#I get that this doesn’t come from a bad place most of the time. Perhaps an OC someone made has elements of a character you really like...

[serpentandlily]

congratulations on 3k followers!

would love to request Azriel x Reader (Fem!Reader if that’s okay with you), some good ole’ angst ending in fluff please!

Az knows reader is his soulmate and doesn’t say anything, reader either finds out because someone in the IC told her or the bond snaps for her, and she thinks Az didn’t tell her because he’s ashamed of her but really he’s ashamed of himself and thought reader wouldn’t want him.

I know this has been done before but I love seeing different versions of it and know yours would be amazing!!

The Shadowsinger’s Secret

Summary: After years spent trying to befriend the shadowsinger to no avail, you are finally ready to give up after accidentally overhearing him speak poorly of you. But when a gossip session exposes a life-changing secret, you realize you can’t let go of Azriel just yet. 

Warnings: some miscommunication, fluff

A/n: Hope you enjoy this! Thanks for sending in a request and for your kind words!

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Meeting Mor at Rita’s during the time Velaris was warded and locked down had completely changed your life. 

A close friendship had bloomed between the two of you. She introduced you to her two other friends, Cassian and Azriel, when she invited you to a dinner at the townhouse they all shared. After getting over the shock of meeting the fae so close to the High Lord, you were quick to make friends with them—or well, with Cassian at least. 

Although Azriel didn’t seem like much of a talker in the first place, you began to notice the extra ways he would go about avoiding you. Quickly leaving a room with lousy excuses when you entered, avoiding eye contact when he did address you—like when he’d ask you to pass the potatoes since that was really the only time he talked to you, or pretending not to notice you when you would see him out and about in the city. 

At first, you chalked it up to him being severely introverted and shy. Not to mention, all three of them were struggling with the fact that their brother and friend was stuck under the rule of Amarantha. It hurt your feelings, but you brushed it off, figuring he would open up to you over time. But that time never seemed to come even after Rhysand returned. 

The first few months after Rhysand finally came home, you were quick to form a friendship with him despite him being your High Lord. You two shared similar traumas. You both had terrible fathers growing up. He had lost his sister, you had lost your brother—the reason you’d moved away from home to live here. But perhaps the best and most silly reason you got along so well was the fact that the two of you loved to gossip. 

Even after making friends with both his brothers and Mor, Azriel did not warm up to you. He still avoided you. Still made sure to always sit at the other end of the table from you. Made sure to never be left in a room alone with you. And he would never be the one to offer to fly you up to the House of Wind, even when it would’ve been more convenient. 

You were beginning to think maybe he just didn’t like you. And then those feelings were confirmed with the appearance of the Archeron sisters. 

You had seen the way Azriel treated Elain, always offering to keep her company or escort her to places. He sat with her at dinners, listened to her talk about her hobbies, and even defended her when a bad word was said about her. Elain was easy to get along with, sure, but so were you. At least, you had thought you were. But Azriel was making you question everything you had ever thought of yourself. 

He even became friends with Nesta, who had been nothing short of a viper when she first arrived in Velaris. That was when you finally let go of the notion of ever being his friend, ever getting him to even so much as look your way. He didn’t like you. For whatever reason, a reason you were too scared to ask the others about, he didn’t like you. 

You had gone to such great lengths to be his friend. Gave him presents on Winter Solstice, brought his favorite treats from the bakery to leave in the kitchen for him every sunday, tried to converse with him during dinners, included him whenever you invited the group out for drinks. You had tried your hardest and it had been met with pure apathy. You eventually found out that he wouldn’t even eat any of the treats you brought, leaving them all for Cassian.  

That really drove the nail into the coffin. He didn’t even want to touch something because it had been from you. It hurt more than you’d like to admit.

You were currently making your way to Rhys’s office for a meeting about how your mentorship with Madja was going but more importantly, to share the hot gossip you’d heard when two voices caught your attention. 

You paused in your tracks when you heard your name mentioned, glancing at the closed door to Rhys’s personal library. 

“You should at least try and talk to her, Azriel.”

“You don’t understand, Elain.” You heard Azriel respond. “I can’t.” 

“It’s not fair that you're making judgements without even knowing her. She’s pretty, she’s kind—Y/n is a great girl!”

Your heart was wildly beating in your chest, both panic and nausea turning over your stomach. 

“I do know her and she’s not. She's not pretty or kind. She’s not a great girl, she’s—”

You fled before you could hear the rest of Azriel’s response, tears burning in your eyes, chest tight. 

So none of it had been in your head. Azriel truly disliked you. You didn’t know what you did to offend him or make him hate you.

You swallowed, thickly, wiping away the tears that had slid down your cheeks, trying to compose yourself before you entered Rhys’s office. The last thing you wanted was for him to ask you why you were upset.

But you could do nothing about the nausea in your stomach, or the hoarse feeling in your throat that made it hard to swallow. Maybe you’d just drop off the report and scurry home before anyone noticed something was wrong. 

You pushed open the door to his office, keeping your eyes on the floor as you entered and shut it behind you. 

“Ah, Y/n, just the person I was waiting for! You will not believe what I heard Nesta telling—” You looked up when Rhys paused to see him staring at you with concern. “Y/n, what’s the matter? Why do you look so upset?” 

“N-nothing,” you choked out, striding forward and setting your report on his desk. “I’m just a bit tired today. Think I’m going to head home and take a nap.” 

Rhysand stared down at the folder on his desk with a frown before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Bullshit.” 

“Excuse me?!”

“I’m calling bullshit, Y/n,” Rhys said, looking at you with a stern expression that was normally reserved for when Nyx acted up. “You stay out all night long with Mor all the time and you’ve never skipped out on our talks! What happened? Did someone hurt you? Who do we have to beat up?” 

You shook your head with a small laugh that sounded as hollow as you felt. “Seriously, Rhys, I’m fine. Nothing happened. I really am just tired.” 

He studied you before nodding at the chair in front of his desk with his chin. “Sit.” 

You bristled at him using his High Lord’s voice to get you to obey, reluctantly taking a seat in the armchair. He didn’t seem bothered by the glare you were sending his way. 

“This is hardly necessary,” you argued.

“You’re not leaving this room until you tell me why you walked into my office looking like a little, downtrodden puppy.” 

“Gee, thanks,” you scoffed at his comparison. “Like I said, nothing is wrong!” 

Rhys only quirked an eyebrow at you and you let out a noise of frustration. “Fine! Look, I just overheard some people talking about me and not all of it was…

pleasant, okay? That’s all.” 

“Who?” Rhys barked out. “What were they even saying? You’re the most harmless person I know.”

You rolled your eyes at his remark. 

“No one important and besides, people are allowed to have negative feelings about me,” you sniffed. “Even if it hurts to hear.” 

“If it was no one important then you wouldn’t be upset. And no one is allowed to have negative opinions about any of my friends except for me,” Rhys leaned back in his chair and kicked up his feet on his desk before giving you a very feline smile. 

You snorted. “Yeah, well, what if it was one of your friends I overheard?”

You regretted those words as soon as they came out of your mouth. 

Rhys perked up. “If it was Cassian, don’t pay him any mind. He’s just mad you beat him at poker last week.” 

“It wasn’t Cassian. It was Azriel,” you sighed. 

Rhys was silent for a moment before he burst into laughter. Your mouth dropped open at his audacity. 

“It’s not funny! I’ve spent years trying to be his friend! I don’t know why he hates me so much.” 

“It’s funny because I know Azriel would never talk shit about you. He doesn’t even talk shit about the people he does hate and he most certainly does not hate you,” he chuckled. “I don’t know what you overheard but it must be a misunderstanding.”

“It wasn’t!” 

“Alright, show me.”

You felt dark claws tap on your mental shield and you let him in after some slight hesitation, letting him view your most recent memory. 

“Hm,” Rhys mused when he was done. “I’m not convinced. You should’ve stuck around to hear what he said.” 

Hearing Azriel’s words in your head again caused a new round of tears. You tried to hold them back, sniffling but it was no use. Rhys sat up straight when he realized just how upset you were. 

“Y/n, please don’t cry. I promise you Azriel does not hate you. I know how awful that sounded but I really think—”

“He does! He’s never liked me! I’ve tried so hard to be his friend, Rhys, and he always ignores me or pretends I’m not there. Every time I try to talk to him he gives me one word answers and runs away with any excuse like he can’t even stand to be around me! I don’t know what I did to make him hate me so much or think I’m an awful person.” 

You wiped away the tears on your cheeks, bitterly. 

“Azriel’s just…shy,” Rhys said, weakly. “Give him some time to warm up to you.”

“I’ve known him for over fifty years now, Rhys! Hell, he’s already friends with Elain and Nesta and they’ve barely been living here for two years. I think if he wanted to be my friend, it would’ve happened already. He just doesn’t like me!” 

The door to Rhys’s office opened right after you finished talking and you stiffened as Cassian strode in. 

“Oh, hey, Y/n, I didn’t know you were in here,” Cassian greeted as he shut the door behind him. He stopped in his tracks once he noticed your tears and Rhys’s grimace. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” 

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands with embarrassment. 

“Y/n is under the impression that Azriel hates her.” 

“No, I know he hates me,” you said, voice muffled. 

Cassian’s booming laughter filled the office, making you sink further down in the chair. What the hell was so funny about this? 

“You think Azriel hates you?” Cassian asked in between his laugh. “Y/n, that is ridiculous! He could never hate you. You’re his mate—”

“Cassian!” Rhys rose, slamming his hands down on his desk. 

Your head sprung up. 

“What…what did you just say?” 

Rhys let out a sigh, pinging the bridge of his nose. “Gods damn it, Cassian. Y/n…you weren’t supposed to find out this way. I’m so sorry—”

“Azriel is my mate and he knows? He told you guys but not me? Why…”

Why? Of course you knew why! He never told you because he didn’t want you as his mate. All the air in the room was sucked out, your face turned hot, your ears started ringing. Your mate didn’t want you. Your Mother-blessed mate didn’t want you. You shot up out of your seat, rushing to the door. 

“Y/n, wait!” 

But you didn’t stop.

────────────

“It’s better this way,” Azriel sighed. “She deserves better than me. She deserves someone as good as her as a mate. She could never want someone like me—I’m not good enough for her.” 

“You should at least try and talk to her, Azriel,” Elain replied. 

“You don’t understand, Elain. I can’t.” 

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t talk to you because the mating bond might snap in place and then you’d be chained to him forever and that was just not fair to you. You deserved so much more. 

“It’s not fair that you're making judgements without even knowing her. She’s pretty, she’s kind—Y/n is a great girl!”

“I do know her and she’s not. She's not pretty or kind. She’s not a great girl, she’s a saint. She’s not just pretty, she is the most beautiful girl in the world and she’s so much more than just kind. She’s good unlike me. I’ve…I’ve done so many bad things. I’m tainted and if I allow myself to be with her, I’ll ruin her.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, Azriel,” Elain sighed. “Besides, shouldn’t Y/n be the one to decide for herself if you’re good enough for her? Me and Lucien didn’t get off to a great start but at least he was honest with me.” 

Azriel’s wings drooped to the floor. “You’re…right. It’s not fair to her that I’ve been keeping this a secret all these years. But I don’t want her to feel forced to be with me.”

“She is smart, Azriel, and can handle herself. If she doesn’t want you, I’m sure she’ll be honest about that. But you won’t know until you try. And as much as I love listening to you talk about her—I think I can speak for all of us when I say that you should stop saying this stuff to us and start saying it to her! She probably thinks you hate her with how much you avoid her!” 

Azriel’s chest ached at that thought. The last thing he wanted to do was upset you which is why he stayed away. 

“But—”

“No more buts, Azriel,” Elain said, sternly. “Tell her before she finds out some other way like Feyre did. You know how much that upset her. Rhys is lucky my sister is so forgiving.” 

Azriel swallowed thickly, but rose to his feet. It was about time he faced this, about time he stopped trying to hold his mate at arms length. Even if he felt like he didn’t deserve you, you deserved to know the truth. 

“Okay. You’re right. You’ve all been right and I’ve been a coward. She deserves the truth.”

Elain smiled, nodding her head. “Good luck, Azriel. Just remember if she seems reluctant at first, don’t take it to heart. It took all of us some time before we warmed up to our mates.” 

He gave her a dip of his head before leaving the library to start his search for his mate. What he didn’t expect was you to come barreling down the hallway with tears pouring from your eyes. His stomach turned over at the sight and he quickly stopped you in her path, grabbing you by the shoulders. 

“Y/n, what’s wrong—”

Your eyes widened as you stared up at him.

“D-don’t,” you cried out, shrugging out of his grip. “Please, don’t touch me.”

And then you were off again, disappearing around the corner. He stood frozen in place, debating if he should run after you. But you clearly didn’t want to talk to him. And it was all his fault—the distance he had put between the two of you. 

He made his way to Rhys’s office, pushing aside the urge to run after his mate and find out why you were so upset and who he needed to hurt for causing your tears. 

When he entered, he immediately knew something was wrong. Cassian was staring at him with pure guilt in his eyes while Rhys stood behind his desk, frowning. 

“Azriel, I’m so sorry,” Cassian choked out. 

“Sorry about what?” 

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he wanted to ground to swallow him whole. “I might’ve told Y/n that you're her mate.” 

“You what,” Azriel growled. 

Cassian glanced at Rhys who decided to jump in before a war broke out in his office. “Honestly, Azriel, it’s your fault for keeping it from her. She was in here crying because she thinks you hate her. I was trying to convince her you don’t when Cassian walked in and let it slip.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Azriel spat out. “You hid your mating bond from Feyre too.”

“Not for over fifty years! I would’ve told her if she hadn’t found out. I withheld that information for a few months and look how that turned out. How do you think Y/n will feel knowing you hid it from her for over fifty years!” 

Azriel’s wings slumped, his shadows whirling around him in distress. Just the idea of you being hurt by him was enough to make him want to bash his head into the wall. “She deserves better.”

“You’re right. She deserves you,” Cassian said, gently, nudging him with his shoulder. “Maybe this was the push you needed, Az, to finally talk to her.” 

Azriel sighed, bowing his head in shame. “I know, I know. And I will—I will go talk to her.” 

“I recommend starting with an apology,” Rhys joked but Azriel was hardly paying attention, already sending out his shadows to find his upset mate.

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You were sitting on a hill that overlooked Velaris, running your fingers through the grass. This day had gone from bad to absolutely dreadful in the matter of a few minutes and now you were left reeling with the information that Azriel was your mate. A mate that had kept the bond secret from you. A mate that obviously didn’t want you.

He had said so to Elain. He didn’t think you were pretty or kind or great. It all made sense now, how much he had avoided you in the past. He didn’t want you to figure it out, didn’t want the bond to snap for you. You let out a sigh, drawing your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them.

A light breeze of wind ruffled your hair forward as someone appeared behind you. You didn’t bother turning around, already recognizing that familiar smell of cedar and night-chilled mist. Cassian must’ve let him know that the cat was out of the bag and now Azriel was likely here to beg you to reject him.

“You know, I’ve lived in Velaris nearly my whole life but I’ve never been up here before today.” Azriel’s deep voice broke the silence. “That’s a beautiful view of the city.”

“I know,” you answered, quietly, your voice hoarse from crying. “It’s why I come up here.”

“Do you come here often?” His voice was closer this time and his shadows began to whisk through your hair and under your arms, much like they always did when in your presence.

“Only when I’m upset,” you sighed, blinking away more tears.

There was a moment of silence before Azriel spoke again. “I’m really sorry, Y/n. I did not intend for you to find out about the bond that way.”

“It’s alright,” you said, weakly. “It must’ve been hard finding out your mate is someone you don’t want. I know you’re here to ask me to reject it. I will do as you ask so you can continue on with your life.”

“No,” Azriel spit out quickly, stumbling closer to you. “No, I’m not here to ask you to reject it. I’m here to explain myself…I hate that this has made you so upset.”

He sat down next to you, mimicking your position. You kept your gaze forward, scared to see what you might find if you looked at him. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Azriel. I get it. I, um, I overheard you talking about me to Elain.”

“Rhys showed me what you overheard,” Azriel said, his wings flexing before the one closest to you curled around your form to block the wind. “I wish you had stayed just a second longer, Y/n, because I truly was not saying anything bad about you. I would never—”

“If that’s true then what were you doing? What did you mean when you said I wasn’t pretty or kind or great? What could that possibly mean other than what it seems to?”

“I said that because it’s true. You’re not pretty or kind or great, Y/n. You are beautiful, the most beautiful girl to ever step foot in this world. And you’re not just kind, you’re so much more than that. You are good. You have the heart of a true angel. You are so much more than those three words can describe. I never kept the bond from you because I didn’t want you. I kept it a secret because you deserve someone better,” Azriel confessed.

“And you don’t think you can be that someone for me, Azriel? You’re my Mother-given mate! You want to know something? I’ve always dreamt about finding my mate one day. Hoped that I would get to experience a love like that in my lifetime. And to find out—”

Your voice cracked, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“Please, don’t cry,” Azriel pleaded, taking your chin in his grasp, and turning your head to face him. He cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears. “I longed for the day I would find my mate. But when I finally found you after all these years, I…I didn’t know how to wrap my head around the fact that the Mother blessed me with you. You are so much more than I ever dreamed of. You are all that is good in this world. You bring happiness to every room you walk in. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. The last thing I wanted was to drag you down by shackling you to me.”

“What if it is you that I want? What if I want you to be that person? Did you ever consider that might be a possibility? Because let me tell you something, Azriel. You say I’m more than you ever dreamed of, but you are exactly who I’ve been dreaming of all these years. Someone calm, someone patient, someone good of heart. Someone I can feel safe around. Someone I can call home. What would you say to that?”

“Then I might say you’re an idiot for wanting me,” Azriel chuckled, still stroking your cheeks with his thumbs, staring down at you with those beautiful hazel eyes. “But then I’d probably get down on my knees and beg you for a second chance. To let me prove to you that you have my heart and soul. You have since the day I laid eyes on you.”

You stared up at him, eyes wide with your vulnerability. “And if I agreed to give you a second chance, what would you say?”

“I would say be ready by seven tonight so I can take you out and show you what a girl like you deserves,” Azriel breathed out. “What would you say to that?”

You laughed, the ache in your chest finally soothed. “I would say yes.”

Azriel smiled, a rare and breathtaking sight, before he stood and reached out a hand to help you off the ground. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

You smiled back at him before finally taking his hand.

[charliemwrites]

Bark bark bark awoooo

You’re gonna fucking combust.

Somehow, someway, this is Johnny’s fault. You’re not sure how yet, so he it isn’t fair for him to be in trouble, but you know it.

“This is your fault,” you tell him, pouting in bed — bare ass naked, but that means nothing to him, he’s a dog. He cocks his head, and you wave your (broken) vibrator at him. “I don’t know how, but it is. Is this because I wanna chop your balls off?”

His mouth closes, eyes big - like he actually understands you. In your horny delirium, you almost believe he really does.

You flop onto your back with a sigh, eyes a little wet with frustration.

It’s been two months since you last successfully got off. Your vibrator (and its replacement… and its replacement’s replacement) keep breaking, or running out of battery. The plug is defective or falls out of the socket.

Once you successfully got right to the edge - just for it to die. You almost did cry that time.

Sure, there’s your hand. But every time you try ol’ reliable a certain four-legged roommate interrupts one way or another. And when you tried to kick him out of the room, and then ignored the howling, scratching, and general drama - there was loud and rapid knocking at your door.

Like fucking clockwork. If you get anywhere at all, you never get to finish.

It wouldn’t be so bad, either. Your libido isn’t anything crazy, you don’t think. At least it wasn’t before. But now there’s Soap.

Soap who you should not be so attracted to. Who has no sense of propriety or boundaries, who murmurs the dirtiest things to you in the most public and otherwise mundane places. And he just keeps. Showing. Up.

Like he’s got a tracker on you or something. (You’ve checked, he doesn’t.)

He’s like every guilty fantasy you had as a good, studious girl back in high school. The kind of guy to grab your thigh under your parents’ dinner table and take your virginity in the back of his car. Maybe corner you by the lockers between classes to kiss you silly and drive up your absence record.

You never actually went for those boys — and perhaps gratefully, they never went for you. In romance novels, it would be a quaint little coming of age story. The stuff to swoon over. But reality was a lot scarier for you, especially with your older sister always keeping an ear out to report back to your parents and… well, yeah.

You’ve always been a firm introvert, anyway. That’s why you live out in the woods with only a dog for regular company.

But Soap. Soap is some unholy amalgamation of those innocent, shy girl fantasies turned R-rated. Like the grown-up version of those cute YA novels.

And you have no defense for it — except distrust, that is.

Soft-hearted as you are, you know you don’t do casual well. And you know that guys like Soap just like to spin you up and up until you finally give in, think the dreaded words “maybe it’ll work out” despite that rational voice in your head saying, “don’t bet on it.”

Doesn’t stop you from secretly wanting him though.

Fear is the only thing keeping you in check now. Some of it for you own feelings; of getting invested in a guy that has done nothing but treat you like a prime cut of meat. The rest of it is a genuine concern that he might be a bit dangerous. He’s so much bigger than you, visibly stronger. Has gone out of his way to make you uncomfortable (doesn’t matter that a very dark and slutty part of you liked it) and ignored your attempts at brushing him off.

Fear, unfortunately, is beginning to add to the temptation.

“I’m not going to do it,” you tell yourself, or maybe Johnny. Soap’s contact is on the screen. You don’t remember putting it into your phone, but you must have at some point. “Nope. No way.”

You slide a sideways look at Johnny, tail wagging at a steady clip.

“He’s probably a former frat boy or something, right?” you muse.

Snort.

“No, you don’t think so?” you question, sitting up. He happily crawls into your lap when you pat your thighs, chin resting on your tummy. “Nah, you’re right. Could almost imagine him beating the hell out of one for pissing him off.”

A little grumbly noise. You smile and start petting absently over his head and ears, phone forgotten now.

“This is dumb anyway,” you sigh, head tilted back to the ceiling. “You don’t like men. I couldn’t bring him back here.”

Johnny’s ears flick. You giggle and start flopping them around, making airplane noises. Eventually he huffs and starts licking at your face until you stop, complaining that you’ll need to wash off now.

—

“Fuck it.”

Johnny picks his head up, staring at you as you run a hand down your face.

“Fuck it all. I’m going to a bar. I’m getting… I dunno. Laid or something.” Thank god it’s only Johnny here. You don’t think you could live with the embarrassment of someone else hearing the way you talk.

You set your hands on your hips, nod to yourself.

“And if it happens to be Soap, then… sign from the universe, right?” You grimace a bit, striding for your bedroom. “Please don’t let him be a murderer or something…”

For once, Johnny is perfectly behaved as you get ready. He doesn’t try to lick at you when you come out of shower (freshly shaved and lotioned and everything). Sits patiently on the bed as you pick through your closet, even noses at a pretty pink dress you rarely wear but were considering for this.

He doesn’t try to bump your arms or hands while you do your makeup, just watches attentively. You choose a pretty, matching bra-panty set, apply a light spritz of perfume. Hesitate over jewelry.

“Is it normal to wear jewelry when you plan on fucking?” you wander allowed.

A little “boof” from the bed. You’ll take that as a yes.

You decide on a set of faux pearls with a gold heart pendant in the center. Not quite a choker, but high enough on your throat to suggest one. A delicate bracelet, a pair of stud earrings, and you’re just about set.

“Christ, I hate doing this alone,” you mutter, fumbling with the zip on the back of the dress.

Lastly, the shoes.

“Fuck it,” you say again. Your mantra for the evening, apparently. Wobble into a pair of heels, a bow on the outside of each ankle where you buckle them.

You pause when you’re done, giving yourself a once over in the full length mirror. Pleased with what you see. Coquettish and pretty, not necessarily bombshell sexy maybe, at least not on first glance. But the necklace, the heels, the cutouts at the waist of your dress… it’s all exactly what you wanted.

“Alright,” you breathe, tummy swooping with excitement. “I can do this… right?”

Johnny’s gotten down off the bed, is keeping a respectful distance. You appreciate it, don’t want to have to lint roll hair off yourself.

“Oh, god. What if he’s bad?” You ask, giving him a horrified look. “What if he’s been, like, compensating?”

To your shock, he stomps his paw and starts damn near howling. Carrying on and on like he’s bitching you out. You blink in shock, almost laugh — then check the time.

“Oh! Don’t worry, baby. I won’t let you starve!”

You toddle off to the kitchen and prep his dinner, scrunching your nose at the raw chicken and beef liver. He grumbles and fusses the whole way, making you laugh as you pretend to have a whole conversation about the economy with him.

“Okay, bonnie Johnny,” you coo, setting his bowl down. “Be good, okay? If I bring someone back here please don’t eat them, okay?”

More grumbles and whines and growls. You roll your eyes, blow him a kiss, and slip out the door.

You tell yourself you just need action with someone. Don’t admit to yourself that there’s really a specific someone you’re hoping to see.

[earthtooz]

how would you write wriothesley needing reassurance?

x : TO LOVE A GOOD THING :*+ﾟ

in which: wriothesley thinks he loves you more than you love him.

warnings: 1.4k words, reverse hurt/comfort with angst, wrio being insecure sorry, gn!hot-headed!reader, reader gets into a fight, wrio patches you up.

a/n: thank u @sixosix for helping me out during my my hard times. this fic was already half written before I got this ask but then it was like the stars aligned and anon came to save a fic that might have never made it out of the drafts. anyways, idk if the writing is good, but i came, i saw, i conquered. enjoy!

Wriothesley thinks he loves you more than you love him.

If he voiced these thoughts to you, you’d shut him down without another breath. He can almost picture it now, the way your nose would scrunch as a precursor to all the statements you will make rejecting his. He can hear all the things you’d say, insisting ‘that’s just not true!’, and then he’ll laugh to cover up the way his chest will swell with pure adoration. 

But it is true. 

Loving you is easier than breathing. The heart that sits in his chest beats harder for you than the circulation of oxygen in his lungs, but he breathes because it keeps him alive. If he’s alive, then he gets to see you, the best thing that’s happened to him his entire, unfortunate life. 

He thinks he loves you more than you love him because you once told him your favourite flowers were glaze lilies. However, when you complained that they only bloomed during the night, Wriothesley knew that he would wrestle the sun just so the moon could shine a little longer. 

He thinks he loves you more than you love him because you linger in the crevices of his mind. Down in the Fortress of Meropide, the days may pass excruciatingly slow sometimes and the only cure for him is yearning for the one he loves most. Perhaps if he wishes hard enough, you’ll burst through those doors with a declaration of a new discovery and sit on his desk, avoiding the paperwork. 

Most times, his wishful thinking doesn’t work out. On the rare occasion it does, Wriothesley will be fortunate enough to end the work day with your palms on his cheeks, gently motivating him to finish what’s left. 

You’ll peel stickers off his body, ignorant of the fact that he saves them up just for an excuse to feel your hands on him, then he’ll kiss you in thanks, eyes fluttering closed. Near you, he can finally let his guard down, let the gauntlets and coat fall as he sinks into you. 

Wriothesley already feels bad whenever you come down to a place so unforgiving and confronting. He tries to brighten up the place sometimes, but metal can only shine so much before it rusts again. 

Is it pathetic to want to better yourself for another person? Or is it love?

Wriothesley thinks he loves you more than you love him, and he’s perfectly fine to continue living with that fact. As long as he’s the one you return to every night, he’ll be fine to live with whatever burdens you press onto him.

He just didn’t expect that one of said ‘burdens’ would result with you, Sigewinne’s infirmary, and your face littered with cuts and bruises. 

“You should have seen the other guy,” is your poor attempt at humour as your lover frets everywhere, pacing back and forth as the small nurse tends to you. His heavy boots resounding against metal floors.

“Seriously, Y/n, what were you thinking?” The warden clearly isn’t amused by your joke, the only thing keeping him back from completely lecturing you is Sigewinne and that stun gun of hers. 

A small yelp slips past your lips when she applies some balm on your sore knuckles and Wriothesley winces, as if feeling your pain. “They were talking bad about you, Wriothesley, what did you want me to do?”

“Nothing!”

Sigewinne gives him a look. He immediately shuts his mouth. “I can’t do that,” you insist.

“You can, and you should’ve. I can defend my own honour. Besides, you didn’t need to lower yourself to the level of crooks just to prove a point.”

“But-”

“-The guys you beat up were just admitted here. Normally after receiving a life’s sentence, the first name that’s slandered is mine as an outlet for anger. This is normal, Y/n, they’ll continue on to realise that the Fortress of Meropide is not their standard prison and reform. You, however, might have just set back their progress.”

Your head drops, a little in shame, but mostly because you don’t have anything to say in retaliation. Silence envelops the dim space, none of you brave enough to break the tension that came from Wriothesley’s scolding. With a few final words from Sigewinne about what medicine to apply, when, and what not to do, she leaves the room quite hurriedly, as if eager to let you and Wriothesley talk about it alone.

Immediately, he crosses the room to where you sit, closing in on your personal space. 

“The things they were saying about you were unforgivable. Meropide’s great duke may forgive, but I won’t.” 

“Nothing is as unforgivable as you getting hurt.” Care laces his voice this time when he talks to you. 

“You won’t throw me in prison for this, right?” You ask with a bashful smile, one that sends him reeling.

“Not prison, no,” he coughs. “However, I can’t not reprimand you.”

“Fine. I guess this just means that I love you more.”

He knows you’re kidding, that you’re only trying to make him feel better because the grin on your face is nothing short of mischievous. Part of him falters, cracks like an earthquake splitting the land apart and pulling him under. To stabilise himself, his rough palms find purchase on both sides of your jaw and his forehead is pressed flushed to yours.

(You don’t love him more, how can you love someone as ragged as him?)

“Impossible,” he murmurs against your mouth. 

“Really, let these bruises be a reminder,” you chuckle. His thumb ghosts over a bruise on your cheek and his heart aches at the way you wince, even if just slightly. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be here, sat on a hospital bed with wounds he inadvertently caused.

You wouldn’t be here, in a dingy, dreary Fortress that you’re only obligated to visit because of him.

(Oh, but he hopes you never leave. The day you go and never come back is the day Wriothesley will turn all of Teyvat upside down just to search for you. Where is his place if not by your side?)

There’s a warm poke to his cheek that’s quickly followed by a damp residual. Wriothesley quickly realises that you wiped a tear away, and he curses the following few that spill. You shouldn’t waste your efforts on him: a man half-coherent, and wholly undeserving of you.

“Love, oh, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the bruised area. “Why did you do this?” 

“I already told you,” you hum. “Because I love you.”

“I’m not worth it.”

Your hand stills. “What do you mean by that?”

“This happened because of me,” there’s pain in Wriothesley’s voice when it cracks. “You didn’t need to harm yourself for me, I’m more of a burden than you think, Y/n, nothing good will come out of loving me too much.”

For a second, everything stills. The beating of his heart, your breathing, the dull humming of the fortress’ mechanics, it all becomes silenced. The world only kicks up again when you speak.

“How could you say that about yourself?” You reprimand, shaking his face lightly. “A ‘burden’? Are you hearing yourself right now, Wriothesley? You’re not making any sense right now!”

There’s a passionate look in your eyes. One he doesn’t think a man like him deserves.

“I do not love you for ‘good things’ to come out of them, I love you because you are the good thing, and I will do anything for you to remain the way you are.”

Oh, he might cry again. Are there tears in the corners of his eyes? How can he help it when you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him?

“Don’t write me off as some poor soul whose subjected to your love,” you whisper, but he hangs on to every word you say. “Your love is not a burden I bear, but rather, the most fortunate thing I’ve ever had the luxury of cherishing.”

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Wriothesley presses his lips to yours in an all-consuming kiss. He drinks up all of your praise and lets it settle in his gut to bloom, untethering himself from the chains that rubbed his wrists raw. You love him, you love him more than he thought possible. 

How lucky he is that you pull him closer, selfishly taking all of him.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[junesilk]

HIII omg ive been looking for a hxh blog for a WHILE there’s barely any that’s very active😭😭okok so since i’m a kurapika simp could you write headcanons and IF YOU WANTT, a mini scenario of jealous kurapika? hmm if you want an idea it could be smth like the reader has a guy bsf and kura got jealous from the lack of attention :(( THANK YOUU!

JEALOUS, JEALOUS BOY!

hxh main 4 x fem!reader

characters included: kurapika, leorio, killua, gon

i absolutely will, i have always loved jealousy prompts!! i’ve got several of these asks so far, so i’ll just kill multiple birds with one stone and go ahead and put them all together into a list of headcanons

not beta read ☝️

kurapika—

WHEN HE’S JEALOUS…

He’d be quiet in the moment, withdrawing himself from the conversation while staying by your side.

You most likely wouldn’t notice it right away because he is naturally a quiet person—

The most he would do is send a glare at the man taking all of your attention away, but other than that he’d avoid conflict.

As soon as you two were alone in a private setting, he would be much more clingy than usual

Which, in of itself would be unusual, as he’s not the type to be so physically attatched.

Perhaps it was his more possessive side coming out to play, but it certainly was new.

WHEN YOU’RE JEALOUS…

He’d know. Out of all of the main four, he’d pick it up fastest.

If the conversation wasn’t important, he’d find a way to end it quickly, to save you the jealousy.

If it is, he probably wouldn’t speed through it quite as much, but he’d place his hand on the small of your back,

His little way of assuring you he’s all yours.

He’d bring it up once you were alone, assuring you that he only had eyes for you.

leorio—

WHEN HE’S JEALOUS…

You’d feel his hand slide around your waist, looking up to see him staring at the other person

It was weird, you’d never seen him like… this!

If he was actively speaking in the conversation, every sentence referring to you would include some form of a pet name.

You could’ve sworn he said the words honey & babe at LEAST seven times

Once at home, he’d remind you who you loved most, pressing kisses to your flushed face.

WHEN YOU’RE JEALOUS…

Oh boy.

He’d be so proud, honestly. You loved him enough to be jealous? Heart melted.

You’d take his hand, tightly pressing your palms together and squeezing.

It’d take him a while to realize you’d been giving the other girl nasty looks for a few minutes, but once he did, he chuckled.

He’d make an excuse, wave goodbye to the poor girl, and then turn his attention to you.

“Woah, babe. If looks could kill..” He’d joke about it for a while, but in the end, he’d assure you there’s nobody he loves more.

killua—

WHEN HE’S JEALOUS…

He’d be extremely mean. Not to you, but to the man you were speaking to.

Killua is naturally really sarcastic, but he takes it to a whole other level.

Scoffing whenever the man made a joke, crossing his arms and looking away when you laugh.

He might use his assassin lineage to scare the other man away, but it’s rare he would need it.

He’s scary enough.

After freaking out the other man to the point where he’d left, he’d flick your forehead and roll his eyes. “That guy was looking at you weird!”

WHEN YOU’RE JEALOUS…

You wouldn’t know that he knew.

Not until the day afterwards, when there’s a chocolate robot laying beside your head when you wake up.

It’s his way for apologizing, or just letting you know that he did, in fact, know you were jealous

When asked, he’d shrug it off.

gon—

WHEN HE’S JEALOUS…

Gon’s not the type of person to get jealous.

He simply just doesn’t. It’s not because he doesn’t care for you or anything.

It’s because he’s too busy becoming friends with the new person!

Sure, he may pout if he’s not very interested in the conversation being held, but that’s the most he’d do.

WHEN YOU’RE JEALOUS…

We’ve all seen the movie.

Gon is oblivious, and remains to be that way unless you flat out tell him.

Feels bad for not realizing it earlier, but once told he tries his best to make it up to you.

He’d take you out on a date the next day, perhaps a picnic or something out in nature.

You can’t stay mad at him. After all, he just doesn’t pick up on these kinds of things very fast.

i hate how this got progressively shorter…… but wtv!!!

[ruskaroma]

ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 1: written in blood.

Warnings: this series will include highly disturbing/dark topics such as stalking, unhealthy obsession, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, manipulation, gaslighting, large age gap, emotional/psychological abuse, dom/sub undertones, bad BDSM etiquette, etc.

this is a dark fic, written in john's pov and a glimpse of how his mind works. if you still continue to read and get triggered, that is not my responsibility.

Summary: John finds himself a new obsession.

Author's note: this is my first ever fanfic for this fandom and i am beyond excited to share this with you guys! though i must say before you begin, english is not my first language and there might be a few errors in my writing here and there, so i apologize in advance.

but either way, i still hope you enjoy this piece, and i can assure you that once i finish writing this series there will be more to come! i really enjoy writing john wick be a merciless bastard who kills everything that breathes, and i hope you enjoy it too as much as i did.

please, please, PLEASE tell me what you think in the comment and reblogs and likes would be so appreciated. it motivates me to write even more :)

(also this is not edited so all mistakes are on me and i apologize)

Word count: 8.1k

also read on ao3.

It’s one of those days again.

The sound of his watch ticking is the only thing keeping his car from being too quiet. His eyes watch every single movement of his target, never leaving his sight. It won’t be too long for John to finally strike, he just doesn’t want too many civilians seeing the horror that’s about to happen right before their very eyes.

His mind is thinking of many things he could do with this target in particular. A lowlife thug that got himself involved with a very dangerous Italian mob, but then again that’s not the reason why John’s murderous intent is at its peak at the moment.

He’s angry at something, he just doesn’t know what. And this target of his isn’t helping his situation at all. Reading his criminal record made John think this could be a chance to cure his boredom. This man is not only a sex trafficker, but also a pedophile who has a history of targeting teenagers to rape and sell to the black market that’s as fucked up as him.

He doesn’t normally take his time thinking of ways to kill his targets. He points, shoots, leaves. This one in particular though, got him facing a side of him that John himself doesn’t want to face.

He would start by breaking every single one of the man’s fingers. And if that doesn’t do any justice, he’ll cut them off.

One by one, let the man savor the feeling, let John relish the nightmare.

He could slit the man’s throat, watch as life drains away from his body, watch as the man clings to his legs for mercy. John could even pull out the man’s dick, step on it, fucking cut it off and shove it so far down his own throat that he couldn’t scream for help if he tried.

It’s John’s version of Colombian Necktie. A classic, only ever tried it out four times, hopefully this would be the fifth.

John is never the one to take pleasure in killing people, but these past few months have proved him otherwise.

Maybe it’s because of Helen’s death, and the way he was basically forced to sculpt the demons he buried back into himself. His only remaining bit of humanity was taken from him, and he’s coping in the most unhealthy way possible. Perhaps Winston was right about dipping his pinky a little too much into the pond, but it was inevitable.

John has gone back to his old ways. Taking contracts here and there to distract himself from the void in his heart. He remembers how burying a knife into someone’s throat for the first time in many years has ignited something in him he didn’t even know he had.

That’s why he’s here, exiting his car in a swift move, following his target as quietly as possible into a narrow alleyway that stinks of garbage in piss. This would be a nice place to kill a guy like him – right where he belongs.

John’s movements are so discreet the man couldn’t even sense him until John wrapped his right arm around his neck and his other hand went to cover the man’s mouth. He walks them both to the back of a building as the man struggles, where John’s sure no more people are present, and he kicks him on the jaw to stop the man from making any more noises.

John can make this quick. Pull out his gun and blow his brains out. But there’s that sinister glint in his mind that’s telling him to do something unimaginable – grotesque even – a death a man like him deserves.

The man tries to swing his arm at John but misses pathetically. The poor guy’s already shaking and John hasn’t even begun.

John doesn’t respond to the pitiful attempts of questioning who he is and who sent him here, he simply pulls his knife from his pocket and wastes no time slashing it against the man’s throat, the blood spraying all over his face. The man tries to stop it by shakily covering the deep cut with his hand, but it’s useless.

He’s gargling, choking on his own blood, and John’s watching it all unravel with a familiar glint in his eyes.

John is contemplating if he should follow the plan he made in his head or just leave it like this. Somehow, the sight looks rather incomplete to him. He knows what he’s done is not enough, but that could be just the rage talking. The man’s already dead, and surely cutting off his dick and shoving it so far down his throat it comes out of the wound would leave an ugly reputation on his name. 

Would that be a good thing? John is already feared enough, would it be a good thing to make people fear him even more? But then again, this won’t be the first time he’s done it. Doing it again one more time wouldn’t make any difference.

He glances down at the dead body on his feet before he kneels down to do the unforgivable.

Slicing off a man’s cock is easy. Too easy. John’s knife is perfectly sharpened and stoned, he merely uses any strength to cut it off. The sight is so fucking ugly, too much blood, but nothing he can’t handle.

Once that’s done, John uses his other hand to force the dead man’s jaw open, immediately greeted by the foul stench of blood as he shoves the unpleasant dick into the man’s open mouth. The genitalia is definitely not long enough to reach the throat, but that won’t be any problem for John.

He grits his teeth as he forces his hand in there, not bothering to care even if the jaw breaks and the hole becomes even wider, his goal is the only thing in his mind.

The blood continues to drip and he has never been so grateful for wearing an all black uniform for this occasion. Soon enough, after a few minutes of such a brutal wrongdoing, John sees the tip of the cock reaching the deep wound on the man’s throat as it continues to peak its way out.

A sick, small smile spreads across John’s face. The smile is barely there, but he’s fucking enjoying this more than he’d like to admit. He can only imagine how the news would spread across the assassin underworld like a wildfire.

The Boogeyman’s back in business and he’s scarier than ever.

Perhaps this might be the way to lay his point across. This is a way to show them that it was not a good idea pissing him off, killing what’s his, and bringing him back in business. They’d regret it, but it would be already too late for that.

John uses his other hand to pull the cock right out of the man’s throat but not completely. Half of it is hanging out and John thinks he could even consider this as a masterpiece. There’d be flies and maggots that would make the scenery better, but the cleaning service is there for a reason. He can’t just not use it.

John stands up from his position, pocketing his knife back into his pocket before retrieving his phone with the other. He dials a number, waits for them to pick up, all while admiring his work on the ground.

His previous contracts these past few months all ended in such an unimaginable, ugly way. He figured that by showing them that he’s capable of such brutality, it would increase the numbers of people calling him in for more jobs, because this is exactly what they wanted. They wanted Baba Yaga, the ruthless killer of the underworld who stops at nothing to finish his job, and he’s simply giving it to them.

Someone picks up the call and he straightens his posture, checking the time on his watch before speaking.

“This is Wick. John Wick, yes. I would like to make a dinner reservation for one.”

The news spread faster than anticipated.

The notorious man John Wick, the hot topic of the criminal underworld at the moment, even gained the attention of The High Table, and it all happened in the span of one day. That’s how quick the news spread amongst his fellow assassins, though that’s exactly what he was going for.

John expected it so he isn’t surprised when he receives a call from Charon saying Winston wants to meet him.

He inserts a coin in the door and the small window opened briefly. The guy on the other side immediately recognized him, not wasting a single moment to open the door and let the man of the hour in. All eyes are on him the moment he steps into the club, but no one dared to murmur anything to anybody – not when the man himself is here.

They know better.

John spots Winston at his usual spot drinking his usual order, signaling John to sit beside him where a glass of bourbon is already present. 

“Jonathan,” Winston greets, raising his glass. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“I figured,” John replies, though not interested. He slides himself to the booth and takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t understand why though.”

“Are we really playing this game, Jonathan?” The manager raises a brow. 

“I was just doing my job.”

“In a way you don’t normally do,” Winston then adds. “Or should I say, in a way you don’t even do.”

John gives him a look, but he could tell Winston doesn’t know how to interpret it. His face remains emotionless, not letting the mask slip and grant Winston the privilege to take a peak. John will continue to play this game until he’s satisfied, until he feels something again. Surely he’ll find what he’s looking for while doing the only thing he’s ever good at – slaughtering.

“Let’s just say I was trying out a new technique,” John says, voice deep and almost sinister. Winston’s scared, though he doesn’t show it, John knows. 

“I have known you ever since you started, Jonathan. Not once did it cross my mind you would do something so.. horrifying as this. You discarded the body like he was some sort of pig, so believe me when I say I couldn’t believe it at first.”

John has no idea why Winston’s whining about him being horrifying, when that’s all they’ve been saying about him ever since he joined. He didn’t gain this reputation for no reason, now he’s just simply showing them what more he’s capable of.

“You should’ve seen his record.” His tone is menacing, swirling the drink in his hand as he stares deeply at Winston’s eyes. “He’s worse than a pig.”

The drop of the curse word takes Winston by surprise. “So is that what it is, then? You killed him that way because you think he deserved it?”

“Not really,” John simply sighs, leaning back on the leather seat as he takes another sip of his bourbon. He really isn’t planning on staying longer, but Winston seems to be taking his sweet time asking him a bunch of stupid questions. “I couldn’t care less of what he’s done. I was simply… bored. Saying that I did that because I think he deserved it gives people a reason to think that what I did was justifiable.”

The look on Winston’s face says enough. He’s afraid of John, afraid of what he has become. Hearing John say he did such an unforgiving thing just because he was bored is beyond frightening. No man has ever inflicted so much fear on him before – at least not until John.

“I think we’re done for tonight,” Winston finally says, not wanting to hear any more disturbing thoughts of John, but he remains polite and calm for the sake of their friendship. “You have a good night, Jonathan.”

John gives him a nod, standing up from his seat and downing his drink in one go. “Goodnight, Winston.”

He exits the club with an eerie aura following behind him, not caring about the way people are looking at him like he’s got Death himself walking beside him.

It makes him wonder that maybe death doesn’t follow him after all.

Maybe it is him.

Someone offered him five million to fuck up a man who allegedly stole a fuck ton of kilograms of cocaine from their warehouse, and really, who is John to decline the offer?

Hunting the man is easy. It didn’t even take a day to locate where the man lives, and John’s already breaking into his apartment to shoot the guy and leave. There’s no point in rummaging the place for the cocaine, all of it is already up the man’s system by the looks of it, and killing him is John’s job.

John wants to finish this one fast, he’s got other business to attend to. As he backs up the frightened, pathetic excuse for a man against the wall, he takes his gun out of his holster and aims directly at the head, right between the eyes, and he watches in great pleasure as the residue of his brains splatter against the walls and the floor.

This man didn’t even put up a fight. John thinks this is a waste of time.

He exits the apartment with disappointment heavy on his shoulders, slamming the door shut. Although the gun he used has a silencer, the rooms are too close to each other. He’s sure there might be other people who heard the shot of his firearm.

The apartment building is located at the filthy side of New York, where most known drug dealers and junkies do their nasty deals. It’s no surprise that as soon as John steps a foot out of the worn out building, all eyes are on him, but mainly on the clothes he’s wearing. They’re planning on mugging him out, and John would like to see them try.

Just as he’s about to walk to his car, his phone rings abruptly in his chest pocket. He retrieves it in one swift motion, not noticing that a gold coin fell out as he does so, and he continues walking to not waste any more time.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir, you dropped something!” John hears from behind. He doesn’t bother looking.

The call isn’t nearly as important as the business he needs to attend to, so he hangs up the call and pushes his phone back into his pocket. As soon as he does that, he feels a small hand touching his shoulder.

John’s hand immediately flies to wrap his large hand around the person’s wrist, turning around to see a young woman with a bewildered expression on her pretty face, little fingers holding his golden coin that looks far too big on her hand.

She looks scared, terrified, and oh how fucking awful that makes John feel. Like he’s been punched right in the fucking gut. He’s enthralled.

“I wasn’t–you dropped it and I’m just giving it to you, I promise!”

She’s looking at John with big, doe eyes. She also looks freshly showered, wrapped in a black puffy jacket that makes her even smaller than she already is. John lets his eyes linger on her lips, so plump and glossy. Her voice sounds sweet, soft, something John isn’t used to hearing.

John can’t help but to stare.

“Are you–are you gonna let me go, mister?”

The way she stutters triggers a hot feeling in John’s guts, and can’t help but to rub his thumb on the girl’s dainty wrist before slowly letting her go.

So delicate, he could snap them in half.

“Sorry,” John apologizes, taking the coin from her hold, and his fingers itch at the way her skin feels so soft against his rough hands. “Force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles a little, and there goes that hot curl in John’s stomach once again. “That thing looks expensive so be careful next time.”

Just like that, John doesn’t get the chance to reply back. She makes her leave and patters away from him, and he watches. He watches until she’s out of the view, taking a turn to a corner, leaving John with something he can’t quite figure out yet, but he soon will be.

For the first time in a while, he feels something new.

Suddenly, everything is too good to be true.

John will find himself staring at his hands for too long, still feeling the ghost of her soft skin on his fingers, fantasizing about her pretty face and soft, plump lips.

It’s scary for him to feel something again because that only means destruction. John likes to believe he has a gift of ruining everything he touches, especially the pure ones – like her. It’s a proven statement. Just look at Helen and Daisy.

This little one won’t be any different, he’s sure of it. John’s whole body is heating up everytime he thinks about her. The look on her face when she saw John’s chilling expression, her wide eyes, so glossy and innocent.

John wants to see her again.

His fingers itch, yearning to touch her again. 

Why he’s suddenly interested in a young woman he just met a few days ago, he has no idea. John’s a bit confusing – fucked up, even. He long accepted the fact that his mind is nowhere near healthy years ago. He tried to push those thoughts away when he met Helen, but now he’s out of his shell and back in business, there’s no need to.

He’s always been one of the wolves, and now that he’s laid his eyes on his next meal, he will make sure there’s not a single thing that will get in his way to hunt her down.

He had a crisis for two days before doing the unexpected. It didn’t take long for John to find her. 

Now, John has been following her around for a week, and he noticed a certain pattern his little one likes to follow as she goes on her day.

The very place where they met is where she lives, surrounded by a bunch of goons who have no idea what to do with their lives. John begins to wonder why she’s living in a place like that. He could take her, put her somewhere safe, under his care and protection. Make sure no one will dare to lay a finger on her.

John knows where she works. At a veterinary clinic not too far from her apartment, which is why she walks to work every three in the afternoon, but not without stopping by in her favorite deli and getting a large order of her favorite sandwich. She’s a part-timer. She’d be at school from seven to twelve, and at work from three to eight.

John finds the little things she does amusing. He’d be seated in a cafe right across from her work, watching how she moves around her office through a big window, petting and cooing at the animals who come and go.

She’s so perfect, so pure, so naive. She has no idea that a monster is lurking ten feet away from her, watching her every move like a hawk, thinking about the ways he could destroy her, make her his.

John is not delusional. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing and he’s aware of what people might call him. 

Stalker.

Creep.

They don’t know him though. They don’t know why he acts this way. They’d do the same if they were him, that’s for sure. He’s not the bad guy here, he’s simply just protecting her little one, even from afar. John went as far as destroying a whole Russian Bratva for a mere puppy and a car, he’d do even worse if she’s somehow taken away from him.

John sees her exiting the building and his first thought is to follow her. He stands up from his seat, the cup of coffee long forgotten as he makes his way out of the café and keeps a safe distance between the two of them. It’s risky, especially in the broad daylight, but John knows she’s too oblivious to notice.

She’s with her friends this time, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by John how she clings at the shirt of her co-worker as they cross the street, small hands fisting at the fabric. He thinks about how he won’t ever let go of her hand once she’s his. He’s not big on physical affection, having to grow up with no parents and a rather strict orphanage, but maybe he could be gentle. Engulf her hand in his, stroke it with his thumb, tuck her hair behind her ears, show everyone that she’s already owned.

They wouldn’t dare to lay their hands on her again.

John walks in the middle of the sidewalk, not bothering to move away despite seeing people approaching. He doesn’t need to, the look in his face is enough for people to give him the way. It’s interrupted however, when someone does try to get in his way, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back a little.

John clenches his jaw, pissed. He takes his eyes from his little one and on the person who so rudely interrupted what he’s doing – it’s Marcus.

“John? I was just looking for you at the Continental.” Marcus has a small smile on his face, clearly not aware of John’s expression.

His eyes dart behind Marcus, where his little one is supposed to be, but she’s gone. John feels something curl in his stomach, his fingers itching again, eyes rapidly searching for her in the sea of people.

He looks at Marcus again, deciding he’ll just find her later, but he worries that something might happen to her now that John’s attention isn’t on her.

“Why?” he almost snaps, voice deep and laced with no emotion.

“Why? Because it’s been quite some time, John. I haven’t heard from you since the Iosef situation, but I did hear you’re back in business,” Marcus replies, but when he sees how distracted John looks, his voice falters. “You working?”

“Yeah.” The lie comes off smoothly. “I’ll see you around.”

John taps Marcus’ shoulder, trying to sound as polite as possible even though he badly wants to break a couple of his teeth for taking his attention away from her. He knows Marcus is probably noticing something, but John’s never the one to care.

Marcus drops the subject. “Alright, John. I’ll see you around.”

With that, John disappears in the crowd with no looking back.

It’s been awhile since John last took a job.

He can’t seem to take his eyes away from his little one. He can’t stop fucking stalking her from morning to night time.

John’s afraid that once he takes his attention from her even for a second, something bad might happen to her. It’s engraved in his mind that she can’t protect herself and he’s solely there to be the protector.

No one would understand. He’s doing this for her own good.

John’s absence at the Continental doesn’t go unnoticed by Winston and Charon. They’re his favorite, after all. Watch his every move carefully ever since that ugly murder John did. Perhaps he could make his next kill even uglier. To them, it’s vile and grotesque. For John, it’s special and unique.

This time, it took a good self-beating before John decided to take a contract. Three million to hunt down a rival crime lord, nothing he can’t handle, but somehow it brings an unusual feeling on his shoulder he isn’t fond of. Perhaps because John’s leaving his little one for a while and he isn’t quite sure what to feel. Worried and pissed – but mostly worried.

That is why he hired someone to trail his little one on his behalf. Everyone in business would do anything for a coin despite how fucked up disturbing it is. John offered a generous amount of coins to keep the assassin’s mouth shut, but he also held him at gunpoint and gave him a good talk before he sent the dog out in the field.

His only job is to keep an eye on her, report everything he’ll see to John, and maybe even take pictures for safety purposes.

John has been overseas in the last three days, and everything that’s been sent to him has been his only form of entertainment. There’s videos of her giggling with her friends, videos and photos of her in the library, outside her school, her work, and even in her apartment. There’s also information sent to him about the background of her friends – every single one of them, because John didn’t pay so much for nothing.

There’s one particular friend that ticks off John in all the worst way possible. He’s young, around her age, and the way he hugs and touches her just fucking sets him off. John wants to break his fingers in half. He reminds himself that once he’s home, he’ll make sure to take care of that boy himself.

“What else have you got?” John questions through the phone, and it doesn’t take long for his precious dog to respond.

“Oh, he is one creepy motherfucker. I’m starting to understand why you’re so riled up with this guy, boss. The urge to strangle him every time he gets in the picture gets stronger and stronger everyday.” He hears a laugh at the other end. The guy that’s working for him – Alex, if he remembers correctly – is young, new in business, knows not to fuck with John so he keeps his job adequate. If Alex ever notice how fucked up John is for making him follow a young woman to keep his life in order, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just tell me when I can shoot this guy and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

“Leave him. Keep an eye on him, but don’t kill him,” John advises, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I’ll handle him myself when I get back. For the meantime, focus on Y/N and keep any troubles out of her way. Fail that task and I’d serve your head hot on a platter.”

“You got it, boss.”

John is playing nicely.

He’s not going to force his way into her life. He’s gonna be welcomed, with open arms, desired.

There are times he’d thought about giving in to his desperation and act with his dick instead of his head. There are times he’d thought about following her to a dark street, where no one’s around, he’s on the prowl and ready to pounce. He’d put a fabric against her mouth and nose, laced with enough chemicals to make her pass out and for him to carry her in his car with no problems whatsoever. John thinks about how he’d make it look like he’s just picking up his very drunk and passed out girlfriend and no one would know a goddamn thing.

John would keep her in his house where she won’t need anything but him. 

But of course, he’s not that cruel.

They’re only thoughts. Thoughts that he tries hard to keep away, but at the end of the day he reminds himself that he’s better than that.

John is not going to force his way into her life.

He’ll make sure to get her addicted enough to come crawling at his feet herself. She’ll be dependent on him, won’t be able to live without him. John will make sure his plan will go out smoothly or otherwise he’ll be the one bringing Hell with him on this land and seek as much havoc as he possibly can.

The death emissary himself will strike tonight.

A Friday night out with her friends has John on high alert. That’ll only mean she’s constantly surrounded with people, god knows what could happen if John even takes his eyes off her for a second. He lurks on the side, blending himself with the crowd as much as he can all while keeping his gaze on her. 

He doesn’t need any drugs to keep his mind insane, because the sight of a specific man getting very close to what’s his is enough to make him visualize all the ugly and twisted ways to kill a man.

She’s wearing a thin silky dress that’s low on her cleavage and shows her perky breasts. She’s currently the flame in a room full of moths, John included. Everyone’s eyes are on her, observing the way she sways her hips and sings along to the loud music – John’s fingers itch.

The itch to kill is back again, driving into his veins, his hands twitch on the table. John wants to pull out his gun and shoot everyone in this fucking room. He wants to stab them in the eyes one by one and make them feed it to themselves. He wants to grab this guy on the neck and slam his head against the wall repeatedly until his brain scatter all over the fucking place and there’s nothing left for him to ruin.

This guy is getting on his fucking nerves.

John watches as the man smoothly brings his arm on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear that doesn’t make her look so impressed. In fact, she looks disturbed, uncomfortable, tense. Despite the guy being her friend, John could tell she doesn’t feel comfortable with the way he’s showing her affection.

It’s hard to see her like this, but he knows he can’t just jump in between the two of them and beat the shit out of the guy until he chokes on his own blood. He’ll have to wait, maybe after this party, he’ll strike and discard the body in a way that’ll make even Winston spook in his sleep. It’s not a major offense to kill a man that’s not in the game anyway – or at least that’s what John tells himself.

This guy wouldn’t be able to be three feet near his little one once John’s done with him. He’ll be six feet under.

John sees her swiftly moving away from his touch, trying to make her rejection look as polite as possible, which receives a not-so-amused reaction from her little friend.

This guy doesn’t deserve her at all. No one does. Except maybe John, but that’s because he knows he’s capable of actually taking care of her and keeping her safe. Nobody would understand what he feels, what he yearns, what he wants.

Good girl, John thinks. Walk away.

His gaze follow her as she makes her way to the backdoor and out to the cold air of the city. John follows in a hurry, keeping a safe distance between the two of them, then opens the door as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t let his presence known.

There are a few people on the street, either having a smoke break or making out against the piss stained wall, but she stays just beside the busy road as she wraps her arms around herself.

His gaze burn daggers on her exposed back, the urge to cover her up with his jacket and take her home. A drunk man comes stumbling out of the club, accidentally tripping over his steps and he pushes her hard enough to make her yelp as her heels lose balance and almost making herself get run over by a passing truck.

Almost.

Everything happens so fast. One moment John is standing five feet from her, the next is he’s grasping her wrists in his hand and pulling her back to her feet and dragging her back to the curb. He was already on the act once he saw the man exiting the club, he knew exactly this would happen.

The scene looks strangely familiar, one John could never forget. The same position, same hand placement, same rough fingers around her wrist and dark eyes boring into hers – their very first meeting.

“You!” she gasps, not caring about the fact that she almost just got hit by a fucking truck. “I know you! You’re the guy outside my apartment that day! What are you doing here?”

John stares. Predictable. Of course she’s talking to him like they’ve known each other for years. She’s too friendly.

“Hello to you too,” John replies, though his tone is blank as well as his face. “You remember me.”

“‘Course I do,” she giggles, a little tipsy, pupils dilated and licking her lips nervously. “You’re pretty hard to forget. I remember asking my neighbors around the area if you’re new there, turns out you were just visiting.”

John furrows his brows, hand still not letting go of her wrist. What does she mean by she’s asked around the area about him?

His face must’ve looked confused, he sees her grinning childishly. “It’s a coincidence that I see you again!”

Not a coincidence, but fate.

John doesn’t believe in a lot of things, but he believes in fate. Fate brought him Helen, and now fate is bringing him another angel. If she really went as far as asking the neighborhood about his existence, then it must be fate.

“I’m Y/N. I figured if we keep bumping into each other then you should at least know my name,” she says, completely oblivious that John already knows everything that has to be known about her. From her little mannerisms to the last name of her fucking grandmother. “May I know yours or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“It’s John,” he gulps, not wanting to look like a loser in front of her, not after everything he went through for her. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

He sucks at this. He fucking sucks at this.

“You haven’t answered my question, by the way. What brings you here?”

It hangs in the air, John lets go of her wrist. Luckily, he thinks fast enough and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Work.”

“Ah, work,” she nods. “You work here? In the club? What are you, a bouncer or something?”

“I don’t. Someone I work with is in the club.” A lie, but it’s not like she would know. “We had a talk.”

“Not really a man of words, eh?” she raises an eyebrow teasingly. 

“This is the most words I’ve said in the past few days,” John says. “I’d say you’re special.”

The look on her face is enough to make his entire night even better. Blushing, lips opening and closing, not knowing what to say. John wants to graze his thumb on her lips, thinking about how good it would feel stretching over his cock.

He blinks. Where did that come from?

“For someone who doesn’t talk much, you sure make it sound smooth when you do. Are you always this slick, John?” she giggles again, music to his ear. “That’s actually better than what I heard from my friend earlier, so thank you.”

“That’s good to know.”

Before she could say anything back, the door of the club opens once again and her friends appear, waving a hand at her and beckoning her to get inside. She looks at John, gives him a sympathetic look, as if apologizing that their talk gets cut off too soon.

“I’m really sorry but my friends want me back in there. Hopefully we can continue this again, yeah?” she smiles cheekily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If you want, you could give me your number so we can talk someplace else? You know… with no one bothering us and all that.”

There it is. John didn’t think it would be this easy to sink the hook in. All he needs to do is pull and take what’s meant to be his.

“Sure.” He enters his number swiftly, feeling that familiar burn in his guts once again when he sees the wallpaper being her pretty face. “Feel free to message me whenever you want. I’ll make time for you.”

She looks at her phone and smiles before starting to walk away from him, waving a hand goodbye, but it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. John knows it isn’t. She’s already his the moment she started talking to him again.

“Of course! Get home safe, John! I’ll see you soon!” 

“You too.”

She doesn’t know John won’t be heading home any time soon until he knows she’s safe and sound in her apartment.

Jay Lopez.

The name burns on his tongue. Bitter and resentful. He stares at the photos his precious dog sent to him and he has to stop the impulse to burn every single one of them.

Jay Lopez is the guy that’s been leeching on his girl since the dawn of time, and thankfully John is here to put an end to it. 

He’s hideous. It’s interesting how John stooped this low that he’d be willing to kill a college student for being too near his little bambi, but alas, he’s never the one to care for such things. Morals and righteousness have never been in his book, not now, nor ever.

It’s only a matter of time until he gets rid of this pest. He’s fucking creepy, follows around not only Y/N but a bunch of other women. 

John doesn’t want his death to be quick and simple. He wants to do it in an ugly way, make sure his body will never be found, make sure he’ll never get to lay his hands and eyes on what’s his. The way Jay stares at her in these pictures ignites something evil within John’s veins. It’s been awhile since he felt something like this.

“Alex.” he looks at his pet standing by the door, waiting for the next command. “Bring him to me alive.”

“Can I at least rough him up a bit?”

John doesn’t answer at first, looks back at the photos on his table. “Do what you want, just make sure he’s still breathing when you bring him here.”

“On it, boss.”

Truth be told, John doesn’t need a pet to order around for this job. He has himself – a labeled attack dog of the Tarasovs for years, their hellhound, chained and muzzled unless they need him to kill. He’s a one man army as some would say, he doesn’t need Alex running around doing tasks for him, but it sure does make the job a lot faster.

It’s not a way to downgrade his reputation nor skills to hunt, he really just needs this Jay guy gone as fast as possible.

On the same day, Alex manages to haul a very brutally violated Jay to the floor of his basement. He stinks, pants wet from piss and a face John is having a hard time recognizing.

“You said rough him up a bit, not make him look unrecognizable.”

“Same thing.”

Jay is sobbing his eyes out, his cries of pleas falls to deaf ears and John just wants to fucking bash his skull with his own foot. “W-who are you guys?! What the f-fuck did I do?! Get me out of here or I’ll tell the fucking police–”

John kicks him on the chin hard to stop the goon from rambling. “You’re not telling anybody any shit, tough guy.”

“So, what are you planning to do to him? Can I watch?”

“Can you handle it?”

Alex shrugs. He’s in the presence of the most dangerous assassin in the underworld, wouldn’t hurt to learn anything from his skills and techniques, doesn’t matter how fucked up it is.

John nods towards the chainsaw sitting at the corner of the room, and Alex turns to face him with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ, man. You serious? Last time I heard you’re a hitman, not a serial killer.”

“Same qualifications. Same thing.” John grabs the man by the arm then drags him to a chair. He takes a rope from the table and swiftly ties him up securely. “We start with the head, then arms and legs. It would be hard to put his entire body in a drum full of acid, so we need to cut him off one by one.”

Alex looks like he’s about to run off somewhere safe from what he’s witnessing. “You’re talking like you’ve done this before, holy fuck.”

John gives him a look, and Alex immediately shuts his mouth. Right. He’d done this before. This is completely normal.

“I’ve been following you for a while, Jay. You’re a creep who befriends pretty girls, then you’ll drug them and make them have sex with you,” John taunts, the sound of his heels hitting the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down his spine. “Is that what you’re also planning to do with Y/N? Be her friend and fuck her once she’s drugged up and vulnerable?”

It’s a bold statement coming from John himself since he’s no better man than Jay, but at least his intentions come from a different place.

“You-you’re fucking sick!” Jay spits.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one going around making girls uncomfortable now, am I?” he picks up the chainsaw, then watches in enjoyment as Jay widens his eyes in fear. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, Jay. You won’t be able to use your pathetic little dick of yours to any woman ever again, and most importantly –”

John fires up the chainsaw, adrenaline coursing through his veins when he sees the horrified look in the man’s face as he tries to get up and scream for help.

“I can finally sleep well at night knowing you’re not in Y/N’s life anymore.”

As John steps into the light, a roaring chainsaw in his hands, Alex could only watch in horror as the basement gets painted with blood in mere seconds.

There’s a vacant apartment just across her room, giving John the perfect view of what she’s doing while she’s alone.

Most of the time, John will pull up a seat beside the window and take pictures. The other half of the time is just him staring, observing. It seems that she’s too comfortable knowing there’s no one across the building so she doesn’t close the curtains, leaving John no choice but to keep his eyes on her.

He found this place just three days after following her. He couldn’t help it. Following her to school and work suddenly wasn’t enough for John that he had to find a way to somehow watch her even in her sleep. 

He should be ashamed of himself. He should feel guilty for what he’s doing – he should stop, but he just can’t. John’s already done too much. This is like being pulled back into the underworld all over again but this time, there’s something good that’s waiting for him on the other side.

Maybe it’s the delusion that comes with it that’s not stopping John from whatever he’s doing. Lately, he’s been thinking about how life would turn out to be if his plan goes out smoothly. They’d live happily ever after, she would end up loving him just the way he planned it out to be, and John will make sure no one will ever dare to take those peace away from him again.

He’d make sure no one will ever come close to her again once she’s his. She’d be isolated but protected. Just how John likes it.

It’s been two days since John gave his number, but he knows she’s just giddy and nervous to text him. He’d seen her staring at her phone, biting her bottom lip anxiously, thinking if it would be a good idea or not. He knows she’ll give in one way or another because he sees it in her face. She’s too easy, too gullible, too naive.

She’s lonely, just like him.

John could tell she’s waiting for someone – she’s desperate, no wonder she asked for his number the second time they met. She wants someone to take care of her, to hold her, tell her that she deserves the world. That someone is John whether she likes it or not.

This isn’t just any unhealthy obsession. John finds himself too deep to get out. He knows her little mannerisms, studied her every action, has a red room full of her pictures and no one can’t say he’s not ready to give up anything for her. John has already given up his sanity ever since he mutilated a man for being too close to her.

She’s his life now, his everything.

John watches intensely as she shreds her clothes in her room, baring him the full view of herself naked, and John grips the side of his chair too hard his knuckles turn white. This is the first time he’d seen her naked, it’s so sudden and so… perfect.

His cock fattens in his pants as he observes every curve of her body. Her waist is fucking perfect and her body is thick yet delicate. John thinks about bruising her sensitive skin, leaving a mark that will show everyone that she’s owned. He would love to see her in a collar, hear it jingle when she crawls. 

She’s completely fucking naked that John wonder just how naive she is to think there would be no one seeing her like this. What if John isn’t the only one watching her? What if somebody else sees her like this? His fingers itch, jaw clenching.

He’d kill them. He’d kill them in front of her, and the thought somehow made his cock hard even more. He grimaces, disturbed at the reaction of his body.

John doesn’t really understand the sexual aspects of killing, but now he’s thinking about how she would react if she sees him working. He’d kill someone in front of her and he’d see the look of disgust and betrayal in her face. He can already imagine how her eyes would well up with tears and fuck, his dick shouldn’t be this hard.

She’d fear him, and John would be turned on. How fucked up would that be? Just how fucked up can his mind get?

He resists the urge to wrap his hand around his cock because fuck no. He would not stoop this low, he is not a teenage boy. No matter how strong the thoughts get, the thoughts of wrapping his own hand around her neck, squeezing it hard and cutting off her airflow as John forces his cock in her cunt, hearing her mewl and scream and beg to just –

John sucks in air, eyes back on her in her room, wrapping a robe around herself and heading to the bathroom. This is fucked up. His cock is incredibly hard and leaking, and his mind won’t stop thinking about how good her pussy would feel around him.

He’d talk her through it. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she releases around her cock, praising her for being such a good girl. Then he’d fuck her again, in a different position, debauching her in different ways not even the devil himself could think of.

John would ruin her, and she will have no choice but to accept it.

He brings his hand to his face as he sighs deeply. He wonders what Helen would feel of what he’s doing. Disgusted, no doubt. This is not the same man she fell in love with years ago. He would never do something like this, but fate has its plans, and John believes everything happens for a reason.

She was brought into his life for a reason and it’s up to him whether he takes.

John doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at nothing for too long until she comes back in his view once again. Her hair is still wet, still wrapped up in a fluffy pink robe, and John’s fingers itch to grab, squeeze, possess.

He sees her picking up her phone, staring for a moment before her fingers start typing. John has been anticipating this moment for so long, the time has finally come.

In his chest pocket, his phone buzz silently, the vibration sending excitement in his whole body.

There it is.

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!

There it fucking is.

John’s lips curl into a small smile. His efforts are finally paying off. 

All he needs to do is to get what’s his.

[atlasnessie]

let it be known, i am incapable of love. wings of the devil — mini series

SYNOPSIS — osamu dazai is a feared man in the underworld, so why won’t you fear him the same ?

series masterlist tag list (open) — @cheriiyaya @kuro-chi69 @sleepykolya @kissesmellow21 @lilylylalil

DAZAI KNEW HE IS UNDESERVING OF LOVE.

he is incapable of such feelings, he believed. being one of the most feared demons of all the underworld, one adapts to the name and titles others give. even the whisper of his name brings shivers down other demons’ backs, imagining the horrid rumors of things the demon had done to those who had dared cross the wrong path with him. dazai’s enemies worst mistakes are to be his enemies in the first place, after all.

though, after coming down and falling onto your apartment balcony, he can’t help but let loose, even in the slightest ways. he can’t help but want to be taken care by you, a simple human who has really no interesting qualities. his tense feathered wings relax as he trots around the small apartment flat, his clothing gets less and less formal, his trench coat and dress shirt forgotten and the only thing he’s familiar with now is the t-shirts you buy him every once in a while.

why do you do this, he wonders. why bother trying to help a demon that could take and claim your soul at any given moment, at any opening that was available ? why bother care for him, bathe him, feed him, and do all these extra acts to a thing that would be sent away back to the underworld once a proper spell had been found ?

he never knew. perhaps you’re just a dumb, naive human.

”honestly, human, if i were you, i would’ve bitten off his head and serve it to the lowerclass of the underworld !”

“not. helping.” you grumbled, head in hands as you sat on your couch. you had arrived home in a bad mood, dazai puzzled out. your boss had just dumped files upon files on your desk that had to be done by the end of the week and not only that, he wanted you to train a newbie all at once. to the demon, that sounded like nothing but a lazy chore, he could flick his wrist and pens would start to write on their own and papers would be done and filled in no time, allowing him touring the newbie with a devilish smile. he could do it. but he wasn’t you nor an employee at your work establishment.

“a shame,” he sighed out, stretching and placing his arm behind you, nudging you with his knee. “if you were free at all this week i would’ve taken you out for a quick fly around the port. ‘s supposed to be quiet the sunsets, i’ve heard.”

you groaned again, rubbing your eyes and peaking them out from your fingers, brows furrowed as dazai leaned his head closer to you, a devilishly charming grin on his face.

“you’re really not helping. i’ve heard this newbie doesn’t know how to do shit.” with a sigh, you rest your back on the plush backrest of the couch, not having the mental strength to scold dazai to remove his arm away from your head.

“like i said, a shame.” dazai snickered, poking your cheeks with a clawed finger in tease. “those are what newbies are. they don’t know anything and need to follow you around like a little puppy dog.”

with a glare, dazai chuckles and raises in hands as if in surrender before dropping them down to his side, crossing his legs and looking at you with wide eyes.

“how about i just kill him. your boss, i mean. i could do it with a snap of my finger, just say the word.”

“you can’t kill him, dazai.” you cringe, a cartoonish thought of dazai biting your bosses head off was quite amusing, but you made sure not to let it show.

“sure i can ! he can die of a heart attack, i could twist his insides, make him loosing his footing while walking down the stairs, or—”

“no like, i don’t want you to kill him. i need my paychecks ..!” dazai’s shoulders slump, his toothy smile falling into one of dramatic disappointment.

“ah, you’re no fun, dear.”

the neighborhood streets of yokohama were wet and dark. it had just showered rain, the thick smell of fog engulfing a particular man’s lungs. he stood by a bus stop lamppost, puffing out a cloud of smoke, a thick cigar resting in between his fingers.

“waiting for the bus ?” a voice spoke up from amongst the darkness. the man shifted his eyes to the young adult, eyes smiling like crescents. he was taller than the man, his hair messy and unkept. his clothing were casual, something worn by a house husband or someone who works at home.

“yeah.” the man croaked, placing the cigar back between his lips. the taller individual hummed in response. there was a silence for a moment, the light flickering for a second or two as a car passes by, its wheels going over a small puddle of rainwater on the side before the stranger spoke again.

“you’re the boss of the building not so far from here, yes ? the one with the fancy pillars and open glass windows ?”

“ah,” the mans eyes shone with narcissism. he tossed his cigar away to the ground without thought and pulled out a business card from his breast pocket, handing it to the taller stranger with two hands. “why, yes i am ..! have you heard of me ?”

“i’ve heard plenty.” the stranger carelessly took the card without much thought, glancing at the front and back in pretend attentiveness before slipping it in his back pocket.

“i’ve also heard you have a newbie.”

“oh, yes. he works like a girl. doesn’t even know how to use a copy machine. i’m just hoping the mentor gets their shit together and do what they’re supposed to.” the man grumbled, waving his hands in disregard, only stopping when the stranger chuckles. the business man takes a closer look at the stranger. the light shone on parts of his face in a well manner and, he couldn’t help but admit, this man was quite the eye catcher. a model, perhaps ?

”who’s the mentor ?”

“some kid that’s been working here for a while. a charmer, for sure. doesn’t talk much so i don’t even bother.” the man dug in his pockets to grab his cigar case and lit one up again with well practice. he exhaled and continued. “i assigned ‘em some files, and i swear, that kid flipped me off or somethin’.”

“what’re you gonna do about it ?” the stranger holds back laughter and asks with feigned interest, his head leaning in closer.

“assign ‘em hell, of course !”

the bus slowly rolled up to the stop, its doors swinging open as the man spit out his newly lit cigar, dusting off his clothing and preparing to get on the vehicle.

“you’re not getting on ?”

“no, i’m … waiting for someone.”

the man hesitated and bid the stranger farewell, walking up the stairs as the doors closed behind him. as the bus slowly drove away from the stop, the man standing by the post turned by his heels and walked back from the direction he came from, snapping his fingers once gently with a devilish grin, the moonlight shining on his dark hair. from a distance, he could hear the businessman’s cries of pain, his nicotine filled lungs screeching in anguish.

“where have you been ?!”

“hush now, human ! no need to shout in the middle of the night !”

your hair is still wet from after your shower and your eyes are wide despite the time of night. dazai casually slips off his shoes and walk towards you, a smile on his face.

“i was taking a midnight stroll. isn’t that what humans do when they’re bored ?” you raise up a hand, stopping the demon from coming any closer.

“you reek of cigarettes.”

dazai blinks. he then lifts the collar of his shirt to his nose and sniffs it once before blinking again with innocent eyes. “i do reek,” he responded back. you grumble and point towards the small bathroom, your voice impatient as you demand of him to take a shower. the demon can’t do anything but chuckle and comply. it’ll be worth it by the morning.

[libraryofloveletters]

Bound By Fate

Jenson Button x Fem!Teammate Reader

series summery: the strings of life connect two people; teammates, friends, perhaps lovers. Even when you think you’ve gotten rid of him, the strings of life pull you back in. some things are just meant to be. 

author's note: this was prompted by god knows what but this is my new passion project. jenson girlies, this one is for you. shoutout to @mev33 for losing her mind over this with me <333

bound by fate taglist!

chapter one: united front

attached at the hip, jenson button and y/n l/n are the unstoppable duo. the same soul in two bodies. all but 4 points separating them. // “where you go, I go. What you see, I see. I know I’d never be me without the security of your loving arms, keeping me from harm. Put your hand in my hand and we’ll stand.” - Skyfall by Adele

chapter two: time cast a spell on you

spending nine months with someone is a long time, especially when you’re forced to be with them. feelings grow, both good and bad.  - “Time cast a spell on you but you won’t forget me. I know I could have I loved you but you would not let me. I’ll follow you down ‘till the sound of my voice can haunt you. Oh give it just a chance. You’ll never get away from the sound of a woman that loves you.” - Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac  

chapter three: the blame is on you

two mclarens spin out, drivers at each other’s throat but only one’s to blame. what’s said on track doesn’t always stay there. - “It’s my own design, it’s my own remorse. Help me to decide, help me make the most of freedom and of pleasure, nothing ever lasts forever. Everybody wants to rule the world.” - Everybody Wants To Rule The World by Tear For Fear 

chapter four: no grace

jenson can’t take it anymore; the back stabbing, the betrayal. he did what he thought was best and left. on what was supposed to be the happiest night of y/n’s life, she’s heartbroken and upset. — “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace, so the battleships will sink beneath the waves. You had to kill me, but it kills you just the same. Cursing my name, wishing I stayed. You turned into your worst fears and you’re tossing out blame, drunk on this pain. Crossing out the good years and you’re cursing my name, wishing I stayed.” -  My Tears Ricochet by Taylor Swift 

chapter five: the final tango

y/n and jenson find themselves front and centre, smiling for the cameras in their sunday bests, yet their hearts are in different places. - “it hurts to be something, it’s worse to be nothing with you. I’ve done the math, there’s no solution. We’ll never last. Why can’t I let go of this?” -  Promise by Laufey 

chapter six: secrets of us

when all is said and done, it’s never really over, is it? jenson spills far too much in a tell-all interview that back fires on both he and y/n. - “And you don’t seem to understand, a shame you seemed an honest man. And the fears you hold so dear will turn to whisper in your ear. And you know what they say might hurt you and you know that it means so much, and you don’t even feel a thing.” -  Duvet by Bôa

chapter seven: a chapter of me

four long years have passed, both y/n and jenson are in different places of life but they find themselves at Silverstone, together once again. jenson’s a commentator and y/n’s still a racer. seems the dust has settled. - “Just wanna let this story die, and i’ll be alright. We can’t be friends, but I’d like to just pretend. You cling to your papers and pens, wait until you like me again.” -  We Can’t Be Friends by Ariana Grande 

chapter eight: a glimpse into the past

people come and go, life moves on; that has always been your view. you can’t move on when your past comes back to haunt you. -  “So I ask myself, do I let you go or do I keep you in the frame of my mind? Now I’m growing wise to your sugar coated lies, nothing’s sweet about my misery. Yeah, I finally found what went wrong, i finally found the wrong in you.” - On My Mind by Jorja Smith

chapter nine: twelve steps forward, one step back

the final race of your life, mixed emotions truly. your career was one out of a movie, you’re waiting for the final shoe to drop and when it does, it hits you hard. - “Isn’t it strange? I am still me, you are still you, in the same place. Isn’t it strange how people can change from strangers to friends, friends into lovers, and strangers again?” - Strange by Celeste

epilogue - chapter ten: the last bow

life post retirement is a funny thing, you thought you’d be having fun but you’re bored out of your mind. a solo trip results in seeing a ghost from your past.  -  “I'm sure we're taller in other dimension, you say we’re small and not worth a mention. You’re tired of movin’, your body’s achin’. We could vacay, there’s places to go. Clearly this isn’t all that there is, can’t take what’s been given. But we’re so okay here, we’re doing fine.” - White Ferrari by Frank Ocean 

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。WONDER — AL-HAITHAM.

contents. fluff, mentions of al-haitham’s grandmother, hints at sensory sensitivities (neurodivergent al-haitham is canon to me), just thinking ab al-haitham perhaps not liking being grand sage at all but nothing is ever that bad as long as he has you, y’know?

“hey,” you murmur, sitting next to al-haitham. he hums, watching from the corner of his eye as you settle down. “kaveh said you’d be here. mind if i join?”

“no,” he mumbles, “never. as long as you didn’t bring kaveh.”

“i didn’t,” you roll your eyes, smiling.

al-haitham has come here since he was young—by the docks of sumeru city at night, feet dangling over the water. the first few times, grandmother had scolded him when he’d return—by the fifth, she’d resigned to letting him run off. it’s quiet—it’s still and peaceful, but not lifeless. for a while, it used to be a spot for him to just read. after some time, it becomes the one place he can relax when even being home is not enough to calm him.

“rough day?” you ask gently, rubbing over goosebumps on his exposed arm. his cloak keeps the other warm, safe from the night breeze as you sit by the water.

“yeah i guess,” he mumbles, “just overwhelming.”

“these didn’t help?” you ask sympathetically, tapping on the ear pieces over his head. he shakes his head, sighing as your fingers slip into his hair, stroking through the locks gently.

“couldn’t turn them on for most of the day anyway,” he mumbles, “had too many people coming up to me.”

“grand sage life’s not treating you well, huh?”

“not in the slightest,” he snorts—but it ends in a scoff, and there’s not much humor in his voice.

“well, you’re doing a good job,” you lean and kiss his jaw, hugging his arm, “for what it’s worth.”

“i didn’t want to take it,” he mumbles, “but no one’s qualified for the position right now. i didn’t….i can’t let anything happen again.”

al-haitham is kind—most people miss it. you can tell from the way he finds remorse in the way life is so complicated in sumeru, in the way most people can’t find peace even when they try. so he takes up the offer, even when he doesn’t want to—just so life doesn’t have to be even more complicated, even if just for a bit.

truthfully, you don’t think there’s anyone more capable of being grand sage than al-haitham. in fact, you think it’d be safest if it was him. but you also don’t think he could do it for too long, not when he hates it—the responsibility, the pressure, the authority. grandmother has always warned al-haitham of people who try to take advantage of the brilliant, of the burdens that come with being different.

it’s a gift, she’d tell him, but all gifts come with a cost. so he keeps a simple life, stays to himself and does nothing more than he needs to. it’s better that way, he realizes—but even so, he could never turn away when he’s needed, especially not when the whole nation is ready to crumble.

“you’ll find someone soon,” you hum, hand rubbing slow circles into his chest, “and then you’ll get demoted to scribe again. don’t worry, i’ll still love you the same.”

“because my salary will remain?” he teases lightly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips—the first smile of the day, but not the last.

al-haitham trusts you with that—with making sure he smiles at least once a day, with making sure he falls asleep with a smile at the end of every night.

“well, as much as i love grand sage salary,” you chuckle, “i love you more—at least, i think,” you add the last part with a playful nudge. he laughs softly—the first laugh of the day. even if the laughter comes late, there’s something peaceful about ending the day that way.

maybe it’s not so bad, he thinks, maybe nothing is so bad when he has you to come back to before the moon leaves and takes the stars with her. as long as he ends the night with you, he supposes he doesn’t mind starting a new day all over again, even when it comes with new troubles.

“you only think you love me?” he asks, biting back an amused smile.

you shoot him an easy grin, “well, love is fickle, grand sage,” you tease, “who knows what it is for sure?”

it’s easy, you think quietly—it’s easy to define what it falling in love is like when al-haitham sits next to you, when he drapes his cloak over you, when you feel his heart beat under your palm, when you can see the tension ease from his shoulders the more he sits with you.

it’s always been easy, like it comes and goes as second nature.

“you know,” he says quietly, after a few moments, “when i was young, i asked grandmother what it felt like to be in love.”

you hum, staring at your feet as they dangle over the water, tapping your foot against his. he taps back, making you grin to yourself softly.

“oh really?” you raise a brow, “you thought about other things besides books as a kid?”

“i read all kinds of books,” he defends, “it’s good to be well rounded. i enjoy a romance here and there. besides, everyone wonders at one point,” he adds, “didn’t you?”

you smile at the thought of al-haitham reading something romantic, giggling quietly as your hand grabs his and weaves your fingers together. “i suppose i did wonder, yes. what’d she say?”

“she said i’d figure it out when i do fall in love,” he chuckles, “i wasn’t too happy with that answer.”

“i can imagine,” you say in amusement. “well? have you found your answer yet?”

he thinks for a moment, pondering if he has. he thinks about how he waits to have lunch late every day just to have it with you, how even with an empty stomach, he feels full to the brim when he sits down with you. he thinks about how he walks the long way home just to buy those sweets you like, how even if he’s tired, he’s never felt more alive than when you smile. he thinks about how he’s cold right now, how even when the cool air stings his skin, nothing is as cold as the way your touch is warm.

if love doesn’t feel like you, then al-haitham is inclined to believe he’s not made for love. it must to be you, he thinks, how could it not be?

“i think so,” he nods, squeezing your fingers with his.

“then do share, grand sage al-haitham,” you tap your foot against his again, swinging your legs as you shuffle closer to him. “what does it feel like to be in love?”

he turns, leaning down and stealing a soft, chaste kiss against your lips. “like that,” he grins, “wouldn’t you agree?”

i’m down so horrendously and embarrassingly bad for this guy what the fuck

[woooyeahbaby]

post war levi with his doctor or nurse pls 👀

ABSOLUTELY coming right up.

warnings : gender neutral reader, 18+, handjob, very brief blowjob, reader is a swallower🗣️, patient/nurse dynamic obviously, slow-ish? and i feel like there’s not much smut sorry, lmk if any other warnings are needed! (oh also maybe me not being too specific with levi’s injuries cuz i kinda forgot them…)

a/n : i will get to my other levi rqs eventually.. admittedly this is my most recent one 😭 i’m not unmotivated, like i said i am out of writers block, i’ve just been tired and trying to focus on my relationships irl :)

oh also this is my first time writing smut in FOREVER😭

it was about time to check on captain levi again, realizing you’d spent quite a bit of time focusing on other patients. you felt bad, seeing as so much had happened all within that short amount of time.. the explosion, and then immediately after, the rumbling? you had to admit, levi is a strong man. seeing him so beat up hurt a little, despite not knowing him well.

you tap on the curtain surrounding his hospital bed a few times, quietly saying his name to ask for permission to enter the.. room. it’s hard to call it a room when it’s made of thin, floral printed fabric sheets hanging from the ceiling.

“come in.” his rough voice answers, and you hear him shifting to sit up straight in the bed.

“hi, captain levi. how’re you doing on pain at the moment? need anything?” you question, fixing the curtain behind you as you came closer to his bed, gently placing a hand on his ankle.

you definitely see him wince at the touch, but he doesn’t seem pained, perhaps just surprised. well, not many people would be brave enough to lay a hand on captain levi ackerman…

“i’m fine. and you don’t really have to call me captain. only the scouts do.” he waves his hand slightly off his lap, shaking his head.

“i do it out of respect, not because i feel obligated.” you smile softly at him, then shift your gaze to his more severely injured leg. “may i touch your leg?”

“..yeah, go ahead.” hearing that you have that level of respect for him made him feel something. not embarrassment, or pride, but something else he couldn’t quite grasp.

you gently feel his other ankle, pressing on it while your eyes stayed on his face as to check for any signs of pain. you carefully roll his ankle around, earning a grunt from the man.

“sorry. is it any better, or has it hurt the same amount since?” your hands now rest on his calf as you question him.

“it’s getting better. it’s fine, continue.” he clears his throat, his eyes — or, well, eye — never leaving your hands.

you nod, now pressing along his calf, still watching his face for signs of pain. this seemed to hurt more, seeing as he scrunched his nose, his eye narrowing.

“same question.” instead of standing at the end of his bed, you move up to the side, one hand still at his calf and the other at his knee.

“getting better. the doctor said it isn’t broken, just the bone is bruised pretty bad. don’t worry about it.” he seems a bit worried. “you.. don’t need to feel further than that. my upper leg is fine.”

“captain levi, you can’t tell me not to worry about it, i’m a nurse. i have to worry about every detail of these injuries.” you laugh softly. “and hey, didn’t the doctor say you pulled something in your thigh? of course i have to feel it. don’t worry, i won’t do anything other than see how much you’ve healed.”

“well—! i don’t think i pulled anything, i.. he did say that. but it’s better. i can say that right now.” it’s a strange sight to see captain levi flustered… but not an unpleasant one.

all you do is roll your eyes at his efforts to get you to leave it alone. as to not make it more difficult for him, you make it slow, but little do you know, that only makes it harder. in more ways than one.

at a particular spot on his upper thigh, he gasps, his muscles tensing under your touch. you rest your hands there, not pressing any further.

“and you said you’re fine?” you raise an eyebrow, seeing that he just contradicted himself.

“i am, i really am. it’s just.. i’m not used to people touching me. especially not.. in such a.. spot.” he cringes at himself, finally looking away as to hide his embarrassment.

“wh— ohh. in a bad way? is it uncomfortable?” you furrow your eyebrows now, genuinely curious as you didn’t want to offend him.

his lips press into a thin line as he shakes his head, his gaze returning to you, and then your hands.

“quite the opposite.” levi sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“then what’s the issue?” tilting your head at him out of pure confusion, you see him almost smile for a split second.

“it’s.. a little too comfortable.” he chuckles at himself, looking away once again.

it takes a moment for you to put 2 and 2 together, but once you realize what he means you can’t help but gasp. however.. your hands don’t move from his thigh.

“do you.. know what nurses are for, captain levi?” your voice is quieter now, your eyes unable to meet his out of pure shyness. “we’re here to help. so.. would you like for me to help you?”

you hear his breath catch in his throat at your offer, as he certainly expected you to he disgusted, or at least ignore what he said. but no.. you offered to help him. he felt ashamed, but.. how could he refuse?

“yes. yes please.” levi nods eagerly, his hands moving to the button of his pants before you stop him.

“let me.” you undo the button for him, unzipping the fly as well.

you assist him in lifting his hips up so you can pull his pants down just enough so they’re down to his thighs. they’re a little bruised, but you look past that and see the sheer muscle in them. you can’t believe you got to touch them. and you only get to touch more of him with what you’re doing…

making eye contact with him for a moment as to ask for permission to remove his boxers, he nods again, a slightly pink tint to his cheeks now. you look back down, slowly running a hand over his hard-on before hooking a finger in the grey material, pulling them until you could see every inch of his cock.

“i can’t do much other than use my hands, that’s okay, right?” you whisper, fearing being caught by another patient nearby or even another nurse or doctor.

levi simply nods, his breathing getting heavier with each movement you make. you spit onto your hand, then return it to his crotch. you run it up and down, causing him to cover his mouth with his own hand. you still hear his gasps, and a few groans trying to escape.

each time you reach the tip, his hips buck slightly, though not so much as he would feel pain due to his leg injuries. he must’ve really needed this, especially since he asked it of someone he barely knew outside of a few conversations here and there as they were only dropping off pain meds, or changing bandages.. it seemed very out of character, even to you.

he was already leaking pre-cum, quite a lot of it, at that. you had to admit, for a man as attractive as him, it was hard to believe he never got any action. of course, you aren’t his first, but he still probably hadn’t had something like this happen. that much was obvious, with how shy he seemed, and how fast he seems to be getting close.

levi removes his hand from his mouth, now clutching the sheets below him with it. “close, so close,” he whispers, clearly struggling to keep quiet.

you look around for something for him to release onto, but there was nothing quite convenient enough. so.. next best thing?

you bend over, placing only the tip in your mouth, continuing the fast movement of your hand as you slowly swirl your tongue around him. he sighs loudly, his hand quickly returning to his mouth as he coats the inside of your mouth with his cum. there was a lot to swallow, but you weren’t one to complain, really, especially not when it’s captain levi ackerman.

you pull away, licking your lips swiftly and wiping your hand on a paper towel in the corner of the room. wait a second, where were those when— ah, what’s done is done… you think, rolling your eyes at yourself for not realizing those only a few seconds earlier…

when you turn back around, levi’s face is beet red, his pants already up and buttoned. his breathing is still unsteady, as to be expected…

“thank you.” he mumbles, and you swear you see a tear run down his cheek.

“um.. anytime.” you laugh softly. “need anything else?”

“i’m.. i’m alright for now.” he replies quietly, shaking his head and placing his hands in his lap. “i might need help again tomorrow, though.”

“well, i’m here every day. i’ll check on you again soon.” and with that, you leave, unsure of whether to feel shameful and embarrassed, or extremely proud that you just made the captain levi cum.

(if you liked this then my requests are very much open!)

[thegoldencontracts]

(Not) A Love Triangle

Summary: The rumors say you and Azul are in a love triangle with Jamil. Little do they know, that's not the case.

This idea is not mine, it's by @quartztwst - what if you and azul think the other likes jamil but you're both actually jealous of him and he hates his life?

“Oh, Jamil-san!”

“Hey, Jamil!”

“Dearest Jamil-san, you really ought to join Octavinelle someday.”

“Come on, Jamil, old buddy old pal, don’t give that guy the time of day. You should look at my epic ideas instead!”

This was the life of Jamil Viper, and he absolutely hated it. You and Azul Ashengrotto were both constantly pursuing him.

“Hey Jamil, why don’t you come over to my room sometime?”

“Dearest Jamil-san, do refrain from giving that cretin the time of day. Octavinelle’s lounge is far better than that musky old place.”

People had spread rumors, rumors about you two both liking him because, well, of course they did. The universe just couldn’t let Jamil Viper have nice things.

It was a love triangle, or so they said. Azul and you were both fighting over them, bickering, and the student body was enamored. One particularly enthusiastic student even made a small manga one-off that was quickly hailed as the hold grail of Night Raven drama.

But there was one thing that those fools didn’t realize.

Neither of you liked him. You both thought the other liked him, and so you attempted to get him away from the other so they’d stop liking him. You two didn’t react like most jealous individuals did, because the universe simply had to throw another inconvenience the way of Jamil Viper. What had he done to deserve all this?

Even when you two weren’t near him, he still couldn’t get a single break.

“Look!” Ace said to you, pointing at Azul with an impish grin. “It’s your crush. Aren’t you going over there and shoot your shot?”

“S-Shut up!” You said. “He’ll overhear, and- besides, he doesn’t like me. Everyone knows he likes Jamil.”

You seemed to deflate at the mention of Azul liking him, and if it weren’t for how wrong you were, perhaps a teensy part of Jamil would’ve actually felt bad.

No. He didn’t have time to feel bad. The only person here to feel sorry for was himself.

But this was getting annoying, so he tried to avoid looking at you — he didn’t want to hear anything else about your little romance.

That didn’t work out.

“Hey, Azul,” Floyd drawled, slipping an arm over Azul’s shoulder. “You gonna confess to your little grouper fish anytime soon?”

Floyd had even changed your nickname to that of a creature symbiotic with octopi! It was so clear you two liked each other and not him. And yet, no one but him - and maybe the twins - seemed to realize it.

“S-Shut it!” His response was so similar to yours it was driving Jamil crazy. “I don’t like- well, er-“

Realizing there was no defense for himself, he buried his face in his hands, cheeks red.

If he wasn’t such a pain, Jamil would almost find it cute. But Azul was a snivelling nincompoop,

“It doesn’t matter,“ he said, voice muffled. “My love couldn’t possibly be requited, not when Jamil’s right there!“

Azul’s ego was like a balloon, truly — appearing large and imposing, but small in volume and easily burst. Jamil had never seen someone more insecure.

Pathetic.

He didn’t have the time for this.

“Let’s go, Kalim,” he said, and almost instantly, the two of you perked up.

“May I assist you, Jamil-san?”

“Don’t look at him, I’m a way better pick! At least I’m not trying to scam you and kill your grandma!”

“I resent that accusation. In fact, I’ve never killed a grandmother in my life! I am a very respectful and law-abiding-“

“Yap yap. Now, go. Jamil deserves better.”

“Than you, yes.”

Any pity in his heart was immediately stamped out. Of course, the two of you couldn’t allow him a moment of peace.

Of course.

[prophecyofwinter]

Se Hāedar Qilōni Iprattan Se Jēdar | I

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary | Saera Targaryen daughter of Jaehaerys I ran away from Westeros to escape her fate. 45 years later her daughter Y/N Targaryen, with invitation from King Viserys wishes to go back.

Tags | TargCest, Smut, Standard ASOIAF content, I wanted to write something raunchy with plot, Aemond and Reader are First Cousins Once Removed.

Prologue

Chapter I | The Rest and More

With lots of persuasion from you and lady-lessons from your mother, she deemed you fit enough to sail to King's Landing. However she would not send you alone, she entrusted your safety to your slightly elder brother Vaegon.

He had trained for years in the Temple of Light to become a swordsman, and a fine swordsman he was. Brother or not he really did piss you off most of the time, now more than ever. Once he learned of your impending betrothal to the Targaryen Prince he soured up more than normal. He berated your Mother for days on how she could ever allow this.

He would of course still be a bastard even if you were legitimate, this was only so you could marry Aemond.

“What if he is ghastly! You know someone being unmarried for this long most likely means it’s for a reason!”

You weren’t sure what stick Vaegon had up his ass but you wouldn’t let him ruin this for you, this voyage was bad enough. Perhaps you’d be able to claim a dragon, there are plenty laying around on Dragonstone…

“I am sure I will be able to handle whatever Prince Aemonds complexion is, especially having to witness you for the past 19 years.”

————

“In King’s Landing you can’t wear these kinds of fabrics, these are a whores garments there.”

Your mother threw your old clothes to the side and motioned for you to turn around. She put a thick and hard piece of material around your waist and tied up the back.

“Alright my sweet, breathe in and-“

Suddenly all the air in your lungs was forced out in a shriek as your whole rib cage was crushed under the pressure of whatever the absolute hells this was.

“This is beauty in King’s landing! This will become your life, remember this is what you wanted.”

—————

You’d be at sea for about a month or less depending on the winds. You craved to be back on solid ground, your stomach was not agreeing with you. Sleep escaped you night after night, only catching small power naps multiple times a day before the rocking of the ship would wake you once again.

The tight clothes and strict codes for ladies your mother had laid upon you for survival in Westeros weighed in your head. You hoped your husband would not be as overbearing as you’ve heard of Westerosi men to be.

—————

Your mother had called some of her top prostitutes to come in and teach you the rules and ropes of intercourse.

“The merchants from Westeros really enjoy the girls who act sweet and innocent. You will be expected to provide as much as he pleases, and you mustn’t bore him.”

The brunette climbs on top of you and places her hips between yours, both of you fully clothed doesn’t make the moment less intimate than what you’ve had.

“Now, let’s act out how you cry out for mercy, how you beg for him to be gentle on your body.”

She begins to mimic the motions of intercourse to test and see if you are ready for what she claims will become of your life. A weird sense of embarrassment stings throughout your body, you weren’t expecting this kind of training. You didn’t know there needed to be this kind of training.

“Come on my lady, let's hear you!” She taunts you with a laugh, she grabs your wrists and pins them to the bed to really get it out of you.

——————

You could only spend most of your time reading, reading history books and other stories from Westeros. You could speak the language fluently enough, but you will get it fully soon.

Hopefully you won’t have to give up your favorite foods, the Targaryens should be rich enough to import all the finest things from Essos. Pomegranates, Watermelon, Blackberry Wine, Duck and the list goes on…

The salty air fills your nose, it would be lovely if you weren’t seasick constantly. Reading distracts your mind enough to forget your current feelings.

You haven’t heard anything about the other Targaryens outside of the history books, you don’t even know what the current ones are like…

Your mother doesn’t have good views of, well, anyone. She told you to expect the worst from most of them, if they were anything like her father then you should be watching your back at all times.

Amongst all things and her dislike for Westeros, she wanted to see you happy the most. She said time and time again she would allow you to come back no matter what.

She was sweet and kind where a mother should be.

——————

“What if I claimed a dragon? I could visit you at any time I wanted to, right?”

You asked your mother over morning tea, you were to set sail later today. This would be the last time you would see your mother for the foreseeable future.

Saera rubbed her aging finger over the rim of her cup and laughed to herself a little.

“A dragon isn’t something you can promise, most of my siblings never claimed a dragon in their lifetime.”

You huffed and pouted, your motivation to claim a dragon only increased tenfold. Ever since you were a child when you were told you couldn’t do something it would only make you want it more.

“However, if you were to claim a beast… you would fancy Silverwing I believe. Or if you seek to be bitter, my father would roll in his grave if he knew my child claimed Vermithor…”

Saera laughed to herself heartily, entertaining her child’s wild ideas. She doesn’t doubt you would attempt to claim but she doesnt be believe it would be successful.

——————

Viserys was not expecting Saera to accept his proposal. So he was shocked when Alicent burst into his chambers with a letter in and holding it out to him in anger.

“What is this?! You offer Aemonds hand to the daughter of a whore?! What were you thinking!”

He left out a guttural cough into the fabric of his handkerchief. The unexpected stress of Alicents

rage seething onto him, he was gonna tell her… eventually.

“He is my son too, I must leave no Targaryen unaccounted for. I cannot die in peace knowing there is a- a good Targaryen across the sea. You have been trying to get Aemond wed for years, it- it is the best choice.”

Alicent braces herself on a wooden chair and lets out a deep breath with her head down. Her husband is a fool, he will look like a fool to the seven kingdoms and this girl is proven to be used.

The Queen remembers how she would read to King Jaehaerys on his deathbed and he would mistake her for Saera. He would reach out to her and ask for forgiveness, the guilt would eat at her because it was not hers to give. Until the day his body gave out and he couldn’t muster words anymore he would ask for Saera.

To Alicent, Saera had made her choices and she wanted to be where she was. To bring her bastards into it was too far, she had no choice in the matter. Being the Queen didn’t matter if the King already made up his mind.

“You will force me to greet her I presume. You are far too ill to make it to the port.”

Gods, Viserys already fell back to sleep. Rotted skin exposed and clearly pain stricken. Alicent sighed out loud in frustration and stormed out of the room, guards opening and closing the doors for her.

While she would like to think she knows how Aemond will feel about such an arrangement. He has been without betrothal for all his life and the ladies of the court actively avoid him. Perhaps this is something he needs.

[earthtooz]

an accidental diluc fic in which you seek refuge at dawn winery in the midst of a storm. pining ensues. 1k words.

the fireplace crackles, a pen scrawls hurriedly on paper, and the rain that hits the windows of dawn winery is slowly beginning to ease, the oppressive downpour turning into something gentle and calming. you glance out the windows, unfocusing your eyes and mind from the novel in your hands to observe the slowing raindrops.

your pot of tea is empty now, your hair and clothes have dried completely now after being near a fireplace for so long, and your limbs are beginning to ache from how long you’ve been sitting around. perhaps it’s time to return home now. 

diluc, from where he works in front of you, doesn’t notice you, hands too tightly wound in his red locks to look anywhere but at his paperwork. he is so concentrated that you feel bad distracting him from his duties, but with the easing of the rain, you’d rather leave now in case the downpour starts again.

oh, but thinking of the trip back home is already an unappealing thought. it is so warm inside diluc’s abode with the fireplace a few feet away from you, his furniture is so comfortable, and you’d hate having to trek through mud and hills, sullying your shoes and attire. 

however, you would hate to disturb the ragnvindr estate more than you already have with your sudden appearance, frantic to find shelter from the downpour. it just so happened you were near dawn winery at the time of the storm, and when the redhead caught sight of you amidst the onslaught of rain, he hurried you inside with no room for argument. 

it wasn’t that the two of you were unfamiliar. you’ve known him properly for two years now, and you admit that during those years, you’ve developed quite the affectionate spot for the young winery owner. sometimes, you think he feels the same for you, but diluc ragnivdr is diluc ragnvidr, as close as you may be, you are reminded of how unreachable he is for someone like you. so although he is the one that ushered you into his home, offering you a warm place to seek refuge in the meantime, you are the one that feels most guilty taking up space in his home. 

in hopes of subtly catching diluc’s attention, you stand, careful to not let the cushions move an inch as you pat down your clothes.

despite your rustling, the red-haired still has not moved, staring at the paperwork before him as if they were the greatest heathen of his life. one of the maids notice you instead, quickly scrambling to your aid and asking whether or not something was disturbing you.

“no, no, nothing of that sort,” you reassure, unsure of how to act with someone so frantically attending do your wants. “i was merely preparing to leave soon since the rain has eased.” 

the scraping of chair against wooden floorboards fill the room and heavy footsteps follow. “leaving? at this time of day?” diluc asks, presence suddenly larger than life and occupying the whole room. you feel small in front of him, overtaken by a courteous guilt. 

the maid has left. 

“yes, at this time of day,” you confirm. “is that so wrong?” 

“it’s dusk, y/n. the monsters will be out and it’ll be unsafe outside by the time you leave.”

“i can handle myself,” you vaguely gesture to the vision and sword that hangs from your hips. still, his expression does not change. “besides, i’ve been in your hair long enough, thank you for your hospitality, but i mustn’t bother you anymore.” 

“you do not need to be so formal with me. while you are under my roof, it would be in my best interest to take care of you,” he crosses his arms over his chest, looking away from your eyes. “your company could never be a burden, either.”

you cannot help but smile at his shy confession, stepping yourself back in his gaze so he can see that warm grin of yours that he’s come to adore- not that he’d ever admit that to you. “oh?” you quip. “why, i’m flattered that you deem me worthy to keep around, master diluc, but i ought to get going now.”

“it’s still cold outside, your attire is far too little for this weather.”

“a little bit of cold never hurt me.”

“you’ll get sick.”

“i’ll refuse.”

“you’ll… refuse?” he snorts.

“i will!” you declare brazenly.

“you are not leaving the manor when it’s cold and dark outside.”

you ignore the fluttering of your heart at the obvious care he is showcasing. “i feel awful taking up space in your home, diluc.”

“my decision is final, you shouldn’t risk your safety because of silly assumptions believing that you’re ‘bothering’ me.”  

as if sensing leftover threads of hesitance in your resolve, he adds, “adelinde was looking forward to having you here tonight as well. if you want to leave at some point, can’t you let it be after dinner? i’d hate to disappoint adelinde by telling her of your departure.”

as if the universe had timed it, it was after his sentence that you began to smell an aromatic scent wafting into the room, one so delicious that it was getting harder for you to resist diluc’s invitations. 

“you’re just guilt-tripping me now!” you accuse, a glimmer of amusement settling in his red eyes.

“and you are stalling. stay for dinner at least, i’ll feel better knowing that you leave with a full stomach.”

“what are you two bickering about?” comes a third voice- adelinde, who peeks around the doorway with an affectionate smile. at her appearance, you straighten your spine and crowd away from the young winery owner.

“nothing,” diluc explains, “apologies if we were too loud.”

“please, save your conversations for dinner. the plates are ready if you wish to eat, master diluc.” 

“thank you, adelinde.” the redhead turns to you. “so, what will it be?” 

home could wait, you decide. “it’d be impolite of me to decline. i’ll stay.” 

he smiles in satisfaction at your surrender, seeming proud of himself for getting you to stay a little longer. you can’t see it, but the head maid can very clearly identify the warm bits of affection settling in the young master’s eyes, rolling off him in waves as you declare that you’ll return his hospitality next time. 

(you stay the night because shortly after dinner, the rain returned. this time, with thunder and lightning.)

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[zzthekaiju]

So, Godzilla X Mothra as a Monsterverse movie, hmm...

Well, I got a lot of replies to the big comic saying that they’d like to hear my pitch for a GxM movie. So, here you go!

The film should be, at its core, of the romance genre variety. For both the kaiju and the human sub-plots. The overarching theme should not only be the Monsterverse’s usual “natural balance” motif, but also that of loving one another despite our differences and flaws, or perhaps because of them.

After all, “If you love a person, you accept the total person. With all the defects. Because those defects are a part of the person.”

 Obviously, Godzilla and Mothra are at the center of the kaiju side of the story. Big G is still patrolling for rogue titans while Mothra has made residence in Indonesia. Monarch returns with Madison Russell trying to prove her worth as a part of it. However, not only is her stubborn attitude grating on everyone, but her head is in a whirlwind because of Mothra’s newest ambassador: A good-natured and pacifistic young lady her age native to where the big bug titan lives. She and this newcomer (we’ll call her Lora for simplicity’s sake) are a mirror to Godzilla and Mothra. Also, Bernie and Trapper should return because there was NO way they weren’t having eyes for each other in the last movie.

As for our two kaiju, their relationship hits a snag when a new titan shows up with an uncanny resemblance to Mothra. And yes, this will be the Monsterverse’s answer to Battra (we’ll call him that here from now on). Battra is something of an older brother to Mothra, and the two have a very strong connection. Unfortunately, Battra’s way of handling protecting the Earth runs counter to how Godzilla does it (as in, wipe out human settlements and attack titans for the most minor of infractions), and Big G tries to handle it the only way he knows how (ie, beating him to death). But not only is Battra much stronger than he lets on (complete with an ability to control plant life), but Mothra intervenes on her ancestor’s side out of familial loyalty (she’s unaware of Battra killing people at this point), causing the king and queen to come to blows until she and Battra emerge victorious, driving Godzilla away.

This turns out to be a really bad move, as Battra is determined to wipe out humanity, believing them to be a scourge that Mothra foolishly trusted. Mothra doesn’t realize her mistake until Battra wipes out an entire village for the crime of being near a forest. She tries to stop him, but nearly gets killed before retreating.

Monarch’s main goal throughout the film is to reunite Godzilla and Mothra, requiring them to look high and low for clues to how this unique symbiotic relationship came to be. A major stop is the Hollow Earth Iwi tribe, which shows how the two met in the first place, and gives Jia a chance to enter the narrative. As time goes by, Madison and Lora’s relationship goes from “unstoppable force meets immovable object” to them finding common ground, and eventually falling in love. It’s them that enables Monarch to hatch a plan. With the help of Jia, and Madison’s mastery of the ORCA, they set Godzilla and Mothra up to meet again. Of course, they’re all rather surprised to see Godzilla so thoroughly heartbroken and ashamed of himself that he submits to her like any titan would to him. But as Jia translates Mothra’s thoughts, the insect Goddess and her king make up for each other’s faults.

Soon, it’s Godzilla and Mothra vs. Battra. But it’s not easy, as Battra has mastery over the elements, giving him an advantage over Godzilla by summoning giant plants to ensnare and attack him. Mothra gets in a lot of good hits, but in the end, it’s a combination attack from king and queen that destroys Battra’s wings, and reduces him to harmlessness. To show how much he trusts his queen, Godzilla allows him to live and Mothra to decide his fate. She ultimately has him confined to the same place she lives so that he has familial company. It ultimately ends with Godzilla and Mothra resting at the area where they first met, as Monarch watches from a safe distance with Madison and Lora sharing their first kiss. At least one person, probably Bernie, states that it’s the best double date ever.

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

If anyone has other ideas/opinions, feel free to let me know!

[am-i-interrupting]

A Broadcast For Bitch Breakfast | Vox

Summary: It’s the anniversary of Alastor going missing. Upset he left without a word, left you to deal with his shit, and maybe a bit worried that he may actually be gone, it doesn’t take much for Vox to convince you to go back to his place. Perhaps a bad decision but Husk is right, it’ll make an excellent story for (what he calls) your bitch breakfast with Rosie tomorrow.

Warnings: 18+, implied cannibalism, drinking, choking, oral, P in V

You didn’t want to get out of bed. Your body felt sluggish. Your head was aching. Moving a single finger felt like moving a ton of bricks. You hadn’t even lifted up your blanket and you already wanted the day to be over.

You groaned, nuzzling your face into the pillow. You hadn’t managed to get much sleep at all. Not exactly an uncommon experience for a denizen of hell but normally you could get more than an hour of sleep.

However, today was an anniversary and you knew it. You wished you didn’t. Then maybe this wouldn’t happen every year. Perhaps the third time was the charm, and next year you could get some sleep this night. It seemed doubtful though.

With slow movements, you got up. You switched on your radio, set only to one channel, as you picked out your clothes for the day. Radio silence filled the air and feeling petty, you grabbed a mock flapper dress.

You bought it years ago as a joke, just to piss Alastor off. With the reverse now happening, it seemed like the perfect time to bring it out again.

The dress was a fitted number in your most flattering color. It was off the shoulder with tassels hanging from the top and bottom, brushing against your arms and legs. The real kicker (or at least the thing that caused Alastor’s eyes to narrow and his smile to tighten) was on either side of your waist there were cut outs, showcasing skin. In fact, the whole dress showcased things that a true flapper dress would hide instead of showcase. The only thing that made it even resemble a flapper dress slightly was the beading and tassels.

Regardless, you did your makeup and hair true to fashion for the 1920s but put on some heels that were too tall and too clunky to be accurate.

Ready for the day, you walked out the door.

You passed by sinners and imps alike. None up to anything good, you were sure. Not once were you bothered but you couldn’t help but think how it wasn’t like it used to be.

Every morning for nearly as long as you’d been in hell, Alastor would wait outside your door for you to walk out or you’d invite him in, asking for his opinion on things as you got ready. Then he’d escort you to Cannibal Town for breakfast with Rosie. That stopped two years ago when Alastor disappeared.

Still, you found yourself missing the effect he had on other people. Back then people darted off as soon as they saw him. Now people looked at you and either didn’t know who you were or gave you a slightly weirder berth if they did.

At least in Cannibal Town, people still acted the same. They all smiled. They greeted you with an occasional small bow of the head, one shook your hand then turned it to place a kiss on it.

Cannibal Town remained more or less the same. It was a nice consistency.

“Oh, there you are, dear!” Rosie said, spinning around to face you with a plate in hand, tea cups and a kettle sitting atop it. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming today. Glad to see I was wrong. Come, come, sit. I was just about to grab some snacks. I’ll be right back with it.”

“Thank you, Rosie,” you said as she disappeared.

“Of course, dear, of course. Can’t let you go hungry, can I?”

She came back with a thigh in hand. She placed it in the center of the table and sat herself down. A still steaming cup of tea was brought to her lips. She sighed with a now content smile on her face. She looked you over carefully and that smile turned amused.

“Still no broadcast?” she asked with a nod to your outfit.

“Oh, no. I know he’ll make himself known when he wants to but still,” you said.

Rosie nodded in agreement. “For a man who prides himself on taking such good care of his ladies, he sure does keep us worrying.”

The rest of breakfast was filled with a combination of silence and gossip. It seemed like mere seconds had passed and it was suddenly time for Rosie to open.

“Are you going to check on Alastor’s souls?” Rosie asked as she made sure some things were in place.

“I do it weekly,” you reminded her. “At least with Nifty and Husk.”

“Okay, well, you have a good day, hon.”

“You too, Rosie.”

“Oh!” She caught your arm before you could leave. “I’ve heard talk of some kid trying to be the next up and coming overlord. He’s been getting a bit close to Alastor’s territory. He’s not any kind of real threat but if you wanted to blow off some steam and show him who’s boss. . .”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You did listen to Rosie. You found him easily and he truly wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, even as someone who wasn’t an overlord.

The past two years had been a prime time to grow your power and influence with the absence of Alastor. Not that he’d been holding you back. No, he’d encourage you actually but you never had any reason to, nothing to fight for. With the absence of Alastor less souls went to him for deals and with you taking responsibility for keeping his territory from falling to others found you instead.

You could do a stand in, sure. A couple souls here and there was no problem but you weren’t completely comfortable with the idea of being a full blown overlord yet. You’d take care of his people’s problems when they came to you (and the few you’d taken a liking to even when they didn’t). You’d go to meetings in his place. However, the responsibility was not nothing and it kept you busy even on the lazy days.

You found Nifty and listened to her chat your ear off about a story idea she had as she darted around cleaning. You mentioned off handedly that you could use some help cleaning up your own place since you’d rarely had the time and her smile gave you one of your own.

When night came, you went to the bar you knew Husk frequented. You found him at a table with others, drinking and gambling like you were sure you would.

You sent him a small wave but didn’t speak. Instead you ordered yourself a drink and started casually chatting and moving around, keeping his table in your general vicinity and the cards of others in your eye line. Round after round he won with a combination of his own cheating being aided by yours.

Sat on a stool with a drink in your hand, your attention had been on the truly shitty hand the lamb demon had until the sound of the door opening and a familiar voice hit you. Your head snapped.

Vox waltzed in with a phone by his head and a grimace on his face.

You hadn’t talked to Vox much unless strictly necessary. The only time you actively seemed him out was actually on this very day two years ago. You’d marched onto his office, grabbed him by the lapels of his suit (that he wasn’t wearing right now, odd) and yelled at him demanding to know where Alastor was.

Needless to say the two of you hadn’t had many conversations before that and after? Well, you only spoke to fire back against his points at overlord meetings, spurred on by Rosie beside you who would never say anything but wear a grin and the thought that Alastor would get a kick out of Vox being knocked down several pegs.

You’d just finished your first glass of the night, not going out with the intention of being wasted (you couldn’t help Husk cheat if you were), when Vox sat down right beside you.

“Get me a rye,” Vox said to the bar tender.

You pushed your glass using two fingers. “Make that two, would you?”

Vox glanced at you and then did a double take. “Well, well, if it isn’t Alastor’s little helper?”

“Better than being his fan club,” you retorted.

Vox’s screen did the smallest glitch, just a bit of static electricity coming into the air. He played it off with a scoff of a laugh.

Oddly enough, he didn’t say anything. Instead he simply held his whisky glass in his hand. The liquid inside swished as his hand moved.

You took a sip of your own rye. A fan of it or not, it brought back those memories. You leaned back in your seat. Your glass clanked as you say it down with a bit more force than necessary.

“Rye’s Alastor’s favorite,” you said suddenly.

“I know.” You turned to look at him with a curious countenance. “Alastor and I have a long, complicated history.”

“Really now? I would have never guessed,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your words.

There was silence for a moment and then, “Did he really never talk about me?”

You were feeling nostalgic, you already knew. Despite the resentment, despite the anger you knew was there, you couldn’t help but indulge him. The alcohol having softened the shell that was those feelings to reveal the truth that you really just missed him.

“Oh, he talked about you. Muttering under his breath about you ever time he saw you but he’s a secretive man. He’ll talk about everything except himself,” you answered.

Vox hummed to himself. “What about you?”

“What exactly about me, Mister Vox?” you asked, leaning closer to him.

“Would you say you’re the same or do your similarities with Alastor start and end with appearance?”

“What’s it to you? Looking for a new nemesis?”

“A man can dream.”

It was your turn to scoff. You turned your head away from Vox only to be met with Husk’s attention half on you and half on the game he was playing. He raised a brow at you, his claws drumming against the wooden table. You glanced down at the cards in his hand. You could see a small exhale leave his body before he did the same.

“You know, I always have wondered—“ you hadn’t even turned around to face Vox when you felt a hand on your ear— “what these felt like.”

Your back went rigid. No one had ever touched your ears save for Rosie and Nifty. Rosie when she felt like doing your hair and Nifty through scrambling up your body like you were her personal jungle gym.

“Vox, what are you—“

Your vocal cords betrayed you as you sighed and leaned back as Vox’s thumb carefully circled the little bit of downy fur at the base of your ears.

“A bit more coarse than I imagined but still pleasant,” he said.

“Shut the fuck up,” you managed to growl out even as you leaned into his touch more.

“Do you want me to stop?” You said nothing. “That’s what I thought.” You wanted to slap him. “The ears, the tail, the demand for attention, the way power suits you. Oh, how very much like Alastor you are.”

You felt the haze of pleasantness lift from you as Husk looked up at you again and he visibly was taken aback. You snapped around and managed to grasp Vox’s hand before it fell back to the countertop.

“You say that like it’s a compliment.”

“Perhaps in a way it is,” Vox said. “There’s a lot of things to admire about Alastor but the difference between you and him is that he wouldn’t let me fuck him.”

You almost got up and left then and there. You rolled your eyes and dropped his wrist. You went to grab your drink, planning on downing it and walking out, when Vox swapped roles with you.

His hand now wrapped around your gradient wrist. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll leave right now.”

You should have. It should have been so easy to say those two simple words of ‘you’re wrong.’ Instead you found yourself saying, “Your death wish a bit more prominent today.”

“Maybe I’m feeling nostalgic. I know you are. Otherwise there’s no doubt in my mind you would have thrown me through the wall. You can do it.”

You could. He knew that. Two years ago you hadn’t just yelled at Vox. You had grabbed him by his suit lapels and demanded the whereabouts of Alastor. After his initial confusion came some form of both glee and oddly rage. He’d yelled about how he was glad Alastor was gone but he should have been the one to kill him. Even then, even without the souls chained to you or the land to protect, you’d summoned some deep seated power within you and used it to throw him through the walls where he fell out of the building.

He knew you could do it and you did too. You should have. You honestly should have but there were a lot of things you should have done but didn’t. You were in hell for a reason and maybe part of that was your unwillingness to leave something unfinished.

“You haven’t said I’m wrong.”

He glanced down at his hand. His grip was loose. It should have never stopped you and yet it had.

You jerked your hand away and downed your glass. You slammed it on the table and turned your back to him as you began to walk towards the door.

Behind you, you heard Vox’s drink be picked up and then much more softly be put down followed by his footsteps.

Your arm was gripped again but instead of a light ghost of a touch, it was one you recognized. Husk’s paw was around your upper arm.

He took off his hat. It was used to block off the view of his mouth as he leaned close to your ear and whispered, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Husk looked at Vox, almost a glare but not there yet. Then he sighed, “Don’t do something you’re gonna regret just because you know it’ll piss Alastor off.”

“I’m not an idiot, Husk.”

He flipped his hat around and placed it back on his head. He went back to his gambling buddies, grumbling something about a story, bitch breakfast, and Rosie.

Vox shoved you against the wall. You knew you should feel pain in your head and shoulders but this was Hell. You were used to it by now and Vox’s kiss was so much more interesting.

His tongue immediately slipped into your mouth and all you could feel was small electrical shocks. Not painful but buzzing. Almost like kissing pop rocks but with static.

One of his hands was cupping your jaw. The other was at your waist. His bare fingers touching your skin in both places.

Vox was full of new, interesting sensations. From the kiss and now just to his skin texture. You’d never touched him before, just his clothes. His skin was smooth and cold, like glass. However, only his claws had that hardness.

You pulled back. “How do I get this off?” you asked.

One hand was tugging at the collar of his turtleneck. You used the other to push off the black wool jacket he was wearing. Truly a shame to see it go.

He looked so much better in it than his suit or perhaps it was the fact that it was different. Either way, it gave him a 1950s feel even if all the clothes he wore were modern. For a man so insistent on being the future, he did hold onto at least some things from the past.

Vox sighed and moved your hand to the back of his neck where you found zipper. You couldn’t help but smile at the discovery.

“I can’t help but ask, do you need help putting on shirts that aren’t button ups or. . .?” you let your voice trail off teasingly.

“Shut up,” Vox said as he shrugged out of the shirt.

He then immediately placed his hands back on you. Your hair bunched up between his fingers as he drew you in for another kiss.

You felt his chest. Much like his hands, cold and smooth but not hard. You squeezed his shoulders and felt so much tension there. He moaned, fingers twitching.

He hooked his arm under your legs and swooped you up. Your ankles locked behind his back.

He rolled his hips. His hardness pressed against you. It was your turn to moan. You felt heat bubbling up inside you and your tail wiggle in excitement.

Apparently Vox felt it too as he pulled back. He adjusted you in his hold and began walking you to a room (his room you presumed). You were dropped on a bed.

Vox pushed up your dress and pulled on your tail. “Aren’t you just adorable?”

You glared up at him. In retaliation, you decided to pull him down onto the bed and flip your positions.

You leaned in, filling his space with your presence. You hands traveled from his shoulders to his navel and then back upwards. Your fingers lightly brushed against his throat.

“It’d be so easy to choke you,” you said, voice low and barely above a whisper.

“Then do it.”

Your fingers tightened around his neck. The smirk fell off his face and was replaced with a closed eyed, opened mouth expression. The muscles in his throat squirmed beneath your hold. You let up a bit.

Vox now looked up at you, hazy eyed.

You rolled your hips down against him. His breath hitched. His fingers pressed against the skin of your thighs. He pulled you down, held you in place.

His claw hooked your underwear. “Get these off.”

“Let me go.”

Vox did not let you go. Instead he pulled you down against his chest (which was now warmer than it had been mere minutes ago) and kissed you hard. He used this new position to slip your underwear down but as soon as they were off, you broke the kiss.

He looked ready to complain but a pressure on his throat and he was silent. You placed open mouthed kisses on his shoulders, down to his chest. You took a moment to lick his nipples as your undid the button of his pants. His back arch made you file away that information while you continued down his torso.

You slowly began to pull down his pants and underwear.

“For fuck’s sake hurry up,” he growled.

You paused for a moment. Then in two quick moment’s you pulled his clothes off and bit down on his hip. Vox gave a small shout as you licked at the now bleeding spot.

It wasn’t bad. There was barely enough blood to cause any space to start beading up. Though, there were definitely popped blood vessels beneath his skin.

“Ooooh,” Vox chuckled, “you little bitch.”

“No, not a bitch,” you said. “The proper term is doe.”

“I’d say you’re anything but.”

“Oh, really?”

You gave him your best doe eyes as you pressed your face against his hard cock. You hadn’t even truly looked at it but against your face you could tell it’s as long and slender. You mouthed against the base, not looking away from him.

“Oh, fu-uck,” his voice glitched.

You licked up and then deep throated him. You held your position for a moment. Then two. The small, cut off noises were too enjoyable to listen to. The unfiltered groan of frustration when he tried to buck into your mouth only for you to stop him was too entertaining.

You sat up. Your hand wrapped around him and pumped him. A blue tip peaked between your pointer finger and thumb.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him. He wasn’t the thickest or biggest you’ve ever had but he was certainly the longer. You could barely get him in all the way when you felt him bump against your ending. That pressure though, felt so good, so warm, like he was meant to be there.

You lifted yourself up and then down on repeat. With each thrust you let yourself fall with less and less caution. It would hurt if it didn’t feel so pleasurable. This was scratching an itch.

Vox sat up. His hands going to the tassels of your dress. They bunched up in his hands as he pulled the garment off of your body. He threw it across the room.

“You are so fucking—“ he groaned—“You drive me mad, did you know that?“

You didn’t answer because his hands cupped your breasts, so much hotter than they’d previously been. He licked at your neck and sucked on the skin of your shoulders, returning the favor you’d done for him earlier. He rolled your nipple between his fingers. His claws nipped slightly at your skin, providing another pressure that was simply there.

“I’m close. Fuck!” you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole building heard him with how loud he was yelling.

A whirlwind sound began in the room as (what you would later realize was) Vox’s fans kicked on. His hands (so hot you felt like you’d burn) squeezed your breasts as he gave a harsh thrust into you. You couldn’t help a noise of slight pain escape you while he groaned, voice and face glitching with pleasure.

You felt him twitch inside you. You could feel the warmth of his release filling you. You rolled your hips against the feeling. He surprised you by rolling back.

He released his hold on you, still lazily thrusting in you. His fingers reappeared against your clit. He rubbed it several times before they started vibrating.

You grabbed onto his shoulders, moaning his name. A lazy but confident smile covered his face.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked.

You whimpered and nodded.

He tugged on your tail. “Words.”

“Yes, mmm, perfect,” you said, words slurred.

His smile turned into a smirk. “Come for me.”

Now that he’s said it, you didn’t want to but you couldn’t help it. With his dick still in you, moving and spreading his cum causing it to drip out of you, his fingers against your clit vibrating, and now his voice demanding it, you were helpless.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Beer Never Broke My Heart - Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: another country music inspired TGM oneshot because why not. Beer Never Broke My Heart by Luke Combs is a fave and it's been stuck in my head all day so, here we go.

Pairing: Jake Seresin x reader

warnings/content: fluff, a little angst if you squint I guess? Bob and Bradley playing cupid. Jake's a commitment-phobe.

word count: 2.8k

The stories about Jake Seresin’s Fourth of July parties were the thing of legends. At least, that’s what your childhood best friend, Bob Floyd told you. Growing up together in the quaint corners of Kentucky, your friendship persisted even after Bob enlisted in the Navy, bridging the geographical gaps that separated you. Upon encountering Jake, Bob wasted no time in regaling you with tales of the charismatic, albeit arrogant and cocky, pilot he had befriended—someone he cheekily deemed "perfectly your type." With a mischievous grin, Bob couldn't resist teasing you about your penchant for less-than-stellar romantic choices. However, as Bob grew closer to Jake, his jests evolved into genuine affection, a burgeoning belief that perhaps you and Jake were destined for each other. Your recent trip to San Diego had you attending Bradley Bradshaw's birthday bash at Bob's insistence, albeit with the conspicuous absence of Jake. Despite assurances from Jake himself that he wouldn't miss it, he was reportedly detained by a rigorous training exercise on base, but Bob hadn’t been buying it.

"Has Jake ever mentioned having a significant other, like, ever?" Bob quizzically posed one evening at the Hard Deck, the favored haunt for Navy personnel and their circles.

Bob's squadron pondered, their heads shaking in unison while exchanging contemplative glances. A few scanned the ceiling, delving into their memory banks to recall any fleeting encounters where Jake might have been accompanied by a woman for more than just a passing night.

"Bradley, Javy, you guys practically grew up with him. Have either of you ever seen him with a girl for longer than a one-night fling?" Bob chuckled, arching an inquisitive brow.

Bradley and Javy exchanged a silent glance, both shaking their heads softly. Bradley took a sip of his beer, placing the bottle down with a soft laugh, as if a distant recollection had suddenly surfaced.

"I take that back, I do remember this one girl. What was her name... Heather, Jessica, something like that. This was way back when I first met him, over a decade ago. Jake would've been, what, 21 tops? He was ready to tie the knot with her—or so we all thought. Then she decided she couldn't handle dating someone always on the go, and it broke poor Jake's heart. After that, he seemed to reckon he had something to prove, which might explain why he can be such an insufferable dick most of the time now."

Bob raised a knowing eyebrow, nodding thoughtfully. A smirk crept onto his face as he glanced around at his companions, then back at you.

"Jake's got cold feet when it comes to commitment. That's why he skipped out!” 

“Nothing gets past you, does it, Bobby?” Bradley grinned, shaking his head as he sipped his beer again.

“Look, I think we need to just bring you to his annual Fourth of July party. He’ll love you when he meets you. He’s just scared of the idea,” Bob nodded as he turned to you, grinning. 

“Guys, if Jake doesn’t want to meet me, it’s ok. I’m not offended. If he’s a commitment-phobe, I’m probably good just…not meeting the guy,” You shrugged as you sipped your cocktail, laughing softly. “Besides, Bobby, you’re the one who said he was perfectly my type because he’s an asshole. I mean, maybe I should change my type.”

“Nah, Jake’s not a bad guy,” Bradley shook his head quickly, an awkward chuckle escaping his lips. “He’s just not a smart guy, at least not when it comes to social settings. Trust me, he’ll be fine. We just won’t tell him you’re coming.”

A few nights later, you and Bob rolled up to Jake's party, the warm summer air buzzing with excitement. You sported a laid-back ensemble: denim shorts hugging your curves and a tie-dyed halter top in patriotic hues of red, blue, and white, exuding a festive vibe. Your sunglasses rested atop your head, adding a touch of effortless coolness to your look.

As you stepped into the backyard, the scene unfolded before you: Bradley and Jake engaged in their customary banter, beers in hand, the ambiance alive with their friendly squabble.

"I'm telling you, the Astros are taking it all this year," Jake asserted confidently.

Bradley scoffed, retorting, "And I'm telling you, they'll crash and burn like they always do, Bagman."

Bob chimed in with a chuckle, playfully interrupting their debate. Adjusting his glasses with a grin, he shot Bradley a teasing glance.

"Are we interrupting something here?" Bob quipped, his tone lighthearted as he ushered you forward.

Bradley's smile widened as he greeted you warmly, introducing you to Jake, who turned to you with a suave grin, his eyes sparkling with charm. 

As you laid eyes on Jake for the first time, a rush of sensations flooded through you. Standing tall with a commanding presence, his tanned skin glowed under the party lights, accentuating the golden hue of his tousled blonde hair. His bright sea-green eyes, vibrant and captivating, seemed to hold the entire universe within them, drawing you in with their magnetic gaze.

A charming grin played upon his lips, exuding confidence and warmth, while his strong southern accent, dripping with Texan pride, resonated through the air like a familiar melody. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in his rugged yet effortlessly handsome features, feeling a flutter of anticipation mingled with a hint of nervous excitement. In that moment, it was as if time stood still, and all you could do was offer a tentative smile in return, your emotions swirling in a whirlwind of curiosity and intrigue at the enigmatic man before you.

As you stood before him, captivated by his presence, Jake extended a hand with a confident smile. 

"Well, hi there," he drawled in his rich southern accent, his voice smooth as honey. 

"Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin, US Naval Air Force." he said, his bright green eyes twinkling with charm, emphasizing his title as he shot Bradley a competitive smirk. You knew Bradley was a Lieutenant, and you knew from what Bob had told you that the Jake and Bradley bickered over Jake’s newly-appointed higher rank. 

"Pleasure to meet you," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of admiration for the accomplished officer standing before you.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Jake's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of confidence and charm. "Likewise," he responded warmly, his grip on your hand lingering just a fraction longer than necessary, sending a jolt of excitement coursing through you.

His handshake was firm yet gentle, sending a tingle of electricity through your fingertips as you exchanged introductions. In that moment, his genuine warmth and charisma enveloped you, leaving you eager to uncover more about the man behind the captivating facade.

As the conversation flowed, you found yourself drawn further into Jake's magnetic presence, each moment spent in his company deepening your intrigue and desire to unravel the layers of the enigmatic man before you. Jake excused himself politely after a few minutes of lively conversation, and you watched on with a dreamy-eyed expression on your face as he slipped away into the party to converse with someone else. Out the corner of your eye, you noticed Bob and Bradley exchange knowing grins as they observed what was unfolding. 

The night carried on, and you headed into the house to find your way to the bathroom. Closing the sliding patio door behind you, your eyes scanned over the house, taking in the crisp, white walls adorned with different pieces of country-themed decor, as if Jake was trying to bring as much of Texas into his Californian home as he could. A simple cactus sat on the coffee table, a Stetson hanging on the wall, next to a vintage rodeo poster, framed and on display. The decor was somewhere between vintage Americana and a country bar, but it seemed so perfectly Jake. At least, from everything you’d been told about him, and from your five minute exchange with him earlier.

As you headed down the hallway to find the bathroom, passing by the entryway to the kitchen, you could hear muffled voices, deep in discussion. You paused for a moment as you recognized both voices. One was unmistakeably Bradley, his Virginian lilt echoing slightly out of the kitchen. The other, an equally deep and recognizable southern drawl, one you’d only just heard a short while ago, but equally ingrained in your mind. 

“Listen, Bradley, I’m sure she’s a great girl. Bob wouldn’t have brought her if she wasn’t. I’m just not interested,” Jake protested, and you felt your heart sink slightly as you heard the words that weren’t intended for you.

“Jake, it was 11 years ago, man. Don’t you ever think about what it’d be like to meet someone? Settle down? Have a kid?”

“No,” Jake replied stubbornly.

“Now you’re just being a jackass,” Bradley sighed, and you could just envision the disapproving glance and head shake that Jake was on the receiving end of right now, “You can’t just keep having drunk one night stands, dude. You’re gonna wake up one day and realize you basically pissed your whole life away. The Navy’s not gonna be there forever. One day you’re gonna have to retire.”

“And I’ll retire happily. On a ranch somewhere in Texas.”

“Alone.”

“I’ll buy a dog if you’re that fucking concerned about me being lonely, Bradshaw,” Jake spat back angrily.

“What if she’s not like what’s-her-face?”

“Chelsea. And it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. You’re pissing away a chance with a really nice girl because of what, your pride? Your ego? You’re afraid to get hurt? You’re gonna end up drunk and alone.”

“Beer never broke my heart. Women have.”

“Oh come off it, Bagman. You were 21. You’re how old now?”

“Thirty five.”

“Exactly. Almost fifteen years ago. Give yourself a chance to be happy.”

As you listened in on Jake and Bradley's conversation, hidden from view in the hallway, a sudden tickle in your nose sent an urgent signal. You pressed a finger beneath your nostrils, desperately attempting to stifle the impending sneeze. However, despite your valiant efforts, a soft, involuntary sound escaped into the air, betraying your presence to the two men engrossed in discussion.

The gentle echo of your sneeze disrupted the flow of their conversation, prompting both Jake and Bradley to turn their heads in unison, their brows furrowing in mild surprise. Caught off guard by your sudden interruption, they exchanged a quick glance before Jake's gaze settled on the source of the noise.

You stood frozen in the hallway, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you met Jake's curious stare. In that fleeting moment, you felt like an intruder, an eavesdropper stumbling upon a conversation meant to remain private. Yet, despite the awkwardness of the situation, a part of you couldn't help but wonder if this unexpected encounter might offer insight into Jake's guarded heart and the walls he had built to protect himself from the ghosts of past heartbreaks.

“Sorry, I uh, I was just looking for the bathroom,” you blushed, nodding your head quickly as you smoothed a hand over your hair.

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Jake nodded once, remaining awkwardly guarded as he spoke. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Bradley held his hand out, shaking his head, “I promised Bob I’d sort this out and I’m damn well gonna do it.”

As Bradley stepped forward, determination etched into his features, you couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and apprehension. His insistence on addressing the situation piqued your interest, but you also couldn't shake the unease of being caught in the middle of a potentially sensitive conversation.

Jake glanced at Bradley with a hint of skepticism, his guarded demeanor softening slightly as he awaited Bradley's next words.

"Look, Jake," Bradley began, his tone earnest yet firm, "I know you've been hesitant about getting involved. But trust me, she's not like anyone you've ever met before."

You blinked in surprise at Bradley's unexpected endorsement, feeling a rush of gratitude toward your friend for advocating on your behalf. Bradley gave you both a knowing look before nodding once again and heading out of the room to give you both time alone. Jake shifted awkwardly on his feet, avoiding your gaze.

Jake's expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability flashing in his eyes as he absorbed Bradley's words. After a moment of contemplative silence, he finally spoke, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I’m sorry,” Jake nodded slowly, looking up at the ceiling before glancing over at you. “Bob and Bradley have been so bent on getting us together. I guess I’m just hung up on some shit from fifteen years ago. An ex-girlfriend told me she didn’t want to live the whole military spouse life after I had an accident in training. I never got over it. Had a ring for her and everything. Was gonna have the whole 2.5 kids and a dog and a white picket fence thing going on. Then she decided she couldn’t be a military spouse, and I decided I couldn’t give up what I’d been working on achieving, so I let her leave.”

“You haven’t dated in fifteen years?”

Jake's lips curved into a rueful smile, tinged with a hint of self-deprecation.

“Not really, I mean, I’ve been with girls, but not seriously.” 

Your laughter rang out, tinged with discomfort as you shook your head in incredulity. "And here I thought my dating history was a train wreck," you confessed, a nervous chuckle punctuating your words. "Bob likes to rib me about it, but I have a knack for attracting men allergic to commitment, unless it's to Sunday night football and beers with the boys."

Jake's laughter echoed yours, a genuine warmth infusing his expression as he nodded in understanding. 

"Now it all makes sense," he remarked, a glint of realization illuminating his features. "Bob kept insisting you were my type, and I couldn't figure out how he knew."

You frowned in confusion. "I'm lost."

"I tend to gravitate toward women who epitomize everything I'm not," Jake explained, a note of introspection coloring his words. "The ones wanting marriage, stability—all the things I shy away from. It's why I've avoided serious relationships. I thrive on being the best, but in that arena, I’m like…a football team short of a quarterback."

“I mean, you could. You just have to want it.”

“Part of me does.”

“But?”

Jake lets out a heavy sigh, shaking his head remorsefully as he looks down. He leans his body against the counter, shrugging his shoulders before speaking.

“But, I’m 35. I guess I could retire from service if the right girl came along. I just…it’s all I know. I know I’m a good pilot, ya know? I don’t know how I am at this boyfriend shit. “

His eyes met yours, earnest and vulnerable, as he confessed, "I mean, sure, I wanna be the kind of man who can sweep a woman off her feet, who knows how to cherish her and make her feel like she's the center of the universe. But truth be told, I ain't got a clue how to do that. I'm afraid I'll crash and burn before I even get off the ground.”

Jake frowned at the can of beer in his hand, shaking his head with a hearty chuckle.

“I’ve had too many of these, I don’t normally share my life story. Not with pretty girls at least.”

“Well,” you responded, pulling up a bar stool beside him before resting your elbows on the counter, holding your head in your hands as you looked at him, “I’m listening.”

"You know," he mused with a wry chuckle, "I never thought I'd feel betrayed by a cold beer, but here I am, questioning my trust in beer of all things." He shook his head, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. "Seems I've stumbled into uncharted territory here, darlin’.”

As Jake's laughter subsided, a lull settled over the conversation, punctuated only by the distant hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses in the background. You sensed a shift in the atmosphere, a moment bursting with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

"Maybe it's time to navigate these unfamiliar waters together," you suggested softly, breaking the silence with a tentative smile. 

"We can figure it out as we go, right?"

Jake's gaze softened, a flicker of gratitude shining in his eyes as he met your gaze. "I'd like that," he admitted, his voice tinged with sincerity.

 "It might be a bumpy ride, but, I reckon this time I might stand a chance of finding my bearings."

And in that moment, as the weight of his words hung in the air between you, you felt a spark of hope ignite within your heart—a flicker of possibility for something beautiful to bloom amidst the uncertainties of the journey ahead.

[wordstome]

I am having a goddamn nightmare of a time writing the university au (mostly because I have a shit ton of work to do…for my university…lol) so have some headcanons about the most toxic couple you’ve ever met. mdni under the cut

They’re like the definition of a situationship. They’re dating in every aspect except by name

At first she does try to sleep with other guys like she did before König but that doesn’t last long, because nobody else is as good as him. She will never admit this outside of the bedroom

Meanwhile he literally calls her his girlfriend behind her back

She’s emotionally unavailable toxic, he’s obsessive and possessive toxic

König enjoys the pursuit and just thinks it’s normal for women to be difficult like this. I would say “poor König” but he has a bad habit of picking her up and carrying her places against her will so he’s not that poor

She likes to tell herself she has no attachment to him, but she loves the ego boost he gives her by acting like a lovestruck puppy and following her everywhere. She’s also secretly into him being controlling

She does have her moments of genuinely caring about him, though. She brought him lunch once and he looked at her like she hung the moon the whole day. Her excuse was that she just happened to get/make an extra portion, but she did, in fact, get him a portion on purpose

She basically lives with him after a certain point. Her roommates barely see her anymore since she only comes and goes from her old place to get things. He constantly threatens to change the locks on her, but they both know it’s an empty threat. He much prefers to punish her in sexy ways

She'll just be minding her own business talking to a classmate or perhaps flirting with someone when König will come up behind her and put his arms around her. If she was just talking to someone she'll pat his face before attempting to shoo him off. If she was flirting with someone, she wrenches him off her and storms off in a huff (whoever she was talking to has definitely fled from König's evil eye by that point)

They don't really fight, they just have spats because König is endlessly amused by her anger and she is unable to stay mad at him for long. The one time they had a real fight was nasty, and they didn't talk for days afterwards

She's usually quite a chill, go with the flow person (because if she allowed herself too much stress or anxiety at once it would destroy her), but König brings out the spitfire in her

In equal measure, König is a bit of the shy and quiet giant type, but she brings out the brat tamer in him. They alternate balancing each other out

It's kind of easy to look at them and go "why are they still doing this to themselves" but when they get along (i.e. he's behaving himself and she's not pretending not to know him) they're as functional as any other couple

This definitely goes without saying: the nastiest most bed-breaking sex. They fuck like they’re trying to murder each other

I know it's a pet peeve of many people when they say the reader is ooooo so small and delicate next to the cod men, and I tend to agree. However, unless you are also nearly seven feet tall and built like an olympic swimmer, I'm just gonna say you're smaller than König

That being said, he LOVES using his size against her. Picking her up, bending her over things, bending her in half (mating press, his beloved)

If he wants her to stay, she'll stay. He'll have one hand on her throat pinning her down, the other keeping her open to slam into her

This brat will look him dead in the eye and ask "is that all you've got?", which obviously makes him lose his mind in the best way

She definitely has more experience than he does, which actually works out in his favor: him getting better at fucking really just means he's getting better at fucking her

They're so goddamn nasty they've definitely fucked in semi-public places because she teased him to the point of madness and he popped a boner so hard it was painful

Oh, the dirty talk. König is such a gentleman outside of the bedroom, but the degradation that comes out of him while he's fucking her is toe-curling. A lot of "nobody else can fuck you like this" and "all you're good for is taking me in your tight little hole"

He growls??? I don't know if y'all have heard his voicelines in German but he snarls at her when he's trying to teach her a lesson and it turns her into putty

This post is dedicated to @kneelingshadowsalome, who is waiting for this fic so patiently and is my shining beacon of motivation at this point lol