#⊹₊⋆farmgirl!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mariclerc · 1 month ago

Text

Farm love | cl16

Summary: where your family farm serves as a set to film a Ferrari challenge.

Warning: fluff, shy reader, Charles being such a curious person, farm girl!reader.

The Tuscan sun beat down on the rolling hills, a vibrant canvas of gold and green stretching as far as the eye could see, the air hummed with the low drone of a helicopter circling overhead, a stark contrast to the usual peaceful quietude of your family farm. Today, however, was anything but usual, because your father, ever the pragmatist, had secured a filming opportunity with the Ferrari team, it was a challenge for their YouTube channel and social media, a decision that had initially filled you with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

You loved the farm, loved the rhythm of rural life, loved the animals. It was your sanctuary, your refuge from the noise and chaos of the outside world. The thought of a horde of camera crews and high-profile racing drivers invading your peaceful haven had made you somewhat anxious, so you decided to stay away from the filming and just watch from afar.

You found a quiet spot near the old stone barn, a vantage point that offered a clear view of the activity without requiring any direct interaction. You were perfectly content observing the chaos from afar, you were comfortable being alone.

The filming was in full swing, a chaotic ballet of camera crews, technicians, and the Ferrari drivers themselves. They moved with an almost otherworldly grace and precision on the track, but here, in the rustic setting of your family farm, their usual poise seemed to falter, they looked much less comfortable, less composed, but it was funny to see their reactions.

You're gently brushing a horse's mane, a bucket of apples nearby while Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz are struggling with some farm task—let's say milking a goat. Your father, a jovial man, is giving them instructions in rapid-fire Italian.

“Mamma mia... they look so lost.” you say quietly to yourself.

Charles, wiping sweat from his brow, accidentally bumps into a nearby hay bale, sending it tumbling.

“Charles! Careful!” Carlos says.

Charles laughs nervously. “Sorry, Carlos! This goat... she's... feisty!”

Your father, in rapid Italian, gestures wildly with his hands, Charles and Carlos look utterly bewildered. “Ma che state facendo?! Così non si fa! Prendete la cosa giusta!” (What are you doing?! That's not how you do it! Grab the right thing!)

You hesitantly approach, clutching a bucket of apples, you're still quite shy. “Scusi...” you say softly in Italian. (Excuse me...)

Charles and Carlos turn, surprised. Charles is particularly captivated by your presence.

“Ah, buongiorno!” he says a little awkwardly in Italian. (Good morning!)

“Buongiorno...” (Good morning...) “My father... he’s just...” you gesture vaguely towards your father. “Perhaps I could help?”

Carlos sighed. “Oh, grazie! To be honest, we're completely lost!”

Your Father grins. “Ah, finalmente!” (Finally!) he explains the task in simple Italian. “This is how you milk a goat properly! See? Gently and steady…”

You demonstrate the process calmly and efficiently. Charles and Carlos watch, mouths slightly agape.

“Wow… that was... so elegant.” Charles says in a whisper.

You blushed. “Oh, it’s nothing special. I’ve been doing this since I was little.”

“We’ve been trying for ages! It's like we have two left hands.” Carlos said and you giggled.

You continue to guide them gently, your touch light and assured. Charles is particularly attentive, watching your every move.

“You're so… graceful.” says Charles quietly and you blush even deeper, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh, it’s just... I like animals… it’s just...” you say stammering a little.

Carlos nodded at your words. “It's clear you love them. They seem to love you back!”

After a while, they finally manage to milk the goat successfully, mostly thanks to your guidance.

Your father beams. “Bravi!” (Well done!) he claps Charles and Carlos on the back. “You were hopeless until she showed you the way!” he gestures towards you.

Charles smiles at you. “She's a natural. A true miracle worker.”

Later, after filming wraps up, your father offers them some homemade limoncello.

Charles sighs contently. “This has been...an amazing experience! I didn’t expect to learn so much about goat milking today.” he giggled.

You smiled shyly. “It was my pleasure to help with your challenge video!”

“I'm Charles, by the way. And this is Carlos.” he says while smiling softly.

“I'm y/n. It was nice to meet you both!” Charles extends his hand, you shake it gently, feeling a spark of connection.

After a while, the Ferrari team and Carlos have left, and Charles is lingering, showing genuine interest in your family farm, you're cleaning out a rabbit hutch while Charles is leaning against the fence, watching intently. The sun is beginning to set, casting long shadows across the fields.

You smile slightly. “Everything's cleaned up now.” you whispered softly.

“That's amazing how organized you are! And so gentle with the animals! I've never seen anything quite like it.” Charles said.

You shuggered. “It's just… habit I guess.”

Suddenly Charles approaches you. “Tell me more about the farm. Your family has been here for generations, right? Your father mentioned it earlier.” he said softly.

You nodded. “Yes, for over three hundred years. Each generation has done its part to maintain the farm. My grandfather taught my father, and my father taught me... It's a long history.”

Charles point to a small stone structure. “What is that?”

“Oh, that’s our old well. My great-grandfather used to draw water from it... It’s still working but we use a pump now.”

“That sounds amazing! Could I see it closer?” he says, somewhat intrigued.

You nod and you lead him to the well, explaining its history and the stories associated with it. He listens intently, asking insightful questions, remembering details.

“This farm is more than just a place, it’s in my blood, it's who I am. The land speaks to me, so to say... Every stone, every tree, every animal, it’s a living history.” you say thoughtful.

He nods. “I can feel it, there's a tranquility here, a peace... It's a world away from the noise and pressure of Formula 1.” you giggled.

You both walk towards the sheep pen. Charles watches you interact with the sheep, his gaze is soft and admiring.

“You have such a special gift, y/n. A connection with nature... A lot of people just don’t have that.” he says in a soft whisper.

You blush lightly, looking away. “It’s just…” you murmured quite embarrassed. “It's just normal for me, you know?” you say softly.

He cuts you gently. “No, no, it’s special... Truly, it's something so beautiful to witness.”

He stays for a long time, helping you feed the animals, asking questions about the various breeds, the farming techniques, the challenges of maintaining the land, and the history of your family. He shows a genuine interest, far beyond simple politeness.

Charles smiles as he watches the sunset. “The light is so beautiful here, I've never seen a sunset quite like this.”

You both stand in silence for a few moments, admiring the view.

He turns towards you, a wistful look in his eyes. “I could stay here forever.” he says softly, he gently touches your arm, a hesitant touch that speaks volumes, but you don't pull away.

“Me too.” you say softly.

He takes a deep breath, the scent of the countryside filling his lungs. “Thank you for sharing this with me, y/n. It's… more than I could have ever imagined.”

You smile warmly at him. “Anytime you want, Charles.”

He stays until the last sliver of sun disappears below the horizon, he's completely enchanted by your world, your family's history, and you.

“I should go back to the city. But... I'll see you again, right?”

You smile again. “Of course.”

He leaves the farm, but it feels different. It's not just a goodbye; it's a promise of something more.

***

A couple of months later, you're tending your vegetable garden, your four kittens playfully weaving between your legs. The sun is warm, the air fragrant with the scent of ripe tomatoes and basil. It's been like two months since the visit of the Ferrari drivers to the farm, in particular, since Charles' interest in you and your family.

You chuckled, as a kitten bats at a juicy-looking tomato. “Oh be careful, you little bandit! Those are for dinner!” you giggled at their antics.

You're humming a gentle tune, your movements fluid and practiced as you weed between the rows of lettuce. Suddenly, the familiar hum of a powerful engine breaks the quiet. You look up to see a sleek, dark car approaching the farm, your heart quickens as you recognize the car...

A moment later, Charles emerges, looking relaxed and happy. He's dressed casually—jeans, and a simple white shirt—but his smile is as bright as ever. The little kittens, sensing a new presence, start to cautiously approach, their tails held high.

“Charles! What a surprise! What brings you here?” you say slightly surprised.

He grins. “Hi y/n! I thought I'd surprise you, I had a few days off, and… well, I couldn't resist coming to see you, and the farm... And the little kittens, of course!” he giggles.

He kneels down, gently stroking one of the kittens, the kitten purrs contentedly. Charles spends a considerable amount of time helping you in the garden, his presence as comfortable and natural as if he'd been a regular visitor for years.

“This one's a tough customer, huh?” he says while carefully pulling a weed.

“These weeds are tenacious! We've been battling them for weeks!” you say while sighing.

You and Charles work side-by-side, chatting easily about the garden, the animals, and the challenges of farming. He asks about the different plants, showing a genuine curiosity and understanding of the intricacies of gardening. His questions are detailed and insightful, not just polite inquiries.

“I'm still amazed at the amount of precision and planning this requires. It’s like a strategic race—nurturing the land and your plants to be perfectly timed!” he says amazed.

You share a laugh, recognizing the parallel between his world of precision racing and the meticulous care needed for a thriving garden.

As the afternoon wears on, the sun begins to dip lower in the sky. The light softens, turning the garden into a picture-perfect scene. You gather the harvest, Charles assisting with a natural grace and skill. He’s become comfortable with this simple work, a welcome change from the pressure of his racing career.

“Look at this! A true champion of the garden!” he says while holding up a particularly plump tomato. “What a beauty!” he smiled so widely.

You both laugh, sharing a moment of easy camaraderie and understanding. At one point, while you were tending to the little goats, you can see how he walks towards you and brought you flowers, a simple bouquet of wildflowers gathered from a nearby field, a sweet and thoughtful gesture that speaks volumes, your cheeks blush a bit too much.

Later that afternoon, your father returns from the fields. He sees Charles sitting with you on the porch, chatting amiably and sees the little bouquet of wildflowers on your lap. He stops dead in his tracks, his jaw slightly agape. His usual jovial expression is replaced by a mixture of surprise and, you suspect, slight apprehension.

“Charles? Ma che…? (But what…?) What in the world are you doing here?” your father says in a slightly incredulous tone.

Charles stands up, he smiles brightly. “Oh, buongiorno, Signor! I hope I'm not intruding, I'm just spending some time helping y/n in the garden.”

Your father is visibly taken aback, he wasn't expecting to see the famous Formula 1 driver, a global superstar, on your humble family farm, again. He stares at Charles for a long moment, a mixture of disbelief and suspicion clear on his face.

“I… I mean, it's certainly… unexpected.” he gestures vaguely towards the garden. “You're… helping with the vegetables?”

Charles smiles. “Yes, I am! It's fascinating work, i've learned so much from y/n. I know it's a different kind of challenge, but equally rewarding. It requires a different kind of precision and, well, I’m surprisingly good at weeding.” he giggled softly.

Your father looks from you to Charles, his expression slowly softening. He's observing your easy interaction, noting the genuine connection and mutual respect between you two. He's seeing a side of you daughter he hasn't seen before—a confident, independent woman who's clearly capturing the attention of someone far above her social standing.

“Well... It’s... good to see you.” he says a little less stiff. “Perhaps you could join us for dinner? My wife made her special lasagna.”

Charles readily accepts the invitation, his smile widening. Your father, still somewhat flustered but visibly thawing, gestures towards the farmhouse. As the three of you head towards the house, your father glances back at the garden. He sees you and Charles talking, your laughter echoing softly in the evening air. A look of understanding, perhaps even pride, appears on his face, he accepts that this seemingly unlikely connection may be stronger than he initially thought.

The farmhouse is warm and inviting, filled with the delicious aroma of your mother's lasagna. Charles is seated at the table, chatting animatedly with your father, who’s surprisingly relaxed and friendly. Your mother is bustling about, her face beaming with pride and hospitality.

“…and then, the tractor broke down just as we were harvesting the wheat! It took three hours to fix it!” your father gestures with a flourish and Charles laughed soundly.

“That sounds like a real challenge! A very different kind of race against time!”

Your mother places a steaming dish of lasagna in front of Charles, a generous portion. He compliments her cooking in Italian, his words sincere and heartfelt, your mother beams, clearly pleased.

“Thank you, Charles. I’m so glad you could join us for dinner. We rarely have guests, especially guests as… distinguished as you.”

You and Charles exchange a knowing smile, the atmosphere is warm and convivial. The initial surprise and apprehension have given way to a comfortable, relaxed feeling. The conversations flows easily between you, your parents, and Charles. He displays a genuine interest in your family’s history, asking questions about the farm's evolution, the challenges faced over generations, and the traditions that have been passed down.

“I’ve never been on a farm before, I’ve always been in big cities. But this… this is incredible! The sense of history, the connection to the land… it's truly remarkable.” he says while he drinks a little bit of wine.

Your father, proud and slightly boastful, launches into a detailed account of the farm’s history, tracing its lineage back centuries. He speaks passionately, sharing stories of his ancestors, their struggles and triumphs, the changes they've witnessed in the land and in the world.

“…and my grandfather, he always said the land tells its own stories. You just have to listen carefully.” you father said.

Charles nodded. “I can see that, It's like reading a book, but the chapters are written in the seasons, the growth of the plants, the changing landscape.”

The conversation shifts to the current challenges facing the farm – climate change, fluctuating market prices, the difficulty of attracting younger generations to farming. Charles listens attentively, offering thoughtful insights and questions, demonstrating his intelligence and empathy goes beyond the racetrack.

“It’s remarkable how many parallels there are between farming and Formula 1. Both require meticulous planning, adaptability to changing circumstances, and an understanding of the systems involved. And both, ultimately, depend on teamwork.”

Your mother adds to the conversation, sharing stories of her own childhood on the farm and the challenges of balancing family life with the demands of farm work. Charles listens with genuine interest, showing his respect for her resilience and the traditional values she represents.

The meal extends into a long, leisurely affair, the initial tension between Charles, a global superstar, and your family, rooted in their simple, traditional life, gradually dissipates, Charles effortlessly integrates into the family dynamic, engaging in lighthearted banter with your father and sharing stories from his life that reveal a depth and vulnerability rarely seen in public. He speaks of his close-knit family, his childhood in Monaco, and the demanding but rewarding world of Formula 1, offering candid reflections on his career.

You find yourself observing Charles with renewed appreciation, his genuine interest in your family and their lives goes far beyond simple politeness. You see a different side of him here, away from the pressure and scrutiny of the public eye, a side that is warm, humble, and deeply thoughtful. He listens intently when your mother speaks, his eyes reflecting sincere interest.

As the evening draws to a close, a sense of warmth and connection pervades the room. The meal has transcended its function; it's become a sharing of lives, a bridging of worlds. You and your family are captivated by Charles, not just by his fame, but by his humility, intelligence, and genuine kindness.

***

Several months have passed, and Charles' visits to the farm after race weeks have become a regular part of your life, his presence is as familiar and comforting as the scent of hay and blooming wildflowers. Today, however, your family has gone to the local market, leaving you, Charles, and the menagerie of farm animals – including the four playful kittens and a fluffy family of bunnies – entirely alone.

You and Charles are working in the barn, a symphony of gentle sounds filling the air: the soft bleating of sheep, the contented mooing of cows, the chirping of crickets, and the playful mewing of the kittens as they chase a particularly plump bunny.

Charles is expertly tending to a newborn lamb, his touch gentle and assured. You are cleaning the goat pens, your movements fluid and practiced. The atmosphere is calm, intimate, and filled with a comfortable silence that speaks volumes about the connection that has grown between you.

As you finish your work, you notice Charles watching you, a soft smile playing on his lips, he sets down the lamb, carefully tucking it back with its mother. He walks towards you, his gaze warm and tender.

“You're amazing with these animals, you have a gift.” he says softly.

You smile. “You always say that, but yeah, they’re pretty easy to work with. They respond to kindness and patience, just like people.”

He steps closer, his hand gently brushing yours, the touch sparks a warmth that spreads through you, a silent acknowledgment of the feelings that have blossomed between you. The playful energy of earlier months has given way to a deeper, more intimate connection. The playful sounds of the animals seem to fade into the background, replaced by a palpable tension that hums in the air.

“I love being here with you. With all of this scenery… It feels… so right.” he says with a soft voice, his eyes filled with a tenderness you've come to cherish.

He gently takes your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. His gaze is intense, filled with a longing that mirrors your own. The barn, usually a space of bustling activity, is still and quiet, your connection the only thing that matters.

He leans in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is slow, tender, and deeply felt... It's a kiss that is as soft and gentle as the caress of a summer breeze, a kiss that speaks volumes about the trust, intimacy, and affection that has grown between you over the months. The animals seem to sense the intimacy of the moment, their movements softening, their sounds mellowing.

The kiss deepens, a culmination of shared moments, quiet conversations, and a growing bond that has blossomed amidst the simple beauty of farm life. It is a kiss that is as natural and unhurried as the rising and setting of the sun.

After the kiss, you and Charles continue to work together, your movements effortless and harmonious. You share quiet moments of laughter and conversation, interspersed with periods of peaceful silence. The animals seem to sense your happiness, their presence adding to the idyllic atmosphere.

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the barn, you and Charles find yourselves sharing a quiet meal—rustic bread, cheese, and fresh fruit—in the hayloft. The setting sun paints the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink, a picturesque backdrop to the intimate moment.

The meal ends, and a comfortable silence settles between you. The scent of hay, earth, the gentle breeze and the soft sounds of the sleeping animals lull them into a state of quiet contentment. Exhausted but content, you two fall asleep nestled together amidst the soft hay, your bodies close, your breathing synchronized. Your shared connection is palpable, a quiet harmony that transcends words.

The next morning, your parents enter the barn to complete their early morning chores. They stumble upon you and Charles, fast asleep in the hayloft, your bodies intertwined in a gentle embrace. The scene is idyllic, innocent, and undeniably romantic. Your parents share a knowing smile, a mixture of surprise and quiet happiness in their eyes. They carefully tiptoe out, leaving you undisturbed, understanding the unspoken language of love and happiness.

You stir, feeling the warmth of Charles's arm around you. The scent of hay and earth is comforting, a familiar fragrance that speaks of peaceful mornings on the farm. You open your eyes slowly, your gaze falling upon Charles's sleeping face.

He looks peaceful, his features softened by sleep, the usual intensity in his eyes replaced by a gentle calmness. A faint smile plays on his lips. You gently brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead, your touch light and tender. The simple gesture speaks volumes about the intimacy that has quietly blossomed between you.

You study his face, your heart swelling with a quiet affection. The shared laughter, quiet conversations, and unspoken understanding of the past months have led to this intimate moment, a testament to the bond that has grown between you. The world outside the barn fades away, leaving only the two of you and the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Charles stirs, his eyelids fluttering open. He gazes at you, his eyes slowly focusing, recognition dawning in their depths. A gentle smile spreads across his face, a silent acknowledgment of the tenderness of the moment.

“Morning.” he says with his voice husky with sleep.

You smile softly at him. “Morning.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, punctuated only by the soft sounds of the awakening farm—the gentle bleating of sheep, the contented mooing of cows, and the chirping of crickets. These familiar sounds create a tranquil backdrop to your intimate moment.

Charles gently pulls you closer, his arm encircling you. You snuggle against him, the warmth of his body a comforting presence. The hayloft, usually a space of hard work and practicality, has become a sanctuary, a private haven where your connection can flourish without pressure or expectation.

You spend several moments in comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other's presence. The simplicity of the moment is profoundly moving, a testament to the deep bond that has grown between you. You feel utterly content, safe, and loved.

Charles breaks the silence, his voice low and intimate. “You know? I didn't want to wake up.”

You laugh softly. “Me neither.”

He gently strokes your hair, his touch lingering on your cheek. The gesture is simple, yet speaks volumes about the affection and tenderness he feels for you. The intimacy of the moment is palpable, a shared understanding that transcends words.

Charles continues, his voice laced with a vulnerability you've rarely seen in him. “This… this is something special. Being here, with you, away from… everything else.”

You nodded. “I know. It’s… different here. It’s just us, the animals, the farm. No pressure, no expectations… just peace.”

He kisses your forehead gently, his touch lingering. His eyes reflect a deep love and affection that is both reassuring and profoundly moving.

As the sun rises higher, casting a warm glow through the barn, you and Charles begin to move, your movements tentative yet intimate, a silent acknowledgment of the closeness you share. You help each other out of the hayloft, your laughter echoing softly in the quiet barn.

As you descend from the hayloft, you take a moment to appreciate the sight of the barn, the sun now fully illuminates the space, showcasing the dust motes dancing in the golden light beams. The familiar scents of hay and earth create a comforting atmosphere that embodies the simplicity and tranquility of farm life. The sounds of the farm, once merely a background hum, are now more distinct—the gentle bleating of lambs, the quiet mooing of cows, and the occasional chirping of birds—all harmonizing in a symphony of nature's gentle rhythm.

You and Charles walk hand-in-hand towards the farmhouse, the morning light illuminating the path. The familiar surroundings create a sense of peace and belonging, the rhythmic sounds of your footsteps on the dirt path and the comfortable silence between you create a tranquil and intimate atmosphere.

As you enter the farmhouse, you are enveloped in a wave of warmth and familiar scents. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baking bread fills the air, creating a welcoming and comforting atmosphere. Your mother is humming softly, busily preparing breakfast in the kitchen. The sight of her warm smile and the inviting atmosphere instantly dispel any lingering awkwardness from the previous night’s events.

“Good morning, you two sleepyheads! I was wondering when you’d finally appear! Breakfast is almost ready.” you mother says kindly.

Your mother’s welcoming smile puts you at ease, her warmth enveloping you in a comforting embrace. There’s no judgment, only a quiet understanding in her eyes. This unspoken acceptance reinforces the sense of belonging and peace that permeates the atmosphere of your family home.

You and Charles join your mother in the kitchen, engaging in lighthearted conversation. The breakfast is simple but delicious—freshly baked bread, homemade jam, strong coffee, and a bowl of fresh fruit. The conversation is easy, flowing naturally from farm gossip to Charles's racing career, to your dreams and plans for the future, the atmosphere is relaxed, intimate, and filled with love.

Charles engages with your mother, effortlessly sharing anecdotes from his life while listening intently to her stories of farm life. His genuine interest and respectful demeanor are endearing, further solidifying his place within your family's circle.

As you eat breakfast, the conversation turns to more intimate topics, exploring your hopes and dreams for the future, your shared desire to build a life together. Charles' candidness and vulnerability showcase a depth of feeling that surpasses his usually reserved public persona.

***

A couple of days after that, you and Charles are together, feeding the farm animals, working together, gently handing hay to a group of sheep. You're laughing softly, a comfortable silence between you punctuated by the sounds of bleating sheep and clucking chickens. As the days and months have passed, you have seen how Charles has become accustomed to farm work, which is a huge difference from racing,

He smiles as he chases the chickens that come towards you. “They seem to like you! They’re usually a bit more… skittish.”

You blushed. “Oh, I think it’s just that I’m gentle. You know, my parents always taught me to be kind to animals.”

He watches you as you interact with the animals, a tender look in his eyes. “I love that about you, so kind, sweet and gentle.” he whispered, he paused a bit, then speaks, his voice slightly hesitant. “I was thinking… about something... Something important.”

You look at him, a little surprised. You’ve been having a wonderful time at the farm with him, but this shift in tone has you slightly apprehensive.

“Oh, what is it?” you say slightly nervous.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, my family… they’re very important to me. My mum, Pascale, and my brothers, Lorenzo and Arthur... They mean the world to me.” he says softly.

You nod, understanding dawning on you. “Yes, I know. You've told me about them, they sound wonderful.”

He nodded back. ”They are... And... I want you to meet them.” he whispered.

You pause, your heart fluttering. The thought of meeting his family is both exciting and terrifying, a mixture of anticipation and nerves.

“Oh… wow. That’s…” you pause, searching for the right words, slightly overwhelmed. “That's quite a big step, isn’t it?”

He takes your hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. “It is, I know it is, but I really want you to. I… I really like you, y/n. A lot, more than a lot if I'm honest.”

You blush deeply, looking down at your hands which are now clasped with his. “I like you too, Charles. A lot! But… I’m so shy, I’m worried I’ll make a fool of myself.” you whispered.

He smiles, his expression filled with warmth and affection. “You won’t, my little bird. They’ll love you, I know, I’ve told them all about you, of course... I mean, who wouldn't want to meet the amazing girl who can handle sheep better than I can?” he laughed.

You giggle, feeling your nerves ease slightly under his reassuring words. “That’s sweet of you to say. But still... it's a lot.”

He kisses your hand lightly. “I know, but it’s important to me. They’re a big part of my life, and... I want you to be, too.”

Later that evening, after dinner at the farmhouse, Charles approaches your father in the garden. He looks very nervous, even has shaking hands.

“Buonasera, signor. It’s… it's lovely to see you.” he says softly. (good night sir)

Your father smiles warmly. “Oh Charles, good to see you too. Cosa ti viene offerto, figliolo?” he says. (what can I do for you, son?)

“Thank you, sir. Ehm... Actually… that’s why I’m here, there’s… something I wanted to ask you.” Charles said softly, while fidgets with his hands, his nervousness evident. “It's about y/n and I…” he sighed. “You know that we’ve been seeing each other for a couple of months now. And… things are going very well between us, and I… I really care for her. More than words can say.”

Your father listens attentively, a thoughtful expression on his face. He’s a wise man who sees his daughter’s happiness is important.

Your father nods slowly. “Oh yes! I’ve noticed that, she seems so happy and carefree when you're around her.” he says.

Charles smiled and took a deep breath, gathering his courage. “And well... I was wondering… if you would…” he scratches the back of his neck. “If you would give me permission to… to take her out on a date? A proper one! You know... To officially ask her out... And maybe get your blessing first?” he finally finished saying.

Silence hangs in the air for a moment, as your father contemplates Charles's proposal.

Your father chuckled softly. “That's a very old-fashioned approach, Charles, but charming all the same. I appreciate that.”

He looks down, slightly embarrassed but relieved he’s managed to say what needed saying.

Your father looks at Charles kindly. “You know, y/n is a special girl. She deserves someone good, and from what I've seen, you're a good kid, Charles. You seem genuine, and she seems happy and bubbly with you. So… yes, you have my blessing. Just don't break her heart, okay?” your father finally says.

Charles visibly relaxes, a huge weight lifted from his shoulders. He beams with relief and happiness.

“Oh grazie, signor! Thank you so much. I won't disappoint you. I promise.” he says smiling. (thank you, sir)

Your father smiles, satisfied with Charles’ sincerity and his daughter's happiness. “I appreciate your respect, Charles. Just be kind to my little girl.”

“I promise you sir.”

Charles walks away with a lightness in his step, he has successfully navigated a significant hurdle, a blend of tradition and modern romance. His feelings for you are genuine and deep, and now he can openly share them with your family and move to the next chapter.

The farmhouse door clicked shut behind him, the sound muffled by the thick stone walls. The scent of sun-baked earth and woodsmoke hung heavy in the air, a familiar comfort... But tonight, the usual quiet of the farmhouse felt different; charged with a quiet anticipation that hummed beneath the surface. He’d done it, he'd asked your father, and the answer had been a resounding yes, laced with a paternal warmth that had eased his nerves and filled his heart.

He found you in your bedroom – your shared bedroom, a space that now felt intrinsically yours and his, a shared sanctuary. You were sprawled on the floor amidst a whirlwind of fur and tiny paws. Your four kittens, a fluffy, wriggling mass of playful energy, tumbled around you, batting at your hands, their miniature claws playfully raking your skin.

You were laughing, a light, melodic sound that resonated through the room, a pure, unfiltered joy that lifted his spirits. Your hair was slightly disheveled, escaping the loose braid you'd worn earlier. Your cheeks were flushed with a healthy pink, and your eyes shone with an infectious happiness that mirrored his own. The sight stole his breath away; it was a scene of pure domestic bliss, a picture of contentment he hadn’t even dared to dream of just months before.

He watched you for a long moment, mesmerized. He’d seen you in countless glamorous settings, especially when you want to look a little more put together, but this... this raw, unfiltered joy, this intimate moment, was far more captivating than any red carpet event. The casual way you were dressed – in one of his oversized t-shirts – added to your charm. You looked incredibly beautiful, even more beautiful than he'd ever imagined.

He cleared his throat, the sound breaking the spell. You looked up, your eyes widening slightly in surprise. A moment of pure, shared intimacy hung in the air before a slow, warm smile spread across your face, erasing any trace of surprise.

“Hey darling.” he said, his voice slightly hoarse with the residue of his earlier anxiety.

You looked up and smiled at him. “Hi.” you replied, your voice soft and a little breathless. One of the kittens, bolder than the others, launched itself onto your lap, settling contentedly amidst the chaos.

“They seem to have adopted you.” he said, a smile playing on his lips as he watched the tiny creature knead its paws into your shirt.

“They're incredibly cuddly.” you responded, your laughter echoing through the room, you gently stroked the kitten, its tiny purr rumbling against your hand.

He joined you on the floor, careful not to disturb the furry tornado. One of the kittens, emboldened by his presence, attempted to climb onto his lap. He chuckled, allowing the tiny creature to settle comfortably, its weight incredibly light yet strangely comforting.

The next hour passed in a blur of shared laughter and playful chaos. You told him stories about each kitten – their unique personalities, their mischievous habits. He listened intently, captivated not just by the anecdotes but by the way your eyes shone with affection as you spoke about them, their names and quirks rolling off your tongue like a familiar lullaby. It was a moment of pure connection, of sharing a simple joy that transcended words.

He found himself picking up a kitten, its tiny body surprisingly warm in his hands. He felt a peculiar sense of calm wash over him; a sensation he hadn't felt before. The kitten purred contentedly against his chest, its soft fur brushing against his skin.

“They’re… surprisingly comforting.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yup, they are.” you agreed, your voice soft and tender. “They’re little bundles of pure joy.” You reached out and gently stroked his cheek, the gesture felt intimate, sealing the moment with a warmth that resonated deeply within him.

The kittens continued their playful antics, their energy seemingly boundless. But amidst the chaos, a quiet intimacy had settled between you two, a profound connection that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. The playful fur, the soft purrs, the shared laughter – they formed a soundtrack to the quiet contentment that filled the room.

He looked at you and cleared his throat. “Oh, peachy... I spoke to your father.” he said timidly.

“Oh, really? About what? If I may know...” you said softly.

He blushed. “Well, um... I asked him for his permission, let's say... To, you know, take you on a date.” he said softly with a big smile. “A proper date, in the city...” he whispered.

You were speechless, you didn't expect him to say that. “Charles, wow... That sounds amazing!” you giggled. “And you asked my father for permission, quite a gentleman.” you smiled.

He smiled and chuckled. “Hey, I had to ask for his blessing, he's going to annihilate me if anything happens to his little princess.” he said and you blushed so hard. “So... What do you think?”

“Well... I think it's a great idea!” you said and you give him a little peck on the lips.

“So, it's sealed! We'll have a date!” he gives you a little peck on your lips and you giggled.

The success of his conversation with your father was undoubtedly a victory, but this... this intimate moment of shared joy, the simple pleasure of playing with kittens on the floor, was the perfect epilogue. It was the beginning of your own shared sanctuary, a haven of love and laughter on the edge of the farm and the enjoyment of country life. He knew this was just the beginning of a beautiful life together, a journey filled with unexpected joys and profound connections, a life that already felt perfectly, wonderfully complete.

#f1 x you #charles leclerc x reader #formula one x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles x reader #charles leclerc #charles x you #farm girl #farm girl!reader #charles x shy reader #charles x farmgirl!reader #charles leclerc x farm girl reader #mariclerc fics

474 notes · View notes

johnwickb1tsch · 7 months ago

Text

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline that's turning into a fic Part 5 ~

Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle

You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you... Warnings: His Hotness don John being a bully 🙃 <----Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 chapter map

-Life moves at its own pace at Las Nubes. True, it is a vineyard, but it is also a working farm, a self-reliant symbiosis of the land, the beasts, and the men and women who tend them. There are sheep and chickens and pigs and of course, the pride of the land owning Californio: horses. There is always something to be done, when you are not tending your father, so when the chance comes at the siesta break you pounce on it to write a little in your diary. Everyone else is asleep, or at least resting during the hottest part of the day, and its almost as though you have the place to yourself by the duck pond in the shade of the courtyard. You throw them little morsels of stale bread, smiling at the happy way they wag their tails and mutter as they nibble.

The hens enjoy themselves, at least, until the drake decides yet again that it’s time to bestow his special attentions. There is one hen in particular he favors, and you wince as it looks more like he’s trying to drown her than make love. The poor thing has a little bald patch on the back of her head from him biting her to hold on as he rides her.

“Leave her alone,” you say, poking at him with a stick to dislodge him from the poor girl. She shakes it off and goes back to her bread. He makes his complaints to you, but retreats to the far side of the fountain.

“Poor bastard. You didn’t even let him finish.”

You jump a little at the sound of don Juan’s voice, not having expected to see anyone around. Warily you watch him as he takes the seat next to yours, his long legs sprawled out before him. He wipes his face with a handkerchief; he’s been doing something in the fields, perhaps, or out with his prized stallion. He seems tired, but content; whatever chore he labored at must have gone well.

“He’s too much of a pest,” you say. “He needs to be sent to the cook pot.”

Juan smirks over at you. “But then where will my ducklings come from?”

You make a sound between your teeth at that, and he goes on, “I like him. He is exactly what God made him. He does not have to apologize for it.”

It’s true, that he’s a handsome fellow, with his iridescent emerald green head and the proud curl of his drake feathers on his behind. “He looks like pato asado to me.”

“You would take his life?” poses Juan, clearly enjoying playing the foil. He was always like this, even when you were children. Always taking the opposing side, for the sake of being contrary. “For being a man of passions?”

“For hurting his females for the sake of indulging his passions. He’s supposed to protect them.”

“Ah, well. Everything comes with a price.”

You look over at don Juan, devastatingly handsome, even in a dusty work shirt open at the collar, his long legs encased to the knee in well-worn leather boots. Once you might have sold your soul, to possess this man for yourself.

Now you realize, some prices are too high.

“What do you want, Juan?” you ask cautiously. You can tell that strangely he’s in one of his more playful moods. That doesn’t mean you’re safe by half.

“Just to talk.”

“About?”

He leans in across the table, his dark eyes raking over you. You hate it, how that still gives you such a guilty thrill. “I have a proposition that may interest you.”

“Is this a proposition you would not like my husband to overhear?”

Now it is he who makes the frustrated hiss between his sharp teeth, sneering. “Come off it. You are no more married to that man than I am the Pope.”

“Señor, how you offend me.”

He narrows his eyes to slits, but a smirk pulls at the corner of his proud lips. He is enjoying himself–and that worries you. “I understand you, y/n, better than you think.”

You’re afraid that might be true.

“Oh?”

“I have always known you have a heart not easily tamed. Perhaps it is why I have always loved you.”

“Juan…”

“Marry me, y/n. Be the mistress of this place. Of your own destiny. I will give you your room with your typewriter in the tower, overlooking this.” He holds his arms wide, encompassing the entirety of Las Nubes. “There is no better view, no better place to be on this Earth. Your only master shall be me.”

Many things can be said of don Juan. If there is something you know he does truly love, it is Las Nubes. He is a man of this land, and you understand he truly cannot fathom wanting to be anywhere else.

Then, you realize that he must have been spying on you and Paul in the pool that night, and that maybe he really does know everything.

Once, being crowned reina of this estate might have been your fondest dream, something so far out of your grasp there was never any sense in even thinking of it in the light of day. Now…you know that binding yourself to Juan would be like offering your ankle up for a gilded ball and chain.

He would destroy you, little by little. Maybe not even maliciously, but in spite of himself. He is what he is, and you are what you are.

It would be war.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you say, tracing a finger over the edge of your little diary, unable to meet his burning eyes while your heart beats too fast in your throat. “I’m already married, and you are engaged.”

“To some girl I’ve never met, two-thousand miles away? What is she to me, but a dowry? We don’t need it. The harvest was generous; the land blesses us as always. We take care of Las Nubes, and she takes care of us.”

You can feel his eyes boring into you, and it sends an uneasy thrill down your spine.

“I’m sorry, señor. You’re too late. Don’t marry her if it displeases you. But you must find yourself a different bride–I am taken.”

You physically feel the change in the air, as his jovial bonhomie shifts to blackness, like a thunderhead looming. Yet somehow it surprises you when he moves like lightning, snatching you up in his unforgiving arms, his grip on your wrists bruising. “WIllful girl. I offer you this highest honor, and you throw it back in my face? I will prove that you are lying to me,” he tells you, his voice low in your ear. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your fear. “And then, I will claim what is mine.”

“Let go of me.”

“What if I don’t?” he demands, delighted by the thought of a fight. You can see the spark in his eyes. Despite his anger; this is fun for him, and you know a marriage to this man would never know peace. He would terrorize you for nothing if not his own amusement. Maybe he would give you a room in the tower–but its more likely he would lock you in it.

“Y/n?” Again, Paul rides to your rescue, approaching from somewhere beyond the wall.

Before you can answer this time, don Juan presses his mouth to yours in a punishing kiss, your teeth clashing in his furious bid to claim you. This time, he remembers to retreat before you can bite him too, releasing you so abruptly you fall back into your chair. With a dramatic sweep of his arm he knocks your diary into the fountain before stalking away on those long legs. “How clumsy of me!”

You shriek, diving for the little book.

That is how Paul finds you, on your knees by the water, crying over your inked words now obliterated.

“Y/n?” He falls to his knees beside you, at first not understanding, searching you for injury. “Are you alright?”

You hold up the little book, half the pages now more resembling a watercolor painting. “It’s ruined.”

“Oh.” He frowns, not wanting to belittle this thing that clearly distresses you, but not understanding nonetheless. “Can’t you…write it again?”

You know you’ll never be able to recreate exactly what you’d put down there. You won’t be able to remember what you wrote, in the throes of feverish inspiration, the manic fugue of the cosmic muse whispering through your writing hand.

Amidst your own daily musings, you’ve been writing a story about a spirited young lady who meets a handsome veteran on a bus.

You shake your head, crestfallen, and Paul’s frown darkens for you.

“What happened?”

You don’t know if he saw the tailend of don Juan turning the corner before he made the scene, but a part of you fears that if you tell on the master there will be a fight. “I dropped it,” you say meekly.

For a moment, you can tell he wants to argue, but because he’s a better man than anyone here, he lets it go. “Ok, sweetheart. Let’s go see if we can get it dried out.”

You are beginning to see this miraculous thing about Paul. When you are dead set that a thing is doomed, he still finds hope. Although you’re mostly certain the diary is ruined, you still feel better returning to your room with his arm around your shoulders.

Maybe you can rewrite it after all.

#a walk in the clouds #don john x reader #don john #paul sutton #paul sutton x reader #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #my farmgirl is showing 😆#this is why drakes get eaten pty quick at my house...#stinkers #🙄

51 notes · View notes

carnivorousyandeere · 1 year ago

Note

Quinn is my daddy 🥰

So true… she’ll never let you forget it, either~

( MDNI, No Age in Bio DNI )

It’s all too easy for Quinn to pin you down, pick you up, leave you breathless and light-headed. She’s so much stronger than she looks, and she already looks so damn strong, especially with a tank top and her hair pulled back in a braid, revealing her muscular arms and shoulders glistening with sweat as she works outside…

She’s got effortless swagger, unending confidence. She’ll grin just as easily and smugly whether you fold from the heat of her hungry gaze and beg for Daddy to touch you, or whether she ends up sliding her belt from her waist and looping it around her hand ‘cause you’ve decided to test Daddy’s patience instead.

She can do it all, too… she’s enthusiastic about pleasuring you, using you, like it’s a sport, and she’s training to go for the gold.

Licking and sucking at you like she can’t get enough. And maybe she can’t, she’ll keep going until you push her off, or until you cry…

Riding you nice and slow, letting you feel the way she squeezes around you and grinds against you so pointedly, or riding you so hard and fast you think you might break…

Spreading you open on her skilled, calloused fingers… sliding her strap into you, her thrusts steady in rhythm and force until you ask for more… she’s practically got the stamina to last for days.

#Quinn would use riding Darling’s cock/strap as a thigh workout… going so slow until her muscles are trembling #more from the strain than the pleasure 🤭#and still have the energy to grin down at you and ask for just one more round #oc Quinn #yandere farmgirl #my thoughts #yandere #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere cw

26 notes · View notes

braveclementine · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 1

Warnings: None. (Will however be a 18+ reader book)

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OC: Elizabeth Y/L/N (created so you don't get Y/N and Y/S/N consistently mixed up. I do not condone any copying of this.

"Y/N, ARE YOU DONE MILKING THE COWS YET?" Your sister Elizabeth asked as she walked into the barn, pausing and pursing her lips upon seeing you.

Your sister was dressed in a red and black checkered flannel shirt, unbuttoned with a black tank underneath. Blue skinny jeans tucked into her brown cowboy boots made her look taller than she really was. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her face void of any makeup, and her nails chewed down to bits.

You on the other hand was wearing a F/C blouse, a white mini skirt, and had curled your hair into neat waves with heels to go with. You'd already done your makeup as well, to look your best.

"Sorry sis." You jested. "Think you're going to have to get used to doing all of the chores now that I'm moving."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Why are you moving to the city again?"

She moved forward, grabbing a bucket to turn upside down to sit upon while she grabbed the milk jars to start the job you had meant to come out to do. You'd gotten side tracked with messages coming in from your phone from your best friend Ivy, who was working out work accommodations for you.

It's not that you hated the farm, you just preferred the city. The hustle bustle life with a 9-5 job at a place you enjoyed working at. Actually meeting interesting people and going out. Meeting a bunch of boys to practice with before you found your soulmates.

"Because," You said, tucking your phone into your skirt pocket. "I'm getting a job in New York."

Elizabeth disapproved of this very much, preferring the idea that you should stay on the old farm and work even though there was nothing for it. No money, you were all almost broke. Compared to these other people, your family pulled in maybe $30,000 a year if you were lucky.

Elizabeth was two years younger than you, having only turned eighteen. You both shared some soulmates, judging by the tattoos you shared. She had the same red star in the same place as you, surrounded by other stars, along with the same blue thing neither of you knew the name to on her chest. She also had the medical symbol on her back and the same bird, though on her shoulder unlike with yours.

Neither of you were entirely sure who your soulmates were. You figured that the person with the red, white, and blue star must be patriotic to some degree. The medical staff obviously showed someone in the medical field. And the arrow probably meant someone who loved archery. Though you weren't positive.

Elizabeth had an extra tattoo as well- and you had several more than her. She had a Japanese sword that traveled up her side. It was actually her favorite one- perhaps because it was the only different one from yours. She would have to share all but that one soulmate with you.

"I'm just saying." Elizabeth sighed, "you don't have to move to the city to get a job here. If you really are sure about not working the farm anymore, you could've gotten a job in town."

"Pff. Ellie, those are slow jobs, not exciting, and rather boring. The city is a new place, full of new people and new possibilities." You explained.

"Alright." Elizabeth shrugged, picking up the milk jugs, muscles tensing in her arms before she moved out of the barn once more. You followed her, tapping away at your phone as she carried the milk jugs over to the milk storage unit, pouring them into the purifier.

"Hello sweetheart." Mom said, giving you a hug, "Are you excited? You're leaving for the city today!"

Elizabeth stepped into the house and mom smiled at her over your shoulder, "Do you want to start breakfast for everyone?"

"Yes mom." Elizabeth said, moving past us to go to the kitchen. She cooked the best breakfasts' except maybe dad.

Mom gushed over your new job opportunities and you chatted with her while Elizabeth and Dad talked about farm business and politics on the other side of you.

"Who knows." Mom finally gushed, "Maybe you'll meet your soulmates in New York!"

"Hopefully." You said. "That would be ideal wouldn't it? Then you'd have to come to the city Ellie, to meet them too."

Elizabeth, who was discussing possible republican candidates for the upcoming presidential election didn't even hear you.

You sighed, turning back to mom. "Anyways, I'm just going to go upstairs and make sure that everything is perfect. I don't want to leave anything behind."

"Of course. I'll be up in a minute if you needed any help." Mom said. "Ellie, don't forget to do the dishes after breakfast."

"Yes mom." Ellie said without actually hearing what mom had asked of her, continuing to talk to dad about some people named Rand Paul and Andy Beshear- whoever those people were. Politicians, you assumed.

You headed upstairs to your bedroom, which your mother had let decorate to your desires. The walls were a nice, light F/C colour. Everything was mostly in that shade like the drapes, the coverlets on the bed, the mirror that hung on the wall. The furniture was white.

Your suitcase, which was pink with white polka dots was sitting on the bedspread, already open so that you could make sure that everything was in it. You had clothes, but they weren't the style you really liked. They were mostly farm clothes, you didn't have much stylish clothes. Well maybe you'd get lucky and one of your soulmates would be rich.

You smiled at that. You were certain that you'd find them in New York- it was a gut feeling.

⬅️➡️

#Braveclementineworks #BraveclementineNovels #Novel #The Art of the Tattoo #xreader #farmgirls #farm #Ellie #Y/N Y/L/N #Y/N x character #Elizabeth Y/L/N #shared soulmates #Avengers #Avenger soulmates #soulmate!au #Avengers!au #18+ readers only

7 notes · View notes

pollenallergie · 2 years ago

Note

hi this came across my insta feed and I immediately thought of you and your cottagecore chrissy posts https://www.instagram.com/reel/CsEmbGWg0AV/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

oh definitely!!! her whole account is like exactly what i imagine when i picture cottagecore!chrissy!!

i also definitely think chrissy is handier than anyone gives her credit for. and she definitely has the determination to fix up an old cottage/farmhouse mostly on her own. though, of course, she’s always got you to help her out, and, occasionally, eddie, steve, robin, and wayne will stop by to help out too. however, you two always feel bad for making uncle wayne help (even though you never really do… he just volunteers to help and he’s too stubborn to be talked out of something once he’s committed to it), so you always send him home with a fresh fruit cobbler (made with whatever fruit is in season and growing in your orchard) and some homemade ice cream (made with the milk from one of your cows).

9 notes · View notes

angelbunnybyrafe · 2 days ago

Text

tags & meanings.

☆fave - literally anything i really love. 𝜗𝜚lil coded - me coded things.

rafe𝜗᭪ - aesthetics/nsfw things that are rafe coded in general. fratboy!rafe𝜗᭪ - specifically fratboy rafe coded. icky!s1!rafe𝜗᭪ - icky / s1 rafe coded things. stepbro!rafe𝜗᭪ - sub-stepbro rafe from my blog coded things. older!rafe𝜗᭪ - dilf / older rafe coded things. stableboy!rafe𝜗᭪ - stableboy / cowboy /farmboy rafe coded things.

all my readers ྀི - speaks for itself.

soft!kook!reader𝜗᭪ - aesthetics/nsfw things that are her coded.

bunny!reader𝜗᭪ - aesthetics/nsfw things that are her coded.

farmgirl!reader𝜗᭪ - aesthetics/nsfw things that are her coded.

pairs may be included as well, presented as #soft!kook!reader𝜗᭪ #and #bf!rafe

( more could be added ! )

#☆fave #𝜗𝜚lil coded #rafe𝜗᭪#fratboy!rafe𝜗᭪#icky!s1!rafe𝜗᭪#stepbro!rafe𝜗᭪#older!rafe𝜗᭪#stableboy!rafe𝜗᭪#all my readers ྀི #soft!kook!reader𝜗᭪#bunny!reader𝜗᭪#farmgirl!reader𝜗᭪

0 notes

meownotgood · 2 months ago

Text

as above, so below. / death sworn!viktor x reader, 18+, reader is fem bodied, reader uses gender neutral pronouns (but is referred to as 'farmgirl' once), mild violence / death, occult themes, blasphemy, power imbalance, size difference, fingering, riding, consensual mind control, mild painplay (viktor brands a sigil onto reader), praise kink, too much plot and feelings, death sworn viktor is hot and this is my explanation. happy halloween! word count: 16.5k

read on ao3

════════════════════

I felt it again. Weight at my shoulder, honed talons digging in. The same pitch black feathers fluttered at the fickle edge of my vision. A hand tightened onto my neck, onto my soul, measuring each foolishly clumsy beat of my heart. As the invocation lost strength, so too did the raven evanesce.

I am getting closer. Death is taunting me, stringing me along with His cold palm outstretched — because He knows, to any end, I will follow.

The candle wax from the sigil burned my palm quite deeply. I'll search for some cloth bandages to wrap it in, lest the villagers see the marks and begin their endless chatter. Hopefully the farmgirl will not be too concerned. I must continue to exercise caution; I cannot afford any crucial mistakes, not when I am so close to unveiling the truth.

They will all understand, in time. Death, under no circumstance should you doubt my steadfast faith. My fealty will guide me, and if it does not, I will gladly become acquainted with the cold jaws of the underworld.

— V. October 29, 1618.

—

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The simple persistence of your pounding heart is not-so-simple when the air is thick with smoke, when the sky is dark and knotted with storm clouds, and when each heavy, quickened step slams your boots into the earth firmer than before. Running. You have to keep running, faster and further than those who might still be chasing you.

Sticks and fallen autumn leaves crunch under your feet like the breaking of bones. Your legs ache. Your necklace sways with your steps: thin twine with a small skull fastened on the end, tied deftly between the eye sockets. It thuds against your chest, rivaling every pound of your heart. Thunder booms overhead, the weight of it shuddering through you, promising a bleaker fate. The air runs crisp with coming rainwater.

You nearly trip over a large fallen log, stopping, gasping, as you hurriedly lift your cape to jump over. Shouts ring out from behind you; This way, in the forest!

Your jaw tightens. You take the opportunity to discard your lantern, tossing it as hard and as far as you can into the bushes. You stumble into a run again, leaving the light behind. The light of the dull, contained flame, the distant lights of the town, and the threatening flickers of the fading lit torches.

You are going to die.

It's contradictory for you, really. For ages, amidst your journaling and your research and your rituals, Death never once scared you. No, it enamored you.

Where others saw a cruel end, a violent finality, you saw a chance, a hope. A moth emerging from a delicate cocoon; a new form of beginning. Your town would never accept anything they deemed as heresy, but you knew Death was meant to be revered. The Gods of the living quake at the sound of His name, merely because they know they cannot fight. They'll never be strong enough to stop the fate that will one day befall each and every one of them.

Those Gods no longer watch over you. Their favor was lost the moment Death opened His arms to usher you in.

You want to curse yourself for acting so foolishly. You shouldn't be afraid. This was the fate you wanted, the fate you accepted. It just wasn't supposed to happen now. Not now, not to you, not to him.

And there is a very, very strong difference between admiring, between watching the maw of a flytrap open to sever the heads of whoever steps close, and finding yourself waltzing into the snare.

The thick forest thins into a clearing, adorned with large, ominous structures encased in shadow — and your vision blurs, your ankle catching on a twisted bundle of roots. Thorns scrape your skin. You're just barely able to catch yourself with your hands as you fall, but damp dirt still cakes onto your palms and your knees. You brush some on your cheek, when you clumsily wipe your tears with your knuckle.

Wind whistles in your ears playfully, mockingly. It led you here, despite knowing you hadn't intended to come back. Of course, this wouldn't be your first visit to the gallows today. The soldiers following at your heels must've been hoping they'd drag you here themselves.

You push yourself back up onto unsteady feet. Reaching up, you pull your hood back over your head, and desperately try to regain your lost breath. Puffs of frigid, wispy air spill from your mouth with each heavy exhale. Your cheeks and your fingertips are freezing. The forest shakes, trees rustling all around you. The gallows are quiet, aside from the creak of old wood, and the sway and subsequent thump of hanging rope. For the first time in ages, you are alone. Really, truly alone. Perhaps the guards have finally lost you.

This moment of respite does nothing but remind you of everything you've been running from. As the trees rustle and the stormy sky bellows, your feverish mind can't help but repaint the picture you saw here at sundown, just a few hours prior.

Deep shadows cut into the spaces between the crowds of people. The gallows were frantic. Your clasped hands shook in front of you, your face obscured by the shape of your hood. Rays of dying light framed the display: shades of blood red, vivid orange. Your heart shook your ribs, your vision spun. Your ears rang sharply as the people yelled and chanted. Yet, you refused to look away, as frightened as you were, even as they brought him to the stage.

You won't turn away, not from this. Not when your throat ached from the sharpness of blood and bile, the executioners cutting through his shackles and shoving him forwards. Even though it was foolish, even though it went against what he told you, your feet stayed rooted to the ground, unable to move if they wanted to.

You prayed for the first time in years — to the Gods, to Death, to anyone. It didn't matter who, because none of them listened. So you watched, useless and wide-eyed as the guards secured the noose to the structure. As a priest chanted some speech about witchcraft and the Gods and the occult. As his breath caught, his gaze dulled, sparks left him like doused flames and then- and you…

And you were powerless, as you were from the start, as you always have been.

Your heart twists: a weak, wilted rose, pathetically curling in on itself. Gently, you reach into the pocket on your cape. Your fingertips feel the crisp, folded edges of the note Viktor left you. It's still there, thankfully. You'd hoped you wouldn't lose it in the chase.

You've no need to read it for another countless time. You can recall what it said by memory.

It's done. I have tried, but I cannot fight this.

Swirly, cursive letters filled the small scrap of torn parchment, forming hauntingly familiar handwriting, etched in blood red ink. They blended into scattered, barely-readable puddles, where your tears had already fallen to fill the page. Don't follow… they will search… find you again… I promise.

I promise. You would never doubt his words, you never have. But it's difficult, it's painful. How are you supposed to believe him, when you already watched him die?

With a shudder and another meager breath, your legs buckle. You fall to the ground, landing on your knees in a weak, futile heap. Your heart pounds, splintering from within your chest — like clusters of quartz and sharp shards of stained glass.

None of this feels real. You touch your fingertips to your pinched temple, your mind whirling and pounding with nightmarish intensity. Viktor should be here. He still has so much to accomplish, this wasn't supposed to happen when you aren't ready to lose him. Gods. You miss him so, so much.

Viktor is — was — your closest friend, your partner and your backbone. You wouldn't doubt if his name was etched into each notch of your spine. Honestly, you would've followed him anywhere, with bloodied hands, or with a bleeding heart.

You were a farmer. A peasant, tilling the fields in your uncle's farm with pennies as payment. Your parents left nothing for you after they died, no bequests or last wishes, so you accepted the offer your relatives had left you — a free place of residence, in exchange for helping on their farm.

It was a good deal. Your only deal. But it was plain. It was monotonous. You hated how each day felt the same, blending together until all of it was useless, unimportant, and easily forgotten. You wanted to do more, be more. Constantly, you longed for a day when your uncle would quit scolding you, when your illusory chains weren't so tight, when everyone in your town would stop spouting the same useless drivel, and finally open their eyes to the truth right in front of them.

Viktor put a blissful end to your cycle of tedium.

He came to your village from a country you hadn't yet heard of. You learned from the townspeople's gossip that he was an inventor, and a renowned alchemist in his youth. Although his studies are mostly kept private, as of late. A councilman had died not too long ago, falling ill out of nowhere, just for his body to mysteriously go missing. Viktor had come to your little town to go through with his own investigations.

Once he was finished, it was onto the next village, to follow the thread of unexplained deaths that continued to lead him from region to region. You were the one who convinced him to stay.

Viktor was intelligent. Far too clever for his own good, really. He was handsome. Captivating. Tousled strands of dark hair framed sharp features, tired eyes, and pretty, perfectly-placed moles. Pale skin accentuated crisp blue veins, rivers of cobalt that ran through his thin arms and delicate hands. Intricate rings with various symbols carved into their shape adorned each of his fingers.

The first time you met, your gaze darted everywhere, unsure of which detail to focus on. You noticed the cane he kept at his side, the wooden handle carved into the elaborate shape of a raven's skull. His palm ran cold when he shook your hand. And when he spoke, introducing himself in a polite tone, his words fluttered through you like butterfly wings — carrying the lilt of an unfamiliar, smooth, intoxicating accent.

To say you were smitten was an understatement.

It was a bit foolish, in hindsight. Your farm work grew neglected, as you spent less time at home, and more days with Viktor.

Far before you met him, to ease the monotony that riddled your day to day life, you spent a lot of time reading. You studied anything and everything you could find. You searched for solace in the journals about Death that you'd steal from the library, because neither the librarians nor your family approved of you reading them.

Viktor was studying the same thing, examining Death's grand designs on his own time. Missing bodies, the phenomenon of fallen soldiers rising from the dead, tales of people who'd almost died and claimed they'd caught a glimpse of the underworld — all of it had to mean something. Occurrences like this are far from mere coincidences.

You thought so too. From then on, you just… clicked. Each fragile moment felt important, every conversation with Viktor felt effortless, it felt freeing. Finally, you had someone who understood you, after ages of detachment, years of speaking to yourself in a journal because no-one cared to listen.

Viktor read through each and every page of your notes, praising your findings. He excitedly murmured that yes, you've made so much progress, you should be proud. And this is precisely what he needs to take the next step in his research. If your notes were combined with his, surely the both of you could reach a breakthrough.

And so, you were friends. Partners, even. You admired him, respected him. The both of you were close in age, and it was easy to bond over your shared ideals. Especially when the two of you trusted no-one more than each other.

You worked together, furthering your research in secret, working on inventions as a front, while performing seances to try to speak with Death yourselves.

Viktor drowned himself in his work, far more than you could. To a dangerous degree, sometimes. He believed in multiple planes of existence, that the end was merely a beginning. Now, it would seem like Death held more untamed power than he initially thought. Death is planning something, perhaps hoping to gather more followers, or to overthrow the Gods of the living.

Those who did not worship Him would soon learn to kneel. This was the future Viktor truly sought.

An end that planned to devour. A glorious future that flipped life on its head, blessing His followers with touches of soft rot and violent warmth. None of it scared him, so it didn't scare you. You trusted Viktor, and wherever he led you, you were prepared to follow.

He knew his research was forbidden. Those in the village could never know the truth of what he was studying, and he intended to keep it concealed until the time was right. The strange happenings that had been occurring throughout the town already had people on edge. Any death-worshippers or cultists or witches, whatever the council wants to call them, will be dealt with as soon as they're discovered.

Mercy wouldn't be afforded. Still, it was a risk he was willing to take.

You both thought you covered your tracks well. Viktor never told anyone what he was studying — not a soul besides you.

Perhaps it was because the inventions he made would've changed the lives of the less fortunate. The council are as selfish as they are precautious. Perhaps they were suspicious of him from the moment he came here, and if you hadn't convinced him to stay all those years ago, he'd still be alive now.

Your heart aches, killing you from the inside before anyone else could do it for you. Blades of grass tickle your knees, sharp wind brushes your skin with all the gentleness of a cut from a knife. The trees whisper to the darkened sky, which answers with murmurs of loud, rolling thunder. Faint droplets of rain begin to patter onto your shoulders. Your bones run cold with a deep, freezing chill.

By the time you arrived at his study, there was nothing that could be done. The door was busted open, his belongings scattered and toppled. There was no trace of him, nothing but the note he left for you, tucked into a stack of journals on the desk you once shared.

Shakily, you breathe a slow, uncertain sigh, and you reach up to absently clutch your necklace. It does little to calm your budding nerves. You run your thumb over the notches in the bone, the surface damp with small raindrops: a raven's skull. The necklace was a gift, mimicking the motif that once adorned his cane. A present from Viktor to thank you for all you achieved together.

So we match, he mentioned, placing the necklace into your palms, just barely brushing your skin with his fingertips.

Where will you go now? You can't return home, your relatives surely know the guards are after you, and they won't hesitate to turn you in. Viktor hid your involvement as much as he could, but even if the guards only planned to question you, one look through his notes and journals and you would be finished. You can't take that risk.

You heard that when he was captured, he never denied any of the claims they tossed at him. They were the fools, and they will burn for it, they will die for their single-minded beliefs. Death holds no mercy for those who dare to defy Him.

But would Death allow a merciful end for his most devoted followers? A small part of you, battered and bruised, foolishly hopes so.

Wind whips around you, and raindrops pelt your back and your skin. The sky splits with a fervent crash of lightning; your shoulders tense, as you fight the sharp, rabbit-quick beating of your heart. It thumps in your own ears, just as loud as the rock of the trees and the hammering of the rain. You can't stay like this. You have to keep moving, have to keep breathing.

Once again, it isn't easy. You attempt to rise to your feet, but your legs tremor, unsure if they can carry you any further.

Your mind wraps around to the same thoughts over and over again. To the gallows, to the pain in your chest, to Viktor. A sinking sensation fills your stomach, a mantra that repeats with the whisper of the wind: you aren't meant to be here. It digs underneath your skin, pleading a command to run, to get out as quickly as you can and not stop until you are far, far, far gone.

You almost manage to move. You stare down at your knees, blinking, fighting against your misty vision. Your grip tightens on your necklace until your knuckles are aching. The storm echoes around you, tugging at the trees, howling through the gallows. Rain drips down your face to blend with your tears, mercilessly hitting your back to throb against your spine.

If you were to get up, it would hardly matter. This is it. You have nothing left to return to. No-one left to fight for. You failed him, just as you failed all you believed in. Darkness seeps in, and the moon shimmers, as its crescent dips into the highest point in the sky.

Perhaps all you can do is wait for the night to take you.

Though, the darkness does not. Instead, it sparks.

With your head tilted down, your gaze focused on the ground, you watch the rustle of the earth underneath you. Faint flickers of blue fire start as patient wisps. Curling at your fingertips, hardly allowing themselves to be noticed. Then, all at once, they begin to feed on the thin blades of grass, surging into flames that seek to swallow everything in their path.

You hurriedly stumble back. You support your weight on your palms, before the fire can reach your knees. The gallows are scorching before you, all of their glory engulfed in a sea of deep blue flame. It defies reason, the sight has your heart lodging into your throat until it's practically choking you; the flames refuse to falter under the rain, causing the wood to creak and decay.

Ash crumbles down and coats the dirt. A wooden beam at the top of the structure comes crashing down, hitting the ground with a deafeningly loud crack that rivals the resounding boom of thunder.

Fire, there's so much fire, it's all you can see, all you can breathe in. The wind tosses your fluttering hood from your head. Blue flames ripple at the edges of your vision, reminding you of burning parchment.

You can't move. There's nothing you can do but watch, listening to the pound of your own heartbeat as the flames continue to surge. Oh, you were wrong, so wrong. Your end was never meant to come at the hands of some insignificant soldiers. Right here, right now is where you'll finally crumble.

Death has come to take you for himself. Fitting, for the two of you to die here together.

As the gallows crumble, at the center of the clearing, a sigil inscribes itself into the dirt. It burns in the same shade of deep blue, scrawling a few feet in front of you to a careful, intricate pace.

It starts at the outer edge, forming a circle encased by runes. They bear resemblance to runes you've studied, but none of them are decipherable. The mark shines brighter when it completes, forming a triangle at its center: the symbol for life at its apex, the symbol for death at its side, and a final, skull-shaped symbol carving into the last point.

An inferno manifests from the symbol. Thunder splits the sky, the tempest tugs at your clothes and toys with your necklace — but the fire changes, the flames form a shape. A staff rises from the ground, lit by a radiant, glowing crystal, grasped by a large, armored hand.

Blue smoke wisps ominously from the newly-summoned figure — A man? Is it even a person, could it be Death itself? The occult books you've studied told you that if one were ever to look upon Death, their heart would instantly cease to beat. But yours is still pounding, still knocking at your ribs and making your blood race.

The sigil calms, giving off a dull glow underneath his boots. His figure is framed with a crimson hooded cape, much like yours. Bulky pillars of armor rest on his shoulders. An eye with a sharp, slit pupil curves from a line of smoke impaled into his back. It flickers over you, regarding you with something all-knowing.

Surely he stands several feet taller than you, and from this position — you're cowering on the ground, your knees folded like a skittish baby deer's, your eyes wide and your breath catching — he practically towers over you. His staff hums from the weight of what must be unfathomably powerful magic. Panic laces through you, your lungs aching, your throat dry. But your head also spins with intrigue, with eagerness.

Your research was founded upon hoping an event like this would happen to you. And here it is, a true being of Death, formed right before your eyes. Watching you, sparing you.

So why, why are you still alive?

The figure's head tilts. Raindrops, fewer in number, patter onto his head and tap against his armored shoulders. He's clearly gazing down at you. You aren't met with a face, nor with anything human. Instead, you're forced to stare into the intimidating outline of a glowing, skull-shaped mask.

"I believe," His fingers drum against the length of his staff, and his voice echoes through your mind, drowning out the raging storm, converging with your own racing thoughts, "I urged you not to follow me."

You freeze. Everything stops, until the skip of your heart in your chest is all you can hear. Your veins run as cold as an icy, frozen river.

Oh. That's Viktor's voice.

—

Time seems to ebb away much faster when you know it has afforded you boundless infinity.

For six months, I have been Death's herald, and with each passing day, I have felt the veiled web of power within me fester. I do not regret my decision. Flesh was nothing more than a weakness to be shed. But it is gradually growing impossible to tell where Death ends, and I begin.

Vitality. Depravity. Desire. Every sensation burns within the fire that replaced my heart, forceful and inescapable.

A part of me does fear the way Death has begun to evolve my mind and my vessel, but I believe my partner understands what I have become. Foolish as they are.

My previous theories will need to be amended. The mind, the soul, and the body are separate, as well as equal. It is in the palms of another where the pieces that remain of you can truly coalesce.

— V. Unknown Date, 1619.

—

The solemn throne room, which once brimmed with beauty and life, now settles under the thick weight of darkness and demise, falling silent in the wake of your destruction.

Large quartz archways crumble slightly, chunks blown off from powerful, laser-focused blasts of dark magic. Tall, warm columns of stained glass shine in every muted color, reflecting the bright light of the full moon. Grandiose statues and tattered flags line a pathway to a curving staircase, which leads to a noble, black-marble throne.

Empty suits of armor litter almost every inch of the floor, to the point where you have to delicately step over them to reach the very center of the room. Steel swords and bows remain close by. And on the outer edge of the throne room, cowering in a corner, lies the charred remains of the king's robes, and his chipped, glittering crown. Death has claimed their bodies, along with their souls. The fate they befell here is hardly the worst in store for them.

You gaze up, examining the intricate paintings laid onto the ceiling. They depict multiple figures. You recognize angels, with muted colors, harps, and fluttery dove wings. At the outer edge, there is the moon and stars, with a metaphorical illustration of Death — a satyr with six arms and four horns, shielding himself from the light.

Amusing, to think that a handful of angels and a meager army of soldiers could stop what Death planned for them. For you and Viktor, the task was trivial.

The knights will make strong servants. Lord Death will use them well, to build His steadily growing army. The king, on the other hand, will likely be punished — for ever believing he could escape his own grim fate.

"Magnificent." A familiar voice lilts into your ears, thick with a smooth accent, echoing through your mind like the ripple of a rock thrown into water. "But of course, our purpose is not yet complete."

You glance back towards him as Viktor admires the sea of destruction, a low wisp of flame idly twisting around his fingertips, before he casts it away with a flick of his index. The edge of his cape is slightly torn, singed from the aftermath of powerful flames. His staff glows gently, likely regaining the power it expended.

This new form of his is… imposing. If you were someone who stood in his way, and if you weren't already used to this, the sight of him alone would make you fear for your life. He is tall — large enough that the top of your head barely reaches his chest, and your neck must crane to look up at him properly. And he is strong; his body is constructed from blue smoke and figments of dark magic itself, rendering him immortal, and near impossible to touch.

Nearly.

Viktor hums, and the threatening, armored eye that floats above his shoulder flickers, surveying the scene with quiet intensity. Death's Eye, the token that provides him with a great portion of power, and watches over while the both of you carry out Death's bidding.

"I trust you are pleased with this outcome," Viktor murmurs, his tone cold and practical. "We will travel north next, as you demanded, and continue with further vanquishment. You will be informed when we reach our next target. Until then, Glory to the Underworld."

You nod, slightly nervous, bowing your head and neatly placing your arms behind your back as the eye flickers over you, next. "Yes- Glory to the Underworld."

Seemingly satisfied, the eye shifts. Smoke dissipates from the line connecting it between Viktor's shoulders. Then, Viktor snaps his fingers, and the eye disappears without a trace.

"There." Viktor turns towards you, and your gaze is met by his skull-shaped mask: fit with intricate engravings and two small divots, not-quite-eyes lit by twin flames. "We are alone."

Fear does not course through you, even if it should. Instead, a small smile forms on your lips, pleased and eager, almost smug. As soft as it was on the day you met him.

Once again, as if you had never once lost each other, Viktor is your ally, your partner. Your closest confidant — and yet, everything has changed. There are some things Death can take, but regardless of His strength and omnipresence, can never return.

Viktor's form no longer resembles who he once was. The details you'd memorized have been cast aside in favor of a stronger, more formidable chassis. A means to an end, Viktor explained. The body matters less than the mind, and so it only made sense to destroy and rebuild it. This is only fitting, for one of Death's chosen Sworn.

His voice is the same as you remember, when it lilts smoothly through your system. He still has the same sharp intelligence you once might've found yourself falling for. His memories, thoughts, and ideals are intact. Viktor was quick to reassure you of this, reminding you of the secrets only he would know. Your research would've told you to be wary, your notes reminding you that Death is greedy, and does not give up a soul once He has caged it.

At some point, you stopped listening to those notions. It matters little to you. Viktor is yours again, until the earth crumbles, until the sky and sun burn out — and really, your meager, loving heart couldn't ask for anything else.

Death is not an unjust sovereign. And so, in Viktor's own words, when he first reached the underworld, he was offered a choice.

He was promised a chance at resurrection: a reward for his undying loyalty. But in exchange for power, your research partner would need to swear much, much more.

He would be given power beyond anything he could dream of, a new body, a chance at revenge. All he must do is agree to complete His bidding, working as Death's right hand. Death would instruct Viktor with building an army, with reaping souls to fuel the underworld's lifeblood. Anyone who stood in the way of His vision must fall. Or, he could refuse, and instead embody what remained of his lost soul, as it gradually withered away into dust.

It was a simple choice, really. Now, those who opposed Viktor's vision will not just bow to Death. They will also bow to him.

From there, it would've ended rather simply. Viktor would have taken up Death's mantle, and you- You would be left to time, most likely. Another forgotten soul, drowning amongst the endless sea.

But Viktor made you a promise, and it was one he did not intend to forget.

The deal he proposed with Death came with one stipulation. His partner — you — would be spared, and if Death willed it, put to use. You are mortal, sure, but you were as dedicated and talented as he once was. With the assistance of a small fraction of power, you could become a worthy disciple.

You would have nothing to fear, not ever again, Viktor promised. As long as you knelt close to his heel.

And so, on that fateful, stormy night, you took Viktor's hand when it was offered to you, and became a fellow servant of the end. You left your town behind — all of them, everyone who had once forsaken you. Your village and the townspeople and your farm, deeply drowned in a sea of blue, fierce flame.

There was nothing left for you, nothing but this. Besides, you had no doubts. For Death, for Viktor, you would do anything. If Viktor asked you to burn the world to the ground, you would swear to leave it in nothing but ashes.

Your gaze flickers up from your feet, your thoughts roused as Viktor motions for you to follow with a subtle crook of his finger. And as though you would follow him anywhere, you trail behind with quick, eager steps.

He leads you over the discarded bodies of the soldiers, guiding you to climb the room's centerpiece: its winding staircase. The long, laced edges of your dress brush your ankles when you carefully grasp and lift it, trying your best not to trip. Viktor leans his weight on his staff, uses it to walk, which is hardly needed, but it's still second nature.

Your hands clasp in front of you, your dress gently swaying. You watch him set the staff aside, before he takes his rightful seat at the throne.

He looks like he belongs in a throne, to you.

For a moment, you fiddle with your thumbs. You glance away, looking at the discarded remnants of the old throne room.

"That almost seemed too simple," You muse, brows furrowed together slightly. "Will all of humanity be this weak?"

Viktor leans back. He rests his elbows on the arms of the marble throne, his large legs spread while he clasps his hands together: one armored, almost mechanical. The other delicate, with thin fingers and wispy edges. Soft plumes of mist spill from the gaps between his mask and his tattered hood.

"Mortals are weak by nature," He explains, assured as ever. His voice echoes, syllables resounding against one another, and his fingers gently tap his own knuckles. "They blind themselves, and then ramble about the truth, without realizing they are still pulling wool over their own eyes. You know this."

"I do," You murmur, breath catching at the sight of him. Your spine still tingles from the thrill of your victory. "We've seen it countless times."

"Those men were especially amusing to destroy." Viktor huffs, something between a chuckle and a sigh, and large puffs of cerulean smoke billow from the gaps between his mask. "Men like that impudent king are not even worth the mana. He believed himself to be some form of prophet, only to begin begging to his worthless God once he knew he'd been surpassed."

Then, Viktor laughs, low and maniacal, as his thighs part more to let him lean back even further. "Pathetic, was it not?"

With his entire army felled, the king pleaded for someone to save him. Sweat beaded at his forehead, and his panicked eyes shimmered with a spectral glow, reflected in the light of Viktor's staff, pointed right towards him. The Gods did not intervene, like the king swore they would. Death did not lose, like his legion of false mages once prophesied.

Rather, Viktor merely chuckled, and said nothing, before a single focused thread of magic reduced the man at his feet to dust and bone.

Your spine shudders sharply. Anticipation settles onto your back, pooling within your core, hot as cinders.

Thinking to yourself, you allow your gaze to travel across the throne. Old banners, lined with gold thread and embroidered with royal symbols drape beside the tall walls of stained glass. Intricate shapes are carved into the throne's smooth marble. A sun and moon, a cross of swords, and an ouroboros-like depiction of a wolf, and a lamb.

"He was the same as every king and sovereign we have faced." You take a step forwards, your shoes clicking against the smooth stone floor. "Weak. Witless. Disappointing."

Viktor watches silently as you approach; your fingertips trace the arm of the throne for a moment, studying the detailed runic engravings. Your gaze glimmers, jeweled and lovely, glittering across him — like prey, teasing the jaws of a predator. A smile crosses your features, one that radiates control.

"They pretend they are capable of holding the world in their hands-"

Your voice is kept low; with a palm on his shoulder giving you leverage, you slide into his lap, settling onto his firm thighs — spread as wide as the square throne will allow.

You're barely whispering, now: "Even though they're toppled as easily as the rest."

Your body is much, much smaller than his, but sitting in his lap nearly puts you at equal height. Your palms gently brush over the cold pillars of armor on his shoulders. You let your hand press to his chest, tangible and icy. Smoke wisps around your hand — hungry, possessive — as though it seeks to swallow you in. His head tilts, invisible gaze seemingly following your movements, regarding you with a lack of emotion you can't place.

It would be impossible to tell what he's thinking by sight alone. The Viktor you remember would glance away, or perhaps let his brows furrow. He might coax you with nervous touches, or persuade you to move with careful, logical arguments.

But this Viktor, frigid and magic-bound, a vessel for ruination — he stays silent, and leans back to offer you more room, his steel-clad hand grasping your side. His touch is as natural as it is unnatural. The clawed fingers of his gauntlet briefly press into your skin through your dress' fabric. His hand settles just above your waist, as though it were meant to be there, with all the familiar gentleness of an angel's winged embrace.

Your heart stirs, pounding quickly as your body acts before you can think, pliantly leaning into his touch. Your throat feels tense, your skin warm, a newfound taste on your tongue fierce like sweet ichor. For you, it isn't enough.

So, you press closer. Your long dress drapes over his thighs, smooth black satin against armor and miasma. Your fingertips find the rough edge of his mask, and they trace it with delicate intensity. Viktor's only reaction is to let his large hand travel down, his palm encompassing and squeezing your waist. This time, with a practiced, careful, knowing touch.

Viktor is the most intelligent, perceptive man you have ever known. And he knows you, enough to make you certain he realizes precisely what you're playing at.

Your dances always begin like this. You can't help but let a smirk pull at your parted lips.

"Tell me," You're murmuring, slowly leaning in. Deep blue smoke begins to wisp around your figure, brushing against everything it can touch, but you hardly seem to mind. "Is there anyone who could possibly stand against us? Anyone worthy enough to threaten you- to defy Death's most loyal harbinger?"

Viktor pauses for a moment, before speaking.

"Humanity adapts when threatened. There are people to the north, who have begun to use tomes to teach themselves how to wield magic."

You scoff, "Powerful magic?"

"No. Not when compared to what we possess." Viktor's masked gaze regards you emptily, as you draw shapes with your fingertips onto the intricate curvature of his shoulders. "They may be difficult, but they will not be impossible. In the end, they'll be slaughtered like the rest. No soul is capable of succeeding against our absolution."

"Viktor," You coo his name like a nightingale, "Won't Death be proud of us?"

Of us. The both of you have come so far, from the foolish, loathed scholars you once were. Wouldn't the younger versions of yourselves be proud of how far you've come, of the power the two of you have gained? Or would they despise this, would they cling onto humanity the way you and Viktor have failed to?

"He will be satisfied," A drag of his hand, gripping and guiding your waist, rocks you much closer to him. "Once the task he sent me to complete is fully accomplished."

You sigh; his voice blends through you. Burning like light, syllables thick and reverberant. Gods, you can barely focus on his words anymore.

Leaning forward, unable to stop yourself, your lips press teasing, idle kisses to the firm side of his mask, to fill the empty space left when he quiets once more. With another kiss, brutally warm, you're curling your fingertips into the ice-cold smoke that would be his face, you're gripping the underside of his mask tight.

Frigidness bites at your fingers. His mask feels rough against your lips. You place playful imprints of promises you wanted to keep, of touches you wanted to inflict before there was this.

When your lips could have pressed to soft pale skin and star-placed moles. When tender kisses could have led to firm touches, and hands toying where they shouldn't belong. Warm bodies pressing together with the warmth of liquid gold, like they are each other's vice. A time where the vision you had for the future and your studies and the frailty of life mattered less than each other, and —

Viktor stirs. His free hand glides over the small of your back, making you arch and curve into him, but his armored palm grasps your face, roughly dragging it back. The smirk that beams across your face is wild.

"Viktor-"

"Stay still."

His echoing voice is firm — Your breath catches, but you oblige.

"Dove." He tsks when you're silent, half-amused, faux-annoyed. The familiar pet name makes your heart twist and flutter. "Are you sure you want to do this here? You cannot wait?"

You breathe a light laugh, your cheeks slightly sore from his stiff, squeezing touch. Gaze flickering, eyes slightly rolling, you hum, "Don't we deserve a reward? To- I don't know, to celebrate our victory?"

"We?" Viktor chuckles darkly. His hand shifts, armor cold on your skin as he grips the back of your neck like you're a scruffed kitten. "You wish to be rewarded."

Your head spins. Your whole body shudders, rich with a clear lack of restraint. The difference in power between you is staggering.

Beneath his fingertips, you can feel the thrum of magic, necromantic and heady, pulsing at your throat. It courses through your mind with strength that aims to conquer. This sort of magic puts the fear of Death way deep in your stomach. Threads of soft smoke flush over your skin. Your veins tingle. The power you were gifted is not like this, not this forceful, not so carnivorous.

And yet, even as everything within you shudders, instinctually flinching at the violent weight of rot against your skin, all you can believe is that he deserves to own this power. Viktor should satisfy himself with more, with as much as he desires. The two of you have fought for it, and now, you should get to enjoy it.

For a moment, you think he has you pinned. But your beloved partner blesses you with mercy.

"We won," He purrs; and there's such delicious contrast, between the mercilessness Death's closest apostle — Viktor, your Viktor — shows your adversaries, and the patience, the earnestness he extends towards you.

"Those who dared to oppose us are dead. You did excellently, you are growing stronger. You were very, very good. Is this what you wanted to hear?"

Viktor speaks close to you, allowing you to feel a frigid brush of smoke fanning out over your skin. His voice resounds through your mind and your eardrums. Your hands threaten to shake, each of his words carved especially for you. Only for you.

"Yes- Vik," Your breath stutters, flowers in your throat budding with hunger, "Please."

If he was capable, Viktor would certainly be smirking. A confident, assured grin, like the kind he'd flash after his intricate notes resulted in a successful hypothesis. Your heart pounds loud in your ears, his fingers idly curving over your neck, igniting a famine in your chest. Perhaps he knows more than he's letting on. Perhaps he's realized how terribly you've needed this.

"Coy, aren't you? Asking so nicely." Viktor guides his opposite, magic-worn palm down your back, tracing where the ridges of your spine would sit.

Your eyelids flutter, and you're sure it doesn't go unnoticed. You force yourself to breathe deeply, your lungs filled with the warm scent of him: of flame, and ash.

"When we were Death's mere students, you were often receptive to positive feedback." He continues; his hand maneuvers, pressing his index finger underneath your chin to direct it. "But you were never this insatiable."

The encompassing lilt to his tone tells you it isn't an insult. No, it sounds like raw, fierce fascination.

"There wasn't time, we came so close to our goals and- and it just wasn't-" You cut yourself off with a quiet, barely-there gasp when Viktor's hand begins to carefully trail over your neck. Gentle at first, until you're reaching up, placing your much smaller palm over his own, guiding him to squeeze.

"I just missed you."

"I never left your side," Viktor counters, matching your gluttony when his thumb swipes over your pulse, the sharp, clawed digit grazing your skin. "I suppose this is what you missed."

His touch? His voice? The threads of magic that form his figure brushing against your flesh, the divine press of your weak, mortal shape to his?

Either way, he's right.

Your blood pumps pleasantly, every facet of your willing gaze focused on him; on the magic swirling through his body, on his death-shaped mask as Viktor's vessel silently examines you. Vision blurring, you relax, allowing your veins to tingle and your head to go hazy. Your arms fall limp, and into his lap.

The feeling of his hand around your neck makes you shudder with risk. It reminds you of the warmth that courses through your body in the heat of battle, of the delight when you're in the eye of an ongoing conquest. Of the dumb thrills that came when you were young and stupid, when you pushed the boundaries of your research, performing messy seances, unafraid to put your lives on the line.

Now, all of your life belongs solely to him.

Yes, you missed this. You missed Vik so badly when you thought you lost him — and oh, having him now makes you feel like you could do anything. You could rule together, if that's what he wanted. Viktor could destroy everything, and you would still follow at his side. An endless, fervent part of you wants to be powerless, because Viktor's hands wouldn't falter if they held your life. They wouldn't hesitate to press against you, with all of the pressure and heat of the sun. Or, they would bend you into submission, until you'd no longer have the need to think.

Trust and desire make two halves of one whole — your desire speaks in echoes of his name, in every shape. And your trust burns like a suffocating flame in your chest, begging to be made his.

"You're quivering," Viktor notes, although his touch doesn't waver, doesn't loosen. "Tell me what you are wanting. Your lips can still form words, use them."

"Need you," You're sputtering, the lightest smile pulling at your cheeks, a playful contrast to the sternness in his tone. Finally, you take a nice deep breath, as his grip moves down the column of your throat to rest over the apex of your chest. "I want you, Vik- right here. Or would you prefer me to beg?"

Your palms shift up to grip his shoulders again — your gaze on his, pleading, heavy. Your body presses closer, ever-so slightly. It's enough to force Viktor to take a low, deep breath. One that forms smoke, defies reason, choking him with desperation and destruction. With a potency that aims to devour.

Viktor isn't the man you remember, you knew this when you first swore to join his cause. You would never forsake him, even if Death took him to heights you could not reach. Even if Death sought to become him, in a sickeningly beautiful way, in a way that warrants forbidden deals and dark magic and shallow graves.

Gods, you would have done it all over again.

You would've made the same mistakes, walked the same doomed path if it meant he would still return to you, just like this. Stronger. With ambition. Without the need for the pain or the hesitation that came with his previous body and past life.

You've always found Death to be beautiful. Gentle like the slow wilt of deep petals, resolute like the soft cradling of a final embrace. When your village left you forsaken, the demise you glorified rose to save you. Viktor saved you. Death should be taken with palms outstretched. With an obedient body, ready to be reshaped. With a willing soul, with reverence, with worship — and this is exactly what you need, what you've sought to do.

Death has always been a knife at your back, Viktor just knows how to guide the blade and twist it deeper.

"Groveling is unbecoming. Exceptionally so, for the partner of Death's herald." Viktor's voice briefly wavers as he expends something of a sigh. "And it would hardly be necessary. I am already aching to take you."

You grin, clearly pleased. Your fingertips trace up, gliding over the jagged curves of the armor on his chest. "Eager? Thought I was the insatiable one."

Viktor, unshaken and controlled, avoids your question entirely. He holds your chin with his unarmored hand. His fingers are delicate, their edges foggy with faint smoke.

His voice is a low rumble, resounding through every edge of your mind.

"Do you trust me?"

Yes, of course I trust you. You've spoken and penned and drowned in those words, countless times before. The relationship you once shared, whatever it meant, was built on trust. The two of you need nothing but your faith and one another. You trust Viktor's ideals. His judgment. His touch. You've never trusted anyone more.

For Death, you would offer your life, you would embrace every sin, if it meant you'd be offered a knife to save you from the dark. For Viktor, you would become the knife, fighting for his heartbeat over your own, condemning the world and every soul on its surface if he told you it needed to be done.

And for both, tied together, dangerously one, you'd gladly plunge the dagger of trust into your own chest.

"I do," You nod shallowly, your gaze unwavering. "Don't hold back. Want you to be rough."

Thin, glowing flames meet your eyes from beneath Viktor's mask. Carefully, he presses the thick, ice-cold end of his thumb to your pouty bottom lip, foreign sensations sending sparks through you like dying stars.

Viktor taps your lip gently. "Open your mouth."

If this was a dance, a carefully performed pirouette at the center of the dimly lit throne room, like countless royals have likely done before you, this would be the moment where you would have been held, and dipped down. Spun in front of everyone, with nothing to be done but brace onto his shoulder, hold on tightly, and follow. The rhythm would heighten, and you'd be left entirely at his mercy.

Following his instruction, your lips part gently, slowly. Your eyes flicker across his face, never leaving where you're imagining his own gaze to be. His thumb eases in, and just barely presses against the end of your tongue.

The first thing you taste is smoke. Ashen and ghostly, rich and familiar. It's like breathing air for the very first time. Magic thrums from the fuzzy edges that form his shape; tasteless, but strong, thudding through you like the weight of a panging heartbeat, melting into your veins like dark, lush blood. You swear your senses are washed out in crimson, as he waits for you to lick a thick, hot stripe onto the end of his thumb. Your gaze goes soft and eager then, silently pleading for more.

To your brief disappointment, he drags his thumb from your mouth, unaffected when you whine. Then, to your delight, Viktor offers you his index, his middle, and his ring. He presses all three fingers to your lips, where you gladly accept, allowing him to shove them into your throat.

"There," He murmurs, the slightest hint of satisfaction heavy on his tone. Cold, his fingers are cold against your teeth and your tongue when you struggle to suck on them. "You have such a precious, pliant mouth."

Your only response is a muffled, pathetic hum. One hand finds his wrist, the other settles weakly onto his shoulder. He knows there's no way for you to reply, no option for a rebuttal to form when your pretty mouth is stuffed full. And with more strings of carefully constructed praises, he takes full advantage.

"You are terribly obedient. Every command, stage by stage, piece by piece, you follow without strife."

Viktor's fingers press in a bit deeper, making you grip his wrist much tighter. Tears bud at your lashes, your breath sharpens as you fail to stifle a whimper.

"When Death instructs you to kill, you rend the flesh of whomever He chooses. When I compel you to heel, you settle at my feet."

At his feet, near his side, in his lap, wherever Viktor wants you — because you are so, remarkably good.

When you moan softly, threatening to choke, your thighs shifting in a pitiful attempt to rub them together, he drags his fingers back to give you a chance to breathe; a small act of kindness. Your breath catches, heavy and forceful. Your lips glisten with shiny drool. Slowly, once you're ready, he pushes them back in, and settles into a deep, steady pace, languidly fucking your mouth with his fingers.

You're sure you'll never reach heaven. Not after everything you've done and sworn to do. But as your eyelids flutter, and your legs grow weak, your mouth sufficiently used, you swear this is the closest you'll get.

"Death does not regret His choice to select you," Viktor assures, cold and composed. "He knows you are His perfect, loyal little disciple. He will be pleased with what you have done here, as am I."

His fingers are pulled from your mouth slowly, offering you time to gasp and adjust. He holds your chin, taps his fingers against your cheek to make your skin slick with your own spit. A damp, desperate mess still wets your face, and he quickly brushes away the tears that still cling to your lashes with his thumb. Your heart tremors, the gesture all too tender.

"Vik," You sputter, "Touch me."

Now, it's his turn to listen.

Viktor leans back against the throne, getting comfortable. Your grip steadies on his broad shoulders to keep yourself still, your fingers digging into the strong, bone-like frame of his armor.

A hand finds your waist, trailing down. He pushes up the end of your dress, allowing his touch to carefully brush your thigh. Mere fingertips trace your soft skin; cold as ice, thrumming with magic that ricochets through you like lightning. He finds the blade you routinely keep strapped to your leg. His palm grazes the leather sleeve, and examines the labyrinth of engravings carved into the hilt.

It's slow, teasing. Effortlessly calculated. Your dress bunches around your hips. Then, once you're drawn to panting breaths and shuddering sighs, he reaches up. With delicate motions, so gentle they contradict his very existence, he pulls at the strings of your corset, helping to untie them until it is loose.

Your heart shakes your chest. Each light, purposeful touch of his hand against your spine has you reeling. Removing your dress is a swift process, from there.

It unties as simply as the corset. You rush to pull the smooth satin from your limbs, and adjust to let it fall to the stone floor in a heap.

Almost fully bare, you settle back into his lap, the cool air of the empty room brushing your skin. Pitch black armor frames his thighs, rough against your own graceful legs. The crow-skull necklace you keep close to your heart sways, tapping against your chest when you shift to get comfortable. Viktor presses a palm to the small of your back to ease you into position — spectral and hazy, settling against smooth, perfect skin.

Low light envelops you, filtered through stained glass. It frames every curve, each of your blemishes and marks. Your whole figure shakes, forced on instinct to arch into his body, then his touch. Viktor's palm trails from your side to your waist, gentle, tenderly analytical.

"Look at you," He murmurs, "You are a pleasure to admire."

Everything within you melts, your body hazy and warm. His hand slowly trails your back, and your clenched jaw finally relaxes.

"Viktor…" Your gaze is sparkly, you're clearly high on his words. "I asked you to be rough, remember?"

Gentle fingers tap your skin, the way they would tap against his cane or his desk when he's lost in thought, but he continues with a non-response: "Come here."

A palm squeezes your waist, guiding you forwards. Your arms wrap around him as you prop yourself up on his lap, knees splayed out over his large thighs. Your lungs practically ache with the weight of the heavy breaths you take in.

His fingertips trace fiery touches onto your inner thigh. Knowing touches, because he expects the way you whine. He holds you tightly to keep you still once your legs struggle to hold your weight. You swallow, your veins set alight with a violent sense of need.

"Patience. We can work our way up," He decides; his voice ripples within you deeply, rich with his accent, rumbling with an unearthly echo. Like a hand at your ankle, dragging you down into dark, murky, endless water.

And you let him take you.

You stay still as his hand moves, like a tamed pet, until his palm is brushing your stomach, making the knot in your core wind itself even tighter. Until practiced fingertips are gliding beneath the hem of your lace underwear, pressing between your weak legs, finding your waiting, needy entrance —

Viktor scoffs. He lets go of a dark, deliberate chuckle, one that makes vapor billow from his figure. "But it would seem you do not need it. You are filthy."

Your forehead falls, leaning against his own — against his mask — and you grip onto his shoulders, tight enough to make your knuckles ache. Wisps of magic brush your face, swirling around you, delighting in your exhilaration. And you are, you're a mess, your arousal wet and dripping as it gets his fingers slick; his middle and ring, this time.

Despite his instruction, Viktor makes it so difficult to be patient. It takes everything in you not to press against him. Not to feed into your gnawing desperation, bucking your hips into his fingers and grinding on them until they're truly soaked.

"I- Please-" You choke, barely able to breathe, "Want more…"

"Is that so? You're in need of more?" Viktor parrots, only slightly mocking with his tone. "Selfish indulgence is rather effective at making mortals forget their place."

Before your lips can even stumble out a yes, please, his fingers are altering their approach. Slick and determined, they find your swollen clit, flicking over it precisely; he's so close, it's so much. Your body aches, filled so thickly with desire it nearly hurts. Ecstasy licks at your bones, ravenous and all-consuming.

When you jolt, stuttering through a moan, Viktor's free palm holds your shoulder to steady you. Your hands find the hood of his cloak and grip it tight. They ball up the crimson fabric, long nails digging in.

Slow, easy circles onto your sensitive clit are all you're given. His palm begins to trace down once you're steady, exploring your collarbones. Brushing further still, to briefly fiddle with the necklace he gave you.

The twine sits around your neck loosely, partially frayed. The skull has grown worn, faint notches now present on its surface. It's a soft, persistent reminder. You feel it tap against you when he lets it go, only for his large palm to splay itself over your chest, armor cool against your skin.

You gasp, sounding overly shaky. "Vik-"

"Your poor heart is pounding," He interrupts, hand measuring each tender beat. Quickened and needy, as your heart thuds in your eardrums. "Letting go would prove so simple. So gratifying. You want your mind to be blank, so you might let yourself act on nothing but dumb desire. As all pathetic humans do."

It would be easy — grinding against his cold, magic-woven fingers. Giving in to the throbbing, enthralling sensations while you pleaded for him to offer you more, to show you mercy. Clearly, Viktor has you exactly where he wants you.

"If you must be reminded," Viktor continues; his newfound rhythm is practically merciless, his touch teasing your clit until you whine, just to drift to your entrance — warm and wet and waiting, but he doesn't press in. You aren't given what you want. Instead, he observes you silently, perhaps content to watch you struggle. He allows you to shudder, to whimper, your back arching as sparks weigh heavy in the curves of your spine.

"You are in no position to make demands."

"I'm not demanding," You gasp out, heavy sighs following the syllables. A faint and eager smile pulls at your cheeks. You know it's a game you'll lose, but it's exciting to play, all the same. "I'm begging."

Viktor hesitates, savoring those words. The laugh that lilts into your ears is downright maniacal.

"Tch, greedy thing," He scoffs. His fingertips press into your sweet, sensitive clit firmly, with all of the practiced precision you've been craving. "And here I thought you might finally be taught some restraint. You won't be satisfied until I fill you."

Thankfully, he doesn't make you wait.

Viktor shifts, dragging you a bit closer on his lap, running his middle digit over your entrance until you're a shivering, fragile mess. Like porcelain, you could break at any moment — but the press of his finger inside you, filling you, finally giving you a hint of blissful reprieve, feels as though you're being placed back together.

Pleasure rolls over your body like a wave, crashing, drowning. His touch is cool, laced with dark matter. Pulsing with a strong thrum of energy that you can feel so intensely when he's inside you. Strands upon surges of Death's magic, within you, becoming part of you. Eating away at what remains of your soul until you are pierced, much like a rabbit struck with an arrow — delightedly, brutally his. Your vision goes fuzzy once his finger starts to pump. In and then out, to a slow pace, enveloping you in crests of white foam.

"Viktor…" You murmur his name, broken and weak, and he drinks it in like fine wine; swallows it whole, reduces it to cinders. "Oh- Feels s-so fucking good-"

You're quivering, from just one finger. Two would likely force you to break.

"Foolish little lamb." Viktor delights in your subsequent shudder. Always so responsive to his voice, as if he'd given you a command. "Toying with Death, giving themselves, their body, their life. Their unshakable devotion."

Still, Viktor drags the digit from you; your body falls into him, limp and small. You lean your head against his form, struggling to catch your breath. And at last, he gives you two — his middle, his ring, pressing inside you, filling you deliciously.

"Death is- oh, fuck…" Your voice tremors, desperate, lovely-toned. Your cheek presses into his chest, wisps of magic pouring over your skin. "Death is my great savior, worthy of- hah- violent worship…"

His fingers curl. They nudge your velvet walls, pressing a perfect tender spot within you, divine enough to make you wish this moment would last an eternity. "But I'm yours, Vik," You stammer, "Only yours."

Flames flicker in your core, devouring you in their wildfire — and Viktor sighs, exhaling some soft, dreamy sound. He doesn't relent. He fucks you on his fingers until you're dripping onto him, to the echo of sloppy, wet squelches, your whines and each sinful noise reverberating through the large throne room.

Your eyes flutter closed. You try to focus on the searing pleasure, getting lost in his touch, in the familiarity of him. Fleetingly, you imagine his face, whatever you still remember of it. His thick brows would be pinched, lips twitched up into a confident smirk. Honeyed eyes washed over with lust, while strands of his hair form a mess in his face, soft when your fingers run through.

"Vik-" You tense, whining weakly. "I'm close…"

The hand that reaches for you is ice cold. Gentle, at first, when smoke-filled fingers thread through your hair. Then, deliciously rough when they grab, dragging you back to make you face him. Viktor's expression can no longer waver. There are no eyes for you to stare into — and nothing to sate you, but the fire-filled depths of Death's herald, the end's abyss.

And oh, how that excites you.

"Do not let go," Viktor commands, although he punctuates it with a practiced caress of his fingers against your sweet spot. "I know you are capable."

"No, no…" You're sobbing; you try to shake your head, but he keeps your face in a tight hold. "I can't- no, please, please…"

You know Viktor, and even though you can't see the glint in his gaze, you can feel each determined press, pumping to a pace that has you throbbing. Gods, his stupidly delicate hands, his long fingers, somehow feeling even longer when they're filling you down to his knuckles. Your heart pounds, forcing your ribs to ache. You grind your teeth together, your jaw relaxing slightly when his thumb traces your shaky bottom lip.

Viktor has you on the edge of shattering — but you will break when he demands it, or you will not break at all.

"Missed you, f-fuck, oh, Vik-" Melting, you're going to melt as you stammer on, searching for some sort of foothold, anything to grasp onto. You shut your eyes tight enough to paint spots in the darkness of your vision. "Wanted this for so long, and when you were gone, when I tho-thought I lost you…"

Another press, another persuasion; his fingers sheathe inside you until you're stretched around their thickness, a shuddery moan punched from your lungs. They crook and spread experimentally; he isn't even trying to make you cum, and yet it still feels so, so good. His free palm drifts down, and he lightly holds your neck, grounding you.

"You will not lose me. We are destined to bring humanity to its knees, you and I." Viktor taps your neck, feeling your pulse — blissful, mortal, a sensation he's long since lost. "Fools will attempt to stand in our way, but they will be smothered in the ashes of their forebears. We will have what remains of mankind at our feet."

"Yes, yes-" You can barely discern what it is you're begging for. His touch, his voice, perhaps for your release. Anything coherent dissolves in your mouth, until you're spitting up scattered petals of moans and whines — "V-Viktor, please…"

"Shh. We will not become severed, dove. Not ever again," Viktor hums, his tone rumbling through you, fiercely euphoric. "As I was dying, left to crumble in the underworld, I only thought of crawling my way back to you."

Viktor made you a promise. For you, any will would be done.

For you, the weight of Death and the wrath of the Gods would be worth it. All of this would mean something, something more than power. More than the gnawing ache to forget himself.

When you were human, every moment meant so much. You had the nerve to put your lives on the line, but neither of you had the guts to admit this temporary life was much sweeter spent beside one another. The accidental touches, the brushes of hands, the glances that lingered. Days spent talking to each other through research notes, colliding with the nights you spent alone, counting and categorizing stars — it must've been important enough to hold onto. Soft words led to softer touches, and the need to just be close. At one point, you would have done anything to feel this, to feel him.

And you're there, you're right there.

Pleasure buds within you — a sea of stars, on the edge of imploding. But Viktor is always several steps ahead.

The precipice you've been craving doesn't reach you, because instead, his fingers are carefully easing from your aching cunt, leaving you to throb around nothing. Your head instantly spins in endless circles. Everything is hazy, to the point where you can't decide where your ecstasy begins or ends, or heightens or fades; all you know is it wasn't enough. You almost cum, empty and teased, just from the fading stimulation mixed with the lack of it.

But almost isn't what you need.

You're given several moments to breathe. When you finally raise your head from his chest, his palm slipping from your neck to leave it bare, you're met with the same blank, Death-shaped visage. The only sign of a crack in Viktor's composure is the soft smoke that pours from the gaps in his mask, curling around your figure in spirals.

"Breathe," Viktor instructs. His palm searches for your back, caressing gently, cooling your heated skin. "How do you feel?"

"Good." Your lungs are aching. Your voice is weak, shaking more than intended when it leaves your lungs. But even more palpable in your veins than the desire, is your warm, steadfast trust. "I can keep going."

"Is this how you want me? Resting in my lap? Or perhaps on your knees?"

"Like this," You murmur, certain of yourself. "I need you, all of you."

All of him, and all of Death. Every fragment of his present and future, and the pact he forged to bind them. Whatever Viktor has become, you will embrace it. You'll let it haunt you, let it own you.

Your partner cups your face in a frigid, ghostly palm, his touch light, barely tangible. Cold like frozen water and stagnant skin. You give in, allowing your expression to soften.

Countless souls have been felled this way, by his hands, every adversary made to tremble at his feet. This is what he was made for. What he fought and studied and died for. To destroy. And you still lean into his touch, as though it aims to save you.

From then on, you're hurrying, desperate, lifting your weakened legs to shrug off your underwear and toss it aside. Viktor brushes his thumb over your cheek once more before he lets go. He rolls his shoulders back lazily, while your hands move — a palm pressed to his chest, to his side, anywhere you can still touch. Another hand eagerly removing his loosely-fastened armor, before tugging at his loincloth to reveal his lap.

You swallow so hard your eardrums crackle. You should be used to the sight of him — fat, dripping, incandescent. His cock radiates in shades of azure, definite and physical when you drag the pad of your finger from base to tip, despite the wisps of phantom flame that ripple over your hand like clouds. It has your heart lodging in your throat, pounding hard.

You place both hands on his shoulders and lift, to which he grazes your waist with his palm, carefully helping you find your position. Not grabbing, not pulling. You can dictate the pace, he silently offers. So, you take your time, breathing first, waiting for your gaze to refocus and steady. The difference in size in between you is already making your head fucking whirl.

Viktor was always tall, but his current form is formidable, bulky. In his lap like this, with his large hand dwarfing your waist, you must look small. You could easily be broken, pressed into any position. Could be held, or lifted, or shoved down while you're fucked. So weak and mortal and useless, when compared to his massive frame. So desperate, tossing your morality aside, so you can melt at the hands of a revenant, one of Death's all-powerful Sworn.

And yet, it's his gentleness that truly kills you.

Shifting, you lean into him on shuddery legs, trusting him to hold your weight. You move, until the tip of his cock can brush your entrance, soft like a kiss. You're already throbbing, already needy. The breath you suck in through half-gritted teeth is sharp enough to slice your lungs.

"Pretty little dove. I have you," Viktor coos, his voice echoing through your mind like a shout into a wishing well. "There is no obligation to push your limits. We have infinite time."

You nod. But you want to push them.

You reach for his palm, pulling it from your waist to guide it up, up. It glides over your stomach, feels the space between your ribs, and settles against the very center of your chest when you press it there. His fingers are cool, still slick with your arousal.

"Viktor…" You take a nice, deep breath. One he can feel, from the movement of your lungs to the skip of your heartbeat.

Deathly familiar, you know exactly what you want, exactly what you're asking for. Perfectly in sync, indulging in the same sin, biting into the same piercing sweetness of the apple — this is where your dance completes.

Your breath hitches as you finally sink down onto him; the thick head of his cock stretches you first, getting you used to the ache. It grants you a thick sense of pleasure, after you were deprived of what you truly needed. And you need to feel more.

You hold onto him tighter, nails digging into his armor, while you ease down enough to take half of him. And oh, you're so full. Sufficiently stretched, throbbing around his thickness so eagerly, perfect for him and his shape. Magic thrums from Viktor's palm. The slightest tremor is present in his fingers as he leans back into the throne, breathing something of a pleasured sigh. Onto your chest, onto your skin like a brand, with your necklace pushed aside, he wills a symbol to inscribe.

It burns into your skin with waves of rich, delightful pain. A circular shape is formed first, branching into the middle: a triangle, a skull over your heart, a seven-pointed star.

Your mind goes woozy. You glance down, unsure if you want to watch the mark as it comes into shape, beneath Viktor's practiced fingertips, or if your gaze should stay stuck on the weak blue glow bulging your stomach, Viktor's length nestled half-way inside you.

The mark completes, and you're no longer given a choice.

Energy surges through you instantly, claiming every inch of your mind that it can. Intense, alive, and effervescent, the sigil starts strong, before the magic tapers out into a weak lull, like a storm fading into faint drops of rain. You drown, before you're able to breathe. Death magic carries sensations you're acquainted with, but it's entirely different to have it used on you. The force of its manipulation is directly controlled by the wielder, and Viktor has specifically chosen to apply little pressure.

It feels like him. Thrums with pulses of him, flooding your chest with repetitions of his name, enveloping you just as intensely as the feeling of him inside you. Dark energy laces through your system. You are one, on this plane and the next, for a moment. The symbol scorches deep into your skin, proving you are his. Your head is woozy, your sensations heightened.

You could break away, could fight the weak threads of baleful power that threaten to wrap around your neck. But with a deep, dizzy breath, you decide to let yourself succumb.

Holding onto him weakly, your eyes roll back before they flutter closed. Pleasure runs rampant in your blood; you can only act on instinct. Every sensation blurs and melds, cold against warm, his body joined with yours — but your warmth is winning. Heat wraps around you, tightens on your limbs and spills into your organs. When your body becomes flush with his, filling you with all of him, you feel full, feel him throb inside you, like a heartbeat's substitute.

Viktor trails his fingertips over the intricate angles of the scar, perfectly placed on your pretty skin, all-consuming.

"You are-" He shudders, "Exquisite."

He fills you so, so good.

You can feel so much of him, pressed within you deeply. Fuck, he's so deep you feel like you can taste him, so big it has your lungs barely functioning.

His name is in your heart, surrounding you like an embrace — in your veins like a sickness. The tender, bright, tangible version of him works into your every breath, some form of lingering energy, reminding you of the soft touches you always wanted. Soft skin, firm bone, a warm soul. But the power he's been given, the power he has over you lacks gentleness. It prods into your edges, blood-soaked and destructive.

The swollen head of him nudges your sweet spot with every slight shift. To the point where you wouldn't have to move, you could just grind oh-so gently, and still find a smooth, soft release. Your mind is reeling, far too dizzy.

"Eyes open."

Viktor grasps your face, and you feel your veins surge. The mark on your chest glows, resonating with strength, with the instruction you've been given. It coaxes you. Persuades you in his voice to listen — your eyes will open for him. And they do.

"Perfect," He praises. Your limbs tremor slightly, your lips parted as you gasp, eyelids drooping. He admires the lust in your gaze, pupils blown like new moons. "Very, very good."

And the weight of his control forces itself into your mind without doubt, has you believing and telling yourself you are perfect, you are pliant, you are good.

With the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, you can barely find your focus. Everything in you is strung tight, entranced and desperate. You're so weak, and it's so intense; you'd do anything to feel him thrust into you once, to hear the way he'd purr and scoff when you would fall apart just from that.

Your eyes flutter, but your gaze doesn't move. It can't, not when you're allowing yourself to be swallowed by the sigil. Giving permission to have your throat caught in Death's — in Viktor's — sharpened jaws. You feel his palm move before you see it, his fingertips roaming every inch of you like it's something he owns, leaving trails of breathy smoke in his wake.

Clearly, Viktor's composure is just fine. Even when you're tight around him like the world's sweetest vice, even when pleasure has returned within him to an unfathomable intensity, he has no need to waver. But you?

As strong and as towering as a herald of Death could possibly be, and as weak and human as you are, you weren't built to take this much.

Viktor believes differently.

"Gods, you're fucking warm," He murmurs. There's an edge to his tone, from the echo of his words to the thickness of his accent that makes his voice sound terribly, brokenly human. "You were made for this. For me."

His palm brushes over you softly, down your chest and to your waist, gripping there to steady your figure. You breathe in deeply, and Viktor caresses your skin with his thumb, in an attempt to ease your obvious tension. The sigil thrums, weakens. Loosens its hold to offer you a chance to escape. A chance you refuse to take.

"Are you overwhelmed?" Viktor reasons; softness spills into you, so lovesick you'd almost forgotten what it could feel like. It is your softness, it has your name on it. "Or have we not yet found the limit of your resolve?"

You shudder. "Not- ah-" It's hard to form words, when you're weak and cock-drunk and stuffed full of him, "I can- I can take it, want more, Vik…"

"Excellent." Viktor leans back, settling comfortably into the throne. Flames flicker from beneath his mask, and you imagine how his gaze might drink you in. Admiring your small form as your chest gently heaves, like prey, when compared to him. Like a delicate little rabbit. "Take it, then. Take what you need from me."

You've no need to hesitate.

You start with slow grinds, your hands steadying on his broad shoulders, your weight braced against him. Your movements are faint. You keep him buried inside you down to the hilt, your arousal a glossy, wet mess on the base of his cock — but even so, every rock and pulse and spark of pleasure is relentless.

The strength of the rune in your chest swallows you and you let it, allowing its influence to make you selfish; Viktor's heart tells you to take what is yours, to not stop. You listen. You circle your hips, and breathe a pathetic whine as his length learns every inch of you, while he watches you grind on him — like the pathetic thing you are.

It's addictive, to watch you use him. Viktor grips your waist hard, tight enough to leave indentations of his touch, to hide the shudder in his fingertips. You're fluttering around him, and he doesn't even have to touch you.

But when he does, trailing his hand up to your side and over your stomach, with all of the softness of someone who knows you, who has already long since memorized your shape — you sob, your bottom lip quivering. You are Death's perfect servant, Viktor's muse, delicate for him, only for him.

"Viktor…" You're cooing, your voice breaking with another soft roll of your hips; are you the only one left who still remembers that name? "Want to- wanna kiss you…"

He isn't sure if it's an empty plea, but still, Viktor presses his thumb to your mouth. Your lips are deathly soft, your breath foggy against him as you pant and breathe him in.

You litter the pad of his thumb with kiss after kiss. Your gaze is heavy, your tongue is wet and warm. His thumb smears your own saliva over your kiss-swollen lips. This tenderness is a form of devotion he isn't meant to feel, but you make it oh-so effortless.

His palm drifts down to hold your chin. Your breath fans over the expanse of his mask, your bodies close. The mark hums, asking for entry.

As you grind against him, slow and steady to tease the edge of your release, you wait for it to unfold you. Like a flower, like hands gently brushing your pages. Easily molded, your mind opens to him, desperation and all. He feels the same pleasure as you, a mosaic of sparks and perfect warmth bridging from your body to his. He drowns in your thoughts, as vividly as if he were dreaming them.

He syncs with the pound of your heart, sees thin limbs entangled, touches pressed to pallid skin and pretty moles. His own reflection was almost something he'd forgotten. Your spine curls, and a soft whine is pulled from your mouth to vibrate against his thumb. You shift, taking half of him inside you, before you sink back down to fuck yourself on him. Pure, raw bliss drips through you like honey.

And your thoughts reconvene. You imagine his touch, on your cheek, on your neck, on your thighs. The power that answers to him shudders within you in turn, as strong as the rot you can feel when you touch him; the end's form of devotion.

You picture the throne room. The soldiers, easily felled. The king, humiliated. A soft touch, as you wiped the blood that still clung to his hands: crimson like roses. A firm, desperate jolt as you recall the way Viktor's adversaries would fight, would plead, would demonstrate how weak and pathetic they are, before Viktor effortlessly disposed of them all.

Oh. You are sweet.

Viktor laughs. He grasps your face, tilts it towards him.

"I see nothing has changed since the day we met," He coos, sounding almost adoring, "You are still reckless. Ambitious. Obsessive."

You gasp; tugging at your chest, you can feel every pull of the sigil, every press and caress of his phantom shape to your thoughts. You steady your palms on his chest as you lift, then grind, bouncing yourself on his lap, your soft skin rhythmically colliding with his firm armor.

"Yes- hah, Vik-" Your throat is tight, your hands shake and grip him as hard as you can manage. "Love watching you win."

The thought of it all, the thrill of the triumph, the devotion that comes with Death's praises and sacrificing souls —

"Did it excite you?" Viktor trails his palm down your neck, fingertips searching for your quickened pulse. "Witnessing an army of fools perish, as Death claimed their pitiful souls? Watching me crush them?"

It enamored you.

From the moment you met him, you knew Viktor was right. All of this power finally at his fingertips, Death noticing his vision and granting him a rightful place at his side — it was only a matter of time. This is what you have always wanted, for Viktor to win.

Perhaps you are his only remaining tie to humanity. Perhaps you, as a mortal, are no better than the rest. You'd submit if he asked you to, you'd give yourself to him, worship him. Just as the countless souls he's reaped have done before you.

"Death will- He will be fed-" You're stuttering; your breath is sharp, beads of sweat forming to drip down your skin. "I'd never forsake Him, for- for as long as I live…"

You grind against Viktor hard, desperate, collapsing, growing soft like a rose unfurling in sunlight. Leaning against his chest, you can only rely on clumsy bucks of your hips as you splinter, as you threaten to break, every tight thread within you inches away from being untied.

"They'll all p-pay… they'll all fall at your feet… kiss the ground you walk on, fucking- beg for mercy…" Your voice is weak, and you're close, so close. "Please please please…"

Viktor presses his cold palm to your chest, to the mark, forcing it to thrum with more strength than ever. Controlling, instructing, gripping your heart in two hands. His voice resounds through your mind with the weight of a knife to your chest.

Fall apart for me.

And you fall — fast, hard, instantly.

The carnal force of the command, the surging fire of the spell that binds you, all of it pales in comparison to your blistering, syrup-rich high.

Every edge to your precipice is forceful. You sigh through broken moans, grinding against him desperately to ride out each wave, gushing and fluttering around him. Your muscles tense in turn, before they fall limp. Strings of half-moans and bitten swears leave your lips, so slurred they could be mistaken for incantations.

Your breathing becomes slow, hazy. You lean your arms on his shoulders, your head on his chest; his body, your anchor. Even in the wake of your high, you're still fluttering around his length, warm and twitching and needy.

"Look at you." Viktor's voice takes several moments to register, and it takes you even longer to finally lift your head. You grow lost in the smoke that surrounds you, the coolness of his figure brushing over your skin, as soft as a breath.

"You are stunning," He decides. His head tilts slightly to examine you, his index finding its place underneath your delicate chin. "Dangerously so."

You whine weakly. Your thoughts are becoming dangerous. Despite still attempting to catch your breath, your gaze stays locked on where his would be, and you circle your hips on his still-hard cock — a silent plea for more. Aftershocks of pleasure ripple through your system. Your thighs are weak, shaking. They're barely able to hold your weight, and Viktor thankfully braces his armored hand on your side, clawed fingers digging in sharply.

"Though, I believe we have reached a misunderstanding." Viktor caresses the mark on your chest, examining each individual scar, carved in his image. "Your fealty is exceptionally admirable. But you do not belong to Death. Every inch of you is mine."

Those words sink into your stomach like a stone thrown into water. Your mind, your body, your end would be at his hand, you're sure of it. You could never ask for any other fate.

He tightens his hand on your waist, and he takes back control.

If it's more you want, more is what he's going to give.

Viktor has every right to call you ambitious, but the word is certainly more suited for him. He was always driven, drowning himself in his studies, no matter the risk. Researching life's great departure was a talent for him, but he didn't achieve it overnight. He does not let obstacles stand in his way. There is nothing he can't surpass, no-one who could best him, no soul that could sway him from his conviction. Death admired that about him, as do you.

There is something to Viktor that needs to improve, that longs to put adversaries in their place, that is always searching for a way to be better, to do better. To push limits, wherever they might stand.

And the way Viktor fucks you drips with nothing short of ambition.

There's nothing for you to do but hold onto him tight, as he drags you up and down on his cock with relative ease. Your voice splinters, your breathing rough and forceful. Every thrust bullies your sweet, oversensitive cunt, to the point where you are limp and weightless, entirely at his mercy. If you weren't used to your partner's tenacity, if you didn't know Viktor, you might've whimpered, might've pleaded through the overstimulated sparks in your core that you can't cum again.

If only.

Countless sensations envelop you; the frigid chill of his body, the warmth of your skin, the fluttering of your walls around him, used and still-desperate. You cover your mouth with your palm, although it does little to stifle your noise. Nor does it quiet the echoing in your ears, reverberated each time he eases deep inside you — slick, wet, filthy.

It hardly matters to you how wrong it is to fuck him here. This throne room was once sacred, torn paintings and burnt flags and stained glass pictures surrounding you, depicting holy symbols. Meant to imply the Gods of the living are watching over.

Part of you hopes they'd turn their divine gazes away from this, so they wouldn't see you falling apart. So they couldn't judge the way you envelop every inch of one another, your breath hot and your thighs spread as you give yourself to Death's all-powerful herald, taking all of him in turn.

Viktor chuckles, a laugh that still shakes him for several moments afterwards. Twin flames watch as you bounce for him, your chest expanding and contracting, hair a mess in your face, eyes glossy like a doll's.

"Ha… That stupid, useless, insignificant king," Viktor's tone sharpens, as though his teeth are gritting. A firm thrust into you makes you whine and arch further into him. "Do you think he's watching, gazing at us from his dark prison in the depths of the underworld, as we make a mockery of his throne? As we fuck each other like animals, after easily felling his entire squadron, with hardly even a lifted finger?"

You can't help but sob.

"Don't st-stop," You're hardly able to reply, hardly able to form words, let alone coherent thoughts. Not when Viktor is fucking up into you to his own brutal, steady pace, complying with your words before he's even heard them — not stopping, leaving you barely any room to breathe.

"Please," You plead, "Viktor…"

"Yes, tell them who you belong to." His voice pounds into your mind, with the force of a hammer and a nail, rich and commanding, terribly familiar. "Tell Lord Death and the Gods of the living exactly who is destined to rule over them all."

Sparks surge up your spine with a vengeance nearly as strong as his own.

"You, Viktor," You're begging, sobbing. Your words are thick with devotion, like they're words of worship, as if they could be prayers. "I'm yours… yours, yours, yours…"

You hardly expect the full-body shiver that courses through him, putting his frame off-kilter, briefly bringing clumsiness to his pace. Your forehead leans against his chest, your spine arches. Your hands shakily glide over the tangible parts of his figure. His palm finds the curve of your waist that just begs to be held, gripping you tight. With composure.

"If I could kiss you," Fuck, his voice is soft, reminiscent of a past life; his hips roll into you and you can no longer breathe, can't even think. "I would let my mouth memorize yours." Viktor presses his cold, smoke-ridden fingertips into your side — "I would want us to devour one another, until we are part of the same flame. I-" A sigh, a resounding whine from your own lips, "I could long for centuries to feel you beneath my ribs, like a second soul."

Your heart pounds, shaking your chest, getting stuck in your throat.

He's never considered returning to a human vessel, it'd have too many limitations, but when he looks at you, he wants nothing more than to touch you. To feel you without layers of finality in between, to dig his fingertips into your ribs and feel your heart beating, to burn himself on you like you're a pyre. Such desires are useless, distracting, human. And yet, and yet —

"Vik-" You manage, "Harder."

You want him harder, rougher, more. Your thighs ache, but you try to rock your body against his in feverish unison, meeting each press inside you with your own grind into him.

With a broken moan, your eyes flutter shut. You are perfect, so otherworldly, so beautiful when you're at his mercy. Each soft stretch of what remains of him echoes with your name, consumes him and begs to take you, to claim you, to ruin you. Viktor groans, puffs of smoke expelling from beneath his cloak to settle on your skin, thick and humid.

You take all of him, until you're full, until your bodies are one; the tremor to your thighs and the break of your voice tells him you're almost there.

"Close," You pant, "Gonna cum for you-"

"Beg for it." Viktor's words slur slightly, but they're tender, they're assured. They're desperate. "Tell me how much you need me."

Oh, and you don't even need to be commanded.

"Need you, Vik, need you so much-" You meet where his gaze would be with wide, doe-eyes, with fluttery lashes and faint tear drops. "Need you more than Death, need you more than breathing-"

The room teeters around you, everything dizzy, your limbs weak. You only need a little more, one more spark, one last wave. Another grind of your hips to his, another press of his cock right where you need him, more friction and pressure lacing together until they're left to build, and build.

"Viktor… Viktor, I'm-"

You beg his name, chanting it like it's precious. Breathing it like a prayer, pleading to him like he is divine. Broken sighs and gasps hammer at your lungs. The world could burn out, could turn to ash in his wake, and this, and he would be all that matters.

Flickering, his flame heart stirs; possessiveness takes over, as strong as teeth at his neck. For once, his soul — or the lack thereof — shines. He finds your cheek, holds it carefully, brushes his thumb over your skin with enough tenderness to make you ache. You are his, only his.

Neither Viktor nor yourself can ever truly die, bound to servitude by the pact made to save you. So this, tender and hungry, is how you will reach the end.

You blend into one another with fuzzy edges and tender grinds and soft gasps — becoming two halves of one whole. Heaven and the underworld, darkness and light, perfect reflections. Entwined divinely, with beautiful finality.

Your body shudders, heat lacing through your every crevice. In the moment where you cum together, you can't feel anything but the pulse of him within you, can't see anything but hazy lines and smoke. Blue wisps surrounding you, within you. The azure glow in your stomach burns bright, before it gradually lessens.

Breathing hard, you lean against him. Small against his shape, blissfully weak. Viktor doesn't attempt to move you, but he carefully works his hand in between you. His palm glides over your chest, presses to the center. The magic dampens, leaving your veins, and loosening its grip on your heart. Only the mark is left behind, his cool touch helping to alleviate the pain.

"Little lamb…That's enough." Viktor's voice sounds sore, almost, not exactly human but reminiscent of the rough sharpness of wind. He trails his fingertips over the scar on your skin as he comes back to himself, before drifting down to hold your waist. "You've done so well."

It takes you a few minutes longer to fully catch your breath, and even so, your heart pounds quickly and softly. You lift, and he helps you pull yourself off of him, adjusts so you can find a more comfortable position on his lap. Your arms find his shoulders, embracing him in something of a hug. Leaning into his much larger body, you let his touch and the mist envelop you like a grave.

"You should rest," Viktor reasons, "Today was extensive. If you stay awake any longer, I'll be carrying you tomorrow."

The throne room is empty and quiet. You grumble, but you don't protest when he grasps your face and lifts it to look at you.

Your cheek leans into his touch, your eyelids heavy. "We're going north, right? Gods, it's gonna be cold."

"Oh, you'll be fine. I'm sure you still remember how to conjure a flame."

His hand slips from your cheek, and you grasp it carefully, placing a faint kiss onto his knuckle; still shaped like you remember.

"Will you rest with me?"

This form does not require rest, or sleep. Really, it wasn't meant to indulge in anything mortal. Perhaps it would be against Death's wishes to do so. Viktor's research once determined that a form like this would be detached from reality. Conjurations of Death do not have souls; they trade them, in exchange for a better body. They lack empathy, emotion, understanding. The basis of Death's strength sacrifices everything in exchange for irreversibility. Nothing else should matter. But —

"Yes," Viktor answers, "Of course."

—

Death's opposition dwindles.

It is uninteresting, truly. The earth is becoming barren, as more and more souls convene with his army in the underworld. Death has shown me visions. He is planning to soon take full control of this plane, to come with soldiers and deathriders to claim the last of the mortals.

I believe our approach should be grander. This abundance of souls could be used as more than mere meat puppets. Death might disagree. But power, not the strength you gained on a whim, but the leverage you have grasped for yourself is a fierce, funny thing.

My partner is one step ahead, because they already understand this concept. I have watched the darkness in their gaze grow, day by day. Yet, their light never falters, when they are looking at me. I am grateful to have them at my side.

Our last adversary was difficult, but they felled them all on their own. They were the one to plunge their dagger into the fool's heart, returning his soul to the ground.

More will follow. Perhaps mortals. Perhaps Death's army. It matters not. Not to us.

For dust they are, and to dust, they all shall return.

— V. Unknown Date, 1619.

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor smut #the voices..... THE VOICES...................

565 notes · View notes

taylormarieee · 6 months ago

Text

your moodboards make me miss writing for rick, gosh if only I had ideas.

mwah<33💋

Rick's Sweet Cherry Pie

🍒 : @dustbunniess @taylormarieee @silk-spun @hannahkay-411 @sinsandsweetness @lanadelreykt @dilfsandmartinis @movidita

#twd moodboard #coquette #moodboard #twd aesthetic #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes moodboards #rick grimes #coqutte farmgirl #rickgrimes #the walking dead #taylors reblogs

83 notes · View notes

redeyerhaenyra · 10 months ago

Text

Imagine being a porn couple with Soap

Summary: Headcanons of being a pornhub couple with Johnny :3

Warnings: Smut duh, recording sex, sex tapes, public sex, roleplay n costumes, Johnny is handsy, Johnny is kinda pushy w reader, oral (f receiving), fem coded reader, an English lass attempting to write a Scottish accent is its own warning 😭

Notes: Johnny in a kilt save me. Save me Johnny in a kilt.

Oouugghhhh

This vision appeared to me in a dream

So imagine you n johnny are a couple

And overtime he slowly convinces you that the many, many recordings he's made of you two fucking should get posted online

"Ah you'll be so popular hen, you've no idea, just imagine, so many drooling over what only I can touch."

He's kinda a pushy, needy asshole about it but I'll elaborate on that in a later post 🤷🏻‍♀️

Eventually you agree, and Johnny is soooo giddy

Gives you a big, crushing hug and and a wet, messy kiss

He makes you both a pornhub account, posts a few videos he's got saved, and waits...

Within hours you get soooo much interaction

Johnny proudly shows you all the comments lusting over you

"Look! Look! See! Ah told ya didn' ah?"

He's so dog coded 😩

Johnny gets such an ego boost from it all, he gets new ideas of what you should post all the time

DEFINITELY has several videos of him in his kilt

Probably has a playlist featuring various kilt related scenarios

"Just showin' off ma heritage hen.."

The on thing i will not budge on is this:

He has DEFINETLY bought you some kind of cosplay peasant dress, driven you all the way out to a forest and fucked you there. Titles the video "English farmgirl gets fucked by Scottish brute."

He's extra mean that day, pushes your face into the dirt and growls and you and cums on your face :(

To make it up to you, you both film another video in the car afterwards where he eats you out so sweetly 😇

He gets so handsy in public too, he just LOVES filming you

You think he's just being cheeky then BOOM you see under the table he's recording his hand creeping up your skirt

There is a less than zero percent chance he's used that phat military paycheck on a really expensive, high quality camera and tripod

#soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish smut #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader

600 notes · View notes

rafesbangs · 2 days ago

Text

𝜗𝜚 farmgirl!reader x bsf!stableboy!rafe brief lore & moodboard

you and rafe had known each other since childhood. he lives on the smaller farm next door, he's the stable boy on your family's bigger farm. you grew up with him, so you never thought rafe would think of you in any way other than as a sister, but one day he dragged you into the barn and kissed you against the hay until your lips felt bruised, and your panties were soaked through.

notes; someone stop me i've made another !reader omfgg. also if you're reading this !! i'm gonna start a taglist on my works !! pls comment <3

110 notes · View notes

mariclerc · 20 days ago

Note

MARI FARM LOVE WAS THE CUTEST THING IVE EVER READDDDDD

OMG HIIII THERE!!! I'm glad you liked it, that's the idea... To do something adorable and a little different than usual hehe 🤍🤍🤍

#mariclercanswer #marianswer #mariclerc fics #charles x farmgirl!reader #charles leclerc x farm girl reader #farm girl!reader #charles leclerc x reader

4 notes · View notes

briseroyawritingsblog · 4 months ago

Text

༊*·˚ 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀’𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 ‘𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐄’ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. — 🩶🐺🩸

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝– 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭.

+18 minors do not interact. this masterlist will contain smut topics.

more than anything : oldman!logan x innocent!reader — ♡ ❥

caress : oldman!logan x babygirl!reader — ♡ ❥

love found us : origins!logan x farmgirl!reader — ♡ ❥

pain and sorrows : oldman!logan x wife!nurse!reader — ♡

stay : dotfp!logan x fem!reader ❥

keep me forever : husband!originslogan x wife!reader — ♡ ❥

mouth on you : worst!logan x fem!reader — ❥♥️

growing pains : oldman!logan x fem!reader — ♡ ❥

my sin my love : oldman!logan x wife!reader — ♡ ❥

the feeling : oldman!logan x fem!reader — ❥

visiting : origins!logan x wife!reader — ♡ ❥

breaking the rules : oldman!logan x bimbo!reader - ♡ ❥

i can show you - AU : professor!logan x fem!reader - ♡ ❥

i just don’t wanna go - AU : professor!logan x fem!reader - ❥

the feel of your arms : oldman!logan x fem!reader ♡ ❥

#hugh jackman #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine smut #logan wolverine #logan howlett imagine #logan x you #logan howlett fanfiction #logan xmen #logan 2017 #logan x reader #wolverine x female reader #hugh jackman fanfic #masterlist #x men #x men fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction

298 notes · View notes

huihuiheart · 3 months ago

Text

Hair Ties - Stray Kids - Hyunjin Historical AU

Navigation

Stray Kids Masterlist

Pairing: Lord/ Rebel! Hyunjin x Farmgirl! Reader

Summary: Harboring a rebel in your barn on a gut feeling turns into the best decision of you life when he becomes the most important person in it.

Warnings: Mentions of parent death, entitled men, rumors, fire, burns, cursing, almost forced marriage, war themes, rebellion themes, violence themes, unprotected sex, oral, light bondage, light dom/sub themes, Hyunjin slaps reader's thigh once, big dick Hyunjin. I think that's all.

Word Count: 8136

Rumors always flew around you, you’d been used to that ever since your parents had passed. No one to plan your future or care for your needs, at least according to society. You’d taken over the family farm though and one thing that was to your benefit was that all in town agreed your farm produced the best. Crops and livestock. Which is why their sons were always offered to be yours, so they said, but you knew you would be the one treated like property right along with your family’s land. Besides, there weren’t that many good options in town. That and townspeople rarely lasted more than a day on the farms. They considered themselves too good for you, too educated, even if the land and money appealed. They weren’t the only ones that came after you either. Ever since the rebellion started soldiers had been all over. They often came whether to search for hidden rebels or have a place to spend the night. Hence where most of the rumors blossomed, most thought they came to your farm not out of convenience, but for other ‘perks’ you offered. Not that there was any truth behind those rumors. You weren’t that type of person. You had no desire to sleep around, you wanted feelings mixed in. Not that the soldiers never attempted. Heck, some had even offered marriage, for your benefit of course. They said they’d be willing to sacrifice that much for your sake, and perhaps you should have taken someone up on the offer. After all, you weren’t getting any younger. What you didn’t know was that someone was about to come shake up your whole world and that it would be worth the wait.

You were in one of your smaller fields when you heard a commotion in the barn. The larger animals were out grazing, so it should only be the smaller ones in there, something having startled them all. Squealing, sounding out, and sending you running to see what it was. Only when you got there did you see nothing. No snakes or foxes, nothing that should have spooked them. Nothing at all for that matter. You had quite the intuition at this point though and noticed how they avoided a certain area, so you grabbed a pitchfork and headed towards where they avoided. Lightly moving it through the hay, jumping when it got you a startled yelp in response. A just as startled man sitting up out of the hay. His hair wild, half up, a few pieces of hair sticking out.

“Who are you?” You ask, pointing the pitchfork at him.

“Relax, I’m not here to cause any problems. I’m just trying to hide.” He answers calmly, putting his hands up in surrender.

“Wait… are you… a rebel?” You cautiously ask, but surely there was no way he could be a harsh, violent, aggressive rebel as they described. He looked so sweet, so angelic.

“Maybe.” He chuckles nervously, climbing out of the hay. Revealing a leg poorly bandaged beneath torn clothing, blood staining through both layers at this point.

Maybe it was his angelic face, maybe it was that you couldn’t turn away someone who needed help, but you sight, “Go to the upper level and hide there. Soldiers are all over here, but never upstairs, only down here.”

The man glances between you and the area you mentioned, nodding. He offers you a smile before crumbling up as quickly as his injured leg will allow for. You turn to calm the spooked animals. Only they don’t calm much when soldiers come barging in shortly after that. The captain among them is a familiar face.

“Hi Y/N. Sorry to interrupt, but have you seen anyone unfamiliar around?” The captain speaks to you as he does a quick look around.

“Your timing is truly perfect. A man just ran through here, terrified the animals, but then when I came he pushed past me and ran off. He was going to the north last I saw, but I also had to get the animals under control so I didn’t watch him for long.” You answer, making the mysterious man hold his breath initially concerned you would rat him out.

“Captain, should we conduct a search?” One of the men asked.

“No. Y/N knows what’ll happen if she betrays us.” The captain answers, hand reaching into a barrel of produce to snatch a persimmon to eat, winking at you, “Remember my offer always stands should you get lonely or need protection Y/N.”

“I know Captain Park.” You assure him, watching them leave with bated breath before trying to calm the animals again.

You jump along with them though when the man pops up over the railing, “Do they harass you a lot?”

You sigh and just over the door to the outside pen for the animals for now, “ I mean harass is a pretty strong word.”

“With how he just spoke to you and how he took your fruit without asking, I would say it’s a fitting word.” The man shrugs making his way back down after peeking out of the upstairs window, “ I should probably go now before you get into trouble.”

You sigh, cursing internally at your morals while he bows, “Come inside, your leg is in bad shape, let me clean that up for you before you go.”

You don’t give him time to argue, or for you to overthink things. Leading the way, putting tea on the stove while going to get your medical supplies. Clearing off your table to get him up there. The man moving his clothes away with no hesitation, while you instantly fluster, feeling your cheeks burn.

“Why so shy?” The man asks quietly from his spot.

“I’m just not used to such actions.” You admit even quieter, feeling shame burning in you as he covers his leg back up.

“Would it help to do introductions first?” He offers, “Or you could let me do it, if you want, so you don’t have to look?”

“No it'll be hard for you to do yourself, I can do it… I don't know if introductions will help or not though,” You admit, but he shows no signs of mocking or anything.

“ Well, no harm in trying. I’m Hwang Hyunjin. I’m a rebel captain with the Southern division. “ he beams at you, but the familiar name and the fancy clothes give something away.

“ Like from the Hwang family? You’re with the rebels?” you’re shocked, to say the least when he laughs and nods.

“ I certainly am, they couldn't buy out my morals.” he proudly states, giving you a turn to laugh now.

“ Well, that's admirable at least. You probably overheard it, but I’m Y/N.”

“ Nice to meet you! Thank you for helping me… are you ready to try again?” He asks and when you nod he moves the clothes again. You’re still feeling warm, but not as uncomfortable now. Carefully removing the ruined bandages next, wincing at the sight of the wound. While also trying not to focus on how firm his thigh is. Working efficiently to patch him up. Handing him some tea as well.

“ Is there any way I can thank you? Anything I can do for you before I go?” Hyunjin inquires as he gets up off the table.

“ No, no, I should have everything just fine.” You insist, helping him to stand again.

“ Well, I'll remember this and repay you for it one day Y/N.” Hyunjin insists almost as firmly as you before sneaking out and off. Sighing as you go out to try and make up for lost time in your potato field. Going back in after sundown to find a small bag of coins, the tie Hyunjin had in his hair, and a note.

‘ This is my favorite hair ribbon. I’ll be back for it, and when I am I'll thank you for all you did for me today.

Hwang Hyunjin’

You blinked at that somewhat stunned at the action, wondering if Hyunjin was possibly still sneaking around somewhere close by. Putting the note someplace hidden, along with the ribbon so that should soldiers pop up it wouldn't sell anyoneout, or put you at risk. The only real problem that it caused this way was that it led you to think about him. Why your mind kept wandering back you weren't certain. Perhaps it was just concern, after all, he was injured. Brushing it off as you that went about your evening tasks before turning in for the night.

It most certainly was not just concern if your dream that night was of any insight. You wondered how your brain could conjure up such salacious thoughts, and how it could come up with an entire picture of him nude when you had only seen a thigh. You shook it off though when you realized that beautifully scandalous dream had caused you to oversleep. Rushing up to get straight to work despite the ever-haunting thoughts of Hyunjin running rampant in your mind.

“ Excuse me.” You hear a voice calling from the edge of the field, an unfamiliar man there and you sigh before walking over to him.

“ Yes sir, how can I help you?” You answer, taking note of his dress.

“ Hwang Hyunjin sent me. He asked me to get a list of all the produce you sell as well as any other items. We are looking for a supplier for the … estate.” the man says, pausing enough before the word estate you have a feeling it is not actually for that. Still, if that is how it would be known to the public then it would really benefit you. So long as no one knew or found out that the Hwang heir was involved in the rebellion.

“ Oh, I don't have a list written down.” You tell him, thinking and hoping that he doesn't ask you to write one.

“ It's okay, just tell me while you do what you need and I'll write it. I don’t want to interfere.” He assures you, smiling brightly as he takes out a paper and begins to write whatever you list with some additional notes, “ Thank you, this is great. We’ll get back with you in a few days.”

The man left after that, refusing your offers for water or anything, insisting it would interfere too much with your hard work, something that had already happened the previous day with Hyunjin. Turning back to the crops and continuing to tend to them through the rest of the now quiet day.

It wasn’t until the next week that you heard anything else. A knock on the door that evening, a smiling Hyunjin standing there with some papers in hand.

“I’m not interrupting am I?” He asks, taking note of the pleasant smell.

“No, I was making dinner and doing some work still. Come in and sit, it’s almost done.” You assure, opening the door wider.

Hyunjin really can’t resist such a tempting offer. Making some small talk when you insist he is still too injured to help and should stay seated. Soon presenting a meal and joining him at the table. It is unusual, but not unpleasant to have someone else here with you. Hyunjin seemed to be familiar with some of the rumors pertaining to you now but was determined to hear your story from your mouth. Something else that you were not used to, but you enjoyed it. Someone showing a genuine interest in you, not in whatever came along with. Perhaps that was because he already had so much though, he had no true need for your things.

“I brought a contract of sorts here. It states what we would like to purchase from you on a continuous basis and for what price. Look it over and let me know what you think.” Hyunjin holds the papers out to you, brows furrowing when you don’t take them, “ What’s wrong?”

“I uhm…” You hesitate, embarrassed to admit the problem, but you also can’t make up an excuse, “ I can’t really read…”

If Hyunjin is shocked then he hides it well. Then again most women of your class didn’t know so it really shouldn’t be that shocking. Other than the words you had picked up from your experience in town though you had just never learned.

“Well I could read it to you, but really you shouldn’t trust what you can’t read for yourself. So how about we agree to each individual sale for the time being? I’ll come teach you to read if you want, and when you can read this then we can sort out a paper contract, sound good?” Hyunjin offers and while you’re embarrassed, the benefits of being able to read are coming to mind and easily outweighing that.

“Okay, I can do that.” You agree, setting up the first shipment with him, along with when he should first come to help you with reading. Only realizing he had left his hair ribbon still when he had already left. It was probably okay though, since he would be back soon.

You weren’t quite sure how to prepare for Hyunjin to help you read, so you just prepared tea for you both. Letting him in when he arrived and sitting at the table with him. Hyunjin spacing letters out on a paper to teach you that and sounding out. That was all for your first day so that you wouldn’t be overwhelmed. Hyunjin leaving you a few simple children’s books should you be brave enough to attempt that now. For some reason you kept thinking about it too, feeling the need to succeed for some reason, wanting to prove to Hyunjin that you could do it. Picking a book to practice repeatedly the next few days until Hyunjin would be back again. This time you were fully prepared too. Giving him his hair ribbon as soon as he entered, before leading him to the table showing him proudly what you could read from the one story. Him showing you another with similar words, only needing a little help with that one. Time passes like that. Hyunjin gives you a slightly more challenging one each time you succeed until you start to hit a wall. This one particular book challenged you as Hyunjin stood behind you, helping over your shoulder. Watching you continuously and frustratingly push your hair back out of the way. Hyunjin’s hands gently pulling your hair back and tying his favorite ribbon into it, so that it would stay out of your face. Continuing to attempt the book for a bit.

“Okay, I think that’s enough. Keeping on at this point won’t help. Go give your mind a break, there’s always time to try again later.” Hyunjin assures you, stopping when you reach to take your hair down and return his ribbon, “ Leave it, it looks pretty.”

It has to be obvious how that flusters you, but Hyunjin does not comment on it. He simply wishes you a good night and heads on his way. The next day the town is buzzing with rumors as usual, only this time they’re not about you. No, rumors were spreading of noble involvement in the rebellion. Sure no one had any proof at all, and even less on who from that class it could be, but they were out. Spreading like wildfire as everyone speculated who it could be. You get done what you need to in town as quickly as possible to go back home.

When going out to the field though you take Hyunjin’s hair ribbon to tie up your hair. Setting off to work for a while until you hear a tense and familiar voice behind you.

“Where did that ribbon come from Y/N? It’s obviously a man’s.” The captain speaks from behind you, making you whip around.

“Oh… it was a gift.” You say, reaching over your shoulder toy with the end of it.

“I make so many offers to you and you do this to me?” The captain scoffs and you feel your anxiety rise as his frustration shows. Only you don’t get a chance to respond when Hyunjin miraculously joins at that time, somewhat picking up on the situation.

“Hello flower, what’s going on?” He asks, coming around to stand at your side, hand hovering over the small of your back.

“Lord Hwang? What… What is this?” The captain inquires backing off some now.

“We’re courting captain, I hope for your discretion in this. We’re keeping it quiet until we’ve determined the true depth of our feelings.” Hyunjin speaks smoothly and if the captain is still upset he doesn’t show it.

“Ah, congratulations, I hope things go well. I’ll be on my way.” The captain forces out along with a smile.

Hyunjin waited for him to be gone before removing his hand, “I was coming to say I might not be around as much, but if he’s going to come harass you when you’re alone then forget it.”

“What do you mean Hyunjin?” You ask, confused by his statement.

“People are catching on to where we’re located so we have to be more careful.” He explains and you hum in understanding.

“Then do what you need to so you can stay safe. It’s fine,” You reply, but there is an upsetting feeling deep in your gut that you don’t understand.

“And give him an opportunity? Absolutely the fuck not.” Hyunjin says adamantly, the force with which he does stunning you, “ Don’t tell me it’s not that bad or that you can handle it. I know him, he doesn’t take no for an answer and won’t listen to you. So just let me help, please?”

You sigh but nod in agreement, really not giving any more argument on this. Hyunjin smiling and insisting you go inside and hydrate before you get overheated. The concern flusters you again as you smile feeling giddy at it. He doesn’t stay long though, soon having to return to the rebel camp, but promising to return that evening.

Only things don’t quite go smoothly for that. Seeing a weird shimmer out your window only to move closer and see everything on fire. Your fields, the barn, and trees. You rush over to open the doors for the animals, them rushing out with you behind, coughing at all the smoke, trying to wave it away from your face. You have no time to waste though, rushing to the well to get something … anything to put an end to all the flames. It’s too far gone at this point though. There’s no stopping it at this point you realize as you look around in a panic. Catching a glimpse of the captain from a safe distance, smiling dangerously at you before riding off. It’s closing in on your house now and you rush in, grabbing what you can quickly; seeds, family, memorabilia, your money, and a few other things before letting out a scream as a rafter falls not far from you burning. Your sign that you have to leave now. Running out, shielding your face with your free arm as you go, hearing a voice but not being able to determine anything about it over the roaring fire. Stepping out you realize you’re trapped by a burning line. Realizing now whose voice it was as you saw Hyunjin and a few other men with him on the other side of the fire. They used the few water jugs they brought to clear a narrow path for you. Hyunjin rushed in, grabbing your wrist to quickly drag you out and away from the flames. Panicking some when you start to cry watching the flames swallow up all that was left. He hugs you close to his chest, petting your head as you full-on sob in his arms. The men staying with you until the last of the flames dissipates into the darkness of night, your life left in embers on the land now. One of the men nodded at Hyunjin.

“Come on, we can’t stay here all night.” He speaks softly as if his words will be the final thing that breaks you. The other men ahead of you and Hyunjin as he guides you are your pace. Until you’re at their camp, Hyunjin breaks you both off to go to his spot, something more permanent than a tent, but not by much.

Hyunjin sits you down, disappearing for a moment before returning with a basin of water. You wince when he touches your arm, now registering the bad burn you have across it. Hyunjin’s touch is delicate as he fully exposes it, using a cloth to gently dab it with water. He then takes a cream and generously coats the burn. Then wrapping it all up carefully before looking over you for any other burns or injuries. When he’s taken care of anything he finds he dips a fresh cloth into the water. He then uses that to wipe off your face and hair first, cleaning them of ash and soot, then moving on to the rest of you before getting you fresh clothes from one of the women in the camp. Leaving you for a short while so that you can change and settle. When he returns the sight makes his heart clench. There you are, broken and injured, barely having had time to get what was precious to you. Yet, here you are with his book and hair ribbon in hand, offering them to him. He knew you had the ribbon since it had been in your hair, but the book was a shock to him. In your panic, you had remembered him and what he valued, including the memories he had tied with this book. The surge of emotions Hyunjin feels overwhelms him and he lunges forward to hold your face in his palms while giving you a deep kiss. Something you didn’t think that you would enjoy so much, but now that you’re doing it you don’t want it to ever stop. Sure it didn’t take the pain away, but it felt like heaven, like the sanctuary you needed right in this moment. A safe, caring, loving space. Something you had been lacking ever since your parents had passed, but not anymore.

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.” Hyunjin apologizes when he pulls away, panting slightly as he tries to catch his breath.

“Don’t apologize for something we both wanted.” You counter, eyes fluttering shut, basking in the feeling of Hyunjin’s hand coming up to cup your cheek again.

“You want it too?” Hyunjin is uncertain as he asks, as if not truly believing it.

“I think it is pretty undeniable, even if I haven’t been admitting it to myself.” You answer, eyes still closed and missing the smile it brings to his face.

“It’s okay to have these feelings, you don’t have to do things merely out of duty,” Hyunjin assures and now you’re moving in to kiss him. Hyunjin easing into it and allowing you both a moment to express your feelings in this way. Then he’s giving you both some space again.

“We should stop before we take it too far.” He says, nearly giving in to the quiet whine you let out in response.

“I’m okay with going farther.” You assure him and Hyunjin isn’t sure where he’s getting the willpower not to give in now.

“Darling, I'm not going to make their rumors a reality and taint you in others’ eyes. I have too much respect for you to do that.” Hyunjin insists and it only makes you want him more, but you appreciate his desire to do this for you.

“You’re the only one who has shown me this consideration.” You speak so broken and it makes Hyunjin frown.

“Don’t get lost in your head darling, stay with me.” Hyunjin softly calls to you, as if to ground you, “Come, let’s sleep. You’ve had a very long day.”

You allow Hyunjin to guide you to lie down now, careful of your burnt arm. Everything catches up to you in the form of exhaustion and snatches you away to sleep. Once your body has slept enough, however, pain radiating from your arm is waking you once more. /getting up when you notice that you’re alone now. Peeking outside you don’t see Hyunjin, but the man that spoke to you in the field, offering you a smile when you lock eyes. His smile puts you at ease and gets you to venture out into the quiet camp.

“Good morning, how are you doing?” He asks, noting the bandages on your arm.

“Actually… I’m in a lot of pain.” You admit, making his brows scrunch.

“Give me a minute I might be able to help with that.” He tells you, scurrying off and leaving you alone for a moment. Then he’s putting a teapot beside the pot he has over the open flame. Grinding herbs and mixing a few other things in a bowl before adding them to a teapot. He steeps it, pouring you a cup.

“Here drink this and it should ease the pain soon.” He says carefully handing you the cup, “When Hyunjin is back I’ll tell him to add more ointment to your burns to help too.”

You fluster but not, taking the tea to sip on, “Thank you. Where is he by the way?”

“He’s on watch, he should be back soon.” He explains and you nod though his focus is already back on the food, “Also, I feel it’s kind of unfair that we all know your name, but you don’t know ours. So, I'm Felix.”

“Nice to more officially meet you, Felix.” You smile, sitting near him, feeling comfortable with him around even as unfamiliar faces begin to join. Hyunjin eventually made his way there as well.

“I see you found the breakfast spot.” He smiles as he takes a seat beside you.

“Yeah. Felix and I talked a little, he made me some tea too.” You tell him, holding up the cup to show him.

“He told me. I’ll help with your bandages after we eat, but you need food to get your energy back.” Hyunjin says and you nod knowing he’s right.

“Afterwards, I want to go see if anything is salvageable and get back to work.” You tell him and his expression shows his concern towards doing that.

“You need time to recover.” He insists despite hearing the adamance in your voice.

“Yes, but I’m not going to give him that satisfaction.” You respond as Felix walks over with two bowls of food for you, picking up on that part of the conversation.

“Good for you!” The sunshine boy praises before going back to getting people fed.

Hyunjin chuckles, shaking his head, “That’s fair, just don’t push it too much, and someone should be around to keep you safe just in case.”

“That’s fine, I won’t push too much until I’ve had time to recover.” You agree, eating quickly before going to get ready and look for anything salvageable. Hyunjin and Felix tagging along as you go. For protection, but also to help if at all possible.

The boys head to the barn, looking for any metal or glass pieces that survived. They collect them up in one empty space outside of where the barn had been. While you look through the house for anything that survived having determined that while the cellar doors had burned away everything inside was safe. Keeping your expectations low so that when only some things survived you would hopefully be emotionally prepared.

“We can help you to rebuild,” Hyunjin assures you, and you nod.

“I know, but it won’t be the same. I mean…. My parents built that house…. That barn… it’s where they raise me, but now… now I don’t even have that.” Your admission crashes over them, showing the full impact this had on you.

“Y/N…” Hyunjin starts softly, pulling you into him again, “He’ll get what he deserves. I swear it. Even if he’s smiling now. He can’t just do this and move on with his life as if he’s innocent.”

“Hyunjin don’t go and do something stupid for my sake.” You say, busy focusing on what all needs to get done. Hyunjin gently grabs your wrist and turns you towards him. Palm gently cupping your cheek as he does.

“It is nowhere near the stupidest thing that I would do for you.” Hyunjin counters, before continuing as he sees the concern in your eyes as a result, “Besides he needs to be stopped to make a change anyways. I’m simply more motivated now.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes a little, “Still… you can’t get hurt for this. Okay?”

“Whatever my lady says.” Hyunjin agrees, leaning forward to lay a delicate kiss on your forehead, “Now let's see what we can get done, hm?”

You all work as late as the sun will allow you to. Making decent progress, but still nowhere near what you would need to be able to return home… or to get the crops started for the next season. Knowing that you’ll have to rely on the little you had to sell and the kindness of others to make it through.

“Come on Y/N, let's go back to camp.” Hyunjin urges once the sun is mostly set. Encouraging you both to go while there’s still some light.

“I’ll make us something tasty!” Felix adds trying as he usually does to bolster everyone’s spirits.

It works for now though since everyone is famished after all of today’s work. You and Felix get into a friendly argument over whether you can help him with the cooking tonight or not. Felix eventually wins on the stipulation that you teach him some of your family’s recipes on another occasion. The sunshine boy has proven particularly stubborn on this. Still, when you began to smell his cooking all complaints were gone. Everyone ate their fill before separating for the night. You make your way to the nearby river to bathe. Hyunjin comes when you simply have a towel and flusters.

“I was just coming to check on you… make sure nothing happened,” Hyunjin says, looking anywhere but at you as he continues to fluster.

“You wouldn’t have to try and protect my honor like this if you just married me.” You tease him though to an extent you mean it.

“It’s a little early for that isn’t it?” Hyunjin asks, not pushing the thought away, just shy as he chuckles nervously.

“Hyunjin, you're teaching me to read… you’re helping me rebuild my home… hell you pulled me from a fire. I don’t think it's too early no.” You counter, smiling at him when he shyly glances at you.

“Fair enough, but I really can’t marry you right now Y/N. If I got revealed in any way with the rebellion and we’re married they’ll have your head.” Hyunjin shakes his head.

“What if I’m okay with taking that risk?” You counter and Hyunjin has to stop himself from caving that instant.

“Y/N… love… I would deny myself any of my desires to keep you out of harm's way… something I unfortunately haven’t yet managed to do… just please don’t make this any harder for me.” Hyunjin practically begs knowing that he is a weak man. When you nod he kisses your forehead before taking off so that you can get dressed. Something that you do quickly before returning to his tent only to find that he’s out on a watch.

The days continue on like that. Some are going with you each day to assist with rebuilding. While Hyunjin seems to avoid time alone with you knowing how strong of a temptation it would be. You were becoming harder and harder for him to resist. Especially when he saw how you would step up and care for various ones in the camp. Things were becoming more and more tense every day as they all felt this rebellion coming to a head. Knowing something had to be up when Chan came over to talk to you alone.

“Y/N… is your home close to livable again?” He asks and your heart stops.

“I’ve stayed too long, haven’t I? I’m sorry.” You apologize before actually knowing what’s going on.

“No, that’s not it. We’re just going to start moving all non-troops out of camp soon. Things are getting too risky.” Han assures you as he explains further.

“Oh.. yeah I should be just fine going back home.” You assure Chan, though your heart aches some to leave them, knowing that it was going to happen at some point. You’d grown so accustomed to being with everyone all the time that the thought of being alone again hurts. Chan reaches out to ruffle your hair a little.

“It's okay we won’t let anything happen and will be back before you know it.” Chan does his best to reassure you. Chan was always encouraging and speaking reassuringly, optimistically, even if he didn’t necessarily believe it himself.

“You better be.” You try to sound threatening as the man chuckles and hugs you. Something else you would surely be missing soon.

Going to find Hyunjin now, only he gets to you first, “Hey, I heard from Chan. He said he talked to you. I can help with your things.”

You let him know that it would give you both time alone, “Will you really not marry me before this is all over?”

Hyunjin gives you a soft look, “Couldn’t even let me wait until we finished moving you back…. No, I won’t, but…”

He gets down on one knee, holding out boxes of expensive gifts that he would have traditionally given to your family to you, “That doesn’t mean I won’t propose to you. So….Y/N will you marry me?”

You’re both laughing a little because you already know the answer. Still, you give him your affirmative and accept the box. Hyunjin gets up to kiss you sweetly, keeping it brief so that neither of you gets carried away.

“You know what this means though right… you have to come back to me in one piece now.” You tell him adamantly, only making him laugh a little more.

“Nothing could keep me away at this point.” His assurance of that is what you lived on. Days… weeks… passed. Things are far too normal for you as you work to rebuild your life. Hearing reports whenever in the town of the large battles the rebellion was waging against troops and the government. The cities involved getting a breath of fresh air whenever the rebellion forces their tyranny out. The tides were turning in favor of the rebellion, as was public opinion. Unfortunately, that only further angered the government, them getting desperate and just trying to do as much damage as possible.

Your world comes crashing down when a harsh banging hits your door. Opening it to find no one there. Simply a note with the general’s seal on it. Revealing how he had discovered Hyunjin’s ties to the rebellion and that if you didn’t want him killed you would instead marry the general. Something that you hoped was all an empty threat. Only to realize when a tear-stained Felix and distressed Changbin came to your door that Hyunjin had been captured. Leaving you with no choice, but to follow the directions on the note. Showing up to see the wicked grin on the general’s face.

“I am glad to see that you aren’t entirely without reason Y/N.” He tells you only to frown when you pull away from his reach for you.

“Prove to me that you have him and that he’s okay first. Considering you’ve been rather untrustworthy lately.” You insist, glaring at him. He simply rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers and soon enough soldiers are dragging in a battered and bruised Hyunjin. The sight breaks your heart. They’re all watching you closely, but you have to move closer… You have to be sure there’s no lasting harm done to him. When you ensure that you look him in the eyes with your own teary ones. He goes to speak… to comfort you and simply coughs harshly.

“Hush… it's okay.” You assure him or attempt to anyway. Carefully slipping his hair tie from your frazzled, windswept hair into his pocket, “Everything is going to be okay.”

You stand and face the general again, ‘Okay, I’m here. Now let him go.”

“You haven’t married me yet, so I don’t think so.” The general counter and you roll your eyes.

“Lock me in a room or whatever, but you can at least give me a proper wedding. Or can you not give me that even?” You goad and he curses at the way you come for his pride.

“Very well…” He turns to his soldiers, “Bound her hands and then let Hyunjin go.”

Hyunjin hesitates until the general places a dagger to your throat and hisses at him to leave. The soldiers lead you to a locked room once he is long gone. Leaving you alone in your thoughts. Only truly able to accept that this is what your life would become knowing that it had saved Hyunjin’s life. The wedding is scheduled for two weeks out and you are locked in one single room for the entirety of it. He truly was trying to go all out with this when an entire lineup of servants came in to get you ready to be wed. Never having felt more lonely than now as you’re surrounded by people who truly do not care about you. Reluctantly walking down the aisle towards the general. Only you never make it as chaos breaks out when you’re about halfway to him. Your eyes widen at the familiar group of men that burst through the doors, taking down any soldiers who stand in their way. Hyunjin soon grabs your wrist and runs out with you calling to the others who follow behind. Your extravagant hanbok flows behind you as you hold tightly to Hyunjin as he leads the way far far from the general. Only stopping when he gets you home, which is now guarded by soldiers of the Hwang estate.

He smiles at you as he helps you down off the horse, “Sorry that I ruined your beautiful wedding.”

You know he’s joking, but can’t help rolling your eyes, “Ruined it? You saved me from a life of that hell.”

“Well, I couldn’t let you marry him just for my sake. Not when I want you all to myself.” Hyunjin says, tying his ribbon back into your hair.

“Are you still going to make me wait to be yours?” You ask, pouting and he delicately tucks your flyaways behind your ears.

“Just a little while longer love. Then I’ll be all yours. Besides… what kind of husband would I be if I had to run off right away anyways.” Hyunjin gives you a point that you can’t really argue with.

“Fine, but that better means that when you’re back you’re here with me. No more of this going and getting kidnapped stuff.” You insist, “I’ll just have to come get you again.”

“Don’t worry… the next time you walk down the aisle it’ll be to me,” Hyunjin assures you, leaning in for one last sweet kiss before he leaves you again. Something that makes your heart ache even more now since you’re concerned about his well-being after the general’s actions as of late.

You do your best to keep your days occupied, something that wasn’t particularly hard as you were still recovering from the damage done to your land even nearly 4 months later. Still, nearly constantly your thoughts wandered to Hyunjin who constantly cared for you even from so far away. Having provided protection, finances, books, whatever might possibly be necessary in a time like this arrived at your doorstep, but never alongside him. Something that was about to have you go absolutely insane to the point of leaving to go find the man yourself. Until news hit that the war was over. The rebels had won and things were set for change, even if it would take time. Your breath nearly sucked from your lungs at the news, along with a declaration that the general alongside any other prominent men would be executed for the crimes they committed against the people. You didn’t care all too much about that though as your feet moved before you could think, racing out of the town back to your home hoping Hyunjin would already be waiting for you there. The man barely got to smile at you before you had all but launched yourself into his arms.

“You’re back.” You nearly sob out though still trying to determine if this was simply another cruel dream or not. Hyunjin’s hands come up to cup your cheeks gently, making you look into his eyes.

“I’m back.” He assures you before his lips are on yours, “I’m never leaving again either.”

“You better not or this time I’m coming after you myself.” You muse earning a laugh you’ve been longing to hear again. “Now when are you going to make me your wife, I’ve waited far, far too long.”

“I know love, just give me enough time to arrange things, hm? I want to make sure you get the wedding you deserve even if we’re both impatient now.” Hyunjin’s words make you huff softly, but you learned early on that the man had a romantic side and so you feel yourself allowing him to have whatever he desires in that regard without much fight, this is just one such case.

“You better hurry it along though.” You pout and he chuckles with a nod. He makes no move to care for such things now, however, staying by your side well past sundown. Never making any moves though you would have allowed him to.

Hyunjin didn’t keep you waiting long, quick to arrange things for your wedding. Chan smiles at you as he offers you his arm, having agreed to walk you down. Feeling very differently as you see Hyunjin waiting for you teary-eyed that the last time you were in this position. Getting rather choked up as well, your Hyunjin was safe and waiting right ahead of you about to be your husband. His hand reaches out for you to take and close the gap between you. His eyes are only on you the whole time as this finally happens. The two of you celebrate with those close to you in the same woods where everyone had been hiding out all those months ago. Felix makes sure that you are both well-fed before getting wrapped up in the festivities. It was perfect and yet it was not where your focus was as you watched the joy on the face of the man you danced with. Waiting for the song to end before leaning in.

“Let's get out of here.” You whisper barely audible over the music, but he picks it up. Nodding at you with a giggle before grabbing your hand to run off everyone cheering behind you. The two of you rush along the familiar path from the woods to your home. Your hands on one another, giggling as you reach the house. “We could have gone to your place. It's much nicer there and all.”

“It’s not home though.” Hyunjin counters as he leads you through the house, placing soft kisses on your face and neck, “I’d rather do this at home than any place full of the nicest things.”

Your heart swells, eyes glittering up at him until he carefully turns you around to undo your dress’ intricate arrangement of ties and buttons. Helping you to step out of it after he slides it down your form.

“You’re the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever seen.” Hyunjin already sounds breathless as he takes you in. This time it’s you who is closing the gap and pressing your lips together.

“I could say the same about you.” You mumble against his lips as you work to get his clothes off as well. He allows you that before he’s gently pushing you back.

“Get on the bed for me love, there’s things I don’t think I can wait any longer to do.” He says watching you move to lay back as he desires while he ties his hair up out of the way before joining you on the bed. His eyes darkening at how wet your panties are, licking his lips as he peels the fabric off you. Settling himself between your legs, hands keeping your thighs firmly apart for him. Hyunjin takes in the sight of you for a little longer before he places a soft kiss on your clit. It is immediately not enough for either of you though.

“Be good for me my lovely wife.” He says before his mouth is opening wide and everywhere all at once as if trying to devour you whole. His tongue is everywhere as his hooded eyes watch intently for all the expressions you make for him. Only he growls when your hands come down to try and move his face closer, not appreciating how you try to interrupt his pace. He pulls away fixing you with a glare as he licks your arousal from his lips. Reaching up he takes his tie from your hair where it still always is, pinning your wrists above your head before securing them with the tie.

“You will be good for me.” He says more forcefully, an edge to his voice now before he returns to what he had been doing moments before. You are no longer able to act in a way that would impede him. Not that he was trying to deny you or anything, he simply wanted to drag things out a little, allow it to last longer after such a wait. Staying between your thighs well after you’ve cum under the guise of cleaning you up when really it’s that he cannot get enough. Then he’s up to kiss you deeply not that unlike how he was just acting with your cunt as he allows you to taste yourself everywhere on him. It’s taken that dark edge down a little bit, but he still doesn’t release your hands yet. When he removes his underwear you’re glad for how long he drug out oral seeing exactly what your new husband had been blessed with.

“Just breathe love, I would never hurt you… except in ways you would enjoy.” He winks, playfully slapping your inner thigh and smirking at your moan. Pushing your thighs a little higher as he gives himself room to coat his cock in your sticky essence before slowly working in inch by inch as your body is able to take it. Only once he’s in and adjusted you to the feeling with slow, shallow thrusts does he release your hands. Landing against you with a huff as you instantly pull his form against yours needing the feeling of his skin all over yours. Hyunjin moans hotly into your ear as your nails dig into his back.

“I’m not going anywhere ever again love, I’ll always be right here from now on,” Hyunjin assures, kissing the side of your head as he starts to move faster, worked up as you moan into his ear. “There you go love, give it all to me. You’re mine now.”

“Been yours.” You reply back immediately and it has Hyunjin gone, quick to reach down and rub your clit knowing there’s no way he could last now. Both of you go over the edge as you cling tightly to one another.

“I’ve been yours too,” Hyunjin replies breathlessly between pants as you undo his hair to card your fingers through it. Only he was far from done with you for the night.

You wake against Hyunjin’s chest, his fingers petting over your hair as he watches the sunlight filter through the window before smiling down at you. Even exhausted you know that look anywhere.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask softly, shifting to look at his face better.

“The future.” He admits though what exactly about it he leaves out leading you to sigh.

“Leave the future to the future, we’ll figure it out together when the time comes. Just worry about the right now.” You insist, sitting up and moving to straddle him, “And right now your wife has needs.”

Hyunjin chuckles looking at you with heart eyes, “Yes ma’am.”

#kinktober 2024 #fic: hair tires #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin angst

133 notes · View notes