#lol I asked which one I should do because I was torn

[blueartistic813]

Ultratober day 7

OTP

[hellsslibrary]

Hellooooo!! i just saw your post asking for requests and stuff, so uh

here i aaaaam :3

i was wondering if you can do sub! lucifer or barbatos :p

you can do like literally whatever but i am STARVED for sub composed men that eventually are not-so-composed (i wanna see grown men cry)

"Shh... Don't think that water will save us from others."

#a.n. : I'M SO FERAL ABOUT THIS ONE SHOWER CARD OMG.... So shower sex with Luci where you drive him crazy lol.

!!Warnings: Top!Dom!Male!Reader, Sub!Bottom!Lucifer, fingering, finger sucking, shower sex obviously, praise, teasing, a little crying, overstimulation (this is not mentioned but implied), no penetration, Reader is MC, this all take place after the events of the card with skateboards, open final.

The sound of groans and slight squelching sounds was heard in the bathroom. But everything is easily hidden from others outside this room by the sounds of water and a spell cast on the walls.

Your fingers have been moving inside Lucifer for God knows how long, and you made no attempt to stop. Not that Lucifer minded; the stamina of demons is much higher than that of humans, but damn, this was getting too good.

How many times did he cum? He doesn’t remember anymore, and you didn’t count either. Just the fact that you finally managed to convince him to take a break after he worked so wonderfully on creating the best skateboard is already a miracle. But Lucifer himself understood that he deserved it... And how could he disagree when you were so sensitive to making sure he took breaks while working earlier?

"M-MC...Are you ever going to stop?" He asks, still being able to somehow spit out a complete sentence without almost stumbling over the letters.

"Mmm... No, I guess. You're not even at your limit yet, why should I stop?" A rhetorical question comes from your lips, which makes Lucifer’s legs tremble with excitement.

He is clearly not at the limit of his strength, far from it. But you will spend a very long time here if you want to bring him to this line, which is what you actually wanted. You just wanted him to break, in the nicest sense of the word.

Your fingers slid so perfectly inside his already soaking wet walls, each time pressing on a tiny spot that made him moan with pleasure. His dick was constantly rubbing against the shower wall, smearing his cum from several orgasms all over the wall. Lucifer’s palms lay lazily on the wall, and he rested his forehead on them to hide his red little face, which of course you didn’t want, but you didn’t really mind.

"Are you already brought to a complete state of bliss, if you understand what I'm hinting at, Luci?" The only answer to your question was a shake of the head.

But little did you know that it was a lie.

Lucifer felt like he was ready to dissolve, turn into a puddle from the movement of your fingers in him. He felt his entire being being torn apart in the most pleasant sense of the word. He felt like his whole brain was ceasing to function, because he had not been aware of it for a long time.

He's not even sure he can control his own body. A rare moment of vulnerability for him.

Lucifer realizes that his mask will soon crack. It will break like a crack in glass that will break it sooner or later. His self-control will burst.

Or rather, it has already done it.

“Are you crying, precious? Very good, relax, no one will hurt you here...” You whisper when you see tears running down the part of his downward-leaning face that you can see.

He groans when he realizes your fingers are playing with his tongue, making him whine. Such a humiliating sound for him, the Avatar of Pride himself. He shouldn't make sounds like that, but honestly? Fuck it all.

His head leans back, resting on your shoulder. His back collides with your torso. His hips try to match the movement and rhythm of your fingers, moving with them. And his mouth sucks your fingers, as if his life depended on it... Although he will obviously remember this for a long time later.

“Come on, let go,” You whisper in his ear, kissing his cheek, feeling the salty taste of his tears and looking down, slightly surprised that he came at that very second, but absolutely satisfied.

Lucifer hums around your fingers in mock displeasure when you don't slow down your movements even for a moment. He understands that he will regret this.

But it feels so fucking good.

“MC... You... will break me...” He whispers, muffled by your fingers, barely able to form a simple sentence as he feels your fingers deliberately aiming specifically for his prostate.

“Hush, baby,” You coo, he wants to drown in your voice, he realizes that he can’t even hear the sound of water. "Just relax, I won't eat you, you're so fucking good."

He nods. The movement is convulsive, clearly not smooth, and so unusual for Lucifer. You just smirk at this, kissing his neck, making him whimper, wiping away his tears.

After all... Maybe he won't regret this experience as much as he thought.

[notmeowse]

Curious to know why you wanted the veil to come down? I personally would’ve liked the option because it sets the world to how it was meant to be, BUT came to the understanding (idk if understanding is the right word but that’s what I’m using here lol) that because it would bunk up everything for everyone in the world currently, it was kinder/safer for everyone currently alive to leave it in place. After all it’s all anyone has known and not knowing the result of tearing it down was too big a risk. To let people keep living their lives instead of essentially turning back the clock was the safer option which is why I’m actually not super upset about not having “tear it down” as an option. It would’ve been nice to have it. In fact that’s probably the route I would’ve taken had it been available, but I can understand why the team and Rook don’t see it that way.

I think if we look at it from a developer standpoint it does look like them wanting to keep the status quo, but if you look at it from an in-world standpoint of “the world as it is now had been in place for thousands of years and it’s all anyone knows. It’s too risky/scary to tear it down just because you (Solas) can’t move on from your regrets that led to its creation in the first place” makes sense to me. Like a “you made your bed, it’s time to finally lie in it” kind of way. If they do make a DA5 (doubtful since it seemed like this game was meant to tie up or throw out loose ends) maybe it will be about finding ways to tear it down that wouldn’t idk…risk also messing up the world people currently reside in

Also question, because I mighta missed it, but if the veil is torn down completely would that not release the blight in its entirety? I thought that was also why they couldn’t take it down. I know Solas said he “had a plan” but was that a plan to not let the blight out if he took the veil down? I think that because that was my understanding of the blight that’s also why I wasn’t as pressed about not getting a tear down option, but now I just can’t seem to remember if that was the case with the blight or not

Hello and thank you for this ask! I so appreciate you leaving this for me so I can iron out my thoughts, because in many ways, the ending really did not go the way I thought it would. Spoilers/novel-length response under the cut!

After all, it was foreshadowed multiple times in the previous games. The biggest foreshadowing was Sandal's prophecy back in DA2, which was clearly the first draft of the events of this game:

One day the magic will come back - all of it. Everyone will be just like they were.

The "everyone" in this scenario could very well have meant the dwarves, but it also could have meant everyone. Elves, spirits, dwarves, everyone that lost something from the Veil going up. That was supposed to be what was coming. Every tear in the veil, every claim that it was weakening or failing in any way, served as (I thought) foreshadowing to it coming down.

And the series gives us very valid reasons for it to do so.

The main reason the Veil should have come down, for me, was to save the spirits. They're essentially trapped in the Fade, pressing against the Veil and constantly twisting themselves into the wrong shapes to be able to get to the waking world because they do not understand why they aren't part of it. Yes, it is kinder and safer for everyone in the waking world to not disrupt it by letting the world bring itself back together -- but what about the spirits? The ending, in its current state, disregards them completely. As if we haven't spent the last 3 games building them up as people. Not just that, but as the other people (besides elves) that Solas wronged by throwing up the Veil.

The games have had multiple instances of (for lack of a better word) humanizing spirits for us, by giving us characters like Justice and Cole, the All New, Faded For Her spirit, and now the demon Spite. They're naturally drawn to the waking world, to people, to strong emotion. The Veil acts as a barrier for them to truly experience the world, and when forced through it, they tend to become demons. But we are very much meant to see those characters as people, and Solas's entire argument in Inquisition was that they suffered from the Veil, too -- and no one else alive in Thedas seemed to care. Now that he's gone, that's actually the case.

In Trespasser, he was originally tearing down the veil for the spirits, not just the elves, and ended up killing Mythal to be able to have the power to do so. Veilguard wants to pretend it was for her, all along, despite the fact that he quite literally snuffed out one of the last shreds of her existence in the previous game in the name of helping the spirits and the elvhen.

But of course, we learn that the Veil doesn't just contain the Evanuris in this game, right? It also contains the rest of the blight! And shortly after we reach this revelation (depending on when you watched all of the memories) we discover that the very first Tranquil beings in Thedas were the titans (sundered from their spirit + achievement for the memory is quite literally called Tranquility), and that the blight comes from their madness. It is essentially the titans' nightmares!

Now, when we learned that in-game, I absolutely thought the next course of action would be to help them. Not just because it would stop the blight in its tracks and remove one reason for the Veil being up, but it would also snatch away the main weapon of the Evanuris, AND ALSO heal them for the sake of the dwarves. To help them reclaim that part of themselves long-since sundered. Veilguard actually gives us no explanation as to why we DON'T do this. Reversing the damage is briefly considered by Emmrich as a possibility, and never brought up again -- why didn't the team immediately pivot to that, given Harding's presence and connection to the stone? She alone (being the only dwarf currently in Thedas who had that connection) could have led us right to the remaining titans, and we could have used the dagger (the same one used to sunder their spirits in the first place) to heal them, much like the Inquisitor used the anchor to heal.

I had thought this was foreshadowed heavily in Inquisition, given that Solas learns (and is deeply intrigued by) the Inquisitor using the anchor not to rip open the Veil, but to heal it instead -- there's even a codex entry on it in this game. We also learned in Inquisition (Nope, actually DA: Asunder) that Tranquility can be reversed, but very little is done with that revelation in that game's plot -- surely it was meant to set up reversal of the titans' Tranquility in this game? For us to go fix it? Apparently not.

Regardless, that solution (helping the titans) would also have rendered the Evanuris blight-less, defanging them and taking away their favorite toy thus truly evening out the playing field and making the final fight of the game far more believable. Like, in its current state, my little Antivan Crow Rogue Rook kills Elgar'nan. The first of the firstborn. The oldest and strongest of the evanuris. At full power. Something Solas could not do. And Rook did it without even a single power boost -- and yes, I do think that Rook should have taken on the essence of Mythal, leading to Solas having an oh my god there's two of them moment. But that's not really my point in this absolute essay I'm writing you (I'm so sorry if it's more than what you bargained for lol)

My POINT! Is that we finished out Trespasser with Solas treasuring the possibility of being wrong about his plans. We are led to believe that the Inquisitor (or, you know, the protagonist of the next game) is going to find an alternative route, or a reason for him to leave the Veil up -- something that would prove him wrong. Ultimately, my point is that the revelations about the titans should have been that reason. Fixing them, rejoining them with their spirits and curing their tranquility, should have been the alternative that Rook/the Inquisitor presented him. And frankly, that should have been his fucking atonement. None of this bullshit at the end of the game with him binding himself to the Veil, he's quite literally reinforcing the band-aid he slapped over the world instead of getting to the root of the problem. Which is the titans. He should have helped them. He alone probably knows fucking how, since he broke them in the first place. It doesn't make any sense that he didn't... consider that avenue in the first place?

So by the end of the game, it's like oh, great! The Veil is now reinforced so the spirits will continue to suffer. And there's also a very real possibility that the one dwarf in Thedas with stone sense just died, jeopardizing any chances the dwarves had of reconnecting with or helping the titans. So now the titans will continue to suffer too! Yay! All of this buildup was completely pointless!

Given that they're doing a hard reboot of the series (the south was destroyed anyway, any future games likely won't take place there and Thedas as we know it pretty much went through an apocalypse/had way more death than the original ritual would have created), it would have made perfect fucking sense to boardwipe the world and change everything in it by BRINGING DOWN THE VEIL. It would quite literally have accomplished the exact same thing the superblight did, but with added benefits of spirits being free to roam about the cabin, and we could potentially have gotten the freaking titans back. Holy hell. The worst part is that they're still alive. Like, they're more scattered and disparate, clearly, but we're just leaving them in the past? Oh my god, they're still alive! What are we doing! Why aren't we helping them, why aren't we giving the dwarves back their dreams and their magic! Are we seriously supposed to accept that these are just the way things are now, despite the fact that we have a dwarven success story in the party with us? The new postergirl for dwarves getting their magic and their dreams back with very little negative side effects?

Like, the game doesn't do anything to try to convince us it would be a bad thing to save the titans, doesn't do anything to suggest that we should leave this any of this stuff (which, apparently now includes the Dalish, because Arlathan was given to the Veil Jumpers) in the past. It also doesn't put up a great argument for keeping the Veil up, either -- Rook repeatedly says Solas will drown the world in demons, and he doesn't correct them simply because he doesn't respect them -- but we, the players, know that would not be the case. He would have quite literally reunited the world with itself, on multiple levels.

I'm sorry. I'm so irritated about it all, if that wasn't clear by the novel. Thank you again for asking, it was good to get this out. Veil should have come down.

[star-suh]

Teaching a Lesson

Park Jisung x Male Reader

cw: dom top jisung, pwp, jisung and reader are fuckbuddies, possessive behavior, mating press, angry sex, overstimulation, degradation, dumbification, breeding, ripping clothes, tummy bulge, feminization but it's only once, hole slapping, marking but with a marker lol.

an: i read the “he whores out online..” phrase somewhere and this idea came out teehee.

also this is short.

—

jisung was angry. he has been horny all day and his fuckbuddy don't answer his calls neither texts, jisung was suspecting that he was ignoring him because he has been posting suggestive photos with other men at a party “he whores out online but ignore my texts hm?” an evil smirk appearing on his face “you're going to have a bad time ynnie” he licked his lips...

“why do you call me?” yn was now standing at jisung's house front door. jisung gently grabbed him by the chin and started to speak in a low tone, “i have been looking for you all day to get rid of my hornyness but you decided to ignore me, instead, you wanted to be passed around by everyone at that party. i imagine how loose that slut's hole must be but guess what, you're my slut, i thought you already understood it?” with each sentence he applied more pressure to the other's jaw, "for fuck's sake jisung, let go of me, it hurts”. “oh that's not the only thing that's going to hurt tonight” he mocked pushing yn to enter the house.

yn was now below jisung, he had his clothes on but his pants were torn, jisung tore them right on his hole revealing that he wasn't wearing underwear "what a slut". then jisung introduced his cock, beginning to thrust mercilessly into the other.

yn was begging and moaning for jisung to be gentler "shh..low down~ pleasee~ i won't do it.. hng…a-again" drool coming out of his mouth forming a small pool of it on the floor. "whores have no right to ask me to go slow and gentle with them. whores should take it as rough as possible… because that is the only way i have to make you stop asking. for. cock. elsewhere.” those last 4 words were accompanied by hard thrusts. yn's hole was already destroyed and gaped. everytime jisung pulls out the ring of muscles clings to his shaft as if he didn't want to let him go “your whore's pussy it's gripping on me” he joked “love when your body is the one telling me that i'm the best cock you've ever had”, jisung takes it out and slapped right into the gaping hole sending a somewhat pleasant pain throughout yn's body.

jisung folded yn and fucked him in a mating press style, in this position it was easier for jisung to give harder thrusts and go much deeper forming a tummy bulge, he loved the sound of the moans and the nonsense that came out of the other's mouth. maybe jisung should fuck him dumb more often to see if he stops being a whore once and for all.

the hours passed and jisung didn't stopped, one of the things that yn always worried about when jisung was upset is that he has a lot of stamina so he could fuck for hours without getting tired. the other's ass cheeks had a red color while a pinkish red hue is around the loose ring of muscles, which was dripping with a mix of sperm and lube.

"how delicious your hole feels inside ynnie, all hot with my churned sperm in there… my pretty cumdump” he whispers on yn's ear and then kissed him, “i hope this taught you a lesson, bitch” as a final touch, jisung grabbed a marker and wrote on the other's ass in capital letters "JISUNG'S CUMDUMP" he laughed as he finished emptying the remaining loads of sperm that remained in his balls..

is the marker erasable or permanent? yn won't know that until the fucking session is over and he goes to take a bath.

[oleander-nin]

Valen-Time 01: Hand Sewn(Rise! Raph x Reader)

A/N, not important: Guess who's writing for 29 days straight again! Or, I'm attempting to at least. This is what I needed lots of luck on lol, mostly because February is a bit busy for me, but I really wanted to do this again for Valentine's day. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: needles(sewing), stitching, teddy bear, fluff(hopefully)

Words: 1039

Summary: Raph tore his stuffed animal and you agree to help fix it.

Tag list(I didn't actually know if I should add it or not, but I'm going with yes for now. Tell me if you want your name off): @f1oricide @itsyagurlchip @lordfreg @acutiewithagun @rottmnttmnt2012 @lixnininotnay @lexiechr @ssak-i

The ruined stuffie in your hands made you frown, it’s torn stitching letting the stuffing that once shaped it fall out. Raph sat next to you, a tight-lipped frown on his face as his fingers twitched on his led. He watches you inspect the bear in silence, his shoulders brought forwards and touching his jaw. You don’t comment on the stench of nervous sweat filling the air, not wanting to bring down his mood even more. This was the bear you gave to him when you confessed, and now it sat ruined in your hands. While the sentimental value of it wasn’t huge to you, Raph was practically attached to this bear by the hip, which would eventually be the poor stuffies' downfall.

“I can just get you a new one, it’s not a big deal.” You assure him, trying to help bring up the large terrapin’s mood. Raph shook his head, his snaggle tooth biting into his lip as he frown deepens.

“Raph doesn’t want a new one.” He says, a tone of distress lingering in his tone. you watch as his eyes linger on the ripped stitches and protruding filling, knowing he felt bad for breaking his stuffed animal. You purse your lips, trying to decide how to move forwards. You flip the stuffed animal over, inspecting it from top to bottom. You weren’t new to fixing broken stuffies, many of your own having been patched over the years, but his spikes really did a number to the one in your hand. 

“If I were to try and sew it,” You start hesitantly, your hand caressing the black buttons the small teddy had for eyes. “I think we could patch it back up. It would look a bit messy because I don’t have extra fabric on me, but he would be fixed.”

Raph visibly brightens at the idea, his arms wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you into a tight hug. “Thank you. Dad has a sewing kit in his room, we could ask him for it.”

You fondly roll your eyes and pat his forearm twice before starting to ease the stuffing back into the bear to try and fatten it out. Your hands twitched at the scratchy feeling of the cotton, Raph’s weight on your shoulders making it harder to move your arms than you wanted. You don’t say a word though, letting Raph continue to lean on you as he watches you remove whatever stuffing refused to back down. Although his eyes hold worry for the removed stuffing, he doesn’t say a word about it. 

“Raph will go get the sewing kit.” He remarks, finally letting you go as he stands up. His chasm deepens as he glances back at the stuffed animal in your hands, but he says nothing. With no more words exchanged, Raph disappears from your room and presumably heads off to where Splinter keeps the sewing kit, leaving you alone with the bear.

You softly rub it’s torn stitching, pulling loose thread to make it easier to sew back up. Its bright eyes reflected the light above you, making the inanimate object seem as if it had life breathed into it. It's limp arm stubs laid on your knees, asking for a hug. You chuckle lightly to yourself at the thought of the bear wanting affection, as being hugged was what destroyed it in the first place. 

You continue messing with the stuffing as Raph re-enters, a small dingy shoebox so full of thread and needles and spare fabric, the lid couldn’t close. The bed dips to the side as Raph settles next to you once more, head peeking over your shoulder and hands tucked into his chest. You don’t say a word about the feeling of his breath on your neck, merely turning slightly so you wouldn’t have to deal with it as much.

“Was your dad a seamstress?” You easily tease, the bear left to lay in your lap as you start to dig through the extensive yet scattered supplies. Raph gently shoves your shoulder as he grins.

“Nope, we just kept tearing everything he gave us. Some of the baby clothes he has stashed away are basically patchwork at this point.”

You smile fondly at the thought of a younger Raph and his brothers with their clothes that were a medley of colors, having seen some of them yourself. You finally pull out brown thread and a thin needle, sticking the chosen needle into the thread of the spool so it would stay put. “Have you ever sewn before then?”

Raph shakes his head, his lower lip jutting out in a slight pout. “Nope. There wasn’t much of a need, and Dad fixed everything we ripped anyways.”

“Would you like to learn?” You offer, gesturing to the stuffie's open stomach. Raph tilts his head as he looks down at the teddy bear, considering your offer for just a moment. 

“Yeah,” He nods, looking both determined and excited. “I would.”

You beam at him, quickly shuffling around until you’re facing Raph so you could show him what to do. The bear is soon found in Raph’s lap instead of yours, the fallen stuffing in between his thighs to keep it safe. You thread the needle and wax it for him while describing to him what he was going to do, assuring him he couldn’t really mess it up even if he tried. You hand him his needle, gently guiding his hands through the first few stitches. As he continues to sew the rest on his own, you start to add the rest of the stuffing into the bear so it wouldn’t flatten.

The final stitch is soon placed, and you easily instruct Raph on how to secure it, only having to help him once before he got it. The stitch job down its stomach was sloppy, but secure, no more stuffing leaking onto the floor. You return the needle and thread and set the box onto the floor, watching fondly as Raph admires his stuffed animal. It doesn’t surprise you when Raph pulls you close, whispering his thanks into your ear. You simply smile, kissing his jaw and praising his needlework.

[rottiens]

hi sorry for coming in your asks again lol but I'm thinking about endeavor..... like idk he's just always in the back of my head

anyway have you considered divorced detective endeavor??? like he's completely neglecting his family & responsibilities as a father, his ex-wife is shacking up with his younger (hotter) subordinate, basically drowning himself in alcohol and cigarettes. the one routine he's kept all these years is coming into your bar at the end of the week, getting a little too drunk, and letting the alcohol flirt with you (but you've always brushed it off knowing he's married). you've listened to him vent countless times and had to call a cab to take him home just as many.

you can clearly see the ways he's fucked up (it's pretty much always his fault) but you also see the regrets washing through his mind. he wants to be better, but he keeps slipping into the same habits.

he's been coming in a little more often lately, he hasn't mentioned the wife and kids in months, and he's not wearing a wedding ring anymore. He doesn't flirt with you as often as he used to, but not because he's not interested, because he is. because he's afraid of it going somewhere. because he's afraid he'll ruin your life like he has done to the rest of his family... and because he's convinced he doesn't deserve you.

i'm sorry i'm just so obsessed with a divorced detective au ok and i cannot believe this thought has not entered my head....

You really put me in a difficult situation here. Because I'm torn between the idea of, what would he really do? Would he walk away from you completely or would he continue to indulge a little more in the idea of flirting with you, knowing he shouldn't have you?

You miss him. You miss the Enji who would come to talk to you, babbling on about work problems without getting to anything specific because, of course, he can't discuss such topics with a civilian. But you are so full of life and hope, unlike him and everything he touches that he can't help but want to spend a little more time with you and Enji hates the bitter taste the hangover brings along with your image the next day.

After the divorce, he keeps wearing the ring for a few more long weeks, hoping that his failed marriage could be mended again. He knows he did it wrong, he knows he's been careless and a bastard, but he also knows he's selfish at heart and that the idea of having a happy family is so appealing.

Yet he lets it go. He lets go of his wife and his kids who are leaving with her, and you. He cuts off every shred of happiness in his life because he is tormented by the idea of being truly happy. Enji convinces himself that he doesn't deserve it. After all the bad decisions he has made throughout his life, he only deserves to sink into his misery, into the boxes full of items his wife never went to pick up from the house, into the loneliness of the cold walls, and into the ghosts his children's laughter left behind.

Enji refuses to go back to the bar, to see you. But he has no choice but to accept when one of his subordinates invites him for a beer, something to relax for the weekend.

Like every Friday, the bar is full of people. Pop music he dislikes is blaring from the speakers. I should go home, is what he's saying to Keigo just as he catches your gaze behind the bar. Your fingers greet him animatedly, sealing the words he was about to say and walking, as if spellbound, to where you are.

Enji can't believe you look prettier than the last time he saw you. You have a different haircut, a new uniform and your smile is so warm and genuine that his chest hurts; he couldn't remember the last time someone greeted him with such joy to see him.

Immediately, guilt grows like weeds inside him, weaving through his insides and creating roots.

You pour him the same old drink and his cheeks heat up at the thought that you remembered exactly which beer he likes.

"Thank you," he says without looking at you, picking at the foam dripping off the rim of the glass with one finger.

Your warm fingers cover his for a moment, drawing his attention to you. His fingers are still trapped on his lips, the gesture of tasting the beer foam.

"Is everything okay?" you raise your voice above the music.

Enji hesitates for a moment. "Work keeps me busy."

You purr away from him and turn your back on him, clearly not believing the half-truth he just told you, but you don't probe further.

Other customers approach the bar and you continue to prepare the drinks. Enji feels your gaze on him, which he avoids at all costs, gulping down the beer as fast as he can and eyeing Keigo on the dance floor, enticing some dance partner to accompany his peculiar moves. As he comes back to the front, you're smiling at him again, placing another full glass of beer in front of him.

"I thought you forgot about me," you comment innocently, leaning a little into his personal space.

Enji doesn't pull back, but you see him tense under the white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and suspenders that cling to his broad shoulders. His lips quiver not knowing what to say. Pathetic. Maybe you do the same with the other customers, and yet you still have him trembling with your mere presence.

"I couldn't forget you. You guys are my favorite."

You purr, reaching out to touch his hand to the watch hugging his wrist. The hand reads 11:35 at night.

"Are we your favorite or am I?" You look up at him through a slow blink.

Fuck. Something beats in his chest and in his pants. He'd forgotten this: the thrill of flirting with someone, with you, of feeling wanted. Of feeling desired. When was the last time someone touched him? He doesn't remember the last time he came in someone.

Enji clears his throat and, against his will, pulls his hand away from yours to toss a few wet red locks back.

"I think I should go."

"So soon?"

Enji had to get up and run before anyone else noticed the visible bulge against his thigh, smothering between the fabric of his pants and his now damp briefs.

"Yeah, I-"

"Stay. One more beer, on the house," you smile at him. Enji barely notices that you had clung to his forearm before he could escape. "Please." You lean in, and he takes a peek at your cleavage. Your lips find his hot cheek and leave a fleeting kiss there. Enji feels his whole body boil with heat.

He knows he's going to ruin you and hates himself for it. But he can't think of the consequences when that pussy wraps around his cock like it was made for him.

"Slow down, it's been a while.."

But you cling to him like you don't want to let go. Your nails on his back, mouth open gasping for air.

The bar is already closed, so your moans and his grunts are the only thing accompanying the music now. Your hips buck desperately as he thrusts you upright against the counter.

"Easy there.." growls enji, burying his fingers in your hips to keep you still. "Hold still. Just feel it."

Enji rolls his hips deep, his pants puddling at his knees. His curly hairs meeting your bare clit.

"Like this… nice and deep. Take it like a good girl."

His heart beats so fast, his balls tight around your drooling pussy. Every time he thrusts deep you lose the rhythm of your breath for a moment, the full force of his body and thighs pushes you against the counter, weakening your feet off the ground and you can only look at him with eyes full of eagerness as you split on his fucking thick cock.

And when you ask him to cum, to cum inside you; enji has no doubt. He's going to ruin you. And he hates himself for it.

[xclowniex]

Ok I have a lot to say and no way to say it so first off hi, anyways I would like to say a few things. Firstly, I’m a Palestinian, currently in Lebanon but raised my whole life in Jordan. over 60% of Jordanians are Palestinian but Israel is at peace with Jordan. I mean I think Jordan and Israel’s relationship is a kind of window into what I think a Palestinian and Israeli relationship could look like if both governments were torn down. Now I ideally my wet dream is for the land to just be called the holy land and everyone to have equal rights and be treated equally. But I know that’s a delusional way of thinking. Secondly, I wanna say that as Muslims, as in the religion, we respect Jews and their religion. You are known as اهل الكتاب (people of the book) because Judaism is an abrahamic religion. This means that we must extend respect to you. It’s not always done (frankly it’s never done) but it’s the way things should be done and I am personally trying to improve myself because I grew up in a very secular and religious and intolerant household. And I think that if I am able to do it with the family I grew up with, a lot of people should be able to too especially non-Arabs, non-Muslims who have genuinely no connection to this conflict. It is still a work in progress because I do still feel like I have hate programmed into me but that’s why I like to start random conversations with people. I hope I’m not in anyway intruding or making you uncomfortable with this and honestly if I am you can just block me. But I do genuinely love having convos with people and it’s my own way of proving that even if we don’t agree on certain points peace can still be found and respect can still stand.Anyways I’m rambling at this point, have a good day.

Hi! Sorry this has been sitting in my inbox for a day or two. I've wanted to properly answer this but have been tired from work.

You are not bothering me at all!

We need more jewish/Palestinian solidarity.

I'm in a similar thought track to you. My ideal is a land for all, where there is one land where jews and Palestinians coexist and both have self determination. However realistically a two state solution needs to happen first and likely won't move to a land for all solution at least within my lifetime.

I too grew up in an intolerant household. The shit my father as said, is very bad. I usually don't talk about his internalized anti arab comments much as A) I would get blasted with asks about why I call myself an arab jew (not directed at you, but anyone else reading his and is curious, I have answered this question before, you can use the search function on my blog), B) antisemites use it as an excuse to say that all jews hate arabs, which yes, some do and it's bad that some do, but it's not like the majority of jews hate arabs, and vice versa. And lastly C) it's a lot to unpack as a lot of his internalized anti arab sentiment is due to being radicalized by antisemites. When he first moved to NZ, he was very left wing, then he was betrayed by the left here and ended up going far right, to finally settling on centre right.

Shit now I'm rambling lol

[powerfultenderness]

Death's Angel

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

Rated: Explicit. 18+

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

Word Count: 22,480

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

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

[Multi-fandom Masterlist]

[Death’s Kiss]

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

Red had always been his favorite color. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Nothing?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hoped you lived. 

[Death’s Touch] 

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

But the police never showed up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could leave. He could forget about you now. 

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You belong to me now, Engel.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Where are you taking me?” 

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your name?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Everything.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who needs matching tattoos when you have matching scars?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready for more, Engel?” 

You blink at him. “More?”

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

Oh!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, “please, König!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now, can you let go of me?” 

“No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“König?” 

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

“...I never told you my name.” 

[Death’s Promise]

“...I never told you my name.” 

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

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

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

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

“How long have you been following me?” 

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

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

“Go to sleep, Engel.” 

“At least tell me why.” 

“To make sure no one else touches you.” 

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

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

And yet, “...No one?” “No one.” 

That actually sounded kind of nice…

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about work?” 

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

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

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

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

“Yes!” You giggle at the joke.

“Ok.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Because he works with me!”

“Not for long.” 

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

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

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

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

“And he still works there?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This man has touched you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d start with his hands.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Someone’s a pretty little liar.” 

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

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

Deb, the office gossip. 

“She doesn’t know everything about me.” 

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

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

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

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

“Well, where is he?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get in the truck. And don’t look.” 

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

“I know.” 

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

“Not so fast, hm?”

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

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

“You touched her-”

“N-no! I didn’t! She lied!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing, Engel.” 

“Then why are you so quiet?”

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

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

König’s head snaps up. “What! No!”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yea.” 

“What about it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you to know that, Engel.” 

You nod, “ok. Got it.” 

“But I would never hurt you.”

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

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

You frowned, “what’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

“You are perfect. Marry me.” 

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

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

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

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

[Death’s Haven]

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

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

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

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

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

"What time is it?"

"Three."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There was a witness.”

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

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

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

“I killed him too.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Are you proud of me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And ruin the surprise?” 

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

“Just open it real quick.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have the sweetest blood, my angel.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you walk?” 

Actually, probably not. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[arliedraws]

In the books, Sirius's devotion to Harry is of course very deep, but it never translates to something physical. He only shakes Harry's end when he leaves his bedside in book 4, and in book 5 there is something resembling a hug, like twice...? As a dog he stood up his hind legs and front paws on harry's shoulders and a half hug after Christmas. Idk it sort of drives me crazy, because in the movies Harry and Sirius are so affectionate! That first hug when Harry arrives in Grimmauld!! Gary and Dan had an amazing chemistry that other actors were jealous of, they mirrored the book characters, so it palpable on screen, the few scenes Gary is in at all at least.

So, what do you make of this? Do you in musing for art imagine a more affectionate relationship between Harry and Sirius? Maybe if Sirius survived the war? Molly's hug in book 4 was a poignant moment but imo that should have been a moment between Sirius and Harry. Sirius already says he expected something catastrophic to happen to Harry in the third task, that's what he stutters when Harry comes in with Dumblebore. So he is literally afraid of his godsons life and it still shows of course, Sirius staying at Harry's side was very beautifully written, like the devotion is clear, but I am foaming at the mouth for more affection between them in canon? Platonic, not shipping. So between the movies and the books Im just kinda torn what's better

It's more a rant than an ask, sorry lol, but if you have any input I'd he so stoked to read it. Not many peeps in the fandom even give Sirius and Harry any time of day, nvrmind even understand what they had (which also drives me kinda nuts but ok)

Ohhhh, anon, you’ve come to the right spot! Mostly because I love them. I would say that 80% of my fandom interest is just Sirius being a dad to Harry.

To your question, I don’t think one is better than the other. Each has their purpose. Let me share my thoughts:

1. I am soft for movie Sirius and Harry’s affectionate touching. However. The dynamics of their relationship were NOT mirrored from the books, which…is fine. Honestly, I just don’t think it was a priority for the filmmakers. This particular bit doesn’t bother me because the movies are not supposed to replace the source material—they are an interpretation. To me, watching the movies is like reading fic—fun to watch but not canon. Also, the filmmakers removed so much of their relationship in GoF that they HAD to make Sirius and Harry physically affectionate in order for movie audiences to see what losing Sirius would mean to Harry. Their complexity is completely unexplored in the films, and they had to do SOMETHING to get the audience to feel sad when Sirius died. This started in PoA when they really downplayed the context of their relationship. (Lol, see my rant on PoA. I really don’t like that movie hahahahaha.)

2. In the books, Harry and Sirius are not physically affectionate with each other despite their intense love for each other, and I think this is an effective way to show characterization. As I tell my students, this might have been intentional by the author, but it could have been an instinct that she followed (what feels right for the characters).

Here’s what I think: both are so terrified of losing the other that they won’t allow themselves to get too close, and, crucially, they both fear showing vulnerability. Touching someone and reaching out for a hug or comfort is an extremely vulnerable thing to do. If you reach out for a hug, you are showing your true feelings. To be rejected physically is sometimes more devastating than someone telling you to just “go away.” It’s a sign of trust to touch someone—you are trusting that they feel the same way about you, and you are trusting that they won’t pull away. Both Sirius and Harry understand rejection, and both avoid it. How do you avoid rejection? You distance yourself.

I’ll put the rest under a cut because I think this might get long…

Sirius and Harry, for all that they love each other, fall out of trusting each other by OotP. Part of this is trauma, but it is also miscommunication. Harry is worried that Sirius will do something stupid—either out of concern for Harry or because he wants to get out of number 12–but he’s worried he’ll lose Sirius. So by withholding affection (which I’m not sure if he knows how to give physically), Harry distances himself from Sirius which will, theoretically, keep Sirius safe (of course, it backfires). Sirius is…you know…going through stuff in OotP. He is already vulnerable—he perceives himself as being emasculated because he’s not allowed to leave his childhood home and he’s relegated to performing ‘uninteresting, domestic work’, and he must be inactive when he’s a man OF action.

When it comes to Goblet of Fire and the odd handshake… I think Sirius is reeeeeally holding back. Harry does NOT want him to go, and Sirius knows this. (Why DOES Dumbledore send him away? Literally anyone else could have “alerted the old crowd” and NOT the convicted murderer. This is clearly the author’s excuse to get Sirius away from Harry—and, I’ve spoken to this before, Sirius is too much of a miracle character—too smart, too loyal, too loving to support the story that the author wanted to tell.) Sirius, if he had stayed, would have been the emotional support that Harry needed. So if Sirius holds Harry, what if Harry doesn’t let go? What if Sirius himself can’t let go? A handshake will have to do.

So Sirius leaves Harry with that bizarre handshake. That Sirius leaves at all damages their relationship—it could have been repaired with time (if they’d been allowed time), but this moment makes Harry realize that he cannot rely on anyone, not even Sirius. This leaves Harry to be isolated in OotP, and it leaves him to feel like he cannot trust anyone. I’m not blaming Sirius for leaving, but I believe this action causes a rift between them that carries into the next book.

My point is, I HATE that they don’t touch but it is very important that they don’t, at least when it comes to the story that the author wanted to tell. I think it was the right move when we look at the story as a whole. Do I like it? NO! But it’s interesting, and it DOES feel right for them. Is it devastating? Yes!!!!!!!

TL;DR: I don’t think either interpretation is necessarily better than the other, but they both have their purpose. Both are effective!

Touch is…huge in HP. Consider Voldemort’s “I can touch him now” and causing Harry pain. Touch is a privilege, and to be touched without permission is a violation. Harry kills someone by touching them. He is only touched by his family when Dudley beats him up or he gets shoved in his cupboard.

Weirdly, one of my absolutely favorite moments when Sirius and Harry touch is in PoA when the Dementors are closing in on Sirius, Harry, and Hermione, and Harry, as he’s about to faint, reaches out to grab an unconscious Sirius by the arm, thinking something along the lines of “the dementors weren’t going to take him” and such. And this is about two seconds after Harry has accepted that Sirius is telling the truth! Harry physically tethers Sirius to him—this touch-starved teen reaches out to this man who is now everything to him, who is now his only real family, willing to risk death (or worse) to keep it. BUT THEY JUST MET!!!!! Devastating!!!

Also…another thought: the first time Sirius and Harry touch is the first time Sirius has been touched as a human in twelve years. And Harry is beating the absolute shit out of him…and then Sirius nearly strangles him…

Also, also, not to like…self-promote, but if you want some Sirius & Harry family feelings and a wee bit of affectionate touching, I wrote a one-shot where they talk about their feelings in OotP.

Anyway, this got longer than I thought. Thank you for the prompt!!

[bumblebeedrizzzle]

You Can’t Fool Me

In which Iruma gets injured for the first time in the demon realm.

This fic contains ✨tickling✨ so if that might bother you, then I suggest you keep scrolling!

A/N: I’m really happy with how this turned out!! I wanted to write some good old angst/comfort. I also felt like challenging myself to write what would happen if Azz was angry/frustrated with Iruma. I feel like it's a side of him we haven’t seen yet. Also, Iruma is generally a cheerful guy, but I feel like the inside of his brain must be a mess sometimes. He had a really hard life and still probably struggles with believing he deserves love (show him otherwise, everyone!). I feel like he would be quite reluctant to ask for/accept help since he’s so used to taking care of himself.

Also, LOL. This started because I wanted to write a princess carry scene. It wasn’t even meant to have any tickling. Then it became this. I’m not upset at all, just amused.

CW: Some cursing

Well, shit. Now he’d really done it. Iruma looked down at his ankle, already beginning to swell slightly, and sighed. It’d been a minute since he’d felt so human here. He stopped to think for a moment; he knew enough about the demon realm by now to know that weakness wasn’t something to go flaunting around. But then, he was used to taking care of himself from his time back on earth. There was no need to bother anyone; getting home by himself would be no issue. That left what to do after... Should he ask Opera or his Grandpa for help once he got back? It was only a sprained ankle, so he didn’t want to overthink things. After all, how many injuries had he patched up over the years back in the human world? He took another deep breath as he realized there was no point in making a deal out of such a minor injury. First he’d get home, then find some wraps, and take care of it. He’d be careful on his way to and from school and this would be over within a few days. Problem solved. Thank devils Clara and Azz hadn’t been here to witness his blunder... He had a feeling they might have overreacted some. Feeling satisfied that he’d worked through everything, he picked himself back up and began hobbling home.

• • •

Everything was fine. Everything was just fine. All he had to do was focus on the next step. Then another. That’s all there was to it. Or at least, that’s what Iruma was telling himself so he didn’t lose the will to walk and just sit down. For the past few days, he’d tried icing it, elevating it, and wrapping it. The whole nine yards. It had helped a little, but devils did the thing hurt. It hurt so bad. It didn’t seem to get any better either, only worse. It looked more swollen than before and he couldn’t put most of his weight on it. But he was stubborn and a little scared. He’d gotten through worse and now wasn’t the time to fold. Not to mention that the idea of missing school and not seeing his friends sounded so much worse.

He was currently walking to his next class with Azz. His attention was torn between staying focused on their conservation and focusing on his footing. It was just his luck that a rock would appear the moment he took to look up at Azz’s face. Before he knew it, he had stumbled and found himself falling forward.

Damn, was I always this clumsy?

He braced himself for pain, hoping it wouldn’t make his injury worse than it already was. This is fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.

“Iruma-sama!”

He didn’t hit the ground. He blinked, trying to process what had happened. He felt Azz’s arm was wrapped protectively around him, steadying him.

“T-thanks Azz-kun! Whoops, haha, silly me. Have to watch where I step...”

“Iruma-sama, are you alright? Are you tired? I could carry some things for you?”

Iruma took one look at Asmodeus’ worried face and gulped. I don’t want to make anyone worry about me. It’s fine. I’m fine.

“Nothing to worry about! Especially thanks to your reflexes,” he added.

“You may be able to fool others, but you cannot fool me, Iruma-sama.” Azz said seriously. “What is going on?” He still hadn’t let go.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about Azz-kun! Come on, let’s get going to class”, he said with what he hoped was a convincing smile.

He gently shrugged out of the demon’s grasp and took a tentative step forward. Then another and another. Asmodeus followed after a moment. As Iruma gained confidence, he began to walk faster, determined to prove to Azz that he was fine. Unfortunately, pure determination was not going to heal his ankle that fast. Within a minute, he managed to tweak his sprained ankle again.

“Guh!” he said, crumpling to the ground.

Iruma closed his eyes. This was so embarrassing... He didn’t want to see Azz’s reaction. While deep down he knew it would be fine, he was still scared. What if Azz laughed at him? Or called him weak?? His heart twisted painfully at the idea. Plus he’d just told the demon he was fine. I am fine. I’m...fine. He repeated the mantra to himself, as if that would make it come true. Iruma was so caught up in his ruminations, that he didn’t hear Azz approach. He only noticed when he felt a soft hand above his ankle; the injured one. He frantically tried to pull away, but Azz’s grip was as firm as it was gentle. He heard an audible gasp, which he knew there could only be one cause for. Shit. Even though he had it bandaged, Azz would still be able to see that it was purple and definitely swollen. Iruma reluctantly looked up into Azz’s worried eyes and immediately felt so, so guilty.

“Iruma-sama, why didn’t you tell me??”

He was having trouble looking into those eyes.

“I-it's not that big of a deal... just a sprained ankle...”

“What do you mean, not a big deal?? A paper-cut is not a big deal, Iruma-sama. A stubbed toe is not a big deal. Hells, a scratch wouldn’t be that big of a deal. A sprained ankle is. a. big. deal. This is a big deal! Look at how swollen it is!! And purple! When did you even injure it? Has it gotten better at all?!” Asmodeus’ voice steadily raised in volume.

“Just a couple days ago... I’ve been elevating and icing it after school. I didn’t want to miss class.. I wanted to see everyone... I didn’t want to appear weak...” his voice got quieter and quieter.

“I see you have neglected to answer the more important question. Has. it. gotten. better. or. worse.”

Iruma was silent.

“For devil’s sake, you shouldn’t even be walking on this; it will take even longer to heal!! What in the hells has gotten into you?”

Iruma screwed his eyes shut and tried his best to curl up into a ball. Not only had he failed to keep his injury hidden, but now Asmodeus was angry with him. He couldn’t even remember the last time that had happened..

He heard a sigh and suddenly Asmodeus spoke,

“Look, I do not want to be angry at you. I am.. not angry. But, I am frustrated, and a little hurt. Iruma-sama, how would you feel if you were in my place?”

Iruma’s heart throbbed painfully.

“I would.. be worried about you, of course.”

“Then please, you have to take better care of yourself. Do not treat yourself any differently than you would if I or Valec got injured. And it would not kill you to let us help you either.”

“But I can take care of myself just fine, Azz-kun!” he pleaded. “Look, it’s wrapped and I’ve been trying my best. I’ve gotten through much worse!”

Azz’s eyes widened at this. The frustration seemed to melt out of him, replaced with intense concern.

“What do you mean...?”

Iruma looked away as he said,

“I’m not used to receiving help from anyone! I don’t want to be a burden!”

“But, your grandfather..? And Opera-san..? Are you saying they don’t....? That they wouldn’t help..?”

“N-no! Of course not!” Iruma hurriedly said. “I... haven’t always lived with them, though.”

Asmodeus waited to see if Iruma would elaborate, but after several moments in silence decided that today was not the day he would hear about it. He pulled Iruma into a hug, careful not to disturb the injured ankle.

“Fine. I will not pry further today. Just.. understand that we care about you. We are here to help you.” He murmured into Iruma’s hair.

Asmodeus noticed the way Iruma’s shoulders relaxed at this, and it made him feel a bit more like he’d gotten through to his friend.

“All right, we need to get you to the school nurse.”

The shoulder tension was back immediately.

“Are you sure...? I thought it would make me seem weak?”

“Hells no, there’s a difference between sustaining an injury and just being weak. I do not know how you could even question something so obviously wrong. You? Weak? With your rank? It is absolutely absurd to even consider it. Now, let’s get going.”

Asmodeus gathered their things. Iruma moved to try to stand.

“What in the hells do you think you are you doing?”

Iruma tried to recall if he had ever heard Azz curse this much before.

“Um, trying to stand up?”

“On that ankle? I should think not,” Asmodeus scoffed. He returned with their bags on his back. With a quick motion, he swept his arms underneath Iruma’s knees and around his shoulders.

“Wah!?” Iruma spluttered. “A-Azz-kun?? W-what are you doing??”

“What does it look like, Iruma-sama? I am carrying you to the nurse’s office of course.”

“I-I must be heavy though! A-and you have the bags too?”

Asmodeus’ eyes flashed dangerously.

“Are you trying to imply that I am too weak?”

“N-no that isn't what I meant! I just don’t want to trouble you!”

“Trouble me? Please.”

“But… Azz-kun…,” Iruma stammered.

“Would you please stop squirming and just let me take care of you?!” Asmodeus huffed.

The magic word did its thing. Iruma was still very much embarrassed, and still wanted to protest but well... Asmodeus had said please. He never could say no to that.

“I-I suppose..”

“A simple thank you would suffice at a time like this, Iruma-sama. It is my greatest honor to support you in any way I can. Never doubt that.”

Iruma turned a few shades darker red and mumbled “thank you..”, but found himself still quietly fidgeting. It didn’t compare to the actual fight he’d been putting up a minute ago, but it was clearly irking Asmodeus. After a few more steps the demon said,

“If you want to squirm so badly Iruma-sama, shall I give you a reason to?”

Iruma looked up at Asmodeus’ deceivingly bright smile and shivered. His whole face screamed,

Danger!! Do not engage!!

But before Iruma could say anything at all, Azz slipped his fingers into Iruma’s armpit and began lightly scribbling. Seeing how Azz was also carrying him, and had a pretty tight grip, Iruma was totally stuck.

“Wahaha! W-wahahait Ahahahazz-kun! P-please! Hehe!”

“You’re lucky that I need to get you to the nurse’s office, or I think I would tickle you silly so you would never consider doing this again. My goodness, what am I going to do with you, Iruma-sama?”

“Pffft! I-I’m ehehe!! I’m sohohorry! I won’t do it ahahagain, p-promise!!”

Asmodeus seemed to consider this for a moment, then flashed his fangs in another blinding smile.

“Actually, no. I have decided. I will tickle you silly after your ankle has properly healed. Please prepare yourself, Iruma-sama.”

Iruma gulped. He felt flustered and embarrassed, but also a little giddy at the thought.

“For now though, I’ll just distract you with tickles until we get to the nurse’s office. Maybe that’ll stop these ridiculous notions that you’re bothering me from coming out of your mouth.”

“Ahahahazz-kuhuhun! Nohohoho!”

“Oh, Iruma-sama. You got yourself into this mess, you will just have to take it. Tickle tickle, you’ve got nowhere to run.”

“Nahahaha! P-plehehease s-stohop!”

“The tickling or the teasing?” Asmodeus asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“B-bohohoth! Eep! Ihihit tihihickles soho bahahad!”

“Hmmm, no. That doesn’t sound like my problem. Maybe you should have thought about this before you kept your injury from me, tried to walk it off, and implied I was too weak to carry you and our bags”

“B-buhuhut! I-I cahahahan’t mohohohove! EEK! Wahaha, it tickles!! Ihihihit tihihihickles!!”

“Does it now? A fascinating revelation, Iruma-sama.”

Iruma’s laughter went silent for a moment. Azz continued,

“At this rate, you’ll be lucky if I don’t carry you around the rest of today. And the next few days. We shall see what the nurse says. And no matter what, you will be going home in your grandfather’s carriage today.”

Iruma laughed and giggled the whole way to the nurse’s office, all worries of being perceived as weak completely gone. He went home in the carriage, at Asmodeus’ suggestion, and apologized to his Grandfather and Opera-san for keeping the injury from them. He resolved to work on letting his friends and family help him in the future. It was easier said than done, but whenever his resolve wavered, Asmodeus was there to give him a gentle, giggly reminder.

[shippingmyworld]

Hello! Yet another headcanon ask, cause I've been loving the headcanons around Danny and Sam and what Danny consciously or unconsciously seeks out of a relationship and I crave m o r e.

What are your headcanons around what Manny wants or needs out a relationship? Also also, what would you say drew Manny to Danny the most and vise versa?

The tl;dr is that Manny fell first but Danny fell harder lol

I think that what Manny looks for in a relationship is someone that can keep up with him, someone that won't judge him for the decisions he makes, and someone that will stick by his side no matter what. That's why he 'dated' Frida for a whole year when they were high schoolers because their friendship technically fit the bill; it was just missing the romantic attraction part.

Growing up, Manny got a lot of love from the people around him. His mother, father, and grandpapi all showered him in it. Even when emotions run high and they fought with each other, things were usually resolved quickly and ended up with both sides explaining themselves. This also makes me believe that Manny developed a strong belief that it's healthy to get into arguments with the people you love because it shows you care enough to be open about your feelings with them.

However, on the flip side of that, I also headcanon that Manny will realize near the end of high school that his plan for the future doesn't necessarily match the vision his family has for him. It starts innocent enough, with Rodolfo making his usual comment about Manny being a full-time superhero in the future and Grandpapi auguring that Manny should be a full-time supervillain instead. This is nothing new, they have this argument all the time. But then something new gets added to the mix; Rodolfo throws a new hypothetical at Grandpapi, saying that once Manny gets married and has children, being a supervillain would just put his hypothetical family in danger. Grandpapi shoots back and says that villainy would pay much better, after all, "How do you think I was able to afford to build this entire house on top of an apartment complex???"

Manny just continues eating breakfast as usual, but this time the fight nags at the back of his mind. They both expect him to chose one side or the other eventually, but in all honesty, he doesn't want to. He doesn't feel torn up about it, like the original El Tigre did. In fact, he's extremely happy where he is, being able to indulge in whichever side of the hero/villain coin when he wants. But as time goes on and the argument between his dad and grandpapi repeats, he starts to feel more and more pressure to live up to their expectations. (Plus at this point in time I believe he's nearly graduated high school and already dated and broken up with Zoe/Black Cuervo and come to the realization that he's bisexual).

Any time that Manny tries to bring up the 'I don't want to chose.' argument with his dad and grandpapi, they would both wave off Manny's choice, saying that one day he'll have to pick like they did and being outright dismissive (not intentionally though, because the concept of it just still so foreign to them they can't wrap their heads around being both a hero and a villain) . This starts to reasonably frustrate Manny, since no matter how many times he explains himself, they won't see his side of the argument. It also starts to make Manny's anxiety simmer (which he inherited from his mother), because they're his family. They've always been by his side and even when they didn't agree, it never took long for them to talk things out. Why was it taking so long this time for them to understand him?

It would be around this time, that the OG Nicktoons Unite Gang would drop by Miracle City for the first time. Cross-Dimensional Villain of the week would be wreaking havoc in the city, so Manny and the Unite gang team up to take care of them. During the team up, I believe that Manny would instantly be drawn to Danny. Not in a romantic sense, but kinda in the "Holy shit he's so fucking cool, I have to be his friend at ALL COSTS." sense.

It's mostly in part because Danny reminds Manny so much of himself, yet seems so confident. They don't get much time to talk, but Manny's able to pick up that Danny's in a very similar situation; stuck between being a part of two conflicting worlds and constantly struggling to find balance between them. They actually click pretty much instantly with their banter during the brief team-up. So much so that it feels like they've known each other for years (Danny's sassy wit matches Manny's bravado and confidence in a playful way). That's why when the villain is subdued and everyone leaves, Manny doesn't feel the same sort of satisfaction he does when he takes down El Oso or The Mustache Mafia. In fact, he just let four super cool guys walk through a portal without any sort of hope or grantee he'd ever see them again.

There aren't a whole lot of superhero kids in Miracle City. The few that are around, Manny wouldn't really count as anything more than an acquaintance because there's always a disconnect between them (look at the Rising Son, who instantly turns on Manny the second that it's revealed Manny does a little bit of villainy). He's got a better rapport with the villains his age. Heck he even secretly hangs out with Django and a few others on occasion as civilians. However the villains give him even more flack than his grandpapi whenever he he starts leaning towards heroism, so he usually leaves their hangouts not feeling socially satisfied. Thankfully tho there seems to be a semi-regular occurrence of dimensional hopping supervillains - about once every two months - so Manny gets to see the Unite gang a handful of more times (the second time he sees them he instantly latches onto Timmy's arm and begs to get his contact information; he's much more suave about it by the time he gets around to asking everyone else, he just panicked upon noticing the pink hat and assumed they'd all leave as soon as the villain was caught.)

Near graduation when his anxiety is at it's peak, Manny will get a message from Jimmy, asking if Manny would be interested in joining the team more permanently. he instantly jumps at the opportunity (and then from there it's basically the plot of Desde el Principio lol).

Like I mentioned, I imagine that Manny didn't see Danny as anything more than a friend at first. Even though he personally acknowledged that Danny was handsome, Manny ignored that because he REALLY wanted to be friends with Danny. He constantly was engaging Danny in conversation (both irl and texting, once Manny officially joined the team). But since Manny doesn't really read social cues like everyone else, he didn't pick up that Danny was uncomfortable about discussing personal ghost stuff, so of course Manny continued to ask questions about it. It was all innocent of course (How does your green lazer thing work? How long can you stay invisible? Have you met any cool dead people?), and while the rest of the gang kinda tensed up when Manny started asking these questions (Danny included) it was surprisingly therapeutic for Danny to talk about this stuff.

Manny accepted all of Danny's answers at face value. If Danny lied about something and said, "I don't know." Manny would offer up his own suggestion (usually wrong) about how Danny's powers might work. Seeing how nonchalant Manny was about this stuff (Danny originally though that Manny might be weirded or freaked out) actually would make Danny lower his guard and start to be truthful about his halfa life. It's part of the reason why he fell for Manny in the first place, just because it became so easy to be around him. If he needed someone to talk to, something to be a nonsense-filter for the thoughts in his head, he knew Manny would never judge him for anything he might say. If he was having a really bad day and said he just wanted to sit around silently, Manny would hold him quietly until he felt better (or fell asleep).

[dylan-o-yumm]

Hi there! I just wanna say that I love your writing it’s so good 🫶 anyways I can’t stop thinking about Leon coming back from a mission terribly hurt, and the reader just worries over him and takes care of our sweet boy 🥺 giving him the love and comfort he deserves 🫶 stay safe out there and remember to hydrate! 🫶

Firstly, thank you for the sweet and kind words, anon 💜 you’re precious

Okay so I changed it up a little bit just because I have a longer fic in the works that’s exactly this request lol, so keep an eye out for that one! This one is more… moody? And the love and comfort is more... frustration and argumentative. Hehe

And I imagine RE6/ID Leon for this one but you can imagine who you want!

WARNINGS: wounds/gore, if you're squeamish then maybe don't read just to be safe. Reader is also kinda a bitch, but we all know Leon loves his challenging women lol

“Hey, kid. Mind if I come in?” He asks, already slinking his way inside your home, his hand clutching his right shoulder that was scratched and torn up, leaking blood down his leather jacket and spilling small droplets onto your floor as the blood slid down his bicep and trickled down his fingers.

“Leon, go to a hospital. You’re making a mess,” you grumble, shutting the front door that you had just opened to greet him, and turning around to glare at him with your arms folded over your chest.

“Nice to see where your priorities lie,” he quipped with a hint of humour in his voice. “I’ll clean up any mess I make, I promise.”

You watched him as he made his way to your bathroom, grumbling to yourself as you looked at the floor and saw the trail of blood that he was leaving behind him.

You’ll have to mop again. Even though you just mopped the floors this morning... Maybe you wouldn’t care about the mess if Leon was actually dying. However he loved to come to your house to patch himself up after, almost, every mission. This wasn’t a once off, this was a reoccurrence.

Last time it was broken ribs, which you got into a fight with him about. You were determined that he go to a hospital and seek actual medical attention, but he was adamant that he was fine and would heal on his own. The two of you had a screaming match— well, you screamed, he was pretty calm the whole time. You were paranoid that he would pierce a lung, and then what would you do? You had no medical practice aside from when he would visit, you’d have no idea how to help him. Turns out all he needed was some ice and lots of rest, so it wasn’t too bad.

The time before that, he had a pretty severe concussion. Which again, resulted in the two of you fighting about if he should or shouldn’t go to a hospital, but the night ultimately ended with you forcing him to stay awake so he didn’t die in his sleep. You realised fighting would probably make his condition worsen and he was too stubborn to give up and go to a hospital so you lost a lot of sleep that night, keeping him awake by talking since watching tv would also worsen his condition. So Google says anyway.

The time before that it was a dislocated shoulder. The time before that it was a nasty slice on his thigh that desperately wanted to get infected. The time before that— well, you get the picture. You are Leon Kennedy’s personal nurse whether you like it or not.

“Hey, kid. Come here,” he called out to you from inside the bathroom and you sighed heavily, ready to see whatever injuries he had. It was going to be bad and you were going to yell at him to go to a hospital and he would refuse and you would end up helping him. Rinse and repeat.

You made your way to the bathroom, dodging the drops of blood on the floor so you didn’t walk even more of a mess throughout the house. “I keep telling you, I’m not a fucking doct- oh fuck!”

The moment you saw him, you stumbled and fell back against the bathroom door, feeling your stomach drop while bile rose in your throat.

His jacket was off and hanging over the shower door while his shirt was half off, hanging around his neck and his left arm as he had freed his right arm. Though it wasn’t the lack of clothing that disturbed you, it was the pair of tweezers he was digging into his bloody shoulder, clearly trying to dig something out.

More blood was gushing down his arm and the sickening squelch of him digging around inside his own flesh made you very light headed.

“Hey, come here I need an extra pair of hands.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Come on, I can feel it, I just can’t get a hold of it. Need that bad boy outta me before I can stitch it up.” He barely looked at you, instead frowning deeply at his shoulder while he dug around his own flesh.

You were going to kill this man with your own bare hands.

“Bullet wound?” You ask, swallowing the bile in your mouth.

“Not sure.”

“How are you not sure?!”

“Just— help me would you?” He sighed, giving up on the task at hand as he took the tweezers out of his shoulder, handing them towards you. Both the tweezers and his fingers were covered in blood, warm and sticky. You wanted to cry. Or scream. Or punch him. All of the above.

You took the tweezers and grabbed the open bottle of rubbing alcohol off the bathroom counter, spilling some over your hands and the small tool. Leon watched you silently, sitting comfortably on the closed toilet lid, man-spreading and slouching as if he didn’t have a gaping hole in his shoulder.

“I hate you so much, just FYI,” you told him as you placed one hand on the top of his shoulder to steady him and yourself while the other hand with the tweezers came up and slowly dug into the hole. Leon hissed, probably because of the antiseptic, but he was soon calm once again. The man had probably been through so much pain in his life that this felt like a breeze.

“You wouldn’t be doing this if you hated me,” he smirked, watching your face while you were very focused on finding whatever it was that was inside his arm so you could get it out safely. And also not throwing up on him as the squelching noises of the tweezers moving around inside him made it very hard to control your stomach.

“Maybe you hate me then. Having me do this for you even though you know how much I hate it, when you could just go to a fucking hospital.” You grumbled, frowning at his arm. You could feel the small piece inside him, scraping against it with the tweezers, you just had to grab it and pull it out without accidentally pushing it further inside.

“That’s not hate. That me being selfish,” he looked away from you, his smirk dropping and his eyes hardening. “I trust you more than some stranger to poke around inside me with a pair of tweezers.”

“You shouldn’t. I have no idea what I’m doing.” You huff.

He was silent then but not because he didn’t have a response. He was more focused watching you pull out a small golden bullet from his arm, that was slightly crumpled from the impact at which it was fired.

“Well what do ya know? It was a bullet,” he sighed heavily, though relaxing further into his seat. The both of you looked closely at the piece that was once in his arm, but now sat firmly between the pincers of the tweezers.

“What the fuck else would it have been?!”

“Trust me you don’t wanna know.” He scoffed. “Anyway, time for you to stitch me up.” He clapped his hands once, wincing at the pain that shot up through his arm as he did so. He leaned forward slightly and rested his elbow on his knee.

“Leon. I’m not a doctor,” you huffed, dropping the bloody bullet into the small trash can beside the toilet. You then dropped the tweezers into the sink and ran some water to rinse them off. “I understand you trust me more, for whatever reason. But this isn’t fair. I hate doing this. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I thought you cared more about the mess I was making in your house.”

You rinsed your hands in the sink next, watching Leon’s blood swirl down the drain. Though his snide comment had you shutting off the water and turning to look at him with a hand on your hip and an unamused look on your face.

Leon parted his lips and avoided your gaze, sighing as he realised you weren’t in the mood for his playful attitude.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head and grabbed a handful of toilet paper to start wiping away the blood on his arm. “I know I shouldn’t put you through this. I know it’s unfair on you.”

You crouch down in front of him and place your hand on his knee. “Tell me why you do it. Why do you come to me instead of a professional?”

Leon continued to clean his arm, avoiding eye contact with you but the fact that he was being quieter and softer now made your frustrations ease a little. He was acting more unlike himself and more like a soldier, hardened by the many wars he faced.

“When I’m out there on the field,” he pauses what he’s doing and looks up, but he doesn’t look at you, instead his eyes remain distant, unfocused. Maybe lost in a memory. “I look forward to this. Spending time with you. It’s not the best circumstances I know, but after seeing the shit I see... coming back to see you is like a breath of fresh air. I guess I just wanted to be selfish about something, you know?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding and you looked down at your hand that was resting on his knee.

He didn’t get to be selfish a lot in his line of work, it made sense that he would just like to be doted on and cared for instead of being the one who cares for everyone else. This was his break, his vacation.

“I guess—“ you swallow the lump in your throat, refusing to meet his gaze, not that he was looking at you as he was quite flustered after what he just confessed. “I’ve been pretty selfish too. I mean you show up with a bullet wound, bleeding everywhere and I... I mean I’ve been pretty bitchy,” You chuckle but you don’t feel very good about yourself.

“Look,” you start, “what if you come see me more often? Preferably when you’re not bleeding. We can watch movies, relax. Give you the down time you deserve. Just... if you have a crazy injury like this, please get it checked out by a professional? That’s all I ask. I’ll pamper you as much as you need afterwards, okay?”

You’ll give him a vacation that he actually deserves.

“I’d like that,” Leon smiles, closing his eyes to take in the warm feeling for a moment longer. When he opened his eyes again, you couldn’t look away this time. His eyes were so blue, so expressive, so inviting.

You’re not sure what compelled you but your eyes lowered to his lips, so soft looking, only a little chapped, probably from being a little dehydrated after his mission, or maybe the blood loss. Either way you felt yourself leaning forward, inching closer and closer.

Until he cleared his throat.

“Do you mind sewing me up? I’m kinda bleeding out here.” He chuckled softly and you felt your face heat up and your eyes widen.

“Oh fuck, right,” you quickly jump to action, finding the needle and thread, cussing silently to yourself for being so stupid. “We could have talked after I patched you up, you know?”

“Ah where’s the fun in that?”

[hellsslibrary]

♡Headcanons on brothers's yandere fan clubs and their relationship to / with MC♡

(little brothers edition)

DNI: Minors.

!! Warnings: yandere(obviously), mention of murder, death, sexual themes, praise (Asmo), pet names (Satan, Asmo), semi-public/public sex, jealous, possessive reader(Asmo, Belphie), reader strong enough to carry Beel on hands (or is it an adrenaline rush, lol), Asmo in a skirt, oral sex (Satan, Beel).

Tags: @idontwantoeatspicy

Part 1.

Satan.

He is probably the demon who will be loved for his knowledge, he can answer almost every question, with a few exceptions. As well as his beautiful containment of his own sin. They find it beautiful and worthy of great respect, love, praise and worship.

But they didn't even try to contact him somehow, because... Because we're talking about Satan, what the hell if he gets mad at their persistence? It won't end well for them.

So they only watch him from afar all the time. Enjoying their beautiful man from afar.

But then you show up. Some ordinary person. And you just change it, so you also fix their relationship with Lucifer. He started to become more calm, especially around you.

After that, their surveillance worsened to the worst level. Especially if you are with him, his boyfriend, whom they managed to hate with all their heart. Every time they looked at you, they just imagined tearing you to pieces, how you would writhe, cry and scream from it all...

One day, they were following him again. This time he was feeding the kittens and playing with them while squatting in front of them. They were smiling, their eyes were watering from the sweet sight that they were witnessing right now. But then you appear and sit down next to him, catching your breath.

"Sorry, kitten, I got a little lost..." - you breathe loudly and quickly, which makes him laugh, stroking your head.

"It's okay, anyway, at least you found this place," - he starts stroking the kittens again, which makes them purr. - "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You look cute when you enjoy yourself and their fur... " - you also start stroking the kitten, which immediately climbs into your lap, putting its front paws on your stomach.

"MC, don't make it up. You look much better," - you just roll your eyes and continue stroking the kitten's fur on you.

Should I say that it caused them to have an uncontrollable desire to kill you? I think not. But they're not so reckless as to kill the Avatar of Wrath's boyfriend too easily and openly, damn it, so they made it a little harder.

They pretended for several weeks that you also have a kind of fan club (although MC already has one, but let's imagine that they don't), but they never showed up, so as not to give themselves away. So, having gained some of your trust, they finally did what it was intended for.

"Are they back again? " - the blonde asks, looking over your shoulder at some of your favorite sweets.

"Yeah. But how did they even know that I love it? I'm still wondering, " - you unwrap the wrapper, but after a few seconds it is torn out of your hands. - "Satan? "

"It's poisoned," - he begins a short story about some kind of poison that has a very strong effect on the central nervous system and it doesn't matter who eats it, even a person, even a demon or anyone else.

"Oh... Thank you, kitten. " - you kiss him on the cheek. - "What should we do about it?"

"It doesn't matter, I'll get rid of it. Wait a bit," - he quickly leaves and returns a few minutes later.

"Finished? " - he nods, sitting on your lap, or rather falling.

You laugh lightly, stroking his neck and back, which makes him moan contentedly. A surprised moan falls from your lips when you feel his lips on your neck.

"Satan..." - he just shushes, hinting to be silent.

"I saved you, so be a good boyfriend and let me take my reward..." - he frowns slightly, pulling away from your neck, but then slightly purses his lips. - "It's okay, right? "

You nod and involve him in a kiss, from which he almost purrs, wrapping his arms around your neck.

And at the same time, the members of his fan club are sitting in their makeshift club room.

"Do you think it has already worked? Did he eat it? " - One of the demons asks, impatiently snapping his fingers on the table.

"Of course he ate it! It's his favorite treat, since even all the brothers say so... " - they look at each other and get up at once, silently heading to the room where you should be.

Your dead face, the body that writhed in death throes from the poison, are already flashing in their heads. How great it will look when they finally see what they've been waiting for for so long.

And here they are at the door. One of them is about to open, but hears a loud groan. They look at each other, look into the room, but they see absolutely nothing, they only hear moans that are painfully similar to their beloved.

"M-mc, don't stop, damn..!" - he groans once more, grabbing the back of the bench.

Their eyes frantically run around the room until they hear the moan of Satan, completely covered by his hand, because he was too loud, and then a soft whimpering and rapid breathing.

"Did you like it? " - you ask, getting up from your knees and wiping the remnants of sperm from your lips.

"Ha... Are you still asking? Sure... " - he swallows and helps himself to sit down with a trembling hand, and then begins to fiddle with the belt, fastening it.

Their eyes open when he turns an irritated look at them and they run away from there like a bullet. But then he just sighs and stands up, gently kissing you on the lips as a sign of gratitude.

After that, they realized that they had to accept your existence and your relationship with him. He will always be there to protect you.

Asmodeus.

Oh gods... The biggest fan club, probably. Well, like, who doesn't admire Asmodeus himself? The Avatar of Lust himself, the former pearl of Heaven and probably the most attractive being existing in all 3 worlds.

And they are also the only ones who managed to have a relationship (sexual and for one night, of course) with his object of adoration.

Although they understood that he was not interested in them, except as a free fleshlight/dildo for one night. But they were glad anyway! They were eventually noticed and even more, they had sex.

Asmo was hardly in a serious relationship, where he did not cheat on anyone and did not run for momentary pleasure. And all the members of his fan club knew it. But, as usual, you appear, dear MC.

They're so angry. He didn't even cheat on you, judging by their surveillance. He even tried to flirt less with others so as not to make you jealous (although sometimes he did and probably intentionally). You became his partner, for whom he drowned out his own sin, damn it, although not to say that without consequences for you, but I will hope that you have excellent stamina, lol...

"He didn't show up? " - not yet. - "And now? " - no. - "And now? "

"Shut up, will you! " - some succubus shouts in a loud whisper. - "He'll show up sooner or later. After all, he and the man were talking about something yesterday. "

The other girl just sighed and sat down with the rest of the girls, guys and other personalities in the bushes.

"What exactly do you think he meant by something new? " - the same impatient girl asks.

"Can you shut up? We'll see him soon and find out! In the meantime... Shut up... Holy—..! " - the eyes of all those present immediately widen when they see something new in Asmo.

They follow him as he leisurely hurries to you to show what he meant by a little surprise for you.

Their hearts are beating fast as they glance at his figure, or rather, at his lower half. Where did he even manage to get a skirt from the RAD uniform? Unknown, and unnecessary information.

He opens the door, elegantly entering the office and they hurry there, sitting down at their desks, pretending that they have a lesson here and observing the situation.

"MC, dear! "- you turn around and your eyes immediately widen as you look at the black skirt resting on his waist.

"That's what you were talking about, right? Where did you even get this? " - you ask, feeling the skirt, realizing that it has the same material as the trousers.

"It was simple, but costly. I just asked Levi to sew this in exchange for some new Ruri-chan figurine that can't be bought online. " - he pouts a little, but then he laughs. - "But it was still worth it, wasn't it? Does it suit me? "

You mumble contentedly in response and your hands descend from the fabric of the skirt to his hips, feeling them. The members of his fan club are sitting in shock. Why are you reacting so calmly at all?! Do you see him like this so often?!

"Well, I definitely have to thank Levi for that later. " - he giggles and bends down to your sitting figure.

His already short skirt lifts up, exposing his hips completely, but not his ass, fortunately for you and unfortunately for them.

"And that's not all~," - he runs his finger over your chest and leans even closer, putting one knee between your legs and rubbing almost fleetingly. - "Be a good boy and I'll show you, okay? "

You roll your eyes and see several demons staring at you, who immediately hide behind overturned textbooks. You laugh and pull Asmo to your lap, from which he grunts in surprise, but hugs you by the neck, looking at you in surprise.

"It's more like you have to be a good boy and not shine your ass in front of anyone but me, is that clear? " - your voice drops an octave lower while you whisper it to him, which makes pleasant goosebumps run down his back.

He nods and mumbles something that others can't identify, but they see how his cheeks turn red and how you squeeze his hips after these words. And then he gently kisses you on the forehead and leaves, grabbing his bag, to his office.

After that, the members of his fan club are clearly sitting with problems between their legs and go somewhere, leaving you to laugh at them.

They were just in shock. Of course, they thought that Asmo would play with you and he, of course, would not listen to you and in general he put it on not only for you, but no. He didn't bend down or bend down in front of anyone. And when someone teased him for it or praised his appearance, he just laughed, thanked and plunged into his thoughts.

It wasn't like him at all. Every time he wanted to understand something, he went and found someone and got rid of his excitement. But now he was just sitting and, albeit impatiently, he was waiting. The avatar of Lust of all beings sat and waited for a certain moment.

They didn't want to accept it at all. So they quickly called a meeting, after lessons and after getting rid of the problem under their trousers or skirts, of course.

"We need to do something... Asmo is changing for him, it's very scary... " - sighs a girl who is almost crying.

"Don't go limp here! And don't cry! I have an idea... " - so they started the plan.

Since probably the majority of Asmodeus fans are succubi and incubi, it didn't cost anything for them to come the next day in something more open (probably short skirts and shirt with a deep, eye-catching neckline and tight trousers). Although they will still have to avoid the eyes of Lucifer or Barbatos, otherwise it's scary to think what they will do to them for such a school uniform.

And they literally did not come off Asmo, stuck to him like leeches and constantly tried to cause him some kind of reaction. Either they bent down in front of him in skirts, showing their underwear or maybe his absence. Or rubbed against it in different places. His ass, chest, cock, inner thigh, palms, face.

And it annoyed you terribly, although you understood that Asmo didn't really want it when he sent you a repentant smile, and also wrote to you during the day that you would make up for all the lost time after school.

"Do you think it worked? MC thought he was cheating on him? Or maybe Asmodeus realized that we are what he needs? " - the same girl asked.

"I don't know, they are at home now and around this time Asmo is posting photos with news, so... wait. " - she is humbled by a stern look under which she cringes, but opens devilgram and waits for the post.

Their eyes widen when they see the photo and the inscription under it. Photo of Asmo in a [too small/normal/too big] shirt that clearly doesn't belong to him. It is slightly lowered from the shoulder, and hickeys and bites are visible along his neck and on his shoulder. The signature reads: "Is that reason enough to get you off my back, you dirty demons? Of course I love you and your affection, but you make my boyfriend angry and he makes my skin so stand out🥺🥺🥺" Sorry—...

"So stand out, right?" - you kiss his skin along his hickeys when after the photo he lands on his bed to you.

"You know what I like this..." - he fleetingly kisses you on the cheek. - "And you probably care too much about the sight of me in a skirt, I'm just sure that tomorrow someone will complain about my screams, you know? "

"It's your own fault. " - he giggles, and you roll your eyes, but hug him, kissing him on the top of his head.

Well... Or after that, they realized that they absolutely could not interfere with your relationship. You're too perfect for Asmo, since he wants to change so much for you. And you love him too much to share. Either Luci or Barbie noticed their school uniform after all...

Beelzebub.

Oh my God, this sweet baby. Well, look at him and tell me why you can not love him? He's just wonderful. Handsome, kind, caring, strong, takes care of his family and of course his wonderful appetite.

Although they are still afraid of him because he is quite tall compared to the lower demons who are in love with him.

He knows about them because they put something delicious on him every day (although he will eat LITERALLY anything, so I don't think it makes sense) with a note from them.

But then they see Beel eating something they gave him again, and then some [tall/medium/low] guy and Beel just shares the food with him... What?

In the future, they will find out that you are his boyfriend, and not just some exchange student from the Human World. And jealousy awakens in them, why the hell is he sharing food with someone at all, he's a literal Avatar of Gluttony, what the fuck?

They do it a couple more times, put food on him and watch. And everything turns out to be right, if you are next to him or within his sight, then he will definitely share food with you. Well, not always, if you don't like it / allergies or something else, then of course he will eat himself.

But he's still sharing. It's very strange. They gather a meeting very quickly and start brainstorming about how to rid him of your bad influence.

"So, who has any ideas? It's all terribly strange. And I don't even know what surprises me more. "- some guy walks back and forth while several more pairs of eyes are watching him.

"How about we check if this weak idiot can handle him? " - everyone turns around at the voice. - "I mean, listen to this..."

The idea was terrible. But they didn't have a better idea. Yes, and there was a chance that you would die there on the spot, so they started the plan.

You and Bell were walking down the corridor when the gaze of one of the demonesses turns to the demon and she winks at him, he nods and prepares. And the next second, he flies at you with a sigh of surprise, landing in your hands in a wedding style. The demon quickly runs away. But the demoness is in shock... You don't even tremble, you don't even try, you easily hold him in your arms...

"What? " - she says with her lips, slightly approaching you to eavesdrop on your conversation.

"Sorry, MC, I wasn't expecting it. " - he says, rubbing the back of his head with a silly smile.

"It's okay. Are you hurt?" - He shook his head negatively. - "Well, great. Shall we go then? "

"In this position? Am I not heavy?" - you shake your head negatively, confirming that there is no or pretending.

And the demoness is in shock when you just walk down the corridor with them in your arms, as if nothing had happened.

But of course, they still don't despair! They are thinking about other ideas, which of course will be worse than the previous ones.

After a very long discussion filled with screams, fights, broken chairs, bruises, blood, a broken window and a broken handle, they came to an agreement. They'll just kill you.

So they just went to the gym that Beel goes to, and then to the men's locker room, but they didn't find him there. And as soon as they wanted to go to the hall, a groan came from the shower. But since all the showers were separate, they couldn't just go in there, so they put their ear to the door, trying to hear something other than the sound of water.

"Fuck, Beel, this is incredible, don't stop, I'm now...!" - they hear a slight cough, followed by some kind of slurping sound, and then the water is turned off.

He only hears heavy breathing and swallows, which lasted several seconds.

"Are you satisfied? " - you ask, helping him to get up from his knees.

He nods with a soft smile and a bright blush on his cheeks, looking at you [from top to bottom/bottom to top] while you lean against the glass wall of the shower.

"Then let's go out. "- you grab towels, tie your thighs (and/or breasts, if you need to) and throw one to your boyfriend.

Demons are running out of the locker room like a bullet. They look at each other with a shocked expression on their faces.

"And what should we do now? " - some guy asks, sitting on the floor and almost crying.

"Waiting for the moment when a human dies, it shouldn't be long. " - everyone looks at him with a disapproving look, but then they nod.

Yes, these are definitely the stupidest yanderes that can exist.

Belphegor.

Damn... Yandere club for yandere sounds insanely ironic, but! Still interesting. Well, in the end, who, after looking at his sleeping muzzle, will not fall in love with him?

Of course, they were very annoyed, upset and confused when he disappeared. They had a lot of assumptions. That he was sent to the Human World after all, that he switched to homeschooling because of Laziness, or that Lucifer locked him in the attic. But, to be honest, everything sounds so improbable. Yes?

And they were so glad when he finally appeared, but accompanied by a man... To whom he constantly apologized and tried to somehow make amends for something. And no matter how much they eavesdropped, they couldn't figure out why exactly.

And in the end, you did it. And after a few weeks or months, they see him lazily kissing your lips, pulling your face to him.

"What the hell?! " - one of them flashes, already assuming his demonic form, but he is immediately stopped.

"Are you going to run into them in the open like that and kill this man? Are you completely crazy or something? " - he sighs, but reincarnates back, quietly watching.

"We still need to do something about it. " - he muttered through his teeth, to which the others only nodded.

They tried their best to find out what he found in you that they didn't. But we found absolutely nothing except the difference in your worlds. So what the hell?

They are also kind, caring, smart, funny, curious and self-sacrificing for others like you (they are not). So what is their problem?

They begin to follow you even more, trying to find the reason why the Avatar of Sloth fell in love with you after all.

"Damn, how could we have lost them... It even sounds like nonsense. " - this guy is still not happy.

And, of course, by the law of meanness, they hear the moan of their beloved Belphie. They look at each other and very quietly approach the door, behind which there are moans or rather screams.

"Come on, Belphie, you can say it. " - you whisper, biting his neck, which makes him whine, shouting your name.

"I'm yours, mhm, o-only yours... Really! " - he screams, grabbing your back with his nails and digging into it, causing you to hiss.

"Well, fine, I don't know what I'll do if... " - then they heard nothing but Belphie's screams and moans.

So they decided to pretend that they study here and do not hear any sounds at all from behind the doors of the office. They put on headphones, but did not turn on the sound on them. And after 30-40 minutes, their wait paid off. The door opens and Belphegor comes out of it, straightening his shirt and yawning. His entire neck is literally covered with hickeys and bites. He looks at them with a lazy look, watching as you come in front of him and take his hand, pulling him along.

"I'm only his..." - he whispers to them, but they are ready to swear that they saw a sarcastic grin on your face.

They didn't even try, he was too clingy, he even went to the same lessons with you, justifying that he forgot his pillow, and you have a painfully comfortable shoulder/chest/laps. And also his look... They'll just wait.

[eoieopda]

Hello lovely lady :) I’m here to pretty please request a JK drabble because I miss him terribly and if you have the time because I very much am in love with your writing 🥹🥹 Tattoo artist JK who gets a crazy stupid adult crush on a customer who comes to him to do a very meaningful tattoo for her and they spend all night eating and talking afterwards and it’s all giggly and cute because he will find any reason to touch her 😭😭 and now I’m going to jump off a cliff bc I miss him so much LOL

sorry for the wait, sweet bean!

cw: mention of needles, general reference to trauma (not described); description of a bad tattoo i've seen in real life; reader gets one of my actual tattoos because fuck it, we ball.

Jeon Jungkook considered himself an artist. This wasn't based on his literal job title, but on the immeasurable time and effort he spent studying, practicing, and working as an apprentice. On the sheer number of oranges that went off to rot in dumpsters with shakily tattooed skin.

For years, he placed permanent art on the bodies of strangers for tips only — if clients bothered with the courtesy, that is. Little designs off the flash sheet, last-minute friendship tattoos for university students who'd fall out of touch upon graduating. It was grueling work, but it was worth it.

When he finished his apprenticeship and was promoted to resident artist, Jungkook figured that he'd spend his days seriously — on serious shit that took hours to design and even longer to translate onto a living, breathing, squirming canvas. That was the hope, anyway.

In reality, Jungkook had spent the entirety of his day doing unspeakably stupid shit. He'd just finished tattooing "Seoul" in hiragana for a tourist who didn't seem to know which side of the Strait he was on — and then you walked in.

You shouldn't have been the only person he'd seen all day that already had tattoos, but you were. You clearly knew how this was supposed to go; and Jungkook almost started floating when the crushing weight of his exasperation finally fell off his shoulders.

Finally.

He didn't mean to audibly sigh with relief when you stepped up to the counter. He did, though, and he was well past the point of giving a shit if that should have embarrassed him.

"Rough day?" You tilted your head to the side when you asked and you looked genuinely concerned, even with that tiny, sideways smile.

Jungkook was torn. Yours was a face worth staring at, but the gallery spreading over both of your exposed arms was one he wanted to get lost in. He knew more than anyone how fucking it weird it was when strangers gave themselves permission to run their hands over his skin — but he might finally understand the urge.

Swallowing down that intrusive desire, Jungkook gripped his Red Bull can even tighter in his left hand — twenty ounces, reserved exclusively for the most severe instances of brain rot — and balled his right hand into a fist. He rapped his knuckles against the countertop and shot you a grin, "Nah, it's golden."

Jungkook had been right about two things. The first was that you weren't a fainter, a flincher, or a cry-baby.

If he hadn't stolen so many glances at you throughout the session; and if your quiet laughter wasn't the pacemaker preventing his swooning heart from stopping; he might've thought that you were meditating. Sleeping, even, or hit with a freeze ray. You were still, entirely unfazed like you weren't being stabbed thousands of times per second with a bouquet of needles.

Jungkook was also dead-on that this day, despite its frustrating start, was golden. Better yet, it didn't end when your session did. When he'd blurted out an invitation to dinner, you said yes.

Sitting down across the table from him with your forearm dutifully covered in cling-wrap, you shot him an adorably sheepish smile. "Could you, um —?" You gestured to the perilla leaves on your plate with the chopsticks in your non-dominant hand. "I'm not as dexterous as I was two hours ago."

"I'm on it, boss."

He didn't have time to cringe over that statement or the wink that accompanied it because your knuckles brushed his when you slid your plate to him and — Are you a child? Why are you blushing? For fuck's sake, get a grip, Jeon.

You sipped your beer as you watched him; and it had Jungkook fumbling as if he was using chopsticks for the first time in his life and not the thousandth. Thankfully, instead of laughing at him, you asked, "So, what's the dumbest tattoo you've had to do for someone?"

"Cartoon corn-on-the-cob," Jungkook responded without hesitation. The memory was burned into his brain, a tattoo in its own right. "But that alone isn't the worst part, and neither is the fact that its face looked like it was moaning with a pat of butter sliding down its front."

You groaned, but you were grinning, "Jesus. Do I even want to know the worst part?"

"Butter me up, daddy."

Automatically, you raised your freshly-tattooed arm and slapped your hand over your mouth to keep your drink inside it. You winced at the sting on your skin and, no doubt, the burn in your chest as you coughed, "Come again?"

Jungkook slid your plate back over to you with pursed lips. Then, he took a deep breath. "That was the script they wanted to go with it," He sighed, "I spent a decade of my life on my craft and that is what I do with it."

"I'm sure the linework on the horny corn was beautiful, though." Your eyes sparkled when your tone softened. The sight of you stopped him from laughing at the words you chose.

He gestured down to the vintage floor lamp he'd etched in fine black ink on your forearm. "Looks better when the person I'm tattooing sits still," He smiled, "And you can correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you put thought into that, rather than thirst. Otherwise, I will have follow-up questions about whatever kink that might be."

Ugh, that giggle.

"Have you heard of ghost lights before?" You asked between bites of your kimchi.

When Jungkook shook his head, you cleared your throat to explain. "When you close up a theater after a show, you have to put a lamp on the stage. It's primarily a safety thing — keeps people from falling over set pieces or into the orchestra pit — but it helps out with ghosts, too."

Jungkook shifted in his chair and leaned in a little closer to more clearly hear what came next. He was riveted, and there was no hiding it.

"There are a couple of different superstitions about why it's done, but the one I grew up with was that it keeps ghosts from messing with your props and technical equipment while you're gone."

You quieted before you tacked on the amendment, corner of your mouth momentarily twitching up into a sad smile, "Figured this tattoo might help me ward off some of my own."

Your hand was close enough to his on the table that he could've pretended it was an accident. He didn't, though. The microscopic movement until his little finger touched yours was intentional; and he wanted you to know it.

Not daring to move that hand away, Jungkook grabbed his drink with the other and raised it. He waited for you to raise yours, too, before cheering, "To ghosts that mind their own fucking business!"

[sessakag]

Hi! I'm really curious about your writing process because you're writing so many stories simultaneously which i think is really impressive. 💖 Do you already know what's gonna happen in the story such as the ending? Do you outline the plot before starting a story or is the plot decided as the story goes? Do you also forget what happened in the previous chapters so as that you have to reread them before writing the next chapter?

My writing process can be summed up in one word: chaos.

Absolute chaos, no joke. I am always all over the place, bouncing from one fic to another, files everywhere, folders everywhere, docs everywhere, like omg, its so disorganized on my side of the fic but its like a disorganization I can navigate quite easily most of the time😅and yes, I write a lot of stories simultaneously, but its on a bigger scale than folks see, lol. I've been working on 8 unpublished stories at once alongside Prey and Butterfly for the last month or so🤔my brain is just always going, and it switches from one thing to other, sometimes within minutes, sometimes days, sometimes hours, and then I get super fixated on whatever has my attention at the moment and the words just come pouring out of my brain😅I do take breaks when my hands and wrist start to ache, though that only makes me think of more stuff to write about.

I usually have a very clear vision for my fics, they're like movies or tv shows that I live through and experience inside my head, but the majority of the decisions on how to get to point A to B are made on the fly and I do not constrain myself if the story takes me somewhere other than the "clear vision" lol. I'm allergic to following guidelines. I just can't write like that, I have to like, feel the story as I write and if I can't experience the feeling of it then I go a different route, planned or not. it's hard to explain it without sounding like a crazy lady😅but yeah, I'm all feels and instinct with my stories, not much deliberate structure, though I have tried that before, and I was bored to tears and started dreading writing. Prey is a prime example of this. I planned on writing it one way, Prey!Naruto told me no🤭

I know how just about every single one of my fics are going to end already. I may not know how I'll get there, or what will happen in between, but I do know for a fact how they will conclude(unless the story demands a different end, but it's not likely to happen I don't think). I've already written the end for Butterfly, Monster, A Cure For Love, Prey, Dirty Little Secret, most of my unpublished fics and partially finished Secrets but I'm iffy on that one since I'm torn in two directions on how to conclude it. Once I get to the sequel I should have a better feel for it. But yeah, the end of these stories are already ready, they're just waiting for me to get there😂probably one of the reasons why I linger so much on fics so much🤔I already know they end and wanna have fun until the party's over🤭

I do forget things sometimes and need to re-read my stories, though for the most part, my fics are like movies I've seen a million times and I remember them just fine. I mostly re-read to pick up the momentum I had before I left, or to "get back in character" with the characters in the fic. Like if I've been writing Prey for an extended period of time, and then want to go to a fic where Naruto is more in line with his canon self, I'll have to re-read the story to put that hat back on, or listen to music that's less idgaf trap rap and more Naruto OST🤭but forgetting what happened in the previous chapters nah, not really. Not unless I'm having an episode or something, lol. Then Idk wtf is going on🤭

Anywho, hope this answered all your questions, but feel free to ask more!

[closetsof-backlogged-dreams]

tiptoeing my way into your ask box: should merlin have revealed his magic in the sins of the father episode

THE WAY I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THIS ASK😭😭😭😭 mbbb but im here now!!! so hi:))

ok so this is the second ask youve sent me that ive literally never thought of once in my life so prepare youself for a brainDUMP

my answer is completely and irrevocably: yes. i can't imagine myself having another opinion on it, because i think you found the only episode in the entire series where a magic reveal would have been a natural and understandable choice, by both the writers and the characters (except for of course the last episode, but i have many feelings on the execution of the actual magic reveal, of which are for another ask lol).

but because im an unnecessary bitch, i'm going to answer this question twice with the same answer (why? because im a nuisance to everyone around me, thats why) by interpreting the question differently. the first interpretation? should merlin have revealed his magic in the sins of the father, as in should MERLIN have revealed his magic. was that the right decision for him to make in this episode? would that have ended in the best outcome? would that have improved the situation? just morally, was that the right choice to make?

i thought about it, and at first i was torn, because arthur was a wreck at this point. he felt angry, betrayed, devastated, and rightfully so. is this really the best time for his best friend of probably over a year, by this point, to admit to him that he was born with magic? and while this definitely would have been a tricky time to do it, i think this is the only episode in which arthur shows completely empathy and compassion towards magic. for once in this series, he doesn't blame magic for all the wrongs in the world, or even reservedly believe that magic may not be a thing to persecute for but can certainly never be trusted—he is fully open to magic and believes that every negative thing he ever knew of it, all stemming from his father, is completely wrong. obviously, this is because he took his hatred for magic and swapped it with his respect for his father due to the switched roles they had in his life (magic: the deceiver, the killer, the villian; uther: the protector, the victim, the hero; but yk, swapped in this episode) but that doesn't make his open mind to magic (IN THIS EPISODE!!) any less real.

so, ik that was a lot lol, but if merlin had told arthur about his magic at this point, i think itd be one of the only times when that revelation would cause arthur to feel angry and betrayed not really because of the magic, but because merlin hadn't told him. and i'm sorry, at any other point in the series, imo, that wouldn't be true. the deception itself may be the root of the hurt, but the magic would just be salt in the wound.

and!! not even to mention the fact that arthur was going to kill uther. instead of lying to him, merlin should have admitted that he has magic, told him not to kill him, explained whatever information he knew (yk, about nimueh or literally anything because he definitely knew more than arthur did, atp). would arthur have felt the betrayal twofold? of course, but i do think that this would have hit him hard enough to stop on his rampage to kill uther. it definitely would have been difficult to get him to STOP long enough to tell him lol, but i think merlin could have done it. all in all, it definitely would have been difficult to execute, but i think overall it would have been the right choice for all the right reasons.

now, onto the second interpretation of the question: should merlin have revealed his magic in the sins of the father, as in the WRITERS should have revealed his magic. and that answer is a resounding fucking YES!!!! im so so sorry, but merlin and arthur's relationship was ridiculous. i can (and will with the slightest prompting) go into an insane amount of depth and detail into why i hate their relationship development despite being obsessed with their dynamic (most of the time) and why i think as the MAIN DUO OF THE ENTIRE FUCKING SHOW deserved better, but i'll try to keep it short and sweet. in season one, their relationship was developed almost perfectly. sure, there definitely should have been more time from the first episode and onwards of actual contempt between them, but besides that i think the writers really did a very good job at building their relationship and dynamic.

then comes the giant fucking spiky, iron wrecking ball that is season two. immediately, all the trust and obvious affection and friendliness built in the first season just... disappears. i honestly think that a change in their dynamic was necessary! but with the current canon, there is absolutely no reason for it, and the changes that there were, quite frankly, sucked. they were completely unnecessary. but start off season two with them being all chummy and just genuinely good friends, and merlin starts to feel guilty for not telling arthur about his magic. (that's another thing about this goddamn show. i honestly can't think of a single time merlin expressed any actual guilt for lying to arthur about his magic for an entire fucking decade?? for the most part, all he expresses his fear at the possibility of arthur finding out, which makes me want to kick scream chew on someones eyelids and just generally maul someones face, but whatever ig. but this guilt could definitely result in some distance and loss of trust, and then it keeps building and building and building until... BANG! fucking magic reveal!!

its also perfect for the reason that, im sorry, i dont believe for a fucking second that season one arthur (MY arthur, thanks) would even LET merlin not tell him about his magic for TEN GODDAMN YEARS. he would sniff that shit out and wait patiently for merlin to spill before confronting him after like a month. because in season one, arthur definitely wasn't ready for a magic reveal. they weren't close enough, there wasn't enough trust, arthur hadn't grown enough yet, all the things. but season two? proved the perfect opportunity for all that to happen, and then on you can have ACTAUL GOOD CONFLICT instead of the entire conflict being "oh well merlins secret🥺" ........................SHUT THE FUCK UP

anyways, i think thats my whole opinion?? overall i just really think that the magic reveal should have happened longgg before the finale and this episode is the absolute perfect place for it to occur:)) thank you sm for the ask!! i had a lot of fun with this one if you couldn't tell lol. sorry for forgetting about it😭😭 so glad your back tho, and cant wait to have you lurking in my inbox again!!!