#god i wish me and christian were kissing…

[christiangeistdorfer]

CHRISTIAN GEISTDÖRFER & WALTER RÖHRL at the 1985 RALLY NEW ZEALAND

[deathsmallcaps]

Ok when I reblogged this last night, I picked 3rd because that’s what I’ve heard, but I also said maybe a little bit #4? Because at the time I thought ‘well something not really mattering to you = a sort of rejection” so I was a little confused as to how they were separate options?

And then when I woke up and I saw this I remembered that the ‘rejection’ idea was an antisemitic talking point. As in supposedly you saw the undeniable truth of Jesus and were like nah.

So I’m not sure how else it could’ve been worded - it was quickly visible to me after a good night’s sleep - but I wonder how many other people were thinking similarly to me when they picked #4, and how many are genuinely antisemitic. But I hope there’s just a lot of confused people.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

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

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

Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they're more than enough.

Or at least they should be…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Why not?”

You look at König; he looks straight back.

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

“I can help,” he grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

You feel like Cinderella when picking clothes for the evening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not a date, you remind yourself.

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

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

Can a man of his size even keep quiet?

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

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

“Kätzchen...”

“König…?”

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

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

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

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

Could a grown man get any more silly?

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

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

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

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

“Kitty… Live a little, hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re crazy, did you know that...?” 

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

“...What’s that?” 

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

“You’re cute.”

��

The whole evening is heavenly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nuns are allowed to dance, no?” 

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

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

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

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

“Why not?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does want to.

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

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

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

“This is–”

“Inappropriate?”

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

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

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

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

God… This is better than God…

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

You can still turn back if you turn back now…

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…”

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

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

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

…

The rose withers in your cell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

Work, time and prayer do ease the pain. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Kätzchen.” 

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

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

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

“Dear God… What happened to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it does make you very happy.

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you too,” you whisper back. 

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

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

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

“Someone, who?”

“Someone to hold hands with.”

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

You swallow, and slowly guide your eyes to his.

“Are you still happy with your crucified man?”

Ouch.

“I… I don’t know.”

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

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

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

Your heart skips a beat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are.”

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

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

“Are you crying?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Praying helps sometimes,” you whisper.

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

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

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

[midnightblues444]

Lustful afflictions |

Priest nanami x brat! fem reader

Warnings: age gap (readers in her 20s and hes like 30 something), perversion of Christian faith, corruption, m receiving, sacrilege ,

Notes: fell off the face of the earth for 2 months now I'm back so enjoyy <3

Imagine driving priest nanami to temptation and making him lose his mind remembering it all during a prayer for forgiveness

"I confess to my sins of lust" he recounts, knelt in prayer

From the moment you walked into his cathedral he could sense trouble

"the source of my sinful affliction, that of a girl who wondered into my very own church"

You'd giggle in his sermons, and look at him with a sparkle that he couldn't quite place. Your words dripping off your tongue like melted candy, he can only recall how the sound of his name from your lips sent jolts of an unfamiliar feeling through him.

"A walking temptation she was.."

the way you're dresses were always so short and tight, there was disrespect that radiated from your very being yet it wasnt the biggest issue

He could see it when you listen to his sermons, not with intent but with amusement more so seductively studying him, often catching himself losing his focus if he made eye contact with you.

It was most apparent when you came up for communion, staring up at him with doe eyes as you ate the bread slowly, smirking when he couldnt keep the eye contact . Turning back ever so slightly with a giggle as you made way to your seat.

"I repent, I repent"

Hed prided himself on always being a man of honor and more importantly a man of god, hed thus expected the unholy thoughts to go away on their own.

Though he took a concious effort not fall into the temptation you dangled before him and keep composed.

"It was in this very confessional where the affair began"

To his suprise you came to confessional one afternoon. Skipping down toward the box, the apparent click of your heels hitting the tiles of the church floor made his heart pound in his chest.

"She spoke things I'd never heard before, she promised to help me in ways the lord couldnt"

"Lust is natural for all of us isnt it nanami"

He cleared his throat, at the sugary way you said his name

"Lustful thought" you'd sighed, "though I think we all struggle with lust, do we not?"

"I suppose so, but we thus practice abstinence" he replied

"I should've abstained..."

"But do we really need to abstain from what we truly desire" you said , trying to push your luck "I mean I see how you look at me father nanami"

"I am a holy man though how I acted was not a reflection of that"

He slid your side of the confessional door open staring down at you with a faint blush. The priest was undeniably a beautiful man, his defined face and toned body that peaked under his black attire but was noticeably when he fidgeted with his white collar.

"So what do I do about it?"

"Take a seat" you purred

"I wish to repent and continue a life in your light"

He was clutching a rosary while you were on your knees, the priests cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly.

He barely held it together, muttering forgive me lord under his stuttering breaths. He whined under your every touch, finding himself pleading for release, as the feeling of your throat was warm and unlike anything hed ever felt

begging for more, with his deep grunts as he thrusted unconsciously harder

"Forgive me I have sinned"

"Nggh" he breathed out, while you hummed and massage his balls, cumming down your throat with a deep whine

You wiped your mouth and stand, kissing his cheek sweetly. Straddling him with affection.

"You're not wearing panties" he said bewildered

"Didnt think I'd need em" you giggled as you slowly slid onto him. Both moaning out at the sensation. You began to move slowly adjusting to his girth, his head laid back as he breathlessly panted

"No no, look at me, look how good you make me feel" you said as you gently cupped his cheek

There is something so powerful about unraveling such a large man.

"So tight," he heaved tinted of blush across his face. You grind into your spot, moans filling up the small confessional space.

"Mmm so good, you're doing so good" you purred into his neck

"Forgive me because I find myself addicted to the feeling of her around me"

His thrusts grew sloppy, his grip on your hips stutter

"Forgive me because this addiction has costed me certainty in my faith"

He released into you for the second time, slumping into your plush chest, as you stroked his hair comfortingly.

"Amen"

[khuzena]

Your Guardian Angel

Sunday x g/n!reader

Summary: oh guardian angel, my sweet guardian angel. Save me, Save me. If you can't, what're you truly for? When your angel loves you, when he betrays destiny for you; only for his wings to be chipped at the expense of a helpless attempt.

Cw. Very angsty, falling in love (but it's forbidden), religious references (specifically Christian topics) AU where ppl can talk to their angels lol, mentions of self harm but no actual scene with it!!!, no bandaid can fix the emotional wound after reading this. SOME fluff, no comfort like usual. 🫨🫨🫨 YOU DIE!

A/n: I'm on fire (like literally. It's 36° here.)

Your knees burn as you stare up at the altar displayed in front you, you wonder if the aeons would be kind enough to finally send you your guardian angel.

“Please,” you begged, wishing any god to heed your call, “Just this once I'll ask.”

“Send me someone kind, someone to protect me.”

That day, fate was generous enough to grant you your angel.

A chill ran down your spine, rubbing your eyes for good measure to make sure you weren't dreaming.

“You called?”

You gulp nervously, the being's halo blinding you.

One, he reached his hand out to you, his smile all you needed to feel okay.

Your guardian angel accompanies you whenever you go out to buy groceries, when your fingers trace along the unhealthy snack bar, he's quick to tut and swat your hand away.

“That's unhealthy, dear.”

“But—”

“Just this once?”

He shook his head no, feeling distraught, you devised a plan to grab a pack of double chocolate cookies; much to his dismay.

Who did you think you were fooling?

“Dear, I said no.”

You sighed, “Just one?”

Out of all the humans on the list, why'd he pick you? But when you smile at him so brightly, out of every human he's ever guided, he's still unsure of his answer—

Your shoulders slump, “Pretty please?”

He exhales an exasperated sigh, letting you win over him just this once.

“Fine.”

— Maybe he is, Maybe he isn't.

There were times nightmares were unkind and brutal that you'd wake up in cold sweat. Your mind flashing you memories of the past you wished to lock away, you'd pray again.

“Dear, wake up,” that familiar soothing voice ringing in your ears.

Where? The shackles of that dream still bruise you harshly, yet your loving guardian angel is there to soothe your scars.

“It's okay.”

It's not okay, you know.

No words were exchanged when he took your hand in his, his honey eyes seeing through you, “Just breathe.”

Your tears found solace in his shoulder as he patted your back, letting you cry it all out, “It hurts, Sunday.”

“I know,” his gloved hand wiping your tears gently, “I know.”

Like a child, for many dreadful nightmares to come, you cry and cry for him to relieve you of this pain. You needn't to get on your knees and ask the aeons for comfort. All you need to do is shed a single tear and he'll kiss them away.

Two, your oh so sweet guardian angel, he drives them all away.

Years pass and you've grown used to your guardian angel, you'd find him taking the form of an owl.

Like one time, you were in class— culinary class to be specific. Who knows what aeon decided to ruin your day and made you trip on a puddle of leftover batter on the tiled floor.

“Eek—!”

You'd think you'd hit head first but something held you up, when you turned around, there was no one there.

The owl perched on the branch just outside the window, shook its head in dismay, once again, you don't die today.

He may save you from all catastrophes but he cannot save you from impending doom.

As an angel, by all means, he has every right to read your destiny; woven by lord Xipe, of course.

Eyes narrowing at the scroll, your life ends early when you get roped into an unforeseen accident at a public event.

“Sunday, dear. 5 days until your host departs,” his beloved lord's voice echoing the room as they loom over his shoulder to watch your end unfold.

“We should find you a new human.”

Sunday trembled at the sight, a memory he wishes to never replay again. You were in an event and some drunkard decides to shoot it all up, bullets ablaze as you get caught in the crossfire.

“I…”

I mustn't disobey lord Xipe.

“Yes, lord Xipe,” he gave a weak smile to his god, your death still replaying.

How could he be fine?

When you tell him of your dreams, how you'd leave this wretched city, leave penacony and write your own fate; when destiny had already set yours in stone.

“Do you think I'll become big in the industry?”

The sunset falls upon you too and he doesn't have it in him to tell you what's bound to happen to you, “Yes.”

“You sound hesitant.”

“I'm just thinking.”

It wasn't often you see Sunday like… this.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “It's nothing.”

You two have been together long enough that it only takes you a second to realise the shift in the atmosphere, “Whatever, I'm going to be successful and we'll travel.”

He wonders if you noticed the way his wings are stiffening at your words, he may be an angel, “Sure,” but he is a liar first.

He doesn't want to think about it, he doesn't want to remember.

Your curious eyes never leave him, he wishes it did. He wishes he never got too attached.

That disgustingly sweet smile of yours, you'll never know that it made home in his head.

“Here,” he wore the rosary in your hand, it felt comforting feeling his gloved hand against your skin, “What is this for?”

He still doesn't have the courage to look you in the eye knowing 3 days from now they'd be devoid of light, “For protection, to show devotion to our god.”

You let out a hum of approval, admiring the beads.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes”

“I'm glad.”

Fleeting moments like these don't last. But when he musters up the courage to look you in the eyes again; he wishes that Lord Xipe was loving enough that this moment would.

Destiny is a strange thing. It gives you time to dream but never enough time to do.

Just where the hell were you?

Sunday panics as he flies over the crowd, exactly a minute before your death.

Lord Xipe must be cruel, watching from the stars as he scurries in the mortal realm like a rat to save a mere mortal like you.

“Sunday?”

‘Bang.’

You hear gunshots piercing the skies and those beside you.

“What's happening—”

“Just shut up,” angels were not allowed to be this crude but for your sake, he covered your eyes as he led the two of you behind a pillar.

Your gut instinct tells you to run but you've grown to trust him enough with your life. How could you not when he gently wraps his arms around your trembling figure?

“S-sun… day…,” you cried, feeling something piercing your stomach.

But how? He… he saved you didn't he?

“Stay calm,” he scolds you as if he wasn't scrambling around his options on how to save you, “Please.”

He prays, “Lord Xipe, please.”

But songs stay unsung, prayers remain unheard.

He cries to the sky as crimson stains his gloves, his holy tears cannot patch your wounds. His prayers cannot fix you. If he had known, he would not have sung those odes to lord Xipe, if only he had known his god's mercy was nothing but just strings of fallacies.

“Lord Xipe!”

An agonising scream that transcends the barrier of heaven and earth, yet his beloved god turned their back on him.

Your eyes shut then he felt the hand that intertwined with him go limp, “Lord Xipe.”

In desperate sobs, “Please.”

No amount of begging would bring you back, just like his sister, Robin, you are dead, you are gone.

Not being able to save you— he's betrayed you.

He kissed your cheek before letting death take you.

My God, why have you forsaken me?

He has no time to mourn, “It burns,” under the scrutinising gaze of the divine, his wings turn charcoal black.

Lord Xipe is all forgiving yet they have abandoned him for something so little.

A god so forgiving, yet when Sunday looks down at his hands, only a shade of balsam and black stare back at him.

There is no redemption for his sin, there is no redemption for either of you.

You can no longer dream, he can no longer dream with you.

His halo crumbles into ash and an undeniably painful grief fills him, “Lord xipe.”

His radiant halo no more, only to be replaced by the glow of the sunset like a crown of thorns.

He cries again, his god is gone and you are too.

Note: forgive me if its kinda shit, i really can't think of an angst idea for sunday that isn't yandere since im not rlly big about yan tropes anddd not proofread. I hope y'all enjoyed it tho, i just needed to get this idea out of my brain. Sunday is vv manipulative but i js wanted to write a ver of him thats just gentle ISTFGGGGGG

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡ 

[sserpente]

A/N: Requests from anon and @slaveforloki​. You might wanna take a shower after this one. If you noticed the font in the image being different… I forgot I don’t have Photoshop on my computer in Austria anymore I didn’t take my laptop with me so I had to do it with an online editor, ugh! Try to ignore it! :D RC is not a virgin in this Imagine as originally requested, at least it’s not mentioned but I have another Christmassy one planned with that, so I hope this one will be fun regardless, I didn’t wanna post two so similar ones back to back! Could I resist adding this new gif? No, absolutely not. I’m so hyped for Season 2.

Words: 2826 Warnings: forced marriage, smut

Additonal NSFW warnings: CMNF, orgasm denial, orgasm control, arguably a little bit of dub-con, definitely angry sex

-

You’d do it, officially. You would hate Christmas for the rest of your life. Loki had made sure of that. With a deep sigh, you straightened your green dress—one of the maids had chosen it for you because it was Loki’s colour—and lifted your chin. You refused to let him see how much he had hurt you. How he had ruined your life, shattered it to pieces by claiming you as a bride, forcing you to become his wife all because he was now king of Asgard.

You weren’t even royalty—not wholly, anyways. Your father was the second-born prince of the king of Alfheim but your mother had been a commoner. Human. You had no royal duties, no obligation to rule a kingdom one day. You had lived a life in freedom—up until Loki had claimed you like a prized possession.

You remembered the dark prince of Asgard. The second-born mischievous God of Chaos had been mysterious and charming the first time you had met him at a ball a few years back. But that was before the rumours about him attempting to subjugate Midgard had the branches of Yggdrasil sway with the quick footsteps of Ratatöskr.

The wedding had been yesterday—on Christmas Eve. Now officially, Alfheim did not celebrate the Christian holiday, regardless of its stolen aspects from ancient paganism. But you had visited Midgard often enough yourself to grow to love the holiday, not to mention how much your mother had adored it before she passed. You’d been looking forward to decorating and buying Christmas gifts for your loved ones and now here you were: stuck in King Loki’s chambers after a forced but oddly passionate kiss after the ceremony. A few weeks had passed since then and needless to say you had not consummated the marriage just yet.

You had been fuming already, you would have torn him to pieces if he had dared put a hand on you… and… you were pretty sure he was very well aware of that. And while he was the most dominant man that had ever stepped into your life, he respected that. For now. You hated the part of yourself that longed for him to rip your clothes off your body, throw you on the bed and fuck you until you forgot everything but his name.

If Loki was one thing beside an arrogant and power-hungry king, he was handsome. You had noticed it at the ball already. Back then, you would have wished for him to sweep you off your feet. Now, however, your anger suffocated every other feeling you could have possibly harboured for him. Desiring him physically made that wrath even stronger. You would never admit that to him though.

As if your thinking about him had summoned him, Loki barged into his chambers only mere moments later. His quick and confident steps had you tense up, even more so when his stunning blue gaze met yours.

“So you haven’t forgotten about your waiting wife then.” Loki rolled his eyes at you.

“You are not a prisoner in my chambers. You are free to roam the palace and the realm—as long as a guard accompanies you.”

“I had no need for a guard before I was married to you.”

“Consider it an additional perk.”

“Right,” you spat. “And what exactly are the other perks of you asking me for my hand in marriage and not accepting a no?”

For just the fraction of a second, Loki was surrounded by a green shimmering light. The next time you blinked, he had swapped his regal attire for some more comfortable clothes.

“It will reinforce the alliance between Alfheim and Asgard. The kingdom of Alfheim is already very suspicious of me,” he explained as if it was the most logical thing in the nine realms.

“For good reason, Loki.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me. You don’t know anything about what happened. So watch your tongue.”

Fuming, you clenched your fists. “Why me then? Why not any of my half-sisters?”

“Most of them have been promised to others already. One of them to a king in Niflheim, the other to the current princess of Svartalfheim, now that Malekith is dead. Besides, you are part-human. That makes you a valuable pawn to assure my peaceful intentions.”

“Peaceful? Your intentions are anything but peaceful.”

“Are they not?” He tilted his head, making your lower regions clench. Then, he gave you a just the tiniest hint of a smirk. “I do not recall you being present at your council meeting earlier, dear. I very much doubt you get to have a say about any of my intentions.”

“You forced me to marry you!”

“Your father was thrilled and all too eager to send you to Asgard, to me.” Loki looked you dead in the eye, a mocking tone playing in his smooth voice. “Do you truly believe I wish to be married to a bastard daughter of a king? A woman who is half human? You should consider yourself lucky to be by my side rather than resent me for it.”

“Lucky? Lucky?” you screeched. “You ruined my life! You came to Alfheim and drowned everything in chaos! I was free before you claimed me like an object!”

“Please… freedom is life’s great lie,” Loki responded sharply.

“And on Christmas of all days! You decided to wed on Christmas! You have no idea how much this holiday meant to my mother and now you’ve spoiled it, you selfish and arrogant prick!”

“Watch your tone with me!”

“I will not! You made me marry you, now you’re going to deal with what you claimed!”

Loki’s blue eyes widened. It was barely noticeable but it didn’t escape you regardless.

“Where does that new-found passion for hostility come from? You have been awfully quiet over the last few weeks, pet.”

Pet. “I’m not your fucking pet. Heavens, you are so irritating!”

“Well, so are you! A spoiled child who knows nothing of love and life!”

“Me? I’m the spoiled child? My mother was human and I lived a very humble life before you tossed me into his palace. You were the one born with a silver spoon in your mouth!”

“Do not speak of things you do not understand.”

“Stop patronising me!” You were both screaming at this point. You couldn’t really care less about what the servants outside of Loki’s chambers must have been thinking. They could know you were not here voluntarily.

Loki strutted towards you, a menacing and threatening expression on his handsome face. You pressed your thighs together, standing your ground on your “shared” bed. You did not move away an inch. Not until he came to a halt right before you, so much so you had to look up to meet his stare.

“You need to stop talking,” he breathed quietly. Too quiet. “Ungrateful brat…” He muttered under his breath. But he was just loud enough for you to hear him. It almost seemed like he was trying to hold back. From what, you were unsure. Lashing out? Throwing you out? Getting physical? You swallowed thickly, your mind jumping to an image where Loki threw you over his knees, grabbed a fistful of your dress to reveal your bare bottom and spanked you for your mouth. It infuriated you even more.

“I fucking hate you!” you screamed at him, sitting up so you came to kneel on the bed. One second passed in which Loki narrowed his eyes at you… in the next… his lips were on yours.

Fire rippled through you, hot flushes blackening your vision. Your eyes fell shut, the sensation of his mouth moving against yours stealing away your ability to think straight. As if your body turned against you, your arms came up to wrap around his neck, allowing him to take a hold of your hips. Possessively, he pulled you flush against his body, his muscles rubbing against your chest hardening your nipples.

“I wish I could hate you, Earth girl” he muttered when he pulled away, stroking your hot cheek with his thumb. Your lips parted. And then you finally realised. He desired you. He’d always desired you and the fact that he did… it made him furious. You drove each other mad—and yet together you could be unstoppable.

Breathing heavily, you refused to respond to his confession and instead buried your fingers in his hair to kiss him again. Fuck it all for now. Fuck him. Right now, preferably. Even angrier at him now for making you so flustered for him, you growled, feral like a kitten when he pushed you away with a start. You landed on the mattress, bouncing up and down once before he was on top of you, his blue eyes filled with hunger.

Loki grabbed two fistfuls of your dress. You shrieked when he tore it straight off, exposing your naked body to his greedy gaze. Asgardians didn’t bother with underwear much and the maid had refused to let your wear your bra because it “didn’t go well with the dress”. Now, all you could think about was easy access.

A moan escaped your lips when he cupped your breasts in his hands, kneading them firmly and playing with your nipples until you arched your back for him. You threw your head back then, and he attacked your neck, suckling, biting, licking… Unable to form any functioning sentences, you breathed his name.

“Fucking arsehole…” His chuckle went right through you, tightening that delicious knot forming in your lower stomach and… you could practically feel yourself getting wet for him.

“I will make you beg for my cock, pet. You can try and hate me all you want but that delicious body of yours doesn’t lie. I can see it in your eyes. And I shall make it worth your while.”

Before you could muster both the courage and the smugness to counter his irritating arrogance, he kissed you again, soft hands travelling down to your hips to hook his fingers into the seam of your knickers. He ripped them clean off, making you curse.

“That was the last fucking pair I heard from Midgard!”

“You are my wife. This sad excuse of underwear is nothing compared to the lingerie I will have you wear from now on. Be glad it’s gone.”

“You don’t get to decide what I w—“ Another kiss, even more passionate than the last. His tongue slipped into your mouth, battling yours for dominance.

“Oh yes, I do. You are mine now. And you will feel like a goddess with what I will pick for you.” Attempting to shake your head failed miserably when his hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed lightly. Your pussy clenched around nothing. Great. He’d discovered a new kink too, now. Arsehole.

The grunt that left your lips made him chuckle once more. Oh, he knew fully well what he was doing to you and how it made you fight your own body. But it was no use. Loki used his free hand to roll his trousers down his thighs, just enough to free his erect member. It sprung free with its tip leaking precum. Loki pushed his hips against you, cock sliding between your nether lips and brushing against your clit.

“Oh, fuck…” you whined, digging your fingernails into his clothed back until he snatched your wrists and pinned them down next to your head. He thrust forward again, teasing your clit and making you buck your hips.

“Oh, just fuck me already!”

Loki tilted his head, smirking down at you. “Now that is hardly how you speak to your husband who happens to rule the realm you reside in, now is it?”

“You’re an arsehole, Loki! I’m not begging!”

“You are not going to beg your husband?”

“No! Fuck off!”

“Fine. Then you are not coming.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You are not coming until I give you permission.”

“As if you could stop me.”

Loki raised an eyebrow and you swallowed. Challenge accepted, his expression appeared to say. And then, without any further forewarning, he plunged himself inside of you, making you moan loudly enough for his servants outside to hear. You could only imagine them blushing, except if he had charmed the room to contain any indecent noises.

He gave you no time to adjust to his length but instead began railing you as if he was going to starve to death if he didn’t. His grip around your wrists tightened, even more so when you wriggled beneath him, unable to decide between meeting his thrusts by bucking your hips and moving away because the stimulation was almost too much to bear.

It was then you felt it. The invisible force on your clit, teasing, kneading, massaging, playing you like an instrument. Loki was using his seidr to work you up, fast. And while you desperately wanted to stop your arousal from growing to not give him the satisfaction of being able to drive you straight to orgasm, to not have him control your pleasure, your body longed for more, longed for him.

It took him another minute, his rhythmic thrusts deliciously controlled, almost hitting your cervix, and you were on the verge of falling off that relaxing cliff your cunt was craving so bad.

And just like that… the stimulation stopped and Loki angled himself in a way that would keep you on the edge but not quite get you there.

“Are you fucking serious, you arrogant… ahh…” His own grunts only fuelled your arousal, his heavy breathing sounding like music in your ears.

“Beg me,” he demanded hoarsely.

“Fuck… you!”

Loki chuckled. He let go of your wrists for a moment only to grab your thighs and haul your legs over his shoulders so your bottom was slightly elevated. His next thrust was so deep you screamed with pleasure.

And then that delicious treatment on your clit continued, working you up once more. Higher and higher, closer and closer… and then it disappeared again, just before you could jump. Loki continued this sweet torture all the while he kept fucking you senseless.

“You have no idea how long I have been craving to claim that sweet quim of yours, to have you beneath me, screaming my name.”

“I hate you!” The exclamation was half-hearted. Both he and you heard it. Because you didn’t. You were crazy for this man ever since you had met him at that damned ball all those years back.

Loki chuckled in response. “Oh no, you don’t…”

You were unsure for long he kept playing with your body as if it were an instrument. Was it minutes? Hours? All you knew was that Loki kept his promise. He didn’t let you cum all the while he kept filling you up until his seed was leaking out of you, staining both the bed and your inner thighs. His stamina was incredible, your whole body had turned into jelly at this point. Weak and almost in trance, you fought for your release until you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“P-please… Loki… p-please let me cum. I… I can’t… it’s getting too much… please…” Swallowing your pride, you looked him deep in the eye, your anger almost doubling the more his mischievous grin grew.

Loki had lost his clothes by now. His naked chest was glistening with sweat, his raven hair sticking to his skin. He tilted his head, stilling inside of you for just a heartbeat.

“That is all I wished to hear, pet.”

You growled in response, moments before his seidr went back to work and he sped up his rhythm. Only this time… this time Loki didn’t stop until finally, you fell. Never before had you experienced such a strong climax. The build-up, the edging and the constant denial had turned you into a feisty animal. Screaming your heart out, you let the pleasure consume you, your orgasm electrifying you from the inside out. Again and again, you pulsed around him, demanding yet another release from Loki.

He came inside of you one last time, face buried in your neck and feasting on your sensitive skin. You whimpered when he bit your neck as if he wished to mark you and then, once your high had finally subsided, he collapsed on top of you and let go of your wrists. You kept them on the mattress none the less, too weakened to bring yourself to slap him for teasing you like that. If you did… he’d probably spank you there and then. Your poor pussy clenched yet again. Oh, fuck…

“So tell me… do you truly hate me?” he murmured smugly, his hot breath brushing against your ear.

“I’m still contemplating,” you shot back, closing your eyes. You guessed you could learn to tolerate him and give in to your feelings. But only if he fucked you like that again.

-

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this story! If you did, I would appreciate it so much if you supported me and my writing on Kofi!

I finally, OMG, released my first novel! You can find all info about it in the Linktree in my bio! <3

Now, time for some mulled wine!

[purplifield]

imagine, a Christian girl/boy (reader) x hobie brown. How would he deal with them?

Love this idea a lot 🥰 first time writing in headcanons, honestly I probably went off the rails but hopefully I fulfilled your wishes!

I kept it as gender/race neutral as I could, if you see flaws, please let me know

🪻| Crosses and pentagrams

First of all, this boy is not waiting till marriage. He doesn’t believe that marriage is necessary and if that would be your only need in life, you would sadly have to part your ways.

BUT he is quite persistent. So he loves himself a challenge.

You met when you were volunteering for church, handing out flyers for a charity concert that would take place in church yard. As intimidating Hobie was, you decided to walk up to him and start your usual introduction

“Hello there! I’m y/n, a believer in goodness! Would you be interested in coming to a charity concert? Coming to mass afterwards is…optional” you said, last sentence was unsure, since while you talked you took a look at his outfit, full of spikes, heavy jewellery and a pentagram necklace. Yet weirdly, he stopped and listened intently instead of quickening his pace like most did.

“Tell you what, gimme your number and I’ll think of more questions to ask about the event” he smiled sheepishly and gave you a marker from his pocket, tapping the flyer.

That’s how your situationship started.

You never saw the pentagram on his neck again once you said you don’t like it. You noticed little things he did for you, compliments on your mostly white and usually modest appearance.

Like the devil he was, he tempted you to wear your more revealing tops, your excuse being the heat. (You thought he didn’t notice but oh boy he did)

Soon situationship turned into a relationship and you enjoyed kissing his pierced lips. You found out that making out did make you feel good. But you were scared so once it felt too good, you would back away and hear a frustrated groan.

It was cute seeing you two together; it was an ‘opposites attract’ typa couple. Him in black, silver jewellery with different crystals, piercings everywhere. And you- a modest person with minimalistic neutral color palette and simple gold jewellery. The only ring you wore ever was your purity ring.

Which eventually got taken off when you finally felt the urge to suck his dick, slowly learning that you were just a mere mortal with desires.

Hobie was ecstatic, knowing that the two months he waited were worth it and now he guided you to get on your knees and prepare.

This man is such a tease. He knew that you felt bad for giving in for your desires, and had a field day with this information

“Such a bad Christian you are, shouldn’t you wait for marriage?” He smirked, leaning into the chair and held you down on his dick. He groaned, feeling the little vibration of your moan.

After your first time he couldn’t take his hands off of you whenever you two met.

He would make you cum in an alleyway, suck him off in the streets at like 4am when rarely anyone was awake.

He would love when you had your cross necklace on, tugging on it whenever he wanted to kiss your fucked out face.

When nowadays you would get on your knees in the church, your cheeks would flush at the dirty thoughts you had.

He was possessive; if he saw you talking to another guy, he liked to mark you up, he knew that you would stress over it and try to cover it.

“Good child of god knows that they should be loyal, so what the fuck was that about?”

Would love to fuck you dumb, corrupt your mind.

It was truly the end of your journey with god once you decided to move in with him. Despite the fights with your dad, you finally gave in to Hobie

It was evening. You just changed in you pyjamas. You felt how Hobie was staring at you, but you didn’t mind.

“Finally you done with your skincare shimcare routine, I was wai-”

“Shush” you silenced him and kneeled leaning on your bed, starting to pray. You mumbled the prayer to yourself, eyes closed. Your felt how the mattress shifts and something touches your elbows. You slightly open your eyes before re-signing.

Hobie was sitting in front of you, legs spread, you were now in between them. He tilted his head with smirk, looking at his hardened cock, showing through his boxers and sweats, briefly.

“Did you say your goodbyes to god yet? Can you please show attention to me now?”

-

His dick inside of you, as you tried to reach your orgasm. He smiled at your needy and fucked out expression. He has edged you for a while now, pulling out as soon as your moans get higher.

“Please please, let me cum Hobie”

“Who’s your god now?”

“You! You’re my god. Please just let me cum”

“Your wish is my command”

[muldj0rd]

Love was the law and religion was taught || Brocedes

Summary: “I would rather not be able to love you, and still be friends with you, than be with you and have no contact with my family”

Warnings: Anal, anal fingering, internalised homophobia, angst, blowjob, drunk sex, top Nico, bottom Lewis, handjob, is Spain ‘16 a warning? No beta read, no happy ending

Masterlist || AO3

A kid

Lewis was just a kid when his father told him that he could never love a man

Lewis met Nico the day before, having told his father that the blond boy was pretty, even if they didn’t speak the same language

“Son, loving the same gender is a sin. God created Adam and Eve”

”I just think he’s pretty, is all”

”Men can not find other men pretty or attractive”

’I’m no man. I’m a boy- a kid’ Did he want to say

He grew up. Nico became even more pretty. It was still a sin. Lewis became jealous when Nico asked if he looked good for a date he was going on- why was he jealous? It’s a sin. He shouldn’t

When they were younger 15-17 or so, Nico was more fit than Lewis. He envied that. He looked. He looked damn long if they were out swimming or something else we’re Nico had no shirt on

He kissed a man for the first time when he was barely an adult. 18 or so. He might’ve been 17 actually

He wished it was Nico he had kissed- that was the only reason why he did it. But it wasn’t Nico he had kissed

He came to his dad the very same night, his head lulled forward, his hands interlocked in front of his body “I am so sorry, father” He started before he went on to explain what a terrible sin he had done

He called Nico an hour later, having finally stopped crying after his dad had given him a beaten

Lewis immediately felt better just by hearing Nico greet him on the phone

Lewis didn’t say anything

By the time Lewis had reached Formula 1, he had tried forgetting everything about Christianity, and whatever stupid sins

Lewis had… Fallen in love? He wouldn’t say that. Lewis was… Fond of Nico. It wasn’t love

Sure, he wanted to know what it felt like to kiss Nico, he wanted to know what it felt like having his lips around Nico’s dick and afterwards wanting to know what it felt like getting fucked by him

Lewis knew Nico had have sex before- his family wasn’t religious. Nico could screw around like he wanted. Men, women, everything in-between, even long before he was married

That Lewis also envied Nico for

Australia ‘08

Lewis won, but that didn’t matter. How could it matter when Nico was on the podium for the first time

Drinking, clubbing, dancing

What the time was? Nobody knew

All Lewis knew, was that it felt extremely good to have Nico laying his head on his shoulder

“Lew?” He spoke softly, making Lewis turn his head to look down at Nico, they were close like this now “I love you” He murmured, looking into Lewis’ eyes

“I love you too, man” Lewis said, pushing a strand of Nico’s outgrown hair behind his ear

“No” Nico shook his head slightly sitting up straight now “I love you, Lewis”

The next thing Lewis knew, were Nico’s lips on his. He felt pushing him away, but he didn’t

He kissed back instead, not like he had done with the first guy he kissed back in ‘04

This was better. It felt right. For a brief moment when they pulled away, could Lewis hear his father’s voice

’Son, loving the same gender is a sin’

Lewis didn’t care. He wanted to keep kissing Nico, and he did

They ended up in one of their hotel’s rather quickly after that

It was Nico’s hotel and room. Lewis could smell it the moment they stepped inside before he was gently pushed up against the wall

Nico reached his hands towards Lewis’ belt, but Lewis pushed his hands away, going down onto his knees instead, his hands unbuckling Nico’s belt

“Gott, Lew… You don’t have to” Nico said, a hand placed on the wall in front of him, the other placed in the crook of Lewis’ neck

“Please… Let me” How could Nico say no when Lewis were begging to suck him?

Nico nodded softly. He didn’t know how inexperienced Lewis was- he knew about how he was taught about religion, but that didn’t have to mean he was inexperienced

Nico’s breath hitched slightly when Lewis licked softly over the head of his cock

“Fuck” Nico moaned out softly as Lewis swirled his tongue around him, holding on to the back of the blond’s thighs

Lewis looked up at Nico through hooded eyes as he hollowed his cheeks, taking as much of him into his mouth as he could

The sight alone could make Nico come if he didn’t have enough consciousness to hold back

Lewis started moving his head, his warm mouth- he was inexperienced alright, but it didn’t matter to Nico, dare he say it kinda turned him even more on, knowing he was more experienced than Lewis

Nico threw his head back slightly, moaning softly, his hand tightening slightly around Lewis’ neck, needing something to hold onto

“Lew- fuck. I’m gonna come” Nico groaned softly, his thighs shaking slightly

Lewis hummed around Nico, pressing his tongue against a vein, drawing Nico over the edge, coming inside Lewis’ mouth

Lewis pulled off of Nico, swallowing his cum, both panting heavily

“Fuck” Nico breathed out, his hand on Lewis’ jaw, his thumb wiping away some of his cum from the corner of his mouth

“Please. I want you to fuck me” Lewis said softly, almost a whisper

Nico sighed softly “You sure?” He asked, softly tracing Lewis’ bottom lip

“Yes” He nodded, looking up at Nico

“Undress and get on the bed” He said, taking a step away, taking his own shirt off

Lewis did as he was told, quickly undressing himself and getting onto the bed, laying on his back

Nico stepped out of his jeans and briefs, getting the lube from his suitcase and sitting on his knees between Lewis’ spread thighs

He bent Lewis’ knees, leaning down to mouth at the soft skin of his thighs, making Lewis whimper softly, his cock leaking onto his stomach

“Nico” Lewis whined, bucking his hips slightly to emphasise how much he needed him

“You’re so damn impatience” Nico chuckled, leaning back and pouring some lube onto his fingers

Lewis moaned softly when Nico started circling his hole slowly

He whimpered when Nico slowly pushed his finger into him, pumping it in and out softly, twisting it to get Lewis more stretched out

Lewis whined softly when Nico softly pushed in a second finger, Lewis’ fingers digging into Nico’s biceps

“Shh. Relax” Nico soothed, his other hand caressing the inside of Lewis thigh, trying to get him relaxed

Nico slowly started moving his fingers again, twisting and turning them, scissoring Lewis open

Lewis moaned loudly when Nico curled his fingers, hitting his prostate. It was soft, but still gave Lewis immense pleasure

“Nico- please” Lewis moaned, hips rolling against Nico’s hand, his own tight in the sheets beneath him

Nico chuckled softly, pulling his fingers out slowly, earning a whine from Lewis from the sudden emptiness

Nico wiped his fingers clean on the inside of Lewis’ thigh, Lewis too fucked out to care about how his thigh was now sticky

Nico watched Lewis breathing hard and heavily with his eyes closed as his hands worked on getting his cock lubed up

Lewis whimpered when Nico lined himself up with Lewis

Both moaned softly when Nico slowly pushed inside Lewis, stoping every so often to let Lewis adjust before pushing further

Nico sat a slow pace once Lewis got adjusted enough, Nico’s pale hands on Lewis’s dark hips

Likewise with Lewis’ dark hands against Nico’s pale waist, holding him tight, afraid he’d leave

“That’s it, schatz. Gott, you feel so good” Nico moaned out softly, leaning over, one hand still on Lewis’ hip, the other beside Lewis’ head , holding himself up

“Faster- please” Lewis chocked out between his whimpers and whines

Nico chuckled softly, angling his hips to thrust into Lewis’ prostate faster, making Lewis moan loudly over and over again, Nico’s name rolling off his tongue like a loud prayer

Nico felt himself get close again, twitching inside Lewis as he felt Lewis’ walls clench down around him

Nico leaned back, wrapped his hand around Lewis’ cock and stroking him to the same speed as his thrusts

It didn’t take long for Lewis to be coming all over his stomach and Nico’s hand

Nico slowed his hand down, angling his hips to avoid Lewis’ prostate as he chase his own orgasm for the second time

With a moan of Lewis’ name, Nico came deep inside Lewis, bracing his body with his arms so he didn’t fell down on top of Lewis

Russia ‘16

8 years

They had been together for 8 years, and Lewis had yet to tell his dad about them

He felt bad, of course. Nico’s parents knew about them, but Lewis had never even hinted to his father that they were together

Together for 8

Lived together for 5

Engaged for 2

They were practically married at this point, but Lewis had yet to say anything, not because he felt it as a sin, but his dad found it as one

“I’ll tell my father tonight” Lewis hummed, his head laying on Nico’s chest, arms around his waist

“Yeah?” Nico sounded surprised as he looked down at Lewis, his fingertips trailing up and down Lewis’ naked waist

“Yeah” Lewis hummed, turning his head to look up at Nico

Nico smiled softly “I’m proud of you”

“Shut up” Lewis mumbled, getting flustered by the praise

Nico won the race, so it gave Lewis more confidence to talk to his father

Lewis went to his father’s hotel room, sitting on the bed nervously

“Why you so nervous, son?” Anthony asked, working on getting everything cleaned up and packed again

“I have a partner” Lewis blurted out, making Anthony hum softly

“Is she pretty? What’s her name?” Anthony asked, closing his suit case

“Yeah, he is pretty” Lewis hummed, looking into the floor

“He?” Anthony stopped in his tracks “You meant she… Right?” Lewis could hear the anger in his voice

“No” Lewis chocked out, shaking his head slightly “I’m dating Nico, dad”

“You can’t be with him. You need to break up” Anthony sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, towering over Lewis

“I can’t do that” Lewis whimpered out

“And why is that?” He sighed again

“Well, first of all, because I love him, second of all, we’ve been together for 8 years, so-“ “8 years?! Are you out of your mind, boy?” Lewis flinched slightly at his dad’s new tone

“We live together and we’re engaged as well” Lewis hummed quietly

Anthony nodded softly, scoffing slightly “Here’s the deal- you either break up with Nico, and god forgive you, or… you can stay with Nico and I will make sure no family will have contact with you again” Lewis’ eyes grazed with unshed tears “You better make up your mind the next time I see you, boy, and I will be at Barcelona. Now, get out”

“How’d it go?” Nico asked softly from where he sat on the bed with a book once Lewis got back

“I don’t wanna talk about it” He mumbled, kicking off his shoes, laying his head in Nico’s lap, closing his eyes softly

Nico didn’t read anymore. Solely focusing on his fiancé in his lap, making sure he was safe

Spain ‘16

Lewis knew it was a shitty telling Lewis on the Thursday before the race, but he needed to do it before he saw his father again

“You okay, schatz?” Nico asked concerned, looking at Lewis who was leaning against the small desk of his drivers room

“Not really, no” Lewis hummed quietly, already feeling tears well in his eyes

“What’s the matter?” Nico wiped a tear away from Lewis’ cheek

Lewis closed his eyes, taking a deep shaky breath “We can’t be together anymore” He sighed, not daring to look at Nico

All Nico’s thoughts stopped. Time stopped “What? What are you talking about, schatz? Is this because of your father?” Nico feel his eyes water

Lewis nodded softly, sniffling “Yeah” He sighed

“Baby- I love you, and that’s all that matters. So, screw what your father says” Tears silently slid down Nico’s cheeks as he rested his hands on the sides of Lewis’ neck

“No- you don’t understand, Nico” Lewis said, shoving Nico’s hands away, making him stumble backwards slightly

“If we stay together, my father will make sure I never have contact with my family ever again, and I-…” Lewis sighed, closing his eyes softly again

Lewis opened his eyes again “I would rather not be able to love you, and still be friends with you, than be with you and have no contact with my family” He sighed

“Lew-“ “Nico. Don’t. I have made my mind. I respect my father too much” Nico chuckled sarcastically, his eyes bloodshot

“Fuck you, Lewis” Lewis flinched slightly when Nico slammed the door shut after he left

[idylls-of-the-divine-romance]

The way the Romans thought about Christians is so funny to me cause it's like... well the way I've phrased it is that the Christianoi are Death Cult Hippies basically.

Atheists? Unclear.

Incestuous. They're brothers and sisters but the kiss each other all. the. time. IN PUBLIC!? Imagine what happens at night...

Early on Sunday Mornings and late at nights they rise together to hold "Love Feasts" aka Orgies, Cannibalism (of their god???)

Won't stop talking about torture devices. They have this weird magic ritual called "the Sign of the Cross"

Super into death (initiates must go into Death and come back out alive) and zombies (their god is a zombie? they wish to be zombies?)

Always hanging around cemeteries and tombs. They hold religious worship at gravesites and catacombs, writing on the walls for the dead to pray for them (??). So creepy.

Always. Singing. Also some of them speak in weird languages

Despite the constant singing they are very anti-social. Anti-music, anti-theatre, anti-schooling (??), heck, lots of them won't even wear jewelry or perfume or cosmetics!

They keep taking trash (i.e. infants, esp girls and deformed boys, that were left out to die) and raising them as children

Pacifist? Communist?? Anarchist??? Seriously like they won't serve in the military, won't serve in public office (insisting rather to "pray" for the nation to their god. For it's peace or it's fall, who knows?), the part of the cult in Jerusalem lives in common. By refusing to worship the gods they are in defiance against the cultural and political character and the very nature of Rome itself.

Their god is born of... a virgin?? And she consented!? And then their god died... the death of a slave... intentionally!?!?!

Religion of Women and Slaves. Like seriously. They are farrrrr too inclusive. Multi-ethnic, heterogenity, way to much focus on women's roles, disregard for social classes, etc. Also why do so many slaves (the basis of our economy) convert to this religion???

On one hand, obviously, never persecute anyone. Even if they are a dangerous hippie death cult. But also... like my religion sounds like a hippie death cult! I can completely understand. If i was a roman, I'd want these people killed too lol. These people clearly CLEARLY are "the cause of every public disaster, of every affliction with which the people are visited. If the Tiber rises as high as the city walls, if the Nile does not send its waters up over the fields, if the heavens give no rain, if there is an earthquake, if there is famine or pestilence, straightway the cry is, 'Away with the Christians to the lions!"

So... yeah. The Christians were goth and everyone knows the Romans hate Goths lol

[davidtennantgenderenvy]

ROLES I WANT DAVID TENNANT TO PLAY IN MUSICALS: THE MASTERLIST

Okay so I've divided this into three categories, which you shall see below!

Roles I Think David Could/Should Play NOW:

Charlie Guiteau in Assassins

someone in Brigadoon bc it would be funny

The Emcee in Cabaret

Ryuk in Death Note

The Man In The Chair in The Drowsy Chaperone

The Dysquith Family in A Gentleman's Guide to Love And Murder

Herbie in Gypsy

Hades in Hadestown

Frollo in Hunchback of Notre Dame (okay give him like five years)

The Baker in Into The Woods

Lord Chancellor in Iolanthe

Albin or Georges in La Cage Aux Folles (either one as long as the other is played by Michael Sheen)

Trunchbull in Matilda OKAY HEAR ME OUT (he could also do Mr Wormwood)

Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady

Fagin in Oliver

Tateh in Ragtime

Riff Raff OR Frank N Furter in Rocky Horror

Shakespeare in Something Rotten

Squidward in SpongeBob (im so serious)

Sweeney Todd (utterly delusional but I need it to happen)

The Wizard in Wicked

Roles I Think David Would Have Nailed When He Was Younger

The Balladeer in Assassins

anyone in Cats please it would be so funny (especially Munkustrap)

Connor Murphy in Dear Evan Hansen (like Campbell era come ON)

Motel in Fiddler on the Roof

Marvin in Falsettos (he MIGHT get away with that now not sure)

Monty in Gentleman's Guide

J.P. Finch in How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying

Molina in Kiss of the Spider Woman

Emmet in Legally Blonde

Seymour in Little Shop of Horrors

Edgar Allan Poe in Nevermore

Leo Frank in Parade

Narrator/Cat in the Hat in Seussical

Georg in She Loves Me

any character Christian Borle played in Spamalot

Tobias Ragg in Sweeney Todd

Roles David Quite Doesn't Have The Instrument For But I Would Watch Him Do Them Anyway Bc He Would Act The Hell Out Of Them:

Any Elder in The Book of Mormon (Younger)

Robert in Bridges of Madison County

Bobby in Company (Younger)

Jervis in Daddy Long Legs (Younger)

Lucheni in Elisabeth (Younger)

or death. Rudolph too tbh

Bruce Bechdel in Fun Home

Edward Rochester in Jane Eyre

Henry Jekyll/Edward Hyde (younger)

Judas in Jesus Christ Superstar (younger)

Javert in Les Miserables

Christian in Moulin Rouge (Younger)

Pierre in Great Comet (this one actually kills me bc he and Phileas are so similar)

OR ANATOLE HOLY CRAP

Gabe in Next to Normal (Younger)

Erik in Phantom of the Opera

Mark Cohen in Rent (younger)

Noel Gruber or Ricky Potts in Ride the Cyclone (younger)

Archibald Craven in The Secret Garden

Joe/Josephine in Some Like It Hot

BURRS IN THE WILD PARTY OH I WISH THIS WERE REALISTIC IT WOULD BE SO GOOD

GOD this is long please spill the opinions so this was worth it

[amymbona]

OMG PRIEST IN KNIVES OUT IS CERTAINLY GOOD, BUT VICAR MR. ELTON... 🧎🏻‍♀️🙏 I need to confess all my sins to him and beg for forgiveness, please, and what would it be without his silly smile 😃

MR. ELTON MY BELOVED 🛐🛐🛐🛐

The sheer obscenity of the whole situation, how basically nothing is allowed in the late 18th century, everyone is to be behaving properly and poor you are having all these thoughts. And, what makes it absolutely terrible, all these explicit ideas circle around the young, face-made-in-heaven vicar, the servant of God who's adapted by the whole town. You adore him as well, so deeply that when you pray each evening, you wish he was in your room and stroked your hair as you struggle to fall asleep.

Each Sunday, you sit in the front row of the picturesque little church, eagerly nodding and listening to the each word of the sermon. When he offers the annual time for confession, you linger behind, allowing everyone else to confess to their sins instead.

"Dear child," the way he adresses you has you weak in the knees - thank god you're kneeling right now - and you're really having issues staying calm at the moment. "What seems to be troubling you?"

You join your hands by your chest, bowing your head down to gaze at his feet, heart beating as you suddenly feel so small under the intensity of his warm gaze. "Forgive me for I have sinned, father."

Now calling him that feels incredibly odd to you, considering there is not that huge of an age gap between the two of you, plus the intensity of your mind consuming dreams is like a heavy weight on your back.

"How have you sinned, my child?"

The most vulgar of words are running through your mind, some of them made up as you've never been to speak in the lower class way, but at the moment, you seem unable to come up with a properly former sentence. You feel the pit of hell burning beneath your knees, the eyes of christ drilling a hole into the back of your head. This isn't anything close to the casuality of accidentally showing an ankle or refering to someone with the wrong title.

"I've been having thoughts, father. Odious, ill and mind consuming."

"What exact kind of thoughts?" Mr. Elton asks, the softness of his voice like a caress to your cheek. How are you supposed to say it?

You gulp, fingers still intertwined, nails digging into the soft flesh of your own hands. "Thoughts that are not appropriate for an unwed woman. That should never occur."

Mr. Elton has rarely been exposed to certain vulgar images of female mind, not many women having visited him to confess to such a matter. And for that reason, he is supposed to find it troubling, to find it so obscure that he shouldn't even allow you to speak on such a matter. But something in his mind that has been touched by the finger of a devil, the not so God devoted part that's secretly longing for the basic male need is tempted to converse on such a matter.

However, you are a good christian girl, your father is the mayor of Highbury and he'd be damned for allowing your mind to get swallowed by something so sinful. He has to offer help, the same way he does to all your neighbours and all the people that come to seek his guidance.

"Tell me what exactly is on your mind, child," he demands softly, his voice as steady as his stance.

You gulp, eyes closing in shame as your heartbeat speeds up. This is way worse than if you were to confess to a murder, but once you've taken a bite, you have to eat the whole cake. So you speak. And for the sake of you both, choose to leave out the name of the main star of your fantasies.

"I've been... Imagining- vividly imagining the sight of a bare body, a man's body. And mine as well. Together, close," your voice is so quiet and full of shame that at first, Mr. Elton can barely hear you. With a small hum, he beckons you to continue. "And touching as well, places that shouldn't be touched. Kissing and performing other acts. I have never engager in anything of this kind, father, I don't know where the thoughts are coming from."

He can see you trembling at his feet and the urge to reach in and wipe the small tear that's rolling down your cheek takes over him. His hand shoots out and Mr. Elton manage to stop himself barely in time, the tips of his fingers running over your hairline. You flinch and he almost gasps too, luckily managing to disguise it as drawing a cross on your forehead. "Poor child."

You nod shakily, your heart beating so loud that it fills your ears like a sound of a drum, the whole entirety of the church suddenly suffocating you tightly. Mr. Elton smirks as the sight, your desperation as bright as the sky. He takes very sick and twisted pleasure in this situation, almost wanting to make the best of it, because it's not every day that a good girl like yourself, prim and proper - almost brain washed -, confesses to having such dirty thoughts. Would it be a sin to let you swim in the lake without offering a branch to grasp onto for a big longer?

[lennadanvers]

oh my gosh, your writing is so great -- thank you for sharing! if you're taking requests, would you consider something featuring simon and a christian reader? (honestly, i'm really glad that there's a longfic writer in the fandom who doesn't focus on nsfw scenarios. the 'delirium' section in your masterlist is a really cute addition that i personally haven't seen before, and i'm older than you are. haha sorry for rambling, thanks again! <3)

Hi! I’m glad you enjoy my work!

I'm gonna be honest; I wrote a whole paragraph about nsfw-centered fics and what I think about them, and ended up deleting it bc it wasn't the point at all. It's too easy for me to start rambling sometimes. In short, I'm not in the mood to read nsfw sometimes, and I wish there were more sfw fanfics, so that's what I usually write.

Let me warn you, I’m not an expert in any religion, so there can be mistakes here (and this is kinda (very) nonspecific). I did my best though. Also, sorry it took me so fucking long. Hope you like it!

Mercy

Ghost doesn’t believe in your God.

Maybe Simon once did. He’s not sure. How could he, after everything he’s gone through? If he had any faith inside him, it should have survived. If a God like that existed, they should have helped him.

But there’s no faith left in him, and he hasn’t been helped by any God.

He knows only one pair of hands that are holy. Only one forgiveness he’d spend this life- and any other- seeking. Only one name he mutters before falling asleep. There is only one place he goes to every Sunday, and one face he wants to see when he dies.

Yours.

Maybe he does believe in god -he believes in you, after all.

He’s seen you pray. You close your eyes, sometimes move your mouth without talking, the words taking possession of your lips. It’s the same when he mouths “I love you” under the mask, in the shadows. He thinks your God hears you the same way you hear him: you don’t, but you know.

He's noticed how you pat the cross hanging around your chest when you need support. When Ghost is about to jump into a storm of bullets, when Johnny is messing with a suspicious wire, when he’s only got one magazine left… He pats his chest: the heart beating inside is yours.

He’s gone with you to church. You keep quiet when you’re there, reverential for the sacred atmosphere. When Simon is at your house, he doesn’t talk much either. He bows at the pictures on your walls, though, a savior depicted in all your glory.

He knows when you’re scared, you ask your God for protection. When he was injured in battle, the only thing he thought about was you. The only one at the hospital, the only one tending to his wounds for months, the only one.

Ghost doesn’t believe in God. He does, however, worship you. That’s why he’s standing at the altar, looking at you in your white dress. He is a religious man, after all. A devotee. One to whom you’ve granted entry to Heaven, now that you’re saying yes. One that is loved, even with blood under his nails and gunpowder deep in his pores.

Ghost is a sinner that’s been forgiven before even asking. A coarse attempt at being like you; so pure, good and loving. You let him kneel before you once, a ring in his trembling hand; you took him. You put one on his finger, a gift he’ll never be able to repay, but that he’s infinitely thankful for. He’s not perfect, he’ll never be; and he knows. But he’s doing his best, and you know that. So you kiss him as if he were.

When you leave church -hand in his, husband and wife- he speaks to your God for the first and only time. Says only two words.

Thank you.

[notsoattractivearenti]

Comfort Person (Christian Pulisic x Fem!Reader)

WC: 700+

Warnings: curse words

A/N: a quick and short one written for my girlies for a little pick-me-up, especially @swimmingismywholelife 🤍 hope you guys enjoy and i’d love to hear your thoughts thru ask/reply/reblog 🫶🏻 apologies for any errors! feedbacks are highly appreciated ❤️

—

It has been a long difficult few weeks for you and you felt like the universe was punishing you for simply just existing. Bad things after bad things kept happening and made you feel like shit – the worst thing was that most things were out of your control. The helplessness you were experiencing was quite exhausting and a lot for you to handle.

You came home after work looking all upset and tired – you just wanted to lay in bed with your boyfriend, Christian, doing nothing until the day is finally over and probably have to go through another shit day all over again. You acted like you had no will to live anymore, though you kept wishing for good luck to finally be on your side.

Christian greeted you cheerfully the second you got home, your grumpy face caught his attention.

“Hello my beautiful lady, why so grumpy?”

“Ugh, another day another crap.” You grunted.

He pulled you in and gave you a kiss on your forehead and a big hug.

“Oh, my poor baby. Want to tell me what happened today?” He softly asked as he stroked your back.

“Maybe later, I need to change first. And eat. And watching a series.”

“Okay…” He kissed the top of your head. “Hope you don’t mind having Italian for dinner because I already got us some pasta and pizza.”

“Love it. Thank you.” You slightly smiled.

One of the things you love so much about Christian is that he knows how to give you the comfort you need. Somehow he always finds the right way to lighten up your mood no matter how terrible it might be – and this night was no different.

Now you’ve changed into your comfy clothes, you went to the living room and saw Christian was already there setting up the table in front of the TV and putting on your favorite show. He saw you coming over and his face lit up.

“Come on, dinner is ready!” He said as he pulled your hand and sat on the sofa.

He knew you just wanted to lay down and relax, therefore he brought the dinner to the living room so you could lay on the sofa and have your dinner there.

“So, do you feel ready to let me know what happened today?”

You sighed.

“Yeah… This day was terrible, again. Are you sure you want to hear shitty things all over again?”

He pulled you closer and let you rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’m all ears, my love.”

You then told him everything that happened to you earlier today. He was listening closely to you while you ranted about having to go through another difficult day – not once he let you out of his sight. He stroked your arms and your hair and gave you little kisses during. He really was empathized with you for what you went through, and he knew the only thing he could do was to be there for you – to comfort you in any way he could give you.

“Y/N, sweetheart… I’m sorry things have not been easy for you lately, but you know I’m here for you if you need anything.”

You sighed and slowly nodded.

“You know what, you are the strongest person I’ve ever known. Though life keeps throwing bad things at you, you’re still able to move forward. You should be proud of yourself! You and your resilience will never fail to amaze me.”

“Resilience? Do you mean me bitching about my problems?”

“I mean, that is the way you cope… And it is totally acceptable! I don’t mind hearing you, as you said “bitching about your problems”, because I’d rather you talk to me rather than keeping them to yourself!”

You let out a genuine smile and your eyes were already watery and red. God, what did I do to deserve a wonderful man like him? You thought to yourself.

“I… Ah, I don’t… I don’t know… I don’t know what to say…” You stuttered, your voice was breaking.

“You’ve said everything,” he chuckles, “don’t worry my love. I just said what I needed to say.”

You leaned in and kissed him on the lips. You couldn’t hold back your tears any longer, you started to cry.

“Chris… Despite all this shit, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you, and I’m forever grateful to have you in my life…” You tearfully express your gratitude for him.

He wiped away your tears then kissed you.

“I love you more, Y/N.”

—

taglist: @pulisicsgirl @neverinadream @masonspulisic @swimmingismywholelife @chelseagirl98 @bracedes @lovelynikol16 @thoseboysinblue @lizzypotter14 @masonsrem

[pablotorresgf]

no te contaron mal- Pablo Gavi (english version)

after an argument, pablo let’s his actions speak louder than his words. 

warnings: curse words,cheating, asshole! gavi, gaslighting. no happy ending

#notes: i’m a little rusty with my writing, feedback is appreciated. please like & reblogㅤᵕ̈ (lowercase intended)

you were sat on your couch trying to shut the world around you. you couldn’t stand it anymore, you couldn’t stand not being able to voice your thoughts around your boyfriend without an argument spurring up afterwards. a relationship was supposed to be built up with trust and communication, you always told yourself that but you never knew when it disappeared in your relationship.

after a while you opened your eyes and let out a sigh. your eyes adjusted to the light, looking around you were trying to locate your phone. feeling somewhat calmed down you unlocked your phone and opened the messages app, you clicked on the pinned conversation and a photo of Pablo and you for your year anniversary adorned the contact information. you sent him two text; one asking where he was, the other reminding him to be careful, no matter how mad you were at him you could never wish for him to be in danger. swiping out the conversation you opened up your best friends messages, your eyes skimmed the last texts you had sent her, paragraphs of you telling her about the argument Pablo and you had. averting your eyes to the bottom of your texts you saw that she read them but never answered. weird

the digital clock on the coffee table read 2:56 am and you decided to get yourself ready for bed. heading upstairs you entered the bathroom and focused on getting the mascara clumps from under your eyes off your face and brushing your teeth. leaving the bathroom you made the bed and decided to try to go to sleep now knowing if you’ll be able to while Pablo wasn’t home.

the next morning you woke up and patted down the spot next to you. empty. you opened your eyes while trying to adjust to the light around your room, you sat up and reached for your phone on the nightstand. your notification bar showing you a bunch of notifications some from your friends, others from your siblings, a handful from twitter, and from your best friend. opening your siblings text first you saw all of them sending you pitiful texts and a lot of links to post, and articles. clicking on the links pictures of your best friend leaving a house party in a disheveled state hand in hand with your Pablo. you were in disbelief and denial, there had to be a reasonable explanation on why your best friend and your boyfriend were leaving a house party hand and hand and looking like that, but as you opened your best friends messages, you knew all the allegations and rumors were true. rows and rows of sorrys, and he said you guys weren’t together were displayed on your screen. you scoffed and left her on read, she wasn’t worth a reply from you not now and especially fucking never.

hearing a door closing you head shot up, hearing footsteps approaching your room and the door opening you were face to face with your cheater of a boyfriend.

“you better have a good ass explanation for this Pablo, or god hopes i don’t fucking knock some fucking sense into you, you prick.” you yelled out exasperated.

“i’m pretty sure y/b/n already texted you what happened, and you saw all those articles, there’s nothing for me to explain.” he replied nonchalantly.

“what the fuck Pablo, how can you just stand there so calmly, we’ve been together for over a god damn year and you go throw all away and with my fucking best friend, you’re a coward! how did it even happen, why the fuck did it even happen?” you yelled in need of answers

“i wasn’t thinking right, and she sent me a text telling me that there was a house party and that if i wanted to go and i accepted. i got there and we were just talking and then we kissed, it turned into more than that and she guided me into this room. the urge and curiosity got the best of me i just wanted to see what it was like if me and her… you know.” He was going to continue before you cut him off

“no i don’t fucking know Pablo because never has it crossed my mind to go fuck your best friend, never! did you always think of her like that or what?”

“ no y/n i didn’t but she was all over me and i was drunk out of my mind and she was there and you weren’t. you weren’t there with me so it’s your fault i got drunk, you were the reason i was drinking if you had just not caused the argument none of this would’ve happened! at least i didn’t do it with multiple girls it was just her that’s all. it meant nothing and you know that.” he finished off

“oh! do i really know that? and what do you want me to do to get on my knees and thank you that it was only her? huh! it would’ve hurt less if it was some random fucking girl but no you wanted to sleep with my best friend someone i’ve known for years!” you yelled back while getting off the bed in search of a bag and your necessities. you didn’t even pay to mind Pablo following you around you just wanted to grab your shit and leave.

“what are you doing?” he said while grabbing the bag from your hands. you looked at him like if he was stupid and snatched your bag back. he continued to pester you until you burst.

“you’re fucking delusional if you think i’m staying with a cheater that fucked my best friend!”

“but i still love you.”

that made you laugh. you genuinely laughed in his face and looked at him to see if he was seriously you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. he didn’t love you, his actions spoke way louder than his words.

“i’ll rather be dead than love a disgusting person like you.”

[rawrl1ns]

🌸 eterni rivali | lestappen

drabble (500 words)

CW: light angst, hurt/comfort, my poor english

They were predestined, destined for the inevitable rivalry of the decade.

(aka Max comforts Charles before Bahrain GP 2024's quali day)

.

small drabble i secretly worked under my office table today because the work was too boring.. enough of my bs, enjoy!

Bahrain Grand Prix 2024 — March 1st

Max heard the sound of the hotel bed creaking, felt the loss of the touch that had warmed him through the cold night in the middle of the desert.

The bright blue orbs sparked with the sunlight that beamed past the cream-colored curtain's gap.

"Charles?" He croaked, brushing those eyes with the back of his hand, trying to readjust his focus on the man who stood by the huge window of the room, naked as the day he was born, illuminated by the natural morning sunlight.

Beautiful, he thought.

The light of his life.

"Yes, chéri?" Charles quietly answered, eyes still staring at the beautiful scenery in front of him.

"It's six in the morning."

"Why wake up so early?" The Dutchman propped himself up, the first thing he reached was his phone, checking tons of notifications.

Nothing apart from Christian's shits. Thank you.

The Monègasque sighed, banged his forehead against the glass window, hard enough to make a small whimper sound.

"First quali day of the season. It's just..."

"I'm scared, Max. Worried the shit out of myself."

"But you said the car's performance has been a lot better?" He cocked his head slightly, wondering where his lover's confidence had gone.

"Yes, but still-" He paused, turning his god-sculpted body at Max, directly facing him. Max's expression changed as he saw Charles' beautiful, green irises glossy with tears.

His possessive instinct urged him to hold Charles tightly in his arms and kiss him, chasing away his misery. So, the Dutchman stood up from the bed and slowly walked to him, closing the space between them, feeling the other man's hot breath against his milky skin.

"I wish I could fight you." Charles whispered. "I wish I could hate you, angry at you like I did in Austria."

His nimble fingers softly touch the champion's board chest, savoring the sight of the beautiful man in front of him lovingly.

"And I wish you could hate me back." He smiled, resting his head on Max's shoulder.

To Max, Charles' eyes never lie. Even his smile couldn't hide the pain lurking inside. Those deep-sea emerald eyes.

"I miss the fight between us. On track, side by side, wheels to wheels."

.

.

"I know what you're capable of."

"Schatje, you're perfect." Max whispered softly right into his ear.

He then pushed his lover's vulnerable figure into the glass, exposing the other's naked ass to the world.

"I want to fight you too."

"Fight until you hate me, until we scream at each other,"

"...until we end up fucking each other at the end of the day." He reached for Charles' soft hair, slowly stroked through his scalp, soothing and calming him.

Max could feel the warm radiated from Charles' face.

"Merci, chéri."

"I'll beat you, I will. This year."

The Ferrari driver peeled himself away from Max, as he kissed him softly on his plump lips.

"Meet me on track, okay?"

"Miss holding your waist on the podium." Max laughed, his eyes crinkled. Charles relieved his body tension, smiling sincerely.

.

.

"Let's get back to bed, shall we?"

[otdiaftg]

The Raven King - Chapter Seven

Day: Thursday, October 5th Time: 11:30 PM EST

"I mean literally soft. Too many curves, see? I feel like my hands would slide right off. It's totally not my thing. I like..." He drew a box with his fingers as he searched for words. "Erik. Erik's perfect. He's a total outdoors junkie, rock climbing and hiking and mountain biking, all that awful bug-infested fresh-air stuff. He's stronger than I am, and I like that. I feel like I could lean on him all day and he wouldn't break a sweat." "Funny," Nicky said. "That didn't used to be my type. None of the others I crushed on growing up were anything like that. Maybe that's why none of them could help me." Nicky turned his hands palm-up on the table and considered them. "My parents are kind of crazy, you know? There's religious and there's super psychotic religious. Me and Renee, we're the decent sort, I think. We go to different churches and have some different ideas, but we respect each other anyway. We understand that religion is just an interpretation of faith. But my parents are the black-and-white crazy kind. It's only right and wrong with them: hellfire and damnation and judgment from on high. "For some reason I tried coming out to them anyway," Nicky said. "Mom was pretty upset. She locked herself in the bedroom and cried and prayed for days. Dad took a more direct route and shipped me off to Christian gay camp. I spent a year learning that I was infected by a disgusting idea from the devil, that I was a living test for every other good Christian on the planet. They tried using God to shame me into being straight. "It didn't work," Nicky said. "For a while I wished it did. I went home feeling like an abomination and a failure. I couldn't face my parents like that, so I lied. I pretended to be straight for the rest of high school. I even dated a couple girls. I kissed a couple of them, but I used my faith as an excuse never to get further than first base. I knew I just had to keep it together until graduation. "I hated my life so much," Nicky said. "I couldn't do that, you know? I couldn't live a lie like that day after day. I felt trapped. Some days I thought God abandoned me; sometimes I thought I failed Him. Halfway through my junior year I started thinking about suicide. Then my German teacher took me aside and told me about a study abroad program. She would set it all up for me, she said, if my parents would sign off on it. She'd handle admissions and get a host family and everything. It'd be expensive, but she thought I needed a change in scenery. Guess she knew I was that close to the edge. "I didn't think Mom and Dad would go for it, but they were so proud of me for my so-called recovery they agreed to let me go my senior year. I just had to last another semester and then I could go. I was so desperate to get out of there I didn't even really pay attention when Aaron and Aunt Tilda moved to Columbia that spring. All I cared about was keeping it together until May. I know now I should have tried harder, but I would've been no good to him how I was. "When the plane took off from Columbia, I was scared to death," Nicky said. "I was so relieved to leave my parents and everyone I knew, but I didn't know if being in Germany would change anything. When I landed, my new host brother was waiting for me in Arrivals. Erik Klose," Nicky said, sounding it out like he was saying it for the first time. "He taught me to believe in myself. He showed me how to balance my faith and my sexuality, and he made me okay again. I know it sounds dramatic, but he saved my life." Nicky flipped his hands over and laced his fingers together. The look he turned on Neil was as reassuring as it was worried and made Neil want to edge away. "That's what love is about, see? That's why Exy isn't ever going to be enough, not for you or Andrew or anyone. It can't hold you up, and it won't make you a stronger or better person."

Art used with permission by Kurra. Thank you @kurra !