Latest Posts by saykaundermoon - Page 3

How is this supposed to be the most violent Robin????

X-Men 97’ Nightcrawler x Reader

Warnings: ‼️X-MEN 97’ SPOILERS‼️, smut under the cut, cuteness overload-

A/N: KURT IS MY ALL TIME FAVORITE X-MAN/MARVEL CHARACTER IN GENERAL I ADORE HIM SO OF COURSE I HAD TO WRITE FOR HIM AFTER THE NEW EPISODE. I really hope we see him join the team or at least just more of him!

You were a mutant on Genosha when you met Kurt, he had helped show you and the other mutants around from your ship the island, and you had followed the handsome blue boy around like a lost little puppy. He was charming and mischievous, flirty with a cute fangy smile on his face. After the official tour was over, you asked him to show you some hidden gems of the island, to which he bowed and kissed your hand, “As you wish!” before teleporting the two of you away from the crowd. He had showed you a beautiful, peaceful and tropical spot away from everyone else, where the two of you got to know each other, soon becoming friends and meeting at that spot almost every day

He’d ask you out on a date pretty quick, he’s not shy about flirting at all and will make it clear that he finds you attractive and would like to know you more intimately. He’d take you to a nice restaurant, showing up in a dashing suit to impress you and his curls gelled back in a slick style. Will compliment you on your dress/suit and have you twirl for him to see the full outfit, saying “Mein gott! You look absolutely stunning, liebe!” before pulling out your seat for you like a gentleman and ordering a nice bottle of wine for the both of you to have with your dinner

After dinner you go for a walk around the gardens, holding Kurt’s arm he held out for you. His tail would curl around one of your legs as you talked, sitting on a bench together to view the night sky above the beautiful greenery together. He’d want to know your life story and would share his with you, he’d want to know what you like to do, what you hate, what you’re afraid of, what you love, and he’d share all of that about himself with you as well

After a few dates you became official, more often than not staying with each other in your homes (we’ll get to what goes on in the bedroom later😉). He’s a huge cuddler for sure, wants both his arms around you and his tail curled around your waist or leg. He doesn’t mind being big spoon or little spoon, he’s perfectly content and happy with both and just wants to feel your skin against his. He’s big on physical affection and PDA, he just loves you so much and he’s a physical guy in general. Wants to be able to hold your hand, give you kisses, wrap an arm around your waist, anything as long as he touching you in some way. Plus he likes to show off how lucky he got with you, showing you off and always making sure everyone knows he’s taken. He’s highly sought after, after all (if you ask him)

He’s always got a date planned, he’s definitely not one of those guys that lets the other do all the work in the relationship. He’ll take you to your favorite restaurants, do your favorite activities, anything you would like to do. He’s adventurous and will try anything once, and will always make an effort to do things you enjoy. He will teach you some sword fighting skills, just you know how to use them and plus, do some borderline erotic sparring sessions with him of course! It’s something he enjoys and wants to do with you, but if he ever cut you with a sword he’d want to damn himself to Hell because HOW DARE HE GIVE YOU A CUT LESS THAN A CENTIMETER LONG?! HE’S THE WORST PERSON TO EVER EXIST. He will bandage it and kiss it better, begging your forgiveness despite you already saying it wasn’t a big deal and it didn’t even hurt at all

When you were recruited to the X-Men, he was offered a spot as well so the both of you packed up and moved to the X-Mansion so you could help mutants from there. On missions, he’ll always catch you if you fall and teleport you out of harms way. Definitely flirts during battle as well and likes to show off his skills to you, making you giggle and smile at him before focusing back on the mission. If you get hurt during it, he’ll teleport you to the mansion immediately to the medical room before going to help his teammates so he can get you their help quicker. Will spend lots of time with you and cuddle with you while you recover, you don’t have to lift a finger, this man will get you whatever you want

He does like to tease you a lot, things like squeezing your butt as you walk by or giving it a light smack with his tail. Will whisper innuendos and jokes to you during important meetings and such to make you giggle, to which Scott gives you a deadpan stare until the two of you refocus. His tail will move up your pants or skirt under the table, making your face heat up

He’s constantly winning you over long after you’ve become official. Will still bring you flowers, will still flirt with you, but he’s also the type to be like “Would you still love me if I was a bug?” He does need some reassurance due to his looks and how he’s been hated because of them, like, HE knows he’s sexy, but he wants to make sure YOU think he’s sexy. And you assure him you think he is⬇️⬇️

NSFW Under the Cut

Oh he is SUCH a lover boy. He’s more focused on your pleasure than his own for sure, and my man is SKILLED and EXPERIENCED (everyone wants a taste of the fuzzy man-). His hands will be all over your body, even his tail will be wrapped around you as well, and he’ll be mindlessly blabbering on and on in English and German about how much he loves you and how beautiful/handsome he thinks you are. My dude is AMAZING at giving you head, doesn’t matter which genitals you have, he’s got experience with both and will have your legs shaking and your back arched far off the bed during round one. If you’re AFAB, he’d know exactly where the clit is and exactly how to pleasure it, rather than just roughly rubbing it and calling it good. If you’re AMAB, he’d for sure be fingering your ass while sucking you off, his other hand squeezing your thigh and spreading your legs for him while his tail holds your other leg for him, or even smacks your ass with it teasingly

You often insist on giving him head in return, which of course he doesn’t mind but HE IS ALWAYS TRYING TO MAKE SEX ABOUT YOU, when you want to make it about HIM sometimes. He’s so loving, caring and sweet to you, you just want to show him how much you love him as well and sometimes have to get that through his fuzzy head. He loves body worship for sure, so he’d love to hear you say how hot and sexy and handsome and adorable and beautiful he is while the two of you make love to each other, it’d make him cum 10x harder and faster

He’d lowkey be kind of basic and love missionary, but he’s certainly not vanilla. He just wants to be able to see your face and to hold you close to him, so missionary tends to be good for that, but he’d also love it if you rode him and watch your chest bounce and toss your head back at the feeling of his cock inside of you. I honestly think he’s got more girth and length, but definitely not too short at all and would fit perfectly inside of you. He also likes to hold your hand during sex, which may be cheesy but he just wants to make sure you’re okay the whole time

Being in a mansion with many others, it is sometimes hard to find privacy and quiet time for longer than 20 minutes, so he’ll sometimes teleport the two of you elsewhere so you’re not interrupted. When in your room at the mansion though, he likes to make you scream while teasing you to be quiet and that someone will hear you, covering your mouth with his hand or kissing you muffle your loud moans and whines for him. But when the two of you walk out to the living quarters to join some of the others, Jubilee and Roberto will not make eye contact, Morph will give Kurt a knowing smirk and a high five, while Gambit outright says “You know we could hear y’all at it all the way down here-“ before Scott gives you two the disappointed dad look and says “There are children residing here.”

Kurt: And how exactly did Jean get pregnant?

Scott: 😳

Kurt: Yeah, that’s what I thought-

“What I really wanted to say was that a monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.”

❝ talk huttese to me. ❞

── anakin skywalker x reader

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 6k SUMMARY: intent to get his mind off of his hard work, you ask to learn more about anakin’s native language: huttese. when he talks dirty to you in it, you can’t help but beg for more. and he gets off to the fact you have no idea what kind of depraved things he’s saying to you while he pleasures you. NOTES: i used the huttese dictionary linked here just a little, the rest i made up bcos hayden made up a bunch of shit when he spoke it in episode 2 cos george told him to so i’m rolling with that energy | if clarification is needed, there is at one point in the fic that anakin’s dialogue is already translated for you (the actual person reading this), thats cos i didnt want to keep coming up with huttese and the reader asking anakin what it meant so you (the actual person reading this) could understand what he was saying. WARNINGS: explicit sex | established (fwb?) relationship | f!reader | dom!anakin | rough sex | degradation | unprotected sex | no explicit ask for consent— things implied | unclean hands touching sensitive areas (always make sure to have clean hands) | oral (m receiving): face fuck | oral (f receiving) | vaginal fingering | anal fingering | breath play | mentions of slave (both sexually and unsexually) but absolutely no ‘slave kink’ it’s used as a figure of speech sexually | heavily focused on dirty talk | size difference | tit smack | ass smack | squirting | mention of breeding kink | mild dacryphilia ── DISCLAIMER: i want to preface this by saying that i do not think foreign languages are barbaric or that just because it’s not english it’s barbaric. huttese is the language of smugglers, slave traders, sleazy businessmen, and started out as a lingua franca. anakin knows it as the language he used when he himself was a slave, spoken by the people that bought him and his mom, and often criticizes it because of his personal vendetta. they do not reflect my opinion of languages other than english

“Here,” Obi-Wan handed you a ceramic cup of warm broth, “this is what we have. You said he hasn’t eaten?” There was a hint of concern in the Jedi’s voice, and you nodded.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” you reassured, “He’s busy, you know how it is.” The temperature from the broth spread through the material to your hands, warming them. You offered Obi-Wan a small smile, hoping to ease his worry.

“Unfortunately, in this case, we depend on him.” Obi-Wan replied, fists resting on his hips. “Without his help, I’m afraid we’re stranded.”

“I know,” you said softly, taking your leave. The pressure on ANAKIN SKYWALKER was necessary, but you could tell it was taking a toll on him, neglecting himself in order to stay focused on his task.

When you entered the hangar of the base, you found him right where you’d left him. Underneath the vessel, consumed by his work. A loud clanging sounded, a curse in a foreign language, and your eyes followed the wrench tossed out in anger. It clattered to a halt, and you set the broth down on a drawer stack. The noise revealed your presence to him.

You saw his hand reach out and point to a tool, speaking again in words you couldn’t understand. Unable to get past what he tried to say to you, you idled. “What was that?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, sliding out from under the shuttle on the mechanic creeper to give you a sheepish look as he grabs the tool he gestured to. “Forgot.” He wagged the tool at you when he raised his hand apologetically, excusing himself back under the ship. You crossed your arms and leaned your shoulder up against the vessel, eyeing his propped up legs. You didn’t know what to mention. Ask about what he’d said, or audibly observe how cute he was shirtless, streaked in grease and shining with sweat. A curl tugged at your lips.

“No, what was that?”

You heard him sigh, resuming his activity on the underbelly. “Huttese,”

“‘Huttese’?” you parrot, the tone awkward. The word felt foreign on your tongue. You were unaware he knew it. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Tattooine. I didn’t tell you?” Another sudden noise, followed by another one of his long winded, indecipherable curses from whatever pain was inflicted on him. You could tell he was rushing himself, ignoring safety procedures in order to get this hunk of junk running again. Obi Wan was right, everyone was depending on him as the person with the most experience in ship repair. However, that didn’t leave him a lot of room for error, or for proper rest. You wanted to get his mind off of it for a while. Distract him so he could come back to this with a clearer head.

“Do you know just the swear words?”

“No. Fluent.” he spoke through gritted teeth.

You thought of a joke and scoffed to yourself. “Do you know any dirty talk?“

There was a quiet moment, save for the din of metal. “It’s a very… coarse language.” He slid out to meet your gaze, breathing hard from the heat of his work. Generously, you viewed the expanse of his chest rising and falling. “It would just sound insulting.”

Carried away with how hot he looked, you bit your lip. “Is that a bad thing?”

He flashed a downturn of his lips, blowing air through his nose, “Not necessarily.” He snatched a new tool, and returned to the underside. “Just letting you know it wouldn’t sound pretty.”

“So?”

You heard him scoff.

“You don’t wanna hear what I have to say about you in Huttese, trust me,”

For some reason, you really wanted to find out even though it was a joke at first. Absentmindedly you rubbed your thighs together at the thought of him degrading you in a filthy tongue. It was nothing new to you, Anakin has always been obscene when it came to dirty talk. How would this be any different? “How come?”

“It’s that it’s… it’s cacophonous. Double voweled. The language of barters, slave traders, sleazebags. To associate it with you- seems wrong.” You wondered if he felt that way about it because of the unfortunate circumstances of his childhood. This was going in the opposite direction you wanted it to. “It’s not beautiful. It’s barbaric. Blunt. It would sound worse directly translating it to Basic.” You listened thoughtfully as he talked, and your eyes drifted over his tool table to the drawer stack.

“Oh!”

“What?”

“I forgot to tell you, I brought you something. It’ll keep up your strength,” Carefully, you retrieved the mug as he shimmied out.

“Something for me?” He raised his brows and he sat up at the recognition you were about to hand it to him. He reached for it, brought it to his lips to sip it. It was flavorless. “Appreciate it.” He decided it was best to ration it, leaving it at his side as he settled against the shuttle, drawing his knees to his chest to rest his arms on them. They were swollen, thick, and veined. Even his metal arm that began at one of his elbows was attractive to you. Reminiscing the many times he’s used it to bring you to your knees. What was it about him that made you want to lick the sweat off him? You sat down next to him, mimicking his position. “What were we talking about?”

“Huttese,”

“Right,”

“Teach me something,” you flirted.

“Teach you something?” A hint of an amused smile ghosted his handsome features.

“Yeah, I’d like to know. Something easy.”

“Something easy…” he parroted thoughtfully, bowing his head as he contemplated. “Kark’s an easy one.” He straightened only to incline towards you.

“Kark?”

“Kark.” he nodded. There was a stark difference between how you two pronounced it.

“What’s that mean?”

“Fuck,”

“No, I mean like a sentence—!” Anakin ignored your true request, continuing on, childish grin growing.

“—You want a sentence? A sentence- Okay, kark. As in, I’d really like to kark you—“

“—Ani,” you scolded playfully, nudging his shoulder with your hand. He snickered.

“Really, it’s only an expletive, it’s not used like we use ‘fuck’.” The way he gazed at you made you feel warm. “There’s a different word for that.”

A pensive moment passed before you piped up, “So, show me something else.”

“You still want to hear dirty talk?” he asked with a knowing glint in his eye. Since you thought it might be funny, you obliged.

“Sure,”

“Let me warn you one more time, I don’t think you really wanna hear it—“

“I do! I do. Seriously, satisfy my curiosity.”

Anakin hummed. “If it’s for curiosity then…” His head bumped the shuttle as he searched the ceiling for answers, “Let me think,”

You waited, toying with the ends of your hair. You eyed the way his curls propped up against the hull where the back of his head rested. You had half a mind to reach over and brush through his locks with your fingers when he interrupted your admiration.

“Okay, I got it,” To occupy his hands, he snatched up a rag hanging from his pocket and started wiping the grease from his fingers, and you noted the length of them. “Uh,” It’d been a while for him since he’d had to piece together a sentence like this. He tossed the rag. “Naga bu eechu,” The words were stiff on his tongue as he was figuring out how to arrange it, until he relaxed, letting the next roll off his tongue more smoothly, “et kah to. Peenta kay rada.” He glanced at you to gauge your reaction, but you looked at him expecting him to continue.

“What does that mean?” you asked with wide, intrigued eyes. There was something inherently masculine about the way he spoke this language. His voice got deeper, the sharp consonants were punctuated with a twitch of his nose as if he was stifling the habit to sneer his lips.

Suddenly bashful, he raised his brows with a single nod. “Directly translated?” He was apprehensive to reveal it to you. In truth, he was planning on saying that and nothing else, leaving it to your imagination. He adjusted in his seat, lifting himself up to face you more and you did the same. Resting his chin on his hand, he ran his fingers over his jawline to fidget as he stared at the ceiling in thought.

He met your gaze, and told you the meaning like you asked for. “I want to put my full fist inside you. Split you open. And sit down to eat.” There was no romance in his tone. It was matter of factly, pressing his lips into a thin line.

You inhaled, mouth opening to say something. You furrowed your eyebrows, “You’re right. It is a little… violent.”

“It lacks a certain decorum, yes.” Anakin nodded.

“Would it be better if I spoke Huttese too?” So you could better understand what he was saying, instead of recovering the words in Basic.

“Not really, no.” As he’d said, it was harsh at every angle. It wasn’t known for being frivolous, it was known for getting a point across. It was impatient. You were getting a little impatient hearing it come from Anakin’s mouth. Especially talk so foul.

Maybe it was the fact he was bare chested, or the personification he took on when he spoke in Huttese, but you found yourself chewing your thumb, and asking for more. “What else would you say about me?” Anakin was taking another sip of his broth when he heard your question, and pivoted his surprised attention in your direction.

“You wanna know more?”

Soundlessly, you shook your head yes.

Anakin chewed his lip as he held your eye contact, having to tear away in order to keep from getting ahead of himself. Answers were already piling up in his mind, “Naga seeta pon nuda— reeta seep.” This time around, you noticed his confidence had heightened, and it only added to your intrigue. “Nudaonnud to soot. Scrit ah seepa fin teese.” That same expectant expression adorned your features, inviting him to clarify for you. He explained, “I want you sticky— slippery with fluids.” You swallowed hard. “You’d look so fuckable with my hot cum glazed on your face. Strung up in your hair and dribbling down your tits.” Biting your lips, your gaze locked with his, as if waiting for the other to make the next move. Anakin stood by his opinion of how ugly this language was, however he saw how your body betrayed you before and after he translated for you. In turn, it aroused him too. The fact you were letting him talk to you like this had his pants tightening.

“Um,” You gained your footing. A shaky breath. “What else?” you said, barely above a whisper.

The turn of events had Anakin adjusting his position, leaning back onto his hands, folding his legs in front of him. You took note of how his stance was more open to you, gaze trailed down his shoulders and scars on his chest, his abdomen and how it curled with his relax, a bulge at his crotch. As if trained, your mouth watered. To be safe, two of Anakin’s fingers raised from the flat of the floor, forcing the door you had come through earlier to be locked from his seat. When he held your gaze through his brows, adopting that intense look you liked so much, he spoke his next words in Huttese, “Pump you so full, you’ll sweat my cum,” You had no idea what he’d said, and you didn’t care at all to ask. It was the mystery of it now, and how he spat the words at you, you knew they had to be nasty.

The two of you exchanged this heated look again, your breath having quickened. Anakin was the first to break it, getting up to stand with a sigh. He offered you his hand in order to aid you in standing too, however you had other plans. “I should get back to work,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his tone. You moistened your lips, a fire igniting in the pit of your stomach, pooling in between your legs when you fixed yourself on your knees. A questioning expression flashed on Anakin’s features, promptly answered when you pushed his hand out of the way, undoing the waistband of his pants to tug just his length free. In an instant, you’d guided him to your mouth, letting it harden fully in the warmth inside. “(y/n)—! (y/n)…” You knew if he wanted this to stop, he’d say it or he’d push you off. Instead, he was rolling his hips into your mouth, throwing his head back. His metal hand you’d discarded moved to cradle the back of your head. He knew it’d pay off to lock the doors.

A sinful sound reverberated from low in his throat, which only served to further arouse you, wet with anticipation. It allowed you to take him farther in, and he flexed his arm, bringing you to meet his thrusts. A steady pace was set, until you started dragging your tongue along the underside of his shaft. His voice was so addicting, his moan made your eyes roll into the back of your head. You braced yourself with your hands on his thighs.

“Filthy little mouth-pussy, made for me.” he purred in Huttese, “Wonder how many other guys would kill for a whore like you slobbering all over their cock like this.” You keened, even though you couldn’t understand it. When his cock twitched, you could tell he liked that you didn’t know what he was saying.

It gave him permission to say anything he wanted to you.

Your jaw went slack, throat relaxed enough to take him, but he desired more from you. By asking to learn about this side of him you had, unknowingly, unlocked something buried in him. His deep rooted hatred for where he came from, was now being worked out with the splendid efforts of your mouth. Rewriting bad memories into an entirely new one. Huttese was vile in his experience, and you welcomed it instead of shying away. However, this side of him was more volatile. The pain that he repressed manifested itself into aggression, and you were more than happy to receive every last drop.

His hand at the back of your head tangled in your hair with a pleasant sting, and when you emitted a noise in surprise, it was strained by his cock shoving deeper inside you. Wide, doe eyes gazed up at him, granting him passage, letting him take the complete lead using you. You hollowed out your cheeks when you could, swirling around him with your tongue when you couldn’t. He whined, and he saw you stifle a smirk. “Choke, whore. Choke,” he cooed at you in the language, increasing his thrusts until you squeezed your eyes shut, gagging on his length, dizzy with excitement. He sensed you liked this, and it thrilled him to no end. His free hand moved from being limp behind him, coming up to pat the back of your head twice forcing himself in minutely. You gagged because of it, and you pushed off of him in order to turn your head to the side, afraid you were about to hurl, drooling on the floor as you hung your head.

You coughed, and he kicked the mechanic creeper out of his way with a clatter. Once able, he dragged you over by his fistful of your hair. The pain, combined with the strength it required for him to move you over made you whimper, faithfully following him keeping your knees underneath you. He pinned your head to the hull of the ship he’d been working on, his flesh hand over your forehead, as his metal cupped the underside of your jaw, diving his cock back in between your lips. You gasped, strangled by his substantial girth bullying its way into you. You couldn’t bob your head anymore, and he fucked your throat exactly how he deemed fit for a slut like you. “You wanted this so bad. Now here it is, and you’re afraid of it. Go on, make me proud.” That wolfish grin on his face was so fucking hot, his scar along his eye, gaze trained on you as you were forced to swallow his every inch. It didn’t matter you couldn’t speak Huttese, you loved hearing him talk to you in it. Helpless to his desires, you held your breath everytime he bottomed out, so big you knew your throat would be sore in the morning. Nearing his finish, he had half a mind to paint your face with his cum like he’d promised earlier. Instead, he got a better idea. When you instinctively tried to back up, halted in your tracks by the hull against your head, he reassured you, his flesh hand stroking over your hair soothingly, “A little longer, I’m almost there,”

You recognized his tone to be surprisingly tender compared to how he’d been acting up to this point. Like he was begging you to keep playing this game with him. You obliged, having found him captivating as this authoritative figure. To be privy to the darker side of Anakin Skywalker was a privilege, and to be on the receiving end was simply an opportunity you’d never pass up.

Hips stuttering, and a long string of Huttese curses, you knew he was close. You felt hot spurts of cum on your tongue as he slowed to a halt, and when he pulled out, strings of it connected you to his cock. “Oh, mwa con schutta,” he cooed with fake sympathy, puckering his lips in a pout. Oh, my poor slut, he’d said. His finish was pooled in your panting open mouth, and your defiant gaze told him you were about to spit it to spite him for his behavior. You broke eye contact, moving to get rid of his milky load. In an instant, he arrested you. His hands came to cup over your mouth and pinch your nose. Unable to breathe and at his mercy, your futile attempts to free yourself went ignored. He laughed as you clawed at his fingers, knowing if you needed an out you’d tap him twice. You were being difficult on purpose, because you liked it.

You knew what he wanted from you, and his visceral wicked expression only confirmed your thoughts. You were strained, you’d never win fighting against his grip but you tried anyway. At your limit, you gulped, swallowing him. Released, you gasped for air. “You mad at me?” he asked grinning wolfishly down at you, but since you didn’t know Huttese, you simply glared at him, a curl at the corner of your lips betraying how turned on you really were from his actions.

He fisted your shirt in his hand, bringing you to stand so he could direct you— more like drag you over to his tool table, and yanked your clothes off. “I want to see those fat tits,” he demanded in Huttese. You moaned from his sneer, aching for him to reintroduce himself to your dripping sex.

The surface of the table was in disarray, littered with stray items like the ship’s original blueprints and apparatus. In one fell swoop, his metal arm swept the contents to the floor, “What are you—?” Without answering you, he circled you over, holding your waist to pick you up onto the table. Once again his show of strength jellied your legs, and you could anticipate what he was about to do to you.

Now tucked against your pussy, he pinned your back to the table with his metal palm gripping your breast tightly, and you keened when he pinched your nipple. You could see the marks of oil where his touch had been, decorating your waist. He admired you like this, streaked in grease like he was. Metal hand moved to hook your leg over his shoulder, the hand he’d wiped with his rag started circling your entrance soothingly, dulling that ache. “Dire schutta,” There was that word again. Picking your head up in order to meet his heated gaze, darkened by lust, you questioned breathlessly.

“What’s that mean?” Your broken voice indicated how desperate you were for him.

“Dirty slut,” he replied in Basic without skipping a beat, pressing an open mouthed kiss against the side of your knee, bowing his head to do the same to your thigh. “Letting me get you all filthy, filthy like I am.” his soft lips spoke against your flesh, pleased to reaffirm in his twisted mind that you and him were the same. You reached out to touch him— the words being so tame compared to all the shit he’s been talking to you in his native tongue, unbeknownst to you— but you were instantly weakened when his fingers entered you. So sensitive, your back arched off the surface, head falling back, and a crooked grin adorned his features, staring at your every shift through his brows as he curled his thick digits inside of you. He knew that you didn’t want to waste time, and he stroked the plush of your thigh with his metal hand to caress you as you cried out for him. The tips of his fingers petting that sweet spot inside of you that had you writhing.

“Anakin!”

He bit your thigh hard at the sound of his name sinfully spilling from your perfect lips. You yelped and looked at him. Your pleading countenance only served to fan the flame in his chest, cock hardening to stand at attention again, ready and waiting to return to where it belonged. He wished to abuse you, in every way you could desire. When he pulled his fingers from you, he answered your questioning expression, “Oh, I’m not anywhere near done with you, schutta,” The name made you whimper now that you knew what he meant by it. Adjusting you as if you were light as a feather, he shouldered your other leg, and wrapped his arms around in order to rub at your clit with one of his hands. Strangling the soft skin of your thighs between his massive biceps, he dipped his head down to start lapping at your wet sex with his hot tongue, devouring all you’ve produced.

You cursed, the pad of his thumb gently circling your pink bud, swelling it with stimulation as his tongue continued to work on you, alternating between flattening against you and diving into your hole. Finally, putting that disgusting mouth to good use after all he’s spat at you. He seemed to sense that thought, digging himself further into you, making out with your weeping cunt as his nose started to brush your clit. You wished you could think of something to say to him on your own, taunt him with malicious talk as he’s done to you, but if this man had one gift, it was how he got you speechless when he ate you out. To egg him on, your hands played with your chest for him, giving him a show as you squeezed and pinched. As if entertaining a god, he hummed in approval, watching from over your mound. You rolled your nipples in your nimble fingers until they were red with sting. His hand came from curling around your thigh to your chest, and you offered one to him by releasing it from your hold. Experimentally, he slapped the flesh, and it bobbed from the strike.

Nobody’s ever smacked your tit before.

Pleasantly surprised, he told you, “That got you so wet,” knowing you couldn’t understand him as he smiled against you. There was no part of you that could deny you wanted him to talk to you in that vile language forever simply because of this personality shift he took on speaking it. Electricity shot through you. His lips placed open mouthed kisses over your spread folds before sucking your bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. You cried out, legs shaking involuntarily, and when he added his fingers to your hole, filling it to the brim and nearly sending you over the edge. Immediately, he sought out the button inside of you that had you writhing underneath him. You and him both knew what this led to, and on instinct your hand came to his wrist to brace yourself. In response, he released your clit with a pop, straightened, and spat on your pussy to lubricate it as he fucked you with his fingers. Everything inside you was crying out as you screamed, unable to keep your eyes open, features twisted in pleasure from how he never faltered hitting that spongy spot. He didn’t need to be force sensitive to tell where you were headed, he’s done this to you before.

“Ani— I’m gonna— Oh… oh,”

He exhaled, falling victim to you on the brink of making a terrible mess. His thumb returned to circle your clit. “Yes, yes, let me see you squirt, baby,” In this moment more than any other he wished you could understand his Huttese. However, you didn’t need to in order to do as exactly as he demanded. You released in bursts, and he kept up his pace, watching you squirt all over his arm and chest. “Oh, fuck yes, schutta, fuck yes,” You practically cried as took all you could provide, “Give it all to me,” Why did Huttese have to bring out such a cruel side of him? Why was it working so well on you?

He was no longer glistening with sweat, but a mix of your fluids as well. Slowing to a stop as you went slack from your intense finish, he didn’t hesitate to suck off whatever you left on his fingers. You had drenched yourself, the table underneath you, and by the looks of it his cock and pants too. “Fucking love it when you do that. Maker, I can’t get over the smell of it.” You whimpered even though his words were indecipherable. To emphasize just how much of a mess you made, he drew his soaked hand across your thighs and up your abdomen, and you shivered. His parted lips were downright sinful, plump and begging to be nibbled on by your teeth. Your gazes met, hazy with desire as he fisted his cock, nudging it lazily against your overstimulated entrance.

“Please,” you whined for him to keep fucking you, and he scoffed. There was no please in the Huttese language.

“Nothing but a hole,”

Anakin Skywalker was a very large man, in every sense of the word. By the way he acted, you’d think he forgot that he takes up the most space in a room. Taller than many, broad shouldered, angular muscles cut from the diamond of battle. The Great General Skywalker reminded you how big he really was every time he lead his troops, engaged in hand to hand combat with literal droids, and fucked you. Not necessarily in that order.

He brutalized you. Your struggling cunt could barely swallow all of him. It was no secret the General had a bruising cock, but you were not one to back down from the challenge. “Fuck, Ani, fuck,”

Sinking into you over and over again as he lifted your legs for you with his palm fixed on the underside of your thighs. He could feel the tremors passing through them. While you begged, he merely watched your pussy consume his every inch. “Quiet. Let me enjoy this,” Anakin revelled in his ability to say whatever he wanted to you without fear, feeling you suck him in with every foul word like the greedy bitch you were. When he’d had enough, he pushed your thighs up against the sides of your chest, pressing your flesh together in the most beautiful way as he fucked into you, increasing his thrusts. You scrambled for purchase on the table but there was none as his purple tip kissed your cervix repeatedly. The mating press was by far one of his favorite positions to put you in, one of the reasons being because of the implication of its name. It was a common fantasy for Anakin to revisit how much he wanted to fill you up with his seed until an heir to the Skywalker name was sired. However, he’d much rather you be able to hear that kind of talk. That’ll be for next time.

Finally, your fingers found the edge of the table to grip, still slick with your squirt as he loomed over you, bouncing you from every roll of his hips. You delighted in the way his abdomen curled into you. “Harder, fuck me harder,” you told him, having adjusted to his substantial size. “Keep talking to me,”

Anakin exhaled the breath he was holding, “I should ravage your insides for speaking to me like that,” You keened at him for listening to you, and he did as you’d requested, desperate to see you weep for mercy. “Schutta,” Your voice grew in volume, unintelligible noises spilling from your open mouth as he fucked you, the tool table creaking underneath your combined weights. “Schutta,” he whispered again, focusing entirely on how you were reacting to everything he was doing. “Not even good enough to be my fuck toy,” Oh, that one he longed for you to understand, knowing how you’d double over from the shock of pleasure that would course through you from the degradation. “Lucky I’m feeling generous today.” He groaned as he reangled his hips, making you scream. Unfortunately, a little slut like you couldn’t understand his native tongue, and to silence you he shoved the L-shape of his flesh hand into your mouth. You bit down on the webbing, grateful to focus on something else.

Your wet heat was squeezing him so good, the momentary feeling caused a lapse in judgement, speaking without thinking it through, without correlating what it meant to him. “I’m slave to you, I’m slave to this hole squeezing me so perfectly, so cozy, so good, eager to please me, eager to serve.” Even if anything he’d been saying was in Basic, you were too far gone to hear it.

A devious idea formed in his head, and his metal hand came over to your belly, pressing down so not only was that new angle rearranging your insides, but that spot was met by his thrusts quicker. “Wait, if you do that again, I can’t help it—“ you had begun to warn speaking over his hand, your small fingers splaying against his hot chest as he merely grinned down at you with sick delight, curls falling in front of his eyes.

“If you don’t squirt all over my cock, so help me Maker—“ It’s as if your body responded naturally to him, once again spraying it’s surroundings with the full force of your release, running down the front of his pants and leaking to the floor from where your bodies conjoined. He laughed at you. Becoming shy, you turned your reddening face away from him. “What are you getting shy for, whore? All you’re good for’s a decent fuck. Way to make it worthwhile.” Your velvety walls fluttered around him because you could tell whatever he’d said was horrible. His hand moved out of your mouth when it pinched your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. There they were, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Had to be from your release, otherwise you’d be telling him to stop. He dipped down, poking out his tongue to collect the salty tear on the tip. The act caused you to connect your lips with his, and he mumbled in surprise, swallowing your moans when he parted your lips with his, exploring you with his tongue. His metal hand slipped out from in between the two of you, swiftly smacking the fat of your ass cheek as he kept moving inside of you. You yelped against his mouth. When he broke the kiss, a string of saliva attached the two of you, panting in unison as he felt you quiver underneath him. Perhaps it was time to put your poor legs to work.

Your back having arched, made the perfect space to slot his arm in, wrapping around your waist while his other repositioned your legs off his shoulders, but kept a knee pinned to his hip. He unsheathed, and your poor pussy instantly felt empty as he picked you up off the table and setting you down, spinning you around and planting your hands flat on the table so your heart shaped ass was presented to him. “I’ll never get tired of this,” he confessed in awe, stooping to drag the flat of his hand over your sex, making you jump from the sensitivity. Once he gathered enough slick to lubricate his cock with, he reentered you, and the shock of it caused you to fall forward, eyes rolling into the back of your head. It pleased him greatly. He sucked on his damp fingers as he pistoned in you. The coil in your belly was wound tight, and he was well aware of it.

His hips snapped against the soft flesh off your ass and his metal hand tangled into your hair, using it like a leash to yank you back onto his cock faster. It made you arch, curses falling from your lips in a cant along with his name. Satisfied his fingers were properly lubricated, they traveled from his mouth to your rim, circling it curiously. You shied away from the feeling at first, but relaxed into it once you realized what was going on. That’s my girl, he thought. Carefully, he dipped his fingers inside, plunging into your asshole as he fucked your pussy with his cock. It added a new height of pleasure to you, and you clenched your silky walls around him instinctually. He explored the inside of you with his digits, before moving them in and out. He heard your breath hitch, “You feel about ready to make a mess all over me again. I don’t care what hole it comes out of, you’ll clean me up.”

“Can I… fuck- Can I please cum? Baby, please,” you strained, a lump in your throat.

“What are you asking me for? You afraid of what I’ll do to you if you don’t obey me?” he teased, a sinister undertone to his voice that made you struggle to nod your head. “Go ahead then, if you’re so close.” he spoke to you like it didn’t matter, knowing it only added to your enjoyment. Your orgasm shooting through you without a second to waste. You called out his name, squeezing your eyes shut when your vision turned white. You rode it out with him, thinking he might release with you like you two usually do with his help of the force. Not this time it seemed.

“Aren’t you gonna cum too? C’mon, Anakin,” you whined, wiggling your hips as best you can for him. He leaned over you, bicep flexing with his hand still in your hair.

“Do you really deserve my cum?” You couldn’t find him anything but attractive like this, bullying you while he ravaged your insides. “I should cum in a rag and gag you with it instead of letting you feel me finish inside this tight cunt.” You moaned involuntarily, his movements more erratic as he neared his edge. After this you were going to learn Huttese if it was the last thing you did.

Moans burst out of him as he spilled himself inside of you, bending you over further when his muscle tensed, shoving your cheek against the cold surface of the table still wet from your squirt. He fucked his seed into you as he worked himself through his own orgasm, using your abused pussy to do it.

Only once he’d stilled, did you move. He took the hint, removing himself from you, and you felt your combined essences drip down your legs. Exhausted, he lazily kissed up your back for a start to his apologies. “Let me grab something for you,” You leaned against the table, waiting for him to return with a clean rag. As he wiped you down, you chuckled breathlessly.

“What?” he asked, amused at your reaction.

“You wanna tell me some of the things you said to me?” You stared him down with a raised brow, intent to learn whatever depraved things this deranged man had said to you to get himself off.

He stifled a smile, hanging his head in shame briefly. “Maybe some other time.”

it’s literally him it’s literally him it’s

tell me it’s not him

Feral feral Anakin fucking you every second of the day because he can’t get enough of you and is overly obsessed

send me coryo, luke, or anakin asks (this is a threat)

implied canon compliant prequels and childhood friend afab royalty reader (basically in padme's place) based on an upcoming fic

This is canon Anakin behavior actually, he's like a big dog with his favorite chew toy. The dog obviously loves the toy a lot but it's because of his love that the toy becomes well used. No matter how tattered it becomes, the dog will still curl around it and spend its days licking the hell out of it until it withers away.

I think that because of how he grew up, just a little boy on some ball of sand whose life really didn't belong to him, as soon as he's free from that he just unravels. I love Anakin being written as more unhinged or even slightly like an eldritch horror, because suddenly he has this big destiny laid out in front of him and the tethers holding his soul together inevitably come unhooked. I think that he's wired like that from the beginning, very passionate but without a means to express it.

So, when he meets you, little royal heir with all the stars of the galaxy in your eyes, he tells a familiar story about an angel and from then on, it's over for him. Every moment of his life orbits around the sun in his solar system, you.

The first think he thinks when he sees you again, is how your moans would echo off the windows when he eats you out on one of the couches. Then he imagines your perfectly manicured hands clawing delicious ribbons down his back while he rabidly pounds your sopping wet pussy against the wall of your huge walk-in closet in your apartment. He'd have to hold a hand over your mouth, but he wouldn't do a thing to clean up the slicks that drips out of your pussy onto the floor. You'd pout as you'd rush to get ready before Obi-Wan came back, and all he'd be able to do in response is hook his chin over your shoulder and smile.

"No, it's because I'm so in love with you."

You're leaning against a balcony overlooking a lake in Naboo and all he can think about as he strokes a shy finger down your back is hiking your dress up and bending you over it. You're chained to a pillar in between him and Obi-Wan, and when all is said and done, he wishes he killed everybody that was relishing in your suffering in that arena and fucked you with their blood coating his body. He could go on forever until the last grain of sand on Tatooine flies away. He'd have gotten you barefoot and pregnant immediately if the leash around his neck was any looser.

No matter the fantasy or the moment, you always have at least one mark on you. He's not patient enough for hickies and his fingers move too quickly for any serious bruises to form on your body. He favors bite marks, near perfect impressions of his teeth etched in your soft skin. He doesn't bite to tear, just does his repeated 'chomp!'s without a single thought in his head; your thighs bear the brunt of it. Anakin likes when drops of blood bead at the surface of the bites, because then he can lick the bites soothingly. You usually have to run your fingers through his hair to get him to come back to himself when he starts doing it on autopilot with his eyes rolled back.

"Yes, yes, yessssss.... love fucking my cunt, missed making love to my sloppy pussy. Taking my dick so well, keep breathing with me, my love. That's it, just like that."

His way of saying good morning is languid strokes deep in your guts. His way of saying good night is crazed thrusts that have him putting it back it when his frenzied pace causes his length to slip out. He has is so hard sometimes, determined to carry the entire galaxy on his shoulders with you on top of it. You can the rising anger that builds within him when everything he does to prove himself goes unrecognized. The best way he has to ignore all of that outside responsibility is knocking your sweaty body up the bed while you're clutching the headboard for dear life.

Anakin's emotions bleed from him so openly, and all you have to do is drink them in. Because even though he wasn't free when he met you, you owned him them with his gift around your neck. You own him now, your cervix kissing his mushroom tip in its own display of affection. He is supposed to live his life with the intention to be the force's son, but he is burning to ash faster than he is fulfilling his destiny; at least he can keep you and your future children warm.

Come Back

pairing : sam monroe x gn!reader | wc : 2.9k | 18+MINORS DNI

summary : No one's really there for him, except you. So after his night with one of Josh's clients, he looks for comfort in the way only you know how.

warnings : sam and user are in college, prostitution and drugs, internalized homophobia, toxic masculinity and slut shaming, hurt and comfort, smut, unhealthy coping skills, relationship is sort of toxic, sam is bipolar coded, oral ( m receiving ), degredation

a/n : sammy my beloved <3; tw for literally any of what was mentioned in the warnings.

You’re at your dorm room in bed with Sam, sat on his lap as he smokes a cigarette you stole from your step mom this morning. His eyes shut and his taps his foot along to the drums of the song playing on your stereo right now, one hand on the cigarette and the other on your waist, rubbing at you softly. You can hear one of your roommates banging at your door to try and get you to turn the music down but Sam just turns it up to drown her out.

You carefully outline his eyes with your eyeliner pencil and he’s perfectly pliant for you, letting you twist and turn his head without too much of a struggle. “Which band is this again?” You ask as you keep working.

Sam opens one of his eyes, and looks at you before grumbling, “A Perfect Circle.” He shifts his shoulders slightly and blows out his smoke before he talks again. “You almost done yet?”

“Yeah, just let me…” You murmur before you smear his eyeliner for him, when you're done, you lean in to kiss his forehead and his hands slide up to your chest. 

“Thanks babe.” Sam whispers, kissing you quickly on the lips before letting his hands slip below the hem of you shirt, deepening the kiss as he pulls you to him. You drop your eyeliner to hold him to you by the back of his head. As your tongues dance, you taste the lingering smoke in his mouth and his hands grab at your belt loops, holding you to his hips. Slowly, he starts to grind up against you, making you moan. He holds back a groan by sucking a hickey on your chest, a smirk lining his face when you gasp in surprise.

After another minute, his phone rings and he checks the caller before he all but shoves you to the side and stands up to answer it. As he starts to speak in a hushed tone over the phone, you look up at him, feeling upset that he was starting something he wasn’t finishing. You listen in closely and you know what he’s doing, his whispers of “only once” and a frustrated groan of “either 300 bucks or the weed?”

So when you hear him start to say goodbye, you loop two fingers through the top of his shorts, smirking up at him. “Sam… finish what you started.” You whine and he rolls his eyes.

“Lay off of me, I got things to do.” He says, pushing you off of him. You were used to his mood swings and moodiness, so you reach out and hold onto the hem of his shirt, trying to keep him close. “Where are you going?”

Sam groans and pulls at your hands. When you let go, so does he, so he turns to stare at you, his face inches from yours. “You can't keep me here, you know.”

“Can’t I try?” You murmur, grazing your lips against his

“You're persistent, aren't you?” He says, shutting his eyes as he runs his hands through your hair, leaning in for a long kiss. As soon as you kiss back, his grip tightens on the back of your head, allowing him to take control of the kiss.

“Don’t go meet up with Josh” You whisper softly, resting your forehead on his. “I know you need something, but maybe we can find something else.”

“You're cute but naive. We can't afford weed or anything else.” He says, his voice flat and his tone serious. “Josh doesn't have money but he does have drugs. And since I'm out of them, I need to get more.” He lean in as he moves his lips to your neck.

“But hes gonna…” You start but he cuts you off.

“He’s gonna pimp me out to some guy. Just gotta be some guy's bitch for 2 hours and I’ll get enough weed for a week. Just once, just this one time.” He murmurs, licking at your neck before he pull away, staring down at you. “I don't have any other choice. If I want to get my fix, then I do it or I don't get anything. It's my only option.”

“Just, be careful.” You murmur softly, kissing him again. “Come back here after, I'll be here waiting for you.”

“I'll be back in a few.” He says, straightening up, putting on his jacket and walking to the door. Then he pulls it open, walks out of your dorm and to Josh’s car. You can see Josh’s smarmy face from your window and he recognizes you, waving at you with a smile. You give him the finger before you wait to see Sam get in and leave.

A few hours later, the sun has disappeared and the night sky is visible. A car passes the dorm, then stops. And Sam gets out and walks up to the door, getting all the way to your room and knocking. “Y/N, are you here?” I wait a few seconds before trying again. “Y/N!”

After a second, you make it to the door and open it up. You’re just in your pajamas and your roommates are in the common room, looking over. “Sam.” You whisper breathlessly, looking him over.

“Hey.” He murmurs as he stands outside the door, visibly exhausted after what he went through. “Thanks for waiting for me.” He looks down, ashamed, knowing you saw him come out of a man's car.

“C'mon” You whisper, taking his hand and leading him over to your room and he follows you, sitting on the bed as you start to look for an extra towel and clothes for him. After a few minutes of silence, but Sam breaks it. “Do you still think less of me for what I did earlier?”

“No.” You whisper, exasperated. You drop what you’re holding and move over to him, cradling his face and kissing his cheek softly. He smiles hesitatingly, placing his hands on your hips as he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. He pulls you tighter into his arms, kissing you deeply and passionately. 

Sam’s mind is all over the place. He can feel the bag of weed in his jacket pocket but all he thinks about is the shame and the mans hands as they grabbed at him. When he shuts his eyes, its like he’s back in the car, feeling the old fuck’s thick fingers pawing at him. He had his own partner already, and they tried. They didn’t want him to go. Was some weed worth this? 

As he sits, Sam starts to subconsciously tug at his clothes in discomfort. When you notice this, you get all of the supplies you gathered and sit next to him. “You should take a shower.” You say gently, before giving him another one last kiss and stand up to find a towel for him.

He gives a sad grin at you over his shoulder, taking the towel. Then he goes shower and lingers under the hot water, cleaning the stench of the other man off him and leaning against the cool tile to cry. No matter how he felt, he couldn’t cry in front of you. Then he would be proving his asshole stepdad right, he’d be some fucking sissy. He punches at the tiles to distract himself before he takes a breath and focuses on finishing up. When Sam’s done, he towels himself dry and heads back to your room, smiling when he spots you laying on your twin sized mattress listening to music with your eyes shut to bide the time until he gets back. 

Be a man. Sam thinks to himself. Be a man. He watches you for a moment before getting dressed and laying down next to you with a sigh. Be a man. Be strong. She wont love you if you’re not tough. He scoots in behind you and softly kisses the back of your neck, laying his head next to yours. “Are you mad at me?” He places a hand on your hip, drawing your body closer to his.

When you realize that he’s back you pull of your headphones and toss them across the bed. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Um…” He mutters, trying to remember what bullshit you told him about taking a breath and saying what you feel. “I have the feeling you think less of me for what I did today…” He whispers his lips lingering on the nape of your neck.

“I don’t.” You murmur, one of your hands brushing against his hand, causing him to nuzzle in closer to you. “I just don’t wanna push you do do anything you might not want to do. Sometimes… people need time before they feel comfortable being affectionate.”

“I’m not a bitch. If I wanna kiss you and touch you, I’ll fucking do it.” He growls against your neck, shutting his eyes as he leans his head into your neck, enjoying the warmth radiating off of you, his hands slide under the hem of your shirt, cool hands warming up as he rests them on your midriff. You let out a quiet hiss at his hands before you whisper.

“I care about you, Sam.” You whisper, letting him rest against you and staying still as he continues to readjust his body feeling out of place and wrong no matter how he rests against her. As he keeps moving, his frustration starts to bubble. Why wasn’t he able to just get comfortable, they had been dating for over a year, they’ve done this enough times for it to  make sense. “Sammy?” You ask quietly.

“Shut your trap! Can’t you see I’m trying to get comfortable?” He shouts before he moves away from you, facing the wall and resting his head in his hands.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Sam sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I needed the money, and that was the only way I could get it. But I feel dirty. I feel ashamed. Like I cant even look at you.” He grumbles, tears in his eyes. “I don't want you to hate me…”

“I don’t hate you.” You whisper, sitting up and crawling to his side, lifting his head to yours and kissing him gently. Instantly, he runs his fingers through your hair, hugging you to him. He closes his eyes, laying his head against your chest. 

“I'll be better. I promise I won't do any of this anymore... I just-” He sniffles, wiping his tears. “I just needed money. I didn't want to do it.”

“I know.” You say calmly, rubbing his back. “Do you feel like… emasculated?”

He stays quiet and takes a breath, trying to contain his emotions. “Yeah. I feel emasculated. I feel humiliated, disgusted with myself, dirty. It's just- I just feel so bad about myself.”

You stay silent for a moment, but slowly, he starts to turn to you. “I want to... I want to feel powerful again. I want to not feel like this anymore. I want to be in control.” He murmurs, tugging you to him again, his hands sliding up your pajama shirt as he tugs you on his lap. “Please?” He groans, leaning up to nibble on your collarbone, kissing his way up to the spot right under your ear, kissing you softly.

“Okay.” You murmur, reaching down to rub his shoulders gently. His eyes light up once you agree and he slowly kisses his way down your neck, gently biting you. His hands hold on your waist, pulling you tighter to him before he tugs your shirt off, throwing it across the room. 

“Did ‘ya know you taste really fucking sweet?” He whispers before he pulls you into a kiss, his tongue shoving its way into your mouth, hands grabbing at your waist. When he pulls away, you're both panting and he goes in again, biting at your lip and tongue, relishing in the way you jump and squeak. “You taste like mint and- uh… mint and”

“Coconut?” You offer, grinding your hips onto his, gasping as you feel his hardening member hit your thigh.

“Did I ask you?” Sam grunts as he tugs your hair back to kiss at your neck, sucking in hickeys across the base of your neck. “But yeah, coconut. Thanks babe.”

You beam with pride as he smiles, before he pulls you forward again and whispers in your ear. “You wanna make me feel in control? Wanna help me feel better? Get on your fucking knees and open your whore mouth.”

With a light push at your shoulders you get up and sit betweens Sam’s legs at the edge of your bed. You watch wordlessly as he unzips his pants, and stands to let his baggy shorts drop to his ankles. Once they pool on the ground, he sits and guides your head to him and you take a breath as you look at the sheer size of him, your mouth watering. You move on your own, your hands moving to give him a few quick strokes and watching as his eyes narrow at you and his chin juts out.

“What, you scared? Need me to hold your hand? Tell you how its done? We both know you’ve done this before, slut. I bet I’m not even in the first 20, probably not even the first 40.” He hisses at you, before you lean in and lick his tip, your eyes still looking up at him. Slowly, you start to slide him in your mouth and that earns you a groan, one of his hands, covered in a bunch of bracelets rushes to your head, gently rubbing your head as you ease him into your mouth.

You want to smile at him, but you focus on letting your mouth adjust, your nose resting against his trimmed pubes and the end of his cock hitting the back of your throat. No matter how mean he got with his words, his actions showed how he felt. He never rushed you, he wanted to make sure you were okay. And for a moment, you shut your eyes, letting him rub your scalp before you start to pull back, hollowing your cheeks as you find your rhythm. 

“Fuck.” Sam groans, his head falling back as he lets out a breath, only for his breathing to pick up. His eyes screw shut as he continues to rub your hair gently. “Perfect. Keep going.” He says breathlessly, and you watch him through half-lidded eyes. You hum and his hand grabs your hair tightly as his hips roll into your mouth on their own, set into motion by feeling of the vibrations on his cock. You keep moving, picking up speed as you listen to Sam’s groans and pants, and when you feel him start to tense up, you pull him out of his mouth. As you start stroking him until he cums on your face in thick ropes, you smile as you listen to his drawn out moans and gasps for air, giggling to yourself as the warm fluid hits your face and bare chest. Sam’s head is thrown back and you can see he’s smiling up at the ceiling, coming down from his high.

Once he’s drained, he lifts your chin and taps two of his fingers against your lips, smirking once you take them in your mouth. “Make sure you get them wet enough. Don’t need my little slut crying about how I didn't stretch them enough.”

Sam Monroe Dating Headcanons

Credit to the gifs owner - Please be specific about characters wanted in requests 

Masterlist Navigation

Keep reading

sam monroe x female reader hcs

some mentions of sex, drugs, alcohol, prostitution + angst and fluff

sam monroe would glare at you as you looked at him from across the room, trying to scare you away.

sam monroe would eventually become friends with you after you practically forced yourself into the poor boys life.

sam monroe was very confused that a girl—especially one like you—would ever want to be friends (or more) with him of all people, i mean, he’s goth, and he isn’t nessicarily masculine. little did he know, you adore his eyeliner, his piercings, and his clothing

sam monroe quickly became infatuated with you, obsessed with the time you would spend with him, even if it was a quick conversation about how your best friend fucked the popular jock.

sam monroe struggles with drugs— and you weren’t aware of this until a few months into your friendship with him, you immediately tried helping him, but he pushed you away.

sam monroe invited you to his house one day after school. as soon as you two were in his room alone together, something clicked inside of you two, and sam immediately clinged himself onto you and it ended up in some..intimate activities.

sam monroe opened up to you a bit more after he found out his father has cancer, and he stayed at your house for a bit, and refused to leave your bed for a week. eventually you got him out of bed with a promise that you would let him fuck you in the shower. that horny fuck.

sam monroe was convinced by josh to try prostitution for one night— in order to get drug money. you were shocked when he came running to your house in tears, babbling about how “he made a huge mistake” and that “he promises he’ll never do it again.” it ruined his self esteem a lot, and once you found out what really happened, you made sure he never took any drug again.

sam monroe and you had a awkward friends-but-still-knew-you-both-liked-eachother phase. it consisted of you and him never outright saying you were dating, but you both knew what was what.

(sam monroe did convince you to let him still smoke weed, though)

sam monroe has a big dick.

sam monroe loves deftones and muse

sam monroe let’s you boss him around and yell at him, (even in bed)

sam monroe hates parties— he hates getting drunk, mainly because of the hangover. he surprisingly hates the loud music, the bright lights, and the many amounts of people. he would much rather have a quiet night watching star wars with you.

sam monroe loves to cuddle you, nuzzling your chest and biting you playfully

sam monroe loves when you show him off. sam loves when you attach your mouth to his neck and use his skin as a canvas for your art.

sam monroe loves doing his makeup with you. even though he only wears eyeliner, he still finds it enjoyable.

sam monroe loves blowing smoke into your mouth

—anakin skywalker/hayden christensen smut recommendations!

—below are the works i constantly find myself going back to read over and over, so this is for you and for me as well!

checking for ticks - @justadmiringanakin

pussy pleaser - @fuckmyskywalker

ask nicely - @little-miss-vader

ego - @lovelybucky1

illicit affairs - @justadmiringanakin

fratboy!anakin - @hanasnx

modern!anakin - @princessbrunette

talk huttese to me - @hanasnx

a lesson in huttese - @hanasnx

one more night - @hanasnx

final girl - @hanasnx

his price - @justadmiringanakin

slow ride - @bloatedandalone04

open invitation - @bloatedandalone04

🪄 - @fuckmyskywalker

filming or making a sexy movie - @skywlker-sluvtt

middle of the night - @aajxs

dilf!anakin - @fuckmyskywalker

possession - @starmanskywalker

heat waves - @bizarrebankai

boyfriend - @nwndrlndn

putting a face mask on him - @luxtrys

babysitting - @fuckmyskywalker

thank you to the authors for writing and fueling my hyperfixations!! 💗

[ credits of the Neteyam pic go to cinetrix ]

Champagne Problems.

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x female!human!reader

CW: angsty, reader feeling her heart hurt, adeline being funny and shipping reader and neteyam, sexual tension, confessions of love, angry neteyam, confused neteyam, yearning, crying, fluff, sexual content, neteyam loving reader's breasts, neteyam using his fangs on reader's body, p in v, territorial neteyam, needy and clingy neteyam, slight breeding kink, creampie

I almost cried writing this chapter and istg my pussy clenched hard while I was writing the smut part so… have a good read, I guess lol ps: I know I said I was gonna have a break from uploading my long fics (and I am!) but there was an itch in my hand to finish this story and I gave in and scratched it lol I kinda knew I eventually would. But I'm only gonna update the other fics next year. This one was an exception bc there was only one chapter left (this one lol)

Not proofread. I woke up in the middle of the night to write this, it's already morning outside and I'm sleepy and sick :(

Part 7: All I want is you

𓇼

It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you

You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town

And I just wanted you to know that this is me trying

this is me trying (Taylor Swift)

𓇼

In the morning, you woke up and realized you were no longer sitting on the floor, resting your back against the wall of Kiri's marui, but rather laying in your mat. You had a sharp headache but you didn't really know why. Maybe lack of enough sleep, maybe tension… Your eyes searched around for Neteyam but he was no longer there. You knew instantly that Neteyam had been the one to carry you to your mat. He was the only one awake other than you when you two were talking while it was eclipse and you knew it wasn't his nature to leave a girl sleeping while sitting down on the floor in a weird position and go home. No, he was too much of a gentleman for that.

The realization that you were about to go back to the lab in a few days and leave Neteyam behind again hit you like a train. The thought of being without him and having no guarantee that he wasn't gonna find a mate while you were gone and when you'd come back and see him again, he'd be happy with a beautiful na'vi girl by his side - perhaps even carrying his baby in her womb - broke you in a billion little pieces.

Your heart started to beat fast in your chest, like it was gonna escape from inside your body and come out through your throat. But there was also a big lump in your throat. Anxiety stinged your whole body like sharp, thin needles. 

You didn't want to lose Neteyam. Just imagining having to stare at a wall in your room at night, to see his sweet face in the crushing darkness and feel the tears rolling down your face, reminding you that you would never be able to hold him again, to feel his huge but gentle hands on your skin, to smell his comforting scent… and worse: to know he would be in some other girl's arms every night, letting her kiss him, having… God, having sex with her…

No. You couldn't let him go. It would rip your heart apart.

And if Neteyam didn't go for Munì like you thought he did, that meant that he didn't stop loving you… right? That's what you were desperately hoping for. You were almost sure you had seen him get slightly happy when you acted like an idiot and let him see how jealous you were of Munì last night. Maybe that meant he still felt something for you.

If you were right about Neteyam's feelings, you didn't quite know why he loved the mess of a girl that you were but… somehow he did, and he was sad because of you, because you refused to be his mate when that's all you truly wanted, in the first place. You had let fear hold you back once again. But not this time. You had to be brave. You had to at least try.

Putting the sheet that was once over you to the side, you uncovered your body and, in a rapid motion, you got up from your mat and got to your feet, feeling the slight coldness on the floor of the marui. Your feet walked slowly but surely among your two best human friends, trying hard not to step on or kick one of the girls as they were sleeping right next to your mat. 

You got startled by Adeline's voice echoing in the morning air as she whispered energetically to you.

"(y/n), where are you going?" Her voice was hoarse and slightly funny, because of slumber.

"I thought you were sleeping!" You whispered back as you looked at her sleepy and moody face while she laid down in her mat

"I was but I felt the need to pee and woke up. Answer my question, please!" She demanded

Your heart started beating fast and you spoke "I'm gonna try and make things right with Neteyam."

"Thank God." She dramatically grunted "I knew you liked him all along, I just wouldn't try and force you to mate with the guy, of course. But damn, I've known you since we were kids and I know when you're in love. I wanted to slap you when I saw you looking gloomy and I would ask you what was wrong and you would say that it was nothing but I just knew you were missing him and regretting refusing to be his mate. And Neteyam brought you back to your mat in his freaking arms! You can't let the guy go, you idiot! He loves you! Can't you see it? You both love each other! What was stopping you before from saying “Hey, I know I'm a bit crazy but I wanna be your mate!”?” She sighed, like she was tired of that whole situation

“How do you know Neteyam carried me back to my mat?” Surprise was all over your face

“I woke up at eclipse with your chatter, mamas.” She said nonchalantly 

“Oh…” You awkwardly spoke “So, you heard everything?” You cringed

“I heard a lot of it. Enough to know Neteyam is worth it. Now do what you gotta do. I gotta go relieve myself.” She demanded like a mother would

Your laughter echoed around. Adeline didn't realize how funny she was. You loved her. So, so much. That bitch was everything to you.

In only seconds you found yourself rushing out of the marui's door and your feet walking quickly through the warm Metkayina sand.

After a good while looking around and only seeing turquoise skinned tall Metkayina people, you finally found Neteyam. The sight of his broad, striped back did things to you. It made you remember how insanely good it felt when he was inside of you that rainy night on his hammock.

"Neteyam!" You yelled, sounding way more desperate than you had wanted to, and Neteyam rapidly turned around looked at you, his face covered with surprise

"I'm sorry! I do wanna be with you!" You spoke, breath a bit labored as you felt nervous and insecure about his reaction. The next thing you saw, you were breaking down in tears. 

"Why did you refuse me, then?" Neteyam asked,  slightly angry and utterly confused 

He did not understand why you had put you both through all that pain if you did love him too.

"I guess I was just afraid of finally having something beautiful in my life again, to feel safe again and then lose it. I couldn't bear to lose you. The truth is, I've had a crush on you since we first met too and I think I started to have deeper feelings for you at the party. Maybe we fell for each other at the same time" you chuckled wearily between tears, thinking that if it truly happened, it was beautiful and seemed like something out of a romantic movie

“Were you afraid that I was gonna leave you?” Neteyam asked, furrowing his hairless eyebrows 

“Yes…” You shamefully confirmed.

It seemed like you only ever thought the worst of Neteyam, even though he was known to be a good man and only proved you again and again how much he cared about you.

"Why would I ever leave you if I love you? It's as simple as that, tawtute." Neteyam stated

An amazed smile was born amidst your tears and your heart sped up as your brain processed those words.

"Are you saying you… love me?" It still seemed too good to be true.

"I'm saying I love you more than you will ever know, syulang." Neteyam walked closer to you and tried to touch your hand

You backed away slightly and he felt frustrated. Even as you declared your love for him you were still so guarded. Neteyam let out an impatient breath out of his feline nostrils.

“Tawtute, please, be my mate.” He asked you once again, his heart open to you once again.

“But what about tsaheylu? You can’t make it with me! What if you one day realize you regret missing out on this experience? It’s such an important thing to your people…” You let out a choked sob as you pronounced those words that felt like a stab in the heart

“Not again with the excuses…” Neteyam thought

“Listen” Neteyam asked for your attention “I do not care if you don’t have tendrils and we can’t make tsaheylu. What’s even the point of tsaheylu if I can’t make it with the girl I love? Tsaheylu is about sharing your affection, your devotion, your need with your mate and I don’t need or want anyone else but you, tawtute.”

You kept sobbing and just couldn't seem to stop.

Neteyam grabbed you and held you inside his strong, long arms, one of his hands on the back of your head, pressing it against his body and the other on your shoulder. His warm embrace felt reassuring.

"It's okay, oeyä tawtute. You are safe with me."

After a while holding you like that, he gently pushed you away from him and held your chin up so you could look at his face.

"I won't ever leave you. I promise you, with the Great Mother as my witness, I will never ever let you go. I'm yours forever. I have been yours for so long…" He gave you a calm smile and wiped your tears away

Your gleaming eyes gazed up at his face. He was so beautiful, his dark blue stripes forming intricate pattern on his forehead, a pattern unique to his body. His bioluminescent freckles adorned his big face and shone slightly even in the light of day. You were so damn lucky to have such a beautiful man be so deeply in love with you.

“So, what's it gonna be?” Neteyam's big thumb caressed your reddened face as his lips were curled in a gentle smile, showing no teeth “Can I finally get an “yes” from your beautiful lips?”

You chuckled and smiled big.

“Yes.” Neteyam's heart swelled with affection and relief “Yes, I'm gonna be your mate, Neteyam.”

“Nga yawne lu oer, oeyä tawtute.” (I love you, my human) Neteyam grabbed your face that was tiny inside his two big hands and kissed you eagerly, his lips pressing against yours like he had been needing that for so long.

Neteyam had been dreaming awake every night about how it would feel if he ever got to kiss your small mouth again. His tongue touched the slit of your mouth, deliciously warm and wet and you parted your lips so he could explore the insides of your mouth. Neteyam's large tongue licked your tongue and you moaned in delight at the sensation. You had missed his kisses so damn much… Neteyam tasted your mouth like you were the sweetest berry juice in the whole Universe.

“I missed your lips and your tongue, syulang. I was craving you.”  Neteyam said and softly placed a last peck in your lips 

“I missed you too. A lot.” You smiled at him, still tasting him on your tongue "I love you too." Neteyam smiled at you when hearing those words he was dying to hear for so long.

“Come, have lunch with me, oeyä hì'i muntxate.” (my small mate)

You agreed and Neteyam took your hand inside his much bigger one, taking you to the place where the na'vi were handling food to each other.

Many curious blue eyes looked at the both of you as Neteyam possessively held you by your waist and talked to you gently.

“I'm gonna get some fish and herbs for us, okay?” He smiled happily at you, like he either didn't notice or didn't care about how all the Metkayina at that part of the reef seemed to be watching yours and Neteyam's every move.

Quickly he grabbed the fish and took you to some rocks away from everyone else, what made you let out a relieved silent breath.

You two ate your fish, that had been prepared on a bonfire - it tasted delicious, by the way. Slightly spicy but also with fresh notes of something that reminded you of peppermint. Alien food was better than you had ever anticipated while you prepared on Earth to travel to Pandora.

"By the way, I'm sorry about your arm. I bet it hurt a lot…" You brought it up, after swallowing a mouthful of fish

"Not that much. I'm strong." He played around but Neteyam truly wanted you to see him as a strong na'vi male. He knew it was boyish but he did it anyway.

He won a quick joyful chuckle from you.

"I was gonna tell you that yesterday but I guess I got too nervous and then too emotional and I ended up forgetting to. I'm sorry, I think I tend to seem self-centered sometimes…" You spoke

"Don't worry about it. You do seem aloof and a little self-centered" You scoffed in a joking manner at his bluntness but you actually said “Ouch!” on the inside.

Damn, Neteyam truly knew how to humble someone...

“But I know that's not who you really are. People just have to take enough time to get to know you and they'll see what I see." 

"And what do you see?" Your eyes shone with wonder and your voice was playful 

"I see a smart, strong, sensitive and amazingly beautiful girl."

Your cheeks turned red. You weren't expecting so much praise.

“Ok, stop… I'm not all that.” You awkwardly stated, avoiding his gaze

“Of course you are. I don't know why you can't see it, tawtute.”

Maybe because you hadn't heard that a lot throughout your life…

To be fair, you had been called beautiful and smart many times but not the other two. Kate and Adeline would tell you that you were strong when you needed to hear it but you always wondered if they perhaps just said that because they were your closest, best friends and they only wanted to make you feel better.

𓇼

After lunch, Neteyam sneaked out with you and took you to a private place on the beach where his hammock was hanging, somewhere more secluded, where the both of you could be alone. You knew just what he wanted and you could not lie and say that you were not craving the exact same thing.

Neteyam took you in his arms, winning a squeaky laugh from you as he lift you off your feet. 

Neteyam sat you on his big hammock, your legs hanging in the air and not touching the clear sand. He knelt in front of you and before you knew it, he was kissing you. Neteyam eagerly took your lower lip between his soft, full lips, suckling on it ever so slightly and then pressing his mouth against yours. Neteyam's huge blue hands cupped both your breasts over your white cropped top and you whimpered in pleasure.

"Oeyä tawtute…" he cried out "Let me see these titties" his mouth hanged slightly open with anticipation and desire

Once you let him take your bra off, Neteyam groaned in an animalistic, primal way.

"These perfect soft titties are mine now, oeyä muntxate. Only mine."

"Yours, Neteyam." You breathed, so taken by him and the moment. Your panties were slick with your juices, so much he turned you on.

Neteyam laid you down gently but eagerly on his hammock. He wasted no time and quickly brought his lips to your breasts. He had been dreaming of that ever since the first time he saw your breasts jiggle under your shirt when you were walking fast, troubled with your scientist work. Your boobs were just so different from the na'vi females ones and it made Neteyam daydream about how it would feel to have your small buds inside his mouth.

Neteyam sucked on your nipples like he was hungry and desperate to taste your skin. He licked your sensitive buds swiftly, leaving them hard and wet with his saliva. All you could do was look down at his mesmerizing blue face, staring at his bioluminescent little freckles and moan loud. You started to worry if people could hear but you decided it was not important if they did or not and you just did not care. That intimate, raw moment you were having with your Neteyam was much more important than anything else in the Universe.

He started using his fangs to tease your breasts slowly and you whimpered at the sting but also enjoyed the bittersweet pleasure it gave you. 

“If you want me to stop, just say it, oeyä tawtute.”

“No. Keep doing it, please” You asked

Neteyam bit your right breast harder this time and you moaned loud again. The acute feeling of his sharp fangs harassing your sensitive skin made you feel an incredible sensation that lied somewhere between discomfort and delight but that ended up just being incredibly addictive. Your folds were even more soaked by now.

“Neteyam, please, fuck me, baby” you begged “I need you.”

“Fuck, muntxate, you're so needy for me. It's so hot, yawne…” Neteyam's heavy breath collided with your skin, sending shivers all over your body

Neteyam undressed you quickly and took his loincloth off just as rapidly, his cock hard and proud, slightly curved to the side.

Neteyam took his cock in his hand and rubbed his swollen tip on your glistening clit, making your body tremble.

“Neteyam… please.” You protested

“Say you want it.” He looked into your eyes, his big golden irises shining with the sight of you in front of him, his mouth in a teasing smirk. His accent drove you insane.

“Please, fuck me…” Your face showed him how desperate you were to feel him

“Do you want me to fill you up with my cock, tawtute?” He dig for more

“Yes, Neteyam, I need your big cock inside of my pussy, please, please…” It's like you couldn't take it anymore. Your cunt felt so empty without him.

After hearing those enticing words, Neteyam swiftly placed his large blue cock at your soaked entrance and pushed it all in at once, making you moan loudly in sheer, raw pleasure. 

"Eywa, how I missed this pussy! Your ekxìn pussy feels so fucking good, my little tanhì." (star) Neteyam murmured as he thrusted hungrily into you, his big, girthy cock stretching your insides and filling you up completely.

Neteyam's feelings for you were just so strong that he felt like no words would ever be enough to express his emotions so, he was trying to show you how he felt about you by loving your body instead, pouring out all his yearning for you through his kisses, his desperate caresses, his thrusts…

"Tawtute" Neteyam cried out as he thrusted roughly into you "Oeyä muntxate." (my mate) "Mine. All mine, yawntu…" (loved one) He whimpered in your ear, melancholic and driven wild by his desire and ardent affection for you "Nga yawne lu oer." (I love you) "So, so much."

Neteyam's breath was heavy and irregular as he pounded himself into you as hard as he could. He needed you so much, he felt like he would die if he could not have all of you, if he could not claim you once and for all. It was so good that he didn't last long and came inside of you, his thick warm seed shooting strongly towards your womb. He hoped to breed you but he didn't know you were taking birth control pills. Neteyam's load of cum was so big that it leaked out of your cunt even as he was still inside of you. That was so dirty and sexy that your pussy clenched around his cock as you felt his warm liquid leaking out of your stretched entrance.

After cuddling for a while, when you were looking to find your bra that Neteyam had thrown somewhere in the sand, he looked at your breasts, the two of them full of his bite marks and a big beautiful smile adorned his full lips, followed by a joyful chuckle.

“I marked you well, syulang. Now everybody can see that you're mine. Oeyä muntxate. Mine forever.” He leaned in for a kiss, pressing his soft lips on yours, so needy. Neteyam tasted so sweet but so unique at the same time. He tasted like himself. Nothing else could compare.

You chuckled. “You're so pervy.”

“But you love it.” He smiled at you, his sharp fangs more charming than ever

“Hey! Just because I'm your mate now it doesn't mean you get to be all cocky again.” You teased, pretending to be angry, as you pushed his arm away with your hand

Neteyam only smiled wider. He was over the moon that you were now finally his. All his. Until the end of time.

Neteyam yawned, body still in full bliss because of the powerful orgasm you had given him.

“I'm sleepy, oeyä tawtute. Take a nap with me.” He was already grabbing you in his big striped arms and laying you back on the hammock with him.

“You're not giving me a choice, anyway.” You chuckled and yawned too.

Soon your tired eyes fell shut, as you felt his warm breath on your skin.

𓇼

In the middle of the afternoon, you woke up crying, desperately breathing gasping for air. Neteyam woke up startled with your panicking state. Another nightmare... One of those that left your heart aching and your mind confused for long after you woke up, wondering if it had been reality or not.

“What's wrong, yawntu?” (loved one) 

When you realized Neteyam was by your side, still holding you against his warm body, you felt relieved but only seemed to cry more. You buried your head on his soft chest and he just let you cry there, petting your head softly with his hand, his slender fingers running through your locks of hair every now and then, trying to comfort you.

Eventually you stopped crying, sniffing one last time. You placed a kiss on Neteyam's chest, your lips lingering on his skin for longer than they normally would, as if to try and make sure that he was really there with you, that he was real and was not going away.

“Wanna tell me what happened now, oeyä muntxate?” (my mate)

You looked up at his face, eyes reddish.

“I had a terrible nightmare…” just the reminder made your heart ache again “I dreamt you left me. You got tired of me and found a better mate.”

“Tawtute… that's never gonna happen.”

“You promise?” You needed to hear him promise…

“I promise.” He tried to kiss you but you backed away a bit 

“What if your parents don't approve of us? Will you leave me then?” You hated how clingy and annoying you were sounding 

Neteyam started thinking that he would have to have an endless amount of patience with you. Your fear controlled you way too often. He would have to teach you how to be a little more free. But he would do it gladly.

"Listen, yawntutsyìp" (little loved one) Neteyam held your small face inside of both his huge blue hands "We will fight whatever we have to, whatever comes our way, and we will stay together forever, okay? I'm not letting anything separate me from you. Nothing, you hear me? Nothing." He promised you.

You breathed in and decided you had to try and believe him, otherwise you would end up sabotaging your relationship with Neteyam, you would end up contributing to what you feared the most: him leaving you. What you did not know was that there was actually nothing you could do to drive Neteyam away. He had been chasing you for way too long, he had fought for you like he had fought in the war against the Sky People. Neteyam was too much of a good warrior and too proud to let you go after all that. And damn, he could not imagine a life without you. Not a life where he would be happy and fulfilled, at least. He needed you to see the morning air as fresh, to hear the song of the birds as lively, to see the light of the stars as a guide.

“Okay. I trust you, Neteyam.” You stated, utterly sure of your words this time.

𓇼

♡ Epilogue ♡

You felt safe for the first time in so long while Neteyam held you inside his big arms, his body heat spreading all over you. It felt so cozy and just so… right. Like you had finally found what you needed, what you were unconsciously looking for all along.

Safety, trust, shelter… love.

Funny how sometimes when we need love the most is when we push it away the most, hurt the people who are trying to give it to us the most because we're so terrified to get hurt again, to finally trust and be let down again that we would rather keep drowning in our pain and in our loneliness. Pain can feel comfortable, as crazy as it sounds.

You could have never seen it coming, you could have never imagined back on your Earth days that your safe place to fall would be in the arms of an alien in an exoplanet, outside of your home solar system. What a weird happy ending. But it doesn't matter. There's still much more to come. This isn't the end, it's just the beginning.

𓇼

Turn a curse into a kiss

Change the meaning of your world

Love makes no sense, love has no name

Love drowns you in tears and it sets your heart on fire

Love has no fear, love has no reason

So infinitely vast and we're standing at the edge

Take my hand, erase the past forever

Love Exists (Amy Lee)

𓇼

This is the end, guys 🥲🤍 Feels so good to give Teyam and Reader a beautiful happy ending. Thank you all so much for reading my story 💕

•

Taglist:

@iman-lu

@leaveitbythewave

@creepytoes88

@live-laugh-neteyam

@swaggygurlbae

@neteluvr

@layla2-49

@a-blog-name-2003

@lala-1516

@jakesullyfatjuicypeen

@yeosxxx

@iaratezaewa

@somekindofastupidjoke

@fadedpetal

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Theseus is dead. You’re escorting the Minotaur, more beast than a man, out of the Labyrinth. The problem is, he seems to be more interested in what’s between your legs than in his mission of killing the notorious king of Crete… (12 k. Minotaur is not an actual hybrid in this fic. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Part 1 here.) Tags/warnings: Shameless smut mdni, dubious consent, extremely possessive behaviour, abduction, first time (König & reader are both virgins), hugs & cuddles, washing blood off your monster boyfriend, awkward flirting, semi-rough sex, shifting power dynamics, sexist insults & slurs (the citizens of Crete do not approve of your choices), implied cannibalism, fluffy ending. Mythical AU.

The candle goes out before you reach the surface.

To someone else, it would be the end of the world: to you, it’s only a hindrance, a nuisance, mostly. 

You’re not easily distressed. If you were, you wouldn’t be in the service of the greatest goddess of the Underworld. And you’re not mourning losing the sight of your warmly illuminated beast... You’re only worried about what he will do once the darkness descends. Whether he will forget about his vow, whether the baser instincts take over him once the darkness falls.

And darkness is not capable of making you lost: you can always follow the string in your hand. But without light, it’s difficult to predict the Bull’s moves: whether he decides to maim or fuck you against the wall, you can never tell. He hasn’t lived in the real world among people; he doesn’t know what’s right or wrong and what’s expected of him. Even the best of men can succumb to the demands of the flesh, so what power would a Bull Man have against his animal wants? No one ever taught him to respect the gods, let alone the maidens who serve them...

Then again, if a simple candle was the only thing that kept you alive, then what’s the point of lamenting the loss of it? Your life was already forfeit when you chose to descend here.

So you let it go: as always, the greatest lesson in life is to simply let go. Of control, of judgment, of fear, of hope. 

He doesn’t say a thing when the light flickers, then fades. The candle goes out in silence, and you let it drop before the remaining wax burns your palm.

And it’s not the absence of light, but strength, that forces you on your knees before even an hour has passed. There’s still a long way to go, and the yarn is like a thin string of hope in your hand, but you’re too exhausted, too worn out, too hungry and too tired to go on.

The Bull Man doesn’t object to your suggestion to lay down and sleep for a while. He has walked behind you in silence the whole day. Or night… You can’t tell the difference; you lost count somewhere along the way down here. The air is stale and humid, and there’s no torch, not a single candle anywhere and even if there were, you wouldn’t do anything with them without a flint. 

The horror is kept at bay only through your numerous exercises with the goddess who introduced you to darkness many, many moons ago. You were initiated during the dark Moon, the new Moon, the blood Moon, introduced to the mysteries of the maiden, mother and crone, to the secrets of both the living and the dead. You’re not afraid, but your body still warns you of danger: you just don’t know if it’s a memory from childhood or a reaction to the Bull, panting behind you – out of lust or exertion, you don’t even know. Someone who wasn’t a maiden probably could tell… At times, you curse the fact that there hasn’t been a single phallus inside you because men too possess knowledge. Taking a man into your bed would have initiated you to a different set of mysteries, but now, you are poking blind. 

The Bull Man is an animal, you remind yourself. The longer you stay in his company, the more he starts to resemble a human, even if he is a man of few words. How he even remembers them is another mystery: you thought he was sent down here as a young boy. He speaks oddly but eloquently, a remnant of his noble descent, perhaps. Or perhaps he has listened to the people speaking in the Labyrinth, eavesdropped his victims an hour or two before killing them. Whatever the reason, you have to constantly tie your tongue because there’s simply no point in talking to a beast. The less you know about him and his past, the better.

You ready yourself for sleep, but the cursed cold of the tunnels keeps your body awake. Your flesh is human even if your mind is forged to withstand hunger, thirst and pain. Endurance against cold was never your strong suit, and you miss the heat of the sun, the warmth of it on your skin, even the ample light it gives. You, a lover of the moon, missing the heat of Apollo… It’s a joke, surely.

On the stone floor, it’s even colder, the rough, damp ground making your very bones ache. How on Hecate’s name has the beast survived this place?

“Bull Man,” you speak into the darkness, thick like an impenetrable wall and thin like a virgin’s veil.

“Maiden,” he echoes with a dark, low growl, slightly amused by the name you’ve selected for him.

“Are you cold?” You whisper.

Perhaps he doesn’t quite understand the question or why you asked it. It doesn’t matter: you have to swallow your pride and ask for his help if you’re going to survive this dark prison.

“I don’t get cold,” he finally responds.

“Good. I need your heat.” 

The silence drags on, and you fear he has misunderstood you again, but then he speaks again, with the same slightly amused tone as before.

“Come take it.”

You’re not sure if you’ve completely lost your mind, crawling to him through the uneven floor of the Labyrinth. Who knows what he will do to you once he gets those arms of iron around you? You’re placing your maidenhood, your whole body at his mercy. And you’re not even sure if it’s a he, if this thing is human at all. 

Human or animal, your hand meets the bull’s head on the way to him. He has taken it off, then... It’s not a part of him, just like you suspected. Maybe he is just a giant, daunting man, born from whatever forbidden desire Pasiphae had. Who knows if she only went to a foreign lover’s arms when her husband was at war? Who knows if King Minos has trouble getting his phallus up… These things happen: women get pregnant from their lovers, they do desperate things to pacify their husbands. And you don’t need a bull to get yourself an heir...

You feel his heat before you feel his skin: the Minotaur is verily blazing. He has gotten used to the cold, it seems, his body like a small bonfire in the clammy tunnel. 

“Cold little female,” he comments when you snuggle towards him shyly, thoroughly aware of the uninviting chill of your body. 

You settle next to him, every muscle in your body tight like a bowstring, your breaths shallow when he gives you a welcoming rumble. Goosebumps prickle across your skin and your throat goes dry, the thick swallow in the tunnel echoing around you like a thief.

Arms like iron go around you, and his body is taut, just like yours, but for a whole different reason entirely. He’s not afraid or nervous; he’s just… big. Pure muscle, his whole body thick, the stock and heat of him remind you of the sun. A miniature sun down here in these dark tunnels, but while you start to slowly soften in his arms, a different threat is already emerging. It doesn’t take long before his cock stiffens against you, and with the scarce clothing you both have, you can feel its every excited twitch.

Artemis… Protect me from this beast. Turn him into a dog if he tries to penetrate me. Let him rip my throat instead… 

You’ve never prayed to the Virgin Goddess; you don’t know if she can even hear you from down here. But Hecate would only laugh if this Bull decided to breed you. No mercy would arrive from that direction: she would either send a disease of blisters upon the Minotaur for touching her chosen or then she would cackle like an old woman, thousand times raped.

“Thank you,” you whisper, hoping your kindness will distract him from what’s happening downstairs.

“My pleasure,” he grumbles, mimicking the words he probably heard as a child in his father’s great hall. 

It sends a chill down your spine and butterflies into your heart to hear him speak like a polite man of court. And again, you think of asking him about his childhood... His mother, his father, the things he remembers from the surface. How he survived here without water, if there are underground springs here somewhere. Whether he eats humans like they say... If he ever embraced the dead women he killed. 

“Can you do it again,” he rumbles against you, cutting you away from your grotesque thoughts.

“...Do what again?” 

“Touch me… With your hand.”

His words are blunt now, his speech clumsy. But the way he says it is not an order. It’s an odd beg, more like. Laced with hope and wishes far away from greed. This Bull is never greedy, per se… He’s just lacking. Starved, for so many things that you fear there’s not enough time nor kindness to give him what he needs.

Your pulse flutters when you slowly lift your hand and caress the strong cords of muscle that make his neck. The rumbling returns; it turns into a low purr as the beast relaxes under your touch. Something softens inside you when he sighs from relief. His unbridled happiness tugs at your heart, trying to yank open something forbidden. It’s the softest violation you’ve ever felt: to be held by a giant killer having a roaring erection, while the said killer clearly enjoys your caress like it’s the touch of Aphrodite herself…

You even stroke his face. His jaw, unclenching under your touch; his cheek, covered with what you suppose is simply a wild, overgrown beard. 

“Your hand,” he groans softly, “makes me sleepy and warm…”

The cold, uncaring goddess recedes. The burdens of past, present and future dissolve. Softness takes place in your heart; the iron locks give in like brittle brass. A smile plays on your lips as you continue to pet him softly, lulling you both to sleep with your voice.

“Then sleep, Bull of Crete...”

…

You wake up to his cock pressing against you.

Not against your stomach like when you went to sleep – that you could do with – but against your cunt, barely veiled by the thin linen of your dress.

The panic is soon wrestled down with reason: you tell yourself it’s just a cock. It’s just him. You’re simply in the Minotaur’s arms, and he’s sound asleep still; there’s no reason to buck and jerk and scream. 

The darkness feels like a safe womb now, but with nothing to lock your gaze to, you have to take a moment to ground yourself into reality. And the first thing you ground into is a thick cockhead, pressing fast into your nether lips. He’s practically at the gates, and you’re lucky he’s still asleep.

It’s perhaps your fault this happened in the first place: you notice you’ve dragged your thigh over his hip; as if wanting him to fuck you in your sleep… You embrace him like Helen of Troy, and he holds you through his sleep like a man in love, perfectly content with napping on the cold ground with you.

“Mm…” The beast stirs, probably noticing how the female in his arms is tense as a rod. “You smell like you want to fuck…”

“No I don’t,” you hurry to whisper.

Gods curse this man’s ability to smell everything from miles away. Blood and humans and, apparently, a woman at her most receptive. 

What if he can actually smell the wetness between your legs?

“We need to go,” you slowly remove your leg from on top of his waist, hoping it would go unnoticed that you were clutching him like a lover. You have no such luck: he grabs your thigh and draws it back, sets it safe and snug around his waist while adjusting his grip on you, now hugging you entirely like a lover would.

“I want to mate with you,” he says softly. “You want to mate too. Why go?”

He sounds so adorable when he’s still in the process of waking up to a new day. Drowsy and sweet, voice husky from sleep, body warm as can be, the hard-on between his legs happy and stiff.

“I thought you wanted to kill the king,” you try to point out. 

“This is more important,” he gruffs. “Urgent.”

The cock pushes further up and against you, now spreading your folds under the dress, trying to penetrate into your heat. Your eyes go wide as thick need pools down to meet his greed. His body, his cock makes your head go dull for a moment; you feel like you’re not even capable of thinking actual thoughts.

“No, it’s not. We need to get up.”

You stiffen in his arms, push yourself away, and to your surprise, he actually lets you go. Reluctantly and with a hollow grunt, but he lets you go. 

You rise with a wobble, and adjust your dress, your head spinning from his advances. You swear he becomes more man-like every day, every passing hour, even. Or is it just you who’s changing…? 

The Bull Man is up before you get to ponder on that thought for too long. Your heart and head struggle to find their footing for a moment, your legs are so weak you feel like fainting. He catches you before you fall, the warm, thick arms closing around you with stout affection.

“You need more heat?” He asks softly.

You look up out of habit, even if you can't see his eyes, covered by the carcass again because his voice is muffled.

“No… I’m hungry.”

He’s silent for a moment, probably thinking what he could do to help the situation. You fear he will suggest you go back to visit his “pantry” and eat whatever horrible, half-rotten man-flesh he might have in store there, but he only holds you close to prevent you from sliding back to the ground.

“Hmm. No mice up here,” he ponders. 

“You eat mice…?”

“Sometimes.”

You leave it at that: you don’t want to know what he’s had to do to sustain himself down here. You don’t even have a fire to cook the vermin, even if you would be ready to eat even those after another day or two without food. 

“Not a long way up,” he says. “We will reach the sun soon. Then I’ll find you something to eat.”

“How do you know that…?”

“The air smells different.”

You sigh and search for the string, your lifeline to the outside world. You can’t wait to get out of here, and with both hurry and an odd dread, you hike for what seems like another whole day. Tension, hunger and thirst distort your thoughts, and you’re sure by now that the time flows differently here in the Underworld. With no small amount of pride, you feel accomplished to have survived this place so far. Even gods have had to do some tricks to escape the nether worlds: it is no small feat to charm the Minotaur and then walk out of here unharmed. 

To your knowledge, you’re the only one who has ever escaped the Labyrinth. You haven’t even had time to think about what you will unleash with you… The demon that walks on your heels will take his revenge, not only on the king but on the city who threw him here. 

Well. It’s their problem now. Minos and Pasiphae simply have to deal with their successor. The world will simply have to deal with the Underworld’s wrath. 

And oh, how Hecate would laugh if she saw this monster prince of Crete escape his prison because of you – the feared Minotaur set free, only because he’s mesmerized by a woman. You suspect he would have his cock jumping for any girl, though. It's not because you're an exceptional sorceress that he follows you: it's your cunt he's after. And it shouldn’t make you feel jealous that he probably gets distracted the moment he sees a better offer walk by.

But it does. In your darkest wishes, you would keep the Bull Man all to yourself. Get him a leash, perhaps... Feed him with your own hands and let him grope you in the dark, watch him go wild from lust when you finally give him access to your cunt. 

Many would hardly think you’re a virgin if they took a peek inside your head. But the things you’ve seen and done, the white bulls you’ve slaughtered for the dark Goddess, adorning them with cypress wreaths before slashing their throats open, would turn any woman bleak and twisted like this. For once, you would like to save the bull from slaughter.

When you see the first evidence of light, your body lets out a sigh it has been holding ever since you arrived here. Seeing the sun gives you more strength than any food or meal, and you pick up your pace while the Minotaur behind you begins to hesitate. 

“It’s too bright,” he says before you’ve even walked out of the tunnel, now turning into a vast cave, the entrance to the Labyrinth. 

You turn around to look and stop in your tracks when you see the fear in his eyes is acute. It’s mixed with wonder, the curiosity wrestling away doubt slowly but surely. He only needs a little nudge, a gentle pull, an enticing little smile and eyes that he can trust.

“You’ll get used to it soon,” you extend your hand. 

He takes a step, then another, then another, until he reaches your outstretched fingers, and hand in hand you walk out of the Labyrinth and into the bright morning sun, burning over the kingdom of Crete.

He’s only a breath away from panicking, but covers it well. You wonder if it’s truly the light that’s too bright or if the feeling of being so exposed is what makes him so afraid. Clearly, the vast space opening up before him is intimidating. 

There are grassy plains as far as the eye can see, little hills that dot the horizon, and skies so expansive and bright it must hurt his eyes. Goats are grazing under the sun, trees are bending in the wind, the rustling of leaves and the sound of birds calling him to look in all directions as he tries to make some sense of his surroundings.

“It’s alright,” you give his palm a soft squeeze, and the way he looks there under the sun, so big and powerful and able, and still so utterly lost, is giving you heartache you haven’t known since you were a child.

“There’s… so many colours,” he says, looking at the blue summer sky, the deep olive greens, the dirty whiteness of the goats, the flowers upon the grass. A butterfly, flying past, yellow like the citrus that people harvest from a few miles from here. A big blackbird with an orange beak, swooping down to catch a cricket, the slate grey pigeons flying so close to the sun that he has to shield his eyes even if they’re already safe and sheltered under the bull head.

Seeing his wonder and awe makes you look at the scenery so differently that it burns, it actually hurts: there’s so much beauty in the world, and you have always taken it for granted. Cursed the rain and the storms, cursed the droughts, cursed the gods for sending down another famine, when in truth, the world was filled with abundance, of colours, of life and joy… And all you’ve done is worship darkness. Now the darkness is out: it’s standing next to you, watching the view of your mundane everyday life like it’s nothing short of a miracle.

And when you turn back to look at him again, his eyes are upon you.

“What?” You ask, freshly caught in your moment of weakness.

“You are pretty,” he says, eyes wrinkling with delight under the mask. 

Gods damn him… 

He doesn’t know that human men don’t act like this, talk like this, or if they do, there’s usually something vile involved behind it all. He doesn’t know how to play games, he was never introduced to the lies and deceit of the world.

The Bull of Crete only looks at you with soft fondness in his stare – he doesn’t understand that he should cover that softness as well if he intends to win. Any woman could put a leash on him before another moon has passed, but he doesn’t seem to care. And it’s not even heat or hunger that makes you weak this time... It’s those eyes, looking at you with more and more warmth.

“Nonsense,” you huff without a voice, and turn towards the old road with an adoring bull on your heels.

The cold sigh of the underworld is quickly left behind you as you walk up the old carriage road, nearly grown in with weeds. The Labyrinth is located miles away from civilization, but the people living in these hills are used to the cold cave by now. They trust that the Minotaur will never escape and only turn away their heads and close the doors of their huts when the screaming, crying human sacrifices are delivered to the mouth of the cave. Little do they know that the monster is now looking at their little hills and goats with delight, not bloodlust.

For the Minotaur is fascinated with your world: he has to touch every leaf, every tree, every blade of grass, it seems. The goats are afraid of him, but one small nanny is bold enough to come and sniff his hand. Perhaps it remembers that beings walking on two feet give her apples sometimes, and the giant studies this small white animal with gentle curiosity, allows the goat to smell his hand, only chuckles when the goat gives out a little scoff when she notices there are no treats to be found there.

The vision is more adorable than when you’ve seen children play with kittens, and no matter what you do, you can’t turn your heart into ice anymore. You were taught that the Minotaur is a monster who enjoys torturing his victims, creatures far more helpless than him. Now you see him watching the she-goat with warm curiosity, rumbling softly inside his helm, far from the ravaging beast that approached you in that tunnel what seems like months ago.

You watch him with tender sadness as he marvels at the sky and remembers how he used to sit in the shade of an olive tree when he was a child. He goes to sit there now and examines how the sun filters through the massive branches of the tree as if trying to recall the memory. 

He asks questions like: “How can you humans stand this heat?” or “Why is there only one road?” and listens to your answers carefully.

He says he can smell the sea, even if the salty water is miles and miles away, and gets curious about what’s behind that hill, or that one, what about that one… You wonder if he’s even interested in killing the king anymore and suggest that he could just forget about this cruel place and buy himself a sea voyage with that expensive sword. He could get rid of his helmet and ask if anyone needs a goat herd or an able-bodied man to help at construction sites or stables; he could get work from the docks any day, sail to Athens or some other big city, forge himself a new life. 

But he doesn’t want to.

He says he has to avenge his mother who always cried when he was little.

More wretched tugs pull at your heart as you approach the city. The lovely summer’s day turns into a nightmare once people see who’s on his way to the heart of Crete.

You don’t understand their screams, not anymore, while only a few days ago you knew they preceded death. The Minotaur doesn’t kill anyone, mainly because he doesn’t have to. Everyone flees before his wake, people rush to their homes and bar the doors, even soldiers slip away to be with their loved ones or run to warn the king if they have any loyalty left. 

You’re left to walk through the marketplace in settling dust and tense silence as the Bull Man explores the abundant samples of food on display. He has to have a taste of everything from all stands, but only after he has offered figs, olives, grain, grapes, grilled meat and fish to you first.

“Eat,” he says and shoves a handful of pine seeds your way. “You were hungry?”

“This is not the way to–” you ignore the food only through sheer willpower. “This is not right. People own these things. They sell them at the market, you need to pay for these.”

“Pay? With what?”

He looks at you for a moment, unable to recall what money is and how these things are supposed to work. He probably had his mother’s servants bring him everything he needed as a child anyway, so how could he know? 

“They will take your hands for stealing,” you try to explain with softly building despair.

“I will take their heads before that.”

“The next king will hunt you down and punish you,” you rush after him, and when he won’t listen, you seize his hand and finally get him to halt. He looks down at the weak palm around his wrist, then raises his gaze to you.

“Bulls don’t have kings.”

Your attempts to tame him are futile. The things they’ve taught him to be are now being used as a way to escape responsibility, and while it’s none of your business, you refuse to let him believe that he is nothing more than an animal.

“You are not a bull,” you wail in frustration. “You’re a man.”

He hesitates, only for a moment; the gentle, loving gaze makes your legs weak.

“You’re the first to think that.” 

Then he rips himself away from you, softly but sternly.

He doesn’t need directions to the palace: he knows he has to head for the most prominent building in the city to reach the king. The grandiose heart of Crete, white-chalked and beautiful under the burning midday sun is the pride of every citizen, even if it houses another monster.

You sigh as you watch him go: the Bull Man, the demon of the underworld, the one you thought would rape you bloody before you get to crawl out of the Labyrinth. The fact that he wanted to kill his father more than he wanted to be born again into a new life wasn’t a surprise, but that he chose to bloody his sword rather than his cock is somehow... insulting, almost. 

What actually haunts you is how your insides coil and turn when you rush back to your temple. It’s not like you thought the Minotaur would take you with him. Board some trade ship bound for distant shores, and ravage you ever so softly in the belly of the creaking hull. It’s not like you dreamed of petting him to sleep while you two embark on a new life. But the way your heart twists and wails inside your chest makes it clear that losing him is even more painful than losing Theseus and the life he promised you. 

You never even wanted Theseus; you only wanted him to take you away from here. His affection would have been the result of ample witchcraft at best.

He’s practically already dead, and your heart turns to stone far more slowly than you would prefer. It’s just your luck to first have the golden hero of Greece look down on you in disdain, and then witness even the Bull Man walk away from you like you never meant anything to him. Men killing each other is the oldest story in the world, and you want no part in it, but something in this beast has stirred you awake from a long, cold slumber. It’s infuriating that you can’t dispel a simple animal from your heart. Oldest story in the book, that one, too…

But oh, how you now yearn after some cruel, lowly, dirty beast… The Minotaur already owns you, and he never even had to plunge his sword inside you to prove that. Besides, you would’ve been perfectly willing had he decided to take you on the green grass, under the vast sky, while some noisy goats graze around you. You realize that that’s what you expected to happen, and when it didn’t, you’re left more than disappointed: you're left completely hollow. You always find out these things a little too late, it seems… The Bull is headed for the palace and will likely get killed after he slaughters his cruel father. There’s at least thirty spears in that building, and more will arrive when called.

You arrive at the temple, panting and with your body flushed and weak. The maidens at the entrance share a quick glance with each other before turning their fearful gazes back to you. They’re the youngest arrivals, not even initiates yet; one of them hardly even bleeds. 

“The King is dead,” you announce without bothering to even greet them, and the girls huddle up together like they’re a bunch of slaves about to get slapped.

You realize you must look like an animal with your dirty robes, dishevelled hair and your wild, alive stare. No wonder they look like they’ve seen a ghost... You basically are one, coming back from the dead like this.

“What?” 

A priestess arrives at the threshold like an image of Hecate herself, dressed in robes as black as the midnight sky, but you don’t shy away from her like you used to.

“Or he will be. Soon. The Minotaur is here.” 

“How did you… How did it...”

You’ve never seen the priestess in disarray. She’s always composed, cold and distant, but seeing you like the wraith that you are, freshly escaped from the Labyrinth, spat back from the bowels of the earth like the dark gods didn’t even want you there, makes even the greatest of Hecate’s servants a little uneasy. 

She gathers what’s left of her dignity and finds her most commanding voice. Sadly, it doesn’t have the power to shake the ground anymore.

“Where is Theseus of Athens?”

“Disemboweled… is my best guess,” you say in a listless voice, then turn your head toward the smell of fresh fruit.

Normally, you would walk these halls with dignity, but now, you simply barge in and grab the first piece of food you find. You ought to get whipped for your insolence, but no one dares to raise a hand against you. The maids and priestesses stare in shock as you eat and drink like a starved prisoner. You’re a living Hecate in certain aspects, your arrival the first toll of the bell of doom as the palace guards sound the alarm.

So…

The Minotaur has reached the king.

…

The priestesses deem it only logical that the King finally pays for his sins: the gods have been offended by the number of human sacrifices sent to the Labyrinth, and this is their way of exacting revenge. You were only an instrument of their will.

After a quick wash and some more food, you begin to feel like a human again. The maids bring you a new chiton, flowing and white: your old clothes are burned in a brazier as if that would help you forget.

And this might be the only place you don’t get blamed for unleashing a monster. You were at a crossroads with the Minotaur, and anyone would have done the same: try to talk him out of his killing spree, calm him down, entice him with a gift. No one expected that the beast could even speak, so your approach was unusual, perhaps, but it worked. Hecate guided you through the tunnels, even when the candle went out, she stilled the Bull’s loins until you reached the sunlight where the beast got distracted with other things. You leave out the Minotaur's attraction to birds, bees and butterflies because your story is unbelievable enough as it is.

But the Minotaur will be slain after he has done his deed: Minos is the one who should be punished, not the city of Crete. And it is only just to put down this beast, a mercy.

So when he appears between the pillars of temple, this time wholly covered in blood, people are bound to scream. Even the priestesses who are used to seeing blood, shriek like widows when the Minotaur steps inside the holy shrine of Hecate.

“Where is the maiden of the crossroads?”

He came back for you, after all…

The boom of his voice is familiar, and yet, you cower on the bench when you hear it. The Minotaur sounds like he’s an envoy of Hades himself, and while you’re not among those who scream and yell, it still sends shivers down your spine to hear him speak like that.

Or is it the excitement, a tiny flame of hope that makes you quiver like this?

“We all belong to the goddess,” someone peeps, the Minotaur now descending down the stairs.

The massive head turns, gaze like razor sweeping across the marbled shrine. You’re so far back that he can’t catch you, sitting behind many bodies and faces, and before you can force yourself to rise, the main priestess, the oldest, most crooked of the crones, steps forth to meet this beast.

“This is a House of Hecate,” she speaks. “No man is allowed to enter unless they are Death.”

The black carcass turns, but the priestess doesn’t waver. If anything, her spine turns into unbreakable metal before this man’s gaze.

“I am Death,” he says, far more gently than anyone would expect. Then he walks past the crone like she’s just a harmless elder. No one does a thing, because even the head of your temple is powerless now.

“She had a red string and a candle. Where is she?”

He grabs the first woman he sees, and you rise up before he decides it’s time to thrust his blade into someone to loosen the tongues of these women. 

“Please,” you take a hesitant step towards your Bull. “I’m here... I’m the one you’re looking for.”

The Minotaur lets go of the frightened initiate the instant he sees you. She’s shoved aside with little interest, the blue eyes behind the corpse now solely fixed on you. The way they soften into hazy ice makes your knees weak – that’s the stare of someone who recognizes their loved one among a thick, dull crowd…

“Come with me,” he extends a hand when he reaches you, strong legs swallowing tiles like he’s in a hurry to get back to you. You open your mouth, close it, and look at his hand, the rough, enormous palm held out for you to place your own little hand in.

“You belong to me,” he says with great weight when you don’t speak. It should spark the ire of the goddess for him to dare to talk to you like this… But mostly, your body sings. It tells you to take a step and take his hand: to let him have you, once and for all. 

“My place is here,” you utter, all power gone from your voice. All your dreams, all your fears are offering their hand to you with his, and the maidens, mothers and crones of this hall look upon your exchange with the Bull Man in stupefied silence. 

“You were sent down to me,” he presses on. “You are mine now. You belong to me.”

Your body is singing, singing, singing.

It’s not a request… Or a proposal. 

It’s a god, taking what’s his.

…

You swallow with nothing in your throat and look at the head priestess with helpless misery: she looks back with the eyes of a noxious Medusa, wholly dispassionate to the problems you brought upon yourself. And what could she even do? She’s unarmed against the claims of Hades: Death is now in love with you, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it. 

He doesn’t want to stay in the city, as enchanting as it is, saying that it stinks and that he’s tired of the screams. No one wants him here; he already knows that, and the task he was meant to do is done. He doesn’t seem to be much moved by it either, only asking you if there is a place where he can wash the blood off himself. 

People become more bold when they see you walk out of the city. Not even the sight of a crimson demigod makes them watch their tongues. Insults and slurs follow you through the streets, shouts such as “Kingslayer!” and “Beast!” are accompanied with curses such as “You are an abomination!” and “Go back to your lair!” 

No one treats him as their prince and savior, no one sees him as the man he truly is. And because hatred thickens in crowds, you get your share of the insults as well. 

What kind of a woman would follow a beast like him? Have you sold your soul to the demons of the desert, or has Hades himself forced you to be with this monster? Are you behind the murder of their king?

“Must I remind you?” You turn on your heels, standing tall and proud with the posture of a queen. “According to the old laws, the one who slays the king is the next to rule.” 

“You led him out of the Labyrinth, didn’t you?” the voices ask.

“Gave him your cunt, too,” they sneer.

“You’re worse than the bloody Gorgon,” they mock, but you have a thick skin: if anything, you take it as a compliment to be referred to the mighty slayers of men.

What cuts through your heart is the filth and hate they spit at him, the man who has known nothing but loath since he was born. 

“Hecate’s whore… I should kill you first,” one soldier shouts with spit running down his chin.

The citizens of Crete would never hail the Minotaur as their king, but none can say the deed didn’t prove great strength. Some would even call it justice. He is the queen’s son, after all: he’s more royal than any of these dung-stinking peasants will ever be. He should never have been sent down to those tunnels in the first place.

Before you know it, the Minotaur swoops past you in haste, diving towards the screaming crowd with hunched shoulders and a fiery breath.

“Stop,” you say, and he halts immediately, gaze still directed to the one who called you a whore. The soldiers back away along with the peasants and tradesmen, these poor, humble Cretes who act like they never meant to be so mean.

“Let us go in peace,” you command, voice unwavering and stern. “Or I will curse you all. You and your families, down to the seventh son and seventh daughter.”

That manages to shut them up. The threat of a curse frightens these poor beasts even more than the enraged Minotaur breathing fire through his helm. No one wants rot and puke to follow them wherever they go; no one wants to doom their offspring with illness, death and sorrow. They disperse in all directions and only hiss and whisper as they go.

You spit on the ground as your last gift to these people, leaving the city of Crete with the ever-adoring Bull at your heels.

“You’re even prettier when you’re angry,” he says while walking next to you, voice thick with genuine passion and awe.

You roll your eyes: any man would cower before Hecate’s curse, but this one? This one only gets more horny. 

“Perhaps you are part bull after all,” you retort dryly.

“It takes more than one spear to kill me,” he boasts, but you don’t need more proof of his prowess. Surely, people have tried to kill him in the Labyrinth, but he’s survived every single attempt on his life – for that alone, he should be a decorated hero.

The only thing that makes you annoyed, however, is this childish need to prove he could’ve taken the whole city by himself just because some man happened to call you a slut.

“Mother said I’m a monster instead of a man,” he says, completely unaware that your snap wasn't meant as a compliment. He says it like he’s partly proud of it, and you finally sigh and turn. 

“Your mother was heartless. And wrong.”

The Minotaur only looks at you with a building passion that goes straight to your loins.

“But you’re not.”

“...What?”

“Heartless.”

You feel stripped naked before him, the way his eyes seem to burn away your poor dress. But the fact that he unearths your most guarded secret, just like that, is a catastrophe of a far wider scale.

You’re not sure who’s tied to whom anymore… Or if you’re tied to each other, the gods now laughing in their wine as they look down at you two: a fierce and bloodied giant following the maiden he stole like it’s you who took him and not the other way around.

You reach the roaring waters of a waterfall in silence, the night wrapping the lands inside a dark blue veil. Stars will be visible soon, and with the moon creeping up to the sky, you won’t be needing candles tonight. The silver mistress gives plenty of light for you to admire your beast, and compared to the thick darkness of the tunnels you emerged from this morning, it feels like a generous blessing.

You sit on the banks of the small, clear pond, utterly exquisite at nightfall. The sun’s heat has turned into a warm, caressing breeze, and you submerge your feet into the water, giving out a satisfied sigh as the cool pond embraces your travel worn feet. The Bull sinks to a crouch some distance away from you, curious about your obvious moment of pleasure.

“Did you meet her…? Your mother?” You ask from the cool water lapping at your feet – how can a simple man make you feel so restless and shy?

“Did you… kill her?” 

“She cursed me,” he says, sullen and wholly unsurprised. Time and time again, you are shocked by the hatred his own kin shows him. How can a mother be so cruel?

“How could I kill my own maker?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “For everything.” 

You swallow before such unwavering love. The same man who cursed the gods yesterday  honours the womb he came from so much that he won’t raise a hand against it, not even when his own mother spits curses at him. You don’t know if it’s his greatest strength or biggest weakness, but sometimes you wonder if he’s more human than humans, this beast.

“I’m not,” he retorts immediately. “The king is dead. Mother is safe. I have you... This is the best day of my life.”

You turn to look at him. Time and again, the lack of lies and deceit in this man catches you off guard. It’s more painful than any wound, to see how the Minotaur has no protective skin against the corrupted human nature, that he is human nature before it was defiled.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you falter. 

The chiton pools around your ankles, and you wonder if the man even breathes anymore. You know your skin is glowing with the last rays of the setting sun, you’re aware that the water and moonlight play upon your skin and make you look like an illusion, powerful in its own way.

When have you ever faltered…? Back when you were a little girl, you reckon, the notion euphoric and eerie in your bones.

You rise up and undress before him nonchalantly, trying to ignore the fervid stare of your admirer. Unclasping the brooches holding up your white linen dress, you let it fall down and set you free, secretly reveling in the downright carnal stare now glued to your skin. 

Ripe for plucking, you think while stepping out of the pile of cloth and into the thin evening air. His gaze feasts on you: the plump breasts no one ever loved, the vulnerable navel down below, the dark triangle between your legs, the secret power it holds.

Heat pools into your core as you watch him: everything in your body turns warm and soft when you take in the utter heftiness of him. The mean, swelling phallus between his legs, the near inhuman strength those shoulders and chest possess. Your body is the complete opposite of him, ethereal, almost, compared to the absolute brute strength before you. 

His eyes linger there the longest until he rises too, stiff and dreamy, a beast entirely taken by a thrall. The loincloth is practically torn away, as if it’s only a nuisance he must get rid of immediately. His eyes never leave your shape while he bares himself, and the phallus, you notice, belongs to a human. It’s thick and wondrous, fully erect, adorned with dark curls and accompanied by a set of balls you’ve mainly seen on horses. Big, full and round but unlike animals, they’re covered in dark fur, almost black here in the evening light. Thick seed beads through the slit of his cock from simply seeing you, and the way his chest heaves makes it clear that this man is ready to mate as soon as he’s allowed to do so. 

“You need to take off your helm,” you lift your chin, thoroughly aware of your power over him, even if it’s laughable, a miracle that he doesn’t fuck you on the spot like the animal he is. “You’re a man, not a bull.”

His eyes don’t betray any kind of hesitation. He doesn’t seem to be interested in whether he wears his mask or not. He just blinks as if he’s indeed under a spell and nods.

“If you say so.”

The broad muscles flex as he takes it off, and what is revealed to you from underneath the head is both a surprise and a disappointment. There’s not a monster under there, only a man, a stoic, boorish, shaggy male who’s in desperate need of a wash and a comb. He’s somewhat handsome under all that facial hair and knots, actually, not bad at all – if you like your men rugged and wild. 

He lets the head drop to the ground with a thud as if it was never a part of him at all, and follows you into the pool like you’re his mother and he’s your cub about to get scrubbed clean. 

He seems to dwarf you, even when half submerged in the pond, leaning back with a sigh not unlike yours. If you’re afraid, your body has a peculiar way of showing it: even in the clear, glossy water, you can feel yourself get wet. Never have you seen such strength, not in any man: in horror and awe, you realize he could be a descendant of Zeus himself. As if providing proof to these claims, he looks up to the sky, mesmerized by the myriad stars dotting the vast, unattainable blue.

Using this momentary distraction to your advantage, you reach to pluck a handful of moss from the bank. With this soft little sponge in your hand, you hope to make it clear that this is indeed a bath, not foreplay. 

“They’re stars,” you say softly while slinking closer to him. “Have you ever seen them...?”

“Yes,” he rasps with his head lolled back, throat completely exposed. It always hurts your heart to see that he trusts you so fully. You are no threat to him – even if the gods changed the moss in your hand into a weapon of some sort, you wouldn’t pose any kind of challenge. And still, the way he allows you to creep towards him and wipe his rough hide with the makeshift sponge without so much as flinching is heartbreaking. 

“I have forgotten…” his voice drifts off as he examines the night sky, eyes filled with distant, glass-like delight.

“Beautiful, aren’t they...?” 

“Your world is pretty,” he brings his gaze back to earth and to you. “But you’re the loveliest thing I’ve seen so far.”

You almost freeze upon hearing that. His compliments always catch you off guard, but this time, something forbidden and long forgotten comes undone: a lost want, no, a need to hear such simple words of shallow praise.

“You do not scream... You do not run. Why?”

Your eyes are liquid, glass about to break as you set yourself on the task of scrubbing him clean. You refuse to get emotional in front of him: an initiate of the dark goddess, shedding tears when a horny man calls her pretty? What utter nonsense.

But then he grabs your wrist: not to seize back power, but to prevent you from escaping this fragile moment.

“You are different,” he agrees calmly, then releases you, but you reckon it’s mostly because he misses the soft rubs you were giving him. 

“Perhaps I’m crazy,” you breathe while looking at the damp curls on his chest.

Yes… That’s the only explanation for this madness. It has to be.

“Is that why you took me?” 

“I took you because you’re mine. I want you.”

“You can’t just take what you want,” you warn softly.

“Why not?” His head tilts a little to the side as he’s trying to make sense of you and the manners of your world. “Don’t you want to be mine?”

You lift your gaze and risk a look into his eyes, stripped from all facades as always. You even catch a passing wave of worry there: he had counted on you being as fascinated with him as he is with you. The hunger behind that want, the need to be something special to you, is a whole another issue that must wait until your head is more clear. Way more clear…

“Perhaps,” you confess.

“I have nothing to give you,” he shrugs, eyes looking slightly past you this time, out of shame or anxiety. It takes a while for you to understand he’s liking you to the goods at the market and thinks he’s expected to have money to be able to keep you.

“You don’t need to pay for me,” you smile, trying your best to disguise the soft amusement in your voice. His brows only furrow as he tries to calculate and think.

“I don’t understand the rules of this world,” he finally shakes his head. 

“I’ll teach you.”

For a while, he only looks on with fascination how you rub his arms and belly, basically massaging him with the wet moss. His eyes drift closed when you scrub the back of his neck, the stout erection only getting thicker under the cool water. You’re careful with his legs, not because you’re afraid he’s ticklish but because you try to avoid touching the huge cock already jutting up from happiness. It gives a few excited bounces when you wash his inner thighs, hopeful to get its needs satiated soon. 

“I can hunt for you,” he suggests. “Bring you food… Protect you.”

He’s visibly excited when figuring out a way to give you something in return. He wants to provide offerings for your company, your lore, and eventually, your cunt, too. You might be a virgin, but you’re not stupid: of course he wants the soft, wet prize between your legs. A pair of lovely tits to squeeze at night... Ears to groan hushed confessions into, thighs to nibble, bite and suck until you cry... 

“What do you think?” He asks, breath heavy from the bliss you’re already granting him by simply giving him a bath. “I could give you my heat. Please you...”

“You know how to please women?” 

“No. But you could teach me.”

The way he says it is not shy. Only tentative. A bear, walking on ice and hoping it would carry his weight. One wrong step and the ice will swallow him, spitting out his bones only in spring. 

And then…

“Do you know how to fuck?”

The ice holds, mainly because you’re too shocked to even slap or ridicule this man. His eyes bore into you with such unbridled greed that you have trouble keeping your precious pride intact.

“Of course,” you hear yourself whisper like it would be an insult to your intellect if you didn’t.

“Teach me,” he says, ever more greedily.

“I…”

Your jaw is left open, but not a word comes out. A strong palm closes around your wrist again, this time to bring you flush against him. The water laps at your skin, a distant crow cackles somewhere. Your hand is brought to his phallus, but he doesn’t have to wrap your fingers around it: you do it all by yourself, breath locked in your throat as you feel how hard and blazing he is.

“You want my cock,” he says, mouth only an inch from yours. “Don’t you...?”

You wet your lips – a mistake, because his half-lidded gaze darts to your mouth the instant your pink tongue lashes out. You’re in a predicament, but on the other hand, what else did you expect, taking your clothes off in front of a touch-starved bull?

“I’d give it to you happily,” he insists. “No female ever wanted to spread her legs for me.”

Or a leash. 

Your fingers tighten on their own, they mould around him. Like a bond…

“Really?” You breathe. “What fools they were...”

The cock gives a full throb inside your palm, exalted to be yours. But only a moment later, the dreaded Minotaur moves. 

You find yourself under him before you can even gasp for air: the soaked, hot body of a giant now pinning you on the grass and crushing you under it with ease. The weight of your error is fully pressed against you: he was never tamed, and you were a fool to think you could put him in chains.

The raw scent of earth and musk fills your nostrils, making the stars above you spin. His cock is trapped between your bodies, giving another rich pulse against your thigh. Gods, if he were throbbing like that inside you…

“You make my skin burn,” he growls into your ear, the heat of his skin now unbearable, the coarse hair prickling your skin from neck to thigh. “My loins, ache…”

“Are you a witch?” He asks, and you finally allow yourself to breathe.

If he only knew… But hexes and charms are of no use for you now: the only thing you can do is moan, apparently, as he dives for your neck, planting barbarous kisses on your skin.

Down, down, down he goes, pure avarice driving him to feast on every part of you. You’re too weak to stop him when he searches for the source of your intoxicating scent. Discovering it between your thighs, he dives nose-first into your sex, meeting your core with a hungry grunt.

Your back arcs with pleasure, your nails sink into his back: a funny thing to do when he’s already as close as can be. The trail of crude kisses leads him to your breasts, and you try to keep your whimpers in control, but a gasp erupts when he drags a hot tongue across your nipple. Massive palms close around your tits while you squirm in his hold: he doesn’t seem to be driven by the need to please you; rather, he wishes to study you first, examine how your body reacts to his groping. He leaves your breasts aching and sore, every bite and suck managing to make you wetter and wetter, your cunt screaming for attention by now.

“Gods...” you wriggle on the soft earthen bed, not expecting him to take you with his mouth first.

He withdraws, only a little, but his voice is surprisingly soft.

“Do I hurt you...?” 

“No… But this is not mating…”

“Even I know that much,” he says darkly, and grabs you by the waist, moves you around like a doll until you find yourself on your belly. 

He looks at you from between your thighs, demonic and keen. The broad shoulders force your legs wide apart when he’s seated there, waist-deep in the water, with you hauled to the shore like a siren.

Not a moment is wasted as he pulls you back to him by the hips: you’re drawn to all fours, a hot streak of cum dragging on the inside of your thigh from the cock that meets your skin. He grabs and steadies it with an annoyed grunt, and the fat tip is shoved straight into your folds, your nether lips parted with brute force almost. 

“Guide me.”

His voice is demanding, impatient as he drags the fat head up and down the entrance of your hole, coating his cock with your slick in the process. You wonder if it’s instinctual, if he knows that this is where he should poke and that it will hurt you less if he’s well-oiled. He’s about to rut you into oblivion the instant you tell him where to shove his cock, and the prospect only sends more sap flowing down your thigh.

“There…” you stutter when he finds it, the aching spot that’s leaking profusely. He pushes the head in, not by teasing but by bullying, almost forcing it inside from how tight and unreceptive you are.

“Tighter than my fist,” is his only comment, and it makes you shudder. “I will not last long…”

You wince from the burn, but the rest of it glides in like a dream, and suddenly you’re filled, to the capacity, one could say. He grunts just from the way your womanhood is hugging him, not sure what this foreign object inside you is – is it a good thing or a threat?

“Easy then,” you breathe a huff into the sweet night air, filled with fireflies and night birds who know nothing about the fucking you’re about to go through.

He doesn’t move – inside you, that is. Outside, he crawls forward until he moulds around you, heavy body enveloping you completely. The hairs on his thighs tickle the back of your legs, his chest scrapes your back just so as he demonstrates how you belong to him in every way. But when your cunt starts to squeeze him again, he swallows thickly.

“Does this feel good to you too…?”

You catch faint confusion and concern in his voice, astonished that such a soft, frail body like yours can take his cock just like that. Little does he know you’re still adjusting to his size, thanking all the gods that he doesn’t move yet.

“Yes,” you confess because it does feel good: his thickness inside you, stretching you both gently and violently, studying how it feels to be inside a loving, wet heat.

“Then I will fuck you every day,” his lips come to brush your ear. “Many times...”

You hear yourself whimper, more humble now than ever. No man would dare to take you on all fours, but here you are, like a bought bride about to get stuffed…

He withdraws a little, asks, “Like this?” when he returns with a rough, nasty thrust. The balls meet your mound, heavy on the tender nub you’ve flicked when you’re lonely, covering your mouth while you do it. Both your hands are planted on the ground now, your legs spread before this beast, cunt filled to the brim with his cock.

“Not so rough,” you warn, and he heeds your instructions to the letter until he’s moving in and out with a slow, delicious pace that allows you to feel every thick bump of him. Soaked now down to your thighs, the sounds of your mating is utterly sloppy and slick, and of course he’s curious.

“Are you always like this…?”

“Like… what,” you huff in between the slow, torturous thrusts.

“Soft,” he rasps. “Tight… Wet like rain.”

“No. It’s just when…”

“When you want to fuck?”

You whimper for an answer, mostly because he starts to slip from the agreed sluggish pace. His cock invades you with more urgency, chasing the eruption that must be generous from those thick balls that should belong to a horse.

“I knew it…” he says dreamily behind you. “Some women want to mate with bulls...”

He punctuates his newfound pride with a full, deep thrust, and you wince.

“You’re not a–”

“Keep telling yourself that, little maiden.”

He exhales a hot smile next to your ear, and you’re neck deep in love. Your mouth hangs open, your lids half closed and fluttering from the way he pounds into your poor, abused cunt. Heavy balls slap your swollen nub with careless abandon, making you squeeze his thickness every time he hits the end of you. His grunts become more animalistic with every thrust, and your cunt is a wild thing, leaking and weeping and throbbing until you fear there’s something wrong with you – no woman is supposed to be this needy for a beast…

I’m going to come… You realize in horror as the slick sounds of fucking overthrow even the coursing roar of the waterfall. The knowledge shoots your body full of dark, hot ink; it explodes inside your core like a liquid star, throbbing through your cunt currently being ploughed like you’re nothing but a needy, sloppy hole for him. You’re swimming in so much pleasure that it’s almost painful, the revelation some secret of the gods, no doubt. 

He growls when you moan, heavy arm snaking its way around your middle to keep you in place for him. The purr is eager and low, the rumble erupts from his chest like a thick, loving volcano, a statement of how perfect you are. He nuzzles his nose into your neck and rubs his scent all over you while fucking you through it, the divine rapture that leaves your throat dry from moans. 

He doesn’t need to be told what it means when you’re crying like that: he doesn’t need to be explained that his cock is giving you ample pleasure. It’s so desperate, how much he wants to both fuck and please you, just own you and fulfill you, that you start to shake, your frail body not capable of handling the orgasm he just gave you. 

Your strength fails, and you find yourself on your elbows, cunt even more exposed to him now, the cock pistoning into you with a relentless pace. He’s like a titan upon you, taking pleasure from your quivering, weak frame and the tight wet hole that belongs to it. You’re still in rapture when he starts to sound like broken, wounded man.

“You were made for me,” he huffs. “You were made...for me…”

His voice evaporates along with your thin, adoring mewls, just before he fucks himself over the edge. You can feel the hot, thick spurts, filling you as he roars into your hair, balls pressed flush against your sex, thighs meeting yours in a moment frozen in time. 

They can probably hear him all the way to the city, hear what a cunt like yours does to an invincible beast like him… But his cries are only met with silence; the night sky looks back with disinterest, the birds continue their songs when they notice it was only the roar of a mighty beast that filled the land. Before long, he’s groaning above you, using your hole more softly; loving it until the last drop is milked. 

When he stops, his whole body is trembling from release, but you’re not given a moment of reprieve. He forces you to the ground with him on your back, the rough, thick body never leaving yours. Coarse beard chafes your neck, his body trapping you completely under him, he even opens his jaw to take your shoulder between his teeth and bites you while his cock is still pulsing fat inside you. 

“I can’t get enough of you,” he pants into your ear, angry, almost.

“Good,” you breathe a smile, but he’s not satisfied.

“You couldn’t get enough of me too… I noticed.”

“You gave me pleasure,” you agree. “Lots of it.”

“That was a lot of seed… I haven’t spilled in days.”

He huffs into your ear, astonished and proud that he could do such a thing. You feel him shift to take a better look at you, fingers arrive to graze your temple as if to make sure you’re real, as if having his cock inside you wasn’t enough proof of that. They’re a little shaky, a little uncouth, but the touch is gentle enough, and sweet.

He's boasting again perhaps, you don’t know, but you give him a soft laugh, notice how he stops breathing momentarily when hearing the bright sound.

“I am filled to the brim with you, yes… It will take a while before I can take more.”

“...You have other holes in you,” he offers after a while, quite seriously, in fact. 

“Get off me, you beast,” you huff and squirm to get out from under him, but there’s a luscious grin on your face, a smile that tells him you would more than approve of his obscene ideas later. 

“This feels good,” he murmurs into your hair. “This feels right...”

He allows you to leave from under him, only whines when his cock gets exiled from your cunt. He misses the wet heat like a newborn child misses the womb, but you need to recover from the recent invasion. Seed gushes out from your hole, making a mess on the ground as he pulls you against him, wanting to cuddle you next.

You wonder if he even knows what cuddling means as you lie there with a sticky mess between your legs and the heat of an entire sun on your cheeks. You smile into the coarse, sweaty body hair tickling your nose, deciding it doesn’t matter whether he knows or not: the most important thing is that he wants to hold you like this.

“Yes,” you smile. “This feels right…”

Something blooms in your chest. An odd flower, persistent and sweet. 

The stars above are cold but motherly as they look down on you two: born again into a world that doesn’t want either of you. The only things that accept you now are flowers, birds, the wind and the rain, bees and salty sea, but that’s aplenty. That’s more than the whole of Crete could ever give you.

“Are you thinking about your hero,” he asks above you.

“What? No…”

“Good,” he rasps, so softly now that you start to fear he’s about to cry.

You are more than capable of lying, but Theseus hasn’t crossed your mind in hours: the last time it did, the memory was received with loath and disdain. Thinking about Theseus while you’re draped all over your Bull, his seed flowing out of your womb... What a ridiculous idea. 

The reason for his hardly disguised anger is laid out plain before you: he's just jealous like any other man. Somehow, it makes you feel even more glowy inside.You’re my hero, you want to say, but have no courage to spill out the words. He was balls deep inside you mere moments ago, but telling him this intimate truth seems to be too much.

It never occurred to him, then, that you would enjoy copulating with him. He fucked you with the impression that you needed thoughts of another man to make you wet… That perhaps with the help of the image of Theseus in your mind, you were able to come with his cock inside you. 

“My Bull,” you whisper. “Tell me your name. You must have a name…?”

His breath stops only for a moment, the heart in his chest gives an arduous beat before he answers.

“Asterion.”

Starry one…

Of course.

All monsters have names, usually the opposite of what they’re claimed to be. His birth is in heaven, in the stars; he belongs to the company of heroes and gods.

“Asterion,” you whisper it out into the night air while the animal an man both find their new home in your arms. “Your birth is written in the stars. Did you even know…?”

“Does that make me a hero?” He snorts, more old wounds torn open right before your eyes. 

You wriggle yourself out of his hold, but he avoids your stare. You lift a hand to bring those beautiful Olympian eyes back to you.

“It makes you immortal.”

Perhaps you should’ve known he would be enticed with an apple instead of tethers and deals. Or with a palm, held out with no intent to strike… 

It’s lovely, how he blinks every time he’s confused. You’ve yet to see him shy, but if he ever is, this might be the moment… You even catch him swallowing under that wild facial hair, an awkward blob right after that blink when his birthright is acknowledged.

But even more dumbfounded he becomes when he realizes you’re truly and veritably admiring him. When you whisper it to him – you’re my hero – and watch something shatter in him that was supposed to wrench itself free, that’s when he’s truly granted divinity.

Perhaps it was all about becoming animal again, allowing the other to have a sniff. Baring your throat and embracing the instinct to trust. Marrying your wild soul… The deepest magic of all.

Welcome to the Show

Hello, hello! I'm Ghoul(they/them) and I write fic, like a lot of fic. This is my Directory

I write in second person(you) so all of my fic can be read as x reader, and you can think of any callsigns/nicknames as your own. However, my fic is technically x oc, if that's not for you no problem! I don't include descriptions or names in any of my fics. MDNI

COD AUs

Cowboys Fae Demons Ballet Medieval Sin Summer Ghost!Ghost Regency Au Cyberpunk Au I want the Darlings

FAQ:

Can I write Fic with your OCs?

Yep! Just tag me in it if you post it.

Can I tell you about an OC I have for [insert au]?

Of course! OC talk is always open, but posting is contained to the morning.

Can I draw you OCs?

Yes. BUT I try to keep their descriptions vague so people can use them as Reader inserts, so I might not post/reblog it if you submit/post the art.

Do you take requests?

Sort of. If you have thoughts I'd love to hear them and if they inspire me I'll write something, but it might not be exactly what you requested. I tend to use asks as jumping off points rather than direct requests.

Do you cross post to anywhere else?

Not currently! If you see my fic elsewhere that isn't me. I don't give my consent to have my work reposted anywhere else.

Could you make a character AI for [insert character or au]?

No. I absolutely abhor ai and hope it crashes and burns before it does any more damage to art and creativity. Role-Play in a discord server like an adult.

Do you have a list of your OCs anywhere?

Yup. Here you go!

Ghoul's Hozier Bullshit

Pillow Princess Ghost

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

So request kinda if not just sharing my thoughts in general.

Alex. My boy. What if reader is a civ or even another soldier in a different squad and the whole thing with him joining Farah’s forces indefinitely. I think this can really lend itself to some angst and that good old misunderstanding. Kinda leaning towards civ!reader just because the more miscommunication. I guess it’d have to be an angsty ending though 😳, but regardless-

Love your writing and, as always, feel free to change anything or do whatever gives you the most inspiration

World Caves In

PAIRING: Alex Keller x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Perhaps it would have been better if your husband had died - at the very least you could understand that.

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, misunderstandings/miscommunication, hurt/comfort, vulgar language, abandonment?, Alex being an adorable husband, fluff, etc.

A/N: I was gonna make this an angsty ending but I got my period and thinking about that made me cry so here we are, lmao. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you’d been escorted out of work by two uniformed men, you knew the news wasn’t going to be good. Sitting in the back of a large black car, you spare nervous glances as the vehicle jumps, its wheels going over the last speed bump. Your work building begins to become a fraction of a memory and disappears faster than your resolve. 

The men sit on either side of you, silent, and the only comment is to the driver as you all enter the main road. Swallowing, you part your lips and mutter, plain dread in your tone, “Is he alive?”

All you get is a glance from the front mirror and nothing more. You hunch more in your seat and stew in agony, mind far off on the topic of your husband. 

Alex wasn’t overly reckless, you’d managed to snuff most of that out over the course of the many years you’d expressed concern to him about it, but a large chuck of the blond was still too selfless for his own good. It was hard not to think the worst. 

From training to advising, your husband was always off on one mission to another, far from your quaint and quiet home here—where you waited day after day for even a sliver of contact from him. Alex specialized in so many things that trying to wrap your head around it was impossible.

Even now, you only knew the bare minimum. 

The soft-smiled man worked in the SAD division of the CIA. He’s an Operations Officer. Currently, he’s somewhere across the globe. 

Away from you.

Thinning your lips, you take down a deep breath and settle back into the seat, pulse flying. The men were obviously Agents—you’d looked closely at their badges when they’d first shown their faces at the front desk and had kept within view of your work’s security cameras just in case this was a ruse. When you could find nothing out of the ordinary, you had tensely asked them what was happening. 

They would be holding his dog tags if he was dead, you had reasoned, desperately, a flag. 

It was frantic, the way you had thought that up; how could you not be like that? Alex was the light of your life! With him constantly putting his life on the line, it was inevitable for him to get hurt, sometimes seriously. It was ingrained into your mind the way you would help clean his wounds in the middle of the night when the pain woke him up with a grunt stuck in his throat. The way you would sit half-asleep in his lap and re-wrap bandages while he told you to go back to bed half-heartedly. His hands drifting over your warm skin like he was cascading his fingers up and down the spine of an old book.

You never listened. 

“It’s late, Bug, I can’t keep you up like this.” His drawl echoes in your ear as you rub a heavy palm into your eye. Alex’s hands are both on your hips, squeezing the flesh just below your tiny sleep shorts. You have him sitting on the floor, back resting on the wall and shirt discarded to the side only wearing loose gray sweatpants. A long cut up his left pec is the center of your blurry attention—a wet rag held as you dab at it. Blue eyes narrow at you. “I’m just fine with doing it myself, y’know.”

“You’re being stubborn again,” you utter, the soft light of the bathroom placed at half-capacity to at least try and keep some of the veil of sleep over your heads. “I told you to wake me up when you needed it cleaned.” Your skin brushes his and Alex shivers under you, sighing breathily. “And you’re not keeping me here—I’m helping.” 

A small flash of that full smile, mustache flinching up, “Well when you look so pretty sleepin’ I can’t just shake you awake and tell you to fix me up.” 

You take your free hand and pinch his nose, yawning as he grunts out chuckles. A delicate glance is thrown his way as the rag lowers from reddened skin. Like a butterfly's whisper, you study his face gently; reaching and cupping his cheek with your palm. 

Alex’s lids flutter, heavy weight falling into you as if waiting for this—lips pressing to your inner wrist in reverence. You hold back a tired giggle and feel the corner of his mouth pull up when he feels it.

“All that talk, and yet,” pressing a smooch to his forehead you take your hand back and hear the grumble he lets out after, “you still like it better when I’m the one that’s working on you.”

“Can’t complain too much,” he admits slowly as his head leans back to tap the wall, “my wife’s hands are way softer than mine.” 

Alex’s grip on your flesh tightens when you sipe away the last line of crimson from the wound, tattooed arms flexing. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, watching his eyes slightly awash with pain. “Got caught on a stitch.”

“Ah, well,” the blond sighs, shifting “I suppose I can forgive you.” 

Laughing quietly as the house settles, you shake your head and rest your forehead on his. 

“Such a saint,” your lips utter teasingly as Alex smiles wide, his hands moving higher to your waist. You lean into him, stealing his warmth as your tired eyes flutter; feeling his thumbs run circles over the flesh of your lower spine. 

A content breath escapes you.

“Go back to bed, Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, lips brushing yours like silk, the bristles of his facial hair tickling you. “I can do the rest, promise.”

“Know you can,” your mutterings are barely heard, but the man seems to register them, sea-glass gaze incredibly soft. He chuckles at your sleepiness, one hand leaving your waist to capture the back of your head; weaving into your hair and gently massaging your scalp. You practically melt into him, limbs going slack, slurring out, “Quit it. Wanna help, Alex.”

His laughter shakes you, and with a huff escaping, you bury your burning face into his neck and lean into him, careful of his wound even in your fatigued state. 

“No offense, Bug,” Alex shifts, grunting as he easily maneuvers you until you’re laying in his arms, inked forearms under your knees and behind your shoulders with vivid images of grim reapers, snakes, and angels guarding you close. A kiss is firmly pressed to your forehead as the blonde smirks downwards, “But you’re about as helpful to me right now as an empty mag.”

You grumble, trying to disappear into his skin and letting him dig his stubble into your cheek. 

“If you bring me back to bed before you’re done,” you yawn and close your eyes, “I’m divorcing you.”

He laughs deeply into your ear, body shaking as he pulls back and sends you an incredulous look. 

“Hell, we can’t have that, can we, Mrs. Keller? I’d lose my damn mind.” 

It’s a long drive, and you worry through the entirety of it. A primal, whole-body-shaking type of fear. You’d built a life with Alex and loved him more than anything or anyone that had come before. Even if he was gone a lot, that had never dulled what the two of you had—your marriage was nothing short of something you would find in a fairy tale; flashing pictures on pages with vivid colors and tender glances. The very cover itself is made of the finest leather and inlaid with gold calligraphy. 

Please, Alex, you plead in your head as you remember his loving gaze—his back as he makes supper in the kitchen and hums to himself. Please be okay.

The men hold open the car door when it comes to a stop outside a very obviously abandoned apartment complex near the outskirts of town. You get out quickly. Looking around, you take in the overgrown grass and the broken concrete with a knife in your lung; holding back the flood of anxious tears. 

Though, confusion takes president. 

“Where did you…?” You turn to look at the Agents, but they’re already clambering back into their car and snapping the doors shut. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed you watch them speed off as a cloud of dust drifts into the air. 

Pulse echoing in your ears, you watch the vehicle speed down the road and disappear. 

Swallowing, you whisper, “What the actual fuck?” Turning in circles, no one else is around. A part of you starts to worry less for Alex and more for yourself.

They were CIA, you reiterate, I checked their badges—Alex showed me the standard ones. Could I have missed something? 

Expression nervous, you shift on your feet before your stuttering legs take you closer to the abandoned building, not really seeing much choice here. You could imagine the scene from The Wizard Of Oz—when the man pulls back the curtain and all is revealed. 

That said, you could really only hope that was what was actually happening to you and you weren't getting kidnapped or shot. Taking a deep breath, you clench your fists and enter the building through the open front door. 

It was in the wide lobby that you locked eyes with Kate Laswell. You blank, mouth parting as the scent of concrete and decaying furniture get stuck in your nose. 

The woman seems highly agitated, brows tight and jaw clenched. Her white blouse had been flattened multiple times by rough hands, lanyard swaying on her neck like Alex’s dog tags would. She holds a file in her hands; the paper bulky as if holding something more than just paper inside its manila clutches.

“Kate?” You ask, confused, “What are you doing here? What’s all of this about?” Taking quick steps forward you splay your hands as your voice grows more serious. “Where’s my damn husband?” 

You didn’t know Laswell personally, in fact, when you had first got a glimpse of her here, you’d forgotten the older woman’s name for a moment. The first meeting between the two of you had been at a CIA get-together that Alex had been forced to go to because of his position—some celebration because a group of ICBMs had been taken back into US hands after being stolen. Your husband had introduced you to the Station Chief over a drink with a hand on the small of your back.

But it didn’t stop you now from talking to her like you’d known her for years. Not when fear was flooding your veins.

“What the hell is going on?” You say harshly, glancing around the room for any sight of someone else here. 

Kate sighs heavily but wastes no time in speaking, her professional tone and serious face leaving your already fast-paced heart racing.

“Alex isn’t coming back to the United States.” Your eyes blank, staring into icy blue. She holds out her manila folder, jaw tight. Blunt. “He’s a deserter.” 

It’s like your entire being halts; your skin suit feels as if it’s sagging on your bones with the weight of a cinder block connected by hooks to the floor. 

What did she just say?

Opening and closing your mouth you stutter, lids blinking rapidly. 

“I…” Fingers flinching in the air, an exhalation from your nose sounds more like a wheeze. Kate watches stiffly, taking a look at the floor before returning her attention to you; emotion flashes in her eyes. “...W-what?”

“Keller deserted his post—I tried to speak with the Colonel but there’s only so much I can do.” Laswell takes a deep breath as you continue to go through shock. Alex wasn’t coming home? How, why? “He’s staying in Urzikstan to fight with the Liberation Force.”

“Urzikstan?!” You gape, but the woman continues. 

“For all intents and purposes, I shouldn’t be here, but Alex asked me personally to hand these to you.” Again the manilla folder is shown to you, but when you only glare and fight the fear and confusion rampaging in your gut a sigh echoes out and it’s placed on a termite-eaten side table. “Even communicating with you could put you in danger now that he’s gotten on the bad side of the entire SAD and CIA branches. This is all I can do.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hand coming up to capture your mouth. 

“If Alex re-enters the states—he’ll be arrested and tried in a court of law. If he’s not shot on sight for what he knows.” Kate watches you closely, shaking her head in pity. “I’m sorry,” there’s a strained pause, “but he’s made his decision.” 

As she brushes past you, leaving the folder on the side table, you feel your wide eyes well with tears—confused and horrified. But he’s coming back to me, right? Alex…Alex wouldn’t leave me here alone.

It was common knowledge that over the last years the blond had gotten more agitated at his line of work; the orders that he didn’t want to follow but had no choice. No voice. But he can’t just abandon you...could he? You’d taken vows. Had a happy marriage and relationship. Loved each other.

He can’t just…he can’t…

Your hands shake and you’re unable to stop them, gaze locked on that unassuming manilla folder. Kate pauses in the doorway, peeking back and seeing your sickly-looking face, the agony written in the lines of your forehead. Like the picture of a loyal wife being told her husband was never coming home. And Alex wasn’t even dead. Resentment begins to burn. 

But he made his bed. 

“He told me to tell you that he wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to leave him,” was all she said, a final knife being stabbed into your heart and being ripped out like a live wire. Electricity makes your back go stiff in an instant. “It would be best to never tell anyone that we met.” 

You were alone, full body shivers and bile stuck in the back of your throat. Cold sweat coats your palms, a sticky mess of your barebones disturbance. 

“He…” your voice is hoarse, bouncing off the far walls. “Alex left me here? He left me.”

It was easier to say that the sun had exploded and you were waiting for the last beam of light to incinerate you. Inside of your skull your brain pounds as, in a mad dash of desperation, you rush to the manilla folder and rip it open with vibrating arms.

Having Laswell tell you that Alex wouldn’t be mad if you…if you…the hairs on the back of your neck rise and suddenly you’re angry beyond a sliver of a doubt. It was insulting.

“Alex fucking Keller,” the paper opens to the bulk of your husband's dog tags and a flip phone—reports like his own personal file and the patch that he had once worn so proudly on his combat vest. Red, white, and blue dig into your retinas; it was old, worn beyond measure, but that little patch was something that was never removed. Not even to be cleaned. 

“The dirtier it is,” Alex had commented on the American flag patch when you’d offered to mend it for him, cringing at all the blood stains and dirt flecking off it as he slipped his vest off in the foyer of your home. “The luckier I am.” 

“I think the stench of it alone will frighten off anyone who comes near,” you had raised a brow, smirking up at him as he walked over, laughing. A kiss is placed on your lips, Alex’s bright smile transferring over to you as if able to spread from his mouth to yours that simply. You sigh dreamily. 

He pulls back with a tiny wink as you gaze up at him, cheekily stating, “That’s the plan, Sweet Thing. Gotta make sure I come home to you in one piece.”

You brush your hands over it and think that maybe it would have been better if he had died. Then you could understand why he’s doing this to you. Anger spreads into rage. 

Looking next at the phone and dog tags, all you do is shake your head and slam the folder shut, bitter tears tracking your face. You can’t read anything—can’t see his name imprinted on that metal that used to press coldly into your skin as you both slept in bed. You don’t care about the phone or the files. 

None of it mattered.

“He fucking left me here,” it’s like you’re a broken record replaying over and over again. “You absolute bastard, Keller!” Yelling, you press your fingers into your face, hands spreading over your eyes and mouth to muffle your enraged sobs. 

“You’re still alive and you left me alone.” 

Only the abandoned building echoes your pain; replaying it back over and over again as your wails echo around the lobby like a symphony of laughing jesters. 

—

The phone that Laswell had given you had been going off at least three times every day—morning, noon, and at night. You had stared at it with fury, knowing exactly who was calling even if the thing was displaying an unknown number. By now you had steeped in your anger enough that you had found yourself snapping at friends and family alike when asked if you were alright. 

You wished Alex was here so you could hit him upside the head for being so stupid. So you could hate him until you had the pleasure to love him again.

Urzikstan. 

You’d looked up the country after you had spent two days straight in bed, afterward manically cleaning the house with a glare that could light fires. The far-off place was a land utterly divided by war. Russian occupation, a terrorist group; the force that your husband had joined. Mass against mass against mass.

Brick meets wall.

And Alex had chosen to stay—without a doubt because he’d seen the dire situation and had used that damnable good heart of his to empathize to the max. Forget donations, humanitarian work, or anything else, the man had fucking decided to join in a Liberation Force. 

As much as you wanted to say you hated him; had wanted to slam your gold wedding band to the table with a good riddance for betraying you like that…you still had his dog tags around your neck, and the ring was still on your finger. 

“Too good for his own sake,” you grumble, shoving dirty clothes into the washer like they had tried to attack you. “Deserted the fucking CIA, Jesus Alex. Do you even think when I’m not around?” 

There were only so many times you could curse his name until you felt a deceiving needle of pride slither itself into your skull. You could describe Alex as many things but he would always be steadfast in causes that truly needed his help. He often told you that the best missions were the ones where he could do so much more than take out a target—he strived to help the individuals he met. Form bonds. 

God forbid something came in between the blond and the ones he’d chosen to give his loyalty to.

You slam the washer shut and stomp into the living room after starting another cycle. Stress cleaning was really not a good look on you—the entire house was without a single spec of dust but you yourself felt like you’d run seven marathons. Clenching your teeth, you go and drop to the couch, a grunt falling from your lips as your head hits the pillow.

Staring at the ceiling, you finally take in the utter silence of the house—not a home, because it could only be that if Alex was here—with a pained crease forming on your brow. The pipes spit water, and the washer grunted its mechanical garble…but there was no humming man making food in the kitchen. No blond hair visible as a head rests on your chest; your fingers playing in the locks that act like silk as you part them, the man on top of you purring. Body a weighted blanket.

“Was it really that easy,” you whisper to nothing, lip quivering. “Was it really that easy to stay away, Alex? I thought…I…” 

Eyes wrenching shut, you hear the phone right at noon again as it sits on the coffee table. And you let it. 

There were voicemails, no doubt, but you hadn’t thought to listen to those either. This small act of rebellion was all you could act on but for the simple fact that it also harmed you. Barbed wire steadily digging deeper as it kept your hands wound to your sides—neck plastered to the pillow as bright silver spikes glinted. You stare at the unknown caller who really wasn’t all that unknown and watch the screen light, vibrating over the wood in steady intervals. 

What hurt the most was that if he’d asked you to come along—become an Expat just for him—you would have said yes. You could find a new job, a new place to call home. Humanitarian work would have been at the top of your list and Alex…well….he would still be fighting, just as he always had. 

But at the very least you would have been there to clean his wounds. Together. You’d both promised on that altar to do nothing less. He could’ve asked. He should have asked. 

Alex…

“Urzikstan,” you mutter for what seems like the fiftieth time. When the ringing stops a few moments later the new voicemail icon flashes. Placing your arm over your mouth, you clench your hand so tight it starts to shake, whispering into your skin, “Fine. I guess you did make your bed. And…and I won't be there to lie in it with you.” No matter how much I want to.

You slip the wedding band off of your finger and place it beside the phone before turning and burying your head into the cushions; feeling more numb than you ever had before.

—

It carried on like this for three months. The ring didn’t move from the coffee table and neither did the flip phone; the file had all but been tossed in the trash as it sat teetering on the living room desk. You carried on as well as you could, all things considered. 

Work was a blur, going out with friends even harder to enjoy, and any enjoyment of hobbies or activities was dulled to an almost gray existence. Like a ghost, you wafted through experiences with dog tags and a withering appearance. Eventually, you just stopped going out unless it couldn’t be helped. You still bought meals for two at the grocery store out of habit. You placed blankets where Alex used to sleep beside you. You went to work. 

And still, the calls never stopped except for a brief pause after the first month. You’d thought he’d finally given up, but no. Back at it.

It had gotten to a point now where the device was automatically deleting all recent voicemails—too little space in the inbox. 

Angry curiosity was tempting you. It would be easy, you reason, to simply play the first message and listen. The worst part of it was that you’d begun to forget Alex’s voice and perhaps that was why, on that dead-aired Saturday, you snatched the phone and brought it into the kitchen. 

Firmly planting it on the counter, you stand behind one of the island chairs and glare, hands tapping into the wood. 

“I’m giving you three minutes, Alex,” you speak as if he’s still here, as if his form stands right behind you, head tilted like a damn dog with that infectious smile and those sea-glass eyes. “Three minutes,” your fingers snap the device open and you go to your voicemails; jaw tight, “and if you don’t hear you groveling, Keller, I’m deleting all of them and chucking this phone into the sink.” 

You go down the line to the very first message, small buttons clicking, and before you can stop yourself you press play.

It begins with a small moment of silence. A cough. 

“Hey,” he says your first name, not one of your epithets. Your brows deepen their annoyed furrow, but you can’t help the uptick in your heart rate. Inside your flesh, the sinews of your throat close in on itself like a balloon. “I…I’m guessin’ I have a good enough ass-kicking waiting for me since you didn’t answer.” A strained laugh before another pause. You feel acidic tears boil behind your lids. “I’m not surprised—not really. Done some stupid things but never something like this.” You can hear him shake his head, voice going lower in defiance. “But they were asking me to leave Urzikstan in a worse place than when I entered it. This Liberation Force, Bug, it…they’re good people and what they’re asking me to do…” Alex huffs, growling under his throat. “I can’t stand by that. The man you chose to marry, he can’t stand by that. They need me here. I’m not asking you to not be angry—to not hate me for this. I know I damn well deserve it.”

You let your tears hit the counter, head slightly bowing over. That was your Alex. 

“You need a leash,” your strained voice hits the walls, bouncing off picture frames and your husband's cooking utensils. The small pieces that make up the whole picture frame of your life. “God,” you huff wetly, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I know I should have talked to you first, figured out some plan. But, uh,” Alex’s throat gets choked up, and you snap a hand to your mouth when you realize he’s close to tears. He clears his throat. “Hell, I should have done a lot of things, Sweetheart.” 

You can hear shouts in the background, calls in Arabic. The pounding of a door and a woman’s voice.

“Alex, we need to move! Everyone is ready—Barkov’s lab cannot be left standing a moment longer.” The hurried hand to the line muffles the words, but you hear him anyway.

“Affirmative!” He comes back. “I don’t have time to explain more, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… everything. I’d understand if you don’t use the passport Laswell’ll give you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stop calling.” Alex laughs and your face freezes.

“Passport?”

“What kind of Husband would I be if I just let the most perfect woman in the world go without a fight, huh? I’ll be waiting until you call to tell me to shut the hell up and leave you alone or that you’re down in the airport waiting.” There’s a large sound of combat vests being clicked on—pistols being situated into holsters and a rifle strap slipped over a chest. Alex suddenly pauses and you stare at the phone blankly. “I know this is a big ask, Doll, and I know I’m horrible for even springin’ this on you when I’m half a world away from our bed. But I had to try, even if it was selfish. I just…I just really need to hear your voice telling me if I’m an idiot or not for thinking this up. Call me back soon…or when you run out of my clothes to burn in the firepit out back…I love you, okay? More…more than anything.” 

There’s a minute or two of nothing, just Alex’s ragged breathing, and then there’s an older man’s voice ordering him to hurry up. The line clicks. 

Your ears ring as it does, wide eyes dripping tears from your bottom lashes as your lungs chill over. Hand slowly flinching out, you ghost over the keys before clicking on the following voicemail. As it plays, your feet start to take you backward at a snail's pace, your spine flattering against the wall as blood drains to your feet. 

“Hey, it’s me again. I still haven’t heard from you—that’s alright. Take your time.” Steadying yourself with a hand, you look out of the kitchen and get a glimpse of the manila folder on the desk, its tan hide sucking you in. Pulse in your throat, you rush out to grab it as Alex’s voice echoes. “I know Laswell gave you the file, I trust her that much at least.” A sigh. “But even if it’s just to yell at me, please pick up the phone soon. Let me save some of my dignity and give me a chance to beg on an open line, huh, Sweetheart…? But I guess that’s all—gotta go. I love you.” 

You don’t play the next message because you’re ripping open the file with rabid hands, seeing exactly as you had when Laswell left it for you. Alex’s mission report; his patch. The dog tags around your neck clink together like a song, some brutal rhythm. 

“Passport?” Grasping the mission report you pick it up, flipping through the multiple pages of blacked-out words and more confused than ever. “Airport?” 

The words come out as whimpers, hands so shaky that the pages slip from your fingers. They slam to the floor in a flurry of bond paper and you curse loudly, snatching for the remnants futilely. Grasping on your hands and knees hitches build in your breath as your fingers dance rapidly before they slip across something distinctly not paper. 

Small, tiny, and blue. Laminate. 

Your very blood seems to stop in your veins. Pushing back one last piece of paper, you come face to face with a singular American passport. Gasping down mute breaths and licking your lips, you pick it up lightly, leaning back on your legs as if you’d just slammed your head into the concrete. 

“Alex…” you whisper to no one. 

Flipping the hard cover open, a small, palm-sized piece of paper slips out to your lap as your own face stares at you in image form. You blink for a moment before going to take the note and separate the ends. Formal script is inside, stiff lettering. Not your husband's handwriting, but you didn’t have to guess who’d written out these directions for you. 

Laswell.

There was a destination in fountain pen ink—an airport near the Urzikstanian and Georgian border. Seeing as Urzikstan was on the travel-ban list due to the turbulence of the government and terrorist threats, you wouldn’t be able to get there directly. 

But you supposed Kate had your back for that too. 

Georgian safehouse - wait for Keller there. It’s secure. More directions and then a small gap. A pause. Good luck.

You don’t know how long you stare at that paper—that passport. The first thing you think about is how could Alex ask you to do this. Uproot yourself with the snap of a finger. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything beyond what could fit in a few suitcases. No furniture, no large amount of clothes, or even sentimental items. You’d have to quit your job; leave behind family and friends to travel to a war-torn country.

But he’d said it was your choice, and he wouldn’t push you to make it. He’d said you could leave him if you wanted—keep all of this that you’d built here.

…But you’d built it together, hadn’t you? 

You think of Alex’s bright smile and his mustache. His tattoos. How he’d hold you so tight in the long hours of sleep that you half-believed he thought you’d disappear if he didn’t; nuzzling his nose into the back of your head and grumbling out nonsense. The way you could trace his scars and watch as he willingly submitted to your praise, delicate lips curving into sheepish grins as you place soft kisses on the raised skin. Red cheeks.

This place wasn’t a home without Alex in it.

You look over at the coffee table and lock onto the gold of your wedding band.

—

Getting into Georgia was a long affair of paperwork and screenings—not days but months of legal jargon that Alex had dodged entirely because of his desertion. By the time you’d landed in country, you were wholly exhausted down to the very marrow of your bones. You get through the checkpoints, pick up your bags, and look out at the entirely new world outside of the airport’s windows. 

“Okay,” you swallow saliva and nod carefully before looking down at Laswell’s directions to the safehouse. 

You slip the paper into your pocket after memorizing the address, tips of your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the flip phone. Clenching your eyes shut, you take your hand back out and go to try and hire a driver. You were here, but that doesn’t mean all of this was forgiven. 

After you find someone able to drive you to where you need to go, you end up standing with a quaint hostel ahead of you, home far behind. Gazing slightly nervous at the strange place you’ve found yourself, you think of Alex’s hand on the small of your back and sigh; caressing the cool metal of the ring around your finger. 

Walking forward, you hitch your bags over your shoulders and grit your teeth against the hot sun. When you meet the owner at the front desk you state your name and ask for a bed. 

The man’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks at something on his countertop, raising a brow in thought. Grabbing at a stack of papers he holds up a finger and begins digging. Too tired and overwhelmed to ask what was wrong, you just watch and rub at your face. 

“Ah,” the man snaps his fingers and laughs to himself, “here it is! I knew I had placed the note somewhere, Mrs. Keller.” You blink, confused, but the man just takes a key from the wall and motions for you to follow. Sparing a glance around for a moment, you slowly slink after, not really having a choice.

“I remember your Husband coming to me—the blond with the tattoos.” The owner looks back, making sure you’re following. He motions to his right side with splayed fingers. “Scars on the side of his head, to reserve a room.”  

Alex was here? How much had he done already pertaining to the chance that you would show up? 

“Y-yeah,” you chuckle stiffly, “that was him. Sorry for being so long I was…preoccupied.”

“You’re lucky he kept up on payments,” the man grumbles, opening a door with the key and motioning you inside. “My pleasure to finally have you, regardless.”

Entering the small and sparse room, you take the key from him with a thankful smile and a quick thank you before he closes the door. As the barrier thuds, you sway on your feet. Blinking. Breathing hard. You drop all of your bags with a heavy thump that echoes off the walls in a single instant. Heart pounding at everything that was striking you in an instant, you walk slowly back to the bed. You don’t bother to take a shower or brush your teeth; even change. 

You fall down on the mattress and pray you don’t have to dream about Alex sending money to this place every week simply on a suffocating hope that you’d come back to him. You pray you don’t dream at all. 

The phone wakes you up only thirty minutes later.

Groaning, you shift your body so your hand can snake into your pocket, grasping it and tossing it to the pillow beside your head. You’d never made it through all of the voicemails without crying, so you just deleted all of them and let the inbox fill back up again. 

Feeling the dog tags press against your chest as you form your chest into the bed, you shove your head downward and listen to it ring. 

Bring-bring, bring-bring, bring-bring

It happens in a flurry of a sleep-addled mind and a horrible desperation to see your husband after nearly a full year of no contact. You flip it open and answer with your nose pressed deeply into the pillow below you. Ears straining and pulse running like a starving cat after a mouse. 

Dead silence. 

“...Sweetheart…?” It’s pitiful how fast the tears flood you at Alex’s shocked and tiny voice. Tight breathing sounds over the line from his end and your other hand digs into your scalp. A small, cut-off laugh. “Hey…I—” 

You hang up with a vicious slam of the screen and let the silence settle again. People walk the hall; the sun dims as night sets in. This isn’t home. Dropping the phone back down to the pillow you curl into a tight ball and cry yourself back to sleep.

If you had to guess, you’d say the small curse was what woke you for the second time, though you didn’t register it until minutes later. That muffled ‘shit’ as a foot hits your dropped bags near the door. But then it’s silent again and your ears only twitch to the gentle sigh that brushes against your face; a thumb and forefinger caressing your cheek as hair is placed back over your ear. 

Perhaps the only reason at all as to why you don’t wake up screaming bloody murder is because of his calluses. They burn your flesh as they slide over it—as ingrained into your very being as your own heart is. As if Alex’s touch was another organ that was needed to survive. More important than a liver or a spleen. 

When your eyes slip open he’s leaning back in a chair he had turned to face you, built form shifting as the rickety wood creaks. No more than five feet away sits your husband, and all you do is suck in a tight breath and lock gazes with soft sea glass. 

Alex freezes at the same time, strong brow line peeling back and mustache stiff as his lips immediately thin. You both stare for a good while, a thread of tension entering the air. The night deepens. 

He speaks first, in the dense hours of confrontation. Your heart feels like it’s been stuck with a spear, vignette at the sides of your vision, and a blooming center of only Alex’s body and his messy hair. The scarf around his neck. The combat vest. 

Had he driven all this way to see if you were here? Because you’d answered the phone? But you hadn’t even said anything. Your head stays on the pillow, wondering if you were hallucinating.

“Hey,” Alex forces a chuff before he glances away, nervous arms crossed. “Hey there, Doll. Sorry that I woke you. I…ah,” your eyes bore into him, hand on the sheets slowly clenching into a fist. “I figured there was an off chance you would be here.” He clears his voice, throat closing on a trying laugh. “Guess I’m glad I looked. You should remember to lock your door, by the way.” 

At the sight of your rising glare, his tone drops, expression falling even more than it already was. Deep well of sadness grew in his eyes, lips pulling back in a strained agony. 

Alex’s gaze drops to the floor. 

“I know,” is what hits the air, “I know, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it,” you push your body up as his large shoulders tighten—such an accomplished and strong man brought to a squirming heap when his wife’s sharp words hit him in the chest. “What the hell were you thinking, Alex?!”

Heavy feet hit the floor as you stalk over, fatigue and tiredness pushed all the way to the back of your mind yet also enhancing your emotions. Bitter rage was sparking—held in far too long. Alex’s eyes don’t meet yours, so you grab him by the chin and angle his head up to you. 

At the sight of your red sclera and the baggy gaze he stills. Under your grip his beard tickles you, the soft grip of flesh that makes you want to wrap your arms over him and weep; make him promise to never leave like that again. 

“I…I wasn’t…”

“That’s the thing isn’t it—you didn’t think.” Sea glass floods over, going glossy; hurt etched into both of your faces as if carved from the same stone. But you don’t stop now, growling out as your skin burns. Alex isn’t sad that you’re angry, he’s sad he’s done this to you. “You disappeared, Alex. Laswell had to just drop all of this shit on me. I thought you had died.” You growl. “Do you know what that feels like?!” 

“Sweetheart—”

“Shut up! You let me talk,” he falls silent, hand delicately coming up to grab your wrist. Not to pull you away, just to hold you. To feel your skin and the heat of it. You sniffle and his eyes break. “And the worst part of it was that if you had just asked I would have followed you right then and there.” Alex sharply looks back at you. “But the biggest insult was that you thought I would leave you—that you even considered that.” 

Shock slowly gives way to a blank expression. He was confused, now.

Was that what you were angry about?

“You’re an idiot, Keller. Hot-headed. Cocky.” You shake your head, but a tiny smile begins to bleed onto Alex’s face. Watching you like you’d just sprung a million dollars on him. His grip slightly squeezes, calloused thumb running the span of your knuckles as you shake his head with your hand. “Damn nuisance to my health, is what you are.” Trying to remain angry is tough when he’s looking at you like that—starstruck—but you spit out, “It’s insulting that you thought I’d just give up on us that easily.”

“Most women don’t want a man who’s wanted for desertion, Doll,” Alex whispers, testing a smirk on his lips with his expression still strained. 

“Arrogant!” your voice snaps. “Not a single brain cell in his stupid little head.” You let go of his chin and grip the sides of his skull, feeling the dirty but still soft strands of hair before you huff at him. 

But he just looks at you and smiles, face smooshed. 

“...You really came?” Alex asks quietly. You fall silent and after a moment you deflate.

After the silence of trying to keep the sneer on your face, you let it drop, lips quivering slightly. Anger glints with pain. “I should hit you upside the head, Keller, for all the worry you’ve put me through,” you grunt, eyes flashing over every new bruise on his face—every cut you’d have to re-learn. He looks tired. 

Oh, Alex…

Before the blond can respond to you, you’ve captured the back of his head and shoved it into your chest; face burying itself into his scalp to bring forth that scent of dust and cologne. You whimper out as he grips you around the waist with just as much fervor, “Did you think that I would stay away?”

Alex says nothing, only the slight tremor in his bicep betraying him. You firmly kiss his skull and run your fingers through his hair, the both of you so tight together there’s barely enough room in your ribs to allow your lungs to inflate. 

But holding him was more important than air, a sentiment that Alex seemed to share entirely. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, Bug.” He mutters into your skin. “Feels good to be able to hold my girl again.”

You stay like that for a long time before you pull back and capture his cheeks, face pulling closer before you kiss him deeply. It’s not a fast-paced or desperate thing—no clashing teeth or tongue. That wasn’t what you needed right now. 

All that you needed was Alex. Your home. 

You both separate and the blond grabs the back of your neck, forcing you back so he can lay another on the side of your mouth; nose, cheek. Anywhere that he could reach as his mustache tickled you to a smile. Giggles worm out and you wiggle out of his grip to wipe at your cheeks, spreading away tiny tear tracks and saliva.

“Quit it,” you whisper, and Alex gazes up at you reverently from his chair.

“Negative, Ma’am,” he says, equally as soft, not even blinking. “Don’t wanna.” You roll your eyes, face hot. 

The seconds draw long of only watching one another before you shake your head and move your hands to shimmy out of the dog tags around your neck. Alex’s gaze locks on the metal swiftly, smile shifting.

“You’re horrible.” You huff, quietly, before shoving his dog tags at his chest. “Now put them back on.”

“But I’m not in the—” Your glare shuts him up. Alex clears his throat sheepishly. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

You nod and watch as they’re resituated around his neck. Right where they should be. When you take a step back to really take him in, there’s a moment where you skim over the state of his left leg. After all, the metal was barely noticeable in the dark. But when you do see it every little part of you shrivels up with confused pain.

Alex stands with a noticeable preference to his right and as he towers over you, fingers coming to grab at your face and slowly drag it back up.

A slightly apologetic look washes over him.

“I’m guessing you didn’t listen to all of the voicemails.” 

“Alex…” you slowly cut off. “You…” Staring at the metal limb instead of the real one, you gape. “...how?”

“Y’know,” he laughs, but you don’t find this funny. He notices and kisses your forehead, tapping his scalp to yours and saying after a contemplative pause, “I think it’s better if I don’t explain it. I’m alright, just...” Alex smiles cheekily, the spark that you love coming back easily as it shimmers in his eyes, “just a little more carbon fiber and aluminum than I was before.” 

You hug him tightly.

“I’m sorry, I should have come sooner—I was just angry, and I wasn’t—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Alex sighs, grabbing you and maneuvering the both of you to the bed. He sits and you end up laying in his lap like that moment in the bathroom ages ago. “None of this is your fault, okay? You deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have put such a burden on you.” 

You sigh in his arms, head under his chin and heart finally able to return to a steady pace. Licking your lips, you ask, “Does it hurt?” 

Sending a glance down, Alex’s lips twitch with a grin before it disappears. He hums.

“Sometimes.” Your hand grips his opposite cheek and you lay a kiss on his chin, caressing his flesh.

It’s a tentative kind of love. An understanding and a plea all at once. 

The blond leans back against the wall and pulls you closer, closing his eyes. Finally relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. But his girl is in his arms, and he’s never been this calm.

“I have a home in Urzikstan,” he confesses lightly, fingers brushing your body and giving way to shivers. You listen, eyes fluttering at the vibrations of his words. “It’s safe—protected. I…want us to live there.” Alex nods against your head, swallowing. “If you’ll come back with me.”

“Yes,” your answer is immediate. “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.” 

You feel his breath hitch, soft chuckles brushing your hair far better than any comb. There’s a small tremor in his voice as he says, “I love you. God, do I love you.” 

Your lips pull up, body growing heavy with a final sense of home.

“I love you, too.” Soft kisses and tight arms. Shifting tattoos. “But if you ever do something like that again without talking to me, I’m telling Laswell she has permission to put a bullet in your ass.”

His loud laughs shake your body, and you press your face into his neck to steady yourself; smiling.

NEW TAGLIST SIGN-UP: Here

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm

MIGUEL O’HARA VOICE PORN

These are voice accurate especially the 2nd one

UWU

masterlist

S I M O N R I L E Y.

♡ fics –

TAKE WHAT YOU NEED (3.5k words) MONSTER (16.5k words)

♡ drabbles –

simon cucks some poor guy for flirting with u simon and aftercare simon edging himself situationship with simon vs golden retriever könig pussy drunk simon with loose lips devoted service!dom simon and the way he grinds into u simon smoking while u ride him

♡ asks –

simon and jerking off simon receiving aftercare concerned simon with a size kink

giving simon head while he drives creampie with pussydrunk!simon

K O N I G.

♡ fics –

EXPERIENCED (9.5k words)

♡ drabbles –

situationship with simon vs golden retriever könig using ur clit as a fidget toy

♡ asks –

soft!könig characterization könig overstimming himself using könig's cock as a fidget toy pussyjob bc he doesn't wanna prep u eating u out bc u had a bad day

EXPERIENCE (m.)

könig x inexperienced!reader

tags: age gap, acquaintances to lovers, afab!reader but gn

cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, fingering, hand riding (hear me out), pussyjob, talking u thru it, praise, pet names (liebling, little one), size kink/difference, handjob, reassurance/encouragement kink, wet&messy, konig is uncut hehe, squirting

note: konig is in his 40s and reader is in their 20s!

;in which you live in the same building as a really hot, older, military man

9.5k

When you met König, you never expected the harmless interactions to ever evolve into anything substantial. He lived somewhere in the same apartment building as you did, though you didn’t know where exactly. Most times, you would find him in the elevator or cross paths with him in the lobby. 

You knew he was in the military, most of the people living in the building were. It was close to the nearby base and had rent for a damn good price. The way he carried himself, back straight and body seemingly always at attention gave him away. 

He was massive, standing much taller above you with broad shoulders and thick thighs. A lot of the time he was wearing a hood over his face, mostly when he was coming or going from work – which was seemingly all the time. 

On the few occasions that you caught him without the hood, you could tell it was him solely by his build. There was no one else in the building who looked anything like that. 

He was handsome, in a rugged, tired kind of way. He was a lot older than you were expecting him to be – probably in his early to mid forties, you guessed. He had salt and pepper hair, fine lines etched onto his face, and stern eyes from (no doubt) many years in the military. 

You had never properly spoken to him before. Hell, you didn’t even know his name. You greeted him when you saw him and smiled in passing when you made eye contact. Occasionally, he would respond in an accented voice that you longed to ask about. 

The event that changed everything was a fun little night out you had with your friends. You had maybe had a bit too much to drink before finally conceding at your friends’ behest to call yourself an Uber. 

By the time you reach your apartment building, you’re still very buzzed and starting to feel a little nauseous. You stumble to the elevator and impatiently slam your thumb on the button over and over again, losing count as you do. 

“It’s not going to come any faster,” an accented voice drones next to you, nearly making you jump out of your skin. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” you wheeze, hand over your racing heart.

“You should be more aware of your surroundings then,” he says, “Especially when you are intoxicated.”

You huff through your nose, growing annoyed at the prospect of being lectured. The elevator grants mercy and dings before slowly opening. There's a rowdy group of men inside who quickly walk out of the elevator, seedy eyes immediately finding their way to you, scanning your body up and down as they pass by. 

You feel that nauseous pit in your stomach twist as you finally step onto the elevator. Nothing to ruin your jovial mood from a nice evening more than a group of leering men. Living in an apartment building filled with soldiers, it wasn’t unusual to have them stare at you – didn’t mean you liked it. 

You cross your arms over your chest as König steps on, the elevator creaking and groaning under his immense weight. 

“What floor?” he asks softly, glancing at you over his shoulder as he stands in front of the button panel.

“3,” you mumble, leaning against the back wall. You watch him punch in the 3 but not anything else, making you raise a brow, “You live on 3 too?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say another word. You narrow your eyes at his back, if he feels you looking, he doesn’t give it away. The elevator is plunged into silence aside from the quiet sound of the shaft moving up and up until it dings and the doors slide open. 

He steps out first, standing in the threshold to keep the door from closing as you push yourself off the wall. Your head swims for a second and you stumble past him, keenly aware of his eyes on you. 

You wander down the hallway, glancing over your shoulder to see him slowly stalking behind you. His arms hand limply by his sides, his fists clenched into fists but he remains a respectable distance. 

“Why are you following me?” you ask, unable to hide the nervousness in your tone, “You said you don’t live on this floor.”

“Young recruits are tools,” he supplies simply, “I am making sure you make it to your door without any problems.”

That causes you to hum and for a little flutter in your stomach to manifest. You brush it off and pause at your door, pulling your keys out so unlock it. You push it open and step in, letting it hit your back to keep it from closing as you turn to look at your companion.

“Thank you…um…” you clear your throat and look at him expectantly. 

“König,” he supplies simply, arms tucked behind his back, making him look even wider. 

“König…” you repeat, feeling the words on your tongue, “Interesting name. Where are you from?”

“Austria,” he replies almost mechanically, “I will be going now.”

You don’t get to say another word before he’s stalking away and down the hallway, heavy footfalls practically rumbling the ground beneath him. You slowly close your door and lean against it, hand placed over your racing heart – when did that start up? 

You blame it on your inexperience when it comes to men. You’d had a couple boyfriends, pretty standard for someone in their 20s. Your problem was none of them were ever good enough. The over-zealous types who wanted their dicks sucked as gratitude for paying for dinner. Then would turn around and either give you the most lackluster head of your life, barely any foreplay before trying to shove his dick into an unprepared hole. 

You had never given them the chance, once they showed they were only interested in their own pleasure and would more than likely not even think about touching your clit or angling for your g-spot, you stopped them and kicked them out. More often than not, you woke up to a break-up text because of course you did. 

So that was how you were still a virgin and more or less, at this point, given up on dating. You’d been single now for the better part of 6 months and had no intentions of giving any men your own age a shot at it. 

But…you hadn’t considered an older man. Like König. 

At that thought, you pushed yourself off the door and kicked your shoes off, intent on taking a shower to hopefully wash these drunken thoughts out of your head. So he’d been nice and walked you to your door, no questions asked, so what? Didn’t make him any different from men your age. 

As you made it to the bathroom, you felt your stomach finally churn for the final time and found your head buried in the toilet. You cursed yourself for not listening to your friends, who apparently knew your own limits better than you did. 

The next time you see König is just a few days later. You walk into the apartment’s gym on the ground floor, and there he is – sitting lifting weights. You pause when you see him, feeling that traitorous flutter in your chest you were sure you puked out that night you had learned his name. 

You watch the way his biceps flex, bulging so large you’re sure not even two of your hands could wrap around the girth of it. There were some scars littering his skin, most of them white and raised from age but a few that still had that new tissue pink color. You also noticed some fading tattoos encircling his forearms. Fuck, he was hot. 

You hung your head and scampered over to the treadmill, intent on getting your cardio up. 

As you run, you notice a group waltz in, laughing and shoving each other. You glance over at them, rolling your eyes when some of them make eye contact and nudge their buddies. They lean in close and whisper to each other with shit eating grins on their faces and you find frustration building up so you try to ignore them. 

“Quiet,” you hear an accented voice snap, full of authority, “You are disturbing everyone.”

The rowdy young men quiet down immediately and clear their throats, “S-Sorry, Colonel,” one of them utters.

‘Colonel? Is that high ranking?’ you find yourself wondering, making a mental note to look that up later. 

Either way, König manages to make the gym peaceful once again and you finish your workout with no other hitches. 

You grab your towel and dab at the sweat on your face and neck as you swiftly make your way out of the gym, completely unaware of the shadow following closely behind. 

You slow to a stop at the elevator, punching the button to call it as you sip on your water bottle, mindlessly going over what else you need to do with your day. The shadow behind you remains stagnant, still and silent as it lurks behind your unsuspecting form as the elevator opens and you step on. 

He follows, hefty weight causing the elevator to groan as usual. That gets your attention and you jump, placing a delicate hand over your racing heart just like you had before, eyes wide in shock at his appearance.

“You’re doing it on purpose now!” you whine at him and he has to fight back a smile at it. 

“I told you that you needed to pay more attention to your surroundings,” he replies smoothly, pressing the 3 button for you before pressing 5 for himself. 

“How is a guy as big as you able to be so quiet?” you ask softly, making note of the floor he lives on. 

“Years of training,” he gives a quick response that you hum at. There is a beat of silence before he finds himself speaking again, “You never gave me your name.”

He sees the way you look at him in surprise and he almost wishes he could rip the words from the air as soon as he says them. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea that he actually wants to get to know you. 

But you smile softly and give him your name with a kind nod of your head before the elevator grants him mercy and dings at the arrival on your floor.

“See you around, König,” you say as you step off. 

He doesn’t respond. 

Once back in the safety of your apartment, you find yourself going through the entire interaction in your head over and over again. Your heart races as you think back on him. 

It's as you’re making dinner for yourself that you finally have the coherent thought of revelation that you may have a crush on König. 

The revelation is almost enough to have you groaning out of frustration into the quiet sanctity of your apartment but you manage to refrain. But you can’t deny you don’t quite know what to do about it now. You had sworn off of men but…that was men your own age. König was…older than you, surely at least 15 years your senior, possibly more. You figure it couldn’t hurt to ask him out for some coffee one of these days. 

Except, the next time you see König is almost 2 weeks later. You don’t see hide nor hair of him at all. It definitely puts a damper on your confidence and you almost think your crush was just a fleeting little thing and for that you’re grateful for. 

Until the elevator opens one day and there he is. He’s wearing his hood but his eyes look even more exhausted than usual – beyond the general tiredness that comes with age. You carefully step on, joining him in the downward descent to the lobby. It’s just the two of you and feel that fluttering in your chest start up again and your hands begin to sweat. You scour your brain for something to say — anything to start up a conversation after so long of not seeing him.

“Haven’t seen you around,” you mutter softly. He hums softly in acknowledgement but doesn’t supply much of a response beyond that, “Where have you been?” you try again.

“Deployed,” he finally responds after several seconds of silence. 

You can’t find any way to respond or keep the conversation going but it’s sure that he has no intentions of doing so anyway. Still, it surprised you that he had been deployed, you hadn’t considered that. It made sense now that you thought about it. 

The elevator opened and you both stepped out. He walked much faster than you, beelining out of the apartment and you briefly considered letting him go but another part of you wanted to stop him and ask him out. 

You cursed to yourself and jogged forward, calling his name. He stopped in his tracks at the sound of you calling for him. He looks down at you over his nose, a burning gaze that makes your nervousness spike. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good time after all. 

“What?” he snaps, clearly impatient.

“Oh um…” you clear your throat and slow to a stop, “N-Nevermind…”

He huffs through his nose and resumes storming out of the apartment. You find yourself sighing deeply, following his lead. When you get outside, he’s nowhere to be seen and you once again find yourself wondering how a man of his size is so good at not being seen. 

A few nights later, the weekend rolls around and you find yourself standing in that damned elevator with him once again. He’s maskless and it gives you pause before stepping on. 

It’s silent for a few seconds before he says, “I am sorry for the other day.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, “Um…what do you mean?”

“I was not polite towards you,” he answers, casting a soft gaze towards you that makes your heart flutter, “I took my bad mood out on you and I should not have. So…I am sorry.”

“Oh…” you clear your throat and give him a smile, “it’s alright, König. I shouldn’t have bothered you with something silly.”

He frowns at you, “Something silly?”

“It’s nothing,” you assure him, smiling kindly at him. 

He wants to ask you what you mean but the elevator door opens and you step out, making him realize that you reached your floor. You wave your goodbye to him as the doors close and he lets his head fall back with a sigh once he’s alone.

Yet another bad day weighed heavily on his shoulders when you came waltzing into the elevator, bright eyed and happy. His fists were clenched behind his back and he did his best to avoid looking at you, hoping you would take the hint and not speak to him like you usually did. It hadn’t been but a day since he had apologized to you for making an ass of himself in the lobby and he didn’t want to do the same thing so soon after. 

But then you say something that sends it all crumbling down.

“Hey…” you start, fidgeting your fingers in front of you, “Would you like to get coffee sometime? Maybe lunch?”

You ask it so sweetly and softly. For some reason, that grates on his nerves even more than anything.

“What?” he snaps, cold and sharp in a way that makes you visibly freeze. 

You look up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, “Um…w-well, I just…it’s…I would like to…”

Your nervous babbling only serves to piss him off even more as his glare narrows down on you, making you shrink in on yourself where you stand. Suddenly, the elevator feels much smaller than it had ever before – even with him filling most of the space as usual. 

“You want to go out with me?” he spits, his accent growing stronger with every venomous word that he can’t seem to stop from spilling from his lips, “I am twice your age, what the hell makes you think I would want to date you?”

You swallow thickly around the lump forming in your throat and bite back the tears that threaten to form. He hears you sniffle and promptly snaps his head to look at you. Under the ugly, yellow light of the elevator he can see the tears trickling down your cheeks and he suddenly wants to slap himself into the next decade. 

He wants to open his mouth so badly and apologize for being so cruel to you. He knows he could have told you no in a much softer way rather than making your feelings seem like something revolting or stupid. But the elevator doors open and you’re slipping out before he even has a chance. He decides not to chase after you. 

It’s for the best, he assures himself. 

It only takes a few days before he’s vehemently regretting not stopping you then and there. 

It happens on a Friday night, the elevators are closing just as a hand jumps between them, sending them opening again. You step on, giggling in a way that tells him you’re just a little inebriated. You freeze when you see him standing there, maskless and cold gaze as he watches you tug a young man into the elevator behind you – clearly a little drunk himself. 

You pointedly stand in front of König, keeping your back to him to show that you’re not even willing to look at him. König feels his heart clench painfully in his chest before it’s replaced by a wash of anger as he watches the young man paw at you. He slips his hand down your back to grope at your ass, making you giggle breathlessly before you’re batting his hands away with a little bat of your lashes. 

König wishes he had an excuse to step off the elevator at the same time as you – anything to prolong his time with you. He’s never felt the desire to cockblock someone more in his whole entire life. 

But he doesn’t move. He just watches you step off without a single glance in his direction before you’re vanishing around the corner and the elevator doors close silently, leaving König alone with his thoughts. 

You couldn’t believe you brought this guy to your apartment. You especially couldn’t believe you were letting him strip you of your clothes and paw at your body like some kind of mindless dog. You had sworn to yourself that you were not going to fall into this trap again – a 20-something year old guy buying you a drink, complimenting you a little, teasing and groping you in the club until you caved and brought him home. It wasn’t your first go around – and it always ended the same way.

But you were drunk and you needed to get your mind off that stupid, giant Austrian military man that lived in your building. And wouldn’t you know it, he was on the elevator as soon as you got in. It was almost enough to sober you up, your wounded pride and feelings still so prevalent even after a few days of nursing the hurt. 

You could only hope that this would relieve you of your hurt feelings. 

Unfortunately, you quickly realized that this was a mistake. 

As soon as he started groping you, spreading your legs and trying to stuff his cock inside you without so much as a single finger of prep – you knew this wasn’t going to happen.

You tried to lead him, thinking maybe he was a little too tipsy to actually think about it.

“How about a little prep, hm?” you ask softly.

He pauses what he’s doing and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, “Oh…you’re one of those…”

He says it in disgust and you feel yourself bristle in annoyance, “One of what?”

“You want me to eat you out, right?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “That shit’s gross, c’mon just let me stick it in, already.” It was that moment that you felt any minute desire you had to have sex evaporate. 

You don’t even bother walking the guy out, leaving him to limp to the elevator in shame with a hard cock and blue balls.

It takes you a few days to find it in yourself to crawl out of your apartment. The only reason you actually do leave is because you’re in need of food – your little supply of ramen has depleted and you have to bite the bullet. 

After your little shopping trip at the nearby convenience store, you find yourself waiting for the elevator when a dark shadow looms over you. You feel a pit of dread in your stomach as you smell the musky, sweet scent of his cologne. But you don’t dare acknowledge his presence. 

He doesn’t give you long to ignore him, however, before he’s talking to you.

“How was your little date?” he asks, voice dripping in a tone of condescension that immediately puts you on edge. 

“What’s it to you?” you hiss, still not daring to look at him. 

He scoffs, “You went and found yourself a little toy to play with awfully fast. Seems your interest in me wore off quickly, no?”

That gets you to finally turn around, meeting his cold, indifferent gaze with your hot, teary one. You miss the look of surprise that flashes over his face.

“What is your problem?” you snap, “You rejected me, what the hell do you care what I do? And for your information, the date was shit. He was shit, like I should have expected any difference. God, I really am a fucking idiot,” you find yourself rambling, a lamenting spiel that you can’t seem to stop no matter how badly you want to, “Just like every prick before him, he was selfish and revolting. I thought I could finally get fucking laid and just call it a day but no, my stupid standards are too high and I find myself asking out the hot older guy in my building only for him to find me revolting!”

By the time you’re done ranting, the doors open and you storm out of the elevator, angrily gripping your bag of groceries. König is frozen where he stands, watching you leave as the doors slowly close – almost begging him to put his hand between them and stop them so he can chase after you. 

But he doesn’t.

It’s creeping up on midnight when there’s a knock on your apartment door. You’re curled up on the couch, watching some random show that you weren’t really invested in but couldn’t be bothered to change. 

The knock makes you jump, startled, but get up nonetheless. A quick peek in the peephole tells you exactly who it is before you even open it. 

You briefly consider not opening it period but find yourself opening it before you actually settle on a decision. 

König stands in front of you, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand, looking comically small. The sight is almost enough to get you to crack a smile. Almost.

But the residual hurt from the last few interactions you’ve had with him is enough to keep you stoic. You raise a brow and you practically see his confidence falter. A pang of guilt goes through you at the sight and you step aside, waving him in with a quiet huff. 

He closes the door behind him softly, kicking his boots off as he watches you wander into the living room. You take a seat on your couch, covering yourself with your throw blanket once again as you watch him wander in, gazing around at your decor before finally settling on you. 

“Um…” He clears his throat nervously and places the flowers on your coffee table, “I think that we should talk…”

“Should we?” you quip back.

He sighs, broad shoulders heaving with the movement before he takes a seat beside you, taking up a hefty amount of space on your small couch. 

“I want to apologize,” he says softly, folding his hands in his lap, “When you asked me out…I-I should not have spoken to you like that.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “If that’s all this is about, König, then you can go. I-I don’t really want to hear a half-assed apology about the way you rejected me. You’re not interested, let’s just move on from it. I’ll get over it.”

He shakes his head quickly and curses under his breath, a word you don’t understand – German, your brain supplies, helpfully.

“You are wrong,” he says, “I do not want you to get over it because I am interested.”

The gets you to perk up, eyes wide, “What do you mean? You said you–”

“I know what I said,” he mutters, “I am…twice your age…”

“So you mentioned before…” you reply.

“I do not think…you should be with someone old like me,” he continues softly, “You should be with someone your own age. That is what I thought. It is not that I don’t find you attractive; I think you’re sweet and lovely. But it's just…our age difference…”

“König,” you stop him from continuing, “I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

“I understand that but…” he trails off, casting a sideways glance across the room, away from you.

“I’ve tried dating men my own age, König,” you say, “It always ends the same – I send them home blue balled.”

He huffs out a laugh through his nose and finally sets his gaze back on you, “Why do you do that?”

“I don’t plan to…” you begin, running your hand along the soft fabric of your blanket, “it’s just that...I bring them home and then we start getting into it and it fucking sucks!”

“Sucks..?” The question is soft and drawn out. 

“He wants to fuck my throat and won’t even give me his fingers before trying to stick his dick in,” you spit, angrily glaring at the tv as you remember all your shit encounters, “I’ve never even let one of them go all the way.”

“You’re a virgin…?” he asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “I guess. I mean I’ve had shitty oral and stuff but…”

“I see…” he trails off, shifting in his seat, hands still folded in his lap, “Well, I would like to take you out for a date after all.”

You find a smile spreading across your face faster than you can stop it. You jump to your knees and throw your arms around his shoulders with a squeal of happiness, “Really? You mean it?”

He laughs breathlessly, a husky little sound that makes your heart race, “Does this weekend work for you?”

You eagerly nod your head and lean in. You catch the way his eyes widen briefly before your lips meet. You think he’s going to pull away from you but instead he cups the back of your head and deepens the kiss. 

You feel a shiver go through you at the feeling of his big, strong hand holding you there in the kiss. You couldn’t keep yourself from getting wet even if you wanted to. 

With your hands pressed against his firm chest, you toss one leg over his lap and find yourself seated on top of him. He breaks the kiss at that, hands migrating to your waist where he mindlessly strokes his thumb over the skin exposed by the way your shirt rode up.

You lean down and kiss him again and he groans against your mouth. You grind down against him in response to the throb that makes your pussy clench around nothing. You whimper into the kiss when he suddenly stops your movements with a firm grip. 

“We shouldn’t, liebling,” he whispers softly.

“Why not?” you whine, settling in his lips. You briefly realize that you can feel something hard beneath you and that makes you start dripping in your panties, “Don’t you want to?”

“I-I do…” he assures, “I just…want to properly court you…”

He couldn’t get any sweeter if he tried. Still, you quip back with a teasing little smile, “Wow, you are a lot older than me, huh?”

You feel giddy when the sweet look in his eyes melts away into something darker. One hand clasps the back of your head before he pulls you in for a much rougher kiss. You keen as you feel the way he exudes experience – the kiss like nothing you have ever experienced before. 

The way he moves his lips and slips his tongue into your mouth to taste your mouth, it’s not gross or too much the way it sometimes is with men who don’t know what they’re doing.you find yourself moaning into the kiss before you even realize it. 

He pulls away at that, a heady look in his pretty, blue eyes. You find yourself briefly lamenting the loss of his mouth but that thought disappears quickly when he moves to begin peppering kisses along the length of your neck, making sure to nip at your jaw and kiss your shoulder. 

He tugs the hem of your t-shirt down just a bit so he can have access to your collar bones, nipping and kissing there as well. Your head falls back as you surrender yourself to him completely. 

“Oh,” he coos softly, lips brushing against your ear, “You are just so sweet for me, aren’t you, little one?”

You practically whimper at his words as his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, fingertips barely grazing your skin. You squirm in his lap as his touch tickles you on his way up to your breasts, skirting over your ribs before fully cupping them in his roughened palms. 

You sigh into the quiet room, arching your back to press deeper into his hands. His thumbs graze over your nipples and you moan. 

Sure, you’ve had guys grope your tits before but it had never felt like this. The mindless squishing and squeezing was replaced with soft cupping and gentle brushes over your nipples until they hardened followed by pinches and flicks that left you absolutely dripping in your panties.

He takes mercy on you quickly, one hand sliding down your body to slide under your sweatpants and beneath your panties. Your hands grip his shoulders, blunt nails biting into them when one broad finger slides down, the sticky noise of your folds separating enough to send heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers in a tone so soft you almost think it wasn’t meant for you, but then he tacks on, “Do you hear it?” 

“Y-Yeah,” you whimper, embarrassment flooding through you at the sticky, clicking noises that come along with his prodding, “N-Never been this wet before, König…”

That causes him to pause, blue eyes gazing at you through his eyelashes, “Is that so..?” You desperately nod your head, slowly beginning to rock your hips against his hand, but he doesn’t move again and you whine, “Has anyone ever made you cum on their fingers?”

“J-Just me,” you answer breathlessly without a second thought. 

He hums thoughtfully and after a second, he begins moving his hand again. This time he introduces more fingers, spreading your folds apart with his index and ring so he can pet your hardened clit with his middle. The feeling makes tremors run through your body and he huffs a laugh, “I guess I will show you what it feels like then, yeah?”

He doesn’t give you a moment to think let alone answer before his middle finger is sliding into you. The one digit alone is enough to stretch you, given how massive he is in whole. He crooks his finger forward and a moan rips from your chest when he hits that gooey little spot inside you. 

“A-Another, please, König!” you beg shamelessly.

“Shh,” he hushes, shaking his head, “Let me work you open on this and then you can have more.”

You practically wail in despair, letting your forehead drop forward onto his shoulder. You suddenly wish you had rid yourself of your clothes so you could see the way his hand worked against you. All you could see now was the faint movement under your pants but the mental image of that thick finger inside you, slick with your juices was enough to have you clenching desperately around him. 

After a moment, he adds a second finger and you feel like you’re in heaven. The stretch is phenomenal and his palm bumps against your clit every time he sinks them into the last knuckle. 

However, before he can set a rhythm to really start getting you off, he stops. You angrily lean back and glare at him – the sight has his lips quirking up.

“Ride my fingers,” he orders you, leaving no room for arguing.

You can tell he’s not going to give you anything unless you take it for yourself so you sit up higher on your knees so you can have the clearance to move. Your hands remain on his shoulders, clinging to him for stability as you clumsily begin to rock your hips. The only time you’ve ever done these movements is when you tried humping your pillow once after seeing it in some porn. It didn’t really do much for you so you never tried again. 

König can tell your movements are clumsy and it makes his cock throb against his thigh. He helps you along, crooking his fingers just right to grind the tips against that sweet little spot inside you. It makes you moan beautifully and he files the noise away. 

His other hand comes up to grip your hip, steadying you as you continue to hump his fingers. You’re growing more and more frustrated as you quickly realize that you’re not able to make it feel as good as he had earlier. The tearful little gaze you give him has him breaking, using the hand on your hip guiding you into more seamless movements. 

“Like this, liebling,” he directs softly, “Grind down like that, mhm, give that little clit some love, yeah?”

You become increasingly breathless as you work yourself higher and higher under his expert guidance. He can feel your juices dripping down his wrist, the snug hold around his fingers growing even tighter with every little rut of your hips. 

“You’re so precious,” he coos, feeling the way you clench up at the sound of his voice. Your body is so honest, telling him what you like without you having to say anything, “You’re going to cum, I can feel it. Be good and give it to me, yeah?”

You surge forward and desperately kiss him, one hand reaching down and gripping his wrist. It takes only a few more, desperate thrusts of your hips for you to topple over that edge. Your body trembles on his lap and you cry out in pleasure. 

He moans alongside you, watching with rapt attention as you cum all over his fingers just like he told you to.

You slump against him as you come down and he pulls his hands out of your pants. He presses a kiss against your temple in silent praise, hands rubbing your back to soothe you through the aftershocks that run through your body.

You lean back and meet his gaze, an opportunity he takes to slip his cum-soaked fingers into his mouth. At that, you surge forward and kiss him, running your hands down his body to pull at the button of his jeans. He grunts into your mouth, brows furrowing at the release of pressure when you tug the zipper down.

You’re absolutely speechless when you finally pull his cock free. He watches in poorly concealed pride as you gawk at the length in your hand. You give him a slow and tedious tug, watching the foreskin roll over his head, forcing a bead of precum from the tip. 

“You’re so…big,” you whisper breathlessly.

“I know,” he grunts, unable to hide the ebbs of pleasure you give him as you play with his cock.

“Cocky,” you tease softly, continuing with your soft touches. 

“N-Not cocky,” he whispers, licking his suddenly dry hips, “Just aware of my size.”

You drop your eyes back down to his cock, hot and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don't even touch each other when wrapped around him. Precum drips from the tip, leaking down the side to meet your palm and aid in the movements. 

He leans his head back against the couch, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows. It wasn’t often that he got to indulge in someone else’s hand. Your palm was so soft, much softer than his own, and delicate in your inexperience. 

He reaches down with one his hands, wrapping around yours to make you squeeze tighter, “Just like that, little one, that’s how I like it.”

You could have drooled as he said it. His hand dwarfed yours and the sight made you clench around nothing, more slick leaking into your already ruined panties. 

“Let me see you, liebling,” he whispers breathlessly, fingers hooking on the hem of your top.

You release his cock to lift your arms, letting him tug the fabric over your head. His hands are on your tits immediately, mouthing at your nipples without wasting a second.

“So pretty,” he coos with his mouth full, rolling his tongue over your nipple before nipping the bud with his lips.

He switches to the other one, wrapping his mouth around it, sucking sharply before pulling back, taking your nipple with him before releasing it with a pop. You watch with lidded eyes as he drools all over your tits. His cock flexes and twitches against your thigh as he plays with your tits.

Suddenly, with a firm grip on your waist, your whole world flips and you find yourself on your back on the couch with König on top of you. You lick your lips at the sight of his big, broad form hovering above you, caging you in as he leans down to kiss you again.

You sigh contentedly into his mouth, threading your fingers through his short, messy hair, using the grip to pin him against you. He lets you kiss him to your heart's content, only pulling back when you need air – a string of spit connecting your lips that breaks when he leans back between your thighs. 

His fingers took into the band of your pants, tugging them down, taking your panties with them until you’re completely bared before him. He’s still completely clothed aside from his cock that rests against his abdomen, occasionally twitching as his eyes rake over your nude body.

“Tell me, liebling,” he says, strong hands running up the length of your thighs, “Has anyone ever eaten you out?”

You clumsily nod your head.

“Was it good?” he asks, biting back a smile when you shake your head.

“Guys always think it’s gross or something…” you whisper softly.

He hums softly, “That is because you’ve been messing with stupid little boys.”

“You gonna eat me out, König?” you ask him, biting your lip in a poorly concealed excited grin.

“Would you like me to?” as he asks, he slowly spreads your legs open. The position causes your folds to spread apart, opening you up for his greedy eyes.

You feel your breathing speed up as he kisses down your body, starting with your lips and ending right above your clit. You feel the little bud twitch in anticipation as he tongues the skin above it, giving you a sneak peek on what is so close to it. 

“Tell me,” he says.

You whine, “Y-Yes, I want you to eat me out, König!”

He chuckles softly but doesn’t bother teasing you anymore. He meets your gaze and moves his tongue lower finally, sliding the flat of the muscle of your clit. You gasp and toss your head back into the cushions, eyes rolling back as he noisily slurps at your cunt. 

“O-Oh god!” you wail, hiccuping out noises of pleasure that you can’t seem to quiet.

König is in heaven. It’s not every day that he gets the opportunity to eat such a pretty, inexperienced little cunt. Your reactions to everything are so strong and loud. Your pussy is loud too, squelching in the room, making an intoxicating melody with your moans. He moans against you, swallowing down everything your messy little pussy drools out for him.

“Th-That feels so good, König!” you sob, kicking your feet mindlessly against his back as he captures your clit in his mouth, suckling at the bud, “You’re so good, so good, oh god!”

Never in a million years did you think being eaten out could feel this good. The mindlessly, halfhearted licks and kisses you had received in the past did nothing to prepare you for what it felt like to really have a man’s tongue on you. 

He pulls away suddenly, giving you a moment to actually breathe, “You taste so sweet, liebling.”

“König…” you whimper, looking up at him with lidded eyes, “Please, please don’t stop.”

You tug at his hair and attempt to pull his mouth back down on your pussy. You don’t care how pathetic and desperate it is, he has given you a taste of pleasure you’d never experienced before.

He has the audacity to laugh at you, brushing your hands away so he can sit up straight again. He scoots closer and you realize then that he is not planning to continue and it practically draws a sob out of you. 

“We can focus on that another time, liebling,” he promises, making you clench around nothing, more slick dribbling out for him to see, “You are so messy, you know that? Never had someone make such a mess all over me before. You must really enjoy being eaten out, huh?”

You feel your face burn hot with shame at his words, shyly hiding your face away. He smiles softly at that, “Nothing to be ashamed of, liebling…I love it, I do.”

“Really?” you quiver out the question and he nods his head.

“Yes, little one,” he coos, “I’m glad that I can make it feel good for you.”

You practically feel hearts in your eyes as he says that. You don’t think you’ve ever had a man tell you that he actually cared and enjoyed your pleasure. That was the final nail in the coffin for you – you really should have been going after older men all this time.

He disrupts your thoughts by suddenly stripping his shirt off. Your mouth goes completely dry at the sight of his bared skin – firm muscle, hair speckled all over his torso, and numerous scars from untold stories of his time in the military. You take note of the faded tattoos that become visible on his pecs and biceps; you’d always noticed the tattoos on his arms but you’d never really been given the opportunity to look. 

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper.

He pauses while ridding himself of his jeans and smiles, “Thank you, little one.”

When he’s completely bare to you, you slowly rake your eyes down the entirety of his newly exposed body. His cock hangs heavy under its own weight, glimmering at the tip with his precum. You’d never been with a guy who was uncut but the sight made you drool. 

“Now, liebling,” he says suddenly, getting your attention. He scoots closer, spreading your legs as wide as he can before laying the hefty weight of his cock against your cunt. It’s hot and throbbing and your entire body trembles at the sight, “You have to understand something.”

“What..?” you ask, breathless and unable to look away from his cock. 

“I am not like those little boys you were running around with,” he explains, hips slowly beginning to rut against you, length parting your folds and rubbing over your clit, drawing a sweet little moan from you, “I don’t stick my cock in a tight little cunt and blow my load, do you know what I’m saying?”

You shake your head, too lost in the sight and feeling of him practically fucking the outside of your pussy. He doesn’t stop the mind-numbing rolls of his hips, letting you get lost in the feeling of him stroking over your clit, saturating him in your cum. 

“That means,” he sighs, reaching up to grip your throat, forcing you to look at him as he leaned over your body, sandwiching his cock between the two of you, “I don’t cum easily, liebling. I am a grown man, I will fuck you until you cannot cum anymore. Are you prepared for that?”

The fact this man was so confident in his abilities in bed has you clenching around nothing again. You were sure the guys you almost slept with would never have been able to have the pure confidence that came from König. He knew what he was doing – he knew how to make you cum and he was going to use that experience well. You knew his age played a factor in how long it would take him to cum and you couldn’t wait to experience it.

“I want it so bad, König,” you beg softly, “Please?”

“Very good,” he praised, “You’re so good for me.”

He finally gripped the base of his cock and you watched excitedly as he pressed the tip against your entrance. You reached down and wrapped your arms around your knees, pulling them back for him so he could comfortably begin pressing into you.

The stretch is beyond anything you’d ever felt before. You knew his cock was big but watching the bulbous tip press against you and slowly spread you wide open was something else entirely. It burned in a way that had you wincing, furrowed brows making your face pinch up, making König pause. 

“It’s okay, little one,” he whispers, bringing a big thumb up to roll over your hard little clit, “Just relax for me, don’t clench up or it will hurt more.”

“I-It’s so big, König!” you wail helplessly, tearily staring up at him as he methodically works you open on his cock.

“I know,” he assures, still stroking your clit with the pad of his thumb, “But you can take it.”

You tearfully nod your head and do your best to relax your body, letting yourself sink into the couch. 

“Good, liebling, very good,” he coos, “Just let me in, nice and slow. Doesn’t it feel nice? The little burn of being stretched open but the pleasure of having this pretty little clit played with? Just lay back and enjoy it, little one.”

He’s right, of course. The burn aches, yes, but the pain and pleasure mixes the more he rubs your clit. You clench around him, an involuntary reaction that causes the head of his cock to finally pop in. Your eyes widen as you watch your cunt swallow it and with a perfectly timed tap against your clit, your back arches and you’re cumming.

“O-Oh König!” you squeal, eyes rolling back into your head as you cum around the head of his cock and nothing else.

“Oh, that’s good,” he grins, “That’s perfect, little one.”

As you come down with a tremble in your thighs, you finally fix your gaze on him once again.His eyes are lidded and pupils are blown so wide you can’t even tell they’re blue anymore. 

“That looked like a good one,” he comments almost flippantly before he rolls his hips forward, “Now you’re nice and ready for me.”

You choke on a gasp as he rolls his hips forward, fitting half of his cock inside your still spasming cunt. Your cum coats him in a slick sheen that aides in allowing him to pull back and slide back in, settling on fucking you on half his cock.

Your mouth falls open and you watch as a thick, milky ring forms around that fat middle part of his shaft, “M-More, König! Please!”

He knows you want all of him, want to know what it’s like to feel all of him stuffed deep inside you. But he knows you’re not quite ready for that yet, fucked out of your head from the intense orgasm he had just given you with ease.

“Not yet, liebling,” he coos, keeping his pace slow and steady, “Let’s work you open a little bit more, yeah?”

“No,” you whine, “Please, I want it all, König.”

“Aww, I know you do, little one,” he pants, already feeling dizzy from spearing you on his cock, “But I know what’s good for you, just listen to me and be good, okay?”

“Okay…” you pitifully whimper, sinking back into the couch. 

You abandon your hold on your legs, letting them rest around his hips limply now. He continues moving like that, inching deeper and deeper into you with every thrust. Your cunt makes embarrassingly loud squishing noises the move he works his hips against you. 

Before you know it, you’re watching with wide eyes and an open mouth as his pelvis presses against yours. Your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl in pure pleasure as you finally experience the entirety of everything König has to offer. 

You’re speared wide open and the head knocks against your cervix painfully but the little bit of pain only makes the pleasure that much sweeter. 

“There we go, little one,” he coos sweetly, “I’m so proud of you, took all of my cock so well.”

He’s so big that he presses against every sweet little spot inside you without even trying. But, oh, his experience is crystal clear in the way he moves. He may be naturally gifted with a nice, fat cock but he knew how to use it.

Seamless, rhythmic thrusts had your brain going fuzzy before you even knew what was happening. You wouldn’t have been able to be quiet even if you wanted to. You knew you would be absolutely horrified to face your neighbors later because it would be impossible for them to not know you got fucked real good. 

Suddenly, König leaned over you, resting one forearm above your head to hold his weight off of you. The position caused his pelvis against your clit every time he sunk balls deep. Sticky strings of your cum stuck to his skin but he didn’t seem to even notice how wet you were.

But, oh, he did. He was absolutely obsessed with the way you creamed and gushed around him. A nice, pliant little pussy that was more than eager to swallow every inch of his cock.

The change in position had you grappling onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you wailed into his shoulder. Every mind-numbing snap of his hips hit that gooey, tender spot inside you that had your entire body twitching from the pleasurable stimulation. Your nails bit into his back and he briefly thought about the prospect of his recruits seeing them. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” he whispered in your ear, pressing a sweet kiss underneath your ear.

You nod your head, “Y-Yes! You’re gonna make me c-cum again, König!”

He chuckles under his breath, “I know I am, little one. I’m going to make you squirt.”

“C-Can’t,” you heave, twitchy legs kicking against his back.

“Yes, you can,” he assures, leaning away to sit up once again, “I can make you squirt, trust me.”

The whine you emit pitches into a squeal when he presses his palm against your lower stomach. You reached down in a panic to grab his wrist, not used to the strange feeling of him pressing down while he fucks you. 

“W-Wait!” you wail.

“Wait for what?” he asks, but doesn’t slow even a bit in his movements.

“F-Feels weird!” you gasp, hiccuping as you squeeze his wrist. 

“I know,” he grunts, brows furrowing at the feeling of you clenching around him, “It’s supposed to. Just lay back and let it happen, liebling. I’ve got you.”

Your whole body trembles and your jaw drops as you meet his gaze, a look of wonder crossing your face as you feel an orgasm like you’ve never felt before crash over your body. It’s long, drawn out and almost painful from how good it feels. You squeeze tight around him, your clit twitching and pulsing, completely untouched as he makes you squirt. It splashes against his abdomen and drips down his thighs. 

“There we go,” he laughs, a sound that sends a flush of embarrassment to your face, “See? I told you you could do it.”

“König…” you slur, feeling as if you’ve been fucked completely braindead.

It finally dawned on you that you would never, ever be fucked by anyone as good as König has fucked you. The first cock you’ve ever been stuffed full of and he made you squirt with terrifying ease. You were completely ruined, no dick would ever be able to compare to his. 

He sees the way your gaze turns completely enamored, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars. He grins, sharp canines poking out as he leans down again, kissing your temple.

“What is it, baby?” he coos, “Dick so good it’s got you in love?”

You keen at the pure condescension that drips from his voice. But he’s not wrong, you can practically feel the hearts in your eyes as you gaze up at him.

You have no idea how long you’ve been pinned beneath him, speared open on his cock while he fucks you absolutely stupid. You notice the change in him quite suddenly. His deep, concentrated thrust changed into something less calculated, messy almost. He loses his rhythm and falters in his pace.

“I’m going to cum, liebling,” he grunts, tone pitchy and gruff, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside!” you immediately cry, not missing a beat. He sees your eyes light up at the prospect of being filled up completely by his cum. You’re so sure it’s going to be a lot, you want to feel it drip out of you as a reminder that he had claimed you.

“Is it safe?” he huffs, but you can feel his cock twitch inside you at the idea of cumming inside you.

You desperately nod your head and he allows himself to fall over that edge. He teeters on his knees before collapsing with his hands on either side of your head. He no longer tries to thrust, settling for desperate, deep grinds that stirs his cock within your walls. Your eyes roll back in your head at the feeling, another orgasm washing over you before you even realize you’re that close.

“Oh, fuck,” König gasps, voice breaking as your orgasm sends him over the edge.

You’re panting and whimpering, trembling as you feel the heat of his load filling you up. His cock twitches with every spurt of cum. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in a long time, his balls throbbing with every pump of cum his cock spits out. 

It oozes from around the tight seal you have around him, dripping onto the couch. He’s trembling by the time the intense orgasm comes to an end. He opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them, to see you sleepily staring up at him with a dazed smile on your lips.

“Mein Gott…” he huffs out, lowering his body to press his lips against yours sweetly, “That was incredible, liebling.”

You beam under his praise and wrap your arms around his neck, “It was, wasn’t it?”

He chuckles and strokes his thumb against your cheek, “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you agree.

The care he gives you afterwards is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. He wipes your body down gently, careful not to rub your skin too hard. He stands with you in the shower, towering over you as he lathers your exhausted body with soap. 

“Can we do that again sometime?” You ask softly when he crawls into bed beside you – which you were shocked about, but didn’t complain.

He raises a brow and chuckles, “Yes, liebling. But not right now, I could not go another round so soon.”

You giggle and snuggle into his broad chest, practically preening when he wraps you up snug against him. You sigh softly and speak up again, “Can we…still go on that date..?”

He’s quiet for a moment before you feel a kiss on the top of your head, “Of course, liebling. I would love to.”

You smile to yourself and close your eyes, content to fall asleep wrapped up in his arms. The last thing you feel before you succumb to sleep is another soft kiss against your head. You realize, sleepily, that you’ve never felt more cared for by a man in your life.

property of rowarn; do not modify, repost, or translate.

Heeyyy!!! I love your page so much! Can I please get an angst fic with Gojo? But with a happy ending. Literally in love with your writing 💗💗

( EEEEEK HIIII OMG MY FIRST REQUEST I LOVE U !!!!!! AND OFC ID LOVE TO WRITE THIS THANK U SO MUCH FOR LEAVING IT <333 )

“Unfathomable”

— in which you doubt the validity of his feelings.

( or sometimes i just need self assurance and never know how to ask for it and this seems to be a common thing with eveyone)

Gojo Satoru was unquestionably the epitome of strength and this was candidly clear in his title of “The Strongest”.

And then there was you.

And you were undoubtedly impotent when compared to his feats in jujitsu.

You didn’t command the attention of those around you when you walked into a crowded room, and you couldn’t reassure anyone just by your presence alone.

You were just you.

And just you was currently spiralling into an abyss of self doubt, over why Gojo would ever chose you to fall for.

It all started a month ago after your mission to “dispose” of a grade one cursed spirit turned disastrous, causing you to rely on the strength of your mission partner as you bled out, gasping for air and muttering nonsensical apologies to the sky above you. Repeating over and over about how sorry you were for not realising how close the curse was before it striked you from behind, sending you flying through the air.

When you reached Shoko at last, you remembered seeing Gojo’s poorly concealed concern ooze out, and you closed your eyes, embarrassed of your failure, unable to look at him in your pathetic state.

He had looked frantic.

Your body looked worse than your injuries, and he knew that, but the mangled state of your disoriented words, slurred out due to blood loss, made his shoulders tense, and he could only stare down at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

You felt him clutch your hand, and you hated how desperate it felt, you wanted to hide, to not let him see you like this. You were an inconvenience to The Strongest and that thought alone haunted you even when you eventually passed out to his whisper of “It’s gonna be ok baby, just hold on a little yea?”

And now a month later, it still haunted you.

Now maybe it was your pride talking, you didn’t want help, you didn’t want anyone’s help, and you certainly did not want Gojo Satoru, who had been doting over you, following you around, asking if you wanted him to take over your next couple of missions so you could recover, to help you.

Selfishly, you just wanted to wallow in self pity alone, without the constant reminder that you were burdening the man who loved you.

And so, you were distancing yourself, refusing his offers to stay, removing yourself entirely from his presence in public, too ashamed to be seen beside him when you were so weak.

You just wanted him to know, that he didn’t need to constantly watch over you, that you could handle stuff by yourself, that you weren’t charity.

You just hated how self doubt seemed to permeate your consciousness everytime you were with him, unable to understand why Gojo was forcing himself to care for someone so obviously lesser than.

Gojo noticed, of course he noticed.

You pushed yourself away from his cuddles at night when you assumed he was asleep, turned your head ever so slightly so he’d miss your lips when he leaned down to kiss you. And worst of all, your pretty smile, the one he adored more than all of the stars in the sky combined, seemed forced.

A fake smile that seemed ever present.

When Gojo awoke again to you missing from his arms, he decided he’d had enough.

You were in the kitchen, making tea, humming a small song to yourself, Gojo watched you from the door, taking in the moment of serenity for just a couple more seconds, before he pushed himself off the door frame and walked towards you.

“What’s my pretty baby doing up so early huh?”

If either of you noticed how your entire body tensed at the sound of his voice, neither of you mentioned it.

You turned, looking at Gojo, struggling to maintain eye contact as you awkwardly laughed off your separation, like you had done almost everyday since your recovery.

It made Gojo frown.

You gestured to the kettle, “You want tea?” You kept your responses short, you didn’t want to drag his attention, make him feel like he had to listen.

He didn’t get to reply before you had already started to reach for another cup down from the cupboard, grabbing the sugar cubes with it.

“Here lemme help ya’” Gojo offered, stepping forward to reach the mug, his height becoming overbearing, suffocating.

He had to help you again.

You bit your lip, feeling your eyes sting, God could you ever just do something independently without the constant need to rely on others?

Your mouth was bitter, and you didn’t acknowledge him as he set the cup in front of you, only grunting in response.

You felt his eyes on you.

You’d felt that a lot lately, and you hated it.

He was constantly observing, making sure you weren’t pushing yourself, because he didn’t trust you to do or go anywhere now, not without him.

“You ok?” He asked, head tilted. He reached out to touch your check gently, only to be stopped when you stepped away, just out of his grasp.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You handed him his tea, and moved to leave, to escape the brevity of his eyes, a increasingly concerned gaze where you were weak, weak, weak.

You got about four steps before you heard the man behind you sigh, and pull you back to his chest, his chin resting on your head, as his hand drew tiny little patterns across your midriff.

“Satoru what are you-’

“Talk to me.” He said, his voice calm, lacking resentment, but filled with determination.

“Let me go Satoru I swear to God, I’ll kick you.”

“Do you need to kick me? Is that what’s wrong?”

His arms tightened, preventing you from escaping even if you tried.

Weak, weak, weak.

“Toru please, just let me go.” You pleaded pathetically, you weren’t going to do this, you weren’t going to cry over the difference in strength, especially in-front of him.

“Tell me what’s bothering you, you still injured? We can go to Shoko now if you need.” His voice danced the line between concern and frustration, disapproving of your removal of yourself from him.

And at the mention of your injuries that were long gone, your blood boiled, and you somehow shoved him off you, turning to face him in a seething display of rage.

“I’m fine Satoru, Jesus Christ, you don’t need to rub it in.” You snarled, glaring at his stupid blue eyes, “I mean God I have one bad mission and now everyone thinks I’m useless.”

Gojo looks as shocked as you’ve ever seen him at your outburst, his mouth parts to interrupt you, but you don’t let him, refusing him any say in your personal defeat.

“You’re embarrassed right? You must be, the strongest fucking sorcerer left to care for someone so pathetic.”

“Y/N what-’

Big fat ugly tears are pooling in your eyes, spilling over to decorate your face with your shame.

“And the problem is you won’t stop! You’re so nice when you don’t have to be and I don’t understand why you’re pretending to care so much? Especially when I am ok!”

“Pretending? Baby no-’

Your throat constricts and you shove a sob down, rubbing furiously at your watering eyes.

“I hate how weak I am to you, and I hate how much you have to look after me.” You’re voice is shaky, unconvincing. And you’re trembling, inconsolable as you finally give up and cry, sharing every doubt to Satoru Gojo.

“Weak?” Satoru leans down, and cups your cheeks, and for the first time since the mission you don’t try to pull away, you look at him.

And Gojo thinks he’s the luckiest man alive.

“You’re not weak at all baby, is that what this is about?” A small smile dances across his face, you almost think he’s mocking you.

“I care about you because it’s you, pretty girl, not because I have to.”

He rubs a thumb under your eye, and sighs, shaking his head, “It’s not a burden to care for you y’know?”

And you’re still crying, but you’re listening now, and he takes this opportunity to kiss you sweetly, right below your eye.

There’s a vulnerability in his eye when he talks next, an apprehension that you’re not use to.

“After your mission, fuck baby I can’t lie.” His fingers smooth along the shell of your ear, “Seeing you so… out of it, it scared me, ‘m not meant to get scared”

You stay silent, but lean into his touch, a small gesture that encourages him to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Rely on me more yea? You’re strong baby, even if that silly little head of yours tells you otherwise.”

And you smile as he taps your nose with a finger, and he beams back at you, the softest expression on his face as he leans forwards and captures your lips in his.

“And there’s nothing I love more than being able to take care of you Y/N, please remember that.”

And when you’re pulled into his arms once again, you don’t resist, instead choosing to whisper a gentle “I love you” into the fabric of his shirt.

the end.

( A/N: IWHAIGDISH I GOT A REQUEST EEEKKK - i hope this is ok ! i love you and thank you! - i’m writing this in a cafe before i go to my fucking ice cream shop job fuck my fucking life. I AM WORKING UNTIL 11 WHO NEEDS ICE CREAM AT 11PM ??? anyway i love you and thank you for reading :)) )

gojo's the clingy kind of guy that just NEEDS to have some part of his body touching you.

fluff!!! all fluff!!!!!! supppper clingy gojo x reader, reader has their nails done sometimes, general blurb tbh (not rly a one shot or anything like that), lots of physical touching bc thats what clingy gojo needs,

it truly doesn't matter what, but as long as you two are actually physically connected, he's satisfied. it's obviously horrendous at home when he has unlimited access to you, whining about the most absurd way he needs to have physical contact with you. he likes napping on his stomach with you on top of him in whatever way you please, just wanting to feel your weight against him and have your hand carressing the back of his neck; he also likes sitting side by side at the dinner table so that he could eat with one of his legs just casually stretched out behind yours or even eating with one hand so he can have the other draped around your shoulder or your wasit; and he most definitely likes taking showers together, washing each other's backs and especially having you wash his hair (and of course having you blowdry it afterwards).

he's just a clingy guy because, well, he's lost too much and sometimes he can't be home. this is something you truly need to understand about him and see it as a vulnerability. all he needs is love and it gives him so much reassurance when you let him be as close as he needs.

and he always compromises in public. he knows how annoying extreme pda could be, and he never wants you to feel embarrassed. so he has his own little quirky ways of keeping in touch. when you both are at school and attending meetings, he's always seated beside you, manspreading like a whore but to make sure his knee touched yours. or he brings an arm behind your seat to gently fiddled with the collar of your uniform. sometimes, he's got his pinky linked with yours under the conference table or massging your hand while yaga yapayapayapas about whatever it is (you need to reexplain it all to gojo later).

at restaurants, when it's just the two of you, he opts to sit in front of you. this way he can stretch his legs out on either side of yours and keep you caged in, occasionally giving you a squeeze by bringing his legs together. sometimes he's even reaching for your hand over the table, letting his fingers fiddle with yours when you tell him about stuff he's missed since he was gone. whenever you two are out with friends, however, he always sits beside you and he's got a hand on your thigh. sometimes it's just resting on top of your thigh, sometimes he's holding you by the inner side of your thigh, sometimes he's got his hand across your lap to pull you closer by your thigh that's farthest from him. if not your thigh, sometimes his arm is behind your seat, or he has you sit up a little farther up so that he could rest a hand on your lower back (maybe even around your waist or on your hip). it's not unusual to also have a hand on his lap where he's got both of his own giving yours a massage. he's interlocking your fingers, giving you squeezes, kneading at the muscles on your palm. he's letting your nails gently glide across the length of his fingers down to his palm, and when you've got charms on them, he's gently tracing them with his thumb.

all in all, gojo's just a clingy guy whose love language juuuuust might be physical touch.

housemate suguru (sighs dreamily)

geto suguru x reader fluff!!!! housemate!AU </3, kinda canon divergence (as in, geto doesnt die and is happy with his best buddies), lots of domestic themes!!, will also probably expand on this idea later hehe

housemate!suguru who moves out of the bigger bedroom when you move in with him because he doesn't want you to have enough space for all your things (aka your cute trinkets n collectibles)

housemate!suguru who always asks if you want him to include your clothes in his load of laundry so that you don't have to worry about it for later. he even folds your clothes neatly into a basket so they don't get wrinky if you wanted to deal with putting them away later.

housemate!suguru who always wants to eat meals together because he enjoys your company (he'd never admit it and refuses to acknowledge the pout you point out when you once came home just before midnight and he ate by himself). eating meals together is just good for the soul!!!!!!!

housemate!suguru who does the dishes whenever you cook because he says it's only fair. he really really likes when you decide to help him out anyway or just stick around him to give him company (like sit on the counter and continuing the conversation from your shared meal)

housemate!suguru who also reassures you that you don't have to worry about any of the dishes when you want to bake (for whatever reason, whether its for the two of you or for others). THIS always makes your knees weak because!!! he's lingering around, just waiting and eagerly helping you and being a total sweetheart. he also loves taste testing!!!

housemate!suguru who cleans the apartment with you every sunday like you two are some married couple. the sun is shining!! music is playing in the background!! and you two are giggling with each other!!! he loveslovesloves having sunday resets with you because it's just so calming and it also is a way that you two bond. he's a very tidy person so he appreciates you joining him and putting in the effort to make sure you guys' home stays tidy and cozy.

housemate!suguru who (if you didn't know already) teaches you how to care for houseplants. it's a little hobby of his and he says that it makes the house look and feel more alive. that and he just enjoys the aesthetic (which goes hard for the tiktoks/vids that he's post??? this dude lives and breathes plant girl aesthetic)

housemate!suguru who pushes the cart when you two go grocery shopping so you can oogle as much as you want in the aisles. he always physically writes down stuff that he needs and, more often than not, you're the one who holds that list. it's sosososo cute seeing your thinking face when you look for stuff on the shelves. he also knows the thinking face you have for when you're trying to put things you both don't need in the cart--what doodoo excuse are you going to give him that he'll pretend to believe because he can't say no to you?

housemate!suguru who makes you carry the lightest grocery bags because you deserve no less. yes help him, but let him inflate his own ego by helping YOU (just pretend you don't see him telling his curses to help bring groceries inside). he also is the one to put things in the fridge away while you take care of all the pantry stuff. it just became routine at this point and suguru mentally giggles and kicks his feet at how domestic it is

housemate!suguru who rolls his eyes at gojo whenever gojo teases him about you, saying that "suguru's playing family with y/nnnn~" and "they always eat together, do groceries together, and even clean the apartment on sundays together!" and OF COURSE shoko is entertained because "omg? i thought you said you liked living alone?"

housemate!suguru who truly can't escape satoru and shoko, begrudgingly lets them into your guys' shared apartment after coming UNANNOUNCED!!!!! and you are of course thrilled to actually meet them and happily invite them for dinner. suguru is pouting and sulking the entire time because your "y/n and suguru" weekend plan to take a day trip to mt. fuji turned into a "y/n, suguru, satoru and shoko" weekend plan

A Guide to Sex with the FFXV Boys: You’re Welcome

Me and yunicon spent the last four hours doing this so I hope it brings you some vague relief from your sexual tension regarding the boys in black.

We’ve also kept it gender neutral so everyone can enjoy c;

This shit ain’t exactly safe for work so tread carefully. 

Keep reading

A Guide to Sex with the FFXV Boys: You’re Welcome

Me and yunicon spent the last four hours doing this so I hope it brings you some vague relief from your sexual tension regarding the boys in black.

We’ve also kept it gender neutral so everyone can enjoy c;

This shit ain’t exactly safe for work so tread carefully. 

Keep reading

Reminder: Zack Fair NSFW ABCs

Just Sayin’

Thank you for that! I accidentally deleted the other one so I'm glad you resent it

Zack Fair NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: Mommy kink, pegging, edging, oral (both receiving). If you don’t like it, then scroll away and/or block me. 

Rating: NSFW under the cut. Proceed with caution

(Zack how is it legal for you to be this cute?!?!?!?!)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Zack is the KING of aftercare!!!! He’s doing every page in the book!!! He’s giving you a bath, giving you massages, the whole shebang!!! If you want anything to eat, he’s heading out to the kitchen (or ordering something online) and making your favorite food. If not, then he’ll cuddle you and put on a movie

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Zack is the kind of person who doesn’t have a favorite part. Both on you and himself. He thinks everything about you is beautiful and everything on him is handsome (self love people!!!!)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Zack’s cum is kind of thick, but not by much. But at least there’s a lot of it!!!! His favorite place to cum is either on you or in you. But he’ll only do it in a condom. Unless the two of you are ready to start a family, it’s gonna be strictly in a condom. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s always wanted to be a femboy but he’s to afraid of being caught and humiliated. He even bought a dress and a couple of cute socks but never got a chance to wear them cause he’s that afraid. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

This I’m a little torn about. He gives me the vibe where he doesn’t know what he’s doing and his only exposure to sex is through porn. But he also gives the vibe that he does know. So I’m torn. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Zack never likes to be rough so his favorite positions are ones that he can be soft and gentle on you with. So that includes missionary, cowgirl (both reversed and regular cowgirl), and lotus. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

OH FUCK YES!!!!!! He loves to be goofy!!! He’s goofy all the time! When foreplay is happening, he always blows raspberries whenever he can. And he will giggle the every time you shriek and squirm. He loves how ticklish you are. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Oh yes!!! They definitely match the drapes. Unfortunately, he’s not that well groomed. He’s too afraid of shave cause the last time he tried, he accidentally cut himself. And he doesn’t trust any razor that says that it wouldn’t cut skin. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He takes intimacy to the MAX!!!! I’m talking, champagne, candles, rose, EVERYTHING!!!!!! And since I see him at a service dom, he’s making sure you feel good every time. You’re pleasure comes WAY before his

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Zack becomes SUBBY when he jacks off. There was one time you caught him in the middle of it and he accidentally came all over himself. And let’s just say his world was rocked for the next couple of hours

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Since Zack is a switch/service dom in my books, here’s a few kinks that I think he will have:

Mommy kink: this man whines it so cutely that you can’t help but giggle a little. Bonus points when he paws at you, wanting kisses. 

Pegging: He LOVES it!!!! He never thought in a million years it would feel this good! He’s almost addicted to it. 

Edging: Oh my god, he loves it. On both you and him!!!! He thinks it’s so cute to hear your cute little whines. And when he gets edged, he’s a squirming mess. He’s begging and squirming, wanting to cum so hard. But edging really happen. Again, he’s more about the intimacy. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He will do it everywhere in your guys’ shared apartment but that’s it. Public sex freaks him out. He doesn’t want anyone to catch you guys. He’ll get so embarrassed. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you give him massages and massage around his ass. He gets so hard and he can’t help but grind into the sheets. Another thing that turns him on is whispering the most dirtiest things in his ear. The blush that appears on his face is so adorable!!!

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He refuses to have rough sex with you. And he does not want to hurt you in any way. Even if it’s something as small as spanking. He’s such a sweet baby boy!!!!

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves oral. Again, both on you and on him. But be aware when he eats you out, he won’t stop. You taste SO good to him. Also, sit on his face! He loves it

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He likes it nice and slow. Again, he loves the intimate parts of sex and not the rough. But if you convince him, he will go a bit faster. But being rough is off the table. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are not his most favorite thing in the world, but if it’s a situation where a quickie is needed, then yeah, he’ll have one. Just don’t expect them to have them a lot. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Zack is not one for experimenting. Unless it’s position wise. That’s the only exception. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He’ll go as long as you want to, but the most he can handle is from about one to two rounds. Anything more than that, then his vision becomes hazy and nearly passes out. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toys are questionable. He’s starting to come around to the thought of vibrators. But everything else is still questionable.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Teasing he’s somewhat okay with. It doesn’t happen a lot, but when it does it’s so worth it!!! Both if he teases you and if you tease him. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

There’s two ways this can go, either whiny subby baby, or gentle service dom:

When he’s subby, he turns into a whiny, moaning mess. He loves the feeling of you in him. He loves having you stroke his cock and making him cum so hard while having the cutest face on. 

When he’s domming, he doesn’t make a lot of sounds. You’ll mostly hear him whisper sweet nothings in your ear and maybe a few groans here and there. And when he’s whispering in your ear, he’s stroking your hair too, letting you know that he’s still there. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

There was one time you had a threesome with Cloud. Through most of the time, you and Cloud dominated Zack. Was it worth it? Yes. Would he do it again? Who knows? 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s HUGE!!!! It’s shocking to see how big he is and yet how gentle he is with you!!! He’s almost 11 inches and has a fat girth. And he’s got some heavy balls too. Do with that knowledge what you will. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is in the middle. He’s not overly horny and he doesn’t have a really low sex drive either. To him, if he wants to have sex, then he’ll ask you (CONSENT IS IMPORTANT PEOPLE). If he doesn’t, then he doesn’t.  

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’ll fall asleep once he knows you’re cleaned up, comfortable, and asleep. And when I tell you this man gives the best cuddles!!!! He’s like a big teddy bear!!! And he’s like you’re own personal heater!!!

Just thinking about how instances Cloud/Seph/Zack would be as mystical creatures loving you.

Tags: NSFW (but- mildly lol) , dubcon, light choking, breeding- idk how I got here but here ya go

Cloud- Water Nymph

You are lost when you see him. Blood rushing with trembling hands, you see cerulean blue eyes peer out of the water at you. You'd never seen anything so beautiful. You, who is almost jealous of the sun, the way it kisses his slickened blonde strands. Thousands of bejeweled memories embedded and loved. He's shy when you approach him, sinking silently into the water, his eyes unblinking up at you. Beseeching. Dragging you further. You make a vow that you want to be with him forever. You've known him for a long time right? It doesn't matter that you've forgotten why you were lost, or even who you were. Nothing matters when his hands close over your cheeks and he asks you to open your mouth, just for him. Humming in pleased delight when you obey immediately. Water from where he surrounds himself, comes in contact with your tongue and the world becomes fuzzy. When he curls his tongue around yours and his thrusts match the waves of the water, you think you can understand what "home" is. There is no alarm gracing your heart, only pleasure when he tells you to come. That you'll be his forever as he fucks you into the water that matches the deep possessiveness of his eyes.

Sephiroth- Vampire

It's cold tonight and maybe you should've brought a jacket. You don't think anything will warm you up, your shiver is far from cold. There's fear tingling and trailing up your fingers and forearms, stabbing you in the heart. You've seen him before. Many times. In your peripheral, in your shadows, before you turn around- he's always there but out of sight. Eyes so green, you're always too overwhelmed to look at him. They haunt you in your dreams. Even if you think the morning will save you, the quietness in your home sounds as if there is someone holding their breath, waiting for you to close your eyes and tonight is no different. It's too dark, and you're too alone. But you're so tired, exhausted from watching over your shoulder and jumping when the wind blows wrong. When you stop at an alley way it seems the best. "Come out" you whisper. You know he can hear you. So when you feel warmth at your back, there is relief. All that fear feels silly now when long silver strands stroke your cheek as he drags a hand up to cup the front of your neck. Whimpering when he squeezes lightly. You close your eyes in defeat, leaning back, earning you a pleased hum and kiss brushed along your neck. You glance with lidded eyes up at him to see a very satisfied green eyed gaze. It holds you down better than any chains can. He whispers that he's glad you've come to your senses to let him in. He's waited a long time for you. There is nothing to hold to when his cock drags against your walls with his fanged teeth piercing through your neck. No reality to set foot on when he holds you by the throat and forces you still, shushes you so you can hear the slick noises your body makes for him. Only for him.

Zack- Werewolf

It was just a simple solo camping trip. You wanted to be alone. You knew a place that was quiet, away from all the noise that chases you. And yet, you didn't heed the warnings of "there's something out there" made by everyone you'd crossed paths with. You thought they were being selfish. But when you lay next to the fire and start to drift off, you began to regret it because you hear a crack of a twig and the growl of...something. When you're shaking and heaving from running, you realize what you'd been hearing behind the gasping was laughter. The beast was laughing at you. You widen your eyes because his smile is an easy smile and he is ethereal. Tall and dark hair to match the night, your heart stutters at his dewy grin and strong hands that wrap around you with no problems. He waits to your heart rate calms down before he kisses you. Wet and possessive, he holds you by the jaw licking into your mouth as much as possible. When he has you on your tummy and stretching you open with his fingers, his growl permeates your whole body. Electric blues capture your eyes and he grins. Licking down your spine and telling you how good you are and how good he's going to be to you. How well he's going to take of you. His mate. Gasping and clenching around his knot has him howling in pleasure. Fucks you into the dirt over and over so that it takes. So that you're full of his cum and eventually-his pups.

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.” 

Miguel expression suggestions while I keep practicing him 💢💢

miguel's fav position is def mating press, but what about hobie. do u think he likes you on top so he can touch everywhere or on all fours, using his size to press against you?

hobie’s favorite position is… baby i’m drawing a blank i feel like he likes every single position like he just loves being inside you but if i had to choose… it’s either missionary with your legs over his shoulders or with you on top cause his dirty talk goes crazy with you on top 💯 you bein in control turns him on BAD so he’s literally encouraging you and telling you to take what you need and to ride him “just like that” and to “show me how much you love this dick, yeah?”

(bonus! he also rlly likes when you talk to him while he’s fucking your brains out. he’s all about your pleasure so over time he’s taught you to tell him when he’s doing something you rlly like. say he angles his hips a certain way. he presses up against your spot n you go crazy and start saying shit like “yeah, right there, feels so good” … he will go insane. makes sure he presses against that spot with every thrust and he’s moaning “yeah? right there? tell me how fuckin’ good it feels, love.”)

☆ 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. 

hobie 🕷️🎸: 1 video

.

.

.

the video's dark. looks like it was shot somewhere that definitely reeks. but with your brightness all the way up, what's going on in the video.. is crystal fucking clear.

"i- i tried to wait, swear i did love, but i couldn't. couldn't stop thinkin' about you, and your pretty cunt." he’s not shy. even stuttering, he’s cocky and unashamed of what he’s doing. he’s got his hand wrapped around his cock, spider suit unzipped and pants unbuttoned, only hanging onto his waist because of his studded belt. his slim frame looks beautiful.

he's jerking himself off in a busted back alley, camera propped up on a window sill. his pretty tip is already leaking pre-cum, lithe fingers coming up to swipe it down, to make the slide easier.

"got hard thinkin' about you, had to dip off n' take care of it." he flashes a wicked smile, throwing his head back, exposing his neck. his hips cant into his fist, fucking the little circle he makes knowing he wishes he was fucking you instead.

"god, 'm just a fuckin' perv, ain i? pants pulled down in an alley, fuckin' my fist for you?" he chuckles, bringing his eyes down to gaze at the camera, and then down at his cock.

"shit, wish it was you, doll." he speeds up, moaning shakily. "'s not wet enough, need your pretty pussy," he groans. his hand leaves his cock, coming up to his mouth, and he spits, trying the best he can to simulate the wet warmth of your cunt. he looks so gorgeous, with his pretty dick with it’s pretty upward curve held tight in his hand.

he starts his pace again, fucking his fist with visions of you own your knees doing it for him instead, the sound of his own hand moving against his dick loud and unmistakable. he’s desperate, whiney, broken moans falling from his lips. he looks so good, happy trail just barely visible. his taut stomach flexes with his every thrust, the expanse of pretty brown skin looking beautiful even with the darkness of the video.

lips parted and slick with spit, dick hard and leaking for you, he looks the image of a god. your god. and yet, he’s pleading to you, begging for salvation that he knows he won’t receive until he gets back home. his fist’ll have to do for now.

and it does, as long as he keeps you in the forefront of his mind. and he does.

“‘m close already,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on where his cock disappears into his hand and comes out on the other side, swiping his thumb over his pretty brown tip. “shit, you’d make me cum so hard, know you would. jerk me so good i’d be shootin’ blanks.” he can’t help but laugh again, breathless and wanting.

“cum with me, yeah? know you’ve been touchin’ yourself to this— fuck, wish it was me instead. should be me, with my hands all over you.” his thrusts pick up, his hand speeds up too.

“‘m g’na cum, please cum with me, love, don’t w’na cum alone,” he whines, deep and sincere. “fuckfuckfuck,” he spills into his hand, moaning loud, throwing his head back again. he rambles mixed together letters of your name and wishes that you were here, that you were the one making him bust.

he comes down with a heaving chest, hand still stroking slowly at his cock. laughs start to rack through him, his eyes focusing back on his camera. wiping his hand off on a tattered piece of fabric with a blissed out look on his face, he pulls his suit back up and fixes his pants.

“hope you liked it, love,” is all he says before he ends the video, pretty face frozen on your phone screen.