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meiieiri · 3 months

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water’s edge | 03

₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au

₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?

₊˚.༄ author’s note: please don’t kill me omg this took too long. also, thank you to the warmest of messages, it really helped a lot. <33 i’ll see this through to the end. and thank you for sticking by me all this time. rbs are appreciated<3

₊˚.༄ warnings: physical harm/abuse, references to theft, adultery.

₊˚.༄ masterlist

He doesn’t want to wake up.

Not right now, when everything feels so real, so painfully tangible that he could make out her voice, her gentle breath, her plumose touch grazing his flesh as she leans in. “Satoru?” The woman in his dream whispers his name, and light seems to burst forth from that sound alone. It’s her; she iswas here, Satoru could almost touch her if he searched hard enough. If he imagined her face with just a little more effort, maybe she’d become real and not a figment of his guilt-ridden imagination. “Satoru, wake up. We can’t stay.”

I’ve missed you, I’ve missed who I could be when I’m with you.

Suddenly, he is brought back to light-hearted days when he used to sit underneath the imperial palace’s cypress, his fingers absentmindedly flipping through a book he found in the imperial archives while the love of his life sits beside him. His orbs gaze up at the chemtrails that paint the canvas of the turquoise summer sky.

He doesn’t want this dream to end. Shaking his head, he refuses her request the same way he did back then.

How cruel could she be to ask him to leave her again? He’s left her once, he wasn’t about to do it again. He hasn’t even begged for her forgiveness yet and now, she was telling him to wake up from this fantasy world his troubled mind created and to confront reality.

Don’t make me go, he begs her. Weren’t they happy here being together after being forced apart by those around them? Why would she want to go another minute without him being by her side? Did she still resent him? Stupid question, Satoru thought bitterly. Of course she does, after everything he’s put her through-

Suddenly, the hand that was reaching for her falls slack against his side. He doesn’t deserve her forgiveness, nor the very privilege of claiming to love her when every action he has ever committed said otherwise. Then, like a clock striking at midnight, the dream abruptly vanishes in a cloud of smoke.

Gojo’s eyes flutter open with a start.

“Shit,” he clutches his still asleep shoulder and sits up, looking at the empty room. How long has he been asleep? He looks at his watch — he’s an hour late — but he doesn’t really seem to care about the time. Immediately, he sends a quick text to Himiko asking where she is, only to receive a text with a picture attached of the cathedral. It seems she went ahead thinking it would only stir up more trouble if they arrived at the venue together.

Gojo’s mind wanders back to the dream before it is inevitably forgotten. Like a movie that he wants to watch over and over. He gazes at himself in the full body mirror with an empty gaze. All that is in his mind is to smash the reflective material into pieces, knowing that this is not the man his love wanted him to be: a prisoner in his own skin. When is all of this ever going to end? He huffs, slipping on his shoes and shrugging on his navy blue sash.

Not wanting to delay the inevitable any further, he turns on his heel to head to the cathedral reluctantly leaving the traces of his now corroding past behind for an even bleaker future with you as his wife.

“…Where’s Satoru?”

The entire nation is silent when only moments before, they were happily celebrating this supposedly joyful day. A reporter trains his video camera on you as you stand there motionless before an empty altar. Pretty soon, other members of the media who would get a huge scoop out of this travesty follow in his example as if you haven’t been humiliated enough by your groom who couldn’t even bother to show up at your wedding.

The empress who is seated right of the altar shoots you an apologetic look; she didn’t realize that Satoru could stoop this low. This wasn’t anything less of a transactional marriage and you thought that the prize that Satoru was promised he would get for marrying you would be enough for him to at least be civil with you. And here you thought that the earrings he gifted to you were a sign that things would eventually settle down.

Without warning, as the VIP guests start to chatter amongst themselves about how pitiful you looked, the woman you dreaded seeing bounds over to you, a solemn expression on her face. You would have believed that, despite the quiet rift between you and Chief-of-Staff Himiko Zenin, she felt a little sorry for you but her choice of wearing white on your wedding day says otherwise.

“Ms. (Y/N). I’m sorry there must have been a problem with the schedule, if you could follow me please—“ she begins to lead you to one of the cathedral’s private holding rooms before the grip on your hand tightens.

“—Suguru?” you looked at Suguru with a sad and confused expression. His heart clenches in his chest when he gets a good look of the damage Satoru dealt to you. He looks like he wants to throw something at the press for making a dogshow out of your agony — his hands are clenched into fists, his knuckles white — he takes a few deep calming breaths before he does anything rash.

At Himiko’s persistence, Suguru’s gaze hardens and he gently pulls you away from her as your feet remain planted firmly on the marble floor of the cathedral, leaving you frozen in place at Satoru’s betrayal. He hopes what he’s thinking isn’t true, but that’s proving to be a challenge since he doesn’t miss the hickey on Himiko’s neck which had been conveniently hidden by her long brown hair. Maybe she had a part in all this mess? She and Satoru had a history together after all and judging by the way you looked at her with apprehension — he doesn’t want to consider it — but perhaps you already knew that.

You are blinded by a camera’s flash and Suguru springs into action. Turning to the nearest guest, he politely asks, “Excuse me? May I borrow your suit for a second?” When the guest agrees, he shields your face with the Zegna suit to conceal you from the hounding eyes of the press who must be having the time of their lives right about now. Just one picture of the Crown Prince’s crying bride could sell for a good buck but not on his watch.

Not on his fucking watch.

Suguru looks at his father, and then his stepmother, and he couldn’t bring himself to be surprised to see them frozen in their places unable to do anything, much less act like they care. Their priority was to look good in front of all these cameras that were terrorizing you, not to comfort their future daughter-in-law. “Hey, it’ll be okay,” Suguru begins to urgently lead the two of you back to the car, his arm protectively around you while you hold the suit over your head.

“Will it?” You probably sounded like a child, begging for reassurance that all this was some sick dream but at that moment, it didn’t matter. You need someone - anyone - to tell you that everything will be alright. The question makes Suguru’s heart sink. In all honesty, he doesn’t know, but he didn’t need to make you feel even worse if he spoke the truth. So, he nods, choosing to lie to spare you from even more pain because he couldn’t count on anyone in this goddamn cathedral to do the same. He’ll have to talk to Satoru later on, this is a bad start to any marriage - no, bad would be an understatement, this is a catastrophic omen of what’s to come.

Pretty soon, Suguru requests that the roof of the car be reinstalled to hide your desolate expression. “Put it back up, please. The princess must be protected!” In his panic, he accidentally refers to you as a princess even before you are formally crowned Princess of Japan. The imperial household agents quickly get to work and pretty soon, Suguru helps you back into the car, putting up the tinted windows.

You can’t feel a thing. You don’t even know if you should harshly laugh at your foolishness or cry now that you’ve just been humiliated in front of thousands of people all across the world. Shrugging off the suit over your head, Suguru is surprised to see that you weren’t crying. You simply sat there, blankly staring at the ring on your finger.

“(Y/N)? Come on, say something…” He’s desperately trying to get you to express the tiniest bit of emotion, somewhat unnerved by your silence.

Turning to look at him, you wonder if he had been surprised by his brother’s behavior today or if a part of him expected this to happen. “He hates me.” You were numb. “I don’t know if you already knew but—“

“—-It’s arranged, I know.” Suguru scoffs under his breath, almost in disbelief that he didn’t figure it out sooner when he first heard about your engagement. Just when he thought his family couldn’t stoop any lower than they already were, they just had to drag a naive girl into their royal messes. His father and stepmother always preached about modernizing the monarchy but, their archaic ways such as actively banishing a woman of the imperial family should they marry a commoner and having some sort of proclivity for disastrous matchmaking through arranged marriages only say otherwise. “Fuck,” he buries his face in his hand, the thought of this predicament was making his head hurt.

You remove the tiara from your head, somehow feeling that a weight has been lifted when you do so. In a span of mere seconds, Suguru now appears exhausted. “I thought he’d at least wait until after the wedding to ignore me for good,” you muttered sadly. “That was fine, you know, him acting like I don’t exist; I know I never stood a chance…against her.”

You recall the way Gojo’s lips locked with Himiko’s in a searing kiss, and the way your heart seemed to disintegrate in your chest as you drove off that day, your eyes on the rearview mirror, heartbrokenly watching the both of them as you convinced yourself that you had no right to feel bad. And that is precisely what makes this situation so difficult; you feel like Satoru is cheating on you when in fact, he isn’t because he never once told you he loved you. You should be angry, furious, crestfallen at your fiancé’s betrayal, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“Himiko,” Suguru nods in understanding.

He knows her well, and while he doesn’t exactly have any hard feelings towards her, he acknowledges that having her around in the imperial family is a misstep on Satoru’s part; he’s seen her many times before cajoling Satoru into ditching his royal duties for the two of them to spend time together, he has witnessed how she blatantly disrespects the emperor and the empress, he has also been made aware of the many lustrous gifts she has received out of his younger brother’s pocket.

“Yeah.” Your shoulders slump in defeat. “I never asked him to love me, I’m a lot of things but I’m not a thief.” You begin to shed tears as you try to convince yourself that you were perfectly fine with Satoru never loving you. You were so confused. Did you want him to love you? Are you now finding yourself craving for his ocean eyes to gloss over with an emotion other than hatred, an emotion similar to love?

Suguru watches you intently as these silent questions fly over your head. “You’d never ask him to love you but you love him…otherwise, why would you be on the verge of tears all the time whenever we talk about something remotely related to him if you didn’t?”

You swallowed harshly. “Is it so wrong though? To feel cheated on knowing we were never together in the first place?” You’ve been wondering about that since the day of the public announcement of your engagement and you’ve searched your heart for answers from the minute you wake up to the moment you fall asleep on your tear-stained pillow.

Suguru looks pensive for a moment, taking a deep breath before he speaks. “No, there’s nothing wrong with that. The heart wants what it wants, it’s pointless to even try to understand it.”

“But I don’t want my heart to want him.” You shook your head. You were going to be in for a world of hurt if you even entertained the idea of falling in love with Satoru Gojo. “He’ll never forgive me for it.”

A sad smile creeps up your face at the thought of Satoru admonishing you, one day, for saying you loved him even at his worst. Being in your early twenties, this was the age of recklessly falling in love, like a car speeding on an empty highway showing no signs of stopping, while you desperately look for the brakes.

A larger hand eventually finds its place above yours, his thumb gently rubs your knuckles that have turned white as you clenched them into fists to stop you from crying and making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“It’s not your fault. To be loved by another is a privilege most people overlook.”

You glance over at Himiko again, and then at yourself: you wore the dress but you weren’t the bride. You had the ring but not his affection. Feeling your gaze, Himiko looks at you for a brief moment and an exchange of sorts occurs between you and her: two women desperately envying one another. You had the vote of the people, yet, she had his heart. Almost in condolence, she offers you a curt nod before turning away.

“You are exactly the kind of girl he needs, (Y/N),” Suguru offers you his handkerchief to dry your tears with. “He’ll need you.”

“He’ll never want me.”

At exactly 2:35 in the afternoon, two hours and five minutes after you set foot at the chapel, Satoru arrives in a proxy vehicle, disguised as some foreign dignitary who arrived late. He steps out of the car behind yours and a collective sigh of relief washes over everyone. You craned your head back to see him dressed in the attire you first saw him in, a blank expression on his face as he was approached by his courtiers who instructed him on what to do.

Suguru looks in the direction of your gaze and he hurriedly steps out, squeezing your hand a final time as he does. A confused expression flashes over Satoru’s face when he sees Suguru step out of the bridal car. What was he doing there? According to the protocol sheet, wasn’t Ijichi supposed to be the one to accompany you today?

“Suguru,” Satoru greets his half-brother. “How’s she doing?” He suddenly asks about your well-being which causes Suguru to be taken aback for a second.

“She’s been crying but I think she’ll be fine now that you’re here,” Suguru informs him, looking back at the bridal car where you were. The older of the princes pulls the younger aside for a bit. “Where were you? She’s been waiting for more than an hour and—is that—?” He suddenly stops mid-lecture when he sees a bruise on the corner of Satoru’s bottom lip. Then, he recalls the hickey he saw on Himiko’s neck. “Satoru,” Suguru bites his lip to stop him from scolding Satoru.

What irks Suguru is that Satoru doesn’t even bother to hide it with the palm of his hand or even show a scintilla of regret. Did he really just fuck Himiko on the day of his wedding? “It was a farewell gift,” Satoru shrugs. “Besides, I’m here now, does it really matter?”

“Yes, it does,” Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ve no idea the amount of trouble you caused (Y/N) today, how are you even going to begin to make it up to her?” Not like Satoru plans to make it up to you. In his eyes, you should be on your knees thanking him for showing up at all.

Satoru clears his throat, fidgeting with his left epaulet. “I did nothing wrong.” He believes every word he says. He did nothing wrong, he has nothing to make up for when it comes to you. He never betrayed you, there isn’t a relationship to ruin in the first place. “Himiko did nothing wrong to her and still, she’s suffering the consequences of my actions which shouldn’t be the case since, if I can remember correctly, if it weren’t for her intervention, if she hadn’t stepped in at the last second, you’d be visiting your own brother in jail.”

“Well, if you deserve it, I’ll even bring some snacks,” Suguru counters, earning a harsh warning glare from Satoru. He takes a second to steady himself before continuing. “Look, Satoru, what you did that night isn’t something that’s easily made up for like your little affair with Himiko.” Gojo scoffs in response to that. “You didn’t just hurt our family this time, or that man you brutalized, you hurt the entire nation. And you have to at least make some effort to clean up after yourself—“

“—By making my life a living hell without the woman I love? Forced instead to be with the likes of her? How is forcing the two of us to marry for some shitty publicity stunt any more evil than everything I’ve done in the past?” Isn’t that what they all thought of him?

“—She’s not doing anything evil, she did nothing to hurt you—“

“—She did everything to hurt me by forcing me into this marriage, ripping me from the future I dreamed of with Himiko, so you don’t dare make her out to be some saint because she isn’t.”

A hush descends on the two brothers: one who’s made it his life’s mission to despise you and one who’ll vouch for your integrity. The two stare each other down, wondering how it was possible they shared a father yet they couldn’t be more different. Perhaps, it’s the fact that Suguru was never the empress’s child, rather, he was born of a common woman – a reluctant homewrecker, which would explain, at least to Satoru, why he’s so protective of you. A whore’s son will defend a whore.

Geto doesn’t see you step out of the car, you must have heard the commotion outside the car when Satoru arrived. You blankly stare at Satoru for a good minute who seems to have just finished up a heated discussion with his brother. He looked angry, but why should that surprise you? Some of the imperial household staff encourage you to re-enter the car until the prince has made his way to the altar, but you couldn’t listen, you were simply at a loss for words.

He was here.

Almost three hours late, but he's finally here.

Satoru scowls when he sees you. He’s tried his best to be civil with you, but from what he’s heard from Suguru just now, you were clearly turning everyone against him. Sensing his anger, you tilt your head down for any crime you could have committed whether knowingly or unknowingly, but it seems more like the latter since he always finds something new to hate about you, an act that came so effortlessly to him.

“I don’t want to hear another word about (Y/N) from you.” Satoru turns his wrathful gaze to his brother who simply matches his death glare with a bored and disappointed look. Suguru lets out a tiny ‘tch’ at Satoru’s command, his hatred for you is an established fact, after all, and not just some rumor he’s heard from a jittery bride — the very sound of your name was like nails on a chalkboard to him.

Suguru couldn’t believe this. Satoru has been the one willfully hurting you ever since the two of you had that under-the-table arrangement with the empress yet, he had the sheer nerve to act like he was the one being wronged. While he understands his brother’s sentiments, you didn’t want any part in this in the first place, and whatever has driven you to this point of gambling your entire future on a man who doesn’t love you must be something that could persuade you to put up with this torture. “Is that a request or a command?” Suguru says flatly, the two men watching you get briefed by the floor director like some actress for a commercial shoot.

“A command from your emperor.”

“Fortunately, you’re not the emperor yet.”

Suguru promptly leaves to take his place beside you, nodding to Satoru to get moving and head to the altar already. You shakily take Suguru’s hand, waiting for the doors to open to restart the ceremony. “He looks angry.” You watch your groom storm to the back of the cathedral. Suguru wants to kick himself, the last thing you needed was Satoru to take out his anger on you once the two of you are alone.

“Sorry, I’m sure it’s just another one of his tantrums. He’ll cool down.” You sincerely hoped that was true. The last thing you need is Satoru getting even with you by suddenly walking up to Himiko and obscenely reciting his vows to her, though you were unaware that the two of them had indeed made a vow to continue loving one another earlier today whilst you were being publicly humiliated by domestic and international media for your failure of a wedding day.

You watch as Himiko scurries to the back of the cathedral as well, and you feel bile rise in your throat at the mere thought of what they could be doing behind closed doors. “Don’t even think about it, (Y/N). Don’t,” Suguru says firmly. “Just keep your eyes forward, and concentrate on taking one step at a time.”

“I can’t. I just can’t.” You can’t shake them out of your head no matter how hard you try. “The more I try to forget about them, the more I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Think of something else,” Suguru suggests. “Anything else.”

The last thing you need right now is imagining Himiko and Satoru obscenely murmuring whispers of love to one another, assuming that that’s the worst they could do. But from what Satoru told him earlier, Suguru might need an anti-hypertensive, enraged at the thought of those two literally screwing one another while you were out here on the verge of an emotional breakdown waiting for a groom who can’t be bothered to show up on time.

“Five minutes ‘till the doors open. Everyone, please stand by now,” Ijichi peeks out of one of the cathedral’s entrances, eyeing you particularly, as the great double doors slowly creak open, again revealing the majestic interior of the cathedral. Ijichi holds up a hand, signaling you to wait for the Trumpet Voluntary to start playing. You hold your breath then at the sound of the first chord, you and Suguru begin to walk down the altar.

It’s a long way to the front but the sheer distance between you and him couldn’t dull Satoru’s inimitable contrarian beauty, a prose you simply can’t understand. “Don’t look anywhere else. Focus on the act, focus on what you can see,” Suguru reminds you but really you get what he’s trying to say. Don’t go looking for Himiko.

And the only person you can see right now is him, Satoru, the man you are falling for at such a dangerous acceleration that if you were in a car on the freeway, you’d crash and burn in a heap of scorched gasoline in your crazed attempt to outrun these shittyass feelings.

You gulp as you continue on. How is this taking forever? Step by step, you are racing to your own demise. You just know it. But the doors are closed behind you, forever separating you from your past, there is only him. A bitter future.

“Suguru,” The two of you reach the nave of the cathedral, and just a few meters away from the altar, you stop on cue and wait for Satoru to lead you up the steps, towards the altar where the Archbishop of Tokyo is standing. “Thank you for being there for me.”

“Well, it was either me or Ijichi.”

Satoru begins to descend down the steps and a look of annoyance passes through his features when he sees you and Suguru chuckling to one another like you’ve been friends for the longest time. But then again, he can’t really seem to complain, having you off his back because you’re all too busy being chummy with Suguru doesn’t seem to be too bad. Satoru casts a glance towards Himiko and then over to you.

“Let’s go.” Satoru takes your hand and you are surprised at how he doesn’t seem to have any intention to drag you towards the archbishop. Nodding, you follow your groom’s lead. The ceremony is foreign, no other imperial couple has ever been married in a Christian ceremony so, even Satoru, who has been born to know all the imperial customs, is left trailing off and even, stuttering at some points during the entire affair.

Eventually, the two of you tide miraculously through it and in just one hour, you aren’t (Y/N) (L/N) anymore, but instead, you are Princess (Y/N) Gojo, the wife of the crown prince. The usual kiss between the bride and the groom is omitted to preserve the usual custom for an imperial Shinto wedding. As the archbishop and the other key religious figures in Japan gather behind you and the prince, your maid of honor, Utahime, solemnly bows before you with your bouquet in her hands. You turn just a bit to greet her and something catches Satoru’s eye now that your veil was no longer obstructing your features.

It can’t be.

The Tokyo Philharmonic Orchestra begins to play the recessional and you and Satoru bow before the emperor and empress, traveling down the aisle, your hands interlocked. Somewhere halfway through to the cathedral doors, you feel Satoru gripping your hand a little more aggressively than usual. “Satoru?”

He’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Surely, you wouldn’t. How on earth did you find those earrings? Unless, someone had snuck into his room and nabbed it while he was asleep earlier. Something in Satoru tells him that you probably didn’t know and that you probably didn’t do it intentionally — stealing from him — but that doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re wearing it like it’s yours when clearly, it didn’t belong to you.

Satoru never thought he’d see it again, having kept it locked up in his drawer of memories past their due date to be completely forgotten. He never thought it would ever see the light of day again. But here they were, still in mint condition, reminding him of everything that has slipped through his fingers and everything he has destroyed thus far.

“Not here,” he hisses, glaring at you and that’s enough to get you to shut up.

Satoru has been indifferent up to this point, and sure, he may be seeing someone else but he is normally civil with you, with a few occasional snarky comments muttered under his breath, but he has made every effort to keep a handle on his emotions. Not once has he ever seemed as angry as he is now. But the scary thing is, you don’t even know what you’ve done other than wrench him away from Himiko and even that was unintentional on your part.

You make it to the car and he slides up the privacy shutter so the driver doesn’t hear a word. It’ll take a few minutes for the convoy to get moving en route back to the Asakusa Palace, the imperial palace that had been originally built to serve as the crown prince’s chief residence before it was turned into a state guesthouse by the National Diet.

Settling into the seat next to you, Satoru’s breaths are ragged trying to control himself from choking the life out of you. His voice comes out, a dangerous edge to it. “Where’d you get those?” He asks this question like one wrong move or syllable could cost you dearly.

“What—?” And as expected it does when you don’t reply quickly enough, not exactly knowing what he’s talking about.

With one swift movement, Gojo abruptly yanks off the earring off your right ear causing you to gasp in shock as it shatters in his grip. “I-I don’t know what you mean…!” you pleaded with him.

“You little thief,” Satoru stares down at the crushed earrings for a while before flinging it onto the car floor. “When did you steal this? Who did it for you?” He hits you with a fusillade of accusatory questions and you whimper in fear. Just like a kicked dog, Satoru rolls his eyes at you. “Answer me!”

“I didn’t steal them!” you protest your innocence. “Please, you have to believe me!”

Satoru punches the window of the car next to you, cutting off any more of your pleas, they’ll fall on deaf ears anyway. “Did you order one of the servants? Maybe Ijichi? Who stole this for you?” He asks again.

“N-no one I swear!” you inched away from him.

A huff escapes his lips when he realizes he isn’t getting anywhere with this and Gojo finally relents after what seemed like an eternity of him holding your head underwater. Your breath comes out in shaky huffs, utterly afraid. You look even uglier now with that expression, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.” The monarch sneers at the horrified look on your face. “Like you don’t deserve any of this.”

You wanted to speak against that but he’s right. You should have known that every one of your actions wouldn’t go unpunished on Satoru’s watch when, as he unfailingly implies every time the two of you are within ten feet of each other, you’ve single-handedly ruined his and Himiko’s entire lives.

“You’re right.”

He feels a wave of annoyance at how pliant you sound, struggling to remain calm after lashing out on you like that. He looks over at you, his mind filled with a mixture of anger and just a tiny bit of remorse when he sees your pained expression. He’s aware that what he did was out of line, and while he normally gets into spats with others, he’s never one to lay a hand on a woman much less even think about doing something of that magnitude.

“You know, when you ran away that night when we met at that restaurant, you should have gone straight home.”

That way, you’d be spared from all this despair. He almost sounds regretful for what he did and what he will continue to do, but he really didn’t mind if he never knew your name in the first place.

“That would have made the most sense, yeah.” It’s quiet in the car despite the thundering cheers outside. Satoru looks pensieve, his lips pursed into a thin line. “But there weren’t any taxis that night and the empress is pretty agile for her age.”

“What did she say? Did she offer you money?” Satoru casts you a disgusted look.

You wonder if you should tell him. You doubt there’d be another chance for you to tell him the real reason you agreed to marry him. There won’t be another vulnerable moment like this, you just know it. Satoru deserved to know why you’d kill yourself over and over again in your ill-fated quest to love him, to accept him.

Somehow, you can’t help but feel you’re so dishonest compared to him, at least, Satoru had the decency to be casually cruel and brutally honest about Himiko to you, making no attempt to hide the plain fact that he doesn’t love you and he never will. But at the same time, you don’t want to make things even more difficult for him by burdening him with the truth, so you settle on maintaining your silence. He could believe whatever he wanted to believe, not that he’ll ever change his opinion of you.

“You’re not even gonna deny it?” Satoru sneers.

“Even if I do, you’ll never believe me.”

How could he? All you’ve done and all you will do from this point on is lie, lie, lie. Lie that you married him without accepting any personal favors from the empress, lie that you don’t deserve half of what’s happening to you right now, lie that you don’t feel physically sick when you see Himiko — the very woman you’ve trampled on, the woman closest to his heart — lie that everything will eventually turn out alright, lie that you’re not dying every second a hate-filled syllable falls from his lips, lie that you could ever stop this mad freeway chase of loving Satoru Gojo.

But the freeway is empty, your opponents long gone, the stoplight to doomsday is perpetually green, and all that’s left is a husband that wishes you were dead. You dejectedly take off the earrings’ pair and set it down on the seat in between the two of you, returning another thing you unwittingly stole from him.

Eventually, the convoy reaches Asakusa Palace and on the historic balcony of the 19th century Western-style palace, he takes your hand as the members of the imperial family wave to the crowd, thinking this day to be a hard-won triumph. Satoru meets your lips for the first time, you are left taken aback at the forced gesture, but there is warmth in that eternal split second that you felt his hot breath against yours, maybe some affection even.

But then again, you are known to be a delusional optimist who still believes her mother who has been in a coma for almost three years now will one day wake up.

Satoru pulls back his eyes that have been wide-open during the kiss scanning over your face and he sees nothing. Nothing at all worth loving. You were just simply you, and that in his eyes, is your biggest crime. You don’t show up to the wedding reception.

That same night, Satoru doesn’t show up to your room either. Instead, he sits in the dark of his office, staring at the earrings he recovered from you under the yellowish light of his desk lamp. His fingers brush over the ruined bejeweled earrings; no one will be able to use it now. Somehow, he feels he should apologize to you for scaring you like that. You should, he could almost hear her say.

He sighs deeply, looking over at his ashtray. Not bad, he expected he would finish an entire pack tonight, but he’s only made it to four before he started coughing. She never really liked his habit of smoking anyway.

The door to the study creaks open breaking the silence, but Satoru doesn’t look up, only one person would be brave enough to intrude in his office past dark. The crisp floral smell of top-shelf whiskey fills the air. “Got you something to drink.” Himiko sets down the glencairn on the desk, planting a kiss on Satoru’s lips which he surprisingly doesn’t return with equal devotion much to her dismay.

Her eyes then fell on the jewelry piece Satoru was holding. “Did someone else go into my room today?” That alone could explain how the highly-revered Golconda diamond earrings fell into your hands. It wouldn’t be hard to steal since the night before, whilst he was searching for a lousy wedding gift he could give you, he accidentally left the earrings outside its dedicated safe.

Himiko stiffens at the question, but she quickly recovers her composure. A hysterical woman like you could never hope to win Satoru over the same way she has. “I don’t know, I didn’t see someone on my way out,” Himiko shrugs.

“Did you at least see them still sitting on my nightstand on your way out?”

“I didn’t notice.”

Somehow, Satoru finds that a little difficult to believe but he knows she wouldn’t lie to him. “I saw (Y/N) wearing these earlier today.” He places the earrings back in their respective box, tucking it away, and making a mental note to chuck it in the safe later tonight before he goes to bed.

Himiko’s throat runs dry as she wracks her head for a response. “Oh?” She moves to sit on his lap, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. “I’m guessing you got pretty angry.”

“I did,” Satoru sighs. “But I just can’t wrap my head around one thing.”

“What’s that?” Himiko asks softly. Her heart was pounding in her chest. The last thing she needs is for her little plan to get Satoru to be angry with you on your wedding day to backfire. “Look, haven’t we already established that she’s a golddigger? Are you really that surprised she stole them?”

Satoru shrugs.

It doesn’t add up.

He understands that you might have shown interest in it, and maybe it did cross your mind to steal them, but how could you have known these pieces existed? It’s not like you ordered one of your ladies or retainers to specifically steal the Golconda earrings, it just didn’t make sense to him, even then, some of your retainers might not even be aware that such a thing existed especially since most of them have only been recruited by the Imperial Household Agency recently.

“Look, why don’t we just forget about it, hmm? We could sneak out and go for a drive somewhere. I’m sure (Y/N) won’t mind,” Himiko presses open-mouthed kisses up Satoru’s neck, her hand coming up to fondle him through his slacks. “Come on, you need some cheering up.”

“I’m not driving at this hour, we could stay here.”

Satoru’s eyes flutter close at the sensation, his hand gripping Himiko’s slender waist, allowing her to continue her ministrations. He did need some cheering up after today’s dismal affair. But at the same time, he can’t stop his thoughts from wandering away from how Himiko is unbuttoning his shirt. Damn it. Satoru can’t focus on her, it’s like his normally calculated mind descended into a valley of fog.

Himiko grimaces at Satoru’s lack of attention. She quickly stops her futile attempts at intimacy. “Just stop thinking about them. You got them back, didn’t you?” she says, a hint of frustration laced in her voice. “Besides, even if (Y/N) did steal them, it’s not like you’d have any use for them anymore.”

Something stirs within Satoru and before he could stop himself, a flash of anger appears on his usually calm and flirtatious demeanor when he’s with Himiko. “That’s not the point. You know very well what those earrings mean to me.”

He’s shared it with her before. She knows everything about him, more so than anyone who has ever known anyone else on an intimate level before. There exists a version of Gojo that only Himiko knows, and keeps like a sacred prayer. Which is exactly why Satoru is livid about her downplaying the importance of everything he keeps in his safe, his personal mausoleum of the warmest spring of his youth that he would have longed for still had it not been for Himiko.

Himiko, for once, allows herself to be vulnerable even if for just a bit. And a look of pure hurt takes over her lovestruck demeanor earlier. But that is instantly replaced with anger. Anger at Satoru for continuing to hold onto things that should have no meaning anymore because she’s here now. Loving him is a dangerous game, what else could she expect from a man who is caught between the past and the future?

“Forget it.” Satoru stands up, shrugging Himiko off his lap. “I’ll find out one way or another. You should go home.”

Himiko painfully picks up on the fact that Satoru told her to ‘go home’ and not ‘head to bed’, meaning she won’t be sleeping with him tonight. Satoru runs a hand through his mop of white hair, calling Ijichi. He knows it’s late but Ijichi should still be in the premises right now.

“Ijichi? I’m heading out.”

“What now? It’s two in the morning. You still have a ribbon-cutting ceremony to go to with the princess tomorrow.”

“Just get over here right now, I won’t take long.” He’ll still show up to that stupid ribbon-cutting at the Tokyo University of the Arts with you tomorrow. Speaking of you, he should probably refrain from doing such things again. He begins to think of ways he could, in a way, make it up to you for his behavior but that doesn’t mean you’re out of the frying pan just yet.

Just because he’s suspicious about these circumstances doesn’t mean that he believes your desperate plea earlier that you didn’t attempt to steal an integral part of his past. No one could replace the person whom those earrings first belonged to. Not even the woman standing in front of him right now, the object of his desires, the source of your pain.

“What? You’re going there again? Don’t tell me you’re still hoping she’ll answer for once.” Himiko’s nostrils flared in anger at the thought of Satoru leaving.

“Don’t push it, Himiko.” Satoru takes a dangerous step towards her which causes her to somehow, for the first time in her life since she met the prince, shrink in fear. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’re already hurting me!”

What Satoru says next is like a bullet being fired through a thin sheet of glass.

“(Y/N) is enduring far worse than you and not once have I heard her complain or throw a tantrum like you’re doing now.”

Satoru leaves immediately after, ignoring Himiko’s angry cries. He comes back at about eight o’clock the next morning to see your newly framed wedding photo shattered on the floor next to a crumpled up picture of another person whose name Satoru couldn’t even speak without bursting into bitter tears midway.

How ironic it is to be married on the day he lost her.

water’s edge taglist: @dummyf @kentokaze @esthelily @mandysfanfics @userbananababes @strawberryjimin13 @snowprincesa1 @naturallyspontaneous @kooromin @gojoist @dcvilxswish @13-09-01 @peachipeachy @iluv-ace @sawendel @helloitsshitzulover @jjuniescuderia @ackermendick @starrylibras @timetobegone @heelariously @idktbhloley @jeon-blue @8aif9sgbsnn @purpleguk @rednezvous @yeseurri @floralsightings @yoheyyosup @dontwannacry04 @dragonladyy @darling006 @ethereally-lyann @nikitopia (still open!)

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comfortless · 4 months

Text

In Our Angelhood

König x fem!reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. silly & odd strangers -> lovers au, loner/loner dynamic. canon divergent. mentions of physical and emotional abuse, violence, hurt + comfort, mentions of religion & religious imagery (Catholicism), light horror/unease, sexism (from a minor, non-canon character), reader and König are both in their 20s. virgin!König -> smut, unprotected piv.

notes: listen…. I was raised catholic but simply do not remember most of my life in the church. take this as a silly fairytale instead of simmering on the religion bits. <3 reader is implied to be a virgin too but we’re not harping on that who cares.

wc: 10k.

You haven’t had it easy, but seeing the angel wander into the cathedral with purple and yellow stains painting his cheeks, his throat, is safe harbor. Oil on canvas to burrow in like booklice. You like the way he takes the front pew, doesn’t hide himself despite the horror that’s been made of his face; tempts god by raising a hand up to press on the bruises, shivers from the pain. His brow pinches when his gaze drifts upwards, as if to think: You allowed this, look at it!

Most days, he doesn’t pay attention to the sermon, his hands consistently prod at his face or twitch someplace bedded down in the fleece lining of the pocket of his hoodie, always dark green or black. You’re not paying attention, either. You could fall into that absent stare easily, find yourself lost in whichever world bathed in static and hellfire that he’s dreaming up.

The Father is wary of him, no doubt. The man fidgets constantly in his place, toying with the unseen thing in his pocket whilst the priest prattles on about the Holy Mother and the blood of a son she watched led away to slaughter. The angel seems to only display intrigue when preaching shifts to mentions of the wrath of god, of sin, of Hell, as if he knows he’s bound for all of it. Heaven’s not spotless, either, full of cobwebs where God exonerates his wrath.

Sitting beside him is unheard of, the other parishioners stay away, whispering behind upheld palms that ‘there’s just something wrong with him’, but you choose to move from your pew to place yourself at his side, crossing the rows of curious gossips with careful strides as you approach his seat. The wooden bench creaks when he tenses, and you can feel his eyes dart to your form while you remain facing forward, but not a word is spoken during service nor after.

You make a habit of sitting next to him each time he wanders into the church with his fresh bruises. A few weeks of this and he comes back with a gash striped down from below his right eye to his jaw, an ugly maroon trail. He makes a point to sit on the opposite end of the bench that day, and you’re left to stew in the rejection that your attempts at providing your comfort and your friendship have failed.

“What happened to you?” Your voice comes out as a mere squeak, staring up at that horrid cut once the sermon has concluded. You’ve got him cornered between the floral dress cloaking you and the wooden bench brushing against the backs of his knees. It’s almost endearing how the sight of a woman speaking to him, caging him in like this makes him panic, his lips part and his eyes dart.

His chest heaves as a sigh leaves him once his head is angled away, eyes staring at the stained glass just over your shoulder.

“Accident.”

It’s said so simply that one wouldn’t believe it to be a lie if he were simply a voice, rather than a fully grown man cowering in your presence. For half a moment, you wonder his age before a response comes to mind. Assuredly he must be like you, mid-twenties and despondent, he comes here all alone, but you never see him around town. It dawns on you then, that the man probably still lives with his parents, maybe they force their fallen angel to attend church just to be rid of him for a few hours.

“Looks bad.” The response isn’t an insult, but you can hear the way his breath is hissed through his teeth, see the way his jaw tightens as though he took it as one.

“Es tut mer leid,” is all he says in reply.

You take a step back, keeping your eyes on him as you fold your arms behind your dress innocently. The other parishioners have long since fled by now, dusted off their sins like crumbs from their hands and passed the doors of the cathedral with sideways glances at the mismatched two still stood before the altar. You get the sense that maybe you’re the only sinner left in this place when König nervously meanders a step away, but when he walks several stunted strides away, stops to give you a glance over the shoulder, that weight rapidly disappears.

His expression shifts, somber and yearning for something that he can’t bring himself to say before he turns away and leaves you to mull in the disaster of your first conversation.

You begin to worry when he stops showing up for homilies, several weeks of sitting alone on their shared pew. Mass is no different, he remains a distant phantom. The cause for his accident could have very well been the cause for a life ended too soon and you worry yourself sick, shifting in your seat until the courage to ask if anyone knows his address is ripped from your tongue. The answer comes relatively easy, coupled with a flighty look from an older woman who claimed to have seen him seated in the front yard of some decaying home, shooting at a barrel with some gun you almost dare to wonder if he entirely, legally owned.

Despite your better judgement you find yourself staring blankly at his front door an hour later, clutching a brown, paper bag full of goodies from the local bakery for him. The muffled shouting from within keeps you from knocking, the voices of two men in some uproarious vocal war seeping out in whispers through layers of insulation and wall. You feel like a terrified animal, rooted in place as you try to make out the cause for such anger within. The dull thud of flesh meeting flesh pulls you back to reality in such a rapid fall, your knuckles wrap at the door immediately. It all falls silent inside, and a part of you is left fearing for your own safety there, as if those words and furious blows would be focused on you for even daring to bring this angelic stranger a slice of raspberry danish and a blue velvet cupcake.

The door swings open with the whine of hinges that likely have never been oiled, and König has never looked worse. His face looks sickly from bruising, the gash partially healed yet split from a fresh blow readily seeping blood against his thick fingers pressed to his cheek. Your chest fills with a rage you’ve never known and you feels your fingernails curl into the bag like claws, ready to push past this weathered angel and beat the Devil himself with your bare hands.

Instead, you smile at him.

“I brought you something.” You hold up the bag to him, and you’re grateful that he accepts it without asking why you bothered at all or how you even found this accursed pocket of Hell.

“Danke.”

He shifts a little in place as he opens the gift, and though he could not bring himself to smile, the way his larimar eyes seem to swim a little displays his gratitude where words fail him.

A part of you might even pay the smallest bit of gratitude to the fact that he doesn’t mention just went on inside there. Though your eyes search his with blatant curiosity, he turns away each time, allowing the words to remain unsaid. You don’t pry, it’s not your place. You know treading here was not your place either. Angels don’t haunt you like stalking predators, they haunt you with a call, a silent song. Fate seemed a ridiculous concept, but you’re drawn to his very presence as you have been since the moment you first laid eyes on him.

You know you’ve finally won his friendship when you find yourself across from him at a picnic table with a coffee he purchased for you in hand. It’s not how you would have ordered it, some overly sugary thing nearly spilling out with whipped cream and caramel, but it suits what you’re feeling. You ignore the taste, sated enough by a conversation that comes so easily between the two of you that you feel you’ve known him for far longer.

König is actually rather teasing and boastful when he isn’t being questioned about his appearance or what goes on in his family home. He tells you of his dream of becoming a recon sniper with ease, and how the Austrian military denied him despite how ‘perfekt’ he was for the role.

You listen intently as he carries the conversation forward, tells you about his rifle, right down to explaining the anatomy of such a thing.

“Scheisse, you don’t care.” He breathes a laugh too soft for a man his stature after he speaks, wiping away a bit of icing from his bottom lip with the knuckle of his index.

“Yes, I do!”

“Nein, nein, girls don’t play with guns.”

So, maybe he’s a little old fashioned and odd, but his voice is sweet like spiced honey, and you couldn’t fathom any place you would rather spend a gloomy afternoon than seated across from him.

“I bet I could be a better sniper than you,” you jest, taking a sip from your coffee with a little grin on your face when you note the slight furrow of his dark brows and the challenging flicker in his eyes.

His face softens as quickly as that surge of determination had come, taking to look you over with a newfound appreciation in his stare instead.

“I could teach you.”

You spend a moment explaining that you were simply kidding, and his eyes light up as a tinge of red seeps into the mottled colors of a sky in the midst of a storm across his pale cheeks. Like the first break of sun when the deafening rain finally falls to a calming drizzle.

“Shouldn’t you know how to protect yourself, though?” He asks, sheepishly turning his head away, focusing his gaze on fallen leaves instead of you. Extinguishing your own steadfast gaze is difficult, when you find yourself further captivated by the man in front of you. Everything about him is enigmatic; even the sparse glimpses into his life he’s offered to you leave more questions than answers.

“Maybe.” You shrug absently as you lower the styrofoam cup back to the table, hands curled around it.

He turns back to you then, slipping a hand into his pocket to fish out a butterfly knife, latch closed around the shiny handle. It’s the very same color of his eyes, barely a quiet blue, though the blade itself is wicked steel, expertly sharpened. You ogle it in your hands for a moment, flicking it open before he swiftly takes your wrist and firmly shakes his head.

“Careful,” he gruffs as he retrieves it, brushing over your fingertips as the blade is taken back into his large hand. He dutifully shows you how to twirl it, performing a series of little tricks without even having to look at the weapon in his hands. The blade’s dance is swift and graceful, not one cut sullies his fingers. His chest puffs in pride when he notices the way your eyes try to keep up with the steel, and the tricks become more elaborate.

“Can I try?”

“Nein… let me show you how to use it first. Bitte.”

With a nod, you find yourself being led away deeper into the park, leaves crunching under the toe of the man’s boots just in front of you. Assuredly, you shouldn’t be so trusting of a titan with a weapon, especially after hearing the violence going on within his own dwelling, yet you don’t question yourself. He fills lapses of silence with a soft hum, likely some song he knows from his homeland, it’s a pretty tune coming from him. The cadence of his voice is something that sets your mind at ease when he does speak— always a rasp with a nearly giddy lilt to it. It’s pretty.

The trail leads you both down to a fallen tree, the trunk is thick and deteriorating, bark springing up with succulent, golden folds of what he tells you to be laetiporus. König guides you down to your knees with a gentle press against the back of your neck, the large hand is shaking when his calloused fingers meet your flesh. He descends next to you and places the blade in your hands once more, guiding you with a patient nudges to your wrist. The base of the fungus is gingerly cut with each metered motion from you both, and eventually a large clump of it falls free right into the lap of your dress.

“Not the best for foraging, but…”

“I like it,” you chime with a smile, marveling at the little blade in your hand before your gaze settles to the cluster resting on your lap. “What do we do with this though?”

König shrugs, lifting the cluster of mushrooms to your face, clutching it as though it were a bouquet of flowers with a wolfish grin on his face.

“Eat it.”

“It’s dirty, you eat it.”

Those broad shoulders shrug again as he peels a bit of it off and shoves it between his lips, chewing the filthy things several times before swallowing it down. Your nose scrunches in feigned disgust, before a laugh leaves your lips at the crooked grin he gives you in answer.

“That’s so gross, König!”

It’s possible that he’s been yearning for someone’s focus to shift upon him like this, not in anger or disgust, but something far more gentle. He lets you keep his knife, and the rest of the afternoon is spent filled with comfortable conversation as you wander around the forest together. When the sun begins to set, you actually find yourself a bit disappointed that he doesn’t suggest a bout of stargazing or something more.

It’s all felt too natural to let go of so soon, and you’ve no idea when you’ll see him again. A seed of warmth takes root in your chest when he walks you back to your home. The friendship is something you’ve both needed it seems, because his smile doesn’t even falter when he leaves you at the door to retreat back to the horrible place that he calls home.

— ཐིཋྀ —

You’re sick the next Sunday. A small cold, nothing worthy of fretting too much over. Over the counter medicine does the trick to keep you somewhat comfortable as you lie back against the sofa, ample pillows and blankets surrounding you. There are chores begging for your attention: the dishes stacked in the sink, a laundry basket full to the brim, and you can’t recall when the last time that you vacuumed was. A few days of forgetting and these things overlap into a miserable, tedious pile.

You wish you weren’t so quick to call blame to one particular reason.

Spending time with the angel has left you carrying a weight you’re not certain you can continue to bare. In fact, your cold may have come from fearing for his safety. Whatever ghouls he keeps locked up in that house, tormenting him endlessly… it’s difficult to keep yourself together when you haven’t seen him in days. He could very well be dead. There’s some comfort in knowing that he knew how to protect himself; he had shown you, and his stature was undeniable evidence of such. It just doesn’t feel enough without the physical proof.

He allowed himself to be hurt anyway. It was strange. Some people were simply difficult to comprehend, and you didn’t even begin to know how to unravel the strange spool that’s rolled into your life now.

Especially not when realization hits and you come to terms with one simple fact: You miss König. His eyes, his strange interests, even the overly-sweet drink he purchased for you— you find yourself missing all of it; the light and the darkness. He knows where you live; he walked you home, and yet, he hasn’t stopped by. You imagine it must be that you merely misread the supposed closeness. It didn’t matter. König was just an acquaintance, after all.

You take your mind off of him by turning on the television, a hand rested over your aching head and the other thumbing at the remote in search for anything that could hold your attention longer than a few seconds. The town is small and the news is never interesting; a traffic jam on a road you’ve never traveled, a safe at the grocery store, the sorts of things that come as nothing more than a buzzing to fill the empty air. Focusing on a movie sounded far too tedious, too. Eventually you give up, turning the television off and tilting your head back to stare up at the ceiling, all white and empty.

The bell tolls again, it’s ringing far softer now from within the walls of your home, drawing your attention back to the woods— to König. Gentle chiming is a strange thing to remind you of the bloodied titan. It exudes a sense of peace, like the safety of church bells. You feel your conscious slipping, curled into yourself there as your eyes flutter shut.

Only, the calm is short lived. A knock comes only minutes later, the soft graze of knuckles against your door as though whoever lurks outside didn’t actually want to disturb you too terribly. After a fifth knock, you notice they’re not leaving. It was probably best to answer sooner rather than later so you might be left to your sulky slumber.

It takes a moment to gather your bearings and straighten yourself out enough for company. Your head is still aching terribly, brain fogged by the weight of your sickness. When the latch of the lock clicks and you haphazardly swing your door open, you’re met with the view of a broad chest covered in black.

“König?” You murmur, raising your head to look up at him. It’s not the sight of his face that you’re met with, only his eyes visible beneath the black fabric concealing him. The remains of an old t-shirt, and you had your doubts that whatever he had hidden beneath it could be any more intimidating than he looks now.

“Es tut mer leid,” he huffs, his voice a bit tight as he stares down at you, pupils slightly dilated and irises flicking from your face to the room just behind you. He looks a total contrast to you, unable to help the slight upturn of your lips from just the sight of him. Perhaps he had missed you, too. “Can I come in?”

Again, you should be apprehensive, but in the end you step aside and gesture for him to enter. He readily obliges, stepping past you as he ducks beneath the door frame and walks a bit stiffly to the center of the room.

“You alright?” You manage, shutting the door behind you and leaning against the wood. The flutter in your chest makes it difficult not to break into a more obvious smile— you’re happy he’s here, even in such a sorry state.

“Ja, just…” König pauses for a moment before taking to the sofa, seeming so much smaller than he truly is when he finally seats himself. “You know Lukas?”

Lukas, a parishioner. The man with the ever-present smirk on his face. You had seen him before, spoken to him in passing a time or two. He wasn’t particularly pleasant. You had even heard him join in with the others, commenting on König’s appearance— a bully and a gossip, no different from most of the others. The man couldn’t have been any younger than you or König, still, he had all of the maturity of a teenager.

“Yes?”

“They kicked me out because of him.”

You tilt your head, furrowing your brow in confusion. It wasn’t like the church to turn anyone away, especially not one who had been a part of the congregation for as long as König had. Your bewilderment spurs him to continue.

“At the cathedral.”

“I got that,” you hum out a bit hoarsely as you pad over to sit on the couch, opposite of him. The pitiful look he shoots you then, through the holes in his makeshift mask makes him look like little more than a pleading puppy, begging for comfort that he would never actually request. “It’s alright, König.”

“Nein… I will not get to see you as much.”

If König were not a grown man wearing an ominous veil over his face, you would almost dare to think he was pouting. It’s ridiculous, but it warms your heart that he cares; he enjoys the time spent with you just as much as you did. Perhaps more, if what you’ve gathered about him supplied any hints. He didn’t seem to have anyone at all— only you.

What the church won't tell you is that angels hurt sometimes, too. The Father will tell you that they're The Lord's army, just as impervious to bullets as they are to temptations. With an abundance of wings and eyes, they are such fragile things… how could they truly be invincible? Unlike the seraphim thriving in a heaven far beyond your reach, or the battered angel seated beside you, you won't deny yourself a reprieve or a request for comfort.

“We could just make our Sundays for us, yeah?” You don’t think to stop yourself when you extend the offer to him. The way his eyes seem to light up then is nothing short of a burning ember. Missing tedious sermons couldn’t be that sinful. God could turn the other cheek for now, you thought.

“I would like that.”

You hum in response, reaching for the little bottle of ibuprofen on the coffee table as that ache in your head begins to throb again. König’s eyes track you the entire time, shoulders slumping and eyes narrowing when he pieces it together.

“You don’t feel well..,” he says sternly, already rising to his feet to explore your home before a protest can even leave your lips. You hear the sounds of cabinets being flung open in the kitchen, the refrigerator flung open before he returns to kneel at your side with a glass of water. You weakly fumble with the lid of the bottle, offering him your thanks as he holds the cup out for you. Childproof lids are a pain, clicking incessantly rather than just opening when you need them to; each second feels like an hour passing as he stares at you like the strangest little creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

You feel your face warm in embarrassment when he sets the glass aside and pries the bottle from your hands, opening it up with ease before slipping two of the pills in your waiting palm. You down the medicine with a sip of water, nearly choking on it when he raises his hand to your forehead and gently presses against it to check your temperature.

“I’m fine, König,” you huff out, playfully batting at his hand. He remains insistent, not drawing away until you assume he’s convinced you aren’t feverish. “It’s just a cold.”

Your angel has never seemed sweeter than now, with worry painted clear in his blue eyes. He remains quiet, lost in thought for a moment before gently pressing you back against the couch with the press of his fingertips against your shoulder. The throw blanket is tucked over you in an instant. If the thought had occurred to you before, you imagined he would likely be rather clumsy when caring for another, and yet this all feels practiced. He’s told you he’s killed, in the military, yet you couldn’t imagine such gentle hands doing anything of the sort now as you curl up with a mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Sleep.”

You didn’t want him to leave. Impulsivity is enough of an excuse to take his hand, intertwine your fingers. He doesn’t pull away, not until your eyes close and sleep takes you once more. Only then does he leave your side and your home, locking the door behind him.

— ཐིཋྀ —

“Yeah… he said he saw a demon in there. All shadow.”

“Come on… that’s a lie. You know he was just scared!”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t think he would lie about something like that!”

You’re not trying to eavesdrop. It’s just that teenagers are never keen on keeping their voices down, at least not around here, it seemed. You’re already ten minutes late, having promised König you would meet him at the coffee shop at noon. You don’t have time to be standing around listening to children chittering about town myths. Especially not ones that make you feel so uneasy.

When you had heard them, they were always about the haunted church tucked far away from prying eyes, hidden somewhere in the forest circling the town. No one knew where it was for certain, but many claimed to have wandered there. None of those stories really held any weight; there were no pictures or other fragments of evidence, just voices. The only thing that made those tales seem believable was the bell. You had heard stories about it since you were a child. They ranged from seeing specters, to smelling perfume wafting about in the small graveyard supposedly next to it with no one else around, and even a strange one about finding a corpse there.

Seeing a demon was a new one.

You supposed that someone or something had to be ringing that bell at the odd hours during the day and throughout the night. It was never on time, always several minutes after the beginning of an hour had begun. The thought was a little eerie, and if you thought too hard about it— a little sad. Picturing some poor lost soul stuck there for an eternity, damned to ring a cursed bell only for no one to ever come. In retrospect, it really was no wonder why it reminded you just a bit of him; damned to haunt this town and return time and time again to his own personal Hell.

When the bell chimes again, the children take off towards the noise, leaving you alone on an empty street. Their shouts about how they were going to find that demon and chase it out echo until they’re too far away to make sense of the rest of the conversation.

Your heart feels a bit torn. It was best to leave things like that alone, but… the poor thing must have been lonely, lonely like him.

Maybe it’s a sign from God, as if to remind you of how you’re treading deeper into the dark with every passing Sunday.

You haven’t attended mass since you and König started hanging out. You consider that it’s your own guilt spurring you to fear this unknown thing lurking out in the woods, if it even existed at all. There was something about forsaking a religion you had grown up with for a man you had only just met that was both exciting and heartbreaking.

The walk to the coffee shop feels almost unbearable, your steps sluggish, yet the second you make it inside with the little bell chiming above your head you’re put at ease. König hadn’t taken your tardiness as initiative to leave. The man was tucked in the far corner of the shop, seated at a table too small with his own drink and yours before him.

“No hood today?” You ask as you approach, staring at his scarred face in reverie. The cut below his eye had mostly healed, and you don’t note any new bruising.

He shakes his head with a little smile, gesturing for you to take a seat— not across from him but at his side.

“Do you want me to wear it?” He asks once you’ve taken your seat.

“No, I like seeing you.”

König is handsome. The realization dawns on you, sharp and searing like a bolt of thunder when he flashes you a lazy smile, propping his elbow up on the table to rest his cheek against his open palm.

To quell your sudden embarrassment, calm the warmth pooling along your cheeks, you tell König about what you had heard on your way here. He listens in silence as you prattle on about the haunted church that no one has ever truly found, about the demon lurking in its depths. It sounds silly, even to your own ears as you recount the ridiculous myth you had heard in passing, but König looks a bit more rigid with each word you breathe out.

When you finish, he slowly shakes his head, eyes focused on the door as you take a sip of your coffee.

“You don’t really believe that,” he says.

“‘Course not. I just thought it was interesting...”

“Do you want to see it?”

You pause for a moment, considering the offer. Perhaps with König there you would feel safe, sate your curiosity and enjoy a little adventure as well. You still had the butterfly knife he had given to you, too. Your own little token of protection, and if that failed you would still have an angel at your side. Maybe he would teach you those intricate little dances on the trek there, hold your hand when you found yourself too afraid to brave whatever may come. If you couldn’t find the place at all then that would be nothing more than a nice memory to look back on.

“I think so.” The thought of feeling his warm hand in your own again is enough to spur you on. That feeling may have been more terrifying than any demon at all.

“We will go tonight then. I know where it is.”

“Oh… that soon?”

König gives your shoulder a playful, gentle nudge.

“Ja. I’ll take you.”

— ཐིཋྀ —

It’s not a date.

It’s a misadventure.

Still, you find yourself preparing for it as though it were a date. You bother with a stick of mascara and a bit of lip oil, a dress just slightly more revealing than the ones you wore to service. You tell yourself that you’re dressing up for the memory, not for the angel. That doesn’t stop you from ogling yourself in the mirror, tugging down your dress just a bit so it fits over your cleavage in a way that seems appealing.

You imagine the Holy Mother would probably chide you well if she were to step down from Heaven and see you now, tell you to remain chaste and pure until your wedding night. Oddly enough, it doesn’t tear you up with guilt— it only makes you giggle a bit as you lift the hem of your dress and twirl in place.

It isn’t a date, it’s the least romantic thing you could think of, but he’s coming to whisk you away into the night and it feels like one.

König, gentleman that he seems to be, doesn’t keep you waiting either. You both had settled on going right as the sun began to set after you had finished your coffee and informed him that you needed to finish a few chores and get ready before going on a night long endeavor. Just as the light outside began to turn to a pumpkin glow you hear the knock at the door. It’s louder than the last time he came by— he’s excited too, you can feel it without even gazing upon him.

You take your jacket, patting the pocket to ensure the knife is in its proper place before bounding toward the door, a skip in each step. Tonight would be special, sweet, and tender; it would be all of the things you had repressed since you first saw him.

As you turn the knob and pull it inward, the man hardly has the courtesy to hide his eagerness either. His face visibly flushes when he sees you, all dressed up just for him. You wished you could read his thoughts, have just one moment where you truly had some sort of telepathic ability as you once believed was possible when you were a child.

Graciously, as the two of you begin to venture out towards the woods, with you trying to match his lengthy strides as you walk side-by-side, you don’t need any telepathy.

“You are so pretty,” König mumbles, facing forward rather than looking directly at you. His voice is the quietest you had ever heard it now, barely above a whisper.

If you had the courage to kiss him right then, you would have reached for his scarred face and peppered a dozen over every mark, held him like that until his cheeks went up in flames.

“So are you,” you huff out instead.

Though he doesn’t outright call you a liar, something tells you that he doesn’t believe the words you’ve spoken. The angel falls silent, doesn’t turn to you and merely continues to lead you further out as the sky swells with a brilliant purple, the silhouette of a crescent moon peaking out from high up above. You would tell him a million times if it would make him believe you, then. He doesn’t fiddle with a concealed blade in his pocket around you, and together, he seems so much less lonesome and battered. You know that he’s comfortable with you; his discomfort stems from somewhere within, something you couldn’t reach to pry away from him.

You believe that you’re patient. You could bear anything he had to offer, good or bad; you would accept the burdens just as readily as the gifts— knives and the taste of sugar on your tongue.

The streets of the town aren’t as quiet tonight, and though there are no children with their silly stories idling about, you recognize the voice of a man a few meters off. When you look away from the tree line in the distance, your gaze settles on Lukas leaned up against the wall of the old antique shop. The place hadn’t been touched in ages, yet baubles and little porcelain dolls all covered in a generous layer of dust still lined the shelves in the window. His cell phone is propped between his shoulder and his cheek as he speaks, until his green eyes settle on König who halts in place at your side.

You know that your fantasy of a perfect evening is ruined the moment Lukas rushes a goodbye to whoever was on the receiving end of that call and slips his phone into the pocket of his coat.

“What’s going on here?”

The man is no demon, but he’s arrogant and cruel like one; he sounds enough like one when he laughs in your direction— looks enough like one when he makes a cupping motion before his chest as if to signify your breasts.

König doesn’t respond, but he steps in front of you, shielding you behind him as though you’re a little lamb in need of a snarling maw to keep you protected. You don’t need him to protect you, not truly. You aren’t a little girl, nor are you the one that shows their face covered in a mask of pain.

You’re finally getting a glimpse, a little look at what he must face every time he dares to cross paths with another person.

“We’re just taking a walk,” you say confidently, as you raise your hand to give König’s sleeve a little tug.

Let’s just go.

König doesn’t budge, unmoving like a gargoyle as he stares down at the smaller man before the both of you. His large hands clench at his sides and you see the flames of Hell flaring up in his blue eyes.

“Skipping mass to fuck the freak, is that right?” Lukas tuts with a roll of his eyes.

You’re amazed how Lukas displays not an ounce of fear— even you’re afraid. König wouldn’t hurt you, a part of you was certain, but the way he looked now was so unlike the passive, lost angel you had taken him to be. You take a step back, realizing that whatever comes to pass next is not something that you could stop even if you cling to König and plead for him to clear his mind and let this go.

They’re just words, despite the way they claw at your heart.

“Didn’t think you were such a slut.”

König is no longer much of an angel in your eyes when he leaps at the other man and lands a blow directly to his unsuspecting, smirking face. The sound is a loud, a horrible crack. It’s not like the soft thunder of sudden emotion, but one of a tooth being dislodged from the smaller man’s jaw. Lukas falls back, directly onto his backside against the hard sidewalk with a low groan of pain. His hands reach up to clutch at his face, bright blood trickling from his mouth like a stream.

It’s not enough. Not to König.

Your eyes squeeze shut the moment you hear another thud, and the third sends your running without so much as a thought in your head. The sounds of your own shallow breaths deafen the world around you, drowning out the violence taking place behind. You don’t consider where you’re headed, your eyes remain closed until the sounds of pavement against your soles dissipates and you’re left only with the thumps of your shoes hitting soil.

It’s dark when you stop to gather your bearings. The canopy of tree limbs, crooked and curved above you, blocking out any glimpse of even the moon. You can’t even see your hands when you hold them up in front of your face. When the adrenaline begins to subside, you feel foolish for running away— especially now that you find yourself horribly lost in an unfamiliar area. You turn back to look for the way that you had came, but see no lights from the town piercing through the dark.

You’re alone here, bathed in inky black, in perfect silence.

There are no footsteps chasing after you— König isn’t coming, not to save you. Not when you saw him for what he truly was, you imagined he read the accusation across your face when you ran away from him. It hurts you, too, to think of your lonely angel turned devil. How he saw the word ‘monster’ written in your eyes, wide with fear as you left him. You wondered if he could cry at all, if he was now.

You didn’t even care if Lukas was okay.

You doubted the man was even conscious anymore, lying limp in a puddle of his own blood. Whether he deserved it or not wasn’t for you to decide, but a part of you considers that he certainly did.

Trying to retrace the steps you took in flight proves futile, if anything you think you’ve only sunken further into the woods. Terribly lost and vulnerable, you reach for the knife in your pocket to try and regain some courage only to find it’s no longer there; you must have dropped it somewhere.

The walk feels aimless and fear creeps up on you from every small thing. A snap of a twig off in the distance sends you running once more despite the aching in your chest and limbs. The thought of being utterly helpless with no one in sight to lend their aid brings the sting of tears to your eyes.

Worst of all, however, is the bell.

Closer, it sounds dreadful. A haunting cacophony of noise roars above you, not far off. The bell is rung softly at first, a gentle pull of the rope held fast within it before it begins to grow more desperate, louder still. You swear you’ve turned in the opposite direction when you make it into a clearing, only to find yourself faced with the chapel of myth. The tower housing the dreadful bell is shrouded in shadow, and the damned thing actually has the courtesy to fall silent when you step past the last tufts of shrubbery to make it out into the open area.

The air feels colder here, suffocating almost, as though you’ve been doused in ice water. The silence is more dreadful than the pain emitted from Lukas’ bloody mouth, worse than the ringing of a bell or the droning of another dull sermon.

You don’t fall to pieces, but you do drop to your knees, sullying the ends of your dress with dirt as you stare up at the ominous, white building before you. No demons poke their heads from the windows, no whispering fills your ears from the graveyard mere paces away. It’s void and empty, and that feels somehow worse.

It would be a long night, but you knew wholeheartedly you were not going to find your way home without the sun to guide you. Catching a glimpse of your flesh in the dim light reveals a menagerie of small cuts and bruises, flesh marred from scraping tree limbs and slamming into broad trunks in the darkness.

There was no way that you were sleeping, despite the way you ached for rest. Even blinking made you feel vulnerable and exposed here. This was not an unholy place, but perhaps the most sacred you had ever lain eyes on. It was untouched and wild, even the descriptions of angels written in scripture seemed less so.

You find your footing for long enough to seat yourself at the side of the small building, your head rested against the wall as you draw your knees up to your chest. The sound of your own breath fills the silence in the air, but you don’t feel alone anymore. It’s paranoia and you know it, there’s no way such a humble place could be haunted. Still, the feeling of being watched causes your skin to prickle, and you long more than ever for König’s knife to be fitted between your fingers.

It’s when the sounds of footsteps draw near that you lose all composure. Somewhere off to your right, something was walking towards you— too quick and heavy to be a curious animal.

You rise to your feet in haste and go to the only place you can think of to find sanctuary— directly into the old church, slamming the heavy wooden door behind you. It’s empty inside, apart from an overturned desk and a few chairs you can make out from the dim light leaking through the window. Everything is bathed in dust and it smells nauseatingly sweet and sour, like cobwebs and musk, a combination that does little to set you at ease.

Though the room is small and empty, several doors and a small hallway are off to the back and you imagine the demon leering at you from one of them, just out of sight as you stumble to crouch behind the altar.

You don’t remember when last you prayed, and you don’t bother with it now, either. A prayer wouldn’t save you from whatever horrid thing come crawling out of the woods hunting for you. As if sensing your defeat, the door begins to creak open, the hinges whining as the godforsaken beast began to lumber inside, just as the bell strikes up again.

You swear you can hear the rapid beating of your heart above all other noise, and though you wish for nothing more than to squeeze your eyelids shut and bathe out the sight in nothing but dark, you can’t look away.

The demon is impossibly tall, shrouded entirely in shadow just as the children had said. Its eyes don’t glow and you can’t catch sight of fangs or claws, but it’s ominous enough as it slowly wanders inside, turning its head to look around the room— to look for you.

Your palm rests over your mouth to muffle your breathing, but to no avail. Panic swells within you, its grip tighter than any corset, any vise.

Until your eyes adjust to the dark figure properly. The damned thing is nothing but familiar, comforting even. No demon could ever make you feel as warm as an angel. Your vision fills with unshed tears, relief and regret overpowering any lingering dread.

The demon is not some screeching beast that clawed its way from Hell at all, only…

“König…” You breathe out quietly as you drop your hands to the wooden floor below you and slowly crawl forward. His shrouded head cocks in your direction, and if not for his stature it may have been even cute the way he rushes toward you; thundering steps as the angel no longer walks, but runs in your direction with his arms outstretched.

You lack the time to flinch back from the suddenness, because the moment he reaches you, you’re pulled into a pair of thick arms, shaking as they curl around you tightly. Your face presses into his chest as you circle your arms around his middle in turn.

“Let’s not do that again,” he rasps, pulling you somehow closer as his veiled chin rests against the top of you head. “I am sorry that I scared you… He just…”

“Stop apologizing,” you whisper as your fingers dig into the fabric of the dark hoodie. You didn’t want to hear another apology, not from him; English or German it mattered not, all that concerned you was the fact that the two of you were safe. Heaven and Hell all the same.

König sucks in a breath above you as he carefully pulls you to your feet. The bell and the darkness surrounding no longer brought you fear, only calm in such a protective hold.

He brings you back home, carrying your weight with ease as the forest disappears behind you. The hood over his face remains in place, and a part of you wonders why he even bothered to wear it at all. Perhaps not to scare you further if Lukas managed to open up that wound, or more likely so you wouldn’t have to see the face of a man so easily moved to violence at all.

König drops you off at the door without another word. The butterfly knife you had left behind someplace in the forest is slipped into your hand, the blue handle clasped shut. The weight no longer feels like that of a developing bond, but of parting.

The sting burrows into your heart instantly as he turns away from you. With his first step you find yourself grabbing at his arm, pulling him back with a desperation you had never known prior.

“Please stay,” you voice hoarsely, digging your fingernails into his sleeve. “We were supposed to… to spend tonight together.”

Not here, of course, but out there shivering in fear of the unknown. This doesn’t feel unfamiliar, you know what you’re doing when you offer to let a beast into your home, to lead him to your bedside and hold him throughout the night, and not a word of it slips out carrying the burdens of apprehension.

He turns toward you as his long fingers circle your wrist, thumb brushing against the back of your hand. If you could see his eyes now, you would find the creep of longing buried in a sea of blue.

“You want that?”

“Of course.”

Your bedroom seems even smaller with König inside of it, your bed even more so. The tumble beneath sheets is clumsy, and he has to bend his knees in a way that digs against your own flesh just to fit properly. The veil is cast off with only a muttered complaint in his mother tongue, something you could decipher without even knowing the words. You shush him with a kiss, sweet and gentle when his face is bared. A silent apology for your momentary fear, for your desperate sprint away, for making him wander into that cursed place to bring you home.

He reciprocates clumsily, all too eagerly searching beneath the sheet to grip at your waist as his tongue pries apart your lips. You break apart with a sigh, looking all the part of an adoring devotee as you melt against him, head tucked in the divide between his shoulder and the column of his neck.

“I thought you were afraid.” König sounds a bit dazed, fingers gently prodding against the fabric of your dress as his hand drifts lower to hold your hip. “I was worried.”

“I just don’t understand,” you answer in a soft murmur. “Why you…”

Your voice trails off as he pulls you closer again, his mouth pressed firmly against the crown of your head as he presses a kiss there. There’s a vulnerability to his touch, soft and tentative as his hand trails along your spine, resting just above your rear.

You could ask him anything now and you know that he would supply an answer, tell you any secret you would like to hear, but you don’t. In due time. Right now all that you craved was his closeness as you both drift off to sleep.

— ཐིཋྀ —

The haunted chapel is less so during the day. You haven’t heard the bell toll since last night, any lapse of conversation is filled with the chirping of birds or your own shy laughter each time you marvel up at the man seated next to you, his hand petting your hair, your cheek, anywhere he can touch. There’s nothing ominous about the place anymore, all filled with the bright colors from the stained glass windows as sunlight drifts through, painting the room of broken furniture and cobwebs with softness and warmth.

You’re lying on your back over a soft blanket you had thought to take along, the picnic basket König had pried from your hands on the walk here, once filled with pastries and fruit, now empty discarded at your side.

He tells you of why he stays in that house, deals with his father’s abuse— all for an ailing mother that’s never loved him, not as she should. König takes care of her, demonstrates love the best he knows how despite the absence of it during his childhood. You hadn’t asked, but he speaks more freely with each moment that’s passed since the kiss. It makes you somber, angry almost, that someone you saw such beauty in could be treated this way. You’re no savior, you can’t pull him free from it all, but to offer the angel a reprieve at all is enough. At least, to him.

He even assured you that Lukas, or ‘the arschloch’, was absolutely fine. A few loose teeth and a broken nose wouldn’t kill him, but maybe it would teach him to keep his gossiping mouth shut.

In turn, you tell him more about yourself. He kisses you after each description of hurt, cherishes you endlessly with that adoring gaze, gives you the cutest laugh in response to you telling him that in truth, you wouldn’t have cared if he had punched a hole straight through Lukas. You just hadn’t wanted him to get into trouble, to leave your side.

“You’re like an angel to me,” you murmur softly, your eyes closed as he lays next to you after the innumerable kisses you’ve shared this morning alone.

The words stifle him momentarily, and your eyelids open only to see the man staring back at you with a look of utter devotion. It’s torture for him, maybe, the way you supply him with every spoonful of sweetness he hadn’t tasted prior. He remains silent when his hand grazes the hem of your dress, and you nod to him in silent consent before the delicate fabric is swept up over your head and brought to rest on top of the basket forgotten.

Kisses are sweet like the coffee he gifts to you, but the ones he supplies now are far more urgent, warm like the steel of his knives after being caressed by rays of the sun for too long. It’s worship in a sense, the way he tastes the salt of your flesh from your neck to collarbone, and further to the space between your breasts. Your bra is pushed down, blue lace resting just below your sternum before your mind catches up to you.

“Should we..?” You ask, though it’s not the wrath of God that you fear, only that his clumsy kisses and bereft demeanor all signal that perhaps he didn’t have much, or any experience at all.

His pupils are dilated, eyes nearly black when he seizes the plush skin of your tit in a hand, the pad of his thumb brushing over your stiffened nipple.

“Ja… I want to..,” he mutters quietly, chin resting against your tummy as he gazes up at you. “Can I..?”

König looks cute like this— breathless and pleading, an unhinged sort of desire bared plainly in each word he breathes. Two decades and then some of never having this… and now you’re in his grasp, beneath the roof of this holy place.

“Yes,” you whisper to him, reaching lower to ghost your fingertips over his face, already flushing in color. He leans into your touch pressing a kiss to your palm before rearing back enough to slot his fingers along the hem of your white panties. His breath is almost ragged when he tugs them down enough, to reveal your soft mound and a grin creeps across his lips when he finds you already wet.

Your back arches when the back of his cold hand meets your core, petting you appreciatively there, pulling a shiver from you that only spurs him to carry on. The underwear is discarded in almost record time and the rip of the delicate lace tearing from your body echoes throughout the little chapel. A sulking protest nearly leaves your lips before a long finger is slipped into your slit. König probes at your entrance, gathering your slick onto his fingers with a soft groan that leaves you breathing shallowly. For all his inexperience, he’s eager; eager to prod at you until the digit finds that spongy, sweet spot that brings you to moan. His thumb toys with your clit with each mewl of encouragement spilling from your lips, gently flicking before circling over you until you’re tightening around his finger and soaking the blanket below.

“Are you close?,” he asks through a desperate pant, free hand pawing at the bulge in his trousers.

You shake your head weakly, thighs trembling as he thrusts his finger into you again. “Just feels good.”

That only spurs him to make you come, a second finger thrust into you so quickly you feel your mind go fuzzy. The sounds are obscene enough without the quickened pace of his hand. You’re teetering on the edge within mere moments, crying out his name only to be left entirely empty.

“Hah..” He gives you a little laugh when he realizes what he’s done, torn you away from a near perfect bliss. You stare at him dumbly, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as he deftly unbuckles his belt and pries his cock from his pants, flushed red and leaking headily. “I want to feel it…”

To his credit, he’s done well to prepare you for the girth of him, and you’re already too far gone to whine over the loss of relief. “Then feel it. Please.”

There’s no hesitation when he grinds his tip through the mess of slick painting your sex. When he finds that pressing himself against your clit wills you to grind your hips back against him he practically growls. He continues the motion several times before his patience entirely dissipates and the head of his thick cock is thrust into your entrance. König’s head drops against your chest at the sensation of your walls enveloping him, but he doesn’t growl or groan as you anticipated— he hisses, a gruff inhale of breath through gritted teeth.

You’ve fallen into rapture with the first thrust, filled entirely by the length and weight of his cock slowly spearing into you. He’s careful, forcing himself to continue languidly rather than taking you like you know he wished to, a starved man deprived for far, far too long.

König pulls back, grasping at your hips to tilt them upward, looking down at where your bodies connect. You know he’s in that dangerous state of pure euphoria, you feel it too as his cock twitches inside of you, tip hitting your cervix in a way that’s both nearly painful and causing you to leak further.

“You have.. an engel’s pussy,” he grits out.

It’s… embarrassing and ridiculous, his attempt at dirty talk, but despite your shame you pivot your hips forward, grinding against the mess you’re both making on the patch of dark hair above the heavy cock impaling you.

“König… please keep going.” Your voice a mere whine.

He obliges without a second wasted, pulling himself out to slam back into you. There’s no rhythm to his thrusts, not for a while, but each still manages to hit that spot inside of you that screams for his attention. König isn’t trying to be rough or selfish with you, keeping one hand grasping desperately to your hip as he plays with your clit with the other— pinching softly, deftly rolling his thumb over the sensitive bud; continuing his motions until you’re spasming beneath him, clutching him like a vise and weaving your fingers into his shirt to pull him down to you.

You moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue past your lips, rolling it against your own in time with every rapidly faltering thrust. Your climax hits like a flash of blinding light with a mere circle of his thumb, accidentally in time with the head of his length brushing against that sweet spot. It’s not a hiss that König emits then, but a loud groan as you milk him entirely. He comes with you, cock throbbing as he stills entirely, every muscle in his body pulled taut as he floods your cunt with his seed. You hold him close to your breasts as his gasps soft, riding out the fleeting waves of pleasure until he wills himself to pull out and lie at your side.

“Mein Gott..,” he huffs, curling an arm over your waist. You giggle as you relax against him again, turning on your side to bury your face against his chest. Everything feels like the summer despite the chill outside, the winter doesn’t touch you here, nothing could. The stress of yesterdays melt away, the longing finally subsiding, too.

The world fades away there in that old church, cradling you both within its walls until the sun begins to set, golden light filtering into a hazy gray, before you both have to force yourselves to tear apart from the other and carry on home.

“Will you come by tomorrow?” You ask him quietly, as you stand at your doorstep, a hand lingering on the knob.

König nods, hugging you tightly from behind as he leans over to press a kiss to your cheek, another against your jaw as you smile sweetly at him.

“I will come every day, if you want me to.” He murmurs, drawing back just enough to search your expression for any signs of doubt, fear. You don’t feel either of those things, only love; as though being bonded to him like this is something hallow and sacred in its entirety. Nothing clandestine— you would run to the church right now with his hand in your own and make a mockery of all who have used their words to harm him if it would prove anything at all.

“I do want you to.”

He presses a kiss to your temple as he turns you around to face him, squeezing you a bit tighter when his hands find your hips. You kiss him in turn, leaving a trail of demure little kisses along the chest of his dark shirt.

In time, he wouldn’t have to leave at all. For now, the light the two of you share seems just enough.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction #könig fanfiction #konig fanfiction #cod fanfic

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the-black-manor · 2 months

Text

Within Temptation

Author: The-Black-Manor

Demon x Trans Male Priest (Pre-transition)

Warnings: Rape, unprotected sex, stolen virginity

Kinks: Demon, priest, corruption, blasphemy, oral, excessive cum, oversized cock, monster cock, bondage, belly bulge, rough sex, age difference, size difference

Terms used: Cunt, cock, balls, cervix, chest, nipples, binder, cockhead, crotch, walls, entrance

Words: 4,002

Note: If you find any mistakes, please let me know so I can fix them.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR ANYONE TO USE MY WRITING FOR ANYTHING OTHER THAN READING. DO NOT PRINT AND BIND MY WORKS, DO NOT REPOST THEM, DO NOT COPY THEM, DO NOT FEED THEM INTO AI, DO NOT SELL THEM, DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

The young priest didn’t arrive at the old stone church until well after dark. He was exhausted from his long journey, but there was nowhere nearby to rest, and he certainly wasn’t going to rest in the church until he was certain there were no malevolent entities present. He stepped out of the cab and stretched before grabbing his luggage and kit and making his way through the crumbling, overgrown courtyard. The front door was unlocked, and he was silently grateful to the family that lived here that they’d remembered to keep it open for him before they fled.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The foyer was dark and foreboding. Previous owners had begun renovating the church into a home years ago, but progress had been halted when strange activity began after unsealing a walled-off room in the cellar. Scaffolding, canvas, tarp, rope, and all sorts of construction equipment had been left behind when the family and crew abandoned the location. There was a large industrial light nearby, and the priest switched it on. The room was no less unsettling bathed in white light.

As he moved through the home in search of the dining room, dust that had since settled was kicked up once more and made the air hazy. The dining room would work well enough as a sort of “home base” while he investigated the claims of demonic activity. He was no exorcist, just a young priest sent to validate the claims. If he found evidence of activity, he would send for an exorcist. For now, though, all he had was himself, his bible, his crucifix, and his faith.

After he got himself settled, he descended to the cellar, to the newly-excavated room the family claims is a “door to hell”. He scoffed and shook his head. Not likely. A gas leak, perhaps, which is why he had a mask and detector with him. But the detector stayed silent, and when he felt comfortable enough to take his mask off, the air was clean, if a bit stale. He worked his way through the house slowly, paying great attention to each room, making mental notes if anything seemed “off”.

The only thing he found unusual was that nothing seemed unusual. He shook his head. This was a waste of time. Still, he had a job to do, and he was going to see it through to the end. He kept going. The church was huge, more a castle than anything, and he eventually found his way upstairs to the bedrooms. The doors were all closed, except for one at the very end of the hall.

If there was ever a place to start up here, he supposed that was it. The dusty old runner beneath his feet muffled his footsteps, and he peered into the room as he approached. It was dark inside, but he could make out the silhouette of a bed with a canopy. He hesitated for only the briefest moment before stepping over the threshold and into the master bedroom. The windows either side of the bed were open just a crack, letting in a crisp, fresh night breeze that sent the linen curtains fluttering and rays of silver moonlight that provided just enough light to see by.

This room was different from the rest. There was no dust on the plush red duvet, no cracks in the stone walls or gunk on the windows. No tattered rugs or moth-eaten curtains. Whereas the rest of the church was obviously abandoned, this room looked well cared for. Lived in.

The door closed behind him and the lock fastened with a “click”. He whirled around, and his blood ran cold as his tired gaze met the glowing purple eyes of an undulating shadow. He took a step back. At points, the figure looked almost human, and then its silhouette dissolved and melded with the shadows around it, moving like ink in water. It was both tangible and intangible, solid and smoke, man and monster.

Its eyes flickered like flame, and it glared at him, and then he thought he saw, for only the briefest moment, the hint of a sharp-toothed smile.

“Hello, priest,” the entity greeted him.

Its voice was deep and seemed to burrow into his chest and reverberate around in his rib cage. The priest gripped the crucifix around his neck and lifted it, wielding it like a shield against the darkness. The entity laughed, low and menacing. And then it was gone. Or so the priest thought. He gasped and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt arms snake around him from behind. The demon pulled him close, pressing its chest against his back, and ran its shadowy clawed hands all over the priest’s chest and stomach.

“Release me!” the priest insisted, writhing in its vice-like grip.

“Cute,” it cooed, its breath hot on the shell of his ear. “You think you have authority here…”

“In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to- mmph!”

The demon forced two thick fingers into his mouth, silencing him.

“Hush now,” it breathed as its free hand slid down his stomach to his crotch.

It grabbed him hard and pulled him back into its bulge. He could feel it hardening against his ass.

It let out a sound then that was somewhere between a purr and a growl. “What’s this?” it asked as it felt between his legs. “No cock? Does the church know about this?” it chuckled. “No, I think not. They wouldn’t let you be a priest if they did.”

He held his crucifix so tight that the edges of the cross dug into the soft flesh of his palm. He repeated all the prayers he knew in his head, over and over. He wasn’t afraid, but he couldn’t speak with the fiend’s fingers pressing down on his tongue, so he couldn’t fend it off. All he could do was pray. Its claws dug into the flesh of his inner thigh, and then he was in the air. He landed hard on the bed, and the breath was knocked from his lungs. He propped himself up on his elbows, ready to run, and saw the demon approaching slowly, a predator stalking its prey. This was the most tangible it had been. It looked like a man, around six feet tall, with a slim body and long hair that flowed like smoke. He could make out no facial features except for those gleaming eyes, eyes that burned into his very soul and held him in place, like a deer in the headlights.

The demon leaned forward to match his level, its face only millimeters from his. It breathed in deep, taking in his scent, and then a long, pointed tongue snaked out from behind sharp, wet teeth to lick a line up his cheek.

“Delicious,” it purred.

It rested its hand on his chest, over his racing heart, and shoved him onto his back. Claws dug into his flesh as it tore at his vestments and binder and peeled them away. He snapped out of his fear-frozen state, and brought a leg up to try and kick the monster away. Something wrapped around his ankle, then his thigh, then his other leg, his wrists, his biceps. Inky tentacles held him down and spread him open, leaving him bare before the evil he faced.

“What do you want with me?” he growled, though he was sure he already knew the answer.

“I want your body,” it responded simply, then ran its tongue over its lips. “And it is a beautiful body… Seems a shame to have such stunning assets and not put them to any use.”

He had to get out of here.. He sneered at the demon and began a prayer, voice rising in an attempt to drown out its booming laugh. It didn’t care for his prayers, his faith, his god. It crawled on top of him, and he expected its body to be as hot as the fiery pits that spat it out, but it was icy cold and sent a chill down his spine. His prayer was cut short as the creature forced that long tongue into his mouth and entangled it with his own. He writhed beneath it, trying to free himself from the tentacles’ grasp and the slimy intrusion. One of its teeth nicked his lip, and he tasted blood. The demon must have tasted it too, because another purr-growl rumbled through its chest.

It pulled its tongue from his mouth and licked up the side of his neck while the priest spat, trying to rid himself of its taste. And then its lips replaced its tongue, peppering kisses along his jaw, down his neck, across his collarbone. Its hands touched and grabbed and massaged every inch of him that it could reach, paying special attention to his chest, where it groped the soft mounds and pinched his nipples, rolling them between clawed fingers. Despite his best efforts, the demon’s ministrations were affecting him, and he keened, back arching, when the demon replaced its fingers with soft lips and sucked a sensitive bud into its mouth.

He choked back a moan as fire ignited in his belly. He could feel some sort of wetness leaking from his cunt and pooling on the bed beneath him, but he couldn’t close his legs or reach down to feel. Just then, he felt something hard knock against his cock, and he cried out as electricity shot up his spine. He thought it must have been the demon’s knee, but when he managed to lift his head to look down, the demon was straddling him, its knees on either side of his hips.

“No…” he whimpered, and his head fell back against the mattress.

When it said it wanted his body, he assumed it meant possession, not…

“Get off of me!” he shouted, struggling with renewed vigor.

The demon didn’t reply, but it released his nipple with a “pop”, and traveled down his belly, kissing and licking every inch of the soft flesh there and on his hips as he made his way lower. The priest squirmed, trying to kick away the tentacles so that he could close his legs, but they only pulled them wider apart. Finally, the demon buried its face in his cunt and inhaled deeply. It flicked his cock with its wicked tongue, and then pressed the strong muscle flat against it. It massaged him expertly, and as his back arched and his hips bucked involuntarily, another tentacle wrapped itself around his midsection to hold him down.

“S-stop…” he panted.

“Keep praying to your absent father,” the demon mocked. “I’m sure he’ll come to your rescue.”

His cock throbbed, his cunt clenched, his body ached for more.

“Don’t… ahh-”

The tip of its tongue prodded at his entrance, gauging resistance.

“A virgin?” it purred. “I couldn’t have asked for the church to send me a better gift.”

Fighting back was useless, so the priest closed his eyes tight and started up another prayer.

“That’s it,” the demon cooed. “What a good boy. So obedient.”

He cursed the creature silently and continued his prayer while it pushed the tip of its tongue just past his entrance. He groaned and balled his hands into fists. Its tongue was far bigger than a human’s, and he’d never had anything inside of him before. The stretch burned, but there was pleasure there as well, and he hated his body for reacting the way it was.

It thrust its tongue in and out, in and out, and then buried it deeper. He cried out at the sharp pain, and then stumbled over his prayer as it hit something inside of him - a sensitive spot that sent pleasure shooting up his spine. Its tongue delved deeper, opening his cunt, curling and uncurling, thrusting, massaging, and pressing again and again and again against that spot.

“Sto-op…” he tried to beg, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

Its tongue suddenly retreated until only the tip was inside, and it used the meatiest part to press hard against his cock.

“Ah!” he cried out in surprise as another shock of pleasure flooded his senses.

The demon chuckled low, pleased with the reactions it was pulling out of this man of god. Its hands traveled up his sides and it took a breast in each one, kneading them in its large palms and rolling his nipples between its fingers.

“Fuck-” he swore.

Its tongue plunged deep inside of him once more, all the way, until he could feel its lips and nose against his crotch.

“Such a dirty mouth for someone so pure,” it mocked. “And you pray to your god with that tongue?”

“Shut up,” he tried to command, but it only laughed again.

“Have you given up on your prayers, little priest? I quite liked hearing them.”

Mocking. Always mocking. It should hate his prayers, not like them. It was only driving home the fact that the priest had no power over it, no weapon against it.

“Sing for me, priest.”

He clenched his jaw.

“I said, sing.”

It dug its claws into the sensitive flesh of his breasts, and he hissed in pain. He could feel warm blood pooling beneath its talons and running in rivulets down his sides.

“Our f-father, who… who art i-in…”

“Good boy,” it praised him, purring happily.

It ran its cold hands up and down his sides, and then traced soft spirals into his hips before it removed its tongue entirely. The priest was given only a moment to breathe before it was climbing over him once more. It pressed its lips to his neck, peppering him in soft kisses while one of its hands gave his cock the same treatment it had given his nipples. His body jerked, and a moan escaped his lips. The demon nipped at his collarbone, then soothed the bite with licks. It dipped a finger inside of his cunt just as it latched onto his neck, sucking a deep bruise into his pale flesh. A second finger joined the first, and then a third, stretching him wider than its tongue had.

It’s preparing me, he thought. It’s stretching me open so it can fuck me.

And so it was. It added a final finger, opening and closing them with a scissor-like motion inside of him. And then it curled them harshly upward, pressing hard against that sensitive spot. He felt a spurt of something wet gush from his cunt around the demon’s fingers, earning a pleased rumble from its chest. It curled them again, and again, faster, harder, and the priest’s eyes rolled back in his head as he was overcome with pleasure.

There was a tightening in his lower belly, and he couldn’t stop his hips from bucking, his walls from clenching, his back from arching. The coil tightened quickly, and he shook his head, trying to rid himself of these sensations, to no avail.

“No, please… Don’t!” he begged. “I can’t!”

He was right on the very edge. One more second, and he’d-

The demon stopped all at once, removing its fingers and its lips, and pushed away from him to stand at the foot of the bed. The priest lay there, quivering and clenching around nothing, his cunt leaking and his chest heaving.

“Silly boy,” the demon chuckled. “You think I’ll let you cum around anything other than my cock?”

It slapped his cunt hard, and the priest cried out in pain. It grabbed his hips and pulled them off the edge of the bed, then settled itself between his legs. He finally got a good look at what he was dealing with. Its cock was as black as the shadows that made up its body, massive - at least the size of his forearm, with a tapered, pointed head and thick, ridged shaft, pronounced veins, and precum leaking from the tip like a faucet. Below them swung enormous balls, bigger than any he’d seen even on the horses in the stable or the bulls in the pasture.

“Please…” he begged, his voice barely a whisper.

“Please?” the demon asked. “Please what?”

It lined up and began to prod at his entrance.

“Please don’t do this…”

It smiled that sharp-toothed smile.

“Ah, and here I thought you were begging me to fuck you.”

He forced the head in all at once, and the priest cried out in pain.

“It won’t fit!” he screamed, but the demon only laughed wickedly.

“I’ll make it fit,” it promised, and forced another inch inside.

The pain was blinding, and he fisted handfuls of the bedding either side of him to ground himself against it.

“You’re so wet, I can slide right inside,” it teased.

Another inch, a wider stretch. The priest saw stars every time he opened his eyes.

“Your body wants me,” it told him. “Otherwise your pelvis wouldn’t be opening so readily my cock.”

He shook his head feverishly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Yes,” it chuckled. “Your pelvis is opening up to allow me easier access, and your wet cunt slicked itself up to make pushing in easier. You want this. You want me.”

It snapped its hips forward, burying itself to the hilt in one swift motion. The priest screamed as it slammed against his cervix, but his voice seemed so far away, muffled by the ringing in his ears. It rutted into him, making itself comfortable inside of his body, the pointed tip of its cockhead nestling itself in the little dimple at the opening of his cervix. The tendril around one of his wrist loosened, and then slipped away, but before he could even think to try and throw a punch, the demon had his wrist in its hand. He was silently grateful for the relief on his shoulder as it guided his hand down, where it pressed his palm against his lower abdomen. There was a bulge there, and it moved beneath his hand as the demon rut into him.

His cock… it’s so big it’s making my stomach bulge…

He clenched involuntarily at the thought.

“You like that?” it purred. “I thought you might.”

It rested its hand over his, preventing him from pulling away.

“Why are you doing this?” the priest asked quietly.

“Why does anyone do anything?” the demon asked in reply. “Because I want to. Hush now,” it growled. “Enjoy it.”

But how could he enjoy anything when he was being violated so thoroughly? His body would never be the same after this. He would never be the same.

It gripped his hips tightly, but the priest didn’t move his hand from the bulge. Instead, he pressed down on it, though he wasn’t sure why. The demon hissed and its hips bucked forward harshly, pushing the priest upward on the bed. It pulled him back down and dug its claws into his thighs.

“If you make yourself tighter, you’re only going to make me want to fuck you harder. Unless that’s what you want?” it smirked.

“No!”

He didn’t know why he pressed down. He didn’t mean to, his hand did it on its own… The demon slid almost all the way out of him, and then pushed back in smoothly. The priest let out a long, low moan. The burning stretch had since given way to a pleasant feeling of fullness, and feeling that bulge in his stomach each time the creature bottomed out was doing something to him, making him feel things he wished he wasn’t feeling.

It pulled out again, then slid in, then out, then in, setting a slow, steady pace, fucking him with its entire length.

“Sto-o-op,” he moaned, the word broken each time its cockhead hit his cervix.

“I don’t think you really want me to,” it chuckled. “I think you want me to make you cum.”

“No…” he whined, even as embers ignited in his belly. “Please, don’t…”

It laughed, low and menacing as it picked up the pace, fucking him harder, faster. It pulled him back against it with each thrust, burying itself as deep as possible, bruising his virgin cervix. Wet squelching and skin slapping against skin filled the air like a song, and the priest’s little whines and moans harmonized beautifully. The embers quickly ignited into a blaze, and the spring began to tighten once more. The demon’s hands slid from his hips. One slipped between his legs to pinch and massage his hot, hard cock, while the other rested once more over the priest’s own.

He didn’t see the demon’s wicked smile, so tightly his eyes were closed, but he felt its thrusts become harsher, faster, until it was fucking him like an animal, growling and panting, warm drool dripping off of its lolling tongue and onto his belly. It pressed down hard on the bulge. The priest released a high-pitched whine at the added pressure, and the demon growled low.

“So fucking tight…” it breathed. “There’s nothing better than an innocent little virgin stretched around my fat cock.”

“Huh- uh….”

He couldn’t seem to form words anymore. His senses had narrowed until all his world consisted of was the monster violating his body and the pleasure radiating from his core.

“S..st-o-o-”

“Hmm? What’s that?” the demon purred. “Use your words.”

“Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh.” His voice broke with each thrust.

“No, I didn’t think so,” it grinned and slammed into him like a jackhammer.

The priest tried to arch his back, but the demon’s hand held him down, and that somehow only made the pleasure more intense.

“No… no, no, no,” he cried with each thrust as he rocketed toward the edge. “No, please!”

He came hard. His entire body tensed and curled in on itself, his cunt clenched and unclenched around the demon’s member, and he threw his head back and cried out. His eyes rolled back, his tongue lolled out, and his breath caught in his chest. The demon plowed deep, pushed itself in as far as possible, and then stilled as a feral growl rumbled in its throat. He could feel its cock throbbing, feel its heavy balls clenching against his ass as it released inside of him. Its seed was hot, and it flooded his cunt like a waterfall. It painted his walls white and leaked out past the demon’s ridged length to run in rivulets down his ass and pool beneath him, mixing with the slick that had gushed out of him earlier.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, a mixture of pain, pleasure, and grief, and it was all he could do to choke back his sobs in between gasping for air. He came down from his high much sooner than the demon did. It seemed like an eternity before the flood of cum finally stopped. It rubbed his belly softly over his uterus, thrust gently another couple of times, and then was gone.

The tendrils unwound themselves from around his body, the shadows retreated back into the far corners of the room, and the priest was left alone, a trembling, cum-soaked mess. His joints were sore from the unpleasant position he’d been trapped in for… how long had it been? He pushed himself off of the bed and unsteadily to his feet. It was only as a sliver of sunlight through the curtains lit upon his pale face that he realized it was dawn.

Hours. That creature had violated him for hours. He wiped his tears and used the tattered remains of his vestments to clean himself up before descending the stairs back to the dining room. He got dressed and threw his things together as quickly as he could, then all but sprinted for the door. It slammed behind him of its own accord, but he didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

All he could do was run and hope that whatever dark entity lived within that old stone church decided not to follow him home.

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#my writing #demon kink #blasphemy kink #corruption kink #demon x priest #demon x priest kink #terato #monsterfucker #monster kink #nonconsensual #oversized cock #oversized balls #excessive seed kink #virgin kink #age difference #size difference #primal kink #predator x prey

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soulofapatrick · 5 months

Text

Whispers in the Storm - Sanji x Female Reader

Summary: You wake from getting injured, wanting no-one but Sanji

Words: 2k

Warnings: none

Y/N’s POV

I wake with a jolt, a sharp pang slicing through my side. Groggy. From sleep, I wince and shift, trying to find a comfortable position. But there’s no escaping the persistent ache that throbs across my entire left side. I tentatively touch the source of the pain and recoil at the tenderness. A massive bruise spans the expanse of my left side when I lift the shirt I’m in, seeping discomfort with every moment. I’m a galaxy of deep blues, purples, reds, greens and oranges.

Confusion clouds my thoughts; I can’t remember how I got this injury. The events leading up to this moment remain shrouded in a foggy haze. I’m guessing we fought Arlong, it was probably during that. I wouldn’t be surprised as I remember Nami crying, Luffy placing his trusty hat on her head and then nothing. My mind races, attempting to piece together fragmented memories that elude me.

Pushing through the discomfort, I stagger to my feet, crying out in pain that leaves me temporarily breathless. The sound has Nami and Robin stirring from their bunks, glancing at each other before shifting their gazes towards me. Nami’s concerned gaze meets mine, her eyes widening at the sight of my injuries, as if only seeing them for the first time now. Without a word, she rushes over to me, slipping an arm around me to steady my very unsteady form. Her touch is gentle, though every movement sends a fresh wave of pain rippling through me.

“Where do you need to go?” She doesn’t try to tell me to rest, knowing I’m not going to, her voice soothing, a contrast to the turmoil of pain coursing through me.

“Sanji.” I manage to whisper, the name escaping my lips almost instinctively, just wanting my best friend right now. Despite the agony of moment, there’s an inexplicable comfort in knowing he might be able to help, his care a balm for the turmoil within me.

With a single nod, Nami supports most of my weight as we navigate the ship’s corridors. Each step feels like traversing a minefield, my breath hitching with every jarring movement and tears prickle my eyes. The bruises paint an intricate canvas of agony, the hues of pain etches into my skin, a mosaic of suffering that extends from my left armpit to my left knee.

The journey feels endless, every inch an ordeal as we finally reach Sanji’s quarters. Nami gently knocks on the door before there’s shuffling on the other side and then it swings open, revealing a very sleepy Sanji.

He looks so good and even through the pain I can’t deny it that I am head over heels for him. He’s standing in the doorway in only a pair of loose fitting trousers that are desperately clinging to his sharp hips, hanging dangerously low and flashing some of his v-line. He’s shirtless, pale skin for all to see and abs all I can stare at until Nami and Sanji snap me out of it.

Sanji's sleep-ridden expression fades instantly, replaced by a deep concern that's mirrored in his stormy grey eyes. They widen with distress at the sight of my battered state, and without a second thought, he steps forward, taking me gently from Nami's support.

“Thank you, Nami.” He murmurs gratefully, his attention solely focused on me. With careful guidance, he helps me settle on the edge of his bed, his movements gentle as he ensures I’m comfortable. The room is bathed in a soft glow as he switches on the light, illuminating the galaxy of bruises that paint my skin.

Kneeling in fronton me, Sanji’s brows furrow in worry, his hands hovering hesitantly over the colourful expanse of injuries on my thighs that he can see. His touch is feather-light, as if afraid to cause any more discomfort, “Oh Mouse,” his voice is soft, filled with genuine concern, the nickname he has for me a warmth in my cheeks, “How far does it..?” He trails off, as if scared to know.

Sanji's eyes widen as I remove my shirt, wincing the whole way, revealing the full extent of the bruise. But instead of any hint of intrusion or averted gaze, his reaction catches me off guard. There's a mix of emotions swirling in his eyes—concern, a tinge of anguish, and a depth of care that goes beyond what I expected. His gaze doesn't linger on my body, instead, it's fixated on the mosaic of colours that mar my skin.

“Oh Mouse,” He utters again, “I’m so sorry.” He whispers, voice thick with emotion, his fingers trembling slightly as he reaches out to touch the tender expanse of bruises. His touch is feather-light, cool against my burning skin. A gasp escaping me at the unexpected tenderness of his gesture. In that moment, his usual suave demeanour fades, replaced by a raw vulnerability that tugs at my heartstrings. Without a word, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the bruised skin of my stomach. It’s a gentle and intimate touch, filled with a depth of care that sends shivers down my spine.

My hand instinctively moves, carding through his fluffy blond hair, a silent reassurance that his presence alone is a soothing balm amidst the pain. His lips linger for a moment longer, a gesture that speaks volumes, conveying a sense of comfort and empathy that words fail to capture.

As he pulls away, his gaze meets mine, a silent understanding passing between us, that unspoken bond enough for him to know what I need. Climbing to his feet, he moves with purpose, rummaging through a chest of belongings until he finds an old tee-shirt form his days at the Barite restaurant ship. The shirt carries a faint scent of the sea and memories of his past, a comforting familiarity in the midst of chaos.

With a gentle care, he helps me slide into the soft fabric, its oversized fit providing a sense of comfort and warmth. Tenderly, he assists me in laying down on my right side, ensuring I’m as comfortable as possible. His actions speaking volumes, a silent promise of being there through the night, offering solace and support in this moment of vulnerability.

As I settle on the bed, he joins me without hesitation, mirroring my position so we’re facing each other. His presence beside me feels like a sanctuary, a haven of comfort amidst the storm of pain. His gaze lingers, a silent reassurance that I’m not alone in this and he reaches out, caressing my cheek gently, a gesture so intimate I feel my cheeks heat up.

“What happened with Arlong?” The words escape my lips, tinged with curiosity and an undertone of confusion about the events still.

Sanji’s expression shifts, a flicker of surprise knitting his brows together again, “You don’t remember?” His voice carries a hint of concern, registering my confusion with a palpable worry.

I shake my head, frustration and unease bubbling within as the foggy tendrils of memory refuse to weave into a coherent narrative, “It’s all a blur.” I confess, the frustration now seeping into my tone.

His eyes widen slightly, a mix of disbelief and concern etched across his features, “You… you saved Zoro.” The gravity of his revelation hung heavy in the air, momentarily stunning me with its weight.

“I did?" My voice was barely a whisper, laced with disbelief that danced on the edges of the fragmented memories I desperately tried to grasp.

“Yeah, you shoved Zoro out of the way and took the blow yourself,” There’s a rare mixture of admiration and worry in his voice as he recounts the events, “You were thrown into one of the funfair stalls. You were unconscious until now.” Snji fills in the gaps with a gentleness that belies the gravity of his words, his concern palpable in every syllable.

The realisation washed over me in a tumultuous wave, a blend of awe and disbelief that swirled within. Despite the haze that clouded my memory, a sense of pride swelled—a pride that stemmed from the knowledge that I had instinctively acted to protect a fellow crewmate. Yet, the hollow spaces in my recollection left an unsettling feeling, a disorientation in not being able to piece together the entirety of the sequence.

“I was so worried.” He admits, voice barely above a whisper, a tremor of concern evident in his whisper, and I grip the wrist of the hand that has be continuously caressing my cheek, stilling it to press a gentle kiss to his palm.

Our eyes meet again, his stormy grey gaze locking with mine in a moment that feels suspended in time. The hand that had rested on my cheek moves to gently grip my chin, a tender yet hesitant gesture. He leans in, his lips hovering close to mine, a vulnerability creeping into his nervous actions which is very un-Sanji-like.

“Stop me if I’ve misread this.” His words linger in the charged air between us, a plea for consent, for assurance that his actions and feelings aren’t one sided.

Without hesitation, I close the remaining gap, letting his uncertainty with a softness that brides the unspoken gap. Our lips brush in a tentative yet tender kiss, a silent affirmation that speaks volumes, quieting his nervous ramblings.

The moment our lips meet, its as if a surge of warmth envelopes us, an electric current coursing through the connection. His lips are soft against mine, a gentle touch that holds a world of tenderness. There’s a subtle sweetness to the taste, a mixture of salt from the sea air and a faint hint of the tea he brewed tirelessly in the kitchen.

As our kiss deepens, a sense of familiarity washes over me, as if this moment has been waiting months to unfold. His breath mingles with mine, a rhythm that feels strangely synchronised, each exhale carrying the weight of worries and uncertainties that had haunted the edges of my consciousness.

In Sanji’s tender embrace, there’s an unspoken language—his touch conveying a yearning for reassurance, a desire to meet halfway, while mine echoes an affirmation of understanding and reciprocation. The intimacy of the kiss speaks of shared emotions, a quiet proclamation of trust and affection that transcends the chaos of our surroundings.

The closeness, the warmth of his presence, the way his fingers trace gentle paths along my side—it all stirs a whirlwind of emotions within me. It isn’t just the softness of his lips or the taste of salt and familiarity; it’s the way he makes me feel—safe; understood, and cared for in a way that goes beyond words.

As our lips part, Sanji’s grey eyes meet mine, filled with an intensity that speaks volumes, carrying an ocean of emotions within their depths. There’s a softness in his gaze, a tenderness that seems to overflow with an unspoken declaring of affection.

“Fuck, I have to say it, I was so scared I was going to lose you,” he chokes out, “I love you," the words escape him in a gentle whisper, sincere and heartfelt, before he leans in to brush another soft kiss against my lips. It's a fleeting yet tender affirmation of his feelings, a gesture that speaks louder than words.

The kiss lingers for a moment, a silent reassurance of mutual emotions before Sanji breaks away, his expression soft yet determined. "We should try to get some sleep," he suggests, his voice carrying a tone of care and consideration.

His suggestion hangs in the air, a gentle invitation to rest, to seek solace in the quietude of slumber amidst the chaos that had engulfed us. With a soft nod, I acknowledge his words, feeling a sense of warmth and contentment settle within me—the residual echoes of his declaration of love resonating within the quiet moments that followed.

“I love you too Sanji.”

One Piece Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

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nysrage · 6 months

Text

College Daze, Connie Springer.

college days were hard. you hadn’t quite found your footing around campus, not making any friends, and often times too homesick to even get out of bed. being the quiet introvert didn’t help with any functions going on campus either. but nonetheless, it was that college daze. days were especially hard when you were hours away from everything you knew, your town, family, one friend, and boyfriend. all the things that made your heart so full.

the only thing keeping you sane were the phone calls you’d share with them. parents giving you encouraging words to keep you going and motivated. your friend who remind you of the vision you had for yourself when you felt low enough to quit and come home. Connie, who’d stay up with you on those long night where you’d study for upcoming exams, and fill that lonely hole with warmth during those overnight calls. It’d been months since you been face to face with any of them and you couldn’t help the feeling of loneliness clouding your heart.

that was until there’d been a knock at your front door, pulling you not only from your thoughts but also your bed. annoyed that your roommate most likely left her keycard in her room for the umpteenth time since you’ve settled on campus. “ girl you’ve got to learn to—” swinging the door open to be met with your boyfriend, “surprise mamí” flashy smile on display as he engulfed you into his arms. “connie?” you mind barely processing all of this until you were burying your face into his neck. opening up to that safe, warm, and familiar scent that you’d missed for so long, taking in as much of it as you could not knowing how long it’d last. “c’mon lemme see that pretty face.” pushing those soft natural coils out of your face, taking you all in. “how… when did you even find the time..?”

“like i told you princesa..” connie smiled, giving you a small peck in the cheek. “i’d be outside your dorm for you one of these days.” you giggled, quickly wiping away any tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “you know i can’t be away from you too long.” nuzzling your face into that warm hand of his that rested against your cheek. basking in that feeling of home and happiness.

the next few days were spent on some much needed catching up, quality time, and acts of service. showing connie around campus and enjoying a few parties, along with a nice stress free day at the salon. connie paying for all those self care needs that you’d neglected in the past few months, getting you back to that bubbly personality he’d grown to love. those beautiful smiles returning back to your face. the next day was spent in sweetheart circle in the center of campus, full of beautiful land that was perfect for a picnic. which connie made sure to pack all of your favorite fruits, wraps, and drinks into your basket. Along with three small canvases to draw whatever your heart desires.

the gentle breeze, warm sun on your skin, and connie’s arm wrapped around your waist made everything feel so much better. like this journey isn’t as lonely as it seemed, not when the people surrounding you did everything in their power to keep you happy along the way. It’d been the most you smiled since the first week of school and you didn’t think it’d fade anytime soon. the two of you sharing your paintings when you were done, connie’s canvas colored with doodles of you and him beneath the sun. while your gave a more realistic and detailed portrait, one your sure he’d be hanging up somewhere in his room to keep your close to him. A third canvas of your painted hands on either side, and the date that the two of you became official in between.

ending the day with a walk around the trail, a known legend at your university for couples that visit sweetheart circle. “you know legend says, if you walk sweetheart circle the right way three times.. you’ll be married.” connie chuckled, “oh yeah?” playfully biting down on his lip. “right or wrong, you’ll end up as mrs. springer regardless” pulling you close his side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “we work too hard at this relationship for us not to work.” his words were sweet and sincere, eyes never leaving yours as he spoke. your body whirling around in front of him to stop his tracks, taking his strong hands in yours. “i’m really glad you surprised me for the weekend baby.” a bright smile of your face as you looked up at the towering form of your boyfriend. his smile just as wide as yours, placing a delicate kiss on your intertwined hands. “I know this big city was a lot for you and you really needed some piece of home..” shrugging his shoulders as he looked out at this distant fountain. “so i thought i’d bring home to you.”

squeezing his hand as his eyes met yours, those golden brown orbs holding so many emotions. “I love you..” his reaction to your words always the same, small curve in his lips along with that brightening of his eyes.

“i love you more princesa.”

#nys works.ᐟ ᥫ᭡#aot fluff #aot connie fluff #aot connie #connie fluff #aot connie springer #aot connie x black reader #aot connie x black!reader #connie springer #connie x black y/n #connie springer x black reader #connie x black!reader #connie x black reader #connie x you #connie springer fluff

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hey-august · 3 months

Text

Listen To Your Captain | NSFW (Buggy x GN!reader)

Based on this lovely request!! Anon, this was such a good idea and I loved planning and writing it! I hope you enjoy! ♡ Word count: ~2.1k Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x GN!reader, no use of Y/N, oral - reader receiving, sex, morning sex, buggy miiiight have a lil uniform or roleplay kink, "apologetic" buggy. All parties are consenting adults.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The early morning air was heavy, weighed down by lingering sleep. A blanket that both kept the tired tucked in their slumber, and draped around early risers to ease them into the day. Buggy was bathed in the artificially bright lights surrounding his vanity mirror, nearly blinding him to everything but the reflection of his empty canvas. He propped his head up, knuckles digging into temple and long hair drifting down, as he lazily browsed the multitude of colors and products occupying the tabletop.

You watched, peering around the doorway to share in the quiet comfort of Buggy’s morning routine. It used to surprise you to see how he approached the day - starting with a moment of calm and order. This was often the only portion of his day he willingly indulged in qualities that were vastly opposite of the persona he exuded. It started with a swipe of a wet washcloth to clear away the night’s sleep, then organization of his clothes for the day, and the remaining time spent curating a masterpiece.

Seemingly unsatisfied with the visible selection, Buggy started rummaging through drawers and nearby boxes. This was the moment. After allowing yourself a pause to admire his toned arms and the flex of muscles that rippled down his back, you cautiously tiptoed over. Moving under the clamor of make-up and face paint containers knocking against each other, you sidled your way to your goal, guided by a beacon of orange. With the prize in hand, you quickly escaped to the dressing room.

And that’s where Buggy found you, clad in the clothes you slept in. His clothes. You wore a threadbare striped shirt, an article he would have burned if you hadn’t claimed it after deeming the ripped sleeves “fashionable.” It hung loosely on you, barely covering underwear that you also probably pilfered from the pirate. And topping your ill begotten outfit was his captain’s hat. While Buggy hadn’t noticed your stealthy activity, it was hard to overlook the dull emptiness left in the hat’s absence.

You admired your patchwork costume in the tilted mirror, basking in stolen affection. The hat was a little big on your head and you had to tilt it back for it to sit well. Supporting the outer edges with your fingertips, you pivoted and admired the items from different angles, until a few degrees too many brought an unexpected blob into your line of sight. The man whose fondness you had draped on yourself stood nearby, arms crossed and weight shifted to one side. Your eyes flitted up and down his mostly nude form, skimming past his broad chest dappled with hair that trailed down to the towel wrapped around his waist in favor of admiring the whole picture.

“It’s too early for this shit,” he stated plainly, voice still gravelly due to a few grains of sleep hanging tight. Buggy’s routine was interrupted. You messed with his preparation and pulled him away from one of the few self-care activities he tolerated. “C’mon, hand it over.” The demand came with an annoyed flick of two fingers, beckoning you over.

It was the only warning he would give before taking the hat back himself. A warning you chose to ignore. Buggy let loose an annoyed huff before his hand whizzed towards you.

“Stop!” you said firmly. A command his hand obeyed, surprisingly. “Is that anyway to treat your captain?” Your hands flourished around the hat, a reminder of the power it symbolized.

Buggy tensed at your display. His eyes narrowed as he recalled his hand. Stepping forward, he met the appendage and approached you.

“What did you say?” His voice was as tight as the grin it emerged from.

You held fast, refusing to sink into the maelstrom in his eyes.

“You heard me. This is no way to treat your captain.” You shook your head slightly in disappointment. “In fact, I think you need to apologize for that outburst.”

“Apologize?” Buggy repeated, wanting to be sure he understood what you were asking. He licked his lips in anticipation of your affirmation.

“Mhm, apologize. Ask your captain for forgiveness.”

Buggy nodded slowly, contemplating the next part of this act. Prompted by the expectant raise of your eyebrows, the pirate lowered himself to the ground. Seated on his knees, Buggy looked up at you through long lashes, knowing exactly what effect this would have on you. Pulling back the grin threatening to break free, the performer let his face fall and crinkled his brows in a show of concern. Balled fists rested on his knees, as if they held chains of regret for his actions.

“Captain, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way,” Buggy said with a heavy voice and fluttering lashes.

“What way?” You spoke quickly with the bit of air that wasn’t caught in your throat.

You bit your lip and frowned, trying to hide how turned on you were becoming. You didn’t actually expect Buggy to play along, and you definitely didn’t anticipate that he’d be such a formidable participant. Very poor foresight, considering he’s a performer and a clown - a lover of theater and games.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you so rudely, Captain. It was disrespectful- I was disrespectful,” Buggy lamented. He reached up to grab the edge of your shirt before continuing. “Please show your lowly forsaken crew member mercy, my dearest Captain.” The words were spoken into the hem of your shirt in between groveling kisses.

Every word from his mouth created chaos inside you - pounding, aching, twisting, throbbing. And the teasing lilt within each ‘captain,’ left your head spinning. Flustered, you tried to back away and failed. His hold only allowed you to take a partial step, creating a space that he quickly closed. He slipped his hands under the shirt and onto your hips, keeping you from escaping further.

“Don’t go… Let me show you how sorry I am,” Buggy said softly as he slid down the underwear you wore.

Bare hands dragged along your legs and Buggy relished the shiver that coursed through your body afterwards. He leaned in to kiss your thighs, slightly tilting his head upwards to accommodate his nose. Puffs of sound cascaded down - your unsuccessful attempts to speak while simultaneously trying to hold in the lustful noises that threaten to spill out.

Before you could form a full syllable, the pirate licked his way up your leg and to the treasure that was demanding attention. There, he busied himself through hand and mouth, focused solely on showing you how truly apologetic he was. The wet sounds and murmurs of pleasure that flooded the room were slightly muffled by the vast amount of clothing hung around the perimeter. The gentle muting made you self-conscious of anything that slipped from your own lips, since they felt unnecessarily loud in comparison.

You switched between keeping your eyes shut and staring at the ceiling, which was draped in fabric designed to look like the night sky. The silk stars started to dance and twinkle as you felt the tension in your body increasing. An errant hand caressed your cheek, a sweet gesture to inform you of the floating visitor. Closing your eyes, you pressed your face into Buggy’s touch. It was warm and comforting. After a moment, it maneuvered your head into a particular position. Facing the mirror.

The sight took a moment to register. Your flushed face with eyes barely open. Your lips were parted slightly in anticipation of a moan you held inside. And below was Buggy. His hair danced as he tasted you, his arm flexed as he touched you, his hips rolled as the erection that hid under the towel begged for attention.

Finally pulling his head away, Buggy locked eyes with your reflection. His lips glistened, covered in spit and sex. A drop of something fell from his mouth and onto his lap, joining others that fell earlier.

“Captain-” the word earned a soft gasp from your mouth, “-is this an appropriate apology?” The hand he left between your legs pulled another sound from your lips. A whiney moan, which Buggy happily took as an negative answer. “I can do more,” he offered.

Picking you up with disembodied arms, Buggy nearly dragged you back into the other room. All you could do was hold onto the ill-fitting hat with a weak grip, afraid to lose it in the brief journey. The pirate settled back onto the chair in front of his vanity, the light danced on the sheen of sweat coating his body. His cock, which had been freed when the towel was discarded at some point, twitched as Buggy brought you into place in front of him. It pulsed out a few drops of precum, which trickled down the already slick shaft.

“C’mere,” he encouraged, “I got you.” Buggy helped you straddle his lap and guided your hips until his wet tip was brushing against your entrance.

With one hand on his shoulder and the other still holding the damn hat, you eased yourself down and felt him stretch you open with a delicious ache. Buggy’s half-embedded cock throbbed against your tightness, adding to the pressure and pleasure. Craving more, you sunk down until his entire length was inside and you felt incredibly full. You moaned weakly and leaned into Buggy as you felt his cock fight for space within the confines of your body.

Buggy pulled you closer. He wrapped an arm around your waist and began to thrust. His head rested on your shoulder so he could whisper into your ear.

“M’so sorry, Captain.” “Please forgive me, I d-didn’t mean it.” “You’re so tight.” “Please let me keep fucking you.” “I p-promise to be good.” “C-captain, I’m s-sorry.”

Your own moans got louder with each apologetic thrust and you felt the tension in your core increase rapidly.

“F-fuck, I forgive you,” you cried. You wrapped your arms around Buggy and threaded a hand in his long hair, clinging to him tightly as your body threatened to give in and the hat threatened to fall off. “I want you to do this to me every day. I w-want you to fuck me like this every - haah - every day. C-captain’s orders…"

Buggy groaned and tightened his grip on your body. A hand slipped between your legs to give you the extra pressure you craved and he bucked into you ferociously as his control slipped. Pulling his face away from your neck, Buggy’s lips seeked out yours for a kiss.

“Every f-fucking day,” he said against your mouth.

The taste of his promise tipped you over the edge and Buggy greedily drank your moans and whimpers as you trembled and came on his cock. Buggy’s own high wasn’t far behind.

“Just a little longer,” he grunted, “I’m so close.”

“S’ok, t-take your time,” you mumbled softly, resting your forehead against his.

Buggy’s body ignored the offer and allowed the climax to hit before the words finished leaving your mouth. His movements stuttered as he spilled inside your body. He could feel some of the cum escape with his movement and trickle down his balls. Eventually, his muscles gave out and he stilled beneath.

The two of you remained connected, stuck together with cum, sweat, and fondness. Your chests heaved, pulling in burning breaths after the unplanned morning workout. A few moments passed. You pushed yourself back a bit. Still seated on his lap and on him, you gazed at the man beneath you. Buggy’s trademark glare had settled onto his face. Not out of anger or frustration, but simply due to an empty head trying to reset itself.

Reaching out, you brushed away strands of cerulean hair that stuck to his skin. You raked your fingers through his hair, watching as his eyes closed and his expression softened. You pulled a few locks free on one side of his face and braided the long hair. Rather than combing through the ends as you worked, you let them twist as well, before pulling them through the braid to lock it in place. You adjusted the hair, fluffing it carefully, before moving onto the other side. Once that braid was complete, you gave it a little tug. And then the other one. And then the scowl returned.

You returned Buggy’s expression with a smile and finally lifted the orange hat off your head. Buggy rolled his eyes and tilted his head forwards, ready to accept the responsibility you were bestowing back to him. The item was finally returned to its rightful owner.

Buggy plucked at the striped shirt you were wearing. “What do I need to do to get this back?”

Movement inside your body betrayed the ideas already running through Buggy’s head. Eager to chase those ideas, you rolled your hips and pulled your captain in for a kiss.

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown #buggy smut #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown smut

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decayedgloria · 8 months

Note

request!!

(wlw)

arlecchino fucking reader with her dick after getting jealous that reader was talking to childe too much. if you could make it size kink and possessive that would be nice!

ty!

use your words

ft. Arlecchino

A lil drabble for you :)

Tags: Afab!reader, wlw, strap fucking, dom!Arlecchino, size kink, slight degradation, possessive arlecchino and oblivious reader, nsfw under cut, mdni

In your defense, you had always been on the more extroverted side- it seemed as though you could talk your head off to just about any and everything, even your superiors, apparently.

You whined in desperation as Arlecchino dug her nails into your hips, no doubt leaving behind sharp indentations as she slowly moved her strap in and out of your gaping hole, never truly sating your desire to finally cum. With your arched back and plump ass right against her, Arlecchino grinned wickedly at the beautiful sight before her.

"That's right, love..." She whispered huskily, leaning over to place her lips right next to your ears, warm breath fanning over your face. "Only I can make you feel this good. Do you think that brat Tartaglia can do this to you?" You shook your head feebly, rolling your hips against hers in order to have some sort of relief, but to no avail. She only tsked in annoyance, bringing a hand against your ass for what seemed like the nth time that night.

"You were so eager to use your words with him. Why not use them now?" Suddenly, you were pulled into a fast and deep pace by Arlecchino, her hips snapping against yours in a feverish frenzy as you gasp and moan in surprise, though no actual words came out of your fucked out mouth- only praises for her.

"S'good...! You make m'feel so- ngh!" It was as if your mind had been overtaken by the exhilarating pleasure and pain all at once, with the only sensation you could properly feel being the way that her cock seemed to stretch your gummy walls even more than it usually did. You try to bury your head in the mattress below you, but Arlecchino's hand firmly held you back by the neck, hissing once more in your ear as she lets out a few grunts of her own.

"Don't even think about silencing yourself. I want to hear you scream on my cock. Let everyone know what a filthy slut you are for my cock." She growls, her sharp tone hungry for your voice as she slowly, but surely splits you open.

All you could do was sob and babble, tears streaming down your face as you try to form a coherent sentence for her, the knot in your lower abdomen growing tenser and tenser.

Earlier that day, Childe had asked you to keep him company at a tavern not far from the camp you were situated in. As his good friend, you decided to tag along; whether or not it was the alcohol that made your oblivious to his lingering touches or hungry gaze, Arlecchino cared not.

She only wished to punish you for even speaking to him.

Her teeth dragged across your body as she left all kinds of marks on your skin, like a grotesque artist painting their flesh canvas with blood. Much of your back was left with large, dark love bites and the occasional bite mark as she staked her claim over every inch of you- from your chest, to your stomach, to your thighs; all covered in her marks.

She relished in the way you writhed underneath her, pleasure clouding your mind and making you utterly helpless, taking her in your tight little hole like the good cockslut you were. Archons, your entire, sinful being would be the end of her.

"Go on, cum for me." Arlecchino said breathlessly before tilting your head and pulling you in for a hungry kiss. You moaned into her mouth as you finally reached your orgasm, arching your back even more and trembling slightly. You rode out your orgasm on her strap, almost collapsing from how worn out you were, finally becoming aware of just how much sweat and spit you accumulated throughout the night.

And judging by the way Arlecchino pulled out of your gaping hole, only to push you against the mattress on your back and slinging your legs over her shoulders, it was far from over.

Perhaps you should talk to Childe more often.

A/n: wooooooo i hope you liked this anon this was really fun to write, but it is my first time writing smut like this so i apologize if i was lacking lol

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #arlecchino smut #arlecchino x reader #genshin arlecchino #afab reader

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disenchantedif · 2 months

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Oh my god, what if MC has issues regarding V-day because they and Luci used to do something really sappy and cute for it? So now seeing all the happy couples just makes them really upset/angry?

Lucien

You sigh, tossing your bag on the counter. Theo is still in class until this evening, so you have until then to stew. It’s stupid to hate Valentine’s Day so much, but you can’t help it. It a reminder of everything you once had, the life you lived before it all went to shit.

The last time you spent this day with anyone was Lucien. Lucien, who you had made homemade pizzas with and sat out on the balcony, watching the stars with only your shared body heat to keep you warm.

After you became Unchosen, after Lucien had left you, maybe you became a bit jaded toward the holiday. You once looked forward to it with sappy naïveté, and now you dreaded the memories it would dredge up.

Even now, with you and Lucien almost fully made up, you couldn’t stand seeing all the happy couples and hearts and love bullshit everywhere. It just…hurt. It hurt, and that made you angry.

Leaning on the counter, you contemplate ordering take out and just going straight to bed when there’s a knock on your door. It’s soft, hesitant, almost like the person on the other side kind of hopes you won’t come to the door.

You do, though. You pull it open and there stands the object of both your ire and yearning.

“Hey,” He says, sheepish, his wings twitching with his anxiety, “I wasn’t sure if I should come over…”

“You can come over whenever,” You say, your voice gentle despite your foul mood for the day.

After everything the both of you have been through, you don’t have it in yourself to cruel to him. Not even today, when the wound in your heart is raw and bleeding. You both have been hurt far too much, by one another and Lucien’s parents and far too many others to list.

You don’t want him to hurt anymore, not after you’ve seen the disastrous results. Besides, hurting him would only wound you more in the end. You learned that lesson a long time ago.

“I just…” Lucien shifts on his feet, pulling something out of his bag, “I know this is all still new, and I wasn’t sure if it would even be appreciated, but…here.”

It’s a canvas, you realize. He flips it over as he hands it to you, revealing a portrait of yourself done in watercolor. You’re smiling, a light flush of pink highlighting your cheeks, a golden yellow wash surrounding you as if he’d pictured you bathed in sunlight.

You take the painting with trembling hands, your wide eyes finding his.

“It’s not a lot,” He say softly, “But I…it’s my favorite painting I’ve done in a long time.”

It is a lot, though. It’s everything. You take a step inside to set the painting down gently on the counter before turning back to him. You take his hand and lead him inside, enthralled with the way he looks at you like you hung the stars in tonight’s sky.

“We can order pizza,” You suggest, closing the door behind him, “Watch a movie. I’ll probably fall asleep.”

“I don’t care if you use me as a pillow,” He says softly.

Four Valentine’s Days apart, wasted, and you probably should be angry about it. You were just moments ago. As you sit beside him on the couch, his curls tickling your neck as he rests his head atop yours, you find it hard to hold on to that anger. Perhaps you’d be happier if you let it go.

Dark brown eyes glance down at you, warm and utterly taken, and you decide that you’ll move on. For yourself, and for Lucien. It’s what the both of you deserve after so many years of suffering.

Lucia

You sigh, tossing your bag on the counter. Theo is still in class until this evening, so you have until then to stew. It's stupid to hate Valentine's Day so much, but you can't help it. It a reminder of everything you once had, the life you lived before it all went to shit.

The last time you spent this day with anyone was Lucia. Lucia, who you had made homemade pizzas with and sat out on the balcony, watching the stars with only your shared body heat to keep you warm.

After you became Unchosen, after Lucia had left you, maybe you became a bit jaded toward the holiday. You once looked forward to it with sappy naïveté, and now you dreaded the memories it would dredge up.

Even now, with you and Lucia almost fully made up, you couldn't stand seeing all the happy couples and hearts and love bullshit everywhere.

It just...hurt. It hurt, and that made you angry.

Leaning on the counter, you contemplate ordering take out and just going straight to bed when there's a knock on your door. It's soft, hesitant, almost like the person on the other side kind of hopes you won't come to the door.

You do, though. You pull it open and there stands the object of both your ire and yearning.

“Hey,” She says, sheepish, her wings twitching with her anxiety, “I wasn't sure if I should come over.”

“You can come over whenever,” You say, your voice gentle despite your foul mood for the day.

After everything the both of you have been through, you don't have it in yourself to cruel to her. Not even today, when the wound in your heart is raw and bleeding. You both have been hurt far too much, by one another and Lucia’s parents and far too many others to list.

You don't want her to hurt anymore, not after you've seen the disastrous results. Besides, hurting her would only wound you more in the end. You learned that lesson a long time ago.

“I just…” Lucia shifts on her feet, pulling something out of her bag, “I know this is all still new, and I wasn't sure if it would even be appreciated, but…here.”

It's a canvas, you realize. She flips it over as she hands it to you, revealing a portrait of yourself done in watercolor. You're smiling, a light flush of pink highlighting your cheeks, a golden yellow wash surrounding you as if she'd pictured you bathed in sunlight.

You take the painting with trembling hands, your wide eyes finding hers.

“It's not a lot,” She say softly, “But I...it's my favorite painting l've done in a long time.”

It is a lot, though. It's everything. You take a step inside to set the painting down gently on the counter before turning back to her. You take her hand and lead her inside, enthralled with the way she looks at you like you hung the stars in tonight's sky.

“We can order pizza" You suggest, closing the door behind her, "Watch a movie. l'll probably fall asleep.”

“| don't care if you use me as a pillow,” She says softly.

Four Valentine's Days apart, wasted, and you probably should be angry about it. You were just moments ago. As you sit beside her on the couch, her curls tickling your neck as she rests her head atop yours, you find it hard to hold on to that anger. Perhaps you'd be happier if you let it go.

Dark brown eyes glance down at you, warm and utterly taken, and you decide that you'll move on. For yourself, and for Lucia. It's what the both of you deserve after so many years of suffering.

#answered asks #luci rivera #short story

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diejager · 2 months

Note

Alright so reader ends up pregnant, mom thinks it's horangis kid, reader moves in with him and we have the whole nursery situation

What happens next, like how will they treat her when she's 7 months pregnant? How will they deal with her cravings and stuff?

And what will happen when she gives birth and the baby's a carbon copy of konig? Will the mom be like "🧍‍♀️oh well that's interesting" or will horangi and Konig take reader away and disappear from the face of the earth? Or even worse, they make sure the mom's not gonna bother them anymore (yknow like ⚰️💀⚱️🪦)?

The whole story line is amazing btw and if I could, i would kiss your brain because of how amazing it is

I’m gonna expand on Baby Scenario since it’s almost the same principle. Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, kidnapping, forced pregnancy, childbirth, tell me if I missed any.

Your mother had adamantly encouraged you to move in with Horangi, it would only make sense, no? Since he was the father of your kid. You’d have more space from both her and your stepdad, and would be able to spend more time with Horangi, to build that intimacy and relationship that you’d need if you were to care for a child. You would have extra room for your stuff and a nursery fro your upcoming child in Horangi’s home since he lived alone, his ultilitarianlydecorated house was a perfect place to start building a warm home —a blank canvas coaxing you to paint.

You reluctantly agreed to her proposition, not having much of a choice when she was obliviously overcome with joy, König’s hard stare and Horangi’s tightening grip on your hip, low enough to make you uncomfortable but not too much that it was improper. The move was made quick, the sudden change of your environment left you disorientated, confused and lost while they carried box after box into the living room of your new house.

They hadn’t made a move on you since the test, leaving you alone to do your own things: fix your side of the room, paint and move furniture around the nursery when Horangi and König were busy with other things, or reading on the bean bag you moved near the window for better lighting. It made the move a bit better, neither feeling as oppressed as you felt nor as freeing as you used to be, but it worked nonetheless of your change of ownership. It, however, hadn’t last long, they were quick to lay a hand on you, their fingers kneading and wandering over your sensitive skin, moving you to the bed and leaving you mewling and panting from their mouth and fingers alone.

When your cravings knocked down the door with weird and changing tastes, both men were eager to help, buying or ordering whatever you’d cried about wanting even if you ended up throwing it away because you didn’t want it anymore. They were accommodating to your growing needs, at your every beck and call when you had a sudden craving or sickness. Your mother couldn’t be any happier about how it turned out, that you were with someone she could trust to care for you and not a boy who’d leave you the second he heard you were pregnant, she booked everything for you until the assumed date of birth.

But on when you gave birth, staring at a boy with auburn strands and brown eyes, and a girl with black locks and pale eyes, your mother looked as horrified as you were, much unlike Horangi and König’s pleased gaze. She fought with him, screamed her head off and tried to pry them away from you, to protect you from the men who forced themselves on you and knocked you up. You learned that she kicked König out, throwing all his items out and had tried to have them both removed and taken away from you, but there was little she could do against powerful men. Their names and reputation the blade of their defense, to use and to wield to take you away from her.

The last time you saw her, she was in tears, sobbing and fighting against someone’s arms, clawing her way towards you while you were pulled away and into a black SUV. They cut your contact with your mother and the rest of the world, keeping you in a locked box of their own making. You didn’t know what happened to your mother or how she was, you were completely cut off from anything than your penthouse. Your only physical contact was your kids and the men who called themselves your husbands, caring for Leon and Yoon-Suh and making sure they had food when they came home.

And it wouldn’t take long before they’d ask for another child.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Dirty Work 16

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Hi.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Mr. Laufeyson leaves you to wash up the porcelain. You sigh in relief at having space to breathe. You can't decide if he's testing you. You suspect this might be him keeping an eye on you, just as he had before. Still waiting for you to mess up irrevocably.

Thursdays entail a tidy of the second floor. With the carpenter in and the unexpected distraction, your schedule is delayed. You begin your canvas of the upper floor, dragging broom and vacuum along as you go through every room.

You stop before the study and knock. There's no answer. You try again and rap on the wood. Again, nothing. You enter and find it empty.

You wipe down the surfaces, dusting and shaking out the curtains before you run over the carpet and drapes with the vacuum hose. You proceed into the library but there isn't much to do there. You stop as you find your bag waiting in the chair behind the writing desk. You can't recall bringing it up but you must have.

You finish up and ease the door shut as you return to the hall. You hear a low drone, only realising it's a voice as you open the half-bath on the other side. You try not to overhear as Laufeyson's words grow clearer the closer you get. You hide in the bathroom, collecting the towels to replace. You put then in the hall and go down to the linen closet.

"Yes, tomorrow," his insistence pierces through, "I know, I know, we will talk. I... I'm sorry for all that."

He's quiet and you take that as your cue to retreat. You shouldn't be listening. You hang the fresh towels and gather the used ones to take down to the laundry room. As you come back up, Mr. Laufeyson emerges from his room, no jacket over his pressed button-up, as he rolls his sleeves to his elbows. His eyes flit up as you tiptoe along the hall and he nods as you pass.

"Have you gotten to the study?" He asks.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Great, I will require privacy," he states.

"Mr. Laufeyson," you take the broom from against the wall and roll the vacuum towards his room, you pause before you can get there.

There's a click in his throat as his gaze shrouds you, "don't worry, you will have no unseemly scenes from me, today."

The allusion to your unfortunate foray under the bed sets your cheeks alight. You wince and reach for the handle, biting down on your tongue. You push through slowly and set the broom inside. As you turn back, he remains just outside his study.

"A joke," he assures as he presses the door inward, "or an attempt."

He shrugs and disappears. You suck in your cheeks and think. Is he being nice or is he mocking you? You wish he would go back to be the stoic, strict man with the cold words. You're used to spite and while you long for warmth, you're comforted by the familiar.

Too much thinking, you rebuke yourself. Just get on with it.

🧹

Just after noon, you decide to take your break early. You usually wait until at least one but moving and bending and sweeping has left you lightheaded.

You go downstairs and refill your water bottle. You find your way to patio, the sunlight forming rings in your vision. You see the untouched pitcher, the ice melted and the water no doubt warm.

You leave your bottle and take the pitcher. You refresh it and come back out to footfalls on the steps. You look up as Ronan climbs onto the patio, a sheen of sweat across his face and arms, dampening the chest of his shirt and the edges of his sleeves. You smile as you set down the cold water.

"Just topping up," you say.

"Great timing," he sets down the lunch bag in his left hand, resting his other on the back of an iron chair, "do you mind?"

"Uh, no," you look at your water bottle, "actually, I could just go inside--"

"Wouldn't mind the company," he pulls out the chair and sits, "solitary work, I was chatting with the birds."

"Oh," your cheeks pinch.

He laughs at himself, "not really but I was tempted."

He tugs back the zipper and flips up the top of the bag. You lower yourself into a chair and play with the cap of the water bottle. You flip the nozzle up and down, watching the sparrows chirping wildly in the vines.

"Nice day," he remarks, "glad I get to work in the shade though."

"Hm, yeah, it must be nice to work outside," you agree and turn the water bottle nervously. You don't want to be rude and run off but you were looking forward to a quiet moment alone.

He pours himself a glass of water as you chew your lip. You stare off at the green expanse and lean your elbows on the table, still clutching the bottle tightly. As the silence settles, a rumble erupts from your stomach, squeezing your insides painfully. You look down meekly and lean back, drawing your arms back to fold your hands in your lap. You hope he didn't hear it too.

"You know," he says as he rustles a wrapper, "I've been known to pack too much." He takes half the sandwich and slides the other towards you, "wanna help me out?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't--" your stomach roars as if trying to drown you out.

"Really, I can't eat it all myself. Working out in the sun, I'll make myself sick."

"I'm okay, that's really nice of you--"

"I'd hate for it to go to waste," he insists, "you don't like ham and cheese?"

"No, I-- I don't mind it but..." you rub your arm, once more pressing on the bruise hidden under your sleeve, "that's... lovely, thank you."

You sit forward, not wanting to argue. Besides, you are starving. Your head is starting to pound and your stomach is knotting around itself. You accept the sandwich and carefully lift it up, nibbling on the corner.

"I brought some nuts, you think that chipmunk would like some?" He muses.

You can't help but smile, "probably."

"He doesn't really like me. I don't think I've ever heard one of those things growl before," he reaches in the bag and takes out a small container, "maybe you could try."

"Oh, uh..." you blink down at the plastic, "I guess... I mostly work inside."

"Ah, yes, it is a very nice house," he comments as he peers over at the brick, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stares then squares his shoulders and refocuses on you, "and your boss... he keeps you inside?"

"Well, no, I uh, I just... have stuff to do," you take another small bite.

"Mmm," he hums, "he keeps you busy."

You nod and shrug. The work can't be as hard as his. You don't think you could aim a hammer.

"Don't worry, I know his type. Up in their castles, they hate to brush shoulders with anyone outside their court," he scoffs, "you're a strong woman for putting up with it."

"I... he isn't...I'm not..." you don't know what to say without flat-out lying. Mr. Laufeyson might not be very amiable but he is still your boss. "It's just a job."

His eyes drift against and his thick brows twitch. He slowly raises the sandwich and takes and bite, the tension slowly leaving his posture. You glance back as a trickle runs down your spine.

You peek up to where his eyes had lingered. The curtains seem to flutter but it's too far away to tell for sure. You face the table again and gulp down the layers of bread, lettuce, and meat.

Ronan isn't so bad. It'll be nice to have someone else around for a while. Especially, someone who doesn't reprimand your every breath.

🧹

The end of the day nears and you look over your list. You've caught up on a few things planned for tomorrow even. You want to be able to catch up after whatever Mr. Laufeyson has planned. He'll be expecting as much.

You'll stay until Ronan is done for the day but in the meantime, you have a few last hanging threads to tie off. You go to the door to the study and knock. Almost as soon as your knuckles tap, a response sounds, “come in.”

You obey and twist the handle. Mr. Laufeyson sits and examines what appears to be a scroll, diligently polishing the brass ends with a cloth. You don't question him, you know better than that. Even so, you are curious.

“Um, Mr. Laufeyson, there are few notes I got from the carpenter–”

“Ah,” his brows rise as his eyes flick towards you. His hand stills as he keeps a slight bend in his neck, “Roman, was it?”

“Ronan, I think, uh,” you hover around the other side of his desk, “he has a few suggestions here. If you'd like to review–”

“Suggestions?” He tilts his head.

You take the prompt and look at the page, “um, okay, he recommends replacing the whole floor of the gazebo as the wood is rotting around the broken pieces and the moss has compromised the integrity.”

“Do it,” he sighs and sets the scroll down as he sits up completely.

“And the pillars, if he does just the one, it won't match the rest…”

“Tell me, does he do tear down? I'm starting to think we may as well be rid of the damned thing.”

“I could ask,” you frown.

“I was being facetious,” he sniffs, “though I'm sure you're all too eager to have another chat with that man.”

“Hmmm?” Your crinkle your brow.

“Did you enjoy your lunch?” He wonders.

You blanch. Had he seen that? And by what chance? Was it him stirring by the curtains?

“The sun was nice,” you say, “I wasn't out very long.”

“No, no, you should have breaks,” he says, “you work very hard, don't you?”

You blink. Is he saying something between the lines?

“I'll have my lunch in the kitchen tomorrow–”

“I am not trying to confine you,” he interjects brusquely, “you act as if I am a dictator. I never said you can't have a break. Nor did I say you shouldn't enjoy the sunshine–” he huffs and shows his palm in exasperation, “we are not arguing, alright? I am conversing with you.” He puts his hand down as it forms a fist, “I am simply checking in.”

You stare at him blankly. Your nerves swirl as you fidget. You can't stand this. The words being left unsaid as he pretends. Your heart pumps behind your ears as you feel it all spilling over.

“Mr. Laufeyson,” your voice quivers, “about yesterday…”

“Yesterday? Why, that was your personal day,” he says coyly.

“Look, uh, I know you heard… some things and I just wanna clear it up. It was nothing.”

“I don't know what you mean,” he squints, “it was only dead air. A misdial, I assume–”

“Then why–” you stop yourself and shake your head. “Nevermind.”

“Go on,” he urges, “why…”

You look away and rock. You've gone too far. You should know to just shut up.

“Why are you being so… nice?” You eke out as you dare to glance at him.

His irises flash like glittering emeralds. He slowly reclines and plants his elbow on the armrest and brings his fingers to his chin. He gives a thoughtful hum.

“I'm not nice?” He asks.

“Well, no, I didn't mean--f-forget I said anything,” you clasp your hands behind your back. “It's only…” you sputter and search for a way back but you can only go forward, “you made me tea.”

His eyes flit to the ceiling and back to you, “I did.”

“Why?” You ask.

“It's tea,” he throws his hands up and reclines against the chair, “just tea.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoes tritely, “what else would it be?”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I shouldn't have said anything.”

“If you didn't like the tea, you could just say,” he continues, further throwing you off.

“It was good, I just…” you tug at your cuffs, “may I go?”

“Go?”

“The carpenter is leaving and it's almost five–”

“Yes, go see him off,” he snips, “and run along.” He scowls and taps his fingers on the desk in agitation, “as well, to show how nice I can be, I will allow you to sleep in tomorrow. I will not require you until noon.”

“Noon, yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Mm,” he grumbles and spins his chair away from you.

You shrink down and drag your feet across the room. You don't know why you asked. Why did you blurt all that out? You're so dumb. You should just have taken it for what it was and kept quiet.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #au #maid au #series #dirty work #avengers #thor #mcu #marvel #ronan the accuser

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 2 months

Note

For the asks - "I wish you would write a fic where..."

Would you ever do a follow up to little bat? 🖤🖤

Can be read as a follow-up to Little Bat but also as a standalone. For a summary: your boyfriend tried to choke you after getting greedy that you were outshining him. Xaden came to your rescue but while the threat was taken care of some damage remained.

Things hunting us

“She has to train”, Garrick muttered under his breath as he and Xaden looked over the cadets filling up the training grounds. “You told me that ten times today”, Xaden pointed out keeping his tone low. “Proves my point that you’re not listening”, Garrick said through gritted teeth. Xaden didn’t need to look at his friend to see the frustration. Things had been uneasy ever since the attack. With people mostly fearing for themselves. Weary eyes bouncing around the rooms.

“She was nearly choked a week ago”, Xaden still felt as if someone was choking him now. He was confused. Mostly. With himself. He wasn’t sure why he had stayed the night after. Well, he had told himself that he stayed to protect you. Keep an eye on you. But then he stayed a day after. And one after. Until being close got too much and now he was running away in full speed. “Xaden, I get it believe me. I had a go at that fucker myself but rules are rules”, Garrick pointed out, “You, I, we can’t keep making excuses for her, we don’t run this place”.

And he knew it was true, it was. Xaden had been covering up for you ever since and even he was running out of ways to fill in your absence. He dragged a hand over his face as he rounded the corner on the second floor. Stopping hesitantly before his knuckles beat against the wood.

“It’s Xaden, can I come in?”, shit did he sound desperate? He should have kept his tone more raw and cold. He heard ruffling on the other side. Slow movements followed right by. Then the doors swung open. And here you were. Hair in a messy bun. Dark bags beneath your eyes. One's that weren’t there the last morning that he left you. So you probably hadn’t been sleeping well.

“Hey”, you rasped out, wrapping our sweater tightly around your shoulders. “Hi”, he muttered back. And here it was that urge to keep you locked up. To keep you away from everyone. To keep you safe. Bubbling deep within. “I thought that we should try going to the communal floor today” if only people who feared him saw him. With his soft voice and all. “I’m fine thanks”, you breathed out, stepping back and reaching to close the door but Xaden pushed his boot forward, blocking the way.

“Yn, you can’t keep doing this”, his palm pressed against the wood. You didn’t fight it. You stepped back as well. Letting him into your room. “He’s taken care of”, Xaden promised but you shook your head. Turning back only to twirl back angrily, “And who is taking care of this?”, you pointed. Your neck was a canvas for all the colors possible. Angry finger marks were even more visible than the night of the attack. An angry tear slipped past your cheek and Xaden instantly stepped forward.

“Look at me”, he said softly but you simply hooked your head. “As your wing leader I am ordering you to”, his tone was firmer this time. Demanding. Angry eyes met this. But anger was good. Angry meant that there was still a spark left in you.

“Own it”, he said, you let out a bitter chuckle, “You’re inside”. “No, you own it”, he said once more. Keeping his grip on the side of your face firm but not enough to harm.

“Some weak ass shit tried to go the easiest route”, Xaden searched for your eyes but you didn’t give in. Emotions were all over the place. “He couldn’t outrun you so he took the coward's way out. He abused the power he had over you”, he continued. He wasn’t big on speaking. But words came easy when they were shared between you both.

“From here on now. You will not shed a single tear over him. You will scrap him out of your head because he didn’t deserve you. And you will walk out this room with your head held high and show everyone that if they try messing with you they will not walk away from the fight”, now your face was cradled in both of his palms and for the first time you glanced up at him.

“But it wasn’t me, wasn’t me who stopped him”, your voice was barely a whisper. “So what”, Xaden shrugged. “So they can easily do what he did”, you whined, feeling the panic rising once more. “No they can’t”, Xaden said firmly, and when he said that you were gonna argue back he added quickly, “They can’t because if they even breath in your direction I will make sure that they regret that they were born”.

Silence filled the room. For a moment it felt as if the two of you were not even here. That nothing else mattered that it was just too. But then you stepped back. Putting distance between you both, “Why are you doing this? Why are you being so nice?”, you muttered. You had heard endless stories of how ruthless this man was. No heart. No soul. But you had seen none of that. He was nothing like people portrayed him.

“Because I want to”, he shrugged, lips curving into a grin. “No, Xaden”, you pointed a warning finger at him. “I do, now”, he said, reaching to undo his leather, “Wear this while you’re at it. Lunch starts in ten minutes”. You caught his flying jacket midair. Instantly pressing it to your chest. But your brain was screaming at you, “We can’t wear other cadets' clothes”, you argued but Xaden only hummed in answer, “Shift in the rules”. His fingers tilted your chin up, “Now that you’re mine you can”.

#xaden riorson #xaden riorson imagine #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson x you #xaden riorson x oc #xaden riorson iron flame #xaden riorson fourth wing #xaden x reader #xaden x you #xaden imagine #iron flame imagine #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x you #fourth wing x reader

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justlostinautumn · 1 month

Text

Request: Klaus NSFW Alphabet

I hope that this is everything that you wanted @catmikaelson20. I am so sorry that it took so long... I really have no excuse other than I wasn't in the right state of mind. But, I am getting better!

A = Aftercare (What are they like after sex?)

Klaus will shower or take a bath with her, allowing them to unwind together… it does sometimes lead to sex. Klaus loves unwinding in the bath with Y/N, he loves being able to run his hands over her feeling her relax against him. But, he is often inspired after sex and so after laying with Y/N, curled up with her watching her as she falls asleep. He would trace her sides feeling her soft skin allowing himself to absorb all the inspiration for his art. His favourite is when she is laying on her stomach and he can run his fingers down her spine. He would slip out of bed and set up a canvas at the end of the bed looking at her and begins to paint her curves in the moonlight often losing himself in his work. Sometimes Y/N would wake up missing his presence next to her and slips out of bed, wrapping her arms around him and snuggling her face into his back making him feel complete knowing that she sought him out.

B = Body Part (Their fav body part of theirs and yours)

Klaus loves her ass, waist, and thighs. He loves holding onto her waist and pulling her against him, he loves holding her waist when they’re having sex. He loves gripping her tight and seeing his marks on her skin knowing that he left them. He also loves feeling her ass against him whether it’s snuggled in bed or she is teasing him by leaning into him. One of his favourite things to do is spank Y/N’s ass whenever it’s in reach and she often scolds him when he finds it amusing - but, Y/N loves it even if she scolds him about it. Her loves having her thighs wrapped around his head, but he also likes having his hand resting on her thigh while he’s reading or just relaxing. He often finds himself massaging her thigh it comforts him as it reminds him that she is there with him. Y/N loves feeling his hand on her thigh especially when he squeezes it.

Y/N loves his eyes, lips/mouth, and hands. She loves how big his hands feel on her, loves the feeling of him gripping her hips and thighs. The sharp sting of him spanking her ass. Y/N often finds herself lost when looking or thinking about his eyes. It amuses Klaus greatly, but she doesn’t care if it's his blue eyes or his golden hybrid eyes. When he shows his other side she can’t help but sit on his lap and trace the veins. One thing Y/N can’t resist is his mouth and lips. Whether it’s a soft kiss on her lips, or playful nips at her neck, breasts, and thighs. The thought of his lips on her body sends thrills down her spine. During heavy make-out sessions, she often finds herself nibbling on his lip. Sometimes, Klaus will catch Y/N staring at his mouth lost in thought, and know that what is on her mind would make even the devil blush.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

Klaus finds a lot of pleasure in watching and making Y/N cum. He loves the feeling of her cumming with him inside her, feeling her tightening around him knowing that only he can make her feel that level of pleasure. He loves going down on Y/N and feeling the tightening of her thighs around his head, he would die happily between her thighs. Klaus loves cumming on Y/N marking her as his, but the one thing he loves most is cumming in her mouth. He loves watching her swallow and even asks her to open her mouth to see if she’s swallowed it all, it sends a thrill down his spine. But, he also loves cumming in her… loves knowing he’s filled her, claiming her as his. But, truth be told Y/N is no better she adores him cumming all over her, and in her, she loves being marked and claimed by him.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It is no secret that Klaus is possessive over Y/N. But, what few realise is that Klaus likes to make sure that his brothers hear him, especially Elijah. Y/N is his and his alone and he isn’t willing to share her with anyone, he also knows that Elijah had been looking at Y/N in a way that only he was allowed to and he wasn’t having it. Y/N wasn’t stupid, but she knew that it was something that Klaus needed. But, Y/N is as bad if not worse than Klaus when it comes to possessiveness. Only Klaus knows this. Certain people will trigger it with Y/N. People like Caroline, Hayley, and the Petrova Doppelgängers. Klaus finds it a turn-on when she threatens him with what she will do to them if they try anything. With his possessiveness, Klaus can barely keep his hands to himself when she is near and always making sure he’s marked her making sure everyone knows she belong to him. He doesn’t care who is in the room and who sees it, whereas Y/N is possessive she often says to Klaus: ‘I don’t have to be loud about it, just better.’ This has been shown multiple times when she has put people like Hayley and Caroline in their places when they’ve tried to step to Klaus.

Klaus adores and thrives on Y/N’s defiance. He loves watching her walk away after they have a fight only to chase her to remind her that she is his as much as he is hers. He loves her feisty and dominant personality and that she doesn’t just let him have his way with her that there is a fight to keep her… that he has to earn her and he finds it so much more satisfying. Because even though Klaus thrives on controlling pretty much everything he enjoys her wildness and unpredictability that she can take control and allow him that peace for him not to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Y/N loves seeing Klaus covered in blood there is something she can’t deny about seeing him in his element and it seems to drive her wild. Klaus adores that she loves him for all he is. Normally, it would lead them to rough and passionate sex.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Klaus has been alive for a thousand years, with lots of experience. Y/N has had some experience, but Klaus has taught her a lot… Things that she didn’t even know she’d like.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Doggy style is one of Klaus’ favourite positions, he can grip all his favourite parts of Y/N’s body and has the perfect view of Y/N’s ass. It allows him free reign to squeeze and spank her ass. He also loved to pull her up against his chest and massaging her breasts while taking her. He enjoys doing this with her in front of a mirror making her watch as he takes her. Holding her against the wall whether it was facing him or with her face against the wall. Especially when he knows someone is on the other side knowing that he is marking her as his. Any chance to hold her against him intimately Klaus would take it.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

It is normally serious when it comes to Y/N and their mutual pleasure. There aren’t many goofy moments but when there are it is memorable, one of those moments was when they were drunk and on a romantic getaway and it was filled with laughter and pleasure.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Klaus loves to have Y/N fully groomed, he loves feeling her smooth skin under his hands, but she also loves the feel him against her skin. Klaus is equally as well groomed, Klaus likes looking his best for Y/N. He’s clean, and trimmed up… Klaus has never been one to skip on personal hygiene.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Y/N is the only one who gets to see his romantic and intimate side. This is because you are one of the few people that he truly lets all his walls down around. That doesn’t mean that it is always intimate and romantic, sometimes it is just pure carnal instincts. This can be things like quickies in his office or moments of jealousy and Klaus needs to make sure she and everyone else knows that Y/N is his and no one else’s. Sometimes on rough days they sometimes just need to let it out, it’s not romantic but it is passionate. Some of their most intimate moments had been after either Klaus or Y/N had almost died or been severely injured… it is in those moments that they both want to hold the other close, Klaus likes to bury his face in Y/N’s neck just to assure himself that she is there with him, but also he’s there. Y/N finds herself both clawing at his back but also with her hands in his hair. Y/N finds herself needing to kiss him, to have his lips against hers. The kiss was slow and passionate, feeling his breath against hers as they slowly and passionately make love to one another.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation Headcanon)

This doesn’t happen too often. The only times this really happen is when Klaus and Y/N fight and she won’t let him touch her, but that doesn’t happen too often… but, the issue is that it never fully satisfies him and Y/N knows this. Because of this Klaus never lets fights last long, because there is nothing better than his Y/N. She takes pleasure in that. But, also sometimes has to travel and if Y/N can’t come with him, she’ll send him pictures and videos to tease him until he snaps and ends up coming back to her. This normally results in explosive sex.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Klaus has a breeding kink. There is something about the thought of her carrying his child that makes him literally drool. Seeing Y/N with Hope leaves him hard knowing that he wants that with her… he needs that with her. As soon as they are in their room or alone, he’s thrusting into her roughly telling her he’s going to fill her up and get her pregnant. That he’s going to mark her so that everyone knows that she is his and no one is going to able to have her the way he does. Even if they don’t know if it is possible for it to happen a second time, they don’t care. Y/N loves the feeling of Klaus cumming in her while he is fucking her, the first time she asked him to cum inside her he almost lost it. She was begging him to mark her inside and out, it turned him almost feral and since then he can’t get enough of it. Klaus also loves it when Y/N calls him Daddy or my King while he’s fucking her. Y/N often calls him my King in their everyday life, but in moments of passion, there is something about it. But, as soon as she starts moaning and whining for Daddy he’s a goner, he’s wrapped around her finger!

They both love it rough with choking, and spanking being tied up. Y/N loves when Klaus leaves bruises on Y/N’s waist and hips from where he’s gripped her tightly. But, with Klaus being all about her ass, they both love when he does butt stuff to her… she loves experimenting with Klaus doing whatever they feel like.

They both love the thrill of almost getting caught in public. Klaus loves when people who have shown an interest, attraction, or fondness to his girl (this includes people like Tyler, Damon, Stefan, and Elijah) hear or catch a glimpse of them together in the heat of the moment. It makes him a little rougher with her to show them that she is his and will always belong to him no matter what they try to do and she loves it. She can feel his possessiveness and she loves it, it reminds her that he wants her as much as she wants him.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Loves fucking in their bed, but also his study on his desk or in his office chair. But, Klaus is more than happy to fuck Y/N anywhere and at any time. Especially when someone threatens his claim on her, he would never allow anyone too close or allow them to believe that they could have a chance with what is his.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Klaus can’t help but get turned on when she defends him and yells at someone, even his family when they are causing problems. This is because no matter how long she has been doing it he is still not used to people sticking up for him and knowing that Y/N does it willingly turns him on in ways he can’t begin to explain.

Klaus loves it when Y/N wears special outfits for him, this includes lingerie, themed outfits, but also date night outfits. But, what he loves most is when she wears his clothes, it seemed to stroke his possessive side. Another thing that Klaus loves is the chase, he loves that Y/N makes him work for it.

Y/N loves taunting Klaus and as much as Klaus will deny it he does. This is because even though he knows that Y/N will never cheat on him, he loves to remind her that she is his and his alone no matter who else may come along. He knows she’s flirting with others to get a rise from him & he loves it because it allows him to be rougher with her as punishment that they both love.

It is a big turn-on for Y/N when Klaus is possessive, but also she enjoys his violent side especially when he is protecting her. She knows it is in his nature to be violent and something about seeing him revel in his nature turns her on.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turns offs)

No threesomes, both of them are very possessive of each other and the thought of sharing does not appeal to either of them. Hitting is another big no, no. For Klaus it is triggering, he doesn’t mind spanking her ass or thighs but nothing else. Knives are another big no, no. It’s not so much the blood, because neither of them mind blood sharing and biting. It’s just the thought of causing harm to the other.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Klaus enjoys going down on Y/N, he is highly skilled and loves to see how many times he can make her cum until she begs him to stop. He loves watching her wither under his control, Y/N is a strong-willed individual and to have her begging for his mercy is something else.

Klaus loves receiving. The feeling of her tongue on him has him losing his mind. He is truly done for when Y/N goes down, she has so much power over him by just using her mouth… he could never admit it to anyone. He is a very stressed and high-strung guy and so Y/N doesn’t mind helping him let off steam or help relax. Y/N could ask for anything after giving him a blow job and he would be more than happy to give it to her.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

They both enjoy it rough and fast most of the time… especially when Klaus is jealous and wants to remind Y/N who she belongs to! However, when feeling overwhelmed or emotional it can be slow and sensual… this happens sometimes when Y/N gets hurt or Klaus is scared of losing her. When they do make love it is a tender and slow affair, it is usually in highly intense and emotional moments. Klaus likes to make it all about Y/N taking his time to show her how much he loves and is devoted to her.

Q = Quickie (Their opinion on quickies rather than proper sex - how often, etc.)

Both Klaus and Y/N have difficulty keeping their hands to themselves for long periods of time, so they often find themselves having quickies anytime, anywhere, they only need to say the word.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Klaus isn’t afraid to take risks. Both of you are more than happy to experiment and take risks. Both enjoy the thrill of almost getting caught and if they do? Klaus doesn’t necessarily like people seeing what is his in that vulnerable state, but there is something dark and possessive deep in him that like showing people that only he can make Y/N feel like this and no one else can. Both Y/N and Klaus are willing to do anything and everything at least once to see if they like it.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Klaus can go multiple rounds with him being a Hybrid and over a thousand years old. Y/N can go for multiple, Klaus likes to see how many rounds he can get out of her in one night.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

They both have a wide range of toys that they use in their experimentations and role-plays. They don’t always use them. Klaus doesn’t actually need the toys to get Y/N off and more often than not she prefers when they don’t use them unless she is in the mood for something else. However, Y/N does have a vibrator that she often refers to as her ‘Little Nik’, she only uses it when Klaus is unavailable and she is desperately in need of him. But, she likes to use it most where she knows he will see her so that he can catch her and then pin her down and fucks her like she needs.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease?)

Both Y/N and Klaus like to tease one another endlessly. Klaus likes to run his hand up and down the inside of her thigh slowly, each time getting higher and higher. He does this at the table or discreetly when they are around others. He likes watching her squirm knowing that he is causing it. But, no one can tease like Y/N can. She lives to push Klaus’ buttons and he knows it, yet no matter how many times he will always fall for it. Y/N likes to bite her lip while he is speaking to her, whispering all the naughty things she wants him to do in his ear, speaking in double entendres… but, sometimes it is the playful flirting with others in the room, she doesn’t do it often only when he’s really pissed her off. Klaus often gives her a smoldering look that says ‘you’re in for it tonight.’ which sends a thrill through her.

V = Volume (How loud they are? What sounds they make? Etc.)

He’s not super loud. But, he will grunt and groan, and he’ll say Y/N’s name when he cums, but anything he truly has to say is whispered in Y/N’s ear as it is only meant for her to hear. He loves making Y/N scream his name, hearing her moan for him is her favourite thing, nothing can encourage him more than the noises that Y/N makes… it sets off something primal in him.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

They both love when Klaus bites and feeds off Y/N during sex. The bite doesn’t have to cause damage, it could be him just nipping at her neck with his fangs or even the inside of her thighs just before he eats her out. But, Klaus loves it most when they blood share during sex… after all there is nothing more intimate than blood sharing.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those clothes)

Klaus is cocky and he definitely has the package to back it up! He knows that he is well endowed, but the best thing is that he knows how to use it! He is bigger than average and is definitely thicker.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Both Y/N and Klaus have fairly high sex drives. Klaus’s is higher than normal though he doesn’t let on just how high it is. He usually has it under control, but when he snaps and can’t take wanting Y/N any longer he will take her away somewhere secluded so that he can fuck her as much as he wants… this usually happens after Y/N has been relentlessly teasing Klaus for days on end.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Klaus doesn’t always fall asleep right after, but he will lay in bed until Y/N is in deep sleep. He often finds inspiration after sex and so he will paint or draw and it is usually Y/N. If he doesn’t feel like drawing or painting, he enjoys watching Y/N sleep and memorising her features or reminiscing moments they have together. But, more often than not they both end up curled up together falling asleep tangled together… after all he always sleeps better with her in his arms.

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