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scudslut · 1 year ago

Text

Sins and Honey Flavored Sweetness

daryl x fem!reader

wordcount: 4.7k

warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut under the cut, perv!daryl (not really, he just has a lil crush), male masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral f!receiving, mutual pining

a/n: i have never written something so descriptive ohmygod. do be warned lol, hugs and kisses byeee <33

Daryl knew there were unspoken boundaries when it came to you.

A thin line of loose salt, that whispered to him. Beckoned him huskily to dust his fingers through and have a taste, but daunting enough for him to keep his soles rooted in the dirt, salivating from a distance.

It wasn’t because you were already spoken for in any way; if anything, you kept your romantic interests simmering farther on the back burner than he did, which spoke volumes in itself. Or because you were younger than him, a couple of years wasn’t anything to turn a nose up over, especially nowadays.

It was, however, the place you held amongst your people. You were like bright, shiny gold within the group, dared not to be corrupted or led astray. The heart that kept everyone’s beating, even in the darkest of times, soothing hope into the atmosphere with your infectious smile.

Oh, and you were Rick's younger sister... which he hated to admit, only tempted him more. And he wasn’t quite sure as to why.

He’d mulled it over too many times to count, noting everything about you that allured him so intensely.

He liked the contrast between you two; like sun rays peeking through the clouds after a mid-summer storm. You were soft, fresh as clean linen and he was dark, brooding. He often fantasized about taking that sweet innocent nature of yours and painting it with his essence. He knew it was wrong and constantly shamed himself for having such perverted thoughts about his best friend's sister. But, god, how could he not?

Not when you pranced around him daily, teasing him with your velvety, feminine voice and kind touches. Touches that sent brisk shivers down his spine, sure to leave him breathless and bothered — another thing he secretly liked. You were addictive in that sense, he’d distance himself the minute he felt the familiar rush coursing through his veins and then crave it immediately once it was gone. A drug he couldn’t help but relapse from.

And it didn’t help that you were always so keen to assist him, doting on his every injury or problem with such gentle attentiveness and sincerity. That might be what he liked the most. It was fascinating how pure you remained in a world so plagued, always ready to nurture. It soothed a deep, restless, and scarred part of him, finding solace in it.

He'd come to learn you were like that with everyone though. So, he found himself grappling with things to deter your attention his way, playing dumb and clumsy just to have your sweet scent fill the nearby air. He felt like a horny teenager with a hopeless crush. It was absolutely ridiculous and yet, here he was once again, feet dangling off your kitchen counter as you searched the cabinets for some aspirin to aid in his 'headache'.

It wasn't a complete lie per se - his sensitivity to light gave him troubles quite often but, whether it was enough to complain about or not, could be debated.

Nonetheless, he sat for you patiently, listening to your quiet humming as you searched about. He loved when you did that, singing your soft melodies under your breath mindlessly. It was such a girly thing to do, but it was comforting in a way, an airy blanket warming the silence.

"Ah, here it is!" drew him out of his thoughts, and he cast a glance at your bright smile of accomplishment. You popped the cap open swiftly, shaking out 2 little white pills, and handed them over with a glass of water.

“Let me know if you need any more. They should kick in soon, but I know how tough migraines can be,” you soothed, your sympathy never faltering. He bowed his head quickly, not wanting you to see the flash of guilt that surely crossed it. "Thanks," he mumbled as he tossed his head back, swallowing them both with a shivered grimace.

Wiping the water droplets from his chapped lips, his eyes found yours again and noticed a small smirk hidden in your features. “What?”

You let out a chuckle, reaching for the glass he held to wash, “Oh nothin’... just don’t think I’ve seen you cringe like that before, is all.”

His brows furrowed at your statement, “So?” he questioned further.

“Walkers, blood, rotting flesh… never. But an itty bitty pill?” Your laugh grew louder, finding the situation even more amusing as you explained it to him. “Whatever,” he scoffed, hopping off the counter with a smirk. He knew you would be expecting him to leave after that, you had helped him with his ‘issue of the day’ and there was no reason to linger any further. But he did.

Daryl scanned your frame as you washed the few dishes that were in the sink, chewing on his thumb habitually. You wore a white, long-sleeve shirt with a faded band logo printed on the front and some beaten-up blue jeans that seemed to cup your ass perfectly.

His mind wandered before he could stop it, imagining how soft and warm your skin must be underneath all those clothes. How soft and warm your hands would be wrapped around him, or better yet, your pretty lips taking him deep with a moan. He felt his own jeans tighten slightly and quickly diverted his gaze to the floor, clearing his throat as if it would erase those thoughts from his brain.

“Something else you need, Daryl?” You glanced over your shoulder, wrists deep in soapy water.

“Nah, uh, thanks. I’ll see ya later,” he said and beelined for the door praying to god you didn’t see his flushed face and half-hard cock poking through his pants. He was so fucked. Couldn’t even look at you anymore without sprouting boners and picturing you on them, milking him greedily.

He rushed down the porch and across the lawn, bursting into his shared house with Carol just next door. He didn’t even glance toward the kitchen to see if his friend was home, desperate for a cold shower to level him out. The house was dead quiet anyway, leading him to assume Carol was out for the day.

"Such a fuckin idiot," he cursed himself under his breath as he made his way down the stairs to his room. You probably knew honestly. Could tell how pathetically bothered you got him, and just put on a friendly face to keep from embarrassing him.

He left the bathroom door open in his distress and hastily shed his clothing, stepping into the tepid water. Immediate relief flooded his senses, feeling the cool stream wash away the sweat and grime the day had caked on. Pouring some homemade soap he was given into his hand, he scrubbed at his skin, determined to rid himself of your previous interaction along with the dirty thoughts that plagued his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking about you that way, it just wasn’t in the cards.

For starters, you would have to want him too, (which he knew would never happen), and even if you did, how the ever living fuck would he explain that to Rick?

‘Oh hey Rick, I have a massive hard-on for yer sister, you okay with that?’ Fuck no. Just thinking about that conversation had him cringing in awkwardness and he shut the idea down instantly.

But there you were still, invading his thoughts with your dreamy laugh and perky attitude. Why did you have to be such a goddamn tease?

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the wall trying to regain some composure. He gulped down deep breaths of moist air, willing his body to calm itself down, but it was fruitless. The image of your body, pushed up against the wall under his hands, wet and flushed, bubbled to the surface. He groaned. Daryl knew what he had to do. It wasn’t the first time he had gotten off thinking about you, and he damn well knew it wasn’t gonna be the last, but it still felt wrong each time, pumping his cock when you were just next door. His body craved the relief though, relief only indulgence could satisfy.

He hissed as he dragged his fingers along his shaft, gripping at the base and beginning to pump slowly. He was painfully hard at this point, each squeeze raking shivers over his damp skin while he choked out quiet moans. With his opposite hand, he flicked the water to a warmer setting, pitifully hoping the heat and steam would resemble something close to your body against his. God, if only you were here.

He sped up, swiping his thumb over his sensitive tip with each pass, sending jolts throughout his body. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned deep and husky, not a care for the noise filling the empty house.

You were there, clear as day in his mind, moaning along with him as he pounded into you, cunt gripping him like a vice. Your breath was hot and pitchy against his ear as you begged him to fuck you harder, to go faster, to cum deep inside you. His cock twitched at that, he was already so close.

��Fuck, y/n, baby,” he whined, humping erratically into his long-forgotten hand. The muscles in his stomach quivered in bliss as he stroked himself, lost in his detailed imagination. You were cumming, trembling around him in languid spasms with his seed spilling out of you, and Daryl was over the edge, tossing his head back moaning your name as he unloaded, letting the steamy water wash it away.

It took him a few minutes to recover, catching his breath slowly and trying to avoid the guilt that would soon be settling in. What would you think of him if you knew what he did behind muffled walls? How he thought of you in such dirty ways, when you’d only ever see him as a dear friend. He wondered what you might be doing now. Traipsing around your cozy home, oblivious to his rapid, lustful heart meters away.

The water was beginning to run frigid and he let out a defeated sigh. Absentmindedly, he reached past the curtain for a towel and stepped out, drying his hair off roughly and then wrapping the towel around his waist, turning to the bedroom for fresh clothes and much-needed sleep. His mind ached to be thoughtless, consumed by the abyss of unconsciousness.

He should have known the world stopped playing fair long ago.

In a single moment, his heart stopped and his stomach dropped to the fucking depths of hell.

There you stood, feet frozen to the floor with his crossbow in hand, like he willed you into existence. He stuttered, his mouth opening and closing like a blubbering fish. He was sure his eyes were the size of saucers, he could feel them ready to pop out of his skull and run away. There was no fucking way this was happening.

Several beats passed. The silence deafening between you both and for a moment, he honestly debated stepping back into the shower. Pretend you were a figment of his tortured imagination and just hope you’d go away. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen ghosts.

“You uh- you forgot your crossbow when you rushed out today,” you finally broke the silence, solidifying your genuine presence. He glanced down to the bow and then back at you, lost for words. Did you hear him? He moaned your goddamn name, quite a few minutes ago though… had you been standing there long? Were you angry?

His racing thoughts were interrupted when you stepped towards him, leaning the bow against the doorframe and moving closer. Instinctively, he took a step back, “Thanks,” he replied shakily, but you kept moving closer. He noticed your gaze then. It wasn’t on his face, but on his abdomen, at the hem of the damp towel hanging off of him. Your eyes had a gleam to them. Something dark and lustful.

No. Surely, he was reading you wrong.

“Daryl,” you spoke, and he audibly gulped, nervousness and absolute embarrassment flooding his system, “is there something you need to tell me?”

He didn’t answer you, instead deciding to burn a hole into the floor with his shame. He couldn’t look at you. You knew. You had heard him and were teasing him about it and here he was, a coward who couldn’t even admit to it. And you had every single right. He crossed that salty line years ago, with his first sinful thought about you. Feasted on it, deluding himself into thinking all was okay as long as his actions didn’t physically involve you.

He barely registered your advances when he finally raised his head. You were so close he could feel the heat of your breath against his burning skin, the luscious scent of vanilla and pine filling the air.

“Can I see?” you asked quietly.

He nearly choked on his own spit. Your hand was skimming along his stomach lightly, suggestively toying with the towel that covered him up. “Huh?” His mind was blank.

“Can I see you?” you repeated, and all he could do was give you a curt little nod, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to just yet, but rendered acquiesced. Your hand pulled at the fabric softly, letting it drop to the floor revealing his manhood to your hungry eyes. Nothing was making any sense. Surely, you did not feel this way too. Surely.

There were those whispers again. He shouldn't have let you do that. He should be recoiling, shielding himself from your gaze but he was statuesque, like you had drank the life out of him with one simple look.

"Were you thinking about me touching you?" Like you had to even ask. The answer was written in plain sight, right there on his forehead and in his bashful eyes.

"M'sorry, I-" he had no clue how to even begin this kind of apology, remorse coursing through his veins rapidly. The dots weren’t connecting, not yet. "I know it's wrong, I shouldn't have-,”

And then he felt you, pressing your lips against his softly — timidly as gentle hands feathered across his waist, coaxing him into you. Your kiss was buttery, lips so smooth and sweet he wanted to drown in them. You tasted like fresh honey and vanilla ice cream, hints of minty toothpaste caught on your tongue. It was intoxicating to say the least, swarming his brain with a muted buzz and he whimpered, much to his surprise, melting into your touch quicker than he would like to admit.

“Y/n, y/n, nah we can’t,” he heard himself say as he came to his senses slowly, but he wasn’t pushing you away. Why wasn’t he pushing you away? You couldn’t, right?

“Please,” you whispered against him, low and sultry. Who was he to deny you? God Daryl, get a grip.

“Y/n, no,” he repeated, allowing his tone to take some authority even if that was the last thing he truly wanted. You stepped back from him then, a hurt expression painting your features and he felt his heart squeeze. “Why?”

His brain was scattered. This felt like a nightmare; another cruel joke sent his way to haunt him for the rest of his life. There just always had to be a price, didn't there?

"He doesn't mind, you know?" you whispered and his eyes were on yours instantly. You traced soft shapes across his stomach, sending those shivers down his spine and effectively turning him into putty.

"What’re ya talkin' about?" He needed to regain his composure, he could barely breathe with you this close, eyes raking his naked frame with desire.

"Rick... you and me. He doesn't care," you stated, "thinks it's cute actually... my crush on you."

Your crush on him?

"He trusts you, Daryl, with everything. You're pretty much the only person he would want me to be with." He hadn't thought of it that way, only ever assumed voicing his attraction to you would result in his head on a platter, or his dick… or both.

You began peppering his neck with small kisses, trailing them down his chest and over his puffy nipples. He hissed when you nipped at one, licking over it after, soothing the burn. "Ya sure?"

You nodded.

"Ya sure ya want me?" he asked dubiously. His question was answered when you grabbed his hand gently, guiding it inside your cotton underwear, letting his calloused fingers trace your soaked folds. He could have cum then and there, spreading your slick up and down between his fingers like it was liquid gold. Fuck me.

"This all fer me?" he panted, succumbed to a state of disbelief at your evident arousal. You were so wet around his fingers, pulsing and bucking slightly with each feathered stroke. "Were ya listenin' ta me?"

Hair fell over your face as you nodded sheepishly, gazing down to watch his fingers massaging you. You bit your swollen, cherry-red lip, “Couldn’t help it, you sounded so- so good.”

Now that... that got him going. Imagining your pretty cunt dripping in your panties, listening to his gasps while he fucked himself to the thought of you. Who knew the golden girl would be so naughty?

Daryl felt his confidence build, watching you fall apart for him from such simple touches. The last wire holding him back snapped and he needed more. He had waited for this moment for so fucking long.

You whine as he retracts his hand, only to be completely shut up when he places the thick digit on his tongue, sucking greedily and sloppily. It was better than he ever could have imagined, similar to the honey of your lips but so much more sweet. He went back for seconds. And thirds. Until he was dropping to his knees, deciding to lick the goddamn plate clean.

You enveloped him in the best way possible, lifting one of your thighs over his shoulder as he tugged on your tight jeans, pulling them down enough to fit his head. His tongue pressed flat against your clothed pussy, and he sucked, tasting a mixture of your sweetness and residual laundry detergent on his tongue. His moans burned the back of his throat, desperately trying to hide them but you weren’t having it, tugging on his chocolate locks for more. “Don’t do that. I wanna hear you, honey.” Good lord. He silently thanked each lucky star of his that the house was empty before emitting a guttural groan between your thighs. If this was all he got from you, a little taste of the sugar you were made of, he would die a very happy man.

He took your clit between his lips, rolling it with his tongue. Your underwear was so wet with your arousal and his spit that it was practically see-through, just calling for him to pull aside. “Please,” you gasped.

“Hm? Wha’s that?”

He’d heard you just fine. He wanted to hear you again, and again. He was greedy and you were so damn sinful, “Please, need them off, need you.”

So, he complied, as any sane man would, shimmying them down your hips as he sucked and nibbled each inch of newly exposed skin. You watched him intently with half-lidded eyes, rocking slowly to let plush skin engulf his senses like a cloud. He felt you playing with his messy hair, taking small strands between your fingertips and moving them behind his ears to see him better. The gesture struck something deep within him. You were so kind, so focused on this moment and him, he’d be damned if he let it continue on the hard damp floor of his bathroom. No fucking way.

He stood abruptly, catching you off guard. “Bed,” he muttered, capturing your lips again in a haste. He couldn’t get enough. He didn’t want a minute to pass where he wasn’t tasting some part of you. Any part of you. Sweet, sweet honey.

You led your bodies backward till your knees hit the mattress, wasting no time as you crawled up to his pillows, taking him with you.

This moment right here, this feeling… he wanted to bottle it up. Freeze time and just stare, immerse himself into every tiny detail. It felt almost criminal to continue. You were a vision, panting and squirming beneath him; so much electricity and anticipation bouncing between your yearning bodies. Could you really want this just as much as he did? Was he truly that oblivious, all these years? Whatever that answer may be, he wasn’t gonna fuck this up. Not with you.

Your hands on his face coaxed him back to reality, molding into your touch like clay. Eager lips chased his as he pulled your shirt off and as much as he wanted to freeze time and memorize each freckle of you, the more skin each other touched the more obscene the kiss became. An unartistic jumble of spit and hands and moans and thrusts.

In all the time spent pining silently for the other, you both could care less about grace.

No, he needed to hear you. Listen to every octave of moan you had in you, all at once. He needed to know each and every spot that had you whimpering and begging, this second. If time did decide to stop at any given moment he needed to have you, be you, feel everything you had to offer, and soak in it till his skin pruned.

His lips sucked and bruised their way down to your navel, and then past, kissing up your folds with lustful intent. The sounds you made above him had him seeing stars and he wanted more. His tongue slipped past your lips, finally diving into the hive of your sweetness, rolling his tongue languidly over your clit. Your hands were everywhere around him, fisting at the sheets, the pillows, and then his hair as you desperately tried to push him closer. He didn’t mind. He’d gladly suffocate between your thighs, a death he’d welcome compared to the ones he fought from outside every day.

He dove lower, smoothing his tongue over your entrance but not delving past quite yet.

“Daryl,” you gasped above him.

Looking up between your legs, he caught a glimpse of your face tossed back in pleasure and he groaned, having to ground his hips into the mattress below to relieve some pressure. “What d’ya need, sweetheart?”

He’d give you anything. The moon if you asked for it — anything to keep those pretty sounds coming from your lips. “You, you, please you.”

“How so?”

He knew he was teasing you. He’d drawn back from your glistening slit, pressing little pecks everywhere that he could reach. Your hips, your pelvis, the little crease between your thighs and your cunt. That spot drew a deep moan from you, so he focused on it, sucking and licking till it was bright red and your hips were rolling so violently he wasn’t sure how he kept his lips on you.

“In, please,” you choked out, tugging him by his shoulders to move back up. He wasn’t done yet.

“What? Ma fingers?” he toyed further, continuing his kisses everywhere but where you wanted him. “Hm?”

He brought his thumb up to your clit, pressing lightly at first, rubbing lazy, torturous circles. His lips were on the inside of your thigh, so close to your entrance but seemingly so far. He knew you wouldn’t take much more of this, you were practically sobbing above him blubbering nonsensical curses about how much you ached.

“This pretty cunt wanna be filled, that it?”

His thumb pressed firmer.

“Uh huh,” you nodded, begging him. Oh, that sound would surely be the death of him.

He finally brought his lips to your supposedly aching entrance, delving deep with his tongue. The noises he made as he lapped on your honey were flat-out pornographic, and you writhed below him, drinking everything he was giving to you. Honestly, he didn’t know how much more he could take. He wanted to draw this out for hours, make up for every bit of lost time but seeing you like this, so needy for him had his resolve shattering by the second.

With a final peck to your weeping folds, he crawled his way up back to your face. You latched on to him instantly, sensing his give and taking absolute advantage of your moment. His hips rolled into yours slowly as your tongues danced and he hardly had to guide himself with how wet you were, his tip finding your entrance easily and slipping past. You moaned rolling your hips again and he nearly bottomed out, a long deep groan ripping out of him. If he thought your lips were buttery, lord save him.

Perching himself on his forearms, he held still, watching for any signs of discomfort. He assumed you hadn’t been with anyone in a while and he certainly knew he wasn’t small, if he’d grace himself with any sort of compliment.

Sensing nothing but pleasure as your walls pulsed around him, sucking him in further, he gave, snapping his hips harshly into you. Your moans were lewd on his lips, traveling down his throat and feeding the fire that burned in the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck, y/n, baby,” he groaned again, spiraling from the fact he was actually inside you this time. Not in his hand, pretending you were fucking shower water.

No, you were beneath him, latching onto his muscles like your life depended on it. He drove deeper, hitting a spot that had you gasping for air. He hit it again, and again, needing to feel you explode around him. He watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he pounded into you. God, you looked so pretty like this. All cock-drunk and needy.

He brought his thumb back to that spot on your clit. He needed you to cum soon, he wasn’t gonna last much longer seeing you like this and there was no way in hell he was going to finish before you. Your hips stuttered beneath him, walls squeezing around him and he knew you were close.

“Come on, pretty girl, you got it,” he whispered in your ear, sucking the lobe gently between his teeth. That must’ve broken you, because then you were cursing, spasming for him which triggered his own orgasm. Your cunt milked him, his seed spilling down your thighs exactly how he had pictured earlier and it was a fucking sight. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had imagined this whole thing.

He fucked out both through the waves of release, and a bit past, dropping his head into your neck to muffle the obscene groans coming from his lips. He didn’t want it to stop, but your overstimulated senses ached for reprieve.

“Dar?” you whispered once you'd both caught your breath, guiding his stubbled cheek from its hiding spot. When his eyes met yours, they were filled with so much adoration and happiness he had to hold himself back from whimpering. Never in a million years would he thought he’d get you, and here you were, looking at him like the sun shone out of his ass. The same way he looked at you for years, it was jarring to see it reciprocated. How had he missed it?

You leaned forward, tenderly capturing his lips with your own, soothing him as you always did. He knew there was so much you wanted to say, that he wanted to say, but you didn’t need to talk about it tonight. Tonight you would simply soak in each other, a gift you both thought you’d never get and one you would never let go.

He felt you giggle against his lips, and he pulled back with a lazy, fucked-out smile, "What?" he mumbled curiously.

"How's the headache now, big guy?" you teased playfully and he realized then, you'd known he was fibbing today. Saw right through his measly excuse to spend time with you.

He blushed to the tips of his ears, bowing his head to hide it, "Oh, shuddup," he mumbled, attacking your neck in kisses and nips.

Your cheeky ass was gonna pay for that tonight.

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cutehoons02 · 6 months ago

Text

For me he's only a rival or something else for my heart?

University series: Jake Heeseung Jay

*pairing: Popular pervy student Jungwon x Good girl

*trope: Rivals to lovers

*synopsis: What if the best student in the course was put to work with one of the most popular students? A catastrophe for Y/n, she and Jungwon are so different in everything: Jungwon is one of the most popular kids at the university, he’s so cheeky and takes life too lightly, and for Y/n is the distraction representation. The good girl only thinks about finishing her studies in places from her parents and is a little hesitant about Jungwon’s personality, but what would happen when their two worlds meet and for 4 months they will have to study and spend many hours to create a university project?

*tags: A lot of humor, Jungwon proposes: that he wants to make her relax after each study session (sexual distraction), unprotected sex (don't horny ppl), tension, oral sex (f.m receiving) fingering,corruption, hickeys, fluff, orgasm,possessive Jungwon, pet names (nerd, good girl,honey,sweetnees,princess) +16

8k (📘)

(English is not my first language)

The study room was bright and almost aseptic, perfect for working and studying in peace. But after only 10 minutes, you were already at the end of your patience.

Jungwon was late of course!

You were a model, disciplined student, always in the front row, with impeccable notebooks and a natural distrust of people too charismatic like Jungwon, who made trouble from morning to night. When you saw it, you thought it was "too perfect" not to hide some defect and didn't understand how it always had its head in the clouds, but being like you, one of the best students in the course.

Jungwon was the perfect boy, both academically and socially. He was part of the Taekwondo team, the girls loved him, he had a huge fan base, and the professors appreciated him. He didn’t try too hard to get good results, but he was always one step ahead and had that feline look: smart, quick, and mysterious.

During a management seminar for the Hoteleri, the professor announced that you two would be partners in a project that was worth 50% of the final grade. You would have to work together for four months and submit a paper that not only met the academic criteria but was innovative and creative and at the end of the course it would be put in your student and work CV to take more credits at the end of the degree.

You looked at the clock and mumbled loudly: "10 minutes late who knows what excuse will come up this time. It’s typical of Jungwon to arrive late but get away with it only because of that pretty face, when you’re so perfect you probably think the time of others doesn’t matter." you thought.

The door opened, and Jungwon made his entrance with the nonchalance of being at home everywhere. Casual jacket over a flawless white shirt, hair that looked just like it had been taken care of by the wind, cat eyes that looked at you from head to toe, and his usual cheeky smile. He carried two cappuccinos and a croissant.

With a satisfied smile, ignoring your murderous look, he put a glass in front of you from the bar of the university, and after a while, he stretched out like a cat and saw his shirt stand up and your cheeks were slightly colored when you saw his perfect V line and his perfect muscles in beautiful shows for long hours spent training. «Sorry, the barista was slow. Do you want a piece of croissant? It’s buttery to the point! I got you a cappuccino not knowing what you like, i also added sugar to make it sweeter»

You stared at him like he was an alien.

"Sure, because breakfast is more important than the project that is worth half of our final grade to be late for our first study appointment and i don’t like things too sweet for anything."

Jungwon looked at you with a slight grin « A man must feed himself and my favorite meal is breakfast in all senses both sweet and savory. If you may be interested, my plan for the project is already all here in my head, i had to deduce myself that you were a lover of things bitter or sour as your personality but for once you can make an effort and drink this sweet cappuccino just right to sweeten you»

You leaned forward, crossing your arms on the table and gazing at him with a murderous look.

"Oh? So you think your genius boy brain is gonna win us all without having to do anything? And stop saying i’m sour, you’ve arrived late with your usual smile of serial charmer"

«I don’t like to brag, but... yes. In my beautiful head i have a lot of ideas that could work, just relax a little you are always so tense and serious in everything you do, honey»

You bit your tongue to not answer immediately. But in the end, you clattered.

"You know what I don’t understand about you, Jungwon? How do you get such high grades when you don’t seem to take anything seriously and don't call me sweetie, I’m not a fan of yours or one of those girls who would pull their hair out to get your attention"

Jungwon leaning against the chair’s back, with a sneering smile

«It’s a natural talent. And then, maybe the professor appreciates my relaxed style. You should try to relax sometimes there are so many things you could try!»

Closed your laptop with a strong blow and Jungwon looked at you with a small smile

"God, you are impossible how do you get so full of yourself? Here’s the plan: we’ll work together, but I’ll make the planning. You follow the instructions, no improvising, no distractions, and no provocations"

Jungwon stood at the table and looked at you with a diabolical smile «Distractions? You are the one who seems distracted, I saw how you looked at my muscles before or how you’re blushing now while I’m near you with my face»

You blushed imperceptibly, but you quickly recovered and left the study room angry; why of all people had to put you in a pair with him? Jungwon watches you leave, with a satisfied smile. He knows that he has the potential to test your perfection and enjoys this new challenge with you.

The men’s dorm was noisier than you had anticipated. Although it was only five o'clock in the afternoon, laughter could be heard from a room next door, the distant sound of a video game, and someone singing in the shower. It was chaotic, suffocating, and exactly the kind of place you didn’t want to be. Jungwon greeted you at the door with his usual cheeky smile, dressed in a relaxed way: a grey sweatshirt and suit pants that made him look even more casually perfect and with his usual cat eyes that never detached from your body.

"I can’t believe i wasted precious time to come here. We could just work in the library."

Jungwon closed the door behind you leaning against it

«The library is boring. And then, i wanted to show you that i’m good at working even in the middle of chaos you know as a normal person.»

You looked around, noticing the perfectly made bed, the books stacked neatly on the desk, and a pair of headphones hanging from the edge of the computer monitor, There were some records from current and former artists and there was a smell of clean and vanilla that invaded the whole room and was much more neat than you expected.

"For a male dormitory, it’s surprisingly... clean and fragrant."

Jungwon raised a funny eyebrow «What did you think? That I was a mess and lived in dirt? I let you down again, huh?»

You looked up and sat down in the chair by the desk, trying to ignore the way he moved around the room with a cat-like naturalness, as if he was always in complete control of the situation.

After an hour of discussing, it was clear that working there wasn’t going as planned you kept talking, explaining details and strategies but Jungwon seemed more interested in watching you than taking notes.

You were really exasperated and snapped your fingers near his face "Jungwon, are you listening or waiting for me to do all the work for you?"

Jungwon chuckled sitting on the bed with a bent knee

«I listen to you. You’re charming when you get angry, you know?»

You stared at him, but he got up from his bed and leaned over the desk with one hand on the table. He was too close and you felt it immediately: his scent, his piercing look, the way he seemed to enjoy making you uncomfortable.

You backed slightly back into the chair "Don’t try to distract me we have a lot to do."

He looked at you with a cheeky smile «Distract? I would never do that but you know, i think, i have found a solution to our problem»

You looked at him suspiciously, crossing your arms.

"And what is this brilliant idea of yours?"

Jungwon lowered the tone of his voice, with a more sweet and provocative nuance «You put aside your obsession to be the best... Just for these sessions. And i make sure you relax. Physically and mentally»

You immediately blush with your mouth open for surprise.

"What.. what do you mean 'physically'?"

Jungwon giggled, raising a finger to touch your chin slightly «Nothing too compromising, but if you want we could raise the bar just a little is a way to let you off a bit and to make you understand that there are much more beautiful things besides the study. Like a kiss or two, maybe a hug, i could make you feel good with my fingers, you might shoulder or hair massage, but we could make each other feel good to each other. It depends on how tense you are that day, sweetness»

You opened your eyes wide, torn between indignation and...something different something you didn’t want to admit. You stood up, trying to keep calm.

"That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t need... you to relax. I don’t even like you and I just think you’re a pervert and that’s it."

Jungwon smiled, coming close enough to make you feel the warmth of his body «Are you sure? Because you already seem less nervous now.»

Your heart was beating faster, but you refused to let it control you.

"You are unbearable."

Jungwon laughed slowly, tilting his head like a satisfied cat

«Yet you are still here»

He reached out his hand, gently brushing a lock of hair that had fallen on your face you held your breath, your face red, but you did not move «Hey, I’m kidding... partly. I know you are wonderfully good at what you do but maybe that’s the problem you’re too focused on showing it to everyone when you don’t have to do it with me, you can be yourself»

You looked at him with surprise at the sincerity in his voice.

"It’s not so simple for me, we can come back for another hour to study the project and then if i feel comfortable we may not know how to do" Jungwon with a sweet smile, moved slightly back.

«I know. For this i want to help you, we go back to study a little bit nerd but then i want to make you relax a little and put you at ease sweet»

It was almost an hour and a half ago when you had started to throw ideas down again and he had been surprisingly helpful, but after a while, his attention began to fade. Without saying anything, he got up and went to his computer, turning it on with a grin.

You looked up from the confused book "Jungwon, what are you doing?" Jungwon with a cool touch and a mouse movement opened a video game «I’m taking a break. You know, the brain needs to relax every now and then»

"Pause? We’re trying to get a major project going, and you think about video games?"

Jungwon turned to the chair, with an innocent expression: «Hey, what did we say before? I want you to relax. Also, I see you tense as a violin string and it’s been almost 3 hours that we are throwing down our ideas, now enough and come here» You looked at him suspiciously "Why should i come there? There’s only one chair"

Jungwon waving and turning the chair slightly made room for you «Come here and sit on my legs»

Your heart began to beat faster. You were furious, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of showing himself intimidated and with a deep breath, you stood up and walked towards him, trying to keep an impassive expression.

You crossed your arms, standing in front of him "If you think this is a way to relax me, you’re wrong, Jungwon"

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, tilting his head with his usual cat smile« I’m sure i’ll help to relax a bit. Trust me, sweetness»

Slowly youy sat over his legs trying to keep a distance, but Jungwon gently pulled you closer by leaning your back against his chest.

"What now? You gonna play while i stay here as a decoration?" Jungwon laughed quietly, lowering his head near your ear

«Not really» Then, with a naturalness that left you breathless, Jungwon touched your neck with a light kiss, and with his fingers moved slightly a handful of hair on your shoulder should not have intended to kiss you and as a feline sniffed your neck and laid gentle kisses and his big braver smitten you to him.

You whispered slightly, trying to get away not so much because you were annoyed by his kisses or rather they were pleasant but because they made you feel a lot of chills and slight tickling. " Jungwon, what are you doing?"

Jungwon with a mischievous smile continued to give you little kisses on the neck « I’m just relaxing...and trying to relax you. Try to close your eyes and trust me for once, sweetness»

Closed your eyes as he told you and with a voice that trembled slightly, but tried to keep control you said "This is not... professional."

Jungwon started laughing slowly, this time sliding his hands over your hips without squeezing too much «Oh, let’s face it, you’re enjoying it. Don’t look so tense now.» Blush, trying not to give in but unable to hide a small smile. " You’re amazing, you always do what you want, right?" Jungwon finished the session of those little kisses he leaned his chin on your shoulder, with a satisfied smile « Only with you sweetie. But you know what? When you relax a little, you’re even more adorable.»

You looked up but did not move from his legs to get away from him. As much as you hated to admit it, Jungwon knew exactly how to surprise you and at the same time make you feel safe. That night, his plan to distract you worked perfectly.

It was late afternoon and Jungwon arrived on time at the girl’s bedroom door, which in itself was an extraordinary event, and knocked twice, waiting with his usual smile.

When the door opened, he was surprised. The room was a perfect reflection of something you would never expect from yourself: walls decorated with vintage posters of fashion icons, shelves full of glossy magazines, an electronic keyboard near the window and a sewing mannequin in a corner covered with unfinished fabric, and on display were the course books.

«Wow, and I thought all you wanted to do was be the best in class. What is this? Your secret side as an artist? When you told me that you wanted to study in your room I thought "Cabbage will kill me"»

You blush slightly as you close the door behind him. "You might still risk Jungwon. It’s not a secret, I just don’t talk about it. It’s not important for the class, so..."

Jungwon approached the dummy and observed it with curiosity

«Isn’t it important? You make it seem like nothing is important but studying. But this is amazing I bet you’re good at that too, huh?»

You shrugged, trying to hide the embarrassment "I’m not as good as you think. It’s just a hobby, can we start transcribing the various areas where we would like to develop our hotels?"

Jungwon chuckled as she sat down on the chair by the bed and you leaned in your bed

«Always so serious. All right, boss tell me what to do!»

For a couple of hours, something unusual happened: you really studied, obviously Jungwon loved to throw you jokes about how methodical you were with all your notes and you would tease him because he was very messy with his ideas but he loved that mess and understood. You worked on the project with a surprising understanding, almost forgetting the tension that usually accompanied you. But Jungwon looked at you with his languid gaze, a mix of curiosity and mischief.

When you finished studying without wanting to, you stretched and the sweater just lifted up, revealing a hint of light skin over the jeans. Jungwon tilted his head as a cat would be fascinated by something he could not ignore.

«You must relax a little,» he said in a low voice, almost a whisper.

You are slightly distracted, looking at him with suspicion. "I’m fine."

«You don’t look well. You seem stressed and if you relax you concentrate better. Want an example?» You saw Jungwon get up from the chair and lean on the edge of your bed where you were sitting with crossed legs

You looked at him confused and with a slight redness on the cheeks. "Jungwon"

He didn’t answer. He just put a hand to your face, moving a lock of hair behind his ear. His eyes never left yours and that simple touch made you shudder.

«Don’t run away» whispered, his voice a hypnotic call.

Before you could protest, Jungwon touched your lips with his, so gently that it almost seemed like a dream. But he didn’t stop there, his hand moved on your neck holding you with surprisingly gentle firmness, while the kiss instead deepened becoming slower, more intense, and in the room there were only the sounds of your mouths touching and the rain that was beating hard against the windows.

You found yourself answering him without thinking your hands clung to his sweater, Subconsciously pulling him closer and you felt a slight groan from your mouth as he put his tongue into your mouth and you strapped your arms around his neck to keep it closer to you. Jungwon smiled when he heard that little moan and would hear it for the rest of his life.

When you separated, you both had heavy breaths and he smiled at you with his usual cheeky smile, that typical satisfied cat expression.

«See? It’s not so bad to relax every now and then! You want us to continue kissing or we could do something else, always with your consent and with your sweet times» Watched Jungwon take off his sweatshirt and stay with a black t-shirt that made his muscles and biceps stand out

You hit him lightly on the chest, but he couldn’t hold back a small smile. "What would you like to do?"

Jungwon looked at you with a curious look, god how could you ask them such a question? He would do a lot of dirty things with your body but you were so innocent in his eyes that he would treat you like a princess but at the same time he would want to ruin you completely.

«Take off my shirt and try to find out what makes me horny» You watched Jungwon lean on your keyboard and you with slightly cold hands but not trembling took off his black shirt that made his muscles visible and when you took it off a thin but sculpted chest was in front of your eyes and without doing so you lick slightly the lips that still knew from your strawberry lip balm and Jungwon.

«Do you like what you see, sweetie?» He asked knowing that even if you were shy and innocent you could not say that what you had in front of you did not like, you reached out to trace his toned muscles, His abs seemed to form toned valleys until you reached her V line and felt Jungwon tremble slightly both for your light touch but also because your hands were slightly cold and looked at you this time with a serious look.

"Can I. Can I touch you, Jungwon?" Jungwon laughed a little when you asked him but he immediately nodded yes and raised his hips slightly because he thought that you only took off his pants all the way with your fingers, you also slid the boxer shorts and saw his venous length already sticking out standing up fairly, Jungwon hissed when you touch it there, the sensation overwhelming him like electricity as your soft hands contrast with the venous muscle.

«God Y/n, it didn’t have to go so i had to be the one that made you relax not you» You started with a good cat lick on his dick and with his hand flying to hold your hair for you, wrapping it around her wrist like a ponytail. He wanted to be careful and kind, and not scare you but when he heard and saw that you started putting almost everything in his mouth a slight moan came out of his lips, and looked at you with the head saying yes to continue. Your mind is overwhelmed by the way his tip presses down the bottom of your throat and how your pussy felt excited and you felt that your panties became wetter and wetter as Jungwon slowly pushed his cock into your mouth, his big hand never stopped caressing your hair.

«Y/n» his breath stops, he was delighted to see you so busy making him feel good and it was a feeling of well-being but also of perversion for him because even the good girl who did not want distractions stooped to make him feel good by giving them a blow job, the urge to push you even further down on his cock blossoms in his mind but he puts it aside as he looks at his dear, sweet rival bent in bed sucking his dick.

«Honey, you can stop now seriously you have already done too much for me» feeling bad for yourself.

You can shake your head and insist that you could take much more and make him relax. You relax your throat a little, breathing through your nose as you push it deeper; Jungwon groans at the action, and his hips are wailing and pushing awkwardly. Do your best to satisfy him, until he leaves a whiny mess as he reaches his orgasm moaning softly your name, lost in its world of pleasure while you struggle to not choke and spit the liquid that goes down your throat until you swallow it all in your mouth. You raised your head to see him completely red, with the hair unkempt, and pulled you to yourself putting you embraced beside him with his big arms.

"You liked..." Didn’t even finish the sentence and gave you a light kiss on the lips, then on his forehead, and looked at you with a sweet smile until you heard a loud thunder coming from outside the light went away for a few seconds and there were only your breaths that could be felt.

«I liked it and also very much Y/n, who would have said that you were so entrapping and seems that the time has decided to do me another favor, sweetness» commented with his usual relaxed tone, but with a glimmer of malice in his eyes.

"What favor?" You asked without turning away from the window.

«Force me to stay here for the night» he replied shrugging his shoulders and you shoot yourself. "What? Don’t even think about... staying here! You can go home."

Jungwon raised a funny eyebrow as he hugged you even more to himself. «With this storm? Look at the weather Y/n, do you really want me to catch a cold and then you have to double the work for the project? I could get a lot of bad things with time like the kind that makes me drive by some distracted motorist»

You looked up because these were only excuses that he invented to be with you and invade your living space.

"Okay, but don’t you dare do anything weird," Jungwon nodded with an innocent smile and watched you go to the bathroom to change.

You were quiet in your bed, flowing through the various social media until Jungwon came out of the bathroom with his black shirt and his tracksuit pants on and lay down next to you as if it was the most natural thing in the world «It’s funny, you try to be a good girl and be my rival n*1 but you are playing with fire by inviting me here. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?»

You just turned with your faces only a few inches apart. "Maybe I’m not as predictable as you think."

The answer made him smile, but this time the smile was different: deeper, he put a hand gently on your waist, bringing you even closer to his toned chest. «And anyway... you’re still too tense. Let me hug you, at least for one night»

The following week during one of the working sessions, a senior boy came to supervise the progress of the project. He was tall and confident with a charismatic smile, the classic type who did not go unnoticed and Jungwon looked up when he saw Minjae enter your study room.

<< Oh, you two are the ones from the hotel management project I heard a lot of good things about your duo especially about you Y/n>> said Minjae looking at the documents scattered on the desk. You smiled at him and looked at you from the head to the foot and you looked at him softly so as not to appear timid and awkward.

"Yes, we are working on the marketing and area management plan for hotels in different parts of the world. It’s a bit challenging, but we’re getting there and working day by day."

<< Well, if you need help, you can count on me>> said Minjae winking at you, and when he stepped out to see what you were typing on the computer, he put a hand on your shoulder with a gesture that seemed random but didn’t go unnoticed by Jungwon.

He was sitting in front of you and at that moment stopped writing. His eyes slowly rose towards Minjae, a look that was not very friendly.

«I think we do very well even alone, we are the best of the course and they put us together in pairs to surprise everyone with our ideas a little bit conflicting but it will come out really a nice job,» said Jungwon with the tone of cold but controlled.

Minjae chuckled. << No need to be so protective and territorial. I’m just trying to lend a hand>>

«Yes, but we didn’t ask for your help even if you are our supervisor I repeat we’re doing a good job» replied Jungwon, crossing his arms.

You stepped in quickly, trying to calm the tension. "All right, guys. Minjae, thanks for the offer. If we need you, we’ll let you know but right now as Jungwon says we’re really at a good point of work."

Minjae smiled at you, ignoring Jungwon. << Sure. But if you have any problems or issues to talk about...>> paused, lowering the tone of voice, << you can contact me also after hours. >>

Jungwon stood up slowly, putting his hands on the table. «Minjae, I don’t think your advice is so necessary.» Jungwon made a sign of his head to Minjae to leave and raised his hands as a sign of surrender

<< Relax, Jungwon," said Minjae with a smile. <<You don’t have to be like that... I repeat "territorial">>

Minjae left after a while and you watched Jungwon touch his hair and roll his eyes. "What the hell was that? Why were you so hostile to him?" Jungwon laughed for a moment and looked at you with a slightly angry look

«Don’t pretend to be dumb Y/n» he replied, approaching your body and sitting in the chair next to yours «That loser was clearly hitting on you.»

You shook your head a little amused. "So? He was just nice, there’s no need to make a scene like the one you made earlier."

«Kind of you?» he repeated, laughing bitterly and touching your cheek slightly to gently put a lock of hair in your ear

«Honey, there’s nothing kind about the way he looked at you. And if you think I’m going to stand here watching someone else hover around you, you’re wrong.»

You crossed your arms, trying to keep control of the situation. "You’re not my boyfriend, Jungwon. You can’t decide who talks to me or what I do with other guys when all this is over I can do whatever I want."

Your words struck him, but instead of getting angry, his smile changed. It was more dangerous now as if something inside him had snapped.

«Oh, really?» he asked, approaching to reduce the space between you a few centimeters. «So I can afford to show you that you don’t need anyone else, right?» Before you could answer, Jungwon took the chair you were sitting in and pulled it toward himself with a determined movement. His hands were attached to your thighs, firm but not aggressive, and the way he looked at you was intense and overwhelming.

"Jungwon..." you started talking but he interrupted you by putting his finger in front of your lips

«Tell me you don’t want this» whispered, the tone of his voice deep and hypnotic as he approached your neck «Tell me that you don’t like it when I am like this with you»

You could not answer and at that moment he lowered his head, his lips finding your neck with disarming security. The kiss was not gentle, it was bold, possessive, and made you shudder.

«You mustn’t play with me, honey» he continued, his hands now moving along your back tracing slow lines that made you tremble. «Because I will never play clean with you.»

He continued to kiss your thin neck but this time with more fervor and slightly sucked a part of your sensitive neck and moaned his name and drew him closer to you and felt his hand make little circles in your thigh, It was totally dangerous what you were doing because you were in public and when you realized this thing you pushed him slightly but only to look into his eyes, short breath and red cheeks. "You’re impossible, Jungwon" you mumbled

«Yes» he replied, smiling before kissing you on your lips this time with a passion that left you breathless, it was as if he wanted to show you at that moment that there was no one else who could make you feel like that.

When you sat down, you looked at him with eyes still full of wonder. You weren’t sure how you got into that situation, but one thing was certain: you liked the way it made you feel.

It had been a few weeks since Jungwon’s alleged jealousy towards Minjae and now that jealousy was coming back when he saw Minjae supervising your project but the problem was that he wasn’t looking after Jungwon as if it didn’t exist but only Y/n.

<< Really impressive work you’ve done so far>> said Minjae, leaning towards you. << I understand why everyone says you are one of the brightest students in the class. With a talent like yours, you could get anywhere in the hotel world and I would see you as a luxury property manager. And... maybe if you need some guidance, we could work together after this project or I could mentor you for your final thesis. >>

You blush slightly but try to keep control and be professional because you don’t like the flattery that Minjae is giving you. "Thank you, I’ll think about it but now I think our teamwork with Jungwon is going very well and I think it will bring us both good grades and nice references from the professors" Jungwon was slightly surprised to hear good things about him from you, Your n*1 rival was the one to tell it all.

<< Oh, sure your work is going great, you need some tricks but surely tomorrow with your presentation you will make a beautiful figure>> said Minjae, casting a fleeting glance at Jungwon, who was observing the scene in silence. << But you know, with someone more experienced, you could get much more. I could teach you techniques that go far beyond what you’re learning now>>

His words had a subtone that left no room for misunderstanding. Minjae came closer, almost invading your personal space, and he put a light hand on your arm. << If you want, we could discuss your ideas better... maybe over a coffee, just you and me. >> You looked at Jungwon with a straight jaw and slightly red cheeks

"Ehm, thank you so much seriously but now I’m only focused on the project with Jungwon, and" Jungwon moved before you kept answering. He rose from his seat, grasping Minjae’s wrist with a firm but controlled grip.

«I think you’ve said enough, she’s trying to tell you in a polite way that she doesn’t care about you and even your provocations of spending time with her don’t interest her,» Jungwon said, the low tone and tension-laden.

Minjae stared at him, trying to maintain an air of superiority. << I’m just trying to be helpful. No need to overdo it and I repeat as the last time to be so territorial with Y/n>

Jungwon took a step forward, forcing Minjae to take a step back. «Your help is not needed. And I don’t think she’s appreciating the way you’re behaving with her»

Looking at Jungwon with a little smile "Jungwon, it’s all right. We can"

«No» he interrupted her, without taking his eyes off Minjae. «Everything is not all right»

After Minjae left, Jungwon was still furious. The tension in his body was palpable and you didn’t know how to handle it.

“You shouldn’t have behaved like that, I can defend myself you know how many girls have to endure these things every day?” said trying to keep calm and make him reason

Your words seemed to break something inside him. Jungwon came quickly, his eyes dark with dangerous determination.

«Sit down at the desk,Y/n» he said in a low voice.

"Jungwon, I" He gave you a provocative look and you sat down at the desk marrying some books. His eyes were nailed in yours, and you felt your heart beating hard. «You are mine. You know that, don’t you? And now I will make you say I don’t know how many times my name so you’ll remember and I’ll make you come between my dicks and lick your sweet pussy so you’ll understand who belongs to»

You don’t know exactly how it happened, but the next thing you know his fingers finally land on your covered clitoris. Rub some delicate circles, fast and precise, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. «Shit, you’re so wet to me and you still have your panties attached, let’s see if there are already some little strands of your excitement sweetness» The tip of his finger grasps the hem of your not-so-clean panties and Jungwon seriously wanted to know why you were wearing slutty panties if you were being a good girl and you are complaining in your throat about the slight cold that you felt because of the desk below you.

With your legs lightly thrown on Jungwon’s shoulders, his head buried between your thighs, his tongue immediately got to work kissing your pussy everywhere. His tongue moves around your core so fucking well, alternating sucking and clicking on your clitoris to pushing and licking inside your pussy, your unacceptably sinful and delicious sounds were a joy to the ears of your rival n*1.

"Jungwon, pls is so beautiful but at the same time sick we are in public" You tried to hold yourself with your elbows on the desk, and with the other hand, you pulled slightly the tuft of Jungwon that was slightly tickling your body. «You are lucky that there is no one left at this time otherwise what people would think of hearing your moans and irregular breathing. Speak Y/n, otherwise, I stop what would they think?» was literally squeezing and torturing you with his tongue constricted in your pussy and a finger stuck into your clit to massage it.

"They would have thought that maybe I’m not such a good girl" A light laugh came out of Jungwon’s lips and said «Good girl» closes his eyes and enjoys your delicious juice flowing in her mouth, Groaning in your pussy as it is fucking nice to have you so vulnerable and cheeky while you are waving for the various sensations that you feel but it was not yet finished because after a few seconds two fingers entered inside of you, already starting with an unforgivable rhythm, By curling them and finding that spot in you easily.

When you came between his fingers it detached from you both had breathless breath. Jungwon took your face in his hands, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.

«I will never leave you to someone like him,» he said, his voice soft but still. You smile slightly with your heart beating wildly. "I didn’t think you were so jealous."

«With you?» he replied, his tone that only softened slightly. «I will always be. We go to my dorm to finish fixing the last few tricks that tomorrow our presentation must be perfect, sweetness»

The rain kept on beating against the window panes, creating an almost hypnotic background. After the scene with Minjae, the tension between you was palpable. It was 10 o'clock past and you had reviewed the project at least 3 times and Jungwon didn’t leave you alone for a moment, as if he wanted to reiterate that you belonged to him, and no one else.

When you had finished the project you wanted to keep a minimum distance, but Jungwon had other plans.

«Why are you avoiding my gaze?» he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at you with that feline and piercing look.

"I’m not avoiding anything" lying by arranging the project documents with shaky hands and red cheeks

«You’re not very good at lying, princess» he replied in a low voice. «You’re wondering what’s going to happen now, aren’t you?»

You stopped by biting your lip. "Jungwon, we can’t..." You began but you hushed when he stood up, approaching you with slow but determined steps.

«We can’t what?» he asked, tilting his head slightly as a curious cat would. «Can’t we be together? Can’t we do what we both have wanted to do for weeks?»

His voice was a whisper now, and the way he looked at you made you feel trapped, but you didn’t want to run. When he took your face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressed his cheeks, your heart seemed to want to go out of your chest.

«I don’t want to share you,» he said in a strong tone. «Not with Minjae, not with anyone else. You’re mine, understand? And now I’ll make you understand even more»

You didn’t answer, but when he kissed you, it was impossible for you to back out. There was too much passion, too much intensity, and you knew that at that moment you were completely giving up.

Jungwon’s hands reached your legs pulling them towards him, before reaching with his arms behind your chest and lifting you like a Koala, and a part of your mind flashed thinking how strong it was, how easily it could lift you up, and how easily it could make you feel good. He dragged you to his bed, laying down where there were his pillows and your eyes waved towards him his look was feline, and looked at you as if you were only his and no one else’s, «I can show you that you are mine, and i’m yours, Y/n?» He leaned down on your neck and before moving his head towards your ear began to kiss you and suck the area that he knew was sensitive, his breath tickled your skin as he continued «Use words, princess» A shiver ran down your back, a trembling breath left your lips as your body finally forced the words out, "Yes. please".

Jungwon smiled when he heard those words coming out of your mouth his lips were so soft They moved slowly against yours as she tilted your head slightly to better access your sweet mouth that she knew from lip balm to strawberry and the contrast of her mouth that still tasted like the chocolate cookie she had eaten before. A slight whimper slipped over your lips, your hands rose to wrap around his shoulders and immediately went to lightly tighten his hair when you felt him wringing around your suit pants with his cock around your center; His hand that was on your jaw moved along your body, His fingers played with the hem of your shirt before he pushed his hand down slowly and took it off you and left only with your bra and even that in a few seconds left your body and began to torture you the bud of your nipple with his mouth and with his teeth and with the other hand she lightly squeezed your other breast.

«God, this body is perfectly made for me» You had Jungwon take off his shirt as well, you didn’t know where to put your hands, they were going from his shoulder, to his hair, to his biceps, a gasp left Jungwon’s lips to the feeling of your cold hands on his warm stomach. Jolts, whimpers, and little moans came out of your lips as he kept giving you pleasure in both breasts, he only moved away slightly but his hand kept on squeezing and stroking the other breast while mumbling, «You’re so beautiful fuck.»

"more," you whined, any appropriate response was now far from your mind because you felt so good with Jungwon, he leaned back and left a kiss trail along your breast, in your belly as his hands roamed before finally resting on the edge of your suit, «Lift up your hips for me for a moment, princess»

You slightly push your hips giving him a way to slowly lower your suit and panties. «You’re even soaker than before t/n, fuck.» You were seriously embarrassed and slightly covered your face with your hands but when he looked at you gave you a little kiss on the forehead «Don’t hide from me, I have already come a few hours ago and with me you can be safe and show yourself for what you are Y/n, relax.» one of his fingers slipped between your folds, a sudden jolt left you, he put two other fingers inside you, starting to pump them, curling them and easily finding that point in you that made you crazy.

You shouted Jungwon’s name and thought that this time you were seriously ready to take his cock, he made you come and tease yourself a little more clipboard and you raised your hips as sensitive as you were, Splashes of slimy cum went around Jungwon’s fingers and when he pulled out from your pussy he showed you that he brought it to his tongue and sucked it slightly and you at that moment could die because it was a scene so dirty but sexy as you had never seen it in your life. He pulled down his boxers in one fell swoop and you saw his hard cock slapping his stomach, the tip was red and slightly dripping, your mouth made an O, You had already taken it in the mouth but fuck that member would ruin you instantly when it was inside of you. He stroked his hand a couple of times and pumped it lightly and with his usual arrogant and cheeky smile on his lips looked at you noticing your reaction. " Are you sure I can fit it all?" Jungwon laughed at your words «Are you ready or do you want to pull yourself up now, sweetie?» You nodded at his words pushed your hips forward and slowly slid, wrapping yourself in your tight warmth.

«Fuck, you’re so tight» When he pulled out but pushed back in faster and you couldn’t think clearly, your mind was confused and completely focused on how well you were feeling at that moment, About how Jungwon was kind to you but at the same time, he was hammering you.

"Jungwon is so beautiful" moan as your hands move on his biceps then go on his back and scratch him slightly things if you were his kitty. «I imagined this moment for months Y/n masturbated and thought of you, when I touched myself I thought of you, fuck you are a fucking witch»

In the room you could hear only the sound of rain and your skin rubbing skin against the skin «I’ll make you come on my dick. I’ll make you forget Minjae, any other guy who tries to get with you», sighed when you felt how it pumped fast inside of you and was completely destroying you; "Jungwon, pls" his hand came down to press on your stomach, your eyes that swirled backward for the pressure « Fuck, I’ll thank that prof for putting me in pair with you, look how well you’re taking my dick, princess» He stopped for a few seconds inside you when he saw that you were closing your eyes.

"no-no-no-no pls, don’t stop".

«Don’t you dare to close your eyes Y/n, you have to see how well your pussy takes my cock, you have to remember who is fucking you and not as a good girl but as a slut» His words got you even more excited and he grabbed your legs holding them there tight around him and started moving again, the new angle made you feel his cock deeper. " Fuck, oh my god", you whined, throwing your head backward against the pillow. had practically locked you under his grip, unable to do anything but take it all and retake it. With a firm push, he made him push against your G-spot, a gasp left your lips as his hand began to torture your clitoris.

"Oh my god, Jungwon is too much," you stammered, trying to hold back the tears and moans that were coming from your mouth, he accelerated more, hitting repeatedly the perfect spot. You felt your high grow and electric shocks of pleasure covered your body and your heat, "I am close to it", Jungwon made small circles in your clitoris stimulating him to the maximum «I also princess, want to fill with my sperm all your pussy» He accelerated his thrusts and you held him so strong «Fuck, sweet hold me so strong. I’m going to come and fill you up to the last drop» his voice was choked and his hips slammed against yours while he shot his sperm inside you while you came at the same time.

When he came out of you he lay down near you and embraced you and filled you with sweet kisses around your face, on your forehead, and in your hair, you were perfect for him and no one would ever have seen you so extremely excited and lost to someone else.

While he hugged you with the sleep that was starting in your body, he said softly «You will remain my rival N*1 but you are the most important and beautiful thing that has happened to me in the last few months, Y/n»

You hugged him even more and you put your head down in the groove of his neck and gave him a little kiss, "You too have become really important to me, but tomorrow morning I don’t want to be seen as your new conquest but something more for you Jungwon" a slight smile formed on Jungwon’s lips and gave you a kiss in the head. «You have always been mine in my head since they put us together Y/n, what did I tell you first? I wanted to be yours and you mine, so don’t worry that tomorrow I’ll still be yours for a long time.»

Comments are appreciated

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madaqueue · 5 months ago

Text

FALL FROM GRACE

do not desire her beauty in your heart, and do not let her capture you with her eyelashes. put to death that which is earthly inside you.

pairing: priest!sunday x succubus!f!reader

themes/content: dubcon (char!receiving - he says "stop" and it's basically ignored, and there's some heavy coercion/corruption stuff going on here), somno depending on how you look at it (succubi technically visit people in their dreams, so he's asleep ? sorta?), lots of religious guilt around sex, heavy catholic religious imagery (literally straight up bible verses). smut. handjobs, fingering/masturbation, p in v. i wanted to explore the rigidity and internalized shame sunday feels so uh . here's this ! (wk: 3.6k)

a/n: me when he's burdened and tormented (also i had to put my religious trauma somewhere ! hope it's yummy) :3333

The first night is always the most fun.

They never wake, not on this visit; the mind is a simple thing to trick, eager to make excuses for the gentle touches trailing over one’s torso, down their chest. A dream, they call it, a ready and waiting path to forgiveness.

The second night is usually the same - feather-light hands, breathy kisses - but you find Sunday to be a near-impossibly light sleeper when he begins to stir beneath you. Pinned under thighs that straddle his waist, his eyelashes flutter, nearly roused; his lips part, almost a sigh. It’s an uncanny thing to be so beautiful and so unaware; you wonder if he’s grateful for this gift. With a quick peck, you send him back into the waiting arms of slumber.

The third night you visit him, his eyes open slowly, still clouded by dreams. It’s rather obviously unexpected to be found in this position, with a stranger resting over him, smiling, trapped beneath their weight.

“Who are you?” he breathes, barely above a whisper. There’s no fear behind his gaze, only shimmering curiosity.

“Who do you think I am?”

Your fingers trail lower, tracing circles into his abdomen. It’s a fitting pattern for what you’ve seen of him: controlled, precise, predictable. No hard edges or uncertainty, just smooth and calm. Something about a vow, you think, has made him like this. Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. A promise to a power too self-righteous for your taste.

His eyebrows furrow as he attempts to focus upon you, vision still blurry. The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, curves casting shadows under the fading starlight, black lace and soft skin. Then, there’s a flash of horns, a flicker of your tail, the markings below your abdomen pulsing through the dark. He swallows. “What are you?”

Ruby lips spread into a grin, one that veers sinister - he’s such a cute little thing, a chocolate covered strawberry, all sweet and flesh and blood. “An angel.”

The silk pillowcase rustles as he shakes his head, too innocent, too naive to do anything but be truthful. “No, you’re not.”

“No,” you lean forward, feeling his pulse thrum below your palm. “I’m not.” You kiss his cheek, and whisper a goodnight.

The fourth night, he’s more awake, but less verbal. Instead, sun-bright eyes follow your movements, the crackling fingerprints that travel his skin. He lets you touch him, lets you trace out the muscles lying below the surface, feel the nerves and arteries that quicken under your touch. Drowsy little whines leave his throat, barely a sound, as you work. Up wrists, over shoulders, to collarbones, counting ribs and diving into his hips, along his thighs, and back again. It’s a beautiful routine, just light enough to keep him half-slumbering.

From there, it’s mostly the same - you touch and trace and tease him, and he watches, silent and mostly unconscious. A week passes, maybe two. The time doesn’t matter, not to you, not really. What matters is the way his skin sparks beneath your fingertips, the way his eyelashes flutter under the moon’s silken glow.

You aren’t granted the privilege of visiting him awake, not yet, at least. There’s no way for you to see the way he pours over text, books with cracked spines and dusty pages, to find the source of these…dreams, of the being that visits him and steals him from the respite of sleep. The word succubus is heavy in his mouth, more bitter than communion wine, with no unleavened sanctity coming after to dull the taste.

On the seventeenth night (you think, if your count is right), he wakes in a notably different position, no longer cradled by the mattress upon which he put himself to bed. Under the mottled moonlight, he finds himself sitting upright, the bare skin of his back resting against something much warmer than the wooden headboard.

“Good morning, Sunday,” you purr into his ear from behind.

He murmurs something, slowly turning over his shoulder to face you. For the briefest moment, you think you catch the flicker of a smile.

“Good morning, demon.”

“Oh?” you let out an airy chuckle. “So you’ve figured it out then. Good, I was worried all you priests were nothing more than fools.”

The lightest laugh brushes past his lips, allowing his eyes to rest for a moment. “I’m no fool. Now tell me, why are you here, demon?”

Through a feigned pout, your hands make their way back to his chest. “What, are you sick of me already? You don’t like me, is that it?”

“I have no particular feelings towards you.” He’s quick to respond, quicker even to remind himself of his place, of his duties, as your palms threaten to burn through his skin. Poverty. Celibacy. Obedience. Important ideals. Good ideals. Holy ones, at that.

Through a hum, you travel lower over his body. It’s a test, really, to see if he’ll stop you, grab your wrists and yank you from behind him and banish you from this place forever. It would take so little: a splash of holy water, or even a simple curse, and he’d be rid of you. Surely he found that little fact in his readings.

And yet, he simply follows your path downward with his gaze (you can’t say you’re truly that surprised - it has become your routine, after all. And Sunday cherishes his routines).

“No feelings for me, you say,” you say, pensively. Lower, and lower, and lower.

Just as his lips open to speak, to throw some calculated retort, your fingertips brush between his legs and the sound twists into something else, something needier, a noise he couldn’t have controlled with all the constitution in heaven.

You gasp at the response, too, awe bubbling inside your cheeks.

“Oh, Sunday,” you breathe. “You poor thing, you must be so pent up.”

“I- mmm.” With a second run of your palm over his hardening length, his eyes dance shut, his entire body shuddering.

“Don’t they allow you to touch yourselves here?”

It’s evil, this touch, coursing with sin and dark, dirty blasphemy. He ought to shut his mouth, rip out his vocal cords if that’s what it takes, and wait. Perhaps a blood smear above his lips would protect him, make you pass him over tonight and all nights thereafter.

“N-not in the monastery,” he chokes out. “It’s against the rules.”

He grants you the privilege of grazing his warming skin, before letting out a shaky breath. Thou shalt not covet. Dispel desire.

“You…you should stop.”

“Stop?” The absurdity leaks into your voice. “You’ve given up so much for this silly church, don’t you think? Why give this up, too? Don’t you deserve it?”

A pause, a steadying breath, to quiet your dissatisfaction disguised as rage.

“And besides, look how badly you need this. It feels good, doesn’t it?” An angel, caught in your trap; to think you may not even have to clip his wings. “Don’t you want to feel good, my dear Sunday?”

Eyelashes delve into the creases of his eyelids as he tightens them closed, lips pulled into a gasping frown. Everything in his mind, in the years of his training, of memorizing verses and teachings and sermons and rules and rules and rules, tells him to say no, to force a stop to this nonsense.

“And,” you perk up at his hesitation, “it won’t even be violating your so-called ‘rules’ if I’m the one touching you, right?”

Even through the feather-light touches, Sunday worries he’s losing his mind, like your fist might as well be piercing through his chest and ripping his soul from it, dragging it into hell with you. The thoughts that make it up his spine are too blurry with lust to let the more sluggish Reason through.

“Right.”

Smiling into his neck, you feel his carotid jump under your teeth. “Good, good. So just let me do this, okay?”

So put to death the sinful, earthly things lurking within you. Have nothing to do with sexual immorality, impurity, lust, and evil desires.

He says the words over, and over, and over in his mind.

Do not be greedy, for a greedy person is an idolater, worshiping the things of this world.

He knows better than to make idols.

And yet, all he can do is nod his head.

He doesn’t face you, of course, buried under the shame of it. If the church was any older, he’d worry the brick would collapse in on him at any second, to punish him for the sin he was too weak to avoid committing. Perhaps he should be turned to salt, a fate befitting of his pathetic disobedience.

“Okay.”

It’s immediate, the way he relaxes when you finally reach below his boxers. The heat of your touch melts him, his throat craning as it releases strained whines. He’s heavy in your hand, a weight his so-called gods would surely commend, if they could spare such thoughts. Soft skin, unsoiled, untainted. Utterly holy.

As you stroke him with a tenderness only known to the clouds of salvation, he looks nothing short of angelic, the arch of his spine making space where wings ought to be, the tickle of his hair soft like a crowned halo. And you, wrapped around him like a flame, carry him through the air. Lower, and lower, and lower. To soften the blow when one falls from grace.

It takes so little for him to shake, to shudder and cry and bend, until you worry his shoulders may snap if you weren’t caging his torso against yours. His head falls back, slack-jawed and awe-struck, as he releases into your palm, pumps of white coating your hand.

It’s a beautiful thing, the sounds he makes, the purity of it. White and cream and gold, just as you’d imagine heaven to be.

There’s waves of pleasure, his stomach clenching with each one, pushing him further and further into you, and you swallow him whole, welcoming with open arms.

Slowly, you press your lips to his cheek, scalding hot.

“Goodnight, Sunday.” And he falls into your chest.

It grows increasingly difficult for him to hide the dreams (at least, that’s what he would convince himself they are). It’s been months now, although truthfully, you’ve stopped counting.

Every night, he falls into a troubled, humid sleep. Every morning, he wakes to a mess, still half-hard and panting.

And yet, he’s more relaxed, his shoulders less tense. When he turns to the parish, his neck moves more easily. As a well-educated (well-trained) man, he assumes he hides it well, but his relief is palpable, a taste too thick to anyone who knows him.

“You seem different lately, Sunday,” Father Wood observes casually.

With his back facing him, Sunday conceals the way his spine tightens. “How do you mean, Father?”

Pensively, Father Wood lights the altar’s candles, an honor given only to those most highly ordained, an honor Sunday used to dream of performing (now, of course, his dreams are consumed by other desires).

“Just…different, is all.”

Sunday’s attention falls to the flames before him, to the way they dance nervously despite the still, stagnant air inside the church. Perhaps they know something he doesn’t.

“I’ve been spending more time in the library lately. Perhaps my reading has enlightened me.”

“Perhaps,” Father Wood echoes. With quiet purpose, he lights the final candle. “This church is your home, my boy. You had nothing before you came here. I remember the day we took you in, the day you were saved.”

There’s a pit in his stomach, one that grows and grows and grows; he’d expect it to taste like acid, but all he gets is honey. “I remember it, too.”

Father Wood hums, facing away. “‘If our minds are ruled by our desires, we will die.’” A pause, a flickering flame. “Sunday, I trust you not to forget the oaths you swore.”

A shiver runs up his neck. Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. “Of course not, Father.”

That night, you meet Sunday in bed. Normally it’s little trouble to untuck the sheets, to find the welcoming skin of his thighs, but tonight he seems determined to bury himself within the blankets.

“Sunday,” you say. He fails to respond, but his ears twitch. “Sunday, I know you’re awake.”

One eye slowly cracks open, revealing the sun behind his eyelids. “Go away.”

“Excuse me?” you choke a laugh. “You want me to ‘go away’?”

Closing his eyes, he hums in affirmation.

Within your chest, your heart flutters - he’s so cute when he thinks he’s in control. Perhaps that’s why you chose him (the chase is always the most fun, the tension of it all; you think Eve’s first bite of the apple must have been underwhelming compared to its weight in her palm).

Perhaps your routine will bring him back. Slowly, you trail a finger along his collarbone - before he pulls away. Curling himself onto his side, he tucks his knees to his chest and shuts you out.

This is certainly a novel development. And it certainly will not do.

“Fine then,” you state, leaning back to the corner of the mattress.

In response, his left ear twitches, but he gives no other response. So be it.

Against the wooden footboard, you open your legs, visible if he were only to turn towards you. With well-practiced hands, you easily slide the black lace panties down your knees, letting them fall at your ankles and leaving you bare (it requires few garments to do your work successfully, after all - they’re made for this).

Silently, you spread your ever-wet folds open. With your other hand, you draw circles around your clit, slowly, tauntingly. Delving into your own heat, a sound of relief comes as an exhale, one that finally has Sunday’s gaze peeking from between his eyelashes.

“What are you doing?”

“If you don’t want me to touch you, I guess I’ll just have to touch myself instead,” you say. The words flow easily, thick like milk and honey, something sweet, something to help him sleep.

This time, his eyes remain open.

His mouth does, too.

Silent except for the ragged breaths coming past his lips, he watches you pleasure yourself, the way your fingers curl, knuckles disappearing only to reappear shining. The inky pattern adorning your womb morphs and glows; a spot of saliva catches in the dim light, and he makes no move to wipe it away.

With an arch of your back and a tilt of your head, you beckon him closer - always such an obedient little thing, your Sunday (he was praised for it, once); he slowly rises. The mattress shifts beneath his weight, holding it unsteadily, as he crawls towards you. Unwavering attention held raptly between your thighs.

“Sunday,” you say, to snap him out of the trance that pulls him towards you. He says nothing, a small trail of drool spilling from the corner of his perfectly eager lips. “Sunday.”

His eyes snap up to yours, the sun eclipsed behind the growing shadow of his pupils.

Your palm cradles his jaw, thumb wiping away the glistening desire. “Are you going to behave now?”

A blank stare.

A fragile nod.

“Good.” Your grin splits the earth open with wicked flames, poking between your teeth. He drinks in the heat with a starving throat, ignoring the way it burns (or reveling in it).

A sparkling star shines in his eyes, nearly glowing. You pull the two fingers from your cunt, still warm and sticky and sweet, and hold them before his face.

You don’t even have to tell him to open his mouth - obedience is such a lovely thing.

When your taste lands upon his tongue, he releases a moan like molten gold. His lips close around your fingers and he sucks and licks the essence from them, hungry and gnawing. Your fingertips glide over his molars and he fights the urge to bite, to claim (a well-trained dog is still just a dog, after all).

There’s a half-hearted whine when you remove your skin from his, one that makes your cheeks ache.

“Tell me what you want, my dear Sunday. Anything you want.”

If our minds are ruled by our desires, we will die.

Perhaps dying here tonight, with your taste still lingering in his throat, would be a graceful demise. A martyr of his sacrilege.

Already, he looks ravished, his cheeks dusted red and eyes wild and unfocused. The pretty ones are always the most fun to ruin, to dirty with desecration; they look so beautiful as they fall.

“I want-” there’s a lump in his throat where his servitude lives, where the years of holiness coalesced and stayed. He swallows heavily. “I want to feel good. I want you to make me feel good.”

“Ah,” you breathe. “I suppose I can do that.”

“But-” he catches himself. Rules, and rules, and rules. They clog up his esophagus, his vocal cords straining to get past them.

With a gentle finger, you hush his worries. “Just let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good, okay?”

He exhales, a shaky sound. “Okay.”

It takes little pressure to recline him onto the bed, the sheets already dampening from the sweat collected in the hollows of his back. He lets you undress him, lets you place scalding kisses into his skin, soft and sweet as a fig. Ripe like one, too.

Only two pumps of your fist up his length and he’s already leaking, twitching and aching.

“So eager,” you coo when his hips rut into the air, chasing your touch.

“M-my apologies,” he says weakly.

“Nothing to be sorry for, my sweet Sunday. Pleasure is a thing to be worshiped, don’t you think?”

They’d bury him for this. The other priests would crucify him and leave his body out to rot. He’d deserve it, he wouldn’t even complain, he’d be perfectly obedient until his very last breath.

As your thighs encase his, as you line his tip to your entrance, as you sink down, slowly, slowly, slowly, until you’re flush with him, until you’ve swallowed him whole and nestled him inside of you, his vision goes white and he feels the warm smile of forgiveness.

“Yes.”

From behind, your tail twitches into his peripheral vision. A cruel reminder, a crash and burn. Melted wings and the sea. But then your hips circle, once, twice, and he forgets himself again, he enjoys the fall.

His hands fly to your waist, before they’re swatted away with a click of your tongue and a sparkle in your eyes. “Ah, no touching me, remember? Those are your rules, after all.”

“Right.” Instead, his fists dig into the sheets, knuckles turning white.

With each plunge of your warmth up and down his cock, he’s reborn, fresh and gasping, each breath burning like the first. Crescent moons carve into his palms, and he groans.

“Is this…is this real?”

A chuckle bubbles from your throat. “Do you want it to be?”

He hesitates for a moment, lets your hand rest on his unsteady heart, lets your skin stick to his. Just below it, a knot forms, the strings tightening and tightening and tightening under years of strain.

“Yes.”

You fill his vision, all-consuming, eating the space between you with sharp teeth. When you speak, it’s a low sound, a rumbling purr. It makes his stomach clench. “Good.”

His breaths come in faster, now that he knows it’s real, that the heat creeping up his neck and down his legs is real, that this is happening. That something exists that feels this fucking good.

And then, all at once, the knot unties itself. The moans he releases are holy, more beautiful than a choir with all its ordained voices.

Damp palms grab at your hips, and you let them. With greedy fingers he holds you in place, fucking himself up into you. Tears well in his eyes and in the blurry haze, he thinks he sees heaven. It opens itself before him, warm and beckoning, in the space between your thighs.

“God, fuck,” he exhales, and you grin.

“How blasphemous, Sunday.”

If he hears you, he gives no indication. Curses tumble from his lips, raw edges cutting his lungs.

He chases a high with urgency, with uncoordinated thrusts and a too-tight grip. His dedication is truly a virtue.

It’s only a moment before he stills, eyes widening, jaw falling open to release an angelic cry. Truly beautiful as he falls, as he comes undone. In the space below his arched spine, you swear there’s a momentary flutter of wings.

Eyelashes open and close, as if to prove that this is not, in fact, real. But the heat still encircling him is proof enough. He shivers.

“Fuck,” he whispers, more to himself than anything.

“Oh Sunday,” you hum, fingers tracing ribs that rise and fall unevenly. There’s a twinge of something mixed into the pride, something sadder, something longing. “This certainly has been fun.”

“Fuck,” he says again. Dread settles on his shoulders, heavy, heavier than duty or scriptures or a grave, than a cross. “Will I…?”

“Be excommunicated for this? Probably not,” you smirk.

Weakly, he shakes his head, sweaty strands of hair sticking to the pillowcase below. “Will I see you again?”

The question makes your heart flutter. How cute.

“If you’d like to, my dear.” With a gentle hand, you brush the fringe from his forehead. “Anything you want.”

At that, he relaxes, his shoulders sinking deeper. With heavy eyelids, his blinking slows. “Good.”

How beautiful he looks like this, half-conscious and spent, utterly debauched. Utterly holy.

“But for now, get some rest.” Warm lips press into his cheek, and he leans into them with a hum. “Goodnight, Sunday.”

#q writes #oneshot #sunday #sunday x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #sunday hsr #sunday honkai star rail #hsr smut #sunday smut #cw dubcon #cw religious imagery #cw religion #<- if i am missing any tags PLEASE do not hesitate to let me know and i will add them!!!!!#cw sacrilege #cw blasphemy

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thaleleah · 6 months ago

Text

𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮)

Pairing: Billy The Kid x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Billy, Virgin!Reader, Oral (female receiving), Fingering, P in V, Corruption Kink, Creampie, Possessive Behavior, Masturbation, Wet Dreams/Sex Dreams, Seduction, Emotional Manipulation, Religion and Religious Beliefs, Explicit talk of gunshot wounds, blood, and the bullet's removal, Mention of physical abuse/child abuse (not from Billy), Childhood Trauma, Mention of alcoholism, Moral/Religious conflict within one's self, My bad Spanish, Nun breaking her vows, Probably too quick of a healing process to be fucking someone but I'm not a doctor so 🤷🏻‍♀️, Using the word "drawers/undergarments" instead of "panties" which is kinda cringe to me but I wanted to be somewhat accurate, Fear/Trauma of Failure

**Warnings updated as fic continues.

Word Count: 20.6K

A/N: As always, you should know that I appreciate y'all sticking with me as I release this fic at a snail's pace. I hope the content makes up for the wait 🧡

Summary: When Billy stumbles into your clinic, hurt and in desperate need of care and refuge, you don't hesitate to help him. Perhaps this is God's will. Perhaps He has brought him into your life to help heal the parts of him that the cruelness of the world has soiled and broken. You are a healer by trade, both of the physical body and of faith. If this is to be God's mission for you, then it shall be done. How could you have possibly known that the young man who begged for help that fateful night would turn out to be the devil himself?

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Translations:

De nuevo - Again/Restart/Start New

Grita - Scream

There’s nothing morally wrong with Billy rubbing your back while you sleep.

It’s innocent - a wholesome act that stems from him trying to be helpful and comforting to your pain like any kind person should be. Like a mother’s touch trying to calm her distressed child or a fellow healer trying to soothe an ill patient. He’s a good man like that. So it shouldn’t be a surprise when the first morning after sleeping in the bed, your sleep clouded mind now free from the misery and a little bit more free from guilt, that you realize that it was not God’s healing touch caressing your aching back, but instead Billy’s own calloused hand.

In the moment between sleep and reality when the veil between the two is so thin it's almost impossible to tell what's real and what's not, the hand on your back gave you rest and soothed your tight muscles and aching joints. The energy flowing from the contact seemed almost holy, comforting in a way that you associate with His touch. And while it’s not hard to see Him within Billy, and while it’s not inappropriate for Billy to touch you in that way and offer you this comfort, the idea still makes a part of you uncomfortable.

You’re not quite sure how to explain it. You understand it in a way - the way you felt when you woke up throughout the night with parts of your body pressed up against Billy’s. His warmth against your side or his hand curled gently around your wrist, subconsciously seeking affection from the only other person sharing the bed. There was even a point where you woke to find your cheek resting on his forearm, a few drops of drool evidenced on his skin from how long you had been laying like that. You jerked your head away as fast as you could, one of your hands frantically wiping away the wetness from Billy’s skin before all but shoving his arm back onto his own side of the bed. He woke from the unintentional rough treatment but didn’t say anything - just readjusted and fell back asleep.

You had managed a solid few hours of sleep between that final incident and the morning’s first light. When you woke again, the guilt of what you had just done - innocent and necessary or not - hit you full force. Billy rubbing your back is not sinful. Billy comforting you in a moment of need is not sinful. Even sharing a bed out of necessity can be argued as not sinful (although your brain keeps telling you it is, over and over again like an incessant loop with no end in sight).

But the way you wake up face to face with him, inches apart and so close you can feel his breath on your nose - this… this is not okay. The way he lets out a grunt as he wakes, blue eyes now as dark as a storm in the low light of the morning only made darker by his exploded pupils. The way he looks at you from beneath hooded lids, a small smirk pulling at his mouth as he lets out a sleep-gruff “Mornin’,”.

The way your heart races in that moment as if entranced by the sight itself - that’s not okay. That’s not godly.

It feels sinful.

“Excuse me,” You say quickly. “I need to use the pot.”

Your words were quick, rushed together in a sudden rush of panic, but your escape out of the bed is not as quick. Your spine twinges as you roll, much too fast for the tender pain still clawing at your back.

“Careful,” Billy scolds, fully awake now as he reaches a hand out towards you. You push it away, gently this time even though your instincts are yelling at you to smack it away. You already did that yesterday, you can’t do it again. Someone who is meant to be a voice for the Lord should have better self control than that.

“I’m fine,” You mumble, gritting your teeth as you push yourself to stand. You head over to the pot sitting in the corner of the room and slowly bend to grab it.

You’re fine, you tell yourself as you head out of the bedroom for some privacy.

You’re fine, you will as you hold back tears from how much it hurts to squat over the pot and you’re thankful that you only have to pee this time.

Please let me be fine, you pray as you wipe yourself clean. You’ll have to empty the pot at some point today, but you can’t bring yourself to try to do it now.

But you’re not fine. You’re in pain, back still screaming in agony despite sleeping on the bed last night and you don’t have to pray for God’s wisdom to see the next few days He has in store for you.

When you trudge back to Billy’s side, it's with a dejected spirit.

“Do you need the bedpan?” You ask, quietly.

“No,”

Billy gives you a pointed look and you take it for what it is: a demand.

So you sit back down next to him and will yourself to not wallow in your own self-pity like you want to. God would not want you to waste your energy on such negativity.

You barely get out of bed for anything the whole day. Some instances are inevitable, food and relieving yourselves when the need arises can’t be helped. But the need to be moving around eats at you. The feeling of needing to be busy, of needing to be useful even when there’s truly nothing pressing to be done makes you feel like there are bugs under your skin. You don’t want to be cooped up in bed all day again. Mankind wasn’t meant to be stagnant. Yesterday was hard enough already and now you’re being made to stay put again. You know yourself, know how much you crave to be on the move - on the go, never wanting to stay still for too long. You need to do something, be helpful in some way. Being forced to sit and stay like a dog is the last thing you want to do. But Billy has made his stance clear on what he thinks you should do.

“You stay in bed and heal, and I will too.”

Like yesterday, the ‘if you don’t…’ still remains unspoken, but the message is still received loud and clear.

You make absolutely sure to tell him that threatening and giving a nun an ultimatum is not very godly or very good manners in general, and you swear his eyes almost got stuck in the back of his head with how hard he rolls them.

You make sure to also tell him that rolling his eyes at a nun is not very kind either.

So you both stay in the bed.

The isolation and pure boredom quickly takes its toll. Billy decides to use the time to sleep, head turned to the side on his pillow with his mouth open as he breathes slow, deep breaths of oxygen into his lungs.

He looks so peaceful, thick eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks and it once again strikes you how young he truly is. He’s been through so much horror and loss and it hurts to think that, even though it would be horrible for anyone to go through what he’s went through, how much more awful it feels to know that not too long ago he was just a boy himself - innocent and in need of protection and guidance and instead was cast aside like he was worth nothing.

He needs to be on when he’s awake. Guarded and observant, ready for danger at a moment's notice - the trials and tribulations of a wanted man. But here, in sleep, he looks the most at peace as you’ve ever seen him in the short time you’ve known him. And when he looks like this, innocent and soft as his dark hair falls over his forehead, you find it hard to believe that this is the same man who is wanted for the murder of no less than five men. Possibly more if the rumors are to be believed.

It’s fine. This is fine. Let him have his peace and serenity while cooped up in this cabin and all but chained to this bed. At least one of you is finding peace because it’s certainly not you. Your thoughts race, brain screaming at you to get up and do something. Maybe you could - Billy wouldn’t even know if you got up.

No. You can’t. That would be a lie. You promised you would stay in bed and you make sure to keep your promises.

You use the time to pray instead, filling the hours of silence with whispered prayer to steady yourself and clear your racing mind. When Billy wakes, the movement of his body as he shifts to sit up and lean against the headboard distracts you enough to open your eyes, watching carefully as he maneuvers himself and paying special attention to make sure he’s not pulling on his injury. But you don’t stop praying, lips forming the shapes of the holy words as he settles himself beside you.

He doesn’t interrupt. Never utters a word. His hands clasp in his lap as they mirror your own, sitting in silence and not quite acting like he’s trying to pray with you, but giving you the respect and space you deserve while you do.

Your praying doesn’t stop as you offer a hand out to him. It’s not traditional practice to hold another person’s hand during prayer. You’ve even heard it said that doing so can be seen as distracting and should be discouraged if it takes away focus from the Lord’s prayer. But you’ve often found that physical touch can bring people together - a physical bond between God’s children to solidify the spiritual bond that everyone hopes to achieve with He Himself.

Well, perhaps not Billy. Not yet anyway. But he still takes your hand when you offer it to him, his fingers curling around yours as they both lay between you on the bed.

You pray until your stomachs growl and even then you make sure to thank Him for providing your next meal.

The next day gives you more of the same as the day before.

It’s a tiny bit better, although not as noticeable as you would hope. You keep trying to think about it, mulling over what God’s plan could possibly be for rendering you practically helpless when you’re meant to be healing someone else. You can’t figure it out - you’re not meant to. It’s He and He alone who can know what His plan truly is and if you were meant to know, you would. But the lack of stimulation makes you keep on trying to figure it out, thinking and thinking and thinking and hoping that if you can just figure out why, then maybe you’ll heal quicker and be back on your feet like you want to be.

You have to force yourself to stop, the words sinner and doubtful creeping into your mind and curling around your heart with an icy grip when you realize just how much you’ve let yourself fester on it. The Good Lord has a plan and that’s all you need to know. All this thinking and trying to work it out is making it seem like you doubt Him. Doubt Him and the plans He has in store for you.

Shame on you, you scold yourself.

Please forgive my sin, Lord. I trust You.

Sister Catherine wouldn’t have doubted. She wouldn’t have wasted a single second on pitying herself. Sister Ann would have prayed her worries away, talking directly to God instead of trying to think around Him.

What is happening to you? This isn’t like you. It shouldn’t be like you.

You shuffle down the bed as carefully as you can, laying out on your side with your back towards Billy. If he noticed the tears running down your cheeks before you turned away, he doesn’t say anything. But after a few minutes of silence, his large calloused hand comes up to rub soothingly at your back.

It feels good, calming and healing like it did that first night. So, despite the part of your brain that’s still telling you this is wrong, you allow it anyway in the hopes that it truly is God’s loving and forgiving touch coming through Billy’s capable hands.

Billy’s wound is healing surprisingly fast. From your experience, wounds like his would take months to heal properly enough for him to move around with little worry, and even then one would still have to watch the injury site for a little while longer just to be sure. But Billy’s is mending much quicker than you would have anticipated, especially considering the significant amount of trauma the bullet caused to his side.

“The Lord is good, Billy. He’s looking out for you,” You tell him as you redress his wound. You’ve checked it already, double and then triple checking that he hadn’t torn anything in his noble yet incredibly stupid attempts at being a helpful gentleman while you yourself were in duress. He hadn’t, thank the Lord. God’s protection may be mighty, but it doesn’t frequently cover carelessness. You dress it carefully, making sure to keep it clean as you recover the trauma site with a fresh cloth. “I’d say only a few more weeks and you’ll be well enough to ride again.”

Billy scoffs at your words, irritation evident in the sour twist of his face. “There ain’t no god up there lookin’ out for me. S’all me.”

You ignore his jab and focus on taping the cloth securely to his skin.

“Well, you’re healing up mighty quick. Surely this is a blessing.” You toss the leftover material back in your bag. There’s still enough left to change it again for one last time. Perhaps Sister Ann will think to send some along with Sam for his next delivery in a few days, so you can have it just in case. ”Maybe He is with you after all, hm?”

“If you say so, Sister,”

He’s upset again, a lethal combination of the frustration that’s aimed at your insistence that God is with him despite him wanting nothing to do Him, and the fact that you are once again on your feet despite his insistence that you stay put. You can also tell that he’s starting to get antsy from being restrained to bed rest for so long. He hasn’t vocalized this particular frustration yet, but you can sympathize with the way he stretches his long limbs a little more than necessary, clearly fighting the urge to throw his legs over the side of the bed and move around like he really wants to.

A part of you wishes to console him. You don’t like to see him upset. He’s getting better, recovering fast and you can easily see him healing up and ready to be on the move much quicker than he ever should be. He should be happy about that - not frowning with his dark brows furrowed in barely concealed agitation.

But you don’t say anything. Just finish up the bandage refresh, taping it to his skin to keep it secure and letting Billy rebutton his shirt while you return your bag to the main room before dutifully returning to your place at his side as promised.

Billy stays in the bed as long as you stay in the bed. He’s calmed down a bit now, frown smoothing out as he watches you work on the blanket for the clinic. He makes himself useful and continues to hold your yarn for you as you work. The yarn balls you’ve brought are almost all completely used up and you’re not quite sure what you’re going to do when they’re gone.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you,” You say suddenly, half just to distract yourself and half out of pure uncontained curiosity. “About that night.”

“Which night?” Billy asks, but you don’t have to look at him to know that he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“The night you came to the clinic,” You say anyway. “But… before it.”

Your hands have stopped their movements, knitting needles and the rest of your project resting between your fingers in your lap. Now you do look at him, eyes boring curiously into the side of his face. His stubble is getting a little long, maybe Joe has a razor here that Billy can borrow.

He doesn’t look back at you though, instead keeping his gaze down to wear he’s playing with the tail end of the yarn that he’s purposefully kept out when rerolling the yarn ball. “What about it?”

“What happened? How did-” Your question trails off as your eyes drop to where his wound is as if you could see it through the covering of both his shirt and the bandage. “How did it happen?”

To your shock, Billy smirks. “Well, I didn’t know nuns liked to gossip. I reckon that wouldn’t be considered too god-like,”

You scoff at his playful words and lightly push his shoulder. “You hush. It’s not gossip if it's your own story.”

“Sure it’s not,” He chuckles.

You hum, one eyebrow raised as you quietly hold your stance in the face of his smugness, but the smile pulling at your lips surely ruins the look and maybe it’s a good thing he still hasn’t looked at you yet.

“Alright,” You relent. “Then as one of the Lord’s faithful servants, I am giving us the permission to… gossip.”

“I don’t think it can work like that,”

Suddenly, another understanding springs at the forefront of your mind. “Oh. Do you not wanna tell me?”

Foolish woman! Practically forcing him to tell you something he’s clearly not comfortable with telling. You are no priest and you have no right to demand to hear his sins or confession.

“No, it’s not–”

“You don’t have to tell me,” You rush to say. Guilt claws at you at the thought of you making him feel obligated to tell you about his trauma just because you want to know. Because you're curious. Because you want to gossip. “I’m sorry I asked. It’s not my place–”

“Hey,” He says, and now he is looking at you, clear blue eyes haloed with intensity as he grips your shoulder. “S’okay. I want to tell you.” There’s a beat, and then a thankfully sincere, “I trust you.”

You nod. “You can, Billy. You can trust me, I promise,”

Billy’s quiet for a moment but his eyes never leave yours. Eyes that look a little wetter now than usual as they stare back at you, and you feel like those eyes are trying to tell you more in this moment than any of his words ever could.

Finally, he speaks. “I want to tell you. But it wasn’t my finest moment,”

You think maybe it's better if you stay silent, so you do.

“I had a friend by the name of Pete Maxwell. You know him?”

You nod, adding in a brief, “Of him. A rancher. Decently wealthy.”

Apparently not wealthy enough to ever donate to the clinic, you think bitterly, and then immediately berate yourself for thinking something so judgemental of someone you’ve never met before.

“Yeah,” Billy says. “That night, I was at his ranch. He said I could stay for a few days until I figure out where to go next. I can’t stay in New Mexico anymore, they’re huntin’ me and they’re not gonna stop until they hang me.”

The thought of seeing Billy hanging from the end of a rope feels like there’s a hand squeezing uncomfortably around your heart. You’ve seen swinging bodies before - poor souls who, despite their transgressions, didn’t deserve the harsh judgment of ending their time here on Earth before the Lord called them home Himself. It makes you sick, thinking of all the people whose time had been cut short solely because someone else believes that just because they are powerful enough to end someone’s life also means they should.

“I never wanted to kill anyone,” Billy insists, and you wonder if he can read your thoughts in your eyes. “You know that. I never want to hurt anyone. Anythin’ I did was to protect myself from the people that wanted to hurt me or someone I cared about. Please, Sister, I swear.”

Your hand finds the curve of Billy’s cheek. “I know, Billy. I know,”

He lets out a shaky breath, but you can tell how relieved he is at your reassurance.

“I heard voices that night. Quiet talkin’. Not quite whispering but more hushed. I still recognized Pete’s voice just fine, but the other,” He trails off, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “How could I not have recognized him? From all the nights we all used to spend crammed in that small hideaway talkin’ about everythin’ and nothin’, how could I not have recognized Pat’s voice?”

You can hear the pain in his voice, and you think that this was one of those pivotal moments. Something that seems so insignificant but turned out to have such important consequences. You know all too well how those moments stick with you.

“But I thought I was safe with friends. I should’ve known better. I’m never safe. Not really. I walked down the hall and looked in Pete’s room. It was dark and I didn’t recognize who he was talkin’ to. They didn’t know I was there until I spoke and asked who it was.”

His hand twitches towards his hip and you know he’s reflexively feeling for where his gun should be.

“I’m the fastest gunslinger in the territory,” He tells you. “I made sure I am so that no one can ever get the upper hand on me ever again. I should’ve had my hand on my gun that day. I should’ve been ready. But I hesitated. Garrett knows me, he didn’t hesitate. I’ve fought my whole life just tryin’ to do the right thing and live a normal peaceful life, and I let my guard down for one minute - one minute of hesitation thinkin’ that I should’ve been safe - and it almost got me killed.” His hand moves from his hip to cover the healing wound on his side. “He’s usually a better shot than that. He must have been caught off guard too.”

“And then what happened?” You press. Pete Maxwell’s ranch is close to the clinic, but it's still a ways away if you're traveling on foot. The idea of BIlly walking the entire way to the clinic with an injury as substantial as his and making it is nothing short of a miracle.

“I ran. There’s an alcove in one of the spare rooms on the first floor. I ran down the stairs, stumbled down the stairs, and hid in there until Garrett passed and then I snuck out the back. My horse was tied in the barn and they chased me to the river just outside of town. So I sent my horse on her way and hid behind a big rock as they chased after her.”

“You rode a horse with a gunshot wound and then walked yourself the rest of the way to the clinic?” You asked, stunned.

“Yes, ma’am,”

Incredible. “My word! The Lord hath blessed you that day, Billy, for surely you should have died on that journey! You were knocking on death’s door when you stumbled in and I had no idea if it was even possible to save you. The fact that you made it to the clinic at all is a miracle.”

“You can listen to that and still say that’s a ‘blessin’’?”

His tone has soured a bit again, face twisted in irritation, but you lean forward and take both of his hands in yours.

“Your instincts saved you, Billy,” You say. “Despite all that you may not believe, believe that. Sheriff Garrett would have killed you if anything happened any differently than it did. He could have shot you in the head or in the chest, and if he had, you and I would not be sitting here having this conversation. I wouldn’t have met you.”

Thankfully, his expression softens. “And I wouldn’t have met you,”

The corner of your mouth curls up in a soft smile. “See? Small blessings.”

“Does it scare you?” Billy asks suddenly. “To be here. With me.”

The smile dissipates. “No. No, of course not. Why would I be scared?”

“I’ve killed people. A lot of people. I’m dangerous,”

“No,” You say, fingers squeezing tightly around his hands in reassurance. “You never wanted to kill anyone. You said it yourself. What you were forced to do to survive doesn’t define you. It’s what you do in moments of peace that do, and despite what the law says, God’s law is stronger. Give to the poor, help those in need, love each other and treat one another as you would want to be treated, and you’ve done all that, Billy. I’ve heard it. Your brother and sisters see it. They see how you’ve protected them, they see your kindness,” His blue eyes bore into yours as you speak. “God sees it, and I do too.”

The look in his eyes as he stares at you tells you that he wants to believe your words, but his words come out bitter. “Everyone sees it, but I’m still being hunted,”

“I know it's hard. I know it's unfair. But please, Billy, please, have faith that God has a plan for you. He has brought us together for a reason,” You say, ardently. “I believe that.”

He considers you for a long while, the doubt still clear as day in his vivid stare, but it feels like progress that he doesn’t say anything against your words. Maybe he’s finally starting to believe, just a little.

“I have your gun and hat, by the way,” You tell him, pulling your hands from his. They run down the front of your tunic to smooth it down before returning to your knitting needles. “They’re with my bag.”

You don’t know why you felt the need to tell him that right now. He won’t be needing them for at least another few weeks. At least you hope he won’t. The odds of Sheriff Garrett and his men finding you out here and surprising you both on your brother’s doorstep are slim, but nothing is ever completely certain. Maybe it's the thought of him losing everything - friends he thought he could trust, his horse, all his belongings. He almost lost his life. If you can comfort him for a moment and show that he hasn’t truly lost everything, even if it's just his gun and hat, you will.

“Thanks,” He replies, quietly.

You think he’s happy to hear it, but he suddenly seems much more interested in continuing to play with the loose end of your yarn.

Four nights of sleeping on the bed are doing wonders for your back, and although it's not as immediate as you had originally hoped, the improvement is clear. It’s not 100% yet, certain movements or even too much movement in general still makes some pain rear its ugly head, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was before. You think you should be in the clear in the next day or so. Which is nice to think about because this feeling and the physical limitations that come with it are getting old.

Like you, a particularly nasty part of your brain supplies, but you quickly tramp it down because first of all - how rude. And second of all, how dare you think of something so natural and beautiful in such a negative and self-degrading way? The Lord granted us mortality, the blessing of being able to experience life in all forms and watch as the world around you grows with you. Death is a consequence of original sin, but in it the Lord granted us salvation despite the punishment. Life is not forever on Earth, but our souls will live forever in His kingdom, and despite the actions that brought us here, we are blessed with the ability to watch the world and its people grow and change around us while our bodies, too, grow and change.

The aches in your muscles are signs of well use as well as general aging. The cracking joints you experience from time to time are just the body’s normal wear and tear of being well loved. Self-degradation comes from the Devil - his temptation to be ungrateful for the things God has granted us rearing up in the form of nasty words and thoughts leading to insecurity. We are all made in His perfect image, aging aches and pains included.

You haven’t slept through the night since before you got here, the stress of the situation having you waking up during the night from dreams of Sheriff Garrett breaking down your brother’s front door and putting a bullet through Billy’s forehead instead of just his side this time, and then the pain from your back taking its toll on any restful sleep you could have hoped to have. But when you wake up on the fourth morning in the bed, it's to the pleasant shock of finally sleeping through the night once again. The sun’s already shining through the bedroom window, your skin greedily soaking up the warm rays as you stretch out more along the sheets. You hadn’t woken up once during the night from any pain or discomfort, sleeping deeply enough that you know that you dreamt, but whatever it was is long forgotten.

You stretch again, using the additional space to sprawl all the way out as you bask in the rare moment of stillness. The content moment crashes around you when you realize you have a bit too much space for you to take up and your eyes fly open to see that Billy’s side of the bed is empty. Your hand automatically darts out to touch the empty space beside you as if they don’t actually believe what your eyes are seeing. He is supposed to be bedridden. Unmoving. Still. Recovering. And instead he’s gone - the sheets warm to your touch from the sun but still cooler without any remnants of his body heat left.

Noise comes from the kitchen, a small clatter of metal on metal that sounds like someone scraping down a pot and you jerk up, instantly awake and intent on running in the kitchen and finding out just what Billy thinks he’s doing out of bed. A sharp pain in your back halts your movements and your rare moment of serenity is gone in an instant. Words of blasphemy have never been a regular part of your vocabulary, just the rare ones slipping out in small bouts of rebellion in your youth and even those were few and far between. Your mother used to wash your mouth out with soap if she ever heard it, less for the sake of discipline and more for the sake of teaching you to never say them on the chance your father were to hear it. His discipline would have been far more unpleasant than a mouthful of soap. You haven’t spoken a single blasphemous word since taking your vows.

The pain in your back brings you mighty close though.

“Billy!” You call through the pain, teeth gritted together as your hands come to cradle your back.

“Gimme a minute, Sister,” He calls back, and this time you hear the more gentle and higher pitched clink of silverware.

“Billy, what are you doing?” You will not give him a minute. Your second attempt at sitting up is more successful this time and you’ve just gotten on your feet when he enters the room.

He’s carrying two bowls in his hands, piled generously with what looks like still steaming hot oatmeal. He clicks his tongue at you when he sees you, brows furrowing in concern and disappointment as if you are the one currently being unreasonable right now by being out of bed.

“I made us breakfast,” He says.

He places one of the bowls on the bedside table and uses his free hand to pull your pillow up so it leans against the headboard. You slap his hand away when he tries to nudge you back down against it, jaw dropped in shock at his audacity.

“You are in no position to be making breakfast,” You say, scandalized. “You are in no position to be standing on your feet. You should be in bed. Healing. Not cooking and lifting potentially heavy pots and possibly injuring yourself more.”

“S’okay,” He says, gently, voice soft as if trying to calm a wild animal. “M’fine. You’re hurt and were sleepin’ so good and I’m able, so I did.”

“If you pulled your stitches–”

He lifts the hem of his shirt up to reveal the bandage on his side, thankfully still clean and not a drop of blood seeping through the white.

“I didn’t. I was careful. I lifted you and nothin’ happened. If I could do that without them tearin’ then I can cook us up a meal,” He drops his shirt back down and tries to nudge you back down on the bed again, and this time you fall back willingly. He places the bowl of oatmeal into your hands and the heat from the bowl warms your fingers. “M’strong, I promise. Now can you please try the oatmeal? It’s real good, my Ma taught me how to make it.”

“Come sit on the bed where you should be and I’ll try it,” You tell him with a stern raise of your eyebrow. He concedes with a small smirk, clearly satisfied with himself.

When he’s settled next to you, his own bowl placed between his hands on his lap, he levels you with an expectant stare and it's only then that you take your first bite. You hum approvingly at the taste, the subtle flavor of cinnamon and something a little sweeter undercoating the oats.

“Your Ma had good taste,” You compliment, and Billy beams at you in happiness.

The good news of his recovery comes at a cost, and however much you try to urge him to stay in the bed to recover, he makes it incredibly clear that he is becoming much too restless to stay in it all day.

And suddenly, it feels like you’re looking in a mirror.

Billy’s push back sounds familiar to you, your own words of protest from the past few days being spat back in your face as he argues that he is well enough to stand and walk around for a little bit each day. Perhaps this is your punishment for how difficult you were during your own need for recovery.

“I can’t just sit around all day,”

You said it to him when he tried to urge you to rest and now he’s throwing those same words back at you, daring you to be a hypocrite in the face of your own words.

“Billy, you are recovering from a gunshot wound. Do you have any idea how serious this could become if you put too much stress on it too soon and it becomes infected?”

“It’s not gonna get infected. You care for it good enough and you said that I was healin’ up fast.”

“The possibility of tearing–”

“What about if you hurt your back again, huh? What then? You ain’t gonna do me any good if you keep hurtin’ yourself.”

“Oh, you are stubborn! The Bible says ‘a stubborn fool considers his own way the right one, but a person who listens to advice is wise’. Why can’t you listen to my professional advice?”

“Never said I was wise. I’ll be stubborn if it's gonna keep you safe. But really, who’s being the stubborn one here?”

Ouch.

You know the Lord is testing you.

That’s what this whole thing is - a test of your loyalty and strength in the face of hardships you never thought you would have to deal with.

Just like you, it seems that Billy is an active man - a doer who would rather be productive and helpful than sitting on his behind all day long and accept being cared for.

You appreciate this type of man. The type of man who makes himself useful in all aspects of life and doesn't expect to be doted on by his women just because he ‘worked hard’ all day and ‘deserves to relax’ when he gets home. You’ve seen first hand how a woman’s role in life doesn’t have set business hours. From the moment she wakes up in the morning, she’s doing her duties, caring for her husband or father and doing whatever she has to do to make his life easier.

Clean the home.

Make the meals.

Care for the children.

Tend to all his needs.

And when he gets home after work, from doing what he thinks is the most important job of all of ‘providing’ for his family, he kicks his feet up as she places a glass of whiskey in his hand. The woman handles the rest as she always does and receives no thanks in return for her efforts.

The sting of the past rears its ugly head whenever you think about it. You remember how the second your father walked through the door, whether he had been at work or already out in a saloon plying himself full of drink, your mother would be ready with a glass of the finest liquor your family could afford in hand for him. You remember how he never did anything to help with the household - never any heavy lifting, never any cleaning, never any cooking. He never even hugged his children.

Your mother did it all.

The tax of being a woman is often much higher than you think you’re willing to pay, and you often wonder if this is what the Lord truly meant when he said “Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.”

So while you are mostly grateful that Billy is not like a grand majority of the men you’ve met, you think it’s inconvenient for this particular moment.

“Fine,” You begrudgingly allow, crossing your arms over your chest. “But if I think you’re overdoing it and tell you to sit down, I expect you to listen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He says with a pleased smirk as he tips an invisible hat at you.

Oh, Lord. Give me strength.

You allow him to stay out of bed for portions of the day under the condition that the tasks he does are light work and in no way any kind of danger to his still healing wound. He helps you in the kitchen, observing while you chop vegetables and put together hearty meals for the two of you with the supplies that Sam was gracious enough to provide for you both in his crate. He’s attentive to your needs - taking the dirty dishes from you and cleaning them right away in the heated water basin next to the stove while you cook, shaking his head stubbornly when you try to tell him to leave it. He’s offered to go out and collect more water for you from the stream out front when you need it, but you draw the line there, not wanting him to risk injuring himself more by picking up a heavy pot. He hands you things before you have to ask; already handing you a clean knife when you reach for the potatoes or using the spare kitchen rag to wipe the splattered mess clean that erupts from the pot as you stir. He’s a handy helper, an asset in the kitchen and around the rest of the cabin too when you let him.

It feels nice to have a helper - domestic in a way you haven’t had in a long time. Your fellow Sisters help you out every day, but it's different. They have their own jobs to tend to and you have yours. Help is expected but only when it's truly needed, otherwise you are on your own as you fulfill your given duties.

But when you were still living at home, before your world came crashing down on you, you and your mother would cook meals together. She would do a majority of the cooking but you would stand beside her and help her with whatever she needed. And in the spaces where she didn’t need anything, you would listen to her sing as she cooked, singing along with her and dancing in the small kitchen space. You were never quite as happy anywhere else as you were when in that small bubble of calm domesticity with her.

You want to ask Billy if he had those moments with his Ma in the kitchen too when he was growing up, but you’re too scared of breaking the calm that you can’t bring yourself to ask.

You thought your childhood might have been the end of it. The constant struggle and all-consuming fear you suffered day in and day out at the hands of your alcoholic father is something you would never wish on anyone. You’ve tried to justify it before - or not justify it but rather reason that you should consider yourself lucky, in a way. There’s always someone that has it worse off than you. Always someone who suffers more, is more fearful, has it harder and with more obstacles to overcome with not even a steep staircase in sight to help them over it.

You think Billy is one of those people. A poor soul lost amongst a battering sea of hurdles and tragedy that crash into him without mercy like waves during a storm. Orphaned at the age of fifteen, not even his brother alive anymore to keep him company in a cruel world that favors money over human life and dignity.

But, the truth is, you can’t compare them. Two very different circumstances each with their own obstacles and lessons to learn, and you think it’s doing the Lord an injustice to try to push off your own tests as ‘not as bad’ in the face of another’s. Yours are for you and you alone.

You should know that the Lord is never done with His teachings.

When growing up in that house, you used to watch your father with careful eyes. It was important to keep tabs on him - the state he was in (drunk or absolutely under-the-table drunk), his current mood based on how much drink he had consumed thus far into the day, and who he was looking at through those drink clouded eyes. You would go back and forth with your prayers, subconsciously or consciously asking God to keep his gaze from looking back into yours only to take it back and pray that it does. Because if his eyes weren’t on you, that means they were either on your mother or brother, and hearing their cries and screams for mercy always hurt more than the pain your father’s attention brought.

But moreso, you would watch him so you could know what you didn’t want.

Before taking your vows, you would pray every night for God to send you someone wonderful. Someone kind and caring with a strong and protective disposition but that would never ever ever lay a hand on you in anything other than pure love and adoration. Maybe he would be handsome - tall or short, green eyes or brown, fair-headed or with hair as black as the night, it didn’t matter. As long as he loved you and cared for you like a good husband should, you would take the blessing.

You hadn’t thought about that in a long time. That path for you is no longer an option and you thought you had made peace with that, knowing that you had been blessed with a better path than you could have ever hoped for when you were younger. But it hits you hard when you realize that you may not be as at peace with it as you thought.

It feels like an empty pit in your stomach when you watch him move around next to you in your brother’s small kitchen, looking up at Billy’s stretching arm as he reaches for one of the extra bowls Joe keeps up high on the top shelf above the stove that you are too short to reach yourself. The realization that, in another life, maybe this could have been your life. The thought makes your heart ache, the wanting of what could have been despite the contentedness of your life now is creeping in unexpectedly and you’re not sure how to feel. But it's there, frozen and immovable in your brain as you look up at him. He grabs the bowl and brings it down for you, looking down at you with a small upward turn of his lips as he hands it to you, and you think - wow, maybe in another life, one in which you hadn’t devoted your life to God and His will, maybe Billy could have been someone you could have shared your life with.

If there was ever the embodiment of someone you would have hoped and prayed for yourself, Billy would have made a good option. Someone handsome, strong both physically and morally, equally helpful as you are to him and actually wants to be.

You take the offered bowl from his hands, sadness encompassing your heart as you mourn for the little girl who prayed so hard for God to send her someone wonderful like him. The Lord works in mysterious ways, that is no secret. Billy is in your life for a reason and everything that you’re feeling now is carefully orchestrated by the Lord. There’s a lesson to be learned in this. Perhaps some justice and freedom for your younger self that never got her prayers answered the way she expected to, but instead was blessed with a life path that was so much better.

It takes some time to coddle the little girl still left inside you. But even so, eventually it's time to lift her sadness and stress and desperation up to the Lord so He can finally heal her and replace her suffering with His pure love.

New Mexico can be hot, but thankfully not very humid. Heat you can tolerate, but humidity? Forget about it.

When your travels had taken you into Louisiana, you considered for a moment that it might be where the Devil himself lived for as hot and humid as it was. The difference between New Mexico and Louisiana was stark - the comfortable heat of New Mexico, even when wearing the multiple coverings of a habit, is nothing compared to the absolute stifling and hard-to-breathe heat of that long week in Louisiana. Some residents there had assured you that it wasn’t always as horrific as it was when you asked during the long, long week of your stay. Just a heatwave, they said - and for their sake, you certainly hope so.

You haven’t had to worry too much about that here. Since you’ve moved to New Mexico, there’s only been one drastic heatwave. And while you had sat in the clinic, sweating profusely under the dark clothes of your habit and a wet washcloth pressed against the back of your neck, you had hoped that it would be the last one you ever had to experience.

But the unusual heaviness in the air and the way you’re starting to feel more than a little wet under your armpits tells you that that particular thrown up prayer may have gone unanswered.

It’s much hotter than it’s been in the last few days.

The cabin has been a safeguard from any excess heat so far, the well built wooden roof and sturdy walls effectively blocking the sun’s powerful rays and keeping the inside of the cabin a temperature fit for human living. But now it's too hot, too well contained, and the heat feels like it's smacking you in the face every time you turn around.

You feel wet under your clothes, the dark layers of your habit doing their job at keeping your entire body covered but doing you no favors in helping you find any relief from the all consuming heat. Billy’s not doing much better either. His dark hair is plastered against his forehead, sweat beading around his hairline, and he looks just as exhausted as you feel. His eyes are closed as he lays back against the pillows and for the first time in the past few days, he doesn’t make any effort to try to get out of bed to move around. To be fair though, you don’t really make any effort to move around either. Being active uses energy that you most definitely don’t have right now - the ridiculous humidity taking away all your will and motivation to do anything other than use a spare piece of paper to fan yourself.

Eventually, it's not enough though.

Your clothes are sticking to your skin and you feel more disgusting than you have in a long time.

“I need a bath,” You mutter, still fanning your face with the paper. You really do. Some nice cool water sliding along your skin to help cool you down sounds about as close to Heaven as you can get right now. But then it hits you, eyes flying open as your head snaps to look at Billy. “Oh gosh, you need a bath!”

It’s been exactly two weeks less a day that you’ve been in hiding at your brother’s cabin with a wanted criminal and you still haven’t offered him a proper opportunity to bathe. You’ve done the bare minimum so far, running a wet cloth across your skin at the end of the day to rid yourself of the dirt and grime before handing it off to Billy to do the same. But it’s been far too long since you had a proper bath. Your last one was the day Billy found his way into the clinic - who knows when was the last time Billy had a proper wash.

One of Billy’s eyes crack open at your gasp. “You sayin’ I stink?”

Heat rises at your cheeks and for a second you think you’ve offended him, but the playful smirk that pulls under his sweaty upper lip tells you to relax.

“Yes,” You say anyway. “Very much so, in fact.”

Billy lets out an amused huff, his eyes slipping shut again. “Hm, so kind of you to say so,”

“Well, it’s a sin to lie,” You take a second to gather your resolve before forcing yourself up. Thank goodness cold water is what you're needing for your refreshing bath, you can’t stand the thought of having to run the stove right now to heat it up. “It should also be a sin with how bad we smell.”

“You don’t smell bad,”

You look at him, strict brow raised. “Now, what did I just say about lying?”

“Ain’t a lie,’”

He opens his eyes again to look at you and, for some crazy reason, there’s a seriousness there that you’re not prepared for. You thought maybe he was just being polite, not saying the truth because he thought it might hurt your feelings as a woman. It’s throwing you a bit with how sincere he looks.

“You should get undressed,” You tell him in lieu of anything else to say. “I’m going to fetch some water from the stream and bring it back for you.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to bathe in the stream?”

Honestly? Yes. Yes it would be. But it's a risk. A small one, but a risk nonetheless. If Garrett and his men showed up unexpectedly, it would be easier to keep them outside and hide BIlly inside than for Billy to try to run and hide in an open field.

“Inside is the safer option. From both the heat and potential searching eyes,” You slip on your shoes that you keep neatly beside the bed and Billy just continues to watch you. “Is that okay?”

Billy shrugs and places a hand on his side to protect his bandage as he pushes himself off the bed. “Sure thing, boss,”

You see Billy start to unbutton his shirt and take that opportunity to leave the room and grab the water basin from the kitchen. The stream is just a short walk from the house and just about as in Joe’s backyard as he could have allowed. It takes just minutes to walk from the front porch all the way to the stream’s edge and you’re beyond thankful that, even though you feel like the Devil himself is breathing down the back of your neck with all this heat and humidity, your back doesn’t twinge or pull or ache when you crouch to collect the water. Your hands dip into the stream as you dunk the bucket and the cool water feels heavenly on your hands.

When you return back to the cabin, fresh water in hand and grabbing a bar of soap you had borrowed from the clinic on your way back to the bedroom, you return to find that Billy has followed your orders. He stands naked - well, almost naked. He’s kept his undergarments on, the white cotton that usually extends down towards the knee is still covering his more private parts but has been rolled up to expose a majority of his thighs. The rest of him is bare, on display for your eyes to see, and you’re so ashamed to find yourself looking.

You are a woman of God, forever to be celebate and chaste in His honor - but it's becoming clear, especially in these past few weeks, that you are not as far from the Devil’s reach as you had once hoped to be. Temptations of the flesh have never been a problem for you. You had never met anyone who had held your attention enough in your youth to ever entertain such thoughts, and after you had taken your vows the option was off the table altogether, so you had never bothered to ever consider anyone worth the distraction to your mission.

The temptation had always been easy to ignore. You may find some people attractive, yes, but nothing ever so tempting that they stopped you in your tracks, unable to take your eyes off them. But Billy’s skin is smooth, broad shoulders with muscles that shift under his skin as he moves. The long curve of his spine. The strong arms that you knew must have been impressive with the easy way he lifted you that night. You’ve seen skin before. Seeing mostly naked bodies at the clinic is part of the job description when dealing with the different amount of injuries you’ve seen within your lifetime. But most of those bodies are old - the elderly with their wrinkles and saggy skin where muscles used to be but have now disappeared without use. And if they’re not old, they’re bloodied - able bodied people who need you to stitch them up and clean the rest when you’re done.

You’ve seen skin before. But not this kind of skin. Never the type that makes your fingers twitch like they want to run along the expanse of it and feels how it feels under your touch and—

Stop!

“Ahem,” You clear your throat from whatever had suddenly gotten in it. You take a bit to clear your head too. Temptation is not a sin. Giving into temptation is the sin. “I have the water,”

“Thanks,”

You cross the room, setting the bucket of water down on the bedside table along with the bar of soap. His eyes follow your movements and the guilt from your recent lack of self control has you feeling like he’s burning holes in the side of your head.

“Be careful,” You say, running your still damp palms along the front of your tunic. “You’re healing mighty well but that can all turn south if you're too careless with your movements. Don’t rush anything and move slowly when twisting your body to clean. I’ll give you some privacy so just holler if you need me.”

You need to pray. This is going to keep eating at you if you don’t, but Billy catches your wrist as you try to walk past him again, halting your escape as you head for the door to the main room.

“Wait,” He says, softly. “Would you mind helpin’ me? I think I moved a little too much yesterday and now that I’ve stood up, it’s feelin’ kinda sore.”

His hand is pressing against his side again and any awkwardness you were experiencing is clouded by concern.

“Sore?” You repeat, worriedly. “Sore like your stitches ripped open?”

You immediately reach for his bandage, intent on pulling it off and seeing the extent of the damage, but Billy halts your hand before you can.

“M’fine,” He whispers. You look up and you realize that you’re suddenly very close to a very unclothed, arguably attractive, man. “It’s just sore.”

Pulling your hand from his, you back up a few paces.

Get it together. You need to focus and be strong for Billy. You are meant to help him, both physically and spiritually, and now is no time to be having a moral dilemma of your own. You need to focus and be the person God expects you to be. You can pray for absolution later.

You are one of the Lord’s faithful helpers, and Billy is asking for your help right now.

“Of course, I’ll help you,” You nudge his hand away from your wrist, replacing your wrist instead with the bar of soap. “You go ahead and get started with what you can comfortably reach and I’ll go see if Joe has a blade we can use to clean up your face.”

Billy chuckles. “You don’t like the scruffy look, Sister?

“Hah, well, nothing wrong with being a little more clean cut, yes? The baby Jesus might have been born in a barn, but we don’t have to look it,”

You wish you could leave the room under the guise of going to look for your brother’s razor. You need a minute, just one, just to collect yourself and get your thoughts together. But if your brother has one, you know it would be in here, so you turn your back to Billy to give him some semblance of privacy and begin your search. You should feel grateful that you find it so quick, just the first drawer of the small dresser opened and there is it - a clean straight razor, a shaving brush, and a half used soap cake both sitting neatly on top of a mostly still white linen towel. There’s the gentle sound of splashing water as Billy begins to clean himself behind you and you pretend to search for another minute before finally collecting your resolve and pull the items from the drawer. You lay them on top of the dresser and unfold the straight razor. It still looks decently sharpened which is good because you have absolutely no brain power or motivation to go looking for something to sharpen it with, and you use the towel to wipe away any dust that could have caught on the blade even while being folded down.

With a deep breath, you turn around again. Billy is scrubbing himself with the wet bar of soap. His chest and stomach are cleaned already, the wet soapy residue still visible from where he ran the bar over his skin. His left arm is lifted in the air as he washes under his armpit, the dark hair there making the soap lather up even more than where there is none. His eyes are on you as you turn around but they cut away as he bends over the water bucket, washing away the soap suds from his body.

“Will you do my back?” He asks, holding out the soap towards you before adding a quick, “Please?”

“Of course,” You say, quickly. The selfish part of you wants to say no. Just staring at his back made you feel things you should give life to. You really don’t want to put yourself in that position again. But you have no choice. Billy’s needs outweigh your own, so you’ll just have to be quick about it.

Professional.

You set the shaving materials down on the side table next to the water bucket and take the soap from Billy’s outstretched hand, replacing it instead with the linen towel. “Here. Dry yourself off.”

The muscles in his back shift under his skin again as he follows your command and your so close to him like this, with your hand placed up on his shoulder in a halfhearted attempted to steady both him and yourself as you raise the soap bar to his skin, and you realize just how tall he is compared to you. He could easily tower over you and even though you’ve never felt short, felt inferior, around people who have been physically taller than you - Billy makes you feel so small right now.

You scrub the soap over the skin of his back, trying not to think a single second of thought based around how smooth it is or how well maintained and athletic the muscles look pulling underneath it. Some of the suds run down the length of his spine, following the curve of it all the way down until they soak into the material of his undergarments. You take the towel from him when he offers it to you and you urge him to stand closer to the water bucket so that when you dip your hand into the cool water, cupping some in your palm to help wash off the soap, there won’t be a ton of water clean up left on the floor when you’re done. The water washes his back clean and you catch most of the runoff with the towel pressed against his lower back, preventing it from seeping into his underwear or dripping on the floor.

“Okay, back is done,” You tell him as you use the towel to pat his back dry. You squeeze the towel over the water bucket to wring out the excess. “You should wash your hair too. The cool water will feel nice on your head and keep you cooler longer.”

“Will you do it?” He asks, hand reaching up to press against his bandage again.

You hesitate again, but only for a second. This you shouldn’t have any problems with at all. You’ve washed countless heads during your time at the clinic - don’t make Billy suffer because of your lack of self control.

“Sure,” You say, forcing a playful smile. “You know, I’ve been told these hands are like magic on a scalp. As close to God’s own miraculous hands as you can get.”

Billy grins, sitting back on the bed as you come to stand in front of him. “Now I reckon that’s probably right,”

You grab the soap cake and drip the shaving brush in the water to wet it. A few rough circles along the surface of the cake are enough for a decent lather and you motion for Billy to tilt his head up towards you so you can apply the thick shaving soap along his neck and jawline. With careful and out of practice strokes of the brush, the stubble becomes covered by the foam and it's nice that, for as long as he’s been without a proper shave, it seems like he doesn’t grow facial hair quite as quick as other men. It makes it easier to cover and when everything is fully topped in a thick layer of shaving soap, you place them to the side and grab the regular soap bar once again and tell Billy to tilt his head down again so you can reach his hair while the shaving lather softens the hair on his face.

Your fingers run through his hair, dragging the soap with them as you card the suds through the dark locks. His hair is still short enough that it doesn’t need to be cut just yet, but long enough that your fingers still catch on some snags as they work in the soap. Billy’s head pushes into your touch as your nails scrape against his scalp, a soft groan pulling from his chest as his eyes slip shut.

“You didn’t lie,” He mutters as his lashes flutter against his cheeks.

“Nuns don’t lie,” You respond. “Lying is a sin,”

Billy leans his head to the side when you tell him to, leaning over the bucket so you can rinse out his hair, being mindful of not letting the soap get into his eyes. It’s better to not towel it off. The water might drip a little on the bed and on the floor, but the heat is still stifling under your tunic, sweat beading up on your forehead just under the strap of your veil, and you can already see the relief in Billy’s face from how the water is cooling him down, so you think it's better to let him be more comfortable than trying to keep making clean up easier on yourself.

“Chin up,” You instruct. The still damp towel lays over your shoulder now as you pick up the straight razor, unfolding it again and gripping it steady in your hand. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to do this, so stay very still for me, okay?”

He grunts in agreement and doesn’t move from the position you put him in, sitting as still as a statue as you carefully run the blade of the razor over the side of his jaw. It won’t be the best or closest shave he’s ever had, but it will do for now. He sits while you work, stare on your face as you free his own from the scruff.

“You’re such an angel to be takin’ care of me like this,” He murmurs when you pull the blade away to wipe it clean on the towel.

“It’s alright, Billy,” Another methodical swipe of the blade up the side of his neck. “It’s my pleasure to help in any way I can.”

You’re almost done his face, his neck and left side of his jaw are hair free, and you pull away again to clean the razor, taking another second to wipe the back of your hand against your forehead to catch some runaway sweat.

He takes the opportunity to speak again without the presence of the blade against his skin. “You were right. The water feels good. Especially in my hair,”

“I’m glad,” You say, returning the blade back to his face. “I wouldn’t know.”

This time he talks even though the straight razor is pressed directly under his jaw. “You can take your veil off. I reckon it's just makin’ you hotter,”

Your hand jerks a little at his words and you're shocked to see that somehow your abrupt movement hasn’t drawn blood.

“No,” You say maybe a little harsher than necessary. “I can’t.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,”

“No,” The razor skims his skin a little quicker now. “That is not an option.”

“S’just hair. You’ve already seen me naked, touched my hair. What’s a little hair?”

“We are not having this conversation,” You assert.

The last swipe of the blade is more rough and unsteady than it should be, but your heart is pounding at his suggestion. How inappropriate. How unacceptable to even suggest that you take off something as meaningful and sacred as your veil and because of what? Because you’re hot? A little warmth is too much to handle for you so you need to abandon your vow of modesty just for a little relief.

“Clean yourself off,” You tell him, voice clipped as you toss the towel to him. You pick his discarded clothes off the floor and gather them in your arms. “I’m going to wash your clothes in the stream while you finish your bath.”

“Woah,” He says, hand reaching out to grab hold of your upper arm this time. “M’sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. Just thought you coulda been a little more comfortable.”

Shame heats over your cheeks and you will yourself to take a breath. You shouldn’t be so quick to get upset. Quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger - that’s what He teaches us. You should know better by now that Billy doesn’t mean any harm. Of course, he would just want to be helpful.

“I know,” You say, softly. “Billy, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. Must be the heat making me a little crazy.”

“It’s alright,”

You pull his hand from where it’s curled around your arm and pat his palm in reassurance. “I’m gonna go wash your clothes in the stream and try to cool down myself. The sun will have them dry in no time I’m sure. You finish up in here and just relax,”

“You’re not gonna need me?”

“No, I’ll be fine.

Billy nods and moves to sit back on the bed. “I’ll just take a nap then,”

“Sure! That sounds lovely. I’ll be back in soon,”

Scurrying out of the bedroom and through the front entry way of the cabin, you cradle his clothes to your chest and let the front door slam shut behind you. The heat beats down as you make your way down the porch but for the first full minute that you’re outside, you barely feel it at all. You feel almost cold, like an icy hand is circling around your insides and twisting up your stomach.

The isolation here of being restricted with a man in a confined space with no other barriers is getting to you - that’s all. You need structure again, daily routines and prayer to help get you back on track. Your fellow Sisters are good at helping you maintain the structure you need so that you don’t get lost in your thoughts. Each of you have your strengths and your Sisters help you in areas that you lack. But they aren’t around now and you’re feeling the effects of not hearing God’s words fall from their lips when the voice in your own head gets too loud. It’s okay, it’s not failure. Just because you are far from them now does not mean you are far from the Lord Himself.

All is well. Deep breathes.

The sun’s rays seep into the black fabric of your habit and the material encases the heat in its fibers like it loves it. You shake your head and decide to not think about it. Wash Billy’s clothes and while they’re hanging out to dry, you can sink your arms into the cool water of the stream and bathe yourself in it.

You’re sure your brother has a clothesline near the stream you can hang the clothes on.

Your brother doesn’t have a clothesline. Of course, he doesn’t. Why would he? Why would his absurdly minimalistic way of living help benefit you in any way other than giving you a roof over your head.

Stop it, y/n, you scold yourself.

What a terribly bitter line of thinking. It’s not your brother’s fault. This is his life and the way he chooses to live. Who are you to judge him for anything? Especially considering the path that you yourself have chosen to take. The Lord encourages minimalism, urges all of His children to forsake material items and give them up for the sake of following Him and finding true happiness away from the only brief moments of glee any physical item can grant. Instead of becoming frustrated and pointing the finger, perhaps you should look within and take a page from your brother’s book. His relationship with God is not what you would consider healthy or strong, but perhaps he’s not as far off as you might have thought.

Focus on what you know: you’re tired and a bit irritable, soul a little bruised. Your back pain is nearly almost completely gone now and for that you’re thankful, but the excessive heat and humidity so high you feel like you are having some trouble breathing is ruining what should be a joyous experience. If you thought it was hot inside, then outside feels like an entirely different plane of existence.

The water on your skin as you dunk Billy’s clothes in the stream feels wonderful, but the water dries up all too fast leaving your skin feeling tight. You shiver in disgust and the thought of why something can even feel so good and then gross within seconds crosses your mind quicker than you can catch it.

The negative line of thinking halts as you scold yourself again.

Sister Catherine says there is beauty in everything, you need to remember that.

You just need to find the beauty to see God’s face even in the most trying of times.

You’re tired, but at least you’ve been allowed rest. Your back is still a bit sore, but it’s on the mend and through the pain you’ve gained a new appreciation for your body’s movements and capabilities. Your rolled up sleeve accidentally got soaked during a too careless dunk while trying to scrub Billy’s shirt with the soap, and while it annoys you, you find you don’t mind the feeling of the wet clothes against your skin as long as it stays on your arm below the elbow. You have a safe place to stay, away from the dangerous people who are hunting your charge, and despite how hot it is outside, the scenery of your brother’s cabin along the miles and miles of raw greenery is absolutely breathtaking now that you’re choosing to actually look at it.

The expert craftsmanship that Joe accomplished while building this place, the precision and time and patience it took and knowing that he did it himself with no one to help him makes looking at the accomplishment even more special. He chose a beautiful location - somewhere remote with no unwanted visitors but with such beauty in the scenery that surely he must feel more at peace here than anywhere else in the world. A little slice of Heaven here on Earth just for him. The land is abundant, green and full of life and only disrupted by the stream of glittering blue that cuts diagonally along the front of the land, and you know instinctively that Joe chose to face his home this way so he can look out his window or sit on the front porch and watch the water flow while he drinks his morning coffee.

You see it - the beauty God is trying to show you.

The peace and the serenity that’s been evading you the past few days finally hits you like a wave of holy light.

When things get hard or tensions get too high at the clinic and things seem like they’re turning for the worst, Sister Maria likes to invoke a practice that she calls ‘de nuevo’.

“It means ‘again’,” She had told you. “Restart. Do over. Start new. When life gets too hard and there seems to be no end in sight. Grita ‘de nuevo!’ and start again with fresh eyes and an open heart,”

Spanish isn’t your forte, but this is a saying that you’re very familiar with and can get behind. The sweltering heat still smacks at your body and you desperately try to cling onto the tranquility that you’ve found against the ruthlessly high temperatures.

“De nuevo,” You whisper, and then you start again.

Your brother doesn’t have a clothesline, but that’s okay. The front porch does have a nice chair you can drape the wet clothes off of as well as the bannister around the porch. They’ll do just fine and get the job done just as a regular clothesline would. You gather the clothes into a ball in your arms. The wet material soaks into the front of your tunic and you grimace at the feeling. The cold water helps to cool you down for a moment, but this time the feeling of your clothes sticking to your chest is a sensation you can go the rest of your life never feeling ever again.

You step up on the porch, drop the bundle of clothing on the seat of the rocking chair, and reach up to wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. Just a few more tasks - you just need to lay Billy’s clothes out to dry and then you can bathe and clean your own. As much as you would love to clean the entire garb, you know that’s not in your immediate future. You don’t have a change of clothes and all you brought with you are the clothes on your back. You may be sleeping in the same bed with a man out of necessity, but you refuse to let Billy see you out of your habit.

Some rules are just too sacred to break.

No sooner than the first of the laundry is thrown over the back of the rocking chair, the sound of your name reaches your ears.

It’s your first name again. Just your first name, no title to be heard. And in other circumstances you know that this would have to be the moment that you correct him. A one time slip is acceptable within reason, but any more than that is plain disrespectful and even though you stand by the idea that Billy doesn’t intend any harm, the matter is still the same.

But that line of thinking doesn’t matter right now because it's not just that he said your name - it’s how he said it.

Your name, called in what you can only assume is a moan of pain.

It sounds tense, a pitiful whimper as he tries to call for you and you're immediately concerned about what could be making him sound like that.

Possibilities of Billy being hurt or suddenly in so much pain that he can’t contain his whimpers of pain anymore flood your mind. What could have possibly happened? You were just with him. Things were fine. He was just fine!

Maybe he tried to get up and twisted his body badly enough that it ripped open his healing scar and stitches. Naughty boy, always trying to stand or move about when he has no business going anywhere. You knew he was pushing himself by moving around too much. He did say it was sore. Or maybe there’s an infection that you’ve somehow missed - something that’s slipped past your watchful eye and now suddenly it’s rearing its ugly head and causing misery to poor Billy’s still fragile healing state.

You drop the pair of pants in your hands back into the pile, wiping the wetness off of your hands and onto your tunic. “Billy?”

Another moan followed by a deeper groan and your concern increases as you push open the front door. You keep your voice as soft and calm as you can. You don’t want to startle him and have him jump and hurt his injury more. “Billy?”

This time your name is more like a whisper - like a prayer being spoken between his sounds of pain and agony. Calling out for you to help ease his suffering. Forsaking calmness, your feet scramble across the small entryway and push past the bedroom door.

“Billy, are yo–”

Your words are cut off in your throat, swiftly ended by the sharp and scandalized gasp that bursts forth from the sight in front of you.

Billy’s not in pain as you had thought.

He’s not doubled over in agony, hands pressing against his side to keep pressure on his wound from whatever trauma you thought he had inflicted on it while you were out cleaning the laundry.

Or maybe he is in pain. The angry red tip peeking out from the top of his fist certainly looks like it’s painful.

He’s… touching himself. Naked body, fully naked this time, stretched out on bed with his hand between his legs. His thighs look like they’re trembling, toned tummy tensing and sucking in slightly as his face twists in response to what he’s doing to himself.

Immediately, your face is on fire, heat flooding your cheeks in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the temperature outside and everything to do with the sinful expression of desire on display in front of you. Billy's eyes fly open at the sound of your gasp, bright blue almost black with how dilated his pupils are and the hand that’s stroking at his length freezes as those eyes lock on yours.

“Sorry!” You squeak. “I’m sorry! Lord, have mercy. I’ll just- I’ll give you a little time to finish.”

Your hands press to your warm cheeks as you scurry away from the room and back out to the porch. The front door slams shut behind you and you lean back against it, body trembling with an increase of adrenaline. Your fingers dig into your eyes, bright spots popping up in front of the black of your closed eyelids.

Lord, please forgive me for having seen such a private and intimate moment not meant for my eyes. You know it wasn’t my intention. Amen.

Your body is shaking and you will yourself to calm down. It’s normal, you try to remind yourself. It’s a completely normal and human action you just saw. It’s just the embarrassment of having interrupted it that’s making you shake. With a deep breath, you move to pick up another article of laundry. You intend for it to keep you distracted, but, despite how hard you try, you cannot keep your mind from wandering to the man inside.

The one who is probably still trying to… finish.

The image of him sprawled out on the bed, long fingers wrapped around his length and how hard and flushed and intimidating it looked still bounces around your mind. You try to shake your head, palms pressing hard into your eyes again to try to push the image from your mind. It doesn’t work.

The way the head of it poked through the circle of his fist with each stroke and how it glistened at the top even in the singular window of the bedroom.

How long his body is, lithe but strong as the muscles shifted under his skin.

How a few strands of his dark hair still stuck to his forehead from the moisture beading on his skin and how you’re not even sure if it's still from his bath, sweat from the heat, or sweat from… other things.

How hazy his eyes looked when he looked at you.

Stop it, y/n. Stop it right now.

You’ve seen your fair share of male parts in your lifetime. It’s important to remember that. This is no different. It’s part of the job description when caring for the sick or elderly. You’re going to see their private parts and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not sexual, even if sometimes patients do become aroused from time to time. It’s completely natural - a body’s natural response to stimulation even if that stimulation is not sexual in nature or intention.

In this instance, you must admit the sexual intention on Billy’s part. But this is also natural. There’s the occasional discourse between some teaching and beliefs about whether or not masturbation is a sin. Some say it is, stating that the overwhelming desire and need to touch oneself comes from a severe lack of self control and temptation from the Devil.

You’ve heard it said that it's a form of sexual immorality. Sex is meant for love between two people with the intention to procreate and bring forth new life with the Lord’s blessing. It’s not meant to be wasted on a ‘shameful, quick, and disturbing act of self release with tainted emotions and impure thoughts’. You remember those words well, spoken from the thin mouth of a very strict and rather unwelcoming nun you met during your travels before taking your vows. In her eyes, masturbation is dirty - corruption of the body as the Lord’s holy temple by your own hand.

Others argue that masturbation itself is not a sin, but rather a necessity and natural act of the nature that God granted us. The act alone is not sinful, but can turn towards sin depending on what the mind conjures up in the throes of that sensation. Pure physical sensation and the emotions that come with touching oneself - that is acceptable and natural. Imagining, watching, or objectifying another of God’s children, however, is where the Devil’s reach can come and turn an otherwise innocent act into something devastating.

Billy wouldn’t do that. He’s a good man, a sweet boy, and you just can’t picture him objectifying anyone like that. If he needed a release, then that’s his business, and you would do well to just wipe it from your mind and move on.

But you can’t - the images are still dancing around your head without permission, and to your horror you realize that now it’s you of all people being sinful. Again.

Our Father, Who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy Name,

Thy Kingdom come.

Thy Will be done.

On Earth as it is in Heaven.

You pray the entire time you finish laying out the clothes to dry. The constant repetition and chosen words of the prayer help you to clear your mind. You don’t even register the heat anymore.

You’ve finished Billy’s laundry by the time you actually gather the courage to go back inside the cabin.

You’ve also done your own. You hadn’t intended to clean the whole thing, just rinse your body and wash the parts of your habit that you could go without for a few minutes to smell and feel a little fresher. But the interaction with Billy has you scrambled and you can’t go back in there yet.

So, you take your time.

You washed your clothes as quickly as you could, not wanting to risk Billy looking out the window and seeing you in just your underclothes. The stream is just far enough from the cabin that you don’t think he would see anything in detail if he were to peek out, even less if you keep your back towards the house, but even the thought of him seeing you outside of your uniform makes you uneasy - the insistent litany of no no no no rushing around your head. It’s probably the quickest bath you’ve ever taken, scrubbing your skin raw and tossing glances over your shoulder every few seconds towards the window. You never see Billy’s silhouette in the frame and even though you’re still kind of tense, it does ease some of the tension in your shoulders. He’s probably still busy anyway, trying to… relieve himself.

Sweat and water still bead up at the place where your forehead and hairline meet, the moisture soaking into the headband of your veil and you really want to wash it too. Another glance at the window still shows no visible onlooker, so you take a chance and pull the covering from your head.

The sun works on drying your habit as you lay it out on the ground next to you. The cool water slides across your scalp as you wash your hair and it feels so good that you don’t even care that it’s sliding down your back and soaking into your thin top. You wash your veil too, paying close attention to scrubbing the band to get rid of any sweat or smell.

When you’re done, you grab your clothes from the edge of the stream, cradling them to your chest as you race across the field and back towards the outhouse. You lay your clothes on the grass beside it before darting inside and taking refuge within the small structure.

It stinks inside the outhouse, the unpleasant smell of bodily waste, only just muted by the dirt covering it, is not something you’re looking forward to experiencing for any longer than you have to. But it shouldn’t take too long for your clothes to fully dry and you could use some alone time to truly gather yourself.

The opportunity to stay in God’s sole presence, just you and Him and no one else in the entire world, feels like a weight being lifted off your shoulders. You’ve been slacking, and it shows heavily in your recent actions and thoughts. You sit on the side of the bench, legs crossed as you lean against the wall and let your words of praise fill the contained space. The cross laced around your neck normally sits safely under the collar of your tunic, but now it’s held reverently between your fingers. It feels warm as your fingers press into the wood - alive and simmering with your Lord’s presence.

You press it against your lips as you whisper prayer after prayer against the smooth wood, asking God for His guidance so that His words may once again ring loudly in your ears and fall confidently from your lips as opposed to the damning silence or tempting whisperings of the Devil that you’ve been receiving.

An hour of prayer might not be much, but it’s enough.

Despite the heat still beating down on you from above, you feel refreshed. There hasn’t been any wind or even the slightest hint of a breeze all day long and yet, when you leave the safety of the outhouse, you feel the softest touch of air blowing against your skin. You take it as a good sign, a signal from God that you are on the correct path and headed for healing and wisdom that you have prayed for. Your clothes are dry when you pick them up, dark fabric hot to the touch but you slip them on anyway, one piece after another until you’re back to how you should be. Covered and modest and protected in the uniform of honor that He has granted you.

Billy’s clothes are dry too when you reach the front porch and you drape them over your arm. And with a steadying deep breath, you open the door.

It occurs to you that you probably should have been more cautious when walking inside the cabin. The bedroom door is still wide open from how you left it earlier and nearly the entire room is on display even from the front door. Maybe you should have come in with your eyes closed, called out his name loud and clear so that you didn’t have any more awkward encounters like this afternoon. But things seem to work out in your favor this time because Billy is just sitting on his side of the bed, leg bent at the knee as he plays with what little is left of the knitting yarn. Thankfully, he’s back to wearing his undergarments, so even though he’s still naked (on account of you holding his only clothes in your arms), it's nothing you shouldn’t be able to handle.

He looks up when he hears you enter, hands stilling on the yarn as his wide eyes stare into yours. He’s nervous. You can relate.

“Here’s your clothes,” You say, resting them neatly on the corner of the bed. “I hope they’re clean enough.”

“Thanks,” He mutters, eyes still locked on your face.

You don’t want to say anything. You just want to move past the embarrassment and shame on your part and hopefully have him move past the complete disregard of his private time, no matter how accidental. But he doesn’t make any kind of move for his clothes, doesn’t even move an inch in an attempt to get up - just keeps looking at you and you know you’re going to have to say something.

“I– apologize for walking in on you earlier,” You say. “I thought you might have been in pain and wanted to help but…” You wring your hands together awkwardly in front of you before settling them to cross your chest. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

Billy shakes his head. “No. That’s not really somethin’ that embarasses me,”

“Good! It shouldn’t. It’s completely natural for someone to– to do that. And I should never have walked in on it. So, you have my apologies.”

“S’alright,”

“Okay,” You nod. “Good.” Thank goodness that went easier than expected. “Now, get dressed and I’ll start up some dinner for us.”

“Sister, wait,”

You stop midstep, unease fluttering through you, and once again you’re so close to thinking a blasphemous word because no! You thought for a second that you had come out of the conversation potentially unscathed.

You rest a hand on the doorframe and turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Yes, Billy?”

He stands from the bed, stretching just a little before reaching for the top of his clothes pile. “You really don’t have a problem with what you walked in on? With me, y’know, touchin’ myself?”

“No,” You say, sincerely. “Of course not. Men have needs and those are natural and God-given. What you were doing was completely natural for a young man like yourself.”

“And what about you?” He asks, buttoning his newly fresh pants at his waist.

“What about me?”

“Women have needs too. Do your needs ever get met?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs on his shirt, completely unfazed. “Your needs. When you feel it. Do they ever get met?”

“I- I don’t–” You stammer, scandalized. Lord, have mercy. Okay, focus. Stay calm. “All my needs are taken care of by the Lord. He provides me with anything I might ever need. Any desires of… flesh are simply tests from time to time, but I wouldn’t consider it a need for me.”

Billy hums and finishes on the last button of his shirt. He doesn’t believe you, that much is evident in the way he keeps his gaze locked on yours, eyes both indifferent but also somehow so sure, as if he knows something that you don’t. You don’t wait to see if he has anything else to say on the matter and retreat into the kitchen to begin to fix up dinner.

The glow of morning’s light is shining in through the kitchen window, illuminating your workspace in a warm golden hue. You're making a simple breakfast of biscuits and gravy when you feel him come up behind you. The water is still heating on the stove, and you’re still so tired that you feel like you can barely keep your eyes open. Coffee isn’t usually your go-to breakfast drink, you like the bitter taste of black tea more than coffee, but you feel like you need a more significant amount of caffeine than usual this morning just to make it through today without falling asleep the next time your butt hits a sitting surface.

You don’t think Billy would mind if you did. In fact, he’d probably encourage it. But you have a job to do, and you’re not one to slack on your duties, even if Billy is now capable of doing most things by himself.

He comes to a stop just a hair behind you, much closer than you anticipated him getting, and the sudden breath at the back of your neck makes you jump.

“Ow!” You gasp, the jump making your finger graze against the hot metal of the kettle and pain explodes along the burnt digit.

Billy coos behind you, arm reaching around you so he can grab your injured hand. He cups your fist in his large hand, thumb urging your hurt finger out of its protective curl so he can see it.

“What are you doing?” You ask, head turning to the side so you can see the side of his face as it leans over your shoulder. The free hand on your waist isn’t lost on you, but you can’t seem to figure out why you aren’t moving away either.

“Shh,” Billy shushes you, lips pursing as he brings your pointed finger closer to them. “Just relax, y/n,”

Your eyes lock onto where his lips stop just an inch away, breath hitching as he blows cold air from between his pursed lips and onto your finger. Your eyelashes flutter at the feeling of the cool air against your burning skin, small shivers wracking your body as his breath slides across your flesh. His head is getting closer and closer with each light blow of air, slowly creeping nearer to your finger until his lips brush against the pad of your finger. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp as his lips part to take your finger between them, the wet muscle of his tongue dragging soothingly across the injured skin. It laps gently across the sore pad, lips wrapping around the digit as he sucks lightly.

When he pulls it from his mouth, the length of your finger from tip to knuckle is glistening with his saliva. The hand on your waist tightens a bit and the clutching hold of it tickles your side.

“What are you doing?” You ask again, but your voice comes out weaker this time - more breathy.

Billy’s bright blue eyes cut over to you, hooded gaze holding yours as he presses his plush lips to your finger in a small kiss, a smirk pulling at his mouth even against your finger. “Taking care of you,”

You feel like you can’t breathe as he raises your hand to press a teasing kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist before trailing downwards. Another kiss to your forearm over the tunic’s sleeve, another to the inside of your elbow and you swear you can almost feel the heat from his lips burning through the thin black material.

He brings your arm back down and guides your hand so it rests on his cheek, the stubble along his jaw scratching gently at your palm. His other hand comes up to cup your own cheek, and then your entire vision is taken up by him. He’s so close, eyes wide and intense as he stares down at you, pupils dilated just like they were when you caught him touching himself, and you can see how there’s something desperate in his gaze - a longing you can’t even begin to understand.

He towers over you like this. Your body is frozen, pliable in his hands and you don’t know what’s happening, don’t know why you're letting him this close.

Getting closer. And closer.

You watch, helpless as his head leans down towards you, eyes flicking down to your lips before locking back on yours.

You don’t even register how your own head tilts up, lips parting slightly in preparation to meet his.

And when they do, it’s bliss.

Billy’s lips move against yours like they’ve been doing it for forever, and your only thought as he tilts your head more and kisses you deeper is yes, this feels right.

His touch feels all consuming, your body heating up under your clothing and reacting to his touch as his hands drop to your waist, squeezing the flesh of your hips through your tunic. He grins against your mouth when you squeal.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers. Your chest feels like it might burst from his words.

“Billy,” You whimper, whining as his hands slide over your ass, palming it in his big hands as he pulls you even closer. Your hands grip at his biceps, fingers digging into the hard muscle as he urges you to cuddle against him. Your head rests against his chest with your ear over his heart, and the steady thump thump thump of his heartbeat feels safe.

You can feel the wetness already pooling in your drawers when Billy’s hands slide down further, gathering the material of the tunic and bunching it up just over the curve of your ass so your entire backside is on display to his wandering gaze.

The feel of his fingers rubbing you through the thin material of your drawers makes you keen, electricity shooting through your body as the pads of his fingers rub lovingly against your clit over the drenched fabric.

“So wet for me,” Billy hums, tapping on the sensitive nub. Your back arches as you press against him harder, fingernails biting into his arms. “Such a good girl for me, honey.”

You feel like it's too much already, your pussy clenching around nothing as you wordlessly try to grind against Billy’s fingers - get him to touch you more, put them inside maybe. He just laughs at you, a soft but deep chuckle as if he relishes in the absolute mess he’s made of you by barely even touching you.

And then you’re hauled up into his arms, his hands gripping your thighs as your own arms wrap tightly around his neck. He’s pressed inside you now, thick cock spearing you open as he thrusts relentlessly between your slick walls.

The sounds of his moans in your ear make you wetter and he bounces you on him, pounding into you somehow without mercy but with all the love in the world as you hang onto him for dear life. Your own moans can’t be helped, a symphony of pleasure bursting from your throat and the room around you is so blurry - so blurry that you can’t focus on anything. Your eyes can’t focus.

And then you look up.

The picture of Jesus just above the front door is the only thing that’s clear, and your stomach drops, eyes locked and frozen in fear as you stare at the picture in horror.

He’s alive - Jesus is alive in the picture, head moving around and eyes looking and seeing everything.

Seeing you.

And he’s angry.

The normally relaxed and serene expression on his face has been replaced by one of fury. His brows pull together, eyes narrowing as he watches Billy claim you, lips pulling up in a snarl when your arms wrap tighter around Billy’s neck in fear. Billy takes your grip as passion and thrusts into you harder, moaning into your ear as your body is flooded with wave after wave of pleasure. But you can’t tear your eyes from the picture, can’t help but whimper as you stare wide eyed at the angry, holy being who is cutting you down with the immeasurable weight of his judgment.

“WAKE UP!” Jesus yells, and his voice is booming in your ears, so loud you think your eardrums might burst. “WAKE UP!”

Your body jerks awake in the same way that it jerks after having a dream where you’re falling off a cliff. The jump is violent, every single muscle in your body is tense and set ready for defense. Your gasp is loud, and you think that if Billy was still asleep he probably would have jerked awake himself from the sheer suddenness and intensity of it.

But he’s awake already - already sitting upright on the bed, already staring at you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice still a bit raspy. You notice that his pupils are blown wide, just like in the dream.

You’re still panting, still horrified by the dream - the nightmare - that you’ve just experienced. There’s wetness between your legs, you can feel it. You can feel the pulsing of need between your thighs, your clit still begging to be touched, hole dripping and clenching with the need to be filled. The sensations only add to the horror as tears prickle at your waterlines.

Jesus was so angry. Righteous fury burning in his eyes as he stared at you - watching you sin, watching you as you let a man inside your body, desecrating your sacred temple and breaking the vows you made to God.

And you let it happen as if all of it meant nothing.

Acid rises in your throat, tears spilling over and flowing down your cheeks like twin waterfalls and the quiet sob that rips from your throat can’t be helped. It was just a dream, you try to tell yourself. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream.

Or a message. A warning.

“Hey,” Billy says, hand reaching out to comfortingly squeeze your shoulder as he tries to get your attention. You automatically jerk away from his touch, smacking his hand away the moment it touches you. Guilt swirls in your chest at his hurt expression.

“Are you okay?” He asks again. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to pray,” And his eyes widen even more at your desperate tone. “I need to pray right now.”

You don’t give him time to respond as you scramble out of the bed, hightailing it out of the bedroom and falling to your knees in the center of the main room. You pull the rosary from your belt and hold it tightly between your fingers, hands shaking from the panic still coursing through your body.

And when you peek over towards the front door, you notice that the spot above the door frame is empty.

You can’t sleep with Billy in the same bed anymore. Your back is feeling better and considering what’s happened the last few days, you think maybe it's best to return to your place on the floor, if only to remove any temptation or wandering thoughts you might subconsciously be having. Sam is due to make another trip into the neighboring town today and promised that he would stop by on his way. It would be better if he could see that you are both sleeping in separate spaces like you should be. Sam is a sweetheart - he would never judge you for anything, even less of something that you had to do for your own health and he is the last person that would ever accuse you of doing something inappropriate. But the laws of society and need for modesty should still be followed which means sleeping on the floor again is a must.

Billy doesn’t like the idea.

“You’re gonna hurt your back again,” He says as he watches you grab your blanket off the bed. His arms are crossed over his chest, a poorly concealed act to cover his agitation.

“I feel fine now,” You reason. “And if it does start hurting again-”

“It will,”

“If it does, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,”

“I think you’re makin’ a mistake,

“Then it’s my mistake to make,”

“Is this about yesterday?”

“No. This isn’t up for discussion, Billy. I’ve told you already that I shouldn’t ever be sleeping in the same bed with a man. This was out of necessity, not comfort,”

Billy sighs, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling in irritation. “I do think it’s necessary for you to sleep in the bed, y/n,”

“Stop,”

The word cuts from your vocal cords like ice. You can’t believe it. Again. He did it again!

“Why did you say my name like that?” You ask. “You’re dropping my earned title. That’s the second time you’ve done it.” Third, but you don’t want to think about the other time he’s said it. “Why?”

“Just an accident,”

Just an accident. “It’s disrespectful. And inappropriate,”

Billy hangs his head. “Apologies, Sister. Never meant to cause you disrespect,”

“Billy, what–”

Your words die on your tongue when the sound of galloping hooves tearing against the grass out front catches your attention. Billy’s eyes widen and he quickly moves past you and into the main room. His gun and hat are resting next to your bag against the far wall and he rushes to grab it, checking that the bullets are inside before closing it back up and cocking the hammer, pointing it directly at the front door.

“Wait!” You shout, one hand darting out to signal to him to stand down as you rush towards the front door. “It might be Sam!”

You push the door open slowly, trying to peek out and see who it is before it's even fully opened because it's probably Sam, it has to be, because if it’s not - everything you’ve worked so hard to prevent is about to crumble down around you in a second. Sheriff Garrett wouldn’t hesitate to shoot Billy dead this time. He wouldn’t miss. And you have a feeling that he wouldn’t hesitate to put down the famous Billy the Kid’s getaway accomplice right down with him either.

The familiar horses and wagon are a blessing to see. Sam’s head pokes out from the back of the wagon as he pulls a crate from the fully stocked bed.

“Sam!” You shout in relief. “Thank the Lord! It’s so good to see you,”

Behind you, Billy relaxes his stance a bit, lowering his gun down but keeping it cocked and you nod your head at it, wordlessly telling him to replace the hammer and put it down, but he won’t acknowledge you.

You push the door all the way open for Sam, scurrying out of the way as he shoulders through with the heavy crate. You strategically keep your body between Sam and Billy’s gun. You’re confident Billy wouldn’t ever shoot Sam, but the worry still lingers for as long as the gun is in his hand and you would never forgive yourself if Sam were to get hurt while trying to help you. The gun isn’t out of his hand yet but you relax when you hear the click of the hammer being reset.

Sam sets the crate down on the floor next to the now almost empty first one and turns to you with an adorably charming grin.

“Sister y/n,” He greets, clasping your hands in his and you return the gesture, squeezing his hands between yours in friendly affection. “It’s good to see you too.”

A loud clatter sounds as Billy tosses his gun back onto the floor, the metal striking roughly against the wooden boards. Sam lets go of your hands to turn his attention to Billy, tipping his hat at him respectfully.

“Mr. Bonney,” He greets. “I didn’t get to properly introduce myself last time we met. I’m Sam Anderson. Good to see you’re alive and well. How’s the bullet wound healing up?”

“Healin’ up just fine, Mr. Anderson. I have a great healer,”

“That you do,”

“Sam,” You interject, placing a wary hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You have news for us?”

Sam nods. “Yes. Good news in fact. Sheriff Garrett has been relentless in his search. He’s travelled to most of the neighboring territories in search of Billy but has been given no leads. He intends to search the last few remaining ones but I can tell he already knows you won’t be there. He’s stated that he thinks you bled out while fleeing and have been made a meal of by some animal,”

“Well, good,” You breathe, looking in relief between Sam and Billy. “That’s good news indeed.”

It’s beyond amazing news that Sheriff Garrett is coming to terms with the possibility that Billy bled out before he could find any help. Even if he’s travelling to other territories to question if Billy had come through, the idea that he’s already dead added to the fact that those questioned in the neighboring territories will say no, they hadn’t seen Billy come through there, means that it's already even less likely that Sheriff Garrett would show up at your front door. It means that in a short time when all of this is over and Billy is well enough to travel on his own, that you can return back to the clinic without fear of being hunted down yourself. You can return back to your Sisters.

“How are they?” You ask Sam. You don’t need to clarify, he knows who you’re asking about.

“They’re fine. I visit them every time I can to check on ‘em. I know you would have wanted me to,” You nod in agreement as he continues. “They miss you. Sister Catherine holds everything together like she always does, but she always makes for all of us to pray together for you. And Billy, of course.” He says, nodding to Billy. “Praying for Billy’s quick recovery and for you to return home safe. Sister Ann is biting the sides of her fingers more than ever now. I stop her whenever I see her doing it, but she’s bled quite a few times from it already. Sister Maria was out sick for two days after you left. Sick with worry is what Sister Catherine said, but she is up and well now although she does still worry.”

You feel like your heart is breaking as you imagine your fellow Sisters distraught and in pain over worry for you during your absence. It shouldn’t be a surprise. All of God’s creations are our brothers and sisters, but those three women waiting for you at the clinic - worrying for you, praying for you, missing you - those are your sisters. They are your family. And you will do what you have to in order to get back home to them soon.

“Thank you, Sam,” You say, voice thick with emotion. “Please continue to look after them for me.”

“I will,” He promises. He reaches out to squeeze your shoulder gently and you’re beyond thankful for the comfort he’s providing.

“Do you have to get goin’ soon, Mr. Anderson?” Billy asks. “Quite a ways you have to travel, right? We wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

Your hand automatically reaches out to cover Sam’s still on your shoulder, keeping it in place. “You can stay just a little longer, right, Sam? We have some leftover food from breakfast. I can fix you a bowl?”

You don’t want Sam to leave just yet. The events of yesterday and this morning, the dream, are still fresh in your head and you’d appreciate it immensely if Sam could stay for just a bit longer to provide a buffer between you and Billy.

To your despair, Sam shakes his head. “I can’t. Billy’s right, I should get moving if I’m gonna make it back to town before dark. Thank you for the offer though, Sister y/n. I know if you cooked it, it must be mighty good.”

Reluctantly, you nod. “I’ll walk you out then,”

Billy makes his way back to the bedroom as you walk Sam out. You thank him again for the generous crate of supplies. You saw that there were a few more balls of yarn shoved into the side of it and you wonder if that was Sister Catherine’s doing or if Sam had seen you shove the yarn in your bag before first leaving the clinic and had asked to bring you more.

Sam heaves himself back into his seat and grabs the reins. “How much longer do you think Billy needs before he can head off on his own?”

“Just a couple more. He’s healing up quick,”

“That’s good. I have another delivery in 10 days. I can stop by on my way and pick you up? I’ll bring an extra horse that Billy can take along with him on his own when he’s ready,”

Ten days. Another ten days of this. Think about this logically, you’re uncomfortable and a little frazzled but it’s not necessarily all Billy’s fault. He’s just a man and non-religious one at that. You are bound to clash at some point. But he’s a good person and there’s still so much work to be done in trying to heal his faith. You can handle ten more days. You will do what you can and return to the clinic knowing that you tried your best whatever the outcome.

“Sister,” Sam says. “Are you alright?”

You snap out of your daze and nod. “I am,”

Sam looks a little uncomfortable himself, eyes flicking towards the bedroom window. “Billy treating you right? He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

“No! No, of course not,” You insist. It’s not a lie - Billy wouldn’t ever hurt you. There may be discomfort and a little inappropriateness, but nothing that can’t be worked through or forgiven. Billy would never hurt you, you’re sure of it.

“Alright,” Sam concedes. “I’ll see you soon, Sister. Take care of yourself. God bless,”

“Thank you, Sam. God bless!”

You watch as he snaps the reins, offering a sharp yip as he urges the horses forward. It feels nice outside today as you watch him travel over the wide expanse of land, beautiful weather and none of the ridiculous heat that had felt like it was cooking your insides like yesterday. When he’s disappeared over the hill, you return back inside.

The yarn this time is a pale yellow instead of the blue you had been working with but you grab it anyway. Perhaps a little color change on the blanket might help turn the current shift between you and Billy around once again for the better.

Your room at the convent is small and modest, something that brings you peace in the limited space. Having little things creates more space for the divine and all-consuming power of His Grace - the additional space that would have been otherwise cluttered with needless items or physical luxuries is offered up to Him instead, allowing His presence to wash over the room and fill it with the healing aura of His love.

The simple bed is big enough for one, just you as it should be, and God can fill in the areas around you. A small chest hides away in the corner of the room, barely filled with all the personal belongings you have left from life before you took your vows, and the crucifix sits on the wall at perfect eye level so that as you kneel down on the prie-dieu to pray, you can have the reminder of the significance of Jesus nailed to the cross right in front of you just as the cross is nailed to the wall.

It’s here that you kneel now, bare knees digging into the cushioned bottom of the prie-dieu while your hands fold together along the wooden shelf at the top. The words of a prayer automatically fall from your lips as your eyes trace the detail of the crucifix without taking them in.

The room is your room, a place that you’re intimately familiar with, but the feel of it is wrong. It feels off and like something is missing - the peaceful presence of the Lord is unnervingly absent in this space that should be holy.

There’s another presence though, something darker, and the hair stands on the back of your neck as you register the new energy. Something is creeping up behind you, you can feel it - can feel as it comes closer and closer and you want to turn around so badly, want to spin and lock your eyes onto whatever is nearing you and making you feel so unnerved in a place that’s supposed to be safe. But you can’t, your body is frozen in its spot, not listening to your brain’s commands as you scream at it to turn around.

There’s warm breath on your ear, a hand at your hip and you’re still frozen as the hand balls the material of your tunic, dragging it up until it's over your bottom and pooling around your waist. Another hand finds the curve of your waist and then another caresses your shoulder. Two more hands slide along your front and drag down to grip at the fat of your thighs, trying to pry them further apart, and you can feel the faintest of touches of fingers against your nipple as if the hands touching you now don’t need to be concerned with the barrier of clothing you have on to block their advances.

Fear courses through you at the touches and you murmur the words of the Lord’s prayer faster. Your eyes are locked on the crucifix, taking in the wooden grain of the cross as it contrasts with the dull metal figure of Jesus hanging in the center and it's the only place you can look. The warm breath is still on your ear, but now it's between your thighs too somehow - searing hot as it fans across your bare folds.

Your clasped hands squeeze together harder as something soft and wet slides against your slit, and you gasp when the thing laps over your clit. The murmured prayer is louder now, rushed and panicked as you beg God for guidance and deliverance from whatever monster is attacking you right now. A demon maybe. Perhaps the Devil himself. Your body heats up as the thing digs in deeper, pushing between your folds and dragging against your hole. The tip of it nudges against your entrance, wiggling like it wants to push inside but is just barely holding back before it retreats and slides back up to the top.

The heat that fills your body is a terrible combination of pleasure and shame as the demon has its fill of your paralyzed body. The sensation of what it's doing between your thighs is forbidden - you were never meant to experience this, and yet the feel of it makes your eyes water and your hole clench like it’s trying to clench around something else.

The thing focuses on your clit, lapping at it and swirling around it and you can feel how your belly tightens with increasing pressure with each lick. You can’t think clearly anymore. Your prayer is becoming muddled - coming out in whimpered words, accidental repeated sentences, and interrupted by the desperate whines and moans as your hips unconsciously try to drive down harder on the foreign thing between your thighs.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is so wrong.

Lord, please forgive me. Please forgive me. Please for—

And then suddenly, you’re not in your room at the convent anymore. You’re in your brother’s cabin, on his unforgiving floor, and your bleary eyes blink up at the ceiling as they try to adjust to the new environment outside of sleep. The grogginess keeps your brain in a state of confusion, but eventually it registers that something still isn’t right.

Your dream is over. You’re awake now.

But the slick feeling of something wet and soft between your thighs is still there and your head shoots up to see the scene before you.

Your mouth falls open in horror.

Billy’s on his stomach, upper body cradled between your open thighs as his hands curl around each one of them to keep them spread. His mouth is pressed against your core, wetness glistening off his face with each movement as he drags his tongue through your folds.

And you swear when those beautiful blue eyes you’ve come to know these past few weeks flick up to stare at you from beneath his dark lashes, you don’t see that same kind and caring man just in need of guidance and faith that you’ve come to associate them with.

Instead, you think you might be looking at the Devil.

Taglist: @queenofshinigamis @hidden-poet (Lemme know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist)

#𝑇𝑎𝑙 𝑊𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠 ✎#billy the kid smut #billy the kid x reader smut #billy the kid x reader #dark!billy the kid #tw: non con #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: dubious consent

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hiddenhornsclub · 1 month ago

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nsfw/mdni Mad Scientist!Taehyun

a frankenstein story, descriptions of anatomy, terry is quite perverted, handjob, p in v, possessiveness

On a gloomy night, the fog was thick only hinting the dimly lit street laps of a tiny village hidden within Germany. In the dusty attic of the mad scientist’s lab there, the scientist, Dr. Kang, was putting together what he called art. His brain running wild from sleep deprivation, lack of challenge in school, and probably formaldehyde poisoning. The scientist's thick glasses slid down his sharp nose so close to his creation.

Building you brick by brick. Creating ligaments to attach all your bones so you can stand beside him. Connecting every tissue and muscle, making sure your tendons make your face move to a smile, your pelvic floor clench, and your toes curl. All his time and effort was for you and him.

The flashing of lightning glows the dim attic, and a loud clap of thunder follows, making the shaky man flinch. Taehyun backs up to see all of you, lips curling up in satisfaction. There you were all stitched up, beautiful and proud, wearing your heart on your... chest. The scientist rushes to the chains and ropes, his muscles flex as he tugs to open the roof. Raining cats and dogs, water pours in drenching the man and you. "To get you alive we need blood to flow and to make blood flow your heart needs to start contracting..." Taehyun rambles, pulling on chains that raise your bed to the sky.

Taehyun waits, glasses blurring up with all the raindrops. His dimpled smile forms as he sees a flicker of lighting forming within the grey clouds. Lighting hits his creation with a loud bang, electricity strikes your heart sparking throughout your body. Taehyun lowers your body back down where he can easily reach you, and like a scene in a princess movie, your eyes blink slowly looking up at him. His smile is wider than ever, he leans down to kiss your frozen lips because you don't know how to kiss yet...

Dr. Kang Taehyun is a proud creator of a pretty gf. Being stuck in the house of the mad scientist, you begin to learn. Doing the homework Taehyun gives you, reading numerous novels, and participating in deep conversations with the doctor himself. You may not be so bright, but you could put two and two together and figure out that the actions of reproduction are arousing, and you want to take part in it. Taehyun smiles at your findings, little did you know you were perfectly dumb with a perfect pussy made just to fuck him.

Taehyun loved answering your questions. Loved to see you look at the world with new eyes, and then asks how to please her creator. And if you had questions about sex then your "learning lessons" are to be on the very table you were created on.

"Does this feel nice?" You ask with your hand wrapped around Taehyun's hard cock. The man licks his lips, biting back a groan, the mad scientist has a bit of a corruption kink. Taehyun teaches his monster gf how to jerk him off, and to use that pretty pink tongue that he took so long to find to lick his tip. Eventually guiding you up to stroking him with your cunt.

"Don't over ah- over do yourself." His deep stern voice had your pussy clench around him. His hands clamped on your waist, guiding on his dick. Your dumb fucked brain couldn't process what he had said, not until your orgasm made you cream all over him. Your body jolted with pleasure until your vision went black.

You wake up in a different room, lying on a plush bed. The scent seemed familiar, like your creator. Your eyes felt heavy as you blinked them open, looking around you to study your surroundings. Bookshelves filled to the brim, covering the walls, except for the clean desk sitting in front of the window. You stare at the outside world, something you've had yet to explore.

"Why can't I explore the village?" Taehyun chuckles at your question. His hand smoothing out your hair, then his thumb rubs your cheek before he leaves a peck at the spot.

"You passed out while having sex with me, you're not ready." He says as he watches your tired eyes tear up. You nod, agreeing with his statement.

The village might become scared of the monster that you are, that he has made. They might bring an uproar, shunning the doctor for what he had done. All of this is theoretical, however. In reality, Taehyun didn't want others to look at you. He wanted you all to himself, to teach, to touch, and to love.

#mae’s stories ✧.*#txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #taehyun smut #taehyun hard thoughts #taehyun hard hours #taehyun imagines #taehyun x reader #txt fic #txt imagines #taehyun fic

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sugarcreambiteskingdom · 6 months ago

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May I have the five beasts x male reader who is one of them and has the power to create plants and such before his corruption he was always pressure by the witches and his advisors to be perfect always have a smile on his face make beautiful flowers and plants bloom always no matter what never allow to do what he truly wants to do force to be the perfect cookie with a perfect smile and until he snap and become a beast he use his plants to torment and terrified the one who always pressure him to be perfect and he say finally no longer have to be perfect I will go my own way I own nothing to those worthless cookies or the witches now they will all see what else can I do as he has huge creepy smile on his face as his laughts evilly as his plants attacks the cookies and earthbread and completely takes over even his appearance change to one he prefers he use a rose on his head then he becomes a beasts it has teeths and will turn into a huge rise monster by reader command headcanons please

Cream Oreo Cookie: This reminds me of a movie I once knew but I can't remember it :v

The First Ancient Cookie's:

Light Milk Cookie:

He was worried about you and was...upset with the witches and how they treat you

He doesn't appreciates the Witches pushing you to use your powers 24/7 just because you we're a powerful Ancient Cookie you still need rest

He would always makes excuses for you so the witches would let you rest

He will be there for you to comfort you if you ever needed it

Spice Cookie:

Seeing you tired and overwhelmed with work was enough to annoy The Herald Of Change from the Witches decisions to treat you like a lowly worker which never fails to BOIL his Jam

He would always so called "kidnap" you so the two of you can chat and relax in his temple

He makes sure you eat well and drink a lot and rested a lot by giving you a ton of food, drinks, blankets, pillows, stuff animals to cuddle with

Salt Cookie:

He disapproves with all of the Witches antics and how they use you

Your just a Cookie for The Witches sake! Just because you have a crunchy and hard dough doesn't mean you still can't break from exhaustion

He would also like Spice Cookie will "kidnap" you to get some rest

The two would go on for walks, or read a book under a tree or just enjoy the peacefulness of everything and relax

Plain Flour Cookie:

She has heard all of your wishes for peace and relaxation under a tree by a hill far away from your duties

She is always there to listen and give you advice

She also does not agree with the Witches Wishes of your time to give all of your energy and power of "Life" as they all say

If you ever need someone to cry your heart out she is here for you do not worry

Ephemeral Sugar Cookie:

Why would the witches force such a handsome Cookie like yourself to manual labor?

Okay maybe Manual Labor is a bit too much but it kind of looks that way from her eyes!

A Handsome and Magnificent Cookie like yourself should rest and have time for yourself to instead of letting yourself get over work like this!

She would always visit you and give you clouds to use as bed or pillows to rest on and relax alongside her!

She will wrap her wings around you as you sleep and at times hide you from the Witches so you can go and sleep for atleast 9 Hours or so

BEAST COOKIES:

Shadow Milk Cookie:

THIS, THIS IS THE REASON WHY IT WAS AN AMAZING IDEA TO LEAVE THE WITCHES BEHIND

This was there fault not yours...

If they weren't so pushy maybe this wouldn't have happened

But that's okay!

Now we can all have fun with our powers and use them for our OWN entertainment and not THE WITCHES

Burning Spice Cookie:

He was so glad that the two of you finally decided to leave those witches expectations and create your own fun

He would ask you to battle with him and spar just to see how strong you've gotten

He'll make sure to not burn your beautiful plants or work of art during those battles since he knows that you still love your plants and won't want for them to be burnt into dust even though you can always make some more

So basically he just uses his axe to cut through it

Silent Salt Cookie:

They had enough of the witches and how they treated you

So let's see what they think about the new you?

Causing chaos from left to right

You and Silent Salt Cookie we're an amazing team at the battle field

You would throw those wretched Cookie's up high to the skies as Silent Salt Cookie slice them off

Even though he doesn't talk now unlike the past

He would always bring you a head of a Cookie with it's head full of your favorite flowers in it to show his affection towards you

Mystic Flour Cookie:

The Witches always Take and Take and Take and Take

But now there's nothing to give and that's how Mystic Flour Cookie felt which is why she understands what you we're going through

Those greedy Cookie's wants there wishes to come through to the point they would crumble eachother

While the Witches never gave any care about you and how much work they weigh on you

So why not let them see how can one of the purest of Cookie can turn to the most bitterness ones

Eternal Sugar Cookie:

It wasn't fun or funny at all anymore seeing you all hurt and sad and stressed out from the witches

But seeing you now destroying those witches creations made her so damn happy for you

She even decided to join you in this masquerade of yours

She will never leave her little Cinnamon Roll behind to make all of this Cookie's Suffer!

She wants to have some fun too

Oh how she enjoyed it spending time with you with no Witches to interrupt your bond!

How Fun!

#cookie run kingdom #crk #cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run x y/n #shadow milk cookie #light milk cookie #burning spice cookie #spice cookie #silent salt cookie #salt cookie #mystic flour cookie #plant flour cookie #eternal sugar cookie #ephemeral sugar cookie #beast yeast #cookie run y/n #cookie run reader #beasts cookies

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bunniemoth · 3 months ago

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[fic] Shadows & Tall Trees (Older!Sebastian x f!Farmer)

Title: Shadows & Tall Trees Series: The Long Way Home - Part 1/4 Pairing: Sebastian x f!Farmer Words: 5,773 Rating: Explicit Warnings: SoftTop!Sebastian, power dynamics, praise kink, edging, p in v, dirty talk, sloppy head, overstimulation, explicit consent, an abundance of body fluids, implied corruption kink, SA mention, references to drugs, references to addiction

Summary:

You’ll say later that the sundress wasn’t premeditated because it was the last clean thing in the closet, thrown on hastily at the first rooster crow without checking the weather channel. The boots and hat were standards of the inheritance, and you were off feeding the chickens heedless of the grey clouds gathering over the summit. Between the summer heat and your chores, the day grows shorter the busier you are, and by the time you realized you were starving, you’d made it halfway to town already, thinking of stopping by Gus’ for a quick bite to eat before walking back along the beach. No one’s faulting you for making bad decisions, farmer, but the dress was white and Sebastian showed up just as the sky broke open.

...

A story that follows Kantrip's Older Sebastian Expansion Black Six-Heart event, or, an Older!Sebastian AU with dark edges, and a healthy dose of kink to make it better.

Read it on Ao3 or below the cut 👇🏻

(Notes on the characterization and presentation are under there too.)

Notes and Forewarnings:

This story follows continuity established by Kantrip’s Older Sebastian Expansion and deviates from canon in the following: he is in his mid-thirties, he is Robin’s younger brother, and he has returned to the valley after a few years in prison.

It’s set in the aftermath of Sebastian’s Black Six Heart event. Amends have been made but not all explanations have been offered. There is some sexual tension and many unanswered questions.

(But maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll see a frog in this weather.)

...

Sebastian's physical description has been informed by the Sebastian's Moto Jacket portrait and sprite, which gives him a shorter haircut, a motorcycle jacket, and a gorgeous five o'clock shadow.

This fic in no way endeavours to depict a real world consensual BDSM relationship.

Okay I'll stfu. Go have fun. ;)

--- Shadows & Tall Trees ---

You’ll say later that the sundress wasn’t premeditated because it was the last clean thing in the closet, thrown on hastily at the first rooster crow without checking the weather channel.

The boots and hat were standards of the inheritance, and you were off feeding the chickens heedless of the grey clouds gathering over the summit.

Between the summer heat and your chores, the day grows shorter the busier you are, and by the time you realized you were starving, you’d made it halfway to town already, thinking of stopping by Gus’ for a quick bite to eat before walking back along the beach.

No one’s faulting you for making bad decisions, farmer, but the dress was white and Sebastian showed up just as the sky broke open.

—

“I should have known you were a portent. You don’t go anywhere unless it’s about to rain.”

Sebastian cracks a half-smile, his steps slowing to a slouch through the sand as he approaches.

The rumble of thunder interrupts his greeting, but the pattern of his mouth’s movements is familiar because the smile he offers feels like an exclusive secret, with all his mysteries tucked away behind it.

“Hey, farmer girl.”

You jump at the boom-krakoom as lightning streaks across the Fern Gills, grey clouds painted black at the edges closing in.

His sleeve brushes your bare arm as he joins you, his hands shoved into his pockets. A lock of hair fans across his forehead — moved by the same wind whipping your skirt around your legs. Ocean spray laps up the pier.

He looks tired.

He hasn’t been sleeping again.

“It’s getting closer. Look at how those clouds are moving.”

The smell of ozone lingers, but you’re not wholly sure its the oncoming storm or his company that turns the air electric.

“I should have figured you’d be out here,” you tell him.

He lifts a shoulder, not making eye-contact. “Thought I’d try to get the best of it for a change. I guess this is my lucky day.”

“Yeah, thunder and lightning.”

“You’re here, actually,” he says, and a touch of pink crests over his cheeks when his gaze slants in your direction —

Lighting across your bare shoulders and the scoop-neck before levelling on your face.

That half-smile makes a reappearance, but this time, your stomach flip-flops Gus’ Grampleton Orange chicken when his attention lingers, leaving your skin pebbled and tingling where the urge to press into him becomes a tug you feel under your ribcage.

“You look good in a dress,” Sebastian says.

And you know that everything up to this moment are just pleasantries; filler for a number of things gone unsaid because you keep running into each other but haven’t talked about it.

He must see it in the way your expression shifts: just a touch of pain.

“Look, I know you said it was okay, but I’ve been thinking about that night and I really wanted to explain —”

“I got your letters, Seb.”

“I know I overstepped.”

“That’s not —”

“I did, and I can’t apologize enough for making you uncomfortable.”

“And you’re going to tell me it’ll never happen again —”

He swallows hard, because he thinks he’s being a fucking paladin. “It won’t.”

“Then you don’t understand.”

You’ve turned to face each other. Three inches of distance between you, but even that’s too much and not enough to continue, so you put another foot between you and wipe your damp palms down your legs.

“Explain it to me, then,” Sebastian says.

This is the worst thing you’ll ever say to him, and you’ve rehearsed it over and over for the past two weeks, but for someone who sticks her hands in the dirt to stay alive, you’ve wished just this once you knew how to grow courage instead. You’d pull it up by the fistful if you could.

And Sebastian, earnest and soft in the grey haze of the oncoming storm remains —

This thing between you unadulterated but undefined because you’re both afraid.

Your voice cracks, “It would have been rape.”

He visibly flinches like you’ve struck him, his lips parting and eyes wide. In an instant, he’s ten years younger and the wear of loss and life and prison melts into the shine of hurt surprise.

His voice is a ragged, halting tatter, “I would never do that to you.”

You reach for him before he falls further into the waiting darkness at the bottom of this awful confession.

“Not you,” you say, but you don’t grip too hard in case he doesn’t get it. “Not you, Seb.”

Your fingers fall to his wrist, holding on loose enough for him to pull away.

“You can’t consent if you’re under the influence,” you explain. “And you were --”

You falter, swallowing hard.

“You were —”

Out of his head.

Fucked beyond recognition.

Chemically-enhanced honesty stripping away the tenderness.

“I really ruined things, didn’t I?”

You both know what he said — that offer with all its soft edges and vulnerability like a warm touch between your legs, leaving you throbbing and terrified, not at the prospect, but that you’d considered it.

It echoes in the back of your mind, still, because you’d asked him to get rid of whatever he’d been smoking.

“…could find something else to do with my mouth.”

He remembers. You can see him replay the moment, and even at a distance, its edges catch the light.

“Y’know… the basement’s got pretty thick walls. And the door locks... Whaddya say we…?”

Seb nods when you don’t answer, his throat bobbing, searching for the truth of it as the scatter of moments slot together in arrangements that you never intended, regardless the precedents.

“So I couldn’t,” you tell him.

He twists, raking those long fingers across the back of his head, blinking away the worst of it as he rotates the situation to see its other facets.

But you wanted to say yes —

Just for a second.

“And maybe it’s naive of me, but I want it to mean something.”

Gaze burning, he draws closer by a step, unable to close the distance because his hands flex open and closed instead of reaching.

He says, “That was never what I intended.”

Because it should have been different — the first time between you, budding into something dark and lovely, nurtured in the quiet moments when no one else was looking.

“I’m sorry.”

Nodding, you manage a strangled, “Me too.”

His laugh falls away on a breath. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Maybe I did in my head.”

It slows him, and as close as he is, you can see the faint lines around his eyes, and maybe the slight cast of silver creeping into his stubble. In another ten years, without losing more time, you think he’ll have earned the crinkle of smile lines…

If maybe you can just get past the first efforts tripping up the stairs of your almost-relationship instead of falling down them.

Sebastian’s smile clears, tentatively at first, with a self-conscious edge as he wrestles with this new revelation.

“It’s messed up that I’m actually flattered, isn’t it?” he says.

You bark a laugh, the sound lost under the crash of waves. It’s brittle, but not broken.

It’s not done yet.

It’s not over.

And in a lower register, “Don’t shake your head at me, farmer.”

“I’m horrified.”

“You’re kind,” he says, but he hovers at a distance like putting his hands on you might leave stains. “And like I said — this dress begs forgiveness of all sorts.”

The wind and the humidity and the oncoming storm all swirls together, demanding a conclusion to this little dance you’ve both been doing — not just today, but for weeks.

It’s the flirting, and the private exchanges stolen from the ordinary when you find him smoking by the railroad tracks, or when you visit his bedroom like the atmosphere isn’t still charged with the leftovers of everything he said before he left for rehab.

All of it rests in the folding space between your bodies as his knuckles find your cheek, a finger crooking beneath your chin to tilt your face up to his.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, but he says it like a promise that he’ll never hurt you, and you don’t know why it makes you want to cry.

Before you can thank him, the first fat drops strike, splashing the wide brim of your straw hat in a warning patter, and then your arms.

“Shit.”

Sebastian peers up, and the sky dumps a bucket over your heads in a torrent.

—

So this is how it is: soaked and running for the treeline, your dress sticking to your legs as white cotton goes from opaque to transparent in an instant, and Seb, somewhere behind you, is doubled-over, laughing at the irony of it.

“I’m never going to catch a break, am I?” he calls over the rain.

You dance on the spot, sinking into the sand as the cold spatter dumps over you in heavy sheets, not wanting to leave him, but also wanting to find shelter immediately.

It’s shocking how cold it is, but not even folding your arms across your chest can spare you the knowledge that your nipples are rock hard under the fabric, or that the rain is heavy enough to sting.

“Seb, please. Let’s go.”

He holds out his arms, tipping his head to the sky, and releases a tired, aggravated sound of complaint — somewhere between a half-groan and a curse that dissolves into the mist of self-deprecating laughter.

“Where’s the romance in that?” he calls back.

“You don’t kiss girls in a downpour. You kiss them in a light spatter.”

He grins, wiping a hand down his face where the water washes away some of the awful tension.

“You’re the expert,” he concedes.

“I’m pragmatic. You try feeding temperamental chickens with a hundred and three degree fever.”

He’s pulling off his jacket as he reaches you, gaze glancing off your curves, the way you’re suddenly exposed to him with zero effort whatsoever a complication you had not anticipated. He hesitates only a moment, your awareness blooming when the smile melts away.

What remains isn’t hard to place:

The slight shadow crossing his expression as Sebastian’s gaze travels up your calves, over your thighs, and over your breasts to your chest, your collar, your face, and back down again to your parted lips:

It’s hunger.

It’s unfinished business.

“Come on, farm girl,” he rasps.

The motorcycle jacket smells like late nights and cigarette smoke when he drapes it around your shoulders. Beneath it lingers the faint echoes of his cologne — leather and clove. It’s warm.

“Let’s get you home.”

“You’re walking me?”

“I’m your insurance policy.”

You don’t get it, but you let him guide you, the hand drifting down from between your shoulder blades to your lower back careful but firm.

“Trust me.”

You do, though. You have always. Your chest tightens at the look on his face, but any lingering melancholy washes away with the rain, lighted on by the brushes of your knuckles when you think he might tangle your fingers together.

He doesn’t, but desire clings like a hopeful cobweb: as stubborn and just as tenacious as you take the winding path back to the farm — the one past Blue Moon Vineyard even though it’s the long way — the mud pulling at your steps in the quiet. Maybe there’s nothing left to say, yet:

Maybe sometimes its the anticipation that needs to be savoured.

—

The old door groans a greeting as you push into the farmhouse interior, intent on a blazing fire and dry clothing, but Seb lingers on the porch, the rain cascading off the roof in sheets. His shirt clings to his torso, his jeans sodden, and water plasters his hair to his forehead, but his gaze hangs onto the mid-distance where the fog gathers above your crops, the corn husks bowing under the weight of the storm. The well is running over.

His voice carries despite the hush of falling water — a television left on a static channel, glowing with dim light, “It’s so quiet out here.”

Your agreement is tentative, “No one for five acres.”

A part of you wonders if the privacy is a luxury; no need for thick walls or locking doors here.

Sebastian’s smile softens. “Great set up for a horror movie.”

You pull off his jacket, leaving puddles where you drape it over a chair in the kitchen. Your dress probably isn’t ruined, but it’s not doing you any favours when you look like you’ve barely survived the dunk tank at the Fall Fair.

“Is this the part where I invite the vampire in?” you ask.

His grin changes his entire face, but fades into reluctant embarrassment. Sebastian opens and closes his hands, helpless.

“I’m drenched.”

Me too, you think, your face prickling with heat. You bite the inside of your lip before you let the innuendo slip.

“I have a dryer and an ulterior motive.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not over your company just yet.”

He glances over his shoulder. “I, uh — really don’t mind going. It’s only a five minute walk back.”

He doesn’t want to stay, you realize. It prickles, confusion chasing complications because you could’ve sworn a minute ago he looked like he wanted to toss your legs over his shoulders.

Sebastian clears his throat, and explains, “I — I’m a man of certain appetites.” His attention flicks to your thighs again, and he pulls in a breath. He smiles sadly. “They don’t always suit everyone’s taste.”

You search him, forgetting how exposed you are because you think you can finally see some of what he’s hiding peeking around the edges.

“This is an intersection,” you tell him carefully. “The lights are red, yellow, and green.”

Your heart hammers.

“What do they mean?” you ask, just to know that you’ve reached this juncture together.

Seb’s hesitation unfurls like a fiddlehead, a crest of pink reappearing below the shadow in his gaze. His shoulders soften. He tilts his head, sizing you up like he’s seeing you for the first time, again.

Roughened by mutual understanding, he answers clearly, “Stop, slow down, and proceed.”

A smile threatens, your pulse fluttering at the possibilities.

“Well, shit,” he breathes. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, farmer girl?”

Just in case there was any confusion, you ask him, “So, should I get on my knees and look down or…?”

His grin lights up the whole room, and softens. “I just want you to follow my lead.”

Finally, Yoba interferes in a way that you’re grateful for as lightning strikes the apricot tree by the frog pond with a crack! that makes Sebastian duck.

He’s over the threshold and still staring at the smouldering ruin of your fruit harvest when he realizes he’s used his body to shield you from the potential threat. Heart leaping against his ribcage, you feel every sharp breath, and every press of his fingertips into your clammy skin.

All those winters where he made jokes about running hot, you’d ignored him, but maybe you shouldn’t have:

His body is a heater. It’s a struggle not to snuggle into his chest. He isn’t moving either.

“Okay, then,” he says, his lips beside your ear as he hand wraps the back of your neck. The heaviness is soothing: one part possessive, one part protective. “Do you have an extra teeshirt?”

You remember to breathe again, his touch falling away with reluctance, though he hovers in the moment, the pair of you dripping puddles between the kitchen and the living room, and dripping awareness too.

You lick your lips. Now or never, farmer —

“I don’t think you’ll need it.”

The flex of his fingers is the only outward reaction to your invitation. Well, that and the slightest pressure against your hip. Sebastian pulls back enough to check in, pupils blown wide and dark. The next lightning strike illuminates, but it’s unnecessary:

He’s standing so close you can feel the way his heart skips.

“You’re shivering,” he says, but the register is lower.

You press your knees together as his hands fan open across your back, seeking connection, fingertips sneaking under the wet fabric.

That secret smile is back, but this time, you share it.

He’s descending before you can finish the thought: “Get me out of these wet clothes, Seb.”

“Say ‘please,’” he murmurs, but any whimpered acquiescence is lost when his lips touch yours. You sigh open as he finds the hem of your dress, fingers seeking the entry point between fabric and flesh, peeling it over your head.

It hits the ground with a slap, but Sebastian’s hands hold you against him by the hips while yours work under his shirt.

Your brain shorts on the realization that abs —

It restarts a moment later when his fingers touch down on your throat. Gentle. The other hand traces a tremor down your spine as your legs threaten to buckle and the taste of him fills your mouth with a sweep of his tongue.

You’ve been kissed before, but not like this —

Not folded into another person who cradles you against him like you’re something precious he might damage with lesser insistence. It’s tender, but his mouth carries a demand that kindles heat between your legs, carrying intention from caress to squeeze as he maps your reactions:

Breast, to rib, to waist, to hip, and into the back of your panties where those long fingers knead the swell of your ass like he was testing the firmness of a peach.

“What colour?” he murmurs.

There’s only one answer. “Green.”

Oh, you think, but his fingers tuck into the front of that little scrap of fabric and they’re off with an efficient tug that leaves you trembling for reasons you hadn’t considered:

He’s had lots of time to think about what he’d do to you if you ever accepted.

“Bedroom,” Sebastian says against your temple, sliding your bra strap off your shoulder, and then the other. The clasp falls apart under his fingers, and somehow you’re naked, and he’s still in jeans and boots —

Gaze trailing down your body with predatory interest.

His attention flicks upwards.

“If you want to.”

You’re nodding, “Upstairs,” but he promises, “Me too,” with a kiss that lingers, while he sweeps under your legs and torso as he gathers you up. His smile is brief and self-deprecating. “And this time I’m sober.”

“So you’ll remember.”

He chuckles. “I’ll last longer.”

There are two flights of stairs to the converted attic, and Sebastian scales them without hesitation, spreading you out on the four poster his sister crafted from the hardwood you collected in the Secret Forest.

It seems fitting, as you sink into the covers, that the rain lashing the windows is like applause for your efforts as he rises to stand above you, hands soothing over your legs. They fall open for him, your nectar dripping as he drinks in the sight, hands soothing the insides of your thighs.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” Seb says, and it carries the burden of years trailing behind him. So many of life’s choices collide into this moment, and you wonder if the benefit of hindsight is sacrificing a future in favour of doing things different.

You murmur, teasing, before he can surrender to that sadness again:

“Do you need instructions?”

Rising, your fingertips follow the trail of hair from his stomach into his waistband, his thumb resting on the clasp of his belt as he contemplates the scene before him — your bedroom, the storm, everything on offer, and what it all means.

When he doesn’t answer, you ask him, quieter, “Do you need a condom?”

That grin reappears, the one that backslides into dangerous territory because the boyishness is missing.

“Farmer girl,” Sebastian says, his voice a smoky rasp. “I think I’m gonna need a whole box of them.”

You suck in a breath, snuffed on his mouth as Seb leans in and crawls you back into a prone position. The kiss doesn’t end because it’s a distraction that takes only half his focus — the rest is in his hands on your body:

Glancing touches with his fingertips to your ribs and stomach to make you shiver, into the hollow of your collarbones and across the delicate bones to be trailed with his mouth later. When he kneads a breast, he traps the nipple between two fingers, tugging until you’re writhing, then soothing it with his tongue.

“This is mine,” he tells you, and you don’t argue. “I’m going to take care of you.”

It’s not like anything you’ve experienced with anyone else, and while his touch shivers along the backs of your knees only to squeeze when he reaches your thighs, he keeps your mouth occupied. The noises you’re making are a symphony of little affirmations that you’re losing control over.

You’re shaking before you know it, the warm rush of heat between your legs wetting the comforter, but if Seb’s noticed, he hasn’t indulged it:

He’s busy chasing a feeling only you can give voice to —

Pleasure and abandon.

Maybe begging.

And when it escapes you, you realize that’s exactly what he’s been waiting for:

That ragged, “Please,” that makes him groan into your throat.

His pants are wet and cold against your legs, the muscles of his torso taut with tension when your fingers find cold metal lanced through his nipples and warm flesh everywhere else.

The weight of him carries a delicious heaviness, his hips buffering further connection because he presses his knee into your thigh to hold you open —

His touch cascades, thumbs tracing along the sensitive inner skin of your forearms to pin your wrists.

“Stay like this,” he murmurs, nuzzling your cheek. He leaves a kiss behind, and another at the connection between your jaw and ear, his breath inviting a trembling rush down your neck. “I don’t want you hiding. Where are the condoms?”

“Bedside table.”

“Got it.”

He nips your neck, his arms a cradle of shade and hard muscle as you relent and offer him better access to your throat, his groan as your hips rock up to meet his caress more satisfying even than what his stubble does to that soft patch of flesh under your jaw, and as he withdraws, he brushes his denim-covered cock against your softest parts.

The friction whites out your vision for a second, the rough scrape and hard tension too much and not enough, because his fly is perfect to grind on.

It’s masochistic to try, but Seb’s dexterity is better, the palm cupping your pussy more determined to dole out pleasure at a cadence that you don’t have a say in.

“Easy, love,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to rush this.”

He holds you there for a moment, his grin turning satisfied when you realize that the tips of his fingers are barely brushing your wetness, his goal control rather than satisfaction when just a little pressure would push your clit into the heel of his hand.

“Sebastian, that is not fair.”

You’re naked and he’s teasing.

“Do you trust me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You can feel your body throbbing. He’s so still you imagine he can feel every drop of moisture seeping through his fingers.

It comes out on a breath. “Yes.”

He nuzzles your ear, the smile in his voice curling your toes up the backs of his calves when he promises, “Good girls get their pussies eaten first.”

He’s gone with the creak of springs, and cold air rushes in. It’s worse because you’re soaking, your legs shaking a bit from the loss of contact and nervous, suddenly, of disappointing him by being self-conscious.

Your heart’s hammering, your breath a series of sharp little gasps that leave your head swimming.

Are you doing this?

His boots hit the hardwood in two clomps, followed by the clink of his belt buckle, and then the zipper — and when the lightning illuminates his body, you can see some of that tiredness is gone.

In its place is an expression so desperate you barely have time to take in the cut of sex lines above his boxer briefs, the black tattoos above his knees, the size of his cock filling out the front gusset.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, more exclamation than request, but his chuckle ripples through your sex when he cradles your thighs to his head and drags you down the bed.

“Yes, please.” The sound muffles, the flat of his tongue touching down on your over-sensitized clit in a wide, slow lick —

Like he was savouring an ice cream cone.

You arch, your senses firing all at once, your breath caught in your open mouth.

The look Sebastian wears belongs to a man emerging from a drought.

“Fuck.”

And he’s gone —

Off someplace where he can get a little lost and you, you foolish thing, rock into his tongue as it dips inside you and swirls up through your folds, along the swollen edges like your body’s never been touched before, the sensation a shivery crest that turns down everything else to a background hum, and —

Two fingers ease inside you so you’re not empty when he laves over your clit again, the flat of his tongue rubbing a sloppy, steady rhythm.

“S’fucking good,” he says, but it’s a garbled mess underneath the sounds of of his mouth sucking your soul out through that bundle of nerves.

“Do you like it when I touch you like this?” he asks, but he’s already fucking you with his fingers curled upwards to add just the right amount of pressure.

A moan is all the answer you can manage.

“Tell me.”

You think you’re crying. Your face is wet. But the feeling takes you higher —

No one’s ever worshipped you like this:

Like you were something to be savoured, your pleasure a fountain.

He licks his fingers when he pulls them out.

“Can you take three?” he asks.

The edge beckons, everything pulsing with that single question, but you’re nodding, erratic and unsteady, and not asking, “Why so many?”

He presses a kiss to your thigh that shudders into a press of teeth. “I need to get you ready for me.”

You’re going to die, you think —

But two fingers slide out, and a third eases in, and you moan so loud you barely hear the thunder outside. It’s a little stretch, the discomfort brief, because he presses a thumb to your clit and pumps in and out without offering relief when he decides that you can take it, your hips lifting as if he’d let you ride him.

You’re at his mercy, one hand gripping his arm, braced beside your hip, the other gripping the sheets.

“I wish you could see yourself,” he says, lowering his mouth to press a kiss to your mons that makes your stomach jump. “How easily you respond — how damned sexy it is to see you trying to break my fingers when you clench on them. Do you like this? Do you like my tongue?”

The steady, guttural sounds of Seb’s moans mingling with your arousal as his fingers make demands and his mouth soothes them. It’s too much. You’re whimpering at the onslaught, your stomach tensing as his thumb presses into the hood above your clit, holding you in place so you can’t squirm away from overstimulation.

Dark eyes watch you, his chin shining with your slick, but Seb’s grin is all triumph when he asks, “Do you want to come for me?”

“Fuck, Seb. Please.”

The angle shifts, and in three strokes, everything falls apart as you buck up into him, muscles aching from being under strain for so long, the relief effervescent. Your cunt throbs around his slow-pumping fingers, applying pressure to that spot inside you that pushes you higher — a wave lifting you then pulling you under.

Spotty darkness threatens, but release leaves you floating, exhausted, and a little lightheaded. Your fingers are tingling.

“I knew you were a screamer,” Sebastian chuckles.

“No one’s ever —” you begin, but while he’s slowed, he’s not quite stopped yet. Like he’s keeping the engine going. “Not like that.”

But you can taste your come on his lips when he kisses you again, and softer, on his tongue when he sweeps into your mouth, claiming the confession like he’s shotgunning everything else. He lowers you to the mattress, the sound of a condom wrapper opened and discarded.

“We’re just getting started,” he promises.

You’re still throbbing when the press of his cock pushes against your swollen slit. You buck, crying out, and placing a hand on your chest to hold you down, Sebastian eases in without further resistance.

“I can still feel you coming,” he murmurs, pushing your legs farther apart with a rock of his hips, and tucked into his pelvis when he seats himself to the hilt, your sigh shudders out. “Every aftershock a little tug.”

“Sebastian.” You don’t know if it’s a warning, or a whisper of gratitude.

“Is that what you needed?”

You’re nodding, but any pleas for more he silences with his mouth.

His stubble adds a little burn to his kisses, leaving your lips raw and swollen.

“Wrap your arms around me, farmer girl. I’m going to need you to hold on for this part.”

“Seb —” you start, your focus caught on the feeling of his cock stretching you out. “I need it hard.”

He rocks his hips up, pushing deep and hard to make space enough to pull out a bit and stop. The pause leaves you thrumming, not close enough to rub up against him, and not deep enough to stimulate your g-spot.

Into your ear, his smile leaves a meandering frisson that tightens every muscle when he says, “I know, love.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Yellow to slow down, red to stop.”

“Green, fuck,” you breathe, and he chuckles as he grinds his hips up, experimental. Spots dance at the lightest brush of his cockhead against your cerivix, the motion achey with how good it is, bordering on discomfort.

He’s not too big, but at the right angle —

Seb pushes your leg up to hook your knee over his shoulder, and then the other — pulling your hips into his lap with the motion.

“Just let me lead,” he says, and the last thing you see is a glimpse of him kissing your calf before he bows you over, his thumb pressed between your legs at an unforgiving angle, the movement steady as he slips out and pushes in again. It’s easier the next time, and again when he sinks you onto him, guiding you by the hips as you lose your grip and you realize that he’s training your body to take him as deep as you can.

“Good girl,” Seb says.

And then he’s fucking you like you did something to offend him, the slap of his balls against your ass applause for the performance, because you’re clenching before you know it — trying to twist away from the pressure of his thumb on your clit, but he doesn’t let up, not even after you shout some obscenity that earns a chuckle and a hand across your mouth —

A thumb over your lips —

“Open.”

Onto your tongue.

You’re still coming as he settles you down, grinding his hips into yours to sputter around the taste of yourself. Through the fan of his hair, Sebastian says, “Suck on it.” You whimper but do as your told, because the possibility that he’ll stop if you don’t is too awful to consider, and smirking, he cants his hips just so and the next seven thrusts break something open —

A gush. Maybe you’re squirting. Maybe you don’t care so much as your cunt isn’t obeying logic anymore. It answers to the person folding you under him to put you on your knees, those wet fingers circling a nipple as he glides in easily.

“Like this, okay?”

But the next thought is knocked out of your head as Seb finds your clit again to hold you against him as he fucks you harder, the angle perfect. The feeling is different with his hand on your hip and your face in the covers. The only thing left between you is pure sensation when your extremities stop registering anything but the brush of his cock against your g-spot, and how everything tightens. Fuck, the noises you’re making —

A garbled combination of pleas and curses and his name, over and over while he murmurs praises:

“You’re so good. You take me so well. Come for me again, sweetheart. Just like that. I love the way you feel. I love the way you fuck.”

He keeps going until you’re shaking, your arms and legs protesting the angle and you can’t hold yourself up any longer.

His mouth touches down on your shoulder as his movements slow, gathering you to him as the urgency ebbs into the smooth glide of his body into yours — sinuous and undulating, rolling you with his hips. Lacing your fingers together, Sebastian draws you into his chest, guarding you against the night and the rain with the comfort of his embrace.

“One more,” he says, tired, but pleased.

You nod into the comforter, spent, but maybe there’s one more left.

“Together, okay?”

Yes.

He kisses your cheek, and then your knuckles, and when the thrusts become a slow roll, you move with him — water shifting course, eroding old restrictions to carve a new way of doing things. It’s different, being side by side like this, but so much more intimate when his kisses land on the back of your neck. You can still feel how hard he is; how wet you are, even after everything.

“Don’t want it to end,” he confesses.

Your voice comes out a rasp. “We can do it again.”

He pulls you closer, the taste of his skin sweet and smooth when you press your lips to the bicep slung across your chest, smiling.

“I’d like that, farmer.”

“And maybe again after that,” you croak.

Sebastian’s sigh is satisfied, his fingers carding between your thighs one last time in the darkness of your bedroom, your body responding with a gasp and a sigh of anticipation.

“Sounds like a plan requiring hydration,” he murmurs.

You grin as he notches into the spot you like, your head tipping back to his shoulder, the pressure building as his rhythm stutters, his hips flexing at last.

“I’d like that.”

It’s a good thing it’s raining.

#Sebastian x Farmer #Farmer x Sebastian #f!Farmer x Sebastian #Sebastian x f!Farmer #mods: kantrip's older sebastian expansion #Kantrip's Older Sebastian Expansion #SDV Fanfiction #SDV Smut #SDV Fanfic #SDV Sebastian #Stardew Valley Sebastian #SDV Sebastian AU #SDV Sebastian Smut #the long way home

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hiislegacy · 1 year ago

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[Continued from Here]

"... Didn't have to tell me."

Mako-infused eyes, the mix of Lifestream and Mother combined sparkling in their blue-ish hue, and the burning fire within them shone only tempered hatred. Solemnly, he assessed them, gloved fingers keeping hold of certain places, a wrist, their waist. All to make certain they'd not be getting away so easily. Cloud spoke so softly, but his expression relayed anything but. He was not the same boy that had floated in the Lifestream, or who had opened up with such vulnerability to them.

"And neither do I need to. You have what I'm wanting..."

@furiaae

#furiaae #rp #c: cloud #v: corrupted #continued

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microwave-core · 6 months ago

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Could you write a Rika (from pokemon S/V) with AFAB reader who has major anxiety and is super nervous because it's their first time having sex with Rika? Like reader's brain is noisy and won't hush up enough to relax. Whether Rika is using a strap-on or not is totally up to you. Comfort, fluff, smut (go as nsfw as you desire) and aftercare.

um this is from august. anyways.

This is more, like, broaching the topic of your first time. It's not my best work imo but I need to set this down before I keep fiddling with it. Also the keep reading break keeps moving stop that.

So, we all know Rika fucks. Even though I've characterized her as someone who's secretly a disaster behind closed doors because fuck she loves her girlfriend, she's gotten plenty of action before getting with you.

To Rika, sex is just all about making each other feel good. She's had many partners before, a casual fling or two here and there. It's not a big deal to her, but she understands that not everyone feels that way. So when you draw boundries at touches that were too close and intimate for you to handle, she backs off, careful to not pressure you into anything you aren't alright with.

It starts with a simple make out session, her body practically glued ontop of your own on the couch. The proximity, her warmth, the tongue exploring your mouth, it's all so much, your head buzzing, above the clouds. You can't help but want it to continue forever. That is, until, you feel her hand, the one previously perched upon your hip, travel down, finding a new home on the waistband of your pants.

Rika pulls back the moment you pull your lips away from her own, face flushed, clearly nervous. It takes her a moment to realize that she took things a bit too far. She apologizes quickly, cupping your cheek gently, asking if you're alright with moving any further, and when you say no, that's that. She presses another kiss to your lips, this time chaste and quick, content to cuddle for the rest of the night (not before taking care of herself in the bathroom first).

She was dissapointed that things ended early, sure, but youre her girlfriend. Her sweet, lovable girlfriend. And the last thing she'd want to do is make you uncomfortable, push your boundries in a way you wouldn't enjoy. She gives you a bit of time, a few days or so, before bringing the topic up again, wanting to understand where you fall on all of this.

It's a simple question, really. "Why didn't you want to go any further?" No bitterness, no upset, just your girlfriend wanting to know where your boundries lie so she understands how to best navigate the intimate aspect of your relationship.

When you tell her you're a virgin, she really isn't surprised. Again, Rika's been with many people before, some who are wise beyond their years with experience and other's having none. Your shy touches whenever she was so close, the clumsiness in your actions and uncertainty of where to place your hands, it all was a give away, honestly. Not that she'd tell you, though. The last thing she wanted was to make you feel ashamed for something that really wasn't a big deal.

So she waits. She tells you as such. She'll wait for you to feel ready before trying to press forward again, but she does let you know that she'll be treating you to the best night of your life if you came around to the idea.

She doesn't show you but honestly she's so fucking excited. Being your first time? Setting the standard for any of your future partners, should you have any past her? Corrupting you? It's kinda hot to her. She wouldn't bring up the last part, though. Rika Corruption kink is real to me, but she's not going to spring that on you. Your first time should be sweet and gentle, about you and your pleasure. So she'll reserve that idea for when she gets off on her own.

The day you tell her that you think youre ready, she is over the moon. It's a little sudden on your part. You had been thinking about it for days, and wanting nothing more than to feel her all over you, over the most intimate parts of you, but were just too anxious to actually make the push. What if it wasn't all that you thought it would be? What if you messed something up? What if you did something really gross and it turned Rika off so much that she didn't even want to touch you? But your want eventually outweighs your worries.

It's a stammered confession, holding her hand, playing with her fingers as you get the words out, embarrassment burning up your face, thoughts going a million miles per minute, but you try your best to focus on Rika, the way her face brightens up at your words, the way she grabs your hand and squeezes it tight, her lips pressing on your forehead, the reassureance in her voice as she tells you that tonight she'll take care of you. Pamper you like you deserve.

Maybe telling her in the morning was the wrong decision, because you go through the rest of the day completely distracted, overthinking and worrying about what will happen when you get home, yet still excited at the prospect, left pressing your thighs together while trying to get any meaningful work done.

You get home before her that night, as you typically will, trying to act normal. Make some dinner, get cleaned up, don't overthink ever little thing. Normal nightly activites. Your heart stammers in your chest as you move around your apartment, but practically stops when the front door creeks open, a call of "I'm home!" echoing through the halls. She finds you quickly, pulling you into her arms, kissing you gently, complaing about the work day. You mention dinner, her face brightens, quickly returning to the kitchen to eat. Your normal nightly routine.

Rika's demenour is normal, but youre fidgeting and anxious. Bouncing your leg as you eat, trying to ignore the heated pit in your stomach. You can't think straight, simply nodding and humming along as Rika talks. How can you focus on her words at a time like this? She notices, obviously. She knows you, although anyone could look at you and tell something was up just by looking at you.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when her hand touches your thigh, not heated, just gentle, enough to make you look at her in the eyes for the first time since this morning, worry evident on her face.

"Do you still want to go through with this?" It's soft and quiet, for your ears only. You can only nod, placing your hand on top of her own. You were ready for this, you were tired of running away from what you wanted from overly anxious thoughts. A smile works it's way back onto her face, soft on the surface, but laced with an unmistakble heat, quickly standing up, ready to wisk you away to the bedroom. As much as she'd like to take you, taste you, right then and there, she was going to give you a proper first time.

#pokemon x reader #rika x reader #fem reader #ahhhh this isnt good im sorry #what do you mean this is from AUGUST #im going insance #im sorry anon i might do a continuation of this at some point bc its just not turning out how i want it too #anyways #its snowing and i should finish this up bc im afraid the power might go out which would suck #i mean it wouldnt be a big issue but it wouldnt be good either #im not good at writing smut #its hard ok

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ace-turned-confused · 10 months ago

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proud to be yours

marcus acacius masterlist | main masterlist

pairing: marcus acacius x f!reader summary: it's the first time you've seen acacius since he took your virginity, and he has plans for a different kind of training word count: 2,7k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied / shorter than acacius / very inexperienced, unspecified age gap, pet names, smut, vague references to past p in v & loss of virginity, cock & ball worship hooray! (blowjob & ball sucking), brief fingering, comeplay & come eating, spitting, praise kink, size kink, smidgen of corruption & innocence kink, dirty talk, possessive acacius extra info: subligaculum = underwear a/n: written for @joelmillerisapunk's PPCU body worship challenge! i asked for Big Gladiator Man + C, which very fittingly stands for cock :) this has the same pairing, teeny references to & carries on from mould me for ruin, but could be read on its own :) hugs & cookies to @morallyinept for reading this over <3 <3 <3

You haven’t seen Acacius since your last training session when he took you on the ground and claimed you for himself. He informed you he was busy, saying he’d find you as soon as possible. You weren’t sure what to expect when he sought you out today and led you down an unfamiliar path, still away from prying eyes but also your usual hideaway.

You wonder if he regrets what the two of you did and doesn’t want to train you anymore, if he’s changed his mind and is simply taking you somewhere he can let you down without an audience.

The sun is already well below the mountains, the sky like a painting of pink and purple with cirrus clouds like brushstrokes. Kicking the gravel as you walk, Acacius’ bulky frame towers alongside you. You watch his hand glide through the air, remembering how his touch had blazed across your skin.

“Where are we going?”

“You will see.”

“Why are we not heading for the forest?”

“Today’s lesson will be far more pleasant at my home.”

“Your home? Are you… are you sure?”

“Relax, my girl.” He stops and turns to you, steadying you by your arms. “You know I would not endanger you — even if I did, you have proven you are more than capable.”

“What are we doing?” You call out to him as he walks ahead.

“You have quite the… inquisitive mind, rascal. I imagine it gets you into trouble, hm?”

“I suppose I do ask too many questions… you're the only one who really listens to them.”

He turns and waits for you to catch up, head cocked to one side as you come to stand in front of him. You feel a strange sense of comfort around him, comfort that nobody else has time or energy to give you. Why would they, when you spend all day longing to chase your dreams?

“It is not too much, you are not too much. I enjoy listening to you. You are far more intelligent and witty than any soldier I’ve trained… Far more beautiful, too.”

He resumes walking with a soft smile and you follow in silence, trusting that you’ll be fine to do whatever he has planned, and fighting the heat that flows under your skin at his compliments.

Stepping through wrought iron gates, a cobbled pathway wound up to an impressive stone and brick home, the surrounding gardens neat and manicured. High arches tapering down towards mosaic-tiled floors as you head inside, it’s a spectacle compared to the cramped buildings of the town centre.

He led you through the open space towards the back of his property, dim lamps lining the walls as you reached his bedchamber. You stood in the doorway, unsure if you should have followed him inside. He assured you nobody would know your whereabouts, and if they did, he’d make sure they never spoke it, a menacing grip on his sword as he unsheathed it to place down.

Now you stand, watching him remove his armour, place his chestplate on its stand and hang his skirt. His chest is still just as broad, arms and thighs still just as thick even only in his tunic. You’ve never seen him like this, neither noble nor clad in armour — just Acacius, just Marcus. The lamplight flickers across his face, catching on the silver in his hair and the scruff of his beard.

“Still so eager to learn?” He chuckles as he drags his hand down your neck and across your collarbones, your eyelids fluttering closed as your skin rises in goosebumps.

“How will we train if you have stripped yourself of your armour? I… I do not wish to hurt you.”

“We are doing a different kind of training tonight, my girl. You did so well for your first time, I knew you were born to take me.” He steps into your space, one hand rising to cradle your cheek and you lean into his touch, still desperate to please him.

“Have you dreamt of me again? Touched yourself and seen stars?”

“Yes, General,” you whisper to him.

“It felt good to become mine, yes?”

You whimper as you think back to that night — your body ached as he pushed you down into the hard earth and split you open, pinned you beneath him so he could just take from you. He did take from you, something you can never get back but something you don’t want back, not now that he’s had you for himself.

“I assume you have not sought out another man.” You shake your head in response, gaze tracing over his features as he stares you down with a dark glint in his eyes. “No other man will have you how I did… I will make sure of it.”

“As you said, my body craves yours.”

“My good girl.” Acacius smiles down at you as he curls his hand around your waist, fingers digging into your side. “And my body craves yours, remember?” He takes your hand and guides it down atop his tunic, pressing himself into you.

“Do you feel just how much I still crave you?” You nod as you stare at your hand, feeling him for the first time through the rough fabric. “There are more ways you can be mine, and many more ways I can ruin you. On your knees, my girl.”

You sink down to the floor, the hard tiles digging into your kneecaps as you shift around and try to find a comfortable position. You look up at Acacius from the floor, about to voice your discomfort when he stops you before you can speak.

“Tonight I want to show you how to make a man — me — feel good.”

“Was it not… did you not feel good when, uh… when you…” You drop your eyes, feeling heated as you stumble over your words. Your brows knit in concern — did you do something wrong the other night?

“It was well beyond good, my rascal — a sweet girl like you, so pure.” He crouches down to level with you and holds the back of your neck. “Any man would feel good with you, but no other man ever will now that you are surely ruined.”

Looking away, you notice a white tunic laid out, a gold leaf pattern running along the shoulders and down the side seams. You wonder when he wears it, or who he wears it for, distracting yourself from the worries swirling in your head.

It’s as if he could hear your concerns before you voiced them — he grabs you by the chin to force your attention back to him. “No other man will have you, and I will not have any other woman. Now that I have you, why would I need someone else?”

He drops his hand and straightens up — you feel wet between your thighs as he towers over you. You clutch your hands together, unsure what you’re meant to do for him.

Your eyes flit between his chest and arms as he pulls his tunic off, smirking at you as you realise your mouth had fallen open. He wastes no time pulling his subligaculum off and your eyes go wide seeing him up close for the first time.

You don’t care what he thinks anymore as you stare at his cock instead — he takes himself in hand, stroking lazily up and down and reaches with his free hand to cup the heft of his balls. His skin looks soft, and the small pearls that grow from the tip of his length turn him shiny the more he fists himself. You lean back on your ankles as he lets go and holds his hand out.

Placing your hand cautiously into his waiting palm, he lifts it and wraps it around his cock. Your fingers just don’t meet — it’s not just his arms and thighs that are thick. You try pressing your legs together, that familiar nightly ache having returned.

“Are you wet?” You nod mindlessly as he starts moving your hand in his, mesmerised by the feel of him and watching the skin pull back and forth over the head. “Too bad tonight is not about you. Maybe if you are a good girl I can give you what you want so desperately.”

He uncurls your fingers and holds your hand open to rest his cock against your palm, hunching over as a trail of spit falls from his mouth and onto his length. He closes your hand around him again, a small gasp slipping from your lips as the cool, wet sensation covers your palm and fingers. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he instructs you to stroke him again, before dropping both arms to his sides.

You look at him curiously as his skin glides against your hand; you tighten your fist experimentally, feeling just how hard and heavy he is. He grunts above you and you let go immediately, looking up at him in question, worried you’ve already done something wrong.

“Do not stop, my girl — all those noises you made when you felt good? Well, I make noises, too.” He winks at you and curls your hand around him again for you to continue. “You have always been such a curious girl — I want you to explore me.”

“But what… What should I do? And, what if you do not like it?”

“I would like anything you can do, my girl. You were fearless when it came to your combat training, I want that same fearless girl with me now.” You glance away as you consider what to do, your nerves clearly evident on your face as he starts making suggestions, “Stick your tongue out for me.”

You do, and he guides his cock towards your face, the tip prodding into your cheek before he drags it towards your waiting tongue.

“I want you to explore, with your hands, your mouth… I’m sure you will find you quite like this, too. Go on, taste me.”

You lean forward and lick the tip of his cock — he twitches as you do, and you taste the precome that’s been pearling since he took his clothing off. Looking at him again, he nods and it encourages you — you hold his cock up against his body, licking the entire underside of his length and he moans, his head lolling back as you keep eye contact.

“My sweet girl, I knew you would be good at this.”

You warm at his words, feeling your skin and ears go hot at his praise — you’ve only just started, and you still have no idea what you actually should do, but hearing how much Acacius is enjoying this only makes you want to do better for him.

You take his advice and flick your tongue across his tip again, breaking to stroke him and pepper small kisses up and down his length, peering up at him with a wide grin each time. Once you work up the courage, you take the tip of his cock into your mouth and try swirling your tongue around him — even barely inside you and it feels a stretch. His hips jerk forward when you push your tongue along his slit, sliding himself further into you.

It takes some time, but you work him progressively into your mouth, your boosted ego taking over as you push too far — coughing as you pull yourself off him, strings of saliva connect your bodies, one hand still around what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

“Slowly, my girl. You do not have to win the war all in one night.”

“Can I…” You trail off, embarrassed by your inexperience and the vulgar thoughts clouding your mind.

“You can do whatever you want, my rascal. There is no need to ask — explore, remember?”

You nod, reassured by his guidance and stroke him languidly again. He’s even harder than when you started, throbbing in your hand with an almost permanent bead of precome leaking from him.

Your eyes drop to his balls — you watched how he held them, felt them earlier. Does that mean he likes that too?

Avoiding his eyes this time in case you make a mistake, you lift a hand to feel the skin — it’s soft, with wiry hairs littered across him. You roll your fingers over him and he groans at the contact, his hand squeezing the back of your neck.

Smiling sweetly as you look up at his face again, he looks gone, and your sweet smile turns cocky — you’ve rendered him practically speechless. You take in his unburdened features as you run through everything in your mind — he likes your mouth on his cock, he likes your hands on his balls…

You don’t overthink it as you duck forwards, eyes fluttering closed as you nuzzle into the crease of his thigh and take one of his balls into your mouth and suck him gently, one hand tightening around his cock, the other grounding yourself on his leg. He pulls you impossibly close to him and you giggle, the sound muffled but coursing through his whole body.

You keep stroking him as you switch sides, shifting your hand from his leg to scrape your nails through the coarse hair surrounding the base of his cock. He groans, a string of saliva connecting your bodies again and trailing down your chin when you release him.

“Can I, um… can we do this again? Not necessarily tonight, of course! But…” You ask timidly, your voice becoming hoarse.

“I am glad to know you take great pleasure in this.”

“Are you going to cover me like you did last time?”

“Keep going and you will soon find out.” He sounds breathless as he looks down at you, “I am close — you have done so well for your first time, you have been such a good girl.”

You clench your legs together as he showers you with praises again, hoping that he’ll let you touch yourself — or touch you himself — when he’s done.

“Take me again, my rascal.”

It doesn’t take long before his body starts stiffening, cords of muscle in his thigh tensing against your hand and his grunts become louder. You sink your nails into his leg as he thrusts forwards and knocks into the back of your throat, his cock pulsing as he spills into you. The sensation overwhelms you as you feel it settle under your tongue and thicken around your gums; Acacius is doubled over above you, his large and weathered hands borderline crushing your skull from how he pulls you into him and keeps himself upright.

Unsure what to do next, you wait. The tiles are cool and hard against your knees — much like the earth he’d pushed you into previously — and his cock is slowly softening, still kept in the wet warmth of your mouth.

Finally loosening his grip to stand, everything falls silent as you look up at him. He pulls himself out and grabs your chin, digging his fingers into your cheeks to keep your mouth open and angle your head back. He leans over you, all firm chest and broad shoulders, with that same wild expression you recognise from the night he first had you.

He spits into your mouth and you whimper below him. Sliding two fingers between your teeth, he presses them down onto your tongue and dips them into the mixture of his spit and salty come, pushing it around your mouth. You grab onto his wrist to keep him longer as you lick between his fingers and swallow.

“My perfect girl.”

Pulling his fingers from you, he crouches to level with you and wipes your cheeks with his clean hand — you’re not sure when the tears had streaked your face, overwhelmed by him filling your mouth and the now unbearable throbbing between your legs. He lifts your tunic and bunches it at your waist, huffing a laugh when he sees you’re bare underneath it.

Still caressing your cheek, he dips his sticky fingers between your folds, dragging them through your slick. You tilt your hips to grind yourself against his fingers; he pushes them into you when they catch on your entrance and he laughs, watching you work yourself higher and higher, your small whines growing louder.

“My poor girl, does it not feel good by yourself anymore, hm? Now that I have shaped you for myself… You are always so good for me, let me help you.”

tagging some pookies that left kind words on my wip wednesday snippets of this, lmk if you wanna be taken off <3 @burntheedges @milla-frenchy @sixhours @luxurychristmaspudding

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @cafekitsune

#marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius smut #gladiator fanfiction #PPCUBodyWorshipChallenge

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eldrith · 8 months ago

Text

ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴅᴇɴ ; ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ.

ᴄʜɪᴠᴀʟʀʏ ғᴇʟʟ ᴏɴ ʜɪs sᴡᴏʀᴅ ;

words: 8.4k synopsis: jacaerys falls for a woman in aegon's garden. notes: happy halfway! we're only a few weeks from halloween & im getting excited that this story is at its midway point. i hope those who read this enjoy it. it's as always for my muses @useralba and @dipperscavern ... my co authors frong!! chapter warnings: active and willing denial on jace's part tbh. themes of corruption, spooky visions, smut; masturbation, dry humping, heavy petting, finger sucking, hint (?) of choking [v brief], sort-of under the influence activities so - dubious morals in this one [youll see]. eating as sexual imagery, sin/shameful thoughts, religious themes & symbolism, temperature play-ish?, blood & injury depictions, brief mentions of…consuming blood…lightttt manipulation[:D], angst, grief, discussion of death. & some fluff. this is so unedited series masterlist. main masterlist.

THE CHAMBERS OF MAESTER GERARDYS ARE TINGED WITH DRIED HERBS AND DAMP PARCHMENT.

It is a smell which rather permeates the air through the corridors of the castle on the more inclementing days – even when he was younger, Jacaerys found himself passing by the smell of feverfew and steamed stinging nettle on his way to lessons in the bowels of the stone drum.

Thick tears of rain slide down a weathered pane. Jacaerys reclines in a small chair; In front of him, a poultice is mixed by steady hands.

His head pulses with a familiar ache; the one which has plagued him for days, rendered him rather restless and jumpy on the best of days, irascible and brusque on the others. There is a slow roll of thunder outside; it rattles the weakened pane beside him – faintly, he can nearly hear the call of some childish laughter warbled in the storm outside.

There are no children left on the island now that his brothers are gone with Rhaena; with them, it seems, has gone the sun. The days have been plunged into dreary rolls of high clouds and low sheets barreling down with coughs of spitting sleet; The nights remain the only time the air is relatively clear of that wetting dark, and yet still clouds slink under silvery slivers of waxing moon.

Agitated, Jace watches Maester Gerardys pour some oiled ointment, warming it between his palms; straightening his spine to a more respectable position, Jacaerys tilts his jaw for the man to begin to massage the ointment into his temples.

A sigh of relief. “It’s only getting worse,” He murmurs, eyes fluttering shut at the sharp scent of peppermint. “-The head aches, the knots in my stomach.”

Maester gerardys hums as he pulls away, returning to the poultice as he glances attentively at the prince – though he says nothing, and Jacaerys is prompted to fill the silence once more.

“I suppose getting air has helped… Aegon’s Garden is not nearly as taxing to the senses as flying on dragonback these days.” He observes absently, watching another onslaught of rain slam against the window, “… and your oils, of course - though, they’re quite strong in the bath. I find the blooms to be rather pleasant now. I don’t know if you recall, Maester, but I was quite sensitive to plants when I was a babe.”

Below on the grounds, a flicker of blue through hedges of green; Jacaerys jumps only slightly, blinking – and the figure is gone. He must be going mad.

Though in a moment of odd silence, the grind of the mortar has stopped.

Gerardys’ eyes flick up to his own, leaking with a flicker of wariness. “Yes, the…garden.” He repeats slowly, straightening his back. “My Prince, I’ve… noticed you’ve been spending quite some time there recently.”

Jacaerys, not used to such suspicion from the man, bristles immediately. Some desire, perhaps, to protect the sanctity of the garden - to protect you.

“And?” He wonders stiffly.

Maester Gerardys sets the mortar to the table, voice cautious. “It is not my place to pry, but… we must be wary not to… become distracted in such times. The dragonseeds arrive late on the morrow, and the efforts of war demand the entire island’s attention.”

Offense bristles through Jacaerys’ chest as he levels a sharp gaze at the man before him. Without hesitation, he rises from his previous seat, patience more than frayed. “Do you think me not focused?”

At the following silence, his voice tightens. “I am not a boy, Gerardys. I know what is at stake - better even than you. And it will do you well to remember who it will be to lead the charge when the time comes.”

Gerardys does not flinch at the sharpness of Jacaerys’ tone, but nods briefly. “Of course, my Prince. My apologies.” Jacaerys moves to make his exit, though Maester Gerardys’ voice stops him once more., “Though… It is my duty to keep you in good health. You’ve mentioned before a girl, in the garden - pardon me, but there has not-”

“Enough!” Jacaers snaps, pushing off the table. His temper has flared - though tipped over the cliff by his words, it is not Maester Gerardys who aggravates him so; rather, a heavy impending doom has settled upon his stomach at the damning reminder of the dragonseeds which crawl their way from whatever villages or flea’s bottom they come from now to chance a life of riding a dragon. Of some inkling that, in some way, Gerardys’ words are right; and Jacaerys lashes, a cornered hound.

“You forget yourself, Maester.” He exhales sharply through his nose, “You are here to help aid my ailments. That is all you need to do."

Gerardys bows his head, “Of course.”

He is nearly to the threshold when Maester Gerardys’ voice carries - soft and unsettling as an owl’s stare in the pitch of night. “Just remember, my Prince. Sometimes, the things which ease the mind… might mislead the heart.”

Jacaerys stops before the chamber door, hand clenching into a fist at his side; a nerve has been plucked, struck, ripped - some small growing doubt in the back of his own mind, one that festers and yearns to bloom with kindling of another’s words. Worry eases through him, though there is no time for that; more pressing matters loom.

The dragonseeds arrive on the eve, it seems.

He is gone from the chambers without another word, ignoring the fading needle sting of Maester Gerardys’ odd words as they dissolve into the large bow of day.

IT IS OF LITTLE IMPORTANCE WHEN JACAERYS HAS HIS BATH DRUM MOVED.

Though it is a simple request, an innocent one - brought up while breaking fast one morning, watching with concealed fluster as three servants drag his bath drum towards the windowsill. Though it is indeed blameless and simple, he feels rather horrid for it.

It is a twist of disgust that blossoms into some equally thrilling bloom in his chest. A transfixion, to keep gaze upon the expanse of a sea beyond his scope, of all that will one day be all his own to rule. To prove, perhaps in some twisted way, that it is he who will sit on the throne when his mother has finished her long reign; that those mules with silver hair and names of sand or snow do not come to delude themselves into making a claim of their own.

To watch over the baileys below, to see the fishing villages, mere specks in the distant shoreline; to see ships smaller than fleas sail to and from, to see the rustle of wildgrass upon the pathway to the garden below.

To watch Aegon’s Garden.

It is not, he tells himself, in any off-chance that he might catch sight of those silky tresses, of that smooth and wintry skin, of your curling smile. Jacaerys simply enjoys the views of sky, sea, mountain - and if he were to catch a glimpse of your beautiful visage, whispering to the flowers and laughing as if the blooms could whisper back? Perhaps that would simply be a welcomed favor.

The water in his bath steams; oils of rosemary and peppermint mix in a rather sharp smell upon his skin, though the tendrils of steam curl into his head and ease the sharpness of his mind’s ache.

Reclining back, eyes half-lidded, Jacaerys sighs into the heat of the water.

Lithe, tense muscles ache with the tension of the day - though it is morning, he knows he must rouse soon; but in the hour ahead that he has to bathe and break fast, he will allow himself to slip away from life, into the recesses of his mind - to where only you exist.

You.

Jacaerys allows for his fingertips to brush absently along the water’s surface - so similarly to how they’d traced the curve of your neck, tangled into your hair. It’s been far too long since he visited you last - two nights past since he was tugged through the hedges once more, hiding a grin, ducking under low-hanging vines, gasping into kisses stolen by your wanting lips.

There is no such flame that perhaps has ever burned hotter than the memory of your touch; an icy one, a chilling touch that sends the cold aches of the North to shame; though it burns so hot in his mind’s eye.

You, a world apart from the suffocating smoke of war - an endearing, true girl; the way your smile tugs at the corner of your lips, some glint in your gaze that beckons him closer - deeper.

Eyelashes kiss his cheeks when he shuts his lids, and mercifully he sees it - you, head tilted in the sunlight, shadows of the garden dancing along the stretch of your soft skin, the icy breath of shade a cool respite from the despotic sun.

And that heady, rich scent that clings to your skin - the figs, the juicy skin, the pinking bud of flesh inside, your lips so divine, wrapped around them, tasting, licking, biting-

His breath hitches; without thinking - or perhaps, telling himself instead not to think - his palm slips beneath the water.

Jacaerys’ groan is quiet into the empty chamber; but his calloused palm is softened by the warmth of the water, and his mind is hazy in the visions of you, staring at him, lips wrapped around that fruit.

Its scent, the lingering taste of it upon your lips, so sweet - you, so sweet.

And he did not try a taste then, but gods how he had wanted to; how he still wants to. A taste - of that flesh, dripping with sweet juice and marbled skin of ripe fruit - and of every inch of you, each breathless hitch of a moan, every whisper of his name from your lips. Pleasure curls down the base of his spine as he allows his fist to move; broad strokes, as languid as the slithering shift of your skirts around corners, as sharp as your gasped giggle when he makes you laugh.

And it’s you; he nearly believes it is you, wrapped around his cock so snug - pleasure lapping at core, water kissing his chest as he stirs in the bath, stuttering breaths that leak a few spare whimpers into the quiet morning air.

There is a breeze through the open window that sends Jacaerys’ bare chest to shiver against the steam of hot bath; A familiar chill, wrapping and curling around him like the winds of winter - settling at the nape of his neck, but dripping lower to pool at the very base of him, where his fist moves, desperate and seeking.

And though he pretends it does not happen, he knows his fist curls and moves to the rhythm of your sighs in his memory, how you’re always so eager to press into him, to kiss him, to taste him; desperate and hungry.

Hunger – that glint, dangerous and unknown in your eyes; a flicker of a grin too wide-pulled, the sliding of a gaze that feels ancient. It’s not proper, he knows; but the pleasure mounts anyways – because of it, perhaps – and that sickly smile sends himself further to the edge, grip shaking as his hips buck against nothing.

Water splashes from the basin. A bite on the plush of his lip as he suppresses a shuddering moan; his abdomen has tensed in such curling pleasure - an ice against the fire in his veins, intoxicating, arresting.

The pressure always builds - not just this pleasurable kind, though his body insists to his mind he should be focusing on such things - and in the last few desperate days that he’s spent far from you, you who truly understands him - it is in these times when he seeks such salacious relief.

It is your name whispered from his lips, breathless - too many times to admit in the past weeks of knowing your company. It is some distraction from the clawing talons of fate; when his palms are warm against his cock though he finds himself wishing to feel your own - that chilling touch which lures him so.

His desperate, soiled lips - groaning your name, falling from his tongue as the whisper of a phantom, some half-formed prayer to gods long-forgotten, squeezed with the very last of air which lived in his lungs. Licking at his skin, curling into his blood like the shade under which you’d kissed him.

The phantom feeling grasps at him, pressing against the thrash of his heartbeat in his chest, bringing the sting of overwhelm to his lashline, coaxing gasps through his lips and tickling a flush to his cheeks.

He can almost feel you when that same shivering peak leaves him panting, gasping as his ecstasy rolls through his entire body, his head lolling back against the tub basin as he whines your name into the empty chamber.

And in those moments, just like now - as his chest heaves and knuckles turn white, as he spends himself - he can think of nothing else.

It is only you.

Though when he steps from the bath and stretches his bare muscles into the bright of day, eyeing the line of constellated freckles which sprinkle over his pectorals and gather in pools upon his shoulders and bridge of nose, he feels the slow recovery of what had slipped so easily from his conscious - pain.

And just as it disappeared, so it appears once more; with a sharp wince, Jacaerys jolts from his haze, gasping at the heavy ache which throbs in the back of his head.

With flushed cheeks, he watches the garden below for any sign of life; It swirls with tantalizing greens, the scent of dahlias and gardenias blowing in even this high into the tower through the open casement. A sigh falls secret and unbidden from his lips as curls are raked back upon his head with a shaky palm.

As always, the pull is there.

The lull, some sweet melody that spins the strings of his heart, warming the blood pulsing in his chest and gathering below his abdomen; which soothes the ache of his mind and whispers his name in the soft breeze.

It is melancholy, in the way life has been without Lucerys. Shadows swirl darker under the attention of morning sun – petals curl beneath the breath of frost, melting back into themselves in the first whispers of day. The blooms smile up at him, and he longs for the embrace of something he can never have.

The garden breathes below.

Across the bailey, the dragonseeds take up arms - measly children playing at a game they know nothing about; Jacaerys’ jaw clicks when he glimpses the regal posture of his own mother across the way, speaking with Maester Gerardys and Addam of Hull. The pierce of his mind’s ache is sharper - the garden’s breeze sends a breath of loneliness through him.

He shuts the window without a second thought.

IT IS ONLY SO MANY HOURS UNTIL HE FINDS HIMSELF IN THE GARDEN ONCE MORE.

Misery flutters in Jacaerys’ mind with every ragged gasp he takes; a creeping nightmare, rousing him from sweaty sheets - clammy and with half a scream lodged in his throat, he’d stirred.

Visions of white, some restless churning that’d grown from dirt of dreams and sprouted a blossoming nightmare - at the top of that ancient, towering wall of ice, the words falling from Cregan Stark’s lips. A fate worse than death.

The loss of his brother; the face which echoed in so many ways his own. The end of a life - of a lifetime - and he still wakes up from restless slumber every night, gasping dry air, yearning for the days of sparring, of fixing wrinkled folds of rich doublets, of teaching lessons, of laughs concealed painfully at supper.

Though tonight, after being roused from sleep by a scream that did not sound like his own, Jacaerys had stood from his mattress, slamming the empty chalice of water upon his table as he calmed his breaths, watching the hedges swirl and blow in the night’s breeze. He’s grown used to the figments of his sleep-hungry mind – young men running past statues, laughter bubbling far away. But tonight, he saw you in a flash of white dress and a rumble of ancient hunger, some need to be in arms which trust and do not quite question.

And so, he ran.

Still clad in his tunic and sleep-trousers, he stumbled past the iron gates, gripped in a chilling bout of tedious familiarity; how many times must he find himself here, searching for comfort - to be haunted by life, by loss?

Why had he not, instead, sought out his mother? Baela? Lord Corlys is often awake at such ghastly hours these days, staring at the sea from upon his balcony…

It is admittedly not the first time he has sought you out in such turmoil; indeed, in the weeks of knowing you, scarcely has past two days where he has not ventured into the gardens; where he has not sought your eerie quiet, your soft words, your gentle palms upon his glistening cheeks.

There is in you perhaps that innocence so lost in people like him - people tainted by the burden of duty; and in your smiles, your whispers, your laughs, your tears - he has come to know you and to love you separately, to be transfixed by you and to crave you.

He supposes it is indeed some rebellion of his own - any breath of you is swept behind by those he has known his whole life; his mother, with no bat of her eye over your name in passing, though if she had scarcely an idea of what he did with you when there was nothing but the swirling trees and falling petals… lips on soft lips, hands on plush curves...

And Jacaerys knows, quite deep in his mind, why he could not speak with them. So often he finds words falling on deafened ears; those who do not understand, or who simply do not wish to. Unlike you – wise beyond your years.

In the pitch dark of night, the statues grow warped - blackened by the hatred of weather and neglect of island; it is darker than he’s ever seen the Garden, with a nearly full moon concealed by thick clouds of dread.

Blindly he stumbles into a statue - grasping once more unto the familiar young maiden’s thigh for balance; though the serpent which encircles her is coiled higher over her hips than he recalls.

Fingertips trace over the scales of the snake, and with a distinct desire in his throat, he presses his forehead to the cool stone of the stone woman’s dress skirts; a momentary comfort upon the stone lap.

It is only moments before his breathing calms; lips, pressing to the stone he rests upon - and that visage that watches down at him - stone and lifeless in the dark, eternally you.

IT TAKES HIM NO TIME TO FIND YOU DEEPER IN THE GARDEN.

It is odd, perhaps, that his feet find their way to you each time he seeks you out, as though they have a memory of their own - though he still feels lost in the ever distending garden itself.

Under the olive tree, as you lurk in the shadows, some ancient beastly predator awaits the hare; but you are no foe.

He stands numbly, the loneliness that grips his chest and fosters growing insecurities and fears within his mind dissolving under your beaming smile.

You’re against him in only a moment, pulling him by the wrists into your embrace; he feels odd, as though he floats when you tug him nearer.

“Jacaerys,” You whisper, eyes wide - startled, perhaps, at his visit in such an unseemly hour; though you, too, are here in the garden. It is beyond him to wonder why you so choose to spend your nights here, when he lies so sleeplessly in his own chambers each night wishing for the embrace of the garden.

The knot in his chest unfurls just under your touch - and you seize him in a shy kiss, leaning on tip-toes to seek his warmth.

He gasps into it, overwhelmed by the cold of your lips against his own; but he melts into the intoxicating simplicity of being wanted - and wanted by you, gods - and kisses you back deeply. Soft tresses tickle his forearm as he slides his arms around your back, tugging you into him - as if he could perhaps drown himself in you; as if he could forget the weight of the night, of the troubles that always come when morning breaks.

His hands find your waist as you pull away, though not too far - he keeps you close, to see the breath that falls from your lips and raises the goosepimples upon his neck, each flutter of every single eyelash.

“You’ve returned,” And you speak the words breathlessly each time he visits, without fail; as if you truly fear that each time he leaves, it will be the last time.

But your smile falls at the state of him, leaning closer to tuck your palm under his jaw.

“What troubles you, my love?” You wonder softly, a cold breeze of your palm brushing away his curled tresses - and he tries not to keen into the touch, swallowing thickly at the concern, at the empathy that drips from your words. He does not recall when you began to levy him with such sweet words – gone is my prince, taken up with far more intimate, kind titles; And, in return, when he whispers such devoted titles into your ear, into the breath of the garden – you bloom, a small smile growing evergreen upon your visage.

Your name is whispered from his lips with a shake of his head, the emotions crawling back to the forefront of his mind, dragging his weary bones down towards the earth.

And, devoted as always, you go with him; sinking into the thick soil, running your fingers through his hair as he breathes heavily, using his best effort to resist the tears which brim in his vision. He feels a fool; though you would not ever hold him in such contempt.

His voice is tight. “I wished to see you,” He admits, “I… saw you, from my chambers.”

Your lips curl into a soft grin; your eyes are dark - knowing - in the concealed moonlight, and it stirs that same odd crazed feeling within his bones. And no matter how tight his grasp on your arm becomes, you do not wince; you instead pull him with a soft caress and practiced words, curled under the statue of the dying lovers.

It is there he lies, head cushioned on the soft chill of your lap, blinking back syrupy eyelids as he spills his mind to you.

His mother, the dragonseeds; heirs, bastards, the colour of the very locks your fingers card through so gently.

His words whisper, curling up through your own hair and floating into the limbs of the tree behind you; your eyes are large as he confesses to you each and every thing that has infected him, has let fester within his mind for so long that now it rots and oozes from his lips with a bitter hatred.

Your words whisper in return, dripping from honeyed lips and soothing the sore and bruised bones that lie so weary beneath skin so thick.

It is in no effort to convince him of one thing nor another; Your words are for him, and that is it - your words are simple, kind, understanding. A balm over festering wounds of family, of fate.

“Jace?” You ask into the quiet of the night - and the tug on his heartstring of your delicate use of his sobriquet fosters a gentle, dreamy smile to his lips. He hums into the quiet garden, his fingers slipping through the tresses of your free hair, billowing around his head like a thick curtain; he leans up and steals a soft kiss from your parted lips, laughing gently at the blush that creeps over your countenance.

Not a breath later, a pressure slides soft against Jacaerys’ face and he jumps slightly. Though you laugh at his misfortune, you straighten; the curtain is pulled, and Jace blinks in the moonlight to find the creature that’d slinked its way into your privacy.

Jacaerys’ gut twists – the cat.

A gasp of excitement from you. “Shadow, darling.” You purr affectionately - Jacaerys, wary and uneased, sits himself upright from his pillow in your lap, spine uncurling into regal posture once more.

It bunts its small head against your palm and Jacaerys is claimed by a faint memory – Baela feeding Sȳndor a foraged fish; You sigh in disappointment, shaking your head down at the cat. “I have none with me this evening, I’m afraid.”

The cat hisses; he feels his spine straighten even more, hair on end.

“Jacaerys,” You hum; your hand is outstretched, and with a disoriented blink, he wonders when you’d risen to stand. He rises, hand in yours as you smile against the pitch-black of night. “I’ve something I would like to show you.”

The deeper into the garden you lead Jacaerys, the longer the silvery shadows of statues cast; wrath, visages weathered and greened by spoiled coils of vines - they leap at him when he passes. Earth and dying leaves hang in the air; but in the rotting turns and bends in the far end of the garden, where he’s never been, they give way to something sweeter, richer.

It’s a slow crawl - in a breeze, in a short laugh from you, in the sway of your loose tresses when you turn a corner too quickly for the prince to keep up. A cat-and-mouse game.

Though it grows - a smell so intoxicating that when you finally arrive, Jacaerys is stopped dead in his tracks.

Bewilderment, some serious dip in his gut in alarm at the monstrous silhouette that just barely looms in the shadows of night. His neck has to crane to see them: Figs – plump, ripe, hanging heavy and dripping from gnarled branches easily the size of himself.

It is a tree twice the size of the olive tree - a feat of its own - and possibly more; the fruits drip with nectar that shimmers as if caught in the light that does not find the rest of the Garden.

Massive.

The tree backs up and towers over the stone wall at the end of the garden, fog swirling in a small blanket that conceals the thick, rising roots emerging from the earth.

And at first, Jacaerys believes the heat rising within him to be hunger; his stomach growls quietly, churning at the alluring scent of fruit - but with a glance at you, hand still in his - a different hunger claws at him.

The heat spreads through his veins.

It tightens his chest, mouth watering at the thought of a bite of that sweet fruit, its gentle juices as they slide over trembling, pure skin; his hunger grows, some famished beast clawing at his chest. And a taste of you - that intoxicating you, ever-present and sweet in his mind.

Gods, this is ill done. He does not ask before tugging you gently with him towards the tree, the overwhelming scent pulling him deeper under its yawning canopy.

His hand only slips from yours when he reaches the base of the tree; staring up at the sprawling web of branches above, he lets out an incredulous laugh that is deafened immediately in the sedated air around you.

“It’s enormous,” Fingers brush against bark, ancient and rough, “Why haven't I seen it before? It feels…” He trails off, searching for the words; but he’s gone rather hot in sudden desire. You’re behind him - he feels your freezing breath trickle down his nape, your hand ghosting over his spine; though the shiver that follows is not just from your lips. “...Hidden.” He finishes absently.

Jacaerys turns into your touch, but you are not behind him - you remain a few paces away, bending to feed the cat a fig you’ve plucked from a lower branch.

The presence he’d felt behind him is gone; With a blink, unease churns in his gut.

His question lingers - but too does the heat. That overwhelming scent, as the cat leaps to rip voraciously into the flesh of the fruit. He watches, torn between horror and captivation as the little beast tears at it, releasing some faint growl that sounds nearly like a purr.

His own fingers reach up shakily to pluck a fruit laced in shadows – and in the moonlight, the flesh is nearly purple.

“Perhaps the garden hides what it wishes to keep.”

He startles only slightly – you’re in his ear now, voice laced in that way that stirs heat within him. His fingers clutch the fruit desperately, breathing heavy to regain whatever strength he has lost in the battle against desire. Your whisper sends curling arousal over the ridges of his spine, “The soil is rich here, you know. Fertile, in ways men think it shouldn’t be. The Dragonmont’s deposits do little to stop such delicious fruit from blossoming – it is foolish to think this land cursed.”

Cursed, his mind whispers – and his brows furrow, your words stirring unease in the back of his mind; It is so difficult to think clearly at such a late hour, with the hunger stirring so deep, with the fruit and your hand so soft in his own.

Cursed – but you eat them; and as he gazes into your glinting eyes in the dark, your bare toes dug into the very soil upon which you stand – hunger gnaws at him, blinding his sight from whatever shadows curl in the dark. He doesn’t mind, he decides.

Cursed, or blessed – it is often quite hard to tell the difference.

And his hunger crescendos; with a small press of your lips to the sensitive patch of his neck, the grazing of teeth sharper than the blade forgotten in his chambers, his hand twitches; his thumb splits the seam of the fruit open.

At the movement, the pad of his finger slides into the flesh, its juices dripping into his palm; you let out a small whimper at this, your hands curling in a grasp around his arms – the noise sends heat through him, coiling at the base of him.

Your eyes are alight with hunger – eyes wide, some shrouded smile growing upon hungry lips as he stares down between you and the fruit.

He yearns for something; all his life, for something. To feel alive, a voice whispers - the Garden is alive, you are alive. You are.

His hand drops the fruit.

For just a moment, your face flickers – but he brings his thumb to hover over your cheek, the air thick with the smell of its juices. He is hungry; insatiable. Your breath stutters as you stare up at him, and he down at you, breaths puffing between parted lips, shaking with unspoked craving.

“Gods,” he murmurs; and then, your tongue darts out – his throat tightens, goosepimples roving through him as you gently lick the pulp of the fig from his thumb, leaning further towards him.

He leans; Gods, he can’t help himself – and then his lips are on yours, rapacious, greedy.

You press with cold hands into him, and he stumbles back into the bark of the tree, thicker than himself three times round the trunk; your tongue prods his own, and he can’t help the groan that tears from the back of his throat – the taste, ambrosial.

Some remnants of the fruit linger upon your lips, and he’s unable to quench himself of the desire that spins his head; that sinks him low once more into the soil, that tugs you daringly atop him.

Jacaerys blinks back a bout of dizziness when his eyes adjust – reposed below the fig tree, temptations swirling around his mind as you slide into his lap coyly.

How he got here, he cannot recall; but you’re real and touching him – an icy palm upon the juncture of his neck, your slender thumb slipping to curl over the base of his throat as he keens towards you, plush lips seeking the thrill of your skin against his mouth.

Dress shifts; his tunic rustles, the leaves fall and the fruit lies in the earth, split open. Perhaps it is the hour - or it is the stare you give him; he is overwhelmed with the sense that you know every part of him; every fear, every weakness – and still you lie in his lap, eager and blushing as the day you first met. His mind flashes – in that numb way, as if he is on the precipice of some crucial understanding.

Your own lips sink into his, pressing away any melancholia, replacing it with a boiling hunger - an icy groan from him as you shift in his lap, his stirring arousal quick and heated with your sweet proximity.

Your hips stir upon his own – it lights arousal through him, tensing each muscle in his body as he coaxes you to do it again, again, again; until he is numb but for the sensation of you, willing and hungry and his.

His fingers clench; one palm, grounding himself with a grasp on the junction of your hip - the other, tracing the outline of a nearby root, feeling the thrumming heartbeat which seems to come tandem from both your flesh and its own.

The kiss he pulls you into is careful, hungry, exploring – overwhelming, as your fingers slide into his curls and tug gently; a hiss of desire from him that arches his spine into your cool skin.

He takes your sighs, your curves, the tremble of your hands as you palm at his own pliant body as if it’s a proof to himself – he is a man, he is alive – he, more than a playpiece in his mother’s endless efforts, more than a name which will be written leatherbound parchments of history to come.

He is more than it all; because he is yours.

“Jace–” Your voice is breathless, and it nearly kills him.

In a short whimper, you shift your hips upon his own, driving yourself over the line of his hardened cock – and he hisses, biting hard into the plush of his lower lip.

Near immediately, your tongue soothes over him; and a small noise of pleasure – nearly missed, though your eyes flash as you lean away from his mouth, a smattering of his own metallic blood upon your lip.

Your eyes are blown wide; a chilling sight, reveling in the taste of his ichor – and your hand, cupping his jaw with that frosty command as you hum, eyes taking him apart, putting him back together. Staring through his soul. Gods, you’re divine.

“Is this okay?” You whisper - your lips brush against his in a chilling shiver of pleasure; in which he nods enthusiastically, eyes wide and begging and willing. “Yes, please–”

And he cannot finish, because he is soon letting a soft whimper fall desperately against your own lips; you stir with wandering fingers, undulating against him with a sweet pressure that nearly sends a choked moan past his lips.

Fingers tangle in the strings of your loose hair, tugging you closer; your chest presses to his – a muddled awe when he feels your heartbeat switch and begin beating to the very same gallop as his own.

His breath falls ragged as your lips press a blizzard of sultry kisses across his jaw; your gown’s hem curls and ruffles below him as trembling fingers trace it shyly, staving his insatiable hunger.

Haziness leaks into his mind like the winds creep upon winter; perhaps from the cool, delicate skin so inviting underneath his palm, or perhaps the thick, heady scent of figs in the air. Completely at your mercy, craving everything you’re willing to give him – and as though you know it, there is an odd feeling, some shift under the thick limbs of tree above; it is a jarring realization that you’re smiling against his neck, teeth small needles upon his skin.

His brow furrows - a groan slips from his lips as his fingers gently tug at your hair, coaxing your head up from his wanting skin.

Your eyes, blown wide and hungry as his own; and in a hazy swallow, his voice thick with desire and disbelief breaks the quiet of the garden. “You’re divine,” He admits, shaking his head. You laugh at this; that very sharp thing that always seems too loud for your lungs – his mind blares for a moment, but it disappears with a kiss to his jaw.

“You are, my Prince.” You insist. And in your words strikes him a jolt; Gods, this is ill done. He should have stopped when you led him to the tree – he should have turned back when your eyes lingered too long on his lips, when his hunger grew insatiable and unable to contain – when you slithered into his lap, when he tugged you closer and whispered such flowery words into your sweet ear; when he kissed your lips with blistering fervor and locked his arms so you could not slither away, even if you wished to.

He is a prince, after all—honor bound, held to standards that now seem so absurdly distant; and indeed, as you move atop him, as your hands snake beneath his tunic and brush icicles over his burning bare skin, something snaps inside him.

Your hips, and your sensual smile – torturous things, as you draw a slow rhythm that sends his mind spiraling deeper into the fog of lust; frantically, his hips cant upwards in chase of your own.

Embarrassment is merely a wash of afterthought – because you whimper just as he does, shivering in his grasp at the ecstasy that builds between your frigid skin and his own, furnaced by the ancient blood coursing through his body.

Ice and fire, his mind whispers – and he is struck with some deep-seeded pride, a knowledge that, more than carnally, he was meant to find you, to be with you; And that, perhaps, yours is the heart he will forever keep, as you keep his in your own eternally frigid grasp.

He whimpers your name softly and you drink it up with devotion; a septa to a pointed-star; and with a scrambled grasp in your pleasure, your hand finds the fig, split and discarded in the earth-heavy soil beside him.

It is with lidded eyes and puffing, parted lips that Jacaerys watches you, ravenous and ethereal.

Your hair cascades, a curtain once more – keeping out any prying eyes from the middle of night, keeping in huffs of innocent desire as his fingers tighten their grasp upon you, dragging you once more over the straining length of him.

Your fingers press into the wound of the fig and he is doused in a blaring hot ecstasy.

He bucks at the angelic vision of you, pressing into his heated arousal – as if he might sheathe himself in you now and bring his warmth into your very soul - and you, swirling in a misty breeze of desire, pressing so hungrily against him, bucking your hips with a stuttering pleasure that shoots rapturous satisfaction up his spine.

And then your fingers rise to those very lips he chases.

Your eyes roll back in the moonlight – of which he scarcely notes there is enough to douse the tree and you in a silvery breath – and you moan his name when you taste the juice of the fruit. It is a groan, a low drawl that stirs a beast low in his gut.

The scent is too enticing; abdomen clenching in restraint, his hips buck into yours and you hiss in pleasure, eyes returning to his own, pupils blown wide enough to swallow him. He wishes you would.

And it is nearly too much for Jacaerys to bear; the sight of you, wrapped around him and breath puffing in shallow gasps, the fig’s juice staining your lips and glistening over your fingers as they swirl in the broken flesh once more.

He lets out a shaky whimper, the pleasure mounting – his hands roam over your curves, frantic and trembling with the tension of wanting to hold you so close and wishing to ruin you completely.

In a hazy gasp, he wonders what in the realms he is doing now, out in the open so salaciously; but the thought blanks when he feels your hand, freezing as it curls over his clenched jaw.

His lips part for you easily, and your smile is hauntingly beautiful in silvered moonlight.

Your fingers brush over his lips; in a shivered groan, Jacaerys’ eyes flutter shut and his tongue darts out, unable to resist.

The thick, heady flavor sends heat through him, and he’s nearing that edge, that something - he groans, body arching underneath your epicurean touch as he lets your fingers slide past his lips, closing around them with hunger.

The sensation hits him; heat, coursing through his veins so hot it turns icy, burns under his skin. And he bucks desperately, tugging you closer, a shudder running through him as he sucks the juice from your skin, overwhelmed with need.

His body trembles underneath you; your touch, divine – otherworldly – and you hum, letting out a moan as your body stutters above him. Faintly, he is aware of your own peak rolling through you, of your moans, of the sickening smile that flashes above him – though the taste, the smell, the feeling of you slithering atop him – it’s too much.

Jacaerys groans and your fingers slide from his lips, instead cupping his jaw, coaxing his mouth open for your own lips to find him.

His groan becomes a gasp as he comes undone beneath you.

His head falls back against the bark of the tree, feeling its breaths stutter with your own as you follow him, curled into his chest, stuttering your movements as he grasps you in pleasure. His trousers, spent – yet he notices not, whispering your name weakly as his body pulses in an unknown pleasure. Your lips trail ridges of ice over the sliver of exposed collarbone under his tunic.

The juice of the fruit lingers in his mouth, pulsing oddly through his veins. And in a moment, the world shifts; his vision blurs, and as he blinks, the garden is different – bathed in golden sunlight, blooms wild and in full blood; and laughter, a girl and a boy’s, warbled and happy. His heart strikes; a calming unease, some familiar edge. Another boy’s laughter joins in, and his stomach douses in ice.

He blinks, and the garden is dark again, the ancient branches of the fig tree curling overhead like gnarled, sinister fingers.

He looks up at you, still dazed, his body spent but his mind whirling with the remnants of the pleasure and the strangeness that had gripped him so – and registers your stare, suddenly rigid and intent upon him.

He watches as you lean forward, body pressing against his. A lazy kiss, one that spurs him to chase as you lean back, tasting of those sweet figs; slick with saliva and desire as you suddenly lift a palm between you, brushing his heaving chest.

The sweetness hovers over his lips; he can nearly taste it, taste you – the scent is overwhelming, the presence of your body so close, so inviting; that hunger remains, even as his spend sticks to his trousers beneath you.

His eyes trace the macerated fig in your palm, its flesh bleeding and willing, sweet and hungering. The fig.

“Eat.”

Your voice, a soft command – and your eyes, dark, intense as they bore into his own. The fig presses lightly against his mouth, and his tongue darts to lap at the juice which gathers upon his bottom lip hungrily.

Pleasure blossoms at the taste, and in his heart swirls a yearning.

Though something stops him; a sudden wave of dizziness, a strange sensation pulling him from some darkened haze. He hesitates, blinking at the fruit in your hand.

“No.” He murmurs.

He sees it in a flash of moonlight – your smile, faltering.

It’s not disappointment, but something dark and fleeting – a deepened stare, a flash of malicious hunger; the sweetness of the garden suddenly gathers too thick, too heavy.

You’ve stilled in his lap and he vaguely registers the rigidity of your expression, some familiarly shadowed stare.

He’s not sure what he’s done wrong, but your lip trembles, and with a racing heart, he reaches for you. The look upon your visage stops him; a calculating flash in your gaze, the thin press of your lips.

And for the first time the whole night, fear creeps into his chest.

Something isn’t right.

His hand slips away from your cold touch, trembling now for a new reason; and that fig which hovers in your palm suddenly smells sickening, filled with dread and longing all at once. The soil is rotten, he thinks hazily, it’s rotten…You’re–

“Come, why won't you try? Just a bite?” Your words curl in a taunt – and he nearly responds, but you’re leaning forward, lips brushing over his ear and sending shivers down his spine. His fist curls savagely against the bark of the tree as his heart begins to pound.

“It’s only a fig, Jace.” You whisper, pressing your lips to the soft spot under his ear.

You move to lean back, the curl of your smirk against his neck melting as you shift, only a sweet smile remaining when you turn to look at him. But the fear and the desire have mixed into some beastly conviction within him.

And, in a moment of sharp courage, he catches your wrist in a firm, iron grip.

You freeze under his grasp, your eyes glinting almost ominously in the silver moonlight.

“Is it?” He snaps back, heart pounding in his chest as his jaw clicks. Somewhere in his heart, there is an unsettling air that chokes, stilling around you when you blink slowly at his question.

Your stare is sharp, but there is a flash of something there he’s not yet seen before; something, he thinks, must be mirrored in his own gaze.

Fear.

A part of him expects for your jaw to unhinge – for a beast to emerge, to swallow him whole, to rip him open and feast upon his innards; but instead your gaze shifts, and your face is small, youthfully beautiful and dripping in purity – a girl no more than his age.

And then, bone-chillingly, as though a petulant child would when denying a crime, you shake your head just lightly.

No.

A confirmation, one which sends a chill rather sharply down his spine.

And from his lips a stuttered breath – he should run, should scream; but what does such a thing do in dreams?

Yet as quickly as it came, the shadow over you vanishes.

As if he blinks and wakes from the hazy dream – your face, returned to that familiar sweetness he so adores, the chilling smile you save only for him. You cup his cheek gently, and it is enough to pull him back from the edge of terror.

Lilting and light once more, a touch of concern crossing your features as you tilt your head – “You look so troubled, my love. Where did you go?”

He blinks, confused, alarmed.

You press a kiss upon his lips, and he chases your touch. “Come back to me,” you whisper.

He blinks once more, heart still hammering - but the fear dissolves with each ancient breath of the soil beneath him; and he gazes into your eyes through the dark of night – those same eyes that have always seen him.

You understand him; and whatever that moment of dread had been— wherever he’d gone just now, into some visions conjured up by an exhausted mind – it is gone now, lost in the softness of the fig tree’s leaves, in the tenderness of your touch.

“I’m sorry, I...” You shift as you murmur and it presses against his spent arousal, his breath hitching as his eyes fall upon your sweet lips, mind fogging. “I sometimes forget myself. You’re just…”

His eyes hook upon your own, waiting; with bated breath, he waits for you.

Your lips press together bashfully, fingers toying with curls of his hair, “Special. I’m quite fond of you.” You admit, nearly shy – and an affection blossoms within Jacaerys, a grin trickling upon his lips. “I’m quite fond of you too,” He breathes, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

Your eyes lose their sharp glint as the moon falls in the sky and his shoulders lose such tension that’d built in the moments past, replaced by the soothing touch of your palm; quiet whispers and gentle laughs that lull his mind into ease.

And it is there, in the very edge of Aegon’s Garden, that you and he repose for the better hours of the ghost and wolf, whispering of lifetimes and fears and sneaking kisses between mumbled sentences. He forgets the fear he’d felt, that he’d seen in your eyes; soon, fog of morning creeps into the garden and tickles tendrils round his boots.

He is lulled into your lap again - his head rested upon the plush of a cool thigh, your dress gentle against his heated cheeks.

And though he is unsure if the words that are murmured when his eyes become heavy are real or a part of his tricking mind, they fill him with that warm affection, that love that festers in his heart.

“I wish I could stay here,” He whispers when he is half asleep from exhaustion. “With you.”

There is a pause in your fingers for a moment.

“And you can,” Your voice is laced with something he cannot see - for a moment, his mind conjures a flash of something rather wicked, the memory of your face when he’d denied the fig; though he throws away such absurdity.

You’re so very soothing, trailing your nails along his temple.

He drifts away.

HE WAKES SOME TIME LATER.

He no longer lies upon your lap; instead he is pressed against your very body, his chest shivering in the cold line of you, in the breath of icy air that threatens from the sky above.

You stir beside him; the garden is impossibly darker now - and as you sit up, he unwinds the hand he’d placed upon your waist. Uncomely, he reminds himself - though, what does it matter? What does any of it matter?

“You dreamt,” You murmur.

Disoriented, Jacaerys blinks, trying to find your face in the dark; he’s merely met with the glinting of your wide eyes against the moonlight blinking owllishly.

“I…” He frowns, uneased by your observation. “I did. It was…” He shakes his head as he tries to recall, watching your frame materialize under the dark blanket of night. “Odd. A battle - over the sea, I think. Statues – dying, crumbling into the water.” He shakes away the creeping frustration of slipping memories, however distant or unreal. “It didn’t make sense.”

You hum, and there is some specific glint in your darkened face he nearly misses; the shining of pearls outstretched against plush lips - the flash of a dark grin, sinister in the moonlight, snuffed quick by the effort of a gentle nod.

He grows even more uncomfortable in the quiet - it must be nearing the early wake of sun; his muscles yield surprisingly little soreness for sleeping upon the earth.

“Did you dream?” He wonders, relaxing as his eyes adjust to find your visage calm and sweet, watching him with a soft interest. What odd tricks his mind plays in the dark.

Your voice, ever distant: “I don’t dream.”

He’s imbued with the slow tendrils of sleep, though he frowns. “Everyone dreams,” He murmurs.

You huff smally, tilting your head in that doelike way, “I suppose I can never recall them.”

He laughs, then – a hollow thing, though recovering some of the warmth gone after the loneliness settled in those moons ago. A strained sound, though it makes you mimic his laughter in that odd way you sometimes do – and with a smile, you watch him intently.

“I enjoy hearing your laugh, Jacaerys. It’s comfortable… familiar.”

And for some odd reason, perhaps in seek of his own comforting memory, Jacaerys pictures Luke – laughter bubbling over at the drawing table of his mother’s quarters, breaking fast as a family; and a deep melancholy settles over him, pulling him deep into the pit of grief that finds him in the night.

His smile falls. “My brother used to laugh until he turned red.” He recalls, settled into that haze that begins to reclaim him, as if he’s drifting to sleep once more. “He’d lose breath sometimes – like he had to suck air out of every lung in the keep, just to keep himself from passing out. It would make him laugh harder.”

You smile in his peripheral.

His brows furrow. “He was just always so full of…light.”

He’s not sure why he offers such information – it is near impossible these days for Jacaerys to utter Luke’s name aloud, let alone think such fond memories.

Though something about the blanket of night and the gentle brush of your thigh against his own, brings a lull to his mind; as though he’s sipped too many cups of wine, or still rests in some odd state of slumber. The remainder of the fig’s juices slip past his tongue when he wettens his lip, and he’s coaxed into that state of hungry bliss – not fully satisfied, yet pleasant to repose.

Your fingers pull at the many frays of your odd dressskirts; in the faint moonlight, the fabric looks as though it has stains. Deep, dark streaks that blossom just near your breast and stomach; they seem to spread with the breaths you take, your hands beginning to shake. He blinks rapidly to rid himself of such an uneasy sight.

A statue of a man and woman across the way has caught a streak of moonlight; He’d not noticed any statue in the fig tree’s courtyard hours ago, but now it sits, gruesomely pale in the scarce silver - and their faces are rather distraught.

A familiar statue, one so alike the marbled lovers near the olive tree. A man, wind-and-water-torn, with that same arrow protruding through his flesh; and the woman in his arms watching with a transfixed expression, grasping at his arms with lonely eyes.

He tears his eyes away uneasily.

“I know a boy like that, too.” You whisper quietly, though Jacaerys is hooked upon the odd bend of the arrow which sticks through the statue’s shoulder across the way. He’s not quite sure what you mean, and his brows furrow.

“-Though,” You shrug with only one shoulder, as though mimicking the woman from the statue, “His laugh is more full of water.”

Jacaerys freezes.

His heart stops at your words, breath catching in his throat - the mention of such a thing sends a chill through him. “What—” He whispers, mind flashing back to the glimpse of curls, of that bouncing gait, of the blue that had flickered through these very hedges days ago.

“What do you mean?” He chokes.

You smile that soft smile – the one that haunts his mind, that leaves him uneasy in the flickering of moonlight. “I see him in the garden sometimes,” Your eyes flicker, gleam, “He comes here – to the fig tree – during rainstorms. He told me he used to enjoy the sound, but now he detests them.”

Jacaerys is rooted to the ground, staring wide-eyed into the yawning chasm of night; its jaw spread wide, your face the shining beacon of fire at the base of its throat.

The pain of a lost limb; of a lost soul entwined with his own, cut from the same womb, carved from the same stone. But your voice echoes drearily through the quiet silence.

“And the boy…His laugh,” Your brows knit faintly, “It’s like yours, but…drowned.”

Every hair on the nape of his neck is on end as he lets out a shaky breath. No. Lucerys is dead, he reminds himself.

Your fingers brush his hand against the soil; cold as ice.

The sensation jolts him, and he leaps to his feet, sleepclothes uncomfortable, his skin sticky from the sins of earlier. His cheeks flood with heat.

It is wrong. Dread fills him, the leak of a moat into a basin of fear; there’s something wrong about this - because Lucerys is dead, his father is dead, Rhaenys is dead - all of them, dead.

Life moves on, but the dead do not; and it is a burden he carries, and he carries alone - because the crown is too heavy to be marred by the blood of the ones you’ve loved, so Jacaerys must bear the weight for him and his mother.

How could you have seen him?

“-You know how.”

Your voice comes sharp from the tree below, and it strikes him through the stomach - and before he can consider the unnerving murmur from your lips, how you’re always seeing into the words in his mind, the thread has snapped.

It’s only a fig, Jace.

He staggers back a few steps, feet caught on the twisting gnarl of treeroot. “I’ve… I apologize, I must go.” He murmurs, swallowing thickly; and with a shaky breath, he resists the urge for his mind to spiral into that dark place, where grief and madness lie in wait.

He turns away from the lulling ease of the tree above, nearly as large a shadow as the castle itself – and takes one, two, many steps towards the hedges, chest thundering.

Perhaps you call after him.

He thinks he hears your dress snagging on thorns and branches behind him as he tears through the bowels of the rotting garden; rounding a corner, he hears a feline’s hiss, a dark rumble of thunder. The garden is wrong – a putrid thing, in the dead light of nightingale’s earliest breaths.

It is rotten soil, a voice mimics – though his heart still pounds your name into his ribs; he still misses the chilling press of your lips to his own, the sweet saccharin taste of the fruit upon your tongue.

The soil is sick, it is too rich in his nostrils; and when he staggers past the maiden statue, he is terrified to see there is no snake upon her thigh – instead her visage stares down at him with a wicked, serpentlike grin.

A shiver of fear as he blinks back terror.

Morning glories are trampled underfoot, poppies beaten until their bloody leaves smash into the soles of his boots.

Jacaerys’ eyes clench shut and he pretends not to hear the faint mix of joint laughter – warbled in the distance, a girl’s and a boy’s, bubbling over before dissolving, echoing into the crash of the icy ocean below.

An agonizing gasp of unease from him as he finally bursts to the entryyard, the wilting flowers decaying in a sickly sweet scent. He nearly retches.

When Jacaerys pushes past the gate and into the bailey’s courtyard, the breaking dawn is cloudless.

Early morningbirds chirp in the sky; waves crash down upon the shore, lit bloody with the waking sun. He is very alone.

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strawberryjimin13 · 11 months ago

Text

VEIL OF DECEIT | KTHᝰ.ᐟ

— Synopsis: In the gloomy village of Briarfield, an annual ritual demands the sacrifice of an innocent girl to the devil. When Y/N is chosen as the next offering, she discovers the dark truth behind the tradition—a hoax engineered by the corrupted noblemen.

— Pairing: Merchant!Taehyung x Apprentice Healer!reader

— Genre: Fantasy, one-shot, angst, fluff, eventual smut

— Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), obsessive behaviour (not from tae), attempted sexual assault (not tae! None of the bad warnings are for him tbh), mentions of satanic rituals and sacrificing, stalker behaviour, misogyny, objectification of women, eventual smut, p in v, unprotected sex (this is like magical medieval times lol BUT BE SAFE), praise kink, orgasms (f/m), creampie(?), age gap (reader is 20, Tae is 26), creepy old man behaviour (💀)

— Word Count: 17.9k

— A/N: This is not the most polished work I’m aware. The story contains flaws but I had a dream (plot) and a word document 😭 also this was my first time writing smut, can you tell? Maybe I should have made Tae the evil one 🤔Once again feedback would be appreciated!

— English is not my first language so l apologise in advance for any mistakes or typos!

There once existed the kingdom named Aetherfall, the kingdom of light and splendour. Aetherfall was a kingdom unlike any other, a shining jewel set amidst towering mountains and rolling hills. The city, nestled in the heart of the kingdom, was a sight to behold—an architectural masterpiece where elegance met strength, and ancient magic wove through every stone and street. From afar, Aetherfall appeared like a golden crown atop the earth, its walls gleaming under the light of the sun, and at night, shimmering under the glow of thousands of lanterns.

The heart of the kingdom was its biggest city, Starhill labelled as the city of dreams that every person wanted to visit. Among the large kingdom laid a forgotten place at the outskirts. The village of Briarfield. It hardly harboured a population of a thousand people due to the village’s reputation.

The village of Briarfield was cursed. Or so the stories went, whispered from one frightened villager to the next, as the ever-present fog curled around their feet like ghostly tendrils. It wasn’t just the heavy mist that clung to the cracked, cobblestone streets, or the way the sun seemed to forsake the village, trapped behind thick clouds of grey. No, Briarfield bore the weight of far darker rumours: that its prosperity was built upon the blood of innocent girls, sacrificed each year to appease the devil that lurked beneath its shadowy veneer.

In the dim light of early evening, the village lay sprawled at the foot of the mountains, with its decrepit houses leaning together as if they were all that held each other up. Blackened thatched roofs and crooked chimneys poked into the gloom like skeletal fingers. The streets, winding like a serpent through the maze of wooden huts, were damp from the constant drizzle that hung in the air.

Few travellers came near it, deterred by tales of malevolent spirits and dark rituals. The villagers kept to themselves, huddled in their homes, wary of outsiders and of the secrets that their village held.

And in one of those homes, you dreamed of escape. The cottage was warm but filled with a sombre air. You sat at the table, absently tracing patterns in the worn cloth of the tablecloth. Your mother moved quietly around the kitchen; her movements automatic as she prepared the evening meal.

As the silence grew heavier, you spoke, your voice breaking the quiet. "Mother, why did you and Father never leave the village? I’ve dreamed of leaving for as long as I can remember. Why didn’t you ever want to go?"

Your mother paused, her back turned to you. The silence stretched, and you could almost feel the weight of her thoughts pressing against the walls of the small room. Finally, she turned, her face lined with the hardships of life but softened with a deep, weary kindness.

"We never left because we were bound by our own choices, my dear," she said softly, setting down the wooden spoon she had been stirring the pot with. She walked over and sat across from you, her hands clasped tightly together.

"When your father and I were young, we believed that Briarfield was where we were meant to be. It was our home, our family’s home, and leaving it felt like abandoning a part of ourselves. We thought the village’s darkness was something we could endure, something we could change."

She sighed; her gaze distant. "And in a way, we did change it. Not in grand ways, but in the small, everyday moments. We found happiness in the little things—in our garden, in the quiet of the evening, in the love we had for each other. We made our peace with the shadows because they were all we knew."

Her eyes met yours, filled with a sorrowful understanding. "I know it’s hard for you, wanting something more, wanting to escape.”

Your mother reached out and took your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "I stayed because I wanted to protect you, to give you a chance to grow up with some semblance of normalcy, even if it was flawed.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you looked at her, seeing the reasoning behind her words. "Thank you, Mother," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "I hope I can make something good come of all this, for both of us."

“I know you will my child. You have always been strong-willed and hence these walls aren’t big enough to keep you in” you smiled at her words and leaned in for a hug. Nothing provided you more comfort than knowing your mother supported your dreams.

The first light of dawn pierced through the thick fog that hung over Briarfield, casting a faint, ghostly glow over the village. The streets were damp from the previous night's drizzle, and the air was crisp, tinged with the scent of wet earth and lingering smoke from the few fireplaces that had been lit.

You pulled on your heavy shawl, its wool rough but warm against the chill, and stepped out into the murky street. The village was just beginning to stir, the early risers emerging from their homes to tend to their chores. The cobblestones beneath your boots were slick, and you navigated them carefully, feeling the weight of the day’s errands pressing on your shoulders.

The first stop was the baker’s stall at the edge of the village square. The baker’s hut was modest but inviting, its windows fogged with the heat from the ovens inside. As you entered, the aroma of fresh bread and pastries enveloped you.

The baker, a burly man with flour-dusted hands and a jovial demeanour, greeted you with a nod. "Morning, lass. What can I get for you today?"

"Good morning," you replied, your voice muffled by the cold. "Just a loaf of bread and some of those cinnamon rolls, please."

The baker nodded and reached for a crusty loaf, its surface crackling with warmth, and a small bag of sweet rolls, their scent filling the air with a comforting sweetness. He handed them over with a smile, and you paid him with the coins you had saved up, tucking the bread into the fabric of your basket.

Next, you made your way to the seamstress’s shop, a quaint little building adorned with colourful patches and ribbons. The seamstress, an elderly woman with sharp eyes and nimble fingers, was busy at her workbench, mending a torn garment. The shop was a haven of vibrant fabrics and threads, a stark contrast to the drabness of the village outside.

You approached her and showed her a small tear in your favourite skirt. "Good morning. I need this repaired, if you could madam."

The seamstress took the skirt with practiced hands, examining the tear with a critical eye. "Of course, dear. I’ll have it done by the end of the day. You’ll need it looking nice for the ceremony."

You nodded, a pang of unease twisting in your stomach at the mention of the ceremony. "Thank you."

With your errands nearly complete, you headed to the village well to fetch water. The well was a central gathering place, surrounded by villagers who would often chat and exchange news as they filled their buckets. Today, however, the well was unusually quiet, the air heavy with the unspoken tension that seemed to follow the village.

As you prepared to lower the bucket into the well, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. You glanced up and felt a familiar pang of discomfort as you saw Lord Corwin striding towards you. Lord Corwin was a balding, pot-bellied man with sagging jowls and skin that seemed to droop with age, his watery eyes always lingering a moment too long on you. He was balding and an overall unpleasant in terms of looks and personality. His dark, richly embroidered clothing marked him clearly as the village noble.

A sigh escaped your lips as you braced yourself. The last time you had seen Lord Corwin, he had been insisting on a marriage proposal—one that you had firmly declined. He was a man of your father’s age, his advances both unsettling and persistent. Despite your clear rejection, he had never seemed to accept it, continuing to approach you with an unnerving determination. You weren’t even sure why he wanted you. Last you checked; you were a mere peasant compared to him.

You tried to steady your nerves as Lord Corwin came to a halt a few feet away. “Good evening, my lady,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of nervousness that felt oddly out of place given his authoritative stance.

“Evening, Lord Corwin,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. You focused on the well, determined to keep the conversation brief.

Lord Corwin took another step closer, his proximity making you increasingly uncomfortable. “May I assist you?” he offered, though his voice carried an undertone that felt intrusive rather than courteous.

“There’s no need, my lord,” you said firmly, avoiding his gaze as you continued to work. You lowered the bucket into the well, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze.

He reached out to help, his hand brushing against yours as he took the bucket. The touch was cold and lingering, sending a shiver down your spine. “Allow me,” he said, his smile widening slightly.

“Thank you, but I can manage,” you said, stepping back to maintain some distance. The conversation felt like a repetition of past encounters, and you were eager to end it.

Lord Corwin’s eyes remained fixed on you as he carried the bucket to the edge of the well. “You know,” he began, his tone shifting to something more personal, “I’ve been thinking about our previous conversation.”

You stiffened at the mention of the past. You had rejected his marriage proposal some time ago, a decision that had left a mark on both your lives. “Yes, my lord?” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“I wanted to revisit that offer,” he continued, his tone growing more insistent. “Briarfield would be a much different place with you at my side. I’ve reconsidered the benefits of our union. Your knowledge on herbs and medicine could no doubt be used for something greater”

You felt a pang of discomfort at his persistence. “I appreciate your consideration, Lord Corwin,” you said, forcing a polite smile, “but my decision remains the same. I have no desire to marry. I am also still just an apprentice of my mother. I have not yet mastered the art of medicine yet.”

Lord Corwin’s smile faltered slightly, a murderous look flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked his disappointment with a practiced expression. “I see. Well, I hope you will reconsider in the future,” he said, his tone now slightly colder. “Briarfield could be quite different with someone of your qualities….and your beauty”. On the inside Lord Corwin felt frustrated. He had kindly asked for you hand and yet a little peasant rejected him. That was outrageous! You were a woman who needed to know her place. He thought about how he would break you and meld you into a perfect doll once he gets his hands on you.

You nodded, eager to end the conversation. “Thank you for understanding, my lord. I must return to my duties now.”

As you gathered your things and began to walk away, you felt Lord Corwin’s gaze lingering on your back. The encounter with Lord Corwin had left a bitter taste in your mouth and so you went to sleep that night hoping tomorrow would be better.

You were once again back in the market which was surprisingly bustling with people which as quite rare as people of Briarfield preferred staying indoors. As you strolled through the market stalls, your basket swinging from your arm as you selected fruits and vegetables and some new herbs you could use in making remedies. The vibrant colours of apples, carrots, and cabbages were a welcome contrast. You carefully picked out the ripest fruits and the freshest vegetables, exchanging brief pleasantries with the vendors.

As you turned a corner, you spotted a new stall set up in the market square. It was different from the others; it was not just a simple arrangement of crates and baskets but rather a carefully designed display that seemed to combine artistry with commerce. A large, hand-painted sign that read “Exotic Produce” hung above the stall, the intricate calligraphy catching the light although the words were simple and straightforward. Colourful fabrics draped over the sides of the stall, creating a vibrant backdrop for an array of unusual fruits and vegetables, most of which you had never seen before.

Exotic, brightly coloured fruits from distant lands—deep purple dragon fruit, star-shaped carambolas, and rich golden mangoes—were stacked beside more familiar produce, like apples and cabbages. Interspersed among the fruits were small pots of herbs, their fresh, earthy scent mingling with the sweet fragrance of the fruits. The herbs weren’t just your usual mint or basil but rare varieties with names you couldn’t even pronounce. Hanging from the wooden beams of the stall were clusters of dried flowers and spices, their deep hues and rich aromas filling the air with an almost magical quality.

You stepped closer, drawn in by the sheer variety of it all. Your eyes drifted over the shelves lined with jars of preserves—fig jam, spiced pears, and candied ginger—as well as small wooden boxes containing spices, teas, and even peculiar, dried fruits that looked almost like they belonged in a fairytale.

Behind the counter stood a young man, who, much like his stall, seemed out of place in Briarfield—in the best way possible. His dark hair fell loosely around his face, and his eyes sparkled with an energy that made him seem more alive than anyone else around. He wore a finely embroidered vest over a linen shirt, with intricate patterns that looked hand-sewn, and a soft leather belt hung around his waist, from which dangled small pouches and trinkets.

He noticed you approaching and greeted you with a warm, almost mischievous smile. “Good morning!” he called, his voice light and welcoming. “Welcome to my little corner of the world. I’m Taehyung. What catches your fancy today?”

You smiled back, intrigued by both him and his wares. “Good morning, Taehyung,” you replied. “Your stall is... quite different from the others. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this in Briarfield.”

Taehyung chuckled, a soft, melodic sound. “That’s the idea,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’ve travelled far and wide, and I like to bring a bit of everything with me—things that can’t be found in just any ordinary village. I believe even the smallest places deserve a little magic.”

He gestured to a tray of fruit that you couldn’t name. “This, for instance, is a cherimoya—some call it the ‘custard apple.’ It’s sweet and creamy, almost like a dream in fruit form.” He pointed to another pile of peculiar, knobby-looking roots. “And these are galangal. They’re used in soups and teas in faraway lands. Perfect for chilly Briarfield evenings.”

You picked up a starfruit, running your fingers along its ridges. “It’s beautiful,” you said, marvelling at the variety of colours and shapes on display.

Taehyung’s smile softened, his tone becoming more sincere. “Thank you. I wanted to bring something new, something that could brighten up this village a little. Briarfield deserves more than just the tales it’s known for.”

You nodded, appreciating the warmth and care he put into his work. “It’s nice to have something so fresh and different here. Everything else feels so... old.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung said, leaning on the counter with an easy grace. “I’ve always believed that even in the most forgotten corners of the world, there should be beauty and wonder. That’s why I’m here.”

You selected a few pieces of fruit and a small jar of honey that had caught your eye. “I’ll take these, please,” you said, placing them on the counter.

Taehyung packed them up carefully, his movements swift and practiced. “A fine choice,” he said, handing you the package with a smile. “And if you ever need something special—whether it’s some fruit, a spice, or even a little conversation—you know where to find me.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, as if for the first time in a long while, Briarfield held something brighter than its usual shadows. “Thank you, Taehyung. I’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

As you walked away, your basket filled with exotic fruits and herbs, you couldn’t help but feel giddy by short encounter with the young man. Taehyung being kind, warm, and full of life—was a welcome change. You found yourself looking forward to the next time you would meet him.

The next morning you woke up to the unsettling news of a young girl gone missing and as result your father forbad you from leaving the house fearing for your safety. However, spending almost a week cooped up in your room had left you suffocated and so you finally convinced your father that everything will be okay and to let you out. Although he was reluctant, he gave in not wanting to see his daughter pout any further and so you happily made your way outside.

Today, the sky was overcast, threatening rain, as you made your way through the village. You’d just left the bakery, a loaf of sweet bread tucked under your arm, oh how you missed the sweet delight! Just then you heard a familiar voice calling your name.

“Good morning!”

You looked up to see Taehyung approaching, his smile as warm as ever despite the grey skies above. He was carrying a large wooden crate filled with a variety of fruits, herbs, and small glass jars. His appearance was a bit more dishevelled today—his sleeves rolled up, a few strands of hair falling into his eyes—but there was a certain charm to his slightly tousled look.

“Taehyung,” you greeted, surprised but happy to see him. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you.”

“Likewise, I haven’t seen you since that day.” he replied, adjusting the crate in his arms as he stopped in front of you. “It seems fate is playing matchmaker today. How have you been?”

You smiled at his easy-going manner, feeling the tension of the day start to slip away. “I’ve been well, thank you. The recent disappearance of the girl in the village put my father on edge so I was cooped up in my house for some time.” You say laughing a little.

He glanced up at the darkening sky, a hint of concern in his eyes. “Ah that’s a reasonable reaction. Hope everything turns out okay it also looks like we’ll be getting quite the storm soon. I was on my way to the market, but it seems I might be racing the rain.”

You both shared a small laugh, and you couldn’t help but notice how comfortable his presence made you feel, even in the midst of the growing chill around you. Taehyung’s energy had a way of lighting up even the dullest days.

“Here,” he said, shifting the crate to one arm. “I brought something for you.”

“For me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

He nodded, carefully balancing the crate as he reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a very small, intricately carved wooden box. The box was stained a deep, rich brown and etched with swirling patterns that reminded you of the stories you’d heard about enchanted forests and ancient lands. Taehyung handed it to you with a playful smile.

“I found this the other day when I was unpacking some of my wares,” he explained. “It’s a blend of tea leaves and spices from the far south. I thought you might enjoy it. A little warmth to brighten up Briarfield’s rainy days.”

You took the box, feeling its smooth surface under your fingers, and opened it. Inside were delicate, dried leaves with an array of colours—deep reds, golden yellows, and dark greens—mingled with tiny bits of cinnamon bark and star anise. The smell that wafted from the box was comforting, a warm mix of spice and earth. Some of these would make a good herbal tea cure, you thought to yourself.

“Thank you, Taehyung. I’m not sure how to repay you for this.” you said softly, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Consider this as a gift from a friend” he says, face plastered with a boxy smile. “This is lovely. I’ll be sure to try it tonight.” You say excitedly.

He smiled, pleased by your reaction. “I’m glad you like it. If you need instructions on how to brew it, just let me know. It’s a bit different from the usual tea.”

You nodded, slipping the small box into your basket. “I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll come by the stall tomorrow if I run into any trouble.”

Taehyung’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m always happy to help. Besides, I’m curious to hear what you think of it. I personally quite enjoy its flavours.”

Before you could respond, a sudden gust of wind blew through the village square, and you instinctively pulled your cloak tighter around yourself. Taehyung’s hair was blown back, but he simply laughed at the sudden chill.

“I think that’s our cue to take shelter,” he said, glancing back at the sky. “Would you like to walk back together? I can help carry your things.”

You hesitated for a moment, then smiled and handed him your bread to lighten your load. “I’d appreciate that.”

Together, you made your way back through the village, you made a short stop at Taehyung’s house as he left his crate inside and then moving at a brisk pace to beat the rain towards your own cottage. Taehyung talked easily as you walked, telling you stories of his travels and the different markets he had visited in faraway cities. He had a way of making the world seem larger and more exciting than it had ever felt before, filling your mind with the fantasies of adventure beyond the village’s borders.

By the time you reached your cottage, the first few drops of rain had begun to fall, but you were safely inside before the storm truly hit. Taehyung lingered at the door for a moment, his smile never wavering.

“Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy the tea,” he said, handing you the basket of you bread back. “But don’t forget to tell me how it turns out.”

“I won’t,” you promised. “Thank you again, Taehyung. It was nice running into you.”

“The pleasure was mine,” he replied, giving you a small bow before stepping back into the rain.

As you watched him walk away, disappearing into the misty streets of Briarfield, you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of warmth in your chest.

You closed the door, the small wooden box of tea still in your hand and smiled to yourself. It seemed that with each encounter, Taehyung brought a little more joy into your life. Perhaps Briarfield wasn’t so gloomy after all.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of cold, calculating eyes watched from a distance as you and Taehyung exchanged smiles and laughter. Lord Corwin stood in the shadow of a nearby building, his gaunt face twisted into a scowl. His hand gripped the nearest wall tightly.

He had been on his way to visit your family, as he often did under the pretence of “checking in” on village matters. But as he saw you walk with that... that merchant, a slow, burning anger began to churn in his chest.

Corwin had noticed the way your eyes lit up when you talked to Taehyung, the way you smiled so easily at him, something you never did when he was near. It sickened him. How dare you, a girl of such modest means, reject his marriage proposal and then offer such warmth to a mere merchant—a man who was not even of noble blood?

The memory of your refusal still stung bitterly. He had been so sure you would accept his hand when he had asked for it nearly a year ago when turned of age. After all, what better offer could there be for a girl of your station than to marry a lord? He had thought he was doing you a favour by offering you a future above the one your humble lineage could ever provide. But instead, you had rejected him—politely, yes, but firmly.

And now... now you were entertaining this, Taehyung. Corwin sneered at the sight of him, with his polished charm and his ridiculous trinkets. What could he possibly offer you that a nobleman could not? A few exotic fruits? A handful of spices? Corwin couldn’t understand why you would favour someone so beneath him. He had the wealth, the power, the standing. Yet, it was this commoner who had caught your attention.

Corwin’s mind raced with jealousy as he watched Taehyung walks away into the rain, his cloak billowing behind him. His gaze then shifted back to you as you stood in the doorway of your cottage, a small smile playing on your lips as you lingered with the box of tea in hand.

His stomach twisted in disgust. That smile should have been for him—Lord Corwin, the one who had the means to truly take care of you. And yet, you had chosen to waste your time with a man who had nothing of worth to offer, a mere peasant in Corwin’s eyes.

As the rain began to fall harder, Corwin remained in the shadows, his mind simmering with dark thoughts. He would not allow this to continue. He had been patient, waiting for you to see sense and reconsider his proposal. But now, with this newcomer in the picture, he knew that his patience was wearing thin.

Corwin had power in Briarfield, influence that stretched far beyond what someone like Taehyung could comprehend. If he needed to remind you of your place and who truly held sway in this village, then so be it. He would not be so easily dismissed—not by you, not by anyone.

His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a sinister smile as he turned away from the scene. The rain pelted down on him, but he hardly noticed. His mind was already spinning with plans, ways to bend the village to his will, ways to ensure that you would come to see him not as a suitor, but as an inevitable force.

And if Taehyung got in the way... well, Lord Corwin had dealt with nuisances before. This time would be no different.

As he disappeared into the misty streets, the shadows of Briarfield seemed to wrap around him, as if conspiring with his every dark thought. You might not have seen him, but he had seen enough.

And he was not going to forget.

As the days turned into months, your interactions with Taehyung became a cherished part of your routine. Each visit to his stall, each shared conversation, subtly wove the threads of affection between you, creating a bond that neither of you had anticipated.

It began with the little things. Taehyung’s warm smile became a bright spot in your day, a beacon of light in the otherwise dim atmosphere of Briarfield. His thoughtful gestures—saving the ripest fruits, sharing new herbs he’d acquired, and always finding a moment to chat—made your visits to his stall something you eagerly anticipated.

One crisp autumn morning, as you stopped by to pick up some vegetables, Taehyung greeted you with an excited sparkle in his eye. “I’ve got something special today,” he said, pulling out a small basket filled with fragrant herbs and colourful root vegetables. “I thought you might like to try making a stew with these.”

You smiled, touched by his thoughtfulness. “That’s very kind of you, Taehyung. I’ll definitely give it a try.”

Taehyung leaned against the wooden frame of his stall, his curiosity piqued. “You seem to know a lot about herbs yourself. Is it something your family taught you?”

You nodded as you examined the herbs, he handed you. “Yes, my mother is a skilled healer. She’s been teaching me since I was young. I’m learning how to mix tinctures and create salves to help with common ailments around the village.” You paused, twirling a sprig of thyme between your fingers. “It’s given me a sense of independence, something to focus on besides the daily grind of village life.”

His eyes softened as he listened. “That must be fulfilling, knowing that you’re helping people.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his gaze. “It is. Sometimes it’s exhausting, but it’s rewarding when someone comes to you in pain and leaves feeling better.” You glanced up at him and added, “And it also gives me a reason to spend time outside the house. Not many girls here get that luxury.”

Taehyung’s expression grew thoughtful. “It sounds like you’ve found a way to escape, even if it’s just for a moment,” he said. “I’ve seen how stifling it can be here, especially for women.”

You appreciated his understanding. “Exactly. The knowledge my mother has given me makes me feel… free, in a way. I get to explore the woods, gather plants, and create something valuable for others.” You smiled softly, holding up the herbs. “And it helps when someone like you brings something new to try.”

Taehyung’s grin widened, the warmth in his eyes reflecting the budding connection between you. “I’m glad I could add a bit of colour to your day. And who knows, maybe one day you’ll teach me a thing or two about healing.”

You chuckled, feeling a lightness in your chest. “I’d be happy to. Though I have a feeling you’ve got plenty of your own knowledge to share.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a more playful tone. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to keep trading lessons, won’t we?”

Your heart fluttered at the intimacy in his words, and as you both stood there, surrounded by the rich scents of herbs and the quiet bustle of the market, you realized that this was more than just a simple exchange. It was a promise of something deeper.

Soon, your visits to Taehyung's stall became more than just routine errands—they were moments of genuine connection. On this particularly rainy day, the market was quieter than usual. Taehyung, usually so full of energy, looked a bit worn out as he organized his stall. The rain had beaten down hard, and a small puddle was forming near the edge of his stand.

You approached his stall with a warm smile, noticing the concern on his face. “It looks like the rain has really taken a toll today,” you said, offering him a sympathetic glance.

Taehyung looked up and smiled, though his eyes showed the strain of the weather. “Yes, it’s been a tough day. The rain keeps people away. But I suppose it gives me a chance to get to know my favourite customer a bit better.”

You chuckled and stepped behind the stall to help him. “Well, I am glad to be of assistance. What can I do to help?”

“Could you pass me those cloths? I need to wipe down the counter before it gets any worse,” Taehyung said, pointing to a stack of cloths near the back of the stall.

As you worked side by side, you began chatting about lighter topics to lift the mood. “So, tell me more about your travels. You have mentioned a few places, but what was the most memorable?”

Taehyung’s eyes brightened as he started to talk. “Ah, there was this one time in a small village in the east. They had this festival where they floated lanterns on the river. The entire night was lit up with thousands of glowing lights, and the reflection in the water made it look like the stars had fallen.”

You smiled, imagining the scene. “That sounds beautiful. I cannot even imagine how magical it must have been.”

“It was,” Taehyung said, his voice taking on a wistful tone. “But what made it special was sharing it with people who had never seen anything like it before. They were so full of wonder.”

The conversation flowed easily, and the shared experience of tidying up amid the rain made you feel closer. You noticed Taehyung’s laughter was more frequent today, his usual upbeat demeanour peeking through the weariness.

“Do you ever get tired of all the traveling?” you asked, wiping the counter with a damp cloth.

He shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Not really. Each place has its own story, its own charm. But there are times, like now, when I’m glad to be in one spot, especially when I have someone to share it with.”

You felt a warm flush at his words, your own smile widening. “I’m glad you’re here, too. It is nice to have someone to talk to who understands.”

Taehyung’s eyes met yours with a tender look. “And I’m glad you’re here. Your stories about this village, they make me appreciate the little things more. Even a rainy day like today.”

The sound of the rain tapping against the stall created a soothing backdrop to your conversation. As you worked together, the storm outside seemed less imposing, and the bond between you grew stronger. Each shared moment, each laugh, and every serious conversation deepened your connection, making the quiet, rainy day a memorable chapter in your evolving relationship.

Winter arrived, and with it came the chill that seemed to seep into every corner of Briarfield. The cold was relentless, wrapping the village in a frosty embrace. One evening, as you walked home from the market, you noticed Taehyung trudging through the snow, his breath visible in small clouds against the icy air. He was bundled up in a thick coat, a scarf wrapped snugly around his neck.

"Hey, Y/N!" Taehyung called out, his face brightening as he spotted you. “You look like you have had a long day. How about a break from the cold? There is a new cafe nearby that opened up that serves the most amazing hot chocolate!”

The invitation caught you by surprise, but the idea of warming up in a cozy cafe was too tempting to pass up. You nodded, a smile spreading across your face. “I’d love to. Lead the way!”

The cafe was a small, charming place with warm, wooden interiors and a soft glow from the hanging lamps. The scent of freshly baked pastries and rich chocolate greeted you as you stepped inside, making you feel instantly at ease. You and Taehyung found a small table by the window, where the snow outside created a picturesque scene.

As you both settled in, Taehyung waved to the barista and ordered two cups of hot chocolate. When the steaming mugs arrived, you took a sip and sighed in relief. The drink was velvety and rich, the perfect antidote to the winter chill.

“This is incredible,” you said, savouring the warmth. “I’ve never had hot chocolate this good before.”

Taehyung smiled, his eyes reflecting a wistful light. “It is one of my favourites. It brings back memories of home.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Home? Where did you grow up?”

Taehyung’s gaze softened as he took a sip of his drink. “I grew up in a bustling city far from here. My mother used to make hot chocolate just like this. Every winter, we would sit together by the fire, sipping it and talking about our day. It was a small but comforting ritual.”

The warmth of the drink brought a mixture of fondness and sadness to his eyes. “What happened to your parents?” you asked gently, sensing the shift in his mood.

Taehyung’s smile faltered, and he looked down at his mug, his fingers tracing the rim. “It is a difficult memory. When I was young, there was a terrible accident. My parents were traveling to a distant town to sell their goods, and their carriage was caught in a snowstorm. They did not make it. I was left alone, and I had to fend for myself.”

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on his. “I am so sorry, Taehyung. That must have been incredibly hard.”

He nodded, a sad smile on his lips. “It was. But I learned to carry their memory with me. It’s why I treasure moments like these, where I can share stories and connect with others. It is a way to keep their spirit alive.”

Seeing the sadness in his eyes, you wanted to lift his spirits. You took a deep breath and began, “When I was a child, we had this wonderful tradition during winter. Every year, my mother would make a special batch of gingerbread cookies. We would spend an entire day decorating them with icing and candy, and then she’d tell me stories about the origins of each cookie shape—angels, stars, and hearts. Those stories always made me feel like I was part of something magical, even in the midst of the cold and darkness.”

Taehyung’s eyes brightened at the image. “That sounds so lovely. It must have been a beautiful tradition.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of the memory. “It was. It made the winters feel less harsh, and the stories always filled me with a sense of wonder. Sometimes, when I look back, I realize how those little moments shaped my view of the world.”

Taehyung’s expression softened into a genuine smile, his eyes twinkling. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It is nice to hear about those little moments of happiness. It makes me think that there’s more magic left in the world than I thought.”

The conversation continued, filled with more personal stories and laughter. As you enjoyed the warmth of the cafe and the comfort of Taehyung’s presence, the snow outside seemed to fall even more gently, creating a serene and magical backdrop to your evening together.

As spring approached, the transformation in your relationship with Taehyung became more evident. The simple gestures between you, a lingering touch, a shared glance, began to carry a deeper meaning. Taehyung’s once casual conversations now carried an undertone of affection, and his smile seemed to linger a little longer when he looked at you.

One afternoon, you decided to take a walk through the blooming meadows just outside the village. The air was filled with the sweet scent of wildflowers, and the landscape was painted with vibrant colours as the earth shook off the winter’s cold embrace.

As you walked along the winding path, Taehyung turned to you with a soft smile. “The meadows look stunning this time of year, don’t they? It’s like the world’s been dipped in colour.”

You nodded, taking in the beauty around you. “It is beautiful. I have always loved spring. It feels like a time of new beginnings.”

Taehyung’s gaze softened as he looked at you. “You know, I used to dream about traveling to places like this when I was a child. My mother would tell me stories about far-off lands and the wonders they held. Being here with you, seeing these meadows, it feels like those dreams are coming true.”

You felt a warm flush at his words, and before you could fully process it, Taehyung gently took your hand in his. The gesture was unexpected but felt completely natural. His touch was gentle, and it sent a pleasant thrill through your fingers. You looked up at him, surprised by the boldness of the moment.

“I’ve always admired your sense of wonder,” Taehyung said softly, his thumb lightly brushing your knuckles. “It’s one of the things that drew me to you. You see magic in the ordinary, and that is something I’ve always wanted to cherish.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You had felt a growing connection between you but hearing him express it so openly was both thrilling and comforting. “I never imagined that someone could see me that way,” you admitted, squeezing his hand lightly. “But I’m glad you do. You have brought so much joy and excitement into my life. It’s like you’ve awakened a part of me that I didn’t even know was there.”

Taehyung’s smile widened, and he pulled you gently closer as you continued walking. “I feel the same way. Being with you has made me realize that there’s more to life than just surviving. You have shown me that there’s beauty in every moment, and it’s something I want to experience with you.”

As you walked hand in hand through the meadows, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The shared conversations, the way Taehyung’s eyes lingered on you with affection, and the gentle touches between you all spoke of a growing bond that was more than just friendship. You were falling for him, and it was a feeling that seemed to grow with every passing day.

At one point, you stopped to admire a particularly vibrant patch of flowers. Taehyung leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Do you remember when we first met? I never would have imagined that our friendship would grow into something like this.”

You laughed softly, looking into his eyes. “Neither did I, but I would not change a thing. It has been an incredible journey.”

Taehyung’s gaze softened, and he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. “Here’s to many more adventures together, and to finding magic in every moment we share.”

But one day you got the news that would absolutely break your heart. The news that Taehyung was going to leave the village soon. He has spent almost a year in Briarfield at this point.

The sun was setting, casting a golden hue as the last light of day began to fade. The village was quiet, with only the distant sounds of evening settling in and the loud noises of the crows. Taehyung had just finished packing up his stall for the day, and the air was filled with the crisp promise of twilight.

You stood beside him; your heart heavy with the knowledge that he would soon be leaving for a new venture—a journey that would take him far from the village. The thought of him being away from you was almost too much to bear. As he finished securing the last of his supplies, you took a deep breath, gathering your courage.

“Taehyung,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Are you sure you must leave? I wish there was something I could do to keep you here.”

Taehyung looked at you, his expression a mixture of sadness and determination. He reached out, taking your hands in his, his touch warm and comforting. “I wish I could stay too. But I am but a merchant who must travel to make a living selling new things. I need to go, but not because I want to leave you behind.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the depth of his emotion reflected in them. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, about our future. I don’t want to imagine a life where we’re apart. Every moment with you has made me realize just how much I want to share my life with you.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as you listened, your heart aching with the intensity of his words. “Taehyung, what are you saying?”

He squeezed your hands gently, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’m saying that I want us to be together. I want to take you with me, not just on this journey, but on all the adventures that life has to offer. I want to travel the world with you by my side, to explore new places and create memories together.”

His words were like a balm to your anxious heart. The thought of traveling with Taehyung, of experiencing new worlds and building a life together, filled you with a profound sense of joy and excitement.

“I know it won’t be easy, I know I’m no wealthy nobleman,” he continued, his gaze unwavering, “and there will be challenges along the way. But I promise you this: I will always be there for you, and I will work every day to make sure that our life together is everything we’ve dreamed of. Your smile, the little expressions you make when you like something, the sparkle in your eyes when you talk about all the things you wish to do, the way you fiddle with your clothes when you get shy... all the little things. My soul hurt from within at the mere thought of never seeing that again.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you could see the same emotion reflected in Taehyung’s eyes. “Taehyung, I don’t want to be apart from you either. I’ve fallen in love with you, and the thought of being with you, of seeing the world together—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Taehyung’s face lit up with a radiant smile, his eyes shining with happiness. “Then come with me. Let’s build a future together, explore new horizons, and face whatever comes our way. We can make our dreams a reality, side by side.”

You nodded, a smile breaking through your tears. “Yes, Taehyung. I want that more than anything.”

He drew you into a gentle embrace, holding you close as the last light of day melted into the evening sky. The world seemed to stand still as you both revelled in the moment, the promise of a shared future making the present moment feel like a dream come true.

As you pulled back slightly, Taehyung cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender and loving. “Well, I guess I should go the traditional root and ask for your hand from your father right darling” you giggled lightly hitting his shoulder and nodding.

You sat quietly by the window, your fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of your dress as you stole glances at Taehyung. He stood with quiet confidence across the room, but you could sense the tension in his posture. Your heart raced, anticipation mingling with fear as you awaited your father’s decision.

Your father sat in his armchair, arms crossed, and brow furrowed in deep contemplation. He regarded Taehyung with a scrutinizing gaze, the weight of his protective instincts evident in every line of his face. You could feel the tension in the air—your father had always been fiercely protective of you, especially after all the unsolicited attention from Lord Corwin.

"So, Taehyung…" Your father’s voice cut through the silence, steady but probing. "You wish to marry my daughter?"

Taehyung nodded respectfully, stepping forward with a calm determination that steadied your nerves. "Yes, sir. I love her, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, flicking to you and then back to Taehyung. "How old are you, boy?"

"Twenty-six, sir."

Your father’s brow raised ever so slightly, and his gaze softened, just for a moment. You could tell he was weighing the age difference in his mind, but six years between you didn’t seem so bad to him—especially when compared to Lord Corwin, a man nearly his own age who had been making his interest in you disturbingly clear for years. The thought of Corwin’s advances made his stomach churn with disgust. The idea of that old, lecherous man laying claim to you was something your father could never tolerate.

"And what is it you do for a living?" your father asked, his tone regaining its edge. He leaned forward slightly in his chair, as if this question held the key to everything.

"I’m a merchant," Taehyung replied. "I trade in rare and exotic goods and sometimes in textile and jewellery. I’ve worked hard to build my business, and I can provide for your daughter."

Your father nodded slowly, digesting the information. "Being a merchant… It’s an unpredictable trade. One day you could thrive, and the next, you’re barely scraping by. How can I trust that you’ll be able to take care of her?"

Taehyung straightened his shoulders, determination flashing in his eyes. "I understand your concern, sir. But I’ve built my business carefully. I’ve secured reliable connections and steady income. More importantly, I will do everything in my power to fulfil her dream of exploring the world. I will give her love, security, and a life full of joy. I promise you that."

Your father leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting between you and Taehyung. His eyes softened as they landed on you, a brief flicker of emotion crossing his face. You could see that he was weighing not just Taehyung’s words, but the way you had been glowing with happiness ever since you met him.

He sighed deeply; his expression conflicted and weighing his options. The image of Lord Corwin, with his balding head and leering eyes, flickered through your mind. Corwin had been circling you like a predator since before you had even turned eighteen, making his intentions clear in ways that had always made your skin crawl. The fact that a man so much older than your father could desire you had never sat well with him.

"At least you’re not old enough to be her father," your father muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He looked up at Taehyung again, a shadow of protectiveness still lingering in his eyes. "That… man, Corwin… He’s been after her for years. I don’t trust him. Not one bit. The thought of him trying to court my daughter makes my blood boil."

Taehyung’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of Lord Corwin, but he quickly masked it with a polite nod. He always noted the looming presence of Lord Corwin around you but never commented on it. "I understand, sir. I would never treat her the way he has. I want to give her a life full of love and respect, not possession."

Your father studied him for a long moment, his gaze softening as the words sank in. Finally, he turned his attention to you, his voice gentle. "And you, my daughter? Is this truly what you want? Does he make you happy?"

Your cheeks flushed a soft pink as you nodded shyly, your hands tightening in your lap. "Yes, Father. He… he makes me happy."

A long sigh escaped your father as he looked between the two of you. He saw the way Taehyung’s eyes never left you, the way they softened when they looked at you, filled with affection. He saw the glow in your face, the happiness that had settled over you ever since Taehyung had entered your life.

"That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "To see you happy, to know you’re loved."

He turned to Taehyung, his expression softening but still holding a firm warning. "If you promise to cherish her, to be a good husband, then I’ll give you, my blessing. But know this, Taehyung… if you ever hurt her or make her unhappy, you’ll have me to answer to."

Taehyung bowed deeply, gratitude and respect evident in every movement. "Thank you, sir. I swear to you, I will make her happier than she’s ever been."

Your father nodded, standing and extending his hand toward Taehyung. As the two men shook hands, a sense of relief washed over you, the tension that had held you captive slowly dissipating. Your mother who had silently watched the exchanged came with a bright smile to congratulate and embrace you.

The future you had dreamed of now felt real filled with love, adventure, and the promise of happiness that only Taehyung could bring.

You felt like you were floating on top of the world. You felt the happiest you ever felt standing in Taehyung’s embrace. Nothing could possibly go wrong you thought. How naive you were to hold such expectations...

When it all came crashing down

The news struck Lord Corwin like a physical blow: your father had agreed to let Taehyung marry you. You, the object of his obsession for so many years, were to wed someone far beneath the station Corwin had believed only he could offer you. His heart churned with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and festering jealousy, each emotion more poisonous than the last.

For years, Corwin had watched you grow, long before you had even turned eighteen. He had admired you from afar, convincing himself that once you came of age, he would swoop in, offer you marriage, and make you his. He believed you needed someone with power and experience—a man of influence who could protect you. He told himself that age was irrelevant when it came to desire and control. And so, he waited, biding his time until you would be old enough for him to claim. You were just so beautiful and young he felt excitement course through his body at the thought of destroying that innocence. He wanted to break you, mind, body, and soul.

The comparison gnawed at him. Taehyung was everything Corwin was not: young, lean, and graceful. Where Corwin had become bloated over the years, his once-powerful body sagging under the weight of indulgence, Taehyung’s figure was trim and strong. His skin held the warmth of youth, tanned from days spent labouring under the sun. Corwin’s own complexion was pale and mottled, the sagging skin of his jowls and the red blotches on his nose a testament to years of excess and drink.

Taehyung’s dark, thick hair fell in soft waves around his sharp features, while Corwin’s own greasy strands had thinned to the point of near baldness. He could hardly stand to look at himself in the mirror anymore, especially when the memory of Taehyung’s easy smile and clear, confident eyes lingered in his mind.

What did you see in him aside from his handsome looks? Corwin seethed, his beady eyes narrowing with contempt as he sat brooding in his dimly lit manor. His fingers, swollen and stubby, adorned with gaudy rings, dug into the arms of his chair as he thought of Taehyung’s hands—strong, capable, hands that had undoubtedly touched you in ways Corwin could only dream of.

And that’s what enraged him the most. For years, he had waited, believed that you would come around, that you would see him as your only option for security. Yet now you had chosen someone like Taehyung—an outsider, a nobody, who had somehow won over both your heart and your father’s approval.

Corwin’s stomach churned with resentment. His bulging belly pressed uncomfortably against his embroidered waistcoat, reminding him of how much he had let himself go. He felt grotesque compared to Taehyung’s effortless charm. The thought of you looking at Taehyung with love and admiration, of you sharing your smiles and your dreams with him, made Corwin sick with jealousy. It should have been him. You should have been his.

You didn’t know it yet, but Corwin wasn’t going to let you go so easily. He had waited years for you, years watching from the shadows, and he wouldn’t allow some pretty-faced merchant to take you away from him. No—if he couldn’t have you, then no one would.

Seething in his dark manor, Corwin’s mind twisted and turned, seeking a way to tear you away from Taehyung. His eyes, bloodshot with rage, caught the flicker of candlelight and a cruel smile crept onto his lips. The sacrifice. Of course. It had been right in front of him the entire time.

For centuries, the village of Briarfield had performed the virgin sacrifice ritual to appease the so-called devil. But Corwin knew the truth—it was a hoax, a vile tradition created by the nobles to satisfy their own depraved desires. Every year, they selected a virgin girl under the guise of protecting the village, only to defile her and leave her for dead like it was nothing.

Corwin had never hated the ritual. In fact, he had always seen it as an effective way to maintain control, to keep the villagers fearful and obedient. But this year, he would use it for his own purposes—to make sure that you were his, and only his.

Summoning the village elders under the pretence of urgent business, Corwin presented his case. They met in a candle-lit chamber, the air heavy with the smell of burning wax and damp stone. The elders, grey-haired and hunched with age, listened carefully as Corwin laid out his plan.

“The time has come once again,” Corwin began, his voice calm but insidious. “The devil demands his sacrifice, and we must uphold our sacred duty to protect this village.”

The elders nodded. They had been complicit in the ritual for years, their faces grim and indifferent. They knew what it truly meant, and they were aware of what Corwin was about to suggest.

“This year,” Corwin continued, his tone taking on a darker edge, “the girl has already been chosen.”

His eyes gleamed as he spoke your name.

“She is the perfect offering,” Corwin said with a sickening smile. “Her engagement to Taehyung is a distraction—a temptation that the devil himself would surely seek to punish. We must act before it is too late.”

The elders exchanged knowing glances. There was no hesitation, no resistance. They agreed without question, their loyalty to the hoax and their own twisted desires overshadowing any concern for your well-being. All they cared about was the material possessions given to them by the nobles. They far to gone to consider feelings of others as greed had completely overtaken them, over the years. The decision had been finalised.

The next morning, the announcement had been made. This year’s sacrifice was You.

As the news spread, panic swept through Briarfield like wildfire. Whispers of the devil’s wrath filled the air, and fear gripped the hearts of the villagers. They believed that the ritual was real, that sacrificing you would protect them from harm.

But Corwin knew better. He watched from the shadows, his heart dark with satisfaction. You were trapped now, ensnared by a centuries-old lie designed to rob you of everything. And when the time came, he would be there waiting. Not even Taehyung could save you from the fate that had been sealed.

In his mind, you were already his.

You stood there with wide eyes at the town square as you processed the news. The words rang in your ears, a low murmur at first, like distant thunder, before crashing into your consciousness with the force of a storm.

You… you had been chosen as the sacrifice.

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. Your heart hammered in your chest, your limbs went numb, and the world around you seemed to close in. The villagers’ faces blurred together, their whispers and murmurs growing louder. You felt like you were drowning in a sea of fear and dread.

“No,” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head slowly. “Not me…”

This was not supposed to happen. You had been so close to escaping this cursed place, so close to finally living the life you had dreamed of with Taehyung by your side. A life of love, freedom, and adventure—a life far away from the darkness that clung to Briarfield like a shroud.

But now, that dream was being ripped from you.

Your hands trembled as you clenched them at your sides, your mind reeling. What had you done to deserve this? Why were you being punished? You had seen other girls chosen before, seen the hollow, terrified looks in their eyes as they were led away to their deaths. You had always feared this moment, but you never thought it would be you.

A cold, bitter chill swept over you, and your breath caught in your throat. You couldn’t let this happen. You couldn’t let them take you. But deep down, you knew the village’s decision was final. There was no escaping the elders’ judgment, no defying the centuries-old ritual that had claimed so many before you.

Then, through the crowd, you saw him. Taehyung.

"Y/N!" His voice cut through the noise, filled with desperation. He pushed past the villagers, his face a mix of fear and fury. "Y/N!"

As soon as you saw him, the numbness that had overtaken you shattered. Your legs trembled, and you took a step forward, reaching out as if he were your last lifeline.

“Taehyung!” you cried, your voice breaking as tears blurred your vision. “Taehyung, please!”

In an instant, he was there, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. The warmth of his body, the strength of his grip—it was everything you needed in that moment, everything that kept you from falling apart.

"I won’t let them do this to you," he whispered fiercely, his voice shaking with emotion. "I swear, I won’t let them take you."

But even as he spoke those words, you know how impossible that was. Taehyung was new here so he cannot grasp the severity of everything. The elders had spoken, and the ritual demanded obedience. No one had ever defied it and survived.

Before either of you could say another word, strong hands grabbed Taehyung by the shoulders, yanking him away from you. You stumbled back, reaching for him, panic surging through your veins.

"No!" you screamed, lunging forward, but more hands grabbed you, dragging you backward.

"Y/N!" Taehyung shouted, struggling against the men who restrained him. His eyes were wild with fear, his hands clawing at the air as he fought to reach you.

You kicked and thrashed, desperate to break free, to run to him, to hold him one last time. But it was useless. The men’s grip was iron, their expressions cold and unfeeling as they pulled you toward your home to prepare you for the ceremony.

“Taehyung!” you cried out, tears streaming down your face as you reached for him, your fingertips brushing the air between you. “Don’t leave me!”

“I won’t! I promise!” Taehyung yelled; his voice hoarse with desperation as he was dragged further away. “I’ll come for you, I swear!”

But the distance between you grew, your bodies pulled further apart by the hands of fate. His voice became fainter, swallowed by the murmur of the crowd.

As they forced you back toward your home, you twisted and turned, your heart breaking with every step. Your hands reached out, but Taehyung was no longer there. The emptiness between you felt like a void, and for the first time, true fear gripped your soul.

Your room was cold and quiet, save for the soft splashing of water as your mother gently bathed your skin. You sat in the large wooden tub, your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth, though nothing could shield you from the dread settling in your chest. Steam rose from the water, clinging to the air with an eerie stillness, but it did nothing to soothe your trembling body.

Your mother’s hands moved over you with care, her touch soft but weighed down by sorrow. She washed your arms and shoulders, wiping away the traces of the life you once knew, preparing you for the inevitable. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes dull with grief as she worked in silence. She had not spoken since you were declared as the sacrifice, and the absence of your father—who had left the house earlier, unable to bear the sight of his daughter’s impending fate—hung like a ghost in the room.

After bathing you, she helped you from the tub, wrapping you in a thin cloth. She guided you toward a small stool by the fire, her steps slow, as if every movement pained her. The warmth of the hearth barely touched your skin, doing little to chase away the cold knot of fear in your stomach.

Your mother knelt behind you, her hands moving through your long, damp hair. She did not braid it as she usually did for such occasions. Instead, she combed it gently with her fingers, allowing the dark strands to fall free down your back like a cascading waterfall. Your hair framed your face, its softness a stark contrast to the harsh reality of the ceremony that awaited you. The gentle curls of your locks, freshly washed and perfumed with lavender oil, gave you an air of innocence that would make you appear even more pure to the villagers.

The silence between you both was heavy. You could feel her hands trembling slightly as she worked, her breaths shallow and uneven. She parted your hair down the side, letting it fall in loose waves, unadorned, framing your face in a way that made you look younger, more delicate.

When your hair was dry, your mother brought out the ceremonial dress from the chest at the foot of your bed. She never wanted to use it but here she is. This knowledge weighs at her. Her hands shook as she held the white linen gown before you, her lips pressed into a thin line. The dress was simple, yet ethereal—a symbol of the purity expected of you.

The bodice was a fitted corset, but modest, cinching gently at your waist before flaring out into a flowing skirt that reached down to your ankles. The sleeves were long and billowed softly, cinching at the wrists, giving the appearance of delicate wings. Silver embroidery traced the neckline and cuffs, small and intricate, adding a subtle touch of elegance to the otherwise plain garment.

Your mother helped you step into the gown, her fingers carefully fastening the laces at the back. With each tug, you felt as though the dress was binding you tighter into your fate. The fabric clung to your body, soft but suffocating, as if it were swallowing you whole.

When the final lace was tied, your mother stepped back, her eyes filling with tears as she took in the sight of you. The pure white of the dress, the soft waves of your dark hair, and the pale glow of your skin all worked together to create the image of a perfect sacrifice—untouched, innocent, and ready to be offered.

“You look… beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

But the word felt hollow. You didn’t feel beautiful. You felt like a vessel—something to be given away, something to be used.

As your mother placed a tender kiss on your forehead, you swallowed the lump in your throat, your heart aching with a desperation you could not express. Your father’s absence weighed heavily on you.

This wasn’t how your life was supposed to end. Not like this.

But as your mother’s hands lingered on your shoulders, the reality of it all sank in and all you could do was pray for any God out there to help you.

Taehyung paced back and forth in the small, dimly lit room where he had been confined. The walls, lined with aged stone and heavy curtains, seemed to close in on him, suffocating his hopes. His mind raced with plans and possibilities, each more desperate than the last. He had been thrown into a locked chamber, barred from leaving and, most painfully, from seeing you. He could hear muffled voices and footsteps outside, the occasional clinking of metal, and the distant sound of the village preparing for the ritual. Each noise was a painful reminder of the precious moments slipping away.

Determined not to give up, Taehyung had already tried every lockpicking trick he knew, but the door remained stubbornly shut. His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy weight pressing down on him as he thought of you being prepared for the ceremony. The images of your face—so full of hope and love suddenly replaced by shock—haunted him. He could only imagine how frightened you must be, and the thought of you being forced into the clutches of the so-called "ceremony" filled him with a deep, cold rage.

In a fit of frustration, he banged on the door, shouting for anyone who might hear him. “Let me out! I must see her!” His voice echoed off the stone walls, but it was met with silence. He pounded on the door again, desperate, and breathless. “Please! Someone, help me!”

His efforts were met with nothing but the indifferent response of the guards outside, their footsteps fading as they moved away. Taehyung sank to the floor, his back against the door. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white, and took deep, steadying breaths, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling within him.

In his heart, he knew he couldn’t give up. Not now, not when the love of his life was in such grave danger. Taehyung's mind raced with a single, driving thought: he had to escape, he had to save you. His determination hardened into resolve as he worked to find another way out, his thoughts consumed with the promise he had made to you—that he would never let anything come between you.

He could only hope that, somehow, he would find a way to break free and reach you in time.

And as his mind tried to come up with another escape plan, he door to his chamber creaked open. The dim light from the corridor spilled in, and there, standing in the doorway with a twisted smile, was Lord Corwin. Taehyung’s heart sank, his stomach churning with a sickening sense of dread.

Corwin stepped inside, his heavy footfalls echoing in the small room. He surveyed Taehyung with a sneer, his eyes brimming with malice and twisted satisfaction. "Well, well, if it isn’t the valiant merchant," Corwin drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "So full of love and devotion for that sweet little girl, aren’t you?"

Taehyung rose to his feet, glaring at Corwin with barely contained fury. "What do you want?" he spat, his voice trembling with rage.

Corwin’s smile widened, revealing yellowed teeth. He moved closer, his oily presence filling the room like a vile stench. "I’ve come to deliver some unfortunate news, I’m afraid. You see, while you sit here locked away, your precious bride-to-be is being prepared for an incredibly special ceremony. One that has been a tradition in Briarfield for centuries."

Taehyung’s jaw clenched as he stepped forward, his hands balling into fists. "I already know about the ritual," he growled. "But you won’t lay a finger on her. I’ll stop you."

Corwin chuckled darkly, shaking his head in mock sympathy. "Ah, but you don’t know the true nature of the ritual, do you? No, you still believe in that quaint little lie they talk about appeasing the devil." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a sickening whisper. "The truth is the ritual has nothing to do with the devil. It’s all for us. The noble men of Briarfield. Each year, we choose a girl. We strip her of her dignity, her purity... we defile her. And then, once we’ve had our fun, we leave her to die."

Taehyung’s eyes widened in horror, his breath catching in his throat. He felt sick, his vision blurring with rage as Corwin continued.

"And your sweet little bride-to-be," Corwin sneered, "will be no different. I will have the pleasure of taking her first. I have waited so long for this moment—watching her blossom into womanhood, untouched and pure, just waiting for me. And when I am done with her..." He paused, his lips curling into a grotesque smile. "Well, let’s just say she won’t be the same girl you fell in love with."

Taehyung’s vision went red. He lunged at Corwin, his fists aiming straight for the older man’s leering face. "You bastard!" he roared, but before his fist could connect, two guards grabbed him from behind, pulling him back with brute force.

Corwin stepped back, laughing cruelly as Taehyung struggled against the guards. "Temper, temper," Corwin taunted, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You’re nothing but a pathetic peasant, thinking you could protect her. What could you possibly offer her? A life of selling trinkets in the market? She’s too good for you, boy."

Taehyung strained against the guards; his teeth gritted in pure fury. "I’ll kill you! I swear if you touch her-"

"You’ll do nothing," Corwin interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "Because you’re weak. You’ll sit here, helpless, while we take what’s ours." He adjusted his coat with a smug grin. "Enjoy the show from your cage, boy. I’ll be sure to tell her how useless you were in the end."

With that, Corwin turned on his heel and strode toward the door, a satisfied smile plastered across his face. As he reached the threshold, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. "She’ll cry for you, you know," he said, as if savouring the thought. "But you won’t be able to do a thing about it."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Taehyung trembling with rage and helplessness. His heart ached with fear for you, but the fire in his chest refused to die. Even as he struggled against the guards, his mind churned with thoughts of revenge, desperate to stop Corwin and save you from the fate he had so vilely described.

The village square was eerily quiet despite the large gathering of people. You stood there, heart pounding in your chest, dressed in your white ceremonial gown. The wind tugged at the hem, but it did little to stir the suffocating atmosphere. It was as if the very air had thickened around you, heavy with expectation and dread.

The villagers watched with false reverence, their eyes dull and unfeeling, offering hollow words of praise for your supposed bravery. Bravery? It was a bitter joke. You had not chosen to stand here, had not chosen this fate. You were forced- condemned.

The elder approached you with a blindfold in his gnarled hands, his wrinkled face twisted into a grim mask of ceremony. His fingers were cold and rough as they tied the cloth tightly around your eyes, shutting out the last slivers of the village you had known all your life. Darkness consumed your vision, leaving only the cacophony of sound and the bitter taste of fear on your tongue.

As you stood there, sightless, you could hear your mother sobbing softly from somewhere behind you. Each sob pierced through you like a blade, her grief wrapping around your heart. You wanted to cry out to her, to run to her, Be held and comforted by your mom but your legs were frozen beneath you, bound by invisible chains of duty and terror.

Hands gripped your arms—firm, unyielding hands—and began to guide you forward, pulling you away from the square. You stumbled at first, your feet catching on the uneven ground, but the hands steadied you, urging you on. You could hear the shuffle of boots and the whispering of cloaks as the elders led you through the village, away from the familiar sounds of Briarfield and deeper into the woods.

The ground beneath your feet shifted as you left the cobblestone streets and stepped onto the soft earth of the forest. The air changed, cooler with the scent of moss and decaying leaves. The sounds of the village faded into the distance, replaced by the rustling of trees and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. You could hear the soft chirping of insects and the distant calls of night birds, their eerie songs only heightening the sense of isolation.

Your heart raced in your chest, each step feeling heavier than the last as you were dragged closer to the altar. Your mind raced with images of what was to come, of the horrors Corwin had spoken of, and you fought to keep your breathing steady. The blindfold pressed tightly against your eyelids, and with each passing moment, the reality of your situation sank deeper into your bones.

The elders murmured soft incantations as they led you further into the woods, their voices low and rhythmic, blending with the sounds of the night. But their words brought no comfort, only a sickening reminder of what awaited you at the altar.

You strained your ears, trying to grasp any familiar sounds, anything that would tell you where you were. The world around you had become an abyss, where each sound was amplified in the darkness. The soft brush of leaves against your skin, the cold gust of wind on your face, the distant crackling of a fire you could not see, all of it swirled together in a maddening symphony of fear.

The hands that guided you suddenly stopped, and you could feel the ground beneath your feet shift slightly uneven stones pressing against your soles. You knew, without seeing, that you had arrived at the altar.

You shivered as they lead you towards the, what you assumed to be the alter made up of old ancient slab covered in moss and lichen. As you were laid upon the stone, you could hear the rustling of the elders’ robes. You strained your ears, hoping for some sound that would anchor you in the moment—a bird’s call, the rustle of leaves, anything—but the forest had gone unnervingly quiet. The blindfold pressed tightly against your face, leaving you in total darkness.

You heard the soft scrape of a blade being drawn, the metallic sound causing your heart to lurch in your chest. The elder murmured words in a language you didn't understand, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You were waiting for something, some terrible finality but what came instead was silence. The kind of silence that felt wrong, like it was filled with secrets.

You felt hands on your shoulders, their grip too familiar, too wrong. And then, you heard it, a low, mocking laugh.

It wasn't the deep, otherworldly growl of a devil, but the cruel, triumphant sound of a man who had long desired something he was now moments away from taking. The sound sent a shiver down your spine.

Lord Corwin.

You jerked against the hands that held you, but they tightened, keeping you in place. Your heart pounded in your chest, panic surging through your veins. You tried to speak, to demand answers, but your throat closed, your voice trapped behind a wall of fear.

"You still believe in the devil, don't you?" Corwin’s voice slithered through the darkness, mocking and taunting. "Poor thing. They have filled your head with stories of demons and sacrifices. But I assure you... there is no devil coming for you tonight."

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. The ceremony, the sacrifice, none of it was real. You were not being offered to some dark entity. You were being handed over to men like him.

"You see," Corwin continued, his voice drawing closer, "this ritual isn’t for protection. It’s for us." He paused, his breath hot and close, sending waves of nausea through you. "For centuries, we've chosen a girl each year to entertain us. To indulge ourselves in ways that the village would never dare to question."

You felt your knees weaken, your body trembling as his words sank in. The stories you had been told since childhood were all lies. The devil was just a tale, a cover for the horrors these men had committed under the guise of tradition.

"Don't struggle," Corwin whispered, his tone sickeningly sweet. "You’ll only make it harder for yourself. After all, you should be honoured to have caught my attention all these years."

Then you felt a hand rustling with your dress and your stomach started twisting at the realisation would exactly Corwin’s words meant. You felt a hand sneak up your dress and grab your thigh and your fight response kicked in. You jerked at the touch and tried your best to swing a fist at where you heard Corwin standing. You were in every disadvantage, but you weren’t going down without a fight. Or so you thought.

You suddenly felt your hands being grabbed and forced down harshly above your head. You cursed aloud at whoever it was but now that both your hands and legs were immobile you weren’t sure what to do. The adrenaline in your body was slowly slipping away and all you felt was terror.

“Tsk tsk tsk, this is not what I expect from you darlin-“ you cut Corwin off “I don’t care about what you expect from me!” you angrily yelled out but just then you felt a sting on your left cheek.

Lord Corwin had slapped you.

“Somebody really needs to put you in your place. Do not forget you are just a mere woman. You exist just to serve men. The only thing of value you hold is beauty and a fertile body to birth children” Lord Corwin replied venomously.

And just before you could retort back, you felt your dress being ripped and only a gasp left your throat.

“No stay back!” you yelled in desperation as you felt Corwin’s grimy hands roam your exposed legs. You felt his breath near your throat as he leaned down to kiss the area. You felt disgusted and angry. Your mind wondered to Taehyung praying that he would show up somehow. You felt Corwin’s hand slid up and grabbed your chest. You cried angry tears as you decided to yell one last time “Taehyung please save me from here!” you cried loud angry tears and just when you were about to give up, you heard it.

From somewhere deeper in the woods, a new sound echoed, a distant clamour of voices, of movement. At first, you thought it was your mind playing tricks on you, desperate to cling to any hope. But it grew louder, closer. The elders hesitated, their hands loosening on your arms and legs.

Taehyung.

You knew it was him. He had come for you.

The voices grew louder, the footsteps echoing closer until they were upon you. You could hear the rush of movement, angry shouts, the crack of branches underfoot. Panic surged through the elders and the men surrounding you. Their once confident whispers turned frantic.

You felt your heartbeat in your throat, pounding with both fear and a sliver of desperate hope.

"Stop them!" Corwin's voice rose in anger, the sharp command lashing through the air like a whip. His hands gripped your arms again, but they were no longer steady. You could feel his panic too, his control over the situation slipping through his fingers.

The elder holding you released his grip entirely, his cowardice evident in his hasty retreat. You could hear the shuffle of feet as others followed suit, abandoning the ritual altar in a state of chaos.

Suddenly, the blindfold was ripped from your eyes. The world returned in a flash of dim torchlight and shadowed faces. The clearing was swarming with men, some village guards, some common folk, and there, breaking through the tree line, was Taehyung.

His eyes blazed with fury; his jaw clenched tightly as he barrelled toward you. For a moment, you were frozen, overwhelmed by the sight of him and by the fact that he had come, against all odds.

Corwin cursed under his breath, his face twisted in rage as he pulled you roughly towards him, using your body as a shield between him and Taehyung. His grip was hard, bruising, his nails digging into your flesh. You could smell the sweat and desperation radiating from him.

"You think you can take her from me?" Corwin spat, his voice a mixture of fear and disgust as he glared at Taehyung. "You, a lowly peasant, dare to challenge me?"

Taehyung slowed his approach but never took his eyes off you, his expression softening for a brief moment as he saw the fear in your eyes. Then, his gaze hardened again, his fists clenched at his sides.

"I will take her from you," Taehyung said firmly, his voice steady despite the storm raging behind his eyes. "Because she doesn't belong to you. She never did."

Corwin scoffed, his breath heavy against your neck. "Look at me, girl!" he growled, yanking your face toward him. His once pristine appearance was now crumbling. His thinning hair slick with sweat, his eyes bulging with anger and something worse, desperation. He reeked of arrogance, of an entitlement so deeply ingrained that he believed the world owed him everything, even you.

"You could have had comfort," Corwin sneered, his eyes darting between you and Taehyung. "Wealth, status... But you choose him?" His voice dripped with venom. "What can he offer you?"

You stared at Corwin, disgust rising like bile in your throat. Even now, he could not understand that what you wanted was freedom, not wealth. You wanted love, not power. And Taehyung offered you all the things Corwin never could—kindness, gentleness, and a future not built on fear.

But before you could answer, Taehyung took a step closer. His voice was like a promise, unwavering and fierce. "I offer her everything you never could, respect, love, and a life free from monsters like you."

Corwin’s grip tightened painfully for a moment, his face darkening. But then, as the approaching crowd surged closer, the realization dawned on him. His plan had failed. The power he once held over you and the village was slipping away.

His eyes flickered with malice as he released you, shoving you toward Taehyung. You stumbled, but Taehyung was there, catching you in his arms, pulling you against his chest protectively.

"Take her," Corwin sneered, stepping back, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "But this isn’t over. You think you've won, but you’ve merely delayed the inevitable." Corvin threw meaningless threats at you.

And with that, Corwin turned, retreating into the shadows of the woods, his figure vanishing into the night.

As you stood in Taehyung’s embrace, trying to make sense of the nightmare that had unfolded, Taehyung’s gaze locked down onto yours. His eyes swept over your form, and his expression hardened, his features darkening with a mixture of concern and fury. The delicate ceremonial gown you wore was torn and dirtied, bruises beginning to form where the men had handled you so roughly. Your entire body trembled, overwhelmed by everything you had endured.

Without a word, Taehyung quickly slipped off his long coat, moving toward you with a gentleness that contrasted the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. He draped the coat over your shoulders, covering you, shielding you from the eyes of those who had tormented you.

“Stay still,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. His hands brushed over your arms as he pulled the coat tighter around you, trying to hide the evidence of what could have been. His jaw clenched as his eyes flicked over your face, lingering on every bruise, every tear, and the fragile look of shock etched into your expression.

Anger flared briefly in his eyes as he spoke, his voice low but steady. “I’m so sorry… I should have gotten to you sooner.”

“Do not apologise for something you had no control over. I’m just glad that you made it.” You whisper back.

As Taehyung held you close once again, you looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “How did you manage to escape?” you asked, your voice trembling with exhaustion.

Taehyung’s face was a mix of anger and determination. “It was not easy. The guards had me locked in a small, dark cell in the chapel, and I was running out of time.”

He took a deep breath, clearly reliving the tense moments. “I overheard the guards talking about a secret passageway under the old chapel, used long ago for smuggling goods. I knew I had to find a way to use that passage to escape. Also, who reveals such information in front of a prisoner?” he says trying to make you smile and you giggled in response.

Taehyung then continued, “I managed to use a piece of broken furniture to pry open a loose stone in the cell wall. It was a desperate move, but I had to try. I crawled through the narrow tunnel, which led to the chapel’s old crypt. From there, I found a way out to the back of the chapel.”

Your heart raced as you listened, imagining his harrowing escape. “But how did you get to me?”

Taehyung nodded, a fierce resolve in his eyes. “Once I got outside, I made my way to the village edge, where I saw your father sitting in sorrow. I found him and told him everything about the ritual, Corwin’s lies, and how I had managed to escape.”

He paused, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of pride and urgency. “Your father was able to rally the villagers and expose Corwin’s true intentions. They were already suspicious, but my escape and the information I brought gave them the final push to act against Corwin and his corrupt schemes.”

You felt a surge of relief and admiration for Taehyung. “I’m so grateful you made it out in time.”

Taehyung gently cupped your face, his expression softening. “I would have done anything to save you.”

Your gaze shifted just in time to see the villagers dragging a furious Lord Corwin back into the clearing. His once-fine clothes were torn and filthy, his large frame covered in mud and sweat. He panted heavily, too slow, and too fat to outrun the angry crowd that had hunted him down.

“Let me go!” Corwin bellowed, his face flushed with humiliation and anger. “You fools! You have no idea what you have done! This village needs me!”

The villagers’ rage bubbled over as they shoved him to the ground. “You let our daughters die!” someone shouted from the crowd. “You let them suffer while we were blind!”

Corwin sneered, trying to rise, but his bloated body betrayed him, and the crowd held him down. He turned his eyes to Taehyung, the hatred in his gaze palpable but Taehyung let the crowd do the talking, deciding to step back with you.

A Month Later:

The grandeur of the magical court of Aetherfall stood in stark contrast to the grim history of Briarfield. The court was a sprawling palace, its walls adorned with shimmering crystals that bathed the hall in a soft, ethereal light. Magic-infused tapestries depicted scenes of legendary heroes and mythical creatures, setting a majestic backdrop for the day’s proceedings.

Lord Corwin, along with other implicated nobles from Briarfield, was presented before the court. The once-proud noble now looked gaunt and dishevelled, his arrogance replaced by palpable fear. The court was abuzz with whispers and murmurs as the noble’s faced judgment for their crimes.

The Chief Enchanter, a figure of immense power and authority, presided over the proceedings. His robes, interwoven with silver thread, glowed with a gentle luminescence. He spoke in a voice that carried both authority and sorrow, condemning the nobles for their abhorrent actions.

“Lord Corwin and his compatriots stand accused of vile corruption and cruelty,” the Chief Enchanter intoned. “Their ritual, a grotesque masquerade to cover their own depravity, has caused untold suffering. Justice must be served.”

Corwin’s face twisted in a mixture of rage and despair as the verdict was read. The punishment was severe—his wealth confiscated, his titles stripped, and he was to be banished from the realms of Aetherfall. The court’s magic would ensure he could never return, casting a protective barrier around the realm to keep him from ever entering again. And he shall work as a peasant until the day he takes his last breath.

Where as in Briarfield, the once-dark village had transformed into a vibrant scene of celebration. Lanterns floated above, and tables were laden with an array of delicious foods and sparkling drinks. The villagers, once sombre, now danced and celebrated the end of a dark chapter in their history.

The village square of Briarfield had been transformed into a picturesque scene of festivity for your wedding. Lanterns, adorned with delicate fairy lights, floated gracefully above, casting a warm and inviting glow over the area. Tables draped in rich, burgundy fabrics were laden with an array of delicious foods: succulent roasted meats, fresh fruits, pastries dusted with sugar, and bubbling pitchers of sweet, sparkling drinks.

The wedding ceremony took place in the heart of the village square, where a beautifully decorated archway of intertwined flowers and greenery formed a natural altar. The archway was adorned with cascading blooms of ivory and blush pink, their gentle fragrance mingling with the cool evening air.

You stood at the entrance of the makeshift aisle, a vision of grace in a simple yet elegant wedding gown. The gown, made from a flowing white fabric, had delicate lace trim along the neckline and sleeves. Your hair, left open in soft waves, was adorned with a few small white flowers, adding a touch of ethereal beauty.

Taehyung stood at the altar, his formal attire reflecting the elegance of the occasion. He wore a dark navy-blue suit with intricate silver embroidery that caught the light, making him look every bit the regal figure. His eyes were locked on you, filled with admiration and love.

As you walked down the aisle, the villagers, gathered to witness the event, applauded, and cheered, their faces beaming with genuine happiness. The sound of soft music played by a small band in the corner of the square added to the celebratory atmosphere.

When you reached the altar, Taehyung took your hand gently, his touch warm and reassuring. The officiant, a respected elder of the village, began the ceremony with words of wisdom and blessing.

“Today, we gather to celebrate the union of two souls who have found their way to each other through trials and love. Let us rejoice in their happiness and witness the vows they will make.”

Taehyung and You shared your heartfelt vows which certainly bought tears in your eyes as the comforting words set in.

The officiant smiled warmly and pronounced you both husband and wife. The crowd erupted in cheers as you and Taehyung shared your first kiss as a married couple.

As the evening progressed, the celebration continued with lively music and dancing. Taehyung and you moved through the crowd, greeting friends and family, sharing laughter and joy. The atmosphere was filled with happiness and relief, a stark contrast to the dark days that had preceded this moment.

During the evening, as the stars began to twinkle in the sky, you and Taehyung took that as a chance a sneaked away from everyone. You both giggled like teenagers as you made your way towards Taehyung’s cottage. As soon as the door closed, Taehyung had you pushed up against it and wasted no time crashing against yours hungrily, filled with all the love and desire he had been holding back throughout the day. You melted into his embrace, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

He trailed kisses along your jawline, down your neck, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touched. Your knees grew weak as he found that one spot on your neck that always drove you wild. His hands roamed over your body possessively, claiming every inch of you as his own.

With a sudden burst of strength, he lifted you into his arms and carried you toward the bedroom. You giggled playfully at the unexpected gesture, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he kissed a trail down your collarbone.

He gently laid you down on the bed, hovering over you with a look of pure adoration in his eyes. "You have no idea how beautiful you are," he whispered huskily before capturing your lips once again. You slowly trail your hands under his shirt and understanding what you wanted, he pulled his shirt off.

He had a soft stomach but years of hard labour had made his muscles taunt and as you were admiring him, his hands traced patterns along your sides before sliding under your dress to caress every curve. The fabric felt like too much of a barrier between your bodies as he explored every inch of skin beneath it.

Sensing your impatience, Taehyung pulled away for a moment to remove your dress, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. Once you were lying before him in nothing but your lingerie, he took a moment to admire the sight.

"You're perfect," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Absolutely perfect and all mine."

His hands resumed their exploration, this time with no barriers in the way. He traced circles over the soft skin of your stomach, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Slowly, he moved lower, teasing the sensitive skin just above your panties.

You moaned softly at the sensation, arching into his touch. His fingers danced lightly over your heat, driving you closer to the edge with each gentle caress.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to take the teasing any longer. "I need you."

Taehyung's eyes darkened with desire at your words, and without another moment's hesitation, he removed your panties and looked at your core glistening with wetness. You suddenly felt shy and tried to close your legs, but Taehyung was fast enough to pry them open again.

“Don’t hide from me love, let me see and feel all of you” he said looking directly in your eyes. He brings his fingers to your core once again and starts making a figure 8 forcing the sweetest of sounds out of you.

“That’s it love. You look so pretty” he says before diving headfirst into your centre without a warning making you cry out in pleasure at the new sensation. Your hand reached out to grab his hair, pulling on the strands, eliciting a groan out of him. His tongue circles your clit as he slowly enters a finger inside you. The sensational felt uncomfortable but was soon replaced by blinding pleasure once he started moving them.

You felt a coil build up in your stomach as your breath started to get laboured not understanding the sensation. “Tae- I feel s-something in I- you” you couldn’t form a sentence before the coil snapped and you came with a loud moan panting loudly.

Taehyung finally rose up from between your legs, your juices running down his chin making your cheeks heat up. “You did so well baby!” he said a little bit too enthusiastically. You shyly reached your hands over his shoulders and brought him down for a kiss.

Taehyung pulled away before pressing his forehead to your, your noses touching, “We don’t have to do anything beyond this.” He whispered.

“I want to Tae. Don’t worry” you ease his nerves. “It’s going to hurt a little. I’ll try to go slow okay and if anything hurts too much, stop me” he rambles a little which is endearing to you how much he is worried about you.

You kiss his lips one more time, “I trust you Tae, don’t worry” you smile up at him. Seeing you with those big eyes looking at him asking him to make love to you, Tae scrambles to pull his pants down bringing his cock out and stroking it.

"I love you so much," he murmured as he lined himself up with your entrance. "Are you ready?"

You nodded eagerly, excitement and nervousness mingling together inside you. This was it—the moment you had been waiting for.

With a slow and steady push, Taehyung entered you fully. You gasped at the feeling of him stretching and filling you completely. Tears welled up in your eyes as a mix of pleasure and pain washed over you.

"Shh," Taehyung whispered soothingly as he wiped away a stray tear. "I've got you."

He stayed still for a moment to let you adjust to the sensation before slowly starting to move. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body until all thoughts were replaced by pure ecstasy.

As his pace quickened, so did the intensity of your pleasure until it was all-consuming—like fireworks exploding inside you with every movement. Your nails dug into his back, your moans growing louder with each thrust. You wrapped your legs around his waist feeling him even deeper inside of you.

"I'm… I'm…" you stammered, unable to form a coherent thought as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. But as you were about to cum, he pulled out making you whine at the loss of your high. Before you could complain, he flipped you over on your stomach bringing your hips up and entered your heat once again.

Your hands clutched the sheets tightly as you feel him move your hair to the side and leave trails of kisses behind your neck and ear. You feel your pleasure build up once more and all you can let out are incoherent words. Taehyung could feel you were close with how much you were clenching around him.

"Come for me, baby," Taehyung urged, his voice filled with a mix of desire and desperation. "Let go."

With one final thrust, you felt yourself unravelling beneath him. Pleasure washed over you in a tidal wave as your hand tightened on the sheets below.

Taehyung's movements grew erratic as he chased his own release. With a low groan, he buried himself deep inside you as he found his own release. He buries his face in your neck as the waves of pleasure subsided, both of you breathless and spent from the intensity of it all.

He flipped you back onto your front before collapsing on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he caught his breath. "I love you so much," he whispered against your skin.

You ran your fingers through his hair lovingly, savouring this moment of intimacy between you. "I love you too," you replied softly. "More than words can say."

As the world outside faded away, you knew that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of love and passion with Taehyung by your side as you both fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

The day had finally come. You and Taehyung were ready to leave the village behind and embark on your long-awaited journey, you were ready to embrace the world beyond the shadows of Briarfield. But first, you had to say your goodbyes.

Your parents stood by the small, worn-down cottage that had been your home for as long as you could remember. The familiar creak of the door, the patches in the roof your father had mended over the years, the garden your mother tended to—it all felt so achingly nostalgic now. Your mother, tears already brimming in her eyes, reached out to hold your hands tightly.

“Oh, my sweet girl…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It feels like only yesterday you were a little child, running through the fields. And now, you are leaving us, off to see the world with your husband.”

You choked back your own tears as you wrapped your arms around her. “I will miss you, Mama. So much.”

Your mother pulled back slightly, cupping your face with her hands. “Promise me you will write when you can. Tell me about all the places you visit and the adventures you have. I want to hear every detail.”

“I promise,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your father, though not an emotional man, could not hide the tears in his eyes. He stepped forward, pulling you into a tight embrace. “You’ve always been strong,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I am proud of you for choosing your own path. But remember, no matter how far you go, this will always be your home.”

You nodded against his chest, feeling the warmth of his familiar embrace one last time. When he pulled away, your father’s gaze shifted to Taehyung, who stood respectfully nearby, watching the exchange with a soft smile.

“Take care of her,” your father said, his voice turning more firm, though still gentle. “She’s everything to us.”

Taehyung stepped forward, his eyes full of sincerity. He took your father’s hand in his, shaking it firmly. “I will. You have my word, sir. I will keep her safe and do everything I can to make her happy.”

Your father’s expression softened, and with a nod, he stepped back to allow you both to continue your farewells.

Taehyung turned to your mother, bowing slightly out of respect. She took his hands in hers and said, “Thank you for bringing light into her life. I can see how much you care for her.”

“I love her with all my heart,” Taehyung replied softly, his voice steady. “And I promise to cherish her, always.”

Your mother smiled through her tears before she let him go.

With the goodbyes said, you and Taehyung turned toward his small carriage carrying all your packed belongings and some of Taehyung’s wares. But before you could take another step, Taehyung gently tugged you back, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you softly on the forehead. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice full of warmth and affection.

You nodded, though tears brimmed in your eyes. “As long as you’re with me.”

He smiled and took your hand in his, lifting it to his lips for a gentle kiss. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, but this time, it was not from the cold, it was from the love that seemed to radiate from him in waves. “Together,” he whispered.

As the carriage started to move, Taehyung navigating it, you gazed at your surroundings, watching Briarfield slowly disappear behind a veil of mist and trees. A small part of your heart ached with the weight of leaving everything familiar behind, your parents, your home, the village where you had grown up—but you were also excited to finally see world beyond the once gloomy village.

He noticed the faraway look in your eyes and gently squeezed your hand. "You know," he said softly, "this isn’t goodbye forever. We will visit your parents soon. Perhaps once we've settled a bit, we can come back and spend time with them during our travels."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with gratitude and relief. "You’d really do that? Even after everything?"

"Of course," Taehyung said, smiling. "I know how much they mean to you, and they’ve welcomed me like family. I want to make sure you never feel like you’ve truly left them behind."

His words brought comfort, and you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder as the carriage rolled steadily along. Outside, the landscape was changing from the familiar fields and woods of Briarfield to new horizons.

With that, the two of you settled into a peaceful silence, your hands intertwined as the carriage carried you toward the future.

#bts x reader #bts smut #bts imagines #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyungs angst #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung imagine #taehyung smut #taehyung #taehyung historical au #taehyung drabble #taehyung oneshot #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x you #taehyung medieval au

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dark-fics-4-you · 10 months ago

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Power Trip

dark!corrupted!peacekeeper!Sejanus Plinth x district 12!Reader

Warnings: noncon/dubcon (rape), p in v smut, unprotected sex, unwanted creampie, choking, abuse of power, power imbalance, drinking, victim blaming, size kink

You were drunk.

So much so that you were swaying as you stumbled out of the bar and out through the dark alleyway that led to your home.

Sejanus spotted you instantly, his eyes narrowing as he watched you disappear into the alley.

It was far too late for people to be out wandering the streets, especially young women like yourself who could be in more danger than others.

Before he could even think twice about why he felt so compelled to do so, he was quietly following you through the narrow space.

Who even knew what kinds of creeps could find you around here, he thought to himself. It would be much better for him to keep an eye on you.

That thought was confirmed to him when you tripped a couple yards ahead of him, leaning up against the dimly lit wall as you quietly cursed.

Sejanus quickly caught up to you, and your head whipped over to see look at him when he spoke, “are you okay, ma’am?”

Your unfocused eyes took in the man’s blurry face with some concern, but when you noticed the familiar blue shade of his shirt, you became more alert.

Even drunk out of your mind, you knew to be on your best behavior around peacekeepers.

“I- I’m jus a bit drunk and-” a hiccup interrupted your slurred speech, “havin trouble walking right now.”

Sejanus took in your face beneath the dim lighting, his breath hitching slightly when he realized up close just how pretty you were.

He was used to superficial Capitol women, dressing to impress, with lots of expensive make up and hair dye. You couldn’t be more different, but that didn’t detract from your beauty at all; if anything it magnified it.

“I can see that,” he responded, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. He couldn’t understand why he was having these thoughts about you, it was completely inappropriate given his position of power above you.

But that didn’t change the fact that Sej’s pants were getting tighter the more you looked up at him through your lashes.

“What’s your name?” He asked, trying to gauge how out of it you were.

“Y/N, sir” you answered shyly, reserving your last name for only if he asked.

“Do you, uh, do you need help getting home, Y/N?” He offered, trying to push his thoughts out of his head.

“Um, I dunno,” your words were stringing together, and he could hear you mumbling something but his eyes had fallen to your low cut shirt and your exposed skin and he couldn’t hear a thing you were saying.

You took a drunken step forward, only to fall into his arms. Scared, you tried to retreat back to the wall, but his large hands gripped your arms just above the elbow.

Surprised by his reaction, you looked up at him with confusion.

Sej was just as surprised as you at his actions, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Time slowed around him as he leaned down, capturing your lips with his. You froze in his grasp for a moment before kissing him back, but when Sejanus deepened the kiss, you pulled away.

“Wait-”

“Shh you’re okay, pretty girl,” he cooed reassuringly, one of his hands coming to your chin to tilt your head back up to meet his.

This time he didn’t let you squirm away from the kiss, and your stomach flipped when he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

Alcohol getting the better of you, you kissed him back, softly moaning against his lips, an unfamiliar feeling budding between your legs.

It wasn’t until your back hit the wall that you even realized he had been walking you against it.

Sej was in heaven, lost in the feeling of your plush lips against his, intoxicated by the scent of your shampoo that clouded his senses. When you kissed him back, it all but confirmed in his mind that you wanted this just as bad as he did.

When his hand slipped under your skirt, pushing your panties to the side before pushing one of his thick fingers into your slick cunt, you whimpered, pulling away from the kiss to protest.

“Wait, stop! I-”

“Be quiet,” Sejanus mumbled against your plush lips as he forced a second finger inside of you, earning a moan from you, but he frowned slightly as his gut twisted.

He knew deep down that this was wrong, and the tears that were forming in your eyes as he slowly pumped his digits into you confirmed that as well, but he didn’t want to stop now.

Not when he could feel your warm cunt squeezing around his fingers so tight he wasn’t sure if he would even fit. That thought alone had him pulling his fingers out of you and reaching to unbuckle his belt.

Coryo was always bragging about how many district girls he was sleeping with. He always said that they played hard to get, and now Sejanus understood what he meant.

Wasn’t it only fair Sej got his turn too?

When your gorgeous eyes widened in fear, his cock twitched, and Sejanus was about to reach for his zipper when you tried to push past him and run.

“Help-!” Your cry died on your lips as the larger man grabbed you, one arm snaking around your waist and the other hand clamping over your mouth. He pushed you against two large crates, knocking the wind out of you before bending you over the flat surface face down as you struggled against him.

Sejanus gritted his teeth in frustration, pining you underneath him with a large hand spread out across your back as he roughly pulled up your skirt.

His mind was fixated on you and the voice at the back of his head that told him this was wrong was swiftly disregarded.

In that moment, the rest of the world tuned out, and he watched your lips silently form protests. The ringing in his ears was so much louder though, and he didn’t even realize he had removed his pants until he registered his hand stroking his hard cock.

The only thing he could hear was his heart beat thundering in his ears. In his heightened state, Sej reached between your legs, ripping your panties as he pulled them out of his way.

He briefly registered your voice, and the word “no,” being repeated through tears, but that was the least of his worries. He was so painfully hard he couldn’t think straight. All that he cared about was making himself fit inside you.

Sejanus guided himself between your legs, his strong hand on your back locking you in place as you pathetically struggled against him.

He rubbed the tip of his throbbing cock against your slit, groaning at how wet you were already.

Tears were streaming down your face, conflict wracking your body as you could feel yourself getting slicker in preparation despite your disgust.

Sej slowly pushed his tip past the initial resistance of your tight walls, letting out a curse when he felt you tense up around him.

He was thick, and you whined as he pushed himself deeper, stretching out your gummy walls inch by inch.

“Please-” you whimpered, breath hitching as the peacekeeper slowly filled you up.

Sejanus told himself that you were speaking out of lust, that you were begging for more of him, and he ignored the way you squirmed in his arms when he planted his elbow by your head, wrapping his thick bicep around your throat to keep you in place as he pressed himself deeper.

Your cheeks were wet with your tears, which spilled down your face and onto Sej’s arm. Your head was spinning from the alcohol and the unfamiliar stretch of the peacekeeper’s length. Desperate to ground yourself, you clutched at his arm and he hissed when your nails dug into his skin.

You whined loudly when he bottomed out, feeling like his thick cock was splitting you open.

Sej was only focused on the delicious way your cunt was squeezing around him, practically pulling him in, and when he tilted his hips back and pushed himself deep inside you again, he couldn’t tell if you were crying out from pain or pleasure.

He buried his head in the crook of your neck, pressing hot, desperate kisses against the soft skin of your throat.

“It’s t- too big,” you sniffled, skin crawling at the feel of his lips kissing and bitting at the sensitive area.

Your words made him throb inside you, and you tried hopelessly to squeeze your legs together, but a sharp smack on your ass and his grip around your throat tightening easily put you in your place.

“You can take it,” Sej gruffly responded, trying to ignore the way your resistance had his cock pulsing inside you.

He started moving his hips slowly, giving you a little time to adjust to his thick length, but it wasn’t long before his lazy thrusts began picking up the pace.

To your embarrassment, you could feel yourself growing slicker around him with every push of his cock, and you couldn’t stop your tears from filling your eyes and staining your cheeks.

Sejanus had some experience from fooling around during his academy days, but you blew that all out of the water.

The feel of you gushing around him, squeezing him so tight it was almost painful as he forced himself onto you, made Sej’s head spin.

Each sigh that he pulled from you, every whimper that was ripped out of you only spurred him on, and he couldn’t help but notice that you were finally staying still and submitting to him.

Coriolanus was right, the district girls did play hard to get, but having one under his control was so much more intoxicating than Sejanus could have ever imagined.

His hips were snapping against your ass now, rough thrusts drawing louder gasps and whines that made him all the more eager to shut you up, not wanting to draw any attention to himself.

You cried out once more before his bicep twitched, his arm tightening its grip on your neck to choke you, allowing him to hit a spot deep inside you that caused your vision to go white.

Still, even with his arm at your throat, you couldn’t stop the quiet, choked pleas that spilled past your lips.

What you didn’t want to admit to yourself was how deliciously sinful every stroke of his cock felt, and you were disgusted at the fact that you were trembling and dripping around him.

Sejanus was fucking you frantically now, savagely taking out all of his frustrations on you with abandon, drunk on how your tight cunt was choking his length.

You moaned when you were unwillingly pushed over the edge, pleasure exploding between your legs as you clenched around his cock, squeezing him even tighter than before.

The feeling of his thick cock filling you up over and over again forced you to come again, and you cried out, babbling incoherently as he fucked you through your orgasm.

Sej was close as well, chasing his release as he pounded into you even harder than before. Your moans were punctuated by his rough thrusts, and he squeezed his bicep around your throat again to quiet you.

With another push of his cock, he came, groaning loudly as he spilled his sticky seed into you. You realized with disgust that you could feel his veiny length pulsing deep inside you, and you squirmed beneath him, wishing he would just pull out already.

You were too drained to move at first when he pulled out, and you didn’t let yourself dwell on the disappointing emptiness that lingered afterwards.

Sej however, was growing nervous, not wanting to be seen by anyone else in a back alley after taking advantage of you.

No, he corrected himself sternly. You wanted this too, just as much as him, and just because you had put up some resistance before Sej got his way, that didn’t mean he was a bad guy.

Right?

Nevertheless, he was quick to dress, pulling your skirt down and helping you sit up, but you were still too dazed to move, staring past him as he tried to talk to you.

“Are you okay?” He asked with concern, but you didn’t reply, tears silently falling past your lashes.

After staring at you for several moments with no response, the peacekeeper’s jaw ticked in annoyance.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” he sternly complained, grabbing your chin with a harsher grip than he intended and making you whimper.

“S-sorry,” you quietly apologized, struggling to meet the eyes of the man who had just attacked you.

“I mean, are you trying to get into more trouble?” Sejanus stammered, suddenly realizing how much that sounded like a threat as the words left his lips, but he didn’t have time to correct himself because your eyes had widened and you were nervously shaking your head ‘no.’

A sick thrill came over Sejanus as he realized how much power he had just discovered, and how much control he potentially had over you now.

At the same time, he felt slightly ill, knowing that he had just crossed a line that he never should have dared to cross.

He swallowed that thought down before he could linger on it for too long. He hadn’t crossed any lines, he told himself. You had enjoyed yourself, and besides, if Sej hadn’t been the one to come upon you tonight, he was certain that you could have been in much more danger.

He wasn’t like the other peacekeepers that abused their power and took advantage of the poor district girls.

No, Sej had been helping you, looking out for you.

He had just gotten a little carried away chasing his own selfish desires.

“C’mon, let me walk you home,” his voice was softer than before as he assured himself that this was okay.

You hesitated, not wanting to walk this man right up to your doorstep, but what other choice did you have?

You didn’t want to think about what might happen if you said no to him.

Nervously, you agreed, and you slowly stood to your feet, wincing in pain from the soreness in your core.

When you stumbled, Sej caught you, steadying you in his arms and wrapping one around your waist to support you.

To you, it only had the opposite effect though, and you felt chained to the large man as you drunkenly walked down the abandoned streets of District 12, leading him to your home.

When you finally arrived, you couldn’t wait to get away from him, but his grip on you only tightened, and he pulled you in to a messy kiss.

In your surprise, you kissed him back, whimpering against his swollen lips when he began to squeeze your wrist so tight it hurt.

Sejanus finally pulled away, giving you one last look before letting go of you and allowing you to run into your house.

You couldn’t lock the door fast enough, and you raced to the front window to see if the man was leaving.

His cold eyes were trained on your house, and you held your breath as he stood watching you for several moments before finally turning his back and stalking away.

#sejanus plinth #dark!sejanus plinth #dark sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x reader #dark!sejanus plinth x reader #corrupted!sejanus plinth #dark!sejanus #sejanus plinth smut #tbosas #hunger games tbosas #dark sejanus plinth x reader #coriolanus snow

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 1 year ago

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𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 2,382

Warnings | +18, bullying, for the moment only this

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | This work originated in Italian, so i apologize for any errors you will find, i am not a native english speaker, so go ahead and write in the comments where and what i can improve! 🥺❤

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

There was something in the air that day, something that weighed down her chest and left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

She looked outside her room and saw large gray clouds looming ominously, it was probably an approaching storm, and even so, she would still have to go to school, she could not escape her school obligations.

She had done so much to escape the harsh judgment of her family members, she knew that attending college was a huge expense for her parents, especially for being an out-of-towner with so much rent and bills to pay, so the only thing she could do to repay them was to get good grades and come out with a more than excellent GPA, without mentioning her problems.

So the girl prepared herself for yet another stressful and gloomy day, surrounded by prof's coaches and daddy's boys who wouldn't stop bragging about their possessions for a moment.

She adjusted her jacket and grabbed the bag containing all the necessary books, grabbed the house keys on the fly and locked the door behind her, not before nodding in the direction of the elderly neighbor who came out with her adorable little wagging dog every morning at that hour.The little Maltese barked in her direction and with a smile walked over to the couple, stroking the soft coat of the dog who, excited, hoisted himself up on two paws, accompanying her caresses with his head. Y/N burst out laughing at that warm expression of appreciation, could it be that only a dog was able to accept it without judgment?

"Do you go to school, Y/N?" asked the lady with a smile.

The girl nodded, "That's right, Mrs. Choi...I have a test today, I hope everything goes well."

"Oh, take it easy, my dear. I really feel that something new will happen for you today," the elderly woman's smile widened and Y/N was interjected.

She was no stranger to the strange outings of the woman, who very often seemed absent-minded and pensive, but a strange chill caught her. She tried to dilute the air with a giggle, "I hope it's also something good," she joked lightly, the woman rippled her lips.

"It depends on your point of view," she shrugged.

Y/N's smile faded away, not wanting to inquire further she decided it was getting quite late and waved a little awkwardly to her wacky neighbor, giving one last caress to the little dog, who continued to bark in her direction, trying to call her back.

"Come on, Y/N...you can get through this day too without too many hiccups," she said to herself, trying to mentally build up her courage. She arrived at the university with a lump in her throat, aware that once she entered the classroom she would see the haughty faces of her classmates again.

She was an outcast and the only classmate with whom she had come to form a decent bond of friendship had to change her address because that faculty was not suitable for her. But to say that she had simply grown tired of being bullied was perhaps easier.

She took a deep breath and entered the classroom, as she presaged, smiles filled with mockery accompanied her all the way to her seat, she took out the appropriate book for that hour of class and ignored everyone, no one however lent her a further glance, the arrival of the teacher had nipped in the bud any attempt at mockery.

Taking a test at the first hour was never easy for anyone, but the girl more than gladly accepted that chance to escape her foolish classmates.

She carried out the task in complete silence, interrupted only briefly by a few balls of paper and notes, some asking her to have her copied, others admonishing her not to sully their own air with her presence. Y/N swallowed, such doggedness seen from an outside eye might have seemed surreal, but to her it was normalcy.

They bothered her just for the sake of it, because she was the one without money, she was the unfashionable girl, she lived in a miserable apartment in a miserable neighborhood, she was everything they were not.

"Psst... Psst, little one!"

Y/N initially ignored that low whisper, but at yet another ball thrown at her head, she turned away in annoyance.

This was Kang Yoozu, one of the boys who worked hardest to make her school life a living hell; he seemed to take pleasure in constant torture and Y/N was often one of his favorite victims.

"What the hell do you want?!" she growled, impatient. He shrugged, "I just wanted to ask you if you were free later."

Y/N frowned, what was that jerk saying?

"Why would you care, Yoozu?" she asked, strangled.

A wicked smile spread across the classmate's face, "Your parents are street food vendors, right? How much can they possibly make per month?"

Y/N found herself gritting her teeth, ignoring the amused exclamations of the others; the professor seemed to have disappeared into thin air, which frustrated the girl even more.

"I don't know what you're getting at, but I suggest you shut your mouth," she said harshly and Yoozu's eyes narrowed.

"I'm just wondering how they were keep you, don't you think it's incumbent on them to lighten their load and earn money in other ways?"

The young woman blanched at the outrageous statement-what the fuck was she implying?! "And let's hear it-what would those ways be?" she rose from her chair under everyone's gaze.

Yoozu looked around with feigned interest, then elbowed his seatmate, chuckling.

"Well, I have a lot of money, a fuck or two wouldn't hurt, don't you think? You would earn honestly on your own strength," the whole class erupted in convulsive laughter, Y/N felt humiliated. She had endured much from them, had swallowed a myriad of bitter morsels, but no, that one would not let her get away with it.

In a very brief instant she found herself facing the smug boy who stared at her with satisfaction, and soon the scarlet shape of five perfectly outlined fingers was stamped on the candid face of that being, a being who for two years had made it unbearable for her to study for a better future. The noise was a dull pop and everyone fell silent.

Yoozu's eyes turned icy, and soon he jerked up from his chair, flipping it behind him.

"You dared too much, beggar" he made to approach threateningly, no one would intervene, she knew, but fortunately the professor's voice stopped whatever was about to happen.

"What the heck is going on in this class? Y/N! Yoozu! Go back to your seats immediately before I suspend your test."

The man's threatening voice made the boy take a step back, Y/N went back to her seat, but she felt the threatening gaze of her companion behind her the rest of the time, until the end of the hour sounded and everyone got up to leave their verifications on the professor's desk, who collected all the papers and added something to the register, which Y/N guessed was about her and Yoozu. A sick feeling invaded her stomach, she did not want her average to drop because of a bastard like Kang Yoozu, he had practically invited her to prostitute herself. With him.

Disgusted she took the art sketchbook from her bag, a small smile was born on her lips.

Classes with Professor Jeon always gave her a chance to get through the day in a slightly more uplifted mood.

He was a young boy ready to put himself on the front lines to help his students, older than her by five years, he had found a place in the university where he had studied because all the school staff thought he was deserving of getting a professorship there. And, Y/N admitted at least to herself, he was handsome as well as kind and helpful. She felt her heartbeat increase when her favorite professor made his entrance into the classroom, greeting all his pupils with a bright smile, exchanged a few words with the older professor who gave way to him, and during that conversation the girl clearly heard the excited murmurs of her classmates. They did not think much about it, giving vent to their shamelessly enamored sighs.

Y/N merely shrugged her shoulders as the young professor took a seat behind the desk and gave everyone a jovial look.

"Good morning, guys" he said quietly, a chorus of "good morning" and "hello" rose from the desks.

Y/N watched spellbound as the corner of his lips slightly lifted in a satisfied smile of the man, her professor's long hair that day was tied in a ponytail that the girl found damn adorable, which contrasted with the tattoos that decorated the entire arm left uncovered by the pulled-up shirt sleeve, the man crossed his arms and his biceps swelled in a hypnotic movement that caught the girl unprepared, she felt her body set on fire and with shame removed her gaze.

What she did not know was that Jungkook was also watching her. He never let her out of his sight, in truth.

From the first time he had caught her rushing into the classroom, wet as a tender chick, Jungkook could not help but feel a strange flutter every time he laid eyes on his pupil. Their eyes had met for the first time that day, a rush had gone through him from side to side, thunderstruck by that little figure who had bowed in apology over and over again.

And it was wrong, he should never have taken an interest in one of his students like that, but he was a man, a man with secret feelings and appetites, and everything about Y/N screamed timidity and fragility.

He wanted to protect her, wanted to take her away, wanted to make her his.

He knew about the way her classmates treated her, his colleagues sometimes talked about it during lunch breaks, this was terrible for him, it hurt him to even imagine the way the girl felt, he would have protected her if it was possible, but each time the bullying happened in his absence, and as a professor he could do nothing if Y/N herself did not ask for help. He could not punish the perpetrators without catching them in the act. The young man sighed, before lowering his eyes to the register, frowning at what he found written there.

"Park Y/N and Kang Yoozu were found standing during testing time, they looked like they were about to start a fight, I intervened in time to put them in their place."

Jungkook gritted his teeth as he read his student's name next to Y/N's.

The girl was too quiet a person to provoke a quarrel, his dark irises stopped on Yoozu, who was giggling along with his partner as his scribbled something in sketchbook.

Y/N, on the other hand, waited quietly and composedly for her class to begin, and that told Jungkook a lot about the dynamics of the strange event described by his colleague.

He rose from his chair clearing his throat, all eyes were soon on him.

He sensed the mischievous glances of the girls in his direction, he knew he was very much desired, after all he was the only young professor in the institution, but he did not let those attentions buy him, the only gaze he wanted on himself was that of the same girl who was anxiously crushing her fingers.

He leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms again, and in Y/N's gaze he read something very much like... desire? He looked at her, biting his lips for a thousandth of a second, clenching the tender flesh between his teeth, but that minimal amount of time was enough for the girl to widen her eyes and lower them immediately afterward, her cheeks flushed. Jungkook felt himself tightening in his pants, thinking that he was so adorable that he wanted to fuck her right then, in front of everyone.

He would have gladly made her cry as his cock penetrated her deeply.

"Guys, today I'm not going to talk to you about history and artists," he began, his voice crystal clear and smooth, "But about a subject that, unfortunately, will never stop being talked about," he paused behind Yoozu's desk.

He observed the lines drawn by the boy on the once-clean page, Yoozu made to cover his scrawl, but Jungkook was quick to catch him, "Let me see a bit, Kang," he said, before taking a better look at that jumble of shapeless lines, which took on the appearance of a naked girl with a tear-streaked face, there was a uniform at the corner of the paper and a bag, which Jungkook immediately recognized, raised an eyebrow in the boy's direction and returned the object to him, not without first tearing up the page, "Drawing your companions without clothes is not what I asked you to do, Yoozu.

Employ my hour to draw something in good taste, instead of indulging in such disgusting antics," the man scolded him harshly. The student bowed his head, humiliated, apologetically, and his deskmate turned away, as if to put some distance between himself and his friend, which the teacher laughed at internally. It was precisely people like Yoozu who had no friends.

Jungkook finally turned around and walked in Y/N's direction, stopped just behind her and lowered himself until he reached her ear, "Today's lesson is about bullying," he murmured, the girl felt her legs trembling under his low and sweet tone, she meekly nodded, writing on a vacant page the theme, then Jungkook raised his voice slightly, "I would like you all to draw a representation of bullying, also writing a small dedication to the kids who experience it firsthand."

When the young teacher turned away from her, Y/N resumed breathing normally.

Everyone caught the stinging reference, the girl gazed admiringly at Jungkook's strong shoulders, perfectly aligned in a proud posture that Y/N had no trouble finding attractive, clutched the pencil grip and set to work, unaware of the forbidden desire she aroused moment by moment in her teacher.

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #bts yandere smut #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #yandere

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444st4rg1rl · 7 months ago

Text

→ Decathect (v); To withdraw one’s self from someone you think you’re going to loose

→ Jason Todd x f!reader, 5k words

- Tags → Slowburn, (little bit) angst, frenemies to ???, ‘Hey we kinda know each other bc you work with my brother but we don’t mention it’, pinning, violence, more violence, reader just wants to figure shit out, this is the build up for part 2 guys.

- synopsis → You and Hood never really spoke much before, but when he comes in your territory to take down the corrupt ex-cop you’re both after; you don’t have much of a choice.

Part 1 , Part 2

Written in collaboration with - @samiyahcc

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Blüdhaven’s sky was choked with a layer of gray clouds, streets slick with the aftermath of last night’s rain, reflecting the neon lights from dive bars and the scattered police sirens in the distance. The air had a familiar heaviness.

You crouched in the shadows of an alleyway, eyes scanning the rundown warehouse ahead. Your breath was steady, each exhale visible in the cool night air.

The dim light of a flickering streetlamp cast harsh shadows across your face, revealing the half-mask that covered your lower face, the rest hidden beneath your hood. The sleek black fabric clung to your frame, reinforced with armor plating at your shoulders and forearms. Your boots silent against the wet concrete, moving as if you were a shadow itself.

You’d been tracking the local gangs’ movements for days now, and it had led you here. The syndicate was rumored to be involved in something big tonight—something that would send ripples through Blüdhaven’s underworld.

You weren't one for brute force; you preferred to gather intel first, to understand the scope before diving in. But tonight was different. Tonight, you’d finally get a look at the men behind the strings, and if things went according to plan, they’d never know you were there.

You adjusted your gloves, checking the weapons hidden beneath your jacket—a few smoke pellets, a set of throwing knives, a grappling hook—and then moved forward. Your footsteps were quiet, calculated.

The warehouse door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling out. You could make out figures inside, though they were still too far for a clear shot. A low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of metal on metal echoed through the air.

Just as you were about to step closer, a voice cut through the air, low and gritty - unmistakable.

“I knew you’d show up.”

You froze.

Your hand instinctively reached for a throwing knife. Red Hood had a reputation—a violent, unpredictable, vigilante who didn’t care for rules, and certainly didn’t care for working with anyone. You’d heard of him, seen his work. He was exactly the kind of person Blüdhaven didn’t need—yet he seemed to be everywhere lately.

You lowered your knife but stayed hidden. You could feel your pulse quicken, a mix of irritation and something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

“Did’ya really think you’d get all the way in without me noticing?” Red Hood’s voice came again, closer this time. “You’re not as quiet as you think.”

From the darkness, he stepped into the dim light of the alley, his silhouette framed by the faint neon glow of a nearby sign. He was taller than you, broad-shouldered in his combat gear, his red helmet glinting under the light.

“You’re getting sloppy, doll,” Hood added, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Thought you were smarter than this.”

You clenched your jaw. “Is that so?” you asked, your voice low.. “What are you doing here, Hood?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back. “I’m here for the syndicate. Same as you, I imagine. Only difference is, I don’t waste my time with intel gathering.”

“Gotham not have anymore crime?” You ask suspiciously, confused on why Hood has been in your territory recently.

“Gothams’ crime has run into Blüdhaven, I’m not here for you.” He shoots back quickly, defensively.

“Funny, I didn’t see you at the docks last week,” you replied, eyeing him. “You must have missed that shipment of weapons they moved.”

Hood’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the air between the two of you crackled with a familiar tension. You could feel the weight of his gaze through the glass of his helmet—sharp, as if he were looking right through you.

“I don’t play by your rules,” he finally responded, voice low and firm.

“You’re better off staying out of this.”

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “I don’t think I have that luxury, do I? Seems like we’re after the same thing, Hood. That ex-cop, the one behind this syndicate. You’ve been after him, haven’t you?”

For a brief moment, there was a flicker of something in Jason’s eyes—recognition, perhaps, or something darker, something angry—but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

“That’s none of your business,” he growled, taking a step closer.

“You’re treading in dangerous waters. You’re better off going back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

You didn’t flinch, standing your ground. “Last I checked, you were in my territory, Hood. If you want to get to the top of this syndicate, you’ll need more than just your ego.”

Hood was silent for a moment, weighing his options. He didn’t trust you—that was obvious. But you knew things he didn’t, and that could make you a valuable asset.

“Fine,” his voice was quiet and measured. “We’re doing this my way,” his voice rumbled through the helmet, closing the distance between you.

“Understand?”

You nodded at him avoiding tilting your head up, your stance relaxed but alert. “Sure. Your way. Just try not to get in my way.”

For a brief second, your eyes met. The moment passed as quickly as it came, and Hood turned back toward the warehouse. “Follow my lead.”

Without a word, you followed him into the shadows.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Inside the warehouse, the air was thick and stale, the faint smell of rust and mildew clinging to every breath. Stacks of crates lined the walls, some labeled with fading, cryptic codes, others bearing the marks of rough handling.

Flickering bulbs swung from the rafters, casting shadows across the cracked concrete floor. The occasional drip of water echoed through the space, a steady metronome to the tension building between you and Hood.

Hood moved first, his steps quiet but purposeful, his frame blending into the shadows. You followed, slipping through the darkness with a practiced ease.

You stayed just a step behind, close enough to catch his scent—a faint mix of leather and gunpowder—and notice the subtle shifts in his posture as he scanned the space.

He stopped suddenly, crouching behind a stack of crates near the center of the warehouse. You mirrored his movement, your gloved hands pressing lightly against the cool concrete as she leaned forward to peer around the edge.

“Three men,” Jason murmured. “One at the desk, two near the loading dock. Armed.”

You squinted, sharp eyes picking out the figures he described. The man at the desk was hunched over something—papers, maybe—while the others paced near the dock, rifles slung over their shoulders.

“Light security,” you whispered back, “This isn’t their main operation. They’re protecting something important, though. Look at the crates near the desk.”

His gaze flicked to the area you indicated - several smaller boxes sat stacked haphazardly, their edges pristine and their surfaces marked with the logo of a well-known tech company.

“Smuggling high-end gear,” Hood muttered. “Looks like someone’s got a taste for expensive toys.”

“Could be weapon components,” you added, brows furrowing. “Or surveillance tech. Either way, they’re funneling it somewhere.”

“Why don’t we ask them ourselves?”

Before you could respond, he moved.

Red Hood was fast—faster than you’d anticipated for someone his size. He surged forward, vaulting over the crates. You hesitated for only a moment, cursing under your breath as you followed, your movements far more careful.

The man at the desk barely had time to react before Hood’s boot connected with the edge of the table, flipping it sideways and scattering the papers into the air.

The man stumbled backward, hand fumbling for his sidearm, but Hood’s fist found his jaw first, dropping him onto the concrete floor with a single strike.

“Shit!” one of the men near the dock shouted, raising his rifle.

You moved in before he could fire, sliding low, your leg sweeping out to knock his feet from under him. As he hit the ground, you twisted, driving your elbow into abdomen. The rifle clattered away, and you snatched it up, dismantling it with a practiced ease before tossing the pieces aside.

The third man bolted for the nearest exit, but Hood was already on him. He grabbed the thug by the back of his collar, yanking him off his feet and slamming him into the nearest wall.

“Where’s your boss?” he growled, his voice cold.

The man choked out something unintelligible, hands scrabbling at Red Hood’s grip.

“Speak up,” Hood demanded, pushing him further into the wall.

“Wait.”

You stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on Hood’s forearm. “Let me talk to him.”

Hood glanced at you, his helmet betraying no emotion, but you could feel his hesitation. He let go, stepping back and crossing his arms as you turned your attention to the trembling man.

You crouched slightly, bringing yourself to eye level with him. Your voice was calm, almost soothing.

“You don’t want to die here tonight,” you said quietly. “And you definitely don’t want him to get involved again. So why don’t you make this easy on yourself and tell me what’s in those crates?”

The man swallowed hard, his eyes darting between you and Hood. “I-I don’t know exactly,” he managed to stammer out. “Some kind of equipment - High-end stuff! We’re just supposed to hold it here until the next pickup.”

You nodded. “And who’s picking it up?”

He hesitated, eyes darting between you and Hood, and you leaned in closer - voice dropping to a whisper. “If you lie to me, he’ll know. And I won’t stop him next time.”

“Rogers!” the man blurted out. “Detective Rogers. He’s the one running the whole thing.”

Hood stiffened at the name, fists clenching at his sides.

“Rogers?” You echoed, “Blüdhaven PD’s Detective Rogers?”

The man nodded frantically. “Yeah! Yeah, that’s him. He’s supposed to be here tomorrow night to check on the shipment.”

Hood stepped forward, looming over the man. “Where?”

“Here!” the man yelped. “He’s coming here!”

Hood’s hand shot out, gripping the man’s collar again. “If you’re lying—”

“I’m not!” he cried. “I swear!”

You placed a hand on Hood’s shoulder again, keeping your touch firm but not forceful. “That’s enough,” you said quietly. “He’s telling the truth.”

Hood released the man with a shove, sending him sprawling to the ground. He turned away, his shoulders tense and his breathing heavy.

You watched him for a moment, thoughts racing. Rogers. The name brought back memories you’d rather forget - memories of corruption, betrayal - and the realization that the system you’d once believed in was irreparably broken.

“He’s mine,” Hood said suddenly, his voice low.

You met his gaze, your expression unreadable. “We’ll see.” Without another word, Hood turned away, heading toward the crates.

You followed, mind already calculating your next move. You couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The warehouse was empty now, silence broken by the faint groans of the man Jason had left sprawled against the floor.

You were silent as you crouched down toward the crates, gloved fingers tracing the faint logo embossed into the wood. You could feel Hood’s presence behind you—he was impossible to ignore, even when he wasn’t speaking. His quiet contemplation filled the space.

“Rogers,” Jason muttered the name like a curse.

You turned your head slightly to glance at him. He was leaning against one of the crates, helmet tilted down just enough to cast a shadow. But you didn’t need to see his expression to know what he was thinking.

“You’ve got history with him,” you muttered - more of a statement than a question.

Jason scoffed. “You could say that.”

You stood, brushing off your gloves. “Care to share?”

As he turned his gaze back towards you, you could feel the weight of it, sharp and probing. “I don’t do story time, doll. Especially not with someone I don’t trust.”

You folded your arms. “Funny. You trusted me enough to let me handle that guy back there.”

Jason’s lips curved into a smile you couldn’t see, but was apparent in his voice. “Let’s not get carried away. I just wanted to see if you’d screw it up.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the crates. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re nosy,” he shot back, stepping closer. “What’s your deal with Rogers? You knew his name the second that guy said it.”

Your jaw tightened. “It’s personal.”

“Isn’t it always?” Hood quipped, his tone lighter now but still edged with curiosity.

You turned to face him fully, hood falling back slightly to reveal more of her face. Your eyes locked onto the crimson metallic mask, and for a moment, you considered not answering.

But there was something in his posture, the way he leaned forward just slightly, that told you he wasn’t asking just to push your buttons.

“Rogers was one of the reasons I left Blüdhaven PD,” you said quietly, your voice steady but quieter now. “He was dirty, feeding intel to the syndicate while pretending to be one of the good guys. I couldn’t prove it at the time, but I knew. And when I pushed too hard, he made sure I was… encouraged to leave.”

Jason was silent for a moment, head tilting slightly as he studied you. “That’s why you’re doing this? The whole brooding in the dark with a mask thing?”

You shook your head. “No. That’s - that’s different. He’s just… unfinished business.”

Hood took another step closer, close enough now that you could see the faint scuff marks on his helmet and the gleam of his armor in the dim light. He was watching you intently, and it suddenly became much harder to keep your breathing steady.

It was moment’s like this - when he was quietly analyzing you - that you noticed just how easily he dwarfed your figure.

“Unfinished business has a way of getting messy,” he said, his voice low but no less intense.

You didn’t reply right away, your gaze drifting to the floor for just a second before snapping back to him. “I don’t need your advice, Hood.”

“No, but you're going to want my help,” he countered, his tone almost teasing.

The silence stretched between the two of you. You could feel the tension building, the kind that wasn’t just about your mission or uneasy alliance. It was something else, something unspoken that neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

Hood shifted his weight slightly, arm brushing against yours. The contact was brief, barely there, but it sent a jolt through you that you couldn’t ignore. You glanced up, startled, and found that he was already staring at you.

For a moment, the world outside the warehouse seemed to fade away. You were acutely aware of how close you were, the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the way his broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than they should.

“You should keep your distance,” Hood muttered quietly, dipping his head to your level.

Your lips curved into a faint smirk, though your voice wavered just slightly. “You’re the one standing too close.”

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

You could feel your heartbeat picking up, could see the subtle tension in his posture. He wasn’t backing down, and for some reason, you didn’t want him to.

“What are you afraid of?” you asked tentatively, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Hood’s helmet tilted just slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

“No,” you said, voice unsteady. “But you’re afraid of something.”

His jaw tightened beneath the helmet, and for a second, you thought he might push you away—end the moment before it could spiral into something you’d both regret.

Instead, he leaned in closer - close enough that you couldn’t help but inhale the familiar scent of his leather jacket. He had to know what this was doing to you. His own posture had shifted, no longer angry and closed off, but tense - almost eager. His voice was so low it was almost a growl.

“I’m not afraid. I’m just not stupid.”

“You’re infuriating,” is all you could manage to whisper.

“And you’re stubborn,” the grin behind his helmet apparent in his voice.

The moment broke when a loud crash echoed from deeper in the warehouse, snapping you both back to reality. Hood straightened immediately, hand moving toward his weapon as his body shifted back into a defensive stance.

You cursed under you breath, pulling your hood back up as you turned toward the sound. The moment was gone, but the weight of it lingered, hanging in the air between you two.

“Up ahead,” he said abruptly.

You nodded, expression unreadable as you moved ahead. Yet as you walked, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, catching Hood lingering for just a second longer than he needed to.

The noise echoed again, sharp and deliberate this time, as if whoever was responsible wanted to be heard. You froze mid-step, ears straining for any further sound. Hood was already moving, his gun in hand as he took the lead without so much as a glance back.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his voice low but firm.

You bristled at the command. “I don’t take orders from you, Hood.”

He shot you a look over his shoulder, the faint glint of light catching on the edge of his helmet. “Fine. Walk in front, then. Let me know how that works out.”

Gritting your teeth, you relented, falling in behind him as you both crept toward the source of the sound. The back of the warehouse was darker, with fewer working lights, and the shadows seemed to deepen with every step they took.

“You think it’s Rogers?” you whispered, lost in thought of him. Trying to connect the dots.

“Too early,” Hood replied, his eyes scanning the rows of crates and shelving units ahead. “Might be someone who got spooked and came back to clean up.”

“Or set a trap,” you added grimly.

He didn’t respond, but the way his shoulders tensed told you he was already thinking the same thing.

As you both rounded the corner, a figure darted into view, disappearing between two towering stacks of crates. You caught the faint glint of metal in their hand—something sharp, maybe a knife or a crowbar.

“Split up,” Hood muttered, moving to the left without waiting for your agreement.

You hesitated for only a second before veering right, movements silent as you followed the figure’s trail. The dim light made it harder to see, but you could still make out faint scratch marks on the floor, signs of hurried movement.

You caught up with the figure near the far wall, where a series of smaller crates were stacked precariously. The person—male, early thirties, scruffy—was fumbling with one of the boxes, trying to pry it open with a crowbar.

“Hey,” you said sharply, stepping out of the shadows.

The man froze, the crowbar slipping from his hands and clattering to the ground. He turned slowly, his face pale and his eyes wide with panic.

“I-I didn’t see anything,” he stammered, holding up his hands. “I swear, I was just—”

“Save it,” you cut him off, stepping closer. “You’re trespassing in a warehouse full of illegal tech. I don’t think you’re here for the view.”

The man opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, Hood appeared behind him, his gun pressed firmly against the back of his head.

“She’s not much for small talk,” Hood said, his tone casual but dangerous. “So why don’t you skip the excuses and tell us what you’re doing here?”

The man whimpered, his knees buckling slightly. “I-I just came back for something I left! That’s all, I swear!”

Hood rolled his shoulders, the movement causing his leather jacket to make a shrill sound. “Try again.”

“I’m serious!” the man cried, his voice cracking. “It was just a personal stash! I don’t even know what they use this warehouse for!”

You stepped closer, sharp eyes narrowing. “What kind of stash?”

The man hesitated, his gaze darting between you and Hood. “Cash,” he finally admitted. “I hid some cash here a while back. I didn’t think anyone would notice if I came back for it.”

Hood scoffed. “You expect us to believe that?”

“I don’t care if you believe me!” the man snapped, though his voice wavered with fear. “It’s the truth!”

You tilted your head, studying him. He didn’t seem like much of a threat—desperate and sloppy, sure, but not connected to Rogers or the shipment. Still, his sudden presence complicated things.

Hood seemed to reach the same conclusion. With a low growl, he stepped back, lowering his gun but keeping it in hand. “Get out of here,” he said coldly. “And if I see you again, I won’t be so nice.”

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and bolted for the nearest exit, tripping over a loose plank on his way but not stopping to look back.

You exhaled, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Think he was telling the truth?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, slipping his gun back into its holster. “He’s not our problem.”

You nodded, though a part of you wasn’t entirely convinced. Something about the man’s presence felt… off, but it was less of a problem to worry about.

Hood turned to face you fully, arms crossed, “You okay?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I can handle one panicked idiot with a pipe, thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant,” his voice was softer now.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. You hesitated, gaze trying to search his mask for any sign of what he really meant.

“I’m fine,” you said finally, though the words felt hollow.

Hood didn’t press it, but the way he looked at you—like he could see through every wall you’d built—it made your stomach twist.

“You don’t have to go after him alone,” he said quietly.

Your breath caught, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. The words were simple, but they carried a weight that felt almost unbearable.

“I’ve been doing this alone for a long time,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Hood took a step closer, his hand almost brushing against yours before he caught himself and pulled back. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

The silence between you stretched again, heavy and charged. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you hated how badly he affected you like this—that his words, his presence, could make you feel things you’d tried so hard to bury.

“We should focus on Rogers,” you said finally, tone sharper than intended.

Hood’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

You moved toward the crates together, the air between you thick with everything left unsaid.

The night darkened as you and Hood pushed further into the warehouse. The air smelled of rust and oil, a heavy, suffocating scent that clung to everything.

Rogers had to be here—you’d pieced together too many clues for him to slip away again. Hood led the way, his boots thudding against the concrete floor, while you moved beside him, breathing steady and shallow.

You kept glancing his way, mind running in circles. It was the way he carried himself, the way his voice had softened earlier, how he'd almost reached out to you…You shook the thoughts away. There was no time for this now.

"Back corner," he whispered, jerking his head toward a section of the warehouse illuminated by flickering yellow lights. You nodded and followed. As the two of you approached, muffled voices grew louder.

You peeked around the corner to see Rogers standing with two armed men near a stack of crates. His slicked-back hair gleamed under the weak light as he gestured angrily toward one of the crates, barking orders.

"Looks like he brought backup," you murmured. Hood smirked faintly, pulling out one of his pistols.

"Doesn't matter. I'll take left; you handle the right."

"You always this bossy?"

"Only when it works," he replied, his tone playful. Without waiting for your reply, he crept forward, disappearing into the shadows. You hesitated for only a moment before slipping into position on the opposite side.

The plan was simple: take out Rogers' guards silently and leave him exposed. But things never went according to plan. One of the guards shifted just as you lunged forward, his boot scraping loudly against the floor. The noise made the other guard whip around, his hand going for his gun.

"Fuck," you hissed as you tackled the first man, driving your knee into his ribs before slamming him to the ground.

A gunshot rang out, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. Hood had already taken down his target, but now the second guard had him pinned, a knife glinting dangerously in the dim light. You didn't think - you just moved.

You hurled one of your throwing knives, the blade embedding itself in the guard's shoulder. He cried out and stumbled, giving Hood just enough time to twist free and knock him unconscious with the butt of his gun.

"Could've handled that," he muttered, shooting you a glance.

"You're welcome," you shot back, pulling your knife free from the guard's shoulder.

The commotion had drawn Rogers' attention. He was already backing toward an exit, his face pale but determined.

"Where you goin?", Jason growled, raising his gun. Rogers froze, his hands slowly lifting in mock surrender.

"Easy, Hood. We're all friends here, right?"

Hood's finger twitched on the trigger. "You've got about five seconds to explain why I shouldn't-"

A sudden burst of movement cut him off. One of the unconscious guards, barely conscious now, had reached for a detonator lying nearby. You saw it before Hood did.

"Quick, get down!" You lunged forward, grabbing Hood by the arm and pulling him to the ground just as the detonator clicked.

A deafening explosion tore through the air, sending crates flying and plunging the warehouse into chaos. The force of the blast threw the both of you against a wall.

Your head slammed into the concrete, and for a moment, the world spun. You blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the ringing in your ears. Hood was already on his feet, blood dripping from the bottom of his helmet.

His eyes scanned the debris and searched for you through the fog. As his eyes finally found yours, he rushed towards you, hands firmly grabbing your arms. Before he could even ask you managed to say,

"I'm fine," though your vision was still swimming, a throbbing pain in the back of your head. Rogers was making his escape now, limping toward a side door with a hand clutching his side.

Hood swore under his breath, his movements slower than usual as he sprinted after him.

You pushed yourself up, your body protesting every step as you followed. By the time you caught up, Hood had Rogers cornered in a narrow hallway, his gun trained on the man's chest.

"You don't get to walk away," Hood snarled, his voice low and gritty.

Rogers laughed weakly, face twisted in pain. "You think killing me solves anything? I'm just a cog in the machine, Hood. Take me out, and someone worse will take my place."

His hand trembled slightly, gun wavering. You stepped closer, gaze flicking between the two men.

"Hey," you said quietly to Hood, voice cutting through the tension. "This isn't about him. It's about shutting this whole operation down."

He didn't look at you, but you could see the conflict in his posture, the way his jaw tightened. Hood’s hand trembled slightly as you stepped closer - and, finally, with a frustrated growl, he lowered the gun and slammed the butt of it against Rogers' head, knocking him unconscious.

"He's not worth the bullet," Hood muttered. You exhaled in relief, but the moment was short-lived. A fresh wave of armed men burst into the hallway, shouting orders as they raised their weapons.

"Move!" Hood shouted, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back toward the main floor.

The next few minutes were a blur of gunfire and shouting. Hood covered their retreat, his aim precise despite his injuries, while you did your best to fight off anyone who got too close. They ducked behind crates, weaving through the chaos as the sound of reinforcements grew louder.

Hood’s movements slowed as he noticed blood seeping from a wound on his side, his breathing labored. You saw him falter and immediately doubled back, throwing yourself between him and the attackers.

"Go!" you shouted. "I got it!"

He glared at you but didn't have the energy to argue. He stumbled toward an exit, leaving you to hold off the remaining men.

You fought like a woman possessed, blades flashing in the dim light. But even you couldn't keep it up forever. Just as one of the men raised his gun, Hood reappeared, slamming into him with enough force to knock him out cold.

"Thought I told you to go," you muttered as you helped him limp toward the exit.

"And miss saving your ass?" he shot back, his smirk faint but genuine.

The two of you finally burst out into the open air, collapsing against the side of the building as sirens blared in the distance. Hood was slumped against the wall, his breathing was labored and wavered.

"You're an idiot," you said, tone harsh but it was an empty insult, as you checked his wound.

“Back at you" he replied, voice heavy.

The tension from earlier returned, heavier now with the weight of everything you two had just been through. Your hands stilled against his side, your breath catching as you realized how close you were.

"Don't," he warned, though his voice was quieter now, almost pleading.

"I'm not doing anything," you whispered, gaze locked on his, staring at your reflection. With a quiet sigh, you pulled back, breaking the moment.

"Let's get out of here," your voice came out unsteady. He nodded, though his gaze lingered on you for just a second longer. "Yeah, c’mon.”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #dcu #dc comics #dc #batman #jason todd has been living rent free in my head for 7 years now #cross posted on ao3

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