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becauseicantthinkwritings · 2 days ago

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Geez, rereading this has my brain fired up

Like... oh my god

Angel of Small Death

Part 8 of my Halloween mini series!

Dark! Frank Castle, Dark Priest! Billy Russo, Dark Priest! Matt Murdock.

Warnings: Blasphemy, death, guilt, corruption, threesome, oral (f/m) smut.

A/N: It's only gonna get worse

Father Heath is found dead the next morning.

His body, in such a state of decomposition that the doctor had dissuaded you from viewing it.

You were glad for it, you didn’t think you could look upon another dead body, ever since you’d been forced to assist with the ones that perished in the mysterious plague, the very idea of a corpse made you ill.

Father Russo is kind enough to visit you, in your office after the body has been found. His arms are tight around your body, quiet whispers, promises, that everything would be well.

You’re distressed, crying into his shoulder, he looks pained to see you this way, but all you feel is the helplessness you experienced not too long ago.

It had apparently been an accident, in the pouring rain, Father Heath had slipped, and fell head first from one of the outlying granges, used to keep some of the grains safe and dry in the wet season.

It comforts you, that his death was most likely quick. Billy reassures you that he most likely felt absolutely no pain in his last moments.

You hold Vigil that evening in the church. It’s the first time in a while that the rain doesn’t fall, and in the morning, funeral mass is held.

You sit among your sisters, listening to them sniffle, watching as Matt delivers the final sermon.

His voice is calm, soothing, you close your eyes and simply listen to him. It helps a lot, and when he’s done, you follow behind as they take the coffin to its final resting place in the cemetery.

You sit in the bathing pool for hours after, examining the sprigs of floating lavender that pass you by, thinking about the inevitability of death, and the ways that your actions hold the shape of your afterlife.

“Bless me Father, for my sins.” You murmur, lifting your rosary, to kiss the crucifix.

“Speak your burdens, and they shall be heard.” A familiar voice responds, differently cadenced than Matt’s.

“It has been one week since my last confession, and though I have atoned for my sins, I still feel the weight of them.”

“It is normal to feel this way. Tell me what troubles you.”

Billy.

You swallow.

“I have allowed myself to sin carnally, and…I find that my body yearns for it.”

He makes a low hum of contemplation from the other side of the wall. You grip your skirts, trying to ignore the way he makes you feel.

“What do you yearn for?” He asks.

“Touch, Father, I yearn to be touched.”

You hear rustling from the other side of the wall.

“By yourself?”

“N-no- by… others.”

“Speak their names, give them power.”

You feel your heart kick in surprise at his debauched words.

“Father Murdock, Father Russo…” You swallow, “Mister Castle.”

“And what would you have them do to you?” Father Russo asks next.

“Is… discussing this appropriate?”

“Of course… How can I help you if I do not know the extent of your fantasies?”

You pause for a second, deep in thought.

“Their hands, their mouths, I can’t stop thinking about how they would feel on my skin, pressed against my body.”

“Good. Tell me where.”

“Where?” You stutter out.

“Don’t be shy, tell me what you think about.”

There are so many things, you don’t know where to begin.

“I want to kiss them, feel their lips on mine, move between them. I want bruising, punishing kisses, and soft, sweet kisses and hungry, devouring ones too.”

“All of them? At once?”

You let out a shaky breath.

“Yes,” You almost moan, pulling your skirts up, desperate to relieve some of the ache in your body brought upon by speaking about this topic.

“I want them to lie with me, take care of me, touch each part of me.”

On the other side of the wooden wall, you hear a slow groan.

Did he like your words too? Did he agree with them? Did he want to see your fantasies fulfilled?

“I need you to touch yourself now,” Billy utters on a pained breath, “Reach down, and ease that feeling inside of you.”

You don’t need any more persuasion, reaching down, cupping your heated flesh, fingers delving right to your sticky center.

You let out a soft gasp, your head thuds against the wood as it falls back.

“That’s it, just like that.” Billy guides.

You bite down on your bottom lip, sighing, thinking about the things you might let them do if they pleased, anything to feel that release.

“Father Russo.” You gasp out, shaking your head, needing more than your fingers could give.

He groans.

You hear the distinct sound of hinges squeaking as a door opens, and then movement, before a little knock on your side of the confessional.

Your lips part in surprise, you right yourself hastily, leaning forward, you unlatch the door to find Billy looking down at you with hungry eyes.

He steps in, closing the door behind him, before moving to stand in front of you.

What if someone had seen him? You don't get the chance to say anything before he lowers himself to his knees in front of you.

“You make me, insatiable, little lamb, and I will not be denied any longer.”

His eyes on yours, he reaches under your skirts, warm hands gliding along your legs gently, working their way up… up… until his fingers curl on the edges of your undergarment.

“I'll make you feel good.” He promises, when he notices your hesitation, and you swallow, finding the words to protest.

“We shouldn’t.” You try softly, wondering why you picked now to suddenly defy him.

The corner of his mouth tilts up.

“Don't you trust me?” Billy asks softly.

You swallow, nodding automatically. Despite being apart for years, you knew that he was always someone you could depend on. There had never been a moment where you wondered if he was capable of leading you astray, and you weren't about to start now.

He tugs your undergarment down your legs, and you stiffen when he pushes your legs apart to settle between them.

He makes a soft hum of appreciation, before leaning in to kiss your thighs.

The sensation is so soft, so careful, that you feel your own fragility, tipping your head back, letting out a little gasp as his mouth pays you careful attention.

Is this what Eve felt? When she sinned for the very first time? How euphoric, how worshipped her experience might have been and you think you understand her just a little bit more.

When his tongue presses between your thighs, you have that aching sensation of familiarity, mixed with the sweet burning of ecstasy in your head.

You gasp, saying his name as pleasure rolls over you, the filthy sound of his tongue exploring you reaching your ears.

When his movement increases, you feel your body fight to succumb, muscles going pliant, thighs shaking as they try to comprehend the pleasure.

The squeaking sound of the confessional door opening fills your ears, your eyes open in panic.

It's not your side- it must be the other, you hear dull shuffling, before someone softly clears their throat.

You glance down at Billy between your thighs for help but he seems absolutely unbothered by the new developments.

Through the crisscrossed slats in the wood, you catch sight of red rimmed spectacles.

“Speak when you are ready.” Matthew’s voice says calmly on the other side.

You feel Billy’s tongue glide over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Bless me… Father, f-for my sins.”

You hear him let out a deep chuckle.

“Speak your sins, little one.”

Speak? You were supposed to speak?

“It's been a few days since my last confession, and I find myself-ah- plagued with desire.”

Billy huffs in amusement, his breath tickling your center.

“In what way has this desire manifested?”

“Ph- physically- my body aches for release like never before.” Your eyes roll back into your head for a moment as Billy’s lips close around your bud.

“You poor thing,” Matthew hums, his voice sweetly sympathetic, you could only wonder if he had any inclination that on the other side of the wall you had another priest feasting hungrily between your thighs.

“Have you tried to resist temptation? To pray for strength in overcoming these carnal urges?”

“Yes I’ve tried,” You whisper hoarsely, “But they won’t go away, they won’t accept defeat.”

“I understand, little one. These desires are persistent, aren’t they? And yet, perhaps there is a freedom to surrendering to one’s true nature, embracing the passions that burn within us, rather than denying them.”

You find yourself nodding along helplessly while Billy licks you eagerly.

“Perhaps it is time to confront these feelings head-on. To acknowledge the fire that rages inside you and seek a way to quench its thirst.”

“Please, Father Murdock,” You gasp, saying his name, feeling Billy’s hands tighten on your thighs, “Guide me.” You finish.

Matthew’s fingers push through the slats of wood, and with one great tug, the small crisscrossed panel comes free, leaving an open square gap in its place.

Billy pauses the movements of his tongue between your thighs to lift his head. You stare in amazement at the gap, knowing that it shouldn’t have been that easy to remove.

“F-Father Murdock?” You ask softly.

“Kneel, little one.” He answers without explanation.

You glance down at Billy in confusion, watching a devious and seductive grin grow on his face. He raises a hand, and presses a finger to his lips, an indication for you to not say anything to give away Billy’s presence.

Billy pulls away, and settles himself on the floor facing upwards, gripping your leg and tugging you off the little wooden bench seat, tugging at you until your knees are on either side of his face, your body directly in front of the wooden gap, facing Matt.

You don’t have a moment to ponder on what exactly Billy hopes to achieve with you almost seated on his face- when Father Murdock’s straining member appears in front of you.

Your mouth drops open in surprise- never having seen one so… prominent. It’s large in every conceivable way, and you’re not entirely sure what he expects you to do with it.

The tip of it is a flushed pink, beaded with a clear substance, and you stiffen in fear, feeling Billy’s hands roam your thighs in an attempt to soothe you.

“Matthew?” You ask again, hoping for some guidance.

“Open wide, little one. Worship your priest as only a devoted acolyte can.”

You exhale a breath of anxiety, leaning in, your mouth wraps around the very tip of him.

He groans softly, leaning in till his hips are flushed to the open gap. You tilt backwards in response, lest you take a significant portion of his length into your mouth before you’re ready.

You’re unsure of how to move, but it’s as if your body knows, the instinct hidden deep within you, only coming forth when needed. Slowly, you begin to move your head back and forth, taking him into your mouth measuredly.

“That’s it,” Matt hums, “Don’t be afraid, embrace the pleasure.”

Your mouth wrapped around him, you moan in surprise when you feel Billy pull your hips onto his face, his tongue finding that aching spot inside of you once more.

It’s sin, it has to be. This was the pleasures of the flesh that you’d been warned about from an early age. The fear of enjoyment that the matrons had tried to beat into you, falling apart with just the touch of Billy’s tongue and a mouthful of Matthew’s swollen erection.

“You love this, don’t you, little one? You crave the taste of my divine body.”

You moan in agreement, taking him deeper, hearing him stutter out a breath in response.

Billy’s tongue is equally wicked, delving into your deepest parts, flicking rapidly along your swollen bundle of nerves, making you more desperate to please.

You choke on Matthew’s erection, taking it too deeply in an impassioned moment, hearing the man before you groan especially loud.

You can barely think, squeezing your eyes shut, rocking your hips onto Billy’s tongue as your body burns, begging for a release that promises incoherence.

You work your mouth to the pace of Billy’s tongue, your jaw aching at Matthew’s size, your body tingles, nipples pebbled and rubbing against your underclothing, desperate to be free.

You moan around his erection, body shaking, the pleasure Billy gives you is so much more than you've ever experienced.

You squeeze your eyes shut, whines muffled by Matthew, and you take him in deeply as you feel your body reach its peak.

You tremble, rubbing yourself desperately onto Billy’s tongue as rapture, unlike anything you've ever experienced, fills you. From your aching center, all the way up your spine, filling your head with hazy thoughts of submission and obedience.

In the midst of it, you hear Matthew groan, before he spills into your mouth.

You swallow without thinking, some of it slipping from the corner of your mouth as he draws away with haste, concealing himself before replacing the wooden panel that he'd ripped off.

You pant, leaning back, pulling your body off of Billy’s mouth to settle on the floor beside him. He lets out a soft chuckle, sitting up, your lower halves pressed together in the tight space.

He licks at his lips, you watch, transfixed, wiping his mouth to rid himself of any evidence of debauchery.

His eyes filled with mirth as they study you. He reaches out, and uses a thumb to swipe at Matthew’s release on your face, guiding it into your mouth.

“What I wouldn't give to be able to take you right now.” He murmurs, deep in thought.

“What's stopping you?” You ask curiously, not totally sure if you were ready for that.

He shakes his head sadly, pulling you against him, cradling your body in the small space.

“It's not time.” He answers cryptically, holding you close in these moments as your bodies come to terms with the sins you've committed.

#billy russo x reader #matt murdock x reader #frank castle x reader #dark!billy russo #dark!matt murdock #dark!frank castle

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 2 days ago

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“Bend over my desk.”

Lord, who wrote this absolute horny fever dream?

Oh. me.

Angel of Small Death

Part 7 in my Halloween mini series!

Dark Priest!Billy Russo, Dark Priest!Matt Murdock, Dark!Frank Castle

Warnings: Major blasphemy, dub-con, corruption, spanking (with a Bible), very very inappropriate use of said Bible, oral (f), edging, being held in place.

You check on Billy in the morning.

He has no recollection of ever being in the attic, no clue how he got there or even why. The last thing he remembered was going to sleep the night before.

He looks so concerned, so worried, that you don't bother to tell him about the things he did, the things you wanted him to do.

Your heart hurts a little at the thought, that all of his words had no meaning, that those hungry, ravenous kisses weren't meant for you.

It helps you grow more complacent with the idea of Father Murdock's punishment, that your loyalties were to God, and this monastery, and a few moments of weakness couldn't define you.

Your head is held high when you step into Matt's office at midday, prepared for whatever punishment he would dole out.

You would take it, and you would grow from it.

But you stiffen when you step in to find a person you’re not expecting.

“Mister Castle?” You ask curiously, your stomach going queasy with anxiety.

Frank turns, lifting his head from the bible in his hands, looking at you in an expectant and eager way that has you second guessing the strength of your resolve.

“Hey sweetheart,” He murmurs, snapping the book shut, “you’re right on time.”

“On time?” You question, wondering exactly how much he knew. Glancing around the room you note that Matthew isn’t even here.

He gives you a cryptic smile, moving toward you, placing the bible onto Matthew’s desk, before stopping in front of you.

His face is contemplative, stern, he raises a hand, trailing the backs of his fingers over your cheek.

Your breath catches as his touch tingles across your skin.

“Billy keeps touching you when he knows he shouldn’t.” His voice ripples across your skin, that spot between your legs warms slightly.

You swallow, feeling the need to defend your longtime friend.

“He was just confused, he didn’t mean to.”

“No?” Frank asks, “And what about the night he came into your room to taste you? Was he confused then?”

Your eyebrows draw together.

Had that actually happened? Was it not a vivid dream? How did Frank know about it?

You can’t find the words to express your disbelief, searching his face for any indication that he was lying to you.

“That didn’t happen.” You protest weakly.

Instead of responding, his smile only deepens.

The sound of the door locking behind you draws your attention, and you turn to see Father Murdock standing at the door.

“I’m happy to see you came,” Matthew says, and you frown, opening your mouth to tell him that you hadn’t had much of a choice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this.” Frank answers. You glance at him, your brain teetering on overdrive as you try to fit pieces together that don’t go quite right.

Matthew leans his cane against the door, carefully approaching the both of you.

“And you, little one, are you ready to accept your sins and work towards redemption?”

You straighten.

“I am.”

“Good.” he says with finality, approaching you.

He reaches out, fingers finding your rosary around your neck, tracing the pearls.

“Tell me about this.” He says.

You swallow, glancing down at the rosary in question.

“It’s been passed down through each Mother Superior for generations. I inherited it when she passed. God bless her soul.”

“I see, and how did she die?”

You blink, wondering how he hasn’t heard the bizarre story yet.

“She got sick, they all did, every senior person in the abbey. It was horrible.”

“You poor thing.” Frank says, stepping closer behind you, and you turn to look up at him.

You give him a weak smile.

“It happens, I guess. The Lord’s reasons are not always known to us.”

He chuckles, lifting a hand to hover it over your rosary as well, never actually touching it.

“I suppose so.” He murmurs.

“Remove it,” Matthew’s voice interjects, “We are going to begin your punishment now.”

You nod, shakily tugging the rosary over your head, wrapping it around your fist with the expectation that you’re going to pray.

“Bend over my desk.”

You freeze.

“Wh-what?”

Matthew angles his head, saying Frank’s name, your eyes dart between the men as some kind of silent exchange happens.

Frank smiles politely, reaching out to grip your shoulders.

“I don’t think he wants to repeat himself, sweetheart.” Frank says, turning your body and guiding you toward the wooden desk.

Your hips pressed flush to the desk, you gasp as he presses on your shoulder, bending you over the table.

When you try to protest, and raise your body, Frank reaches to grip your wrists, pressing them down.

It renders you somewhat immobile, Frank moves to sit in the chair right in front of you, almost at eye level, while he keeps his grip firm on your wrists.

“What is going on? What kind of punishment is this?” You ask, wriggling, confused as to how this will redeem you in any way.

You feel hands settle on your backside, tugging your skirt up slowly.

“This punishment,” Matthew says behind you, “Is designed to make you reflect on your sins, to associate any thoughts of defilement with discomfort.”

Frank’s grip tightens on your wrists, drawing your attention.

“Don’t panic,” He whispers, leaning in close to you so that his voice is right in your ear, “Just look at me, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

His eyes do calm you, the warmth of his hands and the smell of sage that fills your senses eases your nerves.

You let out a slow breath, nodding at Frank.

Your eyes widen dramatically in the next moment when you feel your undergarments tugged down the length of your legs.

Your lower half is exposed to Father Murdock, and you stiffen when you feel his bare hand grip at the flesh of your cheek firmly.

“Let’s start simple,” Matt starts, “Was that the first time you’ve let a man touch you?”

You swallow.

“No.”

Something firm comes down on your rear, it makes a dull sound before you feel a gentle sting.

You turn your head, catching sight of the Bible that Frank had been reading earlier in Father Murdock’s hands, but as soon as you see it, Frank’s free hand is on your jaw, twisting your vision back to him.

He shakes his head.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me.” He commands.

You shiver, nodding, mouth dropping open at the flood of sensations you were experiencing, that… wasn’t quite bad at all.

“When was the first time you let someone defile you?” Matthew asks.

Frank's eyes study your face as you contemplate your answer.

“I kissed Billy, i-in the gazebo in the cemetery, when I was around seventeen.”

You gasp, feeling another hit against your rear, your eyes rolling in pleasure for just a moment.

“Is that all?”

“N-no, I kissed him a few days ago, in the same place.”

The bible hits you again.

“He’s the only man you’ve ever kissed?”

“Yes.” You answer honestly.

“But he’s not the only man you desire.” Matthew continues with a statement, and not a question.

“Um,” You murmur, trying to stall.

The bible comes down harder on your flesh, and you can’t help the moan that leaves your mouth.

“Please, Father Murdock, I’m sorry.”

His palm presses to your heated rear, fingers dipping down until they brush against your most intimate parts.

“You don’t feel sorry, little one, you feel wet.”

A whine leaves your throat, his fingers probe you, gliding over your cunt, pausing on your aching bud.

“Is this what you want? Does it excite you to be touched like this?”

You don’t answer, dropping your head in shame.

Another spank, this time a little harder than you expect.

Tears pool in your eyes.

“Yes, Father.” You answer honestly.

Another hit, followed by another. The pain stings, your body hot, the little spot between your legs throbbing, begging for attention.

You feel his hand, pulling your legs further apart, before something rubs against your center.

You tip your head back, mouth open, but before any sound can get out, Frank is pushing his thumb into your mouth.

“Not too loud, we don’t want anyone to hear you.”

Tears slip from the outer corners of your eyes, down your cheeks to pool in his hand, Matthew rubs the spine of the bible between your thighs in a slow, agonising movement.

You moan around Frank’s thumb, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure you’ve never felt before assails you.

Frank’s rough thumb sways over your thumb, you whimper, opening your eyes to meet his.

Matthew continues to give you pleasure, instead of pain, rubbing the indented leather spine along the seam of your cunt, pressing in, circling against you for a few moments.

Your fingers curl around your rosary, an aching throb begging you to tilt your hips up and rock your body further onto Matthew’s bible.

He spanks you again, and your only response is to suck on Frank’s fingers more passionately.

You flutter your pleading eyes at him, trying for the first time, to seduce, to encourage him to pleasure your body.

Frank smiles, dark eyes that seem to bore right into your soul, he leans forward to delicately glide his nose against yours.

“You take punishment so beautifully, sweetheart.”

You lean into the palm of his hand, accepting the compliment gratefully.

Your head swarms with pleasure, approaching that peak so easily you can almost taste it, Matt behind you, quietly pleasuring you.

You groan in dismay when he stops, feeling his hands smooth over the curves of your behind.

Your face is so close to Frank’s that you don’t react when you feel his tongue dart out to lick your tears away. You’re surprised at the way it feels, very different from Billy’s rougher, longer, an oddness to it that you cannot put your finger on.

You accept your fate, at the mercy of these two men, wondering briefly how Billy would fit into the mix.

Frank pulls his thumb out of your mouth, gripping your jaw softly so that he can press his mouth to yours.

At the same time, you feel a tongue dart out to lick between your legs.

You feel like putty, being molded anew, as Frank kisses your lips and Matthew kisses your cunt.

You gasp into Frank’s mouth, feel him chuckle, his lips taste sweet, soft, his tongue- dextrous and wicked, delving into your mouth with expert precision.

Humming, you note hazily that Frank’s tongue has two points, the movements are vile, delicious, you want to feel like this permanently.

Matt’s tongue is no less capable, licking hungrily at your wetness, humming into your delicate skin, kissing the areas that he’s punished with his bible.

Your toes curl, fingers tight around your rosary, head floating. Your body trembles, your breath stalling in your chest as bliss approaches.

Matthew’s tongue withdraws, and you find that the disappointment is almost too much to bear.

You stiffen, eyes searching Frank’s, begging for something more as Matthew rights your underwear, pulling your skirt over your legs.

Frank withdraws too, you glance down, watching as he removes his hand from around your wrists, his palm holding odd marks where your rosary has touched him.

“Why?” You whisper helplessly.

“Punishments are not supposed to feel good, little one, they’re supposed to make you want to be good.”

Your body responds eagerly to Matthew’s words. You find that he’s right, you want to be good, you want- more of what he gave you.

“How do I be good?” You ask timidly.

Matthew helps you stand on shaky legs, his mouth- pink and glistening- no doubt with your arousal.

“Obedience.” He answers your question, carefully untangling your rosary from your hands and placing it around your neck.

He takes a second, running his thumb across your bottom lip gently, the gesture heavy with affection.

“I have to go now, but I'll see you later?” He murmurs.

You nod, looking up at him with glassy eyes, wondering if you were too much above begging for release.

You don't get a chance to contemplate it further, before he leaves.

You drop your head, contemplating your actions, before turning to look at Frank.

“I'm confused.”

Frank chuckles, moving around the table to stand before you.

“What's troubling you?”

“I was just punished for letting Billy almost defile me last night, and in the process, he- you both- well you defiled me in a way too.”

“That does sound confusing, yes.” He agrees, stepping in closer. You take a deep breath, enjoying his masculine scent.

“I think, sweetheart, you just have to accept that these things are barely going to make sense from now on.”

Your eyebrows draw together in further confusion. He reaches up, fingers stroking your jaw to bring your attention back to him.

“You really are beautiful.” He says, deep in thought. You feel heat rising to your cheeks.

“Th- thank you.” You whisper.

“When was the last time he was seen?” Sister April asks.

You wait, listening to Sister Margaret's mumbled response.

“Perhaps at morning mass yesterday? Definitely not after that. Father Murdock even confirmed that he wasn't in the dormitory last night.”

“It was pouring last night,” you recall, “Could he have gotten lost somewhere?”

Sister April lifts her shoulders.

“It’s possible, everyone is looking for him, hopefully he is found soon.”

You nod in agreement, concerned for one of the monks residing here.

You’d been so caught up with Billy, Matthew and Frank, that you’d let your duties to your people fall short, and now someone was missing.

It was hard not to blame yourself.

#I'M HOME ALONE AND I JUST HEARD SOMETHING MOVE #it's probably the dog #BUT IT SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 2 days ago

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I just scared myself with my own writing, but omg Billy was sooooooooooo down bad in this part you almost feel sorry for him

Angel of Small Death

Part 6 of my Halloween mini Series!

Dark Priest!Billy Russo, Dark Priest!Matt Murdock, Dark!Frank Castle

Warnings: Blasphemy, horror, fear, kissing, a quick implication of dub-con.

A/N: @ittybxttykxttytxtty hehe

The thunder comes before the rain that evening, dark clouds and loud skies and not a drop of rain until night falls.

It’s pouring, and you’re too cold to risk the rain to go to the church, so you stay indoors, and you try to read by flickering candlelight until the scripture gives you a headache.

Sleep is troublesome, the roaring of the storm overhead disturbs your peace, and when the lightning strikes, you sit upright in bed. Heart pounding, terror in your veins, you decide to risk the rain, covering your body with extra layers to ensure that you can at least make it to the church a little dry.

It helps some, the base of your dress and the top of your head still gets wet, but the rest of you goes untouched by the rain.

The church is dark, all the candles have gone out, and you have to feel your way to a nearby lamp, striking a match to light it.

You sit in the second pew as usual, bringing your knees up to your chest and looking up at the crucifix at the altar.

Even though you’re in your safe space, it doesn’t help your anxiety like it usually does, and you close your eyes, begging God for an ease in your trepidation.

The only response you get is a flash of lightning, followed by booming thunder.

Something cold drips onto your shoulder, and you open your eyes in surprise. Touching the spot, you look up at the ceiling in surprise. You wait a moment, and nothing else falls.

There was probably another leak in the attic, you wipe your hands on your dress, sitting up and grabbing your lamp with purpose.

Maybe it was something small that you could handle until the rain stopped, and you’re happy for the welcome distraction, knowing exactly what to do since you’d seen Frank do it before.

You make your way up to the balcony seats on the second level, finding the wooden stick that’s there, but stopping in surprise when you find that the steps are already down.

Maybe someone had forgotten to put them back in their original position, and you shrug, grabbing your lamp and taking your time to climb the steps while holding your lamp and the edge of your gown, avoiding the nails sticking out.

It’s not easy, and the rain is louder up here, pelting onto the roof in an almost deafening rush.

You don’t even know where to begin, going to the post that was shifted last time, finding it nailed securely into place, most definitely done by Frank the morning after.

You walk around large shrouded objects, looking around, taking a deep breath when you begin to feel like you’re not entirely alone up here.

It makes your limbs feel heavy, each step is difficult with the pressing weight of being observed, as if you can just look over your shoulder and find someone standing right behind you.

You realise this was a mistake, coming up here to search for a leak, you should have gotten someone to help you, maybe risked the rain to get Frank.

Turning, you pause when it takes you a moment to remember which way to go in the darkness.

Picking a path, you begin walking, yelping in fright when lightning flashes, illuminating the entire space. You identify a circular window where the light came in, one that you can see from the front of the church but never really paid attention to.

You squeeze your eyes shut, flinching when the thunder comes next, a booming explosion that makes you regret leaving the safety of the pew.

Determined to leave, you continue walking, pausing when you notice a human-like figure standing in the far reaches of your light.

Fear freezes itself into your limbs, and you take a step forward cautiously.

It’s almost definitely a person, their back facing you, dressed in a white sleep tunic that men usually wear.

“Hello?” You say, calling out, swallowing nervously as the figure turns their head.

“Billy?” You call, when the light touches him enough for you to identify the way his hair falls.

He raises a hand, bringing it to his mouth as he turns to look at you, licking something off of his fingers in the low light.

He turns when you finally approach him, his eyes are unfocused, as if he’s not paying attention to anything around him.

You reach out, putting your hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

He says your name, tilts his head, eyes finally focusing on you.

“What are you doing up here?” You ask softly, reaching up to touch his forehead, feeling his feverish skin.

His feet are bare, and covered in mud, you frown, wondering why you hadn’t seen any footprints.

“Set me as a seal upon thine heart.” He whispers, raising his hand to hold yours.

The line squeezes at your heart, the implication of his words fluttering in your stomach.

His hand is rough, he brings your palm up to his face, pressing his cheek into your hand, closing his eyes.

Lightning flashes and you jump, burying your face into his chest as thunder explodes all around you.

Billy embraces you tightly, soothing you through the thunder, and when it stops, you step out of his arms, looking up at him with frightened eyes.

“Let’s go, I don’t want to be up here any longer.” You say, taking his hand and tugging him along.

You know you want to get his feet cleaned first, and then wrap him up somewhere and let him get some rest. This must be the dazed and confused symptoms that the doctor had mentioned might happen.

One hand linked in his, and the other on your lamp, you guide him down to a nearby pantry, grabbing a pitcher of water, a few rags and a bowl to wash his feet.

It’s a little hard to see in the dark, but you sit him down, working slowly to get him cleaned. He doesn’t speak, murmuring to himself now and again, while you think.

Set me as a seal upon thine heart, he’d said. It was a line with such deep meaning that for a moment you wonder if he really meant to say it about you.

But he’d said your name, meaning it was you he was thinking about.

How could he ask you to own him so easily? As if he, as a priest and you, as mother superior, had any sort of future together?

To claim him, mark him, forever bearing the imprint of your love-

-that was a dream only possible for spouses, and not leaders of faith.

You look up at him, his glassy eyes fixed on you.

Did he want to abandon his faith? For you?

When you’re done, you leave him for a moment, finding a wash basin to clean your hands.

You gasp when you feel his body press against you.

You turn halfway, his fingers caressing your face.

“A seal upon your heart,” He says with a pained, desperate voice, “A seal on your arm.”

“Billy-” You begin to say, voice halting when he reaches out to grip your hair beneath your veil.

He holds you still, tilting his wrist to manipulate your head, angling you so that your neck is exposed to him.

His tongue drags wetly along the column of your neck, a soft sound of delight leaving your lips.

“A lily among brambles.” He moans into your ear, tongue darting out to lick along your jaw. Your fingers pause on his chest as you struggle with the concept of pushing him away.

He kisses your mouth, hands cupping your cheeks, pouring endless desire into you, whispering in between breathless kisses.

“I am sick with love,” he confesses, his tongue reaching out to greet yours, “your love is better than wine.”

“Billy.” You moan in response, eagerly returning his kisses.

You’ve never felt like this, so wanted, so desired, you ache for him, you wish he would do more than kiss you like a starving man.

Someone clears their throat, and you shove Billy as hard as you can in panic, stepping back.

You only get a moment to notice Father Murdock, before Billy is upon you again, gripping your face, trying to kiss you.

“Matt!” You say in surprise, “This isn’t- It’s not what it-” You duck out of Billy’s searching arms.

“-I think he may be having an episode of sorts.”

You skirt around the table, moving behind Matthew in hopes that he finds a way to wake Billy from his trance.

Matthew reaches out to grip Billy’s shoulder as he approaches, holding the man at bay.

“Matt,” Billy murmurs, registering the other person in the room, “Keep her still for me I want her.”

Your mouth parts in shock at his words.

Thankfully, Matthew doesn’t oblige his words, reaching into his pocket, he pulls a small brown vial out and uncaps it, holding it under Billy’s nose.

You watch as Billy takes one breath of it and sags, almost limp, Matthew guides him into the chair he was sitting at before and he’s out cold in the next moment.

It takes a minute before you can find words to speak.

“Is he… alright?”

Father Murdock doesn’t answer.

“Where did you find him?” He asks instead.

“In the attic- I- I thought there was a leak-”

“-You were alone with him up there?” He asks sternly.

You feel like a child in trouble.

“Yes, but nothing happened-”

“-and you expect me to believe that? After what I just witnessed?” He interrupts.

You go quiet for a moment before searching for the right words.

“He- something overcame him.” You try to explain.

“I’ve been standing here longer than you think. I watched you enjoy his advances. Who knows, you might have kept going if I hadn’t interrupted- defiled yourself in that very spot-” He sucks in a deep breath, letting it out sharply.

“It was a moment of weakness, Father.” You whisper, using his title, “Forgive me.”

He gives a sharp shake of his head.

“An offence so grievous, requires punishment, little one.” He stands, turning to you.

“If you wish to be forgiven, come to my office tomorrow when the sun is at its highest, and we will see about your penance.”

Your eyes widen in fright.

“And if not?”

He smiles coldly.

“If not, you would have committed a grave sin, and I may have to reveal your transgressions.”

You nod in understanding.

“Very well, I will do my best to be forgiven.”

#oh my god i love him #billy russo x female reader

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 2 days ago

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😂😂😂😂

Angel of Small Death

Part 5 of my Halloween mini series!

Dark Priest! Matt Murdock, Dark Priest! Billy Russo, Dark! Frank Castle

Warnings: Dub-Con, oral (f), scars.

A/N: My biggest fear right now is accidentally writing angle instead of angel in the title.

The rain is still going when you leave the church, fatigued and desperate for sleep.

Your gown clings to your skin, you have to fight to get it off, and you peel your chemise off too, hanging it to dry, crawling into bed and wrapping your soft white sheets around your body.

It should be fine, your robe is nearby in case of an emergency, and as you settle, your body relaxes, sending you off into a ridiculously comfortable sleep.

You stir when you feel hands on you. A delicious feeling of exploration over your legs, up to grip your hips.

A moan slips past your lips, you hear a low chuckle in response.

“Billy?” You whisper softly, as you peek an eye open, looking down.

He's hovering above you, the planes of his face are barely visible, his eyes glittering in the darkness.

Was this a dream?

“He told me not to come. But he doesn’t control me.” Billy murmurs, cryptically, tugging at the sheets wrapped around you.

“Who?” You ask dumbly, your brain foggy and struggling to understand anything that was going on.

He only laughs again, pulling the covers off your body finally.

You only remember that you're mostly naked after the cold air brushes your skin, you gasp, reaching for the sheet.

You pause when you feel your final undergarment being tugged down your legs, you drop the sheet in favour of trying to stop him.

Your limbs are too heavy, and he gets you naked without breaking a sweat, finally rising to study your body.

“Billy-” You say, pushing at him when he draws closer. You wonder if this might be another symptom of his head injury.

“You're dreaming, sweetheart.” He murmurs coming in close to be heard above the pouring rain.

“I just want to taste you a little more. Won't you let me?”

You swallow, pausing.

He takes it as acceptance, kissing your lips softly before sliding all the way down your body, guiding your legs over his shoulders.

You've never felt this before, and you're not sure what to expect, gasping in surprise when his tongue glides between your legs.

You whine, back arching at the unfamiliar sensation, shame washing over you, replaced by the feeling of his wet tongue licking at the place you need it most.

Your hand sinks into his hair, playing with it gently, his masculine scent easing your nerves.

You feel the vibration of his moan against you, unable to stop your hips from rocking against his face.

“Billy.” You groan, pleasure twisting under your skin, promising a release like earlier if he kept this up.

You suck in a deep breath, when in the next moment, you roll over, light hitting your eyes.

Gasping, you sit up in shock. It's morning, and there's no one with you.

You sigh, slumping back into bed, wondering how it was possible to have a dream so vivid.

Your knock echoes on the wooden door.

“Father Murdock? Can I come in?” You call out.

“Yes, enter.” He responds from the other side.

You push the door open, eyes roaming curiously through his room, neater than you expected for a man that can't see.

He's sitting at a wooden desk, his fingers paused on his book, his head turned to focus on you.

“The doctor sent me with the salve you requested.” You explain, holding it up.

Matthew nods, rises to a stand and approaches.

“Thank you. Would you be able to help me apply it?”

You freeze, not being aware that this would be part of the delivery.

“Of course.” You say gently, trying to be a proper Mother Superior.

When he reaches to remove his clothes, you gasp, turning your head to look away, squeezing your eyes shut when the temptation to look grows to be too much.

He removes his cassock, draping it over his bed, and when you spare a glance up at him, he’s wearing only loose flowing pants.

His chest is… sculpted to perfection. You blink in amazement at the way he’s formed, his arms strong and muscular and you bet his skin is soft.

There are some healing scars on his chest and one on his abdomen, and you carefully pry open the salve, running your fingers through the substance and raising it up to his chest.

You try to be gentle and methodical, but you can’t help staring, Matthew is really something beautiful to look at, and it’s no question as to why he’s one of God’s disciples.

Aside from the fresh scars, there are many faded ones, littering his chest and arms and you can’t help but frown in sympathy.

“All of these scars… are from your work?”

He takes a slow breath.

“Yes, you would not believe how often we get thrown around, stabbed, and burned by the possessed.”

“That’s awful.” You murmur.

“It has to be done, we all have our parts to play in the fight against L-” He hisses as though he’s in pain, shaking his head.

“Did I hurt you?” You ask in worry, drawing your hand back.

He shakes his head, turning to present his back to you, that’s significantly more wounded.

“Oh my.” You say in surprise, dipping your fingers into the salve once more.

You remain quiet, focused on working, your fingers gliding over healed scars and ones in healing. You swallow, mouth watering for a taste of him, the way Frank had licked your cut, and had made it all better, you wondered if Matthew would be receptive to something similar.

When you’re done, you place the salve on his desk, accepting the damp rag he silently offers to clean your fingers, and as you watch him get redressed, you feel a bit more unashamed at looking at him.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” You ask politely.

He approaches you with meaningful steps, surprising you with his conviction as he steps right up to you, pressing his fingers under your chin to tilt your head up.

He seems to be studying you, perhaps searching for something.

“You’re quite beautiful. I can see why he’s doing all of this to get you.”

Your eyebrows draw together.

“Who are you talking about?” You ask, your mind flooded with confusion.

He smiles, his fingers gripping your jaw tightly.

You gasp when your nose brushes his, his pink mouth is just a breath away.

“Don’t be scared, little one, everything will be alright.”

You take a sharp intake of breath, pulling away, his fingers releasing you as you pull.

The corner of his mouth pulls into a smile, and he turns away, going back to his book, leaving you to get out of his room as quickly as you can.

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 3 days ago

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If u receive countless notifs from me....you didn't. Its between me and AFoS.

WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN

#ask #hehehehehe #I'm excited to look through

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 4 days ago

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to anyone missing my writing please know i am also missing my writing

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 5 days ago

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Of course you are spoiling us. Some context every time i check you page?! AND YOU ARE ACTUALLY BEING NICE AND SWEET?! ✨️ 10/10✨️

😅😅😅

This is an old ask, but thank you love you

#ask

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 5 days ago

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I will get on my knees and beg for a part 2 to Objects In Motion. Please. I need protective Alpha Billy like I need air. I need him to shower the reader in love and kisses and then screw her until she can’t walk. I need pt 2 as soon as possible your writing is amazing and beautiful and actually makes the characters feel real, if that makes sense? ALPHA!BILLY IS MY RELIGION NOW

Lolll

I hope you enjoyed parts 3 and 4 then

#ask

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 5 days ago

Text

Angel of Small Death

Part 1 of my Halloween mini series!

Dark! Frank Castle, Dark Priest! Billy Russo, Dark Priest! Matt Murdock

Warnings: Horror, Blasphemy, Blood play.

A/N: Special shout out to @ittybxttykxttytxtty who heard my idea and just... made it soooo much worse 😂😂😂

When your lamp flickers halfway between the dormitory and the groundskeeper’s cottage, you freeze in fright.

The night is cold, damp, and uncharacteristically dark. The moon, in her waning gibbous glory, is hidden behind the clouds of a departing thunderstorm.

All you have, to see the rocky pathway, is the oil lamp in your hand, that you’d been forced to top up with a touch of holy oil so that you’d make it to your destination and back.

If Mother Superior could see you now, she’d no doubt be rolling in her grave.

When you’re sure the lamp won’t go out, and the wick’s adjusted just right, you continue on, your eyes locked onto the little stone cottage, the low light of a fire flickering through the small window.

He could still be awake, you really hope so, you didn’t want to handle the mortification of having to wake him, and then have to ask him for help in the dead of night.

You shiver, trying not to look around, your mind threatening to spin tall tales of creatures lurking in the dark, watching you, waiting to strike. You count the stones you pass, ignoring the feeling of being observed that washes down your spine.

At his door, you climb the few steps, fingers wrapping around the icy knocker, and tapping it three times.

You wait, and you wait, and you turn around, contemplating giving up, and trying to fix the problem yourself. You can’t see far in front of you, the moonlight was usually your source of light in these dark hours.

You face the door again, trying another three knocks, before softly calling out.

“Hello?” You call, “It’s me, I-I’m the new Reverend Mother- I need your help.”

There’s a loud clicking as the latch is undone, and then you swallow, stomach twisting as the door cracks open.

By the mercy of God, you think, blinking up at him as you meet his eyes.

He’s- more attractive than the sisters had described.

“Mister Castle?” You ask softly.

“I am,” He answers. You feel your toes curl at the sound of his voice.

You shiver, and he blinks, widening the door and stepping to the side.

“Please, come in, it’s freezing outside.”

You let out an exhale of gratitude.

“Thank you.” You say softly, stepping in, sighing in relief as the heat of his cabin envelops you.

He strikes a match, lights a few candles at his kitchen table. You study him as the room gets a little brighter.

Such a defined jawline, a gorgeous mouth, his eyes, deep and dark and with an aura of sinister wrapped around him.

“Did I wake you?” You ask, voice light as you inch toward the fire, aching to settle into the cozy chair he had right near the fireplace.

“Only a little. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes please.” You say, turning to watch him pick up an iron kettle, and pour some steaming liquid into a ceramic mug.

“What is it?” You ask when he extends it out for you. You accept it gratefully, bringing it up to your face to let the steam warm the tip of your nose.

“Ginseng.” He answers, and as you take a tentative sip, you try your best not to frown at the strong herbal taste.

You drink it gratefully because the tea is warm and makes your insides a little less cold. It brings comfort, soothing your nerves to being alone with this strange man.

You study his place, the little cot in the corner of the room, the kitchen to your right as you step through the door. A single seat near the fireplace where you think would be the best sleep of your life in this frigid cold.

“I’m sorry for waking you, and I’m sorry I have to ask, but during the storm there was a creaking noise and water started dripping from several places. I would have waited till morning to get you, but I’m worried the water reaches the library.” You finish, thinking about the delicate scripture stored there by monks long ago.

He listens, nods, sips from the cup of tea he’s poured for himself.

“Something might have shifted out of place on the roof, I'll go up into the attic to see what I can do from below.” His gruff voice sounds, and you try not to feel affected by it.

This was simply a biological response, one you could do your best to ignore.

“I'll accompany you.” You say, feeling determined.

In the low light, you can't read the expression on his face well.

“Are you sure? The attic can be off putting in the dark.”

You give him a small smile.

“What kind of Reverend Mother would I be to make you go alone?” You say smoothly.

He grins, his teeth glint in the flickering light. He reaches, grabbing a jacket before opening the door and allowing you to step out before him.

You place the unfinished cup of tea on his kitchen table before you go.

Even inside the church is cold, the stillness of it is a big contrast to way it usually is on mornings, with the sunlight streaming in, catching on the occasional stained window.

Now, there's no light, no hearth, the pews are empty and the altar is dark.

You follow behind Mister Castle, trying not to shiver, his large shoulders and strong hands tell of a forbidden type of heat.

He turns his head on the stairway, looking at you in his peripherals, holding his own lamp in front of him.

“Where were you when you heard this creaking sound?”

You angle your head.

“I was in the pews, praying.”

“All by yourself?” Mister Castle asks.

“Yes? It helps calms me before bed. And… also… it's hard to sleep during the storms anyway, so I best make myself useful.”

He hums in contemplation of your words.

“Your knees must ache from kneeling for so long.”

“I'm used to it.” You say lightly.

His shoulders shake and you tilt your head in confusion, wondering what about that was amusing.

The church was the largest building in the monastery, and though the ceiling was parabolic in shape, and looked to be a part of the roof, it really wasn't.

There was a space between the ceiling of the church and the true roof, where the support beams resided and could be maintained easily without causing interference to the church below.

You watch Mister Castle use a wooden stick with a metal hook at the end to tug on a piece of rope. He makes a low grunt as he pulls, and the wooden stairway descends.

You'd never been up here, and you were a little curious to see how it looked.

“Be careful,” he says, turning back to look at you, his eyes holding a mirthful light, “There's a few nails sticking out of the steps, watch where you put your feet.”

You nod, and watch as he climbs the wooden steps remembering what he does so that you can follow.

You have to tug your skirt up, from its normal length around your calves, all the way up to your knees so that it's easier. You leave your lamp behind, placing it on a table nearby and dimming it in favour of holding your skirt up for the climb.

If you thought the church was cold, the attic is worse, he extends his hand for you to take when you're near the top and you accept gratefully, having the answer to a question you didn't know you'd been asking.

His hand is warm, rough, you take a deep breath, trying to rid yourself of unwanted thoughts, you try to simply experience his touch, rather than feel it.

You give him a nod of thanks, before looking around the room.

There are objects shrouded in cloths all around, you can't tell much more than that, and you follow behind Mister Castle as he searches for any evidence of water leaks.

You wrap your arms around yourself, thankful at least that you weren't alone, that there was some comfort of having another person with you in such a quiet, dark place. You hope you brought him some comfort as well.

“Here.” He says, placing the lamp down on a nearby surface, and tugging his jacket off.

You open your mouth to protest, but he's already extending it to you and you really are cold.

“Thank you.” You say simply, accepting the heavy garment.

It's warm from his residual heat, you press your thighs together to ignore whatever was going on within you.

When he turns away, you bring the collar up, pressing it to your nose.

It had been years since you last breathed in the scent of a man like this, and Mister Castle certainly had a scent worth memorizing. A hint of smoke and sage, a touch of his unique musk, you feel your head swim at his smell.

Your body tingles as you watch him, examining the area, his arms are large, you suspect you would have difficulty in touching your fingers together if you tried to hold his arm with both hands.

You don't take your thoughts further than that, reciting a small prayer in your head, one that would give you strength to resist temptation.

“Here,” he murmurs, glancing back at you. You step up, looking around him to see that he's pointing up at a beam, that appears to have shifted, a stream of water coming down, even though the rains had stopped for at least an hour now.

He presses both hands against it and pushes, and when that only shifts it a fraction, he draws back and delivers a harsh kick to the beam.

Your eyes widen at the sound it makes, moving back into place, the noise reverberating through the room.

“That should do it for now, in case it rains again. I'll have to come back in the morning to secure it, but this should be okay.”

You blink, nodding, reaching for one of the shrouds covering a random object and you tug, using the dusty cloth to soak up as much water as possible.

When you tug on another shroud, you pause in surprise to find a bed, where the last object had been a pile of boxes.

“I didn't know there were beds up here.” You murmur, glancing over your shoulder at the groundskeeper, watching as he studies the bed, his eyes then sliding over to you.

You gulp, tensing up for a moment, trying to avoid thinking about the dull ache inside of you.

“I suppose,” He says, taking a step toward you, “Maybe this was a makeshift living quarters for when there were more people than the dormitories could hold.”

You swallow, nodding, fighting with every atom of you not to think about the implications of you, Mister Castle, and a bed.

You smile politely, moving in the dark to retrace your steps. Since the beam is fixed, you want to leave, no longer willing to be in his presence.

You weave through the dark, until you find the steps, watching him struggle to keep up with you, ignoring his words to be careful.

You've had enough temptation for tonight, angry at yourself for feeling the way you do, your uncontrollable desires had been the very reason you'd joined the community, seeking salvation from your earthly desires, and here was one rugged man, stirring trouble.

You were better than this, you were holy and you were pure and no one would take that from you.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don't realise you've missed one of the steps until you slip, your shin of your right leg banging on the last two rungs of the ladder while your skirt catches on a nail, the fabric tearing and the nail digging into the skin of your inner left thigh.

You gasp in pain, your legs stinging as you grip the edge of the ladder to stay upright.

He glides down in seconds, placing his lit lamp besides your extinguished one before dropping to his knees in front of you.

“Let me see,” he says softly, pushing your skirt up, hissing in empathy when he sees the scratch. You can feel blood beading on the edges of the wound, starting at your knee and coming up to mid thigh.

“It's not too bad,” he says, examining it in the low light, “It feels worse than it is, there's only a little blood.”

You can only whine in pain.

He glances up at you from between your thighs and you feel something stir inside of you.

“I have a good remedy- May I?”

You nod, desperate to try anything to stop the stinging pain.

You definitely should have clarified what the remedy was before you agreed.

When his hot tongue meets your thigh, you choke on your breath.

He drags his tongue up, up over the length of the scratch, a weak sound leaves your lips.

“Frank.” You breathe his name shakily.

He makes a low noise, before retracing the path, his saliva cooling on your skin.

When he draws back, looking up at you once more, his lips are wet.

“Is that better?”

You can't speak, but by some miracle the pain does ease, when he turns his head, you catch sight of your own blood smeared onto his lips.

His eyes are- too sinister to describe, you watch his tongue dart out to- you glance away before you can see him lick your blood away.

He drops his head again, and once more, his tongue makes a path over your now tingling wound.

You jerk, pushing him back, watching him rise to a stand, towering over you.

You pant, eyes locked onto his, trying to look for an explanation for the way he makes you feel beyond the obvious.

“You're okay.” He soothes, bringing a hand up, tracing his thumb gently over your bottom lip for just a second, your lips tingling at the contact.

You suck in a deep breath, sliding out from between his large body and the step, you keep your eyes on him as you back away, the lamp flickering in his eyes as he studies you.

At the door, you turn, scrambling down the nearby stairs in the dark and heading back to your dormitory as fast as your shaky legs and limited vision can take you, the shadows chasing you all the way there.

You make it into your room quietly, panting, you pull off his jacket, dropping it onto your bed. You shed your outer layer of clothing, dropping to your knees beside your bed in your panties and chemise to begin praying.

You fall asleep like that, on your knees beside your bed, your rosary wrapped around your fingers. When you wake, it's with damp thighs, aching knees, and dangerous dreams of being bent over and filled in an unfamiliar way, by a man that smells distinctly of sage.

The scratch on your thigh is nothing more than a fading red line. You study it, amazed at the advanced state of healing, wondering how such an unconventional remedy actually worked.

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