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anghimalaaynasapuso · 3 months ago

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HORNY PRIEST JOHN PRICE

breeding kink, sacrilege (?)

john joined the church after leaving the military, though he never spoke much about what led him there. some men left war and found peace in quiet towns, in family, in distance. john, meanwhile, found himself in the shadow of the cross, searching for something he couldn't name.

he knelt, prayed, studied scripture— not because he'd had a sudden divine vision, but because he’d needed something to tether himself to.

he's never been one to talk about faith in absolutes. the young priests, fresh out of seminary, speak with a certainty that makes him envious. they talk of god’s mercy like it’s a thing they’ve held in their hands, like they’ve never doubted it for a second.

john doesn’t have that luxury. his hands have held a rifle, pressed down on wounds, ended lives.

what right does he have to stand in the confessional and tell a man his sins are forgiven when his own are still heavy in his chest?

he doesn’t let it show. not when he stands before his congregation, not when he delivers the homily, and not even when he listens to the confessions of those who kneel before him.

the words come easy. “god is love. god is mercy.” he says them with the confidence of a man who believes them. perhaps if he says them enough, one day it'll drive home.

he's decently well-respected in his parish. john speaks in measured tones, and listens with the kind of patience that makes people trust him. he’s rarely if ever unkind, never raising his voice even when the children at sunday school test his patience or when the older priests debate doctrine with a stubbornness he doesn’t bother entertaining.

the congregation admires him for it.

he keeps a well-worn rosary in his pocket, fingers brushing over the beads when he’s deep in thought. it’s an old habit, one he never lost even when he stopped saying the prayers as often as he should. late at night, when he can’t sleep, he walks the empty church, the only light coming from the red glow of the tabernacle lamp.

he runs his fingers over the smooth wood of the pews, listens to the creak of the floorboards beneath his boots, and exhales smoke into the dim air. it feels like a kind of penance, staying here long after everyone else has gone, keeping watch over something he’s still not sure he belongs to.

the first time you meet, it’s in the courtyard after sunday mass.

you’re new to the church. new to the neighborhood. moved in just a month ago, so he’s heard. he hadn't taken much notice at first— he rarely does. parishioners come and go, faces blending into one another over time.

but then he sees you. all wide eyes and bright smiles, the late-morning sun catching the warmth in your hair, laugh spilling out like a song. you shake hands with mrs. calloway, nod attentively as she chatters on about her garden, and there’s something about the way you tilt your head, the way your lips part in quiet amusement, that makes something ugly and raw twist in his gut.

john shouldn’t be looking. he knows he shouldn’t be looking.

and yet.

you catch sight of him, and your smile brightens, something open and eager in your face as you step forward. “father price.”

your voice is softer than he expects. sweeter. a fact not good for his health.

he nods. “you’ve settled in well, i see.”

“i have. everyone’s been so kind.” your hands clasp in front of you, fingers tangling. “i wanted to introduce myself properly. i should have done it sooner, but-” you shake your head, sheepish. “i guess i was nervous.”

nervous? of who— him?

he watches the way you glance down, the way your teeth catch the plump of your lower lip, the slight shift of your weight from foot to foot, and something slow and molten pools in his stomach.

and then, unbidden—

i want to fuck her mouth.

the thought slams into him. his fingers curl, blunt nails pressing into his palm. john's throat tightens, heat crawling up the back of his neck, shame dragging its claws down his spine.

he schools his expression, keeps his voice level. “there’s nothing to be nervous about.” a beat. his gaze lingers on your lips a second too long. “i hope you find what you’re looking for here.”

your eyes meets his then. for a moment, he swears you see it. the crack in his composure, the way his restraint stretches thin around you like fraying rope.

but then you just smile again— so fucking gentle— and bid him a polite goodbye before slipping back into the crowd.

he exhales, tries to control his breathing, before turning on his heel and heading inside.

it doesn’t get better after that.

oh no. in fact, it only gets worse.

because you linger. you stay. you join the congregation, sit near the front every sunday, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your lips parted slightly in quiet reverence as you listen to the sermon. you bite your lip when you concentrate, tuck your hair behind your ear absentmindedly, shift in your seat just enough to make his mind wander places it has absolutely no right to go.

and it haunts him.

creeps into his thoughts when he thinks he's already run far away from it. slips into his head when he least expects it. a slow, insidious thing, winding around his ribs, sinking its teeth into the softest parts of him.

john finds himself getting lost in his imaginations more and more as the weeks pass by. it starts with something simple. something small.

you, in his kitchen.

the space is yours as much as it is his now— he hardly steps foot in it unless you usher him in, your hands on his arms, guiding him to sit, to rest. the scent of warm bread and roasted meat fills the house, seeping into the wooden beams, the stone walls. the windows are cracked open just enough to let the breeze in, carrying with it the scent of the fields, the distant bells of the church.

you hum as you work, a quiet little tune under your breath, flour dusting your fingers, smudging along the curve of your cheek. you’re barefoot, the hem of your dress skimming your ankles, your apron tied neatly at the back. domestic. wifely. His.

"you’re spoiling me, love."

you laugh, glancing over your shoulder at him where he sits at the table, his elbows braced against the wood, his chin resting on his hand. john hasn’t even touched the sermon notes laid out before him, hasn’t even opened the book he’d planned to read. no, his attention has been on you— watching you move, watching the light catch on your hair, watching the way you fit so perfectly in his home.

"you work too hard," you murmur, turning back to the stove. "someone has to take care of you."

the words sink into him, low and warm, wrapping around something deep in his chest.

you do take care of him.

you set a plate before him, still warm from your hands, and press a kiss to the top of his head, your lips soft against his hair.

you fold his robes neatly after they’ve dried in the sun, pressing your hands over the fabric like a prayer. you pluck a stray thread from his collar before mass, your fingers deft and careful, your brow furrowing in quiet concentration.

you brush his hair back from his forehead when he sits too long at his desk, rubbing slow circles at his temple, your fingers easing away the weight of his work.

and in the evenings, after the dishes have been washed and the fire burns low, you climb into his lap with a soft sigh, tucking yourself against his chest.

"long day?" you ask, your fingers smoothing over the front of his shirt.

"mm." john presses a kiss to your hair, lets his hands settle at your waist, palms warm through the thin fabric of your nightdress. "better now."

and it is better, with you here, with your warmth seeping into his, your breath brushing his throat.

he wants all of it. the soft, easy domesticity. the routine of waking to you curled beside him, of pressing sleepy kisses to your bare shoulder before dragging himself out of bed. of watching you move through his home with the comfort of a woman who belongs there.

and, god help him—

john wants to fuck you too.

until you leaked him, until his seed dripped down your thighs, making a mess of soft, perfect skin. wants to bend you over his desk, press your face into the worn wood, break you open on his cock until you sobbed for him, begged him to fill you. he’d grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

he wants to whisper filth into your ear, his breath hot— gonna fill you up, love. gonna fuck you so full of me you’ll be dripping for days. you want that, don’t you? want me to breed you like the needy little thing you are?

he wants to press his fingers into your mouth, make you suck them clean before shoving them between your legs, fucking them into the soft clutch of your pussy until you cried for him.

and when he finally sinks his swollen cock inside you— he’d make you feel it.

john wants to fuck you raw, grind his hips against yours, keep you pinned beneath his weight, stuffed full of his cock. he’d press a hand to your belly, feel himself inside you, make you watch as you take a cock too big for you.

and when he’d spill inside you he wouldn't stop. oh no— he’d fuck it deeper, press his fingers to your swollen clit, make you come with him, make your body take every last drop of his seed.

because he wouldn't just fill you. he’d breed you. over and over, until you couldn't keep yourself up, too boneless to thrust back into him, too full to take any more.

but he was a man of god.

and men of god did not shove their sweet, willing parishioners over their desks, did not drag their teeth down soft skin, did not slap needy little cunts until they were wet and dripping.

they did not fuck desperate little things in church pews, in quiet confessionals, did not fist their hands in soft hair and shove pretty mouths onto their cocks, did not whisper filth between gasped-out prayers.

they did not spend their nights with their heads buried between trembling thighs, devouring the taste of sin, holding squirming bodies still as they licked deep, sucked hard, forced sweet, innocent things to come against their tongues.

they did not rut into them like beasts, gripping soft wrists, pinning them down, owning them with every brutal thrust. they did not press their hands to swollen bellies, fill their women over and over until their bodies were wrecked, too full of come to take another drop.

men of god did not fuck.

but god forgive him, he would.

all those thoughts come to this moment, this night—

john finds himself alone under the dim glow of candlelight, sitting on the pews, head tilted to the cross.

his breathing is uneven, ragged in the dim hush of the empty church. each inhale scrapes against his ribs, sharp and burning, like penance for the filth curdling in his mind. his hands tremble as they move beneath his robes, fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. the metal clinks, far too loud in the sacred silence, but he doesn’t stop.

can’t.

his breathing is uneven, ragged in the dim hush of the empty church. each inhale feels like it scrapes against his ribs, sharp and burning, as though the very air is punishing him for the thoughts festering in his mind. his hands tremble as they move beneath his robes, fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. the metal clinks softly in the quiet, a sound far too loud in the sanctity of this space.

the leather gives way, and his cassock feels suffocating now, the fabric too heavy against skin flushed with heat. his fingers slip lower, dragging the waistband of his pants down his hips with shaky, desperate movements until he’s free— finally free— from the painful confines of his underwear.

his cock springs forward, already hard in his hand, flushed dark at the tip, the skin tight and aching. a bead of precum glistens there, catching in the flicker of candlelight like something obscene in the house of god. he wraps his hand around the base, his grip firm but not enough to ease the pressure coiled in his gut. the heat of his palm sends a shudder rolling down his spine, breath hitching as his thumb swipes over the sensitive head, smearing the slick wetness down the length.

his cock is long, veins pulsing along the shaft, the kind of thick that demands attention. his foreskin still covers the swollen head, slick with the evidence of his own arousal, precum smearing against the soft skin of his lower stomach. he hisses through his teeth as he wraps his hand around the base, fingers barely closing around the girth, feeling the steady throb of blood pulsing beneath his grip.

his balls hang full and tight, pulled close with need, the skin sensitive to the faintest brush of fabric. every movement is torment, the soft rub of his cassock against his bare thighs sending a shudder through him, making his hips jerk forward, seeking relief.

he strokes himself slowly, dragging his foreskin back to expose the flushed, leaking head, then rolling it forward again, savoring the sensitivity. his thumb swipes through the slick wetness pooling at the tip, smearing it down the length, adding just enough glide to make his fist slip easier over his cock.

his grip tightens, dragging the pleasure out like a prayer he’s too ashamed to speak aloud. the church is silent around him, the air thick with the scent of burning wax and old stone, but all he can think about is you.

on your knees before him.

john sees it so clearly, feels it like it’s already happened. the way you’d sink down, your eyes looking up at him through thick lashes, expectant. your soft lips parted just enough for your tongue to wet them before stretching around his cock. the thought makes his stomach clench, his fingers twitching as he strokes himself tighter, his foreskin gliding over the swollen head before he pulls it back again.

you wouldn’t be able to take all of him at once. he knows that much. He’s too thick, too long— your jaw would ache just trying, your tongue pressing firm against the heavy weight of him, struggling to make space. the first inch would be easy, maybe even the second. but when he pushes deeper, when his tip nudges the back of your throat and you gag, just a little, he knows he’d lose whatever control he has left.

he swears he can see it— your fingers curling against his thighs, the little choked noise you’d make when he holds you there, when his cock throbs against your tongue. your throat would flutter, swallowing around him, trying to adjust to the stretch. and oh, god, the way your lips would look wrapped around him, swollen with abuse and slick with spit and precum. john nearly loses himself at the image alone.

his hips jerk forward into his own grip, chasing the fantasy, breath coming through the vaulted ceilings of the church. he’d guide you through it, hand buried in your hair, tilting your head just the way he likes. gentle, at first. Letting you set the pace. But then when you get too comfortable, when you start to tease, pulling back just to trail soft kisses along his length— he’d snap.

he’d pull you down, bury himself deep in the hot sleeve of your mouth until your throat clenched around him and you whimpered against his balls. his other hand would cup your jaw, feeling the bulge of himself pressing against your cheek, watching as tears bead at the corners of your eyes, shuddering from the effort of taking him.

he wonders if you’d try to pull away, fingers gripping his thighs in a silent plea. would you struggle? would you whine? would you let him break you like this?

john groans, his grip tightening almost painfully. he pumps himself faster now, the obscene slap of skin against skin filling the empty church. his balls are drawn tight, aching with the need to spill, and in his mind, he’s not coming into his own palm.

he’s coming down your throat.

you’d swallow, wouldn’t you? just for him. he can see it— his cum thick on your tongue, your lips parting to show him before you close your mouth and swallow it down. maybe a little would escape, dripping down your chin, and he’d swipe his thumb through it, pressing it back to your lips.

“messy thing,” he’d murmur. “but you took it so well.”

the thought sends him over the edge.

his hips stutter, cock jerking in his grip as his orgasm crashes over him, hot and sudden. cum spills over his knuckles, , dripping onto the cold stone beneath him. his breath comes in harsh, broken gasps, his thighs trembling as he rides out the aftershocks, his vision hazy with the force of his release.

and when it’s over— when he finally stills, his body spent, his mind heavy with guilt— he drags his gaze upward.

The cross looms above him, watching.

if this is damnation, he’ll sin again.

#john price #john price x reader #captain john price #captain jonathan price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price x you #john price x y/n #cod x y/n #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod x you #📌 price

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kitten4sannie · 8 months ago

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ateez and corruption kinks… that’s it I just had to let that out into the void

communion

pairing: priest! yunho x nun! reader (fem)

summary: priest jeong wishes to share another communion with the most beloved member of the monastery.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: for the love of god (lol) if sacrilegious smut isn’t your thing do NOT read this,, however if it IS wellll i got something good for you <3, wine drinking, but like, in an unconventional way lmao, nasty perverted dom! yuyu, subby cock hungry! reader (can we blame her tho?), implied sex slave training, oral (giving/receiving), deepthroating, finger sucking, cum eating, implied toy usage (the toy is um….well…a religious object…)

a/n: oh nonnie idt you realize what you’ve unleashed with that ask ^^ there’s nothing i love more than corruption 🖤 physical, emotional, psychological ughhhh,,, anyways writers block and some shitty real life stuff have been taking turns beating me up the past couple months so i thought this might be a good escape for me :3 i hope you enjoy <33

p.s: i’ll be posting two more fics with a corruption theme very soonnn,, one features perverted bsf wooyoung and the other involves frat boy sannie 🫶🏼

song rec: take me to church - hozier (i mean come on….)

No matter how dark the communal church grew in the late hours of the night, the bright light of the moon still shone through the fragmented mosaic glass, now casting a myriad of gleaming crosses across your face and body as you sat on your knees upon the altar. You raised your hands up to begin worshipping your Lord in the way you were taught by Father Jeong, gingerly opening his robes to unveil the point of your focus.

Yunho lifted up a ceremonial bell and rung it once, his robes pooling around his feet, watching as your thighs squeezed tightly together underneath your heavy garments, your shaky exhale fanning over his exposed, twitching cock, finding the unyielding look of pure lust inside your eyes to be so beautiful he could shed a tear. Over the many, many communions you’ve shared together, it seemed that the bell reminded you of your loyalty to him and to your shared savior, of the pleasure you shared all in the name of God.

He pushed your veil off to expose your hair, before he placed his large hands on either side of your head, his long, slender fingers wrapping securely around it. “And, what do we say now, Sister L/N?” he asked softly, as though he were testing you, dragging his tongue over his top set of teeth, letting out a few heavy breaths.

“O’ Lord, for which I am about to receive, is truly your most precious Body and your life-giving blood, which, I pray, makes me worthy to receive for the remission of all my sins and for everlasting life,” you recited your prayer like many times before, the wetness between your thighs everlasting, watching Father Jeong let go of your head for a second to pick up a chalice of wine from the ceremony table behind him.

Yunho held the gold chalice just above his waist, growing that much harder as the dark liquid began to pour down his long, curved length, spilling off of his sticky tip and dripping into your open mouth. “The Blood of Christ…” He watched you swallow it all down, like the obedient servant you were. Something this sinful simply had to be holy, didn’t it? He swallowed down the abundant saliva that filled his mouth. “Ahh?” he voiced, like he was waiting for you to say something.

“Amen,” you sighed out, licking the remnants of wine and pre-cum from your lips, your trembling fingers clasping around his bare hips.

“Amen.”

Yunho then thrusted forward until he hit the back of your parched throat, eagerly dragging you back and forth along his sizable cock, using you like the faithful cocksleeve you were, the repetitive sounds of squelching, gagging, and muffled moaning sending delightful shivers down his spine, much like the sacred hymns did to him every morning during mass. “Sister L/N, your throat has molded to the shape of my cock, has it not? Bonding with me all these long nights, over and over, it’s like you were made for me, and only me. Tell me, Sister, does taking the Body of Christ down your throat make you feel closer to God?”

You let out a stunted, pleased moan, blinking a few tears out of your dazed, half closed eyes, watching as a blurry version of Father Jeong brought his rosary up to his lips to kiss it. Due to being trained so consistently, you knew to relax your jaw and throat in order to take all of him without fail, your gag reflex nonexistent, simply drooling all over his long, heavy cock instead, much to Yunho’s delight.

“Oh, God, let His will be done….” He hunched over slightly, in order to pound himself into the back of your throat over and over, thick strands of pre-cum and saliva dripping from your chin and landing onto your previously pristine garments, his fingers closing in around your bulging throat to feel himself moving inside it. It was simply too much for the priest to handle. “So…nnngh–sovereign, so pure, this divinity…” Yunho expressed between heavy pants, suddenly pulling out until his twitching cockhead rested against your splayed out tongue. “Sister L/N, you must show me something heavenly so that I may fill you with the Holy Spirit. Be quick, for I am at my limit…”

Licking the beads of pre-cum from his slit, you began to lift up the layers of your tunic until your bare cunt glistened underneath the moonlight that was casted over you like a spotlight, the edges of your skin glowing as though you were a real life angel, one that was sent down from above to tempt Yunho, especially now that he could see you in your most vulnerable state. “Father Jeong, please see what I’ve done for you. I’ve kept myself full…so that I may take you inside properly…”

It was then that Father Jeong fell to his knees before you, looking up at the slick heaven in between your thighs, before leaning in to lap up the abundant wetness from your lips, his hot tongue practically melting against your cunt as he ate you out like a starved man, spreading your open with his ringed thumbs. Maintaining steady eye contact with you, he slowly pulled the hood of your clit back to expose your weak point, wrapping his plush lips around it as he began to suck and lick until he had you trembling above him, your nails digging into the dense wood of the pews. “Cum before me,” he commanded, dragging his tongue along your fluttering slit up to your throbbing clit until you let out a beautifully broken cry.

You spread your trembling thighs open just enough to allow what was filling you up the entire time to slowly come sliding out, both you and the priest letting out a similar gasp once it did. A thick, slick-covered silver cross landed inside Yunho’s open palm. He watched diligently as you lifted it up to his mouth, not even having to say anything as he sucked it clean. Without exchanging words, Yunho stood back and squeezed his throbbing cock, just as you lowered yourself back down onto your knees with a loving smile, watching with pride as he began to shudder, long spurts of his hot cum landing onto your tongue and disappearing down your throat.

“What a thing of beauty….” The priest swallowed hard, letting out a shaky breath. “You never fail to bring me close to our Savior, my dear,” he praised, reaching down to rub the remaining remnants of his seed over your swollen lips and onto your tongue with his thumb, pulling it away from your mouth and licking the last of his saltiness off of his digit himself.

“It’s all for the greater good,” you softly replied, slowly standing up and hiking up your now soiled garments, so that you could bend over the pew, spreading yourself wide, opening the gates of your heaven and giving Yunho access like every blissful night before. “Now, please allow me to bring you even closer.”

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#cultofdionysusnet #cromernet #ateez #ateez smut #yunho smut #jeong yunho #ateez fanfic #kpop smut #ateez fic #yunho x reader #ateez x reader

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ekkkkey · 3 months ago

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there will be games! (chapter V)

A short chapter I wanted to post pretty much right after ch.4, but sadly real life got in the way *sigh*

summary: Cassandra, a quiet and loyal wife to the much older Senator Tiberius, accidentally attracts the unsettling attention of Emperor Caracalla at a lavish feast hosted by Senator Thraex...

warnings: 18+ minors dni, this is dark, noncon, violence, blood, possession, degradation, caracalla is a deranged little freak, geta is mean too

word count: ~1k

chapter I chapter II chapter III chapter IV

«No woman could feel safe if her beauty or name aroused the emperor's curiosity.»

-Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars (Caligula, Chapter 36)

⋆ ☼ ⋆

She waits for someone to summon her. Waits as if for death—though even that would be kinder. There is no life in her, no flicker of the hope she once held. Her husband is most likely dead. She is disgraced.

In a final desperate gesture, Cassandra clasps her cold, trembling hands together in prayer, pleading with the gods. Let them show mercy. Let them grant her freedom, release. Let them protect her family. She forces herself not to think of her father and sisters—dwelling on them would only push her deeper into despair.

But the Gods do not hear her. No. Not this time. Not ever.

The Praetorians seize her by the arms, leading her through the dark, empty halls of the palace. A flicker of shameful relief stirs in her chest—at least, for now, there is no one to witness her disgrace. But she quickly scolds herself. Her trial will be public. The doors will be thrown open for all to see. Anyone who wishes may come and witness the spectacle.

And of one thing, she is certain—Emperor Caracalla will make sure it’s a grand one.

"Caesar," a Praetorian reports curtly, shoving her forward before stepping away.

She knows where she is. These are the emperor’s private quarters—only they could have halls like these. Gold gleams from every surface. Silk, fine fabrics, statues, endless bowls and vases clutter the space. Once, she might have been awed. Now, it means nothing.

Yet, she is slightly surprised when she sees not Caracalla but his brother. He is still dressed only in a robe, barefoot, disheveled. Thoughtfully, even theatrically, he looks out onto the balcony leading to the garden. She remembers, it was from there that Geta witnessed her shame.

"Expected my brother?"

His dark eyes gleam with cruel amusement as he turns to face her, studying the way she trembles before him. His gaze lingers on her tangled hair. Oh, he sees it all. The tear-streaked cheeks. The bruises blooming on her wrists where the Praetorians had held her too tightly.

He leans forward, fingers steepled, his voice dripping with false concern.

"My dear, you’ve found yourself in quite the predicament, haven’t you? Your husband, that foolish man, wanted us killed. And yet, here you are. And he…"

Geta paused meaningfully.

"…and he is dead, little bird."

A hand—someone else’s—lands just below her throat, burning and possessive. It slides up, slow and deliberate, past her neck, wrenching her chin back. Her breath catches. Her eyes lock with his.

So little blue in his gaze. Just black. Endless, hungry black.

Caracalla had crept up silently, unseen, and now held her firmly, not letting her turn away. His hand was hot—hotter than usual.

Then she felt the moisture.

Her eyes flicked downward without moving her head.

And then she screamed.

His hands, pale, soft hands, usually adorned with rings, had chosen a different ornament this time.

Red.

Blood covered his delicate hand up to the wrist, staining her face, her neck, branding her skin with crimson streaks. The scent of iron fills her nostrils, thick and suffocating. Her stomach churns.

"Shh, shh," he whispers. "No one will interrupt us anymore. You’re a widow now—congratulations."

His lips pressed against her neck, right where the blood stains her skin.

"I promise, this night won’t count in court," he adds with a foolish giggle, clearly delighted by her stunned reaction.

She doesn’t want to think about whose blood it is, but deep down, she knows.

"And oh, that’s not all!"

He releases her, and yet she remains still.

"A gift!"

He claps his hands, and a carved chest is brought into the room. She doesn’t want to know what’s inside.

But Caracalla, his face alight with childish joy, flings it open, proudly displaying its contents. The emperor smiles, but his eyes remain cold, watching her eagerly, waiting for her reaction.

In horror, she recoils, her scream tearing through the hall. Her legs give way, and she collapses to the floor, gasping for breath.

Caracalla is pleased.

Without a flicker of disgust, he reaches into the chest, grabs its contents, and tosses them toward her as if they were nothing more than a mere trinket. But it’s not.

A pale, lifeless hand, severed at the wrist, lands on the marble floor before her.

She recognizes it instantly by the ring on its finger. Her husband’s hand.

To seal the horror on her face, Caracalla lifts the severed hand and waves it at her, grinning.

"I wanted to bring the head, but Geta stopped me," he chuckles. "You should thank him."

"Take it away," Geta grimaces, ordering the slaves to remove the chest and the hand.

As a final touch, Caracalla slides the ring off the dead hand and slips it onto his own thumb. His hands are small, nothing like her husband’s—the ring wouldn’t fit any other finger.

Since their time in the throne room, the young emperor has tidied himself up, trading his sheet for a silk golden robe. His hair remains wild and unkempt, but a small gold earring glints in his ear.

How charming that for this meeting, full of horror, fear, and humiliation, he had dressed up for her.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his hands, still staring at the ring—her husband’s ring—the one she placed on his finger on their wedding day. She never imagined it would end like this.

Unconsciously, she reaches for her own ring—the one her husband had given her—only to remember. It is gone.

Geta took it.

Caracalla’s gaze flicks to her fingers, immediately recognizing his brother’s ring.

"Where did you get that?" His smile fades, his eyes darting to the other emperor, noting her golden ring on Geta’s hand.

"I won," Geta drawls smugly. "Won our little bet." He’s clearly pleased with himself, his lips curling into something like a smirk—but his eyes remain narrowed, watching, waiting. He’s wary of his brother’s reaction, she realizes.

In the short time Cassandra has known them, she’s learned that despite his innocent appearance, Caracalla is the one to fear. Geta knows this too—though he holds far more privileges, he doesn’t dare to gloat too openly.

A shiver runs down her spine.

A bet? They were betting? On her?

Caracalla’s expression darkens.

"You’re always like this! You must have cheated, didn’t you?" he snaps, frustration clear in his tone as he shoots a suspicious glance at his brother. But he doesn’t approach Geta. Instead, he moves toward her, still sitting on the floor.

"And you… One disappointment after another. Did you really want to upset me? Have you forgotten who you belong to?"

"Yours…" she whispers, her eyes glued to the ground.

"No, this time you won’t get away so easily." His fingers tighten in her hair, yanking her to her feet. "You’ll remember. You might cheat on that fool of a husband, but not me. Never me!"

"I didn’t…" she begins, her voice breaking, but no one is listening.

He drags her toward the massive bed, shoving her onto the silks and furs. Again? Will he force himself on her again?

Geta watches with interest, tilting his head—just like that time on the balcony. But this time, the emperor stands very close.

Caracalla steps back for a moment, only to return, looming over her, his breath hot against her skin. She trembles so violently that at first, she doesn’t even notice the cold steel pressing against her collarbone.

"Don’t kill her," Geta warns, sitting on the edge of the bed, making no move to intervene. "She has a trial to face, remember?"

"I don’t need your reminders," Caracalla snaps, glaring at his brother before turning his focus back to her, a lazy smile curling on his lips. "You forgot your place, didn’t you? Who do you think you are? You think you can play with my brother?"

The dagger in his hand makes her breath hitch. With a quick, sharp motion, he bares her chest, ripping her clothes apart—but it isn’t lust driving him. Or at least, not only that.

What did her body matter when terror shone so clearly in her eyes?

Her fear excites him far more. She can see it. She can feel it, his hardness pressing against her. The blade slides lightly between her collarbones, and she flinches, trying to twist away.

"Hold her."

And Geta does.

Obediently, he grabs her wrists and pins them above her head against the bed. His grip is so tight it makes her want to cry.

Cassandra meets his gaze, searching, pleading—

But the emperor is indifferent. Amused. Cold. He will allow his brother anything.

Mockingly, he brushes his thumb against her cheek, wiping away her tears. Then, just like that, he hands her over to Caracalla's mercy.

Caracalla is pleased, exhilarated. This time, the blade pressed harder, and she felt the sharp sting of pain.

When he moved lower, just above her right breast, she screamed, and his left hand covered her mouth. Geta still held her wrists as Caracalla began to carve intricate symbols into her pale skin with the tip of the dagger.

"I’ll reward you, brand you with your emperor’s name," he whispered, breathing heavily, biting his lower lip. "Now you won’t forget."

She whimpered into his hand, crying, her skin blazing like fire, shame and embarrassment consumed by the burn.

He carves with care, a craftsman at his art, then pulls back, licking his lips, admiring his work. She catches him touching himself beneath the robe, cheeks flushed with feverish red.

"Up—now," he commanded, and Geta yanked her by her numb arms, giving her no time to think, dragging her off the bed and forcing her to her knees.

The spot below her collarbone throbbed, as did her stiff arms, but none of that mattered now. Caracalla was marking her, asserting his claim. No one would save her; she was completely at his mercy. With a low, guttural moan, he reached his peak, using only his hand, never once touching her body. His seed desecrated her face as he gripped her hair tightly. Oh, the young emperor had always been inventive, and this time, he’d found yet another way to break her.

Tear-streaked and branded with his bleeding name, his seed staining her face, she was completely shattered. Geta looked on with disdain, Caracalla with lazy boredom. Yet, he didn’t look away, showing no intention of discarding her like he usually did.

"When’s the trial?" The tip of his tongue traced his red lips, his eyes burning with feverish anticipation.

"Tomorrow morning," his brother replied hoarsely, sounding almost intrigued, a quiet observer of her humiliation.

"Then we have time," Caracalla said, playfully picking up the dagger and running his thumb along its sharp edge. His hands were already stained with her husband’s blood. "The trial tomorrow is for those foolish senators. But yours… yours starts now."

There was no mercy in his voice, no remorse. The gods had already passed their judgment. Cassandra shut her eyes.

⋆ ☼ ⋆

Hey friends, we’re almost at the finish line—the next chapter’s gonna be the last one, and it’s kinda massive! Thanks so much for all your support, I really appreciate it! 🙂‍↕️

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ccwpidsblog · 6 months ago

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SAINTS AND SINNERS — iwtv

SUMMARY : Edmée Heart, the dutiful daughter of a pastor, lives a sheltered life bound by rules and expectations. But her quiet world begins to unravel when she catches the attention of Louis de Pointe du Lac and Lestat de Lioncourt, two enigmatic men with dark secrets. Drawn to Edmée’s innocence, Louis and Lestat vie for her affection, each offering her a taste of freedom and danger.

RATING : 18+

CONTENT WARNING: season one spoilers, not entirely accurate to the show but we’re all grown here it shouldn’t matter much, eventual polyamory, heavy religious themes, daddy issues, more to be added

CWPID NOTES 🏹: this is a great way to come back and show how much my writing has improved. redeeming myself from the trash fiction i was writing before. ON A03 N WILL ONLY BE UPDATED ON AO3 (if im not being lazy)

Edmée remembered the Sundays before Louis de Pointe du Lac avoided the sun, somehow, he’d managed to arrive at church after a long night of sin. He was always late, slipping through the heavy wooden doors just as her father’s booming voice began the first prayer. From her family’s high pew, she could see him moving down the aisle, the faint scent of booze and perfume lingering on his clothes—a sinful whisper of the previous night’s indulgences.

He’d take his usual seat beside his brother, his strong frame settling heavily into the creaking wood. His head would bow, his eyes would close, and for the rest of the service, he remained still. Unmoving, like a statue carved from marble. At first, Edmée thought he might be sleeping, but there was something too deliberate about the way he held himself, his hands clasped loosely on his lap, his expression unreadable.

She couldn’t stop watching him. From her elevated view, she memorized the way the sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting fractured colors across his dark skin. He looked ethereal, caught between shadows and light, the kind of beauty that left her breathless and guilty all at once. She tried to focus on her father’s sermon, but her gaze always drifted back to Louis.

At the end of every service, as her father stood by the doors shaking hands and offering blessings, Louis would rise with a graceful ease. He’d move through the small crowd, a charming smile on his lips, and when he reached her father, he always made a point to praise the sermon. “Your words speak straight to the soul, Pastor Heart,” he’d say, his voice like velvet dipped in honey.

Then he’d turn to her mother, taking her hand and pressing a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles. “A vision of grace, as always, Mrs. Heart,” he’d say, his words smooth and effortless.

But when his gaze finally reached Edmée, it changed. He wouldn’t kiss her hand, wouldn’t offer a compliment. Instead, he’d nod at her, a playful, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. That smile—the one that made her feel like the only girl in the world and completely invisible at the same time. If her skin had been any lighter, she knew she would’ve turned as red as the pew cushions beneath her.

In passing, he treated her the same. A quick nod, a flash of white teeth. But she noticed how he greeted the other women—the kisses, the murmured words that made them laugh and fan themselves, the lingering glances. With her, there was none of that.

Only a nod. A smile.

And it made her stomach twist with jealousy. The last time Edmée saw Louis was at Grace’s wedding. The church was packed, and the air was thick with the scent of lilies and the murmur of joyous chatter. Louis was everywhere that day—his laugh echoing above the music, his face alight with a rare kind of happiness that made him seem untouchable. He was glowing, his usual quiet intensity replaced by something brighter, freer. Edmée stood by the punch table, nervously clutching a glass, when he approached her. She didn’t see him coming; one moment she was alone, and the next he was there, his presence commanding and electric.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “Maybe even more beautiful than the bride.”

Her breath caught, her cheeks burning.

“Don’t tell Grace,” he added with a wink, leaning in just enough that she caught a whiff of his cologne—a mix of cedar and something darker, richer. Edmée could only nod, her voice stolen by his closeness, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

Months.

Many months without seeing him.

The pew Louis shared with Paul and his family remained empty every Sunday, a silent memorial to all that had unraveled. No one dared to sit there now, not after everything. Not after Paul’s tragic passing, not after the whispers.

The whispers.

They followed Louis like a shadow, stretching long and dark through the town. The women at her mother’s so-called “Bible studies” spoke of him in hushed tones, their voices dripping with scandal and sanctimony. “Dancing with the devil,” they’d say, the words lingering in the air like smoke. Edmée would sit in the corner, quietly stitching or polishing silver, her ears pricking at every mention of his name. Her brothers were no better. On Thursday nights, they’d gather in the attic for their card games, their voices low and conspiratorial. Edmée wasn’t allowed to join, of course, but she’d found her own way around that rule. If she sat at the top of the stairs, just out of sight, her father wouldn’t scold her.

There, she could catch snippets of their conversations, each word painting a more vivid picture of the man she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“...seen him with him again...” “...spends his nights where no decent man would...” “...more dead than alive, if you ask me.”

The words made her chest tighten, her heart ache. She couldn’t bring herself to believe them. Louis de Pointe du Lac, the man who nodded at her with that secret smile, who complimented her at Grace’s wedding, couldn’t be what they said he was. Could he?

But her father’s rules were ironclad. She couldn’t ask, couldn’t go looking for answers. The world outside their home was a forbidden one, especially now. Edmée’s days were measured in prayers and chores, her nights spent reading scripture or mending clothes by candlelight. Her father had made it clear: the streets were no place for a proper young lady, especially after dark. The world out there was dangerous, filled with temptation and sin. But tonight, as she stood by the forbidden window, the temptation was unbearable.

The house was quiet, her family long asleep. The window, a heavy thing with rusted hinges, had always been forbidden. “Nothing good comes from looking where you shouldn’t,” her father had said countless times. But tonight, Edmée couldn’t help herself. She pressed her fingers to the cool glass, peering into the moonlit street below. At first, there was nothing. Just the empty streetlamps and the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. But then, she saw him.

Louis

He was walking slowly down the cobblestone street, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his head slightly bowed. The gaslight caught his face, illuminating its sharp angles, the deep shadows beneath his eyes. He looked different—thinner, wearier, as though the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She pressed closer to the glass, watching him with the kind of hunger she didn’t dare name.

“Not tonight,” Louis said, his voice low but sharp. Another figure emerged from the shadows. He appeared with a startling grace, stepping into the lamplight as if conjured from the darkness itself. His hair gleamed like spun gold, his sharp, angular features both striking and unnerving.

There was a wildness about him, a dangerous energy that made Edmée’s heart race in an entirely different way.

“Louis,” Lestat’s voice purred, low and teasing, the sound carrying up to her window. “Out for another pensive stroll, are we? Tell me, do you plan to sulk your way through eternity, or is this just for tonight’s entertainment?”

“I’m not in the mood for your games, Lestat,” he said, his voice soft but heavy with frustration. “Oh, but you never are,” Lestat replied, stepping closer. “And yet, here I am, devoted as ever. You should be flattered, mon cher.”

From her perch, Edmée couldn’t look away. The two men stood in stark contrast—Louis, somber and grounded, and Lestat, all sharp smiles and restless energy. Their connection was undeniable, charged with something she didn’t quite understand but found utterly captivating.

Lestat reached out, brushing an invisible speck from Louis’s shoulder with a flourish. “And speaking of devotions,” he said, his tone turning sly, “you’ve been spending an awful lot of time on this street. Seems that you miss the little church mouse lately? What’s her name again? Edmée?”

She could see the shift in Louis as he seemingly snapped, finally turning to face Lestat. “Leave her out of this,”

Lestat’s grin widened. “Oh, mon ami, you wound me. I only meant to say she’s... enchanting, in her own way. So innocent, so untouched by the world.” He tilted his head, his gaze flickering upward as though he might sense her watching.

Panicking, Edmée ducked away from the window, her heart pounding in her chest. She pressed her back against the wall, trying to steady her breath.

Had he seen her?

Had they seen her?

Who was he?

What was he to Louis?

As she sat there in the dark, the questions swirled in her mind, each one more troubling than the last. And though she couldn’t explain why, she felt as though she had glimpsed something forbidden, something that would change everything if she let it.

#lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #lestat x reader #louis de pointe du lac x reader #interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire x reader #black fem reader #x black reader

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sir-tuitsum · 5 months ago

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An Empress' Harem.

In where, some of the honkai star rail men become your concubine. Focused on how you came to meet them and integrate them into your harem.

Men: Sunday, JingYuan, DanHeng, Gepard, Aventurine, Dr Ratio.

Note: no warning, just a birthday gift to my friend <3 thanks for winning the battle of the sperms. probably choppy and feels rushed, wasn't edited but this is for you <33

second part: here

third part: here

***************************************

Sunday

During your years as a princess, of course your husband would need to come from a strong clan to provide you better supporters in your campaign to become crown princess and later Empress. At the age of 9, your father had already gotten to work and convinced your mother, the then Empress, to betroth to the Oak Family's young son who was close in age to yourself.

You met the 10 year old only weeks later, he was as gentle and man-like as you'd expect from a son of a noble family. You easily sensed his tense demeanor around you, he made it his mission to make sure you were pleased the entire time you both were together.

"I will ask the maidservant to give us treats. What do you like?" You took the Oak clan's son for an outing in the Southernmost Imperial Gardens, it was closest to your father's palace as he would've liked it anyway.

"Ah, are you a fan of treats? What treats do you usually like getting?" He stood quite straight with a hand behind his back, as he should be.

You blinked, "Treats are okay. I usually end up eating Honey Cakes I suppose."

"Honey Cakes are sweet, I think I'd like to have one too."

When you asked him why his face scrunched up a bit while taking a bite, he simply brushed it off and said it was sweeter than he was used to. You assumed the maidservant had messed something up in his cake and asked your father to replace her later on.

Either way, Sunday was your personally chosen future royal consort by the former Empress, your own mother, so naturally you held him to high regard.

He was then and now, the very epitome of a perfect consort. He was given praises by both your mother and father quite often for his etiquette and behavior whenever he came by the Imperial Palace. It was enough his family received praises for their efforts in kingdom management by your mother, also with your father praising his family's influence, seeing you as set in stone for the throne being already favored well by your mother.

You married him as soon as the age was appropriate. On the wedding night, he had frigidly arranged old husbands' tales, from using plants said to boost fertility to saying prayers to placing down objects rumored to be favored by the aeons. He had kneeled before the bed after the priestesses and servants had left the private chambers, his hands clasped in prayer.

"The priestesses gave us enough blessings, no?" You jested. You were not surprised of course, years of being together with him had shown you his sweet devout heart towards the aeons. You found it an entertainment to tease him over the years.

"It is good to show the gods your own faith as well, to ask them personally shows your trust in them and pleases them more after all.." you felt almost bad for interrupting his prayer, with the way he glanced up at you afterwards, "perhaps you should join me, we could give honor to Ena for a stable marriage."

It was not uncommon for you both to spend your leisure time praying. Maybe your fondness for him came from the fact he didn't only run to the gods when something went wry. You remembered the first time, when you were but 11 and had visited the Oak's residence without much of an announcement due to having been passing by and decided to stop to visit him, you had been told the young lord was praying as he usually did around his hour. Your better manners told you to wait but in the moment you had made your way to the family's temple and easily made your way inside, as no one would stop an imperial heir so easily.

You found him on his knees, offerings before him as a painting of Ena laid before him on the wall. He was focused, not noticing your entrance. You observed him from where you stood, the relaxed look on his face wasn't normal for you. He was always at attention and the image of sophistication every man wanted to be, composed at all times. The gentleness of him this time wasn't the expected one of his stature, something about the moment almost felt intrusive. You were quiet in your strides towards him, having a closer look at his face now, you assumed it was the dim lighting of the candles but he looked like a different person. You looked forward at the image of Ena then kneeled next to him and clasped your hands together as well. It just felt right.

Praying with the other became something shared between you two when you both found time together.

You shrugged, "I don't see why not."

JingYuan

An incident had occurred during the celebratory banquet in which the pet kitten of a noble had disturbed the peace by causing a servant to lose balance and create a mess. A great disrespect to the royal family, your mother then had chastised the pet's owner publicly and declared the kitten to be skinned alive to teach everyone a lesson of letting creatures run wild in an event like this one.

Well, you found this sentence to be bad, for the kitten at least but your mother's temper was something to be observed carefully, you'd rather not make the evening more unpleasant for her. Or yourself.

It would be three days later when you'd hear noises when you were taking strolls after a long day in your lessons to clear your mind. You had stopped to rest in a pavilion before you'd journey your way back to your palace and heard it. You told your servants to wait for you at the pavilion as you made your way towards the noise as stealthy as one could be, peeking from behind a wall, you saw a boy perhaps older than you kneeling before a bush. There was a bowl next to him and his hand was stretched into the bush.

"pspspspsps-" you had heard from his mouth, ringing confusion bells in your head.

Then you saw it, the pearl white kitten itching out from the bushes only to be attacked with immediate petting from the young boy. That cat looked an awful lot like the cat ordered to die. It shouldn't be, as you saw the peeled skin yourself. It shouldn't be, what person in their right mind would walk straight into a death sentence like this. This definitely wasn't the cat sentenced to death.

So, you watched the should-be-dead kitten make its way toward the bowl of food, meowing in gladness then going right back in to continue eating.

"Does that feel better, Mimi?" The will-be dead boy muttered softly, his tone soft as he ran his hands through the kitten's head.

You felt more uncomfortable when you recognized his face, the amber eyes and the white hair, the black spot on his face-

Jingliu was a popular swordsman hailing from a clan who rose to a respected military family from her great efforts and achievements in conquest. She took in a young distant cousin whose family had fallen on hard times and raised him to take after her and continue her legacy of sword masters. You met this boy after he had accompanied his caretaker to the Imperial Palace for the banquet to celebrate her recent victory. You remembered seeing his face when he had come to greet you and your mother formally before the banquet commenced. You remembered how much your mother revered and praised Jingliu for her military prowess. You recalled thinking the cat faced boy had delicate features.

Military families were highly regarded by the Imperial family. They were considered military when someone received honors and official recognition from the imperial family for carrying out a successful military operation. These families usually aimed to produce soldiers and were determined to ensure all their descendants carry out their military duties for generations. You were curious about Jingliu’s choice to have a man carry on her military legacy though, most unusual.

You looked back at the white haired boy caressing the young kitten like a babe. You admired his idiocy in a sense. His actions were careless and could cause lady Jingliu trouble if he was not careful- this he was not being either. And yet his actions had somewhat touched you.

You also wanted to help the kitten during the banquet, maybe this could be your second chance.

An invitation was given to the Jingliu's household inviting the now young man to enter a concubine selection for one of the princesses. To his surprise, he was one of the first chosen by her.

Gepard

During your concubine selection, you heard the name Gepard Landau and you immediately decided then and there you would take him as your concubine as well.

In the years before your dynasty sat the imperial throne, the Landaus had supported your family during the civil war. The first Empress of your dynasty had taken a Landau son for her main husband, the royal consort then, the empresses after her had them as apart of their harem for years. This was an easy decision for you.

Moreover, it keeps the Landaus in check, they had weird influence over the imperial military. It would be tricky for you, if Gepard caused any trouble you can't be too strict on him, his family would find way to stick their hands into harem issues and shield him.

Either way, the Landaus are close with the Imperials, this was expected.

With your royal consort next to you, you watched the carriage wheel in with the Landau's sigil, the proud lion, waving from its flag as it pulled up to your palace gates. The custom was that you shared chambers with the concubine on the day they arrive as per tradition. You didn't have much appetite for him. You met the Landau and his older sister when you were still a girl, you had proudly announced to your father the moment he left your presence that he was beautiful and you should have his hand when you grow older, much to your father's pleasure. Whenever the Landau family bought their children around you were always expected to play with them, this was your pleasure, then you had a strong craving to have him.

Out of sight, out of mind. The Landaus preferred to raise their younger offspring away from court. Gepard and his baby sister would spend their time in the countryside with their father from the capital while their big sister would have to handle the duties as the heir apparent in the palace with their mother. Your childish affections dispersed over time. He was now a thing that was a part of the happier times of childhood more than a person you wanted.

Watching the blonde lion step from the carriage, dressed in the colours of his house and the veil on his head, your mind wandered back to the boy you knew. You recalled you barely looked up during the concubine selection and only said yes because she heard his name and accepted him immediately. You never got to look at him.

As per tradition, he kneeled before you every 2 steps he took until he was directly in front of you. At the final kneel, he didn't rise and awaited his new wife’s command to rise, her official welcome of him into her household. Your expression softened, though only slightly. With deliberate grace, you extend your hand toward him, “Gepard of House Landau,” your voice calm but carrying the weight of tradition. “Rise and take your place among those who are my harem.”

He took her hand, her touch steady and warm, yet undeniably regal. As he stood, the space between them felt both vast and impossibly close.

The things that were not said, unspoken words and battered feelings, it was obvious your feelings didn't go as deep as his. The consummation night was not as deep as he wanted it to be. The words, “Tradition demands our Union but I shall not ask any more of you than what you are expected to.”

Control, commands, longing, he did not expect indifference.

Gepard watched you leave, his thoughts a tempest. The girl he had once played with as a boy had grown into a ruler he could not yet fully understand. But for the first time since entering the palace, he felt less like a pawn and more like a participant in a game he was only beginning to learn

Dan Heng

Your history tutor himself held personal vendetta against the Vidyadharas, if you listened to the man explain the history surrounding them, you'd think he was personally there to experience the atrocities.

Though, you did not dislike him for it. The consequences of the old dynasty's actions did not disappear with time.

389 years ago, before the first Empress of your family overthrew the Vidyadhara Dynasty in the 5 Year War, the final ruler of the Vidyadhara was a man. Male rulers were few to none in the country's history, the only reason Dan Feng found himself on the throne of Gold was from a lack of women in the succession. The fertility of the Vidyadharas has dwindled over time until it reached a point they had to turn to a man to inherit the throne. This was their final mistake.

Undoubtedly, this was the worst sovereign to ever step foot on the throne. The first Empress of your dynasty led conquest against the tyrant and in five years time, the Vidyadhara dynasty were no longer legitimate rulers. They were stripped of their lands, titles and wealth, casted off and put under surveillance by your family after the death of

the tyrant. Bans were carried out against them, stay away from the capital, they couldn't hire help without the approval of the new dynasty, the next head of their family was chosen and controlled by your family, etc.

Now, there were two bans you had to be mindful of; Marriage of a Vidyadhara was determined by your family. Vidyadharas are forbidden from entering the royal harem. For the safety of their dynasty never rising again. This wasn't a problem for you until you were approached by an advisor, speaking of a young Vidyadhara being seeked out by a noble for marriage, a noble of importance. Your natural response would be to ban this immediately, you can't mix Vidyadhara blood with your allies. Perhaps it was the late night meeting but you asked for the noble to bring forth his intended bride.

You will continue to blame the late night, the young man, Dan Heng he called himself, a pretty Vidyadhara from the main branch of the family. I'm your own defense, the pretty boy seemed less interested in the idea of the noble woman being wedded to him and his responses seemed almost robotic. In your own defense, his corrupted blood shouldn't be mixing with your allies. It doesn't matter how you took action to stop this, what matters is the marriage was cut off that night. It doesn't need to be bought up that you made conditions to a serious ban your family pressed on since childhood.

As long as Dan Heng was banned from ever becoming the Royal Consort, having any children he produced inherit your throne and his family did not receive the honors the average concubine’s family was given, you could handle this. You won't regret this later.

Aventurine

In your opinion, the Interastral Peace Cooperation had a too heavy grip on the nations, even empires like your own. You recalled a visit of an ambassador from one in your youth, finding the preparations grand enough for a king to welcome one.

Even as an adult, you found their existence in the continent as a pack of dogs being held on a leash by one person. You weren't stupid enough to deny the good they've done to unite nations in peace but you weren't ignorant enough to deny their less honorable pursuits.

Your ascension to the throne naturally led to an ambassador of theirs being sent to congratulate you. It was a natural tradition for them to appease their royals and for the rulers to accept it.

Here in the banquet hall, you observed the other envoys bought with her as they entered. They approached you first with the proper greeting, Jade took the liberty of introducing herself then everyone else. You masked your disinterest until you noticed the blond, you hadn't seen him before, his frame seemed to be smaller and hidden behind the rest. You leaned back in your seat, looking over his form as Jade introduced him.

“Aventurine, a young man in training by myself.”

“What would you train a man for?” You didn't take your eyes off of him, he must've not grown very fast as a child, for whatever reason.

“Whatever a man can understand, there are good ones out there, like him.” She gestured to the blond with a smirk on her face.

You smiled in response to her jest then looked back at Aventurine, “if he is so good, he can tell me about it.” You motioned to the close spots to yourself at your table, inviting the blond to sit with you instead of his colleagues for the remainder of the banquet.

Well, this training, he won't be able to complete it anymore.

Dr. Ratio

Your first tour as Empress took place in the capital, the pride of the Empire. Your last tour had been when your mother was alive, only last year in another smaller city. On the third day of your tour, your royal consort and yourself were set to visit a distinguished university, personally funded by your family for years.

Education was one of your most prized priorities, there was a pull back before your ascension that you sought out to fix when you were Empress. You made it your own issue to get the universities and lower level schools back on track. If your ears were right, others took advantage when the imperial eyes looked away from it.

In an attempt to not disrupt the school day, you met the staff of the university privately and spoke with them about affairs in education.

Though, mid conversation, a man with purple hair had made his way into the room, abruptly so. His eyes locked rather aggressively with some of the educators in the room but he made his way before you, all proper greeting requirements met and rising when you gave him the permission to. He took a seat close by, opening the book in his hand, “It is my ill manners I arrived so late, it was not intentional on my part and I mean no disrespect to you, my liege.” He bowed his head to you as he spoke, you did not respond with anything but a nod.

“If I am so bold, I want to ask for more than just funding to the schools but for funding to the students as well,” he started, “I just think these funds benefit the schools more than the students. Even with the school funded by your majesty’s kind grace, it's not enough to have their needs met to stay in it.”

Well, it was a pleasant change of pace. You've spent the last half hour here with the inhabitants in the room sending you praises for the funds, then asking for more, then praising you, then repeating. Even his tone was too high to be asking that for someone of his standing. Whatever the person next to you said, you didn't hear it, you lowered your chin to look the purple haired man in the eye.

“And what else?”

The amber eyed man's eyes widened slightly as if he had expected a different response from you. He composed himself quickly after, spinning through his books, “I have personal petitions from my own students in here, some I've tried to sponsor myself, I had them write down their troubles-” you found the reactions of the other folks in the room to be almost comedic. Perhaps a less public inspection was needed.

You rose from your seat, “Perhaps you can tell me more about your students and requests, somewhere else, a stroll or a room to ourselves, whatever you desire.” You looked the man over before making your way towards the door, expecting him to follow in tow. You cared less for what the other women in the room had to say at this moment about your sudden leave, you only looked back to make sure the purple beauty was following you.

Yes, you can't wait to learn more about what he has to say and can do.

*************************************

#aventurine x reader #sunday x reader #sunday x you #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail #dr ratio x reader #gepard x reader #dan heng x reader #honkai sr x reader #concubine #concubinage #concubine x reader #au #hsr au #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x female reader #female reader

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ventismacchiato · 9 months ago

Text

1O stuck with you — sand in my ass !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

As with most things involving Scaramouche, your day starts off on a disastrous note. The cramped quarters of the dorm building force all ten of you into a chaotic dance as you rush to get ready, dodging elbows and sidestepping misplaced shoes. Unfortunately, you seem to be magnetically drawn to Scaramouche, bumping into him no less than five times before breakfast. The microphones crackle with your manager’s impatient voices, urging everyone to hurry.

“You took that long just to come out looking like that?” Scaramouche’s voice greets you as you finally make it into the kitchen with the rest of the group. He doesn’t exactly wrinkle his nose in disgust, but it’s a very near thing.

You ignore him, your eyes instead raking over the counter filled with neatly stacked plates of pancakes. The scent of fresh fruit wafts up, and you instinctively reach over to grab a fistful of berries.

“Wow, who managed to make all this?” Lumine asks, marveling at the spread before piling an impressive stack onto her plate.

Kazuha, flipping a pancake with a practiced ease, jerks his thumb toward Scaramouche, who’s manning the stove like he's scared Kazuha is about to set it ablaze.

Your hand freezes mid-reach. Without a word, you drop the plate you picked up back onto the counter, your appetite vanishing.

“You are so petty, just eat it, Y/N,” Fischl murmurs, standing behind Scaramouche with an amused look. “Can you add chocolate to mine?”

“What are you, five?” Scaramouche grumbles, but he obliges, grabbing a handful of chocolate chips and sprinkling them over her pancake while simultaneously swatting Venti’s wandering hand away from the stove.

“You’re acting like he’s trying to poison you,” Yoimiya sighs, exasperated, as she takes her own plate and starts to serve herself.

“He probably is,” you mutter, poking at your untouched pancakes with a fork, still skeptical.

Scaramouche, not missing a beat, shoots you a glare. “I will cook bleach into your next meal.”

A loud, resounding "NO" echoes from the intercoms, reminding everyone that Jean, ever vigilant, is monitoring your every move.

Scaramouche, annoyed, looks into the ceiling where he thinks the camera is. “I WILL!” he shouts, voice dripping with defiance.

“Scara, baby, turn around. The camera’s behind you,” Childe says with a laugh.

Scaramouche swivels around, eyes locking onto the correct camera this time. “I WILL!”

“Wow, you sure showed them,” Aether chuckles, drizzling syrup over his and Lumine’s pancakes, clearly enjoying the idiocy.

You, on the other hand, can only sigh, clasping your hands together in mock prayer. “Please, get me out of here,” you whisper, hoping that someone, anyone, is listening.

“No,” Lisa laughs into your ear piece.

Anyone but Lisa.

The sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows on the sandy track laid out for the first challenge of this god forsaken fake dating show. The tension between you and Scaramouche was palpable as cameras buzzed around, capturing every strained glance you both sent one another.

“Could you both at least pretend to smile?” Lumine sighs, coming to stand in between you both.

“No,” you both say in unison.

"Alright, contestants!" Yae's voice rang out cheerfully over the loudspeaker as she sat a couple feet away from you all, "Our first challenge is a two-legged race! The winning pair gets to have a private date with a gourmet meal!”

“Now, obviously we want Scaramouche and Yn to win,” Yae admitted with a sigh, “But for this challenge we will actually play it to keep it a little realistic.” Yae claps her hands as she signals to the ropes on the ground.

“All of you can pair up, except for our lovebirds. Tie your ankles together and stand before that line. The course isn’t too long.”

You glanced at Scaramouche, who was examining the ropes with a bored expression. "Just try not to trip us," you muttered, as Scara fastened the rope around your leg and his.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. I'm not planning to win this anyway."

As the race began, it was immediately clear that Scaramouche was dragging his feet, literally and figuratively. He barely lifted his leg, forcing you to stumble and struggle to keep pace. The other pairs surged ahead while you and Scaramouche lurched forward in awkward, jerky movements.

"Can you at least pretend to try?" you hissed, frustration mounting with every step.

Scaramouche smirked. "Why should I? Do you really want to go on a date with me?"

“No, but I don’t want us to look like unathletic idiots on tv,” you huff.

“Don’t worry, you already look unathletic,” Scara adds unhelpfully.

Yae sighs from where she’s sitting as she watches you two barely make it past the starting line.

"Scara, I know you're good at this!" Yae called out, her voice carrying over the sound of the other contestants' laughter. Lumine and Yoimiya had already crossed the finish line, untying themselves with triumphant grins.

"Scaramouche, I swear if you don't—" you began, but he cut you off with a weary sigh.

"Fine, fine," he muttered, more to himself than to you. Scaramouche, still grumbling under his breath, wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. With a sudden burst of athleticism, he finally matched your pace, and together, you both stumbled forward with more rhythm than before. You were no match for the other pairs who had long since finished, but at least you weren’t tripping over each other anymore. It was almost too natural, too comfortable, and for a split second, you forgot about the cameras and the show. But then reality crashed back in when he pinched your waist when you started slowing down.

"Finally, almost done," you muttered, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand on your waist and focusing on not tripping over the sand.

"Yeah, yeah, just don't mess this up," Scaramouche replied, but there was no real bite in his words that time.

Finally, you both crossed the finish line, far behind everyone else. Yae clapped her hands together, a mischievous smile on her lips. "And our final pair has arrived! Congratulations, you two. You were... spectacularly last."

Scaramouche immediately let go of you, stepping back as if the contact had burned him as he slipped out of the rope binding you two. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his dramatics, but before you could respond, Yae continued.

“Of course, for the sake of the show, we’ll just pretend you two got first place. After all, what kind of dating show would this be if the main couple lost that badly? Miya and Lumine, you both can have a gourmet meal too but just off camera.”

“So rigged,” Aether sighs.

“In the other games we’ll play fairly, it’s just for the first episode,” Yae giggles.

The other members were already lounging on the sand, enjoying their downtime as you’d both taken forever to get going. Venti and Fischl had even started a sandcastle, which was somehow more elaborate than anything you’d ever seen.

Venti waved at you with a playful grin. “You two sure took your time! Must’ve been having too much fun, huh?”

You and Scaramouche simultaneously scoffed at that, and you could hear the others chuckling at your synchronized reaction.

“You guys are stupid,” you huff, kicking sand towards your nearest victim. Poor Childe.

“I agree,” Scara says, but his voice was quieter, almost contemplative. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Then just fuck on camera so we can all go home!”

“Venti, move over. I’m going to kick down your castle.”

“NO WAIT!”

You dig your toes into the sand, letting the cool grains slip between them as you wait outside the kitchens for Scaramouche. The sun is setting, casting a warm orange glow over the beach, and Yae's words about a "romantic walk" still make you want to gag. She had told you the meals would be set up away from everyone else so you both could enjoy a romantic walk towards your date. The last thing you want is to spend more time with Scara pretending to be enamored with each other, especially after the disaster that was the race.

“Aww, look how cute Y/N is, waiting for their date,” Yoimiya teases, a grin spreading across her face as she takes another bite of the crab she and Lumine had won.

“If he doesn’t show up in ten seconds, I’m leaving without him,” you grumble, crossing your arms in frustration.

“No, you won’t!” Lisa’s voice blares from the intercoms, making you jump a little. “Remember, you’re supposed to be in love. Try to act like it!”

You sigh, rolling your eyes, just as Scaramouche finally appears, looking equally as unimpressed. “You ready?” he asks, not bothering to hide the lack of enthusiasm in his voice as he walks ahead without you.

“Not really, but let’s get this over with,” you mutter, pushing off the wall and starting down the path that Yae had indicated earlier as you catch up with him.

The walk is awkward, to say the least. Neither of you says a word, and the only sounds are the gentle waves crashing on the shore and the distant laughter of the other contestants. The romantic atmosphere Yae had tried to create is completely lost on you both.

Finally, you reach the small table set up near the water’s edge, lit by a couple of lanterns. The meal is already laid out—lobster, of all things, with sides that look way too fancy for a beach dinner. You sit down across from each other, the silence continuing to stretch as you both start to pick at the food, trying to figure out how to eat without looking ridiculous.

Then, out of nowhere, your ear pieces crackle to life. Lisa’s voice bursts through, louder than before. “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO SOMETHING INTERESTING!”

Scaramouche groans, his fork clattering onto his plate as he rubs his temples. “Do they ever shut up?” he mumbles.

You stifle a laugh at his pain, but it quickly turns into a grumble. “Apparently not.” You take a deep breath, trying to think of something to say that won’t make this whole situation more painful. “So, uh… what are your hobbies?”

Scaramouche stares at you, disbelief written all over his face. “Seriously?”

“What? I’ve never been on a date as an idol before,” you reply, trying not to sound too defensive but miserably failing.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, that’s apparent.”

You scowl at him, refusing to let him get under your skin. “You can’t talk. Your last relationship was a total disaster.”

His smirk fades, replaced by his usual look of annoyance. “Ew, let’s not discuss my ex.”

Before you can respond, Lisa’s voice crackles through again, this time more exasperated. “THIS IS KILLING THE MOOD. THE STUDIO IS DRY. BE HOT.”

“What does that even mean?” you mumble, helping yourself to the calamari rings Scara wasn’t touching.

Scaramouche sighs, clearly just as fed up as you are. He reaches across the table, and you blink in surprise, half expecting a slap as he leans forward.

“Hold still,” he mutters, his fingers brushing against your chin. You feel a light pressure as he wipes something from the corner of your mouth. Before you can react, he brings his thumb to his own lips, licking it off casually.

“Gross, I hate squid,” he complains, pouring himself a drink as if nothing happened.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you can practically hear Lisa’s triumphant yell through the earpiece. “YES! LIKE THAT! Finally, some chemistry!”

You stare at Scaramouche, who just shrugs as he forgets about the cup entirely and starts drinking straight from the bottle. He meets your eyes over the rim, as if daring you to say something. You value your life so you keep your mouth shut.

You narrow your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding in your chest. But before you can retort, you’re faced with the lobster on your plate. The shell is hard, the claws menacing, and you realize with growing embarrassment that you have no idea how to eat it without making a complete fool of yourself. You were used to instant ramen since none of your members cared to cook back at the dorms. The cameras are still rolling, and since you hadn’t eaten all day out of sheer pettiness, this damn lobster was your last option.

Scaramouche seems to notice your hesitation if the growing smirk on his face is any indication. “You’ve never eaten lobster before, have you?” he asks, his tone surprisingly neutral. That neutrality puts you on edge.

“No,” you admit reluctantly, hating that he now has more ammunition to tease you with. You’re about to push your plate away and accept your fate, considering just chugging the dipping sauces out of spite, when Scaramouche sighs, setting down the bottle.

“You’re hopeless,” he mutters, reaching across the table to pull your plate in front of him. With practiced ease, he cracks open the lobster’s shell, separating the meat and placing it back on your plate.

“There,” he says, sliding the plate back over to you. “Now just eat it. And try not to make a mess, dumbass.”

You’re stunned into silence, watching as he casually goes back to his own meal as if he didn’t just do something unexpectedly considerate. The cameras must be catching every second of this, and you can already imagine the headlines. He was taking this dating show more seriously than you’d thought he would. If the cameras were off he would’ve usually just let you starve.

Lisa’s voice crackles through your earpiece, full of praise. “Wow, that wasn’t emotionally constipated at all!”

You finally manage to pick up your fork, poking at the perfectly prepared lobster on your plate. You’re not sure if you’re more irritated that Scaramouche had to help you or that you’re actually grateful he did. Either way, you grudgingly take a bite, and it’s annoyingly delicious.

“What is it now?” Scara asks, looking from how you keep glancing at him, “Did you forget how to chew, too?”

“Nothing,” you mumble, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten under your skin. “Just… thanks.”

He pauses for a moment, as if considering whether to make a snarky remark, but then just nods as if he decides you aren’t worth the extra words. “Whatever. Just don’t make a habit of needing my help.”

You roll your eyes at his words, but your chest feels uneasy.

You shake it off as being sick from skipping breakfast.

[00:00:00] INTERVIEW ONE, TAKE ONE

JEAN: Can you state your name for the camera?

SCARAMOUCHE: Why? Everybody knows who I am.

JEAN, EXASPERATED: Just do it, please.

SCARAMOUCHE: [SIGH] Fine. It's Scaramouche, or Kunikuzushi.

JEAN: Thank you. How was your first day on the island?

SCARAMOUCHE: It was ass.

JEAN, LOUDLY: Cut!

[00:13:00] INTERVIEW ONE, TAKE TWO

JEAN: I'm going to ask you again. How was your first day on the island?

SCARAMOUCHE: God, it was fine. Is that what you want?

JEAN: Thank y-

SCARAMOUCHE, INTERRUPTING: Actually can we retake that? I sounded too nice. I want all the fans to know I hate Yn—

JEAN: [SIGH] Cut!

[00:00:00] INTERVIEW TWO, TAKE ONE

JEAN: Can you state your name for the camera?

YN: YN! Everyone's favorite coke whore!

JEAN: Jesus Christ, cut!

YN, BEFORE THE CAMERA CUTS: What? God forbid I channel my inner Ayesha Erotica!

[00:25:00] INTERVIEW TWO, TAKE ONE

JEAN: Please state your name for the camera.

YN: It's YN! Everyone's favorite from Windblume! [WINKS]

JEAN: How was your first day on the island?

YN: It was okay. It's really hot and I got sand in my shorts. Not on purpose, Scaramouche threw sand at me because I looked at him funny. Stupid bitch. Then—

JEAN, TIREDLY: Can someone give me a normal answer for once?

YN: —after that disaster, Venti lost my vape—wait, can I say that on TV? Probably not. Anyways, it was a Lost Mary too, which are expensive!

JEAN: Cut!

YN, STILL TALKING: And after that the rest of the day was okay. I'm trying to treat this like a vacation from being an idol, so.

JEAN: Why did I get a normal answer when the camera turned off? [GROANS]

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

i edited those plushies of scarayn myself do we like ☺️ yn is a grey panda to be gn

comment on the masterlist if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

end of act one 🎬

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — i’ve been feeling down and sick so i wasn’t in the mood to write but here you all go, wasn’t it worth the wait! 😊 pls don’t harass me to post fast touch some grass guys 😢

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @jangyung @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @kazuhasbabe

#scaramouche smau #scaramouche x reader smau #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #scaramouche x male reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x oc #stuck with you smau

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claramelooo · 5 months ago

Text

I think I don't need made it clear, but cheat is wrong and if you agree with this, you have a huge character flaw, improve!

Finally the moment has arrived!

Enjoy it! <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warning: + 18

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem reader

Summary: Wanda's jealousy makes her take an important step in your relationship

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 - Predator | Part 2 - The Prey | Part 3 - On Your Knees | Part 5 - The Lamb

Velvet Chains

The Spider

The church bells echoed through the neighborhood, announcing the start of the Sunday mass. You were late—as always. You sat discreetly in the back pews, trying to blend in with the crowd of familiar faces. But it didn’t take long for your eyes to be drawn to the front, where the Maximoff family sat in their usual spot.

There was Wanda, sitting upright next to Vision, with Billy and Tommy between them. The twins were impeccable, in little suits that made their rosy cheeks look even more innocent. Vision, ever composed, was the picture of the devoted husband and present father. Wanda, in turn, seemed to radiate grace and serenity.

You watched as she tilted her head to listen to something Tommy was whispering, a gentle smile curving her lips. There was something so perfect about the scene that it was almost suffocating. The way she adjusted her son’s tie with quick, delicate fingers, how Vision placed a protective hand on Billy’s shoulder, how the four of them seemed like a living painting of family harmony.

The congregation adored them. The approving glances and knowing smiles all around were impossible to ignore. It was clear that everyone saw Wanda and her family as a model to be followed—a beacon of perfection in an imperfect world.

But you couldn’t stop wondering: If she’s so happy, why does she look at me like that?

The thought hit you hard, and you quickly averted your gaze, feeling your heart race. You tried to focus on the sermon, but the priest’s words seemed blurry. All you could see was her.

As the service went on, you watched her out of the corner of your eye. She looked so devout, hands clasped in prayer, eyes closed, but there was something beneath that facade of holiness you couldn’t ignore. A barely perceptible tension in her shoulders, a shadow in her smile.

And then, when everyone’s eyes were closed, singing the hymn, it happened. You caught her looking.

It was quick, but enough for you to know it wasn’t your imagination. Her gaze met yours, just a second longer than it should have, before she diverted her attention to the children. It was a look heavy with something you couldn’t fully decipher—desire, frustration, maybe even desperation.

She’s so good at this, you thought, feeling a lump in your throat. So good at seeming perfect.

As soon as the service ended, you rushed straight out of the sacred temple—to avoid any contact with anyone—and ended up bumping into another person.

“Y/n?” The familiar female voice rang in your mind like bells.

“Yelena?” You asked weakly.

As soon as the words left your mouth, Yelena tilted her head to the side, a smile forming on her face as though she had just remembered an old inside joke. "Wow, so you’re still alive? I thought you had been sent off to a convent or something."

You opened your mouth to respond, but Yelena was already laughing, that laugh you always found contagious. "And you’re still as clumsy as ever," she continued, crossing her arms and sizing you up.

"I’m not clumsy," you replied, but stumbled over your words, which only made her smile widen.

"Oh, yes, you are!" Yelena shot back, taking a step back as if bracing for an imminent explosion. "But you’ve grown up well, I see."

You felt your cheeks burn, but before you could think of a witty response, Yelena stepped closer and gave you a sudden hug. "It’s good to see you, Y/n," she said, her voice softening. "I thought I’d never run into you again."

You couldn’t help but smile—that smile that seemed to come from a forgotten place, a hidden corner of your memory where Yelena always held a special space. But before you could say anything, she pulled back and raised an eyebrow. "So, do you still only fancy girls? Or have you 'grown out of it'?"

Your jaw dropped at the audacity, but the teasing glint in Yelena’s eyes made it clear she was just playing around. "Tsk, you never change!" you replied, crossing your arms and trying to look indignant.

"Oh, good," Yelena said, shrugging. "I prefer you this way. Way more interesting than these smiling hypocrites around here." She glanced around, making it clear she was talking about the very place you were in.

From a distance, Wanda watched the interaction with narrowed eyes, the kind smile she wore as a mask beginning to fade. Her chest burned with something she didn’t want to name—jealousy.

Who was this woman who made you smile so easily? Who pulled genuine laughter from you while Wanda herself struggled to coax even a shy smile? Wanda felt her fingers involuntarily tighten on her purse strap as her eyes followed every movement of their interaction.

Oh, she sees.

Yelena.

The problematic daughter of the church, the black sheep in a flock of immaculate whiteness. Wanda vaguely remembered her from the sermons years ago: messy blonde hair, clothes always a little out of place from the modest standard expected, and an attitude that seemed to shout defiance with every breath.

Yelena never fit in. She was the type of person who asked uncomfortable questions during Bible studies, who laughed loudly when no one else found anything funny, who made a point of standing out even in an environment where uniformity was seen as a virtue.

And now, there she was, as comfortable and confident as ever, talking to you like she had every right in the world to occupy space in your life.

Wanda gritted her teeth, hatred bubbling inside her with a force that almost scared her. It was irrational, of course. Yelena hadn’t done anything directly to Wanda, but that only made her irritation grow. The blonde seemed to exist to provoke, to rebel, to remind Wanda of everything she considered chaotic and unnecessary.

And now, she was pulling you into this world. So when Yelena tilted her head and gave you a playful tap on the shoulder, Wanda saw everything in shades of scarlet.

“You really are a mess,” Yelena said, laughing. “But I think I missed this.”

“Well, you’re not perfect either,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“Of course not,” Yelena retorted, winking. “But at least I’m fun.”

Your laughter echoed in the air, and Wanda turned abruptly, marching away with firm, calculated steps. Fun, she thought, her teeth clenched. She doesn’t need fun. She needs focus. She needs me.

Yelena was a symbol of everything Wanda despised and feared: chaos, disobedience, questioning. And now, she had you. She made you smile. She made you open up in a way Wanda couldn’t.

Wanda took a deep breath, trying to compose herself while watching from afar, her nails digging into the palm of her hand. She knew it was irrational. But, at the same time, she knew she’d do anything to keep Yelena away from you.

[...]

Your shift at the library was coming to an end, and you hadn't seen the woman who haunted your dreams. In fact, you hadn't seen her since Sunday at church. Instead of offering you personal mentoring, Wanda had simply written what you should study and made a few comments on your essays.

Had you done something? Hurt her? Made her angry? Had something happened?

Your thoughts vanished the moment her figure appeared in front of you, as though she had been there all along. Wanda stood in front of a bookshelf, seemingly deep in thought.

“Wanda, I–” You tried to speak, but she turned to face you, making you stop mid-sentence. Wanda shot you an enigmatic look before turning back to the shelf, picking up a few books and placing them on your desk.

"Your shift is almost over," she said. Hearing her voice after a few days made your heart race. "Do you think you could help me take these books to my place? The boys have a test next week, they need to study."

"Y-yes," you replied, mentally kicking yourself for stammering.

Wanda's eyes brightened for a moment, a smile curling at the corner of her lips.

"I'll wait for you in the car, then," she handed you the keys and walked out.

The weight of the moment seemed to hang in the air as Wanda left, leaving only the trace of her overwhelming presence behind. You held your breath for a moment, the cold library keys in your hand, your mind spinning in a whirl of questions.

Why had she been distant these past few days? Why did she seem so... different now?

You finished organizing your things, carefully locked the door, and walked toward the parking lot, the weight of the books in your arms mirroring the heaviness in your chest. Wanda’s car was there, parked under the shade of a tree, and she was in the driver's seat, the window rolled down, her eyes focused on something in the distance.

As you approached, Wanda looked at you and gave a slight smile, but there was something in her gaze that unsettled you—a glimmer that felt both warm and dangerous.

"Get in," she said, her voice low and soft, almost an invitation, yet with the firmness of an order. You obeyed, placing the books in the back seat and sitting beside her. The silence that followed was thick, but not uncomfortable; it was charged, like a rope stretched to its breaking point.

Wanda drove with calculated ease, her fingers holding the wheel with the same delicacy with which she seemed to handle everything in life. Occasionally, she’d glance in your direction, and you could feel the intensity of her gaze, even without turning your head.

“You’ve been working well,” she said, finally breaking the silence.

“Thank you,” you replied, trying to sound neutral, though the stammer almost came back.

The silence reigned all the way to her house. “We’re here,” she announced, parking in front of a house that looked straight out of a catalog: an immaculate garden, a white fence, flowers perfectly aligned.

She got out of the car with grace, and you followed, balancing the books in your arms while trying not to trip.

The house was as perfect inside as it was outside, decorated with a flawless balance of coziness and sophistication. The sound of children laughing echoed in the distance, but Wanda moved with calm, guiding you into the living room.

"Leave the books here," she indicated a table, and you obeyed.

When you turned to her, Wanda was standing closer than you expected, arms crossed, that unreadable look on her face again.

"Thanks for the help," she said, and there was something in her tone, a softness that almost felt… maternal.

Billy and Tommy pulled her attention, asking for help with a question about the test. Wanda leaned toward them, answering with patience and care, the kind of mother any child would dream of having. But even while talking to her sons, her thoughts were on you, and the overwhelming desire to have you completely under her control surged inside her like an unstoppable tide.

She stood up again when the boys returned to the living room, turning back to you with a gentle smile—a smile that masked the storm raging inside her. “The boys will be fine now. Do you want something to drink?”

You hesitated, the discomfort obvious. “I think I should go, Wanda. I don’t want to impose.”

"Impose?" she repeated, almost laughing. But there was something in her laugh—something tense. “You would never impose on me, Y/n.”

The softness of her words made something stir inside you. You wanted to believe it was just kindness, but you knew it was more than that. There was an intensity in her eyes that held you captive, pulling you in like a magnet.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice low.

“Then don’t say anything,” she murmured, almost like an order. She moved closer, her steps slow, deliberate. “Just… stay here with me.”

Something inside you screamed that you should leave, that you should escape this overwhelming sensation, but your legs wouldn’t move. It was as if she had already wrapped you in an invisible web, and you couldn’t break free.

“And Vision?” Of all the things, that was the first thing you managed to say.

"Business trip," she said, placing a cup of hot chocolate on the table while she sipped a carefree glass of wine. You shot her a curious look. “What?”

“Hot chocolate? Are you serious?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, with a hint of humor in your question.

“You’re too young for wine, and coffee is out of the question,” she replied, while pouring herself more wine—almost like a playful challenge.

“I drink coffee,” you countered.

“The person who offered you that should be arrested. Or killed,” she smiled behind her glass, the corner of her lips curling into a questionable humor.

You laughed, even though you tried to hold it back. Her lighthearted comment was an unexpected break in the tension that always seemed to exist between you two. Holding your cup of hot chocolate, you took a small sip and narrowed your eyes at her, pretending to disapprove.

“I’ll pretend this isn’t just jealousy because I’m young,” you said, arching an eyebrow.

Wanda smiled crookedly, a smile that seemed to light up the room. “Maybe I just like to tease you,” she said, joking, but there was something behind the teasing, a depth you couldn’t ignore.

You shook your head, smiling, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks. “Well, mission accomplished.”

She tilted her head, watching you with curious eyes, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re funny when you’re uncomfortable, you know?”

“That’s a strange compliment, Wanda,” you replied, taking another sip of the hot chocolate. “Or are you saying you like to see me uncomfortable?”

“I like to see you any way, my sweet,” she answered casually, but the intensity in her gaze contradicted the lightness of her words. You felt your stomach churn with the implicit confession.

“That was… forward,” you murmured, looking away. “It’s not common to hear that, you know?”

“Maybe because no one else has had the courage to say it before.” Her reply came quickly, almost as if it had been rehearsed. She took another sip of wine, her eyes still fixed on you. “But I’m not like the others, Y/n.”

You looked at her, studying every detail: the green eyes that seemed to pierce your soul, the way she held her glass with a confidence that seemed natural. “No, you’re definitely not like the others,” you said, before you could stop yourself.

For a moment, silence fell between you two, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, laden with something neither of you wanted to name. Then Wanda broke the moment, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, as though studying you.

“Tell me something,” she said, suddenly changing the subject. “Something no one else knows about you.

“Something no one else knows?” you repeated, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah. A secret. A memory. Something big or small, it doesn’t matter. I want to know more about you,” she explained, her voice so soft it was almost hypnotizing.

You hesitated, feeling vulnerable under her gaze, but at the same time, there was something inviting in the way she waited for your answer. “Okay… I used to collect rocks when I was a kid,” you finally said, laughing softly.

Wanda raised her eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Rocks? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, laughing again. “But they weren’t just rocks. Each one had a story. Some were ‘magical,’ others ‘cursed.’ I’d make a huge drama about it.”

She laughed softly, her laughter’s melody seeming to fill the space around you. “That’s adorable. And it makes sense. You seem like someone who would bring rocks to life.”

You protested, but her laughter was so contagious, and soon you were laughing too.

As the laughter died down, she looked at you with a soft, almost protective expression. “See? This. That smile. That’s what I’ve wanted to see for so long.” Wanda whispered, her eyes fixed on you—clearly enchanted.

You remained silent, feeling an unexpected warmth spreading through your chest. Something was changing, deepening between you both, but you didn’t know whether to be afraid or simply accept it.

The conversation began softly as Wanda sat next to you on the couch, the dim light of the late afternoon casting soft shadows around the room. She watched you as if trying to see beyond the words, beyond the silence. When she finally broke the moment, her voice was calm, yet direct.

“Tell me more about your old life. I’d like to know you better,” she asked, her head slightly tilted, her eyes attentive.

You looked away, your fingers nervously playing with the sleeve of your sweater. “It’s complicated.”

Wanda didn’t relent. “I want to understand you. I want to know what happened to you. I can see there’s something weighing on you, something you carry alone.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her persistence. Something in the maternal tone of her voice, in the gentle firmness of her presence, made the words slip out before you could hold them back. “I was sent to a Catholic boarding school in England when I was 17.”

Wanda raised her eyebrows, surprised. “A Catholic boarding school? That sounds... ironic, coming from your family.”

You laughed, but the sound was bitter. “Yeah, ironic is one word for it. They wanted to ‘correct’ me.” You made air quotes with your fingers, sarcasm clear in your voice.

She fell silent, giving you space to continue.

“I was accused of… well, trying to kiss a girl named Sharon. Some neighbors saw us talking too close to each other and decided to make up their stories. That was enough to make my parents panic. And just like that, there I was, with a one-way ticket to a nunnery, where I was supposed to learn to be a ‘good girl.’”

Wanda sighed, leaning in a little closer, the warmth of her presence a surprising comfort. “And there? How was it?”

You hesitated, but something in her expression — the patience, the care — encouraged you. “I met Kate there. She was the rebel, the girl who did whatever she wanted and defied the rules. And me? Well, I was the shy one. She teased me all the time, laughed at my seriousness. Until one day, behind the chapel, she kissed me.”

Wanda’s eyes brightened with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. “And then?”

“Then, one of the nuns caught us. Kate denied everything, of course. Said I forced her, said I was a freak. I was punished. They said I was a bad influence on the other girls.” Your voice trembled as you relived the moment, but you kept going. “My family stayed silent. No one defended me. It was as if they finally had an excuse to give up on me.”

Wanda reached out, softly touching your hand, the warmth of her skin against yours anchoring you. “They were wrong,” she said, her voice firm and full of emotion. “Everything about them is wrong, Y/n.”

You looked at her, your eyes welling up. “Why do you care so much? Why do you want to know?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she leaned in closer, enveloping you in her arms. Your head found her shoulder, and she began to stroke your hair with gentle fingers. “Because I see you, Dorogaya. I see how special you are, even if no one has ever told you that before.”

You felt the tears fall, but also a calm that seemed impossible. “I just... wanted to be enough.”

She cupped your face with both hands, lifting it so your eyes met hers. “You are enough. You always have been.”

Before you could respond, her lips met yours. The kiss was soft, but firm, filled with a security you hadn’t felt in so long. There was no rush, no urgency. Just warmth that seemed to envelop you, as if she were trying to convey everything words couldn’t.

Wanda’s hands moved to your waist, gripping your curves.

“Stick your tongue out, Dekta.” She stroked behind your ears, sending a shiver through you.

You moaned softly when you felt Wanda’s hungry tongue meet yours, coaxing you to give in. Her alcohol-tinged, aphrodisiac breath intoxicating you. It was so intense, so distinct… you never thought you could be touched like this, in such a… possessive way.

Your nails dug into Wanda’s back, trying to hold onto something, anything as the kiss deepened.

It didn’t take long for Wanda to tug at the hair at the back of your neck, making the kiss addictive, and soon she was pushing you back, making you lie on the sofa cushions, coming over you. Her body became her only focus — and seeing you so vulnerable, she simply couldn’t resist.

Bold and full of lust, Wanda slid her hands under your shirt, her fingers touching the skin of your stomach, making you gasp. Her plan was to make an even bolder move, grabbing your perfect breasts and squeezing your nipples under the fabric of your bra. However, a noise from upstairs made you both pull apart abruptly.

The kiss had been a spark in the fog Wanda hadn’t even realized surrounded her. It felt as though something dormant inside her for years had finally awakened. Her days with Vision, her impeccably perfect routine, her polite smiles to her children — it all felt like it had been lived in black and white.

But your touch, your lips, brought color.

Wanda felt a warmth radiating from her chest, spreading through her entire body. It wasn’t just desire; it was something deeper, something that made her feel alive in a way she thought she’d forgotten. The world around her seemed to vanish, leaving only the sensation of you, so close, so genuine.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes remained locked on yours, as if trying to memorize every detail. A small, almost shy smile appeared on her lips. Not the smile full of control she usually wore as armor, but something genuine, unarmed.

You made her realize there was something more to feel, more to live. That the safety and routine she knew maybe weren’t enough. The instant your lips met hers, Wanda realized she didn’t want to go back to black and white. You were her reason to see the world in color again.

You swallowed hard, trying to compose your thoughts, but doubt began to grow inside you. “Wanda…” Your voice came out low, almost pleading. “What does this mean? What are we doing?”

The woman pulled back slightly, still watching you, her dark eyes reflecting the embarrassment that consumed you. What was she looking for in you? What were you seeking in her? You wanted answers but didn’t know if you were ready for them.

“I…” and for the first time since meeting Wanda, you saw her falter. “I’m tremendously attracted to you, Y/n.” She confessed. “Would you be interested in having an affair?”

Your heart raced, pounding frantically in your chest. Wanda’s proposal made your mind spin in a whirlwind of thoughts. The air between you two felt charged with electricity, the tension almost palpable. Her gaze didn’t leave yours, keeping you locked in the intensity of her dark eyes.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “I... You’re a married woman, Wanda.” Your voice trembled, reflecting the confusion and desire fighting within you.

Wanda slightly tilted her head, a sad smile appearing on her lips. “And you think I don’t know that?” Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of exasperation. “You think I don’t think about it every time I look at you, every time I feel this thing inside me?”

"Thing?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

She took a step forward, closing the distance between you again. "This... need I feel... This connection. It's different from anything I've ever felt before, Y/n."

Your mind screamed to pull back, but your body remained still, absorbing every word. "And Vision? Your children? The church?"

Wanda looked away for a moment, as if the mention of them was an open wound. "They are my family, my duty! But you... you came out of nowhere and became something I can't ignore. I don't want to ignore it."

"This isn't fair." Your voice faltered, a lump growing in your throat. "It's not fair to them. It's not fair to me."

She sighed deeply, and for a moment, you saw a vulnerability in her that seemed impossible. "I know. And yet, here we are, aren't we? I can't get you out of my head, Y/n. You've made me question everything... All the things I thought were right, all the things I thought I knew about myself. And if this is wrong, then... I don’t want to be right."

The silence that followed was heavy. The world around you seemed to fade as you fought against the whirlwind of emotions Wanda had triggered in you.

"I don't know if I can do this," you finally admitted, your voice fragile.

Wanda came closer, and this time, her hands found yours. The warmth of her touch was undeniable, as comforting as it was overwhelming. "I don't expect you to have all the answers right now," she said, almost in a whisper. "But I know that this, whatever it is between us, is real. And I'm willing to risk anything to find out."

You looked into her eyes, searching for something that could help you decide. And, in the end, you found the security you had longed for—not in the situation, but in her.

"I... accept." Your voice barely made it out, but Wanda heard it.

The smile that lit up her face was like the sunrise after an endless night. A smile so bright and true that it made you want to lose yourself in it, want to preserve it at any cost. And in that moment, something broke inside you—or maybe something finally clicked into place. The weight on your chest wasn’t doubt, nor fear. It was something deeper, something more dangerous. It was your own obsession.

What would you do to keep that smile? To hold onto that warmth, that feeling of being seen, of being desired, as something precious? Everything? Maybe.

"I accept," you repeated, this time more firmly, your voice echoing like a promise in the dark room. Wanda smiled again, but now there was something different in the shine of her eyes, as if she knew she had won you over, that she had pulled you into her web and there was no escaping now. "But I've never done this... None of this." You let out a shy whisper. Your confession sounded like a timid prayer, a whisper of vulnerability that Wanda knew she would never forget.

She watched every nuance of your face—the way your eyes avoided hers, how your restless hands searched for something to hold onto, and the blush that rose on your cheeks. So inexperienced, so raw. A blank canvas waiting to be painted, molded by her hands.

It was more than attraction. It was power. A power that enveloped her like a sweet, intoxicating poison, while her mind simmered with ideas of how to guide you, how to corrupt you. Wanda wanted to be the only one to show you everything—the possibilities, the sensations, what desire really meant.

"This is good," she finally murmured, moving closer, her voice low and almost maternal. "It means you're all mine to discover."

She raised her hand, the touch of her fingers running smoothly down the side of your face, almost as if she were examining a precious jewel. You leaned slightly into the touch, like a flower seeking the sun, and the innocent gesture made Wanda bite her lip, struggling to contain the growing desire.

"You trust me, don't you?" she asked, with a softness that masked the true weight of the question.

Your eyes finally met hers, hesitant but sincere. "I trust you," you answered, and Wanda felt a shiver run down her spine.

That trust, so freely given, so unprotected, made her want to devour you, and at the same time, protect every piece of your soul. She knew she was treading dangerous ground, but the desire to shape you, to be the first and only one to mark your skin and your heart, was stronger than any sense of reason that might still exist.

She held your face gently, her thumbs tracing invisible lines on your cheeks with the tips of her fingers. "You don't know how much it means to hear that, my girl," she murmured, as if trying to keep every word deep within her soul.

"I know," you replied, because you knew. You knew how it felt to fall into someone else's abyss, how it felt to be willing to be consumed just to keep feeling the warmth they brought.

Her lips met yours again, but this time the kiss was more intense, as if Wanda was trying to leave a mark, as if she were trying to brand you in a way that could never be erased. You responded with the same hunger, holding onto her wrists as if afraid she might disappear.

She pushed you hard back, and you hit your hip on the corner of the table—what would give you a bruise later, but that mattered little when you sucked in and received Wanda’s demanding tongue into yours.

The woman lifted you up, making you sit on the table so she could press her palm against your pussy, and you moaned, muffled by the kiss as you bit her lip and she gasped.

You didn't have much experience, but you knew this feeling was not common. A kind of dangerous desire to feel, it was corrosive and you could see control slipping through your fingers like trying to hold beach sand.

When the air ran out, the separation was necessary, and you could hear Wanda protesting quietly. Pressing your foreheads together, still panting, you held her gaze, feeling your heart beat like a drum in your chest. "You make me feel like there's nothing else in the world that matters."

It was true. It was dark, it was reckless, but it was true.

You knew you were stepping into dangerous territory. But looking at Wanda, with her eyes burning with emotion and her fingers still tracing your skin, you also knew you were willing to risk it. Even if that meant burning.

Wanda tilted her head, still so close to you that the heat of her breath brushed your skin. The smile on her lips was something between satisfaction and a veiled challenge, as if she were fully aware of the power she held over you—and relished it.

Yelena... the name wouldn't leave the woman's mind, taking her to a limbo of insecurities and uncertainties she didn’t even know she had. Making her feel fear. Yet now, the girl was nothing more than a private joke.

How could she think someone so insignificant could steal you from her? That she could destabilize what Wanda was trying to build with you? It was almost adorable how she still didn’t understand. Wanda let out a smile, almost indulgent, still lost in thoughts—while her fingers caressed your neck.

Yelena.

She had no idea how much time she was wasting. Wanda wasn’t just attractive, she was necessary, the missing piece in your life, the one who could give you everything you needed—or rather, everything you hadn’t yet realized you needed. She knew exactly how to dominate, how to guide, how to make you feel that you couldn’t live without her. And Yelena... Yelena was just a passing obstacle.

The anger of seeing someone else approach you, even if only with words or looks, was a flame Wanda preferred not to feed. She didn’t need it. But all insecurity was gone when you gave yourself to her in such a... complete, raw way.

Wanda had something deeper with you. Something more lasting. Something that couldn’t be shaken.

She could try as much as she wanted, thought Wanda, with a satisfied smile. But you, Y/n, are already mine. And that... that is something neither she nor anyone can change.

The feeling of control, of being the only one to offer security, warmth, and pleasure, filled Wanda like a drug. She knew you didn’t need anything else. Nothing but her. As she looked at you intently, the thought lingered: She can try... but you've already given in. "I'm the only one who can give you what you want." And that made her smile again. Because, in the end, Yelena could never compete with what Wanda knew she had in her hands.

In that moment, Wanda was like a spider finding an innocuous corner to weave her web. The longer she spent weaving, the more fabulous her construction became, though few noticed—her threads were almost invisible. A spider doesn’t need to exert effort or leave her place to feed—in absolute silence, she waits for her prey to approach and get caught in her web, so she can devour it.

~*~

Y/n, you'll be devoured.

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @3liyuh @rosekjsses @3liyuh @idkwhatever580 @valentine585 @beggingonmykneesforher @trindad2k

#mommy wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #mommy k!nk #mommy k1nk #wanda x you #lgbtq #lgbtqia #bd/sm brat #bd/sm kink #bd/sm community #sapphic #lesbian #lesbianism #wlw ns/fw #wlw post

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skyrigel · 9 months ago

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Grim Reaper! Simon x f!reader | tw: death

Grim Reaper! Simon who's supposed to take you away, between life and death, after and before, here and gone.

Grim Reaper! Simon who watched you all day, couldn't help the cold dread that clouded him because you were so full of life, despite the mess, you woke up and made your coffee. Choosing your clothes and saving that very expensive dress for some other time, some special day — not knowing this is the last, your most special. Instead picking on that shirt you loved for it's colour, not knowing it would end up only red.

Grim Reaper! Simon who stood helplessly when life was squashed out of you. One moment of extreme pain and then nothing at all. People screaming and pitying and murmuring, while you clutched your chest and raised above, looking around — blinking and confused, until you looked down and your pupils widened. Oh..gone.

Grim Reaper! Simon who clasped your hand as you cried and lamented, a life you hated so much and yet you loved it just the same. Glancing back at the flesh, hands outstretched as if begging you to not leave, same eyes, same face, same fucking everything — just lifeless.

Grim Reaper! Simon who held your soul as you wept and sobbed, it wasn't your fault...you were just trying to save the puppy, it wasn't — but now you were dead. No prayer would count. And these people around you, they're just watching your lifeless frame while you cry and cry.

Grim Reaper! Simon who knew how it went, one snap and you were truly gone to the other side. “T-this it it ? Is this the end ?” you sobbed more, remembering your goodbyes, did you tell you mum that you loved her, or did you tell dad his burnt toast were your favourite, did your friend knew they were so amazing and you loved them ?

Grim Reaper! Simon who could read your mind, “No. Come now.” he echoed, lifting you away from your dead body, just flesh that resembled you, all those things that made you a real person crumbled under those rubber tyre, now nothing but memories.

Grim Reaper! Simon who shaked his skeleton of a head, covered with his ghostly black hood, swaying like cloak behind him. You wouldn't stop crying, he couldn't bear that. “No, sweetheart.” He traced your jaw, letting those tears vapour in a whoosh,“Not yet. Not so soon. Not for you.”

Grim Reaper! Simon who took you back to your apartment, letting you take it all, your fingertips against smiling people trapped behind glasses, your cat purring in her cushion, notes sticked around, empty checkboxes that would never get ticked.

Grim Reaper! Simon who held above the dress you'd saved. “You would look so lovely.” he kept, ‘You always do.’ to himself, he sat as you licked the last bit of Nutella and patted your cat, oblivious to so many things.

Grim Reaper! Simon who took you to the beach because you never got time to go one, never had anyone to go with you. Now was the time and company.

Grim Reaper! Simon who sat beside you watching the last bits of rays disappearing into nothingness, letting sky turn darker and stars twinkle in it's wake.

Grim Reaper! Simon who might be smiling just a bit when you want to go for a night walk, with no fear and no worries. He's swaying behind you, while you are almost flying with new freedom, a new sense of living or dead taking over you. There was a before that you loved but there's also an after that awaits. It's okay, Simon had said. It's going to be okay.

Grim Reaper! Simon who took you on rooftop because you wanted to see the city, the whole fucking city. “How you wanted to go ?” He found himself speaking, he never did that, it's a simple affair — guide them to the other side, that's it. You rewarded him with a smile, “Like this.” You whispered, he would hear it anyway, “I wanted to be gone like this...on my own will, L-like —” You choked on your own words, “— to jump from a very tall somthing.” and that's the irony, your life was squashed out of you, no fall and no wind smashing your face and nothing like you thought.

Grim Reaper! Simon who would grant all your wishes, “Come” he said, the second time. First, he said it when he was pulling you back while your eyes were struck on those that belonged to you, the very same but truly empty — gone before it's time.

Grim Reaper! Simon who wanted you to be happy, forever if he could help it. He took your hand in his and floated to the edge, across the horizon. There's sun rising from new beginnings, “I can't die a second time.” you laughed, a soft choke in your throat. Your stomach twisted in your guts and it's shouldn't be like this. You should feel empty and whatever void meant to be, but this knot wouldn't let go.

Grim Reaper! Simon who shook his ghost of head, tilting his head affectionately to you, “No. but you can live.”

Grim Reaper! Simon who took the fall with you, in the dress you always wanted to wear, smelling like all the things you loved, your city and salt and your favourite perfume. A smile that was forever young and true. There with him, between life and death.

Please always take care. Someone somewhere loves you so much and you mean the world to them. Please remember, please know you're loved and blessed and mean so much more than you think. Xoxo.

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bbybhr · 1 month ago

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hi! can you please write about ambessa and her wife who braids ambessa's hair before she goes to war soon. although in reality her wife is terribly worried that something will happen to ambessa. if anything, i mean fluff. (thanks in advance)

Woven prayers

MY VERY FIRST ASK THANK YOU ANON I hope you enjoy it :") no warnings just soft lover ambessa

The bedchamber was unusually quiet, the silence heavy with unspoken anxieties. The soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp cast long, dancing shadows across the silken sheets.

She was sitting on the edge of your shared bed, her posture strong and unyielding, as always, a warrior's stillness before the storm. You knelt beside her on the bed to make up for the height difference, your fingers weaving through the strands, each movement a silent prayer, a fervent plea for her safe return, back into the circle of your arms.

Though you spoke no words, Ambessa felt the tension in your touch, the subtle tremor in your hands as you clasped golden beads at the end of each braid, securing them in place like tiny, precious talismans. As you finished, your hand lingered on her neck, reluctant to break the fragile connection, to sever the last tether to this moment of peace.

The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

You took a deep breath the chamber was filled with the scent of sandalwood and steel, a familiar, blend that spoke of Ambessa's presence. Outside, the pre-dawn darkness pressed against the arched window, a silent, encroaching threat of what's to come.

Ambessa's hand rose to meet yours on her neck, her calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they traced the lines on your palm.

Then, with a quiet reverence, shebturned her head to you and lifted your hand to her lips, her eyes closing as she savored the fleeting moment of intimacy, the weight of your touch against her skin.

The gesture spoke volumes, a silent promise of her return, a vow etched in the very air of the room.

'Keep the hearth,'

she murmured after a long moment, the words was a plea in her warrior's tongue. A plea for you to guard the light that would guide her home, a trust that you would ensure the safety of yourself, her family, and the fruits of her labor, while she forged ahead into the darkness. A plea to hold onto what you shared, for she would surely return to it, to the warmth of your embrace, to the sanctuary of this room.

You answered with a tender kiss to her forehead, a silent vow of your own, a promise to protect the home Ambessa loved.

'I’ll make sure you have everything to come back to'

you murmured, your voice thick with unspoken emotion, a promise to keep the fire that lighten ambessas path to home. Ambessa pulled you into a tight embrace, her arms a steel band around you, a shield against the encroaching darkness.

'I’ll make sure to always come back,'

she whispered, her voice a low, fierce promise, a declaration that echoed in the quiet of the room, a vow that would be kept against all odds

#ambessa #ambessa reader #ambessa league of legends #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #ambessa x you #ambessa x reader #wlw #drabble #fluff

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aespabangedbang · 18 days ago

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HOLY HOLES OF SISTER KARINA

Writer's note : I am back fellow fuckers! This is a rather small one shot church story. Nothing fancy, not much work poured into it but it's good.

Tags : Full Con, Blowbang, Missionary, Anal and a lot of degeneration.

Warning : It's a DAMN SMUT, fuck yourself if you don't like smut!

Words Count : 1850

I am here in this particular Seoul church to stay cleansed from sin. Due to the city being full of impurities, here it's hard to not fall for adultery for too long.

So the church arranges special prayers once every month, quarter or week based on the level of your donation where we get to get rid of our carnal desire of sex in the holy holes of pure sisters. By dumping our sin into their holy holes we get cleansed and can remain clean from touching those ugly night street bitches comparing our delicate flowers like sisters who dedicate their life to keep sinners like us holy.

Today is the turn of sister Karina, a 25 years old otherworldly heavenly beauty and a devout who decided to solely dedicate her life to being a holy hole. Her face is the definition of angelic, her voluptuous petite body is what you call a gift and her saggy massive blisses that are hanging over her innocent heart is the main attraction.

With the father's blessings we start the praying session with sister Karina, it's about time for some holy brotherbang!

First father tells us to go bare as we start undressing ourselves and her, only leaving her veil alone. Then start oiling her as we explore her gym toned hourglass figure, tight ass and melon sized boobs. She is sharing deep kisses of blessings with all of us, our tongue getting entangled in the eternal truth of life.

Dozens of hands are roaming around and fingering her holiness until her holes get loose, nipples harden and clit protruding outside. We definitely take extra care for her boobs, kneading them like pizza dough. She is now horny, her expression wanton and she can't wait to uphold her holy hole prayer.

Then father tell us to blow bang our sister for initial cleansing, we wholeheartedly pour all our sticky sin down her gullet as we go deep in her throat, sister gawking and retching breathless as we brothers press her face against our shaved or unshaved crotch, our balls hitting her chin!

Everyone has to ejaculate once down our sister's holy mouth as part of the ritual. But our sin is so much that sister Karina can't digest it all and ends up vomiting that goes down her chest and keeps dripping like a canal down her pussy.

The father gently rubs her clean, gives her lower lips a holy kiss and licks her cleansing juice. Then order us to start the main cleansing prayer. Sister Karina is laid on a plush white bed, lying on her back in the holy missionary position as her holes pointing at us, ready to devour all our sin.

I get to go first as the highest donator in today's group. I climb on the bed, position my cock in her pussy entrance and then I thrust all the way in. Sister Karina is so tight despite dripping wet, thanks to her young and toned body. Her back arches and tongue come out like a dog in heat as I keep pounding her from get go. My hands clawing her milky mound, nipples poking my palms.

Soon I lie on her body, my hands clasping her face as I hold her whimpering mouth firm in a holy lips locked kiss, my chest squished against her holy tits and my cock going blur in her holy hole. The depravity of permissible adultery reaches boiling point as my sinful body melts together with her holy one, soon making me cum blissfully once again as I dump my sticky sin into her. She again can't contain all of sin as some immediately start leaking out her plump pink pussy.

I pull out, sister Karina is a whimpering mess now. Father reminded me I must drink sister Karina's holy squirt to get cleansed properly, so making her cum is a must. I bury my face in sister's crotch, my mouth latching on her big muffin like soft labia. My tongue tasting my own sin from her hole, my teeth biting and licking her shrine like clit to make her orgasm.

Seeing me struggling father tell me exactly where her g spots are and I immediately start to finger and lick there. "B-bless thou t-this brother" she shakily says as her back arches, crotch flies high in the air and her flood like orgasm starts. I completely latched onto her pussy this entire time, her holy sweet squirt kept shooting down my throat mixed with my salty cum. I keep pinching her clit and tongue licking inside her holy hole to prolong her holy elixir.

After cleansing me all of my sin sister Karina goes limp. Her entire body was sweating like a geyser, her pussy reddened and spewing out our mixed bliss. Her face is a mess, snot and drool leaking as she is gasping for some air. I take father's gentle blessing and get back to the seat, the next brother immediately starts pounding sister Karina's holy hole. No rest for the holy maiden's holiness, she has 12 more sinners left for cleansing today.

After 2 hours of relentless praying session all 14 of us got cleansed of our carnal sin by sister Karina. We are now blessed and free of temptation for the near future thanks to her devout holy holes. Everyone starts taking their leave but I walk to my father and say I donated an extra sum to get anal cleansing from the temptation of the sinful vice. He nodded and blessed me again for another session with her.

He helps me get her on all four because she has gone limp and half conscious after orgasming 14 times to cleanse us all. He held her ass in the air firmly, her face pressed on the mattress. I pour a lot of oil on her firm bubbly butt and into her holy asshole, fingering her rectum to lubricate. I started slapping her meaty bouncy butts as a part of the praying, leaving some bloody handprint of my devotion. Once satisfied I sinfully planted my cock on her holy entrance and thrust!

With a divine plop sound I breach her holy sphincter and go ball deep into her holy asshole, painfully stretching her 18 yo hole to its limit. The very act is too sinful, added to my own sin of desiring it, sister Karina has a hard time containing both of our sins with her holy body. She starts screaming and guttural moaning escaping her holy mouth. Her limp legs and hands thrashing around as the depth of her burning anal hell start quivering her faith.

Seeing she can't handle the praying alone, father joins us. He sits down close to her head, pulls out his big holy cock and plugs it into Karina's holy screaming mouth. He starts bobbing her head on his holy wood to comfort her into the holy chant of a drooling and blubbering mess.

He at last takes of her veil, sister's divine wavy hair falls around. Father grab a fistful of her hair, then tell me to pray in unison with him,. So both of us thrusting into and pulling out of her at the same time, making the prayer double devoting as devoted sister Karina get stretched like a sex doll in both end. Soon from the sheer intensity of the erotic prayer, sister starts cumming her blissful elixir, orgasming for 15th time for the divine cause.

We don't stop despite her constant convulsing. After a few more min of non stop praying thrust, father who didn't cum before today ends up orgasming and flooding her mouth with his blessed semen. He pulls out tired, but he keeps supporting me by pulling sister Karina in a holy deep kiss. Sister Karina's face hitting his face softly as I am still trying to cum one more time in her holy ass hole in the viceful anal praying.

Soon I end up cumming deep in sister Karina's asshole, depleting my week long saved cum completely. I pull out with another plop sound, my cum leaking out of sister Karina's breathing beat red colored gaped sphincter. Her body shivering with the bodily pain and blissful pleasure!

I pull sister Karina away from father and kiss her holy mouth to taste some of father's blessed semen. Thank you sister Karina for cleansing all my sin and my deepest desire, I am once again indebted to your holy holes. Yes, it's not my first time praying with her and definitely not going to be my last.

I gently lie or on the bed, Karina is now hardly moving or showing any reaction. The final act of praying is the father pissing on the holy sister to cleanse her of all the sin she gathered from others through praying. I tag along as we just shared the same sister together, our golden smelly shower washing away all the sin from her and making her as innocent as a new born baby.

“Father,” I ask him, "I want to live such a holy life as yours. I would like to open a branch of our church in another city as long as you give me sister Karina as the head nun.” My hand is kneading sister Karina's blisses, “You see, I have grown quite fond of her holy assets and want to keep indulging in the daily prayers with her. What do you say? Please, don't turn down this devotion!” I hold my hands.

Father looks with a blessed expression and says, “Yes my son, that's how you should spread the holiness around with your fellow sisters. Please, take her and do it. You two make such a perfect offering!” I look at Karina's sweaty spent milky white form, she has fallen into a blissful slumber after a whole day of divine work.

Looking like an angel fallen from heaven who's pelvic muscles have given in, blissfully pissing herself relieving of all the sin. A new sense of excitement knowing I can soon start praying with her daily as well as conduct holy holes with her help for my fellow brothers. My sinful cock starts throbbing, can't wait for our next cleansing!

Click clack click clack

The sound of heavy high heels from behind takes my attention. I turn back and see the head nun of this church, the most desired holy hole sister Lisa. Wearing nothing but a skimpy veil and black g string looking like she can devour all the sin in this world alone! She is coming back after a personal one on one praying session with one of the highest paying donators.

“But you have to alleviate sister Karina to the height of sister Lisa in terms of holiness for that son. Are you up to the divine call?” Father asks me like a ray of shine. My face lightened up, “Yes father yes! In this world of sin I would do anything to upload divinity, together with my Karina and other sisters!’’ My fingers are busy waking sister Karina up through holy fingering, she needs to know we are becoming one!

THE END UP YOUR UNHOLY HOLE🖕

#kpop girl group smut #female idol smut #kpop smut #girl group smut #smut #aespa smut #karina smut #aespa × reader #karina × reader #aespa karina #aespa #karina

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sourvers · 10 months ago

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THERE’S NOTHING LEFT FOR YOU (MY FATHERS LOVE)

summary: duty or family? he always did chose duty behind bittersweet goodbyes and missed birthday parties. you’ve always tried to understand. but when your husband comes home one day, your 15 year old kid decides enough is enough.

or… your child yells at their father through a tear-stained face

contents & warnings: simon & john x mom reader (separate), angst, reader's child is named, absentee father, emotional manipulation?

cod main masterlist . ao3 profile

⤷ i genuinely don't know what came over me. while i absolutely love the idea of tf141 being amazing fathers... a part of me always thinks the opposite.

JOHN PRICE

He knows he's late. Beyond late.

Night had already settled across London's horizon. The sky blanketed with an array of stars. Each of them a touch brighter than the next; glimmering down on him, smiling even.

John's momvents are gradual, unwinding. Park the car. Take the key. Unbuckle the seatbelt. Open the door. It was timed, familer, known like the spurs of energy from his only, beloved daughter and the tender warmth from his wife's arms. You exuded it: the candid, honeyed sweetness that Price indulged in, gulp after gulp.

"Dad?"

John recalled when he first held his daughter in his gritty, calloused palms. Under the hospital's white, glaring lights and your ever asture gaze, John felt the bones in his body quiver, his eyes a deep sea of glisenting blue. The world mellowed, it was only him and her: a finite stone hurtling against a blodied reality. She was so tiny. Wrapped in nothing but a blanket, her nose twitching, her body tenderly warm, malleable, innocent.

"Hey honey, how's school?"

"I didn't go to school today."

"Oh? Why?"

"Mom's sick again."

John slipped the ring on your finger for two reasons. First, he adored you. You were like stardust against his fingers, a kind of breeze he'd beg to dance with, a woman he'd kneel before when he came home, bruised and battered like a wooden doll. Second, you are shrewed, clever, and undeniably effacious. To a fault truly. John sunk his teeth deep and swallowed every drop of mellowed forgiveness until it ran dry. Untill John stopped reasoing because every father should drop their kid off for the first day of kindergarten, because he should've been their clasping your hand when you fainted for the first time, because little Jen should've had her father come with her to 'bring your dad to school' day.

"Is she in her room?"

"Why would you care?"

John stops, the warm lamp light of the living room constraints him, the bitterness in his daughter's voice echos against the walls. Against him.

"Jenzelle. Drop the attitude-"

"Or what? Or what dad?" Your going pack your bag up and leave?"

"Jen," John sighs, "You know I can't control-"

"Of course I know!" Jen heaves, throwing her hands in the air, taking another step back, "You've always told us that. Told mom that. You told me that."

Jen's face scrunches up, her lips pressed into a firm line, just like her mother-

"Don't look at me like that dad, don't."

John takes a gentle step forward, stretching his hand to her shoulder, "Honey, please. Sit, we'll talk. I'll call your mom-"

Jen swats his hand away, stepping backwards, "That's what I've been trying to do for the past fifteen years of my life."

Her words are blunt, sharp, faster than any bullet John has-

"Do you love me dad?"

John melts, his hand quivers. Jen swallows and her eyes grow red, glossy, hot. Yet, her voice is hushed, mumbled under her breath like a mere whisper. A prayer. A quit plead hidden behind her crescent smile and brilliant, bright eyes.

John swallows, "I love you and your mom more than anything in this world."

Jen squints, as if gazing at a puzzle. "Then where were you dad? I know it's stupid but-" Jen huffs, hastily wiping the tears from her face, gazing to the ground before glaring straight into John's eyes, "You said you'd keep me safe. That I'd never be alone."

He did say that, whispered it into her ears when she scraped her legs. When he tucked her into bed and when the fireworks shook the house. He engraved it in his heart when he held her for the first time. And after every ‘I love you’.

“Then why at the hospital, did I spent every night alone since fourth grade? Alone dad. Alone because you couldn’t answer. I took care of mom alone and you-”

She points her finger at him, John freezes.

“You love your job more than me, don’t you?

No no no baby, that’s not true.

“Jen-”

I love you baby. You, your mom. I love how you take after her. Whatever you said is not true. It’s not true. God, it’s not true.

“Honey I-”

I’ll retire, quit, drop the job whatever. But please don’t say that honey. Please.

“Don’t try dad. Don’t try.”

The stars are out; glimmering, dancing in the night sky. The paper he’s writing on is strangely wet.

SIMON RILEY

They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

"Why dad? Why?!"

It really doesn't.

Simon learned to be silent. To stitch his mouth close and chop his tongue off from the beginning of childhood leading into his career.

Neverthless, he believed his indifference- the apathetic glaze of his eyes- would never reach your eyes or his son.

"I've tried everything to make you stay- I brought home medals, took honours classes-"

"I know that."

Sean grimaces, his eyes painfully red. "Of course, you knew," he seethes, "You always seem to know everything!"

Simon was taught not to flinch or cower, his back straight and stiff. Accompanied by flat indifference.

Simon still smells the savoury aroma of dinner: its scent lingering in the living room. He notes how the recorded player is not fully off and how there is only one hanging photo of all three of you: when Sean was born, Simon gingerly cradling him in his burly arms.

He's a ghost.

Simon recalls how twilight casted its shadows over your home fifteen years ago. How violently his legs shook; caving under his own weight when he fell to his knees before you, grasping onto your shins and knees for dear life, begging, asking.

"What if I'm not a good father?"

"You're going to be a wonderful father, Simon, don't you ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

"I don't want to hurt... I don't want to be-"

"You won't."

"You never cared about us," lashed Sean, "You were never there, and don't give me the stupid 'military' excuse."

For the first time since he arrived home, Simon spoke ever so calmly, "It is true."

"I saw the papers. I heard what you and mom were talking about over the phone."

Simon's eyes widen slightly.

"She asked you to retire dad," Sean's lips quiver, "She never asks of anything too big. You know this."

Simon did know that: how you desperately pleaded with him. At that moment, he imagined your clenched fist, the hot tears streaming down your cheeks and the grit in your eyes. The same one he spent nights picturing over and over again.

"Why dad? Why were you never just there?"

Because I'm a coward. Because I'm afraid.

"You know the answer."

Sean's bloodshot eyes stare daggers into Simon's. Acute and tenacious while he backs away, "Keep telling yourself that."

'Go call him', screamed Simon's mind, battering against his head, 'Do something, anything. Please.'

Simon stood there frozen.

A self-made ghost in his own home.

For what purpose?

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selfloverrrrrr · 2 months ago

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PLEASE PLEASE write a dubcon(?) fic about seemingly innocent reader slowly and subtly seducing Priest Gojo whenever she goes to church. One day, her family stays at the church for a little while (for a church gathering), she excused herself from her family (saying that she needs some air), but really she followed Priest Gojo into his room and manipulates him into thinking that doing the dirty with her is okay because it'll only happen once. She locks the door and they do the dirty, she tightens her legs around Gojo's waist so he can't pull out when he came. thank you in advance!!

The sin

Warnings : Priest Gojo, manipulative reader, smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, dubcon, manipulation, cuming inside, P in V, biting, size difference....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Gojo's POV

This is sin! this is sin! this is sin! I told myself. But this is not even my fault. It's just that girl. Her name is y/n. She does that every time she comes to the church. She knows what she's doing. She kneels at the pew, hands clasped together in mock reverence, but her eyes are on me. Do i realise I'm the one being tempted?

Her skirt rides up just a little when she shifts in her seat. Not enough to be indecent, but just enough for my eyes to flicker toward her—just for a second. A second too long. Oh god forgive for starting. That's also a sin. She's trying to play a dangerous game.

“Lost sheep often stray from the path,” I said with steady voice, but there’s an edge to it now, as if I'm speaking just to her. She tilted her head, lips parting in a smirk. “Then it’s a good thing you’re here to guide me… Father.” she said almost..... seductive tone. She's doing it again.

My jaw tenses. She's patient, careful—each visit to the church. A soft touch when I handed her a Bible, fingers lingering a beat too long. A confessional whispered just a little too breathy. A soft bite of her lip when she said "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned".... And I looked in the other direction.

Y/n's POV

It starts small. A touch too sweet, a gaze too long, a confession too sinful. “I’ve been having… impure thoughts, Father,” I whisper in the confessional, trying my best sound innocent. “I don’t know what to do.” On the other side of the wooden lattice, I heard him shift. Even without seeing him, I know he’s tensing, his fingers curling in his lap.

“Temptation is natural,” he says, voice smooth but slightly strained. “The Lord teaches us discipline. You must resist.” I lowered my voice, almost a whisper.....but loud enough for him to listen. “But what if I don’t want to resist?”. Silence. Heavy, charged, and oh-so-dangerous. I smirked. Maybe it's working?

The next Sunday, I wore. I approach communion, standing before him as he lifts the wafer. My lips part obediently, but instead of taking it into my hands, I let him place it on my tongue, my lips brushing the tips of his fingers.

A sharp inhale. A hesitation that lasts barely a second, but I saw it. The way his Adam’s apple bobs, the way his gaze darkens before he corrects himself. I swallowed slowly, maintaining eye contact as I whispered, “Amen.”

And when I kneel back at my pew, I didn't miss the way his hands tighten into fists, as if in silent prayer—praying, perhaps, for the strength not to sin. A small smirk appeared on my lips. But I knew, deep down, that soon enough… he will.

After two weeks

They had a gathering in the church. My family was there that night as well. I excused me telling them I needed some air. The church gathering is warm with flickering candlelight, soft murmurs of conversation, and the scent of incense curling through the air. My family is still inside, engaged in discussion with the others, unaware that I've followed him.

Father Gojo walks ahead, his long white cassock flowing behind him as he moves toward his private quarters. He doesn’t notice me at first, too lost in his own thoughts. But when the door creaks shut behind him and the lock clicks, he turns, startled. I lean against the heavy wooden door, my lips curling into something between innocence and something else.

“Little lamb,” he says, voice laced with warning. “What are you doing here?”. I stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “I needed to talk to you, Father. Alone.” His blue eyes narrow slightly, his usual playful demeanor guarded now. “You should go back. Your family is waiting.” But I didn't move. Instead, I take another step forward, my fingers grazing the wooden desk beside me. “I don’t think I can.”

He exhales, as if already sensing the danger. “You should.” I cut off his sentence “But I don’t want to.” I replied. The words are simple, but they hang between us like a curse. His jaw tightens, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “This isn’t right.” I tilted my head, eyes glimmering with something wickedly persuasive. “Just once,” I whisper. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Gojo is strong. He is trained in resisting temptation, in guiding the lost back onto the righteous path. But I knew whatever I did it’s enough to make him falter. “We can confess after,” I breathe, stepping close enough that my body nearly presses against his. “God forgives, doesn’t He?” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

I smiled. “Then stop me.” He doesn’t. My smirk deepens. My fingers trail up, ghosting over the collar of his cassock, the stark white fabric a cruel contrast against the dark intentions lacing the air. Gojo doesn’t pull away. He knows he should. But he doesn’t. Instead, his hands come to my waist—hesitant at first, then firmer. As if he’s gripping onto the last shred of control he has left.

“Once,” he mutters, almost to himself, as if saying it aloud makes it true. I nodded with a smirk. And when his lips finally crash against mine, when he lifts me and took me to his bed. Almost dragged me. Oh he’s already lost. He pushed me on the bed and deepened the kiss. Kissing me as if his life depends on this.

When he pulled away he was breathing heavily. Gasping for Air. "Oh ......oh god forgive me...... forgive me for what I'm.... I'm about to do....." He said between heavy breaths while taking off his cassock. Then he took off his shirt. His toned body flexes against the warm candle lights.

I always admired his height. But never thought he had that well toned body. Looking at his body is already enough to make me wet. "Take off your clothes" his voice broke my staring. "Huh?" I replied looking at his eyes again. "What? Did you change your mind?" He asked. "Oh ...no..." I said and unbuttoned my dress and took it off.

He grabbed the back of my bra and unclipped it in a second and crashed his mouth on my boobs. Giving it wet mouthed kisses and sucking on the nipples breathlessly. Did I make him that much excited? "Fuck!" A chocked moan came out of my mouth as my head fell back and my hand grabbed his hair.

He pressed down his hips on my thighs for some relief as he heard my moan. And I felt that. He was rock hard. Oh he really is too excited. He trailed wet kisses down towards my stomach. Then stopped. Staring at my panties. His hand reached to take off my panties. His hand was shaking.

He slowly took off my panties. He was staring. Then he closed his eyes shut. "Oh god god god .... please forgive me! Please forgive me! Please forgi-" before he could complete his sentence I cut him off by grabbing his pectoral cross and pulling him close. His face was inches away from mine.

He's staring at me. He's still breathing heavily. "You should ask for forgiveness..... after you do the sin" I whispered in his ear and slid down my right hand inside his pants. I was shocked by the length and the thickness. I wrapped my fingers around his dick and stroked it. He moaned so loudly in my ear.

"does it feel good?.... it'll feel even better if you put it inside me" I whispered. His hand reached down and unzipped his pants. His pants fell on the floor. He lined up. His hands were still shaking. I jerked my hips forward and his tip pushed inside. "FUCK!!" he almost screamed. Then his hip jerked forward and pushed the rest of the length inside.

His head fell behind. Mouth wide open. Eyes rolled back. Of course his first time in this. He'll feel that pleasure.... He started thrusting. His length was stretching me to my limit. I grabbed the bedsheet tightly. His dick was too deep inside me. I never felt like this. It feels so good. Too much good.

"f-fuck.... you're so thight......oh god.....so warm....wet... h-huh... feels so good" he managed to say between moans and thrust. He pressed down his body on mine. My hands gripped his back as he started thrusting faster. "Oh my-..... harder.... P-Please harder....huhhh" I moaned in his ears.

He started thrusting at an animalistic speed. The room filled with the sounds of moan, groan, calling each other's name and wet skin slapping sounds. His hand reached down and started rubbing circles on my clit. Pleasure filled me at the same time I was shocked that this man knows how to please a woman? Within a minute pleasure overflowed and I came.

A chocked moan came out of his mouth as he felt me cumming. My walls squeezed tightly around his length. I felt his length pulsing inside me. He was about to pull out to cum outside but I wrapped my legs around his hips tightly and pulled him close. I hugged him tightly as I felt he was cumming.

"NO NO NO NO WAIT-" he panicked. I felt his pulse the last drop of his cum. I unwrapped my legs. He pulled out immediately. "NO NO NO NO NO THIS CAN'T BE!!!! OPEN YOUR LEGS! LET IT OUT! PLEASE!" He said panicked kneeling down in front of my legs. I crossed my legs close and sat up. Gojo was looking at me with pleading eyes.

I grabbed his chin. "Look, father.... A charming, tall, hot guy like you shouldn't be a priest...... I waited for this sooooo long." I said then leaned towards his face. "You have two choices. Whether you leave all this and be mine......or I'll go out right now tell everyone what we did.... and I'll tell that you forced on me.... think about your reputation.... and I know you are too famous in this city" I said. His eyes widened..in fear? I gave his a kiss and after all this he still didn't pull away? A smirk formed on my lips.

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💕

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yuriskies · 2 months ago

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Visual Symbolism in Ave Mujica 12

One of the strengths in Ave Mujica is how well the visuals complement the story being told. The fact that animation necessarily conveys part of its story through visual means seems like an obvious statement, but some productions are definitely better at it than others. If you're interested in learning about cinematography, the theatricality of Ave Mujica makes it a pretty decent starting point. It is never particularly subtle, as every narrative beat is accompanied by a strong visual device to emphasize it. The scene composition, the objects in it, and the lighting and coloring are deliberately chosen to complement mood reversals, the relationships between characters, or even consciously reference the narrative's literary inspirations. The clear intentionality in the production team's visual staging are really instructional in how these choices work to complement stories in general. I'll share a few neat examples below the break for spoiler containment.

The episode's opening scene is a wonderful illustration of how the production team handles the visual pacing for a narrative beat, and I'll talk about it here because it also sets the wider theme for the episode, which I'll come back to in a bit. Sakiko is about to be carted off to Switzerland on her grandfather's orders. The sheltered but smothering environment her grandfather has created for her are conveyed by the desaturated tones of the scene and the claustrophobic framing of the shots. She is protected from a storm, at the cost of her personal freedom. At the same time, she muses whether this is the fate that God has chosen for her.

When Sakiko makes it to the airplane stairs, we arrive at the narrative decision point of the scene. She can either submit to her grandfather's orders by boarding, or she can reject the fate that has been decided for her. She hesitates, musing "I'm always like this. No matter how much I struggle, no matter how much I fight, everything gets swept away by the raging current." Each step to remain sheltered, to remain controlled, are a reminder of the unhappiness that following her grandfather's instructions have created.

The scene's climax is reached when Sakiko makes the decision to reject her grandfather. Sakiko says, "I'm not getting on board." There is a short shot where she reaches her decision, a slightly longer shot of her hands clasped as if in prayer to find the resolve to follow through. There is a shot of an airplane flying away, symbolizing a departure without her, followed by the turbine wash blowing the umbrella out of her butler's hands. The sequence functions as a moment of divine providence. It answers the question posed as the decision point: a decisive no. Sakiko turns and runs before we cut to the series ending theme.

The decision to swap the running position of the ending and opening themes is itself an interesting narrative choice. Lyrically, the song is written from Uika's point of view, with a pastoral verse expressing a desire for Sakiko to come to her and goth metal chorus demanding a tight, everlasting bond between the two. The verse section is marked by visually spare images symbolizing the cast's loneliness, the bridge to the chorus accompanied by images of a mansion being demolished by flames, and the chorus conveying the various ways the cast feels trapped. Notably, the last shots are Uika reaching towards the light, a hand grabbing a sheet made into a rope, and then the Ave Mujica stage. Its placement at the beginning of the episode complements Sakiko's decision: she is irreversibly burning down the world her grandfather created to follow through with her lifetime commitment to the members of Ave Mujica.

That imagery neatly cues up the next part of the episode, which establishes a bond between Hatsune/Uika and Sakiko. I won't go into as much detail here, but there are a few neat things this segment does with visual metaphor, framing, and color that I would like to talk about.

There is some really neat visual symbolism in the rose garden scene where Sakiko first encounters Hatsune. This setting is established as Hatsune's world, so it reflects her landscape. Sakiko's appearance poses them on opposite sides of the frame, and this division is mirrored by the colors of roses present. Hanakotoba, the Japanese language of flowers, is a useful key to this frame composition: red roses symbolize love, pink roses symbolize trust/confidence/happiness, and yellow roses symbolize jealousy. Hatsune's decision to leave Tokyo and give up on Sakiko is symbolized by her trimming the red roses from the trellis, and the pink roses that surround her could be interpreted as something like self-confidence in her decision to do so. The mix of all three colors on Sakiko's side of the frame represent the turbulent whirl of jealousy, trust, and affection Hatsune feels towards Sakiko.

When Sakiko announces herself, she first calls for "Uika", causing Hatsune to drop the roses and begin running. It is the invocation of her "true name", Hatsune, that brings her to a halt. This is the moment where she, like Sakiko at the airport, needs to commit to her decision. Here, the framing emphasizes Sakiko's pull on her. A single, prominent red rose at her shoulder visually outweighs the pink roses behind her. The trellis of red roses, her love, shrinks into the background to converge on Sakiko, the villa, and the yellow roses. To stack the cards in her favor, Sakiko begins picking up the dropped roses, and holds them in a way that symbolizes she has received Hatsune's love. When Hatsune says that they shouldn't be together, Sakiko firmly commits by saying, "I'm not going back". The final shot conveys Hatsune, almost free of her love, with multiple paths ahead of her in a slightly less colorful world. Behind her, there is only one path leading to Sakiko and the Togawa villa, brighter, more well-tended... and deterministic.

Although Sakiko manages to pull Hatsune back into her orbit, the ensuing conversations still have an underlying sense of tension to them. Hatsune and Sakiko are never shown directly looking at one another. The framing of these scenes use a variety of head-on close ups, shot/reverse-shots with the back of one character's head, low-angle shots at hip level, or wide shots that show them from a distance. The production team does everything but show the characters making eye contact while talking, intentionally creating a sense that they're talking at one another, not to one another. This decision also makes perfect sense in context: Sakiko is refusing to accept Hatsune's feelings of guilt and unworthiness, and Hatsune refuses to accept Sakiko's offer of forgiveness. This approach drags on so long - nearly ten minutes of runtime - that it begins to feel a little uncanny.

This tension continues to escalate until it's suddenly broken by the words Hatsune has desperately wanted to hear the whole time: "Our destinies are one. Didn't you give me your life?" After this point, the framing emphasizes their reactions to one another.

The unease created by the framing is emphasized further by the use of color in this episode. When they're shown together, the colors come across as slightly off - dark and muddy, even sickly. Before Hatsune accepts Sakiko's offer, the color choices are intense but desaturated. The color choices in these scenes might be conveying a sense of the darkness that Hatsune feels about her deception. After Sakiko makes the final decisive break with her grandfather to embrace "happiness" with Uika/Hatsune, there's a pale greenish tint to some scenes and an unnatural warmth to others. It suggests that there's still not something not quite right with their relationship.

I think the sickly lighting in the "happy" section loops back around to the central narrative theme of the episode, which constructs the idea that Sakiko is playing God. Her rejection of the fate God - her grandfather - decided on is echoed at the end with her declaration, "I have come to realize there is no need to meekly accept fate. There is no God. So, I will become God myself." There are little messianic overtones throughout the episode, like the shot of her bandaged feet to emphasize her suffering, the extended sequence of her accepting Hatsune's "sin" of betrayal (Uika even referring to herself as Judas in the lyrics of KiLLKiSS), and the direct references to resurrection in her script for the new Ave Mujica show. She has decided to become the master of her own fate, and in so doing, the fate of Ave Mujica's members.

Ave Mujica consciously styles itself after Gothic literature. Within that literary framework, the decision to play God often marks the start of a terminal descent into madness. This descent into madness is often accompanied by the narrative point where the protagonist accepts the tragedy of their fate, surrendering their happiness to the inevitability of their own hubris. The letter Sakiko writes to Tomori at the end of the episode has an air of finality to it, echoing the Gothic protagonist severing the relationship to the one they truly desire. Sakiko's Faustian bargain for the lives of the Ave Mujica crew is the hubris she invited, her fate is to nurture them in perpetuity at the cost of her own happiness, as hinted by the lines in the script Nyamu is reading.

Again, the staging drives some of these points home. The first hint that something is awry is where Uika and Sakiko are laying together in Uika's loft. Their moment together is first interrupted by Umiri bringing band business to their attention. Her text comes at the exact moment the background music shifts to its outro. As Uika gets up to make coffee, she tells Sakiko she loves her, at which point the music cuts out completely. Although we see Uika's earnest intentions conveyed through her face, Sakiko's internal dialogue is telling. She stares up at the ceiling and says "Even if I turn away from fate, from the world, nothing will change. This little world will eventually come to an end, like waking up from a dream in the morning. Suddenly, and without warning." The camera then cuts to the pair of coffee mugs, established earlier in the series of symbolic of their relationship, as Sakiko says, "This smell, I hate it."

There is also a wonderful pair of mirrored shots in this episode, one of Sakiko playing in the Togawa garden with Uika, the other with her looking out the window as she praises Tomori's strength. The first shot symbolizes Sakiko's connections to her mother (the doll and piano) while showing the two splashing water on one another behind multiple barriers (the window, the garden fence). The second shot shows Sakiko looking outside wistfully from the piano, and placing her on the other side of the barrier from Uika. She closes her letter to Tomori with, "I may not be able to do it like you do, but I will protect my band in my own way."

Taken as a whole - the unnatural coloration of their scenes together, the coffee monologue, and this paired shot function to highlight Sakiko's position as a Gothic protagonist. Her romantic overtures towards Uika are less a matter of her true feelings (which seem directed at Tomori) than they are a necessity to uphold her end of the bargain for Ave Mujica. Sakiko is performing a necessary act to coax Uika into a cage to keep watch over her fate as a member of Ave Mujica. The artifice of Sakiko's relationship with Uika doesn't make it any less real, but it does make it clear that it is not the fate she would have chosen for herself.

I honestly have no idea how to wrap this all up. Maybe one last point, not related to the visual presentation but tying the narrative points of playing God and tragic fate together, is the Gothic concept of corrupting blood. Hatsune's monologue in episode 11 suggests that the power of the Togawa family is matrilineal, as Sakiko's father and grandfather are both "adopted" into the family by marriage. This stages both the act of playing God (the power of a Togawa to force the creation of Ave Mujica) and the tragic fate that follows from that power. Her rejection of her grandfather is accompanied by the statement that he's the only one of them scared of the Togawa family. This makes sense, as her grandfather's position within the family can be jeopardized, but Sakiko's position as the true heir cannot. Her embrace of her bloodline and its corrupting influence comes at the end of the episode, when she reminds her old manager who she is: "Oblivionis of Ave Mujica - Togawa Sakiko". She off the carrot of the lead member of a top-selling stage act, but doesn't hesitate to show the stick of old money connections and power.

Sakiko's challenge to her ex-manager leads neatly into placing the opening theme at the end of the episode. Its placement symbolizes the permanent return to the managed madness of Ave Mujica's stage act, its members trapped in a funhouse mirror of their own identity constructed through Sakiko's manipulations.

#ave mujica #visual language #togawa sakiko #misumi uika

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gyu-tori · 4 months ago

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When The Reaper Weeps | K.TH

⟢ Pairing: grim reaper!taehyun x fem mortal!reader ⟢ Genre: Angst, Romance, Mortality, Second Chance

Summary: The afterlife, where death waits in shadow, Taehyun walks the line between humanity and duty, a grim reaper bound by unyielding rules and a heart he has long denied. Cold and distant, he collects souls with precision—until one last wish changes everything.

Y/N’s days are numbered, given seven days before the after life welcomes her. Her final mission is simple: mend the broken ties of her past.

As the days slip away, Taehyun’s carefully constructed world unravels. Y/N’s determination forces him to confront the emptiness in his existence. When choices arise—between rules, rebellion, and a love neither is prepared for—Taehyun must face the cost of defiance.

Will he remain the Reaper, bound to his duty, or will he weep for the first time in centuries?

⟢ Warnings: taehyun is a bit of a tsundere, mentions of death, major character death(ish), reader is already dead, let me know if I missed any!

Word count: 12.4k

The quiet stillness of the afterlife was the only constant that Taehyun had come to know. The cold winds of eternity blew through the halls of the reaper’s realm, carrying whispers of the souls he’d escorted to their final resting places. Most of them faded into nothingness, their cries for help or hopes for redemption dissipating the moment they passed beyond the veil. It was his duty to guide them, and that was all. A grim task, but one that he carried out with cold efficiency.

Taehyun’s hands, always steady, gripped the scythe tightly as he watched the elderly woman in front of him. She was fragile, trembling with fear and sadness, the weight of her approaching death finally sinking in. Her eyes met his, seeking some kind of comfort, some sign that her journey would be gentle.

"What lies beyond isn’t for you to know now," he said, his voice as cold and unyielding as the winds. The words were automatic, a rote response that he had long since perfected. There was no room for sympathy in his role, and he had learned to suppress any flickers of emotion that might arise.

The woman’s hands shook as she clasped them in front of her, a final prayer for peace on her lips. "Will it be kind? The afterlife, I mean. Will it be peaceful?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Taehyun’s gaze softened, just for a moment. He had heard that question a thousand times before, but this time, it lingered in the air, thick with the weight of her fear. "All you need to know is that your soul will rest, and that is enough."

As he raised his scythe, the motion fluid and practiced, a pang of guilt tugged at his chest, though he quickly buried it. It was foolish to care. Souls were meant to pass on. They all did.

He pulled the soul from her, watching as the light faded from her body. The process was familiar, mechanical, but for a fleeting moment, something about her lingered in his mind, something he couldn’t quite name.

As he faded back into the ether, his scythe still in hand, the brief sensation of her fear remained with him—a reminder of the humanity he had long since abandoned. The wind rushed past him as he disappeared into the void, but that fleeting moment, that brief spark of emotion, stayed behind.

It wasn’t supposed to matter. Souls moved on. They always had. So why did it feel different this time?

She wasn’t ready to die.

Y/N laid on the hospital bed, surrounded by the sterile scent of antiseptic and the hushed murmurs of the doctors outside the room. Her body, frail and weak from the illness that had taken hold of her over the past months, felt as though it were no longer hers. She could feel the pull of death, an invisible force dragging her deeper into the dark abyss, yet she fought it.

There was still so much to do, so many things she hadn’t said, hadn’t fixed. The regret was a heavy weight on her chest, suffocating in its intensity.

Her eyes fluttered open as she heard the faint creak of the door, the cold, quiet footsteps that followed. She turned her head, her vision blurry from the painkillers they’d given her, and there he stood. The reaper.

Kang Taehyun.

His presence was as imposing as it was cold, a figure of dark silhouette framed by the dim light spilling in from the hallway. His scythe, dark and gleaming, rested in his hand with an aura of finality.

Her heart skipped a beat, a mixture of fear and confusion swirling in her chest. She had imagined this moment so many times, but never like this. Never with so much unfinished business.

“Are you here for me?” Her voice was soft, weak, but there was an unshakable resolve behind it. She was ready. Not to die, but to make a wish. A wish she needed more than anything in the world.

Taehyun didn’t respond immediately. He stood in the doorway, his cold eyes scanning her. The air seemed to grow heavier, and she could feel his judgment. The reapers were not known for their compassion. They were silent, emotionless beings who did their duty without question. It was a matter of fate, of inevitability.

“Your time has come,” Taehyun said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, as though the words came from a place as distant as the very afterlife itself. “There is no place for you here anymore.”

But Y/N’s gaze never faltered. “I’m not ready,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Please... I have a request. A final wish.”

Taehyun's expression didn’t change. He didn’t care for wishes. Souls were meant to pass, and once their time was up, they moved on. There were no exceptions, no delays. It was the way of things.

“You have no time for such things,” he replied coldly, his eyes never leaving hers. “You’re wasting what little remains.”

But Y/N, though frail and nearing the end, still had strength. She pushed herself up slightly, ignoring the pain that seared through her body. Her voice became more desperate, her words sharp as a plea. “I have one wish, one thing I need to do before I go. Please. I want to fix things with my little sister. I’ve hurt her so much over the years. I need one more chance to make things right. One more chance to say I’m sorry.”

Taehyun felt a flicker of something—something he couldn’t name, something he had long since abandoned—but he pushed it aside. Emotions were for the living, and he was no longer that. He was a reaper. He collected souls. That was his purpose.

“No one gets second chances,” he stated, his voice flat and final, as though sealing her fate with the words. “You’re being selfish. There is no time for you to play at redemption. Your soul belongs to the afterlife.”

Her heart sank, and yet she did not relent. “Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Just seven days. Just seven days, and I’ll go peacefully. I promise.”

There was silence between them, an air of finality that Taehyun couldn’t shake. For a brief moment, he considered it—her request. He could simply take her soul, and it would be done. But something gnawed at him, something buried deep inside. The desperation in her eyes, the raw vulnerability she displayed. It was foreign to him. She was so different from all the others.

Taehyun's eyes narrowed, his hand tightening around the scythe. He could feel something in the pit of his stomach—something unshakable, a shift in the air, as though fate was tugging at him. He stepped back from the bed, the weight of her gaze following him.

Before he could speak, a voice rang out from the shadows.

"Taehyun."

A figure emerged from the corner of the room. The head reaper, Soobin, appeared like a shadow in the doorway. His presence was commanding, his eyes sharp with wisdom.

"You're being too hasty," Soobin continued, his gaze flicking from Taehyun to Y/N, then back to the reaper. "She’s not asking for much. Seven days. A mere week. Let her have it."

Taehyun’s gaze flickered, his face betraying the smallest hint of surprise. "You can’t be serious. We don’t give second chances. We don’t interfere with fate."

Soobin’s expression softened ever so slightly, a touch of sorrow in his eyes. “Even we were human once, Taehyun. We understand what it means to want redemption. To feel the weight of unfinished business.”

The words struck Taehyun like a physical blow. He had long since buried his humanity, and yet... something in Soobin’s tone made him question his certainty.

"You’ve always followed the rules," Soobin continued, his voice calm but firm. "Perhaps it’s time to let her try. Seven days. That is all she asks."

Taehyun stood in silence, his hand tightening around the handle of his scythe. A storm of conflicting emotions churned inside him—frustration, confusion, and the gnawing sense that he was being forced into something he couldn’t control.

Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the decision had crushed him. “Fine,” he muttered. “Seven days. But if she wastes this opportunity, I will return her soul without hesitation.”

Soobin’s expression softened just a fraction. “You’ll do well, Taehyun. Just remember... there are things even reapers can’t ignore.”

With that, Soobin disappeared back into the shadows, leaving Taehyun alone with Y/N once again. He could feel the weight of her gaze, the silent hope in her eyes. Something had shifted—something he wasn’t sure he understood. But the words were out, and there was no turning back now.

"You have seven days," Taehyun said, his voice colder than ever. "Do not waste it."

Y/N nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I won’t," she promised.

And so, Taehyun’s reluctant task began.

Taehyun stood by her side, watching in silence as Y/N gathered what little strength she had left. It had been a few hours since Soobin had granted her seven days to fulfill her wish, and though Taehyun was reluctant to admit it, he found himself watching her more closely than he had ever watched any soul before.

Y/N was different. She wasn’t like the others. The other souls he had collected were often resigned to their fate, accepting the inevitable with a quiet grace, or they fought with fear in their hearts, their cries drowned out by the pull of the afterlife. But Y/N was determined. There was no giving up in her. She had an energy about her that felt almost... alive, despite the state of her body.

He had barely said a word to her since the agreement was made, the silence between them stretching like an endless chasm. He had his orders, and he intended to follow them. Seven days. That was all she had. Seven days to fulfill a wish that had little chance of succeeding.

"You’re supposed to be my guide, right?" Y/N’s voice was soft but filled with determination.

Taehyun glanced at her, his face unreadable. "I’m here to make sure you don’t waste the time you've been given." His tone was clipped, formal. He didn't owe her anything more than that.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with an expression that was equal parts challenging and weary. "How can I not waste it if I don’t even know where to start? I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just... trying to find my sister."

Her words were heavy, and despite his best efforts, Taehyun could feel a flicker of something in his chest—something like sympathy, but not quite. It was a feeling he had long since buried, and he quickly stamped it down, pushing it into the deepest corner of his mind.

"Start by listening to me and following the rules," he replied curtly, avoiding her gaze as his hand tightened around the scythe’s handle. “You need to stay out of trouble. No unnecessary interactions with the living. No distractions.”

She nodded, though her face was still clouded with doubt. “I understand.”

But Taehyun could see the doubt in her eyes. She wasn’t the kind of person who could follow rules so easily. He could already tell she wasn’t going to let go of her mission that easily. It didn’t help that the very concept of human emotions—the ones she clung to—puzzled him. He had seen them before, but he didn’t understand them. They were irrational, unpredictable, and they often got in the way of his work.

As they walked through the shadowed streets of the city, the weight of her sadness settled heavily in the air. Her body, still frail from the illness, moved slowly, but her determination was unmistakable. She refused to stop, her mind set on finding the one person who had once meant the world to her.

Taehyun’s gaze flicked from her to the quiet streets around them, his senses alert. The afterlife always felt close in moments like this—like the very air around them was charged with the weight of the dead. Souls wandered the streets in their ghostly forms, unaware of their fate, and Taehyun couldn’t help but wonder if they, too, had once been as driven as Y/N. Driven by love, regret, and unfinished business.

As if on cue, they encountered someone who was anything but quiet.

From an alleyway, a figure emerged—a tall, charismatic soul with an air of defiance around him. His eyes, gleaming with mischief, met Taehyun’s with an expression that could only be described as smug.

“Ah, what do we have here? A reaper and his charge, how quaint.” The man smirked, leaning casually against the wall.

Taehyun’s posture immediately tensed, the air around him growing colder. “Yeonjun,” he said in a low voice, his eyes narrowing. “I told you before—stay out of my way.”

Yeonjun chuckled, unbothered by the threat in Taehyun’s tone. “Oh, I’m just passing through. I don’t want to get in the way of your little... assignment.” He turned his attention to Y/N, a grin spreading across his face. “But I’m curious. Are you really going to follow a reaper’s orders? You’re not really his type, are you?”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, confusion and curiosity flickering across her features. “Who... who are you?”

“Yeonjun,” he said smoothly, “a soul who’s... well, I don’t really belong here. I’ve escaped the system. I live by my own rules.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if it were no big deal.

Taehyun’s gaze hardened, his hand tightening around his scythe. “Don’t listen to him. Souls like him only bring chaos.”

Y/N glanced at Taehyun, then back to Yeonjun. There was a hint of intrigue in her eyes, and Taehyun felt a knot form in his stomach at the way she looked at the rogue soul.

“But he’s free,” she said softly. “He doesn’t have to answer to anyone.”

Yeonjun flashed her a knowing smile. “Exactly. You see, Y/N, you could be free, too. Why bother following the rules? They don’t care about you. They don’t care about your little wish.” He turned his gaze to Taehyun, his expression turning mockingly serious. “You really think this cold-hearted reaper is going to help you? He’s just doing his job. He’ll take you straight to the afterlife without a second thought.”

Y/N hesitated, her gaze shifting between Taehyun and Yeonjun. Taehyun’s heart clenched—he could see her beginning to doubt him, doubt everything he represented. And yet, deep inside, he knew he was right. Souls like Yeonjun were dangerous. They didn’t care for anything other than their own freedom, their own selfish desires.

“You’re wrong,” Taehyun said, his voice colder than ever, the weight of his words cutting through the air like a blade. “She is not like you. She is not some rebellious soul looking for a way out. She has something to accomplish.”

Yeonjun tilted his head, his grin never faltering. “We’ll see about that. Seven days, right? That’s hardly enough time to do anything. You think she’ll be satisfied with some half-baked apology? Let’s see how this plays out.”

He lingered for a moment longer, his eyes locking with Taehyun’s one last time, before he disappeared back into the shadows of the alley.

Y/N remained silent, the weight of Yeonjun’s words hanging in the air. Taehyun could feel her doubt festering, a crack forming in the wall she had built around her heart.

He clenched his jaw. This was the last thing she needed—someone like Yeonjun planting seeds of rebellion in her mind. She had to focus. She had to—

“You’re not like him,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet but firm. “You care.”

Taehyun froze, his mind reeling. Her words were unexpected, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond.

“You care about something,” she continued, looking at him intently. “I can see it. You’re not as cold as you pretend to be.”

He felt his pulse quicken, an unfamiliar heat rushing to his face. He quickly turned his gaze away, hoping she couldn’t see the flicker of emotion in his eyes. He couldn’t afford to care. He couldn’t afford to let her see him for what he was—something more than just a reaper.

“I don’t,” he replied curtly, his voice laced with icy detachment. “Now focus on your mission. That’s the only thing that matters.”

The days were starting to blur together, each one passing with a quiet urgency that seemed to weigh heavier on Y/N’s shoulders. She had tried to reconcile with her younger sibling twice now, each attempt met with rejection. The first time, she had been met with an angry outburst, her sibling accusing her of abandoning them for years, and the second time, they had simply turned away, too hurt to face her.

Taehyun remained by her side, his presence a constant reminder of the weight of the task at hand. He said little, only offering cold and practical advice, but his silence often felt heavier than any words could be.

"You're making it harder than it needs to be," he said one evening as they walked through a desolate part of town, the fading light casting long shadows over the pavement. "You're not going to win them over by pushing. They need time."

Y/N was silent, her eyes fixed on the ground. She didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t have time. Her soul was slipping away, and every moment spent with her sibling was precious. She couldn’t afford to wait.

"I know," she said quietly, her voice breaking slightly. "But I don’t have time for that. I just want... I just want to fix everything before it's too late."

Taehyun’s lips pressed together in a thin line, his thoughts distant. "You can’t fix everything. Sometimes people... people aren’t ready to forgive."

Her words were sharp, but Taehyun caught the crack of emotion in her voice, the rawness of the hurt she carried. "I’m not asking for forgiveness. I just want a chance to make things right. To show them that I care. That I never meant to hurt them."

Taehyun stopped walking, his gaze settling on her, his usual stoic expression faltering for a moment. He couldn’t understand it—the human need to keep fighting for something that might never come to pass. He had seen enough souls over the years to know that people didn’t always get what they wanted. But there was something about her conviction, something that tugged at him, even though he was reluctant to admit it.

"I can’t promise anything," he said quietly, "but I’ll make sure you get a chance to try."

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. It was a fleeting moment of vulnerability—one that Taehyun quickly masked with his usual indifference. He quickly turned away, hoping she wouldn’t see the flicker of something else in his gaze.

Before she could respond, a voice interrupted them, smooth and teasing.

"Well, well, if it isn’t the reaper and his charge," a familiar voice called out. It was Beomgyu, a reaper whose presence was always accompanied by an air of mischief. He appeared from the shadows, his expression amused as he approached. "I hope I’m not interrupting anything too sentimental."

Taehyun stiffened, his irritation flaring at the sight of Beomgyu. "What do you want?" he asked, his tone colder than before.

Beomgyu’s grin widened as he walked toward them. "Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to see how my favorite reaper is holding up. Looks like you’re babysitting another soul. How’s that going?"

Y/N frowned at the teasing tone in Beomgyu’s voice, sensing the tension between the two. She had seen Taehyun’s frustration before, but this was different. He seemed genuinely irked.

"It’s fine," Taehyun said curtly, ignoring Beomgyu’s attempts to rile him up. "I’m doing my job."

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Your job? Is that all you’re doing, Taehyun? Just... following orders?" He let out a small chuckle. "You’ve got a good heart buried under all that coldness. Too bad you don’t know what to do with it."

Taehyun’s grip on his scythe tightened, but before he could retort, Beomgyu’s expression shifted, his teasing demeanor replaced with something more serious.

"Listen, I get it," Beomgyu continued, his voice quieter now. "I’ve been where you are. There’s a reason the rules exist. I broke them once, thinking I could save someone who didn’t belong in the afterlife. It didn’t end well. Don’t make the same mistake I did."

Y/N looked between them, sensing the weight of Beomgyu’s words. "What happened?" she asked softly, her voice gentle, yet full of curiosity.

Beomgyu’s gaze darkened for a moment, his usual mischievous attitude slipping away. "I got attached to a soul. I thought I could help them, give them a second chance. But I ended up making things worse. I lost my position. And the soul... they disappeared. Like they never existed."

There was a heavy pause. Taehyun knew the story all too well. It was one of the reasons he kept his distance from the souls he was tasked with guiding. Attachment only led to pain. But still, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder... Was there a better way?

"You’re right," Taehyun said, his voice flat, though the weight of Beomgyu’s words hung in the air. "The rules are the rules. And I’m not about to break them."

Beomgyu eyed him for a moment longer before giving a resigned sigh. "Just don’t say I didn’t warn you." With a final smirk, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving them alone once more.

Y/N watched the interaction closely, the silence between them stretching. "Is it really that dangerous to care about someone?" she asked quietly.

Taehyun’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, he said nothing. "Yes," he replied finally, his voice low. "It is. The more you care, the harder it becomes to let go. And in our world... you have to let go. It’s the only way."

But even as he spoke, he could feel the truth of it slipping through his fingers. His resolve was crumbling, piece by piece, as he spent more time with her. He had never cared about a soul this much, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

"Then why do you keep helping me?" she asked, her voice soft, but filled with a quiet challenge.

Taehyun froze, his heart skipping a beat. She was right to ask. He didn’t know why he kept helping her. He had tried to remain detached, to keep his emotions in check, but the more time they spent together, the harder it became.

"I’m not helping you," he muttered, almost to himself. "I’m just doing my job."

Y/N didn’t say anything more, but the look she gave him was one of quiet understanding, as if she saw through the walls he had carefully constructed around himself.

The next day, they were joined by Huening Kai, the newest reaper, still learning the ropes. He had joined their group without much fanfare, and despite his soft-hearted nature, he had already begun to question the ethics of their duties.

"Is it really right to just... take souls without knowing the full story?" Huening Kai asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity. "What if they still have something to do? What if they’re not ready?"

Taehyun glanced at him, the irritation that had been simmering beneath the surface resurfacing. "It’s not our place to decide," he replied curtly. "The rules are set. We don’t question them."

But inside, Taehyun couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if he had questioned them—if he had listened to the voices like Huening Kai’s, or even Beomgyu’s.

As hours and hours dragged on, each moment more suffocating than the last. Y/N’s attempts at reconciliation with her sibling had begun to feel like futile gestures, her heart breaking a little more with each rejection. Yet, she never gave up. Even when she felt the weight of failure pressing against her chest, she stood tall, determined to finish what she had started.

Taehyun watched her from a distance, his gaze sharp, but his mind conflicted. Her determination was both admirable and frustrating. She was too stubborn for her own good, too attached to the idea of fixing things. And yet, there was something in the way she refused to give up that gnawed at him, something that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, humans were capable of something more than mere selfishness.

That night, as they walked through the quiet streets, the weight of unspoken words hung between them. Y/N had just returned from another failed attempt to speak with her sibling. Her shoulders were slumped, her face drawn with exhaustion, but there was a flicker of defiance in her eyes. She wasn’t going to let it go.

"I don’t understand," she said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Why is it so hard for them to forgive me? I know I hurt them, but... I’ve changed. I’ve spent so much time regretting what happened, and yet they... they won’t even let me try."

Taehyun didn’t answer at first. He had heard her speak of her regrets before, but tonight, her pain seemed to resonate deeper than it ever had before. Her voice trembled, and for a brief moment, he found himself wondering if he understood her pain more than he cared to admit.

"People don’t always forgive," he said softly, his voice almost too quiet for her to hear. "Sometimes, they can’t. And that’s not something you can control."

She stopped walking, turning to face him. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but there was no anger in her gaze, only a quiet sorrow. "But I didn’t mean to hurt them. I never wanted this."

Taehyun’s heart clenched. He didn’t want to feel this—didn’t want to feel anything for her. But her pain, so raw and honest, made it impossible to ignore.

"Not everything is as simple as you think," he replied, his voice hardening again. "People hold grudges for reasons that go beyond your actions. You can’t expect them to forgive you just because you want it."

Y/N nodded slowly, as though accepting the harsh truth of his words. "I guess I’ll just have to keep trying, then," she said, her voice quiet but resolute. "Because I can’t leave this world without knowing I did everything I could to make it right."

Taehyun watched her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Despite himself, he felt a flicker of admiration for her unwavering resolve. But that was dangerous. Dangerous for him.

"Don’t get too attached to the idea of it," he warned her, his words cutting through the silence like a blade. "People don’t always get what they want. You need to be prepared for the possibility that you may never get the chance to make things right."

Y/N’s gaze softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I know. But I have to try. Even if it’s just for me."

Before Taehyun could respond, a sudden rustle in the air caught their attention. They both turned to find a familiar face emerging from the shadows.

Yeonjun.

The rogue soul had appeared without warning, his usual cocky grin in place as he sauntered toward them. Taehyun tensed, his grip tightening on his scythe. He didn’t want to deal with Yeonjun right now—not when things were already complicated enough.

"Well, well," Yeonjun drawled, his eyes flicking between the two of them. "It looks like you’re both still at it. How’s the soul-sitting going, Taehyun? Still keeping things under control?"

Taehyun’s eyes narrowed. "This is none of your business, Yeonjun. Stay out of it."

Yeonjun’s grin widened, his gaze lingering on Y/N. "Oh, I think it is my business. You see, I’m a bit of an expert when it comes to breaking the rules and finding freedom. And I think your little friend here could use a bit of that."

Y/N frowned, confusion flickering in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

Yeonjun’s gaze softened slightly, though his grin never faltered. "I mean, why bother with all this... pointless struggle? You’ve got the time you need. The rules don’t have to control you. You can be free, live your life on your own terms. No more waiting, no more regret. Just... freedom."

Taehyun’s jaw tightened. "Don’t listen to him. He’s nothing but trouble."

But Yeonjun wasn’t deterred. "Come on, Taehyun, don’t be so rigid. You know as well as I do that the system is flawed. Why should she have to follow rules that don’t make sense? You want to save her, don’t you? Then let her go. Let her live."

Y/N turned to Taehyun, her expression uncertain. She had been listening carefully, and part of her felt the temptation rising within her. What if Yeonjun was right? What if there was a way to break free from this cycle of duty and loss? But even as the thought lingered, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of her own promise to herself—to try, no matter the cost.

"I... I don’t know," she murmured, torn between the pull of Yeonjun’s offer and the responsibility that Taehyun had placed on her shoulders. "But I can’t just... give up. I need to finish what I started."

Yeonjun’s expression softened, his usual smirk replaced by something almost like understanding. "You’re a stubborn one. But don’t say I didn’t offer you a way out."

With that, he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving the two of them alone again.

The silence that followed was thick, the tension between them palpable. Y/N glanced at Taehyun, her heart heavy with the weight of the decision that lingered over her.

Taehyun didn’t say anything at first. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He was too caught up in the storm of his own thoughts, in the doubt that Yeonjun had planted in his mind.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence. "What do you think, Taehyun?"

Taehyun’s gaze hardened, his usual cold exterior slipping back into place. "It doesn’t matter what I think," he said, his voice low. "You’ve made your choice. Just don’t expect it to be easy."

She nodded, the resolve returning to her features. "I won’t give up. I’ll find a way."

And though Taehyun couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud, a part of him wished—just for a moment—that she didn’t have to struggle so much. That there was an easier path for her.

As the days wore on, Y/N’s resolve never wavered, but the strain was beginning to show. She still visited her sibling, trying every approach she could think of to mend the broken bond, but each attempt was met with rejection, or worse—indifference. The closer she came to the end of her time, the more desolate the world seemed.

Taehyun, on the other hand, found himself increasingly caught between the rules he was sworn to uphold and the emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge. His duty as a reaper had always been clear: to collect souls and ensure that the natural order was maintained. He’d never been one to question the process, nor had he ever felt any significant attachment to the souls he collected. But Y/N was different.

Her tenacity, her refusal to give up even when everything seemed lost, stirred something in him that he couldn’t quite understand. He hated how she made him feel. How he wanted to comfort her, wanted to ease her pain, even though he knew he shouldn’t. He wasn’t supposed to care.

One evening, as the two of them walked in silence, a heavy fog began to settle around them. The streets were deserted, the usual sounds of the living muffled under the dense mist. Y/N had returned from another failed attempt to reach her sibling. Her eyes were red, and though she tried to keep up her usual determined front, it was clear she was exhausted—emotionally, physically, and mentally.

Taehyun glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering on her for a moment too long. Despite everything—despite how much he wished he could stay detached—he found himself walking just a little closer to her.

"You should rest," he said, his voice softer than usual, though he still couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her gaze. "You’ve been pushing yourself too hard."

Y/N shook her head, the movement small and almost imperceptible. "I can’t rest," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not yet. I have to try… even if it doesn’t work out. I can’t leave this world without knowing I did everything I could."

Taehyun clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the scythe at his side. "It’s not worth it," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "Some things can’t be fixed. Some things are beyond your control."

Y/N stopped walking, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that caught him off guard. "I don’t care," she said quietly but firmly. "If I don’t try, then I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Even if I can’t make things right, at least I’ll know I gave it everything I had."

Her words echoed in Taehyun’s mind, each one striking him with the force of a thousand emotions he couldn’t name. He wanted to shout at her to stop—to give up before she hurt herself even more—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her to stop trying, not when it was so clear how much it meant to her.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade, the fog enveloping them in a quiet, almost surreal stillness. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of unsaid things.

"Why do you care so much?" Taehyun asked, his voice barely audible, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the question, but she didn’t hesitate to answer. "Because I have to," she said simply. "If I don’t care, then I’ve wasted everything. My life… my time here. I owe it to myself and to the people I’ve hurt to make things right."

Taehyun turned his head, his expression unreadable. He didn’t know what to say to that. He had never understood that kind of commitment, that kind of stubbornness. In his world, everything was final. There were no second chances, no room for regret. Souls were collected, and that was that.

But Y/N wasn’t like the other souls he had guided. She wasn’t resigned to her fate. She was fighting it with everything she had, and in that fight, Taehyun found something that threatened to unravel everything he thought he knew about the world.

"I don’t understand you," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Y/N smiled faintly, her expression a mix of sadness and understanding. "You don’t have to. You just have to let me try."

Taehyun’s heart skipped a beat at the softness in her voice. He wanted to say something—anything—to make her stop, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he found himself nodding, albeit reluctantly.

"Fine," he said, his voice clipped. "I’ll give you another day. But after that, you’re on your own."

Y/N’s eyes softened, and for a brief moment, the walls she had built around herself seemed to crack. "Thank you, Taehyun."

He looked away quickly, his face flushing ever so slightly, but there was something about her gratitude that made him feel both uncomfortable and... something else. Something he couldn’t name.

As the fog thickened around them, they continued their journey, the silence between them carrying an unspoken understanding. Despite everything, despite the rules, despite the inevitable end that loomed over them, something had shifted. And neither of them knew what to do with it.

That night, Taehyun found himself standing on the edge of a rooftop, staring at the dark sky. The moon was hidden behind a thick cloud, and the stars were just barely visible through the haze. His scythe lay beside him, its cold steel gleaming faintly in the dim light.

He thought about Y/N—about her refusal to give up, her strength, her resilience. He hated how much it bothered him. He wasn’t supposed to care about her. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything for any of the souls he guided, especially not one who was determined to defy the natural order of things.

But as he stood there, the wind ruffling his hair, Taehyun couldn’t help but wonder—what if he could help her? What if, for once, he could break the rules and save her?

But that was impossible. He was a reaper. He followed the rules. He couldn’t let himself get caught up in something as dangerous as hope.

A soft sound broke his thoughts, and he turned just in time to see Y/N standing at the edge of the rooftop, her eyes on him. She looked smaller under the vastness of the sky, her figure barely more than a silhouette against the dark backdrop.

"You’re thinking too hard," she said quietly, her voice reaching him in the still night air.

Taehyun didn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on the ground. He wasn’t sure what to say to her—how to explain the conflict inside him without betraying everything he stood for.

"I know," he muttered after a beat. "But I can’t help it."

Y/N stepped closer, her presence strangely comforting. "I think you’re the one who needs to let go," she said softly. "Not me."

The words hung between them, and Taehyun felt a strange tug in his chest—a pull that made him want to listen, to understand, even though he knew he couldn’t.

With a heavy sigh, he turned away from her, his gaze falling back to the city below. "You’re wrong," he said quietly. "Letting go is impossible."

And yet, as he spoke the words, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he might be wrong—wrong about everything.

Y/N’s determination never faltered, though the toll it was taking on her was becoming apparent. She had grown quiet, her spirit slowly eroding with every failed attempt to reach her sibling. But despite the exhaustion in her eyes, the weight in her shoulders, she refused to give up. Every time she stood before the closed door, every time her sibling looked at her with cold, hurt eyes, she stood her ground.

Taehyun, too, found himself growing weary. Not from his duties—he was as efficient as ever at collecting souls—but from something he couldn’t explain. He had always been cold, detached, but something about Y/N, something about the way she refused to back down, was slowly cracking the wall he had so carefully constructed around himself.

He watched her one evening, as she stood by a window, looking out at the world she could no longer be a part of. The soft glow of twilight bathed her figure, highlighting the exhaustion etched on her face. Her shoulders were hunched in weariness, her eyes distant, but when she turned to face him, there was still that spark of determination in her.

"How much longer do I have?" she asked, her voice tired but resolute.

Taehyun hesitated, his mind fighting with itself. He knew the rules. Seven days. That was all she had. But it felt wrong, saying it out loud. Saying it to her, when she was so close to breaking, when her resolve was the only thing holding her together.

"Two days," he said softly, his voice betraying a hint of something unspoken. "Then you’ll be… taken."

She nodded, but he could see the way her face tightened, the faint quiver in her lips. He wanted to say something to comfort her, something to ease the pain he knew she must be feeling. But the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t allow himself to say anything that might make him appear weak—because the moment he did, the moment he showed even the slightest crack in his armor, she would have power over him. And he couldn’t afford that.

Instead, he simply nodded curtly, his eyes avoiding hers. "I’ll be here, like always. If you need anything."

Her gaze softened, but there was a sadness there that made Taehyun’s heart ache in a way he couldn’t comprehend. She wasn’t afraid of death, not really. She was afraid of not finishing what she had started, of leaving behind a broken world and a broken family. And Taehyun knew, deep down, that no matter how much he tried to distance himself, he couldn’t ignore the pain that reflected in her eyes.

The next day, as Taehyun stood outside, waiting for Y/N to finish her visit with her sibling, his mind wandered back to his own past. To the things he had left behind when he died.

He had been human once—before the coldness, before the endless duty that bound him to the afterlife. He too, once had a family, friends, dreams. But all of that had been taken away from him when he crossed over to the other side, when his own soul had been claimed by the Reaper’s scythe. He had been assigned to guide the souls of others, to ensure they moved on to their next life—or to collect them when they refused. But over time, his humanity had withered. He had become numb to the pain of others, indifferent to the lives he saw pass through his hands. After all, what did it matter? He wasn’t alive anymore.

But then he met Y/N, and everything started to unravel.

She had been a breath of fresh air in a world that had grown stale, a reminder of everything he had lost but could never get back. Her strength, her kindness, her determination—all of it was so human, so raw. And it terrified him.

A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Taehyun."

He turned to find Y/N standing a few feet away, her gaze a little more distant than usual, but there was a hint of something else there too—something like peace, something like acceptance.

"You look lost in thought," she said with a small smile.

Taehyun straightened, instinctively pulling his cold mask back into place. "I was just waiting for you," he said curtly, his eyes scanning the area, looking anywhere but at her. "Are you ready to go?"

Y/N nodded, but there was a weight in her expression, a heaviness that Taehyun could feel pressing against his chest. She had come to terms with it. She had accepted the reality of what was happening, and for the first time, Taehyun wondered if she might have already given up on her mission, on the family she so desperately wanted to reconcile with.

"I’m ready," she said softly, the words almost a whisper. "But I wanted to thank you… for everything."

Taehyun’s brow furrowed slightly. "For what?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of confusion.

"For being here," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. "For guiding me when I didn’t know what to do, for not leaving me to face this alone."

He was silent for a moment, the words taking him by surprise. He hadn’t expected gratitude. Not from her, not when he had done nothing to earn it. He had only done his job, after all. It wasn’t as if he had any choice in the matter.

But then, for a brief moment, his eyes softened. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but Y/N caught it.

"I’m just doing my job," Taehyun said, trying to brush it off, but his voice was softer than usual, almost as if the words themselves were reluctant to leave his lips.

Y/N shook her head, her eyes sad but full of something else—something deeper. "You could’ve just taken me when my time was up," she said, her voice steady despite the emotion behind her words. "But you didn’t. You’ve been here, watching over me. You didn’t have to. And I know it’s not easy for you. But you’re still here."

The words struck Taehyun harder than he expected, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar sensation. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

"I’m not a hero, Y/N," he said finally, the words almost a whisper, as if he were trying to convince himself more than her. "I’m just a reaper. This is what I do."

Y/N’s eyes softened, and for a brief moment, she reached out, her hand brushing against his arm in a gesture of comfort.

"I know," she said quietly, her gaze searching his face. "But you don’t have to be just that. You can be more."

The moment lingered between them, a quiet connection that neither of them knew how to navigate. For Taehyun, it felt as if the world itself had paused, as if he were standing on the precipice of something he couldn’t understand but could no longer deny.

With a final, lingering glance, Y/N turned and began walking, her steps heavy but steady. Taehyun stood still for a moment longer, staring after her, his thoughts in disarray. He had spent so long keeping everything at arm’s length, convinced that his role as a reaper was all he needed to fulfill. But as the days dwindled and Y/N continued to fight, he found himself questioning everything.

He had never been one to defy the rules, but for the first time, he wondered… what if, just this once, he could break them? What if, just this once, he could save her?

With a bitter sigh, Taehyun followed her, unsure of what would come next, but knowing deep down that whatever it was, it would change everything.

The next day arrived with an oppressive silence hanging in the air. The world seemed to hold its breath, as if even the universe itself was waiting for Y/N to complete her mission or for the inevitable moment when she would be taken. But Y/N wasn’t ready to surrender, not yet.

She had spent the morning pacing, trying to think of another way to reach her sibling. Her resolve, though worn thin, remained steadfast. It had to. This was the only chance she had to make things right, to repair the fractured bond before her time was up. But with each passing second, she could feel the walls closing in on her, the weight of impending death pressing down on her chest.

Taehyun was no better. Every day, as he followed her, he found himself becoming more entangled in her world—her pain, her determination, her humanity. It was the last thing he wanted. But there was something about her that made it impossible to look away. Every time she failed, every time her heart broke a little more, he felt it too. It wasn’t just sympathy. It was something deeper, something that gnawed at him from the inside out. And every time he looked at her, he could see it: the raw vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.

He hated it. He hated how much he cared.

But it wasn’t like he could walk away. He had a duty, after all.

That evening, Taehyun watched from a distance as Y/N stood at the edge of a small park, gazing at the trees and the sky, her expression distant. There was a wistfulness in the way she stood, as if trying to hold on to every last ounce of life she had left. It wasn’t fair, not to her. He knew that.

He stepped forward, his footsteps quiet on the grass. "Y/N," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

She turned to face him, and for a brief moment, the flicker of something familiar passed across her features. It was sadness, but also something else—something that made Taehyun’s heart ache in ways he didn’t understand.

"You’re still here," she said softly, her voice barely audible.

"Yeah," Taehyun replied, his gaze softening despite himself. "I’m still here."

She looked at him for a long time, as if weighing something in her mind, and then, with a deep sigh, she spoke. "I’m not giving up, Taehyun. I won’t."

"I know you won’t," he said quietly. "But time’s running out."

She nodded, but there was something resolute in her eyes, something that told him she wasn’t about to give up, even if the world around her was crumbling. Her eyes met his, and for the first time since he had met her, there was no fear, no desperation in them. Only acceptance.

"Maybe," she began slowly, "I wasn’t meant to fix everything. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try. I’ll never stop trying."

For the first time, Taehyun didn’t know how to respond. He had never been good with words, never good at comforting others, especially not humans. But this… Y/N’s resolve, her refusal to bend, it made something inside him shift. For a fleeting moment, he imagined what it might be like to live with that kind of determination, to live for something bigger than himself. He didn’t know if he could do it. He didn’t know if he even had that kind of strength left in him.

But he wanted to believe. For her, he wanted to believe.

Before he could speak, a sudden rustling in the trees caught their attention. Taehyun’s senses immediately sharpened, his hand instinctively gripping the scythe at his side. He could feel the familiar presence of a rogue soul—someone who didn’t belong here, someone who had escaped their fate.

"Yeonjun," Taehyun muttered, his voice hardening as he scanned the darkening park.

Y/N’s eyes widened as the figure of Yeonjun stepped out from the shadows, his usual mischievous grin plastered on his face. "Well, well," he drawled, his eyes gleaming in the low light. "Looks like I’ve found you both. How’s the mission going, little soul?"

Y/N’s expression tightened, but she stood her ground. "I’m doing fine, thank you for asking."

Yeonjun laughed, taking a casual step forward. "Oh, I’m sure you are. But you’re running out of time, aren’t you?" His gaze shifted to Taehyun, and the grin faltered just slightly. "And you… still playing the obedient reaper? How’s that working out for you?"

Taehyun’s grip on his scythe tightened, but he remained silent. He hated Yeonjun with a passion—hated everything about him, from his rebellious attitude to the way he constantly undermined everything Taehyun stood for.

Yeonjun’s eyes flicked back to Y/N, a smirk spreading across his face. "You know, there’s another way," he said casually. "You don’t have to go through with all this. You don’t have to stick to these silly rules. I can help you escape. I can show you a life without death chasing you. No more reapers, no more soul collection. Just… freedom."

Y/N stared at him, her lips pressed tightly together as she considered his offer. Taehyun felt a sudden surge of protectiveness—he didn’t trust Yeonjun. He never had. The rogue soul was dangerous, and his offers were always coated with lies.

"No," Y/N said firmly, shaking her head. "I won’t run from this. I’ve made my choice. I’m not going to give up now."

Yeonjun’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. He took another step toward her, his tone turning more insistent. "And what about the people you’ve hurt? The family you can never make amends with? What’s your ‘second chance’ really worth? You’re just buying time, Y/N. Time you’ll never truly have. It’s all just an illusion."

Y/N’s hands clenched at her sides, but she stood tall, her voice unwavering. "Maybe I can’t fix everything. But I’ll try. I’ll do what I can, and if it’s not enough, then at least I can die knowing I tried."

Taehyun stepped forward, his voice low and commanding. "Leave her alone, Yeonjun. Your offer means nothing."

Yeonjun chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll leave for now. But remember, Y/N," he said with a pointed look at her, "there’s always another way. You don’t have to stay on this path."

As Yeonjun faded into the shadows, Y/N let out a shaky breath, the weight of his words still lingering in the air. Taehyun didn’t speak, but he could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the conflict gnawing at her. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that she was making the right choice, but the words never came.

Instead, he simply stood beside her in silence, the two of them facing the night ahead.

The clock was ticking. And neither of them knew what would happen next.

The final day arrived, heavy with the weight of its inevitability. It was a strange kind of stillness that surrounded them, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to break the silence. The clock was winding down, each tick bringing Y/N closer to the end, and Taehyun could feel it in his bones.

He had tried to prepare himself for this. He had tried to remain detached, to be the cold, unemotional reaper he was supposed to be. But as he stood beside her now, watching her take tentative steps toward her sibling’s house, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had already slipped out of his control.

Y/N didn’t speak as they walked. Her steps were slow, deliberate, but there was an exhaustion in her that Taehyun couldn’t ignore. Her hands were trembling, and the slight hunch in her shoulders betrayed the weight she had been carrying for far too long. The struggle to keep going, to stay strong when every part of her body screamed for release, was taking its toll.

She stopped before the door, hesitating for a moment as if she was unsure whether she was truly ready to face the past. Taehyun couldn’t blame her. The things she had left unsaid, the broken promises that had lingered between her and her sibling… It was a lot for anyone to carry, let alone someone who had only days left to live.

"You don’t have to do this," Taehyun said quietly, his voice soft but firm, though there was a strange uncertainty underneath it. "You’ve done enough."

Y/N didn’t turn to look at him. She simply stared at the door, her brow furrowing as she weighed her next move. "I can’t leave things like this. Not without trying one last time."

Taehyun took a step closer, but kept a careful distance. "What if it’s not enough? What if they still don’t forgive you?"

Y/N’s eyes flickered to him, and for a brief moment, their gazes met. There was sadness there, but also an incredible determination that made his chest tighten. "Then at least I’ll know I tried," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "At least I’ll know I didn’t give up."

It was the same answer she had given him countless times before. The same response that made him want to shout at her, tell her that there was no point, that she was wasting precious time. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he watched her reach out and knock softly on the door.

The moments that followed felt like a lifetime. Taehyun stood by her side, the air thick with tension as they waited for the door to open. It felt as if every breath they took was a countdown to something neither of them wanted to face.

When the door finally creaked open, Y/N’s sibling stood there, eyes wide with shock and confusion. There was a long, uncomfortable silence before they spoke.

"Y/N… What are you doing here?" The voice was cold, guarded. It was clear that the years of hurt hadn’t been forgotten.

Y/N’s face softened, but there was a tremor in her voice as she spoke. "I… I know I can’t undo the past. I can’t take back the things I’ve said or done. But I need you to know that I’m sorry. I regret all of it. And I just… I want to make things right before I…"

She faltered, and Taehyun could see her fighting to hold back tears. He knew how hard this was for her—how deeply she wanted to reach out, to close the distance that had formed between them over the years. But he also knew that no matter how much she wanted to mend things, there was a chance that it might not happen. People didn’t always forgive. Sometimes, things were beyond repair.

The sibling didn’t speak immediately. Instead, they just stared at Y/N, their expression unreadable. The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, and Taehyun’s patience was wearing thin. He wanted to tell Y/N to leave, to save herself from the heartache, but he didn’t.

He watched as Y/N swallowed, her breath shaky, and she took a tentative step forward. "Please," she said softly. "I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I just… I need you to know I’m sorry."

Her words hung in the air, fragile and vulnerable, and for a moment, Taehyun thought maybe, just maybe, they would make a difference.

But then the door slowly closed, the sound a final, painful confirmation that her sibling wasn’t ready.

Y/N stood there for a long time, her head lowered as if the weight of the world had just crashed down on her. Taehyun took a step forward, unsure of what to say, but knowing that he needed to say something.

"Let’s go," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "It’s not worth chasing something that won’t change."

But Y/N didn’t move. She stood there, motionless, her heart broken all over again. Taehyun watched her for a long moment, his thoughts in turmoil. He didn’t want to see her like this. He didn’t want to see her hurt.

But more than that, he didn’t want to see her give up.

He reached out, his hand tentative as it brushed against her arm. "Y/N…"

She looked at him then, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, and for the first time, Taehyun saw just how much she had been carrying. All the weight of the world, all the pain of her past, all the love she had been holding on to in the hope of redemption—it was all written in her eyes.

"I tried," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I really tried."

And for the first time, Taehyun understood what it was like to want something so desperately that it hurt to even speak of it. He understood the agony of seeing someone you loved slip away, of not being able to make things right.

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to comfort her. But he couldn’t let her suffer like this, not when there was still a chance. Not when there was still time.

He pulled her into his arms, awkwardly at first, but then more firmly, holding her close as if he could keep the world at bay for just a moment longer. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have the words to make this better.

But he held her, and for the first time in his existence, he felt the warmth of something human stir within him. Something deep and aching that made him realize just how much he had changed since meeting her.

Y/N let out a shuddering breath, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything in the world had paused. She leaned into him, allowing herself to feel the comfort of his presence, even if just for a moment.

But the clock was still ticking.

They both knew it.

And in the end, there was nothing they could do to stop it.

The night stretched on in silence after that moment. Taehyun held her as the weight of what was happening pressed heavily on both of them. Time was cruel in its consistency, ticking away regardless of the emotions that churned in their hearts. Y/N’s breaths were shaky, each exhale a quiet surrender to the reality that she might never get the closure she sought. And Taehyun, standing with her in that small, broken moment, felt something within him crumble—a part of himself he hadn’t realized was still intact. A part that had once believed in the value of his role, in the necessity of following the rules, of keeping his distance. Now, standing beside her, he realized that it wasn’t enough.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to care.

But it wasn’t enough to just care. She was still running out of time. And he was bound by the same cold, unwavering laws that had governed his existence for so long.

When she finally pulled away from him, her face was streaked with tears, but there was something different in her eyes. There was no resignation, no defeat. There was resolve, tempered by sadness, but it was there. She wasn’t going to give up. Not now.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she wiped her eyes. "I thought… maybe if I could just say it one more time, it would make a difference."

"It’s not your fault," Taehyun replied, his voice rough with emotions he refused to acknowledge. "Not everything can be fixed."

Y/N shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line as she took a steadying breath. "I know," she said quietly. "But I had to try. I had to do everything I could."

He nodded, his throat tight. He wanted to say something more—something that would bring comfort, something that would make all the pain, all the hurt, go away. But there were no words. Not now.

For a long moment, they just stood there, the sounds of the world around them fading into a quiet hum as the night deepened. Taehyun’s thoughts were a tangled mess, but in that moment, there was a single thought that kept returning to him.

She was still here. She was still alive, and that was a miracle in itself.

But it was a fleeting miracle.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Taehyun spoke, his voice quieter than before, but laced with a tenderness that was foreign to him. "I’ll take you back. We can’t stay here."

Y/N’s gaze flickered to him, her expression unreadable for a moment before she nodded silently. She didn’t argue, didn’t protest. There was no more fight left in her—not after everything she had done, everything she had tried to fix.

As they walked away from the door, Y/N’s head hung low, her shoulders slumped with the weight of defeat. Taehyun’s heart ached for her. There was nothing he could say that would make it better. But he had to try to do something.

"I don’t know if it’s enough," she whispered, her voice barely a breath in the cool night air. "But I did my best. That’s all I can do, right?"

Taehyun remained silent for a long moment, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He didn’t know how to answer her. But he found himself unable to walk away from her—not yet.

"You did more than anyone could," he finally said, his voice steady. "You fought for what mattered, even when it seemed impossible."

Her lips curved up slightly, but there was no joy in the smile—only the faintest trace of something like peace. "Thank you," she said softly.

As they made their way back toward the place where time was ticking down to nothing, the atmosphere around them seemed to grow even heavier. It was as though the very air was thick with finality, as if the end had already been written and there was nothing left to do but walk the path to meet it.

But there was still something left to do. Still one last decision to make.

Later that night, Taehyun found himself standing before Soobin, his form cast in the dim light of the ethereal realm where the reapers convened. The weight of his actions pressed heavily on his chest, but there was no turning back now. He had done something he wasn’t supposed to do, something that could cost him everything—his position, his very existence as a reaper.

"Soobin," Taehyun’s voice was firm, yet there was a thread of uncertainty running through it. "I need more time for her."

Soobin’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a certain weight, a depth of understanding that made Taehyun uneasy. "You know what this means," Soobin replied quietly, his voice heavy with the gravity of their world. "You’re asking for something that could undo everything you’ve known. A reaper’s duty is to maintain balance, Taehyun. To preserve order."

Taehyun clenched his fists at his sides. "I know," he said, his voice trembling with the truth of it. "But what if the balance isn’t right? What if it’s broken?"

Soobin’s gaze softened for the briefest of moments, a flicker of something familiar in his eyes. "Even we were once human," he said cryptically. "We were given the same choice—to live, to love, and to face the consequences. And we made our choice."

"I’m not asking for myself," Taehyun said, his words coming faster now, desperate. "I’m asking for her. She deserves a chance. A real one."

Soobin sighed, long and heavy. "You are asking for the impossible," he said, almost sadly. "But I cannot change the rules, Taehyun. You know that. This is not something that can be undone. Her time is running out."

Taehyun’s heart pounded in his chest. He knew what he had to do, and the consequences were beyond anything he could fully comprehend. He had to make a choice—his duty as a reaper or his feelings for Y/N.

And as he looked at Soobin, as he thought about everything that had led him here, he realized that the rules didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was her, and what she had fought for.

Without another word, Taehyun stepped back and raised his scythe. His hand trembled, but he knew what he had to do.

"Taehyun, wait," Soobin warned, his voice low and firm, but Taehyun’s mind was made up.

"Just this once," Taehyun whispered, his heart breaking as the words left his lips.

The moment his scythe cut through the air, he knew the price he would pay. And yet, he didn’t hesitate. For her, he didn’t hesitate.

The light around them began to flicker, the air growing colder with each passing second. And then, as if the very essence of existence itself had shattered, Taehyun made his choice.

He would save her. No matter the cost.

Struggling with his steps, Taehyun returned to where Y/N was. Seeing his state, she frantically ran up to him, just as his legs gave up on him. “Taehyun! What happened?” she holds him in her arms, tears welling up in her eyes seeing him like this.

“I did it…” he weakly says, “You’re safe now.”

“Taehyun…” Y/N whispered, her voice full of sorrow and fear as his body grew lighter with every second that passed, as if gravity was losing its hold on him. “Please don’t leave me.”

Taehyun’s gaze softened as he looked at her, his body trembling with the force of the afterlife’s grasp. “I won’t leave you,” he promised, his voice barely audible. “Not now. Not ever.”

But even as he spoke those words, he knew they were a lie. The consequences of his actions were already taking hold, and he could feel himself slipping away. His once-immense power as a reaper was dwindling, and with it, his existence in the afterlife was being erased. His body grew heavier, and the light around them began to dim.

Taehyun looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with a deep sadness that pierced her heart. “I can’t stay, Y/N,” he whispered. “Not in the way you want me to. But I’ll always be with you. Even if you can’t see me.”

Tears spilled from Y/N’s eyes as she clung to him, refusing to let go. “I don’t care about the rules,” she cried. “I just want you to be here. With me. Alive.”

Taehyun smiled faintly, his form growing weaker by the second. “I’m sorry. This is the price I must pay. But know this, Y/N: I love you. And I’ll never forget you.”

With those final words, Taehyun’s form flickered like a candle in the wind. Y/N’s heart shattered as she watched him fade away, his essence slowly being consumed by the afterlife.

And just like that, he was gone.

The world around her seemed to crumble, as if the very foundation of her existence had been torn apart. She collapsed to her knees, her sobs echoing through the empty void. She had lost him—forever.

But even as the tears fell, she could feel a faint presence lingering in the air around her. The love they had shared, the bond they had formed, was still there, somewhere. She didn’t know how, but she could feel it.

For a single, suspended moment, everything was still. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.

Then, with a sudden rush of energy, the light enveloping Y/N burst outward, and her body collapsed to the ground in the human world, alive. She gasped, her chest heaving as air flooded her lungs, her heart pounding wildly as if racing to make up for lost time.

But the memories were gone.

The love, the anguish, the fleeting moments they had shared—everything that had made the last seven days hers to cherish, to mourn—vanished like a dream upon waking.

Y/N sat up slowly, dazed, her eyes scanning her surroundings. The world felt… unfamiliar, like a place she hadn’t seen in years but somehow knew by heart. A faint ache lingered in her chest, a bittersweet longing she couldn’t name. It whispered of something important, something precious lost to her. But no matter how hard she tried to grasp it, it slipped through her fingers, leaving only a vague sense of gratitude.

Taehyun’s fall from grace was swift.

The moment the forbidden magic completed its work, he felt the pull—an immense, tearing force that stripped him of everything that made him a reaper. His scythe, his cloak, the weight of his power—all vanished, dissipating into the void as though they had never existed.

He stumbled, the ground beneath him hard and solid in a way he hadn’t felt in centuries. For the first time in as long as he could remember, his body ached. The world around him wasn’t ethereal or formless; it was real, tangible.

Human.

His memories as a reaper blurred and fractured, the clarity of his existence splintering as his consciousness faded into the soft haze of mortality.

When he opened his eyes again, he was someone else. A human man with no scythe, no duties, and no name but the one he had been given in this new life.

And yet, there was something that lingered—fragments of a past life he couldn’t quite shake. In his dreams, he saw a woman. Her face was a mystery, her name always just out of reach, but her presence was undeniable. She was there, in his mind, in his heart, haunting him with the weight of something he couldn’t remember but couldn’t let go of.

He lived a quiet life now. The days passed in unremarkable fashion, but he found himself drawn to certain places, certain moments. As though some invisible thread were guiding him, pulling him toward something he had lost.

It was a quiet afternoon when their paths crossed again.

The small bookstore was warm and inviting, the scent of old paper mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the café next door. Taehyun stood near a shelf, absently flipping through the pages of a novel he had no real intention of buying. His mind wandered, as it often did, to the dreams that had plagued him for as long as he could remember.

Then, he felt it.

A presence.

It was subtle, like the first note of a forgotten song, but it struck him with enough force to make him look up sharply. Across the room, she stood by a display table, her fingers trailing lightly over the spines of a row of books.

He didn’t know her name, didn’t know who she was, but the sight of her filled him with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. His heart raced, his chest tightening as if something deep inside him had been waiting for this moment.

Y/N glanced up, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, she froze, her breath catching in her throat. There was something about him—something she couldn’t explain but couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t recognition, not exactly, but it was close.

“Hi,” she said, her voice soft, hesitant.

Taehyun blinked, startled by the warmth that spread through him at the sound of her voice. “Hi,” he replied, his voice quieter than he intended.

An awkward pause lingered between them, neither knowing why they felt compelled to speak, why their gazes held for a beat too long. Finally, Y/N smiled, a small, uncertain curve of her lips that sent a pang of something indescribable through Taehyun’s chest.

“Do I know you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “You seem… familiar.”

Taehyun hesitated, the words on the tip of his tongue. Did she? Did he? He didn’t know how to answer. All he knew was the pull toward her, the way his heart seemed to recognize hers even if his mind couldn’t.

“I don’t think so,” he said finally, though the words felt like a lie.

Y/N nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “Maybe I’m just imagining things,” she said, though her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced.

Taehyun smiled faintly. “Maybe.”

They stood there for a moment longer, the noise of the bookstore fading into the background as the weight of something unspoken hung between them. Neither of them could name it, but neither wanted to let it go.

“Well,” Y/N said, breaking the silence, “it was nice meeting you… again, maybe?”

Taehyun chuckled softly. “Yeah. You too.”

As she turned to leave, something in him stirred—a sudden, desperate urge not to let her go.

“Wait,” he called after her.

She turned, her expression curious.

“Would you… like to get a coffee sometime?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and for a moment, he felt like he was holding his breath.

Y/N’s smile widened, a hint of something brighter, warmer in her eyes. “I’d like that."

Rei's Notes ✎: I wasn't expecting to write another fic this fast, but I really enjoyed writing this. It might've been done a tad bit rushed so I hope it still makes sense. I was just randomly inspired and wanted a bit of angst so here it is. I will be spacing out my releases after this though so I don't run out of ideas and writer's juice lmao. This is still my second ever fic so I hope you give it as much or even more love than the first!! ^-^

P.S. I really love reading out your thoughts and how the fic made you feel so please don't hesitate to share your opinions in the comments or through reblogs, I would really appreciate it~

⟢ Taglist: @yunverie @dawngyu @hueningstar @hhoneyhan @vicurious28 @xylatox @baekberrie @immelissaaa

#gyu-tori writes ⊹ ࣪ ˖#txt x reader #txt ff #taehyun fic #taehyun ff #taehyun x reader #tomorrow x together #taehyun angst #txt #taehyun fluff #kang taehyun #kang taehyun x reader #taehyun imagine #taehyun x you #taehyun oneshot

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