yarah

The uneven grounds made his steps less steady as Severus clomped down a low-decline hill around the greenhouses. At the base of the greenhouse was a garden that had recently been constructed. Beyond the pine wood fence, growing in the ground or raised beds, were many herbs and crops. Not the magical kind, but rather, ordinary vegetables: potatoes, garlic, peas, eggplant, cucumber, carrots, onions, and more. 

The garden was new, something that had been proposed and approved swiftly when you, the Herbology assistant, first started here a few years ago. The quickness with which he had become fond of you unsettled him, and as a result, he had locked away such feelings for both his and your sakes. But over time, they bled through cracks, making themselves known in small ways: the manner in which he speaks to you, his tone softening compared to when he speaks to others, when he puts a steadying hand on your back when both of you climb the steps of the Quidditch pitch, and how he slowed his pace for you in the halls rather than expecting you to catch up with his long-legged stride.

Severus spotted you by the carrots, your hair tied up and out of the way, wearing a dark turtleneck with your sleeves rolled to your elbows, a long skirt, and boots. A basket hung on your elbow, ready for collection. 

Upon hearing the creak of the fence’s gate, you snapped your head up and smiled when you saw the clad-in-black professor you’d grown fond of.

“Good morning, Severus,” you greeted mildly, brushing dirt off the carrots you had just yanked from the ground.

“Good morning,” he replied loud enough for you to hear across the garden. His shoes crunched against the gravel that paved the space between each section as he weaved his way toward you.

You rose from your kneeling position, smoothing out your skirt. “I don't usually see you out here. Did you need something from me, or are you here to harvest for yourself?”

Severus parted his lips as if to speak, paused, closed them, cleared his throat, and then spoke. “I’m only here for herbs,” he lied. “Lemongrass.”

“Oh, lemongrass? For a potion or a meal?”

“Potion. To relieve sore throats. This is about that time of year when the wind brings in and encourages all sorts of illnesses.”

“Sure,” you chuckled and tipped your chin toward the far end of the garden. “I think the lemongrass is over there in the corner by the lavender.” He didn’t move, glancing at the corner you had gestured to before looking back at you.

“What are you here to gather?”

“Quite a few things, actually. Garlic, tomatoes, potatoes, onion, peas, carrots, celery, rosemary, and pumpkin. I feel like making myself beef stew tonight.”

Severus lifted a doubtful brow. “You put pumpkin in your stew?”

You felt yourself blush. “Oh, n-no, the pumpkin is for dessert. I’ll be baking pumpkin bread.”

“I see,” he said, lingering only for a few moments more before walking away. 

You thought that was the end of it, that he’d go and pick his lemongrass and then be on his way. You meandered over to the tomatoes, turning them over in your hand, inspecting them for any blemishes or insects that managed to eat their way through. When you heard the gravel crunching close again, you looked up and saw him approaching you once more, this time with two onions in his hands. 

“Thank you, Severus,” you murmured kindly as he deposited the onions into your basket. 

Again, he turned away without saying anything, but this time you watched him. Instead of going toward the lemongrass, he made his way over to the garlic.

“Severus,” you laughed. “You don’t have to; I got it.”

With his back turned, ignoring you, he walked along the bed of garlic, looking for stalks with drier, wilting leaves,  and pulled two heads of garlic out from the dirt, shaking them out a little. 

“Are these big enough?” Severus asked, holding the garlic up in the air.

“I… Yes.”

And thus, you gave up on trying to dissuade him from picking your vegetables. While he went and cut some celery for you and picked some rosemary, you got your hands dirty, rooting around for some potatoes, and picking pea pods off the string lines that the stems had wrapped around. You could already feel yourself salivating at how good this stew would be just from the sight of the fresh veggies in your basket.

Somehow, the basket ended up in Severus’s hands instead of yours by the time the pumpkin was the last thing on your list. It took you perhaps only a minute or two to select your pumpkin and present it to Severus triumphantly. 

“You think it's too early for a jack-o-lantern?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “The outside will rot too quickly. You’re better off letting Buckbeak feast on it.”

“Oh, good thinking.”

The gate shut behind you with a click, and the two of you trekked back up the hill. 

“Thank you for helping,” you said, hesitating before continuing. “I suppose if you wanted to taste the fruits of your labor, you could swing by later and try some stew. Or, if you’d rather, I can have a house elf deliver some pumpkin bread.”

His free hand twitched at his side. Not wanting to sound too eager, he murmured. “I am…open to it. Though it will depend on what the Great Hall is serving for dinner.”

‘Ah, that’s fair,’ you thought. The elves could very well be serving something similar if not the same thing. 

“Wait!” you exclaimed when you two reached the top of the hill, and you whipped back around to look out at the garden. “You didn’t get your lemongrass!”

“It’s fine,” he dismissed quickly, lightly putting a hand on your back and urging you toward the castle. “We’re already up the hill. I can get it at a later point in the week.”

“Oh, alright,” you shrugged. “If you say so.”

***

Meat juices sizzled and popped in the cast iron pan, the sides of the beef chunks searing so as to bring out the flavor when it would further tenderize in the broth. You had everything set up perfectly for preparation by the time you would start. You first wanted to get the meat cut up and cooked so that it could be added to the broth already prepared. While the meat cooked, you had mixed all the ingredients needed for the pumpkin bread and had it waiting in a bowl to be poured into a bread pan, a perfect brownish orange nearly resembling peanut butter. 

A quick set of knocks disrupted your train of thought. You turned the burning flame off on the stove, wiping your hands on the front of your apron. ‘That couldn’t have been Severus,’ you thought, moving toward the door. ‘It’s too soon.’

The lock popped with a sharp clank, and you pulled the door back to reveal Professor Snape on the other side, his expression mild and stony as usual. 

“Severus!” You said, surprised. “Evening. You’re…very early. I’ve only just begun with the stew preparations.”

His eyes flicked past you, registering the smell of recently cooked meat. “I expected as much,” he drawled. “The stew, it takes between an hour or so to cook, yes?”

Your fingers played with the front of your apron. “That’s correct, yes.” 

“I’ve come to help,” Severus supplied, and then added quietly, “If you’ll allow it.”

The cloth dropped from your fingers. “I—Sure!! Yes, of course.” You stepped aside, allowing him entry. “Come on in.”

He stepped inside, moving toward the kitchenette and taking in the setup. All the vegetables had been put in their own bowls on a separate dining table, along with knives and a cutting board. 

“I’m glad you came. Sorry, I don’t have very much counter space.” You shut the door and joined him across the space. 

“You’ve already seared the meat,” he remarked and murmured. “Efficient as always.”

Your ears heated. “Er—yes.” You grabbed a spatula and began to pour and scrape the bread batter into the pan. He watched on quietly, hands clasped lightly behind his back, a myriad of increasingly domestic images flooding the forefront of his mind that made his ears burn. You in an apron making food for him is something he would never be able to excise out of his mind. 

With the pumpkin bread in the oven now, Severus looked away just as you turned and uttered. “What is it you would like me to do?”

“If you could start on the potatoes and cut them into knut-sized chunks, that would be terrific, and then cut the celery and peel the garlic cloves. I think I can manage everything else.”

Both of you fell into a mechanical rhythm of slicing and dicing, the stew coming together slowly but surely. It was odd telling him what to do. Cooking was so similar to brewing, and here he was, the notoriously prideful Potion Master at your command, refusing to put anything he prepared in the pot of broth unless you had explicitly told him to. The flavors built and compounded as each ingredient was added to the pot, the air a decadent mixture of savoriness and warmth. You had timed it perfectly for the bread and stew to finish at around the same time.

Until then, the two of you filled the time needed for the stew to cook with tea, reading, and complaining about students. He had a nasty accident in his classroom the previous day, one that was entirely unavoidable, that left two students who’d been partners for that day with bad acid-based burns on their arms and hands; not only that, but the station’s surface was permanently marred as the acid had chewed into the wood. 

Something similarly frustrating happened in Herbology as well. Somehow, a student managed to escape both your and Professor Sprout’s eyes and fed a piece of dark chocolate to one of the carnivorous plants. It died later that afternoon in the middle of another class. While you were able to deduce that it was a student’s doing, neither of you could determine who it was exactly. 

Much to your relief, the stew had turned out fantastic. The beef was so tender you almost didn’t even need to chew it. It warmed your stomach, making you feel as though you were swaddled in the world’s softest, warmest blanket. While Severus had labelled the stew as “sufficient,” the way his eyes had fluttered after the first bite and the hesitant breath he took before giving his opinion told you otherwise. Plus, he had finished faster than you had.

By the time you had finished and taken both your bowls to the sink to wash, the pumpkin bread had cooled enough to be served. “Severus,” you called, grabbing a knife and cutting a slice for yourself, the inside perfectly moist and spongy. “The pumpkin bread’s ready. Do you want a slice?”

No answer.

You look over your shoulder and—

Oh.

Your heart melted in your chest at the sight you were met with. 

Severus had fallen asleep.

He sat upright in his chair, the book he was reading only kept open by the hand laid against it, and his head supported by the other hand of the bent arm that rested against the chair. His breaths came slow and steady, no doubt knocked out by the hearty meal that similarly filled your stomach. He looked so…soft like this. The usual harsh dibbit between his brows when he frowned at something at meals was nowhere to be found, only a sense of peace written on his face.

You stood there staring at him for a few minutes, searing the image into your head while your heart twisted itself in knots. You wished to do this more often with him. It didn’t have to be cooking, although you must admit tonight was lovely. You just…wanted to be around him. To have him in your orbit. To bring him this peace that he seems to obtain so rarely on his own. His presence never failed to bring you a sense of calmness, his brilliance and unyielding demeanor always assuring you even during the most stressful times. 

Your feet slowly carried you over to him, as if in a trance, and stopped at his side. Gently, you placed a hand on his head, smoothing his hair slightly, noting how much softer it was than it looked. When he didn’t stir or show any signs of waking, you pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of his head before promptly removing yourself from his proximity. 

‘Anything more than that, especially while he slept, wouldn’t be proper,’ you told yourself, returning to the kitchenette to put away the dishes that had been cleaned and continue with the pumpkin bread. 

But you had missed it. 

Had you not left his side so suddenly, you’d have seen it—the way his eyes fluttered open heavily a second after you pulled away. You’d have seen the way he fuzzily recognized what you had just done, and what it meant. He didn’t move, speak, or give any indication that he was now awake with your body turned away. He only watched you clean up, warmth radiating from where you had kissed him all the way down to the rest of his body, that ice-cold sadness that someone like you could never show even an inkling of interest in him melting away.

Your fingers moved deftly with parchment paper meant for food, cutting half the loaf and wrapping it for Severus so that he could take some with him to eat over the weekend. You tugged the twine into a bow, securing the wrapping in place and ready to be taken. When your hand reached for the kitchen scissors to cut the excess length of the twine, you ended up knocking the pair off the counter entirely, clattering loudly on the ground.

“Apologies for falling asleep,” you heard Severus drawl as you picked the scissors up. Your shoulders tensed at the fact that he was awake now.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled nervously. “Nothing to worry about.” In your state of agitation, you didn’t hear his approach—didn’t sense his presence growing closer. You quickly snipped the extra length of the twine, removing the loose pieces, and picked up his half loaf.

“I cut half the loaf for you. Figured you could have multiple slices for yourse—”

Any comprehensible thought in your mind was stolen from you as you turned and felt something warm press against your head. Severus was right in front of you now, the distance practically closed, and the half-loaf in your hand wedged between your chest and his. One of his hands gently cradled your jaw while the other rested delicately on your hip. His dark hair more or less blocked your vision, but it didn’t take a genius to know what he was doing.

His surprisingly warm lips had placed a kiss on your hairline, one that lingered longer than yours. He was slow to pull away. While he wanted the moment to last longer, he was also afraid that when he pulled back, your expression would be one of disgust on the off-chance that he had misread the situation entirely.

When he did pull back, his eyes darted over your expression uncertainly. You hadn’t recoiled or moved away from him in any way, but you did look taken aback, almost startled, your lips parting in a slight ‘oh,’ and your face colored with heat.

The hand on your face slowly retracted, gingerly plucking the loaf from between you, setting it on the counter, his eyes never leaving you as you did so. As soon as the final barrier had been removed, you practically fell into him.

Your arms wrapped around him, lips pressing eagerly to his. An exhale of relief left his nose as he held you firmly, guiding you back a step until your back met the edge of the counter. His kisses stole your breath away, lips chasing after yours like he was starved, and leaving a burning path along your skin as he stamped them along your jaw and down your neck.

“H-how long?” you shuddered as his mouth moved back up your neck with little nips. 

“A while now,” Severus murmured between kisses, his thumb rubbing circles along the side of your face. “But I did not want to risk putting you in an uncomfortable position.”

“So did I,” you murmured happily, almost in a slur as he drew you tight to him and pressed a long, passionate kiss to your mouth. 

When you pulled yourself away again, the both of you were breathing a little harder, resting your foreheads against one another. He moved your head so that it tucked into the crux of his neck and angled his mouth down to your ear. 

“You’ll have to unwrap that half-loaf,” he rasped. “I intend to stay for a little while longer.” 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

but what was awaiting for you at the end of this path made it all more than worth it.

every sunday was spent in church, lowered on a pew with your hands clasped together. with quiet murmurs filling the room, each one asking for repentance or forgiveness. some simply an act of devotion, an act of saying ‘thank you.’

each whisper that left your lips in the form of a prayer felt like a shout into the abyss, a desperate attempt at a connection with a being you weren't sure was even listening. it was like speaking to a brick wall, hoping and waiting for some answer to come.

you’d devoted your life to following the right path—to where your acquaintances were sneaking off wine and cheap beer from a pub not far off the village, you were at home praying for their soul. to where they were out.. fornicating with god knows who, your forms of gratification were with each good deed you’d done.

even then, you don’t feel the type of connection that other members at your church claim to. you don’t feel like anyone’s listening to your pleas, to your thanks, to anything that left your lips. but the alternative was much worse. what would you dedicate yourself to if not to the church?

you’d be shunned by members of your village, you’d witnessed it first hand. how questions were quickly shut down, how children were indoctrinated since the moment they had a cognitive thought to simply just, believe. doors would get shut instantaneously if they didn’t, whispers and rumors of eternal damnation hoarding those people out of the village.

eventually though, you do manage to find what you were looking for. at least, you think you do. the church itself looked like it was better fitted to be in stoker’s dracula than some dingy small town with a convenience store thirty minutes away to serve for entertainment value.

a large gated entrance welcomed you to the chapel, metal hinges creaking with the slightest gust of wind. the outside walls of the estate were painted a deep shade of black, walls stretching up higher than you’ve seen some castles back in the village. the pillars are older than you are, ivy vines wrapped around broken granite edges.

your footsteps echo against the marble floors, giving you away before you even step foot into the main hall. each one was slow, tentative. you peek your head in through the doorway, only seeing a shadow of a man. he’s perched up on a window, moonlight shining in through and dancing on his body. even when concealed, you feel entranced.

an invisible string pulling you closer, putting you under his spell. the temptation they’d spoken of in sacred writing sounded nothing like this, didn’t describe the sheer urge of devotion you suddenly felt coursing through your veins. it wasn’t horrible, in fact, it almost felt natural to want to indulge.

“present yourself.” his voice is nothing short of authoritative. carefully, you take a few steps forward into the room. the first thing you come to notice about the man is golden hair swaying in the wind, framing sharp features. even sharp, they don’t seem unkind. not at first glance.

shades of ruby stare you down, making you feel exposed. “what brings you here?” he questions, twirling a rose in between his fingers. he doesn’t seem to mind the sharp sting of the stem’s thorns as they dig into his skin, only paying attention to you.

clearing your throat, you decide to speak up, “i’ve been told that you know the path to heaven. i’m here in hopes of finding it.” you hate that you almost sound desperate.

the man drops from his spot, circling around you the way a lion does his prey before zeroing in. you feel him against your back, his breath ghosting above your ear when he leans in. “a path to heaven,” he muses, “what makes you think you’re deserving of that?”

you swallow dryly, feeling your insides turning into lead. “i’ve devoted myself to living a righteous life. to a life without sin.” your defense feels weak to your own ears, the laugh erupting from the man only confirming that notion.

“really now?” while he’s mocking, it doesn’t feel like it, it feels scrutinizing like being on the stand for judgement day, “because i know deep down you don’t believe in what you preach.”

“i’m willing to do anything, please.” that has the man behind you cocking a brow, his finger hooking underneath your chin as he leans in impossibly closer. “anything?”

you nod in response, throat bobbing against your will. you’re nervous, not from him, he’s still as addictive as when you stepped foot in the room. no, you’re nervous of.. disappointing him. of being unworthy to know the way to heaven. “anything.”

the temperature in the air drops ten degrees in a span of seconds, time seeming to go still for a moment. your fingers twitch, feeling dio shift closer and closer. “would you give your life to know?”

a simple question. many would shake their heads, sometimes even laugh at the ridiculous notion. but, “yes i would.” he supposed that you weren’t part of the many that happened to stumble into his space.

dio let out a quiet hum behind you, “even if you’re not sure what that implies.” not a question, a statement. like he’d already assessed you in the five minutes you’ve been standing here.

but wasn’t that all religion was? putting your trust in something without being sure what it implied? it was a practice you’d been forcing yourself to go through day by day, what was another promise? “even then.”

sharp knives disguised as fangs graze against your skin, against your jugular, just to feel your heart thumping against your chest. to hear the rush of blood pumping through your veins, blood that’s intoxicating the man with so much as a sniff. nothing about dio brando is rushed, it’s precision.

it’s calculated precision.

“a-ah!” and yet he can’t help himself, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck. warm blood rushes out of the incisions onto his eager tongue, the taste of you much more divine than he’d grown used to.

most people that stumbled upon his temple had the sense to run away, those who didn’t either too drunk or too hopeful to see otherwise. you fell in the latter. your blood tasted better than any piss poor drunk he’d ever had the displeasure of having a conversation with. much sweeter, much easier to get lost in.

your body grows limp underneath his grasp, a chill rolling down your spine at the sudden blood loss. dio only pulls away when he’s deemed he had enough. usually, he leaves bodies out in the main hallway as scraps for anyone lurking. scraps for any animal that just happens to stumble in.

but, his teeth dig into the cold skin of his palm. “drink.” it’s less of a suggestion, more of a command. you’re on the verge of death, your heartbeat slowing and your vision blurring at the edges.

sheer determination has your chapped lips enclosing around the wound, lapping at the blood dripping onto your tongue. the transformation process is gradual—sharp fangs coming in where your canines had once been, blood running cold to a heart that wouldn’t beat.

while you’d been on the brink of death merely moments ago, an overwhelming hunger thumps deep within your veins. you feel everything all at once, a hushed whisper from a mile away, hear blood rushing through a villager stumbling on their way home. you find yourself salivating over the taste of their blood, find yourself imagining sinking your teeth and sucking them dry.

you’re not sure what to make of yourself now, of this extraordinary power you feel thrumming through your body. every nerve’s acting of pure instinct, of pure desire, giving in to every whim without so much as an inch of restraint. “what am i?” you finally dare to ask the question, looking up at dio.

“you’re not in heaven, that’s for sure,” he clicks his tongue, watching you with mild amusement and boredom, “a blood-sucking vampire. that’s what you are.”

the knowledge doesn’t do anything to soothe you, doesn’t do anything to soothe the hunger threatening to overtake you. the man in front of you moves like light, here one second and back with a half-dying corpse the next. “i suppose you can share my meal.” he sounds like you’ve inconvenienced him.

but you don’t have it in you to apologize. no, you’re already leaning down and sinking your fangs onto one side of the dying man’s neck. you drink like you’re satisfying your quench in the sahara, drinking like you’ve never eaten anything in your life. well, in your undead life. dio moves right beside you, unwilling to miss out as he sinks his teeth into the other side.

he’s greedier, sucking and slurping like his life depended on it. you feel revitalized after a couple drops, like you could lift the world on your shoulders. it’s nothing short of ecstasy. the man laying on the concrete floor twitches before his heart stops beating, drained out of blood completely.

dio pulls you in for a languid kiss, his hands snaking down to your waist. yours move up, tangling themselves in silken blond locks. he pulls your lip in between his teeth, the sting foregone as he spits on your tongue. a glob of blood lands, the taste of iron and, him filling your senses completely.

crimson trickles down his chin as his lips move down, sucking and kissing his way down your neck. your head lolls back, exposing more of yourself to him. his hands move down, lifting the hem of your shirt over your head. you hadn’t known you’d be getting undressed tonight, dressed in the simplest of your lingerie.

a plain white bra (getting marred with each drop of red that dripped from your mouth) and a pair of your well-loved granny panties. still, he doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t really seem to care as he pulls away the constricting layer. his lips latch onto your hardened nub, swirling his tongue around.

spit dribbles from the corners of his mouth, his other hand reaching up to pinch and twist your other nipple. your thighs squeeze together instinctively, never having been touched like this. “there you go, arch your back. just like that,” he groans from his spot. your fingers entangle around his hair, pulling him closer to your chest.

you’re wet before dio even has the chance to pull your stockings down, dripping onto the thick cotton of your undergarments. his claws turn the material into nothing but flimsy scraps, tattered as they hit the cold floor. a gust of wind hits your sensitive cunt, leaving you clenching against absolutely nothing.

dio kneels down between your legs, spreading them wiiiideee open before mounting them onto his broad shoulders. his breath ghosts above your exposed pussy before leaning in, his tongue flattened as he licks a stripe up your slick folds. if he thought your blood tasted sweet, he was mistaken.

the slick dripping onto his tongue is the true sweetness, leaving him wanting more. his tongue slides through your wet folds, the tip of his nose hitting your clit. his tongue lavashes in between your legs, alternating between prodding inside of your hole to flicking around your clit.

“s-so good, don’t stop,” you whine from your spot underneath, your hands gripping onto his hair. your grip is tight, keeping him buried in between. dio looks up at you, ruby eyes boring into your face but continues regardless. even now, even when his main focus is your pleasure, he’s the one in control. his tight grip doesn’t let you forget it.

dio’s lips enclose around your clit, applying just the slightest bit of pleasure as he sucks on your swollen nub. two fingers thrust inside of you without any warning, thick and filling you to the hilt. your walls clenched tightly around the digits, feeling them slowly push in and out of you.

his long fingers curled near your entrance, hitting that spongy spot inside of you with ease. his tongue swirled around your clit, tracing his name onto the nub like he wanted to brand himself in every way possible. "o-oh please!" you weren't even sure what you were begging for—if it was too much or not nearly enough.

your toes curled, feeling a pressure build up in your lower tummy. it felt like nothing you'd experienced before, like a dam on the verge of breaking. "cum for me," dio let out a muffled command, mouth still latched onto your clit. your nails dug onto his scalp, back arching while the rubber band stretched and stretched. stretching thin until it finally snapped.

you don't get a chance to tell him to stop, to say that you're feeling strange, before your release finally washes over you like a wave. your essence drips down his chin and mouth when he pulls away, his tongue lapping up every drop of your juices. your breathing's heavy, chest heaving as you slowly register that you had an orgasm.

you start to think that now you understand what the people in your village were talking about—of the pleasure that they indulged in so often.

dio undid his pants much slower than he’d ripped your panties off, letting the fabric slip onto the floor. he was pretty in every way that mattered, ethereal underneath the pale moonlight. his cock hit his stomach once he finished slipping off, flushed pink tip leaking drops of milky precum.

he moved back in between your legs, swollen cockhead rubbing against your puffy folds. he let it catch in your swollen clit, rubbing against it. dio didn’t thrust in just yet, shaft sliding in between your puffy folds like a credit card. you dripped onto him, coating him in a wave of fresh new arousal.

“please..” you whisper, nails raking down his arm. you’re aware of what you’re asking—asking him to take your virginity. what you’d been so adamant against before is now something you’re drooling for. he raised a brow, barely pushing the tip in. even then, you feel yourself stretching out to accommodate his size.

“are you aware of what you’re asking of me?” he dares to question, unmoving as he looked down at you. a meek nod is all he receives in response, “please. i need you, please take me.”

sharp claws dig into the muscular planes of his back, raking down with each inch he pushes deeper inside. you feel like you’re being split apart, stretched out beyond believe. “breathe.” you do, you try to follow his command. to focus on anything other than the massive dick trying to push inside.

and it works, for a few seconds, but it works.

"o-oh my god!" a loud moan left your throat, claws digging further into his back to the point you heard skin break while he bottomed out, stretching your walls until the tip was kissing your cervix. he bottoms out completely, giving you time to adjust to the feeling. at least, he’s not completely ruthless.

dio simply let out a scoff, "haven't you been taught by now not to use the lord's name in vain?" his fingers prod at where the tip is bulging through your belly, pressing down justtt right to have your cunt gushing around his cock.

"besides, god isn't here right now. just me." he pulls out just long enough for you to feel the loss before thrusting in one swift motion once more, knocking the breath from your lungs and leaving you scrambling to grab onto something.

his finger twists around the golden crucifix shining on your neck, the little pendant swinging with each brutal push of his hips. he hooks a claw around it, tightening it around your neck before pulling it. and pulling it.

beads snap from the force of his finger, scattering and dropping onto the floor next to you. the cross lands right next to your face, almost mocking you as you clench even more around dio. his hips snap back and forth, pounding into you as if you’re nothing but a ragdoll. “f-fuck fuck fuck!” your moans echo through the chapel walls, cunt squelching in response to his dick.

one of his hands moves down to your clit, rubbing on the sensitive bundle of nerves with quick precision. quick little circles that push you to the edge, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot. your legs quiver and shake with the intensity of each one, your brain full of nothing but dio dio dio.

and while nothing about him is sloppy, you feel his pace start to quicken. start to become all that much desperate, rutting against you. “g-gonna cum,” you manage to babble out, your orgasm hits you quicker this time around. your back arched, clear spurts of your essence coating his shaft.

dio doesn’t take long after you reach your release, a guttural groan leaving his lips and a final push of hips has him spurting ropes of cum deep inside. milky white drops drip down your thighs, his thick fingers fucking his cum back into you. he pulls out in one swift motion, handing you a rag to clean up with.