Synopsis: There are rules. There’s a time and place for everything - even for sin. But when temptation looks like Abby, neither of you remembers how to say no. *inspiration: vacation bible school by ayesha erotica*
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, F/F, modern!AU, suggestive and offensive language, religion, abby&reader are 18, smut, angst, switch!abby&reader, dom!abby, sub!reader, thigh riding, fingering(r&a!receiving), oral(a!receiving), no aftercare, mean!abby x reader
Church camp happens every year during the summer. It lasts for a week; during this time, you live together in cabins, explore the outdoors, and dine in community, all while learning about religion.
You’ve been taking part in attending ever since you were a little kid. The campgrounds are filled with kids, teens, and young adults. The VBS director would be supervising the assisting staff that consisted of other members of the Christian church, where they were divided into group leaders, an audio/video coordinator, music director, Bible story tellers, game leaders, craft supervisors, and kitchen staff.
This year would be the last summer camp trip for you and the other 18 year-olds before you all start college.
Every year you’d be eager for the summertime, wanting nothing more than to arrive at the huge campsite with lots of green space, bushes and trees, picnic tables and a bonfire. Paths that led to the big main cabin where indoor activities and supper were held, another that led to multiple smaller cabins scattered around a secluded area with some portable wooden toilets by the end of the trail and finally a path that led to the forest where a beautiful river was at as well as a hiking trail.
Although you did enjoy being surrounded by the calming nature and your fellow church peers, what made you anxiously wait for the one week vacation every year was her. Abby Anderson. You two met years ago when you were kids, having to spend the days around each other as you two learned about Jesus and his rules. You and the blonde girl quickly became friends; however you never spoke to each other outside the camping grounds. In day-to-day life, you would only admire her from a distance. Whether it was on the Sunday evening services, or at the school; you paid attention to Abby’s movement as she kneeled to pray, or when she talked to those around her.
Something about her made your hands shake with nervousness, your heart skipped beats just by the thought of her so, so pretty eyes and her strong arms—
“What do you say, miss Y/N?” The pastor interrupts your thoughts and you move your eyes from Abby who’s sitting in front of you to his direction.
“I’m sorry, pastor. What was the question again?”
“What is the message in Ephesians 5:3?” He asks again and your peers, who are seated in a chair circle as the pastor stands in the middle, turn their heads towards you as they all wait for an answer.
“Uh, I… I don’t know…I’m sorry.” You shamefully look at your hands down on lap.
“That is okay, Y/N. We are all here to learn, isn't that right kids?” They all move their heads up and down, agreeing with the pastor. “Can anyone tell me what is the message in Ephesians 5:3?”
“I can.” One of the students complied.
“Yes, Abigail. Go ahead.” As soon as he calls out her name, your head shots up and you’re looking at the girl in front of you again. She clears her throat and before she begins to speak, her eyes meet yours.
“But fornication, and all uncleanness, or covetousness, let it not be onced named among you, as becometh saints;” Abby concludes, her blue eyes never leaving yours. Soon, the priest thanks her for the answer, proceeding with his class and the blonde gives you a small smile. She manspreads on her chair and you feel the blood pump faster into your veins as your body grows hot.
Abby is wearing a white tank top that exposes her strong muscles, black skinny jeans with a heavy-looking belt as well as a pair of black chuck taylor’s. You can’t help but wonder how she would look on top of you, with her blonde hair forming a curtain around your head and her big hands roaming through your body.
After spending the rest of the Bible study distracted staring at the pretty blonde across from you, the class comes to an end. “Alright, kids, that will be all for today. Go ahead and enjoy your last day here and make sure to be ready to attend the bonfire tonight!” The priest leaves the open room located inside the main cabin and soon the students follow behind. Each leaving at their own pace as they conversate with their friends. You look around you and notice Abby is still seated in her chair, like you. She smirks before standing up, making her way to you.
“You seemed a bit distracted. Anything interesting in your mind?” Abby reaches her hand out for you to hold as you leave your chair.
“Oh, nothing, it’s stupid. “ You smile shyly and hold onto her, who soon drops your hand after helping you up. She hums in response as she licks her lips and points her head towards the door, hinting you to follow her as she begins to walk.
“Well, now I need to know what stupid thing you were possibly thinking about while you stared at me the whole study.” You hide your face in your palms, cringing at how you shamelessly looked at her during the class.
“Sorry…” You muffle through your hands before dropping them to your sides again. “I didn’t mean to stare.” Abby lets out a small laugh at your reaction, loving the way you get so shy around her. You two keep walking until you reach the path that led to the area where many small cabins were scattered around.
“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” She quickly scans the area around, checking to see if anyone can see or hear the two of you. “I think I already know what you were thinking about, though.” Her eyes drop to your plump lips and your throat goes dry.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You play dumb and Abby chuckles.
“Hm. I think we were both thinking about the same stupid things.” She raises her hand to your cheek, lightly massaging the pad of her thumb onto your soft skin and then pushing it down to your bottom lip. You feel as if your heart dropped to your core as heat and pulse grows inside your panties. Her hand teasingly grips your neck before she drops it and takes one of your hands into hers, guiding you to walk towards the portable wood toilets by the end of the trail.
She looks around once again, checking for people and opens the door as she rushly gets in, pulling you with her and shutting the door closed. Your back presses into the wood as one of her hands pushes you against the wall by the neck. Abby’s blue eyes turned a shade darker, desire in them as she placed her knee between your legs, earning a small moan from you.
“You’ve been watching me the whole week,” She says as her free hand creeps under the hem of your shirt, fingers lightly tingling the skin of your stomach. “But I’ve been watching you too.” She palms your left breast harshly, flicking her calloused finger on your nipple and you feel yourself getting wetter by the second. “You know the expression you make when you stare at me?”
You stay silent and her grip around your neck tightens.
“When I ask something, you answer.” Abby says softly and removes her hand from your chest, sliding it down to the side of your hips, carving her short nails into your skin as she moves you to grind against her hard thigh; making you bite your lips as you feel your clothed cunt rub deliciously against the material of her jeans. “Answer me, Y/N.”
“I-I don’t know, Abby…”
“You stare at me with this really pathetic expression on your face,” The lights inside the small compartment die down suddenly before turning back on – And as you look at Abby again, a shit-eating grin appear on her pretty lips.
“The expression of someone who just really wants me to fuck them stupid.” You snake your arms around her neck and she lets go of yours, now hugging your waist as she guides your movements. “Do you want me to fuck you stupid?” Abby whispers in your ear with a rough voice.
“Yes-Yes, Abby. Ple-please.” You ask as you hide your face onto her neck, her pinewood scent filling your nostrils and you moan into her skin. Your hot breath hits against her neck and Abby feels your arousal mark a spot on her pants. A soft blush runs over her soft freckled face and her boxers start to feel heavy by her own wetness.
“Please what, angel?”
“Ple-please fuck me, Abby.” You remove your head from its previous position and forcefully grabs the back of her hair, pulling her face towards yours as your lips smack together. Abby bites and pulls onto your bottom lip and soon her tongue sneaks into your mouth, making the kiss become more heated and sloppy. She hugs your waist tighter. “I want you,” You say in between the kisses. “Jus-just fuck me already, ple-please.”
Abby lets out a moan by hearing your pleas and holds your hips still as she lower her lips to your neck. She nibbles and licks at your skin and you let out heavy breaths and pleasure filled moans. She moves one of her hands to your exposed thigh due your skirt riding up, and she slowly slides it closer and closer to your heat as she caresses your hot skin. Soon enough she cups your pussy through your dripping wet panties, the feeling of her warm hand sends a wave of electricity through your body and you moan her name out.
“I've been wanting to do this all week,” Abby confesses. She slowly drags your panties to the side and runs two fingers up your slick, collecting the liquid of your excitement. “Fuck… You’re so fucking wet for me. So ready for me, baby.” She gives you a quick and soft peck on the lips and suddenly thrusts her ring and middle finger inside your weeping cunt.
“Ah ah ah Abby!” You moan as you feel her fingers filling you. Abby begins to move her fingers in-and-out of you, starting off slow and soon she picks up the pace, pumping them fast and with precision inside you. You rock your hips, following her fingers' pace, causing your clit to deliciously and harshly rub against the palm of her hand. “Fuck Abby,,, you're–ahh fucking me so good…”
Abby lets out a quiet laugh and leans in for another messy kiss, saliva dripping off of both your chins as you make out. She soon fingers into you deeper than before, the tip of her fingers meeting that spongy spot inside you. She presses onto it and you rub your clit harder into her palm. You break the kiss, lips swollen for the biting and sucking.
“I'm gon-gonna cum,”
“I'm here, angel. Cum for me, baby.” Soon something inside you snaps and you feel your body shake as a pleasure washes over you.
“Such a good fucking girl, making a mess all over my hand.” Abby helps you ride out your high, her hand and leg drenched from you as she carefully removes her fingers from your sensitive cunt, letting out a hiccup once you feel empty again. You attempt to catch your breath, chest rising up and down rapidly as you both look at eachother. You hold her hand towards your mouth, cleaning her sticky fingers from your orgasm and she opens a small smile.
“You're so hot,” Abby says giving you one more kiss before removing her leg from in between yours.”So fuckin’ dirty for me.” You kiss her back, pulling at her bottom lip and asking for tongue passage which she happily obliged to. Pushing Abby against the wall, your hands fall to her hips, undoing her white studded belt and letting it fall to the ground. “You're gonna make me feel good, Angel?” She smirks upon seeing a naughty look on your face and you nod.
“Yeah, Abby, I'll make you feel so good…” You kiss her lips and neck one last time before you move towards her breasts and stomach. When you reach her crotch, you shamelessly rub your face against it, causing her to gasp and moan as she forces you onto the floor by your shoulders.
Abby helps you unbutton her pants and you bring them down along with her boxers as you kneel in front of her, the smell of her pussy makes your mouth water. She frees one of her ankles from the clothes, propping her leg over your shoulder and you snake your arm around her tight to keep her secure. She looks down at you, looking like a pretty and desperate little slut just for her. One of her hands goes to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to her glistening lips. You lay your tongue out and you slowly lick her slick bottom to top, reaching her throbbing bud and giving it a harsh suck.
“Uhmm, fuck,” She moans upon the contact, pushing her hips closer to you mouth. “Yeah, just like that, baby.” You finally bury your tongue into her cunt, exploring her as she lets out a string of breathless moans. Abby begins to grind against your face, your soft muscle lapping on her mouthwatering pussy and your nose softly and deliciously brushing against her clit. “Look at me,” She pats your head and you bring your eyes up to her but never stopping fucking your tongue into her. “Lookin’ so beautiful on your knees for me, ahh– s-so so fucking perfect,”
Abby soon feels the tension that sits on the bottom of her stomach is about to explode. Her moves become more messy and rapid as she chases your face. The leg that is up your shoulder starts to shake, the trembling of her body making her to hold onto your free shoulder for support. You notice Abby will soon break and change the focus of your thrust to her needy button, lick and circling your tongue on it and adding two fingers into her.
“D-don't stop, fuckfuckfuc–” Her hips stutter as you scissor your fingers into her, never stopping giving attention to her clit. You feel her pussy gushing around you and she soon releases her juices, making a mess on your hand and face. Abby breaks eye contact as she presses the back of her head onto the wooden wall. She closes her eyes and furrows her brows while coming down from her orgasm. You distance your mouth from her now sensitive clit and gently remove your fingers from her. She drops her leg off of your shoulder and you, still on your knees, move to help her fix her pants and belt.
“No, it’s okay,” Abby moves away from your touch, making you slowly stand back on your feet. “I can do it.” She pushes her black jeans back up and grabs her belt off the floor, quickly wrapping them around the waistband of her jeans. You quietly observe her, hopeful thoughts run around your head, thoughts about you and Abby becoming closer after today – The last day of camp. “So, uhh,” She nervously runs her hand through her blonde strands as her face displays a shameful and regretful expression.
“We should get going, th-the last bonfire will start soon…” You feel as if the ground disappeared, your heart squeezes inside your chest and tears form in your eyes. “Uhm… I'll see you around, yeah?” She quickly exits, leaving you alone in the compartment. You look down at your knees, red and swollen from all the kneeling, and then you look around the small porta wooden potty, your hand palms your face as you take in what just happened. Regret fills you for what you and Abby just did – In a damn porta potty, at church camp nonetheless – and at how easy you gave yourself to her, only to be tossed away just as easily.
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ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ pervy roommate!abby who is dying to touch you
thinking about dorm roommate!abby who’s dying to touch you. not in the obvious way—not just sexually—but in that starved kind of way where her whole body burns just from sitting across from you.
cw: abby's a bit of a perv but reader likes it, size kink, praise kink, dom!abby, fingering, abby eating you out, prob more stuff. ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡
she loves watching you stretch in the morning, back arching under your little tank top, or the way you apply lip gloss, slowly and absentmindedly, like you're not driving her absolutely insane.
abby doesn't even know if you like girls. you’ve never said. you’ve never flirted with anyone, not outright. but you’re so sweet to her. always soft-voiced, always smiling when you pass by, saying "good luck" before exams, like she matters.
she's trying to be normal. she swears. but it’s hard.
your schedules don’t line up. when abby wakes up for her 7:00 a.m. class, you’re still curled under the covers. and when you leave for your afternoon lecture, freshly showered, makeup glimmery, skirt a little too short—abby’s already back from training, pretending not to look at you.
you make her life so fucking difficult. she hates herself for it—hates this hunger, this need, this obsession, this aching craving to know more.
at first, it’s harmless. she just... sprays your perfume while you're gone. it's fruity and warm. no big deal. but then it's your lip gloss. the pink sparkly one you always wear. she twists it open and presses the wand to her finger, then drags it across her bottom lip. lets it sit there, lets herself imagine what it’d feel like to kiss you—to have you pressed up against her, tasting like strawberries and something sweeter.
after that, she tells herself she’ll stop. really. she knows it’s weird.
but the thing is, you leave things behind so carelessly. a lacy bra draped over the back of your chair. a pair of lilac panties hanging off your laundry basket. your lotion left on your desk. your bed is always unmade, smelling like shampoo and heat.
and you trust her. that’s what makes it worse—you trust her to be good.
at night, abby lays in her bed, staring at your side of the room, heart pounding like she’s already been caught. like you know. and maybe you do. maybe that’s why you keep smiling at her like that. maybe you want her to break.
you start noticing little things.
nothing crazy at first—just your perfume running low a little faster than usual. you frown one morning, holding the bottle up to the window, squinting. didn’t i just buy this?—you thought.
you mention it offhandedly while doing your hair, glancing at abby over your shoulder. she's at her desk, pretending to study but not turning to look at you.
“this is weird, right?” you say, showing her the bottle. “it’s like it’s evaporating or something.”
abby doesn’t miss a beat. doesn’t even lift her eyes from the screen. “yeah. that happens to perfumes that are exposed to the sun. the alcohol evaporates, or whatever.”
but then it’s your lip gloss.
the pink one you always keep in your makeup bag. one morning, it’s all sticky around the cap like it’s been opened. used. like someone twisted it shut a little too fast. you brush it off—maybe you forgot. maybe it melted with the sun.
you’re not the paranoid type. but it happens again. and again.
your favorite bra isn’t where you left it. your lotion has messy fingerprints on the lid. your blanket smells like your perfume even when you haven’t touched it that day.
you start to wonder. not panic—not yet. because abby’s so normal. so polite. so quiet and respectful and… hot. in that weirdly intimidating, tall, wide-shouldered way. she’s always been good to you. brings you your packages when they come, keeps the room clean, gives you space.
you’d never suspect her.
except—you do.
some nights, you catch her looking. not staring. not in that gross, perverted and, obvious way. but watching you over the rim of her water bottle. gaze dragging down your legs when you don’t think twice about what you’re wearing. the way her jaw clenches when you yawn and stretch, tank top riding up just enough to tease skin.
and you realize—abby’s always watching.
you start to wonder what would happen if you gave her something to look at on purpose. so you start testing the waters. not obviously—you’re not stupid. abby’s intense, but she’s careful and controlled. whatever’s going on in her mind, she keeps it locked down tight.
so you keep it short and sweet. bending just a little slower to grab something near her desk, or the way you pull your hair up into a ponytail in front of her, arching your back slightly, like it means nothing to you.
“you good?” you ask one afternoon, glancing at her between sips of your iced coffee, all wide eyes and glossy lips.
abby’s forearm flexes where it rests on her thigh, and she won’t look at you. “i’m fine,” she says.
you smile anyway. “okay. just checking.”
you leave her to suffer.
you don’t mean to be cruel. you just like the way she reacts—how still she goes when you sit on your bed in your skimpy clothes, how her throat bobs when she catches a glimpse of bare skin through your open robe.
she’s so polite. too polite. abby never looks long enough to get caught. never touches. never flirts. you almost think you’re imagining it—except sometimes you swear you hear her exhale when you lean too close.
and still, you act like nothing’s wrong. like you don’t know.
you leave your lotion on her desk one day with a soft, “you can use it—it’s really good for dry skin,” and watch the way she freezes like you’ve just offered her a loaded weapon.
you sit on her bed while she’s studying—you’re looking at your phone, close enough for your thigh to brush hers. when you shift and murmur, “you don’t mind, right?” and hear her voice cracks a little when she answers, “nah. it’s fine."
you’re not trying to make her snap.
not really.
but part of you wants to know what’s going to happen when she finally does. and abby—poor abby—is holding herself together by threads because if she even tries to look at you the way she wants to, she’s not sure if she’ll be able to stop.
you’re killing her. all sweet smiles and sparkly lips and bare thighs—and she doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose.
one night, you come back late from class, the sky is already dark. abby’s there, hunched over her desk like always, hoodie pulled up around her ears, headphones in. she doesn’t look up when you drop your bag by your desk.
“hi,” you say, but she doesn’t look at you, but you know she heard you.
you slip into the bathroom to shower, and the heat does nothing to ease the ache that’s been building in your chest all week. the tension. the want. because now you’re the one who can’t stop thinking about her. the way her hands look when she’s cracking her knuckles. the way her tank tops cling to her chest after the gym. how quiet she gets when you’re near.
and you want her. god, you want her so bad it makes your skin feel too tight.
so tonight? tonight’s the night.
you towel off, warm and flushed, and you see it hanging there—one of abby’s shirts. the gray one she always changes into after training. soft and oversized.
you shouldn’t. you know you shouldn’t. but you do.
you pull it over your head and it swallows you. the hem brushing your thighs, the sleeves almost to your elbows. you look in the mirror and whisper, “fuck,” under your breath, cheeks already warm.
you don’t put on a bra or panties. just your sleeping shorts and that shirt. and then you walk out, casually. like it’s no big deal. like you’re not deliberately wearing her clothes in front of her, glowing from the shower, skin dewy, legs bare.
abby turns—and she freezes. you pretend not to notice.
“sorry,” you say, tugging at the shirt. “i forgot my shirt here. i can change if you want—”
“no,” it comes out too fast. too sharp. she clears her throat as she takes off her headphones. “i mean. it’s okay. you’re fine.”
you pause. eyes soft. “you sure?”
abby nods—but her gaze has shifted. she’s trying so hard not to look at your legs. or the way her shirt clings to your chest. or how your hair’s still damp and curling around your neck.
“you can wear it,” she mutters.
you blink, tilting your head. “you don’t mind?”
her jaw tightens. “no,” she says again, quieter this time. “looks good on you.”
for the first time, you catch her looking—just for a second. her eyes drag down your body, heavy, hungry, and gone before you can name it. but it’s enough.
you smile and abby’s fists curl in her lap like she’s holding herself back with everything she has. you settle on your bed, legs tucked beneath you. she is still at her desk across the room—stiff in her chair, eyes locked on her screen.
you’re quiet for a second, chewing on your bottom lip before you speak. “can i ask you something?”
abby turns just slightly, half-glancing over her shoulder. “uh… sure?”
you pull the hem of her shirt lower over your thighs. “i need some advice.”
“okay,” she says slowly. cautious. “what’s up?”
you look away, fiddling with your pillow—voice low. almost shy. “recently… i’ve been so frustrated.”
abby shifts in her chair, something about the way you say it—tight and breathy—makes her pulse jump. “like… with school?”
you give her a look. “no,” you say, a little laugh in your throat. “not like that.”
she blinks. turns more toward you. “what do you mean, then?”
you exhale, lean back on your elbows like it’s nothing. “i don’t know, it’s just… i can’t get a girl to look at me lately. like—want me. and i need it so badly, it’s driving me insane.”
and abby freezes. she doesn’t speak. doesn’t breathe. her eyes go wide like you just hit her with a brick, but you can’t see it—not directly. she’s angled away, staring at the floor now, jaw tight, pulse thudding hard in her throat.
you glance at her. bite back a smile. “what?”
“nothing,” she croaks. “just—wasn’t expecting that.”
“huh?” you feign innocence, legs swinging off the edge of the bed. “that i like girls?”
abby swallows hard. her neck is red. “yeah. i mean. no. it’s fine. it’s cool.”
“right,” you murmur, soft, just a little teasing. “you just looked kind of… surprised.”
she doesn’t respond. won’t meet your eye.
you keep going. you’re already in it.
“anyway,” you sigh, laying back now, eyes to the ceiling. “i’ve just been… ugh. like, it’s not the same if i do it myself, you know? like, my fingers aren't enough. it just makes me feel worse.”
and abby—poor abby—is gripping the armrest so tightly her knuckles are white. she’s staring at nothing. jaw clenched. breathing shallowly. because you’re laying there, in her shirt, talking about how desperate you are for a girl to touch you—and she’s about to lose her fucking mind.
you hum lazily, still looking up at the ceiling. “sorry if that’s too much.”
abby’s voice comes out hoarse, rough-edged. “no. you’re fine.”
and you know she’s spiraling.
you’re only getting started.
you stay sprawled across your bed, bare legs tangled in the blanket, her shirt riding just a little higher up your thighs every time you move. abby hasn’t moved from her chair. just subtle, frantic changes—her fists clenching, her leg bouncing, her chest rising and falling like she just ran five flights of stairs.
you stretch, like a cat in a sunbeam. “i mean, maybe i’m just not obvious enough,” you mumble, biting at your nail. “maybe that’s why no one’s touched me in forever.”
abby jerks her head to the side—like she can’t not look at you now. not after that, and when your gaze flicks to her, she’s already watching, her mouth parts, barely. you shift, legs falling open just a little—attempting to be casual. your sleeping shorts tug tighter across your thighs, and abby’s eyes drop instantly. she catches herself too late, and you see it.
“abby?” your voice is soft.
she blinks. “yeah?”
you tilt your head, lashes fluttering. “are you okay?”
her throat works. “i’m fine.”
a beat.
then two.
“you sure?” you ask, voice almost a whisper now.
she hesitates—fighting it, losing—and then stands deliberately. abby crosses the room, and when she stops in front of you, your breath stutters.
abby looks down at you, jaw tight, her hands curled at her sides like she doesn’t trust them near you. “you’re really gonna sit there,” she mutters, voice low and rough. “and say all that shit to me—dressed like that—and act like you don’t know what you’re doing?”
you blink up at her, innocently. “what am i doing?”
abby breathes out hard through her nose, like she’s trying so hard to behave. “fuck,” she mutters, dragging her hand down her face. “you have no idea what you do to me.”
you smile, soft and cruel. “then show me.”
and that’s it.
she exhales sharp, like something inside her snaps loose—and then she’s crowding you. her knees hit the edge of the bed, and her hands are suddenly on either side of your hips, caging you in. she leans down, and your breath hitches as you tip back onto your elbows again.
“careful,” she warns. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”
you pull her shirt tighter over your chest, biting your lip. “abby,” you whisper. “i want you to touch me.”
and god—she groans, low and broken, before she’s on you. she presses you down into the mattress, her palm burning hot against your thigh, her lips crashing against yours. your fingers tangle in her hoodie, pulling her closer, and she settles between your legs, all heat, muscle, and control as she finally lets herself have a taste.
abby kisses you like it hurts. not frantic, but deep—intentional. her lips are firm, warm, and she kisses like she’s starving but doesn’t want to finish the meal. not yet. just having a taste enough to make herself want more.
her palm drags up your thigh, slow and heavy. fingers spread wide, like she wants to feel everything. the give of your skin. the tremble in your muscles. her thumb brushes the hem of your shorts, but doesn’t go further.
you gasp a little into her mouth, and she smiles against your lips. “so fuckin’ pretty,” abby mutters, like she didn’t mean to say it aloud.
you shift beneath her, dazed, and your hand comes up to cup her jaw. “abigail…”
abby’s eyes flutter at the sound of her name like that. she pulls back just enough to look at you—her gaze is locked on yours, steady. “you don’t have to pretend,” she whispers. “if you want me to stop…”
“don’t,” you say, too fast. breathless. “don’t stop.”
“fuck,” she mumbles, letting her head fall forward, voice muffled against the fabric of her shirt clinging to your body. “i’ve wanted this for so long. i’m trying so hard not to fuck this up.”
you thread your fingers into her hair, tug gently until she looks back at you. “then don’t fuck it up.”
abby huffs out a laugh—almost disbelieving. “you’re crazy.”
“and you like it,” you smile.
her hand shifts, moves beneath the hem of your shorts. finally. her palm spreads over the top of your thigh, warm and solid. her touch feels like safety. like something you could fall into forever.
you suck in a sharp breath, hips twitching slightly, and she notices. “you’re shaking,” she says quietly, eyes never leaving your face.
“been wanting you too,” you whisper, like a confession. “so bad. hurts.”
abby closes her eyes. her hand flexes on your thigh as she leans down, her lips brushing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, your jaw, your neck. slow, sweet kisses—like worship. like a thank you for letting me do this.
“i want you so badly too,” she says into your skin. “and i’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. i swear.”
and she means it. you can feel it in the way she touches you—patient, careful, like she has all the time in the world to explore every inch of you. she’s learning you, and it’s turning her inside out.
this is just the first night. and she’s going to make sure it’s one you never forget.
abby's hands are huge on your thighs—solid and warm, spreading you open like she owns you. nevertheless, she’s still so gentle it almost hurts. she kisses down your neck, slow and lazy, pausing to bite gently at the softest part beneath your jaw. her tongue soothes over it after, and you arch your back, panting—so sensitive, already.
“tell me if you want me to stop,” she murmurs, lips against your collarbone.
you shake your head immediately, gasping. “don’t you dare stop.”
abby chuckles under her breath, low and rough. “shit,” she mutters. “i knew you’d sound pretty like this.”
her hand slides higher. under your shorts now. skin on skin. her thumb brushes the crease of your thigh, teasing, not quite touching where you need her most—and you’re already squirming.
“shh, baby,” she coos, one hand bracing your hip as you wiggle. “i got you.”
she starts kissing lower—down the center of your chest, between the swell of your breasts, right over the edge of the shirt clinging to your body. her other hand trails up your sides, barely ghosting over your ribs.
“abby…” you whine. “don’t tease.”
“i know, sweetheart. i know," she whispers.
she keeps going. down your belly. mouth brushing over sensitive skin, patiently. she noses just under the waistband of your shorts, and your stomach jumps under the touch.
“can i take these off? please,” she asks, tenderly.
you nod. “please.”
abby leans back just enough to hook her fingers into the waistband, and she peels your shorts down slow, deliberate. like unwrapping a present. her breath stutters when she sees how wet you are, and how your thighs tremble slightly with every beat of your heart.
“jesus,” she murmurs, voice cracking. “you’re so fuckin’ perfect.”
“thank you,” you flush under the praise, hand twitching where it’s fisted in the sheets.
“lay back for me,” abby says, guiding you down with one hand on your hip. “just relax. let me take care of you.”
you do. you let her settle between your legs, let her kiss the inside of your thigh, let her breathe you in before she even touches you where you need it. and when her mouth finally presses a slow and careful kiss on your clit—you moan. loud. real. broken.
abby groans against you, and her hands slide up your thighs to hold you down. her grip firm, her mouth sinful. slow and deep licks that have your whole body shaking.
“that’s it,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “just like that. let me hear you, baby.”
abby gets lost in it. in you.
the second your hips twitch up into her mouth, the second she hears the way you whimper her name—she forgets everything else. the world could collapse and she wouldn’t notice. not when you taste this good. not when you’re shaking like this beneath her.
her hands spread your thighs wider. her palms feel heavy where they rest, grounding you, keeping you open for her. “fuck,” she breathes against you, lips slick. “you’re unreal.”
she doesn’t stop, but she doesn’t rush. just sinks into you—tongue working slow circles, teasing and messy, her nose brushing where you’re swollen, sensitive, needy. and she moans—moans like she’s the one being touched. because she’s obsessed. high off the sounds you’re making, the way your fingers tangle in her hair and pull.
“abby—oh my god,” you pant, thighs trembling. “don’t stop. please don’t—”
her eyes flutter shut, and she groans deep in her chest, hips pressing subtly into the mattress like she can’t help it—because touching you is turning her on just as much.
your voice cracks. “feels so good, abs—”
and abby snaps. her hands tighten on your hips, mouth moving faster now, more desperate. her tongue dips, licks, sucks just right, and she feels you jolt—feels your body tense under her palms.
she pulls back for a second, breathless, lips wet and pupils blown. “you gonna come for me, baby?” she pants, staring up at you.
you nod, dazed, whimpering. “yes—yes, abby, please—wanna cum,”
abby dives back in, mouth greedy, groaning against you like she’s starved and you’re the first thing she’s tasted in years. her hands don’t move, keeping you there, keeping you wide, keeping you hers.
you come hard with a sob, thighs caging her head, hips lifting. and she keeps going, doesn’t stop until you’re panting, gasping for breath, pushing at her shoulder—whining that’s too much.
only then does she pull back, face flushed and soaked, eyes glassy. she crawls up your body, one hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.
“that’s it,” she whispers, kissing your forehead. “that’s my girl.”
you’re still catching your breath, still trembling, and abby cradles you like you’re made of something precious.
“was that okay?” she asks, and you nod.
you reach for her to tug her closer. nevertheless, she doesn’t give you a chance to breathe. you’re still hazy—dazed, wrecked, floating from the first orgasm—but abby’s already shifting her body, already moving her hands down your waist like she needs to touch you again.
“abby—” your voice is a soft warning, but it dies in your throat when she kisses your shoulder. then your spine. then the dip of your lower back.
“shhh, baby,” she murmurs, breath hot against your skin. “you can take it. you were so good for me. just need a little more, yeah?”
her hands urge you to roll onto your stomach, and you obey without thinking, cheek pressing into your pillow, heart racing. your legs fall open instinctively, and you hear her groan at the sight.
“fuck. look at you,” she mutters, settling over you. "so pretty."
her chest presses flush to your back, her hips slot perfectly against yours. she’s warm and solid, her weight grounding, calming. you feel her hand slide under your belly, lifting you just slightly to tilt your hips up—just enough.
“such a sweet, needy thing,” she whispers into your ear, nipping at your earlobe. “could barely make it five minutes without begging.”
you shiver, whining into the sheets, every nerve alight again. abby licks her fingers—slow, loud—and slides her hand between your thighs and you gasp.
“mmhm. still so wet for me,” she hums. “you want more, baby?”
“yes—please—” you mumble.
abby kisses the back of your neck, her fingers teasing you again, dragging slick over sensitive skin until your legs shake. your hips try to rock back into her, but she just presses down with her palm—firm, heavy, in control.
“such a weak little baby,” she coos, voice syrupy and mean. “all that squirming, all that whining… and i barely touched you.”
her other hand snakes under your jaw, tilts your face toward the mirror across from your bed. your eyes flutter open—barely—and your breath catches. you see yourself. see her. the size of her against you. her body completely covers yours, holding you still with nothing but a fraction of her weight.
“look at how small you are under me,” she murmurs, lips against your cheek, watching your face in the mirror. “so fuckin’ pretty like this. so easy to keep in place.”
you moan, overwhelmed, hips rolling despite yourself. abby groans and shifts her fingers, dipping two inside of your pussy, her thumb rubbing circles against your clit.
you cry out, thighs trembling. “fuck—”
“that’s it,” she growls. “take it, baby.”
your fingers curl in the sheets. she starts slow—pressing in and out of you with maddening precision, murmuring filth right against your ear, her chest never leaving your back.
“takin’ me so well. fuck. i love you like this,” she pants.
your jaw goes slack, your mind blank—every thought burned out by the rhythm of her fingers, her voice, her praise. “abby—i can’t—” you sob, and she hushes you instantly, kissing your temple.
“yes you can,” she whispers. “you’re my good girl. you can.”
and you do.
again.
you’re barely coming down, breath shaky, face buried in the pillow. your thighs are still trembling, body limp, fully at her mercy—and abby’s not letting go. not yet. she kisses your shoulder. her weight still presses you down, her chest warm against your back. she murmurs into your skin between kisses, voice low and hoarse.
“you’re unbelievable…” she breathes. “i’ve wanted this for so long, you don’t even know.”
you hum—half-dazed, half-curious. “mm?”
“i tried to be good,” she murmurs, hand dragging slowly over your waist. “i tried to keep my distance. but you made it so fucking hard. walkin’ around the dorm in those tiny little shorts, always smiling, always smelling like…” she trails off, her nose brushing the crook of your neck. “that perfume. you drove me insane with it.”
your eyes flutter open, a soft gasp catching in your throat. “really?”
abby chuckles darkly. “i sprayed it on myself,” she admits. “just to see what it’d be like. to smell like you. felt like a fucking perv, baby.”
you squirm under her. “abby,” you breathe, flushed. “that’s so—”
“yeah?” she teases, her hand smoothing over your belly, then dipping between your thighs again. “you like that, baby? like that i was so obsessed that i did shit like that?”
you moan, nodding into the sheets. your hips twitch, needy despite how wrecked you already are. abby groans, teeth grazing your neck. “aw, baby,” she mutters. “so sensitive… and still so wet.”
her fingers slide back inside you, and your body arches. “abby—”
“shh,” she whispers, her hand gripping your jaw again, thumb brushing your lip. “you’ll take it for me, won’t you?”
you nod, eyes glassy. “yes. please.”
she smiles against your shoulder. “good girl,” she whispers.
and then she fucks you through it—deep and relentless. your face turns toward the mirror again—toward her hand on your jaw, her mouth on your skin, her eyes locked on you like you’re something holy. and the way she moans when you clench around her again—whining her name, begging for more, still trembling—only makes it worse.
she can’t stop.
she won’t stop.
not until you’re crying into the sheets and clawing at the bed, and even then—she’s kissing your spine and whispering, “i wanted you for so long, baby… i’m never letting you go now.”
you end up in her lap—legs shaking, mind fogged, lips still parted from moaning her name over and over again.
abby’s sitting back against the headboard now, and she just pulls you into her. strong arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight like she never wants to let go. your thighs fall open over hers, breath hitching when your slick skin brushes hers, still so sensitive, but so greedy for her.
you bury your face in her neck, but she tilts your chin up with two fingers and makes you look at her. "lemme see you, baby," she says. "wanna see that pretty face when you ride out the last of it."
you blink up at her, eyes glassy, lips trembling. “abby, you make me shy…”
“i mean it,” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss your jaw—then just under your ear, her hand dragging down your back, slipping under the oversized shirt. "you're so, so pretty."
you shift in her lap, and she groans. "thank you, abs—"
"thought about this for months," she confesses, one hand on your waist now, guiding your slow grind against her thigh. "used to hear you singing in the shower and had to bite my fucking knuckles not to touch myself."
you gasp—both at her words and at the slow press of your center against her leg. she flexes her thigh under you, just enough, and it makes you whine. "abby—fuck—"
"could smell you on your pillow, on the blanket—on my own damn shirts." her voice is low and wrecked. "you’d borrow ‘em and return them smelling like that fucking perfume. i used to hold them to my face when you weren’t home. i was pathetic."
you moan, cheeks burning. "that’s so fucked," you whisper, but your hips keep rocking, dragging your soaked pussy along the muscle of her thigh. "you're such—such a fucking pervert."
abby’s hand grips your hip tighter. "you like it though. don’t you?"
you nod, almost desperately. "yes—yes—"
her other hand comes up to your face, thumb brushing your lower lip before slipping inside. you moan around it, eyes fluttering shut.
“knew you’d be like this,” she says, voice thick with heat. “knew you’d like it. knew you’d let me ruin you if i just got the chance.”
you nod again, wrapping your arms around her neck, whining soft against her thumb as you grind harder now, chasing your orgasm just from her leg, her words, her want.
“ruin me,” you whisper. “please.”
her arms wrap around you, holding you close, mouth pressed to your skin. “already did, baby,” she murmurs. “already fucking did.”
synopsis: 1 Corinthians 6:18 states that one must flee from sexual immortality, but it's hard to flee from something that is forever chasing you.
pairing: priest!sevika x semi-religious!reader
warnings: religion as part of the main plot, fun mix of Catholic branches, age gap, light angst at the end, bottom!reader, top!sevika, virgin!reader for religious reasons, perv!sevika, massive corruption kink, mean!sev, pet names (little lamb, lamb, pretty, baby), hand/arm kink, humiliation kink, praise kink, reader masturbation mentioned, pillow humping mentioned, cunnilingus, fingering, fucking in a church, degradation, sub headspace if you squint, spanking, pussy slaps, crying, eating it from the back + through panties
wc: 7.7k
a/n: please read the disclaimer that has already been published! all the thanks in the world to my girl @sevsgiirl ❤ they helped me so so much per usual and I'm their biggest fan.l
Oh forgive me if I love being bad for you.
Your mama always said that being good would get you to far, far places. She said that every man and every job and every opportunity admired a good woman. And so, you were. You were the perfect, thriving, glowing definition of good. Stunning grades, sports, church on Sunday. You talked to God like he was your best friend, and for a time, he was. She was right, too. People did admire you for your perfection. But it wasn’t long before the cracks started shining a bit brighter, and you realized that maybe this wasn’t the life for you.
“You be safe, okay?” Your mom rubbed her hands down your arms, pulling you in for a tight hug. “Oh, I don’t want to let you go!” She squeezed harder, holding you there like a lifeline. “Now listen, I already called some friends in town and of course, prayed over your new apartment. God is watching, he’s here with you-”
“Mom,” you interjected. “I know. I’m an adult, I’m ready for this. I’ll be just fine.” Her eyes welled with tears, pulling you back into a hug. Your dad walked over, wiping his hands on his pants and smiling. He was finished loading the car, which meant that you had a steady escape from your mother’s spiraling.
“Well, time to send you off, kiddo.” He opened his arms and you attached from your velcro mom, shifting your attention to your father. He didn’t squeeze you like it would keep you here, he held you and let you go, knowing that it was time. “Bye sweetheart, we love you.” You waved to the both of them as you got in the car, wasting no time before clicking your seatbelt in and driving off. This was it.
Your parents' relationship with religion wasn’t one that you saw very frequently. None of your other friends had parents that obsessed over your entire life, always dragging you back to God. Not even your friends from church. They used God to tell you what to say, how to dress, how to act. Everything was done in the eyes of God, and at times, it was crushing.
So, when your Mother texted you the name of a priest she knew in your new town, you swiped away the notification and let it sit in your inbox for weeks. You were convinced that, if you ignored it, you wouldn’t live a life that they controlled any longer. Even after you turned eighteen, went to the local college, made new friends. They still had a full hold on everything you did. Now, five hours away, you were free!
Your first day in town you wore a crop top - one that your mother took from you and hid in her closet years ago. She made you pray for days and ask God for forgiveness for something so sinful, so immodest. You felt terrible afterwards, and only wore things that covered everything but your wrists and ankles, absolutely convinced that you betrayed God with the shirt. But it didn’t, and it wasn’t, and when you wore it then, it fit you well, made you feel pretty.
God, did you feel so free.
Your mother checked in on your daily, but you only replied to a handful of them. When you told them that you had plans to move to the gayest part of the country, they all but freaked out, sure that you would come home transgender, or worse, gay. What on earth were they to do with a gay daughter? It wasn’t God’s commandment to be gay, and the thought of you as a gay had your mother’s mind spinning. You were sure you saw her life flash before her eyes when you told them.
You wouldn’t pretend that the town was out of your comfort zone. There were so many people compared to your small town, you couldn’t even understand how so many people lived in the same place. That being said, it felt, to you, like everyone was a model. There were so many faces that you had never seen before, so many identities and styles.
It wasn’t until the end of your first month that you ran into your first problem.
You found a coffee shop that you enjoyed, and began frequenting it. But, when they hired a new, tall, buff, female barista, you found yourself there more often than not. You were undeniably drawn to her, found yourself thinking of her when you shouldn’t be and striking up conversation with her like some kind of lovestruck fool.
Then, of course, the thoughts began creeping in. Terrible thoughts, about her voice and her arms and her fingers. All while you did terrible things to yourself - with God watching. You were screwed. The woman lived in your mind all the time, everywhere you went and everything you did. Every night before you went to bed, thoughts driven by lust guided you. You knew then that you would have to take your mother up on her priest offer.
The church was large, on the outskirts of the city. It had beautiful panels and stained glass windows that light poured through gorgeously. You followed the line of people, joining them in waiting to confess. Even if you had never been to this church or knew these people, they were kind to you. You had to tell someone, and if a priest that your mother heard was good had to be it, then she was it.
The booth was cramped when you stepped in and took your seat. You face forward, as one does, and placed your hands in your lap, waiting. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession,” you started, “I’ve never been to this church, and I’m new in town. I… I’ve been struggling with some lustful thoughts.. about women,” the words felt like dirt coming out of your mouth.
“Go on,” the priest spoke, and the voice was warm and thick and held you there like honey.
“Well, I haven’t exactly acted on them, but I have, um, touched myself thinking about… a woman.” The priest hummed and sat in silence for a moment, calculating. You were red with embarrassment, confessing something that went so against everything you had learned growing up.
“Was it one woman specifically, or have you had these tempting thoughts about several women?” The priest asked. You sat with yourself, pondering whether or not you had ever had those thoughts before. Well, maybe you had.
“There was a girl when I was younger. My thoughts weren’t driven by lust but I thought of what life would be like with her. This woman is so.. different. I’ve never done anything with anyone, I’ve never had such filthy thoughts about anyone before, especially not a woman.” You whispered the last word, as if it would change anything.
“Everyone struggles with temptation at some point in their lives. I myself have struggled with sexual temptation to the same sex. But, what’s important is that you didn’t act on these thoughts outside of your body. If you feel driven, you have this space to share your thoughts. If not, I can bless you and provide you with your penance.” You pondered, once again. This was a stranger. What if this priest wasn’t as good as your mother claimed?
“Well… I thought of her performing.. sexual acts on me. With her fingers and her mouth. Saying dirty, terrible things to me. I don’t know anything of lesbian sex, I don’t even know where these thoughts came from.” You felt like crawling into a ball and just sitting there with your thoughts.
“In God’s name, I grant you forgiveness for your sins,” you released a breath. “I order you to fast for the next week, read your Bible, and return next week. In Jesus’ name we pray and forgive, Amen.” You said Amen, letting the priests’ words sink into your skin. You would fast, intermittently as instructed, but you weren’t sure how abstaining from food would remove the desires that you weren’t even sure you wanted to be rid of.
“You have a very kind voice,” you said quietly. “Thank you kindly, Father.” You spoke, southern charm briefly snaking its way into your vocabulary. You left the booth, feeling as if every eye in the room was digging into you, even though the booth is soundproofed. Like they knew that you were full of it, that you didn’t want to get better. All you wanted was to uphold your perfect little image. God didn’t have a place in your life.
It wasn’t until the following week that you were sure God wouldn’t ever forgive you.
The week had been long, almost torturous. Going without food didn’t feel like a penance, it just felt like work. You didn’t feel any more connected to God than you did the previous week, and all you were getting out of it was fatigue and falling asleep at work. Your bible did nothing, praying did nothing. You felt like none of it was ever going to cure you.
When you arrived at the church one week after you first stood there, you had no idea what to say to the Reverend. Would you say that you didn’t want to give up your sin, that you didn’t care what God thought? That what you were instructed to do wasn’t working, and the orders were wrong?
The church was empty when you stepped in, and it was daunting. It made the room look larger, the ceilings look taller, the rows of pews doubling as you walked closer to the front. Nobody was there, and you were sure that you did something wrong. Maybe you got the date wrong, maybe this was a fever dream, or a test from God.
You looked around, taking in every aspect of the church. The stained glass windows bared their blooming colors down onto your skin, changing it to shades of purple and green and blue. The room was warm, welcoming even. But that didn’t change the fact that it didn’t feel right. None of this was right.
Someone cleared their throat and you whipped back around to the front, taking in the person before you. It was a woman, but not a woman that looked like any other you had seen before in your entire life. She had short hair, cropped at the ear, and the shadow cast across her face made her grey eyes gleam. She was one hell of a sight.
That was when you knew.
“May I help you?” She asked, and you immediately recognized the voice. This was the priest that you spoke to last week, when you recited every thought that was currently resurrecting in your brain.
“I’m here for confession, I think,” you said quietly, slightly embarrassed as it appeared the event was cancelled. “I may be in the wrong place, I just moved here. Are you the Reverend?” She smiled, setting aside what she was doing.
“Yes ma’am. I’m sorry you couldn’t join us on Sunday, I announced then that this week’s confession had to be cancelled. But, I’m not busy if you want to talk. I’m Sevika,” she leaned against a railing that divided the altar and the nave, offering a hand for you to shake. “Have you confessed before?”
Sevika knew the answer. She knew the moment she saw you, the way you spoke, the look in your eyes. You were the woman from last week, who told her about your sexual desire for women. She was sure, now that she saw your face, that she would never forget you. There was a breathtaking person behind the filthy confessions, and it made her mind wander to places God would frown upon.
“Yes, last week, I was told to come back this week. I found that what I was ordered to do hasn’t been working. I still feel the way I did last week.” You huffed. She gestured to a pew and you followed her, taking your seat beside her.
She was so close, too close. Her knee pressed against your own, and you could basically hear the sound of her breathing. She was warm beside you, and her entire person drew you in, causing a lack of disconnect for the disgusting thoughts in your head. There were so many things. Her hands were huge, and the material of her black shirt stretched thin around her bicep. You were dying to see what was under the shirt, and if it was as tempting as it appeared to be. And then, of course, you were smacked in the face with the reminder of the fact that she was your future Reverend.
“Since we’re alone, do you feel compelled to remind me of your confession?” You shifted nervously, confessing out of the booth making you feel as if God had a better watch on you. Maybe you weren’t ready for this; maybe you didn’t want to change.
“Well.. it was about lust, and, um, other women. I’ve been having some thoughts about what it would be like to, maybe, indulge in.. sexual acts.. with other women. I think a lot about hands and voices, and..” you trailed off as your eyes slowly painted their way from the tips of her fingers, across her arm, up her neck, and all the way back to her eyes.
Sevika was good at hiding whatever she was thinking. She was desperate to know every thought that you had, pick apart that pretty little head until she had you in a perfect, open position. But she didn’t. “Is that so?” She hummed. Your thighs rubbed together as a familiar feeling rose between them - except this time, it was brought upon by another person, and not your own thoughts. “I remember you, now. Tell me why you don’t think your penance is working.”
You forced your brain to come back into the moment. “I made my fast, as instructed, and I prayed. I read my Bible every night, cover to cover. But.. it still doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel fixed. I’m still having these thoughts even when I don’t want to have them. They just creep up on me and take my mind under control.”
“Healing doesn’t happen overnight, lamb,” she watched your pupils dilate, and an ever so slight change in the pace of your breath. “It takes time. Once you open your heart and mind to God, He will take His time healing you. He doesn’t make mistakes.” You looked up at her, realizing then that she was dramatically taller than you, even when sitting.
“Reverend,” your gaze fell once again, this time focusing on your hands in your lap. “What if.. what if I don’t want to get better? A part of me wants to walk out of this church and never return. What if I like these thoughts, and I like what I’ve come up with? What if I want it to happen to me?” You thought back to the barista, who hadn’t even wandered into your mind since you got here. It was like she meant nothing any more, now that you had such a woman in front of you.
“My previous statement still applies. Moving away from the temptation of sin and sin itself comes with time,” she turned to you, placing a hand on your knee. “Inherently, your thoughts are not sin. They only become sin when you act on them.”
“Does touching myself count as acting on them?” God, her mind was racing.
“God never says that pleasuring yourself is a sin, but your thoughts leading up to doing such are what makes it a sin. If your fantasies include other women and doing sexual things with them rather than, let's say doing it to aid period cramps, then it turns into falling into temptation.” You nodded, taking in her words. You knew the answer, but you still didn’t feel bad.
“Thank you, Sevika. Would you be willing to offer me further penance?” She smiled, letting out a quick chuckle.
“I’m going to order you a personal one, and a church related one,” you met her eyes, scanning the depths of her face. You never wanted to forget it. “Though I’m not sure how often you do it, I want you to restrict touching yourself to the best of your ability, and I want you to continue your fast. Now, in Jesus’ name we pray, Amen,” you repeated her Amen, “return next week, or join us for church. We have a Wednesday night session at eight this week, if you’d like to attend.”
“I just might.” Your eyes were practically glued to hers, unrelenting. You needed to learn her, know every crook and crevice in her face. Every color in her eyes, and every wrinkle that found its way onto her aging face. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, Reverend. Thank you.” You stood with her and pulled her into your arms without thinking. You reached as far up onto your tippy-toes as you could, and the poor woman still had to bend to reach you.
“Have a good night, little lamb.” Her hands slid off your waist as you pulled away, walking away and leaving the church with your head in a daze.
You found yourself trapped in her daze until you were back to your apartment. Everything about her beyond fascinated you. There was a small color shift in her eyes, a haze of blue and dark grey that mixed together to create the most perfect color, dressed with growing crows feet in the corners, that pulled when she smiled. Her nose was large and round and stapled her face in a beautiful way, almost touched by a large scar that found its way down her cheek and neck.
You wondered how far the scar went, underneath her clerical collar. If it touched her chest, or found its way to her stomach, all the places you were desperate to see. Desperate, that was the word for you. Desperate to know the shade of her lips, and the way they felt on yours. Desperate to know how she spoke out of uniform, the things she liked to do.
Wednesday service was going to be unbearable.
Sevika was in a position similar to yours, but she liked the idea that she had the upper hand. She liked how you looked at her, and the way your thighs rubbed together ever so gently at the names she called you. She knew you didn’t want to get better, and she knew you wouldn’t. Not when you sat in the church, squirming and eyeing her arm like a slut.
But it also meant that she had you. If she wanted you, wanted to break her oath and ruin her purity for you, she could. You would let her. There wasn’t an inch of your body that would put God before her if she asked. She knew you were thinking the same things about her fingers and her mouth as you were about whatever woman drove you to come in the first place.
She never considered herself a particularly observant person, but the way she noticed the shift in your eyes, from good to bad, and the way you listened to her, patiently, she may have to start using the title. You were practically pliable, ready to be morphed into what she wanted from you.
She would never forget the words touching yourself leaving your mouth. She could imagine it, truly. See your hand sliding over your stomach and over your panties, rubbing your clit like it was enough. Refusing to fuck yourself on your fingers, afraid of what God might think. And when it wasn’t enough, she could see you sitting pretty on one of your pillows humping yourself on it like a dog, chasing any feeling of pleasure that you could derive from it. She could envision you like she was watching you on video.
Sevika was absolutely dripping wet in her living room, where she let her thoughts run several minutes ago. This was the first time anything of this sort had happened to her in years - she never thought like this, and was never this driven to act on it. Guilt overrode any substantial plans of finding the vibrator stuffed away in her closet.
No matter what happened, you were both fucked.
-
You let weeks pass. You had to. There was no way you could step into a house of God with her in it and pretend that you didn’t crave her from the depths of your skin. There was no use pretending anymore, not when thoughts of her crept into your mind at all times of the day, everyday, for the last two weeks. You were waiting for them to subside before going to the church, even thought about going to a different church to try and improve your thoughts.
Unfortunately, it didn’t help. The longer you were away from her, the stronger the thoughts grew. You had to go back. Somewhere, deep inside, you thought that if you went to the church, watched her preach about God, what she knew best, you would be relieved of the things holding you back.
And so, you got home from work, dressed nice, and prepared to go to church. The only thing your mother gifted you before you left was a rosary - it was beaded in red, with the equipment matching in gold. You wore it around your neck, the first time you had bothered taking it out of the box since she gave it to you, like it would save you. It wasn’t going to.
None of your thoughts about going to the church revolved around anything inappropriate. Sevika knew that, she knew it when you walked in quietly, five minutes before her sermon began. She knew when you sat in the front, and closed your eyes, letting her words melt into you while the rosary clung tight to your palm burned your skin. You were here for a reason that wasn’t known to your sweet little brain yet.
You were such a pretty thing, sitting there proper in a skirt that dusted your ankles and a headband that matched. Her eyes found you in the crowd every time she lifted her gaze from the holy book before her to the crowd. It wasn’t busy late on a Wednesday night, and she knew that’s why you were here. There were less suspecting eyes, less people to grow weary of an unfamiliar face amongst them.
Most importantly, there were less people that knew.
It wasn’t obvious to everyone, but someone in the crowd, you were sure, knew that you were thinking a grand scheme of unholy things about the reverend. You couldn’t stand it, these thoughts. You tried to convince yourself that she wasn’t looking at you when she preached, but the way her dark eyes drilled into your own when she read a verse forced your thoughts otherwise. When the service was over, you were going to bult. You couldn’t stay, couldn’t ever come back.
This was the end of your time as a Catholic. You had disappointed God far too much.
“Ladies and gentlemen, for the end of our service tonight, I want to talk about something that many of us in the crowd know and love,” Sevika smirked, “all of our married folk in the room, as I send you off tonight, I want all of y’all to remember that God calls us to enjoy and place importance in our relationships with sex,” there were hoots and hollers throughout the hall. “So I ask, in the name of God, have some fun between this service and our Sunday service. Let’s end with a prayer.”
Sevika began her prayer, but your mind was focused on her encouragement of sex. It made you wonder if Sevika was married, and if everything you had created in your head was just that - a creation. Fake. If you imagined the way she looked at you and the names she called you. It wasn’t real.
You had almost made your escape from the church without having to speak to her before you were cornered. Of course. Every priest did this. They bid farewell to those leaving the church at the end of the service, shaking hands and kissing babies, encouraging the group to return the following Sunday.
And like every other, she did it to you. “Thought I’d never see you again, peach.” She chuckled. Like a puppy, you were drawn to her as the stranglers made their way out. “Walk with me,” you did as told, following by her side as you walked back up the aisle towards the altar. “Did you enjoy the service?” You contemplated giving a half-assed answer, anything that could get you out of this church as quickly as possible.
“Yes, it was nice to sit in on a service again. It’s been a while. Speaking of which-” you tried, once again, to get away, the outcome reflecting similarly to the first time.
“Will you be joining us on Sunday?” Sevika was doing everything in her power to get you to stay. The more she talked to you, the more she asked, she knew you would. Pliant. It was a phenomenal word for you. So… flexible. Willing, even. With the way your eyes widened with every word she said, lips parting and cheeks reddening like she was the most fascinating thing on earth… it was easy. You were easy.
“I’m not sure if I’ll be able.” It felt like lying. The short answer was no, and the long answer was no, you couldn’t ever step foot into this church again without the fear of God coming down and smiting you himself. Telling her that you may have plans wasn’t a lie, simply an aversion to the harsh truth.
“Well if you can, we’d love to have you. You make a great audience member.” You stopped dead in your tracks, still. Hopefully she didn’t notice. The comment was clearly an innuendo, hinting at the way your thighs pushed together under your skirt and the way your hands bunched up the material every time you thought she looked your way.
“That’s kind of you to say,” your fingertips smoothed over the rosary around your neck, drawing her eyes to the spot on accident. She was good at watching you, and you were aware. She took a step closer to you, entering your personal space. She wasn’t far - close enough that you could smell the cologne she had on. It was a musky mix of wood and something deep, and you let your eyes flutter closed.
“Is this new?” She asked, large fingers finding the piece like a feather. You were burning now, burning like you were floating in front of the sun itself. She could inevitably feel the temperature of your skin and the rapid pace of your heart, and feel it she did.
“No,” you whispered back, “my mother gifted it to me before I left.” Your eyes were squeezed shut tighter than they had been for the extent of your life.
“Do you pray to it every night? You feel saved yet, pretty?” She pushed further, seeing how much you would take before you snapped out of it and left, never to be seen by her again. You were pretty. The prettiest girl she’d ever seen, will ever see. It was only her duty to tell you that.
“No.” You opened your eyes, meeting hers and immediately realizing her closeness. “In fact, I think I may try a new church, one that feels more right.” You felt weak, trying to pretend to be strong. But her proximity to you, her smell, her hand still rubbing over the cross, it was all too much to be strong.
“Are you now?” Sevika was amused by this, especially knowing that nothing would tear you away from the things you felt about her. “Why’s that, lamb? Something I should know about in my church that’s bothering you?” You sighed, frustrated and turned on more than you’d like to admit.
“I feel as if your penances aren’t working, nothing has changed. And you..” She cut off the end of your sentence, abruptly.
“Me?” She asked in a playful tone, like she knew this was working. Like she knew that heat was pooling in your belly and your panties were wet.
“You’re distracting me. From being saved.” She smirked, stepping even further into your space. You backed up, not going far before your back hit the railing that divided the ambo and the crossing. You were stuck between her and the railing, but there was nothing to object. Not now. Her knuckles ran down your bare chest until they reached the start of your top, where she switched to her fingers.
Leaning in, with her fingertips running down your side, she spoke. “No, little lamb,” she leaned in, mouth finding the shell of your ear. “You just don’t want to be.” Her hand fastened around your hip, pushing it into the railing. “In fact, with all of these thoughts of yours, I don’t even know if God can save you.”
“I don’t.. I don’t know what you want me to say to that.” You pouted. You weren’t exactly scared, at the moment, but something else was creeping up inside of you. She had the means and opportunity to do absolutely whatever she wanted to you, right now. And the worst, most gut wrenching part of all of it, is that you’d say yes.
“Give in.” The moment your eyes met hers, her lips were slamming into your own.
Kissing her was like kissing an angel. You had kissed plenty of boys in your life, but where their spit and shitty tongue turned you off, Sevika’s bruising force and toe-curling kisses turned you on. She pressed her lips into you with fervor, chasing every feeling she could get out of you, and you didn’t resist.
It was terrible, truly, how you let her do it. Let her suck your tongue into her mouth and wrap her large hand around your throat. Awful. Ungodly. It would be best if you pushed her away and ran out of the church, chasing your dignity that seemingly flew out the stained-glass window. But it was so fucking good.
She was so much bigger than you, also. There was no way that you could escape from her now, not like this. Not when your mind was spinning and your legs were about to let out, all from a kiss. All from her hands on your hips and her warm body pressed to yours. And when she pulled away, looking at you darkly like her next meal, you couldn’t help but let out a pathetic noise, and she smirked.
“This is wrong,” you insisted, but your grip on the front of her gown didn’t cease. “This isn’t good, this isn’t what God wants.” You were battling with the fact. This wasn’t anything close to what God wanted. God called for pleasure in marriage, marriage between one man and one woman. But here you were.
“Leave, lamb. Walk away. Go be good,” she took a step back, your grip on her shirt releasing, teasing smirk still painted on her stunning features. This was your chance, your opportunity to move back home and keep being good, keep being that sweet little version of you that seemed to be gone forever. But you didn’t move, you couldn’t move. “That’s what I thought. You want this, don’t you, sweet thing?” You were practically shaking like a leaf in the wind.
Hesitantly, you nodded. It was slow, and only once. Sevika was back on you in an instant, trapping you against the railing once again while she dragged your legs up and around her hips. She kissed your neck, doing far more than any stupid boy had in the past. It wasn’t long before any thoughts of God began to slip from your brain, too busy focusing on the way her warm mouth sucked the skin on your neck, adding her teeth and quickly flicking her tongue over the spot to ease any pain.
You couldn’t blame anyone for enjoying this. Not when she did the things that she did to you. “You’re always so good, baby,” she kissed the spot right below your ear. “Don’t you think you deserve something for being so good all the time?” Once again, you nodded slowly. “Answer me, lamb. You’ll learn quickly that doing what I say will get you what you want.”
“Yes,” your voice shook with your answer, eyes drifting to the side. It was an embarrassing experience, but it was only deserved. She let your legs down, backing away slightly with a chuckle.
“Yes what, baby? What do you deserve?” A flush of red warmed your cheeks. It was hard to say something you didn’t agree with; you hadn’t been good, you didn’t deserve anything because you weren’t good. If you acted right, you still didn’t deserve anything. God didn’t give out favors for simply doing what you were called to do.
Sevika’s words snuck their way into your mind quickly. You were so far gone already, what’s a little bit more? She had already made you feel this good and she had hardly touched you. What was just a little more? Maybe she was right, maybe God hated you.
“Yes, I deserve something for being good,” you cringed at your own words, flinching away from her gaze. She pulled your forward off of the railing, lifting you over her shoulder like it was nothing. Like you were a piece of paper in comparison to her strength.
You found purchase atop the sermon table, the fat of your thighs morphing against the divots in the wood, through your skirt. Every church had a table in the altar, one where the reverend could sit things out or create a sort of symbolism of God, but right now, she was pushing everything off to sit you onto it, reattaching her lips to your neck rapidly.
You were writhing under her by the time her lips found your collarbone, leaving a trail of dark marks. “Let’s take this off, pretty thing. Can you do that for me?” She ran her pointer and middle finger under the elastic of your skirt as she whispered in your ear, planting a kiss under it.
You didn’t hesitate in lifting your hips and slipping it down, leaving you in your top and panties. It was the epitome of a compromising position, looking up at her half naked with your hair static and your makeup messed up. “You’re so pretty, aren’t you?” You nodded, but that was hardly enough for her, as you should've anticipated. She grabbed your jaw, pressing her fingers into your cheeks to hollow them out. “What did we just talk about?”
“Yes, I’m pretty.” You mumbled through the force of her hands.
“That’s it,” she cooed, removing her hand in favor of pulling you up by your upper arms and spinning you around, folding you over the table in front of you. With a gasp, your cheek came down on the wood with your hands flat next to your head. You were ass up, pink panties covering the one thing that nobody else had ever seen. “Whatever will I do with you, little lamb? God doesn’t like sluts who bend over for their priests.” Her hand came down to knead the flesh of your ass.
You whimpered, pushing back into the touch. It was humiliating, really, how wet you got when she said such vile things, using your religion, your existence against you. Even with that in mind, you were practically dripping through your panties, you may even be. All you knew was that your thighs were wet and that Sevika was the only one who could see anything else.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” You whined, glancing over your shoulder at her. The look in her eyes had far surpassed something sinister. She pressed her flesh thumb into the wet patch on your underwear, against your drenched entrance, laughing as you mewed.
“You’re in no position to make demands, peach. Not when you're this wet from some kissing. This how you feel every time you see me?” Her mech hand came down hard on your ass when you didn’t answer, making you flinch again. “The first time we met, I knew you’d be easy. Wide eyes and those pretty legs that rubbed together with every word I said. Has anyone ever touched you here before, little lamb?” She ran her flesh thumb up and down the sensitive skin and you attempted to tighten your thighs with no avail.
“No, only..” you trailed off as she sank to her knees, pressing a kiss into the crease between your ass and your upper thigh, letting them travel down your hamstring.
There was a pause before she answered you, “Only?” she pushed, desperate to know if her fingers would be the first in your pretty cunt. She continued her trail of kisses all over your thighs as you pondered whether or not to answer her.
“Only my own.” You whispered, guilt taking you over as you decided that answering was probably a better idea than whatever consequence she would award you if you didn’t.
She hummed. “What do you think about when you fuck your cunt with your fingers, pretty thing?” You clenched down on something nonexistent as her words shot straight to your core. This was absolutely disgusting. Before you could think to answer, her tongue was lapping lazily at your clit over your panties, taking a fat lick from your clit to your hole. Her hand came down on your ass again, learching you forward with a moan.
“You,” you sputtered, “I think about you.” she moaned into you, sending soft vibrations through your system, just enough to make you tense, a new wave of slick rushing through your panties.
She didn’t bother with any more humiliating questions with forced answers, instead opting to press her face into you and continue licking at your center over your panties. She went like that for several minutes, until you were practically crying and your panties were soaked - partially her spit and partially the wetness that was leaking from you like a hose.
Your mind was in a daze when she stood, tucking her fingers underneath the elastic of your underwear as she began to drag it over your ass. “Lift your hips, pretty girl. Let me make you feel good, since you’re so needy.” You couldn’t even think to do it, resulting in her lifting them for you. It only made you wetter, the way she lacked any form of struggle when lifting you, essentially doing it with one hand while she used the other to drag your pantues down.
She didn’t allow them to come all the way off before she was attaching her wide lips to your clit. With your panties strung around your ankles and her tongue on your clit, you knew that this was the end of anything pertaining to you and God. There was no place for God when she had a mouth like that.
“I think God blessed y’r pussy, baby. Tastes so fucking good.” She followed with a groan, sucking your clit into her mouth. You almost shrieked, lurching forward once again as the nerve exploded with feeling. Porn had never even come close to making you feel this way, let alone your pillow or fingers.
With a final peck, Sevika flicked her tongue against your entrence, pushing it through the tight muscle and wasting no time tongue-fucking you like you weren’t in a house of God. She was messy, grabbing your hips with both hands and pulling you into her face, letting you rock into it and hump her like some sort of dog. Her face was soaked, from her nose to her chin, but nothing was stopping her.
Sevika was having the time of her life. She got exactly what she wanted, just like she knew she would. And to make it even better, you had the wettest pussy of any girl she’d ever fucked. When she took her oath, she was sure that she would miss eating out the most, making you a prize. Your cunt was so good that she was sure she would resign the moment she got you home safe. THere was no way in hell she would be able to go without this for longer than a day.
Not only were you drenching her like a baptism, but you were also moaning and squirming and making all the best noises that drove a sane woman crazy. Your cunt had to be heaven, your body that of an angel. This was her blessing, her calling and her salvation. It was you, all of you.
A pit grew in your stomach, wrapping itself around every inch of your body until she whispered, “come, lamb” had your muscles relaxing and your legs shaking, wave after wave of pleasure rocking you like a punch. Sevika didn’t halt, drinking up every last drop that she could get from you, and she didn’t stop there.
Once she was sure your orgasm was over, she stood, flipping you over until your back was resting against the wood. She pressed her middle finger against your hole, groaning into your neck as you swallowed her in. “You’re such a good girl, yeah? Gonna get broken in tonight, peach. ‘m gonna stretch you so good, make you so full.” You practically screamed as she curled her single finger up into the best spot in your body, one that you hadn’t touched yourself.
“Vika, ‘s too much,” you slurred, but all she did was press her cold, mech thumb onto your tongue, husing you. She added another finger, letting you adjust knuckle by knuckle until you were full. She fucked you like that for some time, crooking up with every thurst until your tears were regular.
“One more big stretch, my girl can do it, can’t she?” you shook your head no, but it wasn’t true. You wanted to see how far you could go, how much you could take. Your body begged to indulge and be stretched open for her, molding to every part of her.
Her third, thick finger protruded your entrance and you cried out, fat salty tears falling down your cheeks. It burned when she got the first knuckle in, and your hand shot down to her wrist to hold it in place. Using the wetness that your mouth provided, she rubbed circles into your clit with her mech hand, helping you adjust to the feeling.
When she bottomed out, you were close to sobbing. She wasn’t joking when she insisted on filling you, you were full to the hilt, shaking like a leaf with every delicious curl of her fingers. Once she got going, there was no slowing her down. She fucked into you like the world was ending, unrelenting in her pace as she did nothing but watch all three fingers get sucked in every time.
Your mind was swimming, stuck in what you were sure was an alternate universe. There was no way that a single woman was making you feel this good, making your eyes roll back and your tongue loll out like you had no thoughts. “Hey,” she caught your attention, but your brain and recognition was at an all-time slow. “Watch your greedy,” you whined as her mech hand came down no your clit, “fucking,” it came down again, only increasing your noise, “cunt,” she finished it off with one final slap, “sucks in my fucking fingers.”
You gazed down, watching every thrust. You reached up, pulling her body against your own as you approached your next orgasm. You held her close to you, nails scratching and digging into her toned back when her mechanical hand began its pace on your clit. “Sev.. Sev, I-I can’t do it, it hurts,” you cried, hands tightening on her shoulders as your muscles tensed.
“My strong girl, you can do it. Give me another one.” She increased her pace ever so slightly and that’s what did it, clenching down on her so tightly that you feared for her circulation. You came for what felt like hours, shaking and crying and holding her like she was the only thing keeping you alive. “Atta girl, little lamb. See how good you are at listening?” You only moaned, further extending your finish.
When you were finally finished, she pulled her fingers from you and tapped your lips, motioning for you to open them. You did, not expecting her to push all three in and down your throat. You caught on quickly that she wanted you to suck them, sucking them clean of your own release. It was purely erotic, not coming anywhere close to things that you had done to yourself or thought of having done to yourself.
Once her fingers were clean, Sevika dipped her head down once again, this time only licking up the mess that you had already made. Her intentions didn't stop you from twitching and squirming, though. She pulled you up, letting you put all of your weight on her as she redressed you. Your legs were basically jelly, so much happening that there was no way you could stand or even manage to get yourself home.
Without asking, she effortlessly scooped you into her arms and out of the church, only briefly sitting you down to lock the doors. You wondered whether or not she had left things since she was clearly in a hurry, but it hardly mattered with the fuzzy state of your mind.
She got you home and helped you up the stairs to your apartment, but she didn’t stop there. She helped you change and tucked you in, even pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well, lamb.” She said softly as she disappeared out your door.
And you knew, then, that you weren’t ever going to see her again.
She tried to pay attention to Professor Kylo Ren, though her efforts weren’t doing much good. The seminar was coming up on three hours, the classroom air was stuffy, and a fluorescent lightbulb flickered overhead. It was already dark outside, the blackness in the windows reflecting back the image of an irritable professor and disinterested grad students.
The lecture that droned on bored Y/N, the professor’s gorgeous appearance far more captivating than any medieval history lesson he insisted on dragging out. It wasn’t that he was a bad professor, it was that he seemed to hate her, and she seemed to hate him all the same. The handsome man was stern, demanding perfection in a way that nobody could ever live up to. His punishing scowl was even more famous in the university than he himself, one she was all too familiar with.
“Do you have anything to add, Miss Y/N?” The sound of your name on Kylo’s lips snapped her back into reality, her lips parting in a frustrated huff.
“Only that I think this lecture is worse than the black death,” you snarked, earning a few shocked giggles from her peers that would never dare disrespect Professor Ren.
Kylo crossed his arms over his broad chest, leaning back against the edge of his desk, a dark glare locked on the student that he loathed. A sharp bolt of electricity shot through his nerves at the sight of Y/N’s smirk, making him even angrier. He forced himself not to think about how he truly desired to correct your disrespect, to force you into submission.
“Quite pleased with yourself, are you? Everyone is dismissed except Y/N,” he barked, students immediately rushing out of the suffocating classroom.
“I have places to be, professor,” Y/N stood, slipping her laptop into her bag, ignoring his order to stay behind.
“Why do you have to have such a fucking attitude with me?” Kylo snapped, fed up with being dismissed.
“Why do you have to be such a —”
“Kylo, are you able to discuss the findings for our upcoming conference?” Professor Djarin called from the doorway, interrupting the two’s brewing argument.
Kylo cleared his throat, standing up straight off of the desk and giving Y/N one last scathing glare.
“Of course, let’s head to my office.”
“Goodnight, Professor Ren,” Y/N spoke, her sweet voice dripping with poison as she swept past him.
.
Ever since she had left the classroom behind, Y/N hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her professor. Stars, she hated him, he was undoubtedly the worst of them all, and yet something about him pulled her in. Something she cursed whenever she noticed her wandering thoughts.
With a groan, she plopped down on her bed, eyes closed to try and work through her thoughts. She detested him, hated him more than words could ever express, but maker, he was handsome. Even Y/N could admit that much.
Perhaps she had even touched herself to the thought of him once or twice before - okay, a lot more than that. But a few wandering thoughts didn’t seem to hurt, and most importantly they didn’t stop her hatred from spiralling. And hatred is what she needed to survive his boring course and the homework he didn’t even seem to correct.
She reached for her phone, staring at the screen while hitting up one of her friends, desperate for some kind of distraction. Perhaps some clubbing could force her thoughts to let go of the annoying professor, or even a house party where she could link up with those she hadn’t seen in a few weeks.
It only took her friend a few minutes to reply and to send her the details of their meeting spot. Y/N couldn’t stop her grin from widening as she rose to her feet once again, leaving the comfort of her bed to find something good to wear. Her fingertips stroked along a few dresses and skirts until she settled on an outfit she had worn in class a few weeks ago.
Back then Professor Ren had murmured something about the inappropriateness of her clothes, which seemed to be exactly what she needed. Her eyes studied her reflection in the mirror as Y/N dressed herself and retouched her makeup, filled by an all too familiar giddiness she didn’t want to shake until enough alcohol could loosen up her system.
The chilly air wrapped itself around her as she left her home and made her way towards the home where she’d meet her friend.
.
Y/N was barely ten steps in the house before her best friend was putting a shot in her hand. The pink whitney burned going down, but at this point she’d drink almost anything to shake the frustration of her graduate class.
“Another?” A shooter was held out, dangling from a girl’s hand, calling to her like siren.
“Fuck it,” Y/N cheered before swallowing.
Bad pop music from the 2010’s was blaring from someone’s speaker as five already tipsy girls all tried to fix their hair in the bathroom mirror. Someone had shouted that the uber would arrive in three minutes to escort the group downtown, where they’d crawl from club to bar until nobody could stand.
Y/N didn’t have anything to lose — Professor Ren’s class had already been cancelled in the morning, likely him throwing a tantrum at her attitude. That left a night of debauchery on the table with nowhere to drag a hungover body to in the a.m.
She hardly remembered getting downstairs, registering that she was squeezed into the back of an uber with her friends, taking a short hit off of someone’s vape being passed around the party.
“That was bad ass of you in class today, Y/N!” One of Professor Ren’s haters called over the music.
“Yeah! He looked like he wanted to choke you!” Another chimed in innocently.
Though the words were just an expression, it twisted Y/N’s stomach into a knot. The image of Kylo’s hand around her throat left her shifting in her seat, suddenly far too warm in the skimpy dress that squeezed her figure.
A couple sips from a flask in the club’s queue, and Y/N was all too emboldened by the alcohol to think straight. She awkwardly made her way down a flight of stairs in an alley, into the club that was pulsing with blue and purple lights. The bass throbbed in her body, jarring her skeleton with every unsteady step.
As much as she had hoped that her drunk mind could distract her from Kylo and her wandering thoughts, they only seemed to grow more intense with every passing minute. She needed a breather, desperate for some cold air to be sucked into her aching lungs. Y/N pushed through the body of dancing people, barely able to see where her feet were taking her until she finally managed to step out into the cold.
Her body took her a few more steps away from the loud music before she sat down on the sidewalk, knees pressed to her chest. Deep breaths were inhaled into her shaking body, hands pressed to her warm cheeks to try and ground herself.
Perhaps she needed to get home, set on sleeping the day away until her hangover would be awful enough to curse herself out. Perhaps she needed a few calmer moments to shake all the confusing thoughts and the hatred that seemed to wander up her throat like bile rising.
“Miss Y/N?” She froze, eyes squeezed shut for a second. And then all too slowly she managed to look up at him. Kylo was towering over her, hands pushed into the pockets of his jacket, height all too towering.
“Fuck me.”
Kylo scoffed at the profane greeting, no more happy to see her than she was to see him. Y/N put her hand out, trying to balance to pull herself to her feet, only making it halfway up before falling back down on the hard concrete sidewalk.
“Jesus Christ, you’re messy,” Kylo sighed, reaching down and gripping her forearms, pulling her to her feet.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Y/N sneered, putting her hands on his chest — intending to shove him off, though the second her palms were pressed to the strong muscles, her body forgot that this was the man she hated.
“Getting a drink after how much shit you put me through,” he shot back, going to let go until she started to wobble in her heels.
“You… you can’t get away from me. You’re here because you want to fuck me, you creep.”
Kylo knew it was the drunk ramblings of an angry student, but the words were vicious, creeping their way down his spine. He hated the satisfied smirk on her face, knowing that the stupid words had gotten under his skin.
“You’re the one who hasn’t taken your hands off of my chest,” Kylo’s voice was low, his dark eyes boring into her as if he could read every filthy thought, see every memory of her touching herself to the thought of him.
She was too far gone to react to his bickering, eyes getting lost in his darkening ones. Y/N hated the power he held over her, how he managed to draw her in with one simple glance that only fuelled the hatred she felt.
“Fuck, look at you, you can barely stand straight. How are you getting home?” It seemed to do the trick, successfully pulling her out of her trance and away from him. She stumbled a step back, struggling to hold her balance as his hands shot forward to stabilise her.
“That’s none of your concern, Professor.” He rolled his eyes at the tremble of her voice, staring down at her for a few more seconds before letting go of a sigh. Without speaking a warning, he picked her up to throw her over his shoulder.
Y/N screeched but he didn’t seem to care about her protest as he kept walking. He didn’t even reply to the question of where he was taking her, all he did was walk until he came to a halt in front of a black SUV, open the door and gently though urgently placing her down on the seat.
“Where the fuck are you taking me?” He started the car seconds later, letting the child safety locks snap in place before she could even think of ripping the door open again. Kylo kept quiet for a moment, he pulled out of his parking space and began driving down the dark road, letting darkness swallow them both wholly.
“I’m taking you back to mine, I mean, look at you, such an embarrassment.” Heat flushed through her body at his biting tone, making her tremble in anger. But she kept quiet, having to sort through her thoughts as he kept driving. What was she even doing? The man she had tried to escape from was the knight in shining armour now. What a fuck up.
Only as Kylo parked the car in front of a modern house did she snap out of her trance. Wordlessly she undid her seatbelt and watched him round the car to help her step out into the cold night.
Kylo opened the door, waiting for Y/N to step out of the SUV of her own volition.
“Come on, it’s fucking cold out here!” He snapped impatiently, hauling her out himself, tired of her defiant stare.
She stopped screeching for a moment to take in the massive modern castle — double height ceilings making way for elaborate pieces of artwork and sculpture, just as dark and mysterious as him. Y/N was set down so he could lock the door behind him, taking the opportunity to rip the heels off of her feet. She tossed them drunkenly beside the door, not caring where they ended up, earning yet another curse from her knight.
“This is your house?” She questioned, stumbling forward, inviting herself to explore.
“Obviously.”
Kylo watched her, hair falling out of the ties to frame her face, normally fiery eyes slightly glazed over from the alcohol. She was such a force in the classroom, a viper daring him to come closer, waiting for the opportunity to strike and poison. But here, in his home in the middle of the night, she was harmless, pathetic, even as she swayed as if the earth meant to swallow her up.
He’d followed her into the kitchen, something straight out of a Food Network set. She leaned against the marble island, dropping her phone onto the surface. Kylo was on her in an instant, his body towering over hers, hands on both sides, trapping his prey.
She looked up, staring at him for a terribly long moment before her hand threaded into his black hair, dragging him down into a messy, angry, desperate kiss. Every nerve in Kylo’s body woke, reacting to her touch, the feel of her lips against his, and the taste of whiskey on her tongue.
“Fuck,” Y/N gasped softly, breaking away as he grabbed her waist to lift her onto the countertop.
Her dress rode up around her hips, knees parting to make room for Kylo as he dragged her back to him, gripping her throat with his large hand.
“You need to learn your place and stop fucking embarrassing yourself,” he hissed, his teeth sharp against the crest of her ear.
She grabbed his free hand, bringing it to the flimsy panties she wore, letting him feel what the brief encounter had already done to her.
“I think you like seeing me like that, professor.” Her teasing words made him groan against her lips, only deepening the kiss. For a moment, nothing but his wander touch mattered, fuelled by their tension and need for one another. Big, cold fingers pushed her panties aside to brush them through her slit, covering her pulsing bundle of nerves with her arousal.
“You’re a fucking slut, you know that? Whoring yourself out to a professor whose life you keep making miserable.” A cry tore through Y/N as he pushed a finger into her, letting her walls spread around him. She trembled, she cried, she was ready to let go even as he kept mumbling degrading words.
It was pathetic almost with how close she was to letting go already, but his touch gave her something she had been aching for ever since meeting him. She didn’t even care if he could tell what he was doing to her, all she wanted to focus on was the orgasm clashing through her without another warning.
Y/N choked on her cry, head rolling forward to rest against his broad chest. Kylo kept moving his fingers, prolonging the sensation for a few more seconds before finally pulling away from her, “So, what will it be? If you want me to fuck you, you’ll need to beg for it.”
Something between a scream and a groan escaped Y/Ns lips. Kylo wasn’t about to give her anything without humiliating her first, to make this as painful as possible. Under normal circumstances, she’d leave, but now, her cunt aching and desperate, she would do anything for relief.
“Please fuck me, I need you,” Y/N whined, looking up at Kylo with wide eyes.
“What are you?” His lips almost pulled into a smile, pleased with himself as he studied the dark patch that was only growing on her panties.
“I’m a fucking slut, and I want you to fuck me,” she forced out the words, tears threatening to spill from her lashes.
“That’s right. This is for my pleasure, not yours!”
In an instant, Kylo dragged her off the countertop before flipping her around to face away. He bent Y/N over the cold marble, pushing her head down and the fabric out of the way.
“Jesus, you’re fucking soaked. You have no shame, do you?”
When she tried to speak, he shoved two of his fingers in her mouth, silencing any protest. Hatred burned almost as bright as the lust she’d become enslaved to. It took everything — her dignity, her sense of self — until she was being railed over the counter in her enemy’s kitchen.
Kylo’s hand muffled her scream as he fucked into her sopping entrance, her walls stretching to accommodate his size, dragging along every vein. Y/N’s eyes rolled back into her head, fingers clawing helplessly at the marble as he hit the spot inside that left her seeing stars. Every thought fractured into pieces, leaving nothing but the overwhelming sensation of pleasure as Kylo bruises her hips against the stone.
“Kylo, fuck!” Y/N yelled as he brought his hands down to her waist, gripping the soft flesh in his fingers, pulling her body back to meet his, forcing himself impossibly deeper.
“Such a slut for me. I like you much better like this than running your mouth and being a brat.” He emphasized the last word by slapping her ass, leaving a handprint that would remind her of her shame for days.
She wanted to speak up, wanted to throw the mean words right back at him, but she couldn’t. No longer did she remember the simplest words, mind only focused on the feeling of taking his cock. He kept impaling her on him, ripping her apart with every thrust that only grew rougher and faster.
“Please,” it was the only thing she could whimper, hating that her body was giving into his every command. He had won the upper hand, had forced her to kneel for him as he took what he was aching for - again and again.
“Please what? What is it that you want, huh?” Darkness wrapped itself around her as Y/N pressed her eyes shut. Perhaps she’d finally find the strength to say something, to push back with the same spite he seemed to master. But she couldn’t, fuelled by shame, defeat, and a burning hot lust.
“Let me cum, fuck, please.” Her orgasm was about to rip through her, making tears well up in her eyes. Kylo kept quiet, he only let go of an excited hum the second his big hand found her throat, cutting off most of her airstream. Y/N’s eyes snapped open, focusing on the big window that offered a reflection of their linked up bodies.
It was a sight so sinful, she couldn’t help but let go. Kylo kept fucking into her from behind, pushing her through her intense orgasm to get his own fill.
Tears were streaked down her face, her body shuddering with shocks of overstimulation. The reflection in the glass was pathetic, fingers weakly clawing at the counter, trying to escape the man who was pumping her full of his seed until it was leaking down her thighs. Kylo’s hand was still heavy on her throat, even as he finally pulled out of her, watching his mess drip from her.
“Kylo,” she finally gasped out when his hand was off her neck, struggling to push herself up on her elbows.
He ignored the way she whimpered his name, pulling his black boxers up and lighting a cigarette. He leaned back against the opposite counter, watching as she tried to collect herself, forced to soak in the filth of her lust. To Kylo, she’d never looked better — eyes red and wet, legs trembling, and her smart mouth finally shut.
“Look at yourself,” he shook his head slowly before taking a long drag.
Y/N pulled her dress down and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, trying to save the last glimpse of her dignity. It was exposing, being under the hard stare of his brown eyes, his cock still half hard and feeling his cum smearing between her legs.
“Not running your mouth for once,” he mocked when she didn’t answer, wordlessly turning to the dark window. “The bathroom is down the hallway, clean yourself up before you leave, will you?”
Her breath hitched in her chest, wide eyes snapping back to his as if she didn’t believe the words he’d just spoken. But Kylo didn’t say another word, didn’t even offer her another glance as he poured himself a glass of water and then disappeared from her sight.
Trembling legs forced her to move, to find the dark bathroom. Y/N couldn’t look at her reflection as tears blurred her vision once again, feeling even more humiliated and angry than before. Of course he wouldn’t ask her to stay. Of course he wouldn’t drop their fight just once to make her feel somewhat comfortable after offering herself to him. Of course he was still the asshole she’d once sworn to hate.
Slowly, she stepped back into the quiet hallway. Her eyes moved along the walls for a second, giving him another second to reappear and to pull her back towards him. But he didn’t, he left her alone and confused as her aching body finally carried her out into the night.
Addition to this one because I’m so unwell for this woman, you have no idea
Amira of House Karim comes into your life with courting gifts from her brother and heavy eyes that feels, see right through you.
There is one short, almost non-existent, moment when she blinks, as if stunned, as if she was expecting anyone but you.
She had a long way, travelling from a country where sun in the sky is hot enough to bring people to their knees, where neighbouring kingdoms do their best to ravage her home, where people speak in language so old it’s sacred.
Amira of House Karim does not give you her name — she is tight-lipped and stern, soft accent of hers bellies the steel of her character.
Amira of House Karim doesn’t want to make friends, she is not here for pleasantries and tea parties, she does not enjoy the blatant flaunting of wealth from the high lords that smirk in her face and laugh behind her back.
Amira of House Karim is a woman in a place where women are so rarely considered, the steel of her character seen as a sin rather than an advantage.
High lords sneer that no one would take a woman like that as a wife.
You catch just a glimpse of her rage when she muses “I wouldn’t take any of you as a husband either”, her eyes cold and heavy, her back straight as an arrow.
Amira is the diamond of her house, amira is the best there is and the example of proper lady.
When she wants to be it, of course.
You hide your smile behind your sleeve, looking in away when one of the lords stutters in her presence.
Not noticing the way amira’s eyes linger on you.
Thoughtful, curious, contemplative.
Amira of House Karim does not understand how in a place like this exists someone like you. She doesn’t understand how you can live like that.
How you can live with that.
How you manage to keep getting back up even after these greedy lords, these fools, these men try to topple you any chance they get.
This is undignified behaviour, princess, you shall not allow anyone look down on you. You shall do better.
Amira says like it’s easy, like she knows your court better, like anyone can be the diamond.
You just hum, finishing up your embroidery and looking up at the face of hers. She is beautiful in a way that makes you tongue-tied and slow, in a way that tugs on something inside of you slowly unraveling, in a way that makes you want things you shouldn’t.
Because amira is not here to make friends, she doesn’t like you and she clearly doesn’t think much of you.
And still you follow her to the gardens, ignoring worried whispers of your ladies-in-waiting, ignoring your knight and closing the gates behind you.
They don’t understand what amira feels.
They don’t understand how much it hurts to be reminded time and time again that no matter how smart and royal you are, no matter how confident and educated, how beautiful and capable — first and foremost you are a jewel of the house.
Not the head of it.
Amira of house Karim doesn’t look at you when you sit down next to her, doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t respond to your questions.
Amira doesn’t want you here.
What can you do, princess? She saw the way you smile to these men, she saw the way you make peace and the way you compromise even if you are the one on whose feet they step on.
Don’t you have any dignity? Does your royal blood not heat at their casual cruelty?
Don’t you have any honour, princess?
You let her pour it all out, you silently listen, your eyes distant as you watch the water fountain.
This whole garden is a gift for you — the only daughter, the pearl of the family, the favourite child of the king.
But the king is just a man, even if that man is your father.
King believes garden is more suitable gift than the library or the stables, king believes you should be wed before you are out of your prime, king believes that he knows what’s better.
And he never asks.
Why would he, right? Kings rarely ask, that’s not their prerogative, that’s not how it works, you learned that a long time ago.
Amira of House Karim hates everything your homeland stands for.
Amira of House Karim hates this she doesn’t hate you.
You, with your rows of pearls and bright eyes and soft whispers of witty comebacks you are not allowed to say. Glimmers of a person behind the beautiful empty portrait. Cracks in the fine porcelain of a royal doll your father adores.
You, with your long skirts and braided hair and gardens filled to the brim with roses-roses-roses.
Red and white and yellow and gorgeous pinks and wonderful magentas. Every possible colour, every single variety. Each one with thorns sharper than the previous one.
Must be expensive to take care of this many flowers, amira says in passing and the smile on your face — delicate, sharp and fleeting — stops her in her tracks.
You have no idea, you say, suddenly throwing away all the titles and honorary suffixes, pearls around your throat a heavy collar.
Pearls around your throat a gorgeous reminder of your position.
Amira tilts her head to the side, one of her braids siding off her shoulder, her eyes — the velvet of the night sky, the dark soil in which your roses grow, the promise of privacy you are so not allowed nowadays.
But you have been utterly perfect all your life.
You deserve a little break, don’t you?
There is a small pause before you offer amira your hand and pull her out of the ballroom, your skirts heavy, her palm in yours a steady weight that grounds you.
Something shifts that day. Something small that gives way to unavoidable change.
Amira of House Karim watches you whenever you don’t look, her fingers careful as she rebraids your hair, her lips cool and soft when they press to the nape of your neck.
To your shoulder, to your vertebrae, to the vulnerable spot between your shoulder blades.
Amira of House Karim waves off your maids and helps you with your corset herself, her fingers lacing it up.
Her fingers lingering on your waist, heat spreading under your skin, your cheeks warming up when she smiles like she knows something you don’t.
Like she finally sees something she likes.
Amira of House Karim doesn’t like your court, your kingdom, your knight and your father.
Her fingers dip between your legs late at night, coaxing all these little sounds that she drinks in, holding each one between her teeth like a pearl she has a pleasure of swallowing.
Amira’s name is Farah and she didn’t come to make any friends, she says. Her fingers trace idle patterns on your soft belly, gliding up to press her while palm under your breast.
Holding your heart in hand.
“So we aren’t friends?”, there is a small crack in your voice, pearls on your throat a choking reminder of how much you do not amount to no matter how hard you try.
Farah lies in bed with you, her head on the same pillow, your heart in her palm when she kisses you for the first time. Properly. Like she means it.
“We aren’t friends, princess”, she breathes out softly and wraps her arms around your waist, smiling at the way your whole face lights up.
You are the prettiest pearl of the court, the sharpest thorn in the garden, the most sensitive princess Farah has ever encountered.
“Would you let me take you away?”, she murmurs one night, her fingers moving inside of you in a rhythm that melt your spine and clouds your head. “I could bring you home with me. Could show you the other life there is to live”, Farah breathes out quietly, her eyes the velvet that wraps around your body, her eyes the soil in which you bloom like never before.
There are no words coming out of your throat, no sentences left in the empty bright place of your head, your thighs falling open for her, your heart pulsing against her palm when she unravels you again.
Amira of house Karim didn’t come to make friends.
Good thing that she never considered you one.
Good thing Farah of House Karim wants you as a wife.
synopsis: your sister was in need of something, anything to reel her in, and a handsome new knight was just the one for the job.
pairing: sister's!knight!sevika x queen!reader
warnings: forbidden/off limits, mentions of parental death, light angst, essentially an introduction to the rest of the series, lots of sexual tension, eventual smut (see: parts 4, 6, probably more)
wc: 3k
a/n: check out the @sevsgiirl cameo ;) so much love to them, she's helping me so much with this so go follow them and love on all their work!!!!
2 YEARS PRIOR
Your father's death came and went with haste.
He was a noble man, the King. After your mother's death, he took control of Piltover and led with proficiency. There was never a moment where he wasn't thinking of the people, rather than himself. Your mother was born of royal blood, and married your father against her parents will. And together, they lead beautifully.
You said that all in the obituary, before he was lowered into the ground to rest next to the Queen. It was one week prior that he was joking about your queenhood, and the following week he was dead, only bringing that joke into reality.
Everything moved too fast for you. Your father died, you hosted his funeral at the castle, and five days later you were being crowned. The coronation was a dull thing; the colors weren't as bright in your eyes, and the dress was simply another designed to make you look ready to assume the duty of Queen. You weren't.
You couldn't find joy in the occasion. While most girls dreamt of their sweet sixteen, you spent nights dreaming about your coronation. You've had the colors picked out since you were 12 - a gorgeous mix of yellows and pinks, and even some light blue. Spring colors. However, as a young girl, nobody told you what had to come before the coronation for it to happen.
As your eyes drilled holes into the floor and your knees splintered from the old wood of the church steps, the royal priest placed your crown atop your head, finishing the ceremony with the exchange of the sword of state. You rose, he blessed you, and it was over. You could retreat back to your quarters and simply not attend the party, stating to the townspeople that you had fallen ill, but they should enjoy the party in your absence.
And now, you were Queen.
What came after that might've even been worse. Upon taking over the entire kingdom and all duties, you also took over the responsibility of Sarah - your younger sister. At 13, she was a brilliant thing, but also a hell of a lot for you to handle. To you, she was a rebellious child who channelled her guilt into sneaking out of the castle and piercing her ears.
You wouldn't pretend like it wasn't a burden, all of it. Sometimes you spent hours thinking about what it would be like to go back to when you didn't have to fret over foreign relations and the Piltover school system, when both of your parents were alive. There were nine years before your sister existed, nine years that you clung onto like a crutch.
You remembered the day your parents found out about Sarah's existence clearly. Your mother told you in your bedroom, and you were excited. You had no idea what would happen five months later, when your mother had an emergency birth at 22 weeks. She died that day, and so did your excitement.
It took you years to stop resenting your sister. Like most kids did, you blamed her for the death of your mother, but you never told her. After years of therapy, you worked through your resentment, but her constant presence and reliance on you led to the feelings creeping back up your spine, and you knew then that you had to do anything in your power to stop them.
PRESENT
“Elora,” you yelled from your writing room, as you continued to glance over a law that is on track to pass. She arrived in front of you in a moment's time, hands behind her back with a small smile. “I need you to find a knight for my sister. Organize interviews for the coming day and make sure to run background checks.”
“Yes ma'am.” She nodded and turned on her heel, quickly leaving to begin researching and organizing. You required the knight quickly; in a few short weeks, Piltover would be hosting its annual creation ball, that you had to plan all of. You needed Sarah safe and off your plate, so that you could focus on passing legislation and planning the biggest event of your royal career.
After countless attempts at reigning Sarah in, you had finally given up. You had put her in therapy and in public school, given her a royal advisor, and even offered to pay her to act right, and nothing managed to get through to her. You hoped that, now that she was 15, she would've moved past this part of her life, but she has yet to.
This was the one thing that she was absolutely against. She insisted that she didn't need a person, especially a man, following her around all the time. She hated the idea of someone posted outside her door. But her wants were too late for your needs - she would be dead by 16 if she kept up the way she was acting.
You would need three of them - each taking eight hours shifts to cover all 24 hours of the day. You had three, and you hardly noticed them. Sarah's guards would be no different, and you wouldn't take her no as an answer.
The first interview was nothing less than abhorrent bland. It was a man, of course, who barely met the qualifications and basically had to talk Elora into letting him interview. He failed knight training because of drugs, and had to retake it at much too old. He wasn’t in shape, and he refused to refer to you as Queen, rather than princess. You asked him to leave quickly after.
Terribly, the rest of the interviews followed the first one steadily. You had two potential candidates lined up, neither of which you were particularly fond of, but it didn’t matter. They met the requirements, and that was what was important. But, with the rate that the interviews were going, you truly didn’t believe that you would ever find a third, and that was an issue. No knight would settle for twelve hour days, it was against kingdom policy anyway.
Your final interview of the day was late, and found you swiftly. You were tired, and damn close to simply asking Elora to do the interview for you. You feared that if this woman wasn’t exactly what you wanted, you would absolutely flip your shit at her. In between each meeting, plans crept up your neck and you scribbled as much as you could down before the contestant arrived, and you were desperate to hide in your chambers and sort through all of your notes. But you were far from that.
The woman that stood before you as Elora opened the door was nothing like you had expected. It wasn’t like you got pictures when you looked over the recruits’ files, simply just a handout from the knight academy that was hardly legible. She was extremely tall, towering over Elora and eating up the space in the room, and her muscle wasn’t that of anyone that you had seen before - man or woman. Elora looked over at you with rosy cheeks and a hinting smile before she shut the door and left you to your business.
It was almost sensual the way the woman bowed to your presence, but kept her dark gaze on your eyes. Even bent at the waist, she took up a grand amount of space, in the best way possible. It was as if you couldn’t look away, even if she was burning you. Your eyes begged for hers, prayed on hers. There wasn’t anything in the world other than you and the pair of eyes gazing back at you.
Her eyes were something of magic - a dark mix of steel greys that got darker as she scanned your face. They almost made you shiver, the way she was looking at you. Her eyes fit perfectly in respect to her face; the high cheekbones, sharp nose, broad lips, scar drawn across her cheek. It gave her the most perfect blend of masculine and feminine, put together in one. She was beautifully a sight for sore eyes.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Queen,” she spoke low and smooth, taking your hand as she stood up. She left a kiss to your knuckle, something that none of the other recruits had even dreamt of doing. She had a sense of unrequited confidence to her that oozed, and it was drawing you in far more than you wished it was.
“The pleasure is mine,” you spoke before you could think, clearly your throat with haste to subdue the tension that she had created. “Please, sit,” you insisted, taking your seat as she took hers. You couldn’t help but watch as she sunk down in her chair and shifted her legs, letting them fall open wide. You swallowed, quickly averting your gaze to the paper in your hand with her work on it. “I must say, I did not have time in between applicants to look over your resume, but it is incredibly impressive,”
“That is the goal, after all.” She snickered, and you pursed your lips to restrict yourself from grinning. She had numerous highly selective and incredibly prestigious positions listed for her, and she passed at the top of her class at the academy, however, she graduated several years before any of the other applicants had.
“So, Sevika, I must ask what led you to leaving your post with the Kiramman’s? It appears as if you held the post for several years, and it's a highly competitive program, after all.” She sighed, shifting awkwardly and scratching the back of her neck.
“There was an incident that led me to become temporarily unable to provide them with the service that they needed. I chose to step down under the idea that I was not serving them to the extent that they needed.” You nodded slowly.
“May I ask what this ‘incident’ was?” You pressed. It could’ve been anything, with the vagueness of her speech. Slowly, with caution, she pulled back the partial cape that was covering the left half of her body. You had wondered why she was still wearing it when she appeared in your office, it was unusual and you were sure Elora had offered to take it.
Under it was a gorgeously mechanical prosthetic arm, one that looked as if it took years to build. “I can promise you, ma’am, that my injury doesn’t negate my ability to care for the princess. In fact, I believe that it makes me a stronger candidate-”
“Sevika, you aren’t ruled out of the competition simply because of a disability,” you insisted, softly. “It was the Kiramman bombing, I assume?” She nodded briskly. “I see. Well, moving past that, aside from the oath of Piltover, what does loyalty to the royal family mean to you?” You sat the paper down and clasped your hands on the oak table.
“Loyalty means everything to me, my Queen. There is nothing in the world that could make me turn my back on the post I’m assigned to. Nothing.” She insisted. You noticed the gap in her teeth as you spoke, and you almost forgot to listen to the words she was uttering.
“And if another realm were to offer you money or land in exchange for betrayal, what do you see yourself doing, honestly? I’ll kindly remind you that all of these answers are private and not shared.” She didn’t have to think before answering this one.
“Like I said, ma’am, I value loyalty above all else. Once I’m committed to a position, there is nothing that could draw me from it, especially something like money or land. My commitment to you means more than anything.” You couldn’t help the warmth that flooded your cheeks, even though you knew deep down that she was just trying to butter you up into hiring her.
“If you did not morally agree with an order given to you by the princess or myself, how would you respond?” She thought for a moment before answering this question. You couldn’t think of anything morally or ethically wrong that you would ever order her to do, but the questions were left by your father from when he hired knights, and you trusted his judgement over your own.
“In either situation, I would bring that up with you. If I don’t agree with somethin’, I won’t just blindly follow orders. And if it's something that I can’t do, I will resign from my duties.” You nodded, scribbling a few things down on the paper.
“If you would like a straight answer, I’m going to hire you undoubtedly. However, I need to warn you before you accept this position that my sister is quite a… handful. She can be difficult to deal with and she doesn’t often listen to directions. It may be difficult keeping her in check and protecting her to the best of your ability.” She laughed, and you couldn’t imagine why.
“If you think she’s bad, you clearly haven’t met a young Caitlyn Kiramman. Man, was that woman a lot to handle. You couldn’t help but join her laughs at that one. You had known the Kirammans for quite some time, and it was a well known fact that Caitlyn was quite the trickster in her developing years, much like Sarah. But Caitlyn’s was rooted in grief, like Sarah’s.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but Sarah hasn’t healed from the death of our parents, and it can be difficult for her to regain control sometimes. So, that being said, if you don’t think this is the position for you, it’s completely understood.”
“No, I think this is definitely the position for me. I’ve trained in both physical handling and mental handling. I’m sure that I can meet all of your sister’s needs within my station. I won’t let you down, m’lady.” The name rolled off her tongue unlike any other, even though thousands of other people had called you the exact same thing. “It can’t possibly be that difficult with a boss as pretty as you.” You couldn’t escape the blush that the woman gave you.
“You’ll start promptly tomorrow with two other soldiers. I’ll train you for a portion of the day and my general will spend the rest of the day with you. It was lovely meeting you Sevika, and thank you for your service to our kingdom. I’ll see you tomorrow, Elora will show you out.” She rose with you, bowing once again.
“Thank you for the opportunity, my Queen.” She shot you a smile as she made her way to the door, where Elora was already waiting. Once Elora had walked her out, you let out a breath that you had been holding. The woman was more than attractive. She made you forget about the gala and how taxing your day had been - if you hadn’t taken notes, you would have zero recollection of anything she said. She was entrancing, enchanting, and you knew that this was going to cause a problem.
Elora found her way back into your writing room steadily after she presumably walked Sevika to the door. “Miss,” she chirped with excitement. “Now, that has never been my particular taste, but I must say that that woman was very attractive.” Elora was never the outspoken type, so when she plopped down in the seat across from you and fanned herself, you were more than a little surprised.
“I must agree,” you said, quietly. It hardly mattered whether you found her attractive or not. In fact, it mattered not. She was to protect your sister, and that was that. “She worked for Kiramman House, I would’ve hired her on the spot if I knew that. She’ll start tomorrow with Loris and Steb, could you make sure the Generals are aware that this is happening?” Elora stood, wiping her hands on the apron covering her dress.
“Yes ma’am, right away.” She left you with a suggestive smile as she made her way out of the writing room and away, and you stopped to think about it for a moment. Think about everything. This was the first person you had found undeniably appealing since long before your father’s death, and it made you wonder. Why her? Why someone who was the definition of off limits? You couldn’t bear the thought of distracting someone as qualified as Sevika from her work, not that you would ever explore that option in the first place.
You had come to a point in your life where you believed that the castle and the kingdom and all the needs of others were more of substance than your own. As a queen, you couldn’t see yourself settling down or bringing someone into your life who sought to slow you down. You had no room in your brain or heart to focus on another human being to the extent that they needed, and that was okay with you, at least for now.
But gods, did the woman have pretty eyes.
taglist: @lovinglynny @ferxanda @sevsgiirl @lilithyys @ayooooohush lmk if you want a tag :)
A new serial killer has been terrorizing the streets of Las Almas. You have an... interesting encounter with her one night while working your first shift at the morgue.
New Part Every Thursday
Masterlist AO3
A/N- I wanted to be a medical examiner when I was twelve. That's not something in my future anymore sadly. Also, no matter how often I write smut I feel goofy doing it, but I think this turned out okay.
There's been another murder. A man found in his car with his throat sliced open. You're starting to wonder if Las Almas was the right town to move to. The fall air is only slightly cooler than the summer air but not enough to count. It's mid-October yet you're still wearing shorts and a tank top. You stand among other bystanders as police and coroners investigate the crime scene. The body was moved a while ago. At first everyone had assumed the murders were related to the ever-growing cartel located right in the town but a video on a victim's phone showed a glimpse of a figure in a white mask. Eyes drooping, mouth elongated into a soundless scream, and realised this was something else entirely.
A man in an official looking suit strides up to the crowd standing at the police tape.
"Go home." He says sternly. "This is real life, not one of those little perverse true crime podcasts." He scolds. The group slowly dissipates. Nobody feeling truly guilty for gawking. You reluctantly turn away and leave as well. Not wanting to be the only person still there. You head back home. You should get some rest anyway. You start your first shift at the morgue tonight.
You groan irritably as your phone alarm blares right beside your ear. Shrill and annoying. You make quick work of turning it off. For a few minutes you lay there on your mattress - you don't have a bedframe yet - and fight back frustration. You can't believe this is what you have to do every day. You're just so tired. You can't fathom having to do this for the next forty-fifty years of your life. Despite the evil voice in your head telling you not to get up, you do. You throw on a simple shirt and pants combo. It doesn't matter because you'll have to suit up anyway. You debate putting on makeup as well but you're so tired and the only people around to see you will be your mentor and a corpse. Those dark circles under your eyes will fit right in.
The drive to the morgue is short. The streets of Las Almas are deserted at night. Dim yellow streetlights adding to the eerie atmosphere. Of course nobody wants to be out at night here. There's an operating cartel and a serial killer on the loose. Your eyes drift to your rear mirror. Just to make sure no ghastly figures are lurking about in your backseat. You park and get out. Grabbing your bag and walking inside. The bright fluorescent lights buzz and threaten to give you a headache and you swallow down the dread at having to spend nine hours here. You didn't take all those medical classes just to give up. Down in the basement your mentor is already suited up. Setting up the tray of tools. He turns and smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. He's an older man. Short and going gray.
"Glad to see you." He greets. "Your scrubs are in that locker over there, get suited up and come join me and I'll go over the basics."
You struggled a bit with putting on the apron and gloves but finally got the hang of it. You walk over to him and do your best to listen as he goes over the tools and their uses. Scalpel, bone saw, enterotome, rib shears. You already know all about them, but it doesn't hurt to get a refresher. It's been a few years since you were in school.
"Okay. Let's go get the body." The man nods. He leads you to the back and you shiver at the drop in temperature. You don't care for it, although you know it's necessary to keep the bodies fresh. The more decayed it is, the harder and more dangerous for you it is to do an autopsy. He shows you how to take the body out from the columbarium and wheels him back to the examining room.
The man's eyes are still open. His lifeless stare creeps you out a bit.
"What do we do first?" Your mentor asks. Staring at you expectantly. You weren't expecting him to ask and you hesitate. Mind blanking.
"Um... we- we drain him." You answer.
"No, we note down any external marks and wounds." He corrects. You mentally facepalm. Of course. That's the obvious answer. You blame it on the dissociative state you're in.
"Right. Sorry." You say.
"It's alright." He says kindly, handing you a notebook and pen.
You walk up to the cadaver and realise just how surreal this is. This man was a person. A son, a child at one point. He had a favourite food, colour. None of that matters anymore.
"I write down his name right?" You ask. Your mentor nods. you shakily scratch down his name. You look him over. There's a scratch on his right wrist. There's a deep, obvious gash along his throat. You inspect the jagged edges of his skin. "... I think this was made with a hunting knife?" You guess. Looking to your mentor. He approaches and inspects him too. Nodding in agreement.
"Correct, anything else?"
You stare at the cadaver. What else are you supposed to look at? Right, his nails. You lift up his big hands gingerly and check under his nails. No visible evidence of skin or blood. You jot down your findings.
One-inch-long shallow scratch, right wrist. Three-inch-long gash along throat, jagged edges, suggests it was done with hunting knife. No other visible external injuries.
You stare at the body and at your notes. Maybe you should check him once more.
"I need to use the washroom." Your mentor mumbles, degloving. He walks out of the room, leaving you alone in this cold, unfamiliar place with a body. You stand around awkwardly for a few moments, your only company being the dead man. You feel suffocated by the weight of the future. What if you never get the hang of this? What if you can't do it? You take a few seconds to breathe. You got your bachelor's degree. You got hired at the morgue. You remind yourself you felt overwhelmed and scared of driving at first too, and now you can do it just fine. If you can navigate college, you can navigate a corpse.
You check him over one more time to see if you were accurate. As you're setting his hand down you stop and look closer. A very short, fine black thread is caught under his thumbnail. You jot it down and carefully pull it out, holding it up to your face. Up close you see it's not thread but a strand of hair. you set it down on the counter in a tray to be looked at later. You shamble closer and stare at him uncertainly. Do you cut him open now or is there something you're forgetting? You look up. Your mentor still hasn't returned. You'll wait before you do anything. The last thing you want to do is mess up an autopsy.
Twenty minutes later he still hasn't returned. You frown and debate with yourself. He could be unwell, and you'd feel awkward about disturbing him while he's on the toilet, but you need to learn, and you can't proceed without him to guide you. You walk out of the room and down the hall. Doors are closed along the walls. The lights out in those rooms. It's quiet. Where are the bathrooms again? You turn down another hallway. Peering down it. You walk towards an opening. Not the bathrooms. Instead, there are tables lined up with cover sheets. All are barren except for one. If a body isn't being examined, it needs to be put away. You put aside your search for your mentor and begin to wheel the body to the body storage area. Your skin prickles into goosebumps. The body's feet are the only part sticking out from under the blanket. It still has shoes on. You stop. You're pretty sure all cadavers are to be stripped of their clothing once they arrive. You'll do that at the columbarium.
You leave him in there and hurry back to the examining room to retrieve fabric sheers. You gasp as something dark darts across the hall.
"Hello?" You call instinctively, then mentally facepalm. What is wrong with you? It's nothing, you decide. Because you aren't sure what you'd do if it was something. You feel uneasy at the silence and your mentor still being gone but you push those fears aside. Morgues hold dead people, of course you're wary. It's no different to a hospital though, both are medical buildings. One's for the living, the other for the dead.
Back in the storage room you approach the body. You grab ahold of the edge of the sheet and pull it off, freezing in place. Your hands tremble and you drop the black plastic sheet. It flutters to the ground. Dark red blooms through his white scrubs on his chest. A clean wound entering and exiting his body. Your mentor stares at the ceiling unblinkingly. Your brain takes a few seconds to comprehend what you're seeing. Your mentor is dead, and he was murdered. You whip around to face the doorway. The hallway is brightly lit. What's the likelihood of his killer still being in the building? Pretty fucking high. The buzzing of the lights and the otherwise silence feels threatening. You grip the fabric shears tightly. Too afraid to move. You picture the murderer standing just beside the door frame, knife poised, waiting to plunge it into your heart.
The body can lose fourteen percent of its blood without much consequence. Fifteen to thirty percent and you risk passing out - although you know that's much lower for you because you cut open your foot one time and almost passed out after losing maybe five percent at most. Forty percent and you die. It depends where your cut or stabbed too. The body has twenty arteries. Any of those get punctured and you'll be dead within five minutes.
You creep forward. Shears raised in defense. You psyche yourself up to look around the corner. Imagining the tip of a wicked blade sinking into your eye socket. Popping that fragile ball of jelly. You look quickly. Seeing an empty hall on both sides. You need to get back to the examining room to get your phone. Call the police. Barricade yourself in the room until they arrive. Your feet softly hit the clean linoleum floors with every step. You make it to the examining room without issue. You quickly rush to your locker and root through your bag for your phone. a sob wells up in your throat, it's not there. You know for certain you put it there.
People are sometimes able to feel when someone else enters a room before seeing them. A shift in the air, a tingle in the spine. Your feel sick with fear. You don't want to turn around, but you don't want to keep your back to the open door. Slowly you turn. In the doorway stands the murderer. Adequately called Ghostface by the public. They're all dressed up. White mask, black hood and tattered robe and all. You two stare at each other for what feels like forever.
"Forget your phone?" Their voice is muffled and gravely and mocking. Almost electronic sounding, like someone talking through a walkie talkie. You watch in horror as they hold out your phone, dropping it to the ground. They raise one foot and stomp down with their heel, shattering the screen and your hopes of getting out of here. "Aren't you pretty." They walk forward and shut the door. Reaching behind themselves to lock it. Your eyes dart towards the tool table. Distressed to find it cleared. All you have are the fabric shears.
You back up, raising them slightly. A show of aggression. Not a good one, but one nonetheless. The figure tilts their head at you.
"What do you think you'll be able to do with those?"
"... Kill you." You rasp. Ghostface just chuckles. "I haven't seen your face, I won't tell the cops anything, please don't kill me." Your voice breaks at the end. Ghostface observes you silently. Looking like the grim reaper. You watch on in confusion as they raise a gloved hand slowly and grip the edge of their mask. Lifting it to reveal the face beneath. A woman in her thirties. Dark brows and eyes that stare right through you.
"Now you have." She murmurs. Sounding far less robotic. She pulls the mask back over her face. "But I don't think I want to kill you just yet."
She rushes at you, throwing the table to the side. You scream and raise your hands to protect your face. The woman grabs you by the shoulders and roughly throws you to the floor, winding you. You gasp and try to crawl away, shears clutched uselessly in your hand. She throws herself on top of you. Straddling your lower back and pressing your pelvis into the hard floor uncomfortably. One gloved hand wraps around the front of your throat and pulls your head back, making it harder to breath. Your back and neck arching in the process.
"Poor thing, all alone." Valeria coos. Index finger rubbing your throat mockingly. "These scrubs are so unflattering."
The sound of tearing makes you cringe. "What are you doing?" You ask shakily. She doesn't answer as she cuts away at your scrubs. Pulling the torn fabric to the side. Her fingers trace along your ribs and waist, making you shiver.
"You're so pretty." She mutters to herself.
She violently tugs down your sweats, exposing your ass to the cool air. Your heart flutters and you flinch. You don't feel as afraid as you should and that alone frightens you. Her palm smooths over your cheeks. Massaging the skin. You breathe heavily, feeling like you're going to pass out. Her hand dips between your cheeks. Prodding along your clothed asshole and cunt. You wore light coloured underwear and know she can see the damp spot beginning to form. Not that it matters, because you can feel the cotton sticking to your wet folds, moulding to their shape. She hums in interest.
"... You're already wet?" She comments. Stroking you gently. "Don't tell me you get off on this."
Your face warms with embarrassment. "I'm not... It's not... get the hell off of me!" It's not death that arouses you. You aren't into dying, or corpses. You don't know why being pinned to the cold floor by a murderer is making your clit throb.
She doesn't get off of you. Instead, she roughly pushes your head down. Your cheek presses against the ground.
"Shut the fuck up." She demands. Rubbing her hand through your folds, soaking your panties even more. She cuts away at your underwear without a care. The air makes contact with your slick unpleasantly. Chilling your weeping core. A leather clad finger prods at your entrance and to your shame you don't protest. Prioritizing your desire to be filled more than the need to flee and call for help. Her finger slips in. The unfamiliar texture of the leather makes you squirm as your spongy walls pull it deeper. She adds another finger, curling them upwards and hitting that sweet spot inside of you.
You tense and gasp. Jerking upwards at the feeling. She sets a fast pace. Pumping her fingers into you with an intensity. Your pussy practically sings her praises as it squelches. You press your face into the floor to hide your shame. Valeria isn't having any of that. She grabs ahold of your hair and yanks your head back.
"You're enjoying this." She taunts. "Sick little freak."
You clench around her fingers. "No I'm - not." You whimper. She gives you a hard thrust in response, pushing a loud whine from the back of your throat.
"You're dripping all over my hand." Valeria retorts, moving her other hand from the back of your head to the nape of your neck.
As if to punish you for your insolence, she presses down and roughly pumps her fingers into you. Droplets of your slick hitting the floor. You feel like a monster for even slightly enjoying this and you do your best to stave off the impending orgasm quickly approaching. It's one thing to enjoy what's happening - it's another to get off on it. Valeria is relentless. Leaning over you and breathing in your ear. You whine and clench around her fingers. Toes curling in your shoes.
"Fuck." You mutter with defeat. You came on a murderer's fingers.
The woman slowly pulls her fingers out, gathering up your wetness. She holds it out in front of your face and spreads her fingers. Translucent strings connecting them, evidence of your debauchery.
"Open your mouth." She murmurs. "C'mon, sweet thing, open your mouth." She forces her fingers between your lips. The taste of blood, leather, and your own juices hit your tongue. You gag as she shoves them deeper into your mouth. When she finally pulls them away, she gives your cheek a quick tap and stands, leaving you on the floor in a puddle of your own release.
"Are you going to kill me?" You whisper.
"Maybe." She hums. "If you aren't useful."
Now that the high is wearing off your left with a cavernous pit in your stomach. Your mentor was murdered, and you happily let the killer finger you. "What? How can I be useful?"
She scoffs. "You're a medical examiner are you not?" She replies impatiently, she leans against the counter and lifts her mask again.
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a box of cigarettes and lights one.
"You're not supposed to smoke down here." You mutter.
"I don't care." She says, lighting one and putting it to her hips. "You're going to tamper with the bodies, or lie about how they died, or whatever it is you do."
You close your eyes. "That's... that's so unethical, I can't do that."
She grins at you. "Cumming around a murderer's hand - in a morgue no less - is pretty unethical."
She approaches and squats down, grabbing your chin and making you face her.
"If you don't want me to fucking gut you," She murmurs softly. "then you'll do what I say."
You don't want that. You're of the opinion that your insides belong inside of you. "Okay." You say weakly. You don't have much of a choice.
"Good girl." Valeria hums. she stands and walks towards the doorway, pausing to look at you over her shoulder. "I'll be seeing you again very soon."
