BEGGING ˳ ׄ ⟡ . CARLOS SAINZ JR.
SUMMARY: in which carlos suffers the consequences of liking an influencer who is younger than him. (part one / part two)
FACE CLAIM: kelsey calemine
CONTAINS: reader is 21; 8 year age gap, jealous!carlos, lando crushing on reader, ex boyfriend!vinniehacker, oral receiving (m) & smut!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is a little different than what i usually do so hopefully you guys like it! my requests are open!
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username lord have mercy we must stay focused brothers we must stay focused
francisca.cgomes you're unreal!
ynusername ily.
username mother y/n
username please god let me be her
vinniehacker kiss me
ynusername pull up vincent
username vinnie what are you doing here
username i'm a lesbian now
landonorris jesus
ynusername 😚
username single and without children, just for you
ynusername 🌚 um i'm telling your wife
username team vinnie till i die
⟡
you were currently on a secret mini getaway with an older forumla one driver — the both of you were not looking for anything serious right now so you'd secretly meet up every once in awhile.
"listen if you just say yes to lando, we can go on summer vacations together next year!" kika told you over the phone. "when was the last time you had a boyfriend and vinnie doesn't count!"
"whose vinnie?" you heard pierre whisper.
carlos sainz bit back a moan as you jerked his cock off in one hand and held your phone to your ear with the other.
"keeks, i really don't need a boyfriend..."
he undid your bikini top as you continued to listen to your friend. "fuck..." you watched as he pinched your nipple. "i've never seen someone with better tits than yours.”
you smiled up at him before talking once more.
as much as he loved hearing your voice, right now was really not the time. "hang up befor-"
you playfully rolled your eyes at him and gave his tip a little kiss before you wrapped your mouth against his length once more but jumped up once again. "no way! he told pierre that?"
at this point he had clenched his jaw and tried to remember how long ago this conversation first started.
"hold on." you then looked up at carlos who had an unamused face. "did you know lando was going to ask me out on a date a few days ago?"
of coarse he knew.
"why do you think i brought you here." he mumbled and tried snatching your phone from your hand but failed. "please, i'm begging you to hang up..."
even though he wasn't looking for something serious, he didn't want to share the girl he was currently fucking.
you continued pumping his cock and talking to your friend until he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed you down his length causing you to let out a loud gag.
as you slapped his thigh, he overheard francisca ask if you were alright which he grabbed the phone out of your hand and put it up to his ear. "she's busy, she'll call you back later."
he let go of your head and you pinched his arm. "carlos, i swear somet-"
he shrugged as you tried complaining some more but he pulled you up from your knees and kissed you violently, saliva running down your mouth. "now let's take this off of you..." he said as he undid your bottom.
⟡
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tanamongeau y/n im obsessed 😍
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⟡
a week later you had shown up to club with lando norris after a race in miami, kika had her arm intertwined with yours as you guys went to the bar to get a drink.
"you still haven't told me who the mystery boy was from the other day." she said as you sipped on your drink.
you shrugged. "it was carlos sainz..."
she smiled as she playfully slapped your arm. "oh not a mystery boy, it was a man! he's cute..."
before you could fill her in on all the juicy details, lando was already pulling you away. "i'm going to borrow her..."
lando and you had known each other for about a year now and even though you repeatedly told him that you weren't looking for anything serious, he was trying everything in his power to make you his.
carlos had arrived with rebecca but his eye was on you and he saw how lando would wrap his arm around your waist when a guy would try to talk to you.
that should be him wrapping his arm around you.
when he saw lando getting a bit too close to you, he walked over to you guys and you smiled at the sight of him. "carlos!" you gave him a hug and he hugged you a little tighter, the hug lasted a little longer than what lando expected so he gently pulled you back into him.
rebbeca gave you a small smile and held onto carlos's hand.
"how do you guys know each other?"
"pierre introduced us awhile back."
so the four of you sat in a booth and as the boys talked about the race results, rebbeca and you had small talks here and there.
"so you're twenty one?" she asked and you nodded. "pretty young..."
you nodded once again and swallowed down the drink that lando had ordered you awhile ago. you watched as they continued to talk and had an idea pop in your head, you couldn't lie carlos was looking really good right now.
so while rebecca left to use the restroom and lando went to get you another drink, you decided to tease him just a bit.
"how's your little date going?" he asked as he fixed a button on his shirt.
"not a date." you took your left heel off and began rubbing his leg with your foot.
carlos laid his eyes on and tried shaking your foot off. "don't start..."
after a few failed attempts of him trying to get you to stop, he finally let it go and your foot had finally landed on his crotch. "how's you're date going?"
you felt him getting hard and continued to rub on his clothed erection.
"c'mon let's get out of here, my hotel isn't that fa-"
before he could finish, lando was already on his way back with the drinks. you took your foot away from his erection and turned your attention to lando, “aw, you got my favorite!" you placed a kiss on his cheek and you heard carlos clear his throat.
once rebbeca came back, the four of you talked about different things until something from a distance caught your eye. "i'll see you guys in a bit, just have to say hi to someone..."
they both watched as you walked away and ended up at another booth with a boy who had on a shirt that was the same shade of pink as your dress, they saw as the boy kissed your cheek and you guys began talking — carlos knew who this guy was because he one time saw him comment under your page and he was just being nosy.
vinnie hacker.
⟡
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vinniehacker oh yeah, i knew it :))
username omgg are they back together????
username she was just seen with an f1 driver, probably not
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ynspam i want everyone to know vincent posted this
vinniehacker lies, im innocent
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francisca.cgomes if you dont answer the phone right now!!!
ynspam im scared
pierregasly you're in troubleee
⟡
carlos had shown up to your brand new house in los angeles a week earlier than expected, you had invited him to hangout for a few days the following week.
"carlitos! what are you doing here?" you smiled as he hugged you and placed a kiss on your lips.
you knew that little nickname drove him crazy.
he said it was surprise but the truth was he didn't want someone else hanging around you or your new house; someone else meaning vinnie or lando. you had been on his mind constantly, he felt like you were messing with his head.
“maybe you should stop seeing both of them...” his teeth pulled on the bottom of your lip. "just be with me." his fingers held onto your jaw as his tongue slipped into your mouth.
disconnecting your lips from his, you turned your face a bit "that wasn't part of our dea-" he had quickly began pulling down the little short you had on along with the thong you had, dragging his fingers through your folds. "fuck, what about reb-"
"theres nothing serious going on with her." he shrugged as his fingers pushed into your pussy. "c'mon hermosa, what do you say?"
since you had already took his boxers off, you had gotten on top of him and kissed his lips. "i'm all yours carlitos..."
you knew that carlos was very much into very rough sex with you so you were surprised when he went soft this time, it was actually really nice.
⟡
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f1wagupdates ahh screaminggg!!! 😍
username welp didnt expect this
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landonorris he should
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landonorris 🤺
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carlossainz55 mi vida hermosa ❤️
ynusername 😚❤️
⟡
everything was going smoothly as you entered four months into your relationship, up until now when you guys finally had your first fight — carlos had taken you to meet his family for the week and let's just say you didn't get along with his mother.
"she's very beautiful carlos but that's not the type of girl you want to be seen with..." he remembered his mother telling him as he watched you play with his dogs in the backyard. "she's young carlos, why not find someone your age or finally rekindle your relationship with isa?"
"i think she's lovely..." his father said as he chewed on his food, earning him a glare from his mother. "she's beautiful, funny and i mean she sure knows how to cook a good meal."
the visit was about to be cut short when carlos had found you back in his room packing your bag. "she basically called me trashy carlos!"
he sighed and shook his head one. "she did not, my mother just said that it wasn't a very appropriate outfit to wear to dinner and you know i also told y-"
"well i'm twenty-one carlos, i'm not going to be dressing up like an old lady..."
the dress you had worn was just a tad bit too short but other than that nothing else was being revealed, carlos had no problem with the dress but he knew his mom probably wouldn't approve.
you had told him that you wanted to leave but he kept begging for you to just stay. "we have three more days left amor, please let's just stay..."
after a bit convincing he got you to stay and you tried to give it another shot but his mother was not cooperating with you and carlos had now seen it.
"it worked amor, she will be civil with you!"
you happily hugged him. "thank you! she's going to love me!"
"i know she will." he nodded and kissed the top of your head, you went on to say how you wanted to set up a breakfast for her in the morning but he quickly stoped you. "well just hold on to that idea, i have a surprise for you in the morning..."
⟡
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username barbie who???
landonorris tell everyone how you hit me with the ball
ynusername stop spreading lies
carlossainz55 at least she's getting better
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francisca.cgomes my wife everyone!
ynusername love youuu
pierregasly huh??
ynusername sorry, she's cheating on you
username y/n in her golfing era
⟡
carlos had invited lando golfing because he knew that the two of you got along pretty well considering what went on with the two of you in the past.
"glad it's not awkward since you know..." you joked as carlos wrapped an arm around you.
they both nodded. "the past is the past."
upon returning back to his parents's house, you were met with his family and isa sitting down at the dining table. "there they are! i invited isa to stay for dinner since you guys couldn't make it for breakfast..." his mother smiled at you and then back to carlos. "i did tell you about it last night, did you forget?"
you looked back at carlos who had a nervous smile on his face. "well um-"
"you've got to be kidding." you scoffed as you walked back into his room, packing whatever you could into your luggage once again.
he followed behind you and tried unpacking things. "amor por fav-"
"you lied to me carlos! you made me golf with lando while your ex was here having the time of her life with your parents." you took back the clothes form him and shoved them back in. "you had a totally different conversation with your mother than what you told me."
carlos sighed and wrapped and arm around you. "just please stay, one night and we will leave tomorrow morning..."
"so you want me to put on a smile and go sit with your ex girlfriend and my monster in law?" you threw one oh his shirts at his head but he caught it.
he sighed once again. "one night and we can work it out once we get out of here."
you groaned before nodding. "i will stay and we will leave in the morning but i will be going home, not to japan with you."
for the rest of dinner and the night you had been giving him the silent treatment and since the both of you rarely ever got into arguments, carlos wasn't sure how he was meant to fix things up with you.
he had two days to get you to come with him to japan and most importantly he had to get you to forgive him because he couldn't lose you.
carlos knew you different than any other girl he had ever been with in the past — yes you were a bit spoiled and sometimes a brat but he loved that about you, he cared so much about you and saw a real future with you.
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© weeknd-ogoc, 2023
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Christian Woman
(König x Nun!Reader)
Word count: 6.4 k
Tags/warnings: Pining intensifies, religious despair intensifies, minor injuries, treatment of wounds, crying, enthusiastic kissing, König gets a few boners. 18+ for eventual smut in this story.
A/N: Don't tell me you wouldn't get horny scared too if you saw this tall guy suddenly emerging from the shadows in his full war gear :) There's a cute date night and a lot of angst in this chapter too, I tried to summon an actual plot here... As always, I need to explain why they’re bonking! But smut is coming, next and last chapter will be full of fluff and steamy first times (Reader is virgin!)
Part 2
You have a feeling that this is the last day you’ll see him.
The stranger from the Austrian Alps, the kindest mercenary you’ve ever met – the only mercenary you’ve ever met – the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it.
The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone. You find no delight in singing with your sisters, and withdrawing to your cell for solitary prayer feels like stepping back inside your own personal purgatory.
You’ve been in heaven and in hell for days now. Maybe since the moment you met him...
But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose.
And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. It’s just your lower instincts speaking, a demon of some sort that tries to misguide you because no man is like Lord Jesus.
And yet, don’t they always preach that you meet Him in every person you meet? And that through you, other people meet God too…?
This reasoning feels much better. It solidifies the mercy you’ve longed for during the brief weeks you’ve known this man who brashly calls himself König. You want to believe that he carries a spark of the Divine in him, and that you hold a grain of the Virgin Mary’s compassion and love in you.
You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. For in König, you see a suffering God, a crucified Christ who rises against evil by offering himself to the cruelty of men. Somehow, the image of him as a mortal man starts to twist into a divine, dark trooper, someone who battles the forces of the evil in this world.
And this reasoning leads you to think that it is only natural that you, a Sister of the Faith, have helped him find some rest and relief in the middle of his work. It’s pretty clear that König has found some solace in your company, and even if things have ventured into a forbidden area of low, simple lust, it’s not dark enough to taint the beauty and grace you've felt together. As long as you hold on to this purity, nothing can go wrong.
While praying for both of you that morning, you find yourself replaying the smiles and touches König has given you these past weeks. You know you will drown yourself in memories after he's gone because they are all you’ll ever have of him.
And they're more than enough.
Or at least they should be…
You feel a tiny dagger of guilt push into your heart, the place reserved for Christ, when you’re assigned to do some spiritual reading instead of helping out in the kitchen or organizing the small library. The appointed texts are about falling into temptation and sin, reminding you about the consequences of such actions. You read the passings with a heavy heart and then slip out to meet König, possibly for the last time.
You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over. You keep him at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally, and the effects of this unexpected cold shower are immediate. The man doesn’t even try to disguise the sad, puppy-eyed stares he shoots your way.
You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.
You get offered not one, but two coffees today, and a large piece of dark chocolate cake that tastes of pure sin. He talks about how he would love to write to you, but you tell him you can’t be in correspondence with a man who isn’t your brother or father. König isn’t even married, so it would only raise questions – you would find yourself reading spiritual texts about lust and sin until it drives you crazy.
“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” he finally reveals with a voice thick with sorrow. “Can I see you before I go...? One last time?”
“I’d love to, but… I’m sort of being watched,” you say, slowly coming out of your shell to make it clear that you’d want to spend the rest of your life with him, but you simply just can’t.
Your weak, apologetic look is like a dose of confidence shot through his veins because the face opposite of you brightens immediately. König’s whole posture gets a hopeful uplift.
“Just for a little walk...? To see what the city looks like in the evening?”
“I don’t know if I can make it… I have to work until six... And attend the evening prayer at seven. And then silence starts at eight…”
You’re wringing your hands under the table while you explain, hoping König will come up with a solution to this dilemma.
“We can go for a walk after silence, then,” he shrugs.
“I–I can’t just escape from the window.”
“...Why not?”
You look at König; he looks straight back.
The man’s serious about you sneaking out your window at night; he’s actually serious, even if there’s a dark, playful smile rising on his lips.
“I can help,” he grins.
Your heart cracks open, it shoots full of light only more and more with that smile. König doesn’t need to ram a door down and shoot his way through your chest; all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home.
Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ’s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth.
You find yourself whispering “Ok”, and the whole world shifts.
You take a step towards something forbidden but great, your whole heart starts to sing along with life. You haven’t even done the actual thing yet but you’re already filled with bubbling laughter and excitement. If only your friend could see you now, about to do things she probably did when she was fifteen...
But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.
If this is the last day you’ll ever see him, you can surely steal a tiny moment for yourself and forget about rights and wrongs for a moment. Just forget about the rules, and live in the actual world for a few hours, breathe the worldly air, see what normal people do and pretend you’re one of them, for just one night.
…
You feel like Cinderella when picking clothes for the evening.
You rummage through the only closet in your room – during the time that should be spent in silent prayer before bed – and notice you still have your old jeans.
They’re light blue and still fit; actually, they fit more than well... You know that König’s eyes will be glued to your butt when you’re not looking.
You have completely forgotten how nice you look in jeans, and it’s the Devil talking, making you admire yourself in tight denim like this. You never cared about how you look before; you certainly never gave much thought to how men see you or if they’re checking out your butt or breasts. Now you’re grooming yourself like never before, trying to decide what to do with your hair as if your life depended on it.
You choose a simple, black t-shirt to pair with the jeans and not make it too obvious that you’re trying to flaunt yourself. It hugs your form but is otherwise plain, and for some people, your choice of clothing is probably their regular work outfit. To you, it feels like you’re about to go out to seduce everyone.
Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.
Lord, have mercy on me. I know I’m weak. But please let me have this, just this once…
And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.
It’s not a date, you remind yourself.
It’s not a date... It’s not a date. You’re just going to have a short walk with him.
And you fear that accepting König’s “help” was a mistake. If you get caught with a man on the convent perimeter, you’ll get your ass thoroughly whooped…
Can a man of his size even keep quiet?
He probably suggested it so that you wouldn’t chicken out of this. If König is at your window by 8 and there’s no sign of you, he’ll probably just come in, throw you on his shoulder and jump out. He knows where your window is located now, and surely has some questionable skills due to his profession, skills you know nothing about, but you’re still about to have a panic attack from pure excitement when the clock strikes 8.
You push the window ajar and settle on the sill to keep watch, gasping when you hear his familiar accent down below as soon as the window is open.
“Kätzchen...”
“König…?”
You peek down and meet his stupid, grinning face – God, he’s so happy to see you kept your promise. His eyes are shining, his fingers interlock to help you have something to place your foot on.
“Here, kitty, kitty…”
You could easily jump out the window without hurting yourself, but of course he wants to help you since you were so kind to tell him where he could come and "pick you up".
But to see that playful smile and hear him trying to coax you out like you’re some skittish little kitten…
Could a grown man get any more silly?
You wiggle yourself out the window, trying to ignore the fact that he’s probably staring at your butt, still grinning like crazy while you do it.
SupportING your entire weight like it’s no trouble at all, he helps you down. You’ve never been this close to him since you bumped into him: you have to take support from his shoulders as you search for a footing, and he scoops you in his arms the minute both your feet are safely on the ground.
“I knew you’d come,” he purrs with joy, and you place your hands on his chest – not to keep him at bay, but to touch him in a way that is as appropriate as possible when a man is hugging you like this.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whisper, still unsure if this is the best or the worst decision of your entire life.
“Kitty… Live a little, hmm?”
You have to crane your neck to look up at him – you’re not sure if you’re in the embrace of Jesus or Lucifer because the warmth of those eyes compare to the love of God, but they also make you weak and helpless. Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.
“You’re a bad influence,” you breathe – König only laughs, and the grip around you tightens.
“My lady. You’re the one who climbed out the window.”
“Because someone would’ve probably thrown small rocks on it if I hadn’t…!”
“Natürlich. And if that didn’t work… A serenade or two. Do you like love songs?”
You look down at his chest, smiling, heart fluttering at the thought of a silly Austrian man serenading under your window. You have no trouble imagining him singing something syrupy in German, waking everyone up with his racket.
“You’re crazy, did you know that...?”
“Sure. They tell me that all the time at work. Aber du… Du bist süss.”
“...What’s that?”
His smile only widens as he takes in your lips, your neck, the tight shirt that finally gives him something more to look at.
“You’re cute.”
…
The whole evening is heavenly.
It’s everything you’ve ever wanted from a date and more.
He doesn’t take you for a short walk, oh no. He takes you out to eat, at some lively restaurant where they serve delicious, artisan, wood-fired pizzas. You have créme brûlée for dessert, and König gives you his strawberries when he notices you eat them first, but only on one condition: you have to let him feed them to you one by one.
He buys you a rose: a big, red, plump one. No man has ever bought you flowers before, and even if you love lush, abundant bouquets, the fact that he chose you a single red rose after you’ve spoken about the beauty of simplicity, doesn't escape you.
König hasn’t only listened to you these past few weeks: he gets you. And how symbolic is it that he chose a rose that’s also tied to all the mysteries of God?
You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. It's a holy trinity of him and you and the Great Mystery, it’s passion and it’s thorns, it’s blood and beauty and pain, and you feel like he just gets you; he knows you through and through.
You pass by an outdoor bar with live music, and the place is so crowded that people are dancing on the streets. No cars honk as they slowly pass by the scene, the music and the laughing, dancing pairs make even the grumpiest passersby smile.
It shouldn’t be a surprise that König pulls you to him before you get to escape the scene. You’re drawn flush against his chest, hips colliding with his, hands finding each other in a slow sway that has never even seen the steps of Latin dances.
“Nuns are allowed to dance, no?”
He smiles dreamily, enveloped in the same sweet haze as you.
“Not with a man,” you correct, but don’t even bother to push him away. Instead, you let König guide his hand down your waist and draw you closer. If this isn't a date, you don't know what is...
“I can take the blame,” he says. “You can tell everybody it was me.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” you laugh.
“Why not?”
His eyes are glued to yours, making you warm all over, so much so that you feel like you’re burning from the neck up. You guide your stare down to his chest, then over to the quick heartbeat on his neck.
He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you.
You rest your head there on his chest, watching the golden sunset far away, painting the rooftops with a genial glow. Your heart is made of molten gold, too, as you allow yourself find a home in his embrace.
“I can take your sins,” he promises above you. “Jesus did that too, right?”
“You’re not Jesus,” you smile against his shirt – black, always black...
“Are you sure? I would go to hell for you.”
Your dance comes to a halt as you swallow and lift your gaze. The smiles are gone now, both yours and his. He’s so close now he could touch your lips with his if he wanted to.
And he does want to.
You don’t shy away as he leans down to kiss you. It’s chaste at first, a slow exploration, but then he opens your mouth with his, demanding, hot, intoxicating. You melt in his arms, and he somehow supports you through it all, turning the dance into an embrace and the decent little kiss into a full French one.
It’s hot and wet and slow, so, so passionate that your knees are about to give in. You devour him back, feel how he grows hard against your stomach – the swelling erection makes you dizzy before you come to your senses, but only barely.
You break away an inch, panting into his mouth while he’s panting into yours. What a blessing that you don’t own any lipstick; both of your lips are red without it…
“This is–”
“Inappropriate?”
His voice is husky, and sends a flood of wetness down between your legs. Your heart is racing, but you can’t even note how terribly alive you are before he attacks your lips again.
The kiss is even more desperate than the first one, and the slow urgency is gone. His mouth leaves you without air, and then – he wraps his arms around you and picks you up from the ground like you weigh nothing. Your hands get squished somewhere between you, naturally coming to cup his face as you kiss him back.
It’s eager, pure lust, so powerful and needy that it scorches through your chest and ties your heartstrings into tight little knots, makes your brows knit together, too.
He grunts into your mouth, sensing you’re more than up for this after all. You let him see the full depth of your hunger and your lust, just waiting to be released and taken – made love to until you’re both sore and messy and limp.
God… This is better than God…
You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. Realizing you’ve fallen into a dream trap of strong arms and needy lips about to depart tomorrow, you know it's something you could have had years ago, perhaps, but not anymore. You'll lose everything if you break your vows tonight: basically, you’ve already broken them, but no permanent damage has been done.
You can still turn back if you turn back now…
You push yourself away, push him away, heart clenching when you see his adoring, love-drunk, half-lidded stare.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, fighting back tears as you come down from your high. “I just–I can’t…”
He breathes labouriously, still clutching you against him, holding you in the air like you’re the thing he has searched for his entire life and now, finally discovered… Only to be told that he now has to put it back where he found it.
You’re crying by the time he sets you down, and you have no heart or will to pull away. Instead, you bury your face in his chest and cry your fill in his shirt. It’s soon damp from your tears as König hugs and supports you through his own stoic heartbreak.
“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…”
You repeat it until you can’t repeat it anymore, bawling in his chest while the world around you continues to spin despite your heaven and hell, despite your vows, despite your stupid devotion. The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain.
“Kätzchen, don’t cry,” he pets your hair while you sniffle and tremble in his embrace. You know this is not the last time you will cry your heart out over him, but knowing it doesn't help you when he offers you his last, bittersweet comfort.
“It was a good dream while it lasted...”
…
The rose withers in your cell.
You turn it upside down and tie it to the curtain rod to prevent it from dropping its petals. It dries beautifully and keeps its bloodred colour, now reminding you of both Jesus and him.
There hasn’t been a word from König in months, and of course there hasn’t. You denied his wish to write you, and the dried rose is the only thing left of your time with him.
In the first weeks, it’s hard to keep up a charade. You show up to prayer, work and mass with red eyes, revealing to everyone that you’re going through a loss of some sort. Somewhere during the first week, the abbess summons you to meet her and you brace yourself for a scolding.
God knows you don’t need the rebuke, and when you close the door and turn to face the symbolic mother of the convent, you end up breaking into tears right in front of her.
“Whatever you were up to, my child, I am glad that it is over now,” she says with all the gentleness of the world.
“Me too,” your voice breaks, and when the abbess extends her hands, you go to her, fall to your knees, and have another heartwrenching cry with your face in her lap.
You’ve denied yourself love and mercy for days, expecting to be expelled or shamed or ridiculed, but mercy is what you’re offered now, even after you’ve sinned.
The abbess caresses your hair just as softly as König did just days ago, and the fact that her kind gesture reminds you of some silly, infatuated soldier, only makes the breakdown worse. You bawl like a little child who’s deprived of candy, and you don’t even have the strength to berate yourself for it.
“I hope you haven’t done anything irredeemable...?”
“No... Nothing happened,” you sob and look out of the rose window, desperate for sun while your head rests on a gentle but distant lap.
Nothing happened except the most sinful, beautiful, lustful kiss of your life... Nothing happened except that you saw this man every time you could, held hands with him, swam in his smiles and affection, and went to bed with thoughts inappropriate for any human being.
“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”
Something in that sentence finally quenches the neverending flow of tears. Your muscles start to relax, and you remember that this is the eternal truth: to surrender, over and over again, to a power far greater than you.
The abbess never asks for details about what you have done. She never tells you you have sinned; you don’t need to be told that. The punishment has been dealt already: whoever ties herself to this world and its temptations will suffer exactly like this when the passion and excitement ends. The key to escaping its grip is to simply let go first, once and for all, surrender to the love of God, and trust that everything fill fall into place eventually.
“You must offer your mind and body to work now,” the motherly voice speaks above you. “Work, time and prayer will ease your pain.”
…
Work, time and prayer do ease the pain.
They ease all pains, but it takes almost six months to stop thinking about him every hour of every day.
You’re proud of yourself when you find out one day that you haven’t thought about him at all. He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one.
You could almost swear you catch a whiff of that particular scent in the yard when you go and water the flowers one evening, but it can’t be: he’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you even want to do about it because you already made your choice. This path leads you to greater peace of mind in the long run, and you know you made the right decision even if it hurt you and König.
Sunsets still remind you of him, the colour of rose and gold mixed with endings, but the memories are now laced with bittersweet love rather than blunt despair and pain. The times you spent with him are a collection of brief, blissful moments, and you treasure every single one of them in your heart. You still pray for him, not every day, but nearly every day. You touch the rose when the hurt reaches its peak, but the last time you did that was almost a week ago.
And you thought you had forgotten his scent, but apparently, you have not. In fact, it seems to drift to your nose again, which is odd because you’re outside, after all…
“Kätzchen.”
A whisper is hissed from the shadows just as you’re about to straighten and investigate, because either you’re going crazy or then there’s someone here who smells exactly like him.
You startle and almost drop the watering can, staring straight into the shadows under your window. The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves.
“Don’t be afraid. It’s me,” he rasps and tries to straighten from the slightly hunched position he’s in, but immediately falls back, then slants to lean on the wall. His gear is dirty, and he holds the side of his stomach with one hand, the lively blue eyes either drunk or very very tired.
“Dear God… What happened to you?”
You abandon the watering can and rush to him; it’s useless to ask if he’s injured when, clearly, he’s trying to prevent himself from slumping to the ground.
He’s enormous and intimidating even when wounded, a soldier loaded with ammo and weapons and protective paddings and guards, wearing a hood and a helmet and a radio of some sort, his tactical gloves bloody and eyes droopy. The weapon by his side is almost half as tall as you, and God – is that a grenade strapped to his vest?
“I got compromised,” König looks down at the wound but doesn’t remove his hand. He looks so different, like another man entirely when he’s not dressed in his customary olive green pants and a casual black t-shirt. He seems even buffier now, even taller, so terrifying that you wonder if you ever even knew this man.
You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.
“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. But it’s so weary now, so exhausted and frail compared to his confident, playful laughs and that husky voice with which he spoke to you after your kiss.
“I came to ask for help,” he continues under his breath, wobbling even when leaning against a wall. “You’re the only one I can… trust.”
“Of course, anything. I will do anything I can.”
His eyes smile down at you from behind the executioner’s veil. It’s that same devoted stare you’ve been trying to dispel for months now. You give yourself a quick mental shake, then tell him to wait here while you go in and call for an ambulance.
König bounces off the wall and seizes your hand, telling you he can’t go to a hospital and that, if anything, he must avoid any kind of public places. You don’t ask any further questions, even if you know you’re in a pickle now, and not only because those glacial eyes are making your knees weak again. There’s nothing much you can do: he’s wounded and still in danger, saying he can’t trust anyone else. Of course you have to help him in any way you can. If he says it’s not safe, then you must help him get somewhere where it is safe.
And besides, aren’t you a nun? You’re supposed to help those in need.
So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place.
It makes your heart bleed that König takes support from you while you slowly make your way down the street. A man of his size, a body trained to withstand whatever his job throws at him, seeking support from a frail little nun… It’s a joke, indeed, and a horrid one.
When you get to the small place run by a humble old man, you don’t know who to feel more sorry for: the elder behind the counter or König, desperately trying to stay on his feet.
“I mean no trouble,” he says while pushing an unnerving amount of money across the table. “I just need a place to rest.”
The receptionist’s eyes dart to you, then back to König, who still has what you suppose is a loaded rifle dangling by his waist. The safety is on, probably, but there are also knives and grenades strapped to his person, and with that hood, he mainly looks like a terrorist of some sort.
“She’s here to help. See...? Bride of Christ. Even less trouble than I am.”
You try to smile reassuringly as the man risks a better look at you now instead of being fixated on König or his weapons.
You must make an odd pair, a soldier and a nun... The old man probably has a ton of questions in his head right now.
“No shooting,” he says to you, but his words are directed at König.
“No shooting,” he promises. “No mess if no one knows we’re here. Ok...? You’ve never even seen us.”
The receptionist nods. Then he extends a trembling hand and takes the money, and hands out a key without taking any check-in information.
You go to König and help him up the small stairs and into his room paid with bloody money and a menacing appearance. The fitted carpet is old, and floral patterned, the room small and adorable and meant for visitors far more petite than König. The bedspread is old-fashioned and floral too and has never even seen blood, of that you are sure when König lays himself down with a grunt.
You spend the next minutes – or hours, you can’t tell – in a tunnel-visioned fog as you do exactly as he says.
You help him out of his gear and weapons and lay them aside quickly but gently, you cut his shirt with an ugly-looking knife, then get a watered towel for him to press against the wound. You rush back to his tactical vest and search for a first aid kit and some medicine, and start to treat his wounds per his advice.
The sun sets in the window, and you patch up your injured soldier with care, trusting his word when he says it’s only a flesh wound and that it looks far worse than it is.
“I should get shot more often,” he purrs when you’re cleaning the rest of the blood off his skin.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scold, trying to focus on your task and not the vast plates that make his chest. Or the thick abs, right there under your fingertips… Or the fact that he has incredibly narrow hips, and a luscious breath of dark hair leading from his navel down and underneath the waistband of his pants.
You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail...
And it does make you very happy.
You don’t dare to look beyond that because the pants he usually wears aren’t as tight as these, and you fear he’ll catch you checking out his junk in an attempt to see if your friend was correct about his size.
To your blessing – or your curse – you don’t even have to look straight at it to see he’s having an erection. You can actually see from the corner of your eye how König grows hard while you’re treating him – it’s right there, a robust tent that rises beside you while you concentrate on wiping off the blood.
“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “It just happens… Can’t control it.”
He breathes a bit too heavy for someone who’s lying down, and you fear it’s because of the blood loss. But then you start to suspect it’s probably because all the remaining blood has gone between his legs… He doesn’t even try to tone down the heated, obsessive stares he shoots your way, and you suppose he’s either missed you very much, or then there’s a fever rising after all. You’re not sure if you’re glad or disappointed that the bullet didn’t scrape his leg instead.
“I missed you,” he says like he just read your thoughts. He whispers the sentence slowly and with purpose, saying it like a long-withheld secret.
“I missed you too,” you whisper back.
Gosh… Here you are, a silly little nun who’s tried to get over a crush for six months, crying after him at night and caressing his rose during the day. You’ve been petting a withering flower some mercenary gave you in hopes of getting into your pants, you’ve fawned over memories of a few smiles and a kiss, all the while the said mercenary has killed people for money and now got shot. He came here to work again, but never sent a message, he only came to see you when he was injured…
...And you’re glad he did. If a bullet was needed to bring him back to you, then you’re grateful for it, no matter how horrible it is.
“Did you ever… find someone?” You ask while keeping your gaze fixed on his navel instead of the raging bulge in his pants.
“Someone, who?”
“Someone to hold hands with.”
He gives a strained laugh. “Ah. No. No time for that.”
You swallow, and slowly guide your eyes to his.
“Are you still happy with your crucified man?”
Ouch.
“I… I don’t know.”
His brows knit together; you can see it even in the dim light of the table lamp, you can see it even if there’s some godforsaken black war paint all over his face under that hood.
There’s a distant hurt in his eyes before he blinks softly, slowly.
“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.”
Your heart skips a beat.
He hasn’t had “time” for women, yet has written you letters all these months. He’s written letters while you’ve caressed a rose….
You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart.
“I wish I hadn’t… I wish I...” you start, but can’t bring yourself to finish.
“Liebling. I should’ve sent them anyway.”
You go get rid of the bloodied paper towels before you start to cry in front of him.
God… You’re not only in a pickle, you’re neck-deep in trouble, and you only notice you forgot to wash your hands when you return to him.
He reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Peace settles in, even if there’s blood on your hands and the man you adore is lying next to you, patched up with the help of a first aid kit when he should be lying in a hospital, receiving treatment and care.
There’s a knife and a pistol tucked under the bedspread, next to his hand, and the fact that he’s still prepared to fight anyone who tries to come through that door underlines the fact that you two come from very different worlds. König is more than just a rose buying, coffee offering gentleman, he's more than just a silly guy who threatens to sing serenades under your window if you don’t come out to play with him.
You’re not sure if you’re more enamoured or scared.
“You’re an angel,” he rasps from the bed as you try to swallow the tears that refuse to go down.
“No I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
A teardrop falls on the innocent floral bedspread as you wish you were in this room as a married couple instead of an injured, horny soldier and a childish nun in love. Spending your honeymoon or something, getting some rest after an eventful day in town, choosing this absurd old Bed & Breakfast as your place to stay for the night.
You wish you were doing anything else than treating his wounds, lethal or not.
“Are you crying?”
His voice is gentler than you even remembered. Six months of despair have turned him into a dark, alluring trickster when he’s really just a man, a big, amazing, tender man who’s multifaceted, multitalented, and always kind.
He's about to fall asleep, and it’s no wonder. The events of the evening have left you drained, too. You kneel beside his bed, too tired to even sit on a chair, wondering if he’ll die from his wounds tonight or get hunted down by the people who still want him dead.
“I wish you would stop killing people... I wish you would stop getting killed.”
You must look silly, kneeling beside a giant soldier’s bed, crying and holding his hand between yours as if praying. But his eyes smile at you, and while you’d want nothing more than to see his face again, you realise you kind of like König this way. Masked and menacing and mean to his enemies, but stripped down to his soul when he’s with you.
“I wish you would stop praying... And start living,” he mutters gently.
“Praying helps sometimes,” you whisper.
In truth, you wish you’d start living, too. You always thought you were brave when you said ‘no’ to the world. Perhaps you were only running away from it…
The hand is warm but not feverish. His breaths start to even, and his lids get heavier; his thumb gives you a small caress before he drifts off to sleep.
“Perhaps that’s why I’m still here, Kätzchen.”
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We talk about how mischaracterized Hobie is - which he is - but I honestly think someone else is characterized REALLY weirdly by fandom
Miguel O'Hara and Misrepresentation of His Rage: a.k.a Miguel has Ken Energy you fools
[this is a breakdown where I examine Miguel's trauma, his relationship with Miles, his role in The Society, and his personality]
I talk a lot of shit about the Hobie tag, but the over-saturation of smut in the Miguel tag is at critical mass.
And like Latino-fetishization aside, I feel like he's not written as a human.
He's written so flat.
I swear ya'll be writing him as the angriest, coldest, most anti-social man on earth. Ya'll be having him rude and avoidant with no friends whatsoever or a romantic soft latin lover and NO IN BETWEEN
which is so funny cause like... I feel like Miguel is Just A Guy
I know they're easy to overlook but I think about moments like these all the time
But I ALWAYS see him written him as friendless, and cold, or constantly irritated and angry but like - I feel like most of the time Miguel is just some dude. Like in a Good Way.
And he's fine with that.
Miguel runs a Society Full of Spider-people, and they're working for him voluntarily. Peter Parkers wouldn't work for someone they didn't think was genuinely, good-likeable, and level-headed.
He compliments Lego-Spider-Man. When Hobie was there he wasn't pissed he was just like 'not in the mood rn ngl'
and Hobie didn't take the piss outta him - because I feel like him and Hobie have a mutal understanding/relaxed relationship. All throughout the movie Hobie isn't talking bad about Miguel in specific - he never says anything about Miguel being annoying or evil - he's always taking about The Society Miguel has made.
Even Hobie - who will openly talk bad about the PM, doesn't really feel the need to diss Miguel's character in specific. Which I find very interesting.
I think this, along with a couple other things shows that the way we view Miguel in fandom is not really how he is, like..when he's not going buckwild insane.
Miguel and His Role as Canon
I could see Miguel taking his role as boss very seriously - the same way he took being a father.
Miguel has assumed the role of 'leader' over these Spider-people. In his eyes, it's his job to lead these people through their canon events to the other side, for the safety of the universe, and for them to become the people fate says they're supposed to be.
Because he made the mistake of 'going against fate'. A lot of the time we say that Miguel's justification is 'because I suffered, you must too'. But in his eyes, it's more like 'I tried to run from who I was supposed to be and it blew up in my face. Please don't make the same mistake - it's not worth it.'
Quiet literally 'Do what you're supposed to do, and things won't fall apart around you.'
And I think that really says a lot about how he feels about his own choices, and his own daughter.
Miguel broke canon to be with his daughter, and because of that, she - and billions of others, died. And Miguel feels directly responsible for that. In his eyes, he killed his daughter and murdered billions of people.
And although he loves his daughter - he sees it as not worth it. He sees taking her father's place as a mistake.
To Miguel, canon events and the pain they cause are much more 'worth it' and 'tolerable', than the pain and guilt of killing an entire universe.
Because with canon events, there is no fault. It's not your fault you couldn't catch Gwen Stacy. It's not that you're not fast enough, it's that it's suppose to happen. It's not your fault.
But in Miguel's case - it was his fault. It wasn't suppose to happen.
That's why Miles sets him off in a way others don't and can't. Because he wasn't supposed to happen.
When things are under control, Miguel is fine. When things aren't, Miguel isn't.
Miguel needs order. He needs canon. Not because he likes it, but because he feels beaten into submission by it. He feels safe in the idea that canon events happen even if you do everything right, because he still feels the guilt of having done something 'wrong'.
That's why he sees letting people die in canon events as 'the right thing'.
It's the trolley problem.
A trolley is hurtling at someone you love, on the other track there are 5 people. Do you let the one you love die, or do you hit the switch and save them - and take the blame for killing five people?
What's the right thing to do? Save your captain father and letting a universe die? Or letting your father die, but the universe will for sure live.
Miguel has already made his choice, even if he didn't know it at the time. By becoming a father, Miguel hit the switch. And he chose his daughter at the expense of a universe. And he regrets that decision. He feels guilt, like he's to blame.
When canon events happen, there's no one to blame. When anomalies happen, there is.
Miles and Miguel
Miles and Miguel have an interesting and unique dynamic with each other, one that I haven't seen anyone mention yet.
When I look at Miles and Miguel, especially in this scene:
I kinda see Miguel and a past version of himself. Miguel trying to stop what he sees - as someone about to make the same mistake he did.
When Miguel met his daughter, he didn't know about it's threat to the multiverse. And although it might be described as the best time in Miguel's life, he regrets it. If he would go back, he would have rather let his daughter live. Fatherless, but at least she would have lived.
Miguel didn't know. But Miles does. And that's what makes Miguel so furious.
Miles is going to go against canon, be with his dad, and threaten the multiverse. And Miguel believes that if Miles does this, billions of people and beings across a universe will die. 100% totality rate, 100% assured.
Miles is in the same position as Miguel once was. Miles has the same choice. To choose the one he loves over canon.
The only difference is Miles knows. He has a chance.
Miguel believes that Miles can spare himself the pain, and the guilt of murdering billions - if he just listened to him.
Miguel is the only Spider-person who has ever killed a Spider-verse. And he doesn't want that for Miles.
Miles being an anomaly was one thing. He was ready to calmly talk about that. But when Miguel sees him going down the same road as he once did, making the same choice even though Miguel is telling him not to - it makes it snap.
Because if Miguel could go back, knowing what he knows - if Miguel could only be in Miles' place - he wouldn't. Like Rio said - Miguel would kill to be in his place.
He sees Miguel like how Rio describes herself, oddly enough. Rio says she'd kill to be in Miles place, and she doesn't understand his 'irresponsible' behavior. But unbeknownst to her - his 'irresponsible' behavior is more heroic than she can understand.
Miguel is just the same. He sees Miles' choice as irresponsible, that he's making all the wrong choices even though people are throwing opportunity at him.
Miles is the only other Spider-person to risk what Miguel risked. And, genuinely believing everyone will die because of this - he's furious at Miles, the same way he's still furious at himself. He loved his daughter, and he knows Miles loves it dad. But having been on the other side of it all, he sees it as not worth it.
Miguel wants to be the only Spider-man who is the way he is. He doesn't want to Miles to do what he did, become what he is. Because he knows theres no coming back from that.
If Miguel could go back and shake himself and scream in his face to leave Gabriella alone, to just leave her dimension alone, he would. But he can't.
So he does it to Miles.
Miguel as a Boss
I don't think Miguel is an outright mean or abrasive person. I feel like outside of Miles, he's fairly calm, albeit a bit stressed. I could see him being really organized and good at time management -
And I can see Miguel being good with people.
I don't think he's the kinda boss that'd be like 'Oh, you had a canon event last night? Your girlfriend fell off a building? Yeah, we get that a lot, get over it.'
And if anything - I think he'd want to help the Spider-people when it comes to processing canon events.
Miguel believes that canon events are necessary, not just to the multiverse, but to the development of who Spider-people are 'supposed' to be. So I think he'd set up support systems around HQ to help them process it, and he'd at least be a bit understanding.
I could absolutely see Miguel as the type to ask a teammate "Are you alright?" after something intense, or telling them to sit out. I could see him giving generous leave for Spiders who are going through stuff.
By Jess's response, it seems as if he leaves most of that to her, but I feel like the fact he stops to tell Gwen "Don't worry, kid." shows that he's use to comforting people, or prioritizes putting people at ease.
I mean, what Spider-man doesn't?
Miguel does seem to get along with people (aside from Miles and Gwen when he's scolding her), and it seems like people do like Miguel.
Miguel's Personality
Tbh - I don't think he's nearly as angry as fandom makes him out to be.
He was raising a child. I imagine that for the most part, he's pretty patient.
Like if you call him a name, he's not gonna get pissed. I feel like he's more likely to be like "Haha. Very funny." Or just pinch his nose bridge and be like "You done?"
I mean I know with all the gnashing and clawing and yelling and going apeshit, it can be easy to imagine Miguel as JUST that.
But I also like to imagine that most of the time, he's just like that normal boss as Target.
And a lot of his day is spent doing boring mundane things.
He's not always standing there brooding over videos of him and his dead daughter. He only does that when he's psyching himself up to yell at Miles.
Outside of that, he probably has a lot more things to do, realistically speaking. Organizing missions, checking status reports, looking over intake forms of anomalies, okaying and vetoing different protocols. Approving new technology, taking complaints from members, dealing with Hobie (an extra job in its own right), fixing things MayDay breaks, etc, etc.
And he's completely fine with that. Maybe he even finds calmness in it. When there's order, and routine, and everyone is working together and there's no kinks in the hose per say, he can operate.
Like yeah he's a little irritated and looks like he only slept 4 hours - but he's here and he's going to work with his team and employees, make sure things run smoothly, and make sure everyone gets home safe.
He's gonna try and make the society a nice place to be and make sure people on the team (like Lego) feel appreciated and odd-one-outs like Hobie get to hang and do what they want without much kickback.
The other Spider-people - like Pavi - wouldn't have joined otherwise.
If Pavi had showed up and Miguel was all stern and cold and rude, he probably would've been like 'no thanks my friend'
Miguel knew Peter B. before he lost Gabriella. So he had to become friends with Peter some way. He was putting up with Peter and his humor by choice, and in return Peter must have found Miguel cool enough to hang out with.
I think it's because Miguel is good with people, a lot of different types of people.
He's pretty down to earth, even if he is a work-aholic. He can be fun to chill or hang out with, even if he's a bit of a tight-ass.
Sure his humor may be dry, and his personality tame, but he's just him.
But I can see him as being a guy who you see at the gym routinely and never say hi to but you just nod at each other in silent respect while doing your workouts sometime.
Or the dude at your job you only see at the coffee machine - you know he does other stuff, but you never run into him anywhere else.
Or the dude who'll stop on the street when you ask for the time and lift one earphone before telling you it, then walking away without another word.
DO YOU GET WHAT I MEAN DO YOU GET THAT VIBE Like just Dude He's like a dad but not like a 'Dad vibe' with like sneakers or anything but like 'Dad who comes to PTA meeting but doesn't talk to anybody and quietly leaves when it's over'.
DO YOU UNDERSTAND PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU UNDERSTAND THIS VIBE It's giving Ken.
Anyways stop avoiding Miguel's Kenergy.
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