jazlyn𝜗𝜚 ࣪⊹

i want fineliner to REALLY lean into the vampire-ness and so her whole problem is that!!! she's in a cycle!!!! not like a time loop or anything but its a routinely cycle that she puts herself in!!!!!!

such as going to work, going out, sleep, and doing it all over again

she doesnnnnttt get out of this cycle because it keeps her busy, and with being busy, she doesnt have a moment to think about everythings shes lost. she shouldn't be working corporate, and missed off on mmmaaaannnnyyy opportunities in her youth ....

its not a case of "aww im working corporate cuz thats all i was good for :(" its more of "im only working corporate because i was too scared to take risks" . she set herself up for failure basically

so she works hard at her job, not because she favors blackrock, but because she thinks that maybe she'll get out of there .... even tho the only way out of there is instant death

so its similar to how a vampire wuold live because eventually vampires also go thru a cycle becuz theyre undead and live on forever...... it feels repetitive and the pleasure gets sucked out of anything. fineliner isn't like....suicidal by any means but shes very dissociative.

shes so closed off at work and acts indifferent to everything that happens in the office.

but once the lights dim, the office closes, she's lively. there's a joy to meeting new demons and putting herself out there. almost like she never missed out on anything in the first place.

then she's back home and it's numb .... she's sensitive and all she hears is her fridge buzzing. her sink leaking. her heart beating. and it's too much. she tears at herself, scarring at old wounds, thinks how stupid she is for working towards a dream that won't come. and wakes up. her alarm rings. it's time for work!

elle has been my oc since like foooreeevveeerrrr and i was never rly . feelin up her deisign . shes super cute but ive always wanted to lean moreeeee.... like.... innocent... if that makes sense shes REALLY normal like nothing is really wrong with her aside from the fact that she wants to eat you if She has affection for you... its just out of heart and shes learned to.... just be a widow for awhile...... but sometimes her feelings get the best of her and oh god damn it shes eaten someone again. i like to think she's just always in a state of unsatisfaction. like if ur greatest want is to love someone enough toLiterally Eat Themn then your normal life mustbe pretty bland if ur not constantly murdering people. but its not the worst thing in the world like being bored isn't gonna kill her .... she has other wants too!!! just none as prominent as cannibalism i guess

oh my god brah oh m yg od i hate pearl for enforcing this upon me (this is out of self spiraling and obsession) THIS IS SO NUTTY. SOOOOO NUTTYYYYYY

i know it wouldnt ever happen in canon (we're the authors and artists) but liaek....... ohmfg.... childhood (?) friends au with wingliner where they were close and lowk wing disappears one day and then Shows Up on television as a new contestant in the phighitng tournments and fineliner is just so fuckin maddddddddddddddd for him not telling her where he went (he prob went to go to justice stuff . or the cult. idek. Hehe) and oh myyy gooooooooooooddddddd KILL ME IKILL ME NOW -> i think in childhood au .... fineliner was alsoooo in her 20s, probably a little older than wing, and was a party gal!! shes still def a party girl now, just more mature and work-loaded BUT UMMMM fineliner canonically was a party gal when she was youngerrrr. she still is, like . righjt now. Like outside of childhood au. and she has definitely been over the moon many times. she has morning sickness remedies up the asscrack ik it OH also its no surprise but fnliner LOVES honesty. she adores passion. she understands why a demon wou,ld be selfish, even if its negative. pearl alredy said it but she!! in fact!!! would love past wing. not to say that she's head over heels over him, but she appreciates the passion that wing once had and how it used to be so present in his life .

wing def asked her afterwards if she liked him more with long hair, thinking that was why she was so attentive to his past self but she laughs and says "guess!" OH I HATE THEM

when iw as making this i was like well shit childhood au and Canon finelienr both look the same when they were younger so im gonna use the same design for both of them #win

BUT YEAAAAAAAAAAAAA i made wingsy and fnliner match... i like to think that shes been wanting wing to be her +1 at a party for a while!!! and even got them matching shirts to encourage it . .

THIS fineliner doesnt realize she likes wing until after they re-meet in the future .... and instead of like "i cant like him hes an asshole" shes like "this guy's so stubbornly closed off" . she doesnt see him as The Dream and Unreachable because she knows that he used to be so simple. reachable. and capable of having wants and desires instead of a Fraud....

maybe at first fineliner tries to see if she can see a crack in wing. almost gives up cuz no progress. then sees a smidge of how he used to be and shes so flustered that she wants to see that side of him again and again and again but again never comes ..... ;'(

König. You don’t know him well, what with him always being silent during briefings, off on a mission, or back home outside of deployment, wherever that may be. What you do know, though, is that he’s an absolute unit, a formidable leader, and always the most anxious one in a crowded room. Perhaps that’s what surprises you the most, seeing as how he’s so cavalierly speaking to you, as if you are his friend of years past.

Maybe you just don’t intimidate him. The thought, strangely, angers you. He’s not even your direct superior—what makes him so qualified to pick apart your abilities? You scoff softly. He can fuck off and do his own shooting, on the other side of the range.

“It’s why I’m here to practice,” you mutter, toeing the line of a snarky remark.

König chuckles, a stupidly amused laugh that makes you want to turn your pistol to him. Of course, you don’t. “Practice…only works when you practice right. Keep going like that, I don’t foresee any improvement in your aim.”

“Foresee my foot up your—“ You silently mutter before calming yourself. That too only elicits a breath of amusement from the man, and before you know it there’s a presence behind you. Unwanted, and yet overly willing to butt his head into what doesn't concern him.

“First—don’t think so much about missing. And shoot on the exhale, when you can.” König gestures towards the targets at the end of the range, "Bend your knees slightly, and don't fight the recoil. Here—like this." He demonstrates with a phantom gun, and you can't resist the laugh that escapes your lips, watching him pose beside you. König seems to take it in stride and laughs just as much, if not more than you, before releasing his pose once it seemed you had the hang of it. Still, mere poses don't seem to satisfy him. Before you know it, his hands are on your gun. "Adjust your grip, spatz, you're strangling it," he murmurs. Gloved fingers gently, deftly reposition yours, coaxing your angrily tense hands into loosening up. "Give it some room to move, and don't pull the trigger. Squeeze it, like, eh—a lemon."

He makes a motion with his fingers and hand, as if holding a taco. What a dork. You giggle in response. "You're gonna make me hungry."

"Then go have a snack, once you've learned." König's hand closes over yours, and for a moment you shiver. What's with that? You hope he didn't notice.

There's a presence on your shoulder before you can gather your bearings. His head, shrouded by that homemade t-shirt mask of his, peeks over beside your cheek. “The front sight must line up perfectly with the rear," König mutters, practically embracing you as he lays a hand on your shoulder, and moves the other to tilt up your arms, just enough for said sights to line up. "Focus on the front sight more than the target.”

"God, that bad?" You laugh as he moves your hands way farther up.

"Not bad. Improving. It's...how do you say...work in progress."

Even as he perfects your aim, König doesn't pull back. "Better," He rumbles, right in your ear, warmth curling around his words. That little hitch of breath sends you somewhere deep into a hole of imagery that you don't dare to follow down. He may not be your superior, and this may not be the military, but he still outranks you.

"Yeah?" You pant, helpless to your brain's trickery.

König's hand, still on your shoulder, his arm looped around you—still, you wouldn't dare to fantasize. But what a sweet thought that is, of his gloves catching on your skin as he—No. You won't do this to yourself. "You could be a very good shot, spatz," König nudges you, as if congratulating a student on an excellent test score. "A few more weeks in the range, some guidance, and you'll be cured of your Izzy-itis yet." "Izzy...itis?" You murmur, questioningly.

König waves it away. "Inside joke. She was a very bad shot, unless they were moving."

"Guidance, though..." You probe, perhaps out of a stroke of boldness from succeeding at hitting targets for once in your sharpshooting career. "Not sure if anyone's going to want to stick around and train me for that long."

König's gaze flashes just the way you pictured it would, his hand sliding from your shoulder, down to the middle of your back. If you visibly shuddered at the light touch, he made no sign of recognition. "Don't be silly," he claps at the delicate curve of your spine. "I'll guide you. I'm a better shot than half of KorTac, so do not make the mistake of seeking advice in faulty places."

"Now get to sleep, before you subject yourself to sunken eyes," König proceeds, taking just one careful step forward. "Unless you have other...issues I can help you with."

"Other issues?" You raise your eyebrows. Is he—? No, he wouldn't...but you are not an idiot. That look, that tone. He may be a superior, but he is also human. You stand straight, facing him head on. "Any issues, sure?"

"Ja," König nods, perhaps remembering that he is as much a man as you are a woman as he rolls his broad shoulders, chin tilted slightly to the sky. "I am versatile. You know the meaning of that word." It's not a question. You stiffen, far too conscious of yourself, of your body, leaning just a bit forward as König's gaze flicks up and down your face. Were you able to see more than just those crystal blue eyes, you're sure he'd be smirking. A stupid little smirk that only he could pull off and still win with.

"Well," You stammer, averting your gaze. Damn, if you look straight ahead, you only see his pecs. Curse his height. "I—I, uh, I've been having trouble...relaxing lately." It's the corniest, stupidest thing you've said all year. And somehow, it works. “Have you?” König tilts his head, draping hood shifting as he leans down to hover over you. Oh yeah. This is exactly what you thought he was getting after. Thank goodness you haven't embarrassed yourself and made a foolish assumption in addition to your lack of aiming skill.

“Mhm. You planning on sleeping anytime soon, sir?”

“Maybe,” König shrugs. “Are you, spatz?”

“Depends,” you breathe clever words hitching in your chest, “I might be willing to stay up a bit longer.”

***

There’s not an inch of hesitation when König all but crowds you into the first wall he can reach once the door to his room is closed behind himself. Your head knocks into the wall with a thud—nothing painful, but certainly a surprise. König reacts instantaneously, his large gloved hand reaching up to cradle the affected crown of your head. “Aisch,” he hisses. “Did that hurt? I am sorry.”

“No, didn’t hurt,” you pant in reassurance, too fevered and flushed to even process pain as you yank him close by the shirt. He moves with you, fluidly yanking up his hood to allow you access to the sharp line of his jaw and eager, plush lips in wait. Just enough to kiss. His lips crash against yours, and a gentle, satisfied rumble vibrates throughout your exchange. You pant against his lips—damn, could he kiss. For a man that never shows his mouth, König knows very well what to do with it.

He tugs at your shirt, a subtle request for you to pull it off. You do, and it lands somewhere you couldn't care less about. "There she is," König hums appreciatively, his hood falling back into place as you both race to shed clothing, letting the articles fall into pathetic piles by the door. At the very least, you won't have much issue finding your panties in the morning. "You're a pretty thing, spatz. Let me undress you?"

You nod quickly, allowing König's deft fingers to unclasp your bra and toss it aside, his hands—pale, scarred, now ungloved—caressing and squeezing the flesh hidden behind it. "So cute," König chuckles, running a thumb over your nipple. Unable to hold back a squeak, you glance away, eyes finding his bed.

A king size. Fitting. And oh-so comfortable to lay back on when his hands clasp around your waist, lifting you and setting you down on the mattress. Akin to a prowling tiger, König's hands press down over on both sides of your lap as he crawls closer, hovering atop your body.

"It is not prohibited," König murmurs, leaving gentle, nipping kisses at your neck, "for us to share a bed. But for your sake, and mine, let us not speak of this to others."

The request would rub you the wrong way, if you didn't feel equally as concerned about your own reputation. "Ashamed of me, sir?" You joke anyway, if only to soothe the small dash in your pride.

"Shame?" König laughs, familiar sharpness returning to his glinting blue eyes. "Ashamed, she says. Shame does not land you in my bed, spatz. Do not think so little of yourself, or of me."

Right. König is a cocky bastard, as much as he is quiet. You blush, which only serves to draw out a bemused click of the tongue from your paramour. He swipes a curled finger up your cheek, slowly caressing the soft skin there. "Sweet thing, won't you let me taste you?"

And how could you say no to that?

***

Fuck, if you thought he was good at kissing, König proves himself to be an entirely different beast down below. Both of his hands grip your thighs, pushing them up and apart as he goes down on you, his mask pooled just below your navel, and the only visible aspect of his face being those eyes—piercing, captivating eyes that command your gaze. Who know the quiet giant knew how to please a woman so well?

"Hah—nhh! K-König—" You gasp, helplessly squirming in place as his tongue flattens against your clit, passionate and embarrassingly lewd slurping sounds filling the room as he makes love to your cunt. "Fuck, I'm—I—ah!" All you can picture through the sparks behind your eyelids is his tongue, covering the entirety of your slit as he delves deep and suckles on the sensitive bud there. You squeal, legs involuntarily kicking, and he has the audacity to chuckle against your soaked pussy.

Still, König is far too preoccupied with pleasing you and enjoying those pretty sounds of yours to even tease you for your noises. Another slurp—and you finally cry out your orgasm, trembling as sweet nectar gushes out of you, thick on his tongue. König, the pervert, is all too happy to lap up what you have to give him like it's his goddamn dessert. "It seems you liked it," he grunts, as if he hadn't just taken you to kingdom come and back with the sole use of his tongue. "Gut. I am...not of average size. You will need to be wet and relaxed for this part to be comfortable."

He might've given you a mind-blowing orgasm, but you're not the merciful type when a man's annoyed the crap out of you, regardless of his sexual prowess. The joke's all set up for you—you can't help yourself. "Aw, don't worry, sir," you grin, adjusting your body to lay on your side. "You know what they say. The small ones find ways to make up for what they lack in size."

It earns you a smart smack on the rear, eliciting a mortifying gasp of surprise. "The little one likes to provoke. You will regret that," he points, mirth creasing at the corner of his eyes. König, for a man of his formidable size, is swift in his pounce as he climbs up onto the bed to hover over you. "Come here, sweet spatz."

You obey, laying back in earnest as he spreads your thighs once more and tugs your hips up, leaving enough room to slide a pillow under. "Is it comfortable?" König asks, to which you nod eagerly. "Gut."

A finger slips into your throbbing wetness—fuck, he's not average by any means at all—and then another joins it. It's all agonizingly slow, and yet delicious beyond words. Beyond sounds, even—or not, as you shudder involuntarily, noisily, when he sinks in a third to the knuckle. And of course, the man laughs.

"Do you think this is small?" He asks, leaning down, his hood tickling your chest. You weakly shake your head. "Ah, then I am not sure how well you will fare with me inside you. But we shall see, spatz, eh? You are a strong woman."

So he says. But when the flared tip of his condom-sheathed cock nudges at your slit, teasingly gathering the rivulets of slick there, you tense. "Sh-Shit," you whimper. "Go easy on me, sir?" "Easy, no," He mutters. "But I will not hurt you. You may punch me if I do."

"I'd—I'd rather have a word to say."

"Then, say cherry. If that is to your liking?"

You snort softly, gazing up at the man and his mirthful eyes of blue. "You like cherries?"

He nods happily, as if discussing over tea or coffee. "My favorite fruit. It's splendid in cake." König adjusts your hips, fitting them comfortably against his own. "Now, let us fill up this pretty little thing down here..."

Without further warning, his cock nudges past your labia, parting your folds and sliding—more like squeezing—in. You hiss in shock and slight discomfort before it eventually gives way to a sweet, warm ache in your core. "Agh—" König groans, the gruff sound pooling heat in your belly as he hunches over you, massive torso almost completely covering yours. "Are you—ngh—not hurt?"

"No," you breathe, chest rising and falling as he nudges deeper, deeper, until he's certainly at least halfway into you, if not more. God, he's thick, too thick to take easily. If you didn't know better, you'd say he's just under a soda can in girth. "Fuck, I shouldn't have called you—mgh!—small!"

"No, you shouldn't have," König agrees through an aggravatingly husky chuckle. "Consider it a—hgh—punishment, spatz."

"Sh-Shut up."

"Is that any way to talk to a superior?"

You make a noise intended to be a growl, which comes out sounding more like a whine than anything particularly threatening. "I'm talking to the man who calls himself king. I'm not trying to further inflate your giant ego."

König's hands find your waist, oh fuck, he's in, all the way in, and you've never felt fuller in your life. A cry of surprise leaves you just as he bends over to whisper in your ear. "So you know some German." Then, in a high pitched voice to match your cry as he ruts into you once, he mocks, "Ach, König, was hast du für einen große Schwanz!" Another rut, deeper into you, and he deepens his voice to a comical baritone. "Umso besser, dich zu ficken!"

Fuck, that was a stupid joke. You smack his shoulder, cackling and heavily gasping as he gathers speed with his hips. "Fuck you, that was—agh!" König's thrusts pick up in speed, heavy balls slapping against your ass as he pitches his hips up into yours. Like a feral dog, he pants, clawing at the sheets beside your head.

"Mmgh....sweet spatz, you choke me. Oh, Scheiße—" His hips stutter, long strokes ramming into you, one after another as you arch into his touch. "I'm going to come, spatz. So gut, meine Süße—!" König trembles above you, groaning as he finishes off with one hard thrust and stills, filling his condom with seed.

You whine when he finally pulls out, his monster of a cock softening, condom slipping off for him to tie up and trash. You're allowed just a moment's respite before the insatiable man before you thinks it high time to dive back down face-first between your thighs for more.

"König!" You squeak, sitting up to tell him that there's no need for you to come twice, but your protests fall on deaf ears. He's a man too far gone, with too big an appetite to be told "No."