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comfortless · 9 months

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In Our Angelhood

König x fem!reader

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

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

wc: 10k.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Accident.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, you smile at him.

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

“Danke.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I do!”

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

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

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

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

“I could teach you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I try?”

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

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

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

“Not the best for foraging, but…”

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

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

“Eat it.”

“It’s dirty, you eat it.”

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

“That’s so gross, König!”

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

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

— ཐིཋྀ —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

“They kicked me out because of him.”

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

“At the cathedral.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I would like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sleep.”

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

— ཐིཋྀ —

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

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

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

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

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

Seeing a demon was a new one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I like seeing you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to see it?”

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

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

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

“Oh… that soon?”

König gives your shoulder a playful, gentle nudge.

“Ja. I’ll take you.”

— ཐིཋྀ —

It’s not a date.

It’s a misadventure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So are you,” you huff out instead.

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on here?”

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

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

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

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

Let’s just go.

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t think you were such a slut.”

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

It’s not enough. Not to König.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t even care if Lukas was okay.

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

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

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

Worst of all, however, is the bell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want that?”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

— ཐིཋྀ —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do want you to.”

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

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

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

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cemeteryspider · 3 months

Text

A Feathered Destiny

Nightcrawler! Kurt Wagner x Winged! Reader

Summary: Your world and Kurt's faith collide when you join the X-Men.

There are religious themes in this because Nightcrawler is canonically Catholic. I used to be a practicing member of the Catholic Church but I no longer practice this religion. I hope not to offend religious and non-religious people. There is no mention of reader's faith.

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Injury, Blood, Emotional Distress, Religious and Supernatural Themes

Word Count: 1514

When Charles Xavier introduced you to his team of X-Men, shock coursed through you. One moment, you were a nobody, burdened by a painfully obvious mutation that had isolated you from human society. In an instant, you found yourself surrounded by mutants like yourself, each with their own unique abilities and histories.

Some of the X-Men were unsettled by your resemblance to the original X-Men member, Angel. However, Beast quickly dismissed any concerns of familial ties and after verifying your carbon dating matched your age, ruling out the possibility of you being a clone.

One member of the X-Men, however, greeted you without hesitation. Nightcrawler's eyes widened and his mouth fell agape at the sight of your pure white wings, immediately drawn to the divine aura you seemed to exude.

To him you were perfect in every way, a divine gift from god himself.

During your first mission you were sent to stop sentinel activity in Los Angeles. You soared past the sentinels nose-diving into their heads and soaring out the back unscathed.

You worked fast and effectively, working with the other X-Men to keep people on the ground safe. Once the sentinels were taken down and your feet touched the ground once more you could sense the despair of the people around you.

A deep emotional crowd of sadness nearly suffocated you. You scanned the crowd looking for people you could help.

One espeacially strong emotional response coming from not too far away. A little girl hovering over her mother, who was weakly trying to consol her daughter despite the blood leaking from the left side of her mouth and the stone crushing her chest.

You approached the little girl cautiously, kneeling beside her. With a gentle touch, you retrieved a small dagger from your suit's waistband and carefully snipped a lock of your hair. Placing it in the girl's hand, you whispered softly, "What do you wish for the most right now?"

A suprised look crossed the girl's face when the hair in her hand disappeared into a golden light, and the rock on her mom's chest disappeared along with the blood on her mouth.

You heard two small gasps as the mom's once concave chest returned to it's usual position.

The girl launched herself into her mom's arms, and you just smiled at the sight in front of you.

"Thank you," The mom said in your direction.

A team of medics carefully loaded the woman onto a stretcher, their movements precise and urgent. Deep down you knew their tests were going to come back with positive results. The miracle you seemed to have preformed would do the trick. Her daughter ran into the ambulance to follow.

People around you stared standing still, some with their jaw slack others with their eyes wide. You smiled as you brushed the rubble off of your suit and stood up walking past Kurt who looked baffled at the scene he just witnessed, "My God, Samson's hair."

To him, he had just witnessed a miracle of god.

~~~

Later that week you stood across from Kurt in the Danger Room. You watched as Wolverine typed into a tablet changing some of the hologram enemies around the room.

"Alright, let's see if you've got what it takes. Get ready for some action," You almost rolled your eyes. Wolverine was obviously not used to setting up training for others, but you decided that he was trying his best.

Kurt looked over to you, "Let's show them what we've got, ja?"

A smiled crossed your face, "I'm ready when you are."

With a quick glance over to Logan he smirked, "Begin."

The holographic enemies shot into action around the two of you. You allowed your wings to spread and soon you lifted off the ground.

"I'll take the high ground," You shouted down to Kurt.

He disappeared and reappeared behind an enemy in a cloud of smoke and brimstone. He delivered a swift kick to the back of its skull, "Und I will keep them occupied down here."

You knocked a bunch of holograms down with your spread wings, and Kurt teleported rapidly, dodging attacks and taking down enemies with an acrobatic prowess.

You weaved through the various obstecales put in your flying path. You took down an archer that was silently aiming for Kurt in a tree.

"They cannot hit what they cannot see," He shouted up to you, and you smiled. He couldn't help but smirk when he saw your white teeth.

The last few enemies standing Kurt stood straight with a serene look settling across his features as he fought. His lips tumbling out whispers, "Thank you, Lord, for this strength."

You land next to Kurt, with the last enemy defeated. The land evened out with a few taps on Wolverine's tablet.

"Great job, Kurt!" You smiled at him again.

He smiled back, "Danke, We make a good team, don't we?"

When his eyes met yours he took your hand in his, "You are a gift from God, you know."

Your eyes left his to look at the ground, "I really appreaciate that Kurt, but I'm not an angel. I am a mutant, just like you."

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and you looked back up at him, "Mutant... Angel. It does not matter to me. You are still a blessing."

You tight shoulders loosened, "Thank you Kurt, that means a lot."

"Alright, enough chit-chat you two. Let's see if you can handle the next level," Logan said rapidly typing into the tablet once more.

~~~

In the evening, you found solace on a weathered bench in the campus garden. The night sky twinkled with distant stars, casting a gentle glow over the blooming peonies. The faint scent of sulfur wafted through the air, drawing your attention to Nightcrawler, who appeared beside you

"Mind if I join you?"

A small smile crosses your face, "Not at all"

He looked at your face as the moon cast a gentle glow on your face.

"It is beautiful out here. Peaceful," His eyes quickly darting to the sky, "Do you ever wonder if there is more to this world than the things we see?"

A subtle crease in your brow formed, "I do. Sometimes I think about where we come from and where we're going."

Kurts arms rested on his theighs, "My faith has always guided me. Even in the darkest of times. I believe there is a high purpose, and that it has guided you to me."

"I admire your faith in a higher power, Kurt."

He turns his body to look at you, "It has not been easy. I have faced hatred and fear for how I look. Through it all, I have always held onto my faith."

You put your hand over Kurt's, "You've been through so much Kurt, I understand why you hold onto your faith so tightly."

"And you? What keeps you going, Angel?" His eyes lit up.

You took a deep breath, "There's something I need to tell you. It's about why I came here."

A gentle concern crosses his face and he leans it a little bit close to you, "Whatever it is, you can trust me."

You scrunch your eyes closed, "I came here because I felt lost. Once my powers manifested my parents kicked me out of the house. My old friends wanted nothing to do with me. When the Professor found me I was completley alone. No one to help me, everyone shutting me out. When I met you I felt like I finally found a place to belong, with the X-Men."

He smiled warmly at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, "You are always welcome here. The X-Men is a family, and we support each other."

Your eyes shone with unshed tears, "Thank you Kurt. That means more than you know."

Your head rested on his shoulder and you continued to watch the night sky. His head came to rest atop yours as well.

~~~

You stood beside Kurt as Rogue and Gambit animatedly recounted their globe-trotting escapades. Kurt subtly wrapped his arm around your waist, eliciting a chuckle from Rogue.

"Took you two long enough," she teased with a grin.

A blush crossed your face with a shy smile, and Kurt could only grin at his sister's comment.

Soon Scott and Jean walked over congratulating the two of you on getting together, saying it felt like it would never happen despite Kurt following you around like a lost puppy.

"They're just jealous of the two of ya, sugah," Rogue whispered to you when she gave you a hug. You couldn't help but smile looking at the team surrounding you.

You finally found the warmth of friendship among these extraordinary individuals. Perhaps, in time, they would become your family.

From his wheelchair in the hallway, Professor Xavier watched his team with a smile that held both pride and hope. As laughter and camaraderie filled the air, he felt a deep-seated conviction that every obstacle overcome brought them closer to realizing his dream of unity and acceptance.

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britcision · 10 months

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So I’ve been thinking about cultural Christianity lately and how people tend to get very upset about it without really understanding what it is, so here is a primer

Cultural Christianity is not a choice you make. It does not mean you are Christian, or even that you remotely like Christianity; a lot of people who vehemently hate the religion do so because of their own cultural Christianity

It is not a shortcoming, or a moral failing, or a sin. It just means that the culture you were raised in was predominantly Christian.

Note: I did not say “majority Christian”. Christians don’t need to be a majority to have a dominant cultural influence

Cultural Christianity means you inherently understand and probably use swearwords like “damn”, “hell”, or a variation on the name “Jesus Christ”

It means when I say cultural Christianity is not a sin, you understand exactly what I mean without needing to have it explained - and you probably know the phrase “original sin” or “seven deadly sins”, even if not in full detail

It means hearing about Hades, god of the dead, wealth, and volcanoes, and assuming he’s the bad guy of Greek mythology… y’know, like Satan

(EVERYONE went to Hades when they died. The Elysian Fields, where the best heroes went, was in Hades’ underworld. The Eleusinian mysteries, a cult to Demeter and Persephone, was basically about asking them to tell Hades to give you a cool afterlife

And he would cuz he drank his “respect wife” juice if not all of his “respect women” juice. Did still kidnap her. But she is a major feature and often makes the decision herself or influences his when they’re mentioned together

Meanwhile, people try and cast Zeus as a good parent)

It means having to have a dreidel, a menorah, or a kinara explained to you at a time when you already knew about Christmas trees and Santa

(Yes, Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas, major host of the Mass of Christ, is culturally Christian. Even though Coke invented his aesthetic - that’s the “cultural” part)

It’s when you go to make up a new non-religious or pan religious winter celebration… that is centred around a day with family and gifts which is obviously the 25 of December. Maybe counting down 12 days before

It’s defaulting to calling a place of worship you don’t know the name of a “church”

Cultural Christianity is not something people have a choice in; you don’t pick where you’re born, and there are so many other cultures in places like Canada, America, and Britain that are culturally Christian out the ass! But… you will catch Contact Christianity in any of these places

It’s damn near impossible to consume any American or most Western media without brushing across it; cross imagery is everywhere, Christian demons and devils sneak into media all around the world

Western (and some other) Gothic fashion leans heavily on gothic architecture and, yeah, heavily Catholic imagery

Now, brushing across the media in other parts of the world does not impart the same level of cultural Christianity as growing up in a city with four churches on a single block and a Santa Claus parade

And you can grow up heavily in an entirely different culture even in the Bible Belt (but you know what Bible Belt means); you don’t have to abandon all other culture just because Christianity has a chokehold on your home

But when December (or fucking November these days) hits and you hear Mariah Carey in 3/6 stores, yes, you probably have some cultural Christianity

You sure as hell don’t need to be able to name half the denominations (can you name more than 4?), you may never set foot in a Christian church in your life, and still have a cultural Christian influence

If your street names have “saint” in them

If there are crosses or angels on more than half the graves in a cemetery

If you know how to cross yourself but aren’t really sure when you learned; you didn’t look it up or do research to find out

Now note: none of these have an inherent moral judgement attached to them

It’s just about what the culture you live in has taught you about the world, and there’s no culture that is magically the Right One or better than the others

There’s no reason to expect even specifically Christian culture to be the same around the world; it isn’t. It has the same root, but what flowers from the soil is another matter entirely

There is nothing wrong with acknowledging that you have culturally Christian influences and biases; being human is 90% absorbing information from the world around us and half processing it at best - there’s just too much input, and intentionally filtering out Everything Christian Ever?

Well unless you started at 2 years old, odds are pretty good it’s not really a personal choice kinda thing

And you cannot compensate for these influences unless you acknowledge that they exist, that you did not choose to form them, and that you do get to choose how they affect your actions going forward

Christmas stuffed a bunch of other religious traditions into a single package to make itself popular, but if you learned them as Christmas traditions first… do I even need to say it?

#cultural christianity #especially at this time of the year #it just bothers me when people try and deny it #like they’re ‘too good’ to be formed by the society they grew up in #no friend #your deadass brain formation is affected by your first language

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fkapommel · 9 months

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Etymology of TLT Character Names

Wanted to provide a fandom resource for analysis and theorizing. Since House names are explained in GTN, this list will just focus on first names. DM me for sources. Enjoy <3

Gideon

Biblical prophet, military leader, and judge, meaning "feeler," "hewer," or "one who cuts down." According to narrative, the Israelites had forgotten their god for 40 years and were punished by assaults from enemy tribes. After Israel turned back to God for aid, Gideon, an unnoteworthy Israelite, was delivered the message by an angel that he should lead Israel against its enemies. Gideon requested three miracles be done by God to prove his and God's ability to do this task, which God then performed. Gideon then completes God's tasks, including destroying an idol of Baal in the Israelite camp and displacing a much larger enemy encampment. Gideon delivered 40 years of peace for Israel during his lifetime and refused kinghood and dynasty when offered by his people. However, upon his death, the Israelites returned to worshipping Baal. A "Gideonic victory" can mean winning a battle against the odds.

Harrowhark

Harrowing - to use a piece of farming equipment to level soil, break rocks, and kill weeds to ready the dirt for seed growth. Also refers to the Harrowing of Hell, a non-Biblical, early to middle English traditional episode in which Jesus, upon death by crucifixtion, enters the Underworld to preach salvation to souls interned there before his birth, thus allowing them to enter Heaven. This tradition has been canonized by Catholic theology.

Hark - the first word of many ancient texts or announcements, meaning "listen." Biblical angelic speeches often begin with "hark."

Judith

The feminine of Judah, a Biblical Hebrew name meaning "praised," "woman of Judea/Jewess." The name Judith appears twice in the deuterocanonical Bible: once as one of Esau's wives and seperately as the titular character in the Book of Judith (a book not part of the canonized Bible). In the Book of Judith, Judith is described as a widow who uses her wit, charm, and skills of seduction to be invited to the private tent of Holofernes, the general of the enemy Assyrian army who had laid siege to her city. Judith is able to get Holofernes drunk and overpowers him, decapitates him, and steals his head to show to her city. She is of the few illustrations of the "ideal Jewish woman."

Marta

Derived from Aramaic, meaning "the daughter," "the lady," and "dedicated to Mars"

Isaac

Meaning "he laughs," referring to the father of the Biblical character's laugh of disbelief when God told him, Abraham, that his nonogenarian wife would conceive his child. Isaac is one of the three patriarchs of Israel, grandfather to the 12 tribes. When Isaac was a child, God commanded Abraham to take him up a mountain and sacrifice his child in His name. When Abraham proved his obedience, God provided a ram to sacrifice instead of Isaac. Isaac went on to marry Rebekah; though they eventually believed her to be barren, after Isaac prayed to God, Rebekah concieved twin boys, Esau and Jacob, at an old age, just as his mother did. Rebekah grew to prefer Jacob. Later, due to Sarah and Jacob's scheming, Isaac gave Esau's birthright to his second-born son, Jacob. Jacob would live on to father the twelve tribes of Israel.

Jeannemary

This specific spelling seems to be an invention of Tazmuir, but the duel components of the name are significant. Firstly, "Jean-Marie" is a French masculine name. Jeanne is the feminine form of the English "John." "Jeanne" can be traced to a Biblical Hebrew name, meaning "God is gracious." The most notable historical character of the same name is Jeanne d'Arc, a young female military leader who acted under divine guidance. Upon instruction of archangels and saints, Jeanne fought in pursuit of the coronation of Charless VII during the 100 Years War. Her leadership led to multiple military victories but was punctuated by multiple failures. The unsuccessful relief of a besieged city led to her capture and deliverance to the English, who tried her for blasphemy by wearing men's clothes and refusing submission to Church authority. Found guilty, Jeanne was burned at the stake at 19.

Mary is the most notable feminine name of the Christian Bible, referring predominately to Mary, mother of Jesus Christ, Mary Bethany, and Mary Magdalene, a female disciple of Jesus. Mary was born immaculately - without sin - so that she would be a pure vessel to carry Jesus, who she concieved as a virgin. Mary Bethany was a friend of Jesus and sister to Lazarus. She was deeply emotional about her brother's passing, which persuaded Jesus to resurrect her brother from the grave. Mary Magdalene was a probably wealthy Jewish woman who aided Jesus' teachings. As a loyal apostle, she was a witness at both His crucifixtion and resurrection.

Coronabeth

"Coronabeth," like "Jeannemary," is an obvious Tazmuir invention. "Corona" refers to both the part of the body that resembles a crown and to a colored circular frame around a stellar body, usually caused by its atmosphere.

"Beth" is derived from both "Elizabeth" ("God is my oath") and "Bethany" ("House of Figs"). The suffix -beth comes from Hebrew origins, meaning "house."

Ianthe

From the Ancient Greek, meaning "violet flower" or "she who delights." She was one of the 3,000 water-nymphs called Oceanides, daughters of the Titans. Ianthe and her sisters served as a companion to Persephone when she was in Hades. She is also a character in Ovid's Metamorphosis as the beautiful fiancé to Iphis, a character who has her/his gender changed by the goddess Isis.

Note on the Tridentarii: Coronabeth was almost called "Cainabeth" and Ianthe "Abella" after the two Biblical brother characters, Cain and Abel. In the narrative, God preferred Abel's divine sacrifices and loved him more than his brother. In a jealous rage, Cain killed Abel and hid from his crime, his family, and his God. When God asked him, "Where is your brother?" Cain returned, "I am not my brother's keeper." Angered, He cursed Cain with the Mark of Cain. Separately, the first fratricide cursed the Earth to never turn over its vegetation to Cain, the first murderer. His Mark symbolizes him as a wanderer, a person who belongs nowhere; however, it also protects him from the curses and abuse of others, returning scorned words and abuses back to the harasser seven-fold. Though Coronabeth and Ianthe received their names elsewhere, the lusty, jealous, murderous themes of Cain and Abel's narrative were present at the time of their creation and thus should not be dismissed.

Naberius

Though I can't find the meaning of the name, "Naberius" is rooted in Latin. It first appears in Johann Weyer's 1583 manuscript, "The Deceptions of Demons." Naberius, or "Cerberus" - relation to the same named three-headed dog of Ancient Greek theology unknown - is a Marquess of Hell, directing 19 legions of demons. He provides cunningness of the arts, sciences, and rhetoric in man through vocal instruction and can restore lost honors and dignities. His semblance is of a man with three dog heads or a raven.

Abigail

Biblical Hebrew name meaning "my father's joy," "my father is exalted." Abigail is a Biblical figure, being the third wife of King David and mother to one of his sons. She is a strong believer in the prophecy of David's ascension and his great dynasty. Abigail is considered to be one of the seven Jewish woman prophets and, in the Talmud, of the four women "surpassing beauty in this world." The word "Abigail" can refer nonspecifically to a waiting woman or handmaiden.

Palamedes

There are two notable historical fiction characters that share the name "Palamedes." Palamades was an ancient Grecian prince who joined the battle of Troy, according to the Aenid. After Paris had taken Helen to Troy, Palamedes was sent as envoy from Agamemnon to Odysseus because the latter man had previously vowed to defend Helen's marriage. Odysseus, however, did not want to attend the war, but Palamedes was successful in proving his fitness for war and ultimately delivering Odysseus to Troy. According to some traditions, Odysseus never forgave Palamedes for this and eventually killed him. In the Apology, Plato characterizes Socrates as looking forward to death in order to speak with Palamedes.

Secondly, Sir Palamedes is a knight of the round-table, a Saracen pagan (or probable Muslim) who converted to Christiantiy later in life. He is introduced dueling another knight, Sir Tristan, for a lady's hand, which he loses; these two fight several more times but with unclear victories, leading to a hate-love relationship deepened by their love for the same woman (the woman of their first duel). Many stories have Palamedes as the hunter of the Questing Beast, a fearsome animal the target of many a fruitless hunt. After years of pursuit, it is ultimately his freedom from wordly material granted by his Christian conversion that allows him to slaughter the beast. He remains loyal to Sir Lancelot after his affair with Queen Guinevere is revealed and follows Lancelot to France. Sir Palamedes is later killed by Sir Gawain. Except in matters concerning his love and Sir Tristan, where he often lost control of his anger, he was one of the most chivalrous and honorable knights.

Note: The story of Sir Palamedes, as a product of Arthurian legend, is nearly impossible to summarize properly due to its expansiveness and document fragmentation. If interested in the topic (such as the wink wink homo-erotic love-hate relationship he has with Sir Tristan,) i encourage futher research.

Camilla

"Camilla" is the feminine of "Camillus," a Latin term meaning acolyte, a helper of the Priest during religious processionals and ceremonies. In the Aeneid, Camilla is a queen gifted to the goddess Diana as a handmaiden who became a virginal Amazon warrior.

Dulcinea

"Dulcinea" is a name created by Don Quixote for his character, derivative of the Spanish word "dulce" meaning "sweetness." Princess Dulcinea was invented in the titular character's mind to be the most perfect, beautiful, and regal woman since he believes chivalry requires such a lady of him. To refer to a loved one as like Dulcinea is to express your idealistic devotion and love to her.

Protesilaus

"Protesilaus" may come from the Ancient Greek "protus" for "first." Protesilaus was a hero in the Iliad. According to an oracle, the first Greek to set foot on land after sailing to fight the Trojan War would die. Protesilaus was the first to dare step off ship; he sealed his fate then, later dying in combat. His widow was so devoted to his memory that she built a bronze statue with his likeness. She later self-emulated when the statue was burned and destroyed.

Silas

Latin in origin, "Silas" means "of the forest." Notable figures named "Silas" include first century St. Silas, who accompanied St. Paul on his second mission. He is credited as co-author of the two letters to Thessalonians and the Book of Hebrews; however, authoriship is disputed. St. Silas is sometimes depicted with broken chains due to an episode in which an earthquake freed him and St. Paul from imprisonment.

Colum

From the Gaelic word for "dove"

#tlt #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #judith deuteros #marta dyas #isaac deuteros #jeannemary chatur #abigail pent #magnus quinn #dulcinea septimus #protesilaus ebdoma #silas octakiseron #colum asht #ianthe tridentarius #coronabeth tridentarius #naberius tern #palamedes sextus #camilla hect #mine

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harpy-otherlink-noah · 3 months

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I just had my first shift for my star-angel kintype. I was stressed and feeling burnt out, but I happened to think about my angel kintype and ended up closing my eyes to take a deep breath.

When I did, I felt the air entering my lungs and started to imagine (or, more likely remember because of what happened next) my god breathing that air into me. I was struck by the power of its love (the god I believe in goes by it/its pronouns) and started to believe that the warm air around me was coming from its light.

That was when I remembered something else- someone else. I think I had a lover (she/they pronouns) back in my last life. Our god created us at the same time and we were drawn to each other from that moment forward. I don't think we were lovers at first, but I can remember the fiery heat of her starlight lips on mine, so I know that we became lovers at some point.

I feel overjoyed that these memories came back to me. But I also feel sad that I can't be with my god and my lover. I know they can see me from wherever they are and that their love doesn't wane- but I can't help but miss them.

At least I know we'll be together again someday.

#alterhuman #nonhuman #otherkin community #starkin #divinekin #angelkin #non christian angel #non catholic angel #spacekin

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dandelions-143 · 2 months

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Sinners

Felix Masterlist

All member Masterlist

Pairing: non Idol, bad boy Felix x rebellious Fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, this one’s pretty tame. Intense make out session, a few dirty words, thats about it.

Wk: 3976k

Summary: Felix who is struggling with himself finds y/n at church of all places. With a rebellious attitude and a craving for adventure y/n joins him for a night of criminal activities. Things heat up between Felix and y/n but, as his obsession with y/n grows little does he know just how out of reach you truly are.

A/n: (there’s a lot of internal dialog/thoughts in this one) This one might be a bit of a flop… but I’ll let you guys be the judge of that. I hope it’s not too boring but, I wanted Felix’s fic to start out a bit softer than the others. I hope you enjoy it!

The Church was nearly empty as Felix walked through the doors. His long blond hair was pulled back in a low bun. His black dress pants along with his navy blue sweater fit him perfectly. He walked down the aisle, his hands plunged into his pockets.

The Catholic Church was a place he had attended as a child. His mother would bring him here religiously. It was a place that felt like home to him when his own home was too much. The marble floors clicked beneath his black dress shoes as he made his way to the confessional. After his mother left him and his father he still came. Begging his nannies to bring him back, then he just liked being away from his abusive father but, these days it felt like he was trying to find solace in the person he had become.

He took a deep breath before entering the confessional. Felix made the sign of the cross as he greeted the priest like he always did, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” Felix simply confessed his sins as he always had. Some were the same.. stealing cars, laundering money, drugs, sex. He was not shy in confessing what was lying heavy on his heart and mind but, despite knowing and feeling bad about the things he does… he also lived for the thrill of it all.

He ended his confession with, “I am sorry for all of these sins and the sins I cannot remember.” Felix sat in the confessional waiting for the Priest to give him guidance but, there was a very long pause. “Father?” His deep voice was only above a whisper. Just as Felix began to think he had been talking to no one a very sweet and angelic voice spoke up, “Wow, you really do all that shit? Can I join in the fun?”

Felix’s brows went up in shocked surprise then down into scrunched confusion. “What? Who the hell?” He said as he opened his confessional door only to rip open the door next to his. A very pretty girl sat cross legged in a plaid skirt with a nirvana tshirt hanging loosely off one shoulder. As Felix looked down at you he noticed the end of what looked to be a scar running across your left cheek. He was instantly curious about it but, when his eyes met yours all coherent thoughts halted. It was like time stopped for him that is until you spoke up. Your big eyes widened even more at the sight of him, “Oh, you’re pretty.”

Felix faltered just a bit at your boldness and your beauty. “Who are you? Where’s the priest?” You stood up, smoothing your skirt out a little and took a step towards him. You were a little less than a head shorter than him. He smelled devine, Felix’s cologne wafting out in small floral tendrils around you. “I murdered him.” You said so matter of fact that for a second he wasn’t sure if you were joking or not.

You slipped past him and walked towards the back pews. Felix watched you walk away; his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he decided to follow you.

“Hey wait!” Felix grabbed your arm gently to stop you. Standing just outside the church doors now you spun around, an amused smile on your face.

When your eyes connected to his.. Jesus Christ he was pretty. You raised a brow waiting for him to say something. Felix finally let go of your arm like it had given him an electric shock. “Uhh, I’m Felix Lee.” He held out his hand for you, “What’s your name?” You smiled even brighter at him but, you didn’t take his hand.

“I like your accent, Felix Lee.” You said, a playful tone to your voice as you began to back away from him. Felix only smiled back at you as he dropped his hand to his side. You were walking away now, your back to him, “Hey! You gonna tell me your name?!” He shouted over the busy city street.

You turned around just long enough to shout, “Y/n L/n!” You walked backward for a few steps keeping your eyes on his before turning around and disappearing into the crowd.

“Man.. she was.. she’s...just something.” Felix was leaned against one of the stolen cars from the other night. A deep blue mechanic’s suit on, half undone and a rag flung across his right shoulder to wipe his hands on. He was currently explaining his interaction with you that morning in the church to Han who was working on something beneath the hood of that same car Felix was leaning against.

Han poked his head out from under the hood so he could fix his round eyes on Felix, “You literally said two sentences to the girl.” Seungmin was behind the big metal desk they kept towards the back of the shop. He was filing away some papers that made them look like a legit mechanics shop but, it was all bullshit for the most part.

“Yeah but, there was a vibe, yah know?” Felix sighed and kept scrolling through his phone trying to find you on any and every social media cite. As Seungmin got up and began walking over to the two men the quiet garage was filled with a loud BANG! “Son of a mother fuck-“ Han was holding his right hand and jumping up and down. Obviously in pain.

“What the hell happened?” Felix asked as he walked over to Han’s side, meeting Seungmin in the process. “I mashed my finger trying to get those bolts out!” Han yelled at the pretty blonde and looked down to assess the damage.

“Let me see..” Seungmin took Han’s hand in his and looked at the now very red middle finger he had mashed. “You’ll be fine, just be more careful.” Seungmins soft yet steady voice seemed to calm Han a bit. “I’ll go get you some ice.

Han glanced over at Felix who was pouting at him, “Poor baby mashed his wittle finger.”

“If you would get your head out of your ass and help shit like that wouldn’t happen!!” Han raised his voice again only making Felix chuckle at his expense.

For two weeks straight Felix had attended every single service the church was having. He even made it a point to go to confessional almost daily in hopes that he would run into you again.

It was late in the evening as Felix sat out on the church steps. The church doors had long since closed and Felix was feeling a bit defeated. The man was confused at himself.. wondering why you were constantly on his mind. It was like he was addicted and he knew nothing about you yet.

Felix pulled out his phone in one last attempt to try and find you among the many social medias. As he was scrolling through the many profiles with your name a familiar soft, sweet voice immediately stopped his scrolling. “Stalking me now?” You stood next to him, in ripped blue jeans and an over sized black Britney Spears tshirt. Your hair was pulled up in a messy bun, only a few pieces of hair fell over your left cheek where the scar was.

Felix was on his feet so fast he almost stumbled over. “Y/n, hi.” He said with that very pretty grin of his. His brown eyes seemed to light up the moment you two locked gazes. “What are you doing out here? The church is closed.” Your eyes fully assessed him now. He was not just pretty but handsome as well. His freckles were the best part of his features you thought to yourself.

Felix laughed awkwardly and pushed some blond strands of hair out of his eyes, “oh yea, I was just um, killing time. I have a job to get to in a little bit.” Silence fell over you two for a beat, “but I could ask you the same thing.” Felix was looking at you as if he was seeing the sunset for the first time. A soft wonderment in his eyes.

You watched his full lips move as he spoke which made Felix even more nervous. Then your eyes dipped down to his neck seeing some black ink there.”What’s that?” You boldly reached over and touched the tattoo on his neck.

Felix’s mouth instantly went dry as the pads of your soft fingers lightly grazed over his heated skin. The feeling of you touching him sent little electric shocks directly to his dick. He didn’t even know you, yet you had consumed him for two weeks and now even his body wanted in on this. Felix’s mind was reeling. When you dropped your hand you mumbled, “Oh sorry, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Oh! No! Uh it’s a dragon.” Felix laughed softly, “My Korean name is Yongbok. I just thought it was fitting.” You confidently stepped closer, tugging down his collar just enough to admire the intricate artwork tattooed there. “Yongbok” you said his name slowly, as if you were tasting it.. tasting him. Felix swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly in his throat.

“I like it.” You seemed to have decided on how you felt about it as you stepped back and placed your hands at your sides. Felix’s face flushed.. what was wrong with him? He never acted this way around any man or woman. People were usually intimidated by him. If not by his interesting look of androgyny then, by his very deep voice. But not you. Instead you were curious, intrigued, and not intimidated at all.

“Well I should be going now. It was nice to see you again, Felix Yongbok.” You had a soft teasing smile playing on your lips as you took a bow and turned to leave. “Hey!” Felix said a little louder than he needed to. He was a bit embarrassed but shrugged it off with a hand carding through his hair. “Do you want to come with me?” The question just tumbled out of his mouth before he could really think about what he was asking.

He really didn’t expect you to say yes but, you surprised the freckled faced man when you looked up at him with your big eyes and said with no hesitation, “I have nothing better to do, sure.” Felix hesitated for a split second, Chan was going to kill him. “Oh, okay. Um this way.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and lead you down the street to his car. A black on black Benz.

You whistled when you saw the expensive vehicle, “Oh so you have money, money.” Felix gave an awkward laugh and opened the door for you. He didn’t respond with words, only giving a little nod as he watched you get in. Your scent wafting up to him, sweet vanilla and a hint of something spicey. She even smells addictive… he thought as he finally closed the door and walked around to get in the drivers side.

He should be trying to figure out how to explain you to Chan but, he had other things on his mind. Like the way you crossed your legs, the way your hair was blowing about your face, that mischievous smile that seemed to always be painted on your lips.

As he took his time driving to his destination he glanced over at you every now and then. You seemed so confident and relaxed as you leaned back in his passenger seat. The window down, your hand outstretched feeling the rush of wind as he drove down the highway.

Felix cleared his throat, “So, tell me about yourself.” You looked over at him that little smirk stretching up one corner of your pretty lips. Fuckin gorgeous.. he thought. “What am I suppose to tell you?” You were not one for small talk. There usually wasn’t a lot to tell. Felix came to a stop at a red light. “Well.. where are you from? Your favorite color? Do you have siblings? What do you do for a living? Things like that.”

You instantly began to giggle. Not exactly at Felix but, you thought all of that was irrelevant. Felix felt his cheeks flush with slight embarrassment as he put the car in motion once again. “What’s so funny? Is there something wrong with getting to know you?” He asked just as he pulled up to a large white house.

Your soft laughter died down and you watched him for a moment. The silence was killing him, “I just want to know you, y/n thats-“ you cut him off with a finger pressed to his soft lips. You gave him an exasperated sigh. “You talk too much, handsome.” You moved your face closer to his. Your lips mere centimeters from his own, “If you want to really talk.. you can talk between my legs.”

Felix felt his heart pounding out of his chest. The shock of your words hitting him hard. He wanted to move in, pull you in and kiss those lips he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of. This close he could see your scar clearer despite covering most of it with your hair. He wanted to move that hair and press his lips to it so bad.

“Felix! What are you doing?!” Someone whisper shouted bringing him out of his thoughts. You moved away from him to get a better look at the man standing in front of the car. He was with six other pissed off looking men. “Are these your besties?” You asked sarcastically and got out of the car before Felix could make a move.

“Shit..” Felix said under his breath as he got out as well and walked around the car to your side. “Listen I know what you’re thinking but, she’s cool. It’ll be fine.” Felix tried to explain before anything was said. All of their eyes were on you. Judging you in a curious way except for one. The only one that spoke, who had dark short curly hair and tattoos covering most of him.

He stepped up to you and looked you up and down, trying to intimidate you. Then he moved over to Felix. His cold eyes boring into him, “I’ll ask questions later but, if she fucks this up you’re taking all the blame. You understand!” You furrowed your brows, who did this man think he was! You thought to yourself. You thought Felix was his friend not his minion.

Your eyes scanned the others, some of them had small propane torches, others had gasoline cans. “So let me guess we are burning someone’s house down?” You spoke up, interrupting whatever that asshole was saying to Felix. His head snapped to you and his eyes narrowed, “Why? You scared?”

The bulkier man began to walk closer to you but, Felix grabbed his arm. “Chan.” Felix’s dominant voice of warning made your eyes jump to him and a small throb in your core made you want to press your thighs together. “No..” you said as you walked past him, grabbing a torch out of Chans hand. “I want to be the first to light the bitch up.”

You kept walking as they all stared after you. “Well.. you heard her!” Felix said to Chan. Chans cold demeanor seemed to soften a bit and he shook his head. “Im killing you later.”

Chan led the way inside the house through the back, busting down the door. Felix explained to you that this house belonged to one of Chan’s father’s colleagues who had done him dirty. Stiffed him on some drug money or something. The family was currently on vacation and the owner of this home kept a safe somewhere in the house. Their goal was to find the safe, get whatever money was in there, set the house on fire, and leave.

The fact that Felix and his little gang were actual criminals made you like him even more. You knew this wasn’t a smart idea but in all honesty you didn’t care. Your life was horrible and you craved an escape… Felix seemed to be that escape.

Once inside everyone seemed to begin their search. Pairing off going in separate directions. You of course followed Felix upstairs into various rooms. It was dark but he kept a warm hand in yours, making sure you stayed close to him. The heat from his body made you want to be even closer to him and in the darkened bedroom you did just that.

You pressed your body into his side shamelessly. Felix stilled, whispering, “What are you doing?” You let go of his hand and even though you could barely see him your hands found their way up his torso to grip his shirt so you could pull him closer. “Have I ever told you that you talk too much.”

You didn’t allow him to utter another word because your lips were on his. Felix didn’t respond at first. The overwhelming reality of your lips on his.. he only sighed as if to say… finally. Just as he felt you pulling away it’s like he woke up and remembered to kiss you back.

His lips were not rushed but firm and oh so inviting. As you put your hands on his face he pushed you back into a dresser. Pressing his larger body against yours and you both fit together so well. As he gripped onto your hips firmly the room seemed to fall away. Felix had never been kissed like this before. He had never gotten lost so deep in a kiss. He felt like his heart was skipping beats. The space around you exploding with an instant connection.. addiction. His hands kept gripping you, pulling up your shirt to feel the smooth skin of your sides, he couldn’t bring you close enough.

His tongue slid deliciously over your own, tasting the sweetness that you were. Thoughts of tasting you in other places made him roll his hips gently into yours. A tiny gasp escaped your lips when you felt his hard erection through his pants which made him smile against your mouth. Satisfied he could get this kind of reaction from you. Felix felt as if he’d been starving.. the taste of you so intoxicating.

He had kissed many people before but he never felt a burn like this.. a deep yearning for more. His hands snaked up your ribcage to palm your breasts over your bra. He was rewarded with a soft moan, your head falling back to expose your delicate neck to his searching lips. Felix would have kept going. He had every intention of ripping those jeans off you, craving to see and feel just how wet you were for him. But, you two were interrupted by Minho’s annoyed voice, “What the fuck, Felix? You can get your dick wet later. We got the money, let’s burn this place and get out of here.”

You reluctantly pulled away from the man that just stole the sole right out of your body. You fixed your shirt and moved towards the door. “Come on, lover boy.” You acted as if you weren’t minutes away from fucking a stranger as you and Felix followed Minho down stairs.

Chan walked up to you holding out a torch, you looked at him confused. “You said you wanted it, right? Here you go.” You licked your lips and looked down at the torch. You were good at talking a big game but, you had never actually done anything like this before. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Y/n.” Felix said behind you, sensing your uncertainty.

“We don’t have all fuckin night..” the tallest in the group muttered as he eyed you. That was all you needed to make the decision. You took the torch from Chan and turned it on. The flame was orange at first but then turned blue as it grew hotter.

The guys had already doused the place in gasoline, you could tell by the pungent smell in the air. The few others that had torches as well followed your lead and went to various rooms on the bottom floor. One by one fires sprung up, rapidly engulfing the place. You all rushed out of the same door you came through and for a moment the entire group just stood outside watching the furious flames eat away at the once beautiful home.

Only when distant sirens could be heard is when everyone scattered. You and Felix rushed to his Benz and jumped in, peeling off. Adrenaline pumping through both of you. He was letting out excited yells as he raced down the darkened street, you laughing freely in his passenger seat.

“That was fucking amazing!” You yelled to him, the adrenaline slowly dying down between you two. He reached over and gripped your thigh, his eyes meeting yours and you knew exactly what he was thinking. You would be lying if you said you weren’t thinking it too. That heat that you felt earlier when he had his hands and lips on you returning.

It was so wrong… for so many reasons… but you wanted it. You wanted him.

“Do you wanna go back to my place?” Felix spoke softly, worried he may scare you off if he pushed too hard. You wanted to.. fuck did you want to but, you couldn’t. “Changbin, the bigger guy you met tonight.. he’s my roommate but, he won’t be home.” Felix clarified when you didn’t answer right away. “I can’t.. not tonight. Is it alright if you take me home?” You bit your bottom lip, wondering if this would be all you would see of him.

Felix’s smile faltered just a bit but, he recovered quickly. His sweet disposition making him even more handsome to you. “Oh sure, sure. Where do you live?”

You gave him directions to your home, it was nestled right outside the city limits. A small little house. It was your father’s but, he left it to you after he passed. When the car was parked by the curb outside you leaned in and gave him a small peck on his cheek. “Thank you, Felix. I had fun tonight. Who would have thought being a deviant would be so much fun.” That made him laugh, a deep chuckle you felt in your chest.

You began to get out of the car but Felix stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. “Can I have your number?” His eyes were hopeful, shiny with confidence. You began to open your mouth when your name was being called. “Y/n! Aye girl! Where the hell have you been!” You sighed in frustration and got out of the car fully.

Felix watched as a man not much bigger in build than him come out of the house and stand on the front porch. Of course he was curious as to who the hell that was but you gave him no time for questions. You stopped at the drivers door leaning down to be eye level with Felix. “I’ll find you, okay?” You mumbled, giving felix a small smile but, it didn’t reach your eyes this time and you walked toward your house.

Felix felt a lump in his throat grow as the man grabbed your arm roughly the moment you were close enough. He jerked you up closer to him and drug you inside the house leaving Felix concerned and confused.

Was that her boyfriend? He instantly thought. Couldn’t have been her dad he looked too young.

Felix eventually drove off feeling uneasy and worried for you but, it wasn’t right for him to interfere. Not this early on. But he knew his obsession with you had already begun.

I hope you enjoyed this! Don’t worry the spice will be much spicier in the next parts to this!! Thank you for all the love and thank you for taking the time to read my works. Let me know what you think in the comments! ♥️🖤

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her-satanic-wiles · 29 days

Text

Dawn Chorus - VIII

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 8.2k.

Reading Time: 33 min.

Warnings: Catholic guilt, cum swap, cunnilingus, divine voyeurism?, fellatio, finger sucking, free use fantasy, frottage, masturbation, pillow humping, praise kink, references to non-con, references to rape kink, references to somnophilia, self slut shaming, semi-public masturbation, this may be the horniest thing I’ve ever written

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @dolceterzo @whitepawfics @howlingco @sirianisrock @amaridelphi @katiegvf

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

You spent more time in your cage since the wine cellar, actively not wanting to leave. For the first time since he put you in there, you felt safer behind bars than you felt outside of them. The Cardinal - or Copia (you weren’t sure what you should call him after… that) - went straight to his bed and fell asleep, not bothering to lock you in. As far as he was concerned, you weren’t a danger, nor had you misbehaved. You put yourself in there of your own volition, and you could remove yourself as you pleased.

Waking up the next evening, he was still conservative and modest about exposing himself to you as he got dressed for the night ahead, as though the night before had never happened, changing in the bathroom and leaving you to your thoughts in his room. He came back in, adorned in a different cassock from last night (a black one), and picked up his biretta from the dresser.

He cleared his throat, “Last night,” he began, not looking at you at all, “you regret it, right?” He didn’t wait for your answer. “Let’s just pretend it never happened, okay?”

You nodded, which he could see out the corner of his eye. He nodded too, put his biretta on, then turned to leave before hesitating at the door. “I won’t lock you in today, Angel,” he continued, “Your halo is still locked away, and you’ll have a ghoul to guard you, so go wherever you like.”

“Th-thank you.” You said, your voice gravelly from your sleep.

The Cardinal nodded and then left, making sure the front door clicked behind him. You heard him addressing one of the ghouls that stood guard at his front door and then the corridor fell silent, indicating that he’d gone for good. You were now free to wander around.

You wanted to leave - to take those books back to the library and pick new ones. But you couldn’t bring yourself to face anyone. You were sure they’d be able to see your transgressions on your face, that they’d know simply by looking at you that the Cardinal had sullied you and your good name and pure body the night before, while you both were drunk no less. Numerous sins were committed last night, and you weren’t sure you’d ever get the forgiveness you once craved, especially now.

You wandered into the Cardinal’s bathroom and turned the taps, remembering how to work the tub since the Cardinal taught you the first time. You hadn’t used this tub often, on account of your wings getting in the way, but your time in there had been most relaxing the last time, you felt like you needed to use it again.

Upon removing your robes, you let them drop to the floor where you stood, the fabric easily sliding off your body and pooling at your feet. Bubbles grew and popped in the water as it gathered in the centre, and filled up to perfection, making the room smell like eucalyptus and mint, immediately calming your mind and shushing all the doubts and worries that had plagued you for God knew how long.

You sunk into the warm water and your body relaxed instantly. You could practically feel the sin washing off of you from last night’s escapades, bubbles gathering around your skin and hiding your body as though they were protecting you from further violation, welcome or otherwise. You were able to quash most of your thoughts, bury them in a box and file them away in your mind, never to be looked at again. You sighed and relaxed further back, allowing your head to lull against the porcelain. If you weren’t already awake, you’d have no problem falling asleep in here.

“Given a body and not shown how to use it.”

Your eyes snapped open as you heard the Cardinal’s voice, clear as though he were standing right beside you despite you being alone in the room. The sound of his voice made your heart race, a sharp reminder of what had happened between you only the night before. You felt guilt enveloping you, threatening to drown you in its oppressive grip. The shame soaked into every part of your being and clung to you like a second skin. You were powerless to overcome it.

“You never touched yourself, have you?”

The quiet of the moment was broken by the eerie repetition of his words, which lingered in your thoughts. You couldn’t help but feel as if you had betrayed the very essence of your celestial nature, as if you had failed in some fundamental way.

“Virgins are so easy to please. So quick to cum.”

You dipped further into the water, as though trying to drown out the voice in your head that was claiming you. However, the marks left by your brief mistake and the stains of your indiscretion would not go away with any amount of water.

Your acts threatened to smother you under their crushing weight, bearing down on you like a heavy burden. You had deviated from the straight and narrow, giving in to want and temptation in a moment of weakness. And now you were left to consider the implications of your choices as you sat in the peaceful solitude of the bathtub.

Though guilt and regret weighed heavily on your mind, there was a part of you that couldn’t shake the pure pleasure that had flowed through your veins during your meetings with the Cardinal. There was an irresistible thrill in the restricted, a forbidden pleasure that sent shivers down your spine and ignited your body with desire, even with all the weight of your transgressions.

You had given in to the seductive pull of passion with every touch and caress, losing yourself in the intense ecstasy of the moment. You felt the Cardinal’s hands on your flesh, his lips on your body, kindling a fierce fire inside of you that would eventually consume you.

The sensation of his touch remained on your skin as you lay in the bath, a lingering reminder of the pleasure you had experienced together. You knew it was a sinful pleasure and you shouldn’t have indulged in it, but you couldn’t help but feel so satisfied after those delicious moments.

“The beauty of this form is that you can give yourself pleasure whenever you want.”

You bit your lip as you remembered how he felt, thick and heavy against your centre, rutting against you violently as he took his pleasures from your body. As you lost yourself in the memory, you noticed you were reacting in a similar way to last night; your heart rate rising, pulse quickening, the blood pumping through your veins much faster than before, your nipples now standing erect and sensitive as your breasts heaved with the rise and fall of your exerted breathing, the warm water running over the peaks and somehow stimulating them.

That was all bad enough, but your clit had begun tingling, too, exactly how it had when the Cardinal was teaching you about your body. His phantom thumb rolled over the nerves and had your hips bucking upwards, legs involuntarily spreading and waiting for someone to come and relieve your suffering.

“You can give yourself pleasure whenever you want.”

You can.

You shouldn’t.

Your mind telling you “no” didn’t stop your hand from trailing down your body, running over one of your nipples and making you hiss out in pleasure. Your mind telling you “no” couldn’t possibly stop your fingers from curling around your mound, allowing your middle finger to land where you needed it most. Just the mere connection of the pad of your finger sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins, making you gasp at the contact.

You remembered how the Cardinal moved his thumb to get you to cry out, and so, you copied his actions, swirling your middle finger in tight circles to replicate the feeling. And, oh. It felt exquisite. Not quite as divine as the Cardinal’s gloves melting into your flesh as they had done, but even still, it was good enough to steal noises from your throat; making your eyes shut to allow you to just feel. Little, breathy “ah”’s falling from your lips as the water sloshed around your thrusting hips, squirming beneath your own touch as you had his.

You applied more pressure and began moving your finger a little faster, crying out at the feeling. Your mind showed you the Cardinal’s face, reddened beneath his white skin as he rut against you, sweat pooling on his brow and that animalistic look in his eyes that made you feel so small and helpless beneath him, despite your impressive strength. With the fluttering of your hole around nothing, you were reminded of the way that the tip of his being kept catching on it, and how you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach flipped. He told you he wanted to bury himself deep inside you, feel you from a different point. You saw the disappointment in his eyes that reflected the emotion in your heart as he promised not to break that boundary you’d set in the moment.

But you wanted him to. God, you wanted him to take you there and then, spear you on himself and force you to sin with him…

Your eyes snapped open and you pulled your hand away. He could be watching right now - the Almighty, whom you’d so quickly and happily forsaken twice now in less than twelve hours. The water poured off your body as you stood, and climbed out of the porcelain tub, catching a glimpse of your flushed and lust-filled skin as you exited and entered dry land. You wrapped a towel around yourself, not bothering to pick up your robe as you trudged through the apartments and into the Cardinal’s bedroom.

“You think your god is watching one of his angels get - fuck! - ruined by a son of Satan?”

You shook your head, and slammed the heels of your palms against your temple, trying to rid yourself of his words - despite the excitement bubbling in your stomach at the notion.

What good could your God do now? You may have forsaken Him, but didn’t He do that to you first? So what if He watched? So what if He knew that you’d sinned? That you touched yourself just once to a memory of your own transgressions? Just one more time… one more orgasm wouldn’t hurt as you were already in so much trouble. You could go to confession after, tell a priest your sins and be reassured that He would forgive you now that you owned up to your mistake.

Just once more.

You walked over to the Cardinal’s bed and ran your hand over the soft, smooth velvet, the red darkening under your touch as you stroked it gently. A wave of contradictory feelings passed through you as your fingers traced over the Cardinal’s rich bedspread. Shame mixed with longing, guilt with desire, and the sensations swirled around you, threatening to overwhelm you.

The Cardinal’s words lingered in your thoughts, a sneaky voice that aroused deep-seated fears and desires that you were unable to ignore. You were drawn irreversibly towards the forbidden temptation of indulging in pleasure and giving in to the sinful desires that had been reawakened within you.

You allowed the towel to fall from your body, and climbed upon the bed, letting the velvet to engulf your naked flesh as you stretched out atop it. You’d spent many hours in this bed, sleeping, modest, covered. You’d never had the opportunity to truly feel it beneath your skin and how luxurious it felt. Sinning in style.

You reached for the Cardinal’s pillow with trembling hands, grazing the plush material with your fingers as you imagined him by your side. The recollection of his touch and his passionately whispered words caused you to feel a deep ache, and stoked a fire that burned with extreme intensity.

You brought that pillow to your face, smelling the scent of his cologne and skin imprinted on the fabric, remembering that scent mixed with his sweat. You were practically intoxicated again, overcome with hunger and desperation.

But a voice of reason whispered cautions in the back of your mind, even as you yearned to lose yourself in the heat of passion once more. You were aware of the repercussions of giving in to temptation, of the cost of breaking your word and giving in to the thoughts of forbidden desires.

You lay on your back, spreading and flattening your white wings out comfortably, not taking into account the stark contrast of the blood red beneath you, and the purity of your body. You kept clutch on that pillow as you let your hand travel down your navel and pick up where you left off, this time the sensitivity from your first escapade heightening your experience, and making you call out louder than before.

You rocked against your hand, giving yourself over to the pleasure coursing through your body, toes curling into the mattress as you worked yourself to completion. It felt so good. Clearing your mind of all wrongdoing to focus on the sensation, your hand working faster and faster.

Hitting that spot.

Right there!

Yes!

“Fuck!”

Your own voice echoed the Cardinal’s from last night, the profanities that tumbled from his mouth in the throes of passion infected you, and somehow made your touch feel just a little better. Just a few more circles into your flesh and you came undone, your back arching off the bed and your whole body shutting down as your orgasm washed over you, nothing moving except your finger as it worked over your clit continuously to draw out that feeling for as long as possible.

Your breathing was laboured when your orgasm finally subsided, and you crumpled onto the bed in a blissful heap. Disbelief clouded your mind for a second, unable to fathom how you’d lived for so long and not experienced such a feeling - and how it took a son of Satan to show you the light. But that was that. You’d never do it again. You made a promise to yourself there and then as you righted the Cardinal’s bed, cleaned the towel away, and dressed yourself in your robes again. Except, this time, your nipples were still sensitive and rubbed against the fabric, keeping your pleasure at the forefront of your mind.

The Cardinal and you set into a dance for the following week, as you both were avoiding each other as much as possible. He wouldn’t look at you, just dress and leave, and you’d be left to your own devices. You didn’t have the strength to leave the apartment, nor did you want to. Despite your promise to yourself, the second the Cardinal had closed the door, you removed your robes, climbed onto his bed and touched yourself, damn near addicted to the feeling.

You grappled with the act again, trying to convince yourself that you shouldn’t dig yourself into a deeper hole, that no matter how much confessing you did, one day you’d cross the line and be entirely unforgivable. Yet, it didn’t stop your body yearning to be touched, to be savoured, to give you the most pleasure while it could, because it couldn’t stop wanting. And so, despite the internal conflict and war zone that was occurring in your mind, you climbed onto his bed and gave yourself over, yet again, to pleasure.

Your hands were getting used to your touches by the middle of the week, allowing you to just go by muscle memory as you played with yourself. Sometimes, your mind would show you images of the Cardinal in the wine cellar, replay the whole scene frame by frame until you came at the thoughts. But sometimes, sometimes your brain would insert new scenes, new wants and wishes for you to think about every time you saw the Cardinal’s face. How you’d remember the victorious few in Canaan celebrate their wins and insert both yourself and the Cardinal into their places.

You imagined the Cardinal pressing you against a wall, burying himself inside you as he took you from behind, his hands pinching your nipples just as he told you to do in the wine cellar.

You imagined him slipping inside you in the wine cellar, giving into his own desires and not caring a peep about your own - using your body as the Lord did, except your pleasure came as a side effect.

You’d bury your face into his sheets and inhale his scent, clutching onto his pillow as you did the first time when you took yourself to his bed. But that action would end up opening a whole new door for you. The way that your body had sat meant the pillow grazed against your nipple every single time you squirmed, and even though it felt great, you got a better idea.

You pushed that pillow down your body with both hands, and wrapped your thighs around it keeping the edge of the pillow pressed against your folds. At first, you moved the pillow against your body, but your arms grew tired too quickly, and your hips ended up taking over, grinding them against the plushness.

You switched positions, for the first time getting off your back and onto your knees, stroking yourself with the pillow beneath you - and it felt better than before. Would the Cardinal allow you to do this to him? Would he lie beneath you as you took what you wanted from him, like the whores of Babylon did for their clients?

You bit your lip at the thought - the Cardinal treating you like his own, personal whore. How he’d take you over and over again, and make you serve him like you served your God. Why did you want this? Why did you want to get on your knees for this man? And why was his title falling from your lips as you fucked yourself against the very pillow he slept on?

You brought yourself over the edge twice in that way, the first time not keeping you satiated long enough to last the rest of the day.

Each day that passed made you more desperate than the first, guilt gnawing away at you as you’d violate yourself over and over again, but being unable to stop it from happening. Even the Cardinal breathing as he slept had you needing to rush into the living room, hike your robes up to your thighs, straddle the arm of the couch and work yourself to completion, hand over your mouth to muffle your needy sounds.

You realised in that moment that you didn’t truly face restrictions anymore, and it both thrilled and frightened you.

Guilt gnawed away at Copia, too, except for him it wasn’t because of divine intervention or other such ridiculousness. For him it was mixed in with sadness that you, the very object of his desires, just didn’t want him in the same way. You’d consented in the wine cellar, and Hell, you really enjoyed yourself, that much he knew to be true. But Copia felt the oppressive weight of sadness bearing down on his shoulders, suffocating him with its firm hold. The disappointment that was eating away at him, the bitter taste of rejection that lingered on his tongue like a poisonous pill, was something he was unable to get rid of.

Despite the intoxicating passion you two had shared in the wine cellar, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of unease that persisted in the back of his mind. He was aware that you had given your consent to that passionate encounter, but something in your eyes afterwards, a glimmer of doubt or hesitation, left him feeling empty and hollow inside.

For the briefest moment, he allowed himself to think that you wanted him as much as he did. But now that evening had broken through the illusion, all that remained was the harsh, cold reality of his unfulfilled desire.

Memories of that fateful night in the wine cellar replayed themselves in Copia’s head like a scratched record, every detail seared into his memory with agonising clarity. No matter how hard he tried, the vivid images that danced behind his closed eyelids and haunted him like ghosts from the past wouldn’t go away.

His ears echoed of your wanton moans, how they oozed with pleasure you’d never felt before that sent a wave of goosebumps up and down his body, hardening his cock at the thought.

With the room filled with the gentle glow of candles and the flickering flames creating long shadows on the walls, he was sitting by himself at his desk. His work was left undisturbed as he was preoccupied with thoughts of your euphoric presence, your gentle touch, and your passionately whispered words.

He couldn’t forget the way your body jiggled, the way you were so innocent and supple. The frantic beating of your heart as you practically hung off his dick. Lucifer - he needed it. He needed you.

Copia sighed heavily as he ran a hand through his messy hair, longing and frustration fighting inside of him like rivals. His thoughts were constantly focused on you, your image ingrained in his memory like a brand, making it difficult for him to concentrate or focus on the task at present.

Fucking his hand at his desk wasn’t his finest moment, but it was a necessary evil in the grand scheme of things. He remembered how good your mouth felt around his thumb, and ended up cumming all over his papers at the thought of you swallowing every drop he gave you - whether it poured down your throat or into your womb, it made no difference to him.

On top of his already troubled mind, Copia felt the weight of Sister Imperator’s scrutiny bearing down on him. Her persistent threats to interfere with your interrogating and even take over the Satanic Church did nothing but increase his nervousness and erode his faith in his own abilities.

Sister Imperator was not someone to be taken lightly, and her disappointment with his performance only made him feel more insecure. He tried so hard to keep up a front of competence and poise, but he couldn’t get rid of the sense that he wasn’t doing enough to fulfill his responsibilities as your carer and as the leader of the Church.

Every threat he received from Sister Imperator was like a knife to his pride, a constant reminder of his flaws and shortcomings. He was aware that he had to perform better in order to take back control of the situation and establish that he was suitable for his position in the Church hierarchy. However, despite his best efforts, he was unable to shake off the doubt that hung over him like a ten-tonne weight.

Copia could not deny the noticeable change in your demeanour since that evening. He was deeply struck by the subtle avoidance in your movements and the way your cheeks flushed whenever your eyes met his. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret deep in his chest, knowing he had embarrassed and made you uncomfortable.

He couldn’t help but notice your attempts to stay away from him and felt a little sorry for you. He had thought that the closeness you two had would strengthen your bond, but it appeared to have pushed a wedge between you. He wanted to be there for you, to help you overcome the growing gap between you, but he was afraid to invade your personal space because he knew you needed time to process what had happened between you.

He did, however, get a sneaking suspicion that you were no longer as innocent as you made out to be. He tucked himself into bed one morning and lay his head on the pillow, eager for a day of sleep when he smelled something different about his room.

The smell on his pillow was familiar, and it made his heart skip a beat. He stopped, trying to figure out the source of the scent that was now filling the room with his enhanced senses. The scent was subtle and seductive, stirring something deep inside of him.

He took a deep breath and the aroma surrounded him, enveloping him in a blanket of desire and warmth. And suddenly, he realised what was going on. It was your smell, distinctive and unmistakable, but with a distinct twist as it seeped into the pillow’s material. That same smell had lingered on his hand after the wine cellar, your cunt tormenting him from the leather of his glove for days after. He couldn’t bring himself to wash it away, instead choosing to let it linger until it naturally faded.

You’d been touching yourself, he was sure of it.

Copia felt a shiver run down his spine as a flicker of longing ignited within him at the realisation. He recalled the warmth of your body against his, the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips, and the softness of it against his lips. Strong and all-consuming, the memory flooded his mind, making him feel both regret and desire at the same time.

The memory urged his hand down his pyjama pants with his stained pillow pressed to his nose, inhaling you and making himself cum quietly so as not to wake you.

Yet moments before his orgasm hit, he heard you leave the room, and didn’t return. When he woke up that evening, he found you passed out on the sofa, cheeks flushed and thighs exposed beneath your skirts that had lifted in your sleep. He bent down and could smell you on the arm of the sofa, and instantly he felt his cock stiffen once again. You were so tempting, just lying there after humping the furniture like a dog in heat, sweet on the eye yet sinful in the mind. He could have just slid into you there and then and had his way with you, but instead he took to fucking his hand in the shower once again.

His suspicions were finally confirmed the very next night, returning home a little earlier than normal to find you in a precarious position.

Your back was to the door, and you couldn’t hear him enter over the sound of your own moans as you rubbed yourself on the arm of his desk chair, entirely without clothes. Your wings hung loosely behind you, shifting as your hips moved back and forth on the upholstered section of the arm, little thrusts that had you gasping and whining, sounding delightful each time.

And you had no idea he was there, just losing yourself in the pleasure, clit dragging along the fabric and, as he got closer, both hands on both nipples, pinching and pulling to add to the sensation. Your movements were so fluid, it was painfully obvious how experienced you were now - no longer the pure angel he’d defiled in the cellar. A small part of him was angry that he hadn’t been involved in this whole process, that he hadn’t got to witness your journey with self-pleasure and diving deeper and deeper into corruption of your own free will. The other part of him recognised that you were feral because of him and his cock, and how desperate you were to recreate that.

Fuck - your scent filled the entire room to the point where it smelled like sex and had his cock chubbing up beneath his cassock. If you let him, he’d bend you over his desk and fuck you until you passed out - probably wouldn’t even stop then.

He waited; bade his time until he could watch you cum again, the muscles in your back spasming as you finally tipped over the edge. The way your body froze and your breath hitched was delightful, and had sent shivers down his spine and blood rushing to his core making him fully hard and gagging for you. He could fantasise about the dark as much as he wanted, but there was nothing that made him more unhinged than watching his partner cum. Nothing made him more possessed than the way the body looked as it orgasmed, how it sounded and tasted.

Your blood was so much sweeter now, he could smell it pumping through your veins much faster than usual. Obviously, he knew that blood was sweeter after an orgasm, but even so, yours was a calling. He was a bee to honey. He wanted a taste of you so badly.

In the throes of your passion, you couldn’t hear him approach. You could hear the beating of your own heart and the sound of your breaths rising and falling with the exertion.

“Having fun without me, I see,” he whispered into your ear.

You jumped out of your skin, screaming when you saw him in your peripheral vision, falling onto the seat of the chair with your right leg still hanging over the arm, your left keeping you upright with your foot planted on the floor. He had a smug grin on his face, his mouth lifting up on its right corner and that same dark look in his eyes that he had before. His left hand was on the back of the antique chair as he leaned on it, staring down at you with those eyes that told you he was hungry. Your right hand was also on the back of the chair to hold you upright, while the other rested on the desk as you were pushed to sit in between the wooden arms sideways, looking up at him with wide, doe eyes that made him groan. One of your wings had fallen, and was resting largely on the floor. The other had been pinned against you and the upholstery.

It didn’t escape you how close his fingers were to yours, nor that you were still completely naked and bearing the weight of his gaze. The way your body had fallen and steadied itself had left your core wide open, spread out and glistening in the warm light of the room and so cold from the air teasing it as your sensitivity began to set in.

He put his right hand on top of yours on the desk and leaned over your body, effectively trapping you where you fell and hovering above you. His weight wasn’t entirely put onto your hand, meaning you could move it if you wanted to. But the shock had rendered you immobile - well, the shock and the look in his eyes.

“If you wanted it, all you had to do was ask,” he said, voice low and gruff like it was down in the wine cellar.

He was hardly touching you, barely near you, yet you felt as though he was suffocating you completely. You were hot, the strength of his gaze warming a flush on your cheeks and ensnaring you in his trap while you remained breathless and helpless. And needy.

He was offering himself to you on a golden platter, praying that you’d say yes. Waiting for that word to fall from your mouth.

He taunted you further, “Did you think I didn’t know? Did you think I couldn’t smell you everywhere? Was there a piece of furniture that you didn’t drag this needy little cunt all over, hm? Even my pillow couldn’t escape your horny little rampage.”

Your eyes kept moving from his eyes to his lips, watching his mouth form words underneath his moustache, and thinking about how it would feel elsewhere.

“Will you ask for it, angel?” he asked, his tone more decisive. “Or will you tell me to walk away?”

He watched your eyes as they moved around his face, and could practically hear the cogs turning in your mind. You were seriously considering it. It amused him.

Without warning, you launched yourself upwards, pulling your hand out from underneath his and wrapping your arms around his neck to keep you steady. Your lips crashed onto his, a desperate, inexperienced kiss that was all teeth and tongue, but totally conveyed your ferality and your need to be ravaged. All shame flew out the window when you pressed your naked body against his cassock, feeling his hardness pressed against you but dampened by the fabric.

He grunted at the action, but immediately flew into his response. His hands came to your waist and clutched onto you, holding you steady and relieving the pressure from his neck as he held you upright. You whimpered between the smack of your lips together as his tongue entered your mouth, less bloody than before but still so breathtaking. You wanted him to take everything from you now, Almighty be damned. So far from the angel you were since you came here, now you were eagerly spreading your legs for a vampyre no less. Who had you become? And why were you fine with it?

The Cardinal pulled and pushed at your body, manoeuvring you to sit upon his desk with your legs spread and waiting for him. All the while, his mouth never left yours until he had got you where he wanted you. Those lips of his then began their journey down your body, stopping at your neck where he paid particularly close attention to the pulse point, then travelled down over your breasts, to lick and suck at your nipple. He then copied the movement to the second one, just to hear you cry out for him again. Then to your stomach, and finally landing on your mound, pulling the chair up and taking a seat.

“Wh-what are you doing?” You asked, breathlessly.

“You liked my fingers last time - you’ll like my mouth today.” He responded, simply.

“No but… you can’t.”

He looked up at you. “Oh, sweet, innocent angel. I promise you I can. And I will.”

“But-”

“Relax.”

He let out a growl upon seeing you; your glistening, tight heat exposed to him, ready and waiting for his tongue to ravish you like the heathen he was. He teased you by planting a kiss… or several… on your thighs, making you want in a way you never imagined possible.

His finger moved up and down your folds, once or twice catching on your clit, making you a shiver and a gasp from excitement and sensitivity. His eyes fluttered shut with delight as those fingers that had collected your slick slipped into his mouth. The exact same flavour from all those nights ago when he licked his gloves clean of you. The very same taste that tormented him upon smelling you fucking yourself on his furniture.

He kissed you exactly where you wanted him. His tongue came out, laving over your clit exactly as his fingers had, swirling and dancing over your flesh and making you cry out for him. Your back arched off the desk entirely as your body moved instinctively, hands flying to his hair and digits locking around his mouse-brown strands. The Cardinal rushed in, his tongue swirling roughly around your sensitive clit and intermittently sucking at it to elicit those heavenly noises from your lips. Hips rocking back and forth as they had done every night and day this passed week or so, chasing your pleasure and riding his tongue, like you were used to doing with everything else.

The first time he locked his lips around your clit and sucked, you screamed. Not just an outcry or a moan, a genuine scream of surprise that made the Cardinal chuckle between your legs. Your fingers tightened in his hair as you jumped, only to feel his hands push you back into the original position you were in.

His lips moved, consistently hitting the right spots and making you clench around nothing while his moustache scratched against your labia. All the while, gasps and groans were falling from your mouth, but he wanted more. He pulled away and replaced his lips with his fingers, buttery soft gloves touching you once more.

“You have to tell me,” he began, licking his lips clean of you, “you have to tell me how it feels.”

“Mmm!”

“No, angel, use those words you learned so prettily. Does it feel good?”

“Y-yes!”

“Do I make you feel good?”

“Yessssss - oh!”

“Did you like my mouth?”

“S-so mu-uh! Much!”

He laughed. You really had no idea what he wanted you to do. His laugh wasn’t malicious - he certainly wasn’t making fun of your naivete. You were just so sweet - so innocent, even after everything you’d done this week.

“Which did you like more, angel? My fingers or my mouth?”

“Oh! Mouth! I l-like your mouth!”

“You want me to use it again?”

“Yes!”

“Beg me to. Tell me how much you want my mouth.”

His movements on your clit got faster and added more pressure, scrambling your brain. You were trying to find sentences to formulate, but nothing was coming out. “I…” you began, feeling overwhelmed. “I-” You tried to think of something, anything, but your mind was too focussed on the pleasure it wouldn’t work. You took a breath, and whined, “Please.”

Copia would have just laughed. If you weren’t you, he would have degraded you, told you to try harder, that you obviously didn’t want it hard enough. But your please was so desperate, so innocent like you might cry, for once it was the only thing he needed. He’d teach you how to use your words properly before the next time - for now, he’d oblige, because there wasn’t a way that he couldn’t.

He dove straight back into your core face-first, vigorously sucking and licking at your wetness and putting his index finger inside of you, making you cry out once more. He curled that finger upwards, and kept repeating that motion over and over again until your body felt like jelly.

Now, you were moaning, but in between your whines, whimpers and screams, was the occasional peppered “Good”, “So good” and “Yes!” until eventually a combination of his lips and his fingers had you tipping over the edge, and cumming around him, leaking out more and more until you were entirely spent, hole clenching around him as you peaked.

With one final kiss to your clit, he pulled back, looking up at your reddened and exhausted face with pride. He stood up and nestled himself in between your open legs, running his lips and tongue over your bare skin, up your neck before capturing you in a kiss. You could taste yourself on his mouth, and feel his hardness pressed up against your centre.

You broke away. “Are you…” You began. “I mean, do you - will you…?”

The Cardinal laughed at you, your awkwardness over the subject, your innocence even now not allowing you to finish any of your sentences. “Fuck you?” He asked harshly, just to see your reaction.

You nodded.

“Do you want me to?” He asked.

“Yes, but -”

“Then, no. I won’t.”

“What?”

“If you have to say but then you don’t want to. But what I just did for you,” he brought his index finger and thumb to your lips and pinched the bottom one in between them, “would you like to do for me?”

“I can do that?”

He smiled, eyes trained on your lips. “Of course. If I taught you, would you? Would you use your mouth for me?”

You hesitated for a moment, not because you weren’t intrigued or because you didn’t want to. Mostly it was because you didn’t know how, or what such an act even looked like. But still, you nodded and said, “Yes.”

He turned the chair to face adjacent to the desk and took several steps back, bringing his gloved hands to his cassock and removing the garment completely. He ordered, draping his robes over the back of the loveseat. His gloves were the next to go, being draped on top of his cassock. He was left in his undergarments: sweatpants and a t-shirt. The sweatpants left nothing to the imagination, showing the outline of his hardened length beneath the lightweight fabric. He settled onto the desk chair and looked into your eyes. “On your knees, angel.”

You did as he asked, remembering this position from what felt like months ago now. How he was drunk in his room, holding your halo in his hand and putting his thumb in your mouth, relishing in the feel of it. You saw the same look in his eyes, only this time it had heat pooling again in your… what did he call it? Cunt? There.

He reached down and picked up your hand. “If it’s too much at any point,” he began, moving that hand to his thigh, “tap on me two times. Show me you can do it.”

You did, tapping on his clothed thigh as he requested despite you not understanding why it was requested of you. He didn’t need to do that.

“Good girl.” He dipped into the waistband of his sweatpants and fished his cock out, and looked at your eyes widen. The Cardinal was big. You knew he was because you’d felt him on you before, but it was a whole different experience seeing him. He didn’t let you the first night you spent together. Not only was the Cardinal long, he was quite girthy, and you wondered how that would feel going in your mouth. You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“Now,” he continued, “open that mouth for me.”

You did as you were asked, and watched him sit forward. The thumb that he had in your mouth before came back up to your lips and ran over them softly, before he placed it inside.

“Close your mouth around it.”

You did.

“I want you to suck my thumb. Get it nice and wet.”

When you started to suck, you heard him groan. It was quiet and deep, similar to the noise he made when he first got pleasure from you down in the wine cellar. He muttered a, “Cazzo,” which you understood to be “fuck”, and watched him become enraptured by your lips enclosed around his digit.

“I want you to do this when my cock is in your mouth, angel. You think you’re ready?”

You nodded and felt him pull his finger from your mouth.

He widened his legs, inviting you to sit closer, and lifted himself with his hand at the base to make it easier for you. “Tease me a little,” he told you. “Run your tongue up and down me.”

He was doing his best to not overwhelm you, keep you as comfortable as possible. Sucking dick wasn’t a big deal, he knew that, but to someone who’d never done it before it could be a little intimidating. He’d know. He remembered the first time he’d done it and how the person had guided him through it, showing him what they wanted from him and making sure they both took their time. He was so eager to please back then, he did too much too quickly and while his partner had a good time, Copia felt like he fucked it up entirely. The same went for the first pussy he ate, too.

Your mouth opened enough to let your tongue slide out, and he hissed when you made contact. You licked a broad stripe from the base up to the tip, and felt a flutter in your stomach when you heard the groan he made. So, you did it again. This time adding more pressure and earning yourself another hiss.

“A little more spit, angel,” he told you.

You gathered your saliva on your tongue and repeated the action before.

“Oh, that’s it. Take the tip in, now.”

You did one final lick before fluidly taking his tip into your mouth, sucking on the very tip of his cock gently. You didn’t know where to look at first, and so you just looked ahead at his soft tummy, but when you looked up at his face, you realised you were missing out on his expressions: the dark eyes trained on you, the way his top row of teeth bit down on his lower lip, the redness creeping up his cheeks. In that moment, you understood that seeing him enjoying it was the reason why people did this for others. Watching their reactions to your actions was the pleasure that you’d get from an act like this. And you’d do this more often if this was the response.

“Looking up at me so innocently,” he commented when you made eye contact. You’d known for a while it was your corruption that turned him on the most; sullying an angel to get revenge on a Lord he hated, to drive her closer to Hell opposed to the Heaven she came from. Perhaps you’d be lying if you said you didn’t share that feeling. Disobeying the Almighty had given you a newfound thrill - feelings you never had before.

You moved down him a little, taking the initiative first and putting the whole head in your mouth and sucked just a little harder. The Cardinal hissed and his hand flew to your hair instinctively, just how yours did to his hair when he did this to you. This wasn’t a purposeful move, this was just his body reacting to the pleasure, trying to keep you there. Once he knew what he was doing he pulled his hand away.

“S-sorry,” he grumbled.

You pulled off him with a pop. “Does it feel good?” you asked.

“So good, angel!”

You nodded and went right back to it.

“Mm, angel. Move your - fuck - head back and fo-orth, up and d-down.” When you did as he asked, he tipped his head back over the chair. “Oh merda, just like that!”

Every time you moved your head forward, you took a little bit more of him into your mouth, gaining more confidence with each of these reactions. More expletives in Italian fell from his mouth, words you didn’t care to try and translate. He tried his hardest not to buck his hips, not to fuck up into your mouth and overwhelm you too quickly, but it was feeling too good and sometimes he couldn’t help himself, shifting his hips upwards and sliding just a little more into your mouth.

“I won’t be this g-gentle with you in the future, angel- ah!” he told you. “One day, I’m gonna bury - mmm - m-myself in that tight, little throat of yours and make you cry. Cazzo! Been thinking about… about it for so long.” He let out a shaky breath. “Take a little bit more in, if you can.”

You did.

“Oh - Sathanas! Harder. S-suck harder. Gonna cu-um down that throat.”

With every instruction you followed, you watched him melt into the upholstery. His hand moved back to your hair and helped move your head at the pace he wanted, while trying his hardest not to put too much pressure on you and choke you. He wanted you to discover that on your own… or at least, later on with his help at your request.

The Cardinal was practically putty in your hands, breathlessly wrapped around your little finger as you continued to work this magic over him. He could control you with your halo, maybe you could control him with this.

He would have you take breaks, especially when you started taking more of him into your mouth, giving your throat a rest and teaching you how to touch him with your hand - another thing he really liked. He wanted a firm grip, a little rough, fast. And it was that, your hands working the base of his cock and your mouth sucking on the head that sent him over the edge.

He’d tried to warn you, tried to push you off him so he wouldn’t cum directly into your mouth for the first time, but neither of you tried hard enough, or moved quick enough to stop it from happening. And so, his cum landed on your tongue, the faint taste of iron taking you off guard for a moment. He kept his hands on your head, holding you in place while he finished in your mouth, only letting go when he was done with you.

When you popped off him, you held your hand beneath your face to catch any of him that would spill. You didn’t know what to do with it, not until the Cardinal knelt down in front of you and captured you in a kiss, using his tongue to remove as much of his cum from your mouth as he could. Some of it spilled down your chins and onto your bodies, his t-shirt becoming damp at his own cum. He swallowed the rest, as did you after seeing him do it, and let him help you up off your sore knees.

The Cardinal led you to the bathroom where you both cleaned your mouths, before you both dressed, the Cardinal in a new shirt and you back into your same robes.

“Rest up,” the Cardinal told you, putting his robes back on, “take a bath if you need to. I have to get back to work. But I fully intend on seeing you tonight.”

You simply nodded in response, and watched him leave again.

When you lay on his bed, for the first time in a long time, your instinct was to close your eyes and fall into a light sleep.

Prev./Next

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boytoyhalo · 9 months

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this is another larger scale complaint that i know will fall on deaf ears but i'm saying it anyway can we please stop referring to to the big monstrous thousand eye angels as "biblically accurate" they aren't. angels are not described this way at all in any christian bible. They're called seraphs or seraphim (pronounce ser-ah-FEEM) and they're from the tanakh (the torah or "old testament") and jewish mythology. they are mentioned ONCE in the bible and their appearance is not described

I understand (and hope that you understand) that at the end of the day jewish religious texts have been so heavily appropriated for so long by other religions (including as the framework for christianity and islam) that have taken over culture so completely that saying this will do absolutely nothing but. The angels you are talking about are not a substantial part of christianity and never have been and it's annoying to see them described as "biblically accurate" especially when christian and particularly catholic imagery is already so fucking prevalent in both media and analyses of media where it isn't even present

bringing this up now because a lot of people have taken madagio's "don't be afraid" as an indicator that it's an angel and are already RUNNING with the christian theming and I have separate feelings about ex-christians and catholics in fandom making absolutely everything about their religion when it has nothing to do with the source material (there's nothing wrong with projecting religious trauma but it gets a bit annoying when you're seeing it all the time) but please for me can we just change the words we're using to be accurate and stop erasing the jewish origins of the things that everyone is so obsessed with

(non-jews reblog this please thanks)

#qsmp

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the-trans-folk-witch · 7 months

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The Seven Deadly Sins: sins personified via animism and the church.

The arte of the witch is syncretic with the arte of demons. To usurp and overthrow the oppressor, and to cause sins within the souls of men. How does a witch do this? the Seven Deadly Sins or "cardinal sins" are the answer.

The image above depicts these 7 sins within the man's heart/soul as being animals. As an animist I can not help but view these animals as being true personification. Symbolism is not a thing to me, but a person. Although I'm sure the creator of this image was very much a good Catholic man who was not an animist, we can still utilize this image today as animists.

In traditional witchcraft it's common to call upon familiars associated with cardinal directions.a common example would be the toad, hare, serpent, and crow. However within my own arte I call upon the familiars of the cardinal sins pictured above.

The traditional meanings of these animals are as follows:

The toad- greed

The serpent- envy

The [mountain] lion- wrath

The snail- sloth

The pig- gluttony

The goat- lust

The peacock (or turkey) - pride.

This list although very eurocentric and representative of my own cosmology, can be reworked to fit your own landscape and culture. If you do not have any of the animals near you, change the list! Get to know the spirits of your land and assign your own familars to these sins.

In cases where the witch is cut off from nature, and the animals' parts are not on hand to conjure the spirit, there are demons traditionally associated with these sins as well. And demons are very present within the lives and bodies (posession)of man. The demons are changed in name and sinful virtue based on time period and culture. But the two most popular lists come from "the lantern of light" and Binsfield. Whichever resonates most is the answer.

The witch may call upon these demons or animal familiars for the arte that is cursing man. What i consider man can very well be the gender or just all humanity (non witches) themselves. But these beliefs are very forcibly removed from modern witch-caucus.

As for the remedy for these sins, one must request the aid of the 7 heavenly virtues. These vurtues are as follows:

The heavenly virtues being the holy opposites of these Infernal spirits of demons or animals. These virtues are depicted as 7 angels, or 7 saints. Again, whichever list you prefer is the answer. The angels are a more modern concept applied by western occultusts. And are taken from my previous post on the 7 angels of planets. They are the main 7 Archangels found in Manila traditional catholic orders.

There are also lists of saints you can call against certain demons listed in the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum which i will share here

The work is never just left or right, but in between the holy and heretical. The saints and demons are beneficial to the witch just as they are to the church. With sin comes hell, and with the holy spirit comes heaven. God commands both, as do witches. Therefore I am now God.

#folk witchcraft #traditional witchcraft #transgender witches #beginner witch #folk catholicism #animism #santa muerte #folkloric witchcraft #witchcraft #ozark magic #demonology #demonolotry #grimoire #satanism #theistic satanism

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bucky-barnes-diaries · 2 years

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Day 21 — Thigh Fucking

Pairing || Beefy!CatholicPriest!Bucky x Inexperienced!Innocent!Virgin!Female!Reader

Word Count || Around 2000

Contents & Warnings || Smut, Dark/Taboo Themes — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, non-con, explicit content/language, pet names, religious themes, blasphemy of religion, sacrilegious acts, biblical references, sexual content involving a catholic priest, strict/religious parents, age-gap (Reader is early 20s, Bucky is early/mid 30s), Father kink, priest kink, size kink, corruption kink, authority kink, inappropriate/forceful touches, begging, thigh fucking, mention of bodily fluids.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Kinktober Masterlist

Most Sundays after mass, you would accompany Father James in tidying up the beloved church of your small community. Some people would probably be annoyed being tasked with cleaning and organising, but you seized every opportunity to be in his presence, knowing what it would most likely lead to when you and he were alone.

You were in the process of placing Bibles on the pews in front while casually humming along to the soft radio echoing through the vast and holy hall. Your mid-length dress rose slightly as you bent over to place the books down. It was such a small gesture that you didn't think much of it, but it seemed like someone had caught a glimpse of you.

It was hard to ignore the manifestation that lurked up behind you—the essence that exuded from him. His unholy and ungodly behaviour was out to show and play. All of his holiness put away for the day.

His broad and muscular chest made soft contact with your back—a significant contrast to the determined power that radiated from him. You automatically tilted your head slightly to the side as your body had become accustomed to this scenario since it wasn't the first time Father James had crept up behind you like this.

His lips skimmed your earlobe, and his warm breath tickled the sensitive skin of your neck, making a wave of shivers flow down your spine. He placed his colossal palm on your clothed mound, pulling you flush into his firm chest, making you lightly gasp. The hardness that outlined his tight pants rubbed against your behind, and he groaned so deep in your ear that you felt a delicious tingle in your stomach.

“When will you finally let me defile this innocent little cunt of yours, sweet thing?” His alluring voice dropped an octave lower when he spoke, making your knees almost buckle at the sinister tone. You clutched a bible tightly to your chest, making Father James chuckle as you held onto the frail words of God, but that wouldn't help you here when the mighty Devil had come out to play.

This wasn't the first time Father James had shown you the ways of impureness, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

But losing your virginity? That was a step you were not ready to take, not yet, at least. You weren't willing to give up your pureness, not when it was so engrained in your brain by your strict religious parents that sex was a great sin unless conducted between a man and a woman that had been wed in holy matrimony.

“When will you finally let me corrupt this tiny pussy, angel?” He uttered again as he groped your covered core, wanting an answer from you.

Father James had never forced his way on you in the sense of penetrative sex, but he did lust for it every sexual moment you had together, and it seemed like he was trying his hand on it again. But you just couldn't.

“Father, I-I can't. I-I'm sorry.”

He groaned in slight annoyance as he put more pressure on your poor core, making you shut your eyes tight before he loosened his grip. You felt ashamed that you couldn't please him the way he wished the most, but you wanted to make him satisfied in a way he had taught you some weeks ago.

“But, I-I can get on m-my knees a-and worship you.”

He chuckled darkly at your willingness to submit to him in the sense of wicked prayer and worship.

“Or, we can both be pleased and blessed at the same time while still keeping the pureness that you so desperately hold on to.”

“I-I don't understand, Father.” You'd only known blowjobs and fingering from him. What other possible solutions did he have for pleasure that didn't involve those two and penetrative sex?

“Let me show you.” He growled like a possessed man.

He came to stand in front of you, towering over your small frame with his enormous one, a sinister smirk and a sinful glimmer in his eyes. His pants and long-sleeve shirt were as dark as his demeanour. The white clerical collar was the only thing that indicated that this was a man of God, after all. You practically shook, in both exhilaration and horror, for what his wicked plan was as you peered up at him.

He took the book from you and tossed it to the side before he sat down at the pew and relaxed his arms on the back of it, and spread his thick legs. Since he was now at your eye level, it was a little less scary, but still, you became flustered as you stared into his crystal eyes with hints of darkness, so you averted them to the floor as you twiddled with your fingers.

“Take off your dress.”

Your eyes went wide at his words. You've never undressed for him, ever. The thought terrified you—in both factors that it was sinful to reveal your flesh and fear that Father James would be disappointed in what you had to offer.

“Father, I-”

“Take. It. Off.”

With shaking hands, you slowly lifted the dress off your body and let it drop beside you. Once it was off and you stood bare in front of him with nothing on than your peachy cotton underwear. His devilish behaviour displayed a hint of softness as he leaned forward a little, and his lips parted in awe.

The way his eyes skimmed all over your untouched flesh made you incredibly shy to be so exposed to him, so you brought your hands up to cover yourself, prompting Father James to be highly disappointed.

“Hey,” he took your hands in his and pried them away from your body and pulled you to him until you stood between his open legs. “Don't shy away from me, sweet thing,” you met his eyes again that now held nothing but adoration in them, “you're the most perfect angel ever to walk this earth. God spent his time perfecting your beautiful body. So pretty, sweet one.” Heat rose to your cheeks at his sincere compliments.

“T-thank you, Father.”

As quickly as his sweetness came, it disappeared in a flash, and he returned to his true and wicked nature. He chuckled darkly as he undid his belt and pants, pulling them down with his underwear until his mighty impressive dick stood heavy and erect. The sheer size of him always left you astonished and nervous at the same time.

Father James always found it amusing how innocently in awe you were at the size of him. He took great pleasure in how his dominant and assertive demeanour contrasted to your innocent and inexperienced one. It drove him wild with desire.

“Turn around for me.”

With wobbly legs, you turned around until you faced the altar, peering up at Jesus hanging from the cross as you said your forgiveness for the great sin that would be conducted in this holy church.

“Oh, sweet little thing.” His massive palms took a soft grasp on your hips and pulled you closer until the back of your thighs met his inner ones, and his throbbing length rested against your behind. “You're so godly perfect,” he mumbled, softly kissing your shivering spine.

He peeled your panties off and quickly found your folds as he ran his fingers through the sticky arousal, making a breathy and needy sound escape your mouth as he played with you.

“Your little pussy is so messy, sweet thing. Are you sure you don't want me to take your innocence? It seems like your pretty cunt wants it.”

“N-no, Father,” you softly sobbed.

Suddenly, his fingers disappeared and were replaced with his bulbous head teasing your quivering opening. You tried wiggling away from him, but he kept a steady and firm grip on your mound.

“I can just slide in here, you know. Force my cock through your tiny velvet walls and split you in half. It's not like a frail little girl like you can stop me,” he sneered as he pushed just half an inch inside you.

“N-no, Father, p-please,” you cried as you shut your eyes tight, forcing tears back. Your fingernails dug into his plump thighs to brace yourself in case he didn't care for your pleas to stop.

“It's ok, sweet thing.” He kissed your spine again as an apology for taking it a little too far. “I won't be that cruel. Let’s both be blessed and pleased while still keeping within your boundaries, yeah?”

“Y-yes, Father.”

He situated the upper side of his thick length against your delicate flower. “Keep your thighs closed. I need you nice and tight for me,” he demanded in a husky tone.

You closed your thighs around his whole dick, moaning softly as he throbbed against your leaking folds. A groggy groan sounded from him as you squeezed hard, resulting in some of his pre-cum squirting out of his tip and coating your bundle of pleasure.

“Please,” you pleaded sweetly, making him groan against your spine as he left a sloppy kiss on your skin.

He took a firm grip on your hips, wanting total control of your body. With a heavy grunt, he drags himself back before pushing forward between your folds again, his tip flickering your sensitive nerve, making you gasp softly at the buzzing tingle.

His groans are thick and heavy as he moves with slow movements into you repeatedly. His dick splits your folds in half as he runs through your slick mess with his girth while his bulbous head bumps and leaks against your tingling and needy nerve with each slow and torturous thrust. The slickness makes it easier for him to pump through your tight flesh effortlessly.

“Father, it feels so good,” you mew as your eyes struggled to stay open as you peered up at Jesus on the cross again, who looked mighty disappointed at the violation happening in his church.

Your soft and pretty whines and cries prompt Father James to handle your body with such ease as he drags you into his heavy and rough thrusts, making your luscious behind smack against his pelvis.

“God, your thighs feel amazing, sweet thing. I can imagine how good your tiny hole must feel. One day I'll corrupt it and make you all mine,” he groaned possessively, making your empty walls flutter around nothing.

A swarm of tantalising butterflies tingled and teased at the pit of your stomach, aching to be released and provide that heavenly and sinful sensation that would ascend you into pleasure.

“O-oh, Father, please. I-I,” your words were broken off by a series of high-pitched moans and whines as you came for him. Your body shaking, and hadn't it been for Father James holding you up; you would have collapsed to the floor due to the raging intensity coursing through your nerves.

His hips stuttered as his thick and raspy voice sang praises to the good Lord while his holy seed painted your swollen folds and stomach. He was breathing heavy and hard as he thrust through both of your highs, making sure you both felt blessed and satisfied.

He hissed while you whined when he pulled away from your tight and used flesh, plopping you down on his lap and making you rest your head on his strong shoulder. He wrapped his arms around your frail and tired body as he gave you some much-needed gentle care and love.

“Good girl,” he praised you while you melted further into his warm and comforting touch as he kissed your forehead, making you sigh in relief and contentment.

“T-thank you, Father.”

“No, thank you, sweet thing. For keeping myself and the Lord happy.”

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