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kneelingshadowsalome · 5 months

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Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k Tags/warnings: Pining intensifies, religious despair intensifies, minor injuries, treatment of wounds, crying, enthusiastic kissing, König gets a few boners. 18+ for eventual smut in this story.

A/N: Don't tell me you wouldn't get horny scared too if you saw this tall guy suddenly emerging from the shadows in his full war gear :) There's a cute date night and a lot of angst in this chapter too, I tried to summon an actual plot here... As always, I need to explain why they’re bonking! But smut is coming, next and last chapter will be full of fluff and steamy first times (Reader is virgin!)

Part 2

You have a feeling that this is the last day you’ll see him.

The stranger from the Austrian Alps, the kindest mercenary you’ve ever met – the only mercenary you’ve ever met – the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it.

The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone. You find no delight in singing with your sisters, and withdrawing to your cell for solitary prayer feels like stepping back inside your own personal purgatory.

You’ve been in heaven and in hell for days now. Maybe since the moment you met him...

But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose.

And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. It’s just your lower instincts speaking, a demon of some sort that tries to misguide you because no man is like Lord Jesus.

And yet, don’t they always preach that you meet Him in every person you meet? And that through you, other people meet God too…?

This reasoning feels much better. It solidifies the mercy you’ve longed for during the brief weeks you’ve known this man who brashly calls himself König. You want to believe that he carries a spark of the Divine in him, and that you hold a grain of the Virgin Mary’s compassion and love in you.

You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. For in König, you see a suffering God, a crucified Christ who rises against evil by offering himself to the cruelty of men. Somehow, the image of him as a mortal man starts to twist into a divine, dark trooper, someone who battles the forces of the evil in this world.

And this reasoning leads you to think that it is only natural that you, a Sister of the Faith, have helped him find some rest and relief in the middle of his work. It’s pretty clear that König has found some solace in your company, and even if things have ventured into a forbidden area of low, simple lust, it’s not dark enough to taint the beauty and grace you've felt together. As long as you hold on to this purity, nothing can go wrong.

While praying for both of you that morning, you find yourself replaying the smiles and touches König has given you these past weeks. You know you will drown yourself in memories after he's gone because they are all you’ll ever have of him.

And they're more than enough.

Or at least they should be…

You feel a tiny dagger of guilt push into your heart, the place reserved for Christ, when you’re assigned to do some spiritual reading instead of helping out in the kitchen or organizing the small library. The appointed texts are about falling into temptation and sin, reminding you about the consequences of such actions. You read the passings with a heavy heart and then slip out to meet König, possibly for the last time.

You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over. You keep him at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally, and the effects of this unexpected cold shower are immediate. The man doesn’t even try to disguise the sad, puppy-eyed stares he shoots your way.

You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.

You get offered not one, but two coffees today, and a large piece of dark chocolate cake that tastes of pure sin. He talks about how he would love to write to you, but you tell him you can’t be in correspondence with a man who isn’t your brother or father. König isn’t even married, so it would only raise questions – you would find yourself reading spiritual texts about lust and sin until it drives you crazy.

“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” he finally reveals with a voice thick with sorrow. “Can I see you before I go...? One last time?”

“I’d love to, but… I’m sort of being watched,” you say, slowly coming out of your shell to make it clear that you’d want to spend the rest of your life with him, but you simply just can’t.

Your weak, apologetic look is like a dose of confidence shot through his veins because the face opposite of you brightens immediately. König’s whole posture gets a hopeful uplift.

“Just for a little walk...? To see what the city looks like in the evening?”

“I don’t know if I can make it… I have to work until six... And attend the evening prayer at seven. And then silence starts at eight…”

You’re wringing your hands under the table while you explain, hoping König will come up with a solution to this dilemma.

“We can go for a walk after silence, then,” he shrugs.

“I–I can’t just escape from the window.”

“...Why not?”

You look at König; he looks straight back.

The man’s serious about you sneaking out your window at night; he’s actually serious, even if there’s a dark, playful smile rising on his lips.

“I can help,” he grins.

Your heart cracks open, it shoots full of light only more and more with that smile. König doesn’t need to ram a door down and shoot his way through your chest; all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home.

Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ’s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth.

You find yourself whispering “Ok”, and the whole world shifts.

You take a step towards something forbidden but great, your whole heart starts to sing along with life. You haven’t even done the actual thing yet but you’re already filled with bubbling laughter and excitement. If only your friend could see you now, about to do things she probably did when she was fifteen...

But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.

If this is the last day you’ll ever see him, you can surely steal a tiny moment for yourself and forget about rights and wrongs for a moment. Just forget about the rules, and live in the actual world for a few hours, breathe the worldly air, see what normal people do and pretend you’re one of them, for just one night.

…

You feel like Cinderella when picking clothes for the evening.

You rummage through the only closet in your room – during the time that should be spent in silent prayer before bed – and notice you still have your old jeans.

They’re light blue and still fit; actually, they fit more than well... You know that König’s eyes will be glued to your butt when you’re not looking.

You have completely forgotten how nice you look in jeans, and it’s the Devil talking, making you admire yourself in tight denim like this. You never cared about how you look before; you certainly never gave much thought to how men see you or if they’re checking out your butt or breasts. Now you’re grooming yourself like never before, trying to decide what to do with your hair as if your life depended on it.

You choose a simple, black t-shirt to pair with the jeans and not make it too obvious that you’re trying to flaunt yourself. It hugs your form but is otherwise plain, and for some people, your choice of clothing is probably their regular work outfit. To you, it feels like you’re about to go out to seduce everyone.

Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.

Lord, have mercy on me. I know I’m weak. But please let me have this, just this once…

And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.

It’s not a date, you remind yourself.

It’s not a date... It’s not a date. You’re just going to have a short walk with him.

And you fear that accepting König’s “help” was a mistake. If you get caught with a man on the convent perimeter, you’ll get your ass thoroughly whooped…

Can a man of his size even keep quiet?

He probably suggested it so that you wouldn’t chicken out of this. If König is at your window by 8 and there’s no sign of you, he’ll probably just come in, throw you on his shoulder and jump out. He knows where your window is located now, and surely has some questionable skills due to his profession, skills you know nothing about, but you’re still about to have a panic attack from pure excitement when the clock strikes 8.

You push the window ajar and settle on the sill to keep watch, gasping when you hear his familiar accent down below as soon as the window is open.

“Kätzchen...”

“König…?”

You peek down and meet his stupid, grinning face – God, he’s so happy to see you kept your promise. His eyes are shining, his fingers interlock to help you have something to place your foot on.

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

You could easily jump out the window without hurting yourself, but of course he wants to help you since you were so kind to tell him where he could come and "pick you up".

But to see that playful smile and hear him trying to coax you out like you’re some skittish little kitten…

Could a grown man get any more silly?

You wiggle yourself out the window, trying to ignore the fact that he’s probably staring at your butt, still grinning like crazy while you do it.

SupportING your entire weight like it’s no trouble at all, he helps you down. You’ve never been this close to him since you bumped into him: you have to take support from his shoulders as you search for a footing, and he scoops you in his arms the minute both your feet are safely on the ground.

“I knew you’d come,” he purrs with joy, and you place your hands on his chest – not to keep him at bay, but to touch him in a way that is as appropriate as possible when a man is hugging you like this.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whisper, still unsure if this is the best or the worst decision of your entire life.

“Kitty… Live a little, hmm?”

You have to crane your neck to look up at him – you’re not sure if you’re in the embrace of Jesus or Lucifer because the warmth of those eyes compare to the love of God, but they also make you weak and helpless. Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.

“You’re a bad influence,” you breathe – König only laughs, and the grip around you tightens.

“My lady. You’re the one who climbed out the window.”

“Because someone would’ve probably thrown small rocks on it if I hadn’t…!”

“Natürlich. And if that didn’t work… A serenade or two. Do you like love songs?”

You look down at his chest, smiling, heart fluttering at the thought of a silly Austrian man serenading under your window. You have no trouble imagining him singing something syrupy in German, waking everyone up with his racket.

“You’re crazy, did you know that...?”

“Sure. They tell me that all the time at work. Aber du… Du bist süss.”

“...What’s that?”

His smile only widens as he takes in your lips, your neck, the tight shirt that finally gives him something more to look at.

“You’re cute.”

…

The whole evening is heavenly.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted from a date and more.

He doesn’t take you for a short walk, oh no. He takes you out to eat, at some lively restaurant where they serve delicious, artisan, wood-fired pizzas. You have créme brûlée for dessert, and König gives you his strawberries when he notices you eat them first, but only on one condition: you have to let him feed them to you one by one.

He buys you a rose: a big, red, plump one. No man has ever bought you flowers before, and even if you love lush, abundant bouquets, the fact that he chose you a single red rose after you’ve spoken about the beauty of simplicity, doesn't escape you.

König hasn’t only listened to you these past few weeks: he gets you. And how symbolic is it that he chose a rose that’s also tied to all the mysteries of God?

You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. It's a holy trinity of him and you and the Great Mystery, it’s passion and it’s thorns, it’s blood and beauty and pain, and you feel like he just gets you; he knows you through and through.

You pass by an outdoor bar with live music, and the place is so crowded that people are dancing on the streets. No cars honk as they slowly pass by the scene, the music and the laughing, dancing pairs make even the grumpiest passersby smile.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that König pulls you to him before you get to escape the scene. You’re drawn flush against his chest, hips colliding with his, hands finding each other in a slow sway that has never even seen the steps of Latin dances.

“Nuns are allowed to dance, no?”

He smiles dreamily, enveloped in the same sweet haze as you.

“Not with a man,” you correct, but don’t even bother to push him away. Instead, you let König guide his hand down your waist and draw you closer. If this isn't a date, you don't know what is...

“I can take the blame,” he says. “You can tell everybody it was me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” you laugh.

“Why not?”

His eyes are glued to yours, making you warm all over, so much so that you feel like you’re burning from the neck up. You guide your stare down to his chest, then over to the quick heartbeat on his neck.

He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you.

You rest your head there on his chest, watching the golden sunset far away, painting the rooftops with a genial glow. Your heart is made of molten gold, too, as you allow yourself find a home in his embrace.

“I can take your sins,” he promises above you. “Jesus did that too, right?”

“You’re not Jesus,” you smile against his shirt – black, always black...

“Are you sure? I would go to hell for you.”

Your dance comes to a halt as you swallow and lift your gaze. The smiles are gone now, both yours and his. He’s so close now he could touch your lips with his if he wanted to.

And he does want to.

You don’t shy away as he leans down to kiss you. It’s chaste at first, a slow exploration, but then he opens your mouth with his, demanding, hot, intoxicating. You melt in his arms, and he somehow supports you through it all, turning the dance into an embrace and the decent little kiss into a full French one.

It’s hot and wet and slow, so, so passionate that your knees are about to give in. You devour him back, feel how he grows hard against your stomach – the swelling erection makes you dizzy before you come to your senses, but only barely.

You break away an inch, panting into his mouth while he’s panting into yours. What a blessing that you don’t own any lipstick; both of your lips are red without it…

“This is–”

“Inappropriate?”

His voice is husky, and sends a flood of wetness down between your legs. Your heart is racing, but you can’t even note how terribly alive you are before he attacks your lips again.

The kiss is even more desperate than the first one, and the slow urgency is gone. His mouth leaves you without air, and then – he wraps his arms around you and picks you up from the ground like you weigh nothing. Your hands get squished somewhere between you, naturally coming to cup his face as you kiss him back.

It’s eager, pure lust, so powerful and needy that it scorches through your chest and ties your heartstrings into tight little knots, makes your brows knit together, too.

He grunts into your mouth, sensing you’re more than up for this after all. You let him see the full depth of your hunger and your lust, just waiting to be released and taken – made love to until you’re both sore and messy and limp.

God… This is better than God…

You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. Realizing you’ve fallen into a dream trap of strong arms and needy lips about to depart tomorrow, you know it's something you could have had years ago, perhaps, but not anymore. You'll lose everything if you break your vows tonight: basically, you’ve already broken them, but no permanent damage has been done.

You can still turn back if you turn back now…

You push yourself away, push him away, heart clenching when you see his adoring, love-drunk, half-lidded stare.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, fighting back tears as you come down from your high. “I just–I can’t…”

He breathes labouriously, still clutching you against him, holding you in the air like you’re the thing he has searched for his entire life and now, finally discovered… Only to be told that he now has to put it back where he found it.

You’re crying by the time he sets you down, and you have no heart or will to pull away. Instead, you bury your face in his chest and cry your fill in his shirt. It’s soon damp from your tears as König hugs and supports you through his own stoic heartbreak.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…”

You repeat it until you can’t repeat it anymore, bawling in his chest while the world around you continues to spin despite your heaven and hell, despite your vows, despite your stupid devotion. The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain.

“Kätzchen, don’t cry,” he pets your hair while you sniffle and tremble in his embrace. You know this is not the last time you will cry your heart out over him, but knowing it doesn't help you when he offers you his last, bittersweet comfort.

“It was a good dream while it lasted...”

…

The rose withers in your cell.

You turn it upside down and tie it to the curtain rod to prevent it from dropping its petals. It dries beautifully and keeps its bloodred colour, now reminding you of both Jesus and him.

There hasn’t been a word from König in months, and of course there hasn’t. You denied his wish to write you, and the dried rose is the only thing left of your time with him.

In the first weeks, it’s hard to keep up a charade. You show up to prayer, work and mass with red eyes, revealing to everyone that you’re going through a loss of some sort. Somewhere during the first week, the abbess summons you to meet her and you brace yourself for a scolding.

God knows you don’t need the rebuke, and when you close the door and turn to face the symbolic mother of the convent, you end up breaking into tears right in front of her.

“Whatever you were up to, my child, I am glad that it is over now,” she says with all the gentleness of the world.

“Me too,” your voice breaks, and when the abbess extends her hands, you go to her, fall to your knees, and have another heartwrenching cry with your face in her lap.

You’ve denied yourself love and mercy for days, expecting to be expelled or shamed or ridiculed, but mercy is what you’re offered now, even after you’ve sinned.

The abbess caresses your hair just as softly as König did just days ago, and the fact that her kind gesture reminds you of some silly, infatuated soldier, only makes the breakdown worse. You bawl like a little child who’s deprived of candy, and you don’t even have the strength to berate yourself for it.

“I hope you haven’t done anything irredeemable...?”

“No... Nothing happened,” you sob and look out of the rose window, desperate for sun while your head rests on a gentle but distant lap.

Nothing happened except the most sinful, beautiful, lustful kiss of your life... Nothing happened except that you saw this man every time you could, held hands with him, swam in his smiles and affection, and went to bed with thoughts inappropriate for any human being.

“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”

Something in that sentence finally quenches the neverending flow of tears. Your muscles start to relax, and you remember that this is the eternal truth: to surrender, over and over again, to a power far greater than you.

The abbess never asks for details about what you have done. She never tells you you have sinned; you don’t need to be told that. The punishment has been dealt already: whoever ties herself to this world and its temptations will suffer exactly like this when the passion and excitement ends. The key to escaping its grip is to simply let go first, once and for all, surrender to the love of God, and trust that everything fill fall into place eventually.

“You must offer your mind and body to work now,” the motherly voice speaks above you. “Work, time and prayer will ease your pain.”

…

Work, time and prayer do ease the pain.

They ease all pains, but it takes almost six months to stop thinking about him every hour of every day.

You’re proud of yourself when you find out one day that you haven’t thought about him at all. He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one.

You could almost swear you catch a whiff of that particular scent in the yard when you go and water the flowers one evening, but it can’t be: he’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you even want to do about it because you already made your choice. This path leads you to greater peace of mind in the long run, and you know you made the right decision even if it hurt you and König.

Sunsets still remind you of him, the colour of rose and gold mixed with endings, but the memories are now laced with bittersweet love rather than blunt despair and pain. The times you spent with him are a collection of brief, blissful moments, and you treasure every single one of them in your heart. You still pray for him, not every day, but nearly every day. You touch the rose when the hurt reaches its peak, but the last time you did that was almost a week ago.

And you thought you had forgotten his scent, but apparently, you have not. In fact, it seems to drift to your nose again, which is odd because you’re outside, after all…

“Kätzchen.”

A whisper is hissed from the shadows just as you’re about to straighten and investigate, because either you’re going crazy or then there’s someone here who smells exactly like him.

You startle and almost drop the watering can, staring straight into the shadows under your window. The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s me,” he rasps and tries to straighten from the slightly hunched position he’s in, but immediately falls back, then slants to lean on the wall. His gear is dirty, and he holds the side of his stomach with one hand, the lively blue eyes either drunk or very very tired.

“Dear God… What happened to you?”

You abandon the watering can and rush to him; it’s useless to ask if he’s injured when, clearly, he’s trying to prevent himself from slumping to the ground.

He’s enormous and intimidating even when wounded, a soldier loaded with ammo and weapons and protective paddings and guards, wearing a hood and a helmet and a radio of some sort, his tactical gloves bloody and eyes droopy. The weapon by his side is almost half as tall as you, and God – is that a grenade strapped to his vest?

“I got compromised,” König looks down at the wound but doesn’t remove his hand. He looks so different, like another man entirely when he’s not dressed in his customary olive green pants and a casual black t-shirt. He seems even buffier now, even taller, so terrifying that you wonder if you ever even knew this man.

You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.

“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. But it’s so weary now, so exhausted and frail compared to his confident, playful laughs and that husky voice with which he spoke to you after your kiss.

“I came to ask for help,” he continues under his breath, wobbling even when leaning against a wall. “You’re the only one I can… trust.”

“Of course, anything. I will do anything I can.”

His eyes smile down at you from behind the executioner’s veil. It’s that same devoted stare you’ve been trying to dispel for months now. You give yourself a quick mental shake, then tell him to wait here while you go in and call for an ambulance.

König bounces off the wall and seizes your hand, telling you he can’t go to a hospital and that, if anything, he must avoid any kind of public places. You don’t ask any further questions, even if you know you’re in a pickle now, and not only because those glacial eyes are making your knees weak again. There’s nothing much you can do: he’s wounded and still in danger, saying he can’t trust anyone else. Of course you have to help him in any way you can. If he says it’s not safe, then you must help him get somewhere where it is safe.

And besides, aren’t you a nun? You’re supposed to help those in need.

So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place.

It makes your heart bleed that König takes support from you while you slowly make your way down the street. A man of his size, a body trained to withstand whatever his job throws at him, seeking support from a frail little nun… It’s a joke, indeed, and a horrid one.

When you get to the small place run by a humble old man, you don’t know who to feel more sorry for: the elder behind the counter or König, desperately trying to stay on his feet.

“I mean no trouble,” he says while pushing an unnerving amount of money across the table. “I just need a place to rest.”

The receptionist’s eyes dart to you, then back to König, who still has what you suppose is a loaded rifle dangling by his waist. The safety is on, probably, but there are also knives and grenades strapped to his person, and with that hood, he mainly looks like a terrorist of some sort.

“She’s here to help. See...? Bride of Christ. Even less trouble than I am.”

You try to smile reassuringly as the man risks a better look at you now instead of being fixated on König or his weapons.

You must make an odd pair, a soldier and a nun... The old man probably has a ton of questions in his head right now.

“No shooting,” he says to you, but his words are directed at König.

“No shooting,” he promises. “No mess if no one knows we’re here. Ok...? You’ve never even seen us.”

The receptionist nods. Then he extends a trembling hand and takes the money, and hands out a key without taking any check-in information.

You go to König and help him up the small stairs and into his room paid with bloody money and a menacing appearance. The fitted carpet is old, and floral patterned, the room small and adorable and meant for visitors far more petite than König. The bedspread is old-fashioned and floral too and has never even seen blood, of that you are sure when König lays himself down with a grunt.

You spend the next minutes – or hours, you can’t tell – in a tunnel-visioned fog as you do exactly as he says.

You help him out of his gear and weapons and lay them aside quickly but gently, you cut his shirt with an ugly-looking knife, then get a watered towel for him to press against the wound. You rush back to his tactical vest and search for a first aid kit and some medicine, and start to treat his wounds per his advice.

The sun sets in the window, and you patch up your injured soldier with care, trusting his word when he says it’s only a flesh wound and that it looks far worse than it is.

“I should get shot more often,” he purrs when you’re cleaning the rest of the blood off his skin.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scold, trying to focus on your task and not the vast plates that make his chest. Or the thick abs, right there under your fingertips… Or the fact that he has incredibly narrow hips, and a luscious breath of dark hair leading from his navel down and underneath the waistband of his pants.

You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail...

And it does make you very happy.

You don’t dare to look beyond that because the pants he usually wears aren’t as tight as these, and you fear he’ll catch you checking out his junk in an attempt to see if your friend was correct about his size.

To your blessing – or your curse – you don’t even have to look straight at it to see he’s having an erection. You can actually see from the corner of your eye how König grows hard while you’re treating him – it’s right there, a robust tent that rises beside you while you concentrate on wiping off the blood.

“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “It just happens… Can’t control it.”

He breathes a bit too heavy for someone who’s lying down, and you fear it’s because of the blood loss. But then you start to suspect it’s probably because all the remaining blood has gone between his legs… He doesn’t even try to tone down the heated, obsessive stares he shoots your way, and you suppose he’s either missed you very much, or then there’s a fever rising after all. You’re not sure if you’re glad or disappointed that the bullet didn’t scrape his leg instead.

“I missed you,” he says like he just read your thoughts. He whispers the sentence slowly and with purpose, saying it like a long-withheld secret.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

Gosh… Here you are, a silly little nun who’s tried to get over a crush for six months, crying after him at night and caressing his rose during the day. You’ve been petting a withering flower some mercenary gave you in hopes of getting into your pants, you’ve fawned over memories of a few smiles and a kiss, all the while the said mercenary has killed people for money and now got shot. He came here to work again, but never sent a message, he only came to see you when he was injured…

...And you’re glad he did. If a bullet was needed to bring him back to you, then you’re grateful for it, no matter how horrible it is.

“Did you ever… find someone?” You ask while keeping your gaze fixed on his navel instead of the raging bulge in his pants.

“Someone, who?”

“Someone to hold hands with.”

He gives a strained laugh. “Ah. No. No time for that.”

You swallow, and slowly guide your eyes to his.

“Are you still happy with your crucified man?”

Ouch.

“I… I don’t know.”

His brows knit together; you can see it even in the dim light of the table lamp, you can see it even if there’s some godforsaken black war paint all over his face under that hood.

There’s a distant hurt in his eyes before he blinks softly, slowly.

“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.”

Your heart skips a beat.

He hasn’t had “time” for women, yet has written you letters all these months. He’s written letters while you’ve caressed a rose….

You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart.

“I wish I hadn’t… I wish I...” you start, but can’t bring yourself to finish.

“Liebling. I should’ve sent them anyway.”

You go get rid of the bloodied paper towels before you start to cry in front of him.

God… You’re not only in a pickle, you’re neck-deep in trouble, and you only notice you forgot to wash your hands when you return to him.

He reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Peace settles in, even if there’s blood on your hands and the man you adore is lying next to you, patched up with the help of a first aid kit when he should be lying in a hospital, receiving treatment and care.

There’s a knife and a pistol tucked under the bedspread, next to his hand, and the fact that he’s still prepared to fight anyone who tries to come through that door underlines the fact that you two come from very different worlds. König is more than just a rose buying, coffee offering gentleman, he's more than just a silly guy who threatens to sing serenades under your window if you don’t come out to play with him.

You’re not sure if you’re more enamoured or scared.

“You’re an angel,” he rasps from the bed as you try to swallow the tears that refuse to go down.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

A teardrop falls on the innocent floral bedspread as you wish you were in this room as a married couple instead of an injured, horny soldier and a childish nun in love. Spending your honeymoon or something, getting some rest after an eventful day in town, choosing this absurd old Bed & Breakfast as your place to stay for the night.

You wish you were doing anything else than treating his wounds, lethal or not.

“Are you crying?”

His voice is gentler than you even remembered. Six months of despair have turned him into a dark, alluring trickster when he’s really just a man, a big, amazing, tender man who’s multifaceted, multitalented, and always kind.

He's about to fall asleep, and it’s no wonder. The events of the evening have left you drained, too. You kneel beside his bed, too tired to even sit on a chair, wondering if he’ll die from his wounds tonight or get hunted down by the people who still want him dead.

“I wish you would stop killing people... I wish you would stop getting killed.”

You must look silly, kneeling beside a giant soldier’s bed, crying and holding his hand between yours as if praying. But his eyes smile at you, and while you’d want nothing more than to see his face again, you realise you kind of like König this way. Masked and menacing and mean to his enemies, but stripped down to his soul when he’s with you.

“I wish you would stop praying... And start living,” he mutters gently.

“Praying helps sometimes,” you whisper.

In truth, you wish you’d start living, too. You always thought you were brave when you said ‘no’ to the world. Perhaps you were only running away from it…

The hand is warm but not feverish. His breaths start to even, and his lids get heavier; his thumb gives you a small caress before he drifts off to sleep.

“Perhaps that’s why I’m still here, Kätzchen.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #konig x reader #konig x you #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig x fem reader

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gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

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The horror and the wild (Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader) Medieval Fantasy AU

You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one. CHAPTER 1 Word count: 4906 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig

This fic on AO3

— I do not wish to speak about politics before breakfast!

— Your Highness, I’m afraid, politics would not be waiting patiently until you’re finished with your sweet pastries.

— What do you mean?

— The Emperor’s army is on our doorstep.

The look on the face of the Princess – your Princess – was priceless. First, it was a surprise, her adorable features all twisted in a very unladylike gasp. Then, it was terror – the first time you saw her ever express that emotion since the palace was always clear of anything that could scare her royal highness, from mice and snakes, and up to severely ugly people(poor, poor Elvin – he’d a good life if it weren’t for his pointy slabby jaw). Then, and it was the final emotion on her illustrious face – it was anger. To nobody’s surprise, the anger was mostly coming at you.

You see – you’re a Princess's most loyal handmaiden. Raised under her crib, going to the same classes, doing everything in favor of your royal highness, from warming up her jewelry and to trying the food first to see if it’s poisoned – your whole life’s goal is to make sure that the Princess is as comfortable as possible. You’re her shadow, her servant, the closest to a friend she can have – and if you were the bearer of the bad news, it’s only natural that she would be angry at you in the first instance, and not at the imperial army clashing down at your tiny bordering kingdom.

— Where are the guards?!

— Judging by the screams I am not sure if there are any left in the outer levels of the castle. And if the King didn’t come with a usual note after breakfast, it’s safe to assume that he is more busy.

With a trained movement, you quickly duck under the table when the Princess, naturally, throws a plate in your direction. You knew she wasn’t meaning it – your poor, innocent darling Princess, she was just as scared as you were but had not learned of how to hide her emotions under sarcasm and false calmness. Your job is to keep her safe – and calm – even if there is no royal family to serve anymore. You don’t want to think of the possible outcomes – King took you in, a simple peasant girl with no talents whatsoever, and gave you an illustrious education, the most sought job in the whole kingdom, and an allowance that would allow you to study in the real collegium, were they to accept women. You don’t want this place to fall in Northern Empire clutches – and you especially don’t want the Princess to learn the harmful ways of two pretty young women trapped in a castle full of enemy soldiers.

— How could this happen?!

— I’d have an answer for this question, Your Highness, but you ordered to urn any mail from the Northen Empire. Perhaps, they send us quite a bit of war declarations before finally going down.

Your hand goes to the side of your skirt, clutching on the suicide dagger – if something happens, you’d have to kill the Princess first, take the sin of killing oneself from her innocent soul – and then go down after her, hoping that your dog-like loyalty would allow you to serve her in heaven.

The Princess has many things that she’d like to take with her to the afterlife. You better start preparing her package soon – this castle wasn’t built to be protected from the army of beasts, hiding under human skin – your kingdom never provoked any wars, always trying to search for the opportunity of negotiations – and now this comes to bite you right in your soft rear, without a sufficient amount of guards or a suitable army to protect itself.

You’d pray for the god, but your god wants you to die.

— Princess, we need to…

Before you could say anything else, an explosion erupts somewhere in the southern tower – the closest place to enter the Princess chambers. You can hear screaming, you can hear laughing – a foreign language, the one you are proficient with, but it never made it less barbaric, less harsh. These people talk like swords clangs against each other – like a harsh metal against your skull. You’d give up anything to not understand what they are talking about.

There is something to be done before the soldiers arrive, finding only a few guards and two pretty, terrified young things. You might not be afraid of death, but you sure are terrified of what will come before their blades would slit your throat. You do not wish to die with blood between your legs. You do not wish that fate for the Princess either.

“The Princess should be here.”

“Did Lord say anything about trophies?”

“Don’t take anything now. Tiger said we were never here – he would pay us later”

“What about…”

“Don’t kill the Princess either. Emperor want her to himself, remember?”

“Come on, are we here for a whore?”

“A royal whore, dumbass. Now shut up before Emperor hears you.”

They laugh and you can hear the Princess whimpering, crying softly – all of the layers of harshness are washed away with every tear rolling down her perfect cheek. You move to them as fast as you can – these stupid clothes allow you at least some freedom of movement, saved from the excessive decorations and expensive, heavy fabrics – you are only as few levels higher than cleaning rags. you could probably rip away the lower levels of your skirt and run – the Princess wouldn’t even be able to move without your hand steadying herself.

You need strength to not slap her right now – you know that the pain on her perfect puffy cheek would help get her to listen, but nothing in your body moves to ever hurt her, no matter the cause. You push yourself to the door, thinking – your castle isn’t the highest one in the whole world, if anything, the Princess would be able to escape either via the window or the secret tunnels – but they would search for her, they would never accept defeat like that. Even if you’d stall them for long enough, pulling every bit of luck you don’t have – they wouldn’t stop if they had the goal of catching the Princess.

— Your radiance, we have to go!

— Where? The castle is going to crumble any second now, and Mama and Papa are…

You press your ear against the tough wood, listening to the soldier’s speaking – language is even harsher now when the adrenaline runs through your veins instead of blood. You would give up anything to be strong – to have your dancing and embroidering lessons switched to sword fighting, to archery, to read dark arcana books instead of romance novels that you and Her Preciousness liked so much. Your hands are soft and delicate, only a bit harsh from occasional cleaning and serving – you’re a shame to any servant in the castle, a house pet made to entertain and please, not to fight and work.

The Princess is a cherished treasure for your kingdom. Protected and hidden away, the King was smart enough to know that a royal gem like her would make all the old rulers of kingdoms surrounding yours go into a frenzy – so Her Radiancy wasn’t ever allowed to any royal mingling and balls until she’d reach the age of at least 21. Her birthday was next month – a small mercy, knowing that there was a possibility of never getting of that age.

“Is that a Princess?”

You hear a woman – probably one of the higher members of the court, considering her high-pitched accented whimpers with a familiar voice. God bless her soul and dedicate her a quick death – you don’t want to think what would come of her if not for this prayer.

“Princess should be in her quarters. This one definitely doesn’t speak like a royal meat”

“How do we even know which one is the Princess?”

“She should speak like one. Would be easier if her family ordered a fucking portrait.”

But…you were with the Princess your whole life. You know how to act like her, you know how she talks, how all royals talk. You know how manners, you know how to sing, how to dance, you received the education that allowed her to copy your study work and give it to her personal teachers – her own reflection wouldn’t copy her better than you would.

You’re young, like a Princess, you’re pretty, almost like a Princess – and you’re loyal like a dog, itching to pay your debt to the royal family.

— Your Highness! You need to run, please, just take the secret route through the walls and…

It was the most horrible moment for her to put her foot down.

— I…I live to serve the royal family. Dying for you will be the greatest of honors.

— I will not just leave you here!

— They’d defile and kill us both, Your Highness. But if I just pretend to be you, they won’t come looking for you, won’t they? They would have what they wanted and you will be free.

— What about you?

You’d feel hurt for how quickly she ran to the secret tunnel – if such feelings were normal for a servant to have. You’d feel betrayed if it wasn’t the life or death situation – if you weren’t putting on her dress as swiftly as possible before the soldiers would come running for you. It’s funny, how you always wanted to try her dress – how you were jealous of everything she had, even if you were the closest to her – you pride yourself in not caring about such silly mortal possessions, and yet, you always wanted to try something as beautiful as her dress.

You stare at yourself in the mirror – terrified, small, ready to die at any point or to be hauled back to the Northern Empire like a piece of meat. Dress suits you, the bright pink would tell about innocence and radiance – but not it smells of blood and betrayal. If the soldiers thought that the Princess killed herself in her room, they would surely not think about trying to find her.

You push the tiny dagger against your wrist, praying to all of your knowledge of medicine that your death will be quick and as painless as possible. You left out a silent prayer – knowing that the god would only welcome you after your death.

Not a war, Horangi corrects himself – a massacre.

***

Tiger of the North was fucking tired.

This whole mission – declaring war that no one seen and no one wanted, marching through the street without an army behind him, felt more like a bandit’s doing than something that a general of the best army in the world would do. This whole operation is a stunt, an order from the Emperor that no one expected – seriously, sometimes he still felt like a child with new, exciting toys. For all he knew, König never saw a Princess – yet, he sent his best men to take her out, not caring that this would mean a war on the bordering kingdom.

Not his fault this shithole didn’t even bother to reply to any of the Emperor’s letters regarding the marital status of the Princess. Not his fault they don’t even have a proper army – the king died, gutted like a fucking pig, and the queen followed soon after. Their unit can count less than 20 people, with royal hounds and other animals to help – yet, no one was able to foresee them entering the castle and butchering it. It’s a hunt, not a war or even an assassination – a hunt for the Princess, the useless fucking thing.

If they’d only bothered to get at least some portraits – something to tell what she looks like. Perhaps, she is ugly, a mix of a toad that fucked a pile of shit. Perhaps, she is crazy and eats pillows and keeps her handmaidens' heads like a trophy. Perhaps, she don’t fucking exist and the king just didn’t want to say out loud that his dick was never working enough to produce an heir.

— Search the quarters! I don’t want them to have time to know that their precious king is dead.

The low rumble of König beside his almost makes him dart from surprise. He wears a mask, of course, not even trusting his people to see how he looks like – perhaps, he is as ugly as a toad that…ah, shit, he is using the same comparison again.

A faceless ruler and a faceless Princess – a match made in heaven.

— You think other kingdoms would send their condolences?

— I’m sure that Price is already aching to write a congratulatory letter for the expansion of the empire. A nice addition to the title, ja?

The emperor laughs, a sword in his hand, dark from the king’s blood. Horangi still doesn’t understand why he would decide to go on such a dangerous operation – if anything, they could haul the Princess back to the capital, or at least the nearest Empire territories – but no, König decided to go here himself, searching for a Princess that would, surely, not be worthy his attention. If this man didn’t want to marry all the options other kingdoms offered him, he surely wouldn’t be satisfied with a girl from this shithole of a country. Their land is barely enough for a normal castle, let alone all of the riches that the Empire provided.

Yet, König stumbles in every room, searching for something – for someone. Other soldiers don’t dare to take trophies in front of their emperor, knowing that this operation should be as secretive as possible – no other rulers would bat an eye for a mysterious royal passing and the quick marriage of the Princess of this kingdom, but Graves would be quite concerned and bitching about the Northern Empire coming close to his kingdom. God, if König could just bathe every last one of them in blood, he would have.

— Sir, I believe the Princess should be here Unless she killed herself already.

— Those people honor death more than they do life. Better be fast before I’d have to marry a corpse.

— We could bring her back.

— Nothing can wash off the dead smell even after resurrection. You think why Krueger can only have sex with common whores?

They both have to suppress their laugh at the thought of the royal advisor. Poor, dead Krueger, serving a contract that even death would not be able to break – it’s a good thing to have it on their side. Provides a good amount of jokes just from being around him.

König rushes to the door that looks the most guarded – judging only by the amount of dead servants around it. The Princess must be here and, knowing the traditions of your kingdom, he has about a minute before you’d kill yourself, yelling something ridiculous about finding solace in death and that they would never take you alive. The door comes crashing down ridiculously easy – or it’s his strength challenging in the form of barbaric savagery. When he pushed into the room, he didn’t see what he was expecting to see.

He sees something better.

You look divine in the moonlight, your form, draped in an expensive dress that you only managed to take on halfway through, getting stuck in that stupid corset and billions of tiny bows and cutting jewels. You look majestic, godlike, you look like something from a fairytale. He was anxious before this, thinking if it was worth it – overthinking every bit of the operations, evaluating if the enemy kingdoms would be fine with him just taking you. König wasn’t sleeping a good few nights before this – now he looks at you and wants to kneel in front of your perfect form.

— No wonder they didn’t have portraits. They wouldn’t capture your beauty.

He shook the knife – little thing, as dainty as you are – from your trembling hands. Poor thing terrified of him – he’d pick you up and haul you on your shoulder already, but he wants to take a moment and just admire the comparison between his huge, muscular arms and your fragile form. He knows he is big, imposing, threatening – but compared to you, he feels like a war god paying tribute to his newest sacrifice.

You shake in his grasp, not fighting it – Princess wouldn’t fight, you remind yourself. If killing yourself is not possible, if your dignity is tarnished, the death and torture shall be met with silence – you put your lips together, as firmly as you can. Still, you can’t stop yourself from sobbing when his hand goes to cup your face – a faint trace of your makeup staining his dark gloves.

— This is the declaration of war. You were…

— This is no war, meine Liebe. How could we fight the nation with a dead king?

The Princess would cry, learning about the death of her parents. You try to force more tears, making yourself look as miserable as possible – it isn’t hard in this brute’s hands, with his soldiers surrounding you – but, for some reason, he doesn’t look surprised when you are not crying immediately at the mention of the death of your supposed parents.

He laughs, cupping your face in a rough, crude gesture. He shouldn’t treat Princess like this – even you are not used to men being this vile, to speak of such lewd matters with his men. They surround you, laughing, not even bothering to pay the least bit of respect in front of their Emperor.

He wears a hood and it makes him look like an executioner, not a ruler. But, perhaps, you would welcome a butcherer more than you would a husband.

— Let me go! The guards shall rise to my abduction and they will not leave thou to…

You don’t even need to force yourself to speak like her – you’re royal by any means, other than blood and service. You can imitate her your whole life if needed, shadowing her your whole short existence – it only hurts you more when you are praying that the Princess, dressed up in your garments, would be able to escape. You know that someone will save her, and take care of her – it’s just like the plot of your favorite romance book. An abandoned Princess of the burned kingdom rises to be the wife of a mysterious, masked blood knight, saving him from pushing his soul into the darkness. You, in this story, would be just a minor victim for the author to kill.

— The guards would rise if they weren’t dead, Princess. Too late to call for them now.

He sneers at this “Princess” like a snake, ready to sink her teeth into your soft, limp body. You whimper, finally trying to get your knife from his hand – as gracefully as you can, remembering that you are to stall the time for her to escape, not to actually save yourself. He laughs and lets you go suddenly – only to pick you up like you weigh nothing. Pick you up like a bride, not a pig for him to gut.

The tip of your ears is burning – your whole face is burning, you feel ashamed, embarrassed, angry, every emotion swirls in your head as he doesn’t even try to be subtle about his affection. You thank god for the layers of skirt you are wearing – but the upper part of the dress is barely holding together, showing a scandalous amount of shoulder. You are tainted – a scandal in the court, if there was a court alive.

— Put me down this instant. My kingdom will not just accept these levels of disrespect!

You say this weakly than you wanted to. He laughs – thunder and bear roar, ocean waves against the mountains – you whimper when his hand goes to rip the upper part of your dress entirely, leaving you barely covered, with only three layers of clothing and a corset between you and his horrible, dangerous hands. A lady should not be seen by men when she is in less than five layers of clothing – still, you feel much better when the heavy fabric lets go of your skin. Still, you feel mortified, knowing, what would happen when he started to take off your clothes.

Well…you think you know what will happen. You and Her Highness read books with a scandalous amount of intimacy – touches, hugs, kisses even, the last book having record five instants of the main heroes being in close proximity with each other – you also know that whenever a male enemy soldier captures a woman, he is doing…something before killing them. Not quite sure what, but obviously torturous.

— The only kingdom that is left for you, your Highness, is what lies between your legs. I’ll be sure to pay my regards later.

Before you could say something – anything for that matter, he already hauls you away, still stuck in his hands like a trophy. You thank god that he doesn’t see the difference between you and the Princess. You never knew your acting talents would be of this amount, but nonetheless, you feel complete, knowing that the Princess is safe and sound.

— What is the purpose of your actions?

You are weak, voice whimpering and quiet. You don’t want to touch him, but the hungry gazes of his soldiers make you weak and fragile – you cling to him, trying to cover your modesty. The corset is a part of the wardrobe that no fine lady should ever show to men – yet, this is the only thing now that is keeping your tits together, saving at least some of your dignity. The heavy skirt of the torn dress lingers on your legs, covering you as much as barely holding up fabric can. König’s chest rumbles with a laugh when he notices you clinging onto him like a helpless kitten.

— I’m taking my bride as your parents were not kind enough to answer any of the proposals.

— Why didn’t you just visit?

If it were for him, he would just sprawl you on the ground and take what he wants. He would, were he a simple soldier, not the North Emperor – he would if there weren’t any witnesses if there were no intentions of marrying you later. But alas, he needs your hands in marriage – he needs you whole in marriage, from head to toe, from your heart to your soul, from your pussy to that sweet mouth of yours – and he can’t have all that unless he is patient.

— I did. Right now, for that matter.

— As the only heir to the throne, this would mean the death of my country. You can’t just…

— Who is there to stop me, little one? Your parents? Dead. Your army? They would kneel for my men were we at actual war.

You close your mouth. He laughs again, this terrifying hood of his moving when he shakes his head. You sob, tears flowing freely down your cheeks – it’s a wonder you can still talk while crying like this, but you need to keep up the act and you need to stall the time as much as possible. His hand goes to wipe away your tears and, for a second, you almost want to bite him. But, Princesses don’t bite – they lay in the hands of their captors and wait for princes to save them.

— The other kingdoms would protect us, we had war pacts!

— Were you loved enough to start a war with the Empire to protect you from getting married?

— I shall…

— You’re too young to speak like a queen, Liebe. Leave that to me, ja?

You open your mouth.

You close your mouth.

You open your mouth again.

— Please, let me go.

This is a quiet, soft sob – König stops for a second, looking at your fragile, vulnerable expression. You’re as weak as a kitten, as adorable as a bunny – and precious, his little treasure, tucked away nicely in the deepest corners of this kingdom. He almost feels bad for breaking you, for taking you away. He killed many men, the king included, and he captured more land than his father ever could dream of – the biggest empire lies at his hands and yet, he feels weak when you cry in his hands.

It still suits you more – a pained expression, pure terror, all the emotions that a young woman like you should experience when she is captured by someone like him – he believes in terror through submission and the tears streaming down your face makes his cock twitch in his pants.

— I have all the right for you, little one. It’s your father’s fault that you were not protected more.

He laughs, his large, imposing hand goes to cup your ass – you don’t even understand how his touch manages to get through this many layers of clothing. Your skirt is in complete disarray when he touches your legs, squishing and destroying the crinoline parts and whale bones. So much went into creating this skirt, a horrifying construct that never allowed the Princess to move freely, stuck in one place like a glorified little dolly – now it becomes your grave, mortifying and freezing you in one place.

— You can’t…no, please, don’t…

He grabs your hips with the ferocity of a warrior, not an emperor. Rulers shouldn’t kidnap Princesses from neighboring countries, and they shouldn’t lead their troops on an operation that would destroy any diplomatic relationships with them – but he stands here, no more than a normal soldier, and you were never this terrified in your life before. He is a monster, a beast, an anomaly that shouldn’t exist in this world – even your desire to protect the Princess isn’t stopping you from crying and shaking. You bite your lips and sob softly, quietly, hoping he won’t just throw you to his men.

— This is what politics leads to, no? Your father decided to stop being diplomatic…and I did too.

He isn’t my father, you want to scream. He did nothing but take you from the streets, and slums you were scrambling aimlessly like nothing more but a tiny critter under his boots – he gave you everything, any book you wanted, the best company in the whole kingdom. He isn’t your father, still, but you pay for his mistakes – mistakes that you had no idea of. Princess ordered you to ignore any mail that would come from “This Northern brute” and you didn’t know that it could come to this.

If only you were to steal those letters and read them instead of throwing them away…but what would it come to? Princess wouldn’t marry someone like König, she had no like for the emperor twice her age, for the human who defiled the very laws of nature, sitting in his high castle, ordering the undead soldiers around. Monster with, probably, three heads and two faces, with four hands hiding under his magnificent armor. A beast who is…

A best who is cradling you in his arms like you were his lover, not his victim.

— Put me down. Please.

— I’m getting tired of listening to little Princesses wailing. Tell me, Liebling, do you wish to continue this journey quietly or unconsciously?

His hand goes to your neck – no doubt, he would be able to squish the life out of you if he so wished. No doubt, you are fucked – utterly and completely, with his ability to do whatever he wants your inability to stop him in any way. Sobbing softly, not wanting for him to continue this humiliation, you simply nod – to whatever option he deems appropriate. Princess would be screaming, yelling for help, and she would stomp her adorable feet on the ground until she’d get what she wanted – but you are no Princess, and playing pretend already makes you miserable enough.

— I do not wish to see the destruction of my kingdom.

— It’s not destroyed, little Princess. Merely defiled, captured and burned down.

— You didn’t…

— Of course not, kleine Hase. I wouldn’t dare to burn the newest addition to my empire…unless you would make me to.

It’s not a threat – it’s a promise, poorly concealed by the obvious smile in his voice. You cling to his chest and hear the rumble of his laugh when he pushes his cape over your shivering form. It’s a small form of comfort, but an unwelcome one – you’d rather be shivering, naked, and exposed in front of his troops than find comfort in the way he treats you. His cloak is heavy, more suited for the harsh weather of the central parts of the Empire – not your kingdom, mostly warm and wet, with bountiful rains and plentiful soil. You understand why he would want this land – you don’t understand why he would want you.

— Don’t hurt my people.

— Be nice then. You can be nice to your husband, ja?

If you weren’t a Princess, you’d claw his fucking eyes out – get your dainty hands under his hood and scrap the pulsating flesh, turn his face into a mush of blood and gore. If you were real Princess, you would declare war on the Empire and die the protector of your kingdom – not a terrified girl.

But you’re neither a Princess nor a commoner.

You push your lips together, allowing König to take you away. Accepting your fate not with dignity, but with quiet, fearful acceptance.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere cod #könig call of duty

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jamesismynames · 3 months

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and right here right now all the way from battery city the little children raise their open filthy palms like tiny daggers up to heaven and all the juvie halls and the ritalin rats ask angels made from neon and fucking garbage scream out what will save us and the sky opened up

#danger days #mcr #gerard way

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honnelander · 6 months

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surprises

WOW OK i can't believe i did this!! i needed a small break from my writer's block with Sanji and wanted to try my hand at another opla character that i find really interesting! and cute i'm sorry this was a lot of fun to write and i enjoyed the change of pace so i hope you enjoy! if you want to be tagged in any of my work, please read this

gif credit @zsuo

WARNINGS: none

word count: 2k

pairing: opla!buggy x reader

summary: reader is on 'clown duty' on the Going Merry while the crew searches for Nami, but the more you talk with Buggy, the more you realize you like him.

masterlist

taglist: @yarnnerdally @miloonmetis @fa1rybubbl3z @feelinmatcha @buggy0827 @uncomfortableshoelace @notasgard @deserticwren @shadydeanmuffin @ohsilk @antrenna @laviiv

Ok, you’ll admit it, you’ll finally admit it. You were finally going to admit to yourself the tiny, stupid, and annoying thought that has been plaguing the back of your mind for days now:

You thought the clown was hot.

Even saying that small, little sentence to yourself in your mind made you cringe and want to smack yourself into next week.

You thought the clown was attractive? Buggy the freaking clown? Buggy, the flashy fool? Buggy, the... what, something-something jester? The guy that constantly wore that silly circus make up all the time, so you didn’t really know what his face even looked like exactly? The person who rivaled Usopp in always having the most shit to say? It was ridiculous.

What was even worse, was the fact that he was just a head at this point, he wasn’t even a full person with a body. You had no idea what the rest of him looked like and you hated the fact that you were just so god damn curious to find out. It was embarrassing- you were attracted to a literal talking head!

Apparently though, the rest of the crew had said, sans Sanji since you both had joined Luffy’s crew at the same time, that this Buggy guy was bad news. Why exactly? You didn’t really know, but it had something to do with Buggy attempting to drown Luffy to obtain the map to the Grand Line and decimating a town a couple of weeks ago.

But it looked like that warning of ‘Buggy is dangerous’ had turned into ‘Buggy is just annoying’ since all he was now, at this point in time, was just a talking head that never seemed to shut up. That talking head, however, was your crew’s only ticket to find a rogue Nami so you all had no choice but to put up with his antics.

“Can’t you just tell us where Arlong is?” you asked the clown head offhandedly one morning out on deck as you sharpened your daggers. “Without, you know, all the theatrics?”

“God,” Buggy groaned, rolling his eyes to the heavens. “Are you deaf or are you just stupid?” he asked exasperatedly as his head hopped around and turned to face you. “For the millionth time- I can’t just tell you where Arlong is. My powers don’t work like that. I’m not a compass or a map.”

“Well, actually, you kind of are, aren’t you?” you asked curiously with an eyebrow raised, not put off by his rude tone. “I mean, think about it,” you started, pointing the tip of your dagger to look at him. “You could like, ‘leave’ a toe or something anywhere you wanted to remember a certain thing or place, and you could then just... sense where to go to get it back. Exactly like a map.” You were silent for a minute as you went back to sharpening the blade. “But I guess you already did that, right? Since that’s how you found Luffy at the Baratie?” you asked with a thoughtful hum.

“Wow,” Buggy laughed condescendingly. “You’re a real sharpshooter, aren’t you? Thanks for that master analysis, captain obvious. What do you think I’m doing right now?”

The corner of your mouth twitched upwards. “Acting like a map to get your body back,” you answered without hesitation and a twinge of smugness. “Maybe you should be called ‘Buggy the Map’ instead. It has a nice ring to it.”

The clown’s patronizing smile dropped, his expression deadpanning. “Haha, very funny,” Buggy said in a humorless voice. “And here I thought you weren’t anything more than just a pretty face.”

Your eyes darted to him, quickly scanning over his expression to see if he was seriously calling you pretty or if he was just joking. When you saw no hint of sincerity in his green eyes (wow they were pretty), you cleared your throat and refocused your attention back onto your blade.

“Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises actually,” you said matter-of-factly without thinking, your mouth having a mind of its own. Your eyes widened slightly, your line of sight not budging from your dagger as your hand running along the blade stilled for a second.

Were you flirting with Buggy?

Were you insane?

Buggy’s attention was already wandering but at your choice of words, his eyes snapped right back to your face. For once in his life, he was at a loss for words. “Uh... ok?” He blinked. “Like what?”

You felt your cheeks flush slightly, running your sharpening stone along the blade at a quicker pace. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The clown furrowed his eyebrows, scrunching up his face in confusion as he looked at you. He felt like he had entered the Twilight zone or something.

“Uh, yeah. You’re the one who brought it up, sweet cheeks,” he said as he watched you intently focus on your task at hand. Buggy then quirked an eyebrow as he added in snooty tone, “Well, whatever ‘surprise skills’ you have can’t possibly be knife sharpening because you’ve been working on that same blade all morning.”

Shit. He was right, you realized. You had been out here longer than you initially thought and had been working on the same dagger ever since you sat down with him.

In a quick attempt to hide your embarrassment at being called out, you swiftly sat up and stabbed the tip of your small blade into the wooden barrel next to where his head was. “Watch your mouth clown!”

But Buggy didn’t even flinch. “Pfft, nice try sweetheart,” he scoffed. “But blades don’t scare me. I’m immune to cuts, remember? I’m literally just a head right now.”

Crap. He got you. Again. You leaned back in your seat, pulling out your other blade to sharpen.

“Oooo, another dagger, huh?” he asked with feigned interest, catching your gaze. “I guess you really are ‘full of surprises’,” he teased with an overly flirtatious tone and an exaggerated wink.

At that, your face reddened. You knew he was just joking, but the combination of you admitting to yourself that you found him attractive coupled with his flirty teasing and that wink... it was causing your heart rate to accelerate like you had a schoolgirl crush.

And crushing on Buggy? The talking clown head? It was just all too ridiculous.

You resumed your blade sharpening ritual, trying to pretend like he wasn’t affecting you. “Well, I did tell you that, didn’t I?” you asked, trying to turn the tables back on him.

Buggy was silent for a beat as his eyes regarded you. HIs voice dropped an octave lower, intentionally or not, you weren’t sure, as he said in a more earnest tone, “Yeah... but I didn’t think it was true.”

Your eyebrows shot up at hearing his admission, his tone surprising you as you quickly turned your head towards him. When you saw the look in his eyes, the way that he was still staring at you, it caused your heart to skip a beat. It was like he was seeing you for the first time, really seeing you.

‘Being more than a pretty face’ wasn’t something you took lightly; it was something you lived by. It had become your mantra of some sort. Your whole life, you were underestimated, rarely ever being taken seriously because you ‘had a pretty face’ that you could ‘coast by’ on. People (men) always assumed you were too dumb to understand things or be smart and have talents because you were pretty, and it absolutely infuriated you.

You shook your head, clearing up those thoughts. You didn’t feel like delving into that right now and especially not with Buggy of all people, so instead of biting back, you said with a curt, humorless laugh as you went back to your blade, “There’s always more to people than meets the eye, you know.”

Buggy let out a snort, his green eyes looking towards the sky for a second. “Yeah,” he agreed. “No kidding.”

Both of you became quiet, a few beats of strangely comfortable silence passing between the two of you before you broke it.

“But probably not with you though,” you joked. “You’re probably just all clown, complete with bad jokes and questionable make up. And,” you looked at him, a spark of mischief in your eyes, “you’re probably not even that tall.”

You hoped to God that Buggy really did have a sense a humor and that your playful jabs didn’t go over his bandana cladded head because you really didn’t want to make an enemy out of him. And if he didn’t get your sense of humor, then you and him probably would never work out anyway.

Your stomach fell to your feet at the thought. What were you even saying?? Jesus, you really were delusional. The quicker you guys found Arlong and split ways with Buggy, the better.

But of course, the universe had different plans for you, because Buggy did in fact have a sense of humor and took your mockery of his height in stride.

“What- not tall?? Please,” his voice becoming playfully haughty. “Just wait until you see my body, sweetheart. I’ll be looking down at you, telling you the best jokes you’ve ever heard in your life with some fresh clown make-up on,” he said, winking at you with a click of his tongue. “I call it ‘the Buggy trifecta.’”

You looked away from him, hiding your flushed cheeks as you shook your head, a smile on your face as you opened your mouth to say something back when Sanji came up to the upper deck, a small smile on his face when he saw you and effectively cutting off your banter.

“Ah, there you are y/n!” the blonde cook called out. “I’ve been looking for you. I didn’t realize you’d be out here on, uh,” his blue eyes darted to Buggy for a nanosecond before looking back at you, “clown duty.”

Buggy scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Well, good morning to you too, happy feet.”

Sanji glanced at Buggy again, furrowing his eyebrows for a second before shaking his head once with a blink and letting out a small sigh as he turned his attention back to you, deciding it wasn’t worth it to argue with the clown head.

“Yeah, so, uh, anyway,” he said as he put his hands in his pockets. “Breakfast is ready,” he relayed, jabbing a thumb behind him. “I wanted to let you know before it got cold.”

“Hey, what about my breakfast, blondie?” Buggy complained. “I might just be a head right now, but a clown’s gotta eat, you know?” When he saw the questionable stares from you and Sanji, Buggy shook his head. “Don’t ask me how it works,” he said before either of you could say anything. “But it just does. I still get hungry and need to eat.” He looked back up at Sanji, his green eyes expectant. “So how about whipping me up some scrambled eggs, huh?”

Sanji blinked. “Oh, well, sure-”

“I got it, Sanji,” you said, cutting off your lifelong friend. You stood up from your seat, sheathing your daggers back into their holsters on your hips. “I’ll make you some eggs Buggy.”

“Ooo, look at that,” Buggy laughed. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Ignoring the questioning look Sanji was giving you, you walked past the two men, well, man and talking head, and started going down the stairs. “Here’s another surprise: I’ll cook you your eggs once I’m done eating, in like an hour. How does that sound?”

“Whoa, wait, wait, wait! I didn’t mean it like that, y/n!” Buggy quickly backtracked, trying his best to smooth things over with you as fast as he could. “I meant that as like, a good surprise! Really!”

You smirked to yourself, finding it funny how quickly Buggy switched up his mannerisms in order to get what he wanted. “Sanji, you’re on clown duty!” You called out, tunning Buggy out, leaving him begging and pleading with a confused Sanji, who was wondering what the heck he just witnessed between you two.

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #buggy fanfiction #opla!buggy x reader #opla!buggy x y/n #opla #one piece x reader #one piece #one peice live action #one piece fanfiction #buggy #captain buggy x reader

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vampire-himbos-of-santa-perdita · 2 years

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I need y’all to know that after 4 years and 3 drafts of me getting to the end of Act 2 of the girl punk novel and getting cold feet cuz I hate finishing projects and leaving my characters behind, I finally started polishing up Act 3. The end is eminent and then I shall be querying it by the end of the year. (!!!)

#heaven's tiny daggers #girl punk novel #sophie writes #writing update #am writing #i haven't been sharing snippets or anything lately cuz I just wanted to Focus on getting it done without distractions #i thank you for your patience #emo problems #just a lot of emos getting spooked in a house #mcr fans... if you know you know

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cripplemagics · 1 year

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What Jewel are Your Bones Made of?

ONYX .

reserved (by choice), decisive, self-sure and self-contained, selective, resolved, close-minded, intuitive, deliberate ⍚ opaque - my secrets are not for you ⍚ scrying - i can see more than you know ⍚ sharp - i know where to cut.

TAGGED BY: @mooneternyl TAGGING: @paramounticebound @kingvalkyyrie @arcaneprophesied (for ivar) @immergrun and YOU!

#*/ i'd rather be in hell ; metas.#*/ like tiny daggers up to heaven ; aesthetic.#*/ dash games.

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byuntrash101 · 1 year

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30 secs in heaven

dom!reader x sub!hyunjae

smut | nsfw | mdni

frat fuckboy!hyunjae,ennemies to fwb(ish), slut shaming hyunjae, shaming hyunjae for being a virgin (there's nothing wrong with being a virgin or a slut tbh they're sociological constructs it's your body do what u want), just shaming hyunjae in general (you are kinda mean oops), premature ejac, cumming untouched, lasting training, multiple orgasms (m), overstim (m), oral (f), face riding, nude sub/clothed dom, begging, degradation, hair pulling, slight dacryphilia, slight pain play, spit play, unprotected sex (it's discussed but they decide against it. don't be like them kids), creampie

requested | part of my 2023 prompts event [closed]

turns out the campus' fuckboy is nothing more than a pathetic virgin that cums way too fast

[❛ this is a one time thing. ❜ + ❛ shut up and kiss me already. ❜]

TUMBLR IS BASED ON REBLOGS. PLEASE REGLOB MY WORK 🖤

“How old are we?” Hyunjae snorted. “12?” he asked, cocking a disdainful eyebrow, looking down at the empty clear vodka bottle at the center of the circle.

“Don’t be a fucking twat for once will you?” Sangyeon retorted, eyes shooting daggers at the younger blonde man.

He wasn’t wrong though. Playing this hybrid of spin the bottle meets 7 minutes in heaven was kind of childish for a bunch of college sophomore and juniors such as yourselves but you didn’t speak your mind. For two reasons.

One. The night reached a state where everyone was trashed out drunk and passed out at various curious places. Even the DJ was blacked out, head resting on one of the house plants so the music was reduced to a random lo fi spotify playlist playing in the background on somebody’s unclaimed laptop.

Two. You didn’t want to side with Hyunjae. Ever. That man kind of repulsed you. You were never into fuckboys especially the ones that had the reputation to back the rumors. You were deeply convinced that every girl on campus has had a go with Hyunjae’s pogo stick and of course if that was what they wanted, great for them but that wasn't your style that's all.

“I don’t need a bottle to take a lucky girl to heaven” Hyunjae declared, a smug smirk playing at his lips, and looking through his long lashes at one of the girls in the circle, even daring to go as far as to wink at her. She immediately started to giggle.

As far as you were concerned you had to repress a gag and opted for a more discreet but just repulsed facial expression.

“Yeah right just spin it!” Eric hurried him by motioning to the empty bottle in the circle but that didn’t stop Hyunjae from throwing one last disgustingly fuckboyish eyebrow raise to the snickering girl.

“Aight” he said, reaching for the vodka bottle, starting to spin it.

Anddd of fucking course it had to land on you. At that moment you and Hyunjae made eye contact. The smugness is gone. You both look at each other in complete confusion, hung in time.

You are not fond of Hyunjae, that's a fact. A known one. The main interested party knew that much from one very reliable source. Experience.

Of course since you breathed and had boobs Hyunjae tried to get into your pants too back when you were a new and introverted freshman in a brand new and intimidating college. But Hyunjae learned pretty fast that introvertedness wasn’t to be confused with shyness. Because you certainly weren't the latter. You rejected him in a way that didn’t leave any room for interpretation or even second chances and he never bothered you again.

Fuck… Why me?

For a second you argued that the bottle landed between you and Giggles so you really didn’t mind letting her get into the sickeningly small closet with Mr. Universe. But unfortunately Sangyeon and Eric were way too happy to stick Hyunjae with one of the rare girls on campus that never showed interest towards him.

Before you could understand they whisked you both in the tiny closet. And you found yourself squished between a couple of mops, floor detergent and of course the campus’ Angel Face.

You both stayed quiet for a while, both awkwardly standing in the dark. Your arms crossed on your chest while Hyunjae leaned on the door.

“I mean” you were the first one to break the silence. “We can always just wait here for 7 seven minutes.”

“Yeah.”

Silence again. But it was somehow even more awkward. The air felt heavy, weighing down on your shoulder like lead.

“I don't want to get herpes or whatever”

You didn't really know why you said that but it just slipped out of you. Maybe because you hated how dry he was, not making a simple effort to at least talk to you or how he looked like being in your company was the most dreadful thing that could happen to him or maybe it was the booze talking. But nonetheless you said it.

“What?” he whipped his head in your direction.

“Yeah you surely have herpes with all the mouths that you kissed. Too bad they don't make condoms for your mouths” you laughed out loud.

At first Hyunjae looked pissed, sharp eyes peering at you but as his eyebrows relaxed on his forehead a sly smirk pulled his lips.

“You know what?” he started “I think you’re jealous…” he walked to you lifting his arms and placing both his palms at each side of your shoulder, forcing you to back up, trapping you between the wall and his large frame.

The untasteful scent of his overly sweet cologne mixed with the strong smell of cold tobacco floated to your nostrils, by reflex you pushed your chin back in your chest until the back of your head was against the wall too.

“Maybe you want to be added to my list?” he tilted his head bringing your face closer to yours.

He keeps a list? That's the cringiest thing you ever heard.

“Shut up and kiss me already. Let's get it over with”. You exhaled, bracing yourself.

“Kiss you?” Hyunjae started laughing. “You’re the last thing on earth I want to get my mouth on” he said before standing back straight, letting his hands fall to his side.

But before he could turn around you grabbed him by the collar and switched position with him, shoving his body onto the detergent bottle and you crashed your lips on him. To your surprise Hyunjae reciprocated the kiss, gradually he relaxed between your arms. You dared to open your mouth, letting your tongue slip past his lips. His flavor took over you, the taste of cigarettes and raspberry vodka filled your head. He started to breathe heavily and then moan into your mouth.

Hyunjae on the other hand didn’t even feel himself get hard. He didn’t have time to understand he liked this change of pace, he liked being pushed around, he liked that you pinned him against the wall and just stole this kiss from him.

You should have known he was enjoying this kiss a little too much but somehow it didn’t ring any bells to you and before you realized it his voice went very high pitched until he broke the kiss abruptly. When you looked at him his eyes were rolled back in his head and his jaw was hanging open.

“Fuckkk” he cursed in a throaty moan.

Silence again. You took your hands off his collar. You looked at him in confusion, looking for some kind of explanation on what just happened into his eyes but the only thing you found was evident and undeniable shame.

“Did you just…” you asked as Hyunjae bit down on his lip in worry when you looked down you spotted the disgraceful wet patch at his crotch.

“Are you for real right now?” you started to chuckle. “Did you really just fucking cum from a simple fucking kiss?” you started laughing louder. “7 minutes in heaven? More like 30 seconds! I can’t fucking believe it. Cumming untouched like a fucking prepubescent virgin.”

In this very delicate situation, saying Hyunjae felt vulnerable was an understatement. And this side eye he made, unable to hold your gaze, betrayed him right away.

“Wait?” you clapped your hand over your mouth. “Nooo wayyyy dude” you laughed even louder, throwing your head back. “Are you a virgin?”

The silence that followed spoke for itself. Hyunjae felt dizzy, he staggered backwards until his back hit the closed door.

“Wait, I don't get it… Did you pay those girls to say that you fucked them?” you were still half laughing.

He had nothing to lose anymore.

“N-no… I.” he looked back at you through his lashes, your cold, unwavering glare made him shudder. “I don’t even know how it started” he blurted. “Just one day that girl from my sociology class started to say she fucked me and that I was the best she’d ever been with and I never denied it. And then another girl said the same thing and then another…” Hyunjae’s words get caught in his throat and he swallows back a sob.

“Why didn’t you say anything, dipshit?” you spat. The biting tone made Hyunjae’s guts stir with an unknown feeling.

“I don’t know, okay?” one single tear rolled down his cheek.

There was something so satisfying in seeing Hyunjae crumble like this, catching him in a lie and finally letting the truth out. You wrapped your hand around his chin, nails poking at his wet cheeks as you made him look at you.

“Yeah I bet you loved having your harem following you around at parties and worshiping the ground that you walked.” You hissed between your teeth.

“Yes… But at the same time I was petrified to be with a girl… because of that reputation I was too scared to disappoint her that she would tell the truth to everyone…”

“And losing the attention felt unbearable, right?” you dug your nails a little deeper on his cushiony cheeks.

“Yess!!” he exclaimed, wincing at the pain, another repressed little sob pathetically shaking his large body.

“You know what…” you let go of his face, raising both your palms at each side of your face . “I don’t want to stay here for another fucking second.”

“No please” He whispered, pressing his back on the door to prevent you from leaving.

Maybe, there was an opportunity in all this. For both of you.

“I-I…” he hesitated. “y/n… I can offer you a deal…” he somewhat regained his composure, straightening his back against the wooden door.

You were intrigued.

“Maybe you… I mean…” he hesitated.

“Spit it out Lee” you urged him, your patience running thin.

“Maybe you could fuck me?” he blurted out.

“What?” you frowned in confusion.

“We could help each other. You help me… conquer my fear” Hyunjae walked on eggshells, the proposition sounding more and more like a polite suggestion rather than an actual deal “and in exchange I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Anything goes” he added.

Now that was something you could get to enjoy. Breaking the cocky fuckboy into a pathetic little mess.

“You would like that wouldn't you? '” without a heads up you grabbed Hyunjae's crotch. Package tightly fitting in your palm. “You think I didn’t notice how your dick didn’t go down this whole time?” Hyunjae whimpered ever so slightly in response. “You like when I’m mean to you don’t you?” The blonde whined again but didn’t speak. “You like when I make fun of you, huh?” you grip around his balls becoming ever so slightly tighter. “When I call you names?”

“Yess” Hyunjae admitted in a broken whisper, eyes tightly shut, shame painting his beautiful features.

“Pathetic” you spit. “You cum from a simple kiss then stay hard when I laugh at you. Your cock is really begging to be used, isn’t it?”

“Yes! Use me” he responds back a little more eagerly than he would have liked. You clench a little harder around his crotch making him gasp for air and jolt his hips into your hand.

“Good boys always say please” you whisper in his ear, the hot air lifting goosebumps on Hyunjae’s skin, drawing a quiet whimper out of the boy.

“Please, please, please” he whispered back, shallow breaths giving away the urge he felt. You smirk at his state of aggravated neediness.

“This is a one time thing” you finally agreed as you find your fingers fiddling with the button of his jeans. Hyunjae’s face lights up in hope.

“Yes! Please! fuck me and I will never bother you again I’ll-” his voice got caught in his throat when you carefully peeled the denim off him. Hyunjae’s hips move against his will one more time when you drag down his wet and cum soaked boxers as he felt the cold air hit his scolding hot and leaking tip. You bit your lip at the sight. His cock hadn’t stop leaking from the kiss. Precum and cum mixing at making his cock glisten under the dim light of the closet.

“Take everything off and get on your knees” you said, taking a step back to allow him some space to fulfill your request which he did hurriedly.

In a flash he was sitting on his heels in front of you looking up at you through his lashes, both hands laid flat on his thighs while he waited for you. You didn't even bother taking your clothes off, only sliding off your underwear from under your skirt. When you lifted the fabric and unveiled to Hyunjae the very object of his desire he stopped breathing. He left like he had never in his life laid eyes on anything this beautiful, this perfect.

He licked his lips hungrily, wanting nothing more but to wrap his mouth around the glistening folds.

“Make me cum with your mouth like a good little fuck toy” you said shoving your hips onto his face.

Instantly Hyunjae started to move at a rapid pace burying his face in the wet crevices, wanting to drown in you. You grabbed the eager boy by his thick blonde locks.

“Slower you dumb cunt” you pulled archly on his face, making his neck bend awkwardly to look up at you. “You a fucking bitch in heat or something?” Hyunjae winced at the dull pain on his scalp.

Hyunjae took a deep breath to calm himself down and stuck his tongue out, carefully swiping it from your entrance to your clit. You let a satisfied sight slip off your lips. And Hyunjae’s hands fly to your thighs to ground his body between your thighs and his mind to the present. Trying so bad to keep it slow as your taste intoxicates him, turning him into an animal.

“Yeah like that” you say as you relax your hand around his hair, even gently stroking it. You start to rock your hips on his tongue. Grinding your clit on his mouth just a little harder.

Hyunjae reads between the lines and goes ever so slightly faster. Twirling his hot tongue around your erect nub then going back down to dip the tip at your opening earning a pleased moan from you. You throw your head back and just lose yourself in the pleasure he provides you. Letting your voice go more high pitched as you near your high

That sound alone is enough for Hyunjae to lose control again. He was holding off so well up until then. So well when you squeezed his crotch, so well when he stripped for you, so well when he first tasted your nectar on his lips but the sound you made while your scent filled his head was too much for him. Again the white clumpy liquid spurted out of his beet red cock to stained his thighs and stomach while he moaned into your pussy. His large body shaking under you as he orgasmed once more.

When you noticed you turned around only to witness what you feared had happened. You saw Hyunjae’s mess all over his thighs and stomach. The slimy liquid finding refuge in the dents of his hips around his abs. You grabbed a fist full of his hair again.

“You fucking pathetic little bitch” you pulled his face away from your folds. “You fucking came again!”

“S-sorry” he barely managed to say looking up at you with his cheeks and chin made shiny with your essence, mind still hazy from his high.

“You deserve punishment don’t you think?” you growled as you pulled harshly on his hair bending his neck backwards, the sharp pain making his eyes prickle.

“Yes, I do. ‘m sorry y/n” he started to mumble. His guts stirred in anticipation when he saw your glacial eyes stare back at him with resentment.

“Open your mouth” you demanded. “Stick your tongue out”

Hyunjae felt his cock twitch when he saw you lean in and purse your lips only to spit right on his tongue.

“Don’t swallow yet.” you instructed, hand still gripping tight around his hair. “Say thank you”

“Pthang you” Hyunjae replied as best as he could as the slimy foreign liquid rolled on his tongue, making his insides flutter with thrill and joy.

“Swallow” you said.

And he did. Happily taking your spit down his throat almost as a trophy an indelible token of what you both did in this closet.

You let go of his hair and step away and Hyunjae collapses. He sits with his legs forward and his sweaty back against the cool wooden door.

You positioned both your feet at each side of his hips and started to crouch down. Hyunjae jolts when he feels your hand wrap around his bare cock guiding it to your entrance. Cock twitching at the idea of serving you properly.

“Do you have a condom?” he asked between hisses as you lightly pump your fist around him.

“No. You?” you ask back and he shakes his head. You circle his tip on your hot wet folds which makes him arch his back against the door and press his lips into a thin line.

“Should we go get one?” he says, frowning in worry.

You let go of his cock and motion your chin to the door. “Go ahead. Go out and ask your friends for a condom.” You taunted him.

Hyunjae was conscious of the state he was in and the last thing he wanted was for his friends to see him like this, him that was so preoccupied with appearances. So he shook his head again.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy” you said as you grabbed his base again, angling him right at your entrance. “Today is a safe day for me” you said and you sunk yourself on his cock. The hot tip deliciously parting you, sliding with ease inside your drenched heat.

It took Hyunjae everything he had to not burst again. Finally popping his cherry. Finally feeling the delicious wetness and warmth of your pussy around him. Completely unrestrained, raw. He thought his whole body was going to burst into flames, his heart hammering against his ribs.

You saw him struggle, eyes shut tight, eyebrows digging a deep crease on his forehead, jaw clenched and nails clawing at the wooden floor. You grabbed his face between your fingers, sharp nails poking at his cheeks. The pain helped Hyunjae concentrate on something else that wasn’t the agonizing pleasure he felt on his throbbing cock.

“Look at me! Don’t you fucking cum, you hear?” you forced him to look at you. Slapping his cheek when you caught him losing focus, his eyes turning in his head. It worked and Hyunjae calmed down.

“Ok” he stated, out of breath. “I’m good”

You started to very slowly lift your hips up.

“I can’t fucking believe you came twice and you are still this fucking hard” you moaned as his tip was barely hanging inside of you to smash yourself back in. "You really are like a fuck toy ready to get used again and again and again" you said making your hips snap down with every word.

Hyunjae whimpered as a reply, biting down his lower lip in shame.

You climb the ladder of pleasure very rapidly given the orgasm Hyunjae robbed you of earlier you too were pretty worked up and with very little time you found yourself flirting with your edge again.

Hyunjae, on the other hand, was being tortured by the strong grip of your walls around him. As you were nearing your high you clenched down harder on him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on for long.

“Y/n… aaah” he was out of breath. Large beads of sweat dripping down his temples and hanging under his chin. “I can’t hold back anymore. Gonna aaah c-cum” he was at the end of his rope. His fucked out half lidded eyes looking at you with the most miserable of expressions.

You knew you were close, you figured you let the man let go before he loses the sanity he has left.

“Cum” you said.

The result was almost immediate. Hyunjae moaned out loud, finally letting go of his clenched jaw to let it lose as a string of groans and high pitched moans left his lips, to reverberate on all the walls of the tight space, probably to be heard by everyone outside that was not knocked out drunk. You felt Hyunjae delivering an abundant quantity of cum right in your pussy. Each of your thrust shoving the cum even deeper inside your dripping heat.

But you hadn’t finish yet and you don't intend to let yourself be edged to this level twice on the same night. You weren't going to stop before you grasp your orgasm.

Hyunjae started to whine when you kept on bouncing on his sensitive and drained out cock. Still constricting the poor member around your unforgiving wall. Hips still going strong with the brutal pace, determined to rip your orgasm out of Hyunjae.

“Please. Slow down I–Aaaa” tears started to roll down his face mixing with the sweat on his chiseled jaw.

“Shut up, I'm almost there” you said, clapping your hand on Hyunjae's mouth. His face contorting in overstimulation at the forced pleasure he winced under your touch, the face of true suffering. Hyunjae’s anguish was the last straw for you.

You finally snatch your high, hips becoming sloppy as you let yourself moan out, throwing your head back and pushing your hips back and forth, making Hyunjae’s cum gush out of you, mixing his previous loads still pooling on his stomach.

You gradually slow down, riding out your high slowly until you come to a complete stop. You keep Hyunjae’s dick right inside you. After a couple of minutes of both of you trying to clear your minds and catch your breath you speak.

“You aren’t really ready be able to live up to your reputation yet but come see me again I’ll teach you to last for hours.”

a/n: ooooff. idk what happened here? i was really in my domme head space and my fingers slipped. thank you anon who requested this is one of my faves <3 guysss did you like it? if yes please consider leaving a comment or an ask. 1 comment = 1 forehead kiss from cat <3. ily

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jungle-angel · 3 months

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Head In The Clouds (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: When Bob makes love to you in the clouds, you swear it's the best thing ever (Greek Mythology AU)

Warnings: SMUT (18+ only, minors will be yeeted from this blog and blocked)

Tagging: @floydsmuse @sebsxphia @bobfloydsbabe and an especially big thank you to @attapullman as this is for International Bob Floyd Fucks Month!!!!! (lol).

At last, at long last you returned to your home in the clouds close to Mount Olympus, worn out from racing Ares and Apollo all day long on your black pegasus. The clouds had always been home for you and Bob, a place as wild and free as the forests on the earth below. Your fuzzy, fluffy little dream dragon ran right to you, curling around your legs and purring like a cat as if to welcome you home.

You saw Bob flying in just a moment later, fresh from helping Hermes on a mission for one of the Titans. Bob's sandaled feet touched down on the clouds as though they were solid ground, his snow white wings still unfurled like a pair of brilliant flags as he scooped you up in his strong arms.

"Missed you sweet cheeks," he said before planting a kiss on your lips.

You hummed into his kiss, reveling in the warmth that enveloped you. "I missed you too," you purred. "How'd everything go?"

"Better than ever," Bob answered. "Hyperion was more than happy to have the lamps working again and everybody made it home safe too."

You were relieved to say the least. Ever since the Titans had allied with the Olympians, things hadn't been better. You had yet to see the new island home of your distant ancestors, as did the rest of the Daggers, but Bob assured you that it would be something to look forward to going down the road.

You and Bob tended to your duties for the day, helping Hera, Poseidon and the others wherever you could until at last, night had begun to fall in the heavens. The moon and stars had all shined brightly as the creatures of the sky took to their cloud beds, curling up and drifting off to sleep along with your little fuzzy friend.

Bob couldn't help but stare off into that wild expanse of heaven, the deep sapphire blue skies making him sleepier than usual. He felt your arms sneaking their way around his waist as you pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for bed (y/n)?" he chuckled.

"Same can be said of you," you told him with a wry grin.

He pulled you into his arms, his deep blue eyes roaming over every trace of you as he pulled you into his strong but comforting embrace, breathing in your scent as though he had been away for longer.

In an instant you felt his warm lips on yours, kissing you gently and trailing from your lips to your jaw. You felt the tip of his tongue brushing against your skin, just tiny little licks at first, but as Bob began trialing down your neck, they became much more intense. A breathy little moan fell from your mouth as Bob kissed the curve of your neck.

"Shhhhh my love," he whispered. "Remember, somebody might hear us."

Bob gently guided you to the big mass of clouds that you both slept on every night, crooking a finger to beckon you closer. Your kissing became much more heated as his nimble fingers found the clasps on your copper colored tunic, drawing the thin, stringy straps down. The sheer fabric quickly fell, revealing your naked skin, pooling around your ankles as you helped Bob with his, the two of you never once breaking the kiss.

He laid you on your back, drawing a gasp as his rock hard cock found its way into your slick entrance. Bob watched with pure adoration as your eyes went wide and a gasp was drawn from your throat.

"Bob......?" you moaned.

"Hmm??"

You draw his hips against yours, creating a rhythm that made the little spot between your legs tingle with pleasure. "You like that?" he purred.

You nodded, a lazy smile playing with the corners of your mouth.

Bob slowly thrust his hips in and out of you, trailing kisses down your collarbone, taking great care to drag his tongue along the swells of your breasts and over your nipples. Bob swirled his tongue around them until they became pointed little dusty pink peaks.

"Bob......Bob.....p....please.....please....."

Your pleas were music to his ears as he dragged his tongue down to your navel, swirling it around and flicking it in and out. "My gorgeous wife," he groaned. "I love every bit of you and your body......."

Your moans grew louder as he spread your legs and kissed down the sensitive little spots on your inner thighs before going for the one spot that drove you crazy. His tongue worked its magic, flicking in circles, up, down and all around until you were a moaning mess.

"Bob.....Bob sweetie, I......I'm gonna......"

"Wait, wait for me sweetheart," he panted. "Hold on."

You moaned even louder when you suddenly felt him enter back into you, amazed at how fucking big he really was. He continued to thrust in and out of you, slowly, gently until both your hips jerked against each other, the both of you a fucked out, blissful mess.

Bob kissed your lips, his body heavy and relaxed against yours underneath him. "You're amazing, you know that?" he chuckled.

You laughed as he guided you down from the rest of your high, the clouds cool against your heat filled bodies. You and Bob lay in your bed of clouds, blissed out but relaxed and content as you explored each other's naked bodies, touching, kissing and caressing each other in the silvery moonlight.

"You get prettier every day (y/n)," he murmured sleepily. "You're everything to me."

You traced over his jaw, gently caressing his face. "And you're everything to me, Bob......you always will be."

Bob kissed you until you both fell asleep in each other's arms, never once letting each other go and waking up the same way, when the day began anew with the sun on your faces and the two of you together.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #international bob floyd fucks month

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thekidsfromyestergay · 2 years

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Anyways. Right here. Right now. All the way in Battery City. The little children. Raise their open filthy palms. Like tiny daggers up to heaven. And all the juvie halls. And the Ritalin rats. Ask angels made from neon. And fucking garbage. Scream out. What will save us. Not like you even care.

#mcr #my chemical romance

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sorchathered · 24 days

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Bob had been back on North Island from the uranium mission for about a week when they got the news the dagger squad would become a permanent fixture at Top Gun. Anticipation thrummed through him all day as he waited for her call, he hadn’t seen her in weeks and he couldn’t wait to have his family back. After a long day in the air he stepped out of the jet and onto the tarmac, hearing the sweetest voice he’d ever heard calling to him from the hangar. There in the doorway was a gangly 13 year old girl, red hair, freckles, braces and frames just like Bob’s, tearing across the tarmac with squeals as she ran into the arms of her father. He and Ellie had been in their senior year of high school when she got pregnant with Nora, both just terrified kids themselves but they had thrived under the pressure, completing their respective universities and starting their careers with their little one in tow, and now here she was, his little angel all grown up, sometimes it broke his heart how fast the time had flown. The remaining squad members on the tarmac all gawked at him, they knew he had kids but they’d all assumed they were toddlers, not a teenager who was nearly as tall as her 6’1” father. Not too far behind her were 3 more kids, Nathan who was 7, Wyatt who was 4, and little 2 year old Brady, toddling behind as fast as his tiny legs could carry him. He scooped all of them up with Nora’s help, peering behind them to find his beautiful wife, 6 months pregnant with their newest addition and glowing like an angel sent from heaven. God he loved his life.

—————————————————————-

I’ve mentioned Bob and Ellie a little in SNB but here’s a preview of what I’ve got in the works 👀

Tagging- @attapullman @bobgasm @sebsxphia @floydsglasses @floydsmuse @roosterforme

#bob floyd #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #robert bob floyd #sacred new beginnings #warm up

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instarsandcrime · 20 days

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Tuned Out

Oh gosh it's been uh. Almost a month since I've written something??? Well, I hope you enjoy this one! I loved the idea of a sick L/uc/ifer spiraling, and being broken out of it by A/la/stor's radio show because I'm weak to the idea-- though it can be interpreted as both platonic and Ra//di//o//A//pple.

And here's a quick heads-up: Though this is still the usual fluffy fic, the spiral paragraph itself is a bit rough. So I'm going to put a trigger warning below and in the summary when I add this fic to the list. If intrusive thoughts and vague thoughts of self-harm are too much, please skip the italicized second paragraph. You can still read the fic without needing to include this part, so don't feel ANY pressure to do so if you aren't/will never be ready. Please, pleeeassseee take care of yourselves!

Otherwise, enjoy!

TW: Intrusive thoughts, vague thoughts of self-harm

---

Burning. His skin felt like it was burning him alive. That was the only sensation Lucifer could feel. His tired eyes stared up at the canopy of his bed, face glowing softly with fever. Its flush spread gold across the embedded pearls above, making them sparkle like stars. He sighed, crackling sparks floating from his lips as thoughts poked and prodded at his overheated mind.

Fuck. He really was pathetic, wasn’t he? Can’t move, can’t get up, can’t get a glass of water, eat dinner, call Charlie– call. Charlie? Oh, poor Charlie. She must be so disappointed in him. He chuckled weakly, What would she even say to him that she hasn’t already thought? He could imagine it. He really could. ‘Seriously, Lucifer?! I literally meant nothing to you for years and now suddenly you waltz into my life? And instead of actually spending time with me, you’re calling from a room that could’ve gone to someone who truly needed it, ordering me to wait on you hand and foot like I’m your butler? Like our entire relationship meant nothing? You threw me away, and now you’re going to do it again?! You know what? You deserve this! You deserve to rot in your bed! Get as starving and sick as you want! At least now the inside will match the outside! You’re terrible! I hate you! No. No, you know what? I wish you got your second shot at Heaven. I wish you had at least a week of laughter, fun, and fucking fireworks so they could tear off your wings andyoucanFallalloveragai–’

A burst of static pierced the air, shattering the constricting spiral just before it could break him again– and replaced it with a new form of dread.

“Why hello there all you wayward sinners! Welcome once again to tonight’s show with your host: The Radio Demon!”

“Uuugh!” Lucifer groaned dramatically, snatching one of his many pillows to press over his head.

Right. The stupid fucking radio. From under the shadows, the sickly demon couldn't help but glare daggers at the piece of junk resting on his nightstand. Alastor had requested those old, outdated mortal inventions for every hotel room– specifically from the 1920’s era because apparently he preferred style and substance. Whatever that meant.

Regardless. He insisted that it was needed for announcements, communication, and entertainment. In other words– somewhere, somehow, Alastor was currently studying him and him alone with invisible eyes. Surgically scanning him at the seams for the slightest rip. The slightest tear. As if his prey wasn't the most powerful being here. Dramatic bastard.

“And how are you doing this fine evening, Your Majesty?” The radio sung.

“Go away.” The lump of fluff grumbled.

"Of course not! It is my duty as your hotelier to take note of every little detail of my building, no matter how tiny and insignificant. And I am ever-so-glad I have! It is quite the rare sight to watch our King of Hell lose face to a simple case of the sniffles. Truly a headline for the ages!"

An angry red blush painted over the king’s golden cheeks, immediately pushing himself upright. Towering wings puffed, pillows and blankets tossed about the bed as he went. "Now see here! Sinners get sick. Overlords get sick. Hell, Charlie and Lilith can get sick! Me? I’m just rehhh…Snff! Ugh, resti'g…"

"Resting. Of course. I suppose I will believe you for convenience’s sake--"

"Hhheh…! Het'shiew!"

"--oh! Bless you."

"Het'shhhiew!"

"Bless y--"

"Hep'shhhh! 'Etshhh! 'Tshhh! 'Tshhh-'tshh-'tch! ...HhhhehhHH...! HEH'TSSHHHIEW!"

"My goodness, bless! You sound absolutely miserable. Shall I fetch you a glass of water? Or another blanket, perhaps?"

"Nhhh– no." Lucifer protested between hitching breaths, conjuring a handkerchief with the flick of the wrist, "N-no thahhh...hhhah! Hhhh...”

He finally lowered the cloth when the tickle finally fizzled out, heaving a sigh of relief. “Ndo thadk you. Snff!" He took a deep breath before letting loose a mucky blow into the fabric, "It's fine. I'm fine."

A pause. "Ah."

"What? What is it now?"

"Oh nothing, nothing! I’ll let you get back to your rest. But before I go, could I mention one more thing?”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s just. Well, I had my first impressions, but I assumed that the King of Hell wouldn't be so cowardly."

"Cowardly?!" Lucifer repeated incredulously, spitting a plume of smoke.

"I see your hearing is as sharp as your wit."

"I'll show you cowardly you…y-you…hhh-!" The demon’s nose twitched desperately, and he cursed between hitching gasps as it tried again and again to just get. The damned itch. Out.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't quite catch that."

"You…you self-important…hehhh…p-pompous…!"

"How flattering of you to notice my worth! And would you believe it? You're absolutely right! I am the fundraiser for this humble project, after all. The guide for these poor, misguided souls. Ones such as yourself."

"Oh, please! We both know you’re...you're no behhh...better than…hhhH–!" Lucifer's handkerchief raised to his face.

"Trying to use your infamous silver tongue through a sneeze? My word! Charlie had told me you were stubborn. But this?"

"Eshhh! Et'SCHHH! HEH'ETSCHH'HHHIEW!" He quickly twisted his head away to let loose a breath of flame, barely singeing the well-abused cloth.

"Poor, poor Lucifer Morningstar.” Alastor teased, his voice as soft and careful as a snake in the grass. The smattering of footsteps echoed across the floorboards, circling the bed. “Always choosing your own heavenly guilt over the needs of everyone else."

"HEH'ESCHH'HHHIU! Hehh! Hhh…hghh…"

"Which is a shame, considering the ill resident who requires attention. Trapped in their own feverish mind. Alone while their partner is away. Unable to move or think or even ask for help properly. But I’m sure you wouldn’t know how it feels for them, considering how indestructible you are."

"...There is?" Lucifer finally croaked, cringing to himself at another gurgling nose blow.

"Of course! While you were hiding in your room with your wings tucked between your legs, I'm afraid you've missed someone very important. Someone close to you."

Lucifer froze. He didn't mean.

"Mmm. Let's see." As the radio host thought stubby knobs spun on their own, playing flickers of songs diluted by time. "Rosy cheeks. Blonde hair. Red eyes that sparkle so damn brightly one could go blind."

Oh no.

"Puffy bow tie. Black fingernails."

Did. Did he get his little girl sick? Please, please don't let that be the case.

"The most spell-binding singing voice."

He thought back to breakfast. How Charlie had eaten less than normal. How she sniffled once or twice at the table. Wait, did her face look pale? Maybe the light didn’t catch it?

A knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

"Wh-where is she-- they, um! That. Resident right now?"

"Oh, performing the usual suffering patient routine. Lying in bed. Being miserable. Quite adament about sleeping the bug off. Reminds me of the ol’ picture books that star wealthy socialites and their sickly Victorian children. The ones who die due to their parents' neglect and mistreatment."

"I could help her." The fallen angel mumbled anxiously as he pushed himself upright. "I could help her right– …now..."

The second he dared to stand he nearly fainted, stumbling dizzily to grab the bedpost for support. From beneath a small string of black tentacles sprouted from the ground, nudging him back into place and under the covers as The Radio Demon tutted disapprovingly.

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you. If you can't partake in the complex act of resting, then what good are you to our dear, sweet Charlie?"

"Shut. Up." Lucifer hissed, "I am a grown adult--"

"--debatable--"

"--and I choose what to do with my free time! And it's my jo-- koff koff! j-job to help my daughter when she needs it!" A shaky finger waved at all six radios. Or were there seven?

"To be quite honest Sire, I would prefer to do my tasks without your meddling. Actually, I would prefer not to perceive your existence at all, thank you very much. Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless you'd rather call her yourself. But I know you won't." A mocking tone laced with static, “You c̴̨̮͊o̶̗̤̿ẇ̷̙á̴̼̖ȑ̶͉̕d̶̙͚͗̕.”

“I– wh–” Lucifer laughed in sheer disbelief, snatching up his phone. “Y-you’re– you’re joking, right? I’m not some– some godforsaken hermit!"

"Then by all means, prove it."

"I am!"

“I’m waiting."

"Oh, I’ll do it! I’ll do such a good call. It’ll be the– snff! goodest caller you’ve ever seen.” The King of Hell pouted like a child as he moved his claws.

“Ugh. Lord knows how he’ll act if he gets worse.” The radio mumbled quietly.

“Whassat?”

“My apologies, Your Majesty! I forgot that your company as of late are less of the civilized and more the rubber duck variety.”

"Of all the– if you weren't stuck to Charlie like a parasite I would take the sharpest end of my tail and shove it up your--"

Click!

"Dad?" A voice croaked.

"Charlie!" Lucifer's venom turned saccharine sweet, flipping on a dime. "Hey! Hi! H-how are ya, sweetie?"

"Mmrgh...what time is it?"

"It's. Um. Evening…time? Look, that doesn't matter right now. Are you feeling alright, kiddo?"

"Am I feeling alright?" His patient echoed sleepily.

"Yeah! I uh. IIIII just wanted to check in. See if you were okay."

"Oh. Um, I'm okay." A bit of rustling and a pause. "Are you okay?"

"Snff! Me?"

"Yes, you! You looked so tired at breakfast this morning, a-and you didn’t eat anything which never happens! And you were kinda glowing? It kinda seemed bad but I didn’t want to ask because maybe it was a personal thing and– wait, your voice is…are you crying?!" Rustling turned into the shuffle of pacing slippers.

"What? No! Nonononono! I just--" Lucifer froze, feeling another itch start to build, handkerchief nowhere to be found under the sea of fabric. "Jhhh-just excuse mbe for– snff! For a seggond. Keebp t-talki’g…!"

He quickly pressed his hand against the speaker, stifling into his shoulder until the scratchy wool felt damp. "Hh'ntt! Hh’ngk! Hhh’TCH! ‘TCH! Hhhhh...HT'CHNXT'hiew! Guhh..."

"Sure. A-anyway, you called me pretty early in the morning and after all that and this. Soooo…is there anything I can do to help?"

Desperate claws scrambled to craft a new handkerchief and wipe his streaming face. "N-no! No, no-- snff! absolutely not! Worry about yourself Char-Char, I'm fi--....f-fihh...!"

Hang up, pinch your nose shut, do anything but--

"HET'SHHH'HIEW!" Lucifer doubled over.

–sneeze.

"Oh geez, that sounded terrible!” Charlie gasped, “Is that why you've been in your room all day? Are you sick?"

A sudden, very obvious realization hit him. Silently the fallen king sunk into his mattress, wishing he could be swallowed by his comforter. His cheeks burned. The familiar description. The taunting.

“Can I. Call you back, Stardust?”

“What? Whoa, whoa, wait, we’re not finished here–” With a final monotone beep, the call ended.

"You.” Lucifer clenched his fangs.

“Yes?” Alastor hummed non-chalantly. “YOU.”

“Gracious! No need to shout. Even The Devil Himself should know that a sickly patient musn’t raise his voice, lest it get worse than it already is!”

“Watch your back, bellhop. Next time I see you, no ring of Hell will compare to what I-- koff! I’ll–" The threat died with a wheeze, breaking into another ill-timed fit.

"And that's all for tonight, folks!" The radio suddenly hopped back to life, "Tomorrow's show may be a little dicey schedule wise, as our guest star is feeling quite unwell. Will he finally exit his literal and proverbial cave of sorrows for once in his miserable life? Or, much like his saintly past, will pride once again be his downfall--"

"Dad! Are you– eep!"

Charlie's entrance was suddenly interrupted when a black fist rained down on the damned noise box, breaking in a fit of bouncing springs and wooden splinters. The room stilled until a meek, nervous chuckle finally broke the spell.

"Charlie, dear?"

"Y…yeah?"

"Um. Could. Could I trouble you for a glass of water?"

#snz #snz fic #ha//zb//in//ho//tel//#lu/ci/fer #a/la/stor #char/lie

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