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auspicioustidings · 1 year ago

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Savage

Summary: Request for some Scottish warrior Soap taking an English maiden as a prize.

Words: 3.7k

CWs: Violent non-con (I am so serious, do not ready this if it's not your thing), hardcore smut

–

Authors Note: This is very much a rape fantasy. Traditionally rape fantasies have historical grounding in minorities who felt ashamed of their own desires so had to fantasise a situation in which they were blameless for engaging in a stigmatised action because it was forced. It’s sort of where a lot of the noncon trope in bodice rippers comes from because women in unhappy marriages need a fantasy in which they can get rid of the shame for wanting passionate or rough sex because they imagine they fought against it. A lot more people have rape fantasies than people generally realise and truly a miniscule barely there number of them would ever think it was ok to actually assault someone. All that to say, this is not me condoning anything in real life. If you find fantasies like this don’t do it for you, then do not read it, but don’t then shame people who do. There is psychology behind why people fantasise about these things, it’s pretty normal and you don’t need to be worried that it is some moral failing. Mind your business.

It was a miraculously good match for you, a high ranking soldier of the King’s army. You were technically of noble blood, but just barely. You lived simply, not in a large house but in a small village where you held no sway over anyone else and were treated as common. But the village was close to the border between England and Scotland and every day it became more tense as whispers of raids from villages to the West skittered between houses like rats.

You didn’t know how your uncle had made arrangements for this beneficial marriage for you, but it would get you moving South in a few days time to marry and then you would finally be able to relax with this war much further away from you. You had heard horror stories of what happened to young maidens when savages came pillaging. They said that they didn’t wear anything under those kilts, they said it was to make it easy to bury their cocks in any hot hole they could find. They said they didn’t have any tame qualities, not like the English. Scottish men were feral, the comparison to dogs not holding water because at least dogs could be trained.

When you retreated to bed you got on your knees to say your prayers. As always you had to beg forgiveness for the licentious thoughts that sent thrills straight to your cunt whenever you thought about the images all those rumours put in your head.

–

The noise of chaos woke you in a panic, heart hammering against your ribcage as the smell of smoke drifted on the air and war cries sounded. You recognised your own kinfolk of course, the battalion of soldiers stationed here to keep eyes on the border. But it was the cries of those animals from the country to the North that sent you scrambling out of bed in only your chemise, knowing you had to run and hide before they could see you.

You slipped out of the bedroom, a frightened little rabbit looking for a burrow to hop into. The smell of smoke was stronger in the main room and you could see the orange glow of flames through the window. Going outside would be a risk, but hiding in here may get you burned to a crisp should this building be lit up. You did not have time to make the decision as the door burst off of its hinges, a muscular man in a blood spattered kilt with a warrior's mohawk and wild eyes panting like a dog as he caught sight of you.

You were frozen, unable to even breathe. And then after a beat his mouth stretched into a horrid manic grin as he bounded towards you. That finally shifted you from freeze to flight as you scrambled back through to the bedroom, trying to get to the small window. You threw the top half of your body through the gap but his rough hands grabbed your naked ankles and yanked you back, hard. You felt the chemise catch on the window frame, the fabric bunching up to completely expose you to him before he let go of your ankles letting you crash to the ground.

Your knees throbbed from the hard floor and by the time you were trying to crawl away he had his hand in your hair, brutally pulling your head up and craning it to look at him leaning over and getting into your face.

“Hear I have a wee noble bitch on my hands.”

Of course he would know. There were families here who would tell them anything to save themselves and pointing them in the direction of a noble maiden, one who was betrothed to an English soldier at that, would certainly be information that could spare them. The shouts outside sounded more heavily weighted towards those in his own gruff and growling accent now. The English soldiers were losing.

“I-I don��t know what you are talking about ser” you cried gently, not knowing how else to save yourself.

“Bonnie words” he growled, pulling so sharply at your hair that you thought your scalp might be bleeding and using his other hand to grope meanly at one of your breasts through the rough fabric of your nightwear.

You cried out, feeling the tears immediately spill over and stream down your face. He was so strong, you could barely budge against his hold, and he reeked of blood and fire and sweat and hot arousal. You squeezed your eyes shut and he only growled at you.

“Ye’ll keep those eyes open, yer going tae watch yer wee English cunt take me like a whore or I’ll take yer tight arse instead.”

You choked on a sob and opened your eyes, seeing that his were full of sick glee and heat. The hand groping at your tits moved under the chemise to cup roughly at your sex and he pulled you to your feet by that hand. You screamed at how it felt as he abused you with his hand, grinding the heel against you. You felt a hot flood of bitter shame as he swiped a finger violently through your folds. What he found there made him pause for a moment, his face lighting up in unrestrained glee.

“Fucking English slut. Y’er dripping.”

You had heard women who said it would be better to be wet if they were to be taken against their will. You did not agree. Him knowing that your traitorous body found his rough abuse of it arousing was so humiliating you felt you would rather die. He was so oppressive in his demeanour, so big and aggressive above you that you imagined he may break your bed with what he was about to do to you. How foolish of you to think he would have that level of mercy.

“Going tae show all those bastards how their women take Scottish cock” he laughed, spearing two fingers inside you to their full length with no softness at all and pulling you by them.

You could not breathe. You had never had anything inside you and those two fat fingers felt like they were stretching you so much you would tear. He walked backwards so he could keep them firmly inside you and you stumbled pathetically after him, needing to keep as close to him as possible to stop the painful press against your walls that came from him pulling if you did not move.

The shame was overwhelming as you emerged, full of his fingers and stumbling after him with tears streaming down your face, to find that your country's soldiers had been defeated with the survivors on their knees, hands bound. You were being paraded in front of them you realised, they had been put right here in the town square so they could bear witness, the Scottish soldiers standing behind them feral and full of lust as they took in their leader pulling you in front of them by the cunt.

When he ripped his fingers out of you, your knees buckled and a high whine left you. You had went from feeling too full to feeling far, far too empty. You could barely hear anything but the blood rushing through you as your heart hammered. That and him as he taunted the soldiers on their knees.

“Our women would ne’er let ye touch them, they’d die first. Yer clean wee English princess on the ither hand?” he said, planting a booted foot to your chest and pushing until he had you pinned on your back underfoot, “she’s gagging fir it. Foaming at the gusset tae take strong Scottish cock, put a real warrior in her belly.”

His own men cheered at that and you watched on with horror as he cocked his head at one of them and he began to approach you.

“Naw a monster though am I my wee slut? Ye’d be wet enough fir one of their small English cocks nae doubt, but fir mine? Going tae need something to help me sink in good and deep.”

The other soldier went to his knees between your legs and you watched as he pulled his throbbing cock from under his kilt, jerking it violently. You tried to move away, his cock so close you could feel the heat of it between your legs, but the boot on your chest held you still. When you tried to close your legs the man touching himself used his other hand to wrench one of your knees until it was touching the ground, using his own knees between your thighs to help him keep your glistening cunt fully on display.

When the head of his cock stroked through your folks, slicking you with his pre-cum and bumping at your clit, you were so overwhelmed that you didn’t quite manage to bite back your moan. They laughed meanly at you as the man found his release, spurting hot cum all over your pussy, smacking his cock against your stomach when he was done to shake off the last drops.

It was filthy, you felt sticky and like you were on fire. The next soldier took his place and spat right on your already disgusting cunt as he began to stroke himself. By the time he had painted you with his seed and the third was started, the man above pressed his foot harder to get your attention and all you could do was stare up into his taunting eyes, trying to focus on him so you could not think of what was going on between your legs. You cried up at him, trying to find any level of sympathy in him.

“Keep crying and I’ll gie ye something tae cry about princess.”

Oh you hated him calling you that when you were pinned down in the dirt, defeated soldiers of your country watching as their enemies smeared their cum all over your exposed body. Watching as they made a sloppy mess out of you in preparation for their leader to shove his cock deep inside and pump you full of his savage children.

You did not know how long you stared up at him, not able to look away as you felt the heat of his men on your body, your own body getting hotter and hotter with each slide of velvety throbbing skin against your own. He had started to talk to you, his eyes not budging. It wasn’t the defeated soldiers he was taunting, it was you, ruined and disgraced under his boot.

“See how good I am tae ye little whore? Letting my men make ye flush wi pleasure. Don’t deny it, think I cannae see yer face whenever ye feel a cock on that wee untouched pussy? Like a fucking bitch in heat. I’ll fuck ye like one. Get ye on yer hands and knees so ye can look yer precious King’s soldiers in the eye when ye fall apart on my cock. When ye’r fucking begging for my cum. Wilnae even have tae dae any work, ye’ll be fucking yourself back on me ye needy slut.”

You shook your head in horror at his claims, the true fear being that he would make them true. Already you felt in a daze, felt empty and desperate. But you felt fear as well as he put his arm under his kilt, rucking the fabric up to grab at his cock. It was huge and you found yourself panicked and squirming as the last of his soldiers grunted and slapped the meat of your thigh to get you to stay still. You were rambling incoherently as the man above stroked slowly at himself, causing that thick weapon between his legs to throb and seem even bigger.

“It won’t fit, it’s not going to fit, please I’ll die, you’ll split me open. It’s so big no no I can’t, I can’t!”

You didn’t even feel the last of his soldier’s loads splatter onto you, didn’t notice when his hands left your flesh. You would have rapidly purpling skin in the shape of fingerprints all over your thighs from how you had been held still by all of them, but you could not feel the dull pain of it through your fear of what was to come.

“Ye’ll take whit I gie ye and ye’ll fucking thank me princess.”

He removed his foot and it was only then you realised that he had been pressing down hard enough that your breaths had been shallow. The rush of oxygen from being able to fully expand your lungs again made you horribly dizzy, but it also flooded right down to your clit and made your body jerk violently with the sensation.

He didn’t take his hand from his cock and he bent so he could use the other to grab your ruined hair again, yanking your head up and shoving himself into your mouth. You choked, legs scrambling to get underneath you to give you some stability with which to batter your fists against his thighs, trying to pull away. He laughed meanly at your attempts, moving the hand that was touching himself to join the one tangled in your hair on the back of your head and pulling your head at the same time as he thrust forward, settling himself fully in your throat.

You were gagging around him, tears really streaming down your face now as you begged him with your eyes to let you breathe. He held you there, his own eyes glittering with satisfaction, until your muscles started to give in and you felt your eyes dropping closed as your brain became cottony. Then all at once he pulled you off and you were gulping in oxygen around your coughing and sputtering, the rush much more intense this time.

He held your head tilted up at him so he could watch your face as he shoved his boot between your legs and got you over the edge. Oh weren’t you a delicious little thing for him, getting off so hard on how he used you, moaning shakily and wantonly in the dirt beneath him in front of his triumphant soldiers and your defeated ones.

“Good fucking girl” he growled with a feral grin, letting you ride it out with little aborted thrusts on his boot, unable to control your body.

You looked gone, eyes glazed and body slack. Couldn’t have that, he needed you screaming for him. He needed your blood fighting between being frozen with terror and boiling with need. And he needed you full of him, needed to be able to feel his own cock through your stomach so fucking clearly that he could jerk it.

You were thrown forward, top half of your body collapsing pathetically into the dirt right where it was covered in the sweat and cum of his soldiers. He manhandled your hips up, leaving your face crushed into the dirt and your ass up high for him, cunt presented. You felt his hot breath at your ear and it was a sudden shock when you realised he was growling lowly into your ear, his words for you and you only.

“S’going tae hurt, yer going tae scream yerself hoarse for me and then I’ll get ye tae milk me when I rip pleasure out of all that pain. Will treat ye right after little princess, like one of my good Scottish lassies, but right now ye’r my fucking English whore.”

The confusing mix of sentiments cleared some of the fuzziness from your mind but you had no time to dwell. He was right, it did hurt and you did scream yourself hoarse. He had lined himself up and plunged into you, cock coated and slick from the cum of his soldiers but no less huge inside your tight virgin pussy. He had split you in two, you were sure of it. His cock must have broken through you, was sitting in your ribcage and punching all the air from your lungs.

You blacked out for a moment, coming right back to when he pulled out to fuck brutally back into you again, slapping your ass so hard that you felt the sting all the way up to your fingertips and making you choke on the sob that fought through the screaming. He ripped at your hair, making you look at the defeated soldiers on their knees. Making you watch their own cocks swell at your treatment. Your utter ruination was making them hard. Your head being wrenched back meant you had to go to your hands as he pounded you, and you saw how they looked as one of your breasts was fucked right out of the chemise, bouncing lewdly for them to see with every hard thrust.

The humiliation had you digging into the dirt like you had claws, feeling the bite of the earth pushing under your nails. It sparked something in your brain, almost like you could see them sharpen. Like you could feel your shoulder blades become more pronounced, become something sinewy and sleek and animal. He was fucking you like a predator and you were drooling and howling and panting like his prey, back bowed as he pulled your hair harder and had to staring at the sky babbling prayers into the night air.

“S’too much, can’t, I can’t. Full, too full.”

“Ye fucking can. Yer tight fucking cunts trying tae strangle me, wants my cum so bad naw? Perfect English pussy, so slutty and needy for a real cock” he growled, hand letting go of your hair and smacking your ass right over where he had before, causing you to howl at the pain.

The pain and something else, something that had no place here and yet had been lingering from the moment he had caught you. Something that had been getting closer and brighter and more insistent with every abuse you were subject to. Something that he invited in when your arms collapsed beneath you without him holding your heads weight anymore and he ground your face into the ground before bringing his hand to your clit and pinching.

Your scream was raw and hoarse, throat well past being able to produce a clear sound. The orgasm was blinding and every bone felt like it had liquified. You saw white and then you saw hardly anything, only vague shapes and colours. The only thing now was how his cock filled you. The shame was gone, replaced with the truth that you loved this. You loved how he used you like this, how he violated you in front of these soldiers just because he could.

“That’s it princess, fucking take it” he hissed, stopping his thrusts and letting you do all the work.

You didn’t even realise now how you wildly fucked yourself back on his cock trying to chase the pain of overstimulation, addicted to the way it made you feel some sick hazy pleasure. You were drooling onto the dirt, tasting the earth mixed with cum and finding the disgust of it only felt right now. When his hand came to your stomach and pushed to feel himself bulging there you came again, harder, babbling thank yous to him.

He bit out a string of curses above you as your pussy squeezed so hard it was forcing him out, but he was strong as he forced himself balls deep and held there, finding his release as you milked everything out of him and into your womb. The liquid heat of it was the last thing you felt as you passed out, blissed and fucked out of your mind.

–

John MacTavish allowed himself a moment to lean his body against your back, inhaling the scent of sweat and dirt and cum and fear and lust from your limp body. So good for him, took it perfectly. He hissed when he finally pulled out, resisting the temptation to just keep going beyond what would feel good because fuck, being inside you had been a religious experience.

He was nothing if not a man of his word though, and he scooped your body gently into his arms to get you onto a horse and ready for him to take over the border where he could give you that princess treatment he had promised. The surviving soldiers they would leave beaten and bloodied but not dead. After all, someone had to tell your betrothed all the details.

“Fucking MacTavish” he hissed after excusing the man who had given the report.

He had made him give it in full detail, told him to leave nothing out.

“Kept her alive by the sounds of it, maybe looking to get a bastard out of her” Garrick mused.

“Knowing him he’ll keep her near the border to taunt us instead of moving her further up North” Price added.

Simon Riley would not be letting his betrothed get away with allowing MacTavish of all people to take the maidenhood that rightfully belonged to him. She needed a proper punishing fuck from an English man to learn better.

“Doesn’t matter where he keeps her. I’m going to take her, and she’s going to learn what happens to sluts who spread their legs for those Scottish bastards”.

#mhairiwrites #fanfic #cod au #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #cw: noncon #rest assured this isn't likely to become the kind of thing I write because it is well out of my wheelhouse #I've got a half chapter of Firewatch written and will finish that off #But I'm looking to do a little more of the Teashop AU after and that is going to stay fluffy and wholesome as hell #darkfic #dark content

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dansroo · 4 days ago

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TAKE THEM OFF. Jayce Talis x reader.

⤷ Tired of monotony, there is nothing that his faithful partner can't fix.

content; nsfw. male!reader. dom!reader. sub!needy!jayce. secret relationship. masturbation through clothes. light overstimulation. dirty talk. teasing. semi-public. mention of body fluids. slight mention of huge cock. so messy and loud jayce. mention of women flirting with you and a little jealousy!jayce. wc; 1.6K

Do you know that famous GIF from a 1997’s movie called "Wilde"? Just so you can understand the position a little better. ;)

a/n; hi!!, I hope you had a good time at the holidays, in my country they haven't finished yet haha. btw, I wanted to release this that I had in mind before continuing with the requests. english is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any grammatical error !

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

The significant effect you have on him was something that remained difficult to explain, even to himself.

The scent of your perfume clouded his mind, causing most of his thoughts to become blurred, transforming into only one that was recurrent—the carnal need he has for you. He wanted to feel you touching him properly, that you stop teasing him over his clothes. Even if it was something foolish to ask, he had already cummed for the second time inside his pants.

Just for a couple of caresses and words in the ear.

No one out there had any idea of what was happening in here. The same ordinary and frequent talks, pretending that they were even a little interested in each other's life or well-being. Hypocrisy. It was all about income, money, convenience.

Drinking the most expensive wine while ensuring a good impression. To have everyone you could on your side.

But he didn't have to spend the rest of the night in a pretentious gala if he had you by his side. His most faithful partner—or at least that was what they used to whisper to each other on every corner.

He wasn't going to spend it either looking at the way those women touched you. So supposedly innocent, when their flirtation could be seen from miles away. Fingers slid all over your arm as they leaned close to you, pressing. They almost made him choke on his drink more than once. It wouldn’t be weird for anyone if you and he got away from the rest, right?

The way it was so easy for you to make him melt in your hands was worth studying.

“Does it hurt?” he managed to hear your voice, muttering close to his ear.

Your hand caressed his thigh, torturously slow. He took a deep breath when you reached the groin, stopping you just a couple of centimeters away from his clothed erection. Of course, it was starting to hurt; the constant pressure inside his pants was hell, he needed you to release him.

He nod shakily, desperately fast.

He knew he would be a complete mess by the time you were done with him—a trembling, whining, and whimpering mess—as if he wasn't already; and he honestly didn't mind. Hell, he wanted it. He wanted it badly.

“Come on, what happened to using your words?” a pleasant chill ran through his body, feeling the way your thumb left soft and ‘innocent’ caresses on his thigh “You are perfectly capable of speaking, aren't you? You love it.” you whispered to him, your tongue making a small and mocking emphasis on the last word. “Or has your brain stopped working?”

“I'm sorry… ugh-… It hurts, it fucking hurts…” he whined, just as you had thought. He was loud; he didn't tend to hide when something truly made him feel good—when you make him feel good—and it was something you loved. It was so satisfying not have to ask to hear him; you would prefer a thousand times ask him to be less loud than not hear his beautiful voice break into prayers and pathetic whines. “Please, please just- take them off.”

If it were possible, you could listen to him all day.

“Fuck, you're so wet.” you heard him gasping loudly against your ear while you touched him again—always over his clothes. His fluids had managed to penetrate the fabric perfectly, leaving an embarrassing stain on his crotch along the way.

You squeezed it, making him moan almost out of breath. He moved on your lap, his back arching slightly. The hand that was gently holding the back of your neck moved a little lower, taking you firmly by the collar of your shirt. You inevitably smiled. “You really like it, don't you?”

“Oh, yes, please don’t stop… please don’t-”

Your hand didn't move anymore, teasing with him. Testing how long it would take him to stand being without your touch—without feeling you. Although deep down, you already had the answer.

He waits, waits patiently. His groans reach your ears later, as you appreciate the way he tries to hide the need, the craving.

Sometimes you were surprised that this same man was the great Man of Progress. The same one they were just talking about outside, just a couple of corridors away.

He was so desperate for some friction that his hips began to move, rubbing against your hand. “What would the Council say if they saw you like this?” you searched for his eyes once he stopped hiding in the hollow of your neck, chuckled softly when he looked away from yours. You bit your lip, taking the time to observe his face—which had remained hidden from you until now—his half-open lips, from which only incessant moans emerged.

Admiring every little inch of his vulnerable expression, focused on keeping your hand close to him taking you by the wrist.

His great and appreciated golden boy.

“If only they knew the way you moan like a whore for me.��

He let out a hoarse moan, beginning to move faster against your hand. You bent down, leaning close to his face. He looked so beautiful, completely submitting to you and letting you see him in a way nobody else was allowed to. His messy hair, his messy neck, his weak breathing -God, just looking at him was making your head swirl and your heart pound.

"You look so pretty, so weak… so breathless and all mine.” Jayce shuddered at your words, silently loving the idea of belonging to you and only you. He wanted you to do whatever you wanted to him, to just let yourself go and take out all that pent up stress and desire. “I could just admire you like this forever.” the way he was so needy for you was absolutely perfect.

“God- I love the way you talk to me.”

There was not a sound he loved more in the world than the tone of your voice, speaking to him so sweetly or even in the dirtiest way possible—he didn't care as long as it was you—your laughter, your ramblings, your praises... searching for you without wasting a second if he thought he heard you, you stole his breaths, you stole his heartbeats, you stole his thoughts; he was simply addicted.

“Are you cumming again?” you observe him, the sweat starting to form on his forehead. He looks at you through his eyelashes, a gaze so lustful and fragile that it is enough for you to understand everything.

His hand clung tighter around your wrist, pushing against you, slowly, making sure that his entire and huge crotch pressed against your fingers. Looking at his face writhing with expressions of pure lust.

“Ah- fuck! I can't... I need it- I just need you-” he whimpered, his words coming out breathlessly as he pleaded to you. Touching was no longer enough, he needed to feel you inside, he needed more of than simple touches. “Please, fill me- I don’t care I-” he groan, his hips slowly losing the rhythm.

His forehead rested on yours. Breathing so erratic that it took him a moment to regulate it decently, his eyes remained closed while the grip on your wrist began to loosen—it was wet, almost sticky. You laughed softly as you took the time to rest against him too, closing your eyes and listening to his breathing.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, the tone of your voice coming out a bit worried. You opened your eyes, looking at him shaking his head. “Do you really need to cum?”

He nodded, a small, trembling breath leaving his lips as he spoke up again.

"Yes!- Yes, just… one more, please.”

“Are you sure about that?, I feel like you're going to faint in my arms.” you laughed, stealing a laugh from him too. “Just do it, it will be worse later.”

You took one last look at the office door. You both knew that you also needed some help, you wouldn't walk out there with an erection in your pants.

And honestly you didn't know what Jayce would do with that notorious stain on his.

Your eyes scanned the entire office. The big shelves were full of books and small decorations that you could tell—In fact, you already knew—were ridiculously expensive. The paintings of different sizes hung on the walls, but the darkness did not allow you to distinguish who they were. The large window, framed small rays of the moon visible among the clouds.

Oh.

There was a very beautiful desk too. Wide and thick enough. This person wouldn't mind if their desk was used as a place to fuck, right?

Fuck it, almost no one at this party liked you enough.

You shared a glance with Jayce, who had already been watching you, knowing perfectly what you were thinking.

The sharp sound of her heels echoed with every step as she took a short sip from the golden cup between her fingers. Turned to the right when she reached the end of the corridor, bumping into the extravagant threshold that welcomed the elegant gala.

Firm posture, demonstrating confidence and control. Utilizing the great weight of her name by standing with the rest of the Council.

“You found them?”

She nodded, watching at the rest of the people talking at the nearby tables “Talking about business.”

"I didn't know that talking about business took so long." the blond man declared, the discomfort prominent in his voice, fingers reaching for another glass of dessert wine from the tray of a passing waiter.

She smirk “You know, Progress.”

Progress was quite an interesting concept for Mel.

#arcane #arcane x reader #.❗️🌧️.˚.⋆#arcane x male reader #x male reader #male reader #jayce talis #jayce talis x reader #gay #jayce talis x male reader #jayce x reader #jayce talis x you #mlm #mlm smut

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bloodywankers · 2 years ago

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Trigger Warning! Yandere! Implied Non-Con! Forced Marriage! Forced Cultural Assimilation! Power Imbalance! Royalty AU!

Yandere Blue Lock | Yandere Michael Kaiser | 5.4k words | unedited

Michael Kaiser was arrogant, and surpassed all reason with his gall. As if it had not been your people who had fed and clothed his own when their ship sank near the coast of your island.

Provided them with shelter and welcomed them with open arms when they had nowhere to go in the vast ocean.

Whether it was gold or medicine, you wasted no expense to extend your generous hand towards them, ensuring your guests stayed comfortably while within the confines of your island.

Their culture was strange to you who had grown up in a matriarchy, surrounded by warriors and women admirable in both strength and intelligence. In fact, it was the opposite of your own. Men were the ones who held most of the power in their country, no wonder they looked so flabbergasted when there were no other men on the island beside themselves, surrounded by well built women tanned under the scorching sun, beyond anything they were used to as they had said many times.

They weren’t as bad as many stories told, they shared whatever was spared from the ocean on their ship, blankets, food that you had never come across and strange trinkets you still couldn’t fully understand.

Kaiser was strange even when you first met him, commanding those around him so naturally unlike you who was egalitarian in the making. Treating everyone with equal consideration and respect. Conceit lining his every action, as if he looked down on all those that surrounded him.

Had it not been for them not having anywhere else to go, you wouldn’t have let them near your people, especially not when it was evident he looked down on you.

“Your ‘country’ is run solely by women?” He seemed almost indignant when presented with this information. Despite this, you still bid them farewell with a smile on your face and nothing but prayers of good fortune for the journey that lies ahead of them.

So imagine your surprise when you receive a letter, a threat, the familiar arrogance dripping from each sentence written in the paper. ‘Surrender or else.’ That was basically what he was saying, that bastard. Acting as if your people hadn’t done all they did for his own.

But yours was a country of warriors, you’d fight them even if it cost your lives.

Or so you had thought, but the enemy never came. Instead, your numbers fell from within, one after another, all those around you fell ill, weakened until they could barely stand. You had barely managed to contain the infection when he came, that coward.

“You don’t seem to be doing very well.” He taunted, grinning from ear to ear as he looked down on you.

“A country run by women… isolated from the world. I was wondering for how long that’d work out for you.” He said as he walked circling around you, as a hyena would to its prey. He spared a few glances towards your surroundings, examining the sickly state many, including you were in. A rather cruel idea came to mind as he looked into your eyes, that defiance, sheer hatred that lined them, he wondered if he could crush it, like taming a wild animal in a sense.

“You’ll all die at this rate, why not come with me? The old geezer’s been pestering me lately to get married and I think you'd do nicely [name]. What do you say?” Even as he suggested something as serious as marriage, he had a certain playfulness in his tone, as if he was just mocking you, waiting for you to say yes just to laugh in your face.

“Even at a time like this you seem to spare no opportunity to mock us.” You spat back at him, not having braced yourself for the bruising hold on your jaw he now had.

“I’m sorry, I think I should rephrase that, I made it sound like I almost gave you a choice.” And with that, he released your aching jaw and walked out, you could overhear him ordering one of the men that came with him and while you didn't understand their language, you could assume it had something to do with you.

….

While most of the girls were against it, they understood you had no choice unless they were willing to face off against those strange men in their current condition. So it was decided, in exchange for treatment and protection from other invaders with similar intentions to Kaiser’s, you’d go with him. It felt dehumanising, to be traded like livestock but you didn’t want to think of what would happen had you opposed the idea as vehemently as you planned to.

Instead you focused on what to do once you reached his home country, it was a long journey, turns out that his men had settled on the just a few days on boat away from your island. His true home country, the one you learnt he would rule over was much further, a climate noticeably colder and duller than what you were used to.

“I expect you to be on your best behaviour once we get there, we wouldn’t want them to think you’re an uneducated savage, would we?” You despised how he spoke to you, slower, in a simpler way and overwhelmingly patronising, as one would to a child.

“I’m aware.” You replied.

He made you learn his country's language during the journey, so while he read government papers and complex books, he forced you to read children’s books out loud. Laughing at how you’d pronounce certain words, chuckle as you tried your best to differentiate between one sound and another and ensure you were thoroughly embarrassed before explaining anything you didn't understand.

He let you wear your own clothes at least, but even this, he assured, was only until you reached land, until he could have a tailor skilled enough to make something befitting of his future wife.

You couldn’t help but curse him under your breath every single day, pray he’d come down with sickness or fall overboard, pray he’d die, a slow painful death. But even this had to be done in secrecy, not because of how ill you wished him but because he forbade anything that held any semblance to your culture.

It was foolish to think he’d lose interest once you returned to his homeland, surrounded by enough women and shiny things to forget about you, men were fickle, or so the older women always told you. But not Kaiser to your dismay, instead he seemed even more invested in finding ways to make your life more difficult, from dance instructors to history and politics. Each day felt daunting as you missed your small island home, wanting for nothing more than to return to your home and your true family.

With what little you spoke of their language you could tell you weren’t the most welcome of guests, the maids’ glances towards you weren’t exactly overflowing in kindness and the older men that visited Kaiser seemed equally troubled by your presence.

“Who would dare say anything to my kaiserin.” There it was, the new nickname he had picked for you among a myriad of others, some more insulting than others. Not that Kaiser cared, he seemed to pay no mind to what you thought. Instead he seemed to be much more focused on your untouched plate.

“You’re not eating. I can’t have you looking like a corpse at our wedding, darling.” You just continued to stare down at your plate, its contents didn’t seem fit to be called food to you, not with how tasteless they were, even prisoners ate better in your homeland. You furrowed your brows as you took a bite, trying to chew as little as possible as to not taste any of it.

“I’m sure you’ve been taught better table manners than that, dear.” You didn’t like the way he looked at you, it’s as if he was looking at something lesser than him, lesser than human in his eyes.

“The food…I don’t like how it tastes.” You muttered under your breath in what little German you spoke.

“I suppose it’ll take time to develop an appreciation for high class food, I understand, especially after you’ve been eating garbage most of your life. No wonder you were so weak back then.” He never seemed to miss a chance to insult your culture. You were sure whatever garbage you had eaten before was much more filling than these scraps.

…

You had always enjoyed running around freely in the past, taking in the beauty of nature, but here, it would be rare to find any nature at all among the concrete jungle. And whatever little greenery there was was hidden by the accursed weather. Dull and gloomy, much like the country itself.

And god forbid your handmaidens let you out without hiding you among layers over layers of fabric, weighing you down just enough to make sure you would tire yourself out to not suggest going out for another few days.

But even that seems like a privilege to you now as you look out the large window in your room. He had come to visit earlier, drunk— clearly as seen from the pink in his cheeks and the unmistakable stench of alcohol coming from him.

“You’ll look so nice in a wedding dress, my precious kaiserin. I can’t wait to see you in white.” He said as he got closer than you’d have allowed, draping his arms around you as he sunk into the crook of your neck. You couldn’t help but scrunch your nose as he took in your scent. For an emperor as great as he claimed he was, he seemed to act a bit too depraved.

That’s when he went for it, tried to remove your dress. Your heartbeat racing as a mix of anxiety and dread overflowed from your thoughts as they clouded your judgement. In the midst of the moment, you shoved him away, ending in him being pushed onto your bed while you were now on the floor.

“What…?” He seemed angry, really, really angry. You didn't want to know what he would do so you just spewed whatever came to mind in hopes of something convincing enough to at least reduce whatever punishment he would give you now.

“The… The wedding! You have to wait. We should only do this after marriage. That’s what the priest said, we cannot do this unless we’re husband and wife!” You exclaimed as Kaiser simply looked at you, now having regained his composure.

You hoped this would buy you some time, at least enough to think of a way out without endangering the lives of your people. Your wedding was still a few months away, this would be enough time to do whatever was necessary.

Or so you had thought.

“Your highness, we cannot allow you to go out like this! Please understand, we’re under strict orders from the emperor. You must focus on your bridal studies. The tailor will also be coming today with the finalised dress.” The maid said, or rather pleased, she didn’t look any more pleased with the current arrangements as you were. That bastard, he moved your wedding from a few months to just weeks away after that. No wonder he had been so quiet lately. Everyone had begged that he rethink it but he paid them no mind, simply ordering that they prepare everything by the end of the month, sending everyone inside and outside the palace into a frenzy.

He didn’t forget to reprimand you for pushing him away either, forbidding anyone from allowing you outside the walls unless he himself allows it himself. Leaving you confined to your room most of the time, preparing for your wedding. Your stomach dropped at the mere thought of it.

…

Despite what he made you think, Kaiser was just as busy with wedding preparations as you were. Only the most grand event would be worthy of him and his precious wife. You used to be so aggressive when you first came, refusing to speak the language, firing insults at him every time he spoke. He found it adorable how you stuttered this time around. He did have to punish you for pushing him away, that was unacceptable, but the way you tried to reason with him, that desperate look in your eyes made him want to devour you right then and there.

It was rewarding to see the fruit of his labour.

It brought a smile to his face just to think about you.

“Have you heard? Apparently the empress is so beautiful that the emperor keeps her in a separate palace, he doesn’t allow any male servants near her so they aren’t seduced by your beauty.” A younger man, probably the son of a noble, seeing as how ignorant he was, said. The other men around him simply added more fuel to the fire as they continued to gossip amongst themselves.

The male couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle. Would they have said the same thing had they seen you as you were back in your little island? Ragged and sickly, so ready to jump anyone that came too close to you as a string of curse words left your mouth. So unladylike, he was sure they wouldn’t.

None of them would have seen your potential like you did, he was the one who polished you into the gem that you were today so it’s only right he’s the only one to enjoy the benefits of it.

He’ll have to make sure you don’t have to interact with these scum too much during the wedding, Kaiser thought as he held himself back from ripping their tongues out right then and there, there were better, quieter ways to deal with people like that. No point in causing a commotion, especially when your wedding was so close, when you would finally have to resign yourself to your fate, sealed in his hands and his alone.

“Your highness please keep your arms up so that the tailor can fit the dress.” One of the maids said as a few others rustled around you, trying to fit the dress on you, ensure that it was safely fastened so as to avoid any accidents during your actual wedding.

“I hope you don't mind me intruding on your fitting session, my precious kaiserin.” Kaiser said as he invited himself in, his eyes set on you and the dress that just made you all the more alluring. Jewels that were worn by women of his family for centuries before this splayed all around the room as the maids tried to agree on the most fitting one and a dress made by the most prestigious tailor in the continent, all to represent his country, the mother of his nation.

…

The servants had all long gone now, leaving you alone with Kaiser. They giggled amongst themselves as they left, you had heard many talk about the lovely relationship between you two, oh how you wished to deny it all.

“You didn’t have to come.” You said, still insistent on avoiding eye contact with Kaiser.

“I can’t help but notice darling, you never seem to say my name. We’re to be wed soon, wouldn’t it be better for you to refer to your husband-to-be by his name?” You couldn’t understand why he seemed so intent in closing the distance between you two, as if to keep you from running off— not that there were any places where you could seek shelter from him and his overbearing presence.

Discomfort was evident in you as you tried to pry him away. It’d be hard to believe that you were the same person capable of taking out his men with relative ease. Kaiser, however, paid it no mind, instead leaning in closer as he took a hold of your chin, barely any distance left between you two, your breath hitching as you tried your best to divert the topic on to anything else.

“Come now, how hard can it be to say Michael, you’ve pronounced harder words darling, this should be easy for you.” He said leaning in even more. His lips practically on yours at this point, your efforts to pull away being left in vain as you hit the back of the sofa you were on.

“Michael, I said it, now please stop this!” You pleaded, but it would be difficult to reason with him now. Something about the way you said his name just felt so attractive to him. Maybe it was your accent, despite your best attempts, it was still hard to conceal it.

“Say it again.”

“W..what?” He looked like he was in a trance, no sign of his usual shit eating grin, a blank expression on his face as he stared back into your eyes, waiting for the words to leave your mouth.

“Michael.” You knitted your brows as your cheeks went red from embarrassment. It felt strange, demeaning almost. As if he were watching a child say its first words.

“Again.” Was he serious? You thought to yourself.

…

Hate Kaiser as you will, at the moment, he was the only one that could allow you to go out so in some messed up way, you had started to look forward to his visits. And with only a few days until your wedding, you couldn’t help but grow anxious so as insufferable as he was, at least you could enjoy a breath of fresh air, away from the stuffy palace in his presence.

You couldn’t help but take in the scenery, the same that seemed so lacking compared to your homeland just a few months ago

“That dress you wore earlier today suits you well, darling.” He said, eyes still focused on the freshly bloomed flowers.

“I’m sure it did, seeing how they had to practically starve me so that I could fit in it.” Your German had improved a lot lately, you could even use complex sentences now, not as insistent on using your mother tongue as you used to be, it brought him pride every time he heard you speak it.

“Stuffing your face like an uncivilised beast would be unbecoming of a lady of your standing regardless of whether there is a dress to fit into or not, my dear.“ Some part of you was convinced he did this so you wouldn’t have the energy to escape.

“I wasn’t aware basic human needs had become uncivilised in your glorious empire.”

“You’ve been behaving well lately, it’s in your best interest to keep that up, darling.” It had been ages since you last acted up, Kaiser had thought he had crushed your rebellious spirit by now. He could forgive this, maybe it was just you getting antsy because of your wedding.

…

You’d received many congratulatory gifts before your wedding, most from people you had never before met. Foreign emissaries, nobles and others, all filled with congratulations and well wishes but you spared them no attention, instead focusing on the letter sent to you by your friends and family back home, your real home. During the time it took for the letter to get to you it was already quite dated but you still read it over and over again, written in your home tongue and filled with words of encouragement. Details you feared you had forgotten, people who you couldn’t picture in your head anymore but longed for each passing day. Kaiser didn’t allow letters most of the time, especially not when they were written in your home tongue, a reminder of your unruly past as he saw it.

This one was a wedding gift, a final goodbye to your friends and family before you became someone even you couldn’t recognize.

You read it over and over again. Tears formed in your eyes as you realised just how much you had forgotten, turning into a sobbing mess before you even realised.

“Had I known this is how you’d act, I'd have thought twice before giving you that letter.” There he was again, so eager to interrupt any thoughts of your home.

“I- I’m sorry.” You managed to say between sobs, trying to compose yourself before he said anything else, carefully tucking the letter away into your study drawer.

“May I write back to them?” You asked, practically pleaded considering the pathetic state you were in.

“We’ve talked about this before, dear. You know I dislike repeating myself.”

“Only once please—! I won’t ask again, Michael please just this once—!”

He seemed displeased with your request but instead of saying anything, he merely got up and approached your desk. However, to your surprise, he simply walked past you, instead kneeling in front of your drawers, taking the letter out and before you could react, he ripped it to shreds, right in front of you. Not even sparing the remains, opting to throw them into the lit fireplace, making sure they were burnt to a crisp before facing you again.

He took out a piece of paper from his pocket, leaving it on the desk.

“W-what’s this?” It was hard to talk to him after what he had just done, you wanted nothing more than to curse him.

“A list of names I’ve narrowed down, choose the one you like most by tonight, otherwise I’ll choose the one I like most.” He said nonchalantly.

“Names…? Why would you need me to choose a name?”

He merely looked at you disdained.

“You’ve not been baptised yet, I can’t be marrying a heretic, dear.”

“Is it really necessary to change my name though?”

He slammed his hand on your desk.

“You were behaving so well up until yesterday, so you seemed to have forgotten under whose jurisdiction that beloved island of yours is, my dear.” And with that, he stole a small kiss from your lips and left.

None of the names on the list felt pleasant to your tongue, they all sounded so foreign so Kaiser ended up choosing for you, he seemed happy to do so anyway. Things moved fast from there, in under a week so much had happened. Everyone around you seemed so overjoyed, everyone except you who was intent on ignoring your reality. Repeating over and over again the words you had read in that letter as a desperate attempt to remember your homeland. With even your name now replaced, nothing besides fickle memories was left but even those seemed to fade so fast.

…

Time moved fast when you were trying to hold on to it, hours turned into mere seconds. It became hard to grasp something so intangible as you walked down an aisle surrounded by strangers, in a building equally as unfamiliar.

Ironically, the only thing that wasn’t foreign was Kaiser, the man that had dragged you out so far across the map in the first place.

As the priest had you decide words you couldn’t fully comprehend and as hundreds of eyes peered onto you, you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. Seeking what little comfort there was in them.

“All hail his highness the kaiser and kaiserin. May god bless their reign!” The man exclaimed as a string of cheers echoed through the large chapel, flower petals gently falling as the light from the stained glass windows of all colours seeped through.

Your breath hitching all of a sudden as you felt Kaiser’s hand on your waist.

“Nothing will save you today my darling bride.” He whispered into your ear with his usual devilish grin, his eyes still facing the guests.

You dreaded what was to come, his mere presence brought shivers to your spine. How were you supposed to spend the rest of your life with a man like that?

In the large ballroom, one after another, the guests greeted you, paying respects, asking if you remember them and their wedding gifs, each trying to outdo the last. But even in all the commotion, with the music drowning the room in even more noise, even then, your mind could only dread what awaited you once the music stopped and you were guided away.

…

You could feel it, his heartbeat. The constant thumping, mechanical like a clockwork in a sense. It wasn’t as erratic as yours, fast paced yes but you were sure the wine he downed earlier had something to do with that.

Reflexively moving away as he tried to inch closer, only to be met with a bruising grip, one fully intent on keeping you in place.

“Not today, my kaiserin, no. Today, I’ll enjoy all you have to offer and so will you. All you have to do is be good.” He said, barely audible as he looked at you with something between drunken stupor and sheer lust. Burying his head in the crook of your neck, taking a moment to breathe in your scent before his teeth sink in, you let out a hiss, trying your best to push him away or to at least have him stop but to no avail.

He took your home, your name—identity and that night, he took your body as well, leaving you with nothing at all.

He took all you had to offer and in turn left you with child, his child.

You only found out months later, as the sickness seemed to become too much to excuse as just a cold or upset stomach. As your dresses became increasingly difficult to fit into. And as if to add insult to injury, the physician thought it to be more important to inform Kaiser before he did you.

As if it wasn’t you who would carry this child for months to come.

“You’re the mother of my empire and now of my child as well, my kaiserin. You’ve brought me nothing but joy.” He said as he brought you into an embrace as the physician left.

But while Kaiser spewed affirmations of love and joy, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Not when the first thought in your mind had been to compare his—your child to a parasite, like its father it would take and take from you.

Even beasts loved their kin, what a monster you had become to think that of your own child.

“Ahh.” You couldn’t help but wail. You didn’t want to bring such a child into the world, what a cruel mother you were. Uncontrollable sobs echoed through the room as you tried to cover your face, block out the man whose head up until mere moments ago laid on your lap, now looking at you with an unfamiliar expression of surprise. But it was quick to contort into something more akin to hurt and anger.

“…Why are you crying?” He whispered, the lack of his usual confidence and playfulness putting you off. His hands now firmly holding your face in place, leaving your tear stricken face with no choice but to face his.

“My first thought when I heard of the child…” You paused as more tears streamed down your face.

“I wished it’d die!” You exclaimed. “H-How can someone like me be a mother?”

“What have I become? What have you turned me into?!” You broke down once again, unable to see the sheer disgust in Kaiser’s expression, not until he forced your face up again.

“You’re carrying my child, the heir to my empire. You’d best act like it, my dear.” He scared you at times like these, when the familiar playfully hint in his eyes got replaced with a cruel look, one you would give your enemy, or someone you saw as less than human.

There was only one thing you hated more than that, it was when he acted like nothing happened the day after.

As he embraced you and his child, a smile wider than any you had seen before, acting as if you hadn't said what you did. As if you didn’t wilt away every day before your son's birth. He looked like him, like Kaiser. The same eyes, same hair, even his face held more semblance to him than you.

…

You sat in the shade, sheltered from the pathetic rays of sun if they could even be called that. Tea and other snacks set on the small table in front of you. Looking out the garden to see three young boys running around.

They laughed and chased after one and another, wooden swords and whatever the garden could provide turned into toys.

“I’m the emperor so I get to take all your land!” The eldest proclaimed.

“That’s not fair, you were emperor last time! This is my land, you can take Wilhelm land instead!” The youngest retorted, pointing towards his older brother.

“No! That’s not fair, you’re both cheating! Mother, tell them to stop, it’s my turn to be the hero!” Your second son, Wilhelm said, insisting you tell the other two off for cheating.

An airy buckle leaving your lips as you looked at the small boys, little, all three of them holding little if any resemblance to you.

“You two all got your turns, let’s let Wilhelm be emperor today, hmm?” The boys both let out a whine before they resumed their game, still equally as loud as before.

It was hard to face your children at times when you were reminded of when you first found out about your pregnancy. But you’ve learnt to bury those memories now. Between official duties and your children, there was little time for such thoughts in your day. Perhaps that was why you had forgotten all else.

You used to have a home but you remembered nothing of it, not what it looked like nor where you lived, maybe, if you tried really hard, you could recall its name.

There used to be people in your life before Kaiser but now, even if they were in front of you you doubted you would recognize them. It’s hard to hold onto memories when they’re so fleeting regardless of how hard you try. Not when even recalling them is an offence worth punishing in your husband’s eyes.

“Father!” Speak of the devil. The children screamed in unison, running towards Kaiser who had already opened his arms, welcoming them all for a hug.

They looked so innocent, unaware of the true nature of their father. Of course they would be when he stopped you from teaching them a single word in your home tongue, to utter a single word of your past would not be easily forgiven.

“My, if it isn’t my little princes.” He said between chuckles as the children tried to tackle him to the ground.

“Where’s your mother?”

“Mother is over there!” The youngest said, pointing his finger towards you. Kaiser giving you his classic grin. Taking the two youngest boys by the hand as he walked towards you.

As they walked side by side it was easier than ever to tell how much they resemble their father. Everything, from how they looked to even their names was foreign to you.

A chaste kiss on the cheek waking you from your trance as you looked behind you to find your husband and children, all smiling and laughing amongst themselves,

“What were you thinking to be so deep in thought?” He asked, receiving a simple ‘Nothing much.’ As a reply, interrupted by one of the children who seemed eager to jump on your lap and reach for sweets from the small table.

You doubt you’ll ever come to accept this life as your own, you’ll forever look into the mirror and try to recognize the stranger that you had become. But there was no home to return now, Kaiser had made sure of that, tearing it apart piece by piece, no people left on what was once your entire world, not when they all left for better opportunities to neighbouring countries. Nor did you have any pride, not when he tore it apart bit by bit.

Now you could only hope to be content, to one day entirely forget what you had known. To forget the pain of forgetting and to truly live in the present. Even if it’s with the man responsible for putting you through such pain.

Masterlist

#yandere #yandere character #yandere x reader #yandere blog #dark fic #yandere male #yandere scenario #yandere blue lock #blue lock #yandere blue lock x you #yandere kaiser #michael kaiser #yandere michael kaiser #michael kaiser x you

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thenameswinterfics · 3 months ago

Text

AGAPE

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Osferth x Reader Settings: Between season 4 and season 5 Summary: Torn between the desire to feel you and the sacredness of his vows, Osferth gives you flowers as a token of his love and devotion, the meaning of his love hidden behind the flower's language. But a scouting expedition beyond Rumcofa's borders forces him to confront the devil who tempts him. Word Count: 2,9 K Warnings: Fluff, mild smut, mention of religious guilt, mention of male mansturbation A/N: Here's my birthday present for my beloved @zaldritzosrose . Happy birthday, sweet love. I apologise for taking so long, I hope you can appreciate this. (And consider also this as a way to thank you for all the graphics you made for me). As always, thank you to @foxyanon and @legitalicat for having an endless patience with me. Also, thanks to @sylasthegrim for the brief beta reading!

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header by @legitalicat Dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

Agape: (n), the highest form of love. Selfless, sacrifical, and unconditional love; persists no matter the circumstances.

When Osferth saw you for the first time, the seed of sin was already creeping into his soul.

Brought up in a monastery, King Alfred's bastard son had been sheltered from the dangers of the outside world, his life rigidly punctuated by the silent rhythm of prayer and the teaching of sacred texts, his vow of chastity protecting him from the lustful pleasures of the flesh, his body preserving the purity so longed for by God.

But everything changed when he joined Uhtred and his men, leaving behind his former life outside the holy walls of the Church and embracing the way of the warrior. His first days were not easy: he was not used to witnessing death and destruction first hand, and killing was a thought that made his stomach turn and his spine chill. But the years passed quickly, and the shy monk became a warrior and one of Uhtred's most trusted men.

He had always heard Finan say "ale, women and prayer" whenever they temporarily settled in a village, and watched as he and Sihtric drank endless mugs of ale, joining them for as long as his stomach would allow. And every time the thought of the flesh came back to haunt him, his faith would help him resist the temptation, and Osferth would end up praying for God's forgiveness, soothing his guilt for almost abandoning himself in the sin.

But your arrival shattered all his holy defences.

He watched with wide eyes as you challenged Uhtred to a fight, your body dancing with every stroke of your sword, admiring your coolness and agility in battle and how easily you disarmed a skilled fighter like the Daneslayer. And those same eyes, intense and fierce in battle, were the ones that met him, in a glance that ignited the spark of attraction, an unfamiliar heat that blossomed in his chest.

Every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts were filled with visions of you - your wild spirit, your stolen glances, the way you cared for your friends and children even when you said otherwise, even the way your lips curled into a gentle smile. In the silence of his room, he struggled with his longing, every breath a battle between desire and duty. Part of him still had to keep his oath to God, the promise to maintain his integrity and serve Him and Him alone for the rest of his life. But another part of him wanted to surrender and embrace the sin that had taken root in his heart, to love you as freely as you did, whose own religion allowed you to worship the gods with physical touches and passionate love.

Osferth always wanted to confess his love for you, but his shyness and his religious morality never allowed him to openly express his true feelings.

So he used the language of flowers to convey his unspoken feelings for you.

Osferth had always been an enduring mystery. You sensed it from the moment you met him, his blue eyes hiding a longing that you misinterpreted at first, thinking he was simply worried about his lord's fate since he was defeated in front of the bewildered gazes of his warriors.

But it was not until Uhtred welcomed you into his group with open arms that you truly began to understand him. As you shared stories of your adventures around the fire, surrounded by the green of the boundless Mercian borders, you glimpsed a layer of his character that was hidden beneath his demeanour: he was a gentle soul, both in his words and his actions, and spoke with an intensity in his words that you hadn't found in any men you'd met in your life.

Your silent glances turned into lingering moments, and you both felt a connection to each other that you had never felt before. You brushed your fingers against each other as you reached for the same piece of food, or as you passed weapons to each other as you prepared for battle, and each time you saw the monk's smile as a silent response, his face flushed to the tips of his ears, a vision that made your heart pound in your chest.

In time, the accidental caresses became bold, and you both began to rest your hands on each other's cheeks, feeling the softness of each other's skin as the tips of your noses touched. But every time you thought you could go further, a wall of responsibility would fall over Osferth and the monk would leave your embrace. You interpreted his sudden hesitation as mere disinterest in you, but you didn't know that inside him there was a war between integrity and impulsiveness, for you were the devil who broke the chains of God's influence.

You had known Osferth for long enough that you thought you knew everything about him. Yet, somehow, the once almost monk still managed to surprise you. One evening, while you guarded the children as you were granted accommodations by Lady Aethelflaed estate in Saltwic, he began exhibiting a predisposition towards plants and flowers. You watched as he bent over, his slender fingers gently caressing the petals of a flower before plucking it from the bush and turning to gift it to you, which you accepted happily.

Each flower was different, both in shape and colour: small and with few petals, roses of the brightest red, small wild flowers that he sometimes tucked behind your ear, large and fragrant tulips: they were carefully chosen each time you crossed Mercia, and your intimate ritual continued when you reached Rumcofa, the place you would soon call home.

You leaned into his spontaneous gestures, consoling yourself a little, seeing them as the closest you could get to a gesture of love. But you would soon find out the hidden secrets that these flowers hide between their beautiful petals.

Spring arrived unusually early in Rumcofa, and while nature was already in full bloom - from the brightest greens of the grass to the most vibrant hues of the flowers - there was still a slight chill in the air, a silent reminder that winter had not yet loosened its grip on the earth.

The sun was bright in the sky, and Uhtred and the boys patrolled the area, making sure there were no dangers or possible incursions. It was a sudden change of life for everyone, as you had lived in Coccham for many years, but this did not stop Uhtred from making his new piece of land powerful and safe for his warriors’ families.

Fortunately, the scouting had been without any particular difficulty, and after hours of riding, Uhtred decided it would be wise to let his men rest and feed the horses before resuming their activities. So they decided to head for the forest, which was somewhat drier than the dense vegetation that surrounded Coccham, but no less intriguing: the trees were tall and stringy, and the early scent of pine and damp earth filled the air. Birds were calling in the distance, their songs echoing through the treetops, casting small patterns of light on the ground.

Dismounting from your horse, you took your shield and sword from the saddle, carrying them with you in case you needed to defend yourself from an ambush. Deep in the forest, you and Osferth gathered as many twigs as you could find to light a small fire and prepare some food for your stomachs: the scouting had been long and hard, and hunger mixed with fatigue always fooled even the most skilled of warriors.

Having gathered all the twigs you needed, you decided it was time to take a little break. The two of you walked in silence, close to each other, shame and unspoken feelings filling a forest already blooming for the spring season, until you both reached a small stream where you could sit and relax, smelling the scent of wet grass and water plants, along with the chirping of cicadas and the singing of birds.

You cautiously approached the water, dipped a hand in and lightly wetted your face, enjoying the coolness of the cold hair against your wet skin. Then you sat down, pressing your back against the grass and closing your eyes, surrendering to the peaceful sounds of nature, until a sudden rustling of leaves made you open your eyes. You lifted your head to see Osferth awkwardly gathering some flowers tangled in a bush, the sight so sweet it made you smile slightly.

"It seems you like picking flowers lately," you said with a slight chuckle, watching as the monk froze, the tips of his ears turning slightly red. You could feel one of his hands lightly picking up a small flower, the flicker transferred to its petals.

“It is an activity I enjoy, my lady, before we come back scouting,” Osferth replied politely to you, and you could hear a flicker of nervousness in his voice.

You rolled to the other side, your arm supporting your head as you watched Osferth pluck flowers from the ground and gently gather them into a small bouquet. With no small hesitation, he approached you, sat down on the ground and silently leaned the bouquet towards you, his blue eyes looking at you with their usual intensity and longing, betraying the decorum of his religious beliefs.

You found yourself admiring the improvised floral composition, lost in its beauty: the flowers were large, probably larger than those he had given you in the past, the petals soft as silk to the touch, painted a vibrant pink with muted shades of pale pink. You had never seen such a beautiful flower in your life.

“Osferth,” you breathlessly broke the silence, your eyes shining with contentment: you were a warrior woman, but even you had a soft side, “I do not know what to say. They are-”

“Peonies,” the monk interrupted you, his cheeks turning red while watching your bewilderment over his gift, “They are peonies. Very beautiful flowers, if I dare to say,��.

Osferth paused for a moment, then cleared his throat and continued, "From the writings of the monastery, I have learned that peonies are rich in symbolism and have many meanings. One of his fingers pointed to the flowers in your hands, his thumbs gently stroking the petals, "Some believe it has healing properties and symbolises protection, others believe it is the symbol of honour and nobility,”

Suddenly, he took one of your hands, and with incredible kindness he placed it on his chest, and you felt his heart beating wildly inside his chest, “And they are often given when you want to tell someone you love them,”

Silence fell over you as you took your time to absorb Osferth's words, his words hitting you like an arrow shot to the chest: you were used to Osferth's elusiveness on these subjects, as you had caught him praying in solitude, asking forgiveness for sins he had not committed. But his gentle touches, his unspoken tender gestures and the flowers he gave you: he told you he loved you without thinking to touch you, so that his soul could live in peace.

Your lips curled into a small smile as you brushed Osferth’s chest with your fingers, “Is this why you always give me flowers, when we get the chance?”, you asked softly, your own cheeks turning red as Osferth nodded shyly.

“I do,” the monk replied, his hand squeezing yours, “But I know this is wrong,”

With a quick but delicate gesture, Osferth lowered your hand and stood up, pacing nervously and mentally reciting prayers of forgiveness. His behaviour left you both confused and broken, and after gently placing the flowers on the grass, you stood up and approached him, holding his hands in a way to calm himself down.

"It's wrong, what?" you asked calmly, hoping that your voice would bring him back to reality. But you knew from his gaze that he was somewhere else than with you, "Please, Osferth. Talk to me. Is it because I am a Dane?"

“It is because I desire you,” Osferth snapped, more in panic than anger, and the grip on your hands tightened, “It torments me to see you every day and wonder what it would be like to touch you and love you without feeling the burden of my faith,”

He then leaned one of his trembling hands, resting it on your cheek and brushing it gently, “All the flowers I gave to you, they were the sign of my love and commitment towards you without feeling God’s voice telling me it was wrong,” Osferth confessed with a soft sigh, closing his eyes as a way to hide his shame, “But now that I exposed my secret I do not know if he will grant me-”

“Is God watching us?” You asked out of the blue, interrupting his nervous stream of consciousness while your own hand rested on his cheek as well. Your question left Osferth surprised for a second, but a little chuckle escaped from his lips, amused by your apparent innocent question.

“My sweet lady, both your Gods and my God are watching us right now,” he replied sheepishly, and his answer satisfied you: it was what you wanted to hear.

“Then let them watch us,” you whispered with husky voice, your finger tracing the contour of his face, your touch sending him shivers down your spine, “Let them watch us consuming our love, only them as witnesses,”

His breath caught as your soft touch lingered on his skin and the air suddenly became thick with tension. It was as if the war between righteousness and temptation was intensifying within him, the seed of sin blossoming into a small sprout destined to grow, fuelled by your carnal passion.

And for the very first time, the devil won.

His lips crashed against yours in a hungry kiss, releasing all the dormant passion he used to vent in the solitude of his room, reaching his climax when he cried out your name in his moments of lack of lucidity. Unable to restrain his hands, he gripped your waist in a surprisingly tight vice and moved you until your back was pressed against the trunk. He broke the kiss abruptly as guilt rose again in his chest, his eyes pleading for forgiveness.

“You need to stop me, please,” Osferth breathed against your lips, but you silenced him by teasing his upper lip with your tongue.

“I won’t,”, you replied in a hoarse voice and put your hand behind his neck, “I have waited for so long, Osferth. I need to feel you,”

With your last words, everything rational in Osferth's mind disappeared and your lips were locked in a heated kiss. A little hesitant at first, he grew bolder as the tip of his tongue tentatively demanded entry, which you gladly accepted. A wild and sensual dance exploded in your mouths as his hands slid all over your body, squeezing your soft breasts and forcing you to moan against his lips. With a confident movement, he undid the laces of your skirt, exposing you to the cold air of early spring. Your mind became dizzy as you felt Osferth's mouth run over your skin, tormenting first your neck, then your collarbone, until he indulged on your breast: with the tip of his tongue he teased your nipple, hardened by the cold and the rise of your arousal, while his hand teased the other with a pleasurable pinch.

"You are tempting me, Lady," his shy and trembling voice contrasted with the bold movements of his hands, and you could only respond with whimpering and rambling words, your eyes closed as you rested your head on the trunk of the tree, drunk with the pleasure the innocent monk was giving you.

Leaving your chest, his hands slipped into your breeches, his fingers trembling and clumsy as he tried to find your pulsing core, wet with anticipation of what was to come. But as you felt the tip of his thumb caress you in a circular motion, two male voices called out to you in the distance, forcing you both to abruptly pull away from each other, hiding all evidence of your relationship.

But all your attempts were in vain, as you realised with horror that Finan and Sihtric saw almost everything.

"Looks like our baby monk is no longer a baby," Finan's teasing voice broke the awkward silence, supported by Sihtric's sly grin. Osferth's face turned bright red as he tried to cover you and save you from further humiliation. But he knew it was too late.

“I-I swear I can explain,” the monk spoke with a quivering voice, but Sihtric was quick to interrupt him.

“Lord Uhtred gave the order to resume the scouting. Collect your things, both of you,” the Dane tried to stay as neutral as possible, his smirk betraying the seriousness of his words.

“You will hump your lady later as a reward,” the Irishman added, and with a loud slap on the youngest's back, he and Sihtric turned and walked away from you.

With a hint of embarrassment in the air, you tried to compose yourself by arranging your clothes and combing your hair into more tidy braids, and with a soft brush you told Osferth that everything was fine and that you were enjoying these little moments together.

Gathering your things, you quickly rejoined your group and resumed your exploration of Rumcofa's surroundings, riding tirelessly until the orange sun disappeared behind the mountains. And as Finan said, your love and affection was the reward Osferth received after a long day, ignoring the guilt of his faith that whispered in his head as your naked bodies joined as one.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it! Please, leave a comment if you want to be added in the taglist or be removed.

Osferth Taglist: @zaldritzosrose @legitalicat @sylasthegrim

#osferth x reader #osferth x you #osferth smut #osferth fic #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fic #tlk fanfic #tlk fic

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pray-harder · 1 year ago

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🩷Aphrodite Things🩷

blowing kisses to your reflection in the mirror

having a collection of fun things to use in a bath

having so many dried rose petals you don’t know what to do with them

glitter pens for shadow work

seashells. so many seashells.

picking up on insecurities that others have, without them telling you or being super obvious about it

having a signature perfume or jewelry piece

your skin care routine is a prayer

dancing alone in your room to your favorite songs

floral teas as a pick-me-up after a bad day

reading poetry and books from the romantic period, especially those written by women

the wild touch to your hair when it dries after rain

#witchcraft #aphrodite #queen shit #occult #greek pantheon #greek paganism #paganism #pagan witch #witchblr #feminism #self love #self care

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atokirina-writings · 2 years ago

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Somewhere in my memory.

Being the oldest daughter in the sully family, it’s only natural that you assist your little sister in her training.

Notes: This is my first fic in a whileeeeeee so i’m hella rusty, spare me pls. There’s a little mention of Neteyam being unalive but it’s minor.

Pairings: Tuktirey x sister reader, Neytiri x daughter reader, Neteyam x sister reader

“Back straight, stand tall Tuk”

Helping your little sister learn to hunt was always fun. You and your mother often taking turns. “She should learn from strong women” Your mother would always say, even if she was only half joking.

“Sister please I am tired we’ve been at this all d-”sushing your little sister and gesturing towards to beautiful hexapede feeding on a bed of grass in the distance. Her eyes light up at the sight. “Remember what I told you tuk, strong from here.” Lightly tapping her stomach reminding her to take a deep breath.

Giving her a reassuring nod, silence falls over you two. Only the sound of Pandoras wild life can be heard. You step back, admiring the confident hunter your once little sister is becoming.

With one swift movement the Hexepede falls to the ground with a soft thud. “I did it!” She says gasping. The look of happiness in her eyes is the most beautiful thing to you. “Yes you did, go get it!”

Making your way to the fallen Hexepede Tuk begins to recite a prayer to Eywa, thanking her for the life she has given to this animal.

Securing her knife back into it’s holder you grab her shoulders, pulling her into a tender hug. You bask in each others touch for awhile, you’re so proud of your little sister for the young lady she’s becoming.

Pulling away from her and looking into her eyes, she looks so much like him it hurts. As your eyes start to tear up the memories of your late younger brother Neteyam flood your mind. You push them aside, staying in the present moment for the sake of your little sister “You did amazing Tuk, I am so incredibly proud of you.”

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sugaraanddiesel · 8 days ago

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Forgive me father, for I have sinned.

warnings: religious imagery, drugging, substance abuse, swearing?, manipulation, rafe being toxic as fuck.

"Y/N, up now, you've got service." one of the nurses claps as you get up startled, just for you to drop your head back into your hard pillow in frustration and fatigue. Letting out a boyish groan.

After gathering your thoughts for about a minute or two, you look at the traditional clock on the wall and realise you have only 10 minutes to get ready, unwillingly your body shoots out of bed and into the shower. You put on your oddly revealing uniform and leave your room.

Once you're ready, your small fists tap against the daunting, door. "I'm sorry I'm late father." Your saintly voice interrupts, taking your seat next to a girl that you've seen around.

Rafe's eyes briefly skim over your skimpy attire (as if he didn't design it) and land on your eyes. His eyebrows furrow when he sees you're smirking, again but instead of entertaining your unholy behaviour he just dismisses you.

"As I was saying ladies, when my father passed God had told me, that I have the responsibility to get you all to heaven. All you need to do for me is do as I say because as the father I know what's best for you.."

Whilst watching the man yap about God knows what, You've come to the conclusion that you want him.

Just because you were spoiled in California doesn't mean you've changed now that you're in a new state. You'll do anything to make sure you get what you want.

You raise your head to look at him, You watch as he rambles about genesis and how we should value the life that god has given us but all you can think about is him making you stay behind. Giving you what you've wanted since you got there, his dick.

"Father," You interrupt for the second time, Rafe's head raising from the holy book, " How big are you? "

The small group of young ladies all turn their heads to you in shock, gasps and mutters fill the room.

After a good minute of Rafe looking at you in shock, his face eases as he explains, " We are in church Y/N i expect you to keep those type of questions to yourself " Your eyes playfully squint at him and you tease,

" So in other words it's massive! "

Growing tired of the hypocritical glares you tilt your head to the side and challenge the other women; " Come on, everyone is wondering the same thing! You guys are just too pussy to ask! " Your innocent giggles engulf everybody in the room whilst the pastor fixates on you in utter disbelief. Your vulgar language shocking the whole room.

He clears his throat and declares, "Y/N, step outside for me."

Your giggles die down as you get up and leave not before throwing a frisky wink at the older man. Chuckling to yourself even more as the women in there start to question if you're crazy.

He continues with service, explaining that the women need to follow and praise him to get to heaven.

You wait for half an hour in the plain, cold corridor until you hear your plot say; " Same time next Sunday everyone and don't forget do your daily prayers!" You bite your plump pink lips cheekily at all the women who glance at you in disapproval.

Just as he sends away the last person out the door, his smile falters as it falls on you. You roll your lip from your teeth as you look up at the pastor.

Before he lets his thoughts run too wild, he clenches his defined jaw and nods towards the service room, inviting you in.

" Are you going to explain what just happened."

" There's nothing to explain father, I was just asking a genuine question." You defend yourself.

You prop yourself up on one of the tables right in front of him, your round perky tits bouncing as you sit. Your manicured finger slightly lifts up his chin so that his captivated eyes meet yours again.

He turns around and scratches his buzzed head in guilt and embarrassment, realising that he's wrong for looking at his friend's daughter like that. Sighing.

He drops both of his hands either sides of you on the table, and leans down to whisper, " Look I know exactly what you're playing at and it's going to stop right now."

You pull him in closer by his collar, your noses brushing past each other, and say in the most sultry voice; " I want you father, and believe me, whatever I want, I get."

Your teeth are now dragging his bottom lip as you hold his neck, maintaining eye contact with him. His eyes suddenly turn dark as you push him out of the way and cheer, " See you around father! " your dimples showing as you hop out of the service room. Again leaving the older man hard and ashamed.

-------------------------------------------------------

Alone in your room you start to realise how sick Rafe really is, Getting paid to tell young women that struggle with addiction that the only way up is through him.

How can anyone be so oblivious to his scheme? But surely he doesn't just do this for money.

A knock disturbs your thoughts.

" What? " you bellow from the other side of the door.

It's the warden, " Good evening Y/N," she greets, you just stare at her from your bed as she sits on the edge of it after closing your door. " I heard about the 'incedent' earlier," She continues, " I suggest you go and ask for forgiveness from Father Rafe, for your disruptive behaviour."

Even the warden is under his spell, you think to yourself.

" Look, I understand you're not used to this environment but you have to help yourself during this time of your life Y/N, God knows how hard Rafe is trying to get us to heaven, the least we could do is co-operate with him" Her throaty voice starts to piss you off even more, so you simply walk out and go his office room.

You burst in to see one of the patients in his lap,

" I know what you're doing!"

"What are you talking about Y/N, can't you see i'm busy."

"Busy trying to fuck a patient? Are you serious?"

"Watch that mouth of yours little girl, This girl is giving up her life to christ right now."

You stare at the girl whoring herself out in disbelief. Your eyes also catch on to the pills on his desk. Everything starts to add up.

What a sick man.

" You either give you life up to christ too or get out Y/N." He says with a devilish smirk.

But what he didn't realise was that you're just as sick as him.

Before you wanted Rafe, you wanted your pills and would go to any meassures to get that floaty, euphoric feeling you were so dearly familiar with, so you take a bottle of pills from his desk,

" I'll come back at a better time for you Father."

Your sickly smile grows and he watches you turn your back to him as your hips sway out of his door.

You never fail to amaze him.

#tabo0 #rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe fanfiction #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #outer banks #rafe imagine #father!rafe #sugaraanddiesel #toxic!rafe #toxic!reader

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bradshawssugarbaby · 1 year ago

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Cowboy Casanova - Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: It's been a hot minute since I wrote anything spicy but since Glen had to go and make that comment while reading thirst tweets yesterday, here we are. It's not my best, and it's literally plotless smut, but c'est la vie.

pairing: Lt. Jake Seresin x fem!reader

warnings/content: minors dni below the cut / fingering, praise kink, swearing, daddy kink, breeding kink if you squint, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, y'all).

word count: 1.1k

“Come on then, cowboy. Show me what you’ve got,” you challenged, hands resting firmly on your hips as you eyed your tall, blonde-haired boyfriend up, trying to resist the urge to bite your lip as your gaze fell on his sharply toned body, his white long-sleeved henley hugging his muscular physique tightly, accentuating every curve of his arms in a way that was almost hypnotizing.

“Cowboy?” Jake retorted, laughing dryly as he raised the amber coloured glass bottle in his hand to his lips, taking a sip of the cold, frothy liquid inside, shaking his head in mock disbelief at your bold attitude, trying hard to deny any semblance of feeling towards you over it.

“You heard me. You sure as shit talk like one.”

“You makin’ fun of my accent, darlin’? I thought most women go wild for a good Southern boy.”

“Most women might. It takes more than an accent to win me over, gorgeous.”

He leaned in towards you, his tall frame towering in as he ducked his head down beside your ear. His voice was a low, seductive whisper as he spoke - he knew what he was doing, you were terrible at bluffing, and honestly, so was he, but that was part of what made this whole exchange so appealing.

“Oh believe me, I’m up for the challenge,” He purred as he stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, his fingers brushing against your skin lightly, yet in a way that made your skin feel hot to the touch.

He pressed his lips to the sensitive patch of skin directly in front of your ear, his warm breath taunting your nerves as you felt it brush over you. The smell of beer mixed with his intoxicating cologne, and you felt your head begin to spin as his lips made their way down the curve of your cheekbone, trailing their way to your neck before resting on the sweet spot where your neck and shoulder met. You felt your back press flat against the wall as Jake put his hands on your waist, gripping your body tightly as he held you in place, his knee resting in between your legs, keeping them spaced just far enough apart for him for his hand to find its way between your thighs, reaching up the short skirt you’d decided to wear that day. You felt Jake’s lips curl up into a smirk against your skin as he ran his fingertips along your slit, a cocksure chuckle escaping his lips as his fingers brushed your clit.

“So wet for me already, babygirl,” He hummed against your neck before nipping at your sensitive skin with his teeth, continuing to grin against you as he left soft bite marks on your skin.

“Only for you, daddy,” You murmured, knowing that calling Jake that was a surefire way to have him practically ripping your clothes off in seconds. It drove him wild whenever he heard it fall from your lips like a prayer, he could barely contain himself whenever you did, and you loved taking advantage of that fact.

Jake plunged two of his long, thick digits into your core as soon as the words came out of your mouth, barely giving you time to react to his touch. You threw your head to the side, letting out a loud whine as he pressed his fingers into you, pumping them at a taunting pace as you let out a series of lewd noises.

“Look at my pretty girl, all dripping wet for me,” Jake teased, his tone low and deep as he grinned at you, unable to stop himself from getting cocky about the effect he had on you.

He pulled his fingers out quickly, leaving you a whimpering mess at the loss of contact as he stuck them into his mouth, his wide tongue licking them clean before he undid his belt with his free hand. As he pulled his fingers out of his mouth, he quickly dropped his jeans to the ground, kicking his boxers off his legs with them. Jake pressed you against the wall once again, his hardened cock pushing into your thigh as he lifted you up to hold your legs around his waist, using the wall as leverage to balance you where he wanted. He used one hand to guide his tip along your soaking core, leaving you a babbling mess at just the touch of him. Without warning, he pushed himself into you, an obscene sounding grunt coming out of his mouth as he felt your body clench around him.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Taking Daddy’s cock so good for me, aren’t you? Want Daddy to fill you up, hmm?”

You attempted to respond, but your words could barely make their way into a coherent sentence as Jake continued to thrust into you, his movements becoming sharp and quick as he found his rhythm, thrusting as deep and hard into you as your bodies would allow. You managed to nod your head quickly in reply, but even getting your mind and body on the same page long enough for a simple head nod was next to impossible at this point. Jake prided himself in never half-assing anything, and that extended into his sex life. Not once in your relationship had he left you unsatisfied, or without craving, wanting, needing more.

“I’m so close,” You finally managed to sputter out, the only words that could come to you when Jake had you like this.

“Let it go, honey,” His words were more of a command than a phrase of encouragement as he said them, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice over it at this stage. You felt Jake beginning to lose control as your wet cunt clenched around him tightly, As Jake’s thrusts became sloppier, you felt him reach his climax, filling you with hot spurts of cum as he threw his head back, making his shouts of your name sound obscene as he was overrun with pleasure.

Panting heavily as he leaned against the wall, pinning you in place after helping you put your feet back on the floor, Jake’s sea-green eyes met yours with a lustful, yet loving gaze. He smirked as he gently pushed a strand of hair that fell from your ponytail behind your ear, leaning in to kiss you passionately, the heat of your bodies radiating between you, sweat dampening your brow.

“How ‘bout you and I take this to the bedroom so I can fuck you properly?” Jake smirked, raising one of his dark blonde eyebrows at you.

“You’re on, Cowboy, you’re on.”

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heathersdesk · 8 months ago

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My grandfather was killed in a hit and run accident in 1978.

His mother and sister struggled with life after that. They decided to go on a trip across the United States together to get away from things for a while.

I discovered this trip when I was going through photo albums and suddenly saw a place I recognized.

The Salt Lake Temple.

They went to many places during that trip. But there was something truly special to me that, in one of the worst seasons of their lives, they ended up at the temple.

I served part of my mission at Temple Square. I was waiting for a visa to Brazil that I began to think was never coming. I had a truly horrendous time in the MTC babysitting a district of Elders who spent weeks on end bullying me and tearing down my self-esteem. I was told directly by someone, I forget who now, that I was being sent there to recover. And when I realized that the mission had no young Elders in it at all, that it was only Sisters and senior couples, I came to appreciate what that meant.

I had so many wild interactions there with so many people. Some of them were strange, like the guy who viewed the Book of Mormon as proof of alien interactions with humans. There were moments of heartbreak, like the woman who was in tears at the Christus statue who attacked us when we checked in on her. There were moments of pure delight, like when an LDS family with two young daughters came to that same Christus statue. The oldest girl, no older than 4 or 5, squealed "JESUS" and ran to the Savior's feet, little sister in tow. Whenever I hear someone mention the teaching to become as a little child, she is exactly who I think of.

There were also moments that were meant solely for me, like when I met the first Sister to ever be called to the Boston mission I had hoped to go to to wait for my visa. Boston has a large Brazilian population, many of whom are members of the Church. I had begged in prayer to be sent there and was told by other people it wouldn't happen because "Sisters don't go there." I had an entire conversation with the woman who was going to be that change. It seemed cruel to me at the time, dangling the carrot of something I wanted right in front of my face. In time, I've realized it was so I would remember that God does miracles and is aware of the desires of my heart, even if it means I don't get what I want. Someone needed to exercise enough faith to push that door open for women. I put my full weight behind it, and I can be just as proud that it opened for someone else.

But some of my favorite people I met there were people who just made me laugh. I met a Jewish convert from New York who told us his conversion story, how what drew him in was the Plan of Salvation. He summarized it in a New York accent in a voice I can still hear in my mind: "So you're a god, eventually. But can you pay RENT?!"

One of my favorite people I met was a Scottish convert named Agnes who was doing the Mormon trail across the US, beginning in New England and ending in Utah. She was a much older woman and told us all about her pilgrimage, and how she had cuddled with the oxen at the baptismal font in the Manhattan New York Temple. (I've been there. You enter into the baptistry on face level with them, or did the last time I was there.) She shared her testimony with us, and I'll never forget what she said.

She explained that the story of Joseph Smith was really hard to get her mind around. It truly is an insane set of asks: angels, gold plates, polygamy, and all the rest. She talked about how she came to accept it—not through any kind of empirical evidence or proof, but through faith and what that looked like.

For her, it was the recognition that being LDS was the best way she had ever encountered to live an excellent life. She said that the worst case scenario she could imagine is one where God would say to her, "You know that whole business with Joseph Smith was a load of crock, right? But you lived such a good life, I have to let you in anyway."

That has always stayed with me. Agnes was one of many people who came to the Square looking for something. I saw people come there looking for faith, or a fight, and truly everything in between. And it's only now that I'm older and wiser that I see something clearly now that I couldn't see then.

Agnes didn't need to come to Temple Square to find faith. She already had a tremendous amount of faith. She, and many others, were looking for conviction. I was at Temple Square long enough to learn you don't get that from a place. While a place like Temple Square can illuminate the possibilities for conviction through the lens of history, it doesn't bestow that conviction through contact or proximity alone. Conviction is made from the materials of your own life and your own choices. Your will, how firmly you place yourself into an immovable and unyielding position, is the measure of your convictions. It comes from within.

Faith is the decision to believe in what you cannot see, and what cannot be proven objectively. That never goes away. Nothing we experience in life, no place we ever visit, will create a shortcut under, over, or around that decision to believe, to trust in God. Faith, at its core, is a decision. The ability to continue making that decision over and over again, under all species of hardship and opposition, is conviction.

Where Jesus walked is nowhere near as important as how Jesus walked, and with whom. The same is true for all of us. Our walk with God might never take us anywhere near a temple because of where God has called us to go. But we are the holiest dwelling places of God on earth—not any of the buildings we've made.

Be a holy place of living faith wherever you are, whatever your circumstances may be. Worship God, no matter what places you can or cannot enter. There is more than one way to access a temple. One way is to enter a place that people invite God to dwell. The other is to become that place. There can be no separation from God where communion never ceases. It is the refuge that is unassailable by others for as long as the person wills it so. The torch within will not go out.

The temple is not special because it has some holy essence that springs forth out of nothing, to passively be absorbed by others. The temple is special because it directs people to Jesus Christ, who is the giver of healing and peace. The temple is just a building. It's Jesus Christ that is the true power behind it all, whose objective is to make you, me, and every person you know the holiest creature you've ever beheld. You are the end goal.

#mormon #lds #mormonism #tumblrstake #the church of jesus christ of latter day saints #religion #faith #queerstake #christianity #lds temple #temple square #Alma 32

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aceofcupsbiggestfan · 3 months ago

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Kourotrophos, Hekate and Artemis

~ 16 Metageitnion ~

The epithet Kourotrophos regards the 'child-rearing' aspects of both Hekate and Artemis. Both Hekate and Artemis protect children and women. This annual offering is noted from Erchia, a deme in Attica.

While the epithet was celebrated several times a year, this day marked the epithet in conjunction with the two Goddess. It was a time to give thanks for children and women, pray for protection and celebrate Hekate and Artemis.

Traditional Offerings:

Libations

Incense of bay or myrrh

Meats, bread and cheese

Fruits associated with the wild (Ex. plums, figs, lemons)

Traditional Acts:

Prayer to Hekate and Artemis Kourotrophos

Libation to both Goddesses

Celebration of children and women

Khaire Hekate! Khaire Artemis! 🐦‍⬛🌟🏹

#hellenic polytheism #hellenic witch #hellenic deities #hellenism #hellenic worship #hellenic polytheistic #hellenistic #theoi #helpol #artemis deity #lady artemis #artemis #hekate goddess #hekate #lady hekate

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 months ago

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Through Night Shade Peering

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

CW: Nonhuman whumpee, captivity, magical whump, vague noncon (not exactly implied but not super explicit either), blood, biting, sadistic whumper

Fifty-three years after Guilford Wentworth found a siren

They spent a month by the sea.

Neandra Wentworth’s lungs were failing her - the siren could hear the crackling when she breathed, as if each inhale pulled in water from the air around her but could not force it back out. Each time she was taken with a fit of coughing, it seemed to last longer and longer, leaving her wheezing and with blue-tinged fingertips pressing her slip of a handkerchief to her mouth to hide the drops of red that the siren could smell, even so.

She hadn’t left the upstairs bedroom in the past week.

Guilford Wentworth had expressed certainty that the sea air would revive her, packed up their worried children and the servants and moved them to this grand white home on a hill overlooking the ocean, with a view of the merchant ships that came and went from a nearby bay.

The siren doubted Neandra would ever leave this house alive.

He also knew that his captor did not care.

The siren avoided the humans in the home. Every day before sunrise, long before any of the Wentworths were awake, he found his way down to the shore, picking along the rocks and stiff, strong beach grasses that waved in the sea salt stinging breeze. Today, he ignored the set of steps made from stone that someone had placed long ago, and turned his eyes away from the unnatural scar they seemed to slice through the hill.

The humans ruined the world everywhere they touched it.

They built stone buildings over beautiful meadows and chipped faces into rocks, they sailed on big ships that tore through waters they had never been meant to see. They stole the creatures who lived wild and made them playthings and puppets and put them in zoos, locked behind bars for their sticky-fingered children to point out and exclaim over.

They kept the wild things. They broke their wildness and then pretended to sorrow over the loss. They called them pets.

His captor called a pet, sometimes. His captor called him so many things.

Areyto shuddered. He kept ihs eyes on the waves, pausing in his slow approach to watch them break against the shore. The air here held a chill that he loathed, nothing like the island he has been born on, it was still the ocean. He could still see the tide that came in and went out, the white-capped waves in the distance, dark clouds with the promise of rain.

Areyto’s feet had gone soft, trapped inside his captor’s homes, walking on wood and rugs. They ached now when the sharper points of the rocks pressed along the underside. The siren only ground his teeth against the pain and kept moving, pulling the silk of his robe more tightly around himself to guard against the whipping wind.

He could just see the white sails of a ship, far in the distance.

His hate boiled up inside of him at the sight of it. A ship like that had stolen him from the waters and kept him tied up and locked away in darkness, seeing no sun until his captor had had him marked for obedience and been the thief of his entire life.

Areyto’s eyes scanned the horizon, watching the dark smear move, knowing what was likely on it. More human men, maybe women, too. Maybe captive animals or sea serpents, wild creatures being sent to fates worse than death for the pleasure of humans. Maybe the storm would break over their heads, and captives and captors alike could become meals to be torn asunder and dragged down to the depths, gifts for the ocean to feed her children.

“Kill them,” he whispered, a prayer to the moon that hid behind the daylight and the clouds, a prayer to the ocean itself. “Kill the humans, all of them, and set me free.”

There was no answer.

There was never any answer.

His curse made sure the moon never saw him any longer, could not hear his voice even when he cried for her. Only his captor heard him, and his captor called the screams a song.

Marked as he was, spelled to give his immortality and his obedience to his captor, he was just another tamed wild animal. He felt it more than ever today, with the painted symbols all down his left side newly relaid and throbbing with the echo of two days of endless agonies.

His captor had found a new magician to come by each decade to repaint them. The new one always had a smile twisting her face too wide, one that dug under Areyto’s skin. Areyto had found himself missing Atabei, who had at least looked guilty, who had offered him small pieces of mercy. No, he did not miss her.

It was all her fault, in the end.

She’d been the one to begin it all.

He did not pity her her fate, her last days alone and locked up surrounded by stone, with men called doctors declaring her mad.

He did not think of the conversations they had had, some nights, when Atabei could not sleep and came searching for him. He did not allow himself to recall the graying silver that was more visible in her hair with every passing year, the wrinkles that began to show at her eyes when she smiled. He did not remember the warmth of a kind touch, a hand through his dark hair just before she began the ritual that would leave him screaming, the soft whispered praise when he survived it, as he always did, because Guilford Wentworth would never allow him to die. He would not think of the way she came more and more often in the dark of the night to sit beside him, as time stretched on.

He did not think of the way she had called herself his friend, and how at some point he had stopped denying it. Whatever she called herself, though, she still wrote his curse in ink anew every time it began to fade. However many regrets she had, she still hurt him, again and again. Her low-pitched, husky alto song harmonizing with his was simply painting over the truth of the pain.

He did not remember her hand in his, asking him to forgive her after the first wife died but before his captor had sent Atabei herself to die in an asylum. He could not even now feel the warmth of her touch.

She had been the reason for his captivity, even if she was a captive, too.

He did not miss her.

The water ran just up to his toes, and Areyto closed his eyes, lifting his chin. He let the breeze lick around his neck like a lover might, if he’d ever had one. He felt the sand give way beneath his feet, felt himself sink deeper and deeper, bit by bit. His toes wriggled, spreading as wide as they could.

Finally, he sank to his knees. Sand ground against them, stuck to the palms of his hands as he reached out and ran his fingertips over the curve of a white shell just peeking up above the grains. The water came in, washing his hands clean, and he dug the shell out. He watched the saltwater fill the hole left behind, sand swirling in until it vanished.

Just like the shell, he thought, his place in the world disappeared as soon as he was taken from it. If he laid here, unmoving, would he eventually become buried, too? Would the saltwater toss and turn his bones, break them down to sand to be washed up on a beach across the far waters?

His lips twitched, the shadow of a smile.

It might be nice, to be nothing.

“Look at you,” His captor’s voice rang out, and Areyto’s breath caught. Despair threatened to push him under, and he thought - for just one moment - that he wished he were able to drown. He would have thrown himself to the ocean’s mercy if he could. Instead, he made himself perfectly still, and waited. .

Behind him, Guilford Wentworth made his slow way down the hideous, ugly step-scars. Areyto could hear his heavy breathing, the crunch of his boots against rock and then the scrape when he found sand. He came up behind Areyto and stood too close, leaning over to slide a hand along his spine and watch him shiver.

“All dark skin and hair and white silk,” His captor said, voice low, pitched not to carry any further than his prisoner’s ears. “You look like a ghost, a spirit of some dead maiden.”

“I am a ghost,,” Areyto replied, voice flat, barely moving his own mouth. He refused to flinch from Wentworth’s touch, even when those fingertips burned against the nape of his neck, tracing the painted marks that peeked out from the neckline of his robe. Heavy hands wearing many rings twisted into his dark hair, pulling at it just a little, never letting him forget who held his leash. “What I was is dead.”

“You were a monster,” Guilford countered. “You still are. Monsters need to be tamed. To be kept.” He chuckled, voice low, and pulled harder, steadily forcing Areyto to lift his chin. Areyto’s hands closed slowly into fists around sand and shell, until the edge of the shell cut deeply in, the pain keeping his mind clear. There was no point in the disgust he felt at Wentworth’s touch, so why couldn’t he stop?

Wentworth cleared his throat, straightening back up and forcing Areyto backwards using the hand in his hair, until he was standing on his knees, spine straight. His markings ached, his skin boiled with the need to tear his captor apart. “My wife is dying.”

“That is what your wives seem crafted to do.” He couldn’t quite keep the edge from his voice. When Wentworth’s heavy hand began to pet through his hair like a man might pet a dog, he let his eyes close against the burn he refused to admit had nothing to do with the salty ocean air.

His stomach dipped, and all his markings burned like new. He couldn’t do anything but obey. The magic bound him like a fisherman’s net.

Wentworth sighed, reading the distress Areyto tried not to show. His fingers kept catching in tangled curls, jerking Areyto’s head this way and that. “Wives do die, in their time. In any case, I thought the air here would help her-”

“No, you didn’t.”

“What?” Wentworth jerked him backwards, throwing Areyto until he landed on his back in the soft sand, staring up at his captor. Wentworth’s face was shadowed by the weak sun fighting through the threatening clouds. The tide surged up to Areyto’s thighs, soaking the hem of his silk robe and leaving him half-bared to that horrible heavy gaze. “What did you say?”

Areyto set his jaw, and stared past Wentworth at the waters that had once been home. “You knew the air here would be cold and damp.You knew it would make her worse. You are done with this wife and ready for a new one. Why bother to lie to me? It’s me who you will have sing the new one into your bed soon enough-”

“Be quiet.” Wentworth’s hiss sent a sparking of pain along the painted marks of his curse, and Areyto bit down on his lower lip. Wentworth’s eyes moved from left to right, taking in the empty sands on either side of them, the house far enough away that you couldn’t see it from here. Or be seen by anyone inside it, even if any of them were awake.

His captor’s smile stretched as wide as a slick of oil still spilling from deep earth as he unbuttoned his own shirt without taking it off, shifting down onto his knees to straddle his captive siren, weighing him down.

It felt like a stone tied to his ankle, dragging Areyto into the dark.

One of Wentworth’s hands went around his throat, thumb pressing against the thrum of Areyto’s pulse just under his jaw. The other went into his hair, pulling hard.

“Open your mouth,” Wentworth commanded.

Areyto’s body, as always, obeyed.

The water surged again, as if the ocean tried to pull him back home. It lapped along his legs, caressed his calves as it pulled back away, just brushed the bottoms of his feet. The sand beneath him was soaked and he sank into it as his head was forced back, as his throat was filled and he had to breathe in quick gasps whenever Wentworth pulled back, and relaxed his hand enough to allow it.

Areyto added his own saltwater tears to what soaked the sand beneath his body, a dizzy lack of air making the world seem to spin, as if his misery were the center of the earth.

“Why aren’t you making any noises?” Wentworth asked, his voice a series of harsh grunts as his hips moved, snapping too far forward, pulling too far back. Areyto’s jaw ached, his neck hurt from being bent strangely to accommodate Wentworth’s will. Sand dried and itched and stuck to him. The waves kept breaking just a little higher each time, until they teased at Areyto’s hips, his waist.

He kept the shell closed tightly in one hand.

“Oh. Right.” Each word was a thrust, and Areyto wasn’t breathing. Couldn’t breathe. His eyes opened now, black and white spots dancing around the edges and finally into the middle. Wentworth stared back down at him. Their eyes met, and for all that Areyto knew his burned with hate, Wentworth’s sparkled with a perfect joy. “I gave you an order, didn’t I? Well, I take it back. Make all the noise your body wants, Areyto. Make as much noise as you can.”

This order was worse than the silence.

Now, he couldn’t stop himself - the siren whined, whimpered at the pain as his throat was bruised, gasped and cried out only for the winds to whip the sound away faster than he could even hear himself making it. He begged, maybe - he couldn’t have said.

Things had gotten so far away, in his mind.

Too far away to be sure any longer.

Wentworth pulled back, all at once, but it was only a second before he grabbed the siren by one shoulder and threw him onto his stomach, hand pressing hard into his back while his knees kicked the siren’s legs apart. He shoved the sodden silk robe up to bare Areyto to his heavy, wanting gaze. Water rushed in, and Areyto's forehead pressed into the sand as he hitched in a sob.

Why did he still bother to weep?

“Beg,” Wentworth commanded, leaning down to press a kiss against Areyto’s hair. The siren’s stomach threatened to heave itself empty at the mockery of intimacy. “Beg me not to do this now, beg me not to bed you right here next to the water. Beg me not to.”

“Please,” Areyto gasped, voice hoarse and broken. He wanted to stay silent out of spite, but the markings were perfect and fresh and instead obedience was pulled from him faster than he could even think to defy him. “Please, not like this-... don’t do this-... not here-”

Wentworth bit down, flat human teeth burying themselves into Areyto’s shoulder as he forced himself inside, inch by inch. The siren threw his head back and screamed, a broken sound that only seemed to make Wentworth’s own desire rise higher.

Blood ran to soak the sand beneath the siren’s shoulder and between his legs.

One of Wentworth’s hands found his hair again, holding tight to keep Areyto’s head pressed to his shoulder. The other reached out over the top of Areyto’s hand, closing fingers around his and pressing him more deeply into the sand. The siren’s back was forced to arch as his captor ground skin between teeth until it tore. He licked at Areyto’s blood and groaned with satisfaction as his hips rocked, the way made slick by blood and his lust fed by the pain of his imprisoned monster.

Areyto’s eyes were wide and sightless - he could not see or feel or think past the way he was torn apart, in too many places. His free hand held tight to the shell he had found, as if it could save him.

At some point his grip was so strong it broke the skin, and he bled there, too.

The tide surged, and added salt to the fresh wounds. He screamed again, and Wentworth’s voice was in his ear telling him to move, and so he did, and it made the pain rise ever higher. The sounds the siren made bounced off the hills ahead of them, they were stolen by the breeze to be blown out to the sea.

The tide soaked the blood into the sand, pulled it back to the waters. It dissolved in spirals and tendrils that came together and broke apart, until it faded away into the enormity of the waters. Until all there was was the sand, and the pain, and Guilford Wentworth buried inside him giving commands in a whisper that he had to obey.

“Mine,” His captor groaned as he finished inside him, went still, a heavy weight that pressed the air from the siren’s lungs. “Forever. Say it.”

Areyto stared at a bit of sea grass fighting its way through the suffocation of sand, surviving where no other plants did.

“Yours,” He whispered. Wentworth pulled away. “Forever.”

“Forever…?” Wentworth was doing up his buttons again, even though his own clothes were soaked through. The siren didn’t look up. He kept his eyes on the grass. “You know what to say, don’t you?”

The siren swallowed back the screaming hatred that threatened to burn him up from inside, and only whispered, “Yours forever… master.”

Wentworth chuckled again. He turned and walked away, making his painstaking, clumsy way up those stupid rock stairs.

The tide rushed in, all the way up to the siren’s mid-back now, moving further and further up towards his shoulders. He didn’t move - it felt like a bath, like the gentle lapping of a mother cat to a kitten. It felt like the ocean was trying to clean him of the filth that Wentworth had left on him, inside of him.

“Kill him,” The siren prayed. “Kill him and set me free. Please, please… kill him. Just... kill us both.”

As always...

No one answered.

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee @angelsproject @starsick1979

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winxanity-ii · 14 days ago

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⌜Catch Me If You Can | Chapter 02 Chapter 02 | of bread & gods⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

It had been a few days since that lesson—a few days since the woman from the circus had vanished.

The coins were gone now—traded for a thin strip of jerky that didn't do much to ease the gnawing in your stomach—but the lesson she'd given you lingered. Her words echoing in your mind like a drumbeat: Quick hands and quick feet.

And hunger, your old and ever-present companion, was growing louder, a constant reminder that lessons alone wouldn't fill your stomach.

So, when your growling hunger pushed you too far, you decided it was time to put what you'd learned into action.

You'd practiced the coin trick on bits of discarded rope and stray buttons, your fingers fumbling at first but growing steadier with each attempt. Now, you needed food. Real food. The kind you could taste instead of imagining.

The marketplace buzzed with life, a chaotic swirl of sound and color. The sun was warm overhead, its light spilling across the cobbled square. The marketplace buzzed with life: merchants haggling loudly over prices, children laughing as they darted through the crowd, and women chatting with baskets slung over their arms.

You stuck to the shadows, weaving through narrow alleys and keeping your head low. The shadows had always been your friends, but today, they felt different. Today, they felt like your accomplices.

Your target was simple: a loaf of bread from the baker's stand near the market square, a place you'd passed countless times before.

The warm, golden scent of freshly baked bread always hung in the air, teasing you, tempting you.

You'd never dared get too close—the baker was watchful, and the townsfolk didn't take kindly to strays like you—but now, with the lessons burned into your mind, you felt ready.

From your vantage point behind a stack of crates, you could see everything, so you watched and waited, studying the scene like the man had taught you.

The baker was busy—too busy, his hands floury as he tied up a package for a woman with three kids tugging at her skirts. He had bread laid out in neat rows: round loaves, crusty rolls, and braided strands dusted with flour.

You swallowed hard, your gaze locked on the prize near the edge of the stand—slightly misshapen, with a broken crust.

Not perfect, not something anyone would fight over. It was small enough to take without much notice.

Your heart pounded as you crouched low, waiting. Not yet. Wait for it.

The woman fumbled with her coin pouch, scolding one of her children as they reached for a roll. The baker turned his attention to her, smiling indulgently before cooing at the youngest as he wailed.

Now.

You darted forward, your movements quick but careful. Not too close—your tattered clothes and dirt-smudged face would give you away if anyone looked too long.

Your heart pounded, a wild drumbeat in your ears, as you darted forward. Quick hands, quick feet—you repeated the words like a prayer.

You reached out, fingers brushing the edge of the broken loaf. It wasn't perfect; your hand trembled slightly, and your grip was clumsy. But you stuffed the chunk of bread into your shirt and pulled back just as fast, your breath hitching as you walked away.

Your pulse hammered as you slipped back into the shadows, glancing over your shoulder every few steps.

No one noticed.

Not the woman, not the baker, not the bustling crowd.

You'd done it.

By the time you were far enough away to feel safe, your legs were shaking.

You ducked into an alley, the cool shade a welcome relief from the heat of the market. Only then did you pull the stolen bread from your shirt once you were tucked away hidden behind a stack of crates.

It wasn't much—a jagged piece with a crust that flaked at your touch. The bread was a little stale, the edges crumbling as you turned it over in your hands, but to you, it was perfect.

You held it like a treasure, the golden crumbs dusting your hands as you broke off a piece.

Your fingers trembled as you brought it to your lips.

The first bite was dry, the crust scraping against the roof of your mouth, but you barely cared. You chewed slowly, savoring every crumb.

To someone else, it might have tasted plain, even disappointing. But to you, it was the sweetest thing you'd ever eaten.

Because you'd earned it.

You leaned against the wall, the rush of it all still coursing through you. The pounding of your heart, the thrill of almost being caught, the way your hands had acted faster than your thoughts—it all made the bread taste even better.

For the first time, you felt like you'd won—like you'd taken something from the world instead of it taking from you.

The bread might not have been perfect, but it was yours. And in that moment, that was enough.

☆

Days turned into weeks, weeks into years, and that small piece of stolen bread became a memory—a spark that had set something in motion.

It started with little things. A broken loaf here, a forgotten apple there. You learned to move faster, quieter, like smoke slipping through cracks.

Each day, you sharpened yourself like a blade—your eyes keener, your steps softer. You stopped being clumsy, and you knew how to quiet it, even if just for a while.

The alleys remained your home, but they were no longer just places to hide. They became your domain.

You mapped every back street and narrow passage, every blind spot the city offered.

You learned the rhythms of life around you: when the shopkeepers got distracted, when the guards changed shifts, when the markets grew busy enough for you to vanish in the chaos.

People stopped calling you "dirty rat." They stopped seeing you at all.

You grew up in those shadows—older, sharper, harder. The dirt on your face faded when you learned to scrub it off in fountains at night. The rags you wore became a patchwork of stolen fabrics, stitched together with hands that had learned to work just as well as they could steal.

Your once-bony limbs filled out, not with luxury but with strength. There was power in surviving.

No longer did you survive on clumsy scraps; now, you planned every move with precision.

It made it all much better once you were no longer swiping just bread.

You'd swiped coins from fat merchants who never noticed their loss. You'd disappeared into crowds with stolen jewels tucked inside your ragged clothes. You learned how to move like smoke, to wait like a predator, to strike when no one was looking.

Every theft made you better, faster, stronger—more certain that the world owed you something. And you weren't afraid to take it.

But after a while, the small jobs weren't enough anymore. You didn't just want to survive. You wanted more.

Whether it was hunger, pride, or revenge that drove you forward, you couldn't say. Maybe it was all three.

And now here you were, your biggest heist yet.

The wind whipped through the empty hills, carrying the scent of cedar and cool stone. The structure loomed before you in the moonlight.

This was no market stall or careless merchant. This was Apollo's shrine—grand, golden, and untouchable. A place of worship, reverence, and power.

It was massive, carved from marble that seemed to glow in the darkness. The columns stretched high, holding up the sky itself, their edges etched with golden inscriptions that shimmered faintly.

At the top of the steps, twin braziers burned bright and steady—guardians of the god's temple.

But beyond those flames, shadows pooled. And you knew shadows better than anyone.

You stood at the edge of the treeline, staring up at the shrine. It had taken weeks of planning to get here, weeks of watching pilgrims come and go, of studying the guards' patrols, of figuring out when the shrine was left vulnerable.

Apollo's temple was a place of beauty and worship to some, but to you, it was a treasure trove. Gold offerings were piled at the altar in his honor: coins, jewelry, statues—all left by merchants and nobles hoping to curry favor with the god.

To them, the offerings were gifts.

To you, they were a means to an end.

You tugged the dark cloth of your hood lower, your clothes blending into the night. The moon hung heavy above you, pale and cold, but its light refused to touch you. It reflected off the temple's white stone, but on your blackened cloak, it found no purchase.

You were nothing but a shadow.

Your heart thrummed in your chest, steady but sharp. You weren't afraid—at least, that's what you told yourself. Fear had no place here. Not now. You'd come too far.

This was the biggest job you'd ever planned, and you knew you were playing with fire. If you failed, you'd lose more than just your life. Gods didn't take kindly to thieves. But if you succeeded...

And yet—

For the first time tonight, you hesitated. It was a small thing, a splinter of doubt working its way under your skin, sharp and sudden.

The temple loomed so large against the night, its marble and gold glowing with a light that felt more than mortal. For a moment, it was as if the air itself held its breath.

Was it worth it?

Your fingers tightened around the edge of your cloak. Of course it is.

The gods hadn't walked among mortals in ages—eons, really. Their temples had stood untouched for lifetimes, save for the hands of priests and pilgrims.

If Apollo even existed at all, he hadn't shown himself in your lifetime. In anyone's lifetime.

They don't care, you told yourself. They haven't for centuries. Why should you?

Still, your pulse fluttered, a drumbeat of uncertainty. A voice at the back of your mind whispered of stories, of divine wrath and mortals turned to dust for their arrogance, heck for less.

But you'd heard those tales before—told by men with full stomachs, speaking of curses they'd never seen and gods they'd never feared. It was easy to believe in punishment when you had enough to lose.

You... didn't.

The hunger, the cold, the endless nights—they had been your gods, and they'd shown you no mercy. Why should you offer reverence to the ones who abandoned you?

A chill swept through you, the wind whistling low as though daring you forward, daring you to act.

Slowly, you let out a breath, shoulders squaring as you forced the hesitation back down where it belonged.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter if gods watched or waited or burned the skies with their fury—because none of it had been enough to stop you before.

And none of it would stop you now.

You took a breath, letting the cold air fill your lungs.

Maybe that was why you couldn't stop yourself? Maybe it was the challenge—the allure of doing something no one else would dare.

Or maybe it was survival. Maybe you were tired of scraping by, tired of the hunger and the shadows. Maybe you wanted to matter. To be more than whispers in alleyways or a fleeting shadow on a stranger's coin purse.

The shrine loomed ahead, its golden statues glinting faintly, as if Apollo himself watched and waited.

You glanced once at the empty hills behind you, a habit more than anything. There was no one there. No one would stop you now.

Your fingers brushed against the knife tucked into your belt—not for fighting, but for cutting through the offerings' cords.

You could almost feel the gold in your hands already, the weight of it a promise. A way forward.

For a long moment, you just stood there, letting the quiet stretch around you. The wind hummed low against the stone. The moon watched.

You took another deep breath, the cold air steadying your nerves. Your heart pounded, but your hands were steady now.

You'd been waiting for this moment—planning, preparing—and there was no turning back.

"Alright," you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. Your voice was steady, a quiet ripple through the dark.

You looked back up at the temple—at the god's shrine, glowing like a beacon—and your lips curled faintly, a smirk hidden beneath your hood.

"Let's do this."

And with that, you moved.

A/N: mc really out here living dangerous...so what do you guys think? would you have the guts to pull this off, or are you more of a "better safe than smited" kind of person? 👀

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