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veludo-rae · 5 days

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‘Tsuzuru thrust his hand out and shot a Rune forward, shattering the iron padlock and chain completely. Izumi didn’t miss a beat, sprinting ahead of them and kicking the door open as hard as she could.

“STOP!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

The lone figure inside, swathed in black, turned around to face her with eyes wide open.

No. Eye wide open. Singular. An eyepatch was covering the left one.’

I was rereading flavovitta’s amazing urban fantasy AU fic, Of Covens and Magicians / ocam (if you haven’t read it, what are you doing????) and when I read this scene, I decided i HAD to draw it. I love this bit so much, just the whole chapter. I wish there was an OCAM manga or anime or anything! It’s such an incredible piece of writing, I’d recommend it even if you aren’t into A3!. This was quite a while ago, so the style is a little different to what I normally do these days, but I’m still super proud of it! I wanted to give it a dark, dramatic, cinematic feel to it. How did I do?

@f1avovitta

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nerdnag · 1 year

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She flexed her fingers, carefully adjusting the magic as it flowed out from her hands and watching as new shapes appeared on the surface. Then she changed the reflection of the sky; from bright blue to the darkest of blacks, covering it in millions of little speckles that shone brightly—if slightly trembling—off the surface of the water.

"See?" she asked.

For once, Hubert's expression showed real wonder, his gaze moving across the pond to take it all in as his lips parted in fascination.

I commissioned @wild-moss-art to paint a scene from my fic The Mysteries of Magic, where Constance uses her magic to change the reflections in the monastery's pond to the night sky as she remembers it above the Nuvelle grounds.

And just like Hubert is rendered speechless by Constance's skills, I am once again taken aback by the sheer magic that Moss can achieve with their art. 💖

#This is what made me so emotional yesterday #Moss is so talented holy shit #Look at that background!!!#Look at the sky!!#LOOK AT HUBIE AND COCO!!!#Look at how he looks at her. And how she's so fully concentrated on her magic.#There is so much love in this art piece #And Moss should have all the praise in the world for managing to capture it so perfectly 🙏❤️#I'll definitely commission them so many more times in the future!! And the rest of you should too!!#Fe3h #Fe3h constance #Constance von Nuvelle #Fe3h Hubert #Hubert von Vestra #Cocobert #The Mysteries of Magic #Moss art heck yeah #My favorite piece of theirs so far 💕#I am literally Hubert rn as I stare at this art for hours completely speechless

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eunnieboo · 3 months

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happy lunar new year!! 🎉

i meant to write this up in november but so many things have happened in between… i just wanted to express my gratitude and highlight some wonderful praise that If You'll Have Me has received. i still can't believe it's actually a book! a physical thing i can hold! thank you everyone who has reviewed IYHM or left me kind words upon reading. it means so much, more than i can even say.

thank you especially to the librarians and independent booksellers who champion these stories! i'm overcome with joy every time i see IYHM pictured in a library, and i'm so honored to have it featured on the Kids' Indie Next list as well as BCCB's Blue Ribbon Books for 2023.

it can be difficult to make art these days, and i sometimes question the point of creating at all. but the response to IYHM has been a great source of encouragement, and i hope to keep drawing and writing stories no matter what. thank you so much!

wishing you all health, happiness, and community ❤️

#if you'll have me #iyhm #momo gardner #priscilla giang #wlw #art

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afeelgoodblog · 1 day

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The Best News of Last Week - 29 April 2024

1. Net neutrality rules restored by US agency

The U.S. Federal Communications Commission voted 3-2 on Thursday to reinstate landmark net neutrality rules and reassume regulatory oversight of broadband internet rescinded under former President Donald Trump.

2. Airlines required to refund passengers for canceled, delayed flights

DOT will also require airlines to give cash refunds if your bags are lost and not delivered within 12 hours.

The refunds must be issued within seven days, according to the new DOT rules, and must be in cash unless the passenger chooses another form of compensation. Airlines can no longer issue refunds in forms of vouchers or credits when consumers are entitled to receive cash.

3. How new mosquito nets averted 13 million malaria cases

Compared to standard nets, the introduction of 56 million state-of-the-art mosquito nets in 17 countries across sub-Saharan Africa averted an estimated 13 million malaria cases and 24,600 deaths. The New Nets Project, an initiative funded by Unitaid and the Global Fund and led by the Innovative Vector Control Consortium (IVCC), piloted the use of dual-insecticide nets in malaria-endemic countries between 2019 and 2022 to address the growing threat of insecticide resistance.

4. Germany has installed over 400,000 ‘solar balconies’

This new wave of solar producers aren’t just getting cheap electricity, they’re also participating in the energy transition.

More than 400,000 plug-in solar systems have been installed in Germany, most of them taking up a seamless spot on people’s balconies.

5. Voyager-1 sends readable data again from deep space

The US space agency says its Voyager-1 probe is once again sending usable information back to Earth after months of spouting gibberish.

The 46-year-old Nasa spacecraft is humanity's most distant object.

6. Missing cat found after 5 years makes 2,000-km journey home

Five years after it ran out the door, a lost cat was returned to a couple in Nevada after it was found thousands of kilometres away. The couple are praising the cat’s microchip for helping reunite them.

7. Restoring sight is possible now with optogenetics

Max Hodak's startup, Science, is developing gene therapy solutions to restore vision for individuals with macular degeneration and similar conditions. The Science Eye utilizes optogenetics, injecting opsins into the eye to enhance light sensitivity in retinal cells.

Clinical trials and advancements in optogenetics are showing promising results, with the potential to significantly improve vision for those affected by retinal diseases.

---

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog this post with your friends.

#best news of last week

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 8 months

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Smile❤️ (Yandere X Loser!Reader)

Micky thought that he couldn't feel love.

Ever since he could remember, Micky couldn't connect with anyone on an emotional level. Even his own family members were like aliens to him, creatures that stretched their lips into strange contortions, ETs that became unreasonable when he wouldn't do the same. As a teenager many girls flirted with him in school, hell, a few guys did as well, but none of their confessions ever stirred any emotion from him, even at the height of his puberty. The smiles of the people around him never felt warm or welcoming. Just, tight. Cheeks pulled back, revealing teeth, expecting him to mirror their action, and Micky couldn't understand why.

Nothing made him smile.

College was further isolating. Group projects seemed to no longer be a thing, (at least in the classes he took) so his interactions with humans slowly became less frequent, making his classmates look more inhuman and monstrous.

Until someone in his college was doxxed for being a creep. It was interesting, watching how quickly people turned on their friend, forcing him into an outcast because someone online revealed his private post history.

An annoying young woman in his language arts class gathered people around Micky's seat to talk about what had happened. Micky wouldn't have searched up the drama on his own time, but he didn't see the point in pushing everyone away.

"This user on Xforums, anonymousXnightmare is the one who doxxed Nathan."

AnonymousXnightmare? How fucking lame.

"That's a lame username..."

"Maybe it's a kid..?"

Micky did his best to ignore them, but the username kept popping up in conversation throughout campus. It was getting a little annoying. Some people were mocking the name, while others were praising the "internet hero". It started interfering with his ability to focus in his classes.

But the gossip cooled down after a week, and life began to run as normal, until another student had their life ruined. A football player, they didn't post anything incriminating or disturbing. It was anonymousXnightmare who posted their own collected evidence. Pictures taken from afar of the player with his highschool sweetheart, as in sweetheart who was still in highschool. Recordings of the two of them. Months of stalking all compiled by the stranger.

Again, Micky was bombarded by chatter, excitable young adults losing their minds over the situation. It was... irritating.

Back in his dorm room, Micky was scrolling through Xforums, the most popular forum used by students in his university, made by students for students, searching for the loser with the lame username. Scrolling past the photos he had heard about, he found a post stating

"Dear Allen Brackens, if you cannot stop blasting your shitty music in the halls on your shitty speakers, I WILL ruin your life!"

and Micky had to lean back, to just take in what he had read. That must have been the name of the football player. What he was doing was genuinely gross, and should have been exposed by someone. But did this poster really stalk them for what looked like months just because he listened to music they didn't like?

It was so dumb.

He scrolled down farther into the mystery poster's history, to the first man they doxxed.

"Dear Nathan McAllister, we all know you're a two faced little bitch. Either stop littering the campus with your Jesus pamphlets, or else..."

Micky, for the first time in his life, was amused. The whole situation was so stupid. They really ruined their fellow students lives, just because they annoyed them?

He made an account just to follow his mystery poster, not sure yet why he was interested to see what they would post next.

Less than two days later, and Micky's phone notified him of another post.

"Dear Samantha Rudbeckia, your obnoxious laughter is driving me insane. Can't you see how annoying you are? Knock it off."

That was it?! That was enough to set you off? Laughter? Micky paused mid step, still staring down at his phone. Something felt off about his face. It hurt.

It was pretty easy to find anonymousXnightmare in his school. Micky picked up a map of the university, and mapped out the paths of the three people targeted. They ran into a lot of different students throughout their day. But they only ran into a couple of people who openly seemed to hate them, and only one of those people was a student named (Reader). (Reader), who constantly appeared as though they would collapse at any moment, the hollows under their eyes so dark they looked sickly. (Reader), who despite being borderline anemic, was very sneaky, and very good and being unnoticeable despite their extreme appearance. Unfortunately for them, they had someone watching them as closely as they watched their victims bullies. Micky watched as they stealthily snapped photos of students from around corners, how they seemed to blend into the background and nobody noticed them hiding in waiting.

Micky felt ashamed for ever thinking you were lame. You were.. cute.

The way you crouched like a bug, hunched over like a roly poly scared of being picked up. The way you bit your dry lips in anger to the point they bled.

Micky's face hurt more and more. Every time he saw (Reader) a pain he had never felt before would strain at his cheeks, and his face would feel hot all over. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of himself in his reflection in a window that Micky realized he was smiling. He never knew that smiling hurt. But he couldn't stop it.

Pictures and videos of Samantha and her married professor were posted online, and Micky was excited to know what (Reader's) face would look like when they reaped the fruits of their labor. But when he snuck into their classroom, zooming in on their exhausted face with his phone's camera, he felt a new emotion seeing that (Reader) was just as annoyed as they always were. A hard pit fell from his ribs into his lower stomach. He was disappointed.

Why aren't you happy? You won. You should be rejoicing right now.

He felt conflicted and confused. Like an octopus was throwing a tantrum in his abdomen, squirming uncomfortably. And it ruined his day. Micky couldn't focus on any of his classes, and the rest of his day was like a foggy dream. What was it about (Reader) that attracted him to them so much?

A cute young woman with smooth black hair approached Micky, a dark blush complimenting her picture perfect face.

"Um, excuse me? Excuse me? Excuse me?"

Micky snapped out of his thoughts, turning his gaze down towards the beautiful person. Her rosey lips were slightly upturned in a posed way.

She's smiling.

Micky internally verbalized it. The same way he did whenever he saw anyone smiling. It never looked good. Smiling was so awkward, and strange. People loved seeing others smiling, and smiled when they were happy, but it always reminded Micky of how not one of them he was.

"Hi! My name is Maggie."

I don't care.

"We have econ together?"

"Okay."

Why was seeing her smile make her look fake, inhuman, alien? Just like everyone else. Then why was Micky so let down seeing (Reader's) lukewarm reaction to their victory?

"I was wondering, I mean, (laughs), a group of us are going out for drinks later, and we, I was wondering if you wanted to come with us.."

She giggled nervously, fiddling her fingers and biting her lip. The image of (Reader) practically eating their lower lip was triggered like a trap. This woman, whose name wasn't worth remembering, made Micky feel nothing. The uncanny feeling of speaking with a living mannequin or an advanced AI. Her movements weren't natural, her smile was just a contraction of muscles. Then, like an epiphany, Micky realized all at once what made (Reader) so special.

Maybe, it wasn't that everyone else was alien, but Micky. Micky was the only one who never fit in. The only one who didn't feel emotions or connect with others like everyone else could. And there was a bug walking around in human clothes, barely staying awake in class and casually ruining peoples' lives simply because they annoyed them. (Reader) wasn't a human either, just like Micky. That's why they didn't seem happy with their victory. Why would a human bring them joy?

Micky's lips pulled tight, smiling brightly at the young woman before walking away without saying a word.

You're the first person to make me feel, because you're just like me. Right, (Reader)? If no one but you can make me feel, then no one but me should be able to make you smile!

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

(Reader) slouched over their laptop, their messy hair pulled back in a top bun just to keep their untrimmed bangs out of their eyes in the privacy of their dorm, eating another cup of noodle while reading all of their "fan mail". Samantha wasn't getting kicked out like they had hoped, but Professor what's-his-nuts did get canned, so hopefully when Samantha comes back to class she'll be too busy sobbing "woe is me" to find anything funny.

Ba-ding♪

A private message popped up from an account with an automated username.

(Reader) snorted so hard a noodle went up into their sinuses.

user01793664544001: I know who you are <3

"Ah-ow! God damn!"

anonymousXnightmare: Who the fuck is this?

user01793664544001: ur prince charming <3

anonymousXnightmare: Don't fuck with me

user01793664544001: come find me

"Watch me, bitch."

Looking up IP addresses is a lot easier than people make it seem. It doesn't take a genius hacker to doxx someone. Of course, (Reader) goes above and beyond, often following assholes for months to collect evidence of their douche baggery. (Reader) got an address in less time than it took to finish their noodles, and took down their hair, quickly setting out to start getting information on their newest "bully".

The address took them to another dorm across campus. How dumb are they? (Reader) faux chuckled, feeling superior to this newest dick. No one was quite as smart as them.

As they crept through the building, no one payed them any attention as they began taking notes on the residents. It had to be one of these losers.

They didn't have a chance to fight back, as they passed one of the rooms the door opened and pulled them inside faster than they had a chance to scream. The man who abducted (Reader) wrestled them to the floor, panting heavily.

(Reader) glared up at the handsome stranger, smiling down at them in a creepy way, his cheeks twitching like he had never smiled before, like his face hurt from the small action. His face was pink and he was sweating, panting with a feverish moisture glazing his eyes.

"Aren't you happy? You found me~"

"G-Get off of me, you pervert!" (Reader) attempted to kick the kidnapper off of them.

This wasn't the answer he was looking for. His smile fell briefly before bouncing back.

"You're just upset because you don't know me yet. Don't worry, it took me a while to realize you and I were the same species as well, so don't worry. I'll wait, I'll wait for you to realize you love me too..."

He rambled quickly, pressing harder against (Reader's) body. A strange noise squeaked out of his throat as he seemed startled, (Reader) feeling a bulge form against their upper thigh.

"Ah, I'll wait.. I'll wait for you to love me too.. but I need you to do something for me while I wait.."

Micky stuck his fingers in (Reader's) mouth, pulling their dry lips out till they bled across his skin.

"Smile for me..."

#yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere #pathetic loser #loser reader #tw stalking #bully reader #yandere fanfiction #gender neutral reader #romance #not proofread

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norizz-nation · 6 months

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Hey, can u pls do the one with Carlos can't get enough of his girlfriend

Yesss of course that’s an amazing thought! 😩

So sore ❤️

Summary: carlos is the type of boyfriend who is always ready for a round two but sometimes he's so hungry for you that even if you're sore he never gets enough of you, he's always starving for you.

Warnings: nsfw, 18+, praise kink, biting, dacryphilia

Carlos is always the first to say that he wants a round two. But mostly it was just him starting over right after you both came. He is just so needy for you. He can never get enough of your touch. Never. He just wants more and more. He wants you all by himself. It's so hot that he fucks you over and over. Not stopping. Making your head go blurry.

Right now, it’s the same situation. Carlos was fucking you from behind, grabbing you by your jaw just so then he can groan in your ear making you go crazy. Your ass was red by his continues thrusts. Your eyes rolled back as your pussy started to squeeze. God, you’re so sore. Your hands grabbed the sheets tightly as tears rolled down your flustered cheeks. "Carlos i-im so s-sore right now nghh give me a break!" you screamed out as you bit on your lower lip. Carlos just smirked as his dick went deeper inside of you. "Baby i can never get enough of you. You feel so fucking good. You're so perfect baby. So perfect. Fuck" he said as your jaw dropped when you felt a stinging pain in your shoulder. "Fuck my bite looks so good on your skin, so pretty" he said as he admired his work of art.

Your head dipped in the sheets as his thrust became sloppier. He then wrapped his hand around the back of your neck as he pushed you further in the sheets as he came for the 3rd time this night. His warm cum inside of you made you reach your edge as you squirmed at his touch and came all around his dick. Both of your cum dripping out of your sore pussy. Carlos then pulled you by your hair and whispered in your ear "five" as he smirked at you. You turned your head as you asked "five what?" he then brushed his thumb on your cheek "you’ve came for the fifth time this night" he said, being pretty proud that he made you cum that much.

"Its not my fault that you fuck me so good" you said as you giggled and hit his chest jokingly.

A/N: requests are open! feel free to ask what you want me to write! luv you ❤️

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yanderestarangel · 11 days

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Hi can I request Yandere Bi Han mortal kombat x male reader who is a normal human has no powers just lives his life normally headcanons of how he would be as a Yandere but you can also put a little smut in it.🥰❤️��

yandere!bi han x male reader ౨ৎ ⋆🎀｡˚ [ HUMAN AU ]

TW ┆dark themes, au, violence, manipulation, non con, dub con, ftm reader, rough sex, age gap, stalking, emotional dependence, threat, v!sex, breedkink, praise, smut, mind break, eat out, anal, blowjob.

ʚɞ a/n: I need to make a bot on this concept.

♡ ┆I really like to think that Bi Han would be a martial arts teacher who works at some martial arts academy, he has always been extremely serious and stoic but has a love for his family roots of grandmasters and skilled fighters ─ he wouldn't differ too much from his persona as Sub Zero, without powers. The Asian would live a normal life in China and have a calm routine going to the gym teaching classes from morning until afternoon and going to sleep at night too tired to think about anything else.

♡ ┆He would go out on the weekends to visit his brother Kuai Liang who lives with his wife Harumi on the other side of the city and has a renowned clothing store in the city center. He can't feel many things other than coldness and is very closed to everything and everyone, being the typical "bossy" person in the room.

♡ ┆Bi Han couldn't take a life like this anymore, he tried dating but couldn't feel the same intensity as his former partners - which always led to nights of quick sex just to satisfy his carnal desires. Riding a motorcycle around was also his passion, something to distract him from intrusive thoughts on lonely Sundays ── He would also have several tattoos adorning his muscles and biceps.

♡ ┆But everything changed when you arrived in his life unexpectedly. You were looking for self-defense classes to feel safer but from the moment you entered his gym the long-haired man's cold heart practically melted and missed a beat momentarily, as if everything slowed down in his lap for moments and he just I could see you in front of me.

♡ ┆He was... Friendly with you, he managed to smile and even make small jokes which was new even for him, as if you had unlocked something in him. You talked about self-defense classes and he smiled widely for some unknown reason he offered private classes in the afternoon at no extra cost making you stay under the free and spontaneous pressure of the fight teacher.

♡ ┆So it all started there. You became his obsession and his point of fixation... He wanted to make you love him and make you just his. It was a crazy thought since he barely knew you, but not for long. You were his man, you needed to be his.

♡ ┆The self-defense classes started with Bi Han going easy on you, a few easy jabs and among them were the "innocent" questions that came out of his mouth, your relationship status, where you lived, how old you were, what your foods were favorites and your hobbies ─ a little interrogation disguised as a genuine concern from your coach.

♡ ┆You also noticed how he liked to press your body against his, keeping you close to his muscles while showing you how many times he could easily break you in half if he wanted. "You really are a cute creature aren't you? How long are you really uh?" Bi Han would speak in a deep voice as he stood behind you and held your body lightly with a muay thai movement making you look at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror ─ his brown eyes boring into you, he could make you scream and beg for him but... Not at that moment he wanted you to come to him because he wanted to, so he soon let you go and smiled sideways. "You need to improve your defense, little boy, let's practice the blow again ok?" he said, turning his back to you and adjusting his clothes slightly while trying to ignore how hard his dick was in his pants and how his pulse was racing just from touching you.

♡ ┆You would find yourself getting closer and closer to the older Asian, he would invite you to dinner with him, or a walk even offering to take you home, after all according to him "pretty boys like you attract wolves." And he was certainly one of those wolves a silent and effective predator in his goals.

♡ ┆He can easily manipulate you and get into your mind with lies, saying that the neighborhood is very dangerous, that delicate boys like you should stay alert and let him take care of everything and take you home every day, a less invasive way of enter your life without causing much suspicion for you or third parties.

♡ ┆When you least realized it, Bi Han would already be at your house, talking to your family and pretending to be the ideal companion you needed ─ a man who cared about you and only wanted the best for you. So he soon starts to put pressure on you, saying that he could help you more intimately, that you couldn't be alone in an unknown country and even offering to marry you so you could stay permanently in China ── things escalated so quickly it made you dizzy; but you were a strong man at first and ignored all the advances he made towards you until then. What led the man to use unconventional methods to make you his.

♡ ┆He started stalking you knowing exactly where you went and placing staplers in your house, always on alert in case you tried to find another relationship besides him. He would start playing psychological games with you, knocking on your windows in the middle of the night and entering your house at night to see you shaking in fear at every loud noise and dropped things he did, quickly hiding in the shadows and watching you like a damn ghost. It didn't take long for you to be psychologically shaken, mainly because he combined all of this with anonymous messages sent to your numbers with threats like "I'll see you from here" "there's no point in covering the windows" "I'm inside your house." You were so mentally fragile that you went looking for the only safe haven you could have at that moment in unknown territory... Your martial arts teacher, Bi Han, the same man who caused all this from the shadows.

♡ ┆So soon you would find yourself accepting his support, even leaving self-defense classes because he himself said he could protect you. He has been living at your house for a while ── However, he would soon change his mind, saying that it would be better for you to go to his apartment because your 'stalker' could come back there while he was away, it was the perfect excuse for him to have you under his control. Soon you lived more in Bi Han's house than in your own staying at his mercy, it was worth it for him to spend a whole month playing the terror in your mind, after all, now he finally had you all to himself. You will be spoiled with the good and the best, foods, clothes and the affection of the older man ─ movie nights watching movies and tight hugs with Bi Han's hair tickling your face... You've never had someone who cared about you as much as he did, so it wasn't difficult to develop an emotionally dependent relationship with him.

♡ ┆You would also marry him a few months later, convinced by him because you needed to stay in the country and have a better life, but with the marriage certificate also came his possession slowly climbing the surface... He calls you "cute hubby" and made a point of leaving you at his house when he left, under lock and key and away from the madness of the world. Bi Han had a perfect life now you were dependent on him in every aspect, especially mentally since he even took you away from your own family to keep it for himself and now he really he felt alive, with a beautiful boy by his side, the true love of his life in a completely sick and twisted way, just like his mind.

♡ ┆If you tried to leave his domain he would have to make you his carnally, biting you and holding you tightly to the nearest wall of the room and looking deep into your eyes. "I gave you everything, baby boy, You won't dare leave here, right? The world out there is cruel and dirty and you were born to be taken care of by someone, to be submissive to someone, do you hear?" And it wouldn't take long for you to become a trembling mess, clinging to his muscles for support as he pounded his dick into your pussy, with force and even cruelty to mark his territory in you ── he would hold your thighs and your neck with another hand, making you look at him with each rough thrust of his cock ─ the wet and obscene noise filled your ears and made you moan even more his dick was so good that with every kiss his tip had on your uterus you could feel your brain shut down for a few seconds making the asian laugh and whisper in your ear "good boy, a good boy for your owner hm? You're going to take all my cock with that beautiful pussy, aren't you? You're going to take all my cum and be a little slut who only thinks about sit on my dick until you get everything you want... So fucking beautiful..." He would leave you dripping with cum and with a sore clit.

♡ ┆On the bed, on the floor, in the bathroom, in the living room, even on the kitchen counter, Bi Han would fuck you all over the apartment. No hole of yours will be left out, you would have a sore throat from sucking his dick and having him force you to deep throat him or with him between your legs for at least an hour even if you were shaking and in pain he wouldn't stop eating out your cunt, until he left your flesh red and overstimulated by him. He will also fuck your ass while sticking two fingers in your pussy and making you moan loudly as he thrusts his hips against yours, praise pouring into your ears while you just moaned his name. "fucking hell-!, so beautiful and so broken ─ you're such a good slut begging for me like that, you want more, slutty boy? Want me to fill you up again?" He would moan hoarsely between slutty smiles and rhythmic skin-to-skin slaps ── After that you wouldn't think about leaving or going back to your old life, you belonged to him now and you were happy being his husband. Too broken to think about getting away.

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comfortless · 24 days

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

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

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

In the Arms of Flowers

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

wc: 11k.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ja. Verstanden.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poor little thing.

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

“Morning, Father.”

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

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

That doesn’t stop his approach.

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

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

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

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

“I see…”

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

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

God gives and takes away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And finally, regret comes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t know.”

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

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

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

“Danke… and you?”

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

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How about a walk?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Nein! That’s not—“

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

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

“You’re misunderstanding.”

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

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— — —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she returns when he abstains from her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

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

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

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

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

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

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

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

Stay.

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

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

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

None of it is fair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does that hurt you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scheisse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— — —

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

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No… just give me a second.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#könig x reader #konig x reader

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flightlessangelwings · 9 months

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FlightlessAngelWings Kinkotber 2023 Prompt List!

Here it is, the Kinktober Prompt List!!

Compiled by myself and edited/peer reviewed/approved by my bestie @the-purity-pen who had made fantastic prompt lists in the past (and who also made the beautiful graphics for me)!! This list has a little bit of everything from more vanilla to more hardcore prompts so there’s a little something for everyone, or to branch out and try something new if you feel like it!

Write fics, make art, graphics, gifs, moodboards, whatever your heart desires!! Any type of creations are welcome too: reader insert, oc, ships, original works, anything!

Have fun and be creative!!

Below the cut are 31 days of prompts for the month of October! Each day has 3 choices with a free space day on the 31st!

Because of the nature of the event, this is 18+ ONLY! Minors interacting or participating will be blocked!

Please tag me @flightlessangelwings and use the hastag #fawktober2023 and I’ll share your works!

Please use proper warnings in your posts with this event as some of the prompts may not be for everyone. And if you’re doing a reader insert, please work to be inclusive of your writing/art!

No kinkshaming please! I made this list to be varied so there may be things on here you hate. That’s ok! There’s things here that even I don’t like but I designed it that way so there’s something for everyone! But that’s also why tags and warnings are so important!!

Reblog this post so others and find this list and to share the fun!! And don’t forget to reblog other people’s work too throughout October and support each other!!

If none of the prompts for the day speak to you, feel free to pull from another day if you want! Don’t feel pressured at all! Have fun with it!!

List under the cut in graphic and text format!

Banner free to use for your posts with credit to @the-purity-pen 💖

Both dividers by the lovely @saradika ❤️

Love bites * Overstimulation * Impact play

Bath/shower * Public * Knife play

69 * Exhibitionism * Monster au

Thigh riding * Sex pollen * Forced orgasm

Table sex * Threesome * Sensory deprivation

Sexting/phone sex * A/B/O * Bondage

Slow and soft * Partner swap * Spanking

Cockwarming * Temperature play * Rough sex

Role play * Pegging * Hunter/prey

Stripping * Anal * Double penetration

Seduction * Blindfold * Degradation

Formal wear * Glove kink * Gun play

Body worship * Being recorded * Anonymous sex

Tit/nipple play * Object insertion * BDSM

Against a wall * Size kink * Free use

Lap dance * Role reversal * Whipping

Praise kink * Rimming * Tentacles

Masturbation * Squirting * Dacryphilia (crying/emotional release)

Hand job * Voyeurism * Somnophilia

Sex toys * Orgy/group * Corruption

Romantic sex * Piercings * Hate sex

Voice kink * Virginity * Fisting

Dirty talk * Begging * CNC

Lingerie * Edging * Leather/latex

Mirror sex * Orgasm denial * Breeding

Face sitting * Deep throating * Choking

Food play * Period sex * Wax play

Blowjobs * Intercrural sex * Cock rings

Fingering * Cream pie * Gagging

Cunnilingus * Costumes * Breath play

FREE SPACE

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aveloka-draws · 2 days

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YOU are making me play the game while I am loosing my mind because thesis buy your art is soul feeding how dare you (praise the lamb!)

I fucking LOVE Shamura you draw them less than others but when you do they always enter with a bang! (And important important plots thats why they be best bishop in my not at all biased opinion 😂) can't wait to see them more in your style and stories!

Also something I've noticed why Shamura being that bitch it doesn't come to me as completely unsympathetic or meant to be %100 cruel. "You refused to bow did you not" speaks volumes imho. You didn't break or fell to grief then you WON'T do it now. Both meant to sting a little and give them a chin up...at least that's how I interprited it. Will they accept it? Will he and lamb finally have the conversation about...EVERYTHING they need to have? Narinder , why everything went the way it did , the lambs , godhood... because if the bloody MS tells me Shamura didn't need them because how brilliant they are then I would DAMN well want to have them as an advisor.

Sorry for the vord vomit I love your art and you for making them!! Have a great day! ❤️❤️

(They are telling u to please work on your thesis and praise the lamb)

I dont think Shamura is necesarily evil either, mostly stating things as they are. While they are doing things out of their own interest and dont care to be kind about it, still its way better to have them as an ally me thinks. Even if its little what they can contribute in their current state its still valuable.

I appreciate the word vomit ✨✨ hope ur days good too!

#ask a bird

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fanlovedlt · 2 months

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Spoilers for today’s update!!!

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

Spoilers below!!!!

Like I cannot lie, Nevy was one of my most favorite demons in this comic morally because of how she was so compassionate towards Gil and very sweet to him. She in my opinion is the one who had the most outfit changes throughout the comic.

Like, if you were to ask me, which demon would I not mind wanting to hang out of the main four? I would choose her without a doubt, because I would just be there glancing at her and enjoying her presence even if she acts like this!

Now to get serious on why I’m talking about her, besides me fawning over her, I was looking at her outfit and the accessories that made me started to realized that her outfit is the exact same one on the image below:

She is probably trying to remember the time where, and this is by a theory from someone else not me, that her and Pedri were trying to overthrow Wrathia on the throne and this was them planning it out.

So this means that while she has a few memories coming back to her, she is still not fully recovered all of her memories because then she wouldn’t questioned why she wanted Wrathia to be dead.

So we are definitely gonna be seeing more of her past and trying to figure out what happened and how her behavior starts to change after remembering her entire lifespan.

#avas demon #praise this art❤️#ava’s demon #ava's demon #ava ire #art #artists on tumblr #Nevy Nervine #avasdemonupdate #avas demon spoilers #my favorite demon #and my favorite character #💜💜💜#💕💕💕#🩵💜

27 notes · View notes

justmediocrewriting · 4 months

Note

Hi!!! I just saw your post for requests hehehee could you do a luffy x baker!reader who is sanji’s sister?? How they meet and join his crew and how luffy is in love with the pastries she makes? c: they think she can’t fight/hold up her own but turns out she’s just really lucky in fighting situations, no strategy or strength just 100% panic and luck LOL thank you! c:

A Little Bit Of A Sweet Tooth {m.d.l}

Summary: Luffy has a major sweet tooth — Sanji’s stingy about food, but he knows someone who would be more than happy to feed him some sweets outside of allotted meal times.

Genre: fluff

Pairing: Luffy x fem!reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Requested: ✅

Warnings: minor language

A/n: I think I got a cavity just writing this shit smh. I’m so happy you sent in your request nonnie and I’m sorry it took so long ❤️ I hope you all enjoy!

{=================================}

Your tongue peeked between your lips as you focused intensely on your current task; the icing tube was gripped in your hand with just the perfect amount of force, the lines to the pattern on the cookies simply flawless, as always.

Luffy loved watching you make pastries; you were a lot similar to Sanji when you were in the zone, and your adeptness and attention to detail was rather riveting — not to mention the face you made when you were focused was truly adorable, as was the way you completely lost yourself in the art. Baking was your dream, and every delicious pastry made was simply a stepping stone on your journey (and Luffy loved tasting them and praising you about how good you did, because you would blush so prettily when he did.)

“Are they done yet?” Luffy asked, not unkindly but a bit impatiently, and the small giggle you let out went straight to his chest and wrapped around his heart like a vice. Without pausing your hands you glanced up at him, and Luffy thought his heart would burst with just how cute you looked with your hair tied into a messy bun and your cheeks spotted with bits of yellow icing.

“Not yet, Luffy. I still have to ice them and let them set.” Your voice was incredibly kind and soft, with an exasperated sort of fondness that conveyed just how many times you’d said these exact words in this exact same situation.

“How long will it take?” Luffy asked, shifting slightly in his seat. His eyes were focused on the little bit of icing still stuck to your skin, and he was feeling the overwhelming urge to wipe it off for you. Luffy’d done it many times in the past, usually following it up with a peck to whatever area of your face he’d wiped it from, and it always resulted in you becoming a fumbling, blushing mess.

At first, Sanji was furious about the prospect of you and Luffy engaging in a relationship. Like any typical older brother, he was insanely protective of you, to the point of being a tad overprotective, but with a bit of coaxing and time to adapt to the idea, he became reluctantly accepting of it.

You liked to assume he only relented because he knew there was truly no way that he’d be able to stop it, as you’d once told Luffy.

The attraction you two had had to one another was undeniable from the moment your eyes had met at Baratie; and for Luffy, that first bite of that lovely macaron you’d shyly offered him simply sealed it in stone that he was in love with you. Love at first sight and taste, Luffy liked to say.

It wasn’t just your exceptional baking skills that drew Luffy in; you were also rather adept at fighting. When Arlong and his fishmen had attacked the Baratie, you jumped in with no fear or hesitation — your weapon of choice had been the multitudes of silver ware and platters among the tables, and though your eyes were screwed shut every time you threw one, it seemed to always hit its mark. Luffy knew that you and Sanji were the exact kind of people that he wanted on his crew, so he was all too eager to invite you both. Though most of the reasons he wanted you to join were similar to Sanji’s, there were a few that definitely weren’t similar.

When both you and Sanji had agreed to join the crew, Luffy was absolutely overjoyed — at that point, you two had still been delicately swimming around each other, aware of the spark but too bashful and timid to try to fan the flame. It only took a couple of weeks and many pastry-filled twilight trysts in the galley for you two to give in to the chemistry, ultimately leading up to this point.

“Luffy, I already told you this batch would take about an hour and half. Just be patient.” You sighed, but the smile on your face told Luffy that you weren’t truly irritated with him. Luffy sniffed and slipped from the stool he was occupying to swing around the counter and stand at your side.

“Well, if it’s going to take that long, can I at least try the icing?”

You rolled your eyes and popped out a hip while setting the piping bag down delicately on the counter beside the tray of cookies. You put on your best stern face and pointed a finger at him.

“Last time I let you ‘try the icing’ I didn’t have enough left to finish the rest of the batch.” You reminded him, and Luffy simply smiled at you before slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you just a smidge closer, until there was only about an inch between your bodies. Luffy’s chest swelled at the way your cheeks colored. Luffy widened his eyes in the way you affectionally dubbed as ‘puppy dog eyes’, mostly because he knew they were nearly impossible for you to say no to, but also because he really wanted to try that icing.

By the way your eyes softened and the giant sigh you heaved, Luffy knew he’d won.

“Fine. But just a little bit. And then I expect you to let me finish the cookies, got it?” Luffy could tell you were doing your best to sound stern, but it was hard to take you seriously when you just looked so cute and sexy.

Luffy wasn’t scared to vocalize this opinion of his either, and when you sputtered and grabbed the piping bag, he wasn’t even angry when his little taste ended up being a given with a little extra all over his face.

#opla #opla luffy x reader #opla x reader #luffy x reader #one piece

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captainfern · 1 year

Note

Hello 👋 is it alright if I request an extra fluff/smut piece for Ghost? With the idea of mutual pining, playing peacocks around each other etc. My idea is something like : SO is good at either playing the guitar or singing, and we know Ghost can play the guitar so maybe SO shows off while in private with him or with the whole grp in the rec room or smth , maybe SO starts showing off and then Ghost joins in w his lil skill? idk it doesnt make a lot of logical sense but id like to think its cute...

Ps: I am absolutely going mad for your writings, they are so so good ! Thank you for sharing your art and talent with us ❤️🫰🏻

Sorry if you dont like the idea, keep safe and have a lovely day 💞

Nothing Else Matters

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

[“Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica]

[18+]

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

• summary - ghost teaches you how to play a song on the guitar. he rewards you for listening so well lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 3.8k • warnings - fem!reader, fingering, soft!ghost, HEAVY praise, a lil sprinkle sprinkle of a size kink, fluff, the mask stays on 🙏

✿ ok but i lowkey struggled writing this idek why 😭 oh well thank you for the ask anon i love this idea fr!! i changed it up a lot, but i hope it's still ok :)

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

For the past few weeks, you had been watching your lieutenant strum at his acoustic guitar after long, strenuous missions. He'd keep his mask on, ripping one skeletal glove off to change notes as his gloved hand strummed and plucked at the strings.

You'd sit across from him in the rec-room, just watching, curled up on the couch next to Gaz, who would be elatedly telling Ghost about songs he should learn on the guitar.

You'd watch his ungloved fingers; how they'd wrap around the neck of the guitar, pressing and moving around the chords. You'd watch his gloved hand; how, despite the fabric, it moved fluidly to brush a tune from the taut strings.

Ghost would hum along, too. Eyes flickering to either watch his hand movements, or stare absent-mindedly into the distance, long blond eyelashes fluttering.

One day, the taskforce returned from yet another stressful mission. Battered and bruised, the five of you wandered into the barracks with separate objectives to relax yourselves. Price disappeared into his office, Soap and Gaz to their respective rooms. That left you and Ghost to idle in the rec-room.

Ghost immediately picked up his guitar, having left it on the couch, and sat down. He drummed his fingers on the hollow body for a moment, staring at the floor. You watched him from the doorway, and he looked up, sensing your eyes on him.

You shied away under his gaze, dropping your head nervously. "Sorry, I–"

"You can watch," he said simply. "It's okay."

You smiled at him, entering the rec-room and taking a seat on the couch opposite. With his mask still on, he bit at the tips of his fingers and pulled his glove off with his teeth, dropping it beside him. He rested his ungloved hand around the neck of his guitar, rubbing his fingers along the fingerboard.

You watched the movements. He looked up at you. You felt the heat of embarrassment prickle at the back of your neck.

"You play?" He asked genuinely, nodding to his guitar.

You shook your head. "No, no. I just... I just like watching you play. You seem to really enjoy it."

He hummed, something like an mhm, but his voice was deep and, in all honesty, it distracted you.

"Helps me reduce stress," he told you, tampering with one of the pegs for a second. "Calms me down."

He then began to play. It was somewhat of a familiar tune, with gentle strumming. His fingers moved fluidly across the fingerboard, and you cocked your head as you watched, reclining further into the couch. You were still in your gear, dirty and flushed with sweat, but you were relaxed– heart calming as you listened to Ghost's song.

You really didn't want to interrupt him, but the intrigue to know the song was almost overwhelming. He clearly could sense it as, without even looking at you, or pausing the movement of his gloved hand, he said: "Nothing Else Matters."

"Metallica?"

"Mhm." The same, deep hum.

You smiled, small. His picking hand was doing most of the work as the chords thrummed together, the song drifting softly around the rec-room. You felt sleepy– like he was sending you to sleep with some sort of lullaby. But you didn't allow yourself slumber, continuing to watch as your lieutenant played.

Halfway through a chord, he stopped. He looked over at you, eyes framed by that signature black paint, and nodded down at his guitar. "You like Metallica?"

You shrugged. "I like that song. Slower. Calmer."

He nodded slowly, eyes flitting back down to his hands for a second, before he looked back up at you. "You wanna play it?"

You shook your head, sitting up. "I don't know how, lieutenant."

"I'll teach you." He said, patting the space on the couch next to him.

You were hesitant to move, fidgeting with your fingers. He was waiting patiently, a hand resting on the fraying couch cushion, the other holding his guitar to his chest.

You sighed. "Look, I haven't even gotten changed, and I probably need a shower–"

"Sit down, sergeant," he said, almost jokingly. "I've been in the military a long time. Dirt and sweat is the least of my worries."

You bit your lip, but abided. You crossed the room, sitting down beside him. He shifted his body so that you could see his hands and the guitar. You watched closely as he guided you through the different chords, teaching you the basics of where to put your fingers.

You followed his ungloved hand with curious eyes, watching the way his fingers flexed, veins in his hands shifting with each press to a string. A sliver of tattoo poked out of his sleeve, along the edge of his wrist. The sight of the ink made your heart flutter.

"Easy enough, yeah?" He concluded, and you realised that you hadn't been paying attention for the past few minutes.

"Uh, yeah." You whispered, before he placed the guitar in your lap. You wiggled to get comfortable, but the way his eyes travelled up and down the length of your sitting frame was making you uncomfortably warm.

"Alright, now start like I showed you," Ghost said, voice low. "Two fingers like– yeah, perfect– and that's Em. Then you'll move into D with– good– then quickly into C– that's it, good."

You moved your trembling fingers, spurred on by his soft praise. You could feel his body heat beside you, radiating. You swallowed thickly, concentrating on moving your hands in tandem, picking up the slow rhythm.

"Now G– yeah– then B– three fingers, there you go, that's it– now back to Em– perfect, well done."

You paused. He had to be doing that on purpose.

"You picked that up pretty well, sergeant." He said.

"I barely managed that one verse," You groaned, flexing your already aching fingers. "Moving my fingers from Em into... uh..."

"D."

"D, right. I'm struggling getting my fingers into position in time." You said, and Ghost nodded next to you, moving closer.

He put a hand on your shoulder and turned you so that your back was to him, pressing against his chest. He wrapped one arm around your side, gripping the neck of the guitar.

"Just watch my hand." He said, masked mouth so close to your ear that you wanted to whimper.

His other hand moved around you, too. He began to strum, slowly, as you watched the movement of his ungloved hand. Effortlessly, he moved between chords, and you watched how he shifted the positioning of his fingers.

"You just have to take it nice and slow," he whispered. "There's no rush. You're learning. Here, you try."

He moved his hand, but kept his gloved one in place. "I'll strum. You focus on the chords."

Well, you couldn't focus on anything with how close he was to you. But, nevertheless, you tried. You did it exactly how he showed you: carefully moving your fingers across the fingerboard, two fingers to three, from one chord to another. You did it a few times as Ghost plucked at the strings.

Each time you failed to transition smoothly between chords, he'd murmur in your ear: "almost", "nearly there", "that's okay, try it again."

When you finally nailed the transition a few times, you hid your glee as he praised you: "that's it", "there you go", "good girl."

The last praise made your fingers stutter, and you prayed he didn't notice. But after half an hour of learning the basics, you decided it was time to get some rest. So, you thanked Ghost, bid him goodnight, and headed off towards the showers, skin warm and mind buzzing.

Ghost watched you go.

Of course he noticed the way you reacted to his voice, his praise.

He had always loved the way you watched him play. Sitting next to Gaz, watching on so intrigued, big eyes following each languid movement of his hands. He liked looking up and catching you staring, only for you to look elsewhere– at your hands, the floor. He liked seeing you nervous.

Ghost especially liked teaching you how to play. Who wouldn't?

Watching the way your brows lightly furrowed as you concentrated, how your hands, so much smaller than his, wrapped around the neck of the guitar and pressed down on the fingerboard. He'd observe the way you bit your lip when you had to focus particularly hard: changing chords, for one thing.

Then, when he pressed you to him, the warmth of your body– even through your military gear– was astounding. He could feel your breathing against his chest, hear the way you sighed through your nose when you got a chord wrong. He really loved when he spoke, close to your ear, and your body tensed for just a second. A second that made Ghost thankful for the thick material of his cargo pants.

He'd always had this juvenile crush on his sergeant. He whittled it down to being a man working with an attractive woman in an adrenaline-fuelled environment. Nothing more.

But having you so close to him, letting him teach you and speak softly in your ear, made him realise that–

"Fucking hell..." Ghost grumbled, placing the guitar to the side and running a hand down his face.

Thinking of you, he could already feel the blood in his body begin to head southward. He stood up, realising that it was time for bed.

And probably a cold shower.

•º•

The next couple of weeks, something in the air between you and your lieutenant had changed.

Maybe you were imagining things, maybe you weren't. But your interactions with your superior had shifted and you wondered if anyone else noticed it too.

Ghost had been continuing to teach you how to play. He was adamant for you to complete the entire song, and every couple of days, he would invite you back into the rec-room and pick up where you left off. You were getting the hang of it, actually.

But other mannerisms of his changed, also. He was gentler with you, spoke quieter, ensured you were okay more often. His orders to Soap and Gaz were abrupt, loud. His orders to you were quieter, less of a shout, usually paired with a gentle squeeze of your shoulder.

He'd pop his head into your room, asking how you were. You would tell him that you're fine. He would reply skeptically, "let me know if you need anything, okay?"

It all seemed confusing. This big, hulking figure of a man with a skull-face balaclava treating you like some kind of porcelain doll. But, you weren't complaining, and Ghost noticed that.

He'd have to be blind not to take notice.

Your pretty smile when you thanked him for something. Your sparkling gaze when you looked up at him. Your subconscious efforts to get closer to him– sitting beside him at briefings, pairing up with him on a mission, asking him for help when you needed it.

Ghost was basking in your presence and enjoying every second of it.

So when another guitar lesson came around, Ghost was eager to see how well you were doing. He was impressed by how fast you had picked it up, smiling when you managed a near perfect run-through of the song a couple of nights ago. Thank fuck for the mask, he thought.

"I think I've almost got it." You beamed, flopping down beside him on the couch.

He smiled under his mask, handing you his guitar. "You think?"

You nodded excitedly, positioning yourself so you were facing him. He watched as you began to play, the tune slower than he played it, but still good. Meanwhile, you were burning up on the inside– the way he was watching you play making you flush. You knew he wasn't even looking at the movement of your hands. He was looking at your face, your expressions. You screwed your eyes shut, losing focus and messing up the chord transition. You cursed under your breath.

"Still having trouble with the Em to D, huh?" Ghost asked, cocking his head to the side and resting his hands on his knees.

The transition was difficult, but you had been practising. The reason you had messed up was because your lieutenant was looking at you like that–

Soft eyes, long lashes, semi-lowered eyelids, smudges of black paint, gloved hands on his knees, large thighs pressed to the couch.

Oh my God, you thought.

Ghost chuckled lowly, as if he could hear your thoughts. That scared the shit out of you, but when he shifted his position, taking the guitar from you, you sighed, relieved.

"I'll run you through it one more time," he said, proceeding to show you the smooth, seamless transition of his fingers. You looked on, attempting to be subtle as you pressed your thighs together, warmth gathering. What the hell. "Think you can manage that?" He asked.

You hesitated to nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

Ghost followed the movement for a split second, snapping his gaze back to your eyes as you opened your mouth to speak.

"Could you... could you help me?"

"'Course," he said quickly, shuffling back on the couch and spreading his thighs. You moved between them, sitting with your back to his chest. Comfortable, as he placed the guitar on your lap and urged you to take hold. He covered your hands with his. "Two fingers to three, sergeant. Easy does it."

He guided you through it.

You were successful in each movement of your fingers.

"There you go, good girl. You've got it, haven't you?" Ghost said in your ear as you strummed, continuing through the verses.

You played for him, still perched between the mass of his thighs, his broad chest moving against your back as he breathed. He had moved his hands away from yours. They rested on your waist, holding you lightly as you played. His thumbs soon rubbed circles in time with your plucking, right on the curve of your hips. Only now did you realise he had taken off both of his gloves.

Tentatively, his hands moved around your hips, then waist to your stomach. He pushed you, carefully, further against his chest as he tucked his head onto your shoulder. You sighed through your nose, trying not to whine as you progressed through Nothing Else Matters.

"Doing so good, sergeant. So good," he whispered, hands splayed warmly across the shape of your tummy. His breath was warm against your neck, your ear, even through his mask. You shuddered against him, but didn't lose your concentration. "You like me teaching you things, hm?"

You allowed yourself a small whine, followed by a nod. He huffed a quiet laugh against your shoulder, sliding his hands back to your hips. He grabbed onto you, pulling your backside flush to his pelvis, making you gasp. Your fingers stopped.

"Keep playing, baby," he cooed into your ear, voice thick and rich with praise and lust. You obeyed, picking up where you left off. He circled your hips with his fingers, before allowing them to slide back to your front, sitting on the buckle of your belt. "If you don't want–"

You cut him off. "Keep going."

He didn't say anything, but he popped your belt open as you resumed playing. He kept his head on your shoulder, watching your hands move as he unzipped your cargos and peeled them open. He slid one hand inside, cupping the front of you over your underwear. He waited and, when you said nothing, he slipped two fingers inside and dragged them towards your heat.

When his digits made contact with your wet core, both of you whined. You stopped, letting your fingers rest against the strings as he trailed his fingers up and down your slit a few times, sliding between the heat of your folds.

"So wet..." He drawled, two fingers snagging your dripping entrance, circling it. You arched against him, song long forgotten. You whined softly into the sudden quietness of the rec-room, and Ghost nuzzled his masked face into the crook of your neck.

"Come on, baby. Keep playing for me," he said, urging you to continue with a pause of his movements. With shaking fingers and a desperate sigh, you started again, rec-room no longer quiet. As you did that, he brought his fingers to your entrance and carefully pushed them inside.

You whined, missing a couple of chords. "Lieutenant–"

"Shh, baby, I know, you're doing so well," Ghost hushed, gently flexing his fingers inside you. "Just want you to finish the song, okay? You can do that for me, baby, I know you can."

Damn it.

Desperately ignoring his thick fingers inside you, you continued. You had just a couple more verses to go, but the fact you could hear your lieutenant huffing softly behind you wasn't doing you any favours.

"So good... so good..." He was muttering to himself, kissing the junction of your neck and shoulder through his mask. His fingers had a slow, but steady pace. He could feel droplets of your arousal running between the grooves of his knuckles. This made him even more hard– painfully so– in the confines of his thick cargos.

With one verse to go, you felt Ghost drag his other hand from your hip to your underwear. He dipped inside, running a finger up and down your folds to collect your arousal as his other hand worked your cunt. He moved his finger, callouses soaked, to your clit and pressed firmly. You keened, arching against him as he rubbed steady circles across the bundle of nerves. Your fingers were trembling against the guitar, warmth spreading rapidly through your body.

"That's it, almost there," Ghost muttered, and you weren't exactly sure if he was referring to the song or your climax. "Sounds so good, baby." Again, the song, or your noises of pleasure? You were surrounded in a muddled daze of him, and you were loving it.

When you completed the song, you were quick to discard the guitar onto the other end of the couch, leaning back against Ghost as he trapped you between his thighs, hands moving against you simultaneously. You released a breathy moan, and then felt the finger on your clit depart. It made home on your mouth, blocking your noises as Ghost fucked his fingers into your needy hole.

"Nice and quiet, sergeant. There you go..." Ghost said, hand on your mouth delicate as he cupped your face.

Your orgasm was approaching rapidly as you screwed your eyes shut, revelling in Ghost's presence behind you, and his fingers pumping into you. You were wet and aching for him, the pressure in your belly building with each timed thrust. His fingers dragged against your walls, rough yet gentle at the same time.

"Been such a good girl, listening to me," he whispered, fingers stroking your cheek as he muffled your mewls. "Think you can cum for me? Think you can cum 'round my fingers?"

You hummed against his hand, hips meeting the movements of his fingers. You were whimpering from the back of your throat continuously as the orgasm spread throughout your body, bubbling through your nerves as he ushered you closer and closer.

"Let go, baby, know you can," Ghost nudged the shape of his nose against your ear as he spoke, fingers to the knuckle inside you, and you whined out desperately. You came with a shunt and a shiver, cunt spasming around his fingers as you sobbed into the palm of his hand. "Atta girl, there you are. So good, baby. So good." He praised you, working you through the ripples of your orgasm.

You were breathing heavily against his hand when he retracted his other from your underwear. Carefully, he pulled his hand away from your mouth, too, stroking your face gently as you leaned back into him. He placed a couple of kissed on the angle of your jaw.

You could feel the hard imprint of his cock against the curve of your arse. You moved backwards, grinding against it, feeling his body stiffen behind you. He exhaled, letting a low fuck slip out of his mouth.

"Want you..." You whimpered, underwear cool and wet against your core, your blood pumping hot through your veins.

Once more, he placed kisses along your jaw and neck through the soft material of his balaclava. You turned your head to allow him better access, relishing in the warmth of his mouth ghosting across your sensitive skin.

"Not tonight," he muttered, and it sounded strained: as if he really, really wanted to. He continued to hold your hips, pressing you into him, keeping you secure on his lap. "You've been so good already, but not tonight. I think you need a bit more practise... maybe tomorrow I can give you another lesson."

You were nodding eagerly before he even finished the rest of his sentence.

•º•

The next day, you were sitting cross-legged on the couch, playing the guitar in the rec-room. The rest of the 141 had gathered, listening to you play a perfect rendition of Metallica's Nothing Else Matters.

After the final verse, Price, Soap and Gaz applauded you. You beamed, resting the guitar on your lap and thanking them. They noticed how hard you practised to learn the tune, and barraged you with a stream of compliments. After a little while, they left, leaving you in the rec-room with Ghost: sitting on the opposite couch, arm stretched across the back, watching you with glimmering eyes.

"You're amazing at that." He said, and you smiled nervously.

"I had an amazing teacher."

He scoffed, still looking at you dotingly. "Sure, but it was all you, pretty girl. The rest of the boys thought you did great."

You averted your eyes, suddenly bashful. When you looked back at him, his head was slightly cocked, analysing your expression. You mimicked the tilt of his head, and you knew then that he was smiling beneath his mask.

"I... I'd like to learn another song, if that's all right with you." You said, drumming your fingers lightly on the sleek wood of the guitar.

"Oh yeah?" He reclined on the couch, shifting his hips. You tried really hard to ignore the movement. "What song're you thinking of?"

You shrugged, biting your lip to hide a smile. "You can choose."

He stared at you for a moment, and you picked up the minuscule movement of his mask. He was smiling like an idiot beneath that stupid mask.

Then, he widened his legs, spreading them further. He pat one of his thighs, a couple of smacks to the solid muscle. "Come on then, pretty girl. I have a couple'a songs in mind."

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#captainfern #call of duty #fem reader #call of duty mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost x f!reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod #cod smut #captainfernsalutes #captain’smetallica

792 notes · View notes

luvyeni · 1 year

Note

Could you do hyunjin x thick curvy reader 🥴❤️

( hyunjin is straight up an ass man in this one and I’m here for it all 🤌🏽 ) love ya! ❤️❤️

DISTRACTED; HWANG HYUNJIN

pairings. artist!hyunjin x thick!reader

wc. 1.2k (this was supposed to be 300, 400 maybe)

warnings. praise kink, oral (f receiving), doggystyle, dirty talk

Hyunjin wanted to paint you, but when you walk out in his button up... he gets a bit distracted.

i do in fact believe hyunjin is 100% a ass typa man 👌🏼!

—

When felix introduced you to him, he was obsessed, all he wanted to was paint you.

Your soft features so sweet and kind and your body— boobs that he could tell just by looking at were soft to the touch, little belly that would poke out so cutely and plush thighs and ass, you were a mix of cute and sexy.

God he was loosing his mind, he needed to paint you...

He needed you...

He begged felix to ask you to be a model for his newest art work, and much to his excitement you said yes.

He couldn't wait.

You walked up to hyunjin's apartment door, nervous to knock on the door.

"Just knock the door." your bestfriends voice spoke through the phone.

"Felix, i'm scared." you weren't scared of hyunjin himself, you were scared of how you acted around him, like a high school girl nervously talking to her crush.

"You know he finds you attractive right? he's been waiting for this day for the past week, just knock on the damn door, before i call him and tell him your standing outside his door like a psycho." and with that he hung up.

"So rude." you sighed, slowly putting your hand up to the door, about to knock, but the door opened.

"oh." you jumped back, startled and he grabbed your arm stopping you from falling. "You okay?" His smile like honey.

"Y-yes."

"Felix told me you were out here, and you were nervous about coming in." you swore felix hated you sometimes.

"I-i'm not nervous." he smiled, moving back so you could come in. "I won't bite, you can come in." You slowly walked into the apartment, taking your shoes off.

"Do you want something to drink, before we get started?" His eyes grazed over your body, as he made his way into room, sitting in the seat across from you.

"No, im fine thank you." He smiled , he could tell you were nervous, you could barely keep eye contact with him.

He thought you were so cute.

"＿＿, why are you so nervous?" He stood up, sitting closer to you. "No." You quickly said, and he smiled again. "Did felix tell you what the project was?" His eyes traveled down your body.

It was a nude painting, yes you were aware what it was. You weren't necessarily insecure about your body, but being nude in front hyunjin made your heart fall to your ass.

"Y-yeah."

"Before we continue, I need you to verbally say you want this, i want this to be a safe space for you." You could tell he was serious. "I-i want this, i swear im fine."

"Good girl." and just like that, he was back to making you feel like a giddy school girl. "You can go get ready in my room while I set up everything."

He was so excited, he was finally getting to paint the girl that captivated his mind for the past few months, he had the entire thing planned out in his head.

"I didn't want to come out fully naked, and i didn't bring a towel, i hope you don't mind that i took a shirt from you."

"That's fin-" he was speechless...

You were wearing his button up from the other night—and you weren't wearing anything underneath it.

His cock began to hardened in his pants, two buttons, buttoned right under your boobs so it covered everything... god he wished it didn't.

He couldn't wait, he needed you now.

"＿＿." His voice deepening, sending shivers down your spine. "You look so fucking good." He eyed your entire body up an down.

The way he was looking at you, like he wanted to pounce on you right then and there.

"H-hyunjin." He couldn't help it, it's like his body was moving on his own, and before you could react, his lips we're on yours.

"Princess what are you doing to me? why am i so addicted to you." He kissed your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"W-what d-do you mean?" He groaned at your cluelessness, it was so cute.

"I can't get you off my mind, your pretty face, how cute you are when you get nervous around me- fuck your beautiful body, and i thought i'd be able to control myself around you like this, but seeing you in my shirt, i can't stand it, i need to fuck you."

you moaned as he grabbed your tit through the shirt, running his finger over your nipple. "Such pretty tits, i knew they'd be soft, i want to fuck these next time." hyunjin knew this wasn't gonna be the last time.

"Hyunjin, p-please do s-something." He backed you up, until you could feel the couch hit the back of your knees.

"Lay down, ass up." He took his clothes off, throwing them somewhere, tugging at his cock at the sight of your body as you got into position.

"such a nice ass." He spread your cheeks, mouth watering at the slick that coated your plush thighs. "Fuck, so wet princess, i got you really worked up huh?"

"Hyunjin!" You let out a pornographic moan as he licked a stripe up your slit. "I knew it." He began to eat you like a starved man.

The lewd noises he was making, turned you both on.

"oh my god!" you squealed as he rubbed your clit as tongue prodding at your hole. "fuck! hyunjin, im gonna cum, please i'm gonna cum." tears wielding in your eyes.

"go ahead, cum on my tongue for me."

His words alone sent you straight over the edge, your thighs shaking as you came.

"Good girl, so sweet." he lifted your half spent body up, kissing you, his plump lips wet from spit and your essence.

You turned back around, and he grabbed your hip, pushing his hardening cock against your ass. "you feel that love? that's how hard you make me." he grabbed his cock, rubbing it against you.

"P-please f-fuck me." you wiggled your hip. "so eager" he positioned his tip at your entrance, groaning as he stretched you out, both of you moaning in pleasure.

"So fucking tight, you're barely letting me in." you whined, fucking yourself down on him. "Your ass if fucking perfect." He slapped your ass, watching it juggle.

"hyunjin, shit!" you screamed as he began to pound in and out of you. "such a cute face, who knew you were such a freak, but you're fucking yourself on me."

"fuck, if you keep clenching around me like this, im gonna cum inside your pussy, do you want me to do that? hmm, fill this pretty pussy up?" You could barely form any words as he fucked into you as rough fast pace.

"H-hyune, i'm-i'm gonna cum." He reach over kissing your neck as his hand reached in between your legs, rubbing your clit.

"Me too- fuck!- cum." You let out a scream as you came, body falling limp on the couch.

"fuck!" He pulled out jerking off releasing on your back. "Shit."

"You okay princess?" you nodded breathless. "I'm fine."

"Don't move let me get something so we can get you cleaned up." He put his clothes back on, letting you rest while he cleaned you up.

While he cleaned you up, he couldn't help but take in your fucked out state, eyes still glossed over, laying on your stomach, ass poking out a little under his shirt...

absolutely beautiful, he had to paint this, this was his new project. "Wait princess don't move."

"Huh?" you questioned. "Why not." You watched him get up. "I want this to be my painting."

"I want to paint you just like this."

©️LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #stray kids smut #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #skz smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #hyunjin smut #hyunjin hard thoughts #hyunjin hard hours #skz x reader

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masarrysversion · 11 months

Text

daylight

summary: love story of sir lewis hamilton x singer-songwriter!reader

inspiration: madame taylor swift’s discography. her new songs “you’re losing me” // her old songs

author’s note: this is my very first social media au ♡ must admit that I’m not satisfied with it and the end was rushed :/ taylor swift released a new song “you’re losing me” and I’ve seen many parallels with her old songs so I wanted to make an AU but with a different timeline than TS’s real timeline

face claim: chloe bailey

SEPTEMBER

yourusername

Liked by zendaya and 5 345 851 others

yourusername Surprise!!

Out NOW the new version of my album called Midnights (The Til Dawn Edition) 💙

This edition has a never before heard track called “You’re Losing Me” and it is the official third single from Midnights!!! (Link in bio)

View all 32 377 comments

ynfan IM BAWLING THE SONG IS HEARTBREAKING

loveyn if you have ever been in a relationship that slowly died in front of you while you tried everything to save it but they acted like nothing was wrong, don’t listen to “you’re losing me” you’ll be agonising

midnightslover “I wouldn’t marry me either” anyone would be lucky to marry you, Y/N 😢

user1 you deserve someone who considers you and praises you for existing

yourusername

Liked by elliegoulding, lewishamilton and 3 465 834 others

yourusername THANK YOU SO MUCH, @brits 💖 I can’t believe ‘You’re Losing Me’ won International Song. This song means SO much to me!! The brit is already safe and warm on a shelf at home. What a magical night and what an honour to have been presented this award by two people I highly respect and admire, @elliegoulding & @lewishamilton 🙏

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lewishamilton 💜😍

Liked by yourusername

lewis44ham well... it sure is a normal way to answer an artist you’ve just met... 👀

LHmercfan @lewis44ham Lewis has always been nice like that with everyone lol. It doesn’t mean anything!

ynlover u deserve it so much!!

user47 you transforming your heartbreak into art and getting recognition for it just makes me happy

NOVEMBER

enews

45 295 likes

enews DATING RUMORS ALERT 🚨 Sir Lewis Hamilton and Y/N were spotted entering a building in Manhattan's Greenwich Village.

It seems like Y/N has made Cornelia Street her temporary abode for a few weeks now as her Tribeca property is undergoing a renovation.

View all 3410 comments

lavendrshaze NO WAY NO WAY NO WAY

lewissnation They’re not just rumors imo. They have been interacting so much on social media lately!

formulamilton true lmao. and no wonder lewis has posted so many thrist traps since september 🤔

MARCH

JULY

yourusername

Liked by lewishamilton and 8 416 478 others

yourusername Hi loves, my brand new album ‘wholeheartedly’ will be out this friday. Hope you’ll like it as much as I loved creating it ♡

Comments on this post have been limited.

1 YEAR LATER

lewishamilton

Liked by yourusername and 23 456 120 others

lewishamilton Y/N Hamilton, I would marry you endlessly.

You’re way better than a dream. 🤤

I always knew I was a lucky man but when I met you, I understood that I was the luckiest man ever. Fighting and hardwork have always be in my DNA and yet, fighting for your love and happiness everyday is like no other fights I experienced. It still is my best fight to this day. I will never stop working hard to be worthy of your love and consideration. I thought I had everything until you swept me off my feet at the Brits and finally made me complete that night.

I love you. Thank you for making me and Roscoe your family, @username 😍❤️

Ps: I never thought I would have love songs written about me. In complete awe of your talent 😳

View all 364 924 comments

yourusername You and Roscoe are the loves of my life. I’m the one who is thankful for you, for having found the perfect human being. I have so much love, respect and admiration for you that it is unimaginable. I love you with all of my heart 💜

189 989 likes

#lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #social media au #i apologise for any grammar mistakes i'm french :)#so nerve wrecking to post your writing omg #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fanfiction #f1 fanfic #mw

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