#i wanted to fix things. YOU made your choice.

[fandoms-x-reader]

Unpredictable

Requested By: @beawesome04

Summary: The brothers and dateables reactions to an MC whose magic is hard to control and tends to have unpredictable consequences when they use it. The Seven Demons Brothers x Reader Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, & Solomon x Reader Word Count: 6,560

Solomon had promised you that everything would be alright when he first suggested teaching you magic.

Solomon was clearly a renowned sorcerer so you believed that he would be an excellent teacher in the matter.

But, Solomon was a very unpredictable person, and as such his magic lessons tended to be a bit unpredictable as well.

He had asked you to summon one of the brothers as a test of your ability, swearing that it would be a simple summoning spell.

You wanted to choose which brother you summoned with your pact, but that choice wasn’t given to you as all of the brothers seemed to be doing something at the current moment.

The only one who wasn’t busy was the strictest one - Lucifer.

You did everything you could to try to persuade Solomon to let you skip the lesson on summoning for now, but he refused to back down.

Before you knew it, you were saying the chant to summon the firstborn.

You swore you said and did everything correctly and when Lucifer suddenly appeared in front of you, you were relieved that you had done it.

But, that relief quickly faded when you took a better look at Lucifer.

He had a bewildered look on his face, clearly confused as to why he was just summoned, but more than that, most of his features had changed color.

His skin color, eye color, and hair color matched yours to the exact shade. 

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as Solomon stifled his laughter from beside you.

You hoped that you could fix the situation before Lucifer saw what had happened but luck once again proved to not be on your side as you noticed a mirror conveniently placed in the room.

As soon as Lucifer saw himself in the mirror, his expression changed to one of anger and you could tell he was holding back one of his infamous lectures.

He was the one who encouraged you to work with Solomon on your magic so he could hardly be upset if things didn’t go right the first time, but changing his appearance was also not something he could tolerate.

“I’ll fix it, I promise!” you swore, coming up next to Lucifer who was now standing in front of the mirror.

You let out a small gasp as you came to the mirror, realizing that not only did Lucifer have your colored features, but you had his. Your hair was as dark as a raven’s and your eyes as red as blood.

Lucifer couldn’t help but take in your appearance as well, noting that under better circumstances, your appearance matching his own would drive him absolutely crazy.

Solomon’s chuckle brought Lucifer back to reality and he turned to look at the sorcerer.

Lucifer demanded Solomon to fix this mess and once that was done, Lucifer made sure to give you both a good lecture on the intricacies of magic and the consequences of doing it improperly.

Of course, you didn’t end up in any real trouble, but he did make you promise not to summon him again unless it was a real emergency.

Mammon’s experience with your unpredictable magic was entirely his own fault.

You had tried explaining to him on multiple different occasions that you were not fully trained and that you were still learning how to control your magic.

You only knew a few basic spells and you hadn’t even learned how to perfect those yet.

But, as usual, when Mammon had something on his mind, everything went in one ear and out the other.

And, your inexperience in magic was no exception.

Mammon had come up with a brilliant idea to use your magic to help him cheat at the casino so that he could “win big”.

Everything about the scheme seemed like a terrible idea, so naturally you declined.

But, Mammon was persistent and begged you to help him until you caved.

The casino wasn’t the regular one that Mammon went to. This one was on a nice ship and it was one that was only passing through.

It was perfect because even if they caught Mammon cheating, they wouldn’t be around past that one night.

You sat at the bar while Mammon went to the tables to play. He thought that if the two of you were standing next to each other the entire time, it would be easier to spot that he was cheating.

You had no expectations of this working, but you gave it your best shot anyway.

All you had to do was change the cards in Mammon’s hand to ones that he could win with.

You chanted a spell quietly under your breath and then watched intensely as Mammon turned over the cards in his hands, revealing a winning hand. 

You let out a small chuckle, surprised at the results and Mammon looked at you from the table, a happy-go-lucky smile on his face as he sent you a wink.

You continued to say the same spell, and to your surprise, Mammon was gathering a large sum of money. Everything was going well.

“Hey, are you using magic?” you heard someone say as they roughly grabbed your arm, making you snap your eyes open.

Magic was strictly prohibited at the casino because people could easily use it to cheat.

You were trying to come up with a reasonable excuse when you felt a familiar hand grab yours and pull you towards him.

“Time to run!” Mammon told you, pulling you past people, his winnings tucked into his arm as he held onto them for dear life.

“You’ve gotta use your magic to block ‘em!” Mammon told you, noticing a few of the security detail closing in on the two of you. 

You meant to move the furniture around to block the path after the two of you, but instead, you sent the furniture flying in every which way.

You heard people screaming and running as they tried to dodge the flying tables and chairs that were now putting holes into the walls of the ship. “Whoops,” you said under your breath.

“Watch out!” Mammon yelled. You turned to look in front of you and noticed someone almost grabbed you.

You moved your hand in panic and watched as the demon went flying overboard. “Sorry!” you shouted after him.

“We’re gonna have to jump. Can you make a boat?’ Mammon asked, not waiting for you to answer before jumping off the ship and bringing you along.

A yacht would have done or even a canoe or a raft, but it seemed the more panicked you were, the more unpredictable your magic was.

Suddenly, a massive pirate ship appeared out of thin air and you hit the deck with a small thud as you felt like you could finally breathe again.

Somehow, the ship was steering itself away from the casino ship, but you weren’t about to start asking questions.

You let out a small breath of relief and you heard Mammon suddenly burst into laughter beside you. “Your magic - is really - somethin’,” he told you, nearly crying from laughing so hard.

You gave him a playful smack but couldn’t help but smile at how hard he was laughing.

Next time, you were going to make sure you were fully in control before agreeing to use your magic.

Levi was not one that liked to get in trouble with Lucifer.

Typically, he just tried to keep his head down and do his own thing.

As long as he could be a proper otaku, he was okay.

He didn’t feel the need to get you involved in schemes like his other brothers did.

In fact, he had made a promise to himself to never make you use your magic unless it was an absolute emergency.

And those last six words were key in his promise.

Because an incredibly rare new Ruri-chan figurine had just been released and it was going at an unbelievably fast rate for an incredibly high price.

Normally, Levi would have money saved up for this precise situation, but he had lent some to Mammon, mostly to get him to stop asking, and his older brother hadn’t paid him back yet.

Of course, Levi had done everything from begging and pleading to threatening Mammon to get his money back, but there was no money to give.

So, with no one else to turn to for help, he went to his true friend.

He would never beg you for money like a certain scumbag.

Instead, he just wanted you to use your magic to help him get one of the figurines.

He figured between his hacking skills and your magic, there was no way the two of you wouldn’t be able to swindle one.

You reluctantly agreed to help Levi, knowing how much it meant to him to get the figurine.

You didn’t know exactly what spell you were supposed to say, but you followed Levi’s lead.

He clearly had a plan and nothing would stop him from executing it.

You did as Levi asked and held your breath as you stared at the computer screen.

“Thank you for your purchase,” soon popped up on the screen and Levi let out a shout of triumph while you let out a breath of relief. Finally, your magic went the right way.

Suddenly a loud spark sounded from the computer and you and Levi shared an uneasy look. Spoke too soon.

The spark was followed by multiple smaller ones and then suddenly Levi’s entire computer was on fire.

“What do we do?” you asked Levi who was panicking at the thought of his entire setup going up in flames.

“Do a water spell,” he replied, his eyes wide, the fire reflecting off them.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you replied, looking at the consequences of the magic you had just performed.

The flames grew even larger, threatening to burn everything in sight; and, in an attempt to save his otaku haven, Levi did the only thing he thought was logical - he summoned Lotan.

And while it did stop the fire from spreading, summoning Lotan once again flooded the House of Lamentation.

Lucifer immediately knew the source. After all, there was only one brother who summoned Lotan.

Levi got his rare figurine, but you and Levi had to sit through an incredibly long lecture from Lucifer about using magic properly and not doing it for something as simple as a doll.

And after he said that, you had to listen to an even longer lecture from Levi, explaining to Lucifer how the figure he bought wasn’t a doll.

Satan was someone who was quite skilled in magic.

He studied spells and curses religiously, always trying to find one to use against Lucifer.

And because of his studying, he knew a lot about training someone in magic as well.

After all, he taught himself almost everything he knew about it.

And, Satan was having a hard time controlling his rage when it came to you and Solomon.

He knew that Solomon was only training you in magic, but in his opinion, the two of you were spending way too much time together.

And the fact that the two of you were always alone together with no one to keep Solomon in check drove Satan crazy.

So, he decided to take some of your training upon himself.

Naturally, you were grateful for the opportunity. After all, everyone knew how talented Satan was in everything he did.

Not to mention, there were a few other times Satan had tutored you in other subjects. So you were sure he would be an excellent teacher of magic.

He would never tell you this, but Satan wore a smug smile the whole day you agreed to let him teach you.

He was just hoping Solomon would ask him why Satan was smiling.

The two of you agreed to meet in one of the magic classrooms after school. They would already have any spellbooks or ingredients the two of you needed and they were well-built in case something went wrong.

You sat down at one of the desks and began reading one of the spellbooks.

Satan sat down next to you, taking a peek at what you were reading. “Has Solomon been teaching you a lot of spells?” he asked.

You looked up from your book and softly shook your head no. “Not really, he’s more of the experiment and see what happens type than following spells in a spellbook,” you replied.

Satan let out a small chuckle before saying, “For someone just learning magic, the results must be a bit unpredictable.”

You chuckled in response before nodding your head and telling him, “You have no idea.”

Satan then gently took the spellbook from you and began flipping through it.

You leaned in a bit closer, taking a look over his shoulder as he skimmed through the pages, looking for the perfect spell.

“Here, this one is simple,” Satan told you and you read through it briefly.

It was simple candle magic. All you had to do was light a candle.

Satan got the candle and placed it in front of you and you followed the spell exactly how it was written in the spellbook.

You closed your eyes to focus and then opened them again to light the candle.

Instead of lighting the candle, you managed to create a large fireball that flew through the classroom and burned a hole in the wall in front of you.

You winced at the damage and then turned to look at Satan who was staring at the hole with wide eyes, temporarily at a loss for words.

You were getting more and more anxious the longer Satan remained silent, unsure if he was going to laugh, get angry, or give you a long lecture.

After another moment, Satan took in a deep breath before locking eyes with you and telling you, “No more training with Solomon.”

You let out a small sigh, once again taking in the destruction you caused before replying, “Fair enough.”

Because Asmo and Solomon had a strong friendship, it was common for Asmo to be at your magic lessons.

He usually wasn’t listening to what you were being taught. Instead, he would do his nails in the background or start planning his next social media video.

Of course, he would take intermittent breaks from doing his own things to be your own personal cheerleader, encouraging you as much as he could.

And if you were ever starting to get tired, Asmo would be the first to tell Solomon the lesson was over for the day because you needed rest.

Because Asmo was hanging around the two of you often, it also made him the perfect test subject.

Today, you were working a potion to bring someone good luck and fortune.

Solomon had been a little lenient on the ingredients that you were using, wanting to see if you would be able to create the potion on your own, using your own intuition.

You were completely against the idea but Solomon swore that you wouldn’t be able to do magic on your own if you didn’t learn how to be independent with it instead of following a spellbook.

His logic made some sense, but you were also beyond nervous. 

All you had to do was make the potion and then get Asmo to drink it.

Asmo, having not listened to what was going on, was more than happy to try your potion, accepting it as a gift from you.

You watched in anticipation as Asmo downed the mysterious liquid.

Asmo let out a small cough after drinking it, telling you, “It has a good kick to it.”

You held your breath as a pink mist slowly surrounded Asmo and in the blink of an eye, Asmo was no longer standing there.

In his place, on the ground, sat a beautifully made wicked cupcake.

Solomon took a step closer before crouching down and examining the cupcake, letting out a quiet sound of questioning.

“What were you thinking about when you made the potion?” Solomon asked you, glancing up at you from his spot on the ground.

“I was thinking about what you told me. In order to make a good potion of fortune, you have to think of the person you intend on giving the potion to and what would bring them fortune,” you replied.

“What do you think would make Asmo more fortunate?” Solomon questioned curiously.

“Being more irresistible,” you answered.

“As irresistible as a wicked cupcake?” Solomon asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at you, a hint of a smile on his face.

You let out a small gasp as you realized you had turned your friend into a cupcake.

“Is it reversible?” you asked Solomon and he nodded his head, standing up to his original position.

Solomon chanted a spell quietly and you watched as Asmo slowly morphed back into himself.

When he was fully back, you and his locked eyes, and you immediately began apologizing.

Asmo stopped you after your third apology and told you, “How about we just save your potions for Mammon from now on, ‘kay?”

You were in your bedroom, studying hard for an upcoming exam when there was suddenly a knock on your door.

You invited the person in without getting up or even looking up from your book.

So, it wasn’t until they were sitting down next to you that you were able to see who it was.

A small smile formed on your lips as you saw the orange-haired Avatar of Gluttony sitting there with an unusually large pouty look on his face.

“Are you okay?’ you asked him and his big puppy dog eyes looked up at you as he shook his head no.

“I ate everything in the fridge and Lucifer said that I couldn’t eat anymore until dinner,” Beel replied.

“Well, dinner is just in a couple of hours. You should be fine, right?” you questioned, and Beel let out a small sigh.

“I worked out twice as hard today to get ready for the big game. So, my appetite is twice as big and I only had half the amount of food I usually would post-workout,” Beel explained.

As if to confirm what Beel was saying, his stomach let out an unnaturally loud growl and Beel winced slightly in pain from the hunger.

“I’m sorry Beel, if I had any snacks in here, I would give them to you,” you told him and he let out another sigh as his mind began turning.

“Maybe you could make a snack appear,” Beel suggested, his eyes lighting up at the idea.

You immediately understood where he was going with this and you shook your head, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Please, it could be something small. Just to help me last until dinner,” Beel begged you, desperation shining in those big eyes. 

You fully intended to stay away from magic today and just focus on your actual studies, but how could you say no to him when he was begging you so wholeheartedly? 

You took a moment to prepare yourself before doing a spell, and Beel watched your every move eagerly.

Once the spell was completed, you were expecting a small meal on the table, or at the most a couple of things.

Instead, your entire room was covered from floor to ceiling in food.

Beel’s eyes widened in excitement as he told you, “You’re the best at magic.”

He immediately got to eating, and you let out a small chuckle. Of all the consequences that came from your magic, this wasn’t too bad - as long as Beel ate all of it before Lucifer found out.

Suddenly, you heard a lot of commotion coming from elsewhere in the House of Lamentation. You and Beel stayed quiet to try and focus on the noises you were hearing.

Only then did you realize the other brothers were shouting about how the entire House of Lamentation had been filled with food.

You and Beel shared a look of panic as you heard a familiar set of footsteps coming your way and you knew that another long lecture was just around the corner.

Belphie liked to be a little more hands-on with his magic than simple spells.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

He and Satan were up to true Anti-Lucifer League business and they had found the perfect spell to try and prank Lucifer with. 

Belphie gathered all the ingredients and it was up to Satan to actually perform the spell since he was more proficient when it came to magic.

Somehow, like always, Lucifer had caught wind that the two of them were up to something and Lucifer had decided to lock Satan in his room for the time being under the pretense that, “He was too busy right now to have to deal with something childish.”

This naturally only made Belphie and Satan even more angry and now they were hellbent on finding some way to get revenge. 

Belphie still had all of the ingredients and so he approached you - someone who was both in the Anti-Lucifer League and learning magic.

You were already treading in deep water with Lucifer because of your previous magic mishaps. 

You were pretty sure that you were one more mistake from him banning you from using magic ever again.

So, the last thing you wanted to do was use a spell that specifically targeted the eldest.

But, Belphie was very convincing and before you knew it, the two of you were in the Assembly Hall, quietly scheming.

The spell itself was simple enough to cast. All you had to was put the ingredients together and then cast it on the intended victim’s chair. 

Then, when that person sat in the chair, vines would slowly wrap around them, entrapping them in the chair.

You had suggested that you perform the spell on the chair in Lucifer’s study but Belphie thought it would be so much funnier if it happened in front of Lord Diavolo.

This left the two of you trying to quickly get this spell done in the Assembly Room because Diavolo and Lucifer could walk in any second.

“That’s all of the ingredients,” Belphie told you and you nodded your head, knowing it was your turn now.

You began chanting the spell and everything was going smoothly.

Right as you were stating the last part of the spell, you suddenly heard voices outside the door of the Assembly Hall.

You faltered at the idea of being caught, and in that moment you had turned away from the chair slightly as you finished the spell.

Suddenly, you heard a strangled shout from Belphie and immediately looked in his direction, only to find that you were already facing him. 

You realized you had cast the spell at him, and instead of a chair turning into vines and trapping him, they came down from the ceiling, wrapping him up and suspending him from the roof and covering his mouth.

You let out a small gasp, somewhat stifling some laughter as you watched the youngest squirm in the air, doing whatever he could to get out of his restraints.

You didn’t have enough time to help him before you heard the door to the Assembly Hall open and you quickly hid, knowing that it wouldn’t do either of you any good if you got caught.

You covered your mouth to stay silent and you listened as Barbatos, Diavolo, and Lucifer all seemed to be in conversation. 

All conversation stopped though the moment they laid eyes on Belphie, helplessly strung up from the ceiling.

Lucifer let out a long sigh as he stared at his brother before sitting down in his chair.

“Shouldn’t we help him?” Diavolo asked but Lucifer shook his head.

“This is his own fault, I’m sure of it. Let’s continue with the meeting,” Lucifer replied and you once again had to stifle your laughter at the thought of Belphie hanging from the air, slightly swinging with a look of rage on his face as he attempted to curse Lucifer.

Diavolo had heard about your unfortunate magic mishaps from Lucifer a few different times.

And every time, Diavolo laughed wholeheartedly as Lucifer explained exactly what happened.

He found it both amusing and endearing that your magic was so unpredictable.

And he had to admit he was starting to feel a little left out that everyone was getting to have such fun experiences with you except him.

He wanted a chance to experience your magic for himself, so he invited you over to the Demon Lord’s Castle.

He told you that he simply wanted to evaluate your progress in magic, even though he had gotten plenty of progress reports from the eldest demon brother.

He invited you into one of the many rooms of the Demon Lord’s Castle.

Despite most of the rooms being completely furnished, this room was nearly empty - perfect for magical misfires.

He tried to remind himself to breathe as you began performing a spell, waiting on the edge of his seat for what was about to happen.

There was something exciting about not knowing what events were about to occur.

Diavolo asked you to perform a simple teleportation spell.

You tried and tried, but every time you opened your eyes, you and Diavolo were still in the Demon Lord’s Castle.

You let out a sigh after the fifth attempt and Diavolo gave you a supporting smile.

“Maybe some fresh air will help,” Diavolo suggested, motioning for you to follow him. 

You nodded your head and followed him to the door of the castle, but when he opened it, you realized that none of the surroundings outside looked normal.

Diavolo froze for a moment, noticing the same thing you did, and as he tried to piece together where the two of you were, you realized that the teleportation spell did work.

But, instead of teleporting the two of you like you were supposed to, you teleported the entire castle.

You held your breath as you waited for Diavolo to say something, and when he didn’t, you were afraid he was mad at you.

You were about to ask him as much when he started laughing. It started as a small chuckle, but by the end of it, he was practically doubled over from laughing so hard.

“This is fantastic,” you heard him mutter under his breath before he turned to you, closing the door.

“Try and get us back to the Devildom,” Diavolo told you. 

You took in a deep breath, before reciting the spell, silently praying that it would work. 

Praying - that was a mistake.

As Diavolo opened the door again, you realized that you recognized your surroundings this time, but it wasn’t the Devildom. It was the Celestial Realm.

Diavolo seemed a bit concerned as he looked around. “We should leave here immediately,” Diavolo stated, shutting the door and letting out a small sigh.

Your hands shook slightly as you realized the mistake of bringing the ruler of the Devildom to the Celestial Realm and you quickly recited the spell again, desperate to get out of there.

This time, when Diavolo opened the door, you heard a terrible screeching followed by a large fireball flying toward you and Diavolo.

He quickly shut the door, barely saving both of your lives and you chanted the spell one last time.

You let out a deep breath of relief as you saw the usual Devildom surrounding you when Diavolo opened the door this time. 

“I’m not doing that ever again,” you told him, feeling like you had just gone ten rounds in a boxing ring.

Diavolo let out another chuckle, a smile resting on his face as he looked at you. He clearly enjoyed himself.

He didn’t get the chance to enjoy himself much and he noticed that whenever he did, you were always somewhat involved.

“With more training, I’m sure you’ll get your powers under control,” Diavolo reassured you.

He wasn’t mad at you, but he also probably wouldn’t ask you to use your magic again until you’ve had a bit more practice.

A trip to the Celestial Realm and nearly getting incinerated was enough excitement to last him for a while.

Diavolo may not have been mad at what happened, but Barbatos certainly was.

He wasn’t mad at you - he could never be mad at you.

But, he was mad at Lord Diavolo. The young master knew how unpredictable your powers were and yet he still asked you to use them.

And he was the most mad at Solomon. Though, that was a grudge he had been holding onto for a while. Barbatos was always looking for a reason to be mad at Solomon.

And your lack of control in magic certainly qualified as one.

Solomon had been entrusted with teaching you magic since he was supposed to be a great and knowledgeable sorcerer.

But, Barbatos was beginning to doubt Solomon’s abilities.

And, since your magic had nearly gotten the young master killed, Barbatos could no longer let this slide.

Barbatos had invited you over to the Demon Lord’s Castle once again to try and teach you magic his way.

He was a very powerful demon himself and he knew how hard it was to control your powers.

It took him a long time and lots of experience before he was fully able to master his own powers.

And you had to admit, out of everyone, Barbatos had come the closest to getting you to perform magic without anything going wrong.

He had put every ounce into helping you concentrate and take slow, deliberate movements so that every single part of the spell was performed correctly.

It was a transfiguration spell. There was a cat statue in front of you and all you had to do was make it real.

But, when you opened your eyes, you realized the horror and chaos that you had created.

There wasn’t just one creature in front of you, but at least a dozen. And, they weren’t cats but rats. And there in the middle of it all sat Barbatos, his eyes wide and crazed.

You were certain he was about to freak out and you were proven correct as Barbatos suddenly stood up and sprinted out of the room, returning with the proper supplies to get rid of the rats.

He was frantically chasing them around the room and you felt terrible, so you attempted to help him.

You wanted to teleport the rats to the underground labyrinth but instead, you teleported yourself and Barbatos down there.

“At least I got the right location this time,” you said sheepishly as you looked at Barbatos who had a somewhat exasperated look on his face.

Before you knew what was happening, Barbatos had you locked down in his room, you presumed so that you couldn’t do any more damage.

It took him hours to get every last rat out of the castle and when he finally did, he returned to you in his room.

He seemed much calmer now that the rats were gone and he even brought you some tea to apologize for locking you in his bedroom.

He promised that he would help you get better control of your powers, but no more transfiguration spells until you completely mastered them.

Simeon had seen you at Purgatory Halls many times since you went there a lot for your magic lessons with Solomon.

But, Simeon rarely listened in on your lessons or watched you perform magic, so he had no idea if it was going well or poorly.

He assumed things were going well since there were no accidents that happened at Purgatory Hall.

But, that was mostly because when you went there, Solomon had you reading spell books and getting familiar with different types of spells.

He saved the actual practice of magic for the classrooms at school or outdoor areas - somewhere he believed it would be okay for a mishap to happen.

So, how was Simeon supposed to know your magic was unpredictable?

Luke’s birthday was coming up and Simeon wanted to surprise him by baking a special cake since Luke loved all things sweet.

Simeon knew how to bake a simple cake, but he didn’t think that would be enough.

He wanted something more extravagant - something that would surprise Luke.

So, he enlisted your help and asked you to help him bake the cake.

Simeon believed with your powers and his baking ability, the two of you could bake something that would truly surprise Luke.

And that’s what you thought about the entire time. In your mind, you wanted to surprise him by possibly creating a cake that reminded him of the Celestial Realm or one of his favorite things.

So, you were really disappointed when the cake came out looking like just an ordinary cake.

Simeon reassured you that it was fine and that you did your best. He promised you that it would taste great and Luke would love it anyway.

Everyone gathered in the Assembly Hall after school as a makeshift party for Luke and Simeon brought the cake before running off to fetch him.

The others complimented the cake that you and Simeon made and you thanked them kindly without giving them any more details.

After the experiences you and all of them had with your magic, you were sure that they would be afraid of any cake that was made with your magic.

So, you figured it would be better not to tell them about it. Besides, the cake came out completely normal, so no harm no foul, right?

Luke came into the Assembly Hall a bit timidly, afraid of why he was being summoned to a room full of the Devildom’s most powerful demons.

But, as he looked around, he quickly understood what was happening.

The smile on his face as he now confidently walked up to the rest of you was enough to make baking the cake worth it and you proudly presented him with the cake.

Everyone wished Luke a happy birthday and then you lit the candles and told him to make a wish and blow them out.

Luke did as he was told, but when he blew the candles out, he was met with disaster as the cake exploded.

Everyone in the room, including you, and most of the furniture was coated in both the cake and its frosting and other miscellaneous toppings.

You stood there, still holding the plate the cake was on and you realized that your powers did have an effect on the cake.

“Surprise,” you weakly said as everyone turned to face you. A deep blush coated your cheeks at the mistake, but thankfully, the cake hid most of it.

You sat down the plate that you were holding and attempted to fix the situation by using magic, but Solomon stopped you and performed the spell himself.

He knew that you could fix the situation if you were given the chance, but the look in Lucifer’s eyes after being covered in cake gave Solomon the feeling that he was about to lose it.

So, he performed the spell himself for your sake and miraculously the cake managed to come off the furniture.

Everyone had to go home to get the cake off themselves and you decided to go to Purgatory Hall with the angels and Solomon. You felt terrible about ruining Luke’s birthday cake.

Once you were all cleaned up, Simeon apologized for making you use your powers and explained that he didn’t realize they were a bit unpredictable.

He felt like he pressured you to use them but once you reassured him that you wanted to help do something nice, a lot of the weight was lifted off his shoulders.

He offered to bring you some books on magic from the Celestial Realm, hoping that there would be some different information in them that might help you learn to control your powers.

As for Luke, he didn’t understand why you had baked him an exploding cake, but he wasn’t angry and he was definitely surprised.

He just wished he had been able to eat a piece before it exploded everywhere.

Solomon had been hearing an earful from almost everyone about your magic training.

No one seemed to think he was doing a good enough job at helping you control your magic.

But they didn’t realize how hard it was to train someone in magic, let alone someone who was as powerful as you.

A lot of people thought that the unpredictable consequences of using your magic were mistakes but Solomon thought differently.

He thought it was a good thing for you to experience all the goods and bads of your magic.

It was the only way you were going to get a full grasp of your abilities and how powerful you were.

Solomon loved being experimental when it came to magic.

He didn’t give you spell books to read from or give you specific instructions on how to perform a spell.

If he did, then you would become dependent on those things, unable to perform a successful spell without wanting to refer to a book first.

Solomon wanted you to be able to figure things out for yourself - to be able to perform magic on your own without needing help from someone else, or a spell book.

And he always looked on the bright side of things if something did go wrong.

So what if you turned the cat statue into rats instead of a real cat? At least you were able to do a transfiguration spell.

And maybe you teleported the entire Demon’s Lord Castle to a few different places you didn’t mean to; but, most sorcerers have a hard time doing teleportation spells on themselves, let alone something so big.

Everything you did and every consequence that may have come from it was all a testament to your powers and it always made Solomon proud.

Because of the incessant lectures from the others, Solomon would do his best to help you control your powers.

But, he’ll never treat your mishaps as something negative. In fact, sometimes he even encouraged them.

There was one time that a potion you had been making accidentally backfired on Solomon rendering him unable to speak properly.

Every time he spoke, his words would get jumbled together so he couldn’t reverse the spell himself or tell you how to do it.

Eventually, you had to go to Satan to help and although he agreed, he gave Solomon a long “I told you so” conversation about how this is why he needed to be more proactive in helping you control your powers.

That was the closest Solomon ever came to being “upset” about something that happened with your magic, but even then it was just because of Satan’s speech.

There has never been a day where Solomon wasn’t grateful that he got the opportunity to teach you though.

Not only did he enjoy getting the chance to grow closer to you, but he had never met someone with such magic potential.

[pityroadart]

Here's my piece for the @mcspirkevents Big Bang! I was paired with the excellent @twinkboimler and their fic Jim Kirk's Guide to Delivering the Goods, which you can find here (E, AOS McSpirk, 60k)

Summer just started, and Jim is bored out of his mind. The courses he needs to take aren’t being offered until the second half of the summer, so he has an entire month to bother his roommate Bones. At Bones’ suggestion to get a job, Jim fixes up a motorbike and starts making deliveries to people in town, including a cute Vulcan professor named Spock. But when Jim is beaten up while making a delivery, it’s Spock who delivers Jim back to the apartment he shares with Bones. After the meet-cute from hell, Spock and Bones start dating… and so do Jim and Spock. With neither roommate aware they’re both dating the same man, there’s only so long that things can go well for them before the other shoe finally drops.

Also as part of my Big Bang offerings, I made a fic playlist (below) — partly a love letter to McSpirk, partly a love letter to myself and Fletcher's overlapping music taste.

Thank you again to Fletcher @twinkboimler for working on this project with me, it's been an absolute joy!

Until the Birds Return on Spotify

Tracks and choice lyrics below the cut (contains vague spoilers):

Astronaut | Future Crib

I wanna be an astronaut Fly into space I wanna see Mars from Venus I wanna go to that place And if you come with me They'll be room in my ship I'll take you up there with me It can be just you and me

Afraid of Heights | boygenius

I never rode a motorcycle I never smoked a cigarette I wanna live a vibrant life But I wanna die a boring death

Day by Day | Old Sea Brigade

Time and time again, I think I'm falling through space And I wake up in my bed just sweating in sheets

... Then I think of you growing old and it breaks my heart

Factories | Autoheart

When you found my body by the lake You wasn't sure if I was still alive

You and Your Friend | Snake River Conspiracy

Must we go run through our lives with our eyes closed To the loving happiness that we can share I think I'm in love with you and your friend

My Gal, My Guy | Darlingside

My (guy) he's the bluest ocean, (he) Waits under the bluest sky for me I belong to (him) When I'm in the water

Santa Fe | Autoheart

Heaven sent You were like a present I should not have kept A sticker on your forehead saying 'breakable And I broke you bad

Coat on a Hook | The National

Two days, we're still not talking You're the opposite of an open book Come back for me

Top to Toe | Fenne Lily

So I'm changing all my days To make your nights It's just not right

Pigeon Song | Patrick Wolf

Now the pigeons gather 'round my feeding hand And we talk 'til the evening fades I have learnt how it goes What you wait for never shows And what you least wanted, holds you down like a stone

Hornets | The National

But I don't wanna leave And I don't wanna hide I just don't wanna run Into you tonight

Tea, Milk & Honey | Oh Pep!

If you stick with me, I'll make sure your time is all right If you don't understand where I am now, it's better if we leave it

The Spiritual | Jukebox the Ghost

We might have kissed a bit too soon I could feel what was coming and I didn't mean to hurry you I just knew that time would find our fingers linked, through and through Forgive me, I'm human too

Bike Dream | Rostam

Two boys, one to kiss your neck And one to bring you breakfast Get you out of bed

Don't Go | Yazoo

Can't stop now Don't you know I ain't never gonna let you go

Jenny | The Mountain Goats

I hopped on back of the bike, wrapped my arms around you I sank my face into your hair And then I inhaled as deeply as I possibly could You were sweet and delicious as the warm desert air And you pointed your headlamp toward the horizon We were the one thing in the galaxy God didn't have his eyes on 900 cc's of raw whining power, no outstanding warrants for my arrest

Old Old Fashioned | Josh Ritter (Frightened Rabbit cover)

Oh let's get old fashioned Back to how things used to be If I get old, old fashioned Would you get old, old fashioned with me?

[cruel-seduction]

Deal breaker? 

Pairing - Peter Parker x reader 

Glimpse - “Because the only thing that matters to me is you.” His voice was steady, every word deliberate and full of conviction. “I don’t care if we have kids, if we get a goldfish, or if we just grow old together surrounded by a hundred cats. All I care about is you, spending my life with you. That’s it. That’s the deal, okay? And guess what?”

You tilted your head, your heart swelling as his hand shifted from your cheek to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb brushing softly along your jaw. “This deal? It’s never breaking. Ever.”

Genre - Fluff, hurt/comfort, and angst. 

Summary - Peter Parker has always had his own unique ways of bringing comfort—an unpredictable mix of sincerity, awkward humor, and boundless love. When a difficult conversation arises, he does what he does best: turns a moment of doubt into one filled with warmth, laughter, and quiet reassurance.

Content warning - Talking about children, Reader not wanting children, Peter being the cutest dork ever known. I guess that’s it. 

The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden hue over the sky, yet a soft chill began to settle in the air, hinting at the coming evening. It was the kind of weather that carried comfort in its breeze, the kind that invited you to curl up, warm and safe. Perfect weather, the kind you longed for—perfect for snuggling on the couch with Peter, your head resting on his chest while a horror movie played softly in the background. The type of night where you’d drift off to sleep halfway through, wrapped in the comfort of his presence. Yes, this was supposed to be the perfect weather for that—the kind of evening where everything felt just right.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the air felt heavier, thicker with tension. The familiar warmth you once shared with Peter felt distant, as distant as the gap that had grown between you over the past few months. Instead of the usual laughter, the usual easy silence that you could fill with simple words or shared glances, there was only the harsh, bitter sting of words that you both threw at each other in frustration.

You had been arguing for what felt like an hour, though it could have been longer. And in that moment, it didn’t matter. The time didn’t matter; it was the silence in between the words that did. Oh, sure, you’d both raised your voices—but not in the way arguments were supposed to go. No, you had been the only one shouting, the only one letting the anger and confusion spill out like a dam that had been holding back too much for too long. Peter hadn’t raised his voice in retaliation; he’d just stayed quiet. Almost too quiet.

It was a silly argument. Something so trivial that, in another time, you’d both laugh about it and shake your heads, wondering how such a small thing could have escalated to this point. But it wasn’t about the argument anymore, not really. It was about everything else—the months of silence, the coldness, the distance that had grown between you two like a slow-moving fog you hadn’t noticed until it was too thick to see through.

You couldn’t bring yourself to admit it to Peter. To say what was really bothering you. You were dragging this argument out, clinging to it like a lifeline, hoping that the tension would force the conversation you knew had to come. The one you had been avoiding for so long—the talk that had the potential to either fix everything or break it all apart.

But you weren’t ready for that talk. Not yet. Not tonight.

You had made a choice, however selfish it may have been. You chose to extend this fight, this silly argument, because it felt safer than facing the truth. It was wrong, you knew it was, but how could you not be selfish when it came to Peter? How could you not be when he meant so much to you? How could you let everything go—let him go—if you were to say what you truly felt? The things you were too afraid to admit. The things that made your heart ache just thinking about them. The things that might push him away.

You loved him. You loved him in a way that was overwhelming, in a way that terrified you. You needed him, as much as you hated to admit it. He was a part of you now, and the idea of losing him, of seeing him walk away because of the confession you had been holding back for so long, was a fear too vast to even acknowledge.

But you were also terrified that staying silent, letting this cold distance between you grow, might push him away all the same. The thought gnawed at you, as sharp and cruel as the wind outside. If you spoke the words, confessed what had been eating away at you, would he still stay? Or would it be the final thing that broke you? Would he leave?

You wanted to believe that confessing, being honest with him, would bring you closer. That it would clear the air, push the shadows away. But the fear of losing him, of being too much for him to bear, clouded your judgment. You wondered, deep down, if the only way to keep him was to remain in this limbo—pretend that everything was fine, even when it wasn’t.

And so, you let the argument drag on, hoping for something, anything, that would force the words out of your mouth before it was too late. Because deep down, you knew this silence, this distance, would only tear you apart more slowly than any argument ever could. And still, you couldn’t bring yourself to face the truth.

Peter ran a hand through his messy hair, a telltale sign of his growing frustration. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’ve been distant for weeks—no, months—and don’t even try to deny it. You barely talk to me, you avoid me like I’m some stranger in my own apartment, and—God, it’s like you’re trying to shut me out completely. Don’t you see that?”

You sighed heavily, a shaky breath that betrayed the calm you were trying to project. “Peter, you’re imagining things. I’m just tired, okay? That’s all it is. Work’s been stressful. Life’s been stressful. It’s not about you.”

“Not about me?” His voice rose, and he took a step closer, the desperation in his tone slicing through you. “I don’t care if it’s about me! I care that it’s about you! Something’s wrong, and you’re hurting, and you won’t let me help you! Why do you keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not?”

Your chest tightened, your arms instinctively crossing in front of you as a weak shield. “I’m not pretending! Peter, you’re making this a bigger deal than it is—”

“No, I’m not!” he interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. He exhaled sharply, trying to reign in his emotions. “I know you, okay? I know when you’re shutting me out. You don’t have to tell me that you’re fine, because I can see that you’re not.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, to deny the truth that was clawing at your insides, but no sound came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred. Tears. Of course, there were tears.

Peter’s expression softened when he saw them, and his tone dropped to a pleading whisper. “Baby… please. Just tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Together. But you have to let me in.”

He reached out, his warm hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed against your skin. The gentle touch made the dam inside you crack even more, your resolve crumbling like ash in the wind.

“I can’t,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

“Yes, you can,” Peter said, leaning closer. His voice was soft, but there was a firmness behind it, an unyielding determination to break through the barrier you’d put up. “You can tell me anything. Whatever it is, I’m not going anywhere. You know that.”

The tenderness in his voice, the way his hand stayed so steady against your face—it was too much. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. The pressure that had been building for weeks finally exploded.

“Why do you want a kid, Peter?!” you burst out, the words ripping from your throat. Your voice was raw, trembling with the weight of all the fear and frustration you’d been bottling up. “Why?!”

The question hung in the air like a thunderclap, and you immediately regretted the way it came out, the way your voice cracked under the strain of emotions. Peter blinked, stunned by your outburst, but his hand never left your cheek.

“What are you talking about?” he asked softly, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“You keep bringing it up,” you continued, your voice shaking as tears streaked down your face. “All these little comments, these hints, and I know you’re trying to be subtle about it, but I hear you, Peter. I hear you every time you say something about how great it would be to have a family someday, or how much you want to be a dad. For fucks sake you searched baby’s name in your computer. And I—” Your voice broke, and you shook your head, overwhelmed. “I can’t give you that”

Peter’s eyes softened as he held your gaze, his confusion evident, but his patience unwavering. His thumbs brushed lightly across your tear-streaked cheeks, a silent encouragement for you to speak. His voice was steady, but the faint crack in it betrayed his worry.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, dove,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. His touch was firm yet tender, grounding you even as your heart thundered in your chest.

You took a deep breath, the kind that filled your lungs with an ache that mirrored the knot in your stomach. This was it. You couldn’t avoid it any longer. The words you’d been holding back for weeks sat heavy on your tongue, desperate to be set free, yet terrifying in their weight.

Finally, you found the courage to start. Your voice came out slow, measured, as if each word was a fragile thing that needed to be handled with care. “Peter… I don’t want a kid. I don’t see myself having one anytime soon. Maybe not ever.”

The first sentence hung in the air between you, and you watched his expression shift, the crease in his brow deepening as the meaning began to settle. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The dam had burst, and everything you’d been keeping locked away poured out like a flood.

“I don’t see myself going through that pain,” you continued, your voice trembling but steady enough to push through. “It hurts, Peter. It hurts a lot. And I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of pain. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for it.”

You paused, inhaling sharply before your words gained momentum. “You’re Spider-Man. You’re out there every night, putting your life on the line, and you know what that means for me. How much I have to sacrifice just to keep myself together when you’re gone. How could I possibly add a child to that? How could I carry that weight on top of everything else?”

Peter’s hands remained steady on your face, but his silence was deafening. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to respond, but he held back, giving you the space to say everything you needed.

“I just want to focus on us right now,” you said, your voice firming as your emotions spilled into clarity. “On me and on you. If you still want to be with me.”

Your voice cracked slightly, but you pressed on, your words tumbling out faster now, no longer held back by hesitation. “A child is a lot, Peter. They cry. They need you constantly. They scream for no reason. They poop, and Jesus—” you let out a bitter laugh, the absurdity of it clawing at your throat, “—you have to clean their shit. All of it. I can’t do that, Peter. I can’t. I won’t. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to handle that. The idea of it just…” You shuddered, exhaling the thought like it was poison. “It terrifies me.”

Your words slowed, the rawness of your confession leaving you drained but lighter. For the first time in weeks, the weight of your fears wasn’t solely your own. By the time you finished, the frantic pounding of your heart had softened, replaced by a strange sense of calm.

Peter stayed quiet, his gaze locked on yours, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between you, the air thick with unspoken thoughts, until you finally spoke again, this time in a whisper.

“So…” you paused, your voice barely audible, trembling under the weight of your own vulnerability. “Is that a dealbreaker for you?”

For a moment, Peter just stared at you, his lips slightly parted as if he hadn’t even registered the question. Then he blinked, his face morphing into pure confusion. “A deal breaker?” he repeated, his voice pitching up like you’d just told him the moon was made of cheese. “What—what are you even talking about? Deal breaker? Are you kidding me right now?”

His reaction startled you, and your hands fidgeted nervously in your lap. You couldn’t meet his gaze, but Peter wasn’t having that. He leaned closer, trying to catch your eye. “First of all,” he began, voice slightly exasperated but tinged with something softer, “this is not a deal. What deal? Did I sign something and forget about it? Was there a secret contract? Because if there was, I want to renegotiate the terms. Immediately.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his sudden humor. Peter didn’t stop there. “Secondly,” he said, sitting up straighter, “you’re seriously asking me if not wanting a baby is a deal breaker? Babe, if I made that my hill to die on, I’d be the biggest idiot in the history of relationships. And trust me, there have been some huge idiots in history. Like, I’m talking cavemen-licking-fire-level idiots.”

You tried to stifle a laugh, but the corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. Peter grinned, seeing the crack in your armour. He was relentless now.

“Let’s talk about the real disadvantages of kids, shall we? First of all, do you have any idea how expensive diapers are? It’s like they’re spun out of pure gold dust or something. And don’t get me started on baby food. Have you seen that stuff? It looks like... prison gruel.”

That did it. A laugh bubbled out of you, small but genuine, and Peter’s grin widened in triumph. He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And babies? They’re like tiny drunks. They scream, they cry, they throw up on you—and they wake you up at three in the morning because they’ve forgotten how to sleep. I mean, really, how do you forget how to sleep?”

You laughed again, louder this time, the sound shaking loose some of the tension in your chest. Tears still pricked at your eyes, but now they were mixed with the warmth of Peter’s words, his ridiculous lamest jokes. “That doesn’t even make sense baby” You chuckled. 

Peter softened at the sight of you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed against your skin, wiping away a stray tear. “Hey,” he said quietly, his tone shifting to something tender. “All that stuff? It doesn’t matter. None of it does. You know why?”

You shook your head slightly, your gaze finally meeting his.

“Because the only thing that matters to me is you.” His voice was steady, every word deliberate and full of conviction. “I don’t care if we have kids, if we get a goldfish, or if we just grow old together surrounded by a hundred cats. All I care about is you, spending my life with you. That’s it. That’s the deal, okay? And guess what?”

You tilted your head, your heart swelling as his hand shifted from your cheek to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb brushing softly along your jaw. “This deal? It’s never breaking. Ever.”

Before you could respond, Peter leaned in, closing the small space between you. His lips met yours in the gentlest, sweetest kiss you’d ever shared. It wasn’t rushed or demanding—it was steady, deliberate, full of emotion. His other hand found its way to your waist, anchoring you to him as if you might disappear.

You felt the warmth of his palm on your neck, the slight press of his fingertips, grounding you in the moment. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, his lips moving against yours with a softness that made your chest ache in the best way.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and mingling with your own. “You’re it for me, okay?” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Baby or no baby. You’re my future. Nothing else matters.”

You smiled at him, the last remnants of doubt melting away under the weight of his love. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky but steadying with every breath.

Peter pulled you into another kiss, this one shorter but just as tender, before grinning against your lips. “Now, about those hundred cats…”

You laughed, playfully shoving his chest, but your heart felt light again. Peter Parker, your ridiculous, amazing, nerdy Peter, had managed to remind you once again why you loved him so much.

[candyskiez]

not to be dramatic or anything but I hope the fact that you know I'm too forgiving for my own good yet I couldn't forgive *you* haunts you for years. I hope you see the implications of that and I hope you realize just how bad you fucking hurt me <3

[ilikeyoshi]

ppl like "i have to use ay-eye bc i can't drawwwww :(" ok whose fault is that. i can't draw either u know who's fault that is?? mine!!!! it isn't a bad thing but if i am unwilling to learn to draw that is Exclusively My Fault buddy!!!! if u refuse to practice that is, in fact, a you problem!!!! that's fine!!!! but u dont get to pretend u HAVE to use ay-eye bc an Uncontrollable Force prevents u from learning to draw!!!! u could just Go Learn!!!!

[beets-are-not-green]

i just finished watching buffy s1-s7 for the first time and like. s6 is good. not perfect, but still. it deals in the most obvious way with these big issues that are so human, and it's so real that even the season's vilains are kind-of-regular humans. the way it focuses on the characters' relationships, the way they grow, the way they hurt each other, the way they deal with becoming adults, with trying to have some control on life, on themselves, on each other, the way they fail, the way they have to deal with the consequences of their actions in the end... it was so interesting that i was even willing to go along with what i thought were bad writing choices, like: ok, that's awful but you know what, sure, let's see where we're going. and then s7 happens lmfao

[trainingdummyrabbit]

in conclusion the most poignant thing about ruina is its running theme of Imperfection. imperfection, focused not on its flaws, but on the miracle of it existing to begin with. imperfection not as a failing, but as a triumph. its cracked, broken, deeply in need of repair-- but it's real and its ours and it exists. despite everything it exists and that enough is a relief beyond words, beyond expression. to present a toppled structure not as a conclusion, but an opportunity.

its the choice-- and the joy-- of looking forward, unflinchingly, and facing it. one step at a time.

[coffee-keith]

Really struggling with trying to figure out what's me. Like what I enjoy and what ideas/traits/desires are actually my own. I think it's beautiful that people influence each other and grow together, but I'm left feeling lost right now and wondering what's actually me.

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads

Adrift In Starlight

space opera adventure romance

a courtesan is hired to seduce the soon-to-be-wife of a famous actor

a historian who’s focused on her career & has no idea her marriage has been arranged by her rich parents

after a museum tour they and two co-workers accidentally resurrect an ancient alien artifact and end up on the run from the law, traveling from planet to planet

pan nonbinary transfemme MC, touch-averse ace MC

[himalayaan-flowers]

please stop describing ERP as a "gold standard treatment" i am going to cry

[vounoura]

I’ll consolidate my thoughts more coherently later but. I liked BG3 and I liked playing it, though I think a lot of the choices (mostly the act 3 ones) have an issue of not wanting to commit to their consequences and always give the player an out which is personally frustrating for me

[medicinemane]

I don't know, here's my problem with all that gratitude stuff people are always pushing

I'm here finding myself grateful for the really bad unexplained stomach problems I had for months that randomly flared up so bad I couldn't leave the house safely somedays (literally missed my last doctor's appointment cause it turned out that wasn't a day to be out and about)

Like unprompted, not as some kind of exercise or something, I find myself being like "yeah it may have royally sucked, but it really has helped me get a feel for how my stomach is doing so maybe I appreciate it"

Feel like that's fairly gratitude minded when you can find yourself being grateful for basically months of being sick, you know?

...so fuck off an let me be. If me organically being grateful for a painful time in my life where a lot of nights I'd be worried about going to sleep and dealing with issues so bad I was worried about how I was gonna be able to take this trip unless I got lucky... if I just on my own end up being grateful for that and still want to put a bullet in my head, maybe gratitude isn't a cure all

Maybe piss off with it, you know? I'm the first to say it's good to be grateful for shit, and frankly even walls (even when there's insulation issues) are a fucking blessing and I'll always thank my house for everything it does for me

Still not a magic bullet against depression and I get fucking sick of everyone talking like it is one... like if I just gratituded harder I'd feel better

[gremlingottoosilly]

I met a guy in the Summer (dilf!Konig x fem!Reader)

Your boyfriend is an asshole. Luckily, his hot dad just returned from deployment. CW and Tags: Cheating, dub-con, size kink, daddy kink, age gap(reader in 20s, Konig is early 40s), Konig is a pervert, slightly obsessive Konig, love(and lust) at first sight, fingering, dom!Konig Word count: 3713 AO3

“Just one more game, babe, don’t be a buzzkill. I don’t want to end at a loss.” You didn’t want to be a buzzkill, of course. You simply wanted to be a good girlfriend, have some domestically cozy date, and for your boyfriend to at least try to put an effort into being with you. It wasn’t much to ask for, really. You hoped so, at least. You didn’t want to be an annoying, nagging girlfriend who only ever waits for another reason to yell at him, but your patience started to run thin. 

You spend the past three hours either listening to his apathetic rambling about the shows he watched – really, you wanted to invest in stuff he liked, but an abnormally large amount of animes he talked about had 1000-year-old girls who looked like they were 10, wearing inappropriate outfits, and you started to raise the alarm. 

You also watched him play – and also listened to his rage quitting and angry voice messages to his team that, honestly, made you slightly anxious. You never liked loud people, people who were so easy to rage about something as silly as some colorful video game with too many characters to look after. 

So, like a good girlfriend would – you wanted to be a good girlfriend, he was such a nice guy before you started dating, and you need something to think about besides the tremendous amount of study work you are doing for college – you decided to go and look for snacks. Maybe bring something for him as well. 

— I’ll find something to eat, alright? 

He didn’t respond at first, so you shook his shoulder. Your boyfriend took off his headphones with annoying look on his face, half-turning to look at you. You gulped, suddenly feeling like a child in front of the principal – not a feeling that you were supposed to feel around your partner, but with him, you somehow constantly felt like you were being judged. 

— Nah, stay here. I don’t want my father to see you. 

— Ah…your father is at home? 

You never heard anyone else being at the house – big house, you must admit, and it’s embarrassing almost how you never thought about his family. He lives with his dad, apparently, and the depth of your relationships can only be judged by the fact you literally didn’t know what his father’s name was. 

— Returned from his fucking deployment. He’d ask too many questions about you. 

— You didn’t tell him about me? 

Ah, now you’re hurt a little bit. You knew it wasn’t anything serious or too committed yet, but you intended to make this work. To try and fix all the problems you can without ending things abruptly. 

— He never asked. Not like he cares too much, but…

An apathetic dad, huh. 

You started to slowly piece together the puzzle that was your boyfriend’s horrible boyfriend skills. Now, you want to meet the man who conceived him and kick him in the nuts for creating such an unlovable human being who somehow captivated your chronically lonely heart. 

— If you don’t want me to come and meet him, I can go home. 

He doesn’t answer because his queue is finally coming to another match – you simply nod, knowing everything you need to. You can grab a little snack for yourself, fuck off to your dorm and rethink your life choices while your roommate is getting pounded by some gruss British bloke with an accent that makes your ears bleed. 

You have dignity, and right now, it has asked you to get some snacks from the kitchen. 

*** Now, the only thing König wanted after returning from deployment was to take as many hot showers as he could, shut his bastard of a son up, and get some delicious food waiting for him in the freezer. He was already home for a few days, but adjusting is always hard when you basically fucking hate living at your own house. Of-fucking-course, his son was watching the house while he was away – and now he can’t even think of a good excuse to set him off to his mother. Too old to do this, and split custody never really worked when not even one part of the relationship wanted to take care of the kid. 

König closes the door of the refrigerator – of course, his son took every good thing that he stashed for himself. With a groan, the colonel fights the urge to finally throw him out of the house – a thing he needed to do a few years ago, just when he celebrated his 18th, but some sentimental part of his heart instead promised to help with finding a place close to the college. No good deed goes unpunished. 

With a groan, he takes a few steps from the fridge – and then he almost stumbles across an angel. 

Scheisse

Now, König never thought of himself as a predator who prefers running after college girls who might as well be his daughters. He never thought of himself as a gut who liked them young – his wife, god forsake her name, was his age when they started dating, and he hardly had any sexual encounters with a person under 25 in the past few years. Well, not like he had any sexual encounters in the past years, but…

The thing is – he never thought he liked girls with wide eyes, pouty faces, and trembling hands who were holding a bag of his cookies that he carefully stashed away from his son. 

You are wearing something cute, a nice skirt and an adorable pink cardigan that looks so cozy and warm and soft, and he fights the urge to grab your skirt and simply lift it, You’re dressed up for a cute coffee date, and König has to double check if he isn’t dreaming and no one has decided to play a prank on him and send him a cute callgirl. 

— Oh! Sorry. It’s yours, isn’t it? 

You give him his cookies back – but not before your fingers fished another salty caramel goodness out of the bag, and you bit it. He looks at your teeth, at your lips, and glimpses of your tongue – god, he is an old, dirty bastard because even his baggy pants aren’t enough to hide his boner. You have no right to look this pretty for a man who hasn’t seen a woman in three months and hasn’t had sex in the past few years. 

You lick the crumbs from your fingers – it’s such a deliberate action that he can’t believe he actually sees it, and it’s not even something from porn he used to like. 

— Ja. You can have it. 

He would give you the code to his bank account if you asked for it. 

— Thank you, sir. I’m…well, I assume if Paul didn’t introduce me to you…I’m his girlfriend. Nice to meet you. 

You lick your lips and take a step back, pressed against the counter. He looks at the sway of your hips, a bit of crumbs on your shirt, and almost brushes it away with his hands. It would be a good excuse to touch your chest – but he can’t be like this, he has to keep his urges under control, or else his son will never forgive him. 

Yeah, like he needs a better reason to throw his useless son from his home. 

— Girlfriend? He never spoke about you. 

You look sad, and he immediately curses under his breath. For a moment, you look too fragile – too real. He can’t handle this look on a woman, especially as pretty and young as you are. You bat your eyelashes, even involuntarily, and he already prepares to give you the keys to his home just so you’d stop with such miserable expressions. He has a spare bedroom. 

He has his bedroom with a bed that would be enough for both of you. 

— Ah. Um. We’re…I guess we’re not at this stage yet. 

— Knowing him, you’ll never be, Schatz. 

You look at him immediately – you’re offended, angry, and sad at the same time. There is a certain stubbornness in your eyes that immediately makes him want to simply scoop you in his arms, lift you, and drag you straight to the altar – and here he thought that his impulses over getting married would be over after his first divorce. 

— What do you mean by this, sir? 

You look uncertain now, he can see this in your eyes – and really, knowing his asshole of a child, he is almost sure that Paul never once got you off, either physically or emotionally. 

Now, König never once considered himself to be a good man. He has killed countless people, overthrown many governments, and made shitty jobs for shitty people way more than saving hostages to help the good guys – and in the romantic field, it’s even worse. Wife, unsatisfied with his controlling tendencies and inability to feel normal love for a human being – and a son who hates him because, in fact, he never once wanted to have a kid. 

He looks at you and sees a pretty young thing, still in college or freshly out of, probably without a stable job and normal social standing – a good girl won’t be with his son if she isn’t stupid or extremely desperate for a relationship. 

The thing is, König is also extremely desperate for another warm body next to his, to feel a woman beside him, to love and obsess over someone – he looks at your pouty lips and shaky hands, at the way you bite the corner of your glossy mouth, and he almost wants to drop you on this very table and fuck you until you’re crying under him. He can’t do just that, of course. It would probably make you extremely uncomfortable and scared, but…well, quite frankly, his son doesn’t deserve you. 

König is. 

— I won’t sugarcoat it, Schatz. My son is a Scheiß Arschloch…fucking asshole, that is. I’m surprised he brought home someone as cute as you. 

You feel embarrassment collecting in your body. Paul’s dad is a…interesting man. 

Tall, broad, very muscular – even his baggy house clothes aren’t really concealing his extremely interesting physique from your eyes. He looks yummy and tasty, and you fight the urge to eye the bulge in his pants because you’re a good girl, you don’t look at your boyfriend’s dad like this. 

König has greying ginger hair, locks already curling slightly at the lack of cutting, and you fight the urge to sit on the counter and get your palm in his scalp, massage his head gently, and pull him closer for a kiss. You feel like a dirty, horrible woman – your boyfriend is in his room, probably enjoying his time on your “date” while you’re lusting over his father. 

Then again, this date already felt like a disaster. This relationship, too. 

— Paul isn’t all that bad, sir. 

“He at least has a nice dick,” you wanted to add but stopped yourself. Paul is tall and somewhat strong – if he weren’t sitting at his computer all day, you would call him even muscular. And he has a nice dick, yes, even though he had no idea how to use it. You liked the idea of laying with him, of spraying your jaw trying to fit all of this in your mouth, but his kinks and his sex skills being directly taken from porn…not really your thing. 

You look at König and wonder if they are similar in all of the places. He is his father, after all. 

König catches your gaze locked on his bulge and smirks. 

God, if he knew his son had such a cute girl, he would ask her to come earlier. He is two weeks off deployment and probably won’t take another long contract for a few months because they just upped his retirement payings, and he can afford to slack off a little bit, only visiting the home base for some training and instructions for rookies. 

He can afford to retire and never worry about money again – but he needs someone to make his days less boring, right? 

You look like a good candidate. 

— I’m sure my son was convincing, but I know him better than anyone. He doesn’t deserve you, Schatz. 

He is shitty at flirting, it’s not his forte – he can flaunt his money, maybe, show you in his wallet and bank account face first. He can just straight up ask you to be his sugar baby and suck his cock instead of doing your studies, but he can’t flirt and manipulate to save his life. Lying isn’t something he is good for, this is why his wife has left. 

— I…not sure we should be having this conversation here. 

You’re a good girl, and it’s infuriating. He knows that having someone in his bed shouldn’t be the end goal for his leave, but he wants you, and by the look on your face, you aren’t opposed to the idea. König doesn’t understand if he likes that you’re so reserved about it or if he wants you to be a bit more slutty – but he captures you in the space between the kitchen counter and presses you with his body. 

— You want to see the bedroom then?

Pushes you so close his knee gets between your legs – it might look involuntary like he didn’t exactly want for it to be placed here, but you aren’t dumb, you know what he wants from you. Like a good fucking girl, you’re too shy to give it to him right about now. God, sometimes he hates being so nice to people around him. 

— Sir, this is very…

He got you caged in his hands, body trapped in his embrace – you jerk your head upwards a little bit, staring at him like a small bird in the hands of a predator. He isn’t a strong man in regard of morals, he doesn’t see anything wrong with fucking his son’s girlfriend – if the girl is up to it. And if she isn’t…well, he better make sure she is. 

— What is it, Schatz? Paul won’t hear us in his headphones.

You know just how wrong it is, and you almost want to escape – his dick grinds on your pelvis through his pants, and you’re horrified to see how big it is. Excited too, of course, he is bigger than your boyfriend ever could be, and you don’t want to be a slut, but, oh well, not like you were in a committed and serious relationship anyway. 

Paul was seeing your friends more than you ever saw them – it’s probably a sign that you should settle for someone older. You did enjoy Lana Del Rey's songs, after all. 

— I don’t want to break his heart. 

— He doesn’t have one. 

You’re lost when he pushes his lips to kiss you over and over again – a surprisingly good kisser, and you give in because it was the first time in forever a kiss made you feel this good. His lips are sending electricity down your spine, you want to moan just from his knee, pushing on the softness of your cunt through that adorable skirt you liked so much – you feel so small like this, so tiny in his hands, you…

God, you feel like a slut, and you like it. 

Soon enough, you answered the kiss, your lips meeting his in a dance that made you feel hot, that made you feel like your boyfriend never could. Never thinking of yourself as someone who can fall so easily into the hands of an older man, now you know that he got you right where he wanted. 

You push your hand on his pants, trying to get the control back – but he stops you, a giant hand enveloping your wrist and pushing you back. With a surprise on your face, König just wants to kiss you all over. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that you deserve way more than being fucked on the rough kitchen counter while your so-called boyfriend is too busy dickriding his friends in some useless online game. 

— Not now, princess. You deserve better than being fucked on the kitchen counter, ja? It can come later. 

“Later” sounds like a promise, and you bite back your moan when he keeps pushing his knee against your cunt, making you throb and clench on nothing. He is such a gentleman, you can’t help but compare him to his son – and his fabulous ability to make you feel dirty after fucking you in the backseat of his car and tossing you to your dorm with your pussy still wet and messy after you didn’t cum. 

You sob, not from sadness, but from pleasure mixed with some weird, unnatural for you emotions – you feel weird, strained here like this, but you hug his neck and whisper something in his ear. Something, dangerously sounding just like “daddy, please” 

König is blushing, and he looks fucking adorable. 

— Daddy, ja? God, you’re dangerous, liebling. Going to get me in trouble with my son later. 

He laughs when he kisses you again, his hand slipping in your panties only to find them completely soaked – he knows you deserve a nice pillow and soft sheets under your body, and he pushes you up so you can hug his waist with your legs. You rely on him like a cute pet, and you’re so perfect in his hands he curses himself for not seeing you before. 

He is going to ruin you for anyone but him. Put so much cum in you, it will make your tummy bulge – make you his precious sugar baby, pay for your dumb college and make you move to his bedroom instead of some shitty dorm you probably share with four other people. 

He can be good for you – but he will ruin you for anyone else, anyone appropriate, every guy your age who clearly doesn’t know how to treat a lady right. 

— So wet for me…such a filthy thing, I didn’t know my son dated a whore. 

— N…not a whore, please…

He kisses you on your forehead, silently apologizing. You feel his crooked, scarred smile, and you push your face up to kiss him – you want to touch him so badly it makes you feel stupid. 

— Sorry, Schatzen. Not a whore, a good girl for her daddy, ja? So nice for me, too fucking young…

— W…we really shouldn’t… — Tshhh, don’t think about it. Thinking will only hurt your pretty dumb head. — I’m not…

— Quiet, little one. Let daddy handle everything.

He kisses you over and over, his fingers playing with your pussy – meaty digits digging in your hole, making you whimper from sudden intrusion. He is big, bigger than anyone else, just two of his fingers are enough to spread you as much as normal cock would, and even though you’re used to taking Paul’s size, you just know that his dad would be much, much bigger. He is going to split you open, and you will love every fucking second. 

It feels so wrong, you still aren’t sure if you want him to touch you like this. 

It feels so right, he is experienced and eager, pushing every button to make you squirm in his grasp. Your orgasm comes embarrassingly quick – maybe because you haven’t gotten off in ages, only miserable masturbation sessions and poor attempts at faking your orgasm made it feel real. Paul never cared enough to actually get you off – but now…

You aren’t ready for him. You squirm in his grasp when the pressure becomes too much, and he soothes you, two fingers still buried in your soaked cunt. You feel so dirty, so wrong right now – you are cumming on the fingers of your boyfriend’s absent father, and you love every second of it. 

Post-orgasm clarity makes you whiny and sobby, and you whimper in his shoulder when he gently lifts you in his hands. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that he just scrambled your brain with that orgasm – it’s good, really, he might just want to keep your pretty head nice and empty for him. Not like you would ever need to think in his presence, the colonel can handle everything in- and out- of bed. 

König holds you close, not allowing you to scramble away no matter how embarrassed you are. You are his precious thing, with a pouty face, and he will do everything in his power to make you squirm on his fingers again and again before he makes you his wife for good. 

So impulsive, maybe this is why his son is such an asshole – taking the worst traits of his father. 

— Don’t cry, Schatzen. You’re okay, it felt good, didn’t it? 

— W…we shouldn’t have. Shit. I’m sorry, it was a m…god, I need to tell Paul. 

— I’ll tell him. 

— No! — I will tell my asshole of a son that you’re my girl now, ja? And then I will take you to the bedroom, so we can fuck. 

— I need to return to my dorm. 

— And then I will dine you properly, okay? Sorry, Liebling, I know I should court you before all of this…but we can afford to go a bit off board, ja? 

He is smiling, so smitten and obsessed over just having you cum on his fingers once – you don’t have the heart to say no. Never did. You’re a good, proper girl, and Paul was never treating you right anyway. You feel dirty, yes, but somehow, it is almost right. 

He peppers your face with kisses, like a dog lapping its tongue all over your skin – you’re so concentrated on the warmth of his strong, seasoned body that you don’t even look in the direction of the doorway to the kitchen. 

Paul, however, looks straight at you, disheartened and shocked. 

— W…what the fuck, dad?! König laughs, kissing you once again – deep, hot, with tongue and loud, sloppy sounds of your mouth pressing into one another. You’re stuck in place, still caged in his arms like a precious little pet you are. 

— She’ll make a good step mom, ja? 

You don’t even register his hands slowly caressing your fingers as if he already tries to check the ring sizes. 

[hoshifighting]

staff!jeonghan

WARNINGS: fluff, smut, fame problems, paris trip, idol!reader is a sweetheart with her staff team, teasing, hair pulling, makeup smudging hair destroying sex, face slap, paris sex.

staff!jeonghan who started way back when your career was just taking off. you were still fresh, the kind of new that had people curious but not quite sold on the idea of you making it long term. jeonghan wasn’t even supposed to be sticking around. dude was just a freelancer, floating between gigs like it was nothing. hairdresser one week, stylist the next, maybe even photographer’s assistant if he felt like it. didn’t care much either—just did his job, got his check, and dipped.

he was there the first time you came in for a shoot, thinking, oh, here we go again, another idol who doesn’t know shit about shit, and probably treats their staff like trash. honestly, he didn’t expect anything from you. he had his walls up like crazy. you’d been doing this for, what, a hot minute? and you were already getting attention, which just made him think, “yep, this one’s probably the snobby kind. won’t even acknowledge us when she’s walking by.”

but then you went and did the most surprising thing—like blew his expectations out of the water kinda surprise. you saw him—no, not just like saw him, but like saw him. took a minute to actually chat. asked how his day was, if he needed anything while he was running around fixing the stage lights or whatever. you even remembered his name by the end of the first day, which? yeah, idols usually don’t bother with that.

fast forward a couple months, and jeonghan’s still hanging around. he didn’t plan to stay, but something about you changed that. it wasn’t even the work, really. it was more like you made things different for the whole staff—hairdressers, makeup artists, stylists, all of them. you had this habit of, like, breaking all the usual rules. you’d bring coffee for everyone in the morning, none of that half-assed, "just for my personal team" bullshit, you made sure everyone was taken care of, because they take care of you as welll.

then there was that time when you randomly called up your manager one day like, "hey, i’m taking everyone out to eat after the shoot." and jeonghan was standing there, trying not to look too surprised, but inside he was like, who the hell does that? especially in this industry where staff usually gets a handshake and a “thanks for your work” at most. while you’re out here throwing cash around to make sure your team is happy. it’s wild.

he remembers the first time you handed out those holiday bonuses. it wasn’t even from the company’s budget either; it was straight up from your own wallet. like, your money. you didn’t even make a big deal about it, just casually handed out envelopes and said, “merry christmas, you guys.” you should’ve seen their faces—everyone was shook, even him, and he doesn’t get surprised that easily. it was one of those moments where the room just, like, collectively inhaled. there was silence, and then someone—probably one of the stylists—goes, “y/n, this is... you didn’t have to...”

and you? you just shrugged, all casual, like it was no big deal. “nah, i wanted to. thank you for taking care of me, you make part of all of this too.” you pointed to the stage.

jeonghan couldn’t even look at you right for a second because it was, like, damn, okay, she’s for real. that was the moment he decided he wasn’t just gonna treat this gig like all the others. working with you? yeah, it felt different. and not in some sappy, fairytale shit kind of way, but in a “maybe there are still people in this industry who aren’t complete assholes” kind of way.

“so you’re sticking around, hannie?” you asked him one day, catching him off guard while he was fixing up your jacket right before a stage performance.

he smirked, his usual cocky, nonchalant self, but there was something softer underneath it. “guess i don’t have a choice. you make it too easy.”

he was your go-to guy now, the one you trusted with everything, from making sure your hair wasn’t fucked up during press tours to giving you a reality check when you were stressing over the dumbest things. and he liked that. he liked being the one you leaned on when you didn’t wanna bother anyone else.

but it was more than that too. you were just different. the way you treated people, the way you made sure everyone around you felt seen, felt valued? it wasn’t fake. it wasn’t for show. it was you. and jeonghan? well, he wasn’t the kind of guy to stick around just for anyone. but for you? yeah, maybe he’d go the long haul.

jeonghan was always there, like a constant shadow that somehow made everything feel lighter instead of heavier. as your career blew up, he didn’t just keep pace—he matched your energy, your needs, every twist and turn that came with your fame. whether it was press tours, backstage chaos, or those ridiculous interviews where some clueless host would try to push your boundaries, he was always ready.

you’d be in the middle of a tv show, mind racing, and then there’d be a subtle shift. jeonghan standing just offstage, watching with a sharp, gaze of his. and it wasn’t like he had to do much—sometimes just a look was enough to let you know he had your back. like that time they tried to switch up your routine last minute, making changes that didn’t sit right with you. you didn’t even need to speak up, though. before you could say a word, he was already stepping in, throwing that effortless, yet somehow intimidating smile toward the team. “nah, we’re sticking with the original plan. my artist doesn’t do changes without notice.”

“your artist,” you’d hear him say that a lot, like a protective label stamped right over you, like you belonged to him—not in a possessive way, but in a way that made you feel safe. secure.

it wasn’t just about the work either, not even close. jeonghan made the loneliness that came with fame feel less suffocating. that part of fame nobody talks about—the part where you can’t make real friends anymore, where every new person in your life feels temporary, transactional. except him. he was loyal.

when you had those long, grueling days full of photoshoots and interviews and events, and all you wanted was to escape, jeonghan was the one who made sure you still had a piece of normal.

like that one time in paris. you were there for a fashion show, sitting front row with all these industry giants who couldn’t care less about anything but themselves, and jeonghan was right beside you, but afterward, when it was just the two of you, he was the one who dragged you to some random hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street, far from all the cameras and flashing lights, ordering too much food and laughing at how terrible your french was.

“you know, you’re lucky you’ve got me,” he teased, watching you struggle with the menu. “otherwise, you’d be stuck ordering water and bread for the rest of the trip.”

you elbowed him playfully. “i’m just trying to be cultured, okay?”

“sure, sure,” he snickered, but the grin on his face was soft, like he was glad to be there with you. “leave the culture to me.”

he was there on the quieter days too. you’d be at home, no schedule to follow for once, just free. but that freedom? it felt empty when you didn’t have anyone to share it with. jeonghan got that. he’d show up at your place without even needing an invitation, like he just knew when you needed him there. sometimes he wouldn’t even knock. you’d just hear the door click open and his familiar voice, “you better not be working in there.”

you’d laugh, shouting back from wherever you were in the apartment, “i’m not, calm down.”

next thing you knew, he’d be on the floor of your pristine living room, surrounded by lego pieces because, for some reason, that’s what the two of you did on your days off. it was ridiculous, really, two adults crouched over colorful plastic blocks, but it made you feel like a kid again, like before everything got so complicated.

you’d crouch down next to him, watching his hands move, and without thinking, you’d wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. it wasn’t even romaaaantic, more like instinct. jeonghan had this way of making you feel safe, like you didn’t have to be the perfect version of yourself all the time. you could just be you. and hugging him like that, clinging onto him like a koala, it was the only way you knew how to show him just how much he meant to you.

“you’re clingy today,” he murmured, but there was no complaint in his voice, just that familiar teasing.

“you’re soft,” you shot back, squeezing him tighter, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. his cologne was subtle but always the same, something that reminded you of quiet, peaceful moments, like this.

he tilted his head a little, catching your eyes “oh, yeah? not what you said last time.”

you puffed your cheeks out, crossing your arms dramatically, the sulk settling in. “i’m done being clingy with you, jeonghan.”

he grinned like he was waiting for that exact reaction. it’s almost like he lived for these moments—when you’d pout and try to act all tough, but really? he knew exactly where this was headed. you weren’t fooling anyone, especially not him.

“oh yeah?” he tilted his head, gaze dripping with amusement as he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed your ear. “you sure about that?”

you tried to hold firm, but the way his voice dropped a little lower, teasing. you shifted your weight, crossing your legs under you on the living room floor, avoiding eye contact. “mmhmm. you’ll see.”

jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, leaning back and watching you with a glint in his eyes, like he was just waiting for you to crack. “you’re too cute when you sulk, y’know that?”

your heart fluttered, but you bit down on the inside of your cheek, determined to keep up the act. “whatever.”

he moved closer, a hand sliding around your waist, tugging you just enough so that your body leaned into his. “nah, don’t pout, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing lightly against your jaw. “we both know how this ends.”

and he was right. because, every time you tried to act like you were done with him, like you were going to keep your distance, it only ended one way—with you wet underneath him, a needy mess, begging for more.

like that first time in paris. paris had done something to the both of you. it was supposed to be a normal night, just you and him hanging out after the fashion show. nothing special, just another city on the endless list of places you’d been together. but somehow, that night went different. the second the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, you’d scarcely made it through the door before his hands were on you, grabbing, pulling, claiming.

“thought you were gonna keep your distance,” jeonghan had teased as he pressed you up against the wall, his lips trailing down your neck, making your knees weak.

you were already panting, feeling the warmness of him beaming off his body. “shut up, hannie.”

he chuckled against your skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you, making you gasp. “aww, so cute when you’re needy.”

and fuck, were you needy. by the time he’d pushed you onto the bed, tugging at your clothes, you were already whimpering for him, already soaked.

he’d dragged you to the edge, rough hands all over your body, pulling, squeezing, leaving marks everywhere. your hair had been perfect for the show, all sleek and done up, but that shit didn’t last long. the second he had his fist tangled in it, pulling your head back, it was ruined. thrusting into you from behind, his cock splitting you in half with each brutal thrust. “such a fucking mess.”

you’d tried to keep quiet, biting down on the pillow as your body rocked with every movement, but every time you let out a whiny moan, jeonghan was right there to mock you for it.

“aww, hannie’s being too harsh?” he cooed, as he tries to sound sweet. “hm? poor baby can’t take it?”

you’d only moaned louder, your body trembling as he slapped your ass, the sting making you cry out. he’d leaned down then, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “use your words, sweetheart. tell hannie how bad you want it.”

you couldn’t even speak, just a mess of broken moans and gasps as he kept slamming into you, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room. and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, when you were right on the edge, that’s when he did it. his hand came up to your face, smudging the glitter from the show as he slapped you—not enough to really hurt. he is a careful guy.

“fuck, y/n, look at you. such a pretty little mess,” he groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he pounded into you from behind, relentless. “you gonna come for me? c’mon, baby, let me hear it.”

you whimpered, nodding, your mind spinning as his cock hit that perfect spot over and over, making you roll your eyes, drool, everything u had right of. but just as you were about to cum, he pulled out, leaving you empty and desperate.

“aww, no no no, not yet,” jeonghan cooed, a wicked grin on his face as he turned you onto your back, pushing your legs open wide. “hannie’s not done with you.”

your heart pounded, your entire body aching for release, but you didn’t dare move. he was in control, and you knew better than to push him.

“what’s the matter, baby?” he leaned down, his lips brushing over yours as he teased you. “too much?”

you shook your head, barely able to get the words out. “n-no… please…”

his smirk widened, that wicked glint in his eyes making you shiver. “please what? gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

you whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets as you looked up at him, desperate. “please… fuck me…”

“good girl.”

[dindjarindiaries]

Distraction

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompts: "You need to distract me. Do something, anything." & Kissing as a distraction

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

Din's visor tilted at the sight of you, his modulated voice as charming as ever as he greeted you at your doorway. "Hey."

All you could do was blink at him in response, your gaze transfixed on the sight of his gloved hand clutching the hilt of a blade that was lodged between his shoulder and his chest.

"Can I come in?"

His words finally snapped you back into action. You all but tugged him inside, the anxious knot wounding itself even tighter within your chest when you heard him grunt at the movement. After securing the door closed, you turned back to Din and properly assessed the situation.

Your eyes weren't deceiving you. There was still a blade lodged inside his flesh, and he didn't seem worried about it whatsoever—despite how much crimson you saw staining his flight suit. "Shit, Din." You fussed as you practically ran around your flat in search of your medpac. "Shit."

Din huffed. "Don't you want to know how it happened?"

You fixed him with a look across the room. "You can tell me while we're fixing it."

Din hummed as you approached with the medpac. You eased him into the nearest chair and set the supplies on the table. "I'm gonna need a better distraction than that."

Your furrowed your brow, but didn't step preparing everything you would need to assist him. "What do you mean?"

Your stare remained on your hands as they sorted through the supplies in record time, but you were forced to stop when Din set his gloved hand over them. You looked back up at his visor, watching as he nodded towards the hilt of the blade. "I need you to take this out for me."

Your throat tightened with panic, but you spoke around it. "You... don't want to do that yourself?"

"I can't. It'll be too painful." Din tilted his helmet at you. "Haven't you done this before?"

Your voice was so strained that it was just a squeal. "No!"

Din's hand tightened around yours. "Listen. It's gonna be just fine. Once it's out, the pain will be more than manageable."

He took one of your hands and guided it to the hilt. Your racing heart plunged into your stomach, threatening to make you sick as you instead swallowed hard and focused on Din rather than yourself.

"I only need you to do two things for me. Okay?"

You nodded, more than happy to let Din's soothing voice guide you. It came as no surprise to you that he was the calmer one in this situation, despite the fact he was also the one with the weapon in his shoulder.

"You need to pull this out, and you need to distract me while you do it."

Your gaze searched his visor. "What kind of distraction do you need me to do?"

You instinctively tightened your grasp on the hilt, causing a tight groan to slip through Din's modulator that had clearly caught him by surprise. His next words were curt, but not angered. "Do something. Anything."

You nodded and gently adjusted your grasp. You thought through all your options, looking upon Din for something that you could use to distract him. If talking wouldn't be enough, then there had to be something more powerful.

Your gaze caught on the lip of his helmet. It would be a risky move, but with the fogginess of your panic for him blinding you, you didn't bother to consider the consequences. All you cared about was blinding his pain.

The first move you made was straddling him on the chair, which Din clearly didn't mind, based on the quick way he secured you there. Then, with the hand not clutching the weapon in his shoulder, you lifted his helmet just enough to press your parted lips against his.

It was sweet relief, an acknowledgement shared in the sighs between you, and for a moment it made you forget why you had done it. But the weight of the hilt in your hand still remained, even if the warmth of Din's mouth was a strong distraction.

You were right to make this choice. If he was enough to distract you, then you were no doubt more than enough to distract him.

Your hand on his jaw, which still balanced the metal rim of his helmet, tilted his head back further to deepen the kiss. The moment you pushed your tongue into his mouth, you tugged hard on the blade, freeing it from his shoulder.

Din released his groan into you, his teeth capturing your lip as he did so, but he never broke away from you. Instead, after a few heavy breaths, he simply returned the favor by exploring your mouth with a passion that left you breathless.

But again, the weight of the blade in your hand was too heavy to ignore.

You forced yourself to pull away from him, your brow shooting up as you did so. "That's enough of the distraction, Din." You showed him the blade in your hand. "It's out. We need to fix it now."

Din's gloved hand wrapped around the back of your neck. "It's fine. I can survive for a few more minutes."

When he made the move to kiss you again, you stopped him by setting your thumb over his lips. "Din." Your eyes were at least double their usual size. "You're bleeding out."

Din paused, his hand only leaving your neck to take the lip of his helmet from you. He removed it from his head completely, leaving you to gape in an entirely different way than you had before. His brow rose as his brown gaze burned at you with the same flame of desire that you had lit deep within yourself.

If the sound of Din's natural voice wasn't enough to make you melt on top of him, then the words he spoke certainly were. "Does it look like I give a fuck?"

You yet again blinked at him in surprise, unable to do anything except let the blade clatter to the floor as you willingly went back to him again. You kissed him like your lives depended on it, because—in a way—Din's did. And that's the way he wanted it.

He had just proven that you were more tempting to him than life itself, and that's what made it impossible to put an end to this "distraction."

[rhysazriel]

Only Angel [Mafia!Azriel]

SUMMARY: Azriel's a dangerous Mafia leader, Y/N is his favourite dancer at his strip club. His usual Friday night dance turns into something a little more. (6.2k)

WARNINGS: mentions of the mafia and illegal activities, kissing, teasing, swearing, smut; dirty talk, sexual intercourse, spanking, fingering, lap dance.

A/N: This is a rewrite of a very old fic from an old fandom I was in. I’ve edited it the best I can to fit around Azriel’s character, so I apologise in advance if anything appears out of place :) 

Azriel owns a lot of businesses. From stores to hotels, to apartments to clubs. To many, he's a man of business, a man of money. To those aware of the world around them, he's a man of the mafia. Powerful and dangerous. Maybe that's what caught her eye all that time ago, the mysterious aura that bubbled around him.

Y/N's been a dancer at his club since it opened three years ago. It started as a joke between her friends. She was fresh in college and desperately needed a part-time job to pay her bills after she was laid off from the bakery she'd been working at. Callie had mentioned a new strip joint opening on the outskirts of Prythian, that it was a more underground, elite sort of club.

Y/N had laughed it off, joking that she'd look into it and then didn't think of it anymore. But after two weeks of job hunting and no luck, she found herself bumping into a group of young women in a restroom at a bar, and somehow snagged herself an interview at said club.

Eria Vanserra, manager of the club, had hired her the second she opened her mouth and her pretty little voice spoke her name. Y/N was attractive, there was absolutely no doubt in that. She had that look of pure innocence in her eyes, but her lips were wicked. 

The girls had trained her up, taught her the basics on the pole. She's grown close to them, thinks of them as her sisters more than colleagues. They're a team, have each other's backs when new customers try to take advantage and hype each other up for when the regular 60-year-olds come in and request private sessions. 

Y/N -- or rather Angel -- only offers private sessions for one customer: The Boss. They met just over a year into her employment, and it was on their first greeting that Azriel took an instant liking to the devilish dancer, and she took the same approach with him. 

Y/N's been teased for it relentlessly; snickers made from a few of the girls that didn't like how much Azriel liked her, but she didn't care then, and she doesn't care now. Not when every other Friday night, he has her booked for an intimate performance in the back room -- the room that's only ever reserved by him. 

It's been a long week. Classes were cancelled due to some ongoing investigation with one of Y/N's professors, and so she's been able to pick up shifts every night at the club. Shadow's is an elite place, and Y/N knows it. It's a home for the best dancers and the richest of men that sneak off to get their fix. 

It's not a brothel -- at least, not primarily. And none of the girls is ever forced into anything they don't want to do. That's one of the first things Eris made very clear. 

You're here to dance. Private sessions are your own choice, and anything that goes on behind closed curtains is your decision. If you want to offer extra services, the club doesn't touch that money.

Y/N's never been one to stray from the pole. She knows her strengths, and she knows her weaknesses. She's strong, it's obvious, but even the strongest of dancers find it unsettling to be behind a closed curtain with a strange man that clearly can't get much outside of what his money can buy.

The thought unsettles her, but she's never let her own discomfort project on the other girls that spend hours in private rooms with a different man every twenty minutes. They're the real talent, she thinks. Inspiring and badass, and Y/N wishes she had that extra ounce of confidence that they do.

Or at least, she used to wish so. Before she met Azriel -- before he started watching her whenever he stopped by. For two years, she's the only dancer his honey eyes have watched, and something about that knowledge gives Y/N all the confidence she thinks she'll ever need.

Because she's the one that gets under the mafia leaders' skin. His eyes are always on Y/N. She's the one that occupies his mind and tightens his pants from her presence on the pole. It wasn't until almost five months ago that Azriel made a move to ask for a private dance. 

He's done it before, many times. He's had his dick sucked more than he can remember behind those red curtains, but never by a woman as captivating and as talented as her -- his Angel. 

Azriel still remembers the first time he laid eyes on her, upon that risen stage with soft lights offering a halo effect on her silhouette. He saw her hips first, her long legs as she wrapped them around the poll and jutted her ass out deliciously. Then he saw her face -- those angelic eyes and sinful lips, and he knew he was fucked.

He remembers pulling Eris to the side, eyes still on her as he asked who the fuck she was, and why someone so beautiful was working for him. Remembers the way Eris told him her stage name, how it had his cock springing to life in appreciation for the way she moved. 

It all seems like a lifetime ago when he thinks back to it. And while there have been plenty of Friday nights that he frequents the club, he's yet to take things outside of the red room. 

And it's not that he doesn't want to, because he does -- more than he wants a lot of things. But Azriel is a man of honour (even in his line of work), and he's never been one to pressure a woman into something he wants. 

But Angel isn't like any woman. Not to him. 

Azriel deems she's by far the most precious thing he's ever laid eyes on, and he has a need to hold and protect her and show her just how a woman like herself deserves to be treated. 

He could give her the world, and they both know it. 

Tonight is like every other late Friday evening. Y/N's dolled up to the nines as she reapplies her lipstick. She's been at the club since seven, and three dances later and a round of waitressing, it's nearing midnight. Y/N's ready to go to bed. 

She's ready to call it a night, to tell Eris she's heading out early after picking up so many shifts in the week. Not only because she's tired, but also, Azriel hasn't shown up yet, and he's never come this late before. 

Just as Y/N is adjusting her bra straps, she sees Mor’s head pop out through the corner of the door through the mirror. The blonde has a wide grin on her face, and she knows exactly what that suggests. 

"He's here."

Y/N rolls her eyes. "He's also late. My shift ends in ten minutes."

Mor pouts out her lips, shaking her head, and her breasts bounce slightly on her covered chest. "But he's asking for you. And stop pretending like it's such a burden. You love when he shows up, and he loves when you dance for him. We all know it. Quit acting like you don't secretly enjoy it." She bites back, stomping her foot to make her point and Y/N spins in her chair to look at her full on.

Mor raises her brows. "All the other girls would kill to dance for him, to have him ask for them. Myself included. Stop acting like a brat and put on a fucking show."

Y/N isn't given a chance to reply because Mor is sauntering out of the dressing room, and she's left alone to swiftly get ready. She pretends to ignore the rampaging butterflies in her stomach at the idea of seeing him again. 

She's never scared, could never be. Y/N knows Azriel would never hurt her. But, she's nervous. Azriel always gives Y/N his undivided attention when she's dancing for him, and it's intimidating and exciting all at once. His eyes are so dark and calculated, and he's always so damn respectful when she sits on his lap­ -- never wanting to make her uncomfortable. 

Sometimes, Y/N just wants him to take charge. Even knowing exactly what he's capable of, she wants him to take her. Ravish her. Have his way with her. She wants him to completely dominate her, and often, Y/N finds herself wondering what would happen if she riled him up enough to get him to that state. 

If she acted like a brat, would he throw her over his lap and spank her?

If she talked back, would he pull her hair or spit in her mouth?

If she asked for him to touch her, would he grip her ass and kiss her neck?

Y/N's mind swirls with the unanswered questions every time she sees him, and it's getting a bit much to keep to herself. She's getting tired of being a little plaything to him –- not that she has the right to be upset, but she is. 

She doesn't like that he only comes to her every Friday night. To the club. Is she not worth more than two hours a week? 

Then spirals the anxiety.

Is he only coming to her because he thinks she's easy? Is he doing it because he knows he'll never have to do anything more than let her dance? Is he doing it out of pity? Because he thinks she's lonely, so it's to make her feel special? 

Is Azriel even attracted to her, or does he just do it for shits and giggles? Does he go back to his brothers and his men and laugh about her? At her? Is it all a bit of fun to him?

Y/N gets too in her head, and then the idea of seeing him again is revolting. She doesn't know him -- she can't say whether her thoughts are crazy or valid. She doesn't know the kind of person he really is -- despite the rumours. 

But though she goes through these motions, Y/N pushes them to the back of her head and gets on with it. She puts on her smile, and she dances. 

Azriel tends to book her out for an hour at a time, sometimes two hours if he's feeling extra needy or he has the time. And he's generous with his money, too. Typically, he pays double for her time, which is a month's rent for Y/N but pocket change for him.

It makes her feel dirty, but she has to remind herself that actually, this is her job and he does have the money and means to pay for her time.

That's all he's doing -- paying for her time. For her. Like some sort of cheap and easy prostitute that he can go to whenever he needs a fix. And she never touches him (not under his clothes), but it still makes her feel dirty.

Y/N knows what the other girls do in the private rooms; the type of shows that they offer. She doesn't judge them, she could never. They're all in the same or similar boats: broke and trying to make a living, to make ends meet. But none of them dance for the owner. None of them are ever requested by him. 

Y/N takes a deep breath and composes herself. She can't look in the mirror for a moment longer because if she does, she'll start seeing every flaw she has, and she'll never leave the damn dressing room. 

The club is busy, it always is on a Friday night. There's a party in the upper left tier, a few dancers that have been hired for the night and Y/N is more than pleased that she wasn't booked for it. It's a bunch of frat boys celebrating one of their friend's birthdays, and from Y/N's place on the lower deck, she can already recognise a few familiar faces from her classes.

The last thing she needs is for people to know she's an erotic dancer at one of the most elite, secret clubs. 

She doesn't bother questioning how the younger men know about the place. 

Y/N makes her way toward the private booths, and the one to the far right has its curtains closed. She takes a deep breath, knows he's sitting behind it, waiting for her.

She doesn't give herself any time to hype herself up or change her mind, because she's pushing through the red velvet curtain and closing it behind her. 

The booths are all the same. Dim lighting and velvet cushioned seats. The walls are deep, silky pink, the furniture all an intoxicating shade of red, and in the centre of the rounded chair, Azriel sits. 

His legs are spread wide, dressed to the nines in a slick black suit, and his bulging arms are outstretched across the back of the chair. 

He's shed his blazer, has it hanging on the side, his shirt sleeves folded up to his elbows, swirls of black ink coating his dark complexion. Everything about his attire screams power and sex, and Y/N hasn't even looked at his face yet. 

"There’s my pretty girl."

Her eyes dart up, his lips are parted. There's a knowing smirk on his pink mouth, and Azriel's eyes are a glimmering caramel under the dim light. Y/N thinks he's never looked more handsome, but that's always her thought whenever she sees him.

She can't help the contagiously shy smile that tugs on the corners of her plump lips. 

"Little late tonight," she mentions quietly. 

He doesn't say anything, and his eyes are too busy taking in her appearance. He hasn't seen this outfit before; a lilac cami bodysuit, entirely of lace. The chest of it is plunged yet lifted, and her supple breasts look the most inviting they've ever been.

Azriel struggles to wrap his head around the sight of her -- he always does. Always thinks she looks even prettier every time he sees her.

Azriel finally shrugs his shoulders. "I'm a busy man, Angel. Thought you knew that by now." He doesn't take his eyes off her, he can't.

Completely fucking mesmerised.

Y/N shrugs. "Must've been extra busy to be this late." She tells him.

Y/N is making her way closer, her hips swaying with every small step and Azriel's sure he can feel his cock twitch in his pants from anticipation.

"I was starting to think you weren't going to come."

He raises a brow as she settles herself in his lap, his scarred hands–that she’s never shown any distaste to–slowly yet respectfully finding her waist.

"Oh, I always come, baby."

She knows there's a double meaning to his statement — can tell by the smirk on his lips and the tone of his voice. Always a smooth talker.

Y/N decides that if he can play, so can she. 

"I wouldn't know."

Azriel's the one to stop her hips from moving on top of his, and he chases her gaze to lock eyes. She's deadpanning -- void of emotion on her pretty little face and Azriel thinks this newfound side of her is the sexiest thing he's witnessed in a long time.

He cocks a brow. "Playing like that tonight, are we?" He asks, his thumbs pressing into the fleshy skin of her side.

Y/N shrugs her shoulders, plays coy. "I don't know. Are we?"

She twists the question, unsure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but she isn't about to back down from it, from him.

She wants more than just a lap dance. She thinks Azriel does too.

Azriel stays quiet for a moment or two like he's toying with the idea of having his way with her -- of letting her have him.

He squints and tries to look for an ounce of uncertainty or hesitancy. He comes empty, finding nothing short of confidence and desire. But has she thought it all through?

Has she thought about what this could mean? Has she accepted the fact that they may never see each other again -- something so silly because Azriel quite likes the girl, but if he kisses her, touches her -- what if it inherently puts her in danger?

She senses his dismay and offers an ultimatum; one that she knows she'll win. 

"Because either we are, or you need to find a new dancer."  

The threat awakens something in him. Something primal — animalistic. His eyes flash, darker and darker until his swelling pupils almost completely drown out the honey in his eyes.

His grip on her hips tighten, and Azriel forces her closer; lace-clad chest bumping against his clothed one. "I don't want a new dancer." He tells her. His voice is firm, tone even and stable. He knows what he wants, and now, she knows it's her.

Y/N lets her fingers reach for the longer curls on the nape of his neck. She intertwines her fingers around them, generously tugging, so his head pulls back just enough for her to use her other hand to grip his chin. Azriel's lips are parted, eyes hooded. He can feel her breath fan across his face as she brings hers closer.

"But that's all I am to you, right? Just a dancer?"

He isn't sure what she's doing -- whether she's fishing for something more or if she's about to walk out of the booth and leave him panting and painfully hard.

He plays into it, though. Let's see where this is going.

"More than just a dancer, baby." He promises.

Y/N ghosts her plump lips over his. "Yeah?" She breathes, her voice an airy whisper and Azriels got the perfect fucking sight of her cleavage. Reckons he wants nothing more than to bury his face between her pert tits.

He nods. "Mhm, you're my Angel." He tells her.

Azriel's hands reach around for her ass, grabbing handfuls and pulling her cheeks taut. He removes his hand and strikes it back down on her warm, fleshy skin. Y/N jolts into his body, teeth gnawing painfully on her lower lip to bite back her desperate pleads and whines.

Azriel gropes her again, massaging her cheeks and grabbing fistfuls. "My Angel."

His. She's all fucking his.

Her breathing is laboured as she takes in his words. Y/N tries not to let him see how riled up they make her, but she knows Azriel can see straight through any facade she tries to hide behind.

"Well, if I'm an angel, that must make you the devil."

Y/N's words echo through his mind, and his grip on her waist tightens in a squeeze before it loosens. His eyes find her chest, lip taut between his teeth.

"Maybe I am. Tell me, Angel… are you really ready to be corrupted?"

His eyes find hers, low and hooded and full of so much excitement and darkness, he gets lost in the way she pulls him in. Y/N's hands find his on her waist, her fingers gripping over his and his hold tightens again.

She rolls her hips against his crotch. "Maybe that's exactly what I want," she whispers, her lips trailing over the shell of his ear and her warm breath fans across his neck. "Maybe I'm already a little wicked."

She pulls away, nose brushing past his but he doesn't let her put any more distance between them. He wants her close, likes the feel of her warm breath on his face, likes the sweet scent of vanilla and coconut that's splattered on her skin and lingers in his mind.

Her lips are parted, as is Azriel's, and he can see the little peek of her glistening tongue, teetering between her teeth. His own does the same, subconsciously matching her teasing and his length throbs beneath her; something they both feel but neither say.

"If we do this, there's no going back. You're not just a fuck to me."

Y/N's heart skips, her heat quivering and chills run down her spine. So she is more to him... but what will this mean after?

"If I'm not just a fuck, then what am I?" She pries.

Azriel nudges the tip of his nose with hers. A smirk ghosts on the corners of her lips as they brush against hers. "My Angel," he whispers. "My only Angel."

Y/N envelopes Azriel's lips in hers, fingers reaching for the back of his head and they tug at the curls on the nape of his neck. It's hot, fiery. She can feel her soul ignite in bursts of white flames, and Azriel's no better at controlling himself.

His mind is foggy, judgement clouded, but he knows he never wants to live a day without feeling her pillowy lips on his. So he kisses her harder, grips her hips with such force they both know she'll bruise by morning. But she loves it, loves the idea of having him mark her and the animalistic part of Azriel craves it too.

"I'm not gonna go easy on you." He warns her breathlessly through the smacking of lips, but Y/N rolls more rigid atop him; pulls his hair that little bit eager.

"Good," she pants, pulling away. "I want it hard."

Y/N stands between his thick, parted thighs. She lets her mouth water as her gaze takes him in. Azriel's no better. His cock is leaping eagerly in his pants at the sight of her. Perfect body in a perfect set, lips swollen and eyes wholly fucked. Her hair is a mess, lipstick smudged and fuck, does he want to shove her face into his silk pillows and ram her little pussy from behind until she can't breathe.

"You're gonna kill me, Angel." He chokes out through his lust-filled daydream, chest heaving in anticipation.

Then she starts to sink to her knees and rubs her palms up his inner thighs, and Azriel about loses it. He shakes his head, breathing hard through gritted teeth and his hands find her wrists, halting her movements.

He shakes his head as he pulls Y/N to her feet, dragging closer until she's straddling him again. Azriel's hands cup her jaw, fingers tangled in her hair. "Gonna take my time with you, have you squirming beneath me until you beg me to stop." His promise has her drooping eyes flutter close, and her lips parting. Thinks she's the sexiest thing he's ever laid eyes on.

His nose bumps hers, lips touching but they don't kiss. "But right now, I need you to be a good girl and turn around." 

Azriel's voice is stern, commanding. It makes her pussy throb and clench and gush, and he knows it. She nods and moves on trembling legs, turning so her back is to him, and Azriel's hands find their home on the swell of her ass.

There's something about him being so strong and dominant to her that has Y/N a puddle of arousal and submission.

She bites back a squeak as he smacks a palm down on her cheek, her eyes squinted closed while Azriel licks his lips at the way her flesh moves with the force of his strike. "Perfect fucking ass."

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip, teeth piercing the skin but the slight sting of pain only spurs her on -- makes her even more eager for him. She sways her hips, ass a perfect peach shape as she does so and Azriel grips her hips and forces her on his crotch.

Her arousal is sticky against the lace of her panties as she can feel the thick outline of Azriel's cock when she gets seated over his clothed centre.

"Holy shit," she gulps.

Y/N has heard the rumours, the ones that are whispered in the shadows of the night -- of the one that's half man, half something else.

Now she can feel him directly beneath her, and Y/N's mind is heavy and clouded. "Feel how hard you make me?"

His lips are ghosting across her ear; teeth nibbling hauntingly on the shell of it which sends shivers down her spine.

Y/N nods, breathless and wanton. She can't make sense of anything, but she knows she wants this -- needs this.

"Use your words."

She swallows, shaky whimper teetering on the tip of her tongue. "Yes, I can feel you."

Azriel's sick behind her; full of himself as she strokes his ever-growing ego. There's something about hearing her so vocally express how much she wants him, how much she can feel him that has Azriel seeing stars. He isn't blind, he can see just how desperate and hungry the woman is, but a little verbal confirmation never hurt anyone.

His hands rest upon the globes of her ass again, swatting and smoothing however he pleases. The hits have her jolting and shrieking — they have tears stinging at her eyes but fuck, she wants more. She needs it harder.

"Please," she coos softly.

Her voice is cracking and unsteady like she's walking on eggshells.

"Please." Azriel mimics, voice high and childish, one that has her squirming in his lap.

He spanks her again. "Please, what?"

There's a pause of silence as Y/N attempts to catch her breath. She knows what this man can do to her, how he can make her feel. She knows he'll be far from vanilla, and maybe that's exactly what she wants and needs.

"Please, sir." She breathes. "Fuck me."

Smack!

A shrill shriek tears through her chest, and Azriel strikes his palm back down on her skin. His other busies with his belt, tugging it open and popping the button of his pants. He drags down the zip, a sound that echoes through her ears and sends shivers down her spine.

Y/N looks back over her shoulder, her hands steadying herself on Azriel's parted knees when she sees him. Thick, long... oozing with his sweet arousal that she wants to suckle up and swallow down her throat.

His cock stands tall, smacking against his lower stomach and he's big -- better than anything Y/N's ever had before. Her mouth waters at the sight. She can feel her cunt pulsing when his scarred hand wraps around his length and tugs deliciously at himself.

She whines, eager and needy. Azriel's eyes are on her ass, hasn't even realised that she's looking back at him.

He toys with the lace of her panties that disappears between her cheeks. Looping his pointer finger under the fabric at the top of her ass, he lifts it and bunches the lace in a fist, effectively tugging friction across her cunt as he gets a better view of her ass.

She's glistening, he can see. Y/N's pussy is swollen, and the sides of her lips threaten to spill out of the fabric that barely covers her.

"I'll fuck you, baby." He tells her.

Azriel tugs the lace to the side, her pussy soaked and perfect. He swipes a thumb through her wetness, swirling around her tight hole and bringing his thumb to his mouth as he suckles her arousal.

Sweet. So fucking sweet.

He grasps his cock in his hand again, pumping a few ample times before holding himself at the base and lining up with her sopping cunt. Azriel teases her for a moment, smacking the ruddy head of his prick against her pussy and she whines, rolls closer to him.

With a sick grin, Azriel massages his tip against her hole, jutting softly as he pushes in just enough to get comfortable. A low whine echoes through the room, but neither of them knows who it belongs to.

His hands find her hips, squeezing at her flesh. "But you won't be dancing on that pole for a few days."

Lifting his hips and pulling her down by hers, Azriel sheathes into her at once. Her frantic gasp tears through her lips, and her eyes are wide and watering with complete bliss and pain.

Azriel's gritting his teeth, sharp breath spitting through between them. He can't believe how fucking tight she is, and Y/N is fairly confident she can feel him so deep in her fucking stomach.

"Such a tight fucking cunt, Angel." Azriel's mind is in turmoil, can't quite fucking believe a cunt can feel this good.

Y/N is no better; she's a quivering mess on top of him, her grip on his clothed knees surely carving half-moons upon his skin but if it's causing Azriel any pain or discomfort, he seems to love it.

"So big, feel so full," she whines out.

Her ass is nestled in his lap, the coarse hairs of his pubic bone tickling at her supple skin and Y/N rolls her hips experimentally against his. He's still gripping her hips as she moves, her cunt clenching deliciously around his length and he's positively amazed by just how fucking tight she is.

"Yeah? Feel me in your tummy, Angel?" 

She's nodding, whining filthily, and she can't comprehend how sex can feel this good. One hand of Azriel's snakes around her body, tips of his fore and middle finger massaging tight circles on her clit.

Y/N's cunt is on fire, swelling and pulsing and fucking gushing all over the thickness of Azriel's entire dick. He's a mess below her, though. He can't believe how well she's taking the entirety of him.

She's snug, tight — warm and fucking soaked. The feeling of her swallowing him up is completely euphoric; has Azriel's eyes rolling to the back of his head.

His rhythm on her clit is furious; strong, tight circles that have filthy cries and moans slipping past her flawlessly painted lips. Y/N's still gripping his knees, hips rolling and pussy squelching.

"Yeah, right in my tummy. God, it's so good. Don't stop, Azzy... please don't stop."

Y/N is a blubbering mess, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack. She bounces quickly on top of him, feeling every vein and ridge of his thick cock as it pounds into her and tears her apart. Her walls are slick around him, desperate to milk him dry and take his sticky cum.

Azriel lets his eyes focus on her ass, the way it's spread just a little and how the imprint of his ringed hands are starting to bloom on her supple cheeks. Azriel's eyes divert lower when he sees it, sees her take him.

Her lips are swollen, clinging to his length as she comes off him. The base of his cock is soaked, the start of a creamy ring forming around him and Azriel can't get enough. He relents his assault on her clit, makes for her ass instead and pulls her cheeks as far apart as he can. 

His hands massage her skin, saliva welling on his tongue and parting his gritted teeth for a split second, he spits down on her puckering hole and rubs the lubricant across her ass.

Y/N keens at the touch -- the welcomed intrusion -- and bounces faster. Azriel's thumbing at her hole, teasingly rubbing the tip of his thumb around her but it has her a quivering and desperate mess.

"Please, please." She pants out, head falling back and eyes tightly shut.

Azriel gnaws on his lower lip, biting back a smirk, but his hooded eyes are a dead giveaway he's having the time of his life. "Yeah?" He rasps. "Want me in both your holes, Princess?" He baits. He knows it's exactly what she wants.

Y/N nods quickly, crying and pleading for something. He knows precisely the effect he's got on her right now, the power Azriel holds over her, (not that he sees it that way, but knowing she's in such a besotted state from him playing with her ass a little, is feeding Azriel's ego tremendously.)

"Now that's not very Angel-like of you, is it? Angel?"

A shriek leaves her lips as the tip of his finger pushes through, immediately enveloped in warmth and softness. She's blubbering, can't make sense of fucking anything and it feels so damn good.

Azriel never anticipated such a reaction from her, but he's got it, and he fucking loves it.

"Who would've thought," he pants, feet firm on the ground as he fucks up into her cunt, completely obliterating her soul, "that my Angel likes having her sweet little ass stuffed?"

A borderline pornographic cry teeters past her silky tongue, and Azriel's mind is keening. She's still as she hovers over his crotch, letting him fuck her however he damn well pleases. His pace is fast, cock brushing every overwhelming part it reaches as he pushes his thumb deeper into her ass.

"Your Angel," she whimpers out, eyes watering and thighs spasming. "I'm yours, all yours. Only want you stuffing me this good."

Her words are drawled in a matted string of barely comprehendible syllables, but Azriel can understand what she's saying.

"Yeah? Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, sweetheart."

"Cum! Please, cum in me, wanna feel it."

Azriel curses silently behind her, can't believe how fucking perfect this woman is. His balls feel tight, can feel her squeezing him harder and he knows she's about to come too.

"Yeah? It's gonna be a lot baby," he warns. "Think you can handle it? Think you can take my cum, Angel?"

Y/N nods quickly, vigorously. "I can take it! Please, I promise."

She's despondent, like a child. The need in her voice spurs Azriel to his edge, and as his cock bloats and shoots his arousal across her walls, she reaches her own high of euphoria.

They're both panting, grunting and moaning and whining. Y/N's gushing around his cock, creating a decent spillage on the base of him but even as he softens, he's still quite hard.

Azriel doesn't move, no. He makes no endeavour of pushing her off him. Instead, Azriel slowly pulls his fingers from her ass and cooing at the winces and whimpers that resound through the private booth. He shelters his arms around her waist to pull her back flush to his chest.

They both whimper, bodies spent, and eyes hooded. The back of Y/N's head is lounging on his shoulder when Azriel finally gets a glimpse at her face.

Totally fucked.

A wheezing laugh rumbles deep in her chest, and he reaches for her face, cupping the side of her jaw and guiding her lips to meet his in a messy, wet kiss. She pulses around him.

"You're fucking phenomenal."

Another breathy snicker falls past her lips to his. Azriel pinches her hips. "How are you feeling?"

Y/N puffs, eyes fluttering as she slowly raises, bites back the whine she wants to pout at the hollow feeling of him slipping from her cunt.

"The big bad Mob boss wants to know how I'm feeling?" She tantalises.

Azriel watches her make quick work of pulling her panties back over her cunt, halting his cum from leaking out and down her thighs, but he makes no effort to tuck his softening, yet still majestic, length back in his pants.

He lies back with his arms outstretched across the back of the oval couch. "He does," he agrees. "Cares about you, if you didn't already recognise that."

Azriel doesn't miss how she shies away from his gaze, turning her back to him to alter her outfit and to take a moment to compose herself. He takes the opportunity to fix himself too, before he's right behind her, nosing at her hair.

"I meant what I said, Angel," he murmurs. "You're not just a fuck to me."

Y/N turns, chin raised as she eyes him. Her shoulders are strained back, and Azriel knows she's making this posture move to assert confidence, and he doesn't doubt her one bit.

"Then what am I? And don't say your Angel."

"You're a strong, elegant, smart, badass, sexy, intelligent, confident woman," he begins, his hands finding her hips. "And I want you. I want you all to myself."

She peeps, her heart thumping sporadically in her chest. For a moment, it's like the mind-blowing sex from just seconds ago has been utterly omitted.

"You trust me enough for that?" She asks, and Azriel knows precisely what she's asking.

Does he trust her with who he is and what he does? Does he have trust that she will keep her mouth shut and not see him differently when she learns what he's truly capable of? Does he trust that she's all about him?

Azriel quirks a brow. "Do you trust me?"

Does she trust him with her life, because that's what it boils down to? Does she trust him enough to put her life in perpetual danger? Does she trust that he will only desire her, that he will put her before his work? Does she trust that he will never harm her?

Y/N nods. "I trust you."

Azriel drops his head, face closer to hers and the tips of their noses brush.

"Then I advise you to get your things and let me take you back to my place. Because you're in for a long fucking night, Angel."

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