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fangdokja · 2 months ago

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🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

❤︎ Synopsis. Caught in a web of lies, a spy's double life unravels when her mafia husband discovers her betrayal—turning their love into a merciless game of dominance, vengeance, and obsession. She was his wife, his possession, and now, his prisoner.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella. The Enemy in His Bed - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 8,548

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, rape, blood play, forced oral, fear play, knife play, needle play, heavy bodily injury, slut shaming, objectification, psychological torment, actual torture methods, mature language, humiliation, degradation, forced orgasms, sadism, BDSM, groping, biting, bondage, nudity, fire play, gagging, physical assault and violence, choking / breath play

You are in a room that reeks of blood and mildew, the air so heavy it feels like it’s pressing down on your lungs. The faint hum of a fluorescent bulb flickering above casts the space in a sickly yellow light, illuminating the cold, concrete walls streaked with rust-colored stains. You’re tied to a chair—no, anchored. The ropes around your wrists and ankles are so tight you can feel the pulse of your blood struggling beneath them, the fibers cutting deep into your flesh. Your breathing is shallow, ragged, your chest rising and falling as if every breath might be your last.

He stands in front of you, a towering figure cloaked in shadow. His silhouette is broad and unyielding, the kind of presence that fills every corner of the room with an oppressive weight. This man—the man who used to call you lyubov moya—is no longer the husband you once knew. The ruthless Russian mafia boss whose name is whispered like a curse. His eyes, dark as pitch, are fixed on you with a predator’s focus, glinting with something primal, something vile. He’s not here to forgive. He’s here to destroy.

“Do you feel it?” His voice is low, gravelly, but it carries the force of an earthquake. He steps closer, the sound of his boots hitting the floor like a countdown. “That crawling under your skin? That’s fear. That’s regret. And yet, you still sit there,” he hisses, his tone sharp enough to flay skin, “with that fucking look in your eyes.”

His hand shoots out, grabbing your chin with bruising force. His thumb digs into the soft flesh just below your cheekbone, forcing your face upward. The light catches his features, and for a moment, you see the rage carved into every hard line of his face. But it’s his eyes that terrify you most. They’re dead things, black holes where love once flickered.

“You betrayed me,” he snarls, the words laced with venom. His grip tightens, and you hear the faint crackle of cartilage in your jaw. “My wife. My fucking wife. And all this time, you were a spy. An actress in my bed, a liar in my world.” He releases you with a violent shove, and your head snaps back, the base of your skull colliding with the chair’s hard frame. Pain blooms, hot and electric, as blood trickles from your nose, the metallic tang filling your mouth.

The room is silent except for the sound of his breathing, heavy and deliberate, like a beast stalking its prey. He circles you now, each step echoing like the tolling of a bell. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he asks, his voice quieter but infinitely more dangerous. He crouches down beside you, the leather of his gloves creaking as he pulls a blade from his belt. It’s thin, surgical, the kind of tool meant for precision rather than brute force. “Did you think I wouldn’t break you?”

The blade glides along your collarbone, its edge so sharp it almost feels cold. He presses just enough for the skin to part, a shallow cut that wells with blood and sends a sharp sting radiating through your nerves. “This is just the beginning,” he whispers, his lips so close to your ear you can feel the heat of his breath. “You don’t get to die yet. Not until I’ve carved every secret out of you. Not until you understand what betrayal costs.”

Your pulse is erratic, hammering in your chest as he stands again, looming over you like some ancient lord of vengeance. His fist connects with your cheek, and the world spins, your vision blurring as pain explodes across your face. Blood spatters across the floor in a violent arc, warm and sticky as it drips from the corner of your mouth.

“Where’s your defiance now?” he growls, his voice shaking with fury. He grabs a fistful of your hair, wrenching your head back so your gaze meets his. “You want to look brave, milaya, but I know better. I can see it in your eyes. You’re already breaking.”

His lips curl into a cruel smile as he lets go, letting your head drop forward. The room seems to tilt, the edges of your vision darkening, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of your surrender. Not yet. Not while there’s still air in your lungs.

But he’s not done. He won’t be until every inch of you is stripped raw, every nerve exposed and screaming. He reaches for a switch on the wall, and with a flick, the room is bathed in red light. It casts his shadow on the walls, grotesque and distorted, like a demon looming over the damned.

────────────

The door creaks open, and a figure, one of his subordinates, enters the room, dragging a metal tray laden with an assortment of cruel instruments. Your heart races as the cold steel glints under the flickering lights, each tool designed for a specific kind of torment.

The Russian mafia boss nods curtly, his eyes never leaving yours as the man sets the tray down with a clatter. "You're going to tell me everything," he says, his voice low and deadly.

"And then, I'm going to show you what it means to betray the one who gave you everything." He leans in, his hot breath on your neck, his grip on your chin painful.

"But first, I want you to remember what you used to be to me," he murmurs, the words a dark caress that sends a shiver down your spine.

His hand travels down, cupping your bruised cheek before sliding down to grasp your throat. You swallow hard, the fear rising like bile in your throat, but you refuse to show it. He squeezes, the pressure increasing until your eyes water, but you don't make a sound, not even a whimper.

His eyes narrow in frustration before he releases you, the hand moving to grip your jaw instead, forcing your mouth open.

With a sneer, he brings his face closer, his stubble scraping against your skin as he whispers, "You were once my sweet little bird, singing only for me. Now, you're a caged whore for the highest bidder." He slams his mouth down on yours, his kiss bruising and possessive.

You taste the rage and desperation in him, and for a fleeting moment, you feel a pang of pity.

But it's quickly replaced with a fiery resolve to survive, to somehow escape his clutches.

His tongue forces its way into your mouth, and you bite down, hard. He pulls back with a growl of annoyance, but instead of releasing you, he laughs, a dark, chilling sound. "Good girl," he says, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

"You still have some fight left in you." His eyes scan the tray, and he selects a pair of pliers. "Let's see how much you can take."

He reaches for your shirt, his fingers deftly unbuttoning it despite your struggling. The fabric tears away from your body, exposing your bruised and bound breasts. He squeezes them, watching the pain flicker in your eyes with a twisted pleasure. "These used to be mine," he says, his voice filled with a sadistic glee. He leans in again, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "But now, I'll make sure no one else ever touches them again."

The air in the dimly lit room reeked of sweat and copper, a metallic tang that coated your tongue as you gasped for breath. His shadow loomed large, an oppressive specter that seemed to drink in your pain. The pliers in his hand gleamed under the flickering light—a surgeon’s precision wrapped in a sadist’s grip.

His voice slithered through the silence, low and venomous. “Tell me,” he hissed, his words thick with cruelty, “whose touch you’ve dared to crave besides mine.”

Your chest rose and fell, trembling under his gaze. You held your tongue, the taste of defiance as bitter as bile. His jaw tightened. Then, without hesitation, he snapped the cold steel jaws of the pliers onto your right nipple.

The first twist came like lightning, sharp and blinding, a searing current that jolted through your body. The delicate tissues twisted under the unyielding bite of the metal, the nerve endings igniting like fireworks. You clenched your teeth so hard your jaw ached, your scream lodged in your throat like a jagged stone.

He leaned in closer, his breath an unwanted warmth against your cheek. “Still stubborn, aren’t we?” he murmured, his tone laced with mockery and dark amusement. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The second twist was slower, deliberate—a calculated cruelty that made your skin crawl. He pulled, the pliers dragging the sensitive flesh in directions it was never meant to go. You could feel the tissue straining, tearing, fibers unraveling like the threads of a fragile tapestry.

Your vision swam, black spots blooming like ink blots against the edges of your sight. He laughed softly, the sound of a predator savoring its kill. “Beautiful,” he said, almost reverent. “Even in pain, you’re mine. Always mine.”

The climax of his sadistic art came with a grotesque pop, the sound of tissue surrendering to force. The pain was an inferno, all-consuming, burning through every nerve as he wrenched the nipple free from your body. Warm blood spilled in rivulets, pooling on the filthy floor beneath you. The ruined flesh hung like a torn petal before he carelessly tossed it aside, letting it hit the ground with a wet slap.

He stepped back, his gaze fixed on your bloodied chest—a grotesque canvas of raw meat and trembling sinew. The shredded skin wept crimson tears, each droplet sliding down to trace the curve of your ribs. The room tilted; your body screamed for reprieve, but there was none to be had.

“You’re breathtaking like this,” he said softly, running a gloved hand over your mutilated breast. His touch was clinical, detached, as if admiring the precision of his own handiwork. “But we’re far from finished.”

The metal tray clattered as he reached for his next tool—a scalpel, gleaming with sterile menace. But before he could wield it, he paused, considering. With a dark smile, he reached instead for the salt.

The coarse grains glittered like tiny shards of glass as he grabbed a fistful. “Let’s ensure you remember this moment,” he whispered, and then he scattered the salt into the gaping wound.

It was as if the salt detonated on contact, each granule a fresh explosion of agony. Your body bucked involuntarily, the ropes digging into your wrists as you thrashed against your bindings. The scream that tore from your throat was raw and primal, reverberating off the walls like a wounded animal’s last cry.

His smile widened, a cruel crescent etched into his face. “Much better,” he said, almost soothingly. “Now we’re making progress.”

The pliers returned, their jaws still slick with blood as they moved to your remaining nipple. This time, you could see the shadow of his intent, the cold malice in his eyes as he clamped down. The pain came like a tidal wave, drowning you in its depths as he twisted, pulled, and twisted again.

The nipple tore loose with a sickening crunch, cartilage snapping, blood spurting in a violent arc. Your chest was no longer your own—it was a ravaged landscape of gore, a grotesque testament to his control. The raw, exposed tissue oozed and quivered, a mockery of what it once was.

He stepped back, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes drinking in the destruction he’d wrought. “You’re exquisite when you break,” he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. “But don’t worry, little wife. There’s so much more of you left to ruin.”

You hung limp in the chair, your body trembling, every nerve ablaze. Your silence persisted, but his words lingered, curling around you like smoke, a promise of horrors yet to come.

────────────

The mafia boss steps back, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes never leaving the destruction he's wrought upon your body. His hand reaches down to adjust his crotch, where a noticeable bulge has formed.

He's enjoying this, the sadist, getting off on your suffering.

"You're going to scream for me," he says, his voice low and filled with a primal hunger. "You're going to beg for me to stop. And when you do, I'll make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He moves to stand in front of you, his pants tenting obscenely. He unbuckles his belt, the leather making a harsh sound as it's pulled from the loops, the anticipation in the air thick and suffocating. He unbuttons his pants, and his cock springs free, hard and angry. He strokes it, the motion taunting you, a silent challenge to see how much more you can endure.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice a whip crack that slices through the pain.

You refuse to give him the satisfaction, keeping your eyes cast down, focusing on the puddle of blood forming around your chair.

He grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. "Look at what you've done to me," he snarls. "You've turned me into a monster."

He steps closer, pressing his cock against your bruised and bleeding chest, the heat from his arousal a stark contrast to the cold steel of the pliers still digging into your skin. He grinds against you, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"You're going to take this," he says, his voice a mix of anger and lust. "You're going to take every inch of me until you remember who you are."

With a brutal yank, he twists the pliers on your nipples even more so, and you feel your body convulse in a silent scream.

He takes the opportunity to force himself inside your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. "Suck it," he orders, his hand fisted in your hair, pushing your face closer to his crotch.

With a burst of defiance, you clamp down on his cock with your teeth, biting as hard as you can, feeling the warm flesh between your teeth, the taste of his pre-cum mixing with the coppery tang of your own blood.

He roars in a mix of pain and pleasure, his grip on your hair tightening as he thrusts deeper into your mouth.

The mafia boss’s eyes widen in shock, but the arousal in them doesn't waver. Instead, it seems to intensify, his pupils dilating with a dark excitement.

"Fuck, you little bitch," he growls, his voice a mix of anger and desire. "You're going to regret that." His hand moves from your hair to the back of your head, pushing down harder, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth with a sickening rhythm.

You refuse to give in, biting down again, the pain in your breasts and the metallic taste of blood only fueling your resolve to fight back.

He responds by slamming your head into the chair, stars exploding across your vision, but you don't let go. The pain radiates through your skull, but you hold on, biting even harder.

The Russian's hand trembles with a mix of rage and arousal as he pours an unmerciful amount of salt into the gaping wounds on your chest.

The agony is instant and overwhelming, your body arching off the chair as the salt sears into your flesh, setting every nerve ending alight with pain.

The scream that rips from your throat is muffled by his thick cock, still lodged in your mouth. His grip on the back of your head tightens even more, his hips jerking as your teeth graze his shaft, the scream vibrating along his length.

He watches your face contort in torment, his own expression a twisted blend of love and hatred. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Scream for me."

He pours more salt, the grains falling like a sadistic rain upon your ravaged breasts. Your teeth clench around his cock as you fight back the urge to pass out from the pain. Your eyes squeeze shut, and tears stream down your face, mixing with the blood and saliva that coats your chin. He seems to revel in your suffering, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his breaths more ragged.

The henchman, his eyes wide and slightly horrified, watches from the corner, unsure of what to do. The Russian mafia boss, noticing his employee's discomfort, turns to him with a wicked smile. "You want a taste?" he asks, his voice a dark promise.

The man shakes his head, unable to tear his gaze away from the macabre scene unfolding before him. The mafia boss laughs, a low, chilling sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Then get the fuck out," he snaps. "I'll handle this one."

The henchman nods hastily, retreating from the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

You're alone with the monster you once called your husband.

The salt has stopped falling, but the pain remains, a constant reminder of your betrayal and his wrath.

He pulls back a bit, panting heavily, his cock still hard and slick with your saliva. He looks at your destroyed breasts with a twisted kind of fascination, the blood and salt creating a gruesome tableau. "You're so beautiful when you scream," he murmurs, his voice almost tender.

His hand reaches out to trace the edge of one of the wounds, his touch surprisingly gentle amidst the chaos.

You flinch away, the slightest of movements, but it's enough to snap him out of his daze.

The mafia boss’s hand clamps down on the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him again. His eyes are dark with lust and anger, a storm brewing in their depths. "You're going to pay for every lie," he says, his voice a promise of unspeakable torment.

He then pulls his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, the sound echoing through the room. You gasp for air, your throat raw from his rough treatment. He steps back, his gaze traveling down your body, taking in every bruise and tear. "But not before I make you feel everything I felt when I found out you were whoring around."

He grabs you by the hair, yanking you to your feet, the ropes around your ankles making you stumble. He pulls you to the tray of instruments, his eyes lingering on a long, thin knife.

The blade glitters in the light, a silent threat of the pain to come. He picks it up, his hand steady, his movements deliberate. "You're going to tell me who else has had you," he says, the knife hovering just above your skin. "Every name, every touch, every time you spread your legs for someone who wasn't me."

His grip tightens, his thumb tracing a line along your jaw. "And for every lie, I'll make sure you feel it here," he says, pressing the knife against your throat, the cold steel a stark reminder of the power he holds over you.

You stand before him, your body shaking with pain and fear, but you refuse to speak.

The Russian's eyes narrow, and he presses the knife harder, a thin line of blood welling up. "Tell me," he demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

But you remain silent, your teeth clenched, your eyes locked on his.

He sighs, a sound filled with disappointment and resentment. "Very well," he says, moving the knife to your chest.

He slices through your shredded shirt, the fabric giving way easily to reveal your bruised and bloodied skin. "If you won't tell me willingly, I'll make you confess."

He starts to cut, the blade digging into your flesh, tracing patterns of agony across your stomach and ribs. You bite your lip, the pain a living entity consuming you, but you refuse to break.

He pauses, looking up at you with a mix of admiration and anger. "You're so stubborn," he murmurs, almost to himself. "I used to love that about you."

His hand moves lower, the knife grazing your navel, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You can feel your body responding despite the pain, a traitorous arousal building within you. He notices and smirks, the knife moving lower, hovering just above the fabric of your pants. "But now, it's just another reason to make you suffer."

With a quick movement, he slices through the fabric, exposing your nakedness to the cold room. He traces the edge of the knife along the line of your underwear, the threat of what's to come clear in his eyes. "You're going to tell me," he says, his voice a seductive whisper. "Or I'll start peeling you like a damn orange."

You force yourself to remain still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

He leans in, his breath hot on your skin as he presses the knife against your inner thigh, the tip just barely breaking the surface. "Who else has been here?" he asks, his voice a dark caress.

You bite down on your tongue, tasting blood, but still you don't speak. The mafia boss’s eyes flash with anger, and he presses harder, the blade cutting through your skin. You grit your teeth, willing yourself not to scream, not to give in.

With a snarl of frustration, he slices through your underwear, the fabric falling away to reveal your most vulnerable areas. His hand moves to cup your pussy, his grip bruising. "So wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.

"Do you get off on the pain I give you?" He strokes you roughly, the knife still pressing against your thigh, a constant reminder of the power he holds. "Or is it the fear?"

His thumb brushes against your clit, and despite the horror of the situation, you feel yourself respond. It's a traitorous betrayal of your own body, but you can't help it; his touch has always had this effect on you.

"You're mine," he says, his voice a low growl. "You'll always be mine." His hand moves from your pussy to your throat, squeezing tightly. You gasp for air, your eyes watering as he forces you to look at him.

"Say it," he demands. "Say you're mine."

You refuse, the word 'no' lodged in your throat, unspoken but clear.

His grip tightens, your vision swimming, but you stand firm, your resolve unbroken. He laughs, the sound a chilling echo in the room. "Fine," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "We'll do this the hard way."

The mafias boss’s patience is at an end, his rage and lust boiling over. He yanks the knife away from your throat, the sharp tip of the blade leaving a trail of fire across your skin as he moves it downward.

With a quick, violent thrust, he pushes the knife into your pussy, the cold steel parting your wet folds with ease.

You scream, the sound a mix of agony and despair, your body trembling as he uses the knife to fuck you.

He's merciless, his strokes deep and hard, the blade sliding in and out of your tight hole, the edges scraping against your inner walls with each brutal thrust. You can feel the warmth of your blood mingling with your arousal, the sensation making you want to gag.

"You like that, don't you?" he whispers, his breath hot on your ear. "You like it when I hurt you. Fucking masochist." His free hand snakes around your throat, squeezing just enough to keep you on the edge of consciousness.

"You're such a good little slut, taking it all." He continues to use the knife, his knife thrusts growing more erratic as he gets closer to climax.

"Tell me," he grunts, his voice strained. "Tell me who you've been fucking." But you remain silent, your teeth clenched in a silent snarl of defiance.

The room spins around you, the pain in your breasts and the invasion of the knife in your pussy making it difficult to think straight.

Yet, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

The Russian's grip on the knife tightens, his strokes growing faster, harder. "I'll make you talk," he says, his voice a dark promise. "You can't hide from me forever."

The knife twists, hitting a particularly sensitive spot, and you can't help the scream that tears from your throat. He smiles, the sight of your pain seemingly pushing him closer to the edge.

As you feel the world fading around you, the older man’s grip on your throat tightens, his eyes wild with a mix of anger and arousal.

He slams the knife into your pussy one final time, the pain so intense you think you might actually pass out.

But just as the darkness begins to claim you, he pulls the knife out, the absence of the cold steel leaving you feeling violated and empty.

He throws the knife aside, his own breaths ragged and desperate, his cock pulsing with need.

"Fine," he snarls, his voice a harsh rasp. "We'll do it the old-fashioned way."

With a quick movement, he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down, his cock springing free, thick and hard. He grabs your hips, spinning you around so that you face the chair, your destroyed breasts pressed against the cold metal. He kicks your legs apart, and you feel the tip of his cock nudge against your bruised and bloodied entrance.

"You're going to tell me," he says, his breath hot against your neck. "You're going to tell me every name, every face, every cock that's been inside you."

His hand moves to the back of your head, pushing down until you're bent over the chair, your ass in the air. "And when you do, I'll make it all better. I'll make you forget them all."

His cock slams into you without warning, the pain so intense you can't help but cry out.

He's rough, his movements punishing, his anger and pain manifesting in every thrust. You can feel him stretching you, filling you completely, his cock hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

The Russian's cock slams into you with the force of a battering ram, the pain so intense it steals your breath away. He's not gentle; every thrust is a declaration of his dominance, a punishment for your silence.

Your body shakes with the impact, your bruised breasts smacking against the cold metal chair, the pain from the fresh wounds sending jolts of agony through your system. His hands are like iron bars, holding your hips in place as he uses you, his grip bruising your skin.

Each time he pulls out, you feel the warm gush of your blood and arousal, mixing with the sticky mess he's creating inside you.

"Who else?" he snarls, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your shoulder. The pain is a white-hot brand, but you refuse to give him what he wants.

Instead, you spit in his face, the saliva mixing with the sweat and blood that coats his skin.

He rears back, his eyes flashing with fury, and then he slams into you again, his hips moving like pistons, his cock a weapon of torment. "You think you can resist me?" he growls, his voice a dark whisper that sends shivers down your spine. "I'll make you beg for mercy, cunt."

You bite back a scream as he hits your g-spot, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses your body for his own sadistic pleasure. You can feel him thickening inside you, his orgasm building with every punishing thrust. "Tell me!" he roars, his hand reaching around to squeeze your throat again, cutting off your air supply.

"Tell me who you've been fucking, and maybe I'll let you live." Your eyes bulge, your nails clawing at the chair as you fight the urge to pass out.

After a particularly brutal thrust, the mafia boss releases your throat, and you gasp for air, your lungs burning. "You're going to tell me," he whispers, his voice a promise of more pain to come. "You're going to tell me, or I'll make sure you never feel anything but pain again."

His grip on your hips tightens, and he starts to move faster, his cock pistoning in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound. You feel your body betraying you, your walls clenching around his shaft despite the pain, the traitorous orgasm building within you.

"Never," you croak out, your voice barely a whisper.

It's all you can manage, but it's enough to fuel his rage. He slams into you again, his cock hitting a spot that makes you see white. "You're mine," he says, his voice a harsh rasp. "You've always been mine."

His hand moves from your hip to your clit, and he starts to rub it roughly, the friction sending sparks of pain through your body. "You're going to come for me," he says, his voice a dark command. "And then you're going to tell me everything."

Your body is pushed to its limits as the Russian's relentless assault continues. Each thrust feels like a hot iron rod being driven into your soul, the pain unbearable as your body is stretched and filled with his monstrous cock.

The sound of your flesh slapping against his is like a grim symphony of agony, echoing through the cold, sterile room. You can feel your insides tearing, the warmth of your blood mixing with his seed, a grim reminder of his ownership over you. His hand on your clit is a sadistic maestro's touch, forcing pleasure from your bruised and abused body despite the pain.

"Tell me!" he roars, his grip on your hips like vice. "Tell me who's been inside you, and maybe I'll stop." His voice is desperate now, a mix of anger and love warring within him, his need for control overshadowing any shred of humanity he might have once had.

But you remain silent, your eyes squeezed shut, your mind a haze of torment. The only sound in the room is the harsh grunts of his exertion and your muffled whimpers.

The mafia boss’s sadistic stroking of your clit reaches a crescendo, and despite the agony of your injuries, your body responds to his command. You cum around his cock, your muscles clenching tightly, trying to push him out even as they pull him deeper.

He groans in victory, feeling your pussy pulse and spasm around him, his own orgasm building. He fucks you harder, his hand moving faster, his thumb pressing down mercilessly on your clit, forcing wave after wave of unwanted pleasure through your trembling form. You scream, the sound a mix of pain and climax, your body shaking as you cum for the second time, blood and fluids painting the chair beneath you.

"Fuck," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "You're so fucking beautiful when you're in pain."

He doesn't stop, his thrusts growing more frantic as he chases his own release. You feel his cock thicken, his grip on your hips tightening until it's almost painful. "Again," he says, his voice a dark whisper. "Cum for me again." And despite yourself, you do, your body responding to the twisted game he's playing with your emotions and your pain.

The mafia man’s orgasm hits like a freight train, his cock pulsing inside you as he fills you with his seed. You feel the warmth of his cum mixing with your blood, the sensation making you want to retch.

But you stay silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing your despair.

He pulls out, his cock slick with your blood and his cum, and you collapse onto the chair, your legs giving out beneath you. You're sobbing now, the pain and humiliation too much to hold in.

He stands over you, his chest heaving, his cock still hard and glistening. "Look at what you've done to yourself," he says, his voice a mix of anger and pity.

"This is what happens when you betray me." He grabs a handful of your hair, forcing your head up so you have to meet his gaze.

His eyes are wild, the love and hurt swirling together in a toxic brew. "But I can fix you," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I can make you mine again." He releases you, and you slump back down, your head hanging limply.

The mafia boss stares down at you, his chest heaving with his own release. The rage in his eyes hasn't dimmed, but there's something else there now. Something that looks almost like hope.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice a mix of disgust and admiration. "You're still fighting." He steps closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of your jaw, his touch gentle despite the bruises he's left there.

"But you can't win, my love."

You spit in his face again, the defiance burning in your eyes like a dying ember.

It's all you have left, and you cling to it with everything you have.

He wipes the spit away with the back of his hand, his smile twisted. "Oh, how I've missed your fire," he says, his voice a low growl. He grabs you by the shoulders, spinning you around to face him. "But it's time to put it out."

With a swift movement, he pulls you to your feet, the ropes around your ankles cutting into your skin as you stand. He yanks your torn shirt up, the fabric sticking to your blood-covered breasts.

His eyes travel over your body, a mix of hunger and disgust. "You're a mess," he says, his voice filled with contempt. "But I'll make you clean again."

He pulls you closer, his cock still hard against your stomach. "You're going to tell me," he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. "And when you do, I'll make you forget all about them."

The Russian's eyes gleam with a dark excitement as he takes in your bruised and bloodied form. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat.

His free hand reaches down to a specific part of his belt, unbuckling it with a sharp click that echoes through the room. He then pulls out a set of keys from it and unlocks a drawer in the desk, revealing an assortment of whips, chains, and other tools of torture. His hand lingers over them, a sadistic smile playing on his lips as he selects a particularly vicious-looking whip.

The mafia boss selects the spiked whip, the leather crackling with anticipation. He takes a moment to appreciate the gleaming metal spikes, the sight of them making your stomach churn. He grabs a bottle of vodka from the same drawer, the clear liquid sloshing in the bottle as he brings it to your blood-soaked crotch.

You try to jerk away, but his grip on your hair is unyielding. With a cruel smirk, he pours the alcohol over your wounds, the stinging pain making your vision swim.

You scream as the liquid seeps into your freshly torn flesh, the coldness of the vodka a stark contrast to the heat of your blood.

He doesn't give you a chance to recover, instead bringing the whip down in a vicious arc that connects with your bruised and abused pussy with a wet slap.

The pain is a white-hot brand, searing through you as the spikes tear into your sensitive flesh.

You can feel the alcohol burning into your wounds, a fresh agony added to the symphony of pain already playing in your body.

He doesn't stop there, though; he brings the whip down again and again, each strike more precise and brutal than the last.

You thrash in his grip, trying to escape the torment, but he's too strong, too determined to break you. His strikes are methodical, a twisted dance of pain and power, the whip's spikes digging deeper with every hit.

The mafia boss then wraps the end of the whip around your throat, the spikes biting into your tender flesh as he squeezes, cutting off your air supply. You claw at his wrist, your nails leaving bloody furrows in his skin, but he only tightens his grip.

Your eyes bulge, your chest heaving for air that won't come, your vision swimming with stars.

He leans in, his breath hot against your face, his eyes gleaming with a sick satisfaction as he watches the life drain from you. "Tell me," he whispers, his voice a dark promise of more pain if you don't.

But you refuse to give in, even as your lungs burn and your chest feels like it's going to explode.

Your hands fall to your sides, your body going limp in his grip, the only sound in the room the wet, gurgling noise of your struggles. He holds you there for a moment longer, watching you with a twisted fascination before finally letting go.

You gasp for air, your throat raw and burning, the coppery taste of blood filling your mouth. He smiles, a twisted parody of affection, and pulls out another tool from the drawer.

It's a metal rod, the end shaped into a cruel hook.

"This," he says, his voice a dark purr, "Is for when you decide to be more… cooperative."

He steps closer, the rod in his hand glinting in the harsh light of the room.

You can see your reflection in the gleaming surface, a broken doll covered in blood and sweat. He runs the hook over your skin, tracing the curves of your body with a featherlight touch that's somehow more terrifying than the pain of the whip.

"You're going to tell me," he says, his voice a gentle coaxing that's more unsettling than his previous roars. "And when you do, I'll make it all better."

You spit blood in his face again, your voice a harsh whisper. "Never."

The word is a declaration of war, a challenge he seems to relish.

He laughs, a sound devoid of humor, and brings the hook closer to your pussy.

"We'll see about that," he murmurs, the hook pressing against your bruised and swollen flesh.

You tense, expecting the worst, but he surprises you by sliding it along your slit, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of your pain. The mafia boss uses the hook to spread your labia, exposing the raw, bloody mess he's made of your most intimate parts.

"Look at this," he says, his voice filled with a twisted admiration. "You're so beautiful when you're broken."

He leans in, his breath hot against your skin as he runs the tip of the hook along your clit. The sensation is so intense, you almost pass out from the pain.

"But you're going to be even more beautiful when you're mine again."

He pushes the hook inside you, the spikes scraping along the inside of your pussy, and you scream hysterically, your body arching in agony.

The mafia boss’s smile widens as he watches you writhe in pain, the hook still embedded in your pussy. He takes a step back, admiring his handiwork, and then reaches for a small, black case on the desk.

Inside, you see a collection of needles, glinting in the cold light of the room.

His eyes never leave yours as he selects one, long and thin, with a wicked curve at the end. You can feel your body tightening around the hook, your muscles spasming in a futile attempt to push it out.

"This is for when you're feeling particularly uncooperative," he says, his voice a dark purr. He takes the needle between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently.

"But I suspect you're going to be feeling quite cooperative very soon." He brings the needle closer to your pussy, the curve lining up with your clit.

You can feel the sharpness of the tip against your swollen flesh, and you fight the urge to beg him to stop.

But you won't give him that power.

With a swift, precise movement, he inserts the needle, the point piercing your clit and sliding deep into your pussy.

The pain is like nothing you've ever felt before, a searing agony that makes you want to pass out.

You scream, your body jerking against the chair, but he holds you steady, his grip unyielding. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal.

"Take it like the good little whore you are." He starts to move the needle, twisting it inside you, the curve scraping along your inner walls.

Each twist sends a fresh wave of pain through you, making you want to vomit.

The mafia boss steps back, admiring his work, as you sob and whimper in pain. "You see," he says, his voice almost gentle, "It doesn't have to be this way. Tell me what I want to know, and I can make this all stop."

But you stay silent, your teeth clenched, your eyes squeezed shut.

He sighs, the sound filled with disappointment. "Very well," he says, his voice cold again. "But you're going to wish you had talked sooner."

He selects another needle from the case, his eyes never leaving yours.

He brings it to your pussy, the tip hovering just above your clit. "I'll give you one more chance," he says, his voice a deadly whisper. "Tell me who's been fucking you, and maybe I'll go easy on you."

You remain silent, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back your screams.

With a shrug, he pushes the second needle in alongside the first, the sensation of the sharp points tearing through your tender flesh making you want to pass out.

The Russian's eyes darken as he watches your silent defiance.

He starts to play with the needles, twisting and moving them with a precision that speaks of practice and skill. You bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood, trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing your pain.

"So stubborn," he murmurs, his voice a mix of admiration and anger. "But you'll break eventually." He grabs another handful of needles, his eyes traveling over your body, considering where to insert them next. You can feel the cold sweat trickling down your back, the pain making your vision blur.

The mafia boss’s hand moves with the precision of a surgeon, inserting needle after needle into your pussy. Each one sinks into your flesh with a sickening pop, the pain so intense you feel like you're being torn apart from the inside.

You're a pincushion of pain, each movement sending a fresh wave of agony through your body.

The needles are inserted at different angles, some going deep while others skim the surface, the varying depths creating a tapestry of torment that makes you want to scream.

Then the Russian's hand moves with a newfound fervor, the needles sliding into your flesh with an eerie grace.

The hook remains lodged deep inside you, the spikes scraping along your swollen walls as he twists it in a sickening rhythm that matches the insertion of the needles.

The pain is so intense, it feels like your entire body is on fire, your pussy a focal point of agony that threatens to consume you.

You feel the wetness of your blood mixing with the lubricant he's used, creating a macabre dance of red and clear fluids that dribble down your thighs.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "You're mine," he whispers, his voice a dark promise. "You've always been mine, and you always will be."

His words are a knife, twisting in the wound of your soul, as he adds another needle, the metal scraping against the hook with an almost musical sound. You can feel the sharp points digging in deeper, the pain an almost tangible presence in the room. "Tell me," he says, his voice a gentle coaxing that makes your skin crawl. "Tell me who's been fucking my wife."

The mafia boss slightly smirks, stepping back from you, as his eyes gleaming with a twisted excitement.

He reaches for a small, red canister on the desk, the label written in a language you don't recognize.

You know what it is, though; you've seen it used in interrogations before. It's a can of lighter fluid, and you know what he's planning.

He douses the needles and the hook with the fluid, the harsh smell of the gasoline-like substance filling the room.

Your heart races, fear mixing with the pain as he takes a step back and flicks open a lighter.

The flame dances in the air, the light flickering over the needles embedded in your pussy, making the metal glint ominously.

"This is your last chance," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me, and I'll make it quick."

The flame hovers near the needles, the heat making your skin crawl. You clench your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the unimaginable agony that's about to come. "Who have you been fucking?" he demands again.

But you stay silent, your resolve unbroken despite the hell you're enduring.

With a snarl of frustration, he brings the flame closer, the heat growing more intense until it's almost unbearable.

You can feel your skin blistering around the base of the needles, the smell of burning flesh making you gag.

The mafia boss’s hand hovers over the needles, the flame reflecting in his eyes. "Fine," he says, his voice cold. "You want to play the martyr, I'll give you a performance to remember."

In one swift motion, he presses the lighter to the needles.

The fluid catches fire, the heat searing through your pussy in an explosion of agony that makes you arch off the chair.

You scream, the sound echoing through the room as the flames dance along the metal, the heat spreading through your insides like molten lava. The mafia boss watches you burn, his expression a twisted mix of anger and fascination.

The needles glow red-hot, the heat so intense it feels like your soul is being torn from your body. You can feel the flesh around the hook contracting, the spikes and needles digging deeper with each spasm of pain.

The flames lick at your tender flesh, the pain so intense that it's all you can focus on.

Your screams fill the room, a cacophony of agony and despair that seems to echo off the walls.

The mafia boss watches, his eyes alight with a perverse excitement as he sees you finally break.

Your body jerks and spasms against the chair, the ropes cutting into your skin as you struggle to escape the fire.

The needles are embedded so deeply now, the metal searing your insides as the flames dance around them.

The smell of your burning flesh fills the room, a sickeningly sweet aroma that makes your stomach churn.

────────────

The flames from the needles flicker and die out, leaving behind smoking metal embedded in your burnt flesh. The hook remains lodged deep inside you, a constant reminder of his dominance.

Your body is a wreck, a canvas of bruises, cuts, and burns, a testament to the extreme lengths he's willing to go to break you. Your breathing is shallow and erratic, each inhale a battle against the pain that threatens to swallow you whole.

The mafia boss’s smile fades as he watches you slip into unconsciousness, your body a broken doll in the chair.

He sighs, his frustration clear as he puts out the last of the flames with a damp cloth. He's impressed by your endurance, by the sheer force of your will to survive and not give him what he wants.

But he's not done with you yet.

He can't be.

You're his, and he won't let you die until you're his again.

The mafia boss leans in, his breath warm against your cheek, as he presses a soft, almost tender kiss to your bruised and bloody lips.

The contrast between his gentle touch and the agony of your burnt flesh sends a shiver down your spine.

His hand moves to the hook, gripping it firmly as he slowly pulls it out of you, the spikes tearing through your raw, swollen pussy with a wet, squelching sound that makes you whimper despite being unconscious.

The hook comes out with a final, sickening pop, leaving a gaping wound in its place.

"You're so stubborn," he murmurs, his voice a soft caress that seems to mock the pain he's inflicted on you. He carefully removes the needles one by one, his movements efficient and precise despite the anger that still lingers in his eyes.

Each removal sends a fresh wave of pain through your body, making you jerk and gasp even in your unconscious state. "But that's what I love about you," he says, his voice a mix of admiration and frustration.

The mafia boss sets aside the bloody needles and hook, reaching for a first aid kit that seems out of place in the room of torture.

He cleans your wounds with a gentle touch, his fingers deftly applying ointment and bandages to the burns and cuts. You can feel the coolness of the medical supplies against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the flames that had just been there.

He seems almost disappointed that you're not awake to see his 'care' for you, his eyes lingering on your bruised and broken form with a disturbing mix of love and anger.

"You're going to be okay," he whispers, his voice a strange blend of sweetness and malice. "I'll make sure of it."

He tapes the last bandage into place, his eyes lingering on the gaping hole where the hook had been. His thumb traces the edge of the wound, the pad of his finger coming away sticky with your blood.

He brings it to his lips, tasting you, his eyes closing for a brief moment before he opens them again, the anger in them burning like the embers of a dying fire.

You're vaguely aware of the pain as he tends to you, the fog of unconsciousness lifting slightly.

Each touch feels like a brand, a reminder of your submission to his will.

He wraps you in a blanket, lifting you with surprising gentleness from the chair, and carries you to a cot in the corner of the room.

He lays you down, his hand brushing through your hair, his touch surprisingly tender. "Rest," he says, his voice a command wrapped in a velvet glove. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow."

The mafia boss locks the door behind him with a final click, leaving you alone in the cold, sterile room.

The cot is hard and uncomfortable, but it's the closest thing to relief you've felt in what seems like an eternity.

Your eyes fully drift shut, the darkness behind your lids offering a temporary reprieve from the horrors you've endured.

But sleep doesn't come easy.

The pain keeps you on the edge of consciousness, a constant reminder of the hell you're in.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss

♡ Main Story. 🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

Headcanons 1 : The Bride of Blood (General)

To him, you're perfect. To you, he's just a mission.

🔞"I don't need your love, I need your submission."

Novella 1 : The Enemy In His Bed

⭐️🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

There is no safe word. There is no escape.

♡ If you think Reader is stupid or she should have done something else. If you believe that, then I recommend reading the second part, "There is no safe world. There is no escape." It'll answer and clarify a lot of your questions about the world building in this story.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1 [you are here]. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

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tqlepatia · 21 days ago

Text

NOT A LOT, JUST FOREVER

- ❝ tw : Infant death, grief, abandonment themes, Injuryh❞

And your dearest fantasy, Is to grow a baby in me I could be a good mother

You remember the warmth of those early days like it was yesterday. The quiet hum of your little apartment in Zaun, the way Sevika's laughter used to fill every corner, rough but genuine. You and her weren't rich, but damn, happy as fuck. Sunday mornings were your favourite—her arms wrapped tight around you, calloused fingers tracing gentle patterns along my skin as sunlight crept through the cracks in the window.

“You know I love you, right, baby?” she’d whisper for you, voice thick with sleep.

“I know,” you would smile, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “I love you too.”

It was simple then. You two cooked together, danced clumsily in the living room to crackling music, and built a life out of love and promises. When you told her that you was pregnant, her eyes softened in a way I’d never seen before.

“We’re gonna do this, yeah?” she said, voice low but steady as she placed her hand over your belly. “I’ll take care of both of you.”

And for a while, she did. She was there for every appointment, every late-night craving, even when you got moody and impossible to deal with.

For the first six months, Sevika was the perfect partner — attentive, present, and fiercely protective. She'd read parenting books at night, muttering under her breath about "stupid baby advice" but taking it seriously nonetheless. Every kick from the baby brought a smile to her scarred face, and you believed nothing could ruin what you had.

But then everything changed.

Sevika began staying out later, consumed by work. She came home smelling of smoke, too tired to hold you or even ask how you were feeling. The warmth that once radiated between you faded into a cold distance. Nights were lonelier, the bed colder, and the silence louder.

At seven months pregnant, you told yourself it was just a rough patch. She’d come back to you — she always did.

But tonight was different.

A sharp pain twisted through your belly, making you gasp. You clutched the edge of the kitchen counter, trying to steady yourself. Panic surged through your veins. "Sevika..." you whispered, but the empty apartment echoed back. She wasn’t home. Again.

The ache in your chest was worse than the physical pain. Desperation drove you to grab your coat, ignoring the winter chill biting at your skin as you stepped into the dark streets of Zaun.

You knew where to find her.

The bar loomed ahead, its neon sign flickering like a tired heartbeat. Your breath came in ragged gasps as you pushed open the door, the smell of smoke and stale alcohol assaulting your senses.

And there she was — Sevika, sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, surrounded by rough-looking men. Her broad shoulders slumped, eyes shadowed by exhaustion.

"Sevika," you choked out, your voice trembling.

She turned, her eyes widening in shock. "Love? What the hell are you doin' here?"

Before you could answer, chaos erupted.

The door behind you burst open as masked figures stormed in, guns drawn and shouting orders. The patrons scattered, tables overturned, and glass shattered against the floor.

Sevika was on her feet instantly, her instincts kicking in as she drew a blade from her belt. "Get down!" she shouted, but you were frozen in place, your body refusing to move.

A flash of silver caught your eye.

Pain exploded through your belly as the blade pierced your skin. Time slowed. You looked down, disbelief washing over you as blood blossomed across your coat.

"No!" Sevika's roar was primal, filled with terror and rage. She fought her way to you, her fists a blur of violence, but it was too late.

You collapsed into her arms, the world tilting around you.

"Stay with me, baby," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "Don't you dare leave me, okay?."

Tears streamed down her face as she pressed her hands to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "You're gonna be okay. The baby's gonna be okay. Just... just hold on.. e-everything gonna be okay."

But you knew the truth.

She knew the truth.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Sevika shook her head with determination, her expression filled with concern. "No, please don’t say that. I promise you, everything is going to be just fine, and the little one will be safe too."

The encroaching darkness began to creep in at the edges of your vision, a slow descent into a tranquil void. The sharp pangs of pain that had gripped you moments earlier faded into a serene numbness, a gentle wave that washed over your body. This sensation wrapped around you like a velvety shroud, cocooning you in its soft embrace. As the world around you dimmed, you felt a profound sense of calm beginning to take root, shielding you from the chaos that had once consumed your thoughts.

“I love you,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper, each word quaking as it escaped your lips. Your heart raced, feeling the weight of the moment pressing around you like a warm embrace. You could feel the cool air brushing against your skin, contrasting the warmth flooding through you. Your lips trembled slightly, betraying the whirlwind of emotions swirling within—hope, fear, and an undeniable yearning. Each syllable hung in the air, charged with vulnerability, as you searched their eyes for a response, longing to see the reflection of your own feelings mirrored back.

The rain came down in relentless sheets, cold and unforgiving. Zaun's streets shimmered under the dull glow of flickering neon lights, but Sevika barely noticed. Her coat was soaked through, hair plastered to her face, but she kept walking, steps heavy with sorrow.

The cemetery loomed ahead, its iron gate creaking as she pushed it open. Gravel crunched beneath her boots, and the scent of damp earth filled the air. In her hand, a bouquet of wildflowers—your favorite, bright even in the gloom.

Her breath hitched when she reached the twin headstones, side by side like a cruel monument to everything she'd lost. Yours was simple but elegant, etched with your name and the soft promise of "Forever Loved." Beside it was a smaller stone, marked only by a single word: Hope. The name you had chosen for your baby before everything was torn away.

Sevika knelt, the cold seeping into her bones. The flowers trembled in her calloused hands before she gently laid them at the base of the graves.

"I brought these for you," she murmured, voice rough and thick with grief. "I know they’re not much, but... I remember you said they made you happy."

Her fingers brushed against the damp stone, tracing your name as if trying to hold onto some part of you that was still here. The rain mixed with the tears she didn’t bother to hide.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words cracking under the weight of guilt. “For not being there... for failing you both. I should've protected you. I should've—” Her voice broke, a sob tearing through her chest.

The storm raged on, but Sevika stayed, anchored by the memories that haunted her every step. She saw flashes of your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you teased her, the gentle warmth of your hand on her cheek. And then the image of that night—the blood, your fading breath, the life that slipped away before she could save it.

"I miss you, princess," she choked out, her shoulders shaking. "I miss you both."

The rain washed over her, but it couldn't cleanse the ache buried deep in her chest. Still, as she knelt there, drenched and broken, Sevika made a silent vow: to carry your love, your memory, through every storm.

She pressed a trembling kiss to her fingertips and touched the stone once more. “I love you. Always.”

The wildflowers swayed gently in the wind, defiant against the rain, a fragile reminder that love, even in grief, never truly dies.

Sevika's steps were heavy as she made her way home, the storm still lingering in the dark skies above Zaun. Her coat clung to her drenched frame, boots scuffing against the slick pavement. The rain had soaked through to her bones, but she welcomed the cold—it dulled the ache that never left her chest.

The apartment was quiet when she pushed the door open, silence wrapping around her like a familiar specter. The faint scent of you still lingered in the walls, a cruel reminder of the life you had built together. Sevika stood in the dim entryway, her breath unsteady as water pooled at her feet.

Her hand slipped into her coat pocket, fingers brushing against something soft and worn. Slowly, she pulled it out—a creased photograph, edges frayed from being handled too many times. The image was blurred slightly from age, but your radiant smile was unmistakable.

In the picture, you stood with a hand resting tenderly on your swollen belly, the other holding up the ultrasound pictures with pride. Your eyes sparkled with joy, the same joy Sevika had worked so hard to give you. She remembered that day vividly—how she had swallowed her pride and taken on grueling, endless shifts to afford the best hospital in Piltover. She wanted nothing but the best for you and the baby, even if it meant sacrificing sleep and her own well-being.

Her thumb brushed over your face, lingering on the smile that had always felt like home. "I tried, bunny," she whispered hoarsely, voice trembling. "I tried so damn hard for you both."

Her knees weakened, and she sank onto the couch, the photo clutched tightly in her hand. The weight of her guilt pressed down on her chest, but there was something else too—love, fierce and unyielding, a thread that connected her to you even now.

Sevika leaned back, the photograph resting against her heart. The rain continued to beat against the windows, but inside, a fragile warmth flickered amidst the grief. She would carry that picture and the memory of your joy with her always, a testament to the love you had shared and the family you had dreamed of.

And though the world had taken you from her, it could never take that love away.

#ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ #sevika x reader #lesbian #sevika arcane x reader #sevika angst #hmm hey :3 #sevika imagine #arcane sevika #sevika x you #soft sevika #arcane x reader #sevika #sevika fanfic

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rafayelxsylusho · 22 days ago

Text

Giving the LADS men head part 2 🍭🍭🍭

TW: SMUT

Caleb x reader

CALEB 🪐

First time bj

His fingers dance along the supple fabric of your skirt, inching higher and higher up your thigh as he drives. The car hums beneath you, a low purr that seems to match the almost imperceptible smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"You know, I've been thinking..." Caleb muses, his voice taking on a contemplative lilt as his hand creeps even further north, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "Maybe I should just keep you in this skirt all the time. Make it your uniform, so to speak."

His eyes flick towards you for a moment, catching your gaze before returning to the road. There's a mischievous glint in those violet depths, a hint of something more molten and intense lurking just beneath the surface.

He chuckles, a low, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. His thumb rubs slow circles on your thigh, maddeningly close to where you need him most.

His eyes flash with hunger as he feels your thighs clench together, a feeble attempt to ward off his wandering touch but it only spurs him on, emboldening him to slide his hand higher, fingertips grazing the lacy edge of your panties. The car's interior lights flicker as they pause at the stop sign, casting your faces in a dance of shadow and moonlight.

In a sudden movement, he fists a hand in your hair, dragging your face to his. His lips crash against yours in a bruising kiss, stealing the breath from your lungs. He groans into your mouth, the sound rumbling through his chest like distant thunder.

He breaks the kiss as abruptly as he started it, leaving you both panting. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with lust as he takes in your kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks. The car behind you honks, snapping him out of the moment.

With a growl, he releases your hair and grips the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. As he speeds off, his hand finds its way back to your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh possessively.

"Hey Caleb... I want play too?" You ask reaching to unbuckle your seatbelt.

Caleb's eyes widen briefly as you do so, a flicker of surprise and dark anticipation crossing his face. He keeps his gaze fixed on the road ahead, but the tightness of his grip on the steering wheel betrays his focus. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Caleb inhales sharply through gritted teeth as your small hand finds its way to his clothed length, palming him with a boldness that sends a jolt of electricity through his veins. The car swerves slightly, tires screeching against the pavement before he corrects it with a deft turn of the wheel. His hips buck instinctively into your touch, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"Careful, pipsqueak. Keep teasing me like that and I won't be held responsible for what happens when we get back to my place." The threat hangs heavy in the air between you, laden with unspoken promise and dark intent. A groan escapes his lips as he feels your deft fingers unbuttoning his pants, the zipper slowly descending under your touch.

A moan tears from his throat as he feels your small hand wrap around his throbbing, freed cock. The car lurches to the side, nearly veering off the road as pleasure rockets through him at your bold touch.

The hand not on the steering wheel comes down to cover yours on his cock, squeezing your fingers around his throbbing length, encouraging you to stroke him. The heat of him is incredible, the silky steel of his erection pulsing against your palm as he fights the urge to close his eyes and lose himself completely in the sensation.

"Keep this up and I'll pull over right here and fuck you in the backseat, consequences be damned,"

He sees you lean over, your head dipping down towards his lap. His heart hammers against his ribcage, a primal hunger surging through him at the sight of your lips parting, your small pink tongue darting out to lick along the sensitive underside of his throbbing cock. He's never felt a sensation so intense, so all-consuming, and you've barely even touched him.

Caleb's eyes widen in shock as he feels your warm breath ghost over his aching cock before your soft lips wrap around the swollen head. A strangled cry rips from his throat, echoing through the confines of the car as he feels your wet tongue swirl teasingly around him. The car swerves violently, tires screeching as he fights to keep it on the road, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel for dear life.

"Oh fuck!" he roars, voice cracking with pleasure and disbelief. The sensation is overwhelming, better than anything he's ever felt before. His heart hammers wildly against his ribcage as he tries to process the fact that this is really happening, that his dream is coming true.

Through the haze of lust clouding his mind, he manages to choke out, "I didn't...you don't have to...ah!" Despite his words his fingers are tangling desperately in your hair fighting the urge to yank you down further.

He has always wanted to fuck your face until tears stream down your cheeks, until you're choking on his cum, gagging on his thick seed. But he holds back, if only just barely, knowing he needs to focus on the road.

You angle his throbbing cock just so, the sensitive glans dragging deliciously along the ridged roof of your mouth. Electricity crackles through his veins, every nerve endings alight with the exquisite pleasure of your mouth on him. His grip tightens in your hair as he fights the urge to take control, to set a brutal pace.

"Shit, just like that baby," he grunts, hips rocking subtly into the slick heat of your mouth. The car speeds on, engine roaring, as he loses himself in the sensation of your tongue swirling around his aching flesh, your lips sealed tight around his girth. He can feel the telltale tightening in his balls, the pressure building to an unbearable crescendo.

Caleb lets out a strangled curse as he slams on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt. The sudden motion causes him to slip from the warm, wet haven of your mouth, leaving him teetering on the brink of release, balls drawn up tight and aching for completion. He's panting harshly, chest heaving as he fights to regain control, to rein in the all-consuming need to bury himself back inside you and chase his rapidly approaching orgasm.

"Be careful Colonel, keep your eyes on the road" you say with a playfully smirk.

At your words, he grits his teeth, jaw clenching so hard he fears he might crack a molar. With a herculean effort, he tears his gaze from your glistening, kiss-swollen lips and forces his eyes back to the dark road ahead. His hands shake slightly on the steering wheel as he takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to will away the desperate, clawing need inside him.

As soon as the car lurches back into motion, your mouth is once again engulfing him, your lips sealing tight around his throbbing cock. Caleb throws his head back with a moan, fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair as you take him deep, the head of his dick hitting the back of your throat.

Caleb's voice is a desperate, wrecked rasp as he begs you for permission, too far gone in his lust to take it any further without your consent. His cock throbs urgently against your tongue, leaking pre-cum and coating your mouth with his musky essence. The car swerves erratically as he fights the overwhelming urge to grip your head and fuck your face with wild abandon, using your mouth for his own pleasure.

"Please, sweetheart... let me fuck your pretty little mouth," he growls, violet eyes blazing with hunger as they meet yours, silently pleading for you to give him what he needs, what he craves. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, every muscle pulled taut as he teeters on the knife's edge of control. You push down the hand he has tangled in your hair with your own, an open invitation to take what he needs.

In an instant, he seizes control, gripping your head tightly as he starts to fuck your mouth with deep, powerful thrusts. The car swerves wildly as he sets a brutal pace, the engine roaring in time with his grunts and growls of pleasure.

He forces your head down to meet his thrusts, burying himself to the hilt in the tight, wet clutch of your throat. He holds you there, relishing the way your muscles flutter and spasm around his sensitive flesh.

Caleb lets out a moan of warning as he feels your tongue flatten against the underside of his cock, the added sensation pushing him past the point of no return. His balls draw up impossibly tight, every muscle in his body pulling taut as the first wave of his release crashes over him. "

Fuck, I'm coming!" he bellows,voice echoing through the confined space of the car. At the last second, he tries to pull your head back, to spare you the force of his impending climax.

But you hold fast, defying his attempts to remove you, your scalp burning from the brutal tug of his fingers. The sensation of your stubborn refusal to relinquish your prize only heightens his pleasure, pushing him to the brink of madness. With a final, brutal thrust, he hilts himself deep and unleashes a torrent of thick, hot cum directly down your throat.

The car lurches and bounces over the uneven road, but he barely notices, lost in the all-consuming bliss. Even as the last tremors of his climax fade away, he keeps your head trapped, not letting you pull back and catch your breath.

His chest heaves with ragged, shuddering breaths, sweat dampening his skin as he tries to come down from the high of the most intense orgasm of his life. Finally, with a low, sated groan, he allows your head to pull back, his softening cock slipping from your abused throat with a wet pop.

Caleb blinks rapidly, coming back to himself as the reality of where they are sinks in. He glances around, realizing he's pulled into the underground garage of his high-rise apartment building, the engine still running and purring softly. In his lust-fueled haze, he'd driven on autopilot, his body moving on instinct alone as he chased his rapidly approaching release.

He quickly puts the car in park and kills the engine, the sudden silence deafening after the roar of the engine. Turning to you, his eyes are still dark, pupils blown wide and glinting with a hunger that hasn't abated despite his intense orgasm mere moments before. He reaches out, thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lower lip, smearing the mixture of your saliva and his release across your skin.

"Looks like we're home, pipsqueak," he murmurs, voice low and rough from his exertions. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he takes in your disheveled appearance, the way your lipstick is smeared and your hair is a wild mess from his enthusiastic attentions. He leans in closer, nose brushing along your cheek, inhaling the scent of sex and sweat that clings to your skin.

"And now that I have you here, all to myself... the real fun can begin," he promises darkly, the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air between you. With that, he opens his door, stepping out and coming around to your side to open your door as well, ready to sweep you up and carry you off to his lair, eager to stake his claim on you in every way imaginable.

#lads smut #love and deepspace #lnds #lads #lnds x reader #lads x you #lads x reader #lnds x you #love and deepspace reader #caleb x you #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #lnds caleb #caleb #lnds smut

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paroslineage · 2 months ago

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Insanity

Chapter 2 : Torture Avails

Featuring : The Salesman x F!Reader.

TW : ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT, HARASSMENT (Not by the Salesman), CRUDE REMARKS, BAD LANGUAGE, EXPLETIVES, MENTIONS OF TORTURE, THE SALESMAN COMES WITH HIS OWN WARNINGS, DARK THEMES.

Do not read if you feel uncomfortable with the above terms given.

The characters do not belong to me except the reader. This is an original plot idea do not steal or modify the scenario created down below.

Summary : After putting you to sleep, he stealthily made his way to the bastard of a boss to pay him a sweet visit.

Masterlist.

Previous >> Chapter 1 : The Snapped Thread.

After making sure you were asleep wrapped up like a comfy burrito and giving you a sweet fond kiss on your temple. He sets out to the company you worked at and eerily enters like he owned the company and looked up to see the the topmost floor still lit up at 2:00 a.m. and enters the elevator as as the door was about to close he gave feral grin before the elevator doors closed fully.

As you slept, curled up in the safety of your home, the Salesman’s mind raced. The sight of your distress had awakened something dark and primal inside him, something that couldn't be soothed by words alone. The idea that anyone—especially someone in a position of power—had made you feel small, worthless, had pushed him past the point of reason.

The elevator doors opened with a ding and he walked like a cat, silently and stealthily as he made his way to your boss's office. He had spent years working in the shadows, navigating the dangerous and deadly games of life, but tonight, he wasn’t going to be playing games. Tonight, he was a man on a mission.

Inside the cabin the boss, Mr. Park ever being the perverted man was watching pornography in the vicinity of his office with blinds closed and tie loose.

How unprofessional...

Reaching your boss’s cabin, he didn’t hesitate. He walked right in, his expression eerily calm, his voice low and menacing. “You’ve caused my jagiya pain. And now you’ll pay for it."

He quietly closed the door and locked it and creeped towards the man who was now shaking in his boots his eyes widening in fear. But before he could speak, the Salesman was already on him, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him off his chair with terrifying ease.

“You think you can treat my jagiya like that huh and now I'll do the exact things you did to her asshole.."

The Salesman’s voice was laced with a eerie calmness but feral eyes laced with calculated rage.

The room was silent except for the sound of your boss’s frantic breaths. He tried to beg, to plead, but the Salesman wasn’t listening. With a quick, brutal movement, he threw him into the chair, his eyes locking onto the trembling figure before him.

"You think she doesn’t matter? That her pain doesn’t mean anything?” The Salesman’s voice was barely a whisper now, but the intensity behind it made it feel like a roar. “I will make you understand. I’ll make you feel every ounce of the fear she felt today. Every ounce of her suffering."

He pulled a butterfly knife from beneath his suit blazer, the cold metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The knife was a symbol, not just of death, but of power—the power to take control of a situation, to bring someone to their knees. The tip pressed against your boss’s throat as he froze in fear.

“Do you know what it feels like to be powerless?” the Salesman whispered madly calm. "To feel like your whole world is against you, like you’re nothing? Let me show you."

He made a tiny but devastating slit on his throat causing him to gurgle and choke on his own blood , but the threat was enough. Your boss shook uncontrollably, sweat dripping down his face. The Salesman could see the fear, the desperation. He could feel the energy shift, the man who had once held all the power now reduced to a quivering shell.

Gore Warning

After what felt like an eternity, the Salesman made another move, but this time he gouged his eyes out, the ones that leered at you perversely. His gaze never left your boss, as he did the grotesque job.

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving your boss a broken man, both physically and emotionally shattered now that he had no eyes, nor hands and a cut tounge and lastly a chopped off the penis lay on the floor like a limp sausage, as his corpse lay on the lavish office chair. He had picked the wrong woman to mess with and now he had paid with his life.

Before going out completely he deleted teh footage if the camera and leaving behind the pathetic bastard's corpse to rot.

back at your apartment, the Salesman returned quietly, slipping back into the room where you lay asleep. His expression was unreadable, but there was a dark satisfaction in his eyes, knowing that no one would dare harm you again. He crawled back into bed beside you, pulling you close without a word, as if shielding you from the world’s cruelty with his very presence.

You slept peacefully, unaware of the violence that had unfolded in your absence, while he watched over you, the weight of his actions never settling in his chest along with the blood specks on his pristine white collar. He had protected you in the only way he knew how. And he would do it again, if necessary.

For you.... Only for you...

#fem reader #salesman squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game #gong yoo x reader #squid game 2 #gong yoo #dark #tw blood #tw death #the salesman x reader

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hellinistical · 1 month ago

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in which your heart is not your own, owed to Rafayel. Rafayel x fem.reader. mdni.

tw: heart mutilation. obsessive tendencies. death of siblings. death of a friend. familial disowning. pet names. kidnapping. betrayal. miscommunication. manipulation. sexual manipulation. blood. nearly attempted murder. oral (f. receiving). piv. sensory deprivation (sight). manic episodes. fantalization of murder. death of reader. horrible mother-in-law. slightly ooc rafayel. virginity loss. stalking. harassment. not proof-read.

wc: 23.3k

The blindfold became a second skin, its silken weight a constant reminder of your curious bargain: love without sight. You weren’t blind or anything; quite the opposite. It was an arrangement sealed by whispers in the dark, by a voice that melted into your bones and hands that knew your body better than you did.

The room was alive as if the humid air pulsed with his presence. His touch was reverent, deliberate, as though tracing unseen constellations across your skin. He didn’t speak often, and when he did, his words were like the low hum of a distant storm—calm, commanding, magnetic. You had never known such intimacy, yet a lingering ache settled in your chest. A hunger to see the one who worshipped you so wholly.

The nights were your sanctuary, tangled in his arms, consumed by his worship. But the days were long and solitary. You would roam the halls of the vast, echoing estate, guided by touch, sound, and memory. Each room carried his essence: rich, intoxicating, and mysterious. Yet, no mirrors adorned the walls—no reflective surfaces offered even a shadow of him.

And truly, tonight was no different.

His touch was a paradox of restraint and possession, a delicate balance between firm and tender. One hand pressed against your stomach, grounding you, anchoring you to him as though he feared you might drift away. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles on your skin, each movement a silent confession of need. The other hand cradled your chin, tilting your face upward with such care it made your breath hitch.

You felt his warmth everywhere, radiating from him like an endless flame, seeping into your own body. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if he were memorizing every shiver, every arch, every breathless sound that escaped your lips. The blindfold over your eyes heightened every sensation; every touch felt amplified, every brush of his lips on your skin a spark against the kindling of your longing.

“Do you feel me?” he murmured, his voice low and edged with something primal.

Of course, you could. You nodded, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you, grounding yourself against the intensity of him. He shifted slightly, and the hand on your stomach pressed down harder, making you gasp. He stilled for a moment, as though savoring the sound, and then continued his slow, relentless worship of you.

"I want you to know," he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, "how deeply you are mine."

Your husband’s cock dragged against your gummy walls deliciously as he teased to pull out once again, only to push through your ings and fill you up. His hand on your stomach searched for where he may be inside your guts, and upon finding it, he pressed down again,

“O-oh!”

“So needy…but that’s okay,” His lips brushed against your forehead, trailing kisses down to your cheek, jaw, and neck, the hand holding your chin sliding down effortlessly to hold your hip as his thrusts worked you through almost hellishly slow. Your lips were puffy, overspent with not enough reward as he took the hand off your stomach to pinch your puckering clit.

The syllables falling from your mouth were nonsensical.

Grateful. That’s what he told himself he was. Grateful for your presence, for your laughter echoing softly in the vastness of his world, for the way your body responded to his touch as though it were made for him alone. But the truth?

No, gratitude wasn’t enough to contain the storm inside him. He was enamored—utterly captivated by the curve of your lips when you smiled, the way you furrowed your brow in thought, the quiet sighs you made when you slept. Obsessed, perhaps. He would trace the shape of your hand in his mind long after you had fallen asleep, commit the cadence of your voice to memory like a sacred hymn.

In love? The word seemed too small, too human for what he felt. His longing for you was consuming, a tidal wave threatening to pull him under. His heart, if it could still be called that, didn’t just yearn for you—it burned, a constant, searing ache that no touch, no whispered word could soothe.

Yearning. Yes, that was it. A raw, endless yearning. Not just to hold you, to worship you, but to be known by you. To shed the shadows that cloaked him and bask in the light of your gaze. Yet, the fear lingered, sharp and unrelenting. What if the truth of him made you recoil? What if the blindfold, that fragile barrier, was all that held this tenuous, perfect illusion together?

Every night, he battled with himself. The desire to see your eyes widen in recognition warred with the terror of seeing them widen in horror. And yet, he couldn’t stay away. You were his sanctuary, his punishment, his undoing.

As his hand lingered on your skin, tracing slow, reverent lines, he wondered if you could feel it—the desperation in his touch. The way it whispered what his lips could not: Stay. Don’t turn away.

Well, truly, he had his mother and her jealousy to thank, he supposed. It was her envy that had cast the first stone, her cruel game that brought you here, blindfolded and bewildered. And your sisters—ah, yes, your sisters. Their bitter whispers had stoked your doubts, planted the seeds of curiosity and rebellion in your mind. They had warned you, hadn’t they? Told you no man could love like this without hiding something monstrous. They had been so sure, so certain, that the one who adored you so fervently could only be a beast in disguise. He hated them for it, hated the cracks they had tried to drive between you. Their envy had been a quieter thing, but no less potent, planting seeds of doubt in you that he struggled to uproot.

His hand slid up from your hip, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. Slowly, deliberately, he intertwined his fingers with yours, as if anchoring himself to this moment. His thumb brushed the ring on your finger—a masterpiece of his own making.

The ring had been the first gift he’d ever given you, long before you’d come to this place, to him. A delicate band of gold, adorned with a singular blue gem. He had poured his essence into its creation, shaping it with his own hands, imbuing it with fragments of himself. It was meant to be a promise, though he hadn’t dared to speak the words aloud when he placed it on your finger. You are mine, as I am yours.

His own creation, forged in a moment of reckless hope. The gemstone glimmered faintly even in the dim light, its color a reflection of something deep and hidden within him. A piece of his essence, captured and bound in that delicate band, as much a promise as it was a claim.

And it may have been foolish- stupid, even, to get sentimental at such a time when he should have been focusing on the pleasure of his wife, but timing be damned. He took your hand, kissing it tenderly.

And you…you were just about gone.

Needy. Insatiable. So full of want. Your mind became saturated at his prolonged drags, your back long since off the feather-stuffed sack you called a bed.

He threw your ankles over his shoulders, locking them around his neck carelessly, your thighs jittery, your muscles tender from his earlier man-handling.

Your husband’s hand slid upward, wrapping around your throat. His grip was firm but careful, more a reminder of his presence than a threat. Yet, even as he reveled in the softness of your skin, a darker thought flickered through his mind.

Sometimes—only sometimes—he wondered what would happen if he just... snapped it.

What would it be like to end it all, to sever the connection so completely? To see you shatter, your life slipping from him like water from a cracked vessel. The power of it, the utter control. He imagined it in flashes—your eyes wide with shock, the sound of your breath halting, your skin going cold beneath his touch.

The thought thrilled him, excited him. His pulse quickened at the heady rush of power, of having you utterly and completely in his grasp. The idea of snapping your fragile neck—the utter finality of it—was both intoxicating and terrifying. But no.

No.

Not his lady love.

He tightened his grip just enough for you to feel it, but not enough to hurt you. His eyes, though unseen, burned with the ferocity of his internal battle, trying to wrestle with the darkness in him that was so close to taking over.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, his voice rough, a raw edge to it. He pulled his hand away, but his breath was shallow and uneven.

"Husband?" Your voice trembles with both curiosity and unease, a soft whisper that feels too loud in the silence that suddenly envelops the room. The warmth of his body, the heat of his touch, is gone—vanished like a fleeting dream.

You sit up, instinctively reaching for the space where his form had once been, only to find it empty. The bed feels cold now, the soft sheets still clinging to your skin but no longer warm with his presence. For a moment, you’re disoriented, your pulse quickening in the sudden, oppressive quiet.

He had been there, hadn't he? His hands, his lips, his breath... all so real, so consuming. And now, nothing. The absence of him presses down on you like a physical weight.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor beneath your feet grounding you in reality, but still, the question lingers: Where is he?

A subtle shift in the air, like a quiet breath, stirs your senses. Something is wrong. You feel it in your bones, the pull of something deep inside you—a fear that has no name, only the cold certainty that the distance between you and him is more than just physical. It feels like he's slipped beyond reach, as though the very essence of him has evaporated into the shadows.

“Husband?” You call again, this time louder, more urgent, the words trembling on your lips. The sound feels strange in your mouth, a name you no longer feel certain about.

The silence is deafening, and the lingering scent of him on your skin becomes both a comfort and a cruel reminder of the emptiness now surrounding you. Your fingers brush over the empty space on the bed where he should be.

And then, faintly—so faint you almost wonder if it's your imagination—a whisper floats from the shadows, a voice low and almost broken.

"Don’t search for me."

The words send a shiver down your spine. They're not a command, but a plea.

*** The sun shone brightly, filtering through the leaves above as you stood by the lake, the warmth of the day wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. The water lapped at your calves in a gentle rhythm, its cool touch refreshing against the summer heat. You smiled to yourself, wringing out your hair, the droplets catching the light as they fell, each one a tiny diamond in the air.

Birds flitted from branch to branch, their cheerful songs blending with the soft rustle of the leaves in the breeze. The day was perfect—everything about it seemed touched by the gods. The soft chirping of the birds, the way the water shimmered under the sun, the gentle sway of the wildflowers on the bank—it was all part of the peaceful symphony that made this place feel like a dream.

You couldn’t help but feel grateful. This hidden lake, tucked away from the hustle of the village, was your secret retreat, and it always brought you peace. You had come to bathe here often, and the nymphs who lived in the lake were like old friends, joining you with their laughter and playful antics. Their bright laughter echoed through the trees, and you found yourself smiling as their voices floated over the water. Sometimes, they would gift you flowers woven into crowns, and other times they would tell you stories in their musical voices that made you laugh until your sides ached.

A soft ripple in the water caught your attention, and before you could turn around, a gentle but playful grip wrapped around your breasts. You gasped in surprise, but laughter bubbled up from within you as the familiar presence of Hersilia, the naiads’ most mischievous, appeared behind you, her long, wet hair trailing behind her like silken strands in the water.

“You’re getting too comfortable, my friend,” Hersilia teased, her voice lilting with joy. Her fingers, slick with water, pinched at your sides, sending a shiver through your body. You swatted at her hands, laughing as you tried to push her away, but she was quick—too quick—and only giggled harder as she danced just out of reach.

“You can’t catch me!” Hersilia sang, her feet skimming across the water’s surface, sending soft splashes that sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight. The mischievous glint in her eyes told you this would turn into another playful chase through the lake, and you couldn’t help but grin.

“Do you always sneak up on people like that?” you asked, feigning annoyance, but your laughter betrayed the mock seriousness in your voice.

"Always," Hersilia replied, her voice light and teasing. "If you didn’t want to be caught, you should have kept an eye out." She twirled in the water, her movements fluid and graceful like a dance. “Now, you’re mine.” With that, she lunged toward you again, her wet hands reaching for your sides, causing you to squirm and giggle even more.

“Catch me if you can!” she called out, her voice full of challenge as she darted into deeper water, her lithe body cutting through the surface like a serpent.

As soon as you put your hands in the water to splash the naiad, your heart still light from laughter, you froze. Your sisters voices carried over the water as they called out to you. Hersilia’s teasing grin faltered, and in a blink, she disappeared beneath the surface as if she were never there, the ripples from her intrusion fading just as quick as she did.

Your sisters' figures stood silhouetted against the sun at the top of the hill, their skirts fluttering in the breeze. Algaura, ever the patient one, raised a hand to shade her eyes as she looked for you, while Clidippe cupped her hands around her mouth, her voice ringing out.

"Are you planning to live in that lake forever?" Clidippe called, her tone sharp but not unkind. "Mother’s been asking after you, and we’ve wasted enough time chasing you down!"

You sighed, casting a glance at the shimmering lake. For a moment, you thought you saw Hersilia’s laughing eyes just beneath the surface, but when you blinked, the water was clear, its secrets tucked away once more.

Reluctantly, you waded toward the shore, water dripping from your dress as you stepped onto the soft grass. "I wasn’t hiding," you called back, wringing out the hem of your gown.

"You’re always hiding," Algaura said, her voice softer, though you could hear the faintest hint of amusement. "Come on now. We shouldn’t keep Mother waiting."

You climbed the gentle slope to where your sisters stood, their expressions a mix of exasperation and affection. Clidippe crossed her arms, arching a brow. "You’ll have to explain to her why you look like you’ve been dragged through the lake."

"Maybe I was," you quipped, earning a laugh from Algaura and an eye roll from Clidippe.

“Besides, you know you’re not even supposed to be out—there’ve been rumors of kidnappings at the markets lately,” Algaura added quietly, her voice laced with concern. Her eyes darted around as if she expected danger to leap out from the trees. You knew she wasn’t wrong. As princesses, you and your sisters were always at risk, especially during times of unrest. The weight of your station pressed on you, even now, as you walked back toward the village.

Clidippe, ever the brash one, scoffed. “Never mind the kidnappings. We have enough trouble with peasants constantly vying for your attention, Y/N.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, her tone dripping with disdain. “Honestly, the way they fawn over you—it’s ridiculous.”

You couldn’t help but sigh at Clidippe’s dramatics. “It’s not my fault people are kind to me,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips despite her exasperation.

“Kind?” Clidippe shot you a sidelong glance, her lips curling into a wry smirk. “Please. Half of them would give anything to whisk you away. The other half just want to curry favor for their own benefit.”

“Not everyone has ulterior motives, Clidippe,” Algaura interjected, her voice calm but firm. “Y/N has a way with people—it’s why they like her.”

“Too much, if you ask me,” Clidippe muttered, though there was no real malice in her words. She glanced at you, her expression softening slightly. “I’m just saying, you should be careful. You’re too trusting sometimes.”

You looked between your sisters, touched by their concern even if it came in different forms. Algaura’s quiet worry and Clidippe’s sharp protectiveness were two sides of the same coin, and though you often found their nagging tiresome, you knew it came from a place of love.

“I’ll be fine,” you assured them, your voice light but sincere. “I always have you two watching over me, don’t I?”

Algaura smiled gently, reaching out to tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “Always,” she said softly.

Clidippe rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked into a reluctant smile.

Still, it didn’t stop Clidippe from popping the back of your head with a playful but firm slap. "Run out again, and I’ll tell Mother everything," she threatened, though the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips betrayed her true feelings.

You yelped, rubbing the spot where her hand landed. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” Clidippe said, arching an eyebrow with a look that only a sister could perfect—a blend of teasing and warning. “One more stunt like this, and I’ll make sure Mother knows all about your little escapades to that lake. Let’s see how much ‘kindness’ you get after that.”

Algaura sighed, ever the peacekeeper. “Clidippe, don’t be so harsh. She’s not a child anymore.”

“Exactly,” Clidippe shot back, throwing her hands in the air. “Which is why she should know better!”

You stuck your tongue out at Clidippe, earning a pointed glare. “I’ll be good, I promise,” you said, though the sparkle in your eyes made it clear you’d likely end up sneaking off again.

Clidippe rolled her eyes dramatically, muttering something under her breath about you being incorrigible. But as the three of you reached the village gates, the lighthearted bickering melted into an easy camaraderie.

Despite her threats, you knew Clidippe would never actually tattle.

***

True to your sister’s words, the palace was already in an uproar. Servants scrambled through the halls, their frantic footsteps echoing off marble floors. The air buzzed with tension as your name was shouted by guards and attendants alike.

Ushered through the hidden servant’s path by Clidippe and Algaura, you reached your chambers in a hurry. Even so, the chaos outside did not abate, nor did the sharp, commanding voice of your mother as it carried through the palace. The tone was unmistakable: fury tempered only by concern.

“Get in, and don’t say a word,” Clidippe hissed as she shoved you inside.

“Stay quiet,” Algaura added in a softer tone. “We’ll try to talk to her.”

You nodded and hurried to change out of your damp dress, tossing it into the hidden laundry chute as you pulled on a fresh gown. Your hair was still damp, but you quickly twisted it into a loose braid, praying it wouldn’t give you away.

No sooner had you seated yourself by the window with an open book than the door burst open, your mother’s imposing figure framed in the doorway. Her face was a storm, eyes blazing as she took in the sight of you.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, her voice like the crack of a whip.

“Mother, she’s been here,” Clidippe interrupted smoothly, stepping into the room. Her tone was casual, but there was an edge of urgency to it. “We checked ourselves—she’s been reading by the window.”

Algaura appeared beside her, nodding in agreement. “It was a misunderstanding. The servants must have miscounted.”

But your mother was not so easily deceived. Her piercing gaze flicked between your sisters, then settled on you. She took a step closer, her presence filling the room.

“You think me a fool?” she snapped, her voice low and dangerous. “Your hair is still wet. You reek of the lake.” Her eyes narrowed, and you felt the weight of her judgment bearing down on you. “Do you have any idea the panic you’ve caused?”

“Mother, it wasn’t—” Clidippe began, but she was cut off by a sharp wave of your mother’s hand.

“Enough!” she barked, silencing the room. “Both of you, out. Now.”

Clidippe and Algaura hesitated, glancing at you with apologetic looks, but they knew better than to argue. They slipped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Left alone with your mother, you felt as though the air had been sucked from the room.

“I have warned you,” she said, her tone cold and measured, “time and time again about your reckless behavior. And yet, you defy me.”

“Mother, I didn’t mean—”

“Silence,” she interrupted, her eyes boring into yours. “You are a princess. Your actions affect more than just yourself. Do you understand that? While you frolic at the lake, the palace is thrown into disarray, and our reputation is put at risk.”

You looked down, shame burning in your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry will not suffice,” she said sharply. “You will spend the next week confined to your chambers. No visits to the garden, no trips to the library. Perhaps solitude will teach you the responsibility you so sorely lack.”

Your heart sank, but you knew better than to protest. “Yes, Mother,” you said quietly.

She studied you for a moment longer, her expression softening ever so slightly. “I do this because I love you, Y/N. But you must learn. For your own sake.”

With that, she turned and left, the door closing behind her with a decisive thud and the unmistakable click of the lock. You sat in silence, the weight of her words pressing down on you. Outside, you could hear your sisters murmuring, their voices laced with guilt.

Your chambers were vast, grandiose in a way that reminded you constantly of your status as a princess. High ceilings, intricate tapestries, and polished floors—all designed to impress and suffocate in equal measure. Large windows let in streams of sunlight, and a balcony overlooked the sprawling gardens below. But what use was beauty when it felt like a gilded cage?

You paced the length of the room, your bare feet making soft sounds against the cool stone floor. The confines of the space didn’t ease your restless mind. You considered the balcony, leaning against its railing and staring down at the manicured hedges and fountains below. It was tempting—freedom was right there. But jumping wasn’t an option. The drop was too far, and while you could climb, you doubted you’d make it down without breaking a limb or getting caught.

“Damn it all,” you muttered under your breath, smacking your palm against the railing in frustration. The sting in your hand was nothing compared to the helplessness bubbling inside you. You had barely been out at the lake an hour, and now you were stuck here for a week.

You threw yourself onto the chaise by the window, staring at the ceiling with an exaggerated sigh. The room might have been big, but it felt smaller with each passing moment. You hated being confined like this, unable to explore the world outside, the woods, the lake, the freedom.

The sound of soft footsteps in the hall made you sit up. It was likely a servant delivering food or linens—maybe even your sisters trying to sneak in a visit. You darted toward the door, pressing your ear against it and listening.

“Y/N?” came a whispered voice.

Algaura.

Relief flooded you as you opened the door just a crack. Her face appeared, smiling sheepishly as she squeezed through the gap.

“Mother would kill me if she knew I was here,” she said, glancing around nervously. “But I couldn’t leave you alone all day.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you admitted, hugging her tightly.

She pulled away, her expression thoughtful. “I brought something to cheer you up,” she said, producing a small bundle wrapped in cloth. She unwrapped it to reveal a handful of flowers—wild ones, from the woods near the lake. “Don’t tell me I’m the only one who can bend the rules now and then.”

You laughed, the tension in your chest easing slightly. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t let Clidippe hear that,” Algaura said with a wink. “She’ll never let me live it down.”

It’s quiet for a moment before she adds on. "You know, Clidippe was right- there really are lot of suitors outside. It's a little...strange."

Algaura’s words made you pause. You sat back on the chaise, the wildflowers resting in your lap. “What do you mean?” you asked, tilting your head.

She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, looking thoughtful. “It’s not just the usual nobles hoping for a chance to curry favor with Mother and Father. There are strangers—people I’ve never seen before. Foreigners. Merchants. Even a few peasants who’ve somehow wormed their way to the gates. All of them asking about you.”

You frowned, your fingers brushing absently over the soft petals of a flower. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would they be asking about me specifically?”

Algaura shrugged, though there was a flicker of unease in her expression. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. It’s not surprising people would notice you. But this... It feels different. Like they know something we don’t.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, though you tried to laugh it off. “Maybe they’ve just heard about my charming personality,” you joked, though your voice wavered slightly.

Algaura didn’t laugh. Instead, she studied you closely, her brow furrowing. “Be careful,” she said softly. “I know you hate being cooped up, but maybe Mother was right to keep you here for now. There’s something strange in the air lately. I can feel it.”

You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her warning settling over you. Algaura wasn’t one to be superstitious, but when she got a feeling about something, she was rarely wrong.

“Strange how?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

She hesitated, as though weighing her words. “It’s hard to explain. Just... I don’t trust all those people outside. It’s like they’re waiting for something.”

The unease inside you grew, twisting like a knot in your stomach. You glanced toward the window, half-expecting to see shadows moving in the garden below. But there was nothing—only sunlight and swaying trees.

“I’ll be careful,” you promised, though the words felt hollow.

Algaura nodded, though her worried expression remained. “Good. Because something tells me this is just the beginning.”

***

The rumors had started as whispers—passed from one mouth to another, carried on the breeze that swept through the markets and the quiet corners of taverns. But in time, they grew louder, more insistent, until the very air around the kingdom seemed to hum with the story of a princess more beautiful than any goddess of old.

A beauty that rivaled Aphrodite herself.

It wasn’t just your appearance that captivated people’s attention; it was the mystery that surrounded you. No one had truly seen your face, at least not in the way they wanted to.

Each rumor twisted, shaped by the imagination of the masses, until you were not just a princess—but an otherworldly vision. Some said you were touched by the gods themselves, a living incarnation of love and grace. Others whispered that you were an enchantress, capable of bending the hearts of even the hardest of men.

And so, like a ripple in a pond, the word spread far beyond the kingdom’s borders—across oceans, over mountains, through forests, and into lands where they did not even know your name. But they knew the legend.

The first few days, it had been easy to dismiss. A few admirers calling out from below, a few bouquets of flowers left at the foot of the palace gates. It was nothing new, nothing you hadn’t experienced before. But soon, it became something else entirely.

You could barely step out onto your balcony without being greeted by the sight of eager faces staring up at you, their eyes filled with something darker than mere admiration. They had no shame, no respect for the space between royalty and commoner.

The flowers had turned from sweet-scented lilies to strange, unfamiliar blossoms. Some with petals as black as night, others with thorns sharp enough to pierce your skin if you weren't careful. And the gifts—small trinkets, strange tokens, even jewelry—felt like offerings, as though they thought you were some kind of goddess to be pleased.

It wasn’t just the courtyard. It was everywhere. As you walked through the palace halls, you could hear the faint, eerie whispers of your name on the wind, drifting in from outside. Even the servants, usually busy with their duties, glanced nervously at you, as if they too were starting to sense that something was amiss.

The situation grew increasingly unsettling, day by day. At first, it had been easy to brush off the behavior of a few overzealous suitors, but now it was spiraling into something far more disturbing. The crowds gathered outside the gates and beneath your balcony grew more persistent, more entitled. No longer were they content with simply offering their gifts or admiring you from afar.

It wasn’t long before your guards began to report strange incidents: men lurking in the shadows, eyes fixed upon the windows, waiting for the right moment to approach.

There were whispers among the palace staff about people who had tried to slip past the guards, pretending to be servants or tradesmen. Some had been caught trying to scale the walls, attempting to break into your chambers when the moon was high in the sky. And then, there were the ones who had been caught near the palace gardens, staring at the windows with expressions that were almost manic, as if they believed they had a right to be there.

At first, you had relished the attention. The excitement of being desired, the feeling of power that came with being the center of so many people's gaze. The flowers, the gifts, the glances of admiration from every corner of the kingdom—it all felt flattering. After all, who wouldn't enjoy being the object of such longing?

But as the days wore on, that thrill began to dull, replaced by an uncomfortable weight that grew heavier with each passing moment. The whispers that once made you feel cherished now felt like chains, dragging you down. The crowd below, once full of eager faces, began to feel suffocating. Their eyes were no longer filled with admiration, but something far more possessive. They expected something from you—something you could never give.

It felt like an impossible request: to want someone who loved you for you, not for the polished image they had built of you in their minds. The desire for genuine connection, something real, was becoming a sharp, aching void in your chest. You longed for someone who saw beyond your beauty, someone who wasn’t captivated by your face alone, someone who wanted you, with all your flaws, your doubts, your fears.

The thought flickered in your mind, almost in jest, that perhaps you could somehow make them stop looking at you like that. If you marred your appearance, disfigured the thing they worshipped, maybe then they would stop seeing you as an object. But the idea made you sick, even as it seemed to offer a twisted kind of solution to your growing dread. You knew, deep down, you weren’t brave enough for such an extreme. You couldn't bring yourself to erase the one thing that had given you power in the first place, even if that very power was suffocating you.

But the yearning for something real, something honest and untouched by the expectations of the world, gnawed at you relentlessly. The pressure, the eyes on you, felt unbearable. Every interaction, every glance, every whispered word from the crowd below reminded you that you weren’t truly seen. You were only admired for the idea of you. And the more you thought about it, the more it consumed you.

***

Angry. Angry pacing. No, anger didn’t quite cut it. Aphrodite was seething. On a marble bay window, Talia stretched, wine red lips staining her glass. "I don't know why it bothers you so much, friend. You should be glad the mortal seems just as uncomfortable with the comparison that you are mad it was even made."

Aphrodite’s pacing halted, her golden hair shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the bay window. Her eyes, sharp and brimming with fire, flicked toward Talia with a look that could shatter glass. “Glad?” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “Glad that a mortal child—a mortal princess no less—is being called more beautiful than me? Glad that my name is on the tongues of men not for my glory, but for how she surpasses it?”

Talia smirked, taking another languid sip of her wine. “Yes, actually. It’s amusing. Mortals and their fleeting obsessions. The girl could slip on a rock and ruin her face tomorrow, and your precious title would be safe again.” She tilted her head, her crimson nails tapping against the glass. “Why waste so much energy on someone who doesn’t even want the attention she’s getting?”

Aphrodite’s nostrils flared, her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms. “It isn’t just about her,” she snapped. “It’s about the insult. The audacity. Do you know what I’ve heard, Talia? Some say she might be a daughter of mine. That she carries my blood and my beauty, unclaimed.”

Talia chuckled, a low, throaty sound. “And is she?”

Aphrodite’s jaw tightened. “No. But mortals are stupid enough to believe it. And if they’re willing to believe that, what else will they start to question? My divinity? My perfection? My place?” She resumed her pacing, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “This isn’t just about a girl. It’s about what she represents. A challenge. An insult to my name.”

Talia leaned back, watching her friend with amused detachment. “And yet, the mortal hides herself away, terrified of the world outside her palace walls. She doesn’t seem much of a challenge to me.”

Aphrodite’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “That’s the only thing keeping her safe.” She turned to the window, gazing out at the distant horizon. “But even the most beautiful rose wilts when plucked from its garden. And I intend to see just how much pressure she can withstand before she breaks.”

"You take everything so personally," Talia drawled, her voice as smooth and rich as the drink in her hand. "Mortals are fickle creatures. They say what they wish, worship who they will. Their praise and comparisons mean nothing in the grand scheme of things."

Aphrodite’s lips curled into a sneer. "Nothing? It’s not nothing when their whispers spread like wildfire, tarnishing my name. Diminishing my glory. What is a goddess without her reputation?"

Talia raised an elegant brow, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "A goddess still," she replied, lifting her glass in a mock toast. "You’re acting like a jealous lover, fretting over someone stealing the affections of their beloved. But isn’t that what you do, Aphrodite? Stir hearts, twist desires, ignite jealousy?"

Aphrodite’s expression darkened, and the air in the room seemed to grow heavier, as though the weight of her rage pressed against the walls. "This is different," she hissed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "She is no goddess. She’s a child. A fragile, mortal girl. And yet they dare speak her name in the same breath as mine? I will not tolerate it."

Talia set her glass down, finally meeting Aphrodite’s gaze. "Then what will you do?" she asked, her tone carrying a hint of mockery. "Strike her down? Curse her beauty? Destroy her entirely? Wouldn’t that only prove their point, that she poses a threat to you? It’s a delicate line, dear friend, and one that even you may not wish to cross."

Aphrodite’s jaw tightened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She hated that Talia was right, hated the truth in her words.

Talia raised her glass in a mock toast. “Ah, there it is. The vindictive goddess I know so well.” She smirked. “Do be careful, dear. Mortals are fragile things, but they can surprise you when cornered. I’d hate for you to get your hands dirty and find yourself with more than just a bruised ego.”

Aphrodite turned on her heel, her gown sweeping the floor like the tail of a restless serpent. Her fiery glare softened for a fleeting moment, replaced by a look that was almost calculating, almost...fond. She raised a hand, her golden bracelets chiming softly with the motion, and gestured toward the attendant waiting in the shadows of the chamber.

"Fine then," Aphrodite declared, her voice now calm but heavy with authority. "Bring my son."

The attendant, a young nymph with wide, shimmering eyes, immediately bowed low, her silken hair falling over her shoulders like a curtain. "Of course, goddess," she murmured, before slipping out of the chamber as quietly as a passing breeze.

Aphrodite moved to her seat, a throne carved from pure alabaster and inlaid with veins of gold. She sat gracefully, her hands folding in her lap as her expression hardened once more. The flickering flames of the room’s lanterns cast long shadows across her face, accentuating the sharpness of her features.

Talia, still lounging by the bay window, arched a curious brow. "Your son, hmm?" she mused, her tone laced with intrigue. "And what role will he play in your scheme, I wonder?"

Aphrodite didn’t look at her, her gaze fixed on the far door as though willing it to open. "He will do as I command," she said simply, her voice void of doubt. "It’s time he learned the responsibilities that come with being the son of a goddess. And who better to teach this mortal girl her place than someone who understands the weight of divine beauty?"

Talia chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Ever the strategist," she murmured, swirling the last of her wine before downing it. "I suppose I should prepare myself for the fireworks that are sure to follow."

Aphrodite didn’t respond. She simply waited, her mind already weaving the threads of her plan, her lips curving into a smile that promised both charm and danger. Soon enough, the door opened, and soft, steady footsteps echoed through the chamber.

She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The air itself seemed to shift with his arrival, a presence both magnetic and unnerving.

"Mother," came the voice, smooth as silk but carrying an undertone of reluctant obedience.

Aphrodite smiled, her eyes finally lifting to meet his. "My darling," she purred. "I have a task for you."

***

It was stupid.

Really stupid.

Did you tell your sisters? Nope. Did you leave any warning behind? Not a chance.

A horse? Ridiculous. Too obvious. And besides, what was the fun in making it easy? You were faster on foot anyway.

Even a snack? Who needed a snack when you were on the verge of discovering the truth?

The fact that you were going to be found out, eventually, didn’t bother you. It was bound to happen. But right now, you needed answers. You needed to understand.

“Huzzah, huzzah,” You giggle excitedly to yourself, quiet.

So, you set out for the Oracle. No more distractions. No more idle questions from your sisters. No more waiting for someone to tell you what to do. You were going to make your own decisions for once.

And if it helped to get some fresh air, all the better.

The cool night air wrapped around you like a cloak, the quiet stillness of the palace gardens turning into the bustling sounds of the village as you moved further away from the gates. You felt the soft crunch of gravel beneath your boots, your breath coming steady and slow.

You had no idea where the Oracle’s temple even was. Not a clue.

But you knew your nymph friends—Hersilia and the others—would. They always seemed to know everything, didn't they? If anyone could point you in the right direction, it was them. So, you made a snap decision, leaving the overgrown paths of the village behind and heading straight for the hidden lake.

It was a place you had frequented many times before, the secret sanctuary where the cool waters were the only constant, and the ever-playful nymphs danced and sang, unseen by the world. The lake was deep in the woods, far enough from the prying eyes of the palace that no one would think to search there. And it had been a while since you last visited, at least since the rumors and the crowds started gathering.

The walk was familiar, like returning to a dream you hadn’t quite finished. You stepped lightly over roots and rocks, your thoughts swirling, but your purpose clear. You needed answers. The air was thick with the scent of pine, and soon the rhythmic calls of the birds shifted into the soft sounds of water lapping against stone, guiding you toward the hidden clearing.

When you arrived at the lake, the scene was just as you remembered—peaceful, serene, untouched by time. The cool mist from the water wrapped around you as you approached the edge, your fingers grazing the surface. You could hear the faint whispers, just beyond your sight, of the nymphs who lived here, hidden in the depths.

"Hersilia?" You called softly, hoping she’d hear you through the quiet.

There was a splash. A ripple in the water, followed by the unmistakable sound of giggles. And then, as if materializing from the mist itself, Hersilia appeared—her form rising from the water with a grace only a creature of the lake could possess. Her pale skin glistened like moonlight on the water, and her green hair cascaded around her shoulders like flowing seaweed.

"Well, well, look who decided to show up." There was a false playfulness to her voice. "What brings you here, little princess? Trouble?"

You smile, opening your mouth to say something, but she puts a hand up.

“You’ve been gone so long,” she murmured quietly, more to herself than to you. The light from the lake’s surface danced in her eyes, and for a moment, you could have sworn there was a tinge of sadness in her expression. “I thought you might have forgotten us... forgotten me.”

The guilt pricked at your chest, the weight of time and distance settling in. You hadn’t meant to stay away from your friends, but with everything that had happened—the palace, the rumors, your mother’s constant grip on you—it had been impossible to carve out any time for yourself.

“I haven’t forgotten you,” you said quickly, taking a step toward her. “Mother had-” “I’m not taking you to the oracle.”

“What?”

Well. That certainly threw a wrench into your plans.

The air between you both felt heavier now, as though the very weight of the unspoken history between you was pressing down on you both. She seemed to take a slow, deep breath before she met your eyes again, her gaze still carrying that trace of sadness.

"I don’t know if I should help you," Hersilia admitted, the hesitation in her voice unmistakable. "The Oracle, Y/n… It’s not just any place. You have no idea what’s been happening with the gods. There are rumors. Things changing in the heavens, in Olympus. You don’t want to go there... especially now."

You could tell she was holding back, her eyes flicking away as if she didn’t want to speak more of it. But there was a distinct shift in her tone—one that suggested there was more to this than just the Oracle being difficult to reach. Whatever it was, it clearly troubled her.

She took a step closer, the water barely shifting with her movement. "I’m your friend," Hersilia continued, her voice almost pleading now. "I care about you, and I don’t want to see you fall into something you don’t understand. The gods are... fickle. And the Oracle, well, she doesn’t always show you what you want to see. Sometimes, you can’t unsee it."

Hersilia’s eyes hardened as she stood her ground, the playful demeanor that had once been there entirely gone. The air between you both seemed to thicken, and the tension was palpable. Her lips pressed together, her usual kindness replaced by something much more firm—almost fierce.

"And I don't want you asking my sisters for help either," she added, her tone brokering no argument.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she cut you off, her voice unwavering. "No, Y/n. I don’t want you going to the Oracle." Her words were final, as if she'd made a decision that you couldn’t undo.

For a moment, you stood there, your thoughts swirling. There was something in the way she spoke, something in her eyes, that made it clear she wasn’t just worried about you getting lost or confused. There was a deeper fear in her, something you couldn't fully understand. Her words about the gods, about the Oracle... they lingered in your mind like a warning.

"But why?" you finally asked, your voice softer now. "Why don’t you want me to go?"

Hersilia hesitated, her jaw tightening. She seemed to struggle with how much to reveal, her gaze shifting between you and the water. She opened her mouth as if to say something more but paused, taking a deep breath.

"You don’t know what you’re asking, Y/n," she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. "You don’t know what’s at stake. You think you’re ready, but you’re not." Her hand reached out, almost as if to touch you, but she pulled it back before she could. "The Oracle’s answers aren’t simple. They come with a price. And sometimes... once you’ve seen what she has to show you, you can’t unsee it. You can’t go back to the way things were. I don’t mean to sound like a cliche, but that’s final.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with a sense of warning, but also with an underlying sorrow. Hersilia was afraid—not just for you, but for what you might uncover. It was clear now that there was something deeper at play, something she feared you wouldn't be able to handle.

The silence stretched between you both, and she finally spoke again, softer this time, her voice laced with regret. "Please. Don’t go to her. Not now. Not yet."

Indeed, it threw a wrench in your plans.

…

Oh well!

You make your way home in a hurry not to get caught. If the nymphs wouldn’t help you, surely he would.

Despite the nagging feeling in your chest, the desire for something real—something not tied to your appearance or your royal status—pushed you forward. The evening air felt lighter as you walked back, your footsteps quick and determined. Hersilia’s words had barely sunk in before you were already moving, not willing to let the uncertainty weigh you down.

When you finally reached your balcony, your pulse quickened, and your thoughts buzzed with the familiar restlessness. There was only one way to escape the constraints of your palace, the constant eyes that sought only your beauty. One way to chase something genuine, something more than the false promises of suitors and endless admirers.

You closed your eyes and whispered the words, calling for Zephyrus, the playful west wind who often answered your summons. The breeze picked up immediately, carrying the scent of distant flowers and fresh rain, and with it, his presence.

"You called?" His voice was light and teasing, and before you could even spot him, you could feel the air shift around you—lighter, warmer, like the embrace of an old friend.

Zephyrus appeared, his grin wide, almost absurdly cheerful. His tousled hair was windblown as usual, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous gleam. He crossed his arms, the playful energy about him almost infectious.

"Did you miss me?" he asked with a wink, his tone always more teasing than serious. "Though I must admit, I was wondering when you'd summon me. Been a little too quiet around here, don’t you think?"

You grin, then pause. "I need your help, Zephyrus. I... I need to escape for a little while. Everything’s just... too much. I can’t take it anymore. Not with them all watching, and the pressure of being what they want me to be."

Zephyrus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Ah, I see. The princess wants a little freedom, hmm? Can’t say I blame you. But you know, I’m not some simple errand boy, dear." His grin widened, clearly enjoying the drama of the moment. "What’s in it for me?"

You narrowed your eyes at his teasing, but you were desperate, and you knew how to play his game. "Come on, you owe me one. You know you do." You leaned in, dropping your voice to a mock serious whisper. "Besides, I’ve heard rumors that you were getting bored of your usual windblown routes. Thought I might spice things up for you."

Zephyrus chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. "Oh, you’re good," he said, and with a mischievous wink, he gave you a nod. "Alright, alright. You’ve convinced me. But you know this is going to cost you, right? A favor in return. That’s how we wind spirits work."

You sighed, rolling your eyes again. "Fine. Whatever it takes. Just get me out of here, Zephyrus."

The wind spirit beamed at you, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Deal. Hold on tight, princess. Let’s give you the escape you’re looking for."

In an instant, the air around you seemed to rush in all at once, sweeping you off your feet. The room, the palace, the overwhelming pressure—all of it disappeared in the span of a breath.

“But, just a question. Where’re we going, honey?”

Zephyrus’ voice rang in your ears as the wind swirled around you. You could feel the familiar pull of the air as it wrapped you in its embrace, but something about his question gave you pause. You hadn’t quite thought this through—hadn’t really figured out how to explain what you were doing.

You didn’t want to lie, but you also didn’t want to admit how reckless your plan was. Still, there was no backing down now.

"The Oracle," you said with a defiant smirk, though your heart raced a little in your chest.

Zephyrus was quiet for a moment, and you could almost feel the wind hesitate, swirling around you with a sudden, cooler edge. Then, with a small laugh that was half disbelief, half amusement, he replied, "The Oracle? Really? That's where you want to go, princess?" He paused again, his voice laced with something that wasn’t quite concern, but it was close. "Do you even know what you're getting yourself into?"

You clenched your jaw. "I need answers. I can’t stay in this cage forever, Zephyrus."

The wind spirit’s playful tone shifted, a bit of seriousness creeping in. "And what happens when the Oracle gives you those answers? What do you do with them then?" His voice lowered, sounding almost like a warning. "Once you know the truth, you can't un-know it. You can't go back to the way things were."

You swallowed, his words striking a nerve. But you had already made up your mind.

"Take me to her," you insisted, a firmness in your voice that you hadn't expected.

Zephyrus was silent for a moment longer, then sighed dramatically. "You’re impossible, you know that?" But despite his teasing, there was a note of respect in his voice. "Alright, princess. Hold on tight. We’re going to the Oracle."

***

Hersilia stood by the lake, her usually bright and carefree demeanor now clouded with concern. She had been watching you from a distance, making sure you didn’t stray too far, but when Zephyrus appeared and swept you off without a second thought, a pang of disappointment shot through her.

She had warned you, tried to keep you safe, but it seemed you were determined to walk your own path—even if it meant putting yourself in danger. Hersilia’s lips pressed into a thin line as she sank back into the water, disappearing from view. She didn’t want to see you go like this, but there was little she could do now.

She’d failed to stop you.

Hersilia had just sunk beneath the water, her form dissolving into the deep blue, when she felt a chill run up her spine. The temperature dropped sharply, and a hand—cold, lethal—clamped around her throat. It was like the water itself had frozen solid.

Her breath hitched, and her body stiffened in shock. She barely had time to react before the sharp pressure against her ribcage told her an arrow was now hovering just under her skin, its tip pressing against her in a way that made her heart race.

The voice that followed was low, chilling—an echo of power she recognized but feared.

"The mortal. Where did she go?"

Hersilia’s eyes widened in panic. She opened her mouth to speak, to beg for mercy, to tell him where you’d gone—but her words died in her throat. The hand around her neck squeezed harder, and before she could finish her sentence, her form began to flicker, her essence dissolving into the air.

Her last vision before she vanished was of a figure stepping forward, eyes dark with fury and an edge of something colder beneath.

"Raf—"

But before she could finish, before she could offer any explanation, her form began to dissolve. The pain from the arrow flared once more, but it was the overwhelming force of his power that caused her body to vanish into a shimmer of water, evaporating like mist in the morning sun.

The man, now left with nothing but the ripples of his presence, clicked his tongue in annoyance. His voice, laced with venom, echoed through the quiet air. "Using my name. What gave you the right?"

And with that, he was gone—disappearing as swiftly and silently as he had come, leaving only an eerie silence behind.

Hersilia's fading form lingered in his mind for just a moment longer, but her disappearance meant nothing now. He had other things to tend to. The mortal—she—was his concern.

***

Zephyrus had kept to his word. He’d dropped you off and told you to call him again when you were ready to come home.

The air was thick with the scent of incense, thick enough to make your head spin, and the shadows in the temple seemed to stretch long and ominous. You’d barely made your way through the murky halls, the flickering torches casting strange reflections on the walls. The oracle’s place wasn’t nearly as grand as you'd imagined, no golden temples or sacred fire to mark the divine presence. Instead, the stone was worn, the floors cracked in places, and you even had to kick a few scattered skulls out of your path as you walked.

"Damn... Apollo really doesn't care for who he picks despite all the glamorization," you muttered, your voice bouncing off the cold walls. You were beyond unimpressed. The long, winding journey to the Oracle had felt so much more grandiose in your mind, but here you were, standing in a crumbling temple with nothing but a handful of whispers from those who’d come before you.

You kicked a skull out of the way and glanced around, half expecting something extraordinary to happen, but...nothing.

The Oracle, seated on an old stone bench, was the only thing that stood out in this place, an elderly woman hunched over with wisps of white hair framing her face. She looked as though she’d seen everything—and yet, the air about her was as dull as the rest of the temple.

You sighed, a little too dramatically, and crossed your arms. "Erm…hello. I’m uh..I’m Y/n. So, you're the Oracle?" you asked, cringing at how your voice came out. "What is this place? I thought there’d be more...mysticism. More fanfare. Less dust."

The old woman’s eyes flickered up at you from beneath heavy eyelids, and for a brief moment, you almost felt like you had stepped on something sacred. But her gaze held no such intensity. It was passive—almost bored. "It’s not the place that matters, child. It’s the answers you seek."

You raised an eyebrow. “Right. And what kind of answers are we talking about here?”

She blinked slowly, her wrinkled hand reaching out to beckon you closer, her fingers shaking slightly. “That depends. What is it that you seek?”

"Um... was hoping you could tell me about my fate? Ya know, my er- my love life." The oracle raised a brow. "You ventured here for...your love life?"

Well, when she said it out loud, it did sound silly.

You shifted uncomfortably under the Oracle’s gaze, suddenly aware of how ridiculous it sounded. "Well, yeah," you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. "I mean, it’s kind of important, right? Who doesn’t want to know about their love life?"

The Oracle gave you a long, steady look, her eyes narrowing as if she could see right through you. "You came all this way to ask about something so fleeting?" Her voice was both calm and oddly judgmental. "Do you not seek more? A purpose? Power?"

You flushed, feeling small. “I—uh—guess... but it’s just that love’s been on my mind, and I thought maybe you could help me out with some... insight? I mean, if I’m going to get it wrong, I’d at least like to know how to fix it.”

She hummed under her breath, studying you carefully. The silence stretched out long enough to make you question whether she’d say anything at all. Finally, her cracked voice broke through with a sigh.

"Fine. Apollo knows this isn't what I signed up for. First the girl with her dreams and now this-" she clears her throat. "Alright, lemme see." you look excitedly, expecting some magical prowess to be on display- maybe glowing eyes, floating hair, anything. but the old lady just closes her eyes and hums a little bit before talking. "A monster." "Beg your pardon?" "Your love is a beast. Be careful of your trusts."

How anticlimactic.

You blinked, trying to process her words. "A monster?" you repeated, feeling a bit insulted. "What do you mean? Like, a literal monster?"

The Oracle’s eyes remained closed, her wrinkled hands folded in her lap. "A beast," she repeated softly, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "The kind that lurks in the shadows, hidden behind a beautiful face." She paused, letting the silence linger for a moment before adding, "Not all monsters show their fangs at first."

You stood there, bewildered, feeling the excitement you had felt moments before quickly draining away. This wasn’t what you’d imagined when you came looking for answers. "Isn’t there more to it?" you pressed, desperate for something more concrete. "What does this monster want with me?"

The Oracle finally opened her eyes, locking them onto yours with a piercing gaze. "What they want doesn’t matter," she said. "It’s what they take that you must worry about. And how far you’re willing to go to follow them."

You felt a chill run down your spine. You were used to cryptic answers, but this one had a weight to it. It wasn’t just vague—it felt... ominous.

"Are you saying I should just stay away from this person?" you asked, heart hammering in your chest.

The Oracle didn’t answer immediately. She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tapping gently on the edge of her chair. When she finally spoke, her voice was lower, almost a whisper.

"If i say anything else, it's 5 coins a word." "What?"

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the Oracle’s antics as she faded into her strange muttering. The whole experience had been so anticlimactic, and the Oracle’s smugness didn’t help at all. Five coins a word? Seriously? Highway robbery indeed—except without the actual highway, just a confusing old lady hiding in some forgotten corner of the world.

You shook your head, turning to leave the dreary little hut behind, already regretting the trip. As you stepped out into the open air, you could hear the faint rustle of trees and the call of birds overhead. It felt good to be back in the world where things made sense—or, at least, where you could pretend they did.

“Alright, whatever,” you muttered to yourself, starting to walk back toward the place you’d landed, grateful that at least Zephyrus wasn’t hovering around anymore. "You have a good day too," you muttered sarcastically, throwing one last glance at the hut as you made your way toward the lake once more. It was clear the Oracle wasn’t in any mood to provide more answers, and frankly, neither were you.

***

Your sisters sat on either side of you, Algaura leaning in with a furrowed brow while Clidippe played with the tassels of your blanket, clearly uninterested but humoring you nonetheless. You were pacing in frustration, your hands gesturing wildly as you retold the story, the words tumbling out of you faster than you could stop them.

“I mean, can you believe that? The Oracle actually charged me for every word! I paid her all I had left—five coins a word!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “And then, then she tells me my love is a monster. A beast—like, are you kidding me? Is that some kind of riddle? I don’t even know who she’s talking about!”

Clidippe snorted, not even looking up from the blanket. “Sounds like a bunch of nonsense, honestly. Why would you go to that old crone for advice in the first place? She’s just as cryptic as everyone else. ‘A monster’? Please. It’s probably just some dramatic thing to make you worry.”

Algaura, ever the more thoughtful one, tilted her head. “I’m with Clidippe on this one, Y/n. It sounds like something made up to keep you hooked on her words. Monsters? That’s absurd. It’s just another way to keep you tethered to superstition.”

“But, what if it’s not?” you muttered, sinking down beside them, running a hand through your hair. "What if there really is someone out there that—" You cut yourself off, swallowing hard. “What if that’s the whole point? What if I’m going to fall for someone... dangerous?”

Clidippe rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Don’t be so dramatic. You’re looking for some deep meaning in a riddle when you’ve already got enough suitors begging for your attention. If you’re smart, you’ll just stick with someone safe. You’ve got everything you need, don’t let some fortune teller confuse you.”

Algaura, however, seemed less sure, her lips pressed together in contemplation. “Maybe Clidippe’s right about not overthinking it. But still, I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to what the Oracle said than just her usual rambling. Could it be…? No, never mind.” She quickly shook her head, cutting off her own thought.

Clidippe let out a sharp yelp as you flopped onto the bed, crashing right into her. She groaned, smacking your arm in mock annoyance. "Uggghhhh... Is it too much to ask for a guy that can rock my shit without being weird?"

You felt the bed dip as you lay there, burying your face into the pillow in frustration. “Seriously! It’s like every suitor out there either has some insane expectation or, like, weird obsession. What do they even want from me? I can’t even breathe without someone offering me their life.”

Algaura, sitting at the edge of the bed, gave you a sidelong glance, her lips curling slightly in amusement. "You do realize that many of them are after your title, right? It's not you, it's the whole princess thing. You’re a catch, Y/n."

“But I don’t want to be a catch,” you groaned, your face still buried in the pillow. “I just want someone who actually likes me for me, not for what I can do for them, or because of some ridiculous prophecy.”

Clidippe snorted. “Who said you needed anyone? You’ve got everything you need right here, don’t you?” She gestured to the lavish surroundings of your room, the fine fabrics, the jewelry, and everything else. “No one’s worth losing your peace of mind over. You’re a princess—act like one.”

You lifted your head, a frown tugging at your lips. “But what if there’s something more, Clidippe? Something out there I’m missing. The Oracle said—”

“Ugh, stop going on about that!” Clidippe threw up her hands, clearly fed up. “That old woman probably saw some rat scurrying around and thought it was a monster. You’re overthinking it. Trust me, the best thing you can do is just enjoy being you.”

You stared at the ceiling, the weight of her words settling in. Maybe she was right. Maybe you just needed to stop worrying about the unknown and focus on the life in front of you, the one that was full of luxury and comfort.

But something about that thought still felt hollow.

***

That night, you could slept like a baby. How? only Hypnos knew. But it didn't matter. soft feathers fell gracefully to your floor, the sounds of feet padding across even softer. His eyes searched in the dark, looking at the figure hidden in the blankets.

Aphrodite said just one arrow should work. But then- you turn, shuffling, exposing yourself.

Gods you were beautiful.

His fingers trembled as he held the delicate, glistening arrow between his fingers. The moment had come. He had watched from the shadows, unseen, waiting for the right moment to strike. Aphrodite had been clear: One arrow to make you fall in love, and everything would be his. But as he stared at you, his breath caught in his throat, and the arrow—a weapon meant to bend hearts—slipped from his grasp, pricking his own skin.

A sharp, cold sensation shot through him, a tremor that reached deep into his chest, igniting a burning heat inside him. The world blurred as the room seemed to shift. His thoughts, once precise and calculated, became erratic. His pulse quickened as a foreign ache stirred deep within his bones.

No... No. This wasn’t part of the plan. He was supposed to control this. He was supposed to be the one to make you fall, not the other way around. Yet, as he watched you, still sleeping, he could feel his heart pounding louder than ever before. It wasn’t just the allure of your beauty; it was something deeper, something he couldn’t name.

He took a slow step forward, watching you with an intensity he had never experienced before. The arrow was forgotten now, discarded on the floor. His mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another as he tried to make sense of the overwhelming feeling that had taken hold of him.

And then, as if guided by an invisible force, his hand reached toward you. The same hand that had been meant to hold the arrow now reached for the warmth of your skin, trembling with a new kind of desire—one that wasn’t born of manipulation or divine intervention, but of something far more real. Something he couldn’t control.

Your skin was... soft. Softer than he imagined it could be. The warmth of it seeped into his fingertips, sending a jolt up his arm that made him freeze. His breath hitched, his heart racing uncontrollably as if it were trying to match the rhythm of your own. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but this—this was entirely different.

His thumb brushed over the curve of your shoulder, featherlight, as if afraid the touch might break you or, worse, wake you. It was a tenderness he didn’t recognize in himself, a care he wasn’t sure he was capable of. The simple contact stirred something deeper, something raw and unguarded that he didn’t want to confront.

For a fleeting moment, he let himself indulge in the serenity of the moment. The way your chest rose and fell with each breath, the peaceful expression on your face, the strands of hair that had fallen across your cheek—all of it captivated him, held him in place like an invisible tether.

And then, as quickly as the moment came, reality sank in. What was he doing? He wasn’t supposed to touch you, wasn’t supposed to feel this. You were the mortal. A fleeting existence compared to his own. Yet here he was, unable to pull away, unable to resist the pull that seemed to come from within his very soul.

He clenched his jaw, withdrawing his hand slowly, reluctantly. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, a mix of confusion and longing swirling in his chest. He had come here with a purpose, but now, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it.

"Well, fuck... Mother will not be happy about this," he murmured under his breath, dragging his hand away from your shoulder as if burned by his own foolishness. He let out a frustrated sigh, his eyes flicking down to the arrow he had dropped earlier. With a swift movement, he retrieved it, inspecting the delicate tip as if it held the answers to his predicament.

The temptation to stay lingered in the air like an unspoken promise, but he shook his head, steeling himself.

No. Not tonight.

With one last look at your sleeping form, a mixture of awe and frustration playing across his face, he stepped back into the shadows. You were still, serene, and unaware of the storm he had just unleashed within himself.

"I’ll come back for you," he whispered into the silence, the words hanging in the air like an unbreakable vow.

And then he was gone, leaving only a faint trace of feathers and the lingering warmth of his presence.

***

The rumors hadn’t stopped. If anything, they had grown more wild and insistent, with whispers of suitors climbing palace walls and offering impossible treasures for just a glimpse of you. It was overwhelming, stifling even, and yet none of it mattered—not when the oracle’s words kept echoing in your head.

"A monster."

True love was true love, wasn’t it? That’s what all the stories said. Love wasn’t supposed to care for appearances or stature. And if your destined love happened to be a beast? Well...so be it. You’d face it head-on, the way you had faced everything else in life.

Which is how you found yourself perched on a windswept cliff, staring out at the vast expanse of sea. The roar of the waves below filled the air, mingling with the occasional caw of seabirds circling above. The sky was painted in soft shades of twilight, the sun dipping low on the horizon, and still, you sat there, waiting.

For what, exactly? You weren’t sure. Some grand, monstrous entrance, maybe. Something to finally give you the excitement your heart craved.

Instead, there was nothing but the rhythmic crash of the waves and the wind tugging at your hair.

You sighed, leaning back on your hands, letting the cool stone press against your palms. "Honestly," you muttered to yourself, "if this beast is real, it’s taking its sweet time."

You kicked a pebble over the edge, watching it tumble down into the frothy waters below. It felt absurd, waiting for some mythical creature to show up like a character from a bard’s tale. And yet, here you were—bored, restless, and hoping for something, anything, to happen.

A light tap on your shoulder broke through the quiet, startling you out of your thoughts.

You turned your head sharply, expecting to see someone standing behind you—but there was no one there.

"Huh?" you muttered, frowning as you scanned the empty cliffside.

Another tap, this time on your other shoulder.

You whipped around again, irritation bubbling up in your chest. "Who—hey!"

Before you could finish, something soft but firm slid over your face, plunging you into darkness. A blindfold.

Your hands shot up, scrambling to pull it off. "What in the gods’ names—"

"Shhh," a low, velvet voice whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your breath hitched. "Who are you? What do you want?"

A chuckle, soft and almost amused. "You called, didn’t you? Now I’m here."

Your heart raced as you froze in place, the voice far too close for comfort. "Called?" you echoed, confusion laced with a flicker of fear.

"Yes," the voice murmured, shifting to your other side. You could feel the faint brush of air against your cheek as the figure moved. "You waited for your beast. And now your beast has come."

Out of pure reflex, your fist shot forward, connecting solidly with something—or rather, someone. A sharp grunt of pain followed as the figure stumbled back.

"Ow! Seriously?" the voice hissed, filled with both surprise and indignation.

Your hands immediately flew up in panic, blindly waving in the air. "Sorry! Sorry—oh gods, that sounded like it hurt! Are you okay?" You reached for the blindfold, but no matter how you tugged at it, it didn’t budge.

"Would you stop—" the voice cut off, clearly frustrated. "Leave it," they commanded, the irritation in their tone mixed with a faint hint of amusement.

You froze, your hands hovering near the cloth covering your eyes. "What—what do you mean, leave it? I can’t see!"

"That’s kind of the point," they muttered dryly, and you could almost hear the smirk in their voice. "If I let you see me, it’d ruin the fun."

"Fun?" you echoed incredulously, half-tempted to swing again. "What kind of fun is this? Who just sneaks up on people, ties them up, and—"

"You’re not tied up," they interrupted smoothly.

"Blindfolded, whatever!" you snapped. "This is ridiculous!"

They chuckled, low and rich, sending another shiver down your spine. "You’re just mad you didn’t see it coming. But don’t worry, little mortal. I’m full of surprises."

Before you could deliver a follow-up punch or throw out another retort, his grip was sudden—fast, firm, and impossibly smooth. He scooped you up effortlessly, as though you weighed nothing at all.

"Hey! What the—put me down!" you protested, thrashing instinctively. But his hold didn’t falter; if anything, it tightened, keeping you steady despite your struggles.

"Stop squirming," he said, his voice closer now, velvet smooth and annoyingly calm. "You’ll hurt yourself, and I’d rather avoid that."

"Avoid that?" you snapped, kicking your legs uselessly in the air. "Maybe you should’ve thought about that before grabbing me like some—some deranged kidnapper!"

His laugh rumbled through you, infuriatingly warm for someone committing what absolutely felt like an abduction. "Kidnapper? Dramatic, aren’t we? I’d say this is more like… escorting."

"Escorting? You didn’t exactly give me a choice!"

"No," he admitted, and you could practically hear the grin in his tone. "I didn’t."

You twisted again, trying to wrench yourself free, but he was impossibly strong. And now, despite the blindfold, you were acutely aware of something—his warmth, the way his hands cradled you with surprising care despite his teasing tone.

Your voice dropped to a mutter, frustration blending with confusion. "Who even are you?"

There was a pause, and then: "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

And then he threw you off the cliff.

The air was ripped from your lungs as you felt yourself being hurled into the void, the edge of the cliff disappearing behind you. The blindfold fell off now, flying away to return to its owner.

A scream tore from your throat, panic flooding every part of your body. But instead of the gut-wrenching drop you expected, the wind surged around you, catching you with a powerful, almost gentle force.

"Zephyrus?!" you gasped, recognizing the familiar warmth of the west wind as it wrapped around you, carrying you upward and away from the rocky descent.

There was no response.

"Zaephryus, answer me!" you demanded, your voice rising with the chaos of your emotions. But this time, he didn’t answer. No playful quip, no cheeky banter—just a strange, disquieting silence.

You tried to crane your neck, but the wind was too fast, too strong, rushing around you as if it were trying to shield you. Something wasn’t right. The usually carefree spirit felt… afraid.

"What’s going on?" you shouted, your voice carried off into the night. "Why aren’t you talking to me?"

Still, there was nothing. Only the sound of the wind, howling louder than it ever had before.

You stumbled as you were dropped unceremoniously in front of the palace gates, the sudden shift from the wind's embrace to solid ground leaving you dizzy and disoriented. You barely caught yourself, hands pressing against the cool stone walls for balance.

"What in the—" Your words cut off as you tried to steady yourself, confusion flooding your senses. The wind was already gone, leaving only the strange echo of its absence.

You glanced around, expecting something, anything, to make sense of the situation, but it didn’t. The night air felt thick and tense, and the sound of your own heart pounding seemed louder than ever.

Why had Zephyrus brought you here? Why had he ignored you so completely?

A chill ran down your spine as a shiver of dread prickled the back of your neck.

And that’s when you heard it—a soft whisper in the air, so faint you almost thought it was your imagination.

"Aphrodite..." The word drifted past your ears, a whisper that felt like it had come from the very air itself, and your stomach dropped.

You’d heard rumors about her, about what she could do, but this? This felt like something darker. Something that made the air feel heavier, as if the world around you was closing in.

What had you gotten yourself into?

***

The days in the palace had turned into a surreal rhythm. It was odd, almost dreamlike, to move through the grand halls filled with invisible hands that seemed to anticipate your every need. The peace was nice, and the constant arguing was a thing of the past. For once, you were allowed to exist in the silence of your own thoughts without boredom…at first.

Still, the so-called "beast" was a mystery. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once. His voice followed you through the corridors, rich and smooth, a deep timbre that wrapped around you like the softest silk. He’d talk to you during your strolls in the lush gardens, his voice carrying on the wind. At meals, you’d hear him as though he were seated right across from you, but the chair always remained empty yet all only at night. When you first arrived, he’d told you that everything in the palace belonged to you. And he kept true to his word about that.

And yet soon enough, you became lonely again, only looking forward to the night, when he would visit you.

Oh, how his hands would worship you, smooth over your body, lips whispering praises as he lost himself in you every night…

But still…

“You’re avoiding me,” you’d accused once, poking at the air with a fork.

“I could never avoid you,” he’d replied smoothly, a chuckle in his voice. “I am always with you.”

It was infuriating.

You tried to reason with him, plead with him, even bribe him to show himself, but every time he’d laugh softly and give the same answer:

“No, my love.”

The palace, as beautiful as it was, began to feel like a gilded cage. You couldn’t leave, though you hadn’t really tried yet. Something about the way the invisible servants seemed to watch your every move was unsettling. They weren’t unkind, but they were a constant, quiet reminder that you were not entirely free.

***

And yet, despite the strangeness of it all, you couldn’t deny that you’d started to enjoy your conversations with the beast. He was clever, funny even, and he always seemed to know just what to say to draw a laugh or a blush from you.

But there was one thing you couldn’t shake:

Why wouldn’t he let you see him?

You sat on the edge of the plush velvet chaise, the weight of the ring on your finger now feeling oddly familiar, though still heavy with unspoken meaning. The palace felt more like a home each passing day, but something about the silence from your sisters made the air feel thicker, colder. You needed to talk to him. Needed his presence, his guidance.

“Husband?” you called again, voice soft, yet laced with the hint of a question that had been bubbling inside you for days. You hadn't been able to shake the thought of them—Algaura, Clidippe.You missed them. And there was a strange part of you that wanted to show them this strange new world you had found yourself in. It wasn't just about the palace or the mystery of your beastly husband—it was about you, too.

You were different now, weren’t you?

The air shifted, faint at first, but undeniable. His voice rang out, a deep, soothing sound that filled the space despite his absence.

“What do you need, my love?”

His words never failed to make the corners of your lips twitch into a smile, despite the frustration simmering in your chest. You swallowed the rising feeling before it had a chance to take root. This was him—your husband. The one you’d been growing to care for, though you'd never seen his face, never truly understood the full weight of the creature that he was.

“I—well... I’ve been thinking about my sisters,” you began, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the ring on your finger. “I miss them. Could... could I invite them to visit?”

There was a pause, a long stretch of quiet that made the silence in the room feel as if it were pressing in on you. You held your breath, unsure of his answer. What would he say?

He responded, his tone carefully measured, yet a softness lingered within it. “Your sisters…”

He didn’t continue immediately, but his voice didn’t waver. “Why would you want them here?” His question wasn’t harsh, but there was a clear undertone of concern.

The question hit you harder than you expected, but you pushed through. “Because... I miss them. And because I want them to see... see you. See this place. It’s... it’s not so bad here, not really.” You bit your lip, mentally cursing yourself for the half-formed confession. But it was the truth.

“You wish to bring them here to... what?” he asked, his voice almost... quiet. There was a trace of something you couldn’t quite place in his tone. Was it hesitation? Was he afraid of what your sisters might see, or worse, of what they might think of him?

No, impossible. He was too secure for that. The thought of him caring about their opinions was laughable in itself. You licked your lips, your mouth suddenly dry. It wasn’t about fear—at least, not for him. Was it about you?

“I just wish to spend some time with them. Maybe have tea. Please?” you murmured, your voice soft yet earnest. You didn’t know why you were so nervous, or why you felt the need to plead your case. But the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

There was no immediate response, but the weight of his presence filled the room. You felt it—oddly comforting yet undeniably strange—the weight of his head resting in your lap. It was something he did when he was deep in thought, seeking your touch without words.

Your hand moved instinctively to his hair, fingers threading through the invisible strands as you began to gently massage his head. It was surreal, feeling the texture and warmth of him, knowing he was there yet unable to truly see him. His arms wrapped around your waist, grounding you in the moment.

“I could say no,” he finally said, his voice low and deliberate, the vibration of his words almost tangible against you. “But I don’t want to deny you something you long for.”

Your heart leaped, a mix of hope and relief flooding your chest. “You mean...?”

“I’ll allow it,” he said, his tone softer now. “But only if you promise me one thing.”

You stilled, your hand pausing in his hair. “Anything,” you whispered.

“Promise me you’ll tell me if their visit troubles you.” There was something in his voice—a protectiveness that made your chest tighten. “I’ll arrange for them to come, but your happiness is my only concern.”

You exhaled slowly, your hand resuming its gentle movement. “I promise.”

And though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel the warmth of his contentment, the invisible lines between you both softening in the quiet of the room.

***

Clidippe and Algaura sat across from you, their expressions a mix of confusion and awe as the servant poured tea into delicate cups, their hands trembling slightly from the sheer surprise. They must have been in a state of adrenaline; Zephryus had whisked them to the palace on your husband’s orders. You, on the other hand, could barely contain your excitement. The familiar faces of your sisters, so long absent from your life, were a welcome sight.

Clidippe raised an eyebrow, eyeing the invisible space next to you, where the beast’s presence loomed. “So… this is where you’ve been all this time?” she asked, her voice cautious, yet carrying a sharpness that suggested she wasn’t quite ready to believe everything she was seeing.

You, on the other hand, were practically buzzing with excitement. "Isn't it incredible?" you asked, your voice bright and brimming with enthusiasm. "The palace, the gardens, the servants—it’s like something out of a dream!"

Clidippe glanced at Algaura, her lips pressing into a thin line. "A dream... or a curse," she muttered under her breath, though loud enough for you to catch.

"Clidippe!" you scolded, though your grin didn’t falter. "Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not a curse. It’s... well, okay, it’s unconventional, but I’m happy here!"

"Happy?" Algaura asked, raising a skeptical brow. "With an invisible husband?" She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Have you even seen him yet?"

You hesitated, your hands tightening slightly around your own teacup. "Well... no, not exactly," you admitted, trying to sound casual. "But we talk all the time, and he’s kind, and thoughtful, and... he loves me."

Clidippe let out an incredulous laugh, setting her teacup down with a sharp clink. "Y/n, how can you know that if you’ve never even seen him? What if he’s some monster? What if he’s—"

Algaura, always one to amplify a dramatic moment, leaned forward, her voice rising slightly. "What if he’s evil or—" she gasped, eyes wide with mock horror, "—ugly?"

"Algaura!" you scolded, setting your teacup down so forcefully that the porcelain rattled. "He’s not evil. And even if he were... um, ugly, it wouldn’t matter!"

"Wouldn’t it, though?" Clidippe chimed in, arching a brow. "You’ve got this whole fairytale thing going on here, but isn’t it weird that he hasn’t shown you his face? What’s he hiding?"

You crossed your arms, glaring at both of them. "He’s not hiding anything. He told me he wants me to get to know him for who he is, not what he looks like. And honestly, I think that’s kind of beautiful."

"Or kind of suspicious," Algaura muttered under her breath, earning a glare from you.

"Look," you said firmly, "I didn’t invite you here to criticize my life or my husband. I wanted you to see that I’m happy, that I’m okay. Can’t you just trust me on this?"

Clidippe set her teacup down with a deliberate clink, fixing you with a serious gaze. "We can't, actually." Her words were sharp, cutting through the fragile layer of joy you'd been clinging to. "You're being a fool."

Her bluntness stung, and you felt your chest tighten. "A fool?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," she continued, unrelenting. "You’re living in some enchanted palace, surrounded by invisible servants, married to someone who won’t even show you who he is. And you think that’s normal? That that’s love?"

Algaura nodded reluctantly, her earlier teasing replaced by a more subdued concern. "Clidippe’s right. We just... we don’t want you to get hurt. What if—"

You held up a hand, silencing her. "I know what you’re going to say. What if he’s dangerous? What if he’s lying? What if this is all some trap? I’ve heard it all before."

"And have you considered any of it?" Clidippe pressed. "Because, honestly, it doesn’t sound like you have."

Your lips parted to argue, but no words came out. Deep down, you knew they had a point.

"You’ve always been headstrong," Clidippe continued, her tone softening. "And we love that about you. But sometimes... sometimes you’re so stubborn you can’t see the cliff you’re about to walk off of."

The room felt heavy, the warmth of the tea and the laughter from earlier evaporating into an uncomfortable silence.

"I’m not walking off a cliff," you said finally, your voice quiet but steady. "I know this seems strange to you, but I feel safe here. He makes me feel safe."

"Then why hasn’t he shown you who he really is?" Clidippe asked gently.

You didn’t have an answer. And that, more than anything, made their words cut even deeper.

***

Later that night, long after your sisters had left, you waited eagerly for your husband, who, as per usual, arrived with a gust of wind blowing through the naked windows. You giggle excitedly as the wind blew into your hair, smiling big as you feel him embrace you tenderly. “I take it you enjoyed yourself?” He murmurs in your ear, his lips gently nipping the shell. “I did! They were happy for me, husband,”

You feel him tense for a split second before relaxing. “Happy? They didn’t question it?”

You pull away, waving your arms as you clarify. “Oh, no- they definitely did, but it was just curious questions, nothing to fret over. Oh! And Helina had made the most delicious tea earlier. I think she had put pomegranates in it!” He chuckled at your excitement, patting your head affectionately, “That so? Then I will give you all the world of pomegranates.”

His hand slid down to your jaw, and with the other, he returned the blindfold to your eyes so that he could stop hiding.

It’s a natural thing now. But… when he does so, you can’t help but think about how your sisters had questioned your love if you’ve never seen your husband.

The thoughts leave just as quickly as they came, his lips following a trail only known to him as he lifts you off your feet.

***

The feathered mattress was comfortable as it ever was, staying cool against your hot skin as your husband ravished you. Your knees were pressed up to your chest, your hands grasping at the pillows, sheets, him- whatever you could find to anchor you.

You tried to keep quiet, truly, but it was much harder than you thought. The blindfold, coiled with his touch and pleas for you to be more vocal? It was simply too much. It was one thing to not have the blindfold and not see him, but to have your sight denied?

You could feel how the goosebumps rose, hairs sticking up, your arms feeling all but off.

“C’mon, sweet princess, please don’t hide your voice. Sing for me, yeah?” His voice murmured softly as kisses decorated your skin, down your inner thighs.

“Husband-” “Rafayel.”

What?

You open your eyes, the black from them being covered of course blocking what you could see.

“Call me Rafayel.” His voice was light. Airy. In need.

When you don’t immediately address him as so, he presses a kiss to your clothed cunt, tapping it so affectionatley. “C’mon princess, don’t hesitate now of all times.”

And the words he used were like honey, his lips on your clothed folds a dessert to your sense of touch.

“I- okay, Rafayel,”

He hums in delight, kissing your cunt again, your underwear wet and soft against his lips as he moves your thigh to open wider, make more space for him. “Thank you, my love,”

You didn’t even question why he was only now giving you a name to address him as; “husband” was perfectly fine for the months you had been here beforehand.

Then again, how could you focus, when your husband’s- when Rafayel’s- lips were so loving and his fingers so tender as he pulled the fabric to the side, all but worshipping your cunt.

His fingers patted it softly, humming in approval at just how wet you were, giving a quick kiss to your exposed clit. Your hips jerk, he’s enjoying it as he spreads your folds open, bringing his tongue to lay flat, swiping up, up, up to the tippy top, his nose bumping your clit as he groans.

“Pretty girl, my sweet wife, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting every day for night to come, ‘s not because of you. Could you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?” Like you were ambrosia, he drank, drank, drank from you, not waiting for an answer, as he already knew.

But again.

Your sisters words crept in the back of your mind as the night carried on….

***

…Doubt is a cruel thing. It slithered into your mind and refused to let go, wrapping its coils tighter with every passing moment. The warmth of his presence, his gentle words, the invisible hands that cared for you—they all felt too good to be true now, tainted by the seeds of your sisters' concern.

The room felt suffocating as you stared at the flickering flame of the oil lamp, its light casting eerie shadows across the walls. The knife was cold in your hand, its gleaming edge a stark contrast to the warmth of the flame. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, a mixture of fear and doubt twisting in your gut.

What if they were right? What if you were blind to the truth, just swept up in the illusion of safety and comfort he'd created? What if this whole thing, the grand gestures, the unseen servants, the kindness he'd shown you... what if it was all a game, a way to keep you trapped in his web?

You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they kept creeping in, clawing at the edges of your mind. "What if he's just using me?" you whispered to yourself, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

You glanced at the knife again, its sharp blade gleaming menacingly in the lamplight. It wasn’t like you intended to hurt him—at least, not physically—but you had to know. You had to see what he was, who he really was.

With trembling hands, you set the knife down and reached for the lamp. It was an impulsive decision, one born out of fear, not logic. But you needed to know the truth, and if that meant seeing him for who he truly was, then you'd face it. Even if it broke your heart.

The silence of the room was deafening as you quietly slipped out of bed and headed toward the door. You weren’t sure what you were going to do once you found him, but at this point, the uncertainty gnawed at you more than anything else.

Your pulse raced in the stillness, every step heavier than the last as you ventured deeper into the corridors of the palace. The shadows seemed to stretch longer, the air thicker with each breath you took. The further you went, the more you felt like you were walking into something you couldn’t turn back from. Something... irreversible.

The palace seemed to whisper as you moved, the halls groaning underfoot. And just as you reached the doorway to his chambers, your breath hitched. Was this really what you wanted? To confront the beast, to strip away the mystery, to shatter the fragile peace you’d built?

But there was no turning back now.

You pressed the lamp to the door, the faint glow barely illuminating the intricate carvings etched in the wood. The knife felt like an anchor in your hand, both a lifeline and a threat.

"Please..." you murmured, unsure whether you were praying or pleading with yourself, "Just... just let me see the truth."

And then, with a deep breath, you pushed open the door.

You froze in the doorway, the oil lamp trembling in your grasp. The sight before you was almost too much to comprehend. Your husband—no, this—was not what you had expected. Not in the slightest.

His body lay still, relaxed in sleep, draped in the faintest sheen of moonlight that filtered through the window. His skin shimmered faintly, as though kissed by the gods themselves, and his chest rose and fell with a peaceful rhythm. His wings, vast and impossibly beautiful, were folded neatly behind him, feathers soft and iridescent, catching the light in a cascade of colors that seemed almost otherworldly.

You took a hesitant step closer, the flame of your lamp flickering as though it too was stunned into silence. His features were perfect—sharper than you imagined yet softened in slumber.

You had known his presence, felt his warmth, his embrace. But now, seeing him like this, unguarded and vulnerable, the fear that had driven you here melted away like mist in the early morning sun. The knife in your hand felt foolish now, heavy with the weight of your doubts, and you realized just how misplaced your fears had been.

His beauty was undeniable. Everything about him—from his sculpted features to the grace with which he rested—was perfect. The lavender curls of his hair framed his face so gently, his long lashes resting peacefully against his cheeks.

Another step forward. The lips that had whispered sweet nothings to you now parted slightly as he breathed. And those hands... the hands that had touched you so tenderly, cradled your face, and drawn soft gasps from your lips—they rested loosely on the bed, every vein and knuckle a masterpiece.

But it was the wings that held your attention. They weren’t just wings; they were art. Each feather seemed crafted by divine hands, glimmering with colors you couldn’t even name. They exuded warmth and power, a silent testament to his nature—whatever that nature might truly be.

Your throat felt tight. You wanted to cry out, to drop the lamp and run to him, to apologize for doubting him, for letting your sisters' words cloud your mind. But something rooted you in place. A mix of awe and fear kept you there, staring down at the man—the being—you’d married.

Who are you? the thought screamed in your mind, louder than you intended. Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

But you knew.

You knew he was a god.

How stupid- how foolish of you.

And then, as if sensing the weight of your gaze, his eyes fluttered open. Those eyes... they were a storm of colors, shifting like the tides, deep and endless. He blinked, confusion crossing his face before realization struck. His gaze fell to the lamp in your hands, and then to the knife, still clenched tightly in your trembling fingers.

His expression changed. Hurt. Betrayal. A crack forming in his once serene features.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice soft yet heavy with disbelief. “Why?”

His eyes, once warm and filled with a tenderness you had come to know, now held a coldness that made your heart drop. The air between you thickened with the weight of unspoken words, his grief pulling at the edges of his features.

“Why?” His voice was a whisper, rough with emotion. “After everything… after I’ve shown you nothing but care, why would you—” His breath hitched, his wings shuddering slightly as if even they were trying to shield him from the sting of your doubt.

You opened your mouth, but no words came. The knife trembled in your grasp, the edge of it catching the faint light of the room. The lamp you had forgotten to put down flickered as if in sympathy for the tension that crackled in the air.

“I didn’t mean… I just…” Your voice was small, barely a whisper. What did you mean? What could you say to undo this?

You had wanted to confront the fear that had been gnawing at you, the doubt planted by your sisters. They had warned you, raised questions you hadn't wanted to entertain. What if he’s a monster? What if he’s only been pretending to be kind? It was foolish, you knew that now. But in the quiet moments, when your mind wandered, the questions took root.

He reached for the knife gently, his movements slow, cautious. His fingers brushed yours, a brief, almost hesitant touch. “You thought I was a monster,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, the pain in his voice evident.

You recoiled, clutching the knife to your chest in an instinctive defense. "No, I didn’t—I thought—" Your words faltered as you met his gaze again. “I was scared. I didn’t know what to believe.”

The hurt in his eyes deepened. He stood, his wings flexing as he moved closer, his presence overwhelming yet gentle. “I’ve shown you nothing but who I am—who I really am,” he said, each word deliberate, his voice breaking slightly. “And yet, this doubt… it lingers in your heart?”

“It was your sisters, wasn’t it?”

His grip on your wrist was firm, his eyes narrowing with a hurt that twisted in a way that made your heart ache even more. The anger in his voice was unmistakable, sharp like a blade itself.

"It was your sisters, wasn't it?" he repeated, the words heavy with accusation. The quiet rage simmered beneath his words, as if the mere thought of their influence was enough to unravel whatever fragile peace you’d built. His wings twitched, his body rigid with tension.

Before you could respond, he yanked the knife from your grasp, tossing it aside with a flick of his wrist. It landed with a soft thud on the floor, its sharpness now rendered useless in the face of his fury.

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. His anger wasn't just at the doubt you’d harbored—it was at the outside voices that had planted the seeds of it. He had allowed himself to believe in you, in what you could be together, only for that fragile trust to be shattered by their words.

"I warned you," he spat, his breath quickening. "I warned you not to listen to them. They know nothing of us, of what we are." His fists clenched at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

It felt as though the very air around you had shifted, turning cold and heavy. You wanted to apologize, to explain, to beg for his understanding, but the words seemed to stick in your throat.

The beast before you—your beast—wasn’t just angry. He was hurt, deeply so. It wasn’t just the betrayal of your doubt. It was the years of isolation, the weight of everything he’d carried in silence, the belief that for once, someone might truly see him for who he was.

"I wanted to protect you," he muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he looked away, fighting the emotions that were bubbling to the surface. His wings were tight against his back, the darkened feathers almost trembling with the weight of it all.

The truth was, you had been foolish. You had let the whispers of your sisters cloud your judgment, but now, standing before him, you saw the depth of his pain—the depth of your own misunderstanding. It wasn’t just about him being a beast; it was about him being someone who had allowed you into his world, and you had almost thrown it all away.

"You—" He stopped himself, swallowing hard. "I thought you understood me." His hands went to your throat for a brief moment, his eyes full with the intent to snap it, but something stops him. It wasn’t the pitiful way your hands clawed at his grasp to let you go, or your pleas for forgiveness, no. It was the fact that he even considered to snap it. Rafayel thought that surely he was done with such fantasies, the urge to break you apart every time he bed you- to rip your head, to bite and tear into your flesh, to utterly consume you, he thought he could hold back, no, that he must hold back. In a mix of horror at himself and grief- mourning at your betrayal, he took a step back, letting you drop to the floor and crumpling.

Your heart dropped as his wings unfurled, the magnificent span of them taking up the entire room, and before you could even fully comprehend what was happening, he was gone. His words, cold and final, lingered in the air long after his form disappeared into the night sky.

"You...You have betrayed me. And I have no need for traitors. I- I’m- forgive me, for not earning your trust,"

The words echoed in your mind like a death sentence. The finality in his voice, the hurt that bled through his anger—it was all too much. You were left standing there, breathless, as the silence rushed in to fill the void he had left behind. The weight of his absence crushed down on you, suffocating. Tears welled in your eyes, but they didn’t fall. Instead, they stung—burning with the guilt of your actions, of the doubt you had let fester and bloom in your heart. You were a fool to let anyone, even those you loved, make you question him. He had shown you nothing but care, nothing but love, and you—you had betrayed him with your own insecurities.

"No," you whispered to yourself, shaking your head as if to rid yourself of the thought. But it didn’t work. The guilt remained, a gnawing feeling that twisted in your gut.

You rushed to the window, pressing your palms against the cold glass, but there was nothing—no sign of him, just the empty expanse of the sky. He was gone, and you were left in the wreckage of your own foolishness.

"Please," you whispered, the desperation in your voice thick. "Please, come back."

But the wind only howled back at you, carrying his absence like a cruel reminder of what you had done.

It was too late to take it all back. Too late to explain that you hadn’t meant to hurt him, that you were just scared. But now, there was no one left to explain it to.

Tears finally spilled from your eyes as you sank to your knees on the cold floor, your heart shattered. The bed, once a place of warmth and love, now felt empty, a reminder of the broken trust between you.

You had lost him. And you weren't sure how to find him again.

***

A month passed in a haze of silence. The palace, once full of warmth and life, now felt like a cold, oppressive shell. The servants remained kind, as they always had been, but their smiles were hollow, their eyes carrying the weight of something unsaid. You could feel their pity, even if it was never spoken aloud.

The days blurred into one another, each one spent in the same routine—quiet walks through the gardens, meals that were eaten alone, and long hours in your room, staring out at the world outside the palace walls, wishing for something—anything—to change. The silence of your husband’s absence was deafening. He hadn’t returned, hadn’t even sent word.

Your thoughts were consumed with guilt and regret, constantly replaying that night over and over in your mind. What if you had just trusted him? What if you had never listened to your sisters, to the doubts that they planted in your mind? But it was too late for what ifs. The damage was done, and you were left with nothing but a gnawing emptiness inside.

The loneliness was suffocating. You had always relied on your sisters to bring laughter and comfort, but now, with no one to share your thoughts and fears with, you felt more isolated than ever. You missed them terribly—their teasing, their warmth, their presence. You needed to see them again.

The palace felt like a prison, and you were a prisoner of your own making.

So, one evening, you made up your mind. You couldn’t stay here, not like this. You had to see your sisters, to feel some semblance of normalcy again. You had to fix what you had broken, no matter how impossible it seemed.

You slipped out of the palace, as quietly as you could, hoping that no one would stop you. The night air was cool, the scent of fresh flowers and earth filling your senses, but the sense of relief was short-lived. You couldn’t escape the tight knot in your chest—the dread of what you had lost and the uncertainty of what you would find.

“Zephyrus?”

He was there in an instant. Zephyrus’s voice was soft, as if he knew the weight of your request, even before you spoke it. "Of course, my lady. Home it is."

The wind responded to his call, swirling around you gently, as if coaxing you back into its embrace. You didn’t know if it was the wind’s touch or the weight of your own thoughts, but you felt the shift—the pull toward something that felt more familiar, more comforting than the cold emptiness that had become your palace.

With a quiet sigh, you felt the wind lift you off the ground, carrying you away from the place that had once been your home but now felt foreign. The cool air rushed past your skin, and the familiar feeling of flight made your chest tighten in both relief and sorrow.

"Zephyrus," you murmur again, this time with a hint of vulnerability in your voice. "Do you think… do you think I’ve ruined everything?"

There was no immediate answer, only the soft whoosh of the wind as you flew. His silence was not comforting, yet somehow, it gave you the space to reflect, to finally let yourself feel everything that had been buried inside.

It didn’t take long before you saw the familiar landscape below—green fields, gentle slopes, and, in the distance, the village where you grew up. Home. Your heart tightened, knowing that even this place might no longer feel the same after everything that had happened.

But this was where you belonged, wasn’t it?

Zephyrus landed you gently in a quiet corner near the palace, not far from where your sisters lived. His presence faded into the wind, leaving you standing there, facing the uncertainty of your future.

***

As you spoke, recounting everything that had happened—your marriage, your betrayal, your husband’s departure—it felt as though the words were echoing in an empty room. You saw the concern on their faces, the sadness in their eyes, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to ease the discomfort in your chest.

Clidippe’s eyes softened as she listened, but the skepticism in her voice was impossible to ignore. “So, he just… left?” she asked, her tone tinged with disbelief. “After everything? You let him leave like that?”

Algaura, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke up, her voice sharp. “You were so sure, Y/n. So sure he was something special. And now look at you. Empty-handed.”

Their words stung, each one sharper than the last. You hadn’t expected their support, not really, but this felt… different. You thought they would understand, that they would see the pain you were in, that they would comfort you in a way only family could. But instead, you felt like a stranger in their presence, isolated by your choices.

“I—” you started, but the words faltered in your throat, swallowed by the knot of guilt that tightened with every passing second.

Algaura’s eyes narrowed. “What, Y/n? What now? You want us to feel sorry for you? To fix this mess?”

Clidippe reached out, her hand resting gently on your shoulder. “We don’t blame you, Y/n. But you need to think about this. What’s next for you?”

You couldn’t answer. The emptiness inside you, the pain of knowing that you had hurt someone you loved deeply, it all churned inside, and there was no easy way to make it right. Not now. Not ever.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, feeling the weight of everything crash down on you. "I thought... I thought I knew what I wanted, but now... I don't even know who I am anymore."

The silence stretched between you and your sisters, an uncomfortable weight. They didn’t have the answers, either. And neither did you.

It felt wrong. It felt like no matter how hard you tried, there was no going back. You couldn’t undo what had been done. And worse yet, the wound you had created in your heart was only growing deeper, as if the space where your husband used to be was now an aching void you couldn't fill.

And the worst part? You weren’t sure you even wanted to anymore.

***

Clidippe and Algaura were more than pleased after you left. "Perhaps, he'll take one of us to be his wife?" Clidippe said, almost cheerfully.

Algaura let out a small laugh, though it was cold and cynical. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. After all, we’re far more deserving than Y/n, aren’t we?”

The two of them exchanged a glance, one that spoke volumes, though it said nothing aloud. The tension was palpable, their earlier concern for you now replaced by something darker, more calculating.

Clidippe leaned back, her expression shifting from one of mirth to something far more calculating. "I always thought Y/n was too naïve to keep something like that. Such a fool to waste an opportunity with someone like him."

Algaura scoffed. "Exactly. So much potential thrown away. It’s almost laughable." She leaned in, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “But I’m not so sure. There might be a way for us to claim what she couldn’t.”

Clidippe’s eyes gleamed with a quiet determination. “Let’s wait and see. If he comes back... we’ll be ready.” She paused for a moment, as if contemplating something more. "We don’t need her to ruin things for us again."

Algaura smirked, a cold, confident expression. "No, we won’t let her."

"Better idea. Why don't we just go to the cliff and have that wind god take us?" "Sister!”

Clidippe raised an eyebrow, but the mischievous glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement. "You know, I might just be tempted to take you up on that offer. Imagine the look on her face when we show up with him in tow."

Algaura laughed again, but this time it was tinged with something darker. "What a sight that would be. A wind god at our side, whisking us away... too bad we’d have to deal with her first, wouldn’t we?"

Clidippe shrugged, her smile widening. "Why deal with her when we can let her waste away in her pitiful loneliness? It's more fun this way, don't you think?"

The two sisters shared a knowing look, their plans already forming in the corners of their minds. Whatever they did next, it was clear they had no intention of letting you get in the way of their ambitions.

***

“You what?” Aphrodite fumed as she tended to her son.

Rafayel flinched, his wings tensing behind him as his mother’s words echoed in the grand hall. "Mother, please, calm down."

"Calm down?" Aphrodite’s voice rang out, her tone venomous. "You’ve disgraced yourself, and worse—her! You let a mortal get the better of you, make a fool of you, and you hide it like it’s some kind of prize?" She spun around, eyes blazing with fury. "Do you even understand what this means?"

Rafayel, for the first time, didn’t know how to respond. His silence seemed to only fuel his mother’s rage.

"You don’t know the first thing about real love, Rafayel!" Aphrodite’s voice cracked as she gestured toward the grandiose chambers. "That mortal girl is just a stepping stone. You’ve thrown away everything for her—your honor, your name, and now your position among the gods."

"But mother, she loved me," Rafayel said softly, the weight of his words falling heavily in the air between them.

Aphrodite’s laughter was cold. "Love? No, my son. What you call love is nothing more than infatuation. Mortal affection is fleeting, and you—" She narrowed her gaze, "—you have let it consume you. You cannot afford such weakness. Not as my son. Not as the being you were destined to be."

Rafayel stared at her, a distant sadness in his eyes. "You don’t understand. She’s different."

Aphrodite’s lips curled into a sneer. "And you will suffer because of it. You always do." She turned away, as if dismissing him. "You had a job to do, but you couldn’t even do that.”

Rafayel’s shoulders sagged under the weight of his mother’s fury, his wings folding tightly against his back, as if trying to shrink from her anger. His eyes, usually so confident and composed, were now filled with a mixture of sadness and uncertainty. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, unsure of how to express the turmoil swirling inside him.

"Mother, please..." he whispered, his voice quiet and vulnerable, almost pleading. "I didn’t mean to disappoint you. I just... I didn’t want to be alone anymore. She—she makes me feel alive. I’ve never felt anything like this before."

“That doesnt matter.”

"I... I thought you would be happy for me," Rafayel murmured, eyes dropping to the marble floor, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I thought you'd want me to be happy. You said... you said I should follow my heart. And now I’m following it... and you hate me for it."

His voice cracked as the reality of his mother’s rejection washed over him. He wasn’t the confident, untouchable creature he pretended to be. He was raw. He was hurt. And all he wanted, more than anything, was to share that with you. To be with you. But now, in this cold, unforgiving space, he didn’t know if he even deserved to.

"She’s everything I’ve ever wanted," he said softly, as if confessing a secret he was scared to admit. "And I don’t care what anyone says, not even you, mother. I love her. I love her more than you could ever understand."

His heart hammered in his chest, torn between the loyalty he had to his mother, the goddess who had raised him, and the love he had for his wife- you. "Please... just try to understand. This is real. She’s real." His voice faltered. "I don’t want to lose her."

But it was no use.

“You just let mother take care of this. Mother will fix everything.”

Rafayel's body jerked as the magic took hold of him, his wings freezing mid-flap. The transformation was swift, brutal, and without mercy. His form shrank, feathers sprouting where skin once was, his wings no longer elegant and powerful but instead simple and fragile. His sharp, pleading gaze locked with his mother’s, but the words he tried to speak caught in his throat, swallowed by the magic that overtook him. He could only chirp, a sound far from the voice he had once used to proclaim his love.

His body was small, vulnerable, caged. The bars of the iron cage pressed against his delicate wings, and a bitter taste of defeat filled his mouth. He flapped once, twice, but there was no escaping the confines of his mother's wrath.

Aphrodite stood, her face set in stone, her anger still simmering beneath her calm demeanor. She waved her hand dismissively, ignoring the bird trapped within the cage. The motherly affection she had once had for Rafayel seemed like a distant memory.

"You’re a fool, Rafayel," she said coldly, her voice dripping with disdain. "But I will make sure everything works out. I always do. You will see. You will forget this mortal... and you will return to me. You will learn that I know what's best for you."

***

Talia's expression remained impassive as she watched you from her perch, her fingers lightly tapping against the railing of the balcony she'd been lounging on. She had seen this coming, even before you had realized what was happening. You and Rafayel? It was almost too predictable. That beautiful, foolish boy who had so easily fallen for you, swept up in his own infatuation, despite the consequences. Talia knew Aphrodite too well to not expect such a response.

Still, there was a pang of something in her chest—was it pity? Yes, perhaps it was pity. For you, for the way your world was now falling apart, even though you were too blind to see it coming. It wasn’t that Talia enjoyed watching you suffer, but it was hard to ignore how predictable everything had become.

Aphrodite, beside her, glared.

“You pity a stranger over your friend.”

A statement. A fact. Not an accusation.

"She humiliated my son, broke his heart, and shattered his trust. I should’ve intervened sooner."

Talia leaned lazily against a pillar, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers, utterly unbothered by the goddess’s rage. She was no stranger to Aphrodite’s dramatics.

"And yet," Talia replied, her tone as light as the breeze, "it was your son who fell for her, wasn’t it? Who bound himself to her in secret? Perhaps your anger is misplaced."

Aphrodite’s glare could have turned lesser mortals to ash. "Watch your tongue, Talia. My patience with you is thin."

"Yes, yes, your patience," Talia said with a dismissive wave. She pushed off the pillar, stepping closer to the goddess with a confidence that bordered on reckless. "But let’s not forget, Goddess, you’re the one who proclaimed yourself the expert in love. Perhaps your son inherited your taste for chaos. Shouldn’t that make you... proud?"

Aphrodite’s hand twitched, her nails biting into her palm as she considered smiting the infuriating nymph. Instead, she closed her eyes, taking a slow, measured breath. Talia always knew how to strike a nerve.

"This isn’t chaos," Aphrodite finally said, her voice quieter but no less sharp. "This is betrayal. She doesn’t deserve him. And I will not allow her to destroy him further."

Talia’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. "You sound more like a mother scorned than a goddess of love."

Aphrodite turned away, her expression unreadable as she gazed down at the mortal world below. The fields stretched endlessly, the winds carrying whispers of sorrow. Somewhere down there, you were grieving. Somewhere, you were suffering.

Good.

And yet...

For a fleeting moment, a pang of something unfamiliar—something dangerously close to guilt—flickered in Aphrodite’s chest.

"I protect what is mine," she said at last, as much to herself as to Talia.

Talia tilted her head, watching the goddess with an almost pitying gaze. "If you keep him caged, Aphrodite, you’ll lose him too. Just like she did."

The golden cage trembled violently as Rafayel clawed against the spell that bound him. His bird form shimmered, wings beating with a frantic energy that sent feathers scattering like falling stars.

“Rafayel, stop!” Aphrodite’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. But he couldn’t—he wouldn’t. The bars bent under his growing form, groaning under the pressure as he swelled beyond the confines of her magic.

His breathing was ragged, desperate. His talons stretched into fingers, his wings unfurling as the feathers melted back into flesh. With one final, guttural cry, the cage snapped, its golden fragments raining down like shards of light.

"Rafayel, please—" Aphrodite’s tone shifted, now tinged with worry. She reached out to him, but he recoiled, his back to her as his transformation completed.

He was silent, his chest heaving as he stood tall, his silhouette framed by the moonlight pouring through the open window. His lavender hair clung to his damp skin, his iridescent wings unfurling to their full, magnificent span.

“I can’t stay here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling.

“Son, listen to me,” Aphrodite implored, stepping closer, her divine grace now softened with maternal concern. “That girl doesn’t deserve—”

“She does!” he cut her off, spinning to face her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “She made a mistake, yes, but so did I. I left her to face her doubt alone, Mother. I love her, and I don’t care what you think anymore.”

Aphrodite’s hand hovered in the air, her lips parting as though to protest, but the raw pain in his voice froze her.

Before she could speak, Rafayel turned, his wings extending. With a mighty leap, he soared through the window, the force of his departure sending a gust of wind through the room.

“Rafayel!” Aphrodite called after him, her voice breaking.

But he didn’t look back. The stars blurred as he flew, his heart pounding with one singular thought:

He had to find you.

***

How ironic.

How ironic that you had returned to the cliff where this had started.

Only to find your sisters.

The air was thick with the scent of saltwater, the wind teasing your hair, but it did nothing to soothe the aching void inside you. You stood there, frozen, watching your sisters with a hollow heart. They laughed, carefree, on the edge of the cliff, their voices carrying on the wind, full of mirth.

"Zephyrus! Zephyrus, catch us!" they called in unison, like children daring fate. Their voices rang in the cold air, their words both a plea and a taunt, as though they were so certain he would appear. But there was no response. No gust of wind, no comforting presence.

How….oh, how your heart hurt.

Your chest tightened as you felt the coldness settle in your bones. You should have known. Should have known that their trivial games would come at a cost. Your sisters were so used to their charm, their beauty, their privileges that they believed everyone else—everything—would bend to their will. Of course…you should have known when they had suddenly decided to question your love when they first visited you, instead of being happy for you.

And yet, you ran.

You ran to them. You needed them. One last hug, one lass embrace-

Clidippe took a step forward, laughing as she always did, confident in the wind's power to save her. Algaura followed, grinning, her trust in Zephyrus unwavering.

But Zephyrus wasn’t coming.

The air seemed to still as they jumped. No wind rushed to catch them, no graceful hands reached out. Instead, the two of them plummeted into the dark abyss, their screams quickly swallowed by the sea.

A sick feeling churned in your stomach, a blend of guilt, betrayal, and something much worse.

You barely registered the tears that spilled down your cheeks as you watched the empty space where they had fallen, knowing that nothing could bring them back.

“Why didn’t he catch them?” you whispered to yourself, voice raw with disbelief. Was it because of your own failure? Had you made him so bitter, so distant, that he had forsaken them, too? Or was it their own arrogance that had led to their doom?

“No…no-! No, no, no, no. NO!” You ran to the edge of the cliff, almost stumbling off but the wind was pushing you back.

“Zephyrus! Let me go! Let me- my- my sisters! Zephyrus-” You gasp for air as you swallow back the thick knots forming in your throat, blocking your breath. Your stomach was in your heart, your heart in your lungs, everything out of place.

The weight of your heart pressed down, harder than the cold air around you. How had everything fallen apart so quickly?

A soft rustle disturbed your thoughts, and you turned sharply, hoping for some form of relief. But all you saw was the wind, swirling around you in a turbulent dance.

And then, his voice—gentle, familiar—came through the chaos of your mind.

"I'm here, my love."

Rafayel stood before you, wings glistening in the moonlight. His form seemed to fill the space, ethereal and powerful. His eyes were filled with something softer now, the pain from before replaced with something new. Something deeper.

“Rafayel…” you breathed, your voice trembling as you rushed toward him.

He took a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. The distance between you, the betrayal, the pain—all seemed to fade with each passing moment.

"I didn't mean for this," he whispered, reaching out to you. “I should have never left you. I thought... I thought if I kept my distance, you'd be safe, but I was wrong."

You wrapped your arms around him, the warmth of his presence surrounding you, and for the first time in so long, you allowed yourself to feel something other than emptiness.

“I didn’t want them to fall,” you whispered into his chest, your tears soaking his clothes.

His hands held you tightly, pressing you against him as if to shield you from the world. “You didn’t cause this, love. They made their own choices, and now they must face the consequences. But you... you are everything to me.”

He gently tilted your chin up, his gaze locking with yours, and for the first time in ages, you felt truly seen.

“Will you come back with me?” Rafayel asked softly. "Let me show you that you are loved. You’ve been through too much alone."

But-

No.

He had left you.

He left you.

The weight of your heart pressed down, harder than the cold air around you. How had everything fallen apart so quickly? The faces of your sisters, their laughter, their screams—they wouldn’t leave your mind. The sight of Rafayel, his tender gaze, his outstretched hands, was too much. It was all too much.

You stumbled back, your legs trembling beneath you. His voice called out to you, soft yet desperate, but you couldn’t face him—not now, not like this. The world spun, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the reality of what had just happened sunk deeper into your soul.

“Stay with me,” Rafayel said, his voice pleading. But you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t.

Your feet moved before you realized what was happening. You turned, your body propelled by something primal, something desperate. You ran. Away from Rafayel, away from the cliff, away from the memories that clung to you like a shroud. Back, back, back—to home, to safety, to the one place you knew might offer you solace.

The lake.

Hersilia!

Her name echoed in your mind like a lifeline, a prayer. She would know what to do. She always did. Your breath hitched as you pushed forward, the terrain blurring around you. The sharp branches clawed at your skin, the cold night air stung your face, but none of it mattered.

You needed her.

The lake came into view, its surface eerily still under the pale moonlight. Your feet slipped on the damp grass as you stumbled toward the water’s edge.

“Hersilia!” you cried out, your voice cracking. “Please, I need you!”

***

When you came to that secret lake, the air felt wrong, heavy, and strange. The surface of the water was no longer the welcoming mirror of moonlight you remembered. Instead, it churned faintly, disturbed by an unseen presence. Around you, the nymphs who once danced and sang in joy screamed and fled into the shadows of the trees, their translucent forms flickering like dying embers.

Were they afraid of you? Or of something else? You couldn’t tell, and you didn’t care. Your mind could focus only on one thing.

“Hersilia!” you cried out, your voice raw and desperate. “Please, I need you!”

No answer came, only the sound of the water lapping against the shore. The nymphs’ fearful whispers drifted to your ears, fragmented and faint.

“She doesn’t know...” “Should we tell her?” “No! Let her be.”

Their words were like shards of glass cutting into your heart. You shook your head, refusing to believe what they might mean.

“Hersilia!” you shouted again, your voice breaking as you collapsed to your knees by the lake’s edge. “Please, it’s me! It’s—”

Your words died in your throat as you caught sight of the water. There, faint and ghostly, was a face—a face you knew too well. Hersilia’s face, but pale and ethereal, like a memory clinging to the surface of the lake. Her once-lively eyes were dulled, her expression distant.

“Hersilia,” you whispered, reaching out.

The image wavered and dissolved, leaving you staring at nothing but ripples in the water.

“She is gone,” a trembling voice said behind you. One of the braver nymphs had stepped forward, her form flickering as if she might vanish at any moment. “Hersilia has been gone for many moons. You... you did not know?”

But then a nymph shrieked, her voice piercing the stillness of the night like a crack of thunder. Her trembling finger pointed behind you.

Your heart stopped. You turned slowly, fear and hope warring within you.

There, standing at the edge of the clearing, was Rafayel.

His lavender hair was disheveled, the soft curls wild from flight. His wings, now fully unfurled, glistened in the moonlight, each feather shimmering like mother-of-pearl. His eyes, those deep sea-blue and pink hues, were filled with an emotion so raw it took your breath away—grief, anger, love, and longing all at once.

“Rafayel...” you breathed, rising to your feet.

He didn’t move closer. His gaze bore into you, searching, as if trying to understand something unspoken. The nymphs had scattered entirely now, their fear palpable in the air. Only the two of you remained by the lake, the silence deafening.

“I thought...” His voice broke, soft and trembling, but then it shifted, cracking with something darker. “I thought I would never see you again…” His gaze hardened, and his tone grew sharper, more raw. “And you—” He took a step forward, his wings shuddering with restrained emotion. “You run away? You run away from me?”

His laugh was almost maniacal, echoing in the quiet night like something unhinged. The sound made your blood run cold.

You instinctively took a step back, your heels slipping into the cool water of the lake.

"You..." Your voice trembled, barely audible as fear gripped you. "You killed Hersilia?"

The words hung heavy in the air, your body stiffening as his gaze locked onto yours. His eyes darkened, unreadable and sharp as a blade.

Before you could even register his movement, he was suddenly there—his hands gripping your arms tightly, pulling you closer with a force that left no room for escape.

"She was a bad influence," he said, his voice low and cold, venom dripping from every syllable.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding against your chest as his words sank in. "Rafayel, she was my—"

"Your what?" he snapped, his wings flaring wide behind him in a display of frustration. "A friend? Someone who told you to run from me? To leave your place by my side? To keep you from your fate?”

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. "No, she—"

"Don’t lie to me!" His voice cracked, raw and filled with pain. For a moment, the grip on your arms loosened, as though he realized the weight of his own actions. His hands slid down to your wrists, trembling. "Everything I’ve done... I’ve done for you."

Your breath caught in your throat as his hands closed around your neck, tightening with a force that made it hard to breathe. His eyes burned with a desperation that mirrored the one you'd felt in your own chest—his need, his possessiveness, overwhelming everything.

"And you're staying with me," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You want someone to love you. Y/n? You don't want to be lonely? Well neither do I."

His words echoed in your mind, each one heavier than the last. The suffocating grip on your throat made it difficult to focus, the edges of your vision starting to blur. His pain was raw, but it was tainted with something darker—a twisted form of affection that you couldn’t bring yourself to understand.

"You’re hurting me," you gasped, struggling to free yourself, but his hold only tightened, his face inches from yours.

"Not enough," he spat, his voice full of anguish. "Not enough for you to understand how much I need you. How much I need you to stay."

His eyes flickered for a second, showing you the vulnerability that you once recognized. The part of him that wasn’t a monster, the part that had loved you with a gentleness you hadn’t thought possible. But then it was gone, replaced again by something darker, more volatile.

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to protect you—or break you.

And it didn’t matter.

Because he snapped your neck.

The world went black. No pain, just the crushing emptiness that followed when your body stopped fighting, when everything ceased to exist in an instant. Your breath, your heart—gone.

Rafayel stood over you, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his eyes wild, still filled with that insatiable need. He had done it. He had taken everything.

He dropped to his knees beside your lifeless form, his hands trembling as he reached for you.

Rafayel’s lips pressed softly against yours, his tears falling gently onto your still face. His heart was heavy, the weight of his love and his violence crashing together in an unbearable torrent. He had taken everything from you—your life, your love, and now... your silence.

"Till death do us part," he whispered against your lips, his words full of regret and sorrow. "And for you, I give you half my heart."

He layed you down as the nymphs hid in the lake in horror, watching as the god tore his chest open, golden blood spilling in torrents as he took his heart, ripping it in half, its aorta limp and loose, the left ventricle almost coming apart as if it were tender and slow cooked. He gasps in pain, closing his eyes as he opens your chest, tearing your heart out.

And the same, he rips it in half.

Half to you, half to him….

***

When you woke up, you gasp, clutching your neck. Could it be?

Was it truly just a horrible dream?

You turn to look beside you, reaching out.

Your husband was invisible; you could feel the warmth of his back against your hand.

But…there was an itch in your chest. Like something didn’t quite fit.

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littleprinces · 3 months ago

Text

Day 26: Werewolf

Kim Minju x OC! Werewolf

Kinkvember Day 26

Tw// Major Character Death, Cannibalism

Read at your own risk

Minju hesitated for a moment before standing up. She out of the bar, into the night, and into the unknown.

The woods were dark, the trees casting long, eerie shadows. Minju could hear the distant howl of a wolf, and she shivered, both from the cold and from the anticipation.

She look at the man she meet before at the wood, and then he began to change. His body shifted and contorted, bones cracking and snapping as fur sprouted from his skin. Minju watched in horrified fascination as the man named focus she had been talking to just moments before transformed into a massive wolf, standing before her on two legs.

Minju's breath hitched in her throat, and she took a step back. "Focus?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The wolf tilted its head, regarding her with those glowing blue eyes. It was Focus, she realized. The man she had meet at the cafe with just moments before was now a werewolf, standing before her in the woods.

Minju took another deep breath, steeling herself. She had to admit, there was something incredibly sexy about the sight of Focus in his wolf form. He was powerful, dangerous, and completely wild. She could feel her body responding to him, her heart pounding in her chest and her breath coming in short gasps.

Focus took a step closer, and Minju could see the muscles ripple beneath his fur. She reached out a hand, tentatively touching his side. His fur was soft, but she could feel the power beneath it. She could feel the wolf.

Focus nuzzled her hand, his breath warm on her skin. Minju could feel the heat radiating off him, and she let her hand linger, stroking his fur. She could feel the tension building between them, a electric charge that seemed to fill the air.

The wolf growled, a low, primal sound that sent a shiver down Minju's spine. She could see the desire in his eyes, the hunger that matched her own. She took a step closer, her hand still stroking his fur. "Show me," she whispered.

Focus growled again, and then he was moving, his powerful body pushing her back against a tree. Minju could feel the rough bark against her skin, and she let out a soft gasp as Focus leaned in, his muzzle brushing against her neck. She could feel his hot breath on her skin, and she moaned softly, her body arching against his.

Focus's tongue licked her neck, his teeth gently nipping at her skin. Minju could feel her body responding, her nipples hardening and her pussy growing wet. She could feel the heat between her legs, the desire that was building inside her.

Focus's hand pushed her skirt up, his fingers stroking her thigh. Minju could feel the heat of his touch, and she moaned softly, her hips pushing against his hand. She could feel his claws, sharp against her skin, but she didn't care. She wanted more.

"Shhh Focus, eat me, I'm your dinner now" Minju moan so hard and begging.

then he was tearing her panties off, his claws ripping through the delicate fabric. Minju gasped, but she didn't protest. She wanted this, wanted him. She could feel his hot breath on her pussy, and she moaned softly, her body arching against him.

Focus's tongue licked her slit, and Minju cried out, her hands gripping his fur. He licked her again, his tongue long like human's cock and rough, and Minju could feel the pleasure building inside her. She could feel her body tensing, her muscles coiling as she got closer and closer to the edge.

Focus's tongue flicked her clit, and Minju screamed, her body convulsing as she came. She could feel the waves of pleasure washing over her, her body shaking as she rode out the orgasm.

When she finally came back to herself, she found Focus standing before her, his cock hard and ready. Minju reached out, stroking his length, feeling the heat and the power beneath her fingers.

Focus growled, and then he was inside her, his cock filling her completely. Minju gasped, her body adjusting to his 75cm cock size. She could feel him stretching her, could feel the pleasure and the pain mixed together.

"Ahh it is too big" Minju scream so hard as 75cm cock thrust into her small pussy

Focus began to move, his hips thrusting against hers. Minju could feel every inch of him, could feel him hitting all the right spots. She moaned, her body moving with his, her hips meeting his thrust for thrust.

"Faster," she gasped, her body aching for more. "Harder please"

Focus growled, and he obliged, his hips slamming against hers. Minju could feel her body responding, her muscles tightening as she got closer and closer to the edge.

"Yes," she panted, her body on fire. "Yes, yes, yes."

Focus's hips were a blur, his cock pounding into her with a force that was almost brutal. Minju could feel her body tensing, her muscles coiling as she got closer and closer to the edge.

"Oh, god," she moaned, her body shaking. "Oh, god, Focus, I'm going to cum."

Focus growled, and then he bit her, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. Minju screamed, her body convulsing as she came, her orgasm ripping through her with a force that was almost violent.

Focus out of control, the hunger he feels look Minju as a raw meat, Focus start to eat her neck until it bloody and make her head detach from his body, Minju final scream was done and her dead body still get fucked by Focus until he cum in her dead pussy.

And after it, Focus make minju as her dinner, he ripped her body and get her raw flesh meat to his mouth and eat her deadbody until the bone.

#girl group smut #female idol smut #kpop x reader #kpop smut #izone smut #minju smut

187 notes · View notes

lynbichiots · 5 months ago

Text

Bloodlust

pairing: Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader

tw: hate sex, humiliation, hitting and fighting, murder, gore, overstimulation, hunter/prey, primal kink, masochism, blood kink, knife kink, sadism (both the reader and Eren are mentally unwell), creampie, squirting.

wc: 14.7 k

The sun sank slowly behind the horizon, setting the sky ablaze in shades of deep orange. The shadows of the camp trees stretched out, twisting in rhythm with the gentle breeze that brushed against your face, stirring the loose strands of your hair. That cold air, mixed with the heat still rising from the ground, felt like a warning, as if the day was dying only to make way for something darker.

You closed your eyes for a moment, allowing the moisture of the place to envelop you along with the small droplets of water that splashed your skin from the dock, though you barely felt them. On days like this, when everything seemed suspended in an almost unreal calm, your thoughts always betrayed you.

They dragged you back to those memories you hated, to those high school years when everything was more fun… until it wasn’t.

You hated those memories.

Annoyed, you bit the inside of your cheek, and the metallic taste of frustration filled your tongue as his image appeared in your mind. Those green eyes. The eyes that defined you, that ruined you. They still haunted you in a persistent way, an echo that never faded, even after all this time.

You could still hear him, his broken voice echoed in your nightmares every day, begging in a way that made you wake up with your heart pounding in your chest, making the air escape from your lungs.

There was no escape from him, not even in your dreams.

With an inward groan, you sighed, dropping your forehead onto your knees, and with your arms trembling, you hugged them with an almost childlike desperation.

Your nape tingled with a strange sensation that made you tilt your face back slightly, and when you adjusted to your new position, you saw him.

The air left your lungs slowly as you gazed in adoration at the man with brown hair tied in that messy bun, a cruel joke of your memory.

He wasn’t looking at you.

He couldn’t even see you.

He was just there, with his back to you, laughing with Sasha and Connie, oblivious to the storm raging inside you.

There, at that precise moment, you felt your hope die, causing you to turn forward again, abandoning your foolish assumptions to the depths of your rotten chest.

If that man had been him, he would never do something like that. He wouldn’t lower himself to laugh and play with the same people who had made it their mission to destroy him in school.

Not with them.

He wouldn’t do it.

The disappointment hit you like a cold stone sinking deep into your stomach, twisting your organs painfully. Still hearing their laughter behind you, you closed your eyes, curling further into yourself, unable to bear the joy of others.

You hated those laughs that shattered the heavy air while they played with the bow and arrows Sasha had brought for fun. It all seemed so absurd, so alien, and so damn fake.

Clenching your fists in anger, you retreated again into your cobweb-filled mind, that mind that was nothing more than a place where only the emptiness he left existed.

Thinking of the past, a slight itch spread across the bridge of your nose as you remembered his face, and those five years you had lived without knowing anything about him.

How is he now?

How much has he changed?

There were so many questions that wouldn’t leave you alone, and the guilt killed you day by day. Especially when your feelings were contradictory, and you didn’t regret anything you had done to him at all.

You wanted to believe he had become stronger, tougher.

You always considered him weak, even pathetic, for how easily he gave in to all of you. But deep down, you always knew he had the power to defend himself.

He could have destroyed all of you if he had wanted to.

But he never did.

Never to you.

Your eyebrows furrowed, and your arms tightened around your legs, your nails digging into your skin as the memory of his lips on yours emerged vividly and unbearably.

The brush of his tongue, the way he made you feel…

It was killing you.

You missed him in a way that devoured you from the inside, like a need you could never satisfy. But you knew with chilling certainty that if he still remembered anything about you, those memories wouldn’t be like yours.

To him, you only meant one thing: destruction.

Surely, the only thing he wanted now was to kill you.

And as a bitter smile tugged at your lips, you couldn’t help but think that you wouldn’t oppose him, no matter what his desire toward you was.

No, not at all.

And then, the sadness mixed with guilt comes back to you.

The memories return, like a dark tide swirling in your mind, impossible to contain, and you see it all with chilling clarity. The laughs, the cruel whispers you threw along with your friends in the school hallways, the looks he gave you, full of fear, humiliation, and disappointment.

That fear had fed you, you knew it, you wouldn’t make yourself the victim.

Something in you enjoyed watching him crumble under the weight of your words and your gaze. It was a power that intoxicated you. You knew how to crush him, how to make him feel like nothing, and you didn’t hesitate to do it again and again.

The jokes, the notes full of insults, the times you and your friends pushed him or left him alone in the middle of the classroom, exposed to mockery.

He never said anything, never tried to defend himself. He just lowered his head, as if he deserved everything they did to him, and part of you knows that maybe he deserved it a little.

But in those moments, when his green eyes met yours, there was something that always unsettled you. A glint of masochism and resistance, as if he knew that behind all your cruelty, there was something more.

Something you couldn’t admit even to yourself.

And then, when you confronted those feelings, everything went to hell for both of you the moment he decided to run away and leave you to your fate after all you shared together.

He got his revenge in the worst possible way. He got under your skin, embedded himself with ease, only to strip you of all his presence once you became dependent on him.

And now, years later, that memory was unbearable. The weight of what you had done and who you had been with him was a shadow you couldn’t shake, even though he got his revenge by abandoning you.

And you hated yourself for being so foolish when it came to him.

Because despite everything, you missed him.

You missed the very person you had destroyed, and that contradiction ate away at you.

The worst part of it all was that you knew with absolute certainty that if you ever saw him again, if you ever faced him once more, everything you had done would crush you, and you didn’t think you could bear it.

A tear fell down your cheek, and you hugged your legs tighter, your nails now leaving marks on the bare skin of your thighs.

“I deserve it,” you thought.

“I deserve all the pain that could come.”

“I deserve for him to hate me.”

A gust of wind stirred the lake and kicked up dust from the dock, as if nature itself wanted to erase the last traces of daylight, giving way to the dark night that seemed eager to embrace you in its cold arms.

Resting your chin on your knees, your thoughts grew darker and more surreal as you watched the sky turn blue. Your heart started pounding as you imagined what might happen if he appeared now, right in front of you.

You imagined the hatred in his eyes, hatred that you yourself had planted.

And the image of him approaching slowly, with the desire for revenge shining in his gaze, didn’t scare you. On the contrary, a strange sense of excitement washed over you.

If he kills you, you’d accept it, that was the truth.

It was the only thing you felt you could do for him.

One last gift, one last offering of peace.

“Why are you smiling?” Jean’s voice broke the silence you were lost in, pulling you out of your dark reverie. His tone was light and loving, but you could barely respond, too annoyed at how Eren had disappeared from your imagination.

Your smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“For nothing…” you murmured bitterly, without even turning to look at him. The emptiness crept back in, deeper this time.

Jean clicked his tongue in frustration, and you froze as you felt his presence settle beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he dropped onto the cold dock. Now, without any armor to ignore your boyfriend, you unwrapped your arms from around your knees and placed your palms on the dock behind you, letting a calm smile spread across your face when you finally deigned to look at Jean.

“Are you sure it’s nothing?” Jean smiles at you, bringing one of his calloused hands to your face, letting his thumb brush over your lips. His honey-colored irises shrink as his dark pupils begin to dilate, staring at your lips.

“Mmm,” you hum compliantly, letting his thumb slip into your mouth to rub against your tongue. Holding back from rolling your eyes, you let out a fake moan, pretending that his act was turning you on, and without hesitation, you straddle him and start kissing him.

A curse escapes his honey-flavored lips as you begin to roll your hips over his pelvis. His hands travel to your buttocks, kneading them, pulling only a flicker of pleasure from you.

And you know why that was your reaction.

Your closed eyes allowed you to slip into the moment, but with someone and something else on your mind.

Jean began kissing you more desperately, pressing his body against yours without an ounce of shame. Everything about him showed how much he desired you and how deeply he had loved you for the past five years.

In some way, you wanted to return that affection.

But you knew something in you had already changed.

The past always distracted you from the now, always too close, too present.

And then, as his teeth caught your lower lip and bit it hard, the question you had been avoiding all this time slipped into your mind like a fast-acting poison with no antidote.

“What if I find him?”

Could you face him?

Could you bear what you’d see in his eyes?

Or would you freeze, wishing he would finish what you had started so many years ago?

“I want to be inside you so badly, baby,” you opened your eyes slightly, seeing Jean’s face lost in pleasure. Smiling, you simply quickened your movements on his hips and bit his lip in response.

“We can’t do this here,” you pout against his cheek, leaning into his ear to whisper, even as your hips continued to grind against his, “But tonight, I won’t resist.”

With that, you swallowed the last moan that escaped from Jean’s lips onto yours, and before long, he found his release while you praised him, telling him how much you loved and wanted him.

Every word you whispered into his ear was true.

But, unfortunately for Jean,

They weren’t meant for him.

Breathing in the fresh air, you both smiled at each other and pulled away. Jean cleaned himself up, giving you one last kiss, and ordered you to leave the dock after him so as not to raise any suspicions.

With your fists clenched, you smiled and nodded, watching him leave.

A few minutes later, you sighed again, but this time the air felt heavier, colder, as if you were inhaling the same fear you had planted in him years ago.

“I miss him,” you repeated to yourself once more, like a broken record you couldn’t stop playing.

Stretching your arms, you yawned deeply as you slowly stood up from the dock, as if the weight of your own thoughts held you down. The wind still blew, playing with the loose strands of your hair as you turned to leave, your head bowed, trying to shake off the mental abyss you had routinely sunk into. Tired, you took one last deep breath, quickly shifting your mood, ready to join the infectious laughter of your friends, if only to drown out the echo of memories that haunted you.

But then, just as you took your first step, something stopped you.

Your eyes locked with his.

Two intense, dark pools that pierced every corner of your soul, fixed on you.

Time seemed to freeze in that instant, and a shiver ran down your spine. You felt your muscles tense, and the skin on your arms prickled under the weight of his gaze.

Those eyes… there was something in them, something that felt terrifyingly familiar.

For a second, the world disappears, and the only thing that exists is that pair of brown eyes looking at you with an intensity that suffocates you. The hate, or maybe the resentment, is palpable in his expression, and for a moment, you’re convinced that he knows everything.

That he remembers you.

That he is…

But before you can process the thought, his expression abruptly changes. The hardness vanishes and is replaced by a carefree smile that throws you off. That smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but his gesture is convincing.

He raises a hand and gestures for you to join the group, as if nothing had happened.

As if he hadn’t been on the verge of uncovering something long buried.

“Aren’t you coming?” he shouts in his usual casual tone.

Your feet remain rooted to the ground for another second, but your mind is spinning wildly.

Kruger.

That’s his name.

“Kruger.”

Not Eren.

Your shoulders drop.

Kruger is a name that should mean nothing, but instead, it becomes harder and harder to ignore with each passing moment.

There’s something about him, something in the way he looks at you.

But you let it go, returning the same smile to Kruger, forcing yourself to move. Your steps creak on the old dock as you tell yourself you’re overreacting, that it can’t be him.

Eren disappeared years ago. There’s no way it could be him.

But that doubt… that persistent shadow in the back of your mind gnaws at you, even as you reach his side and you both smile awkwardly while moving towards the group, who are still laughing uncontrollably.

Feeling your heart lodged in your throat, you join the group, trying to pull yourself together as you distance yourself from his side. The air feels denser now, harder to breathe.

In a blink, ignoring the sensation of his brown eyes on you, you join your friends, smiling and going along with their antics. You even laugh with them, but your gaze keeps drifting back to Kruger, as if your body refuses to accept the coincidence of it all.

And him… he seems to be enjoying your confusion, as if he knows something you have yet to figure out.

Night falls slowly, wrapping the camp in a warm darkness, interrupted only by the flickering glow of the campfire that Sasha and Connie managed to start with Kruger’s help. The fire crackles and throws orange sparks, lighting up the faces of everyone around it.

Lighthearted, carefree laughter fills the air.

Mikasa sits close to Armin, who smiles with his usual calm demeanor. Historia and Ymir sit further away, but they seem to be enjoying the moment too, intertwining their fingers under the dancing shadows, thinking no one sees them.

Rubbing your arms together, you stop analyzing everyone around you and sit beside Jean. As soon as he senses your presence, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you both scoot closer to the warmth of the flames. For a moment, everything seems normal.

You try to join in the jokes and laugh with the others, but your gaze keeps landing on Kruger, on his gestures, the way he moves within the group, charming them effortlessly.

It’s natural, too natural.

As if he’d always been with you.

You squint in his direction on the other side of the flickering flames, and quickly look away when his brown eyes lock onto yours, still with that calm smile on his face.

“Let’s play something,” Historia squeals, catching everyone’s attention. “I’m so bored.”

“You’re always bored,” Ymir rolls her eyes, instantly regretting it when Historia pulls her hand away from hers.

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Connie’s drunk voice echoes through the woods, breaking the tension that had built up around the circle.

“Truth or dare?” you mock, letting Jean wrap his arm around your waist and plant a possessive kiss on your neck. “What are we, five?”

Everyone laughs at Connie, who flips you off and calls you a name.

“C’mon, babe,” Jean murmurs against your neck, and you glance at him sideways. “It might be fun.”

With that said, everyone quickly sides with Jean, begging you to play. Their voices overwhelm you to the point where you give in, clicking your tongue and shooting a final glance at Kruger, who smirks at you.

The game of “truth or dare” starts with shy laughs and silly jokes, but as the alcohol spreads through everyone’s bloodstream, it becomes more daring, more provocative.

At first, Sasha chooses a dare and has to eat raw meat, which triggers laughter and grimaces from the group once she goes through with it.

Armin opts for truth and confesses his biggest fear, a response everyone receives with warmth.

Connie, as always, picks a dare and ends up making a fool of himself.

Kruger participates too, smiling but observant. Every time he looks at you, you feel like there’s something hidden beneath his carefree facade. You’re uneasy but try to hide it, playing the part they expect from you.

Then, it’s his turn.

The circle falls silent as he pauses longer than necessary, and you suddenly feel on edge. The night seems darker, as if the fire can barely break through the tension and light the surroundings.

Kruger looks at each of you with calculated calm, his brown eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place. And then, with a barely perceptible smile, he glances at you and drops the weight of his question, breaking the easy rhythm of the game.

“Truth or dare?” His eyes never leave yours as he asks, making you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

“Truth,” you blurt out quickly, your voice trembling.

Everything falls apart.

“Have you ever hurt someone?”

The silence that follows his words is deafening.

The laughter dies instantly, as if an invisible hand had snuffed out the fire in their throats. No one dares to move. The echo of the question rings in your mind, hitting you with the force of a fist.

You feel the weight of all the stares in the circle, but all you can focus on is the way Kruger’s eyes watch you.

Cold.

Serious.

Angry.

You freeze. Your heart pounds, each beat reverberating in your ears, drowning out the crackling of the wood. Jean beside you tenses, and you quickly notice that everyone is uncomfortable. Sasha and Connie avoid looking at each other. Armin lowers his head. Mikasa narrows her eyes but says nothing.

And there’s Kruger, watching you.

The smile has vanished from his face, leaving only a seriousness that pierces through you. The air between the two of you becomes thick, almost suffocating.

A lump forms in your throat, and your hands clench nervously on your knees. You want to speak, to say something, but the words stick in your mouth like a heavy stone. Your eyes widen as you continue to stare at him, his face eerily reminiscent of Eren’s for some inexplicable reason.

But then you look into his eyes and snap out of it, realizing how paranoid you’ve become.

“Does he know?” That question hits you again.

“What’s wrong?” Kruger presses, his voice low and calm, but there’s something in it that makes you feel cornered. “Nothing to say?”

Your friends exchange nervous glances, but the silence remains. The question lingers in the air, heavy with meaning.

You know it.

Everyone knows it.

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” you finally say, breaking the silence with a tense but firm voice, feeling judged under his gaze.

Kruger nods slowly, never taking his eyes off you. The knot in your throat tightens, and you realize your breathing has become shallow. You feel exposed, as if he can see beyond your memories, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

The question still hangs there, among all of you, like a sharp blade ready to tear through the false calm.

And the only thought you can’t shake is that he knows.

Kruger knows.

The tension that had filled the circle shatters abruptly with Connie’s explosive laughter. His laugh is loud, brazen, and it feels almost out of place in the heavy silence that had reigned. Everyone turns their heads towards him, surprised by his reaction, but he just shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he just heard.

“You hurt someone?” he says in your direction, still laughing, then glances at Kruger, who hasn’t stopped staring at you. “That’s ridiculous! Come on, Kruger, what are you talking about? Way to kill the vibe, man.”

His statement rings out with a disconcerting lightness. Connie’s grin is wide, carefree, as if everything that just happened was nothing more than an exaggerated joke. But that laugh, that carefree attitude, doesn’t relieve the weight pressing on your chest.

If anything, it makes it worse.

Your stomach churns. Connie’s words hit you like a hammer.

“Did you hurt someone?”

The phrase echoes in your mind, crashing into your memories with force. You know it’s true, and you know that, at some point, they were all part of it.

You, more than anyone.

You glance at your friends, hoping someone will say something, that someone will contradict him. But everyone looks uncomfortable. Jean lets out a nervous chuckle beside you, unsure of what to do. Sasha forces a smile, but it’s clear she doesn’t want to touch the subject. Armin avoids your eyes, and Mikasa just stays silent, as usual.

Kruger remains silent. He hasn’t stopped watching you since he asked the question. His expression, as unshaken as before, seems to evaluate every reaction from the group, but especially yours. His brown eyes don’t blink, and though his face remains neutral, you can feel the tension behind his gaze.

The air around the campfire feels heavier, denser. Though laughter tries to fill the space, the fire no longer feels warm to you—it feels oppressive.

“What a question, man,” Connie scratches his neck with a nervous laugh and seeks Kruger’s gaze as he speaks again. “She’s not that kind of person, Kruger. No one here is.”

Jean nods beside you, a tense smile on his lips.

“Yeah, Kruger, she’s not like that,” he adds, but his voice sounds hollow, as if even he doesn’t believe what he just said.

You look back at Kruger. He says nothing, but his eyes are locked on you, waiting.

“He knows something,” you think.

“He knows more than he’s saying.”

The pressure in your chest grows. Your friends’ laughter sounds distant, unreal. You try to take a deep breath, but the air doesn’t fill your lungs properly. The memory of those days in high school comes rushing back, vivid as if it had just happened. The teasing, the looks, the shoves. Everything you and your friends did now seems to swirl around you, like ghosts that never left.

And then Kruger finally speaks. His voice is soft, but each word cuts like a knife.

“Never?” he asks, his gaze fixed on you as his smile slowly fades, tilting his head slightly to the left. “Are you sure?”

The question isn’t for Connie, nor for the group in general.

It’s for you.

He knows it.

And so do you.

Kruger’s words hang in the air like a knife suspended just above you. You feel the weight of his gaze, that intensity that doesn’t fade, that doesn’t let you breathe. You try to form a response, but your throat is dry, and the words won’t come. You can barely swallow, and your nervousness is obvious.

Jean, noticing this, immediately steps in to defend you, as he always does. He straightens beside you, pulling his arm away from your waist to confront Kruger with a hardened, defiant expression.

“What the hell is your problem, Kruger?” Jean says tensely, his eyes blazing at the man who refuses to stop staring at you. “Don’t insinuate things that aren’t true. No one here is a bully. So stop stirring up crap.”

The confrontation shakes the circle. For a moment, everyone is silent, and the only sounds are the crackling of the firewood and the distant murmur of the breeze through the trees. Kruger maintains the same unshaken expression, his eyes still fixed on you, but then his mouth curves into a smile—one that doesn’t reach his eyes as they turn slowly towards Jean.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, in a tone so calm and neutral it almost unsettles you. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone. It was just a question.” He gestures with his hands as if retreating from the conversation, but there’s no real apology in his voice. It echoes around the fire as he turns his back and heads towards his cabin, leaving you all alone.

The atmosphere feels thick, almost suffocating. No one laughs this time. Everyone exchanges uneasy glances, and little by little, the group begins to dissolve.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Sasha says, breaking the tension with a light but clearly nervous tone as she stands up and stretches her arms toward the sky.

One by one, everyone starts getting up, mumbling something about resting and heading to their cabins. Connie, Ymir, Historia, Armin, and Mikasa say their goodnights with brief nods, and soon only Jean and you remain by the dying fire.

But even as the others leave, you can still feel Kruger’s eyes on you. That invisible weight doesn’t lift, no matter how hard you try to ignore it. His gaze seems to burn you from a distance—persistent, watchful. You don’t dare look back, though you know he’s still there, watching you from his cabin.

Beside you, Jean lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his messy hair, still irritated by the confrontation.

“We shouldn’t have let him come to the camp,” Jean mutters bitterly. “That guy’s weird.”

You nod, but your mind is elsewhere.

Kruger.

The name won’t leave you alone. There’s something about him, in the way he looks at you, challenges you, reminds you of what you’d rather forget. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about Eren, about the years that have passed, about what you did to him.

And now, that question keeps echoing in your mind: Is it him?

Jean stands up, offering you his hand to help you rise.

“Come on, we should head to bed too,” he says softly, his eyes filled with concern as he notices your silence. “Are you okay?”

You take his hand, but your movements are mechanical. The camp is darker now, the embers of the fire barely lighting the area around it, but you still feel the burn of that gaze on your back.

You start walking with Jean beside you toward your cabin, but before disappearing completely, you stop for a brief moment and glance back at Kruger’s cabin, where his eyes meet yours once again, catching you off guard.

And then, the smile he gives you is faint but loaded with something deeper, something dangerous that makes you think this night won’t be like the others.

As Kruger retreats into his cabin, Jean gently urges you to keep walking, and you do, but your mind remains trapped in those eyes, in that smile, in the growing certainty that the past has come back to claim what you left behind.

Eren… Kruger.

Could it be him?

With one last look at his cabin, you sigh and walk toward your own.

But you knew.

Something terrible was going to happen to you tonight.

•

The cabin is cloaked in shadow, lit only by the faint moonlight filtering through the cracks in the small windows around it. Jean wastes no time, leaning toward you, his warm breath on your skin, and before you can think of the consequences, his lips meet yours in a soft kiss.

You moan for a second before Jean slides his tongue into your mouth and silences you. But as you start to let go, unease courses through your body with a cold sensation you can’t ignore, and you open your eyes, scanning your surroundings as you feel like someone’s watching you.

The urgency of the situation grows in your mind, and you pull slightly away from Jean, seeking his gaze once you hear a frustrated groan escape his lips. He opens his eyes, and when your eyes meet, you speak, your expression serious.

“Jean…” you begin, but your voice breaks, filled with the tension you feel. “I think it’s best if you go back to your cabin.”

He frowns, confused, his hand still softly caressing your arm.

“Why?” he asks, a mix of concern and frustration in his tone as his eyes scan your face.

“I just… need a moment,” you respond, unable to articulate the truth. Fear coils in your chest, and your heart pounds, knowing it’s best for him to leave before you end up throwing up or something.

Finally, after a few seconds that feel like an eternity, Jean nods, his expression resigned. He steps away from you, his figure disappearing into the darkness of the path leading to his cabin without a final glance in your direction, leaving you alone with the anxiety building up inside you.

Once Jean is safely inside his cabin, you turn on your heels and close the door behind you, exhaling heavily as you slide down to the floor.

With a few last, unsteady breaths, you decide that sleep is the best remedy after the tense and distressing moments you’ve endured throughout the day. Your brain is mush, and you’re a mess, your thoughts consumed by Kruger and the many similarities he shares with your first love.

Then, you smack your head lightly, scolding yourself for thinking such absurd things. Your tired eyelids begin to fall, and you sink beneath your blankets, desperately trying to fall asleep as you close your eyes.

Hours pass, and your hope fades.

The night feels heavy, as if the very air is charged with a suffocating tension that won’t let you rest. The memories of Kruger and the feeling of being watched won’t allow you any peace, and after tossing and turning in bed for a while, you decide you need to clear your head.

So, with no other option, you pull the blankets off your body and, without a conscious thought, head toward the dock, where you know the calmness of the water might offer you some respite.

The sound of your bare feet against the wood of the dock echoes in the stillness of the night, blending with the chirping of crickets and the nocturnal animals that sing cheerfully around you, keeping you company.

Slowly, you begin to take off your green shorts and white t-shirt, leaving only your matching green underwear. Glancing over your shoulder one last time, you focus ahead and dive into the cold water, letting yourself be enveloped by the refreshing sensation as you swim aimlessly, though even underwater, you can still feel eyes watching you.

You try desperately to shake it off. But the calm you sought becomes a distant echo, your mind racing, and your awareness nagging you that someone’s watching.

Finally, with some sense of survival returning, you decide to leave the water, feeling the cool night air brush against your wet skin as your feet touch the dock again. Bending down to where your clothes lay, you quickly dress, a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach as a distant scream makes you go on full alert and start running back to your cabin.

Your rapid footsteps echo through the forest as your sneakers crunch against the dry leaves and small branches. You rush back to the camp, hoping the night air has dissipated some of the anxiety bubbling inside you, but when you arrive, the horror unfolds before you.

The camp is eerily silent, a silence that hasn’t gripped the place since everyone arrived.

There are no lights, no laughter.

It seems as though no souls are within your reach.

Feeling paranoid, you instinctively head toward Armin’s cabin, noticing that the usual orange glow that spills out every night is absent. Approaching the cabin, your heart sinks at the loneliness of it, and with trembling hands, you open the door, whispering his name.

But there’s no response, and your heart plummets into your stomach, filled with fear.

No longer caring about keeping your composure, you rush to his bed, but you find no one there. That’s when your survival instincts kick in, eight alarms blaring inside your head.

With your legs turned to jelly, you stumble out of his cabin, tripping on the steps at the entrance, and check each and every one of your friends’ cabins, finding the same result. Desperate and with tears in your eyes, you head toward Kruger’s cabin, but once again, you find nothing.

Now, standing in the center of all the cabins, you call out for your friends, your voice dripping with panic, but you are met only with silence. Unsure of what else to do, your mind seizes on a solution, and you quicken your pace toward the only remaining part of the camp, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

When you arrive at the main cabin, your worst fears are realized, and a blood-curdling scream escapes your mouth as you lay eyes on the bodies of your friends strewn across the floor, their faces frozen in lifeless expressions of terror.

Sasha, Connie, Armin, Mikasa, Historia, Ymir… They are all there, covered in blood, stripped of life.

Their dead eyes focus on you, and soon the urge to vomit overwhelms you as you clasp a hand over your mouth and your stomach churns. Shutting your eyes and turning away, you flee the scene, desperately trying to find Jean.

Hope sparks once more in your heart as you run toward the forest, calling out his name, falling a few times and scraping your knees, but even then, you refuse to stop searching for your boyfriend.

Until suddenly, you stop and collapse in place, the hope inside you dying.

Paralyzed where you stand, you fight against the urge to faint as you watch your boyfriend’s life being taken from him. Jean coughs up blood as he’s stabbed, his brown eyes meeting yours one last time. You freeze, locking eyes with him, your legs tingling as he, with all his strength, shouts at you.

“Run!”

Then, his eyes close, and you know that no soul remains in his body. You try to run, but your body won’t obey, too terrified and too paralyzed to make a single wrong move. But it isn’t just fear that holds you in place—it’s the figure standing at the center of the horror.

Kruger, with his cold, calculated gaze, turns toward you, and your heart stops completely.

In an instant, the world becomes a blur. You’re aware of every beat of your heart, every quick and shallow breath. But when he fully turns his face to the moonlight, what you see freezes your blood.

Those green eyes that have haunted you, that you could never forget, are now stalking you from a distance, flipping your world upside down in a heartbeat. The same intensity, the same agony you had felt in the memories of your past are here before you tonight.

The boy you once bullied, the one you had a secret romance with, the one you had buried in a dark corner of your mind.

He’s standing right in front of you, looking at you with hatred as drops of blood drip from his face and hands, which are holding a knife covered in dark liquid from the bodies of all your friends.

Kruger.

Eren.

Kruger is Eren.

Eren is here.

Eren has come back for you.

Swallowing hard, you feel trapped in a nightmare, the horror crashing over you like a tsunami. Confusion, guilt, and a deep fear tangle in your chest, speeding up your battered heart as it pounds in the presence of the man before you.

How had he gotten here?

“Hi, meine liebe,” Eren whispers, his German accent soft but laced with venom that makes you tremble as he uses the nickname he gave you so long ago. “I’ve missed you.”

You can’t move. Your mind screams at you to run, to get out of there, but terror paralyzes every muscle in your body, and his green eyes, still shining like precious stones amidst the darkness, hypnotize you, keeping you exactly where you stand.

“Eren…” you manage to whisper, his name a lament on your lips. And in that moment, the reality of what you did, of what he’s been through, crashes into you.

The image of his pain, his pleas, the times you laughed at his expense, all come flooding back like a haunting echo twisted in his dark gaze.

He takes a step forward, and the darkness in his eyes deepens. Trembling where you stand, you feel small, fragile, almost at the mercy of his torment. Eren is no longer the boy you once knew; the man before you has been shaped by hatred and vengeance.

“What’s the matter, my love?” he asks, his tone now a threatening whisper, growing with every step he takes, inching closer and closer to you. “Didn’t you miss me?”

In that moment, when a fake pout forms on his lips, you realize that he truly came back to claim what belongs to him and to remove whatever had been standing in his way for the past five years.

Eren is here to make you remember everything you were, all the bitterness you had both sown in each other.

And the nightmare has only just begun.

With nerves racing through your veins, a laugh escapes your mouth, causing Eren’s sharp jaw to pulse with rage.

You let out a laugh just like the ones that always made Eren’s blood boil.

You had no idea what awaited you, couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had planned for you.

This summer, this night.

For the first time…

He would be the hunter, and you the prey.

•

Knowing what was coming once he started to take faster steps toward you.

The horror intensified in your chest as you spun on your heels, launching yourself without thinking into the depths of the forest as you ran. The shadows of the trees stretched and narrowed around you, following you, and the darkness became your only ally.

The trees loomed over you like silent guardians, but there wasn’t enough shelter in them to hide you from Eren. As you ran, the image of his dark, threatening figure flashed over and over in your mind.

A desperate whimper escapes you as you hear the crunch of leaves under his feet, never stopping as he chased you, the sound of the knife sliding between his fingers haunting you like a siren’s call, tempting you to turn and fall into his arms.

Your heart pounds hard, each beat a reminder of what’s at stake.

You have to escape.

Branches scratch your skin as you venture deeper into the forest, every step pulling you into the darkness, and adrenaline courses through your veins. The air becomes thick and humid, and the mist creeps up to your feet, as if the forest itself is conspiring to trap you with the man laughing behind you.

Doubting between the trees, you veer left, searching for a path, a hiding spot. But the fear doesn’t stop; in every corner, in every shadow, you feel him closing in. His cold, mocking laughter echoes in your ears, and your eyes start to well up with tears.

Eren knows you’re afraid.

And he loves it.

“Why?!” you scream, your voice echoing in the silence of the forest, hoping that somehow, he’ll hear your plea as he draws closer and closer to you. “Why are you doing this?”

Your words fall heavy between you, and Eren’s laughter cuts off. There’s no response from him, only the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your head, mingling with your slowing footsteps.

As you glance back, a wave of panic overwhelms you. The forest feels alive, but not in your favor. You know you’re trapped. The space feels smaller, as if the shadows are closing in around you, corralling you on a silver platter for him.

And when your pursuit reaches its end as you hit a rocky wall that greets you, mocking you without words, you realize you’re cornered.

You know you’re screwed.

Then, a sound behind you makes you freeze, and everything is over.

Your mouth falls open, gasping for air, and your body trembles with fear as you hear the crunch of leaves behind you. Swallowing hard before your mouth runs dry, you slowly turn, and there…

You see him.

You slowly back away, your legs trembling, as Eren smiles at you gently, his face tilting slightly, and his green eyes gleam with an unsettling intensity in the dim light as he comes closer and closer to you.

His face is marked by rage, every muscle in his face tense with the fury he feels toward you, but even with that mask of hatred, you can see what his eyes hide—a deeper sadness swirling within them, a sadness you don’t fully understand but one that makes you want to cradle his face and shower him with the affection he had been deprived of for five years.

But the knife gleaming in his hands is a cruel reminder that Eren’s feelings don’t match yours.

He hated you, unlike you.

You try to speak when he’s finally in front of you, his body heat enveloping your fear-chilled body, and his green eyes beckon you home. For a second, you’re tempted to touch him, and you let your hand slowly reach for his face, but when he realizes your intentions, he raises his hand, free of the knife, and wraps his blood-stained fingers around your throat, squeezing painfully against your pulse, leaving you breathless as he pushes your body roughly against the wall behind you, forcing the air from your lungs without permission.

Instinctively, you grab for his hand, desperately trying to loosen or remove his grip on you, but you only waste your time as he cruelly mocks your pathetic attempts and, in return, presses his body even harder against yours, squeezing your throat with that same intensity until it cracks.

“What’s wrong? You’re not enjoying this?” His cold breath brushes over your nose, which is left without air, his question coming out in a raspy tone as he lifts the knife in your direction, the steel gleaming in the faint moonlight filtering through the leaves above you. “Strange. You always had fun with me like this, love.”

Your body freezes for a moment, and you quickly glance at him in pain as a wave of memories crashes into your mind, guilt welling up inside.

You can’t escape what you did.

“Eren…” you manage to murmur, your throat tight and your pulse pounding under his hand, but the sound of his name is a mix of fear and sorrow.

His hand on your neck loosens just a little at the sound of his name leaving your lips in that tone that used to get anything you wanted from him. Your eyes remain half-closed from the weight of his hand on your windpipe, and your palms move from his wrist to his face, finally allowing you to stroke his cheek with a smile on your lips.

Then, in a blink, the magic is gone as hatred resurfaces in those emeralds of his, and his hand tightens once more, depriving you of air.

“Don’t say my name.” He steps closer, his breath falling over your lips as he finishes his sentence. “A bitch like you doesn’t deserve to say my name.”

“Eren…” An irritated growl escapes his chest as he hears you, clicking his tongue in disapproval as his grip tightens around your neck, his eyes locked onto yours.

He gives you a satisfied smile without breaking eye contact as he slips his muscular thigh between your legs. He raises his eyebrows mockingly as he watches your eyes widen in surprise, and you gasp when he lifts it to the point that his knee presses against your clitoris, forcing you to let out a pathetic moan.

With desperation and a tingling between your legs, you bring one hand to the slippery stones behind you, desperately trying to cling to them, while your other hand clings to the wrist of the arm pressing against your throat, and in desperation, you dig your nails hard into his tanned skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks that match the dried blood on them.

“Look at you,” he growls, his teeth grazing your ear, and the hand with the knife in it grabs your hips, forcing them to grind against his thigh. “Isn’t this fun for you?” His laughter vibrates against your skin. “Because it is for me, love.”

Frightened, you open your eyes and try to meet his gaze. Your teeth clench, trying to keep any more traitorous moans from escaping your mouth, but when you finally focus on his eyes, you’re caught off guard by his blank expression—the same look of a wounded man, though his determination doesn’t waver.

When Eren notices your pity-filled gaze, the hatred returns, and his grip on you turns murderous.

“I waited so long for this moment. These five years of watching you from the shadows were hell for me. Every time I saw you with that idiot Jean, all I wanted to do was kill him, rip his guts out in front of you, and fuck you over them,” his voice barely a whisper, loaded with a contained fury that sends chills down your spine.

His hand, still holding the knife, leaves your hips and travels up your body until it reaches your breasts, where he starts to roughly grope them, the handle of the knife jabbing uncomfortably against them. His mouth moves to your cheeks, and his tongue darts out, beginning to lick the tears falling from them without end. “Today, it’s finally my time to play with you.”

You look at him in panic as he raises the knife above you, and at that moment, the reality of what you’ve caused crashes down on both of you like a giant stone.

It’s not just a game.

It’s not just a threat, and his wounded gaze confirms it.

You feel the need to justify yourself and apologize, but the words get stuck in your throat. How can you apologize for a past that cannot be erased?

The answer was simple—you couldn’t.

And then, in an act of desperation, as the knife gleams closer to you, you lift your own knee and hit his pelvis, making him groan in pain as he steps back. In that moment, with his hands off your body and his presence away from yours, you gasp for air and turn on your heels, running away from him once more.

“Damn bitch!” Eren shouted behind you, and the sound of his heavy, determined steps echoed in your mind, causing you to stumble.

But you don’t stop. You keep running, plunging further into the darkness. Your lungs burn from the air they’re now filled with after being deprived for minutes. You hesitate to take a break, but the memory of Eren’s sharp knife is a shadow looming over you, driving you to flee even faster.

Fear becomes your only companion as you rush through the dark, and with each thud of your heart, a question keeps repeating: What will you do when he finally catches up?

Your pace starts to slow as exhaustion begins to overtake you. You reduce your speed when you hear nothing behind you, and stopping for a second, you place your hands on your knees, catching your breath.

And then, the air escapes you again when, suddenly, Eren grabs you.

“Where do you think you’re going, herzchen?” His hands grip your hair with merciless strength, and a strangled cry leaves your lips as he pulls you back, slamming your back against his chest.

The pressure of his body against yours is suffocating, and the world around you blurs into a chaos of emotions and sensations.

Your heart pounds, echoing in your ears like a drum as the reality of his proximity overwhelms you. The contact is both cold and hot, a contradiction on your skin that makes you tremble. Panic seizes you, and the fight to free yourself becomes a desperate dance between attraction and terror.

“Let me go!” you scream, your hands flailing behind you, landing random blows as his grip on your hair immobilizes you.

In a stroke of luck, your hand connects with his cheek, the slap resounding in the quiet, and you smile in victory. But as quickly as that smile appeared, it vanishes the moment you feel Eren’s fist slam into your stomach with brutal force, knocking the little air you’d fought so hard to gather out of you.

“What’s wrong?” Eren laughs in your ear, and his fist strikes your stomach again, making you cry out in pain. “Not smiling anymore?”

You babble, trying not to vomit from the force of his punches, and before you can fight back, Eren throws both of you to the ground. His weight crashes suffocatingly onto yours, and you scream in agony as his knees dig into yours with the clear intent to break your legs.

“Ahhh, stop!” you cry, tears choking your voice, but Eren only rolls his eyes at you from above, pressing his knees harder into your legs to silence you.

Then, he leans down toward where you lie on the ground and strokes your hair before violently yanking it, forcing you to arch your back painfully to look at him. When you do, his smile only grows at the sight of your tears gleaming in the moonlight.

“How does it feel to be humiliated like this?” Eren leans in closer, his voice dark and filled with a bitterness that cuts through the air. His hot breath brushes against your neck, and a shiver runs down your spine as you feel the tip of his knife graze your collarbones. “Doesn’t this amuse you?”

“Eren, please…” you manage to say, though your voice shakes from the pain radiating through your knees, numbing every limb in your body. The plea escapes you like an echo of memories you’ve tried to bury.

But it doesn’t matter.

The pain of his past mingles with the fear of the present, and it drowns both of you in a never-ending abyss.

He doesn’t respond. His emerald eyes watch you, and you feel your legs buckle under the weight of the situation and his knees. His knife moves from your collarbones to your face, and you sob as its sharp edge lightly grazes your cheeks.

“You always laughed at me,” he continues, his eyes locked on you, revealing a deep sadness hidden behind all his rage. “You always toyed with me. You led me on again and again, only to kill that stupid hope you planted in my sheets the next day, when you and your fucking friends made my life hell.”

Eren holds you still, his body against yours a prison of overwhelming emotions. Sadness, anger, betrayal—it all mixes in the air between you. You look at him and see your past. The image of the wounded boy, the one who suffered in silence, now stands before you, claiming his place in the story you’ve forgotten.

The internal struggle grows.

You realize he’s not just a monster, not just a pursuer. He is the product of your cruelty, of decisions you made without thought. The memory of his green eyes, that look that haunts you, now becomes a mirror showing you the truth you’ve evaded.

“Eren, I…” you begin, but the knot in your throat prevents you from continuing when his knife swiftly slices into your cheek, drawing blood instantly.

“What? Do you regret it?” he interrupts, his voice dripping with irony. The anger in his tone is palpable, and you feel the pressure in your chest rise. “I’m sorry, but you can’t. You don’t have the right.”

You have no answers except screams filled with pain and desperate pleas for him to leave you alone, to forget his torture. You feel lost between who you were and who you are now. The guilt chokes you, but Eren seems to take pleasure in your torment. His body is pressed against yours, and the line between pain and desire blurs slowly between you two.

The knife gleams in his hand, and terror reignites inside you, flooding you with adrenaline. In that moment, a spark of determination surges within you, and you act.

With a burst of strength, you twist your body, throwing Eren off balance, and you try to escape his grip. Your arms tingle as, with a swift motion, you manage to connect your elbow to his face, causing blood to gush from his nose as the hit lands. Your eyes meet his, and in that split second, you understand that the confrontation looming ahead is inevitable.

Eren doesn’t look at you as blood begins to drip from his nose, droplets falling onto your face unexpectedly. With anger boiling in his veins, Eren drops his knife and flips you over, grabbing both of your hands with one of his, pinning them above your head with force.

With his body now pressed against your pelvis and your gazes locked together, you freeze as a smile grows on his blood-covered face from the blow you landed. Helpless to stop him, you feel his free hand caress your face tenderly, and foolishly, you lean into his touch. But before you can process it, his palm turns into a fist, slamming into your cheek, whipping your head to the side and leaving you dizzy.

The metallic taste of blood explodes in your mouth as you try to recover from the hit. Then, his hand returns to your face, and you close your eyes, bracing for another blow. But instead, you feel his fingers gripping your jaw.

His eyes are expectant, and his sadistic smile grows even wider as he forces his thumb into your mouth, prying it open as you tense up to resist. Nevertheless, Eren forces your mouth open, and with one last smirk, he presses his lips to yours and spits directly into your mouth.

Your eyes shoot open in disgust, your body writhing as his blood mixes with yours on your tongue. The taste is vile, and you whimper as Eren bites down angrily on your lower lip, tearing the skin for his amusement.

“What do I taste like, love?” His breath brushes against your mouth, and your chest heaves with rage.

You don’t answer his question, your face twisted in pure annoyance. Without thinking, you gather your saliva and spit forcefully in his direction. His smile vanishes instantly, and the darkness swirling in his eyes serves as your final warning before he slaps you again, harder than before, if that were even possible.

“Go to hell!” you pant, exhausted, locking your gaze with his, feeling his grip on your hands tighten as he sees the tears glistening in your eyes.

“You don’t have to do this…” you whisper, tasting the metallic tang of your own blood in your mouth, your voice steady but trembling. And in an instant, your words transform into a desperate scream. “You don’t have to be like this!”

Eren seems surprised by your response, and for a brief moment, his gaze softens. It’s a crack in his darkness, a glimpse of the person you once knew. But that spark quickly dies, replaced by the hatred that has been his only companion for so long.

Fear grips you again, and in one swift motion, you drive your knee into his pelvis once more. He curses under his breath, fed up with your defiance, and flips you over, tying your hands together behind your back. Grabbing your hair, he drags you toward a tree. You cry out as the branches scrape your knees, but Eren ignores your pleas and shoves you against the tree while you’re still on the ground.

The impact of the fresh wood against your shoulder blades makes you groan. Your vision blurs as you look around, and your throat burns with each exhale.

Crouching in front of you, Eren begins to admire you, his trembling hands running over your exposed thighs. With one final glance, he yanks your shorts off, taking your panties with them, leaving you exposed to his ravenous gaze and the cool air hitting your bare skin.

“So fucking perfect, herzchen,” his voice trembles, coming out as a needy sigh as he spreads your legs for him.

“You’re sick, you— ahhh…”

Your words choke in your throat as the handle of his knife presses against your clit while he positions himself in front of you. Your legs stay open around him as he forces your right thigh to stretch wider for his pleasure. The only sound escaping your lips is a needy moan, cut short when you throw your head back as the handle begins to move slowly in circles against you, your eyes squeezing shut, unable to meet Eren’s mocking gaze.

“Look at me, love,” Eren speaks sweetly, the handle of his knife slowly pushing inside you. The wet sound between your legs makes your face burn with shame, and you gasp, unable to hold back your moans.

“I told you to look at me,” his voice grows darker as the knife plunges deeper into you.

“I-I… I can’t—”

His laugh emerges, tense and irritated, but his eyes don’t leave you. His gaze travels to your bouncing chest with every thrust of his knife into your heat, and he gives you one last chance to open your eyes.

When you don’t, Eren pulls the knife out and, in a swift motion, tears your white shirt in half, exposing your breasts to his view. Your eyes fly open in terror, contorting your face in fear, and your mouth gulps for air, your bound hands clenching as he cruelly pinches one of your nipples.

His eyes return to yours, and he smiles, pleased to have your attention back on him. “There she is.”

The mockery in his voice makes you grit your teeth, your eyes filled with a desire to kill him, but that desire evaporates when Eren plunges the handle of his knife back into your needy heat, thrusting it harder than before as he rolls your erect nipple between his fingers.

“Is this what it takes to shut you up?” he laughs, and you cry from the pain in your bound hands mixed with the pleasure of his knife inside you.

“What’s the matter?” The knife pulls out and begins to circle your clit again. The lubrication from your arousal only intensifies the sensation, and you give in, unable to stop yourself from moaning as his lips brush against yours, barely a touch. “Too good to think about what a whore you are?” The knife plunges back inside, curving toward your pleasure point. His laughter spills over your mouth, which can’t stop moaning. “Pathetic.”

Unable to endure it any longer, you look up at him, eyes pleading, and the words that fall from your lips are filled with a yearning you can’t control.

“Can’t I have redemption?” You close your eyes for a second as the knife disappears from your heat, sighing before smiling in Eren’s direction.

Still crouched before you, Eren pulls back, his expression a whirlwind of emotions: anger, confusion, and lust. The tension between you is palpable, like a taut string ready to snap at any moment. Soon, he smiles, playing along, leaning in closer to you.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he yanks it back, forcing your face nearer to his. His lips now graze yours, and his breath, cool like morning air, stings your nose.

“Redemption?” he murmurs, and your smile fades as his knife begins to trail down the valley of your breasts.

His eyes flicker quickly from your chest to your face, smiling when he sees the worry etched in your expression. “Do you really think you deserve redemption?”

The knife slices your skin, and your stomach churns.

With an almost instinctual impulse, you open your eyes and lean closer to him, giving him your full attention. You offer one final smile before sticking out your tongue to lick his salty lips.

“Come on, Eren,” you whisper against his mouth, feeling his grip on your hair tighten. Your body trembles with the fear of failure as you swallow hard to steady your voice. “We both know the things we’ve done were never worthy of redemption.

A drop of blood spills from your breasts as Eren’s hand trembles.

How foolish.

“You…” His body shakes, unsure how to react to your words.

His past feelings betray him, and in an act of bravery and desperation,

You kiss him.

“You stupid bitch,” he tries to pull away, but you bite his lip hard, preventing that from happening.

Two seconds pass.

The air grows colder.

He relents.

A final insult escapes his lips before he pulls your body into his arms, holding you tightly. His lips press against yours with urgency, returning the bite with equal intensity.

You both gasp into each other’s mouths, the kiss laden with memories, forgotten passions, and the complicity you once shared.

But the unexpected happens.

In an instant, you feel the cold steel against your skin. The knife plunges into your neck like a sharp pain that quickly transforms into a familiar warmth; blood begins to flow, and you feel your body tremble, but this time,

You don’t pull away.

Despite the pain and confusion, you keep clinging to his lips. Your neck burns from the stretch and the wound forming from the silver blade that digs in deeper with each passing second.

Tears fall, and you sob, driving Eren wild.

With his body shaking, Eren drops the knife to the ground, the metallic sound echoing in the darkness like a reflection of his internal struggle. Then, his lips move against yours, intensifying the kiss, as if this time he’s searching for something more than just revenge.

Love and hate intertwine; his hands move around you, seeking a connection that seemed lost. The knife may have wounded your body, but the kiss becomes a silent pact, a reconciliation between the pain you’ve shared and the desire that never extinguished.

You both sink into that confusion, time halting as the outside world fades away, leaving only the two of you, trapped in a moment of passion and betrayal.

Blood continues to flow from you, a reminder that what you once had cannot return. Yet, in the depths of his eyes, you see a glimmer of something more, a search for redemption that could transcend the pain and suffering you both have caused.

“Eren…” you moan his name, feeling your strength begin to fade, but you won’t let fear consume you.

He stops, his lips pulling away from yours, and for a moment, hate and love find themselves in a precarious balance. The storm in his eyes reflects the chaos in your heart, but in that moment, you feel like two lost souls finally understanding each other.

“Stop…” you manage to whisper between gasps, but his hands only grip your body tighter, smothering your words. There’s a flash of fury in his eyes, and you sense he’s about to unleash a storm within himself.

And before you can gauge his movements,

He gives you one last look before pulling away from your lips, leaving you confused with swollen lips. A scream escapes your already wounded throat as he slips two of his fingers inside your warmth, laughing as he resumes kissing you.

“Stop?” he mocks, biting your lip. “How many times did I beg you to stop, and you didn’t?”

“I-I’m sorry, I, nghhh.”

The words die in your mouth with a pathetic moan as you feel his teeth scrape your nipple while he quickens his movements inside you, arching in a way that makes your toes curl.

As the tension between you intensifies, Eren’s hands begin to explore your body with desperate urgency. Your wetness spreads across your body, and the desire that was once intertwined with hate now turns into a palpable need as he smiles and kisses you again.

With hatred still surging between you and the struggle wanting to escape your bodies, he releases your hands and grabs your legs in one swift motion, dragging you to the floor, positioning himself over you in an instant.

Your aching hands become stones in a death grip as you let them drop onto Eren’s face, but to him, your blows are barely a caress that he effortlessly stops as he lets his saliva impact your face with force.

Your struggle doesn’t cease, and you twist your body in desperation, unable to do much against his sturdy frame on top of you.

“Stop fighting,” he says, and with a swift movement, Eren tears at your torn shirt, the fabric sliding down your skin and tossed aside, leaving your body exposed to the night breeze. “You’re just making a fool of yourself.”

You feel the cold course through your body, but the warmth of his presence envelops you, raising the temperature between you until you can’t hold back anymore. You stop fighting, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to kiss him again, this time whispering with a smile on your lips, “I’m sorry, Ren. I was so mean to you in the past.” You gasp as you feel his length rubbing against your exposed sex. “Do you forgive me now?”

Eren just laughs, grinding his erection against your needy sex, and you both moan into each other’s mouths as his nails scratch your hips.

Your hands glide along his chest, tugging at his black sweatshirt while his eyes watch you with an almost wild intensity. Each piece of clothing that falls to the ground feels like another step toward a connection you both have longed for but also feared.

When you’re left in the intimacy of the night, skin against skin feels electrifying, as if every inch of your being is claiming the other. Eren lowers his gaze, his eyes now filled with desire, and he takes you by the waist, pulling you toward him with a force that makes you feel alive as he rubs the tip of his length against your clit.

Your hands strike his chest again, but with a dry movement, Eren slaps you hard before pulling your jaw toward him, forcing you to look at him.

“Let go of me, you idiot!” you gasp as his sex hits your warmth a few times, due to Eren’s rough movements.

“Do you want that?” His hands press down on yours, pinning them to the ground on either side of your face as he holds you captive beneath him.

“Hmmm? Tell me,” his hips move, and his sex grazes your clit with stimulating friction. “Do you want me to let you go, herzchen?”

“Ahhh, I-I…” Your warmth throbs with need, and in a natural impulse, your hips seek more stimulation.

Eren’s laughter tickles your neck as he lets his lips fall heavy with wet kisses around it. “I don’t think you want me to stop.”

“Especially knowing that…” His teeth clamp down on your pulse and bite there. “All the nights you spent in Jean’s sheets…” His tongue begins to lick the wounded spot, trailing over your neck to the mark his knife left on you. “The only thing you thought about,” his lips suck, “the only thing that made you finish…”

You scream, and your legs wrap around his hips as he thrusts deep into your warmth, confirming his statement. “It was always me.”

A moan of yours echoes throughout the forest as his heat expands within you without warning, and you cling to him, allowing your nails to drag across his bare back, which ripples with muscle as his arms fall to either side of your face, enclosing you within them once he lets go.

“Eren…” you gasp, feeling how his hips move slowly, making you bounce beneath him with each strong but steady thrust that steals the air from your lungs.

Your mind turns to mush, and your body relaxes as he only bothers to mock you, thrusting harder when you’re about to hit him or say something in his direction.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice heavy with a mix of possessiveness and longing.

“I hate you,” you gasp against his lips, pressing against his warmth as he laughs.

His lips pull away from yours, and he begins to leave kisses along your neck down to your breasts, where his teeth latch onto your nipples, quickening his thrusts again and again, leaving you speechless.

Without thinking, your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him toward you as you reconnect your lips in a more desperate kiss, where both of you share moans and gasps.

“Do you?” His breath falls on you as his movements speed up. “Why do you hate me, herzchen?”

“Because… ahhh,” you bite your lower lip as his thumb starts to massage your clit, his eyes focused on you, searching for an answer. “Y-You left me.”

“Owww,” Eren moves one of his hands to your hair, tenderly combing through it. His thumb trails down to your bruised lips, and he plants a mocking kiss on them. “Did you miss me that much?”

“Y-Yes. Don’t leave this time,” you plead, your voice trembling as the fear of losing him mingles with the desire to have him close.

Eren responds by burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent as if he’s trying to absorb you into his essence. It fills you with an almost primal need, one that seems to transcend words and the past that haunts them.

Both of you are trapped in a dance of repressed desires and forgotten resentments, and in the midst of that struggle, you finally find yourselves in a place of vulnerability, ready to explore what it truly means to be each other’s.

“You’re crazy,” Eren murmurs, his eyes burning with a mix of rage and desire. The intensity of his gaze envelops you, and his hips quicken their movements with more force as you cling to him desperately.

Despite his declaration, you can’t help but smile, a defiant grin that reveals both the pain and the connection you share. Without thinking, you lean into him and kiss him again, drawing him closer with a desperation that surprises you and makes your body tremble.

The kiss is wild, filled with a raw energy that defies the logic of his words. You feel his lips moving against yours, and a scream escapes your mouth as he bites your lip, a pleasurable pain that only intensifies the fire burning between you.

The line between love and hate blurs in this moment, and before you can think about the consequences, you find yourself trapped in his embrace, Eren’s hands exploring your body with a voracious passion.

“You’re a mess,” he says between gasps, his hands gripping your waist tightly, as if he fears you might escape. His voice is rough, but the desire emanating from him is undeniable.

“And you’re the only one who can handle it,” you reply, locking your gaze with his, feeling the adrenaline course through your body, bringing you to a boiling point.

In one swift motion, Eren flips you over and pushes you against the ground, his body pressing against yours from behind, and you feel the heat of his skin against yours. There’s a fire in his eyes that you can barely decipher, but you know it’s there, burning intensely.

Then he starts to thrust into your body from behind, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the forest. His hand lands on your ass countless times, delivering painful slaps that leave your skin bruised. Before you can think of anything else,

You feel the tip of his knife digging into your backside. With a startled look, you turn over your shoulder to see Eren’s face, marveling as he runs the knife along your skin.

“What are you going to…?” you gasp as he silences you with a hard thrust.

“You’re mine,” Eren repeats, and you freeze as you feel him take your hands and restrain them behind your back, rendering you helpless. “And I always like to mark what is mine.”

Before you can process his words, his thrusts slow down as his knife begins to pierce your skin slowly. You scream from the pain, but Eren simply calms you with praise, telling you how well you’re doing for him.

The knife stops at some point, and his heavy hand lands on the wounded spot, making you cry. When he releases your hands, you turn around and hit him, only to be met with laughter as he pulls you in and places you straddling his hips, thrusting into you once again without giving you time to respond to his bestial movements.

Both of you are filled with an animalistic need, and the hatred becomes a force that binds you together in an act of unrestrained passion. Every touch is fierce, every kiss a reminder of your shared history, and as your bodies meet in a rhythm of intense emotions, the past seems to fade away.

Eren takes control, his movements relentless, as if he wants to mark every corner of your being with his presence. The struggle between hate and desire becomes palpable, and every brush of his skin against yours is infused with explosive energy.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he asks, his hot breath against your skin as he continues to explore every inch of you.

“Not exactly…” you reply, but you can’t help it; desire surpasses resentment, and in that moment, all you want is to lose yourself in him.

The line between pleasure and pain echoes your relationship, and in response to your defiance, you start to sync your movements with his as you ride him fervently.

Eren meets your challenge with renewed ferocity, his movements becoming more intense, overpowering yours, and you feel the hate he once felt for you transform into something deeper, more complex. As the world fades away around you, it’s just the two of you, trapped in a moment that is both a climax of repressed emotions and a confrontation with the ghosts that have haunted you.

“Liar,” Eren says, still moving, as he brings his thumb to your warmth and starts to gently stroke your clit, quickening both your climaxes. “I hate it when you lie to me. What if I leave something inside you to remind you of me when I’m gone?”

“Hmpp,” you stammer, bewildered, sighing with relief as Eren positions both of you on the ground, resuming his more ferocious movements. “What about—”

And only there, amidst the haze, does your mind suddenly alert you to the realization that Eren was raw fucking you, with no intention of releasing himself anywhere but inside you.

Alarmed, you try to push him away, but it’s in vain. His hand grips your wrists and pulls them above your head while he places one of your legs over his shoulder, quickening the pace and cutting your protests into incoherent moans mixed with his.

“Eren, please!” you plead against his lips in the midst of the kiss, feeling your body burn from the stretching. “You’re going to regret it if you do.”

“Regret? Me?” You melt as he looks at you, sighing when his lips kiss your wet neck. “I don’t think so, love.”

With his uncoordinated movements, you feel one last thrust silence your pleas before Eren empties himself inside you without warning, filling you to the brim and making your warmth pulse in your own climax.

Moaning incoherently, your body trembles and relaxes as his thrusts cease. His cock softens and slips slowly out of you with curses leaving his lips.

You think you have a moment of rest until his voice pulls you from your trance, and your eyes lock with his.

“Hmmm,” his smile widens as his fingers move toward your warmth, which expels remnants of his semen, flowing out of you in spurts. “Let’s not waste anything.”

“W-Wait…” beside you, Eren holds you in his arms, his legs hooking around yours and pulling them apart. His chest presses against your back, and his free hand brushes the damp strands of hair from your face.

“Wait for what, herzchen?” your head falls onto his shoulder, and you cling to his arm that wraps around your chest, twisting your nipples, while his other hand slides in and out of your sensitive heat.

“I-I’m sensitive,” you whimper, clawing at his arm.

“Ahhh, right” Eren places a wet kiss on your cheek and begins to rub your clit with his palm. “You just came too, didn’t you?”

“Nghhh, yes.”

“Mmm,” Eren adds a third finger, and you roll your eyes. “But you’re such a good girl, love. I know you can give me one more.”

“I can’t, Eren,” your hand moves up to his hair, gripping him as you feel your legs close, but he stops you by spreading your legs even wider, making your task impossible.

“Yes, yes you can, love.”

His warmth builds on your buttocks, and you moan mindlessly as his fingers begin to curl inside your sex, which still expels traces of him. His fingers thrust in and out forcefully, as if he wants his semen to be embedded in you, and his palm slaps against your clit countless times while he penetrates your heat.

“Ahhh, Eren. Wait!” You tug hard on his hair when the pain from overstimulation turns into pleasure, and you feel the urge to urinate wash over you.

His arm tightens further around your stomach, and his hand pulls harder on your nipple. His fingers in your heat speed up their movements, and his laughter resonates throughout your body.

“Let it out. You’re begging me to make you come, love,” his fingers pull out quickly to give your heat a few light slaps, and your whole body tingles.

“N-No, I’m going to pee,” you hyperventilate as the pleasure expands within you. “Please wait, I’m going to wet myself!”

Eren’s laughter is cruel and low, as if he knows something you don’t, and ignoring you, he rubs his cock against your back once more. “That son of a bitch didn’t even give you a real orgasm, did he?”

Your throat burns with desperate grunts, and your tongue hangs out of your mouth, heavy and drooling. Your heat expands around his entire length again, and when you can’t take it anymore, you let your eyelids drop as you turn your face to connect your lips with Eren’s in a wet, desperate kiss.

His thick brows furrow with pleasure as his hips collide against you again and again. His hand moves to your clit and begins to rub it, creating another orgasm.

“Come with me, herzchen” your breasts rise and fall against his arm, and your legs bounce relentlessly against his. “Make a mess on me.”

“Ahhh, shit, Eren…” a cry interrupts your words when a particularly strong thrust makes you gasp, reopening the wound on your buttocks.

One of Eren’s hands leaves your breasts to move to your neck, pressing hard while his fingers continue working on your clit. His palm stimulates the connection of your bodies. His smile grows wider within the kiss, and with a few final thrusts, he commands you:

“Come now.”

With a guttural moan from both of you, you both reach an irreversible climax, making your minds race a thousand miles an hour, your brains turning to mush inside your heads.

Eren pulls out of you, and you feel more moisture than you’re used to on your legs. Blinking a few times, you lower your gaze only to see Eren’s white semen mixing with a translucent liquid still flowing from you, expelled by Eren’s hand as it gives a few last thrusts to your warmth.

“See?,” you sigh as he speaks. His hand moves away from your heat and, with both of your fluids on it, he brings it to your face, letting the liquid smear across your skin in a humiliating way. “A fucking mess.”

His fingers press into your mouth, and the bitter, salty taste of both of you bursts on your palate. “How do we taste together?”

You don’t respond; you can’t.

All you do is close your eyes, savoring the flavor of both of you while letting your tongue swirl around his fingers, which elicits a satisfied grunt from his chest.

“Good…” you smile, letting your lips crash against his in a possessive kiss. “I missed you so much.”

His smile spreads across your lips as he whispers over them. “Really?”

“Yes…” turning and breaking free from his grip, you straddle him once more. Your hands caress his face as you admire those eyes you had missed so much. “I love you, Eren.”

Eren smiles and shakes his head side to side. One of his hands caresses your face while the other squeezes your buttocks, marked with his initials, burning alive on your skin.

With a final sigh, he lets his lips fall on yours, and your arms wrap around him, pulling him closer.

Your bodies intertwine, allowing your souls to finally unify, leaving all your past behind and ignoring your present stained with blood.

And with smiles on both of your faces.

As you look into each other’s eyes.

He utters the last words that seal both your fates.

“Me too, herzchen.”

#eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren aot #eren x reader #eren smut #eren jeager x reader #eren x you #aot x reader #aot smut #snk x reader #snk smut #fanfic #yandere x reader

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mochiroreo · 1 year ago

Text

I had to sign to the Devil now I’m on

Alpha!Rafe Cameron & Alpha!JJ Maybank x Omega!reader

TW: 18+ MDNI, NON-CON, DUBCON, afab!reader, reader being called “honey” most of the time, toxic alpha behavior, threesome, rough unprotected P in V, creampie, fingering, squirting, oral ( f receiving), choking,degradation, biting, primal play (non-consensual), a/b/o terminologies, marking/bonding, spitting, (let me know if I have missed anything!)

Author’s note: screw my halloween thingy. i clearly underestimated myself by thinking that I can write something short and call it a day while working full-time and writing book reviews as a side job lol. love you all and thanks for sticking around!

P.s. this is not beta’d hehe. We die like men.

“Do you need anything else?” Concern was evident on your mother’s voice, her shadow showing that she’s still outside your door, patiently waiting for an answer. “I-I’m fine mom..” you breathlessly answered “I t-think I can h-handle this for now.. thank you.” Before you even finished thanking her, another wave of nausea made you stumble towards you toilet. You tried to empty your stomach that was already empty for days now, puking your heart out.

Hearing you vomiting, your mom entered the room and held your hair out of the way, kneeling with you while rubbing soft circles on your back. She helped you cleaned up yourself, gently laying you down on your bed before arranging an array of snacks and microwaveable soups near your desk along with medication that might help ease out the pain and.. heat spells.

“I will ask your dad to give you space, we will go out for a few days, I know how much you hate our scents at this time. I am so sorry honey I cannot help you—“ “it’s alright mom. This is already too much.” You smiled at her, easing her nerves before quickly pressing a kiss on your forehead, trying not to overwhelm you with her own scent. “Just message us once you feel like its over, okay? Or anything, really.” Giving a curt nod, she left your room, hearing her softly talking to your dad.

Both of your parents are Alphas, based on the genetics class that you took, you have to be an Alpha as well. Everyone around you presented months ahead of you, some even years. Being the only late-bloomer at a small town, word quickly travelled and you were labelled as the “odd” one. You ignored them though, confidently assuring yourself that you are going to be one of the small numbers of being an Alpha. Omegas were very rare as well, yet you would rather be an Alpha with how severe Omega heats are. And as far as you know, if an Omega presents, their heat immediately follows. You really don’t want to be handling two major things in one sitting.

Something in your gut was not feeling right as you listen to your lecturer, taking notes on all the possible symptoms for every class.

You were having a small crisis during one of your breaks at the university, frustrated at still not having a status on the ‘hierarchy’ while ignoring texts from 2 annoying people that you try not to meet on campus every day. Your phone kept on vibrating, making you sigh in annoyance and proceeding to block those 2 numbers despite knowing that they will find another way to send you messages.

The two annoying people that got blocked was JJ and Rafe, who happens to be the top Alphas on the campus that you pay no mind to. Who also happens to be the people you have drunkenly slept with after a night long of partying for the first time. Waking up sandwiched in between of them, all three of you covered in bites and hickeys, your mind quickly presented every possible thing that the woman at campus might do to you. You carefully slide out of their hold and quickly dressed up, tiptoed your way out without even leaving a note.

You tried to act normal the next day, thinking that if you don’t pay any attention to them they wouldn’t notice you nor remember what happened that night. But with how heavy their gazes are towards you, you quickly realised that they are not on the same page as you are. Confusion ate you as to why would it bother them, but you continued to avoid them and their gazes. It was quiet for a while, before they started texting you. It went from “Hi. Its JJ :)” “Hey its Rafe” to “Would really love to feel you again” “you were so hot that night” which made your cheeks burn in embarrassment, quickly deleting their messages, only to be met with a new number and tons of missed calls.

You do not get their obsession at all, cause you are pretty sure you were hammered that night. Shots after shots, cocktails after cocktails, you were sure you just got wild and did the usual things to them that would be done with a normal hook up. You did not expect your first time partying to end up in their arms, but sure as hell you do not want to experience whatever might happen if word goes out that you slept with the “hottest” people in your university.

Sighing, you stared at your melting smoothie. The gloomy weather was affecting you as you slowly face the sky. You looked down at your sprawled out notes, trying to talk to yourself to study instead of overthinking about when you would present. The sky looks gloomier, making you quickly pack your things as it looks like its going to rain, when suddenly you felt dizzy.

You quickly balanced yourself, clutching your bag near your chest in shock. You were just thinking on what might be the reason before another wave of dizziness hits you once again. Sitting down slowly on the bench, you quickly messaged your bestfriend if she can take you home. Your best friend immediately came to where you are, helping you on her car. “Holy fuck you look so pale” she commented in the middle of the drive towards your house, your hair sticking at your nape and your forehead as you feel hot and cold at the same time.

Your best friend told your parents what happened, letting you rest. A few days rest would be enough, you thought. That clearly did not work. 5 days went by like a blur, days were spent on having the highest fever ever to vomiting the soup that you ate for lunch. And with how severe and noticeable the symptoms are, your parents chose to go out for a while to not overwhelm you with their pheromones, leaving you alone.

The nausea that you had throughout those days was replaced with something more embarrassing and something that made you cry in frustration. The sudden heat and wetness that kept on pooling on your legs with the excessive amount of releasing pheromones into the air only meant one thing.. you’re presenting as an Omega and you’re having your first heat.

You laid down sweaty on your bed, the room stuffy and boiling hot for you despite the cold autumn air entering through your windows and the AC that you have turned on. A wave of pleasure had hit your body, your hands pushing down the garter of your soaking wet underwear, immediately slipping two fingers in your deprived pussy. You mewled at the sudden feeling, thrusting your fingers almost immediately to relieve yourself. Holding your legs up, you continued to pump your fingers in and out to reach the climax that seems so far away. You cried out in frustration, stopping your actions when you’ve realized that whatever you’re doing is not and won’t be enough unless its an Alpha.

You quickly grabbed your phone beside, messaging your bestfriend about your situation.

“I am hundred percent certain that I’m presenting as an Omega and I’m having my first heat. Do you mind telling Pope to— you know..? Visit me.. if he’s there at the party”

Pope was your safest bet for an Alpha to help you out. The guy was the kindest and definitely one of the smartest people you have ever met, so you trust that whatever he would do would help you and ease the pain. There was a sudden pain in your chest from your heat that pushed you to release more of your scent, you’re breathing so fast that you try to ease the pain by curling into a ball. Waiting for it stop, you heard your phone pinged and quickly took a look at your bestfriend’s message that says “Oh shit, I’m on it 🫡”

You waited for what seems to be hours, as your heat becomes more and more unmanageable. You tried to look decent at least, a red, thin silk nightgown that sits on your body perfect and a properly brushed hair before swiping some strawberry lipgloss. You felt bare and nervous with Pope seeing you in this state, but you cannot help at thinking that this might be a step on having a serious relationship with someone reliable and can help you out with your cycles.

The doorbell rang, making you gulp nervously before trotting downstairs to open the door slightly and what you saw just made your stomach drop along with your smile. “What the hell are you both doing here?” You asked with squinted eyes, holding the doorknob tightly.

JJ’s huge smile greeted you while Rafe just smirked in amusement. “Are you that disappointed to see us?” JJ asked, making you squint harder at him in annoyance. Rafe just chuckled before pouting to mock at your expression, leaning on the door frame which made you close the door a bit more. “Aww, she doesn’t wanna see us.” “Shut up. I asked you guys a question, what are you both doing here?” You continued, trying not to get overwhelmed with both of their scents as you will yourself not to give in.

“Well, we heard something from a little birdie that someone has presented as an Omega and well.. that someone, requires some top Alpha service.” JJ answered behind Rafe, a menacing smile on his face as he stares on your paling face. “Mhm,” Rafe nods in agreement before slightly pushing the door, gripping the edge tightly. “Do you know who that new Omega is?” The slight push exposed your thin nightgown, and based on Rafe’s darkening expression and JJ’s slightly wide eyes, you knew that you’re running out of time to push them away.

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about.” With an eye roll, you were about to slam the door, when both of them pushed it to stop you. You were still holding the door knob so you tried to push it close only to be met with resistance. “Seriously, you’re fucking choosing Pope? When you have us?” Rafe asks, his blue eyes staring at you so intently as he try to sneak a peek at your body behind the door. You heard JJ sigh, laying his palm flat on your door, hearing the clunk of his rings. “You know.. I feel a bit betrayed. You, choosing a good friend of mine, instead of me? Have you forgotten what you said to us THAT night?”

His emphasis made you shut your eyes, the image of their bare torsos flooding your memory and their breathless sighs made you clench your legs, unknowingly releasing some pheromones into the air that wafted straight into their nostrils. Both taking a deep breath, your scent smelling like amber, honey, and vanilla, making both of them salivate. You snapped out of your daze when you noticed them being quiet, realising your mistake when you noticed that their eyes are almost black,irises swallowing the pretty blue hues of their orbs.

You tried to push the door shut once again, both Rafe and JJ trying to push it open. “Open the door, honey. Come on.” Rafe said menacingly, staring you down. The vast difference of your size to them made you shiver in fear and anticipation on what they might do to you. You slapped yourself mentally before trying to push it shut again. JJ clicked his tongue before sighing “That’s it.” He mumbled under his breath before giving Rafe a short nod. Rafe just smirked before they both gave the door one solid push, making you tumble backwards.

Preventing yourself from falling backwards, you immediately balanced yourself, slowly stepping back while maintaining eye contact with the two. Your heart is pounding inside your chest so loud that you can hear it together with your heavy breaths. Rafe and JJ’s stature just scares you, their toned arms ready to capture you as they walk towards you like a predator catching its prey. When a click was heard with JJ shutting the door, you quickly grabbed whatever was near you, which happens to be a vase, and threw it towards the two.

With Rafe being the closest, he barely managed to dodge it, scraping the side of his arm. He just looked at you, snapping his neck as he chuckles. “Oh woohh..” he exhaled, a menacing smirk on his lips as JJ just laughed beside him. “You shouldn’t have done that.” He growled lowly, not taking his eyes of your quivering form. “Run, honey. Cause once we catch you—“ you did not even let JJ finished his sentence before you start running upstairs, hearing their laughter echoing throughout the empty house.

You were panicking, trying to wrack your brain on where to hide. Your house was a decent size, so even though there’s not much place to hide, you still knew what places they might not even spare a glance. You crawled inside a spacious cupboard that is concealed behind the door in your guest bathroom, talking to yourself inside your head to slow down your breathing.

“Honey~ come out, come out wherever you are~” JJ called out in a singsong way while Rafe just chuckled. You heard their steps getting closer before hearing them walk away to check whatever room they haven’t checked. Covering your mouth in fear, you closed your eyes to stop yourself from shivering. You just wanted this to end, this fucking heat. This situation. This was far from what you wanted already, from discovering you’re an omega to seeing the people that you hate so much outside of your house instead of Pope.

It was suspiciously quiet, yet you did not move. You were still trying to control your thoughts and your shivering body, your hair sticking into your skin with how warm you are feeling because of your heat and because of the cramped space. You felt another ripple of pleasure, making you close your eyes shut. “Not now, not now, not now” you plead to yourself, the heat being way more worse after the confrontation. You didn’t hear anything from outside. Trusting your gut feeling, you removed your hands from your mouth and finally opened your eyes.

Only to be met with Rafe and JJ’s big smile that made the blood drain from your face.

“Boo.”

A deafening scream escaped your throat as Rafe grabbed you out of your hiding space, your arm suffering from a bruising grip. You did not stop trying to hit him or JJ even when he carried you over his shoulder, trying to hit his back while also aiming to kick JJ. Rafe smacked your ass, the pain immediately traveling to your wet core. JJ smelled it in the air, watching you sob as Rafe plopped you down on your bed. They both stared at your disheveled state, your nightgown sticking to your skin, highlighting your pebbled nipples that are now evident thanks to the cold air from you open window.

Both men did not waste any time, taking off their clothes as you watch in shock. You cannot help your eyes trailing down, from their faces that showed no other emotion than want, to their taut arms and muscles. Your eyes widened when you saw how huge their cocks are just because of your heat, Rafe’s longer and a bit curved while JJ’s a good length yet clearly thicker than the other, making you gulp in fear and anticipation, your hormones taking over your mind as it turns into a mush.

They were both beside you in an instant, with Rafe landing a slap on your cheek that does not sting much yet brought your mind down back to your body again. “Why can’t you just follow, huh? This wouldn’t have happened if you just listened to us.” You continued to just stare at him, trying to cover your breasts using your arms before you felt JJ wrapping his hand around your neck. “He is asking a question, honey. Come on now.”

Your eyes started to water yet you felt your pussy clench on nothing, instead of answering, you have accidentally let out a soft mewl.

“Fuck, look at you.” JJ spoke, licking his lips as his hold on your neck slightly tightened. “Who would have known that you will love this?” Rafe grabbed the neck line of your night gown before ripping it, making you gasp. You felt vulnerable by the sudden action, trying to cover up your body which made them both annoyed.

“Who told you to cover yourself up, slut?” You felt Rafe smack your leg, before shoving it upwards to show them your weeping cunt. Your face heated up in shame with how wet you are, your own juices trailing down your legs. You didn’t get to answer back as JJ lets go of his hold on your neck before leaning down to kiss you. The kiss is sloppy and extra messy because of what your heat was doing to them. He tasted every corner of your mouth as you obediently open to let him, tongues dancing with each other, biting his bottom lip which made him groan into your mouth. The sound made your pussy clench on nothing, making Rafe laugh mockingly.

“Aww, look at this weeping cunt. I bet you had a hard time huh? It’s alright, I will make you feel good.” You didn’t have enough time to get down from the high of JJ’s kiss when you felt Rafe lick your folds slowly, coating his tongue in your essence. The action made you grip JJ’s hair while he press wet kisses on your neck, sucking and licking as he covers you with hickeys.

Your brain turned into a mush, the fight inside of you now long gone as you feel mind-numbing pleasure from the both of them. Rafe continued to plunge his tongue inside of you, his thumb rubbing your clit in circles, his mouth and chin covered in your slick as he continue to eat you out. Sliding a finger inside of you, you immediately moaned and clenched, making the kook king smirk mockingly. “And she wants to put up a fight? Hah.” JJ commented before latching on your nipples, teasing it between his teeth and feeling it harden on his tongue. You don’t know what’s happening anymore, other than the feel of their mouths on your body. Rafe slipped in another finger, and another when you mewled.

His three fingers pumped in an out of you, setting a punishing pace. You had long shut your eyes, brows scrunched in pleasure with your mouth agape. JJ tapped your cheek repeatedly, making you open your eyes. “Keep your eyes open and watch us fuck you.” You watched Rafe suck your clit, fingers squelching as it tries to go deeper everytime, and when he curved his fingers and felt that rough texture, your eyes rolled at the back of your head, snapping open that release that you’ve wanted for days.

Rafe felt your pussy flood with your cum, clenching hard on his fingers. Continuing still, JJ grinned when he watched your legs shake, making Rafe pull back. “Oh shit” he muttered, both of them seeing the liquid gushing out of your cunt. “God.. thats fucking hot.” Brushing his hair upwards, while Rafe wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, your chest heaving up and down.

You were tired but not yet satisfied as your mouth waters at the sight of their cocks, seemingly larger than earlier. You wanted to suck and taste it, feel it heavy on you tongue but it seems like they don’t want that today. Both men positioned your body for what they want to do, JJ sliding underneath you with Rafe positioning himself above you. Your eyes were slowly closing, before a slap echoed on the room. “Fucking wake up, you hear me?” With a clenched jaw, Rafe grabbed you by the jaw with force, making you nod your head. JJ cackled, pressing his bare chest on yours. “Where’s the fight that you had earlier? Gone already?” He continued to made fun of you, feeling him rub his tip to your puckered hole. “Knew it was this easy to get you like this. Why are you even playing hard to get?”

Being sandwiched between them two sent your brain into an overload. All you were thinking about was the relief and pleasure of having them and taking them both. The fight inside of you turned into craving the feeling of their lips on your skin, their pheromones clouding your mind as much as your cloud theirs. You felt your slick drip down, from your puffy pussy lips to your hole. You felt the soft tip of JJ’s cock poking your hole, lubricating it with your slick and with his pre-cum before pushing in slowly. The intrusion made your body tense up, craning your head back and resting it on his shoulder. JJ hissed with the tightness, holding in a breath as he push,push,push inside of you. Rafe noticed how you scrunched your eyebrows, making him rub circles on your clit to loosen you up.

The sudden action made you scratch JJ’s arm that was holding you in place, squirting as he is finally balls deep inside of you. JJ lets out a shaky breath while Rafe only chuckled, before pushing his huge cock inside of you without warning. You gasped, looking down to slightly to see his flushed body connecting with yours while feeling JJ behind you, hands now holding your legs open. Leaning closer, Rafe growled in your ear while JJ moaned on the other side. Both men tentatively gave you one hard thrust, making you clench on the both of them.

The action made both of them give you another hard thrust, hands digging on your waist and hips, trying to create a rhythm. Rafe’s thrust were continuous and forceful, immediately hitting your sweet spot which made you curl your toes while JJ’s were short yet deep, stuffing your entrance so full of his thick cock that all you can think about is how full you are and how mind-numbing the pleasure is.

JJ constantly sucks hickeys on the side of your neck while Rafe attacks your lips with a searing kiss, their hips never stopping as drools drips from the side of your lips. Both blondes cannot help but bask on the feeling of your wetness and the squelching sounds your holes are making while you moan so erotically for them to hear, your sweet scent making it more pleasurable for them. “I-I’m close.. oh god I’m so c-close..!” You tried to warn them, holding Rafe close as you drag your nails on his back making the taller male stutter out a low moan.

Your warning just made JJ’s urge to own you stronger, grabbing your hips in a bruising hold as he piston his hips, feeling his wet balls smacking your ass with every thrust, prompting Rafe to do the same. “Take it— fuck, take it you fucking whore..!” He whispered with Rafe wrapping his hand on your neck, squeezing slightly making you open your eyes. “Doesn’t this remind you of that night?” He asks, following JJ’s rhythm. Tears flowed down your cheeks as you get overwhelmed with pleasure, constantly moaning and releasing a series of ah,ah,ah as a bitch in heat. “You told us you are ours that night, stuffing you so full like this.” He smirked at you, watching how filthy you look like, taking both of their cocks and letting them have their way with you. JJ chuckled breathlessly when he hear what Rafe said “yeah— fuck— remember how she moaned that night while holding her legs open? Then acted like nothing happened, now look at you. Back to doing it again for us.”

You were too far gone. Their comments slipping down your brain as your body focused on the fullness and the harsh circles on your clit that you don’t even know who’s giving you with your eyes rolled at the back of your head. “C-coming..!” You didn’t even finished your warning as you cum, clenching on both of them tightly. Yoyur body convulsed, mouth slack and open which prompted Rafe to spit on it. Both men felt your hot slick wetting them both, chasing their own highs.

JJ looked at Rafe, licking his bottom lip before cocking an eyebrow. A silent challenge to the other alpha male before sinking his teeth on your shoulder blade. The sharp pain made you open your eyes full of unshed tears, breathing heavy as pain and pleasure mixed inside of you. JJ licked the wound, pressing with kisses before huskily moaning, releasing his cum deep inside of you, filling you up as he relishes on the high from the sex and from marking you as his. “Mine.” JJ whispered while looking at Rafe, clearly challenging the other with a smug smirk.

Rafe snarled, baring his teeth on the other blonde before thrusting deep inside of your abused cunt and biting the other side of your shoulder. His bite was rougher than the other, hot pain searing inside of you as you open your mouth in a silent scream before feeling him cum deep inside of you. Kissing the bitten area of your shoulders, they both stayed inside of you before pulling out at the same time. Your tired state was evident with how flushed your cheeks are and how your eyes were barely open.

Both of them stood up, JJ laying down your tired form properly on the bed while Rafe grabs a wet cloth to clean you up. While cleaning you properly, both men cannot help but watch you sleep while baring their marks, officially marking you as theirs. They want you for themselves but both of them won’t back down, settling on the terms that they share you, as long as its only the two of them that gets to taste and fuck you.

They held your body close, the haze of stuffing you full still buzzing on their system as they settle beside you. Looking at their bite marks, both of them grinned foolishly, finally claiming you as theirs.

“You fucking assholes!”

Both men immediately sits up in shock, still sleepy from the draining activities last night. When they both opened their eyes, they saw you standing in front of your mirror, staring at the bites that they left on each of your shoulder blades in horror.

You looked at both of them in disbelief, hiding the marks with your hands while you sob. JJ and Rafe just smiled at you, clearly proud of their work. “Get out— get out!” You screamed at their faces, ignoring the fact that your heat is still not finished yet. Feeling betrayed that they staked their claim. Now everyone will know who claimed you, their pheromones will always cling on your skin and your body reacting more actively when they’re closer because they had bonded you without your consent. You sobbed at the fact that instead of having someone mature to help you out on your heat cycles, you instead got two of the most possessive bastards in the world.

Rafe just leaned back while JJ rested his head on his hands. “Now, now” JJ started. “I think you need to calm down. We really need to teach our little omega how to speak to her Alphas properly, right, Rafe?” The other just chuckled, eyeing your naked body with lust. “Oh definitely. I cannot have a bratty little omega prancing around with such a dirty mouth. I guess, we both need to stuff her mouth with our cocks, put her into place huh?” You ignored them and screamed “oh fuck off! You fucking pieces of shit!” Your chest was heaving in anger.

Rafe grabbed the lamp besides him and threw it on the wall behind you while JJ lets out a warning growl.

You just stared at them in shock, covering your now cowering body as they stare at you intensely with clenched jaws. JJ stood up, walking towards you before dragging you forcefully towards the bed by your hair. Letting out a scream,he shoved you down the bed with your ass propped up for both of them to see, before landing a harsh spank on your ass. You cried out in pain, before feeling Rafe’s hand on your nape, pressing you down and choking you.

“You are ours. OURS.” He threatened through clenched teeth.

The sun went down. The day ended with you covered and full with their cum, using and abusing all your holes, covered in hickeys and bruises that will last for days. Clearly expecting you to learn your lesson, your mind blank as you take and take whatever they give you.

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writers-requiem · 6 months ago

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Title: Confession

Pairing: Hank McCoy x Reader

Genre: Romantic fluff

TW: None.

Summary: You finally work up the courage to tell your crush how you feel.

Request: No

A/N: This takes place in my own little AU where they found and brought back Charles. Just for context. Also, things get a little spicy, but not NSFW.

Okay, let's take it back to where it started.

About two years ago, you had joined the X-Men. Yes, you, a non-mutant.

They had repeatedly tried to convince you not to, but the professor saw a great potential in you that need only manifest with the right trigger.

Regardless, you went on a myriad of missions while paired with some of the other X-Men; Cyclops, Gambit, Ice Man, Rouge, Jean Gray, Wolverine, Colossus, Shadow Cat, and most notably, our focus for this story, Beast. In other words, your crush, Dr. Hank McCoy.

Whenever it was you two on missions, you felt unbeatable, yet at the same time, exceptionally worried. Of course you were worried about your other teammates. But when it was you and Hank, your anxiety hit an all-time high. This caused you to slip up at times and even get hit yourself. That of course made Hank upset. But when you were conscious when that happened, you saw him unleash an almost primal rage on the enemy, namely the MRD soldiers that showed no remorse for what they did to you.

There were a couple times when the MRD captured you and tortured you for info on the professor and the X-Men. You didn't talk and were nearly killed for it. But who came to your rescue? Hank. Alone. No plan, no fancy displays, just bulldozing through the hoard of soldiers and guards. And when he left with you in tow, he carried you bridal style, like a cliche action hero carrying their love interest after a big rescue mission.

But the anxiety of the battlefield and getting kidnapped is easily trounced by the social anxiety you felt when it was just you and Hank in a more laid back situation. Namely when you were in his lab.

No matter how long it had been since you had first developed your crush on him, you still felt insecure about opening up. But you already knew that Charles would've read your mind to find out, but he respected your wishes and kept quiet.

Back to present day however.

You were just sitting in the lab, unsure of what to say or do since he was busy and you didn't feel like interrupting his work. Besides, even if you did want to talk, you couldn't think of what to talk about since you were always so afraid to spend any amount of time with him outside of missions. So you just played with your hair and thumbs somewhat awkwardly. That was until he spoke up.

Hank: "If you have something that you feel must be said, speak it. There's no need to be so shy with me, my friend."

His kind words of encouragement only made you even more nervous than before. You dared not move or speak, fearing that you would say or do something inappropriate.

But he surprises you first by standing up from his desk and then swiftly pulling you close to his chest.

Hank: "I'm not oblivious to your feelings, sweetheart."

He gently caresses your cheek and plants a soft kiss on your lips. An action that you never thought he'd do for you.

In that one moment you felt a storm of emotions take you all at once. Relief, bliss and ecstasy. Finally, after nearly two years, he noticed your feelings, acknowledged them and reciprocated them. You felt whole.

You held each other closer and kissed again. This time it was a longer, deeper, more passionate kiss.

One of his hands held you by the waist and the other on the back of your head, gently caressing it.

His tongue was pushing against yours in a one-sided struggle for dominance. His coming out on top.

Your hands however were too preoccupied feeling up his torso, starting at the waist and going up. First passing his solid six pack abs, then higher before stopping to caress and scratch his rock hard pecs that were still visible underneath his green shirt.

He instinctively and hastily removes his lab coat and pins you to the wall, one arm resting against it and above your head. While the other slid up your torso, only he went inside your shirt.

You could feel his furry hand and the razor sharp claws slid up until stopping at your middle section.

The combination of both of your moans through your kissing filled the room with a hot and heavy atmosphere. You couldn't help yourself and squeezed his pecs hungrily before having them crawl up to scratch his cheeks and mutton chops.

But eventually, you two pulled away from each other to give yourselves some air. Leaving you two gasping and panting, out of breath.

You then shared a quick peck on your lips and hugged each other.

Hank: "I love you."

Y/N: "I love you too, Hank."

End

#hank mccoy x reader #character x y/n #reblog friendly #fanfic #marvel #beast #beast x reader #lgbt friendly #wolverine and the x men #X-Men #mutant x reader

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call-sign-shark · 14 days ago

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Summary: Somewhere in Westeros, an unnamed Maester warns youngsters about the danger of love by telling the old legend of the Feral Lovers — a cautionary tale for hearts that burn too fiercely.

Words: 1.5k

TW: !MDNI! Please read the Masterlist's warning! They are twisted and mutually abusive. Blabla I don't condone nor excuse Amos' revenge or Hev's violence but they are dark coded so, what did you expect?

Lucilla Targaryen belongs to @mischievouslittlecreature. The Rose of Highgarden and the Wolf belong to @justrainandcoffee.

Next Part

"Gather close, young lords and ladies, and you shall listen well, for I will tell a tale of dizzying love, but not the kind sung by minstrels in courtly halls! "

The old Maester croaked, his rasping voice echoing through the castle's walls as he closed the heavy wooden door of the room to keep the cold of the corridors from entering. Then, he sat on a chair in the middle of a tiny crowd of baby-faced nobilities. The way dancing candlelights hit his face when he lowered his head to look at his audience made his wrinkles strike out— he looked as old as the parchment he spent days with. All around him, young lords and ladies, ranging from 10 to 15 years of age, were gathered, waiting impatiently for one of his many stories.

"Are you going to tell the tale of The Rose of Highgarden and the Wolf?! This is my favorite one, it's so romantic." A little lady with blonde hair and amber eyes said, beaming.

"I've heard it countless times. Can we talk about Princess Lucilla and Thomaryon Targaryen? The good ending always makes my heart melt. Lucilla was such a strong woman, I hope I could be like her and partake in ruling!" Another one exclaimed, holding a book about politics pressed on her chest.

"Not today, children! Today is not the day for those heartwarming tales but rather something I want you to keep in mind in the future now that some of you will soon know the joy of marriage. The story I'm about to tell is not a love story wrapped in silk and crowned in gold. No, this is love in its most primal form. This is love sharp as a dagger, love that scars and flays. And no tale speaks more of the danger of love than of Queen Heavenerys Targaryen and Amos Bolton."

The Maester moistened his chapped lips, his old grey eyes flickering over the young faces in front of him. All eager and wary, hanging to his words. "As many tragedies, it all began with a wedding."

"She was a Targaryen princess, young and bright as dawn's first light, with her white hair as pure as freshly fallen snow and her eyes burning with an ice-scorching fire. Heavenerys was a delicate jewel, even though the fire of dragons obviously burnt in her veins." He recounted with a soft expression on his face before his traits turned colder.

"And he was Amos Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort — a cruel man carved in blood and shadow, feared across the North and beyond. " The master smirked at the audience's reaction, shivering at the sole mention of the name. It has been more than a century, and yet Amos' greatness and savagery still haunted the North. Some families still used him as a boogeyman — don't stay outside too late or Amos Bolton will come back and feed you to his hounds. "She was seventeen, warm as the blazing sun of the South and untouched by the horrors of the world. He was thirty, a cold man who had bathed in them. A man who had inflected them. Amos was a terrific mix of danger and irresistible charm."

The Maester then narrated how the Lord had always refused to be involved in marriage, rather seeking the extension of his power and influence in order to raise his family to the top of the food chain. Legacy and love were supposed to rest on Orion's shoulders and the rest of the family's members. However, when he was offered the future Queen's hand, he accepted for purely selfish motivation.

"And yet, when he laid his ink-black eyes upon her for the very first time, something inside him twisted into madness. Something he had never felt nor expected to feel one day: Love."

" It was Instant, cataclysmic, brutal. Blissful love washed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him shaken to the core. He didn't fall in love like most men who love their wives. No, he loved her much more intensely. So intensely, that it could be described as obsession and hunger — A hunger that no feast could ever sate."

"I say 'love' because there was no truer word for it. Feral, perhaps, but love nonetheless." The Maester's sentence lingered in the air when he caught his breath, as though the intensity of what Lord Bolton had was tremendously taxing to talk about.

"She tamed him like no one had ever dared, bending the monstrous Lord to her will. And while Amos was a monster, the beast softened around her. You might not believe me considering how scarce it is for a Bolton to have a heart, but he truly worshipped her, to the point of devoting all his affection and life to his Queen. But as many Bolton, that darker side of him tainted his genuine affection and chained her. Keeping her caged in his possessive grasp. He was always nearby, looming. His hand on the small of her back, guiding her movements. Surprisingly, Heavenerys didn't really fight it and allowed this controlling aspect of him. Though it stirred some fights, she didn't mind most of the time as long as she could be with him."

"My grandmother said they could not be apart!" A teen lady exclaimed with a little smirk, nudging her best friend, "Never had Dreadfort's halls been so filled with giggles and moans."

"You're impossible." Her friend replied, trying to suppress her laugh at the lascivious comment.

"It's true! He would chase her through the castle, playing cat and mouse, until he'd catch her, then throw her onto his shoulders and bring her back to the bedroom while she laughed herself to tears."

"They could not be parted, indeed." The Maester acknowledged, but his firm tone put a stop to the lewd whispers, "But it went far beyond the affairs of the bedroom. When he rode to war, she followed. When he bled, she was the one who stitched him back together. When he fell to darkness, she plunged in after him and when the world tore them apart, they clawed their way back to each other. But mark my words: love, when turned into obsession and addiction, is cruel."

The air in the room shifted as the Maester's voice lowered, hushed like a whisper, as though he was terrified the lovers might hear him from beyond the grave.

"Amos, jealous and afraid of losing her, unfortunately, caught his beloved little dragon sharing a kiss with her cousin Aerthurys, her childhood lover. In a moment of pure madness, the Dread lord sought to break her, rendered mad with sorrow and betrayal."

"They fought. A terrible, so terrible fight. One said that their screams were so loud that even the dogs outside stopped barking, terrified. Then, for the very first and last time, Amos took what he wanted with force for the sole purpose of showing her whom she belonged to, not minding her cries and pleas. He was blinded with rage. And even though regret clawed at him afterward, it was too late. His and his men's touch had left scars. "

All smirks and flushed cheeks had vanished. The only thing that remained was eyes gawking in both sadness and horror.

"But she didn't cower in reply. No, my young ones, Heavenerys Targaryen would have never retreated into tears no matter the suffering she had been through. He had maimed her heart, so she decided to maim his in return."

"The Queen knew that what her husband loved the most after her was control and power so she stripped him of them. She turned to punishment in the dark of their bedroom, vengeance disguised as pleasure. She wounded him in ways that only she could. And just like that, pain, pleasure, vengeance, love and devotion all blurred together."

A pause. A sigh. The Maester glanced at the crackling fire that burnt low in the hearth, his mind resting briefly after struggling to find elegant words to mention the depravity of the Lovers.

"Why didn't she leave if he had hurt her?" A young boy asked with a quivering voice.

"Because their relationship was mostlyloving despite that awful slip. They lived for each other, hopelessly in love. And if Amos was sick in the head, Heavenerys was too, she just hid it better, and thrived in this unhealthy bond."

"So, because they couldn't do it themselves, it was the world that rip them apart."

"Aerthurys came back from war ten years later, thinking himself a savior. He took her from Amos after bloodbath, declaring her freed from the monster who had ensnared her. And to keep her safe, he married the beauty himself and offered her tenderness. He offered her a love that did not bruise nor burn."

With a tilt of the head, the Maester's gaze slowly surveyed his listeners. The two giggling ladies were now silent, clutching at each other with tears-filled eyes.

"But tell me, my sweet children, do you think Heavenerys was truly saved? That she might finally find peace?"

No one spoke. Only the wind outside howled in reply, as though the Lost Queen screamed at such question.

The old man let out a humorless chuckle, dry and full of dread.

"Alas, what is peace to a woman who had blossomed in chaos? Heavenerys withered without Amos, even showered with kindness and care. Despite having affection for Aerthurys, her heart turned into a hollow thing, untouched by his gentleness. She ate little, spoke less, and her burning eyes turned empty like a starless sky. No matter how gently Aerthurys touched her, she did not feel anything. No matter how lovingly he spoke her name, she did not answer. Heavenerys was already lost to another."

The silence that suddenly hovered above the room sent shivers down his aching spine. Far too caught in his tale, the Maesther didn't notice that the fire that kept them warm had died in the hearth long ago.

"And so, one night she was gone. No guards saw her, no horses were taken, only her mighty dragon Kairaxès wasn't there anymore. Soon after, Amos Bolton was never to be seen again."

He leaned in a bit, his fingers steepled.

"Did they find each other?" The same boy wondered, nervously chewing on the side of his thumb.

"The question is not if they did, but rather what happened after."

The youngest among them trembled in fear, staring at the old man as if he were speaking of grim ghosts rather than lovers.

"Some say their bodies were found in the snow, locked in an embrace with their flesh long frozen but bodies still entwined. Others claim they vanished beyond the Wall, into the lands where the dead walk. But there are whispers, children, whispers from the North's darkest tales..."

The skeleton-like branches of a gigantic oak tree outside scratched at the window, making all of them jump in fear except for the Maester.

"Their love —" He spat the word like a curse, " was so deep, so sick, that even the Stranger couldn't defeat them. If you listen to those tales whispered in dark taverns, you'd learn that the cold had transformed them. Not into mindless wraiths though but something else. It is said that Beyond the Wall, two figures still walk hand in hand, their eyes burning like frozen embers, a gigantic dragon looming in the shadows behind them."

He exhaled through his nose loudly before shaking his head in disbelief.

"But you might believe what you want. Perhaps they perished, the echo of their tragic tale still buried in the howling winds of the most frozen winters. Or perhaps, their ghosts still roam far away in the North, enamored even in death."

When the Maester clapped his hands to signal the end of the tale, someone let out a little squeal.

"But let this be a warning to you all. Love is often depicted as a gentle thing, and it can be. Yes, it can be warm, it can give life. But love... Love is not weak. In fact, love is the very thing that can consume, burn and destroy. Even the mightiest can be brought to their knees by it. And even the cruelest can be undone. It's one true power, sharper than any sword and greater than any crown. So beware the hearts that burn too fiercely and recklessly, for they always meet the tragic fate of Amos Bolton and Heavenerys Targaryen, the Feral Lovers of Westeros."

With that, the Maester rose from his chair. The room was still bathed in a religious silence but somewhere outside, the wind howled one last time and a dragon-shaped black cloud flew above the castle.

The GoT Team: @darklydeliciousdesires @justrainandcoffee @peakyswritings @cillmequick @evita-shelby @lunarubra @shelbydelrey

Some Aleksander fans who might be interested in this AU: @elizabethblood9 @lightinbug

#Peaky blinders #Shadow and Bones #GoT AU #Heavenerys Targaryen #Amos Bolton #The Darkling #Aleksander Morozova #Aleksander Morozova x OC #General Kirigan x OC

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fangdokja · 2 months ago

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In a world where only the strongest survive, he’s the monster you can't escape.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world overrun by the dead, he’s the last thing you need to survive—but the only thing you can’t escape. His love is twisted, possessive, and all-consuming, and you’ll never be free, not even in death.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanon. Flesh and Fetish - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 2,143

♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic + yandere, general non-con + manipulation, rape, BDSM, slight descriptions of gore and death

♡ His Story. In the world of the dead, he was the only thing keeping you alive—and tearing you apart.

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who first saw you huddled in the corner of an abandoned grocery store, clutching a jagged shard of broken glass like it was your last lifeline. The air was thick with decay, the walls coated in grime and old blood. You sat there, trembling and pathetic, your wide eyes darting to every creak and shadow as if the darkness itself might lunge at you.

He tilted his head, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Put that down before you hurt yourself,” he said, voice low and rough, cutting through the oppressive silence. You flinched but didn’t lower the glass, your knuckles white from gripping it so tightly. That’s when he knew: you weren’t brave or strong. You were prey.

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who could’ve left you there, just another frail soul doomed to be devoured by the nightmare outside. But something about the way you shook, the way your hollow eyes glistened with unshed tears, stirred something primal in him.

You were weak, fragile, easy to mold and claim. He stepped closer, boots crunching on shattered debris, his shadow swallowing you whole. “Don’t worry, little one,” he murmured, voice dripping with false comfort. “I’ll take care of you.”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who dragged you back to his den, a fortress cobbled together from scrap metal and rubble. You screamed, your hoarse voice echoing into the cold, empty night, but he didn’t flinch. Your nails clawed at his arms, leaving streaks of blood that only made his grin widen.

“Keep fighting,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear as he pinned you to the ground to secure your hands. “I like it when you struggle.”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who didn’t bother pretending to be kind. He rationed your food, giving you just enough to keep you alive but never enough to make you comfortable.

Every bite, every sip of water came with a price: a whispered thank-you, a tearful acknowledgment of your dependence on him. He thrived on your desperation, watching as you slowly stopped resisting.

“Go ahead,” he said one night, his voice a low purr as he leaned against the barricaded door. “Run. See how far you get before the infected rip you apart.”

You froze, your trembling hands gripping the thin blanket he’d given you. His smirk deepened as he saw the fear flicker in your eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who caught you kneeling beside a wounded stranger one day, your hands pressing a scrap of cloth against the man’s oozing wound.

The man’s skin was pale, his breaths shallow, but he whispered broken thanks that made your heart ache. You thought you were safe, thought he wouldn’t notice—but he was always watching.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was a serrated blade, cutting through the fragile moment. You froze, the bloodied cloth slipping from your hands as his shadow loomed over you.

Turning slowly, you met his gaze, and your stomach dropped. His eyes weren’t angry—it was worse. Cold and sharp, gleaming with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl.

“He was hurt,” you stammered, your voice barely audible. “I was just trying to—”

“Trying to what?” he hissed, his hand darting out to grab your wrist. The pressure was bruising, unyielding, as he yanked you to your feet. The injured man whimpered, his voice a weak plea, and that sound ignited something feral in your captor.

“He doesn’t get to thank you,” he spat, dragging you closer until his face was inches from yours. His breath was hot, his lips twisted in a snarl. “He doesn’t get anything from you. Not your kindness. Not your pity. Not your touch.”

“Please,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “He’ll die if we don’t—”

“Good,” he snapped, cutting you off. His free hand shot out, grabbing the injured man by the collar. He hauled the stranger up like a ragdoll and dragged him toward the crumbling wall of a nearby building. The man’s feeble protests were swallowed by your captor’s dark laughter.

“Since you care so much,” he said, turning back to you with a grin that made your blood run cold, “why don’t you watch?”

“No,” you gasped, stepping forward only to have his arm shoot out, shoving you back with bruising force. You hit the ground hard, the air knocked from your lungs as you scrambled to sit up. He loomed over the man, his knife glinting in the dim light.

“Yes.”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who made a spectacle of the slaughter. His movements were methodical, deliberate, as he drove the blade into the man’s abdomen. Blood sprayed in dark arcs, splattering the cracked pavement and pooling around the man’s twitching body. You turned away, bile rising in your throat, but his voice snapped your head back.

“Don’t look away,” he barked, his tone sharp enough to cut. “This is what your empathy gets you. A pile of guts and a dead fool who didn’t deserve your pity.”

Your sobs broke free, raw and uncontrollable, but he didn’t stop. He laughed, a jagged sound that echoed in the hollow ruins around you. When the man’s body finally stilled, your captor turned to you, his hands slick with blood. He crouched beside you, his expression softening in a way that made your skin crawl.

“You’re too soft,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your tear-streaked face. “But don’t worry. I’ll fix that. I’ll strip it away until there’s nothing left but what belongs to me.”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who burned the man’s body that night, the acrid stench of charred flesh lingering in the air. You sat by the fire, silent and trembling, as he settled beside you. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you against his side as if to shield you from the world he’d just reminded you was cruel.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “When there’s nothing left out there but death, you’ll see I’m the only one who can keep you safe. The only one who loves you enough to do this.”

You didn’t respond, your hollow gaze fixed on the flickering flames. But deep down, you knew he wasn’t saving you from the world. He was devouring you, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but him.

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who had long since abandoned the notion of morality in favor of survival. Yet, in you, he found a different kind of obsession—one that simmered with possession rather than camaraderie.

His gifts were always strange, eerie tokens scavenged from the ruins of a world reduced to ash and bone: a tarnished locket encrusted with dirt, a porcelain doll’s head with its eyes eerily intact, a cracked mirror that still reflected fragments of a long-lost innocence.

“Pretty things for my pretty girl,” he sneered, though the mockery in his tone was belied by the way his hands trembled as he clasped the locket around your neck.

His fingers lingered at the nape of your neck, brushing against your skin in a way that made you shiver—whether from fear or something darker, you didn’t know. “There. Now you’ll always carry a piece of me. You won’t forget, will you?”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who insisted on protecting you, but only on his terms.

“You don’t need a weapon,” he said, his voice sharp with finality when you dared to ask for one. “That’s my job.” His gaze pinned you in place, a predator’s stare dissecting every inch of you.

“You’ll just get yourself killed,” he spat when you pressed the issue. His fingers curled around your arm, tight enough to bruise. He kept you close at all times, his shadow looming over you like a storm cloud.

Every step you took was measured, every movement scrutinized. One day, you ventured a step too far, and his response was instant and brutal.

“Stay where I can see you,” he growled, his voice laced with venom as he yanked you back. “You’re mine to keep safe. You run again, and I’ll drag you back in chains. Do you understand?”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who thrived on the power he held over you, the way your defiance flickered but never fully burned. He saw the way you recoiled from his touch but clung to him when the distant howls of the infected pierced the night.

“You need me,” he whispered one evening, his breath warm against your ear as you lay frozen beneath the weight of his arm. “Deep down, you know it. Without me, you’re nothing but a corpse waiting to happen.” His lips brushed against your temple, a cruel smile curling against your skin as he pressed closer.

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who didn’t ask for permission, didn’t wait for consent. The world outside was a wasteland, and he’d carved out a kingdom of decay with you as his unwilling queen.

When he had you beneath him, trembling and trapped, the outside world ceased to exist. There was only the frantic, feral pulse of his need and the muffled sounds of your resistance.

“You like running, don’t you?” he growled, his voice a low rasp as his teeth scraped along your neck. His hands pinned your wrists above your head, his grip unyielding. “Go ahead. Try it again. See how far you get before I find you.”

But he never gave you the chance. His body pressed against yours, all raw muscle and unrelenting dominance. His movements were calculated, deliberate, every action designed to remind you that escape was a fantasy. The fabric between you tore easily, his strength reducing any barriers to shreds.

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who fucked you with the same ruthless efficiency he used to dispatch the infected. His hips moved with bruising force, each thrust a claim, each motion a declaration of ownership. The scarred expanse of his chest pressed against your trembling form, his sweat mingling with yours as he drove you to the edge of your endurance.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a guttural snarl that left no room for disobedience. Tears blurred your vision, but his gaze burned through them, piercing and unrelenting. “I want to see your face when I ruin you.”

And ruin you he did. His teeth sank into your shoulder, his name leaving his lips like a prayer as his hands left trails of fire and bruises in their wake. He was relentless, animalistic, every motion infused with a hunger that could never be sated.

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who reveled in your tears, the way they streaked down your cheeks as you whimpered beneath him. His tongue flicked out to taste the salt, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice dripping with a twisted reverence that made your stomach churn. “You look so beautiful like this—broken and mine.”

♡ Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor who found almost as much pleasure in the aftermath as in the act itself. The marks he left on your skin—the bruises, the bites, the scratches—were trophies, proof of his claim. His calloused fingers traced them with a perverse tenderness, his gaze admiring as if he’d painted a masterpiece.

“Don’t ever forget,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as his arms caged you in. “No one else gets this. No one else touches you. You’re mine—every fucking inch of you.”

And as he pulled you into his suffocating embrace, his body radiating heat and dominance, you realized the full weight of your captivity. There was no escape from him, no reprieve from the darkness that consumed him every time he looked at you.

You were his obsession, his salvation, his destruction. And he would never let you forget it.

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If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth

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horeformilfs · 11 months ago

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Searching for Home

Dimitrescu Family x Gender Neutral Autistic Reader

TW: Bullying, Mention of Parental Death

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As the sun dipped behind the towering peaks of the Carpathian Mountains, casting a golden glow over the quaint village below, Y/N trudged out of the orphanage gates, shoulders hunched against the biting chill of the evening air. For seven long years, they had called this place home, but it had never felt like home. The laughter of other children echoed in the distance, a cruel reminder of their own solitude.

Y/N's steps faltered as a sudden cacophony of noise erupted around them. Startled, they instinctively covered their ears, heart pounding erratically in their chest. The world seemed to spin, the sounds blending into a nightmarish symphony of chaos. The older kids, faces twisted with malice, stood nearby, wielding an array of makeshift instruments to amplify the din.

"Look at the freak! Can't even handle a little noise," one of them jeered, his voice laced with cruelty.

Y/N's breaths came in short, ragged gasps as panic seized them, every nerve on edge. Desperate, they stumbled backward, eyes wide with fear, seeking escape from the overwhelming onslaught of sensory input.

"Leave me alone!" they cried, voice raw with emotion, but their words were lost amidst the clamor.

With a strangled sob, Y/N turned and fled, feet pounding against the cobblestones, tears blurring their vision.

The village blurred past in a blur of colors and shapes, each alleyway a potential dead end. But Y/N pressed on, driven by a primal instinct to flee, to outrun the demons nipping at their heels.

Finally, as their legs threatened to give out beneath them, they stumbled upon the village church, its weathered stones looming like a beacon of refuge amidst the chaos. With one last burst of energy, they pushed open the heavy wooden door and stumbled inside, heart pounding in their chest.

As Y/N cowered behind the heavy wooden door of the village church, their heart still racing from the chase, they felt a sense of fleeting safety wash over them. The sounds of their pursuers grew fainter as they rounded a corner, their frantic footsteps fading into the distance.

Breathing heavily, Y/N pressed their back against the door, eyes darting around the dimly lit interior of the church. Shadows danced across the walls, casting eerie shapes upon the worn stone floor. With trembling hands, they reached out to steady themselves, fingertips grazing the rough surface of the doorframe.

Frantically, they scanned the room for any sign of movement, any indication that they were not alone. But save for the faint flicker of candlelight and the soft rustle of fabric, the church remained eerily silent.

Their gaze came to rest upon a faded photograph hanging on the wall, illuminated by the dim glow of the candles. It depicted a stern-faced woman, her eyes fixed in an unwavering gaze, her presence looming over the room like a silent sentinel. Mother Miranda, the villagers whispered, a figure of reverence and fear in equal measure.

Though Y/N had never been one for religion, in this moment of desperation, they found themselves drawn to the image before them. With a shaky breath, they bowed their head and clasped their hands together, fingers intertwining in silent supplication.

"Mother Miranda," they whispered, the words feeling foreign upon their lips. "Please... please help me. I don't want to go back there. I just want to be safe."

Closing their eyes, Y/N rocked back and forth, a soothing rhythm born from years of seeking solace in moments of overwhelming sensory input. They pressed their palms against their ears, willing the world to fade away, to grant them respite from the tumultuous storm raging within.

Unbeknownst to them, in the shadowed recesses of the church, a figure stirred. Mother Miranda herself, her presence as silent as a whisper, watched from the darkness, her gaze softening as she beheld the child huddled before her.

As Y/N's eyes widened in shock at the sight of Mother Miranda approaching, a wave of fear and uncertainty washed over them. Their instincts screamed at them to flee, to put as much distance between themselves and this enigmatic figure as possible. But as they pressed back against the solid wooden door, they found themselves trapped, with nowhere to run.

Miranda, sensing their distress, moved forward with slow, deliberate steps, her expression gentle yet unreadable beneath the mask that obscured her features. But as she drew nearer, Y/N's panic only intensified, their heart pounding in their chest like a trapped bird.

"Please, stay back," they whispered, voice trembling with fear, as they instinctively tried to shrink away from her looming presence.

Miranda paused, her keen gaze softened with understanding. She could sense the fear radiating from the child before her, could see the tension in their trembling form. With a silent nod, she halted her approach, giving them the space they so desperately sought.

But Miranda knew that mere words would not be enough to quell their fear, not when faced with the unknown. And so, with deliberate care, she reached up and began to unfasten the mask that obscured her face, revealing the woman beneath.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise as the mask fell away, revealing features softened by compassion and empathy. It was unheard of for Mother Miranda to show such vulnerability, to strip away the veil of mystery that shrouded her every action. And yet, here she was, kneeling before them with a tenderness that took their breath away.

Tears welled in Y/N's eyes as Miranda brushed a gentle hand against their cheek, her touch as light as a feather. But as they flinched away, overcome by a lifetime of mistrust and uncertainty, Miranda's heart ached for the pain that lay hidden within.

"It's alright, child," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm against their frayed nerves. "You're safe now. Tell me, what has happened? How can I help you?"

Y/N hesitated, their gaze flickering away as they struggled to put their feelings into words. But Miranda was patient, her presence a comforting anchor in the storm of their emotions. And as they finally found the courage to speak, halting and hesitant though it may be, she listened with an open heart, ready to offer whatever solace they sought.

As Y/N poured out their heart to Miranda, recounting the cruel prank and the years of loneliness and ridicule they had endured, Miranda listened with a compassion that spoke volumes. Her eyes softened with empathy, mirroring the pain reflected in Y/N's own gaze.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, my child," Miranda said softly, her voice carrying a weight of understanding. "No one should ever have to feel so alone."

When Y/N mentioned their parents, Miranda's expression shifted, a flicker of sorrow crossing her features. "I'm deeply sorry for your loss," she murmured, her voice laced with genuine sympathy. "Lycan attacks can be devastating. Your strength in facing such tragedy is admirable."

As Y/N hesitated at Miranda's offer of a hug, Miranda respected their boundaries with a gentle nod. "Only if you feel comfortable, my dear," she assured them, her tone warm and reassuring.

With cautious acceptance, Y/N leaned into Miranda's embrace, feeling the comforting warmth of her presence envelop them like a protective cloak. Miranda's touch was gentle, her movements slow and deliberate, as she wrapped her arms around them in a gesture of comfort and reassurance.

As Miranda stroked their hair with tender affection, Y/N felt a sense of peace wash over them, a fleeting moment of solace amidst the chaos of their world. And as they pulled away from the hug, a hesitant smile tugging at their lips, they found themselves trusting this woman in a way they never thought possible.

With a soft rustle of fabric, Miranda replaced her mask, the enigmatic facade once again in place. "Come, child," she said, her voice gentle yet commanding. "I have a place where you will be safe."

As they walked together in companionable silence towards Castle Dimitrescu, Y/N couldn't help but notice the grandeur of their surroundings, the imposing walls of the castle looming overhead like silent sentinels. But though questions tugged at their mind, they remained unspoken, for now content to follow Miranda's lead.

Entering the castle, they were met by a maid, whose eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Miranda. "Are you here to speak with Lady Dimitrescu, ma'am?" she asked, her voice deferential.

Miranda nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Yes, please inform her of our arrival," she replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.

As the maid scurried off to relay the message, Y/N glanced up at Miranda, curiosity and uncertainty warring within them. "Where are we going?" they ventured to ask, their voice barely above a whisper.

Miranda's smile was gentle, her eyes filled with a promise of sanctuary. "You'll see, my dear," she replied cryptically, her hand resting reassuringly on Y/N's shoulder as they ventured deeper into the heart of the castle.

As Miranda led Y/N to the second floor of the castle, their heart hammered in their chest with each echoing step. The air felt charged with anticipation as Miranda knocked on a door, the sound reverberating through the quiet corridor. A muffled voice answered from within, and Miranda pushed the door open, ushering Y/N into the room.

Inside, a woman adorned in a cream-colored dress, a striking black hat perched upon her head, and leather gloves adorning her hands, turned to greet them. It was Lady Dimitrescu herself, her presence commanding attention as she rose from her seat, towering over them with an imposing stature that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine.

Y/N's eyes widened in awe and trepidation as they beheld the formidable figure before them. They instinctively took a step back, their breath catching in their throat, but Miranda's reassuring presence at their side anchored them in the moment.

"It's alright, my dear," Miranda murmured, her voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of fear. "Lady Dimitrescu won't harm you. She just wants to talk."

Slowly, Lady Dimitrescu approached, her movements deliberate and measured as she knelt down before Y/N, her gaze gentle yet penetrating. "What is your name, child?" she asked, her voice carrying a warmth that belied her intimidating exterior.

Y/N's gaze dropped to the floor, their fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of their shirt. They mumbled a response, barely audible above the rush of their own heartbeat.

Miranda interjected, her voice calm yet firm. "Their name is Y/N," she said, her eyes meeting Lady Dimitrescu's with a silent understanding. "I would like to speak with you privately for a moment, if you don't mind."

Lady Dimitrescu nodded, her gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment longer before turning to Miranda. "Of course," she replied, her tone betraying none of the curiosity that flickered in her eyes. "We can speak in the study."

As Y/N waited alone in the room, a strange buzzing sound began to fill the air, growing louder with each passing moment. Their heart raced with apprehension as they turned towards the source of the noise, eyes widening in surprise as three figures materialized before them.

The first, with flowing blonde hair and piercing yellow eyes, stepped forward, her presence exuding an air of confidence and elegance. "Well, well, what do we have here?" she purred, her voice smooth as silk as she regarded Y/N with a curious gaze.

Y/N's breath caught in their throat as they tried to find their voice, the weight of the three women's scrutiny bearing down upon them. With a shaky breath, they managed to whisper their name, barely audible above the hum of uncertainty that filled the room.

The blonde woman smiled, a predatory gleam dancing in her eyes. "Ah, a visitor," she mused, her tone laced with amusement. "Well, little one, allow me to introduce myself. I am Bela."

As she spoke, Y/N took in her features, noting the drained mascara that framed her eyes, the bloodstains that adorned her lips like a twisted smile. Despite her ethereal beauty, there was something undeniably unsettling about her presence.

Beside her stood two other women, each bearing a striking resemblance to Bela in both appearance and demeanor. Daniela, with her fiery red hair and intense gaze, and Cassandra, with her dark locks and stoic expression, completed the trio, their presence looming over Y/N like silent guardians.

Together, they formed a formidable trio, their allegiance to House Dimitrescu evident in the flower tattoos that adorned their foreheads. And as they regarded Y/N with a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, the air crackled with an unspoken tension, a silent invitation into the mysterious world of Castle Dimitrescu.

As the conversation flowed between them, Bela and Daniela peppered Y/N with questions, their curiosity piqued by the presence of this newcomer in their midst. Cassandra, however, remained aloof, her gaze flickering between her sisters and Y/N, uncertainty etched upon her features.

As the evening wore on, Y/N's exhaustion became palpable, their eyelids growing heavy with weariness. Sensing their fatigue, Bela gently inquired about Miranda and her mother's departure, her voice tinged with concern.

Y/N blinked owlishly, trying to recall the details of their departure. "I'm not sure," they admitted softly, their gaze wandering around the room until it landed on a clock hanging on the wall, its hands pointing to the late hour of 10 pm.

With a sigh, Bela guided Y/N to the couch, settling them between herself and Daniela. Daniela, ever the nurturing sister, retrieved a book and began to read aloud, the sound of her voice a soothing lullaby that washed over Y/N like a gentle breeze.

As the words of the story wove a tapestry of dreams, Y/N's eyelids drooped lower and lower, until at last, they succumbed to the embrace of sleep. Their head lolled to the side, coming to rest against Bela's shoulder, and she adjusted their position with a gentle touch, ensuring their comfort as she stroked their hair with tender affection.

Across the room, Cassandra watched silently, her expression unreadable as she observed the scene before her. But beneath her stoic facade, a flicker of something akin to warmth stirred within her, a newfound curiosity kindled by the presence of this enigmatic stranger in their home.

As Bela and Daniela exchanged whispers, their voices hushed with a mixture of curiosity and concern, Cassandra remained silent, her thoughts swirling like shadows in the depths of her mind.

"Did you notice anything strange about them?" Cassandra interjected suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet of the room like a sharp blade.

Bela and Daniela exchanged glances, their brows furrowing in contemplation. "Not particularly," Bela replied, her tone thoughtful. "Why, did you?"

Cassandra nodded, her expression grave. "There were a few things," she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "They seemed... different somehow."

Bela's brow furrowed in concern. "Different how?" she pressed, her gaze searching Cassandra's face for answers.

Cassandra hesitated, her words carefully measured as she recounted her observations. "They had intense interests in specific topics, and their speech lacked inflection," she began, ticking off the points on her fingers. "They also displayed signs of anxiety, fidgeting, sensitivity to light and noise, and various tics and stimming behaviors."

Bela's eyes widened in realization, her thoughts racing as she considered Cassandra's words. "Do you think... they might be autistic?" she ventured, her voice soft with uncertainty.

Cassandra shrugged, her expression unreadable. "It's possible," she conceded, her tone cautious. "Perhaps we can ask them about it when they wake up."

Just then, the door opened, and Miranda and Alcina returned, their presence filling the room with a sense of calm authority. Miranda's gaze softened as she beheld Y/N asleep against Bela, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Bela turned to Alcina, her brow furrowed with concern. "What's going to happen now?" she asked, her voice tinged with apprehension.

Alcina's expression softened as she regarded her daughters. "If Y/N decides to stay, they will be welcomed into our home," she explained gently. "But if not... well, we'll deal with that when the time comes."

Bela nodded in understanding, her thoughts racing with the weight of the decision that lay ahead. As she gently roused Y/N from their slumber, their eyes fluttered open, confusion etched upon their features as they took in the sight of Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu standing before them.

Miranda's voice was gentle as she explained the situation, giving Y/N time to process the offer that lay before them. And as they took a moment to consider their options, Alcina posed the question that hung heavy in the air.

"Would you like to stay with us, Y/N?" she asked, her tone soft with genuine concern.

After a moment of contemplation, Y/N met Alcina's gaze with a determined nod. "Yes," they replied, their voice steady with newfound resolve. "I would like that."

As Miranda reassured Y/N of their safety and well-being, a sense of relief washed over them, tempered by a lingering hint of hesitation. But as Miranda made to leave, Y/N's eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, a silent plea for reassurance.

"Remember, my dear, you are in good hands," Miranda said, her voice soft with genuine care. "I will return in a few days to check up on you, and I'll come by weekly to see how you're adjusting."

Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of their lips. "Thank you, Miranda," they murmured, their gratitude evident in every word.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Miranda took her leave, her departure leaving an echo of quietude in her wake. Alcina stepped forward, her presence a comforting anchor in the sea of uncertainty.

"Come, Y/N," she said gently, her voice warm with reassurance. "Let me show you to your room."

But before they could move, Cassandra interjected, her voice filled with a quiet determination. "Mother, I have a question for Y/N," she said, her gaze fixed on her mother's face.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the prospect of yet another interrogation, their anxiety bubbling to the surface like a turbulent storm. But Daniela was quick to offer a reassuring smile, her voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of panic.

"Don't worry, little one," she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "It's nothing bad, I promise."

With a hesitant nod, Y/N braced themselves for whatever question lay ahead, their mind a whirlwind of uncertainty and apprehension.

As Cassandra posed her question, a heavy silence descended upon the room, broken only by the sound of Y/N's quickening breaths. Their muscles tensed, every nerve on edge as they grappled with the weight of their answer.

Cassandra's gaze was steady, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern as she awaited Y/N's response. "Are you autistic?" she asked, her voice gentle yet direct.

"Yes," they whispered, their voice barely above a whisper, but it echoed loudly in the quiet of the room. "Yes, I am."

Instantly, a torrent of nervous energy flooded through them, their words tumbling out in a rush of panicked apology. "But if that's a problem, I can leave, I'll find somewhere else to stay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause any trouble, I-"

But before they could spiral further into self-doubt, Alcina moved with a grace born of years of experience, kneeling before them and gently lifting their chin with a touch as light as a feather. She smiled reassuringly, her eyes warm with understanding.

"Shh, child, it's alright," she murmured, her voice a soothing melody that calmed the storm raging within Y/N's mind. "Just breathe."

As Y/N's frantic apologies subsided, Alcina listened patiently, her daughters and Cassandra gathered around in a circle of support. And as Y/N poured out their fears and insecurities, recounting the hurtful reactions of others in the past, Alcina's heart ached with a newfound understanding.

"You are not most people," she said firmly, her voice filled with conviction. "You are here with us now, and we are here for you. Your identity is not a problem; it is a part of who you are, and we accept you for it."

Moved by her words, Bela and Daniela stepped forward, their arms open in a silent invitation. "Are you okay with a hug?" Bela asked softly, her eyes filled with empathy.

Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at their lips as they leaned into the embrace, feeling the warmth and acceptance of their newfound family enveloping them like a comforting embrace. And as they stood there, held in the embrace of those who now stood by their side, they knew, in that moment, that they were home.

With Y/N enveloped in the warmth of their embrace, Bela and Daniela exchanged glances, their expressions soft with empathy. Cassandra approached cautiously, her movements tentative as she joined the circle, her gaze meeting Y/N's with a newfound sense of understanding.

"Thank you," Y/N whispered, their voice tinged with gratitude as they leaned into the comforting embrace of their newfound family.

Bela's smile was gentle as she tightened her hold, a silent reassurance that they were welcome here, just as they were. "You're part of our family now," she murmured, her words echoing the sentiment shared by all.

As the embrace lingered, Alcina's gaze swept over her daughters and Y/N, her heart swelling with a sense of belonging that she hadn't felt in years. "Let us show you to your room," she said, her voice warm with affection.

Together, they moved as one, a united front against the uncertainties of the world beyond. And as they ventured down the halls of Castle Dimitrescu, Y/N felt a sense of peace settle over them, a quiet reassurance that they had found their place in this enigmatic world.

As they reached the threshold of Y/N's new room, Alcina turned to them with a smile, her eyes soft with motherly affection. "Welcome home," she said, her voice a gentle promise of the love and acceptance that awaited them within these walls.

As Y/N took in the sight of their new room, a sense of wonder filled their heart. The soft glow of candlelight danced across the walls, casting shadows that seemed to whisper tales of centuries past. It was a room filled with history and mystery, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the world beyond.

As they turned to thank their newfound family, they found themselves alone in the quiet of the room with only Alcina present. The echoes of their footsteps mingled with the hushed whispers of the night, a symphony of solitude that enveloped them like a comforting embrace.

Just as they were about to settle into their new surroundings, Alcina's voice broke the silence, her presence a comforting presence in the dimly lit room. "My room is right down the hall, dear," she said softly, her words carrying a sense of warmth and reassurance. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

With a grateful nod, Y/N watched as Alcina approached, her movements graceful and deliberate. Cupping Y/N's cheek gently in her hand, Alcina leaned down to press a tender kiss to their forehead, a silent promise of protection and affection.

"Goodnight, my child," Alcina murmured, her voice a soothing melody that echoed in the stillness of the night. "Sleep well."

With a smile tugging at their lips, Y/N settled into their new bed, their heart filled with gratitude for the family that had welcomed them with open arms. And as they drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth and love of their new home, they knew, in that moment, that they were finally where they belonged.

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koiiiji · 10 months ago

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author’s note ; i know i promised a little bit different works… but… yeah.. and i hate editing in tumblr, i swear it was last tim editing in app bc draft suddenly wasn’t saved and whole part with sex scene was deleted. i tried to get it back, thankfully i use translator sometimes, but yeah… most spicy part is fucked up, but i have last working day tomorrow, tired as hell and stressed bc of how fcked up tumblr app works sometimes. maybe will edit it later. hope you still will enjoy. 🪄🪆

tw ; nsfw, f!reader, slight description of body shape, masturbation, p in v, established relationship, passionate

summary ; you gave taesoo little show after his long days and nights in forests on his mountain. + soft bonus in the end. 🥨🎗️💒🌌🧼🎐

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

the moon hung low in the night sky, casting its ethereal glow upon the world below as Taesoo returned from hunting expedition. fatigue after another successful hunt gave pleasant thoughts about imminent rest and relaxation, and pain in the muscles reverberated throughout the body, forcing him to speed up his pace. with each weary step, he longed for the familiar comfort of home, the promise of solace and sanctuary beckoning to him.

but as he approached his secluded abode on his mountain, a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. there was a stillness in the air, there was no light in the windows, darkness that hung heavy like a shroud, as if the very earth itself held its breath in anticipation. pushing open the door, Taesoo's heart quickened with trepidation as he called out your name, the echo of his voice ringing hollow in the empty hallway. but there was no answer, no laughter to greet him, no warmth to chase away the chill that settled in the depths of his soul. furrowing his brow, Taesoo ventured further into the dimly lit interior of his home, the flickering flames of the hearth casting long shadows across the walls. and then, in the dim light of fireplace, he saw you.

spread out upon his huge bed like a vision from a dream, you lay ensconced in furs, your slender form illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window and warm fireplace flickering. your fingers danced across your skin with a delicate grace, teasing and tantalizing in equal measure, as you lost yourself in the throes of ecstasy. for a moment, Taesoo stood frozen in place, his breath catching in his throat as he drank in the sight before him.

there was raw, primitive beauty, you bathed in the caress of moonlight and the warmth of the fireplace, cold and warm light played on your naked figure, he could see how almost every muscle tenses and relaxes, how the skin on the chest stretches, so that the ribs are slightly stick out, as the warm light cast shadows on your tummy, and the moonlight illuminated your collarbones, neck and shoulders. he saw how beautifully your chest heaved, trembling more and more with every movement of your fingers. Taesoo watched as your other hand reached to your chest, squeezing one and biting your lip,smiling, closing your eyes in pleasure and arching your back. he was mesmerized.

Taesoo felt a surge of desire coursing through his veins, a hunger so primal it threatened to consume him whole. like a hunter who had stumbled upon the most delectable prey, he couldn't tear his eyes away from you. with a hunger that bordered on desperation, Taesoo approached the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, but before he could reach out to touch you, you pushed your small feet onto his shoulder, a silent command that halted him in his tracks.

confusion flickered in his eyes as you gently pushed him to the nearest chair, your voice a soft murmur that sent shivers down his spine. “Watch,”you whispered, your words a seductive promise that left him breathless with anticipation. and so, Taesoo watched, sitting there, with his legs wide open,letting his own palm rest on the growing bulge in his pants. mesmerized, as you pleasured yourself before him, your movements fluid and graceful, each motion a symphony of desire and longing. he watched as you squirmed and writhed upon the bed, your body pure grace, sophistication and femininity, so contrary to his almost bestial habits.

with each circle of your finger, his own desire grew, a fire raging within him that threatened to consume him whole. he longed to join you, to lose himself in the intoxicating rhythm of your passion, but he remained rooted to his seat, waiting for your permission, until you will cry out for his help. and damn, how well he knew you, that a minute later you were stuttering and whining begging him – “Taesoo.. Taesoo baby… n-need you..” you plea hiccuping – “Need you right now..”

and what kind of man would he be if he made his woman repeat twice or even wait? without a word, he moved closer, his presence overwhelming in its intensity. as he reached you, he lowered himself onto the bed, his hands tracing a path from your ankles up to your thighs, sending waves of electricity through your body. the world outside ceased to exist; there was only Taesoo and the way his touch ignited a fire within you even more. his lips found your skin, pressing tender kisses along your calves, trailing up to your knees. as he continued his journey, his mouth caressed the inside of your thighs, the sensation both tantalizing and soothing. Taesoo's hands never stopped their exploration, his fingers dancing lightly over your hips as his lips moved upwards, kissing your stomach with reverence. he took his time, savoring every inch of you, worshipping your body with each touch and kiss. you felt cherished, adored in a way that transcended words.

when his lips reached the curve of your breast, he paused, his breath warm against your skin. he looked up at you, his eyes dark with emotions – “You ready?” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep within your chest. the moment you nod shyly, he let go of low grunt and pulled down his pants, letting pink, sensitive head of his dick out, and slowly rubbing it against your begging pussy.

the lump of nerves in your stomach first tightens even more, then it seems to untie when Taesoo slowly enters you, stretching and filling you completely. with a strangled groan, he puts his hand on the bottom of your tummy and presses, just a little, to feel his length inside, and how painfully slowly he moves, forcing you to tilt your head back. – “Yes, baby, just like that..” your hair is scattered on the pillows, the sheets and furs are crumpled under you, and you arch your back more strongly, pressing your chest against Taesoo's chest. he slides his hand under your waist, pulling you closer and gently impaling you on his cock. – “Taking me so well, yes, little thing?”

he couldn't take his eyes off your face - illuminated by the soft light of the moon, eyebrows are raised worryingly, gaze is clouded, and the sweetest moans flow from your mouth.

releasing your waist and stroking you higher and higher, on your sides, ribs, finally hugging your back with one hand and walking along your spine, and with the other extending his arm above your head, interlacing his fingers together, taesu leaned on you with almost full weight, pressing into the mattress and slowly, steadily crashing into your hips

he buried his nose in the crook of your neck and shoulder, lightly nibbling and sucking on the delicate skin, thus claiming his right to you.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

the soft glow of the fireplace bathed the room in a warm, flickering light. Taesoo and you lay on a fur carpet, blankets and furs scattered around you, wrapped in the cozy warmth of the moment. the crackle of the fire was a soothing backdrop to the gentle whispers shared between you.

Taesoo's hand traced lazy, affectionate patterns down your spine, his touch sending shivers of delight through your body. you lay with your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. he murmured sweet nothings into your hair, his voice a comforting rumble that made you smile. – “You are my everything,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. you sighed contentedly, nuzzling closer to him, your fingers lightly trailing over his chest. – “And you are mine,” you replied softly, your voice filled with the warmth of your love.

the fire crackled and popped, casting dancing shadows across the room as you both lay there, wrapped in each other's embrace.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

#[ ~ koi.talks🗣]#lookism x reader #lookism #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #webtoon lookism #lookism ma taesoo #ma taesoo #ma taesoo x reader #lookism x you #lookism headcanons #lookism imagines

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blueberryarchive · 2 years ago

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—the sketch and the smaller eye; kth

Lonely man Kim Taehyung leads a fairly stable routine in his life away from civilization affected by an infection without a cure. Stability ends the day you arrive, no one knows how you got there, but one thing is for sure: Taehyung won't let you go.

🌿pairing; Artist!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

🌿word count; 8.1k

🌿tw; widower!tae, post-apocalitic scenario, mentions of disease, weight loss and death, very brief mention of arms, age gap (21 & 30-ish), smut (manhandling, whiNY Taehyung, edging, spanking, oral (f. receiving), creampie, dirty talk), gruesome details of the virus.

🌿themes; strangers to lovers, slow burning, cottage-core.

🌿inspired by; ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵐʸ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ ⁱⁿ ᵉⁿᵍˡⁱˢʰ ᵖˡˢ ᵇᵉ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒�� ‧₊˚

The walk all the way home was always one of his favorite things to do when it was hunting day, the way the wind danced between the dying leaves and made music inside the hollow trees, the sun setting with the most beautiful tones of pink. It always reminded him of the times he spent just drawing all alone until you came into his land.

The day was August 8th, the heat was overbearing and like all of the other days around the same time, probably four or five (he wouldn't know because his only clock died a year ago), Taehyung sat down in the shadow of an old oak tree that has been his only friend, besides his dog, since he came to this lonely and God-forgotten place, were he was blessed and cursed with solitude and the cruel nature.

He had a small tin box with all of his drawing supplies, broken pencils, a piece of eraser gum the size of a nail, and a reddish tint drying up in a baby food crystal jar. Every day he told himself that he was making more yellow with the few sunflowers in his backyard, but today of all days he actually stood up to look for the petals.

The flowers were right outside the kitchen window, the sun was going down, and they were hunched over, withered, and full of little flying butterflies. His calloused hands took a pair of petals, the most vibrant and alive.

The sudden sound of cracking leaves and the barking of his dog disturbed him.

Taehyung perfectly remembers the moment he saw your frightened eyes, the color of the sunset over your weak body clinging to a log, an improvised cane. Torn clothes, dry mouth like a corpse, wet hair for some reason. Did you cross the river?

The first reaction of both was primal, like two animals that didn't plan to meet. Taehyung only turned on the fireplace at night, only for a couple of hours, so as not to attract attention.

So what were you doing there? Were you lost? Impossible, he was too far from civilization. Were you infected? The wolves would've eaten you by now. Either way, he didn't like the idea of someone new.

The petals sweated their amber ink on Taehyung's hand, you tried to maintain your position, your gaze... almost afraid to blink. The man was not afraid to take action, hand already inside his overall pocket. Without much, his hand raised a pistol, sleek and silver. He was pointing straight at your face, your hair in a ponytail revealing your exposed forehead, like an invitation to explode it with a bullet.

"No, please." You muttered. So soft and yet, Taehyung got scared hearing someone else's voice. It wasn't a growl, nor the crash of stones from the river, nor the rain, nor the cawing of crows, nor his own grunts when chopping wood, nor the barking from his old dog. "I'll go." You begged again, letting go of the log. Taehyung tensed, even more, hearing you again.

So soft and sad. So delicate when the world around was burning.

"Are you coming with someone else?" he growled, getting closer and looking around. The forest seemed quiet, and his dog would have warned him.

"No, just me."

"If you lie it'll be worse for you."

"I know." You lowered your head to avoid the black eye of the gun.

"Are you sick?" the question was simple. Taehyung was trying to look for signs of infection. He hadn't felt this fear since the last time he lost his wife to that fucking disease.

You denied it, slowly.

"Show me," he said with a lowered tone, calm eyes as you undressed as quickly as possible. No marks. Elbows, hands, neck, eyes. All clean. With a sigh from both, the barking stopped.

"Walk to the tree over there, and if you try to do anything funny I'm going to put every fucking bullet in your head," he said giving a simple condition. He started moving with you in front.

Without saying anything else, you both walked slowly to the trunk. The afternoon was already turning blue, cicadas were playing a tense melody. Your bare back revealed your vertebrae, hard balls under your skin looking as if it was going to break. You hugged yourself, trying to keep the heat of your body, perhaps even your modesty.

With a whistle, Frank appeared: an old dog with red eyes and floppy ears. Seeing the naked stranger, he growled loudly. Your hands began to tremble, the weapon and the animal made a cry of pain come out of you, a plea with tears falling down your ashy cheeks. But you didn't see a drop of mercy in Taehyung's eyes, you knew that having this kind of loneliness was not achieved without having to kill several from time to time.

The eyes of the man in front of you were unbending and cold, lips pressed into a thin line, thick hands gripping Frank's chain and his gun. Stains of watercolors and charcoal on his fingers.

"C'mon, buddy," he whispered and the dog came closer little by little to sniff your body. "Bend down." You obeyed.

The animal took its time sticking its wet nose into your hair and skin until it snorted as it sat down. Taehyung lowered the gun.

That was the beginning of your recovery, long days lying between rough, thick sheets. Yellowed pillows that smelled of Taehyung's hair, hand-rolled cigarettes on the nightstand. Every morning he would get up before the sun came up and carry his hunting artifacts over his shoulder. Frank stayed with you while you tried to kill time in the cabin.

You learned how to garden and cook, roll the cigars, and dry the tobacco in the sun. The books were plenty, but reading was an activity you only did if Taehyung was the one reading to you, he did it every night. Even when the fever was so high you couldn't keep up with the story.

When you were at your worst, he held your head to put you in one of his sweaters, and even left the crackling fire all night to keep you warm in the cold.

Every night he started, with a rough and tired voice, around 8 o'clock, to read you a chapter from a book of poems or letters; or the list of lost people in the old newspaper.

"I do it to keep me sane," he said. "I went a long period without saying a word, and I started to forget how to say them, my tongue used to get jammed." He explained to you while drawing an empty cup of tea next to you.

You could only tell him a couple of questions each night, he used to get tired very easily. The first two weeks you couldn't even pronounce two words before he started to lose his patience.

"You don't have to know anything about me," his eyebrows locked in a frown. "When you get better, you can go and it will be like we never met."

But now it has been three months, you think. You recovered pretty well, and you can do the chores while he's out. You try your best every day so he notices that you won't be a bother if he lets you stay.

He doesn't ask questions about how you came to be on this side of the river, and you thank him for that. The memories blurred in your mind, like a sketch that's been erased again and again.

Taehyung get's home at sunset, you are outside breaking some newspapers into pieces. The notebooks he used to draw in were already full, so you decided to make him a new one.

You are wearing a dress he found in an abandoned house, it was a teen size but he loves it. He doesn't know your age yet, but he knows you're probably in your early twenties. He loves when the sun is scorching hot and your only choice is to let your thighs and shoulders out while you cook and clean. The hem flows with the wind letting him see your bare ass while you put the paper to dry.

You two haven't had sex, you never gave him signs, maybe because he looked a little bit older. He never felt like he had to hide an inexistent lust, until a few weeks ago.

Two, to be exact.

You were in the nearest river. A flimsy white t-shirt, wine-drunk, and talking so much. You were so irksome with your questions. The cold water sticking the fabric to your body like marble while you asked about Taehyung's boring routine. Your babble was such, you started asking about him jerking off and how sex works in solitude.

The way you laughed made him blush with anger. Sketches he was trying to make from the water lilies turned into ones from your eyes.

That day he had to take a cold shower in the river after leaving you by the fire in the house. His face was boiling red, tired of your babbling and hard as a log.

The idea of you making him horny made him mad for some reason; it made him feel like a high school boy, but it was natural. He had years without seeing a woman. And you were pretty. So pretty for no fucking reason.

He knew that being in his early thirties probably made him less attractive to you, he was a grumpy man, almost a caveman how he reacted to your ways. That's why he didn't try, not even think about it... not always.

Now you have him going to abandoned houses on the other side of the river, looking for things for you: like a small bottle of perfume, a broken mirror, and old photos of people who are probably dead by now. A way to show he cared without using words.

When he got to the rock path, the crackle made you turn around, you were smiling like always, and his heart felt warm.

"I told you to do that earlier. The paper won't dry today," He grunted, acting more tired than he was so you leave everything behind and get near him. You get a cigar from a basket near you and light it for him. You pass it to him after taking a puff.

"But you can draw on one piece of paper."

"That's not how it works."

"It'll have to work."

Taehyung pressed his lips together, he knew you enjoyed arguing with him, but more than those few words would not come out of him. You rolled you eyes going back to hang the wet paper.

"I'm making dinner tonight," he muttered like ten minutes later and then silence again. Another cigar, the old Frank by his side while he watched the sunset disappear.

The reading hours were around six to seven, right after dinner. It was the same routine when you first stayed, and it is the same now: After dinner, he gets comfortable in bed, takes a cigarette from the nightstand, and with the gas lamp he lights the tip. Book in hand.

The words he didn't say all day would overflow as he read chapter by chapter. In an appropriate tone, pauses at the commas, giving life to each character. A treat for the ears.

After looking for a book on the first floor, he entered the room and stood up, his eyes went to the corner where there was a broken mirror, and in its reflection, you were, combing your hair in a ponytail, so poorly done that it was better to leave it loose. But the strands that were floating in the air, in front of your eyes, made Taehyung's fingers tingle, wanting to take every strand and pull it towards him.

There was a heaviness in the air that early autumn night. The silence was thick, and the yellowish lamplight cast heavier shadows on every piece of furniture. Abrupt and defined as in a baroque painting.

The curve in which his eyes concentrated more were the ones that defined your waist and your stomach, how it bulged slightly like a hill stamped with the flowers of your skimpy dress.

"Turn around," you muttered, like you didn't care if he did it or not, as you started to remove your dress; snapping Taehyung out of the sketches he was drawing in his head. He went to open the window to let some of the heat out of the room, letting the smoke creep through the curtains.

"I think I know what I'm going to read to you today," he cleared his throat, looking down at his bare feet pacing anxiously across the room. The shadow of your silhouette moving on the floor, the bone-white nightgown falling on your curves, exposing one of Taehyung's weaknesses: the connection of your neck and your shoulders, subtle but lethal.

He wanted to press his face between and close his eyes, inhaling the scent of your skin. Rich and peachy, like when the trees have so much fruit that they start to ripen on the same tree.

"You haven't finished showing me the stamp book yet." You dropped on the bed.

"I'm already bored of it."

"Odd." you noticed, watching him bend down and open a suitcase under the bed. "And those?" As you approached you saw a collection of books.

They were small, wrinkled, and minimalist in cover. Some were yellowed papers seized by the red wax on the spine.

Taehyung snorted at the question and looked up, daring you to keep acting innocent. He knew that you knew every corner of the house.

"I want you to say it," you smiled.

"Force me."

"I want you to say that Taehyung, the hard-faced man, has a collection of erotic books under his bed."

"You already said it. I don't have the need."

"Why do you have it under the bed?"

"What are you talking about?" Taehyung moved the books until he found a small book in Spanish. The pink cover with a painting of a mischievous Renaissance woman smiling.

"Kept under the bed, in a suitcase. Like a secret."

"I'm not ashamed of reading erotica if that's what you assume." he closed the suitcase and dropped his body next to you. His head near your legs, yours lying on the opposite side.

"And why do you have it like they're illegal." you held the cigarette he offered you.

"Habits of a human who lived in a society, I suppose."

You inhale the cigarette while he searched for the short between his long fingers, the book opened softly. His thumb pressed down the middle of the pages.

The glass of wine had you sparkling, you still hadn't gotten used to the alcohol. You had not drunk in so long that you did not remember its effects. There was something on the tip of your tongue, a confession that couldn't wait, an itch that needed to be scratched.

Before you could speak, Taehyung let out a soft "Ah" as he found the story for the night.

"A man who came about five years ago translated this story by Anaïs Nin for me. When he found out that I painted, he told me that he had a story for me."

"What's it called?" Without realizing it, your hand began to caress Taehyung's leg.

"La Maja," he pronounced. "Like Goya's painting"

Your head fell back on the stacked pillows, Taehyung's lips moved as he read a homemade translation of the story.

"He pulled back the sheets that covered her and slowly lifted the silk nightgown. He was able to lift it over her breasts without her giving the slightest sign of awakening. When it was uncovered all over the woman's body, he contemplated it for as long as he wanted. Her arms were detached from her body; her breasts stretched out before his eyes like an offering. He was aroused by his desire but he did not dare to touch her. Instead, he brought paper and pencils, sat by her bedside, and took notes. As he worked, he had the sensation of caressing each of the perfect lines of the woman's body."

Taehyung's eyes would lift to yours after reading the paragraph, turning back to the page with embarrassment flushing his cheeks. The human habit of blushing when you want things so badly, he thought.

The smoke from the dying cigar between your fingers snaked through your hair and the softness of your chin. Taehyung was never more jealous of something so ephemeral.

He couldn't find where he had stayed and the silence became so loud that you could only do what was right.

"I followed you today."

"What?" Taehyung didn't understand, you had spoken so low that he almost didn't notice it.

"To the woods, when you left this morning."

When he closed the book, you knew that what little sweetness Kim showed you turned sour.

"I have told you that you must stay here, with Frank. Safe." You both got up at the same time, you followed Taehyung looking for his gaze which he averted.

"I'm not asking you to keep me safe, Kim" you replied.

There was a pause as he pricked at his bottom lip. Was that in his pupils the sign of an offense? Taehyung clucked at you, turning around.

"Kim," you tried to fix it by brushing against his shoulder. "It's not that I'm a helpless deer, I know how to protect myself." You laughed to lighten the mood. Bad idea.

A question, like a small forgotten flame, reappeared in Taehyung's brain. Out of courtesy when you got sick in the first few weeks, he didn't ask where you came from, why you were alone, or how you came to cross the wide river that divided a civilization almost thousands of kilometers to the left. When politeness turned to infatuation, the question was no longer so important. He felt that he could trust you and that he had a new purpose besides survival: to keep you safe.

Fallacies.

"How did you come to find me?"

"What?" the smile faded from your face.

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

Your eyes moved erratically in his gesture, a frown. Just like when you came in drenched that August. No trust.

"Don't know."

He just snorted denying, he didn't believe you, and that irritated you.

"Sure, of course."

"Do you think I'm lying to you?"

"I don't believe it, I know." His body moved from side to side, arranging books and picking things up off the ground.

Your flushed face and clenched fists. Boiling alcohol in your veins.

"Well, you can go to hell with your lonely man farce."

"OK." Taehyung sighed daring you to continue insulting him.

"You do know that things aren't as horrible as at the start of the pandemic anymore, right?"

"Oh yeah?" His eyes widened in theatrical surprise.

"The infected are controlled and-," Seeing how he continued to feign interest, you pushed him aside and grabbed your dress from the floor, beginning to change. Tears accumulated without permission in your eyes. "Whatever," you mumbled.

"Then you do know something about your past."

"Fuck you, Kim."

"No, because you lied to me and now you say things like how you know how to defend yourself in a forest full of wild wolves and that you traveled several kilometers by water and land to get here. And you want me not to ask questions about it." He moved closer to you so close that he could see the torment in your eyes.

"Exactly." You muttered putting on your garden boots.

"That request is absurd and you know it." his laugh was careless. He was drunk too.

"I know."

You both stared at each other, your hair was no longer tied up and its shadow hid both of your features under its shadow. Your lips parted at the sight of his.

"I don't remember how I got to this place," you whispered, a tear fell to your cheek and you cursed how sensitive alcohol made you. You saw how Taehyung's face softened in the presence of your pain. "I swear I would have told you if I knew."

Taehyung swallowed hard and looked out the window. He hated seeing others cry, he hated when his wife did it, and he hates seeing it now in your lost gaze. There was something in the way you were, in the quality of your emotions and your hope in everything that reminded him so much of her. His wife died at the same age you were.

Taehyung and her were both idiots and thought that living far away was all it took to escape the infection.

It was stupid of him to let her go hunting alone that day, he shouldn't have let a simple fever keep him in bed when she was out there.

He spent years waiting for her to come back. Waiting for some afternoon that he will hear her quick steps coming down the gravel road. Much later, he found a piece of her shirt floating on the bank of a river.

Taehyung closed his eyes and nodded. It was dangerous to let you stay, he still didn't fully trust you. But what was the use of being alone so much when he only waited for the next day and the day after until one day he could die naturally?

Your body tensed as his hand rose to sink into your hair and kiss your forehead. So delicate, without causing any noise.

"Sleep well," he whispered leaving the book on the table. His chest hurt with the immense amount of feelings you make him feel in one day.

It's overbearing and he loved it. But his poor soul needed time.

For the first time in all that time together, he decided to sleep on the first floor.

You didn't know what to say, you were already ready for him to just ask you to leave. So you were thankful he actually just…left.

When the door creaked shut, you let loneliness engulf you. You cried, glued to the pillow like a child. Of relief, of uncertainty, for that kiss.

The days are long when there is nothing to say. When you don't look at him, when you ignore him with your unsubtle ways: you leave your clothes poorly folded, you don't finish the dishes he makes for you, your cigarettes are badly rolled, and you punish him by wearing those shirts that reveal your cleavage.

If you knew what you did to him, would you take advantage of him? Would he hate it?

Taehyung can feel your eyes on his back as he tries to light the fireplace at night, the cold is cruel in the mountains, even crueler than the tension in the small living room. You find yourself sitting watching the flame grow and grow, Taehyung trying to appear as calm as possible as if he didn't have the gears of his brain fed up trying to figure out how to talk to you.

Apart from a 'what do you want for dinner?', a 'yes' or a 'no'.

He felt he talked more with poor Frank, who slept about eighteen hours a day.

He cleared his throat at the smoke and held up his hand for more newspaper. You gave it instantly. And suddenly, a miracle: for the first time in weeks, your voice.

"Tomorrow is my birthday," you said embarrassedly, arms crossed.

With a tight-lipped smile on Kim's mouth, he nodded and looked into your tired eyes.

Your voice was still just as sweet and calm, you wanted to try to sound weary. But he noticed every afternoon when he came home from hunting, the way you moved through the little orchard and sang while you bathed Frank. Your laughter was his antidote, it healed his tiredness and the ache of his soul.

"We should celebrate it." He proposed, but you instantly denied it.

"I want you to take me."

"What do you mean?" he blushed, looking deep into your eyes.

"Take me somewhere."

Taehyung dropped the newspaper on the fire. He sighed softly, (not in relief, but disappointed) and sat in the old chair in the corner, legs apart as he rolled a cigarette.

"Where do you want to go?"

"To the house on top." you pointed east.

"How do you know there's a house on top?"

"Because I saw it in your drawings." your pupils let you see its shine for the first time in weeks. The cold made you look so beautiful. The little contact he had with you, he missed it so much.

Your cheeks took on color with the coming of winter, your lips like two slices of ripe fruit, red and full of juice. "And I found your binoculars in the warehouse."

"Mm," he couldn't even get mad at you and your insatiable curiosity. He was glad to hear you. Besides, who was he to deny you going up to that abandoned mansion, even when fear consumed him that they would attack you?

"Sure, we'll go." you let the corner of your lips rise, Taehyung feigned seriousness. "But it can't be tomorrow. We need at least two days of walking to get there, and we have to prepare."

You licked your lips and got up, letting the cloth that wrapped you from head to toe fall to your shoulders. You raised your arms, and Taehyung frowned, not understanding the gesture.

"Come here, it's almost twelve, and I'm going to be twenty-one."

Although they both knew that no clock gave them a certain time, Kim didn't care and you less. Leaving the cigarette next to him, he stood up and awkwardly let his strong arms swallow you, your head on his chest.

The hug was a thank you from you, but with just a few more seconds, you realized that Taehyung didn't want to let go. You opened your eyes, he could feel your confusion.

"Just-" he stammered, tensing his arms a little more to bring you closer to the warmth of his body. Silence.

Rich and peachy.

"What?"

"No, nevermind."

"Kim." you wanted to look at his eyes but didn't let you.

"I haven't hugged anyone in years." he murmured, a sigh of relief.

The confession made your chest sink. The breathing of the man in your arms was soft and ragged. As if he was nervous.

"Can you play with my hair?" he hummed, timid and needy, warming your shoulder with his breath; chills covering your skin.

You let your fingers explore his fluffy hair, the little ripples covering your palm and fingertips. You heard another sigh from him and felt how his arms slid to hug the sides of your waist.

"Feels good?" you dared to ask, breathing the musk on his jacket. He just nodded longingly, closed eyes and brows knitted; the crackle of the fire in the fireplace melting his heart.

Your throat was dry, and your lips parted, God knows you wanted to enjoy that hug, how Taehyung bent his body slightly to hide his head in your neck. Perhaps it was the lack of contact or the fire in the fireplace, but your body bubbled over a slow fire with each exhale that collided with your neck.

"Tae-" you swallowed and grabbed his shoulders so he could see you.

The drunkenness in the eyes of the man in front of you was so short but so sweet. Discovering his attitude, he pricked the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat.

"Sorry, don't worry about the trip. We can start packing tomorrow."

"I think I remember some of what happened to me."

"Oh." His eyes widened, gesturing as he tried to ask you to explain. You loved the gestures that came out of Taehyung when he didn't know the protocol of conversations. It wasn't 'thank you', but a tightening of the lips into a brief smile; no 'Don't move' when he painted but a little grunt and a deny.

You both took a seat on the furniture and got as close as possible, there was no one around, but this was how both of you got used to talking to each other. Whispers, watching each other's lips and laughter, when it was intended, with the hand on the mouth.

"I remember a boat, I remember several women and two men," you murmured, your eyes tilted into the fire. "A group came on another boat and threw us on the shore, they beat the men so much that they died and left the women to suffer."

Kim bit the inside of his cheek, he knew the day you would remember your past would be difficult. The beginning of the lethal virus was so surreal for him.

"I don't remember their faces much, just their hair. I remember…one feverish night, the women covered me with a blue coat that they had taken from one of the men." your hand trembled, and Taehyung took it without hesitating. "When I woke up, they were all in stage two."

Stage two of the virus was when their bodies began to slow down, sleep being the main activity, even at times when they needed to urinate. Your body didn't feel like getting up.

Taehyung remembers how one of his college classmates slept fully for two days, he opened his eyes when called but closed them instantly.

"When I saw them I thought the same thing was going to happen to me, apparently they killed an infected animal and ate it among themselves without giving me a piece. I don't blame them. I also thought the fever was going to kill me that night," you shrugged. "When I woke up I found trash, fruit, and headless bugs on the floor. The virus searched for everything it could to feed before going into coma…, and then, um-"

Your gaze drifted away, as if you saw the women sprawled on their backs with their mouths open and sunken eyes on the cabin rug.

"Their bodies started to swell, their chests and stomachs and throats. The eggs-" you denied and Taehyung felt chills. "They began to grow and incubate, I cried for hours and hours in silence, sitting on a log." your voice quivered. "I crossed the river at low tide, and stayed on the rocks to wait."

"You were sent to explore the area. You were the same as I was years ago." Taehyung bit his lip, squeezing your hand.

"I don't understand."

"I thought they didn't send scouts to this area anymore. The infection is so old I thought they wouldn't need any more information."

"What do you mean when you say you were the same?" You frowned and stared at him.

"I was a soldier, my family needed money, and the doctors found a way to make us think they could save my dad from the virus." the memories made his tense neck move involuntarily. "They sent me to this side to find information about the virus, the source."

"You and how many others?"

Taehyung shook his head with a sad smile. Maybe he was even making up the story of his father getting sick, who knows at this point?

"I still don't remember. I just know that I kept walking and walking wit this girl by my side,until we found this hill, and even she disappeared."

They both fell silent. Taehyung had already told you about the disappearance of his wife, unlike other topics, this was the one that seemed like a fable. There were no traces, like smoke that vanished on a sunset.

You can see on his eyes that ache every time he mentions her; you wish you could lick his old wounds, not to cure them, but to soothe the pain.

The way he was holding your hand and the fire trembling on his tan skin made him look like an angel. An untamed one leaves instead of feathers, strong arms to carry the world around him.

You couldn't take it anymore.

"Taehyung," you called, and he didn't have to move because your hand took him by surprise. Guiding him to your hungry lips.

He moaned lowly, making his free hand into a fist to control the euphoria that was running through his body. The wet sound of your mouths devouring each other, he didn't know how much he needed that, the warmth of your tongue licking his lips, the little pant coming out of your strawberry lips.

Oh, how much he hated the fact that he was getting hard just from a kiss, but how couldn't he, good God? You were so delicious.

He snatched his hand from yours and took both of your hands to squeeze above your head. Your back arched, and you mewled as you felt his hand squeeze your wrists.

Taehyung's eyes flickered to your face. Was he doubting what he was doing? Did you do something wrong?

"If you want to stop-"

"No," he growled desperately. With ease, his free hand grabbed the hair at the nape of your neck and kissed you again, clashing teeth.

"Slow down, Kim." you gasped as he devoured your neck, covering in saliva the fabric of the coat that covered you, almost tearing it apart.

Your hand explored his corduroy pants until it reached the tight bulge against his thigh.

"No. I don't want to," he screeched as he watched what you were doing. "Please, I'm too sensitive right now." It was a plea for you to let him enjoy touching you for a few more minutes, his glassy eyes and red lips.

You were cruel, and God, how he hated you for that. You chuckled low and spread your legs to climb into his lap. The sudden movement knocked the air out of him, hands on either side of the couch.

In one sitting, you were pressing his cock against your clothed pussy.

"Oh no, please. Let me-," his hands went to his mouth, squeezing it hard, the words coming out muffled.

With so few moans he had you addicted to his susceptibility. To his droopy eyes and his angelic whimpers over every little thing you did.

"Please," he asked again but it was in vain when you started moving back and forth and licking his neck. "Fuck me, i can't. Baby-" he mumbled rolling his eyes, reaching heaven with so little. The 'baby' scaped again and again from his lips until it died out.

It was embarrassing, but so sublime.

You loved it. No. You became obsessed.

When he finished, you could feel the wetness on his thigh. You laughed again, taking his face in your fingers; he hung from your fingertips like a puppet. His chin resting on them.

"You look so cute when you're sweaty in the middle of a blizzard," you said. He closed his eyes, enjoying the compliment.

Without saying anything else, leaving a wet spot on top of his zipper and his mouth open; you got up and went up the rustic stairs.

You were going to be the death of him.

The morning arrives quietly and with the sun coming in gently through the windows, you are grateful that the snow has stopped as you get up to put on your socks. Frank was sleeping between woolen sheets in the closet. When he heard you calling him he opened his eyes and lazily moved his thick tail.

The bed was made on Taehyung's side. Last night you hardly slept thinking about what you two had done in the living room, you waited anxiously for him to go to the room to finish what you had started, but you fell asleep waiting for him.

Maybe he was upset because you rushed him or he was embarrassed. Either way, you could still feel the moisture your pussy had let out just thinking about his face coming. Like a broken record, just as his pelvis raised to make one last contact with your clit.

You sighed and let the cool water calm your arousal. The small mirror showed your reflection, you were pale. Since the sun doesn't rise so often, you feel like you're withering. The tinting of your cheeks was already disappearing.

Your eyes were guided to the small photo pasted on the mirror, it was an ID with your face. The ink on the image was fading, with your name and date of birth right next to it.

It was the only thing you had for sure, maybe your face wasn't even that one. You returned to your reflection and began to notice every little detail: the dark circles under your eyes and the dry lips from biting them so much, the slightly yellowish teeth, and the eye that was smaller than the other.

That's new, you thought. Only if you looked hard enough could you see how your right eye involuntarily closed a little more than the other, the more you looked at it in the mirror, the more obvious it was.

The sound of a pot falling followed by a grunt made you snap out of your morning exam. You walked quickly to the stairs going down in a hurry.

You were surprised to see Taehyung in the kitchen, his hands covered in whipped cream and the sweet smell of freshly baked bread. A small tight smile apologizing for waking you up.

"Uh," he wiped his hands clean and leaned closer to you, placing an awkward kiss on your forehead. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you." You smiled softly, his hand found yours to guide you to the rustic table that he had made years ago, it was heavy and robust. It combined with everything that was seen in that kitchen, small details you had done here and there, but the smell of oak and the thick fabric of the curtains and the tablecloth were essentially Taehyung.

"I made you breakfast. You must eat it all or I'm really going to stop talking to you for a month."

As if he could.

"Because?"

"I spent all night trying to make whipped cream, found a book in the stack and it took me almost a dozen eggs to get it right."

"That's where you were last night." You smiled and he tensed, embarrassment painting his cheeks red. "Did you need a book to know how to follow our...?" You made an obscene gesture that made Taehyung turn to finish breakfast.

"You are so intense in the mornings."

"You've stopped smoking in the morning, have you noticed?"

Taehyung frowned. "It's true."

"I annoy you so much you don't need the nicotine to wake up."

"If that achievement makes you happy, go ahead." He crossed his legs as he sat down next to you. "Bon appétit."

You looked in front of you, on your plate was a piece of freshly baked bread toasted in the color of the sun. The whipped cream was smooth and slightly eggy, with peach slices decorated on top creating an attempt at a flower. The smell was intoxicating and your mouth watered from it.

Taehyung's chest swelled with joy as you took the first bite and inhaled. You looked at him tenderly. That human habit of food being the perfect language to show love without touching.

"It's good," you agreed taking another bite. "Did you try it?"

Taehyung denied raising his hand to ask you to continue tasting.

"I have something else for you," he said before you took another bite. You could see and hear in the silence of the kitchen how his foot bounced with eagerness to show you the other things.

Taehyung took a paper bag from his jacket hanging on the door and put it on your lap. His hands didn't let you open the material, kneeling on the floor in front of you.

"Slow down, Kim. For God's sake." you laughed looking at him. He imitated you.

"Sorry, it's just that I've been saving this for a long time."

You couldn't stop seeing him, it was impossible how much you loved him in such a short time. You looked down at your lap as he lowered your chin with his hand.

Inside the paper were many trinkets, colorful and very varied. Buttons, an old lighter with a rose carved on it, a ring in the shape of a butterfly, a deep red dried ink, and underneath it all the pale lace of a lingerie set.

You smiled as you put everything else aside and looked at the pieces in detail.

"Isn't there a more subtle way of saying you want to fuck me?" you joked

Taehyung didn't laugh, again he was looking at you with nervous eyes.

"I want to give you a portrait."

You put the lingerie on the table and looked at him. You knew that his painting materials were becoming more and more scarce. You denied it instantly.

"Don't worry, I'll use some oils that I have saved, they are in perfect condition and I want to use them with you." he rose clutching your face in his hands, like something ethereal. How could he see you in the morning and make you feel so lovely?

"I want to paint your lips," he ran his thumb over your bottom lip, "And your eyes."

"Even when one is smaller?"

He chuckled slightly at your sweet question.

"Especially the smaller one."

His hand grabbed the last bite of toast and opened your mouth with his thumb, delicately inserting it. "I told you to eat it all." his face was serious.

His thumb began to smear all the cream that remained in the corners of your mouth, pressing your lips while your tongue tried to lick his fingers.

"That is my girl." he hummed cocking his head at you.

Your toes tensed when you heard him say that.

"Open up," he commanded and you obeyed, opening your mouth to remove the sticky cream from his finger. He swallowedwhen he saw you lick every drop.

Your beautiful face, your messy hair, and your mouth covered in peach juices and whipped cream. So sweet and erotic that it made his stomach clench with the urge to eat you.

"I would like you to paint me in the summer, though."

"Because?"

"Because that way I could return the color to my cheeks, to see myself more..." you didn't know what the word was.

Taehyung could have cared less.

"Fine." he sighed and tossed the plate to the side with a crash. Suddenly, you were in his arms, he laid you down gently on the wood of the table.

"Tae?" a squeal came from you when you felt the cold in your pussy, Taehyung ripped your panties and began to rub his digits on your clit with such delicacy.

"Shh," he responded, grabbing the chair to walk over to the table and sit down. With one hand he brought your body closer to his face and began to run his tongue through your folds.

This is what he wanted to do last night and you didn't let him.

Your legs began to shake and he looked up through narrowed eyes. Your surprised face was so funny, it almost made him want to let you cum as fast as you let him.

"Spread your legs, let me see you." there was something so obscene about the way his voice deepened. He embarrassed you. "Aren't you going to let me eat you?"

You didn't know what to say.

"What happened that pretty girl who wouldn't shut the fuck up, huh?" His wet lips kissed your entrance with each word. "Where are your smart answers and the fucking questions about how I jerk off?" With one hand he hit your clit and you whimpered. "There it is." he smiled.

"God," you moaned so loud trying to get your nightgown down, it hurt so good. Taehyung squeezed your wrists with one hand and started devouring you again, your juices flowing on his nose and his tongue and you knew how much he liked it by the way he growled and bit the inside of your thigh.

It hurt but you couldn't stop moaning, your hands turning into claws from the tension wanting to grab his tangled hair, to see his face covered with it in a transparent and shiny layer.

"Atta, girl," he inhaled, snapping back. "Look at you," he smiled at you as he licked the edges of his lips. "The color is returning to your cheeks."

"What?" You stuttered before you felt how his hand collided with your ass. You screamed biting your lip.

"Come here."

His hand carried you to help your weak legs. With his hands under your armpits, he led you to the nearest wall.

"Get naked, pet."

"It's cold."

"Still?" Taehyung asked confused and piled the fabric of your dress in his hand until he found your wet pussy again. Without saying much, he inserted two fingers, curling the tips.

"More," you whispered, you were short of breath and you felt like you were in another cosmic plane with the long fingers of the man behind you.

His other hand began stroking your tummy until it reached your neck, squeezing gently. Hearing your sweet request, he laughed.

"You're a mess and I haven't even fucked you. Are you sure?"

You nodded awkwardly, your head pressed against the wall. A third finger was unexpected and burned.

"You're so wet, it's not fair." Kim sighed. "I want to do everything for you but you won't let me with that little body of yours."

"Mm," was all you could answer, your tongue was heavy and the knot under your stomach had you seeing stars.

"Those short dresses and the laughter and the erotic books and your perfect tits." he moaned turning you around to remove your dress.

Seeing your face again, Taehyung made up his mind; he couldn't take it anymore. Whipped cream decorated your cheek and your open mouth.

"Are you still cold?" His eyes saw you straight into your soul. You denied hugging his neck, hitting your lips with his.

If you didn't kiss him you felt like you were going to implode. His furrowed brows and his broad shoulders, the way he'd talk dirty to you but he'd kiss your shoulder calming your nerves.

There it was again, that tickle in your throat of saying things at the wrong time.

Shut me up with kisses, you thought, shut me up by sealing your lips with mine.

"More." Now it was Taehyung's turn to ask, moaning as he felt how your naked body hung from his waist.

He quickly lowered his pants until he took it off completely. Then his coat.

"Down," he murmured kissing you one last time crashing your body into the wall.

With one hand you grabbed his cock and started to move your hand. A cry came from him and you both nearly fell to the ground in a crash. Taehyung's legs failing from the sudden touch.

You laughed at Taehyung's irate gesture.

"In four. Now," he barked, after kissing you softly. "I want to fuck you, I don't want games anymore, 'kay?"

You nodded drunkenly at the way he spoke to you.

You stopped smiling when he repositioned you like a doll on your knees and hands.

You arched your back as you felt the tip stretch your entrance, you closed your eyes in pure pleasure. The sting was unbelievable, perfect.

"Mmhm," Taehyung ran his finger down your back, "Let me listen to you, love."

How can he call you that without melting?

You pushed yourself into him until your ass touched his pelvis. You both moaned each other's name.

"Fuck," he mumbled, grabbing both sides of your waist to guide your movements. The sounds that filled the kitchen were indecent, your cream accumulated at the base of his cock and your moans drove him crazy.

Yes, he was like a schoolboy when it came to you, he couldn't see your cleavage without wanting to touch himself or look at your lips without wanting to bite them so badly that they bled. You were in addition to his antidote, his new favorite morbidity.

"Atta girl, squeeze me more," he hissed at you slowing his pace down. His moans turned to whimpers as you began to feel the cum dripping down your thighs. You were about to cum and he could feel it. "Let me feel those walls, baby. Cum for me."

You lifted your upper body so you could move against him and with two brushes of his fingers on your puffy clit you began to scream his name letting your face fall into your hands.

You both panted hard, abruptly, Taehyung pulled his cock out, revealing how his cum came out of you. God, he prays that this is the one that knocks you up.

Getting up, he grabbed your delicate body and took you to the sofa, lit the fireplace, and left you alone for a few minutes. When he returned he brought with him a blank canvas the length of his forearm and a couple of charcoal pencils.

The afterglow had your cheeks with the most beautiful tint. Flushed and plump lips from biting it so much. You let your hair do what it wants, just how he likes it and you smiled at him when he sat down in front of you. You squinted your eyes when you smiled and his shoulders relaxed.

"Stay still, please," he whispered while he took a pencil in his hands.

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