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miseries-mistress · 1 year

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SOLICITUDE | LEGOLAS GREENLEAF

Synopsis: solicitude /səˈlisəˌto͞od/: care or concern for someone or something.

The fellowship had set camp for the night in a clearing in the forest. They had set a fire and took refuge around it to stray off the coldness the night always seemed to bring. However, when you elicit to sit by a tree, a decision made out of insecurity, you find yourself not alone for too long as a certain elf notices your disappearance,

Warnings: female reader, insecurity, some self-depreciation, fluff. W/C: 3153

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"Do you not wish to join the others?" a soft-spoken voice breaks you out of your stupor. You jump, startled by Legolas's sudden appearance, and he cocks his head to the side at your fright. He must have thought I heard him, you muse silently.

You flash the elf a smile before returning to inspecting your blade slung casually over your thigh. The others, the fellowship, had gathered around the fire, telling stories of better times and victorious battles alike, their eyes gleaming with a joy that would soon diminish on your coming journey to Mordor.

It was rather embarrassing to admit why you had secluded yourself to a tree away from your newfound companions. There had been a lack of room around the glowing embers, everyone else already fitting comfortably in their spot, laughing as the halflings cracked jokes, and well…you didn't want to intrude. It was evident that your presence was not warranted or needed, so instead of bothering them, you had taken refuge under the shade of the tree, and while the bark dug uncomfortably into your spine, it helped you ignore your strange longing to be apart of the group of men who had obviously grown accustomed to each other in your short time together. However, Legolas seemed to be the only one to notice your absence, hence his imposing figure standing above you with innocent curiosity adorning his profile.

You admired Legolas far more than was permitted for a human such as yourself. His serene nature was a long-forgotten melody, gracing your ears with the enriched words that flowed effortlessly from his dainty lips. His personality, sharp wit, and impeccable features were a delight to be savored and worshiped, as his majesticness was truly a sight to behold.

It was painful to get around him when your feelings grew with every passing day, but the journey you had voluntarily embarked on was one without an end in sight. The ground you covered in a day trek was not nearly enough to get you to that wretched place in any small amount of time.

But that endeavor of putting distance between Legolas and you was for not as he waited patiently for an answer to his question that took root in the back of your mind, the sweetness of his voice a delicacy to be enjoyed for centuries.

You try with all your might to maintain truth in your smile, but he sees through your thinly veiled lies, and his lips curve into a frown at your saddened gaze.

"I fair fine here, Legolas. You should return to the others," you offer, dropping your gaze from the intensity of his. From the moment those words parted from your lips, Legolas seems to read your expressions, your feelings like a child's book in Elvish. Your inability to lie to him was humiliating, and you were mortified that you could not lace your words with enough sincerity to prove convincing to not trouble others with your burden because the last thing you wish for is for Legolas to pity you. That would twist your guilt further into something much darker, you surmise as your finger glides across the metal of your sword.

You can feel his gaze bearing down on you as if he is considering an idea before his feet shift and some hopeful part of you wishes he would not abandon you; he would see through your struggle and wordlessly share his company with you. It takes a moment before you realize that he has, in fact, taken a seat next to you, and the air seems charged with energy and anticipation of what is to come.

"Why do you detest me so?" The words leave him quickly as if he did not intend to speak them. In your surprise, you raise your head, only for your breath to stutter at his closeness. There's no more than a couple of inches separating you two. It's exhilarating but yet so daunting. "Please tell me what I have done to not earn your eye."

You blink at him, astonished. Even though words cannot convey the severity of your feelings, any other speech fails your tongue.

Your irises which once held a far told sadness, fall away from his, and Legolas concludes that your lack of acknowledgment simply won't do. Gentle fingers lift your chain so you can gaze upon him once more. The connection is not rough or demanding but hopeful- pleading. Your heart scatters at the contact, beating erratically at the softness of his skin, being like the drip of silk, too impossible to feel so beautiful at the touch.

You turn his question over and over through the gorges of your thoughts, the answer as clear as day, but a vulnerable emotion holds you back.

Fear.

It's easily recognizable and brings a dim chill over the cloudless sky of your admiration for the elvish male.

"I do not detest you." Your words are simple, keeping your feelings at bay behind the motor and stone of your mind.

"Then why do you avoid me?"

"I do not."

"I didn't take you for a liar."

Shame befalls your features, and Legolas's hand retracts from your face.

"If you will not share with me that, then tell me why you retreat from the others."

Your eyes search the ground in determination for a good lie. However, Legolas reads your face with ease, practically predicting your formation of a lie, and his gaze falters at your unwillingness to share the truth with him.

More so, worry sets in his stomach. What had he done for you to despise him? He didn't think that your past conversations served with colorful banter were filled with ill intent on his behalf but had you taken something he had joked about to heart? Was that the reason he could not earn your gaze? Legolas was conflicted, toeing the lines of a worry that bordered something more than friendliness or natural curiosity with his willingness to right any wrongs he may have imposed upon you.

"I would most certainly like the truth if you would grant it to me," he tries.

Once more, you rip your gaze away, and embarrassment overturns your expression. You resign to following the thick roots that snake across the forest floor while you try to gather your thoughts, quite an impossible task with an elf of his caliber next to you.

"It's rather foolish, I'm afraid. You would think me to be silly." Your defeated sigh does not go unheard, for Legolas's ears pick up every hint of dejection and the undercurrent of embarrassment lingering in the phrase cast into the open air.

"I could never think of you in such a way," he affirms hesitantly, almost as if he had deliberated the action for quite some time. Then, finally, he places a tense hand on yours.

Your breath stutters at the contact, and his muscles seem to pull even tauter at the breathless hitch. You silently chastise yourself for such an unbecoming reaction. He was only trying to comfort you as a friend would, yet you twisted his intentions into something entirely impure. It's shameful that you would even entertain the idea that he would want something more than mere friendship. He's never shown any inkling of that line of thought, and yet you let your fantasies run wild like some little girl.

You turn your mind back to his statement, tossing it around, weighing the pros and cons while Legolas watches with interest, his careful eyes never straying from your hunched skeleton.

"My presence was not needed, so I decided to resign myself to my solitude," you spoke plainly, your woes weighing down your spirits. Legolas stills.

"It's silly, I know-"

"Why would you believe such a thing?" he asks suddenly, and your body betrays you as your eyes snap up to meet his worried ones. It takes a moment for his question to register, and before you know it, the words hastily tumble from your lips.

"I was obviously not needed, and I did not want to be a bother and intrude..."

"So you thought you were unwanted?"

You frown, shame burning your cheeks all the way to the tips of your ears. With your blade now forgotten on the forest floor, you curl within yourself, desperate to hide from your own insecurity and Legolas's gaze. What would he think of you now, knowing how easily you succumb to your insecurity? How weak and pitiful must you look, curling within yourself like a frightened animal?

You hear faint shuffling before his body is pressed against yours so intently that you can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Look at me," his voice is a gentle command, yet firm in its intention, but you don't have the heart to meet his eye and face his disappointment. "Your insecurity is misplaced."

At this, you cannot help but search for his features for falsities or ways of deceit wormed into the etches of his skin only to find none, just kind eyes glittering with empathy. Legolas's expression seemed to brighten at your acknowledgment, and he continued. "You have no reason to believe that we lament your person accompanying us. You are part of this company, the same as Aragorn or me, and you have proven your worth and reliability many times over. You could never be a burden or an annoyance."

"How do you know that?" your question strays on the path of bitterness, and you are tempted to turn your head away but not before gentle fingers grip your chin, forcing you to remain in contact.

"I have come to know you and the company. They would have expressed their dissatisfaction by now," he replies simply, the warm brown of his eyes blazing with the truth he believes so heartily.

"How do you know for certain they do not talk behind my back when you or I cannot hear?"

"I would hear them."

"Legolas," you gently scold. The twitch of his lips indicates his amusement before his face morphs to one of gentle compassion.

"Heed my words, you are by no means a burden, meleth nin."

Legolas holds for a moment, his eyes aglow in surprise at his own words.

The crease between your eyebrows furthers as you study his uneasy expression. You can't hold back your curiosity as the question slips between your parted lips. "What does that mean?"

"It matters not, only that you are not plagued by what appears to trouble you."

Way to turn the conversation around, you think bitterly, your head falling ahead to the fire by which the others ignore the two of you.

"Confide in me if that would ease your burden. Seeing you so troubled over matters I do not know of worries me greatly," Legolas fairly pleads, his voice not rising above the faint chatter of noise and voices of the forest.

"It is nothing in which you can aid me, Legolas," you reassure him, but by his dissatisfied expression, he does not fall prey to the illusion you have spoken of. His hand falls to your thigh, and in an instant, it feels as though all oxygen is violently sucked from the air, leaving you unable to swallow the growing lump in your throat. Every nerve comes alive at his touch as if your soul is burning with the same adrenaline you are feeding off of.

"Please."

Oh, valor almighty, you didn't know how you possessed the strength to stray from this elf as long as you have; to resist his presence that intoxicated you because now, at the slightest taste of it, you were addicted, like a practiced addict.

Still, he begged so sweetly. An elvish prince asking for you to share your woes unknowing that he was the cause of them. Every second thought, every hesitation was a result of the influence he held so fiercely over your heart.

It's as if the Maker was pulling every winding tension tighter, making the oxygen that has now returned to your lungs come in short pants and allowing your mind to spiral as each moment passed in minutes instead of seconds. Eternity felt closer than the second this instant would end.

A shadow casts over his pale features, making his already unreadable countenance impossible to decipher. His dark pupils seemed to have swallowed the riches of his irises, drawing them into a sea of darkness. The source of this darkness, the specification of what kind of darkness that seemed to linger in his hardened sight, was unidentifiable in the light given to you. His hair, braided in the ways of his kin, framed the strong muscles of his face as his jaw clenched, and you could find the peaks of his ears behind the waterfalls of blonde spilling over his shoulder.

Irresistible.

You met in the middle.

There was no tender or ounce of patience to be found in the dance of his lips but the hungry desire of a starved being engulfing you. From what you could decipher over your pounding heart, his lips were slightly chapped and thin as your mouths tangled and tangoed, learning that language of lovers as they explored every unknown crevice of one another. It was all so much, yet not enough.

You craved to feel more of him, of his body's sinful softness or his hand's possessiveness, which had begun to move up and down your thigh tentatively as if he was unsure what was allowed.

Among the silver of devotion coming from tentativeness, there was passion, built up and overflowing, and you couldn't tell what was up and down from the way his mouth claimed yours.

Your mind moved too fast to comprehend the full scale of his actions. The elf you had secretly pined for was kissing you as if Middle Earth was going to end with you under a tree with your friends mere yards from you. But for the moment, you let yourself succumb to your passion and indulge in a moment of weakness before this moment inevitably ends.

And it did as all things do.

You both pull back, gasping for breath while short pants leave those kiss-bitten lips of his.

"Forgive me if I have overstepped–" Legolas unceremoniously trips over his words as they rapidly slip out of his mouth fervently. You shake your head and press your forehead against his, sharing a breath.

"No, there is no reason to forgive you." Legolas's hands meet your face in a touch so light you were unsure if it was there. He waits for a moment for you to raise your objection or pull away, but when you remain firm, his deft fingers become more confident as they trail the contour of your face. You sink into the feeling, pushing out all else for a second of forever; of all that could be.

"I didn't know you felt the same," he chuckles elatedly, and you press your lips together to contain what might be a wide grin of pure elation.

"I did not know either," you both share a peal of laughter before a moment of quiet passes over you, the tone shifting into something more doleful.

"I still know not of that which troubles you." He brushes the hair from your face before tucking it behind your ear, his hand blazingly ghosting over the shell of it.

"I was afraid. Afraid that you would never harbor the feelings I do for you." The audible slip of breath makes your chest clench in anticipation. "I distanced myself from you to protect my heart from heartache."

"Did it work?"

"It did nothing but make me long for you even more than I already had." His hands smoothed down your dirt-ridden skin. There was no need to address what would happen now after you revealed feelings towards one another and you found no reason to. For spoiling this moment you have dreamed of would be a great sorrow, but Legolas seems to feel otherwise.

"What will happen to us now?" he asks, fingers passing over your lips before cradling your face.

"I do not know," you murmur, tracing the lines of his skin with the gift of light bestowed upon you and him. His hands slip from your face, and your head moves back, startled by the sudden loss of touch. However, he did not stand or even attempt to put space between you two, but his fingers began to undo his braid behind his right ear, his dominant side, with the ease and precision only an elf could possess until all that remained were strands of crimped hair and a delicate silk tie that mirrored the color of his hair in his hands. He gazed down upon the band as stillness filled with buzzing energy grew as the seconds he spent focused on the tie.

You knew little of the elvish culture, but from what you did know, braids were quite crucial to them, and who did them appeared to change the meaning behind said braids. So why had Legolas taken his? Did he intend for you to braid his...?

Oh.

Legolas outstretches his hand, his palm facing upwards in an offering to you. Inside his palm sat a hairband of string. In what you could only describe as astonishment, you looked up to find him proposing to you a smile as sincere as the admiration brimming in the palace of his eyes.

You pulled away from his face, back to his hand where the hair tie stood waiting for you. No doubt stood in your mind, nothing besides your undying and unyielding feelings that filled your body with giddiness of the likes of which you've never known. You trusted Legolas, not with just your life but now with the very essence of your soul and the light in it.

You took the hair tie.

Your fingers began weaving through his silky hair, as soft as you imagined, sewing a new braid into his locks of gold with diligence and patience. You threaded a new promise through his soft strands, one that could not be conveyed by tongue but by emotion.

It was as if the light herself guided your fingertips, showing you the path in which your hearts were now embedded to, destined to be intertwined for all of eternity.

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miniimight · 7 months

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Hellooo! Could you please write for the boys where the reader is sick but doesn't tell them bcs she doesn't wanna bother them?? I love your your blog sm 💙💙

HIDING YOUR SICKNESS ! reader doesn't wanna bother her boyfriend

with izuku, bakugo, rody + fem!reader (pro hero era)

notes thanks for the request anon !!

you: hey i don't think i can make our date tonight... i'm sorry, something came up

he frowned when he got the text. he pinched the bridge of his nose and his overthinking kicked in. you'd been distancing yourself a lot recently... between you spending all your time at someone else's place, having to postpone dates, and his hero work, you barely got to see each other.

he was worried. he pressed the call button and waited for you to pick up.

IZUKU

"hello? y/n?"

you folded from the concern in his voice. he was always going to be worried about you, no matter what you tried to do.

"izuku..." you rasped and you could tell he was taken aback.

"what's wrong, honey?" he said softly. "you don't sound too good..."

you bit your lip. oh, what the hell. he was going to find out anyway. "i'm just a little sick, that's all. i can handle—"

"sick?!" izuku exclaimed and you shied away from his volume. "my love, you should have told me."

"no, it's really okay—"

"how long have you felt this way? is this why you've been postponing our dates? where are you right now?" he ignored your protests and rambled on with more questions for a bit. you weakly answered them all.

"okay, sweetheart, i'm on my way." you could hear him huffing as you assumed he leapt across rooftops. "stay on call..."

a burden was lifted off your shoulders, and the relief made you fall asleep right then and there.

later—though how much later, you didn't know—you blinked the sleep out of your eyes. groaning, you stretched your arms and propped your body up with your elbows.

"oh, you're awake. lay down, love."

you tuned into izuku's voice, squinting through your daze. he was sitting at your bedside, a wet rag in his hand. he shushed you when you tried to ask him all your questions, gently laying the rag across your forehead and kissing your heated cheek.

"you had a fever, honey." izuku hummed, pulling the chair closer to the bed and leaning over the side. "you shouldn't have been under all those stuffy blankets."

you frowned and looked around. the windows were open, the curtains flowing as fresh air filtered in. it was true, you did feel a little less suffocated.

you pursed your lips, feeling guilty. "i'm sorry."

he was absolutely bewildered. "what could you possibly be sorry for?"

you sniffed, rubbing your eyes. "you were at work, right? and..."

izuku softened, stroking your temples with understanding. "it's never an issue for me to take care of you, love. don't be sad. just relax and let me handle everything, okay? i'm here now, to take care of you."

BAKUGO

"where are you and why have you been avoiding my calls?"

you pressed your lips into a thin line. straight to the point, as usual. "i'm... i'm staying at a friend's for the time being." you tried to speak evenly, without any tiredness.

you heard bakugo sigh deeply. "what's the matter, baby? and don't think about hidin' anything from me."

you groaned internally, letting your head drop against the mattress. you mumbled.

"what was that?"

you flared up, heat overwhelming your body. "i'm sick! okay?! i'm so sick right now."

he didn't respond.

you sighed. "i didn't want you to catch anything or worry about it. i can handle it and i'll be back in no time."

he scoffed. "fuck that. i'm coming to get you."

"kat, really—?!"

"yes, really!" you heard faint explosions in the background. "seriously, thinking you can recover on your own when you can't even speak properly." he chuckled.

you wanted to retort, but your throat burned. hmph, you thought. you let yourself drift asleep, feeling comforted.

later, you woke up in his bed to the sound of clanking pots in the kitchen. brows furrowed, you groaned as you stretched, your body buzzing after you let yourself drop into the plush mattress once more.

bakugo peeked into the room. "you're up. good. you need to eat." with an apron on, he placed an assortment of dishes in front of you; soup, fruits, and some cough drops for later.

you sat up a little, startled when his hand pressed against your forehead.

"you have a fever." he shook his head, disappointed. "you probably made it a little worse, isolating yourself under all those sheets. you were overheated when i got you."

you pouted, taking a sip of water.

he craned his neck to meet your eyes, thinking you'd be relieved being home and in his care. you clearly had something on your mind. "baby..." he held your hand. "jus' tell me what's on your mind."

you met his eyes briefly before looking away. "i... didn't want you to miss work for this."

"this matters more than paperwork." he rolled his eyes, a soft smile on his face. he squeezed your hands. "just eat up and rest up. i'll handle everything else."

RODY

"y/n?"

"nope!" his little sister, lala, chirped. "it's me!"

during his last layover, he hadn't been getting much of a response from you. he trusted you with everything, but he was worried. now that he was back in otheon, he was ready to figure out what the hell was going on.

he chuckled at his sister. you must've given her your phone to play her favorite game. "hey, lala. where's y/n, do you know?"

"she's sleeping now." rody could hear her breathing as she pattered over to where he assumed you were laying down. "sleeping like a log."

"yeah?" rody responded, deep in thought. it wasn't like you to sleep while looking after his siblings, so he knew something was wrong. "what was she doing before she fell asleep?"

"uhhh... she made lunch for us?" lala sniffed. "i feel bad, though."

rody's eyebrows creased, tugging a suitcase behind him as he unconsciously walked faster. "why's that?"

"she's got a mask on, and she doesn't want us too close to her..." lala sighed. "and she's burning up."

rody put the pieces together. he raced to the carpark and zoomed on home, bursting through the door.

the loud noise startled you out of your slumber, sitting upright. the abrupt motion made you dizzy and you groaned. lala pat your shoulder, concerned.

rody dropped his suitcase to the ground, kneeling at your side. slipping off his gloves, he pressed his hand to the side of your neck.

"seriously, babe, you should've told me when you started feeling off." he frowned, bustling about to grab you the things you needed. "i could've left any time."

your eyes were glassy when you looked at him, and he felt his heart twisting. "m'sorry," you mumbled from behind the mask. "i didn't want to bother you..."

he scoffed and pulled the mask off your face, squishing your cheeks. he looked you square in the eye. though he was scolding you, he was so soft and gently. "you never bother me. all i think about is you, lala, and roro. i want to know everything you're feeling, no matter what."

you smiled, looking lopsided as your face was still in his hands. "okay."

he grinned and kissed you.

"ugh!" you recoiled, scooching away from him. "rody! you'll get sick!"

he crossed his arms, smiling. "and? we can be in that boat together."

you rolled your eyes. "oh my god."

"aw, don't be like that, baby." rody cuddled up next to you, peppering you with affection. "come on, let me take care of you."

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comfortless · 5 months

Text

All That You Don’t Want

PAIRING: witch!fem!reader x apprentice!König

CONTENT: 18+! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. oneshot. obvious au— so not canon-compliant!, questionable morality, mutual pining, animal death (it’s still alive! but not!), minor character death, power imbalance? technically teacher/student, forced proximity, smut; unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, cockwarming.

NOTES: title from this song! (i will never stop titling my König fics after The Twilight Sad lyrics sorry) i have never written smut in my life i apologize if this is rough!! cover: Robert Bresson, 1951 wc: 7.7k

You never wanted an apprentice, never had the need for some bright-eyed whelp shadowing you for their own benefit. The kingdom had enough competition as far as your craft went— green magic, potion brewing and enchantments, why in the world would you risk teaching someone your secrets only for them to outdo you at every turn? Those with the propensity for magic weren’t treated human, anyway. You saw the looks, uneasy and disgusted, unless of course they had need of you.

The Guild keeps your protected, scrawl your praises in every fresh sheet of parchment passed about, brings in new clients for you to keep yourself afloat without you ever having to leave your little cottage in the forest just beyond the towering walls of the kingdom. So, when you receive the damned letter, how can you refuse?

Green magic couldn’t protect you from the King’s headsman, nor could it keep you hidden away from the constant threat of bandits and other malevolent forces, but the lines in the small letter detailing your new apprentice’s abilities are enough to make you swallow back some of that displeasure.

“… proficient in offensive magics…” and “… formerly in service to the King as a worthy candidate for knighting…” even “… a skilled huntsman…” all tell you that whoever this enigmatic pup is, he would have no qualms hissing at and chasing off a few rogues if they dared step too close to your territory. You picture some ruggedly handsome and charming gentleman arriving at your door with a sword of the finest steel hanging from his side and you loathe the way that your heart seems to flutter with excitement at the prospect.

A fortnight after the letter arrived at your doorstep, you realize that fantasy is often far sweeter than the reality.

You’re busying yourself sorting out a towering shelf with haphazardly placed vials, some labeled and others… well, if you had to guess based on the color of the fluid inside, you should probably toss lest you accidentally poison the next poor woman that comes by simply wanting something to charm the cute farmhand while her piece of shit husband, far too old for her, is off on another brothel visit. You may not be equipped to defend yourself in battle, but you know very well how to make nightshade and wolf’s bane taste like milk and honey.

It’s when you turn with your arms burdened by a heap of unlabeled, possibly poisonous concoctions that you see a figure just outside your window— tall, face shrouded with a blackened veil with only two holes cut out for his moonstone eyes. You curse the way the sight makes you nearly jump out of your skin, dropping everything you were holding onto the wooden floor, brightly colored fluid and glass shards staining a nearby rug you had spent an entire month painstakingly hooking yourself. The specter just tilts his head at you before inviting himself inside. Why bother pretending to be civilized when you look like that, anyhow?

You crouch to collect the shards of glass and wipe away the mixture of maybe-poisons as he enters, not sparing him a glance even as his footfalls lead him to stand uncomfortably close. Perhaps if the entire ordeal hadn’t pissed you off you would have the sense to be afraid, consider the fact that this titan of a man could have been a thief, but something tells you that this is the bright-eyed whelp you had anticipated. The man doesn’t even bother to greet you, let alone kick his muddy boots off at the door, he just hovers over you with his face tilted downward as you scrub up the mess you tell yourself he had caused.

“Leave it to The Guild to send me a dolt,” you mutter below your breath, barely audible as you move to deposit bits of broken glass into a wastebasket at the corner of the room.

“Ja?” The man huffs amusedly.

“Ja?” You question.

“Yes.”

You give him a look, one that suggests you’re in no mood for whatever this is and he seems to stiffen. Any mirth in those haunted eyes of his is quickly snuffed out, replaced with his gaze darting from perusing your backside to the corner of the room, then back up to your face.

He introduces himself as ‘König’. No surname, no title. Though, you supposed in his language, his name was a title in itself. Perhaps your disappointment is more notable than you realize, because the man seems almost nervous around you as you introduce yourself in turn. His fingers curl into his palms in repetition at his sides, and it’s impossible to tell by the small glimpse of his face whether or not he wants to strangle you or bury himself instead.

You rise to your feet, feeling acutely defeated as you lead him around the home, showing him to each room before stopping at the door to his own and crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’ll stay here,” you say quietly, avoiding his eyes as he lowers himself to look at you, thanking you graciously as his hand lingers a bit too long on your shoulder. You gently reach to pry it off, only to feel him grip at your fingers running his thumb over each knuckle before finally drawing away.

You watch from the doorway as he inspects the room. A bed a size two small for a man such as himself sits in the middle, a desk cluttered with spare vials of ink and a few quills made of swan feather, and a towering bookshelf filled with books on simple magic that you haven’t bothered to touch since you were a girl. He seems pleased, despite how very little effort was made for him. As much as you wish otherwise, you almost feel the sting of guilt when you watch him seat himself on the small bed and his eyes light up as he looks to you.

It didn’t take much perception to see the world hadn’t treated this brute too kindly.

He hunts your dinner, bringing home several rabbits that he took his time to skin and prepare for cooking in the yard. Even more, he roasts them over a fire he stoked up for you in a display of gratitude. You watch him from the fogged window as he seats himself by the fluttering flames, watching the meat with a focus that speaks volumes about his own discipline.

“Have you lived on the land for long, König?,” you ask him when the two of you are seated at the table, wiping away the remnants of your meal from your lips with a small handkerchief.

He’s only rucked up his hood enough to eat, the scars lining his jaw run deep, the skin pasty there. He looked far too pale to even be a living thing at all, but his thin lips pull into a grin at your question. “You can tell?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head, the tone of his voice suggesting sarcasm. “Perceptive little witch.”

You furrow your brow at him, surprised by his sudden arrogance. You would have sooner expected the man to tear a hole through you than meet your little question with a cocky response if his twitchy behavior was anything to go by. But… his voice sends a shiver down your spine, the amused lilt mixed with his accent, some natural charm that makes areas of you ache that haven’t been touched in years.

“A man must know to feed himself, ja?”

“Well, I don’t hunt.”

He huffs out a laugh at that, raising a hand to readjust his hood, pulling it back down over his face. König is not pretty, far from it from what you could see, but you almost find yourself downtrodden that he’s hiding himself again when you were only just starting to find yourself curious.

“I will teach you,” he suggests as he clears your table, depositing both your dishes and his own into the washbasin at the far corner of the kitchen. He’s helping, and your eyes merely track him dumbfounded.

“You don’t have to, König— I, um. I’m supposed to be teaching you, remember?” You’re trying to sound authoritative, like a proper mentor but it’s fruitless, really. How long had it been since a man was this close to you, living out in the forest? You had clients, sure, but in your craft you came to know about their proclivities, their ailments, and any interest you may have had died with their innumerable requests.

The Guild had set you up, surely, you decide as your eyes wander over to the man washing your dishes, the man who had prepared your dinner, who had stared openly at your ass. The man who smelled of dew and timber and fire smoke. The man with the most beautiful, tired eyes you had ever met.

You can see the muscles of his back through his tunic, tightly bundled up from where he’s drawn his sleeves to his bicep to wash up the remnants of dinner, mind almost numbing from the sight alone. It felt like some divine torture, to be sent something you adamantly did not want only for that very same thing to make your pulse quicken and throat dry.

“I want to teach you,” he tries again.

You feel sinful for the place your mind goes then. Do the ladies in the kingdom often allow monsters to bed them? Is his size comparable to the stature?

“Okay.” Your voice was tight, barely a whisper.

He finishes up his cleaning and turns to look at you as he wrings his hands over the washbasin, his eyes narrowed and crinkled at the corners. Grinning again like a wolf knowing he’s got his claws in you.

— — —

You go over the standard protocol when dealing with customers seeking remedies with König as you hear the approaching horse whinnying out in the yard. Simple, standard. Most people had a wariness for those who were touched by magic, understandably so. It’s human nature to fear what isn’t fully understood. With König’s imposing height and the veil over his face, you needed him to be extra careful in these situations. He doesn’t seem to take offense at your fretting, merely smiles beneath the veil as you speak and all is settled and well by the time your client wraps lightly at the door.

You swing the door open with a polite smile, hands clasped at the lap of your dress. The smile is maintained even as you catch sight of his face, scars from a horrific burn covering over half of it, his right eye filmed over and sightless in its socket. He wasn’t here to charm a lady or conceal his face with glamours, only for a balm to alleviate the lingering, phantom pains that stretched from his scalp down to his neck. A decent man, and a damned good blacksmith from what you had heard. He was one of your favorites.

König observes from the corner of the room, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest without a word as you fetch the jar of balm for the client, accept his coin and send him back on his way.

“Oh.. I don’t know how he got that nasty burn but it’s hard to look at isn’t it?”

König gives you a look, something unsaid hinted at just beyond the surface of his icy eyes, and you realize it’s a little too late to pull your words back.

— — —

Days seem to pass by with an awkward tension in the air. It’s not because of his tutelage under you, either, because he’s doing surprisingly well with his studies. Potion crafting is a tricky, fickle sort of thing. One mistake and an entire batch is ruined and the gods only knew when you would stumble upon what was required whilst foraging again. König is careful, attentive as he follows your instruction. He studies diligently, spending his free time reading through his books, often out in the foyer and if not for how skilled he was, you would assume it was all for show. Wishful thinking, a vicious yearning settling in between your breasts that wants for him to try and impress you, to court you.

It’s tense because you’ve found you can’t keep the man out of your head. In the late hour when the house has fallen silent, you could often hear his desperate grunts through the thin slats of wood separating your own room from his. You’ve imagined the sight of him fisting his cock, biting down onto his scarred lip as he whines through his release more times than you would ever confess. The gods themselves couldn’t pry the admittance from your lips that you wait up sometimes to hear him with your own hand between your thighs.

And König had this look about him now, more confident as he walks about. His hands don’t twitch as much when the two of you speak.

It’s the seventh morning as you’re preparing tea for the both of you that he enters the cottage entirely nude (apart from the hood; he seems insistent about keeping it almost entirely on in your presence). His body drips with river water, looking more like the skillfully carved statues that took residence in the castle courtyard than any man at all. You can’t help your staring, and he seems unperturbed by it as he slips behind you to set some freshly plucked milkweed on the wooden countertop. So focused on the cords of tight muscle layering his body, the obscene thing swaying between his legs, you hadn’t even noticed he had bothered to collect an ingredient you so desperately needed.

A man such as he should be seated on a throne, worshipped by a harem of pretty ladies, all pawing at his lap. Yet— he merely had you, ogling him as openly as he seemed to do to you.

“For the elixir,” he hums, sounding amused as he tilts his head to look you over as he had a striking amount of times already.

“Yeah.” You try to subtly clear your throat, cursing yourself for the way your reaction prompts his eyes to dart to the swell of your breasts beneath your dress. “Thanks.”

“You look pretty today.” He’s making everything worse. Turning your quiet life around and filling you with some horrid feeling you’ve avoided for years out here in near-isolation. “You look pretty everyday,” he corrects himself before you can speak. The obscene pillar between his legs seems to grow at the sight of you, and if you were not certain before, you know assuredly now that something has cursed you.

A good, knowing witch would tell him that his compliments were inappropriate, unwarranted. She would tell him to not walk around with his cock on full display and send him off to practice mundane spells as punishment. You are not a good, knowing witch at all if the warmth on your face is anything to go by.

“How was the river?” You ask instead, graciously retrieving a towel from the cupboard to hand to him. Despite how orderly you tried to keep things here, it’s not the water he’s dripping all over the hardwood that has your mind spinning.

“Gut.” He says words in his native tongue, often, and you’ve already grown accustomed to deciphering them. They sound prettier on his tongue than your own. He accepts the towel and merely draping it over his broad shoulders. “Come with me next time,” he offers, all but innocently.

God damnit.

“I made tea.” You’re trying to avoid his undressing stare, busying yourself with the tea kettle. The scent of mint seems to calm you as you pour the tea into your own mug, careful not to spill it out onto the counter with your trembling hands.

“I like you.” Blunt as always, you wonder if he even has any sort of control on the things he says.

God damnit all.

“I like you too, König. You’re a good apprentice,” you respond, your nerves alight with something that you can’t quite place; a twig on the verge of snapping under its weight.

He laughs soft, and graciously gives you a reprieve from well… that as he steps out of the room to finally dress himself.

Later that evening as the elixir is fully prepared and the client arrives to pick it up, you realize that König is no where in sight. It’s not uncommon; the man certainly lacked his social graces, but he hadn’t seemed to mind the shopfront side of what you do before until you had spoken so carelessly. The client is a nervous little thing, a girl not yet a woman, anxious and shaky as she takes the vial from you with an abundance of thanks. It’s no wonder why she had requested such a thing meant to put a patch over her anxieties and communicate better now. You steal only a spoonful from the cauldron as you empty it, praying that it silences the buzzing of nerves and the fluttering in your heart as you bed down for the night.

— — —

You wake to a door slamming shut in the dead of night, followed by the quieted hiss of what you believe to be a curse in a language that is not your own. It immediately sends you on high alert, thinking back to the threat of bandits and enchanted wildlife or whatever else. Jolted from your bed by the kick of adrenaline, you tiptoe down the stairs to see that… nothing is out of place. The den is as homey as always, every vial and potion bottle in its place on the shelves. The only thing that appeared to be missing at all was a book on your shelf. You knew that book, too. It was a favorite of many of your customers, the ones with weathered skin or features that were not the golden standard of delicate, royal beauty. A book on glamours was not something that would be stolen away by any thief in the night, seeing as it wouldn’t be of much help at all without a dedicated practitioner.

It only really settles in for you that your apprentice snatched it away when you take a peek out of the window and your eyes settle on a darkened corner of the garden. Tall sprigs of lavender sprung up from the earth there, and an even taller man sat, legs crossed with your book in his lap beneath the milky glow of the moon.

König looks… agitated. Even from this distance, the glass and wall and several meters of organized plant life separating you, you can see his hands shaking as he ghosts his calloused fingertips over the pages. His shoulders tense and a fiery look in his eye. He reads the incantations aloud with proper annunciation, forced through his thick accent. Repeats them, several times over. Not a thing changes.

But you leave him be, return to bed, because despite him being your responsibility, his private matters are still his own. As much as you would like to snatch the book from his hands and confess through tears that he haunts your dreaming just as he is now, you can’t bring yourself to do so.

When the book is in its place the following morning with König still in his bed, you read over the pages heavily scented by lavender. The ones that tell you how he sees himself in truth without a single word from his own being. Too tall, too ugly, too ruined.

It’s not enough to say your heart breaks. You feel it shatter somewhere in your chest, little pieces crumbling down into the darkest pit of your middle. Perhaps he’s only doing this due to your careless words about your client the other day, perhaps he wants to be seen as something beautiful for once.

The day is spent with a heavy weariness in your eyes. König picks up some slack for you as you fester in a sadness that should not even be your own; prepares something meaty for you both to eat, incorrectly sweeps some dust from the wooden floors that you know you’ll have to properly clean later on, and even tends to the garden. He’s good with the plants, gentle as he plucks berries from their stems and cuts away only what was required with a sharp dagger.

While you’ve thrown yourself over a cushioned chair, König kneels before you to speak. He’s just finished telling you some gory tale about when he squired for Ser… something, a name you don’t even care to remember. It was a rare occurrence for him to open up, you’ve come to realize that. Maybe it was simply too soon for him, but then again, he seemed to have no qualms allowing you to hear his desperate howling at night or walk about after a bath with his cock fully erect in your line of sight. If words were too much then what the hell was all of that?

“How come you didn’t become a knight, König?” you ask him, your tone sounding a bit more dead than intended. It wasn’t that you weren’t interested in his stories, you were simply still coming to terms with one of his likely innumerable secrets. “The Guild said you were a good candidate, so why?”

You ask your questions, his eyes light up. He’s not used to this, it seems, and the fact that you want to know him at all makes him giddy. His fingers drum against his thighs, eyes creasing at the corners as he smiles beneath that veil and you wonder… wonder how the world could be cruel to someone like this at all when all that you want to do is bundle up with him beneath your thick quilts and kiss him in places only lovers would.

He doesn’t respond to your question, though. Another secret for some other time, you supposed. Instead, he asks his own, “Why are you so alone?”

König speaks freely, you knew that well enough but the words that escape his lips cause you to freeze all the same. His tone is neutral, not accusatory or mocking, but there’s something— something there you can’t properly uproot.

“I’m not lonely.” A little white lie couldn’t be too terrible, yet the thought of betraying your companion in even such a small way, hurting him like you assumed so many others had before is just unthinkable. “I am sometimes, but I like living here,” you correct.

“But you are alone,” he insists.

“I am not. You’re here.”

Your words are like a charm, really, and any rationale König may have had immediately dissipates when you speak them. He climbs over you, the chair creaking under your combined weight as he looks down at you with this hope-filled expression that tugs every one of your heartstrings at once. “Let me kiss you.”

His shallow breathing flutters his veil, the hunger in his eyes more than apparent, and you’ve the sense that a mere kiss would not suffice, turning into a long night with an impossible soreness between your thighs come morning.

You shake your head and he backs off immediately, returning to sit on the floor before you instead with a simple, “Okay.”

The room falls silent for a moment. You wanted to. You’ve been longing to. And yet the opportunity had gone and went; for any normal, sane person your rejection would have been enough. Weeks spent in his company should have taught you that König was a far cry from normal. The man treats you like you’re a doll, not a seasoned witch. Takes to hiding away from any company you may have and spends his nights outside in the dark wishing and failing to change what he was.

“If I tell you why I am not a knight will you kiss me?,” he tries again as you shift to sit upright in your seat.

“What? König, no… that’s not how—”

“I will court you,” he interjects quickly, rising to his feet to stare down at you. The man was practically buzzing with excitement, and you wonder if he intends to bolt out of the house right then to bring back ample gifts of flowers and fine silks just for a chance to mash his mouth against your own.

“You’re not here to court me,” you huff with a pinched brow. Stop making this harder! Why must you always make this harder?!

“I think about you at night.”

The giant professes his affections by telling you that he’s fucking his fist to the thought of you with all the simplicity of idle talk. Somehow, that seemed less alarming than the fact that you don’t even seem horrified. Words fail you when you desperately need them most, merely gaping up at him so dumbly you must have actually belayed interest, because he continues.

“In the river too.”

“König… that’s inappropriate,” you manage to find your voice then. You know that you’re a plaster saint, too, because the thought of bathing where he spreads his seed sends a swell of warmth from your tummy to the aching blossom between your legs.

“Ja, it is… why do you tease me? The way you look…” He trails off with a shake of his head, his blue eyes narrowing in confusion. He was trembling as though afraid, so violently you almost fear he’ll come crashing over you like an ocean wave. You would catch him, drown in salt water and foam, a curtain of sharp teeth and darkness.

He fidgets as he waits for an answer that never comes. What could you say? Admit that the way he feels is a mirror of yourself, that the two of you are only seconds from diving into a pool that you could never resurface from.

But just like before, König retreats up the shadowy staircase, up to his room. Another reprieve, another stone weighing heavy in the recesses of your mind.

— — —

Secrets are stupid, evil things you decide.

You’re staring into the glazed eyes of a dead buck as it stands before you on it’s hind legs. It’s head hangs limply from its broken neck, mouth gaping with each fragile intake of breath. It’s bloated belly leaks it’s own entrails as it takes a shaky step towards you, trying desperately to kick at you with the stiff limbs tucked against its chest.

“I don’t know how to make it go away,” König pants at your side, and despite his shallow, rapid breathing there’s this calm look in his eyes. This has happened before. This has happened before and to a far worse extent than a deer.

It makes sense, now, why something as trivial as casting a glamour simply didn’t work for König. The man was touched by something darker, something the King’s men would happily cut his head from his shoulders for. Necromancy was immoral and frankly, horrifying. Seeing it now, it was really no wonder why this sort of magic would send one directly to the headsman.

The deer huffs a breath, too long and ragged. It’s not used to breathing any more, after all. König steps between you two, his dagger raised. “Just… close your eyes.”

It’s over as quickly as it’s manifested and König does well at shielding you from the aftermath, your face pressed to his chest as he pulls you into his arms and walks you back home. What was meant to be a simple practicing session, resulted in chaos, and you’ve no words to give to fill the silence hanging over the two of you as he finally deposits you by the door.

You stand on shaking legs, a million questions swimming through your mind, but even as you part your lips to speak not a single sound comes out.

He looks exasperated when he finally remedies the quiet. “You’re afraid of me.” It’s not a question, only a resounding fact.

“No,” you lie immediately with a firm shake of your head.

“I will go.” König’s eyes are tired, always tired. He’s already slinking back towards the door when you reach for him, almost clawing at the length of his sleeve in your own desperation. If you were cursed this man was, tenfold, and you couldn’t bear the thought of sending him back out into a world that had hurt him so. One that would assuredly end his torment should this ever happen again. You don’t know whether you’re being merciful or selfish anymore; the definitions all a blur. You only know that the thought of König leaving your side feels like the ache of a thorn embedded in your heart.

“König, please— We can figure something out, we’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again,” you huff as you bury your face against his shoulder. He’s both tense and trembling beneath your warmth. “I just need time to think.”

He cocks his head, a resounding twinkle of mirth breaking through the listlessness in his eyes. “Why?”

König isn’t dull-witted. He knows the words you never have a chance to speak. No one’s ever held fast to his side like this; no one has ever truly wanted him.

You know that the second he pushes his veil up and presses his mouth to yours. It’s clumsy, the force he uses, as if he’s trying to headbutt you instead of give you his affection, but you reciprocate in turn. You breathe shakily against him when you finally bring yourself to part your lips and he immediately begins to languidly lap into your mouth, drawing his arms around you; one finding the base of your neck as the other settles on your lower back, his fingers digging into your velvet dress, bunching up the fabric enough to reveal the meat of your ass.

You both moan as though you’re already having sex, caught up in a tangle of limbs he tastes your mouth as though it were sweet wine; his tongue flicks against your own before pulling back, lapping at your lip, pushing back in in some steady repetition that makes your knees weaker. Your hands find the hem of his tunic, slipping beneath it to feel a wall of muscle layered over his abdomen and he groans into the kiss with such fervor you would think he’s already come. He tears the cloth off the second you thumb over his nipple and drops to his knees clutching at your thighs.

“I need to taste you.” He sounds so desperate, looks so pitiful as though he’ll cry if you don’t allow him to fuck you with his tongue. You’re too far gone to give him anything more than a nod, and he all-too-readily lifts the skirt of your dress, hooks his finger around the seat of your panties and buries his face between your thighs. The first sweeps of his tongue are almost punishing; he wastes no time plowing the muscle into your cunt, writhing and grinding it against your velvety walls. The sound is already obscene, but then he begins to moan.

He sounds even more desperate than those nights in his lonely room, somehow, as he paws at his own erection straining against his trousers and drives into your pussy at a feverish pace. When he finally moves to take your clit between his lips, you grasp at the top of his head to keep yourself upright, moaning so loudly you’re certain that the entire kingdom could hear. He hums, amused at this, places his hands on your ass and pushes your hips for you to grind against his tongue.

When he jerks your panties aside again to rub circles against your asshole, the tautly pulled coil inside of you finally snaps. You curl over him as you mewl, cradling his head as his tongue pushes against your labia and your slit to lap up every bit of your essence. He releases his grip on your ass as you tremble, strokes himself freely below you as he pants against your pulsing cunt. Graciously, he gives you a moment to recover before he’s rising to his feet, tearing off your ruined panties and lifting you in his arms just enough to rub his leaking tip against you, you give him a strangled cry of his name when his length brushes against your swollen clit.

“Let me fuck you,” he rasps, his eyes wide and pupils blown as you squirm in his arms. “Bitte. Please. Let me fuck you.”

“Yes— Please, please fuck me König,” you whine as your arms curl over his shoulders. He doesn’t hesitate when he lies you back against your rug and pushes your knees up to your chest. His fingers flex against your flesh at the sight of your pussy still twitching from aftershocks, soaked down to your ass and pleading to be filled by him. He drops a hand to spread your lips, groaning deeply from his chest as he watches in awe as the tip of his thick cock sinks into you.

You hadn’t realized just how dirty König was until you see that look in his eye, pulling his head out only to repeatedly push into you with a choked whine of sheer bliss. You hadn’t realized how filthy you were until you find yourself tucking your arms beneath your knees to keep yourself in position so he can grope at the flesh of your ass as he does it.

“So— fuck— so schön,” he mutters as he continues to tease you like this. It’s almost hell the way he still hadn’t filled you entirely when you ache to have that long, ugly pillar buried so far it’s bruising your very womb, and it’s almost heaven the way you squeeze against him with each shallow thrust, your pussy desperate to devour his weapon of flesh.

“König…” You’re breathing his name as though it were a prayer, and as though a gift from the heavens his calloused thumb begins to rub over your clit the moment he finally sinks himself into you. There’s resistance, your cunt wasn’t meant to take a cock so large, you’re certain, but he bottoms out after what feels like an eternity, parts your knees with one hand to see your face as he gasps. You take him all, enveloping him in a vise grip and he hissed something in his native tongue, a string of words you can only imagine are praise because the way he’s looking at you now is as if he’s found a goddess all for himself.

“I’m going to fill you,” he declares as he lowers himself atop you, his weight almost crushing. “I’m going to… feels so…” His words fall short as he begins to move, groping at one of your tits as his other hand remains over your mound, flicking your clit. König’s fingers trace against your nipple before pinching it just hard enough to draw a choked mewl from you as your back arches. “Ja, liebling… you need it..”

His pace picks up, thumb deftly rolling over your clit until you spasm around his cock. It’s savage, the fervor he puts into fucking into you, grinding the tip of his cock against your cervix until you cry out, only to draw back enough to bully against your g-spot until you shiver. Your orgasm hits you so unexpectedly and so hard your bite down on your lip enough to draw blood. König licks at your mouth as your sex pulses around him, groaning in tandem with your pretty cries.

He trails small kisses along your throat before biting down as his own climax hits. He alternates between spitting out words that sound like pure venom and moans that make him sound weak as he gives you one more thrust. His cock twitches so violently inside of you as he presses against your cervix your mind entirely blanks. You can’t tell if it’s his semen or your own slick spilling past his cock, painting your thighs when it all ends. You hang limply against him as he carries you over to the chair, keeping you plugged as he pulls you into his lap.

He fully unclothes you as he peppers your face and neck in sweet, open-mouthed kisses, pets you from the crown of your skull down to your back, brings a hand around your waist to pull you close as his other squeezes and squishes at your breasts. König’s gaze is adoring as your eyes meet his, he’s looking at you with a love you’ve never even known, the warmth of summer somehow still present in those eyes like glaciers.

“Will you stay?,” you force yourself to ask as if the answer isn’t already clear, his cock’s still buried in you and the man seemed utterly in love after merely having a sweaty, adrenaline addled session.

König presses his face into your hair, nuzzling at you as he kisses your temple. “You want me to stay?” He sounds bewildered, so fucking broken that he’s confused by the prospect anyone would even want him around, even if he just gave her the best fuck she’s ever had, even if she’s been staring at him adoringly since he found his way to her door.

“Of course I want you to stay!”

“Then… Ja, I will.”

It’s a declaration of love, in a sense.

König drops his hands to your hips as he kisses you again. The desperation has been strangled, buried someplace in your core. It’s sweet now when his kisses become sloppy and overwhelming. He shifts below you as he maneuvers your hips to grind against him, his length already hardening within you again. He noses at your jaw and pressed kisses to your cheeks when you take a moment to breathe. You curl your arms around him and bury your face into the crook of his neck as your ride him, the both of you moaning soft and panting against sweaty flesh. He finishes inside of you once more just as you lift his veil and kiss along his scars.

He bathed you in the river, carrying you down to the rocky shore as though you were a treasure, his hand stroking through your hair as the water laps over your bodies. It’s not enough to simply hold you, either, because one bath becomes two after he’s bent you over a stump and licked you to completion again before rutting into you like an animal.

Nights are no longer spent with a wall between, he takes to your bed without question, ensures you’re comfortable and warm as he holds you through the night. There’s a sort of desperation in you both, two outsiders that have finally found sanctuary in one another.

“I love you.” Followed by: “I love you.”

You’re not entirely sure who says it first.

— — —

“A deer?”

There’s a man in your home that you don’t recognize, looking you over as though you were well-bred cattle rather than a human being at all. Says he’s concerned about a potential necromancer after something foul slipped its way past the castle walls and paraded itself through an annual ball, sullying a few too-expensive and uncomfortably layered dresses and goring a man with its antlers.

König was seated in front of him, rigid with a forced calm you had never seen on him before, hands clasped and unmoving. You know he’s nervous anyway, his shallow breathing speaks volumes for what the veil keeps from you. You round the table to bring them both tea, trying your best to play the part of indifference as the two men speak.

König had said he didn’t know how to make it go away, and of course he didn’t, because how do you kill something that’s already died? Neither of you would have anticipated it finding its way there of all places, and in retrospect, you’re not even certain that the thought came to mind at all, you had lost yourselves in one another the moment you arrived home. Seeing as you both were the only magic-touched folks roving these woods, it was obvious why The Guild had sent this creep to question you.

“Yes. A large buck, it was,” the man continues, winking at you as he takes a sip of the warm liquid in the mug. You wished you had poisoned it, ridding the world of a man that made your skin crawl like this surely wouldn’t be too sinful. Looking to König, you realize that there’s no need for poisons, because the look in his eyes suggests that before this interrogation is over your rug will have a more stubborn stain than spilled potions and come.

“We use green magic,” you chime in flatly, giving König a moment to quiet his fury as the man turns his attention back to you. “Maybe a traveler slipped into the kingdom, it has nothing to do with König and myself. Why are you here?”

If he hadn’t already told you a thousand times earlier that morning when he took you in the garden, laid you down in a bed of blue and purple wildflowers, König would have told you he loved you right then. You were true, protecting him and risking your own head as well.

“That’s the thing,” the man begins with a laugh entirely devoid of amusement. “Your apprentice here was under similar scrutiny while he was in service to the king. A dead man brought back to life…” he waves his hand as he speaks, staring up at the ceiling as though he’s recounting poetry instead of listing the reasoning why he wanted to have your lover decapitated. “… killed ten good knights. We never suspected him at the time, but all of this…” He shrugs his shoulders and raises his brow, looking somehow even more insufferable than before.

You cross the room to gather the letter signed off by The Guild, detailing your apprentice’s arrival and thrust it into the man’s face. “He would have never passed any sort of eligibility exam if that were the case, and you sent him here.”

The man takes the letter with a click of his tongue before he laughs again. “We didn’t,” he says as he taps the signature at the bottom, hardly a signature at all, only a messy scrawl, the guild master’s name even spelled incorrectly.

König didn’t meet your gaze when you looked to him then.

You made a promise to him you would figure this all out, and you would. You just needed to buy some time, slip some wolfsbane into his tea—

“On behalf of The Guild, I do apologize for the trouble this monster has caused…”

There is no time.

“I’ll be sure that he and his rotting pets are disposed of prop—“

You’re clutching at the dagger König had left on the side table without even thinking it over, fingers curled so tightly around the grip, your knuckles felt alight. The man’s voice is silenced the moment he notices as he takes a wary step away from you. It’s not, really, that you could ever even see yourself taking a life, you never have, but the thought of losing König over a horrible chance in the stars that some uncaring god cursed him with makes bile crawl up the back of your throat and white hot fury course through your veins with all the subtlety of a stampede.

It wasn’t his fault.

König places himself between the two of you and curls his arm around you protectively. If lying for him hadn’t already resigned you to the same fate, drawing the dagger assuredly had. He gently pries the dagger from your hand and tucks your face against his chest, just as he had before when he tried to correct the accidental gift of life he had bestowed to the deer, only this time… you feel the pull of his muscles, you hear sounds of the dagger meeting it’s mark as he cuts through the interrogator’s tender flesh. It takes mere seconds for you to know his blade has struck true, the dying man eliciting a weak gurgling cry from his torn throat as König drops the dagger to the floor with a clatter and strokes your hair.

He makes you stand outside while he cleans up his mess.

A sane woman would run, she would count her losses and look back on her time spent with this unhinged man with criticism. You find that you are not a sane woman when you realize the tears falling freely down your cheeks are not of fear or anger at your own situation, but at the knowledge that he’s suffered being shunned on his own for so long; that he’s killed without remorse because this is what it takes for someone like him to survive at all.

When he finally returns from burying the body and scrubbing the blood from your floor, you readily embrace him and he nuzzles into your hair.

“Es tut mir leid,” he huffs out against you, pulling you so close to him you think, pray, he’ll never let go. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It’s not and you both know it, but you reassure him with your words and soft kisses to his cheeks as he wipes away your tears. “We can not stay here.”

We. Us. Together.

Something breaks in him at your words, and he shuts his eyes tightly to fight back the tears like claws at his eyes.

“So, tell me where we’ll go.”

He tells you of a place he read about in a book, somewhere across the sea and past a stretch of hills where the accidents he may cause won’t have him looked upon like a monster, where you can love one another in comfort, a place he’s dreamed about since he was a boy and found out just what he was when he reanimated his mother’s beloved cat. He tells you of his father’s cruelty, that a cat’s claws aren’t the only thing that’s left him riddled with scar tissue.

He tells you everything as you pack your things and begin a long walk to a shoddy harbor by the sea, his hand in your own as your board the ship to a new home, a new beginning.

#könig #konig #konig x you #könig x you #könig x reader #konig x reader #konig fanfiction #cod fanfic #könig fanfiction #cod fanfiction

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fickleminder · 6 months

Text

be good

AU inspired by this prompt: Humans are born with demon counterparts to protect them. The more innocent and pure a person is, the more mean, fierce, and terrifying their demon becomes.

Halloween 2023 fic 😈

It’s one of the things your parents often told you when you were growing up.

"Behave yourself."

"They won’t hurt you if you’re good."

"Say please and thank you."

"It’s okay, they’re your best friend."

"Mind your manners."

"You can always rely on them to protect you."

"Be good, now."

You’ve had multiple shadows for as long as you could remember. No one else could see them; a person’s demon was their own after all, but you quickly realized that everybody around you only had the one. Any attempts to convince your family otherwise only led them to believe yours was a shapeshifter.

But one demon or seven, they never laid a finger on you. Sometimes they kept their distance, watching over you from afar; other times they stayed within arm’s reach, readily accepting your touch should your curiosity win out. You soon became accustomed to the chilly air around them, their cool skin a familiar comfort on days when you just needed a hug.

They were brothers too, despite not looking anything alike. You talked to them of course, wanting to know more about your protectors friends, where they came from, what they did to pass the time when they weren’t watching you. The oldest one told you that they weren't like the other demons; they were more important, had other roles to fulfill and duties to tend to, which was why they had to take turns looking after you.

"I'm sorry for being a bother," five-year-old you said. You'd been left alone more often than not, your father having passed away recently while your mother worked extra jobs to keep the both of you fed. She never neglected you when she was home, but you still felt like a burden to her.

"You're not a bother," the oldest one — Lucifer — chided you gently. "Your mother loves you, and so do we. Never forget that, understand?"

You gripped his pant leg and nodded into his thigh, only relaxing when a gloved hand reached down to stroke your hair.

The wind howled outside your window and rattled the panes. Cloudy skies covered the moon, casting your room into inky blackness as you huddled under the blankets and shivered, eyes wide open and unable to sleep.

Everything seemed louder in the dark: the shrieking gusts, the creaky old floorboards, the scuttles in the walls, the scratching and rustling behind your closet door—

"It's way past your bedtime, you know."

The voice came out of nowhere, but all you felt was a sharp sense of relief knowing that you weren't alone tonight. "I'm scared," you whispered to it, clutching the sheets tighter against your body. "Can you check the closet for monsters, please?"

One of the shadows in the room seemed to grow and stretch, moving lazily towards the closet in question. You didn't dare to peek over the blankets, but you heard the door open and close as the faint noises from within fell blessedly silent.

"Better?" The voice drawled, returning to its place under your bed. "Go to sleep now. There's nothing scarier here than me."

"Thanks Belphie. Goodnight."

You let one arm dangle off the side of your bed as you finally closed your eyes. After a while, you felt a cold hand grasping yours, keeping you safe in its grip.

"I said I was sorry!"

"You think a simple 'sorry' is gonna cut it?!"

Bumping into other students in a crowded hallway was almost inevitable, but apparently this upperclassman took personal offense at it. The older boy hauled you up by your shirt and slammed you against the lockers while everybody else kept their heads low and gave the two of you a wide berth.

"I oughta teach you a lesson for—" He looked over his shoulder at someone you couldn't see, frowning with irritation. "Whaddya mean 'wrong person'? This twerp was the one who—"

Whatever his demon said must have convinced him, because he abruptly let go and stomped away without another word. Your knees buckled and you slid to the floor with a breathy exhale.

Someone squatted down beside you to check the back of your head, running gentle fingers through your hair to soothe you. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I was more startled than anything." You smiled at Satan, who still seemed somewhat troubled. "Can you walk me to my next class?"

"With pleasure."

That night, Satan got Asmo to read to you on his behalf, claiming he had a last minute errand to run. You didn't mind; Asmo had such a melodic voice that he might as well have sung you to sleep.

(You never saw that upperclassman in school again. People still said he transferred out.)

The day your mother passed, you were sitting next to her and holding her hand, doing your best to ignore the beeping of the machines that monitored her vitals.

One minute she was peaceful, halfway dozed off while you spoke to her softly, the next her entire body seized up as she began mumbling incoherently.

The machines went haywire and alerted the nurses to her side. You were forced to step back and let them do their job, your panicked gaze focused on her fearful face as she writhed on the bed, as though struggling to get away from an assailant.

"No, no... I thought... Please..." were the last words you heard before someone wrapped their arms around you and turned you away.

"Don't look," Asmo cooed in your ear, moments before the shrill beeping noises became steady.

The demon guided you to sit in the hallway outside, whispering words of comfort and rubbing your back. He told you to remember how pretty your mother was before her illness, the good times you'd spent with her after all the hardship the two of you had endured, happy memories that made every second worth it.

You knew your demons would help you to work through the grief in time, but for now, you let yourself fall apart in Asmo's arms.

"Take care on your way home."

"Thanks boss, see you tomorrow."

Closing shifts sucked, but the late hours paid well. Luckily, you had company on your walk back too, a hulking figure no one else could see but everybody still instinctively steered clear of. It made taking shortcuts through shady alleys a little safer.

Even on nights you stopped for supper at a sleazy diner, the only place still open at this godforsaken hour, nobody invited themselves into your booth or tried to strike up conversation with you. Which worked just fine, all you wanted to do was eat your food, go home, and collapse into bed.

Strangely enough, you noticed that the cook also tended to be extra generous with the portions he served you. The man was loud and gruff towards the waitstaff, but on nights you were seated at the counter, he was quiet as a mouse when setting your dish in front of you.

You could never finish it all, but you always made sure to leave a good tip anyway.

You stared at the numbers on the screen for the longest time, feeling conflicted. A part of you wished you had never approached your coworker to ask about the discrepancies you'd found in the accounts, not when he opened your eyes to some of the dealings that went under your boss's radar. He offered you a cut of the profits to keep your mouth shut of course, but you never imagined...

He was a good guy. Hardworking, funny, always willing to pitch in and offering to pick up a bite for you whenever he went on snack runs. You knew he went to church regularly too, so why?

A bat-like wing blocked your view of the screen, and you looked up to see Mammon smirking. "You're overthinking this," he said. "The answer's right in front of ya."

"I thought..." You bit your lip. "He isn't doing too well himself, and the company isn't a megacorp or anything but it's not like they'll notice. Shouldn't I just look the other way?"

"Ha! What he's offering ya is peanuts compared to the promotion you'll get by exposing his operation."

"I'm not in it for the money—"

"Maybe so, but it's the right thing to do, ain't it?"

"Still..."

"You won't have to worry about any retaliation." Mammon assured you with a ruffle of your hair. "I'll make sure of it."

"—lie! It's all a lie! Listen to me, you can't trust the devils!"

"What nonsense are you watching now?" Levi leaned over your shoulder as you tilted your phone to give him a better view.

"A video that went viral recently. Some crazy dude ranting about conspiracies and whatnot."

Levi's nose scrunched up in distaste. "Sounds like he's jealous about having a wimpy lesser demon chained to him, if you ask me. These guys are just bitter they got leftovers since they aren't good people."

"I don't know, Levi. Some folks just need a bit of help, I think. And don't get me started on the whole nature vs. nurture debate."

"Well, doesn't change the fact that you can't save everybody."

"They're cultivating us, like livestock! You have to sin, SIN I say!"

"Ugh, I've had enough of this dude. Can you change the channel? We haven’t watched the latest episode about that time-traveling god yet.”

"Ooh, you’re right! Give me a sec to log into my account…"

Lucifer hummed in amusement. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend." You scrambled to clarify your earlier statement. "It's just— I've known you and your brothers for so long that you don't look scary to me, not anymore. I'm not saying you guys should be monsters or anything, but... Does this mean I'm a bad person?"

"Demons have many forms not meant for mortal eyes," he explained patiently. "And you should know that humans are neither fully good nor bad, but often somewhere in-between. In any case, why would we ever wish to frighten you, hm?"

"Told you it was a silly question..." You grumbled under your breath.

Lucifer squeezed your shoulder. "You’re a good person. You always try your best to do the right thing, even without our guidance to keep you from going astray. I don't say this lightly: I’m proud of you."

You hid your warm cheeks in the demon's chest as you hugged him for all you were worth. "...Thanks Luci."

"Anytime. Now, off you go. Don't keep Beel waiting."

Lucifer watched as his younger brother filled the empty space next to you, holding your hand while walking you home. The hour was late and the streets were dark; it wouldn't do to have anything unsavory happen to you before you made it home safely.

Yes, they needed to keep you safe at all costs. A pure and innocent being like you was hard to come by, perhaps only once every millennia or so. He and his brothers had fought for the right to you, to nurture and polish your soul for when the time was right. And when it was, you would be—

"Delicious," Lucifer whispered, baring his fangs as he licked his lips.

#writing #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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ephemeral--dreams · 1 year

Text

Making you cry during a fight - Kaveh, Alhaitham

(part 2)

☆ ☾ ☆ ──────────────────

Kaveh

Kaveh… Had a tendency to get caught up in the moment. He says things he may not mean, does things he usually wouldn't do, entirely swept up in the tide of his emotions. He did not always pause to think things through, and it had gotten him into trouble many, many times before.

That impulsivity was a curse in this moment, when his own shouting rings in his ears, too late to take back.

The tiny, choked little sobs you let out are heart wrenching. Kaveh couldn't even remember why he was shouting a moment ago. The only thing running through his mind was the sight of your tear stricken face, and the awful guilt that came with it. He should know better than to raise his voice at you, should've known it would set you off like this.

"Sorry… S… I'm sorry…"

Any anger or frustration he felt before entirely melted away at your words. As emotional as he himself is (too emotional, according to a certain someone), it's easy to be pulled in by what you're feeling right now. The urge to leave and hide from his actions was strong, but the pull to comfort you was stronger. Let it not be said that he wouldn't face the consequences of his actions.

With little warning, he tugged you into his embrace, trying to calm you with the contact. "No, I'm sorry, I- I shouldn't have yelled at you. You didn't deserve that."

"N-no, I… I'm the one that shouldn't be crying over it."

So the both of you were blaming yourselves. Great job, Kaveh, look what you did…

"You shouldn't be crying, but only because I shouldn't have made you," Kaveh told you, pulling back a bit to wipe away your tears. "Let's just agree that this won't happen again, okay? Good."

Alhaitham

You always started fights over the most idiotic things. He was lenient with it because he cared for you. Anyone else who bothered him this much would promptly be ignored. He had noise cancelling earpieces for a reason, after all. Alhaitham was an unfortunately busy man, so he'd rather not spend his downtime bickering with you. Didn't he do that enough with Kaveh already?

It had been a rough day. He was rather irritable at how many tasks he'd been forced to deal with at the Akademiya - just when where they going to find a new Grand Sage so that he could stop taking over the role? Alhaitham had no desire to spend any more time working than necessary, and this simply wasn't the position he had signed up for.

Usually he would mind the way he spoke to you more carefully. You were one of very few people that he willingly chose to keep close to him, so driving you away like he did to others would be less than ideal to maintaining things the way he wanted them. Yet even he, with all his calculation, could slip up occasionally.

That is, perhaps his words were too harsh. Alhaitham certainly hadn't meant to make you cry. Yet here he stood, for once entirely unable to take action as you tried to wipe away your own tears.

He'd admit it was an unpleasant sight. There were few things that could make him feel upset or guilty in any way, that make his chest ache, but it seemed this was one of them. Usually, it didn't matter to him whether his words made someone react badly, but… Alhaitham wasn't going to deny that he regretted snapping at you.

"…Alright, come here. Let's not waste time crying," he pulled you down to sit with him, taking your hands into his, thumbs rubbing in soothing circles. "I apologize. I'll make certain not to be so blunt with you next time."

"S-sorry, I know you'd rather be reading than dealing with th-"

"Hush. No more of that line of thought. You're not a burden. I wouldn't be here if you were," it's not something you can deny. He does do his best to avoid anything troublesome, and you know it. Alhaitham leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, feather-light, and resolves to be more careful with your heart.

#alhaitham x reader #kaveh x reader #genshin impact x reader #Headcanon hours

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turcott3 · 24 days

Text

all of you

juraj slafkovský x establishedgf! reader

warnings?: cursing, angst, crying, kissing, mentions of smut, fluff that will make your teeth fall out

masterlist

recently, after a promotion, you’d been blowing up on social media. gaining a massive following. you could never keep up with the impossible amount of likes and comments you began to receive but it excited you at the opportunities that it laid out in front of you.

you heard the front door of your apartment shut, yet again followed by silence. the last couple of days have been like this. he comes home from practice and you ask him how it went. your only response being the bedroom door shutting. you sighed at the sound of the shower turning on. you didn’t understand why he was acting this way. you didn’t know what was going on.

“hello?” arber asks on the other end of the line.

“hey arb, do you have a second to talk?” you ask chewing on your fingernails.

“yeah i do, what’s up?”

“is juraj okay? he’s been acting so weird. he used to chat with me after he gets home but now i just ask him how his practice went and he walks right past me and slams the bedroom door. he won’t talk to me about it.”

“y/n i’m gonna be honest with you right now, he’s been having a really hard time. he’s been so hard on himself. he’s been very delicate. less chatty, less smiley. it really fucking sucks. this season has started out less than ideal for him and it’s so hard seeing him go through this. i can’t believe he’s been keeping it from you.”

“i mean i guess it might have something to do with all of the craziness happening in my life, maybe he feels like he doesn’t wanna burden me?”

“that could be it honestly, i think he’s feeling a little insecure. just talk to him, okay? i know you can get him to open up, he’s fucking crazy about you. keep me updated.”

“okay, i will. thank you arber.”

“yeah of course,” he replies as you bid your goodbyes and hang up the phone. it shattered your heart knowing that he was keeping his struggles from you. all because he didn’t wanna dampen your recent successes.

“baby?” you ask as you hear your bedroom door shut. you turned to see your boyfriend sporting a pair of pajama pants and no shirt. a sight that would never get old to you. you hop up off the couch and meet him in the kitchen.

“hi pretty girl.” he giggles, pulling you to him, engulfing you in a tight hug.

“any new developments?” you reply pulling away from him.

“nah not really, everything seems um,” he pauses, “normal, for the most part.”

you noted the shift in his demeanor and figured you should change the subject, at least for now. you watched as the boy prepared lunch for the two of you.

“my little chef, or should i say big.” you giggle watching him from the bar.

“i didn’t cook any of this, i made a sandwich.” he giggles turning around and showing you.

“either way, you made it.”

“i guess you’re right.” he laughs, finishing them up and plopping them down in front of you. you sat in silence as you both at your sandwiches. typically, lunch was filled with lots of chatter. it was bothering you that he was acting so standoffish.

“j, is everything okay? you’re worrying me.” you frown at him.

“uh yeah, i’m fine. why?” he asks with a mouth full of his last bite.

“can we sit down and talk please.” you request and he nods, following you to the living room. leaving your sandwich behind.

“what has been going on with you? you’re not acting like yourself. every time you walk in, you ignore me. i can see you’re upset about something. baby please tell me what’s going on with you? i need to know if something is bothering you. you know im always here for you.” you say grabbing onto his hand and bringing it into your lap.

“i know i know, i just didn’t wanna kill your mood because of all the good things you have going for you right now. i didn’t want you to be worrying about me.” he says, his lip beginning to quiver and voice cracking quietly.

“well i am. tell me whats going on.” you press him.

“i’m not playing good, i know it’s the start of the season but i’m not playing good at all. i have like no points. i’m not practicing well, and i’m getting drilled to hell for it. so i’m just being hard on myself. i feel beat down and insecure as fuck.” he says, wiping the tears he didn’t let roll all the way down his cheek.

“j,” you frown, “i’m sorry it’s been going badly for you. you know i’m here for you always. please just come to me when you need support okay? and why are you feeling insecure?” you lightly wipe away his tears with your thumb. holding his face lovingly between your hands.

“i’ve spent my spare time, outside of shitty practice, looking at your instagram comments. logan cooley is real interested in taking you out. he’s made that very apparent.” he sighs, sniffling.

“who the fuck is logan cooley?” you reply, furrowing your brows, tilting his head up to look at you.

“he was a high draft pick from my year.” he sighs.

“you do know the only players i know are you and your teammates right?” you giggle.

“yeah i know, but im sure you see those comments and look at their accounts and stuff, and i think to myself that maybe you’d wanna give them a chance. i don’t know it’s stupid.” he admits to you, losing eye contact.

“baby what the fuck are you talking about?” you reply, confused as ever.

“i don’t even know at this point.”

“honey, i don’t even take time to open my comments section. it’s full of bullshit, i only respond to yours and some of my friends, i don’t even look at anything else. so i don’t even care what goes on in mine, especially with what im dragged through in yours.” you answer in a light tone, hopefully getting some kind of confidence from him.

“what?”

“let me lead with saying i am in no way trying to discount your feelings, okay? i love you and i wouldn’t ever do that to you. but everyday there are countless random women and fucking 16 year old girls who sit in your comments section and trash on me. ‘she doesn’t deserve him’ ‘she’s too ugly for him’. that’s my reality juraj. no one ever puts you down in my comments, not that it makes it better, but do you see where i’m coming from?”

“i’m sorry i didn’t know.” he frowns, squeezing your hand.

“it’s okay my love, they don’t bother me.” you reply, squeezing back.

“why not?”

“because i know you’re the only one for me.” you smile sweetly at him, placing a kissing on the soft skin of his cheek before nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck as he takes you into his lap.

“you make me feel safe and warm and loved. i couldn’t ever get that from someone else. you’re so caring and sweet with me, i honestly do question how much i deserve you sometimes. when we have sex it’s so much more than just sex, it’s fucking love, juraj. you love me so much and i can feel it everyday. it goes without questioning. never once have i ever even thought about leaving you.” you say, toying with the curls on the back of his head that you’d grown so fond of as they grew longer.

“that makes me feel a lot better. i’ve never been with anyone who loves and cares about me this much, it’s scary sometimes. i have a hard time navigating because all girls have ever wanted from me is my money and attention. you’ve completely flipped my expectations baby. i don’t know how to apologize for how i’ve been acting. i love you so much, i can’t even comprehend it.” he replies. you lean up in his grasp, connecting your lips with his softly, and lovingly.

“i’m gonna marry you j. i just know it.” you say practically in a whisper with your forehead pressed to his.

“i don’t even know what to say, i love you y/n. so fucking much.” is all he replies before pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“you don’t need to say anything, i just wanted to tell you how i feel so you’d maybe give me your gorgeous smile in return.” you say as he smiles widely. you press a kiss to his head with a laugh.

“tomorrow you’re going into practice with your chin held high, and that pretty smile on your face. you hear me? i’ll get you there no matter what i have to do.” you say placing your hand on his cheek.

“i trust you.” he giggles before you tackle him over in a kiss, leaving all of your prior worries behind. you were obsessed with the way he made you all warm and fuzzy inside. obsessed with the way he loved you, physically and emotionally. but mostly, you were obsessed with the way he loved all of you.

#juraj slafkovsky #juraj slafkovsky x reader #juraj slafkovsky imagine #montreal canadiens #arber xhekaj #nhl #nhl imagine #turcs’ talk

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redclercs · 9 months

Text

— or, the one where you go back to square one.

✤ requested as part of the lavender haze event!

✤ ex! mick schumacher x fem reader, prompts used: “say you want me, and i’m yours.” + "what pretty noises you're making for me… am i making you feel good?" + car sex in the rain

✤ warnings: smut, slight angst, mutual pining, mdni!! little plot, fingering (f receiving), grinding, little bit of dirty talk, car sex, idk how to write car sex bear with me lmao, protected sex, piv, hair pulling. while the actions portrayed in this writing are consensual, do not take this as an example and be smart about having sex!! 2k words (this was supposed to be a really short drabble)

visit the lavender library

It’s a make it or break it situation every time you see Mick.

Not your fault really, things with him never go the way you plan them in your head and there is no use in being angry anymore, life happens and that’s that. Your attempt at being something else with Mick had met its dead end sooner rather than later, and like a pair of fools you told each other you could go back to being friends, as if nothing had happened.

But honestly, how are you supposed to look at Mick as just your friend again? When all you can picture when you close your eyes are scratches that run down his back and the hickeys on your neck.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts like he always does when he notices that faraway stare. "Everything okay?"

Unable to hold back your eyeroll, you nod. "Just great."

Mick frowns and then shrugs, he doesn't want in-depth explanations of your feelings lately. It's not that he doesn't want to deal with them, but he doesn't know how to without making a burden out of his own.

He flashbacks constantly to the night the decision of being 'just friends' was made between the two of you. It was for the best, or so he thought and the momentary relief he'd felt when you agreed didn't compare to the anguish that followed him since your friend let it slip that you were moving on with someone else.

It's possible he's taking you straight to someone else right this second, as you're on your way to a party hosted by one of your mutual friends. He shouldn't have agreed to this, and he's been praying for something—just about anything—to get in the way, so you can't make it to your destination.

You turn the volume of the radio up, you hate the song, but you don't think you can go on with the only sound being the rain pattering outside the car.

Mick's prayers are answered when the rain starts falling so heavy, it's impossible to see further than a few meters, even the headlights of the rest of the cars are hidden through the curtain of water falling from the sky.

"Should I pull over?" he questions, albeit stupidly. It's the best course of action right now and he is in no rush to continue the journey. "It's safer."

You shrug again, feigning disinterest although your body has tensed. "Fine by me."

Mick stops in a lay-by, turning the car engine off once he's made sure he's left enough space for another vehicle that wants to park behind you. "We'll just let the rain pass for a while."

"I know," you huff, he doesn't have to narrate everything you do. It's irritating and you're not a child that needs explanations every two seconds.

"Why are you mad at me?" he questions, turning the volume down before undoing his seatbelt. "Did I do something wrong?"

Where do you start?

"We would have missed the rain if you'd gotten to my place on time," you murmur. It's the first excuse you can think of to be angry at him, although it's not the real reason.

"I said I was sorry, y/n. I had things to do other than being your chauffeur."

"Well I didn't know being 'my chauffeur' bothered you so much, I could have asked Esteban to take me instead."

"You know it's not that," Mick groans, hitting his forehead against the steering softly.

"Then what is it?" you roll your eyes again, turning in the seat to look at him. "Please, do tell."

Mick stares back at you, and the choice is made within seconds in his brain, he's telling the truth. He cannot keep pretending he's not absolutely tormented by the idea that you've met someone else. "I don't want you to move on. I don't want you to go to whoever is waiting for you at that party."

You're caught off guard, having expected something entirely different to come out of his mouth. A strangled 'what?' leaves your lips before Mick is kissing you, praying once again, that you don't reject his advance. Even if it's what he deserves.

It's a desperate kiss, sloppy and wet and better than any you've ever had with him. Because you can feel how much he has wanted it, and you have wanted it too, so, so much. But what if this is all he wants? To know he still holds this power over you to have you physically, but with no strings attached.

You cannot handle the heartbreak of not being able to have him in the way you want to. Not again.

You push him off you, firm but gentle as his lips start traveling down your jaw and to your neck. "No, Mick. Not again."

"Why not?" he whispers against the pulse on your neck, sending shivers through your body. "y/n..."

“Say you want me, and I'm yours," you sigh, as his lips still hover over your skin. "But mean it, Mick. Mean it this time."

"I want you, y/n. I never stopped wanting you," his right hand is holding your jaw and the other is in your hair, combing it behind your ear. "And I'm not saying this just to fuck you. I mean it. I miss you."

You've known Mick for enough time to have figured out the little tells he has when he's lying. And you are so relieved to find that he's not, as he takes you in with those blue eyes you've missed so much. "I miss you too," you whisper, before looking for his lips again.

One moment you're still in your seat, legs twisted in an uncomfortable position and the next you're on Mick's lap, after he's moved the seat all the way back leaving you enough space not to be pressed against the steering wheel.

His hands are on your hips and your ass, lifting the skirt you're wearing before letting it fall back down. Your hands wrap around his neck before falling to his chest. The kisses you exchange are still messy, rushed and quick. You bite his lower lip before licking it soothingly and he groans, hands pressing harder on your ass.

You can feel his fingers moving to your inside thigh slowly, ghost touches that are there one moment and gone the next. You move your hips back and forth, slowly, starting to feel Mick's growing bulge. He grunts again, pulling you down on him to create more friction.

Mick's hand finally finds its way back to your throbbing core, you're starting to get desperate because it's just not enough. No matter how much you sway your hips in circles or you press down on him, it's not enough. "Please," you whine against the shell of his ear, "Please touch me."

His index and middle finger press against the wet cloth that are your panties and he smiles into your lips. "You're so wet for me,"

You can't find a coherent answer, and he doesn't let you anyway, as he moves your panties to one side to access your hole. His index goes inside you painfully slowly, and you know he's enjoying torturing you this way. Your fingers pull on the back of his head, tugging at his hair and you're not surprised when he moans, the hand that's not on your pussy clasps the back of your neck.

The rain is still going strong around you, and yet the only sounds both of you can focus on are the ones leaving you both. Gasps and moans, grunts and whines.

"What pretty noises you're making for me… am i making you feel good?" Mick pulls your head back by the neck for you to stop hiding your face against his neck as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. His thumb is drawing slow circles in your clit while he interchanges the motion of pumping you to scissoring them inside of you. "Do you want to cum?"

You nod desperately, grinding against his fingers while you still pull on his hair. "Please, Mick."

"Not with my fingers,"

You miss him immediately when he pulls his hand away, your hole clenching around nothing. But you hurry to undo his belt and zipper, you need him right now. Mick shifts in his seat, looking for the jacket in the backseat.

Your fingers wrap around his dick and you start pumping him slowly, your thumb running across his tip between movements has him moaning and bucking his hips.

"Seriously?" you pause, looking at the brand new pack of condoms he gets out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

"In my defense, Esteban asked me to buy them for him," his already reddened cheeks turn a shade or two darker, and he smiles at you. "He won't miss one."

You continue with your up and down movements while Mick opens the package and once he gets the condom out, he grabs your wrist to halt you.

Mick almost cums from the sight of you putting the condom on him, something he never thought he'd ever see again after fucking everything up.

You move your underwear to the side once again and Mick grabs your hips to lift you before letting you fall slowly on his cock. Both of you throw your heads back in pleasure and you stay like that for a moment, taking in the sensation of being as physically close as you can possibly be. Mick fills you up perfectly, and you feel so, so good around him.

Your hips rock back and forth slowly, while you maintain eye contact with him, blue eyes eating you up in awe. And he helps you lift your body and fall back on him at your own pace, he's at your mercy.

The hand that isn't steadying you goes back to your clit, caressing and pressing until he finds that right movement that makes you hold your breath before you release it in a pleasured cry. "Just like that, Mick, please."

He continues to draw circles on your clit while nipping on your neck, interrupted every now and then by his own moans of pleasure. Your pace quickens and Mick's neck strains, trying to hold his orgasm back, he wants you to reach yours first.

You smile at his distress, and move your hips faster guiding him up and down in frantic movements. And it's useless how much he tries to hold back, because when you bottom out, he groans, his release spilling inside the condom.

But you don't stop riding him, and he tries his best to keep his focus on the bundle of nerves between your legs, twisting his fingers faster and harder until you grip his shoulder and let your head fall into the crook of his neck, shaking with such pleasure you're seeing stars.

You stay like that for a few moments, while your breath goes back to normal and your body stops twitching with the remnants of your high. Mick goes soft still inside you and you support your weight on his shoulders to lift yourself off him.

The windows are foggy and the car smells of what you just did, the music is still playing in low volume and the rain refuses to stop.

Mick helps you return to the passenger seat, not without stealing another kiss from you, holding your jaw between his thumb and index.

Both of you fix your clothes in silence, one that falls heavy turning uncomfortable quickly.

"We can try again," Mick ends the silence after he's completely buckled his trousers and smoothed his shirt. "I want to try again with you y/n, I want to try until it works."

So you kiss him again, because you'll try and try, until it hurts or bleeds.

─── team principal radio: ❝to the anon who requested this, i accidentally deleted your ask because i am stupid but i hope you see this and enjoy it! let me know your thoughts y'all♡❞

✰ lavender library cardholders: @karmabyfernando

#mick schumacher smut #mick shumacher imagine #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher x reader #f1 smut #f1 x y/n #f1 imagines #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 imagines #lavender haze; 1k event!

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frannyzooey · 1 year

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Short Days, Long Nights: 2

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: none — I’ll change it to E when we get there (slow burn, forced proximity, age gap — no age actually mentioned but rather more implied through lack of life experience, competence kink, hunting)

Summary: Part of a band of travelers, your party is slowly picked off one by one, until there are only two of you left. Finding an abandoned cabin in the woods, you decide to make camp there until you figure out your next move. As the seasons change, the nights get longer and longer…..

A/N: a truly endless amount of thank you’s to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who took SO MUCH TIME to make this actually coherent, and @mourningbirds1 who always asks the best, most inspiring questions. I love you both ❤️ Enjoy!

Chapter One

He shouldn’t be encouraging this.

He shouldn’t.

His head bowed, his steps careful as his eyes scan the forest floor for animal tracks, he had thought the wide open forest and a temporary relief from your close presence would help clear his head, but it doesn’t.

The bright optimism in your eyes flits through his mind, the confidence in how you told him about the various plants you chose to start with and why, the content smile on your face as you went about your tasks this morning. Cleaning out the old pots, filling them with fresh soil, setting up an area in the kitchen near the window to keep them safe.

He should have said something then, but he didn’t.

Should have said no to begin with, but he couldn’t.

The night you had suggested the garden, he watched you leave the room and felt the urge to call you back, but like many urges he has where you’re concerned, he resisted. Hated himself for immediately shutting down your idea, but reasoned that you were too naive for your own good anyway.

It makes him angry, your hope. He wants to stomp it out of you, harden you like he’s been forced to harden, solely because it will give you the best chance at survival in this world.

That’s what he should do, but the second he had found himself unable to say no, he laid bare a dormant part of him that he had been denying for a while: another piece of him that wants you to keep that innocence. Unable to fathom how you’ve kept it this long, he wants to protect it, like those seeds. Keep it tucked away from the ugly world, save both it and you from waste and ruin.

He hears the whisper of ferns brushing against each other, sees them moving out of the corner of his eye, and he crouches low, listening. Reaching back, he pulls an arrow from the pack he has on his back and, keeping his eyes on the bush, notches it in his bow.

He waits, still and silent.

He had stayed awake long into that night, thinking about how you were right. Every settlement is a nightmare, FEDRA no better than the free cities, smuggling a dangerous game that would most likely end in death the longer he kept on doing it. It’s not something that had really bothered him before – the thought of dying – but that was when it was just him.

For you, it didn’t sit right.

For you, he can’t let that happen. He won’t.

He had gotten up from the couch to pace, mindlessly scanning the bookshelves as his brain ran through every scenario. Stopping on a gardening book, he had decided that if you wanted to make it work, then he was going to do it right. Keep some of that innocence of yours while also being smart about it.

It’s not that you couldn’t hold your own. He has seen it before, but there is still so much that you don’t know. The sole idea of staying in this cabin betrayed your naivety, highlighting what he had already been fighting with himself throughout this entire trip: teach you, so you’d be ready, or keep you from it, so it wouldn’t be your burden to carry.

If you are going to stay here, that changed things.

He should teach you basic skills: how to hunt, how to set traps, how to properly handle a gun if you need to. You could do it if you had to, but you aren’t great. Inexperienced, at best, and as he waits there in the grass, he makes a mental list in his head of the topics he should cover.

Maybe if he focuses his energy on teaching you those things, he can stop thinking about what it would be like to teach you other things. Not that he knows if you need teaching in those areas, but the idea had taken root weeks ago in his dreams and refused to let go.

Waking up hard and aching every morning, trying to close his eyes and will it away — being ashamed of those thoughts though unable to stop them from happening, he shoved them down deep, just like he shoved you away.

Or tried to, anyway.

Impatient, harsh, taking advantage of how intimidated you are of him, he’s been gruff and dismissive, but you followed him all the same. Sticking to him like a shadow because of the protection he offers and he knows that’s part of the problem. The real reason you bleed into his dreams every night, because you’re constantly around him and on his mind every hour of the day.

A sort of misplaced attraction due to proximity alone, just like your own is due to his protectiveness - that’s all.

He has protected you, and he still does. He will protect you from what’s out there, including himself.

He sees the flash of shine, the animal’s eye catching the sunlight, and his fingers react on instinct, letting the arrow loose.

Finding its target, the plant stops moving.

–

“I was good with my hands, but I was never good at that.” Joel gestures at the pot in front of you, leaning against the wall as he watches. “I always killed ‘em all.”

You laugh, gently tamping down the cool soil with your fingers. “You? Big bad Joel Miller? There’s something you’re bad at?”

You haven’t seen it. Not yet, anyway.

A small smile curls under his mustache. “Hard to believe, I know.”

Late afternoon sunlight streams through the now clean windows, and you shake your head at him, reaching into the bucket next to you. Pulling out another fist full of loose soil, you sprinkle it over the surface of the pot.

“Well, good thing I was always good at it.”

You were. Had once thought it a relaxing, mindless hobby. Houseplants all over your apartment, you had found it fulfilling when something bloomed and blossomed and grew. Loved the delicate sloping vines, the broad leaves that reached for the sun, the endless shades of green.

This new version of the world holds growth as well, but it isn’t the same. It is chaotic and overwhelming, plants and roots and whole trees sprouting from beneath the concrete, overtaking whole structures as it takes back what once belonged to it. You find beauty in it still, but sometimes the growth is disgusting and horrifying – when it’s the unnaturally colorful warning of fungus instead of plants, and when it’s a body buried underneath instead of a building.

Pouring a little water into the soil, you think about the tiny red watering can you had, the reminder of the mundane action that used to bring you so much joy weighing heavy on your chest for a moment as your hands wipe together to brush off the dirt.

He pushes off the wall and steps closer — always stays close, even inside, just in case.

The swirl of his protective presence is a heady one, and you’ve become so used to it that you feel a perceptible absence when he’s not in the cabin. The same orbit pulls you unconsciously into his direction now, tilting your body to the side so he can get a better look.

“This one should bud fairly fast, according to the packet,” you say, trying hard not to noticeably breathe in his warm scent. He doesn’t often get this close, and you hold as still as possible to encourage him to stay. “Then we can move it outside.”

He says nothing, his skepticism apparent through his silence, and you turn your head, looking at him. The wiry patch of gray that gathers at the edge of his jaw calls out for your touch, the light strands threaded among the dark, and you keep your eyes on it for a moment, tearing them away when he looks at you. His eyes focus on yours, a pull of something filling the air between you for a weighted beat, and then he shifts his gaze back to the pot.

“We’ll see.”

You roll your eyes at his ever-present pessimism, opening your mouth to ask him what he had meant about being good with his hands before since he’s never talked about before with you, but he stands, talking first.

“I was thinking this morning,” he starts, leaning against the wall again. “I should teach you how to hunt.” He pauses, his expression shifting into something more resolute. “I’m going to teach you how to hunt.”

You look up at him, wide eyed and questioning, and he meets your eyes again for a moment before looking away, directing his words at the floor.

“You should probably know how to do it, if we’re gonna stay out here. Just in case something happens to me, and I can’t do it.”

Your face goes still at the thought, and he backtracks, “Like if I get sick or something. Can’t get outta bed.”

“Knowing you, old man, you’ll be faking. Anything to stay in bed longer.”

He huffs, amused. “It’s a pretty comfortable one, I have to admit. It’s been nice not sleeping on the ground.”

The beds are better than the ground for comfort, but you liked the ground for safety. Better to have him close should you need him, and you assume he feels the same way, given the way he conveyed his displeasure with the distance wordlessly, insisting the doors stay open at all times.

“We better go before the sun goes down, try to get more than I got this morning.” His eyes flick over to the hallway. To your open door, the privacy of your room just beyond.

“Sure. Just lemme get dressed.”

Standing to carry the pot over to the window sill, you arrange it just so, right next to the other seedlings, and when you turn to head towards your bedroom, you feel his eyes on you until you’re out of his sight.

–

Leaves crunch underfoot as you walk behind him, the slope of his broad shoulders a map that you follow without question. You’ve followed them for months now, those shoulders ones that you’ve seen damp with rain, covered under the taut drum of his flannel, tight and tense in unfamiliar territory and now, relaxed and loose, as he walks over to the now still bush.

“Did you get it?”

He nods in your direction, crouching with a soft grunt. “Yea. I got this one, next one is you.”

“You’ve always done it,” you grumble to yourself, watching the path. Your heart aches for the animal, but you’d never admit that softness to him. You know you have to eat, but to see it happen, to be the one who kills something so innocent - that’s a whole other matter.

You should be used to it by now. But while you have been able to justify killing people as a means to survive, knowing they would do the same to you if given the chance, you still get slightly squeamish about doing it to animals just minding their own business.

“You wanna stay out here, you’re gonna have to learn sooner or later.” He reaches down, grabbing the small, limp rabbit by the ears, and it hangs dead in his grip, not as heavy as he hoped. He stands and turns, leading you deeper into the woods.

Your fingers catch on the feather light branches of ferns, everything a wash of muted color as dusk descends, and it’s peaceful in your mutual silence, the woods around you alive with its own sounds.

“We can wait here,” he says, stopping at the edge of a small clearing. The leaves of the trees rustle in the wind, a rabbit popping out long enough to hide behind some tall grass nearby, and he crouches low, your body automatically following his lead.

“Normally you wanna keep walking. You can scare em’ out of the bushes that way. Rabbits, you let em’ know you’re coming. It’s deer you gotta stay silent for.”

You plant a knee in the moist earth, dampness creeping through your jeans, and he fixes something on his bow. Your eyes rest on the skillful way his fingers move along the bow string, the size of them compared to the delicate wood.

Satisfied, he holds it out to you with an expectant look.

“Show me how you’re gonna hold it.”

Unsure, you hesitate before you take it from him, but he waits patiently all the same. You’ve never held a bow before and when you look down at it for a beat too long, he shifts until he’s right next to your side.

“Like this,” he says quietly.

He positions your body how he wants it, the practiced weight of his hold guiding you into place, and you let him do it, trying to ignore the increasing thrum of your heart. Something stirs deep in your belly, arousal beginning to bud and unfurl, and then his calloused hand is sliding down your forearm, wrapping your fingers around the bow.

“Hold it up, and look with your dominant eye. Like when you shoot.”

You test it out, closing one eye and then the other, the tip of the arrow visually landing directly in the middle of a thicket of tall grass.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, his drawl curling low in your ear and a shiver rolls through you under your jacket, your fingers starting to tremble. He sees it, placing his hand on top of yours with a reassuring squeeze, and you hold your breath.

“They always come out at dusk,” he says softly, the husk of his voice matching the low lit setting. “That and right away in the morning.” He glances at you with a smirk. “Thought you’d prefer this with how you like to sleep in.”

You can’t turn your face to look at him, lest your mouth brush his, and so you breathe out a laugh instead.

“Very funny,” you whisper.

Your leg cramping slightly in your tense position, you shift a little and he places his hand on the small of your back to steady you.

“You wanna look for something shining in the dark. Their eyes, you’ll be able to see them. They reflect whatever light is around, and you’ll see it flash if you’re patient.”

You keep your eyes trained on the spot, a slight rustle to the brush, and focusing there with intensity, you wait, slipping into a sort of trance. His closeness is intoxicating, the solidness of his hold still pressing lightly into you, his voice a gentle, guiding murmur as the woods grow darker around you.

His voice lingers in your mind, catching on every ridge, embedding itself and playing on a never ending loop. He’s spoken more to you today than he ever has, and every word has been a piece of useful information - things you’re trying hard to hold onto, but he’s making it difficult with how overwhelming his presence is. The way he’s guiding you with that soothing, low voice makes you think about what other things he can talk you through in the middle of the quiet night.

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, and he looks from the bush to you, a frown pulling between his brows.

The grass rustles again, and between the blades of ferns, you see it - a sudden flash of something shining.

“There,” he whispers urgently, prompting you to let the arrow loose, but you don’t. Instead you find yourself hovering on the edge, hesitating just long enough for the animal to sense you, and it moves suddenly with a thrash, bounding away.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “What happened? Why didn’t you shoot?”

You look at him, the words pulling you from your head. Your eyes are hooded with want, your mouth slightly parted and his own gaze narrows in something akin to recognition, but it disappears from his face before you’re sure. He stands, getting some distance between the both of you.

“Nevermind. It’s fine.” He won’t look at you, instead letting his gaze rest somewhere out in the field, and your head clears as the thick tension you felt earlier dissipates into thin air, vanishing into the twilight.

“I think you’ve had enough for today. We can uh – we can pick up tomorrow. It’s getting dark anyway.” He stands there for a moment, weight shifting from one leg to the other while he taps the edge of his thumb against his thigh, and then he’s gone, leaving you sitting there alone.

–

Choosing to dress the rabbit he shot earlier alone down by the water, you prepare everything else inside. You watch him make the pit, his thighs taut in their crouch as he prepares it to burn hot and low, and when he’s done cooking, you eat together in relative silence.

He hasn’t said anything about your lesson or about picking it up tomorrow, but the way he won’t meet your eyes has embarrassment and shame coursing through you. Becoming a burden to him is something that you can’t afford and taking his avoidance of the topic as disappointment, you are stewing on apologizing when he clears his throat, sitting forward with his forearms resting on his knees.

“I’m gonna set some traps tomorrow. I think you should help me, so you know where they are.” He brings his eyes up to yours for the first time since he’s come inside. “And so I can show you how to set them.”

Relief washes through you, and you nod, agreeing “I’m sorry, by the way. About earlier.” He frowns in confusion, and you clarify. “With the rabbit. Sorry I didn’t shoot. I’ll – I’ll try harder next time. Focus, like you asked.”

You had been focusing, just on the wrong thing, and his frown gives way to a look of understanding.

“Don’t worry about it. Your first time holding a bow, wasn’t it? Wasn’t expecting you to actually make a kill or anything. Just wanted to get you used to it.”

Second chances are something you aren’t often afforded, but here it’s different. Here, you can take your time and learn without the pressure of death as a consequence for your mistake, and it’s like he knows it too, with how understanding he’s being.

He stands, preparing to do his usual checks for the night while you gather the dishes and place them in the sink for washing tomorrow. He grabs his rifle from the counter, leaving the cabin to walk the perimeter and then comes back in with a stomp of his boots on the rug to check every lock, scanning the forest through the window before he tells you he’s going to turn in for the night.

“Goodnight,” you say, settling in to read on the couch.

Delighted to find a bookshelf in nearly every room, you had spent the last couple of days going through the titles, selecting the ones you wanted to start with and reorganizing the shelf in your room to store them.

Assembling your own personal library, Joel’s face had been amused as he watched you, and you had thought maybe he would say something to discourage it. At the very least make a teasing comment, but he had held back.

Victory was yours later when you spied a worn western on his bedside table, the paperback lying open, face down.

You read for about an hour, your eyes eventually burning with tiredness in the low, flickering light of your lantern, and deciding to also turn in, you glance at that western when you pass by his bedroom.

Stopping in the shadowed doorway, you look at him for a moment.

His broad back facing you, his shoulders are a steady, slow rise and fall. He shifts, rolling onto his stomach and the t-shirt he’s wearing strains tight across his torso as he bunches his pillow, adjusting it under his head. You see a sliver of his back in the darkness, a slice of it beneath the hem of his shirt, and the dip of his spine leads downwards, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Crawling into your own bed with your door open, you lie in the darkness and concentrate on the sensation of warm, firm velvet skimming under the pads of your fingers, his back still on your mind.

Crawling into your own bed with your door open, you lie in the darkness and concentrate on the sensation of warm, firm velvet skimming under the pads of your fingers, his back still in your mind.

Stopping in the shadowed doorway, you look at him for a moment.

Satisfied that he seems to be okay, you crawl into your own bed and with your door open and lying in the darkness, you drift off to the sensation of firm, warm velvet skating under the pads of your fingers, his back still in your mind.

#joel miller/reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller/you #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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ezelium · 17 days

Text

IF THIS IS WHAT YOU CALL DEPENDENCE : dazai o.

⟡ CONTENT : your lover who abandoned you in the PM and avoided you for 4 years finally finds you in a familiar back alley.

⟡ WARNINGS : gn!reader , dazai is kinda head over heels , unhealthy (past) relationship , unhappy ending , one sided pining , slight spoilers , open ending , slight ooc , implied major character death/major injury , i didn't keep track of the wc but it's probably around 2k , lowercase writing , probably light angst , not proofread , mentions of alcohol .

⟡ GENRE : gen → oneshot (?)

⟡ A/N : man i used to write good like 2 years ago what happened to that.. i think i need to practice more (。＿。")

also this is SHORT but who cares

you weren't exactly sure what you would do after you lover's disappearance, but it was too late when you were notified of the news anyway. dazai osamu had disappeared on a random day, with no warnings nor any goodbyes.

4 years later, you've been greatly promoted to one of the executives of the port mafia. all your hard work and efforts were paid off. it really wasn't the worst, but you really couldn't excuse yourself for the most crimes you've committed. why were you in the mafia? why did you abandon your past life at the ripe ages of teen years? you weren't exactly sure. the underground wasn't a horrible place for you though.

you've loved many people, you've loved many individuals. 'why was he any different?' you might ask, he wasn't. at the end of the day, he's just another person, another man, an "ordinary" man. the difference was that he held a place in your heart.

to be exact, used to. after his bestfriends death, you never found him again.

he left.

it felt somewhat empty. maybe it was your heart missing the way he held you so tightly, or perhaps it was you missing the way his lips brushed against yours. in the end, your heart still longed for him. or did it? or did it want to fill in the gap? whatever it was, it sure did feel miserable.

chuuya was there for you, yeah, but it's not like you liked him romantically. he's your friend, not lover. you couldn't just get with anyone like that now, could you? you were getting carried away with your thoughts as usual. how lovely, when you had pillars of paperwork to work on. he never left your mind. you didn't like the fact that this topic always made you drift away.

your hand lazily grabbed the pen sitting near your said hand, and grabbed another papersheet to sign, fullfill, or whatever. what was this anyway? 7 sent e-mails were still waiting to be replied from your subordinates, it was almost the deadline. you had a long night in for you. the mafia wasn't exactly all about killing or so, it also came with other "irrelevant" work. luckily for you, you could easily get them done quickly. if only your subordinates weren't lazy jackasses that couldn't get something done ...

needless to say, you were tired. exhausted, even. after hours of non-stop work, you got out of the building to visit a certain street. a street you and he used to go to. that was a long time ago of course. but nevertheless, it still brought you comfort. when it rained it didn't bother you, when it was windy, gloomy or foggy, it never bothered you. the missing piece in your heart couldn't be returned, but at least this odd and dark alleyway could make up for it.

dazai too, was missed you from time to time. you were one of the only people that brought some light to his miserable and pathetic life, it felt stupid to just disappear. he was happier in the armed detective agency than he was in the mafia, but he felt like he didn't belong. was he a burden to them? he didn't want to burden them.

they were better off without him, right? but he couldn't go back to the mafia, right? he should keep his promise, right? he will tire them out someday, right?

this is how he thought most of the time. he felt like an idiot to to leave a person that "actually" wanted him. his self confidence was at low levels today for sure. there was no use crying over spilt milk, either. was he to follow his guts or was he to follow his head? or even his heart, in that matter?

these thoughts repeated over and over and over. it was repetitive, and boring. he was sick of it, he felt sick to the stomach when he thought of you. not because of you being yourself, but because of his past self. he swears he changed though.

the way he used to use you for his gain and his own selfishness back in the old days, made him feel disgusted. how did he not see your worth? you made him eat his heart out. he loved you. he loved you and he didn't recognize your worth. was it too late to fix his mistakes? slacking off today wasn't a great idea perhaps, considering he had to face his thoughts like this.

the couch felt soft and warm as he laid on it with fewer bottles of heavy alcohol sitting next to him. it was nearing midnight, stars were shining the best they can. nights of yokohama were always unsettling and comforting in the best way possible, or maybe that was just the weight he had on his shoulders for years now.

finding a purpose wasn't easy. nothing was. this world was too complicated for a logical man like him. he didn't see the meaning, it was absurd, annoying, and whatever else. he tried to fit in.

no matter how bad he felt, you always found a way to make him feel better. oh, how he missed your soft hugs, your sweet words, your gentleness with him. you were patient and willing to go through all this with him, but that was not the case. he felt as if he was in a daze, and alcohol wasn't helping. if anything, it made him think of more absurd things, which I'm sure nobody would want.

again, he left because of oda's wishes, yes. he promised to change, to protect, to be better. however that meant leaving you in the dark. he didn't think twice before leaving, and remorse was all he felt. he could've thought about it a few times, but maybe in another universe you two are together..

now no need to go over the same thoughts and points over and over again, it makes the story boring doesn't it? — he wasn't sleepy at all, and he definitely wasn't in the mood to go out from some alcohol at all. whatever he could do, maybe he could calm his longing heart by going to that old passage.

you on the other hand, were already there while he was thinking of coming. what a coincidence; though you were unaware of that. your hair fluttered as the wind slowly picked up; black, dusty walls looking as grim as ever. nothing really had changed over the years. the same boxes, the same webs, the same rats never disappeared, it was a home to them as much as it was a home to you. that was lovely, at least it wasn't a bleak situation. you weren't alone.

your feet dangled slowly as you sat on one of the said boxes, not caring of the dust that'll catch on your clothes. who cared anyway at this point? you just needed comfort for once. at least this street was calmer than your workplace, nobody was here to disturb you.

or so you thought. after 20 minutes after you arrived, some light footsteps were alerting the presence of an "intruder". you were quick to catch on and put on your guard; silently getting behind those old pieces of wood. yes the mean the boxes.

and dazai, was quick to catch on that somebody was there. his footsteps faltered for the minute being, sensing and looking around before continuing walking. after he turned the corner, it was a surprise to see him all up in your face.

He. he was here. the shock on both of your faces were evident and you both saw each other's expression, there's no purpose to play around after that. he stopped in short surprise as he saw you, muscles tensing as he acknowledged that it was actually you.

"Ahh, ah. My sweet [name] is here?" he snickered, his words were nothing but meaningless. his voice was as sweet as sugar, but the depth was as hollow as ever. he didn't mean anything to you. no, he didn't, nope. no way. you can't forgive him after what he's done, can you.

he slowly moved his hand upwards; the slow movement indicating nothing but his hesitancy. but you weren't going to let him do whatever you want. just with the blink of an eye — a cold metal piece was against his chest. upon realisation, he took a very, very short step back. he still wasn't sure what to make of the situation at hand.

you got out of the shadow of those boxes, making a small wood bar fall in progress. it hit the ground, making a noise that's louder than it should make. he brought his hands to the silver plate of your gun, his smile not faltering as he looked at you. he was tipsy, but he was still aware of his surroundings. and he was going to work this out.

his eyes weren't giving away anything, no, far from that. he seemed.. happy. he opened his mouth to say something; but you swiftly cut him off. you had better stuff to do than get distracted by his sweet nothings. perhaps he really didn't change. perhaps it's futile.

"i won't hesitate to pull," you warned, pushing the muzzle harder into his chest and steadying your finger around the trigger. your expression was blank, your teeth were clenched. you were angry at him, and had every right to be angry at him. his teasing smile faded the moment your finger tightened around the trigger. a hint of alarm and wariness took over, briefly clouding his bravado.

he wasn't sure if he was facing the same old you. the same old you would be kinder, more softer to him, your older self would be more tolerant to him. he was expecting the same treatment out of his selfishness. yet he wasn't sure what to do after you didn't, so he asked: "what happened to you?"

"what happened to me?" you quickly repeated, not sure what to make of his question either. the question made no sense overall, you just had grown is all. how could he not expect a change after 4 years? at the end it's finally done. actually maybe even he was late; maybe you two just showered each other in lies.

dazai paused for a few seconds, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought of what to say. there was no smile, no nothing. "you weren't like this. this isn't the [name] I know." he said, features changing into dour ones. he thought this would be a more calm talk, a more civil one. yet there he was, with the muzzle of a gun against his heart, by his past lover.

you didn't even want to associate with him anymore, it felt oddly pointless. as if you wanred to give up on him. "i'd call that an achievement. yet you're the same osamu I know." ouch. that hit a little too close to home, didn't it? he was trying to change, but he wasn't sure himself if he was putting any effort. and that sentence you just uttered out of your mouth, reminded him of that.

he knew you wanted to give up on him. he knew it. he knew it. he knew it. despite this, he still loved you. he did. he knew. he did. he knew he did. he still screwed this up.

he felt miserable like this, he knew he fucked up. he knew he messed up real bad this time, and you weren't showing him mercy anymore. he wasn't deserving of another chance anyway. "just hear me out- please." he pleaded, his voice softening. he wanted to be close to you, a gentle expression was all he could make. his hand, ignoring the gun, tried touching yours for the briefest of moments.

you clenched your teeth even harder, just how desperate could he get? "there's no point, dazai." he hated it when you called him by his lastname. it felt as if you were getting further away from him. he didn't want that— the opposite. this really turned out bad. this isn't what he expected, at all. on situations like this, it usually would go like how he wanted it. but this wasn't it. nope, no way. that took a wrong turn, just because he was surprised for a minute.

now that just confirmed how hopeless of a situation it was. he just wanted you back, but you weren't even letting him explain. no, he didn't seem panicked. that's far from the truth. his words were straightforward as they can be, as if they were scripted to come out that way. his hand was on yours now, "you aren't even letting me make amends." his thumb brushed your hand, the bandages adding in extra texture. he wasn't in the mood to deal with this today.

you huffed in response. you were fed up. you were doubting if you actually loved him. you may need to think this over again, now was the time that you're sure you didn't miss him, but rather- your heart just wanted the missing piece inside of it filled. you were sure you weren't blind to love a bastard like this. "you could've at least said goodbye. i was miserable, and yet i still loved you. i knew you were using me. i honestly regret that i ever loved you. why would i let you make amends?"

as much as emotions clouded his judgement, your anger was clouding your own judgement too. the last thing you wanted for him to do now was to try and win you over again, which he was most likely about to do if you didn't intervene. but he was idiotic and selfish right? you couldn't trust him, you couldn't trust such a manipulator who used you in the past.

"[name], my love, it's—"

"don't call me that." you retorted, voice dropping. those words contained nothing but disdain at him.

he paused, "don't tell me things that you don't mean."

"i do mean them more than you think."

"oh really now?"

agghnttmh thank you for reading everyone! <3 i wrote this in 2 days, something i thought was impossible really.. im sorry if its shorter towards the end, i started with so much motivation but finished with so less. therefore, it's kinda short and messy :(

please do tell me if i should write a second part for this, im actually invested but this is all that was supposed to be in this part!

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