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strawberryjimin13 · 3 months ago

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VEIL OF DECEIT | KTHᝰ.ᐟ

— Synopsis: In the gloomy village of Briarfield, an annual ritual demands the sacrifice of an innocent girl to the devil. When Y/N is chosen as the next offering, she discovers the dark truth behind the tradition—a hoax engineered by the corrupted noblemen.

— Pairing: Merchant!Taehyung x Apprentice Healer!reader

— Genre: Fantasy, one-shot, angst, fluff, eventual smut

— Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), obsessive behaviour (not from tae), attempted sexual assault (not tae! None of the bad warnings are for him tbh), mentions of satanic rituals and sacrificing, stalker behaviour, misogyny, objectification of women, eventual smut, p in v, unprotected sex (this is like magical medieval times lol BUT BE SAFE), praise kink, orgasms (f/m), creampie(?), age gap (reader is 20, Tae is 26), creepy old man behaviour (💀)

— Word Count: 17.9k

— A/N: This is not the most polished work I’m aware. The story contains flaws but I had a dream (plot) and a word document 😭 also this was my first time writing smut, can you tell? Maybe I should have made Tae the evil one 🤔Once again feedback would be appreciated!

— English is not my first language so l apologise in advance for any mistakes or typos!

There once existed the kingdom named Aetherfall, the kingdom of light and splendour. Aetherfall was a kingdom unlike any other, a shining jewel set amidst towering mountains and rolling hills. The city, nestled in the heart of the kingdom, was a sight to behold—an architectural masterpiece where elegance met strength, and ancient magic wove through every stone and street. From afar, Aetherfall appeared like a golden crown atop the earth, its walls gleaming under the light of the sun, and at night, shimmering under the glow of thousands of lanterns.

The heart of the kingdom was its biggest city, Starhill labelled as the city of dreams that every person wanted to visit. Among the large kingdom laid a forgotten place at the outskirts. The village of Briarfield. It hardly harboured a population of a thousand people due to the village’s reputation.

The village of Briarfield was cursed. Or so the stories went, whispered from one frightened villager to the next, as the ever-present fog curled around their feet like ghostly tendrils. It wasn’t just the heavy mist that clung to the cracked, cobblestone streets, or the way the sun seemed to forsake the village, trapped behind thick clouds of grey. No, Briarfield bore the weight of far darker rumours: that its prosperity was built upon the blood of innocent girls, sacrificed each year to appease the devil that lurked beneath its shadowy veneer.

In the dim light of early evening, the village lay sprawled at the foot of the mountains, with its decrepit houses leaning together as if they were all that held each other up. Blackened thatched roofs and crooked chimneys poked into the gloom like skeletal fingers. The streets, winding like a serpent through the maze of wooden huts, were damp from the constant drizzle that hung in the air.

Few travellers came near it, deterred by tales of malevolent spirits and dark rituals. The villagers kept to themselves, huddled in their homes, wary of outsiders and of the secrets that their village held.

And in one of those homes, you dreamed of escape. The cottage was warm but filled with a sombre air. You sat at the table, absently tracing patterns in the worn cloth of the tablecloth. Your mother moved quietly around the kitchen; her movements automatic as she prepared the evening meal.

As the silence grew heavier, you spoke, your voice breaking the quiet. "Mother, why did you and Father never leave the village? I’ve dreamed of leaving for as long as I can remember. Why didn’t you ever want to go?"

Your mother paused, her back turned to you. The silence stretched, and you could almost feel the weight of her thoughts pressing against the walls of the small room. Finally, she turned, her face lined with the hardships of life but softened with a deep, weary kindness.

"We never left because we were bound by our own choices, my dear," she said softly, setting down the wooden spoon she had been stirring the pot with. She walked over and sat across from you, her hands clasped tightly together.

"When your father and I were young, we believed that Briarfield was where we were meant to be. It was our home, our family’s home, and leaving it felt like abandoning a part of ourselves. We thought the village’s darkness was something we could endure, something we could change."

She sighed; her gaze distant. "And in a way, we did change it. Not in grand ways, but in the small, everyday moments. We found happiness in the little things—in our garden, in the quiet of the evening, in the love we had for each other. We made our peace with the shadows because they were all we knew."

Her eyes met yours, filled with a sorrowful understanding. "I know it’s hard for you, wanting something more, wanting to escape.”

Your mother reached out and took your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "I stayed because I wanted to protect you, to give you a chance to grow up with some semblance of normalcy, even if it was flawed.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you looked at her, seeing the reasoning behind her words. "Thank you, Mother," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "I hope I can make something good come of all this, for both of us."

“I know you will my child. You have always been strong-willed and hence these walls aren’t big enough to keep you in” you smiled at her words and leaned in for a hug. Nothing provided you more comfort than knowing your mother supported your dreams.

The first light of dawn pierced through the thick fog that hung over Briarfield, casting a faint, ghostly glow over the village. The streets were damp from the previous night's drizzle, and the air was crisp, tinged with the scent of wet earth and lingering smoke from the few fireplaces that had been lit.

You pulled on your heavy shawl, its wool rough but warm against the chill, and stepped out into the murky street. The village was just beginning to stir, the early risers emerging from their homes to tend to their chores. The cobblestones beneath your boots were slick, and you navigated them carefully, feeling the weight of the day’s errands pressing on your shoulders.

The first stop was the baker’s stall at the edge of the village square. The baker’s hut was modest but inviting, its windows fogged with the heat from the ovens inside. As you entered, the aroma of fresh bread and pastries enveloped you.

The baker, a burly man with flour-dusted hands and a jovial demeanour, greeted you with a nod. "Morning, lass. What can I get for you today?"

"Good morning," you replied, your voice muffled by the cold. "Just a loaf of bread and some of those cinnamon rolls, please."

The baker nodded and reached for a crusty loaf, its surface crackling with warmth, and a small bag of sweet rolls, their scent filling the air with a comforting sweetness. He handed them over with a smile, and you paid him with the coins you had saved up, tucking the bread into the fabric of your basket.

Next, you made your way to the seamstress’s shop, a quaint little building adorned with colourful patches and ribbons. The seamstress, an elderly woman with sharp eyes and nimble fingers, was busy at her workbench, mending a torn garment. The shop was a haven of vibrant fabrics and threads, a stark contrast to the drabness of the village outside.

You approached her and showed her a small tear in your favourite skirt. "Good morning. I need this repaired, if you could madam."

The seamstress took the skirt with practiced hands, examining the tear with a critical eye. "Of course, dear. I’ll have it done by the end of the day. You’ll need it looking nice for the ceremony."

You nodded, a pang of unease twisting in your stomach at the mention of the ceremony. "Thank you."

With your errands nearly complete, you headed to the village well to fetch water. The well was a central gathering place, surrounded by villagers who would often chat and exchange news as they filled their buckets. Today, however, the well was unusually quiet, the air heavy with the unspoken tension that seemed to follow the village.

As you prepared to lower the bucket into the well, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. You glanced up and felt a familiar pang of discomfort as you saw Lord Corwin striding towards you. Lord Corwin was a balding, pot-bellied man with sagging jowls and skin that seemed to droop with age, his watery eyes always lingering a moment too long on you. He was balding and an overall unpleasant in terms of looks and personality. His dark, richly embroidered clothing marked him clearly as the village noble.

A sigh escaped your lips as you braced yourself. The last time you had seen Lord Corwin, he had been insisting on a marriage proposal—one that you had firmly declined. He was a man of your father’s age, his advances both unsettling and persistent. Despite your clear rejection, he had never seemed to accept it, continuing to approach you with an unnerving determination. You weren’t even sure why he wanted you. Last you checked; you were a mere peasant compared to him.

You tried to steady your nerves as Lord Corwin came to a halt a few feet away. “Good evening, my lady,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of nervousness that felt oddly out of place given his authoritative stance.

“Evening, Lord Corwin,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. You focused on the well, determined to keep the conversation brief.

Lord Corwin took another step closer, his proximity making you increasingly uncomfortable. “May I assist you?” he offered, though his voice carried an undertone that felt intrusive rather than courteous.

“There’s no need, my lord,” you said firmly, avoiding his gaze as you continued to work. You lowered the bucket into the well, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze.

He reached out to help, his hand brushing against yours as he took the bucket. The touch was cold and lingering, sending a shiver down your spine. “Allow me,” he said, his smile widening slightly.

“Thank you, but I can manage,” you said, stepping back to maintain some distance. The conversation felt like a repetition of past encounters, and you were eager to end it.

Lord Corwin’s eyes remained fixed on you as he carried the bucket to the edge of the well. “You know,” he began, his tone shifting to something more personal, “I’ve been thinking about our previous conversation.”

You stiffened at the mention of the past. You had rejected his marriage proposal some time ago, a decision that had left a mark on both your lives. “Yes, my lord?” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“I wanted to revisit that offer,” he continued, his tone growing more insistent. “Briarfield would be a much different place with you at my side. I’ve reconsidered the benefits of our union. Your knowledge on herbs and medicine could no doubt be used for something greater”

You felt a pang of discomfort at his persistence. “I appreciate your consideration, Lord Corwin,” you said, forcing a polite smile, “but my decision remains the same. I have no desire to marry. I am also still just an apprentice of my mother. I have not yet mastered the art of medicine yet.”

Lord Corwin’s smile faltered slightly, a murderous look flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked his disappointment with a practiced expression. “I see. Well, I hope you will reconsider in the future,” he said, his tone now slightly colder. “Briarfield could be quite different with someone of your qualities….and your beauty”. On the inside Lord Corwin felt frustrated. He had kindly asked for you hand and yet a little peasant rejected him. That was outrageous! You were a woman who needed to know her place. He thought about how he would break you and meld you into a perfect doll once he gets his hands on you.

You nodded, eager to end the conversation. “Thank you for understanding, my lord. I must return to my duties now.”

As you gathered your things and began to walk away, you felt Lord Corwin’s gaze lingering on your back. The encounter with Lord Corwin had left a bitter taste in your mouth and so you went to sleep that night hoping tomorrow would be better.

You were once again back in the market which was surprisingly bustling with people which as quite rare as people of Briarfield preferred staying indoors. As you strolled through the market stalls, your basket swinging from your arm as you selected fruits and vegetables and some new herbs you could use in making remedies. The vibrant colours of apples, carrots, and cabbages were a welcome contrast. You carefully picked out the ripest fruits and the freshest vegetables, exchanging brief pleasantries with the vendors.

As you turned a corner, you spotted a new stall set up in the market square. It was different from the others; it was not just a simple arrangement of crates and baskets but rather a carefully designed display that seemed to combine artistry with commerce. A large, hand-painted sign that read “Exotic Produce” hung above the stall, the intricate calligraphy catching the light although the words were simple and straightforward. Colourful fabrics draped over the sides of the stall, creating a vibrant backdrop for an array of unusual fruits and vegetables, most of which you had never seen before.

Exotic, brightly coloured fruits from distant lands—deep purple dragon fruit, star-shaped carambolas, and rich golden mangoes—were stacked beside more familiar produce, like apples and cabbages. Interspersed among the fruits were small pots of herbs, their fresh, earthy scent mingling with the sweet fragrance of the fruits. The herbs weren’t just your usual mint or basil but rare varieties with names you couldn’t even pronounce. Hanging from the wooden beams of the stall were clusters of dried flowers and spices, their deep hues and rich aromas filling the air with an almost magical quality.

You stepped closer, drawn in by the sheer variety of it all. Your eyes drifted over the shelves lined with jars of preserves—fig jam, spiced pears, and candied ginger—as well as small wooden boxes containing spices, teas, and even peculiar, dried fruits that looked almost like they belonged in a fairytale.

Behind the counter stood a young man, who, much like his stall, seemed out of place in Briarfield—in the best way possible. His dark hair fell loosely around his face, and his eyes sparkled with an energy that made him seem more alive than anyone else around. He wore a finely embroidered vest over a linen shirt, with intricate patterns that looked hand-sewn, and a soft leather belt hung around his waist, from which dangled small pouches and trinkets.

He noticed you approaching and greeted you with a warm, almost mischievous smile. “Good morning!” he called, his voice light and welcoming. “Welcome to my little corner of the world. I’m Taehyung. What catches your fancy today?”

You smiled back, intrigued by both him and his wares. “Good morning, Taehyung,” you replied. “Your stall is... quite different from the others. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this in Briarfield.”

Taehyung chuckled, a soft, melodic sound. “That’s the idea,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’ve travelled far and wide, and I like to bring a bit of everything with me—things that can’t be found in just any ordinary village. I believe even the smallest places deserve a little magic.”

He gestured to a tray of fruit that you couldn’t name. “This, for instance, is a cherimoya—some call it the ‘custard apple.’ It’s sweet and creamy, almost like a dream in fruit form.” He pointed to another pile of peculiar, knobby-looking roots. “And these are galangal. They’re used in soups and teas in faraway lands. Perfect for chilly Briarfield evenings.”

You picked up a starfruit, running your fingers along its ridges. “It’s beautiful,” you said, marvelling at the variety of colours and shapes on display.

Taehyung’s smile softened, his tone becoming more sincere. “Thank you. I wanted to bring something new, something that could brighten up this village a little. Briarfield deserves more than just the tales it’s known for.”

You nodded, appreciating the warmth and care he put into his work. “It’s nice to have something so fresh and different here. Everything else feels so... old.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung said, leaning on the counter with an easy grace. “I’ve always believed that even in the most forgotten corners of the world, there should be beauty and wonder. That’s why I’m here.”

You selected a few pieces of fruit and a small jar of honey that had caught your eye. “I’ll take these, please,” you said, placing them on the counter.

Taehyung packed them up carefully, his movements swift and practiced. “A fine choice,” he said, handing you the package with a smile. “And if you ever need something special—whether it’s some fruit, a spice, or even a little conversation—you know where to find me.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, as if for the first time in a long while, Briarfield held something brighter than its usual shadows. “Thank you, Taehyung. I’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

As you walked away, your basket filled with exotic fruits and herbs, you couldn’t help but feel giddy by short encounter with the young man. Taehyung being kind, warm, and full of life—was a welcome change. You found yourself looking forward to the next time you would meet him.

The next morning you woke up to the unsettling news of a young girl gone missing and as result your father forbad you from leaving the house fearing for your safety. However, spending almost a week cooped up in your room had left you suffocated and so you finally convinced your father that everything will be okay and to let you out. Although he was reluctant, he gave in not wanting to see his daughter pout any further and so you happily made your way outside.

Today, the sky was overcast, threatening rain, as you made your way through the village. You’d just left the bakery, a loaf of sweet bread tucked under your arm, oh how you missed the sweet delight! Just then you heard a familiar voice calling your name.

“Good morning!”

You looked up to see Taehyung approaching, his smile as warm as ever despite the grey skies above. He was carrying a large wooden crate filled with a variety of fruits, herbs, and small glass jars. His appearance was a bit more dishevelled today—his sleeves rolled up, a few strands of hair falling into his eyes—but there was a certain charm to his slightly tousled look.

“Taehyung,” you greeted, surprised but happy to see him. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you.”

“Likewise, I haven’t seen you since that day.” he replied, adjusting the crate in his arms as he stopped in front of you. “It seems fate is playing matchmaker today. How have you been?”

You smiled at his easy-going manner, feeling the tension of the day start to slip away. “I’ve been well, thank you. The recent disappearance of the girl in the village put my father on edge so I was cooped up in my house for some time.” You say laughing a little.

He glanced up at the darkening sky, a hint of concern in his eyes. “Ah that’s a reasonable reaction. Hope everything turns out okay it also looks like we’ll be getting quite the storm soon. I was on my way to the market, but it seems I might be racing the rain.”

You both shared a small laugh, and you couldn’t help but notice how comfortable his presence made you feel, even in the midst of the growing chill around you. Taehyung’s energy had a way of lighting up even the dullest days.

“Here,” he said, shifting the crate to one arm. “I brought something for you.”

“For me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

He nodded, carefully balancing the crate as he reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a very small, intricately carved wooden box. The box was stained a deep, rich brown and etched with swirling patterns that reminded you of the stories you’d heard about enchanted forests and ancient lands. Taehyung handed it to you with a playful smile.

“I found this the other day when I was unpacking some of my wares,” he explained. “It’s a blend of tea leaves and spices from the far south. I thought you might enjoy it. A little warmth to brighten up Briarfield’s rainy days.”

You took the box, feeling its smooth surface under your fingers, and opened it. Inside were delicate, dried leaves with an array of colours—deep reds, golden yellows, and dark greens—mingled with tiny bits of cinnamon bark and star anise. The smell that wafted from the box was comforting, a warm mix of spice and earth. Some of these would make a good herbal tea cure, you thought to yourself.

“Thank you, Taehyung. I’m not sure how to repay you for this.” you said softly, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Consider this as a gift from a friend” he says, face plastered with a boxy smile. “This is lovely. I’ll be sure to try it tonight.” You say excitedly.

He smiled, pleased by your reaction. “I’m glad you like it. If you need instructions on how to brew it, just let me know. It’s a bit different from the usual tea.”

You nodded, slipping the small box into your basket. “I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll come by the stall tomorrow if I run into any trouble.”

Taehyung’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m always happy to help. Besides, I’m curious to hear what you think of it. I personally quite enjoy its flavours.”

Before you could respond, a sudden gust of wind blew through the village square, and you instinctively pulled your cloak tighter around yourself. Taehyung’s hair was blown back, but he simply laughed at the sudden chill.

“I think that’s our cue to take shelter,” he said, glancing back at the sky. “Would you like to walk back together? I can help carry your things.”

You hesitated for a moment, then smiled and handed him your bread to lighten your load. “I’d appreciate that.”

Together, you made your way back through the village, you made a short stop at Taehyung’s house as he left his crate inside and then moving at a brisk pace to beat the rain towards your own cottage. Taehyung talked easily as you walked, telling you stories of his travels and the different markets he had visited in faraway cities. He had a way of making the world seem larger and more exciting than it had ever felt before, filling your mind with the fantasies of adventure beyond the village’s borders.

By the time you reached your cottage, the first few drops of rain had begun to fall, but you were safely inside before the storm truly hit. Taehyung lingered at the door for a moment, his smile never wavering.

“Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy the tea,” he said, handing you the basket of you bread back. “But don’t forget to tell me how it turns out.”

“I won’t,” you promised. “Thank you again, Taehyung. It was nice running into you.”

“The pleasure was mine,” he replied, giving you a small bow before stepping back into the rain.

As you watched him walk away, disappearing into the misty streets of Briarfield, you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of warmth in your chest.

You closed the door, the small wooden box of tea still in your hand and smiled to yourself. It seemed that with each encounter, Taehyung brought a little more joy into your life. Perhaps Briarfield wasn’t so gloomy after all.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of cold, calculating eyes watched from a distance as you and Taehyung exchanged smiles and laughter. Lord Corwin stood in the shadow of a nearby building, his gaunt face twisted into a scowl. His hand gripped the nearest wall tightly.

He had been on his way to visit your family, as he often did under the pretence of “checking in” on village matters. But as he saw you walk with that... that merchant, a slow, burning anger began to churn in his chest.

Corwin had noticed the way your eyes lit up when you talked to Taehyung, the way you smiled so easily at him, something you never did when he was near. It sickened him. How dare you, a girl of such modest means, reject his marriage proposal and then offer such warmth to a mere merchant—a man who was not even of noble blood?

The memory of your refusal still stung bitterly. He had been so sure you would accept his hand when he had asked for it nearly a year ago when turned of age. After all, what better offer could there be for a girl of your station than to marry a lord? He had thought he was doing you a favour by offering you a future above the one your humble lineage could ever provide. But instead, you had rejected him—politely, yes, but firmly.

And now... now you were entertaining this, Taehyung. Corwin sneered at the sight of him, with his polished charm and his ridiculous trinkets. What could he possibly offer you that a nobleman could not? A few exotic fruits? A handful of spices? Corwin couldn’t understand why you would favour someone so beneath him. He had the wealth, the power, the standing. Yet, it was this commoner who had caught your attention.

Corwin’s mind raced with jealousy as he watched Taehyung walks away into the rain, his cloak billowing behind him. His gaze then shifted back to you as you stood in the doorway of your cottage, a small smile playing on your lips as you lingered with the box of tea in hand.

His stomach twisted in disgust. That smile should have been for him—Lord Corwin, the one who had the means to truly take care of you. And yet, you had chosen to waste your time with a man who had nothing of worth to offer, a mere peasant in Corwin’s eyes.

As the rain began to fall harder, Corwin remained in the shadows, his mind simmering with dark thoughts. He would not allow this to continue. He had been patient, waiting for you to see sense and reconsider his proposal. But now, with this newcomer in the picture, he knew that his patience was wearing thin.

Corwin had power in Briarfield, influence that stretched far beyond what someone like Taehyung could comprehend. If he needed to remind you of your place and who truly held sway in this village, then so be it. He would not be so easily dismissed—not by you, not by anyone.

His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a sinister smile as he turned away from the scene. The rain pelted down on him, but he hardly noticed. His mind was already spinning with plans, ways to bend the village to his will, ways to ensure that you would come to see him not as a suitor, but as an inevitable force.

And if Taehyung got in the way... well, Lord Corwin had dealt with nuisances before. This time would be no different.

As he disappeared into the misty streets, the shadows of Briarfield seemed to wrap around him, as if conspiring with his every dark thought. You might not have seen him, but he had seen enough.

And he was not going to forget.

As the days turned into months, your interactions with Taehyung became a cherished part of your routine. Each visit to his stall, each shared conversation, subtly wove the threads of affection between you, creating a bond that neither of you had anticipated.

It began with the little things. Taehyung’s warm smile became a bright spot in your day, a beacon of light in the otherwise dim atmosphere of Briarfield. His thoughtful gestures—saving the ripest fruits, sharing new herbs he’d acquired, and always finding a moment to chat—made your visits to his stall something you eagerly anticipated.

One crisp autumn morning, as you stopped by to pick up some vegetables, Taehyung greeted you with an excited sparkle in his eye. “I’ve got something special today,” he said, pulling out a small basket filled with fragrant herbs and colourful root vegetables. “I thought you might like to try making a stew with these.”

You smiled, touched by his thoughtfulness. “That’s very kind of you, Taehyung. I’ll definitely give it a try.”

Taehyung leaned against the wooden frame of his stall, his curiosity piqued. “You seem to know a lot about herbs yourself. Is it something your family taught you?”

You nodded as you examined the herbs, he handed you. “Yes, my mother is a skilled healer. She’s been teaching me since I was young. I’m learning how to mix tinctures and create salves to help with common ailments around the village.” You paused, twirling a sprig of thyme between your fingers. “It’s given me a sense of independence, something to focus on besides the daily grind of village life.”

His eyes softened as he listened. “That must be fulfilling, knowing that you’re helping people.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his gaze. “It is. Sometimes it’s exhausting, but it’s rewarding when someone comes to you in pain and leaves feeling better.” You glanced up at him and added, “And it also gives me a reason to spend time outside the house. Not many girls here get that luxury.”

Taehyung’s expression grew thoughtful. “It sounds like you’ve found a way to escape, even if it’s just for a moment,” he said. “I’ve seen how stifling it can be here, especially for women.”

You appreciated his understanding. “Exactly. The knowledge my mother has given me makes me feel… free, in a way. I get to explore the woods, gather plants, and create something valuable for others.” You smiled softly, holding up the herbs. “And it helps when someone like you brings something new to try.”

Taehyung’s grin widened, the warmth in his eyes reflecting the budding connection between you. “I’m glad I could add a bit of colour to your day. And who knows, maybe one day you’ll teach me a thing or two about healing.”

You chuckled, feeling a lightness in your chest. “I’d be happy to. Though I have a feeling you’ve got plenty of your own knowledge to share.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a more playful tone. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to keep trading lessons, won’t we?”

Your heart fluttered at the intimacy in his words, and as you both stood there, surrounded by the rich scents of herbs and the quiet bustle of the market, you realized that this was more than just a simple exchange. It was a promise of something deeper.

Soon, your visits to Taehyung's stall became more than just routine errands—they were moments of genuine connection. On this particularly rainy day, the market was quieter than usual. Taehyung, usually so full of energy, looked a bit worn out as he organized his stall. The rain had beaten down hard, and a small puddle was forming near the edge of his stand.

You approached his stall with a warm smile, noticing the concern on his face. “It looks like the rain has really taken a toll today,” you said, offering him a sympathetic glance.

Taehyung looked up and smiled, though his eyes showed the strain of the weather. “Yes, it’s been a tough day. The rain keeps people away. But I suppose it gives me a chance to get to know my favourite customer a bit better.”

You chuckled and stepped behind the stall to help him. “Well, I am glad to be of assistance. What can I do to help?”

“Could you pass me those cloths? I need to wipe down the counter before it gets any worse,” Taehyung said, pointing to a stack of cloths near the back of the stall.

As you worked side by side, you began chatting about lighter topics to lift the mood. “So, tell me more about your travels. You have mentioned a few places, but what was the most memorable?”

Taehyung’s eyes brightened as he started to talk. “Ah, there was this one time in a small village in the east. They had this festival where they floated lanterns on the river. The entire night was lit up with thousands of glowing lights, and the reflection in the water made it look like the stars had fallen.”

You smiled, imagining the scene. “That sounds beautiful. I cannot even imagine how magical it must have been.”

“It was,” Taehyung said, his voice taking on a wistful tone. “But what made it special was sharing it with people who had never seen anything like it before. They were so full of wonder.”

The conversation flowed easily, and the shared experience of tidying up amid the rain made you feel closer. You noticed Taehyung’s laughter was more frequent today, his usual upbeat demeanour peeking through the weariness.

“Do you ever get tired of all the traveling?” you asked, wiping the counter with a damp cloth.

He shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Not really. Each place has its own story, its own charm. But there are times, like now, when I’m glad to be in one spot, especially when I have someone to share it with.”

You felt a warm flush at his words, your own smile widening. “I’m glad you’re here, too. It is nice to have someone to talk to who understands.”

Taehyung’s eyes met yours with a tender look. “And I’m glad you’re here. Your stories about this village, they make me appreciate the little things more. Even a rainy day like today.”

The sound of the rain tapping against the stall created a soothing backdrop to your conversation. As you worked together, the storm outside seemed less imposing, and the bond between you grew stronger. Each shared moment, each laugh, and every serious conversation deepened your connection, making the quiet, rainy day a memorable chapter in your evolving relationship.

Winter arrived, and with it came the chill that seemed to seep into every corner of Briarfield. The cold was relentless, wrapping the village in a frosty embrace. One evening, as you walked home from the market, you noticed Taehyung trudging through the snow, his breath visible in small clouds against the icy air. He was bundled up in a thick coat, a scarf wrapped snugly around his neck.

"Hey, Y/N!" Taehyung called out, his face brightening as he spotted you. “You look like you have had a long day. How about a break from the cold? There is a new cafe nearby that opened up that serves the most amazing hot chocolate!”

The invitation caught you by surprise, but the idea of warming up in a cozy cafe was too tempting to pass up. You nodded, a smile spreading across your face. “I’d love to. Lead the way!”

The cafe was a small, charming place with warm, wooden interiors and a soft glow from the hanging lamps. The scent of freshly baked pastries and rich chocolate greeted you as you stepped inside, making you feel instantly at ease. You and Taehyung found a small table by the window, where the snow outside created a picturesque scene.

As you both settled in, Taehyung waved to the barista and ordered two cups of hot chocolate. When the steaming mugs arrived, you took a sip and sighed in relief. The drink was velvety and rich, the perfect antidote to the winter chill.

“This is incredible,” you said, savouring the warmth. “I’ve never had hot chocolate this good before.”

Taehyung smiled, his eyes reflecting a wistful light. “It is one of my favourites. It brings back memories of home.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Home? Where did you grow up?”

Taehyung’s gaze softened as he took a sip of his drink. “I grew up in a bustling city far from here. My mother used to make hot chocolate just like this. Every winter, we would sit together by the fire, sipping it and talking about our day. It was a small but comforting ritual.”

The warmth of the drink brought a mixture of fondness and sadness to his eyes. “What happened to your parents?” you asked gently, sensing the shift in his mood.

Taehyung’s smile faltered, and he looked down at his mug, his fingers tracing the rim. “It is a difficult memory. When I was young, there was a terrible accident. My parents were traveling to a distant town to sell their goods, and their carriage was caught in a snowstorm. They did not make it. I was left alone, and I had to fend for myself.”

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on his. “I am so sorry, Taehyung. That must have been incredibly hard.”

He nodded, a sad smile on his lips. “It was. But I learned to carry their memory with me. It’s why I treasure moments like these, where I can share stories and connect with others. It is a way to keep their spirit alive.”

Seeing the sadness in his eyes, you wanted to lift his spirits. You took a deep breath and began, “When I was a child, we had this wonderful tradition during winter. Every year, my mother would make a special batch of gingerbread cookies. We would spend an entire day decorating them with icing and candy, and then she’d tell me stories about the origins of each cookie shape—angels, stars, and hearts. Those stories always made me feel like I was part of something magical, even in the midst of the cold and darkness.”

Taehyung’s eyes brightened at the image. “That sounds so lovely. It must have been a beautiful tradition.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of the memory. “It was. It made the winters feel less harsh, and the stories always filled me with a sense of wonder. Sometimes, when I look back, I realize how those little moments shaped my view of the world.”

Taehyung’s expression softened into a genuine smile, his eyes twinkling. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It is nice to hear about those little moments of happiness. It makes me think that there’s more magic left in the world than I thought.”

The conversation continued, filled with more personal stories and laughter. As you enjoyed the warmth of the cafe and the comfort of Taehyung’s presence, the snow outside seemed to fall even more gently, creating a serene and magical backdrop to your evening together.

As spring approached, the transformation in your relationship with Taehyung became more evident. The simple gestures between you, a lingering touch, a shared glance, began to carry a deeper meaning. Taehyung’s once casual conversations now carried an undertone of affection, and his smile seemed to linger a little longer when he looked at you.

One afternoon, you decided to take a walk through the blooming meadows just outside the village. The air was filled with the sweet scent of wildflowers, and the landscape was painted with vibrant colours as the earth shook off the winter’s cold embrace.

As you walked along the winding path, Taehyung turned to you with a soft smile. “The meadows look stunning this time of year, don’t they? It’s like the world’s been dipped in colour.”

You nodded, taking in the beauty around you. “It is beautiful. I have always loved spring. It feels like a time of new beginnings.”

Taehyung’s gaze softened as he looked at you. “You know, I used to dream about traveling to places like this when I was a child. My mother would tell me stories about far-off lands and the wonders they held. Being here with you, seeing these meadows, it feels like those dreams are coming true.”

You felt a warm flush at his words, and before you could fully process it, Taehyung gently took your hand in his. The gesture was unexpected but felt completely natural. His touch was gentle, and it sent a pleasant thrill through your fingers. You looked up at him, surprised by the boldness of the moment.

“I’ve always admired your sense of wonder,” Taehyung said softly, his thumb lightly brushing your knuckles. “It’s one of the things that drew me to you. You see magic in the ordinary, and that is something I’ve always wanted to cherish.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You had felt a growing connection between you but hearing him express it so openly was both thrilling and comforting. “I never imagined that someone could see me that way,” you admitted, squeezing his hand lightly. “But I’m glad you do. You have brought so much joy and excitement into my life. It’s like you’ve awakened a part of me that I didn’t even know was there.”

Taehyung’s smile widened, and he pulled you gently closer as you continued walking. “I feel the same way. Being with you has made me realize that there’s more to life than just surviving. You have shown me that there’s beauty in every moment, and it’s something I want to experience with you.”

As you walked hand in hand through the meadows, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The shared conversations, the way Taehyung’s eyes lingered on you with affection, and the gentle touches between you all spoke of a growing bond that was more than just friendship. You were falling for him, and it was a feeling that seemed to grow with every passing day.

At one point, you stopped to admire a particularly vibrant patch of flowers. Taehyung leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Do you remember when we first met? I never would have imagined that our friendship would grow into something like this.”

You laughed softly, looking into his eyes. “Neither did I, but I would not change a thing. It has been an incredible journey.”

Taehyung’s gaze softened, and he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. “Here’s to many more adventures together, and to finding magic in every moment we share.”

But one day you got the news that would absolutely break your heart. The news that Taehyung was going to leave the village soon. He has spent almost a year in Briarfield at this point.

The sun was setting, casting a golden hue as the last light of day began to fade. The village was quiet, with only the distant sounds of evening settling in and the loud noises of the crows. Taehyung had just finished packing up his stall for the day, and the air was filled with the crisp promise of twilight.

You stood beside him; your heart heavy with the knowledge that he would soon be leaving for a new venture—a journey that would take him far from the village. The thought of him being away from you was almost too much to bear. As he finished securing the last of his supplies, you took a deep breath, gathering your courage.

“Taehyung,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Are you sure you must leave? I wish there was something I could do to keep you here.”

Taehyung looked at you, his expression a mixture of sadness and determination. He reached out, taking your hands in his, his touch warm and comforting. “I wish I could stay too. But I am but a merchant who must travel to make a living selling new things. I need to go, but not because I want to leave you behind.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the depth of his emotion reflected in them. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, about our future. I don’t want to imagine a life where we’re apart. Every moment with you has made me realize just how much I want to share my life with you.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as you listened, your heart aching with the intensity of his words. “Taehyung, what are you saying?”

He squeezed your hands gently, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’m saying that I want us to be together. I want to take you with me, not just on this journey, but on all the adventures that life has to offer. I want to travel the world with you by my side, to explore new places and create memories together.”

His words were like a balm to your anxious heart. The thought of traveling with Taehyung, of experiencing new worlds and building a life together, filled you with a profound sense of joy and excitement.

“I know it won’t be easy, I know I’m no wealthy nobleman,” he continued, his gaze unwavering, “and there will be challenges along the way. But I promise you this: I will always be there for you, and I will work every day to make sure that our life together is everything we’ve dreamed of. Your smile, the little expressions you make when you like something, the sparkle in your eyes when you talk about all the things you wish to do, the way you fiddle with your clothes when you get shy... all the little things. My soul hurt from within at the mere thought of never seeing that again.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you could see the same emotion reflected in Taehyung’s eyes. “Taehyung, I don’t want to be apart from you either. I’ve fallen in love with you, and the thought of being with you, of seeing the world together—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Taehyung’s face lit up with a radiant smile, his eyes shining with happiness. “Then come with me. Let’s build a future together, explore new horizons, and face whatever comes our way. We can make our dreams a reality, side by side.”

You nodded, a smile breaking through your tears. “Yes, Taehyung. I want that more than anything.”

He drew you into a gentle embrace, holding you close as the last light of day melted into the evening sky. The world seemed to stand still as you both revelled in the moment, the promise of a shared future making the present moment feel like a dream come true.

As you pulled back slightly, Taehyung cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender and loving. “Well, I guess I should go the traditional root and ask for your hand from your father right darling” you giggled lightly hitting his shoulder and nodding.

You sat quietly by the window, your fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of your dress as you stole glances at Taehyung. He stood with quiet confidence across the room, but you could sense the tension in his posture. Your heart raced, anticipation mingling with fear as you awaited your father’s decision.

Your father sat in his armchair, arms crossed, and brow furrowed in deep contemplation. He regarded Taehyung with a scrutinizing gaze, the weight of his protective instincts evident in every line of his face. You could feel the tension in the air—your father had always been fiercely protective of you, especially after all the unsolicited attention from Lord Corwin.

"So, Taehyung…" Your father’s voice cut through the silence, steady but probing. "You wish to marry my daughter?"

Taehyung nodded respectfully, stepping forward with a calm determination that steadied your nerves. "Yes, sir. I love her, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, flicking to you and then back to Taehyung. "How old are you, boy?"

"Twenty-six, sir."

Your father’s brow raised ever so slightly, and his gaze softened, just for a moment. You could tell he was weighing the age difference in his mind, but six years between you didn’t seem so bad to him—especially when compared to Lord Corwin, a man nearly his own age who had been making his interest in you disturbingly clear for years. The thought of Corwin’s advances made his stomach churn with disgust. The idea of that old, lecherous man laying claim to you was something your father could never tolerate.

"And what is it you do for a living?" your father asked, his tone regaining its edge. He leaned forward slightly in his chair, as if this question held the key to everything.

"I’m a merchant," Taehyung replied. "I trade in rare and exotic goods and sometimes in textile and jewellery. I’ve worked hard to build my business, and I can provide for your daughter."

Your father nodded slowly, digesting the information. "Being a merchant… It’s an unpredictable trade. One day you could thrive, and the next, you’re barely scraping by. How can I trust that you’ll be able to take care of her?"

Taehyung straightened his shoulders, determination flashing in his eyes. "I understand your concern, sir. But I’ve built my business carefully. I’ve secured reliable connections and steady income. More importantly, I will do everything in my power to fulfil her dream of exploring the world. I will give her love, security, and a life full of joy. I promise you that."

Your father leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting between you and Taehyung. His eyes softened as they landed on you, a brief flicker of emotion crossing his face. You could see that he was weighing not just Taehyung’s words, but the way you had been glowing with happiness ever since you met him.

He sighed deeply; his expression conflicted and weighing his options. The image of Lord Corwin, with his balding head and leering eyes, flickered through your mind. Corwin had been circling you like a predator since before you had even turned eighteen, making his intentions clear in ways that had always made your skin crawl. The fact that a man so much older than your father could desire you had never sat well with him.

"At least you’re not old enough to be her father," your father muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He looked up at Taehyung again, a shadow of protectiveness still lingering in his eyes. "That… man, Corwin… He’s been after her for years. I don’t trust him. Not one bit. The thought of him trying to court my daughter makes my blood boil."

Taehyung’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of Lord Corwin, but he quickly masked it with a polite nod. He always noted the looming presence of Lord Corwin around you but never commented on it. "I understand, sir. I would never treat her the way he has. I want to give her a life full of love and respect, not possession."

Your father studied him for a long moment, his gaze softening as the words sank in. Finally, he turned his attention to you, his voice gentle. "And you, my daughter? Is this truly what you want? Does he make you happy?"

Your cheeks flushed a soft pink as you nodded shyly, your hands tightening in your lap. "Yes, Father. He… he makes me happy."

A long sigh escaped your father as he looked between the two of you. He saw the way Taehyung’s eyes never left you, the way they softened when they looked at you, filled with affection. He saw the glow in your face, the happiness that had settled over you ever since Taehyung had entered your life.

"That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "To see you happy, to know you’re loved."

He turned to Taehyung, his expression softening but still holding a firm warning. "If you promise to cherish her, to be a good husband, then I’ll give you, my blessing. But know this, Taehyung… if you ever hurt her or make her unhappy, you’ll have me to answer to."

Taehyung bowed deeply, gratitude and respect evident in every movement. "Thank you, sir. I swear to you, I will make her happier than she’s ever been."

Your father nodded, standing and extending his hand toward Taehyung. As the two men shook hands, a sense of relief washed over you, the tension that had held you captive slowly dissipating. Your mother who had silently watched the exchanged came with a bright smile to congratulate and embrace you.

The future you had dreamed of now felt real filled with love, adventure, and the promise of happiness that only Taehyung could bring.

You felt like you were floating on top of the world. You felt the happiest you ever felt standing in Taehyung’s embrace. Nothing could possibly go wrong you thought. How naive you were to hold such expectations...

When it all came crashing down

The news struck Lord Corwin like a physical blow: your father had agreed to let Taehyung marry you. You, the object of his obsession for so many years, were to wed someone far beneath the station Corwin had believed only he could offer you. His heart churned with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and festering jealousy, each emotion more poisonous than the last.

For years, Corwin had watched you grow, long before you had even turned eighteen. He had admired you from afar, convincing himself that once you came of age, he would swoop in, offer you marriage, and make you his. He believed you needed someone with power and experience—a man of influence who could protect you. He told himself that age was irrelevant when it came to desire and control. And so, he waited, biding his time until you would be old enough for him to claim. You were just so beautiful and young he felt excitement course through his body at the thought of destroying that innocence. He wanted to break you, mind, body, and soul.

The comparison gnawed at him. Taehyung was everything Corwin was not: young, lean, and graceful. Where Corwin had become bloated over the years, his once-powerful body sagging under the weight of indulgence, Taehyung’s figure was trim and strong. His skin held the warmth of youth, tanned from days spent labouring under the sun. Corwin’s own complexion was pale and mottled, the sagging skin of his jowls and the red blotches on his nose a testament to years of excess and drink.

Taehyung’s dark, thick hair fell in soft waves around his sharp features, while Corwin’s own greasy strands had thinned to the point of near baldness. He could hardly stand to look at himself in the mirror anymore, especially when the memory of Taehyung’s easy smile and clear, confident eyes lingered in his mind.

What did you see in him aside from his handsome looks? Corwin seethed, his beady eyes narrowing with contempt as he sat brooding in his dimly lit manor. His fingers, swollen and stubby, adorned with gaudy rings, dug into the arms of his chair as he thought of Taehyung’s hands—strong, capable, hands that had undoubtedly touched you in ways Corwin could only dream of.

And that’s what enraged him the most. For years, he had waited, believed that you would come around, that you would see him as your only option for security. Yet now you had chosen someone like Taehyung—an outsider, a nobody, who had somehow won over both your heart and your father’s approval.

Corwin’s stomach churned with resentment. His bulging belly pressed uncomfortably against his embroidered waistcoat, reminding him of how much he had let himself go. He felt grotesque compared to Taehyung’s effortless charm. The thought of you looking at Taehyung with love and admiration, of you sharing your smiles and your dreams with him, made Corwin sick with jealousy. It should have been him. You should have been his.

You didn’t know it yet, but Corwin wasn’t going to let you go so easily. He had waited years for you, years watching from the shadows, and he wouldn’t allow some pretty-faced merchant to take you away from him. No—if he couldn’t have you, then no one would.

Seething in his dark manor, Corwin’s mind twisted and turned, seeking a way to tear you away from Taehyung. His eyes, bloodshot with rage, caught the flicker of candlelight and a cruel smile crept onto his lips. The sacrifice. Of course. It had been right in front of him the entire time.

For centuries, the village of Briarfield had performed the virgin sacrifice ritual to appease the so-called devil. But Corwin knew the truth—it was a hoax, a vile tradition created by the nobles to satisfy their own depraved desires. Every year, they selected a virgin girl under the guise of protecting the village, only to defile her and leave her for dead like it was nothing.

Corwin had never hated the ritual. In fact, he had always seen it as an effective way to maintain control, to keep the villagers fearful and obedient. But this year, he would use it for his own purposes—to make sure that you were his, and only his.

Summoning the village elders under the pretence of urgent business, Corwin presented his case. They met in a candle-lit chamber, the air heavy with the smell of burning wax and damp stone. The elders, grey-haired and hunched with age, listened carefully as Corwin laid out his plan.

“The time has come once again,” Corwin began, his voice calm but insidious. “The devil demands his sacrifice, and we must uphold our sacred duty to protect this village.”

The elders nodded. They had been complicit in the ritual for years, their faces grim and indifferent. They knew what it truly meant, and they were aware of what Corwin was about to suggest.

“This year,” Corwin continued, his tone taking on a darker edge, “the girl has already been chosen.”

His eyes gleamed as he spoke your name.

“She is the perfect offering,” Corwin said with a sickening smile. “Her engagement to Taehyung is a distraction—a temptation that the devil himself would surely seek to punish. We must act before it is too late.”

The elders exchanged knowing glances. There was no hesitation, no resistance. They agreed without question, their loyalty to the hoax and their own twisted desires overshadowing any concern for your well-being. All they cared about was the material possessions given to them by the nobles. They far to gone to consider feelings of others as greed had completely overtaken them, over the years. The decision had been finalised.

The next morning, the announcement had been made. This year’s sacrifice was You.

As the news spread, panic swept through Briarfield like wildfire. Whispers of the devil’s wrath filled the air, and fear gripped the hearts of the villagers. They believed that the ritual was real, that sacrificing you would protect them from harm.

But Corwin knew better. He watched from the shadows, his heart dark with satisfaction. You were trapped now, ensnared by a centuries-old lie designed to rob you of everything. And when the time came, he would be there waiting. Not even Taehyung could save you from the fate that had been sealed.

In his mind, you were already his.

You stood there with wide eyes at the town square as you processed the news. The words rang in your ears, a low murmur at first, like distant thunder, before crashing into your consciousness with the force of a storm.

You… you had been chosen as the sacrifice.

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. Your heart hammered in your chest, your limbs went numb, and the world around you seemed to close in. The villagers’ faces blurred together, their whispers and murmurs growing louder. You felt like you were drowning in a sea of fear and dread.

“No,” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head slowly. “Not me…”

This was not supposed to happen. You had been so close to escaping this cursed place, so close to finally living the life you had dreamed of with Taehyung by your side. A life of love, freedom, and adventure—a life far away from the darkness that clung to Briarfield like a shroud.

But now, that dream was being ripped from you.

Your hands trembled as you clenched them at your sides, your mind reeling. What had you done to deserve this? Why were you being punished? You had seen other girls chosen before, seen the hollow, terrified looks in their eyes as they were led away to their deaths. You had always feared this moment, but you never thought it would be you.

A cold, bitter chill swept over you, and your breath caught in your throat. You couldn’t let this happen. You couldn’t let them take you. But deep down, you knew the village’s decision was final. There was no escaping the elders’ judgment, no defying the centuries-old ritual that had claimed so many before you.

Then, through the crowd, you saw him. Taehyung.

"Y/N!" His voice cut through the noise, filled with desperation. He pushed past the villagers, his face a mix of fear and fury. "Y/N!"

As soon as you saw him, the numbness that had overtaken you shattered. Your legs trembled, and you took a step forward, reaching out as if he were your last lifeline.

“Taehyung!” you cried, your voice breaking as tears blurred your vision. “Taehyung, please!”

In an instant, he was there, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. The warmth of his body, the strength of his grip—it was everything you needed in that moment, everything that kept you from falling apart.

"I won’t let them do this to you," he whispered fiercely, his voice shaking with emotion. "I swear, I won’t let them take you."

But even as he spoke those words, you know how impossible that was. Taehyung was new here so he cannot grasp the severity of everything. The elders had spoken, and the ritual demanded obedience. No one had ever defied it and survived.

Before either of you could say another word, strong hands grabbed Taehyung by the shoulders, yanking him away from you. You stumbled back, reaching for him, panic surging through your veins.

"No!" you screamed, lunging forward, but more hands grabbed you, dragging you backward.

"Y/N!" Taehyung shouted, struggling against the men who restrained him. His eyes were wild with fear, his hands clawing at the air as he fought to reach you.

You kicked and thrashed, desperate to break free, to run to him, to hold him one last time. But it was useless. The men’s grip was iron, their expressions cold and unfeeling as they pulled you toward your home to prepare you for the ceremony.

“Taehyung!” you cried out, tears streaming down your face as you reached for him, your fingertips brushing the air between you. “Don’t leave me!”

“I won’t! I promise!” Taehyung yelled; his voice hoarse with desperation as he was dragged further away. “I’ll come for you, I swear!”

But the distance between you grew, your bodies pulled further apart by the hands of fate. His voice became fainter, swallowed by the murmur of the crowd.

As they forced you back toward your home, you twisted and turned, your heart breaking with every step. Your hands reached out, but Taehyung was no longer there. The emptiness between you felt like a void, and for the first time, true fear gripped your soul.

Your room was cold and quiet, save for the soft splashing of water as your mother gently bathed your skin. You sat in the large wooden tub, your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth, though nothing could shield you from the dread settling in your chest. Steam rose from the water, clinging to the air with an eerie stillness, but it did nothing to soothe your trembling body.

Your mother’s hands moved over you with care, her touch soft but weighed down by sorrow. She washed your arms and shoulders, wiping away the traces of the life you once knew, preparing you for the inevitable. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes dull with grief as she worked in silence. She had not spoken since you were declared as the sacrifice, and the absence of your father—who had left the house earlier, unable to bear the sight of his daughter’s impending fate—hung like a ghost in the room.

After bathing you, she helped you from the tub, wrapping you in a thin cloth. She guided you toward a small stool by the fire, her steps slow, as if every movement pained her. The warmth of the hearth barely touched your skin, doing little to chase away the cold knot of fear in your stomach.

Your mother knelt behind you, her hands moving through your long, damp hair. She did not braid it as she usually did for such occasions. Instead, she combed it gently with her fingers, allowing the dark strands to fall free down your back like a cascading waterfall. Your hair framed your face, its softness a stark contrast to the harsh reality of the ceremony that awaited you. The gentle curls of your locks, freshly washed and perfumed with lavender oil, gave you an air of innocence that would make you appear even more pure to the villagers.

The silence between you both was heavy. You could feel her hands trembling slightly as she worked, her breaths shallow and uneven. She parted your hair down the side, letting it fall in loose waves, unadorned, framing your face in a way that made you look younger, more delicate.

When your hair was dry, your mother brought out the ceremonial dress from the chest at the foot of your bed. She never wanted to use it but here she is. This knowledge weighs at her. Her hands shook as she held the white linen gown before you, her lips pressed into a thin line. The dress was simple, yet ethereal—a symbol of the purity expected of you.

The bodice was a fitted corset, but modest, cinching gently at your waist before flaring out into a flowing skirt that reached down to your ankles. The sleeves were long and billowed softly, cinching at the wrists, giving the appearance of delicate wings. Silver embroidery traced the neckline and cuffs, small and intricate, adding a subtle touch of elegance to the otherwise plain garment.

Your mother helped you step into the gown, her fingers carefully fastening the laces at the back. With each tug, you felt as though the dress was binding you tighter into your fate. The fabric clung to your body, soft but suffocating, as if it were swallowing you whole.

When the final lace was tied, your mother stepped back, her eyes filling with tears as she took in the sight of you. The pure white of the dress, the soft waves of your dark hair, and the pale glow of your skin all worked together to create the image of a perfect sacrifice—untouched, innocent, and ready to be offered.

“You look… beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

But the word felt hollow. You didn’t feel beautiful. You felt like a vessel—something to be given away, something to be used.

As your mother placed a tender kiss on your forehead, you swallowed the lump in your throat, your heart aching with a desperation you could not express. Your father’s absence weighed heavily on you.

This wasn’t how your life was supposed to end. Not like this.

But as your mother’s hands lingered on your shoulders, the reality of it all sank in and all you could do was pray for any God out there to help you.

Taehyung paced back and forth in the small, dimly lit room where he had been confined. The walls, lined with aged stone and heavy curtains, seemed to close in on him, suffocating his hopes. His mind raced with plans and possibilities, each more desperate than the last. He had been thrown into a locked chamber, barred from leaving and, most painfully, from seeing you. He could hear muffled voices and footsteps outside, the occasional clinking of metal, and the distant sound of the village preparing for the ritual. Each noise was a painful reminder of the precious moments slipping away.

Determined not to give up, Taehyung had already tried every lockpicking trick he knew, but the door remained stubbornly shut. His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy weight pressing down on him as he thought of you being prepared for the ceremony. The images of your face—so full of hope and love suddenly replaced by shock—haunted him. He could only imagine how frightened you must be, and the thought of you being forced into the clutches of the so-called "ceremony" filled him with a deep, cold rage.

In a fit of frustration, he banged on the door, shouting for anyone who might hear him. “Let me out! I must see her!” His voice echoed off the stone walls, but it was met with silence. He pounded on the door again, desperate, and breathless. “Please! Someone, help me!”

His efforts were met with nothing but the indifferent response of the guards outside, their footsteps fading as they moved away. Taehyung sank to the floor, his back against the door. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white, and took deep, steadying breaths, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling within him.

In his heart, he knew he couldn’t give up. Not now, not when the love of his life was in such grave danger. Taehyung's mind raced with a single, driving thought: he had to escape, he had to save you. His determination hardened into resolve as he worked to find another way out, his thoughts consumed with the promise he had made to you—that he would never let anything come between you.

He could only hope that, somehow, he would find a way to break free and reach you in time.

And as his mind tried to come up with another escape plan, he door to his chamber creaked open. The dim light from the corridor spilled in, and there, standing in the doorway with a twisted smile, was Lord Corwin. Taehyung’s heart sank, his stomach churning with a sickening sense of dread.

Corwin stepped inside, his heavy footfalls echoing in the small room. He surveyed Taehyung with a sneer, his eyes brimming with malice and twisted satisfaction. "Well, well, if it isn’t the valiant merchant," Corwin drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "So full of love and devotion for that sweet little girl, aren’t you?"

Taehyung rose to his feet, glaring at Corwin with barely contained fury. "What do you want?" he spat, his voice trembling with rage.

Corwin’s smile widened, revealing yellowed teeth. He moved closer, his oily presence filling the room like a vile stench. "I’ve come to deliver some unfortunate news, I’m afraid. You see, while you sit here locked away, your precious bride-to-be is being prepared for an incredibly special ceremony. One that has been a tradition in Briarfield for centuries."

Taehyung’s jaw clenched as he stepped forward, his hands balling into fists. "I already know about the ritual," he growled. "But you won’t lay a finger on her. I’ll stop you."

Corwin chuckled darkly, shaking his head in mock sympathy. "Ah, but you don’t know the true nature of the ritual, do you? No, you still believe in that quaint little lie they talk about appeasing the devil." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a sickening whisper. "The truth is the ritual has nothing to do with the devil. It’s all for us. The noble men of Briarfield. Each year, we choose a girl. We strip her of her dignity, her purity... we defile her. And then, once we’ve had our fun, we leave her to die."

Taehyung’s eyes widened in horror, his breath catching in his throat. He felt sick, his vision blurring with rage as Corwin continued.

"And your sweet little bride-to-be," Corwin sneered, "will be no different. I will have the pleasure of taking her first. I have waited so long for this moment—watching her blossom into womanhood, untouched and pure, just waiting for me. And when I am done with her..." He paused, his lips curling into a grotesque smile. "Well, let’s just say she won’t be the same girl you fell in love with."

Taehyung’s vision went red. He lunged at Corwin, his fists aiming straight for the older man’s leering face. "You bastard!" he roared, but before his fist could connect, two guards grabbed him from behind, pulling him back with brute force.

Corwin stepped back, laughing cruelly as Taehyung struggled against the guards. "Temper, temper," Corwin taunted, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You’re nothing but a pathetic peasant, thinking you could protect her. What could you possibly offer her? A life of selling trinkets in the market? She’s too good for you, boy."

Taehyung strained against the guards; his teeth gritted in pure fury. "I’ll kill you! I swear if you touch her-"

"You’ll do nothing," Corwin interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "Because you’re weak. You’ll sit here, helpless, while we take what’s ours." He adjusted his coat with a smug grin. "Enjoy the show from your cage, boy. I’ll be sure to tell her how useless you were in the end."

With that, Corwin turned on his heel and strode toward the door, a satisfied smile plastered across his face. As he reached the threshold, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. "She’ll cry for you, you know," he said, as if savouring the thought. "But you won’t be able to do a thing about it."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Taehyung trembling with rage and helplessness. His heart ached with fear for you, but the fire in his chest refused to die. Even as he struggled against the guards, his mind churned with thoughts of revenge, desperate to stop Corwin and save you from the fate he had so vilely described.

The village square was eerily quiet despite the large gathering of people. You stood there, heart pounding in your chest, dressed in your white ceremonial gown. The wind tugged at the hem, but it did little to stir the suffocating atmosphere. It was as if the very air had thickened around you, heavy with expectation and dread.

The villagers watched with false reverence, their eyes dull and unfeeling, offering hollow words of praise for your supposed bravery. Bravery? It was a bitter joke. You had not chosen to stand here, had not chosen this fate. You were forced- condemned.

The elder approached you with a blindfold in his gnarled hands, his wrinkled face twisted into a grim mask of ceremony. His fingers were cold and rough as they tied the cloth tightly around your eyes, shutting out the last slivers of the village you had known all your life. Darkness consumed your vision, leaving only the cacophony of sound and the bitter taste of fear on your tongue.

As you stood there, sightless, you could hear your mother sobbing softly from somewhere behind you. Each sob pierced through you like a blade, her grief wrapping around your heart. You wanted to cry out to her, to run to her, Be held and comforted by your mom but your legs were frozen beneath you, bound by invisible chains of duty and terror.

Hands gripped your arms—firm, unyielding hands—and began to guide you forward, pulling you away from the square. You stumbled at first, your feet catching on the uneven ground, but the hands steadied you, urging you on. You could hear the shuffle of boots and the whispering of cloaks as the elders led you through the village, away from the familiar sounds of Briarfield and deeper into the woods.

The ground beneath your feet shifted as you left the cobblestone streets and stepped onto the soft earth of the forest. The air changed, cooler with the scent of moss and decaying leaves. The sounds of the village faded into the distance, replaced by the rustling of trees and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. You could hear the soft chirping of insects and the distant calls of night birds, their eerie songs only heightening the sense of isolation.

Your heart raced in your chest, each step feeling heavier than the last as you were dragged closer to the altar. Your mind raced with images of what was to come, of the horrors Corwin had spoken of, and you fought to keep your breathing steady. The blindfold pressed tightly against your eyelids, and with each passing moment, the reality of your situation sank deeper into your bones.

The elders murmured soft incantations as they led you further into the woods, their voices low and rhythmic, blending with the sounds of the night. But their words brought no comfort, only a sickening reminder of what awaited you at the altar.

You strained your ears, trying to grasp any familiar sounds, anything that would tell you where you were. The world around you had become an abyss, where each sound was amplified in the darkness. The soft brush of leaves against your skin, the cold gust of wind on your face, the distant crackling of a fire you could not see, all of it swirled together in a maddening symphony of fear.

The hands that guided you suddenly stopped, and you could feel the ground beneath your feet shift slightly uneven stones pressing against your soles. You knew, without seeing, that you had arrived at the altar.

You shivered as they lead you towards the, what you assumed to be the alter made up of old ancient slab covered in moss and lichen. As you were laid upon the stone, you could hear the rustling of the elders’ robes. You strained your ears, hoping for some sound that would anchor you in the moment—a bird’s call, the rustle of leaves, anything—but the forest had gone unnervingly quiet. The blindfold pressed tightly against your face, leaving you in total darkness.

You heard the soft scrape of a blade being drawn, the metallic sound causing your heart to lurch in your chest. The elder murmured words in a language you didn't understand, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You were waiting for something, some terrible finality but what came instead was silence. The kind of silence that felt wrong, like it was filled with secrets.

You felt hands on your shoulders, their grip too familiar, too wrong. And then, you heard it, a low, mocking laugh.

It wasn't the deep, otherworldly growl of a devil, but the cruel, triumphant sound of a man who had long desired something he was now moments away from taking. The sound sent a shiver down your spine.

Lord Corwin.

You jerked against the hands that held you, but they tightened, keeping you in place. Your heart pounded in your chest, panic surging through your veins. You tried to speak, to demand answers, but your throat closed, your voice trapped behind a wall of fear.

"You still believe in the devil, don't you?" Corwin’s voice slithered through the darkness, mocking and taunting. "Poor thing. They have filled your head with stories of demons and sacrifices. But I assure you... there is no devil coming for you tonight."

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. The ceremony, the sacrifice, none of it was real. You were not being offered to some dark entity. You were being handed over to men like him.

"You see," Corwin continued, his voice drawing closer, "this ritual isn’t for protection. It’s for us." He paused, his breath hot and close, sending waves of nausea through you. "For centuries, we've chosen a girl each year to entertain us. To indulge ourselves in ways that the village would never dare to question."

You felt your knees weaken, your body trembling as his words sank in. The stories you had been told since childhood were all lies. The devil was just a tale, a cover for the horrors these men had committed under the guise of tradition.

"Don't struggle," Corwin whispered, his tone sickeningly sweet. "You’ll only make it harder for yourself. After all, you should be honoured to have caught my attention all these years."

Then you felt a hand rustling with your dress and your stomach started twisting at the realisation would exactly Corwin’s words meant. You felt a hand sneak up your dress and grab your thigh and your fight response kicked in. You jerked at the touch and tried your best to swing a fist at where you heard Corwin standing. You were in every disadvantage, but you weren’t going down without a fight. Or so you thought.

You suddenly felt your hands being grabbed and forced down harshly above your head. You cursed aloud at whoever it was but now that both your hands and legs were immobile you weren’t sure what to do. The adrenaline in your body was slowly slipping away and all you felt was terror.

“Tsk tsk tsk, this is not what I expect from you darlin-“ you cut Corwin off “I don’t care about what you expect from me!” you angrily yelled out but just then you felt a sting on your left cheek.

Lord Corwin had slapped you.

“Somebody really needs to put you in your place. Do not forget you are just a mere woman. You exist just to serve men. The only thing of value you hold is beauty and a fertile body to birth children” Lord Corwin replied venomously.

And just before you could retort back, you felt your dress being ripped and only a gasp left your throat.

“No stay back!” you yelled in desperation as you felt Corwin’s grimy hands roam your exposed legs. You felt his breath near your throat as he leaned down to kiss the area. You felt disgusted and angry. Your mind wondered to Taehyung praying that he would show up somehow. You felt Corwin’s hand slid up and grabbed your chest. You cried angry tears as you decided to yell one last time “Taehyung please save me from here!” you cried loud angry tears and just when you were about to give up, you heard it.

From somewhere deeper in the woods, a new sound echoed, a distant clamour of voices, of movement. At first, you thought it was your mind playing tricks on you, desperate to cling to any hope. But it grew louder, closer. The elders hesitated, their hands loosening on your arms and legs.

Taehyung.

You knew it was him. He had come for you.

The voices grew louder, the footsteps echoing closer until they were upon you. You could hear the rush of movement, angry shouts, the crack of branches underfoot. Panic surged through the elders and the men surrounding you. Their once confident whispers turned frantic.

You felt your heartbeat in your throat, pounding with both fear and a sliver of desperate hope.

"Stop them!" Corwin's voice rose in anger, the sharp command lashing through the air like a whip. His hands gripped your arms again, but they were no longer steady. You could feel his panic too, his control over the situation slipping through his fingers.

The elder holding you released his grip entirely, his cowardice evident in his hasty retreat. You could hear the shuffle of feet as others followed suit, abandoning the ritual altar in a state of chaos.

Suddenly, the blindfold was ripped from your eyes. The world returned in a flash of dim torchlight and shadowed faces. The clearing was swarming with men, some village guards, some common folk, and there, breaking through the tree line, was Taehyung.

His eyes blazed with fury; his jaw clenched tightly as he barrelled toward you. For a moment, you were frozen, overwhelmed by the sight of him and by the fact that he had come, against all odds.

Corwin cursed under his breath, his face twisted in rage as he pulled you roughly towards him, using your body as a shield between him and Taehyung. His grip was hard, bruising, his nails digging into your flesh. You could smell the sweat and desperation radiating from him.

"You think you can take her from me?" Corwin spat, his voice a mixture of fear and disgust as he glared at Taehyung. "You, a lowly peasant, dare to challenge me?"

Taehyung slowed his approach but never took his eyes off you, his expression softening for a brief moment as he saw the fear in your eyes. Then, his gaze hardened again, his fists clenched at his sides.

"I will take her from you," Taehyung said firmly, his voice steady despite the storm raging behind his eyes. "Because she doesn't belong to you. She never did."

Corwin scoffed, his breath heavy against your neck. "Look at me, girl!" he growled, yanking your face toward him. His once pristine appearance was now crumbling. His thinning hair slick with sweat, his eyes bulging with anger and something worse, desperation. He reeked of arrogance, of an entitlement so deeply ingrained that he believed the world owed him everything, even you.

"You could have had comfort," Corwin sneered, his eyes darting between you and Taehyung. "Wealth, status... But you choose him?" His voice dripped with venom. "What can he offer you?"

You stared at Corwin, disgust rising like bile in your throat. Even now, he could not understand that what you wanted was freedom, not wealth. You wanted love, not power. And Taehyung offered you all the things Corwin never could—kindness, gentleness, and a future not built on fear.

But before you could answer, Taehyung took a step closer. His voice was like a promise, unwavering and fierce. "I offer her everything you never could, respect, love, and a life free from monsters like you."

Corwin’s grip tightened painfully for a moment, his face darkening. But then, as the approaching crowd surged closer, the realization dawned on him. His plan had failed. The power he once held over you and the village was slipping away.

His eyes flickered with malice as he released you, shoving you toward Taehyung. You stumbled, but Taehyung was there, catching you in his arms, pulling you against his chest protectively.

"Take her," Corwin sneered, stepping back, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "But this isn’t over. You think you've won, but you’ve merely delayed the inevitable." Corvin threw meaningless threats at you.

And with that, Corwin turned, retreating into the shadows of the woods, his figure vanishing into the night.

As you stood in Taehyung’s embrace, trying to make sense of the nightmare that had unfolded, Taehyung’s gaze locked down onto yours. His eyes swept over your form, and his expression hardened, his features darkening with a mixture of concern and fury. The delicate ceremonial gown you wore was torn and dirtied, bruises beginning to form where the men had handled you so roughly. Your entire body trembled, overwhelmed by everything you had endured.

Without a word, Taehyung quickly slipped off his long coat, moving toward you with a gentleness that contrasted the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. He draped the coat over your shoulders, covering you, shielding you from the eyes of those who had tormented you.

“Stay still,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. His hands brushed over your arms as he pulled the coat tighter around you, trying to hide the evidence of what could have been. His jaw clenched as his eyes flicked over your face, lingering on every bruise, every tear, and the fragile look of shock etched into your expression.

Anger flared briefly in his eyes as he spoke, his voice low but steady. “I’m so sorry… I should have gotten to you sooner.”

“Do not apologise for something you had no control over. I’m just glad that you made it.” You whisper back.

As Taehyung held you close once again, you looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “How did you manage to escape?” you asked, your voice trembling with exhaustion.

Taehyung’s face was a mix of anger and determination. “It was not easy. The guards had me locked in a small, dark cell in the chapel, and I was running out of time.”

He took a deep breath, clearly reliving the tense moments. “I overheard the guards talking about a secret passageway under the old chapel, used long ago for smuggling goods. I knew I had to find a way to use that passage to escape. Also, who reveals such information in front of a prisoner?” he says trying to make you smile and you giggled in response.

Taehyung then continued, “I managed to use a piece of broken furniture to pry open a loose stone in the cell wall. It was a desperate move, but I had to try. I crawled through the narrow tunnel, which led to the chapel’s old crypt. From there, I found a way out to the back of the chapel.”

Your heart raced as you listened, imagining his harrowing escape. “But how did you get to me?”

Taehyung nodded, a fierce resolve in his eyes. “Once I got outside, I made my way to the village edge, where I saw your father sitting in sorrow. I found him and told him everything about the ritual, Corwin’s lies, and how I had managed to escape.”

He paused, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of pride and urgency. “Your father was able to rally the villagers and expose Corwin’s true intentions. They were already suspicious, but my escape and the information I brought gave them the final push to act against Corwin and his corrupt schemes.”

You felt a surge of relief and admiration for Taehyung. “I’m so grateful you made it out in time.”

Taehyung gently cupped your face, his expression softening. “I would have done anything to save you.”

Your gaze shifted just in time to see the villagers dragging a furious Lord Corwin back into the clearing. His once-fine clothes were torn and filthy, his large frame covered in mud and sweat. He panted heavily, too slow, and too fat to outrun the angry crowd that had hunted him down.

“Let me go!” Corwin bellowed, his face flushed with humiliation and anger. “You fools! You have no idea what you have done! This village needs me!”

The villagers’ rage bubbled over as they shoved him to the ground. “You let our daughters die!” someone shouted from the crowd. “You let them suffer while we were blind!”

Corwin sneered, trying to rise, but his bloated body betrayed him, and the crowd held him down. He turned his eyes to Taehyung, the hatred in his gaze palpable but Taehyung let the crowd do the talking, deciding to step back with you.

A Month Later:

The grandeur of the magical court of Aetherfall stood in stark contrast to the grim history of Briarfield. The court was a sprawling palace, its walls adorned with shimmering crystals that bathed the hall in a soft, ethereal light. Magic-infused tapestries depicted scenes of legendary heroes and mythical creatures, setting a majestic backdrop for the day’s proceedings.

Lord Corwin, along with other implicated nobles from Briarfield, was presented before the court. The once-proud noble now looked gaunt and dishevelled, his arrogance replaced by palpable fear. The court was abuzz with whispers and murmurs as the noble’s faced judgment for their crimes.

The Chief Enchanter, a figure of immense power and authority, presided over the proceedings. His robes, interwoven with silver thread, glowed with a gentle luminescence. He spoke in a voice that carried both authority and sorrow, condemning the nobles for their abhorrent actions.

“Lord Corwin and his compatriots stand accused of vile corruption and cruelty,” the Chief Enchanter intoned. “Their ritual, a grotesque masquerade to cover their own depravity, has caused untold suffering. Justice must be served.”

Corwin’s face twisted in a mixture of rage and despair as the verdict was read. The punishment was severe—his wealth confiscated, his titles stripped, and he was to be banished from the realms of Aetherfall. The court’s magic would ensure he could never return, casting a protective barrier around the realm to keep him from ever entering again. And he shall work as a peasant until the day he takes his last breath.

Where as in Briarfield, the once-dark village had transformed into a vibrant scene of celebration. Lanterns floated above, and tables were laden with an array of delicious foods and sparkling drinks. The villagers, once sombre, now danced and celebrated the end of a dark chapter in their history.

The village square of Briarfield had been transformed into a picturesque scene of festivity for your wedding. Lanterns, adorned with delicate fairy lights, floated gracefully above, casting a warm and inviting glow over the area. Tables draped in rich, burgundy fabrics were laden with an array of delicious foods: succulent roasted meats, fresh fruits, pastries dusted with sugar, and bubbling pitchers of sweet, sparkling drinks.

The wedding ceremony took place in the heart of the village square, where a beautifully decorated archway of intertwined flowers and greenery formed a natural altar. The archway was adorned with cascading blooms of ivory and blush pink, their gentle fragrance mingling with the cool evening air.

You stood at the entrance of the makeshift aisle, a vision of grace in a simple yet elegant wedding gown. The gown, made from a flowing white fabric, had delicate lace trim along the neckline and sleeves. Your hair, left open in soft waves, was adorned with a few small white flowers, adding a touch of ethereal beauty.

Taehyung stood at the altar, his formal attire reflecting the elegance of the occasion. He wore a dark navy-blue suit with intricate silver embroidery that caught the light, making him look every bit the regal figure. His eyes were locked on you, filled with admiration and love.

As you walked down the aisle, the villagers, gathered to witness the event, applauded, and cheered, their faces beaming with genuine happiness. The sound of soft music played by a small band in the corner of the square added to the celebratory atmosphere.

When you reached the altar, Taehyung took your hand gently, his touch warm and reassuring. The officiant, a respected elder of the village, began the ceremony with words of wisdom and blessing.

“Today, we gather to celebrate the union of two souls who have found their way to each other through trials and love. Let us rejoice in their happiness and witness the vows they will make.”

Taehyung and You shared your heartfelt vows which certainly bought tears in your eyes as the comforting words set in.

The officiant smiled warmly and pronounced you both husband and wife. The crowd erupted in cheers as you and Taehyung shared your first kiss as a married couple.

As the evening progressed, the celebration continued with lively music and dancing. Taehyung and you moved through the crowd, greeting friends and family, sharing laughter and joy. The atmosphere was filled with happiness and relief, a stark contrast to the dark days that had preceded this moment.

During the evening, as the stars began to twinkle in the sky, you and Taehyung took that as a chance a sneaked away from everyone. You both giggled like teenagers as you made your way towards Taehyung’s cottage. As soon as the door closed, Taehyung had you pushed up against it and wasted no time crashing against yours hungrily, filled with all the love and desire he had been holding back throughout the day. You melted into his embrace, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

He trailed kisses along your jawline, down your neck, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touched. Your knees grew weak as he found that one spot on your neck that always drove you wild. His hands roamed over your body possessively, claiming every inch of you as his own.

With a sudden burst of strength, he lifted you into his arms and carried you toward the bedroom. You giggled playfully at the unexpected gesture, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he kissed a trail down your collarbone.

He gently laid you down on the bed, hovering over you with a look of pure adoration in his eyes. "You have no idea how beautiful you are," he whispered huskily before capturing your lips once again. You slowly trail your hands under his shirt and understanding what you wanted, he pulled his shirt off.

He had a soft stomach but years of hard labour had made his muscles taunt and as you were admiring him, his hands traced patterns along your sides before sliding under your dress to caress every curve. The fabric felt like too much of a barrier between your bodies as he explored every inch of skin beneath it.

Sensing your impatience, Taehyung pulled away for a moment to remove your dress, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. Once you were lying before him in nothing but your lingerie, he took a moment to admire the sight.

"You're perfect," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Absolutely perfect and all mine."

His hands resumed their exploration, this time with no barriers in the way. He traced circles over the soft skin of your stomach, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Slowly, he moved lower, teasing the sensitive skin just above your panties.

You moaned softly at the sensation, arching into his touch. His fingers danced lightly over your heat, driving you closer to the edge with each gentle caress.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to take the teasing any longer. "I need you."

Taehyung's eyes darkened with desire at your words, and without another moment's hesitation, he removed your panties and looked at your core glistening with wetness. You suddenly felt shy and tried to close your legs, but Taehyung was fast enough to pry them open again.

“Don’t hide from me love, let me see and feel all of you” he said looking directly in your eyes. He brings his fingers to your core once again and starts making a figure 8 forcing the sweetest of sounds out of you.

“That’s it love. You look so pretty” he says before diving headfirst into your centre without a warning making you cry out in pleasure at the new sensation. Your hand reached out to grab his hair, pulling on the strands, eliciting a groan out of him. His tongue circles your clit as he slowly enters a finger inside you. The sensational felt uncomfortable but was soon replaced by blinding pleasure once he started moving them.

You felt a coil build up in your stomach as your breath started to get laboured not understanding the sensation. “Tae- I feel s-something in I- you” you couldn’t form a sentence before the coil snapped and you came with a loud moan panting loudly.

Taehyung finally rose up from between your legs, your juices running down his chin making your cheeks heat up. “You did so well baby!” he said a little bit too enthusiastically. You shyly reached your hands over his shoulders and brought him down for a kiss.

Taehyung pulled away before pressing his forehead to your, your noses touching, “We don’t have to do anything beyond this.” He whispered.

“I want to Tae. Don’t worry” you ease his nerves. “It’s going to hurt a little. I’ll try to go slow okay and if anything hurts too much, stop me” he rambles a little which is endearing to you how much he is worried about you.

You kiss his lips one more time, “I trust you Tae, don’t worry” you smile up at him. Seeing you with those big eyes looking at him asking him to make love to you, Tae scrambles to pull his pants down bringing his cock out and stroking it.

"I love you so much," he murmured as he lined himself up with your entrance. "Are you ready?"

You nodded eagerly, excitement and nervousness mingling together inside you. This was it—the moment you had been waiting for.

With a slow and steady push, Taehyung entered you fully. You gasped at the feeling of him stretching and filling you completely. Tears welled up in your eyes as a mix of pleasure and pain washed over you.

"Shh," Taehyung whispered soothingly as he wiped away a stray tear. "I've got you."

He stayed still for a moment to let you adjust to the sensation before slowly starting to move. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body until all thoughts were replaced by pure ecstasy.

As his pace quickened, so did the intensity of your pleasure until it was all-consuming—like fireworks exploding inside you with every movement. Your nails dug into his back, your moans growing louder with each thrust. You wrapped your legs around his waist feeling him even deeper inside of you.

"I'm… I'm…" you stammered, unable to form a coherent thought as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. But as you were about to cum, he pulled out making you whine at the loss of your high. Before you could complain, he flipped you over on your stomach bringing your hips up and entered your heat once again.

Your hands clutched the sheets tightly as you feel him move your hair to the side and leave trails of kisses behind your neck and ear. You feel your pleasure build up once more and all you can let out are incoherent words. Taehyung could feel you were close with how much you were clenching around him.

"Come for me, baby," Taehyung urged, his voice filled with a mix of desire and desperation. "Let go."

With one final thrust, you felt yourself unravelling beneath him. Pleasure washed over you in a tidal wave as your hand tightened on the sheets below.

Taehyung's movements grew erratic as he chased his own release. With a low groan, he buried himself deep inside you as he found his own release. He buries his face in your neck as the waves of pleasure subsided, both of you breathless and spent from the intensity of it all.

He flipped you back onto your front before collapsing on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he caught his breath. "I love you so much," he whispered against your skin.

You ran your fingers through his hair lovingly, savouring this moment of intimacy between you. "I love you too," you replied softly. "More than words can say."

As the world outside faded away, you knew that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of love and passion with Taehyung by your side as you both fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

The day had finally come. You and Taehyung were ready to leave the village behind and embark on your long-awaited journey, you were ready to embrace the world beyond the shadows of Briarfield. But first, you had to say your goodbyes.

Your parents stood by the small, worn-down cottage that had been your home for as long as you could remember. The familiar creak of the door, the patches in the roof your father had mended over the years, the garden your mother tended to—it all felt so achingly nostalgic now. Your mother, tears already brimming in her eyes, reached out to hold your hands tightly.

“Oh, my sweet girl…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It feels like only yesterday you were a little child, running through the fields. And now, you are leaving us, off to see the world with your husband.”

You choked back your own tears as you wrapped your arms around her. “I will miss you, Mama. So much.”

Your mother pulled back slightly, cupping your face with her hands. “Promise me you will write when you can. Tell me about all the places you visit and the adventures you have. I want to hear every detail.”

“I promise,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your father, though not an emotional man, could not hide the tears in his eyes. He stepped forward, pulling you into a tight embrace. “You’ve always been strong,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I am proud of you for choosing your own path. But remember, no matter how far you go, this will always be your home.”

You nodded against his chest, feeling the warmth of his familiar embrace one last time. When he pulled away, your father’s gaze shifted to Taehyung, who stood respectfully nearby, watching the exchange with a soft smile.

“Take care of her,” your father said, his voice turning more firm, though still gentle. “She’s everything to us.”

Taehyung stepped forward, his eyes full of sincerity. He took your father’s hand in his, shaking it firmly. “I will. You have my word, sir. I will keep her safe and do everything I can to make her happy.”

Your father’s expression softened, and with a nod, he stepped back to allow you both to continue your farewells.

Taehyung turned to your mother, bowing slightly out of respect. She took his hands in hers and said, “Thank you for bringing light into her life. I can see how much you care for her.”

“I love her with all my heart,” Taehyung replied softly, his voice steady. “And I promise to cherish her, always.”

Your mother smiled through her tears before she let him go.

With the goodbyes said, you and Taehyung turned toward his small carriage carrying all your packed belongings and some of Taehyung’s wares. But before you could take another step, Taehyung gently tugged you back, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you softly on the forehead. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice full of warmth and affection.

You nodded, though tears brimmed in your eyes. “As long as you’re with me.”

He smiled and took your hand in his, lifting it to his lips for a gentle kiss. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, but this time, it was not from the cold, it was from the love that seemed to radiate from him in waves. “Together,” he whispered.

As the carriage started to move, Taehyung navigating it, you gazed at your surroundings, watching Briarfield slowly disappear behind a veil of mist and trees. A small part of your heart ached with the weight of leaving everything familiar behind, your parents, your home, the village where you had grown up—but you were also excited to finally see world beyond the once gloomy village.

He noticed the faraway look in your eyes and gently squeezed your hand. "You know," he said softly, "this isn’t goodbye forever. We will visit your parents soon. Perhaps once we've settled a bit, we can come back and spend time with them during our travels."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with gratitude and relief. "You’d really do that? Even after everything?"

"Of course," Taehyung said, smiling. "I know how much they mean to you, and they’ve welcomed me like family. I want to make sure you never feel like you’ve truly left them behind."

His words brought comfort, and you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder as the carriage rolled steadily along. Outside, the landscape was changing from the familiar fields and woods of Briarfield to new horizons.

With that, the two of you settled into a peaceful silence, your hands intertwined as the carriage carried you toward the future.

#bts x reader #bts smut #bts imagines #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyungs angst #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung imagine #taehyung smut #taehyung #taehyung historical au #taehyung drabble #taehyung oneshot #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x you #taehyung medieval au

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pasukiyo · 4 months ago

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LEECH: PULLING ME DOWN

| a collection of one-shots. collection masterlist.

DISCLAIMER: this fic is simply a work of fiction and is in no way, shape, or form claiming to be a reflection of how leon kennedy is canonically portrayed as a character. this is an au, meaning it is an alternate reality written for fun, so please heed this warning and keep it in mind while you read.

** none of these fics necessarily need to be read in any sort of order **

— to join the taglist, follow the link here and choose “leon kennedy” in the character list.

💿// collection songbook

leon kennedy x fem!reader word count: 7,386 warnings: leon is a stalker, themes of dark!leon, smut, mentions of maggots and leeches, blood, leon purposefully tears his stitches, brief almost-sex in a public restroom, car sex, fingering, biting, choking, unprotected p in v sex, perhaps a bit of corruption, spitting synopsis: months of pouring her blood, sweat, and tears into leaving her ghosts behind fall into fruition when the one that’s haunted her the most shows up in the hospital she works at in a city she thought she’d be safe from him in. as the day unravels, she realizes that perhaps she was wrong to spend so long trying to forget him. and that’s what she’s afraid of.

She dreams of maggots.

She dreams of blood, of teeth tearing through flesh, of teeth in her neck. She dreams of drowning, her head below water, sinking deeper and deeper into blue that soon begins to fade into black. She dreams of screaming but not really screaming, because her head's underwater and there is no one to hear her, no one to save her.

So she dreams of rising to the surface, only, when she reaches the top, she finds that the water she’s been swimming in has changed. She dreams of swimming in a lake of blood and then she dreams of teeth in her neck, tearing at her flesh. She dreams of screaming— genuine, true screaming this time— and when she reaches for her neck, she finds a maggot. And then she finds another. And another. Creeping, crawling across her skin.

Terror rattles her bones and her hands move out of pure instinct, swatting at her neck, splashing blood about with every slap. She dreams of hearing her name in a ghostly whisper that curls around the shells of her ears, cold enough to send shivers creeping down her spine. She scans the pool of blood around her, watching the lifeless bodies of the maggots she’d crushed drift along the surface.

She hears her name again and it echoes, like she’s trapped in the midst of a canyon, and if she screamed, no one but the walls would hear. She moves to spin around and find the owner of the voice but she feels something slither over her shoulder so she peers down, searching for the source

A little, black leech rests on her shoulder and she wrinkles her nose, pinching its slimy thin body between her middle and forefinger, peeling it away from her skin. It wriggles around, twisting to try and ground itself on her palm but failing. She’s about to toss it as far away from her as possible when she hears her name again, only, this time it quite literally rumbles the lake she swims in, the voice so loud now she lets go of the leech to press her palms against her ears.

Her heart pounds against her chest and she squeezes her eyelids closed, as if to will herself away from this nightmare she’s somehow found herself in. She hears her name again so she squeezes her hands against her ears tighter, the pressure against her head near deafening.

This time when the voice calls her name, a hand finds her shoulder and spins her around. When she snaps open her eyelids, she sees blue so dark it’s almost black, melting into the oblivion in its midst. She’s seen this color before and she thought she’d never see it again.

Leon Kennedy calls her name again, his hands on either of her shoulders, shaking her as if trying to break her from a trance. Her hands remain on her ears and her eyes widen with terror as she shakes her head.

“No,” she can’t even hear the whisper as it leaves her lips. Leon’s lips move to form her name, over and over and over again but she does not hear it, does not want to hear it. “No!”

Leon’s hands push her down and she finds her head beneath the surface again, but this time it’s only red she sees. Leon’s hands wrap around her neck and hold her there and she slaps his wrists repeatedly, desperately trying to pry them away. She kicks and thrashes all the while screaming, “no! No! Nononononononononononononononononononono!”

And then the sea of maroon begins to darken and she dreams of fading away, of dying…

…she wakes with cold sweat beading down the sides of her face, her palms flush to the mattress as she pushes herself to sit upright. The alarm clock at her bedside plays that annoying high-pitched sound that makes her brain rattle and she sighs, dipping her chin. Her heart still pounds against her chest as she cards her fingers through the mess of hair atop her head, moving them away from her face. She leans over to her bedside table and slams the side of her fist against the top of the clock so finally the wretched alarm ceases its incessant beeping. She’s left to sit in silence, which silence is good. She can think in the silence.

She grumbles as she peels the covers away from her body, every muscle in her body pleading with her to stay in bed despite her brain reminding her she has to get ready for work. She groans. She hates thinking.

She falls into routine: get out of bed, brush hair, brush teeth, put on any makeup she does or doesn’t need, get dressed, get something in her system, grab purse and keys, then leave.

The ghosts that haunt the long hallway of her floor aren’t active in the day time, so she pads down the corridor with an air of ease. She makes her way down the stairs leading to the ground floor, pawing at her tired eyes as she fits her car key into the driver’s side door, yawning as she steps in, slamming the door closed behind her.

She turns the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life while she drops her bag into the passenger seat. When she looks up, she swears she sees something move around the corner of the apartment building, veiled by shadows. Her brows draw together— maybe it was the trick of the eye kind of thing, perhaps she was simply seeing things. It could’ve been anything: an animal, someone who was just passing by.

It doesn’t have to mean anything’s necessarily wrong.

She quells the dull pounding of her heart almost as soon as it begins to pick up its pace and shifts her car into reverse, peeling out of her parking space and away from the apartment complex before she could think anything more of it.

Oh how Leon’s grown to hate missions.

He used to not mind them, even somewhat looked forward to them— or rather, looked more forward to the distraction than anything else. They were great outlets for him to pour every emotion, every thought, every feeling into. All his frustrations, all his anger, all his heartache could in turn be used for something actually useful.

But now all they felt like was a waste of time, like a mere roadblock in the way of where he really wants to be. Time is a thief, stealing hours from his days, minutes from his hours, seconds from his minutes. He’s spent every single day since the day he saw her last— the night he left her closet— counting down the hours, the minutes, the seconds until he could see her again.

He got his first glimpse in the morning as she was stepping into her car, and he made a vow there that that certainly wouldn’t be his last of the day.

Things were going to change today. He would see her again, he would talk to her again, he would have her back. After all, it’s where she belongs— with him.

So he walks along the sidewalks of the streets her car passes, making his way towards the hospital she works at. He loiters around a building down the block for thirty minutes after she arrives, giving her time to clock in and settle into her shift before he lifts his sleeve, tracing along the scars that have begun to fade on his arms before he finds his most recent wound. His teeth sink into the inside of his cheek as he tugs at his stitches until the wound oozes blood again. He hisses through his teeth as he flicks what stitches he manages to pull out before padding down the sidewalk to the hospital.

The middle-aged woman at the front desk blinks up at him, a rather uninterested look upon her face as she recites her everyday, automated greeting. Leon holds up his arm, now dripping with blood.

“Tore my stitches,” he says simply.

Fortunately, it was sooner rather than later that he was being led down one of the hospital’s long hallways, which looked the same as every other one— each had the same tan walls, the same white and beige tiles, even the open doors and rooms inside looked the same.

Except for one.

Leon had been walking so fast that he almost missed her, standing in the middle of one of the rooms with a clipboard in the crook of her elbow, counting out things in the cart in front of her with a pen. Her hair was pulled back the same way he used to always see it back at the training grounds and the same few wisps framed her face now.

Leon’s feet are glued to the ground below him and he thinks the nurse who had been guiding him is saying his name but he’s not listening, for all he can see is her.

For so long he’s waited for this moment, the moment he finally sees her— up close— again, the moment he can talk to her, potentially even touch her again. He’s waited months for this moment but now that it’s finally here, he feels like can’t speak.

Goddammit, why can’t he talk?

“Mr. Kennedy?”

The nurse behind him says his name and he watches the instant recognition in her eyes when she blinks up, staring at nothing in particular as the gears shift in her mind.

“Mr. Kennedy, you’re bleeding on the floor,” the nurse reminds.

His lips part and he releases the breath he didn’t know he’d been keeping as the girl he’s spent months fighting his way back to turns, their eyes locking across the room. It’s something he’d only been able to dream about happening but this is the real thing— and fuck, it’s even better than he’d imagined.

Her lips press together as her spine stiffens, fingers clutching her clipboard so tight, Leon’s certain her joints must be aching. Neither one of them speaks, and the silence must be deafening, because the nurse behind him places a wary hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Kennedy, are you alright?”

The woman he can’t peel his eyes away from blinks between him and the nurse, blinking with the realization that she has to say something, seeing as Leon won’t. She clears her throat and the nurse peers over to where she stands.

“Actually Isa, I can take this one from here,” she says, voice feeble and prone to breaking. The nurse, Isa, cocks an eyebrow to her coworker as she nears, wiping her palm not holding her clipboard against her scrubs.

“But, I—“

“Just… finish counting these out for me, will you?” She interrupts before Isa even has the chance to speak, pressing her clipboard into her chest before glancing back to Leon. Their eyes meet again but she’s so much closer than she was before, Leon finds he has a hard time breathing. “Follow me.”

His eyes follow her as she steps over the spots of blood he’d made on the floor and he certainly doesn’t hesitate to follow.

It feels like a thousand eyes are boring into her skull. She swallows the boulder-sized lump within her throat as she guides him into one of the hallway’s many rooms, gesturing for him to sit. She doesn’t turn to face him, her trembling fingers searching for the materials she needs to patch up his wound. She’s shaking so bad that she can’t even pick up the tiny piece of thread and she— quietly— slams her fist down onto the countertop, palms flush to the surface as she leans back on her heels, focusing on her breathing.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

“Are you okay?” Leon asks behind her and she curls her fingers into fists, brows drawn as she spins around to face him.

“What are you doing here?” She questions, ignoring his previous inquiry. Leon blinks, almost as if he doesn’t know how to answer. She simply stares at him as he holds his bleeding arm in his lap, blood dripping like rain down to the floor.

He glances down to it then back to her. “Well, I’m ble—“

“No, what are you doing here?” She reiterates. “Out of every fuckin’ city in America, in the entire fuckin’ world, how do you end up in the same one as me?”

Leon blinks again and sighs, pressing his lips together. He doesn’t speak for a moment and she simply waits for him to answer, locking her gaze on his despite how badly she was shaking inside.

“Stationed he—“

“Bullshit.”

Leon’s brow dips and she scoffs, shaking her head. Her hand rises to scratch at her scalp as she paces back and forth, her opposite fist on her hip. She should’ve known this would happen. She should’ve known that Leon Kennedy wasn’t just going to let her go so easily, should’ve known that he was going to find her eventually— Lord knows he has the resources at his disposal.

Yes, she should’ve known but never once did she think that he actually would. Perhaps some part of her hoped he was better than that, that he was above that. But she sees him now, sitting before her, bleeding all over the floor of the hospital in a city she never thought she’d find him in and thinks that maybe she was wrong.

Or maybe she is wrong.

Maybe he is here on business but then, what business could he possibly have here? As far as she knew, this place was clean— in the dark, supernatural, evil sense, anyways. She’d even been told before she left her previous job to come here that it was, so then she thinks that no, she’s not wrong.

It’s just all bullshit.

“I’m stationed here,” he begins again and she rolls her eyes but humors him, waiting for him to continue. “Needed to lay low. I ended up here.”

Her tongue rolls in her cheek and she shakes her head, uncertain what she should believe. Leon eyes her up and down, still clutching his bleeding arm. A drop of blood meets the floor in a smack and he holds it up for her to see, as if she’d forgotten it.

“Stitch me up before I bleed to death?” He asks and she sighs, turning to grab her materials.

She plops herself down onto a stool before him and grabs his arm, inhaling sharply his skin meets hers. She swallows to quell the erratic beating of her heart as she cleans up his wound, warily working around the tender flesh. She turns and leans over to the counter to grab the needle and thread, resisting the urge to look at him.

Leon’s knee bobs up and down as she tries to work and she eventually has to glance up at him, brow dipping in annoyance. “Be still or you’ll make it worse,” she says and he grasps his kneecap in order to keep it still.

Their eyes meet for the briefest of moments but she tears her gaze away, focusing on her task at hand. Leon’s inhales and it sounds like a laugh, “been awhile since we’ve done this, huh?”

She made no attempt to hide her breathy laugh. Her mind drifts to the secret government training facility she spent the past few years of her life working at, recalling the many times this exact scenario has played out. She remembers late nights treating Leon’s wounds, remembers the rush of sneaking kisses when no one was around, of sex in the med tent when they’d found a moment of alone time.

As much as she tries to deny it, the memories still make her feel something, still make her heart pick up its beat in her chest, still make her stomach feel warm and fluttery. She hates herself for it— but she’s still somewhat fond of the man in front of her.

She knows she shouldn’t, knows that it’s wrong— for either of them— and knows that it’s like taking three huge steps backwards after having made a giant step forward. She shouldn’t be feeling anything for Leon, especially not under these circumstances, when she was still sure he was only feeding her lies, or at the most, half-truths.

“I kinda miss it, you know,” Leon continues and she blinks up at him for the briefest of moments, continuing to stitch up his wound. “Not so much getting my ass handed to me just about everyday or the missions but… this. I miss this.”

He pauses and she inhales, preparing herself for what she knows he’s going to say next. But no amount of preparation could soften the sharp end of the dagger his words take to her heart.

“I miss you.”

She cuts the end of the thread and pulls away, hands on her knees to anchor herself. Her heart stutters a little in her chest at his words and she almost, almost feels her resolve slipping.

“Leon…” she sighs, shaking her head. “I…”

He leans forward, finding her hand again, clasping it between either of his. She presses her lips together and she can hear her heartbeat drum inside of her chest when she looks up at him, and suddenly, she feels like she’s back in her dream.

The ocean waves crash over her head and she tries to keep herself afloat, flailing her arms. A storm swells in the sky overhead and the sea rages as it thunders. She sputters, kicking out with her legs and pushing out with her arms to stay above the surface. But even before the next wave crashes, she can already feel the dark, murky blue waters pulling her down and soon, she’s engulfed.

She doesn’t go down without a fight.

Blue begins to fade to black and she thrashes around under the water, trying to claw her way back to the surface. She knows this is wrong, knows she has to find her way back up, knows she can’t keep sinking. But it’s so hard when the darkness is so warm, so tempting, so inviting.

It’s all she sees when she stares at Leon and as she feels the last of her resolve slip, she shivers— because that’s exactly what she’s been afraid of.

“Please,” his voice drops an octave and her breath hitches in her throat. “I can’t stand being away from you anymore.”

“Leon, look, I…”

“No,” he squeezes her hand when she moves to pull away and she draws her gaze back to him again.

And then she knows she’s really done for.

“I can change,” he almost stammers over his words, a sort of desperation laced in every syllable that she just can’t resist when he looks at her like that: brows knit, eyes as bewitching as ever, his pink lips trembling. “I can be better. Just please, give me a chance. Let me take you out to dinner. Sushi, you’ve always liked sushi, right? Let me treat you right, let me buy you sushi, just please, don’t make me let go again.”

It’s a reflection of the last words she’d spoken to him before she left. The past haunts her with a ghostly breeze upon her skin and she shudders with a sigh, blinking down to her hands.

She knows she’s making a mistake.

But she knows that at that moment, there was absolutely no chance she was going to say no.

So, she doesn’t.

The door to the men’s bathroom bangs open and it slams back closed when Leon presses her against it, a hand on her ass, the other in her hair. They could only handle so much of their legs brushing against one another underneath the table, so much of their fingers brushing when reaching for rolls of sushi, so much of Leon’s palm resting on her knee cap before their lips itched to be on one another.

Leon is burning.

He’s not sure if he’s ever felt more alive than at this moment. He guesses must’ve been the last time he had her like this, it was as if his heart had simply stopped beating the day she left and he was only now getting the color back in his face now that she was here where she belongs with him. There wasn’t a line he wouldn’t cross to get to where he is now.

The firestorm within him erupts into a volcano, hot magma pouring over him with each clash of teeth, each grinding of her hips against his, with each tug on his scalp. He burns at the realization that she’s missed him as much as he missed her and they melt into one another until they pool together in lakes of lava.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?” He asks against her skin as his teeth drag down to her jaw and she hisses when he sucks a mark into her flesh. “How long I’ve waited to kiss you again?”

His mouth clamps and his teeth are in her neck, her fingernails etching crescents into his shoulders, even through the leather of his jacket. Her head lolls backwards and he cups the back of it in one of his palms, the other kneading her hip through her jeans. He swirls his tongue over the blemish he’d made on her neck, his breath hot against the cool saliva on her skin.

“Too long,” he mutters, peppering kisses along the expanse of her throat. Her mouth parts and a small gasp slips past her lips as his kisses work up to her chin, then all the way back down to her collar. “Every day you’ve haunted me since the one you left.”

His fingers toy with the waistband of her jeans, toeing along the edge until they reach the button at the center. He can hear her breath shudder and he peers up at her through his lashes, his gaze darkening as it zeroes in on her, sucking air back into her lungs.

“What about you?” He asks, his finger skirting away from the button of her jeans and she releases a shaky exhale, slowly blinking down at him. Her brows dip and she tilts her head. The corner of Leon’s mouth twitches. “Have I haunted you just the same?”

He still remembers that night a few weeks back, his cock in his fist as he watches her through the cracks of her closet door, hand between her legs, lips moving to form his name. He remembers the way her fingers moved against her clit, the way she moaned his name so loud, it echoed through the entire room. He remembers the way her back arched and her toes curled and her voice shook as she called his name in tune with her release. He remembers it all. He remembers everything.

He watches the quiver of her bottom lip as the pad of his forefinger teases at the button of her jeans again, hooking over the edge to prod her skin. Her eyes are drawn back to his and she whimpers, nodding.

“Yes,” she admits. “Always.”

He fingers open the button of her jeans, pinching the zipper between his thumb and forefinger, slowly easing it down, little by little, inch by inch. His hand slips beneath her panties and dips until they reach her center, the pads of his middle and pointer fingers featherlight against her clit.

Her lips part for a breathy “oh” to release, her back arching until her chest meets his. Leon kisses up her shoulder, past the teeth marks on her neck, up her jaw until he reaches her lips. His fingers rub achingly slow circles against her swollen bud and he pulls away from her lips to stare down at her face. He watches the dent form in her brow, her eyelids close, her teeth pinching her bottom lip. His fingers pause their circles to trace a line from her clit down to her entrance and she gasps, hand instinctively clutching at his wrist.

Her eyelids snap shut again and Leon stops, his fingers in the middle of her slit.

“What is it?” He asks in a quiet murmur and she exhales, pressing her lips together. He watches as she drains the lump in her throat, fingers still lingering around his wrist.

“I just…” she trails off and her eyes drift away but Leon moves his head to follow them, catching them in his gaze. She stares up at him again and he sees it— a wavering light he hadn’t seen before.

He’s not sure what to make of it— for a moment, it almost looked like fear, like reluctance, but in the next, it was gone, replaced with glimmers of what looked more like want, like need. It was such a smooth transition that he’s not for sure whether it was the same gleaming the entire time, a trick of the light or different.

Her fingers loosen their grip on his wrist and slither up to his bicep, squeezing him through the leather sleeve of his jacket.

“Not here,” she says, glancing around the bathroom, a little awkwardly. Leon blinks and she finds his eyes again. “But the car…”

It’s all Leon needs to hear.

He rips his hand away from her panties, not bothering to zip nor button her jeans back up as he grabs her hand, pulling open the door and leading her through the restaurant. If anyone gave them any looks, Leon didn’t see, nor would he care if they did. He guides her past the door— thankful he’d already paid the bill before they broke for their little bathroom excursion— and she fishes her car keys from her pocket as they near the vehicle.

Fortunately, the parking spaces around her car were empty (and again, Leon wouldn’t have cared if they weren’t), so he shoves her into the backseat once it’s unlocked. She flips herself onto her back just as Leon climbs in on top of her, slamming the door closed behind him. He steals the keys from her hand and leans over to turn them in the ignition, the engine roaring to life, the air from the AC frosting over their skins.

He towers back over her and she reaches around the nape of his neck to draw him down to her mouth. His lips swallows hers in a sloppy, near desperate kiss and it couldn’t have been any less than heaven for him. He pulls away and a string of saliva bridges their mouths together, dipping lower until it finally breaks as Leon shrugs his jacket off, struggling a bit in the cramped backseat of the car, tossing it into the passenger seat.

She watches from below, unmoving and seemingly frozen as she blinks up at Leon with a mix of awe and lust. Leon reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it up over his head, tossing it aside before he collapses forward, steadying himself with one hand on the seat beside her, the other on her cheek.

There is a rumbling in the depths of his belly, the roar of a beastly hunger he’s kept locked away all this time, now coming to fruition. It’s a devil who dwells within Leon with an unholy desire for sadism, a primal yearn for her flesh between its teeth, for sloppy lips-to-lips, for pussy around its cock. The devil’s roar thunders and quakes his bones as Leon kisses her, pinching her bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls away, letting go when she whimpers.

“Fuck,” he mumbles at the sound she makes and it’s like pouring gasoline over the blazing fire that’s already cooking him alive. He practically stuffs his face in the crook of her neck, kissing over the already sore marks on her skin, etching his teeth into untainted parts of her flesh to make new ones.

She squirms beneath him like she’s a worm underneath his boot and her fingers thread through the hair at the back of his skull, her nails scraping his scalp when she curls them, tugging at his roots. His palms soothe up her thighs all the way to the waistband of her jeans, fisting the hem of her shirt and pulling it up along the plain of her stomach. It bunches at her breasts and he pulls away from her neck to tear it away from her body altogether.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Leon groans, cupping her breasts through the cups of her bra. She mewls, arching into his palms, canting her hips upwards into his, searching for friction. He blinks up to leer at her, her head back against the seat, lids closed and mouth wide to draw in air. The pads of his thumbs run over the fabric of her bra, right over where her nipples are underneath and her entire body shakes when she shivers. “Still have the prettiest tits in the fuckin’ world.”

His gaze darkens as a thought slithers into his head that makes the beast caged away within him bare its teeth and snarl, gnawing at the bars of its prison. His face rises from the mounds of her chest and a hand reaches forward to smooth the pad of his thumb over her closed eyelids. They flutter open in his touch’s wake and the pupils at her eyes’ center smalls.

“Tell me,” he says in just barely over a whisper that’s like a phantom breathing across her skin, and he can see the gooseflesh erupt over her flesh from the bottom of his vision. “Has anyone else touched them? Did you let someone else have you like this after me?”

The mere thought of it is painful and he almost wishes he didn’t ask her, in case the answer isn’t what he hopes for. Still, he watches her, unmoving and waiting for her response. She audibly gulps, shaking her head as she admits, “no.”

There’s a sliver of his brain, a tiny rational part of him that tells him it’s wrong for him to be relieved, selfish of him, even.

But that’s just the thing.

To be selfish is the vow he’s already made with himself. He’s already vowed to be the leech that clings to her skin, the blood-sucking parasite that sinks its teeth into her flesh and never lets go. There was no line he wouldn’t cross to honor his vow and frankly, he’s well past the point of no return.

So rather than feeling disgusted with himself, his lips curve into a vile smirk as he sinks, head dipping lower until his mouth is against the valley between her breasts. She gasps and he takes the moment she arches her back as his opportunity to unclasp her bra, tugging the straps down her arms until he can fling it, too, into the front seat.

His tongue swirls one of her peaked nipples and he squeezes the flesh, sucking her tit into his mouth. Perspiration leaks down her skin but he laps it right up, gathering spit and saliva onto her nipple. She hums and his lips buzz with the vibrations as he pulls away, letting go of her tit with a wet ‘pop.’

“Fuckin’ taste like heaven,” he says and grins, breathing a laugh. As if he’d have any idea what true heaven was like. “You’re perfect for me.”

She’s no time to answer, for his mouth is already on her other breast, a hand sliding down her belly and past the unbuttoned denim, slipping beneath her panty-line, just like he did before. Her breath catches in her throat when the pads of his middle and forefinger find her clit again, her grip tightening in his hair when he circles it, gathering her slick.

“Leon,” she whines and squirms, further arching into his mouth as he suckles at her nipple, peering up at her as his tongue swirls the bud. His fingers trace the same line he had earlier in the bathroom down to her entrance, using the slick he’d gathered to push his middle finger in. “Leon!” She cries and he pulls away from her breast, watching her face wrinkle as he slowly pumps his digit back and forth. His forefinger teases her slit just above his middle and she’s shuddering, gasping for breath.

“Have to get you ready for my dick, baby,” he murmurs, a featherlight kiss landing on her nose. “You can take another finger, hm?”

Her brow dips and her eyes round while she presses her lips together and there’s just something about how submissive she looks that makes him… feral. There’s something about how easy it would be to break her, how something so simple as just one finger inside of her was enough to almost make her shatter that made him feel… powerful.

Leon’s never lusted for power before. But as he slides another finger into her sopping hole and a broken cry rips from her throat, he starts to think that maybe he should. To be drunk on his own libido is enough but to be drunk on power, to be drunk on how it feels to have someone’s dignity like malleable putty in the palm of your hands— it’s fucking electric.

“Fuck, have you always been so tight?” He asks as he adds a third finger that reduces her to a sobbing, writhing mess beneath him. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, “can’t fuckin’ remember. Been so long, too long since the last time I had you.”

Three fingers knuckle deep in her pussy has her lashes fluttering open and closed, her eyes rolling into the back of her bead, her head swaying as if she’s spinning. Leon licks a stripe from her sternum to her throat and lifts until he casts a shadow over her face, curling his fingers inside of her like he’s digging her orgasm out of her. Her walls cave on his fingers and her body quakes beneath him, a string of unintelligible mumblings spewing from her lips.

“Hm?” He hums. “What’s that? You’re gonna come?”

Fucking bastard.

Speaking is fruitless, so she bobs her head up and down vigorously instead, reaching down between their bodies to grasp his wrist. It doesn’t slow his pace, if anything, it eggs him on more.

He clicks his tongue. “Do it then,” he growls, reaching for her throat with his unoccupied hand, pressing the pads of his fingers into the side of her neck. Her eyelids snap open and stare into him, wide-eyed. “Come all over my fingers, then I’ll fuck you properly.”

He watches the shift in her eyes and it’s the moment she lets herself go, body spasming on his fingers and their unrelenting pace. Her cries permeate the car but fall only on his ears as she comes and warmth envelopes Leon’s digits.

“Shit,” he mutters as he continues to drill his fingers in and out, even as she kicks and squirms beneath him. His hand tightens around her throat, inexorable despite her crying of his name, her thrashing about. It’s only when his arm grows tired and aches for a break that he lets go and her chest heaves as she sucks in a deep breath, coughing as air floods her lungs.

Leon pulls his fingers out of her pulsing cunt, mumbling a string of curses as he glances down at his fingers, glistening with her cum even in the dim light of the car. He wastes no time in plunging them into his mouth, the nectar that’s come straight from her body coating his tongue and he hums as his taste buds soak in the flavor. He pulls his fingers out from his mouth and a bridge of saliva strings them and his lips together.

“Goddamn,” he growls, exhaling a laugh. “You taste better than I remembered.”

Her lids are heavy against her eyes but she still blinks up at him and he finds her gaze beside his fingers, tongue swiping between his lips to gather any remnants he’d missed. He hums as he swallows, tittering.

“Sorry. I’d let you have a taste but it’s been awhile,” he titters, leaning down to capture her lips with his. His tongue swirls her mouth and hers does just the same, their wet muscles doing a waltz but it’s Leon who inevitably comes out victorious in the end.

It’s a sloppy kiss, a languid kiss. It’s a stark difference from the ones they’d shared earlier but fret not, because Leon is not fully satiated yet. It’s simply a breather, a moment of tranquility because although Leon may be an animal— a fact he’s now starting to accept— he still cares. Dark and twisted, perhaps, but it’s still care. It’s still love.

He knows it’s still love.

Because it has to be.

Leon begins to pull away and her lashes flutter as she stares up at him, round eyes illuminated like the night with starry skies. She stares and it’s like he’s the thing she knows she should look away from but can’t, like he’s the cause of her morbid fascination. He’s sure he’s seen this look on her face before, somewhere back in that godforsaken training facility when their dynamic was simpler and she was his.

He tries to cling to the dying embers of what their relationship once was, but the shift is undeniable. Change is inevitable.

He thinks he can see her coming to terms with that in her head through her eyes.

And she still wraps a hand around to the nape of his neck to push him down into her, to bring his lips to hers.

She kisses him and he can feel the stirrings of revolutionary ardor with every swipe of her tongue over his, with every clash of her teeth against his. He kisses back with an urgent need, an equal fervor to hers. He is a candle and she is a flame, melting him from the center, heat coursing through him, washing to his toes. Her kiss is like a pull from the tide, pulling him in deeper, further away from the shore. It further urges him over that edge, the one that leads straight to the depths of his stomach where that devil resides, looming, waiting.

His lips lower and press open mouthed kisses to her throat as he works at the buckle of his jeans, pulling the leather through the loops until it joins the pile of clothes strewn across the front seats. His fingers find the button of his jeans and then the zipper, his tongue lapping at the many marks he’d tainted the flesh at her throat with, almost like an apology.

Almost— because he still pinches her skin between his teeth before he pulls away to push down his pants.

It’s difficult to pull them off in the little space he has behind the passenger seat but he manages, tearing them off his ankles before he tugs at hers. He strips her legs of her jeans, flinging them, along with her underwear, towards the windshield, uncaring of where any of them ended up.

They are naked before one another and it’s just like old times. Ghosts of their past life always come back to haunt him, and it’s more so now than ever. They’re naked before one another and it’s almost like they’re back in the training facility, in a med tent, in a utility closet, in his bunk. They’re naked before one another and he can pretend that it’s simple, for the sake of nostalgia.

“Leon,” she calls his name and it’s like a whisper from the past with a ghostly hue that chills his skin. Oh, how he’s missed her. How he’s longed for a moment just like this every second he’s been away from her. He whispers her name back and she shivers, her gaze dropping down his body then dragging back up. “I… I want you inside.”

Her nerves make it sound like she’s unsure, but her eyes harden when they meet his and he knows that it’s untrue. She wants him. She wants him and that’s all that’s ever mattered.

So, he takes his cock in his fist and pinched his bottom lip between his teeth, letting go for a quiet “fuck” to utter. He eyes her swollen clit and the way her entrance pulses, having just been fucked but already looking so eager for more. He kneels until he’s eye level with her cunt, admiring what’s his before he rightfully takes it.

Her scent wafts back into his face and he inhales, a low rumbling resonating deep inside his chest as it only adds more fuel to the fire, starving the poor, hungry beast within. He squeezes his dick in his tight grip and leans forward to press a kiss right on top of her clit. She whimpers, squirming.

“The prettiest pussy and it’s all for me,” he whispers, mostly to himself but her center aches anyways as he pulls away, guiding the head of his cock to her sobbing entrance. He eases just the tip into her and she’s so tight, her walls have to adjust to fit around him. She cries out his name and he tosses his head back, a long “shiiiiiiiiiiit!” ripping from his throat.

“Goddammit!” He exclaims once he’s successfully gotten half of his length inside. “It’s been so long but you still fit around me just like you were handcrafted for me.”

It feels like it’s true.

Her walls cave around his length but it’s like she’s the perfect mold, a perfect cock-sleeve, just for him. Leon slowly pushes himself forward, filling her inch by every little inch until he’s seated fully inside, successfully sheathed in her cunt and he sees white.

She’d almost forgotten how perfectly they fit together.

She can feel every vein protruding from his cock prodding against her walls, can feel every single centimeter of him inside of her, his ruddy tip reaching a delicious spot deep within her. Her fingers find his arms and her nails etch shapes into his skin while she arches her back, drunk on the pleasure of no longer feeling hollow.

Leon settles like an infection in the marrow of her bones, harmless at first but dangerous the longer he’s inside, and she’s riddled with sickness when he begins to move. Back and forth, his hips rock, and his tip continually meets that spongy spot inside of her. Her eyes squeeze shut so hard, her vision litters with stars and she succumbs to his poison, letting him pull her further down.

Each thrust breaks her and puts her back together before repeating. She is glass and he’s a hammer but he’s also glue all the same. She’s rapt in his tempest, stuck in an endless loop of breaking and mending, breaking and mending, breaking and mending until she’s so used to the feeling, all she can do now is lose herself in the pleasure.

His hand slithers around his throat again and she moans, blinking up at him. She finds that blue so dark it fades into black again and it’s like her dream, only this time, she isn’t fighting.

“Open,” he demands, thumbing at her bottom lip as he pounds into her and she complies, parting her lips. He gathers saliva on the tip of his tongue and leans in, spitting into her mouth, tightening his hand around her throat. She hums, closing her mouth and Leon watches with a primal fire in his eyes as she swallows. “Fuck,” he mumbles.

It’s wrong. She knows it is. She’s spent months fighting demons that attempt to drag her back to the past, spent months fighting the maggots that tore through the rotting flesh of her decaying corpse, spent months restoring the color to her face and bringing herself back to life.

Months she spent pouring her blood, sweat, and tears into gone all in the blink of an eye, all because Leon Kennedy managed to crawl his way back to her, like a leech on her shoulder, sinking its teeth into her skin and bleeding her dry for all she was worth.

And that’s when her worst fear comes true.

Because she finds that she likes it.

a/n; AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! I'M SO EXCITED TO SHARE THIS INSTALLMENT WITH YOU ALL! i truly feel good about my writing here for once, not to mention it's been months since i last updated this collection (my apologies 🥴)

so, a couple things i want to put out there:

i'm not sure if anyone's noticed, but my writing style has slightly changed! i'm still going back and forth on whether i want to edit the first two installments to match my new writing style, so i'm not sure whether i will be doing that yet or not.

i will be uploading this collection and all future installments on ao3! i will start linking to where you can read it there, if that's what you prefer :)

thank you to everyone who has been patient for this next installment to come out and for reading. i hope you guys enjoy 🤍✨

💿 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🤍

TAGLIST

@chaoticevilbakugo

@luckypurins

@corruptcoder

@glovesandhorror

@angelstargel

@illsksm

@echo1200

@d3adp00ls

@woahhajime

@leonkennedygvrl

@elliewilliamshotwife

@altissia-09

@danigirls-missions

@gorrykookie

#pasukiyo's leech collection #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon x you #leon x reader #leon x y/n #resident evil #resident evil smut

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corrupte3d-mindz · 5 months ago

Text

In Your Shadow

Stalker! Jonathan Crane x F! Reader

Summary: He's a bit deranged, but he loves you in his own sick and twisted way.

Wordcount: 7.8k

Warnings:

extremely perverted! Jonathan, extremely possessive! Jonathan, sexual harassment, sexual assault, harassment, heavy stalking, stealing personal belongings, threatening, manipulating, gaslighting, belittling, degrading, kidnapping for a second, cumming in panties, jerking off, forced kissing, whining, whimpering, begging, all around subby things from Jonathan.

Jonathan’s apartment is a study in organized chaos. Papers and books are strewn across every available surface, creating a labyrinthine maze that only he understands.

The flickering light from the computer screen casts a ghostly pallor over the room, accentuating the shadows that dance along the walls. Jonathan sits at his desk, a place of both work and obsession. His hair is a disheveled mess, beads of sweat dotting his forehead and trickling down the nape of his neck. His suit, once pristinely pressed, is now rumpled; the top button of his shirt undone, and his tie hanging loosely, as if discarded mid-thought.

His fingers glide over the mouse, the soft clicks echoing in the otherwise silent room. Each photo that appears on the screen brings a new wave of emotion, a blend of longing and possessiveness that tightens his chest and quickens his breath. He leans forward, eyes narrowing as he studies each image with meticulous care. These aren't just pictures to him—they are glimpses into her life where he has painstakingly inserted himself into, moments he has captured either through his own lens or extracted from the depths of the internet. Jonathan exhales softly, his lips curving into a faint, almost predatory smile as he reaches the more revealing photos; not really. These are the ones he treasures most, the ones that reveal her in states of vulnerability and intimacy. Whether he found them online or took them himself, each image is a testament to his unyielding obsession.

He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it back from his face, only for it to fall back into disarray moments later. His eyes, a piercing blueish green, scan over the images with a clinical yet possessive gaze. He imagines her in those moments, unaware of his presence, blissfully ignorant of the shadow that watches over her. His breathing grows heavier, more labored, as his mind conjures scenes of their intertwined fates. Jonathan’s glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, the silver frames glinting under the dim lamp light; He clicked his mouse one more time, the sound echoing in the silence. He knew what came next. He had been through these photos countless times, scrutinizing each one with the devotion of a scholar studying sacred texts. They were his Bible, each image a verse he had memorized.

There it was, his favorite photo of her. It was a candid shot taken at a coffee shop where she worked. The image was slightly blurred, capturing the movement of her hands as she passed a cup to a customer, her smile bright and genuine. Jonathan stared at the photo, his heart aching with a twisted blend of love and possessiveness. He remembered the day he took it, how he had positioned himself discreetly at the back, pretending to read a newspaper while his camera did the real work. God, her smile, he thought, his breath hitching slightly. That smile was the beacon that guided him through the darkness of his existence. He would do anything and everything for her, just to see her smile. His mind wandered back to the first time he saw her. She was a new barista at the small coffee shop he frequented near the Arkham Asylum. He had noticed her immediately—her grace, her kindness, the way she interacted with customers. It was as if a light had entered his life, one that he desperately needed.

His fingers traced the outline of her face on the screen, a reverent, almost worshipful gesture. The apartment around him was forgotten; the only reality that mattered was her image on the screen. He could almost hear her laughter, the way it would ring out softly over the hum of conversation and the clinking of coffee cups. He imagined what it would be like to be the cause of that laughter, to be the one who brought joy to her life. His obsession had started innocently enough—small, frequent visits to the coffee shop, watching her from a distance. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned to months; his fascination grew. He began to take photos, each click of the camera shutter a way to capture a piece of her to keep with him always. He knew it was wrong, knew it crossed boundaries, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was as if she had cast a spell on him, one he had no desire to break.

He leaned back in his leather chair, a sigh escaping his lips as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. It had been another grueling day at Arkham Asylum dealing with the disturbed minds that mirrored his own in many ways. The monotony of his daily routine was a necessary facade, a mask that concealed the darkness within. But now, as the evening crept in, he was on the verge of something far more exhilarating. His piercing blueish eyes flickered with anticipation as he glanced at his work bag under his desk. Thinking about how he had been waiting for that moment, meticulously planning, and now he finally had a tangible piece of her. Jonathan Crane, master of fear, had been reduced to a lovesick stalker, but he didn't care. His obsession with her was all-consuming, a fire that burned brighter with each passing day. He remembered the moment like it was yesterday, but it actually was just a couple of hours before; it went a little like this.

Once he had discovered her routine, learning that she did her laundry at the same laundromat every week. She trusted the place enough to leave her clothes unattended while she went to work. It was a small window of opportunity, but Jonathan was nothing if not patient. He had bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to act. Today was the day. Her clothes had finished drying just before she had taken her lunch to come retrieve them. Jonathan had slipped into the laundromat, on his way to his apartment, blending in with the other patrons. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached the dryer, his hands trembling slightly. He was always calm in the face of fear, but this was different. This was personal. He reached into the dryer, sifting through the warm, freshly cleaned clothes until his fingers brushed against something delicate. He pulled out a pair of black panties, adorned with lace trim. They were hers, a piece of her most intimate apparel. The thrill of possession surged through him, a dark, twisted satisfaction that made his pulse quicken. Jonathan slipped the panties into his coat pocket, acting nonchalant as he left the laundromat. Once he was out he moved them to his work bag. The walk back to his apartment was a blur, his mind racing with thoughts of her. She was so close, yet so unattainable. But now he had a piece of her, something tangible to hold onto. Fuck, he couldn’t even believe it; he couldn’t believe that he managed to do that.

He leaned over while in his chair, his slender fingers curling around the strap of his work bag, pulling it into his lap with a sense of purpose. However, in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered, envisioning her, the object of his relentless fixation, as the weight on his lap, a subconscious desire momentarily surfacing before he regained control. With a sharp exhale, he unzipped one of the pockets of his bag, his movements precise and deliberate. His fingers emerged, clutching a pair of black panties with delicate lace trim, a stark contrast to the cold, calculated demeanor he often exuded. He held them up, the fabric soft against his skin, his mind drifting into a realm of thoughts, some gentle and longing, others tinged with a more primal desire.

Jonathan's thoughts were a whirlwind, a mix of conflicting emotions and desires. He imagined her scent lingering on the fabric, the softness of her skin, the curve of her body. His breath hitched, the image vivid in his mind, yet unattainable in reality. As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, his gaze lingered on the panties, a symbol of his unspoken obsession. He felt a pang of guilt, a twinge of shame at the intensity of his desires. Yet, he couldn't deny the exhilaration, the rush that came with the forbidden. His fingers traced the lace trim, a ghost of a touch, his mind filled with fantasies that bordered on obsession

He carefully placed the black panties with lace trim on the desk, his fingers tracing the delicate fabric as if it were a precious treasure. Setting his bag back down on the floor, his eyes lingered on them for a moment, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. Turning his attention to the computer, closing the folder he had opened and moving his mouse to a different folder; he opened it, it was filled with photos of her in more intimate settings. They were snapshots of her daily routine, mundane yet intimate moments captured without her knowledge. He clicked through them slowly, savoring each image of her getting undressed, her naked form, and even pictures from her shower.

As he gazed at her photos, a soft sigh escaped his lips. "My beautiful baby," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. To him, she was perfection, a vision of purity and innocence that he felt compelled to protect and possess.

His piercing blueish eyes fixated on the object before him, the black panties with a delicate lace trim, a relic of his relentless obsession. As he reached out to touch them, his fingers trembled with a mixture of desire and restraint, a testament to the tumultuous emotions raging within him.

"Fuck... if only you knew what you do to me..." His voice, a low whisper, barely audible in the quietude of the room, carried the weight of his longing. Each syllable dripped with fervor, a confession uttered to the silent darkness, a futile attempt to convey the depth of his obsession.

His hand hovered over the panties, trembling with anticipation, as if drawn by an invisible force. With a hesitant touch, he traced the delicate lace, his fingertips grazing the fabric with a reverence reserved for sacred relics. The mere sight of them ignited a fire within him, stroking the flames of desire that threatened to consume him whole. The room seemed to close in around him as he struggled to contain the rising tide of arousal coursing through his veins. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each inhalation laden with the heady scent of lust and longing. With a shaky exhale, he leaned closer, his senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating allure of the panties before him.

His hand moved instinctively to his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle as he sought to free himself from the constraints of reality. The leather yielded under his touch, releasing him from its grasp with a soft click that echoed in the silence of the room. With trembling hands, he unbuttoned his pants, the fabric yielding to his touch with a reluctant sigh. As he slid the zipper down, the cool rush of air against his skin sent shivers down his spine, a stark reminder of the vulnerability that lay beneath his stoic facade. With each movement, he felt himself unraveling, the barriers he had erected against his desires crumbling in the face of overwhelming temptation. A sharp intake of breath escaped his lips as he freed himself from his pants, the weight of his arousal pressing against the fabric of his boxers.

Slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, Jonathan closed his eyes, lost in a world of pleasure. The intimate touch of his hand against his skin sent waves of ecstasy coursing through his body, mingling with the sharp sting of desire that burned within him. He couldn't help but let out a soft whimper, a sound that was both desperate and exhilarating in its intensity.

"H-ha..." His voice was barely a whisper, choked with emotion as he struggled to contain the overwhelming sensations that threatened to overwhelm him. In that moment, he felt more alive than he ever had before, his senses heightened to a fever pitch as he surrendered himself completely to the ecstasy of the moment. He hadn’t even started yet…

With a sense of urgency bordering on desperation, he freed himself from the confines of his clothing, exposing himself to the cool air of the room. His cock throbbed with anticipation, aching for the touch that would bring him release. With trembling hands, Jonathan wrapped his hands around his length, relishing in the sensation of his own touch. His thumb traced the length of his shaft, then the oh so sensitive slit of his that was dripping with pre-cum; this eliciting a low moan of pleasure that escaped his lips unbidden. Removing his glasses with practiced ease, Jonathan set them aside on his desk, allowing his vision to blur as he surrendered himself to the darkness that surrounded him, He closed his eyes, and occasionally opening them, but mainly he liked surrendering himself to the exquisite torment of his own desires. The only light being from his computer screen with her nude photos.

With a sense of urgency bordering on desperation, Jonathan brought his hand to his face, covering his mouth in a feeble attempt to stifle the sounds that threatened to escape. He knew he was loud when it came to this, his pleasure echoing off the walls of his apartment like a symphony of depravity. But when it came to her, the noise was deafening. With practiced ease, Jonathan's hand moved up and down his twitching shaft, each stroke driving him closer to the brink of ecstasy. He knew what he liked when he was in this position, his movements precise and calculated, fueled by a hunger that knew no bounds. And as he lost himself in the rhythm of his own pleasure, he felt a sense of liberation wash over him, freeing him from the constraints of his own guilt and shame.

"F-fuck... I love you so fuckin’ much, baby..." Jonathan murmured, it seemed quieter since he was covering his mouth, but nevertheless his voice was hoarse with desire. The words tumbled from his lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for the woman who haunted his every dream. In that moment, she was all he could think of, her image seared into his mind's eye with a clarity that bordered on obsession.

With a mixture of desire and apprehension, Jonathan reached out, his hand no longer covering his mouth; fuck he sounded so pathetic when he jerked off to her, his hand trembling slightly as it made contact with the fabric. He brought the panties to his face, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent that lingered upon them. His breath caught in his throat as he closed his eyes, lost in the intoxicating aroma. He moaned softly, the sound muffled by the fabric pressed against his mouth, a crude testament to the depths of his depravity. And in that moment, Jonathan knew only one thing: he would do whatever it took to make her his, forever and always.

His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on the black panties with delicate lace trim pressed against his mouth. The fabric muffled his moans, but the intensity of his desire was palpable. Each breath he took was filled with the intoxicating scent of the woman who occupied his every thought, driving him to the brink of madness. His hand moved with a practiced rhythm, stroking his throbbing cock with increasing fervor. The sensation of the lace against his lips sent shivers down his spine, heightening his arousal to an almost unbearable level. His movements, once slow and controlled, began to grow erratic and desperate. He could never last long when he thought of her, but his stamina was the last thing on his mind.

“A-ah~..ngh..fuckin’ hell,” Jonathan gasped, his voice a strained whisper against the fabric. His eyes fluttered shut, rolling back into his head as he felt the familiar build-up of release. His body trembled with anticipation, every muscle tense as he edged closer and closer to the brink.

With a sudden, fevered motion, Jonathan tore the panties from his face, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The cool air hit his flushed skin, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through his veins. He wrapped the delicate fabric around his twitching cock, his hips bucking wildly as he surrendered to the overwhelming waves of pleasure. His grip tightened, the lace digging into his flesh as he pumped faster, each stroke bringing him closer to the inevitable. His mind was a whirlwind of desire and obsession, each thought consumed by her image. He could see her in his mind’s eye, the way she moved, the way she looked at him with a mixture of fear and something unspoken. It drove him wild, pushing him further into the depths of his dark cravings.

As his movements became more frantic, Jonathan's breath hitched, his body tensing as he reached the precipice. “Fuck... I’m so close,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice rough and strained. His hips bucked erratically, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through his entire being.

The sensation of the lace against his skin was almost too much to bear, the friction heightening his arousal to a fever pitch. His hand moved with a desperate urgency, each stroke pushing him closer to the edge. He could feel the pressure building, a tight coil of heat in his core ready to snap. With a final, forceful thrust, Jonathan cried out, his voice a mix of pleasure and anguish. His body convulsed, the release hitting him like a tidal wave, washing over him with a blinding intensity. Ropes upon ropes of hot, sticky cum spilled out from his twitching cock, coating the pretty fabric of the black panties with an almost obscene abundance. The once pristine lace was now sullied, a stark contrast to its delicate beauty. His free hand's nails dug into the wood of his desk, leaving deep, angry marks as he rode out the waves of his climax. Enough of his release filled the fabric that it began to seep through, dripping slowly onto the floor below his desk in thick, viscous droplets.

"F-fuck... f-fuck..." Jonathan muttered, his voice barely more than a strained whisper. The words were laced with a raw, guttural intensity, each syllable a reflection of his spent state. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, he was lost in the afterglow, his mind adrift in a sea of hazy satisfaction. He clutched the panties tightly, the fabric now damp with his release, a tangible symbol of his unrelenting desire.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Jonathan slumped back in his chair, his body spent and trembling. His breath came in shallow gasps, his mind slowly returning to reality. The room seemed to close in around him, the shadows deepening as he lay in the aftermath of his desire. He glanced down at the panties still wrapped around his softening cock, a pang of guilt cutting through the haze of his satisfaction. The reality of his actions hit him with a cold clarity, the weight of his obsession pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. But even in the depths of his guilt, he knew he could not stop. The allure of her presence, the thought of making her his, was too powerful to resist. Jonathan’s fingers trembled as he carefully unwound the panties from his semi-soft cock, his touch almost reverent. His eyes closed, a mixture of longing and despair etched across his features.

“Why do you haunt me so?” he whispered into the silence, his voice barely audible. The question hung in the air, unanswered, a testament to his torment. He knew that his desire for her was twisted, his actions unforgivable, yet he could not bring himself to stop. The darkness within him was too deep, too consuming.

In the months that had passed since the incident with her panties, Jonathan’s obsession had only deepened, festering like an untreated wound. His thoughts, once rational and calculated, had become a chaotic jumble of desire and fixation, driven by a love so twisted that it consumed every waking moment. He was a man possessed, his mind a labyrinth of dark fantasies and delusions, each one more depraved than the last. He would sit for hours at his desk after he had just spent hours at his office; the glow of his computer screen casting eerie shadows across his gaunt features as he pored over new and old images and now videos of her, all collected from the hidden cameras he had so meticulously placed. The sight of her, even in the most mundane of moments, was enough to send a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He would watch her laugh, cry, sleep, and live her life, all while he remained an invisible presence, a ghost haunting her every move.

Jonathan's apartment had become a shrine to her, every surface covered with photographs, notes, and mementos that he had painstakingly gathered. He had memorized every detail of her face, the curve of her smile, the sound of her voice. It was an obsession that knew no bounds, a hunger that could never be sated. And as his infatuation grew, so too did his desperation.

He knew she was aware of him, she’d most definitely had found the cameras he somehow put in her apartment so many months ago. It was the way she had suddenly moved apartments, but only to unknowingly end up in the same complex as him, she didn’t know where he lived but he had his proof that she knew enough to just up and move. The discovery of the cameras had been a setback, because he wouldn’t get those back but, it all uploaded to his computer at the end of every day, so he didn’t lose anything really, but it had only fueled his determination. He had to become more careful, more cunning in his efforts to watch her, to protect her from the dangers that she might encounter from being so perfect. However it was her fault, really, for not being thorough enough in her search for his eyes, she deserved it in his eyes.

"You're mine," Jonathan would whisper to himself, his voice a low, dangerous murmur as he watched her on his screen. "You just don't know it yet."

His need for attention, for acknowledgment of his existence, had driven him to new lengths. He had begun buying her gifts, leaving them at her door or in her mailbox with meticulously crafted notes. The thrill of seeing her take them inside, even if she never opened them, was intoxicating. It was a game, a dance of shadows and secrets, and he was determined to win. Each gift was chosen with care, a testament to his knowledge of her likes and desires. Clothes, jewelry, food, and even more intimate items like sex toys found their way to her doorstep. He knew her better than anyone, better than she knew herself. It was a twisted form of courtship, a display of his devotion, his love. And yet, there was always the risk of discovery. He had to be careful, precise in his placement of new cameras. He couldn't afford another mistake. The thought of her finding out, of her rejecting him outright, was too much to bear. He needed her, craved her in a way that defied logic and reason.

He would spend hours planning his next move, his next gift, each one a symbol of his undying love. He imagined her finding the packages, her expression unreadable as she carried them inside. Did she ever wonder who they were from? Did she ever think of him, even for a moment? The thought was enough to send a thrill of excitement through him, his heart pounding in his chest.

"One day, you'll understand," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "One day, you'll see how much I love you."

But for now, he remained in the shadows, his presence a constant, unseen force in her life. He would protect her, watch over her, even if she didn't realize it. He would do anything, everything, to make her his. And as he sat at his desk, surrounded by the trappings of his obsession, Jonathan knew that he would never stop. He couldn't. She was his, in every way that mattered. And so, the little game continued, a dance of shadows and secrets, a twisted love story that only he could understand. With each passing day, his obsession grew, feeding on the darkness within him, driving him to new heights of desperation and desire. He was a man on the edge, teetering on the brink of madness, but he didn't care. As long as she was his, nothing else mattered. In the end, it was her fault. She should have been more careful. She should have seen the signs, noticed the cameras, understood the depth of his love. But she hadn't, and now she was his, whether she knew it or not. And Jonathan Crane, the man who loved her more than life itself, would do whatever it took to keep it that way. Forever.

Tonight, as she closed up the café where she worked, Jonathan knew it was the perfect time to finally confront her. Him knowing her work schedule was so helpful. He had waited long enough, his patience fraying at the edges. He watched from the shadows as she bid farewell to her coworker, her smile a beacon of light in his otherwise dark world. She locked the door behind them, turning her attention to the kitchen, methodically checking inventory and ensuring everything was in its place. Making sure that everything that needs to be locked, is locked. Jonathan's breath quickened as he moved silently into the café, lock picking is easier than most people would imagine; with his heart pounding in his chest. He felt a rush of adrenaline, a heady mix of fear and excitement. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment he would finally see her face in real time and not just through the lens of his hidden cameras. He sat down in the dimly lit corner of the cafe, his eyes fixed on the doorway through which she would soon emerge. It was the doorway that was open with no door and you could enter by being behind the counter.

She appeared, her expression serene as she finished her tasks, unaware of the danger lurking nearby. Jonathan's eyes drank in the sight of her, his breath hitching in his throat. She was even more beautiful in person, her presence intoxicating. He took a step forward, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Her head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise and fear.

"Who... who are you?" she stammered, her voice trembling.

Jonathan took another step closer, his gaze intense. "I think you know who I am," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I've watched you for so long, admired you from afar. You were always so close, yet so far away."

So that’s what he looked like, she thought he would look worse, but back to the task at hand there is a deranged stalker in her presence. Her eyes darted around the café, searching for an escape. He’s practically in the way of it; "Stay away from me," she warned, her voice gaining strength. "I don't want anything to do with you."

Jonathan's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "You don't understand," he said, his tone desperate. "I love you. I've always loved you. You belong to me."

"No, I don't," she shot back, her fear turning to anger. "You don't know anything about me. You're sick and twisted."

He flinched at her words, but his resolve remained unshaken. "I know everything about you," he insisted. "I've seen you at your most vulnerable, your most intimate. I know you better than anyone else. I love you…”

"That's not love," she said, shaking her head. "That's obsession. It's not the same thing." She gritted her teeth; “You look pretty smart so it’s depressing that you don’t know the difference” Attitude, he would not like that.

Jonathan's eyes darkened, his hands curling into fists. "You don't get to decide what this is," he growled. "You don't get to push me away. I've done everything for you, watched over you, protected you. And this is how you repay me?"

She stared him down, her breath slowly starting to come in shallow gasps. "No," she whispered. "I won't be a prisoner to your fuckin’ delusions."

Jonathan started walking over in her direction, his presence imposing. "You already are," he murmured, his eyes locked onto hers. "And there's no escaping it."

Her eyes flashed with defiance, her body tense with resolve. "Watch me," she said, her voice steady. What was she gonna do, scream; The fuck was that supposed to do?

For a moment, neither spoke, the silence between them a palpable force. Jonathan's mind raced, torn between his overwhelming desire to possess her and the dawning realization that his actions were driving her further away. His hands trembled at his sides, the barely contained energy threatening to spill over. He watched her every move, the subtle shift of her weight, the way her eyes darted towards the small doorway. She was looking for an escape, and he knew it was now or never. In a fluid motion that belied the severity of his intentions, Jonathan sprang into action. Despite the constraining suit, his movements were swift and precise, a testament to his unyielding determination. He darted behind the counter, his heart pounding in his chest as he made it just in time to cut off her path. With a practiced ease, he hopped over the small swinging saloon door that separated them, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Baby, I can do this all night,” he said, his voice a low, seductive drawl, tinged with a hint of madness. His breath came in ragged gasps, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he closed the distance between them. The endearment rolled off his tongue with a twisted sense of affection, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating glint in his eyes.

She stood frozen, her body tensed with the urge to flee, but he was already too close. Jonathan's presence was overwhelming, a dark, looming shadow that seemed to consume the very air around them. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the struggle between fear and defiance. She wanted to leave, to escape the web he had so meticulously woven around her, but he was in her way, a living, breathing barrier that she could not overcome.

"Don't be afraid," Jonathan murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I only want what's best for you. Can't you see that?" He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm, a touch that was both tender and possessive. His gaze softened, but the underlying intensity remained, a stark reminder of the darkness that lay beneath his calm exterior.

She flinched at his touch, but there was nowhere to go, no escape from the prison he had created. Jonathan's heart ached at her reaction, the realization that his love – was the very thing that repelled her. But he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. His obsession had taken root, a dark, twisted seed that had grown beyond his control.

"You don't have to fight me," he continued, his tone soothing yet insistent. "We can be together, just like I've always dreamed. You and me, forever." His words hung in the air, a chilling promise of a future she wanted no part of.

As he stepped closer, Jonathan's eyes roamed over her face, drinking in every detail. The way her lips parted in silent protest, the flicker of fear in her eyes, the defiant set of her jaw. She was beautiful, even in her defiance, and it only fueled his desire to possess her completely.

"Don't you see?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You belong with me. I've waited so long for this moment, planned every detail. You can't leave me now." His words were a plea, a desperate attempt to make her understand the depth of his feelings, the lengths he was willing to go to keep her by his side.

She took a step back, her back pressing against the counter, trapped between him and the unyielding surface. Jonathan's heart raced, the thrill of the chase mingling with the dread of losing her. He reached out again, his hand cupping her cheek with a gentleness that belied the madness in his eyes.

"I promise, I'll take care of you," he said, his voice filled with a twisted sincerity. "No one will ever hurt you, you'll be safe with me, always." The words were meant to comfort, but they only served to deepen the chasm between them.

Her eyes filled with tears, a silent testament to the hopelessness of her situation. Jonathan's heart clenched at the sight, a painful reminder of the cost of his obsession. But he couldn't let her go, not now, not ever.

"You don't have to cry," he murmured, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "I'll make it all better, I promise. Just give me a chance." His voice cracked with emotion, the façade of control slipping as he confronted the reality of his actions.

She shook her head, a silent refusal that cut through him like a knife. Jonathan's jaw tightened, the anger simmering beneath the surface threatening to boil over. He had done everything for her, sacrificed so much, and yet she still resisted. It was maddening, infuriating, and it only fueled his determination to make her see the truth.

"Why can't you understand?" he demanded, his voice rising in frustration. "Everything I've done, I've done for you. To protect you, to keep you safe. And I’ve provided gifts for you..Why can't you see that?" His words echoed through the empty room, a desperate plea for understanding that would never come.

She stood her ground, her eyes locked onto his with a mixture of defiance and fear. Jonathan's heart ached at the sight, torn between his love for her and the realization that his actions were driving her further away. But he couldn't stop, couldn't let her go. She was his, and he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side.

With a final, desperate plea, Jonathan stepped closer, his hand reaching out to take hers. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Just give me a chance. I can make you happy, I promise. Just stay with me." His words hung in the air, a fragile hope that threatened to shatter with her next breath.

But as she looked into his eyes, Jonathan saw the truth. She would never be his, not in the way he wanted. And yet, he couldn't let her go, couldn't relinquish the hold she had on his heart. With a sense of resignation, he realized that he would do whatever it took to keep her, even if it meant losing himself in the process. In that moment, as the weight of his obsession threatened to crush him, Jonathan made a silent vow. He would protect her, keep her safe, no matter the cost. And if that meant holding her against her will, then so be it. She was his, and he would never let her go. His hand reached out, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that seemed almost out of place given the madness flickering in his eyes. He leaned in slightly and gave her a kiss on the lips, practically forcing her to kiss back with how rough it actually was compared to how he thought he was doing it; soft and calm. Yeah my ass.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you leave me,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. The words were both an apology and a vow, laced with an unspoken promise of what was to come. He let go of her face and sighed;

Before she could react, Jonathan's grip tightened, his fingers wrapping around her delicate wrists with surprising strength. He raised her arms above her head, pinning them against the cold, unforgiving wall. His body pressed against hers, trapping her in place as his knee insinuated itself between her legs, applying just enough pressure to elicit a gasp. His heart pounded with a mix of arousal and anticipation, each beat echoing the inevitable conclusion of his carefully laid plans. With his free hand, Jonathan reached into the inner pocket of his suit, extracting a small syringe. His lips curled into a smile as he brought it to his mouth, removing the cap with his teeth before spitting it onto the ground. The sound was almost insignificant, but it marked the point of no return.

“Shhh... it’s okay... just don’t move around too much,” he murmured, his voice a soothing caress. He leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin as he searched for a suitable vein in her neck. The syringe hovered for a moment, a silent promise of what was to come.

As the needle punctured her skin, Jonathan’s eyes never left her face. He watched the mixture of fear toxin and a sedative flow into her bloodstream, his expression one of clinical detachment and twisted satisfaction. He withdrew the syringe slowly, almost reverently, before slipping it back into his pocket.

“Hey, it’s okay... just go to sleep,” he cooed, his voice softening as he cupped her face once more. He gazed into her eyes, watching as they began to glaze over, her resistance waning. She looked like a ghost, her complexion pale and her movements sluggish as the concoction took hold.

Jonathan supported her weight as she slumped against him, his arms encircling her in a twisted embrace. He could feel her body relax, the tension draining away as the drugs did their work. A part of him felt a pang of regret for having to subdue her in such a manner, but his obsession with her outweighed any moral qualms.

In the dim light of his apartment, Jonathan meticulously straightened the cluttered space, each object a testament to his dark obsession. His heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and dread as he glanced over at the woman lying unconscious on his bed. The fear toxin and a sedative mixture he had administered ensured she would remain in a deep, dreamless slumber for hours yet. This gave him time to prepare, to transform his chaotic haven into something that might, at first glance, seem less threatening. His hands moved swiftly, arranging and rearranging, removing any overt signs of his fixation. He knew he had to be careful—he couldn’t afford to frighten her any more than his actions already had. The apartment was filled with photos, trinkets, and personal effects of hers that he had collected over time, but he placed them in less conspicuous places, out of her immediate line of sight.

Jonathan took a deep breath, feeling the familiar tension knotting in his chest. His thoughts were a whirl of conflicting emotions. He needed her to understand, to see beyond the fear and recognize his love. He wasn’t a monster, not in his own eyes. He was a man driven by a consuming passion, a need to protect and possess her. He turned his attention back to her, lying so peacefully despite the circumstances. Her wrist was cuffed to the headboard, a necessary precaution. The chain allowed her some movement, but escape was impossible. He had made sure of that. His gaze softened as he watched her breathe, each rise and fall of her chest drawing him in deeper.

“Knew it’d come to this, didn’t you, Jonathan?” he murmured to himself, his voice a low rasp. The accent that clung to his words was faint, a vestige of his past. “You always knew.”

He moved closer, seating himself beside her on the bed. The urge to touch her was overwhelming, but he restrained himself. Not like this. It had to be right. She had to be awake, aware, and, in time, willing. His fingers itched to trace the lines of her face, to feel the warmth of her skin, but he resisted. He wouldn’t get anything out of it if she wasn’t there with him, truly there. Turning away from the bed, Jonathan walked quietly to the bathroom. The light flickered on with a soft click, casting a warm glow across the tiled floor. He leaned against the sink, gazing at his reflection in the mirror. His sharp features softened in the gentle light, the lines of stress easing from his brow. His mind wandered briefly, contemplating the events of the day and the challenges that lay ahead. The day had been long and arduous, filled with the tension of his illicit activities and the meticulous cleaning up afterward. But now, as he moved through the familiar ritual of preparing for bed, a strange tranquility settled over him.

After shedding his clothes, Jonathan stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over his tense muscles. The steam rose around him, enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth and silence. He closed his eyes, allowing his mind to wander. Thoughts of her flitted through his consciousness, a mix of longing and satisfaction. She was here, in his apartment, subdued by the fear toxin and sedative mixture. The thrill of having her so close, so vulnerable, sent a shiver of excitement through him. Finishing his shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and moved to the sink to brush his teeth. The minty freshness of the toothpaste was a sharp contrast to the dark thoughts swirling in his mind. He looked at his reflection, his piercing blue eyes staring back at him with a mix of determination and desire. Jonathan was a man driven by his obsessions, and tonight, those obsessions were within arm’s reach.

He made his way back to his room, the soft sound of his footsteps the only noise in the otherwise silent apartment. She lay on his bed, her breathing steady and deep, still under the influence of the sedative. The sight of her, so peaceful and unguarded, stirred something deep within him. He turned off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, save for the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. Jonathan took off his glasses and set them on the table next to the bed, a small gesture that felt strangely intimate. He climbed into bed beside her, the sheets cool against his skin. He pulled the covers over both of them and gently maneuvered her so that she was straddling him, her body fitting perfectly against his. His arms wrapped around her back, the chain of the handcuffs clinking softly as he did so.

He buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent deeply. It was intoxicating, a heady mix of her natural fragrance and the faint remnants of her perfume. The sensation overwhelmed him, filling him with a deep sense of satisfaction. This was what he had dreamed of, the culmination of his darkest desires.

“Fuck, this is everything I dreamed of,” he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly murmur against her skin. He could feel the steady beat of her heart against his chest, a rhythmic reminder of her presence.

As he lay there, holding her close, his mind raced with thoughts and emotions. He reveled in the feeling of her weight on top of him, the warmth of her body against his. There was a possessiveness to his touch, a silent declaration that she was his and his alone. Despite the restraints of the handcuffs, he felt a sense of closeness that he had never experienced before. He wondered what she would think when she woke up, how she would react to finding herself in his bed, in his embrace. There was a part of him that relished the thought of her fear, the way her eyes would widen with realization. But there was also a part of him that yearned for her acceptance, for her to understand the depth of his feelings.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered softly, as if she could hear him in her unconscious state. “I’ll take care of you.”

Jonathan’s mind wandered back to the moment he had first seen her, the instant attraction that had sparked his obsession. He had watched her from afar, studying her movements, learning her habits. It had started innocently enough, a mere curiosity. But it had quickly grown into something much more intense, a need that consumed him. Now, as he lay with her in his arms, he felt a sense of fulfillment that he had never known before. It was as if all the pieces of his life had fallen into place, and he was exactly where he was meant to be. The darkness that had always lingered at the edges of his mind seemed to recede, replaced by a profound sense of contentment.

He tightened his hold on her slightly, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. He could feel her breath against his neck, a gentle reminder of her presence. The connection between them was palpable, a tangible thread that bound them together. Jonathan knew that this moment was fleeting, that the reality of their situation would come crashing down eventually. But for now, he allowed himself to bask in the illusion of intimacy, to indulge in the fantasy that she was his in every sense of the word.

“I’ll protect you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “No one will ever hurt you while you’re with me.”

As the night wore on, Jonathan remained awake, content to simply hold her and listen to the sound of her breathing. There was a peace in the silence, a solace in the stillness. He had spent so much of his life in turmoil, driven by his fears and anxieties. But here, with her in his arms, he felt a sense of calm that he had never known before. The darkness outside began to give way to the soft light of dawn, casting a gentle glow over the room. Jonathan could see the faint outlines of her features in the early morning light, the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips. She looked so serene, so untouched by the horrors of the world. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, a silent promise that he would keep her safe. No matter what happened, he would always be there for her, a constant presence in her life. And as he closed his eyes, finally succumbing to the pull of sleep, he knew that he would never let her go.

Author’s Notes:

I genuinely believe he would cum in his pants if she even breathed, spoke, smiled, pointed, or barely touching him; touching him like rubbing shoulders with a stranger in an elevator type of touch.

Also he would definitely paint one of his hands in the nail polish she used. Helps submerge himself in the reality he so desperately wants to be real.

Also also, this was delayed a bit because I have this opened on my computer as well as on my phone and I saved it on one end and then it didn’t transpire on the other so I closed it out and…it just put me back pretty far.

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d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n · 2 years ago

Text

Someone's there.

Bucky x Reader

Summary: When you walk home from the office, someone seems to be following you home. Your best friend is not happy about that.

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Stalking/Stalker-Ex BF, Domestic Abuse, Anxiety, Angry!Bucky, Protective!Bucky, Panic Attack

AN: This is definitely not what I intended to write when I started but anyway. Have good day my dudes!!!

You stepped out of the office, pulling your coat tighter around you against the night. It was mid-November and New York was getting colder and colder every day that passed by. You were excited about Christmas - it was one of your favourite times of the year. The lights that went up from apartment to apartment, the tree and ice rink in Rockefeller center that you and your boyfriend - Nathan - visited every year, you and Nathan driving up to Boston to meet your family. Well, your ex-boyfriend.

You'd broken up a month ago. He'd been laid off about a year ago and taken up drinking to fill the time. Nathan was not a very nice drunk. He'd yell and throw things when he was angry, which was most of the time when he was drunk, and then beg you to come back, saying that he needed you and that he'd clean up his act as soon as he got a job. You had a well-paying job - secretary to the Avengers - but Nathan was always the higher earner of the two of you. You could hardly sustain his lifestyle on your job, but you stayed. Why? You had no idea.

Nathan was a smart guy, he got picked up by some major firm headquartered in Manhattan just over a month after he got laid off. He was back to his old routine of leaving the house at 6 and coming back by 8 - you hardly saw him anymore.

And much to your dismay, the drinking didn't stop. Sure, he slowed down. He couldn't risk ruining his reputation at his new workplace. So he limited the drinking to after work. But he never stopped.

The throwing vases became throwing punches, the yelling became constant threats, consoling words became consoling sex.

You did well to hide the new bruises from your colleagues, although your act was not good enough to fool everybody. You'd let your guard down in the toilet, rolling your sleeves up to wash your hands, just as Natasha Romanoff. Yes, Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow aka the world's best assassin.

She didn't mention it there, but you were called to a meeting with her soon after. She sat you down with a glass of water and asked you a simple question: "Are you safe?"

Your wide eyes and trembling figure gave you away.

Nat implored you to break up with him or to at least come and live at the compound for a while - just until you figured out what you wanted to do.

You turned her offer down, stating that you were fine. You'd be fine. She fixed you with a stern glance, but even Natasha Romanoff couldn't force you to do something you didn't want.

Bucky, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He'd noticed the bruises long before Nat had, and gone out of his way to try and make your life easier. He sent you less paperwork to file, fewer menial tasks to do, and even put in a request for you to be moved to the New York office. In his eyes that meant you'd be further away from Nathan.

The next week, you both moved to Manhattan.

The bruises started to get darker, and more visible around your body. You dropped the short-sleeved dresses and low necklines in favour of long-sleeved turtlenecks with trousers.

Bucky worried for you. The dark rings around your eyes, the ghostly pallor of your skin. He was determined to save you. The only issue was he had no idea where you lived. New York was a big enough place that he'd never run into you. He knew you didn't live in Brooklyn, but that was about it.

The night where it all came to a head was after a Stark Gala. There was a group photo, where Bucky's arm rested on your hip while your arm rested on his. Nathan was pissed. He'd been sitting on the sofa when you came home, the photo open on his phone and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in his hand. He pushed you into a wall and slapped you, his rings cutting into your face. He yelled every manner of words in your direction, calling you a 'slut' and a 'whore', and telling you that you were worthless. You cried, fresh bruises forming on your neck where he gripped you and blood dripping down your face.

You took his berating for the next few hours until Nathan retreated onto the sofa, sitting down and muttering under his breath. You opened your mouth, trying to defend yourself. Wrong move. Nathan stood up, even more agitated than before. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was almost finished and brought it down on your head.

The next thing you remember was waking up to 4 white walls. You were in a hospital, your hand being gripped tightly by someone. You tried to escape from the vice-like grip when a thumb ran over your knuckles. You knew those hands.

"Bucky." You whispered, your eyes still adjusting to the light. Your voice was sore from disuse, but the way that Bucky's eyes lit up, you would have thought that you were singing a love song just to him.

The calmness in your heart faded as soon as your brain caught up with you. You tried to convince Bucky that he needed to go but he shushed you gently.

"Shh. Don't stress yourself out. You're safe. I promise." The red rings around his eyes gave him away. Bucky had been crying. Over you.

You held his hand tightly that day. And the day after. And even the day after that. You weren't sure if you would ever find the strength to let go.

By the time you were out of the hospital, you'd moved back to Upstate New York - Bucky had made sure that you would never have to set foot in the city again if you didn't want to.

You returned back to work as normal - the restraining order you had filed against Nathan made your mind rest easier. The whole team was happy to have you back and smiling again, but they made sure to check in with you a hell of a lot more than they used to. Clint would swing by with an apple, and accidentally leave it at your desk - the first time, you'd felt bad and tried to return it, but you quickly caught on to his tactics. Nat would bring up game nights and movie nights, begging you to come, even if it was just you both.

But most of all, Bucky. Every day, you'd wake up to a text from him, wishing you a wonderful morning and spewing some inspirational affirmations for the start of the day. He'd bring you coffee, made just how you like it, as soon as he was back from his morning run. He'd spent a while perfecting the drink - making sure it was exactly to your standard. He'd walk you to your apartment for your biweekly 2pm therapy sessions (that he'd set you up with after he had realised how much difficulty you were having sleeping), and then off to lunch at some random hole-in-the-wall spot that he knew you would love. He'd call you as you got home, making sure you got home safe, and then a goodnight text to fall asleep to.

To others, his persistent need to be around you would be stifling. But after 4 years of having your needs be put lower than the damn cockroaches in the walls, it was nice to feel wanted.

You set your life up - personal bank accounts, new social media - anything to separate that part of your life from your new one. You got a new phone (courtesy of Tony, who insisted on buying you the latest iPhone, no matter how hard you tried to convince him that he didn't need to do that because 'where on earth would you find the money to pay him back?' He scoffed at that, "I'm a billionaire hun, I think I can afford to buy my secretary a new phone). You went to get your haircut, the shorter length was something you knew Nathan would have hated.

You'd walked into the compound the day after you got it cut, worried that no one would like it as much as you did.

As soon as you made it to the kitchen, you heard a loud wolf whistle. Nat was sitting on the sofa with Sam, and they both cheered loudly as you posed for them.

Bucky's jaw dropped as he walked into the kitchen. You were still showing off for Nat and Sam - you hadn't seen him walk in.

He walked over, reaching behind you to get a pod for the coffee machine, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "Looking good, Doll." His hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine.

You smiled up at him, before grabbing an apple and heading back toward your desk. You glanced back at Bucky and your eyes drifted downwards to a very large and very prominent issue. You stifled a giggle before getting back to work.

You'd continued to tease Bucky for a while, inconspicuous brushes and a few comments here and there. Enough to make him flustered, but not enough to make him suspicious.

He continued being the perfect gentleman. Helping you when you needed him to, being there when no one else was.

You started your normal journey back home, getting out of the compound was sometimes a tedious affair because of the thousands of security gates between the compound and the outermost gate. Given that this is where the Avengers live and train, it's justified. Still tedious though.

It was a quarter mile from the compound to the bus stop that took you home - you didn't like driving, especially in the frost and the dark. You put your headphones in, picking back up on the podcast you started this morning. It was an interesting one - some new True Crime podcast that your best friend had recommended to you.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you walked through a dark and lonely street. You gripped your bag tighter around you and sped up. There was someone following you.

You glanced behind you, your eyes catching sight of brown hair and a blue t-shirt. It had Palm Springs emblazoned on it. Funny. You'd bought Nathan a similar t-shirt a few years ago.

You fished your phone out of your pocket, quickly dialing the one person you felt safest with.

"Doll?" Bucky picked after the first ring.

"Bucky, cred că cineva mă urmărește." You said, your voice loud enough that the other person could hear you were on the phone.

"Tell me where you are, Doll, I'll come and get you." You could hear Bucky pulling on a jacket and grabbing his keys.

"Umm, cred că sunt aproape de Joey's."

"The pizza place?"

"Da, îl văd de unde sunt." The footsteps behind you seem to be getting louder, but you forced yourself to remain calm, "Am să te aștept acolo. Vă rog să veniți repede."

You ducked into the pizza place, walking straight up to the counter. By now, you were sure of who it was - but Nathan didn't follow you into the pizza place. Maybe you were just overreacting. Joey's was mostly empty, with a few teenagers here and there - probably camping out after some house party that got shut down.

"Same as always, kiddo?" Joey asked, and you nodded with a slight grin. You and Bucky came to Joey's Pizza Place a lot - Bucky used to say that it felt like home. You were inclined to agree.

"No metal man with you today?" Joey enjoyed teasing Bucky. His dad, also named Joey, had fought alongside Bucky in the war. Joey had grown up on stories of the greatness of the Howling Commandoes and it had been one of his greatest pleasures to serve him pizza every time they came.

"He's coming - got caught up in traffic."

"Busy men, huh?" You giggled at that.

The door opened again. You turned around to find yourself face-to-face with someone you hoped you'd never see again. Nathan's sister.

"Thought I'd find you here, bitch."

June stalked over to you, her face filled with rage. She had been good friends with you before Nathan and your relationship started going wrong, but when you had confided your pains with her, she'd turned her back on you. Blood is thicker than water. She'd called you names before - filling your comments with every vile comment she could think of, texting and emailing you death threats, anything to remind you of just how broken and damaged you were.

Before you knew what was happening, her hand collided with your cheek. The whole place burst into action.

Joey jumped around the side of the counter as June hurled insults at your face.

You tried to push her away as she swung at you again, but her hand hit your shoulder.

Joey pushed you behind him, as one of the kitchen hands stepped out to pull June back.

A teenager was on the phone with the police.

You tried to cover your ears as the noise built in your head.

The door swung open, letting in a draft.

Boots on the linoleum floor. Familiar boots.

Sirens.

"We were in the neighbourhood, Sergeant." Something about a noise complaint.

A hand pulling you into a firm chest. Tears streaming down your face. Your favourite voice whispering sweet nothings, stroking your hair, begging you to calm down.

"You're doing so good for me, Doll, just keep breathing." Bucky's pulse was steady under your hand. Slowly, your breathing evened out and you lifted your head to meet Bucky's eyes. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around you to stop you from collapsing.

You stayed in Bucky's embrace while the police wrapped up - June was being taken to the local PD for the altercation and also driving under the influence. Bucky told you that Nathan had also been arrested for violating the restraining order. Your heart sunk.

"I'll never escape him, will I?" You whispered to Bucky, as you sat down in your favourite booth to eat.

"You can, and you will," Bucky reassured you, squeezing your hand in his.

You ate your pizza in relative silence after that - most of the shop had cleared out with the police. Joey gave you your pizza for free, along with a tight hug on the side. He told you that you'd always be safe in here, "although metal man seems to have that covered." Bucky glared at the nickname, making you both laugh.

You walked hand-in-hand to Bucky's motorbike - his fingers ghosted over the bruise on your cheekbone from the slap as he fastened your helmet on your head.

"It's nothing, Buck. I've had worse." Bucky gave you a pointed look, "Too soon?"

He threw his leg over the bike and you settled behind him, resting your cheek on his spine. "Forever is too soon for my liking."

You smiled at that and nuzzled further into his back.

"Where to madam?" He said, putting on an exaggerated British accent. You leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"Take me home, Buck."

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky fanfic #buckybarnes #bucky #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes comfort #bucky barnes #no y/n #bucky angst #bucky x y/n #tw panic attack #tw ab*se

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stinkygirl009 · 7 months ago

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Thinking about Stalker!Reader

searching on every app for Ghost. At least-that’s what one of his buddies called him. Eventually finding his instagram user and looking through his profile trying to find more about his mysterious looking man she saw at a bar! No posts, 1 following. So of course she looked through his following, due to the lack of information about him on his profile and bio. But soon recognized one of the men he was hanging out with at the bar. Seeing his name was ‘Soap’ from his username. Odd name sure, but better than nothing I guess. Good thing he posted on his story a few minutes ago. This supposed ‘Soap’ was at a different bar this time. Oh and would you look at that? There’s that ghostly figure of the man she saw a few days ago in the background of the photo…Hmm well

Looks like it’s time to go out tonight.

DO NOT USE MY IDEA WITHOUT PERMISSION OR CREDIT.

#simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #fypage #x reader #x y/n #imagine #cod #john soap mactavish #fypppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp #stinkgirl009’s silly little writing<3

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rewritingcanon · 13 days ago

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hpng characters and how they study for exams because im literally dying rn

rose- academic weapon. need i say more. she has the pomodoro technique down pat. she’s the girl at your local library claiming an entire table with an outlet to herself so she can plug her chunky ass laptop into it and make sure it doesn’t explode on her. she has a sugary iced drink near her at all times but she only takes a sip when she feels she’s deserved it. she eats dinner at 1am because she will not let herself move from her desk until she’s completed the practicals she has laid out in front of her. but trust that she’s losing hair and she’s greasy asf and her short fuse is basically nonexistent. she’s also always randomly sick during exam prep, but her symptoms are never bad enough to warrant a doctor’s visit, it’s only hella inconvenient so she’s chugging neuyrofen and vitamin c like her life’s on the line. no special consideration for her. when she experiences one minor setback (technical malfunction, stubbed her toe, bit her tongue etc) she starts angry crying immediately. just don’t speak to her during exam time, she’ll slap you for breaking her concentration.

albus- exam period what exam period. what are you talking about. these assignments aren’t worth half of his grade what do you mean. you’re telling him the essay was due at 5pm today and not 11:59………………. number one— doesn’t cope well at all. in denial until the twenty-four hour mark before his assignments are due and then will lock in as hard as he can but it is absolutely not a pretty process. so don’t even talk to him about it before then. number two— it’s not like he was relaxing during swotvac (idk the british term for swotvac leave me alone) period, my boy was stressed asf he was just procrastinating. you know when you’re too stressed to do literally anything. albus is a prisoner during exam period free my boy. he can’t study, he can’t relax. when he fucks up because of his poor time management he will psychoanalyse everything about himself and convince himself he’s the stupidest mammal to walk on two legs with five fingers. the mental abuse he puts himself through after submitting the shittiest 2000 word essay is crazy. but he is an affront to the english language (he’s surprisingly alright at exams cuz he’s really good at bulshitting, just don’t make him write anything longform 😭 he can’t back up his impassioned opinions with any evidence ok)

victoire- she is the influencer on studytok that makes studying for eight hours straight look like the most aesthetically pleasing pastime ever. her skin is clean, her hair is washed, her clothes are pressed, her eating and sleeping schedule is routine. she’s so not real.

james- most people think he’s an academic weapon because most people will just see the results he gets at the end of the marking period and conclude he’s hella smart. but if they saw the type of basement-dwelling creature he turns into during the study period they would be horrified. he doesn’t touch grass, he doesn’t leave his room, his lips are chapped asf. in fact his room is growing into a whole new ecosystem to account for the cave-dwelling lifestyle james has going on. he’s got the most psycho routine ever, no sane person would replicate this. he’s so mad-scientist-scribbling-incoherent-observations-at-his-barely-lit-desk-at-midnight core. he never sleeps, he only has intervals of three hour naps so it doesn’t disrupt his sleep inertia. friends can’t text or call or reach out to him— he’s on dnd for the next two weeks. you’d think he died. his siblings think he’s doing cocaine in his room to keep himself up. there is the occasional james sighting around 5am where he may trudge out of his room like a night stalker to make himself tea. his face is gaunt and ghostly and his body is brittle and awkward. don’t speak to him because he’s not going to respond he’s too busy spacing out through the entire exam period. if you do get a word out of him it’ll probably not be in a language understood in this world. best he keep to his room.

hugo- he’s absolutely broke yet the only way he can cope is through impulsive storms of online shopping and doing shopping hauls on his close friends. if he had it his way he’d wind down the night with some dti with the boys but hermione has that boy’s arse glued to the dining chair and she and rose are circling hawks scrutinising all of his answers and then insisting to mark his pracs for him. in all realness they do save him because his marks are always pretty good in the end.

teddy- simply did not study if the subject didn’t appeal to him. one of those woke students that truly believed that marks did not equate to worth. knew he would only feasibly want to pursue careers in the subjects he liked so would prioritise one or two subjects. motivational speaker to all his friends. actually didn’t let exams stop him from living his life. his speeches on the wotters aren’t so successful since a lot of them highkey gaf about their results. rose gets pissed off every time he tries with her. victoire politely ignores him. james is disassociating through the entire speech. he doesn’t even attempt it with percy’s kids. bad luck ted.

lily- if there is a person who is the exact type of person who isn’t built for studying, it’s her. she can get away with it at the start of her schooling, because she is quite smart, but when it gets serious its the biggest humbling ever. she just can’t lock in. she’ll have an exam the next day and suddenly she’s knocking on albus’ door and is willing and wanting to listen to him complain about Life Problem #218. she’s suddenly volunteering to help her mum garden and help her dad cook. she’s going to ‘study sessions’ with friends where she forces them to do anything but study. she’s binge watching shows with james. she’s picking up a new hobby in juggling. she’s attacked by a new hyperfixation she can’t get out of her head and she has to spend 6 hours a day looking at fanart. like girl go study. james will give her the most bomb (but lowkey psycho) tips on how to lock in and she’ll get motivated until she looks at her prac and sees an 8 mark short answer question. like goodnight she’s having a nap. also she eats everything in the fridge, no snacks are safe. fuck the no sugar rule fr. she’s not even hungry she just convinces herself she is so she can do literally anything else besides that 8 mark question waiting for her on her desk in her room.

dominique- would drop out.

scorpius- he’s a fucking freak because he probably likes the stress of exam period 💀 like he probs does feel stress about it, but since he’s always constantly stressed out this isn’t anything new to him. “i get to pour over all my in-detail notes i’ve written on all these subjects through the semester again?? and then do an assessment regarding the in-detail notes i have? yippee!!” his optimism is absolutely not shared by his peers but he’s so oblivious to it. he’s fantasising about what topic questions he’ll get and what his damn body paragraphs are going to be. he’s the guy seated behind you in the exam who unintentionally peer pressures you by requesting for another booklet because he’s written too much in the first. he’s the one joyfully skipping up to you after the test is over and excitedly asking for what you wrote about or what answers you got, and when he shares his responses with you, you realise his points were better or his answers were actually correct. and then he’s emailing his teachers every week asking for when the marks will be released because he’s just so excited. weirdo.

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heartsforhiccup · 8 days ago

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apples

hiccup x modern reader

summary: awkward pleasantries happen.

tags: httyd 1, one-sided feelings, gender neutral language, isekai

word count: 1,489

a/n: this happens before this fic, if people are interested i'd like to write more hiccup fics like this :,3 please lmk

You saw his face in bustling crowds of busybodies Vikings from afar. The rest of their faces looked blurred to you without your glasses, but Hiccup stuck out like a sore thumb, like a weed sticking out the cracks of concrete sidewalk; plain yet hard to ignore. Berk never stopped for anyone, at times it was difficult to keep up on your feet, so you never afforded time to walk up to him and say hi. What would you even say, anyway? Keeping your distance meant you were safe, free from yet another awkward encounter.

As the days carried on, the more you saw him, your suspicion rose until it was difficult to excuse it away as pure coincidence. You may have been paranoid, yet you couldn't shake that feeling in your gut, nor the ghostly sensation of something targeted to the back of your head. When you turned in reaction, Hiccup was the common denominator. His response was a gamble; sometimes he'd stare back, or wave, or straight up flee from the scene. You refrained from judging his... oddness, because you were seen as just as strange, but his borderline stalker behaviour left you puzzled.

...He wasn't really stalking you, right?

You sighed to yourself. If he were trying to harass you, he would have confronted you by now instead of ogling you from a distance. After your clumsy arrival, you blended well into the crowd. Vikings had left you alone once you found a steady line of work and settled in—nothing to warrant the excessive staring.

The only way to combat it was to ask him either to stop or stare back. There were better things to worry about, like the sheep that escaped their pens on the regular from their owner's negligence. The sheep treated you better than Hiccup did, at least they didn't stare while you worked.

...

"...Hi." You raised a brow, unable to hide the affliction to your tone, squinting down at the sheepish boy that stood in front of you.

"H-Hey," he uttered, eyes flickering behind you to look as if he were absentminded.

Finally, you caught him - nowhere to run, no broad-shouldered Vikings to hide behind. Not that you had been actively trying to catch him, you simply saw an opportunity and took it. You watched with a discerning eye as his gaze travelled from your face down the slope of your shoulders, eventually landing on the basket of apples hung on your forearm.

Apples, the only fruit that seemed to thrive here, next to clustered huckleberries tucked into the deeper parts of the forest. You’d catch glimpses of them past the shadowed canopy of tall-standing trees, filtered light that drew a clear line between you and unstopped territory. The thought of venturing further made you pause. Even in fantastical world of dragons, your worries placed in more explainable things, like a wolf eating you alive. Maybe someday.

Instead, you picked the few bushes you could reach, leaving your mind to imagine the plumper fruits that lay beyond the treeline. They did little to satisfy your cravings, the juices coated your tongue bitterly - a taste difficult to enjoy.

Mrs. Thorston requested you pick the brightest apples you could find to bake into her acclaimed apple pie. The expedition was pleasant, the wind blowing softer against your skin, rustling amongst the leaves. You stole one from the bunch for a snack.

If you got in the woman’s good graces, maybe she’d lend a secret or two for her recipe. A taste for something sweet and familiar – warm, cinnamon-coated apples baked in a golden crust left you salivating. The faster you delivered these to her, the more time you could spend napping.

“You like apples?” He broke you from your daydreams.

“They’re for Mrs. Thorston,” you corrected. “Apple season is almost over, I think. Best people start picking them now before they rot.”

The change in seasons and time were easy to observe back home, spring came the start of a new year as winter concluded the end. Even the brightest of days seemed dull – muted shades of grey and the biting chill of wind that prickled your skin. Berk edged the line of a perpetual winter; without a proper calendar or clock, your perception of time was left to uncertainty and the position of the sun.

Christmas – or Snoggletog – would rear its head soon… If things came to the worst, sleeping in the Great Hall became your best choice. You spared a glance at his face and merely nodded. Your gut feeling of staying away was right, this was getting awkward.

Your teeth caught the inside of your cheek. Should you ask him about the stalking thing? This was the second time you’ve ever talked since then, interrogating him about it would end poorly. It was likely in your head; that conclusion laid your mind to rest on the subject.

“What are you doing?” you prompted. Walking away would be rude, even if you really wanted to.

He couldn’t seem to look at you right, second-guessing whatever he was about to say. That made two of you.

“Me?” He straightened back up from his hunched posture. “Was, uh, gonna head to the forge to… do stuff.”

Having a place he could run off to when overwhelmed sounded nice, you thought to yourself. He didn't appear to be in much of a rush, he was loitering by the blindspot of a hut when you caught him. That only added to your suspicions, yet you pushed it aside.

“I see.” The tip of your boot toed a pebble on the dirt path. “I’ve seen you around town, I haven't had the time to say hi. So… hello.”

Your lips pulled into the best polite smile you could muster. He returned the gesture, his grin wry without it quite meeting his eyes. Exchanging pleasantries never came naturally to you; even worse, Hiccup was just as awkward, it took strenuous effort to upkeep a friendly face. You weren’t expecting anything less, yet you swore something was off with him.

“Hi? Hey,” He parroted your words in a rush, twisting from foot to foot restlessly and somehow uptight at once. “Crazy coincidence. Not that I was, you know, looking for you, or something..."

“Yeah,” you agreed numbly. The vowels landed foreign on your ears, certain words still lost on you past thick accents and hard constants. You had scraped by most conversations with townsfolk using context clues, Berkians were straightforward and weren't afraid to say what was on their minds. No hidden meanings or colloquial sayings with no equivalent in your mother tongue.

“I should get going, I’m sorry…” you spoke again. You drew blanks on what else to talk about. The weather, maybe, it was particularly nice this afternoon, you were eager to get your chores done to properly enjoy it. “There's still a lot of work to do.”

“Right, uh, me too.” His smile fell. “You should swing by the forge sometime, maybe? If you want.”

You considered it. The invitation sounded too personal for comfort if you were being honest, outright declining would be plain rude.

“Sure,” you chirped. The words slipped past before you realized what you were agreeing to. “If I’m around,” you tacked on.

The familiar weight of something settled at the bottom of your stomach catching the hopeful glint in his eyes. Guilt, likened more to sympathy for him. The films glossed over the gritty details of his life before meeting Toothless. This wasn’t fiction, with sure outcomes and endings with neatly tied story arcs presented in a profitable film for your entertainment – just Hiccup, a real boy trying to find his place in life, and here you were, both a stranger and a witness to it.

There was little you had to offer – only carrying the clothes on your back and an apple from your basket. Small, meaningless things, a wave from afar or words of encouragement. The secrets you held to yourself were kept for a reason; he would find his own way. If things went off kilter, just maybe you’d share your omnipresent advice.

You extended the basket to him with an outstretched hand. “Want one?”

The gesture came to you instinctively, faintly recalling the passing of snacks to your friends and their lighthearted pleas for whatever they could get their hands on. The memory loosened the purse of your lips, watching as his palm lifted, twitching by his side uncertainly, and he finally met your eyes.

Maybe sharing had different rules here. Survival of the fittest, and all. Surely offering food wasn’t that crazy of a thing to do.

“Not hungry,” he declined, his hand falling limp to his side, the other coming to rub the arm.

“They don’t have worms, I checked,” you reassured lightly.

“That’s… not what I’m worried about,” he muttered back as if he regretted saying anything at all.

#again inspired by sorry but i think i lost your plot (idea of reader being from the current day)#hiccup x reader #httyd #httyd fanfiction

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danny-phantom-slut · 4 months ago

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heavy is the crown (12k)

A rewrite of Season 2, Episode 5, Reign Storm.

Phantom wins the throne through trial by combat.

Danny was in the middle of English class, head down on his desk in the back of the room, trying to hide from Dash and Kwan (it wasn’t his fault they were after his ass – well, okay, maybe it was his fault, because he’s the one that played multiple pranks on them, but still!), when he felt something in his core shudder. It felt like a wave – a tsunami, really – of ectoplasmic energy slamming into his core. Danny froze and tensed up for a few seconds, gripping his pencil so hard that it snapped, damn his ghostly strength. Then the moment passed, and the energy was gone. Danny immediately looked up, startling Star, who sat next to him. She gave him and his pencil a dirty look, but Danny didn’t pay attention to her. He was too distracted by the foreboding feeling in his core. It wasn’t the typical blue mist that indicated a ghost, but somehow, he knew that a ghost was causing his core to cower.

It was strange. Usually, his core reacted angrily to another ghost coming into his haunt, or it reacted happily to his friends being around, but never had it cowered before. Danny didn’t do fear, he got too much adrenaline from the fighting to even consider being scared.

Unfortunately, it was in that moment that Mr. Lancer called on him to read the part of Sebastian in the “Twelfth Night” by Shakespeare, forcing Danny to actually pay attention to what they were doing in class. Danny sighed as he picked up his book – “act two, scene one, Mr. Fenton,” Mr. Lancer said – and flipped to the required page. His core continued to shudder for a moment, then settled.

Danny started to read in a dead voice, “By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me …”

Danny Fenton and Valerie Gray were running as fast as they could – or rather, Danny was keeping pace with Valerie, trying his best to resist the urge to jump into the air and fly away at Mach speed. They both had good reasons for running; Valerie, from her stalker, Nathan; Danny, from Dash and Kwan, whom he had pulled multiple pranks on earlier in the day. Fenton Works was close, but up ahead there was an alleyway that was even closer. Danny and Valerie locked eyes for only a moment before hastily jumping into said alley, pushing each other behind the dumpster that gave prime hiding real estate. Except – there was already someone there. Behind the dumpster sat Sam Manson, one of Danny’s best friends.

All three looked at each other, confused. Danny shoved at Sam to make room for him behind the dumpster, sitting beside her. His recent growth spurt made it hard to pull his lanky legs out of sight, but he managed. Without a word, Sam pointed at Danny, and he shrugged, arms hugged around his legs. “Hiding from Dash.”

Sam pointed at Valerie. “Hiding from Nathan. You?”

Sam only jerked a thumb over at the alley entrance, where her mother, Pamela Manson, ran by. “Sammy-kins!” She screeched; her eyes were wide. She looked around, and Valerie ducked behind the dumpster just in time. Pamela was holding a god-awful looking dress; it was a pastel pink, yellow, and white. It had puffy sleeves, a frilled collar lined with pink hearts, and a ballroom-skirt with lots of pink, frills, and hearts. Pamela looked very distressed. “At least try it on!”

She kept running, going right past their hiding spot.

“Fair enough,” Danny conceded. “But we can’t stay here – my house isn’t far, and we can all hide in it.”

The three of them got up and quickly hauled ass to Fenton Works.

As they ran, Sam frowned over at Danny. “So, what’s up with this?” She asked discreetly, making sure Valerie didn’t hear. “Why are you helping her all of a sudden? After everything she’s done to Phantom?”

Danny knew what Sam was talking about. Valerie had become the Red Huntress in the last month of their freshman year, almost a year after Danny had his accident in the summer before and became Phantom. Ever since getting her ghost hunting suit, Valerie had been relentless in her pursuit of ghosts – and all of it was bad. She absolutely hated all ghosts. The Red Huntress was indiscriminatory and went after both the destructive ghosts, like the Box Ghost, and the local ghostly hero, Phantom. Not to mention that the Red Huntress didn’t care about keeping ghosts safe and alive (heh – alive, ghosts), and that she had the mindset of “tear them apart molecule by molecule,” just like Danny’s parents. So, Danny often had to save the ghosts she went after, only painting him more as a villain in her eyes.

“Well, she helped hide me from Dash earlier,” Danny said, picking his words carefully. He chose not to mention how he may have still held an old candle for Valerie, even after everything that had happened. “I’m just returning the favour. It doesn’t need to mean anything.”

“Well, just be careful,” Sam whispered, just as they reached the steps to Fenton Works. “The last thing you’d want to do is invite your arch enemy into your own house.”

His arch enemy was inside his house.

His father’s hulking figure, dressed in a neon orange and black hazmat suit, sat over a small chess table, his features frowning down at the pieces. For as much as Jack Fenton was a genius when it came to engineering, he was not very bright in other aspects of life – case in point, chess. His sister, Jazz, sat on the sofa reading a book on psychology. Her bright orange hair was pushed back with a teal headband that matched her pants. And his mother, Maddie Fenton, stood above both; she was wearing her teal hazmat suit with her red goggles pulled up over her eyes. She held a teapot in one hand, with her other hand on her hip. She glared down at …

Vlad Masters, otherwise known as the halfa Vlad Plasmius, Danny’s self-proclaimed arch nemesis.

Vlad sat across from Jack, hand on his rook, as he turned to face Danny at the door. “Ah! Hello, Daniel!” He grinned maliciously; his voice way too chipper for all the devious deeds Danny knew he’d done before.

“Too late,” Sam muttered.

“You!” Danny said. “What are you doing here?”

His mother, who didn’t like Vlad anymore than Danny did, and was actually quite obvious in her dislike, ‘accidentally’ poured hot tea onto Vlad’s crotch. Vlad cried out in pain. Maddie narrowed her eyes behind her goggles. “Totally valid question, Danny.”

“Still steaming!” Vlad said, voice cracking.

“You have no idea,” Maddie growled out.

Vlad looked appropriately cowed, up until Maddie left the room, and he turned back to Danny with a smirk. Danny didn’t like that look on his face. “I was just, you know, passing through. And then I saw that marvelous battle suit –” Danny remembered the Fenton Ecto Skeleton his parents were working on, and just how powerful of a weapon it would be … if it actually worked “– and thought, since I can’t just destroy Jack and take it, I suppose I’ll steal its secrets right out from under his nose!” He followed up his words by flicking a finger at Jack’s nose, causing Jack to look up in confusion, too stupid to understand the threat.

Vlad and Jack stared at each other for a good long while, until they both burst into laughter at the same time, as if Vlad had just told a funny joke and hadn’t threatened Jack’s livelihood. They held onto each other like they were good friends and not estranged college classmates.

“Oh, I swear,” Vlad laughed, “I am such a joker! More tea, please?” Maddie poured the tea over Vlad’s head, not even pretending for it to be an accident, and Vlad cried out, “not there, oh!”

Maddie swiftly left the room, along with Jack, who followed her, looking lost.

Danny was quick to jump on Vlad now that his parents weren’t in the room. He got in Vlad’s face. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Vlad, but – well, no, actually, I do know. You literally just told everyone your plans. You’re going to try to steal the Fenton Ecto Skeleton.”

“That’s right!” Vlad snapped, “and say a word about it, and I’ll share your little … secret. I’m sure mom and dad would love to know their son is a freak and – ah, the young Miss Gray.” It was only then that Vlad seemed to notice Valerie standing behind Danny. Vlad’s eyes sparked red for a split second, so quickly that if you blinked, you would have missed it, thinking it was just a trick of the light.

Valerie blinked. “You know me?”

“How do you know her?” Danny demanded, feeling protective.

Just then, there was a loud beeping sound, coming from the bust of Jack Fenton on their fireplace mantle. The eyes kept flashing red as a warning. Jack rushed over to the bust, flipped the head up, and pressed the giant red button underneath. Above the mantle, the TV flickered to life, showing a black screen with “GHOST ZONE RADAR” written in bright red on the top, with a neon green grid below. In the middle of the grid was a giant green swirl, and in the corner, little ghost icons slowly encroached on the middle. It was obviously some sort of map – something anti-ghost that his parents had once again created. Danny had thought the bust was stupid when his father first created it, thinking it nothing but a conceited self-portrait – in the same way his father had to name everything “Fenton” such and such – but now it put him on edge. He hadn’t known it was actually some sort of anti-ghost tool.

“Galloping goblins!” Jack exclaimed, staring with wide eyes at the screen. “It’s the Ecto Exodus Alarm!”

“The Ecto what?!” Danny asked – no, demanded. He needed to know if this was something dangerous, something that could harm him or other ghosts. Behind him, his sister and friends seemed just as confused and concerned. Fenton inventions weren’t exactly known for working well …

“The Ecto Exodus Alarm,” Maddie repeated, looking just as frazzled as Jack, “or the EEA. It’s an alarm we attached to the sensors on the ghost portal, which are linked to this map on the screen. That right there –” she pointed to the green swirl “– is our ghost portal. And that –” she pointed to the ghost blob icons “– are the ghosts. The alarm can sense when large amounts of powerful, sentient ectoplasm encroach on the portal – and it’s only supposed to go off if we’re about to face a massive ghost invasion!”

Danny immediately looked over at Sam and Jazz. “Stall them!” He hissed, then he was off, running downstairs to the Fenton Ghost Portal.

Danny ran downstairs, pushing off the last step and doing a front-flip, transforming mid-air. Familiar blinding white halos flickered into existence at his waist, splitting apart and traveling up and down his body. His skin faded into a light shade of blue, his eyes flashed an ectoplasm green, and his hair was shocked white and started to float. His ears elongated into points, his canines sharpened into fangs, and his freckled started glowing and moving like the constellations. His clothes morphed into his iconic black and white hazmat suit; his boots a glowing white, and his gloves making room for his claws.

Phantom’s core pulsed excitedly, eager to face the ghosts (he couldn’t help it, fighting was just in his ghostly nature), making the room drop several degrees. Adrenaline was already flowing. Right before his feet hit the ground, he automatically started to float in the air, the natural state of ghosts.

Phantom sped toward the portal to try to shut it off before any ghosts could get through, but he was too late. A ghost flew out of the portal, a blur of blue and white, barreling into Phantom, pushing them further into the room … but it was just the Box Ghost. Phantom got up off the floor and reached for the Fenton Thermos at his waist, already laughing.

“BEWARE!” The Box Ghost shouted.

“Oh, Ancients,” Phantom said, chuckling. “It was just you?”

Just then, a bright green beam came out of the ghost portal, hitting Phantom and knocking him back several feet. He was still looking down when a large metal boot slammed in front of him, and Phantom looked up, only to see – “Skulker?” Phantom gasped.

But Skulker didn’t even look at Phantom.

“I told you there was a way out through here,” Skulker said. He turned to face the portal. Behind him, through the swirling green ectoplasm of the ghost portal, multiple heads popped out. Phantom recognised some of them – Ember, Lunch Lady, Walker – and some of them he didn’t recognise – ghost eels, ghost demons, and ectopuses. They all had one thing in common – they all looked scared. Skulker grimaced. “Now, save yourself – go, go, go, go!”

They didn’t need anymore direction. The ghosts all immediately left the poral – not just Phantom’s usual rogue gallery, but hundreds of unidentifiable ghosts, ghost animals, and even blob ghosts. They shot out of the portal like there was something chasing them.

Behind Phantom, he heard his parents cries as they got closer.

They could not see Phantom and these ghosts in their basement, or they would lose it.

Phantom grabbed onto Skulker, turned them intangible, and shot them up through the roof. As soon as they were in the sky and alone, Phantom turned to face Skulker, fists at the ready. “Now, what in the hell is going on –”

Someone grabbed onto his fists, holding him back, and Phantom looked up, surprised. He came face to face with Dora in her dragon form, with Sidney Pointdexter sitting on her back. Sidney frowned down at Phantom. “Phantom, I know this might sound a little fishy, but Skulker isn’t the bully here. Not this time.”

“Bully?” Phantom exclaimed. He backed off, floating a few feet away from Skulker. “What are you talking about? What is going on – what are all you guys running from?”

From the densely packed group of ghosts crowding the sky, Ember floated out. She strummed her guitar, creating a foreboding melody. “His name … is Pariah Dark,” Ember said. “The Ghost King and ruler of the Infinite Realms. Somehow, he’s escaped from the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, and he’s angry. He’s searching for something – but we don’t know what. He declared the entire Ghost Zone as his, though, and that’s why we needed to escape.”

“Pariah Dark? I’ve never heard of him before,” Phantom said. “How could one ghost chase out thousands of other ghosts? He’s just one person.”

“You misunderstand,” Skulker growled. “Pariah Dark is not just ‘one person.’ He is the Ghost King, in possession of the Ring of Rage and Crown of Fire. With both, he has near limitless power. He existed long before all the other ghosts in the Ghost Zone even spawned, and he will exist long after we have all faded. He used to run his kingdom with an iron fist, until the Ancients decided he was a tyrant. It took all of them teaming up to finally seal him away in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep – and now he’s escaped!”

“The – the Ancients had to team up to defeat him?” Phantom thought about the sheer power Clockwork, the Ancient of Time held, just on his own, and then imagined that tenfold. And even that had barely been enough to defeat this ‘Pariah Dark’ guy? His throat ran dry.

“Yes, and now he’s really angry, and really powerful,” Ember said.

“You said he was searching for something – what? Maybe if we give it to him, he’ll leave the rest of you guys alone?” Phantom said, grasping for straws. “Because you guys cannot stay in the Living Realms. It’s not safe for you guys – not with my parents and Val – er, the Red Huntress around.”

“You think if we knew we would be here right now?” Sidney demanded. “Pariah Dark is just a big bully – even if we gave him what he wanted, he would just go back to being a tyrant.”

“Well, you guys can’t stay here –”

As if to prove his point, an ecto blast shot past him right at that moment, almost clipping his shoulder. Phantom immediately flew to the side to dodge the other incoming blasts. He glanced down at the ground, spotting his parents. Jack had a Fenton Bazooka hooked over his shoulder, and Maddie held an anti-ghost net, ready to throw it down over any unsuspecting ghosts that got close by. Phantom’s core shuddered angrily – how dare they try to hurt his rogues?

“Scatter!” Phantom yelled.

All the ghosts listened immediately, rogue or not.

“So, the equipment is to your liking? It functions properly, does it?”

Vlad sat on the edge of the building beside the young Miss Gray, who was dressed in her hunting suit and floating on her hoverboard. After the Ecto Exodus Alarm went off, it was easy to snatch the girl’s backpack while she was distracted, essentially cutting her off from her ghost hunting equipment. From there, he only needed to reveal that he was the one who gave it to her – providing information that only one who created the suit would know to prove it – and to share his “ghost-hunting” inclination to get the girl to trust him. From there, he gave the ghost hunting equipment back and convinced the girl to fly them out of Fenton Works to somewhere a bit more … private.

“Heck yeah!” Valerie exclaimed. She folded her hoverboard up back into her suit, sitting down beside Vlad and dangling her feet over the edge of the building. “It’s like you designed it just for me!” Then she paused, as if realising how creepy that was. “… Why would you do that? I’m like, fifteen.”

Vlad smiled – a soft thing, with wide eyes. “Why, Miss Gray, you’re the most capable ghost hunter I’ve ever seen! You’re smart, you’re fast, you’re strong, and most importantly – you’re motivated.”

“Really?”

It was like luring flies in with the sickly-sweet smell of the venus fly trap. Now he just had to close the claws before she could fly away. Vlad put on the charm, chuckling as he spoke. “Of course! Why else would I say such a thing? I’d have to be some sort of … diabolical villain to manipulate you like that!” Valerie stared at him for a moment, as if unsure about the joke. Then she started to giggle, and Vlad joined in. Together, they laughed heartily. Finally, she was in his trap. And now, to finish the plan … “And, my dear, it’s the reason I can trust you with this …”

Vlad put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a ring.

But not just any ring – it was the Ring of Rage.

It looked like a ghostly signet ring – it was a bright neon green, made of crystallised ectoplasm, and on the broad side was black obsidian, with an emerald inset skull engraved in the stone. The ring was magically enchanted to fit the finger of every person who came in possession of it, as well as giving a power boost to any ectoplasmic entity that owned it. The only nasty side effect was that it could also enhance the emotions of the wearer, sometimes causing emotional – and wrathful – outbursts.

Valerie stared down at it in confusion. “A … ring?”

“Not just any ring!” Vlad lied. “It’s a ring from my family, and it’s been passed down from ghost hunter to ghost hunter for generations. Made of the very ectoplasm that ghosts are made of, it’s virtually indestructible, so no nasty ghosts can ruin it.”

“I … don’t know what to say,” Valerie said, eyes now wide.

“Don’t say anything, dear – but please, let’s keep it our secret, hmm? We wouldn’t want anyone else to find out and try to take it from us, would we?” Vlad asked. He slipped the ring on her finger, grinning.

Valerie nodded. “I won’t let you down, Mr. Masters!”

Vlad chuckled darkly. “I’m sure you won’t.”

Deep within the ghost zone lay Pariah Dark’s keep. Once upon a time, it used to be a large castle surrounded by acres and acres of land, with a whole kingdom standing on the island. But after the battle between the Ancients and Pariah Darm, during which Pariah was trapped in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, the Ancients destroyed the area surrounding the castle, scared of the power and wealth Pariah had built up. The buildings and land surrounding the castle crumbled, leaving Pariah’s Keep isolated on its own small island in the Ghost Zone.

That didn’t mean it was now unimpressive, however. Pariah’s Keep was still a large concentric castle, well put together and not crumbling, resembling one castle nestled inside the other. It looked like something straight out of the middle ages, with a moat and everything.

Inside said Keep stood hundreds and hundreds of ghost skeleton soldiers, all dressed for battle and war. They all floated inches off the ground and glowed an ectoplasmic neon green, gnashing their fangs in excitement. At the head of these soldiers stood Fright Knight, an ancient and powerful ghost, the spirit of Halloween, and the Ghost King’s second in command. He had large and muscled body, adorned with black and grey full-body armour. His faced was obscured by a black helmet with a mohawk of spikes on top, which was only accentuated by the flaming purple hair and cape and flaming grey gauntlets. It was paired with his ectoplasmic sword called Soul Shredder, which had the ability to make ghosts fade.

A ruthless knight, Fright Knight was known to strike fear into the hearts of anyone he went against.

At the very front of the group of skeleton soldiers stood three unique ghost skeletons. One wore typical Roman armour, with a gladius at its side. Another wore a World War II uniform. The last one wore clothing typical of the Vikings, paired with a Viking helm and long braids. All had vicious fangs and canines, glowing red eyes, and long claws. They were the generals of the skeleton army.

“Your armies are amassed?” Fright Knight asked. The three skeleton generals all saluted Fright Knight, silent but sure. Fright Knight grinned. “Then, on my orders –”

“On my orders,” a loud, booming voice said from behind.

Fright Knight spun around, surprised. Fright Knight was a looming eight feet tall, but Pariah Dark absolutely towered over the Fright Knight at almost twenty feet tall. Pariah was a large, well-built ghost, with a white face outlined by a red helmet. He wore an eye-patch over his left eye and had a scare over his right. Pariah also had a gorgeous mane of long, green hair, and a braided green beard. He had two grey horns on either side of his head, the left of which was broken. His outfit consisted of black full-body armour, with grey shoulder guards, boots, and gauntlets, and he had a green belt with a metallic circular buckle with a green skull in the middle. At his waist was his sword, Reaper, which had the power of absorbing ghostly cores to enhance his power. And on his head sat the Crown of Fire, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. It was made of crystallised ectoplasm infused with the power of Pariah’s core, lighting it on fire eternally. It was supposed to be paired with the Ring of Rage, which would have sat on his left-hand ring finger, but …

“Go to that world,” Pariah demanded, baring his razor-sharp teeth, “bring the Ring of Rage to me, and to those that stand in your way – show them no mercy!”

“Dude, you okay?” Tucker asked, looking concerned. In the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria, Danny looked dead … well, deader than usual. His features were gaunt, skin impossibly pale, with large circles under his eyes. Danny gave Tucker a deadpan stare, and Tucker blushed. “Sorry, standard question. Late night?”

“Of course, it was a late night. Every ghost I know – and about a million I don’t – are loose in the Living Realm and there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it, because apparently, they’ve been kicked out of the Ghost Zone by some maniac Ghost King who wants the entire Zone to himself! And instead of having to fight them, I had to protect them from my parents all night, who were trying to capture them for experimenting!” Danny exclaimed, getting more and more frustrated as he went on. He threw his hands out in helplessness. “Not to mention, I couldn’t sleep because my arch enemy was in the guest room next to me.”

“My parents sleep in the bedroom next to me,” Sam offered. At Danny’s glare, she shrugged. “I mean, it’s not the same, but I can’t sleep either.”

Danny was about to retort – no, it was not the same thing at all, especially since Sam didn’t need to worry about her parents ripping her apart molecule by molecule – when behind him, he heard: “Oh hey, Danny.”

Danny immediately plastered a smile across his face, just for the sake of things. “Hey, Val.”

“‘Hey, Val’?” Tucker repeated, looking unimpressed. He turned to Sam, jerking a finger over at Valerie. “Isn’t that the same ‘Val’ who’s usually on a jet sled trying to kill Danny?”

“Yup,” Sam said, voice sarcastic, “and apparently, next week, we’re having cookies with Skulker!”

“You might want to … uh, bag-lunch-it outside,” Valerie said, looking concerned for something Danny couldn’t fathom. She, too, didn’t look too good that day. She had large bags under her eyes, her hair was frizzy, and her outfit seemed ill put-together, as if she hadn’t had time to look at what she was putting on before leaving the house. One thing that struck Danny as odd was the green and black ring she wore – Valerie had never been one to wear jewelry, even when popular. But then Valerie started speaking again, distracting Danny. “This isn’t exactly the safest place for you right now.”

“What makes you say that?” Danny asked, confused.

Just then, he felt two large presences approach behind him. Danny sighed.

“Hey, Fenturd!” Dash said, grinning down at Danny maliciously. His stupid blond hair was styled perfectly with gel, and he wore his football jacket, like he did the other three-hundred-sixty-five days of the year. “Guess what? There are no teachers around to protect you now.”

“Dash, take a hike, will you?” Danny snapped. His core pulsed angrily, wanting to freeze the jock in a block of ice – but that was a big no-no. Not if he wanted to keep his identity as Phantom a secret, and if he wanted to stay as a hero instead of a villain. When Dash didn’t budge, Danny frowned. He resisted the urge to bare his fangs. “I’m way too tired to put up with you! Besides, shouldn’t you be failing a test, kicking a puppy, or beating up someone weaker than you right now?”

“Come to think of it? Yeah! And guess what? You’re weaker than me!”

Dash went to throw a punch, but at the last minute, Danny went intangible, letting the fist fly right through his chin. Dash stumbled from the motion of the punch, not expecting to not hit anything. For a solid few seconds, everyone in the cafeteria stood stalk still. Dash looked down at his fist like there was something wrong with it. While everyone was distracted, Danny discreetly shot an ecto-beam at Dash’s shoes. Ectoplasm had highly acidic properties, was extremely corrosive and, at high enough temperatures – like, per say, a ghost’s ecto-blast – could melt things. Danny’s ecto-beam easily melted the plastic of Dash’s shoes to the ground. Luckily, no one noticed.

When Dash finally regained his wits, he growled. “Oh, that’s it, Fenturd!”

But when he went to take a step forward, his shoes stuck to the tiles, making him trip and fall to the ground. Danny was quick to take his chance, and he ran away from the cafeteria while Dash was incapacitated. Behind him, his friends ran after him. They only came to a stop once they reached the bleachers in the back fields, far enough away – and hidden behind the bleachers – for no one to see them.

“That was sweet!” Tucker said, out of breath from running after Danny.

“Is it?” Sam asked, putting her hands on her hips. She, too, was slightly out of breath. Danny rolled his eyes, his core sending out static annoyance. They’d already had this argument before; Sam didn’t believe in Danny using his powers for anything other than hero work, but Danny tried to get her to understand that he was literally a ghost – or, well, half-ghost – and that using his powers casually, even for mischief (especially for mischief) was in his ghostly nature. “I know Dash is a jerk, but what if he saw something?”

“He’s not going to see something,” Danny dismissed. “If no one has noticed anything for the past year and a half, no one is going to notice anything now. Besides, I’m tired of getting kicked around all the time. It’s time I do something for myself!”

Sam’s expression twisted into something Danny couldn’t read, but Danny wasn’t willing to argue with her about this, so he turned away.

The large ghost had commanded the skeleton ghosts to “find the King’s ring,” whatever that meant. Ghosts were always doing insensible things, courtesy of their cores and obsessions driving them to far extremes. They just weren’t capable of higher, intelligent thought. Besides, Maddie was too busy trying to get Jack out of the Fenton Ecto Skeleton pants to focus on what the ghosts were looking for. The Fenton Ecto Skeleton pants, which were draining Jack of his energy, using him as a battery to charge the machine. It was a scary thought, being a battery and potentially being burned out.

If only there were some other sources of energy, something that was naturally occurring and had large amounts of power – like a ghost’s core! Hmm …

The army of mindless ghost skeletons swarmed Amity Park. They marched through the streets, throwing and breaking cars, cutting fire hydrants, pulling parking meters, crashing storefronts, and causing immeasurable property damage. They searched through apartments, stores, and more. They even chased after humans, determined to find their King’s Ring of Rage.

“Those poor humans,” Sidney Pointdexter said. He was hiding out on the roof of one of the many apartment buildings in Amity Park. He turned the gaggle of ghosts behind him, who didn’t look nearly as concerned as him. “They’re being overrun by ghost bullies!”

“Oh, who cares about them!” Ember scoffed. “That is the Ghost King’s crew, which means he’s on his way here! And did you hear what Fright Knight said? They’re looking for his ring!”

“A ring that we do not have,” Skulker said. “Which means when Pariah Dark comes through that portal, he will not hesitate to set Fright Knight on us, whether we have what he wants or not. So, we have to camouflage ourselves.” He turned to the streets of Amity Park, where a hoard of humans was running from the ghost skeletons. He grinned. “And you hear that? That’s confusion and panic, which means it’s the perfect time to find our hiding places.”

Behind him, the ghosts smiled.

The screen showed a pretty woman with orange hair and teal eyes, dressed in a pink dress with matching earrings. She shuffled her papers in front of her, professional as always, despite her shaking hands. “Hello, this is Tiffany Snow, with Action News! And tonight, we are covering the Ghost Emergency Broadcasting System, or the GEBS. Amity Park is in the midst of a massive ghost attack! Sources say that while the attacks have been happening for over several hours, and there has been numerous property damage –” the screen showed multiple ghost skeletons flipping a car over, and other clips from the news station “– no humans have been seriously harmed. There are no reported injuries or fatalities. And now here’s Lance Thunder, with the ghost weather.”

“As you can see, we have random ghost activities in restaurants, malls, and this box store.” Action News showed a brief clip of the Box Ghost haunting the box store, shouting “BEWARE!” at any approaching humans, but running at the sight of the ghost skeletons. “If you look to the West, you can see a huge wave of ghost skeletons heading from the center of town toward Casper High. All parents are advised to immediately pick up their children and run – run for your lives! No! NO –”

Maddie gasped as she saw the news reporter overrun by ghost skeletons in their news station.

No injuries or fatalities, her ass.

She needed to go get Danny and Jazz – right away!

What was Plasmius doing in the school? Was Danny’s only thought when he first saw him.

He was quick to escape from his friends and the rest of the student body by running into a janitor’s closet and transforming into Phantom. The familiar white halos appeared within seconds, and Phantom turned intangible and flew through the school, chasing after Plasmius, all the way to the football field. When Plasmius finally landed and stopped, Phantom bared his fangs and readied an ecto-blast. “What do you want, Plasmius?” He demanded. He knew he could kick Plasmius’ ass ten ways to Sunday if he wanted to – and man, did he want to – but right now, he needed answers.

“Calm down, Phantom!” Plasmius scolded. “I didn’t come here to fight you; I have other things to worry about!”

The sound of a horse, and the stomping of hundreds of feet, interrupted the two. Both turned, eyes wide, as they saw Fright Knight riding atop a black horse with large, bat-like wings. It had massive canines, like a sabre-tooth tiger, and had glowing red eyes. Behind it came a rushing skeleton army, all dressed in a mix of modern military uniforms, Roman armour, and Viking-esque armour.

Fright Knight plowed through the football field on his ghostly pegasus, wielding Soul Shredder. Phantom knew full well what the sword could do – and how it could made ghosts fade – so he dodged immediately, flipping away through the air as Fright Knight swung the six-foot long blade. Unfortunately, the football goal post was in the way, and was easily cut in two. Phantom landed on the ground, ducking and rolling, and jumped back up right in front of several ghost skeletons. He was quick to shoot a powerful ecto-blast at the first one, then punched the next one that got too close. It went down like a sack of potatoes, the bones collapsing in on themselves. A blue mist escaped from his mouth, and he turned just in time to see the sword of a Viking ghost skeleton coming down – only for a pink ecto-blast to destroy it, saving Phantom.

Phantom turned to Plasmius, who had shot the ecto-blast. He was baffled. “You’re helping me?”

Before Plasmius could say anything, he was grabbed by the front of his suit by Fright Knight, lifted off the ground. Plasmius may have been six feet tall, but Fright Knight was eight – and atop a horse. Fright Knight growled. “The King’s ring – return it!” He demanded.

Ring – they were looking for a ring? Phantom knew about Pariah Dark from the other ghosts, but they had originally not known what Pariah was looking for. Was he really causing all this fuss for a ring?

“I don’t have it!” Plasmius snapped. “But, if you join me, perhaps we could –”

Just then, a large red ectoplasmic blast shot at Plasmius and the Fright Knight, effectively knocking Fright Knight off his horse and Plasmius several feet behind. From the sky, the Red Huntress descended on her hoverboard, carrying her blaster over her shoulder. “Guess what everybody?” She yelled, “the best ghost hunter in Amity Park is here! And that means you’re –” she pointed to the ghosts “– about to get your ass handed to you!”

Plasmius staggered to his feet, whispering to Phantom, “she really is quite good at this.”

“She also thinks we’re the enemy!” Phantom hissed.

“… Good point,” Plasmius said.

The Red Huntress swerved down to the field, hovering in front of Phantom. She aimed her blaster directly at him. “Alright, ghost,” she spat, as if talking to him physically disgusted her. “What’s going on here?”

“It’s, uh, kind of hard to explain right now!” Phantom said. “Wait, look out –”

The Fright Knight got up and was back on his pegasus, charging straight toward Phantom and the Red Huntress. The skeleton ghost army followed behind him. Before they could get too close, Plasmius shot up and made multiple duplicates of himself, using them to shoot down the incoming skeletons. He protected Phantom and the Huntress. The Red Huntress, though her mask covered her face, still looked visibly confused. “Uh … thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Phantom said. He floated out of line of her blaster. “Look, I know this is going to be hard to believe –” behind him, Plasmius was body-tackled by Fright Knight “– but right now, that guy is the problem right now, not Plasmius. And I could really use your help to get rid of him.”

“I still don’t trust you,” the Red Huntress said, “Or your spooky friend.”

“You don’t have to trust me!” Phantom yelled, “just fight with me! Or else the entire Living Realm is going to be overrun with ghosts and a rabid Ghost King forever!”

Phantom held out his hand for the Huntress to shake, and after a moment of hesitation, she took it.

Phantom grinned.

Together, the two flew in to save Plasmius. Phantom shot multiple quick-fire ecto-blasts, while the Red Huntress used her blaster. The Fright Knight was pushed back several feet by all the blasts, and the unlikely team – two halfas and a ghost hunter – continued to fight. They must have taken out hundreds of ecto-skeletons, with Phantom and Plasmius focusing solely on the Fright Knight, making sure Soul Shredder didn’t hit anyone, before Fright Knight seemed to finally snap. “You fools!” He growled. “All I wanted to do was seize the Ring of Rage and return to Pariah Dark’s Keep. But now you give me no choice. By the authority vested in me by my King –” Fright Knight took Soul Shredder and stabbed it into the ground, until only three feet of the blade was left in the open “– I claim this town, now and forever under the banner of Pariah Dark, the King of all Ghosts!”

From the blade, an ectoplasmic green light shot upward into the sky, changing the skyline to greens of the Ghost Zone. Amity Park shook as if under attack from an earthquake. Cracks appeared in the ground, surrounding the entire town, and all the skeleton ghosts stopped moving. A huge, green-like dome descended upon Amity Park, separating it from the outside world. Then, finally, Fright Knight stood before Soul Shredder and spoke. “The sword is sunk, the die now cast. The sword removed shall signal fast, make reappear the ring thou hast, or your next day shall be your last.” And with that, Fright Knight disappeared into thin air.

“Again, with the ring!” Phantom said. “Where is this ring he’s talking about?!”

He glanced over at Plasmius, suspicious.

Plasmius only shrugged with a small smile.

Phantom’s eyes narrowed.

On the screen sat the pretty woman from before. Her hands were no longer shaking, probably from the fact that she was in a new studio and away from the ghost skeletons. “Welcome back, to the big scary town watch! Otherwise known as Ghost Emergency Broadcasting. I’m Tiffany Snow! We’re in our fourth hour of captivity, and tenth hour of ghost invasion. Amity Park remains cut-off from the outside world. With more on that, outside the safety of our studio is our very own weatherman, Lance Thunder! Lance?”

The station cut to a view of the outskirts of the dome, with Lance Thunder in front of the camera. His blond hair was styled perfectly once again, clearly having been fixed since being overrun by ghosts. His suit, however, was still rumpled from earlier.

Lance didn’t seem to realise he was on air yet.

“Why the hell do I have to be here, I’m a weatherman, for the love of – oh!” Lance finally noticed the person behind the camera making cutting motions with their hands. He plastered a wide smile on his face. “Tiffany! Despite the odd circumstances, an eerie calm has fallen over Amity Park, with the ghost skeletons having stopped attacking. Unfortunately, emergency teams are still having no luck in piercing the dome surrounding Amity Park.” Behind him, there was a giant metal drill, with several volunteers in hazmat suits manning the machine. They attempted to drill through the dome, but it only sparked and made the drill blow up, causing the volunteers to run away, screaming. “It seems to be made of some sort of electrically charged ectoplasm, which is why everyone is advised to stay away from the outer edges of the dome, lest they be shocked or hurt. Wishing he had taken that job in Chicago, this is Lance Thunder, Action News, out!”

Danny and Valerie, who had been watching the news on the Fenton TV, turned to each other with matching looks of concern. They were currently hunkered down in the basement of Fenton Works, with carbon-steel enforced metal walls and anti-ghost tools up the wazoo. If there was anywhere safe to be in a ghost invasion, then this was it.

Behind the two teenagers, Maddie and Vlad worked tirelessly to finish the Fenton Ecto Skeleton. Even Vlad, who usually wore pristine suits and had his hair gelled back, was now wearing overalls and work boots, and his hair was pulled back in a high bun to keep it out of his face. Jack would have been helping his wife and friend, if he hadn’t still been too drained and ill from using the Fenton Ecto Skeleton pants earlier, protecting Maddie and Vlad from Fright Knight. The pants had literally drained the strength and energy from his body to charge the suit, and he was paying the price.

“This suit is the only hope we have to punch through that ghost dome,” Maddie said, welding a piece of the suit together. She took a step back to admire her work, and she pulled her goggles up and over her head to reveal her blue, almost purple eyes. “But I still don’t think we’ll be able to perfect the neural receptors. The suit simply needs a lot of energy, and we don’t have a battery powerful enough to substitute.”

“Which is why I’ll wear the suit,” Jack said. He was sitting over by a lab work bench, ice pack on his head to ease his raging migraine. “If anybody is going to beat that ghost back into the Ghost Zone, it’s me!”

He stood, as if making a point, but almost immediately became dizzy. He groaned.

“No, Jack!” Maddie scolded. “Look at you! You’re still wiped out from the last time!”

Danny grinned as he leaned over to whisper to Vlad, who was still under the Fenton Ecto Skeleton, tinkering with the bolts. “It kills you, doesn’t it? How much they love each other?”

“I have other things to worry about!” Vlad snapped. “And … so do you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

But Vlad was already turning back to the suit to tinker some more.

Valerie decided to get away from … whatever weirdly charged tension was between Danny and Vlad and headed back upstairs in Fenton Works. In the living room, though it was scattered with open wires, various ecto-guns, and had ectoplasm stains everywhere, it was still a somewhat cosy place, if only because the furniture was all over two decades old, there were multiple blankets, and the TV was one of those old box television sets from the seventies.

Still hurt from the ghost fight earlier against – what was it Phantom called him? Fright Knight? – Valerie was quick to take a seat on the couch in from of the TV, sighing into the soft cushions. Sam and Tucker were also in the living room – when were they not at Fenton Works or around Danny? – and Tucker looked over at her, concerned. “You feeling any better?” He asked.

“A little,” Valerie admitted, “though I’m surprised you care.” And she was surprised. Sam and Tucker seemed to hold a grudge against her since day one. “You guys don’t like me very much, do you?”

“Well, we don’t know you very much,” Sam said snidely. She crossed her arms, frowning; Tucker also looked over Valerie with a critical eye. “And honestly, you used to be pretty mean to us when you were still hanging out with the A-listers, like Paulina and Dash. You think we’re going to just start hanging out with you without wondering what you want? And what you’re going to do with that obviously ecto-infused ring?”

“What I want?” Valerie asked. “I don’t want anything from you guys. And the ring officially falls under the category of none of your –”

Before she could finish, Danny skipped up the steps behind them, almost like he was flying. He smiled when he saw Valerie, and Valerie smiled back at him. She couldn’t help it – he was cute! With his tousled black hair and baby blue eyes, anyone would think he was adorable. “Hey, guys!”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. She leapt off the couch to storm up to Danny, grabbing him by the forearm. “Can I talk to you for a second?” She asked, before not even listening to him and dragging him off to the nearest closet. On the way, she also grabbed Tucker. She locked eyes with Valerie, right before slamming the closet door closed behind her, cutting Valerie off from the group.

Valerie glared after her.

In the closet, Sam turned the light on, so at least two of the three could see something. Danny didn’t need it because he was a ghost, and ghosts could naturally see things in the dark. All three sat in a cramped circle, surrounded by spare hazmat suits and winter boots.

“Yo, dude!” Tucker said, almost immediately. “You do know that the minute you turn into Phantom, she’s going to shoot first and ask questions never, right?”

“She’s not going to find out!” Danny dismissed.

“How do you know she’s not snooping right now?” Sam demanded. She leaned in, worried. “What if that ecto ring on her finger is some sort of ghost detection device?”

“Wait – ring? What ring?” Sam only rolled her eyes and pointed at the door. Danny turned intangible and invisible and peeked his head out from the closet, spying on Valerie, who was still sitting on the couch and watching the news on their older-than-dinosaurs television set. He spotted a green and black ring on her finger, and with his enhanced vision, he was able to see the green skull carved into the obsidian gem. If he focused, he could feel the strong power of ectoplasm leaking from the ring. He didn’t know how he didn’t notice before. Suddenly, he remembered seeing the same ring on her before, in the cafeteria of Casper High. It had struck him as odd, because Valerie didn’t wear jewelry – at least not usually.

Danny pulled himself back into the closet and turned visible again. “Oh, man. We have a problem. I think that’s the ring that the Fright Knight is looking for! But I just don’t know how she could have gotten her hands on it, unless … Vlad must have given it to her!”

“Isn’t Vlad a little old for her?” Tucker joked.

“He’s obviously using her to hide the ring from Fright Knight,” Danny said, slowly piecing everything together. “But why the ring is so important, I don’t know. Something fishy is going on. And I have a feeling that the other ghosts know what is going on.”

“Skulker!” Phantom called.

Using his ghost sense to find the other ghosts was usually easy – after all, he only needed to trace the sentient ectoplasm he could sense, and he usually ended up finding whatever ghost it was that was wreaking havoc on Amity Park at the time. But Amity Park was now filled to the brim with hundreds of thousands of ghosts, and paired with the natural ambient ectoplasm that was always present, it was harder to discern the different ectosignatures and find the specific ghost he was looking for. Luckily, he had lots of practice in finding ectosignatures, thanks to all the times he needed to hunt down certain ghosts in the Ghost Zone.

“Skulker!” Phantom called again. The abandoned gun shop was completely trashed, but Phantom knew that Skulker was around, he could sense him. “Skulker! Skulk – Ember? Sidney?”

Phantom’s eyes widened when he took in the gaggle of ghosts in the store. Bullet, Dora, Ember, Klemper, Lunch Lady, Sidney Pointdexter, Technus, Walker – it was like his entire rogue gallery was here. He knew that they all came through the portal together, but he hadn’t known that they had stuck together in the Living Realm. Ghosts were mostly solitary creatures, so it surprised him.

“Phantom,” Sidney said, “we need your help.”

“Only if you tell me what’s going on,” Phantom said, hands on his hips. “And what is this big fuss about a – a ring? That Fright Knight wants.”

“Very well,” Skulker said. “You already know part of the story: it was many years ago, before you, before me – before most of us – that there was a ghost called Pariah Dark. He was the king of both the Ghost Zone and the entire Infinite Realms.” Phantom remembered Skulker saying that before, but even now, he struggled to wrap his head around ruling the entire Infinite Realms. It was, well, infinite, after all. “Pariah ruled with an iron fist alongside his second in command and enforcer, Fright Knight.”

“Another thing you need to know –” Skulker said “– there are many ghostly artifacts that can only be used by ghosts or denizens of the Ghost Zone. One of these artifacts was the Crown of Fire – a crown which was made of crystallised ectoplasm, and which gave the wearer power over other ghosts. With this power, no ghost could refuse any order made while the person wore the crown. Well, they could try, but only the most powerful ghosts – the Ancients – could resist the Voice of the Crown of Fire. The other artifact was the Ring of Rage. Also made of crystallised ectoplasm and obsidian, the Ring of Rage lends the power of the Ghost Zone to the wearer – fueling them with infinite ectoplasm. But it had a nasty side effect of enhancing the emotions of the owner, oftentimes causing emotional – and wrathful – outbursts. Paired together, the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage give the user infinite power. But it is also dangerous, because that infinite power could overtake the core of the user and make them fade.”

“Pariah was a ghost of such power and magnitude alone that he was able to control the energies contained within both artifacts. When wearing both, Pariah could do anything he wanted. He was a tyrant. That was, until a group of powerful ghosts – the Ancients – banded together in a last-ditch effort to defeat the King. They locked him within the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, another powerful ghostly artifact, capable of putting any ghost to sleep for an eternity … or so we thought. Somehow, he escaped. And now he’s wreaking havoc in the Ghost Zone once again.”

“He’s looking for the Ring of Rage,” Ember said, “as you’ve already figured out. Pariah has only been free for a day, and he’s already destroyed our homes.”

“And that’s without the ring,” Phantom summarised, finally seeing just how strong Pariah Dark was. He bit his lip, thinking about what to do next. If Valerie had the ring, that meant that she was going to be a target for Pariah and Fright Knight. But … that must have been exactly what Vlad wanted, to keep the heat off his own back. He needed to get the ring away from Valerie, and quickly. “We can’t let him get the ring back,” Phantom decided. “Somehow, we need to get him back into the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep again. But I’m going to need your guys help to do so.”

“And what, exactly, do you think we can do against a ghost like Pariah?” Skulker demanded.

“Well …”

Phantom flew down to the front door of Fenton Works, de-transforming back into Danny mid-air and flipping down to the ground. His skin melted from the icy blue to a sickly pale colour, punctuated by strong freckles across his cheeks and shoulders. His ghostly white hair fell to the power of gravity and became tousled and a night black. His eyes went from their shocking green to a baby blue. His black and white hazmat suit shifted to his usual NASA t-shirt and ripped jeans. For all intents and purposes, he looked like a normal human boy. But both he and Vlad knew otherwise.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Vlad asked, looking smug as he leaned on the Ghost Assault Vehicle, which was parked in front of Fenton Works. He was back in his stupid, pristine suit, hair gelled back obnoxiously.

“You’re putting innocent people in danger,” Danny growled. “It stops – now.”

“Really?” Vlad said, chuckling darkly. He crossed his arms, looming over Danny. “You know what I’m up to? Your tiny teen mind has pieced together the rest of my plot?”

“Yes, it has,” Danny said, not rising to the bait. “I know that you stole the Ring of Rage, woke Pariah Dark from the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, gave the Ring of Rage to Valerie to hide it, and now you’re waiting for your chance to steal it back.”

“That’s pretty good!” Vlad said, as if he was complimenting Danny, but they both knew better. “It’s almost as thought I barely consider you a threat.” Danny felt his core pulse angrily – he was just so angry at how nonchalant Vlad was being about putting so many people in danger – and he knew his eyes were burning a toxic ectoplasm green. Vlad only grinned. “Oh, there’s that temper of yours, again. What are you going to do? What if Valerie sees us, hmm? You wouldn’t want her to know you’re a freak, would you?”

Danny growled. He shot an ecto-blast at the nearby streetlamp, causing the light to shatter and drench the area in pitch dark. Vlad cursed – that was one thing that he hadn’t developed as a halfa that Danny did: night vision. Now with the upper hand, and ensuring no humans could see, Danny shot an ecto-blast at Vlad. It knocked Vlad almost a whole block, enough to land at the next streetlight. Danny jumped and rolled, letting familiar transformation rings slide over his body. His core sparked, eager for the fight to put out his aggression. When he jumped up after his roll, he kicked at Vlad, sending him hundreds of feet into the air, and halfway across the town. Sometimes, ghostly strength helped.

Vlad hit a billboard sign and slid down to the top of a roof, letting his own transformation rings appear, changing him into Plasmius. He floated up from the roof. “Sneak attach – very good, Phantom. You’re getting more like me with every battle.”

“I am nothing like you!” Phantom growled. “I don’t put innocent people in danger!”

He flew upwards and punched Plasmius directly in the sternum, knocking him another few hundred yards away. He hit him so hard, in fact, that Plasmius landed back in the football fields of Casper High School. Phantom flew up to Plasmius and grabbed him by the front of his suit, only for Plasmius to grin at him. Phantom furrowed his brows, until Plasmius spoke. “Oh, you’re not like me? Using your powers to get back at people you don’t like? Throwing the first punch? You’re more like me than you know!”

Plasmius shot an ecto-blast and knocked Phantom across the field. When Phantom got to his feet, however, he realised he was directly next to the Soul Shredder, still stuck in the ground from earlier. He remembered the words from Fright Knight earlier. He frowned.

“Oh, yeah?” He said to Plasmius. “Well, if I’m more like you than I though, then instead of asking you to give the ring to me, I’ll make you!”

He reached out to Soul Shredder, both hands wrapping around the hilt of the giant sword.

“Phantom, no!” Plasmius cried. “The sword is a signal!”

“I know,” Phantom said. And then he pulled the sword free, having to use all his ghostly strength to do so. As soon as the sword came out of the ground, the ghostly green dome that surrounded Amity Park … fell apart. From the centre of the dome, large cracks appeared, until the entire dome looked like a starburst of fractures. The pieces then started to drop, large, crystallised chunks of ectoplasm falling from the sky. But as the pieces fell away, it revealed that the entire town was no longer in the Living Realms, but instead, in the Ghost Zone. The sky was painted many shades of swirling green, random purple and black doors floated about, and the edges of Amity Park dropped off into nothingness.

The ghost skeletons, who had previously been stationary in the streets of Amity Park, now all flew upwards into the Ghost Zone, to congregate at the side of the Fright Knight. And beside Fright Knight … that must have been Pariah Dark. He was twice as big as Fright Knight, adorned in black and grey armour, and wore what was obviously the Crown of Fire atop his head.

Fright Knight held out his hand and though Phantom resisted it, Soul Shredder was pulled from his grasp and shot toward the Fright Knight.

The Ghost King floated gently down to the ground, but when his feet touched the dirt, it cracked and splintered under him, as if the sheer force of him was too much to withstand. Pariah observed Phantom and Plasmius, who had both frozen under his gaze. Pariah tilted his head, as if confused. His eyes glowed a bright red. “You’re not … ghosts. But you’re not, not ghosts, either. Freaks of nature – will there ever be an end to today’s surprises?”

Phantom’s core cowered under the gaze of Pariah Dark.

Then, behind him, Phantom heard – “hey, stone-face! Surprise!”

From the sky descended the Red Huntress, holding her blaster over her shoulder. She shot it at Pariah Dark, blinding him momentarily. Pariah yowled like a hyena, then turned around and shot a strong, red, laser-beam from his one good eye. The Huntress was forced to dodge the large beam, dropping her blaster in the process, and accidentally running into the football goal post. She fell to the ground but was quick to get up, forming a smaller blaster on his wrist to shoot – except, it malfunctioned, broken from the fall, and sparked. The Red Huntress yelled out in pain at the heated blaster sparking, and she ripped her glove and the blaster off her hand. But by doing so, she revealed –

“The ring!” Fright Knight yelled. “Give that to the King, now!”

The Huntress looked down at the ring that sat on her finger, then back up at Pariah Dark and Fright Knight. She knew she was in over her head – and she needed a distraction. Her visor turned downward. She removed the ring, pulled out a torpedo shooter, placed the ring on the torpedo, and hefted it over her shoulder. “You want it?” She said, “then go get it!”

She shot the torpedo out into the endless Ghost Zone, watching it disappear into the green. Then she booked it out of there, heading toward the Fenton Ghost Shield like her life depended on it.

Fright Knight was quick to follow after the Red Huntress, raging as he hit Soul Shredder into the ghost shield over and over again. He had long lost sight of his King, who he had left back at the fields of Casper High, but he knew he needed to go after that miscreant that had dared attack his King. He yelled as he hit the shield again, the glowing green dome not giving under his ghostly sword.

“This – is – not – over!” He grunted with each hit, in a rage watching that dastardly hunter walk away.

“Actually, my loyal servant,” Pariah’s voice said behind him, “it is.”

Fright Knight stopped, letting go of his sword and dropping into a deep bow at the feet of Pariah. His frown, which bared his fangs, was vicious. But then – then he smiled. Pariah never smiled. Except then Pariah opened one of his clenched fists, showing the Ring of Rage within his palm. Pariah chuckled darkly, escalating into a loud, shrill laugh, as he carefully put the ring on his finger. Once the ring was on, Pariah’s features scrunched up in pain as the sky glowed bright, and the ring sparked. A bright, blinding light lit up the sky, the source of it being Pariah Dark – it flickered, turning the world white, black, and green for several moments, as Pariah screamed in pain. But it only took a minute, and then the light died down, showing how Pariah dark was glowing an endless ectoplasm green, courtesy of the ring. The flames of the Crown of Fire were brighter, larger, and hotter than before.

“Come, we have plans to make,” Pariah said, slightly out of breath, “for soon, this human world will also be mine!”

“Danny!” Sam exclaimed, bursting into his room, “you’re – you’re okay!” Danny turned around, revealing a passed-out Valerie behind him. She was covered in bruises and dirt. Sam took a step back, startled. “Whoa – what happened to her?”

“You name it, it happened,” Danny said. “Fright Knight, Pariah Dark, Plasmius – all of my enemies.”

“Dude, you can’t blame yourself for this. It’s not your fault,” Tucker said, stepping into the room from behind Sam. “Valerie chooses to go into ghost fights – you know this.”

“Maybe it’s not my fault,” Danny said, “but it is my responsibility. The humans in Amity Park, the ghosts, the Ghost Zone – all of it. It’s my responsibility to keep it all safe as Phantom. But this time, I just … I froze. As soon as Pariah Dark came, it was like … it was like my core stopped working. I couldn’t handle his presence. And Valerie got hurt as a result. She passed out just within the ghost shield, and I was barely able to drag her to my room after, escaping Pariah and Fright Knight. Now I don’t know where Vlad is, Pariah has the Ring of Rage, along with the Crown of Fire, and the entirety of Amity Park is stuck within the Ghost Zone. I don’t know what to do!”

“Danny,” Sam said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, “you need to stop catastrophizing. Take a deep breath, and let’s go through this logically. You’re powerful on your own – and you have the support of hundreds of ghosts right now. You said they agreed to help you. If you all attack together, then you must have a chance against Pariah Dark!”

“Sam’s right,” Tucker said. “As much as I don’t like it, we need a plan to go up against Pariah – and you’re our best bet.”

Danny sighed. “Okay, let’s do this, then …”

Travelling through the Ghost Zone with almost a hundred rowdy ghosts was not easy, but eventually, they made their way to Pariah’s Keep. When they got there, there was maybe a hundred – no, thousands of ghost skeletons surrounding the Keep. Phantom quickly realised he didn’t need to defeat all of them – he only needed to make a path through them, enough to get to the doors of the Keep and find Pariah Dark. With his rogue gallery behind him, Phantom let loose on the ghost skeletons. He blasted away hundreds of skeletons with his ecto-blasts and froze hundreds of others. Klemper was right behind him with his icy breath, covering them in a deep impenetrable snow. The Box Ghost assaulted several with boxes and bubble wrap, while Dora let loose a torrent of fire from her maw. Ember knocked some out with her sonic blasts, and Skulker shot multiple bombs and used his nets to incapacitate them.

When they finally carved out a pathway to the Keep, Skulker turned to Phantom. “Now go, defeat Pariah! So, that I may be free to hunt you another day!”

“Wow, you really know how to motivate people,” Phantom snarked, but entered the Keep, nonetheless.

He flew through long, tall corridors, until he finally came to a set of red wooden doors over twenty feet tall. His core shuddered at the sheer power emanating from behind the door, and he deep down, he knew, that this was going to be his final stand. He kicked the doors open, knocking them off their hinges, to open into a large throne room. At the end of the room, behind the throne, sat the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. And standing between the sarcophagus and him was none other than Pariah Dark.

Standing twenty feet tall, adorned in strong armour, and holding a glow spiked mace, Pariah was every bit the fearsome King that he was thousands of years ago. Pariah grinned at him. “I was hoping you would come,” Pariah said, “if only so I could see the freak of nature again.”

“What do you say,” Phantom said, “we skip the snappy banter and go right to the part where I kick your ass! You shouldn’t have the Crown of Fire or the Ring of Rage!”

“Very well,” Pariah conceded, “I accept your challenge and terms.”

Pariah launched himself at Phantom, swinging his mace – which was almost as big as Phantom – downward. Phantom put up a large ectoplasmic shield, blocking the hit. The mace came in contact and immediately shattered the shield from the sheer force of Pariah’s power and strength, forcing Phantom to flip backwards and away from Pariah. He regained his wits quickly and shot a powerful ecto-blast at Pariah, following it up with a sheet of ice on the ground, knocking Pariah to the ground and making him slide into the throne and destroying it. Pariah’s sword fell from its sheath, clattering to the ground, but Pariah didn’t seem to notice. Pariah recovered, floating to his feet. He glanced down at Phantom, reassessing what he had previously thought of the ghost child.

“That much power – it’s a burden, isn’t it, child?” Pariah said, grinning with fangs. “But I wonder – how did you come across it? Is it due to your freakish nature?”

“The power isn’t the burden,” Phantom said, “it’s in how you use it – and you’ve been using yours very poorly!”

Phantom jumped up, floating in the air, but Pariah threw his mace, curving it along the walls before it hit Phantom and sent him forward, closer to the King. Before Phantom could reorient himself, Pariah gave a roundhouse kick and sent him sprawling. Phantom’s back hit the wall and he fell, dropping to the ground. While Pariah watched in amusement, Phantom got to his feet. He grunted as several duplicates of himself appeared around Pariah, all with their eyes blazing and fists clenched. Together, all the duplicates flew at Pariah, punching and kicking and sending stray ecto-blasts.

Pariah cried out in pain as an ecto-blast hit his eye. He called his mace back to him and swung, making one of the duplicates disappear into dust. Another duplicate pile-drove him from behind. Several of them approached, and all together, they spoke – “You better leave my town alone!”

Pariah shot another red charged ecto-blast, making another duplicate disappear.

“Surrender, child. You can’t possibly win,” Pariah said, growling.

Phantom’s core shuddered at the order from the Voice of the crown, but he refused to give in.

“That’s the thing, I don’t have to win,” Phantom said. “I just have to make sure that you lose!”

From behind Pariah, one duplicate opened the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, while another shot a perfectly aimed ecto-blast, which knocked the Crown of Fire from Pariah’s head. The crown flew through the air until it landed in Phantom’s hands. Face lit up from the flames of the crown, Phantom glanced up at Pariah with a sinister grin. He placed the crown atop his own head. The crown’s fire rose several feet, spluttering and raging. Phantom could physically feel the itch in the back of his throat, the Voice of the crown trying to overwhelm him – the power that it held. Pariah howled.

“No – NO!”

“Now,” Phantom said. He let the itch overtake him. “G̶i̵ve̴ ̵m̷e̴ th̷e̶ ̶R̷i̵ng̴ ̴of̷ R̵a̵ge̷.”

Pariah’s whole body froze. He visibly struggled to resist the order from the crown. “N-never,” he said, voice rough. “I will never – never give this power to you!”

“G̶̟͕̭̤̭͔̤̲̜̱̝̉̐̇͜I̷̢̨̱͍̬̓̆̏̑̉̈͆̒̿̀̃̐͋̾͗̊͜V̶̛͖̝̝͇͉̞̗̤̾͊̐͋̓̄́͗͋́̑̾̇́͊͜Ȩ̶̥̜̳͇̱̹͍̺̟͓̜̐͌̽̀͆̇̓͗͒̈̌̾͘̚͝͝ ̴̢̛̻̮̖̮̖͉͓͕͙̤̱̞̼̲̇́̿̅̇͆͋͌̏͐̒̄̚̚ͅṀ̵̛͚͇̪͙̟͇̫̬̭̭̱͕͔̓̋̉̀́É̢̛̯̘̝̞̗̦̯̻͙̝̮͓̖́̎͋̊̐͛͌̈́͒͊ ̧̢̠̤͇̞͓̝̲͈̫͉̀͝Ṭ̥͚̗̤̞͜ͅĤ̴̡̻̝̪̫̬̦͌̎̌̐́́̋̅̿̊̎͋̑͝È̘̺̻̘͔͔̯̭̟̹̘̍̍̅̾̍͆̾̐͝ͅ ̴͈̈́̏̕͠R̷̡̧̡̨͎̳͍̘̬̻̪̦͔͓̫̖̈̾͊̐͋͛͗̓͗̐̽̋̒͝ͅI̵̺͚̠͎͎̅̌̔̒͗N̴͎̟̊̿̉͌̓ͅG̵̠̟̺̻͎̫͙̭̼̠͉̹̬̅͌̋̈́̅̂̓ ̨̱̼͉͙̫͓͕̘̃̈́̈́͋̅͗́̓̀O̷̯̳̮͒͛͗͆́̎̃̌͐F̶͙͉͖͕̯͕̘͔̹̪͆͌̓͒́͂̉͆͝ͅ ̶̻̊͘R̷̢̺̙̠̜̤͈͛́̈̏̃͛͛̒̍Ȧ̴̰̘̀̋̆̂̏̈͆̐̆͂̀̎̓̿͛͝G̵̡͈̪͔͎̱̈̆̓̏̏̈́̿̀͂̀́͋̑̈́̈́̃̕E̵̢̡̢̧̛͓͔͖̮̅̃͂̅̍̔̈́̚͘!̷̡̧̡̡̨̻̟̮͚͔͖͈̝̲̩̤̍̏̆̂̿̈́͌́̕̕̕!̴͓̥̮̺̓̀̇̚͜”

Pariah Dark fell to his knees and cried out in pain, still resisting.

Phantom took the chance. He rushed forward and slashed downward with his arm, created a sharp ice attack which cut off Pariah’s left hand. Pariah howled again. The hand fell the to ground, limp and spewing green ectoplasm and blood. Phantom bent down and picked up the hand, taking the Ring of Rage off Pariah’s now limp finger. In his hands, it felt so small – so insignificant. But he knew of the true power that it held. If he focused, he could feel the infinite ectoplasm that it leaked, fueling its wearer. And carefully – ever so carefully – he slipped it onto his own hand. For several moments, there was nothing – and then pain, pain like he had never felt before. The room lit up in green light, which emanated from both the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage. Phantom could physically feel his core being ripped apart.

His core pulsed and shuddered, overwhelmed by the power of both artifacts. But it only took one look down at Pariah – the sniveling king, who had taken his town, his people and ghosts, and destroyed their homes – to know that he couldn’t give into the power of the artifacts. There was no way he would let himself burn away and fade, leaving anyone at the mercy of Pariah Dark ever again.

The light faded. The Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage stopped glowing. Phantom’s core slowly released the heat, ice spreading out in fractures from beneath his feet, freezing over the entire throne room. Snowflakes fell from the ceiling, the wooden throne splintered under the cold, and the Sarcophagus of Forever sleep slowly froze over. When the ice reached Pariah, it melted around his feet at first, but slowly, it overtook him, too. Phantom stepped forward, spreading more rapid-fire ice under his heel, causing craters in the ground and sharp ice pillars to form with every step.

“Go̵ ̶i̶n̴t̵o t̵h̵e̴ ̴Sa̶rc̵o̷ph̴a̶g̷u̷s o̷f̴ F̷o̶r̴ev̵e̷r̴ ̴S̴le̶e̴p,” Phantom ordered.

And Pariah, features still scrunched up in pain, was forced to obey.

Phantom closed the Sarcophagus of Forever sleep. He didn’t have the key, so he froze over the sarcophagus with his impenetrable ice, freezing it into a solid block of ice, so that Pariah may never escape again.

On the way out, Phantom picked up the sword that Pariah had dropped during the fight. The sword shrunk as soon as it was in his hands, going from over ten feet in length to only five feet of blade. It looked like crystallised ectoplasm, with a glow surrounding the blade. On the hilt, which was made of some sort of green leather, was the inscription “Reaper.” By only holding it, Phantom could feel that it had similar properties to Soul Shredder. He very carefully held the blade as he left Pariah’s Keep, not sure if he would need it or not, but knowing he couldn’t leave it out for anyone to take.

While the inside of Pariah’s Keep was quiet, when Phantom stepped out of the Keep, he found the battle was still very much ongoing with the ghost skeletons. And, unfortunately, his rogues were started to flag in their energy. Phantom saw Ember fall beneath several ghost skeletons, he saw Skulker’s blasters fail to go off, he saw the Box Ghost’s boxes crushed, and his core pulsed angrily. He took a single step outside he Keep, and the ground cracked beneath his feet. Another step, and frost started to spread. The ghost skeletons around him froze over quickly, but this wasn’t a battle that Phantom needed to fight. He knew, as long as the Crown of Fire sat on his head, and the Ring of Rage stayed on his finger, that this was his army to command.

“S̷͎͎̝̣̠̫̤̠̣̙̱̩͇̉̿̾̒͒̈́̽̋̾͛̀̀̚͠T̶̛͙̤̬̯̜̗͍͈̮̮̖̻̿̊̆͛̈́͐̃̌̑͒̽͌̈͂̎̌͜Ő̷̡̱͇͕̤̞̓̏́̐̿͜P̵̡͉̯̫̮̌̌̍̈́̉̽͂̓̎̔!̶̢̢̛̻̱͇̙̙͕̫̅̔͐͋̑̓̈͛̏̅͊̕” He commanded, his Voice loud and clear. He held out Reaper in threat.

And they listened.

Figuring out how to bring Amity Park back into the Living Realms was a bit of a harder task than stopping an army of hundreds of thousands of ghosts. His rogues weren’t any help because none of them could open a portal on their own, not like Wulf could – but Wulf wasn’t here right now. Pariah had known how to open portals, too, but he was gone now. Except … Fright Knight was still left, his second in command. And if anyone were to know how to do what Pariah did, then Fright Knight would.

It wasn’t hard to find Fright Knight considering he was waiting outside Pariah’s Keep with the rest of the army. When Phantom floated in front of him, Fright Knight immediately dropped to his knees and bowed before him, no Command or Voice needed.

“My Liege,” Fright Knight said, startling Phantom.

“I’m no king,” Phantom denied.

“You are now,” Fright Knight said. “You are my King now. By trial of combat, you have defeated Pariah Dark, and you now possess both the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage. I will follow you wherever you go, I will do whatever you wish.”

“I don’t want to be a king, I want to bring Amity Park back to the Living Realms,” Phantom said. “How do I do that?”

The Zone swirled around him, the purple doors moved out of his way, the islands appeared at his will, and Amity Park was safe. It was like the Ghost Zone responded to his emotions and wishes. He only felt marginally bad when he used his claws as he ripped a giant hole in the space and time around him. The Infinite Realms bent around him, splintering and ripping under his will, creating a large rip in the Ghost Zone. The dawn-lit sky from the Living Realms bled through, and Phantom used all his ghostly strength to push the island that was Amity Park through the rift, right back to where it belonged.

Phantom invisibly flew to Fenton Works, phasing through the walls and dropping right into his bed. He de-transformed, turning back into Danny, and groaned into his sheets. After using so much power, and his core being abused so much, he felt like he had been run over by a bus. Behind him, his friends, who had been waiting in his room, startled.

“Danny!” They both exclaimed.

“What happened?” Sam demanded.

“Are you okay?” Tucker asked.

Danny groaned again. “Let’s just say, Pariah Dark will never be a problem … ever again.”

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