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a-stick-of-usnea · 10 months ago

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NO FUCKING WAYYY!!! My favorite author found my memes funny AND posted new (might I add, fucking hilarious btw) memes of her fic!!! I'm giggling so hard at my phone rn!

Also, don't worry! My ass got shadowbanned by Tumblr for the past month, so I had no idea I was basically shouting into the void with my posts. Luckily, the issue was resolved last week, so now my posts are showing up.

Anyway! I loved part 3 and please continue to make more memes! I cackled at the text message meme btw<333

A/N: part two is finally done! sorry for the long wait <3. Part one if you haven't seen this before. still accepting name suggestions for this fic btw

Tags: König X reader, horror-ish, supernatural elements, Possessive!König, slow burn, some negative self talk, reader is morally grey, anxiety, hurt/comfort,König being strange, eventual smut dw, let me know if I need to add anything!

Your back was aching.

You had never thought much about your posture- or anything about yourself for that matter- for what felt like years. Especially since taking on your new calling. But now, sat in a coffee shop fiddling around on your laptop pretending to care about the words you’re typing for the chore you call a job, your posture was all you could think off. Your newfound obsession with appearing like a well-adjusted woman was motivated primarily by one undeniable fact.

You were being watched.

And it was making you sick.

The bile, the same bitter, heavy taste has coated your tongue for the better part of two days now, painting a permanent grimace on your face. you have never been the type to get sick easily, and your health has only gotten better and more stable with your constant offerings, a gift you should have been more grateful for. Since the ritual with König, your health has taken blow after blow, from restless nights to stomach pains, to the fatigue you feel dragging at your eye lids. you feel weighed down, the same way you did when a teacher stood over your shoulder as you solved a test. The way anxiety bubbled in your chest despite you not doing anything wrong, like the way you held a pen was enough to incriminate you. the feeling of an overseer clinging to your back and scrutinizing every action followed you from your work to your home to the café you’re sitting in, making you hyperaware of the minute ways your body moves and how its positioned, your back being the focus of your scrutiny at the moment.

You cannot figure out why this happened, why your god, who you have served with diligence and reverence, would turn on you like this. Nothing about the story you collected from him was inadequate or inappreciable, it certainly was not the blood bath you expected but the gore was never the primary temptation of your god. Was it…?

You stop that train of thought in its tracks, of course it wasn’t, if it was then you would just…KNOW that. You would have been led towards bloodier tributes.

You subconsciously clench your jaw as you remember your last attempt at a ritual after König, a sloppy, embarrassing ordeal. You had just left work in a such a jittery state of mind that you walked up to the first odd person you saw, hoping to gain some favor to offset this bout of dissatisfaction with your work. You spent at least two hours listening to the gruel of nonsense this random, overly touchy stranger spewed at you, something about going to a haunted mansion and almost getting lost while trying to walk his dog, but then escaping because of fairy lights or some other gobbledygook that you were too angry at yourself to even remember. He was not worthy of tribute, and you were even more acutely aware of that once you felt the hairs in the back of your neck stand on end. That same icy chill running through your blood stream reminding you again of how far you dropped from your self-imposed pedestal. You were being watched. And it seemed your god decided to punish you farther by giving you the awareness that he was watching.

The realization that hit you then and there feels physical, the way it knocks the wind out of your lungs and makes your chest constrict. You realize that he wasn’t an unworthy tribute, He was your replacement.

You tilt your head back and blink away tears, a profound sense of inadequacy washing over you. A military man would have access to tributes you could never hope to encounter, not just to collect, but to bear witness to them first hand. Of course, your god chose him over you. He was a man molded by the horrors he’d seen, whereas you were just a nosy office worker with a passion, to compare you two was laughable.

You close your laptop, finally abandoning the façade of a proper, normal, and sight worthy human. You hold your face in your hands, digging into your scalp with your nails, hoping to get some relief for the internal writhing of your heart only to realize you were mimicking the soldiers self-soothing methods. God, even in his lowest moments he was better than you.

You lie your head down on the table, cushioned by your forearms, and allow yourself a few shuddering breaths. The exhaustion of being watched and the emotional toll of abandonment finally grounding the last of your resolve to dust as your lids finally shut.

You dream, it is unusual.

the dreams of a witness are an act of worship. You are given a chance to meditate, to behold the rituals once again in their most sacred form. You wander and supplicate to your god to lead you to the chosen alter. Some are reoccurring, the dark woods housing thousands of tributes and their tormentors. In all those dreams, you are phantasmal, you lay down the burden of flesh and blood, and become what you were always destined to be, a watcher.

This time, however, you take in air and feel your lungs expand, your extremities twitch and fiddle with nothing as you survey your surroundings, a familiar, dilapidated corridor that made your head feel foggy. The repeating patterns seem more daunting now, stretching far above your head like redwoods. You take in the scene, the weary load of your body trembling in uncertainty. You knew this was an alter to the lonely, the soldier being the tribute, you should be able to see him, or feel him at least, yet he is nowhere to be found.

The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel your heart beat faster. You turn around and you’re met with the sight of the soldier, his hulking frame seems to fill out the corridor, his face obscured by a dark hood but his piercing eyes are trained onto you.

He’s glaring at you from the end of the corridor, your heart beats faster with every second that passes, it leaps to your throat as he starts to move, never taking his eyes off you. Without much thought, you turn bolt down the never-ending passageway, the unchanging pattern disorient you, making you feel like you have made no progress despite your burning lungs telling you otherwise. You don’t risk turning to see him, but the loud, thundering footsteps alert you to how close he is. Fear drove your every step, feeling like a panicked animal escaping the gnashing of teeth.

You shut your eyes tight, the sound of his huffing breath behind you. The adrenaline that coursed through your veins made your steps sloppy and uncoordinated as your breath came in short gasps. A ghostly touch of his fingers on the nape of your neck made you stumble and you fall forward, an arm wrapped around your neck is all you feel before your world goes dark.

Your eyes flutter open, you were more exhausted than you’ve ever been. But there is something else, the weight of being watching pinning you down. It was different this time, feeling warmer, the warmth of a thrumming body close to you.

you really should have been more surprised when you see König sitting in front of you, smiling the way you would watching a cat stretch after a nap in the sun.

“Gut geschlafen?” he asks slowly, earning a hoarse ‘huh?’ in return. He huffs a laugh, looking at you too fondly for a man you have had one conversation with.

“Guten Morgen Dornröschen” he says again, his voice taking an even gentler lilt that makes you feel stupid.

“…Morgen” you say, sounding as stupid as you feel. He chuckles at you, raising his knuckles to his mouth as he does, he clenches his fist like he is trying to resist the urge to squeeze your face.

“You were better the last time we met” he grabs a coffee cup and brings it to his lips, raising his brow at you playfully “Getting rusty hm?”

And the flood gates open, you press your lips together as your chest tightens. the tears you were holding back begin to fall freely with every hiccupping sob. It’s not fair. Having all your hard work and earnest worship thrown back in your face like that was too much. even if he didn’t realize it, He had driven a dagger through your chest and twisted it.

You barely register the horrified look on his face, as he was at your side in an instant, sitting next to you on the couch and wrapping his arm around you. Once again, an action far too intimate for your liking.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you” he said, sounding panicked “it’s a difficult language, I shouldn’t have teased you about it, fuck even I forget things sometimes- no one really uses it anyway so it’s okay-”

You shake your head and fan yourself, trying to quell down the humiliation you just brought upon yourself.

“No, I-I’m fine It’s just that-everything is a lot right now and..” your hiccupping form is pressed even tighter against him. His warm hand rubbing circles on your back. The action makes you feel strangely guilty, your unwarranted outburst was degrading as is, but having König blame his harmless quip on it was worse. You were so use to being the shoulder people cry on, you had always assumed having someone comfort you would be well…comforting. Instead, all you feel is white hot shame, like you were burdensome and annoyingly fragile. The confidence your role as a witness gave you had by now evaporated into less than nothing. You felt so small, and having the giant- your replacement, hold you like a sniveling child throwing a tantrum was more than you could handle.

You aren’t sure when the hand on your back moved to the base of your neck, nor when he tucked you under his chin, breathing deep and slow. You untangle yourself from his embrace to grab a tissue, the stain of tears and make up on his shirt making you wince. When you reach for the tissues on the table you notice two cups, you assumed König had ordered one of them but the second one confused you. Noticing your furrowed brow, he decided to enlighten you, pushing the second cup towards you.

“I hope it’s not too cold, I wasn’t sure what you liked so…” he trails off awkwardly as you hold the disposable cup to your lips. Mocha, still warm. The corner of your mouth quirk up slightly.

“You like chocolate, no?” he said, lapping up every ounce of perceived affection from you. You nod, only after your second gulp do you realize that just accepting a mysterious drink from a man you have just met is not the smartest idea, you blame your sleep addled brain for not asking this question sooner.

“Why are you here?”

His smile faded a bit as he cleared his throat, he seemed to expect some praise for his intuitive choice in coffee.

“You were sleeping, someone could have taken your things. You really should be careful, are you sleeping well?” you stopped to consider how you were feeling and how to tell him why you’re behaving this way without risking a trip to the psych ward.

“I’m…fine, was just tired.”

He nods, his large hand still rubbing your back. “You need to sleep more, you don’t look so well, you are not eating properly, are you?”

Rude. And accurate. You could barely eat these past few days, the constant fatigue and aching making any kind of food preparation impossible.

“I could make you something if you want” he says with eyes that seem to twinkle at the thought of taking care of you. you nod absentmindedly and he grins, standing and telling you to come over to his apartment so he could cook you a proper meal. You find yourself following him despite the blaring alarm in your head warning you about going home with a strange man, but the promise of a home-cooked meal is too irresistible for the mere threat of death to dissuade you.

he was holding up the majority of the conversation on the way to the apartment, ranging from topics like his life in Austria, his mother’s recipes, the mundane tasks in his work, to -bizarrely and in a way that seemed almost forced- his love life. he shares a few snippets of his past relationships, both humorous and sad. The conversation veered into romantic partners and he threw out a number that made you stop in your tracks.

“that’s not true” you said, smiling at how stiff his back got. His eyes dart around for a second before he raises a hand to sheepishly rub the back of his neck.

“Well, if you round up, I suppose”

You chuckle as you sip the rest of your now lukewarm mocha, what a strangely adorable man, it’s hard to believe how terrified of him you were when he wasn’t around. you strongly suspect that he only started the conversation to get a gauge on your situation and how available you are, which confused you, surely, he knew by now that he could draw whatever information he needed out of you without the need to use an awkward segue. You stare up at him, the pulse on his neck quickening under your gaze.

“Can I ask you something? About your work?” his brow quirks at that, for the first time since being in the café, he’s put his guard up. You don’t need to dive into his mind to know why, the last time you asked about his work ended with him having a meltdown. He nods, his jaw clenching slightly. You rotate the cup in your hands before you ask.

“Do you interrogate people?”

He smirks with a new found air of confidence, the view almost makes you stumble. His eyes in the natural sunlight are bright and warm, you just notice the slightest hint of green around his pupil.

“Ja, I can make anyone talk”

If he wasn’t standing on the road side you might have flung yourself into traffic. There it is, the reason you were losing it and the confirmation of your fear. He was going to be able to draw out the most exquisite of tributes to offer, while you still bitterly reminisce on fairy lights dog walker guy.

“Why ask?”

“Ah, it’s a bit silly now that I think about it” you look down to give yourself time to think of an excuse, you latch on to the first one you think of “I suppose I wanted to know how accurate it is in the movies”

A good choice it seems, since König launches into another monologue, sparing you of the stress of coming up with conversation topics by diving headfirst into another rant about war movies and their many inaccuracies.

In the comfort of his barren apartment, König had his back turned to you as you munch away on a salad that he had prepared for you. it was hastily made and not particularly pretty, but it tasted good and gave you something to do while he worked on a proper meal for you. it was a comfortable silence that you shared, one that allowed you a moment to really examine yourself.

You start by examining your body, trying to find the fatigue that was plaguing you. like a tongue swiping over every tooth, seeking a cavity and finding nothing. Since you saw König, you felt calmer, the anxiety and pain that sluggishly pushed through your veins all day seemed to fade. You have never fully known what it is like to be the tribute in a ritual, which hurt you, the pursuit of knowledge that would feed your divine was an artform, and having an avenue remain unexplored felt…wrong. Like making the most amateur mistake in front of an authority figure, you felt weak, dumb, and so utterly unworthy of your many blessings. Perhaps you should be thankful, because having this experience makes you feel more entuned with your previous rituals, an added layer of knowledge you can call upon.

The sound of fingers snapping next to your ear makes you jump, you turn around and crane your neck to see König standing behind you, a plate of held in his hand. He leans in to place the plate on the table in front of you. “What are you thinking about?” he rumbles behind you, his face closer than it needs to be. you shrug as he grabs a plate of his own food, an even messier version of your plate. “Something at work bothering you?” he tries again, shoveling some food into his mouth.

You shrug and begin to pick at your plate. He stares at you through out, an uncomfortable habit of his, only looking away to shovel more food into his mouth. It is a very comfortable and soothing scene, sharing a few mundane comments about work or life in between tasty (if somewhat under seasoned) bites of food.

The doorbell rings just as you finish your last bite. König stands to answer and you take a last sip of water before you start to tidy up the space, moving the plates and cutleries to the sink as a small thank you for the meal. He comes back with a large bag full of groceries, grinning wide at seeing the kitchen counter clean thanks to you.

“Thank you, that was wonderful” you say with a genuine smile, reaching for your laptop bag and purse. “I do have to go now, I’ve put off my work for too long now, plus I’m sure you have some work to do yourself” you gesture to the plastic bag in his hand.

“Ah no, this is yours”

…

“What?”

“I ordered some groceries for you, things you can prepare quickly. Got some snacks also, nuts and such” he places the bag on the table, angling it towards you to examine its contents. You were too busy shuffling you’re weight from one foot to the other, sweaty hand wrapped around your thumb, tugging it subconsciously.

“that’s- yeah no that’s sweet but it’s way too much, I-I don’t know if I’m comfortable with this really”

“I’m only paying you back, Schatz”

You can’t help the exasperated laugh you give. “A few pats on the back are hardly worth a weeks’ worth of groceries”

“What you did was…so much more than that” he breathes, making you flinch slightly.

Before you could argue any further, he places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes. “You have helped me in more ways than you can imagine” his hand moves from your shoulder down to your arm, settling on your wrists. His thumb stroking circles as he continues to bore into you. “You are tired, Spatzi, so just let me help”

The look he gives you is not his own, the way his eyes soften and his brows pinch together is too exaggerated to be his own. This is a practiced tactic, though you doubt its one he picked up in his military training. Then who…

You decide to stretch out a muscle that’s been underused in the past few days and peek into his mind, delighted to see that this gift is still within your grasp. The image manifests clear as day, a woman, with greying light brown hair and a soft, fragile looking face that reminded you of mourning doves. She looks tired, it’s etched into every crease of her thin face, dark circles lining the same pretty blue eyes of the solider, the ring of forest green that haloed her pupils more pronounced than his. When she speaks, it’s with the weariness of a shackled soul.

“Bitte Bärchen…” There it is, the pleading look that feels much more natural on her, like she’s known how to beg for scraps since childhood, a mask so tailor made it seems like its stitched into the poor doves’ face. “Just be useful…” she sighs before looking away.

You’re brought back to the present when König gently squeezes your wrist, still awaiting your response. You know this is a bad idea, a few fleeting touches here and there and a single meal is one thing, but buying you groceries is a level of familiarity you have shared with no one. You’re not sure you want to share it with König either, he’s proven repeatedly that giving him an inch is a gateway to getting a mile taken.

You straighten your back and ready yourself to set up a boundary as clearly and firmly as you can, when a single thought whizzes by your head like a bullet.

‘Rude’

The whole time you’ve been around him, he’s dedicated himself to your comfort. From buying you the mocha, making you a homecooked meal, and now getting groceries, which you know you need. You understand that he’s doing this because of a misplaced sense of admiration and gratitude for you, but you can’t deny that being cherished and valued like your existence alone was a source of life fuel was addictive. If you were being truly honest with yourself, you enjoy his strange courting and affection. Would rejecting this gift lower you from the pedestal he’s put you on? Would he see you as ungrateful? Unappreciative? Rude?

With a forced exhale, you let him walk you to your apartment, grocery bag in hand. You retreat into your home, shielding yourself behind the half-closed door. He glances at the space behind you and asks if you need any help, you shake your head. With one last thank you give him a straight, plastic smile before you close the door. Prepared to slump against a wall once the door closed when he decides to speak.

“I killed him”

You freeze, the door barely opened yet you can still feel his eyes on you. hesitantly, you open the door, trying to steady your voice. “What did you say?”

“What did you hear?” he smirks and leans against your doorway, making you open the door further.

“You…Killed him?”

He lifts his hand with his palm down, shaking the sides in a ‘so-so’ gesture, head tilted with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Heh, Close, but not quite. Ich tötete ihn, it means I saw him”

“Saw who?”

“James, the man you met with by the fountain, you’re dating him, no? saw him in a bar trying to chat up some girl, awful man”

you had no memory of dating or even knowing a James, nor agreeing to meet him by any fountains. The only time you sat with someone by the fountains was after- oh

“Fairy lights?”

König scrunches his nose in a look of abject disgust, but you can taste the undertone of jealousy as well “that’s what you call him?”

“Yes-no! well I call him that in my head but we weren’t dating or anything”

“It looked like a date to me, especially with how handsy he got, Schwein” he said, crossing his arms, the pot met the kettle it seemed. You shake your head and lean against the door, your energy zapped completely.

“Why are you telling me this?” it comes out almost like a whine, and your too tired to pretend it wasn’t. his eyes widen and he places a hand on your arm, hunching down so you’re almost at eye level with him.

“I’m sorry, Liebling, I don’t mean to upset you again” he emphasizes this with a reassuring squeeze, probably worried he would make you cry again. You briefly wonder if he sees you as a fragile, sensitive creature too soft to be spoken to bluntly or if he views himself as a lumbering behemoth surrounded by glass figures, probably a mixture of the two.

“Poor thing, mistreated and neglected when you should be treasured, such a shame” he purrs, pulling you closer until you had to crane your neck uncomfortably to look up at him. A large, calloused hand cups your face, his thumb tracing your burning cheek tenderly, like he was wiping imaginary tears.

“That’s why you’re like this, ja? Your man not treating you right? I can help you…” he leans in, eyes fluttering shut as he draws your face closer. A moment of clarity hits you just as his breath ghosts over your lips and you place an arm on his chest, pushing him back gently. You expected him to look angry or disappointed, but all you get is a flushed face full of embarrassment searching your own, seeking any sign of discomfort or anger.

“I appreciate it, really I do” you grab his wrist, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “But I’m fine, really”

“I’m not stupid, Schatz. You are not fine, if it’s not your work and not…him. Then what is it? I swear I will help you”

The doves’ mask is back, that pleading look that wrings your heart and makes you ache, you mentally relent that it is an effective strategy for getting what he needs out of you. He’s right of course, and he doesn’t have to be a worshiper to know that, anyone can tell you’re struggling to hold your head above water. So, you scramble for an excuse, something to tell satiate him since you can’t tell him the truth.

Can you…?

You weigh your options; if he was chosen, and he is your replacement as you fear, then telling him now would save him time and might even grant you place as not just a worshiper, but as an apostle, you would be able to seek redemption from your sins. The risk of error here is slim, and the consequence of you being wrong would simply be that this overly clingy man simply assumes you were going through a breakdown or that you had a bad drug trip. The only thing you had to lose was a small secret you held close to your chest, to have an outsider look into the most isolated and raw part of you, a part of you buried so deep within even you don’t know what it looks like.

And so, you tell him.

You tell him of the God you serve, of the worship and rituals. You tell him of the professor and of himself, how he helped feed you and the divine terror that sustains you. yet you refrain from talking about his role, how he might be causing your unrest and sickness. it was not a conscious decision, but you wanted to shield him somehow, knowing that this was a mountain of a revelation for anyone to experience.

König clung to every word, the crease between his brow deepening as you continued. He stands unmoving, back straight and legs apart, abandoning the façade of civilian familiarity and reverting back into the soldier you knew him to be. He did not interrupt you once as you spoke, and once you were done, he scanned your face, perhaps trying to find any trace of deceit or trickery. When he found non, he dropped his gaze to the floor and exhaled, his hand reaching tentatively for the door handle.

“Be good, remember to lock the door, ja?”

And with that he shuts the door, leaving you to stew in your choices. Your back collides with the door as you slide down to sit on the floor. A throb behind your eyes alerts you of a headache, the type you get when you cry a lot. You feel hollowed, grimy, discarded. With a sigh, you weakly pull the plastic bag towards you, trying to find the chocolate bar you know he had bought for you, less sure of what you are now than you ever have been. Your mind, unhelpfully, provides a label.

‘A gutted creature’

A/N: and thats chapter two ^^ hope you guys like it, let me know what you think. reblogs and comments much appreciated. One again asking you to give The Magnus Archives a listen if you enjoy the world/concept.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

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