Tʜᴀᴛ Mᴀsᴋᴇᴅ Sᴛᴀʟᴋᴇʀ 🔞

єчєѕ σf єхhíвítíσn

TAEHYUNG

Mine.

She’s here. She’s training. She’s evolving into everything I imagined she would.
Y/n has been living on my land, at my secluded cabin with me for a week now, effectively picking up every available trick and tool I’ve taught her. She’s a phenomenal assassin for her age and the short time she’s been training, using her strengths to strike cleanly and hit her targets every time.
Who would’ve thought my little church girl would have such a skilled and steady hand?

I waited for her truths to break her. I wondered if they’d cause her to crumble. After days of tears and more gutted trees in the woods, she’d rid herself of the sadness of discovering she’d been orphaned just as I’d hoped,
putting all her faith in me and me alone. The man who still held her biggest secret.

You could say I was manipulating her to become who I wanted her to be.
It’s how it began. But truthfully, she was showing me who she was on her own.

The idea of bringing Sain down by screwing him and destroying the clerical celibacy that is required of any priest left me seeing nothing but red.

She’s my flower. My doll. My purpose. My existence. And yet, if I want her to be everything she’s entitled to become, I have to find a way to let her dictate her own revenge. As she’s told me before, she’s the king of her own game.

Death was too easy an art.

Y/n spilled the words from her angelic lips as if my job wasn’t entirely created to kill. The statement filled my chest with pride at the little demon she was. She thought like someone who’d lost their mind and their morals, seeking to inflict the same pain and torture she’d nearly endured. She wanted them to suffer. And nothing made my ready cock swell more.
I tried to calm myself during our training. I attempted to reign in my chaos, my thirst for pain, but there was no hope. The need to build her up by breaking her apart flooded my being. I wanted her to feel every infliction of torture; wanted her to embrace it. Needed her to hear the disgusting, vile,
and despicable words as they spilled from my lips so she could own them as hers, taking the power right from their meaning, and rising above it.

Knowing her actual worth in a world that consistently accepts quantity over quality.She’s my goddess. My light. My life. And after every training session, I make an effort to prove that to her. Touching her is easy. It’s been a dream of mine for years. Mending her wounds, cleaning every part of my doll I’ve dirtied; my favorite part. I could make a career out of tending to her needs, strengthening her. The part I continue to struggle with is allowing her touch to heal me.
Exposing my abuse wasn’t hard. I forced the accidental meeting, so she’d see firsthand how the bishop treats his most desired students. The ones he grooms. The ones who need additional lessons to accept and embrace what he defines the Holy Spirit.

He’d caught me in a trap. I was young and naïve. The perfect broken boy with no one to call my kin, who sought the support of a father-like figure in my life. He’d convinced me that what we did behind those church doors was for my benefit alone. For my salvation.

But it always felt wrong, and asking for it to stop only encouraged him more. I’d learned to be quiet and accept the ways of the world until the day I finally broke.

“We are born into sin,” he’d tell me. “Give yourself over to Christ so you can be purified of these transgressions, and maybe then you’ll have a chance at true redemption.”

The only redemption I sought now was a bullet through his skull after forcing him to choke and vomit on his own severed dick.

He took away my calm. My gentle. He owned it in the soft caresses he’d provided. The word love held new meaning. I love the way you receive your Lord. I love your pretty face covered in the Holy Spirit. I love you, son, my child of God, gifted to me.