Jim x Dwight Oneshots *smut warning*

Jim sells his soul

*TW mentions Homophobia, Violence, Death, Satan, Parental Abuse*

(By the way in case it wasn't obvious, the story takes place in puritanical America, in the 17th century. Basically think of the witch trials and Pilgrims)

Jim walks through the narrow streets of the village, his steps measured and purposeful. The villagers, dressed in simple and austere attire, go about their daily routines with stern expressions etched upon their faces. Their eyes, filled with judgment and suspicion, seem to follow Jim's every move, whispering rumors behind his back. The village itself is a somber place, with its plain wooden houses lining the streets like sentinels of piety. Chimneys release thin plumes of smoke into the gray sky.

Avoiding eye contact with his neighbors, Jim's gaze fixates on the worn stone pathway leading to the well. Each step feels like an act of defiance. He yearns for acceptance, for the freedom to love without fear or judgment, but knows deep down that such freedom is an elusive dream. As he draws closer to the well, he can hear snippets of hushed conversations drifting on the wind.

"...heard he was seen cavorting with that tavern lad again," a woman's voice whispers.

"Have you noticed the way he averts his eyes?"

"Aye, 'tis a sign of guilt, no doubt."

"Never hath I seen a man so distant, so unwilling to engage in the ways of courtship and marriage. Surely, he is a vessel of wickedness."

These words have been his constant companions, whispered behind closed doors and murmured in the darkest corners of the village. They have seeped into his soul, embedding themselves as shards of self-doubt and shame.

Jim takes a moment to gather himself, his hands trembling slightly as he reaches out to grasp the worn rope that dangles from the pulley.

Just as Jim's fingers tighten around it, his heart skips a beat, for there, walking past the well, is Dwight. Dwight, the preacher's son, whose mere presence has the power to make time stand still. Jim's breath catches in his throat, and his hand falters for a moment, causing the bucket to sway ever so slightly.

Dwight is a vision of purity and righteousness in his plain, unadorned clothing. His steps are measured and deliberate, reflecting the disciplined upbringing he has received as a preacher's son. His gaze, steadfast and focused, betrays no hint of the turmoil that churns within Jim's heart. Jim watches as Dwight passes by, his eyes tracing the contours of Dwight's face, the curve of his lips, the gentle slope of his shoulders.

Jim hides his true feelings, burying them deep within his soul, where they fester. The weight of their unrequited love hangs heavy in the air. It is a silent torment that only Jim knows, a secret shared with his own heart. He longs to reach out, to touch Dwight's hand, to confess his love, but the fear of rejection and the wrath of the community hold him captive.

Jim's gaze remains fixed on Dwight's retreating figure, his heart aching with a mixture of longing and despair. But his stolen moment of admiration does not go unnoticed. The other men near the well, their eyes sharp and judgmental, catch Jim's lingering gaze and immediately seize upon the opportunity to reinforce their strict puritanical beliefs.

Their voices are sharp, filled with self-righteous condemnation that cuts through the air like a cold wind. "James," one of the older men says, his voice dripping with disapproval, "what wicked thoughts occupy your mind? Your gaze lingers upon the preacher's son, a sinful curiosity apparent in your eyes."

Jim's heart pounds in his chest as he tries to find his voice, "I... I meant no harm. I... I was merely lost in thought."

The men exchange knowing glances, their expressions hardening even further. They take a step closer, their eyes drilling into Jim with an intensity that makes him shrink back. "Lost in thought, you say?" another man scoffs. "It is well known that impure thoughts lead to impure actions, James. You must guard your heart against the temptations of the flesh."