#dangerous serial killer is soft only for you

[powerfultenderness]

Death's Angel

Pairing: König (stalker/serial killer)/Fem!Reader

Rated: Explicit. 18+

Summary: "Please just let me go! I promise I won't tell! I have a wife! I have a child!" He's heard all the pleas before, but König is finally struck with the oddest dying wish he's ever heard. "Can you kiss me?"

Word Count: 22,480

Warnings:  Rape/Non-Con: Sexual assault, I do NOT go into detail on that part, but uh, it's there. Dub-Con/Consensual non-consent: (+mentions of rape/cnc porn). CNC as a coping mechanism, which (in this case) is dubious as it is not discussed beforehand. + Blood play, knife play, degradation. (Non-consensual) voyeurism (König is a stalker). Violence (König is a serial killer). Fluff (lol it's actually pretty sweet)

A/N: Based on [an ask] I got a couple of months ago. 4 parts in 1. [Read on AO3] for chapter divisions.

[Multi-fandom Masterlist]

[Death’s Kiss]

He cursed himself for getting distracted. But, as much as the military would like to believe he isn't, he is only human. And a particularly buxom woman overtly flirting with him had drawn his eyes from his target. He rejected the woman's advances (maybe he will find her later, there was nothing quite like fucking after killing), and went about searching for his target. Unfortunately he had to be discreet, he couldn't just push people out of his way, as much as he would love to.

He caught sight of a back exit and followed his instincts, they hardly ever led him astray, and took the chance that his target had left this way. He’d only taken a few steps into the dark alley when he heard sounds of a struggle. ‘What’s this?’ He followed the sound of a frustrated groan quickly followed by a “fuckin’ bitch!” and a woman’s scream cut short. 

König stuck to the shadows, plenty around this late, and slipped his sniper hood on as he rounded a dumpster. There was his target, a man in his thirties, with one hand over a woman’s mouth and the other holding a knife he just shoved into the woman’s stomach. 

Interesting. König couldn’t exactly say what drew him to kill certain targets. He just saw someone and decided. Sometimes he’d do recon, other times, like tonight, he’d just see what the night had in store for him. This was the first time he had come across one of his targets committing well, if the woman’s torn dress and the man’s hand now stuffed under her skirt were anything to go by, sexual assault and likely murder. 

König could understand murder. He might even respect it. But he could not tolerate rape. There were always one or two men in his unit he had to keep an eye on. Who were likely to take advantage of the women of a war torn country. Not only were those the easiest of his victims to cover up, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the higher ups placed them on his team on purpose. Let him deal with the troublemakers before they get out of hand. 

Why he should have contempt for one heinous act over another was also something he didn’t bother to think about. Thus he didn’t bother to think when he pulled his target off of the woman. 

-

Red. He’d forever associate this moment with red. Your eyes, which caught his for a fraction of second as he grabbed the man’s shoulder, were red, either from tears or because the man had hit you, or both. There was a bright red ribbon that matched the color of freshly spilled blood hanging loosely from your hair, spiraling elegantly down your shoulder before getting stuck to your skin with blood. Blood, dark red and spilling freely in some places, already clotting in others, almost looked fake. Too…pretty. Most beguiling of all, were splashes of red across your lovely white dress, from the top, which was now ripped free of your body, to the flared skirt.  

Red had always been his favorite color. 

The man was quick enough on his feet to regain his balance and pull out of König’s grasp, if only for a moment, as he reeled and threw a wild punch at König.

König caught the first easily, smiling under his mask, as the man’s eyes went wide as he realized how much bigger König was. “F-fuck!” 

He tried to yank his fist back, which König let go of as he hooked one boot behind the man’s foot. He chuckled as the man flailed and fell on his ass with an undignified scream. Before the man could get back to his feet and run away, König planted his boot on his chest and leaned down. 

“What should I do with you, hm?” König hummed playfully while leaning down and pressing his weight onto the man’s chest even more. He had been planning on taking the man to a secondary location, an out of the way warehouse at the edge of town, so he could take his time. But even now he was aware of a second set of eyes on him.

“N-nothing! You can have her, let me go!” The man struggled against König’s boot, and struggled to breath as König pressed down again. 

“Her?” He looked over his shoulder at you, hunched against a wall with blood slowly forming a puddle around you. 

You should have been crying for help, or trying to get to your phone that he could see a few feet from you. You should have been trying to save your life. But instead you were watching him. Your eyes were glazed over as your life slowly drained away, but you were watching him. No. You were watching him kill your attacker, waiting to see what happened. And a shiver of excitement ran down his spine. He never had a witness before…

Then he looked down again, “what use is a dead woman?” 

That’s when the man screamed, using what little strength he had to try to punch König’s leg. 

“Ow.” König deadpanned, but removed his foot from the man’s chest anyways. 

He let the man scramble to his feet, but when he turned to run away, König grabbed him by the back of his head, his giant hand making a viscous grip in the man’s hair, and yanked him back. The man screamed, hands flying to the back of his head to try to pry König’s hand off of him. König lifted the man into the air before slamming him face first into the brick wall in front of them.

Not even the muffled and gurgled screams could drown out the sickening crunch of bone. While still holding the man’s face into the brick wall, he turned to look at you, looking for the familiar fear that should be in your eyes. There was none. Again, you weren’t even looking at him, not really. You were looking at the man, weakly struggling against König’s hold. 

Hm. There was no fear in your eyes. But you were alert to…something. Too close to Death, maybe? He wondered what it would take for you to react.

Without even looking back at the man, he pulled his fist back for a moment, the man gasping for air through broken teeth, and slammed him back into the wall. It was at that point that the man went limp in his hand. Your only reaction was to cough, blood spraying from your mouth and down your chin.  

‘Nothing?’

Returning his attention to the man, König pulled the back from the wall again and with his free hand grabbed the side of the man’s face. In one quick motion he pulled and snapped the man’s neck. That earned him…a cough for sure, but, was that a laugh turned to a cough? 

He dropped the man and kicked the body over, making sure that he was really dead, when he noticed you moving out of his peripheral. You had wrapped both hands over the handle of the knife protruding from your stomach.

“You’ll only bleed out faster.” He raised his voice and turned his head enough to look at you again.

You froze and looked up at him as he slowly turned from the man to you. From where he had planted himself, he took  in more of your appearance, of your wounds. Your hands, now resting weakly in your lap, were cut from a blade and scraped up from the brick wall you were pushed into and cement below you, proving that you had at least attempted to fight back before being overpowered. There was a large gash below your neck and over your collarbone that leaked blood onto your nude chest. A shame, a quick thought crossed his mind, that such a pretty pair of tits is going to die.

His eyes followed down the rivulet of blood from your chest to your waist. Oh. Cherries. What he initially mistook as blood splatter all over your pretty white dress was in fact part of the dress itself, a pattern of cute little cherries. What a vision you were, must have looked like a little angel before you met your fate. 

“Hey,” you croaked out in a heavy, wet, sigh. 

Since it seemed to take so much effort to get one word out, he did you the favor of moving closer to you. Once he was near enough to you, his eyes drifted down to the knife. He didn’t kill that man to save you. In fact, it was his intent to let you die. He could finish the job. Do it quickly too, as a mercy. 

“Can you-” You breathed out another heavy sigh, attempting to curb a cough. “-kiss me?”

König’s eyes snapped up to your face, blinking and his head tilting even more as he processed your question. Did he hear you right? “What?” 

“I want,” you paused and licked your lips that were both dry but slick in blood. “My last kiss to be my choice.” 

Ah! He blinked once more as he looked at your pathetically small body and the puddle of blood under you. You knew you were going to die. 

He never had a witness to one of his killings. He also never fulfilled someone’s dying wish. An odd night of firsts. He dropped down to one knee next to you and nodded. “Alright.” What was the harm in it?

With one gloved hand he gently tilted your chin towards him and lifted the bottom of his hood with the other. His eyes slid shut as he softly pressed his lips to yours. He meant for it to be chaste, just a small peck to honor your wish, but the metallic tang of your blood slipped into his mouth, and he liked it. The coppery blood was tinged with a hint of what he could only describe as sweet. He had never tasted blood like that. His own was acrid in comparison. He wanted more. 

He leaned down closer and pressed his lips just a bit harder against yours, agitating the cut on your lip. He swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, gently sucking on the cut in your lip to draw more blood into his mouth and he had to hold back a moan. As tempted as he was to shove his tongue further, a pained whimper from you stopped him. He pulled away, licking his lips as he dropped his hood back in place.

You coughed out a muttered “thank you,” and sighed, like you were ready to accept your death. 

Too bad he hadn’t met you earlier in the night, he thought as he looked at you again. Then, and he’s not sure why he even tried, he pulled a knife from his belt and began to cut away at the top of your dress that was already hanging off of your body. “Remain calm, Engel.” 

Once he had a sufficient amount of fabric he pressed it around the knife wound. “Keep pressure here.” 

Your hands, small and weak, took over and despite the pained cry, you did as he said.

He stood up quickly and picked up your phone, or what he simply assumed was your phone. The screen was cracked but still lit up as he pressed a side button. The emergency number was just one press away from being dialed. 

He hit dial and returned to you, helping you stem the bleeding once more, and held the phone up to your mouth. “Tell them where we are. You might live if they’re fast enough.” 

You coughed out an answer to the operator, barely managing a weak “help” with a street name and the name of the club you stepped out of. 

You were unconscious by the time he saw emergency lights, but at least you were still alive. He remained with you as long as he could, daring even a few seconds too long, and slipped away before police and paramedics found you. And the body of the man who attacked you.

Even as König sat in his truck, forcing himself to relax, he knew it would be better for him if you died. 

He hoped you lived. 

[Death’s Touch] 

A week ago he met a dying angel with sweet and pretty blood. He expected the police to show up within a day or two. Even if he hadn’t shown his face to you, or done something so stupid as to give you a name, how many behemoth men with Austrian accents were there in the city? That simple description of him was the reason why he was careful there were no witnesses to his killings. That simple description was why he had considered letting you die in that alley. 

But the police never showed up. 

König frowned as he fit the last piece of the gun he had been meticulously cleaning in place. Did the police not show up because you…died? He waited too long to help you and now he’d never even get to know your name.

Of course, he didn’t know for sure that you were dead, and that had him anxious. He had to know.

A few days later, and an I.O.U to Hutch, König was able to read the police report from that night. He learned three important things. The first was that you were still alive. The second was that there was no mention of him, or even a rescuer. No description of a large man. No APB out on him. And lastly, he learned your name and address.

You lived in a modest flat, the worst thing about it was its utter lack of security. There wasn’t even a gate. It was too easy to find various watch points that looked into your flat. Or would have. You apparently weren’t in the habit of opening your curtains. Only a good thing, as far as he was concerned, who knows what kind of creeps could be watching?

For a day, he wondered if he had the right flat. He’d been watching all day and didn’t see you once. Just before his patience wore out the next day, however, food was delivered to your flat and he finally caught a glimpse of you again. 

That was it. The confirmation he needed. You were alive and for whatever reason you didn’t tell the police about him. Both good things. 

He could leave. He could forget about you now. 

…

It was two days later when you finally left your flat. Yes, he was still watching your flat, a sense of relief flooding him every time you opened the door for food. 

He followed you until you parked at a clinic. He knew there would be cameras all over the place, so he continued driving and didn’t pull into the same parking lot as you. Instead he drove to the next light, made a u-turn and parked at the drug store across the street. 

An hour and a half later he saw you leave the clinic. You were fast, one might even say you were lightly jogging. As he started his truck to follow you, he realized that you walked at that same speed when you left the flat. 

“Oh, my little angel. Are you frightened?” 

Too scared to leave the safety of your home most days, and barely leaving to see a doctor. Well, he couldn’t blame you.

A part of him was content knowing that he would be able to easily find you now. 

Just his luck, though, his leave was up and he had to ship out to a new base. Hopefully, by time he got back you would still be holed up in your little flat, safely tucked away for him.

-

By the time he was granted leave again, it had been four months since you were attacked. It didn’t take him long to find you again. Of course you were at home, and that morning he followed you to an office, then back home. A routine. Having a solid routine helped with his own anxiety, of course it would ease yours. 

The only thing that did surprise him was that from his old vantage point, and with the help of a scope, he was able to see into your bedroom now. Not a full view, but the curtains were cracked just enough. The weather had been getting better, had you opened your window at one point and weren’t so diligent with the curtains when you closed it? 

Blue light softly illuminated your room as you settled into bed that night. He could sympathize with you. He knew plenty of men who could not sleep without the aid of some kind of white noise. But as he watched you through his scope he realized that the tossing and turning he thought was keeping you awake was more intentional than not. There was no mistaking the way you were rolling your hips.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he leaned forward in his truck, as if that could somehow get him a better view through your window. 

His dick twitched when you turned to lay flat on your stomach, your hips rocking faster against the pillow (or blanket?) that you had between your legs. He thought about you in that alley, looking all pretty so close to death, “-kiss me?” and tasting so sweet. 

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, your head hanging down but still turned away from him. Not that he could really make out your figure fully, his mind was filling in what he could not see. One of his hands dropped to his crotch to adjust his pants, but didn’t touch his semi-hard dick. He liked to think he had more self control than that. Until he remembered that little whimper you let when he kissed you too hard and he needed to hear you again.

Before he could stop himself to weigh his decision, he was already out of the truck and halfway across the parking lot. He was called a human battering ram, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be stealthy, or pick a lock. In fact, he was already trying to think of a way to get you new, better, locks since it was so easy to break into your flat. 

The lights were all off and in dark clothes and his sniper hood, it was easy to blend into the shadows. The place was small, the door opened into an open concept living room to kitchen. He paid no mind to furnishing, focusing instead on the light that emanated from the bedroom. 

As he got closer to the door, left slightly ajar, the sound of heavy breathing got louder. It was a sound that sent an excited thrum through his veins as he leaned against the wall and peeked into the bedroom.

In the time it had taken for him to enter your flat, you had switched positions again. You were sitting up on your knees, back towards him (the door, rather), with a blanket pooled around you and a pillow between your thighs. You weren’t wearing anything provocative, just a large tee shirt from what he could see, but it was bunched up around your hips just reaching your bare thighs. 

He could feel his body getting hotter, his dick getting harder, but he was trained well enough to keep his breathing steady, quiet. Fuck though, what he would give to see you from the front, or below. To have you riding his cock like that, your soft hands planted firmly on his chest as you were now bracing yourself on the bed. 

You let out a gasp, such a sweet sound that went straight to his dick, and arched your back, one hand flying behind you to steady yourself while the other pulled the pillow harder against you. He closed his eyes for a second, savoring your breaths, as he imagined gripping your hip, you’d probably cry out from how rough his hands were, but you’d like it anyway. He imagined watching his cock stretching out your little pussy while his other hand played with your clit.

When he opened his eyes again, he glanced over at the laptop (the source of light that he initially mistook for a television) but it wasn’t angled right for him to see what was on the screen. It was obvious, with the way you kept your eyes on the screen, though. There was no sound that he could hear, so he figured you were wearing earbuds. What kind of porn did his little angel like to watch? Huge cock, perhaps? Did you fantasize about taking a cock as big as his? 

Underneath his hood he had to bite down on his lips to keep from groaning, especially when you started to moan as you started to bounce and grind your pussy harder onto that stupid fucking pillow. He could give you something so much better to rub your pussy on. 

One of your hands snaked under your shirt to play with your tits, your whines getting a little louder and he squeezed his fists hard. If he touched himself now, he wouldn’t stop until he came, and that was a little too risky right now. 

Just as he was about to give in and stuff his hand down his pants, you let out a muffled moan, one hand covering your mouth, even though no one was (supposed) to be around to hear you. Your hips slowed down to gentle rolls as you leaned forward, slowly stretching out and riding out your orgasm. His hips jerked forward, seeking friction against nothing, and his eyes rolled back at your moan. 

Your little whimpers still filling the air only made his cock throb painfully hard in his pants. He remained still, watching as you slowly got up and moved to the other side of the room. Judging by the light suddenly flooding the room for a second only to fade when he heard a door close, he assumed it was the bathroom. He sighed, leaning against the wall, and took a deep breath, hoping to catch your scent. 

He quickly left while you were cleaning up, and took extra care to make sure your door was locked. 

As soon as he made it back to his truck, he tore off his gloves, shucked his pants down just enough to pull his dick out and spit in his hand. He leaned back, eyes closed as he recalled what he had just seen with vivid detail. 

"Mmm, fuck. Engel." He mumbled under his breath as his hand pumped fast strokes up and down his cock. 

He could still see you humping your pillow, still hear the symphony of your moans filling the air. He squeezed harder, rolled his hand over the tip of his cock and spread the ample precum down the shaft. He was so close already. His hips bucked up as he fucked his fist, picturing you bouncing on his cock. He groaned, your name slipping out of his mouth, even though you had yet to formally introduce yourself to him. 

His whole body tensed, his breath coming out in desperate ragged pants, as he stroked himself faster. A litany of curses, in both English and German, filled the cabin as he came. He continued to stroke himself slowly, with a loose grip, as he eased himself down, just as had. He even imagined himself burying his nose in the crook of your neck, or resting his forehead on your shoulder, making you whimper from lazy and sloppy kisses.

He finally opened his eyes, a spark of sadness in his heart as he saw nothing but the roof of his truck instead of the vision that was you. He sighed and reached the hand that wasn't covered in his own cum around the passenger seat to grab a few napkins he'd thrown there earlier. 

Once he cleaned up, as well as he could, he returned home. He just needed a few hours of sleep. He knew your schedule, he'd return later.

-

He arrived back at your flat after you should have left for work. He scanned the car lot to make sure your car was gone (it was) and made sure the coast was clear to break into your flat again (it was). This time he did take a moment to take in the space. Everything was meticulously clean, spotless, not even dust in high up places. He wondered if you were like this before the attack, or if this was a result of self isolation. 

Then he moved over to the bedroom. Just like the living room, everything was nicely in order and the bed was perfectly made. Excited warmth spread through him when he saw two pillows sitting on your bed. He slipped his hood off, hooking it in his waistband, and dropped onto the bed. He took a deep breath and nuzzled his face into one of the pillows. An incredibly intoxicating mix of perfume and detergent and you filled his senses and he hummed in delight. 

One hand reached up and gripped the other pillow, feeling the softness, about to bring it to his chest when he paused. He spotted your laptop on the nightstand and sat up. He picked it up, a tube of cherry chapstick rolling to the other side of the nightstand, and opened it up. He watched the screen as it loaded. 

No password? Well, he supposed that made sense considering you lived alone. 

Now, he tapped away, what had you so worked up last night? 

His eyebrows shot up, eyes a little wide, as he made his way through your browser history. “Oh, Engel.” He felt himself getting excited as saw various types of CNC and rape porn. “You still think about that night.” Honestly, he did too. 

Before he got too turned on, he made sure to clear the history and set the laptop back where he found it. Then he got up and straightened out the bed. 

If that was what you wanted, he would be happy to help fulfill your fantasies.

-

It had been four months since your attack. Everyone around you had been sympathetic at first. It was a bit overwhelming, having people you barely talked to go out of their way to make sure you weren’t feeling unsafe. It only took two months for them to move on. It was a blessing in that you felt like you finally had space to breathe, but now people were unpredictable, unwanted casual touches or getting too close to you, and it had you retreating back to your cubicle every time. 

When you declined invitations to go out, people would joke that you were being boring. Maybe it was time you moved on too?

The next time you were invited out, you agreed, on the condition that you didn’t have to go home to change. 

“Yay! That’s fine! Trust me, it’ll be fun!” Your friend and coworker said as she slapped hand on your shoulder.

You winced and moved out of her touch with the excuse of needing to get back to your desk. The rest of the day was thankfully uneventful and you soon found yourself at a new bar.

Thirty minutes in, once the appetizers were gone and the alcohol flowing freely, your work friends got to be a little much. You didn't want to drink, you were assured that no one would be getting drunk. That was wrong, of course, and you silently wondered if you were invited just to be designated driver and get everyone home safely. You were not going to do that.

It was easy to slip away unnoticed. You just needed some space and so headed towards the back where the bathrooms were. 

For a Friday night it felt oddly empty. Maybe because it was out of the way, maybe because it looked like an employee only area. Whatever the case, you’re thankful for-

You didn’t even have to catch your breath before you were suddenly pushed into a wall, a large hand clasp around your mouth preventing you from screaming. Fear and panic shot through your body as memories of the night you were attacked surfaced, fueling your struggle. Not again, not here, not with so many people around. 

Both of your hands pulled at the hand on your mouth and you finally looked up only to freeze. Even the panic in you seized up, unsure whether or not you were being threatened. Piercing blue eyes stared at you from underneath a black hood. The bleach stained tear streaks are a frightening illusion of humanity that you’re not certain is even there. 

“You!” Well, at least that what you tried to say, his hand still muffled your voice.

This man, the man who saved you that night, held you up against the wall, your toes barely scraping the floor, with one hand covering your mouth. It was almost the exact same position your attacker held you in right before he stabbed you. Part of you wanted to panic still, had your heart racing and breathing quickly. But another part of you was just…confused. He wasn’t doing anything else but holding you. If he had wanted to kill you, among other things, he could have done it back in that alley. Instead he saved you. He killed the man who attacked you. He helped you call an ambulance. He stopped you from bleeding out. You didn’t even say a word about him to the police. So why would he want to hurt you now?

You tried to calm your breathing as you stared up into his eyes. Cold blue locked you into place, but the danger in his eyes wasn't malice. It was something else entirely. 

Finally he lifted his hand from your mouth, you drawing in a gasp of air, and set you fully back on your feet. His free hand remained firmly planted on the wall beside your head, keeping you in place flush between him and the wall. Then he gently traced your bottom lip with his thumb, landing where a now healed cut once split your lip. Your heart raced, heat blooming across your face, as you remembered his kiss. That kind of intensity in a kiss, in any other situation, would have been erotic. Really, you had been on the verge of death and it was still probably the best kiss you'd had in years. 

You whimpered at his touch. He had been so rough even though he thought you were going to die and now the pressure of his thumb on your lip sent an arousing wave of fear through you. 

He leered down at you, eyes starting to dilate, "tell me to stop." 

With your heart hammering in your chest, it took a moment for you to register his words. What? 

You opened your mouth, no words forming, and his thumb slipped past your lips and grazed your teeth. You whined, which only seemed to spur him on, and he pushed against your jaw even more, forcing your mouth wider. “Speak up, Engel.” 

He was so close to you, his knee slid between your legs, rubbing against your core and pushing you higher against the wall again. You let out a shuddering gasp, your hands flying from him in an attempt to stabilize yourself against the wall, but you made no move, made no demand, to stop him. He rocked his knee up, grinding slowly and gently into your pussy, drawing a quiet moan from you. Your pussy clenched when he put pressure on your clit and you bit down on his thumb, hot tongue brushing against the invading digit. 

König grinned, though you could not see it, and chuckled. He leaned even closer to you, hood pooling over your shoulder and growled in your ear. “Fucking slut.” 

This time your gasp was cut short as he slapped a hand across your mouth again. He lifted you with ease, tucked you against his body and dragged you out of the bar through the back door, not one person seeing the quick departure. 

You struggled against him, hands flying to the one over your mouth and you clawed at him, you kicked your feet but he was so big and tall that he easily held you above the ground. He wanted to chuckle. You reminded him of a feral kitten caught by animal control. Just as cute, or cuter, even.

He didn’t drop you until he reached the side of the bar. There was a gate separating the dingy little alley and the parking lot, decorative trees planted near the gate. It was unlocked, he made sure it was before he approached you, but it still would still provide the illusion that you were trapped.  

You grunted when your feet hit the ground, stumbling forward into the brick wall. You tried to duck around the man, but he easily swung you back in front of him, pushing you against the wall, though he cushioned the back of your head with one large hand.

You looked up at him as you drew in panicked, quick breaths. Just like before, he leered down at you as if he was waiting for you to say something. You bit your lip, his eyes flicking down to watch as your teeth worried at your bottom lip. “Wh-what do you want?”

His eyes looked back up and slowly he lifted a knife you hadn't even seen him grab to your throat. You stilled and tipped your head back, attempting to get the blade away from your delicate skin. There was a scar on your neck that you usually kept covered up, but like this, it was exposed to him.

He traced the scar with the tip of his knife, “what do you want, Engel?”

You swallowed thickly, holding as still as possible so he didn't slice through your skin. And you didn't answer him.

He huffed, “do you want me to stop?” The knife dragged down the scar to the collar of your shirt. “That's all you have to say, my dear.”

As much as you tried to control your breathing, your chest was heaving, drawing his eyes down to it for a moment before he looked up again. That hood made it difficult to read him, but his eyes were so expressive. You knew what he wanted. The heat in his eyes matched the nearly overwhelming heat his large body gave off. The same heat you could feel swelling in your body. You swallowed again, your mouth refusing to answer his question.

“No?” The knife slipped underneath your collar and he tugged, slicing through the fabric. 

It was so similar yet different to the sound of fabric being torn apart and ripped off of your body. It was cleaner, sharper and the definite but soft scratch of the tip of the blade on your heated skin sent your pulse wild. He hummed as he cut open your shirt, revealing the plain bra underneath.  

You hadn't even realized just how hard you were breathing, how much your chest heaved with every breath, until his blade bounced on the swell of your breast and he sucked his teeth. “Stay still.” He growled out, eyes flicking up to your eyes and away from your exposed chest.

You bit back a high pitched gasp, holding your breath as he dragged the blade across your chest, until he reached the left bra strap.

You shivered as you heard the soft ping of the knife slicing through the strap. He once again looked up from your chest to your eyes, his own narrowing in disapproval. “Perhaps you want to be hurt, hm?”

You whined and squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to hold your breath again to remain as still as possible. He slowly moved the tip of the knife across your chest again, this time angling it so more of the edge touched your skin. Another ping and you flinched as the other strap of your bra was cut.

He was silent for only a moment, the flat of the blade resting near the middle of your chest, just by your left breast, every beat of your heart making it jump ever so slightly. You could hear his heavy breaths, almost feel them against your face, even through that terrifying hood. For a moment, in that silence, you thought you were safe. That he was done.

Until he quickly shoved his free hand up the back of your shirt and unhooked your bra clasp. You squealed, eyes flying open, and jumped as he ripped what remained of your bra off of you. You only caught a glimpse of his eyes, blown wild with lust, before he spun you around and pushed you face first into the brick wall.

Your hands, which had been covering your chest in an attempt to save your dignity, were now bracing you against the wall so you didn't smash your face into it. You shivered again, remembering how he killed your attacker months ago, by shoving him so hard against a brick wall that he lost consciousness.

The hand holding the knife came to rest to the right side of your face against the wall. The metal gave an unnerving scrape against the brick that caused another shiver to run down your spine. His left hand snaked around to grope your left breast. His large hand, hot and rough, cupped your soft flesh with ease.

“Such pretty tits,” he hummed as he pinched your nipple, drawing another distressed squeak from you as your nipples hardened under his touch.

Your eyes were screwed shut once again and you attempted to wriggle out of his hold. You pressed your body as close to the wall as you could, but that only made him close in on you more, his crotch now firmly resting on your ass. He moved his hand to grope your other breast and bucked his hips forward with a deep grunt, the hard bulge of his cock rubbing against your ass. You bit back a whimper as your pussy clenched around nothing, arousal starting to pool in your panties.

His hand traveled down, grabbing what was left of your shirt and tearing it, leaving it hanging open on your shoulders. Your body welcomed the sudden partial nudity. The air was hot and thick and it felt like a cool relief to be free of even the light cotton. He pressed his hand against your stomach, pulling you against him even more, and for a moment he froze.

All the roughness in his touch disappeared as his fingers gently traced the nasty scar on your stomach. You whined, not from desperate arousal but shame. After what happened to you, you should be trying harder to fight this. You shouldn't want this, no matter how deep down it was, or how hard you tried to deny it. You dropped your head against the wall, resting your forehead against one hand as you waited for him to finish his assault.

König growled at your reaction to the scar on your stomach. You had looked up at him with growing lust, as tentative as that was, when he traced the scar on your neck with his knife. But the scar on your stomach, evidence of how close your brush with death had been, had paralyzed you. You were too quiet for him to enjoy this. He wanted to hear you cry and whimper, wanted to feel you rocking your body against his as you had been only a moment ago. Most of all, he didn't didn't want you to fear him.

He steadied you with his left hand, his hand heavy on your bare shoulder, and used his right to rip the rest of the tattered shirt off of you. You gasped and cried, and not in the way he wanted to hear, as you stood facing the wall with both arms crossed over your chest and your eyes squeezed shut. Then he removed the simple field jacket he was wearing and draped it over your shoulders.

You froze again as you were suddenly enveloped in warmth and spun around to face your savior/attacker. He roughly pulled the jacket closed, deft fingers fastening the button that fell just over your belly button. You were still somewhat exposed to him, but the scar on your stomach was now once again hidden underneath a layer of clothing.

Your mind barely registered the glint of his knife before it was pressed to your neck once more. He dug the point of the blade into the scar, not enough to puncture, but enough to draw your attention back up to his face.

His eyes were narrowed, furrowed brows peeking beneath the crudely cut eye holes of his mask. If you could see the rest of his face, he would probably be scowling at you.

As much as you wanted to grip the jacket closed, you kept your arms stiff at your sides. One wrong move could open up the scar on your neck again. 

He leaned down, his face inching closer to yours, his blade biting just a little bit more. "Say it." His voice is half a whisper, half a frustrated growl. 

Your lips part, tongue darting out to lick them, but you remained quiet, afraid to give him the wrong answer to his riddle. 

He growled again and pushed you harder against the wall. "Say it!" He practically screamed, and his knife finally pierced your skin, drawing just the slightest bit of blood. 

You flinched, as fear and pain laced adrenaline rushed through your veins, to your core, your clit throbbing as the knife stung your skin. Unconsciously, you steadied yourself by bracing your hands on his sturdy chest. His eyes flickered down at the movement, at the way you were clutching to him and squeezing your thighs together and he grinned under his mask. Oh you were scared of him alright, and you wanted it.  “Filthy fucking whore.” 

Your gasp, perhaps a protest of his words, if you even understood them, is strangled as you find yourself facing the wall again, his thick jacket protecting your hands and arms from the rough brick. 

His right hand holds his knife against the left side of your neck, still pressed against the old scar as his left is shoved down your pants. You whine and gasp and squirm as he circles your clit with two fingers. He groans behind you and his hips jerk forward, the motion causing the blade to cut your skin some more, a thin trail of blood starting to stain your skin. 

You cry, biting your lip and dropping your head against the wall, at the mixed sensations, the stinging pain blending with the pure pleasure of his fingers slipping up and down, around, your clit.

He groaned as his fingers slipped further down and spread your slick around your pussy. You squeezed your thighs around his hand and he pants in your ear before shoving a knee between your thighs, preventing you from closing them. 

His knee between your legs pushes you up against the wall and your toes barely find purchase on the ground. “You want this, ja?” He says as he starts to rock your hips against his thigh as his hand continues to play with your pussy. 

His fingers, hot and thick, slip into you as his palm rubs your clit. “Ja.” He grunts as he sinks a second finger into you, slowly pumping them.  His fingers pick up their pace and you moan when he inserts another digit. He curls his fingers just right as he pumps them, drawing out whines that you try to quiet. You hide your face in your hands, finding odd comfort in the warm scent that lingers on his coat, and choke back a moan as your hips are rocked against his thigh faster.

He pulls his fingers out, soaked in your juices, and goes back to focusing on your clit. “Of course you want this,” he half chuckles and half pants as finally removes his hand from your pussy, strings of cum sticking to your exposed skin as he nudges your chin with the knife so your head leans back against his chest. 

He held his hand up, spreading his fingers to show you your own arousal. "You wouldn't be this fucking wet if you didn't want this." 

You tried to turn your head away, so you didn't have to look at those lust clouded eyes in soft darkness, but he tuts and shoves two cum covered fingers into your mouth. He hummed as he watched you gag on his fingers, at least he relented enough that you were no longer deepthroating his fingers. “Wouldn’t be fucking my thigh like a desperate whore if you didn’t want this.” 

You froze, as if just realizing that with one of his hands still holding a knife to your throat and the other stuffing your mouth with his fingers, the eager grinding of your hips on his thigh was entirely you. He laughed and rocked his knee up into your aching pussy, “don’t stop now.”

The drag of his knee puts perfect pressure on your clit and you whine around his fingers as your pussy clenches around nothing. “Keep. Moving.” He growled in your ear as he glides the knife down the old scar down your neck to just above your collarbone, a thin line of blood beading against your skin. It stings and your cries are smothered by his fingers and he rocks his knee up again and you slide against his thigh just right that the pain becomes pleasure. 

He moans with you as you start to grind down in his leg again, back and forth and you even do your best to bounce while your feet barely touch the ground. His hips start to move with you, his hard cock on your ass adding fuel to the fire that burns within you. 

He’s grunting now, everytime you bounce against his dick, and he drops his hand from your mouth and starts to grope your tits again, making your shudder as he squeezes, his grip is bruising but your clit still throbs, your pussy still flutters with every touch of his rough hands.

The knife finally drops from your neck and he holds it against your waist then leans down, the mask he is wearing falling over your shoulder and you feel his breath on your bare skin.

“You belong to me now, Engel.” 

You gasp and shiver as he mumbles darkly into your neck, head lolling back so you can look at him, but all you see is the black of his mask. His grip on you tightens, the handle of the knife pushing into your hip painfully, his hand fondling your breasts roughly, his thigh pushing up against your pussy pleasurably. 

His tongue, hot and big, laps at your shoulder in a smothered kiss before he bites down, his sharp teeth catching the edge of the cut on your neck and that’s enough to push you into orgasm. You pussy wildly, almost painfully, clenching as you cum against his leg. 

He hums, strangely gentle, and slowly rocks you back and forth on his leg, letting your orgasm fade until your wanton moans are no more than the occasional whimper. 

You stumble forward into the wall when he drops his knee. Your clit is still throbbing as you pull the jacket closer to you and hide your face in your hands. You’re mostly just trying to catch your breath and calm down, but somewhere in the back of your mind you still feel shame at the way your cum gushes down your thighs, soaking into your pants. 

You barely register the shuffling behind you until you feel his hands on you again. You flinch, expecting him to be rough, but his touch is gentle as he rubs your arms. “You did good.” He mumbles his compliment into your hair. “Let’s go.” 

You can’t exactly say no to him, as he easily swoops you up off of your feet and carries you through the rickety gate to the bar parking lot. You absently note how easy it was for him to push the gate open, but do not let your thoughts linger on it once he unlocks a truck and sets you down in the passenger seat. 

He’s kind enough to adjust the jacket to cover your chest entirely before he buckles you up. His hips brush against your leg and you break out of the dazed reverie when you feel how hard his cock still is. 

 “Where are you taking me?” 

The man, your…savior (you feel hesitant to label him as your attacker, even after what just happened), slips off the hood before he looks up at you. His hair is disheveled and matted down with sweat and even in the faint street lighting you can see a few scars scattered around his clean shaven face. His eyes, icy cold blue, the only part of him you could see before, shine with something…soft? Unexpected, certainly. 

“Home.” He answers and drops the hood in your lap before shutting the door and walking around to the driver side. 

You hold the mask up in your hands as he starts the engine. The bleached tear stains and empty eye holes stare up at you suggesting danger and pain and death, and safety.

-

When he said home, he apparently meant his home. You felt silly for thinking he knew where you lived. The place he pulls up to is nice. Much nicer than you expected for a man so dangerous, more importantly you supposed, it’s spacious. There was some good distance between his house and the last house you saw and that has your pulse speeding up as he opens the door for you.

He doesn’t even wait for you to move, for you to second guess everything, before unbuckles you and carries you inside. You want to insist that you can walk on your own, but you are sticky with cum and dried blood and honestly, he’s so warm.

When he mumbles something about cleaning up you just nod and let him place you in a shower. You only react when he strips down and steps into the shower with you. 

It could have been a sensual shower, it was certainly big enough and as you catch a glimpse of how big his dick is when it is soft, your clit twitches at the memory of it hard and rutting against your ass. But he is quick to wash himself, and though he spends more time washing your body (or maybe he was just taking his time to feel you up), it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. 

You want to tell him there isn’t really a point in applying that ointment he is gently spreading along the scar on your neck. It’s already healed to an ugly scar.  But he is so gentle as he bandages the fresh cut and rubs you dry with a soft towel as you sit on his very large bed. 

“What’s your name?” 

Would it have been better or worse to ask for his name before he fingered you in some dirty back alley?

“König.” He doesn’t give more than that.

“König.” You repeat and he looks up at you from where he is kneeling on the floor in front of you. “Thank you. For killing that man.” 

He hummed as he continued to pat your thighs dry with the oversized towel that was wrapped around you. “You didn’t tell the police about me.” 

It’s not a question. Somehow he knows that you didn’t tell the police, so you just shrug. “I told them I don’t remember what happened after I got stabbed.” 

His hands stop moving and rest on the outsides of your thighs, playing with the hem of the towel. “But you do remember?” 

You nod. “Everything.” 

There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence between you, his fingers start tapping against your thighs and he shifts his weight. The towel that he has wrapped around his waist threatens to fall loose and he uses the excuse to secure it as an opportunity to break his gaze with you.

“What you said back there, that I belong to you now. What does that mean?” 

This time he meets your eyes, “what it sounds like.” 

“...Does that mean you’ll protect me?” 

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.” And he drops a small kiss to your knee, letting his lips linger on your skin.

You reach out and gently cup his cheek to push him away from your legs. “Can you be gentle?” König moves his face just enough to kiss the inside of your wrist. “Yes.” 

Whether he takes your question as a suggestion, or he simply decided that it was time to move onto other activities, he leans down again and places another kiss to your knee, gently spreading your legs and moving his mouth to your inner thigh. As he moves his mouth to splay a kiss on your other thigh, one of his large hands comes up to remove the towel on you body, brushing against your covered breast for just a moment before he tugs on the towel. 

You don’t let the towel drop completely, holding it tight to your chest, and he pauses his sweet kisses.

“Look at me,” he demands, stretching up and leaning against the bed, one knee between yours as he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him. His grip is firm but not painful, not even close to how tightly he had grabbed you earlier in the night. 

Your eyes jump from one scar to another before settling on his steely eyes. “Good. Now,” he leans in closer, lips hovering over yours, “trust me.” 

His kiss starts off gentle before his tongue finds that spot on your bottom lip where it was once split, he nibbles and sighs as if he can still taste the blood that was once there. Your lips part when you feel his teeth and his tongue glides against yours. It’s slow and gentle and has you melting into his touch, dropping the towel that hides your scars from him. He wastes no time in tossing it off the bed, his lips never leaving yours even as he slides his hands over your waist to pull you closer to the edge of the bed.

You let out a little squeak at the sudden movement and he grins as he pulls away from the kiss, breathing against your lips. “Remember. Trust me.” 

You can only nod as he moves his mouth down your neck, placing soft quick kisses over the fresh bandages before he moves to the other side of your neck. His kisses on the juncture of your neck become sloppy, his tongue lapping at your skin like it is covered in something sweet. He bites down hard, teeth sinking into your soft flesh, turning your quiet little pants into a gasping moan. 

“You belong to me now.” He repeats his claim between gentle soothing kisses on the fresh bite mark he just made. 

You nod, accepting your fate, as you grip onto his shoulders. He hums and trails his mouth down your body, gently kissing the bruises that started to bloom on your breasts from how hard he groped you before. Your soft whimper, born of pleasure and pain, makes his cock twitch underneath his towel and he shucks that off too. 

He lays you down on your back and swirls his tongue around a nipple, enjoying the way you arch into his mouth. “Look at me.” He reminds you when he sees that you have closed your eyes.

When you look at him again he grins and playfully bites your nipple, laughing at the little squeak you let out before. Your giggles turn into a soft sigh as he moves to your other breast. His touch has you sinking into a cloud of lust. You want to throw your head back, close your eyes, and surrender to him, but you remember his order and keep your eyes on him.

You go tense when he trails his kisses down to your stomach. His eyes shoot up at you, making sure you are still watching him, as he traces the horrid scar with his lips and tongue. Eventually, with the help of his big warm hands running soothing touches up and down your body, you stop squirming uncomfortably. You’re still squirming, but for entirely different reasons. König notices and with a grin he pushes himself up, pulling you up with him and placing one of your hands on his stomach.

Admittedly, your touch and mind is drawn to the hard muscle, padded with a healthy layer of fat, flexes under your hand. You want to touch the rest of him, explore the rest of him. It is only after a second that you realize what you are touching. A scar. Raised skin in a jagged pattern, like someone attempted to twist the knife that stabbed him. You gently trace the scar as if you are afraid to agitate it. 

He senses your hesitation and laughs as he presses your palm against it even harder. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, Engel.” Then he reaches out to touch the scar on your stomach, smaller and cleaner, but fresher and still tender if pressed too hard. 

You look down at his hand on your scar and yours on his. They’re almost in the same place. He leans forward and presses a small kiss to your lips and rests his forehead against yours. “I should be dead. You should be dead.” This was simply proof that were meant for him, he was certain of that. 

Who needs matching tattoos when you have matching scars?

“König,” you breathe out, though you are not sure what you want to say to him. Instead, when his eyes meet yours, you kiss him. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and pull yourself as close to him as possible. 

He moans into the kiss and, tender moment over, pushes you fully against the bed again. He slides down your body again, stopping only momentarily to place a soft kiss on your stomach before he dives between your thighs. 

You don’t even have time to act shy before he’s spreading your legs and swiping his tongue through the folds of your pussy. He’s quick to circle his tongue around your clit, drawing out a soft moan between panting breaths, as your hips move up to meet his mouth. He groans, the subtle vibrations adding extra stimulation, and practically nuzzles your pussy, nose bumping against your clit as he sinks his tongue into your quivering hole. No matter what you do, hands pulling at his hair tightly or thighs clenching around his head, it only earns more moans from him. He laps at your pussy, your juices mixing with his spit and drags his tongue back up to your throbbing clit. 

He locks one hand onto your hip but the other travels up your body to your breasts. True to his word, he is gentle with them this time. No bruising grip sending you teetering on the edge of pleasure and pain. Instead he rolls your nipple, pinching just soft enough that it hardens under his touch. He moves his hand and repeats the action with your other breast, reveling in every little whine and gasp he pulls out of you. All the while he continues to eat your pussy like it’s his last meal.

He has you so needy and aching that it’s euphoric when he slips two fingers into you at once. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, reluctant to let him go but the slide of him pumping into you again makes you gush. One of your hands claws at his hair, gripping his locks to keep you grounded, but the other holds onto his hand that had been playing with your tits. Unable to properly play with your tits now, he laces his fingers with yours, holding your hand as he pulls and orgasm out of you,

Unlike the first time he made you cum, you don’t try to hold back your moans, you don’t hide your face from him, though at some point as he ate you out, you had thrown your head back and closed your eyes from how good it felt. He’d just have to forgive you for that.

König rests his check against one of your thighs as he watches you come down from your orgasm. 

It’s not until he gently squeezes his hand that is still holding yours that you look down at him. Somehow the sight of him between your thighs, face glistening with your cum, makes you blush even harder than you already were. 

“Ready for more, Engel?” 

You blink at him. “More?”

He chuckles and pushes himself up, first dropping a heated kiss onto your lips, his tongue sliding into your mouth and letting you taste yourself. As much as he could spend all night kissing you, right now he had another pressing need to take care of. He sat up on his knees, pushing your thighs further apart to accommodate him, and stroked his painfully hard cock.

Oh!

Your eyes are drawn to him and widen. You knew he was big. You’d seen him soft and felt it against your ass, but seeing it standing at full erection was another thing entirely. It’s easily the biggest cock you’ve ever seen, not even your favorite porn stars can hope to compete. 

You sit up and reach out to touch him, replacing his hand with your own and you swallow thickly. You wrap your fingers around the shaft, your pussy clenching when you see that your fingers don’t even meet. Still, you give gentle strokes, eyes glazing over at how much of his veiny cock you can still see around your fist. He’s already leaking copious amounts of precum, that you collect on your fingers to slick up your next stroke. You lean down and circle your tongue around the head, a shiver running down your spine when he moans wantonly as you wrap your lips around the head. 

You moan as you stretch your mouth around his cock and imagine what it would feel like stretching your pussy out. You let out a little gasp for air when you come back up, going from sucking to licking his cock, just so you can reach the base of it. König moans again and buries a hand in your hair. For a moment you think he’s going to force your mouth onto him again, but instead he pulls you up for another passionate kiss. 

“Another time. I need to fuck you.” He pants against your mouth when he pulls away.

You whimper and nod and throw yourself back onto the pillows, eager to accept the challenge of his massive cock. You drop one hand to your clit, rocking your fingers against the sensitive button. 

König produces a bottle of lube from the nightside and slicks himself up. In the future, he can take the time to make you cum enough times to take his dick naturally. But he is eager to feel you now. Besides, you look just as eager as he feels, as you watch him stroke himself. 

He nudges your hand away from your clit and replaces it with his own, rubbing lube along your pussy and drawing excited pants from you. He dips a finger in you, feeling your pussy clench around his finger and grins. “Engel?” 

You nod, “please, König!”

He slid the head of his cock through your folds, your pussy throbbing as the slick head rubbed against your clit. You whined at not being filled but the way his heavy cock bounced on your clit already had you desperately begging. 

He managed a strained chuckle, holding himself back from immediately fucking you was one of the hardest things he’s ever done, and pushed the tip of his dick against your entrance. He used his right hand to hold your hips, and used his left hand to rub languid circles around your clit. 

You choked back a garbled moan as you felt him begin to stretch you out.  Your chest heaved as you rocked your hips up, encouraging him to keep going. You were whimpering, writhing against the bed grasping at his shoulders as he sunk deeper into you. He was so fucking big and barely got the tip of his dick inside of you before you pussy began to frantically pulsate around him. He groaned and forced himself to stay still, for both of your sakes. You looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears and drool pooling at the corners of your mouth, and he almost lost it. He promised he’d be gentle though, at least this time.

He grabbed the bottle of lube again and squeezed some more out on his dick before thrusting forward again. Your pussy clenched around him, squeezing him desperately, as he slowly filled you. Though the size of his cock stretched you beyond anything you’d ever felt before, though it teetered to just the wrong side of pain, you couldn’t get enough of it. Especially with the way his thumb kept playing with your clit. You cried his name and tried to grind your hips up. 

He slowly dragged his cock out, moaning at the sight of your pussy clinging to him, and started another agonizingly slow push. 

“König,” you started with a breathy whine, “faster. Please.” 

He dropped down to one elbow and nuzzled his nose against the side of your face, missing your lips as he tried to kiss you and simply licking at your jaw. He muttered your name hotly in your ear, your pussy quivering at the sound of his strained voice. 

He snapped his hips forward, burying his cock deep in you and started frantic, rapid, strokes. You cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips, he was so big and heavy and hard that your world was reduced to the pleasure he brought with every stroke of his amazing cock. 

He promised to be gentle, he knew he shouldn’t do it, but he couldn’t help but clamp his teeth down on your uninjured shoulder, muffling his own obscene moans as your pussy spasmed around him. His eyes rolled back in his head and his thrust became erratic, chasing an orgasm, as blood filled his mouth. Your blood was still so sweet, divine, enough to send him over the edge. His hips stilled as he cock twitched inside of you, spilling inside of you. 

You moaned, or screamed, when he bit you, leaving a second mark on you, and the string of his bite brought with it white hot pleasure. Hot cum filled you, your pussy convulsing rapidly, milking him and refusing to let go. 

He pulled out with a long groan, the two of you overstimulated and your pussy was still clenching around him, and collapsed to the side of you. He draped an arm around you and held you close to him, muttering something about angels in German that you didn’t have the faculties to translate at that moment. 

He was the first to recover, propping himself up on his elbows and leaning over to lick and kiss the fresh bite mark on your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

You gave a breathless laugh and lazily pulled his face up to kiss you. “Don’t worry, I liked it.” As if the mind blowing orgasm that followed the bite wasn’t a big enough hint.

“Now, can you let go of me?” 

“No.” 

Your laugh was sharper this time, and it brought a grin to his face. “Let go, I have to pee!” 

He sighed dramatically and grabbed your hand, bringing to his lips to press a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “Come back to me?”

Even as you pulled your hand out of his, you could feel the smile that graced his lips upon hearing you giggle. But at least he finally let you go. 

Your post orgasmic high wore off while you were cleaning up and your mind, having been clouded by lust since he grabbed you at the bar, was able to think straight.

You walked back to the room, feeling shy at your lack of clothing, and saw that he had changed the top blanket on the bed. The other soaked in cum, apparently. 

He looked up and smiled, bright and energetic despite how tired he was. “Engel, you came back!” He joked as he rushed over and pulled you into a hug. 

You kept still, but with his arms wrapped around you, you could do little else. He picked you up, much as he had done back at the bar, and set you down in the bed before he curled up next to you and pulled the covers over both of you.

“König?” 

He hummed as he nuzzled his face in your neck, inhaling your intoxicating combined scents.

“...I never told you my name.” 

[Death’s Promise]

“...I never told you my name.” 

König doesn’t answer you, only tightens his hold around you. It’s only when you try to shift, to put just enough distance between you that you can turn around and face him, that he speaks. His voice deceptively calm, if the way his arms tighten around you again is anything to go by. “I already told you, you belong to me now.”

You frown. That was no answer to how he knew your name. Or, now that you thought about it, how he knew that you didn’t tell the police about him. 

“It. It wasn’t a coincidence that you were at that bar tonight, was it?” You try not to stutter.

He doesn’t answer, instead starts to press his lips into the hickey on your shoulder. A reminder of his claim. 

“How long have you been following me?” 

His lips continue to move from your shoulder to your neck, stopping to nibble at your pulse point. You can feel the grin on his lips when your pulse speeds up.

Whatever he is making you feel, you repeat the question. “How long have you been following me?” 

“Go to sleep, Engel.” 

“At least tell me why.” 

“To make sure no one else touches you.” 

Well, it’s not like you wanted anyone to touch you anyway. And his touch isn’t unpleasant. Quite the opposite, really.

You should stop this. Get away from him. You knew he was dangerous, you saw it first hand, and who knows how long he’d been following you. Maybe since that very night you were attacked.

And yet, “...No one?” “No one.” 

That actually sounded kind of nice…

-

Work sucked. Mostly because of one person and the fact that you felt like you could do nothing about it. All you could do was race out at the end of the day and get home as quickly as possible. 

Home…It took all of a week for König to move you from your flat (he said it wasn’t safe at your old place and you weren’t going to question what he meant by that) into his house. Was it a rushed relationship? Sure. Was it a questionable, leaning towards dangerous, decision on your part? Absolutely. Did you regret it? Not at all. 

You let your frustrations out on a bunch of vegetables, your knife chopping through them and onto the cutting board with increasing force. You didn’t even realize how hard you were chopping until a large hand stopped your own before it hit the board again. You froze, König’s other arm wrapping around your waist as he leaned down to rest his chin on your head. 

“Careful, Engel. You don’t want to hurt yourself.” 

“Oh! König! I didn’t even hear you come in!” You crane your neck back so he could place a soft kiss to your lips. He does so with a pleased hum. 

His face is bare, a sight you quickly came to love. He leaves the simple mask he usually wears hanging in the entranceway. (His sniper hood he only dons when he’s deployed or when he’s “hunting”). 

“How could you with all that noise you were making? What did that poor carrot do to you?” 

You let out a sheepish chuckle, “sorry. Just thinking about work stuff.” 

You picked up one of the carrot rounds and held it up by your shoulder, where he leaned down and nibbled it out of your hand. 

“What about work?” 

You resumed your chopping, much less forceful. “Ugh. Nothing really. Just this guy keeps bothering me.” 

He tensed behind you, his grip on your waist getting tighter, not uncomfortably so, just more protective, as he growled out his question. “Has he touched you?” 

“No! Well, not like that…” The shoulder squeezes and lingering pats on the back were unwelcome, but, as your supervisor said, meant nothing more than that the guy was being friendly. “It’s really annoying to have to pick up his slack, especially after all of his little inappropriate comments.” 

König nodded as he listened to your rant, but all he heard was some man had dared to put his hands on you, even if you didn’t think it was sexual, and said something inappropriate to you. “Want me to kill him?” 

“Yes!” You giggle at the joke.

“Ok.” 

You freeze and turn around to face him. “Wait. I’m kidding.”

He smiles and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Ok.” 

“No,” you press your lips in a straight line. “I’m serious. You can’t kill him.” 

The way he tilts his head is far too cute for someone as large as he is casually discussing murder. “Why not?”

It had been a while since he killed anyone. Why shouldn’t he kill someone you hated? Two birds, one stone.

“Because he works with me!”

“Not for long.” 

You laugh and gently push him out of the kitchen and into the living room. Once in the living room, you make him sit down on the couch, having to resort to pulling him down for a kiss to get him to settle. His hands naturally fall to your hips as you straddle him, clutching at the fabric of the simple cotton dress you had changed into after work. 

“Now, you listen to me,” you start with a firm poke to his chest, only to stop when you realize you were still holding the kitchen knife in your hand. Oops. Knowing him, though, he probably liked you threatening him with it. You twisted around in his lap just enough to drop the knife onto the coffee table in front of the couch and return your attention to him. “As much as I want you to kill the bastard, you can’t.” 

He furrows his brows, and is practically pouting as he asks his question again. “Why?”

“Because, everyone knows I have a problem with him.”

“And he still works there?” 

You had to bite back a laugh. He had a point. You were not the first to draw unwanted attention from the guy. Why complaints from more than one woman didn’t lead to any disciplinary action was questionable. Still, you ignore his question and continue.

“When the cops find him dead, or missing, I’ll be a suspect.” 

König chuckles as he moves his hands gently up and down your sides, moving your dress higher up your thighs with each pass of his hands. “You? Little one?” 

This time you do laugh a little. “Let me finish!”

Schooling his face, he nods. “Ok, tell me how you will be suspected of murder.”

“Not me!” You answer with a faux exasperated sigh. “They’ll look at me and realize I have a hard time even hurting a fly. But one look at you,” you start to drag your hands on either of his forearms, fingers dancing along his veiny muscles. “My giant, strong, military trained boyfriend and they’ll get suspicious.”

His smile has dropped, either from your prediction, or the way your hands continue to tantalize him and move up his arms to rest on his shoulders.

“Even if they don’t find proof, they’ll at least surveille you for a bit. Do you really want the police looking into you?” 

For a moment he is quiet, no joking, even his grip on your hips is still. He can’t pretend that what you said is entirely unsound. No matter how careful he was to leave no trace behind, the personal connection to you would always be suspect. 

“So,” you lean in close to him, your lips hovering close to his. “You’re not going to kill him, right?” 

He averts his eyes and doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to lie to you, and your reason, while sound, isn’t enough to deter him. 

“König,” your voice is stern and you grab his chin and force him to look at you. 

“This man has touched you.” 

You want to roll your eyes. You want to pretend like he’s playfully overreacting. Certainly a couple of lingering pats does not warrant murder, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about König, at least when it comes to you, is that he’s intense. He is one hundred percent planning on killing your coworker just because he touched your shoulder. 

Your hands slide down his shoulders to rest on his chest, just above his heart where you clench at his shirt. “Promise me you won’t kill him.” When he still doesn’t answer you frown and press your forehead onto his. “I need you, König. I need you to stay with me.” Your voice wavers a little as you lock your eyes with his. “I need you to protect me.” 

“Fine, my love.” He finally sighs and captures your lips in a gentle kiss; he can’t stand to see you looking so sad because of something he might do. “I will not kill him.” 

“Good.” You nod and smile at him, and your smile is so brilliant that it is enough to sate his bloodlust. 

You lean forward again to kiss him, with all intentions to pull away and go back to making dinner. But his grip on your hips tightens and he holds you close and deepens the kiss. 

He smiles against your lips as you giggle when he doesn’t let you pull away. 

“I am curious.” You start, voice dropping like it wasn’t just the two of you in the house.

He hums against your lips then starts to drag his kisses down your jaw to your neck, grinning as your next words come out a little breathless. 

“If you were going to kill him, how would you do it?”

He actually stops and looks up at you, wondering if this was some kind of test.

You smile and give him a small peck on the lips. “Just hypothetically speaking, of course.” 

König licks his lips nervously, only relaxing when you take his right hand in both of yours and start to idly play with his fingers. 

“He touched you,” he starts and pauses again. You nod and give a little hum to encourage him to keep going. 

“I’d start with his hands.” 

You shift your eyes up to meet his before looking back down at his hand. You nod and turn his hand over, palm down in one of your hands as your free hand gently traces the veins on his hand. His fingers twitch underneath your touch and you sweetly smile at him, “keep going.” 

“I’d crush one of his hands beneath my boot.” 

You place his hand on the top of your thigh as you nod once again. You let out a quiet excited breath as he squeezes your thigh, his large hands hot against your skin. 

“Just one hand?” You ask coquettishly as you drag his hand down to the inside of your thigh.

He hums again, eyes locked between your thighs, at his hand slipping underneath your skirt. 

“I’d take my time with his other hand.” His knuckles brush your clothed mound, putting the lightest pressure on your clit. “Break his fingers one at a time.” 

You bite your lip and lock your eyes with his as you roll your hips forward, turning his touch on your clit from feather light to firm. 

His eyes darken, blood thrumming with excitement, and he can hardly tell what has him excited more, watching you squirm against his hand or sharing the kind of thoughts he long ago learned to keep to himself. The fact that he was sharing these thoughts with you, feeling your arousal dampen your panties, makes his heart beat wildly. 

He shifts his hand, turning it so that his thumb can start to rub small circles around your clit while his fingers dip into the edge of your panties. The back of his fingers slide against pussy, collecting your slick and dragging it up to your clit. You jolt and let out a small gasp at his touch, grasping at his shoulders to keep you upright so you can keep your eyes on him. 

He continued to tease your pussy, reveling in every little reaction from you, until you were a wet whimpering mess on his lap. “Then I’d smash his face in, for thinking he was worthy of even looking at you,” you moaned as he slipped a finger into you, “of breathing the same air as you.” He slowly started to slide his finger out, a smirk on his face as you rocked your hips forward.

“Maybe knock his teeth out for daring to talk to you.” He slid in a second finger, breathing a little faster as you moaned and fell forward further into him. You kissed him, tongue lapping at his lips before finding his own, as he pumped his fingers faster.

His free hand moved roughly from your hip to your breast, squeezing hard enough to draw desperate whimpers from you. He groaned and shifted to sit more comfortably, mouth dropping from your lips to your jaw, and pulled the top of your dress down. His lips capture your breast, tongue circling around the nipple, while his hand continues to knead and squeeze your other breast.  

Your head falls back and you gasp when he inserts a third finger, using his palm to rub your clit. He takes the opportunity to leave a surprisingly gentle kiss on the edge of the scar that peaks above your neckline. You shiver, despite how hot your body feels, as he pulls you closer to the edge. Your hips rock against his hand, your breath coming out in a combination of desperate pants and whines, every stroke of his fingers winding you up.

“But I will kill him with my hands around his neck, so I can watch him regret ever looking at you, as the life fades from his eyes.” 

Your whole body shakes as you cry out and fall forward, holding onto him with all your strength, as your pussy convulses wildly around his fingers, coating his hand in cum. 

König stilled as he watched you come down from your orgasm, panting and making cute little whimpers as he withdrew his hand. You were...glowing. It could have been the single ray of light coming in from a crack in the curtains illuminating your half naked body. Or the light sheen of sweat coating your skin that he was tempted to lick off you. But, he knew it was something else.

You had just come on his fingers as he described how he wanted to kill someone. You were truly an angel. A fucked up little angel sent to him by the god of death. If the military wasn't going to reward his skills, at least the universe had.

You shivered again and giggled into his shoulder before looking up at him with a smile. You hummed, squeezing your thighs together momentarily before sitting up and fixing your dress. You grabbed the discarded kitchen knife from the coffee table and planted a sweet and chaste kiss on his lips, as if he hadn't just finger fucked you to orgasm. "I need to finish making dinner."

He knew the moment he laid eyes on you, covered in blood and all, that he wanted you. He had no idea that he didn’t just want you, he needed you. 

He needed you. And he was just sitting there with a painfully hard boner while you walked back to the kitchen, legs shaky and making you lean on the walls and counter. He let you have a moment to calm down before bending you over the counter, ripping your soaked panties off of you and wildly fucking you. 

-

Not deployed and not “busy”, König's world revolved around you (and if his last deployment was anything to go by, you were his center regardless). He insisted on driving you to and from work. It was all great until you mentioned you would be working late one night. 

He went stiff and barely managed to get through his question without shaking in anger. “Will Christopher be working late with you?” 

You sighed, already dreading the late night dealing with your annoying coworker. “Yea, he's on my team.” Then you grinned, “maybe he'll see you when you drop me off and think twice before approaching me!”

König chuckled and leaned down to kiss you before slipping his face mask on. Honestly, he hoped that wasn't the case. He wanted an excuse to kill the man. 

That morning, of course, Christopher was late and didn't witness your incredibly large boyfriend help you down from his truck (not that you needed it, but he was ever the gentleman) as he dropped you off. 

You did your best to avoid Chris, but as the night dragged on, he became more persistent. 

“Someone’s a pretty little liar.” 

You sighed. You were already packing up, getting ready to leave, and he had to come and bother you one more time. “What?”

“I talked to Deb, and she said you don’t have a boyfriend.” 

Deb, the office gossip. 

“She doesn’t know everything about me.” 

Your phone buzzed just as you picked it up, a part of you was worried it was your supervisor, but one glance at the screen and you smiled. “And that’s him. He’s here to pick me up.” 

“I was just heading out, I’ll walk with you.” He clapped a hand on your shoulder and squeezed as he smirked at you. 

You stepped out of his hold and hurried to the door, confused when you didn’t see König’s truck waiting out front. Oh no. 

Your phone buzzed again, König telling you that he was in the far parking lot. 

“Well, where is he?” 

“Parked back there.” You gestured with your hand, from that distance even the truck looked small.

“What he can’t come get you? Maybe I should walk with you, talk to the guy.” 

You rolled your eyes and sidestepped his hand again. Whatever happened next was Chris’ own damn fault for being so fucking predictable.

Disabling the security cameras in the parking lot was easy. König sat in his truck, the temporarily distressed engine running idle, knee bouncing and fingers tapping the steering wheel excitedly. 

You hadn’t told him much about this Christopher, but from what you did, it was pretty much a given that he’d follow you through the parking lot. And lo and behold, König saw you and a man walking towards the truck. Every so often you’d take a side step and whenever König saw the man make the same step, closing the distance between the two of you again, his pulse just beat faster. 

Finally when you’re close enough, he jumped out of the truck and rushed to the passenger side. The sight of him even had you tense for a moment. Sure he was big, and the black tee shirt he wore did nothing to hide how muscular he was. But it was the sniper hood covering his face that made you pause. 

“What the fuck?” The man next to you muttered under his breath as you walked up to König.

König was fast to reach out and pull you to his side. 

At least he leans down to let you peck his cheek, though you got his chin instead, as a greeting. 

“Get in the truck. And don’t look.” 

You frown and pinch the edge of his mask. You’d only ever seen him wear it once. “I told you-”

“I know.” 

To Christopher’s credit, he was smart enough to try to get away as quickly and quietly as possible. König wasn’t having it though, and all it took was one giant step from him and he clapped his hand on Chris’ shoulder.

“Not so fast, hm?”

A shiver ran up your spine as you stood next to the truck. That cadence in König’s voice…

Chris tried to wiggle out of König’s hold, but his struggle only made König grip down harder. 

“You touched her-”

“N-no! I didn’t! She lied!” 

König’s eyes narrowed and Chris tried to stutter out another denial but was thrown into the asphalt face first, with a pathetic cry.

As Chris was trying to push himself up, König grabbed him by the back of his shirt and turned him around, pinning him on the ground.

Chris, a man who was in considerably good shape, still thought he had a chance to get away. He struggled, attempting to punch König in the ribs to get him to let go, but König chuckled. He then punched Chris directly in the face, a delightful burst of happy adrenaline running through his veins as he felt and heard the other man’s nose break underneath his hand.

Chris screamed, blood filling his mouth,  and rolled away from König, well, as much as he was allowed to. König stood back up, though remained hovering over Chris, who was doubled over in pain. After a few minutes, in which he shakily turned around and looked up, he managed to gasp out another plea. “Ok! Ok! I’ll leave her alone!”

“Good!” König beamed, his head tilted just slightly as he looked down at the other man. “But that is not enough.”

“W-what!” 

König grabbed a fistful of Chris’ hair and easily hauled him up and dragged him to the front of the still running truck. 

“I promised her no one would ever touch her again. What kind of man would I be if I let you get away with touching her?” Through Chris’ screams, he shoved Chris’ face onto the hood of his truck, the engine still running hot and burning the man’s face. 

As satisfying as it was to watch Chris get his ass handed to him so easily, things had already escalated too far. “König! That’s enough!” You shouted over the engine, over Chris’ fading cries and over König’s jovial laughter.

König froze and looked up at you, standing some feet away from the two men, and let Chris slump to the ground. “I told you to get in the truck.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you walked over to him, being careful to step around your barely conscious coworker. You looked up at him, his eyes were still wild, and his chest was starting to heave with how excited he’d become. If he had excess energy, you knew just what he could do with it instead.

You slid a hand up his chest to grip his collar, the fabric of his mask pooling around your wrist. He let you pull him down to your level and with your free hand, you lifted the mask just enough to kiss him. 

He moaned into the kiss, turning it heated rather quickly, his big hands on your ass and hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

It was only a pained weak cough from Christopher that stopped you. You pulled away from the kiss, his hood falling back over his face, and grinned at him. 

“I think you should get in the truck now.” You say with a seductive smile and a gleam in your eyes that he couldn’t quite place.

He nodded and instead of setting you on the ground, walked around to the passenger side of the truck, kicking Chris one last time for good measure, before gently setting you inside the truck and rushing over to the other side.

You’re careful not to hit the gear shift when he slides into the driver side and you slide up to him, lifting his mask to the bridge of his nose so you can kiss him again. His hands grab at you, pulling you as close as he could in the cramped space. One of your hands clutches at his shirt, landing on his firm chest and the other rests on his thigh. 

He breaks the kiss just for a moment, his breath starting to come out in a pant, and reaches up to grasp at the edge of his mask, but your hand quickly grabs his wrist and stops him, “leave it on.”

“O-oh?” He stutters as you palm his growing erection through his pants. 

“I like it,” you say as you lean forward and drop a kiss to his shoulder, then another below that, following the hem of the mask until you reach just below his collarbone. Your hand that sits on his chest has moved to his pectoral, where you give his nipple a little pinch, sending a shiver down his spine right to his dick. 

“Hah,” he breathes out half a laugh as you start to unbuckle his belt, “you like it?” 

“Mm-hmm.” Your hand drops from his chest so you can unbutton his pants.

He swallows hard when you take his heavy cock out and with a firm grip you wrap a soft hand around it, as much as you could, anyway. “It’s. It’s supposed to be scary.” 

“Oh, it is.” You look up at him, hand lazily stroking upwards, “that’s what I like about it.” 

He lets out a quiet groan when your thumb swipes across the underside of the head of his fat cock. Whatever other protest about his sniper hood he had is forgotten when you slide down the bench so you can put your mouth on him.  

He’s hard in your hands before you even lean down and his thick veiny cock throbs as you slowly part your lips. His left hand has an intense grip on the door, but his right hand flies into your hair, though he shakes a little as he tries to keep it gentle, so he can have a clear view of you. 

You start with small, feather light, licks to his swollen cockhead, one, two, and he’s already let out a soft whine and starts to nudge his hips forward, his cock following your tongue as it retreats back in your mouth. You smile and hum, giving in and swirling your tongue around the tip before pinching your lips just over the head of his cock, adding light suction as you do so.

“Please,” he whines, fingers starting to tighten around your hair. “Please, don’t tease me.” The way he has slipped back into his native language, his voice pitched higher as he thrusts his hips upwards when you sink your mouth further down his cock, makes your clit twitch and you have to squeeze your thighs together to help alleviate your neediness.

You moan around his cock, tongue continuing to circle the head of his dick, flickering at sensitive spots, as you take him into your mouth as far as you can. You don’t deep throat him, not yet, so your hand makes up for it by adding firm strokes in conjunction with the bob of your mouth. The cabin is filled not only with moans but the sound of wet suction, especially when you pop his cock fully out of your mouth and give greedy sloppy licks down his entire shaft. 

König loses a bit of control and when your mouth envelops him again, sinking down as far as previously, his hand pushes the back of your head down even more. You had been expecting it, the tightness in his thighs, the way he whined even more and babbled incoherently, and even though you braced yourself, you ended up choking and sputtering around his cock. It only adds more spit, more slip to the already sloppy blow job.

You sit up a bit and take a breath, hand still stroking up and down, before you dive back down. This time you look up at him as you sink your mouth on his cock, your eyes locking with his, even with his eyes so dilated they’re so blue in contrast to the black material of his mask that nearly blends into the darkness of the night. His eyes are wide, watering even, and when he sees you look up at him, mouth stretched around his big cock, his own eyes roll back as his hips start to buck harder, faster. He cries out his impending orgasm, first in German though, for your sake, he remembers to repeat it in English as well. 

Not that it matters, you offer him an encouraging, “mm-hmm” around his cock, letting him know that you wanted him to cum in your mouth and it drives him over the edge with a loud obscene moan, shooting rope and rope and rope of cum into your mouth.

You swallow what you can, the rest sliding down the side of your face as you sit up for air. His eyes are still closed as he pants for breath himself. Since he doesn’t seem to be paying any attention, you get a mischievous idea and lean in close to him, and use the edge of his mask to wipe your face clean.

He chuckles but doesn’t stop you, only taking your hand in his when he feels that you are done. 

Most of him is limp against his seat, except for the grip he has on your hand, his knuckles resting on your thigh. 

“Hey,” you reach over and gently tug at his hood, to which he leans down just enough for it to slip off. “You ok?” 

He gives you a lazy grin, face flush and hair starting to mat down. He doesn’t quite answer you though, instead pulls your hand up to his lips and places a gentle kiss across your knuckles.  

You smile and, blushing strongly at the innocent gesture despite the fact that you’d just swallowed a load of his cum, take your hand back so you could buckle up. “Let’s go home.” 

The ride home is somewhat odd. He hasn’t said a word since you had his cock in your mouth and that silence is a little worrying. It’s not until you’re back home that you finally break the silence.

“König? What’s wrong?” You stop him before he can retreat into the bedroom.

“Nothing, Engel.” 

“Then why are you so quiet?”

It’s almost comical to watch a man so big try to shrink away from your gaze. He’s squeezing one fist over and over, trying very hard not to twitch under your gaze.

You gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth, as you put two and two together. “Wait! Did you not like- Did I…Did I give you a bad blow job?”

König’s head snaps up. “What! No!”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

“My love-” “Do you hate all my blow jobs?!”

He shakes his head vehemently and shouts your name, but you still talk over him. 

“Is it because I choke? I can’t help it! Your cock is just so big!” 

“No! My Engel,” he finally stops you with his hands on your shoulders, “I love watching you choke on my cock!”

You take a breath, forcing yourself to calm down and pout up at him. “Then what is it?”

He sighed and rubbed your shoulders for a moment before taking your hands in his. “I was just thinking about the first time we met.”

There had been a look in your eyes that night that he wrote off as you being so close to dying. But he saw it again tonight…

“Oh.” Your pout morphs into something much more stoic. “When that man…” You trail off, you both know what happened that night.

“Yea.” 

“What about it?” 

He glances away from you and chews on his lip before changing the subject. “Tell me, my love. Did you enjoy watching me kill that man?” 

“Yea.” You tilt your head, “why wouldn’t I? He got what he deserved.” 

He nodded. “Did you enjoy watching me almost kill your coworker?” 

This time it’s you that blushes and looks away. “Yea. I. I suppose being annoying doesn’t quite deserve that much violence, but…” what can you say? It was hot watching him so easily break the other man (oh and defending your honor too!). 

“And,” he paused, licking his lips, “did it turn you on?” 

Your face burns even more, “well,” you chuckle sheepishly, “that is why I blew you.” 

He frowned and dropped your hands, though remained somewhat hunched so he could properly look you in the eyes. “I kill people.” 

You squint at him, “yea…?” This wasn’t news to you…Why was he saying this? 

“Not just the man who tried to rape you. Not just in my capacity as a soldier.” 

Maybe you could understand where he was coming from. He never explicitly told you of his activities. You simply knew based on your first meeting and the way he spoke so casually about killing. “...Yea, I know…”

“I need you to know that, Engel.” 

You nod, “ok. Got it.” 

“But I would never hurt you.”

“I know. I trust you.” Which was a peculiar thing to say considering how just very recently you didn’t even know his name. 

Upon hearing your answer, König glanced away from you, face dusted pink and chewing on his lip. He was right. You were an angel made just for him.

You frowned, “what’s wrong?”

He was quick to pounce on you, giant hands on either side of your face and threading into your hair as he pressed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. He swallowed your surprised little yelp, his tongue sliding against your lower lip and teeth nibbling at a particularly sensitive spot on your lip before slipping into your mouth. 

He pulled you close, one hand solidly wrapped around your waist and the other pressed into your back, as you melted into his embrace. He only let go slightly when he moved his kiss to your jaw, down your neck, nipping at the scar below your neck. 

You sighed, resting your hands on his shoulders as he continued to sink lower, pressing gentle kisses over your clothes and dropped to his knees. 

He finally pressed a lingering kiss to the scar on your stomach, hands on your hips, and looked up at you, your name falling lovingly past his lips.

“You are perfect. Marry me.” 

You really didn’t think he was a marriage kind of man. You assumed that when he told you that you belonged to him, that he would protect you from then on, that it equated to marriage in his mind. But with the way he was looking up at you now, looking both very serious and very vulnerable, to him, this was more than that.

“Oh, König,” you reply softly, your hand drifting from his shoulder to cup his face. He leans into your touch and never breaks eye contact with you.

You bend down and place a soft kiss on his lips. “Yes.” 

He laughs happily when he pulls you into another strong kiss. He’s still laughing when he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom. 

[Death’s Haven]

Your husband was a killer. Not some vigilante with a twisted sense of justice. No, he simply needed to kill. For most of his life, this need was satiated through his career in the military. However, now that he was in the private sector, he had more time between jobs. Which led to the current reason you were home alone late at night.

He'd been between deployments for four months now. Yelling at recruits and paperwork was nearly driving him insane. When he started disappearing at night, when he spent his free time in secret, you knew what he was up to. You didn't ask him about it. You just made sure he had dinner and a clean home to come back to.

You were already asleep in bed when he came home tonight. When you felt him crawl into bed, hands sliding across your waist so he could hold you to his chest. He was very tactile like that, once he had you, he always had to be touching you in some way.

You let out a quiet sigh and shifted to get comfortable, vaguely aware that he was only wearing his boxers.

"I'm sorry, Engel. I did not mean to wake you."

"What time is it?"

"Three."

You grunted. Much too late (or perhaps, too early). Though you supposed coming home at three am was better than him coming home at five only to wake up at six to go to work.

You yawned and shifted, turning around so you could kiss his cheek. "Welcome home." You sighed, eyes already closing again as you cuddled up to him and started to fall back asleep.

König hummed, his hand gently moving up and down your hip, slipping underneath the tee shirt that you stole from him to use as a nightgown.

His soft touch chased away your sleep as his fingers dragged up and down your lower back. You wiggled your hips, attempting to get away from his touch by pressing your body further into him. "That tickles."

"Sorry," he muttered, lips brushing against your temple. "I missed you."

If your eyes weren't closed you'd roll them. Your big, strong, serial killer of a husband was sweet, cute even, acting like you hadn't seen each other for weeks.

But then you felt his hard on pressing against your thigh. Oh. He missed you like that. Yea. That made sense. Even though he slipped in late at night or early in the morning to see you before you left for work, you hadn't had sex since he started his recon a few days ago.

You nuzzle against his chest and smile, "did you?" You slide a hand down his stomach and fiddle with the waistband of his boxers. "I'd never be able to tell." 

He groaned and pushed you onto your back, knocking your legs apart enough for him to settle between. His kiss is rushed, tongue pushing past your lips eagerly, while he starts to grind his hips into yours. You let out an airy gasp when his kisses trail down your jaw to the scar on your neck. A scar you were once ashamed of, once associated with a moment of indignity. König insisted that your scars weren't ugly or shameful, they were proof that instead of taking you for himself, the god of death had given you to him as a gift. 

“What?” You rolled your eyes when he first told you such. “Is he a king and I'm one of his kids he can just give away?” 

He threaded his fingers into your hair and pulled, forcing you to expose your neck to him. “I am your only King. And you are my Angel.” 

Your leg hikes further up his waist, one of his hands splaying across the back of your thigh as he ruts into you again. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling his face back towards you as you attempt to kiss him again, instead he opens his mouth to mumble words against your lips.

“There was a witness.”

And you froze. The only witness he’s ever left before was you. For a moment you’re worried. Was this another damsel in distress that he saved? Was there another broken girl in his truck right now, waiting patiently to become your sister-wife? 

You push a steady hand against his chest that he ignores and continues to suck hickey onto your neck. “What?” 

He hums against your skin, moving his kiss down, where he nips at one of your breasts through the fabric of your chosen nightgown. He mistakes the concern in your voice as concern for him. He returns to your mouth, an eager heavy kiss pressed to your lips until he pushes his tongue into your mouth that you respond to tentatively. 

“I killed him too.” 

His hips grinding into yours, with his hard cock teasing your pussy through layers of thin fabric, draws out a needy whine from you. "O-oh?"

He grunts, breathing quickening as he starts to push your shirt up. "That's why I'm so late, my love.” He was quite eager, it seemed, as one of his hands slipped underneath your back to lift you so he could quickly pull the shirt completely off of you. “There was a lot of blood.” He finished his explanation (not that you asked for one) as he nuzzled his face between your breasts. 

You wanted to giggle, both because his slight stubble on your bare chest tickled and how silly you felt that he basically just motorboated you, but with the way he was already licking and sucking at your tits, your giggle quickly morphed into a moan. And then you finally registered his words. 

A bloodsoaked König, with his sniper hood hiding his face, looked like a monster straight out of a horror movie. The thought of it turned you on so much. “Yea?” Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer to you as you lifted your hips to meet his, pressing against his hard dick. 

He chuckled as he sat up on his knees, still between your thighs, and tugged at your panties. You raise your hips enough for him to pull them down and toss to the side.

He leaned over you once again, propping himself up on his left arm, while his right hand found its way to your thigh again. You sighed as he all but had you pinned between his large frame and the bed. There was something frightening about his size, he was almost too big to be human, and yet he also possessed the uncanny ability to make you feel safe, no matter how vulnerable you were.

His fingers dipped between your thighs, his chuckles fading into a low groan when he finds how aroused you are. “You like that, Engel? Want to see me covered in blood, hm?” 

A gasped, “uh-huh!” is all you can offer when his fingers, coated in your slick, rock against your clit. 

König pulls his hand away all too soon, and the frustrated whine you puff out isn’t missed by him. You almost think he is going to tease you, that he is going to revel in the way you’re so desperate for him already, but there is a vulnerable sincerity in his eyes when you look up at him. 

“...Are you proud of me?”

Your lust is momentarily forgotten as you slide a hand to his face, gently cradling his face. His eyes closed as he leaned into your soft and touch. 

It was one thing to know that you accepted his proclivities, another entirely to know that you loved that part of him.

You gently run your thumb over his cheek bone so he could look at you again. You supposed you hadn't shown much enthusiasm for his activities since he nearly killed your coworker. You pull him down for a gentle kiss, whispering your answer against his lips. "Yes."

You even have a surprise for him, but the kiss that followed was much less delicate and much more needy on his part. It’s like he’s trying to mold himself to you, trying to fuse your soul to his. It’s as if he doesn’t want to let you go. And you give into him, forgetting about the little gift. You don’t want him to let go either. 

You’re so pliable under his touch, the way you so easily give your body over to him reminds him of the first night he met you. When you were too weak to stop him from ripping the shreds of your dress off of your body, too weak to stop him from moving your hands to stem the bleeding of a knife wound that should have killed you. The memory of your body, pinned underneath him now, covered in the sweetest blood has him biting down on your shoulder roughly. You gasp and whimper underneath him, only squirming not to get away from him, but to get closer to him. 

He drags his mouth down your body, trailing searing kisses along your skin. As always he pays special attention to the scar that dips below your collarbone, tracing the contours with his tongue as if he hasn't already committed every inch of it to memory. As always as well, he takes his time with your breasts, switching between rough nips into your flesh and gentle swirls of his tongue around the nipple. Every little hitch in your breath, every whine that pushes past your lips, alights his blood on fire.

His hips buck forward, seeking relief in the friction of his hard cock against the soft warm plush of your thighs. You whine, one hand resting on his shoulder and one tangled in his hair, as you feel the hot velvety skin of his cock rubbing the insides of your legs, pre cum smearing on your skin and you're not sure whether to pull him back up so he can stuff your pussy with that massive cock of his, or to push him down so he can lavish his attention elsewhere on your body.

König makes the decision for you as he continues to kiss and nip and lick his way down your body. He attempts to repeat the loving kiss with the scar on your stomach, attempts to trace it with his lips, but you become impatient and push his head, making him chuckle into your skin, which in turn has you also giggling.

He presses a lingering kiss to your pubic bone with a grin plastered on his lips, "so eager for me."

You huff, and make sure to exaggerate the little pout you throw at him. "Don't tease. It's been too long."

This draws another chuckle from him, though he spreads your thighs further apart so he can comfortably fit between them. "Less than a week, my angel."

You prop yourself up on one elbow and reach for his face, forcing him to look at you as you hit him with a trembling lip and the saddest eyes you could muster in the moment. "You promised to take care of me, König."

He stills at your words, muscles tense and eyes so wide that even in the dim light you could see the whites of his eyes. You were right, of course. How could he deny his sweet angel what you desperately wanted, needed? Especially when it was him that you needed. He gently places a hand over yours, never breaking eye contact with you, as he pulls your hand from his face and gently kisses the inside of your wrist, taking your little teasing to heart. “I will.” 

That is all the warning you get before he is diving between your thighs. His breath is hot on your skin as he kisses and licks his way towards your pussy. He doesn't ignore any part of you, his left hand both massaging your inner thigh, kneading at the sensitive flesh and keeping your legs parted wide enough for him.

By the time he draws his tongue through your folds, you're already a quivering mess. His long, deliberate, slow licks have you moaning and gripping his hair. His right arm anchors your hips to the bed, keeping you in place as his tongue circles your clit. You try to muffle the obscene moans that fall from your lips, but König knows you, knows what you like, and drags his tongue down your slit, curls his tongue inside of you to lap at you juices. His own moans fill the air with yours, the subtle vibrations only driving you crazier.

His name is a chant on your lips, your hands gripping his hair even more as you try to fuck his face. He groans and releases the iron grip he has on your hips, right hand snaking up to your chest where he roughly gropes at your tits.

He holds you down for your sake, so he can lick and suck and nip without losing his place between your legs. But as you near your edge, he lets go because there's nothing he loves more than when you shove your pussy into his face. His mouth parted, tongue dragging over every inch of you and pushing into your pussy. His nose bumps and rubs against your clit as he enthusiastically moves his head, his stubble scratching pleasantly against the inside of your thighs.

He could, and probably should, stretch you out a little with his fingers, prepare you for the girth that is his cock, but he’s selfish and wants you to come on his tongue. He switches his pace, frenzied flicks of his tongue on your clit, followed by long firm strokes through your folds until he pushes his tongue into your pussy. He moans again, savoring the ambrosia that he pulls from you with every swipe of his tongue. 

It’s when he starts to rock his hips into the bed, seeking to relieve his aching cock, that it feels like a final wave pushing you to your orgasm. Your thighs squeeze around his head as you pussy clenches wildly around his tongue, aching to be filled and stretched out even more. He continues to slurp at your pussy, his tongue covered in your cum as he gently offers small and gentle licks to your clit, following the movement of your hips without holding you down. 

König is liable to spend too much time between your legs. Liable to ease you down from your orgasm only to pull another one from you. And you’re liable to forget that you were supposed to give him his gift before fucking.

“S-stop! I! I!” You cry and whine and try to push his face away from your oversensitive clit. 

With a grunt, he finally relents and drops a few soft kisses to your thigh before propping himself up on his elbows and running the back of his arm across his face. “What is it, Engel?” 

After a moment to catch your breath, you finally look at him and smile softly at the way he's looking up at you so adoringly. "I have something for you."

A grin breaks out across his face as he kisses your thigh and moves as if he's about to start eating you out again.

"Not that!" You laugh and lightly push his face away from your still sensitive pussy. "Come here," you pat the bed next to you, inviting him to sit down for a moment.

"I got you something," you say as you give him a quick peck to the lips when he sits down beside you.

His hand slides to your waist and you know he's about to pull you on top of him, but you pull away quick enough to turn to the nightstand and flip on the lamp.

There’s some shuffling beside you as you open the drawer. The first thing your hand catches is a bottle of lube, that’s not what you were looking for, but you set it on the table anyways.

One of his hands lands on your thigh and squeezes as he leans with you, his mouth dropping small kisses to your shoulder. “Do we have to do this now?”

“Oh, I guess not.” You say as you put a rectangular box on top of the side table and turn to face him again.

He’s shucked his boxers off, instead of shoving his dick through the opening in front, and has his left hand holding the heft of his hard cock. Your eyes drop down to the wide pink mushroom head and immediately forget that you had been trying to gift him something. 

His right arm wraps around your waist as you kiss him and he pulls you atop one of his thighs. You whimper into his mouth as you grind down on his thigh, your already slick pussy making the glide easier and the friction electrifying. Even as you rock your hips back and forth, one of your hands wraps around his cock, next to his own hand. You both groan at the contact, Him at the way you swipe your thumb over the tip of his cock, collecting pre cum and spreading it over down as you give him sensual little pumps. You groan as you and your pussy clenches achingly at the reminder of how big his cock is, the way there’s enough length for the both of you to stroke down, and the way your fingers don’t even meet around his girthy width. 

As you rest your forehead against his, lip tucked between your teeth as you continue to ride him, you notice his eyes flicker to the side table for just a second.

“You want to see it?” You ask with a breathless laugh, still chasing the pleasure grinding down on his thigh offers. 

He grabs the hand you have wrapped around his cock and makes you squeeze him harder, speaking with a groan as he thrusts his hips up. “Just tell me what it is.” 

“And ruin the surprise?” 

He grunts and grabs your hips, halting your gyrating, while simultaneously smashing his mouth against yours. The kiss is rough, aggressive even, as his tongue tangled with yours, preventing you from further teasing him. Still you moan and giggle into the kiss and blindly reach behind you until you find the box.

“Just open it real quick.” 

He sighed and reluctantly let go of your hips as he took the box from you. “What is the occasion?” 

The real reason? You wanted him to remember you. You were afraid you were nothing but a novelty to him. He wanted you for now, but soon he’d get bored of you and send you away. If you were lucky, he’d kill you, but you were never that lucky in life. He’d provide a safe home for you, make you feel safe standing next to him at the grocery store, or as he picked you up from work. Then he’d leave you, leave you fearing every shadow and bump in the night. To live in the hell that was his absence. 

“A hunting knife?” He unsheathed it, admiring the sheen and sharpness of the hooked blade.

It was deadly sharp, meant for skinning game. It wasn’t anything fancy. Perfectly utilitarian. 

You hummed and stretched out again, this time to grab the bottle of lube you set aside earlier. “You’re the one that asked me if I am proud of you.” You pour some lube into one of your hands, “I was thinking about what you do, and thought you might like this.” You wrap your hand around his cock, spreading the lube along his thick shaft, “at the very least it can make a cute paperweight for your desk.” 

König groans and shuts his eyes, leaning forward to rest his head against your shoulder, as you pump his now very slick cock. His hot breath fans over your skin as he mutters your name and nips at your shoulder. But he pauses when you lean to the side and expose the top of your scar to his mouth.

Suddenly he pulls away from you and looks back at the gifted blade. “You wanted to see me covered in blood, Engel.” 

It’s not a question, though you give him a quiet little “mm-hm" before you’re sitting stock still with a blade pressed against your throat. His cock throbs in your hands as your eyes flick up to meet his. His eyes, blown wide with lust, flicker between your own gaze and the knife he holds to your throat. 

“I have never seen blood as beautiful as yours.” 

Your heart thumps in your chest, and pussy, at his words. Did he think of your blood often? Did he still think of that night? 

You squeeze your hand, giving a tantalizing grip to his cock, and tilt your head to the side, whispering a loving taunt. “It belongs to you.” 

You see droplets of blood splatter across his face before you feel the sting of your flesh sliced open. You gasp, eyes squeezing shut, as pain catches up to you. There’s a clatter of the knife being tossed onto the nightstand before you feel his large hands digging into your hips and moving you so that you are fully straddling him. 

The head of his cock slides through your folds before nudging your clit and sends a wave of pleasure through you that distracts from the pain. You whimper and shudder when you open your eyes to see the look on his face. You imagine that this is what he looked like the night he saved you, but now you see him unmasked, see how the sight of you bleeding before him is nearly driving him insane. 

König moaned when he felt the first drop of blood hit his face, his cock jumping out of your hand and pulsing wildly. Your pained little gasp that followed did not assuage his desire, if anything it fueled it even more. He quickly discarded the knife and pulled you over him, his lubed up cock running along your slick pussy drawing moans out from both of you. 

He looked up at you, lost in bliss as you rocked your hips into him, rubbing your clit onto his cock, and snaked a hand into your hair to pull you down. He breathed in the air around you, filled with the scent of your combined arousal and sweat and, as he pushed his face into your skin, the light coppery scent of your blood. 

You whined again when he disturbed the cut on your neck, the fresh wound following the exact path of the previous one, only to cry out when he drug his tongue through the blood. 

“You have the sweetest blood, my angel.” 

And with a quick, rough, grip to the back of your head, he pulled you into a searing kiss. His tongue immediately found yours as if he was intent to share the taste of you, of your blood and cum. 

His face is smeared in blood when you pull away from his hungry kiss and look at him again. You rest your forehead against his and pant for breath, eyes locking with his as he lifts your lips and properly lines his cock up. 

You whimper when you feel the head of his cock start to spread you, but even his lust filled haze he’s aware enough of himself to go slowly, letting you sink down onto his girthy length at your own pace. 

“König,” you cry when you take him fully, your entire body hot and desperate to be close to him. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, his face tucked into your neck as you start to move your hips up, sliding back down with a moan as he fills you. 

He’s not quiet when your pussy squeezes and pulses around his cock, it feels too good to hold in the moan that rips out of his throat when you start to bounce on his cock. Slick. Your blood and sweat against his skin, your wet pussy around his cock, it’s all heavenly slick and he wants more. He groans and roughly guides your hips down to meet his own thrusts. You cling to him and moan as he easily lifts you only to slam you back down.

“My angel,” he growls hotly into your ear, his eyes rolling back when your pussy flutters tightly around his cock. 

He’s quick to shift positions, cradling the back of your head as he throws you onto your back. You only get to mourn the loss of his cock inside you for a moment before he is throwing one of your legs over his shoulder and bullying his cock back into your pussy.

The new angle allows him impossibly deeper, your moans are so loud you’re nearly screaming at this point. He moans loudly along with you when he glances down between your bodies and sees as he feels how your pussy clings to his cock, doing its best to not let go of him every time he pulls out. 

Your pussy aches and gapes when he pulls all the way out, slipping and accidentally brushing the head of his cock over your clit. You cry out, from the sensation of his slicked cockhead on your clit and for him, even this second without him filling you up is too long without him. You hook the leg he doesn’t have over his shoulder over his waist as he thrusts his cock back into you. It feels like he hits every nerve in your pussy, his pelvis grinding against yours and rubbing your clit and you can’t even say his name as your entire body begins to shake. 

Your orgasm is overwhelming, you claw and grab at König, yet at the same time the consistent grinding of his pelvis on your clit and his huge cock pistoning in and out of you has part of you wanting to push him away. He doesn’t let you, instead he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, chasing his own release. 

König’s head drops to your shoulder, chin hitting the cut on your neck, and groans loudly as you come on his cock, your pussy clenching around him dizzyingly tight. He growls and groans when you begin to struggle against him, sending him over his own edge. He breathlessly stills as his cock throbs, filling you with his cum as your pussy continues to clench around his cock. 

Eventually his hips slow down to a slow, sensual, grind, meeting your hips in the lazy aftermath. He drops your leg from his shoulder and braces himself on his forearms while he continues to nuzzle his face into your neck, sloppy open mouth kisses licking up blood and sweat.

“König,” you sigh and nudge him. He may be holding most of his weight off of you, but he’s still crushing you into the mattress and at this point it’s so hot that it’s starting to become difficult to breathe.

He grunts, his cock giving a final pulse as he pulls out, and rolls to the side. His hand lands heavily on your thigh, “give me a moment, Engel, and I will clean you up.” 

You whine at the sudden empty feeling and, with considerable effort, turn on your side and cuddle up to him, moving his arm around you. He embraces you, eyes closed as he basks in his post orgasmic bliss. 

“You look like a vampire.” You say with a light chuckle and brush a thumb across his chin.

He grins and opens one eye to look at you, “if I could live off of your blood, Engel, I would.” 

Your laugh is cut short with a grimace as you feel his cum leak out of your pussy. “Ok, I need to get up.” 

He sits up with you and pulls you into his lap before standing. “Let me.”

“You don’t always need to carry me to the bathroom!” 

“Can you walk?” 

Actually, probably not. 

König leaves the shower first, letting you relax under the hot water a little longer while he changes the sheets on the bed. There was too much cum, sweat and blood to ignore for the night. 

He’s waiting patiently for you when you finally get out of the shower. He’s thoughtful enough to lay one of his shirts out on the clean sheets for you to wear when he’s finished bandaging you up. 

“It’s not even that bad,” you say as you let him apply an ointment and a gauze bandage on the cut that’s barely bleeding anymore. 

He doesn’t really respond, just grunts and makes sure to secure the bandage properly before he turns around to set everything down on the nightstand. 

“Ah! König!” You gasp and slap a hand over your mouth when you see long scratch marks on his back, small beads of blood surfacing on his skin.

“What!” He turns quickly, eyes wide, afraid that he hurt you.

“I’m so sorry!” You squeak out behind your hand.

“What?” 

You hang your head and hide your face in your hands. “Your back is bleeding!”

“What?” He cranes his neck to look at his own back. 

“How embarrassing,” you mumble to yourself as you take the towel that’s wrapped around you and dab the bit of blood off of him.

His chuckles turn into a laugh, a full loud sound deep from his belly, as you fuss over him. He barely lets you touch his back before he is reaching behind him and pulling you onto his lap.

He stops your protests with a kiss, a smile still pulling at his lips even as he runs his tongue over your lips. “I cut you with a hunting knife, Engel, and you’re worried about little scratches?”  

“Fine,” you hum and pull away from him enough to slip on the tee shirt he laid out for you. “But if it scars, it’ll be the least cool story you’ve got.”

He turns off the lamp as you climb under the blankets. “I disagree. It’ll be my favorite. Next time, I will make you scratch my back even more.” 

König grinned at your little laugh as you settled into his embrace for the night. No, you didn’t hurt him and no he didn’t mind a tiny bit of blood spilled. He’d drown in your blood if he could, how could he not offer you the same? 

[jyoongim]

Imagine though, you see Alastor and assume that he's the one in full control during sex but the reality is that behind closed doors his ass is absolutely pathetic for his woman, falling to her feet, kissing them and being a pretty little pet

Happy Valentines Day everyone <3, hope you get off to some nice fics today and take care of yourself babes

Themes: fem!reader, face-sitting/riding, fluff, antlers, soft!Alastor, pet names, slight begging, Alastor lowkey pussy whipped.

If anyone knew Alastor, they knew just how terrifying he could be.

The Radio Demon always wore a smile on his face.

He was intimidating, dangerous, cunning, and unpredictable.

So why in the seven rings, were You not afraid?

When Alastor came back for his seven-year absence, he had a pretty sweet thing by his side.

Unlike the arrogant demon, you spoke softly if not ever at all. You were kind and treated everyone equally.

You must be something real special to have been able to deal with the Radio Demon.

If someone took a look at you and Alastor, they would immediately think that it is Alastor who calls all the shots.

In some way that’s true.

In the public eye, though Alastor kept you by his side, it was often interpreted that you were more like arm candy, nothing more than a pretty face he kept.

But never trust appearances.

For the feared Radio Demon who maintained an air of confidence, behind closed doors always showed how much he appreciated you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You giggled at the sound of a record scratch as you got ready to settle in bed for the night.

Alastor was reading a book, sipping on some tea as you dropped your robe to get into bed.

His ear twitched at the sound of the fallen clothing and when he glanced your way, he short-circuited.

You were beautiful. 

Hair tied in a wrap to make sure your curls stayed in place. Your thin, silk nightie clung to your full figure as you applied your lotions and ointments. You sighed happily as you finished up your night routine.

Alastor didn’t register that he had even got up until he was kneeling in front of you, smile soft as he caressed your legs, hands starting to at your foot

You tilted your head at the demon “Alastor?”

A chaste kiss was pressed inside your ankle as he rubbed your feet.

You relaxed as he worked the kinks out your legs and feet.

Maybe it was because he was a serial killer alive, but damn was he good with his hands.

You grabbed at his loosened tie, letting him crawl up your body. You peppered his face with kisses, shyly nipping at his lips. You figured that this was gonna turn into a lusty rendezvous ,so when you went to unzip his pants and he denied you, you were confused.

Alastor chuckled, kissing your shoulder “Let me take care of you mon cher you always do so much being my good girl”

He slipped back to settle between your thighs. His hands caressed and kneaded at the soft flesh, even giving you a slight nip to get a gasp out of you.

He flicked your nightie up, smirking at your bare cunt. A low growl rumbled in his chest as your scent wafted to his nose. He pressed a kiss your clit, causing you to jump

”Not yet”

Alastor hands roamed and kneaded you as he mumbled his praises.

Alastor was under your spell the moment he met you. You had a way of making him a bit softer than he was use to.

He kept you by his side without a deal and loved every moment of it.

He would do anything you asked. 

Anything you want, it was yours by his command.

He would tear Hell apart if anything happened to you.

You were his muse.

His goddess.

His to care and provide for.

Only you were capable of getting the Radio Demon to be domesticated.

Only dedicated to you.

What a clever minx you were…

Alastor sucked a perky nipple into his mouth. Moaning as your body seems to light up.  Your chest pushing the mound of flesh into his mouth as he tugged and teased the peak.

Deeming your nipple was abused enough, he switched to the other, pinching the other.

A whine tore through you as he teased soft circles on your clit. “A-Alastor”

He shushed you as you grinded against his hand

”Ask and Ill give you anything darlin”

”T-Ton…”you panted as he tugged at your ear with his teeth. He hummed ”hmmm?”

You took a deep breathe, head lolling as he dipped a finger inside you. “I-I want to cum o-on your t-tongue”

Though Alastor usually took the reigns in every other aspect of your relationship, in the bedroom it was you coaxing the maniac to be soft.

Alastor took orders from no one.

But he did like the praise and acknowledgment you gave and that was enough to fuel his ego.

”Then take it”

Your cheeks were heated as you looked at the red demon beneath you. He was smiling as he looked back up at you.

He kissed your inner thighs, waiting on you.

waiting for you to let your desires to overtake the usual sweet personality you had.

”Tongue out” you said softly, finding purchase on his antlers, that were now big as branches.

You felt his warm, wet tongue loll out his mouth, grazing your cunt.

You steadied your grip and without a second thought, sat on his  mouth.

Your claws dug into his antlers as you moved against his tongue.

Alastor was quite happy underneath you, tongue lapping as you used him for your pleasure.

Soft moans and groans bounced off the walls as you coated Alastor’s face in your slick.

”Oooooh fuuccckk ah!”

Usually you begged. 

Begged for Alastor to give you that sweet release.

But you were going to take it.

And make him beg.

”A-Alasstoorr ha!” His ears perked at your enticing moan around his name.

”You’ll look so pretty covered in my cum aha! Would you like that? Hmmm?” 

You were riding his tongue as if his cock. Feet planted and thighs caging him in. 

“I’m gonna cum Oh! Ah!” Using his antlers, you angled his head so his nose bumped your clit with each roll of your hips.

”c-cummin’ i-i aaahh! Fuck! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! Take it take it. Be a good boy, Swallow my cum hmmmm yeeesss oh!”

The soppy slurps and curling of his tongue sent you over the edge.

Huffing you raised your hips, not wanting to kill the demon from being smothered.

”i-I’m sorry Al I didn’t mean-”

Your hand brushed against a heavy tent in his pants

But Alastor’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your sensitive cunt back down.

“I don't mind dearest. You should relish using me for your pleasure…I’m your good boy after all”

Alastor might be a scary powerful overlord…but he was a big softie when it came to his woman. 

Absolutely worshiped the ground you walked on.

Only you could turn the monster into a purring kitten.

And he’d have it no other way.

@alishii @alastor-simp @alastorsaries @alastwhore666 @alastorsdear @okay-babe @sssandychemd @ioniiaa @catherine69420 @danveration @bookishcatcafe @altruisticalastor @markster666 @citrussmootee @brechdan-ham @wisteria-seal @dasimp777 @goth-mami-writer @gojosaturos-wife @alastorsfawn @coleisyn @horrorartsworld @dennsfz @fatnug @prosciuttosblog @spalimly @crazyforbarnes @eviebuggg @polytheatrix @queenariesofnarnia @lunaramune @kassa-stardust @alstorloml @scaramoochiie @strawberrypimp666 @simphornies @yourdoorisunlocked @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @absurd-ash @peachedtv @kiralaufeyson84

[beautifullytrvgic]

Welcome To The Neighborhood

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: "Playing Dangerous - Lana Del Rey" 0:50 ━━━━●───── 04:57 ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ♡

ღpairing: Toji Fushiguro x AFAB! reader | modern AU

ღwarnings: NSFW!! (minors DNI) , encouragement, praise, pet names, age gap, d!lf Toji, v!rgin Y/N

''Looking at me, then suddenly.. I'm in love, I'm in love, lovin' hurricane''

ღword count: 4.3k

ღ a/n: I DID IT YALL !! First-ever fic and smut DONE! I hate degradation so I made him kinda sweet? hope that's still ok! FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED!! | divider by menschenopfer 

𓆸 summary: You decide to visit your new neighbor with a welcome gift and it seems like he caught your eye.. and you his.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the kitchen countertops as you sighted to yourself, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. You didn't know how many hours you'd spent baking the cheesecake brownies that were in front of you, each square placed perfectly inside a basket with a white handmade bow on it- a nice welcome gift for the new neighbor next door, you mused. It was the morning when you started baking.. which only meant you'd spent pretty much all of your day. Great. Quickly, you walked over to the sink and turned the faucet lever up to wash your hands, which like your apron, had a little bit of flour. As you did so, you checked the clock on the pale yellow wall in front of you. It was exactly 5 PM, the perfect time. You glanced at the window which was near the clock, slightly balancing your body to the side. You could see the house in front of yours with the lights on, meaning the neighbor was home- probably finishing unpacking. Soon after his car, a black Ford, was seen parked on the outside of his home's garage a few days prior, a bunch of whispers started to arise about his arrival- that he was divorced with a kid whom he lost custody to, that he looked scary, that he wasn't the friendliest guy and that no one knew anything about him- he wasn't on the internet, social media, nothing (again, from what you've heard. Not like you've done any research yourself). Well, the only thing that was for certain known about him was his name- Toji. You repeated the name mentally, a note so that you'd remember it and not embarrass yourself.

Despite it all, you were determined to extend a warm welcome nonetheless since at the end of the day, rumors were just rumors and it isn't like he's secretly a serial killer, right? Forcing an enthusiastic smile, you placed your hair up in a messy bun and walked to your bedroom, grabbing the first shoes you could see on the floor before sitting down on the edge of your bed and putting them on. Once you finished, you walked to the kitchen counter and grabbed your keys, placed them inside one of the pockets of your apron, and gently grabbed the basket of brownies. Soon enough, you walked outside and locked the front door.

You made your way to the neighbor's doorstep, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. He'd accept the gift, right? I mean, who wouldn't? As you approached his front door under the archway, you swiped your apron in a swift motion, trying to remove the remains of the flour so that you'd look at least presentable. With a soft knock on the wooden door, your heart raced with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty, waiting for someone to come out. However, there was nothing. Not a single sound. Your eyes, which now carried a confused expression, searched for a doorbell but you rapidly realized there was none. In response, you gently placed your head against the door as you tried to listen for any sign of movement before knocking again, except louder this time. Maybe he wasn't home and forgot to turn the lights off? After a few moments later, however, you heard some heavy footsteps coming closer and closer, making you step back onto the small rug on the stone tiled floor. Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing a man with striking features and piercing eyes. He seemed to be in his mid 30's and was tall- really tall, so you raised your head and glanced at him up and down. He was brawny and had straight black hair, wore a black tank top and some black jeans, seemed a bit sweaty. You realized how long you've been staring in silence when he moved, placing his hands on his hip and giving you a curious look with his dark blue eyes. Oops. You blinked, recalling why you were there in the first place before your eyes trailed downwards, realizing you were still holding the basket of brownies. Right, the brownies!

"Toji?" you asked, offering a tentative smile and your friendliest tone of voice.

The man raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "That's me." He responded in a nonchalant manner before crossing his arms and slightly leaning no the side of the door. "You need somethin’?” Toji stared into your eyes. His voice sounded slightly lyrical yet had a bit of roughness to it. Wasn't really what you expected him to sound like, which caught you a bit off guard.

The truth is, he really didn't expect anyone to visit him or to see a sight like you when he opened the door. A little lady wearing an apron over her dress, a bit covered with flour, wearing a bun, holding a basket? Unexpected, yes. But, I mean, it's not like he was bothered by it. In fact, you could say it was quite the opposite.

You cleared your throat, holding out the basket that was open so that he could see the inside. He peeked inside for some moments before looking at you again, the same stare as before. "I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood," you said, sounding more awkward than confident. At that moment, His gaze slowly softened as he took the basket from your hands, rough and soft fingers meeting with each other only for seconds before they parted, a hint of a smile starting to grow in the corners of his lips where a small scar lay. You had the urge to ask him how he got it, but of course, you refrained from it as you didn't want to sound disrespectful. Despite this though, you really couldn't help but look fixedly at it. Toji wasn't stupid, so he may have noticed. Probably.

''Ah, ain't that thoughtful of you.'' He said, sniffing the inside of the basket before stepping inside his home, extending his arm to motion you to follow him with his fingers. "Come on in," He chimed. And so, that's what you did- followed him into the living room, taking in the ambiance of his home as your eyes looked around. It seemed recently unpacked like you guessed before, and it was spacious; had a modern style to it, low lighting, simple but fancy. All the furniture had a black-and-white color palette, but the lamps placed on the floor and in the open kitchen emitted a warm glow, giving the place a more homey feeling. It was the home you'd expect a rich CEO or a bigshot lawyer to live in. You turned slowly to see the basket placed on his dinner table and Toji staring at you in a way you couldn't quite describe. He was leaning against the kitchen's isle, one of his hands lightly rubbing his hair while the other rested on the edge of the black-marbled surface. As he let out a small chuckle, what was a hint of a smile turned into a full one. "I finished unpacking a few minutes before you came. Looks good, doesn't it?" he asked, though it sounded more like a spoken fact than an actual question. He walked further into the kitchen, turning his back on you as you answered.

"Yeah, it does" you replied honestly, walking to the isle and gently taking one of the 3 white stools and sitting on it. You stared at him as he opened a kitchen cupboard and took some items out, placing them on the counter in front of him. Watching him from behind made you realise how brawny he truly was. The man seemed to take care of his body like a vessel, which was kinda admirable. Before you could continue your trail of thought, he spoke again. "Tea or Coffee? I don't expect to eat all the brownies by myself, y'know." he said in a teasing tone as his head and body turned to look at you. Now you could see the items in front of him- two dark blue cups with a tiny spoon inside on each, a box with white sugar packages and another with sweetner, a container with coffee, and an opened wooden box which had tea packages inside. In response, you smiled at him and leaned to take a better look. "[your choice] is fine" You answered before he walked over to the table, grabbed the basket of brownies and went back to the spot he was standing on to open another cupboard and grab two tiny white plates. A few moments later he turned around fully for you to see that he intended for both of you to sit on his couch- walking over to it with the two plates with brownies. "You can sit wherever you want, I don't mind." he told you as ge walked back to bring the cups. "Oh- yeah, thanks" You stood up and walked to the couch before sitting comfortably on it before he joined you, sitting next to you and placing the cups on the white table in front of you, steam coming from the cups as the drinks were just prepared. He let out a small sigh, his arms resting on the back of the couch. "So, you haven't told me your name yet." He said, the last words sounding more like a tiny chuckle. Your eyes widened, a small awkward "ah" escaping from your mouth. Oops. "Right- sorry! I forgot." you said, gently brushing some hair strands out of your face. "I'm Y/N."

"Y/N.." he repeated in almost a mere murmur, eyes shrinking a little bit and smirk of his disappearing. You weren't sure why, but he seemed to stop for a second, thinking for some moments as if your name was some sort of surreal and magical thing or unreal beauty. His gaze met yours as he spoke again. "You have a pretty name." he said. You felt butterflies rising in your stomach, a smile forming on your lips as you quickly looked to the other side, unable to meet his eyes for some moments. You didn't know if it was because of the way he said it, how he looked like while saying it, or because you never got complimented about it in the first place. But those simple words coming out of his mouth were enough to make you feel like this. "Thank you." you said almost breathlessly. You wondered if he noticed the effect he had on you at that moment, but to your surprise, it seemed like he didn't.

Both of you started to talk about each other, and you told him a little bit about you- how you recently moved away from your parent's constant grip on you, how you were attending university and finally free. You talked and talked about your special interests, hobbies, favorite movies, and tv shows, and whenever you would start wondering if you were annoying him, he let you know that he was in the moment, he was listening and he cared- all with his gaze and subtle movement of his head as if telling you to "keep going, don't stop, I'm invested. I care." He also told you about himself- turned out the rumors were right on the divorce and kid situation. He separated from his ex-wife a few months before and had lost custody of his only son, Megumi, after she tried so hard to make Toji look bad and won. All he could do was see his son every once in a while with supervised visits. He didn't have any other family apart from him, but he was coping- moved to the town you lived in and decided to start again. You told him how bad you felt for him, that you'd be there if he ever needed anyone to talk to, and he appreciated it.

You quickly switched the topic, trying to lighten the mood in the room. As both of you kept talking, you started to notice some things- the way he had this.. interesting demeanor around him, the way he paid complete attention and focus when you spoke and maintained eye contact, the way he spoke so smoothly yet carried this rasp with it. You didn't want to look like a creep, but he was just.. different. He seemed different. Of course, you didn't want him to notice the way you were starting to look at him, the way your eyes sometimes trailed off to his lips, how you sometimes found yourself playing with your nails nervously. Every time you liked someone, it always ended up in you having a broken heart. You never dated anybody, never kissed, never held hands. All of that was just a dream- something you'd read in a romance book or watched on the TV. Every single guy didn't seem to like something about you, there was always something that prevented them from seeing you in another light. "You're too chubby" "You're not my type" "I'm not interested in dating right now".. always alone, always the ugly friend or the comedic relief but never the pretty one. Besides, throwing yourself to a recently divorced man, an older man who had a kid, wasn't the most morally correct thing to do. You weren't that desperate, that low, that- "Hi, what."

A voice suddenly interrupted you. Toji's voice. He was staring at you, arms crossed. He was trying to figure you out, trying to understand the expression you had on your face, what were you thinking about for so long that you didn't realize you'd been staring directly into his eyes with an almost dreamy look for the past 15 minutes. "Hm?" you asked, blinking as if you'd just woken up from a long dream, staring confused. Shit shit shit. "Stop looking at me like that." He said with a tone that was so monotone it was hard to read. Was he angry? Puzzled? Happy? You didn't know. Your eyes widened, fingers fidgeting with each other as you attempted to act natural, to make him think it was all in his imagination. Yeah, that would work. "Like wwhat?" You asked with a kind smile, maintaining eye contact to show confidence, though you stammered in the middle. He sighed and looked at you up and down so quickly you didn't even notice he did. "Like that, like you're waitin' for something." He continued, making a motion with his head towards you as if stating the obvious- which pretty much was with the way you were acting. "Keep looking at me like that and see where that gets you."

You didn't move, you didn't stop looking at him. You probably looked so pathetic right now, so strange- but you didn't know how to respond, lips parting as if wanting to say something, to tell him he was being delusional, but that would be a lie. Instead, only a short breath came out, no words. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, shaking his head a little as he stared to the side, placing a hand over his eyes. Fuck, you angered him, didn't you? He probably wouldn't speak to you ever again. He was probably thinking about you immature you were, how desperate, how much of a creep you were. "C'mere." Those were the last words you heard before his lips crashed into yours, bodies coming together and becoming one on that couch, one of his strong hands cradling the back of your head while the other brought you closer to him by pulling on your cute little apron, sitting you on his lap as if you weighted like a feather. You didn't squirm away, nor did you want to as you felt his lips travel to your neck and give it soft pecks. You almost felt hypnotized, in a lucid dream except for the sole fact that this was real, this was happening. Both of you forgot about the brownies. "Shit- you really want this?" He asked, lips leaving your neck as he stared at you. He was serious, asking you for permission before going any further as he held you. You nodded, bringing your lips to his and giving him a kiss. "Yes." And so, that was all he needed to hear.

You didn't exactly remember how you ended up sitting on the edge of the marbled kitchen isle, back arched and eyes shut close while you felt his lips and tongue explore your body and what felt like your soul, giving your neck, collarbone, arms, hands and then legs tiny little kisses and then bites and licks that made you part your lips and sigh as he moved lower and lower in a way that was so, oh, so painfully slow. In a swift motion, he lifted your dress and removed your white panties as he stood in front of you. You heard him say something, but he spoke in a whisper so you couldn't quite catch what he said. He placed the panties next to you and stared at you, breath hitching as if he'd just seen the most beautiful thing on earth. His arms held you on your hips, giving them a small squeeze. "Spread those legs for me." He ordered in a tone that was gentle yet firm. And of course, that's exactly what you did, spread them a little as your legs started to shake with a mix of nervousness and excitement, not knowing what would happen next. He seemed to notice because his eyes trailed down before meeting your eyes again. "Relax, let me take care of you." You felt like a cat got your tongue, so all you could do was nod before he kissed your legs, then your inner thighs, and then your cunt, giving it all his attention as he kissed and then You suddenly tensed in response to the unusual feeling, a soft gasp escaping your mouth. It felt so strange yet so good, an uncontrollable feeling of warmth and pleasure you couldn't quite put a name to. However, that stopped as he moved away to look at you. "You're so tense.." He said, voice trailing off and eyes looking to the side before they widened with a hint of realization. "You've done this before, right?" He asked, tone dead serious as he waited for an answer, mouth getting farther from your body yet his hands still holding you.

You quickly opened your eyes widely and you cursed yourself out in your mind. You should have told him you're a virgin the moment he started kissing you, but you didn't. You opened your mouth to speak, but you couldn't. He seemed to understand your point because he took a step behind and brushed his hair back "Fuck, I should have asked before I.." he sighed, shaking his head as he turned around. You sat up, closing your legs. "But I want to, I told you" you started, but he raised a hand before making a 'no' motion with one of his fingers, turning to stare at you. "Look, girls your age should be with boys their age. And besides, haven't your parents or friends told you your first time should be special and all of tha-" you suddenly cut him off, voice as firm as his. "boys my age don't look at me. And this is special to me." You said, crossing your arms. You didn't flinch when saying this, you truly meant every single word. He made a 'tch' sound and just stared at you for some moments, thinking. "Please?" You asked, naturally making a tiny little pout as you waited for his response. That seemed to convince him because as soon as you said that, he moved closer to you and used his hands to spread your legs before gently pushing you so that your back lay against the surface, him now standing between your legs. You gave him a silent thank you, and he kissed your inner thigh as a 'your welcome'. "Still, if you really want to do this, we're gonna have to do this a little differently." He whispered, taking a deep breath against your cunt, making your breath hitch. You gave him a small nod, and he started to slowly lick you again. Your hands found his hair, which you grabbed as you felt the unusual feeling of pleasure start to rise, eyes closing and lips parting with nothing but a breathless moan coming out of you. It felt so good, his tongue parting your folds and finding your sensitive clit as you wanted to close your legs but couldn't as he had a firm grip on them. ''ah- Toji..'' you moaned as he sucked and kissed, sucked and kissed and repeated while you squirmed beneath him, because of him. To say the view wasn't pretty would be the biggest lie he could ever tell- he was falling for you, he thought you were beautiful and the fact he was the one that was taking away your innocence.. he didn't want to admit how much that turned him on. He wanted you to feel pretty, to see yourself the way he was seeing you, to understand how fucking adorable you were. And so, with each lick, he gave you silent praises- that you were gorgeous, that you were doing so good for him. And he meant every word. He really did. ''I'm gonna put a finger inside, yeah?'' he whispered, almost out of breath as his hand moved to your clit, softly tapping on it before it moved to your pretty little hole. You gave him a quick yes, and slowly and carefully, his finger entered you. You made a small gasp both out of the sudden pain and pleasure, a reaction that was expected considering this was your first time. ''You alright?'' he asked you. He wanted you to be comfortable, he wanted to limit your pain as much he could. ''Yeah..yeah i'm okay.'' you replied. You wanted him to continue, and that's exactly what he did.

As his finger slid in and out of you slowly but starting to pick up a pace, you started to feel a burning heat inside, a rising pleasure so sharp your squirming grew and your moans became louder. You opened your mouth to speak, but only moans came out. Of course, he knew what that meant. And so, he started going faster, becoming more aggressive. Your legs were shaking, trying to close themselves when they couldn't, Toji's free hand caressing them as he kept going and going. And then- it happened. You felt free, released- as if the weight you had in your belly, the pressure, was leaving you. It felt so otherworldly, nothing compared to the feeling. Your breath quickened, toes curling and mouth opened as breathless moans escaped your lips. You simply weren't in control of your body anymore, or at least it felt like it. Toji watched your reactions as he grabbed one of your hands and kissed your knuckles softly, content with the fact he was the one making you react this way, making you feel pleasure like this for the first time ever. ''There you go, dove.'' he whispered as you calmed down, caressing your hand as a smirk started to form on his lips. ''That's a good girl.'' A smile immediately appeared on your lips, the heat on your body increasing even more as you heard his words. He had a way of speaking that he for sure knew what he was doing, and he wasn't shy about it. You liked that. You liked him, and in this moment, you could even say you loved him- though..that would probably be a bit too soon. He looked at you for some moments, simply admiring you. You looked beautiful- legs spread out, skin a bit red with the blush that had appeared, your cute dress up to your stomach. Truly divine.

A few moments later, you heard the noise of hands unbuckling a belt, his belt, dropping it to the floor and opening a plastic wrapper before taking off his boxers. He gently grabbed your legs, placed them comfortably over his shoulder as he gave them kisses. You knew what was about to happen, or at least thought you did, and you were ready. You were ready for him, willing to give your own soul for him at this point. He moved close to you until his lips were next to your ear so you could listen to him warn what he was about to do. Last chance, he said, before it was too late. You didn't move. You wanted him. And so, as careful and slow as he could, he slid his cock inside of you. He grunted as you tightened around him, and you moaned out his name, trying not to shout at that exact moment. He was big- huge even compared to you, but it felt fucking amazing, for both of you. Toji had to control every inch of his being not to fuck you restlessly right there, not to mark you so much that no man would ever dare to touch you, just him. You could say that, in that moment, he loved you. He started moving, sliding in an out of you as he took your virginity and claimed your body and soul. You were his, and he was yours. He groaned, moaning your name and like before, praising you. ''Look at me'' he ordered as he started to pick up his pace, gently using his thumb to lift your chin up. He wanted to see every reaction you made. ''There you go, you're taking me so well, hm?'' he praised between movement. As you started to feel the now familiar heat inside your tummy, you closed your eyes shut. ''Toji.. I..'' he started fucking you faster, kissing your cheek in response ''I know, m'too.'' he grunted. You almost clawed on his hand as you grabbed it tightly- you were so, so close. He kept going, in and out, in and out, in and out and repeat until both of you saw stars, until both of you collapsed together as one, as if you were no longer you- but Toji was you and you were Toji. And so, both of you had become one.

[mxauthor]

Dangerously In Love

Summary: The long awaited return of your boyfriend makes you realize how in love you are with him. Dangerously in love with him.

Word Count: 776

Warnings: heavy make-out, second person pov, gender neutral reader, inspired by Beyonce's Dangerously In Love

A/N: I'm not sure how much of it makes sense or if it's even like logical. Literally just cooked this up 45 mins ago because i kept thinking about the 'dangerously in love' trend that was on tiktok like a month ago. But hope you enjoy nonetheless.

To say that Y/n was obsessed with Spencer Reid would be an understatement.

Well not obsessed in the bad way. But in the way where you’re so irrevocably in love with him that any chance you get you’re all over him loving him in the best way possible. 

Spencer had just recently gotten home from a 2 week long case in Nevada. The serial killer in question kept real close to his pattern and didn’t devolve until his main stressor had died. But in the end they had caught him and convicted him with no error. 

So when it was 10 pm on a Thursday and Hotch was kind enough to give them that Friday to rest Spencer had never been more delighted to drag his feet through his shared apartment to find you sitting on the couch watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy he’s never felt more at home. 

He toed off his shoes to then place them on the shoe rack that came with you when you moved in. He then took off his messenger bag and placed it on the ground before rounding the couch to sit next to you. 

Now, you weren’t a profiler by any means. Just a simple bookstore owner, but you’ve always had a knack for knowing when your space wasn’t just yours alone. 

So when you heard the front door unlock and open, you knew that your baby was home. You listened to him settle himself back into your home before listening to him approach you.

Spencer looked amazing. He didn’t think so, but having missed him for 2 weeks you couldn’t stop yourself from drinking him in. Said man only meant to bend down and give you a few kisses, a greeting of sorts. But you, you didn’t want to let him go.

So when Spencer bent down from his tall height to kiss your lips, you were quick to pull him into you, causing him to collapse onto the couch to devour him. 

Spencer knew you missed him, the late night phone calls and the constant text messages were enough evidence to prove it. But he must have miscalculated how much you actually missed him. 

Your body had been angled on the couch so one leg was extended and the other was bent in half, but with the added person, your body had shifted enough to accommodate him to where he was pulled onto lap. Spencer was quick enough to catch most of himself from completely falling on top of you. 

But you couldn’t care less. 

Your lips continued to devour Spencer’s. Pulling his lips (mainly the bottom one) into your mouth again and again. Pulling oxygen in with every pull. Making it so he couldn’t pull away at any moment. 

Spencer, who had missed you just as much, kissed back with just as much force. His hand that wasn’t responsible for holding his body weight had cupped the back of your neck to angle your neck up a bit more so he could deepen the kiss. 

His tongue began to dance with yours as you slid your body down the couch so you could make the man you love place his body weight on top of you. He followed suit, leaning down enough to have his chest against yours. Spencer placed his free hand against your waist, grabbing the soft flesh there. 

You began making a move of turning over so you could look down at the masterpiece before you. Your hands, which had been wrapped around his neck and playing ruthlessly with his beautiful hair, dragged themselves down his chest. Feeling everything about him that you’ve missed. 

Spencer was the one to pull back enough to grab a deeper breath of air. His brown eyes glossed over with love. His lips were swollen and glossy. You continued to kiss him, the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw, his Adam's apple, the sides of his neck, his collar bones.

His scent alone was driving you mad, the feeling of him just within your hold was enough to satisfy you. 

Seeing his face was enough to make your heart sing. To love him, to hold him, to feel him, to breathe him in, to live him. 

You were dangerously in love with him. Obsessed with him. Enraptured with him. 

You sat back on your calves. Looking and the beauty beneath you. His tousled hair, his swollen and glossy lips, his lidded eyes. 

Your Spencer, looking at you like you were a deity. 

Only for him to see the same look within your eyes. 

“I’m so in love with you.” 

So very dangerously in love.

[rowretro]

𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘𝖘'𝖘 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖔𝖗

✧warnings: yandere/toxic themes, stalker won, violence and Gory scenes. 

♡synopsis: Yang Jungwon, the campus crush, tall, handsome, and seemingly innocent to many. Hence no one knew how dangerous he truly was. However you knew, and you couldn’t tell a single soul. The man you assumed to be a sweet social butterfly with dimples like wells you’d find yourself falling through, was dangerously obsessed with you.

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She didn’t hear the commotion at first, as her earphones were on a high volume, but when she saw the crowd of students looking so traumatized, horrified, some even running to the restroom to throw up, Y/n knew something was up. She arrived just as the teachers did, police officers were yet to come and investigate the bloody mess left behind in the science class. Was there perhaps a new serial killer in their neighborhood?!

The victim had multiple slits on his neck, the blade resting in his cold, dead hand. His eyeballs were also stabbed into. She backed away, not wanting to see it anymore. That boy was none other than Xiaojun, one of the seniors who had been hitting on her for a while now. Y/n gripped onto her chest wondering what could’ve happened, a little sense of guilt left behind as she remembered her last words to was to tell him to fuck off. 

Jungwon smirked to himself when no one saw. He was the only one who knew. His father had connections to many gangs, he’s off the hook. He knew what happened. He’s the one who had a strong grip on Xiaojun’s wrists, making him stab his eyeballs for staring at what’s his. He’s the one who forced the dying man to draw bloody lines on his neck, making sure he was out of the picture. Y/n didn’t feel anything for Xiaojun anyway, he was annoying, none of the girls liked him as he was practically a playboy. So not many people really cared too much for him.

Eventually the police took over, taping the scene, securing any evidence and questioning the students. Jungwon was used to these by now Handling them like a pro, the police didn’t suspect him one bit. “Y/n? You ok?... you seem a little upset-” Jungwon asked as he gently caressed the girl’s back. “Oh it’s nothing, just… do you think he’d come back and haunt me???” she asked as Jungwon frowned “Just because you rejected him? I’m sure his ghost won’t even make it on earth- stop overthinking-” he said as the girl sighed.

That night Y/n walked to the cafe, despite it being pretty late at night. Jungwon wasn’t too far behind. His figure and shadow hidden in the darkness. She made his job a lot easier, the way you didn’t turn back once, ignoring the fact that you may be followed. Y/n entered the cafe Jungwon, watched from afar, making sure no one was there to steal her from him. To his luck, she was alone. Heck she even walked out alone, into that dark, alleyway that hand no cameras purely because it was a very easy shortcut to her home.

3 years of stalking his princess and he finally got the chance to take her home, driving his Koenigsegg in the middle, blocking her path. The girl frowned, then saw Jungwon. “I’m taking you home.” he simply said. As y/n just frowned. Why would he offer a ride to her? It’s not like they knew each other well, and she was closer to her home anyway. “No need, I’m only 3 minutes away from my house” she reassured as Jungwon laughed. “Oh sweetheart… I meant OUR home.” he said with a smirk, forcefully yanking her in before pushing a cloth drenched in a drowsy med to her face.

Everything seemed like a blur to her. Y/n woke up in a rather unfamiliar room. Her back met with the comfort of the plush, white silk sheets, and soft mattress, a blindingly beautiful chandelier in the center of the room. She couldn’t move. Her hands cuffed to the headboard. Her uniform was replaced with much more comfortable pajamas, the kind she could never afford. “You’re up darling?” a voice called. The girl stared in shock. It was indeed Jungwon. Yang Jungwon, the sweet, innocent, handsome man, now standing before her, dressed in his gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt.

“Jungwon?... why what? Why?!!!” she managed to ask, though it wasn’t exactly the question she wanted to asked. “Calm down, calm down. Yes yes, I was the one who murderred all those whores, Yes I’ve been keeping a close eye on you and protecting you from all harm, but it seems impossible to keep you safe out there… so I can keep you here, in my palance my princess.” He said with a smile as she just stared in utter shock. However she knew better than to mess with him. This is a new side to him, a dangerous side that no one would ever expect. Y/n had to play it safe with this man, she doesn’t want to end up being his next victim. 

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[acriminalmind]

The Housewife Killer

GN Serial Killer Reader x Housewife Wanda Maximoff

Summary: They call you the housewife killer as all of your victims are housewives, but your own sweet housewife has absolutely nothing to worry about...

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Dark themed fic, murder, blood, slight torture (with a knife), death list, manipulation, fluff, soft (not very detailed) smut.

Let me know what you think.

Enjoy!

AN: Should I post a sneak peek of Songs From the Wood?

Tears stream down her face as you drag the knife over her collarbone. Blood trickles down her body. Her breaths are shallow as she experiences gruesome pain. The white sleeping gown she had worn earlier that night had been torn off of her body and was, covered with various blood stains on it, thrown onto the concrete floor. The ropes around her wrists and ankles that kept her on the uncomfortable chair cut into her skin. Her voice had become raspy from all the screaming and begging she had done. Barely any sound came from it at this point, except from soft whimpering. She hadn't seen any danger when she had let you, her 'friendly' neighbor, inside.

One moment she walked to her kitchen to brew you some fresh coffee and the other moments you had her in a chokehold until she fell unconscious in your arms. You had dragged her to her basement where you took place on the washing machine, waiting for her to wake up so you could start your 'fun' time together. Another almost unhearable plea left her dry mouth. "Pleading won't make me stop, Honey. It will only make it more fun for me," You say as you cut into her arm. You made sure she wouldn't bleed out before you were done with her. She would die when you allowed her to. You circled around her like a predator would with a wounded prey, taking in your newest masterpiece. You twirled the blood-covered knife in your gloved hand before taking your stand behind her. She tensed as she felt your hand on her shoulder. The knife was pressed against her neck and as it slowly was pushed into her skin she cried with the last energy left in her weak body, "Y-you don't h-have to do this…" For a second you stopped your ministrations. You pulled the knife away from her neck and made your way around her. Kneeling down in front of her you grabbed her chin so she would look you in the eye when you talked to her. "That's where you are wrong, Geraldine. I do have to do this. She said your name." It was silent for a moment. The last sentence spins through her head. It was hard for her to think clearly, her eyes soon widened at the realization of who you were talking about. Who had said her name. "

Earlier that evening...

"Give me a name…" you whisper in her ear while you slowly thrust into her. With her arms and legs draped around you, Wanda holds your sweaty body tight against her own, not wanting to have any space between the two of you. She wants to feel your soft skin against her own while you make sweet love to her. Her head is thrown back into her pillow, with her eyes closed and mouth wide open while letting out the most beautiful noises. You kiss her neck, leaving multiple hickeys while patiently waiting for her answer. Different names go through Wanda's head. From Agatha who had 'accidentally' cut off her precious rosebushes, to Dottie who always gives her the worst book club tasks to take care of. Wanda felt herself getting closer as you move your hand in between your bodies to rub small circles on her clit. Her moans get louder with each second while your thrusts stay firm and steady. She knows you won't let her drop over the edge until she spills out a name. As she can feel her orgasm reach it hits her. Her eyes shoot open. Her green orbs stare at the ceiling while clawing your back as she says, "Geraldine". She can feel you smile against her neck before you say, "Good girl." You give her a few hard and coordinated thrusts until Wanda screams beneath you in euphoria. You help her ride out her orgasm before pulling out. Wanda lets out a soft whine at the loss of contact, but she knows that you'll be back in her arms soon, even if it's just for a short time before you take care of her 'problems'. You clean her up before taking your place beside her on the comfortable bed, pulling Wanda closer until she lays half on top of you. She can hear your rapid heartbeat as she plays with the wedding band on your left hand. "I love you," Wanda says half out of breath. You look down at her while playing with her red, curly hair. "I love you too, my love." Wanda wants to stay awake, she wants you to spend the night safe and sound in your shared bed. The moment she falls asleep she knows you'll leave. She knows she has nothing to worry about because you're always two steps ahead of the police and you always make sure to leave no trace behind that would lead them to you, but still. Before she can worry more sleep overtakes her and sends her on her way to dreamland. An hour later you silently leave the warm bed to get yourself ready to kill your next victim. Geraldine.

But not before you place a kiss on Wanda's lips with the silent promise that she has nothing to worry about.

"Wanda… It's all about Wanda…" A creepy grin overtakes your features as you watch her process the revelation. "She deserves a peaceful and happy life after everything she's been through. You don't bring peace or happiness so you need to go." Letting go of her face you get on your feet and walk back to stand behind her, placing the knife on her throat, "Bye-bye, Geraldine…". With one swift motion, you cut through her artery. Blood spurts out of her neck, decorating her wall. You make sure not to get any stray drops on you. After cleaning every piece of evidence that could lead the cops to you up, you look back at the pale body that stared back at you with dead eyes one more time before leaving the crime scene to go back home where your own little housewife was still peacefully asleep.

-

The next morning Wanda wakes up and smiles as she feels your muscular arms around her waist. She looks at the time and sees she has an hour left before book club starts. She rolls her eyes at the thought of Dottie complaining to her about how she could have done a better job at doing her tasks. Thankfully, soon that will be over... The corners of her mouth go up, forming a sinister smile as she thinks about the horrendous fate you will give Dottie. She carefully turns around so she faces your sleeping form. As she strokes your hair, red strings of magic leave her fingers to go into your mind.

-

Onto the Next!

-

Masterlist

[bearhugsandshrugs]

Wet your Throat – Rugan/Tav

Tav had a stressful week and longs to just surrender control. Luckily for her, Rugan has some ideas and a specific scroll he'd been meaning to try out.

AO3 here | Tags:

Tav fell down into the chair with a heavy sigh. 

“I can’t believe I had to solve a serial killer’s case on top of everything else”, she exhaled. “I swear, sometimes it’s like I’m the only one people listen to.”

Rugan chuckled from across the room, making his way over to lean down and give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “That’s because you’re incredibly competent at your job”, he smirked, “and you got that swaggery attitude those tossers respect.”

“Swaggery attitude? Sounds more like you”, Tav grinned back. “But thank you.” 

She pulled him closer for another kiss, her hands immediately starting to wander across his body: his lean muscles, the soft belly and his strong abs, his calloused hands… Ever since they’d started seeing each other she couldn’t get enough of him, and luckilyr, he felt the same about her.

“Maybe you should take a day or two off”, Rugan murmured, sliding his hands underneath her shirt. His hands felt rough against her softer skin, but she craved his touch, craved the prickling sensation that gave her goosebumps every time his hands brushed over her breasts. His mouth found the side of her neck in a completely unfair motion – he knew that she was weak for him sucking at her skin there. “And let me take care of you.”

Tav hummed into his touch. “I mean…” Her thoughts trailed off for a moment when his hands wandered up to her breasts, tenderly squeezing. “We’re waiting on a few things… maybe I could…” She let her head fall back when he rolled her nipple between his fingers, a shaky breath coming out of her mouth. 

Rugan chuckled, his low voice clearly amused. “I have an idea”, he suggested with a sultry undertone, nibbling at her throat before pulling away, looking at her expectantly. “But it requires a bit of trust.”

Tav sat up straight. The way he said it was intriguing and sent a shiver down her spine. Over the past weeks Rugan had increasingly come out of his shell and shown her more and more of what he was into. Their sex had gotten rougher, and in turn, better, as Tav discovered she absolutely loved getting told what to do, and how to do it, and when to do it; blindly following his wishes all in an effort to please him. When they were together she wasn’t the revered hero, nor he the experienced smuggler. They just were.

“I’m listening”, she grinned with excitement, and Rugan returned her expression with a smirk. 

“Two things”, he said, standing back up to walk over to a shelf, pulling out a scroll. “First: Tell me if things get too much, so I can stop and use the counter.” He flipped through some papers, then held up another spell. “And second: Take your fucking clothes off.”

Tav swallowed. She hadn’t expected them to start right away – not that she minded. But it was unexpected. 

“Didn’t you say you had work to do–”

“Making me repeat myself?” Rugan’s voice was low and dangerous, exactly how she loved it, and Tav wetted her lips before starting to undo the laces of her shirt without further comment. It took her only a few moments until she stood there, completely naked, waiting for whatever was next. 

The Zhent let his gaze fall over her body, an unreadable expression on his face. She knew that decades of practice let him slip on that mask easily, way more easily than she could, and every time he looked at her like he didn’t give a damn, heat pooled down between her legs. 

Rugan held up one of the scrolls and started reading: A low chant, and rather long compared to other scrolls she knew, and his forehead laid in creases as he focused on the words. And then, she felt it: Her breasts started to… swell. From the outside they barely expanded, but they felt plumper, fuller. Tense, as if waiting for release. 

“Fuck”, she breathed out in surprise, “What was that?”

“Don’t remember asking you to speak”, Rugan dismissed her, sitting down at the table, the documents he’d been working on before she arrived still laid out in front of him. “Come here. And be a good lass and bring me that scarf.” 

Tav tentatively touched her breast, trying to figure out what the spell had done – if he wanted to enlarge them it barely worked – and moaned out in surprise when her core clenched at the sensation.

Her breast was wet. Was she… leaking?

“Tav.” Rugan’s voice was half warning, half charm, and Tav hurried through the room to grab the scarf from the side table.

When she walked up to him he unbuttoned his trousers, took out his fully erect cock, and patted his lap.

“Take a seat, why don’t you?”, he demanded, eyes sparkling. 

Gods, yes. Tav noticed she was soaked, her body having dialed up the arousal within mere moments, and when she climbed on his lap to sink down on him, his cock slid into her with ease.

“Fuck”, she groaned and started to roll her hips into him, eager to please. But his hands stopped her. 

“Sit still”, he murmured, taking the scarf out of her hands. He tied it around her eyes, blindfolding her, before reaching around to bring her arms behind her back, tying them up with the leftover fabric. 

Tav gasped. She couldn’t see and she couldn’t move. She was stuck, sitting on his cock.

Rugan shifted underneath her, leaning forward. Tav smiled, expecting him to meet her mouth with his, or maybe her throat, but instead, he reached for the papers and, from what it sounded like, started working on his documents.

A soft gasp flew out of Tav’s throat when she realized what he was doing, and she heard him chuckle in response.

“Good lass”, he praised her, “Always been a quick one to catch on.”

Her body felt like it was on fire. The constant swell in her breasts made her flush with need, and his thick cock buried inside of her did little to ease the tension without either of them moving. Every sensation felt heightened as she couldn’t see nor move, and when her walls clenched around him she let out a moan, surprised by just how aroused she was.

Rugan chuckled with a low voice and ran his free hand over her back in a soothing motion. They sat there for at least an hour, with Tav’s body steadily climbing towards a high just from the way her tits felt and his cock twitched, and when he shuffled the papers and set them away she was already panting.

“Work makes me thirsty”, he murmured, sucking at her throat. “Good of you to offer me a refreshment.”

He pushed her chest backwards until she was leaning into his arm. His mouth closed around her right nipple, tongue softly lapping. Tav groaned. Her breasts felt like they were going to burst, full and needing release. 

But then, he… sucked. 

An orgasm crashed over her so quickly she didn’t know what was happening, only that she was helplessly shuddering in his arms on his cock. Rugan sighed and kept sucking, and only when Tav’s body was calming after her high did she realize that he was swallowing something. From her. He was drinking from her.

“What’s happening?” Tav whimpered, already feeling her body respond to Rugan’s mouth anew. The breast he was drinking from ached with need, mixed with sweet release, edging her on the more he sucked at it. 

“Fuck, you taste so good.” She couldn’t see his face, but she heard him groan out praise with her flesh still between his teeth. Her hips had started to move on their own, grinding into him. Down in her cunt, his cock was still rock hard, and Rugan grunted when she rolled her waist into him with more and more lust. 

He brought his mouth to her other breast, eager to repeat the process there: His hands dug into her ass, pulling her body against his, and as soon as the tension in her tit found release by spilling into his mouth, Tav came again. This time, she moaned so loudly she was sure the neighbors heard, and Rugan chuckled between swallowing, sucking out more and more of the juices that flowed from her tits down his throat. 

Tav’s head fell over, uselessly resting against Rugan’s. 

“I could sit here all day”, he sighed, exhaling deeply. “Having you come on my cock again and again, just like that, tight and ready, not knowing what is happening”, he chuckled. “I could invite the Zhentarim here for a meeting and have them watch you shudder with release without you any the wiser. I could… ah–” 

He stood up from the chair, pushing it backwards in the process, his arms steadying her legs and body before setting her down on the table. Tav blinked uselessly against the blindfold, paralyzed, and now on top of everything she was lying on her own arms. Rugan was still buried inside her, but he started to slowly pump in and out, languidly moving his hips while his hands wandered up to her breasts, squeezing them both. 

Wetness drooled down her breasts and the feeling of release made her clit twitch with need while she sobbed out a curse. 

“Such beautiful tits”, Rugan murmured, pulling out slowly before slamming into her with full force. “So tasty, and juicy, and needy.” 

Tav mewled at the praise, her entire body on fire. It felt like there was a direct connection from her nipples down to her core, and every time her tits were caressed, or sucked at, new waves of pleasure threatened to drag her under. 

Rugan started fucking her in earnest, slamming into her cunt so needily that the breath temporarily left Tav’s lungs. “I could have you sit on my cock all day”, he grunted between thrusts, “wet and clenching like a slut, while I ignore you.”

Another set of moans escaped her throat at the thought. The past hour had been torturous, but oh so good, and she longed to warm is cock within her walls, serve him, be good for him, while he was working. 

“Please”, Tav sobbed, “You can use me however you want.”

“Oh”, Rugan chuckled, “I will.” 

He slapped her tit without warning, and the sudden pain mixed with the tension of the spell, making her come on the spot. Tav’s walls spasmed around his cock as she came undone, again and again in quick succession, and he moaned at the feeling of her cunt tightening around him. Picking up his pace he kept fucking her, and as soon as she’d come down from her high he slapped her other tit, making her come all over again. 

Wetness had started to spurt out of her with every orgasm, and his balls were dripping with her juices, slapping against her ass while he pounded into her. There wasn’t anything on Tav’s mind. There was no space. Each time she calmed, he slapped her again, or pinched her nipple, or bent down to suck, and each time she came again, so often her throat hurt from the strain of her vocal cords. 

When he finally pushed himself over the edge he grabbed her tits with both hands, squeezing and digging, making her milk out his seed while her cunt constricted around him. Tav cried out, tears leaking out of the sides of her blindfold. Her arms, still bound behind her back, were numb, her legs were trembling, and her tits hurt in a delicious pain that continued to stir at her core. 

Eventually, Rugan sighed, picked her up, and sat back down on the chair, his cock still in her. 

“Such a good girl”, he whispered before kissing her. He gently pulled her forward so she could rest against his head and his shoulders, panting heavily. “Wait here”, he chuckled. “I have some more work to do.”

[omniscient-wanderer-of-worlds]

Strength | Banda Sunato

Pairing: Banda Sunato x Fem!Reader

Author's note: Hi, my exams are not over yet haha, but I'll just drop this here for those interested.

I try to make it readable as a standalone fic but there is a part 1 and (part 2).

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Weird relationship (it's Banda, a serial killer), Violence? (Still aib), potential spelling/grammar mistakes? And soft Banda idk, suggestive themes but no mature content

Summary: Banda Sunato takes his girl to the Jack of Hearts game and is impressed by her strength.

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

You were falling. A pit formed in your stomach from the suddden height difference you were experiencing and it left you wondering if this is what one of those attractions at the amusement park felt like. You only knew that people descibed it as moving down in the elevator and felt that this was indeed an accurate analogy.

You hadn’t willingly dropped youself off the edge of the building, but were trying to escape the other player who had tried to steal your key and you fiercly hoped Banda knew that as well. Well, you weren’t really in any danger anyway, you thought to yourself. Luck is always on your side, right?

And sure enough, your dress got caught by a street light hanging from the side of the building, which slowed down your fall. You threw a glance beneath you and sighed at the moment of impact. A convenient a trash container filled with soft trash bags allowed you to survive without a scratch again.

“Thanks”, you said out loud to no one in particular.

You looked around. Now the real issue is going to be trying to get out of the container and back into the building without touching the floor. Though you had faith in your unrealistic luck, you knew the rules of the game and were not going to test your luck either.

The main problem was that someone did take away the key that you had to find, meaning you had to find another one if you wanted to leave the premise alive again.

And just as you thought about it, a key fell into your lap. You couldn't help but laugh. Someone up there was really overdoing it huh. It's kind getting unfair at this point, you thought amusedly right before a rope dropped into your lap.

You looked up in surprise. “Sunato!” You happily exclaimed when you saw his head hanging out the window.

“There’s four minutes left, hurry up and tie it around your waist.”

“I knew I’d be fine,” was the first this that left your mouth when Banda pulled you inside through the window. His hands stayed in a firm grip around your wrist but he shrugged.

“I know. You wouldn’t leave me.” He stated in a whisper in your ear when he leaned in to undo the knot in the rope around your waist.

“Where did you get this new key from? Did you find it or steal it?” You couldn’t help but ask. He smiled. “Whichever makes you sleep better tonight.” He answered humorously, looking down on you. You swatted his chest with a frown.

“Not the old lady though, right?”

“No, that would upset you.” He reassured you.

You huffed and grabbed his hand. “You better know it.”

He lead you out the room the same way he got in. Across several chairs, a table, a matrass laying on the floor, a dead body that you recognised as the guy who stole your key, and then onto the handrail of the stairs to slide to the floor below.

You held your breath and pulled up your feet, careful to not let the strange synthetic material of the game-specific shoes go within an inch of the floor where you could see a sheen of red light of lasers.

You didn’t really know what this relationship was between you and Banda, you realised while walking away from the game venue in silence, still hand in hand with him. You were partners, as he called it. He’d made it pretty clear two months ago that you were to stay by his side because you were his. In return he kept his promise and introduced a variety of things to you. Lots of things happened in the past two months and despite everything, you stayed.

Even after getting the opportinity to leave when you were both taken to some warehouse by the brother of one of Banda’s victims in the real world. The unknown man had let you go after beating you up and ‘confirming’ that you were just Banda’s next victim. You’d played along, walking out with a relieved face and then came back with a gun. You weren’t planning on killing anyone, just wanted to scare them.

When Banda was released however, he had ripped the gun from your hands, turned you to face him to pull you into a kiss, and pulled the trigger. You’d been upset with him for a while and he'd sworn to you that he had only killed the guy for your sake.

Everything was for you. Killing the innocent lady because she was slowing everyone down, including you. Killing the two creepy men because he sensed that they made you uncomfortable. Killing the person that tried to stab him, not for attempted murder on him, because that person tried to take him away from you.

In a sick way, it made you feel safe and cared for. So of course you stayed. And though you weren’t sure of what your relationship with Banda was exactly, you were happy, you decided.

You were slumped half on top of him, your face in the crook of his neck. He had one arm wrapped around you while the other was drawing circles on your bare back. “Why is it so noisy outside?” you grumbled.

Gunshots? No, it's more... sparkly. After taking a moment to let your brain wake up as well, you sat up straight. “Is that firework?” You asked Banda, and glanced down at him to see that he was enjoying looking at your chest. You covered yourself with your arms and opened your mouth to repeat the question when he answered.

“Someone cleared the 10 of hearts game. They announced that the next stage of face cards will start at 12 noon tomorrow.” His eyes flickered across your face and he was pleased to note your excitement which matched his own.

You jumped up from the bed and ran to the window to admire the fireworks lighting up the sky. The view from this hightower apartment was perfect. “Sunato, do I get to pick the first game?” You asked and pleadingly looked at him.

He’d gotten up as well and was standing behind you, chest pressed to your back. “Which one interests you?” He asked before he dipped his head down to your neck to start a trail of kisses. His lips curled up in a smile when you responded.

“We could start with a jack of hearts.”

You slept until you heard loud bangs. This time it was gunshots for sure. Banda looked alert and you quickly slipped on a new unripped dress while Banda went to grab a knife from the kitchen. When you looked to your left, you saw a card move by. The king of spades?

You made the mistake of walking towards the window and looked out it. Before you could even register the enormous blimp moving past the building, you were met with a barrage of bullets.

Despite having closed your eyes, moved your arms in front of your face and having ducked, your eyes were stinging with pain.

Banda, who heard the gunshots, followed by your screams, ran in while avoiding bullets and grabbed you under your arms. He proceeded to practically drag you across the floor to another room.

Banda grabbed your face despite your whimpering. There was glass in your hair and you had gashes all over your face. Some were quite deep like the one across your eyelids with more pieces of glass stuck inside them. Blood was dripping from your wounds into your eyes.

He quickly scanned you up and down to check for bullet wounds andd when he found none, he shook his head in relief. He then chuckled. Despite everything, your dress was still spotless.

"My eyes feel like they're getting stabbed", you choked out.

Banda nodded, not that you'd be able to see it, and went to wipe your face clean as best as he could. The king of spades had stopped firing at the apartment. He probably moved on to find new targets.

Banda opened your eyes forcibly and saw that they were bloodshot. You jerked your head out of his grasp and clamped your eyes shut again.

The gash on your eyelid had reopened when you opened your eyes and blood started seeping into your eyes again.

"I'm going to wrap bandages around your head. Keep your eyes close." He instructed and you did as he told you. "It's going to be alright though, isn't it Sunato?" You asked, trying to get some reassurance.

"I'm not a doctor." He said. Well there goes faith.

Unbothered Banda continued. "We need to make way towards the jack of hearts venue. We'll be safe from the king of spades there."

You shook your head. "I can't see though, I'm going to be a bother." You felt him grasp your hand and he pulled you up.

"I promised you that you're safe with me. Trust me." He said. "This just makes things more interesting, alright?"

You thought about it for a moment. "Well if you put it like that," you laughed. "I guess you're right. It's a new experience for sure."

Banda sqeezed your hand in agreement and as if to say he was impressed by your ability to stay strong. Your hold onto his hand tightened as he lead you to the streets in the direction of the blimp wiith the jack of hearts card.

Even though you'd seen death before and weren't nearly as bothered by it as you should be, he found comfort in the fact that you couldn't see the scattered bodies across the street.

"Are we there?" you asked. The two of you had stopped walking. "What does it look like."

"It's a prison. This will make for an interesting game." He said and you could hear him smirk. Banda pulled you along. "Let's go."

The voice registered you two entering and started giving out instructions. Despite the bandages that covered your eyes, the phone was still able to go through with facial recognition.

With the collars in place, you and Banda moved up to the central area.

"Guess the suit on the back of your collar after each round." The voice explained and you whipped your head into Banda's direction. "I will try to open my eyes and tell you your suit." You immediately said to him.

"No". He immediately interjected. "It's going to be fine. You're a human lucky charm after all."

You nodded your head and listened to the rest of the explainations of the game. When it ended, people immediately started to group up and you were starting to get anxious again. How was Banda going to guess his suit correctly?

Just as you were stressing about it, a voice behind you interrupted your thought process.

"She can't tell you your suit so I'll tell you yours if you tell me mine."

You frowned and were about to ask him who he thinks he is for adressing Banda so directly and impolitely, but Banda spoke up before you could.

He let go of your hand and stepped forwards to what you guessed was the new guy. Though you disliked the guy's tone, you hoped Banda would accept his help as he needed someone to tell him his suit. You released your breath when he did.

Banda introduced you as his partner and the guy introduced himself as Matsushita. They told you your suit and started to tell eachother their suits.

"I'm going to get something to eat" you announced and put a few steps into a random direction when you realised you had no idea where you were walking to. It had been a while since you've been this helpless, you thought to yourself bitterly. So when Banda put his hand on your lower back to guide you, you snapped at him. Annoyed because it reminded you of your life before the borderlands. Always men in suits guiding you back inside the building, watching your every move.

"I'm sorry Sunato" you immediately apologized afterwards. "I wanna go on my own." You explained and he seeemed to understand. "Follow the wall to your left. Keep going straight." He simply replied. You nodded and walked off.

"These cookies are really good." You heard coming from beside you. You hadn't realised you sat down at a table next to someone else. You felt the stranger push a package of cookies in your hand.

"Thanks." You said, gratefully.

Thinking about it, you hadn't actually conversed with anyone in the past month except for Banda.

You nodded his way as a thank you and got up. Before you could leave the room, he called after you. "You should disinfect those wounds. Wash out your eyes and get rid of the glass. It's also better not to cover your eyes with a bandage, let it breathe." Chishiya didn't know why he said that. Maybe because you seemed familiar. He'd ponder about that one for a while.

You followed his advise and had Banda help you. It benefited you to walk around without bandages because you were able to discern light and dark.

When the hour passed, Banda walked you to a cell. "Sunato" you called to him. "See you in a moment." You felt a pat on your head in response.

"Well then, please state your suit."

You sighed relaxedly. You trusted Banda so this was easy for you. "Diamond."

For a second nothing happened and then the door behind you buzzed. You stepped back, stumbled over your own feet and fell the the floor. "Fuck" you whispered as you got up and hopped on your right leg while you clutched your left ankle.

The door behind you was ripped open. Before you could turn around and ask who it was, you felt Banda hold you. His heart was beating fast and you realised you must've worried him by not exiting immediately.

"I knew I'd be fine." You said and turned around to him. "You wouldn't leave me."

Banda grabbed you by your neck, pressed his lips against yours aggressively and pushed you against the wall, his other hand on the back of your head to brace the impact.

You reciprocated the kiss and wrapped your arms around him, while his moved and lifted your dress up. His hands roamed your body and finally settled on your sides, pressing himself against you.

Matsushita had seen Banda rush in your cell and was now patiently waiting outside for the both of you. He jumped at the sounds that came from inside, and when he looked through the small gap in the door which confirmed his suspicions, his eyes widened before immediately averting them and hurrying away.

'So they're partner-partners', he thought to himself, and he shook his head, trying to shake the image away.

[wmarximoff]

tear you apart | w. maximoff

summary: sometimes when your morbid interests turn out to be too much to handle, you need Wanda to calm your spirits down.

warnings (18+): serial killer!reader, dark!Wanda, graphic depiction of dead body, somewhat graphic depiction of dismemberment, graphic depiction of blood, praise kink, strap-on sex, somnophilia, degradation, kinda dubcon, slight corruption/innocence kink, manipulation, toxic relationship, bottom!Wanda, top!reader.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 3k

A/N: btw this is my first time dealing with somnophilia so take it easy on me here ok!

|main masterlist| |spooktober masterlist| |series masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

Faced with the thick, damp, obscure darkness, you saw red. Warm crimson color vivid, flowing concentrated, or coagulated in extensive puddles located at specific points on the rough concrete floor of the low-ceilinged brick-walled basement permeated by a bochohornous climate, a stuffy, compact oxygen, difficult to breathe with the lungs.

You sighed, stagnant in a moment of deep latent esteem, like the artist who jokes about the final product of their masterpiece. Your will grew and sprouted and expanded. There was dark blood under your nails.

The metallic odor of hemoglobin and plasma rose higher and higher from the bowels of the earth like an invisible hand that entered your moist, half-open mouth, descending down your throat, consolidating itself into a single amalgamation of the aroma of lime and the compact smell of damp wood who took possession of the room lacking furniture, except for a small tin locker that could be pointed in one remote corner, or an even smaller scratched wooden table, smeared with heterogeneous streaks of brownish old blood, in another one.

Occasionally, gravity would trickle, from the ceiling straight down to near your left shoulder, particles of water from some probable plumbing that passed right over your head, over that scrawny, funneled yellow lamp that hung solitaryly from a dim and waning coloring that did not do much to brighten up the room that only seemed destined to be dark and excruciating.

Between the screwed-on fingers of both your hands pressed into fists (your knuckles covered in a grated layer of hot blood), your elbows dropped down from your hips like pendulums, stretching your forearms like the magnetism of a lodestone to the center of the earth as your palms pressed against the smooth wooden handle of a sharp-edged axe held just in front of your pelvic region, the metal plate of the tool's face soaked with red, fresh blood from a string of blows delivered voraciously against the hardness of the parietal bone of the human cranium.

Raising and lowering. Raising and lowering. Jets of blood sprayed up and to the sides, painting the walls red as hellfire. Moving your hips, your shoulders, your elbows; your knees bent, almost like a tennis match. Knead the skull. Guaranteed point.

You grunted like a predator tearing apart the carcass of your last prey when something bestial screeched primally in your degenerate core, returning to your untamed roots as you gave up your civilized goodwill to become something more, something beyond that; something beyond the experience of a human feel.

And the red, so clear and vivid and even sinisterly dangerous, was indeed alluring to your vision as it flowed in gulfs from a profuse cut on the back protrusion of the cracked skull, strangely deformed and crumpled, of a young girl with long dark hair lying inert on the dirty floor, locks soaked in that murky liquid that hardened the softness of those curls – her taut forearms drawn back behind her torso, her wrists clung irrefutably unpleasantly before her coccyx bone by a pair of silver handcuffs, face down like she fell there and dragged herself like a fish out of water away from you, like she couldn't get up before her head snapped in half.

The bloodied driver's license laid out on that little table in the corner said the name Jemma Anne Simmons. She was dressed only in a pair of matching underwear (the light lacy fabric splattered with dark blood and brain matter like red raindrops). The pupils of the dilated, brownish iris eyes seemed to want to pop out of their sockets; the forehead and face contorted in a tangle of expressions manifested by that faded stare (you could call it fear, but then also agony, pain, regret) that in the end no longer mean anything more.

A drop of sweat poured from your right temple and dripped to the floor between your feet, where the blood was already pooling. You held the oxygen inside your lungs before raising the blade behind your head once more, bringing it down fiercely against the back of the dead girl's neck. The sound was hollow and watery as the flesh split open, like a blade being driven into a pumpkin. Perhaps that was how Raskolnikov had felt when he hit the old woman in Crime and Punishment.

Taking them apart has always been the most exciting part. Disarticulating the bones from the joints, cutting the sinews, the skin, the flesh, the muscles, that would surely be a therapeutic monthly event for you (it was like quenching the dehydration of the thirsty, or the starvation of the hungry).

Ravenous doses of adrenaline laced your brain chemistry into a rush of emotions, and the compulsive dopamine instilled an ecstatic euphoria inside your chest. After all, cutting them off the limbs meant they were ready to be thrown away. So the job was done. It was the culmination of your actions in an outcome seen right before your eyes. And you got away with it – and that's where the fun lurked, an odd specter of pleasure that loosened your joints and relaxed your muscles.

Less than an hour was needed to do it with your resentful hands equipped with your egregious dexterity regarding the knowledge of the anatomical arrangement of the human body, clean and precise cuts made at the height of the joints – amputated limbs were bagged by rolled up black garbage bags by yards of sticky duct tape as Christmas presents for a homicidal maniac. Something morbidly comic about you has always reveled in the way your anatomy teacher flattered you so dearly in the classroom.

You looked like a Victorian poltergeist wandering the halls of your house after leaving the basement (leaving behind, in that unbreathable cubicle of dim, compressed walls, the pieces of the girl rotting in the dark), whose door opened into a scrawny little space below the red oak staircase, which grew in a diagonal line to the upper floor. It was a warm, sultry summer night.

You felt like a hunter in the woods as you headed towards the last door in the hallway, where the bedroom you shared with Wanda Maximoff, your girlfriend, was located about a year since she had broken into your house. The door opened with a long creak.

Facing the bed were ephemeral shoulders, the color of cold milk, to which the copious summit of a supple, soft back tucked into an old shirt of yours was cramped. Smooth back to the touch of fingertips, accented by long strands of brown hair. Between those expensive sheets there was the sharp look of a still young memory that echoed through your temples, that poured out its appreciation before the sleeping figure of your girlfriend, the nymph tenderness exhaled through her pores, Wanda's ether.

You snorted. Her stomach lying in the middle of the bed strangely reminded you of the body lying on the concrete where you had delivered the axe blows two floors below where Wanda snored so placidly. Something sparked in you.

You were studying her intently in a brief moment of darkness (your girlfriend, sleeping and fragile, had a childish lock of brown hair falling over her forehead and her dark brows furrowed, but her eyes were simple and rested, caught in a deep glint of sleep), drinking from her radiant red beauty as a drug addict does from their favorite drug – the female silhouette splashed by the ghostly bluish light of a streetlight outside and, in a way, even a synoptic veil of purity that accompanied your muse in the world of a utopian dream, like a poor helpless girl.

Covered by the fog of sleep as she was in that lapse of calm in the den of a messy bed, it was as if Wanda had never had her mental health even threatened by the ominous entities that surrounded her all her life since she was then a weeping young girl, like hungry vultures waiting for the death of a little wounded lamb in the pasture. She looked innocent. So, so innocuous. And, therefore, so corruptible.

Icy artificial lighting invaded the amorphous walls of the interior of the room, projected all by three specific points transverse to the serene countenance pierced by the sleeping extension of the pale face that Wanda possessed – from her eyebrows trimmed in their dark strands to the bridge of her nose and the apollonian cheekbones of her bucolic bone structure, clinging, in the moonlight, to the beaded bone of her powerful jaw. A mechanical innocence was imparted to her closed eyelashes.

Your heart fluttered, your pupils dilated with dopamine, when did you step onto the floorboards of the dark room and creeped your way to the bed that was just a puddle of rumpled sheets, where Wanda lay snuggled in the blandishments of the night. For brief seconds that together wouldn't even make up the whole of a minute, you watched her. You just watched her, plotting with yourself what you were going to do with her, how you were going to break her. She was naked down her navel, without any panties to be seen.

“You're so beautiful...” the tip of your right index and middle fingers swept the strand of unruly hair behind the shell of Wanda's ear, “I could just tear you apart.”

And then you fumbled for the strap-on of a long, thick scarlet silicone in an open drawer on a low shelf next to the bed, which you then proceeded to tie around your waistline after you got rid of your bloodstained jeans, your fingers quivering in euphoric anticipation as you did. Your desire to consume her swelled inside your stomach; you wanted to eat her alive, rip her skin, break her bones. You wanted to fuck her raw.

You then positioned yourself on top of Wanda on the bed, the mattress sinking from the unbalanced weight in just a single spot. With your lips parted, your pulps pink and split, you toke long bites to the contour of her milk-white neck, in the region of its junction with the left shoulder, by the hairline located in the gap between her ear and the neck, validating the traces of hickeys seated there, like clumsy strokes of dark paint on a blank canvas; since the bodies were close to the center of the vast bed, legs intertwined and warm hair tangled up in the pillow.

“Fuck, you're so hot, pretty girl,” was a quip breathed in hot breath against Wanda's lobe, your right hand guiding the length of the toy to part her moist pink folds, “So soft… so receptive... so submissive… you're perfect. My perfect girl.”

Wanda purred like a sleepy cat at the intimate sensation, her heavy lids still hooding her emerald eyes, enjoying the feel of your lips spattering bites over her ruffled epidermis. In an unguarded way, perhaps even somewhat needy in her core, she snuggled against your warm body above hers, tucking her tailbone between your hips.

A firm grip of your bloodied hand was strained against Wanda's hip with no explicit intentions of letting go. The silence, sharp and excruciating, came and went in a rather shy and awkward way. Tiny shriveled seconds that, together, took up minutes. One-hundred-fifty-seconds quiet.

Wanda's heart rumbled demeaningly in a sharp grip, for even if she didn't look you straight in the eye, she understood the fact that the woman who held her in her arms was nothing but lust and violence incarnate – even without being awake, Wanda's subconscious was well aware that your irises had taken on profuse and vicious hues, like sea water or a stormy sky. A rueful sigh of your exhaled warm and close to her ear.

And then you crept through her rosy slit, which inferred, from the frail Wanda held hostage to your diligent touch, a loud, strident growl, which dangled the base of her skull against the bone of your shoulder.

“Y-Y/n...?” Wanda's tiny voice resounded in a moan throughout the room that had once been engulfed in intrinsic silence, albeit a little sluggish and husky from her sleepy features, “What... what are you... what are you...?”

She moaned in a high-pitched squeal as you slid the entire length of the toy into her tight walls in one thrust with your taut hips.

“F-fuck-! Oh! Y/n, I- I don't-”

“Shut up and take it, okay?” you gifted her with a tiny deferred kiss on her scalp (artificial strawberry shampoo scent sweetening the sharp metal smell inside your nostrils), “I need to have you right now. I need you, Wanda.”

“I- I—” the shaven brows were, thus, wrinkled by the face as rosy as a peach; she sounded a little giddy in her rambling speech, pressing her fingers against the sheet, “I'm not sure if—”

“Come on, Wanda,” you whispered against her dark hair, “You're my good girl, aren't you?”

Wanda held her breath, “I’ll always be your good girl.”

And then, a smile blossomed on your part, the enamel of your teeth coming into contact with the sensitive skin of her pale neck, where you couldn't help but capture a rosy sliver between your lips and stick a mighty bite there – to remember her that while she was smoldering with pleasure, you were a powerful being who didn't even make an effort to push her buttons and drive her crazy. The insignificance of the human race at the hands of such a monstrous creature as you has never before been so exciting and aphrodisiac.

Your impassive left hand, passing under Wanda's ribs close to the mattress, touched her to the circumvallation of her rosy breast inside the material of the shirt, while your right index and middle fingers fingered her snatched clitoris in impetuous outlines. You moaned like an animal at the taste of blood sliding down the face of your tongue.

“I-it hurts,” Wanda whimpered airily before smiling in the dark, “Do it again. Fuck, do it again!”

The muscles in your abdomen stagnated as your bodily sensitivity acclimated when your hips snatched up Wanda's insides (exploring with the strap, opening and understanding; a new sensation brewed by each touch to ravage her insides), the hollow of your crotch going back and forth hard against Wanda's dripping center. A puddle formed on the sheets beneath her, the liquid running across the inside of her thighs. Wanda found herself reduced to a weeping, writhing, lost, helpless mess, but she couldn't even feel an ounce of shame inside.

“Fuck—” The pale hands, hungry for something to hold on to, screwed the curls of your head behind hers, seeking them just behind them; her head thrown back over your shoulder, a subtle vein popping under the epidermis of her neck, the scar with your initial pulsing on her right collarbone, “Fuck, Y/n, fuck-! S’s-so big-!"

“You're mine,” you kissed a sliver of skin down her clenched jaw, gripping her rosy breast tightly with the shrewd touch, “You're my whore to do with what I want with, Wanda. I’m gonna fucking tear you apart.”

The length inside her was like fire – just as strong and intoxicating. And Wanda felt full of gasoline. Before she could even ask for more, beg your like a believer before her god, you fucked her hard and steady all the way to her cervix, tying yourself to that deep and vulnerable spot inside her, and made to press yourself in her with irascible pumps. Wanda's plea, then, was cut short with a strangled roar, and from her emanated an inhuman shriek, trying and failing to open her legs to more of your touch.

A gulf of heat and wetness slid out of her pussy in response, and the bundle of nerves throbbing between her legs pulsed like a frantic heart against the ribs in her ribcage. And, for a couple of intangible moments, time became an abstract concept for Wanda.

You fucked her fast and primal, thrusting fast and hard into her insides soaked in a sticky liquid as it was - there was a firm intention behind every hard movement, every press of your fingers and every ghostly touch of your folded palm over her smoldering clit, which clamored for more attention with every touch given to it. The head of the bed slammed against the concrete wall.

You'd push Wanda forward and then mark her tight back muscles with bites and licks, pulling the sliding strap off and on from inside her vulva, toward the edge of a state of arousal that bordered on insanity; which, in such a way, ended up metamorphosing into a dance in synchronous partnership, like the symbiotic conception of a work of art by two artists of different styles. You leading and Wanda yielding to the rhythm you sentenced.

And, in such a way, Wanda diffused herself with every progression, even the smallest, so that she could beg, like an animal, for you to take her to a place she's never been before, for you to take her like no soul before had done it before her, so that you would fill her with what only a being such as you were in her eyes, (an inhuman deity) could supply her.

“Fuck, Wanda, I love the way your greedy cunt feel around my cock,” you muttered, dragging your lips down her shoulder, “You're so good to me, did you know that? So, so good...”

“I-I’m good…?”

She snorted, her chest heavy, lids pressed together over dark eyes, clouded with pleasure. Both brows furrowed in a lapse of voluptuousness, forehead buffed with a bead of crystalline sweat. She wanted to be good, and she liked to be recognized as such. She'd love to hear how good she was for you. She liked being flattered. You smiled in a husky voice in her ear.

“So, so good, slut. Good as fuck. You’re my favorite bitch.”

And in such a way you did it, as if only the praise given to her beloved's oratory was all it took to untie the knot of her primordial apex, woven just a hand below her secluded navel. Her body stiffened suddenly, her vision filled with a white thunder that stunned her senses into an electrical charge throughout her thighs.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck, Y/n, fuck! Fuck!”

Irises darkened in a veil of smoldering rejoicing dipped to the waterlines of her eyes, and an ethereal mist, showered with sublime delight, crowded within her, pouring from her pulsing center the sweetest honey down the length of your strap wedged between her twitching crotch as it was—a hot, viscous membrane that oozed across the sheets, the height of her release.

Wanda's head dropped to the pillow, gasping, drunk on the intoxicated heat of the climax that rumbled through her muscles and bones. And she screamed against the pillowcase when you sank inside her swollen and abused pussy without circumlocution one more time.

“I still haven't come, you spoiled fucking brat,” you muttered over her, “Now spread your legs the way you know how. This will only end when I want it to end.”

Wanda smiled lethargically against the pillow.

“Alright, Y/n. I love you.”

“Yeah,” you kissed her temple, “I know.”

[loveandmurders]

A game meeting another one II (Vincent Sinclair x gn!reader)

Hello everyone, this is the second part of this Vincent x serial killer!reader story. You can find the first part here. 

I hope you will enjoy!

Warnings: serial killer reader, mentions of murdering people, of violence and blood, Vincent is jealous of your relationship with Bo, Vincent is also a creep (voyeurism) but you like it, some sexual themes but nothing too NSFW, a few strong words.

At first, Bo wasn’t too sure what to expect from you, and he couldn’t help but be rude and on his guard. You perfectly understood, and even if you enjoyed Ambrose, you were a bit shy and silent around the twins, no matter how much Vincent hated it and always tried to put you at ease. It was a little bit easier when Lester was around because he was a good and funny guy. 

But Bo couldn’t deny how great you were at killing people. You were deadly efficient and thanks to your soft demeanour, people could never imagine you were dangerous. You saved Bo’s ass several times - a lot more than his ego could admit. And Vincent didn’t even have to complain about any damages on the bodies anymore; unlike his twin you knew how to be careful and you generally stabbed the people right in their hearts.

You would have liked a little more blood, but you had never been allowed to kill so many people in such a short period of time in your life and you were positively enjoying yourself. You loved to play with Bo, when the tourists were arriving. And Bo liked this more than he could admit it too. You had a great dynamic together. You often played the married couple; you would argue together or make out in front of the tourists. Bo knew his twin was dying of jealousy, and because he never thought he would be able to manage his twin to be jealous of anything, he quite loved to taunt him.

You were absolutely oblivious of Vincent’s feelings and desire for you. You were too focused on killing people, finding new ways to toy with them, and getting used to living with strangers. Bo started to like you because you were truly useful and he honestly couldn’t complain about you. You were doing the chores, you were good at killing and at cleaning the messes too. And you were funny now you were getting at ease with the boys. Your twisted and dark sense of humour was definitely fitting and Bo and you started to be really good friends. You had the right temper to match his, and you even had inside jokes and were laughing together at dinner while Lester and Vincent were sharing looks of pure confusion. Vincent’s heart was always twitching at such displays of affection and complicity between his twin and you. He wanted this too, but even if you were slowly learning ASL, he wasn’t as funny as Bo. Of course he was glad Bo wasn’t being an asshole to you and that he wasn’t pushing you away, but fuck he wanted to have this with you.

Bo wasn’t acting that way only for his twin to get jealous. He was actually adopting you as part of the family. At the same time, he couldn’t believe you weren’t aware of the way Vincent was acting with you. And whenever Bo would mention it, you would say that Vinny was indeed really nice and sweet to you and that Bo should be happy to have him as his twin. Bo never replied anything after that, even though he could have told you that Vincent was watching you when you were showering or sleeping. Nice or sweet really wasn’t Vincent. Bo could tell that his twin’s feelings weren’t wavering down when it was about you. They were only growing and his silent suffering from the lack of intimacy was blossoming inside his chest day after day. 

You, on the other hand, not only were you oblivious to his shy attempt to flirt with you, but you were finding him way too attractive to believe he might be interested in you. You were used to boring people who weren’t always nice to you. You weren’t used to dangerously hot artists. One thing was certain, when you were killing together, you were in perfect sync and harmony. None of you had to think to know what the other was going to do. You were awfully effective. Lester noted one evening how long it had been since one of his brothers got hurt. With you, things seemed to go better. 

One night you just couldn’t sleep. Your eyes were closed but your brain was unable to shut up, and you were feeling too tired to join Vincent in the basement and watch him sculpt like you often did when you were bored. Vincent seemed to tense up under your gaze, but whenever you would ask if he wanted you to go, he would grab your wrist and gesture for you to sit down next to him. 

You heard your door cracking open, and your wild instinct woke you up. You always slept with a knife under your pillow. Even if you were starting to like the boys very much, you couldn’t stop yourself from being paranoid. You were worried they would kill you one day or night. You felt eyes on you, but you pretended you were sleeping. You heard soft footsteps on your carpet and then the person stopped next to you. Nothing happened for a little while, until you felt gentle fingers stroking your cheek. You had to resist the urge to open your eyes. You weren’t too sure if it was Vincent or Bo. The man seemed to smell of wax, but you were so taken aback by what was going on that you couldn’t focus properly. The caress continued for a little while, and the fingers removed some hair that had fallen on your face. You heard a movement you didn’t understand, before you felt lips on your skin. You could tell they were different from normal ones, especially the right corner of the mouth, and long hair tickled your neck. You were certain it was Vincent, and the gesture you didn’t get before was him removing his mask. 

“Seriously, man” you heard Bo whispered from the corridor and Vincent softly jumped and whined at his brother. “Get the fuck out of here, weirdo” Bo ordered him and Vincent pouted at him “Ya’ll be allowed to do that when ya’ll be dating them” 

Vincent left your bedroom quite reluctantly and Bo closed your door. You opened your eyes and all you could think was “What the fuck just happened??”

You guessed it wasn’t the first time something like that happened if Bo reacted that way. You didn’t sleep from the whole night, slowly realising Vincent had been flirting with you the whole time you had been there. You also thought about all the times you felt watched when you were in the bathroom, and all the times you found the door slightly opened when you were certain you had closed it. 

If you had been normal, you would have grabbed your stuff and ran away from there. But you liked the clumsy and intense attention and you couldn’t believe Vincent was into you. It made sense why he didn’t kill you and why he insisted on bringing you home. You smiled to yourself. You were going to rile up the man today. You got up, took a shower and put on some nice fitting outfit. It was definitely showing off your body while being comfortable enough to kill people if you needed to. 

You went downstairs and started to prepare breakfast. For once you were awake earlier than Bo. He was quite surprised to already see you in the kitchen.

“Did somethin’ happen?” he asked with a raised eyebrow and you chuckled

“I heard you last night” you admitted, because Bo was truly becoming your best friend at this point

“How so?” he asked with a frown now, a little bit worried

“Seriously, man?” you repeated with a little smile.

“Ah shit” he mumbled, but he noticed you didn’t seem mad or disgusted “Don’t go” he added as you put pancakes on the table

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m just going to drive your brother crazy until he kisses me. While I’m awake” you said and Bo frowned turned into a smirk “Kinda surprised he never acted on us kissing when we play the married couple though” you wondered

“He’s jealous as hell, but he’s also certain ya’d like me better than him… I mean ‘cause of his face” Bo explained and you had to admit you hadn’t seen that one coming. You loved Vincent’s face. You had never thought about it as a horrible thing. And you had thought of using Bo to drive Vincent crazy, but you understood it wasn’t a good plan at all. It would only play with Vincent’s insecurities, and you didn’t want that.

“So I’m already driving him crazy” you realised and Bo nodded with a chuckle as he grabbed a plate to get himself some pancakes.

“Ya did the instant he saw ya killin’ that guy. He wrote to me “Want them”, ya know. But the man has no idea how to flirt. He’s a weirdo, ain’t his fault. Flirt back and he’ll be a puppy to ya… If he realises ya’re flirtin’. Don’t be too subtle” Bo advised you and you nodded

“A dangerous puppy” you mused

“That’s your type” Bo teased and you laughed.

Vincent arrived soon after, a little bit grumpy to already hear you joking around with Bo, even though he had no idea it was about him. After Bo prevented him from watching over you last night, he was already in a pretty bad mood anyways. And he was tired of his twin being your favourite.

“Hello, love, wanna some pancakes?” you asked him and he nodded as he sat down, before registering the nickname. He tilted his head to the side and wondered if he heard this right. You never called him that before. “Here you go” you hummed as you served him and he thanked you. 

You all ate in silence, as you thought about the best way to flirt with Vinny. You clearly needed to spend some alone time with him.

“Today, we need to repair the damages that happened in the House of Wax” you said “I can do that with Vinny.” you offered

“Sure thin’, I’ll call ya if tourists come by” Bo nodded. Vincent didn’t say anything, but he was happy he was going to have you all to himself for the day. 

After a few hours together in the House of Wax, you quickly understood it was going to be difficult; if you have been oblivious to his flirting attempts, he was absolutely the same with you. You were definitively flustering him, because you were a lot more touchy than usual, but he wasn’t getting any hints, especially not the one about kissing you. As he was fixing a statue, you thought you were tired of being “subtle”, and you said:

“If you come into my room to kiss me at night, at least do it on my lips”. 

This time you got a reaction from Vincent. He froze and his attention quickly shifted from the statue to you. His eye was wide, and he was clearly internally panicking. He started to sign, but way too quickly for you to read it. You didn’t stop him though, because watching a dangerous giant panicking because of you was quite funny. Vincent noticed you weren’t even watching his hands so he stopped signing, clearly worried. 

“I don’t think you heard the last part of what I said,” you added. Vincent seemed to try to recall what your words were and frowned as he looked back up at you. Did you ask him to kiss you? 

“Did you find me hot when I killed my “ex”, the first night you saw me?” you asked as you came closer to him, and Vincent instantly nodded “Did I arouse you?” you continued. He had a moment of hesitation before nodding. He was glad his mask was preventing you from seeing him blushing. “Hmm, I’m so sorry I left you all pent-up all this time without knowing” you teased. “Maybe you should join me in the shower tonight, so I’ll make you feel better… And you’ll have a closer look” you winked.

Vincent was deadly embarrassed, but more than eager to take you on that offer. However, a little voice inside his head was telling him you were only messing up with him. You noticed his body language held a little bit of hesitation still, so you decided to make yourself even clearer.

You walked to him, brushing your chest against his. You gently smiled at him, even if your eyes were sparkling with troubles. If the masked twin wanted you, you could only promise him to give him a good run for his money.

“I know you’re smart, but just to make sure, this is my lips” you pointed at them “Show me you understood” you ordered him. 

Vincent didn’t react at first, way too overwhelmed by your proximity and words to do anything. After a little while, he removed enough of his mask to kiss your lips. You softly cupped his cheeks, touching for the first time the scarred part of his face, showing him you didn’t care about this. He leaned into your touch and quickly the kiss turned into a heated one. He grew bolder, and his hands rested on your hips to bring you closer to his body. He pushed you against the closest wall, as you both gasped for air. You laughed.

“Yeah, that’s my lips” you teased. Vincent enjoyed the playfulness a lot, because it meant you were at ease with him. He leaned for another kiss. Now he could do that, he just couldn't get enough of you. He grew hungry, and you thought you might not be able to wait for tonight for more. His fingers moved under your top, enjoying the warmth and softness of your skin. You moaned into the kiss, pressing yourself even more against him. You really thought Vincent was going to undress you right away, but an object falling on the ground made you both jump and you turned to a very red Lester.

He had made his phone fall when he had spotted you heavily making out.

“Oh hey… sorry, guys… Bo just wanted to make sure ya were doin’ okay… And ya do look like ya’ll doin’ okay…” He trailed off as Vincent put his mask back on.

He signed something to Lester and even if you didn’t know the gestures yet, you were pretty sure it was close to: If you don’t want me to rip your heart from your chest, leave right now and tell Bo to stop being a cockblock!

Lester ran away as fast as possible and you hugged Vincent from behind, nuzzling against him. “So where were we?” you hummed.

Vincent showed you he knew the answer perfectly.

Taglist:

@feathery-ass

@g0thl3zz

@erasable-mustache  

@cavern-creature

@peachycupotea  

@p0rn-stargirl  

@akemiixx01

@zebralover

@inlovewithromanbridger

@miss-nothing-13

[jbuffyangel]

We'll Always Have Paris: Arrow 1x21 Review (The Undertaking)

Oliver and Felicity hit the casino to save Walter (remember Walter?), which provides the best Freudian slip in the history of Arrow.

We finally get some much-needed flashbacks on Robert Queen & Lauriver to fill in the holes of history and it’s a horror show. I can’t unsee what I have seen, so now we just get to rant about it.

Oh, and the writers completely telegraphed the demise of Lauriver in this episode. It just took me the better part of decade to notice it. It's all about Casablanca. Yes. Really.

Let’s dig in…

Olicity

Finally! Some decent Olicity content. Season 1 is rough y'all.

Source: Paige

Oliver is still Oliver which means he hasn’t apologized yet to Diggle for abandoning him. Felicity is trying her best to get the bromance back on track.

Source: Paige

Unfortunately, this is an immovable object meeting an unstoppable force kind of situation, so until Oliver pulls the stick out of his butt and admits he was wrong – Diggle is sitting this episode out.

Felicity: I know Oliver is religiously against admitting when he’s wrong, but the truth is he needs you.

Diggle: Yeah, and when Oliver is ready to say that he knows where I live.

John is not some disciple who will blindly follow Oliver wherever he goes. Diggle has self-respect and will not accept anything but an equal partnership from Oliver. Fighting for a man’s soul is going to cause some fights. Diggle needs to win more than his fair share if we are going to see any growth in Oliver Queen.

So, it’s left to our Girl Wednesday to hit the streets with The Hood when they get a lead on Walter. I honestly forgot he was kidnapped it’s been so long since they’ve mentioned him.

A dirty accountant on The List paid two million dollars to Dominic Alonzo on the same day Walter was kidnapped. Alonzo runs the biggest underground casino in Starling City, when he’s not busy with his day job of kidnapping and murder. Oliver needs to access Alonzo’s computer to find a location on Walter.

Source: @olicitygifs

And guess who is really great at counting cards? Oliver immediately refuses Felicity’s help. His deep aversion to putting her in any kind of danger will never stop being hot. This is the big break on Walter that Felicity has been waiting for, so she insists, and Oliver relents. I love that she never lets Oliver tell her what she can and can’t do.

The goal is for Felicity to be caught counting cards, so she can get a friendly warning from Alonzo and bug his computer. She is more than a little concerned that the friendly warning will be a bullet. Felicity is not a trained soldier like Diggle and she’s not a ninja/archer like Oliver. She’s signed up to fight crime, but she never shies away from expressing her fear. It’s what makes her so relatable because any person in these circumstances would be afraid.

Oliver immediately downshifts into his soft, gentle and reassuring tone that’s becoming more and more for Felicity Smoak only. The man is a growling serial killer who turns into Fluffy McSoftie Bear around her.

What makes Felicity a hero is she faces her fears head on. She doesn’t let anything stop her and Felicity Smoak is determined to find her boss. Walter gave her a job, health insurance and dental. Never underestimate a loyal employee.

Source: olicitygifs

Annnnnd we've arrived! The Freudian of all Freudian slips. This is a little risqué for the CW back in the day. Felicity’s inadvertent sexual innuendo is hilarious every time, but this one takes the cake. I believe it’s Emily Bett Rickard’s favorite as well.

If you were a Olicity shipper in Season 1 the Laurel fans would use scenes like this to prove Felicity just has a crush, Oliver will never return her feelings, and she’s just comic relief.

But who is introducing the sexual element between Oliver and Felicity? The writers. If this is supposed to remain a platonic friendship - why even go, there? These were the thoughts I would think watching live, wondering if I was crazy for seeing so much more than comedy between these two characters.

Felicity does get caught and initially it’s a friendly warning, until they find an earpiece the size of Saturn and demand to know who her partner is.

Someone put their hands on Felicity, so say goodbye to Fluffy McSoftie Bear and unleash the Kraken!

Source: @andjustforthismoment

Unfortunately, Alonzo doesn’t have good news and tells The Hood, after a good thumping, that Walter is dead. Oliver tells Moira and Thea that one of Diggle’s army buddies works for the FBI and he confirmed Walter is dead. Instead of grief, Moira is enraged and firmly believes Oliver is wrong. Almost like she knows something Oliver doesn’t.

Thankfully, Oliver has grown a brain when it comes to his mother and rather take her word for it or delude himself into thinking she’s just in shock, he follows her Merlyn Global as The Hood. He records her conversation with Merlyn.

Moira: You promised if I cooperated with The Undertaking that Walter wouldn’t be harmed.

Merlyn: He hasn’t been. I’m a man of my word Moira.

Moira: We both know better than that. I know you’ve had him killed.

Of course, Walter is alive and still in the cell Merlyn has kept him in for the last six months. So, Oliver discovers the following:

Malcolm Merlyn, his best friend’s father, kidnapped Walter.

2. Moira knew all along who had Walter and why.

3. Moira is working with Merlyn on something called “The Undertaking.”

It’s a rough day when you learn your mother is colluding with a super villain and is an accessory to kidnapping. Oliver retreats to the darkness to wallow and mourn how completely messed up his family is. Then Felicity steps into the bunker and the room is flooded with light. It’s always the light.

Source: @smoakmonster

And with the light comes the truth. Oliver tells Felicity to track Malcolm Merlyn’s last phone call, which leads to Walter’s location. Oliver, in full superhero mode, attacks from the sky and lands on the roof with a parachute no less. Walter’s cell conditions are not great. Let’s not talk about the bucket of poo next to his bed. Immediately, we, and Oliver, know the man has been through it.

Oliver meets Walter, Moira and Thea at the hospital post Hood rescue.

Walter: Thank you, son.

It’s just a second, but we can see Oliver is really touched by Walter’s affection. We’ve gone from Oliver accusing Walter of sleeping with Moira at the dinner table his first night home to accepting Walter calling him son. That’s called growth my friends.

Yet, there was sadness in Oliver’s smile too. He was able to bring Walter home, something he couldn’t do for Robert Queen, and it was clear how much Oliver was missing his dad in that moment.

Felicity pops up in the doorway, carrying a bouquet of brightly colored flowers, wearing a deep fuchsia jacket and her sunshine hair pulled back into its signature ponytail. She physically is such a stark contrast to Oliver’s melancholy, and it snaps him out of it for a little bit as he introduces Felicity to his family.

Source: Paige

Felicity has become so fully entrenched in Oliver’s life that it actually took me a minute to remember Moira, Thea and Laurel have no idea who she is. She was introduced in Episode 3 and we’re on Episode 21! It’s almost like the writers forgot and realized they had to introduce Felicity to the rest of the cast. It’s wild y’all.

First up is Laurel earlier in the episode at the bar. She’s informing Oliver of her breakup with Tommy when Felicity pops in to advise him of another break – Walter’s kidnappers. It’s been a long-held belief in the Olicity fandom that Laurel’s reception was cool. One could even say snotty. I tried to go into this with an open mind, but yeah, I have to say that impression still holds for me. It’s like Felicity is a bug to be crushed.

Meanwhile, Felicity is so sweet to the woman Oliver Queen is hopelessly in love with (or so she thinks). It’s the way Felicity says gorgeous, almost sadly, like she sees for herself how beautiful Laurel is and its confirmation she won’t measure up. Oliver Queen will never look at her the way he looks at Laurel. So, it has to sting a little when he introduces Felicity as the person setting up his internet. It irked me. It felt dismissive.

Source: Paige

It’s very easy to dismiss Felicity as comic relief, and her Freudian slips are funny, but there are real and true feelings underneath. Felicity is in love with Oliver. It does cause her pain to see him with other women.  

Felicity’s insecurity is easy to understand. Oliver is not the only person who has growing to do. Felicity needs to realize she is just as beautiful, smart and lovable as Laurel Lance. What’s more, she has to realize Oliver does look at her in a way that’s different than Laurel, but it’s not less. It’s infinitely more. But we’re nowhere near ready for either character to acknowledge that yet.

When Oliver introduces Felicity to Moira and Thea, he calls her a friend, which is quite the glow up in twenty-five minutes. It’s warm and it’s true. More importantly, it carries much more significance than “Internet Girl.”

The deal was Felicity would join the team to find Walter. Well, they found him. That should conclude Felicity’s involvement in Oliver’s life. But he isn’t dismissing her as a “nobody” like Felicity did with Laurel. He is stating the opposite. Deal or no deal, Felicity is remaining in Oliver’s life.

Maybe that’s why he was more dismissive of Felicity with Laurel. Maybe he didn’t want Laurel to know there is another woman in his life. One he may be having more than friendly feelings towards. Oliver, Laurel and Tommy aren’t the only love triangle on this show.

Source: Paige

Lauriver

Holy hell.

We have all patiently waited for the holes to be filled in on Laurel and Oliver’s past. We’ve waited for some kind of reference to happier times – any kind of evidence these two, at one point, were madly in love and destined to be together until fate (and Oliver’s stupidity) stepped in and ripped them apart. We’re supposed to want Oliver and Laurel to get back together. They are the Plan A couple. This is the Green Arrow and Black Canary. DC Comic’s third tier golden couple. They belong together, right?

Someone may want to inform the Arrow writers of that because what we see in these flashbacks is absolute hot garbage. Of course, the immediate response is, “Of course Jen. You’re an Olicity shipper. You hate everything about Laurel and Oliver.”

Yeah, but how did I get there? EPISODES. LIKE. THIS. I did my absolute very best to ship Oliver and Laurel all through Season One because they are comic book canon. It was a foregone conclusion they would end up together and shipping Oliver with Felicity was setting myself up for five years of disappointment. I know how television writing works, friends. They very seldom deviate from the couple set up as endgame in the pilot. Oliver and Laurel are Plan A. It’s just math.

Well, the math ain’t mathing y’all. Blessedly, we get a break from the Island flashbacks and Arrow is spending some time in Starling City five years ago. Oliver and Laurel are ordering pizza as she’s studying for the bar exam. It’s cute. It’s sweet even. They’re in their little love bubble and we’re seeing them happy and together – the place we’re supposed to be rooting for them to return to in present day.

Laurel mentions their friends are moving in together and Oliver is happy for them because they've been together forever. Laurel immediately informs Oliver they’ve been together longer. Cue Oliver internally screaming. Deer in headlights. The building is on fire. WHERE IS THE EXIT? ABORT! ABORT!

Laurel, ever the lawyer, comes prepared with an argument. Moira busted Laurel in a morning-after-sex-romp and Lance threatened to tase Oliver the last time he stayed at Laurel’s, so she’s just being practical. Economical even. Why don’t they get a place of their own? (If the parents aren’t cool with you sleeping together while living separately what makes you think they’ll be ok with you MOVING IN TOGETHER, Laurel? Whatever. You do you babe.)

Oliver offers up a feeble maybe and then tells her IT’S A LITTLE FAST. Dude, for real? What Laurel is asking for isn’t unreasonable. She’s ready to take the next step and for Oliver to call that fast after probably several years together (college, maybe even high school) doesn’t make any sense if he’s in love with Laurel.

I’m a big believer in He's Just Not That Into You. Men are not overly complicated creatures. If they like a woman, they go after her. If they love a woman, they don’t need to be convinced to move in together or get married. They want to do those things.

They sure as hell don’t run screaming all the way to their father’s yacht for a three-week trip in the NORTH CHINA SEA with their girlfriend’s SISTER. This is exactly what Oliver does after he lukewarmly tells Laurel he’ll move in with her.

Source: Paige

Laurel meets Oliver on the docks to say goodbye. In an extra classy move, he phones Sara on the walk down to Laurel and tells her to circle around the parking lot until her sister leaves. This guy is such a prize. Fall to your feet, women of the world, and swoon. We have found THE ONE.

Laurel is not stupid. Well, she’s not always stupid. She knows something is up and asks her boyfriend if he was running away to the North China Seas to avoid moving in with her. Oliver scoffs. What’s this you say? Pure poppycock, milady. For when I return from my sea voyage we shall be betrothed henceforth!

She gives him the picture. The sodding picture. Honestly, it reeks of desperation. Oliver kisses it and it’s just awkward and gross. Please break up immediately. I can’t watch this anymore.

Oliver races back to the boat, to Sara, and Laurel is left alone on the docks. She gives a helpless little shrug. Deep down, Laurel knows Oliver is running away from her.

In present day, Laurel is at Oliver’s club drinking coffee and informs him of the big break up.

Oliver: It’s probably just cold feet.

Laure: Like it was with you? Oliver, you don’t sleep with your girlfriend’s sister unless you’re looking to blow the relationship up.

That’s the smartest thing she’s said all season.

Oliver: If you still want to be with Tommy, do what we should have done. Talk to each other and be honest.

You mean what YOU should have done Oliver? Laurel was honest. You were the liar and YOU’RE STILL LYING. Oliver is pretending he has no idea why Tommy broke up with her. He knows exactly why.

BECAUSE OF HIM.

Oliver tells Laurel to have honest conversation with Tommy, when he knows Tommy can’t do that BECAUSE HE’S KEEPING OLIVER’S SECRET and that’s one of the primary reasons he broke up with Laurel. It’s all so friggin manipulative. Where is something to throw at him??!!!!

Also, Oliver is acting all smarmy and flirty with his Humphrey Bogart reference. Wait a minute…

It’s interesting that the writers chose Casablanca. I know it’s kind of a cliché line when talking to a girl in a bar, but if we look at the plot Casablanca there are similarities between Oliver and Laurel.

Rick (Humphrey Bogart) and Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman) meet in Paris during WWII and fall in love. They aren't big on sharing too many details about themselves however. The rule is no questions. We do find out Ilsa's husband died. However, when she discovers he's alive, Ilsa leaves Rick with no explanation.

When they meet again years later in Casablanca, Ilsa explains why she left Rick standing at the train station. Ilsa husband's, Victor Laszlo, is a true hero. He is noble, idealistic and a leader of the Resistance. He was a prisoner in a Nazi concentration camp, but instead of dying like Ilsa thought - he escaped. He was very ill after being in the camp and needed her care. She was afraid if she told Rick, he wouldn't leave Paris and it was too dangerous for him to stay.

Ilsa's abandonment left Rick bitter and disillusioned. He opens a bar in Casablanca and while he allows people to arrange safe passage out of Nazis occupied Europe, he remains staunchly uninvolved (never a great look when it comes to the Nazis). But deep down Rick has a heart of gold. He ultimately saves Victor from the Nazis and ensures his safe flight to the United States. Isla still loves Rick and plans to stay with him in Casablanca, but in the end, Rick puts her on a plane with her husband.

Rick:  I'm saying it because it's true. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Victor. You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you're not with him, you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.

Ilsa: But what about us?

Rick: We'll always have Paris. We didn't have, we, we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.

Ilsa: When I said I would never leave you.

Rick: And you never will. But I've got a job to do, too. Where I'm going, you can't follow. What I've got to do, you can't be any part of. Ilsa, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that.

Rick: Now, now...Here's looking at you kid.

They just don’t write them like that anymore. It’s a classic for a reason.  There was real love between Rick and Ilsa and their love didn’t disappear because of circumstance. In the end, Rick gives Ilsa up for the greater good. His patriotism is reawakened and plans to continue the dangerous fight against the Nazis on his own. He wants Ilsa safe in the United States.

More importantly, he recognizes Victor is a good man truly deserving of her and needs Ilsa to continue his fight against the Nazis. Rick knows, deep down, she loves Victor and will regret staying with him. Their lives have taken them down two different roads and she was needed elsewhere, just like he was.

Their time was in the past. They are holding on to a memory. Rick can look back on that time fondly now, but it’s a time they can never recapture. Even though they love each other very much, ultimately, they couldn’t bridge the time that separated them.

He sends Ilsa off with the better man who can keep her safe and happy, even though it breaks his heart to do so. This selfless act of love proves Rick is a hero just like Victor and equally as deserving of Ilsa.

Laurel is Ilsa. Oliver is Rick. Tommy is Victor (the husband). I’m not arguing we have a Casablanca level love triangle here. Hardly, but Casablanca is the blueprint for how the Oliver, Laurel and Tommy love triangle should be resolved. Key word is SHOULD.

What about how Ilsa feels? Is she just a pawn in a chessboard between Rick, Victor and the Nazis? No. People have been arguing for years whether Ilsa loved Rick or Lazlo. My perspective is she loved them both. Rick is her passion, but Victor is her life. Ultimately, she knows Rick is right and chooses devotion over passion.

At this point we are uncertain where Laurel stands with Oliver and Tommy. The truth is, like Ilsa, Laurel loves them both. However, in the immortal words of Queen Catherine on Reign, “I know you think you love them both. And while that may be true, I argue that you love one more.”

Who does Laurel love more? We’re not going to get the answer until the season finale. That’s how love triangles work, but Casablanca maps out the choice Oliver should make. He needs to take a step back and recognize what he is chasing is a memory. Laurel and Oliver’s love is in the past.

What Laurel has with Tommy, a good man, is real. Maybe it doesn’t have all the heat and drama she has with Oliver, but ultimately that’s not what lasts. Passion fades and you need to the bedrock of devotion to sustain a relationship.

Oliver has shown Laurel anything but devotion. He went running to that boat because he didn’t want to move in with her. It was more than cold feet. You don’t cheat on a woman you are in love with. These are not circumstances Oliver has found himself in by accident or fate. Oliver made choices and those choices have consequences.

I truly don’t believe Oliver knows what love is yet. He thinks Laurel is what he’s supposed to want. Returning home to Laurel and fixing what went wrong was all he thought about on the Lian Yu. That’s a long time to convince himself she’s his true love.  She’s the key to fixing everything. If Oliver chose Laurel, Sara would not be dead. Robert would not be dead. He would have NEVER spent five years away from home. There’s no mission. There’s no hood.

I’m not denying they love each other, but they lack trust. They lack devotion. It’s not the kind of love you build a life on. If it was then Oliver would have built a life with Laurel rather than getting on that boat and blowing up their relationship instead.

There are moments in life when it’s clear which path you take. There is a right path and a wrong one, but you don’t choose the right path because it’s too hard. Laurel approaching Oliver in that hallway is one of those moments. Tommy told Laurel she should be with Oliver. She comes to the hospital to ask Oliver to speak with Tommy.

This is the moment. This is the moment Oliver needs to let her go. PUT HER ON THE PLANE , OLIVER!!!!

But he doesn't.

Source: @blackcanarysource

Laurel’s intentions are pretty clear. She wants Tommy. Then Oliver drops this bomb and simply walks away. He has absolutely no intention of being with Laurel, of telling her the real truth, but refuses to let either of them move on. This will absolutely mess with her head and obliterate the path back to Tommy.

Admitting that his time with Laurel has past, that he can never go back and undo what happened between them and erase those five years, is too hard for Oliver. He can’t let go, so he clings to Paris. He clings to a romanticized memory of what he had with Laurel.

But make no mistake, if Laurel chooses Oliver, she will regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday.

Robert Queen and Malcolm Merlyn

Speaking of plot holes, we also had to wait a long time to get clarity on why Robert Queen was in cahoots with Malcolm Merlyn and the answers are bonkers.

Robert, Malcolm and Frank have joined forces to convince the city’s worst to do what’s best with some not so friendly blackmail. They all have their reasons for cleaning up Starling City – Malcolm’s wife was murdered in The Glades and Frank’s daughter was raped. Everyone in the room lost something to The Glades.

Merlyn feels their efforts are futile and to save Starling City they have to do something big – level The Glades. Malcolm promises it can look like a natural disaster. Unidac Industries has a prototype, five years away from completion, that can make it look like a natural disaster.

It’s around this time Robert realizes Malcolm Merlyn is batshit crazy. He attempts to talk him out of mass murder, but Malcolm is too far gone. The pain of losing his wife, of listening to her die over and over, has created a madness in him reason cannot penetrate.

So, what did Robert lose to The Glades? His soul according to Malcolm. It’s not until Robert confesses to Moira that we learn what that means.

Robert: I’m not the man you think I am.

Robert was approached by a local councilman before the steel factory opened in The Glades (Oliver’s bunker). He wanted money because bribes are the way things work in The Glades, but Robert refused. They got into an argument and he fell. Robert accidentally killed a man. The List, cleaning up Starling City, and working with Malcolm Merlyn was Robert’s way of atoning for his sins.

It should not be lost on us that the steel factory (now Oliver's bunker) is where Robert Queen lost his soul, but it’s where his son is finding his.

Moira immediately points out Robert is atoning for one murder by committing hundreds or thousands. She tells Robert the real path to atonement is to stop Malcolm Merlyn from committing this atrocity. At least one of Oliver’s parents has not gone completely nuts.

Moira makes Robert promise he will stop Merlyn, so he comes up with a plan. Robert is convinced Malcolm won’t level The Glades unless he can rebuild it. Malcolm has been buying up properties in The Glades for years and Robert’s proposal to Frank is to buy up the rest of the city. He’ll lose the control he requires to rebuild it. This is also about good old-fashioned greed. Merlyn will make millions rebuilding The Glades.

Unfortunately, Frank serves Robert up on a plate and tells Merlyn exactly what he’s planning. They plant a bomb on the Queen’s Gambit, but since there’s typhoon warning it will look like it went down in a storm. What is this guy’s deal with murder masquerading as natural disaster? Now that I know Frank betrayed Robert, I don’t mind as much that Moira betrayed Frank.

Malcolm: One man alone can’t save this city, Robert. We both know that.

This is an ominous warning for the present day as well. Robert couldn’t save the city alone and neither can Oliver. After learning of The Undertaking and facing off with Merlyn in a tense exchange at the hospital, Oliver realizes he needs help and apologizes Diggle for letting him down. He realizes now Diggle was right about Moira all along and it will take all three of them to put a stop to Malcolm Merlyn.

Source: Paige

Stray Thoughts

I’m being philosophical when I talk about heat and passion with Laurel and Oliver. They are supposed to be all the passion, while Tommy is the steadiness. It requires chemistry to see this concept physically manifested and Stephen & Katie simply do not have it. It’s a huge problem and makes their romance that much tougher to believe.

Moira doesn’t want to know who Robert’s mistress is. Guess this explains why Oliver believes you can love someone and cheat on them at the same time.

Not to be completely superficial, but Felicity’s hair and dress are WOW! You all know how I feel about red. On that same superficial note, Felicity's daytime Season 1 wardrobe is rough though. YIKES. We need a budget increase ASAP.

Diggle paints or takes photographs. Also I saw a saxophone in his apartment too. Why didn’t we revisit this at some point?

“Tommy, I love you and I think you still love me.” So, she DOES love Tommy. First time we heard her say that. About damn time.

“Honestly, you belong with Oliver. He’s still in love with you.” Shut up Tommy. You’re your own worst enemy.

Listen to the Watchover podcast reaction to 1x21!!!

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[eveenstar]

Heeyy requests are open right? If so could you maybe do Toby dating headcannons? Only if you want to!!!11!!! 💜

Hello! Of course! I could never deny headcanons for my favourite boy <3 Here they are, and as you will see, my Toby is slightly different from the fandom or canon one. I decided to make my own version of him because why not? Hope you like it!

Dating Toby would be like... (headcanons)

Dating Masky headcanons , Dating Hoodie Headcanons

Oh boy. This relationship is the definition of walking on eggshells. Maybe that's an overexaggeration. But you get my point.

Toby might be the "easiest" one to get into a relationship within the main proxies. But beware, all of his previous relationships were all to amuse him at best. You, however, might be different, this time.

Unstable, but not TOO unstable. He's a good hunter - which requires patience. He used to hunt with his father, a long time ago. So, when it comes to you, he has tons of patience but that's not an invitation to test it. He doesn't want to hurt you but the Gods forbid how his foggy his mind gets when overwhelmed.

Speaking of which, Toby get overwhelmed easily. There are days the slightest thing will send him into a spiral. He won't seek your comfort or touch then, so, best be just leave him alone in his corner and go cook something he likes. Food with a soft texture might help.

pancakes because i'm starving for pancakes

Last proxy who decided to invade him during a breakdown ended up with a hatchet in their brain. Well, who told them to approach a serial killer cleaning their axes?

Anyway. On contrary of Masky, you'll actually see other proxies here and there. Of course, whatever ranks the Big Man has put up, Toby is in the top of the food chain, which leads to other proxies visiting. You can be around when this happens, but be wise with what you say or do. Not that Toby is jealous, he has nothing to be jealous of when it come to other proxies, but he can't have the others aware of his weaknesses.

There is also the matter of danger. You're in constant danger. The most brave will seek to harm you to get Toby out of his leading position, but no harm actually happens because this man is like the...James Bond of hatchets. Good moves for a man in his 30s.

He's also fairly vocal. He doesn't talk constantly of course but he'll let you know his thoughts, or make random comments about missions. At some moments it'll even feel like you two are a normal couple. So, talk to him and he'll be happy :)

His laughter is also something worth mentioning. He doesn't laugh a lot, it's rare when he does, but they're very light-hearted and a bit rough in the edges. It's simply adorable when he shakes his head or throws his head back and laughs out loud - but don't mention it or he'll get embarrassed.

Toby's a movie boy. Absolutely adores action movies with fast pacing. Hates animation. Movie nights are a must and it's another moment of normality.

Has high pain tolerance. He feels it but forced his brain to ignore it so Toby will arrive home with stab wounds or gunshots wounds that he probably forgot he had - it's your job to make sure he doesn't bleed out. This is less common for a 30 something-year-old Toby than Toby in his 20s. He's older and wiser, a professional in his craft. No one gets near him anymore without having a axe craved in their head first.

Beard beard beard beard. He has a beard. Fairly visible as well. It's hot. Take that as you will.

Toby will train you as well. Practice with axes and throwing knives, as well as fighting moves. This man has a thing for you using sharp weapons or getting him on the floor - again, take that as you will. :)

Yes, he now uses throwing knives. He learned how to use them from another proxy a few years ago.

Along with Hoodie, but slightly different, Toby will get you gifts for special dates such as your birthday or Christmas. He's not particularly fond of Christmas but feels obligated to get you something. He won't go out of his way to buy you said gifts, Toby will either make you one through wood carving (one of his abilities he has perfected over the years) or will steal one from a victim's house.

Christmas! Family holidays. He hates it. Toby has detached himself from who he was so much, but the sight of happy families makes his blood boil. He's not stupid, he knows they're not at fault for what happened to him - but that reason soon leaves his mind when the flashbacks hit. Before he knows, his hands are already dirty with blood. He hates the stupid songs and the parties - but, if you're someone to celebrate it, he won't oppose. He'll get angry and will exile himself with his hatchets, but some times...some times he'll silently join you cooking or decorating. He won't say a word, and if you're smart, so will you.

Toby has abandoned his family name. His first name is the only remnant of his past - and for this, Masky will use it to mock him to a breaking point. He won't let Toby live down the fact that he surpassed Masky in the ranks. He'll get home snappy and angry - and he'll always vent to you. Toby is very vocal with his hands as well, he moves them around a lot - lots of angry waves and quite possible a few bottles will be smashed or thrown if you don't stop him.

He's a lot to take in, but most of the time he's very calm and collected. Please, feel free to vent or talk to him whenever you feel like it. He loves the sound of your voice and hear you talk about anything soothes him.

Or sing. Oh boy. If you catch him alone, thinking you're asleep, you might hear him singing a lullaby to himself. It's almost impossible to hear it, and he will deny on his life that he does this.

Toby is one of the proxies who doesn't mind what he does or who he "works" for. It has been so long and his path has been so tragic and dark - he has become numb to it. He has you and his children a.k.a his hatchets.

Surprisingly not very aware that Slender would harm you. But that creature would. You're only alive because He allows you to be. One day, that might come to an end and trust me, Toby can be more frightening to face than Masky and Hoodie. And that includes, a possessed by SlenderMan Toby.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

[claywriting]

Look out for me

3600 words

first part of three: part two, part three

If you like I wrote another fic of neville, called "I can’t always be there to save you"

the Y/n is the same

Very, very slow burn

neville x f!reader

Being in the DA is one of the best things that happened to Y/n, not drawing attention on herself however has never been one of her abilities. When she found herself having to decide between defending Neville, which she isn't even so friend with or ending in the Umbridge hands she has no doubt, jumping at the rescue of the timid boy, not caring about the consequences. But this will have, and perhaps, not the ones expected.

The corridors of Hogwarts where colder that year, than ever before. Maybe only in the third year Neville found those colder, the terror of having the dementor roaming around the school and knowing that a serial killer was looking for the guy who slept in the bed near his almost make him go crazy that year. But in his fifth year the atmosphere if possible was even darker. The danger didn’t come from outside the school no more, but from the inside. The installation of the professor Umbridge was one of the worst things ever happened to the school; making the climate that the students had to endure the worst possible. Just walking around, talking freely, or looking too much could cause many problems to the younglings.

And there he was, walking alone in the afternoon, after the end of his lessons, going for the Room of Requirement, because Harry had that crazy idea, and now he was risking his neck to learn how to defend himself from crazy death eater and You-Know-who. He sighed, shaking his head, very lost in his thoughts, only listening the sound of his shoes on the floor of the empty hall; until a much faster sound captured his attention, someone coming very fast to his location. He raised his eyes just enough to look at his surrounding when a hand clashed on his back. “Hello, Darling. Going around alone? Mind if I walk with you? Pretty sure we are going in the same direction anyway and,” there she lowered her voice “Granger told us, better moving in pairs, less easy to pick on us.” A small laugh came out of a mouth next to Neville’s ear, as he moved his gaze to look at the girl that just crashed on his back.

Y/n was a year younger than him, a fellow Gryffindor, a normal girl. Pretty, Seamus once said, but no one had the courage to go tell her; her notorious hot head more than enough to keep any unwanted suitor away from her. But Neville had to agree with Seamus, she was, pretty. She had large shoulders, always waiting for one of the Weasley twins to fell of the broom (as she said) to be able to play, her hairs looked soft and well cured, even when she returned to the common room after study session they looked pretty, curled in a bum on top of her head; although that year she had cut them shorter, into a messy and carefree bob that was always, well... messy; but, and Neville could not explain that to himself, it looked like she wanted it to be like it, because even if it was chaotic, her hair looked better than ever. She had a happy smile, the one kind that make other people smile too, and a fast tongue that make her one of the targets both from the twins and the Umbridge, the firsts because they founded her annoyed words funny, and the second because she can’t seem to keep her mouth shout for her own good.

And, as the last part there were her eyes. Neville always tough that her eyes were the most mesmerizing eyes in the whole school. Able to go from looking like a sky before a storm, when she was studying or saw something that angered her, to the kindest and happiest one for almost nothing.

As one time she was clearly struggling with her head inside a book, reading for God know what time the same three lines; her face looked like she was about to explode and kill someone, and Ginny came to Neville asking for a courtesy.

“I have finished all my sweets,” she told him softly “don’t you happen to have something? This usually is enough to make her mood better.”

Now, Neville always was picked on by bullies, but after the year before when the girl crushed Gobble’s nose with her book to protect him, he felt a little more safe to walk around in the castle, especially when the girl was in the surroundings. So, he was eager to be able to help her, in everything, even the smallest thing. This was no exception, and the marvel when he noticed that, only tapping on her shoulder to offer her a candy, make her eyes transform in pure bliss. She accepted the candy so happily that make his heart warmer.

“Yes, I Know, but I didn’t find anyone; and…” he hesitated “going around with a girl is…”

She laughed, softly. “I swear Longbottom, I’ll be distant enough to not get us a detention, if someone comes by, okay?”

He nodded, slow.

“But seriously, ask me next time. I don’t like to go alone neither. And go picking Luna is a pain in the ass, I always send Ginny and Hermione. So, I don’t have to walk by myself for half of the castle.”

“She isn’t bad” tried to argue him.

“No, she is lovely. Don’t get me wrong.” She fasted explain “But, if you don’t mind, I prefer to walk with you.”

Some redness grew on the boy’s face, his hand twirling on each other’s. “I… like to walk with you too, Y/n.” he muttered.

“So, there isn’t any problem if we go together, only being safer. No cons, only pros.” She laughed, putting her hands in the pockets of the coat. “Am I wrong?”

The boy shakes his head. “As always, no, you aren’t.”

Another laugh left the lips of the girl next to him. She must have been of an extremely good mood that day, Neville thought, looking at her jumping happily in the middle of the hall, slightly ahead of him; he himself let go a smile, while looking at her. The thoughts in his head looking at the happy girl jumping and twirling her skirt, her bouncy hair free in the air, the laughter in her eyes. She was extremely good at making him happy, just by looking at her. He almost tend his hand to grab her when a cough reclaimed their attention behind them.

“Longbottom.” a snarky voice make him  froze on the spot, and slowly turn around.

The malefic trio behind them, Draco was looking at Neville with a smirk on his face, and behind him Cabble and Goyle. Neville was petrified in the middle of the corridor, unable to lift his gaze to look at the three in the eyes, one good thing was that his figure covered almost completely y/n, so when she emerged from behind him she had a very good view of the change of expression of the three guys. She smirked at them, Cabble growl ah her, Neville with a surge of curage put himself between his friend and the bully.

“Do we have any problem, Malfoy?” asked the girl, putting a hand on Neville’s shoulder, to tranquilize him. “I mean, you and your two minions, clearly have some, but we?” she looked at them funny, “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

The blonde one, the one that looked like a ferret, gaze them with attention, before a smirk grew on his face. “Do you really wanna do this, L/n?”

The girl already had her wand in her hand, but was still smiling, and the tone of her voice spoke about arrogance, against Draco. “I won’t make anything, if you don’t do anything funny, Malfoy.”

Neville thought that the tension between the girl and Draco was so thick that could be cut with a knife, both looked like as they were ready to jump at each other throat, just a wrong movement and chaos would be unleashed in the corridors. They clearly hated each other, Draco was a bitch with all the Gryffindors, but Neville has seen him with that expression only looking at Harry, he would have never thought… His gaze moved on the two behind him, Cabble looked like he was ready to rip the head off y/n, probably because last year she broke his nose, and Goyle looked as always, eager to torment someone.

“Letting a girl defending you Squib?” asked Malfoy moving his gaze on Neville, witch didn’t answer the provocation.

Y/n however did.

“Jealous, Draco? What’s the matter? Do you wish to have someone protecting you?” she makes a grimace at him, moving her weight to a foot into the other. “I can show you, if you ask properly. Be a good boy, c’mon.”

She was shitting on him, and everyone could tell; but, for once, Draco decided to be the smart one, lifting his wand as to cast a spell, Neville saw the slow movement, and understood that there made with purpose, to make the girl attack him first. And that exactly what she did, seeing Draco lifting his wand she had no instants of doubt, her wand moved almost on his own ad she casted a spell that led the blonde boy fly into a wall, crashing and falling with disgraced movement.

But, when he lifted his face, aside from a little blood that was leaking from his nose, a smile moved his face.

“She attacked me!” he started screaming. “Get her! She attacked me!”

The yells were more than enough to make her hesitate for some moments, her eyes moved to Nevilles, with a sorry look on her face; knowing that she, with her hot head, just condemned them both to a visit into Umbridge’s office. That was just a second because after that a binding curse send her flying into the hall, blocked on the floor.

Neville looked in horror his friend being sent on the other side of the corridor, her hair scattered on the cold floor and her wand fled some meters from the body of the girl. Her eyes blocked looking in another direction, open. For a second, he felt bile coming in his mouth, she looked death, but then the Pietrificus totalus malediction crashed on him too, and his thought moved in another direction, afraid for the consequences of the meet.

When Neville recuperates his body autonomy, he was already in the Umbridge office; the smell of melted rose scented wax making his eyes watery, and his throat ache. Y/n on the floor too, not far away from him. She didn’t look very worried, and this made him even more anxious, afraid of what the girl could do. It was almost like she didn’t care what would have happened to her, as long as she would have win in the long period. She wasn’t afraid of losing points from her house, to sustain the angry looks of her housemates, to end in detention every other week; it was like she didn’t care because she feels in peace with herself every time she put herself in trouble to defend someone.  So, there she was, lifting herself from the floor to sit on one of the little armchairs in front of professor’s Umbridge desk, with a little smile on her lips. Neville didn’t sit, standing behind the girl, trembling slowly.

“Is it true,” started the woman, passing her own wand from a hand to the other. “that you two attacked some other students.”

“No, it’s not.” answered Y/n fast, moving for an instant her gaze on Neville’s, which sent her a confused look. “I did. He didn’t do nothing, Miss, just standing here.” 

The professor’s gaze moved on Neville, thinning.

“I’m ready to take the Veritaserum, Miss, I was the one that cast a spell first, on Malfoy. He did nothing, was walking me to the common room.” She fidgets with her hands, slightly nervous. “I swear, Miss. Neville’s has not done anything wrong, even stepping in the middle to stop me.” she make a small laugh. “He knows I’m a hot head.”

Professor’s Umbridge sat in silence, looking only at the girl.

“Very well” she sighed “Longbottom, you are free to go. But I have my eyes on you, so be careful.” She showed him the door. “And, perhaps, choose better friends, in the future.”

Neville opened his mouth, as to protest. “I’m… I was there it isn’t right… not only Y/n…”

The girl gave him a soft smile “It’s alright, I’ll see you in the common room later. I’ve made a mistake, It’s only my fault.”

Neville looked at her in disbelief. Once again, she was just sitting there going in detention with serenity, the girl give him a last smile and then the professor forced him to leave the office.

He walked to the great hall with his hands into the pockets of his pants, the head recessed between the shoulders, and his face deformed in a sad pout. He sat there till the other members of the DA arrived and sat as well.

“Why didn’t you come to the encounter?” inquired almost immediately Ginny, leaning in his direction.

Every other member of the DA looked at him curious.

“Y/n.” he answered, gaining more curious look from his peers. “She…” he sighed “Malfoy stopped us in the middle of a hallway, and she… didn’t take well. I mean, he extracted the wand, and she attacked him…” he passed a hand on his eyes.

The Weasley let all go a laugh, followed by Harry.

“Did she hurt him?” asked Fred, with sparling eyes.

Neville just moved his head to point to the Slytherin table, where Draco’s nose was still red and swallow. The table let go another amazed laugh, one of the twins almost fall from his spot.

“She has a passion to hit on the nose of the Slytherin. I wonder if she does on purpose or what.” Ron commented between the laughs; Ginny’s, on his side, exploded in another laugh, very amused by the precision of her friend.

“I bet she does it on purpose.” Commented Dean. “She is a good Beater; her aim must be good.”

Everyone agreed with that, and, by doing so the focus of the conversation moved to the quidditch, distracting the presents, except for Neville, which keep an eye on the doors of the Great Hall, waiting for his friend. When they all get up, at the end of the dinner he makes sure to take a sandwich for the girl.

The group moved to the common room and there sated, chatting between each other, on the sofa enjoying the warmth of the fire in the fireplace. Next to Neville, Ginny was sitting on the sofa curled up in silence. In an angle Fred and George were confabulating something and, next to them, Seamus and Dean were chatting about Quidditch.

After some time, the paint of the Fat Lady opened, and, behind the entrance y/n was standing, her hand red and a black eye proud on her face.

“Sup guys,” she entered gaining the silence inside of the room, she left her robes on the armchair and sat on the sofa, next to Ginny and Neville. “did you all had a good evening?”

“What in the bloody hell happened to your face?” Hermione spoke first, breaking the silence in the room, clearly voicing what everyone were thinking, looking at her.

“Oh… yes.” Y/n answered “This… I may or may not have made the Umbridge…” she grinned “Mad.”

The silence persisted.

“I exaggerated, maybe. But that old Hag makes my patience go to the hell.” she looked at Neville’s lap, where a sandwich sat napkin-wrapped. “Is that for me honey? You are the most precious.” she added when Neville confirmed that, the food, was in fact for her. Her hand moved and grabbed the sandwich to unwrap it, and she started eating.

Fred and George moved closer curious looking at her. “And the hand? What did make you write?”

She grinned, once again. “I should have write ‘I should not attack other students.’” she moved her hand, to show the twins; Neville leaned to look at the back of the girl’s hand, on that the back a sentence.

“I will punch Malfoy” and above another sentence, unreadable.

“When I noticed what that thing was doing to my hand, I decided to write on me something that I actually believe.” she huffed. “The old hag didn’t check what I was writing, so…” She lifted her shoulder with a smile that promised chaos and moved her eyes to look at Fred and George. “Weasleys, I will need your help, if it’s not much trouble.”

The two looked at her intrigued, smelling that something was on.

“I swear Y/n if you make us loose other points…” started Ron.

“Let the lady talk Ronnie.” exclaimed Fred smacking his brother behind his head.

“Ye, I think she is cooking something in that head.” added George.

She tapped her fingers on the armrest of the sofa. “I think we’ll need the bludgers,” she muttered “and a distraction to sneak into the office while she is away.” added eyeing Ginny, she huffed. “But before anything else I need a shower, and a good night of sleep.” the girl eyed the twins once again. “I hope we’ll discuss this thing better tomorrow morning, yes?”

The two grinned at her.

And Neville stood here looking at y/n and the twins, the stomach twisted with anxiety and, maybe, something else.

Two weeks passed by with nothing done from y/n, it looked like that only speaking about terrible things with the twins was enough to keep her satisfied, but Neville couldn’t shake that horrible feeling that was aching his chest. He, used to have her spawning around him at the most random moments, was now seeing her only in company of the two ginger boys. Even Ginny, that was a good friend of the girl, was barely seeing her outside of the lessons. At lunch and dinner, she always sat with Neville and Ginny, and now her new place was between the two brothers, in the corridors looked like they walked to her and with her to every class; and after the lessons she was allowed to stick to them constantly, at quidditch practice, during the DA meetings, in the common room during the evening.

Neville was looking at all this with a pouty face and nervous attitude, ready to snap to everyone that talked about the trio in a different way than to complain. Ginny and Hermione being his best ally on this ques. The first because the one girl that was hatched by her brother was her best friend who she was deeply missing, and the other because she didn’t want to attract Umbridge attention on the Gryffindor house. So, during an evening in the common room, during which Neville was studying at a table in silence the two girls popped at his side, sitting with a disappointed groan.

“We must stop the three of them.” Hermione said with no further ado. Neville lifted his eyes from the book he was reading to send the two girl a confused look, tilting his head, no more invitation was needed for the girl to continue. “They are going to get us in trouble, if they get caught in no time the Umbridge will know about the DA, and then, we all be marked.”

Neville shot a look at Ginny, which nodded. “To be honest you know, I’m only pissed because she now spends all her time with those two,” she moved her hair behind her ear “aren’t you? You used to walk everywhere together, and now she goes with them.” The two girl sent him inquisitive looks, curious about his answer, and he blushed.

“I… you know, since the beginning of the year walking with a girl can send you in detention.”

Ginny gave him a kick under the table.

“Don’t be stupid,” She hissed. “and don’t lie to me. I know you miss it, she doesn't even spar with you at the DA.” The redhead takes her breath in, as Hermione moved her gaze to look at the girl they were talking about that was just walking inside the room with the twins.

“We know it pisses you too, Neville.” Hermione said softly “And we know that seeing her happy makes you happy too, but…”

At this point the boy shook his head, asking himself why he was listening to the two girls. He closed his book, his cheeks red and suddenly stood up, interrupting that and other conversation in the room. Even Y/n which in the last period was so taken by the twins to even look at him stopped her chatting to stare in silence. Seeing Neville, the quiet, unsure, boy stand up like that, the face angry and the hands closed in firsts was a new gaze to all the presents, and so everyone stopped what was doing to look in awe at the scene. “I’m not gonna put in the middle.” Said the boy with no hesitation whatsoever. “If she is happy, then I am. That’s it.” He spoke, leaving Hermione and Ginny to look at him confused, or better, surprised from the reaction. He waited long enough to see the two nods before taking his book and fly in the direction of his room, the eyes of the common room that were piercing the back of his head.

Many times, Y/n had saved him from the bully, the last time just a few weeks prior, when the bully stopped being a student and has become a professor, he could have never token something that made her happy, even if that meant was left behind. He passed a hand on his eyes, trying to make the tears that were stinging his eyes return, and succeeded, remaining in silence, on his bed, looking at the ceiling while in the common room the chatting was returning to his normal pace.

hello hello hello i hope you liked this little thing, is shorter than the other one, but I'm writhing other parts too and working on other fiction as well.

If you wish to be tagged in part two (and three as well) let me know; and if you have any request or ideas. Anything will be precious to improve myself. <3

I take a moment to tell, I don't have a beta reader and, since I'm not english, I would appreciate some help.

thank you all, send love <3

[elliewlums]

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐱 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): ghostface!steddie x fem!reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: serial killers!steddie, blowjobs, deepthroating, ball worship, daddy kink (barely there, eddie mentions it once), mask kink, dom!steddie, sub!reader — kinktober masterlist

your knees hurt, scraping against the rough carpet of your bedroom floor as you lave your tongue over steve’s balls; they hang heavy and full and he groans as you suck one into your mouth, roll it around and suckle on it. he gasps, ruts his hips into the warm, wet cavern encasing him and his dick jumps where it’s rested against your cheek, the head leaving little precum kisses over your soft skin. eddie laughs, lowers his own balls further onto your face and watches in awe as you nuzzle into them, inhaling deeply as you wrap yourself around his thigh. his gloved hand reaches out to caress your face as you take hold of his cock, swiping your thumb over the head and giggling as his balls throb and tighten. you’re relying on sound alone to determine what they’re enjoying most, their faces covered by masks; masks that are splattered with their latest victim’s blood, that loom down on you threateningly; the danger of your boyfriends being killers only serves to make you wetter— so wet that your puffy cunt soaks your panties and they mould to you, your clit swollen and quivering with arousal.

“c’mon, angel,” steve coaxes, tapping your lips with the head of his cock and waiting for you to open up. you do, humming in content as he feeds his dick down your throat until your nose is nestled in his pubes. eddie goes back to rubbing his sack across your forehead and cheeks, the scent of him making you lightheaded as you’re surrounded by your boys completely. you choke as steve hits the back of your throat and he reaches out to stroke your hair, tucking it behind your ears.

“breathe through your nose angel. just like, fuck, just like i taught you. good girl, let me in. open that little throat for me.”

you do as he asks, inhale deeply through your nose and close your eyes when he’s finally seated in your throat. eddie laughs again, deep and rasping.

“what a little slut, taking stevie’s big cock all the way down your tiny throat, huh?” he cups your neck with one big hand, pressing down. you can only drool and gurgle around steve. “yeah, can feel him in there, baby. i know, you’re so eager. takin’ steve’s huge dick like a champ.” he pumps his own dick, ruddy and flushed, almost swollen in appearance, and moans, jerks off to the sight of your throat flexing around steve’s length, the bubbles of spit that run freely from the stretched corners of your mouth and the way that your thighs clench and your pussy subtly grinds against steve’s leg. when steve pulls you off, lets you up for a break, you whine and paw at his hips

“wanna see you. wanna see your face.”

eddie pushes you back down and grips your jaw in one of his big, ring heavy hands.

“shut up. you get what we give you, nothing more. you don’t deserve to see us yet. get stevie’s cock back in your mouth and maybe i’ll consider it. give daddy a good view to beat off to, yeah? there you go, oh, attagirl.”

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Forty Five

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends!

As always, thank you so so much for your love on this fic. This chapter takes us over 150k for this fic and it means more than I could ever say how much you love this version of them.

This chapter includes inspiration from an ask I got from @dreamyorion84 a little while ago who wanted to read something where Dave talks to Emily and/or Aaron about his son James whom he lost.

Please keep that is a subject discussed in part of this chapter in mind if that is something you could struggle with <3

Please do let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 3k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List and will be updated as we go along. Please note the additional warning mentioned above relevant to this chapter only.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She can’t explain the anxiety she feels when Aaron suggests that they go to the park with Jack and Lily. His smile soft as he says the weather was perfect for it, the early evenings finally slightly cooler now autumn was approaching, and that it was a good way for Jack to burn off some of his seemingly endless energy. She knows she can’t argue with his logic, that it would be nice to go somewhere just the four of them, but anytime she thinks about taking Lily anywhere outside of their home she feels overwhelmed. Anxiety steals her breath as she watches Aaron pack the diaper bag, his attention to detail as diligent as ever as he makes sure to pack everything they need for a newborn even on a short excursion. 

The anxiety bubbles deep in Emily’s gut, burning against the scar she bore for bringing her daughter into the world. The scar she was still getting used to whenever she spotted it in the mirror, another change to her body that pregnancy had brought along, one she’d been entirely unprepared for. She clears her throat as she sways side to side, her gaze drifting between Lily, who was strapped to her chest in the baby wrap, and Aaron as he double-checks his work on the diaper bag. 

“Maybe…” she drifts off, the thought dying as it’s halfway out, not sure how she would explain even to herself how she was feeling. She loves being a mom, loves her little girl and Jack more than she thought she ever would, but there were moments when she struggled with how much it had changed her. 

She’d never felt further away from the woman whose job meant she faced danger every day. The woman who would chase down serial killers with her gun drawn whilst wearing healed boots. Now she felt undone by the thought of going to the park. Every terrible thing she knew about the world and the people in it threatening to overwhelm her in a way that made her want to keep Lily and Jack inside forever where she could keep them safe. 

She tightens her hold on Lily a little, something that was unnecessary anyway since the baby was secured to her in the wrap, as a voice in the back of her head tells her she hadn’t been able to do that when her little girl was being born. That her body had failed to do things correctly, putting them both in danger she still felt the sharp edge of most days. 

She had Aaron hadn’t talked about it in any depth. Neither of them sure how to bring up how it felt for them, both too afraid of upsetting the other when emotions were still high in their house from a lack of sleep and the stress that came from having a newborn. She knows they need to speak about it eventually, that she wants and needs to know how he felt whilst she was having surgery, and that she needs to try to find a way to put it all into words. To explain to him that, even though she and Lily were fine, she felt like she’d had something stolen from her because she’d been unconscious when her baby was born. The moment she’d been thinking of for months pulled out from underneath her, forcing her to lose the footing she knew she hadn’t gained back yet. 

Aaron smiles softly as he sets the diaper bag down and walks over, wrapping his arm around Emily, and smiling down at Lily for a moment before he turns his attention back to his wife.

“Em,” He says, his hand running up and down her back, “Tell me what-”

“I’m ready!” Jack exclaims as he runs into the room, his soccer ball clutched in his hands as he beams at them, “I got my ball so we can show Lily how good I am at soccer.” 

Emily smiles, his excitement dampening her anxiety a little his wide smile every bit as enchanting to her as it had been the first time she’d met him. It felt like an honour to be part of his life in the way she was, to see how he’d changed so much in the two years she’d been with Aaron, and she feels excited at the prospect of watching Lily grow up too. 

“Lily would love that,” she says, peeking down at her daughter and seeing she was fast asleep, something that would likely continue the entire time they were out. She steps away from her husband, not missing how he chases her with his embrace, his fingers falling from her back once she’s finally out of reach, “We should get going though so we’re back in time for dinner.” 

“Em,” Aaron says, stepping towards her, concern for her and the clear fear he’d seen flash in her eyes at the prospect of taking Lily out making his chest tight. She turns to look at him, her eyes wide as she nods down towards Jack. 

“Later,” she says, only half-meaning it, not sure how she can talk to him about any of this without making him worry about her any more than he already did, “Can you get the diaper bag?” 

He pauses, briefly considering putting a stop to this. Distracting Jack with the prospect of just kicking the ball around their backyard whilst he tried to talk to his wife about what was bothering her. But he stops himself, the quiet desperation in Emily’s eyes for him to drop it and the excitement shining out of Jack’s forcing him to simply nod as he grabs the diaper bag. The pale yellow elephants dancing across the material standing out against his outfit of dark jeans and a black polo shirt. 

“Let’s get going, the sooner we get there the sooner we can get home.” 

He lets himself pretend that he doesn’t see his wife swallow thickly, or the way she adjusts her hold on the baby in her arms. 

“Come on, sweet girl,” she says, dropping a kiss to Lily’s dark hair, “Let’s go watch Daddy and Jack play soccer.” 

___

Emily has just put Lily down, the baby barely relaxed on the mattress in her bassinet, when she hears a knock on the front door. She freezes, standing perfectly still for a second as she waits for her daughter to wake up. She’s grateful when nothing happens, when Lily continues to sleep, and she smiles before she grabs the baby monitor, heading downstairs to answer the front door before whoever is there knocks again, something she is sure would be pushing her luck with Lily sleeping through her whole nap for once. 

Whoever she thought she’d find on the other side of the door when she looks through the peephole, she hadn’t expected it to be Dave. She feels a flash of panic as she thinks about the last time she’d heard from Aaron, how he’d sent her a text explaining he’d be a little late because he’d been pulled into a meeting he couldn’t get out of. She opens the door and comes face to face with her friend.

“Dave, is everything okay?” 

He smiles softly at her, the relaxed nature of it putting out the fire of her anxiety before it could spread, “Everything is fine, Bella,” he assures her, walking into the house as she steps back to let him in, “I know Aaron is stuck at work so I thought I’d come to see you and Mini Bella.” 

She smiles as she closes the front door and turns to him, “I hate to break it to you but the littlest Hotchner is currently asleep. Coffee?”

Dave smiles and nods as they walk towards the kitchen, “That’s okay, as adorable as she is I mostly came by to see you,” he leans against the kitchen counter and looks at her, a glimmer in his eyes that she recognises from when he’s speaking to suspects on a case, the way he could pull information out of people second to none, “You’re much better to have a conversation with than she is.” 

She narrows her eyes at him as places down the baby monitor and she switches on the coffee machine, her arms crossed over her chest as she looks him up and down, “What did Aaron say to you?” 

Since the trip to the park a few days ago she’d been avoiding speaking to Aaron about how she was feeling about everything. Dodging the conversation even though she desperately wanted to have it. Coping mechanisms she was sure she’d rid herself of sneaking their way back in after he’d helped her push them all away months ago. Exhaustion and everything with her parents that had happened recently allowing her to regress into old habits. 

“He didn’t say anything,” Dave assures her, and she knows he’s telling the truth, “But he’s worried and he’s not hiding it,” he says, shrugging as he pushes his hands into the pockets in his pants, “And the only person who can break down his defences like that is you.” 

Emily stares at him for a moment before clearing her throat and turning her attention to the coffee machine as it beeps, indicating the coffee is ready. She pours two cups of it, making sure hers is smaller than she would have poured herself before because she was breastfeeding, and she sighs. 

“I’m fine, Dave,” she says, turning and smiling tightly at him as she hands him his coffee.

He takes the cup offered to him and stares at her for a moment, clearly using the skills they both had against her, “Well, no one would blame you if you weren’t,” he says, pausing to take a sip of his coffee, “You had traumatic labour, you were worried something would happen to your baby. That’s a lot for anyone to go through, even someone as good at compartmentalising as you.” 

She clenches her teeth as she looks down at the ground, her grip on her coffee cup briefly tightening. Irritation at her friend for hitting the nail on the head making her tense, “Dave-”

“And I know you’re probably resistant to talk to Aaron about it because you know he’s struggling with what happened too,” he says, cutting off what they both knew would have been a denial of everything he’d said, “But you need to talk to him about it, to understand what each other went through so you can move forward. Otherwise…you risk letting it be the first thing that grows between you.” 

She smiles wryly, letting it cover the almost visceral reaction she had to the thought of this causing damage to her marriage. She takes a sip of her coffee, “What makes you such an expert?” 

His smile turns sad and he sighs, “I had a son,” he says and she frowns, her breath catching in her chest, “He was called James.” 

She stutters uncharacteristically, “Dave…I…” she drifts off, unsure what to say as he looks at the ground.

“He died the same day he was born, he didn’t live for very long and Caroline, my wife, and I…we never talked about it,” he shakes his head at himself, “It was the 70s so we were encouraged not to, to accept that it was ‘just one of those things’ but…it was the beginning of the end for us,” he looks up at her and smiles, “You idiots love each other so much it puts what Caroline and I had to shame, so just talk to each other. For me?” 

She nods absentmindedly, swallowing thickly as she tries to grapple with what she’s been told, the part of his past that her friend had revealed to her. Something he clearly rarely, if ever, spoke about.

“Dave, I’m so sorry,” she says, the thought of it pushing her almost to tears, something she forces back, aware that this wasn’t about her but her friend and what he’d kept to himself for so long, “What…if you don’t mind telling me…what happened?” 

He smiles sadly, “Same thing as with you and Lily,” he says carefully, watching as she reacts without meaning to, her eyes going wide, “Except back then c-sections were a last resort, not the first thing they did when the chord became visible,” he sighs, “If they’d done what they did for you…he probably would have lived.” 

She feels guilt overwhelm her, stealing the breath from her lungs as she steps towards him, “I’m sorry, I-”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Bella,” he says, “Nothing. And I’m not saying this to compare battle scars, what happened with James doesn’t invalidate what happened with you and Lily. It’s still a trauma, it’s still something you need to recover from,” he pulls her into a hug, one she returns gladly, “It’s still something you need to talk to your husband about.” 

She nods against him, tightening her hold on him, everything she knew about him, how he looked after everyone on the team, making more sense than it ever had. 

“Okay,” she promises, the word chased by a cry upstairs, echoed by the sound coming out of the baby monitor. She chuckles as she pulls back and smiles at him, patting him on the arm, “Come on Uncle Dave,” she says, grabbing the baby monitor as she starts to lead him upstairs, “Let’s see if Lily likes your singing any more than she did the last time you came over.” 

___

She paces the bedroom as she rocks Lily back and forth, softly singing as she smiles down at her sleepy face, the baby fighting sleep even though she was milk-drunk and already halfway there. 

“Bonne nuit, cher trésor,

Ferme tes yeux et dors.

Laisse ta tête, s'envoler,

Au creux de ton oreiller.

Un beau rêve passera,

Et tu l'attraperas.

Un beau rêve passera,

Et tu le retiendras.”

She looks up as the bedroom door opens and she smiles at her husband as he walks in, his exhaustion from a long day at work clear. 

“I love it when you sing in French,” he says, walking over to kiss Emily and smiling down at Lily, “Can I take her?”

“Of course,” Emily replies, handing her over resting against Aaron’s side as she looks at her daughter, “She’s doing her usual fighting sleep thing.” 

He smiles as he settles Lily against his chest, his palm still almost the same size as her back as he holds her in place, “Is that right, Lily-Pad?” 

“Don’t call her that-”

“Maybe Mommy should sing some more,” he says, smiling when he cuts Emily off at her protest at the nickname he’d started to use as a joke but had somehow stuck. He looks at his wife, “Is Mommy going to sing for us?” 

She rolls her eyes at her husband and rests her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist as she looks at her daughter, restarting the same lullaby she’d been singing when he walked in. 

“Bonne nuit-”

“Can you sing it in English?” He asks, and she looks at him, her confused frown turning into a smile as embarrassment flashes in his eyes, “So I can understand.” 

She nods and presses a kiss to his lips before she starts again.

“Good night, dear treasure,

Close your eyes and sleep.

Let your head fly away

In the hollow of your pillow.

A beautiful dream will pass,

And you will catch it.

A beautiful dream will pass,

And you will remember it.”

She smiles as she realises Lily has finally fallen asleep, her cheek squished against Aaron’s chest, and then she looks back up at Aaron, her eyebrows furrowing as he just stares at her. 

“What?” She asks, her cheeks flushing, “The lyrics don’t always make sense when you translate them directly.”

He kisses her and steps away to set Lily down in the bassinet, laying her down expertly so she doesn’t wake up. He turns back to his wife and pulls her into his arms.

“It’s not that,” he says, stamping a kiss against her lips as he pulls her closer, his palms against her back, “You’re just an amazing mom,” he says, warmth spreading inside his chest as she beams at him, her smile wide and genuine. 

She bites her lower lip, her cheeks warm with the praise, and she curses the fact she’s still at least two weeks away from being able to have sex with her husband. 

“Well,” she says, playing with the collar of his shirt, “You’re a pretty amazing father,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, “And a fantastic husband,” she sighs softly as she thinks of the conversation she’d had with Dave earlier, the heaviness of it still weighing on her, “I’m sorry I’ve been…a bit distant recently.” 

He pulls her closer, “Oh, sweetheart, no you have nothing to apologise for,” he assures her, “I’ve been worried but…that’s just because I love you.” 

She nods, tears blurring her vision as her eyes search his, “And I love you too, so much, but I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it quite yet. I still…”

“Need to process,” he finishes for her, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “I know sweetheart,” he says, leaning forward and kissing her forehead, “I know.” 

“As soon as I am though…I promise we’ll talk about all of it.” 

He smiles and pulls her into a hug, stamping a kiss against her temple, “I know we will,” he assures her, kissing her temple again before he pulls back, “Come on,” he says, linking their hands together as he leads her towards the hallway, grabbing the baby monitor as he goes, “Let’s try and eat a hot meal before she wakes up again.” 

She chuckles as she leans against him, wrapping both of her arms around one of his, her cheek against his shoulder, “We could be so lucky.” 

-x-

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[celestial-vapidity]

Good morning/afternoon/evening LGBTQ+ community! Here is my triumphant return to the Resident Lover fandom with a Mia mix to accompany all my other RL route mixes. I know Mia does not (currently) have a route, but she's my precious little meow meow so I decided to make her one anyway. Also, thanks to Nothing Without You by sapphirexdaze on AO3 for helping me get the vibes right for this mix. Hope y'all enjoy!

Who Is She? by I Monster (Oh, who is she? A misty memory, a haunting face, is she a lost embrace? [...] Somewhere across the sea of time a love immortal such as mine will come to me eternally, immortal she return to me)

I Don't Smoke - Audiotree Live Version by Mitski (If you need to be mean, be mean to me, I can take it and put it inside of me, if your hands need to break more than trinkets in your room, you can lean on my arm as you break my heart)

I Love You Like An Alcoholic by The Taxpayers (My girl, if looks gave heart attacks [...] I blushed and you laughed, but you seemed a little sad [...] One last kiss, I love you like a pack of dogs, one last kiss, I need you like I need a gaping head wound)

Serial Killer by Candi Carpenter (So far you haven't murdered me, but there's a first time for everything, I know, is it anxiety or intuition telling me I'd be safer alone? [...] I'm still scared I'm gonna find out you're a serial killer [...] I'm afraid this could get bloody, I'm not used to warm and fuzzy, I still flinch when you touch me, I'm suspicious 'cause you love me)

I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski (I bet on losing dogs, I know they're losing and I pay for my place by the ring where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down, I'll be there on their side, I'm losing by their side)

Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge (It's only just a crush, it'll go away, it's just like all the others, it'll go away, or maybe this is danger and he just don't know, you pray it all away, but it continues to grow [...] I want to hold you close, soft breast, beating heart, as I whisper in your ear, "I wanna fucking tear you apart")

Rosenrot by Rammstein (Tiefe wasser sind nicht still [...] sie will es und so ist es fein, so war es und so wird es immer sein, sie will es und so ist es brauch, was sie will bekommt sie auch) (Deep waters don't run still [...] She wants it and that's fine, so it was and so it will always be, she wants it and that's the custom, whatever she wants she gets)

Gallery Piece by of Montreal (I wanna be your only friend [...] I wanna be your beast, I wanna make you proud and play with your head [...] I wanna hurt you bad, make you paranoid, and say the sweetest things, I wanna help you grow, and for eternity I wanna be your what's happening)

Desire by Meg Myers (See I gotta hunt you, I gotta bring you to my hell [...] I'm gonna love you, I'm gonna tear into your soul)

Corrupting My Better Half (Solo Version) by Harley Poe (I said "Baby, I love you and I hope you know you're a gift from above, but I killed twenty men and the cops are after me" [...] She died right in my arms, I had to leave her, I'm sorry, my love, for being such a fool [...] I'm gonna burn in hell for corrupting my better half)