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slowdivinqs · 28 days ago

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Stalker! Joel Miller x f!reader ( 18+ MDNI )

summary : no one is truly alone in the world, especially not you.

w/c : 12K

warnings : no use of y/n, horror themes and elements DDDNE, stalker behavior, feelings of isolation and depression, existential crisis? Kidnapping, cynical thoughts about life described, abuse, violence against the reader by Joel, old!Joel. slowburn-ish. dub-con?. unprotected PinV. Oral f!receiving. Manhandling. Hunter / prey kink. Twisted daddy kink but no use of the word 'daddy'. Joel popping a viagra. VERY Large age gap ( 35+ years ) . Manipulation. Obsession. Reader’s mother is described as a drug addict. Shitty men, harassment and pervertedness from a co-worker. Murder / death of side characters. Stockholm syndrome. Reader is toxic too. Religious imagery. Can be pixel or pedro Joel. The reader is implied as being thinner due to life long poverty, but her body type is not described or stated.

a/n : This was made for @pedgito's writing challenge and kind of ran away from me. It was such a blast, I've never tried horror or a specifically dark fic and it was sm fun! I’m sure the characters I wrote will stick with me forever. I sat with this fic for a long time before posting, and it's the longest thing I've ever written!! Not sure how I feel about it still. Thank you for letting me participate! Happy birthday ♡

if you don’t like dark themes, listen to the warnings and don’t read the fic.

masterlist

—— ☓ ——

Something feels wrong before your eyes have had the chance to open – a kind of warning, an omen, baked into the morning light stabbing your iris through moth-eaten curtains.

It was the way your body ached as you tried to sit up, stomach screaming for food you just don’t have. Your mother hasn’t been home for a week and you know she’s either run off with some incest-bred asshole who’s promised her a beer or she’s passed out in a crack-house miles away.

Your shift at the diner starts in thirty minutes.

The men that pass through this town are all the same.

Truck drivers – men who think all women in the world are there to satisfy their needs. Iagos of the world, the dark underbelly.

The men that stay in this town are not dissimilar, your days a monotonous blur of wondering when something better will drop into your desperate palms.

There is one man who feels like your only friend in the world.

Standing at a whopping five foot seven, and still kicking up the diner’s jukebox at eighty three, he makes sun shine out from your soul. You can confidently say that Jerry is the best.

He usually sits with you the entire day at work, and makes sure to fill your empty time by teaching you to dance to El Toro Rabón, and La Bamba. His rich hands, littered with wrinkles yet full of life, hold yours while he makes you laugh. Clapping as you finish off with an animated twirl and curtsy.

Jason usually eyes you from the kitchen, rolling his sleazy eyes at the sight of you having so much fun with your elderly best friend. Going back to making greasy burgers and puffing on a cigarette that’s gotten him in trouble with the owner before.

You never agreed with the sentiment that old people were cute until you met Jerry and his late wife during your first shift at the diner : fourteen years old and composed of an exhaustion that was ill fitting for someone so young. He’d been your first ever customer, seventy seven and still wearing that cowboy hat of his.

The first thing you noticed about him was his mustache, the way he uses wax to curve up the tight white curls into points, how it covered his top lip when he spoke, making him look like a cartoon character – his oak brown eyes that has gotten increasingly red and yellow around the corners as he’s gotten older. The way his warm skin has developed patches of darkness, yet he still looks the exact same as the photo of him he showed you from thirty years ago : fresh off his racing horse in Mexico, holding the same cowboy hat over his chest that he adorns now, smiling brightly. He kept his hair looser back then, his ringlets looked shiny even in those black and white photographs.

He calls you bumblebee, and you think he’s the first person that’s ever loved you – and he’s the first person you’ve ever loved. He’s your sunshine, a tether to the world past your 18 hour work day.

Every morning he’s seated in the diner at 8:30 AM with a joke to tell you, stories of his racing days, growing up in Cuajinicuilapa, his time travelling around South America before settling down in this small town near Wyoming. He tells you of his late brother, his views of the world and the people he’s met. He talks of humanity and how love is what is most important in life.

You feed off of the stories he tells you : meeting people from all walks of life under the pretense of coffee, sitting around the same food stand, chatting to strangers who would play guitar on the side of the street for no other purpose than passion.

You feel the desire for this ideal world thrum in your veins vicariously.

He used to come in with his wife Dolores until she passed two springs ago – he talks of her jewelry often, thinks that you should inherit it : they were never able to have children. You serve his coffee fresh and hot – asking Jason in the back to make his eggs perfect and his toast golden brown. You sit across from him at the counter to play bullshit with him while he eats – he always knows when you’re lying, his cheeky smiles catching you out, and his joy wraps it’s warm arms around you.

Your days are filled with giggles and smiles whenever he comes to see you, and he never leaves without a hug.

Jerry does not like Jason one bit – eyeing the skinny, pale cook through the serving counter, telling you that a man like that is ‘no good, honey’. You don’t blame him – Jason had tried to coerce you into giving him a blowjob a few weeks before your 18th birthday – but never forced you when you had threatened to go to the sheriff and have them run a much needed background check. Jason has steered clear of you since then, knowing you weren’t shooting empty threats. You never told Jerry about that, but you think he knows regardless.

He jokes that the forest behind your house has eyes – the kind only the old and the dying could feel. You never found it funny.

Your clothes were not too crinkled this morning when you pulled them on : giving you a small mercy as did your almost-dry mascara surviving one more day. That hadn’t quelled the uneasiness you’d felt all morning, the whole drive to the diner. All you could think about was seeing your friend, and hoping that he would give you a hug and tell you all those happy stories again.

The second you clock in, and Jason comes back in from his third smoke of the hour, Jerry opens the door to the diner.

You float over to the counter with a genuine smile, but it flickers when you see the look on his face.

He talks a lot that day – about his wife, about his old job, even the time a fight broke out in his hometown and his father died, how the horses he looked after got caught in the crossfire : admitting he had hurt the perpetrator afterwards and it haunts him. He tells you everything, even the things he’s told you time and time before – forgetting he ever mentioned it. He’s never forgotten a thing about you, but he talks as though he’s in a hurry, as though he needs to get everything out.

He does not come in the next day or the day after that, and when he doesn’t arrive on the third day you take time off to confirm your fears at the hospital. You do not hear it from a nurse, or a doctor, but from the silence you are met with when you ask for him. That silence, the loneliness that instantly sunk into your bones, shattered your heart into millions of pieces. It is destroying.

You did not come to see him when you could, there was still time to be had, stories to be told. He never saw you make something of yourself, he will never walk you down the aisle like you dreamt he would one day.

You are all alone in the world. No one to speak to, no one to comfort you. No one to make you think life might not be as meaningless as the whispers of your mind seem to believe. The warmth of him is gone, and you feel as cold and grey as the forest that surrounds this town, as if the sun has gone into eternal hibernation.

You want to bury yourself in your room for hours, to not surface for months and months until your body reflects the rot you feel on the inside. Hollow. Your sunshine is gone.

You tell yourself Jerry is now with Dolores, and laugh at the fact that your mind even supplied such a deluded thought. You never believed there was something better up there, not for long anyway.

You still go to his new tombstone, next to his wife’s, and speak to them. They were both religious, crosses carved into the place their names will stay forever, and so you ask any god out there to let them rest peacefully as though they are back in their hometown with their horses and not worry about you.

That evening you sit on your porch, chain-smoking the packs of cigarettes you had been saving, staring at the stars caged by thick trees. You realize you do not have a purpose. You don’t have a want – can’t have one, there’s not enough money for the luxury of wanting something. You’ll live and die in an 18 hour work day.

Your thoughts are scary and boring at the same time, so you begin to look out at the illuminated forest. The sounds of the night – it scares you as well sometimes, an entire empty forest just outside your door, nothing but rotten wood and locks keeping you safe.

Today you found out you will be alone for the rest of your life, but when you sit out on the porch, flicking your third cigarette – you don’t feel entirely alone at all. You feel as though there is something out here with you, your skin rippling with bumps.

You blame it on the Grim Reaper licking at your heart today.

The cabin on the other side of the forest you’re staring at now has been vacant since you were born. Never a light, a sound – it haunts you.

The closest you’ve gotten to it was at the ripe age of 8, venturing through the forest to explore. You had come to the front door until the house moaned at you, and the forest went quiet. You can still vividly picture the glance you got of the cabin while you ran all the way home.

You leave the shadow of the cabin in the dark forest behind, you need to get dressed for your shift. Money waits for no one, not even for the death of your best friend.

Down the empty highway, not a car in sight – the image of your headlines whirring past the thousands of trees burnt into your retinas from seeing it every single night. Your eyes are puffy and raw from crying, a headache pounding behind them.You pass the single off–ramp road you’ve never been stupid enough to take, the one that winds through the forest, all the way to an open clearing, a small path that can barely fit your sputtering car – leading all the way to the back of your rotting house. You used to play in that clearing as a child, pulling out grass and flowers and making huts out of branches until the day the forest went quiet for a second time – and you knew something was out there with you.

You had told your mother after running inside, but she pushed you away from the comfort of her arms and told you it was just jackals – you knew it wasn’t, even then.

It had seemed you knew something was coming your whole life, constantly looking over your shoulder – watching, listening. Sensing all and any kind of movement anytime, wary. You didn’t like the silence, you didn’t like being alone – yet you were singled out, not a soul or sound to comfort you through your isolated existence.

The gas station is empty as it is every night, you use the time to read. To think, to wonder what it’s all for in the end. If you should run away, leave and never come back. Go and find the ocean, let it swallow you whole.

The sliding doors of the entrance ding as they open. Your eyes flick up so quickly it hurts. A man walks in, and your stomach swoops. Everything falls quiet, and you think of the thing that your mother called the jackals, you think of the forest falling silent : baby birds quieting in the face of danger. He disappears behind a shelf, a glimpse of a Carhartt jacket that sparks a warmth : a remembrance of your dear friend who is now gone, the once comforting material on someone foreign, scary.

Your breath shallows. You don’t know why. It’s not just the quiet – it’s the kind of quiet that makes your blood congeal. Like the silence before a scream.

You glance to your side, below the counter, a bat sits for emergencies. You’re not sure why you are panicking the way you are, if it’s the hour, Jerry’s passing, the presentiment you’ve felt all week.

There is something silent, and something wrong.

When you look up, you still don’t see him. The light behind you flickers, and you almost want to cry at the fear that’s bubbling up in your throat, your hair is standing on end. Your ears prick at any sound, a fridge door opening and shutting.

Your body is shutting down on you, your heart crawling up your throat by claws : fighting and fighting for a chance to survive while your body quivers with the force of your instinct to run. Grab the bat, over the counter, out the door to your car.

You blink, realizing you haven’t been seeing a damn thing, and he’s on the other side of the counter. Looking at you with a blank expression.

Your heart fizzles and falls back to its place, your hands are shaking.

“Forgot milk.” His voice is entirely too flat, disarming and discerning.

You glance down at his hands, calloused and holding a single jug of full cream milk. He’s waiting for you to scan it.

“Right, sorry.” You mutter, sliding the milk over the scanner and taking the cash from him before returning the change. He hasn’t looked away from you once, he seems tired and bored : a normal milk run, but you’ve never seen him before. It’s shocking for a town with under five hundred residents.

He nods his thanks and leaves. The sound of his car sputtering away allows you to finally exhale.

You cash out and go home soon after that, shaken, like every ounce of fear you’ve felt in your life crashed through you the second he entered the store. An omen, a warning.

You wake up to a box at your door the next morning. In your sleep-shaken state, you have half the mind to stomp on it, fearful it came from The Man last night. Fortunately, curiosity seemed to be on your side this morning, as upon opening the box you find Denise’s necklaces, bracelets, rings and books. Paintings, antiques, and most importantly - a cowboy hat. Your favorite hat in the entire world. He had left everything of his to you, when he wrote his will you do not know. Maybe Jerry knew what was coming, he always was wise, connected to everything there is in a way you wish you could be.

You cry all morning, through your miserable shift at the diner. You must look like some sort of slug, because Jason asks you if you’re okay, as does the girl from your old english class who came in that morning all the way from New York : in town and visiting her parents. She dyed her hair and found her style. You see the sparkle of the world in her eyes, and your dirty fingers itch to steal it, to run outside with her car keys, assume her role as a real person. You do not feel real at all.

When you return to your rotting home you watch an old western - Jerry’s favorite - while you wear his cowboy hat, toying with the new jewelry that was sent to you when the police must’ve got around to acting out Jerry’s will. You feel loved and, oh, so lonely at the same time. You are a ghost in your own home, and the appearance reflects it. No real girl would live in a house of mold and quiet, where it is abandoned despite having a resident.

—-

The Man returns this evening as well, in the moment you were humming the iconic tune from your new favorite movie. Jerry had good taste. The world goes silent, and he grabs a pack of beers before heading to the till. “Marlboro Reds, please.” He has a Texan accent, and you stare at your hands as you give him what he wants. He leaves after that again, your only customer of the night.

The next night, he takes his time browsing the store. You watch him, watch how he languidly moves, scanning the items like his eyes would not eventually land on you. Approaching the counter with his chosen trifle.

“You don’t get scared workin’ nights?” He asks, and now you know your concerns were not unfounded.

“No.” you lie, meeting his eye for the second time since the first night. He does not have facial expressions, you realize. Blank, revealing nothing. He is a handsome man. An eerie man. He nods, holding eye contact as he grabs the useless item and goes back to his sputtering truck outside. He looked like he wanted to call you a liar.

You do not show up for your shift the night after that. Your gut tells you to stay home, to lock your doors and keep your father’s old pistol near you. To close the blinds – sit and listen to every sound of the night. Check under your bed just in case.

You’re late to the diner the next morning, greeted by Jason’s complaining that he had to serve the first customer’s coffee, asking for you to make it up to him. When you peep through the corridor, your heart drops at the only customer in the restaurant.

The Man has come to the diner. He knows you, he knows where you work – probably where you live.

Maybe he lives here, maybe it’s all some coincidence. Maybe it’s not what you think.

You bring him his eggs and bacon, and when you look up to his face he’s already looking at you. He does not move, does not touch his knife or fork. He’s staring at you.

“Leave me alone.” You say, quiet yet firm, standing over him as he blinks and looks down at his food. Your fear is making you angry, fire spitting in your eyes. He doesn’t answer you, and after two moments of being unable to bear the energy that exudes from him – you walk away, into the back of the kitchen to watch Jason work, peeping through the slits of the serving station to watch The Man eat his food. Your body hair prickles into points.

Jason eyes you, glances at The Man, and raises a faint eyebrow at you.

“That your daddy?” he asks, staring at the popping bacon. You watch the grease heat and solidify, the sweat sticking on Jason’s skinny yet defined triceps, coated with wiry hair that’s never been tended to.

“No.” you whisper, tucking your hands under your legs : they are cold, and your skin is overridden with goosebumps, hair standing. You feel as though you’re about to be swallowed, like large claws will pick you up and drop you into a maw of sharp, hungry teeth.

“Why’s he givin’ me the stink eye, then?” Jason grunts, picking at his gold tooth with a grimy finger as he lazily looks over to your thighs, then your face. Raising an eyebrow at how fearful you look, he glances back at The Man. Something like concern flashes across his face, and he lifts his cap to rub over his short, receding hair. It’s the first time his eyes have ever looked soft.

“Dunno.” is all you manage to mutter as you brace a peek to find The Man has looked away.

He’s slow, takes time to eat every piece of food while staring blankly out the window, like he’s watching the world as though he’s never seen it before, unnatural. You want to tell Jason about your all consuming fear that this man is going to hurt you, but his eyes have changed and he makes another comment about how good you look in the plaid dress that happens to be your uniform. You choose to wait outside of the building instead of enduring the male specimen of your species. It feels like you are alone in a world of monsters.

When you return inside, there’s a fifty dollar tip next to the spotless plate, everything stacked for you to carry.

You don’t return home that night : you ditch your job at the gas station for a second time, leaving your car at the diner to book a room at the shitty motel. It feels as though you died the same day Jerry did, maybe you are dreaming : alone in an empty world, your only companion being the monster. Nothing feels real.

You fall asleep to the sound of ugly moans, watching the handle of your door : your heart beating faster than your body can manage. Rocking yourself back and forth, humming a soft tune your father used to play on the guitar when he was sober enough to think.

You feel as though you are living on borrowed time, as though this opportunity to wait is a mercy.

He is not at the diner the next morning. Neither is Jason, it’s closed up and the lights are shut off – it is Jason’s job to open up and get the stoves burning. You try to call the owner with the small amount of change you have on the payphone, but no one answers. The sound of the dead line ringing in your ears as you look around in a panic.

You suddenly feel as though you’re back in that patch of forest, surrounded by tall trees and a monster waiting to swallow you whole. Watching. A fear so curdling you fear you’ll throw up over the plastic phone.

You’re wide awake standing behind the counter of the gas station. Watching the fluorescent lights flicker. You parked your car out back. You’re holding the bat in your right hand under the counter. You are waiting for him to come in. You should have driven far far away, but you have a sinking feeling he would have followed.

The night is completely quiet. No people, no sounds except for the humming of the fridges.

You glance at the back door, and the moment your eyes turn away from the sliding doors they ding. Your hair rises and stands violently. Skin alight and blazing as the first footstep echos in the store.

You don’t think about it, your body tells you to run and you do.

Out the back, to the edge of the concrete until your feet are pounding along the road, bat gripped tightly in your fist. The sound of your own feet are drowned out by the ones behind you, big and stomping. The trees framing your attempt at an escape as they yawn and stretch above - caging you in, suffocating. They grow tall as you sprint, closing like they will eagerly crash down and trap you like a wave from the ocean you’ve never seen.

You push with all your might, and you thank the lord you took track during school, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you run so fast the sound of feet behind you fade. It feels like victory, like being free – your chest blooms from the burn and the success. You think of the gun in your bedside drawer, and turn down the off-road into the woods you’ve never been brave enough to take before. The only sound is the one of your own feet : you’re not stupid enough to look behind you.

The moon lights up the forest floor, you don’t trip over a single root or branch. You’re moving faster than you ever have in your life : your lungs screaming, fear rising in your lungs like bile. You break into the clearing, the one that has always been haunted by Jackals.

You’re almost home.

A force heavier than you think you’ve ever felt crashes into you from the side, you’re slammed down into the one patch of grass you often picked, the bat flying out of your hands and rolling to the dirt in front of you.

“Knew you’d run here.” A deep, breathless voice says right into your ear, your hair is pulled as a hand clamps down on your struggling wrists, excited. “Always liked playin’ here, didn’t ya?” he grunts, pulling something out of his pocket. You swing your elbow up, knocking him straight in the jaw. He sways for only a moment, but it’s all you need. You dash forward, crawling away from him before you find your feet, grabbing the bat and smashing it down over The Man’s skull. He groans and stumbles, gripping the back of his head as you trip over your own feet to stumble away. You run towards your rotting home, you can’t think about the fact he knew where you played as a child, all you are thinking about is the gun.

You don’t even get to the steps of your back porch before he’s tackling you to the ground again and hitting the side of your face hard enough to make you cry, your head fuzzing. Your face stings and your eye throbs. You want to bring your hands to cup over the hurt, hold yourself in an attempt to make it better, but he is holding your hands. He curses at you, spitting vile words for managing to get solid blows at him.

“Come on, darlin’. You think that little gun ‘s gon’ do anythin’? It don’t even got any bullets.” He grunts, you feel zip ties around your wrists, your mind racing as you continue to struggle and kick until his hand is around your throat faster than you can think. “Don’t make me hit that pretty face again, bitch.”

You go still, and slumped. Trapped in a wolf’s jaws.

His hand squeezes tighter and tighter as you squeak a protest, until you can’t think anymore and the last of your squirming falls away.

The first thing you smell when you wake up is smoke, the kind that comes from a fireplace. The first thing you see is rich, dark wood. You’re on a bed and you glance up to see you’re handcuffed there. Your skin isn’t just throbbing – it's raw, the skin bitten where the metal has scraped against you. Your head pounds like it’s been split open, the ache thick and blinding.

You can feel he is somewhere within the room, the twist of your stomach and the lingering presence on the back of your head tells you he is there. A creak of a chair behind you finalizes his presence but you can’t be bothered to do anything besides slump back against the mattress, curling up into a tiny ball.

He says your name to get your attention, and you don’t attempt to look at him, your skin is already crawling with what you think he wants to do to you. Future years of using and hitting flash through your mind, wishing for the mercy of death.

He walked next to the bed too fast, too silent. A wall of muscle and heat as large as him should not be so quiet. He is touching your hair, stroking down your cheek. His hand is rough and warm, he smells like a cologne that reminds you of your father. You think you might be sick.

“I was bein’ nice. I waited.” he says softly, pressing down with his pointer finger on the bruise that has molted under your skin, making you wince and shuffle away from him, glancing up at him to find his striking, dark eyes on you. His jaw is bruised where you hit him with your aching elbow, a trickle of dry blood still stuck on a piece of his salt-and-pepper hair. You made a crack in his head – a small trickle of pride filling your veins at the fight.

It is small lived, and dies out at the next throb of your wrists.

He sighs at this reaction, before walking out of this bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

You lie there for what feels like hours, only moving when you notice the water and ibuprofen on the bedside table : still in its packaging. Your whole body aches, the last throttles of your adrenaline were beaten out of you with his hands.

It’s only when you sit up that you notice where you are. The view outside the window is the forest behind the cabin that groaned at you, that haunted you as a child.

He’s lived here the whole time : he’s been here the whole time. The feeling of impending doom that curdles your skin when he’s been near. The jackals you felt as a child, the forest going quiet.

It’s been him. It’s always been him.

Your skin feels as though it will turn inside out, every hair on your body standing to a rigid point. The fear feels as though you’re dying.

You don’t have to look to know he’s silently opened the room again, and you speak.

“You some kind of pedo?” You spit as your head throbs, sitting up on the bed, tugging on the cuffs, rage curdling and bubbling up on your skin – you think of your mother.

He stops moving at your words, “what?”

“You’ve been watching me since I was a child.”

“It wasn’t like that, Jesus.” He grunts, sounding uncomfortable at the idea. You almost want to laugh. In your periphery you see he’s ditched his canvas jacket, wearing a navy flannel that shows you just how large he is - as if you didn’t feel it the night before when he tackled into you so violently, stealing every inch of breath in your lungs.

“Oh, well sorry for assuming some old, sick pig stalking a young girl since she was a child isn’t a fucking pedophile.”

He smacks you over the throbbing patch of your skin, and you finally glare up at him with every bit of ire in your body. It was not any kind of hit, it was the kind that made you feel like dead weight, that knocks all the air out of your body as if you are a puppet with it’s strings cut.

He’s staring down at you.

“I’m not – christ, it ain’t like that.”

“So you’re just going to kidnap and keep me? You’re not going to – to do anything, is that right?” You scoff the words out, holding your hand to your cheek. The ache under your skin feels like it could stay there forever.

“I don’t want to do anything to you.” He seems to notice the irony of his words when you let your palm drop, face swollen. “I didn’t want to have to hurt you.”

You look out the window and go silent.

“You didn’t have to hurt me, this was your choice.” You spit, and he looks almost surprised by your words. There’s goosebumps that break out over his skin, and the energy in the room constricts as he backs away from you.

He glances out the same window before handing you a warm bowl of stew, pieces of meat and potato bobbing up from the thick, stock smelling liquid. You stare down at it, and then glare back up at him.

“Is it poisoned?” You’re not serious, you’re angry.

“If I wanted to kill you I would have done it earlier.” He says it as though it’s as casual as the weather, as though killing something – a person – is as boring as can be. Idle reassurance.

“You seem to like the waiting game.” You huff, staring at his large, twitching hands. His watch is broken.

He looks like he wants to smile at your quip, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Eat.” He tells you, closing the bedroom door softly as he leaves you be.

—

You have been here for two weeks, only knowing this due to the little alarm clock next to the bed that he brought you from your house.

True to his word, he hasn’t touched you – in fact, he’s been taking care of you in ways you have never been before. It’s intimate, and a sick hunger has begun to heat low in your belly alongside the fear.

You feel as though you’ve been living in a small bubble where time never passes. He watches you at all hours of the day, asking you questions about the men you’ve worked with, if there’s anything from your house you want him to fetch. He tries not to hit you when his anger bubbles up at your persistent silence. He asks you questions about yourself, not ones like favorite colors, but if you think all people in the world are unsavable.

He looks like he’s hoping you will tell him he can be saved. You do not.

He makes you eat dinner with him every night, bathes you as well. The first time he tried it, after letting you rot in bed for three days, he had to wrestle you into the bathtub after trying to be nice, held you down while you kicked and splashed and scratched at him until he pressed his fingers over your injured face in an unforgiving manner until your cries went quiet, and you almost fainted from the pain. He made you apologize for making him have to hurt you.

You swallowed the clawing, raging voice at the back of your throat and did it. When he kissed your forehead and told you it’s okay, a warm sickness swirled in your stomach, nauseating and tentatively delicious all at once.

You have not tried to fight him after that night, scared of what would happen if he were to comfort you.

He tucks you into bed most evenings, pressing the blanket to cushion you and arranges the pillows. In the first nights, it had scared you : you hadn’t slept a wink, terrified he would slip into bed and his patience would wear thin. Now, it feels like something nice. He tries to tell you happy stories, he usually fails – but it makes you think of Jerry and you feel better regardless, it makes The Man seem more real, like a human rather than a monster.

He asks you to curl up next to him on the couch so he can read aloud to you, books you’ve heard about in passing but never read : he has a liking for Cormac McCarthy and the Wild West. He bakes cookies for you when you ask him your first question, letting you sit at the table with a glass of milk to enjoy them. You feel warmth radiating from inside of you, spiked with fear – no one has baked cookies for you before. You finish them, and he says he’s proud.

—-

The sinking feeling comes slowly. Seeping into your bones whenever he holds you. It gets worse when you begin to dream of him, a possible reality, one of him holding you and kissing you – telling you you’re lovable, perfect, worthy. Six months have warped your brain, slipping out of your grasp like sand. You wake up to slickness between your legs, a desire to go find him in the kitchen making breakfast and nuzzle under his broad arms, let him squeeze you tight and surround you with his scent. You don’t have to beg him to make you feel loved, he’s always loved you : he’s made that clear.

You had realized long ago that he is too big for you to fight, he is all consuming and overpowering. The sinking feels like acceptance, and you think it’s close to dying.

It’s a sunny day when it all hits you. He’s been out for half an hour – at the grocery store a few towns over – the moment he said goodbye you had felt a twist in your stomach. You didn’t want him to go. He hugged you and told you he would be back soon, kissing your cheek when you got teary, his whiskery beard tickling your soft skin.

You don’t know when the terror began to feel like safety. You only know that when he’s gone, it feels like you’re alone with the jackals instead of how it was when he found you. When he was the monster.

The worst part was you knew why you reacted that way. Sitting in the sunny room, you forced your mind to constantly think of escape routes, of the disgusting actions he had committed, the way he has trapped you in this little house. Your mind adamantly hates The Man, but that large pit, the self that was unloved and uncared for – alone, has already started to need him, to ignore the stupidity in believing he loves you. To latch on like a leech and suck up all of the love and care he has, not caring if it’s real or pure, to see if it’ll make you round and fat with it – satisfied.

The hunger for what he has to offer you makes you feel like you might be the true monster in the house : your desperation for what you have never tasted knows no bounds. You think you’d kill for it. You might have been the jackal the whole time, the hole that lived inside you might have turned you ugly from a young age.

You are scared of your own desperation.

He bathes you every night – ritualistic and precise. Guides you under the water until you reappear, clean and new to a kiss on your cheek, hands scrubbing you clean. Every time the surface breaks and you come back to him, the forest grows denser : tighter and vast while the home, your home, becomes all the more simple and clear, exactly how it is supposed to be.

You need him, and you think you love him. What that makes you, you’re not sure and you no longer care.

He goes out months later, telling you he needs to get food and soap, baby - he leaves the window open and the door unlocked : he knows you will not leave. He says he’s going to grab soap, but he is carrying a prescription slip with a little baggie, what he’s actually going to get remains a mystery to you.

The nightmare you had in the middle of winter had shifted something deep in your foundations – the fear that licked up your spine at the thought of being alone – the much lesser, flickering fear that your body had instinctually looked for him in his room, the dull scream your mind let out at the way you climbed into his bed, burrowing under his large, comforting arms until your brain went quiet and he pulled you closer. Those dull screams of fear and resistance from a lifetime ago have been washed away from his hands, and now a need so gravitational has birthed in its place. You want him.

Dusk comes softly in the weeks after taking residence in his bed. He still has not touched you, and you are beginning to feel ire towards his morality. A wrongness in the way he tries to be right. The cabin is warm with firelight, the smell of smoke wrapping around you like a blanket, similarly to his flannel that stretches over your skin. He jostles open the door slowly, grocery bags lining his fingers in a way that is dangerously domestic – his hair is tousled. His eyes catch onto the fabric, and he pauses.

“You’re in my shirt.” He states, but you know it’s a question. Your eyes search for the little baggie he had, wondering what he put in there.

You close the book he gave you to read, the cover sliding across your fingertips, “It smells like you.”

Something in his expression shifts. You think it might be guilt. Or pride. Or both, layered on top of each other until they’re indecipherable. He sets the bags down and moves to you, slow and steady – crouching to your level in front of the couch.

“You missed me?” He asked, eyes wild and dilated, hands skirting over your exposed thighs. Up and down.

You look away, unable to meet the gaze that is burning into you, to admit how far you’ve gone to his face. Yet your head nods, eyes flicking to his as your chin wobbles, bottom lip jutting out before tightening in a grimace. He wipes a tear from your eye.

“’s okay to miss me, I’m the only one who’s here f’you, darlin’.” He cups your cheek, rubbing the skin there. You meet his eyes this time, close them before you’re leaning in, resting your head on his shoulder as he sits next to you, guiding you onto his lap and telling you it's okay, and it’s natural, baby and finally I love you, don’t cry sweet girl.

You’re tired of the tears, of the fight. Tired of the empty woods and the silence – the loneliness that lives in your bones. You’re tired of running from the thing that makes you feel whole and real.

You wonder if Jerry ever saw this coming, and if he did – why didn’t he ever warn you something so soul destroying would be waiting to swallow you? Why didn’t he tell you the most human monster in the world would be the only one to see you without the shiny idealism behind cataracts? You feel guilty for admitting that The Man knows you better than Jerry ever did. The Man knows you are not made of sunshine and flowers, he sees the hole carved in your stomach that makes you so achingly hungry, and shows his own back.

—

You noticed the loose floorboard on the second day, and now you pry it open. While you care for The Man, you are acting on instinct.

He had shouted at you this morning while you were still curled in his arms, gotten rotten and angry, called you a stupid bitch when you had asked him to come with him to the store, wanting to see the world again.

You were hopeful he would trust you, that he would prove you are, in fact, not living in a cage.

He had stormed off, and for the first time in eight months he had locked the door on his way out, shoving a small plastic bag in his pocket.

Spiders crawl out from the floorboard, and you jump back, standing on the couch while you throw The Man’s shoes at them, you wish he was here so he could take care of it, could laugh softly at your fear and hold you in his arms – away from the floor – to protect you.

You remind yourself you do not know his name and that you’re trapped here, a jarring reminder of the way you have settled.

You need something to prove he was a real, living man before his life revolved around you. You need to rebel against him, like a petulant, scared child because of his rudeness this morning.

Once you feel safe enough, you roll up the sleeve of the lacy undershirt he gave you and stick your hand inside. Searching for some sort of ocular truth amongst the bones of his own rotted cabin.

A pair of old boots with a ‘J’ engraved in the sole is the first thing you pull out. An army knife next, then a bunch of guns and weapons.

No matter how strange it is to find guns and knives buried in someone’s house, for The Man it’s quite boring.

You pull out a shoe box next, placing it next to you on the floor before blowing the dust off of the top. It doesn’t help much. From the amount of grime, it looks as though you are the first person to touch this box in years.

The lid sticks to the rest of the compartment from cobwebs, but you discard the thing anyway, desperate and careless.

A photo is the first thing you find, old and yellowed.

A little girl.

At first you are fearful she is a victim, until you see the photo of The Man - much younger - holding her in the hospital. Your stomach curdles, and it feels like rotting, eating itself from the inside.

A daughter.

Your heart swoops low, pensive. You think of the room he keeps locked, the warm light that streams under the gap of the door - reflecting something pink inside. The way you would watch the beams dance on the floor like a whole soul was trapped inside there, wilting as the sun set.

Her birth certificate is the second thing you find.

Sarah Miller : 1983 / 03 / 18

City of origin : Arlington, Texas.

Father : Joel Miller

A name, a life, a whole world buried in the foundations.

You gawk at the fact that The Man – Joel – is 60 years old.

Her missing poster is what you find next. Bile rises like acid on your tongue, a smiling, happy girl plastered with information about her last whereabouts, the pink shirt she was wearing and how tall she had gotten. She went missing on your third birthday. Your head swims. You drop the documents back into their casket with trembling hands and weak knees.

Stupid, stupid girl – why did you have to look?

The last thing you find is a golden tooth, familiar in its grime and dullness. You can imagine a sleazy tongue gliding over it in irritation. Jason’s golden tooth. You drop it immediately and slam the loose floorboard shut, burying what was meant to stay that way once more.

The room looks as though nothing has changed, yet everything inside of yourself is different. A storm of fog and clarity, adrenaline pumping for running and the desire to stay still.

You throw up outside the living room window.

Everything feels like a blur after that, grabbing your boots he stuffed away - a coat and a knife from his kitchen.

Run, just run. Don’t look back. Get away, fast fast fast.

You climb out of the bedroom window and run all the way to where you left your car the night he caught you, cold wind whipping past your face and sending a burn through your nose. Your feet pound along the ground like the whole world is weighing you down, like every stone is hoping to trip you and let you fall, to cut your knees open and stop you.

You eventually arrive at the gas station.

You're stunned that the place is closed and rotted, not a single soul in sight.

Your lungs are burning, you feel woozy, and you let out a pathetic cry when you see he has slashed your tires.

Stopping at the rough concrete of the shop, you attempt to open the back door, only to spot a poster plastered on the side of the wall.

A missing poster. Your missing poster, with not a single person in the world to care for its presence besides a man who you ran away from, who would tear it down and remove you from an existence that is not with him, that would try to come find you to bring you back.

You decide to keep running in the opposite direction of his home. A large part of you is screaming at you to run to the Sheriff’s office and tell them what happened, that Joel will find you if you try anything else, but a shamefully large part - a sick part of you does not want to run away from him. He has cared for you - he has watched you all your life, and you know – regardless of purity or morality – he loves you. All that is left for you without him is a town that would freeze in time if you were to vanish, fake in its existence, a facade for the life you were always meant to live.

To your horror, the twist in your chest tells you that you love him too, it’s a surety now.

You think of the soft kisses he pressed to your hair, the way you got used to him telling you of things he liked about you, that he only would have known from watching. The way he told you he too liked Jerry, and liked the movie you watched after his passing. He let you watch it every night for a month, and began to quote the lines with you in an exaggerated version of his accent to make you giggle.

He saw you, he has always seen you. He loves you and wants you and needs you enough to take you for himself.

You have stopped running, standing still for a moment before slowly turning around, feet shaking in your soul’s indecision. Torn and trembling. The forest is completely silent, yet this time you feel all too real – too alive.

Your mind is not what it used to be. The shake of your hands comes from the part of you that is pleading for you to run, to see the clear manipulation : the rose coloured glasses that have been forced over your eyes. The other part – the part that you are starting to believe is the truth of who you are – wants to run back to the cabin before he sees you ever left, to cup his devastatingly handsome face and let him take what has always been his, to be made a real person.

It is consuming, this primal want.

A twig snaps.

You don’t need to turn around to know he his standing close behind you.

You clench your fists and turn around, fear curdling and boiling in your belly, making your knees weak and shaky.

The look on his face clears your rational thought once again, and you quickly attempt to scramble away from the monster. He looks absolutely, impossibly, livid.

You do not know why you ever thought you could run, why you thought he would not find you, that he would let you go.

You burst into tears the second he has you against the forest floor once more. The ground ripping the skin from your cheek as you fall, crushed under him once again – worse this time : you knew better.

“Why’d you do it, angel?” He says softly, entirely contrasting from the way his arm is curled around your head, large biceps restricting your breath.

“I-I was scared.” You cry, trying to stop the hiccuping of your lungs to keep the breath you have.

“I know baby, I know.” He soothes, deep voice right next to your ear, his mostly salt and slightly pepper beard tickling the skin. “You made me so scared, sweet girl. Thought you cared ‘bout me.” he whispers. You do not know if the tightening of his arms was intentional, or if he is so upset at the idea you could hate him that he is consumed with it.

“I’m s-sorry,” You gasp, clawing at his arm, “I do care, ‘s why I–”

He raises his hand quickly, yet it hangs in the air for a moment. Hesitation, guilt – trembling like he’s stuck. You see something raw flicker in his eyes before it’s gone and he’s striking the ground next to your face, barely missing you – a last second decision.

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me.” Desperate, angry, scared.

You need to placate him before he does something stupid.

“I turned back– I was going to go back home I promise, please.” you cry, looking into his eyes. You loathe the fact that your words aren’t lies, that the care he sees reflected in them is real. You want him, you need him.

He watches you silently, frowning. Waiting to see what you have to say to him.

“I snooped, I’m sorry. I was angry about this morning and I saw– I saw Jason’s tooth and–”

The sound that leaves him is punched from deep within his chest.

He is silent for a long time. Pulling away from you.

You do not breathe, scared – the back of your neck is bared to him. Your life depends on his reaction.

“You saw my girl.”

You tremble in his slackening grasp. He seems to be staggering for a moment, unprepared and assaulted by the memories you have brought back. His hands grip tighter and tighter.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – I didn’t know.” you whisper, tears streaming out of your eyes as you look up at the setting sun, these must be your last moments. Your body trembles and your hiccuping noises are ugly. You wish you could take this all back to before.

“You ain’t supposed t’see what’s down there.” he’s lifting his hands off of you, and you think the scariest thing about this moment is how human he finally seems. Like you are the one seeing him after all this time. You stay down, turning to look into his eyes – all you can see is grief. “You know what it’s like to be lonely, that’s why you were brought to me, baby.” His hands wrap around your neck again, and you shriek a small protest, scrambling. Your nails crack and bleed as they attempt to rip yourself away from him by holding onto the ground and pulling.

You feel drops against the back of your neck, and fear lurches in your stomach at the fact that he’s crying. “She would have hated me, she was so good.” His hands are constricting, crushing. You choke and gasp for breath. “But I ain’t got her anymore. I got you. And God help me, I need you, sweet girl.”

“I’m sorry.” you whisper again, looking into his sad eyes with your teary ones.

“I know.” He says softly, and you whimper as his hand comes to your face. He rubs the skin for a few moments, letting himself breathe and feel you. It feels like an eternity, lying under him, trapped.

“I’m goin’ to give you a choice, sweet girl. I ain’t given you one before.” His voice builds up as he says it, like the memory of his daughter drives him to formulate a plan – a way to somehow fix everything he’d done. Your heart stops as he slides off of you, picking you up with him and holding you, the tips of your boots brushing the ground. He stares at you seriously, and he looks so different from the monster, like he’s trying his best to do the right thing after all this time, pretending it’ll take everything back.

“I’m goin’ to let you run, sweet girl. You can choose to go to the sheriff– or, or steal my truck, do what you want.” He swallows thickly, eyes wild. “I’ll let you go, I should let you go.” He whispers almost to himself. “But if you choose t’go back home…I won’t let you leave me again, baby.” He smooths his hand over your hair after setting you down. “You’ll be mine, honey. And I’ll be yours, we can be fair and make this right. I’ll take you, and I’ll tell you everythin’.”

You thought your heart was going to rip out of your chest. Everything is primal, it’s all desperate and ugly and raw. He lets go of you, taking a few difficult, staggered, paces back. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides.

“Go,” he nods slowly, like he’s trying to assure himself this is the right thing to do. “If you run now, I won’t stop you, I swear.” his voice breaks like he’s not sure of it himself — scared of what he’s capable of yet consumed with need. His eyes are soft and round, vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen. You are scared, but more importantly you are tired.

For the first time someone has loved every rotten bit of you – so desperately they leave morality behind. How could you run away from this?

You hesitate, stagnant and unsure. Your heart and your brain have gotten so tired from fighting it feels they have turned off all together, what happens now is primal – instinctual, you feel out of your own body, vaguely aware of the blood pulsing through you.

You turn around and run swiftly down the road, scrambling over a few loose stones. You glance back at him once, surrounded by the trees, watching you like a dead man watches water. Your heart lurches. He looks heart broken, shattered and as alone as you’ve always felt, like this is the last time he’ll ever see you.

Silly old man, you think.

You were always going to run back to his cabin.

You’ve got no need to disappear into nothing for the sake of rightness when everything you’ve ever wanted lives in the warm, wooden walls of his — your — home.

He underestimated just how hungry, how broken and corrupt you are.

You know now that you love him, and you know that you have always been just as much of a monster as he is. Rotten and broken and impure, tainted and shattered.

You have always been his match.

Your boots carry you home like you weigh nothing, light as air as ribbons of your past fears and wishes string and rip behind you. A flurry of ideas and thoughts until there is nothing except for yourself standing in that same flowery spot with plucked grass and no-more- monsters.

You bask in the silence of the forest. You have since lost track of the hurt, the burn of fear rising in your throat. You think of gold teeth and little girls and bright, wrinkled eyes surrounded by rich, dark skin – before your thoughts fall silent too.

You are under water. By the time you see his cabin : dim with no lights on as it always was until he found you – your mind is somewhere else, hollow and empty and replaced with something molten in your stomach. An ache, gnawing away at your belly.

You don’t knock, you let the stairs creak as you silently open the door.

He had not followed you, true to his word. The house is just as you’d left it.

You feel settled, clam and composed as you slowly begin to strip. Boots at the door, jacket in the living room. A trail made from your scarf leading to shorts and small socks. At the side of Joel’s bed, a lacy undershirt and bra.

You have already started to drift off by the time the cabin door opens. Two shuffles of feet before they stop short.

He takes time to make a fire, the sound of crackling wood creating a comforting blanket to your sleepy state, in and out of the haze, yet aware.

You are silent and waiting, your breath fanning softly as your eyes struggle to stay open. Somewhere deep, your heart throbs – the last fizzling jump of fear before it dies and fades away for good. You hear the opening of a small, plastic bag somewhere in the kitchen, little taps of what sounds like a pill falling against the counter top– a gulp of water a few seconds later.

The mattress dips as he climbs into bed behind you.

His callouses catch on your skin roughly as he traces the side of your face, bare chest pressing against your lower back while he buries his face between your shoulder blades.

You let your eyes flutter shut as he places open-mouthed kisses up your spine, wet and shaky. His hands grip your hips like you’ll turn to smoke if he doesn’t hold on. His beard tickles your shoulder as he continues, cradling you against him as if he is trying to stitch himself back together again, to become real and whole.

You let him.

He is shaking when you turn to face him. Neither of you speak, words unnecessary in the softness and stillness of the night : no need for words when there are only two people in the world who are so entwined already.

His palm cups your face, turning you to look at him, thumb stroking over the corner of your mouth like a prayer. You whisper his name to him for the first time, a shaky breath escapes him as he whispers yours back. A small ruffle of the familiar duvet as you turn to face him, his warm palm cups over your tit – your pounding heart – as you turn to face him. Eyes shining as they meet yours. He looks so human.

He presses his nose against your own before his chapped lips finally meet yours in hesitation, like he’s trying to confirm that you’re really here next to him, that he hasn’t lost the only thing he has.

It’s soft for only a moment before you both let the hunger take over – hot and wet, lips moving faster and faster as his tongue swipes across the seam of your lips. They part without hesitation, taking the warm wetness of it inside your mouth and sucking gently, rolling over the other’s until your tastes are the same.

You gasp as his hands – rough and trembling – slide down your body, tracing every feature he studied from afar that is now finally his to touch. His mouth nudges along your jaw, nipping at the skin before he’s burying his face in your neck and inhaling.

When you whisper his name softly, he shudders like you’re the first person to ever truly call for him.

Your hand glides down to his stomach, running through the silvery hair that coats it desperately, trying to ground yourself to him. To pull him impossibly closer like you want to merge your bodies into one, consuming.

His hands are everywhere as he groans into your mouth, surrounding you completely. One grips your hair, pulling back gently to bare your throat to him as the other runs down your breasts, pulling and squeezing your nipples into tight points, breath panting from the intensity. He paints your neck with bites, blooms where he’s sucked and tugged on your skin until his mark has been made – groaning as he licks over the skin, like he’s trying to infuse you into his bones. Your skin tastes like his surrender, like the salt of his prayers. It’s not forgiveness he asks for – but belonging, trying to carve a place for himself in the crook of your neck.

Your fingers slip under the band of his boxers, searching for that rigid warmth that’ll complete you, retreating slightly on a shaky gasp as his hot, wet mouth envelopes your nipple, pulling and licking.

He’s on top of you within seconds, hands splaying across your shoulder blades as he shows equal treatment to each breast, arching you against him. His heavy sighs travel across your skin as he exhales. Groin slotted against the warmth of yours, he lets your hands tangle in his hair as he moves Southwards, kissing as he goes.

You whine a protest, whimpering for him to join the two of you together, and he answers your previous curiosities in a deep rumble, “Gotta give it time to work, sweet girl. I ain’t young no more.”

You let your head fall back against the pillows, a spark of electricity running through you at the reminder of his age, wetness seeping out into the gusset of your panties as you try to close your legs – an attempt at alleviating some of the heat that’s been building there.

He grunts at this, large hands gripping your soft thighs as he plants them wide and flat against the mattress, “Easy, darlin’ – gon’ take care of you now.” He rumbles against your lower stomach, right over your womb as he reaches up to pinch your tit, prompting you to look down at him between your thighs. Those eyes you once used to fear with such intensity now only make more slickness spill into the cotton that conceals you.

“Want you t’look at me while I taste this pretty little cunt for the first time.” He whispers on a kiss against your mound, dragging your panties down by latching his teeth onto the little bow adorning the front and pulling. You moan softly at the sight, hands fisting the sheets next to your head as his broad, muscular shoulders keep your legs spread wide, baring your warm pussy for his taking.

His eyes meet yours as his breath falters at the first glide of his tongue through your cunt, breaking off into a deep groan as he tastes you. A small cry of his name leaves your lips at the new sensation, hands immediately going to tangle in his soft hair. His tongue is ravenous, licking up every ounce of arousal as his eyes stay on yours, only dropping down when your head falls back once more.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, beard tickling and stimulating you – sending head through your bones. His lips tug on your bundle of nerves, pulling so deliciously your hips cant up onto his face, letting your wetness coat his beard until it’s soaked.

He lets go of your throbbing bud with a pop, licking his lips as he lets his mouth glide lower.

“Taste so fuckin’ perfect, my angel.” He groans as his tongue digs over your hole, an obscene sound of him slurping up all you’ve given him echoes through the humid room, and your moan of approval follows soon after. His nose digs into your clit as he pushes his tongue inside you, letting it glide into your gummy walls as you clench around him. His moans of approval course through you, heat rising blindly through your bones as you cry out for him, hips bucking as he presses against your lower stomach with a large palm. The rough material of his watch-strap scratching your tummy as his brows furrow, focused on eating you alive. The smacking sounds of his lips against your wetness make your eyes roll as he digs his tongue inside. His hand moves lower, skirting against your entrance before he’s pulling his tongue out with a slick pop, replacing it with his fingers as he sucks on your clit once more.

“Joel I-I’m gonna…” You trail off into a high pitched gasp, body trying to twist away from him as his thick fingers curl, pads of them bruising a spot inside of you that makes wetness gush out onto his wrist.

“Cum f’me, sweet girl, look at me.” He grunts, waiting until your eyes meet his to suck on your clit harshly, tongue running against the underside as he spreads and lifts his fingers to press against your gummy walls.

Your first orgasm crashes into you when you realize he’s humping the bed, his hot tongue desperately lapping up the slick that gushes from your spasming hole. He moans at the taste, making sure to drink it all down before he’s pushing up the bed – capturing your mouth in a wanting kiss as his thick hardness leaks against your leg.

His pill must’ve worked.

“Joel.” You whisper against his lips, nails dragging down the muscles in his back as you try to paw his underwear off with your foot, cunt clenching around nothing, desperate to grip and coat his cock in your slickness.

He offers his body to you in a way that feels holy, the glide of him through your messy folds makes a sound so perfect leave his mouth you feel as though you’ve gone to heaven.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers against your lips, the hand that is not cupping your face is notching his fat, drooling tip at your entrance. “I’ve got you, baby.”

The first time he pushes into you, it’s gentle. A broken sound rips from him like he can’t bear it, face strained as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, watching his cock sink into you at a sinfully slow speed. Only when your nails sink into the skin of his back does he look into your eyes, seeing his own want, need, obsession painted in your irises.

He rocks into you like he’s trying to carve a home for himself inside your body, bringing your hand up to cup at his face while you lose yourself to the delicious stretch of him – cunt gripping him so tightly he can barely leave. You were always meant to be wrecked by hand like his – hands that tremble, hands that destroy, hands that worship.

His moans fan across your lips, shaky as they exit. He’s slow, letting you feel every inch of him, every vein, as he glides into your soaking cunt. His eyes have rolled, but you lean up to bite your own mark into his neck, pussy clenching as he moans raw and deep at the bright red mark you suck into his skin.

He watches you now, staring into your eyes. You want him to see the hungry, ugly, ruined thing he’s made. You want him to love it.

And when he leans down to kiss you like this night has changed him forever, you know he loves you. He is searching for his salvation in your body.

You anchor yourself to him like the earth is shaking, moaning a soft gasp as his forehead pressed against yours. Reveling in the feeling of his sac slapping against your backside, the sounds of lewd smacks and wetness – his own moans and whispered words of praise floating around you as the sheer size of him swallows you whole. He fucks you like he’s praying at an alter and you devour him whole. In the darkness, there is no difference between love and need, no line between hunger and worship.

Every thrust feels like a prayer, a confession, like he’s spilling the truth of himself into you on every plunge, letting you see every crack of his soul, the ugliness through the pounding of his hips against yours. Rocking together, bound by the loneliness and hunger and something older than love.

You cry under him, silent and open as he digs into you, so big and taking that your body can hardly bear it. He kisses every tear like an apology, licking up the salt as he coos above you, kissing the tip of your nose as he lets the heavy weight of his cock sit and twitch inside you for a moment, pubic hair sticky from your arousal as it grinds against your clit. He buries his face against your neck as he begins thrusting shakily again, and you know he’s crying too.

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin, broken and raw as he shakily moves his hips, eyes flitting to you, hopeful and soul-crushingly vulnerable.

Your breath is shaking, heat coursing through you at the glide of his cock against that place, tailor made for him. Your eyes falter, fluttering as the last of your tears stream down your cheeks, clenching around him so tightly. Every shared breath tastes like forgiveness neither of you have earned.

“I love you too.” You whisper, shattered. Body light as a feather as you let yourself fall.

His breath hitches as he comes inside of you, unprepared for it – hot pulses of his seed spurting quickly, flooding you as he sobs out moans against your skin, gripping your hips so tightly you think you’ll break. You follow immediately, arching into him as his arms wrap around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him as you ride out the waves of your pleasure together, knowing it is so much more than this. You are no longer a scared bunny, alone in the world, and he is no longer a jackal hunting you down — you are only two humans, connected in a way that ascends your lives : cosmic.

It’s not just sex, it’s not just lust – it’s your whole life that has led up to this, to him. Two people who are too broken to live, yet too stubborn to die.

He’s made you his.

You’ve made him yours.

And lying in his arms, letting his hand rub up and down your back, you know neither of you stood a chance.

-------

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mimble-sparklepudding · 4 months ago

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A Short Ask List About Love.

Does your OC have any difficulty distinguishing between love and lust?

Is your OC at all romantic themselves? Or is romance something they expect others to perform for their benefit?

What does your OC look for in a romantic (or perhaps purely sexual) partner? Is this always healthy?

Does your OC consider themselves to be attractive? Do they put much effort into achieving this?

Would your OC ever take advantage of someone's romantic feelings in order to manipulate them?

Has your OC ever had their heart broken? Have they ever truly recovered?

What is the most romantic gesture your OC has ever performed? Alternatively (or additionally), what romantic gesture would they most like to perform?

Does your OC pursue only monogamous relationships? Or are they open to other, more creative, options?

If your OC were ever to fill out a Dating Site (or pamphlet or newspaper) profile, then what would they include?

Does your OC have a type? Have they ever been surprised by their feelings for someone who doesn't fit this?

Has your OC ever been the object of someone's affections that they did not (or could not) reciprocate?

If your OC were in love, how might they recognise this? Or would they be too much in denial?

Has your OC ever written a love letter (or text message or whatever the case may be)? Perhaps they have even composed a love poem or song dedicated to their beloved?

If they wish to impress someone for whom they have romantic (or at least sexual) feelings, does your OC attempt to present themselves as more confident, wealthy, popular or otherwise impressive, than they truly are?

Is your OC easy to love? If not, then what are the barriers?

#oc ask list #oc valentines #oc ask game #oc ask meme #character development #character development questions #character building #ffxiv oc #ffxiv wol #oc questions #character questions

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straystarr · 1 year ago

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Arranged Husband Minho!

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who you’ve noticed never wears his wedding ring but you say nothing about it because he barely even acknowledges you in the first place.

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who leaves before you wake up and is usually already in bed whenever you arrive home later than him.

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who quietly drinks his morning coffee across from you every weekend while you read a book.

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who manages to mutter something along the lines of ‘thank you’ when you drop off lunch for him at his office before asking his assistant when his next meeting is.

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who is obviously indifferent to all your efforts of cultivating any sort of relationship with him, so you gradually begin to stop, leading you to unintentionally avoid him.

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who a few nights later, stumbles through the front door, drunk out of his mind, with his best friends profusely apologizing as they lay him onto the couch.

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who takes one good look at you before tears start streaming down his face, demanding to know why you have been avoiding him in the softest tone you have ever heard from him.

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who falls silent upon hearing that you think he hates you.

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who tells you he waits for you to come home before falling asleep because he can’t sleep otherwise, how he makes sure to take his time when drinking his coffee because he finds peace in watching you read, how he has to distract himself when you come into the office because he always feels his face turn warm from your acts of kindness.

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who apologizes for being so indifferent towards you for it was the only way he could compose how he truly feels.

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who tells you he loves you and is in love with you.

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who passes out after his declaration of love and has you at a lost for words as you hover over him, hands still in the process of loosening his tie.

ArrangedHusbandMinho! Who leaves you in tears when you unbutton his dress shirt and see his wedding ring hanging from a chain around his neck.

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

𝙎𝙏RAy𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍r★

#lee know #lee minho #minho #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #skz imagine #skz scenarios #skz #straykids #skz x you #skz fanfiction #skz fanfic #lee know imagines

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sofiatarot · 5 months ago

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Pick a card: The first impression your future spouse will have of you

(written as individual stories from their perspective because why not???)

TIP JAR - FREE READINGS - PAID READINGS

1/2

3/4

Group 1:

The moment I saw you, it felt like the world shifted (the tower). You had this electrifying presence, someone who doesn’t go unnoticed. There was something striking about your confidence (the queen of wands) the way you carried yourself like you owned every space you entered. But beneath that, I sensed a vulnerability, a softness you keep guarded (the moon).

You seemed like a dreamer, someone with big aspirations and a vision for life (the star). I admired the spark in your eyes, but I also felt you’d been through challenges that shaped your strength (the 9 of wands). There was an unspoken depth to you, like a story waiting to be unraveled. Meeting you wasn’t just exciting, it felt fated (the wheel of fortune). I knew instantly I wanted to know everything about you, to understand the fire and the mystery within.

Group 2:

When I first saw you, you felt like a breath of fresh air (the fool). You were radiant, glowing with positivity and a sense of wonder that drew me in immediately. There was a purity to your energy, as if you saw the world through hopeful eyes (the sun).

What stood out most was your ability to balance lightheartedness with grace. You seemed so composed, yet approachable (temperance). I was intrigued by how effortlessly you connected with those around you, like you brought harmony wherever you went (the 6 of pentacles).

But then, I noticed something deeper. Behind your warmth, there was a quiet intelligence and a mind that didn’t miss a thing (the page of swords). You’re not just light and joy, you’re thoughtful, someone who sees life for what it truly is and chooses to focus on the beauty anyway. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.

Group 3:

You took my breath away. There was an elegance about you, a quiet strength that radiated calm and control (the high priestess). You seemed untouchable, as if you lived in a world of your own creation (the 7 of cups). I couldn’t help but admire how composed you were, how you exuded wisdom without even saying a word (the hermit).

But I also saw your passion, the fire that flickered behind your calm exterior (the knight of wands). You’re someone who follows their heart, even if it means taking risks. It made me wonder what fuels that passion, what dreams, what desires, what secrets.

Meeting you felt like standing before a masterpiece. You’re both inspiring and intimidating, someone I knew would challenge me to grow (the emperor). You were unforgettable, and I was already captivated by the idea of uncovering all your layers.

Group 4:

You had this grounded, earthy energy that immediately made me feel at ease (the king of pentacles). You seemed so dependable, someone who could be both nurturing and fiercely protective (the empress). There was a warmth to you, like you could make anyone feel at home just by being near.

But what caught my attention was your determination. You’re someone who doesn’t give up easily, and it shows in the way you carry yourself (the 8 of pentacles). I could tell that you’ve worked hard to be the person you are, and it made me admire you even more.

There was also this magnetic charm about you, as if you didn’t realize how captivating you were (the lovers). You’re the kind of person people dream about meeting, the perfect balance of strength and tenderness (the strength). From the moment I met you, I knew I wanted to build a life with you, one rooted in love and stability.

got me blushing, giggling n kicking my feet

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tobyisave · 5 months ago

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acting lessons

this is for my chapter 5 au... I tried to compose a toxic doomed yaoi saiouma essay in the tags just now but it went over the tag limit (mortifying) so I'm just going to paste it under the cut!!

////cw for suicide of course. also heads up my version of saiouma is almost completely one sided 👍🏼

#look.. in my mind there is no world where shuichi truly comes around on kokichi #but there is TOTALLY a world where he feels eternally fucked up and guilty about assisting in his suicide #and cant bring himself to hate anymore #cant bring himself to reject the casual but blatantly self-indulgent touches of the boy hes about to murder in the most excruciating way possible #just let him have his fun #let him squeeze your shoulder a little too long #its the least you can do when hes about to let his entire body be turned into an unrecognizable puddle of gore #you dont have to pretend you like it. he KNOWS you dont like it. just let it happen & soon enough itll be over and youll never have to see him again #youll never be *able* to see him again. nothing left of him to even call a body #fucking unidentifiable #god. #(to be clear i dont approve of that logic at all but i sure think shuichi would feel that way)

#its like oumota but worse because (to me) shuu has completely written him off by ch5 and doesnt even need the poison blackmailing to agree #its shuichis low point after all hes fully suicidal and thinks kokichi is the mastermind who destroyed humanity's last hope #he doesnt have time to recalculate his opinion before its too late #he agrees almost immediately #but the closer it gets the less he can justify it #like god this guy fills me with rage and we would never ever in a million years get along but hes also a warm breathing human being #and hes in love with me or something and i just agreed to kill him. EAGERLY! #to his FUCKING FACE #yes i openly hated him already. and yes he didnt even blink when i told him i could kill him #if anything he looked happy! #but god how could i just say that to someone? how did it get this bad? #and how is he still giving me finger hearts through the camera while we test out angles for his fucking DEATH VIDEO #maybe just maybe its because he really thinks this will save us. but maybe he just wants to die #and i dont even know if that makes a difference anymore #et cetera……..

#like i said im not a saiouma guy in the traditional sense but #i do like pathetic clingy kokichi x shuichi who hates himself for harboring genuine malice towards him #(justified malice) #but is too self doubting to take the reins and stop the horrible thing theyve already set in motion

#meeting the same fate as kaede because he THOUGHT he was agreeing to kill the mastermind #when in reality it was really just a cagey guy who was trying to do the EXACT same thing and made the mistake of going it alone #and now that guy who couldve been his ally is dead and he has to pretend hes ok and lie to his friends to derail this trial #for this stupid idiotic plan he let himself get blindly swept up in #that was never going to work in the first place #he knew it was full of holes he knew ouma was full of shit #he knew himself he knew he'd buckle under the pressure of the trial #but he didnt say a thing #it was so much easier to go with it. he just wanted it to be fucking over with #well its not over. the game continues and kokichi is dead and for what #didnt lift a fucking finger #fucking idiot coward bottom of the barrel piece of shit. GOD #i dont know man. it's just real kill yourself hours for shuichi after this one

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dlstmxkakwldrlarchive · 15 days ago

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250523 SHINee World VII E.S.S.A.Y Day I — about Poet | Artist (full ment)

MH: It’s our first single release in Korea! The title- Poet | Artist. It’s a truly perfect song written & composed personally by our Jonghyun hyung; and as we’d been thinking over when exactly to do this song, we actually were worrying over what kind of album to release / how to get closer to you all this time, and then we decided it would be good to release a single, but then we thought what would be title track be? Ah, this is exactly the right timing to do Jong-man’s song

TM: While listening to Jonghyun hyung’s demo of the song, I was surprised. I was like I will try to sing with as close a tone as possible to the way he recorded the demo, but it seems like the members all also had that thought too.

KB/TM: Like NEAOWWW

TM: And based on your reactions earlier, some of you noticed this, but Jonghyun hyung’s voice came out in the middle of the song, right? With him singing, so looking at it, it’s been a long time since we’ve released a SHINee song with all 5 of us. And we knew you all would be glad to hear it, & thank you so much for feeling that way.

O: We actually went back and forth a lot over whether or not to put Jonghyun’s voice in the bridge, but overall, we all agreed that showing us all together like this would be good, and we’d be able to share it with you, so we kept his voice in the song. Please show a lot of love to Poet | Artist releasing soon, and continue to support us in the future as well.

translation

#250523 #shinee #ot5 #shinee world vii essay in seoul #essay day i #onew #kibum #minho #taemin #noisemusicstan #fancam #poet artist era #about poet artist

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shenachigans · 6 months ago

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THE KEY TO HER HEART | Cassandra Kiramman

PAIRING: Cassandra Kiramman x Fem!Reader

CW: angst with a hopeful ending?, spoilers for season 2 act I, canon divergence, in Caitlyn’s pov, no dialogues (except one), mentions of death, mentions of reader being married to a man and having children with said man, mentions of pregnancy, mentions and implications of being in the hospital deathbed, tragic-ish love, 1950s Hollywood inspired in terms of homosexuality-ish, mentions of homophobia, back in the old day women are expected to marry a man, they kept their love for each other hidden until the end, reader is also a matriarch of her own family like Cassandra, most likely ooc Cassandra and Caitlyn

SUMMARY: Caitlyn receives the Kiramman Key to unlock knowledge privy to the Kiramman matriarchs. She also unlocks a memoir of her mother’s past, specifically with the person she loved the most through old photographs and unsent letters.

A/N: I realized a lot of my published work is composed of the “letter narrative” as I call it and this one has a bunch. It’s similar to my first Cassandra fanfic, the only difference is there’s death and grief involved. I have yet to finish the season, but her funeral and the memorial were hard to watch. I miss her so much.

A/N (12/11/24): Reading it while listening to “I Can’t Hear It Now” by Freya Ridings/Arcane on loop is a whole other experience...

WORDS: 2,669

(FANFIC IS UNDER THE CUT!)

When her father handed her the Kiramman Key her mother wanted her to have, Caitlyn knew she was truly gone. She was now the leader of House Kiramman too soon, without the guidance of her mother, Cassandra. It was a position she deemed unworthy of, but her mother reassured her of the merit of her birthright. Only when she thought her relationship with her mother would progress, the world decided to strip that opportunity from her.

Filled with grief, loss, and vengeance, especially after the attack at the memorial, Caitlyn decided to view what her mother had in store for her. First, it was the presentation of the ducts, the toxic air in the fissures contained by her mother’s instructions, allowing the people of The Undercity to breathe. She could use the passageways of the ventilation system and the Grey to locate Jinx, dismantle Shimmer, and neutralize any agents still loyal to Silco. Second, was a drawer of letters and photographs in a compartment at the bottom of the desk. It had nothing to do with the Kiramman Clan, but something to do with her mother’s personal life when she was younger.

The drawer seemed to be a memoir, maybe something left to be forgotten as dust covered its contents. Everything was held together with twine, completed with a battered tag, showing how old the letters and photographs were — possibly older than Caitlyn herself. She gently grabbed the bundle of memories in her hands, flipping the tag over to see what was written, the ink smudged by droplets. It wrote: My old love, in Cassandra’s handwriting. Her mother had a lover?

Caitlyn swore her breath hitched when she untangled the twine to reveal the secrets Cassandra carried. She wanted to see who her mother loved so much, that she had a collection of their time together, but she wasn’t expecting several photographs of you to appear. After all, you were her mother’s childhood friend, her closest companion and confidant.

It was clear in Caitlyn’s eyes that you two had a platonic relationship. Did she read it wrong? She saw you as an aunt, a second mother beside Cassandra; she never realized that her mother loved you romantically. This doesn’t make sense. You had a husband and children of your own, just like her mother. You and Cassandra would get together and gossip about your spouses and children. She had proof, she had accompanied you two when she was a little girl on several occasions. What did Caitlyn miss? What was kept hidden?

Did her mother love you more than her own husband? What about you? Did you love Cassandra too? Caitlyn flickered through the photographs, putting the letters aside for later, it was clear her mother was devoted to you. She never imagined her mother would ever use a camera to capture your beauty throughout your shared life. It felt uncharacteristic of her to do so, to have her mother be deeply in love with someone other than her father.

Now that she thought about it. It seemed like Cassandra changed when you passed away. Gone was the warmth she wore on her sleeves as she became distant and even more stubborn, pretentious, and selfish, perfecting her façade as a politician. She now realized how her mother tried to tone down her grief during your burial, to appear as if she only lost a good friend. Caitlyn was too entangled in her own emotions of also losing you to realize how deeply your sudden death affected her mother. She was still too young to comprehend how you died, Cassandra never told her. It was too painful to recount.

Maybe all this time, Cassandra was still grieving your loss till the day she died, having failed to protect you and prevent your death, so much so that her efforts were transferred onto Caitlyn so she could avoid the same fate. She started to understand her mother’s actions a little more, not that she condoned them after the seclusion and restriction she felt all her life. Her mother meant well, even if it hurt. Cassandra didn’t want to lose Caitlyn as she lost you.

After observing each photograph, soon came the letters. Caitlyn skimmed from the oldest letter at the bottom pile to the newer ones at the top. These words were never meant to see the light of day, never meant for someone else to see, especially not you or an outsider like Caitlyn. She can’t believe how raw the emotions she felt from her mother’s words. Caitlyn cannot do justice to her mother’s letters by explaining their contents. You simply had to read them to feel Cassandra’s love for you, but you were gone, unaware that your dearest friend saw you as her whole world even if she could not display her heart at her sleeves due to the societal expectations in the past.

Caitlyn saw smears of ink in many places, making it hard for her to comprehend the smudged words, but she knew her mother cried writing and possibly reading them. These letters were a diary, a collection of paper with words akin to a symphony of her love for you. Caitlyn wondered if you were aware of Cassandra’s feelings and simply did not comment on it, or if you and her mother shared the same situation, loving each other in the shadows as your respective families were in the spotlight of attention.

Was writing letters something Cassandra did in her free time? Because there were so many, it would take Caitlyn some time to skim through all of them. It felt like an invasion of privacy, but maybe her mother wanted someone to know her feelings unless this parcel was supposed to be discarded before Caitlyn took over as the Kiramman Clan Matriarch. Still, Caitlyn couldn’t help but go through it, you meant a lot to her too, and she felt the connection between you two that had faded since your death years ago. The world had taken you and her mother too early, Caitlyn only had her father left, hoping his grief for Cassandra wouldn’t make his life wither and leave her too.

The letters started with Cassandra realizing she loved you; appreciating your beauty from inside and out. She expressed in detail the moment she knew she was in love, from how her heart threatened to beat out of her chest as your hair blew in the wind, the purple petals from the grand ivory-barked tree swayed with you. Caitlyn recognized it was the sacred place she and her mother shared near the fountain on the outskirts of the city, a place where they never argued and remembered your presence together.

“...We went to the place you enjoyed the most, Y/n. I came to share your love for this park because you were always there with me. I never thought you would take my breath away like you had today. You were beautiful, you have always been.

Today felt different, however. The sight before me was something that came out of books. The wind picked up and your hair danced with the purple petals that floated around you. Your smile directed at me made it seem like I was in a fairytale my mother used to tell me as a child. It was a sight to behold, and I knew then and there, that I had fallen in love with you...”

The following letters were short, but filled with admiration and love. Cassandra appreciated you in many ways Caitlyn never knew in each letter, expressing her appreciation for everything you did, your character, appearance, and how you treated her. Her mother was so youthful, so happy whenever she was with you. It broke Caitlyn’s heart when the letters started to take on another tone; one of loss and hopelessness.

“...Why must society be this way, my love? Why am I prohibited from loving you the way you deserve? I am shackled by these expectations placed upon me, and I’m ashamed that I have to hide in the dark to be able to express my love. I’m a coward for not throwing everything away so I could love you publicly. I wish to have you by my side, to call you my lover, my beloved wife, without the consequences of society. I was overjoyed when I realized you loved me too, but it pained me that you were also hiding your love. You were as careful as I was with concealing how we felt for each other. Do you know that I love you too? I wish for you to know, but I’m scared of putting you in danger.

I wouldn’t know of your feelings if not for the day my parents announced my engagement. You had shown a crack of your true self from your poised façade. It pained me to see the sullen expression on your face. You tried to hide your turmoil, but I knew the news broke you as much as it did me. I wanted to cup your face and hold you in my embrace, to feel your warmth against mine as I whispered words of love, saying that we would still have each other as our duties befall us.

I wanted to kiss your troubles away, but I did not let myself get carried away with such intimacy. Any hint of something more as friendship in anyone’s eyes would lead to forced separation… I don’t want to lose you. I’m sorry, Y/n, but I need to build distance between us to avoid suspicion. Please forgive me… I despise myself for being powerless to protect you from the pain I would cause you…”

Caitlyn read the following letters, Cassandra expressed her guilt for keeping you at arm's length when all she wanted was to have all of you, to be with you the way you both wanted, but such a thing never happened when the two of you started your own families. She apologized in many letters as she realized how you started to pull away from her. Caitlyn tried her best to decipher the smudged words that filled the loose paper. Her mother didn’t want this, didn’t want to pretend she felt nothing for you other than a platonic friendship, that she didn’t love you. It was cruel.

There was a large time gap between the letters. Caitlyn decided that her mother tried to focus on her duties as the Kiramman Matriarch and her relationship with Tobias by severing her attachments to the letters. Cassandra must’ve been carrying Caitlyn somewhere during this time, not wanting the memory of your relationship with her to cause stress and emotional turmoil during her months of pregnancy.

The letter that followed was something close to reconciliation even if the distance was still there. You and Cassandra must’ve accepted the fate of your separated lives and decided to continue what was remaining of your friendship. Caitlyn was surprised she was the catalyst of this event.

“...I was nervous about meeting you again after months of no contact, Y/n. I didn’t know what to expect after you distanced yourself from me. I still remember the pained expression on your face when I told you we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I never hated myself so much for being the cause of your pain. I have never done anything but hurt you. So, I was in disbelief when you easily agreed to the invitation I sent out of the blue to meet Caitlyn.

You must’ve laughed at my audacity for wanting you back after pushing you out of my life, that you only agreed to this because your kind husband convinced you so. I hate to say I’m relieved you have wedded a respectful man. I know you are safe in his hands when I can’t be there to do the same.

I was faced with an impassive demeanor when you arrived at the Kiramman residence, and I didn’t know if our friendship could be salvaged, but when you held Caitlyn, I saw a glimmer of love shine in your eyes. The smile that broke from your façade when you cradled my daughter with so much care made my heart swell at the sight. Then you met my gaze, and it felt like that day in the park all over again. I knew I was still in love with you, and you felt the same, even as our love dwelled in pain and loss because of the world we live in…”

The last letter on the pile was tattered compared to the other ones. It was difficult to understand because of the ink smudges, shaky handwriting, and teardrops… Caitlyn knew what this letter was about and could see how her mother struggled to write this one. The unshakeable grief that filled this page hurt Caitlyn. This must’ve been the fork Cassandra faced when she decided that writing more letters would only cause her more pain than solace as she thought about you.

“...I failed you, my love. I failed to protect you from your curiosity and compassion for The Undercity. The world was too cruel to take you from me, our relationship had only begun to blossom its fruits. The time we spent rebuilding what was lost… How could I sleep at night, knowing I could’ve prevented your death? I will never be able to live with the guilt of hurting you even until your last breath.

I should’ve listened to you, I should’ve been more open-minded about creating the ventilation system for people of the fissures. Was this the world’s response to my selfishness, to take you away from me? I feel so empty without you, the grief is tearing away at me. I couldn’t bear hearing Caitlyn’s cries when I told her you would no longer be with us to spoil her, to love her like your own.

Everything that happened to you is all my fault. No amount of apologies would bring you back, but I am so sorry, Y/n. The Grey I could’ve contained with my influence and resources ate at your life, poisoned your lungs, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

It tore at my heart to see you fighting for your life, hooked to machines, but everything was a lost cause when the grip of your hand on mine loosened and lay limp between my own. Your eyes became distant and empty as the light in them faded, but you still held the smile I fell in love with, muttering the words I longed to hear for decades: ‘I love you, Cassandra.’ I couldn’t respond in time, I failed to say that I love you too… because you were already gone…

I promise I will let the people of The Undercity breathe, just as you had wished, my love…”

Caitlyn now understood why her mother completed the project. She did it for you. It was a grand and equally dangerous project that took many lives and resources to complete, and here Caitlyn was, planning to unleash the gas that killed you to look for a criminal who killed her mother and many others.

After reading the letters, Caitlyn wondered several things. Would her mother be happy again, now that she has reunited with you in the afterlife? Would she be able to express her love after hiding her true feelings for you for so long? Caitlyn hopes she can because she knows how much her mother was alive when you were around, even in moments of joy and sadness. She wanted her mother to be happy again despite the pain in her heart that she was no longer there with her and her father.

Meanwhile…

“I finally got to see you again, my love… Oh, how I missed you so… My life was never the same when you left… I can’t believe you’re back in my life… and in my arms… I love you too, Y/n… I love you so, so much, dearest.”

#arcane #arcane cassandra #cassandra kiramman #cassandra kiramman x reader #arcane x reader #league of legends #arcane netflix #arcane women #cassandra x reader #arcane league of legends x reader #arcane league of legends #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #cassandra arcane

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 9 months ago

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Imagine Sauron (Annatar) being unable to resist your allure as you work on the rings…

Distance. He repeated to himself. Although he did not understand why it was necessary when he chose to ignore the warning and step closer to you.

He had donned a new face with a new name - Annatar - but it did little to fade the pull he felt to you as ‘Halbrand’. As fate would have it, your journey drew you to Eregion to aid Celebrimbor with his crafts.

Or perhaps you were simply drawn to where Sauron would be?

A part of him longed to tell you the truth but he had a larger plan that relied on secrecy. He could not risk you speaking with Galadriel nor did he wish to cause you harm. And so, he chose to keep the knowledge to himself.

He watched as you picked up a glittering gold band forged for one of the dwarf lords. One of seven. Crafted by Celebrimbor, they were perfect. Touched by his hands, there would be malice and a darkness so deep-rooted.

But jewelled by your fingers? They would have enough light to remind him that not all he touches is true evil.

“Have you chosen a stone for this one?” He asked.

You inspected the fine craftsmanship. “Perhaps a sapphire.” You said rather distracted. He gave you a small musing hum and you turned to meet his eyes. “You disagree?”

“I merely think a ruby would complement this particular piece.”

“Do enlightenment me, Lord of Gifts.” You challenged.

He almost laughed at the offence you took. But he merely stepped behind and touched an elbow with one hand, raising it a little higher. His free hand caught your chin, fingers gently lifting your head to tilt upwards to see the gold band twinkle under a ray of sun.

It was intimate and he wrestled with his impulsive urges. To kiss you in this moment would be too easy. But again, he could not. All he could do was savour this moment with you.

“The sunlight catches the band casting it in a glow of power. A ruby would emphasize such a notion beneath the mountain.” He said, lips drawing impossibly close to your ear. He noticed the prickling of your skin and the way your breath hitched.

“Power kissed by sunlight.” You whispered, realising his vision. Head turning to his once more, he saw the way your eyes flickered to his lips for a fleeting second.

It appeared that the pull he felt was mutual, drawing you to him in equal strength. You were drifting closer and closer and-

“Wonderful news! We have just received word from the realm of Men.” Celebrimbor announced as he walked into the forge.

With a sharp breath, Sauron pulled away just as you had done the same. He took note of how you quickly busied yourself in the work once more.

Composing himself, he stood up and smiled at the ring maker who had not noticed the spark rushing for cover.

He should have been more careful.

“This is truly good to hear.” He told Celebrimbor and led the elf away from your workspace. “How soon can we extend an invitation for their visit?”

~ More imagines here ~

A/n: Written at 12am because I have no regard for waking early tomorrow for work. When the writing bug bites, you write.

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #rings of power imagine #rings of power x reader #sauron x reader #sauron imagine #halbrand x reader #halbrand imagine #annatar x reader #annatar imagine

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godjustkys · 1 month ago

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pleaseee pleaseee PLEASEEEEE write more straight to gay dean or sam or cas or LITERALLY ANY GUY FROM HARRY POTTER OR SUPERNATURAL SJDNJDDJDKDKDKKDK

Dies

SYNOPSIS: team free will (separately) realize you’re their gay awakening!

CHARACTER: male reader x dean winchester, male reader x sam winchester, male reader x castiel

NOTE: made this for funsies and because this anon seems very desperate..

WC: 0.8k

WARNING: —

DEAN WINCHESTER

dean never questioned who he was. women, cars, burgers — simple pleasures, manly stuff. then you showed up, all calm danger and amused eyes, leaning in the doorway of the bunker like you’d always belonged.

at first dean didn’t even like you. you adapted too quickly, too smoothly. he didn’t like taking you on hunts either. you could be standing there, drenched in blood after destroying a vamp in the blink of an eye and you wouldn’t even brag. or gloat, if dean admitted you saved his ass.

the first crack in his built-up walls appeared when you insisted on patching him up. he told you he didn’t need it, that he was a grown man, all that shebang. you didn’t let up, stubborn as ever. the last thing dean expected was your gentle hands. the way you touched him like he was some antique china. like a little porcelain doll. call him crazy, but he needed that soft touch. hell, he craved it. for a guy who’s so gruff and independent, he leaned into the touches, hoping for more.

dean started thinking you were cool.. uh, just a buddy. a friend, if you will. until he started catching himself watching you when you weren’t looking. if he’d hear you laugh, his stomach would twist weirdly. if he’d see you working on a car, all sweaty with greasy hands, his hands would clench.

everything came crashing down when you two decided to have a sparring match. you pinned him to the mat, your forearm on his chest, your breath fanning over his lips. “yield?” you asked. dean’s heart pounded in his ribcage as he looked up into your eyes and thought ‘shit.’

he didn’t yield, but he didn’t stop thinking about that moment for weeks.

SAM WINCHESTER

sam had always prided himself on control. his mind was his shield. even with his complicated past — the demon blood, lucifer, the cage.. he could compartmentalize. rationalize.

until you walked into the bunker and looked at him like you could read him better than any book on the shelf. you weren’t a brute like dean, and you weren’t a soldier like castiel. you were composed. intense. you carried yourself like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. and sam? well he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of that kind of attention. at first, he dismissed the signs. you were just.. charismatic. charisma wasn’t attraction. but then, you started teasing him. nothing mean — just clever quips, a raised eyebrow, a brush of your hand when you handed him his coffee. sam liked it. too much.

it truly threw him off when he felt seen. you asked him about the lore he was studying, not out of boredom, but pure and genuine interest. you respected his intellect. and you pushed him, challenged his ideas, and didn’t let him retreat behind his usual walls. one evening, he caught you in the library — shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, reading and catching up on his new written notes.

“you really think this passage proves demonic possession predates biblical scripture?” you asked with a small tilt of your head. and sam... forgot how to speak for a second. that night, he laid in bed, heart pounding, staring at the ceiling. “i think i want him.” he whispered to himself.

CASTIEL

castiel had always been distant from human pleasures. emotions, carnal desires — they were secondary to his mission. but something about you pulled at him in a way he wasn’t capable of understanding.

he first noticed it in the way you moved. confidence wasn’t something castiel had words for until he saw it embodied in you. you didn’t need to speak loudly to command a room. you didn’t need a weapon to make people listen. you just existed with that self-assured stillness that hinted at raw power held carefully in check. what unraveled castiel wasn’t just your strength — it was the gentleness behind it. the way you looked at him like he mattered. like his confusion, his silence, his celestial awkwardness — none of it made him any less. one early morning, you patched him up. his grace was dimming and his vessel was bloodied. you sat him down, your hands warm, firm, capable. and when your fingers brushed his ribs, his vessel shivered. “you’re safe,” you said, voice calm. “i’ve got you.” it was then that something stirred inside him.

he couldn’t stop watching you. the way your eyes softened when you were focused, the slight curl in your lips when you teased dean, how you were never truly cruel and never passive. he was standing outside, all alone in the middle of the night, enjoying the feeling of a gentle breeze. “is this what longing feels like?” he murmured to himself, his eyes locked on the stars in the night sky.

he felt human around you.

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caracalla-dondus · 2 months ago

Note

You asked so I deliver! This is just an idea that popped in my head maybe it would help you write. Please change it up as you like

Maybe a new servant who heard about the fearful emperors but she is shocked to see Caracalla being so cute while feeding dondus. He thinks she’s curious about his monkey and decides to show her how to feed and let dondus. Clueless Caracalla would be so cute :)

Sorry for taking so long to write this but thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy it :)

Unexpected Encounter

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla/Servant!reader

Summary: A new servant has an unexpected encounter with Caracalla and his pet Dondus.

Dividers by: cafekitsune

Author's Note: To anyone else who has sent me a request and I haven't fulfilled it yet, hopefully soon I will have them written <3

The new servant had only been in the service of the emperors for a few weeks, but she had been warned the moment she arrived: "Never speak unless spoken to. Never look the emperors directly in the eye. Never linger in places you do not belong. And above all, stay out of Emperor Caracalla’s way if you value your life and wellbeing."

She had heard the stories of course. She’s sure everyone has. The young rulers were known for their indulgence in revelry, their temperamental moods, and their thirst for bloodshed. Caracalla in particular was said to be the most unpredictable. One moment laughing and joyous, the next demanding someone’s death over something harmless and trivial. Geta was at least said to be a bit more composed than his brother. But the servant had no desire of finding out herself how alike or different the emperors were to each other.

But one night, she was walking through the halls on an errand when she turned a corner and found herself in the same vicinity as one of them.

For a moment, her heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. She must have wandered too far. She had made a mistake.

Caracalla was sitting on the cold marble floor, his tunic slightly rumpled, his red hair an uncombed mess. But he did not look upset, or angry, nor was he relishing someone else’s demise. Instead he was entirely focused on something small and fuzzy perched on his knee. Dondus, the little monkey she had only ever heard about in passing from other servants.

The infamous pet monkey that the emperor dressed in fine clothes and tiny gold ornaments. The monkey that, according to gossip, was perhaps the only living thing Caracalla truly loved, maybe even more than his own brother.

And here was the notorious Emperor Caracalla gently handing pieces of fruits and nuts to his beloved pet. The sight was odd. It felt almost absurd to see the much feared emperor being so tender. She watched as the monkey’s little hands eagerly reached for the snacks.

She went to silently remove herself from his presence before he noticed her but much to her dread she had accidentally knocked into something.

Caracalla’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto her.

The servant froze.

For an agonizing moment she was certain she had made a grave mistake. She had intruded on something private. She had interrupted the emperor’s time with his pet. Would he punish her? Would he have her thrown to the gladiators for sport? Her mind raced with every horror story she had heard.

But then to her utter bewilderment, Caracalla’s lips quirked into something that could only be described as playful. His expression far from the terrifying emperor she had envisioned. His lips curled into a lopsided smile, almost boyish in its amusement.

"Well?" he said. "Are you just going to stare?"

The servant's heart pounded. She should apologize. She should bow and retreat immediately. But her eyes flickered to the monkey, watching as it took a piece of fruit from Caracalla's fingers, its tiny mouth nibbling eagerly.

She must have hesitated too long, because Caracalla tilted his head. "Do you want to feed him?"

Her breath hitched. She could not say no. She did not want to say yes. But she nodded her head nonetheless. What other choice did she have?

He grinned. Grinned. A real, genuine smile that lit up his face in a way she had never imagined possible.

"Come here then," he said, motioning her forward.

Her feet wouldn’t move at first. It was insane to step closer to Emperor Caracalla, the man everyone feared. But there was something in the way he looked at her. Not with malice, not with suspicion, but with amusement, as though he found the situation genuinely entertaining.

Slowly, cautiously, she took a few steps forward.

"Good," he said, satisfied. "Now kneel."

Her knees nearly gave out as she obeyed, sinking onto the marble floor beside him.

He grabbed her wrist. Gently, to her surprise, and pressed a small piece of fruit into her palm. She hated herself for noticing how soft and warm his hand was.

"Hold it like this," he instructed. "Dondus is picky. He won’t eat from just anyone."

The monkey tilted its little head at her, his small beady eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight. Caracalla chuckled. "Go on, he’s waiting" he urged.

With hesitant fingers, she extended the fruit. Dondus sniffed at her hand before yanking the piece from her fingers. The servant blinked, astonished by the ticklish sensation of tiny fingers and soft fur against her skin. The moment his tiny paws touched her, a giggle slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

Caracalla turned to look at her, eyes widening slightly. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

Not a cruel laugh, not a mocking one. Just… laughter. Light, joyful, utterly different from the man who ruled with mercurial moods.

"He likes you," Caracalla said, watching as Dondus nibbled happily. "You should feel honored. He can’t stand Geta."

The thought of Emperor Geta, a man she had only seen from a distance, being shunned by this tiny creature was unexpectedly funny. She tried to suppress her smile, but Caracalla noticed.

His grin widened. "You can pet him, if you want."

She hesitated. Touching the emperor’s pet felt too bold and too inappropriate. But Caracalla nudged her hand forward. "Here," he muttered.

With the lightest touch, she ran her fingers over Dondus’s tiny head. His fur was soft and warm, and he gave a little happy chirp.

Her chest filled with something warm.

"He’s softer than I thought," she admitted quietly.

Caracalla’s smirk softened. "Yes and spoiled." He reached out and ruffled Dondus’s little ears. "He gets whatever he wants, don’t you Dondus?"

Dondus let out a tiny noise of approval, and Caracalla beamed. Beamed.

The servant stared.

This wasn’t the cruel emperor from the whispers. This wasn’t the bloodthirsty ruler demanding people to fight to the death for his amusement.

This was someone else. Someone she didn’t expect. Someone who spoke to a monkey as if it were his closest friend. Someone who could laugh, who could smile softly.

Dondus nuzzled his little head back into her hand, desiring more affection.

Caracalla chuckled at scene. "He truly likes you." There was a hint of delight in his voice, as if he had just uncovered some grand secret. "Most people are too afraid to get close. But you…" He studied her with curious, assessing eyes before flashing another grin. "You're not afraid of my Dondus and he can tell."

She wasn't sure what to say. She had been afraid, not of Dondus, but of him. But now sitting here on the cold marble floor, watching the emperor gently stroke his monkey’s head and looking at her, a stranger, with such fondness, she saw something much more human in the man next to her.

It felt like stepping into a different world.

"Do you have a favorite animal?" Caracalla asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

The question confused her. He was asking her something? She had never imagined an emperor would be interested in what a simple servant liked.

She swallowed before answering, "I… I’ve always liked birds."

Caracalla seemed excited by her answer. "We’ll have to get you a pretty bird then. One that will sing you the most beautiful of songs!"

Her eyes widened, more confused than before and she couldn’t stop herself from giving the undignified response of: "...what?"

He smirked, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. "It will be a gift. A reward for your bravery in facing the fearsome Dondus." He gestured grandly at the tiny creature, who was now climbing onto his shoulder, stuffing his mouth with fruit.

The servant had no idea how to respond. Surely he was joking. But it didn’t feel like an elaborate joke, not with the way he watched her with warmth and enthusiasm in his gaze. Perhaps she was a fool but it felt genuine.

But before she could say anything, a voice called from the hallway.

"Caracalla? What are you doing here?"

Emperor Geta’s voice.

Caracalla groaned, rolling his eyes. "Trying to get away from you," he called back.

The servant nearly choked on her breath. He speaks to his brother like that? She couldn't even imagine herself answering in such a way.

Geta rounded the corner, dressed far more properly than Caracalla, his expression exasperated. His eyes flicked to her, then to his brother, who was still lounging on the floor with his monkey.

"I’ve looked everywhere for you and yet here you are with Dondus again" Geta sighed.

Caracalla grinned, unfazed. "He’s more pleasant company than you."

Geta shook his head and muttered something under his breath. "Come on. We have places to be. And you," he added, glancing at the servant. "Forget whatever nonsense my brother has told you tonight."

The servant nodded quickly, her heart still racing.

Caracalla, meanwhile, leaned in near her and whispered conspiratorially. "Don’t listen to him. My brother is just jealous Dondus doesn’t like him."

Geta sighed loudly and walked away.

The servant hesitated, unsure whether she should leave as well, but Caracalla caught her wrist before she could rise.

His grip was light, but his voice was firm. "You’ll come feed Dondus again tomorrow, won’t you?"

She was taken aback. "You want me to?"

Caracalla’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. "Of course. He likes you. And so do I."

Before she could even process that, he let her go and stood, stretching. "Go on then. But don’t forget."

She hurried away, her heart pounding, her mind spinning.

She had met the fearsome Emperor Caracalla. And somehow he had turned out to be nothing like she expected.

#emperor caracalla x reader #emperor caracalla x you #gladiator x reader #gladiator fanfiction #caracalla x reader #gladiator x you

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gallifreyan85 · 2 months ago

Text

Villain and Violent

pairing: mentor!agatha x reader

summary: after getting used to being around you, agatha decides that she's being too soft and tries to fix it. things only spiral from there.

Warnings: siphoning magic? uhhh. I'm so tired I don't know.

A/n: part 4 of (𝐼 𝒲𝒶𝓃𝓉) 𝒩𝑜 𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈. can be read as standalone. not yet proofread don't hex me pls. more a/n stuff at the end <3 enjoy!!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Agatha Harkness was a lot of things. Powerful. Terrifying. A commanding presence of a witch, ready for anything that might come her way. You saw how cruel she could be to people, how teasing and mean, yet you never truly felt scared. Not of her. Not like that.

You knew she wouldn’t really hurt you. You were safe. You felt safe with her. So you started to let your guard down.

And so did she.

It was the little things you noticed first.

How she acted less distant. Slowly, little by little, you started to see more of her personal side, not just the aloof mentor figure you were used to. When you flunked a spell or made a charm flicker and disappear from your hands far too early you took her teasing words and mocking laughter as friendly rapport. Something familiar. Something you were used to. She read more books in the living room. Didn’t shoo you away when you made a curious glance towards the book title or whatever complex spellwork was written on the tattered pages she was holding. She started drinking tea in the kitchen rather than her own room with the door closed. And sometimes you joined her.

They were quiet, those evenings, and while she kept to her tomes and you to your homework, there was a peace there that you hadn’t previously felt. A sense of belonging, even.

As if you had a home there.

So when it was time for yet another lesson, you made your way down to the basement with ease in your posture and a rare spring in your step. You were hoping to finish with those transmutation spells and get into blasting and shielding. You’d been pleading with her to show you the ropes, she was a famous, powerful witch, and who better to learn from about magical defence. You kept trying to read her mood throughout the day, trying to check how she was feeling, relaxed, snarky, whatever colorful combination of emotions she usually wore. You knew how quickly her moods could change. And as it turned out, so did yours.

You were less than four steps down into the basement, notebook in hand, a few pens and papers in the other, when a bolt of violet light hit you so quickly you stumbled, and caught yourself on the railing just in time before you actually managed to hit your head.

The papers scattered gracefully across the floor in front of you.

You looked up, eyes wide.

Agatha was standing in her usual spot in the middle of the room, hands loose at her sides, an expression of quiet intrigue on her perfectly composed face. You struggled to pull yourself up off the floor.

“What—” you managed to stand up, slightly winded and reaching to gather the colourful pens that had rolled all over the stone floor, “what was that for?”

You tried to keep the slight hurt out of your voice. You knew she was ruthless, but you weren’t expecting her to catch you off guard before you even got to put down your things.

Agatha smirked. Subtly. But surely.

She crossed her arms, briefly fixing her hair, tossing it over one shoulder.

“It’s what you asked for.” her voice was oozing innocence, a perfect cover over a hint of amusement.

You frowned a little.

“Ohh, Agatha, please can be start learning how to fight? Sound familiar? No?”

You gave her a look. “You could’ve at least—” but she interrupted you.

“Ah-ah. I don’t wanna hear complaining. We’re doing this because you asked, now listen. First rule. Always be ready. Your opponent isn’t gonna wait for you to catch your breath.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. She was right, even though you still felt slightly like you just got punched in the stomach.

“So what do I do? Dodge you?”

She chuckled. “You can try.” she said, head tilted slightly, “But you won’t be very successful. I promise.”

“What then?”

She shrugged.

Shrugged.

You bit back a sigh of frustration.

Why was she acting like this?

She was perfectly fine in the morning, throwing comments about the neighbours, smiling at you over her black coffee when you entered the kitchen. She seemed a bit distant maybe, in thought, but- Now she was just so...

You straightened your posture and braced for impact. “Okay… uh. Try again, then.”

She grinned, and turned her head to the side.

You turned as well, trying to see what she was looking at, and before you could blink there was another blast of purple and you were on your knees, fumbling to get back up again. You raised your head and glared.

“That wasn’t fair-”

She laughed.

“You want fair, darling? Go join a debate team. Maybe you can try to reason with whoever’s trying to kill you.”

You got off the floor. Braced again. She waved an elegant hand and vanished, only to reappear behind you and make you end up back on the ground.

You tried to blast her first.

The spell you shot dissipated into thin air barely three feet away from her.

You tried again.

Blocked.

Tried again.

She stepped to the side so effortlessly she might’ve been a model in the middle of a runway walk.

You cast again.

And hit her square in the chest.

You froze.

She stumbled back a step, maintaining her balance, then raised her head, and smiled at you as you watched the blue of your magic slowly fade into her, changing slowly but surely into that familiar purple.

She sighed.

“That might’ve bought you a second, but now I’m more powerful than I was a minute ago. You’re dead.”

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me what to do?”

“Think on your feet.”

“I don’t know how-”

“Then learn to.” she fixed her hair again.

You let slip a huff, now feeling even more frustrated.

“So teach me!”

She paused. You thought she was going to get mad at you for yelling but her smile didn’t falter. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

She didn’t answer.

You took a deep breath. Fumbled with your fingers.

“I—” you sighed softly. “I just feel like you’re being more—”

“More what?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“More- I don’t know. Distant.”

“Hm.” she nodded. “Yes. At least you can notice things. Good.”

You stepped towards her. “But— what- why? What did I do?”

She smiled. “Oh, please. You didn’t do anything, toots. This one’s on me.”

You frowned. “You?”

She nodded, not looking at you, and started pacing around the dark basement. So casual. Too casual.

“That little expression you have on right now is adorable, but it’s not going to change anything.”

Your frown grew. So did your confusion.

She chuckled.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.” she fixed a few rings on her fingers, voice calm as ever, “You were right. You’re getting too comfortable here. And I’m not here to mother you, I’m here to teach you magic. So don’t expect me to be all soft and doting like you want—”

Your expression slipped. Faltered. You felt your heart sink just slightly.

“I’m not gonna let this get out of hand. I can be your teacher, hun, but I don’t want you to forget who you’re staying with. Now come on. Again.”

You blinked.

The words hurt more than you expected them to, and you barely had time to process what she said before she was raising a hand and getting ready to blast you again.

You ducked. Shielded yourself properly for once.

“Not bad.” she said before already doing it again.

And again.

You tried to get a word in but you were already starting to get breathless from keeping up shield after shield and keeping it steady with your magic. Keeping it solid.

When she finally paused, you let it disperse and stepped towards her.

“Agatha—”

“What?”

“You can’t just—” you threw your hands up in defeat. “Is it really so bad that you were having a good time here? I mean nothing’s wrong, we were talking-- we’re doing magic, it’s—”

“It’s not right.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” she snapped, and you actually stopped. “Do you have any idea who I am, hm? You seem to be forgetting who you’re here with, toots.”

You huffed quietly.

Was she expecting you to be scared? Was this really what you thought it was?

She was upset over you being so comfortable with her?

“Agatha..” you started, unsure of how to even start.

I’m happy here, you wanted to say. I’m happy with you, you make me feel safe, this is my home, I have a home, a family-

But she cut in before you could even start, voice cold and calculated.

“Go again. Maybe we can talk after if you do a decent job.”

You tried to figure out if she was joking or not. If this was one of those Agatha ways of trying to motivate you to try harder in lessons, it wasn’t working. The only thing you were feeling was a dragging sense of hopelessness, slowly grappling onto you and pulling you downwards.

Was she going to start being all cold again?

Like in the beginning?

If so, you didn’t think you could take it. You knew you couldn’t.

And before you could try to voice your concerns aloud, you were already on on the floor again.

You let your eyes fall closed for a moment.

Then, you got up, silently grateful that she at least waited until you were up on your feet again, and shot the spell again.

You weren’t sure how it started, but you couldn’t wait for the lesson to finish before trying to talk to her again.

“I wasn’t scared of you, you know.” you said, successfully dodging one of her hexes, “I wasn’t before, and I’m not now.”

“You’ll change your mind eventually, dear.” she said, far too casual for such a conversation, either because of the topic at hand, or the fact that you were both currently casting spells at one another.

“No, I won’t.”

“Want me to make you?” she smirked.

She couldn’t, you thought. You weren’t scared of her. Never really, yes she might be intimidating and powerful but--

“You can’t.” you let slip. And then, because you’d stupidly gotten too comfortable, “Cause I know you’re secretly such a softie.”

And that seemed to be the wrong thing to say.

The next time you flung a spell towards her she let her hands fall down so quickly, letting you hit her. The magic hit her in the chest, slowly turning purple, and you went to pull your hands away and ask why she didn’t block you, but something was wrong.

The magic-- your magic, in your hands, it had stuck onto her somehow and you tried to pull away but it-- it--

Kept flowing.

You frowned. This never happened before.

“What-” You tried to move away, hands still involuntarily oozing magic. You knew she could siphon magic but you also knew she would never take yours.

Or so you thought.

Maybe you were wrong.

Stumbling in a slightly shaky, quickly growing panic, you tried to pull away, side-stepped, staggered, and caught yourself. But your balance didn’t last long.

You felt the pull, your own magic slowly being siphoned away into her, tugging at you.

No, not tugging.

Draining you.

Your eyes widened.

“A-agatha—”

She wasn’t stopping. Her eyes were closed. Hands outstretched as if in welcome.

“Agatha what are you—” you fumbled, “Stop- let go—”

But she didn’t.

And her magic kept pulling, and pulling, until you you stumbled onto your knees with a desperate whimper.

It didn’t hurt per se, but the feeling was odd. It wasn’t pain, but a loss, like you were losing something that was a core part of you, that it was being pulled out of you by force, and was now slipping away too fast and out of reach, unable to be caught or yanked back or stopped before it was lost. You blinked, letting your thoughts cloud your vision.

Was this what they all felt?

All the witches she killed?

So many of them, helpless and struggling and screaming and--

Betrayed, alone, irreparable, helpless, so helpless--

And suddenly you knew what it was like for them. But for you, it wasn’t the betrayal that hurt most, it was the fact that it was her, Agatha, your Agatha, your mentor, your witch and teacher and friend who made you feel that helpless, when it was her-

The whole reason you joined her to escape that feeling, and here she was, forcing you into it, forcing it onto you because you’d called her soft- because-

You’d gotten so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice her open her eyes, tilting her head down at you the slightest bit. When you finally did she didn’t say anything, but rose one hand and severed the steady flow of magic.

It broke quickly, a split second, and you slumped onto the cold stone floor. Your pressed your forehead against your hands, felt the slight chill of the cobbles against your cheek, and then with a heavy effort raised your head. Looked up at her.

She was standing where she had been earlier, and the expression on her face was one you could not read.

It wasn’t anything you expected, like satisfaction or smugness.

If you had to guess, it’d have been something between pity and regret.

Maybe even guilt.

That must’ve been wrong, because Agatha Harkness didn’t do guilt.

But she also didn’t do fun and yet for all your strict lessons you spent far too much time laughing over her jokes, and she didn’t do soft, but she did defend you from others, and begrudgingly pat your head-- rarely but surely-- and talked to you when you came to her.

She took a step towards you and you flinched.

You didn’t mean to, you weren’t even all that scared, only tired, so tired, and it was instinct after all the shielding you’d just done. But she froze. Paused. Stopped.

Then she stepped past you and up the staircase.

“That’s it for today.” she said, her voice short and clipped,

“Lesson’s over.”

And she went upstairs.

You could've sworn there was some held back emotion behind her words you couldn’t yet name, but your mind kept getting stuck on the way her voice sounded, so quick and slightly unsteady.

And she’d left.

You heard her upstairs, pacing or walking or going to her room, and waited.

Stayed on the floor.

It didn’t make sense.

You let your head fall back down against the cold stone, down against your hands. And you let the tears fall.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, what you were waiting for, hoping she’d maybe come down to talk to you, comfort you, but she didn’t. After a while you sat up and wiped your palms over your face. Blinked. Sniffled.

You were fine, nothing was hurting, and now that you’d come to think of it the whole siphoning your magic kind of thing had lasted for maybe half a minute or so, even if it seemed like much longer. You looked around. Your notebook was on the wooden desk, closed and untouched, pends stacked on top. The old tomes Agatha sometimes taught you from were next to it, also unopened. Everything was still.

You got up. Sniffled again, holding onto the railing as you climbed the stairs out of the basement, feeling it cool beneath your fingertips, short of any warmth from whoever held it before you did.

The living room was empty.

You went into the kitchen next, where pot of water stood forgotten on the stovetop, no longer sizzling but still warm. So she’d went to make tea. You looked around. There was a mug on the table, not one hers but one of yours, and it stood empty with a single, untouched tea bag inside it. You wiped your eyes again, and wrapped your arms around yourself.

If the intended goal was to scare you she’d failed. All you wanted to do was talk to her now. You left the kitchen and went into the hallway. Her keys were still there, so she hadn’t left the house, but the door to her room was closed. You stayed quiet and stopped in front of it.

Listened.

There was silence.

You couldn’t push the look on er face before she left away from your head. It kept floating back to the forefront of your mind, the look in her eyes. Guilt. So much guilt. But that wasn’t right, because she didn’t do guilt. Maybe that was what you wanted to see. Proof that you were right and she cared.

You didn’t knock, but quietly opened the door.

She was sitting on her bed, legs crossed, and Señor Scracthy in her lap. Her nose was pressed into his fur, breathing slow and steady like some quiet, grieving mother holding a babe.

You didn’t move for a moment.

She looked almost… vulnerable.

Unguarded.

No, she looked-- sad.

“Agatha?” you made out quietly.

Her head moved slightly, and she turned and looked at you. Her eyes were that familiar pale blue, reminding you of the stormy sea. Or clouds. Had she been--

No.

She wasn’t crying.

She didn’t do tears, either.

But you, as it turned out, did. You blinked again, more wetness in your eyes, and it was not what you were thinking, far from it, but you asked her,

“Can we go back to the lesson?”

You blinked.

Señor Scratchy stirred in her lap, ears twitching.

She seemed so genuinely baffled by your question that her expression matched your own confusion over your words.

“What?” she said.

“The- lesson. I only managed to block you like twice, and… I thought we could finish it, um, properly.”

She just stared at you as if you said some insane thing.

“You really have no self preservation instincts, do you, kid?”

She wasn’t smiling, but it made you laugh, and it came out like a strangled sob.

You shook your head. She was right. You’d probably let her destroy you before leaving her side willingly.

It was your own fault. There was just something about her- something so-- so pulling and fascinating, worthy of admiration that made you want to stay with her and learn from her and just--

She sighed and bowed her head.

It was an odd gesture for her.

And you tried to tell her you were fine, that it didn’t matter, that can you please just go back to learning, but you were crying. And she beckoned you over. Slowly. You approached the bed, sniffling and looking up at her and she-

She set a hand on your cheek. Gently. Slowly. So slowly. Like someone scared of breaking you.

As if you wouldn’t let her.

You sank into it. Into the soft touch, so eagerly and honestly, as if you couldn;t pretend that this was what you wanted, that this was all you wanted from her. Just some affection, just some proof that she did care about you, that you were more than just some kid who’d followed her and--

“I’m not good at this.” she said.

You shook your head. Sniffled. She sighed.

“You should be scared of me, kiddo.” she murmured softly. “You should be running for the hills after that stunt I just pulled. Grown witches have, after I did less. Wouldn’t blame you.”

You shook your head again.

And scooted closer. She clearly wasn’t expecting that. Her hand faltered slightly. Then she pulled away entirely. You felt cold.

“You can’t-” you started, wavering, “please.”

She looked hurt.

Genuinely.

Not just hurt- lost.

Like she wasn’t sure of what to do.

“Please.” you said again. “Please, Agatha-”

You felt her resolve crumble, the way her shoulders slumped when she nodded to your words, and kept nodding because she didn’t have the words. You lowered your head. Down. Sniffled again. And laid your head on her lap. Señor Scratchy pressed his snout into your hair and started sniffing. You heard Agatha chuckle from above you, and relaxed as soon as her hand found its way to your hair. You closed your eyes. Focused on her fingers caring through your hair. Her bed was so soft, and Señor Scracthy was so warm and she was warm and her room-- you’d realized you hadn’t even been there, and felt the sudden urge to get up and go around and just look at things because she definitely had some to have some interesting trinkets around her space.

But you didn’t move.

“Okay,” you felt her murmur above you, “it’s okay…”

You’d never heard her- no, felt her be so comforting towards you, and you melted into it, the words, her tone, the soft, gentle neverending patterns her other hand was lightly tracing over your back, it was heaven. It was everything you wanted from her. To feel cared for. To feel like a part of something. A coven. A family.

You weren’t crying anymore, and after a while you slowly raised your head, angled it upwards and blinked up at her, watching her watching you with so many different emotions on her face. What do three hundred years of betrayals and betraying do to a person? You’d felt what they felt today, but all you wanted was to stay in her arms and let her soothe the worry away, the neverending, constant nagging fear or what if you failed? What if she made you leave?

But something told you she wouldn’t, now.

Her hand patted your arm. You looked up.

“Get up.” she said. “C’mon.”

You reluctantly sat up.

She looked back down at the rabbit, still nestled happily next to where your head was.

“I won’t do that again.” she said. She didn’t have to say for you to know what she was talking about. You didn’t say anything.

Apologies weren’t something she did, something you’d ever heard from her at all, but the way her voice sounded while saying it, you could tell that even if it wasn’t the right words, she meant it.

And then, as if to confirm your thoughts,

“I promise. I…”

If her words were supposed to be I didn’t mean to scare you they would’ve been a lie. But now that you were looking at her and she wasn’t looking at you you could see for the first time that there was genuine regret in her eyes. You weren’t imagining it.

“There’s tea in the kitchen.” she said. Then she waved a hand.

You tilted your head.

She didn’t explain, and it took you took long to realize she had probably turned the stove on for the water to boil.

You didn’t say anything. Now that you were looking at her she seemed more awkward, something you also rarely saw from her.

“So uh,” she finally said, “since you insist on staying and learning from me because I’m so amazing,” she briefly tossed her hair back, “as you should,” she added, “I suppose it’s too late to go back to pretending like I’m not—” she stopped, and despite the recent events you had to stifle a small laugh, she was visibly struggling-

“Like I’m not somewhat-- fond of you.” she finally said. “And I’m clearly not the best at- uh, dealing with that. No one’s been pathetic enough to actually stay even after I—”

She cleared her throat.

You didn’t move.

She gestured at you as if shooing something away. “Go drink your tea.” she said. “You need to restock for all those tears.”

Slightly embarrassed, you got up and scurried into the kitchen.

You weren’t sure what had just happened, but you knew one thing for sure. Something had changed. Something was different.

When she joined you in the kitchen moments later, pouring herself a very strong coffee, you saw the way her posture was back to being composed and formidable. But you didn’t miss the way her steps softened when she walked past you later that evening, the way she was overall gentler than she had been before. It wouldn’t be enough for anyone. But it was enough for you. For now, knowing was enough.

A/n: title from (yet again) Forwards Beckon Rebound by Adrianne Lenker. Yes, I'm starting to firmly believe I'll use all the lyrics at some point in the future. if the lyrics are lyricing then use em. or something. I am so tired I had college, I was sick this week (still sorta am) and then was writing part 2 of scare me up but kinda ended up on this and idk what this is i like the middle, the beginning i actually wrote like 2 weeks ago, and then idk, I really should go to sleep cause I have to be up at 6am and it's like 23pm rn. You all are amazing and thank you for reading and blast me with your best (or worst) agatha thoughts or ideas or literally anything, and thanks for reading. i already said that. oh well. sorry for any mistakes i promise i'll proofread this tomorrow (probably in class oops) have a great day/night y'all <3 goodnight.

Taglist 💜 @milflovers4 @senhorita-girassol @dandelions4us @kaymariesworld @ahintofchaos @atlasimagines

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #marvel #mine #agatha harkness x reader #reader insert #agnes of westview #marvel cinematic universe #mentor agatha harkness

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beat-the-morning · 5 months ago

Text

🖤 Fumigation Journal || Hozier x Reader🖤

BOTH PARTS

READ ON TUMBLR UNDER CUT || READ ON AO3

Rating: 18+ || smut

Tags: oral sex, multiple orgasms, cum eating, cum swallowing, marsturbation interrupted, love confessions, fingering, face fucking, dry humping, marking, creampie (kinda), squirting, breakfast in bed

Summary: Andrew is staying at your apartment while his house gets fumigated, you come back from work one day only to find him with your dream journal in hand. What will happen next?

Word Count: 7k

A/N: This fic was co-written with oomf :) We both wrote both chapters— go give them some love!!

Their Wattpad

💙FULL FIC UNDER CUT💙

You gazed out your window, sleepy eyes reverently observing the sunrise. Your heart swelled— somehow, the sunrise always felt prettier when you had someone to love. Really, everything in life gets slathered in beauty

And, oh, how close your love was. He was staying in your shitty apartment instead of his big, old house. The one that had no air conditioning, that he needed to get renovated when he moved in to even be able to piss in the bathroom. It also frequently got infested with bugs. Andrew tried everything, but nothing really worked. Not bug traps, nor the exterminator, nor closing the gaps in the house.

So, currently the house was getting fumigated. Maybe these bugs realized how he was made for you. Maybe they were on your side— the ultimate matchmakers. You giggled into your pillow at the mere thought.

You got up and rolled out of bed. Work was in 30 minutes— it was probably best to suck it up and stop staring at the sky, like some sort of romantic. Even if you very well were. You stumbled out of your room, hair frizzy, face bare, eyes blurry.

Your sleepy legs made their way into the kitchen, every step a battle. You weren't paying attention, your mind was way better at thinking about your pretty best friend. In consequence, you bumped into the man himself. Face hitting his chest, you let out a tired groan. You looked up at him with weary eyes— one of his hands ended up on your shoulder, steadying you.

“Clumsy morning, huh?”

You cover your mouth, hiding a yawn. Andrew laughed, a warm, mellow, welcoming sound. Wanting him was your only absolute this early. Everything was blurry, you really didn't care about anything, you were tired, and your head hurt. But you wanted him, and you wanted him now.

“I made french toast.” He said, letting you go, interrupting your thinking.

You happily hummed, sitting down at the table as he set a plate in front of you, “Thank you, Andy”

“No problem. And I'm sorry for this being all so sudden. Thank you for taking me in. It… it really means a lot, you're a sweetheart. Truly.”

Your cheeks flushed, and it took you a few seconds to compose yourself before you dug into your pancakes.

Once you were done stuffing your face, you quickly got ready for your job. You organized books at the local library— and you sure as hell dressed the part. You decided on a patterned button down and black trousers- hell, your elderly neighbor dressed younger than you.

Work was boring as fuck, but at least it was Friday, so no more work for a couple days. You got through the day with one too many cups of coffee and at least one “smoke break”, which was really just a lap around the block to get away from work for a few minutes.

You didn't have the worst job ever—hell, the pay was the best you'd had. But it was tedious, and mind-numbingly boring. Especially when you had a man at home. Not your man, but rather the man you were given the curse of being “just friends” with.

You were utterly thrilled, yet exhausted at the end of the day, when you took the bus home and planned what movie you and Andy were to watch.

Your aching legs made their way up the stairs, your hand holding tightly onto the handrail, trying not to fall down the steps from how drowsy you were. The sweet promise of seeing your best friend filled you, though, and it did almost numb your pain.

You finally reached your floor, opening the door, heart warm and fuzzy, and your eyes befell a beautiful, but shocking sight.

Andrew lay there, on your cozy couch, in sweatpants and a white ribbed tank top. Even that was enough to stun you. His eyes were focused, glazed over, head tilted back. His hair was messy, tangled.

In one hand, he held a small, black journal- with striking similarity to your dream journal. You’d been using it for a few months now and had written every dream you’d had in it, while it had started out with innocent little fairytales, your dreams had become far less appropriate as of late. So the journal mostly was composed of dirty descriptions of intimacy- all with Andrew. This was the book that you mistakenly left open on your coffee table the night before. His other hand was under his sweatpants, gripping tightly, stroking his cock with wild abandon. He knew it was wrong, that he was invading your privacy, but god, was he weak for you.

“So fuckin’ hot…” He groans, the world around him fuzzy and blurred. “Please” he whimpered, bucking into his hand, a bit of drool leaking onto his chest, soaking the hair that peeked out from under that singlet.

You took it all in, and realized that you should not be watching this. You quickly shut the door, followed by a loud curse from Andy. You could feel your heart pounding in your ear. Fuck, were you wet. You were still in your work clothes, very much dressed like a librarian. But you couldn’t deny the wetness underneath it all, you felt your panties soaking more and more as the seconds passed by, you hated and loved what his simple yet perverted act was doing to you.

Behind the door, Andrew quickly put his conscious, ever twitching length away under those unintentionally slutty grey sweatpants. Or intentionally— you knew this man. Despite his very common bouts of disliking everything about himself, he knew how hot others saw him. And he wasn’t an idiot— he'd seen your reverent stares. He'd noticed how you always stayed wrapped in his arms just a second too long after hugs. He knew that you were attracted to him on some level. Maybe not the full extent, but he knew something was up.

How could he ruin this by wanking off to your private journal? Once his dick was put away, still twitching, leaking a bit in his pants, he ran his hand through his hair, hunched over, filled with guilt. Your moleskin-wrapped journal was abandoned on the floor. Man, did he fuck up.

You leaned into the door, your voice shaky— you were embarrassed, turned on, and terrified all at the same time.

“Andy… you decent?” you called out on the other side of the thin door, meek.

He looked up from his hands covering his flushed face, and responded a very pathetic, “Yea… Ehm, yeah, I am.” He shifted awkwardly, before his pretty hazel eyes fixed upon the floor. Shamed, and rightfully cockblocked.

You opened the door, slowly walking back into your apartment, your eyes focused on the floor, too embarrassed to look over at him. His breathing was shaky— he was scared to take even one step closer to you.

“I’m sorry, angel, I didn’t—“ he cut himself off, taking in a deep breath before speaking again. “I have no excuse, I really, really don’t. I just… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. I was.. you were gone, found yer book… and… and I thought you were working, and I'm so fucking sorry, Ang-” He cut himself off with a sob, one finger nervously twisting at a curl.

Angel, huh? The man was always such a sweet talker when he fucked up. Now you weren't even mad at him, how could you be? You wished you could have the image of him pleasuring himself burnt into your eyelids. But you snapped out of these filthy thoughts when he spoke again.

“I’ll just leave, I know you probably need to process this whole thing, but please don’t—“

“No- I mean, it’s…” You took a heavy breath in. Please keep going. You thought, but what slipped out was a little more civil;

“We all do it, yeah? So… so…” You took another heavy breath in, your tone changing to a softer one. “Don’t leave.”

His heart broke with your last words, how could he say no to you?

“No, no, I'm… really sorry, that journal was private. And… and it's not fair to you,” cue the chorus of sniffles, “It's none of my business, even if it's about-”

And when you thought your cheeks couldn't flush more. Your best friend was sobbing, and yet you couldn't help but notice the outline in those sweats. Long, hard, twitching, leaking onto the waistband. Oh, how you wish to swallow it whole.

You took a step closer to him, finally looking into his eyes, they were red and teary, begging for forgiveness. You hugged him, awkwardly, but you knew he didn’t care much about that. He just needed the embrace of another. He felt horrible—disrespectful, dirty, perverted. All he wanted to do was sink into this couch and die from pure sin.

But the closest he could do was sink into you. He was so disappointed in himself that he didn't really notice his face was between your breasts. Fine, he did notice, and it made him even harder. But it was a shameful boner— and he really did derive a lot of comfort from your embrace.

You gently stroked his hair, whispering the occasional ‘you're okay’. Did he notice how hard your nipples were? Did he feel your heart beating? Oh, you felt him. Obviously he was hunched over, in a way that you couldn't feel his cock, but you could feel his shaky hands holding onto you. You could feel the way he nuzzled his nose into your breast— and fuck, did it turn you on.

You moved to the couch, sitting down next to each other, you gently pulled his face from your chest, holding it tenderly in your hands. He looked so ashamed, yet aroused. He closed his eyes for a second, relishing in your touch and caresses, surprised that you even wanted him near you.

He sighed softly, eyes still closed, you placed a tender kiss on his forehead, your thumbs softly rubbing his cheeks in an attempt at comforting him.

When you pulled away slightly, he let out a little whine. He didn't mean to– he was ever so flustered. His cheeks under your fingers were hot, very hot. Like he'd never been kissed on the forehead by someone as pretty as you. You were sure he had, but it was cute to see him fumbling around like he hadn't.

“I really am sorry, I don't deserve this.. you being so damn sweet, when you should really just be yelling at me.. and in your own house, I'm such a-”

“For God's sake, could you shut up?” You blurted, your hand stilling in his hair.

He looked at you with big, wet eyes, almost like a kicked puppy, he looked like he was on the brink of tears. “But I-”

You saw those pretty shining eyes, and that blabbering soft mouth. And all you could think about was shutting him up yourself. You leaned in, the bow of your lips drawn against him in a slow, but nevertheless desperate affair. Andrew sobbed a little into the kiss, but held you close. He needed this, he needed you.

You were the first to slip your tongue into it, tasting his spit. He tasted like coffee and tears. Poor man, an insomniac and depressed. What he needs now is pussy. Plenty of it, to drown his sorrows in.

You kept devouring him, feeling his hands shaking throughout, yet incredibly needy. One hand landed on your thigh, and you fell into him, groaning needily.

God, he could feel the heat radiating from you. He pulled off your kiss-swollen lips and got at your neck, quickly finding the spot that drew you in. He spoke quietly, under your ear

“This good?” He whispered, eyes half lidded. He didn't even try to hide his boner, and you could feel his precum leaking out.

“Mhm..” you whispered reverently, moving his hand up your waist.

He fumbled while unbuttoning your shirt, quickly followed by your bra before he latched onto one of your breasts, needily sucking at your nipple while his hand played with the other one. You whimpered quietly, your hand immediately moving to his hair, fingers tangling in his brown curls. His lips moved to your other nipple, sucking it passionately while his hands travelled lower on your form, undoing your work pants after a bit of a struggle.

You tugged at his hair, leading him to where he was so obviously so very giddy to lap at. He looked up at you, heart eyes so pretty in the golden hour, but ever so feral. You met his gaze with a smile. He kissed a trail down to your clit as he inched both your panties and trousers down at the same time, moving down, licking a firm stripe up your warm pussy, then digging in, and eating you like a man starved.

And god, did he eat you out. Like he was made to. Eager and adoring, he worshipped you between your legs without even pulling away to breathe. His long tongue, soft lips, and nice big fingers— what else would he use them for? Yes, guitar playing, but he'd much prefer to play you instead.

His tongue worked at the lips of your pussy, nose dug into your clit, his stubble drawing giggles from you. It quickly became his safe space. He loved it. He'd always loved it, and he loved it even more now that it was you. His sweet muse.

And his favorite melody, out of all the love songs that he's heard, were your moans. A sweet crescendo, starting soft and shy, but loud enough for all your neighbors to hear by the time his fingers were inside you. You were his, all his. And everyone had to know that. They had to know that he was devouring your decadent body as it deserved to be.

His fingers curled into you, tickling the very spots that made you squirm and squeeze his face with your thighs. You returned his heart eyes before they rolled back.

You moaned so loudly, lewdly. A noise that you didn’t even know you could make. You felt a familiar knot in your belly, the feeling of it tightening only to suddenly snap overwhelming you.

“Fuck, you- Andrew, fucking- God!” You said, frustratingly riding the waves of pleasure running through you.

He looked up, eyes shining, still so very big and needy, but drowning in your orgasm, just as you were. He curled up next to you, catching your lips in a hungry kiss. When he pulled away for air, you smiled, in a way that you hoped he adored.

“You taste like pussy, Andy” You teased with a little giggle.

“Mm… Wonder who’s fault that is, angel.”

You giggled, kissing him again. His hands grabbed your waist and moved you so you were straddling his thigh, you ground against it, unknowingly rubbing his cock while doing so. One of your hands travelled lower towards his sweatpants, slipping under the waistband and wrapping your fingers around his cock. Slowly, you stroked it, the tip of it red and glistening with precum, poking out under his clothes. Your other hand pulled his top off, consumed with the need to feel his skin against yours.

He moaned softly into the kiss, pulling your hips firmly onto his thigh and making you hump it, you moaned in return, and he deepened the kiss. It wasn’t long until you felt him twitching in your hand, his hips buckling towards you ever so slightly, you were going to stop, you wanted him in your mouth before he could finish, but you were too late. He came on your hand and on his abdomen not long after, a thick pearly coating on his slight pudge. You broke the kiss, looking down at his lap and pulling your hand up to your mouth.

He looked into your eyes, and you returned it, almost asking for permission, to which he gave you a small nod and a smile. Your eyes focused back on your hand, still covered with his seed, and you licked it off, quiet, soft moans escaping you as you swallowed his delicious sin.

“Baby, look at me,” he commanded softly, his grip in your thighs tightening. You looked at him, his eyes full of love and lust. “Good girl, now look here,” he pointed at the mess of cum on his abdomen. “Look at what you did.”

“Sorry.” You said with feigned innocence, looking at him with puppy eyes.

“Don’t be sorry, my sweet angel.” He cooed in a patronizing tone, knowing you were putting on an act. “Just clean it up for me, yeah? Be good and clean up your mess.”

You nodded, sliding off his lap and onto your knees on the floor. You leaned in close to his tummy, his dick still hard even after his climax. He grabbed you by your hair, pulling you even closer, then, you started licking him clean, his happy trail tickling your tongue in the best way possible. You swallowed him, over and over again while he moaned softly. You slowly started to run your tongue over his cock, looking up at him with your sweet bedroom eyes. He gasped. He adored having someone suck him off after he's already come. It made him see stars, truly.

“Mmmm… you like this, sweetness? You enjoy cleaning me up after you made such a mess of me?” He cooed again, hands brushing through your hair.

You nodded the best you could while his dick was stuffing your mouth up. God, his sweet whimpers and words of encouragement. They really could kill you.

You swallowed him deeper, closing your eyes, trying your best not to gag. You ended up getting a little carried away, your nose pressed hard into his pubic bone, like a puzzle piece. There was a bulge in your throat. You decided to try something out and stroked it from the outside, looking to see if it did anything for him.

And God, did it do something. He let out a noise you thought was impossible. He was there, on the couch, legs spread, back arched as you were on your knees, sucking from the tap. He pulled your hair tighter- probably not intentionally so hard, but it's not like it didn't turn you on.

You kept at it, closing your eyes, drowning in those growls and whimpers. You'd think he was some sort of slut.

He gasped, and starting fucking into your throat, pretty eyes rolling back, legs shaking. After another few languid strokes, he came down your throat, basking in the way you enjoyed this, just as much as he did.

“Good girl, fuck.. your throat, fuck,. Jesus fucking Christ, angel… so tight, Mmm—!” He babbled mindlessly as you pleasured him. God, he adored you.

Adored you so much that he came down your throat. You choked on it a little, pulling back and clearing your throat. You smiled sweetly up at him, cum dripping down your chin, then kissed the tip of his cock, warranting another little burst of cum to shoot at your face.

“Such a messy eater…” He teased lovingly.

You were in the middle of a reply when he stuffed his cock into your mouth again, holding you there.

“Shhh, princess. Nobody's ever taught you to not speak with your mouth full?” There was a smile on his face. God, was he a vision… Cheeks flushed, hair the messiest you've seen it, hands shaking, stray drops of cum on his pale skin. You started to bob your head, but he stopped you.

“Two rounds of sucking me off in a row? I'm sure you get tired. So tired. How about I just do it for you… keep your mouth around me, and I'll take care of the rest. Is that okay with you, angel?”

You gave him those puppy eyes, humming happily as a way to say “yes”.

“Mmmhm? Okay, then..”

He started to fuck into you, a little bit sloppily, his hips bucking. He was feral, truly. He moved quickly, hyperventilating, a third orgasm threatening to happen at any time. He moved faster, fucking your mouth with a surprising amount of strength for a man that had already come twice.

But it became too much, and you had to pull away to take a breath, warranting a surprisingly bratty whimper for a man acting so dominant.

“Wha- Wha- FUCK,” He belted, shooting cum onto the floor, right onto your moleskin notebook, it wasn’t much, just what was left inside of him after the last two orgasms. Your hand was still wiping your chin, and your mouth fell open.

“Jesus, sorry, I didn't know-”

“I didn't either,” he said, irrationally upset. It took him a bit to calm down. He caught his breath as he leaned back on the couch. You got up and sat next to him, gazing up into his brimmed eyes.

“Andy, you know I wanted to swallow, I really did. I want it…”

He looked back down at you, gaze softening. He leaned to your level, grabbing your chin and opening your mouth, then, moved his head on top of yours and slowly let his spit flow from his lips and onto your tongue. You smiled, a little naughtily, and swallowed. God, that was hot.

“Mmmh.” You hummed.

“That's something to swallow, isn't it?”

He leaned in and kissed your tired lips tenderly, as you tangled into him, ending up a cuddling, naked mess on your—now, filthy couch.

He moved you to lay on his chest while he played idly with your hair, his nose buried in it as well, taking in your scent in the quiet evening. His other hand traced patterns on your back, his fingers dancing carefully over your skin, almost fearing you’d shatter like a porcelain doll just from his touch.

His lips pressed onto your forehead, giving you a soft, affectionate kiss that took your breath away for a second. You looked up at him from his chest, your eyes wide and adoring. “Hi,” he murmured softly, not really thinking about what he was saying.

“Hi,” you responded, making the two of you burst into a fit of giggles.

“This doesn’t feel real.” He whispered softly, still caressing you with all the love in the world.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“I never thought I’d actually get to hold you like this, to have been with you like we have.” He elaborated. “This was always more of a fantasy, I didn’t think it’d be real.”

“What, you thought I didn’t like you like that?” You asked, a bit incredulous.

“I knew you thought I was hot, I’m not stupid, I see how you look at me.” He sighed again, his arms tightening around you, his gaze avoiding yours. “But the… ehm, the extent of just how much you liked me was more than I thought it’d be.”

You smiled softly, your hand playing with his chest hair as you listened to him. His voice was like a melody in and of itself, every word he said a note in the symphony of your dreams.

“It’s just…” He continued, his tone even softer. “It’s like there’s steps to all this, you know? There’s finding someone attractive, then there’s wanting to- ehm, have sex with them, and then there’s just wanting to be with them, in every way possible…” He trailed off.

“Andy. What are you trying to say?” You asked, his eyes immediately focusing on yours the moment you finished your sentence.

“That I love you, angel, I have for a long time.” He finally confessed. You felt his heart speed up in his chest, he was so incredibly nervous.

“I love you, too.” You timidly whispered, then placed a quick, loving kiss on his chest. “You can calm down now, your heart is beating way too fast.” You added teasingly.

“Maybe a proper kiss will calm me down.” He teased back.

You moved carefully, crawling up to his eye level and kissing him deeply. He kissed back almost immediately, your mouths moving in tandem to make the perfect kiss. Andrew pulled back after a few seconds, his mind too crowded with thoughts to fully lose himself in you no matter how much he wanted to do just that.

“Let me take you out on a date, somewhere nice,” he caressed your cheek with his thumb. His voice little more than a lovesick whisper. “If not, at least let me call you mine.”

“Yes, to both.” You smiled, nuzzling your face into his hand.

“Good,” he kissed your forehead. “Sorry to change the topic like this, but I’m exhausted, wanna go to bed?”

You chuckled softly at the change of subject. “We haven’t even had dinner yet.” You argued lovingly.

“I had my fill with you already.”

“Then I guess we can go to bed, but I have to shower first.” You stood up from your cuddling position on the couch, watching Andrew follow suit not long after. “Maybe put a movie on my laptop and we can watch it afterwards?”

You looked up at him with begging eyes while holding his hand in yours, he smiled, he couldn’t say no to you, especially now.

“As you wish, princess.” He took your hand to his lips and kissed it playfully, a small giggle escaping you both. “Any movie in particular you desire to watch, your majesty?”

“Okay, cut it out,” you continued to giggle, “just choose one you like, yeah? I’m gonna shower.”

With that, you went to your bathroom to clean yourself up while Andrew went to your room and set everything up, including cleaning himself as best he could and fixing his messy, post-orgasmic appearance.

You came back from the shower after almost an hour, hair still wet, in comfy sweatpants and a tank top. You made your way to your room, waiting to see your angel. He sat there, in bed, scrolling on his phone, hair up in a messy bun. He looked nothing short of adorable— cleaned up nicely too.

Your laptop was next to him. It seems he'd already chosen a movie, Legally Blonde, for some reason. You sank next to him, leaning against his shoulder.

“You like chick flicks?” You asked, with a giggled cadence.

“Nothing short of modern masterpieces, they are.” He replied, starting the movie and letting your body adjust against him. You clicked, your arms the perfect length around his waist, your lips the perfect curve against his, your nose perfectly nesting into his pulse.

You fell asleep first. Fast asleep- not stirring in the slightest. He thought your slight snores and weird murmurs were adorable. He'd much rather fall asleep to those than any movie. He closed the laptop and set it on your bedside table, his long arms holding you tight into the late hours.

He ended up having the best sleep in a while— no thoughts of upcoming concerts or snobby dinners to torment him. You somehow made it all stop. In his busy world, you were his only constant. Something he wanted to hold close to and never let go.

——

Andrew adored your face. He saw it everywhere- the pure beauty of it. He saw your beauty in the Irish hillsides. He heard your voice in every old timey love song. Everywhere, everything, it was always you.

In the early morning, he found himself gazing at you again, a long finger tracing your cheek. He sighed contentedly, completely enamored with you. His limbs tangled further into yours. This went on for about half an hour— his sweet touches and comforting, soft kisses.

Your eyes fluttered open. Your first view of the day was Andrew cupping your cheeks, his head tilted. You smiled dorkily at him, your view still unfocused.

“Morning, sleepin’ beauty” He greeted in that soothing Irish lilt of his. You responded with a groan— giving him the opportunity to scoop you up in his arms, holding you to his chest. You giggled into the firm, warm body.

“Hey!” You grogged. He pulled you even further up, paving a path of smooches along your face, whispering sweet nothings.

“So pretty when you wake up, you know that? Sweet, sweet angel… and you're all mine…” he was getting lost in you, reciting all his best praise while you were barely away from the sandman.

It took a while for you to properly wake up. When the consciousness came, you returned his kisses sloppily, hand coming up to tangle in that messy brown hair.

The kisses got more desperate and messy as you went, desperate to taste each other, to catch up on everything you've missed. You grew a little dominant— even a little frustrated. You rolled him over, warranting a whimper, then pulled away, laying on your side next to him.

“You're so needy in the mornings.”

“Huh?” He whispered hoarsely, looking up at you with half lidded eyes.

“I said you're needy in the mornings. All kisses and sweet words…”

You got onto him, warranting a little ‘oomph’ to squeeze out. He quickly wrapped his arms around you, holding you steadily, groaning as your thigh brushed against him.

You put your thumb in his mouth, slowly grinding and watching as he sucked it at the same pace. The little pacifier kept him quiet, even when you were ruthlessly rutting into his growing hardness.

He looked up at you with shiny eyes before his head tilted to the side, giving you a full view of his beautiful, biteable neck.

You stop grinding for a second. You ached to keep staring into those lovely breaking eyes, “Andy, look up.”

He obediently gazed up at you through thick lashes, mouth biting your thumb a little. You kept going, watching as he tried not to lose his locked stare. His hand moved to your wrist, trying to pull to take your thumb out of his mouth, you shushed him in return, pushing it in a little deeper.

“Keep it in,” you ordered softly, starting to grind on his crotch once more. He listened, lightly biting your thumb to suppress his moans. “That’s it, good boy.” You added in a sultry whisper.

Andrew’s eyes shot open, you felt his dick harden almost immediately, the size poking at you through the layers of clothing. He pulled your thumb out of his mouth, his eyes dark with lust. His hands moved to your waist and threw you onto the bed, making you whimper.

You looked up at him as he moved on top of you, caging you into the mattress with his long arms. He grabbed your wrists and held them above your head with just one hand, then pushed his knee between your legs, smiling devilishly at you.

“Grind.” He ordered, his voice stern yet undeniably full of love for you. His thumb found your clit, tracing obnoxiously slow circles over it.

You obediently rubbed against his knee, the dual stimulation of his finger and your actions making your back mold into an arch. You struggled playfully against his grip, moaning softly as your hips moved.

You kept grinding, eventually losing yourself and collapsing onto him. “Awww, that's not all you have in you, is it, baby?” He teased, his grin widening.

“C’mere, let me treat you.” He spoke in a lowered octave, gently nudging you over, as if asking for permission to take you.

You let him guide you over, your eyes hungry, legs wrapping around his waist. He firmly kissed down the side of your face, sinking down to your clavicle, and getting to work, sucking at it for a good few minutes- summoning giggles that quickly turned to moans of pure desperation. When he finally pulled away, what was left of all the sucking and biting was a reddish purple mark that he blew on, the air sending a shiver down your spine.

“Was that okay, darling? I’m sure you have some turtlenecks you can wear for a couple days if you need them.” He continued to kiss down your body, his voice even more rough. “Though I’d rather you didn’t, the idea of you going out with my mark on display is so fucking hot.”

“I work at a library, I can’t just have hickeys on displa— FUCK!” Andrew sucked on your chest, intending to leave another mark while his hand had traveled down to your core again, only to insert two fingers inside you this time, thrusting away any words left in you.

He smiled as he pulled away again, blowing softly on the second mark he’d left, his eyes already scanning your body in search of a spot for the third and fourth ones, all while never stopping his fingers inside you.

His mouth found your tummy just as his thumb found your clit, you moaned loudly, trying to thrust into his fingers but getting stopped by the rest of him on his quest to mark you fully. Not like you’d complain though, you’d be lying if you said the thought of being marked by him all over didn’t turn you on.

The pattern repeated as he went lower, marking your abdomen a few more times while his fingers worked on you, getting you closer to your climax. He sucked on your inner thigh, leaving his last mark on you before replacing his thumb on your clit with his mouth, sucking on it while he fingered you still. You screamed from pleasure, your hands gripping the bed sheets as you felt your orgasm washing down on you in intense waves of ecstasy. He didn’t stop until your legs were shaking and your moans turned into whines, he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, almost making out with your clit before sitting back on his heels.

He put his soaked fingers up to your mouth, you welcomed them, sucking off your essence and making Andrew smile. He took one of your legs and put your ankle over his shoulder, straddling your other one in a way that made his cock perfectly align with your entrance. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, trailing them down in a path that connected all your hickeys and continued down your belly, pressing down on the weak spot right under your belly button.

You giggled, batting your lashes up at him. Truly, you wanted him to fuck you until your guts split, and the best way to get that would be to put on the innocent act— one that you had quickly learned was his favourite. Even if he knew it was little more than that.

He rubbed the tip of his cock over your soaked folds, watching as you tried to keep the little act up. And it was hard, when he was there, with his chest hair and stupid smirking pretty face. When his hair was in a side part, tossing every time he made a sudden move.

He pinned you down with his lean arms. He squeezed into you, feeling your pussy envelope him, squeezing around his cock in just the right way. He didn’t take the time to ease you in, quickly building the pace up, gritting his teeth. He fucked the woman he loved the most in the most feral way possible.

You loved this side of him, your body instinctively moving your legs to where he perfectly hit your g-spot with each needy thrust. You abruptly came after a few of these- making that your second orgasm.

But he kept going, and you kept laying there and looking so utterly fuckable. Legs spread, tits bouncing, eyes rolling back every time he hit your sweet spot.

“God, you're such a pretty thing. Wish I could just stay inside you all day, keeping me warm…”

He kept going. At this point, your eyes couldn't even keep open. Your nails dug into his back as he leaned closer to you, little half-crescents engraving into his pale skin. He was close to you now, chest sweat dripping onto your face. You could feel his hot breath and hear his beautiful moans, and feel the spit dripping out of his growling mouth.

You yelped as a strange sensation took you, snapping him out of it. You whined and wrapped your leg, that had now fallen off his shoulder, around his hips, practically begging for him to continue his thrusts. You didn't even notice at first— it was him who pulled out. He felt your squirt soak his dick, biting his lip, slapping his dick lightly to try and drain you as you squirted all over him.

“Jesus… You just do that, love?” He whispered lowly, dripping in shock— still incredibly turned on.

“No! I… I didn’t know I could…” You said softly, still trying to catch your breath.

He laughed and leaned in, kissing your cheek, “Well, I'm glad to be the one to help you find out, Mmm?”

He was silent for a few beats, then placed his hand tenderly on your cheek, “Are you okay? Can I keep going?”

“Please put it back in…” You begged.

He smiled. “As you wish, my love.”

He did exactly that, pushing back into you, getting lost in your body once more. Sweet moans escaping him as he chased his own release.

He felt his balls growing tighter, moaning in almost your key, his hot seed bursting into you. He gave you a big dorky smile, still slowly fucking in and out as his cock started to soften.

Andrew leaned in and kissed your face all over, still buried inside you, feeling your warmth around him, and, slowly, coming back to earth from the heaven that you’d taken him to. Your arms enveloped him lovingly, he melted in your gentle touch, his heart swelling with love for you. His eyes widened in a split second, realisation setting in.

“Shit, baby, I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t- christ.” He mumbled apologetically, caressing your face, “I’ll make it up to you, I swear, I didn’t mean to, angel.”

You looked at him, slightly confused as to why he was apologising so much.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, slowly getting your strength back.

“I didn’t put a condom on, I’m sorry, I completely forgot, I’ll go to the store and get you the pill.” He apologised again, his voice threatening to break from the nerves.

“Andy, hey, calm down,” you smiled, caressing his face with one of your hands. “It’s fine, I’m on birth control, stop worrying.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, smiling at you with loving eyes. “Thank God,” he chuckled, kissing your lips for a split second, “still, I’m sorry, I should’ve put one on anyway when I didn’t know if you were on birth control or not.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, taking the moment to finally pull out of you, swallowing your soft whines as he did. His cum flowed out of you, the sight of it making Andrew smile darkly. He went to your bathroom and came back with a washcloth, gently cleaning you up.

“The bed’s wet, love, want me to carry you to mine?” He asked, caressing your cheek with all the tenderness in the world.

You nodded in response, then felt his arms wrap around you and carry you to the guest bedroom he’d been staying in. He laid you on the mattress, you yawned, your legs exhausted. You had to admit, you always got so sleepy after sex. Your exes hated it— but Andrew found it so endearing. He gently tucked you in, kissing your sweat-slick forehead.

“You’re so beautiful, angel. Be a good girl and get some good rest for me. You deserve it.” You reached for him with grabby hands as he threw boxers and a big knit sweater on. He smiled at the sight. “I’ll be back, okay? I just have… something to do. Go to sleep for me. Please, angel.”

So, you— being the sweet, obedient angel that you were, fell asleep after just a few seconds. He got up and washed his messy hands, then got to work on your breakfast. He decided on pancakes. Which he was able to make into somewhat perfect hearts.

He put the pancakes, along with fresh berries, on a platter and brought them in after an hour and a half or so.

He placed them on the bedside table, then gently shook you awake.

“Wake up, love, I made breakfast.” He greeted, like he wasn't deep inside you two hours ago.

You looked up at him with a hazy stare, “You can cook?” You mumbled, looking at the plate.

“Of course I can cook. What other way could I have charmed girls?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, sitting up and placing the heated platter on your lap, “No idea.”

He sat next to you, snacking on some of your berries, watching as you ate. He was possibly the biggest loverboy in the world, obsessed with everything you did.

“What?” You ask, noticing his constant puppylike stare

“I don't want to go back to my house. I want to be like this. For as long as you'll have me.”

God, was he an angel. He really thought you'd grow tired of him?

“Then I think you'll be living in this shitty apartment forever, Andrew.”

“Forever?”

“Or until it finally falls apart and the building collapses on our heads, whatever happens first.” You giggled.

“In that case we could move to mine, then.” He suggested, smiling lovingly. “After the bug problem gets fixed, that is.”

“Be nice to the bugs, technically they’re the ones that brought us together.” You teased, kissing him gently.

“I’ll tell the exterminator to be gentle when killing them.” He teased back, returning the kiss passionately.

#hozier fanfiction #hozier fic #hozier #hozier smut #hozier x reader #mornfic #andrew hozier byrne #hozier rpf

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edenesth · 1 year ago

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TWTHH Spinoff: Written in the Stars [2]

Pairing: military strategist!Mingi x royal physician!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 10.3k 🤡

Summary: Mingi had spent countless years searching for the angel who saved his life when he was on the verge of death. He believed god was on his side when she finally reappeared before him, but she was now so near yet so far, so unobtainable. No longer just a young medical trainee, she had become an esteemed royal physician—a woman working within the palace walls. And what did that mean? It meant she now belonged to His Majesty.

Part 1 | Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist

"I still can't believe you actually said yes to him. What happened to love being a luxury for us, hm?" Subin teased, not letting you off the hook since she found out about the military strategist's bold invitation. That was surprising enough, but nothing shocked her more than your acceptance.

You sighed, tightening the bow of your hanbok before heading to the full-length mirror in your room to check your hair. "Oh, stop it. You know this is nothing more than a way to demonstrate our teamwork. Officer Song is a colleague, and we are simply taking the chance to network and show support for the union with Ruhon."

She rolled her eyes. "Sure, you keep telling yourself that, unnie."

You truly didn’t want to think much of it.

You were already planning to attend the banquet anyway, with or without Mingi's invitation. As one of the more senior and recognised royal physicians in the palace, your attendance at these events was mostly expected. While his attempts to spend time with you hadn't gone unnoticed, you treated them as nothing but friendly gestures.

As you finished adjusting your hanbok, you resolved to keep things strictly professional. Whatever he thought might happen, you would make it clear that you were unavailable. You would convince him to give up, knowing his efforts would only be in vain.

Right, let's get this over with.

The evening of the banquet arrived, and the palace buzzed with activity. Lanterns illuminated the courtyards, and the air was filled with music and laughter. Excitement filled you as you stepped out of the female physicians' quarters to find the tall and dashing military strategist already waiting. He wore a grand hanbok, a stark contrast to his usual training clothes. His hair was slicked back, and his hands were clasped behind his back as he paced, eyes fixed on the ground.

You took a deep breath to calm your racing heartbeat. After all, you were only human, and this was a stunning man before you. But you had to remind yourself that nothing was ever going to happen between you two and that you had only agreed to attend the event with him as a gesture of camaraderie.

Nothing more, nothing less.

After composing yourself, you cleared your throat and called out, "Officer Song, you really didn't have to come all the way here. I could have just met you at the grand hall along with everyone else."

Mingi perked up, his heart thundering at the sound of your voice. When he turned to face you, his breath momentarily caught at the sight of you so dressed up. You were always beautiful to him, but tonight, you were even more enchanting.

He bowed slightly and stepped closer. "You look… perfect, my lady."

You blinked rapidly, hoping the blush you felt wasn’t obvious on your face. He continued, "Of course, I had to come here. What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t? More importantly, you're not just anyone else to me, Royal Physician Ahn. You're my—"

Not wanting to hear the rest, you flashed a large, courteous smile. "Ah, we should probably head over if we don't want to be late. Let us go, Officer Song," you said, cutting him off. His smile faltered slightly before he nodded. "R-right, let us."

Throughout the night, the military strategist remained faithfully by your side. Unfortunately, his attentive gestures did not go unnoticed by those around you, leaving you flustered and repeatedly clarifying that you were merely colleagues.

"Really, Royal Physician Ahn? That's a shame, you two would make a beautiful couple," teased Lady Park. You sputtered, choking on your drink. She panicked and reached over to pat you on the back, glancing at a very concerned Mingi who was conversing with the general. With a reassuring smile, she mouthed, "I'll take care of her."

Officer Song resisted rolling his eyes as Seonghwa smiled dreamily at his adorable wife, not realising he was just as guilty of it—if only he knew he looked the same whenever you were around.

"I-I'm fine. Thank you, Lady Park. But I assure you, nothing can happen between us. It is forbidden; I am a woman of the palace."

The pregnant woman grinned in response. "So, are you saying that if you weren't a palace woman, you definitely would have given General Officer Song a chance?"

You sighed, offering her a half-hearted smile. "There's no use pondering that, my lady. It's impossible," you whispered the last part.

She softened, touching your shoulder gently. "Nothing is impossible if only you desire it hard enough, my dear."

Your heart warmed at her words, but you knew better than to believe them. With an appreciative nod, you gestured to her baby bump. "So, how has pregnancy been treating you, my lady?" you asked, steering the conversation away from dangerous territory. You were afraid of temptations and could not afford to give in to any of them.

The conversation with Lady Park was cut short when a certain fourth prince appeared behind her, hesitantly taking an uncertain step forward. You blinked, trying not to stare too obviously, but she noticed your eyes shifting toward something over her shoulder.

With furrowed brows, she wondered aloud, "Just what are you looking at, Royal Physician Ahn?" She turned and froze upon locking eyes with Prince Yeosang. As she moved to bow, he hurriedly reached out to stop her, gently holding her by her forearms.

"It's been a while, my lady. Would you… care to catch up?" he asked.

She bit her lip, turning to meet her husband's warm gaze. Seonghwa nodded, signalling that the decision was up to her, and she excused herself to speak with her friend. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the prince's one-sided feelings for Lady Park persisted. Everyone in Joseon had heard of His Highness' not-so-subtle advances back then. The gossip at that time was quite juicy, but it was good to see him accepting defeat gracefully. The once bratty fourth prince had disappeared; it seemed the general's wife truly had a strong hold on his heart, changing him for the better even with her firm rejection.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your chaperone reappeared by your side. You weren't sure how to feel around the gentle giant. His presence was both comforting and unnerving.

"Everything alright?" Mingi asked softly, concern evident in his eyes.

"Yes, everything is fine," you replied, smiling up at him. "Just a bit of palace drama."

He chuckled, nodding in understanding. "Palace drama indeed. Shall we continue to mingle, or would you like to take a break?"

You appreciated his attentiveness, but the whirlwind of emotions from the evening had left you feeling somewhat drained. "A break sounds nice," you admitted.

Mingi beckoned for you to follow and you did, allowing him to lead you to a quieter corner of the grand hall. As you walked, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. The evening was proving to be far more eventful than you had anticipated, and you knew you had to stay vigilant against his allurements that seemed to be lurking at every turn.

As you both reached a more secluded area, he quickly said, "Wait here, I'll get you something to drink."

You sighed, reaching for his arm. "You don't have to do that, Officer Song. I don't want anyone to misunderstand. I've been meaning to tell you: there's nothing between us, and there never will be."

He paused, turning to face you properly. You looked away almost immediately, guilt gnawing at you as you caught a glimpse of the hurt reflected in his eyes. A heavy silence settled between you, each struggling to collect your thoughts.

Mingi knew winning your heart wouldn't be easy, but the early rejection still stung deeply. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but steady. "I understand your concerns, truly. But my intentions are genuine. I'm sorry if I've caused you any discomfort or misunderstanding. I just want you to know how much I care."

You bit your lip, the sincerity in his words making it even harder. "I appreciate your honesty, but I have my duties and responsibilities. My life is here in the palace, and I can't afford distractions."

He nodded slowly, taking a step back to give you space. "I respect your dedication. I just… before I let you go, there's one thing I need to know. We've actually met each other years ago. Did you… did you remember me when you saw me again?"

Your expression remained unreadable as you mustered a response. After what felt like an eternity, with the military strategist standing with bated breath and his heart pounding in his ears, you finally met his eyes and softly said, "No, I'm afraid don't know what you're talking about. I'm sorry, Officer Song…"

His heart sank. "Oh."

The weight of his disappointment hung in the air. He took a step back, struggling to mask the hurt that flashed across his face. He had held onto the hope that perhaps, even faintly, you had remembered him. That tiny hope had been a beacon for him, a justification for his persistence. But now, it seemed all for naught.

What if His Majesty had been right?

"That's… that's okay," he finally said, forcing a weak smile. "I must have been mistaken."

You nodded, the guilt intensifying as you watched him grapple with his emotions. "I'm really sorry. Perhaps you have."

Except that was a complete lie.

You remembered. In truth, you had never forgotten. How could you? To have seen Song Mingi in person was to understand that he wasn't someone easy to forget, even when pale and sickly on his deathbed. He was undeniably gorgeous. Beyond his appearance and physique, his warm gaze, soft touch, and sweet words lingered in your memory, impossible to leave behind.

You'd recognised him since day one.

It took everything in you to maintain a composed façade and steady your racing heart as you locked eyes with the military strategist for the first time in years. Before you stood a man, well and strong, embodying everything you had ever wanted.

But you had to quell your desires, silence your dreams, and dismiss any thoughts of the impossible. Years had passed, and you had assumed he was married by now. Later, you discovered he wasn't.

Yet, it changed nothing.

You were now a palace woman, and that sealed the hopelessness of your situation. So you chose to pretend, to feign ignorance of your shared past. It was for the best—for him and for you.

Sometimes, you wondered if you were trying to convince him or yourself more. It was the very reason you dreaded seeing him; not out of dislike or annoyance, but because you were just as captivated by him as he was by you. Had you been an ordinary physician outside the palace walls, you would have accepted his love in a heartbeat.

But things were different now.

Rules were rules.

You and General Officer Song were a beautiful impossibility, and you had to do everything to keep it that way.

Yet, his constant presence was a quiet storm, eroding your resolve. Every gentle gesture, each attempt to show he could protect and cherish you, made it increasingly difficult. His persistence, so tender and genuine, weakened your defences, and you were frightened—terrified, even—of the feelings blooming within you.

Why must he be so cruel?

His kindness, his sincerity, his unwavering dedication—they all tugged at your heartstrings, weakening your defenses. Every time he appeared with that soft smile, every time he looked at you with those earnest eyes, it became increasingly difficult to remember why you had to keep him at arm's length.

And tonight, standing in the secluded corner of the grand hall, facing the man you had spent years trying to forget, you felt your carefully constructed walls begin to crumble. The reality of your situation pressed heavily on you, a constant reminder of the boundaries that could not be crossed.

Song Mingi, with his genuine concern and quiet strength, embodied everything you had ever wanted but could never have. His mere presence was a cruel reminder of what could have been in another life, another world. A world where you were free to love him without consequence.

But you weren't in that world. You were here, bound by duty and rules that were impossible to break. So you swallowed your feelings, pushed down the burgeoning hope, and forced yourself to remember the impossible nature of your situation.

Because letting yourself love him—truly, deeply love him—would only lead to heartache for you both. And you couldn't bear the thought of causing him any more pain than you already have.

You sighed, swallowing the lump forming in your throat as you gazed up at him solemnly. "I, uh… I'm feeling rather tired. I shall retire to my quarters for the night. Thank you for accompanying me tonight, Officer Song. It truly is a joy to befriend Lady Park. It's also wonderful to finally see Joseon and Ruhon getting along well. It seems like things are really looking up for us."

But they weren't.

Both of you thought it, but neither dared to say it aloud.

You smiled courteously, bowing respectfully. "Goodnight, Officer Song. I hope you enjoy the rest of the banquet with your friends."

Just as you turned to leave, he reached out an arm to stop you, though not touching you. Damn it. Damn him and his gentlemanly gestures. "Wait, my lady. Please allow me to escort you back—"

You bowed again, cutting him off, afraid to hear the rest of it. "Please enjoy the rest of the banquet."

With that, you left, leaving behind a strong man staring longingly after you like a lovesick puppy. You didn't have the courage to spare a final glance at him, knowing another look at his pleading eyes would make you give in, and you couldn't have that. Not now. Not ever. You needed to put an end to this.

As you walked away, your heart ached with every step. The distance between you and Mingi grew, but the weight of your emotions only became heavier. The grand hall's festive atmosphere faded into the background as you focused on maintaining your resolve.

Arriving back at the female physician's quarters, you couldn't summon the energy to put on yet another fake smile for Subin. Your friend waited excitedly for you by the entrance, but her beam faltered as she registered the expression on your face.

"You told him to stop, didn't you?" she asked softly, reaching over to grab your hand.

You nodded wordlessly, too weary to say anything more. Subin wrapped an arm around your shoulder, guiding you into your room, murmuring, "It'll be okay… I'm here."

You broke into a tiny smile, leaning into her hold appreciatively. Her warmth and understanding were a balm to your frayed nerves. As you settled into the familiar comfort of your quarters, the weight of the evening began to lift, if only slightly.

Subin's presence was a reminder that you weren't alone, even in your struggle to keep your feelings at bay. She helped you sit down, then knelt beside you, her eyes filled with concern and compassion.

"I know it's hard," she said gently, "but you're strong. You did what you had to do."

You sighed, closing your eyes as you leaned back against the wall. "I just... I can't believe I'm saying this, but I just wish things were different, you know?"

She nodded, squeezing your hand. "I know, unnie. But remember, you're not alone in this. We'll get through it together. Besides, you said it yourself: we have each other, and we have our duty. That's enough. It has to be."

Her words, though simple, offered a small measure of solace. You knew the path ahead would be challenging and that things with the military strategist would never be the same again, but with her by your side, you felt a glimmer of hope.

"Trust me, you'll get over it in no time."

God, I sure hope so.

Meanwhile, Mingi did his best to keep it together for the rest of the event. After all, you had told him to enjoy it with his friends, so he did—or at least he tried his hardest. Feigning a huge grin, he returned to General Park and Royal Secretary Choi's side, casually mentioning that you had retired early. He didn’t want to burden them with his love troubles; the last thing he wanted was their pity. He didn't need to feel any worse than he already did.

Despite having braced himself for the possibility of hearing those words, the pain of your rejection cut deep. "There's nothing between us, and there never will be." Those words echoed in his mind like a broken record as he lay in bed that night, unable to find solace in sleep. He was caught between the urge to fight harder for you and the need to honour your wishes.

Yet, he couldn't shake the image of your face when he asked if you remembered him. The fleeting look of conflict troubled him deeply. Why did you seem so torn? Why did you hesitate? Could you have been lying? If so, why hide the truth? He needed answers. Whether or not you would ever be his, he needed to know them.

Mingi resolved to seek those answers, slowly and carefully. In the process, he hoped to soften your seemingly hardened heart, guarded by steel walls that showed cracks despite your efforts to conceal them. He might have been a fool most of the time, but his attentiveness had never been keener than now. All for you. Because he believed fate must have brought you back into his life for a reason.

"You good, hyung?" Junghoon asked, feeling his mentor shift on the bed for what seemed like the thousandth time that night.

The older man nodded despite the internal turmoil within him. "Yeah, I'm fine. Go to sleep already, young man."

"I'm trying... if only you'd stop moving."

Heaving a sigh, Mingi turned to face his apprentice. "Hey, what do you think it means when a woman tells you to stop pursuing her but looks really sad while saying it?"

The younger man rolled his eyes. There goes my sleep, he thought as he pushed himself up into a seated position, legs folded and hands intertwined. "Alright, sit your dumbass up. Time for Love Lessons for Dummies 101."

"Are you sure this is going to work? She's not—" Mingi's words were cut off by his apprentice, who mocked him with air quotes. "'Not like other girls.' Yeah, yeah, I know. That's what every man says about his crush. Trust me, women are all the same. Nothing melts their hearts more than an attentive and caring man. Now go before she's already out for her lunch break."

Junghoon had finally convinced his mentor to see his dream girl after avoiding the royal medical hall for nearly a week, giving you the space you needed. But Mingi knew that to win your heart, he couldn’t stay away. He'd have to approach gently and slowly.

With a handmade lunchbox in hand, the military strategist's first mission was to show you he wasn’t bound by gender norms, relegating kitchen tasks only to women. He wanted to demonstrate what having a husband like him would be like. If you wished, he could drop by each day with lunch prepared just for you.

His heart pounded with anticipation when he arrived at the medical hall for the first time in what felt like forever. He had missed you like crazy, each day without seeing you dragging on like a year. As he stepped inside and approached the counter, confusion set in when you were nowhere in sight. Could you have gone out with the first batch of royal physicians for your lunch break? That was odd; you always preferred the second batch.

"Good day, Officer Song. Are you injured or feeling unwell?" one of your colleagues asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. Mingi blinked and cleared his throat. "N-no, I'm here for Royal Physician Ahn. Is she already out for lunch?"

Your colleague suppressed a knowing grin, pursing her lips before answering, "She's not. She hasn't been in for a few days now. She's been down with food poisoning ever since attending the royal banquet with you."

Mingi felt his heart sink.

He muttered a quick thanks and dashed out, his feet moving automatically towards the female physicians' quarters. Nothing else mattered; he needed to see you, to know you were okay, to apologise for not taking better care of you that night.

Meanwhile, you pressed your face into your pillow, curling into a ball and clutching the comforter around you as another stab of pain hit your stomach. The discomfort was unbearable, making it impossible to go to work today. Seeing your agony, the head of the royal physicians had allowed you a day or two to feel better before returning to the royal medical hall.

As the pain subsided and you slowly felt a wave of drowsiness enveloping you, an unusual rustle from outside alerted you. Someone was there. But who? Everyone else should be at work. Was it Subin coming to check on you? Your thoughts were interrupted when your breath hitched, realising a man's silhouette was standing by your room entrance through the paper walls.

What fool would dare come here, a place meant only for women? Not even eunuchs were allowed in, let alone a well-built man of his stature. Was it a prison escapee? Lord knows what he'd do if he found you alone. Before you could attempt to get up and go someplace safe, another sharp pain hit, and the wince you let out was inevitable. Unfortunately, the man heard you and immediately reached to pull the doors open.

As the door slid open, your heart raced, fear gripping you as you braced for the worst. But instead of a stranger, you saw Mingi's concerned face. His eyes widened in alarm as he rushed to your side.

"Physician Ahn, are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

"O-Officer Song? What in the world are you doing here?" you managed to say between breaths, the pain still lingering.

"I heard you were sick. I had to make sure you were okay," he replied, his voice softening as he knelt beside your bed.

The concern in his eyes was genuine, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, a small part of you felt relieved. "You're not supposed to... you shouldn't be here," you whispered, the rules and propriety still at the forefront of your mind.

"I know, but I couldn't stay away," he said, gently placing a hand on your arm. "I'm here to make up for my mistake. I should have been more attentive. This is all my fault."

You frowned, pushing yourself up to a sitting position as the pain subsided again. "What do you mean by that? How is any of this your fault? This has nothing to do with you."

He sighed. "Nonsense. If only I’d been more attentive to what they served you at the banquet, you wouldn’t have been suffering from food poisoning this badly."

"F-food poisoning...? Who told you that?" you asked, already having a clue. He twiddled his fingers nervously. "One of your colleagues. I was at the medical hall earlier and you weren’t there. She told me you were sick, and I came here as fast as I could..."

Squeezing your eyes shut, you were exasperated at your friends’ mischievousness. They hadn’t let you live it down since learning you had gone to the royal banquet with the military strategist, though they didn’t know what had transpired between you two or how the night had ended. The teasing was one thing, but you didn’t think they’d actually go this far. But of course, they probably didn’t think this fool would actually come here himself instead of sending a court lady to check on you.

You sighed. "I don't have food poisoning… it's just that time of the month. You know, the women thing…" His eyes widened in horror, and his cheeks turned red with embarrassment. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, muttering, "Gosh, why'd she lie about this?"

You pulled your comforter close as another cramp hit. "Listen, I'm not in the mood to talk right now. Besides, you really shouldn't be here. I appreciate you checking on me, but you should leave. We'd both be in huge trouble if someone saw you here."

He nodded quickly, gesturing to the bag he had brought with him. "Right, I-I'll leave immediately. These are for you, by the way. I made them myself. Please enjoy them when you're feeling hungry."

Usually, you would have melted at that, but you really needed him gone. "Yes, thank you."

As if the world had something against you, just as the military strategist neared the door, another familiar silhouette appeared at the entrance. "Are you feeling any better, my dear? I've come with some heat packs to soothe the cramps," the head of the royal physicians called out, her hands reaching for the door handle.

Mingi froze, and you panicked, all menstrual pain forgotten as you jumped out of bed and rushed towards him, exclaiming loudly, "I'm feeling much better, Head Physician Seo! Thank you for your concern. Would you give me a minute? I'm not properly dressed."

You sighed in relief when that worked like a charm as she removed her hand from the door handle and took a step back. "Oh, my apologies. Of course, let me know when you're ready."

Scanning the room in alarm, you hurried to the cabinet that usually held your mattress, pillows, and comforters when you weren't sleeping, now empty. "Get in here, quick!" you whispered urgently. He obeyed, moving as stealthily as he could to avoid making a sound and raising suspicion.

Oh god, can things get any worse today?

After shooting him a stern look and pressing your pointer finger against your lips to signal a firm 'be quiet,' you shut the cabinet doors and took a deep breath. Plastering on a huge smile, you opened the door for your superior, letting her in. She smiled warmly, handing you the heat packs she'd brought. "Is everything okay? I thought I heard someone in here earlier."

Your breath caught as you noticed Mingi's bag still by your bed. Quickly moving to conceal it with your hanbok, you feigned innocence. "Huh, really? That's weird. It's only me. I'm sure it's nothing."

She shrugged and nodded. "You're probably right. I guess all the lack of sleep must be getting to me. Well then, it’s good to see you doing better. I shall get back to work then."

You mustered a fake laugh. "That must be it, ma'am. Thank you so much for the heat packs. I really appreciate it."

She patted your cheeks softly. "Anything for my best physician. Hope to see you back at work tomorrow."

You nodded, waving goodbye as she left. As you shut the door, exhaustion overwhelmed you, and you sank to your knees. The cabinet doors creaked open as the tall man emerged, muttering, "Phew, that was close—"

As if jinxing it, your superior returned. "Oh yes, my dear!" she called through the door.

Rushing up to Mingi, you smacked a palm over his mouth to shut him up as you answered her, "Yes, ma'am?"

She chuckled. "I heard that General Officer Song of yours dropped by the medical hall earlier, seemingly with lunch prepared for you. Don't be so hard on him, hm? I know we’re not allowed to love, but he's a sweet guy. At least be a friend to him. We’re still allowed to have friends, you know? Please don’t deprive yourself of that right too."

You swallowed, meeting Mingi’s eyes as they softened at your pained expression. "I understand. Thank you, ma'am."

Finally, she left for good this time. Eyes locked with his, you pondered her words. Could you really be friends with this man? Just... friends? Perhaps that was all you could ever be.

In that moment of closeness, you became acutely aware of your position, your hand still covering his mouth, his hands gently supporting you on your back. The atmosphere crackled with tension until it was broken by the rumble of his stomach. Flustered, you withdrew, your heart racing.

What in the world just happened...?

With a nervous bite of your lip, you dared to break the silence. "You uhh... haven't eaten either, have you?"

He shook his head bashfully, his eyes reflecting a mix of embarrassment and longing. "No, I haven't."

Oh, to hell with it.

You gestured towards the lunch he had brought. "Join me then."

Things had obviously shifted between you since then, and it did not go unnoticed by those around you. General Officer Song started coming by the medical hall at least once a week, no longer pretending to have an injury but simply to share lunch with you.

As friends.

That was what you told your friends, colleagues and every other palace staff whenever they tried to tease you. Yes, friends. That was all there was to it. All you both were ever going to be. Nothing more, nothing less. Just friends. Good friends. That was all you would allow… all you were allowed, really.

But you were happy with it. You had to be. It wasn't something you had a say in.

This was your life.

Mingi's visits became an oddly comforting routine. Every week, he would show up with a handmade lunch, and you would sit together, talking and laughing. The bond between you grew stronger, and although you constantly reminded yourself that you were just friends, there was an undeniable warmth in your interactions.

One afternoon, after the military strategist had patiently waited for you to finish caring for a patient, the two of you shared lunch in a quiet corner of the medical hall. He looked at you with a soft, contemplative expression. "You know," he began, "the first time I saw you, I thought you were the most admirable woman to exist. I'm glad I wasn't wrong. You really are an angel sent by the heavens."

You felt a flutter in your chest but quickly suppressed it, grinning softly. "Am I really? You know I'm not the only female physician around. The others are just as admirable."

Yes, but they're not you.

He nodded, though his eyes held a depth of emotion you couldn't quite decipher. "I suppose you're right," he said gently.

Not wanting to dwell on the serious atmosphere, you playfully nudged him on the shoulder. "Of course I am. I'm always right. And I bet you were a complete crybaby the day we first met, wailing like a child as you received treatment."

He scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically and feigning offence. "I was not. I'll have you know I was the most courageous soldier on site that day."

Brave enough to ask you out.

"Sure you were," you mocked sarcastically, sticking your tongue out at him. Your heart warmed internally because he was right. You remembered how calm he was despite the pain he endured. But he could never know you remembered. Never. That would complicate things too much, and you didn't need that. Not now, not ever.

Things were perfect as they were.

Or were they?

Irked by your teasing, he swiftly reached out to snatch a piece of dumpling—your favourite—from your lunchbox and stuffed it into his mouth as revenge. You let out a surprised yelp, smacking him on the arm. "Wha—hey! That was my last piece! Give it back, Song Mingi!" Your laughter filled the space as you wrestled with him, his eyes disappearing into adorable slits as he hurriedly chewed on the dumpling, annoying you with it. He chortled, speaking through his mouth full, "Ha! That's what you get!"

The fun was abruptly cut short when the head of the royal physicians appeared at the doorway. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked, her tone light but curious.

You sputtered and shook your head, immediately pushing yourself off the tall man. "Absolutely not, ma'am. He was just about to leave. We're done eating," you said, glaring playfully at Mingi as he swallowed the last of your dumpling.

The military strategist bowed respectfully to the elderly woman, seizing the opportunity to escape your wrath. "I apologise for taking up so much of Royal Physician Ahn's time. I'll leave at once," he said.

She shook her head, smiling warmly. "Don't apologise. I'm not sure I've seen Physician Ahn this happy in a good while. Please stay for a bit more if you wish, Officer Song."

Both your cheeks grew warm at her words as Mingi scrambled to pack up his belongings and leave, clearly shy. "Thank you, ma'am, but I really shouldn't. Besides, I have training to attend as well."

With a final bow to you both, he was gone, leaving you standing there, your heart still racing from the sudden interruption and the unexpected compliment from your superior.

Head Physician Seo approached you, a knowing smile on her face. "You and General Officer Song seem really close. Are you sure there's nothing more going on?"

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. "We're good friends. That's all."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. "Well, as long as you're happy. I'm glad you took my advice and allowed him in."

You nodded, reaffirming your own belief. "You were right, it's nice to have someone who genuinely understands and cares."

In the back of your mind, you couldn't ignore the ache of wanting something more, but you reminded yourself that this was your reality. And so, you continued to cherish the time spent with him, finding solace in the friendship that had blossomed between you.

As the weeks turned into months, the boundaries of your friendship were constantly tested. Every shared smile, every lingering glance, and every comforting touch made it harder to maintain the illusion. Deep down, you both knew what you had was special, even if you could never openly acknowledge it.

Despite the constraints, you found happiness in the moments you shared. Each lunch, each conversation, and each quiet moment of understanding reinforced the bond between you. The stolen glances when no one was looking, the way he would subtly take care of you, and the warmth that filled your heart when he was near—it all painted a picture of a love that couldn't be spoken.

In the silence of the night, when you lay awake thinking about him, you allowed yourself to dream of a different life. A life where societal expectations didn't dictate your choices, and you could be free to express your true feelings. But for now, those dreams remained just that—dreams.

You took comfort in the friendship that had become an integral part of your life. It was a bittersweet reality, but one you had come to accept. And in those precious moments you shared, you found a contentment that made the impossible feel almost within reach.

Meanwhile, Mingi found himself growing more hopeful with every step closer to you. Though it hurt to hear you remind everyone that what you shared was merely friendship, he was almost certain you returned his feelings. Yet, he didn’t want to make assumptions; he needed to hear it from you. He was prepared to wait a long time, even forever, as long as you continued to allow him to be near you. This closeness was already more than he had ever hoped for, and a part of him had accepted that this might be the way things were meant to be.

Being friends was better than nothing.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," Junghoon smirked before letting out a whine as his mentor hit him on the back.

"Shut up, kid. What do you know about love anyway? Taking advice from you nearly got me and her in trouble," Mingi grumbled.

The apprentice rolled his eyes, rubbing his back. "Oh, please, don't act like it didn't help you get close to her. I dare you to say you didn’t enjoy having her pressed up against you that day, keeping your mouth shut with her hand, all alone in her room—"

Mingi slapped a hand over the younger man’s mouth, eyes wide and face burning with embarrassment. "If you don't shut your trap right now, I'll tell His Majesty you’d like to quit and join the eunuchs."

That was all it took to silence Junghoon.

Truthfully, the apprentice was right, being close to you had made Mingi greedy for your affections. He often wondered what it would be like to have you willingly run into his arms. But the military strategist knew that was probably as far as he would ever get. Friends were not meant to be any closer than that, and he had come to accept it. If only you would stop making things more difficult.

One day, a soldier was seriously injured during training due to faulty weapons, and the royal medical hall was notified. You appeared at the training grounds with Subin beside you not long after, slightly out of breath as your eyes searched hastily for something or… someone. When you didn’t find who you were looking for, you blurted out, "Where's Officer Song? Is he okay?"

The soldiers greeting you furrowed their brows in confusion. "Officer Song…? Yes, he's fine. It's not him who got injured. Did someone tell you that by mistake?"

You sputtered messily, flustered for giving yourself away, while your childhood friend suppressed her giggle beside you. "O-oh, no... I just... I assumed it was him since he gets injured nearly every week. Never mind that, please take us to the injured soldier."

"Yes, my lady. Come with me."

Quickly, you followed the man, eyes glued to his back, not wanting to catch any knowing glances thrown your way. Unbeknownst to you, Song Mingi was hidden by a stand and had heard everything, struggling to keep the smile off his face at your concern. Were you thinking about him just as much as he thought about you? Were you worried about him? Did you... feel the same?

He desperately wanted to hear it from you but dared not ask the questions, fearing the answers you'd give him—answers that he knew would never reflect your true feelings. He watched you tend to the injured soldier from a distance, the smile lingering on his face, feeling a warmth that hadn’t been there before. Though it stung to always be reminded that what you shared was nothing more than friendship, he clung to the moments when your actions betrayed your words, showing a deeper, unspoken bond.

For now, he would be content with this.

Until he couldn't.

He arrived at the medical hall the next day with lunchboxes in hand, ready to spend time with you as usual. Instead, he was met with the devastating news that you had been dispatched to a plague-ridden village to provide assistance. His heart fell, and his world crumbled.

"I don't understand. What do you mean she's gone, my King? She was just here yesterday."

"Forget her, Officer Song. I told you it's impossible to be with her," said the ruler, rubbing a hand on his temple. "She volunteered to go without hesitation. I think you have your answer loud and clear. And as much I hate to say this, we're not sure she will return from this trip. Most physicians going on such missions are like soldiers going to war; they risk their lives and could be gone for months or even years. You deserve someone who can stay by your side."

The King's words cut deep, but Mingi's mind was a whirlwind of worry and despair. The thought of you in danger, far away, made it hard for him to breathe. The idea of losing you, of not knowing if you were safe or if you would ever come back, was unbearable.

"Where is this village, Your Majesty?"

The elderly man sighed deeply, shaking his head. "What will it take for you to give up? You'll only end up in pain, as if you haven't already been in enough pain. She has denied all your attempts from the start. Why do you do this to yourself, hm?"

Officer Song clenched his fists, his voice trembling with emotion. "Because love isn't about possession. Love is unconditional. I don't care if she will never accept my love in this life; I will continue to be there for her, to protect and care for her as long as I am alive. I'll be damned if I let her face all that danger on her own. So, I'm asking again, Your Majesty, where exactly is this village?"

The desperation in his voice was palpable, the rawness of his love laid bare. He would do anything, go anywhere, to ensure your safety. For the military strategist, there was no greater purpose than being there for you, no matter the cost.

Meanwhile, you struggled to keep yourself together as you arrived at the terror-stricken village. The place had been overtaken by a sudden, rapidly spreading disease, claiming lives at a frightening pace. Violently woken in the middle of the night by Head Physician Seo, you joined the royal physicians gathered in the main hall to hear the grim news. Guri, the very village where you and Subin had lost everything, was now cursed with another wave of illness, intent on wiping out the population and destroying families again.

But you were stronger now.

You would rather die trying than let more innocent villagers endure what you did all those years ago. This time, you were capable of saving lives. Without a second thought, you and your friend volunteered to go. It wasn't until you were in the carriage that you remembered a certain Officer Song. Crestfallen, you realised that perhaps this was all for the best. Maybe, with your absence, he could finally move on and find someone with whom he could have a future, instead of being held back by you.

And you... you would be doing the very thing you had trained for all your life. There was no time to dwell on matters of the heart.

Forget him, lives are at stake.

As you arrived in Guri, the sight was both familiar and heartbreaking. The streets were eerily quiet, with only the occasional sound of distant weeping or the hollow coughs of the afflicted. You, Subin, and the rest of the royal physicians immediately set to work; assessing the situation and organising the sick villagers for treatment.

"Help my mother, please!"

"It hurts, make it stop!"

"I don't want to die yet... I'm scared."

Doing your best to calm the terrified villagers, your mind was a whirlwind of medical procedures and strategies to contain the spread. Every moment was a battle against time, a race to save as many lives as possible. But amidst the chaos, thoughts of Mingi lingered at the edge of your mind. His gummy smile, his stupidly cute laughter, the way his eyes lit up when he saw you—they all haunted you, a bittersweet reminder of what you had left behind.

Sometimes, it felt like those thoughts of him were the only thing keeping you going. Nearly a week had passed, and the situation had only slightly improved. With minimal sleep and just enough food to keep you alive, you worked tirelessly to tend to the sick. All the while, you wished you had a certain tall, handsome, and silly strategist to help lighten the constantly heavy atmosphere. At this point, you had lost count of the times you had imagined him by your side. The imagination could be so vivid, you were convinced you were hallucinating from the immense lack of rest.

"Need a hand, my lady?"

You froze, your actions of reaching for the top shelf of the makeshift clinic for some medicine halted at the familiar voice that had been haunting your well-being for the past week. Shit, were you hearing things now? Surely, it was the sleep deprivation acting up.

It can't be.

But then, you turned around, and there he was. General Officer Song, standing in the doorway, looking just as real and solid as ever. His eyes held a mix of concern and determination, and he was carrying a medical kit of his own.

"Mingi?" you whispered, almost afraid that speaking his name would shatter the illusion.

He stepped closer, a gentle smile on his face. "Yes, it's me. I'm here."

To his surprise, you were angry when you realised it was really him and not just a hallucination. "What… in the world are you doing here?" you questioned, your voice filled with frustration and disbelief.

His smile fell. "I came to help—"

You cut him off. "This isn't a joke, Song Mingi! This is serious. People are dying! You shouldn't be here just because you wish to keep pursuing me or anything stupid!"

His expression hardened with determination. "That's exactly why I'm here—because I can't lose you!"

You were left speechless, grappling with the rush of emotions at his sudden presence as well as his words. You felt conflicted, overwhelmed by the happiness that he was really here in the flesh, anger at his recklessness, fear for his survival, and frustration because you wanted so badly to run to him but knew you could not.

After what felt like an eternity, you sighed and tossed him a handkerchief. "Cover your nose and mouth with this at all times. Since you're here, make yourself useful. Get that bag of herbs and come with me. We have no time to waste."

As he opened his mouth to speak, you shot him a warning glare. "Save your breath. If you do not intend to work, please leave."

With a firm nod, he complied, grabbing the bag of herbs and following you into the chaos. Despite the tension, having him there added a strange sense of comfort and determination, and together, you continued to fight the disease that had plagued Guri.

The entire day passed by in a blur, just like the previous ones. There was not a moment of respite as you rushed around, with Mingi following you obediently, doing as he was told without question. Subin and your other colleagues raised surprised brows at his presence, but the situation left no room for teasing or questions.

At the end of the day, even when things had calmed down a little and most villagers were asleep, your work was far from done. You sat by the bed of a small child who was badly affected by the disease, your tired hands rinsing and wringing a towel repeatedly, wiping the sweat from his tiny head over and over to ensure his fever didn’t worsen. Mingi remained by your side, watching you care for the child.

Sensing your lethargic movements, he gently offered, "Here, let me do it." He reached out for the cloth, and you gave in, handing it to him. He took your spot, and you moved aside to make space for him on the bed, finally having the opportunity to take a good look at him since his arrival.

His face was etched with concern and determination, his usual playful demeanour replaced by a steadfast resolve. He worked with a quiet intensity, carefully tending to the child as if his life depended on it. The sight filled you with a mixture of emotions—gratitude, admiration, and a touch of sorrow.

"You shouldn't have come," you whispered, the weight of the day's events pressing down on you. "But... thank you."

He glanced at you, his eyes softening. "I had to. I couldn’t just stay behind knowing you were here, facing this alone."

You sighed, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I'm sorry for the harsh words I said. I was just... worried about you. I still am."

"And I was worried about you," he replied, his voice firm yet gentle. "We’re in this together now. We'll get through it."

Shaking your head, you squeezed your eyes shut. "It's not going to be easy. You don't understand… this, Mingi. This village was once my home. I was born here, and for the first few years of my life, I had a family. Until a plague, one similar to this one, broke out, taking my parents and siblings, leaving me with nothing," you explained, your voice breaking as you finally revealed your past.

He sat, shell-shocked, learning about your tragic history for the first time. He hadn’t known you had endured such a tough life, and it only strengthened his affection and admiration for you. You were even stronger than he had perceived.

"And that's why I was so afraid of seeing you here," you continued, your voice trembling. "Because I… I can't lose you too."

His breath hitched at your words, a moment of silence enveloping the room before he dared to cover your hand gently with his bigger one, whispering a soft, "Really?"

Embarrassed, you cleared your throat and nodded, avoiding his eyes. "Yes, because you're a good friend to me."

He chuckled, nodding in defeat. "Right, of course." He knew better than to expect anything more by now. He was just glad you no longer pushed him away.

That was all that mattered.

The following days settled into the same gruelling routine, but your shoulders undeniably felt lighter with Mingi's presence. His unwavering support and the arrival of the physicians who had raised you and Subin provided much-needed relief. Their presence brought a sense of comfort and familiarity.

On a slower day, the military strategist sat with one of the senior physicians, assisting with brewing medicine. Catching the tall man's eyes glued to your busy figure in the next room, Kyungsoo, who had been like an older brother to you, smiled and remarked, "Quite the workaholic, isn't she? Nothing can stop her from working. She's been that way for as long as we can all remember."

"She really is," Officer Song replied.

Through your mentors, he learned more about your childhood years. Kyungsoo shared stories of how hard you had worked and studied to get where you were, all to repay them for taking you in. Mingi now saw the depth of your dedication and the sacrifices you had made to become the renowned royal physician you are today.

As he watched you tirelessly care for the villagers, a realisation struck him. It might be selfish to want to tie you down in marriage just because he thought he loved you. If he truly loved you, he should let you do what you loved. You had fought so hard to achieve your dreams; how could he possibly take that away from you?

His heart ached as he finally understood the wisdom in His Majesty's words. Maybe you really were not meant to be, not in this life. Perhaps in the next, he thought to himself, his eyes lingering on you with a mixture of admiration and sorrow.

For now, he would support you in the best way he could—by standing by your side, helping you save lives, and cherishing the moments you shared. Because that, he realised, was also a form of love.

You've won, my King. I yield.

You had somehow felt the distance Mingi seemed to be putting between you, no matter how minuscule. You were hyper-aware of him, always had been, so this change, despite how small and unnoticed by the rest, bothered you more than you cared to admit. Was he growing tired of this? Of you? Perhaps he was realising how impossible it was to reach you and was giving up.

And who could blame him, really?

He deserved to be free; free to love another, to love someone who could give him so much more, all the things you never could.

"Hey, everything okay?" Subin asked, noting how you had nearly disposed of a new bandage instead of a used one.

You snapped out of your thoughts, apologising for the mistake as you rubbed your eyes. "Oh, I'm fine. Just tired, that's all."

She sighed, squeezing your shoulder. "It's Officer Song, isn't it?"

You stilled. "Huh? I-I don't know what you're talking about—"

She rolled her eyes, cutting you off. "Save it, unnie. I'm tired of hiding it from you. He's already received permission from His Majesty to pursue you. That's why he's been so bold in his attempts. If you feel the same way about him, then please, for the love of god, stop putting yourself and him through this nonsense any longer."

Your heart pounded as her words sank in. "Permission from His Majesty?" you echoed, disbelief and confusion in your voice.

She nodded firmly. "Yes, my dear friend. He's been allowed to court you on one condition—only if you willingly agree to it. That’s why he’s here, risking his life. He’s doing it all for you. If you care about him even a fraction of how much he cares about you, you need to let him know. This back-and-forth is tearing both of you apart."

You swallowed hard, grappling with the revelation. It felt as if a door had opened, one you had convinced yourself was forever locked.

"But Subin-ah... what if he realises I'm not worth the effort?" you whispered, voicing your deepest fear.

Her eyes softened. "That's not for you to decide. Let him make his own choices. If he’s here, fighting for you, it means you are worth everything to him. Don’t push him away because of your own insecurities. Give him—give yourself—a chance."

Before you could process her words, chaos erupted as sudden screams filled the air, panicked villagers running in all directions. You rushed outside to see what was happening, your heart pounding in your chest. Amid the commotion, you finally caught on to someone yelling, "Fire! Fire! There's a fire in the kitchen!"

Gasping, you spotted billowing black smoke rising from a hut at the back, where the kitchen was situated. Turning to Subin with wide eyes, you began, "I-isn't that where—"

She nodded before you could finish, confirming your fears. "Officer Song and Kyungsoo oppa were brewing medicine!"

Without a second thought, you sprinted towards the kitchen, your mind racing. The heat and smoke intensified with each step closer. Villagers and fellow physicians frantically attempted to extinguish the flames with buckets of water, but the fire raged on.

"Kyungsoo oppa! Mingi-yah!" you shouted, your voice trembling with fear and urgency.

Amid the thick smoke, Kyungsoo stumbled out alone, coughing violently. You rushed to him, desperation gripping your heart. "O-oppa, where is he? Where's Song Mingi?!"

Pointing towards the kitchen, nearly engulfed in flames, the senior physician gasped, "That fool's still in there. He insists on saving the medicine. We need to get him out, now!"

Your heart pounded with dread. "I'll go!" But Kyungsoo grabbed your arm, panic in his eyes. "No, it's too dangerous—"

Ignoring his warning, you darted inside.

Your heart plummeted when you spotted Mingi foolishly attempting to salvage the pot of medicine. "Stop, you idiot! Leave it!" He froze at the sound of your voice, turning to see you. "What are you doing here? Get out, the place is falling apart!"

Rushing up to him, you desperately tugged on his arm. "Not without you!" Yielding to your urgency, he abandoned the medicine and turned to leave with you. But dread washed over him as he noticed the fragile beam above you, threatening to collapse at any moment. Time seemed to slow as he pushed you towards the exit just in time for the debris to crash down in front of him, trapping him inside.

Your cries echoed as you saw him trapped. "No!" He managed a weak smile, feeling the smoke filling his lungs. "I'm sorry, my lady." Tears streamed down your face as you screamed for help, men rushing to save him. Kyungsoo and Subin restrained you, their grip firm as you thrashed against their hold.

"It's okay, he'll be okay," they repeated, their assurances failing to ease the turmoil in your heart. When they finally emerged, carrying his unconscious body, relief washed over you, but it was quickly replaced by a profound sense of guilt and regret.

God, you were such a fool. How could you have been so blind to his importance in your life? Why did you take him for granted, making him wait for so long?

"Wake up, Song Mingi! Please, listen to me," you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion. "I remembered everything, okay? I never forgot about you, not for a single moment. I'm sorry for lying, for pushing you away. But I accept it now—I want to be with you. Please... don't leave me."

Amidst your sobs against his chest, you halted as you felt his hand tenderly stroking your head. Lifting your gaze to meet his, you found him smiling weakly down at you.

"Wow, I never thought I'd hear those words," he murmured softly.

"So, that's your secret, huh? Faking your own death to get the girl?" Junghoon quipped, wearing a mischievous grin. Mingi let out an exasperated sigh and playfully smacked the younger man on the back of the head. "Faked my death? I nearly died," he retorted.

Junghoon raised a sceptical brow. "Yes, but did you die though?"

"I swear to god, you rascal—" Mingi's fist hovered in the air threateningly until you appeared, hands on your hips.

"Excuse me, no violence is permitted in the medical hall. If you two want to settle this, take it to the training grounds," you scolded.

The military strategist turned to you with a pout, attempting to play innocent. "But, my angel, I brought you lunch."

You rolled your eyes. "Alright. What's Junghoonie doing here then?"

The apprentice eagerly showed you his sprained ankle. "I actually got hurt, noona. Unlike someone, I don't fake my injuries."

Before Mingi could retaliate, you quickly summoned a colleague to tend to Junghoon, then dragged your idiot away, much to his chagrin. "That's enough, you baby."

"Yes, I'm your baby."

A month had passed since the plague in the village was eradicated. It was after the fire, that you managed to find a quiet moment with Mingi and poured out your heart to him. To your surprise, he didn't immediately respond with joy.

"Are you sure this is what you truly want?" he had asked, his expression serious. "Because I could never ask you to choose me over your career if it's more important to you."

His words struck a chord deep within you, revealing the depth of his love and understanding. He wasn't seeking to possess you but to ensure your happiness, even if it meant letting you go.

In that moment, you realised that this man was worth loving, worth everything. He had waited patiently for years, only to ask you that question when he finally had you.

In response, you didn't need to speak. Your answer was a simple and direct kiss to his lips, conveying all your love, gratitude, and certainty in that one tender moment.

Upon your return from Guri, you promptly sought an audience with His Majesty. There, you expressed your desire to be with Mingi. Needless to say, the soft-hearted King who had been secretly rooting for you both did not take too long to agree.

Granting you the freedom to be courted by the military strategist, the King also bestowed his blessing for marriage, should you both deem it the right path. With a sense of relief, you exchanged grateful glances with your lover. It marked the beginning of a new chapter, brimming with hope and love, as you eagerly anticipated embarking on this journey together.

"I still can't believe you're meant to be the coolest and most renowned military strategist in all of Joseon. If only the people knew what an adorable little princess you could be," you chuckled, playfully feeding Mingi a spoonful of rice as he attempted to fashion you a new handkerchief, boasting about his newfound skills learned from his dressmaker friend.

"Oh wow, is that really how you thank your devoted future husband, who's putting all this effort into making something special for you?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with affection as he reached for another piece of cloth, determined to create something perfect for you.

You snickered mischievously. "Alright, princess, how about this? You handle the cooking and cleaning, and I'll be the queen of the castle, bringing home the gold. Deal?"

He stared at you, unamused. Leaning in, you stole a kiss from his lips, and in that moment, his resistance melted away. "Ugh fine, I suppose that doesn't sound too bad," he admitted with a playful sigh.

Anything for you, my angel.

You couldn't contain your laughter at his surrender, eagerly returning his affection as he leaned in for another kiss.

Sometimes, it's astonishing how, despite years of separation, no matter how distant you've become or how impossible it seemed to reunite, you always find each other again. It's as if your paths were meant to intersect once more, as though guided by the stars.

You were destined to find each other.

Lord, I did not plan for this to be so long. I'm so sorry this part took like a thousand years and I sincerely hope it was decent! I've managed to include all the details I came up with but am somehow not too happy with the delivery (then again, when am I not unsatisfied with my own work lmfao).

More importantly, I cannot believe I now have 2k followers😭 thank you all so much! I cannot wait to finish Jongho and Yeosang's spinoffs and then work on more new stuff!

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/10):

@itstheghostofmypast @huachengsbestie01 @minghaoslatina @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr |

@cheolliehugs @the-kpop-simp @writingwieny @stayatinykatsy @skzline |

@green-agent @stayinhellevator @vampzity @tinyteezer @evidive |

@vantediary @superbbananananana @kimyeolchan @chocolate-scoups @decadentstrangernacho |

@vic0921 @marievllr-abg @sunnyhokyu @seungmin-in-thebuilding @heyitsmetonid |

@sansaurora9904 @darkestacademiamindsx12-blog @myblovedjyh @professormingisglasses @newworldwritings |

@chicken-fifi @thunderous-wolf @shythinggiver @madnpan @yandere-stories |

@anxiousskylar @frobin4ever @starssongs98 @dollce-exe @jan-l |

@lovelyred2 @haven-cove @watermelon2319 @dreamingofyeo @akimkim |

@scuzmunkie @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @borntoshineateez @st4rhwa |

@ddaeing @tropicalsstuff @bts-army380 @skteezcursed @beauty143 |

@naps-over-degree @brown88 @sis-101 @lemon-sage17 @jcalicocatj

#edenesth #the way to this heart #written in the stars #twthh spinoff #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #song mingi #ateez mingi #historical au #joseon era #mingi x reader #mingi x you #ateez fic

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speaknow-sw · 9 months ago

Text

«𝓢𝓾𝓰𝓪𝓻, 𝓘 𝓮𝓷𝓳𝓸𝔂 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮»

Summary : When you question Don’s abilities to loosen himself a bit, he decide to show you how precisely he meant when he said he’s enjoying life.

Word Count : 2.9k

Ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ: mdni, age gap (Don is 38, Reader 20), pastor kink, God complex, pussy eating, nipple playing, vaginal fingering, PiV, rough sex, daddy kink if you squint, mustache kink, seashell position, degradation if you squint, huge breeding kink, mention of sequestration, faith kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, pet names, dumbification, choking, orgasm denying, cockwarming.

AN : this is the nastiest piece of shit I’ve ever written and the main idea comes from the lovely @mathesonlvr who I share my passion for Don mustache with. (I think). Anyway that’s like hella dirty so enjoy !

The large, old house stood as a symbol of everything he believed in—solid, immovable, a structure built on faith and discipline. Pastor Don Piper, a man well into his thirties, was known for his devotion to the church and his deep convictions. Every sermon he delivered was woven with scripture and firm, unyielding guidance. And then, there was you—his much younger wife, with a heart full of kindness but a spirit still uncertain of the boundaries that came with marriage to a man like him.

Don sat at his desk, reading scripture with the same unwavering focus he gave to all things. His life was built around discipline, faith, and order—he had lived every moment according to the rules of his belief, and it had brought him peace. But now, sitting in the silence, there was a tension he couldn’t quite name. It came from you, his much younger wife. You had been married to him for only a year, and while your sweetness and enthusiasm had drawn him to you, there were times when your innocence, your naivety, seemed to test the very boundaries of his patience.

You were in the other room, humming softly to yourself as you tidied up the living room. He could hear the occasional clatter as you absentmindedly dropped a vase or bumped into a piece of furniture. It was something you did often—your clumsiness was just another piece of the puzzle he had come to accept about you. But tonight, after a long day of counseling and sermons, the sound grated on his nerves more than usual. "Careful with that," he called out, trying to keep his voice calm but feeling the edge creeping in. "Oh! Sorry!" you replied, your voice light and airy, as if nothing in the world could ever bother you. It was part of what he loved about you—your innocence. But that same innocence sometimes left him feeling like you didn’t truly grasp the gravity of the life you had stepped into.

A few moments later, you appeared in the doorway, smiling brightly, holding a plate of cookies you had made earlier. "I thought you might want something sweet while you work." He glanced up from his Bible, taking in your wide-eyed expression, your gentle smile. There was no malice in you, no understanding of the inner conflict that simmered beneath his composed surface. "Thank you," he said, trying to soften his tone. He reached for a cookie, but the tension in his chest didn’t ease. You set the plate down on his desk, hovering awkwardly beside him. "You’ve been working a lot lately," you said, your voice filled with concern. "I worry that maybe you're too hard on yourself. You always seem so… serious."

He paused, looking up at you fully now. Serious. It was a word you often used to describe him, but he couldn’t understand why you found it strange. "My work is serious," he said slowly, carefully choosing his words. "The church, faith… these are not things to take lightly." You nodded quickly, but the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your blouse told him you didn’t entirely understand. "I know," you said, "but I thought maybe… sometimes it’s okay to not think so much about all the rules. To just… you know, enjoy life a little." He stiffened at that, the tension rising. This wasn’t the first time you had said something like this, and each time it struck a nerve deep within him. He had spent his life devoted to his faith, to guiding others on the path of righteousness. And here you were, with your innocent and almost childlike outlook, suggesting that perhaps it wasn’t all that important.

This innocent and naive look sent him into arousal right away. How should he took you ? On the desk, soft and sweet or in the bed, your beautiful and supple body laid bare for him as you whimper breathlessly under him. Oh, how he wanted to see your belly swell with his love for you. His pretty little housewife round with child. Your naive nature would be perfect to keep you locked in the house, nursing child after child. Looking pretty at his arms was your only duty right now but he could promote you to being the pretty mother of his children. His mind went wild and he imagined what it would be like. « Donnie ? » You squealed innocently seeing him dozing off. Don's eyes snapped open, a brief flash of panic crossing his features before he saw it was you, his beautiful, innocent wife. He smiled then, the tension from earlier dissipating as he looked at you, his heart swelling with love and desire. "Yes, love?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble.

You walked closer to him, your hair cascading over your shoulders as you stood beside his desk. "It's late, shouldn't we go to bed?" He nodded, his hands moving to the back of your neck, his fingers tracing the curve of your jawline. "Yes, my love. Let's go to bed." As you walked with him, your hand resting in his, he couldn't help but imagine the delightful sin he'd commit with you tonight. As you climbed into bed, he followed, his eyes never leaving your body. He watched the way your nightgown hugged your curves, the way your full breasts peeked out from the top.

He pushed you gently onto the bed, his hands skimming over your body, teasing your nipples through the thin fabric. "Sugar," he whispered, his voice thick and low, "I’m going to take your advice to enjoy life." You bit your lip, your eyes wide and innocent. "Really, Don?" He smiled, his lips brushing against your ear. "Yes, my precious little lamb. Tonight, I'm going to show you that I really enjoy you." And with that, he began to unbutton your nightgown, revealing your soft, supple skin.

His fingers traced over your body, making you shiver in anticipation. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck. "Tonight, you're going to feel the glory of God," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, "through me." His hands moved lower, sliding under your panties, his fingers finding your wetness. You gasped, your body arching into his touch. "Donnie," you moaned, your voice a sweet, innocent plea. He chuckled softly, his voice full of adoration, "Just wait, darling. Just wait."

You whimpered « Don… please… » Your nails dig in his shoulders as you threw your head backwards. Suddenly Don's fingers danced over your aching clit, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. He watched you, the sight of your sweet, innocent face filled with pleasure driving him wild. "Do you like that, sugar ?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. Your hips bucked against his hand, your back arching as you cried out, "Yes, please…"

He smirked, his fingers delving deeper, finding the sensitive spot that made you gasp and moan. "You're such a good girl, aren't you?" he cooed, his voice a soft rumble against your skin. "Such a sweet, innocent thing." Your body quivered, the pleasure building within you, threatening to spill over. "Don…" you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving tiny crescents of red. He grinned, his fingers slowing as he felt you on the brink. "Not yet, my love," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "Not until I'm buried deep inside you." Suddenly he leaned down between your thighs. You whimpered just from the sight. « Don …what are you doin—… » You moaned loudly when his lips kissed your cunt.

Don's lips brushed against your swollen folds, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. He inhaled deeply, his senses flooding with your scent—sweet and pure, like you. He flicked his tongue against your clit, making you buck and moan. "Daddy," you breathed, your body trembling.

He chuckled against your flesh, his tongue dancing and teasing, making you squirm beneath him. "Such a naughty little thing," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "But I bet you'd be even naughtier if you were mine completely." The thought sent shivers down your spine, your body quivering as you felt the edge of your climax growing nearer. You couldn't help but whimper, your hips thrusting up to meet his mouth.

« Don…please…your mustache is scratching so good » You whimpered loudly. Don grinned, his mustache brushing against your sensitive skin as he continued his assault on your body. "Is that so, my love?" he purred, the sound low and deep. "I must remember that." He increased the pressure of his lips and tongue, his fingers still teasing your wetness. You cried out, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure mounted. "Donnie…" He smirked, his eyes never leaving yours. "Do you want to cum for me, sweet girl ?" he asked, his voice a low, husky rumble. "Do you want to feel the love of God through me?"

Your body shook, the words sending you hurtling over the edge. "Yes, unh," you cried out, your orgasm washing over you in waves, your body shuddering and trembling. He continued to tease you, his tongue flicking against your clit as you came down from your climax. When you were finally still, he pulled back, his lips trailing kisses along your inner thigh. "Now," he said, cooing, "let's go to Heaven." He positioned himself between your legs, his thick, uncut cock pressing against your wet entrance. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with love and desire. "Are you ready, sweetheart ?" he asked, his voice a deep, seductive rumble. Your body tingled with anticipation, the thought of having him inside you making you tremble. "Donnie," you breathed, your voice soft and sweet. "Please, I'm ready."

You looked at him through half-lidded eyes, his mustache dripping from your cum, pearls of it coating the once silky hair. Don's stared down at you for a moment, his eyes filled with desire, before he pushed into you slowly. The sensation of his thick shaft filling you caused you to gasp, your eyes widening as you adjusted to the feeling. "Oh, God," you whispered, your voice a soft, sweet moan. He paused, his hands gripping your hips as he looked into your eyes. "I'm going to take you to Heaven, little lamb," he growled, his voice low and full of promise. "And I'm not going to let you come down for a very long time." The words echoed in your mind as your body responded to his, the pleasure building within you, threatening to consume you. All you could do was cling to him, your body arching, your nails digging into his shoulders as you cried out his name.

Soon enough you were reduced to a babbling mess who couldn’t form a word as he pounded into you, his heavy sack slapping against your ass. Don took your desire as a challenge, his hips thrusting into you with a force that left you breathless. His hand slid down your body, his fingers digging into your hip as he pulled you closer, his thrusts growing more and more brutal. "Take it, you little slut," he growled, his voice a low, rumbling purr. "Take it from your husband, your God." He felt your body trembling beneath him, the wet sound of his cock slapping against your ass a symphony to his ears. Without warning, his hand left your hip, snaking around your throat, his fingers tightening as he fucked you harder.

« Uh, uh, uh » You couldn’t talk, you couldn’t breathe… you couldn’t even think as Don fucked you dumb. His left hand squeezed your throat and some of his thick right digits flickered on your clit making you moan loudly. Don's fingers worked your clit with precise, lewd motions, causing your body to shudder and buck under the dual onslaught. "Such a good, dirty little girl," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl. "You love it, don't you?" Your body responded without the need for words, your moans filling the room as you clung to him, the pleasure building within you. "Do you want to cum for me again, sugar ?" he asked, his voice a deep, rumbling purr. "Do you want to feel your God's thick cock pumping inside you as you explode?" Your moans grew louder, your body shaking as you felt the edge of another climax drawing near. "Ungh, ungh…" you whimpered, your voice a sweet, innocent whine.

Don's thrusts grew rougher, more primal as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're mine, you know that, little lamb?" he growled, his voice thick with lust. "You're going to feel this cock, this seed, this miracle, pumping into you again and again." His fingers worked your clit with a frenzied intensity, his other hand tightening around your throat as he fucked you, driving you closer to the edge. "I'm going to fill you up, sweetheart," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm going to impregnate you, make you full and round with my babies, over and over." His eyes looked crazy, like a wild animal under attack.

Don's thrusts grew wilder, his face contorting with the pleasure of claiming his wife, his sweet, innocent little lamb. "You're going to be my personal breeding machine," he growled in a guttural moan. "You’re my wife, my church, my everything." His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, his other hand squeezing your throat, his cock pumping into you with a fervor that bordered on animalistic. "You're going to be nothing but a vessel for my seed, a temple for my cock," he said, his voice a grinding, lewd purr. "And I'm going to use you, over and over, until you're nothing but a broken, satisfied, and pregnant shell."

You drooled, your head falling backwards as you let out raw screams of pleasure. Tears flowed down your cheeks. Don's thrusts grew even more brutal, the rhythm of his cock slamming into your tight, perfect pussy echoing through the room. You could feel the shadows of his manhood disappearing deep within your core, the connection between your bodies visceral and primal. With a grunt, he took your legs, hooking your ankles around his neck, nearly folding you in two as he took control. "Such a tight little pussy," he growled, his voice thick with lust. The sight of you drooling, crying, and whimpering, your body trembling beneath him, sent a surge of carnal pleasure coursing through him. "Makes me think that maybe I married you just for her," he whispered, his voice a low, guttural rumble. "A tiny, young cunt to snuggle my cock perfectly while I decompress."

He pressed into you, his hands gripping your hips, his thrusts fierce and unrelenting. "You're my little plaything, my doll," he breathed, his voice a mix of dirty possessiveness and love. "You're my wife, my bitch, my love." Don's hips continued to thrust, his grip on your legs tight as he folded you into an obscene position. The sight of his thick cock disappearing deep into your body, the outlines of it, showing on your stomach, elicited a groan from his lips.

The sight of your pleasure, the way you drooled and screamed, drove Don wild, his hips slamming into you with a brutal force. "That's it, sweet girl," he groaned, the primal need to claim you, to bury himself in your body, overwhelming. "Daddy wants you to come." He felt your body tense beneath him, your screams growing louder as you reached the peak of your climax. You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you, your body tensing, the edge of your climax drawing near. And as your release crashed over you, you cried out his name, your body convulsing around his cock. "Yes," he roared, his own release surging through him, his cock throbbing inside you. "Cum for me, my love, cum for your God."

Don felt your body tighten around him, your walls milking his cock as he let out a guttural groan. "Lord, darling," he breathed, his own release surging through him, his cock throbbing inside you. "Such a good little cunt for your husband." He collapsed onto you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breathing ragged as he came down from his high. The sounds of your pleasure, the feel of your body still quivering beneath him, left him feeling both satiated and insatiable. His fingers slowly released their hold on your hips, his cock still buried deep inside you. "We're in Heaven, my love," he whispered, his voice thick with love and desire. "Let's stay here for a while, don’t move. » He kissed your cheek with his wet mustache as you laid, broken, on the folded position he put you through it all.

« Gotta make sure it takes… » He patted gently your belly and his hand caressed the swell of your breasts, occasionally playing with a nipple. You whimpered helplessly from your position, feeling his thick cock in your guts every single time he moved. Finally he pulled away and a big pool of sperm squirted out of you in the most obscene way Don ever saw. He patted your left butt cheek. « You did good, baby. » He cooed softly and pushed back the cum in your fluttering hole. You whined from exhaustion « Donnie ? » You called meekly. « I’m right there, sweetheart » He said reassuringly kissing your forehead.

Nine months later, Don introduced your child to his community with a big smile, pride in you fluttering in his chest for giving him a little miracle.

#hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #james kelly #sam monroe #scott barringer #stephen glass #evie writes #clay beresford #don piper

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