#this was just a request and i don't have the brain power for a whole universe

[septimusmoonlight]

You doing ok?

hi

[phantom-of-the-ruckus]

So I know you said we can ask about any DC character... could I ask what you think Sebastian or any other Black Butler demon would look as a DC villain?

Annon, super sorry for the delay, this took me a while XD

I did my best and def used heavy inspo on Idol Seb

Presenting the one hell of a Butler, Sebastian Michaels or A.K.A "The Black Demon" (Yeah very original i know/s but jnsjss it took me a while to design this, so I don't have the actual brainpower for this lmao.)

So, his design was def inspired by idol Sebastian, so I have him the leather black heel boots (which work as weapons)

He can use his top hat and throw it as It's hard enough to hell cut through something. His cane has a point so he can use it.

The half mask was just to give him some spark, as I wanted to keep it interesting but not rely much on the butler side. Although he does use utensils to fight.

He's not covering his face because...I meant Sebastian would want whoever he beats to remember his smug face, so-

Also, fyi. Please don't request me another vague character design idea like this. It's not like I am mad or didn't enjoy it. The thing is it takes quite some time and I got others waiting for their requests XD

but thank you so much annon, and sorry it had to be only Sebastian, but thank you for this opportunity, hope you like!

[caraphernellie]

ephemeral.

for your information: author!abby x editor!fem!reader. professionals with a very strained relationship. abby and reader drinking a little but completely coherent + sober still. haters-to-lovers, semi-public, outdoor sex. bratty!reader. fingering (r!receiving). steamy make out session. clichés ahead. pet names used: baby, good girl, various insults tbh. 2.8K WC.

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑, had this idea for like, a whole year now. oops. just love autumnal/dark academia type shit and abby is my favourite bookworm. abby picture by @/tpicsl on pinterest. MASTERLIST.

Creativity is fickle. Abby knows it better than anyone.

Her mind is her greatest asset. It is a hidden strength; everybody thinks they have her figured out just by glancing at her. The woman is built of brawn and steadily-sculpted muscle, but it is merely a peek into her real power.

Abby's appearance is a reflection of dedication, an application of self-discipline trained over many moons.

Her brain is her might. Her will to excel. It is a library of all the things she has loved, words she has read, stories she has heard.

And the result is an author of applaudable talent. Yet, her reputation precedes her—she is not easy to work with.

Abby has published four books so far in her career, but she's been through twice the amount of editors in that time. Nothing could ever stunt her rise to fame, no matter how many claims were made against the woman's cocky, self-gratified nature. Abby Anderson is a household name.

But as her most long-standing editor, you must agree with the rumours. Working for Abby is a living nightmare.

Creativity is fickle. Abby refuses to let anybody impede on her artistry. If they do not see her vision, she will throw a fit. Writing is her gift, and god forbid someone attempts to critique it. She rejects all common writing advice—should anyone attempt to tell her to 'kill her darlings', Abby will send back a heated, passive aggressive email.

You let her have her freedom. That is the difference between you and other editors. Perhaps they don't see the vision like you do, and absolutely not like Abby does. You will remove what is only necessary, and maybe there are small disagreements every so often, but you have proven yourself to have the wit that matches Abby's perplexity.

You do not leech on her—sucking the life and rareness out of her words, only to brag and drag her name through the mud. Even Abby will admit that you are the most pleasant editor to work with.

But god, she almost burnt you out.

Impossible deadlines, communicating at only the most iniquitous hours. Whether it was a high-priority email at midnight or two-thousand words to be read and fixed by the end of the day, she was a prick. On purpose.

And why? Well, even though your furious emails would raise her hackles, she began to realise she actually enjoyed reading them. You've got quite the attitude. It certainly tickles her dry sense of humour, after all. Everything you say is professional, so as to not raise alarm, but it's laced with just enough venom to sting.

Her personal favourite email, which she immediately starred, is the one in which you were complaining about her constantly quoting you in her own book.

'Miss Anderson, I do not find you as funny as you think you are. I would like to be taken seriously when I voice my concerns about your ill-treatment of my service, as flattering as it may be that I have inspired your work. 'Please see attached the edited draft as requested.  'P.S. I do believe you ought to get some sleep. Sending a draft at 03:30 is not acceptable.'

It's just not fiery enough to halt her efforts.

Somehow, you made it out alive. Pulled yourself out of quicksand with that heavy load on your back. You have lived long enough to be present tonight.

Today marks the highly anticipated release of Abby Anderson's fifth release, her newest standalone title following her critically acclaimed series. Many reviews seem to say she just keeps getting better, while others written in unkempt fury detest her for writing in a way that feels almost pretentious nowadays.

Abby's clearly had a day full of bustling conversation, hundreds of well wishes. She signed so many copies of her book that her wrist aches of overuse. She made it through, thank goodness, and the hour of relaxation has finally arrived.

The release party.

Who doesn't love a party? A warm celebration filled with prideful chit-chat, her family and friends, and competitors masking their envy with tight-lipped smiles and side-eyes.

All that and a splash of champagne to take the edge off.

Your heels crunch flaxen leaves in your path to the door, streams of fading sunlight painting the yacht club in warm golds and gingers. It's a remotely calm evening save for the seaside breeze. The trees whistle and you can hear the faint sound of pastoral waves clashing with the cliffside.

Your inner-voice begs for a few moments more stood outside the party. You could give yourself some grace, a fleeting moment to prepare for the questioning and disrespect you'll receive.

You think back to a charity event Abby hosted once. You met a man who spoke with blatant indiscretion about Abby's writing, and admittedly your ego was bruised as much as Abby's would have been. He had watched you argue your point, and when you finished, the man parted his lips to ask, 'who are you?'

Her fucking editor, that's who. Only one who'll put up with her.

It would help if Abby would stop acting like she doesn't know you.

You don't expect flowers, nor praise. She wrote those books by herself. But a tree cannot grow without proper care. If her words were sowing the seeds, you were watering them.

If only Abby could take the stick from her ass and so kindly acknowledge the sweat and tears you put into dealing with her.

Light disappears into the horizon and the moon has risen. These cocktail parties were never your style. It isn't a wild bender, nor is it a classy and quiet event. It's just somewhere between that.

Networking.

It's tedious, dreadful. If you don't catch their attention within the first seconds of the conversation, you won't make that connection. First impressions are everything, and unfortunately, you struggle to be as charming as the others in this room.

"Well, well, well. Look who showed up."

Her eyes have wandered to you for the past two hours, not as discreet as she thought she was being. It seems Abby has finally found the time to pull away from big-wig publishers and authors to finally seek you out.

"I almost thought you were gonna pull the same shit as last time 'n hide all night."

"You wish." Your voice is dry and quick, always straight to the point. "Makes no difference if I stay in the shadows or hang around the others. You'll ignore me anyway."

"No," Abby murmurs, a scrunched up scowl on her face now. It's far from hateful, and directed more towards herself than you. "I'm talking to you now, aren't I?"

"Mhm."

"You know what I just.. love?" Abby asks, head tilted towards you. You are a thief to Abby's attention no matter where or when, but regret to realise that. "You are just as hard to deal with in person as you are over email. It's really authentic."

"Ah." You give a curt nod, taking a short sip of wine, and notice the way her eyes track the movement. They linger over your lips, struggling to tear away. "I am glad you think so. I like to keep it real."

She scoffs, short and breathy. "Yeah. It's real lovely."

Abby enjoys the way you match her energy. She enjoys it too much.

"So, did you come here to say anything worthwhile, or are you just polite enough to greet all your guests?"

Her face doesn't change—her smile remains intact, but it's the twitch of her eye that forces a soft chuckle past your lips.

"Yeah, actually. You know, I was getting there." Abby's indignant reply is masked with a pleasant tone, one that irks you. She doesn't know how to act any way but sarcastically with you. She could say the smallest thing, but it gets on your nerves. You're not the most proud of how reactive you are to Abby's behaviour. "You know, some sappy shit about how helpful you are. But I might keep it to myself now."

"Makes no difference to me," you say with a shrug of your shoulders. Actually, it would be nice to hear what she has to say. "You couldn't be genuine with me if you tried."

"You know what? Let's go." Abby takes and sets your glass down on a nearby table for you, hand wrapping firm around your wrist. "I have some things to say to you that I'd rather others don't hear."

"Can't wait," you mutter, anticipating what, from past experience, can only be referred to as a sour exchange of words.

Abby drops your hand to get the door with the most cocky grin you've seen on her face in a long time. "Ladies first."

The French doors lead to a round balcony that overlooks the water. As you step outside you feel a wave of relaxation overcome you. The ocean is calm, the breeze from earlier has filtered away into a still, but cold, night. The only sounds you can hear are muffled chatter and music from inside.

"Alright." You clasp your hands together and bat your lashes. "What was it you had to say? Don't forget to raise your voice this time."

"Y'know, I actually wasn't planning on yelling at you," Abby says in a gritty voice, stepping closer. "But if you keep trying to get smart with me, I may reconsider."

"Oh, of course. I hope you do. It's a pleasant sound."

"I— Stop talking."

Without you having realised, she's backed you into a corner. Your hands grasp the stone fence of the balcony tightly, looking away until she tugs your jaw closer.

"I wanted to actually say something nice. You know, a sorry for being a cunt. A thank you for putting up with me. I wouldn't have half the success I have if it weren't for you."

"Oh."

It's simply unexpected. It isn't an out-of-this-world idea for Abby to be sincere, of course not. But her confidence is often mistaken for pure arrogance. You just didn't think she could tone down her ego enough for something like this. Not at a release party, at least—this whole shebang is meant to be celebrating her.

"I didn't know how to show you I actually appreciate your work," Abby continues, "I thought about flowers... a letter... you know, for an author, it was ridiculously hard to put some words down. And I wanted to avoid cliché. So I wanted to personally talk to you about it."

"You know, this is actually leaning further into cliché territory than a letter?" You muse, only with the intention of making this slightly less awkward.

Considering Abby is usually the one to let her eyes wander, right now, you are the one who can't pull their eyes away. Her shirt fits her far too perfectly for your liking. Her eyes, electric blue and staring sharply enough to cut you—they're perfect. And you hate it.

"Oh yeah?" Abby huffs, her palm flat on the fence behind you. She's caged you in. "Why's that?"

"Because you look like you're about to kiss me."

She falters for a moment, sheer surprise on her face. Oh, come on. She can't be that clueless to her own desires, can she?

"You wish."

"Well if you don't kiss me, I'm going to kiss you."

"What? Because I said one kind thing to you? Are you really that easy?" Abby lets out a quiet laugh in disbelief, perhaps a bit of shock too—you've thrown her off balance.

"You are the one who's not-so-subtly stared at my lips all night," you point out. "So I think you need to find your own answer to your question."

Jesus, you make Abby actually think sometimes. Interacting with you is different—her wit is matched for once, you indulge in the same dry sarcasm, you're actually fucking intelligent.

But what irritates her is the way you have such a great read on her.

"What I need is for you to shut up and let me be nice to you for once."

"God, you write your own clichés so much you'd think you would have seen this coming." You meet her eyes with that of a mischievous look in your own, lips curled into a satisfied grin. "Make me."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Screw it.

Her lips are on yours. Her hands settle over your hips. It's warm—incendiary, even. The autumn chill takes a backseat as she kisses you once, twice, and once more.

She stays close enough for your breaths to mingle, lips a hair's breadth away from each other now.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" You murmur. Abby scoffs softly.

"I hate you."

"I don't think that's right."

"No?"

"You're welcome to walk away right now, if you hate me so much."

There is not a chance that's going to happen. Even below the faint blue moonlight, you can see how rosy her cheeks have turned. Not a chance. She's staying right here.

"I thought a kiss was supposed to make you shut up," Abby grumbles.

"Oh, ha, sorry." You aren't sorry in the slightest. That coy smile is going to be the death of her. Who knew little old you would have the upper hand right now? "You can try again, if you'd like."

"Right."

It's as desperate and fiery as before, yet not as ephemeral. She's captured your words with her lips, her hands unceasingly moving along your figure. She touches and grabs everywhere that she can reach. You cup the back of her head and pull her closer as you sit on the balcony fence.

That stresses her out the slightest bit. It's a precarious position, on a high place, no less. But she simply takes it as an opportunity to splay her palm over your ass, 'keeping you from falling off.'

"Here's the deal." Abby attempts to command you, but wandering lips are staining her throat in lipstick and, plain and simply, she whimpers her words. "You're gonna watch that door and tell me if someone's comin'."

"Mhm."

Your mouth seeks her freckled collarbone, so tauntingly visible beneath her shirt. She always leaves the first few buttons undone. You've controlled yourself so well all this time, you deserve to taste the salt of her skin there.

And Abby's fumbling with the button of your pants. They fit you so well. They hug your body just right, flaring at the ankles. They hug her attention, too.

"Coast is clear?" Abby whispers. Her hand is painfully close to where she wants to be, buried into your cunt, but she just can't without the confirmation that you won't be caught in your little escapade.

You peek over Abby's shoulder. The party is still bustling inside, not a soul seeming concerned with the balcony.

"It's clear."

"Thank god."

Abby's hand slides beneath your panties finally. She's amused with the way you spread your thighs wider to accommodate her, your legs wrapping around her waist now.

"That's a good girl," she mumbles, fingers gathering some of your wetness. She nearly shudders at how fucking hot all of this is. You, your stuttered breath, and the thrill of fucking you somewhere so public. "Shh-shh."

Two fingers push past your folds and your hands grip her broadened shoulders. It's a stretch, those thick fingers stuffed pretty inside you, but the feeling is more than welcome.

"Fuck, Abs."

"I know, just be quiet."

Her fingers begin to move, slow at first as she tests the waters, and gradually it reaches a faster pace. Your sounds are even better than she could have anticipated they'd be. Gentle, short moans. So, so cute, and all for her ears' pleasure only.

"Open those eyes, baby. You need to keep watch."

You do your best. You force your eyes open and stare at the blurry door behind Abby.

Her digits reach in deep, they stretch you wide, and her thumb laves over your clit simultaneously. She feels the tension build in your body. Your fingers bruise her shoulders, your legs tremble, and you muffle your rising volume by hiding in the crook of her neck.

"C'mon, baby," Abby encourages, her free hand groping and squeezing your butt. "Gonna cum for me?"

She has finally conquered your attitude. Left you unable to do anything but moan, and fuck, your legs feel like jelly now. She revels in your jittering, in the clenching of your hole around her fingers.

"Good girl." The praise, sweetened further by that smooth voice, leaves you reeling. And like the prick she is, she just has to use your own words back at you. "Wasn't that hard to shut up, was it? You did so good for me."

You hum tiredly in response, weak fingers fastening your trousers again. "I hate you."

"Hate me enough to come home with me?"

Ha.

"Of course."

[godmadeaterribleerror]

No Love Lost Series Masterlist

Read on A03! - Listen to the Playlist!

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, mental health issues, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff.

Series Summary

Three years ago you were normal, the only demons you had to fight were your own, and you the most you knew of Vought and the Boys were what you saw on TV. But then you met Homelander at a stupid party, and woke up the next morning in a cell.

After almost two and a half years of you being Homelander's little project, Soldier Boy was woken up only go rouge and be put back under. Somewhere in there, you escaped. And before Queen Maeve went underground, she told William Butcher about the Anomaly, a powerful supe who recently escaped Vought captivity and may have an agenda against Homelander.

One month later, the Boys found you.

You spend the next five months helping them best you can, though your control over your powers is weak and your fear of Homelander makes you useless in combat. But you get an idea. A stupid, dangerous idea that turns you into Soldier Boy's keeper, giving him a second chance to take down Homelander, you hanging over his shoulder, a threat should he want to go nuclear again. It's exhausting and frustrating, and you might kill him and yourself as soon as this is over, but you said whatever it takes.

And this is what it takes.

Author's Note

This story is non-canon compliant, with the two main differences being;

1) Butcher doesn't have brain cancer, because I said so.

2) All of Gen V didn't take place, because I don't want to deal with the whole supe-plauge thing. Also that's too many characters to keep track of squad.

Because of this, the story will start in a similar setting as s4e5, but with different events leading up to it, and will deal with similar themes and have similar events to the rest of s4, but at an inconsistent rate. If you have any questions about other, smaller changes I have made, feel free to ask!

Navigation Key

❤️‍🔥 = Smut

🚩 = Additional Warnings

Chapter List

Chapter 1 - Where Winning Looks Like Losing Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress 🚩 Chapter 4 - You Might Be The Same As Me Chapter 5 - Popped, Cool, and Ready to Go Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence 🚩 Chapter 8 - I Just Find My Way Back ❤️‍🔥🚩 Chapter 9 - Can't Cover It Up ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 10 - Lead Me To The Ark ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks Chapter 12 - While My Blood's Still Flowing Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 16 - Let It Flood ❤️‍🔥 🚩 Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir Chapter 18 - Something In The Static ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back 🚩 Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down Chapter 21 - Some Things You Just Can't Speak About ❤️‍🔥 🚩 Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You Chapter 23 - Wherever You're Going ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 25 - All I Know ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 26 - I’ve Loved Everything About You That Hurts ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 27 - Just A Shot Away 🚩 Chapter 28 - Something That I'm Supposed to Be ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 29 - All My Bets On You (11/26) Chapter 30 - Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh (12/3)

Bonus Footage (Standalone Chapters)

Dying’s Up to Me - A Prologue. Takes place 6ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩 Back to Here - Request! They get horny at the dining table, and Butcher takes it personally. Takes place in Chapter 14. It's So Simple - You make Ben do icebreakers. He's a little bitch about it. Takes place in Chapter 14. Just Your Time - You give Ben internet lessons. Takes place in Chapter 14. As Much As I Do - Request! Ben finds you dancing, is immediately very normal about it. Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15. Calling Your Name - Ben's first birthday awake isn't great. Takes place in Chapter 19. ❤️‍🔥 I Skip My Pride - You share some music with Ben over text. Takes place in Chapter 22. The Only Place That I Call Home - It's team game night, and everyone is sick of you and Ben's shit. Takes place in Chapter 24. ❤️‍🔥 Can't Help Myself - Request! Ben has a breeding kink, and you're incredibly horny, so it works. Takes place in around Chapter 24 and Chapter 25. ❤️‍🔥 Anywhere Else Is Hollow - A halloween special episode! Takes place in Chapter 25. It Was Smiling Down - A Ryan pov Chapter. Takes place between Chapter 26 and Chapter 27. A Call To Motion - Request! There's a lot of things you're good at. Sex with Ben is one of them. Takes places in Chapter 28.❤️‍🔥 I’ll Hold Your Hand (11/24)

[eldritch-spouse]

Full: Twitter/X; Postimages

TW: Parasocial obsession; Sugarbaby!reader

[Fem reader]

It's odd to think how things have escalated to this point.

When you started this whole "sugar companionship", "angel" thing, you didn't exactly expect anything to come of it. More of a last ditch effort to bring in some much appreciated side money, and fulfill someone's social needs while you're at it. It would be a win-win situation, right?

You don't remember how Viridis showed up. Probably through DMs in your social media account. You didn't post too much of yourself there aside from a few photos where you felt particularly pretty, and apparently, your taste for finer items showed itself there, enough for you to get hit up by something other than a scambot and creeps.

In his defense, the guy was never rude towards you. He didn't barge in begging for nude photos or demanding attention. Viridis just told you he thought you were gorgeous, and he wanted to see you living the lavish life you deserved.

Before you could even reply, a notification drops, displaying a sum of money transferred to you. The amount was large enough to have you choke on your own saliva, hysterically cackling.

Ever since then, he's been a permanent figure in your life, constantly there through thick and thin, someone you could even call a friend, even if there's a financial power dynamic always involved in your interactions.

It was hard not to get somewhat attached to your "donator".

You got to know each other, after all. You told him about what you do for a living, and he said he was an important figure in the ring of Sloth. You are both single. He's had bad experiences with former girlfriends and feels incredibly lonely. When you felt depressed, Viridis was there to console you, a generous tip accompanying his request for you to "Go cheer yourself up ;)".

And when he felt bad, he'd buy you something, ask you to unwrap it, send him a voice message saying you loved it.

You don't know when that turned into sending him videos saying you loved him.

It feels weird. Kind of wrong. But the more money he blows on you, the more you get to do all the things your finances never allowed before, the happier you are. So what, if he just wants a little good morning text with hearts and a picture of you dressed in the clothes he buys for you? It's puzzling how he got your measurements so right without asking, but maybe he just has an eye for that kind of thing.

Eventually, things escalated to video calls. And you finally got to see Viridis.

He's a surprisingly well-kept imp, with peculiar looking horns and glazed white eyes. Much better than what the morbid side of your brain was conjuring in its growing restlessness. He'd put so much effort into that paid ten minute call, and seemed so gleeful that you'd been wearing an outfit he put together. More than that, once the nervous jitters were shed, he actually made for a great conversation partner- Were it not for the alarm, you two might have spent an hour or more rambling together.

It comes as no surprise that you eventually started doing meal time calls. He'd pay to eat with you through video call, usually dinner time, or during his breaks. He seemed excited about them every time he "booked" these sessions, even going as far as asking what you'd be eating, and if he could pay you to get the exact same type of food as his. How could you refuse?

Viridis would tell you about his day, you'd tell him about yours, and the two of you would quell your loneliness that way. Sometime he'd hint at things he wanted to buy for you, gouging your reaction, waiting for that shine in your eyes. It always seemed to put a glow on the imp's face whenever you thanked him and got bashful over his many contributions.

He'd say I love you, my pretty bijou, and as agreed, you'd say it back to him in a convincing manner.

Viridis' latest idea involves spending his day off, scheduled to match yours, "with you". As usual, he was straightforward with what he wanted, and paid more than you'd reasonably stipulate for such a service. Enough money that you'd be incredibly foolish to decline, for a single day of sucking up to him- It's not even hard to suck up to the demon, he seems to melt pretty easily from the most basic of praise or admiration.

The imp wants to video call a routine he built for you, essentially. From the moment you put on your makeup and fix your hair to leave, to breakfast where he specified, then a shopping trip to whatever locations you desire, taking breaks for whatever needs you must fulfill in between, down to the moment where you get ready for bed, under the covers, and wish him good night.

It didn't seem so bad, if only a little overwhelming given there's a lot more interaction involved. And so far, things have gone pretty well! You can't lie and say that you're not enjoying getting to spend even more money on all your favorite brands, after all. Sure, at least two separate employees asked if you were in a long distance relationship -Something Viridis was all too eager to confirm- But there's hardly been a hiccup besides that.

" Hey, what do you think about these? " You point the camera at a set of dangle earrings, made of a beautiful rose gold and diamond, molded in the shape of three little hearts. You don't mention the price tag, but it's very visible.

The demon, who appears to be reclinging in a balcony of sorts, hums. " They'd look cute on you, I like the pavé on it. Get them. "

" Hold on, there's more- " You shuffle all the bags you're holding to pan over to a different display. " What about these? "

" Sure, but you're getting the heart ones. " Viridis insists, then pauses as you study the differently styled jewelry. " I should get you something with Hell's gold, the color definitely pops more, I think you'd love some of the stuff we have here. "

" Mhmm, I bet. " You absentmindedly respond. " Too bad I don't live in Hell, hah. "

There's a slightly heavier silence for a few seconds as you worry if you've touched a nerve.

" You could come visit, bijou. "

You resist the urge to snort. " Viridis, I- "

" You know I'd pay for the expenses, right? Get you a nice hotel in Sloth, it's one of the calmer rings, and I'd come pick you up so you're not walking around alone. "

The demon smiles hopefully, taking a sip of what you assume must be some kind of sparkling wine. Nothing less dignified in a glass as unique as the one he flaunts.

" You know that's... " It's hard to deny him without outright sounding ungrateful. That's one thing you've been noticing lately, how hard it seems to deny him. " I... "

Your hesitation is answer enough, making him visibly deflate. There's a flash of sourness on his face, though it fades quickly. " I get it. That's a big step. We can talk about it another time. "

Thank fuck.

You leave that store with possibly the most beautiful pair of earrings you've ever owned, proceed to wrestle a multitude of bags into your car -Thankful Viridis can't see you sweat it out- And proceed to fix yourself up in preparation for the dinner call. It's a lot easier to go through than the entire shopping spree was. You're home, it's just the two of you, the same as any other meal call you've arranged.

" Was today fun for you, bijou? " He sighs, ever enamored it seems.

" Of course! It's always fun when I get to shop with you. " It's not even a lie. Painted nails graze over the empty pasta plate when you pick new kitchenware up. " Let me just put these in the sink. "

" Uhm, before that- " The imp interrupts as soon as you stand. " Can I ask you for something? "

" ... Yeah? "

" I was wondering if you could try out what you bought today... For me. "

" On- On camera? " You gulp, suddenly feeling a lot more timid.

" Yes. " Viridis scratches the base of his horn. " I'd just... I don't know, it makes me feel closer to you than just seeing pictures of you with it on. I'll compensate, don't worry. "

You don't doubt him.

Part of you really wants to say no. In the midst of all this, you've never once undressed for him. You've put on risky outfits that toyed with the lines of common decency, but that's not as intimate as this.

Which also means he'll pay well.

Fuck.

No.

Yes.

He's waiting...

" Uhh- Erm- I... Y-Yeah, I guess we can try that after I organize things. "

" Super! " He winks at you. " Call me when you're ready. "

And you do. With some liquid courage in your system and a healthy amount of love for disposable income, you call Jayde with all the bags laid out around your bedroom, and the phone positioned just so that he can see you stand, and the reflection of your back on the tall mirror behind you.

You're shaking lightly, it feels like the first call you had with him.

When Viridis answers, you almost don't know what to say.

He's... In his bedroom. At least you've seen it enough times to recognize it as such. Distinctly topless, however. It's the first time you've seen him somewhat undressed. Maybe he's trying to be humorous, as if saying he's half-naked in solidarity with you. It doesn't stop you from staring at a moderately attractive figure.

" Hey! You ready, sweetie? " He grins with that jagged mouth.

" Mhm, yeah. " There's a clearing of the throat. " Why don't you pick the first one? "

He did, all too eagerly. You were quick to shuffle in and out of clothes, cheeks heated, a tiny smile on your face, hoping you could simply ignore the growing discomfort. The demon looked thrilled every second of the way, and even if you could somehow feel him ogling the generous slices of skin you'd show, he made an effort to keep talking just so you'd have something else to focus on.

It's okay, he's only seeing you in your underwear from time to time. You're just doing him a one-time favor. You can forget about it later.

" I guess that's it! " You pant, spinning again so that the imp can see how the lace looks on the back of the dress he bought you. " Boy, that was a lot. "

There's some shuffling coming from the phone, he seems to be sitting straighter now. " I'm... Pretty sure I got you something else. "

There's a long pause. You almost pretend you didn't hear him while you readjust the fabric on you.

" A-Ah? Really? "

" Yeah, check those bags bijou, pretty sure that's not all. " He urges. You can hear a faint tap. tap. tap. from his side.

Well, you tried.

Viridis isn't lying, there's another set he bought for you. Except, this set, is lingerie underwear.

Throughout your shopping trip, you'd forgotten that the local mall has a lingerie store. It wasn't one you had the chance to go to many times, since everything there is so expensive, and before Viridis came along your wallet would just scream in its vicinity...

Nevertheless, you weren't cautious enough to hide it from the camera, didn't think you had to, only to be proven wrong when the imp calls for you to halt and get in. It was awkward. It was very awkward. But he seemed enamored with a green set. It had floral designs covering plenty of see-through space, framing delicate parts of the body such as the nipples.

It is a lovely garment, you won't deny that. But you know the main draw for him was that it just so happened to be a shade of green which alluded to his username. It was viridian green. You looked it up from mild paranoia, yes. This was even more personal.

He insisted you got that one, specifically that one. And so, you did.

It's right there, on the last little bag.

God fucking damn it.

" Mm y-yeah, now that you mention it, I think there is something left, right. "

He hums, and you try to draw out the search as much as you can, in spite of the fucking thing being right there, practically staring you in the eyes. You return to the camera's field of view holding the lingerie up timidly.

" How could you forget that one? It's probably the prettiest thing I ever bought you. " Viridis swoons.

" ... You think so? Everything you get me is pretty, Viridis. " Distract him distract him distract-

Predictably, he blushes a little, a small 'heh' escaping him. " Jayde. Call me Jayde. "

Your head snaps up. Oh wow, okay. We've reached that point.

" Jayde. " His face lifts visibly. " Ah, thanks. It's very cute. "

The silence that follows is more tentative, unspoken words hanging in the air.

" Glad you think so... Can't wait to see how it looks on you. " He grins wide, reminding you, for a fraction of a second, that you're dealing with a demonic monster.

" Hahah, o-ok, let me just turn the camera- "

" Actually- " Your heart sinks. " I'd like to see you put it on. "

" The lingerie? " A bit of franticness bleeds into your tone.

" Yes. "

" R-Right now? "

Jayde chuckles. " Well, it's the only thing that's left, isn't it bijou? "

You think about it for a couple of seconds, wherein the reality of your situation seems to sink in. Can you truly deny him? You don't think Jayde would have an explosive reaction to rejection, but then again, you never rejected his suggestions before. What if he gets offended? Pulls away entirely? You'll never be able to afford this lifestyle without him.

What if all of this has stopped being in your control, and, in the end, you transferred the reigns to someone else?

He reads the reluctance plainly written on your face.

" ... Just this one time, sweetie. " He coaxes. " You're incredibly beautiful, you know that? I'd give a few fingers to see you. "

He continues to speak over the mental rut you've been thrown into.

" Any man would be lucky to have a jewel like you. I want to keep spoiling you forever. Please, put it on for me? "

You don't know what it was. Perhaps the fear of losing his money, maybe it was the praise, or simply the pure desire to get this over with- But, you take off your top.

The scene isn't sexy or mischievous, you just glance away timidly as you lower the straps of your bra and reach back to unclasp it. Your slowness may be unintentionally teasing him, and from the small glances you steal at your phone, he looks stupidly concentrated, cheeks nearly as dark as yours as he finally -Finally!- Gets to see your tits.

Air catches in your throat, you can't quite tell if it's the thrill of exposing yourself or pure anxiety.

" They're gorgeous... " He murmurs. You almost didn't hear it.

Slipping the new fabric in is easier, the garment is designed with maximum comfort in mind and settles nicely on your chest, especially when you arrange your breasts into position.

" Perfect. " Jayde sighs. " I wish I could touch you. You're so perfect. "

If you weren't running hotter than a steaming kettle before, you are now. All you manage to respond with is a hum and nervous giggling.

" Put the whole thing on. "

There's a full-body shiver when you start taking your panties off. In all your nerves, you fail to remember that the mirror behind you makes it so Jayde doesn't just get a view of your mons, he also gets to stare at your ass unhindered.

" Fffucking- "

He whispers something you don't notice when the fabric drops to the floor, and you lift a leg away to pick it up.

You're sliding the new ones up your bare legs when there's a little too much shuffling being heard from his side. Not a lot, but just enough to make you escape your own internal panic.

You only now realize that you can't see his hands anywhere. One is definitely holding the phone close to him, the other... Who knows. His shoulder shifts.

" Uhm, hahah, what are you doing there? " You jokingly ask, trying to reduce the awkwardness of the situation by insinuating something ridiculous.

The teasing look shatters when he doesn't immediately respond or laugh it off. In fact, he looks like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

" N-!! No way! " You hurriedly fix the panties in place, choking on a breath.

" Sorry- I'm sorry, bijou- " He attempts a wobbly smile, not even denying it. " You just look so adorable flustered. You don't have to see it... Just pretend I'm not... "

Pretend I'm not jerking off, he means.

You can barely raise your voice above a whisper, doing a full turn so he can see how the lingerie sits on your body. Embarrassment has you grabbing your arm and trying to close your legs further, unwittingly flaunting exactly the curves he wants to see.

" You're gorgeous- " He repeats, eyes lidded, something far beyond lust shining in them. " You're the prettiest woman alive. You're sweet, you don't push me away or get spooked. I'm... So happy someone like you gives me the time of day. "

You don't know what to say, don't know what to do besides standing there as a monster audibly gets off on the sight of you in luxury lingerie.

" It's been too long since I met a girl like you. "

You don't quite like the intensity of his stare. Even if no man has ever directed words as flattering as these towards you, it feels like something is too intense about his demeanor.

" Jayde... " You cough. " Are you...? "

" Close. " He admits, laughing breathily. " I've never been this hard before. "

Apparently, he just said it to see you freeze and get even more flustered. " Please hurry up... "

" Are you tired, sweetheart? " His tone is near condescending.

" Y-Yeah. " Anything to speed it along.

" Uhuh, I bet. " Jayde's breathing gets shallower. " You'll go to bed soon, don't worry. "

" Mhm... " God, you're dying inside.

" I love you, bijou. "

Help.

" I... I love you too, Jayde. " You had to drag each word out of your tongue.

That did it. He's tossing his head back and furrowing his brows. You can hear the way Jayde stops breathing to hold any noises in, a groan still makes it through, you hate the traitorous flutter of your pussy that followed.

" I'm... Going to put my pajamas on now. Goodnight Jayde. " You try to break the silence while he recovers.

The expression on the imp's face can only be described as love-drunk, and sweaty.

" Goodnight, sweetie. "

As soon as the call drops, you make an inhuman noise of shame and bury yourself under the covers, kicking shopping bags aside.

It must have been mere minutes before a notification drops.

There's no doubt in you that's the demon's "compensation".

[blarshwritezz]

hallooo

can i request angry sex with your teacher when hes just so angry that you keep getting low grades on his subject

hope this gets noticed ^^^

Why most certainly!

Teacher x Failing Student Reader

M x gn reader

TW - NSFW, noncon, abuse of power(?), sadism

You were his favorite student. Never annoying, never acting out, exactly his type, and you had so much potential. But it was all wasted on useless things! You could have been putting that big, beautiful brain to good use, but instead you focused on other things! Useless things that would never help you in the real world!

So of course, being a concerned teacher, he simply had to ask you to stay after class so he could conference with you. So he could find a way to rectify this situation.

But it did not go like that. Not at all.

"If failing your stupid class is really going to ruin my whole life, I'll just become a hooker. I don't need anything you teach here for that." You said sarcastically. It was (mostly) a joke. Bit seriously, your life goals didn't include the subject he taught.

But hearing that really sent him over the edge. A hooker? You? Some bitch on the street offering up your body for money? Maybe you didn't realize exactly how people treated hookers. Maybe he should show you. It was only fair. After all, you always get him so hard whenever you're so close to him.

Without another useless word, he roughly grabbed your scalp and forced your lips to meet his. His tongue invaded your mouth, exploring as his other hand quickly undid his belt and pulled down his pants. His throbbing cock sprung free, already leaking precum.

He disconnected his lips from yours, only giving you a second to breathe before forcing you head down to his cock.

"Lick it. You think you're ready for the life of a whore, then prove it." He demanded, his grip on your scalp tightening slightly.

Nervously, you did as he said. You licked his veiny cock up and down, the salty taste of his pre hitting your tongue.

"Now open wide." Without even waiting for you to do it yourself, he slipped his thumb past your lips and forced them open. He guided his cock into your mouth, making you gag when he hit the back of your throat.

He fucked your mouth hard, probably bruising your throat and making you cry. "That's a good fucking whore."

You looked up, meeting his eyes. He smirked seeing your tears, only more turned on by the sight. He seemed to get off at the fact that you were in pain.

"Damn slut...always turning me on. This is your damn fault." His fingers duh deeper into your scalp, holding you down as he finally came. The hot, white liquid spilled from your lips as you tried to take it all in. It drippled down your chin and onto your chest, staining your shirt.

Finally he let you go and at last you got a gasp of. You coughed out a bit of cum, catching your breath. But then he grabbed you chin and roughly forced you too look back up at him.

"You know, a good whore would swallow. Now clean your self up and get you damn work done."

Yayy I did it (finally)

[laneywrld]

futile devices | Lewis Hamilton

request: you have a real talent for angst hehe. can i request one with lewis where he broke up with reader bcs he said he needed a break. but then not long after he was out with other women. the breakup broke reader she turned into a whole diff person. and she was like "i dont think any of that was real" when she talked abt her past with lewis? please tear my heart apart into pieces, im begging you

word count: 2.4k

warnings: ANGSTTT, dissociation, therapy, religious talks.

listen while you read for the full experience:

apple music, spotify

You read something once, it goes, did god create humans because he was lonely or humans God because they were lonely?

Now, you were never strongly religious, enough to go to church three times a week or remember to pray before each meal or bedtime, a part of you wants to believe that there is a God. A flicker of you does feel like, hey, there has to be someone out there pushing my hand like this, there has to be a reason for this.

And that's human nature, needing a reason.

When you don't have a reasonable explanation for things, your mind searches for that reasoning. History shows, that when man knows nothing man creates, look at mythology for an example.

In ancient cultures, the world was filled with mysteries—natural events, life and death, the changing seasons—that seemed inexplicable without invoking a higher power or supernatural beings.

So, what did humans do?

They have created gods and mythical figures to explain phenomena they didn't understand.

In a way it's a beautiful thing, what that has done is infuse our real world with a sense of order and meaning in a world that could often seem chaotic and purposeless.

That is what life is without reasoning, a big fucking question.

Humanity sought not only to explain the world around them but also to find their place within it, weaving their existence into the larger tapestry of the cosmos.

We have an enduring need to seek meaning in the face of the unfathomable, to transform the mysterious into the comprehensible, and to infuse our world with a sense of purpose and coherence.

The point is this, maybe you were blind to it all, maybe your brain forced you to believe it. Forced you to see things as they weren't.

Lewis Hamilton never loved you, he never even cared. You can see that now.

The point is this: maybe you were blind to it all, maybe your brain forced you to believe it, to see things as they weren't. For the longest time, you believed Lewis Hamilton loved you. His charming smile, the way he looked at you, the tender moments you shared—they all seemed so real, so genuine.

But in the end, it was all a façade.

It started to unravel one evening when Lewis sat you down, a serious look on his face. "I need a break," he said, his voice devoid of the warmth you were used to. "I need to find myself."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to understand, to support him in his quest for self-discovery. But as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the truth began to surface. The only thing Lewis found was himself under different women.

The news and rumors reached you like whispers in the wind, each one a dagger to your heart.

It boggled you, it really did. How could someone who seemed so loving, so dedicated, turn out to be so deceitful? You replayed your memories, searching for signs, for clues you might have missed. Maybe you were blind to it all, or maybe you wanted so desperately to believe in his love that you ignored the red flags.

There were moments that stood out now, in harsh clarity. The late nights he claimed were for training, the mysterious phone calls he brushed off, the growing distance in his eyes. You had chalked it up to stress, to the demands of his career. But now, it all made sense. It was never about finding himself; it was about finding excuses.

The realization hurt more than you could have imagined. You felt betrayed, not just by Lewis, but by your own heart for leading you astray. The love you thought was real had been a carefully constructed illusion, and you were left to pick up the pieces of your shattered trust.

Did god create humans because he was lonely or humans God because they were lonely?

You were lonely, and you filled that void with Lewis, even if it wasn't real, you allowed him to fill every crevice of your life with a warmth and excitement you had previously been lacking.

It became clear that it's a bad religion to love someone who could never love you back. Loving Lewis had been like worshiping a false god, investing your heart and soul into something that could never reciprocate your devotion.

You didn't know who you were without Lewis.

And that was the problem, yeah you realize now that true love, the kind that is worth believing in, is mutual and nurturing, not one-sided and destructive.

But he's fucking ruined you to the point of no return.

You always thought that those people who let their lives be flipped upside down over a breakup were dramatic. You used to believe that heartbreak was something you could just push through, that it was a part of life everyone had to endure and move past. Yet now, you understood fully. It's crazy how losing someone—or rather, being left by someone you thought loved you—could indeed flip your own life upside down and launch you back further than you knew you could go.

There was no point of return. The realization that Lewis never truly loved you was a blow that shattered your world. The man who once filled your days with laughter and your nights with tender whispers had left you with a void so profound it felt like you were lost in an endless abyss.

Lewis made you lack a belief in everything.

The trust you once held sacred, the love you thought was mutual, the future you had envisioned together—everything now seemed like a cruel illusion. His departure didn't just break your heart; it broke your spirit. You found yourself doubting your worth, your judgment, your ability to ever truly know someone.

You didn't know what was real or fake.

Nights were the hardest. Alone in the quiet of your room, memories would flood your mind—the way he used to hold you, the promises he made, the plans you both had. The betrayal felt like an echoing void, reminding you of the deception hidden behind charming smiles. You felt untethered, adrift in a sea of emotions with no solid ground in sight.

You began to see the world through a lens of skepticism. Where once you saw possibilities and hope, now you saw uncertainty and doubt. Lewis’ betrayal had sown seeds of mistrust in your heart, making it difficult to believe in anything or anyone. The optimism that once colored your outlook on life had been replaced by a grim resignation.

You didn't even know if you believed in God anymore, or purpose, or happiness. Lewis had taken every ounce of reasoning from you. Your brain couldn't decipher what was real or fake.

Was it real or was it fake?

Did Lewis love you or was this a sick game?

Did he love you or were you just lonely?

You didn't know what was real or fake, and it made you feel so fucking crazy.

The questions haunted you, relentlessly looping through your mind.

You replayed your relationship over and over, scrutinizing every moment, every gesture. What was real? What was fake? The uncertainty gnawed at your sanity, eroding the foundation of your life.

The world around you seemed distorted as if reality itself had become an unreliable narrator in the story of your life.

Your faith, which had once been a source of comfort and strength, now felt fragile and distant. You questioned everything you had once held dear, everything that had given your life meaning. Was there a higher power? A divine purpose? The betrayal had not only broken your heart but also shaken the very core of your beliefs.

Purpose felt like a cruel joke. The plans you had made, the dreams you had shared with Lewis, all seemed meaningless now. Happiness, once a tangible goal, now felt like an elusive mirage, always just out of reach. The void left by Lewis's departure was filled with a consuming darkness that threatened to swallow you whole.

You tried to find solace in the familiar, in the routine, but nothing felt the same. Your friends and family offered words of comfort, but their reassurances felt hollow, unable to penetrate the depths of your despair. You were trapped in a maze of confusion and pain, each turn leading you further into the unknown.

There were moments when you questioned your sanity. The line between reality and illusion had become so blurred that you wondered if you were losing your mind. You felt disconnected from yourself, from the person you used to be as if you were living in a surreal nightmare from which there was no escape.

You felt mindless, maybe he had taken your mind with him.

It felt as if your head could collapse at any given moment.

Your family wanted you to try therapy; you weren't yourself. Maybe, aside from taking your mind, Lewis also took the person you were with him. Therapy was hard, and though you've had session after session, you feel the same. Where was the progress everyone promised? Your therapist's voice drones on and on, and you feel like you're watching her from the hollowness like you've taken a backseat to your own life. Every single day felt like you were watching your life from another person's gaze, or like you were sitting inside your brain watching from your eyes, except it wasn't you.

Your therapist is still talking. Nothing she says helps; you want her to shut up as she spews the importance of finding yourself again. You want to scream at her as she preaches about purpose, but when you zero in, you're still quiet, eyes dead and hands folded. You're screaming inside your head, but she keeps talking.

You don't mean to cut her off, or maybe you do, but when the words tumble from your lips, she cocks her head in a way that tells you she's going to have fun studying this session later in the day.

"I feel like I'm not even here," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like I'm watching my life happen to someone else."

Your therapist pauses, her pen hovering over her notepad. "That's a significant observation," she says slowly, as if measuring each word. "It sounds like you're experiencing dissociation, a common response to trauma."

You want to roll your eyes at her clinical response, but you can't muster the energy.

"Why does it matter?" you ask, your tone flat. "Knowing what's wrong doesn't make it better. I'm still...gone."

She leans forward slightly, her eyes searching yours for a flicker of connection. "It's the first step," she says. "Understanding what you're experiencing can help us find a way to bring you back. It's not a quick process, but it's a start."

You feel a surge of frustration. "Everyone keeps saying that. 'It's a process,' 'It's a journey,' 'It takes time.' But what if I never get back to who I was? What if I'm stuck like this forever?"

Your therapist doesn't flinch. "It's a valid fear," she acknowledges. "But healing isn't about returning to who you were. It's about integrating your experiences and finding a new sense of self. It’s about moving forward, not backward."

Her words echo in your mind, but they don't penetrate the numbness you feel. "I don't even know who I am anymore," you admit, the confession feeling like a weight lifted and a burden simultaneously.

"That's why we're here," she says gently. "To help you rediscover yourself. To help you heal. It's okay to feel lost right now. What's important is that you're here, trying to find your way."

You sit in silence, her words hanging in the air. Despite your resistance, a small part of you wants to believe her, to hope that maybe, just maybe, you can find your way out of this darkness.

But for now, you're still watching from the hollow place, detached and distant. Therapy might be a lifeline, but it feels like you're grasping at straws. You hope that someday, the promises of progress will become more than empty words, that you’ll find a way to step back into your own life, whole and strong.

But for now, that hope feels unrealistic. All you want is to know what was real. Were you that lonely? You had never felt lonely before him, never felt like a piece of you was missing. Before Lewis, you felt content with life, fulfilled.

The question haunted you. How had you become so dependent on his presence, his validation? You had always prided yourself on your independence, your ability to find joy and meaning in your own life. Friends, family, your work—these had always been enough. So why, after Lewis, did everything feel so empty?

Your mind raced back to the beginning, to the thrill and excitement of new love. You remembered how he made you feel special like you were the center of his universe.

It was intoxicating, a heady rush that blurred the lines between reality and fantasy. You realized now that you had mistaken the intensity of those feelings for something deeper, something real.

In the quiet of your therapy sessions, you wrestled with these thoughts. Your therapist's words often felt like background noise, drowned out by the clamor of your own doubts and insecurities. Yet, there was a part of you that recognized the need to confront these feelings, to understand why you had allowed yourself to become so entwined with someone who ultimately proved unworthy of your adoration.

Were you lonely? Or was it that Lewis had awakened a vulnerability you didn't know existed?

His departure left a gaping wound, exposing the raw edges of your heart. The loneliness you felt now wasn't just the absence of his presence, but the loss of the illusion of love he had created. It was the shattering of a carefully constructed facade that had made you feel whole, if only for a fleeting moment.

As you sat in your therapist's office, the background noise of her voice suddenly halted. For the first time, you murmured a sentence that showed progress, even if it was wrapped in sadness.

"I don't think any of it was real."

the way I just wrote this in 38 minutes, in my dark ass room with the linked song on replay while it's raining. what a great day. I'm really convinced that I can only write angst!

to the anon who called me sad and smutty ilyyyyy 🫶🏽😭 I'm making it my bio

also, I don't have access to the form for the taglist right now, so if you would like to be added or if you already submitted your user, pls just send me an ask with your user pls <3

[kitagenre]

achilles' heel | hoshina x f!reader

synopsis: the vice-captain has always been invisible, the perfect adjective for someone who is in a job where people come and go.

warning: language! (aside from that there's none... i think)

a/n: just very self-indulgent ! i hope my hoshina gurlies will love this 🤞🏼🥰🤍

"What's the situation in Tachikawa?"

"Not good. The amount of Yojus is continuously increasing," Konomi reported, "Shinomiya is helping a ton right now. But, this will be really, really bad if you don't go here immediately, Vice-Captain,"

Out of all the days, he had to go to the headquarters today for the monthly briefing with the general. Out of all the days, he thought in disbelief. He should've taken that unsettling feeling of seeing the squad, and you, smiling at each other this morning before he and Mina went.

"How many more minutes?" Mina asked the officer who was preparing for the special transportation that they would use to go back to Tachikawa base.

"30 minutes, Captain—"

"Make it ten," Sochiro says with finality.

"Vice-Captain Hoshina, that will be impossible to do—" Maybe it's a combination of fear, anxiety, and desperation, but in the blink of an eye, Sochiro grabs the collar of the officer in front of him, "Make it ten."

"Hoshina." Mina calls his name, making him stop. Holding onto Sochiro's shoulder, Mina prompted him to step back from the officer, "Please make it as fast as you can. We cannot waste more time."

"R-Roger!"

"Calm down, Vice-Captain," Mina spoke again, "They will be fine. Our officers are strong."

He knows that. He knows that more than anyone. He trained those officers with his own hands and pushed them every day to their limits. He's the one who guided them from the very beginning. But there's this... fear... that he cannot explain. And he hates himself for that.

Soshiro knows better than anyone that attachments should not be fostered in this line of work. They have a job with no certainty of tomorrow. People come and go all the time. As someone who has been here for the past years, gained and lost comrades in every mission, Soshiro thinks that he'll be smart enough to not fall in love with anyone. But that day... was just different.

When you walked into the exam room and he first saw you on the screen from the operations room, your hair was a little messy but in a pretty way, you were smiling at everyone, and you were so happy to get that 7% combat power for the first time. You were the most gentle in that batch, aside from being the most beautiful, and something about you messed with his brain.

It's like you wore your empathy like a weapon.

The first time he interacted with you alone was after your first mission. Soshiro got injured after saving an officer. He doesn't usually get injured with small-fry Kaijus, besides, he's one of the strongest in the Defense Force, but the timing was off and the only thing he wants is to save that officer. You did the first aid for his bleeding arm and continuously checked on him after that.

Soshiro couldn't explain it. He just woke up one day without the walls he hardly built up and found himself scared of losing you. He found himself secretly pursuing you inside the base. Giving you small gifts like it's a mission. Leaving just because flowers, mostly peonies, whenever he can drop by that flower shop near the Hoshina mansion. Leaving you notes with a smile on his face because the whole dorm is wiretapped. Requesting day-offs that coincide with yours. Soshiro was confused, but he was happy.

He shuts his eyes. How fucking selfish of him to only think of you right now, right?

"Let's go, Hoshina. They are ready."

Reports are continuously done through their earpieces. He can only listen. As long as he can still hear your name in action. Please, you have to hold on. Just until they are back to the base.

"Fortitude 9! A daikaiju just appeared! Shinomiya and ___ are facing it right now!"

Shivers went down his spine, and a wave of anger laced his voice as he shouted, "Tell them to back off! Are they fucking crazy?!"

You are not dumb. You are one of the most improved officers. But Fortitude 9 is just too much for your current stats. Hell, it's even too much for Kikoru right now who is much more advanced than you when it comes to skills.

"Hoshina." Mina calls him again, "Trust our officers."

"But—"

"They are not weaklings," Mina says.

You surely aren't. But he is, he admits in his mind. When it comes to you, he is.

The ride to Tachikawa base is agonizing.

When they reached the base, the fire caused by the raid was already gobbling up the buildings. Immediately, Sochiro went straight to the location of the Daikaiju and found you and Kikoru in an awful situation. You're down and unconscious after colliding with a wall.

Kikoru is still okay, but both of you need to go now.

"Vice-Captain!"

"Get out of here, Shinomiya." He commanded.

Kikoru stood up, wanting to get you out of the situation too, but Soshiro noticed her foot injury, "Get out! Now!"

"Vice-Captain, __ is still—"

"Worry about yourself." He says. It's an order. Kikoru knows.

He is a hypocrite. Because the first thing he did was to get the Kaiju away from where you're lying down as much as possible, "I am definitely going to kill you, disgusting piece of shit."

All his life, Soshiro was undermined. He's not good enough. He's not strong enough. His katana will never make a difference. He won't be able to save other people with it. But he did. He became Vice-Captain. Ashiro trusted him. His officers believe in him. But if he won't be able to save you today, then maybe they are right.

"Do you know who that girl is, you ugly fucker?" Sochiro asked the monster in front of him, "Someone you shouldn't touch because I'll definitely tear you to pieces if you do. Go to fucking hell now."

Kaijus has always angered Sochiro. But, the level of rage he has right now is just different and even Mina was shocked. They gave them no time to attack using big weapons as Sochiro went for the core of the Daikaju on his own.

They seized the Kaiju's body in possession for further studies and potential help that it could give the Defense Force. With blood on his forehead, Sochiro sprinted towards you after the kaiju was down. Pulling you close to his arms. You have a heartbeat, but very very injured. He still sighs in relief. As long as there's a heartbeat, "__," he calls for you faintly.

Broken ribs. A head concussion. Damaged weapons and suit maxed out. You really did your best out there. But you're still not a hero. You will never be. You just did your best because you know that he will come. There's no way he won't.

Thanks to the advanced technology of the Defense Force, your recovery was much faster. The Tachikawa base is under renovation after the huge damage and you were transferred to the care of Division 1 in the meantime, along with Kikoru and the hottest name in the force right now, Kafka Hibino.

Kikoru told you everything that happened. It turned out that Kafka is Kaiju No. 8 and he revealed himself to the force to protect everyone in Tachikawa. Captain Ashiro and Vice-Captain Hoshina thought that the Kaiju was officially down after Hoshina went to you, turns out that the raid is planned out more than the Defense Force expected. You weren't surprised though. You trust your comrades that much.

"Think you can start training tomorrow again?" Captain Narumi asks you.

"Yes, Captain." You feel fine and normal.

"Good," Gen smirked, "I don't give special treatments. Start showing me what you actually got. I am very, very curious."

"Captain," you gathered every courage left to address him.

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry for asking you but I don't know anyone else here to ask, but is Vice-Captain Hoshina okay?"

Gen's face was painted with astonishment upon hearing your question. You are just wondering... it's not like he needs to answer it. You wrote him a text the moment you got your phone but he never responded. It's also not like he needs to reply, he probably has a lot of things to do after all that damage. But, you're just so worried.

"Do you think I give a fuck about that bowl-cut dude?" Narumi chuckles. Wow, he's really immature, you thought, "If you're asking if he's still alive, unfortunately, yes."

You concluded that you wouldn't get a decent answer from Narumi so you just saluted and went out of his office. When morning came, you were finally out again in the field. But since you're still adjusting, you stick with an exercise routine that you usually do before combat training. And honestly, even if you want to spar with Narumi, you feel like you'll just mess it up.

You can't stop thinking about Sochiro.

But weeks passed after your recovery and you're still waiting to hear from him that you're now pissed. You do not have an excuse anymore and Gen is already forcing you to spar with him. So, you did.

"That's all you got?" Narumi chuckles, pinning you on the ground, "You're overrated."

"What?" Your eyebrows furrowed at him as you kicked his stomach to get out of his grip. But Narumi is strong, there's a reason he's the Captain of Division 1.

"Your Vice-Captain praised you so much," he chuckled.

"Your fault, you believed him." You smirked. Just hearing the word Vice-Captain pissed you off, "Let go of me now."

"Don't wanna," Narumi smirks again.

"What? I'm gonna—"

"Captain Narumi," you were cut off by a voice you longed to hear for weeks. Gen's smile went wider at the sight of Sochiro. This son of a bitch. He knows Sochiro is coming and he's doing this to piss him off. You finally kicked him out of you.

"Well, well, how are you, Hoshina?" Narumi's mocking him.

"Good," he answered, "The meeting will start in minutes, Captain Narumi."

"Too bad I'm busy sparring with my officer,"

"I'm sure Officer __ can wait for you." Your eyes darted to Sochiro. His coldness sent shivers down your spine. The frustration and confusion crawled in your system once again. You haven't seen each other for weeks and this is how he treats you? Like who the fuck cares if Narumi's here? Does he want to be a professional gentleman now?

Or... maybe he's just done with you. Maybe the rumors are right. The Vice-Captain is never serious when it comes to his relationships. Now that you're not under his wing, he's already done. Maybe that's it, then?

Narumi doesn't really have a choice so he stood up and went with Sochiro to go to the meeting, leaving you alone in the training room. Just in time for dinner, you went with Kikoru and Kafka.

"Vice-Captain is here, have you seen him?" Kikoru asked. You nodded quietly.

After dinner, you changed to a pair of sleepwear. Don't get it wrong, you love Division 1. But you just really want to go back to Tachikawa.

Unable to sleep, you stayed looking at the window from your room. You're in the same position when the raid happened. You remembered thinking about what's really between you and Sochiro. Maybe you got the answer you want now.

"How are you?" You almost jumped out of shock as you hear his voice. Sochiro stands beside the door, "The door is unlocked. I'm sorry."

You looked away from him— tearing up. Wow, he's here, but does that make up for the days he ghosted you? This asshole. Maybe Narumi should really punch him in the gut.

"If Narumi is forcing you to train, tell me—"

"Shut up."

"I'm sorry, baby,"

Oh, how you hate this man. He knows exactly what to do. He knows exactly how to get you over and over again.

"I hate you so much," you looked at him.

To you, Sochiro is like the stars. Before entering the Defense Force, everyone admired Mina Ashiro. But you were different. You admired the Vice-Captain who is mostly not seen. He saved you once when you were a civilian. He saved you over and over again when you were a cadet, and he still continued to save you when you became an officer.

"Not a single response to my messages? Not a single letter? Do you know how worried I am? Do you know how much I thought that you're blaming yourself for what happened when that's not—" In the blink of an eye, Sochiro envelopes your small figure to his arms.

"I'm sorry,"

"If you're done with me, you can just tell me." You removed yourself from his embrace.

"Done with you?"

"Isn't that the reason why, Vice-Captain Hoshina?" You asked him, "You're probably—"

"You scared the fuck out of me that I got scared even more because I never felt that way before. I was terrified, that I have to take a step back," He spoke, "Tell me why would you face a Daikaiju like that? You have nothing to lose? You're not scared?"

"I am an officer of the Defense Force, Vice-Captain. That is my duty—"

"Fuck that." He hissed, "What about me?"

"What about you?" You asked in confusion. Sochiro is never the type to curse his duty. He loves his job. He fought for this job.

"I can't lose you."

"Sochiro..."

"For years, I fought for the Defense Force thinking I have nothing to lose. Death never scared me. But when I saw you lying down, unconscious, I feel like being punched in the gut a million times, __." Seeing him lose his composure is new to you, "This is so wrong because I have a duty to fulfill and so are you and it's unfair for the Defense Force that we took an oath for, but I just can't... lose you..."

"Sochiro..." you held his face, "You won't lose me just because of that. I am not weak."

"I know." He gave you a weak smile, "But I am... when it comes to you. You're my Achilles' heel."

The great Vice-Captain Sochiro Hoshina is confessing that you make his knees tremble in fear, something not even the biggest Kaiju can do. He envelopes you in his warmth and places a soft kiss on your forehead, "I love you too damn much."

[redbullgirly]

Hellooo 👋, can you write enemies to lovers with fernando alonso maybe with some angst? 🤭

It's totally alright if you don't want to! Thankssss :))

EL DESTINO [FA14 oneshot]

Fernando Alonso x reader

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N works for Alpine, and even though Fernando Alonso isn't part of the team anymore, they can't forget their distaste for each other. The driver seems to think she's just an irresponsible party girl and Y/N doesn't like him because he's, well... annoying and mean and doesn't care about anybody but himself. Though could they be both wrong in their prejudices?

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Not much, maybe they're kind of mean to each other and stupid at the start, but that's the point of enemies to lovers, right? XD

Author's Note: Hello Anon and thank you for the request! I didn't expect it to turn out so long, but hey XD. I hope you and everybody else will like it. Also I tried for a little bit of angst, but I'm not sure if I'm good at it... you can let me know :).

If anyone could read your thoughts at the moment, you’d probably end up locked behind bars and with the key from your cell thrown far away. Whoever's great idea was to allow the group of inexperienced interns to touch the important data and statistics deserved to rot seven feet underground. Chopped into small pieces. And doused in poison that eats their lifeless body until there's nothing left.

Okay, that's maybe a bit too violent, but still not far from the truth.

You rubbed your tired eyes, not caring about smudging the mascara anymore. There was basically no one left in the building, just a few mechanics desperately needing the cars to be in perfect condition tomorrow – or should we say today? And then there was you, who stupidly agreed to fix the disaster caused by too much excitement and not enough cautiousness. You knew the interns didn't do it on purpose, and blaming them wasn't going to help you, but still. It wasn't them who had to sit there long after their working hours ended, staring into a too bright computer screen.

When you finally managed to save all the damaged data, it was almost three in the morning, and before you made it back to the hotel, you weren't sure if it was even worth going to bed. Because of the emergency, you didn't have time to finish your usual duties. And even though it wouldn't be fair to want the analysis from you, that wasn't how the game was played in motorsport.

Legs almost giving out under you, you dragged yourself to the elevator. The poor lady sitting at the receptionist desk looked at you skeptically, but didn't say anything as you stepped in and pressed the button with the number of your floor on it. Generic music started playing, numbing your brain even more.

The metal door was about to close, but then a hand came between it. Before you blinked and processed what's happening, a man slipped into the elevator right next to you, pressing his own number.

You see, everything could have been fine. You could've just survived the thirty seconds of embarrassing silence, then mumble a polite goodbye and go to sleep in peace. But no. Fate apparently had other plans for you.

Because as the man turned to you and the bright light hit his face, you realized it wasn't just some stranger.

Suddenly, the silence shifted from the normal elevator weirdness to tension. You pressed your lips together, silently cursing the higher power that decided to mess with your life just today, when you looked like a zombie. With smudged mascara. Perfect.

For someone, maybe it would be a fulfilled dream to be in an elevator with Fernando Alonso. Two time World Champion, great driver, loved person. And a dickhead that almost ruined your whole career.

“You look like you had a wild night,” he murmured with a thick Spanish accent. You narrowed your brows, trying to control the anger bubbling inside of you. Was he trying to insult you? You wouldn't even be surprised.

“Perhaps I did, thank you very much.” Your voice lacked any signs of friendliness, clearly trying to provoke him. It was quite funny, really, how a minute ago you didn't have energy to think clearly, and now you were ready to argue with this man over anything. Almost like the magic of despising someone.

You noticed his jaw tensing and knew it wouldn't be good. But still, his words hurt: “Maybe if you focused more on doing your job instead of wild nights out, Alpine would do better.”

The sting in your chest was strong, but by some miracle the elevator finally stopped, and the robotic voice announced the twenty-sixth floor. Even life itself took pity on you, it seemed.

Without any other word, you turned away from Alonso and walked into the empty hallway, hearing a quiet scoff and then the door sliding closed again behind you, leaving you all alone in the darkness. How poetic.

Every door you passed looked exactly the same, and you just hoped you remembered your room number correctly.

You didn't even remember taking out the card and entering your temporary home for the weekend. You didn't remember taking your clothes off, removing the remaining makeup with a tissue because you were too tired for your usual skin care routine. You didn't remember responsibly setting up your alarm and then falling into the soft mattress.

All you could remember before the exhaustion took over were his words that cut deeper than he thought, and deeper than you'd like to admit.

-----

You couldn't believe it.

As you walked out of the debrief, you could basically feel everybody's frustration crawling up your spine, mixing with your own. The team, all the mechanics and engineers, pit crew members and marketing, hundreds of people worked so hard the whole week. And for what?

It was already bad when both cars didn't finish the last Grand Prix in Silverstone. But for it to happen again? That was downright embarrassing. Not only did it bring exactly zero points in the Constructors' Championship, but the drivers were angry, disappointed. You could see that in the team, the motivation level decreased quickly. And honestly, you couldn't blame them.

Last year, Alpine was the fourth-best car on the grid. Best of the rest, as they'd call it. But this season, everything was going terribly. You honestly weren't far from crying.

To lighten up the mood, some of your colleagues decided to enjoy a night out in Budapest before you'd have to fly to Belgium tomorrow, to prepare for yet another racing weekend. At first, you declined the offer, insisting you needed to catch up on some work, do analysis for the car and figure out exactly what happened to it. But then, one of the mechanics you were friendlier with saw your drooping shoulders, and pulled you into the club despite all your weak protests.

Soon enough, you let loose and after an hour, you were a few drinks in. Your head was spinning, a big smile planted on your lips and giggles coming out of your mouth uncontrollably. Not that you had low alcohol tolerance, but the last time you got properly drunk was some time ago. Perhaps you just forgot how it felt. The freedom, the sweet mist of oblivion clouding your mind.

Currently, you were sitting at the bar, sipping on a cocktail. You already enjoyed your time on the dance floor, which tired you more than expected. Thank God you went to the club right from the paddock, so instead of high heels that'd kill your feet, you had comfortable sneakers on.

As you waved at the young barman to give you another round of whatever he mixed for you before, you felt someone's eyes on your back. You didn't bother to turn around, thinking it was just another drunken man checking out half of the women in the club.

Then, someone stood behind you. “The drink's on me, hermosa,” the man said, voice smooth like honey. You froze. You knew that deep, thick Spanish accent too well. What the hell was Alonso doing here?

He clearly mistook your silence for an impressed one, or so you thought when he came to sit down next to you, his hand gently brushing your back. That was the moment you turned your head towards him, eyes wide, and his face dropped. So did yours.

You hoped for a split second you could pretend you were total strangers randomly meeting in a bar for just a little longer when he instantly frowned and his demeanor changed from charming gentleman to pain in the ass.

“Y/L/N,” he uttered it in a way that made you wonder if there was something wrong with your last name. “Guess I shouldn't be surprised to see you here.”

And here it was — the instant wave of anger and hurt he managed to bring up by just a few poking words.

“Says the right person.” You rolled your eyes, the flowing feeling the alcohol gave you before now gone. You felt like you were going to be sick. “I bet if it wasn't me you tried to hit on, you'd bring the poor woman to your hotel room tonight.”

“Careful, or you might sound jealous.”

“Oh, you wish, Alonso,” you laughed humorlessly. 

The bartender chose that moment to bring you the requested cocktail you already forgot about. You gave him the cash, though you had no intention of actually drinking it. As always, Alonso left a sour taste in your mouth.

“I see you're drinking the team problems away,” he pressed harder, knowing damn well it was a sensitive topic. You gritted your teeth, reminding yourself to be the better person.

Then you looked into his dark eyes, and your self-control was gone. For some reason, you couldn't stand the look he was giving you. It was full of something that was too similar to disappointment. You hated people being disappointed in you, even if you hated that very person.

Out of nowhere, the alcohol kicked in, and you remembered why you didn't drink in clubs too often — it made you emotional. So stupidly sensitive that you couldn't stop your eyes from tearing up. You shook your head, opened your mouth, wanting to tell him something. Anything that'd make him just as much hurt as you were.

Instead, you bit your trembling lip and abruptly stood up. You almost knocked over the bar stool, though at the moment, you didn't really care.

Was it cowardly to run away from him and his harsh words? Yes, you knew that. But you did it in the elevator, and so you could do it again.

In a rush, you got through other people enjoying their night out, oblivious to the lump forming in your throat.  You needed to get out, breathe in the fresh air and just forget about everything.

It was probably nearing midnight, and even though it was late July, you still shivered when you stepped outside the club. Just then you remembered you left your jacket back in the paddock. And you also realized the mechanic and his group of friends drove you here, and you had no idea where you were or how to get to your hotel room.

“Great. Just fucking perfect,” you mumbled to yourself, a few tears running down your cheeks. You wiped them away, willing yourself to calm down. Budapest couldn't be too different from other European cities, so you'd just walk to the nearest public transport station and then see what you could do from there. Yes, that was exactly what you're going to do, and it's going to be okay.

Having a plan calmed you down, at least a little. You walked in a direction you hoped would get you to the center and took your phone out. The battery was low, and you cursed yourself for not charging it during the day.

“Where are you going?” You winced and nearly dropped the phone when you heard the loud voice calling after you.

When you turned around, you already knew exactly who was standing before the club entrance.

“That's not any of your business,” you tried to sound tough, but it came out tired and weak. So instead, you lifted your head, trying to save the remaining bits of your dignity.

Alonso tilted his head, brown eyes studying you for a moment before he made a step towards you. “Don't tell me you don't have anyone to take you back to your hotel?” The undertone of his voice was strange, and if you didn't know better, you'd think it was worry seeping out.

“Oh, then I won't tell you,” you fired back, satisfied with your own answer as you turned around and left him standing there.

You made it around the block when a strong hand suddenly grasped your hand, and you screamed, prepared to fight whoever attacked you.

“¡Ay dios mío!” Alonso cursed and held his red cheek, where there was a clear hand print now.

You stared at each other in shock. You wanted to kill him for scaring you to death, but at the same time, you were relieved it was just him and not a creepy kidnapper.

“I'd say I'm sorry… but I'm not,” you managed to mumble. A weak attempt, you knew that. But it still seemed to wake him from his trance and make him scoff at you in annoyance.

However, he didn't let go of your hand.

“Let's go,” Alonso urged you back towards the direction you came from.

“I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“Y/N, if you think I would let a drunk girl wander around a city she doesn't know, alone, at night… then you clearly don't know me at all.”

It took a few seconds for his words to hit you, and all there was left for you to do was to look up at him with surprise written all over your face. That seemed to annoy him for some reason, but with alcohol still very much present in your system, you didn't have the capacity to think about it too much.

“Let's go,” he repeated, though this time you didn't protest when he started walking towards what turned out to be his car. You knew it very well, from the years you used to work together, for the same team. Silently, you wondered how the hell did he get it to Hungary, but you soon forgot about that.

Fernando unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for you. Your mom would probably tell you to be more cautious about getting into the car of a man you didn't like and were sure he didn't like you as well. But hey, it's still better than being lost in a foreign city, right?

So you sat down, and before you could reach for the seatbelt, he took it and strapped you himself, mumbling something about safety hazards with drunk people. You were so surprised by that unexpected action you didn't even have time to feel offended.

You closed your eyes, the comfortable seat making you sleepy. You heard him get in the car as well and join the night traffic. For a moment, silence reigned and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel horrible and tense.

“Isn't it illegal to drive with alcohol?” you whispered, eyes still closed.

“I didn't drink anything in the club. Too busy with you.”

Just then, you realized you actually asked the question out loud.

“Sorry for ruining your celebration night. Probably didn't want to leave it with me,” you laughed quietly. When he approached you in the club, he thought you were a random pretty woman with whom he could share a drink and take her to his bed for a fun night.

“Whatever.” You could hear him shrug his shoulders. “Sorry for ruining your night. Though you don't have much to celebrate.”

That made you open your eyes and gaze at him. He was looking straight ahead, concentrating on the road ahead. The lights of the other cars occasionally landed on his face, and you wondered if he was always so handsome, or it were the cocktails speaking for you.

“Wow, even in an apology there's a hidden insult,” you snickered, though there was a small grin on your lips now. Yes, definitely the alcohol speaking for you, you told yourself.

This time, Fernando actually looked at you before he averted his sight back to the traffic. “I wasn't insulting you, Y/N. I was insulting the team.”

You raised your eyebrows, but didn't comment on it. It was pointless to argue over this, he had his opinion about Alpine and given the fact both your cars didn't finish two races in a row, you didn't have exactly the best arguments to convince him otherwise. After all, he was part of the team last year. And the year before.

For the rest of your ride, there wasn't much more said between the both of you. You were tired — not just because of the night out and drinking, but from the whole week, from the whole season.

Finally, he parked the car before a building you recognized. You didn't ask him how he knew which hotel your team booked, perhaps he remembered it was the same one as the year before. Honestly, you were just glad he helped you get out of the car and walked you inside.

Then, you found yourself in an elevator alone with Fernando, again. Though unlike a month ago, he gently held your hand for support this time.

You told him your room number and somehow, he got you all the way in front of the door. You thanked all the saints in the world when you dug the keys out of your purse. After three unsuccessful tries at unlocking the room, Fernando's patience apparently ran out. He took the keys out of your hand and silently opened the lock.

“Thanks,” you muttered, and let him lead you inside your own hotel room.

When the light switch turned on and illuminated all the papers lying around, he looked at you, flabbergasted.

“What's all this?”

You shrug your shoulders and look at him like he was stupid. Which he was, at least in your humble opinion. “Work. What else?”

“Yes, yes. But why is it… here?” He motions towards the desk, nightstands, and bed.

“Because I don't have time to do it all in the office.”

“You work overtime?”

Now you were starting to get irritated.

“Yes, I work overtime. Maybe if you weren't so insistent in thinking I'm a dumb party girl ever since I made one stupid mistake in your car's analysis a year ago, you'd see I'm actually trying my best.” You hated how hurt you sounded, pathetic in your own ears.

But honestly, who was he to judge you? You never actually stood up to him before, defended yourself against his mean words. You always sucked it up, let him complain about you to your boss, who almost fired you because of the driver's obvious distaste for you. And when he left the team at the end of last year, you never tried to contact him, talk to him. Fix your non-existent relationship.

Today, though, you had enough. Maybe it was the alcohol giving you courage, maybe it was his shocked face when he realized you actually did your job.

“Y/N, I-”

“Get out,” you said in a tone that didn't allow for any objections. Fernando seemed to understand, but the pained expression didn't leave his face when he slowly walked to the door. Like he didn't really want to leave, like he desperately wanted to tell you something.

You didn't care about him. He never cared about you before as well, did he?

And so, with one last, regretful look in his dark eyes, Fernando Alonso left your hotel room. When tears ran down your cheeks, you weren't sure why you were even crying.

-----

You were avoiding him after that. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, but you managed and after surviving the Belgian Grand Prix in Spa, you were excited about the summer break as never before. Almost a whole month without races, which meant you wouldn't have to meet anyone from the other teams, including Fernando.

Usually, the team worked tirelessly through the summer break — it was a great chance to have a proper look into the car's engine and come up with new ideas and improvements. God knew you needed that. Typically, you were amongst those loyal employees, basically living in the Alpine headquarters.

However, this year you really wanted a break. So you used your vacation days and stayed in your flat, finally sleeping like a normal person for once, eating home-cooked meals instead of team catering and enjoying the summer, though the weather could be better in England.

It was the start of August when you started finding flower deliveries on the threshold of your door. First, you thought it's a mistake, though what woman would refuse a beautiful bouquet of her favorite flowers. When it happened a whole week in a row, you thought about having a secret admirer or, in the worse case scenario, a stalker. Though, you still took the flowers inside every morning, cherishing them.

And then, one day, there was an envelope attached to the bouquet, and you had to curse yourself for being so, so stupid. Of course it's him, Fernando. Begging you to talk to him, to let him explain. One dinner, he said. One dinner, and then he'll let you go on about your life.

When he tried to write a poem in the middle of August, you finally gave in. You found his old phone number saved amongst many other contacts and sent him a simple “okay”.

The next morning, there was a time and address of the restaurant in the envelope.

You didn't let yourself get too excited about any of it. It's Fernando Alonso, the man who almost caused you to get fired from your dream job, the one that was so mean to you after making wrong assumptions about you and your way of life. Yes, he was trying now, but was that enough?

When the taxi dropped you off in front of the fancy restaurant, you took a deep breath. You had a simple dress on, light makeup, and a few accessories.

You walked into the empty restaurant. The waitress smiled at you when you told her the name of the reservation and led you to the only set table. You could see the deep brown eyes looking directly at you from afar.

Suddenly, nervousness settled in your stomach. If you didn't know better, you'd think this was a date — it certainly felt like one.

Without a word, he helped you sit down on a chair across from him and the waitress handed you the menu. It was without prices, but you were certain this place was lavish and expensive. Perhaps Fernando didn't want you to worry about it and let you order anything you wanted. And you tried not to be too impressed by that.

“You look very beautiful, hermosa,” he spoke after a minute of tense silence while you pretended to be interested in the menu. You didn't miss the fact he used the same nickname like that night in the club, when he thought you were someone else.

“Compliments won't make it easier for you.” Maybe you lied, because you liked him calling you beautiful.

“I know, but I couldn't help myself.”

The waitress came back with a bottle of wine that Fernando must've ordered before you arrived. You took a sip and it tasted like heaven. It almost made you forget about everything, almost.

“Please, can we talk?” You never heard his voice sound so… unsure.

“Aren't we talking right now?”

“Y/N.” The way he said your name was so soft, so delicate.

“Fernando.” You saw him flinch, and you realized it was probably the first time you called him by his first name. Suddenly, the whole situation felt more intimate.

He gulped, but there was determination written all over his face. Fernando Alonso wasn't the type of man to give up, you knew that. His amazing racing career was proof of that.

“Listen to me, please. I know that you have the right to never speak to me again after how I treated you. But I want to fix it, Y/N.”

Those brown eyes were going to be the death of you, burying themselves into your soul, your heart.

“I want to fix all of it, Y/N,” he repeated with all seriousness. “If you let me,” Fernando added.

And how could you say no to him? Deep down, you always admired him. Liked him, even. Before that fuck up with his car's analysis, you thought he might like you back. You always wanted his approval, and that was one of the reasons why his words and insults hurt so much.

Sometimes, people deserved second chances. Especially when they were looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

Slowly, you nodded. “I think I might let you, Fernando.” You smiled, liking how his name felt on your tongue. “But it's not going to be easy, I'm telling you that,” you warned him with a raised finger.

“I wouldn't dream of anything less,” he replied with a thick Spanish accent that was stronger when he felt emotions. Fernando returned your smile and clinked his glass with yours.

-----

Brazil was a good race. Both Alpine cars ended up in points and Fernando, your Fernando, got another podium. You clapped along with others during the podium ceremony, eyes just for him. A proud feeling settled in you, and as he accepted his trophy for well deserved third place, he looked down at the gathered crowd. Mostly people from Aston Martin, McLaren, and Red Bull.

And then there was you — in your Alpine t-shirt, clapping for the driver who scandalously left your team last year, without a care in the world. That was when he knew he loved you, and that he'll always will.

You knew you loved him too when, after all the celebrating around the circuit died down or moved to clubs and private parties, instead of going to his hotel room, he knocked on the door of yours. Checking on you.

“Hermosa, I hope you're not working.” He rolled his eyes as he stepped in, seeing you indeed staring into your notebook at some data he probably shouldn't see as a part of a rival team.

“But Nando, I need to finish these-”

He cut you off the best way he could — hugging you from behind, gently turning your head towards him and placing his lips on yours. You instantly melted into the kiss, giving up the fight before it could even start.

“I think you need to properly celebrate your boyfriend winning,” he smirked, biting your lip teasingly. You felt like a teenage girl when the butterflies took off in your stomach.

Fernando slowly walked you to the bed, never parting your lips, as if his life depended on kissing you. You sat on his lap, your hips grinding against his as you moaned into his mouth.

And he couldn't help himself. He wanted to take you out on a magical date and tell you there, but how could he keep it a secret when you were sitting on him, so beautiful that his heart clenched. Smart and pretty girl. His smart and pretty girl.

“Te amo,” he whispered into your sweet lips, and your breath caught.

You pulled back a little, looking at him, silently asking if you heard him correctly.

“Te amo, Y/N,” he repeated. You knew enough Spanish for your eyes to tear up. “I love you very much.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, probably the longest one in your whole life.

“I love you too. So much,” you whispered back. And then, for him: “Te amo, Fernando.”

Now it was his turn to tear up, hold your face in his hands and press your foreheads together.

Perhaps the fate and its plans for you weren't so horrible after all.

THE END

Author's Note: Wow, if you read it all to the end, thank you very much! I'll be glad for likes, comments, reblogs, follows and every other way of support. Let me know how you liked this story and if you'd maybe like another oneshot from this "universe" because I have to admit, this version of Fernando and Y/N kind of grew on me... Have a great day and see you at the next post! :)

[circeyoru]

Hi.. Can I ask for yandere alastor with the reader who owns his soul, ( more questions because I'm curious about this scenario )....

What would it be like if the reader, through guilt, gave her soul to Alastor, like it would be fair for the reader to give her soul to Alastor, since he gave his soul to the reader ( would Alastor see this as a distorted marriage proposal? as a declaration of love, distorted? )

What would it be like if the others at the hotel found out about this relationship between Alastor and reader? What would it be like if there were more than 1 yandere, what would it be like if vox or lucifer slowly became yanderes for the reader, what would happen?

To those that have no idea what this is talking about, check out {Unwanted Soul}

I am not kidding when I say there's a back-to-back request on the first question. So I had to answer in the other request cause this second question's answer's gonna be a long one

For the 2nd question.

Part 1. Basically, Charlie and the other's reaction to finding out about Alastor and Reader's relationship, including the soul-owning thing (but not the details like limited power, or you healing Alastor)

As a baseline, they all unanimously agreed that Alastor was the one completely and utterly obsessed with you, and you just accepted it and made the best of the situation. Niffty: She doesn't see an issue. Alastor had mentioned you to her beforehand. She was also the one to fix up your room before you moved in. She encourages and even asks for your secret. How did you get bad boy Alastor to commit to you? She wants some of the action too. (you told Alastor to keep Niffty away from you whenever she's in that crazy zone, but then you got used it to, somewhat) Husk: He thought he could use it to his advantage. You were the timid and quiet type. So he actually tried to get your sympathy to his situation, Alastor was being threatening, Alastor was being mean. Haha, no go. Because you didn't care. He picked up that your attention and interest is very limited and hard to gain, Alastor taking years to do so even. Now Husk gave up on trying to get you to help his situation, but when he saw Alastor acting that docile to you and you not using your powers against Alastor? He's envious that you weren't the one to hold his soul Angel: Shocked. 100% shocked that Alastor willingly given his soul to a weaker demon (he never saw you battling Adam or your powers and abilities in action). Similar to Husk, he's actually envious that you didn't do anything against Alastor's will, even when you have his soul in the palm of your hands. He saw that Alastor was as free as a bird, really. He also wanted that freedom that Alastor had and the bond you two shared. He's very confused as to why Alastor was that enamoured with you though, you weren't anything special (don't let Alastor hear that). He spoke to you since about it and you agreed without missing a beat. Yeah, he's so confused Vaggie: A bit of Husk and Angel's reaction. She's shocked that you own Alastor's soul and have his affection, confused that Alastor gave his soul to you and acts lovey-dovey with you, and grateful that you were the one to have Alastor's soul. While it was a bit to take in, knowing that you were less inclined to violence and destruction, you weren't a threat to the hotel or Charlie. So that was good. Still, she is aware that your emotions can flip easily and Alastor will act on them faster than you'd stop him or you just won't. She knows you're a landmine and she needs to be careful Charlie: Very very supportive. Her brain literally skipped the whole soul-owning bit. Alastor loves you a lot and you love Alastor in your own unique way. It's like her and Vaggie! She's so happy to have another couple in the hotel. She'd try arranging double dates, if that's possible. Alastor's 100% for it since he gets to spend time with you, but knows you'd rather not have other strangers (Charlie and Vaggie) roped into your hobby and interest. She tries to give relationship advice and ask for some from you and Alastor. The first few times, you let her, but then you got annoyed with it. It wasn't established that you and Alastor were a couple and he didn't mind, with that label also coming out of Charlie's mouth. You were quick to avoid her whenever you wandered around the hotel. Alastor steps in and strictly warns Charlie not to try helping again Lucifer: Very hesitant to accept it, but lets his skeptism go when he sees you were happy and fine with the situation. He's amazed that you got Alastor to give his soul to you that easily, but he's also scared that you might have gotten into deep sh*t with you connection with Alastor. He keeps an eye out for you, sometimes checking in with you too

Part 2. What if there's more yanderes for Reader?

Are you trying to exhaust yourself? Yanderes you mentioned, Lucifer and Vox crave attention and you don't exactly give a lot. Remember, you're a shut-in and you can do without the extra presence around you. Since Alastor is more than enough (he's so happy to hear that). Needless to say, you avoid a repeat of what happened to Alastor. You read and watch anime, you know the signs. The reason why Alastor was let into your life was because he was the one giving you attention and didn't hinder you, plus he grew on you. Another thing, time. It took Alastor 7 years and you still sent him away to the hotel to work for some minor interest of yours. You think there can just be a new yandere? No, no. You're happy to prove that you were no pushover. Alastor is essentially under your command and he will happily take your orders and fulfil them beyond your expectations. So Vox is trying to spy on you? "Cut off his power, Alastor." Yeah, the Vee's entire area was out of electricity for a good few days. Lucifer's breaking into your room? "Alastor, set up a barrier." You're in some form of shadow realm, curtsy of Alastor's power, with all you ever need. You are the type to stick to one extreme and have sides as 'back-up', you can have Lucifer as a friend, but never a yandere since you can't handle it. As for Vox? You don't even know him. At least with Lucifer, you once worked for him. Plus Vox is Alastor's rivial, right? Let them fight, you're sure Alastor can handle it even with his powers limited.

[mirapril]

Hi, I would like some Castlevania headcanons please! About Alucard having a younger sibling but the sibling is still a child :D

OMGGG MY FIRST REQUEST!!! Ty sm for the request <3

so sorry I didn't see it until now 😭

since gender wasn't specified ill make reader gn

also this is my first time writing headcanons so I hope this is good enough😭

Feel free to give me any feedback or constructive criticism <3

Alucard x child!sibling!gn!reader Headcanons

fluffy brother/little sibling stuff

word count: 557

warnings: none, a little bit angsty at the end

When BigBrother!Alucard met you for the first time he swore on his life that he'd always protect you no matter what. no man nor beast will ever be able to harm you. not while he was around

While your mother was treating people of the village and your father was down in his lab researching, your big brother would play with you to keep you from causing any trouble

You’d play things like hide and seek together, which wasn’t really fair since he was as way more experienced with his powers than you are at your young age :(

"Adrian, this isn't fair! you're way older and faster than me!"

"You're the one who said you wanted to have a race y/n. You'll never get faster if you don't try you know."

When I say he’d do anything for you I mean it

He’d especially get into trouble with his father for you

On one occasion he had taken one of your fathers “pretty” science tubes but ended up knocking something important onto some also very important blueprints

Your father kept a very close eye on you both when you were around his lab after that

BigBrother!Alucard is also in charge of making sure you don’t get yourself lost in the woods around your home

You’d purposefully leave the house without telling anyone just so your older brother would have to find you

You loved when he had to chase you around big trees and across wide ponds with rocks surrounding them

Of course, he could easily catch you but usually he’d let you have your fun

He did have mini heart attacks whenever you’d run too fast around the steep and slippery rocks

His main worry was you falling and hitting your head on a rock or falling into the river

"Y/n! Watch where you're running! You don't want to run into another tree do you?"

Also BigBrother!Alucard is basically your tutor

Your parents taught you too, but you preferred your brother's teachings because he made lessons more fun for you

There was a time when your whole family went on one of your fathers' trips since he loved to travel so much

You got to see all sorts of sights together :)

For obvious reasons, your family didn't get out much, so it was a nice change of scenery for the four of you

After the death of your mother and father Alucard was the only one you had left

Alucard was worried about how your little brain was going to process such a loss, but he did his best to comfort you

It was hard for him to act like not only a brother, but a mother and father for you

You were very much brighter than most children at your age so you saw how much it was taking a toll on your brother

You tried to comfort him the best you could

"Don't worry Adrian. I don't feel so lonely because you look so much like mama! It's like I have you and her in one person :)"

He usually just laughed it off when you said strange things like that

He was also sad that you were literally growing up way faster than regular children should

He missed when you were small enough for him to cradle you in one arm

i got sad at the end cuz i was listening to music and i thought about reader and alucard growing up together :(

[waltwhitmansbeard]

Hello! may I request any prompt of your choosing from the hurt/comfort list if I specifically ask for tlovm vaxleth? thank you!

10. "Don't worry about anything now."

It's cold in Whitestone, especially at night, but Keyleth doesn't feel it. Her body is warm, hot even, pressed back against Vax like this. His arm is draped over her, his chin hooked over her shoulder. Her naked shoulder. Because she's naked. They both are. Because they had sex.

Vax's breathing is slow and even, and Keyleth is working overtime to keep hers the same way. It's not that she's freaking out—she's not. Not really. Except her body is sore, pleasantly so, dully tingling in the memory of his hands on her, in her—oh, and while that was happening, the people of Whitestone were burying their dead. And Thordak was still burning Emon. And Raishan was probably plotting her inevitable betrayal. And Percy was lying in a tomb, surrounded by generations of deceased de Rolos. But oh gods, the things Vax's tongue can do.

She's a bad person. That has to be it. She gets together with Vax in their dead friend's home? While Vex is in mourning? Who does that? Sure, she was waiting for Vax to pull his head out of his ass long before Percy died, but still, she could have waited, should have waited, found a better moment, done everything differently—

"You're thinking so loud." Vax's voice is a sleepy rumble in her ear as his arm tightens around her.

She laughs nervously. "Sorry. Just, um. A lot to think about."

His nose trails lazily up the back of her neck. "Care to share?"

Now she's in a pickle. She can't tell him what she was really thinking about, because then he'll think she regrets sleeping with him, which she doesn't—at least, not like that. And she's always been so bad at lying. And if she says she's thinking about Percy, will he think she wishes he were here instead? Because wow, no. She has to lie. But say what—

"Kiki, seriously. If you think any louder you're going to wake up the whole castle."

"Was this a mistake?" She feels his body stiffen, and his arm starts to retract. Fully panicking now, she grabs his hand, uses it to tug herself around so she's on her back, where she can see his face. It's shell-shocked, hurt. "That is not what I meant. I don't—I don't regret this. I don't regret you. I promise, Vax."

His face softens a bit, but he's still regarding her skeptically. "I'm really struggling to find another interpretation here, Kiki."

"No, I know, I just meant—" She throws her forearm over her eyes so she doesn't have to look at him. "Percy is dead and Vex is heartbroken and Whitestone is in ruins again and we have to fight Thordak and Raishan is such a bitch and gods I am so behind on my Aramenté and really what right do I have to be happy with you when everything is terrible—"

He shuts her up by kissing her. His hand pulls her face closer to his, and her arm falls away from her eyes as she melts against his lips. For a moment, everything is quiet.

"Keyleth," he murmurs against her mouth. "You are beautiful and powerful and wise and so very, very silly."

"I'm not—"

"You are. There is no 'deserving' happiness. There is just...finding it. With our friends. With our families." His thumb traces little circles where his hand cups her jaw. "Here, in this bed, with you. You know, a very wise woman once pointed out to me how foolish it was to forgo current happiness for fear of future pain." He smirks at her. "I'd hate to see her forgo current happiness because she's guilty about the suffering of others."

Keyleth chews her lip. "But there are things we could be doing. People we could be helping."

"We can't help anyone if we're too exhausted to stand. C'mere." He gently spins her around again so that he's spooning her, her hand cupped in his, and yeah, the feeling of him behind her, warm and solid, does make the brain chatter quiet a bit. "Don't worry about anything now. We have so much time to worry, I promise you. All of the things you're concerned about will be there in the morning, and so will I." He kisses the nape of her neck. "I don't know what the future holds, but I can't imagine thinking about that when I have my favorite person in the world in my arms."

He squeezes her close, and Keyleth breathes in the arm, woodsy scent of him. Alright. Maybe he's right. Maybe the horrors will still be waiting come daylight. Maybe they can share this night, and the happiness it has brought them. She closes her eyes, and soon, she is dreaming of hundreds more nights, just like this.

[finniestoncrane]

Gotta be honest with you, I need to hear every single Digger headcanon you have because they 2 you've shared are just so good.

General Headcanons

KTJL!Boomer Headcanons yippee!!! woohoo!!! someone wants to listen to my bullshit!! i am so happy to write down more of my headcanons by the way, but for anyone wanting any make sure to let me know what you want the 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: mentions of nsfw things, it's fuckin boomer so of course, there's a whole load of nsfw headcanons and i mention piss because duh

General Headcanons

this is a sort of universal belief i suppose but i do think he lives in his van and i will live and die by my faith. he likes having everything he needs with him at all times. he will spout some bullshit rhetoric about living a "buddhist" existence with few material goods. and he's half right in that he has two pairs of underwear, and a collection of empty (or maybe not completely empty) beer cans rattling around back there

he's passed out twice while getting tattoos and he will yell and scream and argue that it was because his blood sugar was super low and not because he's a total wuss

he smells amazing. not like... good, don't get me wrong i don't think he smells nice. BUT he smells fuckin great. he has a natural deep musk that just hits the receptors nicely, the kind of smell that's laden with all the right pheromones to engage your caveman brain and have you swooning over him

bad habits (which i count as a bonus tbh) include: picking things: ears, skin, nose, anything. drinking to excess and then never learning a single lesson. masking all of his emotions until he's certain you won't make fun of him for having feelings. pretending to hate people that he loves because he can't be seen getting hurt. leaving his clothes lying around and relying on the smell test to get him through the process of getting dressed. kissing you in the morning before he has brushed his teeth. having no concept of personal space: he will steal blankets, he will curl around you in bed, he will sit too close to you on the sofa, he will hang off your body, he will hug you from behind and not let go, he will stand beside you all the time. refusing to take things seriously until he really has no other option. bad temper, and then defusing the situation by kicking something

yes, he has great tits and strong arms, but in my heart of hearts i know his stomach is not flat and in my head he has the sweetest lil beer gut to ever exist. it gets worse once he's just finished eating or drinking, and he cradles it and makes jokes about it being a girl or a boy. and while they might not have added it into the game, they did add in his sweet lovehandles on those hips, and he likes being grabbed by them and pulled into a hug. reminds him that when he's no longer big buff boomer, you'll still be super into his hot body

i think he's 45 years old fuck you. i think youngest he's 40, there's no way he's near me in age. we can consider sun damage to an extent but he has wrinkles, he's a dad, he's got big ol bags under his eyes and a slightly receding hairline

he's competitive, but not in an aggressive way, more in an annoying way. like you play a board game with him, and he'll do everything in his power to distract you, or use the rules against you. and if he loses, he doesn't go in a big strop, maybe a tiny huff with a few whines. who can refuse him a pity win when he's looking up at you all sad with those big green eyes and batting those silly eyelashes?

if there is something about you that he can mercilessly tease you for (without making you cry) he will harp on about it constantly. it's his way of showing that he's comfortable around you, enough that he can make you want to punch him in the throat. he can give but he can't take though, so remember that before you point out that he is in fact ginger, or that his freckles make him look so cutie-patootie, or that his tattoos are kinda dumb

you have to laugh at his jokes and puns, it's a requirement and he'd be tempted to make you sign a contract saying you will adhere to this rule. it gives him a boost, makes him feel proud. plus he is genuinely very funny, and the dorky nature behind his silly jokes is so endearing

Relationship Headcanons

when he falls for someone, he falls first and he falls hard. he also falls pretty easily, and he's no stranger to heartbreak, but he has his terrible coping methods to keep him going

he finds it easy to find something about everyone that he likes, because he's just prone to liking people. he thinks everything and anything is sexy, and he can find your good traits like a pig sniffing out truffles

he regularly brings home gifts for his partner, stolen or otherwise. no one needs to know how you aquired such an expensive piece of jewellery or that really nice original looking bit of art. maybe you just happen to save a lot of money by living in the back of his van with him!!

gifts are just one of the ways he is surprisingly thoughtful for a boy with no thoughts behind his eyes! dates are another thing he's fuckin stellar at!! wherever you're going and whatever you're doing you are guaranteed to have fun, that's just how he is. he makes everything tolerable, and he can turn a shit day into a great one

he's desperate for friendship, far more than he is for anything romantic or sexual, although if the two could go hand in hand that'd be an ideal scenario. he might claim to be chill and looking for a quick root, but he's far more interested in finding a partner who can be his buddy as well as his lover

there's never going to be a moment when he's not touching his partner by the way, like that is just something you are going to have to put up with

hand on your shoulder, hand in your hand, hand on your waist, hand on your thigh, hand on your back, hands around you as he hugs you from behind, hands around you as he hugs you from the front, hands around you as he hugs you from the side, hand on your butt, hand on your chest, hand on your stomach, hand on your cheek. the man has borderline separation anxiety

holding hands is his favourite though, especially when paired with his habit of loudly announcing your status to anyone within earshot. "oh this is my partner!" "yeah i'm their boyfriend!" "i'm fucking that beautiful bit of arse over there, thanks for asking!" like thank you, digger

he's surprisingly emotional, and surprisingly open once you get past his protective exterior layer. he's still always joking around and trying not to take things seriously, but the minute you or he needs some serious feeling time he is down for it

i don't think he would ever choose a sexuality. personally, i feel like he's bisexual or pansexual, but digger would say he's just sexual. he'll go for anything with a pulse who was happy to see him. there's a bit of digger for anyone (or anything...)

he'd be quick to take things to the next level with a partner he really loved. like he comes to pick you up one day in the boomer-van and he's like "tah-dah" and in the bacl there's a plastic storage box duct taped to the wall with your name written on it. this is how he would ask you to move in with him. you might need to get rid of a lot of your posessions but he wouldn't be adverse to you cleaning up the van or making it your own though!! i bet he'd love to have fairylights on the ceiling and some rugs on the floor

NSFW Headcanons

he has a piss kink. i know that is not a thing for most people, but i have evidence backing this up. it's barely a headcanon at this point, it's just straight up fuckin canonical fact lmao!! anyway i don't think it's a goes both ways thing most of the time. he likes to be the one pissing, it's where he refuses to be a switch and will only be the dominant one, usually

speaking of being the dominant one, it's what he's most comfortable with since he's a loud, brash, bold and heroic villainous boy, but he really doesn't mind switching things up. he can be a gentle dom, a bratty sub, and any combination in between. really, he is up for literally any activity or kink or fetish or position you can throw at him

he gets very vocal during sex. he spouts all kind of filth at you, confirming what he's doing, what he wants to do, and what he's going to do to you. his preferred terms are surprisingly gentle though, calling you kitten or pup, princess or prince, love, babe, baby. a combination of them all. aside from that, he is loud. volume is not something he can control when he's deep in the heat of the moment and he is the literal definition of animalistic. he growls while he fucks you, and he howls when he cums, and he has referred to himself as a dingo before...

of course, if you're getting particualrly nasty, or he's in a far more feral mood, he'll be growling low into your ear, calling you a dirty, nasty little cunt while he grabs your body and keeps you close

he's into any kink, sort of believing in trying anything once (or twice... or three times...) but there's a few he just LOVES. ones that if you mention them, you run the risk of having him cumming in his pants or rutting up against your leg like a desperate, badly behaved puppy

obviously, previously mentioned piss kink, but specifically if it involves some level of servitude or worship. like you on your knees holding his cock for him while he goes to the toilet, you offering to lick him clean, or letting him piss on you because you're so beneath him and he's yours to mark and claim. begging for a taste of him or pleading for him to use you gets him going too when you combine it with this

body worship or worship in general gets him going too. he's so desperate to be loved and wanted and adored and needed, so having someone beg for him, tell him they want him, they need his cock, his fingers, his hands, his saliva, his drool, his cum, anything he's willing to give them. top that off by calling him captain and he'll melt into a sticky little puddle

he's also way behind on comfort, so a little bit of gentle love mixed with kink is a great way to help him relax. feed him a tit or a hard cock, let him suck until he's soothed himself. hold him on your lap and stroke his hair while you tell him he's amazing, and so good at everything he does

cowboy digger is reporting for duty at the breeding ranch! get you some horns, a teeny tiny cowprint outfit, a tail and a bell and he'll either milk you dry until you're crying from overstimulation, or he'll ride you until he's pumped every last bit of cum into you, making sure you're ready for him to be the daddy

he'll fuck with the hat on. he's a socks on kinda guy too. he just gets way too into it way too quickly and forgets anything else but rutting and grunting

this could have been soft, if it wasn't george, but he loves when you fall asleep on him, like your head resting on his chest or his stomach or his lap or his shoulder. he'll be sweet, of course, and place a little kiss on the top of your head. but then he will try and sneak a look down your top or at your ass or to see if you have a visible bulge he can ogle

[esggs]

Obeisance to the Arrow - Noritoshi Kamo

#8 : Ice-Cream Date 

[why should you trust Noritoshi Kamo? Why should he trust you?]

[tw: noritoshi kamo x reader, arranged marriage, Danny DeVito, forced marriage, child marriage, small filler chapter a bit to round out the plot, omg they’re getting along, house captivity, fluff]

#7 - Jealousy, Jealousy #9 : The Lady Kamo

“This is not fun at all.” You huff at Noritoshi Kamo. “I want to throw flying kicks.”

Your husband has got you doing warm-up shit for the past half an hour: running, touching toes, stretching. For someone who spitefully promised to replace Kanato, his half-brother, as your martial arts tutor, he’s not letting you do much of martial arts. Only the promise of letting you shoot arrows from his bow is making you not immediately leave the training room.

“You’ll injure yourself if you do all that without any prior training. We’ll go step-by-step. Now–” Kamo leans over you from behind, lightly pulling your waist to correct your downward dog form (you reckon your blush can be put down to exercise; you’re just 14 after all). “– Distil me, and predict my next movements. That’s useful in combat.” 

Is this a test? Noritoshi knows that you’re strictly forbidden from using your cursed technique, under the threat of heavy punishment. Maybe he’s trying to get me into trouble so I can’t go to Jujutsu High. But… didn’t he sign my school admission papers himself? Did he change his mind?

“I never use Distillation, not since I came here.” You’re not taking any chances. Going to Jujutsu High is literally the only way you can be independent. Or else you live the rest of your life like Miyumi Kamo does: disrespected and discarded once her use was over. So you lie through your teeth: “I don’t even remember how to use it.”

“It’s impossible to forget your cursed technique. It’s engraved onto your brain, body and soul. So go ahead, Distil me.”

What game are you playing, Kamo?

“I can’t.”

“You already did, didn’t you?” Your heart skips a beat. Fuck. “Every night when you think I’m asleep. So go ahead now,” Kamo face is straight, no taste of humour or anger in it. “Read my thoughts.”

There’s no point hiding it now. You’re struck seeing your situations so plainly: Noritoshi Kamo is the heir of the opulent and influential Kamo Clan. You are his wife and nothing more. He has the power to decide whether your cursed technique usage goes punished or praised. He has the power to ruin your life. Right when you were forming buds of friendship, you are starkly reminded of the difference between your stations.

And you can’t not be you. “I don’t take commands.” I’m fucking this up so bad. “You might be angry about the whole Kanato thing, but don’t burden me with your issues. I don’t take commands.” Shit. I’m done for. I’m not going to Jujutsu High, am I?

Time extends infinitely as you await the judge to pronounce your sentence.

But perhaps... perhaps you don't understand Kamo, not even after all the times you've read his mind through and through, because he simply nods. Nothing more. “A request then?” He makes an effort, you can tell, to soften his voice.

You stand still like a statue. All he was trying was to give some space to practise your cursed technique; he just ended up pushing you back into your shell. Or rather a fortress, where you, a scared little child, hoard other people’s secrets, to be used against them when the time comes-- the only defence you have. And to think that he was actually doing so well trying to get you to come out of there.

How do I fix this? “Do you want to go out for ice-cream?” 

“Out?” You're shocked. You’re usually not allowed to leave the Kamo estate; the last time you did was maybe... 2 years ago? You don’t even remember. 

“It’ll be my treat, don’t worry. No one will say anything.”

Can he actually do that? Can he convince the elders to let me out? You’re a threat to society, you’ve internalised that by this point. Isn’t it wrong for you to go out?

—---

“I love going out! This is AMAZING!” You can’t stop taking pictures of everything- everyone! So many people! So many things to see! The smell of roasting dalgona, the lanterns hanging from cables overhead, the latest streetwear-clad bikers smoking, the businessman walking briskly, the mother scolding her children! Aeon Mall, Porta, Kyoto Station Building– you’re going through all of them, making the most out of your day out!

“You’ll be able to go out whenever you want when you’re in Jujutsu High.” Kamo, carrying your many shopping bags, reminds you calmly. You seem to have gotten over prior spat. 

“Take a picture of me here!” “I want to try double-decker donuts!” “Let’s get these Prada shawls, please, Noritoshi-san!” 

She’s so lucky she was born into money. Noritoshi enjoys seeing you this ecstatically happy. It’s just the two of you, Kamo doesn’t need any bodyguards or handlers. As you sit for an Italian dinner, he decides that it’s okay to breach your previous topic.

“yn, I’m very curious–”

“Do you think those shoes that guy’s wearing are ugly? 'Cuz I think they’re Danny DeVito level ugly.”

“– Gossiping isn’t good. As I was saying, I really want to know how your powers work, yn. Would you be okay telling me?”

You laugh at him, cheeks full of penne alfredo. “I don’t know much either, frankly. I wasn’t allowed to look into it, you know. Besides, if you’re looking for a method to block it, give up. Not even Gojo Satoru could do that.”

Kamo’s eyes are keen. “Why not?”

“Because it works on photons of light. Gojo’s Infinity works on matter, not light, because otherwise he’d be invisible. Distillation can speed up light in a very specific way so that I can 'see' glimpses of the past... understand the story, in a way. Anything I perceive with my eyes, I can Distil. Everything I can see, I know.” You say. "I kept getting headaches because it was just too much information at once, so I made a Binding Vow. I have to ask a very specific question so that I get a very specific answer, but in exchange I get to know answers for at least 50 years back in the past."

To think this talent was to be wasted. “You’re incredible.” I’ll protect her. I’ll have to. 

That also reminds him. “So all those times you Distilled me at night, you didn't ask if was sleeping?"

You smile sheepishly, "I was sure that you were."

He returns your smile. A rare moment. "So you know me, then?”

“Thoroughly.”

“Then you know that I am not your enemy.”

“I reckon.”

“And that I am trustworthy.”

You laugh. He might be as trustworthy as the sun, but you don’t know how to trust others. Still- "I'm sorry for Distilling you when you were asleep."

"I'd rather you ask me before you do that the next time. It's more polite." He uses the toasted bread to scoop up some pasta sauce. You copy him. "I see that there's no point keeping secrets from you?"

"Absolutely none."

"Then it's my right that you keep none from me, either."

Eh? He's not wrong but... He's asking you to trust him. Like friends do. Like married couples do. For all that he is, Noritoshi Kamo has no leverage in front of his wife: you alone decide how much you want to reveal to him.

"Alright, then. Whatever you ask me, I'll answer you honestly, as long as it is okay to do so." You promise. Kamo wipes a smidge of sauce off your cheek with a tissue. His way of saying, "Thank you."

“Noritoshi-san, teach me to spar properly. I don’t want to appear so weak among my classmates.”

“Is that a command?” You’re about to excuse yourself when you notice that he’s smiling. Holy fuck, he’s making a joke??

“Yes, Lord Kamo.” You play along.

“As you wish, Lady Kamo.”

#9 : The Lady Kamo

[signedkoko]

HII I have been reading your writing for a while now and I lOVE IT! I've been waiting to put in a req when they got open sooo! (Your writing always makes me hAPPYY when they come out) <33 Any chance of an Overlord!GN reader with Mammon / Striker? Just general romantic Headcannons- Like how it is to date them/everyday stuff with them (The reader is always serious (and tall 👀) and owns a big casino in pride (Maybe Mammon taking interest in it? idk))

Mammon | Striker [Romantic]

In which you are their overlord s/o that owns the largest casino in the pride ring. Reader is genderneutral.

The guy looks like a total clown next to you

And he is, but he loses any sense of danger when he's standing next to you, who happens to be just a few inches taller than him

Your cold sneer next to that goofy grin, like he knows he's totally lucked out having such a hottie for an s/o

To many in the greed ring, he was the greediest of all, but when they came up top to the sinners realm and met some of the overlords that roamed the lands, they started to realize that yeah, maybe Mammon wasn't so bad

While Mammon used to attract many fans, ever since you two became an item, they've stayed far, far away

At first, he hated it because it meant he couldn't scam some pathetic sinners

But you had the idea that he could come by your casino for official meet and greets; that way, people would pay the entrance fee for you and him for just fucking around in a casino all day

Mammon is actually kind of an airhead at times

He isn't stupid, but he isn't all there, especially when with you; he just turns his brain off and lets you do the thinking

You're better at it anyways

During extermination, you can't go down and be safe with him; he will often come up just to ensure your safety

Sure, you seem scarier, but that's only because he is in his smaller form

You two are a literal power couple; you could take over all of hell if you tried hard enough

Striker always preferred to stay away from the pride ring

Sinners were such a hassle, especially keeping up with the overlords and what they considered 'theirs'

In fact, he'd stay in wrath all the time if he could, but business always called for his presence in the upper ring

He isn't stupid enough to fall into the grip of an overlord-run casino, but more than one of his targets did

Your security caught him more than once sneaking angelic weapons into your casino

The third time it happened was enough, and you came forward yourself to speak to the man

He was charming and convincing, but you weren't one to let things slide so easily

You promised he could do whatever he liked with your occupants, given that he gets their casino dues in

And well, for how much he was paid, that wasn't too terrible a deal

The two of you ended up a bit more than intertwined, though, and the assassin managed to worm his way into your heart

And god, was it ever a sight

One of the oldest overlords that towered over anyone that came before them, with a face like a funeral, next to an imp

An imp no one really knew, either

At the end of the day, the only people who dared question you were other overlords, but they tended to leave their noses out of others business, respectfully or not

While you could defend yourself rather well, Striker is more than happy to handle anyone who dares try to touch you

Interrogations are useful, you know; that way, he can kill off the whole chain of command

He's very romantic and gentlemanly with you, even if you don't ask for such from him

Don't think your position of power will ever make him feel like he is the lesser; he will take good care of you no matter who you are

Author's Note - Thank you so much for requesting, I'm glad you got a chance! It was a nice break going back to some Helluva Boss characters (not that I hate writing hazbin, but it was a lot of requests).

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart (Chapter 5) Human!Alastor x Reader)

Rated Adult Chapter Trigger Warnings: Alastor is a little shit.

AN: Reminder- Double update this week, See you Friday. Updates will now be every Friday!

Now with Audio by Nyx Productions, read by the lovely @nyx-umbrakinesis. Want to revisit the land of Misdemeanor but don't have time to sit and read? Maybe it's your first visit and you want the whole experience? Let Nyx read you a story: Part 1, Part 2

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

“It’s just up here,” Laurence said, glancing over his shoulder to find his dinner guest lagging behind. He needed this loan and yet dinner wasn’t wasn’t off to a great start if he couldn’t at least keep the man’s attention long enough to get to his office. He just needed you to not fuck up somehow when bringing ice up or finishing dinner. 

“A lovely wife you have, Laurence. It’s a shame for her to be married to a man so eager to offer her as collateral,” Alastor said, as the stairs creaked with each step he took. 

“Nothing but a jest, Mr. Moreau.” 

“Of course,” Alastor said, doing nothing to cover the fact that he didn’t believe Laurence had said it in jest for a minute. 

“We’ll let her finish up fixing dinner while we-”

“See to business. Yes, yes, that’s fine.” 

Laurence shut the office door as Alastor stepped inside, sealing them off from the wonderful aroma of fresh bread that permeated the lower level of the home. What a shame, Alastor thought.

You had invited Alastor to make himself at home when he came into the house, so he did just that. Rather than sit in one of the overstuffed chairs across from Laurence’s desk, Alastor walked around the small office, eyes taking in little details as they ran over trinkets and notes.

“Is Emma a pet name for your darling wife? Such an illogical choice.” Alastor turns from the calendar, eyes running over the desk.

Laurence laughed nervously. It was clear to Alastor that he didn’t enjoy having someone he couldn’t control in his space. “Oh well, you know how men are.”

“And how is that?” Alastor asked, cataloguing every bit of information he could about who Laurence was and what kind of man he really was. 

Laurence gaped, fishing for the correct answer in his small brain. Alastor wasn’t playing by the typical male script he was used to dealing with. Dreadfully dull, Alastor thought. He couldn’t come up with a slight excuse to cover his affair? Men’s desire to run around on their partners never made sense to him. 

“Was there a reason we must abandon the hostess?” Alastor finally settled into a chair, leaning back and crossing his legs. This may be Laurence’s home ground but Alastor made it clear who really had the power at the moment.

“This is men’s business…” Laurence tailed off at the soft tap tap at the door. 

You did not enter this space, Alastor filed that away as well. He turned, watching you as you passed Laurence the tray with ice-filled glasses, hands trembling.

Were you terrified of your husband? Or was it pain? Perhaps illness? No, not illness. You flinched too much for it to be something as simple as poor health. Plus, there were the marks on your wrist. Did you think you were clever with the bracelets and the sleeves? 

“It’ll be just a few moments while I draft up the contract,” Laurence makes a show of pulling out a large typewriter case from the shelf to the left of his desk. It was clearly expensive, just as many other items in this insufferable office. 

Alastor finished his glass of whiskey in one quick drink before setting the glass down directly on the solid wood desk. When Laurance frowned at the glass set exactly two inches to the left of the coaster he had ever so blatantly requested Alastor use to protect the desk surface, Alastor simply smiles back at him. 

“While you set to that task, please do excuse me.”

“Is something the matter?” Laurence stood slowly. 

“Not at all! I’m simply off to the washroom.” 

Alastor let out the breath he felt like he had been holding forever as the door clicked shut behind him. The washroom was lit by gas, Alastor noticed, not electricity like the office and living room had been. 

Why would the Latimer household only update part of the house when adding electricity? Looking around the washroom, he saw new pipes. The home was plumbed. Upgrades had been started but stopped. Why? 

Humming as he went, Alastor continued exploring the small room. Everything was bright white, and he hated it all. The warm wood tones of the rest of the house were far better suited to his own taste.

Spotting the small glass vial on the sink, Alastor picked it up and opened it. The smell made him cringe. Medicinal and strong. Laudanum, if he had to guess though, the label was ripped from the bottle in places. Who did it belong to and who were they hiding the contents of the bottle from?

Alastor had taken it before and never been a fan of how it had made his head feel. 

Sure, he had a bottle on hand in his own medicine cabinet but his was covered in dust and nearly new. This vial was clean, fresh and nearly half empty. Who took it? Was it you or Laurence that took it often enough for the vial to be fresh? 

Stepping out of the washroom, Alastor looked first at the closed office door. The click click click of the typewriter behind the door gave away how slow of a typist Laurence was. At the rate he was going, Alastor could type the contract four times over before Laurence would finish the first copy. 

Hell, he could draft it by hand faster than the keystrokes were coming from beside the door.

Instead of rejoining Laurence in the office, Alastor kept walking down the hall. He was mindful of each step as he descended the stairs, avoiding those he had noticed squeaked under weight. 

Laurence was eager to offer his wife as collateral, but clearly didn’t enjoy it when Alastor paid her any attention. Though Alastor shot down the offer at Mimzy’s, it surprised him that Laurence didn’t offer those same terms again. Instead, it was his car Laurence was drafting the contract for. 

Alastor had no trouble finding the kitchen. He moved through the house silently, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you work. Your back was to him, allowing him the freedom to watch you without reservation. 

If Mimzy was here, she would tell him how he could have this, whatever this was. He wasn’t so sure that it was something he ever wanted. He knew it was something he could have, and he likewise knew it was something he didn’t need. But did he want the domestic life?

It hadn’t worked out so well for his mother. If people were talking about him, though, that wasn’t in his favor. Could he trust a meek little woman in his space, keep her happy and entertained enough that she wouldn’t run around town being a gossip? Would he be able to find someone who would look the other way and believe it was animal blood that stained his clothes?

As he watched you in his thoughts, you worked the loaf of bread out of the pan. Thinking you were alone, you held your injured shoulder stiffly, using your body to brace it as you moved. When you shifted it wrong, you gasped softly in pain, muttering softly under your breath a reminder that the meal needed to be perfect. 

You dropped the loaf into the bread slicer contraption, then braced the end of the box against your apron covered front and slowly sliced through the loaf again and again until the loaf was leaning forward, sliced into neat sheets of bread sitting in a sea of crumbs. The rich smell of beef gravy was thick in the kitchen, hearty and welcoming. 

You were humming to yourself as you worked. It was a pleasant sound that Alastor found he enjoyed. As you turned to put the sliced bread into the basket, he stepped back out of what would be your line of sight. From where he stood, he could see you as you stepped up to the oven, but you were unlikely to see him. 

He watched as you rubbed your wrist, pushing the bracelets up and running your hand over the dark bruise. Though his eyes were not the best, Alastor could see the clear definition marking where fingers had wrapped around your wrist with more force than was ever justifiable. 

Why did you stay? Did you like being thrown around? He doubted it. You hardly looked like you loved your husband. It was clear as day that you were uncomfortable with him every time his hands touched you. The farce was better executed in public than he had seen in your home, but he saw nothing that told him you held anything close to affection for the man you were married to.

Carefully, you reached out with the towel draped over both hands and grabbed the handles of the kettle. Hesitation had you standing in that position as heat seeped into the fabric for longer than Alastor expected. Surely your hands were getting close to burning.

Then you lifted. The kettle didn’t make it any more than an inch off the iron burners before clattering back down as you cried out softly. Alastor watched as your shoulders sagged and you sniffled. 

You wouldn’t be able to lift the kettle. You wouldn’t be able to pull the meat out of it and put it in the serving dish. Dinner would be ruined, and you were convinced it would be your fault. 

“Allow me,” Alastor’s voice came from the doorway, startling you. 

“Oh, no- It’s fine.” You looked around for Laurence. The last thing you needed was for him to see you inconveniencing his guest. 

“He’s in his office, drafting the contract at the pace of a schoolboy,” Alastor’s long strides took him into your kitchen and to your side before you had a chance to protest more. “You’re clearly struggling to lift it.” 

He took the towel from you as if the kitchen was his. It looked easy as he lifted the kettle from the stove, as if it weighed nothing. You watched dumbly as he looked around to find where you had the trivets set up. The sound of the kettle setting down on the counter snapped you out of the daze. 

“Can I help you with anything, Mr. Moreau?” you ask, trying to remind him of propriety as he scooped the pot roast from the kettle and set the crumbling hunk of meat into the serving dish for you. 

“Alastor,” his eyes flick up to you for a moment before returning to his self-assigned task. “I simply needed a moment of more agreeable company. I find your husband rather dull. however do you put up with him?”

You were not sure what you could say to such a confession. It was improper to speak to a woman about her husband in such a manner. It was improper to be alone together, doing something as intimate as household tasks together. 

Arguing with the guest was improper, but it was also not something you could agree with while remaining proper. You were not even sure if you agreed with it. Laurence was a part of your life. It wasn’t optional, so you had never thought about it. 

Instead of thinking about it, you needed to set the table in the dining room. The dishes were in an overhead cabinet. Reaching up, you opened it easily enough. Plucking up the shallow bowls was something you expected to be doing in private. 

Your shoulder ached, you needed to take a few more pain pills and lift the delicate bowls one at a time to ensure you didn’t drop them. With him there, you couldn’t do that though. It would look suspiciously like you were avoiding using your arm. 

You’d already given away too much with the kettle. 

You tried to keep a smile on your face as you reached up with both hands. Finger tips trembled in front of your eyes. No matter how hard you tried to stop them from doing so, they continued to tremble. 

Grab the dishes in one neat stack. Put them on the counter. Do not drop them. Rest a moment. Carry them to the dining room. How hard could that be? You could do it. You needed to do it. You had to do it.

“Let me get it for you,” Alastor’s voice was soft and low in your ear. 

You hadn’t heard him move, but when you jerked back from him only to have your hip strike his arm. Without you noticing, he had come up behind you and caged you in, resting his palm against the counter on your other side. 

He reached up with his other hand, leaning forward as he picked up a stack of three dishes. Your breath froze in your lungs as his chest brushed against your good shoulder and back. For a moment, you told yourself that he didn’t know. He was just being helpful until he leaned more into you. 

You gaped up at him. Too close. You had never been so close to a man you were not related to outside of Laurence. Sure, you’d bumped into men and let Alastor provide you support as you got up off the floor at the butcher, but this was different. 

It was a second really, long enough for you to register the warmth of him. He leaned forward a bit more, smirking down at you as his chest and side pressed firmer against you. 

Torso to torso, you couldn’t feel any of the give that Laurence’s body had but before you could even form a thought about what that meant for Alastor’s body, he stepped back and held the fragile china in his large hands. 

“There you are.” Your heart dropped at the sound of Laurence’s voice. Had he seen? You did nothing wrong, but women rarely escaped the blame when it came to impropriety. 

“I couldn’t help but be drawn in by the lovely aromas of your wife’s cooking.” Alastor laughed, bowls in hand as he carried them to the dining room.

Tag list: @xalygatorx, @catticora, @alastor-simp, @alastorthirsty, @rainydaysmut,  @nyx91, @kaylopolis, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @goyablogsstuff, @honestlyshamelesskid,  @lilith-jae, @yui-onnero, @charlottemorningstarsdarling, @diffidentphantom, @lunarmango  @uhhhimbored   @loveameripanshipperlove, @redvexillum

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