#harbor town au

[cupcakeshakesnake]

Some kind of important day

[trevenbran]

wrote a fanfic for for @cupcakeshakesnake 's au. it's an AU in which most of the characters are children playing an elaborate roleplaying game, and the rest are the adults in their lives. Norrington and his lieutenants are teachers, and norrington in particular tends to work at various temp jobs during school break to the shock and amazement of his students. swann is the mayor, beckett is the local branch leader of a shipping or fishing conglomerate, davy jones is, inexplicably, still a cursed squid man.

[thechaosghost]

You might be wondering, "Hey, this guy hasn't posted Lord Beckett content for a bit." Well wonder no more, today I shall be posting headcannons for my favorite PotC AU: Harbor Town by @cupcakeshakesnake!

Beckett most likely learned how to sew and crochet from Jane (Cause Cannon Jane sewed and crochet and knit so I assume Harbor Town Jane did too) when he was a kid and now he will do it sometimes, but not as much (mainly when he's in a hospital for one of his many health problems)

He is a god at Geogussr, with a premium account and everything, no explanation needed

As a child he also did that thing where he would choose a random person he really enjoyed and would say they are his crush because if I know anything that is like a Cannon Event for AroAce people

He totally was a theater kid, now that one is a bit more far-fetched, but just trust me

[insertinterestingusernamehere]

What Is Life Without Action?

Fanfic based on the Harbour Town AU by @cupcakeshakesnake !

A.N. : So I discovered the AU a couple days ago and I was obsessed- It’s a gem to all of humankind, and I love the art ahahah- So this also gave me a few ideas for a new fic? Because I was like : ah yes time to write a wholesome fic for once... 

For the record, Theodore Groves is an overly enthusiastic and chill Science teacher because I just... that just fit the vibe- Gillete would be like the English teacher who just needs people to hand up work.. And I am convinced James Norrington is an animal person- these were just the couple of stuff I came up with, and my interpretation of how OST went in the AU... @cupcakeshakesnake I hope that’s alright haha- Well then, on with the story!

-----------------------

Summary : James gets outplayed by Theo... or does he?

Working as a teacher and minding a whole class of children was bad enough. It hardly helped that his particular class of children were, in fact, ones with wild imagination and even wilder roleplay lore that he could barely understand sometimes. It hardly helped as well that they tended to bring chaos and trouble. Everywhere. Plus, he could hardly trust his longtime friends to keep them in check. Because they tended to partake in the chaos as well. James Norrington had hoped, more than ever, that whatever shenanigans the class was up to, he would not have to be involved. 

That perhaps this week-long camp would go without incident, yes? Fate- Well. On this day, fate appeared to be laughing down at him. He was, as always, once again reminded that sometimes, he had to always make precautions. Every time. 

“You did what,” Norrington stated, dragging a hand down his face as he took in the as always, overly enthusiastic Science teacher before him. The latter had burst into the staffroom in a flurry, taking a few moments to regain his breath and brush off the stray Nerf bullets still clinging onto his staff ID. The brown-haired man currently being addressed had a feeling that this was not going to end well.

“Listen- It’s going to be easy enough! Just go out and get water- from the drinking fountain!” Groves gestured to the door, which was practically all that stood between them and fresh water. 

“Bottled water exists,” James sighed, taking a sip from the plastic bottle, only to cough and splutter, stifling a string of colourful words. 

“They vinegar-ed it, James, you have to go get water!” His colleague’s hopeful face signalled the oncoming of another headache.

“And you played no part in this.” Groves fiddled with a pen nervously under the mildly disappointed green gaze currently pinned on him. 

“Well… I may have told Jack where the water was?” “Wonderful,” James rebutted sarcastically. 

“Remind me again that I cannot, ever, trust you with any responsible adult duties.” Theo opened his mouth to protest, but James simply beat him to it. 

“Remember that time I left my phone unlocked on my desk when I went to teach a class? Yeah I came back one hour later to realise you- You used all the ammunition I stockpiled,” James paused to draw in a breath, in which his friend cut in. 

“It was only in World of Warships! Surely you’d know of the statistics of how only one shot lands every hundred shots, I’d argue that I proved to have better odds-” He was about to go into a full length explanation of his shining luck and all, but was interrupted by James. 

“You made my fleet unplayable for one day, Theo. And you robbed me of a million (in-game currency) in terms of shell cost,” Norrington deadpanned, recalling his agony at attempting to repair the damage Theo had managed to do in one hour. 

Groves crossed his arms with a frown, defending himself. “It was only one incident!” 

James raised an eyebrow and cast him an unreadable look. 

“Okay. Then what about Tortuga?”  

“Well I think that one went pretty well,” Groves countered. “Sure….” James drawled, laying on more sarcasm this time around.

------------------

A few winter breaks ago.

The brunette’s gaze flicked up for a moment, back down at the computer, then back up once more, his eyes widening slightly. Leaning over the countertop, two incredibly familiar faces peered up at him. If it wasn’t Gibbs and Sparrow. The duo’s excitement waned slightly the moment they recognised him, and he couldn’t help but smile slightly. 

“Fancy seeing you here. Enjoying your winter break, I hope?” The two of them blinked, at a loss for words for a few moments before Gibbs offered a greeting, stumbling over the words a little. 

“Oh- uh- Hi, Mr Norrington.” 

“Uh-” On his left, Jack’s eyes were wide, his mouth opening and closing- Of all the places, they had not expected their teacher to be working at Tortuga Arcade- 

“Well? Do you need to top up the cards?” That. That seemed to snap Jack out of his mild panic-slash-horror at meeting his homeroom teacher who just so happened to be working at an arcade… anyways. 

“Uh… There don’t happen to be any more teachers here, eh?” He questioned weakly, glancing around the neon-lit space and bustling crowd. 

James opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by an enthusiastic shout of “Gibbs! Jack! The two of you here to play too?” Groves’ voice came from the nearest station, where he was currently battling the pinball machine. 

“...Mr Groves?” 

“I suppose that answers your question,” James sighed, shaking his head. The two just looked between their homeroom teacher, clearly doing his job, and their Science teacher, who most decidedly, was not. Jack just offered an awkward wave, unsure what to make of it all.

-----------------------

Present Day.

“I was conducting routine maintenance!” Theo protested, shrugging.

 “You were not,” James snorted. “I’m amazed you didn’t get caught slacking off on the job.” His long-time friend simply gave him a sly grin, replying, “Well then, that’s where practice comes in.” The brunette huffed, well aware of the fact that Groves was highly enjoying this teasing banter. 

“Oh for the love of-” He scowled, resigned to glaring at Theo instead.

The science teacher shook his head, pouting ever-so-slightly. As much of a carefree soul as ever, James mused wryly. Theo really hadn’t changed since they met in middle school. 

“James, do procure the water, or I’ll have no choice but to hoard Clover and Jazz to myself when we return to the apartment.” Hints of a devious grin were starting to surface on Theo’s expression, and James was dragged out of his thoughts. He rolled his eyes. 

“You would never- They’ve been most affectionate with me.” It was true, the pair of rambunctious kittens were now full of energy, far from the sorry sight the class had presented him with a few months ago- There would be time to dwell on that later. Currently, he was still trying to figure out how exactly Groves planned to force away the two fluffballs retaining his sanity. As if on cue, he raised a packet of cat treats, James’ eyes widening- 

“You would not.” 

“Is that a challenge?” Groves countered, knowing he’d won this argument, however childish it might have been. What he held was the Holy Grail, of sorts. The only thing that could steal the kittens away from James. Clearly, he knew that, and a resigned frown settled on his features. 

“Oh very well. Do tell what happened.” 

Theo grinned victoriously, settling down on the other chair opposite James and launched into his tale.

A good twenty or so minutes later of excited gesturing and recounting on Theo’s part, he was now more than convinced that said Science teacher had the mentality of a child sometimes. His gaze flicked to the door, and, beyond that, the drinking fountain. He could faintly pick out the voices of the children. 

“So Gillete attempted to get the water first.” 

“Well. Yes, but he didn’t really get far,” Theo reiterated, recalling the exact events he had watched.

-------------------------

Literally half an hour ago.

“Alright that’s it- I’m going to get the water,” And so Andrew grabbed his water bottle and headed out towards the drinking fountain. Theo simply watched as he was nudged by one of the children, nearly fell onto Barbossa who, under threat, pushed the English teacher away with decent force, and the rest protected their drinking fountain, Nerf guns blazing and foam swords drawn. Needless to say, Gillete was driven back to the safety of the room in no time. 

“Beaten by a group of role-playing students, hm?” Groves fought back the urge to laugh as he took in his colleague’s miserable form. 

“Oh shut it. You try then,” Andrew answered grumpily, before leaving to sulk and likely search for alternate sources of water. As though there were any more. They were in the middle of a forest. In summer camp. Theo simply shrugged. Hey, what’s the worst that could happen? And he did just that, of course, adding on his energetic Science teacher flair.

James looked at him with bemusement. “So you’re telling me, that you took your staff ID-” 

“Yes.” 

“Went out of the room and ran to the fountain-” 

“Yes.” 

“Whipped out the ID and proclaimed loudly that the fountain was now under the name of all the teachers.” Groves nodded, and James sighed once more. (A.N. I wish I had a picture of what Groves did lmao)

To be exact, after Groves’ loud exclamation caused the students to pause in their activities, one of the Spanish kids glanced at the teacher before them, mentally deciding that he might as well take the shot. He lifted his Nerf gun, and fired. The pellet hit Theo with amazingly large force, and caused him to falter slightly. 

“Sorry Mr. Groves!” Jack offered before the rest opened fire, pellets and foam bullets chasing him all the way to the staffroom. 

One quick glance back showed him that the Spanish kid had declared, “Make a note of that teacher’s bravery- But now, the Aqua le Vida is ours!” 

“It’s the Fountain of Youth, and no, it is not!” Jack protested. Theo shook his head as he ducked into the safety of the staffroom, slightly resigned that he had been chased from the fountain by the students. 

“That is pretty much what happened,” Theo summarised, James pinching the bridge of his nose as his shoulders sagged. 

“Seriously.” 

“Seriously.” 

The two teachers stared at each other for a long while before James exhaled, trying to make sense of it all. Of course Groves had done that, being well, Groves. 

“Alright- Fine,” James relented, though reluctance crept into his voice. 

“Great!” Theo perked up considerably at that, sliding over a bottle of coffee as an olive branch - a peace offering, obviously, to sweeten the deal a bit more for his disgruntled friend. 

“So- that makes you dead in their roleplay lore, I’d assume,” James commented dryly, accepting the coffee gratefully.

“I would suppose so… what about you then?” Groves frowned, casting a curious look at James. Believe it or not, both of them found the storyline the students played with rather… interesting. Boring as their lives were, this did bring in some light to the dreary days. 

“Died a long time ago, after I applied for sick leave the other semester.” James recalled wryly, when he had bumped into the group of children and overheard Elizabeth lamenting his unfortunate death. Took him a few minutes to realise they were just playing. 

The two lapsed into silence for a while, before James decided to finally get the water. He made a move towards the door, only for it to slam open and he jumped back, met with the sight of a certain few scruffy, role-playing children. Before he could even open his mouth to chide them for not knocking, one of the Spanish kids took it upon himself to hesitantly address the teachers.

“Señor profesor… The fountain… it… it broke.” Oh of course it did, His mind mumbled snappily as he took in the multiple guilty faces staring up at him. Jack looked positively terrified. Theo walked out to stand beside him, looking towards the direction of the drinking fountain, which looked pretty beat up. He frowned slightly. 

“You all broke the fountain?” He questioned lightly, looking towards Will, who nodded sheepishly. Turning to face James, the other’s disappointed gaze softened slightly. Ah well. Kids would be kids. 

“I shall… inform the campground maintenance about the broken fountain. For now, do take these bottles of water,” Their homeroom teacher addressed the clearly regretful students, before vanishing into the room and reappearing a moment later with a box of water bottles. Not filled with vinegar this time, mind you. Jack blinked mutely, exchanging a glance with Hector, who stared back with equal chagrin. 

“Yes… I knew about the little prank. I did, however, make precautions. Since there is only one day of the camp left, this should hopefully be enough,” James stated, allowing the faintest hints of exasperation to leak into his words. The students took the water with mumbled thanks before turning to leave, which was when James tactfully reminded them to ‘reflect on their actions’ before he and Theo watched them scurry back to their cabins.

He had gone easy on them, Groves knew that, but currently, he was more curious than surprised. As the two of them entered the staffroom once more, they were interrupted by Gillete, who exclaimed, “Well that would be a new one! Breaking the drinking fountain! Seriously James, only your class would be capable of that,” he laughed, shaking his head, the effects of his defeat earlier having ebbed away. 

James simply sighed in response. Perhaps- no. This was definitely enough chaos for today. Noting Theo’s look of surprise that he’d been unable to wipe off, he allowed a small smirk to surface at Theo’s loss of words. 

“How- How did you-” 

“Well then, that’s where practice comes in,” He replied easily, turning Theo’s own words against him. Andrew looked between the two, not quite sure what to make of all this. 

Inwardly, James laughed at their confusion. At the very least, teaching this chaotic class had taught him some things. 

Number one : Be prepared for everything.

And number two : Perhaps sometimes, life without action could get pretty boring. Perhaps.

END

A.N. (again?!) yeah- that’s my first fic on this blog done lol- hope everyone reading this enjoyed it! I sure had fun writing this one.

[lordbucketofthecaribbean]

Harbor Town Norrington doodle

[bestie-enthusiast]

Nothing Like a Collapsed Lung to Spice up the Work Day

A short fanfiction based on the Harbor Town AU created by @cupcakeshakesnake

WC: 2576

Genre: Sickfic?

Summary :

Cutler Beckett's day goes from bad to worse,

and then even worse a few days later.

Cutler had been sick for a week, the bags under his eyes steadily growing and his already fair skin becoming fairer. He was coughing every few minutes and a headache plagued him constantly. In short terms, he was approaching needing to take a, ugh, sick day. But work was as busy as ever, and Mayor Swann seemed even more unwilling to engage than previously, and so he continued overworking himself until an end was reached. 

A rather embarrassing end.

--

Cutler Beckett had woken up much like he did many other mornings, feeling like complete garbage mentally and physically. He forced himself out of bed, resisting the urge to collapse onto the floor in a heap, and dry swallowed an aspirin. It didn’t take him long to bathe and dress, impeccable as ever. A handkerchief was carefully folded into his blazer pocket, a deep red to match his tie… and to disguise the substance that would no doubt cover it by the end of the day.

Despite his best efforts, his illness had managed to attract the attention of Mercer, who was hesitant to drive him anywhere that was not a hospital. Despite this, Cutler still managed to convince the man to drive him to work every morning, although on this particular day he wasn’t heading into the office.

Mercer was waiting outside his apartment like he always was on workdays, critical eyes assessing Cutler’s general appearance and health. Once satisfied, he opened the passenger door, allowing Cutler to slip inside. Mercer got in and started driving, asking where he was going this morning.

“I have a meeting with Mayor Swann at his estate.” Cutler informed him politely, although internally he was grimacing at the thought. Mercer nodded dutifully and they were off. 

It wasn’t that he disliked the good mayor, the man himself seemed nice enough, but he made it as difficult as possible for Cutler to do his job. And he understood, on some level, why the man disliked him so. Even still, it caused unnecessary stress. Cutler muffled a cough into his handkerchief as they approached the town, pondering if the salty air would help or hinder his illness. 

Once they had arrived, Cutler exited the car slowly, plastering on his business-neutral smile and preparing himself for a long meeting full of pleasantries and trying talk. After clearing his throat, he made his way to the large doors, briefly allowing himself a moment to admire the wonderful architecture. He knocked on the double doors, and to his surprise they opened instantly. He was greeted by the young Elizabeth Swann, glaring up at him.

“Miss Swann,” Cutler nodded in greeting, “I have a mee-” He was cut off by the young girl.

“You cannot see my father today, Mr. Beckett.” Swann said firmly. “I saw you cough, and I don’t want my father to get sick.” Cutler sighed, he really wasn’t in the mood to engage with children, more so than other days.

“Miss Swann, I assure you that I am perfectly healthy. I just had something in my throat, that's all.” He told her, making his tone as bland as possible. The nine year old girl disliked him to a great extent, and it was entirely vexing. “If you could fetch an adult, I’d be more than grateful.” He tried to smile, but was certain it came out a grimace.

“Mr. Beckett-” This time Swann was cut off, by her father.

“Elizabeth dear! Who are you talking too?” Weatherby Swann called out, approaching the two of them. He stood behind his daughter, smiling at Cutler when he noticed him.

“Ah, Mr. Beckett. I was wondering where you were.” The older Swann said, perfectly polite but still challenging. Cutler kept his face neutral, if Swann was in an offensive mood than he’d play the defence.

“Good morning, Mayor Swann. I was just telling Miss Swann here that I was due for a meeting with you.” Cutler responded nicely, knowing that any sort of perceived insult to his daughter would lead nowhere.

“I see.” The man hummed, looking down at his daughter. “Elizabeth-” The young girl seemed to have run out of patience, exclaiming:

“He’s sick! You cannot get sick, father. I need you to take care of me.” She looked up at her father with a pout and wide eyes, the very picture of innocence. Swann looked back up at Cutler, eyes assessing, in a likeness to Mercer. Cutler stood there awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. Dealing with children, or their parents, had never been his strong suit. He resisted the urge to clear his throat, knowing the younger Swann would use it as evidence. “Elizabeth-”

“He coughed! What if you get sick too?” “I’ll be fine, Elizabeth.” “But-”

“Run along now, dear.” Mayor Swann said, cheerful as ever, but with a fatherly tone that pushed towards obedience. Elizabeth huffed, glaring at Cutler before stomping away. “Now we have a meeting to get to, don't we?” He said, motioning Cutler inside.

“Indeed.”

---

“-you have to understand-” Swann was saying, but Cutler had lost track of the man’s rambling sentence long ago. He felt a cough building in his chest, he had been fighting them off throughout the meeting but he knew this one would tear through.

“Excuse me-” Cutler said, coughing harshly into the handkerchief he had brought. It hurt- the cough tore through his chest and throat, blood spilling onto the cloth. He leaned forward trying to ease the pain as the coughing fit subsided, discreetly wiping the blood he knew would be around his mouth and folding the cloth neatly. “My apologies.” He said hoarsely, clearing his throat a few times before he looked back up at the older man. Swann looked horrified, his eyes were wide and mouth open in shock and concern. Cutler grimaced, sitting up and hoping to salvage at least some professionalism. Perhaps he should have cancelled this meeting, he had hoped that his cough would have faded slightly, or at least been less intense. Alas, he was never the most lucky individual.

Cutler sipped at the provided tea, smiling slightly at the taste. He’d always loved tea, especially when he was ill as a child. “Shall we continue?” He asked, his voice still rough but less so. Swann seemed to break out of his trance, although he didn’t respond for a few moments.

“Are you ill?” The man asked, and Cutler was thankful when it was anger in his voice and not concern. “With nothing contagious.” Beckett promised, smiling blandy with closed lips. He could still taste the blood in his mouth, and swallowed reflexively. “Shall we continue?” He repeated but Swann shook his head.

“We can reconvene once you are healthy, one should not be working if ill. They could make a careless mistake.” The man was too kind to say anything outright, but Cutler knew when to stop pushing sometimes. 

“Of course, Mayor Swann. I’ll have my secretary let you know when I’m healthily available for another meeting.” Cutler said, not being able to resist the small snarky comment. “Have a good afternoon, Mayor Swann.” He called as he left. Once he was in the hallway, he looked around, ensuring he was alone before he sagged against the wall for a moment. Perhaps he should book a doctors appointment… No. He’s fine.

He made his way out of the house in record time, quickly escaping to the car where Mercer was patiently waiting. He still wasn’t safe, however, as Mercer was just as bad, if not worse, than others.

“All right, sir?” He asked, narrowing his eyes. Cutler swallowed nervously, he felt off.

“Yes of course, I-” He inhaled suddenly, coughing a couple times, but gasped softly when he felt a sharp pain on the left side of his chest. He felt suddenly breathless, choking on his next inhalation. It was a familiar feeling, and he cursed his horrible luck. Why today of all days? At least he had managed to make it through the meeting. He was suddenly grateful that Swann had cut it short. A pneumothorax, collapsed lung. It had been quite some time since he’d aggravated himself enough to cause one, but they were an expected side effect of his condition. Mercer looked at him, concerned as his boss slowly turned blue. “Pneumothorax-” Cutler choked out, inhaling despite the sharp pain it brought. 

Mercer had never driven faster, and Cutler was almost more concerned about how many traffic laws he was breaking than the fact that one of his lungs had collapsed. Not that it was particularly concerning, it had happened before. 

They were at an emergency room soon enough, Cutler had stopped paying attention at some point, so he wasn’t sure which one. He could not recall what happened next, outside of a flurry of motion, he did know that he passed out at one point, only to wake up hours later.

There was an oxygen mask on his face, which he tugged off as soon as he could. Mercer sat in the chair next to his bed, typing away on his phone, which he turned off once he noticed Cutler was awake.

“Sir.” Mercer acknowledged. “You have been admitted for treatment after your left lung collapsed. There is a chest tube in place, please take care not to disturb it.” He informed Cutler professionally, pressing the call button nimbly, to Cutler’s annoyance. Ignoring Mercer for a moment, Cutler pushed the scratchy hospital blanket down and stared at the tube coming out of his body. 

He was about to prod at it when a doctor entered the room, along with two nurses. He was polite to the doctor and nurses, allowing them to check his vitals and poke at the sight of the tube. The doctor was professional as he explained what happened and how long he’d be in the hospital for.

“We would normally recommend a short stay while you recover and then you can return home to continue treatment. However, due to the cause of this collapse, we’re recommending you stay in the hospital for at least a week for monitoring. If there is anyone you’d like us to call, or anything we can do to make this more comfortable, please let us know.” Cutler tuned out the doctor, instead focusing on how he would complete his work in the hospital. Some tasks would need to be delegated, for sure. He sighed internally, what an annoyance. 

Cutler looked up when he noticed that the background noise of the doctor droning had stopped, realising that he probably missed a question asked. “Pardon?” He asked, as innocent as he could. His voice was hoarse, he remarked with a frown.

“I asked if that was alright?” The doctor repeated, looking more angry than concerned. Cutler rolled his eyes and nodded, he just wanted them out of the room. Mercer showed them to the door, a calculating look on his face.

“How did you know, sir?” Mercer asked, curiosity was rare coming from his loyal bodyguard. Cutler smiled grimly.

“Experience.” He said simply, eyes flickering around the room. “Now, where is my work bag?”

-

It was 4 days into Cutler’s hospital stay and he had had more than enough. The  temptation to check out AMA grew even larger when he was informed that a class of children would be coming in to “cheer up” patients. Cutler kindly requested that he would not receive a visit, but the nurse, who disliked him after catching him staying up late working, had given him a bright grin and told him that it would “do him some good”.

So there he was, stuck in a hospital bed, trying to work, when the door creaked open and in popped several familiar faces. His face morphed from annoyance to resignation as he looked into the food-stained face of Jack Sparrow and his crew of other children. 

“Mr. Sparrow,” Cutler greeted, swallowing back a cough. Being vulnerable in front of one's enemies is never a good situation. Not that he was enemies with a hoard of children, but they seemed to have chosen him as a favourite target, and he’d love to avoid giving them any ammunition. 

“Beckett!” Jack exclaimed, raising his sword. The Turner child was quick to defend Cutler, however. Going on some monologue about his father. Cutler just ignored them, intent on returning to his work. And he would have, except Mercer seemed to have stolen his work bag. Perhaps he was in cahoots with that nurse.

Cutler sighed, blinking as he found himself staring at Miss Swann, who was standing directly in front of him. She was glaring at him, completely furious. “Can I help you, Miss Swann?” He drawled, and she furrowed her brow. “I’m listening.” The young girl pulled out a foam sword of her own, pointing it at him with a firm pout. “I’m listening, intently.”

“You lied. You are sick, and you could have given it to my father.” Cutler grimaced; he had pushed that meeting with the mayor as far out of his mind as he could. It was… embarrassing, to say the least. 

“What I have is not contagious, Miss Swann.” Cutler reassured her, “I would never intentionally harm your father.” Although if he could, he would curse his own father to suffer with the illness he was inflicted with. Righteous punishment.

Cutler was about to continue, except a sharp, fiery pain stopped him. He looked down at the sight of his chest tube, where it entered his body was a grubby childs hand, poking at it. He took a deep breath, grabbing the afflicting hand and firmly removing it from his person.

“Are you a cyborg?” One of the children, a child named Barbossa if he was not mistaken, asked curiously. 

“Or dying?!”

“Wind in me sails!”

Cutler sighed, wondering briefly where their chaperone was. Surely they were not here by themselves? “No.” He drawled boredly, inspecting his nails. Perhaps if he did not engage with the children, they should very well leave him alone. There was a brief moment of silence, sweet relief, before the sound of thudding footsteps occurred.

The children all shared terrified looks as they scouted hiding spaces and dove off in various directions. A figure skidded to a stop in front of his room, a James Norrington. Cutler believed the man was a teacher, and he pitied him if he was truly the chaperone of this group of children. The man panted for a moment, before straightening, trying to look as professional as possible.

“Mr. Beckett, you have my deepest apologies for any stress the children have caused. If you would give me a moment to round them up, we will all be out of your way.” Cutler nodded, he had grown tired, irritatingly enough. He was surprised to find himself thankful that the man was taking away the children, instead of annoyed that he had lost track of them in the first place.

Norrington gathered the children in record time; he seemed to know all of their hiding places already, much to the disappointment of the children. He angrily whispered at them for a minute, before they all turned around and gave a begrudged apology.

“Apology accepted.” Cutler smirked, mildly delighted at the vexed expressions the children wore.

Perhaps his circumstances were not always bad, afterall how often did he find such delight?

THE END.

[nebsstories]

The Birthday Bash

—

Authors note:

I’ve conceptualized this scenario I think about a year ago, but hadn’t found the time or inspiration to write it down until now.

This story was inspired off of @cupcakeshakesnake’s Harbor Town AU, and the contents of this story is loosely based off another story I’ve read, please DM me for more details.

—

Be me, I’m just right out of college and I have no idea what to do with my life; degree is utterly useless so I look at local businesses, wanted to find somewhere I can stay until I can get a better job. I happened to live 10 minutes away from the local rat casino known as, “Chuck-E-Cheese”. It’s better than nothing, I guess. Go in, do interview, really basic stuff; guy interviewing me asks, “When can you start?”

On that day I sold my soul to the Chuck-E-Cheese company. That day began one of the worst experiences of my life.

I started that following Monday, making $10 on the hour, so it’s okay, I guess. I spent most of my week up until Friday getting acquainted with my fellow coworkers. Free food’s also a plus, pizza’s alright but I’ll take it. I clock in that fateful Saturday morning, my manager greets me at the door, she tells me that Saturday’s are usually when it’s at its peak so we’ll be swamped today. Oh and, there’s a big birthday scheduled tonight, and all I can hear from the poor guy wearing the costume is a low, yet audible, “Fuck my life.”

I cannot even begin to imagine how awful it’d be to be surrounded by fifty or so grease coated crotch goblins all at once, all the while dying of heatstroke in a furry costume. At least the building was air conditioned, because I heard that the suit doesn’t have ventilation, meaning it’s hot as the devil’s asshole at times. I was tasked with setting up the party area, the decorations were already provided to us and the theme was apparent from the skull and crossbones.

Around 4 in the afternoon, the rush starts to die down and we get a momentary feeling of euphoric silence, relief washed over us, though we were fools to think it’d last forever. We watched as tired parents dragged out their sugar high children, as the kingdom they’d lorded over was lost to them. In the wake of their foul dominion, the arcade games became sticky and greasy to the touch, they’d stained the carpets with spilled sodas and slices of mediocre pizza, in that moment I foolishly thought, “This can’t get any worse than the hell on earth I’d just witnessed.”

4:30pm on the dot, a man steps in. He looks like the sort of boho rockstar you’d see thrown up from the peak of 80’s rock and roll, with as much swagger in his step and a cool demeanor as he greeted the girl that gives all the kids the ink stamps (which are “invisible” until shown under a blacklight).

“‘Ello, I’ve a birthday reservation for Jackie, party of 40.” He follows up.

My heart stopped, my blood ran cold as the number echoed in my mind. He did not just say 40, I thought he was bluffing so I poked my head out to get a glance. Standing behind him was an army. An army of fun sized pirates. This man brought in an entire grade level to this Chuck-E-Cheese and we were at the brunt of it all.

Before I could dip my head into my manager’s office to fake sick, the kids flood the place. Cry havoc! And let slip the dogs of war, as instantaneously, children storm the restaurant; they take to the playhouse, the arcade, the party area. The place is nearly full and bursting at the seams with them, and as we pushed on, our manager cowardly hid within the confines of the office. Meanwhile, the rest of us are panicking, chefs are stressing - their nerves pulsating and brows glistening with sweat from the amount of pizza they have to keep pumping out. It’s a madhouse, it’s anarchy!

Rockstar here isn’t doing jack shit, he’s just leaning against the wall playing guitar and waiting for it to be over. Another adult - a biker looking man, just got jumped by 20 or so children. Proudly, one boy, with a wide brimmed hat adorned by a single plumed feather and a toy monkey around his torso, holds up the poor man’s wallet. “Gents! Our hope is restored!” The other members of his crew cheer loudly, leaving the man they’d just mugged on the floor to abuse his poor aching debit card in exchange for tokens.

Outside the restaurant, I spotted Mayor Swann with his daughter in tow and a birthday present in her hand, then him taking one look at the chaos and deciding in that moment to turn around and leave. No doubt lying to his child that the restaurant had closed. Forever. No wait, take me with you, Mr. Mayor!

My train of thought was interrupted when one of the children, a boy with his hair pulled back into a ponytail asks me, “Excuse me sir, when is the show?”

Another chimes in, this one must be the birthday boy, Jack. I’d never seen a kid look this smug my entire life, “Oi, we’ve invoked the right of Parlay, we demand to see Charles Entertainment Cheese.”

I stuttered for a brief moment to regain my composure. What have I just gotten myself into? “It’s coming soon, kiddos!” Luckily, that was enough to suffice, as they’d rush back to the arcade.

Eventually the animatronic show from hell begins, the band begins playing kids songs. I don’t know what these kids were expecting, but it’s clear that the works of Scott Cawthon had done a number on their minds, as one of the children in attendance - probably the one with the slicked back ponytail, begins freaking out. One of my coworkers has to swoop in to make the kid happy. Others that were paying attention kept asking, “Where’s Freddy Fazbear?” The kids are now chanting, “Freddy! Freddy! Freddy!” I’m surprised with the pirate theme they’re not clamoring for Foxy. One chubby kid, miraculously gets up to the Chuck E animatronic, begins shaking him whilst interrogating him on the whereabouts of Freddy and his gang. He’s shaken the robot enough times where it’s god damn head FALLS OFF. Screaming ensues. I’m amazed this kid didn’t put Chuck E”s head on a pike a la Lord of the Flies, though even then I’m sure half of them will need therapy after seeing their fellow pirate brethren decapitate their beloved, cheese eating deity.

While most of the party was distracted, two of them have managed to SNEAK INTO THE KITCHEN and are stealing toppings off the pizzas. Not off the prep stations, but straight off the pizzas, I’m pretty sure half of them don’t even wash their hands. We had to remake them because we didn’t want the health department on our asses.

One of them managed to steal a whole pizza for himself and scarf it down near the ballpit. I think it was one with the wide-brimmed hat.

The birthday boy was easily the worst of the bunch; within two hours, he’d managed to hop behind the prize counter while the guy working there escaped for a bathroom break, took every miniature tote bag off the rack and used them to stuff as much prizes as he could carry. His little arms made him look like a coat rack as he waddled out from behind the corner with his treasure.

And I’ll bet you’re wondering, where was I in the chaos? Being tormented by a duo, the kid who decapitated Chuck E and another who wore an eyepatch, asking me question after question. You know, things a kid would ask like, “Whatcha doing?” Or, “What’s the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?” Actually, the one with the eyepatch kept throwing those curve balls and it made me wonder what this kid was doing in his spare time.

Then the dinner bell rang, or rather, the rockstar parent called, “Pizza’s ready!” Finally, a moment of calm as slices are distributed amongst the group. But all hell breaks loose when the sodas are passed around. Oh god no, god please no, literally give them anything but soda. It’s too late now, that bastard knew what he was doing. It was like watching the fireworks at a Fourth of July celebration, as these kids practically exploded with sugar-induced adrenaline pumping through their little bodies.

Then the final blow: the cake. Ah yes, what a cake, I remember it fondly. No expense was spared for this occasion, when most parents provided a sheet cake from their local grocery store, rockstar here provided an elaborate cake worthy of 40 or so screaming children. A treasure chest; with chocolate gold coins, the strings of pearls made from modeling chocolate and candied necklaces, precious gems made from rock candy for that nice pop of color, and a delicate map made from marzipan that read, “Happy Birthday Captain Sparrow!”

It was carried in by a man who looked to be about my age, his hair pulled back into a ponytail like that kid from earlier - though I assure you, his was messier than in comparison to the kid, and he’d be wearing a dark blue shirt. Ah, now I recognize him; James Norrington, he was an elementary school teacher but he also worked the Tortuga Arcade during Winter Break. Really nice guy. A moment of silence fell once the door opened, all the children nearly gave themselves whiplash to stare at the newcomer.

“Oh look,” they’d think, “another adult we’ve yet to wear out.”

I’m just mentally screaming at this man, “Run! Run while you still can!!”

It was in vain, as the screech of, “Cake!” Coming from the birthday boy signaled the others to descend upon him. The man struggled to keep the cake out of their grasps, holding it high up and calling, “Mr. Teague, would you please provide me with some assistance? And where is Mr. Teach?”

Mugged and still laying facedown on the floor. That cannot look comfortable, but I suppose playing dead was miles better than the alternative, which was staying awake for this mess.

Finally, rockstar does something, casually getting past the crowd to retrieve the cake with a simple, “Thanks.” Manager asks me to do a headcount, make sure the kids were all still here and not somehow sneaking out into the rooftop or something.

37…38…39…oh shit. Where’s the birthday boy?

I couldn’t just make my panic known, so I started poking around the restaurant for him, I’d even asked one of my coworkers to check the roof for the birthday boy. And Mr. Teague was beginning to notice. God, I didn’t want to tell him I’d somehow lost his kid. But, then I realized that, he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking straight at the play area. And as luck would have it, there in the ball pit, I see the kid’s head poking out with a smug grin. Thank god.

After cake and presents was when the real damage kicks in, chairs are now flying, one of our front windows gets smashed into a million pieces, and now requires repairs. I don’t even know HOW they can even find the strength to accomplish that, so I’m mildly impressed. The manager’s office is then stormed and papers flew everywhere and into the party area. Of course Mr. Sparrow nor Mr. Teach don’t end up paying for damages, not like we’d want their money anyway. We want compensation for the emotional damage we had to endure that evening. Norrington fled not long after the cake was delivered, not like I’d blame him.

Eventually, parents and guardians come around to come collect their kids, even Norrington shows back up to pick up one of them, the one with the ponytail apparently. At least Teague tips us generously, seems he knows the sort of chaos this kid and his posse can unleash.

It’s 11, closing time. During cleanup, we take survey of the property damage that had occurred in the wake of that birthday party; your usual stained carpet, but also now featuring turned over furniture, ruined play area, arcade games now so stuck, I’m pretty sure they’d have to call someone in to clean them, raided prize corner, damaged animatronics. It was as if a bomb had gone off in here. It was over, the siege of port Chuck-E-Cheese had leaned in favor of Captain Jack Sparrow and his band of miscreants.

I left, but never came back for my next shift. I spend Sunday and Monday job hunting, and luckily I was able to land a job with the East India Trading Company.

I’d thought I’d seen the last of Jack, and his vast pirate army. Life as an underling in EITC was as mundane yet stable as one could imagine an office job to be, money flow is steady with a 9 to 5, paid vacation time, they’ve even got dental. I’d moved out of my crappy apartment and moved somewhere I could enjoy the peace and quiet; I vowed to never have kids. Life was good.

Until one Monday, I saw Jack again, he was pestering my boss, Beckett, asking him question after question. One of his little friends is aggressively flossing in another room, Jack has now gotten ahold of one of the company computers. Somehow he unleashes a virus. All the of work I’d poured in the past few hours gone the drain and now I’m openly mocked by a video of badly played recorder music. The bass is boosting hard, my ears are bleeding.

I’m going to put in my request for a transfer tomorrow.

[barbossas-wench]

Remember when I hc Margaret's death in harbor town au was replaced by being move out of town with her bio parent and leaving Barbossa and Carina behind after the separation of their parents

Reasons why, bc her bio parent transfer Margaret to Kumon while live out of town

[adhdslugcrimes]

Stardew valley au

Year one-

Dick: so, do you like it here?

Wally: yep!

Roy: and that weird mayor ain't cheating you out of money?

Wally: nope, we're all good

Year 4-

Wally, calling Bruce: hey pop, I need your help.

Bruce, snort: what, Allen and Queen said no to you or something?

Wally: I didn't call them, this problem is something you can fix better than them.

Bruce, concerned: what is it then?

Wally: I need Mayor Lewis to get the fuck out of office here. He sucks at his job, he won't commit to Marnie; which mind you could do so much better than him, he had me get his underwear back which I still need therapy for, and he judging me with my two husbands and his no wife non-committal ass is embellishing our tax dollars to fix nothing, I had too, and no disabilities essentials because it went to a damn gold statue of himself and I was paid hush money for this bullshit, election fraud, asked me for truffle oil for what I would never like to know, and the cherry on top this man will not do anything about the litter and trash all over the damn place here, so Brucie this up and fix this.

Bruce: you got it kiddo, I'll make sure it's taken care of.

Wally: thanks pop! Also come and visit some time soon, I miss all of y'all.

[lilas]

.

[t0byinthesky]

Princess Celestia and Luna have enforced an evacuation of Ponyville and the neighboring towns the moment they caught news of the mane six harboring the infection. It was Twilight specifically they feared the most, for she carried the strongest magic of all...

Please follow the creator of this category in the infection AU trend! https://instagram.com/randomartmari/

[cupcakeshakesnake]

“That’s cheating!”

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader x tess servopoulos

genre: smut, modern au, minors dni

word count: 2k

summary: you're new to town and tess invites you to go camping with her and joel.

warnings: fmf, threesome, flf dynamics, reader being eaten out for the first time, dirty talk, oral s.ex, cum eating/play, for the sake of this fic let's just imagine they have a very big tent they can actually stand in lmaodfb, things escalate quickly but honestly I just wanted to write some good old smut

a/n: this wasn't originally intended for the amazing @undercoverpena's april showers challenge BUT since I had already written the rain aspect of the fic I thought it would be nice to post this for it 💜

prompt: both/all parties get caught in the rain. 

**dividers by @saradika-graphics 💜

Breathing is hard. Walking is hard. Carrying the weight of your backpack is hard. 

But, the fresh air, the white clouds above, and the two people you’re with make up for it. 

Stopping briefly, you roll your shoulders and stretch, neither of them notice you. Not really. You figure it’s not really important if they do or don’t, it’s not like they’re that much ahead of you, catching up wouldn’t be difficult. You watch them, you must admit, a bit dreamily as they walk the bath they’re clearly so used to walking. You’re still surprised that the seasoned hikers invited you to a camping trip. Tess was the one to approach, she knew you were new and how overwhelming it’s been getting used to the people and the sights. She told you she and Joel would be going on a trip soon and that you should join. And even though your answer had been an eager yes, you were worried about holding them back. Admittedly, you weren’t the most fit and haven’t hiked anywhere in years. 

However, your excitement to spend time with not one but both of them had tipped the scale rather harshly. You’ve been harboring a secret crush on both of them, it was hard not to when both of them were charming and witty.

Now, as you walk behind them, you can't help but steal glances at the way Tess effortlessly navigates the trail, her hair swaying with each step. Joel walks beside her, occasionally pointing out interesting plants or landmarks, his backpack seeming almost weightless on his shoulders.

You catch yourself smiling as you imagine what adventures lie ahead on this trip.

You decide to pick up your pace, closing the gap between you and them. As you draw nearer, Tess glances back, her eyes brightening with a genuine smile as she sees you catching up.

"How's the hike treating you?"

You catch your breath and reply, "It's challenging, but I'm enjoying every moment of it."

Joel turns around with a friendly grin. "Glad to hear that. We've got a great spot picked out for camping tonight."

As the three of you continue forward, you feel a surge of excitement. Your legs might be aching, but you can't wait to see where the day takes you all.

Rain. 

At first, you thought you were unlucky. You had dreamed of campfire, smores and snuggling underneath the starlight, but with the first lightning strike and drop of water, you thought the two would be agitated, annoyed by the bad weather. 

But to your surprise, as the rain began to fall in earnest after setting the tent, Tess and Joel didn't seem bothered at all. In fact, they laughed and exchanged playful looks as they turned their heads up to the sky. Their infectious joy caught you off guard, and despite the downpour, you found yourself smiling too.

Then, unexpectedly, Joel's arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. A rush of warmth floods through you as his lips brush against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Simultaneously, Tess leans in, her lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. The moment is electrifying, filled with a blend of desire and affection.

Before you know it, Tess and Joel are gently guiding you towards the tent they had set up earlier. The rain continues to pour around you, but inside the cozy confines of the tent, a different kind of heat ignites. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Joel cups both your breasts tenderly from underneath, the wet fabric dampening his skin. You feel Tess’s eyes on your back, observing, taking in the details of the scene before her. Meanwhile, Joel’s gaze is glued to your pebbled nipples, he slowly drags his thumbs over them, your breath catching in your throat. “Does that feel good?” 

“It does,” your eyelids flutter, he repeats the movement, drawing circles this time. His eyes flicker up to meet yours. 

“So fucked out already,” he hums. “Our pretty little girl, so shy and hungry.” 

Tess stands from where she is sitting and circles her arms around your waist, fingers digging into your stomach, she pulls you flush against her. Your stomach bottoms out as you feel the plump flesh of her breasts against your back. Your lips part, you want to kiss her. 

You want to kiss her. 

You turn your head, chasing her lips with yours, before your eyes close, you see the mischievous curl of her lips. She pulls away and smiles even wider when you whine. “You’re so easy to tease.” 

Opening your eyes, you swallow, your body arches when Joel sneaks both hands under your shirt, lifting the fabric, goosebumps raise all over your skin. “Is that a bad thing?” you ask her, voice slightly shaking. 

“Not at all princess,” she drags her lips down your neck. “It just makes it even more amusing.” 

Your reply gets stuck in your throat as Joel dips down and sucks one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth. He tightly closes his lips around the nub and flicks it with his tongue. Your body jolts, pleasure running through you like the lighting outside. Your head falls over Tess’s shoulder, she lays open-mouthed kisses over your neck, her hands unbuttoning your pants. 

“You want him to eat you out?” she breathes into your skin and without looking at either of them you nod. “Have you ever had your pussy eaten out, princess?” 

You lick your lips, “No,” you say half ashamed, and swallow. “This’ll be my first time.” 

Joel’s tongue stills on your skin and suddenly two hungry eyes come into your view. If you didn’t know better you’d say he looks pissed off. Never breaking eye contact, he continues what Tess started and pushes down your pants along with your underwear, leaving you bare to the chill of the tent. He pushes two fingers between your folds and starts stroking you, you shudder against both of them, and your breath hitches. 

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he says. “Beg me for it.” 

“Please.” 

He chuckles darkly, “Oh sweetheart, I ain’t gettin’ on my knees for that. Do better.” 

You let out a small gasp as he grips your chin, squeezing lightly. To provide comfort, Tess kisses the back of your neck, however, you can feel her smiling into your skin. 

“Please,” you say again. “I want you to make me come, Joel. I want to feel your tongue—I want you to be my first—” 

Your lips part for another incoming beg but he’s already sinking to his knees, large hands sliding up and down the back of your thighs. A shudder rolls up your spine. Tess’s hands replace Joel’s, kneading your breasts softly. 

His hands finally come between your thighs, gently nudging them so you open wider. You see a flicker of a smile when you do, amused, he drags two fingers between your folds. “You’re soaked, sweetheart.” 

“She’s not the only one,” Tess chuckles. “Now get on with it, Miller. I’m impatient.” 

He clicks his tongue without retaliating further. You feel the warmth of his breath on your core, and slowly, he presses his lips over your mound, the scratch of his beard making it an exquisite experience. You moan at the touch of his tongue, it moves slowly, circling your clit and going deeper. His nails bite into your skin, the sounds he makes between your legs are downright sinful. Your legs begin to shake. 

“Shh it’s okay,” Tess whispers against your cheek. “Just give him a taste and we’ll lay you down, princess. I know you can do it.” 

Joel grunts in approval, the timber of the sound making you whimper. His hands slide up to your ass and he squeezes the mounds roughly, pushing you further against his mouth. He licks and sucks, when you feel the bite of his nails against your skin, you finally come undone. 

Your knees threaten to give out under you, the only thing holding you upright being the two stunning people consuming you. Tess smiles against your skin, kissing and licking the salt of your skin. Meanwhile, Joel moans rather loudly, licking everything you have to offer as you come, come and come some more. You’ve never felt anything this intense before. The air is knocked from your lungs, your body ice cold yet burning up at the same time. 

You’re vaguely aware of Joel standing, the man who was worshipping you between your legs suddenly towering over you. He has a small smile as he leans in, you think he’s going to kiss the slope of your shoulder first but then you hear the soft sounds of two lips coming together. With the corner of your eyes, you see them. Tess and Joel kissing, their tongues sliding into each other's mouth, sharing your taste—

“Fuck,” you whisper, your cunt throbbing. They both smile, lips curving in an almost malicious way. As they break apart, Tess licks Joel’s lips, her eyes find yours. 

“Someone’s still hungry for more,” she teases, slowly stripping. “Get on all fours for us, princess.” 

You swallow and do as she says. You feel Joel’s large hands cup the mounds of your ass, squeezing tenderly. “Beautiful,” he rasps. “Such a goddamn sight.” 

Your back arches into his touch. He drags two thick fingers between your folds as Tess lays down, spreading her legs. Your eyes immediately drop to her center, the soft hair that crowns her pretty pussy. You see her glisten with want and your mouth waters. 

“Don’t be shy now,” she smiles. “Have a taste.” 

Her fingers curl around the back of your neck and at the same time, you feel the head of Joel’s cock stretching you wide. Your eyes roll as you part your lips, Tess moans loudly when your tongue swirls around her puffy clit. You can’t think straight. Joel buries himself deep holding himself there for a second before pulling back and slamming forward. Your moan into Tess’s cunt, your lips parting away briefly every he pulls himself back. 

“Best cunt I’ve ever had,” he grunts through clenched teeth. “How does it feel sweetheart? You enjoyin’ yourself?” 

You flatten your tongue against Tess’s folds and moan, your body clenching. 

“She is,” Tess answers on your behalf, breathless. “Such a sweet girl letting us use her like this.” 

Your eyes close tightly shut, sweat drips down your spine, your body a vessel of pleasure. Every muscle in your body tightens, and you hear both of them groan. You close your lips around Tess’s clit and flick your tongue, her head falls, gushing into your mouth. Joel’s watches intently, his cock pulsing and throbbing, his hand comes against the back of your head and he pushes you further down. 

“Good girl,” he growls, the pace of his thrusts becoming sloppy. “Fuck, that’s it, lick her clean.” 

Tess moans again, the loud sounds becoming whimpers. You can barely breathe but you don’t care. With one final thrusts you come undone around Joel’s cock, your body squeezing him like a vice. 

When the violent shudders of your body become gentle waves, Joel pulls out. Your head falls limply against Tess’s stomach, her hand gently rubbing your neck. A soft gasp leaves you when you see Joel shuffling closer, his cock still hard and glistening. You watch as he strokes himself only mere inches away from your face, the head of his cock an angry shade of red. 

You stick out your tongue as he spills himself over your face and Tess’s stomach. Another pulse of pleasure spreads throughout your body. Tess let’s out a deep sigh, gathering some of the come with her fingers, she pushes them between your lips. 

“Fuck,” Joel sighs, sitting back on his heels. A small smile forms against your lips as you suck on Tess’s fingers, when she pulls them out, you dip your tongue into the mess over her stomach and swallow every drop. 

“Filthy girl,” Tess muses. “And here I’ve been callin’ you princess.” 

“Your fault,” you mumble, looking away, your cheeks burn. 

Joel leans in, capturing your lips before whispering. 

“Don’t pout. You’ll always be our princess.” 

[thechaosghost]

So y'all liked the last harbor town Cutler Beckett head cannons, so heres some more!!!

(All credits to @cupcakeshakesnake)

He is on first name basis with the harbor town cat cafe owner (What a cat cafe is is like a coffee shop but there are cats in another room, so you can go there to drink tea and pet cats. His idea of paradise)

This is another, "It was mentioned in the books so I assume its in the Au" thing, but Beckett most likely has a small garden in his back yard cause in the books he really wanted a small house with a (rose?) garden

He probably has really weird ice cream mixes, like chocolate and bubblegum or cotton candy and coffee (this is definitely not what I order whenever I'm getting ice cream, What no, you like weird flavors combos...)

[comfortless]

In Our Angelhood

König x fem!reader

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

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

wc: 10k.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Accident.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, you smile at him.

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

“Danke.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I do!”

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

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

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

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

“I could teach you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I try?”

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

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

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

“Not the best for foraging, but…”

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

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

“Eat it.”

“It’s dirty, you eat it.”

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

“That’s so gross, König!”

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

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

— ཐིཋྀ —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

“They kicked me out because of him.”

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

“At the cathedral.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I would like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sleep.”

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

— ཐིཋྀ —

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

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

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

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

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

Seeing a demon was a new one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I like seeing you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to see it?”

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

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

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

“Oh… that soon?”

König gives your shoulder a playful, gentle nudge.

“Ja. I’ll take you.”

— ཐིཋྀ —

It’s not a date.

It’s a misadventure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So are you,” you huff out instead.

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on here?”

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

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

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

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

Let’s just go.

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t think you were such a slut.”

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

It’s not enough. Not to König.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t even care if Lukas was okay.

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

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

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

Worst of all, however, is the bell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want that?”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

— ཐིཋྀ —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do want you to.”

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

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

[lordbucketofthecaribbean]

Harbor Town Beckett 5B

Thank you for the ask! 'Ere you go mate.