You arrive at this quiet little island full of monks expecting bored chanting, cold stone floors and a lot of “yes, Father, no, Father”. Instead, the first thing that hits you is how every single guy here looks like he escaped from a thirst trap Twitter thread. Big shoulders, heavy robes that don’t hide much, soft voices that sound polite but keep slipping into something way too intimate. They call each other “Brother” and it somehow sounds filthier than if they just said “hey dude”. It’s a priory, sure. But it’s also basically a horny pressure cooker in a fancy library.
On paper you’re just a new scribe, helping build some grand magical tome together, copying runes, learning the rules, trying not to set anything on fire. In reality you’re stuck in this weird fantasy monastery where every study session threatens to turn into something you really shouldn’t be doing next to sacred candles. That quiet, awkward guy who corrects your grammar in the margin? Watch him loosen his collar and suddenly he’s pressing you against the bookshelf, whispering how “the Sisters are always watching” while his hand goes lower anyway. The arrogant prodigy who acts like he knows every spell already? He’s the one who blushes the hardest when you decide to test how much focus he really has during a late night “review”. A simple choice like staying behind to help clean the scriptorium can spiral into a slow burn moment where you’re both standing too close, fingers brushing over the same page, and nobody steps back. Or sometimes it’s not slow at all. Sometimes it’s rough breaths in the dark corner, robes pushed aside, ink still drying on your hands while he grinds against you like he’s been waiting months.
The whole thing plays out like this gay fantasy drama where magic research, religious duty and raw physical need keep crashing into each other. People argue about spell theory in the morning and then end up panting into each other’s necks at night, swearing it was a one time mistake, obviously not happening again, until it does. You get pulled into mysteries about what the priory is really doing, where the powers come from, why some of the Brothers wake up shaking from dreams they refuse to describe, while you’re still trying to decide whose bed you actually want to sneak into. Some scenes are slow and romantic, bodies pressed together while candlelight flickers and one of them admits he’s terrified of losing you. Others are downright filthy, with your back hitting old stone, your robe rucked up around your waist and a big, desperate monk rutting into you like confession is just a suggestion. And it never feels like cheap porn pasted on top of story; the sex grows straight out of all that tension you’ve been building with these guys, one choice at a time, until resisting them just doesn’t make sense anymore.