#verlaine x reader

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

hi!! i was wondering if you could do adult! gn reader that got transported to teyvat with verlaine? i love your works!

If you were not alone

Part XII

Characters: Self-Aware! Paul Verlaine

Reader: GN! Adult! Reader

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Some violence.

🇫🇷 You and Paul were on a walk, when that happened. One moment, you two were in a park. Next moment you were laying on the ground. You were dizzy, the world was spinning before your eyes. Verlaine was luckier than you. At least, he was standing. And, perhaps, he didn't get a headache, or, at least, was better at keeping himself together. He was holding good enough to walked to you and effortlessly pick you up and put you back on your feet.

A few minutes later, the world stopped having a rolling party, and you finally managed to look around. You looked at grass, at trees, at water and at familiar giant blue blocks of Fontaine Research Institute.

You felt Paul's hand squeezing your shoulder.

"[Y/N], since when your..." Paul noticed the side glance you gave him and corrected himself. "Our world's technology became that advance to have an antigravity?"

Your chuckle was bitter.

"We aren't home."

🇫🇷 You took your time to explain To Paul what Teyvat (and Fontaine) are. During your explanation, Paul nodded from time or hummed, showing, that he understands. However, when you tried to share the Idea of Genshin Impact Characters also being self-aware, Verlaine shook his head in disagreement.

Apparently, BSD Cast, before transportation, monitored every last of your apps. To find more about Real World, to take care of you. And to investigate, if someone else has become self-aware.

There was nothing wrong with Genshin wrong. It was just a game.

"I admit, it is possible, that we overlooked something, and they were self-aware all this time. Nevertheless, let's be careful. We don't know, how they will react to us."

With that in mind, you two start moving, using Callas Line as a "waymark" to Court of Fontaine.

You run into Fatui Operatives, tho... For some reason, they insisted on getting into a fight.

At least, now you have mora and operatives will be on a sick leave.

🇫🇷 Plan was simple.

Get to city - Go to the Adventurers' Guild - Ask Katheryne about Traveler's whereabouts (or Alice's)

You two get into the city (with some difficulty). Entrance from institute's direction was a bit hard to reach. And, as Paul pointed out, if he uses his ability to get to the aquabus station, you will get unwanted attention.

It's not like you didn't get it.

The atmosphere in a capital was... strange.

People were staring at you. Their eyes were full of confusion. You heard a whispered "Aren't their Holiness were with Monsieur Neuvillette today?"

"Holiness"? Is there a religion in Teyvat Hoyo still haven't dropped a lore about?

Melusines were looking at you with a mix of disbelief and hope. You overheard Muirne whispering "They are the real one. Who else would be traveling with a living embodiment of a storm". (You sneak a glance at Paul after that words, but, he either didn't hear her, didn't care about her words or did a good job hiding his emotions).

It was hard to navigate through Fontaine. You decided to go to Palais Mermonia and take the elevator here.

You reached Palais Mermonia.

And came face to face with your own doppelgänger and Neuvillette.

Your double... The moment they looked at you, they started to look sick. And you weren't talking about "pale, stuffed nose, have a fever" kind of sick. They looked at you with outright predatory gaze. They were trembling. The white of their eyes looked yellowish.

For some reason, you thought about withdrawal.

Paul grabbed your shoulder and pull you behind him. The emotions in his dark-brown-eyes were... You might call it "time-to-pray-so-Monsieur-Paul-Verlaine-hopefully-will-forget-that-we-exist."

The silence can be cut with a knife.

Your double point their finger at you. Their voice rang in the air.

"Preposterous! Dirty Sinner, how dare you impersonate my Holy Looks. Get them! Lay their body before my feet..."

The sickening crunch cut their speech short. With animalistic howl, your double fall on the ground.

You felt sick, trying not to look at what happened to their legs.

A bloodied mora coin, still under the influence of Paul's ability, hit the wall of Palais Mermonia, sticking deep inside, making a huge crack.

Neuvillette, guards and mekas attacked.

Paul, without looking, grabbed you and threw you on his back. He almost barked.

"Hold on tight!"

The fight begun.

🇫🇷 After the fight (at the end of which half of mekas can be sold for scrap, and Fleuve Cendre got a beautiful skylight, that was snapped like Hydro Archon statue.

While Neuvillette and others retrieve (while taking injured "Creator" with them), you finally reached The Guild.

Katherine, who supposed to be an android doll with a very limited functions and with undying loyalty to Teyvat and Creator, after taking a look at Paul's grin, was not only ready to tell you about Traveler and Alice, but also about the partisans, the smugglers from Snezhnaya, the atheists of Mondstadt, the nihilists of Natlan, the flat, where Pantalone hides his secret stash of mora, Capitano's doll collection and the shop, where Tsaritsa buys scarfs.

After getting all necessary information, you and Paul decided to search for Alice.

🇫🇷 Traveling with Paul Verlaine was like traveling with a portable avalanche/earthquake/volcano eruption/any catastrophic event, that makes people run for their lives. And it wasn't only because of ability, that can turn mountains into flat surface. Paul himself looked imposing and dangerous.

Yes, he was King of Assassins. But, ever since BSD Cast get into the real world, Verlaine was just minding his own business.

He spent time with Rimbaud, helped Flags, if they were in a need of heavy lifting or another pair of hands, talked with Chuuya. He spent time with you, cooked French cuisine, read books. And nothing in his facial expression implied, that he is dangerous.

But, Teyvat and constant danger you were in. That makes him show, how dangerous he truly is.

🇫🇷 The journey was rocky. You would say, that after what happened in Fontaine, people won't dare to attack you. Perhaps, it does decrease the number of attackers. But, there were devoted ones, who were going all and beyond during attacks. They would either try to separate you from Paul, or try to lead a large scale attacks.

For now, they didn't succeed. Nevertheless, Paul was on his guard and insisted on you staying where he can see you.

You weren't against it. It wasn't the situation for arguing.

You got to Sumeru. You got help from Nahida and Wanderer. Apparently, Alice was in Natlan. The nation, that still was hesitant in letting "Creator" stepped on their land. Wanderer even shared some rumors about a barrier around Natlan. Barrier, that keeps Creator away.

Dehya and Candace helped you and Paul cross the desert.

You swore, that you could see a barrier made of Phlogiston around Natlan. You braced yourself and made a step forward.

Barrier let you two through.

🇫🇷 You spend in Natlan a mere five minutes, but Saurian population, for some reason, already adored you. On top of it, baby tepetlisaurs and baby yumkasaurs seems to like Paul and his hat. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, but let them nibble on his fingers and hat.

Paul felt relieved. He didn't show it, but he was extremely worried about you. He was afraid, that one day you will get hurt, or you will wander off and get captured, or you will get sick. Yes, you were an adult, but he still was worried. And having a bunch of cartoony dinosaurs helping to protect you was reassuring.

You get to the Stadium of the Sacred Flame without troubles.

And was met with Pyro Archon herself.

🇫🇷 Mavuika asked you and Paul to join her for dinner. Well, it was a mix of interrogation and dinner. Everything went mostly neutral, until Mavuika decided to press further into your supposed "Real Creator" status. She didn't outright say, that you were lying about not knowing anything about being a Creator and just being a simple person, but Pyro Archon made it clear, that she didn't trust you. And, perhaps, it would be beneficial for Natlan to sell you out to the Holy Guard.

Paul didn't like the implication. The stone table was crushed under his hands. He was towering above Pyro Archon.

"If you dared to lay a finger on them, I will crush your precious little nation."

You grabbed Paul's hand. He looked like he was ready to become a Demonic Beast Guivre, and without Dazai it would be a death sentence. To Teyvat and to Paul.

Mavuika took Paul's threat well. She nodded, gave you a half-bow. She spoke.

"I knew what it means to be a mortal in a position of a God. Forgive me for my small performance. I need to make sure. Your companion has a loyalty of a warrior. I will help you. I will send a letter to Alice. She will be here in a few days. Until then, you are my guests".

🇫🇷 Paul felt relieved. You were almost safe. The Stadium of the Sacred Flame was full of music and warmth, and people weren't here to attack you.

In a few days, you met Alice.

While giving your goodbyes to Mavuika, she suddenly asked.

"I understand, that I have no right to give you two that kind of task. But, if you knew someone who can help us to deal with imposter, could you, please, send them here? People of Teyvat aren't bad. They are scared."

You didn't promise anything. But you kept her request in mind.

Alice prepared a portal. You and Verlaine finally returned home.

_______

🇫🇷 The Return was something. You two were gone for almost two months, making everyone worried sick about you two. The story of Teyvat made everyone angry and curious. Kids wanted to see saurians, adults wanted to help people, who helped you, and punish people, who tried to hurt you.

You and Verlaine were sitting under the starry sky. You whispered.

You secretly also wanted to help Mavuika, Alice, Dehya, Candace, Nahida and Wanderer. They didn't deserve to get in trouble because of you.

________

"Paul... If one day I decide to return to Teyvat and save everyone, will you..."

You didn't get a chance to finish, when Paul turned his head towards you and nuzzle the top of your head.

"I will come. You won't be alone, [Y/N]."

______

Tag list: @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters @nervousinfluencertidalwave @ayameshu @izzieg3987

[bonne-chanson]

a/n: first part of the stormbringer collection! <3 i’ve never published anything for verlaine despite him being my favorite (also because i just started this blog a few months ago lmao) but here he is! i hope i did him justice :> on another note, please assume that everything i write for will be gender neutral unless specified through request! this is also my first time writing a fic this long (and a first attempt at slow burn and drama…) anyway, happy birthday, paul! 🥳 here’s over thirty pages of a fanfic. oh, and another thing, this is canon-divergent! the flags are alive because of you ;>

i. mars, bringer of war

the first movement of the planets suite (masterlist).

✑ character/s: paul verlaine x reader

✑ short desc: paul verlaine has only ever known a life of violence and bloodshed. the first time he comes to know what tranquility and peace are like is through you.

✑ content includes: romance ; drama ; slight angst ; slow burn ; canon-divergent (the flags live, but for a price) ; paul verlaine needs a hug ; nsfw (MDNI!)

✑ word count: 15.4k words

Inside Paul Verlaine brewed a tumultuous storm of anger, anguish and despair — something once akin to a vicious, feral dog now turned into the likeness of barren weeping willow. In the eye of such a complex storm laid the kind of emptiness understood and able to be empathized with by no one else but himself, only adorned by a deep sense of grief and graced by a hint of envy and longing for something beyond his very existence.

Paul Verlaine was not human, no matter how much he yearned to be one. An innate sense of humanity was something he simply did not have.

At least, that was what he believed his origins dictated him to be.

Much the same way sculptures were crafted and portraits were painted, he was also born by the hand of a human being; carefully shaped with a firm idea in mind, built finely with the kind of details meant to follow a certain image in one’s head, and formed particularly to suit the desires and the planned design of the artist. Yet while the paintings of Monet and the statues of Michelangelo could be looked at by people with the kind of admiration any other human being would be able to coax out of another, however, Paul would be looked at in terror and disgust — the kind of reactions he soon grew to become more familiar with over time.

For what is a man-made being fated to become, when created with the sole purpose of destruction in joy and love’s stead?

Paul Verlaine was made to be a weapon — born through creation, ironically made to obliterate on command. A bringer of war, they said, a being made for the sake of bloodshed and demolition.

Violent. Cataclysmic. Inherently inhuman.

He had long since given up on any attempt to cope and come to terms with his inhumanity, much less make himself feel human, allowing himself to sink deeper into the only lifestyle fit for a being like him: assassination. After all, there was no point in trying to convince himself he was a part of something bigger the same way everyone else was, not when he was so alien. A God above existed, but that same God did not love him enough to give him the same sense of belonging every other human received the moment they were born — he was sure of it.

And soon after, his name would be whispered among even the strongest in his field, uttered with caution by passersby and spat with spite by the most elite of anyone he made an enemy of. Nobody in their right mind ever went up to the soulless King of Assassins to face him head-on, at the very least not willingly, not if they wanted to die with their lives lived in full.

The first time you had ever heard of the name Paul Verlaine was on the day of Chuuya’s one-year anniversary as a mafioso.

“Chuuya,” the European man before you had bent down on one knee, bowing his head towards the russet-haired boy as he would to royalty, “I have come to protect you.”

In the midst of playing a happy game of pool with your friends, the Flags, to celebrate your youngest member’s first year of survival in the mafia, chaos ensued when a brunet man had somehow managed to enter the Old World bar that the seven of you often frequented. Albatross had thrown his kukri at the foreigner first, reacting quickly before being followed by Piano Man’s strangling wires and the thrusts of Iceman’s cue stick — all of which were dodged easily by the man dressed in blue. And even when Lippmann’s gunshots were fired and Doc’s lethal injections were aimed at him, not a single scratch scathed his skin, and he had avoided each attack by a mere whisker.

“I did not come here to fight you,” he clarified, fixing his suit. “My name is Adam Frankenstein. I am a Europole detective.”

The tension in the room changed the moment he spoke.

“...You’re a cop, huh?” Piano Man smirked, fingers flexing to ready the wires twisting between them. “We seem to have come to a misunderstanding, then, Adam. It was a mistake on your part thinking that a cop could waltz in here and make it out alive.”

He then turned to Chuuya.

“Chuuya, consider this another one of your one-year anniversary presents! You’re free to break his arms and legs as you please!” he says with a hearty laugh, about to wrap another wire around his neck until—

“Wait,” you interject, preparing to reason with the rest. Though you had no ability, considered no more powerful than that of Yokohama’s average civilian, you were still their friend, and as their friend, they held a great deal of value for your opinions, too. “Let’s hear him out first.”

With a polite nod of his head, Adam momentarily looks at you. “Thank you.” He dusts away the rest of the debris tainting his well-pressed clothes before facing everyone else. “I was created by the skill user engineer Dr. Wollstonecraft. I am the first autonomous humanoid supercomputer in existence. Again, my name is Adam Frankenstein, and I have come to arrest the assassin who is after your life.”

Albatross raises both brows, picking his kukri back up to sling it over his shoulder. “An assassin?”

“That’s right,” the robot responds. “The assassin’s name is Verlaine — Paul Verlaine.”

Paul Verlaine… You allow the name to linger in your head for a little longer, ingraining itself into your thoughts.

(You have absolutely no idea just how much those thoughts would consume you later on.)

“...Verlaine?” Chuuya muttered before his gaze became fixed on Adam. “How do you know that name?”

“You know this guy, Chuuya?”

Straightening his knee, Adam stands, his posture exuding an aura of pristine perfection. “You cannot defeat Verlaine alone, Chuuya, which is why I was sent here. He is no ordinary assassin, you see,” he warns. “Paul Verlaine is known globally as the King of Assassins—”

There is a short pause, and for a moment, you would have been able to sense the hesitation in his voice (if there was any) had it not been for his mechanical intonation.

“—and your older brother.”

Chuuya can only frown in response. “That can’t be true.”

Paul Verlaine is dead.

At least, that’s what he believed.

It was what Rimbaud had told him the year before — Paul Verlaine, his long-time partner, was dead. Shot and killed after an incident that happened at the research facility located in Suribachi City. The Arahabaki Incident that occurred prior to Chuuya’s recruitment into the Port Mafia involved the betrayal of one of their sub-executives who created a god, and the root of the incident could be traced back to nine years ago at the end of the war.

Two European agents and highly adept skill users Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine both managed to steal Arahabaki from the former national defense force, whose primary focus was to research an artificial skill-derived life-form: Arahabaki itself. Verlaine, however, had other plans—

And chose to betray Rimbaud at the very site of the mission.

According to Rimbaud, his partner wanted to take Arahabaki all for himself and it eventually led to a fight that escalated into something violent. Rimbaud eventually emerged victorious for the price of having to kill Verlaine, although their battle alerted the military’s attention and their tracking unit, and due to his injuries, he had no choice but to absorb Arahabaki and use the skill as his own, losing most of his strength and his memories in the process. Thus, the Impostor Predecessor Incident was staged in an attempt to lure out the real Arahabaki — Chuuya Nakahara.

And as soon as Chuuya finishes elaborating the entire fiasco, Adam shakes his head. “No, I must correct you,” he says. “Paul Verlaine is still very much alive.”

You lean in a little more, intrigued by the statement, which seems to surprise the rest of your friends; you had always been known for your gentler personality among them, never really choosing to involve yourself in any quarrels and dangerous situations, so this came off as quite the shocker. “What evidence do you have?”

“I can prove it,” Adam replies, his tone leaning into being a little more serious, “but doing so would violate my obligation to secrecy in regard to the mission. The only individual concerned in this matter is Chuuya, ergo he is the only one authorized to learn the details.”

“Can’t we have at least some form of proof?” you argue, catching the interest of the Flags. Your enthusiasm towards the affair seems to have caught their attention as well. “We’re already involved in this, too. I mean… as much as the issue may be about Chuuya’s past, we deserve to know at least the significant details so we’re well-aware of what we may be dealing with.” There is a short pause before you add, “Chuuya is our friend, too, after all.”

(You have absolutely no idea how your interjection just saved their lives.)

As if processing your words, Adam blinks before handing you a file holder from behind his back.

“Huh? Where did he get that from?” Albatross questions, looking back and forth between you and the foreign man. “Did he just—?”

“I suppose I can provide you with some evidence without breaching the regulations assigned to me,” he says, handing you the file holder.

You thank him promptly before opening the file holder, the Flags piling up behind you to take a peek as well.

“Yoshino Ryota,” Iceman says, his tone carrying a sense of familiarity. “Wasn’t he one of the two guards at the top floor of HQ?”

Doc tugs his IV pole closer to him as he looks over the document. “If I remember correctly, the boss had the two of them replaced only recently after an incident occurred — something about one of their heads getting blown off and the other getting minced.”

“Death by implosion?” Lippmann finds himself wincing at the descriptions offered by each document. “How brutal…” he murmurs.

You hand the sheets over to Piano Man, turning to Adam yet again. “Is there anything else you could provide us with?”

“Whoa, (Y/N),” your leader snickers, a little amused by your zealous behavior. “You’re awfully fascinated by this whole ordeal. Mind sharing?”

You feel your face burn up at his sudden accusation. You? Fascinated? You were only being a good friend by taking as many precautions as possible. You couldn’t fight and neither did you have any ability to your name, but you still wanted to be as useful as possible to them in order to aid their safety.

(Again, you have absolutely no idea that what you are doing right now ends in saving their lives.)

“I’m just… trying to help,” you mutter, a little shy now. “Verlaine is the King of Assassins for a reason, after all. Better safe than sorry, you know?”

“(Y/N)’s right.” Chuuya stands in front of the closed door. “This may be my problem, but if something ever happened to any of you guys, I don’t think I could just ignore it. I’d try to help whether you liked it or not; I bet the rest of you’d feel the same way.” He looks at Adam, his gaze now stern. “That being said, detective, spit it out and tell ‘em, too, or I’m not cooperating.”

Adam nods. “I understand perfectly how you feel, Chuuya,” he replies, his voice a warm assurance. “You value your friendships and make decisions accordingly. I suppose this is what is called human nature.” And suddenly, he’s approaching the shorter boy with a graceful stride in each step. “Very well. I will give up on trying to persuade you and instead propose a different method.”

And out of Adam’s elbows shoots two anchored wires, spinning around in the air before wrapping around Chuuya. The magnets on each anchor connect, binding him in the process, leaving him confused and irritated as the brunet hoists him under his arm and leaps out of the doorway.

“My mission is the priority, and it is what you humans would call—”

He pauses, mulling the words over in his system.

“...one’s nature, I suppose. Therefore, I will be borrowing Chuuya for the next thirty minutes,” he announces, and within the next few moments, he’s off running to the next residential district with Chuuya in tow.

Awkwardly, you stare at the open door before you, pursing your lip.

“...So,” Albatross coughs, “what now?”

Iceman can only shrug, taking a cube of cue chalk from the pool table to rub at the tip of his cue stick. “All we can really do is wait.”

Everyone is quiet for a good moment, letting the awkwardness of the situation pass before Piano Man speaks up.

“Iceman’s right,” he says. “I say we have our fun while waiting.” Picking up the rack from the side, he grabs each billiard ball and places them inside, shaking the triangle for a bit to even out the spacing between each one. “How about we help ourselves to another round?”

You shrug and smile, walking towards the table to grab a cue stick of your own. “I’m down.”

No one argued against it — if anything, they were all for it. It was precisely because of that that the pool hall became full of its usual noise: the clacking of sticks against the cue ball, the combination of cheers and trash-talking, the sizzle of the alcohol being poured and the chime of the glasses clinking together. It was a scene you would never, under any circumstance, find yourself wanting to trade for anything else in the world. And why would you when you were blessed with such a closely-knit group of friends who would always be there for you during your ups and downs, your worst moments and best celebrations?

(Little did you know.)

One by one, each sphere began to fall into the pocket points, eventually only leaving one left during your turn. All eyes were on you now, and only a singular point was needed in order for you to bring home the gold.

Carefully, you aim, the chalked-up tip of your stick very breathily brushing up against the white cue ball before you as you make your attempt to center your push against the remaining red pool ball. The alcohol, however, makes it difficult for your hands to focus, quivering as they try to stabilize themselves for your point’s sake.

That’s when you feel a pair of arms slither gingerly up around your own, steadying your hands on the stick to allow you to focus better.

“Here,” a suave, familiar voice murmurs beside your ear, and for a moment, your breath hitches in your throat; you can’t tell if the warmth blooming across your cheeks is coming from the beer or the contact. “I know the booze makes it difficult for you to keep your hands in check, so aim like this.”

And then—

Clack!

Albatross’ jaw drops and he whines, stomping his foot on the ground almost childishly. “No fair, Lippmann! You can’t just leech onto (Y/N) for a point like that!”

Lippmann’s laugh is canorous. You find yourself stunned at his voice — as is the situation with everyone else in the room — when he chuckles at Albatross’ complaint, only waving a hand to dismiss the younger Flag’s protests. Staring at him was something you simply couldn’t help yourself doing, not with his unusually handsome face and sweet, attractive smile. His beauty, after all, was unrivaled; whether he decided to dress in men’s or women’s fashion, anyone would find themselves falling too easily for him.

You were no exception to the rule. Though you never looked at him in any other way than as friends, the thought of him being so beautiful that it stilled your heart every now and then would still sometimes catch you by surprise.

Smiling, your hand reaches up to squeeze his shoulder playfully. “I’m giving him half my point since he helped me gain it.”

The others groan and mutter to themselves about the entire ball game being unfair, with Piano Man even huffing about how the blond had, yet again, used his charms to work his way out of last place.

Unbeknownst to everyone else in the room, however, and including yourself, the actor’s gaze lingers upon you for a little longer than it should while you laugh, blissfully unaware of his attention. You’ve never known anything about the way his body would naturally gravitate to yours under any setting, the way he would every so often mirror your speech patterns just to keep you interested in the conversation, or the way he’d speak softer around you, his language a little more gentle than with the others. It’s why you never bothered to acknowledge it — to acknowledge him.

His thoughts, however, are cut when the ring of your phone echoes throughout the pool hall, and with a long sigh, you excuse yourself quickly to take it, only to find that you’re being summoned by your friends’ boss himself.

And so, with a brief farewell and a promise to return shortly, you leave, the sounds of laughter, alcohol glasses and billiard balls becoming more distant as you walk outside the Old World bar.

The first time you had ever heard of the name Paul Verlaine was on the day of Chuuya’s one-year anniversary as a mafioso, and the first time you see him personally is only hours after through smoke and ruin.

“Hm?” Amidst the grunts and groans of your friends and the wreckage of the place you once called your safe haven, you freeze, unable to move a limb in fear. “I don’t exactly recall seeing any record of you anywhere.” He pauses, not even turning to you to see your face. “Nor have I heard of a person like you being in Chuuya’s life before.”

There was no warning. Everything went down to hell while none other than the boss had attempted to recruit you into the Port Mafia earlier (to which you had politely turned down, saying you’ll “think about it”); Paul Verlaine had entered the Old World bar so casually — almost as if he were nothing but and under the guise of a regular customer, ready to drown himself in alcohol after a particularly overwhelming day. Not a single person in the room had assumed otherwise given his attire was that of a normal black suit and the sunglasses that all mailmen of the Port Mafia wore as their uniform, and the only addition to his ensemble was the porkpie hat similar to that of Chuuya’s. Yet before they knew it, their bodies were thrown all over the place as if they were mere ragdolls, their weapons practically comparable to toys against the only man left standing in the room.

Piano Man was bloodied up, strangled by his own wires with multiple lacerations decorating his body; Iceman had been stabbed with his own cue stick from earlier, the other half of it sunken too deep into his body for him to move; Albatross had been slashed cleanly by the kukri he frequented, his body left to lay in a pool of his own blood; Doc’s bones had been crushed enough to render him motionless, the pain so severe that he cannot even scream—

And Lippmann…

Lippmann was being held up by the throat, limp and almost breathless, his hands wrapped around the stranger’s wrist in a useless attempt to free himself. His eyes, typically a beautiful shine of earthy brown, were glazed over and wet from asphyxiation, his usually kept blond hair was a complete mess from being tossed around, and his pristine cream-colored crombie coat was dripping with red. The one who held you earlier and sobered you up during a game of pool with your friends to help earn you a point, the first one next to Piano Man who welcomed you into the Flags, the one whom you felt closest to in the group was now in the very hands of death himself.

And death, as you would have liked to call the perpetrator, only stared him down, his brown eyes so distantly cold as he watched the actor in his grasp suffocate.

“(Y– Y/N)...” your friend manages to choke out between desperate gasps, “run—!”

“How peculiar,” Verlaine murmurs aloud, using his free hand to brush away some of the stray strands of hair splayed across Lippmann’s face, getting a better view of his beaten-up complexion. “If my research tells me I’m correct, you were supposed to be the most difficult one to kill.”

You can only stand there, completely still in terror, your legs aching to do as Lippmann says and bolt out of there as fast as you can, yet they shake so uncontrollably that you would have thought you’d collapse by now. Rapid thumping beats against your ribcage as your mouth goes dry, and you find that your hands and feet have quite literally gone cold, numbing themselves to any form of escape as if they had suddenly shut themselves down on instinct.

“Well,” the breathiness — disappointment — in his voice snaps you back out of being in your own head, “you didn’t exactly put up much of a fight, now did you?”

It was almost as if you weren’t even there. Your presence was barely acknowledged by him, and though you suppose that may be quite the plus when it comes to your survival, your friends were all barely being grazed on the cheek by death’s fingertips and all you could do was stand there with the thought of being next.

Verlaine sighs in mock compassion. “Pity… I’d say this is the most awful way for you to go out, no? What, with you born with such luck, after all — blessed with such a beautiful face…”

The hand formerly tucking away Lippmann’s hair behind his ear grabs him by the face.

“A career in which your hands are able to remain clean…”

The assassin’s fingers press against your friend’s throat a little tighter, leading him to start choking on his own saliva.

“People who adore you endlessly…”

His lips begin to turn blue from the lack of air, and Verlaine can only smirk.

“Friends who love you to death...” He watches Lippmann’s eyes roll back, hands wrapped around his wrist in a desperate attempt to flee slowly going limp. “Don’t worry, I’m not so merciless. I’ll grant you the favor of eternal sleep first.”

And then he smiles so kindly that it almost confuses you.

“That way, you can end your perfect life without having to see the rest of your loved ones suffer.”

“No, don’t!”

Verlaine blinks.

His head snaps over to look at you, and much like a deer caught in the headlights, you stay put.

“…Oh, goodness, what’s this?” he adds, a small smirk gracing his features as he glances back at Lippmann. “You truly are quite the blessed one, aren’t you? A pretty face, a good career, loving friends… and a darling partner to boot.”

Lippmann tries his best to turn his gaze at you, drool seeping from the corner of his lip and down his chin at the lack of air. Even at the touch of death, he still thinks of you.

“(Y/N)—“ he squeaks, coughing and gasping, “don’t—!”

“(Y/N), hm…? Come now, let them speak,” Verlaine coos, tightening his grasp on the blond’s neck, blooming purples and blues across the expanse of his throat.

Your breath gets caught in your lungs as all sorts of possibilities race through your head at the same time, all of which ending in a single outcome: he’d make a quick kill out of you, regardless of it being by crushing your head into a pulp or by making your heart implode. You had easily come to the conclusion that Paul Verlaine was too talented of a killer to be stopped by a mere civilian like you; if he had managed to take down five of the most skilled and feared members of the Port Mafia by himself without so much as breaking a sweat, then what could you do?

A weak cough interrupts your train of thought as your eyes follow the sound, leading you to a bloodied Albatross with a large gash across his chest, gushing red.

“...(Y/N),” he chokes weakly, “run…”

Yet with a trembling lip and glossy eyes, you stand your ground, looking up at the dangerous man before you again, trying your best to brave yourself.

You allow yourself the luxury of ingraining his appearance in your head first, however, even if not willingly—

And there is no denial that the assassin in front of you is a beautiful being.

He stands so elegantly, his posture balanced and effortless even as he holds another man by the throat so violently — a stark contrast to the air of poise he radiates. Blond hair perfectly frames his face in a relaxed flow of waves, the right side of his face obscured by his bangs and the left decorated by a small braid that blends well into the rest of his long, tied hair. Rich brown eyes bore into yours with the kind of intensity swirling in them that would have left you breathless had it not already been for the anxiety swallowing you whole, and even the way he dresses is sleek, not a wrinkle in his suit to be seen. The general atmosphere around him emits a kind of finesse and grace you would only be able to find in a fairy tale’s Prince Charming with the complexion of an ancient Nordic god, and, if you were bold enough to think of it, the tempting prowess of the devil himself.

Paul Verlaine is a handsome man, almost irritatingly so.

“You aren’t supposed to be here.” He tilts his head to the side and his voice almost comforts you, snapping you out of being stuck in your own head completely. “I had planned to make this quick.”

The dryness of your lips prevents you from responding as urgently as you would have liked to, and you find yourself tripping over your own words. “I… please, don’t…”

“Don’t what?"

You wince, your knees locking while his sharp words cut through you like a knife.

“Don’t— don’t kill them,” you sputter, breaths uneven and stance unsteady.

Entertained, he loosens his grip on Lippmann’s neck, and a sense of hope washes over your entire being at the action. It’s not nearly enough to keep him alive, but the chances of you doing something — anything — to help keep them alive and breathing were still there.

“Why?”

Your hands go cold yet again and you feel that familiar twist in your stomach make a knot. One excuse runs after the other in your head in a pathetic attempt to conjure up a justification good enough for him to let your friends go and to leave all of you alone, yet you know well enough that for a man only concerned with his kill, much the same as a predator ready to pounce on prey, no reason nor rebuttal will be adequate enough to make sense for him. It won’t matter at all. If anything, you find that you are approaching the situation blindly; you have absolutely no idea what you are doing, only that you are doing it simply because you have to and you are left without a choice if you want your friends to see the next day.

Swallowing hard, you release a shaky exhale of your breath. “I just… I don’t want them to die. It’s not something they deserve.”

He hums.

“Mm. And do you think that matters?”

Your heart nearly stops beating, but you continue anyway. “It… it should, because it does.”

“Hm.”

The relief you feel is incomparable to anything else in the world when he drops Lippmann’s weak body to the ground. It’s harsh, and you can’t do anything but stand there if you want to keep yourself breathing, but it’s a step forward in the direction you want the situation to progress in.

“...How interesting,” he murmurs under his breath, approaching you. With every footstep, you shrink further into yourself, afraid of the things he’s capable of doing to you. “Both your reasoning and your eyes.”

…What?

Now confused, you open your mouth to ask him what he means by that. It makes no sense, but perhaps it’s his way of returning the response you had given him only moments prior. He seems half-amused and half-bored, but an incomprehensible emotion lingers in his gaze the longer you two stare into each other’s souls, searching for something—

…But what are you searching for, anyway?

“I’m feeling merciful today, and so I’ll leave them alive, as you wish,” he speaks, taking a step back. “I’ve spent far too much time here than I’ve intended.”

And before you know it, he is gone.

“(Y/N)!”

The shrill voice of a young boy pulls you out of your thoughts and you turn around to find none other than Chuuya run up to you, his feet clumsy and in a rush as he treads down the hospital’s hallway. Behind him, Adam follows, his footsteps wide yet perfectly measured as always, and he quickly manages to catch up to Chuuya with ease.

For a good while, the russet-haired mafioso is stunned, looking at you with an expression that can only be described as relief. His eyes were sunken, dark circles accentuating his brown hues, and his skin was deathly pale — both a result of his anxieties and stresses for the past week or so.

“You… you’re okay,” he breathes out, reaching out to check. “You’re not hurt or anything, are you?”

Immediately, you shake your head no, placing your hands on his shoulders with a small smile. “I’m alright, Chuuya. He left me unharmed. Didn’t even lay a finger on me.”

He sighs and smiles at you, reaching up to squeeze your hands in his own while you turn your gaze over to Adam.

“Are you two alright? Did anything happen while we weren’t with you?”

Adam nods, briefing you on the situation on their end quickly. “That’s very kind of you to ask, Mx. (Y/N). Quite a lot occurred in your absence.”

Verlaine had apparently come to fetch Chuuya dressed in his mailman attire while you were busy calling for help for the Flags. You didn’t understand most of what happened with his ability during the fiasco that transpired, only that it must have caused him a great deal of pain when Verlaine had opened up his Gate before Dazai had come in to salvage him using his anti-skill ability.

Yet even amidst his own suffering, his first thought was of his friends.

“Are the others alright?” Chuuya places your hands down gently, still squeezing them, hoping for a good answer. “Piano Man, Lippmann, Iceman, Doc, Albatross — are they…?”

You give him another reassuring smile, squeezing his hands back.

“They’re alive.” The breath he’d been holding released itself at your words. “Not… not particularly in the best condition, but they’re alive.” You gesture towards the door to the emergency room, entering with both Chuuya and Adam, and inside you find your beloved friends.

All of them seemed to be in critical condition. Piano Man had multiple bandages wrapped around his body, particularly around his neck where he’d been strangled by his own wires; Iceman seemed stable enough, and he almost looked as if he were only asleep, but the IV bags full of blood and the lack of color on his face were enough to say that he was still in a severe state; the same could be said for Albatross, who, although was in a rather wonky sleeping position, had multiple dressings and blood bags used to aid his rather serious condition; Doc was decorated in plaster casts and splints in order to realign most of his broken bones and immobilize his movements for healing, though surgery could definitely be seen in the long run—

And Lippmann, the only one you caught barely conscious at the time of your unexpected encounter with Verlaine, was now fully unconscious, bandages wrapped around his throat, dressed in a hospital gown instead of his typical suit and crombie coat.

“I… Your boss — Dr. Mori — said they should fully heal in a few months or so. Their injuries were indeed life-threatening, but nothing that your organization’s doctors couldn’t handle.” You take a deep breath and place a hand on Chuuya’s head, stroking it affectionately. “They’ll be okay. Promise.”

“...That’s all I needed to hear,” he responds, and you can almost hear his voice tremble when he speaks.

You only nod, turning your full body to face both Adam and Chuuya.

“I should get going now… I’ve been here all day and I do need to run errands back at home,” you explain. “The nurses told me to tell you to feel free to stay as long as you need.” A glance at your friends tells both the android and the gravity manipulator all they need to know. “They’ll need as much support as they can get, after all.”

Chuuya reaches up to squeeze your shoulder as he nods. “Right, take care, (Y/N).”

Again, you nod, but before you’re able to take your leave—

“Oh, and one more thing—”

You blink.

“What is it?”

He pauses for a good moment, running the words through his head first before saying them aloud. “Stay away from Verlaine at all costs. I don’t know the full details of what happened, and he may have been lenient with you considering you were in the same situation as the rest of ‘em—” he gestures to the Flags, “—but there’s no telling whether or not he’ll be merciful with you the next time anything happens.”

His lips press themselves into a thin line as he looks down, avoiding your gaze.

“I nearly lost all of you only around a week ago… I can’t afford to let something like that happen again.”

You don’t say anything in return, but the nod of your head is enough to tell him that you’ve acknowledged his simple request — to avoid Verlaine at all costs.

(That chance encounter you had with him earlier was only the first of many to come.)

Soon after, you find yourself back at your apartment; it’s a small, humble place with just enough living space for yourself. There isn’t much to it other than the essentials and a few decorations you find enhances your home, but it’s cozy enough for yourself. There’s nothing extravagant nor overtly special about it, but there’s no need for it to be — it’s comfortably lived in, snugly shaped to fit its sole inhabitant’s needs, carrying with it a certain intimacy meant to cater to you and you alone.

Per usual, you go about your nightly routine, something you had perfected over time to soothe you after a particularly long and stressful day. The monotonous practice of taking a bath and changing into your pajamas before eating a warm meal seems to pacify any feelings of worry and stress you’d been holding onto earlier, and not long after, you are in the comfort of your own bedroom, the balcony left open to allow the gentle night breeze to caress your skin.

The thought of the events that occurred three weeks ago haunt you, however, and a single question lingers in your mind:

Why did he spare me?

It bothered you, and it had been almost a week.

(You don’t know it yet, but he’s found himself quite preoccupied with the thought of you.)

Almost a week since you met death face-to-face; almost a week since you stood in front of him as life itself; almost a week since you had spoken words that should not have made sense, yet mattered enough when it came to saving the Flags’ lives; and almost a week since Verlaine had gazed upon you, not as something of a nuisance, but as something to be considered.

Every so often within the small time frame between what happened and the now, you find yourself wondering how things would have ended had he decided to put you in the same condition as the rest of the Flags. He spared you, after all; there was a look in his eye that was unreadable during the life-saving conversation you had with him — something that could only be described as… fascination? Interest? Captivation?

You were never the strong type, neither did you wield a special ability that even made you worth considering in the eyes of an assassin like him. There was no power in your veins, nor did you have anything he wanted when it came to his issue involving Chuuya. In fact, you had absolutely no business standing there when it all happened, yet you chose to remain anyway, both because you had a moral obligation to your friends and because of fear.

Paul Verlaine is a bearer of destruction, after all — someone more than capable of bringing wreckage and ruin everywhere he goes. That natural talent of his does not rage through him in the same manner as a devastating storm, however, and it instead is as eerie and as still as its eye. He is chaos within the serenity that houses demolition, embellished by a deception of peace, similar to that of the false clarity the clearness of the sky brings in the middle of such a calamity.

"How interesting. Both your reasoning and your eyes."

If anything, his potential fascination in you scared you more than it should. And with him still being on the loose…

"I’m feeling merciful today, and so I’ll leave them alive, as you wish."

There was no telling what he would do next.

You sigh, trying to brush your thoughts off, dismissing them as you smoothen out your nightwear in the small, cozy space you called your own.

Only this time, you are not alone.

The moment you turn to the mirror in the room, your heart plummets to your stomach.

Paul Verlaine.

Immediately, you turn to face him, but your step backward creates a stutter in the rhythm of your heartbeat as he follows, taking a step forth, mimicking your movement.

You didn’t even so much as hear him. His movements were so quiet and precise that it completely slipped your mind how easily he was able to enter your home without making the slightest indication that he was there.

“…If you have any plans to kill me, please—“ you gulp, the air around you suddenly tasting so thick and unbearable, “just… just make it quick and painless. I won’t ask for anything more.”

But he says nothing in response to your request.

It irks you at first, the stress pulsing through your veins the longer he stares at you. Your heart is screaming, eating at itself alive because of how agonizing the fear of being right in front of him is becoming, yet he makes no move to snap your neck or crush your bones—

And instead, he reaches a gloved hand up to your face.

You can’t feel the warmth that radiates from his skin. His gloves hide the dirt and blood that stain his entire being, and that barrier is something he’d rather keep when touching you — you, who knows nothing of the anguish he grew up experiencing; you, whose only worries of every day life are your schedules and mundane tasks; you, who are clueless to the kind of bloodshed and violence only he is capable of drawing out from his own palms. His fingers grace your cheek so gingerly, and had you braved yourself enough to look at his hand, you would have caught a glimpse of him trembling, almost as if he were afraid, feeling unworthy of tracing the softest patterns on your skin.

He knows he doesn’t deserve a moment with you like this, that even God himself above would frown in disapproval at the sight of an inhuman being indulging in the presence of someone like you. But God almighty be damned, because that same divinity abandoned him the moment his existence was manifested in that laboratory, leaving his entire existence to spiral down to hell, and the last thing he wanted now was to let such a cruel deity take away what little innocence he had left to keep — the small piece of heaven, of innocence he seems to have found in another person that is you.

He doesn’t speak, and neither do you move, your breaths shallow and quivering, halting entirely when he takes your chin in his hand, thumb brushing along the seam of your lips so tenderly.

Paul Verlaine is a man of violence and a man who knows nothing but war, both of internal conflict and between people, and yet you, without a sliver of knowledge about anything beyond the boundaries of your own comfort, somehow manage to tame that beast of a man every single time you come into his view.

(Unbeknownst to you, however.)

“…What are you doing?”

You choke on a whimper, trying to keep your terror at bay while he stares, holding you. You are afraid, deathly so — with a swift movement of your hand, he could easily twist your head to the side more than it is capable of taking, and your life would be over in seconds.

But he never takes the chance, no.

The longer you look up at him, the more you notice the way his eyes begin to grow so soft — they glisten in the light of the moon with the kind of fondness you would only be able to see from an artist drawn to his muse, a knight during a rendezvous with his noble sweetheart, a poet obsessively writing sonnets for his beloved.

That dollop of fondness for you only continued to swell in the weeks following your first encounter.

(He simply couldn’t get you out of his head.)

His lips press themselves into a thin line before he speaks.

“Do yourself a favor—“ for me, “—and stay out of trouble for now, alright?”

The voice that exits his lips is far more gentle now, hushed and almost affectionate. It’s a stark contrast to the way he’d threatened you and the Flags earlier in the Old World bar.

Slowly, he lets go of your cheek, taking a few steps back toward the balcony.

“Wait,” you surprise yourself, reaching a hand out to him, and he pauses in his tracks, his attention solely on you. “Will I see you again?”

(A part of you still want answers, after all.)

“...That depends,” he answers. “Will you let me?”

Taken aback by his question, you are unable to answer, and so he continues.

“I’ll see you again soon.”

There was no underlying threat behind his voice. Just a promise made certain.

And before you can ask about anything else, he is gone.

Not a moment during the few milliseconds that you blink is wasted — only the swishing of your cotton curtains with the gust of a breeze is visible before you, and before you know it, the King of Assassins has taken his leave as quickly and as quietly he had arrived.

This wouldn’t be the first instance in which you’d meet with him.

“…Psst— Earth to (Y/N)? Hello?”

The fog in your head immediately clears at the sound of Albatross’ voice.

“Huh?”

“What were you daydreamin’ about?” he asks, a cheeky grin decorating his face. “You’ve been pretty out of it lately, what, with the way you look and all—“

Bump!

“Ow!”

A quiet sigh escapes from Iceman’s lips as he takes the cigarette away from his mouth, having elbowed the blond a little too harshly. “Knock it off.” He seems to have sensed your current state of confusion, not about what Albatross said, but of the events that have occurred lately in your life.

(Not a single one of them knows about the fact that you’ve secretly been seeing the King of Assassins behind their backs.)

“I was just mentioning it out of concern, honest!” Albatross whines, rubbing his side.

You chuckle and ruffle his hair affectionately. “It’s alright, ‘Tross. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” This time, it’s Lippmann who asks. “You seem like you’ve been in your own head a lot as of late.”

Shaking your head, you smile.

“I’m fine, really.”

The evening hums with the typical clinking of glasses, alcohol buzzing through your veins as your friends fill the pool hall with their usual chatter. It had already been three months or so since the incident, and they seemed to be recovering quite well. Save for their major injuries, they seem to be back to normal, with Piano Man and Doc sharing a few drinks and Iceman and Albatross playing another round of billiards. Next to you is Lippmann, swirling around his whiskey in his glass before he turns to you with a small smile gracing his perfect lips.

“Hey,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand softly. “Walk with me for a moment? You look like you could use some fresh air.”

“...Okay.”

Not another word was shared between the both of you as you excuse yourselves from the rest of the group to exit the Old World bar, making your way to the entrance before walking down the streets with him. Shared laughter and stories echo throughout the quiet night, the streetlamps above you both casting shadows along the tranquil residential areas, stretching the peaceful atmosphere between you both. And after a while of talking to one another, which, admittedly helped calm your nerves a little from all the unease you’d been feeling lately—

“(Y/N)...?”

“Yeah?”

He chuckles to himself rather awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “This is really awkward… I mean, I had this whole thing planned out, and, well…” Lippmann faces you with a small smile — something so genuine that it couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. “I’d like to ask if you’d be willing to go out with me sometime…?”

…Oh.

Oh.

So now everything about the way he approached you made sense.

It was so obvious in the way he talked to you, so much more gentle in his words and mannerisms as opposed to when he was interacting with the rest of the Flags; obvious in the way he always offered to give you a ride home just to see you off safely; obvious in the way his gaze would direct itself to you first before anyone else in the group whenever he told stories or made jokes; obvious in the way he always took the seat next to yours, the way he would order the same drink as your own, how he never failed to smile whenever you did—

“Lippmann…” you begin slowly, “I… I’m sorry.”

That itself is enough to tell him everything he needed to know.

There’s nothing about him worthy of rejection — everything about him is perfect. But human feelings simply didn’t work that way, and reciprocation is always a gamble.

Ever the actor, he only smiles back at you. You can’t tell just how much he’s hiding behind it.

“It’s alright,” he says with a small nod. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just glad I finally have that out of my system.”

You smile back, bittersweet. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us.”

He shakes his head and waves his hand, dismissing the thought immediately. “It won’t, I assure you. Though, I must ask… is there already someone?”

You find yourself a little taken aback by his question.

(Does the King of Assassins count?)

And then you shake your head no.

“...I see.”

An awkward silence befalls the both of you before he gestures to the way you both came from.

“Let’s head back, shall we?”

The rest of the night goes on as it usually would, and the weight of Lippmann’s confession from earlier doesn’t seem to lie heavy on either of you. If anything, he takes it better than most men would take it, and remains the same respectful friend toward you as the hours of darkness outside deepen.

You’re more than grateful to have a friend like him. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your time together eventually ends, and before you know it, the cool air of the night brushes against your skin while you’re stepping away from the bar, bidding your friends farewell with a wave, letting your glance linger a little longer on Lippmann after what happened. They had insisted on walking you back home to your apartment, only for you to kindly turn them down, knowing that their tipsy selves would very likely argue over something trivial on the way back (not that you would have minded, though — any banter they had with one another was always light-hearted and never serious).

Now, with only the quiet rhythm of your footsteps, you allow yourself to get lost in your own thoughts once more.

The confession plays over and over again in your head. You grimace at the memory of it, silently wishing to yourself to never have to go through anything like that ever again.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care much for Lippmann at all. In fact, it was precisely because you care that you turned him down. You didn’t feel anything for him beyond the friendship you enjoyed with him, and there were never any romantic undertones or hints to the gestures and words you had directed at him. There was no use in forcing anything either — you didn’t want to hurt one of your dear friends, and the sting aches, not of regret but of knowing that he definitely deserved better than being rejected on what was supposed to be a happy Friday night for all of you. Lippmann deserves something real for someone as flawless as him, after all, and you didn’t want to selfishly take him for yourself without being able to give him that.

(You have no idea of it at the moment, and a life spent with Lippmann sounds pleasant to the ear, but the tug on your heart was being pulled by another already, even if not strong yet.)

Not long after, you are in your apartment again—

…only to find that a familiar blond is sitting on your couch.

And it isn’t the blond that had just confessed to you earlier that night.

“You’re back,” you state simply, your shoulders a little more relaxed now compared to when he first arrived on the railings of your balcony.

His footsteps were deadly silent entering your home, his general presence even quieter, and he sits with the grace and confidence of a polished killer even while he's only reading, but you no longer shake in his presence.

You’ve begun to look forward to his visits for some reason.

You don’t really understand why, but you choose not to at the same time.

“I am,” he responds, his eyes never leaving the small book of poetry in his hands.

Cautiously, you circle around him, trying to put some distance between you both before heading over to your kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea.

(How strange; you are making two.)

Your mind wanders yet again.

It’s officially been three months since the incident occurred, and here the King of Assassins was, lounging around in your living room as if he, too, lived in your space, visiting you almost every night for your company. The Flags had survived, and though you find yourself thankful for whatever miracle took place during the time of their supposed massacre, you still feel a sense of unease around the man in your room knowing that both you and your friends are supposed to be dead. After all, Paul Verlaine meant to erase you and the Flags from existence with the experience of a killer, cold and efficient, who never knew hesitation.

His words ring in your head again and again:

"I’m feeling merciful today, and so I’ll leave them alive, as you wish."

(Unbeknownst to you, that had been the first time he’d ever hesitated.)

Verlaine sits on your couch with his ankle atop his knee, cheek resting on his fist with his elbow supporting the weight on the arm of the couch. His eyes rove over the words in the book — your poetry book, one of the few that you keep on the coffee table — as you continue preparing some drinks for yourselves. If such a situation were under different circumstances in a different setting, the sight of it may have even been domestic, the room warm and bathed in the soft glow of your night lamps, garnished by the scent of fresh linen and the steam coming from brewing tea, and the atmosphere quiet with only the gentle breeze and the occasional chirps of the crickets outside to make for some late night ambience.

It doesn’t take long before your refreshments are ready, and your cold hands grasp one of the mugs tightly to try and soothe yourself for a moment.

And then he speaks up.

“You look well,” he muses aloud, and the observation somehow sends something of a cold shiver up your spine.

You hum, taking both mugs, trying to steady your hold as you place one in front of him and sit next to him on the couch, albeit putting some distance between you two.

“I could say the same about you.”

He hums, taking the mug and blowing on the steaming liquid for a moment before taking the first sip, savoring the calming taste and scent of your brewed chamomile.

The air between you two remains thin, and for a long time, not a single word is uttered between you both. For some reason, the silence helps your nerves ease up a little more before you gather the courage to speak.

“...Adam told me a little more about you.”

“Did he now?” There’s a slight edge to his voice that you choose to ignore. “What did the android tell you?”

Your lips press themselves into a thin line before you answer. “I… Well, he told me quite a bit about your targets — particularly the one back in the U.K.”

“Hm?” He raises a brow. “Ah, the one involving the queen?”

He’d said it so casually, too. There was an incident not too long ago at the coronation chamber in one of England’s cathedrals involving the assassination of three highly skilled and trained imperial guards, all of whom had their bones crushed and died of severe internal injuries shortly after. Like the documents you had read from before, there was no struggle seen from the victims — only that they were dealt with quickly. Not too long after came the assassination of the queen’s body double followed her ceremony, the event of the murder as swiftly as the manner in which the crown was placed on her head.

To think that both the British royal family and the Order of the Clocktower were both known to be impenetrable forces, and yet someone like him managed to sneak in and even kill people; it was befitting of his title as the King of Assassins.

You nod in response. “Yes, that one.”

“Don’t think much of it,” he coos at you, almost lullaby-like in tone. “That has nothing to do with you.”

Again, it goes quiet. And again, had the events from three months ago never occurred, you would have found your current situation with the assassin quite domestic.

“You haven’t asked me why yet.”

His words break the silence between you both.

You blink at him.

“Huh? Asked you what?”

“Why I didn’t take the chance,” Verlaine clarifies. “Why I let you live.”

Rendered speechless at him asking you why you have yet to ask him of what happened back then, you stare at your tea, slowly growing colder by the minute.

“...I figured somewhere down the line that I shouldn’t question good luck.”

He nods, placing the book of poetry down on the table.

“I see.”

After taking another sip of your drink, you set the mug down on the table and place your hands on your lap before looking up at him. If you’d been paying attention earlier, you would have been able to catch the slightest hint of a smirk playing on his lips, disappearing as fast as it had first etched itself onto his face.

Your curiosity gnaws at you the more you bite back at it to hold yourself from asking any more than necessary.

“...If I asked you now, would you still answer?”

Yet your curiosity, as always, remains stubborn in its endeavor.

He chuckles — the sound is melodic, but his timbre is empty. For a faint second, you find yourself captivated by his short-lived laugh, appropriate to his handsome face. Then, he turns to face you with a much gentler version of that expression he first looked at you with. If he was considering your existence during the first meeting, now he was leaning into appreciating it a little more.

Not to your knowledge, however.

“Sweet thing,” he murmurs into his mug, drinking his tea before setting it down. “Does it really matter now? Would you rather I have made quick work of you and your friends?”

“I’d at least like to know the reason behind why you spared me entirely.”

Verlaine tilts his head, resting his arm on top of the couch’s headrest. “Curious little one, aren’t you?”

You gulp and look down, unsure of how to respond.

“I… well… I just want to know, is all.” You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, feeling small under his gaze. “And to answer both your questions: no and no, but I would rather try to understand. You keep coming back here, and I’ve eventually welcomed you into my home for the past few months of your returns. I just want to put a reason behind your actions to put myself at peace.”

That, you think, and I want to get to know you beyond your name on newspapers and wanted lists.

His brows furrow. “Don’t you think your friends would be upset if they knew about how you’re willingly trying to come closer to me?”

“Then why do you visit me every night?”

Suddenly, he is rendered silent. What answer does he have to a question he’s never thought of entertaining?

Truthfully, it was because of the innocent look your expression had that day that he lost all will to commit the massacre then and there. How interesting it was to him, both your reasoning and your eyes, able to cease an act of violence completely.

“...Would you like me to stop?”

The conversation is in circles — no questions are answered, only rebuttals are offered.

Thus, you decide to end that.

“...No,” you whisper, a little timidly now. “I must admit, I’ve learned to expect your presence every night when I come back home. It almost feels empty without you in it… Like I’ve learned to look forward to your visits.”

His heart stutters at your words. What?

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” he scoffs, looking down at you despite you never returning his gaze.

Slowly, you reach your hand out to his own, taking his gloved one in yours. His gloves are a pristine hue of white, not a stain or a single inkling of discoloration present, and your fingers brush over his covered knuckles so gingerly, much the same way his fingers had brushed themselves along your cheek the night he first met you by your bedroom balcony. It’s a tender, almost intimate gesture coming from you — the kind of gentleness he never thought he was deserving of nor something he’d be able to experience from a human being.

“...You’re not afraid,” he mutters.

“Not as much as I was when I first met you.”

Little by little, your palm meets his, and the size difference between your hands nearly makes him want to squeeze yours. It’s softer, far more delicate, and much more innocent compared to his own. How ironic that the hand that has taken the lives of many, waged destruction and ruin across multiple organizations and different people, is now so tenderly pressed against yours.

And with a bold move, you slot your fingers between his longer ones, your palm fully fitted to his.

His breath hitches in his throat at your actions.

For a moment, he considers doing the same, and you can see the way his fingers twitch, knuckles bending ever so slightly in order to mirror your movements—

Then he stops.

And he pulls his hand away.

No. He can’t let this continue. An inhuman being cannot find something as human as love in another person.

Paul Verlaine is a murderer, after all — a monster whose only purpose to serve in life is to take and take. Inside him brews a storm that he realizes is far too tumultuous for anyone to subdue, and such an innocent soul as yourself is deserving of something worthy of your fondness and endearment, of your love. After all, no matter how much he yearns for a sense of humanity, he will never receive it, and a beast such as himself will never be deserving of a beauty such as you.

He has nothing to his name — no friendships or family held any value to him because he had none; the only names he had learned to familiarize himself with belonged to the lives he had taken, and even then, they were only for the briefest periods of time, used as information to make the kill; his hands were tainted in blood due to his life as an assassin; and he knew, deep down he knew of no one who would be willing to share their love with him in the same way others — human beings — would receive it.

Someone— rather something made to kill is not worthy of your attention, much less your affections.

He knows he’ll never be able to measure up to the other blond you call your friend. Fate was cruel enough to allow their paths to align, even if violently by his own hand, because in him, he saw the reflection of someone he could never be for you.

“Paul…?” you call, and goodness, it’s the first time he’s ever heard his name on your tongue. You call him so sweetly, it almost makes him forget about the way his name would be uttered with malice and spite by the vast majority of people he’s come across in his life.

“Paul,” you call again, a little more worried now that he isn’t as responsive as he usually is. “What’s wrong?”

He stays silent for a good moment before answering.

“It seems I’ve made quite the grave mistake.” He chuckles bitterly. “It isn’t a good idea for us to continue.”

You retract your hand, hesitant to ask, but you do so anyway. “What do you mean…?”

“(Y/N),” he breathes out your name, speaking it in an almost hazy manner, “you shouldn’t keep letting me in like this.”

A frown makes its way to your features. “Why is that?”

Abruptly, he stands.

“You wouldn’t understand.” You nearly wince at how sharp his tone had become once more. “You… a human being like you shouldn’t keep having to entertain a non-human like myself.”

Panic begins to pool in your chest, the weight of his words lingering heavily in the air. “What are you talking about?” And then you freeze. “Is… is this about that again…?”

That.

He’d opened up to you only recently about his origins — where he came from, how he came to be, what he was made for — and you came to accept him wholeheartedly still. To you, his past didn’t matter. Never did, never will. You’ve become aware of his internal struggles, of coming to terms with accepting that he was fundamentally not like everyone else around him, that even if he was created to be strong and physically perfect, he would still forever be incompetent and hollow inside, a mere shell housing no soul.

A bringer of war he was born, and a bringer of war he will always be. And a bringer of war had no business trying to earn your love.

“Paul,” you begin slowly, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it tightly. “You know I don’t care for any of that—”

His voice comes out as an aggravated hiss and he glares at you — something he’s never done before, not even during your first meeting when he had every intent (rather, almost every intent) to kill you.

"Don’t."

Your shoulders drop and the expression on your face nearly weakens his resolve.

“...Paul?” you call one last time, shakier now. God, the things he’d do to keep hearing you say his name like that, but he’s well-aware of the fact that his name does not deserve to have a place on your tongue. “Paul, wait, don’t go.”

Yet before you are able to stop him, he leaves the same way he had first entered your abode all those months ago — through the bedroom balcony.

You aren’t sure if he’s ever going to come back, and there is a painful stab to your chest as you realize that.

That ache in your heart never fully goes away, even months after Paul’s disappearance. It dulls itself every now and then, usually quieting down into a throb, but the pain of him leaving you ironically never leaves.

Your home isn’t the same anymore after he’s vanished — you’d become so used to his presence that your space now feels much closer to being the apartment it was when you’d first moved in: empty and somber. Every night, not to the knowledge of the Flags, you’d take a stroll around Yokohama in a desperate attempt to search for him despite being well-aware of the fact that both your friends and the man you’d been having secret rendezvous with have become sworn enemies over half a year ago due to the incident that occurred.

It hurts, the constant “what-if”s plaguing your mind and having been left in the dark by Paul, whom you’d grown so unusually close to in the times you’d spent together.

“(Y/N)?” This time, it’s Iceman’s voice that breaks you out of your own head. “Are you alright?”

You remain quiet for a while, mulling over your own thoughts until—

“Maybe they just had too many drinks tonight— ow!”

Cue Doc poking Albatross’ side with the needle of his medical syringe.

“I’m alright,” you murmur before deciding to change the topic. “You’re always asking about me, though… How about all of you? How have you guys been? Y’know, since…”

There is no mention of what you are referencing, but they all know.

“The boss said our injuries have already long since healed,” Lippmann answers with a smile. “Everything’s been alright on our end, but…”

“But…?”

Piano Man shares a glance with everyone else, then looks at you. The air in the bar becomes heavier than usual, and even with the soft hum of jazz music in the background, the tension only gets thicker by the second.

“...We were planning to start looking for him. For our sake and everyone else’s safety.”

“Him?”

“Paul Verlaine.” An uncomfortable silence befalls your group. “If we don’t start looking for him now, he might just come back for us.”

You don’t even realize you’re gripping the glass in your hand tight until the condensation slips between your fingers. You’ll admit that in over the half-year that passed since you’d first had your secret meetings with Paul, you eventually came to forget the fact that he and your friends had bad blood going on with each other.

The plan was to keep it a secret for as long as possible, after all. It was a selfish, selfish wish, but you couldn’t help it—

Not when you’d also found yourself falling for him in the shared, and especially intimate times you’d spent together.

“...Maybe we should just leave him alone,” you respond, trying to keep it as casual as possible. “He did spare our lives, after all.”

Albatross cackles, pausing mid-sip. "You serious, (Y/N)? Leave him alone?"

“He let us live,” you argue, but your attempt to not sound as defensive slowly begins to falter under your temper, built up from the lack of Paul’s presence over the past few months that followed since his disappearance from your life. “He hasn’t done anything to any of since, including Chuuya. Maybe he’s left us alone. That’s already more than what everyone else got.”

“You think that means we’re still safe?” Doc retorts, standing up from where he was initially seated.

No. No, it didn’t mean all of you were safe, but you — you were confident that you were. It was all because Paul had always come back to you. Time and time again, night after night, before the next day would rise, he would always come back to you. Not them. You.

A slow exhale leaves your lips and you sigh. “I just don’t think chasing after him would be a good idea.”

Maybe, just maybe, if he came back, you could convince him to—

“What are you saying, (Y/N)?” Piano Man frowns, clearly in disapproval of what you are suggesting.

“I’m saying we shouldn’t have to go after him considering what happened to all of you. He let us go, didn’t he?” you finally argue, pushing your glass away from yourself.

Lippmann holds your shoulder in an attempt to calm you down, but the same frown on Piano Man’s face is mirrored in his own expression. “That doesn’t sound like you, (Y/N). Where is this coming from?”

You shrug your shoulders, mainly to shove his hand off with how unnecessarily irritated you were becoming, but also to force the nonchalance you were fighting so hard to keep. “I don’t know.” You pause. “Listen, I care about all of you, alright? But I’m also tired of going after the things that shouldn’t concern us anymore—”

"Shouldn’t concern us?" Piano Man scoffs, the look on his face now darkening. “(Y/N), he tried to kill us—”

“But he didn’t, did he?”

The tension between all of you swells into something so thick that, for the first few moments, nobody in the room dares to make a move.

Lippmann, however, is the first to cut it.

“You’re acting like you know something we don’t.”

You stiffen before standing up from your seat and leaving a few bills on the table for the drinks you had earlier. “...I just don’t want to start a fight we have almost no chances of winning right now. Neither do I want you to gamble away your lives for a single person.” There is a pause in your statement before you continue, sincerity lacing your words this time. “I can’t handle being like this anymore — having to chase after a life lived so… so dangerously.”

And just like that, as the night wears on, you begin to feel the unbearable crack in the trust you’d always shared with them.

They’d understand someday, you hope to yourself. Perhaps not now, but when things have settled down and when you are ready.

(It’s the last time you’ll ever see them again. For now, at least.)

“...I didn’t think you would return.”

Your voice cracks as you speak, and tears blur your vision as you race towards him. There was no silence held between the both of you, no moment of reflection before you rushed into his arms. Instinctively, he holds himself out for you and lets you crash into him, your face nuzzling the crook of his neck, your body relishing in his warmth as he wraps himself around you for a tight embrace. In the process, he takes off his hat, his eyes shutting closed as he nuzzles his nose into the crown of your head.

“Shh, shh…” he whispers, hushing and cooing at you softly to soothe your sobs. “I’m here.”

Not once in his life had he ever felt this wanted before. He had always known he was replaceable, maybe not easily so, but he was, and yet here you were, crying like a child who had lost and found their precious stuffed toy because you had no idea whether or not he would come back to you.

“I thought… I thought you weren’t—” you hiccup, pulling your head away as you look up at him, the moonlight accentuating the gloss of your eyes.

Ever so tenderly, he holds your face in his hands, wiping your tears away with his thumbs before pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose — the both of you are well-aware that the action comes off as unexpected and completely new, but it isn’t unwelcome, and it comes as it is so naturally that it doesn’t feel unusual. So, he carries on, pressing kisses all over your face, murmuring whispers of sweet nothing in the process while peppering you in his affections.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your forehead, pressing one last kiss there, letting his lips linger a little longer. “I’m sorry… I was wrong to run from it all — from you. It’ll never happen again, I promise.”

“...I don’t think my heart would be able to take it if it does.”

His own heart aches at your response.

And when you finally, finally lean up to kiss him, his brain goes haywire, unable to process anything. Your soft palms cup his face so lovingly and your lips feel so mellow against his own, he finds his vision going hazy and his heart thumping quicker than he’s ever remembered it to be capable of.

(The last time his heart beat this quickly was when he made his first kill — even then, he no longer remembers anything of it, except that whatever this is he is experiencing with you is far more pleasant.)

He’s stiff at first, even when you move your lips to guide him, one of your hands leading his own to hold you, allowing and giving him the freedom to react as he pleases. He could take the opportunity to crush your ribs at an instant, make things quick for you by letting you enjoy the moment as you do whatever you desire to distract you, but he can’t bring himself to, not when he wants to enjoy it with you, too.

(And certainly not when he wants to keep you all to himself.)

When you pull apart for a brief moment to allow yourselves to catch your breaths, your fingers slip beneath the fabric of his gloved hand—

“What are you doing?” he hisses, pulling back slightly when he senses you trying to take them off.

He doesn’t mean for it to come off that way, but really, you don’t deserve to have his tainted hands touch you — not without at least a layer of a barrier between his skin and your own.

“Huh?” You blink. “What’s wrong…?”

The question sounds so innocent, and he nearly melts on the spot when it is accompanied by the curious tilt of your head. He can’t find it in himself to tell you.

So, when he doesn’t answer, you continue with languid movements, slipping his gloves off of his hands, setting them aside on the bedside table. His hands are warm and oh-so soft — you would think that an assassin like him would have hands as calloused as the bark of a tree from the amount of lives he’s taken, but his ability gave him the title of a king for a reason, and for that same reason, his hands remain as pristine as they are.

“…Here.”

And when you bring his palm up to your neck, he’s done for. You’re far too trusting, letting a man like him hold you this way, in such a vulnerable position, but goodness, he can’t help the way his breath stutters at the sight when he sees you look up at him as if you were offering him your own life.

Hell, if you really were, he was going to take it.

And you let him.

Not a moment is wasted when he leans down to press his lips to your own, a breathy sigh coupled with a heady moan escaping his lips as he savors the feel of your skin beneath his touch during the kiss. Astonishment is present on your expression for just a brief second before you melt into him with the sweetest whine, your arms finding purchase on his broad shoulders, wrapping themselves around his neck while he pushes himself against you because it’s not enough for him — he finds himself wanting more.

“Paul,” you mewl, his fingers slowly trailing up your cheeks. He doesn’t let up — he is far too consumed by a hunger that can only be satiated by you.

Slowly, your knees buckle. His stronger arms wrap themselves around you to keep you upright while your hands grasp onto the soft locks of his hair, and in the process, you find your bodies pressed together so intimately that he can’t help but growl at the feeling because you’re just so damn soft compared to himself.

And then you stumble, the back of your knees hitting the edge of your bed, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t dare pull away, slowly guiding you to sit down and urging you to move back on the mattress, giving him the space to crawl and take his place on top, and oh, letting his hand dwarf your own when he holds one of them in his hair, your grip tight and needy, bringing him down over and over again to meet his lips with yours.

When you whimper, lips swollen and pursed as you gaze at him with glossy eyes, glazed over with a sheen of the same kind of yearning he has for you, he nearly snaps.

It takes everything in him to be gentle — to hold back in fear of hurting you because you tempt him so.

“It’s okay,” you coo, his hands trembling as they hold you.

He can only sigh and bury his nose into the side of your neck, nuzzling you there with the softest kiss. “You were supposed to be afraid of me.”

You stifle a giggle, sitting up to cup his face in your hands again.

“How can I be,” your tone is as soft as the sheets beneath you, “when you hold me with the kind of gentleness I’ve yet to see from another man?”

Something in his chest clenches at your words. The way you talk about him so endearingly, almost lovestruck and in a daze (and you are), has him dizzy with the most amorous haze. You speak of him as if he were the most deserving being of your love when he himself knows that every single moment he has with you is out of his own selfish desire to have you all to himself.

You think he deserves it anyway. The same can be said for you as well, after all.

He holds your hands in his own, kissing your knuckles fondly before you intertwine your fingers with his. The atmosphere becomes a little more playful when you try to flip your position, your gesture affectionate and skittish.

But he’s stronger — and he uses that strength of his to grab you by your waist, positioning himself beneath you, sitting against the headboard while he settles you onto his lap, your legs parted to accommodate his thighs. Sensing your hesitation, he grunts and brings you down onto him, and you stiffen at the sensation for a moment when he presses his hand against the small of your back.

To have the King of Assassins himself be the very throne you sit upon was quite the statement on its own.

He wastes no time and effort, capturing your lips in his own again with the kind of greed you’ve never experienced before, him gripping your hips to keep you in place, and—

“Paul—!” you whimper, and his hands rough as they guide you to roll yourself against him, the heat of his body radiating to match your own. He sighs yet again, his kisses fervent as he grinds you on his lap, the world around him fading away as the haze of the moment begins to sit and linger, dizzying him.

The air around you grows hot and heavy, and you make an attempt to put some space between you both, only for that same attempt to be refuted, shot down quicker than you are able to proceed with the act.

“Don’t you dare,” he groans with a guttural undertone — a warning to keep you still. Immediately, his voice pushes you deep into compliance, rendering you malleable and submissive. You’ve gone too far into your shared bliss with him to even consider moving away from such an intimate position, and upon realizing such, his need to fan the fire teasing both him and yourself dwindles down into something so much more gentle. “Please…” A breathy sigh follows, and he finds himself embracing you close to press your chest against his own.

And when your hands move up to grip his hair once more, supporting yourself as he moves beneath you so desperately, rutting up against you like he’s been starved of human touch for the longest time (and he has), the world around you two burns away. Flames lap at the pit of your stomach when his right hand moves beneath your pajamas, pressing his warm palm against the soft area of your belly, right where that oh-so delicious feeling is licking at your insides as you both give in to the friction.

How ironic that his hands, made solely to kill, were now so gingerly holding you like this, embracing, squeezing and fondling every part of you like a man having his final night with his beloved.

(You both know this won’t be your last.)

Your toes curl and you wrap your thighs around his waist, encouraging him to go further by rocking your hips in tandem with his own as a response, lips caught in an eager lock. One of your hands finds its way down the expanse of his chest, and the other follows. The heat has become too much for you to bear — you want his tie out of the way (you convince yourself and say that he needs to breathe a little more, after all), maybe pop open a few buttons (the atmosphere has become too difficult to soak in with so many layers in the way), slide his waistcoat off (perhaps his belt as well)—

But he stops you.

He holds your wandering hand in his own, looking down at you with his face so close to yours, your breaths mingling.

His expression says enough — he isn’t worthy of this, of having you.

Yet you think he deserving, and that is all that matters.

So, you decide to take it slow instead. Languid kisses with whispers of the sweetest nothings in between, pulling his ribbon out of his hair and undoing his braid to allow his pale blonde waves to cascade down his back and shoulders. It’s an intimate gesture; you undo him so lovingly, and in turn, he allows himself to be undone for you.

His lips continue to chase yours, desperate, barely letting you breathe when you pull away every other moment for some air, but he holds onto you like he’s afraid you’ll leave. You don’t say anything about it — you only indulge in his desperation, soothing that turmoil boiling inside him that he himself cannot tame.

He doesn’t understand anything, doesn’t understand the kind of yearning he feels to have you in the most primal way possible, but he gives in anyway. For all the struggles he’s had with his own humanity, you sharing your own with him is something he will gladly take and take so as long as you are always willing to give.

(He thinks he has learned to love you. Has he really?)

And slowly, almost agonizingly so, he guides you onto your back, propping your head onto the softest pillow there is, gently leading your thighs to wrap around his waist as he continues to roll his hips against yours. You can’t help the little whines he swallows, his hair tickling your nose when he trails his kisses down to your chin, then your throat, nipping at your skin before nuzzling at your chest so affectionately, almost as if he were asking for your permission. His arousal is present — you can feel his longing and ache as much as you feel your own, and you allow him to take control, giving him the freedom to yield to perhaps the most vulnerable, most humane way to express himself right now.

Paul Verlaine was never a stranger to bedding anyone, and whenever he did, it was always first and foremost to take something for his gain — an exchange of information, important valuables for a mission, a person’s life. His body was a tool, and such a tool, as he was taught, was always useful in his line of work as an assassin, a pretender of pleasure and promises, but a harbinger of death and destruction.

You, however… you were the exception.

With you, he simply wanted to give.

And if he were to take (like he is now), it would only be because you’d be the first to give.

Either way, both would be solely for the self-centered reason that he wanted you for you – not for any sort of intel, not to take your life, God no, but because he simply wanted you.

Wordlessly, you say yes, pressing a kiss to his scalp.

When his mouth goes lower and lower, removing each article of clothing from you so delicately, casting them aside and onto the floor, he nuzzles at your abdomen next, pressing another heated kiss right below your navel.

“If you’ll let me have you…” he breathes, looking up at you with the faint glow of the moon illuminating the beautiful brown hues of his eyes. “May I…?”

You say nothing, not wanting to ruin the moment. Instead, give your answer by raising your hips, and his fingers immediately tug at the waistband of your bottoms to tug it down, starved and eager. He kisses the damp patch on the only piece of clothing left to cover whatever modesty you have left, whispering an amorous “thank you”, and before you know it, his arm is draped over your stomach, keeping you down, and your grip on his hair is tight. He keeps your lower half pinned to the bed coupled with an obnoxious slurp every now and then, rasping declarations of his affections towards you right there between your legs, his hair a mess as you thrash your feet around and his mouth glossed in your essence—

Only for him to use his ability to keep you down.

“Shh,” he murmurs between your legs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss right where your slick spills just to taste you, “there you go, there you go…”

A short-lived cry of his name comes messily from your lips as you clutch onto his soft hair, head digging into the pillows from being thrown back while you squirm (or, at least try to). “I— I can’t—“

“Mon cœur, stay,” he begs yet again, his voice simmering into the softest growl; he found more pleasure in devouring you, after all — to have your taste on his tongue is something only he is so fortunate to have. “I'll never leave again, I promise; I’d sooner stop the beating of my own heart than have the heart in front of me move away.”

Somehow, you have a feeling that there’s more to his words than he means, that he isn’t just speaking from the place between your legs, but from the very depths of the darkest parts of his soul — a place where no one else would be capable of reaching but you.

He feels (and is) inhuman enough as is. To have his heart be ripped from his grasp would make him cease to find reason in continuing to exist. After all, what purpose would there be for a man like him, born without a soul, if his heart were to be taken from his hands?

(Born without a soul… and yet, with the way he kisses you so fervently and worships each curve of your body, he has done nothing but convince you otherwise.)

In response, you can only whine and whimper, grabbing onto his locks tight, earning a quiet moan from his lips as he continues to enjoy himself, loving on you in every way he can.

The rest of the hours that follow are hours full of bliss — one movement blurs into the next and the sounds you both make are shameless, breaths mingling and voices calling out for each other. All you can recall clearly are the moments in which your legs wrap around him tight, his fingers intertwining with your own as he presses you deep into the sheets, and the shared, delicious warmth that blooms into the fiery pits of your stomach after.

Even then, he doesn’t stop. He pants your name into your ear like it’s the only thing he can say, and he says it so fondly and so lovingly, it could almost be mistaken for a prayer.

At this point, heaven may as well know your name.

When he finishes, his tongue lathering itself along your most sensitive parts, he gives you one last feverish kiss right where he’d finished his meal before claiming his position atop you once more. Paul nudges at your throat with his nose, sighing shakily as you hold him and slowly undo the belt keeping his pants up, deft fingers ginger with their movements, a reflection of the way you feel for the man above you.

“...Run away with me.”

You blink and tilt your head as he lifts his own to meet your confused gaze.

“Paul…”

“Won’t you run away with me?” he asks, his voice dwindling into a passionate whisper as his lips meet yours for the briefest moment, short but tender. “We can live together, you and I, off to somewhere kinder… perhaps in a small place of our own in the French countryside where no one else can bother us, where you’ll be free to do as you please. Our lives could have another fresh start and you won’t have to worry about the rest of the world anymore — not while I’m here.” He pauses, brushing his knuckles along the soft apple of your cheek. “I’ll protect you and take care of you… I swear…”

Having his entire existence founded upon being born essentially as a laboratory experiment, the only purpose he knew of growing up was for anything other than himself — to be an assassin, a killer, a rabid dog, a weapon of war, and to never experience the kind of autonomy that every other human being was born with, all because he was created with 2,383 lines of code, and not a soul (still, you are not convinced, not with the way he makes love to you that very same night). That being said, for once, Paul Verlaine decides that he’s had enough. He will continue to exist as he knows, for the sake of anything other than himself as he believes it to be, but this time around, it will be because he has learned to love you, and he will live with the purpose of dedicating himself to you wholly.

(He will soon come to accept his autonomy because of you.)

You don’t give him any words in response, simply pulling him down by the collar with the sweetest moan, gripping his hair as your breaths mingle together and your bodies bridge themselves together in the most humane way you both know how. He has his answer.

Paul Verlaine loves you so.

He knows he’ll wage war and conflict with him wherever he goes — born of violence, rooted in hatred, and alive by spite. But all of that changes every single time your lips part to whisper the softest phrases in his ear or when your fingers hold his face like he’s the most delicate being in the world, because amidst the heaviness of all that innate hostility he carries, there is you, and he doesn’t know it yet, but you’ll always be there to soothe him and bring him the tranquility he’s been craving his whole life.

You make him feel more than what he was created to be, and he allows himself to linger in your humanity which you share with him no matter how many times he tries to reject it. He’ll feel undeserving, incompatible, yet he’ll melt into it anyway, utterly and stupidly smitten by you.

A bringer of war he may be, but that long-held burden dissipates in your presence because you never fail to bring his restless mind and heavy heart a sense of peace.

a/n: i imagine verlaine would want to be with someone who exudes warmth in any way possible, but also a part of me thinks that he’d lean towards being a protector of sorts (given his character in stormbringer), so that desire borders on wanting someone who exhibits some kind of innocence or naiveté — someone who can ground him when he’s too far off into his own head every now and then (can you guys tell how much i love verlaine yet?) but yeah, this was a very experimental work for me with a lot of firsts, so i’m a bit nervous as to how this one will be received (though it’s def my favorite one i’ve written so far!)

anyway, again, happy birthday, paul! 🥳 i hope all of you enjoyed reading this one shot as much as i enjoyed writing it!

[akutasoda]

I’m started to like requested things off songs- so here’s another one!!

reader who has an ability where she dies..but just comes back. It’s like the next day? Like she dies and then just shows back up not dead and perfectly fine? I’m thinking it’s a enemy to lover thing?

with chuuya, Dazai, atsushi, kunikida, akutagawa, and Verlaine?

-🌀Anon

i still feel alive

synopsis - you forgot to tell them about your ability, why should they know they were your enemy, but maybe you should've

includes - atsushi, dazai, kunikida, chuuya, akutagawa, verlaine

warnings - gn!reader, angst to some comfort, fluff, enemies to lovers, reader dies but not really, wc - 2.2k

a/n: apologies in advance but all sections are very varying lengths

atsushi nakajima ★↷

your relationship with the were-tiger was nothing short of more than a workplace rivalry. you hadn't been working there much longer than he had but upon his first few days, he saw you as quite the respectable colleague and in turn aspired to become more like you in the workplace.

you recognised this quite early and saw it as a friendly competition. and soon he caught on. and that's how the friendly workplace rivalry had begun. wether it was with paperwork or actual missions you both turned it into a competition. and the other members of the agency found it either entertaining, or rather childish but let it be either way.

however you both knew the limits of when to stop the rivalry and that was often during difficult missions. and now more than ever atsushi understood what had drawn him to you in the first place. but it seemed to late as he watched the life drain from your body with now one in the vicinity abke to help. now he had realised everything, but now you were dead.

this whole time he was so oblivious to yours and his feelings but now it was too late he understood them. and even now he couldn't help but still have you occupy his mind. he thought about you constantly, you and everything he wished had gone differently. and before he knew it a day had passed and he hadn't even returned to work after the mission, going straight home.

he didn't want to go back to work but he knew it would do him no good sitting around thinking of you, atleast maybe this would distract him. but as he walked into the office dazai walked up to him with a rather happy smile and asked him to follow. atsushi mindlessly followed until dazai opened a door they had stopped at, atsushi couldn't believe his eyes. there you stood, unharmed and perfectly fine.

he was inclined not to believe what he was seeing but you knew what he was going to think and quickly shut down any misconceptions. now he had the time to work out his feelings but for now he embraced you and sobbed into your shoulder, getting you to promise never to scare him like that again.

osamu dazai ★↷

from the minute you had first met dazai, you had quite honestly thought he was quite annoying. he often teased you about everything and would try and embarrass you constantly. so what better thing to do then reciprocate the feeling. starting a very long lasting rivalry that made him quite smug knowing that he started it.

wether you worked with him or not he would find a way to annoy you on the daily just for you to return the favour. to anyone else it looked like a very childlike rivalry but they never said anything. but one of the main reasons for the rivalry was for the fact that dazai wasn't that good with genuine feelings.

he never knew how to get across specific feelings to be more exact. from the moment he had met you he knew that he wanted to be someone to you but had no idea how to go about that as mostt relationships he had were most likely to get something out of it and were a one time thing. so he was ultimately lost and the only way he could think of keeping you close was to start a petty rivalry. he never wanted to lose you.

and even knowing that most things he cared for were lost, he let himself get slightly closer to you. close enough that to him it seemed as if fate cruelly ripped out any chance of him hoping to further the relationship with you. and that came in the form of having to witness your death. he was in disbelief, he had tried so hard to avoid this bit here it was and it hurt none the less.

it had completely destroyed his mask seeing you die. he felt more somber and returned home to let it out within the scarce comfort of his four walls. and before he knew it, it was morning. he had debated not going into work but then people would notice something up and ask questions and he didn't want that. so with a heavy-heart he went to work yet again, mind consumed with thoughts about you.

however as he arrived at the agency he walked into the room where his and other desk were held just to see you sat there at his desk with the most smug smile he had ever seen. he quickly caught on to what had happened and internally cursed himself for forgetting. you truly had the last laugh. but he was so relieved that nothing truly bad had happened to you, and so relieved he hadn't held you for fear his ability may of gotten in the way.

doppo kunikida ★↷

the last thing anyone expected form him was to have a childish rivalry with you. yet here he was and for reasons that no-one knows, he had a very childlike rivalry with you. you found it very entertaining and therefore only teased him or tried to one up him more which often lead to making it even worse.

throughout the whole time, he bad thought he just had a weird hatred for your insistent teasing. but for reasons that escaped him he felt something more for you but never really acknowledged them.

however he wishes maybe he could've accepted them, and maybe you two would've developed beyond the rivalry. but now he had watched you die. he was in disbelief initially, there was no way you had died. and all at once it had hit him, the realisation that he would never see you again and never hear your teasing remarks. it was rare for him to diverge from his schedule, but the lack of sleep he got that night was from the tears that flowed endlessly.

he truly didn't want to go into work, but that would further mess up his schedule and maybe he could distract himself from the thoughts of you that occupied his mind. as he entered the building he was faced with something he could only imagine was his mind playing a cruel trick on him. it was you, unharmed and perfectly fine.

you had to quickly explain yourself as you could tell how confused and upset he was. he cursed your ability for making him worry that much but he also thanked it, thanked it for keeping you alive until he finally understood his feelings.

chuuya nakahara ★↷

he was known for being quite the confident person. that was no doubt. so when you had shown up and started teasing him and just overall annoyed him he wasn't sure what to do. but of course his natural instinct was to just do it back, and hence your rivalry started. always trying to one up or embarrass the other. often getting into petty arguments or small childlike squabbles.

whatever the reason you had initially started teasing him may or may not compare to what he was currently feeling. somewhere along the way he started developing something that he didn't quite know what it was or why he had started feeling this way. and he didn't quite know what to do with these feelings so for now he stuck to continuing this rivalry.

but maybe he should've hurried up with trying to understand his feelings. because now he thought he eould have no other chances. he had experienced alot of deaths, some personal and others just part of his job but your death was one of the worst he had ever experienced. and all of a sudden, affter watching your death he became even more painfully aware of his feelings.

everything seemed a bit more dull to him. finishing the mission, deciding to leave early and eventually going to bed. every action felt meaningless and his mind wasn't focused on tasks, more so focused on you and what could've been. he went to bed with a clouded mind and a dull ache in the back of his mind.

even going into work felt wrong. knowing you wouldn't be there to tease or mock him. but to his very surprise there you stood. stood unharmed and rather smig standing next to koyo. he thought this couldn't be real and that this was a cruel trick. but you had noticed him and very aware of what he was thinking, explained everything to him.

you truly had one upped him again. he had yelled at you telling you never to scare him like that, but you couldn't help but laugh at how honest he had finally became with his feelings.

ryunosuke akutagawa ★↷

a very unlikely relationship to most but neither of you cared. you two had built a very much silent rivalry between you, always trying to be better than the other or just mocking the other whenever the chance presented itself. you found it fun from the very beginning, amd akutagawa at first found it annoying but too had found some entertainment in it.

none one knows quite why you both started the rivalry, not even you two. you just knew that this rivalry had gone on for a while and never ceased to be entertaining. and eventually you bith equally felt as if there was something more between you, not just the petty rivalry but something much deeper. sadly, neither of you had the courage to speak up about.

but now he wished he did. after all this time he wished you had stayed with him just a bit longer, to help him figure out these feelings that you had spurred in him. it seemed unfair. but here you were, presumed dead in the middle of battle with akutagawa as a witness. he couldn't believe it, he almost wanted to be angry at you for leaving him, for dying. but he knew that was selfish as this couldn't be helped. or maybe it could and he didn't try hard enough.

to a passerby he would seem unfased by the whole ordeal. but to people closer to him, for example gin, they would notice his slightly more vacant stare, the look of regret and maybe remorse in his eye. you occupied his mind still, and while he never could say things to you he wished to, he could say them to himself and think of you again and again.

only a day had passed to his surprise, it felt longer atleast. but it was yet another day of work for him made slightly less bearble by your lacking presence. but before he could even get near the building he noticed someone familiar on the steps. there stood you, unfazed and unharmed. he couldn't believe his eyes and demanded an explanation. one you gladly gave him.

he was thankful for your ability, not that he would say it out loud, but it had saved you. but he also wishes you never scare him like that ever again. and may of given you a stern scolding for making him worry.

paul verlaine ★↷

complicated was one way to describe your relationship with the blondette. complicated in more ways than one. you had met through a mutual friend years ago, rimbaud. despite his previous attitudes and personality he seemed act differently towards you and you the same. you both had started a simple sort of rivalry that made it very tempting to tease and make snarky comments toward the other.

but despite this unwavering rivalry, it did seem that you two did get along. if maybe you pushed aside your childlike rivalry you two would have quite the strong friendship. however there were a few reasons for this not happening - mainly to do with verlaine. he did not trust easily and it didn't help you both had similar jobs. hr could feel deep down that you were someone that was genuine, with little thanks to rimbaud being the one to introduce you. but he couldn't help but start these petty arguments as an attempt to push you away.

but as if it was a cruel fate, soon after he had started slowly letting his walls down. he cursed himself over and over again for letting himself let it get to this. a mission gone wrong and now he had watched you die. he felt as if it was a punishment and tried to move on from it but no matter what he could only remember you. he wanted nothing more than to forget that memory or atleast stop cursing himself that he could've done more.

the next morning he had not stopped thinking about you, no matter what he tried he just couldn't move on. that was until rimbaud had walked in and said he had something to show him. that was until you stepped through the doo, perfectly fine. he thought he was the victim of a very cruel trick but quickly realised after your explanation that it was your stupid ability. he was overjoyed of course but he wished you had told him first.

you however couldn't help but tease him about his worrysome state. the smug smile made him realise something. you were someone he probably could trust, someone he wouldn't lose for a very long time.

[kitasgloves]

— ♬ lovesick

love-sick

adjective

loving or missing the person so much that one is unable to act normally; yearning or infatuated

— ♬ tracklist

♪ Obsessed With You — Dazai O.

♪ An Unhealthy Obsession — Ranpo E.

♪ Follow You — Chuuya N.

♪ Happy Together — Akutagawa R.

♪ Closer — Fyodor D.

♪ In My Room — Nikolai G.

♪ Paparazzi — Verlaine P.

♪ Every Breath You Take — Jouno S.

♪ Hostage — Poe E.

♪ Tonight, You Belong To Me — Bram S.

©kitasgloves

[dinaanana]

How would they react to you getting in trouble at school [BSD]

Synopsis: how would they react to to you being in a trouble at school

Characters: Verlaine (Stormbringer) Chuuya ,Kouyou. x Reader (Platonic)

TW: Nothing just fluff N crack in (Verlaine's part)

He was deadass Working in his Office,His desk full of some papers.

you Went into the Hallways of PM HQS And The employees there didn't even Bother Telling you That Chuuya's Busy or anything They just Let you in who tf are they To not Let you in

You Didn't even Bother Knocking you just walked in his Office,He doesn't notice You At First (He was Cursing to Himself)

When He notices He stares up At you and sees your angry face he raised his brow

"ya good?" He stands up and puts his hands on his hips "how was school today?"

"I got Into a fight And the principal Told us to bring our parents,I don't have one .."

He looks at you and sighs "I'll come,I'll come don't Cha worry kiddo.."he pats your head

The next Day He went To your Principals Office,The principal Couldn't speak a Single Sentance without His Voice cracking when he Talked to Chuuya while Wearing fancy ahh coat,Suit,Hat etc Everyone Looked at him with fear and didn't dare to Utter a single word (The whole school fears you since then)

You two Are Walking out of the school And There's crowd of Kids Staring at his Motorcycle With awe,You both sit on it Wrapping your Hands Around his Waist to not fall off.

While He drives around Yokohama He asks Real Reason for why did you beat the Guy up and you explain That he was Harassing 2-3th graders If they didn't Give him their Money

"Ya did good,Dont worry,next time you can Take my gun." He Smirks As He speeds up the motorcycle

"Ya hungry Kid? I know You Are so let's go to the new Restaurant"

He's a Best parental Figure you could ask for tbh

She was With Mori Helping him Out on something While You were at School,She would Always Sent one of Her Subordinate to Come and Pick you up Safely (She's Scared of Losing you,Like she did with Kyouka) so she Tries to take the best Care of you

She Also Sometimes Helps you Out with your Homework or Projects if you dont understand,She's glad To be the one helping you.

"If Something Happens,I'm here for you,I love you Like My own child which I never had.."

Soo let's go back to the Scenario,You Got into a huge fight with your Girl Classmates who would always throw your things Away,You would warn her to stop doing it that it wasn't Funny but she just laughed and Threw A scissor At your Face That Left a small Cut Below your eye Thats When you had Enough And punched her a straight in the jaw strong enough to knock her Out for good 15 minutes

You Both got called into the principals Office And The principal Told you Both to bring Your Parents tomorrow.

You went back into the PM head Quarters And then you saw Kouyou standing near A big colourful Window with her Back turned to you,As you walk clos she Hears your Footsteps And Turns to look at you she smiles down at you

"How was school Today dear?." her Voice was Full of care and Sweetness,Until That Sweet face turned into a Horrific One when she saw your Cut you never had.

"Tell me,Who did this to you?" she Puts Her Hand On your cheek Caressing Your little bruise Carefully

You explain Everything To her And She Just nods telling you that she'll out all of her work aside for you and come.

Next day after all of Your Lessons End You and your Girl classmate go to the Principals office while Waiting for your Parents.

The day went Good,Kouyou had a Talk with Your principal and you Transfered in different school Much more better Than Your Old One.

One day you and Kouyou Were Standing Infront of Big window With Amazing Sea view,She Embraced you For a Hug,And patting your Head

"If anything Bad happens,tell me and I'll always be there for you.."

His Musty ass Ain't coming Out of The basement and Bothering himself to come at your school for Just a lil Kids fight. (he says)

"I'm not gonna Come Over there,Just For Your little kids Arguments,I have Some more important Things to do,And I'm not ready to Come out yet.."

You roll your Eyes at him "But...the Principal Won't allow me in school if you don't come..."

"You don't Need to,I can Teach you More things Than those teachers,What do these Humans Know That I don't?”

"Whatever...Okay I agree,You can be my Teacher from now On..." you pause For a moment wait do you even know Basic Math? ." You spin Around the Basement "But still...Yay, I won't have to wake up at 7 AM just to go to the damn school!"

"Excellent, alors notre leçon commencera demain." (excellent Then our Lesson will Start tomorrow)

"are you cursing me Out in french or what?!" you look at him while Raising your Brow in suspension

He Smiles and shakes His Head As A no "Therefore I'll also Be Teaching You French aswell."

"Excellent Idea Then Teacher Verlaine" You smirk And Shake your Hand with him As an Approval

"oops,The bell Rang,I'll go To cafeteria now." You wave your hand At him and Leave his basement.

"Bon alors, à bientôt." He sighs To Himself and Gets Back to Writing something He was writing earlier.

[fyodors-husband]

Hihi! Can i request some Verlaine sfw and nsfw hcs??? I hope you have a good day!!!

ANON I LOVE YOU.

(Also I assumed you meant x reader so i made them that way, i can make another if it's general hcs!)

Thank you so much for giving me a chance and reason to write for him 💜 he's my favorite!

I hope you have an amazing day aswell!

Also, I apologize if you've been waiting a long time for me to answer I've been less active since my semester is just ending now, but over the summer I'll be much better!

Anyways, here's NSFW and SFW Paul Verlaine HCs!

CW: smut, Very very very slight OOC (we don't mischaratarize verlaine here), stormbringer spoilers, no beta we die like the flags (I'm sorry 😭)

°~•~○~°~•~○_FLUFF BELOW THE CUT_○~•~°~○~•~°

Verlaine is a very clingy lover, some might even say possessive, the thing about him though is he dosent want to control you

He loves you alot and he feels that your the only person who loves him, so he dosent want to loose you

But he also wants you all to himself, know what I mean?

during, and post stormbringer, he's a spy (post he's in the pm basement but still a spy)

So he's probably got money, and once of his love languages is definitely giving gifts

Another is acts of service. Definitely

Hes not to good at showing his affections for you, so he'll do things for you and buy things for you to try and make up for that

If you knew him pre / during strombringer, you'd be able to see how he's changed between during / post, especially pre / post rimbaud incident (death) and he'd honestly be so grateful that you still love him after all of that

Hed be insecure though, that you'd leave him, please reassure him you do love him alot

Hes definitely a fan of cuddling / snuggling up to you (after a while)

He wouldn't be very open to touch in the start of the relationship (maybe holding hands)

But as he comes to trust you and realize you do actually love him he's alot more fond of touching you and maybe even some PDA

Takes you on the fanciest dates, anywhere you want to go, to the most high-end restraints definitely (he'll have a subordinate get it for you and take it in if he can't leave the basement)

Flowers, lots of flowers, one of thoose guys who keeps one for himself so he knows when he needs to get you new ones

°~•~○~°~•~○_NSFW BELOW THE CUT_○~•~°~○~•~°

Switch.

Definitely takes him alot of time to be comfortable enough to trust you with something like actual sex

Within the first few months you've had your first kiss and cuddled

After the six month mark you've most likely made out, but never done anything more

Possibly he'd service you but he's also nervous

Hes not a virgin per say, he definitely has experience, just not alot

When he finally comes around you will not regret waiting

So soft and gentle with you the first time, checking to make sure everything is okay, the most considerate lover

Hes take it very slow at first, especially your first time together, finding out what you like and what you dont and what he can and can't do

After all the foreplay and that, he could get a little rough, not on purpose because he'd never want to hurt you, (without previous discussion) and as soon as you tell him to slow down or stop he would

After the first time, you two talk about what you do and don't like and he's very respectful of it

If you like to be degraded, he'd most likely only say a little bit, he dosent want to hurt your feelings or mentality by accident

he's a hand holder during sex, or some part, he has to be holding onto you all the time atleast on one spot

Scared you'll disappear honestly

If you want to top him, he'd take some time to come around as that's a whole new level of trust but it wouldn't take him as long as it did to agree to sex

Maybe a week or two at most

If you do top him please be gentle, very into soft making love more than rough fucking

Don't degrade him he will cry :(

very very into praise, tell him how good he's doing and how pretty he is, he'll melt (and probably still cry, but not in a bad way)

Will absolutely die if you show any concern for him if he winces or groans, wouldn't think you cared that much about him

He still holds onto you even when he's on the bottom, wraps his arms around your neck

The position is definitely tame at first, he wants to always be facing you aswell, whether he's top or bottom, to make sure your okay and if you two can keep going

He miiiiight be open to positions where he isn't facing you but again, takes a couple weeks

Afterwards very clingy, dosent want to get up or clean up, just wants to lay and hold you

Basically no pillow talk, only because, as i said, not very experienced so he falls asleep quickly

[wwouldvecouldveshouldve]

would they use pet names?

[ ft. verlaine, poe, ranpo, dazai, chuuya ]

Probably not. He'd want to remember you by your name alone; he could recognize it anywhere and it only belonged to you.

He'd call you all sorts of things, but he'd certainly remember you by your name, or maybe a nickname if he thought your name wasn't fitting enough. Regardless, he'd never forget it.

Poe could call you every positive adjective in the dictionary and more. He'd write a poem every time he thought about you (which is almost every waking moment... anyways. He's down bad, but he prefers uncommon words that sound gorgeous (not quite on your level, nothing is according to him, (no word is on a higher level than your own name, but sometimes he doesn't feel worthy to use it) but I digress).

Ranpo will use pet names when he feels like it. Sometimes he'll call you his angel, precious, everything, or times you're just idiot or your own name. The best days are when he shares his candy with you, not when he's calling you angel so you can get his candy.

Chuuya prefers doll, or names to show how precious you are to him. Words aren't his thing so much, but if you need him to tell you how gorgeous (YOU ARE) he thinks you are, then he'll reassure you of how beautiful you are to him however many times you need.

---

AAAAA hello again!

two posts in one day... damn I'm feeling inspired lately. i love seeing you all, soooooo likes, reblogs, and comments are all appreciated. remember that requests are open, and i LOVEEE to chat with you all whenever in general. <33 love you all, and have a wonderful day/night! :)

[tillyalf427]

Verlaine+Rimbaud x reader nsfw headcannons 18+

Notes : so I read through literally every verlaine and rimbaud x reader on here AGAIN last night and there's not nearly enough out there so uhhh...here have this 😂

Please read the warnings, I'm not 100% sure how tagging works on Tumblr anymore so read at your own discretion, most warnings are only brief but I thought I'd include them anyway!

Warnings: nsfw, bondage, choking, soft dom Verlaine, oral sex, praise kink, hickeys, fingering, riding, vaginal sex, sadism, edging, oral fixation, blowjobs, threesome, female terms used for reader

- Okay but soft dom Verlaine who loves the thought of the amount of control he has over both himself and the reader.

- So like when he's asked to choke them he loves how much control and precision is needed to use the right amount of pressure and not take things too far

It reminds him of his job as that also requires precise skills.

- Or when he ties you up with ropes criss-crossing over your skin, the process of tugging you to your knees by the ropes wound around your arms sends a jolt of electricity through his skin

- Let him hold onto your arms where they're bound behind your back whilst he fucks you and he'll go absolutely feral.

- Isn't a fan of gags because he wants to hear you and hear how much you're enjoying it, how else would he know when he's doing a good job?

- He needs validation!! Whether it's in the form of you moaning, or the garbled words that escape your mouth, he doesn't mind

- Potential praise kink anyone?

- Please he needs all the love in the world, tell him he's your good boy

- His favourite place to leave marks is probably your neck, he loves it when you can't hide them underneath your clothes, call him possessive if you must

- Likes to bite across your collar bones because he thinks they're pretty

- Isn't all that confident with eating you out or stretching you open because he's always afraid of hurting you

- But if you want him to he's more than happy to let you ride his face

- And fucking yourself onto his fingers drives him absolutely wild

- It gives him the little ego boost he needs to start scissoring his fingers, eventually slipping a third finger inside you before continuing where he left off

- Most the time he would be fairly quiet however, most often he would let out small grunts and quiet moans in between heavy breaths

-And sadist Rimbaud who loves nothing more than to tease and torture you until you're begging him to do anything.

- This man eats pussy like it's his job

- He'll happily spend hours edging you with both his tongue and his fingers, stretching you open slowly with a lazy smile.

- Pull his hair a little and he will lose it

- Rimbaud with an oral fixation anyone?

- Anyway

- His favourite place to leave marks is your thighs and hips, he loves to see the red marks blooming on your inner thighs and seeing the way his hand marks wrap around your hips.

-He probably has pretty long fingers which he uses to his advantage to tease and finger you

-Loves to watch you riding him, seeing the way your thighs tremble from the effort and the pleasure

- Every now and then he rolls his hips up as well just to see you gasp and tremble

- Try not to flinch when his cold fingers trail across your skin otherwise he'd take full advantage and finger you when his hands are freezing cold, watching you arch away from the strange sensation as your warmth surrounded his fingers.

- He would always end up flushed so pretty, pale skin warming up to a bright blush that travelled down his neck.

- His hair contrasts against it so nicely, falling around you and tickling with every movement.

And the pair of them together? Well...good luck 🤣

- Verlaine would hold you down against his chest whilst Rimbaud went to town with his tongue against your pussy

- Not only that but he would 100% use his ability, increasing the pressure of gravity on you until you could barely even wriggle.

- Both would make it their life's mission to cover you in marks, hickeys, bite marks, everything

- Nothing riles either of them up more than seeing finger shaped marks pressed into your hips when you're getting changed or when there's a mark too high on your neck for you to hide.

- Picture Verlaine tying Rimbaud's hands to the headboard, teasing him until you get home before encouraging you to sink down on Rimbaud's dick, riding him as he fell apart beneath you.

- Verlaine would tease Rimbaud's mouth, pressing his dick down his throat as you bounced on his cock.

- Or Rimbaud ordering Verlaine to fuck you whilst he sits and watches, cock in his hand and praises rolling off his tongue.

- Unless Verlaine happens to come without permission then he'll stand up, fingers tangling in Verlaine's hair to tilt his head back, whispering in his ear with a harsh bite to the skin there.

- He forces Verlaine to eat you out with his own release still dripping out of you.

- Fucking after a mission when you're all wine-drunk and tipsy, making everything sloppy and messy from the lack of coordination between the three of you.

-wet kisses and it's just generally fairly messy as you all tangle together

- And if for whatever reason you have a mission where you have to seduce the target, you may not be able to walk once the three of you get home.

- They both get jealous, irritation itching beneath their skin despite the knowledge that it was only for a mission.

- The sex that night would be rough, all harsh movements, biting and firm hands holding you in place however, once they were done with you, the softness would return.

- Between them they'd help you get cleaned up, running a bath for you and helping to wash the sweat and grime off your body, fingers tangling in damp hair as one of them rubbed shampoo in before taking the shower head to rinse the bubbles out.

- Then once you were dried you'd quickly be bundled up in their arms back in bed, soft words and kisses being passed around

- And if you happen to not be in the mood one day? No worries they'll work it out amongst themselves, giving you the option to watch if you're up for it.

- And quite frankly it's intriguing to watch the dynamic between the two of them on their own just as much as it is to be between the two of them.

- Seeing the way Verlaine submits fully to Rimbaud sends a shock of pleasure through you and uncovers the urge to have Verlaine in that position yourself

- Or seeing how Verlaine pressed Rimbauds legs up against his chest whilst fucking into him filled you with the perfect ideas on how to tease him to completion in the future.

- Overall, the pair of them are probably pretty good to you in bed, they both have strong personalities and motivations so there would likely be occasional times when they clash with each other

- But if they do just tie them both to the headboard with vibrators against their dicks and tease them for hours on end 😉

[silverbladexyz]

Masterlist

Bungou stray dogs:

Stormbringer

Armed Detective Agency

Port Mafia

The Guild

Decay of Angels

The Hunting Dogs

Gaiden

Genshin Impact:

Kaeya comforting reader with a traumatic past (platonic)

Diluc x Akutagawa!reader

Requests: temporarily closed

[yuugen-benni]

Port Mafia members and their songs !

ADA version - DOA version - The Flags version

Chuuya: (Arabahaki's reference)

''I can't escape this hell So many times I've tried But I'm still caged inside Somebody get me through this nightmare I can't control myself So what if you can see the darkest side of me? No one would ever change this animal I have become'' - Animal I have become by Three Days Grace

Paul Verlaine: (It's funny and sad to think that I chose this song thinking about the story between Rimbaud and Verlaine IRL)

''I'm sorry that I did this The blood is on my hands I stare at my reflection I don't know who I am Practice my confession In case I take the stand I'll say I learned my lesson I'll be a better man'' - If I killed someone for you by Alec Benjamin

Randou Rimbaud: (I would only put songs that are originally in English, but this song suits him a lot)

''And at every step I intertwine anger and reason Disillusionment, you brought it to my hand And it even burned But I'm always wearing a scarf to hide from this cold And a glove on my hand to hide from the cold What does your heart do'' - Cachecol by Kamaitachi

Akutagawa:

''Only care about myself 'Cause everyone's trying to hurt me Just leave me alone Just leave me alone Just leave me alone I just wanna be alone'' - Jealous by Eyedress

Higuchi:

''And I am the idiot with the painted face In the corner, taking up space But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved'' - Me and My husband by Mitski

Tachihara:

''Bored, stoned, sitting in your basement All alone, cause your little conversations Got around, now look at what we all found out (look at what we, look at what we all found out) You have got a set of loose lips, twisting stories All because you're jealous Now I know exactly what you're all about And this is what you're all about Girl, you're such a backstabber'' - Backstabber by Kesha

Hirotsu:

''Old man, look at my life I'm a lot like you were Old man, look at my life Twenty four and there's so much more Live alone in a paradise That makes me think of two'' - Old man by Neil Young

BONUS:

Ango Sakaguchi: (I just could think about his special ability)

''Those thoughts of past lovers, they'll always haunt me I wish I could believe you'd never wrong me Then will you remember me in the same way as I remember you? Baby, we built this house on memories Take my picture now, shake it 'til you see it And when your fantasies become your legacy Promise me a place in your house of memories'' - House of memories by Panic! at disco

[tiredlilguy]

hiiiiiii :)

I hope you’re doing well, and don’t have too much stress right now <3

Do you know those little, heart-shaped charms for necklaces, where you can put a photo inside? Could I please request (whatever format you’re comfortable with) getting one of those, with Verlaine? I’m not sure if you write for multiple characters, but if you do, could I add pianomann or Lippmann? Anyway, take your time

bye!

a/n: hello! i apologize that this took so long ;;w;; as you can see, i'm on hiatus, as well as dealing with other stuff from college- thank you so much for ur patience! i hope you enjoy! :DDD (also this request is fucking adorable- i had to do it first AS;DLKFJ;ALSDKFJ)

pairing: Verlaine, Pianoman, Lippmann X GN!Reader (separately) cw: a little sad in Verlaine's, half-proofread desc: you gifted your partner a heart locket with a photo of you inside.

Verlaine:

Receives the necklace pre-SB

It wasn’t originally his idea to wear a piece of jewelry like a necklace in the first place, let alone one that had a picture of you in it

Of course, he was fond of you, but his mind never crossed physically carrying or wearing something that reminded him of you (it was partially for your own safety as well, as he didn’t want to burden you with the consequences of being close with an assassin)

At first, he grimaced at the necklace when you handed it to him, until you opened up the locket, revealing a small image of you (to which he let out a soft sigh, dropping his expression, before placing it in his pocket)

You honestly thought he just never wore it at all, as you recall his reaction to the hat that Rimbaud gave him, but unbeknownst to you, he kept it in his pocket for a while until he eventually chose to put it on one day because it kept slipping out

He wears it underneath his clothes, so you definitely can’t tell if he’s wearing it or not (he doesn’t take it off because he loves you he doesn’t like the sensation of the cold metal after taking it off/putting it on)

Didn’t really appreciate the gift, and just wore it on him, until one day, he stripped off to shower himself in the PM basement and heard a rattling coming from his neck

He looked down, fingers gently brushing over the locket that laid over his heart

His eyes traveled towards it as he opened it, staring at the small image of you smiling with a faint blush on your cheeks

He closes the locket with a soft sigh, similar to one he’d give you whenever you showed him a romantic gesture

Now he finds himself wondering if you’re going to come back for him (or if he’ll find himself coming back to you)

Pianoman:

Gifted you a locket before you gave him one: snuck up behind you and placed the locket around your neck before fastening it and placing a kiss on your hair

it was his idea to make a locket for you with a picture of him, so he was happy to see you reciprocate the gesture with the same gift

Upon receiving it, he still had the same gentle smile, but with a sparkle in his eyes as he looked at the gift, reaching for your hand and leaving a kiss on the back of it

“ Thank you, my sweet.”

Threaded the chain of the locket to a small loop on the inside of his vest’s left chest pocket (so that it’s closer to his heart); neatly tucked in the pocket so that it doesn’t fall out

When he’s alone, he’ll open up the locket to look at the small picture of you; it leaves a small smile on his face as he continues to do his work diligently (in short: he has a “this is who I’m doing it for” moment)

The necklace is a little stained by how often he touches it; will brush his fingers over the metal when he’s about to go on a mission/goes into work

He doesn’t give me the vibe that he kisses the locket, but he definitely likes to feel it beneath his bare fingers (he will take off his gloves to feel the metal, it calms him down)

At the end of work, he takes it out of his vest and usually puts it on a tray by his nightstand, but sometimes you’ll find him holding it in his hand as he’s falling asleep

His heart flutters whenever he notices you fidgeting with the locket he gave you

Lippmann:

since this man is EVERYWHERE, literally running around doing work from place to place you decided to gift him something that reminded him of you

He happily accepted the gift with a gentle smile and placed it around his neck

“ Does it look good on me, darling?” You nod. “ Good, now I’ll be able to take you with me everywhere.”

I was going to say that he carries it in a pocket or something, but similar to Verlaine, he wears it underneath his clothes, making sure that it’s close to his chest

Doesn’t take it off unless he absolutely needs to, and when he does, he places it back in it’s box, making sure it’s tucked safely away

If someone happens to spot the necklace that he’s wearing (say a costume assistant/one of the flags) he’s such a bragger-

“ Oh this? My darling gave it to me. The locket has such a beautiful picture or them. Aren’t they so sweet? Gifting me such a lovely reminder of them.”

[insert romantic sigh from Lippmann, and Chuuya rolling his eyes and silently gagging]

He does not shut up about it and you- he loves you too much

Before every mission, performance, meeting, etc. he’ll pull out the locket, placing a soft kiss on the metal before tucking it back under his shirt

If he has some down time and is reading a book, if he’s not with you, his hand will pull out the necklace from his neck and wrap it around his fingers as he often holds your hand as he reads with his other hand

[thanks for reading until the end! thank you to anon for requesting once again >:D i'm still on hiatus, but i'm writing little by little when i find the motivation- if you'd like to support me further, feel free to leave a tip on my kofi or send me a comm! <3]

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Little comfort things

Self-Aware! BSD AU x SAGAU Imposter AU

Self-Aware! Kunikida Doppo x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Paul Verlaine

Description: You can't sleep. Doppo and Verlaine are here to make you feel comfortable.

Set in a week after Lost and Found. At this point, BSD Cast don't know, what happened to Reader

Warning: OOC. English is my second language.

Shortish comfort fic

__________

You tossed and turned in your bed. You opened your bloodshot eyes. You couldn't sleep. You were afraid of sleeping. Because each time you close your eyes, you saw Teyvat. That wrenched place... For the last week you couldn't sleep, the only time you could catch some sleep, was during dawn hours, while you lose focus on anything, because of exhaustion.

You sobbed and hit the mattress. You wanted to sleep! You don't want to feel afraid anymore.

You groaned and put the pillow above your head. You remembered, how it was, when you were a kid and had a nightmare.

If you were a kid again... Your parents would probably put your favorite blanket around you, took you to the kitchen and make you a cup of cocoa. You will have your favorite toy with you, hugging it, while drinking your cocoa and eating cookies. Then you will go to bed, and there would be no nightmares.

But you were an adult. There were no little blankets with colorful print, no favorite toy, no cocoa in a cup with cartoon animals on it, no cookies with smiley faces...

Only memories about Teyvat, fear and guilt of making BSD Cast worried about you...

___________

"Are you sure, that you need my help?" asked Verlaine, looking at your parents' place. Kunikida nodded slightly.

"Yes. [Y/N] are..." Kunikida didn't finish. Everyone knew, what was happening to you. "Maybe, their parents knew, how to help them."

Verlaine nodded, yet, asked again.

"But, why me?"

Kunikida sighed and open the car's door.

"I need someone, who will make [Y/N] feel safe. If there's no way to comfort them, we need to find how to do it ourselves. And [Y/N] see you as a protector."

Kunikida stepped outside from the car. Verlaine followed after him.

"Besides," Kunikida's ears became slightly pink. "I need someone, who will help to came up with a believable lie."

__________

Verlaine was carrying a box in his hands. Your parents were sweet enough to share stories about your childhood with "[Y/N]'s nice friends". With some sweet words, Verlaine managed to get some of your old things from your parents.

Verlaine didn't know if it was true, that things from childhood can lift person's spirit. Well, at least Kunikida was sure of it. Verlaine only hopped, that it would help you.

Tonight, they will help you.

________

Another night, another sleepless night.

You just lay here, looking at the ceiling, thinking about anything you can, to distract you from Teyvat.

A quiet knock on the door cut your line of thoughts.

Did you wake someone up?

You sat up and spoke. Your voice was hoarse.

"Come in..."

The door was opened, and Verlaine stepped into your room. You looked at the floor. You didn't want to look at Verlaine. You were too embarrassed.

Verlaine took a few more steps, until he stepped right before your bed. You were waiting for him to ask you to be quiet.

Instead, something soft was wrapped around your shoulders.

It took you some time, before you realized, what it was. Such an old, soft, familiar thing. Now, it was too small for you and only can cover your shoulders.

"M-my childhood blanket?" You looked at Verlaine. You can't believe it. How he got it from your parents' home? Then you saw another thing. A familiar toy in his hands. Your favorite one.

You didn't resist, when Verlaine gave you the toy. You only hugged it closer to your chest.

And then Verlaine pick you up.

"Let's go, Dear Opal. Your cocoa and cookies are waiting for you."

When Verlaine carried you to the kitchen, a little ghost of a smile appeared on your face.

Kunikida was here. He was keeping an eye on a pot. A bag of milk, few sugar cubes, box of cocoa powder, bottle of whipped cream, box with chocolate chips, a bottle of vanilla sauce and bag of marshmallows were on the table.

Kunikida turned towards you and Verlaine, and a smile appeared on his face.

"It's almost ready. Give me another minute."

Verlaine and you nodded. Verlaine put you on one of the chairs.

Soon, a big cup of cocoa (with whipped cream, chocolate chips, vanilla cream and a marshmallow) was put before you. Ingredients were put away and were replaced with a big bowl of cookies.

Doppo and Verlaine didn't touch their cocoas, until you make a first sip.

Then Kunikida spoke.

"[Y/N]. I want to tell you that we all care about you. All of us love you. You are dear to all of us. Don't be afraid of asking for help. We will help you. We will be here for you."

Then Verlaine started talking.

"Please, don't be ashamed of being vulnerable. We... didn't know why. But we will be here regardless of the reason. You deserved everything in this world."

You didn't answer, but another faint smile touched your lips.

Then you whispered.

"Thank you..."

The rest of the cocoa drinking were in comfortable silence.

You felt calm. You were among friends. Your little comfort things were there.

For the first time in a week, you felt truly safe. And sleepy.

You finished your cocoa and eat the final cookie.

Kunikida and Verlaine noticed your sleepy expression. Kunikida gently pat your head.

"Let's get you to bed, My Ideal. We will keep you safe. We will stay in your room tonight."

Verlaine pick you up again. Both him and Kunikida returned to your room.

You were put into bed and tucked in. Your childhood blanket and toy was put near you on your bed.

Verlaine and Kunikida got themselves comfortable on your bean bags. It seems, they were serious about staying in your room.

Your room was dark. You closed your eyes.

And finally had a long dream without nightmares.

_________

Kunikida and Verlaine observed your sleeping figure. At this moment, all their problems disappeared. You were sleeping. And you were slightly happier. With small steps, they will help you. With small gestures and warm words.

Because you deserve every bit of happiness they can and will give you.

________

Tag list: @withered-blossoms , @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters @nervousinfluencertidalwave @ayameshu

[bonne-chanson]

✎𓂃 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 : 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ᝰ.ᐟ

a mini-series of one shots dedicated specifically for the characters of bungo stray dogs: stormbringer!

✑ 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨 !

based on the planets suite, op. 32 by gustav holst, one of my favorite orchestral works ever. i thought it would be nice to write something for this, mostly because i attended a very special performance of it around a month ago (and also to celebrate the manga adaptation that recently came out)!

because the piece contains seven movements based on each planet of the solar system (as well as their respective personalities), i will be assigning one movement per character, as listed below:

i. mars, bringer of war : paul verlaine x reader

the ominous and angry first movement of the entire suite ; represents the roman god of war, mars

contains nsfw. MDNI!

ii. venus, bringer of peace : lippmann x reader

the ethereal yet eerie second movement, a slower contrast to the first ; represents the roman goddess of love, venus

iii. mercury, the winged messenger : albatross x reader

the fast and vivacious third movement, short yet playful ; represents the roman god of commerce and messengers, mercury

iv. jupiter, bringer of jollity : piano man x reader

the well-known and majestic fourth movement of the planets containing the most popular theme of the seven ; represents the roman king of all gods, jupiter

v. saturn, bringer of old age : iceman x reader

the slow and unsettlingly powerful fifth movement accompanied by a harp with passages as icy as the planet’s rings ; represents the roman god of time, saturn

vi. uranus, the magician : adam frankenstein x reader

the boisterous and idiosyncratic sixth movement ; represents the roman god of the sky, uranus

vii. neptune, the mystic : doc x reader

the mysterious and other-worldly seventh movement ; represents the roman god of the sea, neptune

✑ 𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙚 !

typically, when a performance is well-received, an encore unrelated to the main repertoire played follows. that being said, i’ll be applying the same principle for this mini-series for another character if the audience wishes. should these one shots be received well enough, i will add a bonus (underrated) character to the list, based on the helios overture, op. 17 by carl nielsen, just to complete the entire solar system for this repertoire. ;>

(encore!) an overture to helios : ??? x reader

a concert overture so warm and brooding, it paints a picture of the sun rising and falling over the aegean sea with swelling strings ; dedicated to helios / sol, god of the sun

i have so much love for this piece in particular (as it is one of the orchestral works i grew up listening to), so i hope you guys get to enjoy it as much as i do through some of the stormbringer characters. 🫶 much like holst himself (who favored saturn), i also have a favorite movement here so i tried not to be so biased about it lmao (i gave it to piano man).

these one shots won’t be connected in any way (unless you’re creative enough to find some way to connect them lol)! feel free to read them in any order — i assigned those movements to certain characters solely because i thought they fit the music and the context behind each part of the suite. :}

as for the scheduling: expect the one-shot to drop every time a new chapter of hoshikawa’s stormbringer adaptation is out (which means this will be monthly)! i will do my best to time it right!

next one-shot: lippmann x reader -> april 30!

also, just a short heads-up: some one shots may or may not contain nsfw! and as always, when that is the case, MDNI!

anyway, hopefully i get to play this piece one day! :’>

✎ . . . ᝰ.ᐟ

[akutasoda]

I FINALLY THOUGHT OF AN ABILITY THAT GOES WITH MY 🌀-

so..reader with Bsd boys who ability is a time loop? She makes time loops and can trap herself or others in it. Whatever time the reader made the time loops—whatever went on in that time—will be in loop in her time loop.

Big problem is if someone or her goes in of the time loop and then leaves, they lose all track of time outside the time loop.

-🌀Anon!!

to the ends of time

synopsis - your ability either fascinated or terrified them

includes - dazai, kunikida, chuuya, verlaine

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight crack, wc - 625

a/n: hello anon! i will admit i had to read this a few times haha but absolutely adore this!

osamu dazai ★↷

↪the very first time he heard of your ability he was immediately curious and rather enamored by it. he found the concept not only amazing but very useful. but was mostly curious to see if it actually worked on him.

↪thus volunteering himself one night to be thrown into a time loop. now how i had interpreted the time loop is you choosing a point from the past and then it will go to the current time before looping. and so somehow it had worked, maybe it was because he never touched you when you transported him.

↪and when you brought him out of it he immediately felt disorientated and had no clue what time or day it was. you tried to hold back laughter as you told him everything about the little side effects. he was never letting you do that again.

↪but now knowing that whenever he saw you use it on yourself he would immediately be at your side when you got out. while you may be more accustomed to the side effects it still did get to you, and it took all of dazai's strength not to tease you by lying about it.

doppo kunikida ★↷

↪intialy kunikida was indifferent toward your ability, it was yet another part of you. sure it was a slightly more terrifying part of you but he thought no more of it than that.

↪would absolutely always refuse if you asked if he would like to see what it was like. maybe if you pestered him enough he would very reluctantly do it but you would have to almost immediately bring him back out. did not enjoy how confused he was afterwards.

↪but then again also would look out for you when you placed yourself in your timeloop to ensure you weren't that disorientated. although does additionally think that your time loops were pretty cool.

↪pity you can't use it on some of his co-workers to ensure they do their work and can't leave until its completed(dazai).

chuuya nakahara ★↷

↪quite liked your ability, he thought it was unique, interesting and paired quite well with his. although would never admit that he was slightly scared that he might end up in one of your time loops.

↪would do it just to see what it was like after your insistence on it being not that bad. was initially very shocked about how detailed the time loop was, if he didn't know any better he would think nothing had happened. but as soon as you pulled him out he felt so disorientated and now hated going into the loop.

↪you had told him about the little side effect and now he understood why you always looked so confused once you used it on yourself. so then made it his mission to make sure that you used it on yourself in his presence to ensure your disorientation lasted as little as possible.

paul verlaine ★↷

↪found your ability not only useful and interesting but very cool. it held alot of potential with many things but he would never force you to use it. did very quickly become interested in what actually being in the time loop was like.

↪so much so that he would actively ask you to try it on him. and eventually you caved in and used it on him while he was asking you mid sentence. admittedly you had left him in there for a long while so when he left it, he was much more disorientated than normal. he was absolutely stunned about how perfect of a copy it was inside.

↪although thought it could do without the disorientation. maybe if that wasn't a side effect he would've asked to use it for his work. but still admired it afterwards.

[kitasgloves]

Paparazzi

tracklist

— ♬ "I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me"

— ♬ Verlaine Paul x celebrity! Reader, SFW, gender-neutral reader, depictions of stalking, obsessive behavior, and murder, a brief mention of parasocial relationships, Verlaine having anger issues, major character death, 3.3k words, no beta

— ♬ NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE NOR ROMANTISIZE WHAT IS DEPICTED IN THIS STORY. EVERYTHING IS A WORK OF FICTION. READER'S DESCRETION IS ADVISED.

Verlaine Paul felt different. The fact that he isn't human is one factor, but he thinks he cannot truly connect with others. Although, there are instances that he does succeed in having a connection, it's easily severed in the end. He agrees that humans are complex and require effort to understand but the complexity of humanity makes them appear appealing. Is it acceptable for someone non-human like himself to be interested in a human?

As the King of Assassins, forming bonds with humans isn't essential. It's an inconvenience. It was recommended for him to go alone, and that's what he has always been. Despite being man-made, Verlaine experienced emotions greatly. Even if it didn't display on his features, Verlaine tend to feel deeply. But it's often negative emotions. He felt an array of things from rage to despair.

Verlaine has long accepted that he was created to kill. He must have no room for mercy, empathy, or guilt. How can you kill when you hesitate? How can you carry on if you feel remorse? The assassin had trained himself not to care about his targets' lives. Whether they're privileged or unfortunate, man or woman, bad or good, they must not survive him. He must not create errors.

All of Verlaine's targets never left an impression on him, every face of his victims seemed to blend in together in one blurred and dull memory. However, upon laying eyes on that singular photograph of you, his chest stirred. He blinked and absorbed your features into memory. The length of your lashes, your healthy complexion, your tinted lips, and your dazzling smile. Without a doubt, you were a celebrity, from your face, he could tell you were birthed for fame.

You were a unique target. You were no government official, a politician, or an important figure of the country. And yet, your face was plastered everywhere, from televisions, posters, magazines, and tabloids. It was difficult to mistake you. Verlaine has looked into your background. You were born into a family of musicians, actresses, and models. It was natural for you to become famous. From a young age, the media had their coverage of you. And you always give what they want. An act, a song, or a pose, you gave them everything you could offer. Verlaine's nose scrunched.

Someone wanted you dead for your connection with a family member who happened to be a former actor turned politician. Verlaine found it initially petty but didn't complain. It would be effortless to kill you, he's convinced. He imagined the media going mental about your death and it makes him chuckle. Getting close for the kill would be a hassle considering you're constantly surrounded by cameras, Verlaine thinks that he needs to get closer. He planned to pretend to be a fan of yours, he'll probably try to flatter you enough to get you to be alone with him. Everything will be over with; it has always been that way.

A horde of people surrounded you when you stepped out of your luxurious car. You were adorned from head to toe with glimmering and jumbo jewelry. You flashed everyone with your million-dollar smile and your expensive sunglasses shielded you from the flashing lights. Your bodyguards tried to push everyone away from your path as they screamed and shouted for your attention. However, you seemed unfazed by it all as you walked forward.

Verlaine was impressed by your unshakable demeanor. He figured that you have grown so used to the media's unruliness that you ceased to often take them seriously and feed them what they want. The assassin needed to blend in, he needed to be like one of those annoying photographers yelling for you to face their cameras. Verlaine decided to act differently, so he would stand out. He needed to fit in but be unique if he needed to capture your attention. He squeezes through the crowd and manages to get close enough. Somehow, your head turns to meet his way and Verlaine assumes to position.

"Smile for me, [Name]!"

He exclaims with a perfectly practiced smile as he raises the camera up to his face while he directs it towards you. Verlaine was graced by your brief attention as you struck a pose for the camera. He could feel the rest of the photographers around him seething at him with envy for the opportunity. Verlaine captures a photo of you with the flash on. You paused for a moment to give him a proper look before grinning and entering the hotel. Verlaine can feel his heart skip a beat at that second. Everyone tried to squeeze their way into the hotel but was stopped by hotel security.

The assassin returned to his temporary apartment conflicted. He undoes the braid on his hair and shrugs off his black coat. He hesitates as he stares at the camera on the nightstand before reaching for it. Verlaine looks at the gallery and feels his breath hitch at the one photo he took of you. As he gazed upon it, he couldn't prevent the foreign feeling in his stomach. He could see your eyes through your sunglasses, your smile was wider than the ones you give to others, and you posed as if you were subtly seducing him. Verlaine stared at the photo for hours before deciding to print it out.

The following days were spent with the assassin trying to establish himself to you. He appeared at every major event you were present in. Luck seemed to favor him each time because you always posed for his camera after he only called for you once. Verlaine starts to think you could recognize his voice easily even in the horde of screaming and desperate photographers. A fraction of your attention on him slowly aroused his interest as he captured every photo of you and printed them out after.

It appeared as though you were more than what meets the eye. Despite being well-loved and known by everybody, you seemed to be shrouded in mystery. All Verlaine could find out about you was about your career and family. There was no interesting information he could take in official interviews; it was as if you're deliberately and expertly avoiding giving away too much about your personal self. As clever as it was, Verlaine was annoyed by it. He wanted to know your favorites, your ticks, and your habits. He wanted to witness your raw personality where your smile couldn't hide your flaws.

Eventually, Verlaine has managed to sneak into an award show where you were invited to. This was his chance to get up close to you. However, he was not expecting to be stunned by your beauty at that show. Your appearance oozed elegance, you were decorated with the most expensive jewelry, and your smile was intoxicating. It seemed as though you were crafted by the gods themselves and sent here to be adored and worshiped. Verlaine was frozen, for the first in his life, he was starstruck.

It felt so strange and foreign that Verlaine couldn't find the proper words to explain it. He couldn't peel his eyes away from your figure as you walked on that stage to receive your award, he listened to your sultry voice as you gave your speech before walking off. The assassin finds himself desponded and distracted by you. He had forgotten about his mission when you began to parade around the photographers, giving them mesmerizing poses. Verlaine clumsily snaps out of it as he shakily angles his camera towards you. Before he could call out to you, your eyes had already landed on his.

Fuck, his heart was racing. You were walking towards him! Verlaine starts to sweat which is incredibly unusual. Something about the knowing smile that you sent his way told him that you were expecting him. The assassin gulps. Nobody stopped you as you went closer to him, he lowered his camera and gazed enchantedly at you.

"Aren't you that one handsome photographer I saw outside my hotel?"

You asked and Verlaine finds himself struggling to speak. He nods and you grin. You looked so enticing up close, it's bewildering that he has the privilege to admire you in closer detail. The charming look in your eye, the smell of your expensive perfume, and that amused grin on your face made his head spin.

"Go on, take a picture, handsome"

Verlaine blinked several times when he saw your wink. He stammers for a moment and takes several shots of you with his camera. It feels as though he's in a dream with how unreal it felt. Before you can smile at him and leave, Verlaine reaches out to you.

"Can we take a picture before you go?"

He asks and that grin on your smile widened as you nodded. From the moment that you've obliged him, he believes he's your favorite photographer. Verlaine retired in his apartment that evening with an unfaltering smile on his face as he stared at a photo of you and him in his hand. He continued to pursue you for personal reasons. His camera was being filled to the brim with your photos in various places to be later plastered on his wall. Verlaine was beginning to understand why those pesky photographers kept following you around in public and yelling for your attention. He was slowly becoming one of them.

He thinks 'we are the crowd, we're coming out'. He's got his flash on, it's true. He needs that picture of you, it's so magical. You'd be so fantastico. You're in that leather and jeans, garage glamorous. He's not sure what it means. But this photo of you and him don't have a price. He knows you're ready for those flashing lights. He knows what he is now.

He's your biggest fan, he'll follow you until you love him. Like the paparazzi. There's no other superstar he knows that you'll be. Like the paparazzi. He promises he'll be kind, but he won't stop until you're his. He'll be famous, chase you down until you love him. Like the paparazzi.

Verlaine was passionate in his pursuit to get closer to you. After everything, it seemed as though you were untouchable. No matter what he did, he couldn't get close enough to know you. But he never took it as a sign to stop. He'll get to you no matter what. He disguises himself to one of your shows where you'll perform. He's got his rockstar getup and makeup and ready to watch you.

He sneaks into the venue and swoons at your alluring performance. Such talent was a feast for his eyes. All Verlaine thought about was his yearning to get close to you, to touch you, to hold you, and to have you for himself. After the show, he creeps to the backstage. There he searches for you and avoids detection. He'll be your man backstage at your show, velvet ropes and guitars. Because you're his rockstar in between the sets, eyeliner, and cigarettes.

"Excuse me, but who are you?"

With the sweet sound of your voice, Verlaine turns his head. He couldn't hold back a smile from erupting in his face when he sees you unaccompanied. He walks towards you, but you take a step back. There was a cautious look on your features as your eyes darted on him and at the exit. Swiftly, he rushes toward you and grabs your wrists. There was a startled gasp from your lips.

"Please, can I talk to you?"

Verlaine looks desperately at you, but you return it with a frightened stare. You began to struggle but he has effectively kept you in place.

"Le—Let me go!"

"No, wait! Please let me speak—"

"Security!"

You yelled out. Verlaine frowned as he released your wrists. He felt a pang of ache as you gazed at him as if he had done something wrong to you. All he wanted was to talk to you! He needed you to know how he felt, but to see you push him away makes his blood run hot. He hears the sound of frantic footsteps and he takes it as his cue to escape. Not before he sends you a shuddering glare. Shadow is burnt, yellow dance, and he turns. His lashes are dry. Purple teardrop he cry, it don't have a price. Verlaine chuckles to himself, loving you is cherry pie. As much as he disliked the sweetness, he couldn't help but ask for more.

Because he's your biggest fan, he'll follow you until you love him. Like the paparazzi. There's no other superstar he knows that you'll be. Like the paparazzi. He promises he'll be kind, but he won't stop until you're his. He'll be famous, chase you down until you love him. Like the paparazzi.

Verlaine has shut himself in his apartment for weeks, browsing the internet for updates about you. Burning envy fills him as he sees your pictures with other people. He couldn't comprehend why you pushed him away and didn't let him speak that day. Was it wrong to get close to you? Was he not worthy to yearn for a connection? Was it because he's not human? In a fit of anger, he tears every photograph of you he plastered on his wall. He banged his fists in anger before sinking to his knees overwhelmed with emotion.

How dare you give him that smile whenever his camera would face you. Was that smile for the camera and not for him? But how about when you approached him and deemed him handsome, was that only a form of flattery? What was the reason behind that? Your actions complicate him so much that it only sends him into intense fits of anger. How cruel you were to give him an act knowing he hasn't read the script.

Verlaine catches the glimpse of the photo of you and him together and it momentarily soothes his rage. Maybe he needs to show you how he feels rather than tell you. Yes, that's it. With that, he believes you will be convinced.

You yawned as you finished your work at the studio. You've been bothered lately by the news; it was filled with reports of dead celebrities and famous people that you've either known or have been associated with. Something about the deaths seemed so eerie. It was suspected that it was done by one person. You shuddered at the gruesome details of their deaths. They were either strangled, beaten to death, mutilated, dismembered, burned, tortured, and the horrendous list goes on. You were being extra careful lately, making sure you have someone with you at all times, double checking on locked doors, and paying attention to your surroundings. You believed you were developing some sort of paranoia.

You let out a sigh and relaxed on one of the chairs, everyone has decided to grant you a brief moment of privacy. You've been gaining stress with shows, interviews, and photoshoots to attend to. Making sure your image remains pristine was hard work because of your untainted reputation. To add to that, the paparazzi seemed to be multiplying. You swear that you're so close to going apeshit and attacking one of those stupid fucking photographers shoving their cameras on your face.

When you were checking your phone, you heard the door open and close from behind. You assumed it was your producer and that he had returned to continue the recording, but the air turned cold when you felt an unfamiliar presence behind you. Suddenly, you went rigid, your heartbeat skipped several beats as you tried to think of what to do. There was a long and torturous moment of silence. Calculated footsteps approached you and you couldn't help but whip your head around.

Verlaine gazed casually at your panicked state. There were splatters of blood on his clothes after taking care of the people blocking the way towards the studio. Somehow, his exhaustion dissipates when he sees you. He hoped you were watching the news after he got rid of every single person you were photographed with. Killing them was easy, but trying to understand you? Not so much. That's why he needed to get closer so that he'll understand why you're doing this to him.

"You're one complicated human, [Name] [Surname]"

"Wh—What do you want from me?"

You stuttered as your phone slips out of your grasp in a panic. Verlaine gives you a tight smile as he slowly corners you.

"I want to understand you better, mon amour"

"Wait...you're that one photographer!"

You pointed a finger at him in recognition, and he scoffs in response. Unable to contain himself, he lunges forward and grabs your hands. You stumbled as he started to twirl you around in a clumsy dance as he went to play your recently recorded song. Real good, he's dancing with you at the studio. Snap, snap to that shit on the radio. He won't stop for anyone. You and he are plastic, but he still had fun.

Midway through the song, you managed to push Verlaine away as you stumbled back and accidentally stopped the music. Your chest frantically rose and sank with each heavy breath. This strange blonde man is scaring the fuck out of you. Those articles you read about obsessed fans and unhealthy parasocial relationships flooded your head. You regained your footing and carefully faced him.

"Look, I know you want something from me but...but I can't give it to you"

Verlaine's eyes narrowed as he cocks his head to the side in confusion by your statement.

"Why not?"

"What you're doing isn't right"

"What am I supposed to do then?"

You swallowed when Verlaine raised his voice. The blonde clears his throat as he keeps his rising anger in check.

"All I want is you, [Name]"

"...Why?"

Verlaine smiles widely causing you to shudder. He towers over you as you shrank under his chilling presence.

"I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me"

He says and gently reaches for your cheek as he leans down. He sees the tears building up in your lash line as you look up at him.

"Baby, there's no other superstar I know that you'll be"

You felt the tears trail down your face as you trembled under his touch. But Verlaine doesn't pull away.

"Promise I'll be kind, but I won't stop until you're all mine"

He watches you sob uncontrollably in pure terror, and he frowns. He knows that he'll be famous as he chases you down until you love him. Like the paparazzi. 

"Please...stop..."

You sobbed. All the trace of tenderness vanishes in Verlaine as he realizes the reality of the situation. With that petrified look on your face, there was no chance he'd get you to love him. And that fact delivers an aching stab to his chest. He will never form a connection much less fall in love. As much as he longed to understand you, he is cursed to experience tragedy.

Verlaine casts a sympathetic look on his face, and you believe that he has changed his mind and decided to spare you from his atrocious plan. All of a sudden, his face drops as he expertly takes a grasp of your chin and the top of your head before twisting, all of a sudden, the world goes black.

In one of the diners in town, Verlaine takes a sip of his coffee with a cigarette dangling between his fingers. His eyes looked up at the old television displaying the news with a blank expression.

"Famous and beloved star [Name] [Surname] was discovered dead at their studio yesterday. They were found with their neck twisted and killed. Investigators linked their death to the rest of the dead celebrities found previously..."

He took a drag as he heard the reporter. With a scoff, Verlaine turns away.

"... [Name]'s death was discovered by an unknown emergency call made in the studio. The operator told authorities that they heard a male voice in the other line saying: 'Je viens de tuer mon amour' before hanging up. Investigators are unable to discover who made the call and who killed [Name]"

©kitasgloves (do not steal or copy)

[dinaanana]

What If Verlaine Trained Teenager!Reader?

the Character is from Stormbringer Novel

synopsis: Fluff/Crack

Paul Verlaine x Teenager!Reader (Platonic!)

(He's so pretty)

(Pretend you're Also a stormbringer Character aswell)

So first of all This Man is strict asf. so Brace Yourselves

(Didn't he also Train Kyouka and Gin? Yeah)

There's no problem with training you either

If you already know Any type of Martial Arts or MMA he's Glad to hear that.

When he Looks at you working out and f you do Something he doesn't like? You get the exercises wrong? He's making you Do 50 Push ups 50 Sit Ups and yeah☠️

And if you're still lazy Then you'll be doing 100 instead of 50 (He is really nice isn't he)

(Obv he trains You in his musty ass Basement)

Sometimes Chuuya Watches As His big Brother Trains you He's just Standing there like 🧍 while you're fighting for your own Life

And when you look at him with Tired eyes and drenched In sweat Asking for Help? he just Smirks and Shakes his Head

Verlaine doesn't care about Your age if you're young or not if you think that you're young and he's gonna go easy on you Nah you're wrong .

You're Training to be an Assassin for the Port mafia. After all

Not only he teaches you martial arts but he also teaches you how to use A gun a Knife Anything for self defence

''Oh my god I'm tired'' You whine as you Lay on your back all sweaty and breathing heavily

'Did I hear something?'' He Looks down At your lying form

''I- no-'' You know what's coming Next.

''Im not deaf,You're doing 100 push ups and 100 sit ups Right now.'' He Says in Stern tone with his French accent

We also Know that To become an Assasin you have to get used to Alot of Gore.

I mean You gotta see some Gorey shit everyday You're a Mafioso After all.

Training with him is Bit Intense

But you'll become Stronger and It boosts your confidence Everyday Around other Ppl soo It's worth it 100%

You're literally being trained By king of Assassin's how could you not be strong I mean.. you can knock Down 10 Grown men With Just Using your fists

After Years of training He asks you to have Hand to hand combat With Him

Well you put up A great right but you still lose ''You may not win against me But you put Up a great fight.Thing The Members older than you in Port Mafia can't do..'' He Says

(Bro the things I'll do To be trained by This Man omg I don't mean it cuz I simp for him and not in A creepy way tho☠️)

After Training for like Years You go on your first Mission and guess what

When you come back With the mission accomplished

You go down in the basement to tell him the News but he already knows That,Ge Comes near you looking down at you and He Pats u on Shoulder ''Good Job.'' with His French accent.

He's like a Proud dad when his Kid Gets high score in elementary school omg

He also Tells you to read books (If you don't like reading them) He'll tell you That Assasin Are suppose to be Smart and not dumb Like you (Not to Insult you just to Get you to read Them)

You agree after that and ask him what type Of books you shall read and he Suggest you to read Some detective Books By Some Authors Like Agatha Christie and etc.

And if you already read Alot of books? he praises you and tells you you're doing Great

(Except If you read Wattpad stories ☠️)

Anyways

Training with him is Amazing but Very I mean very exhausting even thought you Barely Can walk after all the Exercises and Training

Id rate him

10/10 tho