Dainsleif X Male Reader - Tumblr Posts
false god
—sub!dainsleif/dom!amab!reader, priest!reader | reader is called ‘father’, throatfucking, cockstepping, first half is plot and then the other is filth.
—and after posting about writing for dain since january, i actually finally finished one for him!
This isn’t the first time that such a thing had happened to the Bough Keeper.
Such a thing was, accidentally teleporting himself to a place he didn’t mean to, partly due to exhaustion and sleepless nights.
It was often like these that the immortality cast upon him mocked him more than anything.
Droplets of water started to fall onto his hair, then eventually onto his body. He stares into the dark sky, the coldness of the rain bringing more comfort than it does harm.
Dainsleif sighs, and instead of teleporting away to his right destination, he starts to walk and explore this newfound place.
There isn’t much to say about where he’s landed himself, and frankly, he’s thankful for that. Silence is a gift for him nowadays and even when he’s isolated, it’s rare that he isn’t plagued by awful memories that keep him from just closing his eyes for longer than a few minutes.
His slow steps are halted though, when he sees that he has brought himself in front of a very peculiar building. The rain continues to soak his body as the man stares at the white architecture and the statue that is displayed in front.
He chuckles. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. His luck had never been the one to land on his side, he didn’t know why he expected otherwise.
It’s quite big for a chapel, especially since he doesn’t recognize the figure in front. Still, it’s one of a god’s, nonetheless. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised considering the lengths that devotees had gone to.
His curiosity gets the best of him when he goes nearer the said building, wanting to examine the sculpture. However, before he could even get a closer look, the wooden entrance opens.
The Khaenri'ahn’s first instinct is to transport himself away but finds that to be useless as he meets the eyes of another. What he didn’t expect next, is genuine worry.
“My goodness! Are you alright?”
He almost gets confused as to why one would react in such horror. He doesn’t have any blood on him, does he?
Dainsleif looks down, not wanting to traumatize a random stranger…and discovers that there’s nothing wrong with him?
He lifts his head back up, only to find you nowhere near the doors of the chapel. He wonders where you are for a quick second until he feels something warm covering his body.
“I hope my robe will make do…Come on, get inside. You must be cold.” His reluctance is evident in his face but before he can even say anything, he’s pushed inside the chapel, much to his distaste.
Him stepping inside such a place was too much for him already that he forgot the fact that he’s wearing a robe, one that he assumed was no ordinary one.
Dainleif wants to take it off and so he tries to, at least.
“Keep it. I apologize I don’t have any spare clothes at the moment.”
He really does not want to wear a priest’s robe.
“Did you come here for the mass? I’m afraid it ended an hour ago…Ah, but you can still stay until the rain stops.” You offer generously.
“No. I just happened to be passing by.” He explains.
He watches as your mouth gapes, looking for the words to say after you’ve just brought him in here out of his will.
“That makes sense…I was wondering why I haven’t seen you before. Not that it matters, you can still stay. The Chapel of our God is glad to help any troubled souls.”
He takes offense at that.
“Troubled, you say? That’s quite a big assumption of a man you’ve just met.” His tone is as monotone as ever, yet that doesn’t hide the disdainful look that lingers in his bright eyes.
You muse.
“Ah yes, a non-troubled person that enjoys looking gloomy and letting the rain pour all over them.”
Dainsleif bites his tongue at that.
“I’ll show you around.”
While it does interest him that this chapel worships a god that isn’t of the seven, that doesn’t mean that he wants to learn more about a dead god who was defeated in the archon war just like the others. Although he presumes that the way you tell of their tales makes it somewhat bearable.
Even if it’s not what he expected.
It’s not as overwhelming as he had thought, but perhaps that was due to the lack of nuns he usually sees when it comes to churches.
“Is there something wrong?” You ask fondly, stopping your rambling about your said god just to listen to him.
“Does this place have many attendees?”
“Not quite…but it’s a lot if you consider they’re followers of a God who isn’t one of the seven.”
Frankly, Dainsleif doesn’t get it. It’s not as if all these masses you lead would ever lead to something else. It’s just wasted hard work, if he’s to be brutally honest.
He can tell that there’s a lot of admiration and work you have put into this, but for what reason? What reason is there to keep spreading the word of someone you haven’t even personally met?
Would your faith waiver if knowledge of your god performing deemed evil acts is brought upon you?
“Should we continue the tour?” You ask.
He politely shakes his head, thoughts still lingering in his head.
“We must adhere to these values that our God has specified in their writings…that our way of living as a mortal is something that should be celebrated and not frowned upon…”
The non-believer sits at the last row of the chapel, somewhat half-heartedly listening to your words as you read passages from a book in your hands.
He only watches, observing the entire view in front of him. How people reply in unison whenever you say a certain phrase, an exchange that he finds to be quite strange.
The mass isn’t that long, yet you still manage to lead that hour with grace, making sure that every part of it goes well without any fault.
How you stand to the side, leaning on the podium with a smile as everyone sings along with the choir.
Dainsleif’s eyes meet yours and he sees you mouth a greeting to him.
…He supposed that he can stay for a minute when everyone has gone.
He sees you grin as you start walking towards him, your robe neat and tidy as ever.
Surprisingly, he speaks first.
“I’m surprised you still have a recollection of me.”
“It’s only been a few months.” You reply, your voice soft and soothing, unlike the way you spoke as you preached earlier.
Most people would choose to forget. “You’re different in person than you are earlier.”
“Perhaps.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence in the chapel, the mosaic windows dim the bright sunlight from the outside but that only results in the colored glass reflecting stunningly on your face.
He takes the initiative and speaks again.
“Is it because I’m not a follower?”
Your breathing catches on his ear. “Maybe.”
He wonders if you know of his lineage and if that’s the reason why you had kept an eye out for him, suspicions rousing through your brain.
“Father.” The change of tone to formality shocks you a little that you were forced to question why he’s suddenly calling you that.
Your awkward chuckle echoes through the building. “What are you calling me that for?”
“Just seeing if your attitude would change. If you’re truly as honest as you present yourself to be.”
You click your tongue. “Is there a reason you came here?”
There it is. A snarky tone. He knew he was right to come back here.
Why was he sent here before? Was someone playing tricks on him? The Abyss? The gods? He knows there has to be a reason for him being teleported here that day.
“May I ask how someone becomes a member of your church, Father?”
He hears you sigh deeply. Why?
Aren’t more members what you want and need?
“If that’s how you want to do this then…I’ll amuse you. Follow me, troubled one.”
Dainsleif’s fists close at the nickname.
He’s brought to a room that you once showed him the previous time that he was here. You never explained what exactly this room was for as he left just before you got to.
There’s a small fountain, clear and blue flowing through it.
“This is a small tradition we have. It’s based on one of the writings that…you haven’t read, but that’s alright. It’s not that difficult to follow.” You start to explain.
“It’s a symbol of starting anew, to wash yourself of the regrets you have.”
“And if I do not have any?” He questions.
“You do. Everyone does, even Gods.”
“You think gods regret the things they’ve done.” His patience is thinning inch by inch. He almost laughs at the ridiculousness of that sentence.
“That I do. According to one of the passages that—”
“How exactly do I know whether what you’re saying is genuine or just out of a damn book?” He interrupts.
You stare at him with a disapproving look. “You’re deflecting.”
“Excuse me?”
“What is it that troubles you?”
Nothing. He’s fine. He’s done with everything, there’s no use in pondering over what could’ve and should’ve been.
“Don’t act as if you’re superior to me.” He says, visibly upset.
“So much for becoming a believer.”
That’s when the grin is swayed off your face in just a few seconds as Dainsleif pins you to the wall, your head slightly tilted up as he grips tightly on your collar.
“Who sent you?” His enchanting eyes cross yours, not even a shade of fear in them.
“What exactly have you gone through that you think everything is out to get you?”
He stills at that. You’re not trying to push him off.
Instead, you’re conversing with him like he’s a lost lamb who’s unsure of where to go. An amenable priest who listens and asks.
He lets go. Your robe is now crinkled, and the mark of his fist is clearly evident.
You sit on the bench near the fountain, patting the empty space right next to it. Dainsleif refuses the offer, choosing to continue standing while he searches for the next words he’d like to say.
You smile.
“You don’t have to apologize or continue this. It doesn’t mean anything anyways if you don’t take it to heart.”
It’s such a strange sentence to hear from someone like you. You’re not..forcing him nor are you trying to sell him your ways by threatening him of what he may face if he doesn’t.
The Khaenri'ahn sighs, the words of apology already at the tip of his tongue.
“I’d prefer it if we were to continue.”
“You would?”
“I can still change my mind.” He jests, seeing you beam from ear to ear.
Dainsleif slowly walks towards the fountain, sitting beside you and laying his head down on your shoulder. The gesture is surprising to the priest but it isn’t turned away.
“I hope you’re quite ready, Father. This might take a while.” He says with his eyes closed.
“Confess your regrets, my troubled one.”
Eventually, it becomes a habit of his to visit you whenever he’s plagued with thoughts that make him anxious and question his choices.
And each time, you’re there to give advice. To lend a shoulder, and sometimes a little more than that.
He will never worship a god, but he’ll sure as hell worship you.
Dainsleif always waits patiently in the last row, watching you and listening to how your voice sounded rather than the message you’re conveying.
It’s soothing, in a way.
He doesn’t say a thing and only waits as you walk down the aisle with a smile.
It’s a silent exchange.
You place your hand on his shoulder and Dainsleif rubs the side of his chin on your hand, his eyes shut.
“Dainsleif.”
“Yes, Father?” He teases, a smirk forming on his face before opening his eyes.
Your fingers lift his head slightly before bending down to reach his soft lips. He doesn’t pull away, he presses them further as if it’s his salvation.
It’s somewhat sick that he’s found comfort in someone like you. He contemplates whether he’s walking the path of failure that the gods have planned, if this whole thing will eventually turn over just to punish him even more.
In the end, it’ll all be his fault. He’s the one who revealed secrets that you’ve never asked for.
“You’re making that face again, Dain.” You speak.
“What face?”
“The kind you make when you’re overthinking things. The one I want to get rid of.”
Dainsleif reaches for your hand, asking even if he knows the answer. “Pray tell, how exactly?”
“It makes me wonder if it’s a turn on of yours to get fucked in a place of worship.”
“Like how it’s a turn on for you when I’m on my knees and calling you Father?”
You laugh, caressing his hair as you look down on him.
“You don’t even worship the God of this place.” He looks so sweet like that, his head between your legs. Such beauty ready to kneel for you and do whatever if you ask him kindly.
“What’s the need when I already worship you?” Dainsleif says and takes you in.
Dainsleif never imagined he’d gladly be spending his time inside of a chapel, right in front of empty seats where anyone can walk in through those wooden doors, acting as if the altar is your hips.
And yet he’s letting you use his mouth eagerly, so used to how you taste that sometimes he himself craves for it when you two are separated.
“That’s right, love. Just think of me.”
He groans as you push further into his throat, his eyes wandering to you despite his breathing getting obstructed.
He loves the things you do. Whether it be hearing you talk so dearly to him, tugging his hair with the right amount of pull, or the way you fill his mouth nicely like this.
It’s yours.
The sound that escapes his throat when your foot presses directly on his crotch is loud and lewd, echoing through the empty chapel.
His cheeks lightly flush, grumbling something incoherent.
“Speak clearly, my lamb.”
He rolls his eyes at the mischievousness of your voice. You know he can’t, and yet you’re still asking him to do so.
He follows still, of course.
“M-Mo—ah!”
Dainsleif chokes as he tries to speak.
“Too much for you?”
He shakes his head and tries again.
“Mow—Moah-”
It’s not working. He’s stuffed full to even say it.
“Come on,” Your foot steps on his cock again. “There’s another way to plead. I’m sure a smart devotee of mine can figure that out.”
His chest heaves, trying to calm his breathing from the pressure and whining as it stops.
That’s when Dainsleif moves of his own accord, taking you even deeper than you already were. You can feel the vibrations from when he slowly pants, breathing through his nose more so he won’t pass out.
He bats his eyelashes at you, with a face full of sin.
Tears are starting to form in his eyes.
Please.
Dainsleif gags on your cock again, moaning impurely when your foot begins to knead more aggressively on his pants.
Your shoe adds even more stimulation and his cock aches wanting, no, begging for a release.
“Such a sinful body, no wonder the gods haven’t been blessing you.”
Fuck.
He continues to whimper, sucking your cock needily and knowing you’ll stop if he doesn’t do well.
“You get on your knees to be a slut, I wonder if they’ve bruised already.”
They do. They always do when you fuck his throat like this.
His mind is hazy and he’s close, he’s so—
“Hmgh!—”
“Not yet. Be patient.”
His body wants to buck down when you remove the pressure just seconds before he cums, but your hold on his head keeps him from doing that and he’s left to whine painfully.
The tears in his eyes finally fall and he stares up at you to be merciful, to let him have this one since it’s been a month of waiting to finally have you get him off like this.
“You want it?”
He nods and whines, begging for you to hear him out.
“Alright.”
When he gets permission, he sobs out on your cock, cumming inside in his own pants and soiling the floor. You feel how warm his breath is, his body is tired and trembling, but he keeps trying to make you finish as if it’s the only thing he’s made for. Even if he’s barely doing it well, too drunk with his tongue tired already.
The sight of that is enough to get you off.
Dainsleif tries to swallow but he doesn’t do it fully, cum dripping down his chin and coughing on the amount he can’t.
He finds it a waste that he isn’t able to. He stares, wondering if he should clean it up.
“Dain, it’s fine. You did amazing.”
His heart softens.
“Let me help you out, love.”
His head rests on your lap, your fingers playing with his hair. A tradition that you two somehow have ended up doing each time you finish.
He thinks it’s sweet and funny that you act so soft despite the things you say when having sex.
“Tell me.” You say.
“Tell you what?”
“What’s bothering you?” You question.
Dainsleif only snickers at that.
It’s you, Father.