Blunt, not tender. He wipes you down with whatever’s nearby—usually his own robe—and mutters something half-prayer, half-possession in Russian. Doesn’t cuddle. But he will watch you fall asleep with a disturbing amount of intensity, stroking your hair like he’s casting a spell. “You are still alive. That means you are worthy.”
B – Body Part (Favorite)
Of yours? Your hips. He grips them like they’re handles to your soul. He groans every time they arch under him, every time you grind against him like you’re trying to unseat a demon. Of his? His hands. Big, rough, and blessed by “divine purpose.” He uses them generously—on your throat, between your thighs, pressed against your chest while whispering: “This is where God lives now, da?”
C – Cum
A spiritual event. Loud. Messy. Apocalyptic. He comes with groans like a dying prophet and treats the mess like sacred anointing. Will literally finger his seed back into you while chanting. “You are blessed now. Full of me. Full of light.”
D – Dirty Talk
Biblical. Blasphemous. He’ll whisper sins and salvation in the same breath. “Your moans are a choir. Your cunt, a holy place. I kneel at the altar and worship you with my tongue.”
E – Experience
Extensive. He’s fucked peasants, princesses, and probably a few people who only claimed to be widowed. He doesn’t ask. He seduces, he commands, he conquers. And he never forgets a scream.
“I’ve known bodies like scripture… but yours rewrites me.”
F – Favorite Position
You, bent over something unstable—a table, a pulpit, the edge of a royal bath. Something that might break. He likes the danger. Alternatively: lotus position. Eye contact. Deep connection. Chanting optional. Sweating mandatory.
G – Groaning
Constant. Loud. Dramatic. If you’ve ever wanted to be fucked by a man who sounds like he’s weeping for the sins of mankind mid-thrust, Rasputin is your priest.
“Ahhh… yes… take it… take all of me… I am coming into the kingdom—”
H – Hair
Everywhere. Chest, arms, knuckles, absolutely his cock. His beard scratches in all the right ways, and he will not shave for your convenience. “You came three times on a man with peasant grease in his beard. Do not lie to me, little dove.”
I – Intimacy
Warped but sincere. He stares at you like you’re the second coming, and then rails you like you’re the devil. But after? He calls you svyataya (saint), kisses your eyelids, and says you’ve been “touched by God’s chosen hands.”
Disturbing? Yes. Effective? Also yes.
J – Jacking Off
Daily, if you’re not around. He’s shameless about it. Loud, sweaty, groaning your name like a dying martyr.
Sometimes lights a candle. Sometimes lights seven. Always finishes with a growled “Amen.”
K – Kinks
- Religious roleplay (blasphemy kink)
- Possession (you are his, body and soul)
- Breath play (one hand on your throat, the other on his heart)
- Prophecy dirty talk ("I have seen you. Screaming. On your knees.")
- Power imbalance (he decides. you obey.)
- Bodily worship (both ways—he adores being worshipped)
L – Location
He’ll fuck you anywhere, but prefers somewhere sacrilegious:
- Church altars
- Ice-cold monastery floors
- Behind Romanov palace curtains
- Steam-drenched bathhouses
- Inside royal carriages mid-procession
M – Marking
He bites. He bruises. He carves his claim with fingers and teeth. You will limp. You will drip. You will carry the bruises like medals.
And he will whisper, proud and possessive:
“You belong to Rasputin. They will all know.”
N – Nudes
Crude sketches. In charcoal. On the back of holy texts. You? He wants full-length, grainy candlelit photos. But mostly, he prefers seeing you naked in person—writhing beneath him, robes half-shredded, flushed and sinful.
O – Oral
Giving: Ferocious. Worshipful. He’ll eat you out like it’s a prophecy. He growls into your cunt.
Receiving: Unapologetic. He spreads his thighs like he’s waiting to be crowned Tsar, moaning “Yes, yes, take it all…” If your eyes water, he’ll just stroke your cheek and whisper, “Endure, little one. This is the path to heaven.”
P – Pace
Unpredictable. Sometimes slow, torturous. Sometimes full-throttle like the end of the world. Either way, he keeps going until you're limp and glassy-eyed. He doesn’t finish until you’re spiritually wrecked.
Q – Quickies
Only if you’re defiant. If you sass him in public? Expect to be dragged behind a curtain and railed against a pillar. Fast. Rough. Punishing. “Your mouth is quick. Let us see if your cunt can keep up.”
R – Risk
He thrives on risk. Danger excites him. He wants you shaking under him while the nobility gather in the next room. He’ll press a hand to your mouth and whisper, “Stay quiet, or they’ll hear how holy I’ve made you.”
S – Stamina
Terrifying. Near-supernatural. Three rounds is a warm-up. He’ll keep you pinned under him until you're sobbing with overstimulation.
He doesn’t break a sweat. You, meanwhile, forget your native tongue.
T – Toys
Ropes. Beads. Candles. Anything that looks like it came from a monastery or a medicine man’s satchel.
Also: wooden crosses (don’t ask).
“Relax. This one is for pleasure. The others… are for confession.”
U – Unfair
Brutal. He’ll edge you for hours, muttering prayers into your ear while you beg.
Only lets you come when he sees true repentance.
“You have not atoned enough. Cry louder. Scream for mercy.”
V – Volume
Opera-level moaning. Growling. Chanting. He talks to your pussy like it’s a sentient being.
Sometimes speaks in tongues.
Sometimes your name.
W – Wildest Fantasy
You. Bound. In front of the Tsarina’s throne. Wearing only pearls and trembling. While Rasputin fucks you and preaches to an invisible audience. “You see? Even saints beg. Even queens fall to their knees.”
X – X-ray
Massive. Like… suspiciously blessed. Long, thick, curved just enough to drive you mad. Rumors of it precede him. Some say it’s divine. Others say demonic. Rasputin just smiles and says: “It is both. And it is yours.”
Y – Yearning
Unhinged. Obsessive. He prays for you when you’re gone. Leaves claw marks in the bed. Will not rest until he’s buried himself inside you again.
“You live beneath my ribs. I dream of your cries. Return, or I will set the city ablaze.”
Z – ZZZ (Sleep)
Falls asleep instantly. Snores like a bear. One arm slung over you like a chain.
If you try to move, he growls in his sleep and pulls you back.
Title: DAY 7
Pairing: Grigori Rasputin x Fem!Reader || Rasputin: Dark Servant of Destiny
Categories: smut
Kinktober: Blindfolds | Virginity
Word count: 2.1k
You had a secret, an embarrassing secret.
You had been dealing with a fear, something that had made you skittish around other people, something that had plagued you for years on end, ever since you first experienced it.
This fear, this secret led you on a pilgrimage, a quest to find the man himself, Father Grigori. In the matter in which you struggled, only a man like himself could truly aid you. Only Father Grigori would understand the depths of this nagging problem that you never managed to overcome.
It took weeks to trace him, but finally you discovered Grigori Rasputin's whereabouts. The rumours were correct when it came to his looks and demeanour. An unusual monk, with a piercing gaze. You heard that even if you've never heard of him, just seeing him would draw you closer, that there was something outworldly about him.
You found him at an inn.
That was not a place you expected to see him in; he was a man of God, wasn't he? But perhaps, it all made more sense this way, that he would come among the most sinful of men and lead them to the path of light.
You were intimidated at first by his height and his eyes, by his bold and almost libertine manner of behaving. You sat at a table and observed. The man was drinking and dancing without restraint, without a worry in the world, and you could not help but wonder if this was really who you had set to find. A man so willingly corrupting himself with all that was worldly, could he really lead you to that light, to that blissful relief that you sought?
Aside, you remained silent. You made no gesture that could make you seen, until at once, Grigori Rasputin turned towards you. It was unannounced, unexpected. You froze, but there he was, his eyes locked on yours as if there was something about you that called him over without words. You tried to avert your gaze, but it was far too late; the man left his company of many beautiful women and strode over to you.
Rasputin reached you, and at first was satisfied with studying you. With your head lowered, you were watching his boots while he was scanning you from head to toe.
"You, голу́бка (golúbka/dove)."
Grigori's voice was hoarse, yet his accent suited it well; it made him sound alluring in a mysterious way. You couldn't decide if that was the voice alone, or his whole demeanour, his aura. When he spoke, you knew he referred to you. Despite not making eye contact, you could feel those eyes drilling through you.
"Foreign. Not from these places."
Without invitation, he sat down by you at the table as he spoke. How did he know? Your clothes? But you tried to dress as similarly to the locals as you could. Perhaps it was just your face, your complexion. Grigori might have noticed you as a new face.
"Yes." You replied, your voice uncertain.
"You suffer, greatly infested by ailment. You come, sought a cure." His hands took yours between his. He held them dearly, gently - despite being so large and imposing, the way he held you was tender, as if you were a frail flower in his hands.
"Your eyes talk, what your mouth does not, голу́бка (golúbka/dove)."
You turned to him in shock, and for once, your eyes locked on with his. How did he know? He could not have guessed. Upon seeing your eyes, his soft expression changed to one of shock and revolt, and he pulled you closer by the hands.
"It is the faith you had, wrong corrupted teachings of men who only know of God from books and had never felt his presence upon their lives!" He nearly shouted, his voice growing fierce with each word. The music was covering his growing tension; you felt it in your bones, a chilling feeling shooting across your spine. Grigori was so close that your eyes could not help but gaze into his.
"You had lived with a false faith that kept you far from God, and it was because of men like them, sweet голу́бка (golúbka/dove). You must see him, His Grace. They kept you in the dark, in pain."
You were shocked. No matter how many tales you've heard, you never believed them to the full extent; you assumed they were frivolous exaggerations, but now you saw it for yourself. The man read you without words, knew what ached you, and he saw you before you came to him.
"He led you to me, a stray sheep in need of guidance."
He stood up sharply and, without waiting for an answer, he insisted you follow him. The inn had rooms, and he resided in one such room where he urged you to follow, for he would cure you of your condition.
"I fear it, Father. I cannot hide it no longer."
You were sitting on the edge of his bed while he was kneeling in front of you with the most compassionate expression. He was stroking your knees tenderly, soothingly encouraging you to speak. To say what brought you to him from so far away.
"I was raised to believe that I should not feel the touch of a man before marriage, that doing so will make me go straight to hell, where I will rot for eternity. Hearing so, I became afraid, so painfully scared of intimacy that I ran away from it my whole life. It ails me, Father. For despite not giving myself to men, I think about it, and my dreams and thoughts are plagued with wonders and desire."
You cried to him, revealing your secret. He listened and soothed you ever so willingly. His hands trailed up your legs as he rose to his feet, then moved his palms on the bed on each side of you until his face was at the same level as yours.
"голу́бка (golúbka/dove)... You were led astray by those who talk of God, and yet had never seen His Grace. The only way to God is through love. You were away from him for so long... You must surrender, you must let yourself feel his Grace." Rasputin leaned forward until his face was so close that you could sniff a faint alcohol smell. But it was inviting in its sinful, depraved way.
One of his hands remained on the bed by your side, while the other reached for your cheek, stroking it gently. "Let God show you his love... Let me be the agent of God." He murmured by your lips, his voice almost as intoxicating as that alcohol he had drunk before meeting you. "Let me kiss you..."
The sudden reality of what was happening hit you, and as a result, your fear struck you. You skittered back, avoiding Rasputin's lips. He did not back away, but leaned forward, keeping you trapped underneath him on the bed, leaving you no way to escape.
"I can't, Father. I am afraid to see myself surrender... "
The man stopped, but did not draw back. He understood something and nodded, mumbling to himself before leaning back.
"The ailment has taken root... Your eyes are plagued, but it will be done." He walked away and returned with a piece of cloth, similar to a scarf. Grigori loomed over you again, tying the material around your eyes with your expressed consent.
"Your eyes deceive you, so they must be covered, голу́бка (golúbka/dove). Let only feeling lead you... What you seek is love. Only love can heal you."
Not seeing anything put you at ease somewhat; it was as if the lack of sight meant that what you felt was more of a dream than reality, that consequences would not come. Grigori only gave you a moment to adjust to the blindness, as his lips attacked yours greedily, making you squeal. The sound of your surprise was muffled against his mouth, his body crawling up on yours, his hips pushing into you as he helped you back on the bed.
You felt the comfortable softness of his pillow under your head, and his body on yours, giving you a little friction which was enough to spark in you those desires that you suppressed from fear. The second you sensed that arousal inside you, your hands pushed up against his chest, breathing quickened in fear, but his hands pinned yours down as he grunted.
"You have already begun to feel it... My love for you, you sense it, inside."
He held both of your hands above your head by the wrists with one hand as his other moved down between you, to your crotch.
"Here, голу́бка (golúbka/dove). You feel what those without knowledge forbid you from feeling, my sweet. You will be released." He kissed you again, pushing harder into you, his clothed erection nudging at your core. You gasped, arching your back right into his chest.
Pleased, Grigori let go of your hands and began to unclothe his erection and make you bare before him. You sensed his intention; even without seeing, you could hear him and gripped the sheets in anticipation. Amused, he resumed his position above you. Instead of making you feel that sharp thrust you expected, you felt softer kisses, travelling over your chest, breasts, and belly, and down to your thighs.
He grinned against your flesh and dug his nails into your outer thighs, hooking them over his shoulders as his head delved closer, tongue licking at your cunt. That was indeed something you did not expect, and your hand reached instinctively down to grab a handful of his hair, which earned you a pleased grunt from him that resonated against your cunt. His licking and lapping, the way his tongue circled your clit, that insatiable appetite for you made your cunt drip with arousal, and he was eager to lick it off you with the most genuine delight.
With each motion of his tongue, his own need for you grew, and he scooted closer, pushing your thighs up with his shoulders. Knelt between your legs now, his face hungrily eating at your maidenhood, he felt his lust bloom in his chest, for you gave him the most precious gift. Years of chastity, only for him to finally be the one to liberate you from those constraints.
Your first orgasm was nothing short of impressive.
His mouth was sufficient to cause you a form of bliss that could not be equalled by anything in his world - the climax of your existence, as that raw pleasure coursed through, leaving you arching and shaking and with him guiding you through it with soft soothing words that you could not understand.
Your first orgasm had been his gift for your long wait, but equally so, the key to love. He pushed himself up from between your legs, and this time planned to show you what you had been afraid to indulge. Grigori guided your legs open, and with one hand on your side for support, he used the other to align himself with you, pushing in, bit by bit... surprisingly gentle, giving you time to adjust.
The truth is, he had to.
He was endowed with a size far greater than that of many men, and so, for being your first, he had to take his time. It was an effort, but he managed to nestle himself inside you and rewarded you with a kiss.
"голу́бка (golúbka/dove)... You have done well; what had been difficult, you overcame. Now only bliss awaits..."
He did not lie. When he began to thrust into you, your body subdued to him, your hands reaching up to cling to his strong arms, begging to have something to hold onto. Rasputin obliged, his chest pressed against yours as he moved against you, head snuggled by yours, while your hands held onto him for dear life. His strong arms, used to labour, were grounding you, reminding you that he kept you safe as he taught you to embrace love. Then your hands - tender hands - trailed up to your shoulders and back, no longer lying idly underneath him, but reciprocating his love.
Your progress was praised by him, even more when you went as far as to insist that he give you more. You were learning; you were accepting what you feared, and that filled him with the desire to fulfil your every wish.
Your night was spent in his bed, in his arms. His stamina fueled by you begging him to continue... You were insatiable after refraining for so long. Rasputin was just the man to satiate you, for he was someone who, in the act of love, was unmatched, and the only one who could make up in one night all of the years that you spent astray from real faith.
Summary: you, dear reader, are a thaumaturge traveling through the world. You attended a soirée, the invitation extended to you and Wiktor personally by Lazarev
Reader: short female reader with curves, but no other specific descriptions are used
Part 3
The moment you stepped outside into the cool evening air, Dantalion manifested beside you in a ripple of shadowed crimson, his voice low as he spoke within your mind.
“You let him too close, beloved one.”
You brushed stray hair from your face, still flushed from the intimate exchange as you murmured within your thoughts.
“He needed to see who I am… all of me.”
Dantalion’s everchanging-faced gaze flickered, unreadable as ever, before he closed his tome with a soft thud, an obvious, always same, annoyed expressions flickering through his shifting faces.
“Then you should know”. he continued, “that the man’s soul burns strangely - he is a thaumaturge, but there is no salutor attached to him. he shouldn’t exist the way he does…”
You froze mid-step, turning your head sharply as a cold tremor ran down your spine.
“That’s impossible”, you whispered, though the memory of his mind, vast, bruised and hungry. made the truth feel all too plausible.
“Impossible”, Dantalion’ soft tone echoed, “yet he walks with power borrowed from nothing but himself… a void where a companion should dwell.”
Your pulse quickened, confusion and fascination tangling like vines in your chest as you looked back toward the house where Rasputin still lingered.
“He thinks God placed me before him”, you said softly, “and I don’t know whether that makes him dangerous… or simply lost.”
Dantalion’s shifting eyes narrowed, studying you as though parsing truths you hadn’t yet spoken aloud.
“Be careful, beloved”, he whispered, “men this powerful who walk without a salutor cling to faith, desire, or madness to fill the void.”
You paused beneath a lantern, letting its glow chase away the lingering shadows of Rasputin’s touch, and murmured.
“And which of those do you think guides him?”
“All three, aimed entirely at you”, Dantalion’s voice wrapped around you like velvet as he answered.
Grigori sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the dim glow of the candles as he whispered to himself.
“What are you doing to me, angel?”
He had felt your presence inside his mind like a warm blade, cutting through certainties he had carried for years, exposing hollows he never knew were there. He lifted a trembling hand to his lips, stunned by how vividly he could still feel your kiss. so real that he muttered a blessing under his breath, unsure if it was gratitude or desperation. Only then did it strike him that what he had felt in the void was not simply enchantment but a power he had no right to withstand, let alone welcome so completely.
He knew thaumaturgy, knew its echoes in the soul, and yet he felt no familiar tether within himself. no guardian spirit, no salutor, only an empty, ringing space where something should have dwelled.
For the first time, the absence frightened him.
For so long he had believed his strength came from God alone, but now he sensed the truth with a cold clarity: his power moved through him untethered, wild. The emptiness where a companion should have resided pulsed like a bruise beneath his ribs, a silent confirmation that something essential had always been missing. And yet you. so effortlessly, so naturally, had stepped into that void as if it belonged to you by right. He found himself replaying the moment your lips touched his, the way your will slipped into his consciousness with the ease of breathing, and it frightened him how willingly he had yielded. Never before had he surrendered control without fear, but Grigori understood that whatever path lay before him, it now wound irrevocably and dangerously toward you. He wondered if God had denied him a salutor because He intended for you to be the one to guide him, to shape him, to anchor the storm within him. The thought made his heart pound, a dangerous mixture of devotion and longing that tasted almost like prophecy. And as he pressed a hand to his chest, Grigori silently vowed that whatever this bond was, holy, perilous, or utterly mad, he would follow it to its end.
You arrived at the Nadarzynskis’ house on Wiktor’s arm, the warm spill of lamplight from the windows failing to dispel the tension Dantalion had warned you about moments earlier. Inside, Mary welcomed you with practiced elegance while Magdalene hovered nearby, her smile bright and unfocused, eyes straying again and again toward the drawing room. Wiktor leaned closer as you handed over your coat, his voice barely audible.
“Madgalene still hasn’t rid herself of her youthful naivete. I think she’s honestly fallen in love with Rasputin.”
Before you could answer aloud, his voice brushed your thoughts instead, light and teasing.
Should I be worried? Are you jealous?
You let your reply slip back along the same unseen channel, amused and unbothered.
Only of her illusions.
Wiktor suppressed a smile, eyes flicking toward Rasputin just as the man turned, reverence softening his expression when he saw you, as though God had briefly parted the crowd.
The party had settled into a hum of music and conversation when you felt Rasputin’s attention find you again, deliberate and unhurried.
He approached with that familiar half-smile, reverent and amused in equal measure, as though greeting a vision that insisted on speaking back.
“You look unimpressed”, he observed lightly, eyes flicking toward the clustered guests circling him, “shall I assume Heaven finds Warsaw lacking?”
You arched a brow, swirling your drink.
“On the contrary, Grigori. I find it endlessly entertaining how easily people mistake fascination for faith.”
A soft laugh left him, genuine, and for a moment the weight of the room seemed to lift.
“You wound me”, he replied, placing a hand over his chest, “I would never confuse the two… except, perhaps, when God sends me an angel who refuses to behave like one.”
You leaned closer, voice lowered just enough to feel intimate without being kind.
“And you romanticize me because it’s safer than admitting I’m simply a woman who sees through you. But I was rather talking about your guests and hosts.”
His gaze darkened, admiration sharpening rather than fading.
“No”, he murmured, “I admire you because you see - and still stand before me. As for my guests… Support the weak, be patient toward all men.”
Around you, women laughed too brightly at his words, lingered too long at his side, but he barely registered them, attention tethered firmly to you. Wiktor watched from a careful distance, every polite exchange weighed and measured, aware now of the invisible currents pulling beneath the surface. Rasputin tilted his head, studying you like a question he had already decided the answer to.
“You challenge me”, he said softly, “and I believe God does not waste such gifted encounters.”
You smiled, neither agreeing nor denying, letting the tension stretch between you like a held breath.
The noise of the party dimmed at the edges when Wiktor stepped forward, posture straightening.
“What intentions do you have toward me?”, he asked straightforward, not even bothering to perform the social dance. Rasputin answered without hesitation, voice calm and earnest.
“Intentions? That we become friends and help one another. And complement one another. I have skills that you don’t, and vice-versa.”
The moment Rasputin’s words settled, the party thinned into nothing, and you and Wiktor slipped inward together, surrendering fully to the pitch-black space in your minds where sound and form dissolved. Dantalion emerged first, his presence unfolding like blood in water, but his attention did not turn to Wiktor. Instead, it fixed upon the hunched silhouette beside him. Upyr stood there as he always did, crooked and looming, his walking stick striking the void with a sharp, echoing stomp that vibrated through the darkness. Dantalion inclined his head toward him, voice calm and deliberate.
“The man you sensed carries thaumaturgic power”, he said, “but no companion, no mirror to restrain it.”
Upyr’s response was wordless: another heavy stomp, closer this time, his empty eye sockets locking onto Wiktor as a pressure crawled beneath his skin, cold and instinctual. Wiktor sucked in a breath as the sensation settled in his bones, understanding blooming without language: danger, imbalance, hunger. Upyr leaned in just enough for the warning to sharpen, the void tightening around them like a clenched fist, urging caution without mercy. While they communed in silence, you turned to Wiktor, your voice threading through his thoughts.
“He believes me an angel”, you told him quietly, “and belief is all that holds him together.”
Wiktor’s outline tensed as Upyr stamped his staff again, the vibration carrying a final, unmistakable message. This man does not reflect, the sensation pressed into him, he pulls. Wiktor nodded once, grim understanding settling over him as he met your gaze in the dark.
When the void finally loosened and the party crept back into existence, he carried Upyr’s warning with him like a weight he could not set down. Rasputin met Wiktor’s eyes with an easy honest smile, unaware of the verdict already etched into the spaces between thought and instinct. To the guests, he looked harmless, a curiosity at worst, a far too charming holy man enjoying an evening among admirers. To you, he felt like a prayer whispered too often, worn thin at the edges by need and relentless desire. His piercing gaze returned to you once more, reverent and searching, as if awaiting confirmation that Heaven still watched him closely. You answered with a kind yet measured smile, neither blessing nor refusal, letting uncertainty do its quiet work. Wiktor shifted beside you, posture composed but guarded now, Upyr’s silent warning pacing his steps.
The party continued, glasses raised, alliances hinted at, futures casually imagined aloud. Yet beneath the chandeliers and courteous words, something irreversible had already begun to turn. And as the night wore on, you understood that whatever Rasputin was building, it would demand far more than faith to survive what was coming.
OPTIONAL ENDING:
In the thinning veil between thought and shadow, you and Wiktor glimpsed a figure standing too straight to be imagined, a red-clad soldier with a human face and a discipline that feels carved from iron. He did not advance, yet his presence presses forward with command rather than hunger, as if desire itself had learned restraint. Only then do you understand that a salutor was watching at last, he disappeared.
Title: DAY 5
Pairing: Jamie x Fem!Reader x Grigori Rasputin || Truly Madly Deeply x Rasputin: Dark Servant of Destiny
Categories: smut | light angst
Kinktober: Finger sucking | Wax play | Dacryphilia
Word count: 2.3k
"Is there nothing you can do, father?"
You'd heard of Father Grigori before. He was a great healer, a man of many good deeds. But Rasputin was renowned for countless acts. Some rumours about him were true; others, pure fiction. You had tried everything but him.
You had been with a man, Jamie, whom you loved deeply, but due to some illness of the throat, he passed away without warning. One day, Jamie was fine, struggling with a faint sore throat and sneezing, and the next day, you were crying over his dead body. Life had been unfair to him, a man in his prime, a cellist like no other, gone in the blink of an eye. You loved him, and his passing had left you shaken, without a shoulder to cry on or to hold at night. Jamie came into your life, completely changed it, and now he was not there.
You could not get over it, no matter how many weeks you spent trying to forget him. Jamie's image came back to you, his voice rang in your ears, and nothing could console you.
Father Grigori was a name many had heard. You were just one among them. He had a reputation for helping those facing challenging moments. Still, you heard—his methods were unusual. Yet no one explained what set his ways apart.
That mattered little. In the end, all that truly mattered was getting help in dealing emotionally with Jamie's departure.
When you met the man, he was similar to what you would expect for a mystic like him, if a little more energetic. Overall, he had a strange allure to him. Eerie, but not scary, just a little unsettling in an exciting way.
He was eager to aid you; he listened, his eyes were piercing in a way that sent shivers down your back. You could not look at him for too long before a sensation hit you, that his eyes could see through you in a way that penetrated you. It made you feel bare.
You were reluctant at first when it came to him, could not watch him for long, and related your tale mostly facing the ground, but despite that, Father Grigori listened quietly to everything - until he interrupted you. His large hand moved over yours, on your knee, and he knelt in front of you.
You tried to stand in surprise, but he urged you to sit, his hands above yours on your knees, his eyes forcing themselves on yours, gaze invading your very soul. The more you were in his presence, the harder it became to avoid him. It was as if he was hypnotising you in a sense, making the outside world fade, and his eyes, those piercing eyes, became the centre of the new world.
"Is there nothing you can do, father?" You repeated, your story brought to an end, "Is there no way to bring him back… I loved him so dearly, I can't live without him."
"Hush… голу́бка (golúbka/dove)." His eyes were so piercing that you felt your heart flutter, and you felt increasingly more seen. As if this man, just by looking at you, already knew everything that ran through your mind. But that was not possible, it couldn't be.
And yet his eyes, his eyes.
"That who you loved is at peace, голу́бка (golúbka/dove)!" He spoke in a low voice that somehow resonated with your very soul. His hands took yours in his, his thumb stroking soothingly over your much smaller and frailer hands. You were weaker, with Jamie's passing, you had barely taken care of your health, and now, when this man was holding your hands, you suddenly realised how different you had become.
It all hit you at once, and your eyes welled up with tears. You missed Jamie, you missed all those happy moments with him, you missed simply being a human. Those weeks, months without him turned you into something akin to a fleeting shadow of what you had been before.
Grigori pushed himself up, towering over your crying figure, his hands on your cheeks, lifting your head to face him. "Do not suffer… I see he desires you smile for him голу́бка (golúbka/dove)." He helped you up, so you were standing in front of him, and he slowly descended to his knees in front of you again, holding your hands again, eyes glued to yours.
"I would give this life of mine for your happiness," He spoke with such deep conviction that it frightened you almost, so you tried to draw back, but he pulled you closer, "He will not return… but you must honour him, you must live. Love. Don't waste your beauty, your youth in pain. God is love. The man is with God; you must love so you become reunited with him."
Rasputin hugged your waist sharply, his forehead pressed against your belly. You tried to wipe away the tears, but he stopped you. "Do not. Do not destroy the sanctity of your emotions. Those are sacred proof of your heart's purity, голу́бка (golúbka/dove)."
You accepted your own tears, and he began to rise again to his feet, his hands gliding across your sides, in a far too sensual way. You tried to ignore it, to pay no mind to how alluring that movement was. No. You were there for your deceased lover; you could not cheat his memory that way.
Once on his feet, he towered over you, his hands around you, keeping your flush against his body, his mouth ghosting dangerously close to your ear.
"This is the way to him. To God, to those gone to God." his lips travelled from your earlobe, ghosting over your cheeks until his breath was above your teary eyes. He kissed over them, his voice sounding pained. "I can feel all of your pain…" he whispered, in his thick accent that in that moment dripped like honey in your ears. "But you must not… no. Only love."
He pressed his body against yours with urgency, his lips lingering over yours. You did not realise how you got into this situation, how everything escalated so quickly, how, in the blink of an eye, he was behaving so intimately with you.
"Father…" You tried to speak, but he interrupted you.
"Love. If you want to feel him again, the only way is love." Grigori begged almost with his kind, needy voice, his breathing intoxicatingly close. So close, it was a matter of yes or no that he'd kiss you. But, you would not say words, the confusion, the pain of your loss, this hypnotising man, all too much.
Your eyes fell closed, and Grigori took this opportunity, forcing a passionate kiss on your lips, so hard that your eyes opened for a moment, then swiftly closed again from surprise. Your arms encased over his shoulders, a soft moan leaving your lips as he pressed into the kiss.
He was possessive, lusty, kissing you like a man starved, walking you backwards. You had invited him to your residence, and this confession occurred, unlucky for you - or luckily - in your bedroom. You guessed that privacy would help, and it did help him achieve his goals.
You felt in an instant how you fell back on the soft mattress and how he crawled over you with such precision as if he's done this a hundred times before - which he most likely did. You only had time to let your hand linger up to his hair, your mouths colliding, his hands already moving under your blouse, when a voice, quite similar to that of a man clearing his throat, made you snap back from that haze.
Grigori did not seem to hear it, or if he did, he did not mind the interruption and continued kissing you, but you pushed him aside. He gave you a look of displeasure, but looked towards where the noise came from alongside you.
Your eyes widened, your heart fluttered, and you almost shoved the monk again.
There, with his arms crossed and that sulking expression, was Jamie. The one you lost. He was really there. Your tears returned, and you looked at Grigori as if he had somehow brought the man back.
"Who is that man?" Jamie asked, arms crossed around his chest, sulking.
"Jamie… you are back…"
Grigori held you back from leaving him. "No голу́бка (golúbka/dove), this is not the man. That is the trap, do not let him make you stray from the path of love." He insisted, his arms wrapped around you, forcing you to remain in bed, his lips hovering over your neck.
"Belive in me, голу́бка (golúbka/dove)…"
"But he is right there, he returned…"
Jamie came over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Who is this? He is starting to bother me. Terrible, honestly terrible. And this place? You could have rented better, Y/N, really, you are hopeless with these things."
Jamie teased, his hand going to your cheek, but Rasputin pulled you away. "Do not let this temptation stray you from the path of truth. Perish."
"No. You perish." Jamie answered grumpily.
After arguing to some extent, somehow, the two men agreed on something. Grigori tested Jamie, to be sure he was not a devilish temptation. After that, the two collaborated.
You had no idea what they had planned, but you found yourself on Jamie's lap, back towards him, leaning into him as he kissed your neck lovingly. He whispered sweet nothings about how much he had missed you, how much he loved you, and of course - how terrible you looked now.
You missed him, but the point remained. He was saying it with love, and his silly, constant grumpiness only made you love him more.
Jamie's hand had soothed your hips, your sides, your breasts. His left hand, however, kept going up until his thumb began tracing over your lips. Eagerly, you bit on his finger, and he groaned softly, but kept his finger in your mouth, encouraging you to suck on it for comfort while Rasputin was doing something a little less orthodox.
He had undressed you already, so you were bare before the two men, but that was not all. Grigori had taken a candle, and as he murmured prayers for your heart and soul to be at peace, he let one drop of molten wax fall on your skin, from your ankle, up to your thighs, your tummy, placing the seal of his prayers on you.
Each little burn would make you shed a tear, and Jamie eagerly licked off your cheek while you sucked on his thumb, much to Rasputin's enjoyment. He prepared to give you the ultimate gesture of love. To, in his words, show you that God was love.
He was well endowed.
You and Jamie were both equally stunned by the size of that monk fellow, although your reactions differed slightly. You were intimidated, worried about it, while Jamie was jealous, and a little pissy, hiding his face in your shoulder, suckling possessive marks over your neck while insisting your mouth was on his finger.
When he pushed inside you, you had to hide your face against Jamie, who held you possessively, making Grigori growl as their agreement had been different. His thrusts were sensual. Grigori rolled his hips, soft gasps following each movement of his hips. He was body, soul, and mind into it, murmuring soft praises in Russian under his breath.
No matter how languid his hips were moving, the size was enough to do the job alone. Now it all made sense, all the rumours about the women who prayed to him and needed his aid, about his different ways, about how endowed he was with a kind soul. It had never been about his kind soul.
Jamie leaned down to the right side of your neck and began to kiss, and Grigori, as he made love to you, reached for the left side, both men spoiling you with love and affection.
You felt love, a little too much of it.
Grigori began to change his pace gradually, from slow, fluid motions to sharper, more animalistic, and desperate ones, the closer he was. Although it took a while to happen, his stamina was impressive, another aspect Jamie seemed to be sulking about while witnessing it.
The ghost's hand slipped down between your thighs, between your body and Grigori's, and began to rub your clit, which caused your cunt to squeeze around the man's cock in surprise. That spurred Grigori on, making his movements more intense, his orgasm to build up, and Jamie was making sure to help with your own.
You had suffered over him for so long that reaching your own peak of pleasure needed intense aid, so the two men worked together to release you from that suffering.
Your climax came suddenly and intensely, amounting to healing all that suffering you had endured. Grigori was short to come undone too after making sure you were the one to feel God's love first, before he rolled off you and onto the bed.
When you opened your eyes, only the monk was with you.
Jamie was not.
That grief had returned nearly instantly, and your hand reached to the right side of your neck where Jamie had marked you. Where Grigori never reached. And much to your surprise, you can feel it. Markings, a bit of soreness, and, according to Grigori, some bruising, as those made from love.
So Jamie had returned.
Father Grigori had been right, despite his unusual ways; it had been love that made you see him after all. God was love, Jamie was love.
And so it was love that you had to feel for your beloved cellist to return to you.
Summary: He becomes obsessed with you, forgotten princess.
Pairing: Rasputin × Fem! Reader
Warnings: Smut, violence, Dark Magic and Obsession.
Author's Notes: Buckle up, folks, we're diving into another adventure! And can I let you in on a little secret? I might have gone off the rails a bit with Rasputin's character—oopsie! So, if I've strayed too far from the path of Rasputin-ness, let me know! Your feedback is like the GPS for my writing journey, guiding me back on track! 🚀🗺️
Request made by @eccentricchick here
Also read on Ao3
In the kingdom of Czarist Russia, nestled in the heart of the vast Russian Empire, the halls of the royal palace echoed with whispers of intrigue and betrayal. It was a kingdom steeped in tradition and hierarchy, where bloodlines determined destiny and the pursuit of power knew no bounds.
And within the walls of the palace, hidden away from the prying eyes of the courtiers and nobles, lived the second princess—a forgotten soul cast aside by her family, deemed unworthy of the throne due to a cruel twist of fate.
Unlike your younger sister Anna, the heir to the throne, you, the second princess was unable to conceive children. In a kingdom where lineage was everything, your inability to produce an heir was seen as a fatal flaw, a stain upon your honor and your worth.
Dismissed from your rightful role as heir apparent, you was relegated to the shadows, overshadowed by your sister's brilliance and beauty. You was a mere footnote in the annals of history, a forgotten relic of a bygone era, your existence deemed inconsequential by those who held the reins of power.
Resigned to a life of solitude and obscurity, you had long accepted your fate as the forgotten princess, destined to languish in the shadows while your sister basked in the glory of her position as heir to the throne. With no prospects for marriage and no hope of ever bearing children, you had resigned yourself to a life of loneliness and isolation, your existence deemed worthless by those who held the reins of power.
But fate had other plans in store for you, as one day, the king made a fateful decision that would change the course of your life forever. Hearing tales of a mystic healer named Rasputin, renowned for his purported ability to commune with the divine, the king saw an opportunity to bring spiritual guidance to the palace and hired him to serve as the royal spiritual advisor.
Initially intended to provide guidance and counsel to your sister Anna, the king surprised everyone by decreeing that both princesses would receive instruction from Rasputin. And so, the enigmatic mystic was summoned to the palace, his arrival heralding a new chapter in your life.
As Rasputin entered the hallowed halls of the palace, his presence seemed to command the attention of all who beheld him. With his piercing gaze, unkempt mane of hair, and rugged beard, he exuded an aura of mystery and power, his baritone voice resonating with authority as he greeted the royal family.
Despite your initial skepticism, you couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity and intrigue as Rasputin began his teachings. His words were like poetry, weaving tales of spirituality and redemption that captivated your imagination and stirred something deep within your soul.
As the days turned into weeks, Rasputin's teachings delved deeper into the spiritual realm, captivating both you and Anna in different ways. While Anna seemed more enchanted by his charismatic presence, you remained reserved yet attentive, your curiosity growing with each passing lesson.
And despite Anna's uninhibited attempts to seduce Rasputin, he remained unfazed, enjoying the attention but never succumbing to her advances. Instead, his focus seemed to gravitate towards you, the forgotten princess, whose sweetness and sadness intrigued him more than Anna's boldness ever could.
Your family's disregard for your feelings and opinions did not go unnoticed by Rasputin. He observed how you were often left behind, ignored, and forgotten, yet you continued to display kindness and grace in the face of such neglect. This purity of heart only served to deepen Rasputin's fascination with you, contrasting sharply with the sinful women he was accustomed to.
In his eyes, you were a beacon of purity in a world tainted by ambition and deceit. He was drawn to the idea of making you his own, of protecting you from the cruelties of the world and showering you with the love and attention you so desperately deserved.
But Rasputin's intentions were not entirely altruistic. His desires were driven by a complex mix of genuine affection and a hunger for power, a hunger that could only be satiated by possessing something as pure and untainted as your soul.
And as Rasputin's teachings continued to enthrall both you and Anna, his attention towards you became increasingly intense, bordering on obsession. While Anna basked in his charismatic presence, you became the subject of Rasputin's fascination, his thoughts consumed by visions of you.
In the dead of night, as he lay in the embrace of nameless women, their bodies intertwined in a dance of desire, it was not their faces he saw, but yours. With each whispered breath and sinful caress, he imagined it was you beneath him, your purity tarnished by his touch, your innocence corrupted by his desires.
"Such sweet innocence," he murmured, his baritone voice laced with hunger as he traced imaginary lines upon your skin, his fingers tingling with anticipation. "I shall be the one to pluck the forbidden fruit, to taste the nectar of your purity and revel in the ecstasy of your corruption."
His dreams were filled with visions of you, your image haunting him even in the depths of his slumber. In his mind's eye, he saw himself as the serpent, tempting you with promises of enlightenment and ecstasy, leading you down the path of sin and salvation.
But his desires were not merely confined to the realm of dreams. In the quiet moments of solitude, when the palace slept and the world outside faded into darkness, Rasputin found himself consumed by thoughts of you, his mind ablaze with fantasies of conquest and domination.
"I shall be your savior and your downfall," he whispered to the shadows, his voice a seductive lure that beckoned you into his embrace. "For in your innocence lies the key to my salvation, and in your corruption, the promise of eternal damnation."
And so, fueled by his insatiable hunger and boundless ambition, Rasputin set out to claim you as his own, using every ounce of charm and influence at his disposal to bend you to his will. For in the forgotten princess, he saw not just a vessel for his desires, but a pawn in his game of power and manipulation, a pawn he was all too willing to sacrifice on the altar of his own ambition.
That day, following another session of Rasputin imparting God's precepts, your sister, Anna, departed, leaving you alone with the man. Summoning all your courage, you finally spoke, your voice barely above a muffled murmur. "Rasputin, may I have a moment of your time?"
Surprised by the request, Rasputin turned his piercing gaze towards you, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Of course, my dear princess. What is it that troubles you?"
You hesitated, the weight of your words heavy upon your tongue, but with a deep breath, you found the resolve to speak. "I... I wish to learn about economics and life outside the castle."
Rasputin arched an eyebrow, a hint of intrigue dancing in his eyes. "Economics, you say? A curious choice for a princess."
You glanced down at the floor, your fingers fidgeting nervously as you spoke. "My sister is learning about it from my father, and... and I fear for my future. If I am to be cast aside, I wish to be prepared."
Rasputin's expression softened, a glimmer of empathy shining through his enigmatic facade. "I see. You wish to carve your own path, regardless of the obstacles in your way."
You nodded, a sense of relief washing over you as Rasputin seemed to understand your plight. "Yes, precisely. Will you... will you teach me?"
A smile tugged at the corners of Rasputin's lips, his eyes alight with newfound admiration. "It would be my honor, Princess. I shall impart upon you the knowledge you seek, and together, we shall navigate the intricacies of the world beyond these walls."
With a sense of gratitude swelling within your heart, you stepped forward, surprising Rasputin with a brief embrace before bowing in gratitude. "Thank you, Rasputin. You have given me hope where there was none."
Rasputin returned the gesture, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary as he inhaled the sweet scent of your perfume, committing it to memory. "It is my pleasure, Princess. Fear not, for I shall be your guide in this journey of discovery."
And as you departed, a newfound sense of purpose burning within your soul, Rasputin watched you with a mixture of fascination and desire, knowing that this encounter had sealed your fates together in ways neither of you could have anticipated.
He closed his eyes, your scent still lingering in the air, a sweet temptation that beckoned to him. It was as if you had left a part of yourself behind, a tantalizing reminder of the warmth and sweetness you brought into his life. With a soft sigh, Rasputin relished in the memory, savoring the fleeting sensation of your presence before it dissipated into the ether.
Woman was made for man, Rasputin mused, his thoughts drifting towards the biblical tale of Adam and Eve. Just as Eve was fair for Adam, you were made for him, his sweet temptation, a forbidden fruit that he longed to taste again and again.
But there was no time for lingering indulgence. With a sense of purpose burning within him, Rasputin quickly left the chamber, his steps echoing against the marble floors as he made his way to his quarters. The warmth of your touch still lingered upon his skin, igniting a fire within him that refused to be extinguished.
As he entered his private chambers, Rasputin wasted no time in undressing, his movements swift and purposeful as he discarded his clothes with practiced ease. His pants fell around his ankles, pooling at his feet, while he bit the hem of his shirt, pulling it high to reveal his semi-hard penis.
With a hunger that bordered on desperation, Rasputin took himself in hand, his touch firm and demanding as he stroked himself to full hardness. His mind was consumed by thoughts of you, kneeling before him, your eyes filled with devotion as you eagerly awaited his instruction.
Imagining your scent, your touch, Rasputin lost himself in a whirlwind of desire, his fantasies taking on a life of their own as he surrendered himself to the intoxicating pleasure of his own touch. With each stroke, he imagined your lips trailing kisses along his length, your hands exploring every inch of his body with a hunger that mirrored his own.
"Oh, my sweet princess," Rasputin murmured, his voice thick with desire as he imagined you kneeling before him, your eyes filled with adoration as you worshipped at his feet. "You are my greatest temptation, my deepest desire. I shall make you mine, body and soul, and together, we shall conquer the world."
Driven by a primal need for release, Rasputin quickened his pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he approached the brink of ecstasy. With a final, desperate cry, he succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure, his climax washing over him in a tidal wave of ecstasy as he spilled himself onto the floor below.
As he lay there, spent and sated, Rasputin's mind was filled with visions of you, your image burning brightly in the darkness of his thoughts. For in that moment, he knew that you were not just a princess to be conquered, but a queen to be crowned, a partner in his quest for power and domination.
And as he drifted off to sleep, Rasputin whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the gods, grateful for the sweet temptation that had entered his life and forever altered the course of his destiny.
The next day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the palace grounds, Rasputin made his way to the Palace library, where you awaited his arrival with a sense of eager anticipation. Dressed in his usual attire of flowing robes and unkempt hair, Rasputin exuded an air of mystery and authority as he entered the room, his presence commanding attention as he took his seat across from you.
With a soft smile, you greeted him, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you presented him with the gift—a delicate necklace adorned with a small cross. Rasputin's gaze lingered on the necklace for a moment, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns before meeting your eyes with a look of genuine gratitude.
"Thank you, my princess," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody that washed over you like a warm embrace. "This is a most thoughtful gift, and I shall cherish it always."
As you stepped forward to place the necklace around his neck, Rasputin allowed you to do so, relishing in the warmth of your touch as you arranged it in his robes. His heart swelled with affection as he looked down at you, his eyes softening with genuine fondness as he beheld your innocence and purity.
With a gentle smile, Rasputin blessed you, making the sign of the cross and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before the start of your lesson. Despite the temptation to indulge in more intimate gestures, Rasputin restrained himself, contenting himself with the simple pleasure of your company as you embarked on your journey of learning together.
As the lessons progressed, you found yourself drawn to Rasputin's enigmatic presence, your curiosity piqued by the tales of his past and the rumors that surrounded him. With a shy yet earnest expression, you broached the subject, your voice barely above a whisper as you dared to ask about his life outside the palace walls.
Rasputin's expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes as he considered your question. "Ah, my dear princess, the rumors you have heard are but fragments of the truth, distorted by the whispers of those who seek to tarnish my reputation."
He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Yes, it is true that I have wandered far and wide, seeking enlightenment and guidance from the divine. But depraved? No, my dear, I am merely a humble servant of God, seeking to fulfill my purpose in this world."
You listened intently, hanging on his every word as he shared glimpses of his past and the trials he had faced along the way. Despite the shadows that lingered in his past, you couldn't help but feel a sense of compassion and understanding towards him, drawn to the complexity of his character and the depth of his soul.
As the evening drew to a close, Rasputin bid you farewell with a kind smile, his eyes alight with warmth and affection as he promised to continue your lessons in the days to come. And as you watched him depart, a sense of gratitude welled within you, grateful for the opportunity to learn from a man whose wisdom and guidance would shape your destiny in ways you could never have imagined.
In the days that followed, Rasputin reveled in your presence, relishing the opportunity to share his knowledge with you under the veil of secrecy. Late into the night, when the palace slept and the world outside faded into darkness, Rasputin would summon you to the library, where he would teach you about life beyond the castle walls.
With each lesson, you drank in his words like a parched traveler in the desert, eager to quench your thirst for knowledge and understanding. Rasputin proved to be an engaging teacher, his baritone voice weaving tales of far-off lands and exotic cultures that captured your imagination and stirred something deep within your soul.
As the nights turned into weeks, Rasputin's teachings became increasingly intimate, his lessons delving into the mysteries of the flesh and the pleasures of the senses. With each whispered confession and lingering touch, he awakened something primal within you, a hunger that burned with a fierce intensity.
And then, one fateful night, as the candles flickered and cast long shadows across the library shelves, Rasputin could resist you no longer. With a hunger that bordered on desperation, he pinned you against the nearest shelf, his body pressed against yours as he accused you of consuming his thoughts, of tempting him away from God.
"I don't understand," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked up at him with wide, bewildered eyes. "Why would you say such things?"
Rasputin's expression softened, a mixture of frustration and longing flickering in his eyes as he gazed down at you. "Because it's true, my dear princess. You consume my thoughts, cloud my prayers, tempt me away from the path of righteousness with your sweet innocence."
You shook your head, a sense of disbelief washing over you as you struggled to comprehend his words. "But... but I never meant to..."
Before you could finish your sentence, Rasputin's hands found their way to your waist, his touch both gentle and possessive as he held you in place. "You may deny it, my dear, but I see the truth in your eyes. You long for my touch, crave my kiss, even as you try to push me away."
You swallowed hard, the weight of his words bearing down upon you like a heavy burden. "But these are things I should only do with my husband," you protested weakly, your hands instinctively moving to push him away.
Rasputin stood firm, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he refused to let you go. "And what husband would want you?" he countered, his voice low and husky with desire. "An infertile, useless woman like yourself?"
You stammered, your mind racing as you struggled to find a response. "But... but there are women in the Bible who were infertile and still got married because their husbands wanted them," you argued, desperate to find some semblance of reason in the chaos of your thoughts.
Rasputin nodded, his eyes alight with a fierce intensity as he gazed down at you. "Yes, my dear, and I want you," he declared, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "I desire you, I love you. Only I can give you what you desire, what you deserve."
You recoiled in surprise, the shock of his words reverberating through your very being. "But... but I'm sterile," you protested weakly, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "How could you possibly..."
Rasputin cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand, his expression unwavering in its determination. "It matters not," he declared, his voice filled with conviction. "With my seed, I can give you a child, fulfill your deepest desires. You need only let me."
You stared up at him in disbelief, the weight of his words sinking in like a heavy anchor dragging you down into the depths of despair. Could it be true? Could Rasputin truly possess such power?
But as you looked into his eyes, burning with a fierce intensity that seemed to pierce through to your very soul, you knew that you had no choice but to believe. For in that moment, Rasputin was not just a man, but a force of nature, a tempest of desire and passion that threatened to consume you whole.
And as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours, you made a decision. With a trembling breath, you closed the distance between you, surrendering yourself to the intoxicating allure of Rasputin's embrace. For in his arms, you found not just desire, but salvation, a glimmer of hope in the darkness that surrounded you.
Rasputin moaned against your mouth, his lips hungrily seeking yours as he savored the taste of your kiss. To him, your embrace was like water in the desert, a sweet temptation that he had longed to taste. With a fierce determination, he pressed you harder against the shelf, his hands roaming over your body with an urgency that mirrored his own desires.
As the books fell around you, you grasped onto the shelf for support, one hand holding it above you while the other clutched onto Rasputin's shoulder. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume your very soul.
Feeling your response, Rasputin picked you up effortlessly, his strong arms holding your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs. With a sense of surrender, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you moaned his name against his lips.
"Rasputin," you whispered, the name slipping from your tongue like a prayer. "I don't know what's happening, but I want you."
Rasputin's eyes gleamed with a mix of desire and determination as he reassured you, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I will guide you, my dear princess," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "Trust in me, and I will show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams."
With a sense of anticipation coursing through your veins, you surrendered yourself to Rasputin's embrace, allowing him to lead you into a world of forbidden desire and ecstasy. Together, you embarked on a journey of passion and exploration, each touch and caress igniting a fire within you that refused to be extinguished.
As Rasputin laid you against the table, sweeping aside the books with a careless gesture, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement mingled with trepidation. Was this how you would lose your virginity? At a table in the library, with Rasputin's hungry gaze upon you?
Your thoughts were interrupted as Rasputin pulled the front of your dress down, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. A blush rose to your cheeks at the sudden exposure, but Rasputin paid no mind, his lips descending upon your skin with a fervent hunger.
With a low moan, you arched your back, offering yourself to him completely as he took a breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking against your sensitive flesh in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It was a sensation unlike anything you had ever experienced, a heady mix of pleasure and desire that threatened to overwhelm your senses.
"Rasputin," you gasped, your voice thick with need as you surrendered yourself to the ecstasy of his touch. "Please, I need you."
Rasputin grunted against your breast, his lips trailing kisses along your skin with a fervent hunger, you felt a sense of overwhelming desire coursing through your veins. His touch was like fire against your skin, igniting a passion within you that threatened to consume your very soul.
"Call me Grigori," he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "That's my name."
You nodded, your mind clouded with desire as you struggled to comprehend the intensity of your feelings. "I... I don't know what to do," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you confessed your lack of knowledge to him.
Rasputin's eyes gleamed with amusement, a hint of mischief dancing in their depths as he reassured you with a gentle smile. "That's quite all right, my dear," he replied, his voice dripping with honeyed charm. "I shall teach you."
With his guidance, you helped him remove his clothes, your fingers trembling with anticipation as you undid the buttons of his tunic. As the fabric fell away, leaving him clad only in his pants and the necklace you had given him, you couldn't help but admire the sight before you.
But when Rasputin undid his pants, exposing his enormous penis wrapped in dark, coarse curls like his beard, you couldn't help but gasp in surprise and fear at its size. "Is... is it supposed to be like that?" you questioned, your eyes wide with uncertainty as you looked up at him.
Rasputin chuckled, a deep rumble of amusement that reverberated through your very core. "No, my dear princess, not all men are gifted like me," he explained, his voice a seductive purr as he took your hand and led it to his throbbing member.
With his guidance, you began to caress him, your fingers exploring every inch of his length with a curiosity that bordered on fascination. Rasputin's breath hitched with pleasure as you spread the pre-cum to lubricate it, his hips rocking against your touch in a rhythm that mirrored your own desires.
Encouraged by his response, you pressed your thumb against the small hole of his red penis, marveling at its size and texture. "It's so large," you whispered, your voice filled with wonder as you continued to explore him with a newfound sense of curiosity.
Rasputin groaned in response, his eyes dark with desire as he urged you on with a husky whisper. "Yes, my princess, it is," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he guided your hand with a firm yet gentle touch. "But fear not, for I shall show you how to please me. Press a little harder, yes... just like that."
Emboldened by his encouragement, you pressed a little harder, feeling a surge of satisfaction as Rasputin's breath hitched in his chest. With each stroke, you became more curious, more eager to explore the depths of his desire and pleasure.
"Such a good girl," Rasputin praised, his voice a low growl that sent shivers of excitement coursing through your body
As Rasputin's penis leaked more pre-cum, you couldn't help but notice the glistening liquid coating your hand. Curiosity getting the better of you, you asked, "What is this liquid, Grigori? It's... slippery."
Rasputin took a moment to process your question, his eyes glazed with pleasure as he focused on the sensation of your hand on him. With a low chuckle, he finally responded, his voice husky with desire, "Ah, my dear princess, that is pre-cum. It's a natural lubricant that the body produces to prepare for intercourse."
Your eyes widened with surprise at his explanation, a blush creeping up your cheeks at the realization of what his body was preparing for. "I see," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you continued to stroke him, feeling the slickness of the pre-cum between your fingers.
But then, a curious glint entered your eyes as a thought occurred to you. "Do... do women produce this type of liquid too?" you questioned, a hint of innocence lacing your words.
Rasputin's eyebrows shot up in surprise at your question, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he realized where your thoughts were leading. "Oh, my princess, women have their own special way of preparing for intercourse," he replied, his voice dripping with suggestive intent. "But perhaps I should show you rather than explain."
With a sly grin, Rasputin guided your hand to the juncture between your thighs, his fingers tracing light circles against your sensitive flesh. You gasped at the sensation, a shiver running down your spine as he teased you with feather-light touches.
"Feel that, my dear?" Rasputin murmured, his voice a seductive purr as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "That's your body's way of preparing for pleasure, of inviting me inside you."
You moaned softly at his words, the heat pooling between your legs as desire surged through your veins. "I... I want you, Grigori," you whispered, your voice thick with need as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating pleasure of his touch.
Rasputin chuckled darkly, a hunger burning in his eyes as he pressed himself against you, his hardness pressing against your core. "Then let me show you, my dear princess," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Let me show you how good it can feel to be mine."
He helped you remove your panties and lie down on the table. He maintained his reassuring demeanor, acknowledging the fear and uncertainty clouding your mind. With gentle yet firm hands, he positioned himself between your legs, his gaze locking with yours as he spoke with honesty and candor.
"Princess, I won't lie to you. This may hurt at first," Rasputin admitted, his voice a soothing murmur that washed over you like a warm embrace. "But as you get used to it, you may find that you enjoy it. Trust me, my dear."
With a trembling nod, you clung to his shoulders, your heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. As Rasputin leaned down to kiss your collarbone and suck your breasts once more, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins, mingled with the primal fear of the unknown.
But then, with a slow and deliberate motion, Rasputin guided himself inside you, his entry careful yet determined. As he predicted, you felt a sharp pain rippling through your body, causing tears to well up in your eyes as you cried out in discomfort.
"Please, Rasputin, it hurts," you whimpered, your voice trembling with anguish as you clung to him for support. "Make it stop."
Rasputin's heart ached at the sight of your tears, but he knew that he had to be strong for both of you. With a hoarse voice filled with reassurance, he whispered words of comfort as he continued to sink deeper into you, his movements slow and deliberate.
"It will get better, my dear. I promise," Rasputin murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he brushed away your tears with gentle kisses. "Just hold on to me, and trust in the pleasure that awaits you."
Despite the pain, you found solace in Rasputin's words, clinging to him with a fierce determination as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating pleasure of his touch. With each thrust, the pain began to subside, replaced by a faint glimmer of pleasure that stirred something deep within your soul.
And then, as if by magic, you felt a shift in sensation, a spark of pleasure igniting within you as Rasputin's penis brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside your core. With a gasp of surprise, you realized that the pain was fading, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure that threatened to consume your very being.
"Grigori," you moaned, your voice thick with desire as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer with each thrust. "Don't stop, please."
Rasputin groaned in response, his movements becoming more urgent as he surrendered himself to the primal hunger that burned within him. With each thrust, he felt himself drawn deeper into you, his desire mingling with yours in a frenzy of passion and ecstasy.
"Gods, you feel so good, my dear," Rasputin murmured, his voice thick with desire as he buried himself deeper inside you. "So tight, so hot. I never want to leave this place."
You moaned in response, the scrape of his penis against your pussy sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It was a sensation unlike anything you had ever experienced, a heady mix of pleasure and desire that threatened to overwhelm your senses.
As Rasputin increased his thrusts, making the cross of his necklace bang against your chin with each movement, he seemed to go wild, his baritone voice filled with a mix of desire and desperation. "Oh, my sweet temptation," he groaned, his words punctuated by ragged gasps of pleasure. "I'll fill you with my babies, hmm? You'll carry my seed, my mark, deep inside you."
His messy hair and beard framed his face as he leaned in closer, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered in your ear. "Your pussy, my dear princess, it's the best I've ever had. So sweet, so tight. You're mine now, mine alone."
With each thrust, Rasputin's desires grew more fervent, his promises of pleasure and fulfillment becoming more explicit with each passing moment. "I'll give you everything you want, everything you desire," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I'll put the world at your feet, my dear. Just let me fill you, claim you as mine."
Rasputin slowed his movements, allowing you to savor the sensation of his cock dragging inside you. He gazed into your eyes with a mixture of desire and curiosity. His baritone voice was thick with anticipation as he posed the question that hung heavy in the air between you.
"Do you want my baby, my princess?" Rasputin whispered, his breath hot against your skin as he waited for your response. "Only I can give you that. Only I can fill you with my seed."
Your heart raced at his words, a mixture of desire and fear swirling within you as you struggled to find the words to respond. But before you could form a coherent thought, a whimper escaped your lips, a desperate plea for the fulfillment that only Rasputin could provide.
"Yes," you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper as you clung to him, your nails digging into his back as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming pleasure of the moment. "Yes, Rasputin, please. I don't want to be barren. I don't want to be a useless woman."
But Rasputin silenced your fears with a trail of kisses down your chin to your ear, his lips brushing against your skin as he declared his intentions with a fervent determination.
"You are not useless to me, my dear," Rasputin murmured, his voice laced with sincerity as he held you close, his arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace. "I will put a baby inside you. I will give you as many children as you want, whatever you desire. For now, you are mine, my sweet temptation."
With each word, Rasputin's desires grew more fervent, his promises of pleasure and fulfillment echoing in the air around you. And as he closed his lips around your nipple, sucking greedily at your sweet breasts, you couldn't help but moan in ecstasy, lost in the overwhelming sensation of his touch.
"Such sweet breasts," Rasputin murmured between sucks, his voice thick with desire as he reveled in the pleasure of your virgin flesh. "So untouched, so pure. You are mine now, my dear. Mine to mold, mine to possess."
But then, in the midst of his ecstasy, Rasputin's pleasure was interrupted by a sudden scream of pain as his hair was yanked back and he was thrown onto the floor. With a startled cry, he looked up to see the king, your father, standing over him with a look of rage in his eyes.
"Father, no!" you screamed in shame, covering your breasts with your arms as you rushed to his side, only to be met with a sharp slap that sent you sprawling to the ground with a cry of pain.
"Silence, you wretched girl!" the king thundered, his voice filled with contempt as he glared down at you. "You are no daughter of mine, no princess of this kingdom. You are nothing but a disgrace, a stain upon our noble bloodline."
As your father's foot connected with your side, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping for breath, Rasputin roared in fury, his voice reverberating off the walls of the library. "How dare you touch my sweet temptation!" he thundered, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity.
With a primal growl, Rasputin launched himself at the king, his hands curled into fists as he sought to strike back against the man who dared to harm you. But the guards were quick to react, their grip tightening around Rasputin's arms as they delivered swift kicks to his legs, forcing him to his knees before the king.
"What do you think you're doing, Rasputin?" the king demanded, his voice laced with contempt as he glared down at the fallen man. "How dare you lay a hand on my daughter? I've heard rumors of your depravity, but I never expected such audacity from you."
Rasputin's nostrils flared with anger as he struggled against the guards, his eyes never leaving the king's face. "She is mine," he declared, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "And I will not let anyone stand in the way of what is rightfully mine."
As the king's fist collided with Rasputin's jaw, the sound of bone meeting bone echoed through the library, followed by a low grunt of pain from Rasputin. You screamed from the ground, begging your father to stop, tears streaming down your face as you pleaded for mercy, but the king ignored you, his gaze fixed on Rasputin with a mixture of contempt and rage.
Ignoring your cries, the king grabbed a handful of Rasputin's hair, yanking his head back with a cruel force that made blood trickle down from Rasputin's nose. With a sneer of disgust, the king leaned in close, his voice dripping with disdain as he delivered his ultimatum.
"Leave this kingdom, Rasputin," the king spat, his breath hot against Rasputin's face. "Or I'll have you killed like the vermin you are."
Rasputin's eyes blazed with defiance, his voice a low growl of anger. "I'll go nowhere without her," he declared, his baritone voice resonating with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "She belongs to me, and I will not leave her behind."
The king's lips curled into a sneer of contempt as he pushed Rasputin away, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "She is of no use to me," he scoffed, his voice filled with disdain. "But she is certainly not yours to claim."
Rasputin's gaze darkened with a hint of menace, his voice low and dangerous. "I will have her, one way or another," he threatened, his eyes flashing with an otherworldly intensity. "And if you stand in my way, I will unleash a curse upon this kingdom that will make your blood run cold."
Suddenly, the air in the library grew thick with a palpable tension, the lights dimming as if a shadow had fallen over the room. Books tumbled from their shelves, glass shattered on the floor, and a bone-chilling cold swept through the air, causing the king and his guards to recoil in fear.
With a triumphant smirk, Rasputin raised his hand, his voice echoing with a dark power as he summoned forth the spirits of the unseen world. "Feel the wrath of the unseen," he intoned, his voice a haunting melody that sent shivers down your spine. "And know that I am not to be trifled with."
As the king and his guards stumbled back in fear, the guards holding Rasputin suddenly began to choke, their faces turning purple as if they were being deprived of air.
"You see, Your Majesty," Rasputin murmured, his voice dripping with malice. "You cannot control me. I am beyond your reach, beyond your power. And now, I demand that you give her to me. She belongs to me, body and soul."
The king's face contorted with rage as he stared at Rasputin, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Never," he spat, his voice filled with fury. "She is my daughter, and I will not let her fall into the clutches of a madman like you."
Rasputin chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with a sinister intensity as he gazed down at the king, who was now struggling to breathe. "You should have listened to reason, Your Majesty," Rasputin sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "But now, you shall pay the price for your arrogance."
With a swift motion, Rasputin closed his fist, his fingers curling into a tight grip as he exerted his will upon the king. The air grew thick with a suffocating pressure, and the king fell to his knees, his hands clawing at his neck as he gasped for air.
You, still recovering from the shock of the confrontation, scrambled to your feet, your dress now hastily arranged as you rushed to your father's side. "Father, please!" you cried, tears streaming down your face as you tried to help him. "Stop this, Grigori!"
But Rasputin paid you no heed, his eyes fixed on the king as he continued to exert his dark power. "You dare to defy me, Your Majesty?" Rasputin growled, his voice low and menacing. "You are but a puppet in my hands, a pawn in my game."
As the king's struggles grew weaker, you found yourself torn between loyalty to your father and fear of Rasputin's wrath. Desperate to save your father, you crawled on your knees to Rasputin, your heart pounding with a mixture of dread and determination.
"Please, Rasputin," you begged, your voice trembling with emotion as you clutched his hand, pleading for mercy. "He's my father. I can't bear to see him suffer. Please, spare him."
For a moment, Rasputin hesitated, his intense gaze softening as he looked at you, his sweet temptation, pleading for mercy. The memory of his promise to give you anything you desired flashed through his mind, and with a sigh, he relented, his grip on your hand loosening.
"It's okay," he murmured, his baritone voice a soothing balm against the chaos surrounding you. "I won't kill your father."
You breathed a sigh of relief, tears still streaming down your face as you clung to Rasputin, grateful for his mercy. Behind you, your father coughed and struggled to catch his breath, the tension in the room slowly dissipating as Rasputin picked up his pants from the floor, hastily putting them on.
As Rasputin grabbed your hand, determination burning in his eyes, he gestured for you to follow him. "Come, my dear," he urged, his voice urgent yet reassuring. "We must leave before your father calls for the guards."
Your father, still catching his breath, shouted breathlessly for the guards as Rasputin pulled you along, running through the halls towards the stables. With each step, your heart raced with a mixture of fear and excitement, knowing that your fate was now intertwined with Rasputin's.
As you reached the stables, Rasputin quickly assessed the situation, his eyes scanning the rows of horses for the fastest steed. Spotting a sleek black stallion in the corner, he wasted no time in approaching it, his movements confident and purposeful.
"This one," Rasputin declared, his voice authoritative as he reached out to stroke the horse's mane. "He will do."
With practiced ease, Rasputin saddled the horse, his movements swift and efficient as he prepared to make his escape. As he helped you onto the horse's back, he climbed up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in a protective embrace.
"Hold on tight, my dear," Rasputin murmured, his voice low and reassuring as he urged the horse into a gallop. "We have a long journey ahead of us, but together, we will overcome whatever challenges lie in our path."
And as the horse galloped away from the castle, Rasputin's arm tightened around your waist, pulling you close to him as you clung to him for dear life. With each beat of the horse's hooves against the ground, you felt yourself leaving behind the chaos and danger of the castle, riding towards an uncertain future with Rasputin by your side.
Summary: you, dear reader, are a thaumaturge traveling through the world. As you finally arrived in Warsaw at the Szulski residence, the phone suddenly rang...
Reader: short female reader with curves, but no other specific descriptions are used
Part 2
While he was excited to finally get to Warsaw for his very own reasons, the moment he stepped out of the train and the Nadarzynskis greeted him cheerfully, regret crawled into his mind. For the first time his own goals seemed unimportant, a forgotten thought lingering in the shadows of his mind. For the first time since he started his journey he felt like there was something he craved more than complying to his visions and his faith...you. Although, in his very own way, he believed you to part of God's plan and that your paths had crossed couldn't be a mere coincidence. He had to tame his own desires for at least a day, it was crucial that he'd take his time to get acquainted with his hosts and the neighbourhood, and it would most likely point him eventually towards you.
You had arrived early in the morning at the Szulki residence, Grazyna greeting you with a warm hug and invited you in. It had been a while since you visited Ligia and after giving her a day after her father's funeral, you'd decided that you couldn't wait any longer to meet your friend. She was sitting in the dining room, the fork falling out of her hand as she gasped at you entered.
"How long has it been?", Ligia asked jumping up from her chair so fast it almost fell backwards before walking towards you.
"Too long", you replied, pulling her into a tight hug, "my condolences."
"Thank you", Ligia whispered before pulling away, "Wiktor is here too, he should be upstairs."
Before she could say any more, you nodded with a mischievous grin and turned on your heel, striding through the hallway towards the stairway when the sudden ringing of the telephone startled you. With hesitant steps you approached and took the receiver, holding it up to your ear without saying anything.
"I talk here...? Do you hear me now? Wiktor? Wiktor, are you there?"
A small chuckle passed your lips and your heart skipped a small beat as you instantly recognised the voice. You found it almost endearing how he seemed to use a telephone for the first time but the mention of Wiktor's name made you wonder if he had asked him for help to decipher you little message and if Wiktor would have revealed that you knew him since childhood.
"This is the Szulski residence but I'm afraid it's not Wiktor", you finally replied, trying your earnest to keep your mischievous giggles down.
There was an awkward silence for a few minutes until Grigori softly murmured 'angel'.
"And here I thought you'd be asking for me but no, apparently I'm not your favourite thaumaturge", you teased, curious what he'd reply.
"Far from it my dear", the man chuckled at the other end of the line, "although Wiktor was the last one I met and he was so kind as to translate that little message of yours to me", he paused for a moment as if weighing the choice of his next words very carefully, "should you desire your brooch back, I have found lodgings here in Warsaw, Seven Powązkowska Street, by the cemetery."
"That brooch is one my favourite, so expect a visit soon", you grinned to yourself, eager for the opportunity to see him again so soon, "oh and Grigori, it's good to hear your voice."
Rasputin was taken aback by the sudden softness in your voice and it took him a moment to collect his thoughts before answering.
"It's good to hear you as well. And please inform Wiktor of the address too, he may have need of me. Goodbye."
There was pause and just before you wanted to hang up, you could his voice laced with confusion and astonishment.
"I want to end now. What do I...? Like this? Wonderful device. Remarkable. Hello...? Oh. And now...?"
With an amused chuckle you set the receiver down and made your upstairs to greet Wiktor.
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he saw you strode into the living room of the Nadarzynskis. The excitement of meeting you again almost made him feel nauseous and, all over sudden, all his resolve to remain calm crumbled and he jumped up from the sofa and pulled you into a tight hug.
"It's wonderful to see you again, my angel", he whispered softly against your neck.
Finally, you were in his arms again as he continued to hold you in his arms, his chin resting lightly on top of your head. A fleeting worry crossed his mind—that perhaps you were merely a figment of his imagination—but the warmth of your body pressed against his dispelled such doubts. That divine melody of your heartbeat resounding within your chest and now that his guardian angel was finally by his side again, a strange sense of peace settled over him. He took a deep breath, inhaling your scent. It was like a gift of the Heavens to him, a soothing smell that reminded him of warm summer days and long walks through forests filled with the most beautiful flowers. He felt the tension in his shoulders melt away, and for the first time in days, the knot in his stomach seemed to ease. A silent prayer echoed within him, beseeching God to allow this moment of tranquillity and closeness to last forever.
Reluctantly, he drew back from you, his hands gently resting on your shoulders before tenderly cradling your face. In his eyes shone a fervent adoration, akin to a religious devotion, as he gazed upon you.
"I've missed you", he whispered, "you can't imagine how happy I am to see you here, God's sweetest angel."
"I'm a thaumaturge", the tone of your voice was laced with amusement, "I have a very good idea of how happy you are. Besides you still hold something dear to me."
A wide smile tugged at the corners of Rasputin's lips and his hand reached into his pocket, taking out the brooch and offering it to you. The moment your fingertips graced the cold metal of the brooch, visions of emotions flooded your mind. You could see and feel the traces of passion clinging to the object and thoughts of you that had occupied the person's mind. Blushing slightly, you looked up at Rasputin. Despite the initial surprise leaving you momentarily flustered, you managed to smirk at him with playful defiance.
"You touched yourself while thinking of me, Grigori?"
Clearing his throat, he felt a flush of embarrassment sweep over him as he watched you examine the jewellery with a teasing grin. He couldn't deny the fact that he had been plagued by sinful thoughts upon on which he acted while your angelic beauty haunted his mind. You were a gift from God and whatever love and passion he harboured for you, it felt strangely holy to him. And yet, he couldn't help but still feel exposed and vulnerable.
"I... well...", he stammered, searching for words that eluded him, for you had already seen and felt the true essence of the love and passion he held for you within his soul.
With a defeated sigh, his eyes found yours, summoning every ounce of courage to meet your gaze with a faintly amused grin.
"Can you blame me?"
Laughter bubbled within your chest at his question and you shook your head, leaning closer as you whispered your name into his ear.
"You might want to at least know which name to moan the next time."
You pulled away, giving him a sly wink as you took a seat on the sofa.
A shiver ran down his spine and his eyes seemed to darken a tone, his pupils dilating, as your name echoed endlessly in his mind. He could almost imagine it, the sound of your name spoken from his lips like a fervent incantation as he lay upon his bed, fingers digging into the sheets while his hand wrapped around and stroked... He shook his head and sat down next to you, trying to dispel the fog of desire that thickened inside his skull. You gently placed your hand upon his cheek, turning his face towards you to capture his attention.
"Let's talk somewhere a bit more private, away from prying ears", you whispered.
Rasputin's vision blackened for a moment before he found himself standing in a dark void, where crimson mist flickered like embers in the air around him. The place was devoid of all sound and as panic started to rise within him, he spun around only to be met with the vast emptiness of the boundless Then, without warning, you emerged before him, a gentle smile lighting up your delicate features as you raised your hands.
"Welcome to the inside of your mind."
His eyes widened as a towering figure emerged behind you, its gaze intently focused on an ancient tome cradled in its hands. Rasputin tried to concentrate on the man's face but the more he tried, the more it seemed to elude him, ever-shifting and changing from beauty to monstrosity, from man to woman into a strange mixture of all of it at once. The man moved with a supernatural grace and when his eyes finally met Grigori's, he was overcome with a strange sense of love, engulfing his entire being with a comforting warmth.
"This is Dantalion, my salutor", you spoke softly as you approached the two men.
Your hand tenderly caressed your salutor's cheek, and as you shared a moment of profound connection, Dantalion vanished once more, leaving only you and Rasputin enveloped in the darkness.
"Impressive", he muttered under his breath.
He stood there captivated by how different you communicated with your salutor compared to Wiktor, it held much more power and grace. The connection between you and Dantalion seemed to be a incorruptible unity, bound by a strange yet familiar love and Grigori noticed a sudden hint of jealousy prickling beneath his skin.
"I've never seen Wiktor's salutor", he spoke as his eyes found yours.
"That's because he chose not to reveal it to you", you shrugged with a slightly amused grin, "I decided to share it with you since Dantalion is an integral part of who I am. Anyone who chooses me must also accept him."
"God has bestowed upon you a truly wondrous gift, my dearest angel", the calm in his voice resonated through the black void around you, "and he has blessed me with your presence and trust."
"You still believe me to be an angel, even after witnessing the demon standing beside me?"
You moved closer to him, gently cradling his face in your hands, your fingers threading softly through his beard as your eyes danced between his gaze and lips. Before he could respond, your lips clashed on his in a passionate kiss. Despite you being inside his mind, it felt real and there was a tenderness to his lips that stirred something profound within your heart. As you felt him melt into the kiss, your tongue pushed past his lips to deepen it. He was as irresistible to you as you were to him, an unholy union sanctioned by God himself and Grigori thought he was touching Heaven's divinity for the first time.
As he felt you pull away, his eyes fluttered open and the room around him swimming into focus beneath the bright glow of the parlour lights. The scent of a few burning candles mingled with the fragrance of aged wood and he was back on the comfortable sofa in the Nadarzynskis' drawing room. He blinked twice, trying to anchor himself in the present, but his mind was still adrift in the mind void that you had taken him to. Standing by the doorway, you wore a captivating smile that danced across your lips.
"He's all yours", you said, your voice an angelic melody that pierced through the haze of his consciousness, "I was about to leave."
Grigori's lips parted, but no sound emerged. A tempest of emotions brewed within him—confusion, bliss, and an insatiable craving for more. He yearned to touch you, hold you and prevent you from escaping him yet again. His God-sent temptress who was always a step ahead of him.
"See you around, Grigori," you said, bowing with a grace that only deepened his yearning.
As you turned, your satisfied grin was the last thing he saw before you vanished from sight. Wiktor stepped into the room, his presence grounding Grigori back to reality. The two men shared a glance, but no words were exchanged. Wiktor’s eyes, however, held a knowing look that told Grigori he wasn’t alone in his newfound fascination.
"She's quite something, isn't she?" Wiktor finally broke the silence, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
Grigori nodded, still speechless. The lingering warmth of your presence enveloped him and he found it nearly impossible to focus on anything else.
