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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Note

I’ve read a variation of soft and rough König and I’ve enjoyed both but I’d love to see your take on his character.

I can’t deny I have a preference for soft König. I think his size is a major concern, especially if his partner is on the smaller side, which leads me to believe he’d prolong the inevitable and the pining and anticipation would be off the charts on his end. But maybe his SO thinks he’s not as interested as she initially thought.

Add in the fact that he’s gone for long periods of time in which there is little or no communication and perhaps she considers moving on. The ol’ miscommunication trope if you will, with a happy ending. Thanks!

Overflow the Stars

Pairing: König x F!Reader

Synopsis: One more abandoned date night later, you're left wondering if the man you're infatuated with is really interested in you at all.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Angst, feelings of insecurity, body issues, allusions to König's past w. bullying & his anxiety, size difference, fluff, soft!König, happy ending

A/N: This is my apology to the German-speaking people out there - I think I butchered your language (feel free to correct me). I'm so sorry lmfao. But, Anon, this request was adorable to write, hope you enjoy it!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wanted to say you were surprised when he didn't show up – really, you did – but in the back of your mind, you already knew he wouldn’t. It was hard not to feel disappointed when you swirled your tiny cup of Franziskaner tensely, watching the whipped cream sink away into the concoction of dark espresso and milk; calling attention to the same feeling in your chest.

König had a strange habit as of late, and with a delicate furrow in your brow and perhaps even a smidge of sadness in your eyes, you wondered what you had done wrong. Why had he been avoiding you so…violently? While you wouldn’t have called yourself perfect by any means, nothing you had done over the course of your meetings was strange or downright embarrassing.

You admitted that the man had never been the type to run away from something, and sighed as you brought the cup to your lips and sipped. Caffeine sits on your tongue along with a bitter revelation as the rain begins to pick up in velocity outside. The small and quiet café where you’re spending your afternoon is warm and unburdened by the weather.

Do you think…he’s even interested in me anymore? The sharp thought brings a pang to your chest, fingers over the warm cup flinching back as if struck with lightning. O-or he doesn’t like being around me?

Your relationship was still new, very new, and if you were asked you would say it wasn’t even dating yet. König hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend.

But it had still been going well.

“Or so I thought,” you take a breath, watching the fog on the window as the streets of Vienna are rapidly being emptied of tourists and locals alike. Your shoulders are painfully tight.

Aggressive rainfall like this into the cold seasons was unusual, but it wasn’t like mother nature cared about the whims of anyone but herself. It’ll freeze overnight, leaving a bitter chill that puffs from breaths and a shaky few steps out the door across hardened ice. You’d probably go out – alone – for a walk in the morning to clear your head, or try, at any rate.

Lately, all you could think about was the bear of a man that was supposed to be sitting in the empty seat ahead of you. The cursed wooden chair burns your eyes; its dark wood and red cushion stab your vision over and over until you’re sure you’ll bleed tears instead of water.

He was supposed to be here.

Taking another shaky sip of your drink, one that König had recommended to you himself a few dates ago, the brief moments of warmth it brings to your bones does little to satisfy you. You doubted anything short of a hulking figure trying to stick their knees under the small table could do just that.

The giant man you called your possible future boyfriend was avoiding you, and your subconscious was breaking itself to try and understand why. As if that gracious plea had been heard above the glossiness of your eyes and the gentle hum of the café workers who shuffle about, the phone in your pocket jumps.

You don’t want to admit how fast your hand snapped to your thigh, sneaking under the layers to draw out black metal. A single link to König when he was overseas or out of sight that you were told was unwise to use. He was rarely able to answer you, but for what it was worth, he always tried to call back later.

Even if recently, it had been a brief state of events.

“I-I can’t talk right now–”

“Forgive me–”

Your lips thin.

Pulling the phone out, you immediately look at the contact, though you already know the message before you read it. The sunken whipped cream finally falls under deep chocolate-colored waves.

“Sorry, Bӓrchen, I’m stuck in the building for the day! I swear I’ll make it up to you for missing–” You don’t bother reading the rest, thumb already scrolling upward to see the numerous times other excuses have been made.

His parents were needing some help moving furniture, he was drowning in post-operation reports, or simply just too tired. You weren't stupid. But every time you had stuffed down your pride and responded cheerfully, dressed to the nines and standing in your living room while your fingers shook over the keys.

Holding back tears.

It would hurt less if he’d just tell you to your face what you were thinking. Maybe all of this was just…

Your thoughts trail off.

But that didn’t make sense – König was never malicious!

Placing down the phone, you leave him on read, feeling the pitying eyes of the baristas burning into your skin like a brand. They knew as well as you did that he wasn’t showing up.

When he calls sometime later, you shut the device off completely. Staring out the window at the dimming light, you lean your head into the glass and try not to cry as you watch couples rushing for cover from the rain; laughing and holding the other close.

The empty chair stays motionless in the corner of your eye.

—

The first time you met König, you were left gaping at the sheer size of him.

Towering over ninety percent of the other patrons in the art shop, he had looked down at the package of charcoal pencils in his large, scarred, hands. Turning them over to read the description on the back like an expert with delicate eyelashes that you’d kill for.

You yourself had been cast in his shadow quite by accident, looking along expansive shelves for a sketchbook – your friend had gotten into a watercolor phase lately, and what better to give her than a birthday present she could actually use? The only problem was that you had no idea what was considered good quality or not, but had a strange suspicion the man beside you did. But what a happy accident it all turned out to be.

König had a black surgical mask on, but the milky-white scar that ran up his right eyebrow and disappeared into his auburn hairline was still starkly visible. Expressive dark eyes blink down at his object from a surprising height. Between picking up multiple books, running your fingers over the paper and whatnot, you can’t help but stare at the pure strength the man emanates. Compared to you, he was utterly gargantuan in both mass and height. A bear and a bee, you thought with a stifled giggle.

He blatantly appeared to know more about this stuff than you did as he placed the charcoal pack down and picked up another.

“Erm,” you begin, and his head snaps down to yours immediately, head of hair falling into gentle curls near the ears. He had looked partially surprised to hear you speak to him, and his eyes had flickered around instinctually. But it was only the two of you in the aisle. “I’m sorry to bother you, Sir, but you seem to know a helluva lot more than me about art supplies.” Your voice was cautious, and you were afraid you’d seem rude for disturbing him, but all he did was stare and wait for you to finish speaking. Feet every so often shifting, or his hands twitching as if he never was able to stay still; he blinks a few times like a rabbit. “Any suggestions for watercolor?” A small laugh meets the air as you move your hand to show off the wall of possible options for paper. “I’m not much of an artist, but my friend’s birthday is coming up – thought I’d get her something she’d actually use this year. She wasn't too enthralled with the plant I got her for her twenty-third. Killed the thing in a week.”

A nervous chuckle is softly met and your face heated as his own did. There’s a moment of a clearing throat before the man nods carefully, and the sparse freckles over his forehead shift. His biceps flex.

“O-of course, Ma’am,” his accent is quite strong, and you like the guttural raspiness of his tone. “I prefer Saunders Waterford, though I don’t manage to use it often. Better, eh, was ist das Wort?” He stumbles for a moment over the proper descriptor. “Beständig. Durable.”

A tilt of his head later, and you’re beaming, picking up the large pad with careful fingers, testing the weight in your palms as one would an apple.

“Wonderful! It looks like I owe you one, eh?” Looking back up, you watch his eyes widen as you notice him blatantly staring. Face crinkling into a shy display of heat and curiosity, he slightly moves back, a large hand going to scratch at the base of his neck as his sweatshirt bunches.

Chest tight, you stick out a hand and offer your name with a smile. It was only customary, but the action was pure instinct more than thought-out. All the while restraining a shiver, his limb encompasses yours so completely and radiates a large amount of heat.

“A pleasure,” your voice wavers, but it’s not so much nervousness as it is genuine intrigue. For a man so blessed with the tall gene, he really had a considerate hold – barely squeezing your skin in fear it would break.

The action makes your chest squeeze.

“Ah, guten tag,” he utters, nodding with a firm shake, though his eyelashes caress his cheeks as his eyes rove away, “König.”

A bit awkward, isn’t he? You have to ask yourself. Not that it was a bad thing – in fact, you found the nervous tensing of his thighs to be cute, along with that red tinge that was over his pale ears. So very opposite of how you expected him to act.

That was when you noticed the dog tags, as well, though you found no purpose to say anything. But everything about this man had caught your attention as a large billboard would, and the comparison has you practically bending in laughter. He probably could be a billboard with a build like that. No doubt he’d catch a lot of attention.

You tilt your head and release his hand, nodding to König’s charcoal pencils.

“I bet you can make some killer drawings with those things, huh?” The beast twists them in his hand and turns down to stare at the supplies as if he’d forgotten they’d been there at all. “You draw often?”

“Ja,” his eyes brighten, and the crinkling of his eyes tells you that a small smile pulls at his lips. “Whenever I’m able. I,” König pauses before his shoulders move in a soft movement akin to a shrug. “I…find it calming.”

Your ribs move in reaction to an interested sound.

A bear that likes to draw.

“You’re better than me, I’d just get frustrated if something doesn’t look right.” A deep laugh echoes off the shelves before a lapsing silence settles like a bird’s wings. Overcome by a sudden urge to speak, yet having no other words to say, König’s voice meets your ears before you can find something to say.

It’s slow, the tone, bathed in hesitation and even a smidgen of armor; like the outcome of your response was already measured and taken as null compared to the giant’s own thoughts.

“I…don’t suppose I could show you some if you’d be interested.” At your widening lids, his twitching hands come up to his sides, eyes blinking rapidly as a vermilion hue blossoms like a flower over his visible skin. Dark eyes like broken obsidian pay more attention to your shoes than your face.

“N-not, eh, scheiße, I only meant I–” Watching him stutter was similar to what a high schooler would do when he was called out during an assembly. Though, your giggle makes him clear his throat and pause with a stiffening spreading to his legs. His body seems to deflate, taking your reverence for his soft inward nature as making fun or at worse, a blatant rejection. The delicate makeup of his psyche was on display, though you didn’t know. “I’m…I’m sorry, Ma’am–”

“I’d love to see your artwork, König,” you begin, pulling the watercolor pad closer to your body instinctually, cheeks hot. The man perks up, and you can see his heart hammering through his clothes when his eyes blaze with light. “How about I give you my number and I’ll text you a day I’m free and we can work something out? A local café or library sound good?”

“I…yes, that sounds wonderful.”

—

You throw your soaked coat on the hook as you shut the door, hating how the frigid rainwater had wetted your hair, though still holding it as a blessing. At least no one could see the tear tracks as you walked back to your apartment.

Kicking off heavy boots and peeling the slick layers of fabric from your chest with a sloping sound, you flick on the lights with a shaking finger and a sniffle. Wet footprints are left over the rugs and hardwood as the phantom shuffles over them, beelining to the bathroom to strip.

Your mind was preoccupied as you slipped out of heavy fabric, the pile already on the floor creating a large puddle that you threw a towel on and left as it was.

“He…he’d tell me if he didn’t like me anymore, right?” Whispering, the broken words meet air as you toss on a large shirt – the hem meeting your knees as a pair of thick sweatpants follow.

Quite the look for someone who was having an internal battle. Your friends would say you looked like you were minutes away from grabbing a tub of ice cream and sobbing over a rom-com. The quick-witted part of you confessed that the idea wasn’t even that bad if you threw in a glass of beer. Preferably the shitty kind so you could complain about it and distract yourself.

“Get it together…” You would not cry over a guy that hadn’t even asked you out officially, but with that familiar sting in the back of your eyes, you hissed that König wasn’t just any guy.

You’d really liked him, and for what it was worth, your heart would have exploded if he had asked you out.

He was kind – respectful. Utterly adorable when he was speaking so passionately about his artwork and his parents who he held on a larger-than-life pedestal. König’s heart was just as big as his body, that gorgeous, bear-like body, and…oh, you’d wished he would like you just as much as you liked him.

Before you could stop the wave of hopelessness, the tears were already dribbling down your face, and the dark apartment was echoing with the barely-there sobs that hit the walls.

—

When you hadn’t answered him in the next two hours and his calls were going to voicemail, König was hit with a train’s worth of worry. Feet tapping faster than unusual and eyes were finicky as they passed over documents.

Although his contract with KorTac wasn’t exactly like his own had been in the military, the hyper-vigilance was still ingrained bones-deep. The Austrian man held his personal relationships tightly – and if someone wasn’t answering him, the anxiety reserved for large, uncontrollable, crowds reared its ugly head. König wasn’t sure when it had happened, but you had entered that loyal group consisting of his parents and a few work friends in an incredibly small amount of time.

He really should have bit the bullet and gone out with you today, the man acknowledged as he slipped out of his office and tried once more to get in contact with you. König watched the icon of your smiling face go straight to the familiar voice that in any other circumstance, he would have wanted to listen another moment too.

“...Thanks for calling! I’m not able to speak with you right now, but go ahead and leave a message–”

“Come on, Bӓrchen.” König lightly growls, hanging up and stuffing the infernal device into his cargo pant’s side pocket.

His usually hidden face was twisted up with worry, so commonly lit with bloodlust on Ops now left in a state of unknown. It was stupid to think like this, but how could he not? In such a small amount of time, you’d made him fall for you like a bird does the sky; that thin line between falling and flying caught underwing.

That was why he’d been making excuses, you see.

You were so…good…that he’d been worried about the way he carried himself; second-guessed small actions like a hand on the small of your back in public, or a comment about how nice you looked.

Did she take that the wrong way?

Why did I tell her that?

I hope she doesn’t think that I’m rude…

You were messing with his mind with every turn, but it wasn’t even all that, either. His size also played a part. Your form was so small as it trailed beside him on walks through the city – it fit in the clutch of his arm easily.

König was just scared he might break you, he’s never had to be…gentle so often before. It was against everything he’d been taught in the last decade or so.

Pushing open the front door of the KorTac: Private Military Contractor building, the man pushes on with a frown over his scarred lips and a drawn-in expression. He hadn’t even noticed he’d forgotten his surgical mask in his office, along with a jacket, and braved the volatile winds and slapping rain in a slight jog, an athletic shirt tight across his chest.

By the time he’d reached your apartment building, his hair was dark and stuck to his skin, slight puffs of breath escaping his lips and wracking shivers along his spine. König ascended the stairs in double steps, agile as his heart pounded.

Being ex-military left him with an undeniable state of readiness.

With heavy knuckles and panting breath, his hand quickly rasps against the door, and after a second of no sound, he does it again.

“Bӓrchen, it’s me. Are you there?” König’s shoulders are set, ready to batter the door down at the barest hint of something wrong. He calls your name but like a voice on the wind, there’s no answer. Not even a shadow under the barrier, a whiff of your shampoo.

Grunting, strained eyes going grim, the man’s hand encompasses the handle, arm and body going parallel to the wood. His hips tense, feet grinding over the floor as they set. But the nearly missed footsteps that his ears twitched at gives him pause.

After a few moments of intense listening, his body stone-stiff and eyes spaced out, there’s a clicking of a lock.

König moves back swiftly, hands going to rest at his sides, and when your face graces his vision, a large weight is lifted. Until he realizes that your eyes are red-rimmed. His lids go startlingly wide, fingers coming up to curl into themselves near his middle, but you speak before he does.

With a hatred for interrupting others, König keeps his lips sealed and watches with a concerned once-over and nervous lungs.

Your hand is clenched over the door frame, the muscle of your tongue licking at your lips as beads of water fall from your locks.

“What are you doing here, König?” With a voice more hoarse and dry than a desert. The man itches at the side of his hawk nose, hesitant about what he sees.

You’d never been like this before – always so happy.

“I…” He trails off quietly, seeing your eyes unwilling to meet his own. “Are you…alright?”

The Austrian’s fingers jerk when you laugh, and a surprised blink later he’s coming closer to check on you, hand almost outstretched before he sees the size difference and thinks better of it. He just taps on your cheek instead, delicately, like a hit from a flower.

“Sweet one? Please tell me what is wrong. You weren’t answering your phone.” He wants to beg for you to look at him, plead. “It made me worry for you. Why did you not respond?”

“So you want me to respond when you’re obviously bailing on me for what,” you pull back, disappearing partially behind the door. König watches with a still body as your arms go to wrap around your waist, dread creeping up his throat. “The third time? Fourth? I guess I’ve lost count.”

The man’s lips go thin, eyes crinkling as an expression of pure self-hatred takes hold. He had stupidly hoped you wouldn’t notice that. When times got tough for him in the past – whether with the schoolyard bullies or an operation on wrong, avoidance was usually his best tactic; it was one he had fallen back into time and time again without fail. But he’d never told you that.

And now he looked like a proper Arschloch.

But you’re not done yet. When you leave the door open and disappear inside the dark apartment, König follows after like a lost puppy, water still dripping from his strong chin and stuck in his stubble. Cursing himself out in his head.

“Ach, du Depp, jetzt hast du‘s getan. Die eine gute Sache ruiniert, die du hattest, oder...?" He mutters, slipping out of his boots and frantically looking after you as your form goes to the couch. König closes the front door and stays in the foyer, fingers twiddling and mouth opening and closing.

You hadn’t even looked at him yet, and you’d barely seen him without a mask on.

The Tv was on, playing some show that he’d never seen and he doubted you were watching. Your body plops to the couch with a shrieking of springs and bouncing of pillows. A small huff escapes your lips, though you speak no more.

König clears his throat again, a nasty nervous habit along with the fidgeting, as he takes a few steps forward. The finger of his right hand goes to spread through his hair, pushing the strands back like a red wave and unintentionally slicking them to his skull. The clicking of his jaw reverberates in his ears as he resets it, picking at the palate scar under his left nostril.

He opens his mouth to speak but closes it fitfully and already his face is reddening. König looks away from you for a moment, breathing before shuffling over like a guilty child would on drowned socks. He places one leg on the floor and kneels down in front of you so he can better look into your creased face.

“Bӓrchen,” he liked calling you that – little bear – because the comparison was enough to make him smile every time it passed his lips. It was such an endearing term that it became difficult to look past the blatant harm he could inflict on you if he wasn’t careful. While his size made him perfect for the field, home life was, well, let's just say he could easily force his way through a crowd. Not that he would, of course. But at any rate, that was what you were to him – a little bear. “I…I have to confess to you that I have been avoiding you, yes? That much has been,” a stiff breath is taken in. “Obvious.”

Your head turns to the side, knees brushing his own as you hold your hands in your lap. Behind König the show continues to play, spreading a silver light over the living room and the continuous droning of voices.

Not knowing whether it would be frowned upon or not, and with a steadying breath for confidence, the man loops a cold finger under your chin; bringing you back to him and finally setting your glossy eyes ahead.

He sees you blink in surprise when you find him maskless, and a faint smile flicks over his lips when your expression goes shy. Cautious like a bird.

“It was of no fault of your own, Sweetling, I ask that you believe me. I’ll try to explain the best I can, Ja? If you’ll let me, though, I know that I don’t deserve it.”

“If you don’t like me anymore, you can just say it…Stop dragging me on, please.” His heart stops, mouth still partially open before a sharp breath is sucked in. “I don’t know if I can take that anymore.” The pang in his chest hurts immensely, like taking an arrow and peeling back skin. You look at him so hopelessly, broken beyond belief as though a piece of you was being ripped out.

“W-why do you say that?” König tries to desperately stop the wetness of your tears from falling, shaking his head and cupping both of your cheeks, rubbing at the flesh in agony. “No, no, no, Dear One. That’s not what it is at all, I beg of you to listen.” In the fever, he switches between his native tongue and English, fingers shaking though not from the drenched clothes. “Meine Schöne, oh, meine Schöne. Bitte hör auf zu weinen.“

He takes quick breaths and finds in himself that he would do anything to stop you from crying – take a bullet, run a marathon, or learn to fly. Name it, any of it. Anything to wipe away the sadness that lives in your expression as if it even belonged there in the first place

“Do not cry over me, please, I-I,” König’s tongue trips over itself, but he persists, a similar burn in the back of his nose. “I…You scare me, Bӓrchen,” that gets your attention, creased eyes and a loose jaw going to give him full observation.

What?! Your expression screams.

Face on fire, the Austrian continues with intense eyes, dark obsidian awash with pure light that reflects stars. Overflowing with anxious tears that he refuses to let fall.

He can’t lose you. No, no, not you. You were the best thing to happen to him in a long time. Damn him – damn his own consciousness that’s more of a betrayer than Brutus. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go…

“...What?” Your voice wavers, nose twitching so adorably that the man is momentarily stunned.

“I am afraid of you, my Dear. Utterly and wholly.” König sucks down a breath, now the one unable to continue the stare-off. His foot shifts. “I am afraid of what you do to me. Your smile, Gott, your smile. A-and the way you speak, how you react so honestly to my paintings like you care with all of your heart.” He laughs wetly when you smile dimly, continuing as he caresses your skin. “Everything down to your very bones is like…like…” König’s words fumble, because comparing you to something earthly was impossible to him.

“Ever since I met you in that art store, I cannot string together words with any semblance of meaning when I am around you. Bӓrchen, you have entrapped my mind, and I am afraid.”

He watches you breathe in slowly, tears no longer falling, though the evidence still haunts him. The man’s chest lets go of a tightly wound knot, the anvil on the other side just narrowly missing his heart as the sweat on his brow evaporates.

“A-and,” König sighs, shaking his head and moving his hands to tightly hold your own in your lap. How could he explain the last part of this dilemma? He bluntly states, “you’re small.”

A brief moment of silence bleeds like a wound, long and slow, until a tiny snort echoes. Full-blown laughter emanates not even a second later, and he watches your body heave forward and slot itself with your nose in his shoulder. König’s blush stains all the way down his neck, but minuscule giggles also fall from him in retaliation to yours. His great arms wrap themselves around your waist, dragging you slightly closer as he breathes deeply.

Your scent pulls him under like a ship at the water, riding great waves with sea beasts under the waves guiding the vessel along its course.

“Everyone’s small compared to you.” Your mumbling in his shoulder makes his grip tighten, side-eyeing your visage as his head tilts down. “Not my fault you got every gene that made you sprout like a damn tree.”

With your lips caressing his neck, he blinks softly down at you, amused, as his breath mingles with your hair. He lets you speak, getting it all off your chest and feeling stupid for how he had been avoiding this.

“You’re afraid because you’re so big, then? That you might hurt me?”

“Ja.” Your hands circle around his shoulders, and with a sigh that leaves the man short of breath, you shimmy back and face him, fingers playing with the base of his neck; pulling at tiny hairs.

“Don’t you think being worried about that means something? And, c’mon,” you smile lightly to him, and he watches closely, fingers moving along your spine. “With how conscious you are of your body, it’s hard to imagine anything ever happening.”

Hands grasp his neck, and with a bobbing Adam’s apple, König yields to your pull, angling his head to you as your back straightens. Watching with awe; your silhouette bathed in silver light and eyes fatigued, though never more beautiful. You’re beaming.

“I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you, okay? So stop worrying about it, you big dope – and stop ditching me!” The Austrian’s dark eyes are fastly moved from one spot on your face to another, cataloging every bump and pore to memory.

He’d never been this close to you before, though he’d fantasized about it. And what you were telling him…it’s like his body deflates with relief, and a genuine, boyish, smile blossoms.

“Safe? W-with me, Bӓrchen? Oh-oh, my…” A kiss suddenly hits his forehead, and if you continued doing things like this, he was sure he’d explode. His body was vibrating with pure bashfulness; it was so odd to be complimented and doted on by someone that wasn’t his close family. For someone to reassure him of his flawed concerns.

She feels safe with me.

How could he tell you how happy that made him to hear aloud?

“Hey,” hands cup his jaw, and his spaced-out eyes snap back to you instantly, blinking away the rose-colored fog. You shake his head back and forth until he’s chuckling, like a kid again, and his grip catches your wrists to make you stop. Your breath fans over his blazing cheeks like a wind sent from Zephyrus himself, and the sticking clothes to his body matter little. “No more leaving me hanging, okay? I miss you, König. I want to be around you.”

The eyes that travel down his scarred and freckled face leave him slightly self-conscious, but as if sensing this, your lips curve. Before he could utter a grunt of surprise, your kiss had connected with the scar on his forehead, as well as the palate. Just brushing the top of his lips as his large nose poked your cheek.

“Mein Gott.” König gasps, eyes fluttering shut when you pull back and a grin slashes your face. A whisper meets the room.

“Thank you for showing me your handsome face, mein Schöner, I’ve been wondering what you looked like.” Shyly scanning his features, the redhead lets your fingers trace his flesh, shivers left in their wake, and a soft sigh.

If he opens his eyes, he’s afraid he’d start crying. So he lets you touch his scarlet flesh, nearly the same shade as his hair, though the auburn is more deep-set. Shivering every time you lay another press of your lips to a blemish; more addictive than drugs.

“You’re going to kill me,” König pleads, “but if this is punishment for causing you pain, I will gladly bear it.”

“Sly.” You smirk, pressing one more peck to his nose, and pulling back. He grumbles in his throat before his eyes peel open slowly; pupils blown wide and mouth parted. “Are you alive down there?”

“Barely. Perhaps I’ll need another kiss to tell, yes?”

“You’re horrible.” Looking at his clothes, your eyes suddenly go grim. Like you’d just noticed the state of him now that he was kneeling in front of you and struck by your beauty. “And shivering.” You huff. “Why didn’t you start by saying you were soaked to the bone, König?”

He looks to the ground, and you try to shuffle past and grab him a towel, but his arms trap you. You find yourself in a chest faster than you can blink, hands splayed over a pec that jerks as you’re lifted up.

König hears you squeak and laughs, throwing you up into a bridal-style hold easily. Laughing chest-deep, you curl under his chin and quickly comment, “what are you doing?!”

“Hush, Bӓrchen,” the man squishes you closer, “I’ll find a towel, don’t strain yourself.”

You direct him to the bathroom after he sets you on your bed, hearing the pounding of rain outside as he sneaks off.

The room smells of your shampoo, and König takes a pastel towel from the wrack after half-closing the door, slapping it to his head and violently rubbing it back and forth. Lost in his elevated thoughts and happy demeanor, the knock on the wood is almost missed. He’s just about to take off his shirt and wring it out when he blinks at the sound.

“König – I’ve got some spare clothes, but I doubt they’ll fit you well enough.” An amused twitch of his lips later, he’s opening the door to your soft face, staring down at it. Standing shyly, your eyes crease; head tilting. “Sleepover?”

The man looks at the pile of fabric and nods kindly, a lofty feeling in his bones.

“Yes, please. They’re perfect, vielen Dank.” It isn’t long before he’s coming back out, a shirt that barely fits over his wide chest and a pair of sweats clinging to his hips. But he didn’t mind.

They smelled like you, and thus, he smelled like you. König quickly found out that drawing wasn’t the only thing that could calm him.

An embarrassed smile and a sheen of giddiness never leave his face.

He slides into bed with you, and you quickly latch under his arm, limbs tangling with his own as his fingers twitch over the width of the base of your shoulder blades. An easy expulsion of air leaves him as your weight settles, back curving to the make of the mattress.

The words leave him in the delicate silence; water hitting the window and during the exploration of souls. Cheeks hot and heart hammering.

“Sei mein?” Be mine?

He feels your grin, nose nuzzling his flesh like it was the perfect pillow, and his heart speeds like a shooting star.

“Mein Herz war immer deins. Ja.” My heart was always yours. Yes.

He stays awake for a long while, listening to your breathing and staring at the ceiling, running knuckles over your spine and staying silent.

Smiling.

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shhhsecretsideblog · 1 month ago

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[Labor Denial, inconvenient birth] Imagine for a moment you're a professor at prestigious college. It's just the beginning of the final exam period of the year and your huge swell of twin belly has proven difficult to maneuver in your 38th week of pregnancy. Braxton hicks are a constant plague on you during the first and second day of finals and by the end of the third you're certain your belly has lowered a bit. At the end of the fourth day as you get ready for bed, a new and strengthened pain takes hold of your overstretched bump. It lasts longer than any braxton you had before, your belly even feels harder beneath your palms as it progresses.

You are still two weeks out from being full term and your doctor assured you that your babies had no interest in making an early appearance. Besides, there was no way you could miss the last day of exams, your employers would hardly approve.

In your mind, you decide these are just mildly more intense braxtons. Nothing more. You keep telling yourself this as the walk into the first test of the final day with a distinct, new pressure building in your low abdomen. You keep telling yourself it's nothing as you absentmindedly rock your hips during the first exam. You don't bother timing these pains; no need to time braxton hicks contractions. You ignore the growing pressure as students submit their exams. You ignore the slight wetness between your thighs when they shuffle out. You ignore the pain flaring in your hips as you shuffle to the next exam room.

All you need is to get through the next six hours of exams, go home, and get some rest. These pains were just the product of stressful times of exam season...

Keep Calm & Carry On

AN: thanks for a great prompt anon! Fpreg, labour denial, clothing birth. 2538 words.

Letting out a short grunt, I cup the underside of my low and heavy belly and arduously push myself up out of the chair. Being so heavily pregnant at the end of the school year, two babies wrestling in my belly, was no joke. Each week during my third trimester brought forth a new ache or pain and as I approached my due date I was regretting not taking early maternity leave. But the university was having staffing issues, there were barely enough faculty members to cover all the end of year exams as it was without me taking early leave. Plus I couldn’t exactly bow out now at this late notice. I couldn’t do that to all the students, they’d worked so hard.

So I grit my teeth and persevered through the long week of exams, through all the aches and pains and practice contractions. Only a few hours left on the final day and soon I would be at home resting for the double arrival. As I reached the exit of the now-empty exam room I had to pause and grab the door frame when another braxton hicks rippled across my taut skin. A groan slipped from my mouth and my knees slightly dipped as the wave built and built before eventually peaking with a lightning bolt of pain to my crotch. “Ooohhhhh… you need to s-stop t-this…” I muttered to the babies in my belly. “I know you’re practising for the main event but jeeze… mnnhhh… please just give me a break for a few hours.”

Unusually, the babies seemed to respond to my plea and after a particularly strong movement, with one baby’s head nestling deep within my pelvis, they settled quietly in my belly. “Phew, thank you. We’ll be done soon, I promise.” I dropped off the papers from my previous exam in the designated tray in the teachers lounge and picked up the stack of booklets for my next exam. After taking a quick breather, drinking some water and dampening the sweat from the back of my neck, I began the trek to my next exam in the hall on the other side of campus.

My body seemed to be practising for labour every few minutes at this point, each wave forcing me to stop and brace against a solid surface and breathe my way through them. I was grateful the students were all in their examination halls so the campus was empty, no one to see me hunched over my bump leaning against a wall.

“Hooohooo… oof! Come on babies, this is getting anno— annoying now—!” The weight between my legs was ever increasing, my waddle so distinctively wide it was almost comical, if not for the pressure and pain that came with it. I couldn’t stop the growl rumbling in my throat as my entire belly turned to stone and squeezed hard. The stack of booklets trembled in my hands and I was panting heavily. I wanted to go home, fighting these pains all day was draining all my energy, but I just couldn’t abandon the students. When the pain passed I fixed my expression and walked as determinedly as I could towards my next shift, my free hand rubbing the constant ache in my lower belly.

When I got to the exam I grit my teeth through the roll call and amazingly managed to walk up and down the rows of students to hand out the test papers, but my ability to stay standing was wavering fast and I plumped down on the chair behind the moderator's desk with a humph. My hands naturally gravitated towards my belly, my fingers splayed each side across the tensing swell, and I took measured deep breaths.

“Are you alright, Miss?” One of the students asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yes I’m fine.” I tried to reassure the student and keep my eyes from closing as the wave continued to build. “Y-you may turn over your papers and begin.”

The contraction built to astronomical heights and my face scrunched, silently bearing the pain of the worst braxton hicks yet. There was just so much pressure, my pelvis was screaming at me. Unconsciously my legs were wide beneath the table, my belly sitting heavily between my thighs, my hips tilting outwards in my slumped position. Thankfully the wooden desk had a modesty panel so the students could not see beneath the table or view my ridiculously widened legs.

One of the baby’s felt so damn low, as if one good sneeze would shoot them out, but I was sure the heaviness was simply a common feeling for being this advanced with twins. It couldn’t be as low as it felt, I’d have to be in labour for that, which I was not.

As time ticked on I barely noticed my body’s subtle movements, trying to keep my concentration focused on the students and their exam, ignoring all the aches and pains that my body was subjecting me to. I wasn’t even aware of when I started rocking forward and back in my chair, or when I lifted my hips off the seat…? Unconsciously I’d pushed my weight forward onto the desk, leaning on my forearms and elbows, subtly lifting my backside and easing the fiery ache building in my pelvis. God, this chair was torturous, I couldn’t find any position that didn’t make me want to scream.

Eventually I gave up on sitting, resorting instead to pacing the room keeping one firm hand pressed into my lower back while the other lifted my heavy belly. The students paid no attention, focusing on the exam papers, all too used to the moderators patrolling around the room and monitoring for any cheating.

The walking was helping the aggressive pains in my hips but it felt like the movement was bringing the baby down even lower. My breaths came thick and fast, my constant movements tiring my body but I couldn’t bear to sit back down in that chair. Another wild pain lashed across my middle and I was forced to stop my pacing, thankfully while I was at the back of the hall behind all the students facing the other way. My belly tightened, urgent and sharp, and I nearly doubled over but instead threw both palms out in front and braced against the wall. My hips were making wild circular motions that I couldn’t control and somewhere in the depths of my mind was a calling to squat down.

Fighting against my body’s instincts I clamped my mouth shut and panted through my wide nostrils. Fuck, it felt like one of the baby’s was coming out… but that couldn’t be right… I wasn’t in labour. But— but then why did I feel a need to push?! I glanced up at the clock, no phones were allowed in the exam hall, and saw I still had two more hours to go.

Two hours, I could do that. Even if I was in labour, a twin birth would take a long time. Everything was fine. I paced along the back wall of the exam hall, my fingers brushing the plasterboard keeping constant contact with a nearby surface to keep myself grounded and stable. Up and down I waddled, restless in my taut and tired skin. The waves crashing through my uterus every few minutes were creeping towards agony and I was finding it harder to stay silent. Just a few hours. That’s all I had to do. But the weight and pressure was sinking lower by the minute and I was having to bite down on my fist to refrain from groaning.

With just over an hour to go I noticed a hand go up at the front of the sea of students. Reluctantly I left my haven at the back of the room and waddled painfully down the row towards the person in question.

“Have you got any spare pens? Mine has run out.” They asked, their eyebrows pinching at seeing my exhausted and sweaty state. “Mmngg— sure.” I managed to grit and went back to my desk for the extra stationary. After providing the student with extra pens I barely made it back to the desk before the next contraction struck, a deep low groan escaping from my mouth as I curled forward and braced the wooden frame, my hips swaying instinctively against the pain.

“Oh my gosh Miss, are you okay?” One student asked in a panic. My only response was another deep groan, louder this time, as I battled the urgent squeezing that was shoving a baby’s head through my cervix.

“Shit! She’s having her baby!” One student cried out.

I shook my head frantically, trying to keep some semblance of control within the exam, despite the incessant tensing and building pressure. “It— it’s fine. Everyone back to your tests.” I tried to assure the students, even though I couldn’t move from my position gripping the desk. “I… it’s possible I’m in labour but… just carry on with your final exam okay. Labour takes hours, it’s— ooooh— it’s nothing to worry about.” The grin plastered on my face was entirely false, the pressure building between my thighs was telling me I might not have as long as I’d hoped.

Instead, when the contraction waned, I stood up and confidently sat back down at the desk and shuffled papers mindlessly and eventually the students went back to their exams. These babies were coming, I could feel it, the giant boulder in my pelvis was almost certainly one of the heads burrowing its way out of me. I straightened up, blocking any exit with the seat of the chair. Just an hour to go, I was going to make it.

I lasted 10 minutes before my determination faltered, the urge to push returning with a vengeance. There was no stopping it, my only hope was the uncomfortable but strategic position on the chair. As soon as the contraction began tightening my womb my body was bearing down uncontrollably. My head dipped, my chin to my chest, my fingers white knuckling the desk as I pushed. Fuck. The head was moving down, I could feel it as it inched lower towards the exit. I barely had time to catch my breath before my body pushed again, hard, fully leaning into the contraction and bringing this baby out whether I wanted to or not.

Through the incessant contractions and the desperate urgency of these babies to be born, I held fast to my position on the chair, blocking any exit with the seat. I was granted only a short reprieve before the next contraction struck and I was back to my silent pushing. I couldn’t make a noise, couldn’t distract the students from their graduating exam, but I also couldn’t do anything else to delay or stop the birth. I was trapped in this never ending cycle of pain. The head was right at my opening, bulging my sensitive lips into my underwear. I wanted to scream, to cry, to open my legs, but I couldn’t. One glance at the clock told me there was only 20 minutes left of the exam. I could make it.

My babies however, were not too keen on following my schedule, and even with my upright position I could feel myself opening around the head. This baby wanted out and it wanted out now. When the burning started I couldn’t help but widen my legs, throwing each thigh over the edges of my seat. My body kept on pushing, through every grievous wave of pain that squeezed my middle, and I couldn’t stop myself from pushing in earnest. The grunt that echoed my throat caught the attention of a few students at the front and I tried to offer a reassuring smile, desperately hiding the fact the head of one of my babies was crowning into my underwear.

When I let go of the push the baby retreated and sighed in relief. But this was short lived as I was back to pushing again barely a minute later. Fuck! I had no phone, a room full of students, and two babies that were desperate to get out of my body. In the short break between pushes the high-pitched ding of a bell sounded signalling the end of the exam. Everyone in the room looked up at me. My chest was heaving with laboured breaths, I gulped and managed to say “Pens down everyone. P-please leave your papers on your d-desks and exit the hall…”

The scratching of chairs on hardwood floors echoed the room as the students stood up and left the exam hall via the door at the back of the room. I was supposed to have collected each paper before dismissing them but there was no way in hell I could stand up. The next contraction was upon me before all the students left and I panted my way through the squeezing urgency of my rock-hard belly.

The crown of the baby’s head was getting bigger and bigger and the second the final student left, the door closing behind them, I let out a deep primal groan that I had been stifling for the past few hours. The head came to a full crown in my underwear and I sobbed and squirmed as everything burned white hot. Out. I needed this baby out of me!!!! With a forceful grunt I disappeared into a deep earnest push and birthed the head of my first child into my knickers.

“Mnnnnghhh… ohh god…. It’s out— the head…. Oh fuck…” With a trembling hand I felt the bulge of my trousers and the head that now sat at the apex of my thighs. “Why couldn’t you wait… just a bit longer guys?!” Before I could form any sort of plan or thought, another tightening rippled across my belly and I knew there was no stopping what was about to happen. Gripping the edge of my seat I bore down with everything that I had, the shoulders stretching me as wide as the head, and I wailed as I threw my head back.

“Oh my gosh Miss Jones…?” A voice came from the other side of the hall. I opened my eyes to see the headmistress in the doorway. “Grrrhhhh… babies are coming—!!!” I grunted and roared, pushing the shoulders out which was immediately followed by the torso of the first baby slipping out and down my trouser leg.

My colleague and boss rushed across the hall to me, wide eyed and panicking. “You poor dear, why didn’t you tell us you were in labour?” She asked, helping me pull the waistband of my trousers down so I could get to my newborn babe.

I couldn’t speak, in too much shock and trembling, an instinctual need to hold my baby was the only thing I was capable of. The infant immediately gurgled and cried as I lifted them up and placed them on my chest, wiping their face and checking every inch of my new baby.

“You did it, goodness, you had your baby.” The head teacher muttered in awe.

“Yeah… but mnnggh… I’m having twins, remember.” I grumbled, as I felt my womb contract again…

#birth prompts #birth kink #birth denial #birth fic #clothing birth #inconvenient birth #public birth #birth fiction #labor kink #pregnancy kink #answered asks #my writing

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hungharrington · 1 year ago

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Steve thought! I’ve thinking about steve lazily fucking you in spooning position 😇

yeah this has crossed my mind maybe several thousand times so hope u wanted some sweet sweet LOVIN anon cos that’s what i’ve GOT for u !! MDNI this entire blog is 18+, gn!reader, ooey-gooey loving, that’s all enjoy <3 this one goes out to @boyfriendstevie

Some mornings with Steve are just pure warmth. Sleepy cuddles, neither of you that awake, but still reaching out to one other. Love intertwines both of you easily, warming you as much as the pillowy duvet and when you kiss his skin, it’s with your eyes closed. You could find him in the dark.

Other mornings, there’s this sweet alluring lust that intermingles with the love. You love it — how you and Steve always seem to be on the same wavelength, how you both seem to know.

This morning, you know from when the first moments of consciousness trickle in. His lips scrape along the nape of your neck, pressing a soft kiss there. You can feel the shape of him up against you, his hairy chest scratching lightly at your shoulder blades, the two of you cuddled close together.

“Good mornin’.” Steve murmurs against your skin, his voice low and gravelly with sleep. You smile, eyes still closed and let yourself bask in the warmth as his hand sneaks over your waist.

“Mm, it is a good morning,” You says as you shimmy back into him, your ass pressing into his crotch purposefully. You hum, pleased when his hand on your middle tightens in response. You feel his lips against your skin quirk into a smile.

“Oh, is it that kind of morning?” He asks knowingly.

You cover his hand with your own and guide it, beginning to push the waist band of your pyjama shorts down an inch. You grin, eyes still closed as you hear his breath catch.

“I don’t know…” You tease. “Is it that kind of morning?”

Steve’s hand finishes what you started, pushing the fabric down your thighs until you’re wiggling to kick them down yourself, lost beneath the covers.

You finally peek your eyes open, just to close them again in a sigh when Steve soothes his hand up your thigh. He sweeps it back down and this time when he drags it up, his fingers slide eagerly closer to your inner thigh.

“Do you need…”

“Mmhm,” You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his question. You twist to peer over your shoulder, relishing in the sight of his mussed hair and chocolate eyes. “Was already dreamin’ bout it, Stevie.”

It’s worth craning your neck to see the arousal flutter over his face as Steve groans, tucking his head against your neck. Head flopping back against the pillow, you can feel him shuffle behind you, his heat leaving you for a brief moment, to shed his sweatpants— and when it returns, your stomach blazes hotly at the skin-to-skin contact.

Another kiss to the back of your neck. Steve hums against your skin as his hand travels up, skimming your hip and trailing up your chest. His thumb brushes your peaking nipple and you gasp appreciatively as he pinches it, pairing his rubbing with sweet words. “Baby, my baby, so good f’me.”

You keen softly and your hips rock backwards. Steve gets the hint— another kiss on your neck, then your shoulder as he moves to touch your hip, drifting down to hold your thigh. He urges your legs apart.

The pillow crinkles as you push your face into it, capturing your sweet sigh as he eases himself into you, slow and gentle. It burns deliciously, his hard and achingly hot cock stretching you out just the way you like it. A dozen more kisses melt along your shoulders, like little lightning bolts, as he pushes in further, his breathing a little heavier. He stills to give you a moment.

You breathe in, feeling your tummy boil up with desire before eagerness takes over and you push back against him. Steve moans softly, his breath stuttering as he bottoms out inside you. You moan, clenching around him.

His hand slides off your thigh to wrap back around your middle, properly spooning you as he cuddles in closer. Your hand moves to clutch his, lust spiking as he starts to move, deep, lazy thrusts that force sweet little noises out your mouth that mix with Steve’s low moans.

“Fuck,” Steve curses breathily. He’s moving slow, rocking in and out, but it’s enough to have both of you unravelling into each other. Slick, wet sounds fill the bedroom. His kisses get a little sloppier, messy marks of love all up your neck. He squeezes your tummy. “Fuck, honey, y’feel so good, baby.”

You moan, your hips rolling back with a mind of their own, meeting him in the middle. It’s a perfect haze of lust and warmth and love and you shiver in his arms, already feeling the coil in the pit of your belly. It won’t take much for either of you this morning, you can tell.

“You feel so good,” You whisper back, words tainted with a moan. “You, fuck, Steve— ngh, you’re so deep, fucking me so good,”

Something close to a growl scrapes out Steve’s throat and he grapples you closer, his thrusts speeding up a fraction —but still deep and lazy, enough to make you want to squirm beneath him. You keen back into him, back arching to get the angle just right and Steve’s hand slithers out from under yours, reaching up to toy with your nipples again. You gasp loudly and Steve whines a little at your obvious arousal.

“Can I—” He starts, voice choppy from his pants. His cock is achingly hard inside you and when you clench down on him, you adore the twitch and resounding whimper it draws out of him. “Can you kiss me?”

Your heart burns for him and you don’t waste a single second to twist around, capturing his hungry lips with your own. Steve groans into the kiss, his fingers flexing on your skin. Heat flushes your body as the kiss breaks and his forehead presses to your own, his hazel eyes gazing into yours as he fucks into you. You moan brokenly, pleasure screwing the coil in your tummy tighter. It feels good, so fucking good, Steve always makes you feel fucking good.

“Steve,” you whine.

“Yeah,” He rasps back, voice all whimpery now. “Yeah, I know, baby. Me too— shit, me too.”

You want to stay like this, spread open on his cock while he holds you. While he takes and gives, kisses and moans and wraps the both of you in the warmth of the morning. You pant into his mouth and lean forward to kiss him again.

Steve hums and this time, when the kiss breaks, he nudges your head back forwards— his hips still for a moment as he rolls you both forward onto the mattress so you’re facedown.

“S’okay?” He checks, even though you can feel him still pulsing inside you. You nod, breathe jagged and try to raise your hips to signal him further. Steve needs no more invitation.

He settles down on you, his chest pressed against your back once against but this time when his thrusts start up again, you’re pushed downwards as he fucks you into the mattress. His arms bracket your body and one shifts, scooping around your torso to lift your hips higher. You cry out, the angle perfect as he finally picks up the pace, drilling into you, slick gathering at your thighs.

“Steve, ah! Steve, fuck, feels so..” Your words dribble off, muffled by the pillow as you bury your face in it. Heat flashes through you, fuelled by Steve’s whiny moans, all his fucked out rambles.

“F-Fucking love it when you moan my name,” He praises, barely speak coherently through his whispering panting. “So fucking good f’me, taking— ngh- shit, fuck, taking me so well.”

You wail, burning hot want crawling up your stomach so suddenly that you don’t even get a moment of warning before the heat explodes and your orgasm breaks— you cry out his name and clench down, hard, cumming on his cock.

Steve tucks his face in your shoulder and whimpers at the feeling, fucking the snugness fast and hard. It takes only a couple more thrusts til he feels himself fall apart with a strangled moan, burying his cock deep inside you. He milks it, fucking you gently both through the waves of pleasure, until tiredness saps his energy. He slumps, resting atop you for just a moment. You’ve never felt more safe, squished beneath him and filled completely.

He kisses behind your ear, then nuzzles it with his nose. Faintly, you think about how no one has ever kissed you there ever before — just Steve and the sun.

“I love you.” He says, nearly a whisper. Words just for you.

There’s not an ounce of a lie in your words when you cheekily say, voice still out of breath, “Hm, I think I love you more.”

#she writes! it’s a miracle! EVERYBODY CLAP #stayed up to finish this #i’ve just been so fixated w gooey love. like more than usual #i NEEEEED this. rn. u know?#jay writes #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x gn reader

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comfortless · 8 months ago

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Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨

Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴

Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️

In the Arms of Flowers

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.

wc: 11k.

There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.

It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.

Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.

The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.

He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.

Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.

Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.

“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.

She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.

“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.

He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.

The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.

His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.

“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.

The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.

“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”

“Ja. Verstanden.”

The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.

The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.

With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.

There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.

König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.

It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.

She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.

Poor little thing.

She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.

“Morning, Father.”

There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.

Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.

That doesn’t stop his approach.

König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.

The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.

But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it’s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”

He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.

“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.

She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”

“I see…”

The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.

She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”

God gives and takes away.

“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”

The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”

His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.

Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.

When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.

He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.

The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.

It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.

And finally, regret comes.

Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.

The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.

The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.

It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.

Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.

There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.

Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.

“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.

“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.

“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.

“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.

“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.

“Danke… and you?”

God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.

The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.

In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.

Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.

The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.

Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.

“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”

“Thank you.”

The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.

The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.

“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.

She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.

He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.

“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”

“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”

The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.

As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.

It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.

He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.

“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.

This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.

“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.

His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”

He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.

“How about a walk?”

He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.

She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.

The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.

He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.

“Nein! That’s not—“

“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”

Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.

God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.

His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.

She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.

Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.

With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.

She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.

The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.

Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.

The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.

There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.

He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.

Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.

— — —

“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.

But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.

Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.

The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.

There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.

“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.

“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.

He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.

Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.

He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.

The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.

God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?

After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.

Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.

“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.

“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.

“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.

“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.

“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.

No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.

His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.

She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.

The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.

She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.

He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.

She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.

And she returns when he abstains from her.

She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.

He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…

It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.

“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.

The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.

It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.

“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.

“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.

Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.

Stay.

If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.

It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.

And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.

None of it is fair.

The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.

He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.

There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.

She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.

She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.

And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”

“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.

Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.

“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.

The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.

“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.

Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.

“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.

And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.

When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.

Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.

Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.

The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.

“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”

“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.

He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.

“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.

Scheisse.

He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.

The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.

He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.

Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.

She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”

“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”

His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.

Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.

His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.

And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.

— — —

Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.

And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.

There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.

Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.

The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.

After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.

And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.

Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.

The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.

There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.

A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.

König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.

Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.

He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.

He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”

No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.

“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.

The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.

“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.

Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.

That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.

The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.

But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.

“No… just give me a second.”

She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.

“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.

There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.

She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.

The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.

He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.

“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.

“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.

She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.

It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.

He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.

She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.

“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”

He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.

“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.

“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”

“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

450 notes · View notes

macbethsymphony · 6 months ago

Note

I know you said you have a hard time writing him, but can I request something with Sanji? I really love your enemies to lovers dynamic in your Zoro fic, so maybe something like that? Can you make it spicy too? just something short pretty please!

(No stress if you don't want to)

-💙

Anon!!! Now I don't know if I made this man justice! I'm sorry it took so long! I really tried my best!! I got a little carried away, so this isn't really something short anymore... BUT I hope you'll like it 💕 I'm also tired and didn't proofread this as much as I should have!

I Hate Flirts

Sanji x Female Reader

wc: 2.6k

warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, enemies to lovers, smut, oral, p in v sex

To say your first impression of the cook, as you first joined the Straw Hat Pirates, was bad was one hell of an understatement. You weren’t a fan of pretty boys, and most of all, you weren’t a fan of flirts.

Hell, you hated flirts.

When Luffy had introduced you to the crew, you’d tried to put on your best smile. Everyone seemed nice enough—Zoro, with his comfortable demeanor; Nami, who welcomed you with a knowing smile; Usopp and Chopper, who were immediately friendly.

And then there was Sanji.

He’d approached you with that cheeky smile, a bouquet of flowers seemingly conjured out of thin air. “For the beautiful new member of our crew,” he’d said, taking your hand and kissing it with far too much charm.

You’d yanked your hand back, not being able to keep the sneer breaking on your lips at the gesture. “Don’t do that,” you snapped almost immediately.

It’d been entirely reactionary and the guilt you felt at the hurt in his eyes only served to widen the rift you’d created.

Sanji’s grin had faltered, just for a moment, before he replaced it with an exaggerated bow. “As you wish, mademoiselle. But my admiration knows no bounds.”

Your eyes narrowed at his answer. Something about it irked you beyond comprehension.

From that moment on, it was war. Sanji flirted relentlessly, his attempts becoming more and more ridiculous as he tried to win you over. You, in turn, shot him down at every opportunity, sometimes with a sharp retort, most of the time with a well-placed punch to the shoulder.

Despite the ongoing one-sided battle, you couldn’t deny that Sanji excelled in many places. He fought well and in the boredom of the endless sea, the meals he prepared were a highlight of your day. After all, you most definitely had a taste for the finer things in life.

As his cooking slowly broke away your apprehension towards him, you started to grudgingly admire his dedication to his craft. There was something about the way he moved in the kitchen, all precision and passion, that you couldn’t help but respect… Not that you’d ever admit that to him.

The rest of the crew found your dynamic endlessly entertaining. Nami would give you knowing looks, Zoro would snicker behind his sake, and Luffy, bless his heart, was just happy to have another person on board.

Despite everything, you had to admit the cook had his moments.

You weren’t sure what had taken you over but one extremely boring afternoon, your feet mindlessly brought you to the kitchen. Just as expected Sanji was there, elbow deep in preparations.

You leaned against the doorframe, quietly observing as he twirled the knife in his hands, as he chopped at a speed that was lightning-fast. “Need any help?” The words left your mouth before your mind could register them.

Sanji looked up, surprise clear on his features but a certain pleased glimmer filled his eyes. “A lady—“ he started to protest, the words dying on his lips as he saw your expression start to shift. “I-I’d love the help,” he muttered uncertainly instead.

You stepped into the kitchen, rolling up your sleeves as you moved to stand beside him. The countertop was cluttered with various ingredients, a testament to the elaborate meal he was undoubtedly preparing.

“What can I do?” you asked, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

Sanji handed you a knife and a cutting board. “Can you, uh, chop these vegetables? Uniform pieces, please.”

You took the knife from him, noting the gentle brush of his fingers against yours. Ignoring the slight warmth that spread through you, you focused on the task at hand. As you worked, the kitchen filled with the rhythmic sound of chopping, accompanied by the occasional clatter of pots and pans.

“Not bad,” Sanji commented, peeking at your progress. “You’ve got a good hand for this.”

“Surprised?” you shot back with a coy smirk, your tone teasing.

He laughed. “Maybe a little. You never struck me as the domestic type.”

You couldn’t help the soft chuckles that passed your lips. “I’m not,” you admitted. “But I have picked up a few skills along the way.” Your gaze was distant for a moment. “There’s nothing like good food and an excellent bottle of wine.” You punctuated your statement with a fancy twirl of your knife.

“Good wine, huh?” He said, curiosity piqued.

“Oh the things I would do for a good Cabernet and dark chocolate,” you mused dreamily.

Sanji’s eyes lit up. “A fellow connoisseur? Now that’s something I didn’t expect!” He set down his own knife and looked at you with genuine interest. “What’s your favorite dish to pair with a good wine?”

You paused, contemplating your answer. “I’d say a rich beef bourguignon. The deep, savory flavors work perfectly with a full-bodied red.”

Sanji’s smile grew wider, an expression of pure delight. “You have excellent taste,” he said, clearly impressed. “How about you help me make that tonight? I’ve got some top-quality beef in the pantry.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “You want to make bourguignon? Right now? What about all this?” You gestured at what you’d been chopping.

“Why not?” he replied, enthusiasm shining in his eyes. “It’s a perfect way to spend a boring afternoon, don’t you think? The prep can serve for tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his infectious excitement. “Alright, let’s do it.”

For the next few hours, the two of you worked side by side, prepping ingredients and discussing various cooking techniques. Sanji’s knowledge of culinary arts was vast, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. He was patient, guiding you through the more intricate parts of the recipe without a hint of condescension.

As the bourguignon simmered on the stove, filling the kitchen with a mouthwatering aroma, Sanji uncorked a bottle of red wine. “Here,” he said, pouring you a glass. “A little something to pass the time while we wait.”

You took the glass, savoring the rich, velvety flavor of the wine. “This is amazing,” you admitted, glancing at him. “Where did you get it?”

“A gift from a grateful villager,” he replied with a wink. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And making beef bourguignon with me counts as a special occasion?”

Sanji’s expression softened, a hint of sincerity shining through his usual flirtatious demeanor. “Every moment with you is special.”

You rolled your eyes, but this time, it was more out of habit than annoyance. “If you think this is getting you into my pants, think again,” you admonished though your tone remained playful.

He blushed and sputtered, choking on his sip of wine.

Cute.

You smiled as you looked at him. It was the first time you’d seen this side of Sanji – the side that wasn’t really trying to win you over with charm and gifts, but simply being kind. You really looked at him for the first time. Maybe there was more to Sanji than the flirtatious exterior. Maybe, just maybe, he was worth getting to know beyond the playful banter.

As the weeks flowed, your dynamic shifted. Sanji’s flirtations became less over-the-top, more sincere. He still never missed an opportunity, but there was a gentleness to it now, a hint of genuine affection. And damn it, you found yourself responding in kind.

You weren’t sure when exactly it happened, but one day, you caught yourself laughing at one of his ridiculous flirting attempts. It was a real, deep and true laughter, the sound surprising both of you. Sanji’s eyes widened, a slow smile spreading across his face.

From that moment on, he craved to hear the cheerful din of your laughter again and again, especially when it was only for him.

One evening, as you mindlessly sipped a Cabernet with dark chocolate, you looked at him differently. As he hummed to himself, washing the dishes, you found yourself thinking this was nice.

“You know, Sanji,” you started, munching on chocolate. “I think I wouldn’t mind it if you tried to get into my pants.”

Sanji nearly dropped the plate he was washing, turning to face you with wide eyes and a face quickly turning as red as the wine you were sipping. “W-What?” he stammered, clearly caught off guard.

You took another sip of your wine, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “You heard me,” you said casually, savoring the rich liquid. “I think I wouldn’t mind it. If you tried, that is.”

Sanji blinked, his usual suave demeanor momentarily replaced with genuine surprise and nervousness. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again, seemingly at a loss for words.

You chuckled softly, enjoying his flustered state. “Cat got your tongue, cook?”

You got up, slowly making your way to him. Your fingers traced his jaw as you looked at him through your lashes. “Unless I’m mistaken and you’re not interested. That’s fine too, I guess.”

Sanji swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously under your touch. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “No, no, you’re not mistaken,” he said, his voice a little shaky but sincere. “I’ve just… I’ve...”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Well then, in that case, you could kiss me,” you suggested, your voice soft and inviting.

Sanji’s eyes searched yours for a moment, as if making sure he wasn’t dreaming. Then, with a deep breath, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. The kiss was slow and sweet, filled with the promise of more to come.

Promises you didn’t want to wait for.

You softly bit at his lower lip, asking for more. Sanji’s hesitation melted away as he responded to your encouragement, deepening the kiss with newfound confidence, His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as your lips moved in sync. His tongue met yours in a careful dance, the taste of chocolate, wine, and cigarettes mingling between you.

Time seemed to slow as you lost yourself in the moment, the gentle sway of the ship only adding to the intoxicating feeling. Your fists bunched in his shirt, then his hair, desire clear in the desperation of your movements. He stumbled forward, pinning you to the counter, your back arched and you wished you could melt into him more than physically possible.

You pulled away slightly, breathless and dizzy with lust. “Does the door have a lock?” you asked breath hot against his.

Sanji’s breath was ragged as he struggled to form coherent thoughts. He looked towards the kitchen door, then back at you, eyes dark with desire. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice husky. “It does.”

You grinned, biting your lip. “Good,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear as you did so. “Lock the door for me, pretty boy?”

The click of the lock seemed to break the last of Sanji’s restraint. He captured your lips again, this time with more urgency, his hands roaming your body with a newfound boldness. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire in your core.

You tugged at his shirt, impatiently pulling it free from his pants, your fingers tracing the hard lines of his abdomen. Sanji’s breath hitched at the contact, his hands moving to unbutton your own clothing with equal fervor.

As your garments fell to the floor in a haphazard pile, Sanji lifted you onto the counter, the cold surface a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. He paused for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, a reverent expression on his face. You moved to remove your black lacy underwear but his hand stopped you.

“I want you to keep it on,” he breathed, his voice filled with genuine awe. “You’re a vision.”

Your eyebrow arched but still you blushed at his words and you most definitely didn’t let them slow you down. “Show me how much,” you challenged, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you.

Sanji didn’t need to be told twice. His lips traveled from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle nips that had you gasping for breath. His hands were everywhere, exploring, caressing, driving you wild with want.

As he trailed down your abdomen he dropped down to his knees, hands going around your thighs and dragging you to the edge. He looked up at you, veneration in his eyes. “Can I taste you?” He almost begged.

You took your time to answer him, reveling in the sight. Your hand lazily cupped his cheek, tangled in his hair. “Yes.” Your whisper was almost lost against the sound of waves crashing against the hull.

His tongue met already dripping black lace. He lapped and sucked with adoration and the muted feeling of ecstasy threatened to send you over the edge again and again. Until your thighs shook and you were reduced to a babbling mess, begging for his tongue against your flesh.

When he at long last dragged the ruined piece of cloth down your legs and his tongue finally met your slick with worship, his name flowed across your lips like a prayer. The waves of pleasure that washed over you were overwhelming and as orgasm after orgasm flowed through you he didn’t relent, drinking you in with a fervor born of reverence. You could feel your arousal drip down your trembling thighs, down his chin, the moans that escaped you as you implored him to stop obscene.

When you collapsed in exhaustion and your shrieks born of overstimulation became soft sobs and whimpers he finally backed off. Gently, he guided you lower, a hand behind your head as he lay you down against the cool granite of the counter.

His lips found yours in a soft kiss, allowing your mind to slowly come back to reality. His tongue danced with yours with careful consideration, the taste of your slick flooding your mouth. “I want to feel you around me, I want to feel your warmth, I want to…” he pleaded against your lips.

“Sanji, please,” you whispered, your voice laced with need.

Forehead to forehead Sanji’s eyes met yours, his gaze blown with lust. “Anything for you, my love” he promised, his hands unsteady as he positioned himself.

He slowly slid in, both of you moaning, your breaths mingling in want. You mewled, your head falling back as Sanji began to move, each thrust a symphony of pleasure that built and built until you thought you might shatter from the sheer intensity of it.

Sanji’s rhythm was desperate, his movements ragged and teetering as he brought you higher and higher. Your name fell from his lips in a litany of praise and need, each syllable driving him to push you further.

As the tension within you reached a fever pitch, you clung to him, your nails digging into his back as you rode the waves of ecstasy that crashed over you. Sanji followed soon after, hips stuttering, hot seed mingling with your slick as it slowly overflowed and dripped down unto the counter.

For a moment, the world was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths, the steady beat of your hearts, and the gentle sway of the ship. You clung to each other, lost in the afterglow, the reality of what had just happened slowly sinking in.

You were the first to break the silence, your voice raspy and filled with a mix of satisfaction and exhaustion. “Sanji, that was incredible,” you chuckled. “I don't think I can stand.”

His laughter mingled with yours, a rich, heartfelt sound that filled the room. Your heart filled with contentment. The moment was perfect, a blend of intimacy and joy that neither of you would ever let go of.

Masterlist

#one piece smut #one piece fanfiction #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x reader #one piece x reader #sanji smut #charlou writes

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nyarumie · 4 months ago

Text

Ruined Flowers, Beautiful Flowers.

hoshina soshiro x f!reader — 3.6k words. Mentions of stabbing, reader had an outburst, attempt at angst, established friendship, extreme fluff at the end because i cant stand making my characters suffer. Not proofread!

Author's Note: It's my first time writing something involving drama, feedbacks are highly appreciated! I tried my best and got carried away with the length. 💔

Author's Reply: A request from anon here. Kinda hit way too close to home when you said reader is afraid of falling in love 😭 (also guys pls send me Narumi stuff too I want to make more content for my guy)

Ask box is open! Also cross-posted on ao3.

Cheers erupted from your platoon, exhausted strength from the fight seemingly replenished as you dealt the final blow to the Honju once again. Their eyes sparkled with victory, anticipation filling the air as they immediately chatter to plan another celebration for your win. Familiar words of praise reach your ears, but none of them truly reach your heart. What's there to praise about when you're just doing work as expected?

You offer a soft smile to your platoon who is now approaching you, finally engaging yourself in chatter. You were never one for loud occasions, but you have a reputation to keep. They went on about your elegant strikes in battle, your speed and agility that beats even the fastest of lightning, and the reputable “silent, but deadly” strides you have.

“Man, I sure would always keep my distance from our platoon leader! Might get caught up in her Kaiju kill with how silent she attacks, y'know?” one of them joked, a series of awed agreements emerging from the others.

That's right, keep your distance. Getting too close… might just kill anyone.

You close your eyes as you listen, basking in the enthusiasm exuding from your officers. To them, the hushed strides you've perfected in battle is nothing more than a technique. To you, it's just the one thing that keeps your peace, and no one will be able to understand it the way you do.

Except, there's this one person—too persistent for your liking, so much more than your comrades asking you to mentor them. Scratch that, he's not persistent; he's simply way too highly attentive, it scares you just how much about you he already had figured out.

From a distance stands Hoshina Soshiro, the esteemed Vice Captain of the division you belong to. His watchful eyes never miss anything. You fail to ignore his all too familiar peering gaze even as you try to indulge yourself in the antics of your platoon. You don't understand, you never will. Why does he desperately want to unravel you? Closing your eyes really was the best option. That way, you'll avoid making eye contact with him lest he sees through you again, as if he's starting to pick up the puzzle pieces bit by bit. Curiosity getting the best of you, you peeked one eye open to see what he's up to.

Ah, he's now making his way to you. Well, damn him.

Concluding that you have no escape from what's about to come, you sighed and bid your platoon a (short) farewell, leaving them the promise of a celebratory feast tonight. You walked and met him halfway.

Vice Captain Hoshina was already grinning from ear to ear when you neared him, as if he wasn't mentally piercing through your own mind moments ago. You pouted. In an instant, his arm is heavily draped over your shoulder, his other hand playfully ruffling your hair.

A series of complaints were heard from you, only causing him to let out devilish laughs and made an even more mess of your hair.

“Vice Captain! It took me almost an hour to fix and style my hair, and we have a celebration to attend later!” you complained, begging him to stop.

“Fine, fine! Ya did another excellent job today. No wonder Captain Ashiro always trusts you a hella bunch.” he said, satisfied with today's operation. “However…”

And there he goes.

He stood too near you, still hearing clearly enough despite how hushed his voice became. “You're a lot worse today. Still not spillin' the beans? I'm your closest friend here, ya know?”

You looked away from him, finding a car ruined to smithereens apparently far more interesting than whatever this is right now. “Must be your imagination. The Honju just so happened to be tougher today.”

Lie. Today's Honju had a lower fortitude compared to last time. You both know that. And you both know there's no fooling him from what he saw.

You stood atop the Kaiju's corpse after neutralizing it. Back facing everyone, holding your head up high. To the rest of the Division, you were basking in your victory, trying to keep your breath steady after all the action that took place. But there was no fooling Soshiro's eyes.

His keen gaze traveled over your entire figure. Breath ragged, chest heaving as if deprived of oxygen, a clenched grip on your thin, sharp sword forged akin to that of a rapier—in contrast with your lax hand holding your pistol, careful to not fire a shot. You looked like you were in complete agony and exasperation. Soshiro knows that you were heavily sobbing. Silently. Alone. Exactly how you do things your way.

You were only snapped out of your unrest when cheers finally erupted from your platoon. The smile you offer, to a stranger's eyes, is soft and gentle. To him, it's sad—as if it was a struggle for you to smile wide without hesitancy. Your deadly silence in battle wasn't so silent today at all. He can hear it far too well, that each slash of your blade and each shot of your pistol is accompanied with restlessness, each attack heavier than the last.

The Honju has been reported to have no vitals detected, but you kept slashing and shooting, ‘just in case’. Outrageous. You were literally taking out whatever storm is in your head to the Honju's corpse. Not that he minded the Honju, but he cared for you. He is your friend, you can pour your heart and mind out on him instead of a corpse of a monster. Why won't you? Why is the inside of your mind much more different from what you show others? How do you do it?

He doesn't understand. Or maybe he does, but you won't let him in. He wants to be with you, even at your lowest. And he's already failing.

“I see. If the Honju is indeed tougher today,” he started, “then report to me later, Platoon Leader. Post-celebratory report will do. Take it easy for now.”

Was he upset? He rarely addresses you by your position. You carefully turned your head back to him, afraid that he's finally fed up with your bullshit. You're insufferable. Maybe one day he'll ask you to serve another Division. But instead, you see him grace you with a real, soft smile. It makes you want to cry.

'Take it easy for now.' You wish you could unhear it. You hate how easy his words always go through you. How can you take it easy when you try so hard to not be a burden? You don't want him to know any more than he already does.

“...I've no need for rest. But thank you.” You finally feel the tiredness creeping its way through your system.

Post-neutralization banquets are rare, happening annually at most. Somehow, your platoon members managed to smooth talk their way in securing an approval for tonight's celebration. For what, you don't know.

Everyone had their eyes on you when you entered the hall, bright smiles and expectant faces greeting you. This unnerved you, knowing full well what they're requesting with their doe, puppy eyes.

“Ahem. If you're expecting a heartwarming speech, I'm not the person for the job. You all should wait for the Vice Captain for that.” you said, earning a handful of groans from your members.

A hand suddenly lightly ruffled your hair, an action you’ve grown quite accustomed to. “Wait no more! Allow me to handle things, then!” the Vice Captain cheerfully said. Taking this as your cue to sit down, you excused yourself from him, feeling his slightly disappointed gaze trailing you as you sit.

Cheers echoed from the team as he finished his short spiel, everyone’s hunger evident as they hurriedly fill their plates with food. Your tablemates are no different, they're rushing here and there to get the best pieces of meat and pour each other some drinks. You decided to wait, not wanting to contribute to the mess the hall has become.

A plate filled with juicy meat and a bowl of your favorite stew was placed in front of you. Now someone is also taking up your space? About to reprimand whoever placed them in your eating area, you looked up to see that it was just the Vice Captain.

“Eat up. Keep waitin’ for the chaos to calm down and ya will be left with nothin’ to munch on.” He sat beside you, carrying his own set of food.

“Thanks. But I can grab my own fill just fine.” That's what you said, but still started eating what he gave you.

“Mhm… Just accept it in earnest. You never happily accepted any help I offered ya.”

“That’s because no one can give me the help I need.” you absentmindedly said, almost mumbling to yourself. Soshiro remained silent, now looking at you instead of his food. Maybe you shouldn't have said that. “... Let's just eat.”

As the end of the celebration approached, he wanted to test the waters; he got up and collected the plastic flowers adorning the tables, wrapping them around a ribbon he miraculously spotted somewhere—his own version of a small, makeshift bouquet.

He sat down beside you again, earning your attention. You raised your brow at him upon seeing the makeshift bouquet in his hand, a silent question about what he's up to.

“Ta-da! They aren't the real deal, but I did a pretty good job, won't ya say? This one's yours, ya look good with it.” He made a gesture for you to take the flowers, which you did, studying it closely for a while.

“Vice Captain, you shouldn't be taking the establishment’s props.” you said, frowning. “We should get back to your office. Let's get today's report over with.”

Internally sighing, he doesn't know if you're purposely acting dense or just straight up ignoring his subtle advances. Maybe he needs to tell you outright. You once told him that words and actions come hand-in-hand.

It's surprisingly cold tonight even through the heat of the celebrations. He went outside the hall, leaning against the corridor’s wall to wait for you. You told him you have unfinished business to take care of, which is scolding your far too drunk officers who took their drinking competition to another level. Groans and wails from the inside resounded through the door, probably from officers begging you to lighten their punishment.

Finally, he saw you stepping out of the hall. No makeshift bouquet in hand spotted. “Where’d ya put it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Oh, the flowers? I told you we’re not supposed to take them. So I kinda dismantled the ribbon and put them back in place…” you said, looking away guiltily.

That surprisingly stung, despite knowing you didn't want to intentionally hurt him. He knows you’d leave it there, but dismantling them is another. He struggled putting it all together, after all.

“Makes sense. Let's get the report done.” he smiled, ruffling your hair again. This time, it's his way of saying ‘it’s okay, don't feel guilty about it’.

You threw him a look of concern, the playfulness absent from his smile. “I didn't—”

“Are ya cold?” he suddenly asked. Before you can even answer, he removed his work jacket and draped it over your shoulders. “Please put the sleeves on. Yer hands are shakin’ so bad.”

Oh, you didn't even notice. Silently, you put them on as he asked. It's so… large. And oddly comforting. You hated it, somehow. The sleeves extend way beyond your hands and it would look like a mini dress if zipped up.

Satisfied with this, the Vice Captain started walking, pace slow. You followed suit, opting to walk behind him. You looked confused. You feel overwhelmed. Why is he always doing so much? You prefer your friendly banters, the idiotic laughter you share with each other after stupid musings; you dislike the foreign feeling and lingering intention in each action he does towards you. You don't understand.

He once gave you a poetry book about flowers, saying it was like a reflection of yourself. It wasn't. You told him to stop mocking you.

You never asked for company on boring work days, but he was somehow finding his way towards you, offering an invitation to train new recruits. He knew you loved helping others, imparting your knowledge and watching them grow. You turned him down, saying he's more than capable of mentoring them himself.

Once, you were feeling a bit too competitive. Your platoon urged you on, daring you to make a bet with the Vice Captain. The losing platoon must prepare a banquet according to the winning platoon’s wishes. He can hit you in your sword sparring as many times as he can, but hit him once in the given time limit and you win. But you just so happen to miraculously strike him at the last second. He lost on purpose. But you didn't attend the banquet.

Then a tragedy occured. A citizen hiding from the Honju was left undetected, causing you to accidentally inflict a fatal wound on them as you attacked the Honju. Had you known, you would've prioritized their safety. He didn't have to cover this up. He was there. He should be reprimanding you. You were at a loss then.

You bump into his figure, letting out a sound of surprise. You were already inside his office? Perhaps your mind has been too occupied all the way here, you don't even know if he said something on the way here or when he opened the door for you.

Soshiro looked too serious at the moment. You shouldn't have agreed to report to him, because the Honju being tougher today is bullshit. This leaves you with nothing to report, and god you want to miraculously vanish into thin air at this instant.

“What's goin’ on in that li’l head of yours? It's unlike ya to get so out of focus.” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Vice Captain. I’d like to proceed with the report, please.”

“But ya don't have anything to report. I saw it well with my own two eyes.”

He can barely hear you, your voice only a mere whisper. “...Then report to me instead, Soshiro.”

He walked closer to you, your breath almost stopping. Why is it like this?

"What do ya want to know? I'll give you everything."

Your fists clenched in frustration at his words. He's doing this on purpose, saying something that totally means another.

“Why… Why do you insist on staying by my side? Why do you care so much? I don't understand. You're my friend, but you're doing so much for just a friend. Why do you do these things? The book—the poetry book you once gave me, saying it reminded you of me—it doesn't make sense! It's full of flowery words, it speaks of beauty, but none of those are me. You’ve seen what mess of a person I am. You say you’d give me everything, but I can't even give you a single thing, Soshiro!”

You grabbed the front of his shirt, lowering your head as you failed to stop the tears from flowing.

“You should've let me rot in bed when you found me in a sickly state. Should've reported me to the higher ups for making a careless mistake. Should've distanced yourself from me, I did nothing but unintentionally hurt you when all you wanted was to look out for me.”

You bit your lip, not wanting to spill more than you should've. A warm pair of arms went around you, causing you to cry harder, your body relaxing against your wishes.

“I see. Do my actions confuse you?” he softly asked.

“...I can't accept them.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

Still sobbing, you answered, “I don't know. You confuse me. I don't want to rely on anyone. I don't know what to make of them. I hate the lingering, unspoken intentions. I hate not understanding. I hate pushing you away, but it feels overwhelming when you're too close. I hate the comforting feeling you give me. Please don't waste your energy on me. I’m filled with dirt, my hands are covered in more blood than you know about.”

You’ve never spilled this much before, Soshiro noted. He thinks that's a lot to unpack, but he has all the time in his hands to walk you through it. You were a ticking time bomb, the impending explosion only delayed by taking out your anguish on all the Kaiju you’ve slayed.

Soshiro caressed the back of your head, speaking. “Then I’ll help ya understand. I like you and I like bein’ with ya, even if you think otherwise. If you don't wanna rely on me, then don't. But I’ll be here when ya need me. I’ll walk you through everythin’ slowly if you’ll allow me. And I still think you're as beautiful as the flowers I keep tellin’ you about.”

He tried holding your hand. You pulled it away when you felt his, but he insisted. “And these bloodied hands ya speak of, tell me more, please? The stains might be impossible for you to wash away, but I’ll gladly hold ‘em still.”

He isn't the type to deliberately fool others, even if he humors himself with being a menace to others. You looked at him and was met with surprise as you were met with the soft pair of red eyes and gentle smile you’ve deniably always found comfort in. Were you deserving of this, even after unintentionally turning him away?

You let out a shaky breath, bracing yourself to recall a scenario that has haunted your mind for years.

“A Kaiju attack. Was a yonju. It was small, but I can tell it's dangerous. Grabbed anything sharp, anything heavy I can get my hands on. I closed my eyes and kept swaying my makeshift weapon around, in hopes of defending myself. I know my sister was hiding somewhere, but it all happened too fast. I heard a piercing scream right in front of me. The yonju had found her somewhere and used her as its shield. I didn't know that even a yonju could think of that. I… accidentally stabbed my sister. She died. I should’ve kept my eyes open. I was weak and was only 14 then. Today's neutralization location is the exact same spot where it happened.”

Tears filled your eyes again. “The day… when I accidentally hit a hiding civilian. I felt my mind shut down. The same scenario replayed over and over again. Had it not been for you, both I and the civilian would've been long gone now. I was only able to take a breath when they got stabilized by the medical team.”

“I’m sorry. I understand if you don't want to involve yourself with me anymore. But thank you for… being my friend.”

Instead of letting you go, you felt his arm wrap even tighter. “I told ya, didn't I? I’ll walk with ya through everythin'. What happened then doesn't make you any less of a person in my eyes. You’ve saved more lives than any of us can count. I’m sure yer sister will be immensely proud of ya.”

"And! I haven't kept my end of the deal for our bet. Ya didn't attend the banquet for it."

How persistent. But he's always been like this. It comforts you, how he's still being Soshiro even after your heavy outburst.

You cleared your throat. “You said you like me.”

“Mhm? And what about it?”

“...I’m sorry for unintentionally pushing you away, or if I was rude sometimes. I didn't know how to handle it.”

He let out a laugh of relief. “Dear, that was nothin’ at all! Ya don't have to reciprocate, I only wanted to do what I can for ya. That won't change anytime soon.”

Back to his playful self, he let you go and squished your tear-stained cheeks. “I’ll go with ya anywhere, even if it's straight to hell.”

What a fast turnaround of mood. You don't mind it, though. There's no use drowning in your anguish. You wanted to get better.

You frowned. “Don't want you to go to hell, ‘Shiro.”

“Was kiddin’. Get some rest?”

You tiredly nodded at him, eyes heavy. “Vice Captain. I’m officially giving you a chance. At the same time, I’ll start getting better.”

He shot you an incredulous look. “My title? Really now? Fine then, Platoon Leader, as a reward for taking your first step, let me bestow this upon ya. Close your eyes.”

What is he up to now? You’ll punch him with no hesitation if he kisses you on your lips.

You felt something cold wrap around your wrist, his own hand gripping the back of yours.

“Open up.” He held up your hand to your face level. It's a floral bracelet. He always loves associating you with flowers. You don't understand why, but someday you know you will.

“Perfect match, ain’t it? Now, for the cherry on top…”

His next move took you by surprise. With no hesitation, he kissed your palm. “There. I hope that wasn't too much?”

Receiving no reply, his eyes snapped to your face, worried if he overstepped his newly established boundary.

The sight that greeted him was something to behold. You were looking at anything but him, unable to control the redness of your face. Ah, so that was quite the shot to your heart then?

“Hello? Earth to you?”

“I’m fine! It's okay! Just… not used to it. Do give me a warning next time for my sake, please. And we're not yet in a relationship, mind you.” you said, shyness still evident.

He heartily laughed, still not letting go of your hand. “I’ll walk ya back to your room now. The princess needs her long needed quality sleep.”

And sure enough, it was indeed the most peaceful night you’ve ever had.

#kaiju no. 8 #axia writes for fun #kn8 x reader #kn8 writing #kaiju number 8 #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina x reader #hoshina #hoshina soshiro #hoshina fluff #hoshina angst

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babygirl-riley · 1 year ago

Note

Hiiiiii sorry to bother- but i'm OBESSED with dad!Simon. have you seen those tiktoks of dad's crying while their baby girls get ear piercings? They look more in pain than the kid themselves?? I'd like to ask for a short drabble please!! ❤️❤️😩

Silent Treatment

Simon and your baby girl are shunning you after getting her ears pierced

A/N: ANON ANOOOON! Those tik toks make me laugh because it’s like damnnn those dads wanna fight mom soooo bad. 😭 But yes yes I love this idea!

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family

You felt bad truly, you stood in the door frame as Simon didn’t look at you. Same with your infant daughter. “Si, we talked about it.”

Simon shook his head. “Doesn’ matter, she was in pain. Almost took the bitch’s head off,” Your daughter clanged to her father as she sighed into his shoulder. “We are not happy about it, aren’ we princess.” Simon said whispering to Millie.

You chuckled low before sighing. “Simon she is fine now. She isn’t even crying.”

“Her ears say oth’r wise.” He commented looking at her subsiding red ears.

You smirked as you saw Simon smirk, he was milking it now. You glared at him still smirking as you fold your arms. “You can’t gate-keep her forever you know.”

Simon’s smile grew bigger as he looked at Millie than you. “You try to take her for me and see who’s gate keepin’ who.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling. He was right, she was the one clinging onto him without any hesitation. When you tried to get her out of her car seat she screamed for her daddy. You really pissed her off, you knew she was daddy’s girl but never has she refused you getting her out.

Millie looked over her shoulder and her head was still laying on his shoulder. Her brown eyes looking right through your soul. You could feel the anger on the toddler. God how much both Millie and Simon were alike, even in her toddler years. That look that she was baring into your soul was the same look that her father gave the lady that pierced her ears.

“Okay dad you can go on the other side so I can just snap one on,” The lady said pulling out the piecing gun. Your mom did it to you when you were younger, easier to do it when they won’t remember it. Raise your daughter to have a routine of having earrings. Millie looked up at you as you sat her on your lap. She was confused, first having a stranger holding her ear and mom letting the stranger holding her ear. The lady smiled up at you. “You ready?”

Simon looked over at her. “It won’t hurt her too bad yeah?” You swore he was more nervous than how Millie looking on your lap.

You smiled holding her closer. “She will cry Simon but it shouldn’t hurt too much. It will feel like a pinch.”

Oh how wrong you were, once the piercing went in she screamed. Simon snapped his head up to the lady before giving her a death stare, as he moved over to the side to see her ear red. Millie kicked and tried to pull you off of her. You watched as Simon’s hands clenched into fists. “One more! I know baby.” The lady said walking over to the other side cautiously.

You saw Simon watch carefully as the lady lined up the piercing. You swore you saw fire in his eyes but also pain. You haven’t seen Simon express that emotion in years, it made your heart hurt to see him in pain as well. Millie started to lift herself as she reached for Simon. Simon tapped his foot waiting for the session to just end.

You tried to grab her hand to soothe her but instead she batted away. She tried to reach for Simon once again as you held her still. You looked over to see tears in his eyes, which made your heart drop. “Simon,” You soothed. “She is okay.”

Simon snapped his head to you. “She doesn’ look okay to me.” You frowned as he looked back to Millie as you petting her head until the lady got her gun in place of her earlobe.

After the last snap, Millie screamed again, having her arms raised to Simon. It was like flash of lightning when Simon was right in front of you. Simon grabbed her immediately, bounced her up and down. Shushing her, soothing her, rubbing her back.

Simon left the store immediately, leaving you in the dust. You sighed as you handed the money to the lady. “Don’t worry all husbands do that with their babies. The good ones at that.” The lady whispered to you. “Some of them actually shed tears.”

You smiled and thanked her, however she was wrong about him not shedding a tear. You knew why he stormed out with her, you saw the single tear leaving his eye when he snatched her.

You paid the lady and thanked her as you watched Simon hold Millie closer. Both of them gave you the silent treatment, like you did the piercing. You rolled your eyes as you tried to hold Millie but she refused you as she clanged onto Simon all the way to the car.

After getting out of the car he went straight to her room as he rocked her. Holding her. Soothing her. You followed him into the doorway, as you listened to him mumble sweet things to her. It wasn’t until then he started to speak to you.

“I’m not mad at ya,” He said sighing. “Didn’ like my babygirl cryin’ like that.” His voice lowered even more as he rubbed her back on soothing motions. Holding her even closer than he already had her before.

You nodded. “I know you don’t. I am sorry you felt that way. My heart hurt too, I didn’t expect her to scream cry,” You fell silent as you watched Millie turn to cuddle more close to his neck. Gripping his shirt. You chuckled having Simon start to smile looking at you. “I think you scared the lady as well.”

Simon scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Good she hurt Mills, should have just stared at her the whole time to have her stop.”

You chuckled coming in more, Millie watched as you walked up to her and Simon. “Then she would only have one earring.”

Simon followed with his eyes as you stood in front of him. His eyes softening as he chuckled. “That’s the new thing isn’t it?”

Now it was your time to roll your eyes as you giggled. “I’m sorry baby,” You whispered kneeling down, rubbing the top of her ear. “Think you will be the only one to have pierced ears if we get you a sibling.”

She cooed as you leaned up to kiss her forehead. She laid back into his chest. It was quiet for a moment before you stood up. “Damn right.” Simon mumbled, smirking down at you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty modern warfare #simon ‘ghost’ riley #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost #simon ghost x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley mw2

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celaenaeiln · 6 months ago

Note

What do you think of Nightwing/Robins relationship with each of the Titans through the years? Specifically Roy, Donna, and Wally.

With Donna and Wally it’s so fluffy! With Roy however I feel like they are either partners in crime or hitting each other where it hurts

You're so right anon. With Donna and Wally things are pretty much perfect but with Roy, Dick's relationship is back and forth but it's not because they don't like each other. It's because they like each other too much.

Donna

Donna is EVERYTHING to Dick Grayson. She's his sister, best friend, other half. Hardcore ride or die. He literally walked her down the aisle the day of her wedding.

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #50

She also said she would follow him all the way down to hell and she damn sure means it.

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #50

These two aren't going anywhere but to each other.

Wally

World's Finest: Teen Titans Issue #5

Wally just loves Dick a lot. Like if he could Wally would just live with Dick forever and the two of them would just be happy for that.

You've probably read my other posts about Wally already but I'll collate them here just because it's a long time and it's a nice refresher.

Dick and Wally's friendship post

Dick as Wally's lightning rod post

How Dick and Wally in a relationship would go post

Roy

Like I said. It's not a problem but Roy's relationship with Dick is based on the fact that he loves Dick too much. He thinks Dick is the best thing in the world to ever exist. All the Titans think that but Roy wants to BE Dick. If you look at it, Roy's relationship with Dick is a parallel to Jason's relationship with Dick and Donna, Wally, and Garth's relationship with Dick matches exactly with Tim's relationship with Dick.

Jason thinks the world of Dick Grayson and tried his best to live up to him. He tried to fill in Dick's shoes which is exactly what Roy does.

Teen Titans (1996) Issue #13

He loves Dick to an extreme that he wants to emulate but finds himself struggling because he doesn't believe he achieves that. So, he acts out in order to recieve attention from Dick and Ollie and so on. He gets aggressive with the people he loves because he wants them to look at him. He wants to keep them looking at him. Which is the reason for the back and forth between best friend and angry friend moods he has going on with Dick. It's born out of respect and love and need for acknowledgement from the person who he considers is the greatest to have ever existed.

The reason I bring up Jason and Tim is because it's the clearest way to explain Dick's relationships with the Titans. The Titans and Dick's brothers hold him in the highest esteem - they just react to him differently. Wally,Donna, Garth, and Tim love Dick and think of him as the peak of perfection. So, Wally and Tim especially celebrate it by using him as an inspiration to be greater. In similar ways, Jason and Roy love Dick and think he's the peak of perfection and want to be him. They use him as inspiration but at the same time they feel the need to compete with him to prove their worth. Where Wally and Tim have just accepted that Dick is the best and can't be achieved by anyone, Jason and Roy actually do try to be like him. However you know what they say about Icarus - don't fly too close to the sun. Meaning, don't be too overly ambitious and greedy. I don't think there's anything wrong with what Jason and Roy do but the impact of what they're trying to achieve has negative consequences on their mental health.

They love him, want to be him, but personally feel they're falling short of him which brings in the mood swings. The rest of the Titans and Tim have a fluffier relationship because they don't even bother. They've just accepted that Dick is the best and go about on their day. So in summary, Roy's relationship with Dick is fraught with tension because of insecurities as a result of hero-worship. But truth be told, Roy loves Dick just as equally as Wally, Donna, and Garth. He simply shows his love a different way to him than they do because they're all their own individual people.

In terms of Dick viewing Roy, Dick is Roy's hardcore friend. He's a real one. When Roy was struggling with drugs, Dick single handedly dragged him into Rehab because he was there for him. Because for Dick, it makes him happy seeing Roy happy and successful.

The New Titans (1988) Issue #101

Titans (2008) Issue #23

And Roy literally holds down Dick when he freaks out and chases after Kori after she gets possessed at their wedding. The friendship they have is not the smoothest friendship but it's a real one. They need each other because when they're each at their worst the other other one comes in slaps the other around, gives a twisted love confession in the form of threats, and then they get better.

New Titans (1988) Issue #101

Dick is stubborn as hell but Roy is willing to put in the dirty work to pull him out. Same goes for Dick with Roy.

Outsiders is probably the best explanation of their dynamic. Roy put together the Outsiders because he didn't want Dick constantly depressed WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT WALLY DID WHEN HE PUT TOGETHER THE TITANS IN TITANS (1999). But it comes off differently because Roy is more aggressive in the way he shows love. If Roy needs anything, Dick's there for him immediately.

Action Comics (1938) Issue #631

THIS. This scene is them.

They're a flipping hot mess that love each other. In other words, Roy and Dick's friendship is what you get when you put two egoists in a room together and tell them that they're going to die only for them to start beating each other up because they're each screaming that they love the other more and neither refuses to let the other one go first. Kinda like the song Style. They fall apart and then they fall back together for an eternity.

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itskattkm · 6 months ago

Text

Multiverse

Based on a request: Could you do a fanfic where all of JOs characters meet and R has to explain they're all characters in movies and shows and how they're acted by R's gf, Jenna Ortega?

Characters would preferably be the following: Wednesday, Tara, Vada, Camila, Phoebe, Lorraine, Mabel, Ellie and Cairo (Even tho that movie isn't out yet)

If you don't want to use all the characters thats fine lol. I'm too lazy to write this myself.

JO Characters X Fem Reader

A/N: I’m so sorry that it took me so long. I wasn’t sure what end I wanted to choose. So I decided to not overthink to much and keep it short so the end is pretty shit haha. Hope you can still enjoy anon :)

————————

It’s been one of those rare summer days where the clouds were turning into a coal grey way and turning the whole light that fell onto the earth in a mix of yellow light and dark highlites. I saw just seconds ago a light struck in the corner of my eyes as I turned my head towards the window in the living room trying to say “there was a lightning it mus-“ and then there was it.

A growl. Something that sounded like a crisp crash high in the distance but still like it was happening right next to you. Thunder.

I chuckled to myself. Before I could end my own sentence the thunder had spoken for itself.

I walked towards the window. Watching rain falling down in an immense amount, feeling glad that I was in my apartment and didn’t had to walk through that wild mess.

“Rain... Rain is like a heavy mood. It is sad but it has a beautiful way of calming you down at the same time. Rain can make you cry but it can also make you calm"

I heard the familiar voice of my girlfriend. But kept watching the rain without turning around and smiled.

"You know... Rain can also be a bit spooky. Rain makes the shadows darker. Rain makes the dark even darker. Rain makes mystery even more mysterious."

I chuckled saying “wow that one turned a bit dark I guess…” I was turning around Expecting to see her soaked in the rain. Seeing already in front of my eyes how her bangs were probably all wet and sticking on her forehead. But when my eyes met hers, i was quite confused and a light laugh escaped me.

“Why do you look like Wednesday Addams?” I asked her. Walking a step towards her. It was almost like she became one with the shadows in the room. Wearing a big black coat. Covering what she was wearing under it. Her also black doc martens being pretty visible.

Her hair was darker then it was before she left to meet Enrique and prepare things for the upcoming met gala. I looked at her with a tilted head.

“I thought that people stopped asking stupid questions but here you are… another example for our current lost generation” she said monotone.

I looked even more confused feeling like there were tons of gears moving in my head and that she could see them “I’m confused…” I barely whispered.

“I often have that affect on people…”

She said and looked with an almost disgusted gaze at me. Scanning me from head to toe making me feel some kinda way uneasy. Even though I really loved the way Jenna played Wednesday Addams… that type of character was defiantly to much to handle. I found enough courage despise the mixed feelings I had and was about to say something when I recognized another figure beside me. My eyes landing on dark brown eyes, Emphasized with dark eyeliner wich Jenna rarely wore.

My mouth opened slight. Looking even more confused by now if this was possible.

My eyes scanning her figure within seconds. Seeing her wearing some short hot pants with a thin top and a congnac brown leather jacket. The fit feeling pretty familiar to me.

She was wearing eye makeup but the rest of her face was all clean. Wich made her freckles more present than usual. A smile with also slight confusion covered her face “wow you look pretty emo…” was what she said. But she didn’t said it to me.

“Some would consider I’m the definition of emo” said the one who looked like Wednesday.

I felt my heart running faster looking between the both of them.

“You see her too?” I asked Jenna beside me. But I wasn’t sure if it was actually Jenna.

“Yeah I do… by the way what’s your name?”

She answered giving me that big smile that showed her dimples and made me feel a bit flustered. That smile always had an effect on me.

But I was way to overwhelmed to actually tell her my name since there were two people that looked like Jenna so I asked

“Who are you?”

“Mabel…” she said and gave me a very knees weakening look, combined with that smile.

“Mabel… Wednesday…” I whispered looking between the both of you.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked more myself than both of them.

And right when the last few words left my mouth there was another person appearing in the living room. But the person seemed to be way to focused on my bookshelves.

All three of us watched the person.

She was wearing a white dress, showing her curves and long legs wich were wearing knee high brown boots. A tiny bag was hanging over her shoulders as her tiny but also gentle looking hands touched the backs of the books. Reading in silence the title names. Her hair was falling over her back in beautiful waves. The little light in the living room falling on it and showing a mixture of brown and red highlites.

“Y/N I don't think you have real books here... you have a Harry Potter book.. that's not a real book” She scrunches up her face “I'm sorry but it's the truth” She picks up a book and checks the title “Ugh... It's called a touch of darkness and it's about Persephone and Hades in a version of a Greek world in our time? *She shrugs it off*”

I felt a bit offended but also didn’t knew what to say.

Wednesday said “if you like Greek mythology you at least could’ve read the real tales. Like the ilias or oddysey” I nodded slightly ashamed and my gaze met Mabel’s she whispered “I only watched Percy Jackson once so don’t look at me for help…”

I took a deep breath and looked back at the woman beside my shelves. She had turned around by now and was lightning up a cigarette. I could see the amount of rings on her other hand and that cheeky but also dangerous smile on her dark bordo lips.

“Cairo Sweet?” I asked speechless.

“Wow well that’s a …unique name” said Mabel with a chuckled.

“I would say being called after a weekday is more unusual then being called as a well know city with history…” said Cairo and gave Wednesday a look.

My eyes widened feeling like Cairo was about to die.

“ I’m named after a nursery rhyme containing the line “Wednesday's child is full of woe.” The poem, which assigns personalities to children based on the day they were born, dates back to at least 1838. Cairo-Sweet. What kinda name is that, anyway? Sounds like the kind they'd use in a very bad written fanfiction” Wednesday glares at Cairo for daring to question the legitimacy of her name and gives her a dead stare.

I looked at both of them excited now and chuckled saying “as a writer you should have know that Cairo… you better not mess with Wednesday. She’s a writer and she could kill you if she wants”

Mabel beside me just whispered quite “okay this is getting very interesting here”

Wednesday and Cairo were throwing glares at each other when another person moved to my side and said “what kind of fever dream is that?”

I laughed and shaked my head looking at my right side to see another version of my girlfriend, wearing basketball shorts and an oversized shirt. I felt like nothing could surprise me anymore at this point so I smiled friendly and held my hand out saying “your Vada right? Nice to meet you I’m Y/N”

Vada smiled and shook my hand. I was explaining to her what was currently happening and introduced the others to her. Vadas hand rested on my shoulder now as she said “it’s like the most weirdest names I’ve ever seen…” an awkward smile appearing on her lips.

“You’re not surprised about the fact that you all look exact the same? Just different?”

Suddenly there was a Laugh “Yeah, there's a glitch in the system or something. It's just kind of...” said the 5.1 Latina beside me and shrugged. I looked speechless at Tara fucking Carpenter. Not sure if I was in a fan girl mode or going right into the simp mode.

“Tara Carpenter… holy shit” I whispered and looked at her stunned. Not sure how to process this all. She gave me a friendly smile and my head felt like exploding.

“She good?” Asked another version of Jenna’s Characters. Sitting on the armchair with her sunglasses and smoothie as she held a tiny book in her hands. Ellie from you I assumed.

My eyes kept jumping between all those people in my living room. Noticing even more of them.

“10 dollars she’s gonna pass out” said Wednesday cold as Cairo agreed and jumped in the bet. In my living room we’re around six characters that my girlfriend had played and it was way to hard to understand what the hell was going on.

No matter in what direction I looked. They were everywhere. Talking, arguing, connecting.

I took a deep breath and sat down on my couch. “What the hell is going on?” I asked louder and everyone became silent.

They looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

“I have to admit this is weird… for real why do we all look like the same person?” Asked now Vada pointing out her hands at everyone.

Everyone looked around, till all gazes fell on me. Tara walked towards me saying “you seem to know every one of us… so you may enlighten us?” I nodded in an almost trance like mode and got up. Standing in the center while all of them were standing around me like in a circle.

“Okay… maybe this is some weird multiverse thing? A Paradoxon? Or I’m dreaming… dead… I don’t know but!” I said looked at all of you.

I shrugged my shoulders

“Well what can I say you all are movie characters…”

“ Y/N are you feeling alright? Or are the fumes from the glue factory getting to you?”Wednesday gives me a cold stare “Or do you need to sit down? Do you need a hit with the shovel so the bad thoughts go away?”

I looked at her serious saying

“What?! No! Listen…” I said and reached for my phone. I typed in Wednesday in Netflix and showed it to her and the others.

Cairo Looks at me with confusion “What a nerd, knowing all the facts about movie characters and who plays them. Like, who cares? I’ve got better things to do all day long than waste my time on silly little facts of the past, and I don’t even want to waste my time being in the same room as a loser like you!” She glares at me, showing clear signs of aggression.

“Okay you are defiantly meaner as you seem in your movie…” I said slight offended and looked over at Tara who was my fav character. Seeking for some comfort

She Shrugs “Oh don’t let her bother you, she’s... Anyways, did you guys want to talk about anything specific or are we going to all go to our separate corners and just stare at each other? I mean, that sounds kind of odd if I say it outloud...”

I laughed nervous “I would like to know why you guys even are here in the first place… this is against all rules. How is this even possible?”

“You’ll find a lot of things hard to explain away with logic, you know? Especially a certain someone who likes to hang out with a bunch of fictional characters” said Wednesday monotone and gave me another cold, intimidating stare “beside that you better stop trying to convince us that we are only movie characters. I’ll be good for you, if you drop the topic”

“Why? After all you all just appeared out of nowhere in my Apartment!..” I said a bit angry. Starting to feel like I was the bad one here suddenly.

Mabel looked around while playing with her moving her hands in the back of her pockets “So, what should we talk about then?” She asks awkwardly.

Vada was sitting in the corner and stares at the floor then says “I feel like the most... average one here....”

Tara Looks at Vada awkwardly “Don't say that... you're just as special as all of us. You're not average. Don't ever think that!”

“Yeah she’s right. You are special and we love you… what you’ve been through was awful” I said reassuring and hugged her. Since I knew what Vada had been through cause I watched the movie obviously, I had a soft spot for her.

“Uh... Thanks y/n......” She awkwardly hugged me back and blushed a little bit, looking down and covering her face. “How did you know?.....” She looked up at me a bit more, curious than before.

“Because you’re a movie character and I saw your story… that’s what I’m trying to explain to you guys” I sighed and looked at Tara.

“Tara you have a sister called Sam. You two had been survivors of a ghostface attack two times. You have several stab wounds in your abdomen and shoulder and on your hand as well. Sam ist the daughter of the origin Ghostface killer, Billy Loomies “ I explained “Your form the movie called Scream, your character was introduced in the fifth and sixth movie… my fav ones” I added with a shy smile.

Tara looked around impressed “How do you even know all these facts?” She whispered and realized that I knew all the names without even asking any one of you “It’s like, magic or something?” She asked.

I looked at Cairo and said “And your form one of the current movies my girlfriend made. It’s called millers girl. And yeah. I know what you did. Accusing your teacher for something he did not really do but I’m on your side tho. But it’s not cool to kiss and blackmail your best friend Winnie. Your dangerous Cairo. But I still feel mesmerized by you… somehow” I explained and shrugged.

Cairo rolled her Eyes “Wow, just wow. Who cares? I didn't ask for your input so keep it to yourself please and thank you” She turns her cigarette off and crosses her arms, giving me a pissed look.

“You are really mean... You seemed so nice at the beginning of your movie” i said almost disappointed. “Yeah well I turned out to be different and that's too bad for you” She continues to glare at me with aggressive eyes.

I sighed again and looked at Mabel.

“Mabel. You’re from the movie finestkind. You’re dating some fisher guy. It’s about crime and drugs. Your character is only a side character but you’re cool. Pretty bold and flirty. You had some spicy scenes respect for that…”

“Wow you really do know a lot-“ She was cut off by Wednesday, who started making an unimpressed sound.

I turned to her “And then the one and only Wednesday Addams. You are the currently new portrayed version of that character. You have your own tv show. You attend a dark Academy and solve crimes and murderes… second season will come out soon and by the way… people ship you pretty hard with Enid”

Wednesday looked me dead in the eyes “I do not appreciate your tone of delivery at all. I’m going to have to ask you to watch it a little, or else… that’s the nicest I can make” She gives me a scary look of disapproval and anger.

“Hey I didn’t wanted to be harsh or something… I’m just trying to telling you guys about the movies you all are from. I don’t know how you made it to my universe but you are all not real in this one…”

“Its your fault we're all here in the first place, so it’s best if you don’t go around with a mouth that likes to spill every detail about us that you possibly can, hmm?” Wednesday gave me a threatening look, daring me to break eye contact first.

I felt a bit hurt and said quite

“Sorry… but I really don’t how all of you came here” I looked around “You all just appeared suddenly” I said softly.

“it’s time for you to make us all disappear” Wednesday looked at me with cold, empty, soulless eyes.

“I don’t know how” exhausted I looked in the eyes of all of them.

“Look guys, let’s not make things too hard on her. She didn't even do anything, all of us just suddenly appeared and its not her fault! “ said Tara and stands up for me. I felt so relived when Tara stand up for me, making me fall for her even harder. Okay focus y/n Jenna is your girlfriend. But yeah… I also love all characters she plays… nevermind.

“I must say, you are very pretty y/n...” said randomly Mabel with a smile.

“Th-thank you” I said blushing hard and looked down.

Vadas eyes fell on me “Yeah, Tara’s right though. She didn’t have anything to do with why we’re here, did she?” Glances at Wednesday and Cairo, looking suspicious.

Cairo Shrugs “I’ve been trying to find out but so far I haven’t got a clue...” Her eyes narrow as she looks at her surroundings “We need to figure this out as soon as possible...”

„Well as soon as possible isn’t quick enough for me, I’m not going to sit around here forever just to wait this all out“ Wednesday added.

„You guys can do what ever you want.

I don’t know how all of you became real. Just know that in this universe none of you is supposed to be real“ I said and sat down on the couch exhausted

Wednesday Shrugs „Well we didn't do it on purpose. It's just something crazy I guess...

What if we never make our way back...“ She looks at everyone with a cold, intimidating stare. It’s clear she’s trying to hold her anger in check for the moment.

„Come on, don't even talk like that Wednesday... we'll find our way back, one way or another...“ Tara said.

„Yeah right? We're not stuck here with her forever!“ Cairo shudders at the thought.

„Ouch?“ I said not sure if I should feel offended.

„You should feel offended. We are going to find a way out of here and when we do, I am making sure I stay the hell away from you“ She glares at me again.

I gave Cairo a thumbs up and looked at Tara speechless saying

„I can’t believe I actually had a crush when I watched her movie back then“

Vada shrugged „Well I'm glad you changed your mind“

„Why? What kind of crush did you have on me?“ asked Cairo, not letting her anger die down yet.

„None“ I said trying to end the conversation. „Come on, you can tell me. Please?“ She leans forward with puppy eyes, but they look a little bit sinister.

„Just for the record since my girlfriend plays all your characters I do have a thing for all of you for sure“

„What do you mean your girlfriend plays all of us?“ Wednesday gives me a suspicious look, leaning in closer and giving a scary look again. „My girlfriend. The actress. Who portrays all your characters in this universe“

Mabel stares at me for a while. Her eyes narrow even more than before* What's her name?”

“I don’t buy it” Wednesday scoffed

“What's that supposed to mean, Wednesday?” I asked

“That was an act, you’re not just now realizing that y/n’s girlfriend is the one who plays all of us. I think she’s trying to hide something”

“I’m telling the truth you can google it” I said louder

Wednesday Takes me by the collar and glares at me with a cold, intimidating look “Okay then, Y/N. I want the truth and I want to know now. What’s your play here?”

Some part of me felt scared and turned on. It took me some time to answer. “I swear nothing. I was just enjoying my day off and suddenly all of you were here”

“And nothing at all happened before that?” Wednesdays voice was getting more and more sinister as each second passed.

“A storm came up. Thunder… lightning” I explained. “Hm... a storm...” She let go of my collar and turned her back on me. She began pacing around the room silently.

“Maybe it has to do with the storm then? Some Paradoxon?” I said

Wednesday looked st me “Is that really all you know? You have no other secrets you’re holding back?”

“Nothing. I’m the most boring person right here” I said quite

“Boring?” She looked back at me and smirked, and turned back around again “If you think your life isn’t interesting, then you’d better make your peace with this life being all you’ll ever be. You have no purpose here. You have nothing to contribute to this world” She stopped her pacing and turned back around again “This is it for you. This is all your life is worth” She let me take that in for a while before speaking again “So do not call yourself boring ever again. You hear me?”

I nodded feeling touched.

“Good” She sat down next to me, and put her hand on my shoulder. After a while of silence, she finally broke the tension “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have done that” She looked down at her feet, ashamed.

“Thank you… i really appreciate your apology” I whispered feeling better now.

“Okay since we all don’t know why you’re here and I’m tired of explaining and arguing… Wanne watch a movie together?”

#jenna ortega #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #vada cavell #wednesday #fanfiction #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #vada cavell x y/n #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday x reader #mabel finestkind #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #jenna ortega x you

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macabr3-barbi3 · 8 months ago

Note

can you do a fic of alastor comforting the reader after a nightmare? more fluff then smut please <333

I went full fluff for this anon, I hope this is what you were looking for! Super short but I had a fun time writing this cute little thing, please feel free to shoot me another ask and let me know what you think <3 (I should be sleeping but decided to write and post this instead 💕)

Tags: fluff; Alastor x Reader; nightmares; comfort; established relationship

Possible tw/cw for drowning? just in case

The darkness of the night is interrupted only by the crack of lightning across the sky, static in the air, your cries swallowed up by the boom of thunder somewhere nearby. You don’t get a chance to inhale, fill your body with one last sweet gulp of air, before the tide takes you under, chest burning with the effort of trying to hold your breath. You can’t hold it- it breaks free of your mouth with a rush of bubbles and a scream that no one can hear with your head underwater. Knowing that you shouldn’t, muscle memory makes you inhale once again.

You know that you’re dreaming, but that doesn’t make the intake of water into your lungs any less terrifying.

Your hands fly to your throat to try to stop it- a pointless endeavor since it has already entered you, weighing your body down. Glancing towards your feet, another crack of lighting illuminates the water enough for you to see the rope around your ankle before the cinder block tied to the other end starts to descend, dragging you deeper and deeper into the murky depths. The dark gray of the sky fades quickly from your view as you sink, mouth open in another scream for someone- anyone - to save you.

A hand grips yours, tight around the wrist, and you cling to it- drag it down against your chest, press your lips to the skin you find there like it can somehow push air back into your lungs. Relief floods your veins, the warm palm against your own a physical reminder that despite everything you were not alone- drowning but moments from salvation.

When it tries to pull away you resist, dig your claws into your could-be savior, pleading words on your lips that can’t travel on airwaves beneath the water as they are. They pull harder, out of your grasp, and your tears become one with the sea as you are pulled to the bottom of it without them.

Screaming is what awakens you, the ache in your throat violent and sharp enough finally that you bolt upright in your bed, Alastor’s crimson gaze settled on your face, his smile grim and tense. He’s crouched over your frame and holds both of your hands in his, your elbows and legs still fighting against water that no longer surrounds you. There are tiny rivulets of blood on his wrists from where you had grabbed him.

You force yourself to relax, deep breaths that do nothing to soothe the burn in your throat. You stop fighting Alastor, make your limbs go still against him and collapse back against the bed. Tears burn at your eyes, not just those leftover from your dream but new ones at the thought of hurting him while he tried to help you.

“I’m so sorry.” Your voice is a quiet rasp and your body goes boneless, Alastor finally releasing his grip on your hands and leaning back. Unlike the first time this had happened, there is no frantic pounding at the door in response to your screams- he had taken care of that problem after Charlie had shown up to your room in a panic, Vaggie with her spear at the ready before Alastor had explained that it wasn’t necessary. It was only ever when you fell asleep at different times; when he had other matters to attend to in the hotel or radio studio, or times when you feel asleep waiting up for him. He had been horrified to discover them at first, but since becoming accustomed to them he was quick to give you comfort in the aftermath.

He collects you in his arms, pulls you against his chest with a hand in your hair and the other in yours. “No apology necessary, dear,” he murmurs, pressing a small kiss to the top of your head. “I know it’s nothing you can control.”

“I hate this,” you whisper into his shirt. “I hate that it makes me so… so weak.”

You feel his head shake more than you see it. “Never,” he assures you. “You could never be such a thing.”

“You don’t have nightmares,” you say petulantly, and the vibration of his chuckle against you is something you could feel for centuries and never tire of.

“I have other terrors to face, I’m afraid. That doesn’t make the ones you handle any less difficult.”

You sigh, settling deeper into his embrace. “When you took my hand,” you say quietly, “it helped. It was like a lifeline- something to ground myself with. In the dream it felt like a rescue- I didn’t know it was you, I can’t get that far out of it to recognize that- but it helped me feel less alone.” You lower your gaze. “Less like I felt when I died.”

Panicked. Overwhelmed. Desperately, horribly isolated when you had been sent over the side of the ship all those years ago. There had been no cinder block- that part of the nightmare an unfortunate addition from your terrorized mind- your going overboard having been an accident, but the crashing of waves over your head as you tried to scream was always the same, the storm that raged overhead never ending as you had been left behind.

“Look at me.” He uses his hand in your hair to guide your face towards his, placing a chaste kiss on your lips before pressing your foreheads together. “I will never allow you to be in a situation like that again. Whether an external force or the horrors of your mind, I will always be here for you, darling.” With his other hand he gives yours a squeeze. “I will tie my hand to yours in the night if you desire, so I cannot pull away even by accident. So you always have that reminder that I’m beside you. I will not leave you behind.”

You fist your hand in his shirt, bury your face in the fabric so he can’t see the freshest tears. “I love you,” you say, and he brushes his hand gently through your hair once more.

“And I love you, dear. Rest easy now- I’m here with you. I always will be.” He hums something soft and gentle above you, and the low vibrations and the heat of him lulls you back into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #x reader #alastor fluff #hazbin fluff

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dilfth1rster · 8 months ago

Note

I was wondering if you could do some smutty head cannons about Dean Winchester

Hi anon this is my first head canon like this, hope you enjoy it and if you want to further explore it, you know where to send me a request:)

Let's start with Dean is definitely a kinkyyyy himbo...

He's very dirty minded, any conversation that sparks as something a little sexual is like poking a bear with a stick. You never know what can trigger him.

I surely see him as both a dom and sub depending on a situation and or his mood. He doesn't see gender and would fuck anyone.

Nice chick in shorts a little too revealing? ... Yeah he would definitely try to hit that.

An older guy that gets a little too touchy after a couple of beers? Dean, umm- WOULD!

As of what he's into, it's a damn wide spectrum.

Starting with dress up... He loves that damn wild west cowboy shit. He loves getting in his cowboy boots and hat and a fringy jacket which also activates a dominant confident side in him.

He loves dominating and being dominated.

VERYYYY verbal whether it be about how nicely his big cock slides into you or how he degrades you and calls you his dirty cumwhore OR- how he pants in your ear while ramming into your ass with a speed of lightning.

He can NEVER decline a blowjob, he loves that shit. With him, it's more of a deepthroat or a "skullfuck" because he'd be holding you down on his wide 7 inches till u smelled the musky trimmed bush of his and later on definitely got lightheaded...

While I already mentioned his musk, I must add that his usual body smell is sweat mixed with a strong woodsy cologne and "leftover" whisky.

Dean appreciates when a lady shaves down there but he's a wild one for a hairy cunt as well as a bushy, hairy guy.

Loves high heels and "girly" accessories especially pink ones.

Is not scared nor intimidated by being called or referring to himself as Daddy.

Knows you're obsessed with his hands and loves helping you get wet by putting his chubby fingers in your mouth/throat.

DEAN WINCHESTER LOVES RISKY/OUTDOOR SEX!!!!!!! (includes public places such as dirty bar restroom which leads me to another thing that is...)

Unprotected sex. He's not friends with condoms, loves breeding you, and seeing his cum ooze out of you... and he CUMS A LOT.

He also loves getting bred by older guys(daddy issues I guess).

If you're okay with it:

He's definitely into watersports. Would love to piss on you, in his words "mark" you as his and degrade you.

Slap and choke you around(a little manhandling never hurt nobody huh?)

Make you worship his boots as a sign of your ultimate submission.

(let me include an image because it's getting hot in here...)

If it's longer than a one night stand he'd definitely want to cuckold you and make you watch as he breeds and destroys another young chick he met at the bar and brought to the motel room. Maybe if you're nice enough and behave he'll let you lick the juices off his cock after?

This man got a thing for piercings, belly button one that pops out from under your top, lip piercing or ESPECIALLY tongue and tits pierced... GOD DAMN!

Sex with him is usually fast paced(I say usually because from time to time it's not fast, IT'S DAMN RAPID)

SO... CUM-

we estabilished that mans got a breeding kink but well- Dean also loves cumming in your mouth and watching you swallow his sweet, chunky load, as well as painting your whole face in his seed.

If he's titty-fucking you he can explode directly on them.

If he's with a guy he enjoys getting bred and getting his face painted.

OH AND I ALMOST FORGOT-

This guy is a goddamn foodie, he loves to eat his sweet treats like the well known pie and such... he also loves to incorporate that into sex...

making you eat the pie he just came on or stuffing pieces of it into your pussy and eating you and IT out :)

Well- I think that's it for now. I'd love to further explore some of the aspect with you all, so if you got any questions or ideas, write away in the requests in my bio :)

(I'm a new writer so if you could like and reshare or leave a comment with your thoughts I'd really appreciate that)

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfic #deanwinchester blurb #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester x reader #supernatural smut #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles headcanon #jensen ackles x reader #smut #male smut

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inkykeiji · 8 months ago

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Vox and electrical play I'm losing my mind

I KNOW he'd zap you when you get too close to cumming, a silent signal for you to stop nnnnnnnhhhjjhhhhh

OKAY YES YES YES holy shit anon this is an absolutely delicious idea and my brain totally short-circuited (lol) when i read it ooooh my gosh

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, electrical play, edging, implied mindbreak, overstimulation words: 428

he likes to use the electricity conducted in his claws—finds it more personal, more intimate that way—and will absolutely use it to edge you. he knows your body so well, has analyzed all of your mannerisms and micro-expressions right down to every twitch and quiver and whine, so he knows how to pull you apart and painstakingly put you back together. he knows that the trembling of your thighs means you’re teetering on the edge of ecstasy; that the scratching of your nails at his wrists, his shoulders, his chest means more, more, more, fuck me harder, faster, rougher; that the rolling of your eyes, whites framed by fluttering lashes, means your brain’s turned to a pleasant buzz of incoherent static.

as such, he knows exactly when to strike.

it’s so sweet to see the way you jolt with each zap—he swears it’s one of his favourite sights, the way your flesh ripples so prettily as the current surges through your veins. he swears he can almost see it, that bolt of teal electricity racing your blood, leaving sizzling sweat beading on your skin.

it’s so precious, how a little too much will leave you stunned and stupid, body gone rigid for a few seconds before it mollifies beneath his touch again, shimmering cords of drool oozing from your mouth and crystalline tears embellishing your eyes, glittering as they catch on the jagged strikes of cyan lightning cracking around his form.

it’s so cute when you ask him for more even after his relentless assault, your body malleable and aching, fresh burns in the shape of his claws singed into your hips and thighs, your pleads heavy with pleasure and tangled in threads of spit. it makes him feel fucking incredible, invincible, how desperate you are for him, how devoted you are to him, even as he sears your mind to nothing but pretty blue cinders. it’s beautiful; you’re beautiful with him coursing through your body—his electricity crackling in your muscles, his love fizzing in your heart, his cock stuffing your cunt to the brim.

but what he doesn’t expect is when his warning tases evoke the opposite of the intended effect—instead of halting your orgasm, it accelerates it, the sparks zipping through your veins coalescing in the pit of your tummy and forming one dense, pulsing ball of heat, furling tighter and tighter in on itself until it explodes, your cunt convulsing around him in the cutest spasms, gushing all over his cock.

and, oh, he just learned some very valuable information.

author’s note: alsooo i absolutely think vox has the ability to ‘store’ energy in his claws to save it up for more intense shocks, and i think he’s obsessive and methodical with the whole process, even as he’s fucking the life out of you, analyzing which type of shock he wants to use next; something big and stinging? something that’s just going to send tiny zaps of electricity shooting through your veins? which is best for the present situation? it’s all part of the fun to him ♡

#vox x reader #vox x you #vox x y/n #vox smut #hazbin hotel smut #AAAAAAAH ANON #MY BRAIN: FRIED #WHEW #he’s so sexyyyyy #thank u for sending this in anon ohhh my gosh #i hope ur having a fabulous wednesday bb!#pls stay safe and don't forget to hydrate!!!#inky.vox #inky.hazbin #inky.bb #clari gets mail

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toxicanonymity · 1 year ago

Text

night walks: soaked

3.6k / creepy!joel miller x f!reader / night walks

Warnings: I8+ mdni, alcohol, dirty talk, grinding, jacking off, oral F receiving, unsafe P in V sex, creampie, angst. very brief ass play. drug references. impaired editing. Shoutouts: various anons & night walks asks and Qs including @selfproclaimed-moviecritic and @missannwinchester. Picks up from Morning After. Floor plan here. Can read alone I think.

A loud clap of thunder startles you awake. You sit up in Joel’s bed, untangling yourself from the sheets. Joel’s not there. There’s music coming from the other side of the basement, and the clink of weights. You look around for your clothes and remember they’re out there scattered around the couch. Great. You get out of bed, wrap the sheet around you, and sheepishly emerge from his bedroom. Joel counts down from five as he finishes bench pressing then racks the weight. He’s shirtless. He sits up and wipes his brow. He does a double-take when he sees you walk in, then looks you up and down with a twinkle in his eye.

“Lookin’ good,” he says.

You gather your clothes from around the couch and say “Just getting dressed.” Your phone is dead. “What time is it?”

“Hell if I know. Look perfect to me, pumpkin.” He doesn’t take his eyes off you. “Real life goddess.” Lightning flashes outside.

You sit down with your clothes in your hands and look away as he watches you get dressed. You’re too tired to care and your head hurts. There’s a loud clap of thunder as you pull your tank top on. Joel picks up his water bottle and takes a swig, then puts it down and stands up to stretch. You pull your sweatpants on under the bed sheet. He walks around the couch and you do your best not to ogle his glistening body, dressed only in shorts. You start putting on your shoes and the fridge opens behind you.

“Hair of the dog?” Glass bottles slide out and clink against each other.

“Nah, I gotta go.”

“In this mess?” he asks as thunder rumbles. The blinds are pulled up on one window now and it looks pitch black outside. “Didn’t ya walk here? Gonna get soaked.”

He comes back with two beers and hands you one. He also brings cold pizza.

“Seriously, what time is it?”

He looks back to the kitchenette. “Four somethin’.” Shit, no wonder you’re hungry.

“Thanks.” You bite into a slice of pizza first, then take a sip of your beer.

“Attagirl. Let’s watch somethin’ while this clears up, hmm?” He turns on Netflix. His recently watched list is mostly action movies and nature documentaries.

You slide your shoes back off and ask, “You like animals?” You’re wondering if it’s his own Netflix history or someone else’s.

“Hell yeah, who doesn’t?”

You raise your eyes in surprise and nod. “Got a favorite?” Thunder crashes.

His face gets serious and he exhales like it’s a really difficult question. “Well shit, can’t pick just one. But big cats are cool as hell. D’you know leopards are basically nocturnal?”

He hands you the remote control. Not really caring what you watch, you idly click on the #1 trending: You.

“Oh, not this creep again,” he says and leans back with an exaggerated eye roll. “Addicting, though, ain’t it?” He looks at you, takes a sip of beer, and rests his hand on his inner thigh. You put on Narcos.

You watch a few episodes and have a couple of beers as it storms outside. At some point, you bring your legs up on the couch and he coaxes your feet in his lap. He massages your feet. You don’t talk much, and when you do, it’s nothing serious. But it’s still the most talking you’ve ever done. You mostly discuss different shows and the neighborhood.

“Why haven’t I seen ya at the pool before?” he asks.

“First summer here,” you say.

“Wanna go sometime?”

“I dunno,” you say. “Don’t like the sun much.”

“Oh hell no, not in the day,” he laughs. “They don’t lock the gate at night.” He winks at you and gives your foot a squeeze, running his other hand up your calf to massage it. He lowers his voice and adds, “We could go any night ya want.”

There’s a long moment of silence. He takes a deep breath as he kneads your calf and watches you watch TV. His face darkens. You have to assume you’re both thinking about the same thing - the pool at night. Joel scoots closer to you on the couch and pulls your calves into his lap. His cock hardens against your leg through his thin sweatshorts. Then he gently bends your closest knee to make room for himself. He gets between your legs and slowly lunges toward you, laying the bulge in his shorts against the crotch of your pants.

“Any night ya want,” he repeats, then brings his mouth to your neck. He kisses and lightly sucks your delicate skin and gently presses his hard length against you. Then he kisses you on the mouth. He tastes like beer. He puts his forearms down either side of you and slowly thrusts against you. He kisses you on the neck again, then murmurs, “my turn,” behind your ear. “Show ya what this mouth can do.” You have flashbacks to the blow job you gave him the night before.

Joel makes his way down your body and hooks his fingers into your sweatpants. As he brings the waistband down, he kisses the crease of your thigh and you squirm uncomfortably. “I’ll take your word for it,” you say somewhat cruelly as he plants a wet kiss just above your mound. The truth is you already know, from the restaurant bathroom.

He pauses. “What’samatter, pumpkin?”

“I just feel so dirty,” you admit.

He smirks and opens his mouth to say something predictable, but you cut him off.

“Physically dirty. I need a shower.”

He pauses.

“So take one,” he offers. He sits back and extends his hand to help you up. You hesitate and he raises his eyebrows at you. “Why not? We got time. Shit, I could use one, too.”

You swallow hesitantly. Showering with him? Far too intimate. First you end up in his bed, then his shower, all in the same 24 hours?

He seems to read your mind and clarifies, “Ladies first.” The storm isn’t letting up. You don't have anything to lose and definitely need a shower.

The back of his bathroom has a frosted window and a free-standing shower with no door and a drain on the floor. The ceramic tiles of the wall are dark peach with one row of black just below the window. The ledge of the window holds the soap, body wash, and shampoo.

“Faucet's kinda weird,” he says. “I’ll get it started.” Your eyes scan his bare back as he turns on the shower for you, standing out of the way of the water but getting lightly sprayed by tiny droplets. The water is loud. He has a couple of small tattoos you don’t remember seeing before. They look abstract from what you can tell, but they’re faded and the lines are blurred from age.

“Guessin’ you like it hot,” he says and turns the dial. He gets a towel and hangs it on a hook for you.

“Thanks.” You stand there awkwardly waiting for him to leave.

“Mmm hmm.” He hesitates by the door to his bedroom, a few feet away from you with his arms crossed. He checks you out, then uncrosses his arms and abruptly steps forward into your space. He grabs your ass and pulls you into him, your hips meeting his. He grinds himself into you again, sending a fresh pang of desire through you. He kisses your mouth, then your neck, and sucks your earlobe. He grabs the hem of your shirt from behind and takes it off, discarding your tank top. Then he slides his palms into your pants, leaving his thumbs hooked outside your waistband. He takes your pants down, dropping them to the floor as he grabs your bare ass cheeks and pulls you harder into him, his clothed hardness pressing into your naked front.

Steam billows over from the water. He goes to check the temp, his tented shorts getting sprayed again. His back muscles are a sight to behold. They flex gracefully under his skin with every movement. He must spend half his time working out. He checks the water and mutters, “Alllriiight.” You step toward the water. He turns and looks. “God damn, pumpkin,” he says as he shamelessly observes your naked body head on.

“Shut up,” you whisper to the ground and cross your arms. Lightning flashes outside. Your parents always told you not to shower in a storm. It’s exciting, somehow. "I'll be quick," you say.

"Take your time," he mutters and slowly walks backwards, palming himself as he takes in your form again. You watch over your shoulder as he disappears into his bedroom. You imagine he’s about to jack off. If you’re honest with yourself, you’d rather he wait for you.

You turn down the heat a little and examine his array of products in the frosted window, briefly distracted by the silhouette of your reflection. You soap up your body, starting with your shoulders and back, probably using way too much shower gel. You close your eyes and inhale deeply as your hands slide over your body and your nostrils fill with Joel’s aroma.

You open your eyes to see two silhouettes in the reflection and your breath hitches as they combine into one. Joel’s strong arms wrap around you from behind. He wordlessly gropes a soapy breast and presses his naked, rock-hard length into your back side, sliding his other hand across and down your stomach for leverage. He grunts, “Mm” as he presses his cock against you. His voice is low and smooth as he mutters, “Filthy, aren’t we?”

His hands slide down your waist to your thighs. His stiff cock shifting against you makes you weak in the knees. He presses it against you again. It swells and you moan softly.

“Yeahh, that’s my dirty girl."

You start to warn him, “Joel-” He bends his knees, putting his hands on your hips. “Don’t let me fall,” you say. you're still covered in lather.

As he slowly stands up straight again, he drags his hands and cock up your slippery body and runs his closed mouth up your neck to the back of your ear. “Nothin’ wild in here, baby,” he murmurs. "We’ll get clean together. . . ‘fore we get real dirty.” His voice echoes low and sexy. You breathe a sigh of relief. Knowing the perils of getting soap somewhere you wouldn't want to.

He plants a kiss on your jaw and uses his hand to bring your mouth toward his. You turn around to face him. His lips press into yours as his arms wrap around you again, your tits pressing into his chest. He looks a lot different with his hair somewhat wet. Sexy in a new way. He reaches his long arms down and squeezes both your thighs below your ass, then slides his hand up your crack and grabs a cheek with an, “mm” into your mouth.

You drape your arms around his neck. He works his hands up your back, massaging what’s left of the lather into you, and slides his hands through your underarms on the way to your breasts. Your nipples pucker under his palms as he massages your breasts from the front and watches a small trail of bubbles slide down between them. “Fuck me,” he breathes. He looks up at your eyes, then turns you around again.

He brings you you both directly under the water again. He rinses your back, then gets your breasts again from behind, pressing gently against your ass with his cock as stiff as ever. “You’re gorgeous, pumpkin.”

“Thanks,” you whisper and begin to rinse your own body. The sight of your own hands gliding across your skin is something he has to see. You turn to face him and he’s covered with your lather, from his light chest hair down past his happy trail to his slippery cock. He watches you darkly, and begins to slowly stroke his raging erection. You reach down and grab it. His lips part.

“You’re always ready, aren’t you?” you ask.

“For you? Hell yeah.”

You stroke him gently, assuming he would stop you if it was a bad idea. He doesn't. His grunts and sighs echo off the tile. “All yours, baby,” he murmurs. He puts his hands around your waist and watches as his hips thrust into your fist. When he’s about to come, he says, “Guess anywhere goes?” taking his cock from you. He points it at your stomach.

To hell with it. You kneel down. “Tits,” you say.

“Fuck yeah, baby.” He breathes audibly and you watch tension spread across his face. Then he shoots a huge load all over your chest with a long groan that echoes and makes you ache for him.

He helps you to your feet. “Still need my head between those legs, baby.”

“Do you mind if I, uh-” you look down at the cum on your chest.

“Sure, pumpkin.” He quickly washes and rinses himself, and gives you a light slap on the ass as he steps out to let you finish bathing.

You dry off, wipe the mirror with your hand, and use his mouthwash. Then you step into his bedroom with a towel wrapped around you, tucked under your armpits. His hair is fluffier again. He has on pj pants but still no shirt. He sits down on the edge of the bed and looks up at you, captivated. He murmurs, "c'mere," and spreads his knees. You stand between his knees and he unfastens your towel, letting it drop around your feet. “So fuckin’ hot,” he whispers, his eyelids heavy as though hypnotized by your body. “How ya keep your hands off yourself, hmm? Body like this.”

He takes your breast in his mouth and closes his eyes as he sucks at your nipple and palms the other one. He moans, "Mm," into your mouth. He releases your breast and gently pulls you by the hamstrings toward his lap. You straddle him. Your naked cunt dampens his pants as you meet his warm package, already semi-hard again.

Fuck, it’s all you want. You can’t get enough of it. Watching him jack off only made you want it more.

He lies back on the bed, taking you with him then rolls over so he’s on top of you. He slowly kisses his way down your naked body, his lips brushing away the remaining water droplets in your cleavage and belly button. Between your legs, it's even slicker than before the shower.

He slides off the bed and kneels on the floor at the foot of it. He pulls you by your thighs so his head is right between your naked legs. “God damn, you got the juiciest pussy,” he whispers right to it. He plants his nose at your entrance then drags it upward, slickening your clit before digging into your cunt with his tongue and lips. He moans and grunts as he devours you. When he thrusts his tongue into you, all you can think about is his cock and how bad you want it.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Joel,” you say.

He looks up at you from between your legs but doesn’t stop. He knows you’re enjoying it, why should he?

“Stop,” you say. “Come up here.”

He knows what you want. You can see it in his eyes. He rests his head on your inner thigh and asks with puppy dog eyes, “Why? Don’t like it?” He knows you do.

“It’s not what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“I think you know what I want.” Your hips lift and your legs try to lift him toward you by his underarms.

“Hell yeah, I do,” he says and palms himself. “But lemme hear it, baby. Just this once.” He plants a kiss on your clit and swirls his tongue, looking up at you.

You sigh. “I want your cock.”

“Damn right,” he says and takes his pants off. He takes his time making his way back up your body. Far too much time when you’re desperate to be filled.

“Jesus, give it to me,” you beg.

“Ohh, I’ll give it to ya,” he says. He reaches down and fingers you, then nudges your asshole, using your slick to push the top section of one digit inside.

You gasp.

“Ya like that?” he asks.

You moan softly. “God, I just want you inside me,” you beg.

“Yeah, baby.” He removes his fingers and uses his other hand to drag the head of his cock through your slick.

“Now,” you whisper and grab his wrist, stopping him with the head of his cock at your entrance.

“Yeah, baby.”

He presses forward and nestles his cock for entry. “Yeah,” you nod. "Now."

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes.

When your bodies are aligned, the clean skin of his stomach against yours is a feeling you didn’t realize you needed so badly.

He shoves his length into you with a grunt. You moan softly as your body accepts him, then you bite your lip.

“Don’t hold back on me now, sugar,” he murmurs, staring down at you darkly. “Tell me what ya want.”

“Fuck me,” you say.

He smirks and backs up enough to slam into you again, watching your mouth fall open with his girth. He retreats once again and slowly fills you to the brim. Too slowly. Then he slams into you again and slowly backs up. You moan unrestrained and wrap your legs around him, using all your leg strength to pull him closer into you.

“Fuck me, really fuck me,” you beg him, “Faster,” you say.

“Think about it all the time, don’t ya,” he says as he continues fucking you slowly.

You nod.

“Hell yeah,” he says as he moves his hips and buries his cock inside you, accelerating but barely.

“All the time,” you say, and he speeds up a little more. “Fuck me,” you beg him.

“Yeah, I’ll fuck ya,” he whispers, and finally he does.

He rails you at a perfect rhythm. He watches your tits bounce, occasionally dipping his head for a taste of your skin. He plants his mouth on your neck and marks you. It barely takes any time at all until your spine is arching and he’s saying “yeah, come for me, baby.”

As you see stars and flutter around him, he says, “God damn you look hot when you come on this cock." He fucks you through it and doesn't stop. "So damn hot," he repeats. A minute later he bottoms out with a shudder and pulses into you. It isn’t as much as usual given that he just emptied himself in the shower but his stamina sure is impressive for his age. He rolls over and lies on his back next to you.

“That’s where it’s at, baby,” he pants. “All about communication.” He goes to the bathroom and washes up then pulls on his pajama pants. He goes back out to the couch while you get dressed again. You're too physically satisfied to feel bad about asking for it.

When you join him on the couch, he’s gotten the weed box out and he’s rolling a joint.

“Not for me,” you say. “I should really go.”

“Still rainin’,” he says.

“Barely,” you shrug.

He looks at you and nods. “Alright, pumpkin. ‘Least lemme give you a ride.” He squeezes your thigh and stands up.

He stops his car in front of your house and your aunt comes to the window then walks away. Joel sees her and sighs.

“What?” you ask him.

“Nothin’. See ya around, pumpkin.” You go around to the basement entry.

Your Aunt knocks on the basement door soon after you’re inside.

“Was that Joel Miller dropping you off?” she asks.

“Why?” you ask. Her eyes fall on your neck and you cover it casually.

“Oh, honey,” she says. Then she just shakes her head. “That man is trouble. He’s probably shagged half the neighborhood.”

It’s just gossip, but your heart still drops. “He was giving me a ride.”

She looks at you skeptically. “A ride from the back of the neighborhood?”

You don’t have an answer. “How do you know that for sure about him?”

She puffs out her cheeks and exhales. “Guess I don’t. Ask anyone, though. He’s got them coming and going at all hours.”

You swallow, waiting for her to say something else, then say, “We’re just friends. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“Just be careful, honey.” She starts to go back up the stairs then comes back down. "Actually yeah, there's someone your uncle wants introduce you to. Real nice boy he works with."

"Uh - okay," you stammer.

"Great," she nods, "I'll tell him." Then she finally leaves you alone.

You have a lot of questions you don’t want to ask. You know Joel’s not a good guy. The last thing you should do is get more entangled with him. You're not thinking with a clear head and you know it.

You lay down on your bed, exhausted, and plug in your phone. When it turns on, it chimes with a text from a new number. The text on your lock screen says “Hate me ‘cause they ain’t me.” You roll your eyes and crack a a smile. Sounds like Joel knew what your aunt would say to you. At least he’s aware of his reputation? Is that a good thing? How does he have your number?

You open the text, trying to think of what to say. There’s an earlier message from him. It's from overnight - a topless photo of you. You remember now - he said you should see how hot you looked. You posed for him and gave him your number to send it.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging!

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor

NW: @tehweeana@ele-meno-p@swedishscumfuck

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #dark!joel miller #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut #night walks!joel #toxicanonymity ☠️#nightwalks☠️#joel miller x you #creepy!joel miller #pervy!joel miller

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