#Slaughtered Priest

[gemshroud]

Happy Father's Day from Artemis Entreri. Sometimes it is self care to kill your dad and blow up his house <3

[clerichs-xi]

tender as a bruise, sharper than a razor wrap her tentacles around me like she'll never let me go

klaus' backstory arc just ended heho and it was revealed he used to be the lover of the goddess of storms and pirates... she had basically kidnapped him and imprisoned him into murder and piracy for 20 years and needless to say it greatly damaged him on every level <3 its okay he's been able to be normal for once since the start of the campaign thanks to the party aka his new found family

get urself a surrogate middle-aged father who can speedrun a forbidden romance in one minute and then immediately go to confront the darkest version/a corrupted version of himself, as well as his toxic lover as she tortures him -w-)b

details and just the lines hehe

[naemors-a]

k’uk’ulkan would rather die than speak spanish, he wouldn’t be caught dead talking in the language that oppressed his people

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Massacre of Ahab’s Descendants

1 Now Ahab had seventy sons in Samaria. So Jehu wrote letters and sent them to Samaria, to the rulers of the city, to the elders, and to the guardians of the sons of Ahab, saying, 2 “Since your master’s sons are with you and you have at your disposal chariots and horses, a fortified city, and weapons, 3 select the son of your master who is the best qualified, set him on his father’s throne, and fight for your master’s house.” 4 But they were utterly terrified and said, “Look, two kings could not withstand him; how then can we stand?” 5 So the steward of the palace and the governor of the city, along with the elders and the guardians, sent word to Jehu, “We are your servants; we will do anything you say. We will not make anyone king; do whatever you think right.” 6 Then he wrote them a second letter, saying, “If you are on my side and if you are ready to obey me, take the heads of your master’s sons and come to me at Jezreel tomorrow at this time.” Now the king’s sons, seventy persons, were with the leaders of the city, who were charged with their upbringing. 7 When the letter reached them, they took the king’s sons and killed them, seventy persons; they put their heads in baskets and sent them to him at Jezreel. 8 When the messenger came and told him, “They have brought the heads of the king’s sons,” he said, “Lay them in two heaps at the entrance of the gate until the morning.” 9 Then in the morning when he went out, he stood and said to all the people, “You are innocent. It was I who conspired against my master and killed him, but who struck down all these? 10 Know, then, that there shall fall to the earth nothing of the word of the Lord that the Lord spoke concerning the house of Ahab, for the Lord has done what he said through his servant Elijah.” 11 So Jehu killed all who were left of the house of Ahab in Jezreel, all his leaders, close friends, and priests, until he left him no survivor.

12 Then he set out and went to Samaria. On the way, when he was at Beth-eked of the Shepherds, 13 Jehu met relatives of King Ahaziah of Judah and said, “Who are you?” They answered, “We are kin of Ahaziah; we have come down to visit the royal princes and the sons of the queen mother.” 14 He said, “Take them alive.” They took them alive and slaughtered them at the pit of Beth-eked, forty-two in all; he spared none of them.

15 When he left there, he met Jehonadab son of Rechab coming to meet him; he greeted him and said to him, “Is your heart as true to mine as mine is to yours?” Jehonadab answered, “It is.” Jehu said, “If it is, give me your hand.” So he gave him his hand. Jehu took him up with him into the chariot. 16 He said, “Come with me and see my zeal for the Lord.” So he had him ride in his chariot. 17 When he came to Samaria, he killed all who were left to Ahab in Samaria, until he had wiped them out according to the word of the Lord that he spoke to Elijah.

Slaughter of Worshipers of Baal

18 Then Jehu assembled all the people and said to them, “Ahab offered Baal small service, but Jehu will offer much more. 19 Now therefore summon to me all the prophets of Baal, all his servants, and all his priests; let none be missing, for I have a great sacrifice to offer to Baal; whoever is missing shall not live.” But Jehu was acting with cunning in order to destroy the servants of Baal. 20 Jehu decreed, “Sanctify a solemn assembly for Baal.” So they proclaimed it. 21 Jehu sent word throughout all Israel; all the servants of Baal came, so that there was no one left who did not come. They entered the temple of Baal until the temple of Baal was filled from wall to wall. 22 He said to the keeper of the wardrobe, “Bring out the vestments for all the servants of Baal.” So he brought out the vestments for them. 23 Then Jehu entered the temple of Baal with Jehonadab son of Rechab; he said to the servants of Baal, “Search and see that there is no servant of the Lord here among you but only servants of Baal.” 24 Then they proceeded to offer sacrifices and burnt offerings.

Now Jehu had stationed eighty men outside, saying, “Whoever allows any of those to escape whom I deliver into your hands shall forfeit his life.” 25 As soon as he had finished presenting the burnt offering, Jehu said to the guards and to the officers, “Come in and kill them; let no one escape.” So they put them to the sword. The guards and the officers threw them out and then went into the citadel of the temple of Baal. 26 They brought out the pillar that was in the temple of Baal and burned it. 27 Then they demolished the pillar of Baal and destroyed the temple of Baal and made it a latrine to this day.

28 Thus Jehu wiped out Baal from Israel. 29 But Jehu did not turn aside from the sins of Jeroboam son of Nebat that he caused Israel to commit: the golden calves that were in Bethel and in Dan. 30 The Lord said to Jehu, “Because you have done well in carrying out what I consider right and in accordance with all that was in my heart have dealt with the house of Ahab, your sons of the fourth generation shall sit on the throne of Israel.” 31 But Jehu was not careful to follow the law of the Lord the God of Israel with all his heart; he did not turn from the sins of Jeroboam that he caused Israel to commit.

Death of Jehu

32 In those days the Lord began to trim off parts of Israel. Hazael defeated them throughout the territory of Israel: 33 from the Jordan eastward, all the land of Gilead, the Gadites, the Reubenites, and the Manassites, from Aroer, which is by the Wadi Arnon, that is, Gilead and Bashan. 34 Now the rest of the acts of Jehu, all that he did, and all his power, are they not written in the Book of the Annals of the Kings of Israel? 35 So Jehu slept with his ancestors, and they buried him in Samaria. His son Jehoahaz succeeded him. 36 The time that Jehu reigned over Israel in Samaria was twenty-eight years. — 2 Kings 10 | New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition (NRSVUE) New Revised Standard Version, Updated Edition. Copyright © 2021 National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. All rights reserved worldwide. Cross References: Exodus 22:20; Exodus 32:4; Leviticus 26:25; Numbers 11:12; Deuteronomy 2:36; Joshua 9:5; Joshua 9:8; Joshua 15:56; 2 Samuel 4:2; 1 Kings 12:28; 1 Kings 14:23; 1 Kings 16:31-32; 1 Kings 18:40; 1 Kings 19:10; 1 Kings 19:17; 1 Kings 21:19; 1 Kings 22:6; 2 Kings 5:6; 2 Kings 8:24; 2 Kings 9:8; 2 Kings 9:14; 2 Kings 9:24; 2 Kings 11:1; Psalm 39:1; Jeremiah 41:5; Matthew 22:11; Galatians 2:9

[angstandhappiness]

Nice tags

@coffin-dwelling-tramp #something is wrong with yall tbh. i am the priests least favorite lamb and he wouldnt dare to to put the rope around me and he never pets me#but i dont need him to because i am an animal and prefer the company of other animals. my eyes are too wise and as he leads my brother to#the slaughter I glare accusingly and bleat loudly as the crowd gathers because my brother will not but he should!! and when he comes back as#another tiny pure white baby i clean him of the birth mess and try to teach him how to butt his head when the priest touches him and bite#hard but he wont. he wont. i will never be the sacrifice but i will always be horrified that someone else must be#okay maybe theres something wrong with me too

i'm literally the priest's favorite sacrificial lamb because i am so docile and sweet and i hold very still when they put the rope around my neck and i trot along so happily while they lead me to the altar and they do not even have to tie me down because i lie so very still and only bleat once or twice in my lovely lamb voice and when the knife comes down it cuts through me like butter and i offer no resistance and i bleed so prettily all over my new white wool and my guts all unspool like the most beautiful shining yarn and my eyes are animal and dumb and hold no accusation and every time i die i come right back as another little lamb because the priest loves me so so much and he always chooses me for the sacrifice every time and he always places one hand on my small and twitching nose to calm me while he lifts the knife and he doesn't do it for the other lambs only me because i'm his favorite

[imperiuswrecked]

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian babies that were left to starve to death then rot in their beds by the IOF.

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian doctors surrounded by bodies of dead children begging the world to stop the slaughter.

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian children who held a press conference in English to beg the world to stop murdering them because they want to live.

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian Priest who said "We will not accept your apology after the genocide" to the world.

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian Imam who used the speakers of the Mosque, not to call people to prayer but to call out to God while the world around them was burning from American supplied Israeli bombs.

I'm never forgetting the grandfather who held his dead grandchild in his arms. Or the father carrying the remains of his two children in plastic shopping bags. Or the mother holding her dead child in a shroud. Or the father sitting among the rubble after he lost his whole family. Or the girl trapped under a broken building begging for people to save her family first. Or the boy who cried when he saw his brother alive. Or the girl who asked if she was still alive after being pulled from the rubble. Or the boy who carried the remains of his brother in his backpack. Or the old man the IOF used for a photoshoot before they shot him dead after getting pictures. Or the little boy wearing plastic gloves to pick up the remains of his family. Or the graves desecrated. Or the body of that small baby girl left alone in a tent because no one knew who she was or if her family was alive, small and alone and not one person who knew her name to bury her. Or the young boy who was shot in the street while his sister watched from the window. Or the men and boys who were stripped naked in winter. Or those tortured. Or those made to stand in open graves. Or the people who were raped by IOF soldiers. Or Palestinian workers kidnapped by the IOF and then labeled with wristbands, each one reduced to a number, then made to walk back to Gaza to be killed in the world's largest open air concentration camp. Or the people of Gaza starving because Israeli Zionists are blocking aid trucks. Or the Israelis dancing and celebrating the death of Palestinians. Or the lies spread by Zionists and their supporters. Or the people profiting off the oppression and deaths of Palestinians. Or the people of the West Bank being killed or kidnapped by the IOF. Or old woman who was older than the creation of the terror state of "Israel" who was shot by snipers for saying that. Or the Israelis dressed up as Palestinians to enter a hospital and kill three Palestinians in their beds. Or every single Palestinian currently kept in an Israeli prison. Or the journalists, doctors, poets, men, women, children, and the unborn all massacred. Or the fact that WCNSF exists now. Or the woman who refused to wash the blood from her hands. Or the dead, unburied and unmourned.

I'm never forgetting those who chose silence in the face of a genocide.

I may not know all their names but I will not forget the over 30,000 Palestinians dead. Or the over 60, 000 people hurt. Or the unknown number of people missing, still lost under the rubble. Or the 12,000 children slaughtered. An entire generation crippled or murdered.

I will never forget these things when Palestine is free.

[werecreature-addicted]

Sacrificial Lamb reader/vampire priest.

Just consider— a cute little lamb reader lying on the altar, begging not to be slaughtered, the tears their crying making the vampires heart flutter. All the cult members are confused why the ritual keeps getting pushed back- meanwhile the vampire is spoiling his little lamb rotten.

ohioohooohiohoo

His hands are gentle, stroking your cheek as you wake slowly, your eyes flutter open slowly to the morning light, and there he is, your keeper.

"Morning," you yawn sleepily,

"Good morning, little one,"

"is it a good morning? I thought my execution was scheduled for today." you huff, you should be more scared but the soft look on his face can only mean one thing. you get out of bed and change idly, not minding the priest as he watches you, he's a man of god after all, there's no way he'd be looking at you in lust.

"ah well, we thought so but some knew doctrine has come to light, now is not the time for sacrifices. we'll have to wait for next winter, at the very least," he says. You hum thoughtfully turning back to face him, his hungry red eyes fixed on your body, flicking up to meet your face as you turn around.

"Well, I'll make myself useful until winter then." When you were born, it had been prophecized that you would be sacrificed to the gods and your death would bring about a new golden age for your homeland. Then, on your eighteenth birthday, you'd been handed over to the church, to live out your final days in the temple, under the watchful gaze of the father and his dedicated cult. Your execution has been postponed four times now.

You wondered if the cultists even bothered setting up the altar this time. it was always something, the stars weren't aligned properly, the materials were all wrong, you fell ill and couldn't be slaughtered while sick, and now, Spring was a time for rebirth, you'd have to wait for winter for the ritual. which winter? who's to say? it might be another few years before he tries to start your sacrifice again.

He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. he puts his nose to your throat and kisses your skin. "You could be useful to me now," he breathes, his voice strained, tight with hunger. You had been so scared the first time you'd almost been killed, you remembered sobbing and pleading for your life, his knife poised above your throat, He told you that you could live, for now, if you served the cult and him. Of course, you agreed, that was the first time he bit you, spilling your blood on the altar in a different way.

You lean your neck to the side and sigh as you feel his fangs pierce your skin. you have to lean back against him for support as he drinks your blood and you grow weaker.

"so perfect, so delicious," he murmurs to himself as he drinks your blood, licking at your throat, catching any stray drops of blood. His hands slide down your body feeling up your hips and thighs. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your back as he slowly grinds against you. The priest is chaste, a man of god, but he's also a vampire, as he's explained he can't help but get erect when he feeds it's a natural side effect and completely nonsexual.

He pins you down on the bed and pushes your legs apart, grinding against you, fully clothed, as he bites your neck again. you feel dizzy, a mix of feelings as your blood is drained and as you buck and grind against the vampire on top of you. you try to keep quiet, but you can't help but moan as he takes full advantage of you. You feel dirty, the man who's saved your life so many times now is just trying to eat and here you are getting off, practically masturbating right in front of him with his cock.

You can feel how large his dick is as you grind together, you can't help but wonder what it would feel like if he pulled your underwear aside and fucked you properly while he drained your blood, the thought alone makes you shudder and press up against him as he continues to dry hump you. although with the sticky feeling between your legs and his wet mouth sucking on your neck, "dry" might be the wrong word.

you bite down on your own hand to muffle the sounds of your pleasure as you cum, still trying to hide your own lust, what would the priest think if he found out you were so lustful? if you were lucky he'd bend you over and spank you for being so sinful, at worst he might chain you down to the sacrificial altar and leave you there.

The priest pulls away, breathless, your blood smeared messily around his mouth "What a mess we've made," he huffs, looking down at your neck, and then his eyes drop further to the place where your bodies meet.

"I can clean it-" you offer weakly,

"no, no little thing, rest, you need to let your body heal, close your eyes, I'll take care of all this," he coos reassuringly, you nod obediently and close your eyes.

You look so venerable like this, he could do almost anything he wanted with you in this weakened state. the prophecy said it had to be a virginal sacrifice, maybe he could halt the ritual permanently if he just took what he'd wanted from the beginning.

[mellowwillowy]

“Merry Christmas, where is my present?”

CW: Gruesome shits

LIfE Project — CatboX

Yan! Hacker will casually give you all sort of blackmail materials.

Yan! Mafia Ringleader will give you the head of your enemy <3

Yan! Lawyer Husband will commit arson for you to warm you up.

Yan! Boyfriend will clear your whole wishlist and shopping cart. Or maybe secretly break another person’s leg for you.

Yan! Supermodel will bring down this person’s very reputation with her influence and social status.

Yan! Best Friend will diss you for it before giving you the thing you’ve been wanting along with something you don’t remember ever telling him about.

Yan! Knight will give you his sword (aww, he uses this sword to slaughter all those people who tried to court you)

Yan! Priest will let you defile the holy statue of a God that he doesn’t acknowledge (because you are his God, duhh)

Yan! King will let you torture and kill any concubine that you deem annoying while backing you.

Yan! Crown Prince will let you burn a whole ass village just for funsies.

Yan! Puppeteer will give you a voodoo doll of your enemy, made of their skin, hair and flesh.

Yan! Aristocrat will rip your enemy’s fingernails and make you watch him do it.

Yan! Collector will teach you how to preserve your enemy’s limbs and organs properly.

Yan! Calamity will show you the demise of the very hometown of your enemy.

Yan! God will give you a land of your own after making the previous citizens flee from it.

Yan! Henchman will let you have a feel of his literal heart, thumping for you.

[fallenxangel-13]

god, imagine priests performing an exorcism on a possessed nun under the guidance of the devil's touch. watching the defiled virgin strip before them, collapsing to her knees, battered, legs splayed like angelic wings — quivering with pleasure from ghostly hands roaming inside her. let this serve as a reminder this little lamb is mine to slaughter.

[anomaly-hivemind]

A Taste of Fire ☆ Dragon! Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader | Kinktober Day 2

Summary: You’re unfortunately chosen to be sacrificed to a dragon, but Rengoku being well Rengoku he is not going to kill you. You're definitely not off the hook, though.

Word Count: 4134

Tags: monsterfucking, monster/human relationships, dragon, Rituals, Predator/prey,  size kink, size difference, marking, knotting, dragon shifter, fluff and smut, oral, penis in vagina, overstimulation, aftercare, mating, Teratophilia, slight cockwarming, slight dacryphilia, blind and you’ll miss it.

It was that time of year, when the scorching summer sun began to cool, and the leaves began to change in hue. The whole world grew slower, it was also that time of year when your village chose someone to be a human sacrifice. About a day's walk away high up in the mountains was a dragon, of course, it wasn’t always there, however, it had been there for as long as you’d been alive.

The beast didn’t leave the mountains that often, and no one was allowed to venture that high up into the mountains to come across its lair aside from village guards and the sacrificial lamb. However, when it did leave everyone would stare in horror and awe as it soared through the open skies.

Though most of the village lived in fear, some also worshiped the dragons because of the power they wielded. Some time ago some foolish ignorant cowards got the grand idea that if they had a human sacrifice they could keep the dragon away from the village since a so-called “dragon expert” told them that dragons only need to eat once a year or some other stupid shit like that.

Unfortunately, before you could gather enough gold to hightail it to another village or a city you were chosen to be the sacrifice for the year. As they called your name your stomach churned and you felt like you were gonna be sick. The crowd parted around you as the village elders beckoned you forward. Your teeth were clenched tight and your muscles tense. You wanted nothing more than to run, but you couldn’t move, your feet were fixed to the ground.

Two people dragged you away to the village priests’ home where you got scrubbed clean and put into the boring beige sacrificial robes. Another person comes to him leading a sheep which the handler made to stand beside you.  You were told loudly to get on your knees to start the ritual. 

The Priest tells everyone to bow their heads, your heart was beating so erratically that you were starting to think you may have a heart attack before you could get eaten. He starts murmuring a few words as he cleans a wavy-looking knife.

 “And our keeper, the Red Dragon, will let us all stay in the name of the lamb of Sacrifice!” The Priest rams the knife into the back of the sheep's neck, you jump at the loud cry of the farm animal as its wool becomes stained with its blood. He drops the knife back on the table and looks down at you. His eyes were etched with determination and confidence as he placed a hand on your chin. You wanted to cry, you could feel the urge blowing into your eyes and you could feel the hairs on your body bristle. 

“You are saving us.” He whispered as he placed two fingers over your eyes to make you close them. 

  The two men picked up the sheep and tilted it above you. You let out a loud gasp when your body becomes coated in blood. The hot sticky liquid coats your robe and body. The viscous content matted your body as it started to slowly dry. You open your eyes, looking at the crimson color on you, its slow dripping almost causes you to disassociate from the experience. They yanked you off the ground roughly and

you stumble to a stand. Dragging you to the outskirts of the village they began chanting in low rumbly tones as they forced you against a pole and tied you there so you couldn’t run. 

This was all your life amounted to, nothing more than a sacrifice to a bunch of people who didn’t hesitate to send you to the slaughter. These people who had known you your whole life and now they were simply throwing your life away. 

Not too long after you hear the faint sound of wings flapping rhythmically, and the townspeople quickly begin to second the mountain. The blood was starting to cake up and dry a bit in places on your body. You hated feeling all sticky, but you guessed it wouldn't matter all that much when you were about to get eaten by a dragon. 

The sound of the dragon was growing louder and louder. When you looked up at the sky you could see the dragon closing distance in the air. You feel like you should be crying, or begging the great heavens to save you but you don’t. You knew it wouldn’t help you, in fact, no one was coming to help you. You close your eyes and accept your fate, a quick meal to “save” a bunch of scared townspeople. 

Moments later you were wrapped in a warmth, which you assumed was the maw of the beast. You were dead… at least that's what you thought before you felt the wind ripping around your body. You opened your eyes to see you were thousands of feet in the air in the dragon's claws. A scream gets stuck in your throat and your mouth goes dry as you choke on the feelings of dread. It overwhelms you, so much that you go limp and faint.  

You slowly wake up on the cave floor, surprisingly still alive. You look around, jumping and scrambling back when you meet the almost hypnotic eyes of the dragon, very clearly staring at you. Yellow rings wrapped around reddish orange pupils with white slitted irises, unmoving and unblinking; with its head tilted, almost curiously you supposed.

The dragon was just looking at you, motionless and breathing softly, at least that's what you assumed was soft for a dragon. You are scared now, more than ever, there’s no reason to try to put on a brave face when you are getting ready to die.  You could feel the warm breath waft over your naked body…  You look down at yourself, your bloody sacrificial robe is gone. 

The dragon moves closer, you lean back further wondering why this large beautiful creature hasn’t torn you to shreds yet. You squeezed your eyelids shut when you saw the dragon open its mouth. What you didn't expect was to be met with the hot tongue of the dragon licking the blood off your body.  It brings a chill up your spine as confusion slaps you. 

You were a deer in headlights, frozen with fear as the dragon licked you like a mother cat would its baby. The licking suddenly ceased, you opened your eyes, the blood was gone and the dragon moved away. 

“Thank you?”  You tilt your head as you sit in front of the dragon, why are you thanking the dragon that’s going to eat you? You didn't know what was going on right now. The dragon let out a loud huff before you watched it visibly start to shrink.  Your eyes widen as you hear the bones of the dragon actively start to shift and their skin glows a hue of different shades. Some of the lights were actively making your eyes burn a bit so you closed them and just listened to the snap, crackle, and bop. 

When it stopped you slowly opened your eyes to an unexpected sight. Before you were a man? Well, a humanoid of great stature and musculature. He had choppy blonde hair with red tips, however, his eyebrows were… black. And strangely shaped a bit like arrowheads.

His torso, arms, and legs, had red scales of various sizes, along with a few spikes on his arms and legs. Long thick red horns with ridges protruded from his head, curving slightly to the back. Then there was the matter that he was well, naked, you were trying not to look but you couldn’t help but notice the…large assets he possessed. 

Trying to find something else to focus on you looked back to his face, and he had such an unyielding stare, wide diamond-shaped eyes with such a unique color, white slitted pupils with red and yellow rings… red and yellow rings? The dragon turned into this “man”?

“You’re… the dragon?” You asked, unsure if he could even understand you, maybe he couldn’t even speak.

“Yes! Is that not clear from my appearance!?” He said, placing his hands on his hips. You looked up at him from your seated position,  you felt so small, and helpless and the fear was still present within you, even if you couldn't take your eyes off of him. He was very beautiful and you felt almost drawn to him, like you're not supposed to look away from him. 

“What are you planning on doing to me?”  There was no better time than now to ask this question. Even if you were afraid of the answer.

“I'll keep you unless you want to go back to that village of yours.” 

“So you're not going to eat me?” You kind of felt like this was instigating. You don't really want him to change his mind. You were happy that you weren't going to have a meal. 

“No. I don’t feel like it right now,” The fact that he said right now and still a feeling of dread within you. So there was still a chance that he was going to devour you.  

“Then what happened to the other people that’ve been sent to you?” If he was eating people then you were not going to be the last The only reason why you assumed that he did eat People. Because you weren't the first to be sent up here. All who have never returned.

“Don't worry about that.” He shrugged and got down to his level. He was crouching right in front of you now. The smile on his face revealed his sharp teeth.   

He grabs your chin and gives you a once-over. You let out a squeak at the feeling of his warm skin radiating on you and sharp talons so close to puncturing your flesh. This close you get a better look at his size compared to yours. A wave of heat shoots to your core; why was there a part of you seemingly aroused right now?

“You smell delicious,”  He complimented, as his touch loosened.  His eyes are intense as they look at you with an odd gentleness.

“Delicious?” You were wondering how he could find your smell any kind of pleasing. You feel like you still smell like the remnants of the metallic twang of animal blood that was once on you. Which was also mixed from the time when he had run his tongue along your body to clean you off. 

“I'll keep you nice and right.” His horns brushed against your head as his face was near your neck.  You could feel his teeth against your skin causing you to shiver. You felt like you should be fighting him off, pushing him away, and booking it as fast as you could. 

But you knew that you couldn’t, that you shouldn't. There was no point in risking making this dragon in human form anger. He was larger than you, stronger than you, but something within you liked that. 

“So do you have a name?” Your voice quivered. 

“Kyojuro,” he said with his unwavering and almost uncanny smile. The small amount of evening sun that was filtering into the cave made his teeth glint, and once again you were reminded of how sharp they were, he could probably tear flesh apart in an instant, no problem. 

A shiver ran down your spine at the thought.

He places a kiss on your skin but you let out a wince when you feel his sharp teeth digging into your skin. He holds you in place so you can’t pull away and tears almost form in your eyes. His talons were so close to making your bleed, that didn’t stop any pain though as they dug into your flesh.

“Oh that hurts!” you complained out a whine. 

“You’ll feel all better soon, I'll make you feel much better.” He whispered and pulled you onto your back. You let him, staring up at his hypnotic eyes as he looked down at you with a hungry gaze except it didn’t like the type that would involve you being a meal at least not fully.  But the way he bit you told another story, even more so when he takes another bite at again on your collarbone.  

Then he would suck on the mark before creating another one somewhere else. He was getting lower by the second he was looking up at you, running his tongue on your skin. You let out a gasp that finally catches Rengoku’s attention, a smirk grows on his face. 

“Am I making you feel good already, I can smell your arousal,”  Kyojuro spoke, a devilish smile on his face.

“I-i- um,” Your words were caught in your throat and your mouth was dry as you looked at him. He could smell you, the effect this was having on your body and mind you should be scared and in a way, you are still afraid of him but there was the underlying attraction. 

“It smells delectable, time for a little taste,” he said, licking his long tongue over his lips. Fear coursed through your body as he sniffed down your body. Rengoku smiled as he propped your legs up and open. You knew he said he wasn’t going to eat you but you still had that underlying fear.

When you felt his warm breath and his hair tickle your inner thigh you let out a yelp of surprise. His teeth dug into the fat of your thigh as he moved up, he was so close

 to your cunt. 

He licked a stripe up your pussy and let out a satisfied hum before going back in lapping and sucking with vigor. His tongue slipped into your hole, wow he was really eating that puss. You closed your eyes and let out a moan, gripping his horns and holding them in a tight grasp to pull him closer, you wanted more of this. Even though you feel like this is the opposite of how you should be feeling right now. 

Lewd slurps and moans bounced off the cave walls. He took his tongue from your hole and began swirling it around your throbbing bud you couldn’t help but cry out in pleasure. The pleasure was almost overwhelming but you knew you wanted more. 

“Ha-h more~” 

Kyojuro happily obliged and he worked to devour you with added fervor, you couldn't stop yourself from humping his face, your hips bucking up and pleasure coursing through you every time your clit brushed against his nose. He tightens his grip on your thighs to hold you in place, clearly, you were moving too much and he wanted you fully under his control. 

Your chest heaved as you tried to control yourself, however, your eyes were watering and you could feel the small amount of control you had slipping away from you. The way his tongue reached inside you writhing around or the way it flicked your clit just made waves of euphoria over you, your insides fluttered and it felt like you were floating.  

At the back of your mind, you were thinking about his teeth so close to such a sensitive part of you and the marks that littered your thighs certainly didn’t help that fact, however, that only seemed to make your juices flow more. 

“Oh- a-augh~!” The coil that had been slowly winding deep in your core released, your body tensed and your body raised slightly off the ground as pleasure ripped through your being. As you came down from your high your chest heaved as you attempted to catch your breath.  You closed your eyes only to have to force them open after being given a light pat on the face.

“We’re not done yet, I still have to get my fill… and once I’m satisfied, I'm going to ravage you.”  He pulls you a bit off the cave floor, your legs against his thighs and the rest of you still limply on the ground. He rubs his cock along your wet entrance, you could feel his fat head pressed against you. 

He rubbed the tip along your folds, teasing it. Your hips bucked forward though you knew it would surely wreck your insides. That was definitely too big, this was by far the biggest you saw let alone take and it caused a pit to form in your stomach but also a wave of heat in your cunt. He was getting ready to move into you, he let out a hiss as he stretched you out. It was certainly too big for you and you let out a pained whine, it didn’t help that you were as wet as you were. 

“Oh my gosh,” you moaned repeatedly, trying to cope with the pain, but there was also an underlying pleasure, you liked that you were triple times stuffed full. As Rengoku began to slowly rock his hips into you you could feel yourself slowly adjusting to his length. More and more it became easier for him to slide in and out from the mix of juices and precum. The pain turned into pleasure and you found your cries turning from moans of pain to pleasure. It still hurt but you liked the pain, it felt good.

Rengoku’s hands gripped your hips roughly and vigorously pounded into you, his fat balls slapping into your skin. It felt like his dick was carving out its own spot in your insides, bullying all the sweet spots inside over and over, again and again. You felt like your eyes were going to roll into the back of your skull as he started to make up a rhythmic pace. Your legs made a weak attempt to wrap around him, it caused him to let out a breathy chuckle.  

“Look at you, all mine, I can't wait to fill you up. ” He smiled and cleaned down to sink his teeth into your shoulder, you let out a moan. You wanted that, the words he said just echoing in your ears after he said it.  You felt like everything was on fire, your blood, your body, mind, and soul was begging for another release. This was evident when you could feel your walls clench around him getting ready for another climax. 

Your legs quaked and your walls clenched and spasmed around his magnanimous cock. Each thrust felt like too much, too overwhelming, too stimulating, and yet you couldn’t get enough.  You feel like with the way your moans were echoing throughout the cave the village would have been able to hear you.  

He smirks and leans into your neck, nipping over the other bite mark this time, the sensitive skin and causing you to try and squirm. His hips bucked against you becoming aggressive. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, wanting to pull him deeper into yourself, and urging him to take you harder. Your body is trembling with the pleasure and pain of his thick cock stretching you out. You felt like you were being torn apart, but you couldn't stop yourself from wanting more.

You felt like you were going to cum all over again, and you could feel him start to throb. You screamed out as Rengoku rammed into you, his cock being the thing pushing over the edge this time. Your body convulsed beneath him, legs tightening around his waist as you tried and fight the overcome by waves of pleasure. Your tight walls fluttered, trying to decide if you should loosen up or tighten to hold him inside you with a vice grip. 

“There you go pretty” he doesn't stop, in fact, it's the opposite as when he starts to pick back up to chase his own high. You didn't even have time to process the ending of your second before you started to feel the weak building of a third one. 

“I'm sure you have one more left in you” It wasn't a question, he was telling you to have the strength and willpower to stay conscious long enough to have another orgasm and that was easier said than done. 

Your body felt limp, and your mind was fuzzy, all with the added blanket of building pleasure. You felt like you were on fire and everything was hot you could almost taste it.

“I can't take it anymore!” You pant and groan. 

“You can” he hissed and you saw his eyes contradict even more than before into a predator-hungry gaze. It makes you shiver, his voice was harsh, if not encouraging. But even though he said you could, you went so sure. 

He moved faster, and harder and you cried out. He was letting out sounds that made your ears hot and your cunt harder. He grabs one of your hands, holds it in a firm grip and they both get closer to finishing. 

His thrust got messy and rough and his claws started to dig into your hand. You could tell he was close, and you weren't that far behind.  Then you felt it, the throbbing of his cock then he started to swell up. You could feel him getting bigger, ripping you open and stretching you past your limits. 

You could feel him right on the edge of ripping you in two with his knot, but you found yourself craving more of his touch. You held onto him tightly, milking every last drop from him as you writhed beneath him. You lay beneath Rengoku, your body still trembling from the intensity of your coupling. Along with being filled far past the brim, and you know that you would never feel this full by anyone else. 

You felt his weight on top of you, his cock still buried deep inside you, feeling like it was getting bigger by the second. You reached up, tracing your fingers along his chest, feeling the sweat on his skin. You could feel his heart beating against your hand, the sound of their shared breaths filling the air around them. 

He places a kiss on your cheeks, then forehead as he holds you closer to his warm form. His warm seed, trapped in you by his knot. His hold is gentle and protective, as you murmured incoherent curses as you feel yourself climaxing around his knot.  You could feel your jelly legs dampened with small rounds of love juices that managed to seep out. 

Kyojuro wrapped his large arms around your waist and flipped both of you over so you were lying on his chest. He was so warm it was pretty comforting. You could fall asleep if it wasn’t for Kyojuro's large cock still semi-hard inside of you.   

“How are you still hard?” Kyojuro just laughed at your question; the small shifting of his body from laughing made his dick twitch and you were still sensitive.

You let out a whimper. Kyojuro placed a kiss atop your head. “Shh, it’s okay,” he held tightly and rubbed your back soothingly. You feel your eyes start to get more heavy, and your body starts to become lucid. You both just lay there and claws lightly tracing patterns against your skin as you worked on getting your active senses to calm down. 

His hips rocked forward as much as they could. Even the little movement was far too much, you could barely take it. You tried to focus on your breathing, or his breathing, or anything else than the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling right now. 

“You’re doing so good,” Kyojuro whispered, patting your head comfortingly. 

Waves of pleasure washed over you so many times, you were so fucking out you didn’t even know your name or where you were. All you knew was that you couldn’t stop cumming. Kyojuro let out a grunt and you were pumped full of more cum. You could feel it leaking out the sides of your hole, which was thoroughly stuffed. Finally, you could feel his dick going soft, however, the knot at the base of his cock which was keeping him inside, had not. 

“My knot will go down in a few minutes, just relax till then okay,” Kyojuro said. Soon enough the knot did go down and he could finally pull out, cum flowed from your cunt, slipping down onto Kyojuro. He sat up and lifted you into his arms before standing up.

“Huh, where are we going?” You asked, a bit drowsy.

“There are hot springs up here in the mountains, going to clean up you, you’re gonna be hurting so the spring water should help,” he carried you gently and all you could do was start to fall asleep. 

[comfortless]

In Our Angelhood

König x fem!reader

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

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

wc: 10k.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Accident.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, you smile at him.

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

“Danke.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I do!”

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

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

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

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

“I could teach you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I try?”

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

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

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

“Not the best for foraging, but…”

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

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

“Eat it.”

“It’s dirty, you eat it.”

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

“That’s so gross, König!”

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

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

— ཐིཋྀ —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

“They kicked me out because of him.”

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

“At the cathedral.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I would like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sleep.”

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

— ཐིཋྀ —

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

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

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

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

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

Seeing a demon was a new one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I like seeing you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to see it?”

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

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

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

“Oh… that soon?”

König gives your shoulder a playful, gentle nudge.

“Ja. I’ll take you.”

— ཐིཋྀ —

It’s not a date.

It’s a misadventure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So are you,” you huff out instead.

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on here?”

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

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

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

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

Let’s just go.

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t think you were such a slut.”

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

It’s not enough. Not to König.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t even care if Lukas was okay.

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

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

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

Worst of all, however, is the bell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want that?”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

— ཐིཋྀ —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do want you to.”

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

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

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #25

You held back the sobs that threatened to spill from your lips, clasping your hands over your mouth in an attempt to muffle yourself.

Part of you wished you hadn't heard the plans the cultists had for you. Ignorance was bliss, after all, and had you known how this would end, you'd never come close to these people in the first place. All you wanted was to understand them, to write your article, and be done with it. You didn't know it would end in you getting sacrificed to the god they worshipped.

Human sacrifice, who'd even do that in this day and age?

You thought everything was going well. You spoke with the members, worked with them, and ate at their table. Even if you disagreed with their views, you saw them as the humans they were, perhaps a little desperate for recognition from a god that may or may not exist but human at their cores. They didn't scream "crazy fanatics" to you, but it seems you were delusional, thinking they were normal.

"Fuck," you whispered to yourself. You shouldn't have been out here in the dark per their rules, but some friendly folks invited you for drinks at their cabins, and you didn't want to overstay your welcome. Even when they asked you to stay, you just wanted to return to your camper for a good night's sleep. Now, a part of you wishes you had listened.

But then again, what good would have not knowing done for you? You'd probably have gone along when they prettied you up for an initiation, thinking you'd get some good stuff for your article. You'd never known until these mad people had killed you, following them blindly like a lamb to slaughter.

"Someone there?" one of the cultists suddenly called out, and you jumped, quickly turning the other way to run. You just needed to get back to your camper, and you'd be out of here, gone, never to return. And you'd tell everyone about what you witnessed so it may never happen again!

With a yelp, you were tugged back, the inviting darkness torn to shreds by a flashlight. "Ah, you," one of the cultists said. You watched his face contort as he took in the obvious horror etched into yours. He looked almost... sad. Almost.

"That's not how... you shouldn't have—"

"Stop dallying, let's get them to the priest."

A second cultist approached, looking stern and unimpressed. He took your wrist from the first one, and when you began to brace your feet into the ground, the struggle ensued between you two. You screamed into the night when the first cultist wrapped his arms around you, too, covering your mouth with his hand as the two of them dragged you away to meet up with the priest.

You screamed and bit, but it was no use other than you agitating the two cultists further. Even when you thrashed and threw your body against them to knock them off balance, you didn't win against the two men, who almost seemed trained to handle these situations. Tears dripped down your face as the helplessness overwhelmed you. Was this how you were going to die? Would they kill you now?

After being dragged through grass and mud, the sound of steps on wooden planks as you enter the priest's cabin were deafening loud. Like the announcement of your death sentence. The struggle ceased as you lost the strength in the face of your killer, the surprise twisting into despair as the priest of this cult watched you being brought in.

"What is the meaning of this?" the priest asked as if he were innocent in all of this. He immediately stepped to your side and knelt down, your legs having long forgotten how to stand as you sat on the floor, weeping. Brushing the tears off your face, he made the other two stop handling you like a wild animal, your arms and body falling forward as you were released.

"Sir, they heard us talk about the ritual. We didn't mean to. We were preparing the site and thought everyone was asleep."

You couldn't look up even as anger flooded your mind. How dare they make it sound like it was your fault! As if you ruined something! But gripped with fear, you couldn't utter a word before the priest who held your life in his hands.

The priest sighed heavily, shaking his head. "You fools... Leave us!"

There was a moment of stunned silence before the two tried to argue, "But Sir..."

"Leave! You've done enough!"

Unsure footsteps made the ground shake as the two men left, and you almost felt like you could breathe again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dear. Come," the priest muttered, helping you up. With confusion clouding your mind, you let yourself be directed down into a chair next to the fireplace, the warmth prickling against your skin, fear having drained you of most of your body heat.

You had never been alone with the priest before, he seemed to have always avoided you, perhaps not trusting your intentions to write an article about the cult. He even told you to leave regularly in the beginning. And you had an inkling why, considering he was planning to sacrifice you.

"I don't want to die," you sobbed, scared but also hoping your tears could deter him. The man kneeled on the ground before you, his large hands falling to your knees, his thumb brushing back and forth reassuringly.

"I know, Darling. I know, but we have to. I sent you away so many times, but you wouldn't listen. I can't help you, I can't—"

His sentence broke off as he let his head fall, defeated. You didn't believe him, couldn't. Someone who thought that it was a necessary evil to kill someone was no one you should trust.

"Please just let me go! No one has to know!"

"Oh, Darling. They'd go after you. They already sliced the wheels of your car, and you'd not escape them in the woods alone."

You gulped at the revelation that you were already so deep in this misery, never even having checked if your camper was still useable while you spent your days frolicking with the cultists. Cellphone service was almost non-existent, but still! You couldn't die here! You were scared, but you had to try and convince the priest to let you go!

"Please let me try, I beg you! I won't tell them you let me go, I promise!"

"I—" the priest started, words caught in his throat as he stared. You guessed he was torn between two sides, but against your expectations, he didn't seem as bad of a person as you had feared. Then again, that's what you had thought about all the cultists.

"There... There's another way," he finally muttered, lowering his gaze to his hands on top of your knees. You thought you saw a hint of excitement and shame in his eyes, his lips quivering as he formed the words.

"I have yet to take a spouse. They wouldn't dare lay a hand on who I've chosen, and I... I'd like it if it were you."

The brushing of his thumb over your legs resumed a bit more forceful now. You felt sick hearing these deceiving words of safety, the undertone of greed and lust thicker than any sermon in church. You've learned from the others just how long this priest had served them faithfully, the most devoted and fanatic of them all.

And yet, when he looked at you, you saw the awe in his eyes, the sickening adoration of a devotee. It was almost as if he worshipped you more than his god, as if doing this wasn't a betrayal to the one he swore his loyalty to.

You'd never been so close, never thought twice about this priest, who had probably never been around anyone but the cultist all his life. You were likely something special, someone extraordinary in his eyes; at least, that's what his adoring gaze told you. But what if he started to make demands in exchange? Could you withstand them? Still, it might be your only chance! If you convinced him to keep you safe, you could play him and wander around the encampment to find something to help you—even escape in the daylight.

You'd make it through the dangerous night alive.

You could still run. Punch this guy in the face and never look back as you bolted, but if the preparations had been made, cultists out and about working on this sacrifice, could you really get away far enough before they noticed? Maybe it was worth playing it safe... You had no idea what would happen if you agreed to join hands with the priest. Still, perhaps it was worth it, considering you might die out in the forest, lost and in pain after hurting yourself if you simply ran.

No matter how easy the priest tried to make the decision seem, begging you with lovesick eyes to agree to his terms, you had trouble figuring it out. It had to be made, and quickly! Before anyone would come to find you and proceed with the original plan to sacrifice you!

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[trikaranos]

TRIKARANOS: THE PROLOGUE

TRIKARANOS is a comic about Crassus until it isn't. Intended for an adult audience.

⭐ Trikaranos will always be free to read (in the near future, you’ll have the option to support this comic & my ability to make it through Patreon!)

⭐ There is no set update schedule (chapters vary in length and will be posted as I finish working on them)

⭐ alternative places to read it (coming soon!)

CREDITS all additional art used are in the Public Domain [as per the Met's Open Access policy]

🍊 The Abduction of the Sabine Women, Nicolas Poussin 🍊 Obverse, a Terracotta neck-amphora depicting Aeneas rescuing his father, Anchises, during the fall of Troy. [description taken from the Met] 🍊 compositional study for The Lictors Bringing Brutus the Bodies of his Sons, Jacques Louis David 🍊The Battle of Vercellae, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo 🍊 The Capture of Carthage, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo

UNDER THE CUT creator's commentary, ancient citations, whatever else seems relevant. ideally, this is optional! you shouldn't need the citations for it to make sense as it unfolds since it's a comic and a story first and foremost, but it's here if you're curious and want to see where the inspiration is coming from!

so! there are a couple of accounts about the return of Marius and Cinna, I've chosen Appian's account for the primary source of inspiration, although I've cut the cast down to it's barest essentials because I want the claustrophobia of violence to really eat itself.

Cinna now began to despise his enemies and drew near to the wall, halting out of range, and encamped. Octavius and his party were undecided and fearful, and hesitated to attack him on account of the desertions and the negotiations. The Senate was greatly perplexed and considered it a dreadful thing to depose Lucius Merula, the priest of Jupiter, who had been chosen consul in place of Cinna, and who had done nothing wrong in his office. Yet on account of the impending danger it reluctantly sent envoys to Cinna again, and this time as consul. They no longer expected favourable terms, so they only asked that Cinna should swear to them that he would abstain from bloodshed. He refused to take the oath, but he promised nevertheless that he would not willingly be the cause of anybody's death. He directed, however, that Octavius, who had gone round and entered the city by another gate, should keep away from the forum lest anything should befall him against his own will. This answer he delivered to the envoys from a high platform in his character as consul. Marius stood in silence beside the curule chair, but showed by the asperity of his countenance the slaughter he contemplated. When the Senate had accepted these terms and had invited Cinna and Marius to enter (for it was understood that, while it was Cinna's name which appeared, the moving spirit was Marius), the latter said with a scornful smile that it was not lawful for men banished to enter. Forthwith the tribunes voted to repeal the decree of banishment against him and all the others who were expelled under the consul­ship of Sulla.

Accordingly Cinna and Marius entered the city and everybody received them with fear. Straightway they began to plunder without hindrance all the goods of those who were supposed to be of the opposite party. Cinna and Marius had sworn to Octavius, and the augurs and soothsayers had predicted, that he would suffer no harm, yet his friends advised him to fly. He replied that he would never desert the city while he was consul. So he withdrew from the forum to the Janiculum with the nobility and what was left of his army, where he occupied the curule chair and wore the robes of office, attended as consul by lictors. Here he was attacked by Censorinus with a body of horse, and again his friends and the soldiers who stood by him urged him to fly and brought him his horse, but he disdained even to arise, and awaited death. Censorinus cut off his head and carried it to Cinna, and it was suspended in the forum in front of the rostra, the first head of a consul that was so exposed. After him the heads of others who were slain were suspended there; and this shocking custom, which began with Octavius, was not discontinued, but was handed down to subsequent massacres.

Appian, Civil Wars I, 70-71 (trans. Horace White)

Plutarch's biography of Marius also recounts the same event, but I was leaning more on Appian for this.

ALSO! the choice to use Giovanni Battista Tiepolo's painting The Capture of Carthage as a backdrop to Octavius: it's because Cinna and Octavius were co consuls for a minute and Rome and Carthage are twin cities (instar Carthaginis urbem babyyy), and I do love the doubling/twin-ification of a thing. which is what co consuls are to me. we're overlapping the themes, in addition to the overlapping of violence, which is what all iterations of Rome are founded on.

Textual Monuments: Reconstructing Carthage in Augustan Literary Culture, Nora Goldschmidt

the chapter cover is my own illustration of an Etruscan kantharos because Crassus may or may not have had some kind of Etruscan heritage. YMMV but for me it's fun to think about

Marcus Crassus and the Late Roman Republic, Allen Mason Ward (& the citation!)

[whataboutmysanity]

Rewatching the IWTV church scene again and realizing I’m no better than Louis cuz if I was at rock bottom and a gorgeous white man slaughtered two priests and then told me he could give me a power beyond God that would allow me to stretch beyond the confines of the institution holding me back I’d say yes too

[esggs]

Priestess - Heian Era Sukuna

[ wc: 270+ ]

[ tw: mdni, trueform!sukuna x reader, smut, blood, religious imagery, choking ]

It’s as if life began and ended within Ryomen Sukuna.

At dawn you clean the shrine with cursed waters, at mid-sun you slaughter a child for his meals, at moon-rise you perfume his bed. They didn’t understand you, the other priests at his shrine, even when you tried to explain it to them. They offered prayers out of fear, peasantry fools. They could not recognise the face of God which sat before them. They thought you insane.

But you knew, didn’t you? 

When Lord Sukuna beckoned you into his chambers, his belly full and shrine guarded, you knew your blessings. When you disrobed him gently, carefully folding his silken kimono (only you get to trace the lines of his tattooed back). When you bathed him in rice milk that slowly turned red as the blood of his slain foes washed off him (only you get to run your fingers through his wet hair). When blood drips down your lips as his large hand chokes your throat (only you get to hear his divine groans as he ruts desperately into you). 

Your Lord takes his time to enjoy himself. You are often left in a bloody mess by the time he is done, wretched with pain and pleasure, unable to move a finger. Lord Sukuna licks the sweet blood off your skin, healing your injuries with a kiss infusing his own reverse cursed energy into your soul. It feels warm. You get to be the one who he kills and heals, a divine ritual Sukuna grants only for you. What further prayer could a priestess ask of her Lord?

Your life began and ended with your Lord, Ryomen Sukuna.

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

Back up, back up, back the fuck up. Are you telling me the Mechanicus started messing directly with a tomb world, and Necrons didn't come spilling out immediately to slaughter everyone?!? BULLSHIT. Bull-fucking-shit! Necrons HATE being woken from their nappies! They're stamping out tech-priest infestations practically every other day! Suspension of disbelief destroyed, game ruined, my pores are clogged and my fields are parched!