The Invisible String Theory
The Invisible String Theory
PAIRING: König x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).
WORDCOUNT: 9.2k
WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021
LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY
TIME OF EVENT: 0230
MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'
You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows.
Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala.
You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before.
They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts.
You wished you were only a tourist.
You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time.
This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed.
For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you.
It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted.
You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman.
Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.
Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.
You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.
A doll.
The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket.
The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.
But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again.
“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways.
Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better.
That was when you first saw him.
You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came.
It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.
The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark.
“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.
Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable.
“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head.
“Are you…sure, Ma’am?”
“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words.
His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.
König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.
Ivon hangs up his phone.
“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact.
This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering.
Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee.
You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.
Yet it could only last so long.
Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble.
König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that.
The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone.
That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different.
Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place.
But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms.
This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures.
You were always kept on the ground floor.
'CLEARANCE: APPROVED
TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…
STAND BY…
Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.
Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'
You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress.
“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well.
You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.
A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp.
Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched.
Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain.
Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again.
Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing.
There was someone….out there.
Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with.
Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.
Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.
Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen.
A yell.
A scream.
The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.
You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass.
The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still.
But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet.
What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.
Silence.
You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you.
'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.
Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.'
The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort.
Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.
A monster.
Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls.
“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you.
“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”
You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct.
The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.
“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”
You stare blankly, panting.
After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English.
“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.”
Military? Raid?
“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood.
A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise.
König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.
The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway.
Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull.
“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.”
That certainly got the attention that was needed.
Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind.
Home.
Did you even have one of those left?
As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it.
You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver.
“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over.
You’d forgotten about König.
He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie.
You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light.
“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”
“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible.
Blue-gray.
You stare, mouth parting in shock.
König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.
That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter.
“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock.
It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates.
“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it.
König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt.
A protective knife sides into his side.
“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?”
You blink.
“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision.
“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”
Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would.
“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.”
König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?”
Again, you shake your head.
“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch.
“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile.
But now wasn’t the time for that.
“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”
You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.
Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you.
“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.”
You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street.
The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer.
Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.
“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”
“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”
You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree.
Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.
It was like listening to a bird’s song.
“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.”
He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward.
“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”
You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you.
“I’ve got you,” he says.
In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall.
“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you.
“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.
“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.”
You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more.
The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.”
The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears.
Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus.
Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment.
“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”
“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.”
“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you.
König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal.
You can’t help but smile.
'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases.
Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'
You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door.
It nearly made you cry.
Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly.
“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand.
“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.
“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.
“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?”
Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?”
Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return.
“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”
The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way.
“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room.
Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning.
Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so?
But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it.
Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling.
That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it.
—
König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope.
Tap-tap, tappity-tap.
His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood.
But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala.
He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving.
“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”
König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay.
The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva.
‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”
König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you.
The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings.
Curfew was long past—this had to be quick.
Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it.
He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.
“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”
The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten.
It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation.
Was this appropriate?
König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid.
He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself.
After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder.
“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain.
With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in.
He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open.
König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them.
Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.
“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks.
Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.
“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse.
Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.
With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.
“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.”
“Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck.
“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?”
The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”
König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns.
“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”
“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.
“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?”
Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock.
“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”
He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”
You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.
“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.”
He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?”
You watch him before nodding tinily.
“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?”
Why had he said that?
The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.
“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.
“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”
“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it.
“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”
You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly.
“What are you laughing at, then, hm?”
“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin.
König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.”
You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs.
“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”
“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.”
Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet.
'…Signed,
[REDACTED]
SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021
END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’
RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…
STAND BY…'
It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost.
There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked.
You take a long, deep, breath.
Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course.
You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go.
Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.
Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on.
At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword.
König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.
The coat.
“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.”
“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer.
“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”
You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold.
König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head.
“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat.
It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat.
“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable.
Enigmatic.
König’s reverential face is soft with care.
“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”
Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat.
It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material.
The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17.
König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone.
Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses.
At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after.
It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.
“Thank—”
“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you.
You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?”
“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.”
The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope.
Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side.
Live well.
You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness.
The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it.
‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’
'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE
REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]
ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021
TIME: 1422
OPEN FILE?...
REQUEST CANCELED….
RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…
FILE SELECTED….
TRANSLATING…
STAND BY…
REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022
OPEN FILE?...
REQUEST CANCELED…
SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'
You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.
“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.”
She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”
“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.”
The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat.
It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them.
A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry.
Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.
After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.
There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.
Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device.
Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering.
Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact.
A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.
He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women.
His voice graces your ear.
“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.
“How do you feel about coffee, König?”
Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.
TAGS:
@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot
More Posts from Saykaundermoon and Others
☆ 18+ meddle about | hobie brown
✩ summary: he just loves everything about you, but he especially loves your thighs. ✮ word count: 1.2k ⚠︎ warning(s): 18+, unprotected, semi-public, fem!reader he <3s thick thighs argue with the wall also he def didn't pay for the pants either... ✧ be sure to check out my work on ao3 ⇢ gravesforgirls !!
It was nothing short of an infatuation. He couldn't help it. They were just so pretty and soft and perfect, and he was only so strong.
He absolutely loves when he can just lay his head in your lap and nearly fall asleep as you gently rake your fingers up and down his bare back, big hand palming at your thigh akin to a cat kneading a blanket, squeezing and massaging the soft plane of skin with his rough fingertips. He presses kisses into them, mumbling utter nonsense as he lays there, and he nibbles gentle marks into the inner parts of your thighs. It doesn't even have to be risqué, though he doesn't mind if it happens to end in you pinned beneath him, he just likes being nestled between them, soft skin pressing against his cheeks as he lays there, lazily kissing at the warm skin.
That said, he loves seeing you in tight pants, or mini skirts, or anything that really accentuates your thighs. Especially super skinny leather pants. The way the fabric hugs every curve so perfectly, not to mention so vividly, has him near drooling. He can't keep his hands off you when you step out of the small fitting room stall, eyeing you up and down.
"Give me a twirl. Gotta make sure it fits right."
You know what he's doing, and you roll your eyes with a small swat to his chest as he grins, but you spin anyway, biting back a laugh when you catch the way he stares.
"Look good?"
"Fuckin' peng. C'mere."
Before you can really even step closer, he's already wrapping his lean arms around your waist, kissing you with a sudden fierceness that has you letting out an embarrassing noise when he presses you against the door, big hands sliding from your waist to grab at your ass, the shiny leather material squealing under the friction of his hands. You press a hand to his chest, a weak attempt at getting him to slow down.
"Not here, Hobie."
He grumbles against your lips, lifting a hand to push open the door and walking you back into the stall, reaching behind him to twist the lock, still latched onto you.
"Can't wait anymore. You been getting me all worked up since that first dress you tried. Lucky I held out for that long."
Your hands snake around his neck to keep him close, clutching at his vest when he lifts you against the thin wall, pressing against you to keep you upright. "Didn't realize you liked 'em that much." Your legs clamp around his hips to give you that little more stability.
He nods, lips leaving yours to eagerly trail down your throat. "These ones sent me over the edge. You look fuckin' amazing." One of his hands slips between you to toy with the button of the pants for a second before he's popping it open, tugging down the zipper and shoving the tight garment down your thighs, ogling a bit at the way the fabric constricts around the plump swell.
He doesn't even bother to pull them down any further, too busy clambering to undo his ridiculous amount of studded belts to care about ridding you of it completely. He's rocking against you with a desperation that has you slinking a hand down between your thighs to press your fingertips against your barely concealed clit, heels digging into the back of his pelvic bone as he undoes his skinny jeans.
"So pretty." His hand nudges at your own to push you away, replacing your fingers with his own, and you hum when he pushes aside your panties to touch you properly. "Already so wet for me, babe. Bet you can't wait for me to fill you up, innit." His long fingers press against your warm walls, calloused thumb circling your clit.
You whine with a small nod, rolling your hips into his hand as best you can, what with the minimal stability you have at the moment. He's watching the way your thighs squeeze around his hand, movement extremely limited by the tight leather still clutching at your legs, pulled taut with the way your ankles lock behind his back. You bite down on your bottom lip to keep quiet, back arching off the wall when he curls his fingers, and you don't even have to look at him to know he has that shit-eating grin painted on his lips, warm breath fanning across your ear as he leans closer to drop kisses across your jaw bone.
"Gonna fuck these pretty thighs. Gonna come all over 'em." His words trail off into unintelligible groans, and you shake your head gently.
"Want you to fuck me. Please. S'all I want."
The slight break in your quiet voice has him sputtering, hand faltering against you as he registers your plea, huffing quietly. Who is he to decline your request when you've asked so nicely?
"Sure. Yeah, okay." He gives in almost immediately as he presses his warm forehead to your shoulder, one hand leaving you to push down the hem of his briefs, breath shuddering whenever the head of his cock presses against your slick folds.
You spit into his palm when he holds it up to your face, and he tugs at his –now painfully hard– cock a few times before he's stretching you open, stuffing his face into your neck to press hot kisses into your already searing skin, groaning against your throat when your walls close around him.
He's thumbing over your sensitive clit, rocking into you all the while muttering mindless praise into your ear, and your nails dig into the leather of his vest as you slowly tip over the edge, muffling your noises in his neck. He continues to mumble any and every compliment he can think of as you come down, and you nearly whimper when he's pulling out of you, lifting your knees from around his slim waist to clamp your legs together against your chest, the tip of his cock sinking into the tight crease where your thighs meet. He's so desperate now, accent so thick you can barely make out anything he's saying as he fucks up into the cramped space, and you can tell he's close whenever his hips stutter, sloppy as he tries to stay composed.
He paints your bare thighs in thick white stripes, watching the way it drips down as he slowly lowers your feet to the floor, and you hum when he leans closer to press kisses to your sticky skin.
"What am I supposed to do about this?" You gesture to the mess on your legs, and he follows your gaze, pouting a bit.
Before you can scold him though, he throws off his vest, tugging his tattered shirt over his head and leaning down to wipe you clean. You cringe at the action, scrunching your face as he grins.
"That's so gross."
"I'll toss it. I've loads more tops in far better condition."
You try to convince yourself the employees aren't staring at the two of you as you rush out of the store, only swiping at him once you're out of sight from the business, as if he was at any more fault than you were. You did allow him to fuck you senseless in the fitting room, after all. Who's keeping track, anyways?
He did in fact get you those leather pants while you were getting dressed.
Anytime, Anywhere (ft. Reno, Sephiroth, Zack, and Cloud)
Warnings: smut, fem!reader, not edited, semi-public sex
A/N: If this does well I might do a part two with Rufus, Tseng, Vincent, and Reeve.
Reno Sinclair
Reno is down to fuck anytime, anywhere. In his line of work, he’s learned it’s for the best not to be too picky about those kinds of things because if he was he’d never get his dick wet at all.
In his personal opinion, the riskier the better. There’s just something about the risk of getting caught that’s just too tantalizing for him to be able to resist. He’s simply a daredevil to his core.
If you set some ground rules he will follow them, albeit sometimes with a pout. However, that doesn’t mean he won’t try to talk you into taking a risk sometimes.
Reno has you bent over the couch in the Turk’s office. He’s gripping hard on your hips as he drives his cock into your soaked cunt hard and fast. He wouldn’t do this if he wasn’t certain you weren’t going to get caught, but he won’t let on. You’re whining and mewling, trying so hard to bite back your pleasured noises. As far as you’re concerned someone could walk in at any moment.
Reno never thought this moment would come. He’d fantasized about it so often during work hours. You had started work a few months back as Tseng’s assistant, and Reno had so quickly charmed his way into your life. Then, into your panties. You always had this shy, cute approach to the relationship. Even just a quick kiss when nobody was looking would have you flushed for the next half hour. It had taken a little work to talk you into doing something like this with him. He had mentioned it for the first time just a few nights ago at your place after a date. He was stretched out on your bed after mind-blowing sex with a cigarette hanging from his lips.
“Wouldn’t it be hot to fuck at the office?” he’d said with a smirk. He had to resist a soft laugh when he saw how embarrassed you were from even mentioning it.
Now his dirty little fantasy was coming true. Your walls clamped down around him as he fucked you closer and closer to your orgasm. His name fell of your lips in frantic whines. Every so often Reno looks at the door, inspecting the bottom for shadows and the knob for signs of movement. He had plenty of time to blow your mind. He knows he’ll be fighting a hard-on every time he looks at this sofa from now on.
Sephiroth
Sephiroth is not bothered at all by the idea of public sex. After all, he went through the most formative years of his life in front of at least one person who was scribbling notes to track the changes he went through.
Sephiroth is overly confident in his position at Shinra. He knows that even if he was caught balls deep inside of you, nobody would dare say a word to him about it.
There’s just something about the slight rebellion of fucking you in the Shinra building that he can’t resist, even if he is more cautious about it then he tries to pretend to be.
Sephiroth had just gotten back from a mission when he saw you sitting at your desk obediently typing up the last of the reports you’d received. When he’d first arrived, it was just you, himself, and Lazard. He’d purposely made it seem as though he wanted to do a bit of training after the mission, but he was truly just biding his time to wait for Lazard to leave the office. He sits by the door of the training room listening carefully.
“Goodnight,” Lazard says with a soft drop in his voice to show how tired he was.
“Goodnight, director,” you say as cheerfully as ever.
“Make sure Sephiroth doesn’t destroy the training room,” Lazard says somewhat absentmindedly on his way out there. You chuckle under your breath at his comment before returning to work.
Just a few short minutes later, Sephiroth has you pinned against your desk. He’s never imagined himself as a man to kneel for anyone, but for you, he’s happily on his knees. His soft, warm tongue draws circles on your clit. He draws out every bit of pleasure he can. Sephiroth takes delight in every moan falling from your lips as he so easily teases you to orgasm.
By the time he lines his cock to your entrance, you’re almost delirious. Your eyes are heavy-lidded and full of lust. The knowledge of the lower ranking SOLDIERs being in the barracks close by is on your mind, but not more than the pleasant fullness of Sephiroth pushing himself into you inch by inch. He loves to watch you squirm. The fact that you still whine and pout about getting caught is just icing on the cake. He knows even if someone catches you, they wouldn’t dare say a word about it.
Zack Fair
Zack is a little flushed the first time he thinks about fucking you somewhere public, but once the thought is there he can’t get it to go away.
He’ll find himself imagining you in different places, trying to think of what position would be best. He has to do squats to distract himself from the growing pressure in his pants.
Zack won’t put you in a position that you’re uncomfortable with, but he will definitely bring it up at least once to see if you’d be okay with something like that.
Zack is giddy with excitement as he drags you into the nearest broom closet he can find. Truth be told there’s basically no chance of someone finding the two of you here. The Shinra Museum closed an hour ago, and he used his ID badge to sneak the two of you in here. There’s always a chance though. A maintenance worker staying late or security doing their rounds could easily decide to do a walk through. His hands are on your hips as he pushes you against the wall, his lips never leaving yours even though you’re both dizzy from the lack of air.
“This is so exciting,” he whispers as he finally pulls out of the kiss and reaches down to open his pants. He’s as eager as ever, and you know there won’t be much time for foreplay. Although Zack’s infectious happiness and the excitment of trying to find a safe spot to do this is more than enough for you. While Zack is opening his pants, you slip out of your panties and tuck them into his shoulder strap with a smirk.
“You’re so cute,” you giggle before kissing him again.
“Yeah, but you’re cuter,” he winks at you playfully.
Once his pants are finally open, he pushes your skirt up past your hips and guides his cock to your slit. You bite back your moans as he starts teasing you with the head of his cock, working you up as much as he can. Soon, he’s picking you up and guiding your legs around his waist. You both let out breathy laughs as he slides into you.
Maybe next time you’ll actually choose a riskier spot.
Cloud Strife
Cloud absolutely will not suggest fucking in public. If that’s something you’d want to do, you’ll have to be one to suggest it.
He’ll resist at first. The thought of getting caught makes him want to melt into the floor. If you were to actually get caught, he’s pretty sure he’d die on the spot.
However, once you suggest it he finds himself thinking about it more and more. He just needs a little push in the right direction.
The push he needs comes at Seventh Heaven. You’d left him sitting at the table while you went to get another round of drinks. In the few minutes you’re gone, someone else has their eye on you. The strange man slides into the seat beside you as you wait at the bar for Tifa to make your drinks. Cloud feels his stomach heat up with jealousy as the man starts talking to you, and his eyes are trailing down your body. An idea snaps into his head as his trail from the scene to the office in the backroom. He knows he’d be able to lock that door. Cloud comes over to you and wraps his hand around your arm.
“We need to talk,” he says curtly.
As he leads you to the office, you’re trying to stutter apologies and attempt to explain you weren’t flirting with the man. Cloud closes the office door and locks it. For extra security, he pushes a table against the door.
“Stop apologizing,” he says finally.
Your eyes widen as Cloud cages you in against the desk. You’ve never seen him like this before. Those Mako blue eyes are dark with passion. He leans in to kiss you roughly, and you think you must be dreaming. Cloud wouldn’t agree to this, right? Yet, he hoists you ontop of the desk and his hands go up your dress to knead at your thighs.
“Cloud,” you gasp softly. “Are you sure? Someone could hear us-”
He shushes you with a rough kiss, “I hope someone hears. I hope he hears.”
Lust
Sebastian Sallow x f!Reader
WARNING: 18+ smut, dark!sebastian,
NOTE: Anon request for "Seb + lust potion". Everyone is aged up! Tbh I don't know how I feel about how this turned out
Sebastian wasn't innocent at the beginning or end this quest. He had taken an interest in the dark arts since his 4th or 5th year at Hogwarts. He was driven by his parents ceaseless curiosity while they were alive and later in life by trying to cure Anne. After everything happened with his uncle and everyone involved chose to spare him the justice of the wizarding world, he toned it down.
That didn't mean he let go of it entirely. He continued to explore things that could be considered "dark arts" but things that could be used day-to-day or at least when it was convenient. Currently, he was in his home at Feldcroft, alone without Anne or Solomon to be his keepers.
He drank a bit too much Dragon Barrel brandy, especially for someone trying to accomplish what he was. He wanted to modify a draught of Amortentia in a way that made it more than some temporary infatuation, but a way that made someone painfully lustful. And the someone he wanted to give it to was you.
You were the only person who was really in his corner anymore, but he hadn't been able to think straight since he'd officially lost everyone else. He hadn't been able to settle with all of the guilt and fear that any day one of you would just turn him in. So, he had taken to drinking and being a degenerate no matter how much you tried to save him.
If you knew his secrets, maybe you would finally turn your back on him for good, but for now, you couldn't help that you loved him all these years.
Sebastian's problem was now that in the midst of his drinking and scheming, he took the Amortentia himself as opposed to having more of his brandy. He passed out shortly afterward, at least making it to his couch. Which is where you found him in the morning.
You had come as you did every morning to make sure he at least ate one meal without booze. You came over sleepy and with just a knitted shawl to cover your night dress. It wasn't as if Sebastian was ever aware enough to notice you anymore, not like the hungry glances you used to see from him. And it was always dark when you wandered over from your stay, getting ready for the rest of your day in Sebastian's home.
When you came in the first thing you noticed was that he hadn't even made it to bed last night. It made you let out a sad sigh. You weren't cleaning up the mess of potion bottles he left out for god knows what, he could deal with that on his own, but you at least planned to wake him up.
"Sebastian..." your voice was soft as you shook his shoulders, unable to be anything but tender with him despite everything.
He heard you and groaned. He expected his skull to be throbbing from last night, but he felt really confused when the blood rushed to a different head. His eyes shot open and he startled the both of you, making you stumble to a seat right next to his knees.
"Sebastian?! What the hell did you drink last night?" He figured that out about as soon as his eyelids felt heavy looking at you. He could see the outline of your breasts, your hips, your curves; he could see everything through your thin gown and felt like he was going to explode. Did you always come over here like this? Is he that stupid to not have taken you yet?
His thoughts wandered all over the place as you placed a hand on his chest in worry. "Sebastian? Are you in there? What's wrong?" You hadn't seen him look this sober in a year or two honestly.
He squeezed his eyes shut tight, running a hand threw his hair before he propped himself up, face just inches from yours.
"I-yeah, I just had some really strange dreams. I don't know what happened last night."
You crossed your arms, ignoring the lure of his rough morning voice before scolding him, "Well, I'm not cleaning up whatever all this is. I'm not your maid."
His maid? Is that really how you felt? You stood up, shuffling over to his kitchen to get hot water started. His jaw nearly fell to the floor as he saw your entire silhouette through your gown; with the way, the sun was shining it was like you were delivered to him on a silver platter.
He couldn't think straight. He was thinking about how constricting his pants felt, how hot his skin was, how much he wanted to practically eat you alive.
He stood up to stretch before he followed after you like a puppy. He peeled his old shirt over his head without a care. He felt like he was going to melt with it sticking to him.
When you turned around to meet him you had to work hard to contain your expression. You were looking right into his chest with how tall he'd gotten. All you could see were fleshy arms and chest just absolutely covered in freckles.
"Wait," you looked up at him, unable to contain your surprise as he spoke, "I know you're not my maid. I know how much you take care of me here," he used his fingers to swipe some loose hairs from around your face, "let me be your maid today."
You couldn't contain your laughter at how goofy he sounded. It made him a little bit angry, he just wanted to say whatever would get you to let him ruin your soft skin and he couldn't even manage that right anymore.
"Sebastian, I don't know what's going on today, but just go do whatever you do."
You waved him off, attempting to turn back towards the kitchen when he grabbed your wrist tightly, "I can run your bath for you?"
He dropped to his knees in front of you, looking up at you through his lashes as he brought your hand to his cheek.
"Please. I know I've been a burden, I've been - I've been bad, but I want to help. I want to do better by you."
You eye him strangely, unsure of what is going on. You've seen his charades and empty promises before and this definitely sounded like that. If you didn't know better you would almost think he was trying to seduce you in some weird way, but that would be a first.
"Seb. I love you dearly, but I don't know what you're doing and you know I don't trust you."
He groaned, dropping your hand, leaning his head against your legs. He was completely unable to resist running his hands along the back of your calves.
"Okay, you know how I go to Penny's Pub."
"Yes, Sebastian, unfortunately I do."
He started speaking again, standing up slowly as he did and caressing your curves the whole way up, he decided to play the helpless card, "I'm embarrassed," he intentionally avoided your gaze, " some woman I never met bought me a drink and I didn't feel so good so I came back here."
He was really trying to playing it up as he ran his fingertips up and down the back of your neck, "But I, I think she slipped me a lust potion. It's some gross modification of Amortentia."
He avoided your gaze, the redness in his cheeks in ears made it seem like he wasn't lying through his teeth.
"O-okay and what am I supposed to do?" The rise and fall of your chest came quicker, "You got yourself into this mess, it's nothing to do with me."
You did your best to brush him off, not wanting to give in to whatever game this was. Even if it was true, it didn't mean you owed him anything. He wasn't the Sebastian you used to know.
You attempted once more to turn away from him, but his grip along your jaw tightened. "I need you," he spoke aggressively before his lips met yours in a crushing kiss.
You placed your hands on his chest in attempt to push him back, but he responded by pinning you to the counter, tilting his head so he could speak low into your ear, "I know you need this too," his hand drifted to your skirts, dipping beneath to trace the skin of your thigh, "you can fight me, but I know I'll find you dripping underneath of here. I need the tight little pussy I've never been strong enough to take."
You could feel him drifting closer to the wetness you were ashamed of, you squirmed, but it made no difference. You could feel how stiff he was against you, how his hot commanding breath felt on your neck. "I can't hold back anymore," he whimpered, almost sounding sorry and pathetic for what he was about to do. His fingers passed through your slick folds, smearing it around to press a lubricated thumb to your clit.
"Sebastian..." You gave yourself to how good it felt, hands turned to fists as you clenched onto his pecs.
"I've been so stupid. Could've had you drooling on my cock like this the whole time." You let out a sharp moan of disappointment as he took is hand away before hoisting you onto the counter top.
He looked at you sinfully, your flushed demeanor of want and fear, your rumpled clothes splayed out over your legs you didn't even know you were spreading. He couldn't contain himself as he growled low in his throat, taking the collar of your gown and tearing through the buttons. He yanked harder still until the skirt tore straight in half.
There you were, naked, swollen, soaking, torn between the "no" you know you should give him and the fact that you can't seem to open your mouth open.
"You're so fucking perfect," for a few moments he couldn't bring himself to do anything besides stare and drink you in, "I'm going to leave bruises here," he palmed the skin of your hip, over the curve of your belly, continuing upwards, "and here. Maybe bite marks, maybe I'll leave my seed here to stain you," he flicked his fingers across your nipple, massaging the warm flesh.
He took the step forward to be directly between your legs, pinning your wrists to the counter top. He looked right into your eyes, "I might tie these up to mark them up too. So everybody can see what you let me do."
He knelt in front of you, his blown pupils never looking away from yours as he grabs you by the thighs and pulls you into his mouth. His lips cover your mound, tongue tracing your folds before flicking across your clit.
Your mewls and moans drive him to keep going and work harder, sucking on the sensitive nub and digging his fingers into your thighs. He looked beautiful between your legs, a mess of auburn hair with freckled fingers holding you hostage to his assault.
"Sebastian, Sebastian, I -" Your legs clenched and he gripped you hard to keep you from closing them, he knows your close. He's nearly done in for himself with your taste and scent, he felt like you could be his last meal and he would die a happy man.
When he feels the final tension from your legs he completely releases you, standing up and holding you by the hips. You nearly have tears in your eyes from how close you were when he denied you of it. You could see his damp mouth and chin just inches from your face.
You flinch when he swipes a finger through your folds before bringing it up to your lips. You feel embarrassed to smell and see your arousal. He uses his clean hand to drag your chin down and force your mouth open, "Taste how dirty you are, Y/N. You've been so needy for me this whole time."
You can feel the tears of frustration about to come out as you let him pop his finger into your mouth, forcing you to clean it all off.
"I bet it hurts to be so pent up, so close, but not able to get what you want," a wet slap echoes through the room as you bite your lip to hold back your pleas, "that's how you've made me feel this whole time. Trouncing around in a harlot's clothes, waiting for someone to stop being a gentleman," he chuckled darkly, "but I bet you didn't expect it would be me who would torture you."
You can't find any words as you see the look of nothing but lust on his face, he has no compassion for you right now, he's thinking only of doing all the things he's wanted for so long.
You find yourself slightly surprised as he lifts you up to carry you into his bedroom where he tosses your bare form onto the bed. You feel like prey with how he looks down at your form.
Yet you can't find it in you to look away as he pulls his belt from his trousers first, then unfastens the button to allow the to hit the floor, taking his undergarments with them.
He's bigger than you anticipated. His cock is swollen looking as if it's about to burst at any moment as he crawls between your legs to pin you down. You yelp as he pulls you by you hips to meet his cock, grinding against you while he covers your lips with his.
The kisses are sloppy as his tongue traces patterns on your lips before you let him in, he pulls at your lips with his teeth leaving bitten flesh before you finally let him inside. They're suffocating and intoxicating all at the same time, every sensation feels like it's magnified at this point.
You wrap your arms helplessly around him, feeling his pulse through his biceps and the tensed muscles along his back. He moves down to your breasts leaving a trail of bites while you rut against each other for relief.
He pulls back to take in the full site of you before positioning himself at your entrance. He wants to see you fall apart when you have the full force of him inside of you. Without any time to react he thrusts himself into you, the room filling with the sounds of moans and wet skin.
All he cared about was how you practically swallowed his cock. You were wet and needy and he felt like he could have cum on the spot, but he wanted to hold back. He wanted to make you sore, to show everyone what he had done to you.
He fucked you relentlessly with one hand braced on your hip and another he moved down to play with you once more. He needed you to like it whether you wanted to or not. He needed to know he made you finish with the full force of his cock and his fingers.
You could see how flushed he was in the face and chest, clearly holding back. You couldn't deny how attractive he was as he pounded in and out of you. As you noticed all the freckles on his body in place you had never imagined they'd be; the way his hands looked pressing into your skin almost painfully.
The way he looked down at you with hooded eyes, intent on leaving you destroyed as he fucked you and fought to give you the orgasm he so abruptly took from you earlier.
You felt it building in your stomach and pulled Sebastian down on top of you, feeling greedy to want to feel his weight all over you when you came crashing down. You felt it through your stomach like electricity as you squeezed your legs around him crying out nonsense from the pleasure.
When he realized you were there he picked up his pace, allowing himself the permission to release right inside of you. He grunted and you could feel him so deep inside that you thought you were going to fall apart. He had wanted to shoot his ropes of cum all over you and see you as his crumpled-up little mess, but he didn't have the strength to do it.
He collapsed against you and you both breathed heavily together. He didn't know if the potion made these things any more intense, but he felt like he could see stars from how hard he had just finished. He clutched at you a little more gently than before, nuzzling into your neck.
"Y/N..." your name fell off of his lips in a deep sigh. The smallest bit of guilt settled in with him now that he was 100% not under the influence of anything else.
You let yourself play with his hair softly as he spoke up, "I need to tell you something."
Sugar on the Rim I
bruce wayne x afab!reader
aka the billionaires new friend
warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part
You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.
The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the gala rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.
Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.
Should you stand up?
No, he’s rich, not royalty.
You are in his house though—
He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.
You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”
“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed.
“Arthur Mullins.”
He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”
You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.
You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.
There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”
“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.
He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”
“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.
He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.
Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”
“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”
“I don’t know anybody here.”
He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”
You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”
He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”
Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.
You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”
“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”
You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”
“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”
You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”
“Bruce.”
“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.
He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.
You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”
He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”
You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.
If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.
He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”
It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.
You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget.
A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.
You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.
He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”
It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”
You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.
You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”
He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”
You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”
He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”
You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”
“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”
He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.
You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”
He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”
“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is.
He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.
It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”
You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.
He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”
You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.
Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways.
The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.
You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty.
“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”
Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”
You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”
He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”
You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options.
“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.
“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”
“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”
He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”
A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path.
Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.
As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.
Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”
“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”
He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.
“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”
He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”
Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”
“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.
“I mean, of course, but it—”
He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”
Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit.
You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”
“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.
You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”
His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.
He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.
Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?
And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?
You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.
As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.
“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for.
You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”
He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”
You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.
A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk.
“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.
“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room.
This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?”
The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce.
You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.
“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.
“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.
A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received.
Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”
Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”
The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”
He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”
You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.
“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”
Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased.
He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”
Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”
“And so you have.”
“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.
“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”
The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.
“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”
“Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”
His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”
You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”
His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”
“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”
He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”
“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.
He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”
You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”
He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.
“I think we should go,” he says lower.
You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.”
He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.”
He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”
You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”
He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected.
“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.
He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”
You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”
He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”
You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”
“Why did you show up last weekend?”
You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”
He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”
For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.
“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.
His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.”
You shrug, “A day in the life,”
He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.
“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.
Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.
It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.
He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.
Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.
You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.
Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?
His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?”
God, he’s a professional.
You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.
He doesn’t.
You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”
He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”
“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”
His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”
You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”
“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”
Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”
His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”
You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”
You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”
He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”
“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much.
“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”
“Why’s that?”
“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours.
Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”
His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”
You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”
He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”
You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms.
He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.
He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”
Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.
“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence.
“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.
It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”
He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”
That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for.
He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”
You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex.
Right?
He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.
You let him move you.
“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”
“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”
You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.
“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”
You blink at him, “I’m going home?”
“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”
“No.”
He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”
You start to shake your head, “I can—”
He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”
You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.
“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan.
Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”
He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.
It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.
You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.
You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.
He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.
You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.
You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.
You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.
“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.
“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.
You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”
“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.
“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”
“Later?”
“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”
He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”
You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.
“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.
“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.
You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”
He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”
You nod, looking down again.
“You’re nervous,” he comments.
“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.
He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”
He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.
You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”
He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”
“Bruce—”
He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”
He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”
Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.
You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”
“Two hundred.”
“Bruce.”
He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.
You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”
His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”
You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”
“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”
You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”
His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.
“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.
Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.
He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.
You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.
“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.
You groan, “Why?”
He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”
“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.
He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”
You sit back on your heels again, frowning.
He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”
You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.
🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽
Audio Masterlist 🎧
Some 18+ audios that I’ve heard that sound a little like the LADS men to me.
They're not supposed to be them, but in the audio, it kinda matches the sounds or phrases they've said in their cards.
NOTE: These audio tracks are not from the game. They are 18+. Do not interact or listen if you are underage.
*WARNING: USE HEADPHONES 🎧*
Xavier
Zayne
Rafayel
Sylus
Caleb
MC: *pointing in his face, getting all up in it* YOU ARE A FUCKING IDIOT SEBASTIAN, HONESTLY! JUST ONE FUCKING DAY WITHOUT YOU CAUSING SOME KIND OF SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!
Sebastian: ...Ok I dont know about you but I'm so fucking turned on right now.
MC : *silent rage*
Sebastian: *clears throat* I take it you aren't?
MC: *eye twitching*
Sebastian: ....Understood
~
Let's talk about canonical Sebastian
For some reason Sebastian got a reputation of another dark Slytherin who's obsessed with power. Many added him to ✨the Slytherins✨ list. Although in fact he's nothing like Draco, Snape and especially Voldemort. So let's forget about fanons where he's obsessive and possessive and remember some FACTS about him. All based on his behaviour in the game.
He's a brilliant student. Professor Weasley and Scribner both said it. And teachers don't usually praise you for nothing;
He's the BIGGEST NERD in Hogwarts. "What I do with every book. Read it." Had me. He also mentioned his parents tought him to love books. Dude goes to the restricted section not to become another dark lord, but because curiosity in his nature;
He's loyal and protective. I don't even beed to comment on this one;
He is full of youthful maximalism. Which is completely normal at the age of 15. That's why he thinks he knows better than anyone else and hates ALL the goblins just because one cursed his sister (as he thinks);
He expects everything from his beloved. But just because he would do everything for them too. Like risk his life and soul to safe your life? So he doesn't use people, he just thinks it's normal;
He's understanding and supporting. Yes, part of him saw mc as someone who can save his sister. But he only mentioned it once or twice. Beside of that he saw them as partners. When mc said they can't tell him their secret, he understood. He didn't push or try to trick them into telling him. But when they decided to share he was nothing but supportive (although he didn't understand a thing);
Again, he's like super smart. Reading books isn't enough. He actually taught himself the unforgivables and could decrypt Slytherin's book;
He has a healthy self-esteem. He knows his worth and don't have a need to prove something to someone. You can see it in his reaction when he lost in the duel. He doesn't shout about how cool he is (cough Leander cough);
He knows exactly what he wants from life and does everything to get it. Like a good Slytherin he is;
He's not even violent. You heard him screaming? Me neither (expect this one time with Solomon but oh well). Usually he just says he needs some time to think and calm down. He's very mature (If not for his maximalism, but it'll pass). At least more mature than any grown up I know. He only called mc "arrogant", but never screamed or bit anyone.
That's just a few things I could think of! Sebastian is not only cocky boy, who would kill anyone to protect his family. He's a kind, decent person, who only tried to help. What happened was Solomon's fault and not Sebastian's. He was only a child, after all. It was Solomon's job to protect and support them. And he failed.
Affections
I drew my favorite blorbos kissed, I was only drawing Crollow at first but then decided to add Aena, Aisha and their boy (best) friends they are so cute and fun to draw! I adored them so much 😭
@fuokir @foksa-fristailer ✨
MIGUEL O’HARA VOICE PORN
These are voice accurate especially the 2nd one
UWU
parched — MIGUEL O'HARA
(( I FINALLY WATCHED ATSV AAAGHHHH IT WAS SO GOOD !!! not gonna say anything because if i ramble it will 100% go into spoiler territory but it was probably the best movie i've ever seen no exaggeration. anyway, here's a small miguel one shot? drabble? spoiler-free :3 ))
READ PART 2 HERE.
You and Miguel led nearly entirely different lives.
He was constantly out and about. Putting his body, his mind through strenuous lengths for the sake of the people. For the sake of everyone. He sacrifices a piece of himself, bit by bit. Everyday. Just for everybody else's peace.
Your job almost felt a little silly next to his. After all, you were quite sure that being Spider-Man didn't offer a week of paid vacation. Which you were extremely grateful to have, by the way.
In all honesty, you felt the smallest piece of pity for him. You were able to catch up on your hobbies, enjoy shows that were put on your list for so long, and get more than 5 hours of sleep.
You knew that Miguel was barely getting a shred of that. How did you know? Even in two in the morning, while you were resting on the couch and catching up on yet another show, you hadn't heard him come in through the window that you normally keep open for him.
Worry seeps it's way into your brain as you try to focus on the pixels in front of you. Of course, you were scared for him. Everyday that he went out, the unexpected could happen and well... You didn't want to think too deep into it.
At least, your mind was distracted when you were working but now you were relaxing, the thoughts that you tried bury deep down under to the crevices of your mind were all coming back again.
It only concerned you more when throughout the week so far, you'd seen him less and less. On occasion, in the middle of the night, the click of a lock would alert you awake but before you could sit up and investigate, strong arms locked around your waist and a head pressed into your shoulder.
You sighed, reaching for the remote and pausing your show.
The worries, the yearning. It all gave you a swirling, growing feeling in your gut that you hadn't really familiarized yourself with. You weren't sure if you liked it, you weren't sure if you hated it. Though the way that it pierced into you like a newly sharpened spear just confused you even further.
Trying to focus on another feeling growing inside of you. Hunger and satisfying it, you hoped it would get all of this off of your mind as you lazily walk into the kitchen.
A reoccurring theme whenever you wanted a snack was once you actually made your way to the pantry, decisions were a foreign concept and your cravings were like trying to read binary code.
Instant ramen? Cookies? Chips? Ice cream?
Felt even worse this time when you hadn't particularly been exercising your brain recently, a mental note to yourself to be just a little bit on edge when you get a break like this.
You opt on giving up entirely, you slam the cabinet door, and turn around to get back to the couch until—
There's a weight against your back and waist, keeping you against the counter.
As you look down, you see the familiar shades of red and blue. Sighing, you look to a little over your shoulder and take a little peek. To see closed eyes signalled by Miguel's mask. The marks trembling shut, you feel his grip on you get tighter.
In a volume as close to a whisper, you break the silence, "Miguel? You okay?" Like you expected, he takes off his mask. Eyes screwed shut, brows furrowing as you can see the stress lines and deep circles under them.
He sighs but not out of being content, thumb tracing small shapes into your stomach. "Been so lonely, mi cielo."
Your heart clenches as that. That was right, you understood what kind of lover that he could be. Needy, clingy, these qualities festering even more each moment he spends away from you. You noticed how much he was holding back right now.
He normally liked to fix himself up before getting all comfortable and relaxed with you. Showering, brushing his curls, general self-care but the moment he came inside his first instinct was to go to you.
Those thoughts from a while ago that were nearly going to absorb you came back. To think the cold that Miguel had to endure out there from how tightly he wanted to absorb your warmth.
"I missed you so much. Me sentí tan solo, don't wanna let go."
You were going to respond but your mind practically short-circuited when he started pressing soft kisses along your neck and shoulder. You let him indulge himself, just a little while.
Of course, his job terrified you sometimes but seeing him like this. Seeing him let his guard down, talking about how much he missed you, calling you his darling.
Perhaps Spider-Men had their own charm but Miguel's just got you wrapped around his finger like nobody else could.
For a brief moment, he nibbles on the flesh at the back of your neck. Pressing one last kiss, "Will get fixed up, then voy a demostrarte cuánto te extrañé después de todo este tiempo."
Shamefully, you didn't pick up learning Spanish yet from how much Miguel speaks it to you. Yet through context clues and bashfully asking him what the things he said meant sometimes.
You knew exactly what was going to come next.
-
webeereadin reblogged this · 2 weeks ago -
nadinemb123 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
darkwicks reblogged this · 3 weeks ago -
lunarensemble reblogged this · 3 weeks ago -
lunarensemble liked this · 3 weeks ago
-
esterl4132 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
nflhiggins liked this · 4 weeks ago -
snowy244 liked this · 4 weeks ago -
boobberry liked this · 4 weeks ago -
mvthrx liked this · 1 month ago -
moioi56 liked this · 1 month ago -
scrumptiouslovemoon liked this · 1 month ago -
deadtonesdeaf liked this · 1 month ago -
bi4ka liked this · 1 month ago -
petal0o liked this · 1 month ago -
x-iat liked this · 1 month ago -
bookworm4 liked this · 1 month ago -
lori-steph liked this · 1 month ago -
justthatprecious liked this · 1 month ago -
filolumen liked this · 1 month ago -
neelehksttr liked this · 1 month ago -
qwezxcmn liked this · 1 month ago -
whattwhoo liked this · 2 months ago -
katienorris01 liked this · 2 months ago -
kimseokjins-highnote liked this · 2 months ago -
immortalmansblog liked this · 2 months ago -
blueotaku77 reblogged this · 2 months ago -
fox-in-the-storm liked this · 2 months ago -
the-horror-and-the-wild-simp liked this · 2 months ago -
minty-vxnilla liked this · 2 months ago -
belzabubz liked this · 2 months ago -
mangosyrup4 reblogged this · 2 months ago -
foxyafroninja liked this · 2 months ago -
lowkbumbl liked this · 2 months ago -
s0lugeck reblogged this · 3 months ago -
s0lugeck liked this · 3 months ago
-
thenetflixer468-blog liked this · 3 months ago -
draphyy liked this · 3 months ago -
jiminbear666 liked this · 3 months ago -
lonna7 liked this · 3 months ago
-
vatusia liked this · 3 months ago -
deerspringdreams liked this · 3 months ago -
thisisforstalkingidk liked this · 3 months ago -
pitycuppy liked this · 3 months ago -
crazymastermindgirl liked this · 3 months ago -
poopoobuttsy liked this · 3 months ago -
rad4bean liked this · 3 months ago -
unclearblur reblogged this · 3 months ago -
optimistic-but-very-realistic reblogged this · 3 months ago
240 posts