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i-fondued · 2 years

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Kinktober 2022 | Ghost - Punishment

When Cardinal Copia catches his favorite Sister of Sin out of bed after curfew, and with Terzo no less, he knows he must dole out the punishment himself…

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader/Sister of Sin Rating: Explicit Warnings: Dominate/Possessive Copia, spankings, dirty talk, Terzo being Terzo, and once again poor google translate italian A/N: This has been in the works for two days now and I have needed about 5000 mental cold showers, my praise kink is surely coming out with this one ahahahaha enjoy!!!

For those of you who prefer to read on AO3 HERE is the link!

I couldn’t sleep, the thunder outside rumbling and echoing down the dormitory hallways. Tossing the blanket and sheets aside I slipped out of bed, huffing as I pulled on a pair of thick socks.

“Cup of tea and right back to bed…” I grumbled to myself as I pulled on my robe and tied the belt tightly.

I peaked out of my door and checked the hallway for any senior sisters. I myself was a senior sister but this late at night it wasn’t always a good thing to be caught out of bed. I closed the door as slowly as possible, the door barely creaking as I shut it. Silently as possible I snuck past Sister Imperator’s room, down the back stairs to the ground floor. I followed the long hallway, past the library I called home, and found the large cafeteria. Creeping in the shadow, I slipped through the galley doors and sighed, knowing I was at least out of sight if someone was to peek in the room.

Putting a kettle on I went through the motions to ready my teacup, two scoops of sugar and two teabags. I leaned against the countertop and crossed my arms while looking out the windows to outside. I could see the storm brewing, lightning flashing every so often. Lazily I let my mind wander, just thinking back on the events of my day and what I had planned for tomorrow, so engrossed that I didn’t hear the doors to the kitchen swing open.

“Bene ciao, Sorella.”

“What the fuck!?” I jumped what felt like fifteen feet in the air, hand on my chest as my heart felt like it was going to pop right out of my chest. Turning towards the sound of the voice, I couldn’t help but clutch at my robes. “Satan below, Papa.”

“Ah, mi dispiace.” Papa Emeritus III, Terzo, smirked at me. He looked me up and down, coming over to lean casually against the countertop across from me. “I heard the sound of someone moving around the halls, just wanted to make sure no ghoul went…ah how you say? Prowling.”

“No, I’m sorry Papa.” I looked away from his mismatched eyes. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d make myself some tea.”

“Si, si. I understand.” He stepped towards me and I shied away slightly. His hand came up to brush my hair off my shoulder, I shuttered as my face flushed. “I’ve not seen you with your hair down, Sorella. It suits you…”

I flushed bright red, I’d never been all that close to Terzo like this. Sure, all of us siblings of sin looked up to him as the figurehead of the church. But since I had joined the ranks of the Siblings of Sin Terzo had been on tour and never seemed to have lots of time to spend with the siblings beyond meals and mass. He was hypnotic in the way he moved, his mismatched gaze seeming to pin me in place has he prowled towards me. I felt his hands slip down my arms and slide to my waist. Faintly I heard the whistle of the kettle but I didn’t move.

“Papa, I-“

“Call me Terzo, Bella…” He gripped the counter on either side of my hips and began to lean towards me. My heart beating rapidly in my chest, frozen by his eyes locked on mine. I leaned back slightly, unsure of what to do while my eyes slipped from his white eye to his lips.

Suddenly the kettle stopped whistling and someone cleared the throat. I turned away from Papa, looking towards the sound, but he turned first heaving sighing as he moved to brush his hair back from his face.

“Ah, buena serata, Cardinale.” Papa said jovially, I however wanted the ground to come up and swallow me whole.

“Papa,” Cardinal Copia spoke, I slipped from behind Terzo with my eyes cast down. “Sorella…”

I looked up at the Cardinal, his face may have looked neutral to anyone else but I knew him too well. He was furious, his face just slightly flushed as he had his hands behind his back. Copia didn’t even look at Terzo, no. His eyes were locked on mine. I noticed he was still dressed in his everyday black cassock, biretta perched on his head. It was silent for a moment, the only sound in the room coming from the steam from the kettle and the sound of leather gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers.

“Cardinal, you see the Sorella and I-“

“I was just getting some tea and then heading back to bed, Sir.” I blurted, cutting off Papa who looked shocked that I even spoke. “I’ll head right back to my room now…”

Stepping away from Papa, my eyes looking only at Copia, I started to pass by the Cardinal. I felt his hand grab my wrists. I looked down at his hand then back up at his face, feeling the leather of his gloves against my skin as he gripped tightly.

“You are to come with me, Sister.”

His voice left no option for argument. I bowed my head to him slightly, unable to look him in the eye.

“I do not think that is entirely necessary, Cardinale…” Papa started and Copia finally broke his gaze on me to glare at Terzo.

“Sister has been caught out of bed, I will handle her punishment.” Copia gave Terzo a dirty look before leaning closer to him. Papa seemed taken aback by Copia’s attitude, so used to the mousy version of him.

“Cardinale…”

“Go find another Sorella to warm your bed, donnaiolo.” He spat at him, before tugging me along with him.

I looked back at Papa with shocked eyes, surprised that Copia had the gall to say anything like that to anyone, let alone Papa himself. Terzo just had a wild smile on his face as he shook his head before turning to pour the kettle into my cup. He nodded at me, lifting my cup in my direction in a mock cheers before Copia pulled me along and I lost sight of Papa.

Retracing my path from the kitchen to the main hallways, neither of us said anything. I followed along, struggling to keep up the pace set by Copia, until we turned down a long corridor full of the many apartments of high ranking men of the church. Confused, I pulled back against his grip on me, but despite his size he was incredibly strong.

“C-copia..?” I whispered, he looked back to shush me before he pulled open the doors to the rooms at the very end of the long hallway. The Cardinal practically tossed me into the room, shutting his door as quietly as possible before turning his furious mismatched eyes on me.

“What was he doing down there with you?” He hissed, stalking towards me.

I couldn’t help but back away from him slowly, a small amount of fear caught in my chest and my throat. I’d never seen him like this before, fury written on his face and his one white eye practically glowing in the low light of the room. Copia’s chest was heaving with ragged breaths, my own heart thrumming painfully in my ribcage.

“N-nothing! I couldn’t sleep because of the storm. I went downstairs to make some tea, Papa snuck up and startled me, that was all.”

Copia didn’t say anything at first, instead slowly he stalked towards me and forced me to back up into the wall behind me. His eyes drifted from my eyes to my lips, pausing momentarily as he licked his own lips before turning his dark gaze back on me.

“Did he touch you?”

“W-what? No!” I stammered, completely taken aback by his statement. My cheeks flushed and a small spark started something deep in my belly. I would be lying if I said this total change in his demeanor wasn’t doing something to me.

“Don’t lie to me, Sorella…” Copia’s voice was low and deadly as his hand came up to wrap gently around my throat. My heart rate skyrocketed, pulse thrumming in my neck. “I am not someone who shares, ne sono un uomo paziente.”

“I swear Cardinal.” I mumbled, unable to stop myself from the small pants that slipped past my lips. His lips quirked slightly, brow razing as he smirked.

“Hm…” He murmured, his fingers brushing against the bottom of my jawline and pulling softly at my bottom lip. “What to do with you, Cara Mia…”

Copia’s free hand came to press against the wall, cornering me so I couldn’t escape him. My heart felt like it was going to bust out through my sternum, my eyes frantic as they locked on his. My face was red hot as his fingers gently squeezed my throat, a small strangled whimper slipping past my lips.

“Cardinal..?” I squeaked, his hand around my throat slipped down pushing my robe to the side and undoing the belt. I stood there, shivering slightly as he exposed my nightgown. I hadn’t worn anything under the soft, simple cotton fabric. My nipples pebbled beneath the fabric as Copia’s leather clad hand skimmed gently over my breast.

“You have been caught out of bed after curfew, Sister.” He purred, voice dangerously low. “And with our Papa no less…”

“I would never, Cardinal…” I whispered as he leaned in, his hand gripping my wrists again and pinning them above my head. His lips hovered just barely out of my reach.

“I must punish you somehow, cara mia.” Copia’s lips brushed against mine as he spoke and I couldn’t help but squirm against him, my thighs trying to find some relief for my aching core. “…ma come punirti…”

Copia’s eyes locked with mine before he surged forward, lips stealing my breath away as he kissed me. His free hand came up to tangle in my hair at the back of my head, tugging on the curls to angle my head in the way he liked. I moaned into the kiss, my hands scrambling to try and reach out to touch him. He pulled away from me then, I couldn’t help the disappointed gasp that slipped from my lips. He paused for a moment before letting go of me and walking away towards the small sitting room that was in the entrance of his chambers.

The room was dimly lit by the fireplace, a small fire keeping the room warm but not unpleasantly so. In front of the fire was a small sitting area; a couch on one side of a coffee table with a pair of chairs on the other. The space reminded me of his office with bookshelves filled with his own personal collection. To the side there was a large ornate cage and I could see at least three of Copia’s pet rats curled up in a ball, all of them cuddled together.

Behind the sitting area I saw a pair of pocket doors, the doors open enough that I could see the slight shape of Copia’s bed. My face flushed, feeling like I was trespassing in his space, as I followed behind the Cardinal. Despite everything he and I had done together, we’d never come to his rooms before. We both had a serious fear of being caught by Sister Imperator or Papa Nihil, and even worse was the idea of being caught by any of the Papas again.

Copia stalked over to the couch, sitting down and leaning back. He sat with legs parted widely, I could see the outline of his cock hard under his cassock and I felt my core thrum with heat. I stood a few steps away from him, blushing furiously as I laid my robe over the arm of the chair and crossed my arms.

“Come, Sorella.” He growled, his anger still simmering below the surface.

A thrill shot down my spine as he beckoned me forward with his fingers. He pointed to the floor between his legs and I obediently kneeled for him, knees digging into the rich Persian rug on the floor. My eyes looked up at him, the light from the fire casting shadows on his face and his one white eye standing out boldly against the black paint. My hands sat in my lap but they itched to touch him, to convey all my love and adoration for him so he always knew it was only him. I knew better though, Copia was rarely ever the one in control in our encounters but when he was I relished at primal instincts he had.

“Cardinal..?” My voice was hoarse and deep as I tried not to squirm under his eyes. “Can I-?”

“Silenzio, Sister.” He hissed, leaning forward suddenly and gripping my chin. I jumped slightly, heartbeat stumbling, and my breathing grew harsh. “Come.”

He gestured for me to lay across his lap. I moved quickly, slightly shy as I laid across his strong thighs. I could feel under my stomach as the muscles in his thighs clenched as he helped shift my weight so I wasn’t digging my hip bones into him. My top half was at an angle so I could rest more of my weight on the couch, my hands already coming to grip the fabric of the cushion as I looked over my shoulder at the cardinal. His left hand was pressed firmly against the small of my back, pinning me down. My thighs clenched again, I could tell I was already soaked and ready for him. I knew if he even brushed against the apex of my thighs I would have slammed head first into my orgasm right then and there.

My eyes were locked on his as he bit the middle finger of his glove on his right hand, pulling the leather away to reveal his pale hand. I bit my bottom lip, a small shiver running down my spine, as I felt his hand slide up my calf and caress my inner thigh. I moaned softly, burying my head in the couch cushion as he chucked at me.

“Ten marks I think are a fitting punishment, Si Sorella?” Copia murmured, his voice thick with arousal as he slowly pulled my nightgown up to explore my bare ass. He swore under his breath, something Italian that made my ears burn with heat and embarrassment, as he realized I wasn’t wearing any underwear. “Cazzo, Sorella, you are una ragazza sporca…”

His hand brushed against my bare skin and I couldn’t help as my hips bucked back into his caress. Copia teased me a few times, letting my hips roll against him as I panted in his lap. I could feel his cock straining against the fabric of his robes as Copia tried to remain composed, his thighs just barely flexing beneath me as he fought to keep from pulling me into his arms and sinking deep inside me.

“I want you to count with me, dolcezza.”

“Yes, Cardinal.” I whispered, his hand caressing me one more time. Before I could even tense up I felt the impact of his hand on my bare ass, heat and sting blooming to life. I gasped, flinching and looking over my shoulder at him.

“Sister?”

“O-one.” I stammered, fingers clenching the cushion as I squirmed under his eyes.

Again his hand caressed the spot he just spanked me, a slight burning feeling but not unpleasant and I couldn’t help as I arched my back against his soft touch. A pause and another spank hit me, this time on the other cheek. I flinched, my breath coming out as a hiss and my eyes squeezed shut.

“Two.” I gritted my teeth, my breath shuttered through me.

Copia’s fingers brushed slightly against the welt his hand left and I arched into his caress. Another moment and another spank, this time he hit the same spot as the first mark. I cried out this time, tears forming slightly in my eyes, and I felt Copia pause before his hand on my lower back caressed my shoulder gently.

“The count, Cara Mia…” His voice soothed me slightly as the rhythmic feeling of his left hand, still clad in leather, caressed my bare shoulders and upper arm.

“Th-three.” I whimpered as the sounds of our haggard breathing mixed. I felt his bare right hand drift between my legs just slightly, fingertips ghosting against my soaked slit. I felt him take a deep breath, his thighs clenching tight.

“Santi sotto…” Copia groaned, his hand once again spanking me. I cried out this time, legs twitching against his as rubbed my thighs together. The tears spilled from my eyes this time as I focused on the intricate pattern weaved into the fabric of the couch.

“Four.”

Another crack echoed in the room, my skin burning while my face felt hot and the warm tears continued.

“Five.”

“Only five more, Sorella.” His voice was husky, my breathing was coming in short bursts and my fingers itched to touch him. The sensations were too much for my overly sensitive skin.

“Yes Sir.” I spoke and my voice was low and soft, sniffling slightly. I heard Copia groan as I called him Sir, his hips grinding up against me. I felt his cock stirring against me and I longed to pounce on him but I was deterred to finish my punishment.

Crack.

“Six.”

Crack.

“Seven.”

Crack.

“Eight.”

Crack.

“Nine.”

I was panting, there wasn’t any way to hide it from Copia, and I didn’t even care. I must have looked like a mess to him; grinding against his thigh to cause any sort of friction to my clit, my nightgown hanging off my shoulders as he had his left hand on my back pinning me down. I knew I had tears in my eyes and wet trails from the ones that had already spilled down my face, I’d been gnawing at my lips to keep as quiet as possible to not wake any of the other clearly members. I felt his hand leave my back and I couldn’t help but turn to look back at him.

Copia was flushed with arousal, his mismatched gaze filled with lust and heat that made me whimper when his eyes locked with mine. His hand that was previously on my back ran through his hair, his biretta long discarded and tossed onto the coffee table. I was mesmerized as he took the leather glove off his other hand, tossing it behind him as he leaned down towards me. He pulled my nightgown down, snapping the thin strap on one side in the process. He kissed between my shoulder blades, I moaned softly and arched up into his touch as he soothingly caressed the red splotches on my bottom.

“One more, Sorella.” He murmured as he leaned over to brush the tears from my eyes. “Sei stata una brave ragazza, si, a very good girl…”

Without any warning he spanked my ass, the hardest of all of them. I cried out, louder than before as he scooped me up in his arms and brushed the hair from my face.

“Ten.” I whimpered, my hands finally reaching up to tug him down to me. He peppered my face with soft kisses as I sniffled against his chest, cheek pressed against his thrumming heart beat.

“You did very well, mia amata.” He murmured, kissing my forehead and rubbing my back. His other hand came to my chin and tilted my head back. I gasped at the look of his eyes, pupils blown wide with arousal. Copia leaned forward, pressing his lips to mine gently at first before I was squirming in his arms, desperate for more.

I’d never been so turned on in my life and I needed relief, the dull ache of my redden ass was nothing in comparison with the inferno between my legs.

“Copia, please.” I begged as my hands pulled him to me, kisses becoming more frantic as his tongue slipped into my mouth coaxing and teasing my own.

He pulled away from me and I fought back a sob from my throat. Copia helped me stand, taking my hand and tugging softly towards his chambers. My eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly. The back wall was taken up by three massive stained glass windows which shone in the dim moonlight, his bed was at least a king size four poster made of solid wood with thick velvet curtains that were tied back. His bedding was a deep, blood red and his bed was made with almost military precision.

Turning me towards him, he slid the one flimsy strap of my nightgown that was still attached from my shoulder. The cotton fabric slipped down my body and pooled at my feet, I stood there naked and squirmed under the intense gaze of the mysterious Cardinal.

His hands came up to cup my face, and he kissed me like a man possessed. One hand slipped to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair before tugging sharply. I moaned quietly, my own hands reaching out to grasp at Copia’s cassock to steady myself. His lips trailed down my jaw, nipping at my neck before he traced my pulse point with his tongue before biting down and sucking at the sensitive skin. I cried out his name as I pressed myself against him and groaned as my forehead rested against his shoulder. His lips traveled from my pulse to my shoulder, leaving another love bite, before he came to suck and nibble on my collarbone.

Suddenly he began to back me up towards the bed, the backs of my legs pressing against the edge, and sat me down. I leaned back slightly as he kissed my lips, his hand cupping my face gently. He pulled back and I looked up at him standing above me quizzically.

“C-copia?” I stammered, heartbeat thrumming in my chest.

“You are mine, Si, Sorella?” He purred, his voice dangerously low.

“Of course,” I couldn’t help the blush spreading on my face as I reached out to cup his cheek, feeling him lean into my open palm. “Only ever yours, Copia. Nobody else…”

I’m not quite sure what came over us then, if it was the confession or if he finally understood that he had walked in on something innocent in the kitchens but suddenly it was like a race to undress Copia from his many layers. I pulled his ornate belt off, throwing it to the side, as he started unbuttoning the cassock. I started to unbutton him from the bottom, our hands meeting in the middle. He surged forward as I pushed his coat from his shoulders, his lips crashing into mine.

Our breath mingled, I let out a strangled moan as I pushed the suspenders from his shoulders, nails scraping down his back and leavening marks in his skin through his thin undershirt. He grunted, leaning down as we teased each other’s tongues, to haphazardly pull his shoes off and throw them behind him. I tugged at his shirt to untuck it from his trousers; desperate to finally, for the first time since our stolen moments began months ago, feel his bare skin against mine. Our mouths parted for only a moment as I pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it to the side before we crashed together again.

“Sorella…” Copia groaned as my hands tugged at his trousers, unbuttoning them and slipping my hands in to begin to push them down his hip. Copia’s forehead rested against mine, his eyes closed and I smiled, leaning in to kiss his forehead tenderly.

I leaned back on my elbows against the mattress, sliding back slightly, and locked my eyes with his own as I opened my legs for him. His eyes widened as he watched my hands drift from my breasts, teasing my own nipples with quiet moans, to slide down my body to slip in between my legs. Before I could touch myself however he was on the bed, his hand grabbing mine and pinning them above my head. Copia was leaning over me, his breath coming out in sharp pants as he looked at me with hooded eyes.

“I do not think you have earned relief yet, Tesoro.” His voice was thick with desire, his hips slotted against mine as he rolled them against me.

We both moaned, Copia leaning down to lick and suck a trail from the sensitive part of my neck to my breasts. I desperately wanted to thread my fingers through his hair but my hands were pinned to the mattress in his grip, I tugged slightly and whimpered as he slipped his tongue to tease my nipple. I arched up into his mouth, greedily searching out more of the sensation that sent shockwaves to my core. I rolled my hips against him again, a needy sort of whine slipping from my lips, as I felt Copia’s smirk into my skin.

“Please…Copia.” I begged, tears of frustration back as he took his time to tease me till I was panting beneath him. His free hand slipped between us and ghosted over my aching core. I moaned loudly, hips surging forward to find any sort of friction. Copia moved his fingers so they barely brushed against my soaking wet slit.

“Ah, mia bella, is this all for me?” He crooned in my ear, his lips brushing against the outside of my ear. A shudder ran through me and I thought I was going to simply combust if he didn’t touch me. “You are so wet for your Cardinale.”

His fingers finally slipped into my wet heat and my back arched as they slid against my clit. I cried out, wrists tugging against his vice grip, and closed my eyes as I felt the warm sensation of my slowly approaching orgasam coming. He teased me, my cunt clenching his fingers every time they just barely entered me. When he pulled his fingers away entirely I practically sobbed till I felt the head of his cock sliding up and down my sopping wet slit.

“Copia, please…” I pleaded, my finger scratching at his hand as I desperately fought to get out of his grip.

He didn’t answer me; instead he gripped my right thigh, hiking it up over his shoulder before he slammed fully inside me. I practically shrieked as he bottomed out inside me, our hips pressed flush together. He groaned, burying his face in my neck to suck and bite at my heated skin. He pulled out of me almost completely before snapping his hips and slamming back into me. I moaned his name, over and over, as my ass throbbed below me from sliding against the bedding beneath me.

He set a brutal pace, the sounds of our bodies coming together were borderline obscene in the quiet of Copia’s bedroom. The heat settling in my belly was consuming me, my body felt flushed and hot as I writhed underneath him. Copia’s free hand came to rest next to my head, he pushed himself up and finally let go of my hands as he tossed my other leg over his shoulder. His hands came to grip my hips tightly, pulling me along to match his thrusts, and he groaned deeply. My hands reached out to touch the exposed skin of his chest, nails raking through his chest hair and down his belly before I let them drift to grip onto his forearms. I held onto him, nails coming to dig into his skin, as I panted.

“Copia…I’m close.” I groaned, back arching as his hands moved to grip my shoulders, pinning me beneath him as his pace quickened.

“Sei mio, Sorella. Only mine.” He grunted above me and I nodded my head.

“Yes,” I panted, the coil in my belly curling tightly as my orgasam approached.

Suddenly Copia stopped, pulling out of me entirely. I cried out, the inferno in my belly blowing out to only a dull ache. Before I could physically attack him, Copia flipped me over on my hands and knees with strength I didn’t know he possessed. He curled around me, taking my wrists and pinning them down again in his hands as he slipped into my aching cunt. He slammed his hips against me, pace brutal as he fucked me harder than he ever had before.

The feeling of his hips slapping against my bruised ass was just on the right side of agony when matched with the feeling of his cock hitting deep inside me. I felt the tears pricking in my eyes. I felt like I was going to lose my mind, all I could focus on was the feeling of the man behind me who was using my body in such a delicious way.

“You cannot come, Sister. Not till I tell you too.” Copia’s voice was strained but dangerously low.

I nodded, not able to trust my voice but I felt his hand let go of mine and wrap around my throat. He squeezed firmly, a shockwave running down my spine and turning the coil of pleasure in my belly tight, I let out a strangled cry.

“Say it, amore.”

“Yes, Cardinal.”

“Who do you belong to?” He panted, hips shuddering in his rhythmic thrusts. I arched my back against him as he curled around me, his mouth coming to press frantic kisses to my shoulder.

“You Copia.” I cried, tears now streaming down my cheeks as I fought my orgasam. I was right on the edge, my cunt clenching against his cock as I tried to hold back.

“Who can touch you?”

“Only you.”

“Chi possiede la tua fica?” He growled in my ear, teeth digging into the flesh where my neck and shoulder met.

“Y-you!” I cried out “Copia, please! I-I cant…”

I felt a shutter building in my core and my hands reached back, digging my nails into his strong thighs as I panted below him. His grip on my throat tightened and my cunt clenched against his cock, a strangled cry slipping from my throat as he cursed in mumbled italian. His free hand slid between our bodies, his weight crushing against my back, and as his finger brushed my swollen clit he mumbled in my ear.

“Vieni a prendermi, Principessa.”

The grip on my throat flexed again and I felt the spring in my belly snap suddenly, I came harder than I ever had in my life. I practically screamed Copia’s name, muffled by my face buried in the bed at the last second. I felt a sharp pain bloom in my neck as Copia drilled into me, he had bit down on my neck so hard I knew I would have teeth marks for days. I didn’t care, I was barely coherent or even on this planet. Faintly I was aware of his thrusts losing his rhythm before his hips snapped roughly into me one more time. I felt his cock twitch as he came sharply, thrusting weakly through our aftershocks as shutters ran down my spine.

“Cara mia…” he whispered, his lips pressing soft kisses to my bare back as he eased me from my aching knees to my belly. His hands rubbed the back of my thighs as he pulled out of me, coming to curl around my body. “My good girl, absolutely perfecto…”

“Copia.” I murmured, a soft smile on my face and my eyes barely open as I turned on my side to face him. I felt his strong arms pull me towards him, our legs tangled together as we basked in the afterglow together. “That was…”

“Si, si.” He chucked, leaning forward to press a kiss to my forehead. “I-I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay, Cope…” I mumbled, burying my face in his chest as he smoothed my hair back and away from my face. I didn’t even register that I’d given him a pet name. “I think I could get used to that…”

“Oh mio amore…” Copia sighed, hand brushing against my cheek. “Stay tonight?”

“I don’t think I could make it back to my room if I tried…” I laughed, my eyes drifting open to look at his face. His paints were a complete mess and I smiled at him. “Go wash your face, I’ll fix the bed.”

He kissed me softly, fingers brushing against the love bite on my shoulder before he stood and walked over to where his bathroom must be. I couldn’t help but watch his thick thighs and ass wobble as he walked away, a familiar ache starting in my belly again. While I listened to the water running I slipped from the middle of the bed to the top, sliding under the covers to find silk sheets.

The rhythmic sound of the water made my eyelids slide closed, I didn’t even notice Copia come back into the room till I felt the bed dip slightly. I fought to open my eyes but he kissed my brow, tugging me to him again.

“Dormi, amore.” He chucked as I stifled a yawn. “You need rest.”

“Goodnight, Copia.” I mumbled as I buried my face in his chest, my legs tangling with his.

“Goodnight, mio amato.” He murmured in my ear as he kissed me softly. I was asleep before his lips left mine.

#Ghost #ghost band #Ghost the band #ghost bc #ghost fanfiction #cardinal copia x reader #Cardinal copia fanfic #my writing #fanfiction #popia copia #copia x reader #cardi c #papa emeritus x reader #LORD HELP ME FOR I HAVE SINNED WITH THIS ONE #JUST YOU ALL WAIT #THIS WILL BE WHEN THE BFFS BROTHER FINDS MY TUMBLER AND FINDS MY FILTH

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idkwhat132 · 5 months

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Rawr

#ultrakill #Gabriel #ultrakill gabriel #art #ultrakill fanart #ultrakill shitpost #rawr #rawr x3 #help #fanart #i watched a short that had ultrakill in it and this #lord forgive me #for i have sinned

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sleepystawbie · 1 year

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New brainworms wiggled so hard they wrote a fic. Mind the tags!

#ghoap #ghost soap #ghost x soap #soap ghost #soap x ghost #cod mwii #trash writes #fanfic #help me lord I have sinned

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alwaysleftmilkshake · 2 years

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I saw this and it deserves to be recognized by every Vincent simp.

Edit: @luc1dmoth I posted it hoping the creator could see it lol I'm sorry for not tagging you, I couldn't remember your name account.

#slashers #house of wax #vincent sinclair #forgive me lord #i have sinned #movies #horror #god help me.

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neroushalvaus · 5 months

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Tumblr in the 60s

☮ monkeewholock follow

🎉🎉CONGRATULATIONS UNITED KINGDOM 🎊🎊🎉🎉🎉🎉BYE BYE GROSS INDECENCY!!!!🌈🌈🌈 62 countries have now legalized sexual activities between men🌈🌈🌈

🐞 homophilespock follow

SPIRK CAN FINALLY FUCK

🚀 starrfleet follow

They are American, not British... But I'm pretty sure spirk has always been able to fuck since the show is set in the future.

📻 lesbianbobdylan follow

Christ, this is not about your cutesy uwu yaoi otp, go outside and smoke some grass

10,8 t. notes

🌻 flowerpower follow

Politicians are not your friends but damn Kennedy is fine, I look at one (1) picture of him and my head literally explodes

🌻 flowerpower follow

...i just woke up, why is my askbox full

🌻 flowerpower follow

WHY IS HE TRENDING I'M SCARED

🌻 flowerpower follow

guys stop reblogging this it's been like five years i've changed

290,9 t. notes

🎹 nixonsafascist follow

do you think they call him little richard because he has a little. Richard

🎹 nixonsafascist follow

easy website

58,1 t. notes

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Being the only lesbian in your friend group sucks so bad. "beatles or stones??" i will kill you

🗣 lavendermenaceisreal-deactivated72537262

Disrespecting female social groups for male validation? Typical lesbian behaviour.

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Mike Jacker isnt gonna fuck you

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial follow

Oh no I think she couldn't handle that

77 notes

✌ draftdodgerdyke

DM me for the addresses of my Swedish and Canadian friends. Do not put your personal information in the reblogs.

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

You should be ashamed of yourself.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

huh??

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

I said, you should be ashamed of yourself. You disgust me. I assure you, when the commies attack us, you will not find your silly little post "groovy" anymore.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Jesus, don't flip your wig

🙍‍♀️ silvermilk follow

My father fought in ww2 for you ungrateful degenerate.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Don't see what your daddy's unsexiness has to do with me and my lads taking a sexy sexy trip to Sweden.

#anyway only hot guys dodge the draft

587 notes

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

in every interview i watch of the beatles they are so DONE and trolling everybody, these fucking annoying BITCHES, i need them inside me so badly

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

#this but not john lennon #i just can't forget the heinous things he said about jesus

idk I actually think it was very sexy of him, stop trying to cancel john in my post

✝️ jesusrevolution follow

The reading comprehension on this website is piss poor. John literally didn't mean he was greater than Jesus or better than Jesus, he was just trying to make a point about the world becoming more secular. Cancel culture has gone too far.

🚷 to-hell-with-the-beatles follow

How dare you say we piss on the poor?? Jesus died for Mr Lennon's sins and it's not "cancelling" to send him a few respectably worded death threats to remind him of that. He cancelled our Lord first!

✝️ jesusrevolution follow

Girl Jesus literally said it's cool, I dropped acid yesterday and saw Him and He told me.

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians follow

help the girls (christians) are fighting in my beatles thirst post

6,008 notes

🛼 donovandyke follow

I will be glued to the tv today. If you don't want to hear about it, just blacklist #moonlanding !!

0 notes

🗣 claudeberger4ever-deactivated98975287

Hi I'm new to the Hair musical fandom so I'm not super invested in the whole discourse, but I just felt like this needed to be said: Friendly reminder that not being against the war in Vietnam does not make you a bad person!

🥁 ringoforpresident follow

it literally does tho

✌ draftdodgerdyke

Another win for us hot guys

17,2 t. notes

#how do i TAG THIS #can i just tag this ''funny'' or is that patting myself on the back too much #memes #dashboard meme #dash meme #1960s #my friend tirlittan came up with ''draftdodgerdyke''#i want that fictional blogger carnally #funny #tumblr in the 60s

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general-kalani · 10 months

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Just realised with how OC the sins ships are I'm going to need to make THEIR promo before I do anything else after their bios

Atm it's not too bad since I'm only considering TEC but who knows how long that will stay.

#the sins rp chronicles #{ out of the empire } ~ ooc #Gdi I just realised I have no real reason to use Ivan's icons past the fighter #Idek who the FC of the bomber will be #Lord help me why am I genuinely fixated on this #Boutta play sins with the rebel titan just to figure out wtf I'm doing LMFAO #Thank you all got being patient though I appreciate it

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raitonsfw · 2 months

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𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: | 1 | Gojo wanted to make you a mommy more than anything in the world... and he was fucking determined. | 2 | You couldn't even begin to fathom the feeling of Gojo's blindfold shielding you from existence, his hand tracing up your spine and you knew he wasn't going to make this easy for you.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader... | 1 | breeding kink, husband!gojo, positions (doggy style, missionary, over his shoulders), many creampies, dirty talk, praising, begging, slight fingering, body worship, p in v intercourse (obvi), rough sex, feral!gojo, talks of having his children, petnames (mama, babe) lord i have sinned cuz this downright filthy... | 2 | blindfolded reader, bondage, doggy style, fingering, p in v intercourse, dirty talk, teasing, cockdrunk!reader, rough sex, praising, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, good girl), mentions of riding and switching positions.

a/n: | 1 | i was posessed writing this one, i swear- wc: 600ish. | 2 | i think i'll make this thirst a staple, think we need to see more of reader wearing his blindfold... wc: 600ish. v-day list | m.list

thirst count: 2

divider credit: @hitobaby & @firefly-graphics

| 1 |

“So good for me… yeah that’s it, mama.” Gojo praised, patting the side of your leg with oomph as you whimpered out his name. He had your legs high in the air, over the mounds of his broad shoulders and you could barely see straight, the entirety of your brain mush as he drilled into you– his cock ramming up against your cervix every time he managed a deep thrust.

Which was every time, mind you.

Gojo had you in so many positions already; doggy had by far been the best for you, your moans muffled by the sheets you were thrown against and you arched your back through every thrust. It was heaven sent, you felt as his hands groped at your thighs, your waist, your ass. But he was indecisive– that fucker, and he wanted to see your face as he shot his third load into you so he flipped you over. His other two had dripped out of you and he cursed under his breath when he noticed, his fingers trying to plug it back up into you.

“Fuck…! –got my dick in a chokehold babe...” He groaned out, his voice breaking at the end of it and you tilted your head back into the feather of the pillows beneath you. He was being absolutely ruthless with you and you couldn’t help but clench around him every time he plunged into you roughly– it made him feral, his bright eyes wide with desire.

“Your body’s so fucking perfect–” He breathed out as your hips started to meet with his own, his eyes rolling back slightly and his love laced words slipped off his tongue with ease. Your breasts bounced prettily on your chest and your back had arched back up towards him, your tummy poking out slightly– which fed his urges. “Need you carrying my kid… Gotta see how sexy you’d look– how fucking gorgeous…”

Your mind short circuited, practically screaming out for him to breed you because, holy fuck that’s all you ever wanted in your lifetime– a kid, his kid. You wanted nothing more than to carry his child, a bond so strong no one would ever threaten to break it and you cried out in ecstasy as he glided his tongue against yours. He swallowed your pleads, rutting into you with pure purpose now and all you wanted him to do was fill you up– again and again and–

“God yes– you wanna have my children, hm…?” Gojo teased in between thrusts, your body trembling as your orgasm crept up your spine. “Can’t get it out of your head huh, with your pussy squeezing me like a vice– shit…! I’ll make you a mama if you ask nicely.”

“Please, Satoru..! Need it–” You babbled, too worked up to care about anything else– you needed his cum painting your cervix white, nothing could sway you out of this now as you yearned out his name over and over.

“That’s right, beg for it.”

And you did, with utmost obedience. Your vision became fuzzy, tiny bursts of color surrounding it as you felt your release harrowing through your body. Gojo’s thrusts faltered, stalled within you and a deep groan filled your ear as he pressed down onto you– trying to bury himself inside of you as he came. He held you against him with his moans panting out against your neck as he lazily rolled his hips into you, fucking his cum as deep as it could go.

“T-Think I’ll stay inside you for a while..wouldn’t want this batch dripping out of you too.” He muttered into your skin as he caught his breath, planting kisses down towards your collarbone. A broad hand laid against your tummy as you reveled in his touch, relaxing into the feeling of being close and full– so full still it made you shiver with anticipation because…

“Think she’ll take after her momma?”

| 2 |

You wished you had the dexterity of his six eyes; you couldn’t see shit through his blindfold as you zeroed in on the shifting behind you against the bed.

Gojo had you pinned, your wrists tied delicately together as your as tilted up against his pelvis. His hands ran down your thighs, spreading them apart with a simple motion and you could already feel the cold air against your exposed cunt. It wasn’t the best position for you– you wanted to see Gojo, you longed for his beauty inside and out. But at the same time, this thrilled you immensely.

The thought of his blindfold holding you hostage and maybe one of his old ones tied against your wrist – you couldn’t tell – but it was intoxicating to say the least. That he’d go to the lengths of letting you wear it, letting you wear something so sacred to him, to the abundance of his entirety. At that moment, you felt his fingers swipe through your arousal and you whined out in frustration.

“Patience, baby. Don’t gotta wait too long– I got you.” Gojo hummed, plunging two fingers in simultaneously and you keened into it. “Arch some more for me– let me see that pretty pussy, hm?”

And you did the best you could, fucking yourself back on his fingers in the process; you were pleased with yourself when you heard his breath hitch behind you. And the precious sound of his clothes shuffling around his knees. God, you were so drunk for his cock– your entire cunt was dripping for it, messing the sides of your thighs.

You whined out again, not realizing how close he was to you. You jumped slightly at the sound of his voice against the shell of your ear. “You’re not very patient. Here, this feel better?” Gojo pressed the crown of his cock against your entrance and a sharp gasp fell from your lips, mixing with his own groan. “Ah– Of course it does... Ass up, sweetheart.”

His hands gripped the sides of your waist, positioning himself at just the right angle to fuck into you. Gojo didn’t give you a chance to breathe, to even slide yourself wider on the bed to take him– he just fucking sunk right in with no remorse and hoped you wouldn’t break underneath him. As he stretched you out, you couldn’t help but moan out his name and clench around him as he bottomed out.

“That’s it, princess. Go on, take my cock.” He huffed out, thrusting into you roughly and you laxed from the pleasure that coursed through your pussy as his cock dragged deliciously against the warmth of your walls. He filled you up so nicely in this position and it took everything in him to not just manhandle you– to not just straight up hold you against him and rut into you.

You could hear nothing but his harsh pants and the wet squelching of your cunt being abused and it fucking turned you on more than it should’ve– his blindfold brought so much more of your other senses that it nearly drove you wild each time his hips snapped into you. His hands roamed each and every crevice of your skin as he leaned over you, pressing his chest flush with your back.

“Such a good girl… sucks you can’t see me, huh? Betcha reallly want to.” Gojo panted in your ear, kissing behind it with a quiet groan overtaking him when you inadvertently squeezed around him– his voice just caught you so off guard, your senses totally obscured and you couldn’t help it.

“Next time, we can switch– you’ll ride me while I’m tied up, yeah? I’ll even close my eyes for you, level the playing field a bit…”

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spiltcandycoatedpunkblood · 1 year

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when evil guys in media do that stupid smug evil grin and I melt and want to rip my soul out of my body from the overwhelming flustered and horny feeling I get

#lord help me for i have sinned just by looking at him doing just that #the thoughts i have...#villains #fictional crushes #lmaoooo #never underestimate my gayness when i see any kind of male villain

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tteokdoroki · 6 months

Note

Thinking about the freshly corrupted priest Gojo pumping his dick in the confession booth while the sinful vixen sitting in the other cabin went from confessing her sins of corrupting one of the local fathers and having him cream down her throat to giving him instructions on how to handle his throbbing cock lovingly

Go faster now, father- squeeze the tip just a little bit...yes that's a good boy...now spit on it, make a mess of yourself and give everyone a show, all their eyes are peering down and up on you.

And with that, good morning aali my love <3

-glasses anon

☆༉ — SATORU GOJO. confessional.

about. you confess your sins to father satoru, but with the lust bubbling between you both, things get a little carried away.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, sacrilege, religious imagery/references, guided masturbation, male masturbation, priest!gojo, fem!reader, wc: 1.6K.

what good is a priest who can’t follow his own teachings? one that succumbs to the slightest hint of femme fatale?

gojo thought himself a strong man. a good one. but once again, he’d found himself drinking from the devil’s cup offered up by a lost little angel who has strayed away from her path to light.

“and i really didn’t mean to. father toji— i mean fushiguro— seemed so stressed! like he needed a helping hand.” you whimper unevenly from your side of the confessional booth. guilt buzzes in satoru’s veins as he imagines you teary eyed and distraught on the other side of the wall. the mere idea of you crying sends pleasure and lustful hormones shooting through his bloodstream and right down to his erection — the tip flushing a shameful shade of bright red.

you continue relentlessly, each word a breathless whisper laid over the swell of your sinful lips.“s-so i offered some relief in the only way i know how. i let him use my body, let him use my throat. he said it was okay…” but i just feel so wrong for corrupting him like that under the watchful eye of the lord. is it wrong that i liked it, father ‘toru. having that man’s cum pour down my throat?”

you’ve strayed too far away from the light and you’re pulling him into the darkness with you.

“f-fuck.”

“is something wrong father toru, your voice sounds rather strained.” by the tone of your own, he can just tell that you have your head cocked to the side innocently. perhaps your lip is caught daringly between your teeth — eyes gleaming with mischief while you mask your amusement at the damage you’ve caused. the young priest’s dick throbs against his inner thigh, smearing white along his baby soft skin. satoru grabs at his girth, squeezing it as if to stave off the pleasure that he should be disgusted by.

clearing his throat, gojo internally curses as the words stick to its ridges — almost as if he doesn’t believe what comes out of his own mouth next. “i-i’m fine. have you prayed? i’m sure he would forgive you for your sins.”

“i’ve been on my knees every night.” you mumble through a pout that he can’t see — earning another hiss from the priest while his angry red cockhead starts to bleed more arousal, forming a dark stain that seep’s through the fabric of his black slacks. “if you don’t mind me asking… does it hurt, father toru?”

“does what hurt?” he exhales slowly, pearly white lashes fluttering against the apples of his cheeks. gojo, against his better judgments, pops the button of his pants to provide some relief to his aching cock. it doesn’t help at all.

“your cock. father fushiguro felt the same after i confessed what i’d done with father getou.”

shit. “yes… it does.”

“i maybe be able to help.” your voice somehow sounds closer — as if you’re in the booth with him. “can you touch it… touch yourself for me, please?”

when you ask him so sweetly, how can father satoru say no? he follows your instructions like a man charmed by a succubus from the deep depths of hell. his whole body shudders and his breath stutters when he finally takes his forth between his king and slender fingers, squeezing at the base as precum beads like a rare oyster’s pearl in the centre of his slit.

this is so wrong. “holy…holy shit,” but it already feels so good. gojo hisses, chest heaving as he instinctively bucks into his closed fist. it’s warm, sends shockwaves of pleasure down his spine to build in his pelvis while each vein that wraps prettily around his cock pulses with a new wave of lust laden blood. “what should i…?” he coughs shakily, hips slowly beginning to fuck upwards to chase the feeling of his palm. “what should i do now?”

“spit on it, father.” you command him gently, blessing him with your praise where the higher being above might condemn him. “get it nice and wet for me, like i would, okay? squeeze the tip when you do—“

father ‘toru easily follows your word as if it reads passages from the bible. carefully, he leans forward — letting hot, gooey trails of spit dribble over his blistering and bright cockchead. his entire body twitches at the new sensation, which is surprisingly cool in comparison to how hot his body feels. sweat tracks it’s way down his body, soiling his hood robes and freshly pressed clothes. it makes his pure white locks stick to his forehead, and gathers on his cupid’s bow and it really is all too much.

he feels like hell on earth.

there’s a dull thud that echoes from satoru’s side of the booth, his head knocking against the wooden walls when it falls back. in the same breath, a loud and borderline pornographic moan rips it’s way through satoru’s firm chest — it battles through his lips (caught between sets of perfect white teeth), and reverberates throughout the confessional booth, no doubt catching the attention of people passing by.

“ohmygod,” comes his pathetic whimper while he clenches around himself once again, throat bobbing as he swallows down his sinful sounds. “why does that feel so fucking good? g-god, please!”

satoru’s fall from grace makes a sick smile spread across your lips and you cock your head to the side. you can only imagine what he looks like if this is how he sounds, his clothes a sweaty mess, his eyes delirious and darkened with ungodly and immoral desire. all this while he begs for god, begs for forgiveness, begs for you.

“you’re doing so well for me, ‘toru. can you go a little faster for me? now that it’s nice and wet.” the way his name falls gently from your tongue is like thick honey running through satoru’s ears — you drag a veil of lust over his mind and once again he follows your orders. he pumps himself faster, harder, precum slinging over the edge of his knuckles as they turn as white as his hair from the grip he has on himself.

he can’t help but let his mind stray and wander off into damned territory — chasing the vision that his clouded mind creates for him. would your cunt feel as good as this? wrap around him as tightly? a stream of unfiltered and colourful curses pour from gojo’s mouth in a similar manner to the arousal from his mushroomed tip, dripping a searing hot trail down to his throbbing balls.

lewd squelches slip through the cracks of the confessional booth and filter right through to you. satoru has no idea how pleased you are to have ruined him, how much you’ve longed to hear him mewl and sigh from touching himself against the will of god. “you sound so messy, ‘toru,” you moan out just to mock him a little — listening out for his strained and strangled whines, gargling down the saliva that pools on his tongue. “think you can make an even bigger mess for me, father? one that everyone will see. those above….” you purr, the tail end of your words harmonising with gojo’s hiccups. “and those below.”

satoru is no better than a sinner come to spill their truths to him. sitting there with his painfully hard dick in his hands, fisting it to oblivion as opaque white stains his hands and his fingers and his knuckles. there’s so much of it, so much lust and precum and he hasn’t even reached his peak yet. everything is so fucking hot, his dick slick between his sticky thighs and all-too-tight robes.

“almost there, satoru. i need you to let go for me.”

your goading voice through the thick oak wall pushes satoru’s hips to canter up higher and higher. he wants to please you so bad that it hurts and makes him cry. he whispers your name into the buzzing air like it’s a prayer, chanting it over and over again until it becomes the only word he knows.

“fuck… i can’t—“ gojo sighs airily, his thighs shuddering as the knots in his stomach begin to unravel. “christ… I feel like ‘m gonna burst!” angelic blue eyes roll deep back into the man’s skull, disappearing from the world to hide from the atrocities he’s committed.

“then let go, let it all out. you’ve done so well.” you say sweetly over the sound of gojo languidly jacking himself off. one, two and three more pumps before he’s releasing thick white ropes of cum over his robe and his chest — seeping into his clothes.

gojo’s so fucking dizzy, cumming so hard that he sees bright lights and swears that he’s landed at the gates of heaven — though he’s sure his actions today would stop him from getting in. there’s a ringing in his ear as he comes back down but all of his limbs feel heavy, he’s too weak to move.

“f-father satoru?” you whisper innocently, as if your very voice didn’t lead the man to death. “i think our time is up.”

“yeah?” he mumbles in response, the words slipping around on his tongue. “i think… you did good today. you’ll have to come back again next week, to make another confession.”

if only he could see your sick little smile, one might have thought you were the devil. who knows what’ll happen if you’re alone together in a confined space. “if that’s what you need from me, father.” you giggle slyly. “see you next week.”

“see you next week.” gojo repeats.

and just like that, you’ve dragged the poor priest into the corrupted depths of hell.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #angelshubnetwork #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚✉️੭ — new notification #ʚ glasses anon anon’ ɞ

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midnightsslut · 6 days

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religion is one of the most prominent recurring themes on the album, and it has been present in some capacity for quite a few records now. taylor previously compared love to religion: her saving grace, her belief system, and a fated divine intervention (false god, cornelia street, and cruel summer are the best examples of this). ‘sacred new beginnings that became my religion’ and ‘we’d still worship this love even if it’s a false god’ are two of the defining statements about her philosophy on the lover album.

taylor doesn’t want to leave all of that behind on ttpd, at least not at the beginning. the first supernatural force she mentions is the spaceship on down bad, which she compares to a skylight of freedom in the epilogue. *something* has finally come to save her from her life of suffering. she doesn’t care if it’s a force of good at first; if anything, she’s just fine being taken away by aliens. she views this man as her destiny. it isn’t until guilty as sin? that taylor starts to ponder the moral implications of what she’s doing. is she guilty as sin for wanting to leave her previous religion and relationship behind? she comes to the conclusion that, even if she rolls the stone away and gets resurrected/redeemed, she cannot avoid the fallout. she is okay with the thought of having to wait, as long as both lovers vow to be together forever, just as she once did with someone else in false god. ‘I choose you and me religiously’ finishes the bridge of the song in a direct callback to cornelia street.

the next mention of religion has murkier imagery. she claims that she does not need the Lord’s help to save this man. she sees the halo that he has, and she can fix him herself. now that she feels free of her prior cage, she isn’t looking for divine intervention anymore. she wants control. she is their route to salvation.

when the relationship falls apart, she retreats back into the position of a believer rather than a divine figure. she compares him to a Holy Ghost who promised to save her and take her to heaven. instead, she is in hell in every sense of the word: she’s down bad and feels guilty for digging up the grave. he was a jehovah’s witness who promised that she could break free of the cage imposed by love without changing her religion altogether; she would’ve just had to switch denominations. she could still have a marriage and kids! she could still have a blue tortured poet! the man was different, but not the dreams they had together. the story of the first part of the album ends here. her faith has been broken, and she has only found any semblance of sanity by refusing to mention these belief systems altogether.

side b/the anthology blends the christian imagery of side a with goddesses, sorcerers, and prophecies. she bargains with these powers to let her have the future she wants (the prophecy). she doesn’t sound like someone believing in salvation. if anything, she feels cursed. she decides that the concept of divinely ordained timing will never work in certain relationships (‘the goddess of timing once found us beguiling / she said she was trying / peter, was she lying?’). this disdain extends onto her perception of other people’s faith (‘bet they never spared a prayer for my soul’). she does position herself as a prophet in cassandra, but even then, she admits that the role has hurt her. perhaps the pain in thank you aimee was meant to be, or perhaps she was just strong enough to build a legacy in spite of it, boulder by boulder. is she a martyr? does she want to be? or did she save herself?

the only real love song on this half of the album makes no mention of fate or any divine forces. it wasn’t meant to be. it’s not a supernatural invisible string or lightning in a bottle. she is just in love.

the album ends with the manuscript, which revisits an old story of a defining, formative heartbreak. as she sings ‘at last, she knew what the agony had been for’ while describing the legacy of her writing, she seems to revert to thinking about the purpose of trauma. the only exception is that, in this case, she is the one who found meaning in her pain by turning it into a manuscript. writing is her belief system now, and she proselytizes by telling her stories and thus giving up the manuscript.

ultimately, her belief in destiny has chewed her up and spat her out. she so desperately clung to her existing belief systems that she was fooled by a conman, which left her feeling cursed. religion is supposed to be with someone even in their darkest moments, but the album explains that taylor often felt abandoned. the only constant in her life was, well, herself. she’ll be okay, but her pen will be her saving grace.

#idk why I wrote this essay but it needed to be said #this could be taken further by actually unpacking each mention of religion on midnights and lover but i ain’t doing all that #the manuscript #cassandra #Cornelia street #false god #cruel summer #lover #the prophecy #the smallest man who ever lived #but daddy I love him #I can fix him #guilty as sin #ttpd #thank you Aimee #peter

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lou-struck · 1 year

Text

They Said No... Part 1

Obey Me! x MC!

Featuring: Lucifer, Mammon, and Leviathan

Part 2 HERE

Part 3 HERE

~Regular projects are being put on pause because I am a bit stressed. And I feel like this will help me out.

~We all get asked to do things sometimes that we do not want to do. And it's okay to say no, but sometimes you need a little extra help to get the point across.

Warnings: Pushy Demons, talk of pact control,

Lucifer

The eldest Avatar of Pride tries to hide the spring in his step as he approaches your meeting place. He had managed to work through all of the day's paperwork, and to celebrate, he was planning on taking you out to a nice meal on the town.

But as he gets closer, he sees a few familiar noble demons practically standing over you. The polite smile that rests on your lips is betrayed by your overly tense body language and the grip you have on your DDD. Clearly, you would like to be anywhere else.

His brow furrows in concern as he focuses his attention on your conversion to see what exactly it is they want with you. Knowing that he can't just step in on your conversation without a good reason. Especially in High society.

"I will not do that; it is not right." your voice says, sounding quite annoyed at the situation you are in. It makes Lucifer chuckle to himself; you are just as headstrong as ever. But he does wonder what deed these men are asking you to do that frustrates you so.

The Demon clears his throat haughtily and steps closer to you, his companion mirroring the action, not giving you a chance to walk away. "It's for the good of the Devildom MC if you were to just use that silly little pact mark of yours and order Lucifer to drag his feet on signing off on that royal proclamation the Demon Lord has put out. We will happily be on our way and out of your hair."

Lucifer's jaw clenches furiously at the Demon's words. Ever since word of your pact with the eldest avatar of sin has spread through the Devildom, he has been waiting for insignificant worms to try and abuse the pacts. The Larger of the two demons is a known instigator of political conflict, thriving on the chaos of delayed legislation and discord. His beady eyes stare down at you condescendingly as he flares his dragonfly-shaped wings in the hope of intimidating you into doing his bidding.

"I don't use my pacts," you spit, a nervous tremor to your voice. Your strength may be great, but you haven't the energy to deal with these Demons right now. "Please leave me alone."

"You will do what I want," the Winged Demon snarls, reaching out toward your arm.

"That's enough," Lucifer cuts in, stepping down the corner as if he has only just stumbled upon this little scene. The three of you turn towards him instantly, and the two demons take a large step away from you cowardly. "Now, my human has clearly said no to whatever it was you were trying to get them to do, so be on your way."

Too afraid to say anything else, the two demons rush away, leaving you alone with the Avatar of Pride. You throw yourself into his chest, your body shaking a bit as you relax.

"I did say no, Lucifer," you say into his collar. "Did you hear me? I would never want to do that to you, I promise."

"I heard everything; you did nothing wrong." he soothes; dealing with those demons can wait for later, but for now, he needs to take care of you.

Mammon

Mammon loves to spoil you more than anything in the three realms. The days after he plays well at the casino are spent in luxury; he takes you to the best shops and restaurants in the Devildom, more than ready to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.

The café you were at is no exception with its luxuriously decadent sweets and, as Mammon had just found out, the fully stocked bathroom of complimentary samples. After sticking a handful of the mini cologne samples into his pocket, he comes back to the table to where you are sitting. But as he approaches your sweet little table in the corner, he notices you are no longer alone. The previously unoccupied seats at your table are now in use by some demons he knows.

Mammon may not be the best judge of character, but even he knows these guys are bad news. In the past, they have tried to start numerous sham businesses and fraudulent get-rich-quick schemes.

Why in Diavolo would they be talking to his human? This is supposed to be his time with you?.

He feels his protective greed towards you start to flare up as he approaches a table, his superior hearing picking up a bit of their conversation.

"Come on, doll face," the blond one coo's leaning back on the seat next to yours, "We got a great opportunity for Mammon; he just needs a bit of convincing to agree."

You shake your head now and, with a politeness that would put even Barbados to shame, and say that Mammon is perfectly capable of making these decisions for himself.

The trust that you have for your first Demon causes a heavy flush to appear on his cheeks.

"Don't be like that, Mc," the other one pushes, swinging a lazy arm over your shoulder. Not seem to care that you tense up under the weight of his unwelcome touch. "if you do this for us, two pretty influential demons will owe you a favor."

The touch is the straw that broke the camel's back. No one gets to act so freely with his human. "Oi, get yer own human," he shouts, rushing forward and pulling you from the Demon's grip. "Come on, Mc, they don't got anythin worth lookin' at."

Not caring about the uneaten treats that have just arrived at the table, he leads you away from those creeps and out of the cafe.

Once alone and safe, he shoots you a wink. "Next time, just don't say anything to those losers. The Great Mammon will keep em away."

Leviathan

Levi's merch collection is one of the most coveted of the entire Devildom. His Figurines, Manga, DVDs, and memorabilia are worth a small fortune thanks to his fascination and skill as a top Otaku.

He has a sixth sense for picking out the most sought-after merch.

His fans on his online servers love his collection almost as much as he does. Blowing up his chat whenever he unboxes a new figurine.

He loves it, but he prefers to keep his online life online. Especially when he has to leave the house to go to RAD.

Today is one of those days; although most of his classes are online, he still has to show up to campus to take exams. With his exam done, he leaves the testing center and goes to find the classroom where you are studying.

As he approaches the open door, he sees you having a conversation with a demon he thinks he recognizes.

Not one for unwanted social interaction; he waits outside only to hear the conversation that the two of you are having.

"Please, Mc, you gotta give me that figurine. Levi-chan will never love Zaramela as I do. It will be the perfect addition to my collection." they plead, sinking to their knees and staring up at you with watery avian esque eyes. Zaramela is one of Levi's favorite Idols; he won a contest the other day for one of her limited-edition singing figurines.

Levi has already turned down many people's requests to buy it, wanting to keep it for himself. But now they're going through you to try and get him to hand it over. It's so gross it makes him want to shut himself away in his room and never come out. Curiously he waits for you to respond to the crying Demon.

"He already told you that he wasn't going to give it away. "You stay calm, taking a step back to create some distance between you and the Demon. "You're just gonna have to find something else for your collection."

"No," they shout, springing to their feet, "I need her; I need her. Why don't you do this one thing for me?"

Levi knows his Henry can handle this guy, but the pushiness the Demon is showing towards you is something that makes his blood boil.

"Like MC would ever listen to a normie like you, you are a disgrace to the fandom." Levi spits with a confidence he didn't know he possessed as he takes your hand and walks you back to the house of lamination.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 5 months

Text

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

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

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

Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they're more than enough.

Or at least they should be…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Why not?”

You look at König; he looks straight back.

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

“I can help,” he grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

You feel like Cinderella when picking clothes for the evening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not a date, you remind yourself.

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

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

Can a man of his size even keep quiet?

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

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

“Kätzchen...”

“König…?”

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

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

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

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

Could a grown man get any more silly?

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

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

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

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

“Kitty… Live a little, hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re crazy, did you know that...?”

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

“...What’s that?”

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

“You’re cute.”

…

The whole evening is heavenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nuns are allowed to dance, no?”

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does want to.

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

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

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

“This is–”

“Inappropriate?”

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

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

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

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

God… This is better than God…

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

You can still turn back if you turn back now…

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…”

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

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

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

…

The rose withers in your cell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

Work, time and prayer do ease the pain.

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

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

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

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

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

“Kätzchen.”

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

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

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

“Dear God… What happened to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it does make you very happy.

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

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

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

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

“Someone, who?”

“Someone to hold hands with.”

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

You swallow, and slowly guide your eyes to his.

“Are you still happy with your crucified man?”

Ouch.

“I… I don’t know.”

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

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

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

Your heart skips a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

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

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

“Are you crying?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Praying helps sometimes,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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