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honeyryewhiskey · 11 days ago

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BETWEEN HEAVEN AND DESIRE

angel!reader or dean's prayers save you from heaven's merciless punishment. the weakened state of your grace leaves you feeling a plethora of entirely human needs—and you're not sure you have any faith left in the home that crafted you to fight against those desires. warnings!! smut with build up 18+, depictions of violence, blood/injuries that heal, heaven being bad, body worshipping dean?, angel's first time. dean talks u thru it!! bc he would!! 4.8k words

It is not uncommon for angels to go rogue after too much time spent amongst mortals. So much so, Heaven has protocols for repairing a weapon who’s gone soft. Some speculate it’s one of god’s little amusements—create a fleet of soulless celestials, but leave just enough parts for something a lot like a soul to fester when touched by the right human.

It’s this paradox that plagues your mind as a dozen silver blades slice through your flesh and grace—again.

The Council surrounds you in a cold circle of judgment, their faces impassive, their voices ringing with divine authority. Each word of their chant strikes like a hammer to your heart: Traitor. Defiled. Corrupted.

“Do you repent for the sin of your attachment to the mortal, Dean Winchester?” one of them demands through the chaos of sound.

You want to scream, but your voice is lost in the agony. The angel blade—designed to kill—wields a newfound torture as each lashing cuts into your grace. Thick streams of blood pool from glowing wounds, as your knees hit the ground as strength gives way to pain. Withholding the tears that threaten to fall with shaky breaths, you cling to a lingering stubbornness, refusing to answer their demands.

This torment, their means of correction—it’s not enough to strip your wings or grace. No, they want you broken in ways you didn’t think angels could break.

Your response to their demands takes too long. As a result, a blinding light presses into your mind, and with it, flashes of Dean—laughing, swearing, holding you close after the darkest nights. The way his touch melted your resolve, the warmth in his eyes when he whispered your name. These memories are dragged out of you, twisted until they no longer resemble what they were.

They replay your time together, but in each retelling, they inject doubt. The gentle words he spoke now sound hollow, calculated. The moments of connection feel like manipulation. He never loved you, the light whispers, digging deep into your heart. He only used you.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “No,” you choke out, but it’s barely audible over the chanting and slashing.

The blades come down again, harder, carving away the truth of who you are, leaving only what the Council wills you to be.

“You were created to serve Heaven’s purpose,” one of the voices booms. “Not your own, and certainly not his.”

And then, through the torment, you hear it—soft, rough-edged, and impossibly real.

Your name in the form of a mantra, the beginning of a mortal’s prayer.

“Angel? I don’t even know if this will work, if you can really hear me... but I’m trying here.” Dean stumbles around his words, his doubt laced within each syllable.

Your breath catches. It’s a faint echo at the edge of your mind, pushing against the light’s mental invasion that’s trying to rework the fabric of your memories.

“I’m praying,” he continues awkwardly. “Guess that’s what this is. I don’t know where you are, but—hell, I just... I need to know you’re okay.” His voice falters, a pulsing pain taking up the space of his silence before his cuts in again. Quietly, like a bashful sinner in confession, “I miss you.”

The Council continues, oblivious to the sound of him, to the way his words infiltrate their illusions.

“Whatever heaven says—Angel, please, don’t trust them.” his tone shifts, fierce and treading on desperation. “They’re assholes, they’ll do whatever they can to make you be like them. Please, don’t let them change you.”

The tears finally break, streaming down your face as your hands curl into fists. His voice drowns out the Council, drowns out the pain, grounding you in the truth they’re trying so desperately to erase. It’s nauseating, trying to draw strength from your tattered grace. But the strain in Dean’s voice strikes your instincts, and everything inside of you fights against the light reworking your mind.

“I need you, Angel.” His voice cracks, “come back to me. Please.”

When an angel’s grace is weakened, it allows for heaven to remold the weapon like clay. A being reduced to material to work with. However, grace is the luminous silver line separating celestial from human. The more it pools out of you, shimmering amidst the red, the closer you reach mortality.

And the freedom of emotions that come with that kind of existence.

A tidal wave of remorse, anguish, fury, and desire radiate within. You can hardly breathe with the demanding sensations of emotion and survival. It’s consuming, and somehow—powerful.

The Council doesn’t notice the shift in you until it’s too late. The invading light that binds you flickers, then shatters as you push against it with every ounce of your will.

“Enough,” you whisper, your voice trembling through panting breaths.

They realize their mistake as you unfurl what little remnant of grace you can muster, searing their illusions away with a growling scream of defiance. The silver blades raise in their grasps, preparing for battle, as you rise to your feet.

But no part of you aims to attack, the only thoughts you have are of Dean.

“Stand down, Angel. You are not strong enough to take all of us.” one of them warns, but their voice is dim beneath the thunder in your chest.

You glare into their blinding forms, disgust written on their holy faces, chest heaving as your wings unfurl. “I am done fighting.”

And with that, you vanish in a burst of light, tearing through the veil with a single destination in mind.

In a blink, you’re standing in Dean’s motel room on shaky knees. The power you exerted to flee heaven has left nothing but a faint glimmer of grace within.

Dean is a mirage of movement, your eyes growing delirious from the draining of your essence. He catches your weakened form just as you begin to drop to the floor.

“Angel,” he says softly, his eyes raking over your wounds. Dozens of bleeding cuts, your clothes stained and tattered. The pain consumes you again, an aching cold taking over every nerve ending. His hand brushes bloodied hair from your face, his other arm wrapped so tightly around you, you’re sure nothing could rip you from his grasp. Not this time.

“What did they do to you?” he demands as your body trembles, clinging to the bits of grace that remain within your being.

“I’ll be alright,” you whisper, “just need… rest.” His warmth surrounds you as his hands steady you. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the torment has ceased, and though your mind is a hazy mess of shattered memories there is one thing you know for certain: Dean’s prayers have saved you.

He hooks an arm under your legs and carries you over to the bed. With the gentleness of a man cradling a wounded bird, he sets you down carefully, his movements deliberate and full of quiet reverence. Kneeling on the floor beside you, adrenaline ripples off of him and invades your senses. The rapid beat of his heart, blood pooling his muscles on instinct.

You raise a shaky hand to his chest, but his focus remains on your wounds, fussing with the fabric of your tattered shirt to investigate their severity.

“Dean,” you whisper, but he doesn’t stop, your finger lift to curl around his jaw, “it’s okay—“

“Look at you!” he cuts you off, “why aren’t you healing?”

“I will, I just need time.” you murmur, dropping your hand and letting your eyes close again, “I can smell your anxiety, Dean. It’s—distracting.”

He scoffs, but the concern doesn’t unwind from his brows. “Right. You’re bleeding to death but it’s my anxiety that’s bothering you?”

“Yes.” you manage dryly, despite the moan of pain you expel as you shift uncomfortably, the injuries to your back are making lying down impossible. Through shaky breaths you sit up, Dean’s strong hands hovering your frame as you do so. His eyes are still on your wounds, the beat of his heart finding an impossible speed as you gingerly wrap your fingers around the hem of your tattered sweater, lifting the material to reveal the damage done to your body.

“What are you doing?” Dean’s voice is gruff, his eyes narrowing as he watches you shift uncomfortably.

A flicker of annoyance sears through, the intensity of it adding to your nausea. “Lifting my shirt.” your voice matches the feeling inside, your fingers fumbling with the hem of the tattered fabric as you give him a full view of your injuries.

“Why?” His tone is sharp, matching yours.

Your features contort with confusion, “because you clearly want to make sure I’m healing.”

His eyes quickly advert as he clears his throat, a hand running over his chin—something you’ve noticed he does when he’s ‘at his wits end’ as he likes to phrase it.

“Why are you looking away now?”

“Because you’re—,” he stops himself with a groan, a flat expression on his face as his eyes find yours, “why aren’t you wearing a bra?”

“Oh,” you look down at your completely exposed chest, “it seemed… restrictive.” An unfamiliar emotion prickles heat against your skin: embarrassment.

He nods, sighing as his head tilts, brows raised in quiet agreement. Your wounds remain a blazing red, skin working slowly to stitch itself back together beneath the bloody smear marks.

“See?” you remark, dropping the material to cover yourself again. “Healing.”

There is an anxious swirling in your stomach, one not bred from physical pain like you’re used to. The effects of weakened grace, the invitation of intense emotions feels like an uncomfortable itch beneath your skin.

“Uh, huh.” he hums, but his scowl mismatches the slowing pace of his heart, the anxiety he refuses to acknowledge, subsiding at the sight of your healing skin.

He rises to his feet with a huff, you watch as he disappears into the bathroom. A moment passes until the sound of running water breaks the quiet as he comes back in.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, and you can tell me which sons of bitches I’ll be ganking for this.”

Dean scoops you up again without hesitation, his arms steady despite your weight against him. You don’t have the strength to protest—not that you want to—and simply let yourself sink into his embrace. His chest is warm, the rhythmic beat of his heart oddly comforting as he carries you to the bathroom.

The space is small and sterile, but Dean makes it feel safe. He uses his foot to push the door open wider and carefully sets you down on the closed toilet lid, one hand lingering on your shoulder to steady you.

Steam begins to rise from the filling tub, the water crystal clear and inviting in the dim light. Dean crouches in front of you, his fingers brushing against your knee to get your attention.

"Think you can handle this, or do you need help?" His voice is soft, but the tension in his jaw betrays the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

You nod faintly, though your body protests every movement. "I can manage."

He stands, his arms crossed, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he turns his back slightly, giving you the barest hint of privacy while staying close enough to intervene if needed. You peel off your torn and bloodied clothes with shaky hands, the effort nearly exhausting.

As you step into the warm water, a hiss escapes your lips. The heat stings at first, the water seeping into the raw edges of your wounds, but soon the ache begins to dull, replaced by a soothing warmth. You sink down slowly, letting the bath support your weight.

Dean shifts, his eyes flicking over you briefly before settling on a safe spot on the wall. He sits down heavily on the closed toilet lid, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his green eyes sharp and unyielding.

"Start talking," he says, his tone low but insistent. "What the hell did they do to you?"

You hesitate, staring down at the rippling surface of the water. Your voice comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "They said I was corrupted... that I’d betrayed Heaven."

Dean’s jaw clenches, his knuckles whitening as his hands ball into fists. "Those pious bastards," he mutters. "For what? Doing the right thing? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? How you’ve been helping me and Sam?" His words dance around the truth. How close you’ve grown while working alongside the Winchesters. Something, an almost malleable energy hangs in the air between you two each time you’re together.

A line never crossed, words never spoken—but it has always been there.

You nod, your breath hitching as the memories flood back—the blades, the light, the voices that tore into you like barbed wire. "They wanted to... recondition me. Make me forget."

"Forget what?"

"Everything," you whisper. "You. Sam. What it felt like to care. They tried to rewrite me, make me believe your—friendship—was all a lie."

Dean’s face twists with anger, his fists pounding lightly against his thighs as he exhales sharply through his nose. "What gives them the right, huh? Because god wills it or some crap?" he says firmly, the words spoken in question, but you know in Dean’s book it’s more of a statement of fact. He doesn’t trust heaven or it’s angels. Well, all of it except you.

"I don’t know anymore," you murmur, your voice breaking. A lump forms in your throat as you consider all that has been done to you by the ones you followed, dutifully, for centuries. Your chest constricts in an unfamiliar pain, hurt and confusion finding an entirely new stupor within your heart. You reach for the soap, focusing on the movement of hands as you scrub the blood from your skin to think of anything but the pain festering within. "Your voice,” you being, voice at a whisper, “your prayer. It brought me back. You reminded me who I was."

He falls silent for a long moment, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he finally speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. "I should’ve prayed sooner."

"You did it when it mattered," you say softly. "That’s what saved me."

Dean looks up, his eyes locking with yours, a flicker of guilt and relief dancing in the green depths. "You shouldn’t have needed saving in the first place," he says quietly. "They’ll pay for this. I don’t care if I have to storm Heaven itself."

A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. "I don’t doubt you’d try."

He leans back, his hands running over his face before resting on his thighs. "I just… I can’t lose you. Not to them. Not to anyone."

The weight of his words settles in the air between you, and for a moment, the pain and exhaustion fade, replaced by the quiet certainty that, no matter what happens next, Dean will always fight for you.

You place the soap back on the bathtub nook, the faint echo of the movement breaking the silence. Turning your attention back to him, you murmur, “Thank you.”

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For caring,” you reply, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness of the moment. “And you can’t say you don’t—I can hear your heartbeat quicken when you lie, remember?”

Dean huffs out a breath, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth as he pushes himself to his feet. “Damn angel ears,” he mutters, though there’s no real heat behind it. “Come on, let’s get you outta here before you start pruning up.”

You let him help you out of the tub, water dripping in soft splashes onto the tiles as he wraps a towel snugly around you. His hands are firm yet gentle, careful not to brush against the worst of your injuries as he leads you back into the room.

Settling onto the bed, you adjust the towel around your shoulders, shivering slightly as the cool air brushes against your damp skin. Dean follows a moment later, grabbing another towel before sitting behind you on the mattress.

“Sit still,” he says gruffly, though the way his fingers work through your wet hair is anything but rough. He dries it with slow, deliberate movements, the repetitive motion almost lulling you into a trance.

The quiet is comfortable, filled only by the faint rustle of the towel and the occasional sigh from Dean. His presence, solid and steady behind you, feels like an unspoken promise—a reassurance that, no matter how broken the world might seem, there’s still a place where you’re safe.

“Looks like you’re healing pretty good. You feeling any better?” Dean’s voice is low, his fingers brushing gently over your shoulder as he speaks.

“Physically, yes,” you admit, “but I keep feeling things. Far more intense than I’m used to, because my grace is so weak.”

He frowns, tilting his head. “Feeling things? Like what?”

“Hurt, mostly,” you start, your voice quiet but steady. “And when we’re close like this,” you turn slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, “...desire.”

He clears his throat, the faintest hint of pink creeping up his neck as his eyes dart away. “I’m sure it’ll go away once your grace—or whatever—gets stronger.”

“No, Dean.” You shift to face him fully, the towel tucked around you loosening as your hands reach up to cup his face. It pools at your lap as cool air ripples goosebumps across exposed skin. His eyes snap back to yours, wide but unresisting, his hands folding over yours, warm and steady. There is a storm of hesitation in his stare, but he doesn’t push you away.

The faint scent of adrenaline lingers in the air between you, your heightened senses picking up the slight quickening of his pulse, the tension in his jaw, the way his breathing hitches ever so slightly. You search his face, reading every unspoken emotion that flits across it.

“Talk to me, Angel.” His voice is rough, his green eyes darkened with something you can’t quite name. His expression is soft but insistent, pressing you for more than just what your senses can tell you. “Don’t just sense me out. Talk to me.”

Your thumbs brush over the scruff of his jaw as you take a shaky breath. “The desire I feel has always been there. I’ve ignored it, buried it, pretended it wasn’t real. Because that’s what I’m supposed to do. But now…” Your voice wavers, but your resolve doesn’t. “Now I can’t just ignore it anymore. I need to give in.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and electric, and you watch as Dean’s expression shifts. His lips part as if to speak, but he hesitates, the tension crackling like a live wire between you. His hands tighten slightly over yours, grounding you, even as his restraint begins to waver.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” his voice is low and cautious, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

“Yes, I do, Dean.” Your eyes lock with his, unwavering. “I may not be human, but I am not naive. And I know what I want.”

His fingertips curl into your hands, as if a tightened grip could still the rapid pacing of his pulse. Your stare is intense, boring into his jade irises. Searching for salvation in a new religion, one that might promise more pleasure than pain.

He huffs, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. “Don’t you think fleeing Heaven was enough trouble for one day, little bird?”

You grin, tilting your head playfully. “Trouble’s never in short supply with you around, Dean.”

An exchange of breaths passes the divide, but it’s Dean who moves first. His lips capture yours in a kiss that electrifies every inch of your skin. His hands find your waist, fingers digging into sore muscles—making you gasp at the intoxicating sensation of hurt and relief.

Your lips match his pace, slow and controlled. You pull him closer with your hands on his neck, his body following yours to lie against the old motel sheets. He pulls away, his shirt coming off in one swift movement before he’s back to your lips.

You’ve never been more grateful to feel. Every press of his bare chest on yours thickens the heat claiming the reign of your core. And the deep, primal, desire to cling to him has your nails digging into his flesh. He groans as they do, the sound making you kiss him harder.

His lips trail down from yours to neck, giving ample attention to every spot he tugs into his mouth. One of his hands drag down your naval, fingers exploring new territory until they find your slick folds—plunging into flesh as something between a gasp and moan escapes you.

You’ve never been intimate before, and you’ve always wondered if it felt like possession. An invasive, vulnerable thing. But this—the way his fingers pump in and out—is like being unwound. Every stress and pain you’ve ever felt, untangling in the haze of Dean’s touch.

His eyes find yours, emerald peering through lashes, “you are the only damn thing heaven could ever get me to worship.” He whispers and it sends a shiver through you, the pressure of his thumb against your clit making you shudder beneath him.

“That,” you mumble through shaky breaths, “would be blasphemy.”

His stubble grazes you as you feel every note of his chuckle vibrate against your skin. His lips trail kisses down your body with a deliberate slowness. His fingers don’t cease, working you with ease as he sinks lower.

You grasp for anything—the sheets in one hand, tuffs of his hair in another. He positions himself between your legs, his lips sucking on the sensitive skin of your inner thing. Your body takes over, whimpering and rocking into him as he pulls the skin between his teeth. Retracting, a red love bite in his wake as hovers over your heat.

You glance down, chest rising and falling in an uneven pattern. It’s like fighting, the way your entire body is alive with an instinctual awareness of each part of you. But there is no anticipation of pain, no need to swing first. It’s a tantalizing resolve, a desperate desire to succumb to whatever feeling Dean might insight next.

He exchanges his hand for his mouth, your legs clinging to either side of his head on instinct. It’s a rippling wave of passion that flows through. His hands dig into your thighs, grounding him as his mouth moves at an intoxicating pace.

You’ve never heard yourself make the sounds that leave your mouth now, damn near animalistic as you let go of control. Breath hitching each time he sucked sensitive skin between his lips, releasing and reattaching at a dizzying pace.

“Dean,” you stutter through a shudder, trying to wrap hazy thinking around the sensation building within your core that’s making your back arch, instinct telling you to push into Dean. A tight notch of unused muscles is binding beneath his mouth, like all the tension he relieved is back—balling into your core. You’re squirming for a release as he quickens his lapping and sucking.

All at once—your vision blurs, body tightening as his fingers plunge inside of you again, the medley of pleasure surging into you with force. The notch unravels, waves of tension releasing in hot ripples throughout your entire body.

You’re humming through quieted whimpers as your body goes limp, Dean pulls away slowly—leaving little kisses all over sensitive skin. He runs his hands over your body, soothing the little shudders that remain of you.

He brushes a few strands of hair from your face, his touch featherlight as he presses tender kisses to your temples and cheeks. “We can stop here,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, his gaze searching yours as he hovers over you. “You’re in control here, angel.”

The sincerity in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, a warmth settling in your chest. But his words tug at something deeper, something raw. Control—a concept you’ve only ever understood as an illusion. An angel, a weapon, a tool of Heaven—control was never yours to wield, not even over yourself.

Your fingers glide over his lips, tracing the shape of the words he’s yet to say. “If I’m in control,” you whisper, your voice soft but resolute. “I want you to let me feel everything, Dean.”

He lets go of the breath he was holding, lips crashing into yours—a kiss to seal his promise. Your hands card into his hair as he fumbles with the rest of his clothes. The air that invades the space he leaves is cold and empty, but he returns to your skin swiftly, his hips claiming the space between yours.

He adjusts himself, and you inhale sharply at the pressing of his tip against your entrance.

“Hey,” he whispers, the steadiness of his voice melting any bits of nerves that peak through as he catches your gaze. “‘s all be okay, I promise. Just keep your eyes on mine.”

His gaze is soft and gentle as he eases himself inside your walls. Heat prickles on your skin, making you gasp at the feel of your body stretching around him. He dips his head, catching your lips in his as he sinks deeper. You’re gasping against his mouth, the sound meshing with his quiet groans as his hips rock against yours.

There’s a soreness in the sensation, tension giving out with each thrust. Your hips squirm beneath him, instinctively bucking into his movements, “You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he sighs, voice raspy, sending a shiver through you.

“More, I can take more,” you whisper, the words leaving your mouth without a second thought. All you can feel is a need for all of him—deeper.

He follows your command, his pace quickening enough to make your legs lock around him. His arm slides beneath you, a protective hand wrapping around the back of your neck as he holds your frame closer to his.

Your senses are overwhelmed by his scent—the endorphins pooling off of him and making you feel drunk on the smell.

In one swift motion, he pulls you up with him, arms wrapped around you in a heated embrace as you roll your hips against his—chasing the pleasure of his length knocking into the sensitive spot inside you.

His lips chase yours, a deep slow kiss that makes your hips move more desperately. Little whimpers leave your lips between each kiss, making his wandering hands dig into your skin with a desire to touch every part of you.

“Just like that—fuck,” he groans against your skin, his hands guiding your hips against his. Your arms cling to him as he lowers you back onto the pillows, his claim on your skin intensifying as his thrust becomes more greedy, needy as he takes control again.

His hands run along your frame, inching towards your breasts until your nipples are beneath his circling fingers. It makes your breath hitch, and that notch of tension forms within your core again. Your bucking his and nails digging into Dean’s skin are like an unspoken demand, and follows the cues you’re unaware of by sliding a hand down to your joined bodies.

His fingers work dizzying circles between your folds, your breathing falling uneven against his. Your muscles go tense again, tightening with each thrust of his tip against sore, sensitive flesh.

Tears prickle at your lashes as you cry out his name, losing yourself in the tidal wave of relief that flows through—leaving your body shuddering beneath his.

Your name leaves his lips, a quiet mantra, just as it did when he lifted his head in your prayer. His warm release threads inside you, coating your walls.

His hips stutter, falling into a lazy rhythm until he’s still. Breathing heavy against you, holding you in his arms for a moment as you both come down from the moment.

Sowly, he pulls away, shifting to lay beside you. Your mind is a complete sleepy haze, another new feeling for an angel who has never known exhaustion to the point of needing sleep. It’s a sweet, comforting thing—to want to close your eyes and give in.

Dean shifts, adjusting your body until you’re snug against his chest beneath the covers. His arms wrap around you, firm and protective, holding you like you’re the most precious thing in his world. Being surrounded by his warmth, his quiet strength, feels like a peace you never believed could exist—a haven you’re not sure you could ever let go of.

As your eyes grow heavy, his lips brush your ear, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet. “Sleep, angel. I’ve got you.”

speak for yourself - imogen heap album was on repeat while writing this btw. also i got lazy after dean's munch moment and did nawt re-read or edit the rest so i apologize <3 but i hope this was fun idk i kinda hate it now to be frank i d k ugh bye ily

#dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x angel!reader

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spider-stark · 5 months ago

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A CONVERSATION BETWEEN OLD FRIENDS

Gwayne Hightower x Septa!Reader

Summary - Devotion will never be enough to make the Gods forgive you for the sin of your existence. They will keep finding new ways to punish you.

Warnings - fem!reader, bastard!reader, septa!reader, mostly edited, heavy religious themes & guilt, angst, yearning, *slightly* ooc gwayne but mostly cause he's drunk and bitter lmao

Word Count - 1.3k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Dark obsidian walls glisten like the night sky as you enter the Starry Sept from the motherhouse. Towering statues stand sentinel around the round-altar, carved in the likeness of the Seven. Forever repenting for the sin of your existence, you often acknowledge them as you draw close—with a nod, a prayer, an offering.

But not tonight.

Even with his forehead pressed to the altar, you recognize Gwayne by his tawny hair, shimmering like bronze in the candlelight. His tunic is wrinkled, half-untucked from his trousers. The sharp scent of alcohol burns your nose, strong enough to smell it from across the Sept.

For a moment, a smile touches your lips. You think of lost nights spent by the Honeywine river. Skipping rocks on the water and drinking from a bottle of arbor gold, snagged from his uncle's cellar.

But nostalgia is all too fleeting, soon replaced by deep worry for an old friend.

Cavernous and austere, the Sept echoes your every footfall. Consumed by a drunken haze, Gwayne remains oblivious to your presence, even as you sink to your knees beside him.

It’s only when you speak that he looks up.

“I’m reminded of a verse from The Warrior’s Edicts.” Armed with sword and helm, the God's stony eyes seem to peer down as you recite His wisdom: “Drink muddles the sensible mind. ‘Tis the duty of knights to remain sober-minded, to pave a path of rectitude so that all men might follow.”

Gwayne’s voice is unusually hoarse, wavering slightly as he tells you, “You won’t find a sober knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Perhaps that’s why there are so many indecent men,” you turn your head to him with a soft smile, “because none are willing to pave a better way.”

Altar candles flicker, bathing his features in dim warmth. You note the faint stubble along his jaw, the dull shine of sapphire eyes. When was the last time you sat this close? It feels like a lifetime ago, now.

He swallows, looks down at his lap. “How did you know I was here?”

“Septon Halleck saw you come in,” you tell him. “Thought you looked in need of a friend.”

In the years since swearing your vows to the Faith, the aging Septon was your only blessing. Between services, he spins tales about his life before coming to Oldtown—of a youth spent north of the Neck, about a pale castle surrounded by frigid waters.

You tell Halleck stories about your life, too. He pretends not to notice that Gwayne Hightower is at the center of them all.

Softly, you tease, “Though if he had known you were drunk, he might’ve sooner tossed you onto the streets.”

Gwayne scoffs. Starts fiddling with his fingers, picking at them. “If the Septon’s life was half as grueling,” he grumbles, “then he would understand my need for a drink.”

“And what’s so grueling about the life of a trueborn son?”

It’s not meant as a slight, though a certain bitterness seeps through.

Raised in the shadow of trueborn siblings, you know well of the luxuries they’re afforded. Watched as your sisters were swathed in silk and coddled with gold, freely given all which you were made to claw for.

You recall a quote on envy that Halleck recited during your novice years, when your blood still ran thick with resentment: He who sits at the head of the table will still covet crumbs off a beggar’s plate.

But what if you’re the beggar? If the Gods gave you nothing but crumbs. Would envy still be a sin? Or a sign of injustice.

Gwayne shakes his head. Mutters under his breath, “You’ve never understood.”

“Understood what?”

“What it’s like to be shackled by your father’s name,” he answers, frustrated.

His thoughtlessness is a fist around your heart, squeezed tight.

If he was sober, he would apologize. If he was sober, he wouldn’t be here at all.

You suck in a calming breath, interlacing your fingers and resting your elbows upon the altar. Heat from the flames caresses your forearms as you utter a wordless prayer to the Warrior, asking Him to keep your voice from wavering.

“You’re right. I don’t understand.” Images flash in your mind. The hazy face of a father who didn’t want you. You clear your throat, say, “But I know it is to be nameless, and I can’t imagine the shackles of a noble-name hurt any worse.”

“Better to be nameless and free,” he says, “than noble and in chains.”

You fight the urge to laugh, instead citing a relevant phrase from The Book of Reflections. “Those bound in chains oft discover they were forged by thine own hands.” Gwayne’s head tips back, groaning. Your lips briefly twitch. “It’s not your fate to be nameless,” you tell him. “But, even if it were, the shackles are of your own making—you would bear them all the same.”

Drunkenness exaggerates his expression. Pulls his brows together, tugs his wine-stained bottom lip into a deep frown. “If I had known you were just going to quote scripture at me,” his words slur slightly, “then I wouldn’t have come.”

You don’t let yourself wonder at the implication there. That maybe he had come to see you.

“Why come to a Sept if not to receive wisdom from the Gods?” You ask.

Gwayne’s stare shifts upwards, settles on the scales of justice clutch in the Father’s stone fist. Sapphire eyes begin to blaze like searing flames. “For forgiveness,” he answers slowly, without inflection.

Hesitant, you ask, “So that’s why you’re here tonight? To ask the Gods for their forgiveness?”

His head shakes. His fingers never still, never stop tearing at his cuticles.

He holds the Father’s stare and, with a voice like death, says, “I’m here so they can beg for mine.”

The pressure in your chest grows tighter, his words resonating with a part of yourself long since buried by the Faith. The angry, bitter part of you—the nameless, the beggar, the bastard.

Instinct tightens your fingers, still interlocked. You look to those stone Gods. Feel an old weight settle on your shoulders as they look back.

Strained, you ask, “For what reason?”

Gwayne doesn’t answer. Asks his own question, instead. “Why did you join the Faith?”

You think of the Honeywine. Of the last time you sat this close.

Of a boy born with such honor, cherished by his Gods.

Of a girl born with such shame, scorned by them.

You think of the Faith. Of the passage that led you away from his side.

A Bastard's life is a testament to the reach of sin.

Tainted and tarnished, all they touch will come to rot.

Tears sting the back of your throat. Unsure of a better answer, you tell him, “Because we all bear our own shackles.”

As if comparing wounds, Gwayne offers up his own answer, too. “There was a feast tonight,” he tells you. “My father announced that I am to be wed.”

There’s such hollow silence. Obsidian walls wrap around you. Starlight burns your skin.

“To who?”

Something tells you that you won’t like his answer. A soundless voice, a whisper on a phantom wind.

Quietly, voice wavering, he tells you, “One of Lord Mullendore’s daughters.”

A stone drops in your stomach.

“Lord Mullendore…” Your mind begins to reel. Images flash. A hazy face. Silk and gold and clawing clawing clawing. “One of his daughters…”

All at once, the air is sucked from the room. As if oxygen is yet another thing denied to you in the name of repentance. As if all your devotion still isn’t enough to purge the rot from your existence.

Both soft and resentful, he murmurs, “She has your eyes…”

You keep your fingers interlocked. Gwayne picks his bloody. The Gods watch.

The path of devotion is fraught with pain. But fear not! Trials endured in Faith shall always be rewarded with Light. The Seven are just. The Seven are wise. The Seven are merciful.

a/n - Honestly, I just wanted to explore the internal conflict that might come from a bastard going the Faith of the Seven considering that, while they're welcome to become Septons/Septas, they're still viewed as being sinful and treacherous by nature. Additionally, the idea of a bastard being so in love with a pious, honorable man that she turns to his religion just feeds something inside of me?? like, her turning to scripture to communicate with him?? him beginning to resent the gods that 'cherish' him?? neither of them ever getting what they want??

anyways--all thoughts/opinions/feedback are welcome and very very appreciated!

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desireangel · 6 months ago

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Infernal Desires | Part One

Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Synopsis: When your family is caught up in treasonous scandal, the Prince Regent makes an offer that is impossible to refuse. To avoid what certainly would have been death by his sword, your family promises you to a man who is followed by whispers of violence and sin.

Warnings: mdni 18+! Strictly. Dark-ish ??? Aemond! Bad language, reader is implied to be from a certain family but not really, rushed & unedited. Sexual tension, allusions to sex, mentions of death and killing, Aemond gets angry handsy, hair pulling, mention of the noose bc Aemond would never tell just anyone how he feels. This is mainly a word vomit - I am once again incapable of limiting my writing to one part.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: aaand I’m back with a rewrite of an old fic I started last year! hopefully this is somewhat decent to follow along with - I wrote this while severely sleep deprived, stressed about procrastinating my uni work and knackered from work. Let me know if we are even interested in a part 2 or if I’ve missed any warnings!

It is a debt to be paid and an alliance to be made, that is all it is.

Easy enough for them to say. After all, it was you who suffered from the mistakes of your family and not them. They may as well have left you to the dangers of King’s Landing with nothing more than a shattered dignity and the tears that trailed down your cheeks.

Shit. Crying wasn’t going to do anything and while you never intend to present yourself as weak to anyone, there was nothing you could do to stop the angry tears that welled in your eyes. You wondered if your parents truly pained to see their daughter cry or if the tremble in your mother’s lip was nothing more than a pretence.

Your father stared at the ground by your feet. “It was not meant to come to this.”

“But it did. Are you really going to barter me to–”

“We are not bartering you. Stop saying that,” He snapped. “All you will have to do is take the title as his wife and give him children. It cannot be that bad.”

The glare you sent his way was full of malice and rage. How could he say that? You were better than that, smarter than that and the thought of being reduced to who knows what that man had in store for you as his wife - they may as well have cut your tongue out and made you a slave. Knowing that your family, whom you loved endlessly, were so sure of selling you so easily to a cruel man like Aemond Targaryen caused a dull ache in your chest.

It seemed hard to breathe through the betrayal, your chest heavy with deceit and heartbreak. Had you known what your father had been planning, you could have run away and found a way to survive without the comfort of your family lands.

“What Prince Aemond has offered has saved us,” Jericho stood leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He stared at you, his little sister who would have died before leaving him to such a fate. “I do not expect you to understand the complex relationships between our Houses but consider this, dear sister. Would you rather him have the Vale burned to ashes? Have us hung from the walls of the Red Keep? I made a mistake. I know this, and I am sorry but this is the only choice we have.”

There was a tense silence. Jericho had ruined everything with little chance of repair and it was you who had to pay the price. You knew how the Crown punished Rhaenyra’s sympathisers and Jericho had damned the future of your family. What was happening is wrong - war is never worth the price it takes. You wholeheartedly agreed with that but there was something inherently stupid about putting the people you cared about at risk just to send a raven with a conditional offer of a bent knee.

You blinked as you tried to make sense of it all. “Explain it to me. I do not understand.”

“Aemond Targaryen is Prince Regent but I was once his only friend,” Jericho said. You knew he used the word friend strategically. “He extended an olive branch. Repent our House’s treachery through our last daughter and a pin for the Vale on King Aegon’s map. You could not understand how generous that is. Refusing would have been a sentence of death.”

Friend? Generous? You would have laughed if you could. You briefly wondered how Jericho had managed to barter with the Prince Regent before they had taken his head. Alas, it would be of no use to ask a question you would get no answer to. The men of these walls underestimated the capabilities of a woman’s mind and a woman’s strength.

“All he gains is something to hold over your head, brother. Paying off your mistakes with my life? You have heard the stories - he has become a cruel man. Warming his bed when he sees fit and making his heirs will not fix what you did. Many have been executed for far less.”

Your father cleared his throat. “It is our only option. We have nothing more to offer in place and a ruined reputation. The family name holds the last of our power and without what little power we have left, your brother and I would lose the Vale. It is a miracle we have not already.”

“The Prince wants to dangle you over our heads? Fine. If that is what it takes for him to spare our lives.” Jericho’s voice was so rough. It was the first time you had seen him as anything other than gentle to you and you felt a heaviness at the sight of him so distressed.

There was not much left for you outside of the empty empire that your father’s father had built for your family. At least you still had each other and your titles, and despite the situation that they’ve forced you into, at the end of the day, you all loved each other to death. It would have been a death sentence but you could have run away instead, could have found a life for yourself somehow. But how could you live with yourself knowing that you’d damned those you love because of your pride and fear of life as a princess?

So reluctantly and tearfully, you nod your head and silently agree.

Aemond wondered whether he was making the right decision by giving Jericho a second chance. If it were anyone else, he would have had them hung without a second thought. But you and your brother were different.

It was a moment of weakness, an inexcusable lapse in his judgment to have spared Jericho’s treason because he remembered you and to have further justified his actions by claiming the Vale through your betrothal. While it was his first and foremost motivation and Aemond was bound by duty to take advantage of the opportunity, it was not the only reason he had suggested the idea at the Small Council.

There was hardly a person in Aemond’s life whom he could call a friend. There was not a soul in this world that Aemond could truly trust, not even Jericho who had been by his side for the first parts of his childhood.

Nor you, who had at once shown him kindness in his youth despite the mockery that was often made of him. You had only accompanied your brother and father to King’s Landing on three occasions, and what started as your soft conversation and willing smiles for him had left his memory entirely until he heard word of Jericho’s treacherous message.

Aemond, despite your attempts at friendship, had never returned your kindness. In truth, he didn’t know how to. And quickly, your smiles had turned to frowns and your attempts at friendly talk had become sarcastic remarks and quiet scoffs.

It was also a moment of selfishness and a decision made with nothing more than foolish curiosity. You had always been there, in the back of the picture and unnoticed by everyone apart from him. There was not a person in this world who had peaked his curious desire more than you and the two of you had spent the brief occasions together bickering and pestering one another. Regardless of your initial efforts, Aemond was never your friend. While he had never actually done you wrong before now, you were never really fooled by his deceiving nonchalance and forced manners.

The indifference that you had for each other had no cause to fade. Even less so with the recent murderous, vile stories of Aemond the Kinslayer who killed his nephew and (while most wouldn’t dare utter the words beyond certain walls) who may have crippled his own brother with Vaghar’s fire. You had almost fallen to your knees upon hearing of your betrothal to such a man.

Aemond was now twenty and three but when it came to whatever distorted plot he was planning, he felt juvenile. Your brother and your father were the perfect pawns. You were the perfect leverage - perhaps a pawn yourself. As much as he convinced himself that having you in his possession would mean he would have invaluable power over your House to do exactly as he wanted within his twisted politics while he has the power to do so, the idea of having you in the palm of his hand, in his control and eventually beneath his body was exciting.

He was never one for meaningless entertainment. But what was the harm in indulging himself this once?

It was a formality. Being presented at King’s Landing for the first time to your future husband, his family and to those whom he currently ruled over as the woman to be his wife.

You had changed since the last time Aemond had seen you. It had only been two years but he would never admit to his surprise at just how different you had become from the cowering young girl he remembered you to be when you were just ten and four.

He had rushed through the formalities of greeting you and your family, welcoming you into what would come to be your home. The lunch was painfully awkward as little was said between anyone. The Dowager Queen spoke formally yet kindly with your mother and shared a few words with you but you could barely engage with her conversation under the burning gaze of the Prince Regent who sat across from you.

It was over quickly, before anyone could start bickering about the traitorous reasons behind your presence. Aemond shortly convinced his mother that no escort would be needed, so long as Ser Criston Cole was there when you both were left to acquaint yourselves in private. You gulped as you were lead shamelessly into the Prince’s chambers.

Aemond only set a glance upon Ser Criston and the raven haired man took his place outside the closed doors.

You were sure that the Prince’s chambers were as large as an entire wing of your own home yet you felt claustrophobic under his gaze. His eye was hellfire as he silently stared at you, leaning back in his chair and resting his fingers under his chin. There was little you could do but stare back at him, anxiously tapping your foot on the marbled floor.

In your eyes, Aemond had always been torturously beautiful. But here, as his gaze fell upon you and you shared the silence of his personal space, he was ethereal. It caused your breath to catch as you waited for him to address you first.

Shakily, you broke the silence. “Why am I here, my Prince?”

“You are to be my wife,” He drawled, fingers tapping on the desk that he lazily dragged his hand along. What a stupid question. “That is why you are here.”

“I believe you know that is not what I ask, my Prince.” You scowled at him. It wasn’t smart to talk to him in such a way, you knew that. He is Prince Regent, after all. A memory of your brother’s warning to be careful flashed briefly in your mind.

His expression deceivingly calm, Aemond considered putting you in your place. He may be behaving in a way he does not recognise of himself but he would not tolerate your disrespect.

Instead, he somewhat answered your question. “We will be married so that your brother’s treason shall be forgiven and your House will be sworn to the King. You will stay here, in my chambers. Do whatever the seven hells you please, it does not matter.”

In any other instance, Aemond would have detested the sight of you gaping at him, stumbling over your words stupidly as your wide eyes confidently held his own. You had changed. Or maybe he had just been blind to the perfect curves of your body or the way you looked at him like he ruled the realms, so submissive yet so full of fire. So tempting.

He’d condemn himself to the noose before ever admitting to his thoughts.

“What?” you almost gasped. There was no chance that you could stay in his chambers like this. You were sure the whispers of the Keep were already running amok with Aemond’s insistence on isolating the two of you behind the doors to his private chambers.

Aemond took pleasure in the way you seethed. “I will not make it so easy for you to return to scheming with your treasonous family.”

You could hit him. If he weren’t a Prince, you would have. “You are keeping me prisoner? For something I have had no such hand in?”

“No,” he stood from the table and in two strides, he was in front of you. So close that you could smell the woody oils he bathed in mixing with the smell of his musk and the leather of his clothes. You shuddered. “Maybe I am. Call it what you like. You can do as you please, eat as you please, wear whatever you please, you can explore these halls as you wish. I do not care. But you will listen to me and it will all be as per my will.”

Before you could respond, Aemond continued. “For all they know, I’ve made it clear to everyone that you will stay in the chambers that I have chosen for you, on the other side of that wall.”

Aemond’s eye was a violet-blue inferno as it held yours. He was closer now and you let your eyes drag across every part of his devastating face, swallowing at his beauty and wondering what lay under the leather of his eye patch.

Struggling not to lose your breath, not to lean in to touch him and feel him, you held your head high and turned your back to him. “Fuck you.”

A gasp fell from your lips as Aemond’s hand found the back of your head in an instant, slender fingers weaving into your hair gently before closing into a tight fist and pulling back slowly so that you were forced to look up at the roof, the back of your head resting against his chest. His other hand wrapped around your waist, holding you back firmly against him. The tightness of his grip on your hair ached and left you dizzy, an unfamiliar longing for his hands to find more of you with the same fervour had you holding back a pathetic whine.

Suddenly, you were burning from head to toe, a fire setting on your skin as he held you roughly against him, so close that you felt the feather light tickle of his breath grazing your hair when he spoke. He was scorching you through the leather of his tunic, your dress doing little to shield you from the heat of his body.

More than his anger, Aemond’s amusement made the air heavy. The way he unashamedly let his stare fall upon your lips, tucked between your teeth as you struggled to hold your glare, had your breath snatched from your lungs.

Aemond dropped his head enough so that his lips lingered just under your ear, close enough that you could hear him draw in a breath, dragging his nose across the dip where your jaw met your neck. Your face burned at how shamelessly he had inhaled your soft scent.

“Is that how you talk to your Prince?” Aemond’s voice was low, dripping with a dominance that commanded respect. Placing his free hand on your left shoulder, he slowly turned you to face him, making sure to keep you tightly pressed against him.

Aemond was disastrously beautiful. The curve of his nose, the strength in his jaw, the way his scar painted the top of his cheek, the soft fall of his pin straight hair and the soft shine of his lips which you so badly yearned to feel. You cursed yourself for thinking such a thing as his low voice broke you out of your distraction. “This is my home. Right now, all of Westeros is mine. You are here because I said so, because I own everything. Everything. Including you. You would do well to remember your place while you are here, pretty thing.”

The fire in your blood was rage. You had never felt such desire that had your body craving another. It was anger driving you mad, it had to be. Despite your better judgment, you whispered once again, “Fuck. You.”

His jaw ticked and with a strong yank, you were flush against him. The pounding of your heart was violent and you were sure he could feel it against his chest but you were stuck under his burning gaze. Aemond was angry. And you couldn’t help but think that it suited him. It made him all the more desirable.

Aemond was strong and hard against your body, tense as he held you so intimately yet so roughly.

By the gods, you couldn’t even think. What was happening?

“My Pr-”

“Quiet,” Aemond commanded. His deep voice, raspy with lust and with rage sent shockwaves down your spine. “What a mouth on you, my Lady. Fuck me, is that so?”

You muttered incoherently under your breath, the desire and the fear making your eyes flutter shut as you trembled against the Prince who held you so roughly.

“Hm,” Aemond chuckled when you let out a short whimper. He squeezed you tightly, his voice low and dark. “I could have you begging on your knees, crying for my cock all day and all night and you would never deserve it. You best careful, ñuha dāria, because I can ruin you.”

Another gasp fell from your lips and Aemond took pleasure in the way you squirmed against him, thighs pressing together as you felt the flush of his words through your body. He hummed, you were so reactive. Somehow, you fit perfectly against him, so that he could feel every little tremor he caused in your body, every goosebump that he placed on your skin. His gaze never left you, his resolve solid as iron.

Your mouth watered at the thought of the things that Aemond could do to you. Thoughts you had never imagined yourself capable of harbouring, especially not for a man like Aemond Targaryen. It overwhelmed you - he overwhelmed you.

But all you had to do was glance at the map that was splayed over his table and the weaponry he had discarded at the foot of it before you were trying to shove him away from you. Aemond stepped away from you upon noticing the panic in your movements. You barely noticed the flash of worry that passed through his features before he so skilfully replaced his mask.

The rise and fall of your chest was heavy and you had the sudden urge to punch the sultry smirk right off of Aemond’s face. That was not okay. Right now, you didn’t even want to think about the way your body reacted to him, they way you would have let him have his way with you right there and then despite all the consequences that would rain down upon you.

“I will not stay in here,” You closed your eyes to avoid his stare, chest heaving as you caught your breath and reminded yourself of the formalities of Aemond’s title. And of the possible repercussions for denying him so stubbornly. “My Prince, it is not appropriate.”

You hadn’t heard him make his way across the room until you heard the door open. Aemond hesitated, his resolve was not as strong as he had thought given the way his heart was beating as if he had run a mile. The strain at his pelvis was almost painful and his hands urged to be tangled in your hair again, squeezing your hips, feeling the warmth of your skin underneath your clothing. Perhaps you weren’t wrong and Aemond returned to his hardened self at the thought of being unable to control his desires.

“Hm,” he drawled, stoic as ever and standing tall at the doorway and gazing down at you over his shoulder with a red hot spark in his eye. Aemond’s mind raced with a million words, many in the alluring language he knew you could not understand and they all tasted dangerous on his tongue. “You are not wrong. It is not appropriate until we are wed, ñuha dāria.”

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 8 months ago

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To Love You

Pairing | wanted!Jimin x princess!Reader

Word Count | 16,1k

Warnings | +18, angst, smut, Jimin is a wanted outlaw, mention of dead parents and conspiracy, the new king is a slimy being, mention of hatred, painful feelings and abandonment, many tears, Jimin is allergic to romantic feelings 💀, murders (sword, poison, torture…), attempted rape, lots of kissing and touching, breast worship, love marks, talks about having a baby, impregnation kink, sex in the woods, virginity loss, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, licking pussy, forcing orgasm, mild fantasy!AU toward the end, this is not for minors.

⤷ Summary | You have been separated from your beloved and your kingdom is under the rule of a heartless man, but all is not lost.

➢ Author's Note | I wrote this story because after Dark Moon I found it hard to part with Jimin, and at the same time I wanted to bring some sweetness to heal my heart a little, I hope you enjoy this story ❤️

ps: all images used for the banner belong exclusively to me!

Permanent Taglist: @katherine-kookie @btsuga-d @reallygenerouskoala @velvet-stardust2002, @takemeaway5402 @angelicsmilesworld @pantara @ke1k029 @btssimpjaneth

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"The multi-murderer Park Jimin here, the rebel leader who has been sowing terror in our lands for years, stealing from our families and killing our children, is sentenced to capital punishment, tomorrow at dawn the gallows will await his head."

A buzz rises in the room, all the attention of those present is focused on the commander of His Majesty's Royal Guards, the man is reading an official communiqué, with every word your heart receives a painful, deafening stinging.

Your eyes are steady on the blond-haired boy, kneeling in the middle of the hall, his mischievous gaze on the king, your uncle.

"The condemned man will be escorted immediately to his cell, where he will remain until the following morning, in the hope that he will repent of his deplorable deeds and ask God for forgiveness."

The boy’s grin deepens, in his ice-colored eyes that contributed to his fame, shines an amused spark, you know what it means… it’s that attitude of his that made you fall in love with him, your Jimin.

"Deplorable is forgetting the poor people you have killed for your own interests, mine was only justice, my lords...there should be someone else in my place, you all know that," the barb aimed directly at the king makes everyone present hold their breath. including you.

To address a tyrant ruler like your uncle in that way is simply insane, by your side you see the man in question clenching his fists and narrowing his gaze, but he dare not go on a rampage, not in front of his subjects, at least.

"Take him to his cell, that's where such a beast deserves to be," the king hisses, and when the guards badly pull Jimin to his feet, he finally looks at you-it's only an instant, but it's enough for you to notice his expression change from mischievous to wistful.

You barely hold back the tears as they take him away, unable to say or do anything, you promised him, you promised him you would do nothing foolish or dangerous, but your heart clenched in a painful grip calls out to him and longs to feel his embrace again, but yours is a secret that must be kept silent and hidden.

You feel a hand wrap itself around your shoulders and you shudder, watching your uncle's dark eyes stare at you suspiciously, the crown jewels shining wickedly on his head, as if mocking you, a princess forgotten by her people.

"Is there something you would like to say, my niece?" his words creep disgustingly down your spine, you want to spit in his face, but you hold back.

You clutch your robes in your hands, imprinting your best smile on your lips.

"No, Your Highness, I am calmer now, finally that outlaw has been caught" uttering those words kills you inside, it is before you the real outlaw, the one who plotted against your father to usurp his throne, you are alive only because you are a sweet and important pawn in your uncle's game, if you want to conquer a new country without shedding blood, you need a precious bargaining chip, no?

And in your veins runs the pure blood of a princess, an opportunity too tempting for your uncle who is already itching to give you away in marriage to who knows what spoiled, deadbeat prince.

You sense a gentler hand pulling you away, it is your wet nurse, sweet old Harun, she curtseys to your uncle and when he turns his attention to the other nobles in the room, the woman finally speaks, "Come, my lady, you must rest now" you let yourself be dragged away from her like a shattered rag doll, once this woman could patch you up, now you doubt that playing another of her games to cheer you up will have the desired effect, the love of your life will be executed tomorrow.

"It's over, Harun," you say with a sob stuck in your throat, "It's really over..." Harun stares at you with tears in her eyes.

After all, she witnessed your love; before he was an outlaw, Jimin was the son of a knight of the king, one of your father's best friends, you grew up together, you watched him practicing with his sword in the imperial gardens, hidden among the hedges as a princess should not have done, he loved practicing with you during dance lessons, you were very close and Harun had never dared to push you away, aware of the importance of a young love like yours.

After your uncle killed the king, Jimin's father rebelled by not accepting the new ruler and found death awaiting him, his family was stripped of its noble title and robbed of all wealth, throwing Jimin into a spiral of hatred and revenge.

He found ways to stir up trouble for the new king and his court by looting their homes or killing important members of their families, you on your side knew he was alive because of the whispers coming from the servants, with regret you realize that you saw his handsome face again as he was kneeling at the new king's feet and it will probably be the last time as well.

Harun gives you time to enter your bedroom, "My lady, Jimin never blamed you for what happened to him."

You smile softly, "I know, he... he is good, Harun, Jimin is good."

The elderly woman nods understandingly, it is when you sit on the bed that you notice something. Before you leave, Harun deliberately lets something slip among your things; it's a key.

"I hope you can both be happy, princess," she says before closing the door behind her.

With slow, tentative steps you reach for the key, you look around fearfully, almost expecting your uncle to pop out from somewhere, ready to accuse you of treachery, but when you grab the key to the castle dungeons nothing of what you imagined happens, you look out your window, the moon in the sky is high and motherly, almost inviting you to follow your heart, and with a salty smile you clutch the key to your chest.

Just for the thoughts invading your mind you deserve condemnation, but what do you have to lose now? If the love of your life dies tomorrow at dawn, then you will stand by his side, not among cruel people looking down on him.

Take a last look at your room, you spent a wonderful childhood within those walls; on the bed wrapped in tulle and silk you embroidered with your mother, on the carpet with your family crest you played while Harun braided your hair, good-naturedly reprimanding you if you spoke a little too loudly and smiling sweetly you remember at the window a young and cunning Jimin climbing a tree to join you in your rooms, that's how your first and only kiss happened, it was a light and chaste touch, but it was enough to leave you with your heart wrapped in joy.

Then it was all over, no more games, laughter or shy hugs at every corner of the castle. The new king ruined everything.

The night welcomes you and slips with you as you move like a shadow within the castle walls, after years of dancing your step is so light that the heels of your shoes do not make the slightest noise, you clutch the light shawl you have carried with you over your shoulders, shivering at the draught that penetrates through the draughts of the dungeons, you have found no guards as you pass, they are all focused on protecting the king and his apartments, the fear of possible revenge from Jimin's men is too vivid for them.

You descend the stone steps covering your nose with your shawl, the smell of mold is strong and makes your eyes water, drops of water whose origin is unknown to you fall from the ceiling, it is so dark that you are forced to take a torch from the wall and use it to light your way, the flame dances sinuously with your every movement and you finally access the last part of the long and winding corridor. A sickening smell of urine overtakes you as you approach the filthy cells, Jimin is locked up in such a place, another wicked way of trying to humiliate him.

There are five cells in all, in front of them you notice a wooden table with two chairs, that's where you immediately go, take the bottle of wine and swallow, you have to.

It's something you've always thought of reserving for your uncle someday, but Jimin's life is more important, so you firmly detach the thin chain you've been wearing around your neck since your father's death from your neck, you look one last time at the silver pendant with your family crest, then you open it with a small click and its contents are revealed, you throw a few pieces of the wolfsbane root into the wine, hoping that the guards will drink it before they realize what had been done, and with a shuddering breath you hide the necklace in the pockets of your dress.

Then, as if you hadn't just poisoned the bottle, you slowly make your way to the dirty rooms enclosed by old iron bars, you illuminate the cramped space of each cell by the torchlight flame, you notice beds of dirty, old straw and dark stains on the wall, you don't even want to imagine what it could be.

You notice a soft humming, it is gentle and sweet, you swallow recognizing the melody, he is there.

You approach the last cell with your heart in your throat, you haven't seen him in years, you don't know exactly how he will react to your presence, you repeat Harun's words in your head as you use the key she gave you to open the cell, the noise is creepy as you open the rusted iron door, the shadows inside are even more so.

You take a step in there, your feet meet more straw, it is so dark that you can only rely on the torch you clutch in your hand and the moonlight filtering through a tiny barred window, you try to look around but suddenly the flame goes out, the loss of light provokes in you the instinct to scream, but one hand rushes to close your mouth while another grabs you by the side, holding you to a warm body you didn't think you could touch again.

You shudder when the tip of his nose lightly brushes your neck, and you are inflamed to realize that he is inhaling your fragrance. You feel him smile against your skin before leaving a kiss on it that makes you lose several beats and your hair stand up pleasantly.

"What's a princess like you doing in a place like this... with someone like me?" he whispers in your ear as the tempting devil would, you'd be lying if you said he had no effect on you, your mind and body are hopelessly drawn to him.

His hand releases your mouth and reaches down to your neck, tightening it in a deliberately weak grip, you lick your lips before responding.

"I'm here to set you free, Jimin," you say softly, this makes him snort in amusement.

"Set me free? Oh, Y/N... I'm not afraid to die" you tremble when he says your name and turn in his arms, you try to look into his eyes but the only thing you catch is the dangerous glint in them.

"I do, I am afraid! I don't want you to die, Jimin..." you whisper in a broken voice and finally allow yourself to embrace him, rest your head on his warm chest and although he doesn't reciprocate, he does nothing to stop you.

It's a strange feeling you feel, he left you he was a skinny little boy full of rage, now he is a man facing death head on, but you are not ready to let him go one more time.

"And I don't want you to be here when the guards come back, this is high treason to the crown, Y/N," he growls looking at the open cell door and clutching your shoulders, he wants you to leave, you know.

"Do you think I care? No, Jimin... I stopped being a princess when my father and mother died, when you were forced to leave and left me alone" you say the last word bitterly, "If I die saving you, I will accept my fate."

He slowly pushes you back, each step brings you closer to the light filtering through the small window, and when you end up with your back to the wall, you can finally see clearly the face of the man he has become and your breath catches, his peculiar eyes hold a torment that does not shine through in his brazen voice, you raise a hand to his face and shyly brush the line of his jaw, his golden locks shine under the moonlight glow, it is shocking.

"You don't even know what you're saying, you're a silly princess who's read too many books and now thinks she can save an outlaw" he laughs softly shaking his head, "Go back to your room, Y/N and forget me" when he turns away from you and you lose the little hold you have on him, the world comes crashing down on you.

Forget him? He has no idea how many years you spent waiting for him, hoping he would take you away from your uncle's clutches, he never came to get you and yet you never stopped hoping, you shake your head looking at him sorrowfully. It is easy for him to say such a thing, after all, he has already left you in his past, a past he has turned his back on.

"You're probably right, I'm a silly princess who has read too many books and now wants to save an outlaw, but I won't forget you," you hiss feeling a sudden surge of anger, because if you gave in to the sadness that now clutches your heart you would find yourself crying on your knees and he doesn't deserve that, "It may have been very easy for you to make me disappear from your mind and heart, but don't think we're the same in this."

He does not answer you, you know he is gritting his teeth by the rhythmic click of his jaw, you thought you had found him and instead you are looking at a stranger.

"You've grown ... and you've changed," you whisper before turning toward the exit with a chill in your body, "The cell is open and the guards are focused on protecting the king, you pretty much have the coast clear."

Before you can leave, his voice stops you.

"What will happen to you? Every action has a repercussion, princess."

You smile without amusement; it's ridiculous how he avoids facing your feelings by pretending they don't exist.

"Don't waste your time on me and go, it's not even certain that they will find out," you sigh with one last look at the man who stole your heart and soul before freezing you, he now has his hands clasped around the bars of the window, as if he refuses to look at you. It is stupid what you are about to do, but you need one last test.

You let your shawl slide to the ground; if it is still in the straw tomorrow, you will be condemned in Jimin's place; if, on the other hand, the guards do not find it, it means the boy has taken it with him. You know you are being selfish, but you wish a part of you would stay with him, even though he would probably like not to think of you again.

"Jimin!" one of his friends notices him, and relief is immediate in the group.

They welcome him with open arms as he collapses to the ground, tired but happy to still have his head attached to his neck.

"We were already prepared to intervene during the public trial, but this changes everything! How did you escape?" Hoseok asks him with wide eyes, Jimin brings a hand to his damp and dirty hair, seriously in need of a bath after spending a night running through dirty streets and dirt.

"I was helped ... by a friend, let's say," he replies through clenched teeth, gratefully taking the water bottle Yoongi is handing him.

"A friend? Some servant girl you've had fun with in the past?" asks Taehyung smoothly, receiving a blow on the head from Namjoon.

It is Seokjin who notices the shawl that Jimin has tied around his waist, masterfully takes it before the boy can even notice and ignores the latter's protests.

"I'd say a princess," he says with a smile, spreading the fabric and displaying the royal family crest under the sunlight, "I knew it, she-"

"Stop. I know what you are going to say and I urge you to go no further," Jimin growls taking back your shawl, "She belongs in that castle."

"Kidnapping a princess is easy, so what's your problem?" in a not at all gentle way, Jungkook voices the question that has always crossed everyone's mind.

"Her place is not in that castle, everyone in the kingdom knows that ever since Cobra killed his brother and sister-in-law, he wants to use his niece as a bargaining chip with all countries provided with an heir" Namjoon looks at him sternly, but Jimin sighs.

"She is a princess, that is her duty."

He clutches your shawl tightly before getting up from the ground and heading to his tent, your place is not by his side, you are safer in that castle, whoever went against that foolish new king met his death, he will never forget the life in his father's eyes that faded away, nor the flames that burned his house and the king's guards that captured his mother and brothers, you will not end up the same way because of his selfishness, if leaving you by your uncle's side will preserve your life, then he will give up on you.

He clutches tightly at the fabric that still carries your sweet scent of vanilla and cookies, it was devastating to have had you next to him again without being able to hold you as he would have liked, for a moment the memories of childhood lulled him tenderly, but you are two different people now, he is different and must let you go, it is for your own good he thinks as he ties your shawl around his duffle bag, trying not to think back to the pain in your voice as you left the cell.

Someday, when you have a family of your own, you will understand the reason behind his every action.

The walls tremble at the king's shouts, he is furious.

Everyone in the hall looks at each other nervously, you keep your vacant and tired gaze, it has been three days since Park Jimin's escape and your uncle shows no sign of ending his fury, he has executed five guards and two nobles of his court suspected of helping Jimin with the escape. The reason is the poison found in the wine that killed the sentries who were on guard that night; it is a plant found only in the royal gardens and only the king and the nobles of his court have access to it.

"Who dared to betray the king?" is the question circulating among those in the hall as you crinkle the skirt of your gown with nervous fingers, not regretting helping Jimin, but breathing the heavy air of these days is not easy.

"Who do you think could have done it, my niece?" when your uncle whispers the question in your ear you stiffen.

"I don't have enough evidence to accuse anyone, Your Majesty, the only thing I can say is that it must have been a fool with no conscience," you reply in as firm a tone as possible, your uncle scrutinizing you from head to toe before nodding.

"Yeah, a fool..." he hisses shifting his gaze to his nobles, out of the corner of your eye you notice Harun looking at you from the front door with sadness.

She expected Jimin to take you away with him, and truthfully you had hoped for that at first too, but you can't force a person to love you, it's a good thing things turned out this way, you can finally stop chasing a ghost and wishing for something you will never have.

When that day's reunion ends, you can finally be free to wander around the castle, what you don't expect is to find the king in your safe place, your mother's private little garden.

"Sire..." you whisper strangely, the king never dared to enter there, everything about those lush plants and flowers carries the memory of your mother, a beautiful and sensitive woman, but also very strong. She did not shy away from her brother-in-law's sword when he pointed it at her chest.

"Y/N, you are doing a very good job here," he nods in the direction of the white lilies in the height of their bloom, you do nothing to approach the man, you have always discreetly driven away his presence, but it is one thing to leave his halls, another to leave a place you consider your own, this may make him too suspicious.

He, however, seems not to notice your lack of response, too busy studying the many plants in the small garden.

"Go ahead and sit down and read one of your books, nephew...I'm just here to find some peace...I confess, Park Jimin's escape troubles me," he casts you a little glance and you clear your throat.

"You are the king, he cannot harm you in here, Sire."

The man nods weakly, but still looks tense.

"Oh, I know I am the king, my dear niece, but the idea that a traitor could live within the walls of my castle does not let me sleep at night."

You grit your teeth.

His castle? The castle he forcibly wrested from you and your family?

This is another humiliation to which you cannot respond as you actually want to, you swallow the knot in your throat.

"Precisely why I'm so disappointed... in you" you squint, possible... "Y/N, I kept you alive when I took the throne years ago, you were such a pretty and malleable child, but maybe not enough" he continues before shaking off the dark cloak and pulling out something that locks your breath in your lungs.

In his fist he clutches your necklace, the one that contained the poison and that you thought you had hidden in the sewn folds of your dress, you don't know what to say, so you try to pretend.

"Oh! You found it, I've been looking for it for days," you exclaim in the most surprised tone you can imitate, but the man doesn't seem to be playing along with you.

"Don't lie to me, Y/N, this necklace was found inside the cell where Park Jimin was locked up, I had heard rumors about your childish feelings for that outlaw, but to go that far? To go so far as to betray me? I spared your life, I never denied you and your title of princess! I raised you as if you were my own daughter!" he shouts, violently pulling off a wolfsbane root hidden among the lilies.

Something snaps inside you at his insinuations, an anger you've been hatching for years that has never found an outlet.

"Raised as a daughter? You killed my father and mother for a crown! You put power and wealth first, you deprived me of a family, you did the same to Jimin and claim to pass as a victim now! You are a vile monster!"

Your uncle is quick to draw the same sword with which he had remorselessly severed your father's head, he points it at your throat and it is so close that you feel the blade press against your skin enough to scratch it, you inhale deeply trying to block the fear that makes your heart gallop against your rib cage.

"I am the king, I don't allow a foolish girl to judge my actions, I realize I was wrong to spare you that night...but what should I do with you now? Should I kill you now or..." a mad light flashes in his eyes, "Of course... a condemned will be there, you will take the place of your beloved Jimin," he hisses in your face, a slow smile makes room on your cheeks contrary to what the man expected.

He expected you to burst into tears and fall to your knees begging him to spare you, but you will not, you will honor your mother's memory.

"You're just a coward," you whisper amused, at which the man's face turns red with fury.

"Guards! Guards!" he shouts at that point, six men enter by breaking through the glass door from which you enter to reach your mother's garden, shards of glass surround you along with the soldiers, you have no escape and so you merely chill the king with your gaze, "Lock her up in the highest and most isolated tower of the castle, I sentence the princess to death for helping the dangerous fugitive Park Jimin escape from my prisons!"

"Your day will come, too, Uncle," you hiss furiously, "And when you find him before your eyes, you will fall to your knees begging him to spare your life, but he will not be so merciful," you announce proudly, not needing to utter Jimin's name to alert your uncle, the way he suddenly whitens is already an answer for you, you keep smiling as an austere-looking man tugs you badly, forgetting that he has a princess on his hands, or maybe they don't care, it's the king who matters to them.

As you are thrown to the floor inside what will be your final chamber, darkness engulfs you once the door is closed.

You cough hard involuntarily inhaling the air thick with dust and dirt, your eyes burn and you do not know whether from tears or from the irritants in the room, the only thing you are sure of is that tomorrow your entire kingdom will know of your death sentence.

They will probably learn of that news with indifference, wondering why the king did not kill you earlier, along with the rest of your family.

You often ask yourself that too, if he had killed you then, you would have died basking in the thought that Jimin loved you and would remember you forever.

"Let's move, we need to refuel in town before we leave," says Seokjin starting to saddle his horse, Namjoon on the other hand is busy cataloging all their stuff to avoid losing anything after yet another move.

"Taehyung's not back yet?" complains Hoseok snortingly, picking up the "stupid guy's" bag, Jungkook shrugs in response.

They sent Taehyung to check the situation in town, moving in a group would have been dangerous; it's always better to check one at a time that the coast is clear.

"Strange, he should be here already," Jimin whispers as he squints, their momentary safe place in the heart of the forest is now almost completely clear, only Taehyung is missing.

"Maybe he's found something interesting," murmurs Yoongi crossing his arms and staring at an unspecified point toward the horizon, everyone staring at him in confusion before hearing Taehyung's voice.

"Jimin!" exclaimed Taehyung coming galloping in a breathless gallop, Hoseok cursing.

"I hope no one saw you running and screaming like that, you asshole," he growls, but Taehyung overtakes him with wide eyes and a paper clutched in his hand.

"Jimin, it's about the princess!" silence instantly replaces the protests of the others, Jimin stiffens as he stares guardedly at the paper Taehyung is clutching so desperately, "That fool of a king-" is interrupted by his friend who snatches the flyer from his hands to read it himself.

A boulder falls into his stomach and the ground is as if shaking beneath his feet, the king has sentenced you to death, you will end up hanging with a noose around your neck for helping him escape, he clutches the piece of paper tightly, shaking with fury.

You should not have helped him, you should not have risked your life for someone like him, when he thinks of how he treated you before you left he feels only immense shame.

"We should have kidnapped her when I proposed it," Jungkook sighs before saddling his horse as well.

"Saving her is the more appropriate term," Yoongi corrects him, adjusting his leather vest before turning to Jimin, "What do you want to do now?"

Jimin lets out a laugh full of malice, his adamantine eyes shining as he observes the king's seal in the communiqué.

"Are you still convinced that leaving her in that castle is the only way to keep her safe?" asks Namjoon sarcastically, Jimin shakes his head.

"In light of the new events, I would say no," he sighs reluctantly, handing the communiqué to Hoseok.

"The execution is in two days, we have to find a way to get into the castle and find her."

"He probably locked her up in the most isolated tower, he did the same with her mother before he killed her, it's as if he enjoys seeing them wallowing in fear," the blond man forcefully clutches a twig picked from the ground before snapping it in two, wishing he had the king's neck in his hands.

"Now with all those guards circling her it will be harder to kidnap a princess, but nothing is impossible for us," sneers Jungkook, but Jimin doesn't seem thrilled at the idea of having you back by his side, filling him with unease and remorse, reminding him of all the years he was absent and didn't really care how you might feel sitting side by side with the monster who killed your parents.

Someone squeezes his shoulder in comfort, it is Jin who is looking at him with a smile, "Hey, if you explain everything to her she will understand, from what you told me, she seems like a smart and intelligent girl."

Jimin grins slightly and nods.

"She is."

You look out the small tower window with tears in your eyes, you don't know how many hours you have been crying now, what your uncle did was deplorable and cruel.

You were allowed to sleep with your sweet old Harun beside you, you had to imagine that behind that concession was the cruel promise of a snake.

‘With the princess dead, there is no need for a wet nurse anymore’ is what the king said before ordering the guards to carry Harun away to the outside, exactly in the direction of your window, before they began to slaughter her amidst the screams of both of you, you shook the bars at the window of the hope of breaking them and reaching her, but it had all been in vain, Harun died almost immediately, she preferred not to withstand the blows to spare you the suffering of watching her fight like an animal for who knows how long.

Your throat burns as you sob, her body is still there, no one has gone to cover her, they are simply waiting for the ravens to arrive.

You slowly fall to your knees letting go of your grip on the bars, your hands are encrusted with blood and your nails are broken, you clutch your hands to your chest remembering your wet nurse who apologized to you the night before for encouraging you to free Jimin, repeating numerous times that she firmly believed you would run away together.

You feel guilty, perhaps if you had not requested Harun's presence, she would not have come into the king's sights, you find yourself wishing the hours would pass quickly, you do not want to be alone with your thoughts, they are too scary, death in comparison seems like a sweet promise.

Suddenly you hear the creak of the old door opening, for a moment - your despite yourself - you brighten up, believing you'll find Jimin ready to help you, but the dream soon shatters once again, it's not Jimin, it's one of the guards, and then you frown, what is he doing here? The king has expressly ordered that no one should speak to you again.

"What do you want, sir?" you ask with a strange feeling in your stomach, the guard sneers.

"A change of room, the king has ordered it," you stare at the open door, then back at the guard, it's a boy who looks familiar to you, he has black hair and droopy eyes.

You don't ask any further questions, you get up from the floor and shaking off the dust you let him grab you by the arm, though you grit your teeth in anger you dare not say anything, it's still better than having chains on your wrists and ankles.

He takes you outside urgently, you don't see the other guards and it makes you suspicious, you remember there were at least three outside the door, what is going on?

It is when you get to the fourth flight of stairs that you feel a violent grip on your shoulder before you are forced into a small, dark room, perhaps a closet used by the servants to store items, you scream with all your might, but the man's slimy mouth immediately covers yours, it is disgusting as you try to force his tongue between your lips and with a firm conk in your throat you bite it off with all your might.

This makes him flinch away with a yelp, it's dark and you can't see anything, you can only imagine him probing his tongue with his fingers to make sure it's still attached, you spit out his blood shuddering.

"You know..." he begins panting, "I've never been with a princess, I must say you are much better than servants," he laughs like a maniac returning again to his intent, trying to lift your dress skirts, but every time he tries to sneak his hand in, he always finds a kick to hit it badly.

With your heart engaged in a mad rush, you try to defend yourself as best you can, you've never been in a situation like this, but you won't let this happen, ever.

You desperately grope for something behind you, his wine-smelling breath twisting your guts and when he comes to lick your neck you manage to hold on to something cold and spiky, you don't even need to ask for forgiveness for what you are about to do, you don't even feel a hint of guilt as you start hitting him viciously wherever you can, with a snarl he tries to block your hands but you manage to knock him unconscious with one last blow.

You open the door to the small room to escape and the man's body collapses to the floor, you finally recognize him, he is the son of the guards' captain, and a rush of satisfaction fills your chest as you think back to what they did to Harun, then you suddenly realize you are free.

You don't know exactly where you're going to go, but you have a chance to escape and you're not going to miss a golden opportunity like that.

To enter the castle they used an old and dense series of underground tunnels leading to every corner of the palace, to be on the safe side Jimin chose the one that would lead them to the kitchens populated only by servants at certain times.

"Well, we're in," Hoseok snorts, shaking cobwebs from his clothes in disgust, "Now what?"

"We should split up and check every single tower, just in case," proposes Seokjin nabbing an apple from the basket in the large kitchen, Jimin looks around wistfully, brushing against the massive old wooden table he remembers all the afternoons spent with you stealing cookies with the complicity of Harun and the cook, with the old housekeeper always at your heels repeating to you to go back to the lessons with the riding teacher.

"Be careful, the castle is swarming with soldiers," the blond warns them before going on his way, refusing to take anyone else with him.

He moves through the shadows of the palace, making sure to avoid every corner illuminated by the light of the flashlights hanging on the walls of almost every corridor, his stride is light despite the leather boots he is wearing, he is getting closer and closer to the throne room and he shouldn't, he is there to save you, but... if he kills the king you will ascend to the throne.

He tries to calm his breathing, the idea of coming face to face again with the man responsible for his downfall is too much for him, it would be delightful to sever the head from his neck and proclaim a new ruler, one man's death would be enough to end both of their nightmares.

Before he can even really realize it, he has reached the vicinity of the throne room, hidden behind a secluded corner he watches the guards lurking at each corner of the door.

Opening his palm he slowly slides a dagger down his arm to his wrist, grasps the handle foretasting the moment when he will plunge the blade into the living flesh of the two soldiers in the king's service, one of them yawns sonorously and keeps his eyes almost completely closed, receiving a shove from the other.

"Hey, I'm going for a check-up, try not to fall asleep as usual, you boar," he growls before putting his hand on the sword hilt and walking away looking around.

Jimin sneers as he licks his lower lip, drops his cloak hood and calmly approaches the displeased man.

"Why do I always have to stay on guard?" he hears him mutter, "That prick really turns my-" the words stop in the middle of his throat while Jimin is cutting it, it is such a smooth movement his that it now seems remarkably natural.

The man doesn't resist, he moans in a hushed voice as he collapses to the ground accompanied by the blond man who doesn't mind the blood smeared on his cloak, the stench of alcohol the soldier exudes, he can swear he was too drunk to try to react in any other way, everything seems to be going in his favor and he can't help but bask in the pleasure of what is about to take place.

When he enters the great throne room, he cannot help but think of the time when he found himself kneeling before the king in a humiliating position, but that night everything will be reversed.

The young man remembers the walls finished in gold and silver, but the frescoes proclaiming King Cobra as the victor are new, depicting hunting scenes and valiant battles to feed the man's narcissistic side, but they are all lies, Jimin knows and so does Cobra himself.

The king's back is turned and he is holding his hands behind his back, he is carefully watching something from the high windows of the throne room, perhaps he does not sense the presence creeping behind him or simply ignores it, the fact is that when Jimin points his sword at his back, the man does not move an inch, he remains ice cold.

"I knew you would come back for her, Jimin," there is an amused note in his voice, Jimin thins his gaze.

"For her? I came back to kill you," the boy growls, pressing the gleaming blade harder.

"Um..." the man brings a hand to his face to smooth his long beard, "So you don't care about Y/N or what might happen to her at this very moment."

A trace of insecurity quickly passes through Jimin's icy eyes, he grits his teeth before uttering the words he would not want left his lips, "Exactly, I'm just here to settle a score."

"Oh, well ... then, before you settle this unfinished score, why don't you enjoy the show with me?" the sardonic question awakens Jimin's sixth sense, as he lifts his gaze over the king's shoulder and toward the stained glass windows, just outside the garden that would later lead inside the bramble forest.

Immediately he feels the blood freeze in his veins, he rolls his eyes and tries to keep his calm demeanor, but inside he is dying.

You are there.

You're running toward the forest with a soldier behind you gaining more and more ground, you're too tired and petite to outrun him, you won't make it.

"So what? Will you take my life and satisfy your revenge or will you run to save the princess in danger?" chuckles Cobra, Jimin hisses strengthening his grip and tearing at the king's gaudy robes with the tip of his blade, he knows what he has to do, the answer is so obvious, but letting go of such a being is unthinkable for him, unbearable.

With a snarl he pushes the king away, who rolls badly to the ground, and before he can even comprehend what has just happened, Jimin puts his sword to his throat, the blade shining under the dim light of the candles and longing for the young man to go forward, to pierce the flesh of that worm and sever his head from the rest of his body, but all that does not happen.

Jimin's eyes are now as dark as darkness, he uncovers his teeth like a snarling wolf, "I will return, Your Majesty... and when you see me again, you will pray for God to save you, for I will have no mercy on your dark soul," he hisses, hurling a slash toward the king, then heading quickly and in a blind fury toward the exit of the hall.

Cobra with wide eyes grazes his own face, slowly a wound opens under his left eye and blood stains his hands.

You hiss in pain with every thorn that sticks in your legs, your dress is torn in several places and you try to catch your breath as you pray that the soldier will not find you.

You have ended up in the bramble forest so feared in your kingdom and every movement of the wild plants that inhabit it makes you tremble with terror, everything is dark and cold, you can only hear the cry of the owls that watch your silent struggle mocking you.

You manage to crawl painfully behind a large and imposing tree, lift your skirt and observe the pitiful condition of your legs, bite your lower lip with tears in your eyes, your skin is full of scratches and blood, but you can still run.

You try to pick yourself up, but noises of broken branches block your every movement, you stand with bated breath as someone wanders through the trees.

"Come here, little flower... let's go back to your room," you hear him humming with amusement, "I don't know how you got out, but you won't be punished, you're still a princess after all."

You tremble with cold and fear, it is obvious that the man is not telling the truth, you have seen your uncle's men act before and you know they know no kindness or mercy.

"Our sweet..." you frown as you follow the man's footsteps with your ears, you can't make out which direction he is coming from, "Princess..." you see something moving quickly out of the corner of your eye to your right, you spontaneously throw yourself to the left to avoid it, believing it to be the guard, but to your horror you realize it is a small fox, "... Y/N! " you scream with all your might when hands yank you away, you manage to free yourself only because the man's grip is weak, at which point you run away again.

"Run, princess, run! I'll find you again anyway!" he laughs excitedly at the idea of hunting after months locked in the castle protecting the king's life.

You are tired, your eyesight is getting more and more fatigued, you just want everything to be over as soon as possible. You don't even know where you might go in case you escape the man, you will always be hunted down by the king and his array of soldiers, the idea of giving up everything and accepting the end you will make crosses your mind, even if it means saying goodbye to Jimin for good.

Bramble bushes once again block your way, they stick to your skin and dress, they seem to be on the side of your assailant, you can no longer escape, it's over.

"Gotcha, princess" you feel his heavy breath on your neck, his arms grip you tightly before he lifts you up by weight and throws you into the shaggy, dry grass, "Look at you... actually you don't look like a princess anymore, you look like a dirty peasant girl" he chuckles, kneeling down in front of you, he touches your hair and you glower at him.

"Don't touch me, you dirty mangy dog" you growl, slapping his hand, the man's expression changes, it is no longer cheerful, now he looks resentful.

"You have such peasant language, your mother didn't live long enough to teach you manners, but I'll teach you a good lesson," he says before lifting a hand, ready to slap you in the face.

As your wide eyes stare at the man's heavy hand, your ears feel something move across the grass and stomp on it, then the sound of a slash lashing the air and suddenly you are free, the man falls to the side holding his neck but desperately reaching for the dagger hidden in his leather belt amid curses and expletives.

"Jimin..." you whisper as you see a golden flash in the darkness of the forest, the shadow falls hard on your assailant and you find yourself forcefully closing your eyes to avoid looking at that gruesome spectacle, you listen in disgust to the intense barks of the dying man.

Then everything falls silent.

You feel Jimin's presence approaching your huddled figure on the ground and you don't know how to act.

He has certainly saved your life, but he has just killed a man and you are the granddaughter of the king who took everything away from him; he is no longer the Jimin of when you were an innocent child.

"Are you all right?" he kneels at your side with a certain formality and coldness in his tone of voice, as if trying to keep his distance, hurting you.

You slowly rise up avoiding looking him in the eye, "I'm alive, so yeah... I'm fine," you whisper dimly, hissing when you try to stand up and your legs resume burning painfully, you clench your flayed fingers into small fists and when he notices them he cannot forbid himself a barely concealed dry breath.

"One moment, let me see," he offers, already grabbing a flap of your torn dress, instantly freezing when he meets your eyes wide with embarrassment.

What he was about to do is disgraceful as well as incredibly intimate.

"It's nothing, I can still walk... can you help me reach the village? I might find someone willing to let me board by ship," you ask gritting your teeth, the forest finally gains some light and you can make out the young man's surprised expression.

Your gaze falls on his black robes, although it is not very clear you understand that the darker stains correspond to the blood of the man he has just killed and to whom you dare not even cast a glance, you swallow wondering why apart from your disgust at the blood, it does not bother you at all.

"I am here to save you, princess," he murmurs decisively, "Going to the village is not safe, you can only trust me," at his words you tighten your lips into a tight line.

"If you really want to save me, then stop talking to me in that tone, we grew up together as friends, stop pulling away from me" you whisper sadly, the boy shows a flash of displeasure as your words sink into his heart, behind him several men on their horses begin to approach, one of whom is unridden.

"Jimin, more guards are coming!" exclaims a boy with hair as dark as a raven's feathers and tenacious eyes, and tossing him the reins of the riderless horse, the animal is magnificent, its coat as white as milk and its mane shining like the most precious gold.

Orobel.

With tears in your eyes you recognize the foal your father gave Jimin for his 12th birthday. He is much bigger and more majestic now, a force of nature in every way.

"You must come with us if you want to save your life, princess," says another, his shoulders broad and posture proud, he looks like the leader of the group, a large bow protrudes from his back.

You send down a knot in your throat when Jimin extends a hand toward you encouragingly, "We must go, don't be afraid of them, they are my trusted comrades, Y/N."

Your name uttered by his sweet lips shakes you to the core, he may not be aware of the effect he still has on you and you want to cry like a little girl when he helps you up from the muddy ground and hoist you onto Orobel, if he somehow notices your glazed eyes, he says nothing, probably blaming the wounds on your legs.

You really wish it were that way.

Jimin is chopping wood with an axe, he is shirtless and you watch from a distance, sitting on the grass and wrapped in a clean, heavy cloak, it is the only thing the boys have found suitable for you to protect you from the evening wind.

You notice a few drops of sweat sliding down his neck and then down to his muscular chest as he flexes his arms to strike yet another wooden stump, you swallow with a slight blush dusted on your cheeks, you didn't remember his physique being so grown up, it's all new to you as well as incredibly embarrassing.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Yoongi picking some herbs not far from you, it makes you feel uncomfortable to have to live with so many men; when your uncle took you into custody, he didn't allow any boys to get close to you, he wanted to keep you pure for his plans. Thinking back to the man who didn't think twice about sentencing you to death paralyzes you. You have to hold on until you find your own place to stay, you doubt that Jimin will ever want you by his side; therefore, you have to think personally about your future, even if it is painful to think about.

Being with them, you get a little insight into everyone's roles within the group.

Seokjin is certainly the leader as well as an experienced archer. You have observed him several times taking aim and hitting his intended target accurately, plus he has an aura around him that inspires confidence and trust. On the other hand, Taehyung looks a bit like the jester of the situation, but you have seen him wielding daggers to catch various animals and never wished to take their place, it is clear that behind that sunny smile he hides a soul as dark as the others.

Namjoon would rather observe and devise traps than take part in an actual confrontation, but it is clear that he would never back down in the face of a real threat, just as Yoongi, who plays the role of doctor in the group, helped you bandage your fingers and legs when you arrived at their camp and was incredibly quiet, not that you felt like talking still upset after the events of the night.

Then there are Hoseok and Jungkook, both of whom are the hunters, their job is to find and kill all possible threats in the surroundings, lest their lair be found and besieged by the king's men.

Also, you found out that Jimin is a master of swords.

He masters his steel blade so lightly and sinuously that it seems to dance when he moves and lashes the air.

You are in the midst of wolves, but it doesn't scare you too much, you know they won't hurt you, or so you assume after those five days spent in their company.

You feel a figure stop behind you, you raise your head and have to squint to avoid being blinded by the sun's rays, slowly you make out the form of Yoongi who bends respectfully at your height. His feline-cut eyes seem to invite you to listen to him.

"I can see you are tired, princess, and I know you haven't slept well since you've been here," he begins with a thoughtful look, "Taehyung has managed to find suitable clothes for you and there is a safe lake nearby, I invite you to freshen up and put on something clean before resting, you will surely feel better," he says with a small reassuring smile.

You frown, undecided about what to do, the idea of a bath tantalizes you almost overbearingly, but the embarrassment if one of them were to see you naked would be too much to bear, and Yoongi seems to understand that.

"The lake is far enough away from the camp, none of us here are planning to go to that area at the moment, it is completely safe and isolated, you need not fear anything," he hastens to specify, "I will just accompany you, I will be back here immediately."

"I... thank you, Yoongi" you smile gratefully, finally trusting the boy.

"I'll go get you those clothes, wait here for a moment," you nod, sighing slightly; you turn back to Jimin, but find to your disappointment that he has disappeared.

Yoongi leaves you by the lake, the path back to the camp is not difficult; so, you assure the man that you will have no trouble. He leaves you with a shadow of doubt etched on his face, but you pay no attention to it; you walk to the lakeshore and breathe in the air at the top of your lungs, enjoying the blue sky and the fluffy clouds that sail across it like ships.

When you finally reach the lake, you feed on the sight of the crystal-clear water, the temptation to undress is very strong, but tightening your lips into a line you look around suspiciously.

Stripping off completely would be too much, so you decide to stay in your petticoat, shivering at the breeze rattling the tree foliage, you hang your clothes from the branch of an old felled log nearby.

You turn toward the shore and treading over the small stones and grass you finally slowly begin to enter the water, sighing at the almost freezing temperature.

As the water reaches your belly you hear something emerge noisily from the lake, widening your eyes you find yourself screaming and covering your chest as best you can, wordlessly you see Jimin with his eyes closed bringing back his blond, golden-strand-like hair, the movement is magnetic, and you are practically naked. No, both of you are naked.

You flinch down with the water now up to your chin and your heart in your throat, peering warily at the boy who notices you only at that moment and stares at you wordlessly at first, you notice his jaw snap rigidly and his clear eyes darken, before turning away.

"I'm done, I'm leaving right now," he says raising his voice slightly to be heard, "I just needed to get the sweat off of me," he looks uncomfortable as he tries hard not to let his eyes slide to you.

A squeeze in your stomach is all you get from his words.

"Jimin..." you call out to him as he begins to swim toward the shore, the bitter feeling like gall at seeing him move further and further away from you once again has become unbearable, "So that's it? You don't want me?" his bare shoulders tremble slightly, and you don't know whether from the cold of the water or from your words.

You don't really expect to see him coming back toward you, but that's exactly what he does by moving at an extraordinary speed, he almost looks like a water creature, then he is in front of you in his full height, water droplets glide along his perfect skin and you swallow trying not to look at his bare chest or even lower, suddenly feeling like a little girl under the icy depths of his eyes.

"You're going to get sick, Y/N... Look, your lips are already purple," he whispers, brushing your lower lip with his thumb, stroking it gently, and you feel yourself suddenly go on fire.

"Can't you just answer me to end this suffering?" you beg him with moist eyes, Jimin sighs before shaking his head, reaching up to brush your hair.

"I am not suitable for you, Y/N," he mutters it almost angrily, wishing to put an end to this.

"Or am I not suitable for you, maybe that's what you think" you smile sadly and bitterly, "I'm sorry to still be a bother to you."

"You are not a bother" he almost growls those words and you sigh shaking your head.

"Then I will be soon, you will meet a beautiful woman, marry her and have your own family, that same woman will then wonder when I will disappear from your life forever and at that point there will be no place for me even in your memories," you say shakily, "That is, if there are still memories of me in your heart."

You follow the movement of his neck as he tilts to let his eyes peer deep into your soul, his serious, thoughtful expression leaving you interjected.

He doesn't seem to want to deny but not even admit your words; it's as if he, too, is as confused as you are.

His gaze moves further down, there where your thin robe has stuck to your body because of the water, you realize with shame that it has become transparent and revealing, but you decide not to cover yourself.

You want him to look at you, to see that you are no longer a child, that you have grown up and that your body is that of a girl in her prime.

"My real problem, Y/N ... is that I'm sure I've met that woman before, but I don't feel worthy to be around her, not when I abandoned her in a castle to pursue my revenge," he whispers, the sky-blue color of his eyes seems to become more watery, "I can't forgive myself for putting her on the back burner, that's the truth," you hear the pain in his voice, the one that was missing that night in the cell when you freed him.

The need to hug him and hold him to you suddenly becomes more suffocating, with a sob you throw yourself into his arms and this time he doesn't stay stiff as marble, his arms wrap around you like a silk blanket and you find refuge in his chest.

His skin is warm against your cheek and it's a feeling you didn't think you would experience again, the boy sinks his face into your hair and leaves a kiss on your temple, before brushing the tip of his nose against you and smiling softly.

"There will never be a woman who will make me forget you," despite his words, you feel sad, still incomplete.

You sigh against his neck and close your eyes, you have gotten used to the temperature of the water and its warmth helps to relax you.

"But there will be a woman who will take you away from me" you point out in a colorless voice, when he doesn't respond you decide to loosen your sudden embrace, "I'm tired of waiting for you, Jimin" you let go of the ripples in the water, swimming back to the shore without taking your eyes off the boy who still seems to be in doubt, then a small, amused smile stretches across your face, "I'll have to find a real man who knows what it means to love a woman," you taunt him, reaching down to a shallow spot in the lake bottom, wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine.

You begin to lower the straps of your now useless robe, abandoning all symptoms of shame, you want him to react or get angry in some way, you want a reaction from him and you get it, "Maybe Yoongi? I have to admit, he's very charming and he certainly knows what he wants, he could give me-" before you can even finish speaking, Jimin pulls you toward him grabbing you by the wrist, you only have time to make a surprised sound before his lips manage to cover yours in an impetuous, possession-filled kiss.

You hear your heart beating at a rapid pace in your ears, you did not expect your second kiss to happen this way, he seems exasperated as he presses himself against your mouth for more direct and intimate contact, you open your mouth slightly when his tongue dabs roughly on your lower lip.

It is a man who is kissing you, no longer the kid of your memories, and he seems more than willing to let you know it when one of his hands comes down to tenderly squeeze your throbbing neck, he smiles against your lips when he realizes that your heart seems to want to leave your chest and he separates himself from you with one last caress of his softest petals.

"I haven't even kissed you properly and your heart is already exploding," he chuckles with a spark of mischief in his clear eyes, "And who would you like to give such purity to, Yoongi?" he shakes his head hissing those words like an angry snake ready to attack.

You clench the hand that is still wrapped around your neck and strengthen his grip, wishing that the feel of his fingers on your skin would stay with you, "I've always wanted it to be yours, Jimin," you say softly, tilting your head at the slow descent of his hand.

"I'm very different from the nobles you grew up with, Y/N.... Don't expect me to catch you with a petticoat on," he continues by caressing a thin strap, lifting the fabric just a little, "Or for me to look away while you undress," he leans down to kiss the corner of your lips, reaches down to your chin and continues along the entire line of your neck, as water you adapt to the touch of him until he reaches your breast, your nipples turgid from the temperature of the water and his attentions are raised against the transparent fabric, the man can practically see their shape and color, he cups one breast as he pushes his head against your chest, kissing the soft, tantalizing flesh.

He adores you with his mouth and your sighs make him feel like a lion in a cage, his golden hair captures the last light of dawn as he pushes you against the shore and gets between your legs, studding you with kisses and caresses, returns to your mouth and finally with his tongue captures yours, inviting you to follow him.

You encircle his neck with your arms, trembling with excitement at the way he lets you touch him and the way he touches you, takes you by the hips and holds you against his massive, secure body.

"Jimin" you whisper in his ear as you feel something heavy and stiff against your inviolate intimacy, he mumbles something unintelligible, he seems lost in his bubble continuing to lick and kiss your neck, you tremble feeling incredibly hot, an unknown force urges you to rock against him and cling to his back with your fingernails, groaning suddenly.

This seems to awaken him and the spell is broken.

He flinches away, staring at you with agitation, in his gaze remorse is the one thing you don't want to read, but it's there.

"You need to get dressed," he warns you dangerously and with difficulty before pulling away from you completely, hurting you.

"H-Have I done something I shouldn't have done?" you ask bewildered, still with chills in your body from what his hands were capable of doing to you, this version of Jimin completely opposite from the boy who was kissing you only seconds ago is like a punch to the stomach.

"I said get dressed, Y/N! " he abruptly blurts out, "And stay away from Yoongi, I don't want to see you flirting with him, you're not a village woman," he runs a hand through his damp hair nervously, before stepping out of the water without caring about his nakedness, you turn your head away from him, the feeling of shame has returned to invade your limbs, and with a stone in your heart you bring your arms to your chest, stepping out of the water and groping for the dry clothes that Taehyung and Yoongi kindly gave you.

You don't see Jimin move away from you, clenching his fists and hitting the trunk of a tree until his knuckles are mangled, finding himself staring at the blood rushing to the grass with resentment, trying hard to forget your mouth begging his to be taken or the softness of your body that has enslaved him at an embarrassing speed.

You are worse than a circle of hell for him.

When you return to camp with your face pulled into an indecipherable expression, the boys study you in confusion noting also the strange attitude of Jimin who walks a few steps ahead of you.

The two of you seem farther apart than before and this certainly does not go unnoticed by the others, Yoongi tightens his lips as he reaches for the blond man who is walking back into the forest in search of more wood.

"Hey!" he exclaims behind his friend, "What happened at the lake?" he asks, Jimin snaps an eyebrow up.

"So you knew I was there?" he curls his upper lip over his teeth appearing menacing, but Yoongi's hard gaze doesn't lower.

"She's crazy about you, so it's clear that the fight stemmed from you, am I right?"

This simply rattles the blond more, "I didn't do anything at all, don't play cupid, man, because it won't stick with me."

"Or maybe it was a one-way conversation and you didn't even give her a chance to talk, you're such an asshole! She doesn't deserve a bastard like you, a guy who doesn't grab a chance like that when he has it at his fingertips," Yoongi blurts out, starting to turn back, but those words turn on a red flag in the younger boy who grabs the older one by the leather vest.

"And what would you like to do, Yoongi? Seize the opportunity yourself? I've seen how you watch her pretend to gather herbs for your infusions," at which point Yoongi chuckles wryly, his black eyes twinkling.

"I won't lie, I like her. But I also know to whom her heart belongs, and as a doctor I can well say that if you continue to keep her on the edge like you're doing now, that heart will get sick," he sighs, flinching, "Don't make me punch you, Jimin... you're no fool."

"I'm a criminal and she's a princess," he says without emotion on his handsome face, Yoongi snorts as he rolls his eyes.

"You are her hero, the crown wants her dead and you saved her, now she's a woman like any other and nothing forbids you to be with her," clarifies the older man with a raised eyebrow, as he walks away Jimin remains frozen in place.

‘She's a woman like any other.’

No, you are not like all the others, you are his princess and will remain so forever, which is precisely why he cannot allow another man to lay his hands on you.

Abandoning himself against the bark of an old tree he wonders if being with you would be worth it as a form of protection, he would never hurt you and would ensure you protection for life, the very idea of giving you his love has always terrified him, anyone who ever loved him is dead and he wouldn't want anything horrible to happen to you because of him, but now things have changed, you need him and he... needs you.

He finds you sitting in front of the fire, you're focused on the crackling flames, and if you notice his presence, you don't show it at all, you pull the blanket tighter over your shoulders.

Your thoughtful, melancholy expression suggests to him that you are still remembering the events of a few hours ago, recognizing that he was a real jerk for the way he treated you earlier, kissing you like a lover and then rejecting you like a cheap whore. He still feels ashamed and makes sure that each of his friends is asleep in their own tent before sitting silently next to you.

He hears you wince a little and out of the corner of his eye notices you turn your head away, refusing to acknowledge his presence. He smiles slightly, even as a child when you were offended by something you would puff up your cheeks and turn your head to the side, just as you are doing now.

Yes, you are still his lovely princess.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, moving a few millimeters closer to you, "I shouldn't have spoken to you and I especially shouldn't have touched you like that."

You frown in annoyance, snorting slightly through your nose.

"I don't object to the way you touched me, but you should keep quiet a little more," you mutter venomously, "You have the hands of an angel, but the tongue of a devil," you say casting a glance at his hands, you see the wounds and your heart sinks, you want to kiss them and curse that thought.

Those words trigger two completely different reactions in Jimin, on the one hand they help make him feel guilty, on the other he finds himself smiling internally, because you really don't know how devilish his tongue can be, if used in the right way.

"And you a mermaid's lips," he says taking your chin between two fingers, staring at you with such intensity that you feel naked.

He mirrors himself in your glossy irises and sighs, "Forgive me, after so many years of believing I'm not right for you, I forgot the most important thing."

"The most important thing?"

"Yes, you."

You gasp in surprise, registering his words only after a few moments of unbearable silence.

"You're saying that..."

"I am saying that I want to stay by your side, to be your protector and also your lover, if you will still allow me to be, Y/N."

His irises as clear as the waters of the lake gently brush against you, you feel your eyes tingling, and before he can see the tears streaming down your face you rush toward him, embracing him as if your life depended on it.

In a way it does, because without Jimin, your last piece of happiness that endures from childhood and which you have finally found again, you would have wandered in the void of loneliness for who knows how long.

You think back to your parents, to Harun, to all that you have lost and come to the conclusion that you were not yet ready to lose Jimin too, but he is here. You smile, pulling up with your nose before resting your lips on the boy's soft ones, who more than willingly accepts to surrender himself in your arms that are as small as they are warm and that scream familiarity.

"So you haven't forgotten me," you whisper, pulling away slightly, the blond shakes his head, snorting.

"Never, I tried to protect you by keeping you away from me, the king wants me dangling on a rope ... or at least it was until you made the mistake of saving me" he utters the last words with a note of reproach in his voice, staring at you sternly for the way you put yourself in danger.

But you don't lower your gaze, you won't feel guilty for saving the man you love.

"Now the two of us are here, together, do you want to blame me so much?" you murmur softly and his heart melts like snow in the sun.

He shakes his head, no, he cannot blame you. He, too, for love has made foolish and terrible decisions, and he will not let go of the chance to make up for all the pain he has caused you.

"I could never," he hisses almost painfully, closing his eyes as your fingers graze his hair and his lips reach for you, snapping another kiss.

You let him embrace you and he hold the back of your neck with one hand as he tries to deepen your contact, making it more intimate and slower than the more feverish kisses the two of you exchanged at the lake.

Your heart vibrates like the wings of a hummingbird, happy to give yourself in that way to the one man you have always loved and whom you know for certain you will love all your life. You would never have agreed to an arranged marriage; you hoped with all your heart that your uncle would never find a suitable suitor for you, and fortunately it did.

A commotion from one of the seven tents surprises you both suddenly, you separate slightly and cast a glance toward Namjoon's tent.

"He must have dropped one of his swords," Jimin mutters irritably, you, on the other hand, are traveling with your imagination, imagining sharing the tent with Jimin for the first time and blushing, since you were rescued the boys have taken turns to stand guard and let you have their little station, although strangely enough Jimin's guard duty was lasting for too many days, and as a result you have always used his bed made of furs and straw. Not quite like the one in your room at the palace, but by now you were well used to it, considering the tower where your uncle locked you up.

"Come with me," he offers you his hand and you stare at it for a few moments, before extending yours and linking your fingers in a secure grip, "I know a place a little more... peaceful" the word slips between his teeth persuasively, you don't know what will happen tonight, but if he asked you to throw yourself off a mountain, you would do it as long as he stayed by your side at all times.

"Is it far?" you ask raising your skirt slightly, trying not to trip over tree roots and stones.

The blond looks ahead without letting go of your hand, "Just a little bit" he turns to you with his laughing eyes and you are enchanted at their color, he is lighter and more affectionate, he almost looks like that child Jimin you have missed so much.

You walk just enough to reach the thick, lumpy roots of a large tree, its branches entirely covering the night sky that until moments before was towering over you with its stars.

"Jimin... is ..." you try to say, but there is really no doubt.

The man nods.

"We are inside the lovers' forest, Y/N... this is the tree where according to legend their marriage was celebrated."

You look around, almost hoping to see the blooming arch where the first king and queen of your kingdom were married, eventually giving birth to your dynasty, but you see none of it, disappointed to realize that it is just a clearing of grass and flowers that seems to bow its head to the great tree that towers above it all.

"That's not how the stories described the place," you mumble slightly, your mother and Harun's stories spoke of magical creatures as spectators, flowers of every color and every shade decorating the lawn and the guests' walnut chairs, not to mention precisely the large archway on which roses and climbing plants had grown in honor of the two newlyweds.

You hear Jimin chuckle behind you, his hands encircle your hips and your back rests against his chest, you feel his warm breath on your neck, and goose bumps cause you to shiver.

"I never believed those stories and you know it," he says in a clear, amused tone, "But as I grew older I realized that something really happened here," he whispers in your ear.

With an elegant hand he lifts your chin slightly, bringing your gaze to the trunk of the large tree, you sharpen your vision and finally notice them.

"Runes?"

"Runes," the boy confirms, "This is the Lignum Vitae, the tree of life according to the legends, little princess," he chuckles as he turns away, his leather boots hardly audible among the uncultivated grass and damp earth.

"You don't believe that either?" you snort with a smile, you know you've always been the one to believe in everything your country's legends have handed down, but you would expect some cooperation from him, after all, he was the one who brought you here.

"I don't believe in magic, but I believe that lovers gathered here to bring offspring into the world, relying precisely on this tree," he explains with a shrug.

In fact, talking about a marriage in the stories was much easier if you wanted to tell something about the origin of the royal family to innocent children.

"They succeeded, didn't they? Look at me!" you laugh, pointing with a little bow, and Jimin does, looking at you with an affection and love that until morning he jealously kept to himself.

He walks to the tree and touches the runic symbols gently, in his mind an idea takes an increasingly clear and tantalizing shape.

"If magic really existed and we strengthened our ties to the tree, would everything fall back into place?" he wonders softly with furrowed brows, not wincing when you hug him from behind, as if expecting your closeness.

"We cannot get back what was taken from us, Jimin... even magic is useless in the face of death," your hands are intertwined over his heart, you feel it beating hard and fast, like a free and powerful horse.

"Life is what interests me," he admits, turning toward you.

He takes a few steps forward and you are forced to take as many steps backward, you don't see one of the raised roots of the tree and fall back with a little yelp, Jimin is quick to catch you before you can hit your head, and you both square off with wide-eyed stares.

"If I asked you to give me the gift of a child, here and now, what would your answer be?" he asks seriously.

You don't think about it for a single moment.

"I would answer that it is one of the desires that bind me to you, Jimin."

Another kiss comes, followed by another and another, his mouth demanding yours with such need that it seems almost savage, as if he wants to feed on you after all the years spent lusting after you in the shadows, fleeing like a wanted man of the worst kind.

He accompanies you on the damp grass and reacquaints himself with your neck, using the softness of his rosy lips to tease your tender skin, with the tips of his pearly teeth biting it lightly, and this causes an outcropping of dark, purple stains along the column of your throat, amused at imagining how others might react the next day once they set their gaze on you.

You don't even care, his attentions are a novelty, you welcome his mouth and tongue on your body as a blessing, you wouldn't turn him away from you for anything in the world, let them accuse you of being a prostitute, you and Jimin know the truth, which is that your body and soul have always belonged to the blond and no one has ever touched you as he is doing.

When he gets to the modest bodice of your dress you do something that must be strange to him, or at least you sense this from his gaze when you lift your skirt and stand helpless in his hands, like one of the wooden logs he cuts daily.

"What are you doing?" he asks with a furrowed brow.

Agitation clouds your cheeks, what's wrong?

"You said you want a baby," you say almost shyly, perhaps you misunderstood? But no, he had made it clear earlier....

"I did say that, but I don't understand why you just lifted up your skirt without responding to my caresses and now you stand still" his doubtful expression embarrasses you, that's how educators told you to do it, "Forgive me, my request was too bold."

"No!" you immediately exclaim, "I want to, only I was told to do it this way."

You see his nostrils flare to snort with irritation.

"Right...you've been locked in a castle full of soulless puppets" he shakes his head, "But that's not how I want to take you, Y/N, I prefer you receptive" he whispers persuasively, "Just like today at the lake" he continues, stroking the bare skin of your legs, pushing into your soft inner thighs, you feel your belly tighten heatedly.

"Let's leave certain unnecessary distances to those old nobles," he goes on, kissing you behind your ear, a tremor shakes you when his lips wrap around your earlobe, licking it with the tip of his tongue, "Take off your bodice, love, show me what a good girl you are, hmm?"

You nod without a drop of saliva in your mouth, Jimin's tongue hisses like a snake and you are drawn to his drawling words, you are his forbidden fruit and he can't wait to bite you and find out how sweet you can be and how deliciously you can bleed.

Each button that leaves a buttonhole is a soft kiss from him over the light blouse that still holds your breasts, mentally moaning the blond curses himself for not enjoying your eager body sooner and perfect for his fingers.

He would like to tear off your clothes instantly, but he restrains himself, how would you return to others without instigating some desire in them?. No, he is gentle when even the last garment leaves you and he can finally quiver at the sight of your naked body shivering under the icy night air, or perhaps it is his eyes that make you tremble?

He lifts himself off your body and tosses his tunic to the side, your eyes drink in the sight of his hard chest and the slight hair that descends to his private parts, which you did not see that morning, but you distinctly felt on your warm intimacy, and the air escapes your lungs when you notice something that in the sunlight has strangely escaped you, perhaps because you have tried not to stare at him too much, his chest is studded with small, shiny white lines, they are thin and almost intangible, but they are there.

You brush those lines with a tentative finger, feeling the reliefs with a question mark in mind, and in doing so his skin twitches, "What are these?" you ask gently, Jimin gives a small smile and kisses the knuckles of your hand.

"Every day spent without you," he pronounces solemnly, the wind rattles the leaves of the large tree and for a few moments it is as if you feel it voice whispering over the blond man's words. You chase away the feeling and embrace the boy once more with a tear running down your cheek. You were a fool to believe that he had abandoned you when all he had done was think about you.

You have a feeling that the air is warmer now that his head is buried in the hollow of your breasts, his moist tongue playing with the tip of a nipple initially causing a strange tickle in the center of your chest before a glowing sensation slips between your legs, making you blaze with desire, it's all more direct without your petticoat and you love every second of it.

You bite your lower lip, holding back a moan louder than your sighs, you don't want it to go away again, but it's stronger than you when the delicious sting of a bite makes your thighs tremble around his bare hips, you feel the length of his cock twitch against your skin, it's heavy and it arouses you to know that you have that effect on him, at that thought the wetness descends between your thighs against your will and you try to hide, but Jimin can read a woman's body and you are still too inexperienced to go unnoticed by a hunter like him.

"It's normal" he breathes on your lips imparting another deep kiss, "It means you like it" the tip of his nose rubs against yours trying to soothe you, your eyes fly to his cock when he lifts a little to settle himself better and all the blood rushes to your head, you don't know whether from the shame of seeing a naked man or from the incredible wave of pleasure that washes over you at noticing how thick and needy he looks, there is white liquid at the tip, dripping thickly down his veiny length that seems to contract under your curious and hungry eyes.

Then a thought alarms you, "Does it all have to go in there?" you point to your intimacy, though you don't know for sure, your educators had been vague and you never touched yourself, sometimes you felt the need as you imagined what an adult Jimin might look like, but you never dared to break the imposed rules.

A princess does not do such things as a street woman.

Yet, that's exactly where Jimin caresses you, his fingers dance over your moist folds with mastery and you block the instinct to close your legs, as you might when with his thumb he rolls over a spot that gives you particularly intense and wonderful sensations, "Jimin!" you grab his wrist trying to slow down his devilish circles, but your pelvis continues to chase pleasure against your will, you throw your head back and Jimin kisses the line of your jaw as if it is impossible for him to stop kissing you in any way.

"This is called the clit, love," you hear him smile, "And this is where I'm going to go all in...my cock will go into your sweet little pussy, Y/N," he hums moving his fingers to your needy slit, entering lightly with his light fingertips, you gasp at his sudden dirty language but find that you like it, it makes you feel desired.

You feel his fingers move inside you as his thumb continues to caress your clit, your lower abdomen trembles and stutters in despair with each jolt of pleasure, your teary eyes are lost in the immensity of the tree that seems to silently observe what is happening.

Jimin never goes beyond the elastic barrier he senses beyond your entrance, he merely teases you within inches of your entrance and it is amazing how liquid and copious your pleasure flows past his wrist until it drips onto the grass. His instincts are stronger than he is, he must have a taste of your sweetness and you abruptly hold your breath when his tongue catches another wave of your honeyed essence, you are devastating to his taste buds and he wants more, you find yourself crying and contracting your hips as you try to escape his mouth, he devours you by insisting on your scarlet pearl and when more drops of pleasure come he runs to lick them away from your slit, he seems to be going crazy or maybe he is.

"Stop, Jimin... Stop-oh!" you stiffen instantly when a firmer lick shakes your body and makes you explode in such pleasure that you squint and cry.

"Ssssh, princess" you feel Jimin's lips gathering your tears before placing a kiss at the corner of your stammering mouth; his lips are wet and glossy; he is the embodiment of sin.

He is still breathing down your neck as the thickness of his cock begins to furrow your folds to gather as much moisture as possible, the thick, shiny tip of his cock swirls around your slit and you reflexively contract your pussy muscles, it is almost funny how despite the pleasure that has shocked you, your pussy still tries to invite him inside her.

"It's going to hurt, my love" he warns you with a sharp breath, you nod immediately, this part has been repeated to you many times by those women whose job it was to instruct you in your duties as a wife, though none of them had ever told you that you could experience such pleasure that you would be left gasping for breath.

"I know," you smile, but Jimin seems a little anxious.

"It will be short-lived, I'll be gentle and-" you caress his face affectionately, you know that too, he would never intentionally hurt you.

"And I will have your baby," your heart warms every time you think about it, a baby with the same cheeks and eyes as Jimin? You would love him infinitely, Jimin melts into a real smile.

"Ours."

He intertwines a hand with yours as he prepares to enter and the next thrust makes your eyes widen, he is incredibly slow and gentle, but you have never had anything inside you before and you feel all too clearly his length piercing and widening your inner walls at his will, Jimin is breathing shallowly with sweat beading on his forehead in an attempt to keep calm, you hold him deliciously and you are extraordinarily beautiful as you stare at him with your eyes lost and your lips half-closed and swollen from his kisses.

"I-It doesn't hurt, don't worry, my love," you manage to murmur with a smile, that's right, it doesn't hurt.

It's just a strange sensation, the stretch stings and tingles, but it's nothing unbearable or terrible as you've been led to believe all your life.

Or maybe Jimin is a very good lover, whispers a little voice in your head.

Even so, you feel something warm dripping from your slit after a more direct lunge, running down one of your thighs and ending up on the damp grass; it is your blood, but you pay no attention to it, just as you pay no attention to the quick absorption of the earth near the tree roots.

The blond man nods, but he reaches down again to take a nipple in your mouth, massaging your breast as if he expects milk to come out of it already, your clitoris twitching pleasantly and his cock sliding more sinuously, now you can feel it tapping deeper and deeper, you can almost feel it in your belly and you accompany his thrusts by moving against him, you cling to his back with your fingernails, you hear him moan loudly and that sound excites you, you wonder if...

Before you even think, your hand slides over his chest and you rotate your thumb around one of his smaller, darker nipples, he stiffens with a hoarse sound in his throat and the intensity of his thrusts increases, he clings desperately to you as you tease him again, encircling his hips with your legs.

In the clearing the obscene sounds of your relationship are lost in the wind, the leaves of the tree moving gently almost as if blessing your union.

You kiss him once more and let his tongue take over your mouth, abandoning his deep sighs in you, your walls begin to vibrate ecstatically each time his cock repeatedly plows through them, your belly heats up and you squeeze his swollen length into your pussy, preventing him from leaving at all, Jimin increases his jet speed, now sure of the pleasure that envelops you like a bubble and crushes you against his body, he rides the waves of lust like a stallion, your lungs run out of breath and the world swirls around you.

"We're going to have a baby," he growls decisively, his once ice-blue eyes now a deep electric blue, "And I'm going to bring your uncle's head to you, love," he announces, repeatedly pounding into you at a more assertive and rough pace, his pleasure is snaking incandescently, he can't wait to cum inside you and fill you to the last drop, you will surely accept him as a good wife should.

You tremble with panting and his fierce lunges, praying that he will never leave you, your core is on fire, your walls wrap around him with desperation, and your clit is ready again to let you go in a spiral of enjoyment. You want it all, you yearn for it, you need it, you would kill for it all.

Making love with Jimin.

Yes.

Carrying his child.

Yes.

Having your uncle's head on a silver platter.

Yes.

You hold him in your arms as the first hot jet is shot inside you, he is still buried between your legs as he continues to come, you whimper and at yet another strand of his seed you stiffen, you open your mouth wide in a mute sound as you come with no more strength.

Your body is shaken, unable to recover and you don't understand why, you try to escape when Jimin comes out of your sweet depths, but he blocks you with his weight.

You stare at him shocked when he returns with his hand to your pussy, repeatedly rubbing your perky, still rigid pearl, you shake your head.

"No, it's too much!" you cry clutching your legs, but he continues fearlessly, "I can't do it," you gasp pleadingly.

"It's what you need, honey" he murmurs in your ear, "You're so sensitive you don't realize you need another orgasm to soothe your body, I should have fed you earlier like this, sweet little thing" he sighs with his wrist locked between your thighs, bliss finally comes in little spurts of pleasure that make you gasp and Jimin's thumb stops torturing you, you sag against him without strength, feeling nothing but the vibrations of your intimacy still reliving the intensity and strength of his presence.

"Thank you," you say turning a little toward him, who stares at you with all the love he has for you, "For everything."

But the blond man shakes his head, "You did it all, my princess, I just waited for you" you hear regret in his tone of voice and you're sorry, you don't want him to think back to all the time that kept you apart, now you're together and that's all that matters.

"We will be fine now," you nod.

"When I regain the kingdom" a kiss, "Our baby will be born" another kiss, "And I'll have the king's head to make you a gift" he snaps an even more intense kiss, "We'll be even better, to love you this and more, Y/N" he stares at you with devotion and you lose a beat.

"And I want it, I want it all, Jimin" you let yourself be cradled in your love's embrace and you notice a flash of lightning in passing, you widen your eyes and turn toward the big tree.

It was only an instant, but you swear you saw the runic symbols glow gold.

You kiss Jimin's neck with a smile, foretasting a flood of sweet happenings for both of you, you feel your lap throb gently and you know, a new dynasty is about to be brought into the world.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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10yrsyart · 10 months ago

Text

Luke 15:7, "There is more joy in heaven over one lost sinner who repents and returns to God than over ninety-nine others who were righteous and haven't strayed away!"

i was thinking about this verse recently and wondering.. how different it would be if people could see just how important they are to God. so important in fact that the Creator of the universe, an everlasting Being, came down Himself to experience death to set us free from Death. if you were the only human needing redemption, He would have gone through it all just for you.

it's up to you to accept or reject this payment on your behalf. there's no way to pay it yourself, you can never be "good enough" to make it to Heaven. He took on your punishment for you and only His sacrifice absolves you from it. if you reject Him, He will honor that decision, and you'll spend eternity separated from Him and all joy, light, and happiness. not because He's cruel, but because all good things stem from the Lord. there is no life without Jesus Christ.

the experience of the man in this comic is actually based on many testimonies i've listened to. people cried out to Jesus, and either saw or felt His love and were changed. don't wait! you have the entirety of Heaven cheering you on, longing for you to join our family. the hole in your heart can only be filled by the Holy Spirit's Presence. don't reject your opportunity to experience God's wonders forever, in a reality far greater than Earth could ever hope to be.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, so that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life." (John 3:16)

transcript:

Saint 1: Quick! It's happening!

Man: (sighs)

Demon 1: Things aren't gonna get better, y'know? At least you're not believing in a fairy tale like them.

Demon 2: Reality, not delusion!

Demon 3: Only you can change your life. You're the master of your own destiny!

Man: I've tried everything, but I still feel empty...

Demon 1: Better than being trapped under a bunch of religious rules forever. Is that what you want?

Demon 2: You're worth nothing. You don't deserve any help.

Demon 3: Worthless, worthless~

Man: I'm so sick of this. It's all pointless.. I just want it to stop...

Demon 1: Yes, it's pointless!

Demon 2: Even if you call, no one will answer!

Demon 3: You might as well end it now. There's nothing in your future-

Man: Jesus!

Saint 2: HAH!

Saint 3: Yes!!

Demons (all): NO! No No No No No No No

Man: If you're real, prove it to me! I can't do this. Help me, I need you!

Saint 4: Yeaaaah!

Saint 5: That's right!

Saint 6: I love this part!

Saint 7: WOOOH! YESHUA!

Man: ..Forgive me.

Jesus: (smiles) Welcome home, My son.

Saint 8: He did it!!

Saint 9: Yes!

Saint 10: JESUS!!

Saint 11: Atta boy!

Angel 1: HAH! GOT'M!

Saint 12: Did you see that?!

Saint 13: A new family member!

Angel 2: Hallelujah!

Angel 3: Praise Yah!

Saint 14: Thank You.

Saint 15: I can't wait until he gets here!

Heavenly voices: Our Lord Jehovah! Hallelujah! Praise Yahweh forever! Holy Holy Holy. Yeshua our Savior! Is the Lord God Almighty.

Saint 7: WOOOH! YESHUA!!

God the Father: (smiles)

Man: ...I don't feel empty.

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zorosdimples · 1 year ago

Text

BETWEEN YOU AND ME (AND THE SEA)

pairing ༄ zoro x gn!reader

warnings ༄ suggestive content (this takes place after sex). slight angst that ends in sweet comfort. brief descriptions of violence and wounds. love as religion/love as worship.

word count ༄ 911

notes ༄ this fic is just an insanely intense pillow talk session with my favorite man (i don’t know how to be normal). it’s brimming with love. please enjoy!

p.s. i use the word “bokken” to denote a wooden practice sword.

“i would die for you.”

your breath caresses zoro’s heaving chest, his tawny skin damp, glistening under the moon’s pearly glow. the air is still in the crow’s nest; the only sound to disturb the lulling midnight is the gentle lap of the wine-dark sea.

it takes the swordsman several moments to process your words, his mind still hazy from the events of your shared watch. one wide palm rests on the soft curve of your lower back while he absentmindedly strokes the arch of your neck.

“hm?” zoro belatedly rumbles, brows knit in confusion.

you raise your head to meet your lover’s steel gaze. the look in your eye—zoro knows it well. beneath the heady cloud of contentment is the crazed glint of worship, shining like a honed blade. it’s a look that both terrifies him in its depth and comforts him in its earnestness.

will he ever be worthy of your devotion?

“i’m not particularly brave or strong,” you start, a fingertip etching love into his flesh as you trace the jagged edges of the scar that slashes across his torso—the ghost of an injury that almost took him from you.

“but i would do anything for you, zo. i would die for you. and it should scare me, that i feel so deeply.” your finger stills, hovering above his heart, beat steadfast as the foamy tide. “but when it comes to you? i lose all my inhibitions. i would die for you in an instant.”

even in the dusky quiet, zoro’s hands are broad and warm as the sun. they are an extension of his weapons, instruments of death. yet he cradles your cheeks with devastating care as he pulls your face to his own. his jaw flexes resolutely as he grits out, “don’t say shit like that.”

“not saying it doesn’t make it any less true,” you murmur.

few things scare the swordsman; he knows death’s face, having brushed shoulders with the endless ether more times than he can count. when he dreams, he wades through a river of ichor as asura, violence incarnate.

but your vulnerability frightens him—how you lay your heart bare and expect nothing in return.

the way you live goes against everything zoro has ever known, against his basest instincts to keep his emotions close to his chest, to fight the burden of existence with blood in his maw, to survive at any cost.

(it’s a bitter january evening and snow flurries paint the eaves of the dojo white. zoro’s stomach growls, hunger gnawing at his intestines. his young, scrawny limbs ache with overuse. the room is frigid; his simple robe is not nearly enough to keep the color in his cheeks.

this dreaded overnight practice is punishment for pilfering onigiri from the kitchen several days prior. hunger is but a distraction for the weak. he must repent with grueling drills. but in the middle of an overhead swing, he loses feeling in his arms, the bokken clattering to his feet.

his sensei tsks in disappointment. “the way of the sword is absolute, roronoa. you eat and sleep and breathe by the blade. the second you lose focus—the moment you lose sight of what is important—you will cease to be a swordsman.”

tears of frustration prick the young boy’s eyes, but he holds his tongue, picking up the bokken without sound or complaint. he doesn’t realize that his palms are cracked and that the wooden hilt is stained sanguine. he continues training until dawn.)

zoro licks his chapped lips. his tongue is always loose when it’s just the two of you and the sea. “i’m not worth it.”

a frown pinches your features. adorable, he wants to say as you wrap your arms around his neck with a huff.

“what makes you think your life is worth any less than luffy’s? than chopper’s? than mine?”

zoro assesses you for a moment, feline eye unreadable. he measures his words with unusual care. “my role is to protect. it was—it is—my vow to luffy.”

threading your fingers through his mint tresses, you tug, concern rolling off of you in waves. “then who’s left to protect you, zo?”

his mind answers without hesitation: no one. (the little boy with the bloodstained bokken weeps.)

“let me protect you,” you entreat, lips brushing his, ardent as a prayer.

the fates, in their divine and impartial wisdom, must have made a grave mistake: spinning the claret thread of your fate, meting it out, and mistakenly intertwining it with the swordsman’s. zoro is certain that it’s a miscarriage of justice—not that the gods have ever been preoccupied with fairness.

did he do something in a past life to deserve your reverence?

“i can’t,” he breathes. but his iron resolve is rusting, fissures compromising the once-gleaming surface.

“you can.”

zoro has never considered himself to be a good man. you are eager to give, and he wants nothing more than to receive. he drinks in your affection so greedily that he doesn’t notice how his lone eye burns when he claims your lips with his own, heartfelt i love yous exchanged between spit and tongue.

the tears are silent as they drip down his freckled cheek; you swipe each of them away with a thumb before dotting kisses across his salty flesh. zoro has half a mind to be embarrassed—swordsmen don’t cry.

but if there is one absolute truth in this cursed world, it’s this: his heart is safe with you and you alone.

#artwork is a detail from granville redmond’s painting ‘moonlight along the coast’ (c. 1918)#zoro x reader #one piece x reader #zoro <3 #༄ kae writes

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livelaughlovesubs · 8 months ago

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Nini!! Guess who’s back from hibernation!! :D

Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve interacted on your page, I got busy with stuff :(

Anyways, incubus Fyodor and priest reader! (Yes, ik old request, wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t remember.) punishing Fyodor for becoming cocky bc you were not paying attention to him, he even went as far as threatening to go get fucked by someone else! (He was bluffing. He’s too addicted to your cock at that point) now he has to learn the consequences of his actions when he’s forced to cockwarm you with his mouth while you read the bible, not even sparing him a glance! You even made sure to chastise him so he wouldn’t try anything. Every time he tries even moving at bit, you grab his hair tightly and push in more of your dick, making his eye tear up as he grips onto your thighs desperately. By the time you finish Luke’s gospel, Fyodor is looking up at you pleadingly with drool dripping down his chin for you to finally use him. <3

- 🍮 ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ"

Incubus Fyodor 3

Dom!reader x sub!fyodor

Warning: I’ll use dick - interpret it however you want, blow job, cockwarming, hierophilia - (incorrect) religious aspects, hair pulling, choking/ gagging, dacryphilia

🍮 anon!!! I missed you and your fyodor requests! I love that little bastard hehe. Also nope, I did not forget, cuz I freaking loved those ideas.

Normally you were nice enough to satisfy his needs, he needed it to survive after all. But he was an incubus, his sex drive was way higher than what a normal human can handle. One of the reasons why incubi’s never settle down for only one partner. In your case, you forced him to stay here with you, as if he was your personal pet. To be honest, he was just your plaything after all. The pretext of cleansing him of his sins? A dirty thing like him can’t be redeemed, you didn’t believe in such things anyway. Rather, accepting and repenting for one’s sins, and that is something he has to want for himself. The most you could do was prevent him from being even more sinful. That alone would be of great help, since otherwise he would seduce other people and make them succumb to Asmodeus too.

Today you were busy reading when he came up to you. You knew what he wanted, but this time you ignored it, there were other things to take care of. At first he just stood there, staring at you, wondering why you were so carried away. He took a few glances at your book, it was the bible in the Old Testament. No wonder you seemed busy, that one’s difficult to understand. This wont stop him from desiring you though, so he kneeled down and crawled under your table, slowly settling down between your legs.

“Y/nnn~ I’m so hungry, can we please do it?” Fyodor asked, looking up at you with those pretty scarlet eyes. “Not now, maybe later.” That’s weird, normally you always agreed. “Can’t you read that damn book later?” “This is not a ‘damn’ book, I have to concentrate so be quiet please.” You answered him, eyes never leaving the paper in front of you, scanning one line after another. He pouted, furrowing his brows as he thought about what to do. “But I’m really hungry.” The incubi complained again, though to no avail. How stubborn you were. Fine, if that’s what you want. “Never mind, I’ll find someone else then.”

Fyodor turned his head around, about to get up to leave when he felt your hand on his head. Before he got the chance to question you about it, you yanked on his hair and made him arch his back. Now you were towering over him, pulling his head back by his raven black locks. “MhmMM-ahHHNHgG..?!” He moaned out, unable to bite back a smirk. “I wont allow you to defile other innocent souls.” You told him harshly, without an ounce of concern. The gaze you bore was cold, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. It wasn’t due to fear though. His face was red, eyes foggy and expression melting, no matter what you’d do to him he’d take it with no hesitation.

“Haaah…” you sighed, feeling a little annoyed with him, then you commanded, “Go to the drawer there on the left and bring me the box in there.” He looked at you with confusion, but did it anyway. Getting up to get the box you wanted, then returning to his previous position. The demon watched with curiosity as you opened it. There were many sex toys in it, most of them have been used on him already. You reached for the things you needed, afterwards you put the rest away. Fyodor was still kneeling between your legs while you prepared everything, his body filled up with anticipation. He knows exactly what those toys do, god he wanted you to abuse him with them.

First thing you did was take the cockring and bring it to the base of his cock, it was to keep him obedient. You can’t have him squirting around his filthy essence. He squirmed when you grabbed him by the shaft as you used it on him, it looked so romantic~ That was all it took to get him hard. Then you pulled on his hair again, making him face your abdomen and dick. “Keep it in your mouth, you can’t move until I’m done, understood?” Instead of making him cockwarm you with his hole, you wanted him to use his mouth. It’s because he talks too much, you couldn’t think when he keeps babbling nonsense.

Just as you guessed, he happily took all of you inside his throat, gagging a little at the length. Forget about talking, he can barely breath with how deep it was in his throat. A bulge could be seen on his neck, right there where his Adam’s apple is. “Good boy.” You said, now stroking his head gently, as if he was really your pet. How he loved it, chocking on your dick like this, tears were on the verge of spilling. The reason why your fingers were still tangled with his locks was to prevent him from moving, since this was a punishment. That’s why every time he bobbed his head, intentionally or not, you’d force his face down further, until his nose hit your pelvis. Poor boy gagged and choked so prettily whenever you’d die that, letting out sweet moans akin to an angels singing,“guUHH..! Uh-hm,,.mHMmnGH..”

At first he was pretty enthusiastic about it, after ten minutes he got bored and needy. This only continued to the point he started crying. He was so desperate for any friction he could get, since he couldn’t even touch himself. Well, he could, but it’s not like he can cum anyways. Drool was running down his chin while tears rolled down his cheeks, leaving behind a shiny trail. His hands were bawled into fists while his tail wagged around like crazy. The look he had in his eyes were so hot, looking up at you all submissive while his pupils turned into hearts. Internally, fyodor was begging for you to finally pay attention to him, or finish reading that book soon. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out.

This was pure torture, was what he thought after not 30 minutes, but an entire hour passed. His head felt light, and his body twitched everywhere. Just a single touch from you would cause him to yelp that’s how sensitive he became. Quiet sobs could be heard from him while melting expression plagued his features. You weren’t exactly done yet with your reading, but seeing how pitiful he looked, you just had to help him. Putting the bible aside and caressing his ruined face, “you’ve been pretty good for the past hour, want to have your meal now?” As soon as he heard that he started choking on it again, the surprise and excitement caused him to inhale too fast. Only difference was, this time you let him pull his head back. “AhHh..! Cough- uh-urGHh..ahh, ye-yes!! I want it, p- guUHH.. pleaseee..” Suddenly he started sobbing intensely again, he also stuck his tongue out after pleading with you so obediently. Right, such a good boy, it is time for him to get his blessing.

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youryanderedaddy · 1 year ago

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yan prison guard who hates u but low-key wants to f??

YES?!

tw: female reader, hinted non-con, period cramps, physical neglect, abuse of power, hinted blood play, reader is hinted to be a criminal, starts flirty but ends dead dovey xD My Ko - fi <3

"Shit." You mumble, your back softly resting against the cold wall. You reach for the nearest utenstil on the ground - all metal now, since you broke one too many nice porcelain plates - and throw it against the bars with little consideration to the vomit inducing "food" still left inside. The yellow sauce splashes all over the floor, and you look up, not even bothering to hide your smug expression.

"I could make you lick that up, you know." Darcy states, adding little emotion to his already monotone voice - his eyes glued to the book in his lap and all the tiny little words in it, perfectly pristine fresh ink in the stuffy air. His gloved hands are digging into the paper, almost crumpling it, and you now know that his pale hands are simply incapable of holding anything gently - even the things he actually likes.

"Will you?" You tease, but the warning bells at the back of your mind go off nonetheless, seemingly in spite of your best attempts to come off as playful and not desperate. He rarely jokes around - not exactly the fun type. "I'll decide after I finish this page." Your warden chuckles humorlessly. "Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline." He starts reading aloud, licking his cold lips. "So be earnest..." You can feel his gaze on you, caging you in like a wild animal. "And repent." He finally closes the book. "Revelation 3:19." The blonde repeats quietly, turning his attention back to you - and you realise calling out was a mistake, but now it's too late. He's got you in his clutches.

"My stomach hurts. Tell me, Father Allmighty, is this devine punishment too?" You spit out sarcastically, hugging your knees in order to numb the pain a bit. "Or am I simply on my period?" It's your turn to giggle, although it hurts to do so - anything to mask the unease tugging at your vocal cords every time you're faced with that demon.

His eyes narrow in response, and his fingers circle his nose bridge as he scoffs at you, annoyance quickly spreading across his irritatingly handsome, yet equally sharp features.

"Your voice makes my head throb. Stop it." The guard barks, voice dropping low in warning. Still, you decide to push your luck due to pure and simple physical need. "But it hurts." You let yourself whine, slowly revealing your collarbone - and silently hoping that just this once the sweat will look like glitter. "I don't care." He hisses, picking his book again.

You roll your eyes.

"Alright. Sure. But you'll be the one cleaning the bloody sheets after." You mutter under your breath, crossing your hands. You're not sure what's more frustrating - the way your stomach is trying to eat itself or having to appease a narcissistic maniac with too much power and free time through it. Somewhere in the part of your brain still capable of rational thought you realize you should be provided with basic hygiene products just like all the other female prisoners. What makes you different, you guess, is the fact that you're kept under lock and key almost extensively. Solitary confinement 24 hours a day, except for Darcy.

He brings you food. He helps you bathe - if you've been good enough. He's the only one who knows if you're dead or alive. Hell, he may be the only one who even cares.

"I'm sure cleaning up your mess will be quite exciting." The blonde cracks a tiny, self evident smile only he knows the meaning of - and you would have frowned in disgust if you could still feel that lovely human emotion. "Admit it, you actually like the thought of me bleeding, you little freak." You scrunch your nose at him, then look back to the floor, the filth so thick it almost sticks to your slightly less dirty shoes. "Takes one to know one." Darcy responds nonchalantly, running his hand through his slick white locks.

At that moment the cramps return in full force, your lower abdomen on fire with sharp stabbing pain. You remember some fragmentary tips from your scrappy teen years - you close your eyes and breath in deeply, you bite the inside of your cheek - you even pray to whoever is listening, but it just won't stop. So you bargain.

"You can have it." You say with difficulty, folded in half. Hot tears prick your eyes and you try to fight them, but soon give into the agony. It's such a relief to cry after months of resilience - to break down completely and let your most vulnerable self out.

The warden takes a single steps towards the bars and motions for you to move closer. You crawl to him, your hand supporting your lower belly in the process. He takes a good look at you and slowly, almost gently caresses your face through the metal - eyes suddenly softened by the image of you dancing in the palm of his hand.

If it was anyone else he'd be simply repulsed by this clear display of weakness. If it was another prisoner, another hardened criminal, he'd have no problem following his own principles of zero tolerance - of crushing and breaking their spirit until nothing was left. But it was you and your beatiful, stipid tears that mesmerized him to no end, that haunted his dreams and turned his bloodlust into something a lot more sinister. Something harder to capture, harder to fight - and easier to give into.

"You can have it." You repeated tearfully, rubbing at your soft wet eyelids - completely still. Scared of your own flesh and its betrayal. "My mind, my body, anything. Just please give me some pills. I can't take it." You whimper pitifully, shaking under his watchful eyes. He's holding onto your cheek, but you feel like he's got you in a suffocating embrace. And then just when you're about to kneel down, he unlocks the door to your cell.

"I've been taking your brain apart for months now." Darcy whispers softly, taking off one of his gloves and letting it drop to the floor. He takes another step towards your cowering form. "Your body, on the other hand, is a white canvas." He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his burning gaze - and the pain fades away instantly, replaced by raw, intense fear. "I wonder what your insides look like. Surely, they're beatiful."

You feel his lips on your neck, followed by the tip of a knife - a butterfly kiss.

#yandere #male yandere #yancore #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere male x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere warden #yandere prison guard

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sassydefendorflower · 1 month ago

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As much as I want Roy and Riza to spearhead the restoration of Ishval post-canon, I want Roy to be barred from going to Ishval to do the work himself even more.

Hear me out.

There is something incredibly selfish about Roy wanting to be the one to return the Holy Land to the Ishvalen people. It makes sense for him to strive for that goal - he feels personally responsible for the destruction of Ishval, he sees its restoration as part of his path towards becoming the Führer of Amestris, he considers it to be the rightful way to ease some of the guilt weighing him down.

It is also the easy way out.

Because if you think about it, Roy being the one to do all that, is not a narrative that centers the Ishvalen people. And I think they deserve to be the driving force behind their own salvation.

There is a reason General Armstrong doesn't try to take on the Ishvalen restoration at the end of the show - and it is not just that she has no personal investment in the matter. No, if anything, she entrusts it to Major Miles. She entrusts the future of the Ishvalen people with a man who shares their past.

(her blind trust into the military state be damned)

And who does Miles choose to help him rebuild what was once lost? Scar. He chooses the feared serial killer. The Savior of Amestris. The Scarred Monk. The One Who Killed A King. The Hand of God Striking Down a Monster.

He chooses someone who suffered through the Ishvalen genocide, who was raised not only in the culture, but was an active practitioner of the most common religion of the region.

These are the people who rebuild Ishval for the future.

I think Roy would only ever do it to escape the past.

And if we're being honest, I don't think anyone in Ishval would greet him with open arms. These people might hold a great ability to forgive within their hearts, but I think many of them would consider it an insult to let the man who burned down their cities back into Ishval to become their savior.

To become the public face of the restoration of their Holy Land.

And being denied the ability to spearhead this campaign, it would hit Roy hard. Because in a way, hard labor and the arid desert air, would have felt like a just punishment. Being hollered at by the survivors of the genocide he participated in would have felt good. Getting blisters and sunburns and swallow down his own spit... pain was always a sign of hard work. Of doing the right thing.

But forcing him to stay in Central? To pull the ropes behind the scenes? To be denied this public repentance? To be kept from the most straight-forward way of repaying his sins?

The restoration of Ishval was never the end-goal, and it is just one part of a long list of things both Roy and Riza want to fix before facing a trial, but I think Roy hoped he could pay for that in blood. Cut-up knees and burned hands, dry throats and countless hours spent digging up wells.

But facing up to what he's done isn't that easy - and the people of Ishval deserve to live a life free from Roy Mustang and his damned flames.

#roy mustang #riza hawkeye #olivier mira armstrong #major miles #scar #fma #fmab #fma brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma meta #my stuff #headcanon #really #i just dont think Roy should GET to lead the restoration of Ishval #he wants to #and it should happen #(Amestris has a lot of reparations to pay)#but denying him the satisfaction of being allowed to play hero #is what it's all about actually #i think the ishvalen people deserve to be free of this guy #and i think Roy deserves to grapple with Ishval in a way #that makes it impossible for him to 'just help'#instead being forced onto the sidelines #and into military offices and ball rooms #to get money and support for ishval #without ever being allowed to reap the flowers of his work #because he is fueled by his past #and Ishval deserves the future #(it also deserves better than major miles if we're being honest)#(but maybe Scar can radicalize him somewhat)

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umemiyan · 1 year ago

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𝙄 𝙇𝙊𝙊𝙆 𝙏𝙊 𝙔𝙊𝙐.

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗫 𝗗𝗢𝗠!𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / mommy kink, mdlb vibes / handjob / edging / crying / mentions of punishment / technically gender neutral aside from reader being called ‘mommy’ / almost 1k words

idk y'all. i can no longer deprive my mommy domme spirit of what it needs. if it's ooc... just look away. I NEED THIS OKAY. and he needs to be punished and then babied a lil bit. it would fix him. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE BOY!!!!!

Your ribs might as well be fused together given the way you’re pressed so tightly to each other’s sides, skin welded to skin as blood pulses life throughout the both of you. It’s the moments like these that make you realize he’s more human than most would like to believe.

You can see it in the way that very same blood causes him to flush various shades of pink and red, can feel it in every tremor of the muscles that work so hard to hold him upright. Satoru Gojo is more of a human being than ever when he’s in your grasp, and that’s precisely why he’s always so eager to be within it.

The bed is plush beneath him but it doesn’t compare to the comforting sensation of your arm secured around his waist to keep him close, making him feel warm and enveloped even as the crisp air nips at his exposed skin. Your other hand is wrapped around the red, weeping mess that is his cock, hard and throbbing to the point it causes pain, because you’ve already edged him three times and are now heading for a fourth. Though he’s hoping that perhaps this time you’ll bring him to the edge and let him tumble over it.

Legs spread, Satoru’s head thuds against the wall behind the bed as he swallows thickly, panting as your palm continues to squelch along his length with every slow and precise stroke. His face is wet with tears and he has one hand fisted into the sheets while the other spreads along the inside of your thigh and grips for purchase.

Where he once was so incredibly vocal, he is now reduced to a being that can only offer soft sobs and whimpers in reaction to your loving torture, and this is how you’re able to tell that he is at his limits. You’ve broken him with your steadfast yet gentle punishment, edged him until he’s bleary-eyed and obedient like a needy child, and your efforts have been successful, so you think there’s no need to drag things out for much longer.

“Mommy, p-please…” he begs in a whisper, voice warped by tears and hips struggling to refrain from bucking up into your hand. Satoru has repented for his earlier transgressions and has since lost the attitude that had gotten him into this situation. You’re starting to feel rather merciful towards him now.

You turn your head to press your lips against his temple, soothing him with a kiss there and mumbling, “Shhh, I know, baby.”

Satoru shudders at the feeling of your warm breath and words floating around his ear, and he’s fallen deep into a space that fills his head completely with fluffy clouds and stardust. He needs you to give him permission to let go, to finally give in to the pleasure you’ve been withholding from him.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?” you ask, tasting the salt of the tears upon his cheek.

Satoru breathes in a small gasp, hips twitching as he nods enthusiastically. “Mhm, yeah—yeahyeahyeah,” he answers you with desperation, suddenly filled with hope that you’ll give him a much-needed orgasm. “I’ll be good, mommy, promise.”

You grin at the way he slurs his words and vows to be obedient despite his insolent nature. “Alright then,” you reply, your permissive tone like music to his ears as your hand continues its rhythm. “You can go ahead and cum for me, Satoru.”

He immediately releases a moan of pure relief and lets his eyes roll to the back of his head, muscles finally relaxing now that he doesn’t have to fight off impending release. He can simply float in a cloud of bliss and let the pleasure wash over him when it finally comes, which is going to be much sooner rather than later at this rate.

Satoru’s grasp on you tightens along with his balls and abs, lungs struggling to breathe properly as your hand picks up its pace a hardly noticeable amount—but it’s enough for him, and that’s evident by how he pants and moans in little ‘ah, ah, ah’s that fill the air.

“That’s it, angel; give it to me,” you goad gently, and that’s all it takes. With one final choked cry, Satoru tenses up and releases ropes of cum that land hotly on his thighs, his stomach, and your fingers, painting them sticky white. It drives him into an even more mindless state than before, and after he’s done sobbing out his pleasure, he begins to crumple into you regardless of his size.

White hair tickles your neck as he makes a home there. “Messy boy,” You giggle lightly and grant his cheek with a kiss, admiring the way he’s covered the both of you with such a heavy load. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Satoru tucks his face further into your neck with a pout. “Mm. You’re mean.”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully shake your head. "Oh yes, I know. I’m just the meanest mommy in the whole wide world," you reply jokingly. "I never ever let my baby cum or give him kisses or hugs or snuggles afterwards. I'm just the absolute worst."

All he does is huff against you and stay silent for several moments afterwards while you rub a comforting hand along his arm. After his body’s gone slack and breathing has evened out into a slow tickle along your skin, you begin to suspect that he’s about to doze off.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, baby. We still need to get you cleaned up.”

Satoru shuffles and whines, wrapping an arm around your waist and trying to force his oversized body even closer to yours in protest.

“Uh uh, don’t whine,” you warn with a slightly firmer tone. “No more attitude today. Not unless you want another punishment.”

#dividers by @cafekitsune #satoru gojo x reader #sub!gojo #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #cw mommy kink #my writing.#re: satoru gojo

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kaylopolis · 8 months ago

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Alastor's Shadow (18+) Chapter One

Pairing: Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest. Now, with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plans bring you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power…

Tags: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Word Count: 67+ and counting (of the whole fic)

Chapters: 10/??

Warnings: Minors DNI! 18+! May contain disturbing, gruesome, and graphic sexual scenes. Graphic violence. Blood. Obsession. Mentions of abuse. Mentions of substance abuse. Trigger warnings will be given at the beginning of each chapter.

Link to Masterlist: Masterlist

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Author note: Hoteliers, This is my first attempt at a fanfic, but I was just so inspired and wanted to post it somewhere after writing like +67K words (and counting). So here goes nothing I guess?

<3 Stay Smutty

Chapter One - The Commercial

Content Warning: None but let me know if I missed any!

“Power is of two kinds. One is obtained by the fear of punishment and the other by acts of love. Power based on love is a thousand times more effective and permanent than the one derived from fear…” - Mahatma Gandhi

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Your fingers find the brass handle as anxiety builds in the back of your throat.

Are you nervous? Why are you nervous? The commercial seemed so inviting and everyone seemed so nice - even if it was a bit glitchy in some frames. If they are indeed as altruistic as they appear, then you’ll be fine!

But, what if they don’t accept you?

Nonsense, you just need to show that you care, that you can help. After all, Princess Morningstar wouldn’t turn help away, would she? You were there in the courtyard a few days ago when Heaven’s clock ticked down from one year to 6 months: 182 days right before your eyes. Damn… But it gave you an opening - a reason to repent as opposed to just showing up out of the blue and inventing some backstory in an attempt to explain your sudden desire to achieve redemption. It was an opportunity you couldn’t refuse.

“Okay, so the Extermination is coming in six months instead of a year. No big deal…”

As you stepped into the Hotel, you couldn’t help but be underwhelmed by the state of the place. From the outside it seemed big and glamorous - despite the random bits of cell phone tower and… was that a mast from a ship? On the inside, it was worse. Way worse. It wasn’t gross, it was an array of stuff… that was probably the best way to put it. The carpet was torn, the wallpaper peeling, parts of the wall had been tacked together with newer planks of wood to repair unknown sources of damage. It was… Well at least it didn’t smell… that bad…

Emerging into the foyer, small suitcase in hand - after all, you didn’t own much - you searched for the front desk, but the only thing resembling any sort of check-in area was a bar where a cat-bird thing was organizing bottles.

To your left was a small inlet before a fireplace, fit with television and radio where two demons sat, listening to a blonde haired bellhop pace.

“… well just handle it! Right!?” The girl grabbed at her hair.

No, not a bellhop. Princess Charlie Morningstar. God, she looked just like her dad. The only thing she got from Lilith was her height. Probably a good thing…

Your heart sank at the sight of her. Biting back the flood of memories threatening to spill down your face, you take a deep breath and enter.

“Yes,” a grey demon stood, a waterfall of dark hair brushed the floor as she walked. “We will.” She grabs Charlie’s shoulders, forcing her to stop pacing.

They still hadn’t noticed you. Was this eavesdropping? Were you being rude? That wouldn’t make for a great first impression.

You took a few hesitant steps forward hoping they’d hear your heels clack against the wood.

“Oh please,” the spider-looking thing sitting on the couch scoffed, staring down at his phone as he talked. “Ya’ had less than half a chance before you started all this salvation bullshit. And now… ain’t no silver linin’, toots.”

You cleared your throat, having practically snuck up on the group.

“Oh my gosh!” The blonde squeaked as the grey demon with ridiculously long hair pulled a spear on you, stepping before the Princess.

You dropped the suit case immediately, raising your arms to show you meant no harm.

“Who are you? What are you doing sneaking around?” She demanded.

Your eyes flit to the “X” eye patch, then to the silver tip mere inches from your nose.

Oh shit, this girl’s the Fallen. Relax, you accounted for that. So long as she doesn’t recognize you…

“I’m sorry!” You squeak, taking a half step back. She follows, her spear not leaving your face. “I tried making noise but you must not have heard me. I was just looking to check-in but…”

“Huh!” The Princess gasped so loud it made your ears pop.

Pushing the ex-Exorcist - huh, funny - aside the blond grabs your shoulders and squeezes. “Are you a guest!?” Her eyes sparkled.

“Well, yeah. I was hoping…” you didn’t get a chance to finish before she brought you into a hug so tight you couldn’t breathe. She lifted you off your feet and spun you in a circle before placing you back on the ground.

“Yay! Vaggie, our very first guest!” She sang.

“Hey!” The spider finally looked up from his phone. “I’m sittin’ right ‘ere ya’ know?”

Did he have six eyes or two? Hard to tell but the pink dots decorating his face blinked when he did.

Creepy.

“Okay, hun,” the Fallen drops her spear, taking Charlie by the arm in an endearing way, but you really knew it was to hold her back. “Let’s give our guest some space. Let her breathe. She can’t be redeemed if you suffocate her and she dies… Again.”

“Right,” she laughs, reigning herself in. “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!” Her arms fan out to the room, gesturing to the rundown establishment.

You musture a genuine smile, not because you’re impressed with the place but because the Princess’ happiness was infectious.

“My name is Charlie!” She takes your hand in hers.

“My name is Thestral,” you answer between the vigorous shakes rolling up your arm.

“Okay, that’s enough,” the Fallen pulls Charlie away from you. “I’m Vaggie. The guy on the couch is Angel and Husk is behind the bar.”

Angel gives you a mindless wave, frowning at something on his phone. The bar cat tips his hat to you before pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

Was the bartender supposed to drink the supply? Also, wasn’t it barely nine in the morning?

“Let me get your bag!” Charlie snatches the hardback suitcase before you have a chance to protest. Dragging you by the elbow, she insists upon a tour.

The Hotel was cute - if not a weird hodgepodge of thrown together dimensions. The bar was clearly cut from somewhere else, the piano room is definitely not of this century, and don’t get you started on the pool. All in all however, it was cute. You could see yourself here, in the library reading late at night with a glass of red, in the music room practicing your piano, on the back balcony enjoying the breeze and screams of innocents. It wasn’t perfect - nothing compared to the luxury you experienced before Hell - but it felt home-y.

“This is you!” Charlie pulls a key from her pocket as she stops before a door. “Angel is to the left and Alastor is just across the hall.” Grabbing your arm once more, she drags you inside.

It’s cute but humble - something you’d expect from a bed and breakfast and not a city hotel. The room is huge, with a four post bed wrapped in white sheets, neatly tucked into the sides military style. To your left is a small sitting area with a couch and coffee table. Past that were two doors, one leading to a small walk-in closet and the other a tile bathroom.

Frankly, coming from sharing a cramped city apartment in Cannibal Town to this was a huge step up as far as you were concerned.

“Here you are!” She dropped a black key in your hand, a cat’s eye decorating the handle. Finally, a room to call your own. “Nifty cleans on Sundays and…”

“Wait, my room gets cleaned?” You scrunched your nose in confusion.

“Of course! We don’t want you to have anything to worry about when you stay with us. Redemption is the goal, afterall!” Charlie sang.

That was going to be a problem…

Charlie stood staring at you for a long moment, her eyes sparkling in the low light. Her hands cupped her chin as she smiled at you with such emotion you were surprised her face didn’t split in half right there. She looked like a small child, waiting for a candy bar or something.

God, you didn’t realize how enthusiastic she would be about all this. Now is definitely not the time to tell her you had no intentions of being redeemed. You were just here for the chaos. Frankly, any normal person would feel guilty right about now, but not you.

Oh, you had far bigger plans for Ms. Morningstar, she just didn’t know it yet.

“Okay,” Vaggie steps up, grabbing her by the collar. “We’ll let you get unpacked. It’s Sunday so brunch is at eleven in the kitchen. We’ll come get you and show you the way. If you need anything there’s a rotary phone by the bed, just call Husk at the bar. He’s always there…”

“A rotary phone?” You scrunch your nose.

Sure enough, a black rotary phone sat on the bedside table. What century was this? Cannibal Town was stuck in the 1900s but at least they had cell phones.

“Yeah, the Hotel Manager is a bit outdated with his tastes…” Vaggie grumbles. You sensed tension in her comment but didn’t ask for further details.

“Anyway!” Charlie puts a hand on your shoulder. “We’re really, REALLY glad you’re here.” She breathed in your face, her voice cracking with the threat of tears.

God, she even had Lucifer’s mannerisms…

You huffed, blowing off the extra emotions her smile pushed into you. “Thank you for taking me in.”

Watching as the Exorcist pulled the Princess back down the hallway, you shut your door and collapsed against the wood.

“Fuck,” you breathed. Charlie was going to be someone you could only handle in small doses.

The Princess definitely didn’t recognize you and neither did Vaggie. She might be Hell Royalty but she was oblivious.

Did she know about Vaggie? Maybe she did and has already accepted it. This place is about second chances after all.

It didn’t take you long to unpack, after all you didn’t have many personal possessions. A few sets of clothes, some boots and heels, your toiletries and makeup… The suitcase was only half full when you packed it with every possession you owned. Now all you could do was stand before the mirror in the bathroom and stare at yourself as the anxiety began to build again. You fixed your red lipstick over and over until it drove you mad. Throwing the makeup back into your bag, your mind turned to your outfit.

You were dressed in black slacks which sat high on your hips, fanning out at your legs. Tucked into your waistband was a white button up, giving you the hourglass appearance. Your silver hair was twisted into a bun at the back of your head, a metal clip holding it in place. Your eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, your yellow irises emitting their own form of light.

Out of all the animalistic appearances in Hell, you were gifted the rare form of a somewhat normal human shape. No tail, no ears, no horns - well, in your normal state anyway. It was just you, with skin as pale white as Charlie’s and a nose tipped in black. You stood a normal five foot four, but in heels you could argue five and a half. You didn’t have canines as sharp and distinct as others, but hey who needed them? You preferred fighting with your hands, anyway.

Frankly, you were boring compared to the Sinners and Natives of Hell. The most interesting note was the tattoo which spanned your back from shoulder blades to your hips, but that wasn’t important at the moment.

Your mind returned to your clothes again. They were nice, nothing too flashy and definitely not Velvette brand, but were they too much? Weekend brunches in Cannibal Town were always such a classy affair, something you were expected to dress up for despite the messy array of food which was served.

Was that expected here?

As if on cue, a door opens in the hallway and footsteps echo across the carpet.

Perhaps you should ask.

Racing to the door, you peak your head out to find Angel heading to the stairs, his nose stuck in his phone.

“Uhm, excuse me?” You chirp. It was barely audible and he wasn’t paying attention but you were a new voice, which definitely drew him from whatever battle was playing itself out on his screen.

“Oh, hey!” He tucked the cell phone back into his pocket. His face contorted into a smile, he was doing his best not to show his frustration but it was still quite obvious. “They put ya’ right next to me aye?” He leans against the doorframe, one arm on the wall, the other three at his hips. “Just a fair warning. I can get a little loud. If ya’ know what I mean?” He winks at you, a knowing smile spreading across his sharp teeth as he elbows your side.

God, he was tall, he’d have to be like six foot three or something.

Up close, and with his attention fully on you, you could finally study his eyes: right eye sclera black, left white. Someone owned him, but with restrictive conditions.

You already knew the answer: Valentino. Hey, what can ya’ say? You did your homework.

“Do you guys dress up for brunch or is it more casual?” You smiled, doing your best not to stare at the pink dots blinking back at you on his cheeks. Still creepy.

“Oh, uh, I dunno, toots. I normally just go in whatever I have on.” He gestured to his pink striped shirt and long boots.

Casual it is then.

“But if ya’ prefer. I could go in nothing at all,” he purrs, his eyebrows wiggling at you suggestively.

You couldn’t help but giggle. You got the sense that it wasn’t genuine flirting. That he was trying to make you smile more than anything else. He enjoys entertaining others like that. Probably why he became a Porn Star - and such a famous one at that.

His face lit up at your laugh.

“Great, the wire in this bra is killing me!” You mime a pain in your back, eliciting a laugh from the spider demon himself.

“I like yous,” he holds out a hand to shake. “Names Angel Dust.”

“Thestral,” you shook his furry hand - he had so many, you wondered how he went shopping for shirts.

“Thestral? Like the dead horses from ‘arry Potter?”

“You know your JK Rowling?”

Angel had to have died in like the 40s/50s - from what research you did before coming here. How did he know about the books and movies made popular in the 2010s?

“Yeah, she ended up down here after she died. Kept writing weird shit about her characters. Really changed my views on the Potterverse. It was shocking for a while but you can only be so entertaining on Sinstagram and Vitter for so long these days.” He shrugged.

“Huh, for some reason that doesn’t surprise me, but thank you. The last place I lived, everyone was expected to dress for meals and I just wanted to be sure.”

“No problem, toots. If ya’ don’t mind me askin’, how long yous been down here? If ya’ didn’t know about the Potter thang, it couldn’t have been that long?” His accent: New York?

“Just shy of six years, actually,” you rubbed the back of your neck anxiously, feeling the bubbles beginning to fester inside you.

You’ve done work to gather information before, but you’ve never had to act like you were now. You were always behind a mask… How many details were too many to share?

“Oh, damn, just shy of being a Fleshy!” He smiles.

“A Fleshy?” You scrunch your nose.

“Yeah, the living or whatnot.” He pulls out his phone again, frowning at the notification screen before pulling up an app. Something was definitely bothering him. “Hey, whatcha say we head down a little early? I can pull up her Vitter page and show ya’ some good ones?” The spider demon smiled, frustration weighing down his eyebrows. He had a single gold tooth which sparkled in the low light.

“Sure!” You tried to respond not too excitedly.

This was the plan. Get in early with one of the Hotel mates and use it as a way to get information on the others.

You had thought it was going to be Husk. What bartender didn’t love gossip? But here was Angel offering himself up on a silver platter.

You only had about an hour before brunch was served, but those sixty minutes laying in the alcove by the fireplace were the most hilarious minutes of your life. Angel had you laughing so hard you were crying. Things were going well. Despite the constant text messages from Valentino you pretended not to notice chime across the screen.

At about eleven, a small girl named Nifty - who introduced herself as the housemaid - emerged from the kitchen to announce that brunch was ready, and as everyone piled into the room and found their designated places, you realized you didn’t know where to go. It was like being the new kid at school walking into the lunchroom with a sack lunch and not a friend in the world to rescue you.

“Hey” Angel waved you to the only available seat left, which just so happened to be at the head. “Sit next to me, will ya’?”

Relief.

“No! That’s Mr. Alastor’s seat!” Nifty protested from her place by the oven. Her entire body practically vibrated with energy.

“Mr. Alastor?” That name definitely did not come up in your research.

“Relax, Tiny. Smiles is on the terrace this morning drinkin’ his tea.” Angel leaned back in his chair, one set of arms folded behind his head. “What he doesn’t know won’t kill ‘em. Or maybe it will and we can finally be free o’ him and his creepy, ol’ timey ways. Either way, we’ll be fine.”

You blinked a few times before hesitantly falling into the seat. Nifty gave a great sigh as she watched you sit, not liking it but allowing it. She busied herself with serving platters of food, her lips twisted in a pout.

It’s a chair. You didn’t think it was that big of a deal? Maybe he was one of those people who was territorial with their things?

As you sat and passed the food around, you couldn’t help the hairs which prickled on the back of your neck. How could you have missed another guest at the Hotel? You swore you wrote down everyone you saw in that glitchy commercial and did thorough research before coming here. You were never this sloppy.

“Can I get you anything to drink, Thestral?” Charlie was at the fridge with five different bottles of liquid in her hand, eagerly awaiting your answer.

“Coffee would be great,” you smiled through a mouth full of eggs, one hand over your face to be polite. God, Nifty was a great cook. You usually never ate breakfast but this was amazing.

The Hotel inhabitants sat and talked like family. This place has only been open what? Two weeks? And already they got along like they’ve lived together for years. It was kinda cute actually but spelled issues for your plans. A close-knit group like this - especially so fast - only meant it was going to be harder to work your way in. Sure, Angel hung out with you for the past hour and you had a great time, but that was just surface level stuff. You were going to need to dig deeper.

“No! Nobody look at me,” Husk grumbled from a few seats down. “That machine is a nightmare.” He motioned to the silver espresso machine sitting on the corner countertop behind you.

It looked brand new, barely been touched! A machine like that probably cost hundreds and they weren’t using it?

“I’m sorry.” Charlie frowned from her place by the fridge. “We’ve had it for a while and no one can figure it out. Husk took a look at it last and although he tried, we got nowhere. Nifty bought beans for it and everything…”

A small smile found your lips, “Mind if I take a look?”

“Goodluck with that kiddo, that machine is cursed,” Husk buried his head in his arms, the orange juice in front of him bubbling with alcohol - which you would guess was more booze than orange at how much of his flask you saw him pouring into it earlier.

Seems like everyone knows, as no one glanced his way when it happened, but no one seemed to mind his drinking habits this early in the morning. Most likely a recurrent behavior then…

Husk was an old soul, probably the oldest one in this room. The cat had a history of gambling debts which mysteriously disappeared one day - the day he fell from power. You didn’t know the exact details but you heard it wasn’t pretty afterwards. The Vees swooped in pretty fast and gobbled up what remained of the fallen Overlord’s territory. It’s part of the reason they are where they are now. You wondered if the others knew about him? Maybe, seeing as how he’s found himself at the hotel built on second chances.

Taking the beans from Nifty, you quickly check over the machine. It’s a simple Breville Barista model, nothing too top of the line, but still a commercial appliance.

You wonder who they sent out on the errand to get this because they clearly had no idea what they were getting. This thing was meant for a high end coffee chain, to be used for hours straight, not sitting in a run down hotel’s kitchen. Regardless, you knew the model and how to use it.

Preheating the machine, you fill the grinder with beans before asking, “Hey Husk, pick your poison.”

He blinks at you a few times before answering. “Double espresso.”

Simple enough.

Clicking a single wall basket into the portafilter, you fill the metal device with ground beans before tapping it flat. Sliding it into the machine with a click, you grab two shot glasses and watch as the brew fills to the line, the fresh scent of chocolate, caramel, and nuts fill the kitchen. You pour both into a white glass and send it down the table to Husk who sits dumbfounded at the end of the kitchen. In fact, everyone had stopped eating completely to watch you work.

Anxiety bubbles in your stomach as you count the eyes boring into you.

Oh, fuck. You drew too much attention to yourself.

“Fuck, kid. This is good.” Husk chirps from the end of the table, having taken his first sip. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“I worked at a cafe just outside Cannibal Town when I first got here,” you rub the back of your neck, an uncomfortable laugh escaping your lips. “They had a machine just like this, but far bigger.”

That was true. After you fell, you were set up with a place to stay and a job at the local coffee shop which sat inbetween Cannibal Town and the border zone. It didn’t only serve certain… appetites, but was meant for a wider audience. You served everything from finger cakes (yes, fingers in the cakes) to bagels and cream cheese alongside the coffee creations.

“Oooh, Cannibal Town. This kid’s got bite,” Angel laughs. “I didn’t know you swung that way.” The spider demon shovels another pile of eggs onto his plate. He ate a lot.

“Oh, no. Not really, I just happened to… land there.” Technically you weren’t lying.

That first day in Hell was brutal. You smacked into cement face first, a pile of blood and broken bones. Luckily the streets weren’t crowded, and you were found and taken care of before anyone even noticed.

“So you just stayed in Cannibal Town for fun?” Vaggie didn’t look impressed. In fact, she looked suspicious - ever the hypervigilant soldier she was designed to be.

“Well…” There it was, the rubbing on the back of your neck again. By the end of today, your skin was going to be raw.

God, why was this so much easier with a mask on?

“Hey!” Charlie cut in, clearly sensing your discomfort. “You don’t have to tell us.” She cups your hands within her own. “You’re here now and that’s all that matters. We can get to know you at your own pace. Don’t push yourself. Okay?”

You offer her a sweet smile.

Wow, the Princess was really buying your act - or lack thereof, by how anxious this job was making you.

“Now, do you know how to make a cappuccino?” She motioned back to the machine. You silently thanked her for the change in conversation.

A genuine smile formed on your lips, “what kind of milk?”

The rest of the brunch passed quickly after you showed off your artistic masterpiece that was to become Vaggie’s coffee. The Princess ordered the beverage for her girlfriend, and after making a butterfly out of the milk atop the bubbles everyone else quickly got in line and ordered their own.

It didn’t bother you, in fact it made you more comfortable. You got to observe their behavior and interactions as a silent third party noting the ways in which they teased each other.

Husk could be a grump but you got the sense that he was a big softie. You couldn’t tell if Angel was actually flirting with the cat demon or just pushing his buttons, either way, the barkeep slunked out, flask in hand, with red cheeks.

When the chair started rattling, Nifty was prohibited from drinking anymore caffeine. She put up a pretty good fight but as soon as she saw a bug, she took off after it, needle in hand.

Angel returned to the couch, face in his phone, clearly stressed about something.

After helping with the dishes - Charlie protested but you insisted - she invited you to join the three of them by the fire where you had found them earlier that morning. You didn’t really have anything else to do, other than to try and win over the Hotel natives.

You could go hide in your room - the Lord knows your social meter needed the break. The group was welcoming but was… a lot. Especially Charlie, but the Princess and Vaggie had questions about the commercial and how Sinners were handling the recent date change for the Extermination. You shrugged and offered whatever you could - which wasn’t a lot.

“They’re desperate,” you answered.

“That’s right, they’re desperate. Maybe desperate enough to try anything to escape the Extermination,” Vaggie smiled, smacking her fist against her hand.

“Worked for me,” you shrugged, watching Angel from the corner of your eye.

Your heart melted a little for the spider demon. Valentino was known to be ruthless and manipulative - and the way he treated women… It was why you never took a job from the Overlord, let alone gave him a card. In fact, none of the Vees had your card. You didn’t like them, but you didn’t need to see how it affected Angel to decide that.

“This would be a perfect time to recruit more Sinners for the Hotel! We should get more rooms ready!” Charlie beamed. Of course she would find a way to spin this into something good.

“Cute idea and all, but are you really gonna go out in all this?” Angel turns his phone around, videos of the Doomsday Distract flash across the screen.

It was pretty chaotic, but when was that place not on fire?

“Well, it’s not like all Sinners are going to show up on our doorstep like Thestral did.” Charlie offered, motioning to you.

She wasn’t wrong…

BOOM!

Ah, perfect timing, Princess.

The entire Hotel rocked as dust and debris filled the foyer burning your lungs and eyes.

“Show yourself, Alassstor!” A voice echoed from outside.

The four of you ran to the now collapsed wall, veering into the streets to get a better look. Husk simply rolled his eyes and took another drink.

He was used to this?

Floating above the cobblestone streets was a yellow blimp equipped with an army of… eggs?

“Who are you?” A voice chimed from above, but it was… different - static-y…

“Who am I? Who am I?! I am the great Ssssssir Pentiousssss!” Deep within the zeppelin stood a black and yellow snake at the helm. He was dressed to the nines in army regalia.

Hmm, Sir Pentious? Had you heard of him before? You wracked your brain trying to think but nothing immediately came of mind. He had resources - clearly Carmilla Carmine supplies him by the brand on the metal - but was he a threat? He did put a hole through the building.

You spun studying his dirty work.

A missile? Sloppy, but still a step up from the lowest rung of demon.

“Inventor, architect of dessstruction, villain extraordinaire!” The snake twirls his arms, gesturing to himself and his work.

You scoff. Yeah right…

“Ooh you tell 'em boss!” The eggs chime.

What the fuck…? The eggs are sentient? Now that’s kind of interesting.

Testing the waters, you let an invisible finger of power slip from you and slither over to the zeppelin. It poked and prodded till it found a way through the metal before coming to rest by the snake demon’s tail. Gently, you caressed his form, searching for the power his soul possessed.

Yes, he definitely still had his soul, but from what you gathered - or rather, lack of what you gathered - this demon was no more a threat than a mosquito was to an elephant. But a better question was, what brought him here?

A chime of static fills the air, like little bolts of electricity, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

What the…?

You spin, checking behind you to find the source of the static snaking its way down your spine, but no one was there.

Charlie yelps, bringing your attention back to the group, as a trail of shadow crawls between her feet, giving way to a demon in red materializing from the darkness.

How did he do that?

The demon’s back was to you, his attention fully on the blimp. You didn’t recognize his silhouette. His deer ears, hooves, and antlers were pretty iconic, but you didn’t know any demon like that. He wasn’t a Hellborn, his profile didn’t fit any of the creatures Hell bred. So a Human Sinner then?

The demon stood before you, a red suit complete with red-tipped black boots, and black slacks. His jacket was long, ending at his knees. The hair atop his head was cut cleanly, red and tipped in black, and tousled ever so perfectly.

Yeah, you had no idea who this guy was. Which did not sit well with you.

Nifty materializes on his shoulder. When had she slipped out here? “Ooh, he’s a bad boy,” the tiny demon sings.

Okay then…

The demon lifts her from his person and drops her gently onto the cement. “Ha, well if all that's true, you'd think I'd have heard of you!”

His voice isn’t just static, it’s like a radio?

The snake drops his smile. “I attacked you literally last week.”

The red demon cocks his head.

“We've done battle, like... 20 times.”

The demon brings both hands to his staff. No, that’s not right, microphone? “Well, you must have been really bad at this.”

You snort, but do your best to stifle the giggle into your palm.

The demon stiffens. You swear you see his shadow elongate in your direction. A trick of the light? An hallucination? You look to Angel for direction but he’s too busy watching the interaction, clearly entertained.

“Silence! Now cower! For when I've ssslain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their equal.”

Nifty reappears on the demon’s shoulder, garnering his attention. “Ooh! Wait, who are the Vees?”

“Oh, nobody important,” the red demon sings.

Nobody important, eh? For someone to so easily dismiss the Vees like that they’d have to either be stupid or think themselves more powerful - in both cases, they’re stupid. I agree, independently, the Vees are more annoying than anything. One by one they weren’t a threat, but all three together…

Testing a theory, you let that tendril of power sneak from your core, and just as you had Sir Pentious, you let it slither to the base of the demon’s shoes. Delicately prodding…

SMACK!

A slap hits your power so hard it sends your head spinning. You fall backwards into Angel who wraps his arms under your shoulders to steady you.

“You okay, toots?” Angel whispers in your ear, your vision spinning.

Holy shit.

It was either the sheer force of the blow or the dizziness in its wake, but you swore you saw faces laughing at you in the shadows.

“Uh,” you shake your head, willing the sting to subside.

Jesus, what was that? You’ve never had a reaction like that before…

“I think so?” You find your feet. “Just all the excitement… Caught me off guard.” You give him a fake laugh. He shrugs it off.

What the fuck…?

The next thing you know, Charlie’s grip is on your arm. “I promise it’s not always like this!”

From the corner of your eye, you see Vaggie shake her head. “Yes it is..” she grumbles before swearing under her breath in… Spanish?

Patting Charlie’s arm, you assure her that it doesn’t bother you. That Cannibal Town - and anywhere else in Pentagram City for that matter - were far worse than this place. Which was true. The only place you could get any peace and quiet was the Wrath Ring - way out in the country. Not that you’d been to the Wrath Ring… Technically…

The attention is finally turned away from you when an array of tendrils shoots from the red demon’s form. They descend upon the blimp, shredding it to pieces. The eggs spark into a panic as their helmsman desperately shouts commands.

Maniac laughs bubble in the demon’s chest as he slowly gets to work. It takes a moment before you realize it, but he isn’t taking his time because he has to, he’s doing it to toy with the snake demon. He enjoys the destruction.

You watch as the tension in the demon’s shoulder slowly diminishes with each attack. The pure enjoyment brings a small smile to your lips.

So this guy enjoys chaos just as much as you do, huh?

“Um… Alastor!”

Ah, so this is the famous Mr. Alastor?

The Princess slowly approaches the demon, but it isn’t fear you smell wafting off her person, it’s… anxiety? “I think he’s had enough.”

Vaggie is on Charlie’s heels in an instant, her hands flying to her back to summon her spear just in case.

So little Ms. Morningstar wasn’t afraid of him, but Vaggie sure as Hell doesn’t trust him. Interesting.

“Nah. He’s got a few more hits in him.” Angel crosses his arms, clearly entertained by the onslaught. Despite the chaotic scene before us, his eyes occasionally flit to the red demon - keeping him within eyesight.

Hmm, Angel didn’t trust him either.

You take a step forward but Angel pulls you back, shaking his head.

The snake demon falls from the zeppelin, landing face first with a smack on the pavement. You couldn’t help but grimace. That had to hurt.

Alastor twirls his staff - microphone? - as an egg falls and breaks into pieces at Charlie’s feet.

“Thanks for another forgettable experience!” He sings.

Okay, that you do laugh at. This guy was pretty witty, you had to give it to him.

The four Hotel Natives shoot you a look of disbelief as you giggle into your hand. Looking between you and the red demon, fear slowly etching across their brows.

Alastor’s shoulders stiffen as he turns, finding the source of giggles rumbling through your chest. His smile is pulled taut across his cheek, but the look he gives you… it wasn’t confusion necessarily swimming behind his eyes, more so like he didn’t know what to think.

The giggles die down as your cheeks heat under his gaze.

Was he not used to people finding him funny?

“Thank you… For letting your guard down!” The snake’s tail whips forward and rips the corner of Alastor’s suit from his person. A small chunk of fabric gives way. “Aha! Yah!” The snake celebrates before noticing the purely demonic smile overcoming the red demon’s face. “Oh, shit…”

The red demon’s antlers grow as an aura of green overtakes the atmosphere. From his microphone an explosion of green bursts through, sending the snake demon flying across Pentagram City.

Hmm… Why didn’t he just kill him? He’s just gonna come back. The mosquitos always do.

“Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor!” The demon inspects his jacket. Despite his jovial attitude, you could see the irritation in his eyebrows.

A mask. This demon was wearing a mask.

Finally, now that the chaos was over, you had a chance to inspect the red demon. He must have felt your eyes on him, for when he finally looked up, his gaze was locked with yours. Your cheeks heated under the pressure of his gaze. His eyes, glowing like red crystal in direct sunlight, made your legs feel heavy and your chest tight.

Was it getting harder to breathe or was it just you? Are you… Are you intimidated right now? No. You’ve never been intimidated by a demon in your life. Angels maybe, but never a Human Sinner. What was wrong with you?

“And who might this be?” Your heart fluttered at the purr in his voice.

Twirling his microphone behind his back, he took a step towards you, standing tall at his full height. He had to be an entire foot taller than you, now cast in his shadow. It felt eerily colder in the shade, but there was something else there too. An extra presence you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

The demon was dressed to the nines. His red suit perfectly tailored to his form. It splayed out around his hips, accentuating a waist line supporting a broad chest. His hair was cropped short around his angular face, his eyes half-lidded as they bore into you. The red of his irises practically glowing. He was a classy demon, clearly not of this century. He regarded you with a sense of curiosity - an aura of green still lingered, however. It was meant to intimidate you, not necessarily threaten you.

Okay, this guy thinks he’s tough shit, huh?

Before Charlie had a chance to intervene, you thrust your arm forward, meeting his eyes, not backing down to his overwhelming sense of self importance.

“Thestral, pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Alastor.” You offer him a soft smile.

You took the shift of stiffness in his shoulders to mean that you had made the wrong move. This was a demon who carried himself quite highly - probably used to lesser demons cowering in his presence, not laughing at his jokes or meeting his eyeline let alone offering their hand first. At that, he didn’t know what to make of you, which made you dangerous. Which made you a target of interest.

Shit.

Day one and you’re already fucking up the whole “lay low” part of the plan.

“Oh, darling, you flatter me,” he takes your hand. “Just Alastor will do.”

A shiver rolls down your spine as the tips of his claws scrape across your skin, so sharp they could cut flesh. They probably have, but you weren’t worried. He couldn’t hurt you anyway. Not really.

“Well, ‘Just Alastor,’ thank you for the entertainment.” You cross both arms behind your back mimicking his stance. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Angel’s jaw drop.

“Of course! I live to please! I’m not the Hotel Manager for nothing!” There it is again, a small shift in his body language. He didn’t know what to make of your lack of fear.

The static is interrupted by a laugh track, sounding as if from a live studio audience - from a radio.

“So does that mean you’re going to do you’re job?” Vaggie takes a step forward, motioning to the half destroyed wall of the Hotel.

“Of course! Can’t let my new project fall into disrepair already! What would the papers say?” With a snap of his fingers, black ink demons appear with construction tools.

Five. Five faceless demons. Which means he owns at least five souls. But that was not nearly enough power to equate to the destruction you had just witnessed.

By the time you turn back to him, he’s already strolling down the cobblestone path and off into Pentagram City. You couldn’t help still feeling watched, however, like the sensation of his red eyes still on your form, but nowhere to be found.

You spun but again, no one was watching you.

“Word of advice, stay away from him,” Vaggie crosses her arm in Charlie’s, ready to lead her back inside.

“Yeah, Hairclip,” Angel Dust appears behind you, poking at the silver metal in your hair. “You got a lot of balls on you to stand up to that one.”

“What does that mean?” You scrunch your nose in confusion.

“Well…” Charlie takes a step forward, touching the tips of her fingers together with anxiety. “Alastor can be a little…”

Before she has a chance to respond, Vaggie and Angel offer suggestions.

“Creepy.”

“Unpredictable.”

“Insane.”

“Murderous.”

“Bloodthirsty.”

“Aren’t those basically the same thing?” Angel shrugs.

“He’s a bad boy,” Nifty chirps by your ankle.

Where did she come from?

“Temperamental,” Charlie offers with an awkward smile.

Why did that not feel like a compromising adjective?

“The point is, Alastor is dangerous. It would be best not to poke and prod him too much,” Vaggie runs a hand through her ridiculously long hair, huffing.

Poke and prod… Shit! Shit! Shit! That force I felt slap my power away earlier, was that him? Did he know it was me? No! No! No! This wasn’t good. This was anything but good.

The blood melted from your face.

“Hey toots, you don’t look so good. Maybe we should get ya’ back inside?” Angel’s arm comes to rest on your shoulder, leading you towards the doors. “Don’t sweat it too much. He’s harmless as long as you’re not a threat. He won’t lay a finger on ya’, we won’t let him. Right gurls?”

“Right.” They chime as you made your way through the double doors.

This job just got a lot more complicated…

SCREECH!

“What the fuck is that?” Husk yells from behind the bar, his claws over his ears.

The television by the fireplace hisses, having turned itself on.

“Welcome home!” The box sang. “I’m going to make you wish that you stayed gone!”

The screen jumped through a few stations of fuzz before settling on a news broadcast. Vox, the media demon, sat behind a reporter’s desk, going on and on about… the Radio Demon?

As if in response, the radio in the foyer screams to life, making the five of you jump.

“Salutations! Good to be back on the air!” You recognized the old timey voice as Alastor’s.

“What the fuck is goin’ on!?”Angel screamed over the noise.

Vaggie ran over to the television and ripped the cord out of the wall. No good, the television continued to flash images of Vox screaming as if he could hear and respond to Alastor’s radio.

The Exorcist fisted the cord in frustration before pulling her spear from the Void. Charlie stopped her, however, preventing her from destroying the only piece of real technology in this building besides the coffee maker.

The Hotel Natives and you were subjected to the torture that was Alastor’s and Vox’s tantrum, until finally, they both shut down.

“Holy Jesus, what the fuck was all that about?” Angel screamed, his ears ringing from the noise.

“Fucking Vox and his ego,” Husk grumbled from the bar. The cat poured himself a drink.

“Ahhhhhh!” A eardrum splitting scream pierced the air, making you all, yet again, jump and cover your ears. Vaggie ran to the radio and shut it off rescuing whatever was left of your hearing from… well, whatever the fuck that was.

“Was that part of Alastor’s bit?” Angel asked the room.

No one answered, for no one knew the answer. Seems Alastor is a big mystery around here.

“Drink anyone?” Husk raised a bottle of whiskey in question.

Fuck, after that you needed one. Silently cursing yourself for your lack of thoroughness in your research, you joined the bar cat.

You huffed as you sat on the stool.

“You good?” Husk asked, pulling out a menu.

“Yeah,” you rubbed your temples, willing the forming headache away. “Just a lot of homework to do.”

____________________________________________

It was late, the sky turning towards darkness as opposed to its usual red light.

The Greed Ring always smelled like metal to you. Not copper, like blood, but like the cold steel of coins. You weren’t in the Greed Ring, of course. Sinners couldn’t travel out of Pride - technically. Yet the stench clung to them nevertheless.

You landed at the bottom of the cement path leading to the mansion, outside the gates.

Normally your meetups were discreet, often conducted in the shadows of terraces, rooftops, or alleyways. Oh so rarely did people invite you inside.

But not this time. This employer loved appearances so much so that he rented out a mansion on the edge of town just for this: a meeting that would last five, ten minutes tops. The vanity of Greed…

The demons next to you jumped as black smoke began to curl away revealing a hooded figure.

“I believe I am expected,” a deep voice growled from beneath the fabric. Concealed in shadow, the shark demons opened the gate to let you pass, their guns shaking in their hands. Nearing the door, another set of demons stepped to the side, their eyes filled with fear.

Ugh, how you so enjoyed the scent of terror as it wafted in waves from their forms. Pathetic, honestly.

You found Crimson sitting before his fire, a glass of whiskey in hand, his hat set on the table next to him. The imp rubbed the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, clearly it had been a long day. The servant standing next to him, whiskey bottle and towel in hand, leans down to alert him of your presence.

“Huh? What?” The crime lord jumps to his feet. “Already!?” He lets out a joyous laugh, before finding his hat and setting it between his horns.

Out of the corner of your eye, the waiter slinks from the room. The liquid in the whiskey bottle jostling as he shakes in fear.

“Chaz is swimming with the fishes already, aye!?” Both hands grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket, he stands before you, offering you a seat at the end of the table. Sliding into the head chair, he offers you a drink, which you refuse of course.

He takes a long sip of his whiskey, letting the burn sink in before continuing. “Did he suffer?”

You frowned. No questions. He knew this. That was part of the deal. It was always part of the deal.

“Ah, come on, can’t fault a guy for trying?” He laughs, but you aren’t amused.

As if on cue, a shark demon enters the room, dropping a suitcase onto the table before skittering out of the room. Crim opens the case and turns it towards you to reveal fat stacks of cash lining the case’s bottom.

“It’s all there, I assure you.” He lights a cigar and leans back in his chair. “Pentagram City currency, not the Native stuff.”

You ignore the money. You knew it was all there. You knew none of the bills were traceable. Crim was a pro when it came to moving money around. You didn’t have to worry about covering your tracks from this job like the last ones. Honestly, you didn’t deal in money that often. Your trade was in souls, but Crimson was a Hellborn, and head of a mafia gang at that. You’ve never done business with a Hell Native, so you were hoping your reputation was enough of a threat to keep him quiet.

But, the money wasn’t why you took this case.

You narrowed your eyes at him, knowing he could see their yellow glow - the only part of your face anyone ever saw - before slipping a black gloved hand from your cloak. His eyes find your fingers, uncurled before him expectantly, as the scent hits your nose.

Fear.

You knew this diphsit wasn’t stupid enough not to be afraid of you. Was it the sight of your claws? Or the red still staining the leather?

“Right. Right.” He dug into the hidden pocket of his jacket, producing an obsidian calling card. The flames from the fire flicker across its metal surface as he holds it out to you.

Finally, you had won this card back. It had taken forever to track it down after the last person you entrusted it with lost it in a game of cards. Of all the things to wager! You’d have killed the demon, but senseless death wasn’t part of your repertoire.

The card disappeared from the Pride Ring soon after, passing amongst the hands of Hell as it made its way downwards. It eventually became useless, a piece of metallic junk which eventually landed in Crimson’s hand. He figured out what it was, of course he would. He had eyes and ears everywhere - even in the Sinner’s Ring. So when he appeared in Pride a week ago and summoned you in the dead of night you knew you had to do whatever you could to get the calling card back.

Even if it meant taking down a low level mark and solving some petty personal drama. The calling card now safely tucked away in the leather of your shirt, you stood and made your way to the door.

“Ain’t you gonna take the money?” Crim motioned to the suitcase still sitting open on the table.

With a flick of your wrist the case closed, locked itself, and slipped into the Void.

As you exited the room you could hear the imp demon call out after you, “Pleasure doing business with yous!”

Crim was known to be a man of his word, or he’d soon find himself a dead man…

Link to Chapter Two!

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

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