?”

He held his hands behind him, “Are you free on Friday night by any chance?”

You knew it was the decent thing to say no, “Yes, I am.”

“How about dinner at around 6-6:30? I promise I’m just as good a cook as I am a preacher.”

You nodded, “That sounds great.”

He looked so pleased, “Wonderful, let me tell you my address.”

You stared at yourself in the mirror of your bathroom for an hour; your makeup, your dress, your hair, even practicing how you would say hello. “Good evening, Father,” you smiled at your reflection before shaking your head. Too formal. You gave a toothy grin, nearly bouncing on your heels, “Hi! Thanks for inviting me.” You groaned, cringing. Too peppy. You took in a deep breath and said pleasantly, “Hi, Father Langdon. Thank you for inviting me.” You sighed, frustrated with yourself, and shut off the light, heading into your room. You grabbed your purse and keys, taking one last glance in the mirror before leaving. You didn’t know what to expect his house to look like, but it didn’t come as a surprise as you pulled into the driveway. It was a modern Victorian home, painted black. A small garage sat adjacent to a set of stairs leading to the door underneath an archway. Three windows gazed over the garage in a semicircle overlook, the glass giving a peek inside. It wasn’t gaudy in any way, but it was most certainly gothic set against the starry sky. You locked your car and cautiously mounted the steps, ringing the silver button doorbell; a pleasant chime emanating from inside. After a few moments, the door opened; Father Langdon’s gracious tone welcoming you. “Hello, (Y/N).” He was everything you expected from the feet up, black boots and pants; but it shifted once your eyes drew up. He wore a black shirt, sleeves reaching to his wrists, a normal solid collar around his neck, but his shoulders and collar bones were exposed through mesh, stopping just above his chest. His smile was genuine, under eyes framed in black eyeshadow. He was a vision of something so feminine, yet radiating with power. You were hit with a bout of shock. A strange feeling formed in your chest, confusion, desire, fear all swirling together. You mumbled a hello under your breath. “I’m so glad to see you.” You managed a squeaky, “You too.” He stepped back, extending his arm, “Please come in.” You stepped inside the little parlor. Cylindrical lights hung from the ceiling, bathing the cream walls in a gentle hue; an ornate black staircase leading to the second floor. “You look beautiful,” he commented looking over your simple dress. You breathed for what felt like the first time since seeing him, “Thank you. You look…different.” He chuckled, “I like playing with expectations,” he quirked an eyebrow, “Do you like it?” You gulped, “I do, it looks…” you held yourself back from saying ‘sexy’, “Good.” He smirked, as if reading your thoughts, and invited you to the dining room. Dinner went by normally. You talked about life. How you were fairing in college, how your family was doing back home, etc. He never went into too much detail about himself, even when you would ask. He only told you that he had moved to the city after his ailing grandmother died and that he��d been a minister for five years. Nothing else, he was strangely guarded for how sociable you knew him to be at the Cathedral. Afterward, you’d moved to a small sitting room, where he poured two glasses of wine. He handed you the glass and settled into the leather chair, taking a sip, “So, tell me, if we may get down to business, pardon the expression,” he laughed, “what attracts you to me?” You stopped, your lips parted over the rim of your glass. He grinned sympathetically, “Come, there really is no point in being coy about it. And that is why we’re here,” he sipped before setting it on a small table next to him, “To exorcise your demons, so to speak.” You swallowed a too big gulp of the wine before nervously fingering the stem, “You’re…very attractive, charismatic, charming,” you glanced up at him, “you command a room.” He hummed, intertwining his fingers, “Have you often had attractions to authority figures in your life?” You thought of your youth minister back in 9th grade. He was a cute, recent seminary graduate; you became his favorite student to gain his attention. Guys your age just didn’t appeal to you all that much. “Some.” “Do you like being dominated?” He asked it so brazenly, it hit you like a slap to the face. You shrugged, stuttering, “I…I guess I have a proclivity to…follow the rules.” His voice became a commanding growl, his controlled expression never shifting, “That’s not what I asked.” Heavy heat settled between your legs at his tone; you yipped a response, like following an order, “I like the idea of it.” His hand rested under his chin, his eyes burning with curiosity, “Why? Is it being helpless?” You shook your head, your voice maintaining a tinny as you confessed, “Not helpless. Just the idea of being corrupted,” you looked him in the eyes, “Of an attractive older man taking an innocent and dirtying me up. Letting go of certain standards that keep me so rigid.” A low, pleased note rumbled behind his smirk, “Are you a virgin, (Y/N)?” You cleared your throat, “Technically I suppose, I’ve never been…penetrated.” your face was red, “I let one guy finger me, but it was kinda uncomfortable.” He tilted his head, waiting for you to explain. “Like, he was kinda rough and he sorta blamed me for not cumming.” That made his lip curl into a snarl, “What a stupid, useless boy.” Your pulse pounded in your ears, breathing becoming shallow. He remained a vision of calm confidence. He gripped both arms of his chair, leaning closer, something dark coloring his eyes, “What makes you wet?” A spear of cold shock and yearning pierced your core, “I’m sorry?” His smile grew, slightly shaking his head, as if at a young child’s antics. He leaned back, looking like a king on his throne, “What makes,” his tone was languid, “your gorgeous little pussy hungry for a big cock to pin you down and own you?” You released an audible gasp, your body trembling. You swallowed hard, “What you just said.” He nodded, “Dirty words. What else?” You felt entranced, his icy eyes stripping away your inhibitions, “Things that are forbidden, things that would make me seem like a whore.” “Hmmm…” He bit his lower lip, moving his hand; his fingers practically danced from his chest to just above his belt, “It’s quite forbidden for anyone, let alone a priest, to touch themselves while another looks on.” You watched his hand glide to his crotch, palming the growing bulge, licking your lips at his tiny groans of pleasure as he played; his knuckles were white, gripping the leather, “Do you like that?” You nodded, a bit too eagerly. He giggled, a breathy evil sound, “What’s the dirtiest thing you can think to do right now?” Your voice was thick, “Crawl on my hands and knees and grind on your cock.” He let out another chuckle as he bit his lip again, his hand palming the black fabric of his pants faster, needing more friction, “You naughty little sinner, wanting to seduce a man of the cloth like that,” he sneered, “Shame on you.” You set your glass on a counter, dropping to your knees and crawling to him slowly, your eyes wide and reverent. He held out his hand to beckon you, and you sat on his lap; releasing a choked moan as his bulge bucked against your wet slit through your panties. Your hips rocked slowly, earning you a needy groan from him; his hands grabbing your ass, “Oh, temptress, what man beset by you could resist?” He pulled you closer, making you move a little faster. His lips left wet kisses on your neck, your skin soft and flushed under the attention of his mouth. “The things I want to do to you,” he growled. His tongue licked a stripe from the curve of your neck to your ear, softly biting it, “Will you let me purge you, (Y/N)? Will you let me cleanse you of all these filthy lusts?” Your hands clutched his shirt, your head thrown back; you intended to grind out every frustrating urge he made you feel. Without warning, his hand was at your throat; gripping just tight enough to cause your eyes to be taken over by fear, then lust. “You’re such a pretty little lamb,” he muttered, his other hand sliding up your body to cup your breast, “straying from the flock of the faithful to play with the wolves,” he chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the now hardened nipple through the dress fabric, “Such a bad little saint. But you crave the wolf, don’t you?” His lips hovered just above yours, “You want to feel that wild, uncontrollable passion, you want to be left gasping, aching, the wolf’s fang marks left in your skin. So when your good shepherd finds you, you’ve been dirtied, defiled,” he tightened his grasp, “claimed.” You moved your hand to brush over his clothed cock. He wrenched you closer, your warm breath passing between your lips, “And even when you’re back safe and sound in your little pen, you’ll be thinking about the wolf and how fucking good he felt. Because no one has ever touched you like he did.” You looked like a frightened deer, doe eyes filled with desire. “Get on the floor.” You slipped off of him, your bare knees hitting the carpet. “Take out my cock,” he commanded. You undid his belt and pulled down his pants, freeing him. Hunger overtook you as you wrapped your lips around the head, sucking gently. He gasped, “Eager little slut.” You massaged his balls, taking more of him into your mouth. He groaned, fingers threading through your hair. You gripped his thighs, gagging as he hit the back of your throat. He moaned and began to roll his hips, fucking his cock in and out of your mouth. Drool poured down his shaft as you moaned gargled noises around his thickness. Tears pricked at your eyes as you pulled back, his dick making a wet pop as it exited your mouth; a strand of saliva still connecting your bottom lip to his head, now red and leaking. He caressed your cheek as you dragged your tongue over each ridge, lapping up his precum. “Come here,” his raspy voice demanded.

You propped yourself on his knees, your eyes falling to his full, beautiful lips. He tipped your chin with his forefinger, “Oh, would you like a kiss?”

You responded quietly, “Please?”

He cupped the back of your head, bringing your foreheads together, your lips centimeters apart, “How adorable, my little lamb,” he tugged a fistful of your hair, “Maybe once you’ve earned it.” His gaze focused on your glossy mouth, “Although,” he leaned in to graze your bottom lip with his tongue, “I’d love to taste your adoration for my big cock in your pretty mouth.” He pulled back with a tiny smirk, “But patience is a virtue.” He delivered a swift, hard slap to your ass, your tiny yelp making his cock jerk. “Follow me.” Father Langdon’s bedroom was as sleek and dark as the rest of his décor; but the two main attractions were the three overlook windows you had noticed outside, and the large bed draped in red silk sheets and a black leather bed frame; two decorative pikes on either side of the headboard. You couldn’t help but eye the bed with curiosity, finding that the priest hid darker undertones of his personality in his most intimate places. “Take off your dress,” he ordered. You nearly jumped, turning around to see him taking three red cords from a little black box. He paused, meeting your eyes when you hesitated. He smiled gently, raising an eyebrow, “Please?” You stripped slowly, letting the dress pool around your feet. He looked you over. “Oh, (Y/N),” he responded breathlessly, twirling the red ties between his graceful fingers, “Heaven couldn’t create a more perfect form.” You blushed, your thighs were slick with arousal as he beckoned you forward; laying the ties neatly over the box. His fingers lazily dragged down your bare stomach before slipping just inside your panties, “How about I relieve some of your tension while you strip off my clothes.” You bit your lip, starting to unbutton his shirt; your blood boiling in anticipation. He moaned as his finger slipped inside your heat, his fingertip lazily rubbing your clit in slow, wide circles. Your knees nearly buckled beneath you; desperate noises breathily rising from your throat. Your hips moved with his rhythm, slipping his shirt off to hang from his forearms. Your hands softly drifted over his toned chest and broad shoulders, nails digging in when his fingers explored your dripping core more enthusiastically. He growled impatiently, snatching his fingers away to remove his shirt. He slid down, wrapping his arms under your thighs; forcing you to hold onto him tightly as he carried you to the windows, pinning you against the middle pane. “I can see practically the whole neighborhood from this view, (Y/N),” he latched onto your neck, sucking and licking up to your ear, “Let’s give any nosy neighbors a show.” His fingers slipped your panties off, throwing them aside. The cold glass stung your bare skin, the scandalous nature of your position pouring hot, depraved passion into your veins. His thumb pressed into your clit with fast, flicking strokes while he moved two fingers in and out of you with unrelenting speed. “I’ve dreamt about this sexy, virgin pussy since I met you,” he groaned in your ear, “I’ve stroked this thick, hungry cock for you every. single. night,” he repositioned to get a better grip on your ass, “Sometimes I’d stare out from the pulpit and fantasize about sinking my throbbing dick into you right there at the altar,” he sighed out a dark chuckle, “Fucking you before God and everyone. Making vile worship pour from your lips and gush around me.” He snarled, curling his fingers inside you, “God, you make me so fucking hard.” You clung desperately, unable to keep up with him; his bulge shoved tightly back into his pants reaching to grind just outside your entrance. “You like knowing that, don’t you?” He angled his head to lift up your bra with his teeth, his tongue seeking to violate your hardened nipples, “You like knowing that while I’m up there preaching about purity and chastity,” he surrounded your nipple with his lips and sucked, making a filthy wet sound as he released it, “That all I can imagine is pounding your hot, horny little hole until I cum inside you.” You choked out a pathetic whine, “Michael, just fuck me already!” It was jarring how quickly he could stop. His eyes glared into yours, soaked fingers pulling out to roughly grasp your chin, “What did you call me?” Terror spread in your chest, “I-I-“ “No,” he pressed down on your bottom lip with his thumb, “I didn’t ask for an explanation,” his expression was aflame, “I asked what you just called me.” You trembled. “Say it.” “Michael,” you answered weakly. “Dear little lamb,” he shook his head disappointedly, “I show you an ounce of mercy, and you think you can use my name so casually, simply command me to do your bidding?” He leaned in, his whispered voice like a razor, “In this room, there is only one god; and he demands respect.” You gulped, “I’m sorry, Father Langdon.” “Oh no, you’ve lost that privilege,” he moved his hand to grip the nape of your neck, “You may call me sir, until I decide you’ve been good enough. Is that clear?” There was no hesitation, “Yes, sir.” He hummed, “Now, I’m a merciful god, my little saint,” he applied a tighter pressure, “but you’ll have to pay due penance if you want me to bury this thick cock in your cunt and save you from your greediness.” Your cold terror was melted, warm lust still coating his bulge. “Get on the bed and face the left.” He dropped you to your feet and watched you crawl onto the mattress, sitting perfectly still on your knees. He brought over one of the red cords, “Hold out your wrists.” You obeyed silently, and he tied you to the pike, not too tightly, but enough to remind you that you were at his mercy. He walked back around to the other side, taking his sweet time; making you wait, your humiliation exposed to Heaven and his eyes alone. You felt like you should be ashamed, insulted at how he debased you. But it only made the need in your pussy throb harder. The palm of his hand connected with your skin, the sting making your cry out in surprise as you tried to bite back a delighted smile. “Stick out that perfect ass.” You leaned over a little farther, presenting before him. You could feel the mattress buckle as he climbed up behind you, pulling your thighs closer and spreading your legs, one hand firmly on your ass, and the other stretched underneath to cup your breast. You barely had time to react to his warm palm on your skin before he dragged his tongue up the full length of your opening. You gasped, gripping at the cord. He lavished every inch of your needy, saturate flesh with long, deep stripes; devouring you viciously, your cries of pleasure riling him up. You heard the rustling of fabric as he slipped off his pants, fully freeing himself. You sighed as he rubbed his pulsing head up and down your slit, bathing it in your cum. “You taste delicious, my little lamb,” he slid his body over yours, his chest against your back; you barely restrained yourself from bucking against his hard cock pressed between your cheeks. “Are you sorry for taking my name in vain?” He nuzzled next to your ear. “Yes, sir,” you breathed. “Do you feel that hard dick?” He thrusted slightly, parting your cheeks further, “Do you want to feel like a really dirty whore?” Shakily, you answered, “Yes, sir.” His smile brushed against your neck, “Would you like it if I put my cock in your perfect ass?” Your mind reeled. It was filthy, wrong, sinful- “Yes, sir, please do that.” He kissed your shoulder, “Say it, (Y/N), we’re well past guarded language.” You almost screamed, begging him, “Please, sir, put your fucking cock in my ass.” He seemed to genuinely pause, taking in your words, before laughing, “Ask and ye shall receive.” He kissed down your spine, sitting up on his knees and positioning his cock right over you, taking fingers full of your juices and slathering them into your asshole, gently massaging it open. You braced yourself against the pike, already aching at the touch. You felt his soaked head stretching you out; you groaned, a slight burning sensation quickly replaced by delicious agony as he gently worked himself in, telling you how tight and perfect you were. He built up a slow, steady rhythm, which you took notice of with a pang of endearment. He wrapped his arm around your waist, using his other hand to caress your hair, “You’re being such a good girl,” he hummed, “such a good, filthy girl.” He pulled out slowly, your body feeling empty, less grounded to reality when he did. You felt the bed shift again as he stood to retrieve the two other ties. When he was in front of you, you looked up at him under innocent, submissive eyes, your lips red and swollen from your biting them so hard. He smiled, tucking messy, sweat-soaked hair behind your ear, “Come up here.” You furrowed your brows, but lifted yourself up to meet him. He pulled you close, breathing out, “You earned this.” He brought your lips together, oddly chaste; simply delighting in your kiss, the feel of your mouths meeting in a covenant of longing. He released the kiss, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, “Are you ready to cum?” You nodded, “Yes, sir.” “Michael,” he corrected, “I want you to be able to scream my name.” He untied your hands, “Lay on your back for me and stretch out your arms.” Once you had, he tied both wrists; one to each pike, and your ankles together flat against the bed so you were in the position of a crucifix. He straddled you, running his hands all over your body, “My beautiful, spotless lamb.” He parted your thighs once more, indulging in the way your tied legs kept you tightly around him as he entered you. It wasn’t long before he decided to forego the gentleness and began pounding into you against the bed, much to your relief. His cock slipped in and out at a frantic pace, the sound of your hips crashing together, wetness dripping between them, your skin slick with sweat and arousal. You were whining pathetically, wishing you could dig your nails into his back with each thrust hitting the exact perfect spot. He pulled your hair back to expose your neck, biting hard enough to puncture the skin. You cried out his name, like honey on your tongue, your breath catching in your throat, as you drenched his thick length. He lapped up the droplets of blood and around the forming bruise, moaning into the open wounds as your fluids soaked his mouth and cock. He hooked his arms under your legs as you fell back, gasping from your pleasure. “Look at me,” he snarled pounding harder, even faster strokes. You met his gaze, your eyes glassy and inundated with pleasure while his burned with dark lust; his chest and throat rumbled with deep, gravelly growls as he came. He roared like an animal, baring his teeth and sinking them into your neck once more. You squealed at the flash of pain, but welcomed his warm wet tongue soothing the abused skin. You moved your hips in tandem, slowly now, your slick heat mixing, each movement massaging it further into you. He took two fingers and gathered your cum, holding it front of you. “Open your mouth.” You obeyed and he spread his messy fingers over your tongue. “Hoc est enim corpus meum, this is my body,” he whispered before placing it on his own tongue and taking you in a passionate kiss. He pulled out, chest heaving deep breaths as he untied you. Your arms immediately wrapped around him, leaving reverent kisses on his skin; he did nothing to admonish your eager affection. You lay there exhausted, wordless. He finally gazed into your eyes, kissing your forehead. “I was right. You did feel like Heaven.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x fem!reader #ahs apocalypse #ahs apocalypse au #priest!michael

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v01d-ch1ld · 5 years ago

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Bad Always Becomes Worse in Gotham, and Worse Usually Turns into Dead

Author’s note: Yes. This is an official update. Yes, it did take forever. No, sadly, I am not dead. This chapter is part of an all-nighter writing binge. At this point, I have written this chapter three times and I hope I am satisfied this time. I am using the power of emo music and naps to keep sane right now because my personal life is #rough at the moment so this is going to be that edgy™ chapter where afterward September and some of my real-life friends are going to ask me about my mental health. (If you guys are reading this I’m fine just super sleep-deprived and sore because of work and insomnia and caffeine are taking their toll.) Lean back and enjoy the ride.

Warning! This chapter contains descriptions of violence, rape, mental health disorders, drug use, and death. Do not read if you are squeamish or under the age of 13. (If you are 12 and on Tumblr you have problems anyways.)

Tonight was becoming a fickle thing. Jason was in desperate need of a plan. Bruce, four-time winner of Father of the Year, just took a victim to a mental asylum, like the warm and compassionate human being that he is. Nothing that had been done that night had really been her fault and it was nearing close to dawn. He was running out of time. If the sun rose and the Red Hood was still active he was toast. Then there was the lovely array of bullet wounds his ex-crush had given him. Jason didn’t know what to do. Becca had shot him and tried to kill him, he tried to kill her, saved her, tied her to a bedframe (ironically enough, the room she was tied up in used to be his when he lived at the manor), and then she broke free, shared a sob story, attacked his ex-employer, and then kissed him. That was a whole clusterfuck of mixed signals to be worked out with Roy, cigarettes, and about three bottles of scotch. Jason shook his head, he could focus on that later, he needed to call Kori so he could get his girl out of Arkham.

He hobbled out of the Batcave having left his hood, jacket, chest plates, one of his boots and his guns in the cave. He still had his own modified comlink on. That was something he never took off, and while he used the one installed in the HUD in his hood he kept one private one for his team on him at all times in case he felt the need to stray from Bruce’s morals and blow some fuck’s brains.

“Kori?” Jason quietly spoke into the com. The walls have ears in Wayne Manor. Those ears are named Timberly Jackass Drake and Damian “Demon Brat” Wayne. If they warn Bruce he’s sicking Kori and Artemis on him before he’s in a safe house then he’s fucked. Last time he deviated it took Red Hood out of commission for three months, he would be taking no such risks this time. He held his breath until he heard her respond.

“Hood, what is it? Are you okay?” Kori’s voice came through his earpiece clear as a bell. He let out his baited breath.

“Yes. I am at the manor. You need to come get me. I got hit a lot tonight.” Jason murmured, walking towards his old room like he is planning on resting.

“What happened? You Bats make dodging bullets look easy.” Kori teased but Jason heard the underlying concern. She was always so caring, even heartbroken. (Dick was a moron. End of story.)

“I was up against a sharpshooter. A familiar face. Remember when I told you about the girl that I lost?”

“Your beloved? But I thought she died.” He had told Kori that he loved her as much as she loved Dick. It wasn’t far off but he was pretty sure he loved his girl more. He smiled at that.

“It seems that she and I have that in common. Listen she’s in bad shape. We all know the kind of damage that the Joker can do. He made her a criminal and Bruce is taking her to Arkham. We need to intercept him and get her out of their hold and hide her so that maybe I can get her help. Crazy as she has been made to be she still listens to me.”

“Jason. Is this really the right call? She is unstable. She could be dangerous. Who knows how the Joker could have brainwashed her? You remember his mind tricks.” Kori’s voice is gentle like she understands the true bite of her words. Jason frowns because, yes, he does remember and she does have a valid point.

“I’m sure. Make sure we keep her in one of our more secure safehouses. Send Artemis and when you drop me off at the house, join her because she will need reinforcements no matter how much she protests.” Jason grunts as he lies down in the bed he had tied his friend to. He can’t get past that. Becca, his babydoll, was turned into the Jester. A shell.

“Okay, I will be there in a few minutes. I had to wrap something up.” She hangs up tersely. Translation: I was beating the fuck out of the gang lord I have been chasing and had to end it early because of your needy ass. Fuck it. He could deal with spoiling her fun later. He needed Becca safe.

04:07 GCPD Headquarters, Gotham City

Batman dragged the fighting and kicking Jester, though gagged and hogtied, into the police station. They had a cell waiting. He had removed her shoes because the wedge heel had been most unpleasant when hitting him in the ribs. Now she was still kicking him but through the Kevlar and titanium plates, he could hardly feel a thing. He had to used cord from his grapple to tie her up because the cuffs had been jimmied, the zip ties bitten off (hence, where the gag came in), and the rope broken with her enhanced strength. The weaved titanium of his grapple line would withstand her strength and tied the way he tied it would not come undone but only get tighter as she struggled.

Jim Gordon stood in the lobby of the building staring at the girl with a hard stare. He walks over and removed her gag.

“I want to know if there is any hope in saving you.” Of course, he did. Becca was friends with Barbra. Like Bruce, he had become a father to her. Jester looked up at him and bared each one of her teeth showing how her canine teeth have been slightly elongated and filed to sharp points, no wonder she had bitten through the zip ties.

“Men like you are the reason that people like me exist, to show the world that there is no hope.” She grins, “How’s Babs doing lately? Still can’t walk after all that physical therapy?” After that Batman, no Bruce, punched her in the stomach and Jester has the nerve to laugh.

Looking back on her father’s lessons, she laughs the way she was taught to laugh to inspire fear. Slowly and quietly chuckling, smirking and then picking up the volume gradually until the sound of her insanity bounced off the walls. Sneaking a look around she saw some of the officers look at her in horror. Gordon looked disheartened, Bruce was stoic.

“Take her to the holding cell and keep her tied up on the floor. And take the cot out,” Gordon barks to his men who respond with a shaky “yes sir” and cautiously approach the Jester, who is still doing her father proud, laughing up a storm. “The transfer truck should be here in an hour, we’ll take it from here.” He said to the Bat, who grunted his response and was gone in the time it took the commissioner to blink.

Shaking his head, Gordon watched as the drug a still laughing Jester to the area where her mugshot would be taken. He sighed, he never likes watching kids go through the process of being entered into the system.

04:47 a holding cell inside of Gotham City Police Headquarters

Lying on the floor of the cell Jester wanted to kill someone. Her arms were stretched uncomfortably, and her feet were numb, and she was cold. She supposed that she should also be in pain. For once she was glad that she couldn’t feel those sensations anymore. How long were they going to keep her waiting? Did she have to break out of here and WALK to the Asylum? She began to try to twist her wrists only to stop when she felt blood running down her arms. Great, now she was bleeding more than before. Jason may be on the wrong side of the law for her right now, but he was a great shot she had to admit. Almost as good as her teacher. Speaking of which, she still had to thank Floyd for giving her the custom pistols that are now locked up in evidence. Fuck she had to get those back those meant something to her dammit!

Rolling over, she looked through the tiny ass window that they give the jailbirds to taunt them with their freedom. Arching, her back she grabs the knife that she stole from her charming new boy-toy and prayed that it was the right knife. She began to test the blade against the wire and it cut. She almost screamed in joy but remembered that she was in a police station and it was only so long before one of the officers found out that she had escaped her bonds. Once she did, however, she wasted no time in breaking the lock with a combination of the knife and her doctored strength.

Near instantly the alarms started going off and the hallway was flooded with officers. I guess now would be the time to garner that plan to get her guns back. She started in on her prey with deadly efficiency. Taking one arm and immediately dislocating his shoulder and grabbing his gun while using him as a human shield from the first volley of bullets. Taking measured shots, she used the six-shot magazine to take out the best shots. Once they were down and she knew that she had better odds of dodging bullets she picked up one of the guns that had skittered across the now blood-stained floor and set to work. She shot the ones on point first as they were getting a little close, dropped a leg on some guy who was trying to grab her, caught his gun as he fell and shot him in the head. A dark-haired female officer cussed in Spanish as she walked into the room grabbing her gun from her shoulder holster. Electric green eyes snapped to her and she was shot in the right shoulder in an instant, the gun falling out of her hand. Turning and shooting three more men who were coming from behind she takes the top off the gun and jams it into another officer’s throat picking up two pistols she shot down another cop who had walked in before he could cock his shotgun. Blood now covered some of the walls in an indiscriminate pattern.

“IIIIIIIII S-SHOULD HAVE WARNED YOOOOOOOOU!” Jester screams before she begins to cackle like the hellcat she is. Rushing the last few men, she slides through the pooling blood in the hall toward the now open shotgun. Picking it up, crouching, and cocking in a swift move she fires blowing one man about a yard back and scattering his insides all over part of one of the walls and the floor. Loading and spin cocking the gun Terminator-style, she proceeds to dispatch a few more policemen before she strolls out of the hall with five guns strapped to her and 6 more shotgun cartridges. More cops stand in front of her as she starts a bloodbath.

Meanwhile

05:04 Gotham City Police Headquarters

Jason Todd didn’t know what to think, but the Red Hood was already unholstering his pistols by the time he got inside the building. Once he got inside though, even the Red Hood froze. His babydoll was straight-up murdering the police. They stood no chance. Granted, he himself is capable of doing what she is doing right now but he had never had the cause. He never simply decided that he was going to murder an entire police station, but here she was doing exactly that. Gordon was returning fire with his revolver from behind an upturned desk, several other officers were taking a page from his book and using desks as shields too. The Jester was also behind a desk, more visible from his angle and using some complicated gun tricks and a mirror to further up her kill count.

“By the Gods,” gasped Artemis from behind him to his left. She was right. This was almost Ares-level carnage. He almost turned around to alter the plan he set up somewhat when Jester made a move.

Rushing to the right and into a smaller hallway off the room she shoots two more officers in the head and breaks into the room at the end of the small hallway. The police share a collective curse, still not having noticed the Outlaws in their headquarters. That room was evidence and weapons lock up. Guns from every recent arrest in the city were stored there. Now she had an arsenal.

Arsenal, Jason’s best friend not thing that Jester was currently drooling over behind the doors of evidence lock-up, spoke up in Jason’s com right then: “Hey buddy? Need some help?” he offers coolly. Jason knows for a fact that this is now being televised and that his time was now super limited.

“I am so glad to hear from you right now. Yes, I need you to find me the closest and most secure safehouse you can.” Jason was not about to tell his friend to come here. Not when he was still recovering from Slade kicking his bowed behind to Bludhaven and back. Roy lets out a curse, most likely due to not being invited to the fun.

“Fuck you always know how to dampen my hopes, man. Alright. I’ll give you a location in 15 minutes.”

“You have five, Hood out.”

BOOM!

“Oh fuck! What’s happening now?!” one of the officers shouts. That came from evidence. Everybody’s head turns to see grenades coming out of lock-up. Shit. Artemis tackled him behind the desk closest to the Commissioner’s office. Starfire had dived the opposite direction with two other officers behind one of the vending machines that had been flipped sideways. The detonation killed one more officer leaving only the Outlaws, two detectives, Gordon alive. Jester took this opportunity, her pistols, and a machine gun and broke for the exit, spreading the ammo from the gun so that no one could shoot back at her. Once on the street, she booked it.

Jason cursed. Out of his grasp again.

Batman was going to be pissed.

19:00 Dock 19 Gotham City Harbor

Jester crawled out of the shadows to a familiar warehouse. One of the many lairs her father had and where she was to report if she ever got caught. Not even Batsy knew about this one. She walked inside with her head held low out of exhaustion. She had been careful not to be seen all day. But now that darkness had fallen she longed for a joint and her bed. Walking in past the lookouts who were very surprised to be seeing her so soon after she got caught by the Bats, she stumbled upon Ivy and Harley having date night on the couch. Gross. Choking down bile, she drags herself into her area she flops down onto a pile of beanbags and begins to grind.

Her head was spinning with adrenaline and stress and her hands shook when she opened her grinder. Taking out her jar of weed that Ivy, one of the secret villain stoners, had grown specifically for her. It was basically really strong Sherbet Indica times about twenty. She is just about done grinding when she finally gets noticed.

“Ah, look what the cat dragged in.” Harley teased while she was in Ivy’s arms. Ivy looked down on her with disapproval, Harley ignored her as always. She really needed to start learning that being a brat would only get you into trouble with the doms she hung out with. Rolling her eyes Jester decided to ignore her. But that never worked with Harley Quinn the bitch would only try harder. “I’m surprised your new boy-toy doesn’t have you tied up.”

“Oh, he did Harl and guess what? I can defiantly say that it was better than any action you’ve gotten from a guy lately.” Nodding her respect for Pam. That bitch’s tongue could solve world peace if used applicably and almost every female villain knew it. Jester included after one night of a lot of rough flirting. It took a lot of gin, but the look on Harley’s face was worth it.

“Like you would know? You’ve only had sex like what three times? And two of them were MY sloppy seconds!” she squeaked indignantly. Jester had to admit that stung. Joker had raped her twice shortly after her arrival in his custody. While the act had only lasted less than half an hour each time, the pain and the mental scarring had been debilitating for weeks. It was something for which not even Jester could forgive him.

“At least I’ve never had chlamydia!” Jester flung back at her, rolling her joint deceptively calm.

“You little skank! I’ve never had chlamydia!” Harley yelled just a little too loudly for it to be true. Pamela looked at her in a very motherly way. Tired of our shit.

“Yeah that’s why you had to put on that fugly looking brunette wig, so you could go to the free clinic last month. Remember me laughing at you after I drove you there?” Jester said smirking evilly from her rolling tray.

“I-I, you little-“ Harley was cut off by the booming rage of the Joker.

“JESTER COME HERE NOW!” and with that, Harley was sent into fits of glee, laughing so hard she fell off the couch.

“Y-you a-are in so much trouble.” She panted between giggling fits.

Jester rolled her eyes, took her joint, lit it, dragged, and puffed the smoke at Harley and ashed it on her while she was rolling on the floor with tears in her eyes laughing. She yelped when the hot ash burned her stomach. Jester snarled at her as she walked past Harley and Ivy and up the stairs that led to the upstairs part of the warehouse where her father was waiting.

“What happened!?” he yelled, spittle going everywhere.

“First, say it don’t spray it,” that earned her a hard slap, “Second, I ran into some unforeseen circumstances.” She shrugged and dragged her joint. That was all there was to say on the matter. She was not about to tell “I have killed people for looking at my daughter wrong” that she had reconnected with her old crush. Like hell.

“Oh, really? And what exactly were those unforeseen circumstances?” He was pissed now. It was all in the narrowing of his eyes, the intensity of their chemical glow, the twist of his smile. He rested his head on his hands with his eyes half-lidded. That was usually when people started to decorate the walls.

“A rather rambunctious and familiar pain in my ass by the name of Red Hood.” That was a double touch on her part cleverly disguised as a dig on the bat family.

“I see. Make sure our little failed boy blunder doesn’t ruin any other parties we have in the future due to your incompetence. Understand?” he’s sneering at this point.

“Understood.”

“Just wait until you hear my plan for our next party, Daddy! I promise you will have the time of your life!”

“I had better.”

The smoke carried on into the shadows and dissipated.

@schweeeppess @dcuniverse-fanatic @dc-hoe @ravennightingaleandavatempus

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codyfernaesthetic · 6 years ago

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Unholy

A Millory One-shot

Inspired by @mvllorylvngdon “The Smoke that Swirls”

Summary: Mallory can’t get the handsome Father Langdon out of her mind.

Warnings: smut, public masturbation, derogatory terms, harsh language, nsfw, priest!Michael

Mallory was a faithful churchgoer. From her first breaths to now, her parents had instilled in her a sense of dutiful religion. The first thing she’d done after moving away from home was find a local church. She found a perfect one in The Cathedral of Our Lady of Purity; the congregation was warm and welcoming, she felt at home instantly. The church leaders were devoted men of God, upright and holy. She believed they were the perfect shepherds to her soul.

All except for one. A tall, young priest by the name of Father Michael Langdon.

Her trepidation had no basis in outward appearance. He was by all accounts a calm, disciplined man who took great care for the disenfranchised and delivered the most impassioned sermons she’d ever sat under. He was charismatic, helpful, walking in a regal dignity one expects of a representative of Christ. Perhaps it was his looks that so unnerved her. Often when looking upon him at the altar, she would compare him to the stone and stained glass angels encompassing the sanctuary. His golden hair would glow from the streaming sunlight, casting a halo around his head. His face was pure, sculpted marble, not one feature ill placed or imperfect. His eyes were blue as the heavens, and could hold you fast in your place like a command from God himself. His lips...

She shook her thoughts away. Father Langdon had plagued her mind for three months. She would scold herself, commanding her body to free itself from carnal desires; but the image of his mouth, his body, his manhood hidden under black trousers she wanted to see free and throbbing-

Oh God!

This was her reason for going to confession today. She’d been neglecting it, but now she knew she couldn’t give allowance to her sins any longer.

The Cathedral was as grand and opulent as any, white columns, golden holy imagery welcoming the searching soul. There were a smattering of people, elderly men and women praying, some deacons milling about. The left door confession booth opened and a middle aged man stepped out, tipping his hat as he passed her. She entered the booth, making the sign of the cross upon sitting down, and took a deep breath, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 3 months since my last confession.”

Her blood chilled when a familiar dulcet voice came from the other side.

“I would have pegged you for more of a faithful confessor than that, Mallory,” the voice chuckled.

Her legs tensed as she instinctively fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, “Father Langdon...”

The lattice of the window separating them still allowed the general shape of his blond locks to peek through, “I’m sorry, I know that’s not an appropriate thing for a priest to say at confession. I just hate how formal this has to be. I consider us friends, Mallory,” his voice inexplicably dropped to just above a whisper, “Don’t you?”

She swallowed, her chest thumping, “Yes, but would a friendship at all impede this sacrament?”

His silence made her clarify, “I mean, for there to be bias on both sides.”

He hummed, a vibration that made her breath catch, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. There is no one better to confess to than a friend.”

The booth was suddenly cramped, musty. Her throat dry like a desert.

She closed her legs even tighter, desperately ignoring the pulse between them, “I don’t have any dark places.”

“None?” He played with every word like a cat with its prey, “If we say we have not sin, we are a liar and the truth is not in us.”

She cleared her throat, the heat beneath her skirt begging for attention, “I meant, of course I have a sinful nature, but I simply don’t possess as deep a dark place as you speak of,” she dug her nails into her thigh, “I’ve never been one to contemplate on sinful things.”

A tense silence hung between them.

“I can sense that in you, Mallory,” he finally said, “A purity of heart. Yet surely you didn’t come to confession to brag about your own holiness.”

Her voice trembled, barely leaving her mouth, “Of course not.”

She could practically feel the smile dripping off his tone, “What is thy sin?”

She closed her eyes, imagining it were any other priest, pushing through with gritted teeth, “I have been assaulted by the Devil in more...potent ways than ever.”

“Are these the Devil’s sins, then?” He interrupted.

She paused, caught off guard, “No, Father, they are mine.”

“Then claim them, Mallory,” his voice was a whisper, cajoling, tender, “Tell me that you have committed sins...and have taken great pleasure in them.”

Her mind felt hazy, “I have allowed my mind to be filled with perverted fantasies against a fellow Christian.”

“How often, my child, have you dwelt on these fantasies?”

If she isn’t know any better, she’d say his tone was...desperate.

“Months. I have welcomed sin into my heart and mind, and have let my imagination run wild.”

“Where does it run to, Mallory?”

“Lusts of the flesh,” she dodged coyly, “unbecoming to a young woman of faith.”

“Speak them,” he commanded.

She nearly jumped at the sudden change, “Father Langdon?”

“Tell me of your lusts,” he demanded again.

Her voice was so tiny, her heart leaped into her throat, “I don’t think-“

“Sin can only be absolved once it is fully confessed, Mallory,” she heard him moving, his form leaning closer to the window, “Tell me of your desires. This fellow Christian, as you call them, what do you think of them doing when your imagination takes hold? Are their lips upon yours? Delighting in the sweetness of your mouth with a chaste kiss? Or are they hungry? Ravenous as their tongue dances over yours? Do they bite your lips, drawing beads of blood before licking them clean?”

Her core throbbed at his words. Her mouth hung agape, shallow breaths escaping.

“Are you naked?” Even the way he spoke the word was sinful, “Have your clothes been discarded on the floor in a heap, leaving your sensitive, aching pussy exposed to their lustful eyes?”

Every inch of her flesh was hot and riddled with goosebumps. Not simply from what he said, but how it was as if he’d plucked her own thoughts from her mind and were reading them aloud.

“Are you against the wall?” He stifled a little moan, “On your knees? Spread out on silk sheets, a delicious morsel all for the taking, for devouring? Tell me, Mallory,” it was like his voice was right next to her ear, “tell me everything that’s in that slutty imagination of yours. Confess every sinful perversion you’ve dreamt about committing,” he chuckled darkly, “the ones you long to have committed against you.”

Her fingers slipped under her panties as if of their own will. She massaged her pulsing clit, her folds already wet with desire.

He continued in agonizing detail, his cadence falling into a steady rhythm to which she pumped two fingers in and out of herself, biting her lip to detain her ardent whimpers.

“Do you feel their teeth on your soft skin, greedy fingers toying with your hard nipples? Where is their tongue? Is it licking your wetness, spreading it over your lips, or teasing your needy slit? Are their lips gently wrapping around your clit and sucking? Can you hear,” he paused on each word, tasting them, “the slick...wet...sounds? The growling need as they gorge themselves on your perfect, sweet, delectable cunt?”

Hot shame flooded her, but she kept going...faster, harder. What would those poor congregants think if they knew she was making such a filthy scene for the priest?

And yet that made her desire grow.

“Can you feel them slide up your body, their hard cock pressing against your soaked thighs? Can you taste yourself on their lips? Do you taste good, Mallory?”

An obscene noise almost freed itself from her throat, but she placed her other hand over her mouth.

His voice was thick with need, “Do you feel yourself stretching around them, taking in every inch? Do you like being filled?” He paused, “Answer me, little lamb.”

Barely trusting her own voice, she whispered, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

She could hear the satisfied grin behind his words, “Do you want to be fucked aggressively? Do you want me to use you as my plaything, my own personal whore to pound my cock into? Do you want to please me?”

She felt herself climbing towards the edge, “Yes.

“Yes, what?”

She sounded so pathetic, “Father Langdon,”

He changed pace, as if sensing her closeness; gently guiding her towards her orgasm, “How about I take you slowly? Whisper blasphemies in your ear while I slip in and out of your yearning pussy? Tell you how you feel like Heaven around my dick. Worship you like an idol, sweet hymns escaping my throat in my moans because you feel so fucking good. My ultimate praise spilling out inside you, anointing you as mine.”

The word was like a signal, releasing her tension as she rode the high. As she came down, her breathing slowed, and her mind gained back enough sense to panic over whether or not anyone outside had heard.

“Does that sound like your fantasies, Mallory?”

He sounded so casual now, returned to his calm, disciplined self.

“Yes, Father Langdon,” she muttered breathlessly.

“Are they sated?”

She removed her fingers from her panties, quickly searching her bag for a tissue to wipe them on, her face painted red, “For the moment, yet they seem stronger than ever.”

He laughed, “Such is the nature of man. Perhaps we could discuss your sins in further detail at a later time.”

She froze at the implication, and scorned how it made a new wave of excitement crash over her.

“Find a way to...absolve them in a more tangible way.”

She sniffled, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

There was a knowing, excited lilt to his voice, “Peace be with you, Mallory.”

“And with you also,” she returned quickly, stepping outside the booth and trying to hurry outside in the most inconspicuous way possible. Perhaps it was her own anxiety, but she was sure a few squinting glares were thrown her way.

#michael langdon #mallory #millory #millory au #michael x mallory #ahs apocalypse #one shot #my writing

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pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles · 6 years ago

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Slow Hands (Girls Talk Boys part 3)

Fingertips puttin' on a show Got me now and I can't say no

Each chapter has a song title attached so I could keep my files straight on my phone but it ended up really working so I kept it.

Warnings: drinking, smoking, drug use and cursing and a little bit of smut

Previous Chapter

Camille was on edge. Her entire body hurt from dance practice. It was only the second day but she was dying. She adored dancing and she adored Tom but it was kicking her ass. However she might lose a little of the weight she'd accumulated over the past year. Stress eating was one of her many weaknesses. Tom was being so patient and sweet. Camille was determined to do her best for him. She played “Fly Me to the Moon” on the speakers and went over her dance steps as she organized the studio. The house still wasn't put together and the mess was getting to her. She hadn't been able to find her favorite pen in four days. The last time she'd seen it was the night they'd moved in and also the night she'd last seen Calum. She frowned at the thought swore to herself she wasn't bothered. She heard the guitar downstairs and knew Luke had come over for his lesson. Luke had managed to find an excuse to pop in to see Cher every day so far. Camille thought they were cute together.

Cher had asked Luke to teach her guitar and he in turn had asked her to teach him how to draw. It became not so much a lesson as a conversation featuring beer, artwork and a guitar. Cher could not remember seeing blue eyes like that before. The way his smile faded into serious concentration and the way his blonde curls fell in his face when he played made her swoon. It was impossible to focus on the learning guitar when she kept staring at the way his fingers moved. The only thing that kept her from getting totally overwhelmed was the fact that Luke was a huge dork. A tall beautiful goofball. Cher sat back on the couch with her feet tucked under Luke's thigh and began to sketch him as he played. Cher was usually too intimidated to draw the guys she was into. She was amazed she felt so comfortable around him. It was a shame he'd never make a move. After a while Luke realized what she was doing and began to strike silly poses and make faces. Cher threw her pencil at him and went to get them another beer. When she came back she noticed Luke had set his guitar aside and was biting his lip nervously.

Cher began to set the beers down on the coffee table when she felt Luke grab her arm and her waist at the same time pulling her into his lap. “What're you doing” she asked him. “Kissing you” Luke murmured against her lips before his mouth was on hers. Cher moaned into his kiss shifting herself so she was straddling Luke. Tangling her hands in his hair she pressed her body down on his growing bulge. She was glad he'd worn basketball shorts instead of his usual skinny jeans. Between that and the thin material of her dress there wasn't much fabric between them. Luke bit her bottom lip as his hands slid the straps of her dress down exposing her naked breasts. His thumbs flicked over her pierced nipples causing her to shiver. Luke then twisted and tugged ever so gently causing a growl to erupt from the back of her throat.

Cher pulled back from Luke's mouth and pulled his hair back exposing his throat. She began working from his earlobe to his collarbone nibbling, sucking and kissing until Luke was a squirming moaning mess under her. Cher moved her lips back to Luke's consuming both of them in a deep kiss. Cher had one hand behind Luke's head while the other slid into his shirt her fingers grazing his chest and stomach. Luke's breaths became faster and more shallow as Cher continued to rock against him. She felt her own sensation grow as Luke moved to regain some control by kissing and biting on her neck. It was too late Cher kept up the steady motion of her hips against him. “Please I'm gonna..don't” Luke pleaded into her mouth as his hips thrust upwards against his will seeking release. Cher was so close as she pressed her chest into Luke's, and buried her face in his neck. Her fingers would leave tiny bruises as she gripped his shoulders. “Oh God please” Luke whispered as Cher rubbed herself down into him finding her release pressing down onto his lap. “Yes Yes Yes “ she hissed into his ear placing her hand between his legs stroking his erection before she continued to grind on Luke. His eyes flew open as he whined “oh fuck ” and Cher felt his hips buck underneath her violently as he came.

Cher was still in his lap when Luke raised his head his blue eyes meeting hers. “That's never happened before I'm sorry” he mumbled. Cher shushed him with a little kiss “don't apologize I'm the one who did it” she smiled at him. She'd never made a guy cum in his pants before and the fact that it was sweet beautiful Luke turned her on even more. Cher wanted nothing more than to drag him into her bedroom and fuck him until they made each other sore. She didn't want to move to fast and have Luke catch feelings. Cher didn't want a relationship and guys never believed her when she said that. Guys who claimed to be cool with a friends with benefits package always turned needy and clingy once they realized she had no need for a boyfriend. Cher didn't want to think about all that right now. She stood up still between Luke’s outstretched thighs. Pulling her dress straps onto her shoulders she bent down and kissed Luke lightly on the tip of his nose. “You can use the bathroom to clean up if you want “ she whispered to him before stepping back and heading to the kitchen to get some water.

Behind her she heard Luke get up and shut the door to the bathroom followed shortly by footsteps descending the stairs. Cher saw a flash of pink out of the corner of her eye followed shortly by a hushed voice “please tell me you didn't fuck him on the couch. We just got it.” “We didn't fuck” Cher replied matching her low tone “we didn't even take our clothes off.” Camille wasn't buying it “that's not what it sounded like and you've got a big wet spot on your dress so.” Camille and Cher both froze when they heard the bathroom door open. Camille reached into the fridge trying to act normal as Luke walked into the kitchen. “I should probably get going and oh hey Camille” Luke stopped when he saw her. “Oh hi Luke, did you have a nice lesson” Camille kept her tone light but she saw Luke start to blush. “You could say that” Luke mumbled looking at his feet. It was then that Camille saw the wet spot on the front of Luke's shorts. Her eyes went wide darting to Cher who quickly shook her head shooting back a look that said “don't you dare say it.”

Instantly Camille regained her composure “Cher I've looked through this entire place three times and I still can't find my pen are you sure it's not in your room” she asked changing the subject. “Cam I swear I've looked through my room and my car and it's not there” Cher rolled her eyes. Luke suddenly laughed and both girls looked at him. “It's bright pink and really shiny?” Luke asked. Camille nodded and felt her stomach drop. “Calum has it” Luke told her turning to Cher “Babe I gotta go, text me later.” He gave Cher a hug and then kissed her on her forehead and her nose smiling at her before turning to leave. Luke was halfway out the door when Camille found her voice. “Wait why does Calum have my pen” she called out. Luke's voice echoed back at her “you'd have to ask him.”

“That night on the back porch” Cher teased her. “He must've kept it”

“You're saying he stole it? It's bright pink.” Camille was trying to remember any details beyond Calum's presence.

Cher texted Luke who quickly replied. “No, no, no Luke says he got high and put it in his pocket. He forgot he had it till the next day.

“You and Luke seem to be getting cozy very quickly” Camille winked at her.

“He's gorgeous and fun, what do you want me to say” Cher was laughing.

“I thought you liked Ashton” Camille raised an eyebrow.

“I like them both. You've seen how hot Ashton is, or did Calum distract you from noticing any of the other guys” Cher was still giggling.

“Oh I noticed, you know I adore Tom already. Harry is gorgeous, but he's entirely too charming. Makes me suspicious. Ashton is dead ass sexy, but we would not get along.” Cher held up her hand and Camille stopped.

“How can someone be suspiciously charming?” Cher questioned

“That man could charm the feathers off of a bird and the scales off a snake. He's Lord Byron. Mad, bad and dangerous to know, but in like a good sexy way”

“You know it turns me on when you drop historical references into conversation” Cher dodged the towel Camille threw at her. “You and Ashton are too much alike. Both of you want to be in charge. What about Luke? Hmmm?”

“Luke? Be serious, he's been all over you like a beautiful labradoodle since we got here. He is insanely good looking and seems really sweet. Try not to snatch his soul would you?” Camille was only half joking.

“He is so beautiful.” Cher sighed “He's fun too.”

“I see that, you should probably change your dress” Camille replied, her phone buzzing.

“You should worry less about me and figure out how you're going to get the nerve to ask Calum for your pen back” Cher was interrupted by a loud squeal from Camille.

Looking towards her friend Cher saw her go deathly pale to bright pink flushed. She was afraid for a moment until Camille broke into the biggest smile.

“I'm gonna be on ESPN. Stephen got me on as a guest fantasy analyst.” Camille was almost speechless, if that were possible.

“That's amazing. When?” Cher was excited as she was.

“A couple weeks. It'll be as fantasy drafts really kick in” Camille suddenly felt panic mix with joy. What if she didn't look good enough for tv.?

Cher saw the clouds move in on Camille's sunshine. She crossed the room and wrapped the smaller woman in a hug.

“Camille don't doubt yourself. We've come all this way to start over. You left him behind, now leave what he said behind with it. We moved out here to this gorgeous place. We've got Cody. There are super hot guys crawling all over this place. You've already got one so caught up that he's hijacking your stuff.” Cher felt Camille relax as she pulled away wiping tears.

“ I don't know why I get like this.” she sniffled.

“Listen, he had a long time to tear you down. It's going to take a while to build yourself up again.”Cher told her. “We need to get you laid.”

“Calm down. Let's get my pen back first.” Camille changed the subject.

“Oh he's in the plans for both” Cher teased her.

“He's got a girlfriend” Camille rolled her eyes but she couldn't help but feel a bit excited to have a chance to see Calum again.

Chap 4 Pink Lemonade

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blessedbyharrystyles · 7 years ago

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Too Far

A/N: OKAY so obviously this isn’t Harry (forgive me). I’ve just finished Hemlock Grove and I’ve been feeling some type of way about Roman Godfrey and I’ve had this idea in my head and I really wanna write it. I figured I could just tack it onto this blog because lord knows I cannot manage another blog (i’ve got too many y’all). Don’t worry, I’m still going to doing harry imagines, he’s always my number one. BUT variety is the spice of life, am I right? If you’re more interested in reading something Harry related, check out Part 3 of my model behavior series! Sorry for any typos I wrote this late at night when I was tired please forgive me ily.

Imagine: Your boyfriend Roman’s worst fears come true when he accidentally draws blood while you are hooking up. Will your relationship be able to withstand his fear of being and Upir while dating a human?

Warnings: Smut, blood

Masterlist Request

Word count: 2.9k

It has only been a few months since you started dating your boyfriend - Roman Godfrey. He has been in your life for as long as you could remember, having grown up together in the tiny town of Hemlock Grove. However, it took you two all this time to finally get together because neither of you had the balls to admit it (it took Roman getting a little too drunk at one of his family’s galas to finally confess his feelings for you).

You felt a bit silly thinking about it, all that time you wasted not being with Roman just because you were too scared to tell him. It was no matter now though, you thought, you two had found your way together and that was all that mattered.

After dating for just a few weeks, Roman dropped a bomb on you: he was an Upir. You recalled the day he told you as you walked up the steps of his sleek, dark mansion. You remembered laughing at first, thinking he was just messing with you. However, he quickly put your doubts to rest when he drank a bag of blood he stole from blood bank right in front of you. Roman always had a flair for the dramatics, if nothing else.

You were upset when you found out, not because he was an Upir, but because he hadn’t told you sooner. Roman laughed at that - “Only you would freak out that I didn’t tell you, and not even blink twice about the fact I just told you i drink blood.”

After the initial shock wore off, you understood why didn’t tell you. He explained that he was afraid you would have been scared of him and never want to see him again. You promised him that would never happen, though he remained cautious with you. You sensed he was holding back whenever he was with, and it wasn’t that you weren’t satisfied, you just wished he didn’t have to be so scared all the time.

“Hey baby,” Roman greeted you at the door, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Hey Roman,” you smiled, drinking in the beautiful man you felt incredibly lucky to call your boyfriend. He wore a grey sweater and black jeans, so simple, yet it managed to drive you crazy.

Roman took your hand, pulling you into his home. “How’s your day been?” he asked as the two of you settled on to the couch. A fire crackled just a few feet away, enveloping your skin in warmth. Roman knew you liked it warm, so he always started a fire when he knew you were coming over.

“Better, now that I’m with you,” you replied, sliding on to him so you were straddling his lap. It had been a couple days since you saw Roman, whenever it was your time of the month, he asked you to stay away. Although you hated having to be separated from him, you understood why you had to and respected his wishes. However, it did make you more needy for him than usual.

“Someone’s eager,” Roman smirked, his hands sliding around to your lower back.

“Are we alone?” you asked, not wanting to get caught by any of his house staff. That happened once. Never again.

“Just you and me,” Roman replied, leaning in closer to you. That was all you needed to hear, immediately pressing your lips to his. They were warm and soft as usual, moving perfectly against yours.

You slid your fingers through his hair, lightly tugging on his golden brown locks. Roman’s hands moved lower, squeezing your butt as your began to rock over his lap.

“That feels so good,” he groaned, tightening his grip on you. His mouth moved from your lips, to your jaw, to, finally, your neck. His plump lips moved over your skin in the most intoxicating way.

“Oh, Roman,” you let out a soft gasp as he continued to work on your neck. You tilted your head back, giving him better access. Your eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the bliss of his lips.

You continued to rock your hips against him, moving quicker with each passing moment. Roman’s kissing got more intense as well, sucking and nipping at your skin, which you were sure would be covered in marks tomorrow. The growing bulge in his pants hinted that he was just as lost in pleasure as you were.

Suddenly, you felt a pinch on your neck, making you gasp. At first you thought Roman nipped at you a bit to hard, but the pinch worsened into a burning sting. You felt something warm trickle down to you collar bone. You touched the warm liquid, bring your hand up to your eyes to examine it. Immediately you realized it was your blood.

“Roman,” you gasped, patting his shoulder. He didn’t move. Your heart began to pound, wondering what would happen if he didn’t stop. “Roman!” you exclaimed again, pressing against him with all your might.

In the flash of an eye, Roman pushed you off him and had darted to the other side of the room. He looked at you with horror in his eyes. “Oh my god, y/n, I’m so sorry.”

‘It’s okay Roman, I’m okay,” you insisted. You put your hand up to your throat, trying to cover up the bite.

“No you’re not! Look at you, look what I did to you,” his voice cracked. “Don’t move. You’ve lost too much blood.” You did as he said, keeping still as he rushed out of the room. He returned with a towel, which he pressed tightly to your neck.

Tears started sliding down Romans face as he sat with you. “I’m such an idiot. I can’t believe I did this to you.”

“Roman, please calm down,” you said, hating seeing him so upset, “I really feel fine.” You slid your hand over his, pulling it off the wounded area. “Look, I’ve stopped bleeding already.”

“I could have killed you,” Roman stated, disgust in himself clear in his voice, “What if I wasn’t able to stop?”

“But you did stop, you’re strong enough to stop,” you insisted, not liking where this was going.

“I- I can’t do this,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“Wha-what do you mean?”

“I went too far tonight. If I had been more thirsty, I don’t know if I would have been able to stop. I can’t live with knowing I’m constantly putting you in danger,” Roman replied.

“But I’m not in danger I-”

“I think you should go,” Roman cut you off. You stared at him, dumbfounded. You didn’t want to go, it was the last thing you wanted to do, but you were at a loss for words. You felt like if you moved you might collapse.

“Roman, please,” you tried one last time, though your voice came out as nothing more than a squeak.

“I’m sorry, y/n, I can’t be with you right now,” he said, unable to look at you. In a blur, you stood up and walked to the door, without another word. You managed to make it home before succumbing to the tears. You laid in bed, the burning pain of heartbreak the last you felt before falling into a restless sleep.

Over the next few days you felt like you were in a fog. You alternated between being in pain and feeling completely numb as you waited for a call, a text, anything from Roman. You knew it wasn’t healthy to be so caught up in someone, but you loved him. The thought of losing him, someone who had been such a constant in your life, was too much to bare.

You tried to stay away, wanting to give him space. You hoped that maybe he would see he was over reacting and reach out to you. However, it had been nearly two weeks without any contact from Roman and you were feeling completely hopeless and heartbroken.

You finally decided that you needed to go see Roman. You couldn’t keep living like this. If he was done with you forever, you needed to know so you could at least try to move on. Although part of you thought there was no way you could ever really for get him.

Your hands were shaking as you knocked on the door to his house. Normally, you filled with comfort waiting for him to come to the door, but now you just felt uncertainty. After a few minutes of no answer you knocked again, and harder.

“Roman, please I need to talk to you,” you pleading, banging on the door, “I know you’re in there, your car is here.” You were about to give up, when suddenly the door cracked open. You could only see a sliver of Roman, but he looked terrible, his eyes red and raw from what you guessed was crying. It looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Y/n I can’t d-”

“No, Roman, you can,” you cut him off, trying to change your sadness to anger, “We have to talk about this. You owe me that at the very least.” Roman didn’t move and for a moment you thought you would have to force your way in, but finally, he opened the door for you.

You walked into his living room, stopping just a few feet away from where it happened. Roman kept his distance from you, eyeing you with what looks like a mixture of sadness and fear. A silence fell between the two of you as you tried to quell the ache in your chest so you could speak.

“So, were you just planning on ignoring me forever?” you finally managed.

“I told you, y/n, I can’t keep putting you in danger. It’s not fair to you,” he replied.

“Shouldn’t I be the one who decides what’s fair to me?” you pointed out.

“You’re not thinking straight. If you were, you would have stayed far away from me after what happened,” Roman shot back.

“I know what I signed up for Roman, you gave me a chance to leave when you told me, but I didn’t because I love you. And I’m willing to work through some tough shit to be with you,” you snapped, feeling tears pressing at the back of your eyes. You really didn’t want to cry, you wanted to come off strong.

“But you don’t y/n! You don’t know what you signed up for,” Roman snapped, his anger startling you, “I’ve seen so many people get hurt and killed because they got involved in my world. If that happened to you I-I don’t know what I would do with myself.” Roman’s voice cracked as he spoke, recalling painful memories.

“I guess I was wrong about you. I thought I was dating someone who fought for what he wanted. I thought you loved me, but clearly you don’t,” you replied, turning to leave.

“You know that’s not true,” Roman scowled.

“I really don’t know anymore,” you replied turning back to him, “Because what I know is I could never just kick the person I loved out of my house and not check on them for nearly two fucking weeks.”

“You think I haven’t been hurting these past two weeks? You think I’ve just been going about my day like nothing happened? I’ve been miserable. All I could think about was you. The only thing that consoled me was thinking that you were safe,” Roman told you.

“I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you. But if you really don’t want to be with me, if you really think that’s what’s best, I’ll go,” you told him. The room fell silent again. You waited, staring at him, praying he would tell you to stay. After a few minutes of nothing, you let out a heartbreaking sigh, and turned to leave.

Before you could even get two steps in, his hand was on your wrist, pulling you back to him. “Don’t,” he said softly. He gently brushed a lock of hair out of your eyes. His hand slowly slid down your cheek, cupping your face. You stood still until his lips were on yours, melting into him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. You pressed your body against his, missing the warmth only he could provide you. Roman’s hands traveled down your back, resting on your butt. It was your signal to jump, wrapping your legs around his waist. Roman held you with ease, carrying you up the stairs and too his bedroom without missing a step - or pulling his lips away from yours.

He gently placed you on his plush, black sheets, pulling his t-shirt off as he stood over you. You moved to take your shirt off, but he stopped you. “Let me.” He slowly pulled off your shirt, kissing up your body as he did - though he specifically avoided your neck. He pulled you forward a bit, allowing him to unclasp your bra.

Once his lips were back yours, he used his hands to undo the button on your jeans, pulling them down enough to give him access to you. He rubbed a finger over your core, causing the arousal in your lower stomach to swell. You let out a gasp as he slipped a long finger inside you.

You nipped at his plump lower lip, then slid your tongue across it as he curled his finger deeper in you. The warm pad of his thumb found your clit, pressing circles over the sensitive nub. Your breath got caught in your throat, as you felt yourself nearing your edge. Sensing your neediness, Roman moved his fingers quicker, spreading pure bliss throughout your entire body.

“Roman,” you cried out, bucking your hips up to savor every little movement Roman made. He let you finished before sitting up, ridding himself of his clothing. Your arousal quickly began to pool in between your legs again as you took the sight of him. “I need you,” you told him, trying to kick your pants off you completely.

“I’m gonna take good of you baby,” Roman replied, placing his hands on your legs to stop your thrashing. He undressed you, placing a kiss on the inside of each of your thighs.He position his member at your entrance, rubbing his tip over your silkiness. You bit your lip, watching him enjoy himself before he was even inside you.

“Are you sure about this?” Roman asked, looking at your intently.

“I want you, Roman,” you confirmed. Roman smiled softly, then slid into you. You let out a gasp as you adjusted to his thickness. It had been awhile, so he moved slowly, allowing you to both get comfortable.

Roman rocked his hips slowly, rebuilding the knot of pleasure in your stomach. It felt good, but you sensed he was holding back.

“Faster,” you told him, running your hands down his back. Roman eyed you cautiously, but did as you said. You let out a moan to let him know that you liked what he was doing and he wasn’t hurting you. Roman took your cues, pressing deeper into you. You rolled your hips against him, heightening your pleasure.

Roman slipped one hand into yours, intertwining your fingers. He locked his eyes on yours sending a shiver down your spine. “Roman I-I’m gonna,” your voice was cut off from a moan.

“Let go baby,” he whispered, using his free hand to rub over your clit. With that, you gave into his ecstasy, crying out a mixture of curses and moans as pleasure clouded all of your senses. Seeing you get off from him sent Roman over the edge, releasing himself into you with a chorus of groans.

Roman slowed down, allowing the two of you to milk out every ounce of your highs. Once you were both finished, Roman pulled out of you, wrapping you up in his sheets before peppering kissing all over you. He placed a final kiss on your neck where he had bit you.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay, I told you I’m fine,” you assured him, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

“No, I mean for asking you to leave, and making you feel like I didn’t care about you. I just wanted to keep you safe, but I wasn’t thinking straight and I ended up hurting you worse and I’m so sorry,” he said, hugging you tightly.

“It’s okay Roman. I know you didn’t mean it. I know this must be hard for you, it’s something I’ll never truly understand, but I want us to be able to work on this stuff together. So we can be what each other needs.”

“I like the sound of that,” Roman smiled, “You know I love you right? More than anything on this Earth?”

“I do Roman, and I love you too, so, so much,” you replied, kissing him softly. You settled onto his chest, feeling better than you had in weeks. You knew you and Roman would have a lot to figure out with him being and Upir and you being human. You weren’t worried, though, because you knew your love was strong enough to get through it all. It wasn’t going to be easy, you thought as your drifted into your first peaceful sleep in two weeks, but for Roman, it would be worth it.

#roman godfrey imagine #roman godfrey fanfiction #roman godfrey one shot #roman godfrey smut #hemlock grove fanfiction #bill skarsgard smut

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namjoonchronicles · 7 years ago

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Need - [EXO] Boyfie!Chanyeol Au

[A/N] This is by far the most emotional piece I’ve attempt to write because let’s face the truth, I fuckin’ miss EXO. For real yo, when’s the fuckin’ comeback, SM?

Hammering, blurred vision and with your wobbly steps, you rolled out of your bed, making your way to Chanyeol who was at the time, in the kitchen making himself some hot chocolate. He gave a sidelong glance after sensing a foreign presence and with his nonchalant face and tone, he said, “How’s the headache…”

His low tone seeps into your soul and as you wrapped your arm around him, resting your head on his back, you hummed, “Horrible.” Chanyeol scoffed as a response, pouring the cold water into the hot one in the mug that’s been filled with chocolate powder and milk. He saw your arms around his waist and smiled at the sight, didn’t complain, didn’t do anything to loosen the grasp because he’s used to this.

“What else have you’ve been doing while I’m not here?” He turns around and even then you wouldn’t let go of him. Facing you now, he tipped your chin up so you were looking at him and he and his broad smile just glistening over you in this beautiful morning. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen this and it’s growing in you.

“Had a couple guys around, slept with two of em’ and just... the regular stuff. Nothing much.” You said in a serious tone, scrunching your face a little. Chanyeol crosses his arm at you, “Ha. Very funny.” You steal a sip from the hot chocolate he made. “Did you have fun without me?” You changed the subject after chortling giddily. “Define fun. I was there for work, what do you think.” He switches to his side just as the toast pops out. And you still think about how cool it is for him to know exactly when it’s ready.

“Late night parties, expensive cake slices, pretty girls, pretty young girls,” you raised both of your eyebrows and he rolled his eyes even though he is turning away from you. “Is that what you think all brokers do in conventions?” He was scolding you but it didn’t feel like that because you’re never afraid of him. Ever. “When there’s that many boys in one place, there’s bound to be a night where girls are involved.” You accused him of infidelity in a light hearted way. “Strippers, maybe.” You leaned to one side just watching him ripping the toast into half and him shoving the rest of them in his mouth. “You have quite an ‘appetite’, you know…” you followed him as he brought a tray of his breakfast to the living room, where the television is. It’s on and in the lowest volume where you could hear just nothing more than a whisper.

She let her thoughts ran high again. He sat on the floor, legs crossed, ignoring what you said but you knew he heard you. “Is the headache going away?” He asked, changing the topic, taking control of the conversation. “Thinking of the possibilities of you doing the wretched while I’m not around? No the headache isn’t subsiding. No, not really.” You sat on the couch, folding your legs in watching his back as he eats. You both stayed silent for a minute or so until, he rested his head back on the edge of the couch you were sitting on.

Looking up at you, upside down. “Why do you have this insecurities? Why do you treat me like this.” He lulled. “Because you’re ridiculously sexy, that’s why.” You shot back, running your fingers through his gorgeous locks, yanking it softly, like you would when you two does the do. He puckers his lips, fishing for a peck, cutely. “What.” You pretended as if you don’t know what he wanted, knowing very well what he needs. But you’re not going to give in just like this.

“Is this how you treat all your hoes, biatch?” You pushed his head with your finger but he stubbornly stays put. “I don’t have any other girls…” he cooed you, “C'mere and give me what I want, dammit.” He tugs the end of your shirt. “No. You smell like bread.” You came up with a flimsy excuse. “Give in!” He grumbled in his low voice and put on mischievous smile on his lips. “Make me.” You challenged him.

He widens his eyes in disbelieve, biting his lips, kneeling by the couch, his elbows digging into the cushion as he hooked his finger around your collar, giggling. And when that didn’t work, he cupped your face and gave you a loud unnecessary smack on the lip while you yelped, helplessly. “You’re just being sour because you haven’t seen me for awhile.” He lifts his butt off the ground and next to you on the couch.

You voluntarily rest your head on his clothed chest, inhaling his natural scent that is as wonderful as if he had been wearing his favourite cologne. “How was your flight home? What time did you reach here?” You said. Starting to ask the real question. “I don’t remember anything peculiar about it. I just wanted to get home, fast.” He mumbled, his eyes stuck on the TV screen. “Did you miss me?” You asked him. Sounding needy, as you were supposed to be.

“I guess.” You heard him say. Then he blinks to you, “I know I wasn’t enjoying it. That’s for sure.” He plants a kiss on one side of your hair, his arms pulling you close as you nuzzled your face into his chest. You shamelessly dipped your hands underneath his shirt and even though he didn’t show it, you felt his stomach tensed up, upon your sudden touch. You ran your perverted palm down his ripped abs, all the while watching him, and biting your lips as you watch his reaction.

Stone face Chanyeol is insanely good looking. “Hands.” He warned, deliberately pulling your hands out by the wrist from his toned glory. You were a bit disappointed but hey, you have the rest of the day to tease him. “I’m gonna head for a long… steamy… shower.” You breathed in his ear, before you jumped out of the couch, “Want to come with me?” You yelled from the door.

“I already had mine. So, no.” He said, plastering his eyes on the television. You stared at the back of his head, feeling defeated but you remained optimistic. “Hold your guards up Chanyeol. This is just one of her tricks to get you worked up. Don’t you fail on me, this time.” Chanyeol grumbled after he was certain you walked into the tub. You leave the tub semi wet, in a teeny weenie towel wrapped around your petite body and walked out with nothing else but that, passing Chanyeol who was earnestly watching his favourite show.

Feeling his eyes on you for a brief moment before he clears his throat, keeping his eyeballs straight to the screen, ignoring your shoulder blades and neck, as long as he could. “Have you seen my… oh! Nevermind. Found it.” You picked up a hair band from the floor, your towel lifting up to show a bit of your naked butt and good lord, isn’t Chanyeol a bit unprepared for this.

“Please get dressed.” You heard him begged. You gave him a sidelong glance as you walked back to your bedroom, smirking, “I am about to. Don’t worry.” Turning your head to him, running your arm across his sturdy shoulders, the other hand just messing up his hair, making him roll his head in a silent annoyance. Like why have I been tortured like this. What did I do to deserve this.

You got back with his black ‘Sexual Fantasies’ hoodie on, and shorts that show a lot of legs, with the intention of ruining his day. You hugged his arm, running your hand up and down, and placing them on your thigh, for the fun of it. “What’s the show?” You innocently asked. “Just a rerun from the ones I missed during the convention.” He answered easily, he is totally avoiding eye contact and it’s fucking adorable.

“You smell really nice,” you said poking your nose on his neck and he obviously, repelled a little. He knows exactly what you want but for some reason, tries to feign innocence. “It’s a new body shower. You should try it sometime.” He blinks nonchalantly. “Good thought,” you murmured against the tiny patch of his skin. You had no interest in that. Now how do you convince your dense boyfriend that you want him right now?

You need to take it up a notch.

With your nails digging into his cloth, and your eyes blinking doe-eyes at him, you started to brush your lips along his neck. And when that didn’t give you any response, you started to nibble on them, putting out a little bit of teeth and tongue on them. Chanyeol breathes in hard, like he’s angry. “What’s gotten into you.” He scolds. “You’ve been all over me, all morning.” He added.

“What do you think?” You arched an eyebrow. “Not gonna happen.” Chanyeol darted. He repulsed and fall to his back on the couch and with your quick thinking, you sat on his middle, gaining control of the situation. “It’s been days.” You mewled, jutting out your lower lip at his defeated face. You saw his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows his saliva, looking straight at the ceiling above. “After all I’ve given you? You still want more? And you say I have a huge appetite, have you looked in the mirror?” He scolded again.

You buried your face in his nape, you voice muffled, “You looked very sexy. I can’t hold back anymore… let’s ignore what daddy said, please oh please.” You begged, shaking your hips a little. “What the hell. Is this the ovulation period? Is this why you’re so needy?” He lightly pushed your shoulders away to see your face. “Maybe.” You whispered. Chanyeol ran one hand over his eyes, while his lips bursts into a endearing smile.

“Don’t you miss me at all?” You pouted. “Don’t look at me with those puppy dog eyes, geez…” he bites his lips and trailed his finger underneath the hoodie you were wearing and start to tickle you. “C’mere you.” He hissed and you gave him a long, satisfying, all tongue and teeth kiss until he became a moaning mess underneath your ministrations. There’s something really sexy about a girl wearing a guy’s hoodie and nothing else.

That’s just about the last straw that fucked Chanyeol’s mind to the oblivion. Apart from you calling him sexy and eye-fucking him, shamelessly. Shit that was so hot. Those scratches and hickeys, don’t lie. Chanyeol’s been blessed. With an insanely gorgeous girlfriend, who simply, can’t get enough of him. “Your father is going to kill me.” His voice muffled underneath the duvet. “Father doesn’t have to know…” You sang back.

“Where exactly are you touching me. Stop. Don’t do that. No, not there. Just. Why are you being so greedy today…! You’re going to be the death of me…” Chanyeol groaned.

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beebeeth · 7 years ago

Text

Ciel woke up, his breathing ragged in his chest, eyes glossy from lacking sleep. The nightmares had returned lately and in his current state, all he wanted was call for his demon. Beg for him to lay beside him if only for the night.

It’s been ten excruciating months since he started having those feelings. He hated himself for it, for a while he even thought that the demon must have done something, put a spell on him of some sorts. He did not understand when or how did those feelings start to grow inside of him, wanting nothing more than to lean into the demon’s touch.He did nothing of the sorts, of course, he was the Earl of Phantomhive after all, his pride greater than anything. Their name sullen as it was, he did not need the shame. But his yearnings were growing stronger as the days passed him by, his mind torturing him in ways he never thought possible.He felt hopeless, lonely, unwanted. How he wanted Sebastian to see him in the same way.

His thoughts, he could swear were out to get him. He could not help it anymore.He opened his mouth, his intention to call the demon’s name. He stopped. His name stuck on his tongue as beads of sweat lingered on his skin. He started to shiver, felt like his breath was hitched into his sore throat. ‘A cold’ he thought. ‘How lovely, exactly what I need aside from those horrid nightmares.’

He laid on his back, sighing profoundly thinking he should try to get some rest at least for the night.

‘Knock, knock.’

“Sebastian?” He asked, his voice hopeful.

“My young Lord, may I enter?”The demon asked, his voice smooth as silk.

“Yes, you may.”

The butler opened the door slowly, letting himself in a fluid motion. He made his way towards the bed. Ciel’s heart started pounding violently into his tiny chest. ‘damn you, filthy little thing… ‘ he cursed at himself under his breath.Sebastian approached the boy, his ungloved hand going to rest on his damp forehead.

“Are you quite alright, my Lord?”Sebastian asked unusual concern filling his voice, a slim eyebrow raised slightly at the human’s small comment.

“I … Yes. I just..”Ciel started, his tired mind taking over, making him lean into the touch more than he intended.

“You've been tossing and turning a lot.Have the nightmares returned?” Sebastian asked him, pulling away.

“Yes… It’s been a couple of nights now. “The boy answered sheepishly, his eyes avoiding the demon.

“You might have a slight fever as well. I’ll fetch you some warm tea. With plenty of honey. “ Sebastian said, beginning to walk away.

“Wait!” Ciel yelled a little bit louder than he intended.

“Do you need anything else, my Lord?”

“I..don’t want any tea. Could you .. maybe stay by my side tonight?” He asked shyly, avoiding the demon’s gaze once more.

“My, my. It’s been a while since you've requested this of me. Of course, I’ll comply, I shall convey to my master’s needs.” The demon said, coming closer to the bed.

He went to take a standing position on the right side of Ciel’ s bed, his body turning rigid.

Ciel quickly turned on his side, his heart starting to pound violently in his chest. ‘Lay beside me…Oh please just come closer. Lay beside me. Oh hold me just for tonight..I feel like I’m dying..’ The boy thought to himself, unfamiliar tears beginning to form in his mismatched eyes.He started to blink faster, refusing to let them fall.

“Sebastian…” he began, his voice shaky in his throat.

“Yes, my young Lord?”

“Lay beside me… It’s an order.” He said not turning.

‘Way to go, Ciel force him into laying with you in bed. That will certainly make things better.’He thought bitterly, hating how pitiful and needy he might seem in the demon’s eyes.

“Am I allowed to make myself a little bit more comfortable?” Sebastian asked.

“Do whatever you please, just lay beside me.”He said, the harsh tone of his voice returning once more.

Sebastian quickly discarded his twin coat, his vest, tie and shoes and got into the bed.

Ciel felt the bed dip beside him, scared of facing the older male. He wanted to do so, wanted the demon to wrap himself around his torso.Wanted them to be as close as possible, to feel his warm breath on his neck, his hair tickling him slightly, his scent enveloping him.The boy thought that with Sebastian as close he could manage to get a good night sleep, something he did not have in weeks.

Ciel’s eyes widened, as he felt the demon’s hands wrap around his body tightly, pulling him as close as he could. He leaned into the touch, a long sigh escaping his mouth unwillingly.’He’s going to make fun of you, just you wait and see.It’s coming, you know it.’Ciel thought bitterly.

“Good night, my Lord. I hope you have pleasant dreams tonight.” The demon said, resting his head against the human’s, placing a quick peck on the crown of his head.Ciel blushed furiously, his chest feeling tight.He trembled, feeling so weak all of the sudden.

“Bocchan, please face me. “ The demon said softly.

“N-no,” He said before continuing”I’m fine. This is nothing.”

“I’ll protect you from anything, no one is going to harm you. I hope you know this much.”He whispered, tightening his hold.

The human said nothing, he only placed a hand on top of Sebastian’s, suddenly feeling safe and warm, for the first time in what felt like forever.He then fell asleep, a tender smile dancing on his lips.

The morning came and Ciel was surprised to see Sebastian still beside him. He turned into his sleep as well, as Sebastian still held him tightly, his face resting against the demon’s. He was so close, his smell intoxicating.A blush appeared on his face once more, as he was gazing at him.

“Did you sleep well? “ The demon broke his line of thoughts, watching him closely.

“Argh!” Ciel yelled, startled.

“I’m sorry, did not mean to startle you.” He said, petting his head.

“It’s alright. I slept well enough. I believe I can get through the day without feeling I might collapse.”

“I shall go fetch you a hearty breakfast so we can put you on your feet at once.Do you require anything else?”

“No. Just hurry up, I’m famished.” The boy said.

“Ah, I see. You’re back to being yourself. I should have wallowed more in the fact that you were so needy and desperate.”Sebastian said as he got out the bed.

Ciel blushed furiously hearing his words as he started to yell “I was not needy, nor desperate! I was just sleep deprived if anything, I was docile. “

“Docile, yes. I have to just say. I much rather enjoy you being like that if anything.” The demon said as he made his way towards the door, turning his head slightly to smile at the boy.

“Like I should care what a mare servant thinks!Just go already! I want to start my damned day!” He said appearing irritated, the blush still covering his plush cheeks.

“Yes, my Lord. I’ll be right back.” The demon said, bowing deeply before exiting the room.

‘Ah.. What’s wrong with me.. Why do I feel the need to push him away like that… It felt so good to be held by him. He seemed to enjoy it as well.’He taught to himself as he was rolling around on the bed, eyes glistening with unusual happiness. ‘Maybe I should confess? But how? I am horrible at expressing my emotions.Maybe a letter? Yes. Definitely. I’ll write him a damned letter.’

The day passed quickly, as the little Lord started to pace around his office nervous out of his mind. He did not even plant the letter under his door and he was already a mess. He was thinking he should sneak out of his chambers after Sebastian tucks him into bed.

‘Maybe I should stop being such a coward and tell him straight to his face. What can he do? Laugh in my face probably, taunt me…Reduce me to zero… Alright, I CAN’T.’ His line of thought was interrupted by a familiar knock and a silky voice that came from outside the door.

“Yes, yes.Enter.” He said as he quickly went to fold the letter and hide it in his trousers.

He allowed Sebastian to take him to his chambers, the nightly routine they had established fell right into place. He waited around half an hour before taking the letter to place it under the demon’s door. He did it as quickly and quietly as he could before he returned to his chambers, his heart doing ridiculous tumbles in his chest, his stomach in knots.

The demon found the letter two hours later as he finished his choirs.He looked at the piece of paper curiously, recognizing Ciel’s handwriting in an instant.

‘A letter? How peculiar. What can’t he say to my face that he has to write a letter for..’ He wondered to himself, as he started reading.

“Dear Sebastian,

I’m writing instead of telling in person because I fear my heart would crumble in my chest if I were to get those words out directly.

We've been through a lot together. You've always been by my side. I want to tell you first that I appreciate it profoundly.

Lately, I've begun to muster some feelings towards you. I need you, Sebastian. More than I ever thought I would. I realize there is almost no chance for you to feel the same as I do. Please do not feel forced to pretend if you do not, for my sake. I know you keep saying that my needs always come first.They should not, in this situation, precisely. But if you might feel something towards me, even in the slightest I’d be happy with anything.Come to my chambers once you’ve read this letter, should you feel anything. I’ll be waiting.

Hopefully yours, Ciel.”

Sebastian read the letter quickly.He could swear his heart stopped in his chest.He put the letter into his pocket after folding it perfectly for safe keeping and hurried towards his master’s chambers.

Ciel had been waiting for him, on the ground his little face inside his delicate palms.He had fallen asleep there, in a fetal position, looking so much more petite than he actually was.

He gently picked him up, gazing at the tiny being he held, his eyes softening up instantly.He placed the boy on the bed, pulling the covers over him. After he made himself comfortable as well, he joined Ciel. He wrapped his arms around the boy and placed a soft kiss on his little face.

“Sebastian… You came. “ Ciel said, his voice wrecked from sleep,sheepishly rubbing his eyes.

“I’m here my little one.“ He said, his eyes soft.

“Sebastian….I want you closer…“Ciel breathed, his little hands going to cup his face.

Sebastian wasted no more time, one of his hand going to lift his chin up, his lips crushing onto the human’s in a soft kiss.

#sebaciel #confessions #firstkiss #fluff #i can't stop #writing fluff #send help #mahsebacielwritings

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deborahwilsonbooks-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Regency Romance: The Lady’s Masquerade - Part 2

C H A P T E R 0 7

Kieran shut his eyes against the pain that was beginning to arch across his skull. It had been a trying few days, and he had barely had any time to spend with Alice and Delia at all. He was nearly ready to set the Marseilles branch of his quarrying company on fire, and it didn't help that the man in charge there did not speak English or even French but some obscure Occitan dialect. All of their conversations took place through a barely literate translator, and the whole thing was finally culminating in an actual headache rather than just a metaphorical one.

It was late by the time he made it back to Brixby Hall, and instead of going to bed, he found himself in his study again. He pulled one of the cut crystal decanters from the alcove in the wall and sipping at the good port, he thought of what had happened the last time he had been in here with Delia.

She had been everything he had hoped for and more when he had hired her on. His daughter seemed to be thriving under her care, and Delia seemed to care for Alice as well, treating her as sweetly and as gently as she would her own child.

Of course, it wasn't Alice that we were thinking about when she was here last.

The memory of their kiss, bright and almost incandescently sensual, came to surprise him from time to time. Sometimes, Kieran thought he would go mad with how vivid that memory was and how it could come to him in the most unsuitable of moments.

She is too good with Alice. I can't risk more of that. She deserves so much better than what I could offer her. She's too fine, too pure for the thoughts that I can't seem to help but entertain when she is around.

Even as he told himself that, however, he wondered. She had felt like pure fire in his arms, and he had known with an instinctive truth that she felt the same thing that he had.

Where does a modest and virtuous governess get that kind of fire anyway?

He took another sip of the port, letting his eyes drift closed. Yes, it was completely beyond the pale to imagine a night like this one, where he was tired to death and where life seemed at its dullest, that he might hear her light step in the hallway and know that she was coming to relieve some of that ache.

Kieran's eyes snapped open. It wasn't his imagination. There were steps in the hallway, and somehow, he knew that it was her. He

made his way to the door, opening it just in time to see her go past.

Delia yelped, her face turning white and then red as she rounded on him.

"What in the world do you think you are doing, Kieran?"

He grinned, liking the roses in her cheeks. "I feel like I should be asking you that same question. I am in my own study having a good drink. You are the governess who is sneaking through the dark halls with only a candle, as if you were hunting for some hidden treasure in a Gothic novel."

She scowled at him. "You nearly scared the life out of me."

"Would you prefer I go the Gothic route and creep up on you in the darkness? I could wrap my arms around you from behind and whisper some dire prophecy in your ear before I disappear into the mists."

"No, I would certainly not rather you do that! And if you are going to be reading Gothics, please do not mention them around Alice. She has a vivid enough imagination without having you fill it full of ghosts and monsters."

"If I promise I won't, will you come and sit with me for a moment?"

She hesitated. He could almost see her consulting some inner catalog of proper governess behavior, and he guessed that the answer should absolutely be a no when the lord of the manor asked her in for a private audience in the middle of the night. To his surprised pleasure, she nodded and stepped into the study.

"You're wearing a wrap tonight over your shift. Did you decide that our last meeting here was too chilly?"

"I decided that I had apparently better protect my virtue when I was going to get some water in the middle of the night, yes."

Kieran laughed at her arch words. "Believe me, if I had designs on your virtue, that wrap would not be a sufficient barrier to much of anything."

Delia turned even redder, but she lifted her chin in what was certainly a very un-governess-like defiance. "I am not here to discuss virtue, Kieran. What was it you wanted?"

Kieran clutched his heart as if she had wounded him to the core. "Harsh, Delia. I suppose I just wanted to ask after you to see how you are doing. You have been at this posting for some few weeks now. Is it what you were hoping it would be?"

Delia hesitated. At that moment, he felt from her a kind of reticence, a kind of inward thought that felt oddly clouded to him. It could simply be a servant's reluctance to speak truthfully to her master, but he wondered if that was all there was.

"It is... surprisingly good. I feel as if I fit here at Brixby Hall, and I did not expect that. Alice is charming and surely the sweetest child I have ever had the opportunity to teach."

"But still something troubles you?"

She lifted her head, her gray eyes flashing to silver behind her spectacles. "The only thing that troubles me is this."

"This?"

"You and me. Like this. Surely, this is closer than a servant and her lord should be."

"And yet you came into my study of your own free will, didn't you?"

He had no idea what he would do if she said no, die of shame most likely.

Instead, she lowered her eyes.

"I did."

Kieran laid his port aside and leaned back against his desk, his long legs spread in front of him and braced on the floor. "Will you come here, Delia?"

At that moment, he would wager Brixby Hall itself that there was no coercion there. Delia came of her own free will, and when she hesitated just a little beyond him, he gestured her closer until she was standing between his legs.

"If you need me to stop, tell me so. But Delia, until you do, I will not."

She opened her mouth, perhaps to protest, perhaps to question, but then she was pulled against his body, her hands coming up to his shoulders to pull him closer, her head thrown back.

She might have been wearing a wrap, but he could feel her warmth right through the fabric, as warm and soft as a summer night, and he had no idea where they might stop if she didn't halt things. All that mattered was the sweetness of her lips, the softness of her body, the quiet and incredibly needy sounds she made as she pressed against him for more.

There were no words there, nothing necessary beyond their mouths so hungry for each other. Delia made a soft sound as his mouth moved from hers to the point of her jaw and then to the soft tender skin of her throat. Kieran pressed his lips against the vein there that throbbed with life and heat.

She's so beautiful. So perfectly alive and here with me.

The thought sent a kind of warmth through him that had absolutely nothing to do with the sensuality of the moment.

Delia made a soft broken sound that seemed to go straight through him, but instead of pulling away as he thought she might, she pressed closer. He knew that she could feel the arousal of his body now, feel how much he wanted her, how much he needed her, but at the bottom of it all, there was this incredible feeling of care and sweetness.

It wasn't until his mouth pulled from her throat, seeking the sensitive skin of her ear, that Delia gasped. She pulled back, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were wide.

"Delia..."

"We cannot do this. We should not do this."

Kieran knew he had said he would let her go if she asked to be released, but there was something in her voice that made him pause.

"Do you want me?"

Her eyes were stormy. "Of course, I do. But this cannot be. This will not be. I am going to my room now."

She turned on her heel and walked away, closing the door behind her with a final click.

Kieran let out a breath and a curse.

She was right. He knew she was right. That fact did not lessen the pain of it, however, nor did it quiet the passion that roared through him, wanting nothing more than Delia next to him again, so close to him that it seemed as if they must become one.

C H A P T E R 0 8

Delia returned to her room, checking on Alice one more time before she went to lie down. The little girl slept the sleep of the innocent, face softly flushed on her pillow, completely innocent of the things her father and her governess were doing.

The very people trusted to care for her. Delia's thoughts were guilty, and then she reminded herself that that was not what she was there for at all.

In her own room, the summer air had left the chamber stuffy, so she went to the tiny window and opened it, letting in the summer breeze.

I must go to bed, or I will be good for nothing at all in the morning.

Still, she knelt at her window, elbows on the sill, looking up at the dark summer sky.

What am I doing?

Her cheeks were still flushed from the sheer thunderous heat of being so very close to Kieran, and her body was filled with sweetness from his kisses and his touch. She should have refused to enter the study again at all, but yet she had.

I am lucky that he did not realize what I was truly doing.

Every night that Kieran was meant to be out of the house, she had started wandering the manor. As the governess, she did not have ridiculously early hours, nor did she have other servants working with her. She could seek as she pleased, and this time, she had been in his bedchamber.

I suppose I am lucky that he did not find me there.

The shiver that shook her body at that thought was not entirely fear. He might have decided that she was a thief and that the constables needed to be called in, but she didn't think so. Instead, what had happened in the study would have happened there instead, and in that wide bed...

With a soft sigh, Delia lay down in her own narrow bed, oddly grateful for the plain sheets and hard mattress. It reminded her of the real world, where the midnight whispers and sinfully pleasurable touches that Kieran gave her were unthinkable.

Her mind drifted as it had almost every night to the day that she'd wept in the meadow. The look of compassion and kindness on his face was real, she knew that, but could it possibly mean that she was wrong? Could he be innocent of the crime of seducing her sister?

Sometimes, Delia thought that she would surely perish under the pressure of discovering the truth. She had thought that the truth would free her, but now she wondered if it was only a slightly more cunning chain.

* * *

The next day dawned bright and lovely, and as Delia had promised Alice, they went out to see the horses.

Brixby Hall kept a fine stable with some bloodstock that was fit for the finest hunts in the land. However, far more numerous were the matched carriage horses that commanded an incredibly high price at Tattersall's and the stocky carthorses that saw to the hall's needs for food and material.

"Now you must remember to hold my hand, Alice. The horses may be very beautiful, but they are very large, and they can be careless of little girls."

"Grandmother and Grandfather had horses in the yard, but they weren’t so pretty."

The exercise yard was a busy place, with the stable master overseeing the careful chaos and self-important young boys exercising the horses and putting them through their paces.

After checking to make sure that the rail was strong enough, Delia lifted Alice up to balance on the fence, so she could see her favorites go by.

That's the dapple-gray team that Kieran uses for most of his business travel. I wonder if those were the horses he took to Denby.

It felt sometimes as if she had searched every nook and cranny of Brixby Hall, looking for some sign of Kieran's affair with her sister. Sometimes, she wondered if she was going mad and there was no evidence to be found.

She smiled as one of the boys, a tall teenager with a splatter of dark freckles over his fair face, came closer to them, leading a gentle-looking older gelding.

"With your permission, Miss?"

When Delia nodded, he brought the gelding closer, making Alice gasp with delight.

"He's gentle enough, if you want to pet his nose, little lady."

Under Delia's careful eye, the little girl stroked the placid horse's velvet nose, laughing when he whiffed at her hands looking for a treat.

When the boy showed Alice how to give the horse a few cubes of sugar hidden in his pockets, he glanced up at Delia.

"There's a children's saddle in the tack-room, miss. If the little lady cares to go for a ride, I could put Hector up for a moment and saddle him up for her."

It seemed a shame to pull Alice away from her new friend even for a moment, and the young boy looked likely enough.

"If you'll only make sure that she does not fall, I will go fetch the saddle. Just tell me where."

Following the boy's directions, Delia picked her way to the shed he had indicated. It was tidy and densely packed with tack, and it smelled pleasantly of fresh hay and the ointment that the grooms used to keep the leather soft and pliant. The saddle was hung neatly up on the wall, and even though it was clear that it had not been used in some time, she could see that it had been well taken care of.

Pulling the saddle down was a little difficult, as whoever had hung it had been taller than she was. Delia stood on her tiptoes to tug it down, and then when it started to fall, she uttered a most unladylike curse as it tumbled through her fingers. As it came down, it displaced a few boxes of loose tack, and with a frown, Delia set the saddle aside to replace the spare traces and straps that had fallen out.

One item that had tumbled out stood out for her. The enameled snuffbox did not belong in the stable at all, and such a beautiful thing could never have belonged to a groom. She turned it over in her hands, feeling something like dread washing over her. There was a hunting scene depicted on the front, and when she flipped it over, she saw the initials KD in scrolling script along the bottom. Kieran Dearborn.

I don't want it to be him. I don't want him to be the one who got Lissa killed.

She suddenly wanted nothing more than to shove the box back where she had found it. It wouldn't be true if she didn't look at it, if she didn't find it. Then perhaps at some point, she would only go home and leave all of this behind her.

Delia took a deep breath, because there was no way in the world she was going to do that. With trembling fingers, she righted the box and undid the latch.

For a moment, she wondered if she would only find snuff in the box, a rebuke to all of her fears, but it was nothing of the sort. There were a few small items in the snuffbox, and with a deep sinking in her stomach, she recognized them all.

That's a green glass button from her favorite spring dress, the one that's still hanging in her closet at home. That's her handkerchief, the one she so carefully embroidered. I still remember her tearing out the red flowers over and over again until she got them right. And that is a lock of her hair.

Delia was almost overwhelmed with grief, holding a small remnant of her dear sister's life in her hands. She thought there was a chance she might simply sit down and start to weep into her hands. Then they would find her and her plans for revenge, however unformed, would be at an end.

Somehow, Delia got her emotions under control. She bit the inside of her lip until she almost drew blood, and then she tucked the latched snuffbox into the inner pocket, hanging from her stays.

I must be normal. I must act as if there is nothing wrong. After all, as far as anyone is concerned, nothing has changed.

She picked up the saddle and carried it back to the yard, where Alice and the stable boy were laughing at some joke.

"Here's the saddle. Please be careful with her."

The boy took the saddle, but something in her face made him stop.

"Is everything all right, miss?"

"Yes, of course. It is only that some of the boxes fell over when I was fetching the saddle."

He frowned.

"Should I run back quickly and see to them? John Coachman will be in a proper state if aught is out of place."

"Oh, no, it should be fine. I made sure to put everything back where it belonged."

The boy nodded, and as Alice watched with rapt fascination, he showed her how he secured the small saddle to the horse's back. The children's saddle, in addition to being smaller than that designed for an adult, had a pronged horn for Alice to grab on to, and there were straps that secured her to the horse's back.

She crowed when she was boosted onto the patient gelding’s back, and she could barely wait for the boy to buckle her in before she wanted to ride.

"She'll be a right little horsewoman in a few years, won't she, miss?"

Delia smiled, because he wasn't wrong, but when she found that small box, it was as if a thick pane of glass had dropped down between her and everything else in the world. Nothing, not the sun on her head nor Alice's delighted laugh, could reach her now, and she had to decide what would happen next.

C H A P T E R 0 9

Kieran was seeing to business in Dorchester, the next town over from Brixby Hall, when he realized that in some strange way, Delia had ruined him for other women. Things had conspired to keep him in Dorchester far too late for him to sensibly go home, and he had ended up at the White Hart, a decent inn.

It was a cheerful enough place, with meat turning on the spit and an impressively good applejack at the tap, but Kieran couldn't find it in himself to enjoy it.

Neil had just sent him a message from London, asking where in the hell he was. The last few weeks after Parliament was done with and before the Season properly ended was always a prime time to carouse, to visit the gambling hells, and to see what new wonders the circuses, the theaters, and the brothels could dream up, but none of that sounded in the least enjoyable to Kieran.

Alice and Delia are certainly more fun than any company I could scare up in London.

He smiled at what a homebody he had become, and one of the barmaids, a buxom girl with hair the color of butter, thought that was meant for her. She smiled at him, a slow and sensual thing, and when she set down his tankard of applejack, she offered up a sweet smile and a view down her low-cut kirtle.

"Well, my lord?"

"Well, what, lass?"

"Well, I was thinking that if you were staying tonight, I could come up to your room. You understand, of course, that room service at this inn is not common, but exceptions can be made for a gentleman as fine as you."

For a moment, Kieran only stared at her, and then he laughed. He had been so occupied with thoughts of home that the girl's offer had confused him at first. She looked offended at his mirth, but a generous tip mollified her, and Kieran shook his head at his own mistake.

All right, either the mental ravages of age arrive far earlier than I thought they would, or finding out I am a father and inviting the world's most lovely governess into my home was enough to addle me. Somehow, I am going to assume that it is the later.

He drained the last of his drink and stood to go upstairs. There was really no point in staying up, and if he got up earlier, he would be home to see his two favorite girls all the sooner.

Before he could sleep that night, however, Kieran found himself tormented with less than pure visions of Delia. Delia smiling at him, Delia's mouth all red from kisses, Delia in her shift, Delia out of her shift. It could drive a man to distraction, and somehow, deep in his soul, he knew it was driving her to distraction as well.

Sometime in the small hours of the morning, he gave up on sleep and ended up at the window of his room, watching the sky lighten toward dawn. It occurred to him absently that the paleness of the sky, when it was pewter, before it was properly blue, reminded him of Delia's eyes.

This can't go on. I need to do something about this.

* * *

Kieran came home the next day, still pondering the issue. The worries and troubles that had seemed so very important while he was on the road dissolved to nothing when he entered the nursery in the middle of lunch and Alice sprang from her place at the table, pelting toward him with a cry of delight.

Just as she got to him, she tripped, and he swept her up in his arms.

"What a bright and brilliant girl! Did you miss me?"

Alice threw her arms around his neck, babbling happily, and Delia rose from the table by the window. Kieran started to smile at her, but then looked twice and put Alice down.

"I would love to see your drawings, darling. Will you put them in order for me while I have a word with Delia?"

As Alice scampered off, Kieran came to stand by Delia at the window. He wondered if she flinched a little from him, and he frowned. He touched her chin with his fingertip, urging her to look at him.

"What's the matter? You look pale. Are you getting sick?"

"No, I'm feeling fine. I suppose I have not been sleeping well lately."

Kieran thought for a moment, and then he pulled her close, ignoring her slight murmur of protest. There was a moment of surprise, and then she softened against him. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, but he remembered that he had had something else in mind before that.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, holding her still for a short moment, and then he let her go.

"You don't feel hot or feverish to me. Perhaps you have taken a bit of a chill and it has stopped you from sleeping. Shall I send for a doctor?"

She looked surprised at his words. "No, not at all. I tell you, I am fine."

Kieran smiled a little at her shock. "I should not want anything to happen to you. Just as you are taking care of my daughter, I must make sure that you are well taken care of as well."

"Is that what you want, to take care of me?"

Kieran thought for a moment, and it was as if someone had lit a candle in his mind, making way for all the things that he had never quite recognized before.

"Yes, I suppose that is something I want to do."

When he reached for her this time, she did not flinch, and instead of bringing her in for a passionate kiss, he simply held her for a moment. Somehow, it was so easy to forget how small Delia really was. Right now, she felt like a starved winter sparrow in his arms, all bones and skin.

Perhaps it would not be such a terrible thing to call for a doctor after all. Better safe than sorry.

Before he could press the matter again, however, Alice dashed back, her drawings arranged in careful order for his perusal. Glancing at Delia, Kieran took a seat at the window, allowing Alice to show him what she had been up to for the last little while.

They'd apparently kept quite busy with him gone, and Kieran thought again that it might be better to bring his business to him rather than chasing it across the country. He dutifully looked at pictures of Alice riding, of the meals she had shared with Delia, and then he stopped her at the last one.

"And who's in this picture?"

Alice grinned. "It's you, and me, and Delia!"

The blobs were barely recognizable as people, all enclosed in a box that Alice proudly called Brixby Hall, but Kieran found himself oddly touched by the fact that all three blobs were holding hands. Alice, smaller and topped with golden hair, stood in the middle.

"Alice, may I have this one?"

Alice said he could, and with a slightly sheepish smile, Kieran folded the picture and tucked it into his pocket.

"It's a curiously affecting work, wouldn't you say, Delia?"

For just a moment, the strangeness that had seemed to infect her since he'd returned dropped, and she smiled at him, warm and sweet as honey.

"Very much so, Kieran."

C H A P T E R 1 0

Delia thought that she would be torn in two. She had wondered if things would get better when Kieran returned from his trip, if seeing him after her discovery would change everything and make her realize that beneath his handsome face and heart-stopping smile that he was truly some kind of serpent in human form.

Before he had returned, she had all but stopped sleeping. After retrieving the enameled snuffbox full of her sister's effects, she made a small slit in her pillow and pushed the box in, sewing the slit up again neatly. It seemed to have bled into her dreams, and when she could sleep at all, her dreams pursued her with a kind of relentless fury.

In her dreams, her sister came to her, as sweet and lovely as she had been in life, and in the middle of some mundane errand, would ask with sorrow in her voice why Delia did not miss her.

"Why are you spending all your time mooning over him? Don't you remember what happened to me? I thought you were meant to be the smart one."

No matter how Delia protested, Lissa's recriminations became louder and more furious, and slowly, Delia would remember that Lissa was dead.

She woke up in a cold sweat, and sometimes, the only thing that would calm her was going to Alice's room and matching her breath to Alice's.

She had expected to see a monster when Kieran returned to Brixby Hall, but instead, for a single moment when he entered the nursery, she forgot all about her sister and only saw the man who made her heart beat faster. His smile made her insides melt, and when he came to speak with her, she almost swayed toward him before she remembered herself.

I have enough information. I could go with it to the constables. I could go right into London and demand satisfaction in front of the entire world. I can tell them where I have been, and I can show them the handkerchief I have found. It could ruin him.

And it would ruin Alice as well.

The thought sent such a pain through her heart that she thought she might fall down to her knees. The little girl had never figured into her plans for vengeance, and now she could see what a fool she had been.

It took everything she had to behave normally throughout the rest of that day and the next, and then, shortly after she had put Alice to bed, a soft knock sounded on the nursery door. When she answered it, she was not sure if she was surprised or not to see Kieran there, his jacket and waistcoat removed, his cravat discarded somewhere and his shirt open at his throat. For a moment, she could not tear her eyes away from the V of bronzed skin there.

"Kieran. What are you doing here?"

She wondered briefly how after everything that had happened that she could still call him Kieran.

"I was hoping to speak with you."

"Here?"

"Well, Alice might wake up if we're speaking in the nursery, and your room is hardly appropriate. Would you walk with me back to the study?"

"There is very little about anything that we do that might be considered appropriate, but all right."

He rewarded her with a bright smile, and he led the way back to the study.

I could confront him now. I could tell him about all the proof that I have discovered, and I could demand... what? What in the world could I demand that would be equal for what was taken away from my family? I am not a man who can demand satisfaction in a duel, and if he tried to offer me money, I believe I might kill him.

In his study, Kieran closed and locked the door behind them.

Delia raised an eyebrow.

"You are being very cloak and dagger tonight."

"I suppose I am. There is a reason for it, I promise you.”

He went to his desk, rummaging in the drawers for a moment. Outside, Delia heard the distant boom of thunder.

There had been a true summer storm threatening for some little while now, something that would shake the ancient oaks around Brixby Hall and bow them low.

The summer air was heavy with the promise of the storm, and Delia had heard more than one servant praying for it to come if only so the anticipation would end. She thought she knew how they felt.

"Come here, Delia, I want you to see this."

Delia came closer, and he pressed a soft vellum envelope in her hands. It was surpassingly fine, something used to hand down edicts from on high, and she glanced at him nervously.

"Open it."

She pulled a fine sheet of paper from the envelope, and in the light of the candelabra on the table, she saw that it was a deed.

Offers the undersigned the property known commonly as Plum Cottage in perpetuity for all their living days on this earth...

Her eyes skipped down to the signature line, and to the left of it, written out in plain text, was the name Delia Jones.

For a moment, she had a terrible urge to tell him that that was not her real name at all, that she was someone else entirely, but then she realized that the cottage was hers.

"Plum Cottage? Kieran, what is all of this?"

"It's a rather well-sized cottage on the other side of town from Brixby, about an hour's easy ride. Not far at all. I want you to have it."

"Why? Kieran, you may be generous, but generous men do not simply... hand out cottages to their governesses!"

"But men do offer them to their mistresses."

The silence that stretched between them was so sharp it could have cut stone.

Delia found her voice first.

"Kieran... you can't be serious."

"Why can't I be? I know how I feel when I touch you, and I believe I have a good idea of how you feel as well... Curse it, I'm doing this all wrong."

Kieran shook his head, and then he reached down to take Delia's hand.

"I know that I am not alone in what I feel when we are together. It feels too good, like it might be the most real thing in the world. it is something that we cannot let pass us by, and we cannot have what we want while you are at Brixby Hall as the governess of my child."

"And what is it that we want?"

Her voice was sharp, and the moment the words were out of her mouth, she wondered if it would make Kieran lose his temper at her. Instead, he looked at her with a warmth in his gaze that made something inside her open up. It was as if she had waited her entire life for someone to look at her like that.

"We want each other. Tell me it is not true, Delia, and I will send you back to the nursery if you wish, and we need never speak about this again. Can you say it is not true?"

She couldn't respond to that. It felt as if there was a great stone in her throat, something rough and chalky. She could not talk. She could barely breathe.

"I want you to be my mistress. I will offer you Plum Cottage free and clear, and you will find me generous in all other ways as well as time goes on. We spoke of protection yesterday and care, and Delia, I have discovered that all I want in life is to protect you and to care for you. This is the best way for me to do that."

She found her voice. It was only a croak, but it was hers. "And what of Alice?"

"She can come visit you as often as she likes. As I said, it is not far. We shall have to find her another nurse, but that might be for formality's sake... Believe me, Delia, this can happen, and everything will be for the best. You will no longer court scandal by being the governess in a house with a lord who cannot take his eyes off of you..."

"That is not my fault!"

Her voice snapped out like a whip.

Kieran drew back as if she had struck him.

"Delia?"

"It is not my fault where your eyes wander, and I will never be your mistress! I may be poor, and I may come from a family of no account, but I will never lower myself to bed with you in some... some pretty cottage that you have given me in order to buy my services."

"That's not what the cottage is for."

She shot him a scornful look. "Is it not? How much of it have I paid for already with the kisses we have shared? How much is there left to pay you?"

"Delia, you cannot be serious."

"Oh, but I am. And let me be perfectly clear. I am not some trifling girl you can promise to marry and then abandon. I am a woman of honor and dignity, and I will not be bought as if I am a horse, even if that coin is... is passion and desire."

"Delia!"

She couldn't stand to hear him talk. She drew her hand back and slapped him with all her strength. She felt the jolt of the blow travel all the way up her arm and the sound of it was a shot in the still room.

“Well. You have made your point of view very clear, Delia.”

Despite her own rage at his offer, at the parts of the situation he did not know about, and everything else in the world between them, Delia felt horrified, both at Kieran's reddening face and at the iciness in his voice. She had never heard him sound like that before, never heard the man who had proved to be a loving and caring father sound so very dead.

“Kieran...”

Without thinking, she lifted her hand to his face again, wanting to touch where she had slapped him, almost as if she were trying to reassure herself that what was happening was not real. His hand came up so quickly she gasped, taking her own in a hard grasp.

“Make up your mind, Delia. Stay with me here or return to the nursery. You cannot have it both ways.”

It was too easy to see that he was right. In the end, all Delia could do was bow her head, turn, and leave the room. Mercifully, the tears did not start until she was locked in her own room again, and when they did, they refused to stop.

I cannot do this. I can't.

The thought came to her hours later, while she was still nursing her broken heart late into the night.

Feeling as I do, for him and for Alice, can I even do what needs to be done for Lissa any longer?

To her shock and fear, she didn't know what the answer was, and she sat up in her bed, clutching her pillow to her chest for a kind of meager comfort.

C H A P T E R 1 1

Kieran paused outside the door of the nursery, taking a deep breath and then another. There was a small and cowardly part of him that wanted nothing more than to stay away, to do as so many men of his class did and simply watch his daughter grow from afar.

He couldn’t do that, not after already missing the earliest parts of her life, and he was going to have to face Delia at some point. In the small hours of the morning, he had even considered letting her go. He would provide her with a generous sum, enough to keep her for at least a year, but surely what had happened last night meant that they could no longer live under the same roof, didn't it?

If she wants to leave, I will not stop her, and I will certainly pay her what she’s due. However, I am not sure I can order her to leave myself. I won't do that to Alice, and I will not do that to myself.

He knew that at the bottom of it was something terribly desperate. If he could not have Delia as his mistress, he still wanted her around, no matter what capacity it came down to.

Kieran entered the nursery quietly, and for a few moments, he watched Delia and Alice, their heads bent over a primer and Alice sounding out the letters with a dubious look on her face.

His daughter was charming, but it was Delia's face that captured Kieran. It was relaxed and sweet, a gentle smile on her lips as she oversaw Alice's education. She encouraged Alice when she faltered, and when the little girl succeeded, she made soft exclamations of pride.

Kieran might have stood there watching her forever if Delia hadn't noticed him across the room and straightened up.

“Kieran.”

Some part of him was pathetically, desperately grateful that she had not retreated into calling him by his title. He was not sure that he could have borne that.

“Delia. What is the lesson today?”

He sounded, even in his own ears, terribly stiff and stilted, but Alice looked up with a grin on her face, ready and eager to show him what they had been working on. She was delighted to be given a challenge, and she rewarded Delia's efforts by reading back the first five pages of the primer in a stuttering but increasingly confident voice.

“That's very good, Alice. Thank you for sharing with me. I only wish that I could stay longer...”

Alice's face fell. “I want you to stay, Papa!”

Kieran started to make up some excuse, but then Delia was there, rising smoothly to her feet and turning to Alice.

“Poppet, will you please go set up your painting and drawing supplies? Go find them in the box. I think we have had enough of reading and we should go to drawing next.”

Alice looked as if she would like to argue, but with a dark frown, she stomped to her drawing supplies, pulling out the tools she liked best. Kieran wondered if Delia was giving him a chance to make a graceful exit, but then she turned to him.

“Don't.”

Kieran felt a spark of that cold rage fly through him again, the same anger he had felt when she told him no to being his mistress. “You seem very happy to tell me what I need to do, Delia. Do you need to be reminded that I am the lord here?”

She thrust her chin up at him, the gesture at once defiant and oddly heart-warming. “Believe me, Kieran, I never forget that. If you want me to start calling you by your title again, I can certainly do that.”

Before he could make a response to that, she shook her head.

“This is not how I wanted things to go, and I am sorry for that.”

“Sorry means very little to me right this moment, Delia. Tell me what you want to tell me and have done with it.”

Her answer, when it came, surprised him, though he knew that it should not have done so.

“I want you to forget about whatever lies between us. You cannot allow any problems between you and me to be cast on your daughter. She is very young, and as such, her understanding of things is far from perfect. It is too easy for her to think that things that adults do are actually her fault and her responsibility.”

Kieran waited, but it seemed as if Delia was done. She stood in front of him, her hands clenched tightly into fists, and she refused to break her gaze from his.

God, but she has guts. Why the hell couldn't she be born a lady?

“Was that all?”

For just the barest split second, he could see her hesitate. It wasn't as if he didn't understand. It felt as if there were a thousand unanswered questions between them, and at the end of it, none of them mattered.

“No.”

“All right.”

“And?”

Kieran's eyes narrowed. “All right, I will not put my daughter into a tug of war between the two of us. No matter what you might believe, I am not so wretchedly a poor parent as all of that.”

Delia flinched. “That wasn't what I meant.”

“Then you should say what you mean.”

Kieran knew that he was being churlish at this point, but the rejection from the night before was too fresh. He shook his head.

“Alice, come, set that drawing away. I shall take you for a ride on horseback.”

Alice looked at him with some consternation. “But Delia said that we were going to draw.”

“Things change. Come on.”

To Kieran's irritation, Alice looked at Delia for confirmation.

Delia stepped forward, not looking at Kieran at all.

“It shall be a wonderful time for you, poppet, and we can draw later today or after dinner if the ride lasts for some time. Do not worry. Come, I will get you dressed, and we can leave all of your drawing things right here.”

Alice's green eyes were troubled, and she hesitated before stepping toward her governess.

“You come, too?”

“No, dear, but I will wait here for you, and you may tell me all about your ride when you return, how's that?”

The idea seemed to comfort Alice, or at least she kept quiet when Delia took her off to dress her for the day outside. As Kieran waited for them to return, he paced through the playroom, wondering at the way life turned out sometimes.

He and Delia had had their disastrous conversation just the night before, but only a short time before that, they had been so close. It felt as if everything had turned on a dime, and he had no one to blame for that but himself.

All I can do is move forward. That's all anyone can do I suppose.

It didn't explain Delia's harsh reaction, especially after everything that they had shared together, but at the end of it, all he could do was accept it. He refused to be one of those men who went pawing after women after they said that they were not interested.

He frowned out the window, momentarily distracted by the dark and gathering clouds. It had been such a cold and wet summer. He wondered if it would rain again before nightfall.

Delia returned with Alice in hand. The little girl was decked out in an attractive velvet riding outfit, and when he complimented her on it, she smiled bashfully, giggling.

“Delia helped me choose it!”

“Delia has a good eye.”

He took Alice's hand, but before he could leave with her, Delia laid a hand on his arm. The sensation of her touch hard on the heels of her refusal sent a deep shock through him, and before he could quite realize what he was doing, he shook her off hard.

Despite the sudden violence of his reaction, Delia only looked at him calmly.

“I was only going to say that you should be careful, Kieran. It looks as if it might storm dreadfully soon.”

Kieran hesitated, but then rather than saying all the things he wanted to say, only shook his head and tugged Alice out of the nursery.

Hours later, when he returned with Alice's limp form in his arms and a slash across his own head, Kieran found himself wondering if anything would have changed if he had waited. If he had stopped to listen to Delia.

C H A P T E R 1 2

When Kieran left with Alice, Delia put away the primer that they had been working with, and as she had promised, she left Alice's art supplies right where she had pulled them out.

I don't think Kieran knows that children require a great deal of preparation and a routine if they are to be at their most comfortable.

She shook her head in some despair at her own thoughts. She had come here to be a spy and a saboteur, not a real governess. Still, she could no more stop herself from caring for Alice anymore than she could stop herself from smelling an apple that had been cut up and laid on the table in front of her.

When she returned to her room, Delia realized that this was the best opportunity she had to simply leave. With the storm coming up, her departure would not be easily tracked, and since Kieran was with Alice, she did not even have to worry about the little girl getting hurt before her absence was noted.

This is the most perfect opportunity I have to leave. It should take advantage of it.

She went to her room, and it took her less than half an hour to gather up her things. The precious enameled snuffbox she slid to the bottom of her valise, one of her extra night shifts wrapped around it. Before she was even done, fat drops of heavy rain were hitting the windowpane outside. Though she knew that time was of the essence, she couldn't stop herself from coming to the window for a moment.

It is a good thing I am leaving now. This storm feels like one that will last, and it could churn the roads into impassable mud.

As she made her way down to the rear doors, where she could slip out without anyone being the wiser, Delia heard a sudden commotion from the front of the house. Several housemaids dashed by her, panic on their faces. For a moment, she almost dismissed it, but when she heard a bellow, two things struck her with the force of the thunder rolling outside.

First, she realized that it was Kieran who was shouting, and that he sounded as if he were in pain. The second thing she realized was that he was crying her name.

Oh, no, something has happened to Alice!

She had just enough presence of mind to stash her bag behind a stand of decorative plants in the hall, and then she was pelting for the front foyer, where the noise was steadily increasing.

“Damn you, get off! Get Delia!”

The servants were milling around Kieran as if he were a bear at bay. Drenched and with blood flowing from a cut to his forehead, he looked like some kind of monster entering a decent residence. He held a terribly still Alice in his arms, and even when a maid came timorously to help him with the little girl, he drew away from her with a terrible snarl on his face.

Oh, no, Kieran...

Taking a deep breath, Delia walked into the fray. She caught one of the footmen by the arm, pulling him around so she could look him in the eye.

“Go to the stables, make them give you a horse, and ride for the doctor.”

“But...”

“No buts. I promise you there will be no repercussions for following my orders, but there will certainly be problems if you choose to disobey them. Make sure he comes at once, do not return without him.”

To her relief, the footman did not challenge her authority but instead left with alacrity. Good. That was one thing taken care of. Now she simply had to care for the rest.

She grabbed one of the maids, who gave her a suspicious and uncertain look. Governesses were suspended between their noble employers and the general servants of the house, never allowed to settle with either one.

Delia gave the maid a very stern look.

“Go to the kitchen, and have them send up hot water, enough of it to make a bath. Then go to the linen drawers and bring up enough fabric for bandages.”

The maid went off quickly enough, and she supposed with that that she must be content. That only left Kieran, who was still backing away from his own servants as if they wished to murder the child in his arms.

“All right, the rest of you, clear out! Go back to your stations! If you are needed, you will be sent for!”

They dispersed, and Delia let out a sigh of relief. There was a chance that they would refuse to listen to her, and then who knew what she would do. All she really understood was that she would not allow further harm to come to Alice or Kieran at that moment.

She turned to Kieran, and all of the anger and animosity that had hung between them melted away.

The moment he saw her, something wild went out of his gaze.

“Delia?”

“Kieran, it's going to be all right.”

“The storm came up so fast, and—”

“Shh, no one is going to blame you. We need to help Alice now. Will you follow me to the nursery?”

He nodded, and she was relieved when he fell into step with her. This close, she could tell that Alice was breathing strongly, even if she did not stir, and that there was a great deal of blood on her small face.

Oh, poor little mite.

She couldn't let her emotions get the better of her. She had been running her father's household ever since her mother died years ago, and she knew that grief and worry could always take place after the action.

By the time they reached the nursery, Kieran looked almost calm, and he laid Alice on her bed, as Delia directed.

“Kieran, do you wish to stay? I will take care of Alice—”

“I want to stay. Show me how I can help.”

“All right.”

She and Kieran stripped the unconscious Alice to her skin, and Delia took it as a great good thing that once or twice, Alice made a sound that resembled protest.

“That's good, that's very good. It's only if she does not respond that we have to worry.”

“You are very good at this.”

“I've had cause to be.”

Just then, someone from the kitchen arrived with hot water and the maid returned with linens. While she sponged the blood and dirt from Alice's body, Delia checked her over for other injuries and was relieved to see that there were none besides the bump on her head.

“Good. With any luck, she'll wake up, and she'll just have a headache.”

“She told me twice that she was worried about the storm. She didn't sound really afraid though, almost excited. I had her riding in front of me, as I thought it would be safer than having her on her own pony.”

“Well, in most circumstances, you would have been right. Did she fall from your arms?”

Kieran laughed, a harsh bark of a sound that even to Delia's ears was full of self-hate and recrimination.

“She didn't. By the time we started back, the winds had kicked up. I held on to her tightly, because I was not going to let her fall from my arms. Hell, it might have been better if she had. The wind came up strong, and we were riding on the river road back to Brixby Hall. A thick bough was swept from a tree close by, and before I could swerve or draw the horse away, it fell straight onto us, first me and then her.”

Delia and Kieran fell silent, drying Alice and dressing her in a soft nightdress. With the blood washed away, it was easy to see the large bump on the side of her skull, and the thin gash at the center of it. Beyond that, however, her color was good, and Delia was relieved to see that she was breathing easily and normally.

“All right, Kieran. Now we need to see to you.”

Kieran scowled at her reflexively. “I am not leaving Alice.”

“No one is saying we have to. But you are going to give the doctor quite a fright when he comes here looking like that.”

Kieran started up from his chair in panic. “The doctor, I never called—”

Delia held up her hand. “Calm down, please. I sent the footman for the doctor and told him he was not to return without the man. All right? We have done everything that we can do, and Alice will not feel better if you sit there with blood in your face.”

For a moment, she was afraid that Kieran would simply roar at her and send her away, but then it was as if some kind of tension finally drained from him. He nodded at her, and hesitantly, she pushed him toward a chair in the corner. He sat down as if he had been awake for a fortnight, and he gave no reaction when she approached him with a basin of warm water and a clean cloth.

At first, it was fine. She was only washing his face and cleaning his wound, which she suspected might actually be more severe than the one that had stunned Alice. For a while. Delia was occupied with dabbing at the fresh blood and cleaning away the dried blood on his face. She could smell the rain on him and feel how cold he had been in the wind.

Kieran winced a little as she cleaned his wounds, but it wasn't until she was almost done that she realized he was looking at her.

“You came.”

“What?”

“When I called. You came. I had no idea what was happening, and all I could feel was this terrible fear. All I knew was that we both needed you so very much. Alice and I both.”

“Of course, I came. There was no question I would.”

In the dim light of the nursery with the storm slashing outside, Delia could see Kieran's green eyes cutting into her. It felt as if he could see every corner of her.

He looks like a man bedeviled. Is this enough for you, Lissa, if he loses his daughter like I lost you?

The thought almost made her sick, and she pushed it away. It did not bear thinking about, and no matter what, she knew in her heart that you could not exchange one life for another and pretend to call it fair.

“Things are very strange between us right now. I do not know how to proceed with you,” he said softly.

“There's no reason to proceed any way at all. We shall continue as we are. You are the lord of the manor, Alice is your beloved daughter, and I am her governess.”

Delia started to move away from Kieran, but instead, he grabbed her wrist, making her cry out. His grip was powerful, just short of pain, but she thought wildly that she had a better chance of breaking granite than she did of breaking his grip.

“Kieran!”

“There is nothing simple about the two of us, Delia, nothing at all. I want you, and I know that you want me.”

To her shock, he stood up, sending the basin that had been on the table clattering away in a vast splash of water. In the dark, he should have been terrifying, but something in her cried out for him. They weren't meant to be apart. He was the one who could call that intense heat from her body, the one who could make her feel as no one else could. When he pulled her to him, she went, and when he lowered his lips to hers, she opened her mouth for more of him.

The heat that passed between them made her think of a forge's fire, where steel and iron were tempered. It was creating something new and wild between them. His body was hot against her, and she smelled the rain, his soaked clothes, and somewhere underneath that the healthy smell of his skin. She wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in that scent, in Kieran himself.

There was no telling at all what would have happened if they hadn't both heard a soft cry from the bed.

“Papa? Delia?”

They froze, and then as one, they dashed back to the bed, where Alice was sitting up with a surpassingly cranky look on her face.

“My head aches!”

Kieran gathered her close to him, gently after her first squawk of protest. “I'm sure it does, little one. I'm so sorry, I did not mean for you to get hurt.”

It was a private moment between father and daughter, but Delia couldn't stop herself from reaching for Alice's hand. The moment Alice felt her touch, the little warm fingers wrapped around Delia's, and Delia felt a rush of deep relief flood through her.

She's going to be all right. Oh, thank goodness, she is going to be all right.

Another bolt of lightning lit across the sky, and the rain came down even harder. It was a deluge, and from the way it was carrying on, Delia could tell that it was not going to stop any time soon.

Well, so much for my plan to leave.

To be continued … FIND OUT MORE ON THE NEXT POST -

The Lady’s Masquerade - Part 3

#regency #regency romance #historical #historical fiction #historical romance #regency historical romance #regency historical fiction #duke #duke romance #earl #pride and prejudice #jane austen

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fivexfaith · 8 years ago

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SHIP MEME. SHIP MEME. SHIIIIIP MEEEEMEEEE.

ship meme???status: always

x || @defenestratio

how did they meet?

the story is your typical but no-so-classic late night bar run-in. faith lehane not-so-subtly took a vampire by the back of the head and cracked their skull wide open by smashing it into the top of a table in front of where doctor alana bloom sat. and the rest was history.

who developed romantic feelings first?

i’m pretty sure our girl, little miss broody and likes-to-fight, developed ‘em first. but she’ll deny it if ever asked directly.

who is their biggest shipper?

i can tell you who’s not and that’s buffy rolls-eyes-at-every-action-made-and-every-word-said-between-alana-and-faith summers.

when did they have their first kiss and under what circumstances?

looooooooord their first kiss. their first kiss happened like literal minutes before the two of ‘em officially became an item and it was while they were lying down in alana’s bedroom, after faith blew off patrol because she would have rather made sure to see this very small, very important person get put to bed properly.

who confessed their feelings first?

both were very aware of the fact that feelings had developed and were very loud and very real. i think it was an immediate mutual agreement that they would act on them rather than talk about them. but. i will say that faith lehane was the one to say the l word out loud first.

what was their first official date?

i wanna say the first official date, if you’d call it that, was the day after the two agreed to be together, faith lehane, god bless her, went through the trouble of finding something to wear other than tshirts and jeans and actually made the effort to spend money on flowers. i know, gross, right? disgusting. it was valentine’s day and she tried way too hard to pay tribute to a holiday she hated all for this girl who had told her the night before that her eyes reminded her of a teddy bear.

how do they feel about double dates/group dates?

meh. --that’s. basically. it. just. meh. neither of ‘em are a people person. so they prefer to do things, especially dates, alone. but i mean, i don’t think either of ‘em would be opposed to the idea. you’d be surprised how much of a hoe faith lehane is for pda so she’d honestly just use double/group dates as an excuse to be cute.

what do they do in their down time?

what down time. please show me this down time. between a vampire slayer and a doctor, down time is slim to nonexistent. if there’s a chance for any at all, some much needed z’s are caught. down time has to be created. as does the time for sleep and meals and basic needs.

what was the first meeting of parents as an official couple like?

ah. well. both sets of parents are dead. but through the power of magic and alana bloom’s memory palace, faith was able to meet jean bloom, alana’s father. and i want y’all to take the knowledge you already have of faith lehane as person and then replace all of those adjectives and arcs with the complete opposite. because that’s how jean bloom saw her and that’s how jean bloom treated her, much like his daughter. with respect and generosity. all of her life, faith lehane had been treated like an outsider, a ghost in foreign postal codes-- up until she met the blooms.

what was their first fight over and how did they get past it?

man, i don’t even know. faith lehane is a hothead, her fuse is already short, everyone knows that. so the first fight probably formed out of faith overreacting for some stupid-ass reason. and like all/most fights, they don’t last long. they’re both embarrassingly fast to forgive because they’re both embarrassingly codependent on the other.

which one is more easily made jealous?

*cups hands around mouth* faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaith.

what is their favorite thing to get to eat?

chi *clap* nese *clap* take *clap* out.

who’s the cuddly one? what is their favorite cuddling position?

both are needy. both are clingy. both are disgusting. 99.9% of the time, if you listen carefully, you can hear buffy summers muttering various swears under her breath because 99.9%of the time, alana bloom is sitting in the lap of faith lehane, purring and kneading like a house cat, probably sleeping.

are they hand holders?

lord yes. no, you don’t understand, they will both experience (they have both experienced) a panic attack if hands are not held when hands could be held.

how long do they wait before sleeping together for the first time? what’s the circumstances?

not too long? i don’t think? it was a whole trust thing. it had to be built. equally. on both ends. and, at least for faith, she wanted the first time, and each time after that, to be an act of trust, of intimacy, of understanding-- of love. and it was definitely that the first time, the second time, and the hundredth time.

who tops?

it depends. on the mood. on the setting. faith more times than others. but they both enjoy an equal playing field, so to speak.

what’s the worst fight they’ve ever gotten into?

man oh man. i dunno. honestly, i don’t. because like i said, their fights always result and stem off of something ridiculous. neither hold a grudge against the other, both are extremely aware of the other’s emotions and are cautious when it comes to handling ‘em. there’s been one or two times where faith brushed something that alana saw serious and she didn’t-- off. but. that’s about it.

who does the shopping and the cooking?

both have become more of a team effort. but. faith, more so the shopping and alana more so the cooking. even after years of living with and being married to a five star chef and baker, faith lehane’s culinary skills still remain hella l o w.

which one is more organized and prone to tidiness?

alana: is the most organized and the most cleanly person alive.faith: has to be constantly reminded to put things where they belong like a toddler.

did they have joined bachelor/bachelorette parties or separate?

fun fact: neither had a bachelorette party because neither their ceremony or actual marriage was/is traditional. but i’m sure if someone had thrown them one, they would’ve griped and groaned the whole time for their wife to be there and all of their friends would’ve gotten annoyed over the fact on how that completely goes against the concept of a bachelorette party.

who proposed?

never forget that alana bloom proposed to faith lehane twice. once at a fancy-smancy french restaurant. but then ultimately decided against it because it didn’t feel very them. and then again, weeks later, even after faith had agreed and said yes the first time, by plopping the ring in a bucket of popcorn at a boston redsox’s game :)))))

big ceremony or small?

again, man, they pretty much eloped without the actual eloping part. it was all very subtle and very private. both agreed to a very teeny tiny reception that consisted of only alana’s brothers.

do they have children? how many?

in kat and i’s main verse, faith lehane and alana bloom have two children. twins. fraternal twins. jean and anastasia. alana carried them both. faith is considered and referred to as the mother and alana is considered and referred to as the father.

did they have a honeymoon? if so, where?

they didn’t honeymoon right away. the honeymoon happened years later on the coast of Maine and it was a little impromptu after faith had experienced her very first full blown panic attack from losing her slayer powers. it was more of a journey of self discovery than an actual honeymoon but they still count is as a honeymoon.

#x || answered #x || something will soon overflow this empty space (alana)#defenestratio #[ MY KIDS ]

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codyfernaesthetic · 6 years ago

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Unholy

Summary: Mallory is drawn to the young, attractive priest Father Michael Langdon, and soon finds herself in a scandalous situation.

Warnings: Blasphemy, public masturbation, domination, anal, cum play (slightly)

Here’s the whole thing, gang!