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dumbsoftheart · 9 months

Text

threads of fate

pairing: peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x preachers daughter!reader

tags: 18+, mdni. dub-con, heavy and dark religious themes, dark themes, fingering, kissing, swearing, sliiight voyerism, corruption and innocence kink,

summary: after a chase in the woods, coriolanus becomes devoted to making you his one and only follower.

notes: i don't know what came over me.. enjoy!

word count: 7.2k

౨ׅৎ

the blood of the lamb, washed over the sins of those strayed away from god, atones those begging to be spared from destruction. the saccharine ichor was the ultimate gateway towards deliverance- and thus sought out by sinners and saints alike to be granted eternal redemption for the transgressions that permeated the sweats and tears of the individuals whose secrets would have them damned to the dreadful inferno beneath their feet. the sweet lamb; symbol of innocence and purity, and the wolf who hunted it, the face of deception and treachery, stood now in the heart of the woodlands, the sweet kill hidden shamefully in the asylum of the crowded aspen as it’s predator tauntingly whistled in pursuit of it’s coveted prize.

tears fell in a waterfall down into the vessels of your collarbones, trailing down and staining the frail white fabric of your dress, unveiling the soft tanned skin of your chest in its wake. with one hand clasped tightly against your mouth, you tried to conceal your wails of fear and the threatening thumping of your heart so as not to draw attention to the towering figure looming dangerously close to you, chuckling lowly as he carefully made his way through the maze of trees and forestry. your other hand was clutched desperately on the golden cross that hung around your neck, thumb haphazardly caressing the delicate engravings and etchings of the cool metal.

hail mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus. holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death.

shame washed over you as you thought of your mother and father- your dear father, and what they would make of your inevitable disappearance. you were taught the way of the lord since you emerged from your mothers womb; it followed you everywhere you went. by all means, you had lived your life for god himself. what would he think of you now? the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of god. and yet there you were, a thief, running from, no doubt, god’s punishment for your sins.

despite your fathers widespread fame throughout the district, your family struggled to bring food and water to the table regularly. seeing the despair that clouded your mothers eyes as she failed to provide a dinner some nights for her family had driven you towards madness. you grew desperate- desperate to alleviate the stress that haunted her and satiate the hunger that settled in your stomach for the fifth day in a row. you rationalised, that with your undying devotion, god would find it in him to forgive you. with all the work your father put into his sermons and dedication to delivering god's word to the poverty stricken peoples of district 12, the divine being would be forgiving in his punishment in recognition of the loyalty you harboured.

now, you knew you were wrong.

you berate yourself for even entertaining the stupid idea of pilfering from the small bakery near the marketplace. in truth, it wasn’t even stealing. you had waited until dark threatened the sky, then snuck behind the establishment to snatch a few meagre, stale loaves that had been carelessly discarded in a small bin beside the refuse receptacles. combined with the butter you had been gifted earlier in the week, these provisions would barely suffice to stifle the persistent pangs in your stomach for a few days, at most. you naively assumed you were in solitude and hastily fled when you’d filled up your small leather bag with as many old rolls and loaves as possible.

oh, how wrong could you have been? you never caught sight of the face of the man who now charged after you- only a faint glance at a familiar blue that weaved its way through the trees- but the adrenaline rushing through your veins urged you to run, and to never stop. and now, here you were, caught in the act, pathetically weeping as you waited for the repercussions of your actions to find you.

you moved to press your back harder against the thin trunk of the tree, a twig snapping under the weight of your foot, and your eyes widened with fear as the sound reverberated against the still of the forest, the soft footsteps that trailed behind you coming to an abrupt stop. then, a voice.

“my dear, it would make it so much easier for us if you just came out. i promise you, i don’t bite.” it purred. the way he spoke was low and unrecognisable, laced with an amusement that had you shiver with the depravity of it. your crying ceased at an attempt to remain as hidden as possible, nary a whimper escaping from behind the painful grip of your hand across your mouth.

“i know you know what you did was wrong. i mean, stealing from a bakery? i wonder what your father would think of you now, his daughter a thief.”

you fought back tears at the mention of your father, shame once again weighing at your conscience, “come out, and i promise your punishment won't be as harsh as it should be.”

the proposition had you thinking for a bit, the truth behind the words appealing to you for a sliver of a moment. before you could consider your next step; find an out or comply to the omnipresent man’s offering, a gunshot pierces your ears, and you let out a shriek so loud you swore all of panem could hear you.

you begin to wail again then, uncontrollably, screaming and begging for respite as your body gave in under the weight of itself; your knees buckling and falling harshly against the ground. you shake with the ferocity of a small rodent before you’re pulled up by your shoulders and engulfed into a familiar, warm hug. your eyes wide with panic, you thrash your head back in forth in an attempt to find the man who was tormenting you, only to see that he was now gone, and in his place, a small search party lead by a peacekeeper cheered in glory at the sight of you. relief washed over you as you looked up to find your father, falling into the safety of his arms as he escorted you out of the forest, giving a curt thank you to the peacekeeper and another man you recognized to be one of your fathers students, before dragging you to the comfort of your home.

౨ׅৎ

when your father found out the reason behind your being in the woods, you’d landed yourself a life of extra chores and punished to more frequent church visits until your father decided you had repent enough. your father, reassuring you of god's forgiveness as his child, warned that your actions wouldn't fade from memory. he emphasised the necessity of restoring your relationship with the lord and savior. you were under his constant watch, now. each morning, before dropping you off at school, he compelled you to pray fervently for protection over your family and yourself, urging you to plead for deliverance from the consequences of your actions.

with your increased presence in church taking up most of the time you had to yourself, you found yourself taking note of the other frequent church goers. your father, of course, and his dedicated student, were a constant in your peripheral vision. the old couple who lived only a few minutes away from you, mrs. harmon and her froofy, dirty church outfits, her boisterous children, and her grumbling husband. you noticed small things; like how the wife of the newly-wed couple in town had stopped wearing her wedding ring, and how her husband seemed to never give her a second look. how the twin boys in the grade below you suddenly surpassed you in height, and their younger sister now seemed to lack a certain innocence that was pertinent in her character before. you made a small promise to yourself to pray for her.

there was one person, however, who you were not familiar with, yet you could feel it in the deep ends of your bones that you knew exactly who he was. he had begun to appear only once a week, his shiny buzzcut and blue peacekeeper uniform sticking out sorely from the rest of the crowd. then, twice a week- then three- and then suddenly you found you could not escape from him. everywhere you turned, he was there. when you walked home from school, you would catch him patrolling somewhere nearby, or laughing and chatting with his peacekeeper friends. when you opened the church doors for mass, he would be first to walk in, handing you a small smile before making his way to sit in the pew farthest away from you. he was there, everywhere you looked, and it unsettled you greatly. there was a lack of sincerity in his eyes when he smiled, and for a moment you thought that it had seemed like hunger, but you pushed the idea away before your brain could process it. one night, when closing the church doors and heading to your home, the small sound of rapid footsteps triggered your fight or flight response, the latter winning. when the man rested his hand on your shoulder politely, handing you a handkerchief you had dropped, you felt a strange sense of deja vu. the speed at which it sounded he had ran towards you didn’t match how he stood before you now; breathing even, chest pushed out pridefully, his dark sapphire eyes never leaving yours. but you were so sure that the man had been sprinting, just like the man who had sprinted after you a few weeks ago had. you gave him a small thank you before speed-walking your way to the front door, panting heavily as you locked it shut behind you and your hand made its way back to the pendant on your neck, grasping it so tightly it hurt, the stipe digging into the soft flesh of your palms as a way of grounding yourself back to your senses.

that night, when you got on your knees to pray, you couldn’t shake the look on the mans face from your thoughts. his features themselves were even, lacking any sense of emotion, but his eyes troubled you the most. the way they bore into yours made you feel as if you would burst into flames right then. it made you feel as if there was something he wanted from you, but your poor innocent soul couldn’t figure out what. when you nestled yourself into your bed that same night, you vowed to stay as far away from him as possible.

you hadn't realised how hard that would be.

he approached you the next morning. it was saturday, and the usual gloomy weather of district 12 had been forced away and replaced with the harsh, bright sunlight. it shone spectacularly through the stained-glass windows, gracing the dark wood of each side aisle with vibrant reds and yellows and blues and brightening the deep red carpet that lay evenly along the nave. you stood behind the pulpit, readying your fathers sermons and homilies for that week's sabbath. he had barged in unannounced, making his way towards you slowly as you pretended to ignore the tall figure making its way down the red path.

“good morning, miss,” he spoke lowly towards you, peering upwards slightly as the pulpit was slightly taller than the rest of the church, and you pretended to read through the cards and flip through your bible as if it were you preparing to speak in a mere 15 minutes. he cleared his throat once, and you waved your hand nonchalantly towards the pews, “the preacher will be ready shortly. please, have a seat.”

from behind your fathers flashcards, you could see a small tick of his jaw and he pressed his lips together tightly, nodding slowly before making his way to his usual seat, feigning interest in the architecture of the building.

“its quite beautiful, no?”

you hummed.

“i wonder how the district could afford to pay for it.”

the comment caught you off guard, causing you too look up at him with scrunched brows, your lips parted in confusion. surely, he knew the capitol had paid for it- and even then, what did it matter? a sanctuary for god deserved only the best of resources, you thought. the beauty of the church was a reflection of the beauty of your religion, the intricacies and meticulous carpentry of the building spoke to one of the three transcendentals that point to god. of course, it would be beautiful.

before you could think of a response to the bizarre musing, your father burst in, pressing a light kiss to your cheek and thanking you kindly for preparing for him. the man stood up to make his way to greet the preacher, and you were out of sight as fast as lightning.

that cycle continued for a while. he would sit in the pews, admiring the architecture (when really, he was admiring you), then stand to greet your father enthusiastically, frowning ever so slightly when you disappeared the moment he made any closer to your father. eventually, you had become quite good at avoiding him. you saw him less in the markets, saw less of him in church, and rarely caught sight of him anywhere else. that was, until you found him at your doorstep one hot summer day.

you and your mother swore it was the hottest day to see district 12, and you sat on the porch in a small, lace trimmed top and cut-off jean shorts. your hair was carelessly tossed into an updo to relieve your neck of some heat, and you sat in your fathers old chair as you sipped on some juice your family had been given earlier that day.

you weren’t expecting any visitors that day, so it was safe to say you nearly choked when the man appeared from behind the path of thrush that hid your small home from sight of the church, dressed only in the blue dress pants of his peacekeeper uniform and a thin white shirt, silver dog tag swinging like a pendulum across his chest as he made his way towards you. your father had emerged delighted, mr. snow!, he cheered, patting the man- snow, what a fitting name- on his back and urging him inside. you scrambled to the backdoor and into the kitchen where your mother rest, the door slamming behind you loudly as you entered, causing her to jump.

“dear?”

“that man daddy’s talking to- who is he?”

she gave you a halfhearted shrug, “i wouldnt know, pumpkin, it’s probably business with your father. he goes to the church, no?”

you nodded, pacing back and forth, ignoring the crazed look your mother threw at you as you processed the information.

“do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” she reminded you, and your jaw dropped at the silent accusation she threw at you.

“absolutely not, mother!” you stormed back out the door, drowning your mother’s laughter out with frustrated mumbles of has she lost her mind? and what a woman! how she could ever think something about snow was tempting you was beyond your understanding. however, when you made it back to your chair and your watered down glass of juice, the sight of a shirtless ‘mr. snow’ and your, otherwise fully dressed, father in the garden, dripping sweat shamelessly into your mothers vegetable patch, a snap thought breached your mind that perhaps there was something tempting about the mysterious man.

that sent you into a frenzy. your knee bounced anxiously as you silently begged god to forgive you for the thought, and that it was simply intrusive, and not reflective of the morals and high grounds you held closely to your heart. nervously, you grabbed the book you had abandoned weeks ago and shoved your nose into the pages as if to distract yourself from your own brain and its wicked ministrations.

you weren't sure of how much time had passed, yet it felt like the man's stay was suspiciously short as he and your father made their way inside. you gave him a curt nod, and your father gave you a small lecture about manners, insisting that the two of you become accustomed to one another. and there you were, legs drawn up to your chest as if to protect yourself from the sinful looking man before you.

“my name is coriolanus snow,” he said. coriolanus. it was unlike any name you’d heard before. you returned the gesture softly, hoping that he would disappear behind your father into the house and you could breathe again, but he stayed and stared at you with that look, “your father tells me we’re the same age. he’s a nice man.”

you bit your lip at that. the same age? there was something about coriolanus that seemed older. it also begged the question: what was someone his age doing as a peacekeeper? you opened your mouth to pry at him, but he cut you off, stepping closer.

“tell me, dear, what sins weigh in your heart?”

you drew yourself back further into the safety of your chair, face laced with disgust as you tried as hard as possible to distance yourself from the imposing man now caging you into your confinement. his breath was heavy on your nose, and your heart pounded harshly- from what, you weren’t sure. fear? a sense of danger? temptation? his lips were so close to yours now, you could smell the faint scent of cologne that mingled with the saltiness of his sweat, and you tried your best to keep your breathing as even as possible, feigning indifference to his proximity to you poorly.

“i dont know what you mean, mr. snow.”

he smiled at that, laughing lowly. he didn’t expect you to know what he meant, of course, but he had an inkling that if he played his cards just right, he’d have you right where he wanted. he leaned closer now, lips dodging yours, lightly brushing your nose as his head turned to whisper in your ear.

“do you think of me at night? our little chase?”

“wh-what?”

“you’re smart, miss. think about it.”

he disappeared into the house, bidding goodbye to your mother and father and whisking himself away. your mouth remained parted, eyes wide with confusion as you tried to process what his words could have meant.

surely, he couldn’t mean..

no. absolutely not, you decided. coriolanus may have unsettled you ungreatly, but he was a peacekeeper- and your father had always told you that they served to protect you, that they would never harm you purposely. you stood shakily and made your way quietly into the old house, reeking of old wood and boiled vegetables. you sat on the couch near your brother, holding his head to your chest as you stroked his hair comfortingly, still trying to process. from the kitchen, your father called, “he’s a nice boy, no? perhaps he could be of some influence to you, sweetheart.”

you agreed meekly, despite disagreeing with your father completely. you werent entirely sure what he saw in the man at all, yet you were adamant that he was, in fact, not a good influence, but a parasite. you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. he made you feel unsafe- unsure of yourself, and for some reason, your faith. you decided he was no good; but yet you couldnt make any understanding of the bittersweet ache between your thighs.

when coriolanus walked home that evening, he couldn’t fight his smile. he saw you, in all his glory, struggling pathetically under his gaze, squirming and fidgeting uncontrollably as he trapped you within the cage of his arms.

the sacrificial lamb has been caught, he thought.

what a stupid, stupid lamb.

౨ׅৎ

you rushed into church near 5 am the next day, sleep deprived from the constant running of your mind and the damned words of coriolanus snow.

“our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” you repeated to yourself, kneeled below the large wooden crucifixion of jesus, hands clasped tightly together, your head resting painfully against the white of your knuckles.

what you were praying for, you didn’t know. you couldn't go to the confessional- heavens forbid, no. confessing secrets of your dreams of coriolanus’s hands, the outline of his jaw, the way he whispered his sinister words so sweetly into your ear- to your father? you would rather be hanged for the whole district to see. there was nothing sinful about your dreams, exactly, but it felt sinful, dirty, downright hellish. you thought of his lips, the soft and pink flesh of them, the stormy blue of his eyes- and, oh god, you couldn't stop replaying his words in your head.

‘do you think of me at night?’ he had asked you so earnestly. as if he needed you to tell him yes, you did think of him, every night. it wasn't a lie, of course, only the way you had begun thinking about him had changed. but that wasn't your doing at all, was it? no, he was to blame, for speaking to you like that, for dangling his dog tag so close that it brushed your cross indecently, for showing up to your house and stripping himself half naked, sweating impurely over the soil you and your mother sowed and reaped with love, with innocence, purity. it was entirely his fault, from the way he seemed to be forcing himself into your life. the church door creaked open, and you continued to pray, “give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

your heart raced as footsteps neared closer, as if you knew exactly who they belonged to.

“what troubles you, little lamb?” his voice took you with fear, the way it rumbled in his chest and reverberated on the walls confining the two of you, alone. you raised your head, refusing to look back at him, “i do believe that's none of your concern, mr. snow.”

you heard him chuckle lowly, repeating the words mr. snow to himself under his breath. it made you shiver, and you recited the bible verses your father drilled into your head from as young as you could remember: vindicate me, o god, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation; rescue me from deceitful and wicked men.

you could feel him now, knee pressed lightly against your back. you stood up and turned to face him, eyes wild and daring as they searched the azure maze of his own. his hand reached to stroke your hair, and you flinched.

“why is it that you fear me so much, do you think?”

“i’m not afraid of you.”

he tsked, “‘fear’ is different than ‘being afraid’, darling. to be afraid is a fleeting moment. your brain's immediate response towards danger,” he moved to touch your hair again, now more forcefully, tucking the loose strands along your hairline behind your ear.

keep back your servant also from willful sins.

he continued, “i asked, why do you fear me?”

you tried to search deeper into his eyes, trying to grasp any understanding at what he was trying to communicate to you. your mind ran amok, and it was no help that coriolanus's hand now snuck its way into your fingers, fidgeting with the soft digits mindlessly.

“i don't.. i don't know-” he cut you off by stepping closer before you finished. you had wanted to tell him that you didn't know why he thought you feared him, that you didnt understand the question, and that you needed to get home soon, so to please excuse you.

“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”

you let out an involuntary laugh, giggling childlishly at the accusation. you stopped, when his eyes darkened.

“i’m sorry, mr. snow, but i really don’t know what you mean!” you were struggling to contain your girlish giggles. what he imposes between me and god? it was such a bizarre statement, so plainly laid out for you, that you couldn’t even comprehend it entirely. your laughing ceased, for good now, when his hand circled tightly around your wrist.

let them not have dominion over me.

then i will be upright.

“i’m not stupid, love. i saw you, yesterday, practically drooling over me. i wonder what your father would have to say if he saw the sinful way you ogled at me,” he paused, and you swallowed painfully, “and dont tell me you’ve forgotten all about our little chase, hm? wasnt it exhilarating?” now, panic engulfed you. you tried to back away from him as the pieces etched themselves together in your brain, but his hold on your wrist was only getting tighter.

“that was you?” your voice was impossibly small, weak from the alarm that blared in your head. your eyes darted back and forth desperately, searching for an out, hoping and praying that someone might burst in and see the scene before you, tear hades away from his persephone and save her from her impending doom.

i will be blameless and innocent of great transgression.

he dipped his head to your neck, lips deliciously grazing over the supple skin of your collar bone, pressing kisses so light you could barely feel them as you tried to wriggle from his grasp.

“of course it was me, darling,” the way you felt him smile against your skin was chilling, and you fought back tears as he moved impossibly closer to you, “isn’t that adrenaline rush just addicting? tell me, dove, what do you think about me when you lie in bed and replay our precious little moments together in that pretty head of yours?”

your breathing quickened, and you winced as coriolanus gripped tighter at your wrist, his other hand painfully gripping the small of your waist, massaging the gentle muscle of it. you could feel his entire body pressed against yours, and a tear threatened to slip when you felt the hard pressing of his lower region on your stomach. you shook your head, refusing to give in to his line of questioning, but his grip on your waist tightened and you cried out in pain, “your hands!” you whined, relief slowly making its way to the sore area of your waist as he loosened his grip. he made to grasp your chin under his index, forcing you to keep eye contact with him and urged you silently to keep going.

“your..” you let out a shaky sigh, “your h-ands, your voice, the words you speak to me. i don't understand why.”

he cooed at you now, as if proud of you for speaking up. your eyes darted to his lips, and you saw something flash in his eyes, “anything else?”

let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight,

lord, my rock, and my redeemer.

you tried to look down at your feet as if to run away from the question, but his hold on your chin was unrelenting. shamefully, you whispered, “your lips.”

he let out a small ahhh, as if the admission shocked him. he knew, of course. of course he knew. you poor thing. sweet, little lamb, so innocent and pure. untouched by lust, blind to its deceptive allure. he knew from the moment he’d gone after you in those woods and failed to catch you, that he would do everything in his power to make sure you would never escape his grasp again. he knew when his frail attempts at getting closer to you failed, he had to resort to a harsher solution. he needed to infiltrate every space you breathed in, and break his was into your mind until he had you right where he needed you to be: malleable, so he could corrupt you just as easy.

he knew your father protected you, the extent to which he went to protect you, as well. banning sex education in your school, ensuring your mind stays as pure as possible to the exploits of fickle men and their wants. you knew the basics, thanks to your mother and her worrisome self, but her teachings were meddled down into some confusing allegory that left your mind as clueless as before, so that you stayed intact, perfect and pristine in the lords eye as well as the rest of the district, in your white frilly dresses, light makeup, and perfectly crafted manners.

he knew how easy it would be to get in your head. the human body is funny, like that, wherein it begs for things it doesn’t know of. he knew when he flexed his hands you caught sight of it, when he swallowed you intently watched the way his adams apple bobbed, he knew when he showed up to your home and stripped himself almost bare it would plague your mind with an unknowing want and desire, and soon enough, you’d have no choice but to give in to it, abandon your god and his lessons for coriolanus alone.

he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, swiping his thumb across yours as if to mirror himself, and then ducked his head closer, “go on.”

you squeezed your eyes shut. everything felt so, so wrong, and you didn't know why, but you couldn't stop. when he continued to toy with your lip, slightly plunging the tip of his finger past them and into your mouth, you let out an involuntary, small moan, and your legs shook and quivered as the strange ache from yesterday returned.

“wh-what?”

“kiss me.”

your eyes widened, and you shook your head. coriolanus thought it was adorable, how you struggled to piece together what was about to happen, how your brain tried desperately to fill in the blanks with information it didnt know. you heard coriolanus sigh disapprovingly at your protests and he shoved his thumb further into your mouth, causing you to choke. he removed it, then wiped the saliva that remained over your bottom lip before inserting the digit in his mouth, tasting you.

“its okay, little one. you can kiss me. he wont mind,” you didnt realize your fingers lingered over the necklace nestled on your chest, and your gaze followed his finger as he gestured upwards. he wont mind. you racked your brain over the things coriolanus said to you from he entered the church.

“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”

now, you truly hoped someone would burst in, and you could scream and wail as you explained the horrors coriolanus was about to commit to you (even if those horrors were unclear). he was so close, and something still pressed hardly against your stomach, and suddenly you couldn't breathe, “he would mind. i promise to pray for you coriolanus, i don't know what troubles you, but the lord-”

he cut you off by shoving his lips onto yours harshly, groaning at the contact. his hands made their way to rest on your clothed breasts, and you wriggled and struggled to try get away from him, but your efforts were fruitless. you were cornered, now. a lamb with nowhere to run or hide, forced to face its fate. he ravaged your lips, hands restless as they caressed all over your protesting body. the ache between your legs grew, and a small part of you realized that the last thing you wanted right now was for someone to walk in, and see the preacher's daughter being completely defaced by a peacekeeper.

“your god cant give me what i need, angel. cant you see? you did this to me,” his hand grabbed yours as he pulled away to speak, trailing it down the hard muscle of his abdomen and palming the hardness that threatened to burst through the seam of his pants. your eyes were wide and doe-like, and coriolanus never needed to fuck you more. his lips met yours again, and his other hand fumbled to remove his pants, hissing when the air hit his straining cock, all while you tried your best to distance yourself from him as much as possible. your face was hot, and your hands remained in the air, unsure of where to rest them, as you slowly allowed coriolanus to slip his tongue into your mouth.

“good girl,” he practically growled, and you let out a pathetic squeak when you felt your core tighten, pleasure washing over you at the small praise. coriolanus was turned on beyond conception, moaning disgracefully as he stroked himself through the fabric of his underwear. if you could see the spectacle the two of you were making, in the middle of church- no less, the thought alone had coriolanus close to the edge. you gasped when you saw him palm himself, and without thinking, your hand brushing his ever so slightly, lingering a second too long before his eyes snapped up at yours, pleading you to go ahead and touch him.

when you finally pressed your hand to his clothed region, you swore the way coriolanus threw his head back with a small mewl and moan would land you an eternity in hell alone.

“thats it, baby, jus’ like that.. keep going..” you gasped when his hand sneaked its way under your dress- your sunday best- your hand faltering a bit when his long middle finger lightly grazed your clothed cunt. the foreign feeling it elicited from you had you desperately searching coriolanus’s eyes for an answer, unable to speak as his fingers that toyed with the most intimate parts of you had you moaning softly and lowly, uncontrollably. you continued to palm him, and his hand slipped into the lacy cotton of your panties, cursing hotly under his breath when he feels you.

“so wet for me. you dirty fucking girl, look at you: making a mess in church.” you didnt know what he meant, but shame burned through your skin. confusion grappled at you and you began to sob, not ignoring the way your tears seemed to make coriolanus throb beneath you, “please stop, coriolanus, this is immoral.”

“baby, if it feels good, then it cant be bad,” he stroked the tear stains on your cheek softly, cupping your face with false earnest as he pulled your head to lay on his chest, “does it feel good?”

coriolanus reveled in the way you looked up at him, like a devoted follower in the arms of their saviour. when you nodded slowly, he gently spun you around and shoved your face into the cool wood of the crucifixion behind you, his hand painfully pushing against your cheek enough so that you couldn't look anywhere but above you, into the sad eyes of jesus.

your panties were ripped off with a shriek that was muffled by coriolanus’s hand around your mouth, and you sobbed as pain mixed with pleasure as he gave a few slaps to your dripping cunt, mumbling about how pretty it is. in a desperate attempt to wiggle out of your new position, you accidentally arched your back further, giving him more access.

“let me show you how i can love you,” he whispered into your ear, before returning his fingers to the slick mess that coated your cunt, your body jolting when they occasionally brushed over your clit, the unfamiliar sensation already too overwhelming for you to handle. with a few more agonising strokes of his fingers, he prodded at your hole, teasing your entrance in a way that had your eyes roll to the back of your head. when he finally slipped them in, your hand pounded desperately against the cross you were pressed up on, pleads to stop falling pathetically into the hand of coriolanus and onto deaf ears. he was merciless with it, greedily pounding his fingers into you in a way that had your knees gravitating towards each other and animalistic grunts of pleasure vibrating through his hand.

something in you burned, your body was pleading for more as an unfamiliar coil formed in the pit of your stomach. your hand continued to bang against the cross, tears falling as you forcibly peered into the eyes of your saviour while you got your cunt ravaged in the middle of his shrine.

“oh god, oh god” you mumbled through his hand. you were unsure if it was shame, or the delicious way coryo pumped his fingers into you, but you grew lightheaded and dumb, eyes hazy as you grew closer to your release.

“thats it, take it. you’re filthy, taking my fingers so well in the middle of church.” now, both hands scraped desperately against the cross, leaving marks in the wake of your fingernails digging into the hardwood. coriolanus tugged your head further up, forcing you to stare at him with tears streaming down your face and desperate pleas for him to stop going unheard. he smiled coyly when he felt your pussy clench around his fingers, and he withdrew them just before you reached your release, a loud, agonising whine of relief and desperation leaving your smushed lips. he was quick to replace his fingers with his cock, the slow intrusion of it making you let out a low, droned out groan as he stretched your virgin cunt past its limit.

he removed his hand from your mouth, and a string of prayers tumbled out of it, “o my god, i am heartily sorry for having offended thee,” and “and i detest all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend thee, my god, who art all good and deserving of all my love.” it earned you a slap to your ass, and you cried out loudly as coriolanus shoved your dress off of you, watching as it fell uselessly around your legs into a pool of white. he flipped you around, admiring your soft breasts and the way they spilled over in the hold of his fingers, and he traced the soft, plumpness of your belly as he chuckled lowly at your continuous prayer. with his cock still nestled into you, he leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

“god loves you, but not as much as i do,” and then he thrust his cock into you with such force that you nearly tumbled to the floor. his hand rest on your lower back, forcing you to arch closer to him, your hips meeting his unwillingly at his fast pace. coriolanus’s cock grazed the inside of your gummy walls perfectly, and you found yourself slipping from reality as he continued to pound his dick into you, moaning when you contracted around him without rhythm, your inexperienced self almost overloaded with pleasure, unable to control your body.

“you’re being such a good girl, taking my cock like this,” he weaved a hand through your hair, “‘n you’re gonna let me cum inside you, yeah? gonna make a woman out of you.” you couldnt focus on the words he was throwing at you, lost in pleasure as the tip of coryo’s dick hit that one spot over and over again. the way he spoke to you had you at a crossroads, and it didnt help that he was fucking you into oblivion, and now you understood what he had meant when he said he imposed between you and god, because you were becoming addicted to the push and pull of his cock inside of you.

“thats right, take it. you look so pretty all dumb and fucked out on my cock,” you reached to grab his arm to steady yourself, your orgasm creeping in closely, “you gonna cum for me?”

you didn't know what it meant, but you nodded anyways, completely lost in bliss, “coryo..” you moaned out, his brows raising slightly at the new nickname, a smirk settling on his face. moans and mewls lewdly left your mouth as he quickened his pace, his unused hand massaging at your tits, twisting and pinching softly at your nipples as you thrashed with pleasure under him.

“gonna make you worship this fucking cock, baby” he was close himself now, his head falling and his voice itching up an octave, lewd moans clashing with yours as the rhythm and pace he set began to falter, and he fucked you as hard as he could as he chased your high and his own, “gonna make you devoted to me. you’re never gonna wanna be away from me again,” his face twisted with pleasure, and you circled your arms around his neck as you tried to ground yourself, the coil in your stomach slowly beginning to unravel and threatening to snap. a shadow passed, and your eyes widened with terror as you slapped coryo’s arm haphazardly, begs falling from your mouth to stop. he turned his head lazily to look at what you were whining about, but his thrusts didn't stop.

“let them see what a dirty fucking girl you are.”

your walls tightened and your eyes rolled so far back into your head you were scared they wouldn't come back up as your orgasm reached you. you covered your mouth, shrieking desperately as the shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, the newfound feeling unrelenting as it took over every part of your body. coriolanus repeated words of encouragement and praise as he fucked you through your high, before bottoming out and releasing his load in you, christening your walls. you whined at the feeling, so full and drunk off of it that your concerns of the passerby faded. the both of you stood there, panting heavily, both groaning when coryo slid out of you. he slapped his tip on your puffy clit one, two, three times, before a loud knock rapped on the church door.

you could feel coriolanus’s spill leaking out of you as you crouched on your knees, hidden, and you cried silently, the reality of what had just happened to you settling in. coriolanus snow had corrupted you, in the worst possible way, and now you could only feel yourself crave more of him. as he spoke to the intruder, egging them to run along, a thumb caressed your head gently, as if to tell you he had everything under control. the small southern drawl he’d begun to pick up was more prominent. when the intruder finally left, you were forced to your feet, and coriolanus grabbed your ruined panties, resting on his knees below you to shove them into your used cunt, before making his way back to his feet, towering over you. he spoke to you like he would if he were on duty:

“you go on home now, miss. and tell your father i say hello.”

and you did.

౨ׅৎ

@dumbsoftheart, 2023

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow smut #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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itsbackwoodsbby · 9 months

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His Favorite

Trevante Rhodes x Black Fem Reader

Warning: Religion! Recreational Drinking! Smut! Protected Sex! Stripper!

Summary: Trevante's favorite stripper is out of work for a while and has no one as a replacement. You decide that you want to be his favorite. Not just for the night. His forever replacement.

Sunday, he’s always in the church. In the front row, he is watching his dad preach about how wonderful God is. But even saints need to let loose and be wild. On the weekdays and Saturdays, you can catch him at Pink Paradise, the best strip club in the city. He comes in and gives a few dancers money, and once he gets hungry, he’ll go to the bar and order something. When his army friends come with him, he orders hot lemon pepper wings and Hennesy. He orders a small appetizer and a soft drink when he's by himself. Depending on whether his favorite chef is in the kitchen, which is a rare occasion, he’ll order shrimp and fries with lemon on the side.

Then he’ll come to find his favorite dancer to get a lap dance from. She’ll take him to the back and give him the dance of his life. When he pays extra, she opens her throat for him. It’s not the best, but what is a recently honorable discharged army man with no wife supposed to do?

It’s Sunday, you sit down in the church, running a tad bit late. You had a late shift last night, but you’ll be damned if you missed church. You see him in the front as usual as you listen to the pastor talk about how God will make a way out of no way. Then, it shifts to him congratulating and thanking his son for his time in the service. He then calls him up to stand next to him.

“Trevante, son. I love you. I’m so proud of your accomplishments in the service. God has blessed you and worked on you. Because you know you used to be a handful. Boy, you used to give me hell.” Pastor Rhodes says. Everyone laughs at that comment. “But you grew up an amazing strong-minded, young man. You know how to stir away from temptations because the army gave you a new mindset.”

The statement makes you giggle. Stir away? Please! It’s Praise Pussy Sunday tonight at Pink Paradise and you know you’ll see him tonight. And his favorite dancer is out with the flu, so you’re going to be his replacement tonight. Hopefully, you just be his new favorite forever.

Around 9 pm, you get ready to go to work. You shower and put on something comfortable and easy to take off so you can put on your work outfit. You pack your work bag with two extra outfits, lotions, perfume, wipes, two mini bottles of Crown Royal, makeup, deodorant, and gum. You head to your pole room, grab your money bag, and empty out the cash from Saturday night. You quickly count it and you see you made $659 that night.

You go to your car and you head to Pink Paradise. You look in the parking lot to see if you see Trevante’s car. You know he's here when you see that black 2023 Corvette with the top down. You walk inside the club. It’s packed as usual on Praise Pussy Sunday. You see the girls in outfits. Some of them dressed as nuns, priests, and other sexy holy things. You go to the locker room. As you maneuver through semi-naked women and bare-naked women, you can hear that Trevante is the talk of the room. You can hear the other girls murmur amongst themselves. “Yo, Kream is gone. And I saw Trevante in the crowd tonight. I love Kream, but I want Trevante to myself. You don’t say anything, you just get dressed. If you say anything about wanting Trevante, the girls will eat you up. You recently started stripping, so they call you a baby stripper. It’s best to stay silent, but you have to prove that you have more experience than an actual baby stripper. As you do your makeup, you take one of the bottles of Crown Royal to calm your nerves down. The club’s atmosphere usually is laidback, but you have to know what you’re doing. If you don’t, you’ll barely get anything and it’s very hard to come back after making a fool of yourself. One by one, the girls dance and you patiently wait until your turn. You have a special performance under your sleeve.

You peek out the curtain to observe the room. It is sort of blurry from the haze of people smoking weed. You look around until you spot Trevante. He is talking to his friends in a booth, fucking up those hot lemon pepper wings. You keep that spot in your mind for your performance. As To My Bed by Chris Brown comes on, you feel the crowd's laughing and talking fade in the background as the lights dim. You walk out slowly and sway your hips to the melody. Everyone is focusing on your body, but your main focus is just to get his eyes on you and it is clear he is just as entranced by you. Your movements are slow and sensual, but you feel no shyness on stage.

You are a natural at this. Your hips grind to the song, slowly making their way towards him, watching him react to each move. You reach the pole, tracing a circle around its base. The beat drops, and you take hold of the pole and begin to slide down it slowly. You swayed your hips in a slow circle, teasing the crowd but keeping the focus on Trevante. As you slide down the pole, you lean forward and let your body rest against it, teasing your body shape just enough to create the desired effect. The crowd yelled out their approval, but you couldn't keep your eyes off the one man in the booth. Everyone is throwing money and your other dancing peers are shocked that you have this talent in you.

After your dance, you go into the locker room and use your baby wipes to get the sweat. The girls are hyping you up as you’re changing into your second outfit for the night. After that, you walk around the club. Customers are giving you tips and complimenting you. You go to the bar to get a drink and you’re about to pay when Trevante stops you and says he will pay instead. He smiles at you and you see he is wearing his grillz. You almost faint as you look at the shine. You would honestly let him take you down right now in front of these people, but you have to have some decorum. You two sit at the bar.

“Can I get what the lady got?” He asks the bartender, who starts making the drink again. You take a baby sip of the drink. “Thank you for paying,” You smile at him. “You’re welcome. You were amazing.” He says to you biting his lips. “I ain’t never seen you before. You must have recently started working here.” He asks you. “Yeah. I started working here a few weeks ago.” You smile. “Thanks, I try when it comes to dancing.” You say, trying not to sound too cocky, but you are proud of yourself. “Say, do you know where Kream is?” He asks you with a curious look on his face. “Oh, she is going to be out for a few. But, I can always help with your Pink Paradise needs.” You smile at him. He smirks, “Oh, a newbie can help me? He laughs at your smile drops from your face when you hear the word, newbie. “I’m just playing. Show me what you got.”

You take his hand and walk him to the back. As you’re walking back there, some of the bitter girls are mad. They try to stop you from giving him a dance. “Trevante, what about Kream? She wouldn't like that her replacement is a baby stripper.” They say to him, but he doesn’t care.

When you get in the room, you lock the room. The lights in the room are a low-light purple and the floor has a white fur rug. He sits on the couch and looks at your body some more, loving your curves and that ass behind you. You walk to him and start giving him a lap dance. Sitting on his lap, grinding your hips, teasing him as if you are about to kiss him, and kissing his neck. You stand up and get behind him. You rub up and down his chest. You see he is getting stiff in his pants. You smile and look at him.

“I can’t be doing bad for a newbie.” You smirk at him, as you get back on top of him and rock your hips on him. “Not at all.” He grunts lowly and starts feeling your body. “Do you do more?” He asks you. You eye him as you continue dancing, “As in?” He smiles, “Do you give head? Sex?” You smile at him, “Yeah, but it’s extra.”

Trevante didn’t care. Honestly, he needed something new. Kream is okay, but he needs better. And you are probably letting him fuck you. It is a win-win for him to have a new favorite.

He pulls his boxers and jeans down and his semi-hard dick is staring at you. You get on your knees and waste no time and take his whole dick in your mouth. You start bobbing your head down his dick and you feel his hand travel to your head. He guides your head down his shaft. You look up and see his mouth is hanging open, licking his grillz. You then begin to feel his grip on your hair tightly and start getting rough hitting the back of your throat. You gag a bit, but you take it like a champ. You come down and start sucking on his balls as you stroke his shaft.

“Shit, you damn sure can suck dick better Kream, that’s for sure.” He mumbles under his breath, biting his lips as you come back up and resume sucking his dick.”Yeah, suck this dick.” He throws his head back on the couch and places his hand back on your head. He pushes your head down further as he begins to twitch in your mouth. This tempts you to suck him faster. He closes his eyes and he nuts in your mouth. You swallow it and your mouth slowly comes off his dick.

“Damn.” He tries to catch his breath. You giggle at him. “Did I do okay?” He looks at you, “You did better than okay. Damn.” He repeats making you laugh. “You know, you can always do more.” You smile at him. He looks at you, “You playing?” You shake your head at him, “No, I’m not playing.” You give him a slow strip tease and he looks at your bare naked body. He pulls you to him and smacks your ass. “Damn, your body is so perfect, baby girl.” You smile at the compliment, “Thank you.” He hovers over you, and you look at him, “So where do you want me?” You ask him. “On the floor.”

You lay on the floor and the next thing you know your legs are in the air and he’s eating you out with his grillz on. You feel yourself sinking into the floor, gripping his head. His tongue swirls around with your clit. He pulls your legs on his shoulders and shakes his head in between. “Trevante, fuck.” You moan out and start caressing your breast.

Your legs stay on his shoulders, but you feel something teasing your clit. It slides up and down and once it’s at your entrance, he pushes all of his dick inside you. You grip onto the floor as he stretches your pussy out. He is generous enough to let you adjust to his big size. Once you are comfortable, he starts deep stroking inside you. Even though you don't necessarily have to be quiet because of the loud music, you still try not to be loud. You bite your lip and look into his eyes. Mistake. This makes him fuck you even more while looking deep in your eyes. He folds your legs up to your ears and goes deeper inside you, making his curve tease your spot.

“Deeper! Deeper!” You cry out. He smiles and begins hitting your spot. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. You couldn’t believe that the preacher’s son is fucking you like this. “Aye, mamas, look at it.” He groans out. You bite your lips as you watch his dick go in and out of you. Then he starts pounding and gripping your neck. Your eyes close as your body gets tingling from being close to your climax.

“Mm, is my new favorite going to cum for me?” He teases you but confirms you’re his new favorite at Pink Paradise. You nod your head yes. He pops your thigh, causing you to gasp and exhale your moan out slowly, “Yes, yes. I’m going to cum for you. Shit.” You cuss under your breath.

He holds your stomach down and goes deeper. You squeal as you cum on his dick. He keeps going until eventually he slows down and cums. You whine as he pulls out. He falls back on the floor as well. You two lay and stare at the ceiling as his phone goes off multiple times and one of the other girls is banging to get in the room. You sigh and giggle.

“That was so amazing.” You admit to him. He smiles. “Yeah, it was.” You two catch your breath and he looks at his phone and laughs. You look at him, “What’s funny?” You ask, being curious. He shows you his phone. His homeboys are blowing him up.

“Yooo, T? Where you at nigga?”

“Trevante, if your ass is not out here in 3 seconds, you paying this bill.”

“Man, nigga is you getting some pussy? Ain’t no way you still in the back room now.”

You laugh, “Well, we should probably hurry up and get you back to your friends.” He nods as he takes the condom off and the two of you get dressed. He looks at you and bites his lip. “Say, can I get your number? This normally ain’t like me. But … it’s something about you.” You smile and look down, “Yeah, you can.”You put your number in his phone and in return, he pays you for your services. He gives you close to $1,000. You smile and thank him for the money.

You are pretty exhausted from fucking, so you decide to go home. You go to the locker room and receive a few dirty looks, because you got Trevante all to yourself. The rest of the girls are hyping you up. You smile and thank them. You get dressed, head back to your house, and instantly run in the shower to wash the sex off your body. Afterward, you lotion up, put your pajamas on, and begin counting up your money tonight. You made $1256. You finally made four-digit money. You smile and go to your bed and lie on your silk sheets. Your phone dings. It’s an unknown number. You look at the message.

“Hope you sleep well tonight. Definitely my new favorite lol.”

With another solid confirmation like that, you smile and sleep like a baby.

#poc writer #celebrities #black fanfiction #itsbackwoodsbby #smut #x black fem reader #black fanfic writer #short story #black tumblr #black writer #trevante rhodes #trevante rhodes x black fem reader #trevante rhodes x black fem reader smut

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whencyclopedia · 3 months

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Chidambaram

Chidambaram (Cidambaram) is an important Chola temple site in Tamil Nadu, southern India. Most of the temples at Chidambaram were built in the 12th and 13th centuries CE. The site is dominated by the huge gateway tower of the Nataraja temple but Chidambaram also boasts the first Devi or Amman shrine, the first Surya shrine with the distinctive stone chariot wheels which would adorn many subsequent temples, and the first large Siva Ganga tank. In this respect Chidambaram is something of a transitional site, linking elements of the old and new styles of Indian temple architecture.

The name Chidambaram, one of several from antiquity, derives from the Tamil Cirrambalam, meaning 'little hall'. The site was chosen because according to mythology it was the precise spot where the Hindu god Shiva had once danced in a grove of tillai trees. The dance was, in fact, a competition between Shiva and Parvati and naturally the great Shiva won. The story became a popular subject in Hindu art over the centuries.

The site is enclosed within four perimeter walls and covers a rectangular area of 55 acres. Within the compound are shrines, halls, temples, ornamental gateways, and a large ritual bathing pool, known as a Siva Ganga tank, which is surrounded by cloisters. Inscriptions claim the site was built by various Pandya kings and local rulers but none are contemporary with the dates the buildings were actually first constructed. The walls and east gopura (gateway) may be ascribed with greater certainty, and were probably built by Kulottunga III, who reigned from 1178 to 1218 CE.

The Nataraja temple was constructed between c. 1175 and c. 1200 CE. The actual temple shrine is relatively modest as by now in Indian architecture the gopuras had become the most important structures, at least in terms of aesthetics. The twin sacred chamber was, however, adorned with copper sheets covered in gold by successive Chola kings. The shrine is preceded by a dance hall and large entrance porch with columns (mandapa).

The massive granite and brick east gopura dominates the site but there are three other gopuras on the north, south and west sides (the earliest). The corbelled roofs diminish as the structures rise and are finally topped with the usual barrel-vaulted roof (sala), the eastern gopura also having a row of 13 decorative finials. The east gopura has a proper interior floor at each of its nine levels and there is an interior staircase which climbs to the very top of the building. All four gopuras have false windows on their facades, typical for this kind of structure, and pairs of pilaster columns set at regular intervals. The second floor of each gopura also has a passageway which worshippers ritually walked around. The entrance archways all have coffered ceilings decorated with relief panels.

Of particular note at Chidambaram are the thousands of sculptures adorning its buildings. In particular there are many statues of women in a wide variety of dance postures. Many statues are accompanied by quotations from Hindu literature which provide an invaluable reference for scholars. There are also figures of the four dvarapalas (guardian demons), the dikpalas (cardinal directions), many figures of Shiva performing heroic deeds, various other deities such as Vishnu, Devi, Sarasvati, and, unusually in southern architecture, river goddesses.

Finally, Chidambaram is also famous for its 17th century CE Nayaka ceiling paintings which decorate the Shivakamasundari shrine of the Nataraja Temple. More than 40 panels depict scenes from the life of the saint Manikkavachakar, a devotee of Shiva.

#History #1178 #1218CE #12th #WHE #[#]

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brian-in-finance · 1 year

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Instagram

Remember when she had something up her sleeve?

#Tait rhymes with hat #Good times #Fashion #Paris Fashion Week #Front Row at Loewe #Loewe Women’s SS24 #Esplanade Saint-Louis #29 September 2023 #Paris France #Instagram Story #Instagram

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wisteriadumster · 11 months

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Stress Reliever Theatre❥John Marston

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆:*.☾ ·☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───────

JOHN MARSTON X FEMALE READER

CW➻❥ public intimacy⋆private sex⋆fingering⋆consensual groping ⋆handjob⋆orgasm both m! & f!⋆extreme making out/kissing✮if I missed anything pls lmk!✮

WC➻❥2,233➻❥this isn't well proof read so any mistakes or odd things are purely accidental

Summary➻❥You drag John Marston to a show in Saint Denis, to relieve his clear signs of stress. Surely nothing more than two people watching a show together right?

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆:*.☾ ·☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───────

*✧･ﾟ:* WisteriaDumster original work.*:･ﾟ✧*

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆:*.☾ ·☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───────

You’re not sure how you truly convinced John Masrton to go to Saint Denis, let alone the theater.

Yet here you are, sitting in the back row by John's request, waiting for everyone else to take their seats. His breathing was tight and heavy, large sighs leaving him often, “This show is sure to take the stress off your mind.” A hand slid onto his left shoulder, attempting a weak massage. Even in darkness you can see his blushing cheeks, “you’re too sweet on me, you know that?” His compliment forces a side smile on you,

“well you’re bad at hiding stress, I’m just helping out”.

All other whisper conversations stopped, you turned away from John and looked to the brightly lit stage. A man stepped onto the said stage, “good evening ladies and gentleman.” His red suit is extremely eye-catching, “tonight men and women of only myth will perform in front of your very eyes!” Your hand went back to your lap, the man cleared his throat. “I have sailed the seven seas to find these people only heard in the stories your children read!” Scattered laughter filled the silent crowd. A few more useless sentences and jokes were thrown into his little speech which were all the same just different words.

“I won’t keep any more of your time, please welcome the werewolf!” He bows before slipping through the curtains that matched his suit in colour.

You waited patiently before the curtains finally drew back, a thunderous drum roll made you jump. Suddenly a man with more hairs on his arm than your entire body jumped onto the stage, he let out a growl. You stared at him, not a single inch of him was hairless, well besides his face.

His beard is so long it could be made into a small towel, his hair was even longer, reaching down to his knees. John leaned close to your ear, “he reminds me of Arthur,” he jokes, making you giggle.

The Werewolf’s act was finally over, the curtains drew back, the crowd cheered over the various tricks he had done. “Are you still stressed? I hope this is helping,” You look to John, your hands gently clapping. “I mean I feel better but I could use something else.” His hand is now on your thigh, he’s nervous, it wasn’t surprising as John wasn’t much of a romantic to begin with. “What are you suggesting?” You know what he wants, but in public? You weren’t used to being intimate or even romantic in public. “We’re in the back, people came for the show, maybe we can be the next act.” His fingers begin pulling at your skirt, slowly having it scrunch up your thigh. The curtains opened again, but all your attention was on John.

Your skirt was now in your lap, his rough hand rubbing your thigh, his eyes staring at your lips, debating if he should kiss you.

Since he wouldn’t, you did. You moved in close and went for a gentle and slow kiss. He couldn’t wait, his hand leaving your thigh and going to your hair, he pulled you in close, dying for all of you he could get.

The show was merely background noise as you played with his hair, John pulling at your waist trying to get you as close as he could with the arm rests of the chair in the way.

You can't resist letting a small whimper out into John's mouth as his nails dig into your hip. "You like that?" He smirks against your lips as his hand travels down to thigh once again. This time it doesn't stay there but begins sliding up, slowly reaching to your panties.

His fingers tease with the fabric, caressing the stitching of your own work. "I like where this stress relief is going," you spoke with a gasp, eagerly impatient for his next move. He laughs before his hand finally begins to pull down your underwear, you're quick to help him.

His hand again teases you and slowly goes up your leg, you pull back from the kiss. "John Marston, when did you become such a teaser?" Your hand is playing with a button of his shirt, "when I began wondering if I should fuck you here or in the cleaning closet down the hall." His breath is hot against your ear, how did he know of the closet? Must’ve been when he was searching for a bathroom when you came to the theater. “Well while you think, can you let me be pleased before I stare at the half naked man on that stage,” your attention averts to the stage with John, only for a moment. He looks back to you and sticks two fingers in your mouth, “sure I can think about it,” his smirk is terrifying yet exhilarating.

He wraps his arm around your waist before slowly entering those two fingers. Your stomach tightens and you hold your breath as to not alert the actual enjoyers of the show. He kisses down your neck as his fingers begin to curl, every part of you was stiff as the pleasure felt impeccable.

A hand was gripping the arm rests, your knuckles were becoming light in color. His fingers are starting to gain momentum, making your game at being quiet, extremely difficult.

John notices and goes back to your face, "What if we take this to another level, make it fun." You nod to the request, his speed beginning to slow, "will I have to stay quiet?" You manage through the grit of your teeth, he thinks for a moment while his fingers slide out, "that closet is still open I'm sure." He's gentle,”let hope the walls are thick enough.” Now out of his seat standing in front of you as he helps redress you.

You were finally calm and collected, standing and pulling your skirt down. His arm wraps around your waist and guides you out into the hallway.

The hall is silent, not a sign of life. John is touching all over your body, you began to think that you might not make it to the closet.

His lips are kissing your neck, his hands groping at your ass and waist. He left you to find the closet, you peeked through into a small room of brooms and a counter. He pushed you inside and closed the door in a matter of seconds, "I can't wait." You could feel how hard he was, before turning the oil lamp on. The room was dim.

He was pushing you against the wall, his arms wrapped around you, keeping you trapped.

His nails dug into your skirt as your bodies grinded together, the intensity of his desire for you was the hottest thing you ever witnessed. His kisses were turning to bites, surely this wasn’t the John you knew, but you can’t complain because whoever this is, will be fucking you good.

His hands cup at the bottom of your ass and lifts you to the counter, "I need you so bad." His hands are already under your skirt again pulling your panties, this time pulling them off completely. He's leaning over you, aggressively kissing you, taking a moment to again wet his fingers.

He enters slow again, gradually increasing the speed, faster than when inside the actual theater. Your body almost thrusts for a moment at the sudden speed gain.

He knows what he's doing, curling his fingers at the right angle before uncurling and thrusting them back in. Whimpers and whines bounced around in the room, how did you ever manage to stay quiet in that theater? His free hand was down to the buttons of his jeans, his breath was husky and quick. He pulls from the kissing to focus on his hand, his chest rising faster than it could fall. Your body was aching as you were already climbing up to your climax, ready to give out just from his fingers alone.

You were so focused on the pleasure that everything was drowned out,yet that was short lived when his fingers left you without the delight of them. You opened your eyes and looked to him, his eyes pierced yours, he couldn't hide the smile curling at the side of his mouth.

You spit in a hand and wrapped it around his cock that you noticed just barely. A quiver left his lips suddenly at the touch.

You made sure to have every inch perfectly wet for easy entry, his head hung back.

His hand is clawing at the edge of the counter while you did quick bursts of speed. “Like that do you now?” It was exciting to see how just a simple hand job affected him so heavily.

A giggle leaves you as your hand lets go, "I'm gonna need you to do that again sometime." He laughs as well while readjusting himself, his focus back on you. His hands were tight on your thighs as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter.

He enters slow, you gasped at the sudden feeling of being less empty. He smirked, enjoying every way you reacted to him, almost as an ego boost.

You wrap your hands in his hair, leaving him to support you, his hands wrapped around your back almost like a hug. An intimate one definitely. His pace quickens, taking no time to move his hips as well for something more than just awkward thrusting.

Your kissing out moans, a hand was now at his back for stability. It was harder to hold on as you prepared for probably the best orgasm of your life. Your nails dug into his vest, every part of you was tight as he didn’t slow or change anything, he knew better than to ruin your growing orgasm.

You had pulled from the kisses and were moaning into the base of his neck. He wasn't much quieter, plenty of groans rumbled deep from his chest. He was struggling to hold back just as much as you, it wasn't a shocker that he couldn't last long. His pace was faster, less steady but more extreme. That's when it hit, he was loud and slowed, almost stopping. The feeling of being filled to the max was just what you needed to send you over the edge. Your head hung away from him as every nerve in your body gave out. Your moans echoed throughout the closet, surely loud enough to get the attention of anyone outside in the hallway.

After the wave of pleasure washed over, your head fell onto his chest, you were both panting heavily. "Jesus that was good," John's fingers are playing with your hair. "I didn't know you were so. Skilled," you laugh, completely blown away at the fact he just did that. “Really? I don’t look good in bed?” He’s sarcastic yet it doesn’t fully seem that way, “no absolutely not.”

"We should get out of here before that show ends and a maid comes." John pulls back to grab articles of clothing off the floor. “We should do this again, some time soon.” You bite your bottom lip imagining what he could do without a time crunch. “I’ll be sure to stress myself out, just for you,” He looks up at you as he begins to slide your underwear up your legs.

He kisses up your legs and he finishes dressing you, his kisses continue, going up to your lips.

Those aggressive kisses from earlier are more: calm, simple, romantic rather than hungry, lustful, intense.

He pulls you down the counter and sets you gently on the floor, “take the lead,” he allows you to exit first, his hand smacking at an ass cheek as you push through the door. The hallway is significantly colder, the closest was almost like you had a fire set loose in it.

A man is staring at you both as you begin walking towards the exit, you turn to see John holding back a laugh. “Good day sir,” you smile before bursting into laughter, John right behind you with a loud belly laugh.

He pulled you onto his horse, “if Dutch asks let say we were trying to hunt,” he suggests getting on the horse as well. “John Marston, he would never believe a lie like that, let’s say we were simply doing a bounty.” You shake your head at the thought, “we were trying to secure a train robbery or just a job for the gang but failed.”

“Oh that’s a good one,” John begins down the street, “must be good to have some brains with you for once huh?” You wrap your hands around his waist and snuggle in close, “you want to walk back to camp?” He has a deep rumble for a laugh in his chest, shaking his head at your remark. “What kind of man are you Marston?” You observe the city and the life that passes you, “I’m a man that could go for round two on the outskirts of the city.” The horse goes from a trot to a canter. “Oh really?” You bit your lip at the thought, “I think I want to get over the lecture from Dutch for simply not following one of his plans.” And just like that you were crossing onto the bridge that led to the city.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆:*.☾ ·☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───────

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #john marston rdr2 #john marston fanfic #john marston fic #john marston smut #john marston

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iiilovebeam · 1 year

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Im going crazy cause why does he kinda look good….

#i need to draw women #donnie #saints row #saints row 1 #my art

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deluxewhump · 2 months

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Pride of Princes

A standalone story in the Blackmuir Reign verse ~150 years before Therrin Blackmuir takes the throne. This story is complete, around 12k words. This is part one.

CW: fantasy setting with a monarchy, fantasy politics, fantasy religious tensions, pressure to convert, torture, beatings, burning, threat of execution, imprisonment, defiant whumpee, forced/arranged marriage, polygamy, sex, court drama

Characters and terms:

King Thyran Blackmuir (tie-run) 55- Therrin’s great great grandpa. Has ruled 30 yrs at this time and recently suffered an illness (stroke)

Prince Aedric Blackmuir (A-drick, strong A sound) 32 - the eldest prince and heir. Has one brother Cedric and two peaceweaver brides, Esther and Miline. Has one child with Esther, 6yo Esti.

Roan Barrowfen (Row-n, rhymes with shown) 28- noble-born second son of Randall Barrowfen, of the easterly reaches. Given (unwillingly) as a peaceweaver to Aedric

Tercet The new official religion being implemented by the Blackmuir crown. (Also a term in poetry, but here it's the name of a religion lol) The Tercet has three sections of religious importance that focus on commerce, agriculture, and the sanctity of law (the monarchy).

Peace-weaver (Old English: freothwebbe)- Anglo-Saxon tradition of marrying women to an enemy tribe in hopes of mingling bloodlines and encouraging future peace between the groups. Peaceweavers here are specifically matched to smooth over a current conflict in the region, and not the same designation as matches to strengthen alliances or procure wealth. I prefer it as one word, not hyphenated.

Other notes:

Title from The Wanderer.

Polygamy is encouraged for royalty at this time in the Blackmuir rule, if they are peaceweaver matches. Peaceweavers can be any level of nobility, but the first bride's children are typically the only ones recognized as viable heirs, unless they do not bear one or the heirs do not survive, and then it goes down the line to the second spouse. As you can imagine this causes lots of problems, but not in this story.

This is loosely inspired by the history/legend of Saint Juliana by Cynewulf, as told in the Exeter book.

Prince Aedric was fast asleep when he was roused by Juliana, a timid handmaiden of his first bride, Esther. She never entered Aedric’s chambers, certainly not without invitation, or her mistress’s presence.

“Prince Aedrick,” she said, giving a hurried bow. Her head was uncovered, her hair in two mussed braids as if for sleep.

Aedric cast his eyes about the room for signs that something was amiss. He heard nothing from the open door of his chamber, or from the eastern window that caused any alarm. The fire was still burning in the hearth. He could not have been asleep for more than a few hours.

“Juliana,” he said sharply. “Esther? Esti?”

“Are both well, sire. I don’t come on her behalf.”

“Then why? What is it?”

The girl pursed her lips and looked behind her, as if someone might be standing in the doorway in pursuit. “I wish to tell you something, but I fear it is not my place.”

Aedric sat up further in bed, his head still thick with sleep. “It must be important, to wake me in the middle of the night. Have out with it.”

“I only mean to serve you and my lady’s interests.”

“…Yes, Juliana. I know. I’ll… make sure there are no repercussions.”

She nodded solemnly. That had been her concern. “I was not told to come to you.”

“I understand. What is it?”

“The lord from the far reaches. He arrived this afternoon.”

Aedric frowned. He’d been recently betrothed. It was to be his third peaceweaver match, and the first to be male. The match was the youngest son of a Barrowfen from the easterly reaches, that wild and unforgiving marshland he’d visited as a boy and never had any desire to visit again. The reaches were an insular and stubborn region of his father’s vast kingdom that had caused some difficulty of late, but Lord Barrowfen was prompt with the annual taxes, and receptive to the new religious order.

But if his new betrothed had arrived in the afternoon, why had he not been called to meet him? Why had he not been sent to him directly, as Esther and Miline had been? He asked Juliana as much.

“The king. He is speaking to him now, in the Oath Hall. He is displeased.”

“Why?”

Juliana shifted her weight, nervously twisting at a small silver ring on her right hand. “He is refusing the Tercet, my lord. It’s caused some trouble.”

Aedric shook his head. “Why has he come all this way, just to protest when he got here?”

“I-I don’t know, sire. I don’t think he wanted to come.”

Aedric raised his brows.

“I know nothing more than this. I only wanted you to be aware. They’re very displeased with him, my prince.”

“Go,” he said, throwing off his covers. “I need to dress.”

She hesitated, wringing her fingers bloodless.

“Your name will not be mentioned,” he assured her. “Go.”

Aedric wondered if he’d ever been in the Oath Hall at such an hour. Every brazier was lit, casting jumping shadows on the high stone walls. His father sat elevated on his dais, attended by two knights, his favorite Tercet cleric in robes of snowy white, and several members of his court.

Aedric’s eyes swept over them in turn. All had turned to watch him enter, and soon their eyes turned to their king to gauge his reaction to the prince’s intrusion.

“It’s late, Aedric,” came Thyran Blackmuir’s weakened voice from his throne. A sudden illness had struck him before spring’s last snowmelt, and he had not been the same since.

“Indeed it is, Your Grace,” Aedric answered. “What matter could not wait until after we had all slept and breakfasted?”

At the base of the dais stood a young man in modest clothing, unmoving, with his gaze fixed on the stones beneath his feet. Aedric gave him a wide berth as he approached, looking to see if this was the peaceweaver he’d been sent a portrait of in the initial negotiations. It appeared to be. He was of a similar height as Aedric, and though he could only see his bowed profile, it seemed to be the Barrowfen from the picture — Roan, was his name, or else it was someone strikingly similar. The portrait had looked promising.

He was of a similar age as Aedric as well, highborn, and unrelentingly beautiful, with dark hair and green-brown eyes, high easterly cheekbones, and a particular, intriguing smile that Aedric hoped was not just the flattery of the artist, but a look the subject had worn while sitting for the sketch.

“Hello,” he said, standing to the nobleman’s right, a safe six feet of distance between them.

Roan Barrowfen gave him the barest glance, looking up without lifting his head. Their eyes met for only a moment and he returned them to the floor, his jaw set in something between determination and fear. Aedric was mildly stung by the sheer disregard of the exchange, a disregard he was unaccustomed to.

“Is this my new peaceweaver, then?” Aedric asked, addressing his father. “Is this Roan Barrowfen?”

“It is,” the king answered wearily, his left eye now permanently drooping like a melting clay doll.

“Why was I not sent for?” he asked, in front of the men of court, the cleric, and the knights. “Surely there must be some reason I was not sent to greet him upon his arrival?”

“Sit,” bade his father.

“I prefer to stand, Your Grace.”

Aedric was nothing if not a loyal firstborn son, but he was not as docile as he might be. He tried to remain respectful to his father, the king, especially in front of members of court, but he would not be seen as a mincing puppet, either. And the king could be stubborn.

Of late, that concern had flagged. His father was not the man he was the year before, or the thirty years of his rule before that. He sometimes lost his train of thought, or his words entirely, and spent much of his days in bed.

“Your betrothed has insisted on an act of….of treason since his… arrival,” managed the King.

Cleric Alfonsus looked down from the dais at Roan Barrowfen with a disdainful sort of pity.

“What treason is that?”

The King motioned at his cleric, inviting him to speak and save him the trouble.

“Lord Barrowfen maintains the false gods of the easterly reaches,” explained the cleric in a smooth voice, still powerful enough to project. Aedric admitted his unnervingly blue eyes and unrelenting gaze gave him an air of authority. His arms were folded together in the white fabric of his robes of office, hiding his hands, which Aedric thought was another apt metaphor. “He has denounced the Tercet, and by extension, the authority of the King.”

Aedric could have laughed. The Tercet was a fledgling religion, breeding in several pockets of the north for only two generations before gaining fast favor these last ten years. When he was a boy, no one had even spoken of the Tercet, the three-deity trident of land, commerce, and law. It was about as relevant as whoever this easterly man’s far-flung gods might be. And now it was treason to refuse them?

“I’m sure this is a thing being done on principle,” he said amiably, opening his hands toward his father and the cleric. Even the knights were looking at him. “A well-intentioned principle, at that. Your Grace, is not the point of a peaceweaver to make peace? Peace is not something that can be expected upon arrival, or overnight.”

“The terms were clear,” answered the cleric, speaking over Aedric’s last word. “Randall Barrowfen sent a letter with his son. He knew this might happen, and in it he outlines his sincerest regrets, along with fealty to the Tercet and the king. His son’s life, if not as a peaceweaver, can be of some use as a forfeit.”

Aedric made a sour face. “Forfeit? To be an example, you mean? That is the perfect opposite of the goal we have in making this arrangement.”

The cleric continued. “Rejection of the Tercet directly undermines-”

“Your Grace,” Aedric cut him off, addressing his father. “This is mad. Put a swift end to it.”

With some difficulty, the King adjusted in his straight backed throne, a simple and elegant design of carved wood meant as an homage to humility and efficiency. “Your Esther and…Miline are worthy brides, Aedric. They are peaceweavers, and they are Muirish now. They serve a purpose. This…” he waved a hand irritably, “open dissent is not something I can ignore. I will not have a hostile…. traitor at my table. Bearing…. our name.”

“Hostile traitor,” Aedric echoed in disbelief. He wondered, not for the first time since his illness, if those were his father’s words, or repeated words of Cleric Afonsus. “Has he spoken of any plans to murder any of us in our sleep?”

“No,” said the nobleman in question. Aedric turned to him, surprised he’d spoken. “But I will not abandon my gods for you. Or for the king.”

A murmur of offense broke out among the men in attendance.

“I am a theurgist for the gods of our land,” he continued, looking up at Aedric with his head still slightly bowed. His eyes looked greener in the light of the braziers, and he had a high color on his cheeks that Aedric couldn’t discern between a sign of good health or the start of a fever. “I will serve my gods, and my gods alone.”

“A theurgist. You conjure your gods?”

“On behalf of others,” he answered. “As much as it is in my ability to do so. And if they answer.”

“And where are they at this moment?” he asked quietly, directed only to the foreigner. He meant it in a friendly, exasperated sort of jest, but Roan Barrowfen dropped his eyes like it had been a taunt.

Aedric set his jaw and looked back to the dais. “Give me the night, Your Grace. Let me speak to him privately, as I expected to do upon his arrival.”

“When you arrived,” said the king, “I had just sentenced him to the holding cells. He will….await there. Await his…ah,” he struggled for the word. “His trial.”

A pit of dismay formed in Aedric’s stomach. They had only exchanged one letter, but it had been promising. Roan Barrowfen was clearly well versed in his letters, and well spoken. He’d seemed modestly eager for the arrangement. Had he not realized he would have to, at least publicly, lay down his gods and his theurgic practices to do so? Another thought— had he even written the letter? Had he come of his own free will at all?

Aedric wished he could speak his true mind to his father, but there were lines he knew better than to cross in the Oath Hall.

“He will have a chance to recant, Aedric,” said the King, as if he were placating Aedric when he was a petulant child, over some small matter. “He will have many chances.”

He thought the wording of that promise to be ominous. Many chances? Did they intend to harm him in hopes of eliciting it, like a confession from a criminal? A highborn? Betrothed to the prince? Roan Barrowfen seemed to take the same meaning from the words. His chest rose and fell with noticeably faster breaths, but he did not move a single muscle. Aedric felt a sharp pang of protective sympathy towards this stranger he’d so been looking forward to meeting.

“I ask you to reconsider this,” he appealed again. “It’s highly reactionary, Your Grace, for naught but some words.”

The king only motioned weakly to the knights, who came forward and took the prisoner under each arm, leading him away. He stumbled, but caught his footing and went willingly. Aedric stood rooted to the spot as the King rose from the throne. Others followed, and Oath Hall began to empty.

Cleric Alfonsus stepped down from the dais carefully so as not to trip over his robes. He fixed Aedric with his deliberate gaze. “Naught but some words,” he repeated as he passed him. It felt like an admonition.

The following morning, Prince Aedric learned that the trial was set for a full month away. Roan Barrowfen’s noble status required three representatives from his home to travel to the Muirkeep to sit on the jury. Aedric knew this would influence the outcome, but he was not confident it would be in the way he’d like. Lord Barrowfen himself had condemned his son with that letter, to appease the king. Whoever came from the reaches was likely prepared to do the same.

The final decision would be the king’s, but that would undoubtedly be influenced by the clerics, as it was a religious matter. That was a fact that had been concerning him of late— more and more seemed to fall to the discretion of the Tercet leaders, namely Cleric Alfonsus.

After speaking with his father to no avail, he did the other thing in his power. He went down to the cells.

#the blackmuir reign #blackmuir reign verse #fantasy whump #royalty whump #fantasy politics #fantasy religion #fantasy religious persecution #arranged marriage cw #defiant whumpee #in his own way

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