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dr3c0mix · 2 months

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Yans (Or Yan(s) of your choice) reacting to discovering their darling is secretly a femboyysuhshbhbw s sbshshs a... ddhsja.. dkdjoa. .. .a .a... a.. (I was executed for my crimes)

Darling is a Femboy?!

All my OCs x Femboy! Reader

Note: Femboy meaning “feminine presenting boy” not an insult to trans women guys!! I promise i love you guys!!

CW: Weirdo behaviour from some of them!!, Reader is called feminine terms, Male Reader, a few nsfw themes (implied or minor)

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Secretly likes it : Adrian, Bo, Jasper, Victor, Baron, Wolfie, Axel

Doesn't show it much but he absolutely loves the way you look! So soft and feminine and cute, he fantasizes about you a lot because of it. Those clothes whether it's big or tight on you, it turns him on so much!! He loves letting you borrow his clothes that are always way larger than you and seeing your legs or midriff peek through. He'll steal your clothes once in a while and just take big whiffs of it and imagine your soft squishy thighs wrapped around his body while he hugs you close. As much as he want to feel it for himself, he'd rather let you initiate the intimate action first

🖤 Adrian makes fun of you for it. I mean you're so girly! You probably comb your hair with a dumb brush like a barbie or something? Do you use strawberry scented shampoo too you sissy? hahah...no seriously what do you use you smell so good. A-and whats with the clothes huh? You trying to like seduce him or something lol because its working

💀 You make him weak in the knees!! Bo has a habit of showing off his strength to both you and the horde, but with you all dressed up for him, he makes sure to flex and stand up straighter more often. Please praise him!! Tell him how strong and handsome he is!! He's too shy proud to beg but oh my god if you do it on you own accord he's gonna melt.

🥀 Fantasizes the most. Jasper has a diary that he'd rather die than show you thats full of entries all about you, how much he'd want to hold your soft hands, have you on his lap with your legs wrapped around you so he can have his hands on your precious thighs, or better yet he'd be inbetween them as you squeeze hard in your prettiest thigh highs- I mean what i me-

🌙 Think's about you drinking someone's blood in a beautiful black dress full of bows and lace. You'd look absolutely adorable all dolled up and covered in blood! Victor's salivating just thinking about it~! But of course he'd never tell it to the others, they'd make fun of him until sunrise or perhaps stal his own personal fantasy from him!

♠️ Steals your clothes the most. Any clothing item that's gone in the laundry's gotta go through Baron first, for security purposes of course! He's gotta make sure there aren't any trackers or bugs in there! also gotta take a quick whiff of it to make sure no one sprayed some kind of toxin or poison on you hahah...god you smell so sweet...

🍂 Why must you be so adorable!??? Wolfie can't help but want to cover you in all the soft hides and blankets he has in the den. He loves crawling under your oversized hoodie to give you kisses and licks while feeling your small warm body <3

🎸 Axel thinks you're the cutest/hottest thing to ever exist. He's the type to swoon over every single thing you do. Seeing you drink a pink berry smoothie makes him all red, Catching you readjusting your clothes and seeing a bit of your body is taking him to the ER from a bleeding nose. He'd never force you to dress in a certain way but oh my god imagine you in a baby rock outfit, all dressed up in punk clothing yet full of ruffles and bows and everything AAA!! He's a sucker for seeing you do the most metal stuff while dressed in soft pastel clothing.

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So cute!! : Brandon, Screw, Soda, Kalva, Silas, Caspian, Ashvan

Absolutely adores you!! He swoons, gushes, coos over how cute you are to whoever entertains the thought. If they find anything they think you'd like, doesn't matter how expensive it is, he wants to make you happy! Perhaps you'd reward him with a kiss? He's gotta buy this asap!!

🏈 Brandon's actually beggging the cheerleading squad to let you join please pleasee!! He wants to see you cheer him on during games!! He'd be practically drooling over you, even more if he'd think about how you'd look in a short cheerleading skirt and..no stockings~..hopefully he can buy a cheerleading outfit for you even if you're not in the squad..

💀 Screw and Soda both melt whenever you're around. They both love physical touch so they find a lot of comfort cuddling and nuzzling into you. That comfort is multiplied by 100 with you dressed up all cute and pretty. They love it when you wear your shorts. They drag you over to the bed so one of them can cuddle you with your legs on their shoulders and the other hugging you from behind.

🪶 Lovely lovely lovely!! You're so lovely!! It's like how males use bright colors to attract a mate. Your adorable pastel colors or fluffy soft clothes make you irresistible to Kalva! He loves it more when you wear clothes that show skin, it lets him feel his mate easier! You're so soft and smooth and aaaa so so small and cute! He's able to scoop you up and pull you close with his wings. No need for all that covering! Your mate will keep you warm! It's his excuse for wanting to bury his face in your chest

🌙 Silas loves you no matter what you want or wear, but of course whatever you choose to take interest in, it'll affect Silas greatly. With you being a femboy for instance, he becomes much softer towards you, always cooing or holding you close like a fragile doll. Whatever praises you want to hear, he'll say it. You want to be pretty? Well then you're the prettiest, most precious boy he's ever seen, no mortal can ever be as pretty as you my darling little turtledove~!

🌊 Literally no one will ever be as pretty as Caspian but OH MY GOD YOU'RE ADORABLE!!! He offers, no, BEGS to pamper you as much as he pamper's himself. Let him brush your hair, let him give you soft massages when your pretty little body gets tired at night, let him dress you up in the finest dresses Atlantis has to offer!! They're a little wet but they'd look adorable on you in the water!

🌾 Ashvan's so protective over you! It's no surprise that he'd have such a reaction to the way you look. There's no way you can protect yourself! You need a big strong protector like him! Sure you mowed down a whole horde of goblins on your own during a mission but he saw you trip and scrape your knee! So unsafe! He has to be there to make sure you're ok! You might see him linger around watching you. If you ever approach him to thank him with a little kiss to the nose, he's probably fainting on the spot.

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Encourages it : Valeth, Ribs, Dorik, Garrick, Hallow, Kagiri, Alistair

He spoils you to death! In fact, he might be the reason why your closet is filled to the brim with pretty clothes in the first place. He has a habit of doting over you because of it. It pushes his possessiveness and obsession through the roof! You have a lot of power over him that may or may not backfire. There's no limits to what he'll do for his pretty little boy..or what he'll do to you~..

⚔️ Valeth babys you every chance he gets. He might be a brutish orc, but he loves being gentle with you. He'll be the one to give you relaxing bubble baths, dress you up in the softest clothing, and feed you, all with the gentlest touch you've ever felt in your life. It does have its drawbacks however. He won't trust you in doing any kind of hard work. Why do that when you got your big strong man to do it for you? All you need to do is sit and be pretty for him~ Just like that little duckling~

💀 Ribs is literally shaking over it why do you look so so so s- AAA please sit on his lap sit on his lap please hes begging youo!! If you try to leave the bed while he's having a cuddle session with you, he's dragging you back, your nails scratching the floor and everything. He's a little bit insane about you ngl, the sight of you in a soft, oversized hoodie with your thighs squished together put his brain into overdrive. He unconsciously humps/rubs against you while you two hug, it's your choice whether you let him absolutely devour you or not~

🔥 Oh oh my god oh my god oh my- Dorik's begging, on his hands and knees, to get a taste of you!! Doesn't matter if it's a kiss or a lick or something more, he just wants a chance at tasting his sweet little master~! Are you all dressed up just for him? Is he getting a reward?? Oh please please say yes!! He's drooling buckets over the thought of touching you, just letting his hands wander all over your petite body, going under the snug fabrics that hug your figure oh so deliciously~ He'll burn any and every clothing item that isn't a crop top, thigh high, shorts or hoodie! All he wants is to love love love his pretty master!!

🌙 Garrick spoils you so much the others have to scold him for it. But what can he say? You're his little pookie bear honeypie babyboo loveydove- I'll shut up now. But srsly this man is FOUL!! He shares with you his fantasies of sinking his teeth in a pretty little lamb like you, so soft and warm~! He makes you shiver everytime he pulls away the cute dress he's bought for you just to lick at your skin and ghost his fangs over it. He loves seeing his little lamb squirm~!

🦋 Hallow's dressing you up in the prettiest of dresses and outfits!! Like a proper princess! He more or less treats you like a little doll. He's a lot like Valeth but you have a bit more freedom with him, he's just a little whiny and clingy. He loves gifting you cute clothes and accessories like cute skirts and bows and everything, but he also expects something in return~ A long cuddle session perhaps? Or a day of lying on your lap while you hum lullabies to him~? Ohhhh he just can't wait!!

🐉 Kagiri and his gang are gonna buy you the nicest clothes ever!! Well not really.. They look more like stuff a mafia boss' wife would wear like slim black dresses, fluffy scarves and stylish coats and blazers. Honestly you look amazing in anything to them! Whether it be a chiq dress you'd find in an expensive clothing store or an adorable poofy nightgown, they'll bombard you with compliments. They get a little loud whenever they talk about dressing you up in different outfits. They got a lot of warnings for talking about your thighs and chest so loudly.

👑Alistair objectifies you. Calls you his cute little doll, his plaything, his his his! You serve no purpose other than being pretty for him and only him. He expects you to be in the cutest of clothes (that he chooses for you of course) at all times, especially after any meetings or work he had to endure. He wants you ready to give him the softest of cuddles to help him recharge from a harrowing day of being away from you. Oh and yes, you must bathe with him if ever he asks. Your skin must be maintained to be smooth and soft! He'll take that job of gently cleaning your petite little body for you (yes yes no need to thank him) and yeah, the bath is rose scented.

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ithinkicouldloveher · 4 months

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beyond the pines | december @steddiemicrofic 🥀

prompt: pine | wc: 508 | rated: m | cw: human/monster romance; implied parental abuse

Steve loves the forest. Could get lost in it for days.

It’s home to many living things. Red squirrels and spotted deer, great horned owls and sneaky foxes.

Bluebells, violets. Large spruces and spiky firs.

But his favorite are the pines, a dense cluster at the base of a mountain. His spine tingles at the scent.

It's sharp; potent.

Heady.

Can never not think of him, when he gets a whiff.

Steve exhales, cold breath swirling before him. He reaches a hand out, icy from the walk, from refusing to wear gloves, and runs gentle fingers over its grooves.

He likes the way the cold bites. Likes to experience the forest, to connect with the natural world around him, likes to scrape docile skin on weathered rocks.

He likes to reach down into dark waters, let it run between his fingers as he takes a gentle sip.

He could live off of what it has to offer him.

What he has to offer him.

Steve hoists the duffel up his shoulder, continues into the pines.

He brings a finger up to his cheek, hissing between his teeth when it stings.

A fresh cut, courtesy of Richard Harrington’s class ring.

He approaches a lone, grand tree, aged and evergreen.

Briefly, Steve hesitates. He’s never stayed longer than a few nights.

Nevertheless he grabs a rock, cuts his palm. Droplets of red bead at the surface and he turns his hand, letting it stain white snow.

Like clockwork, a shadow looms behind him.

Unspeaking and unmoving, it watches Steve curiously.

He turns to face the wild-haired creature, this god of a monster made of ivory stone and onyx ink.

He’s naked, like always.

Steve watches the monster's pale tongue swipe across his bottom lip, nostrils flaring, midnight eyes zeroing in on Steve’s gored hand.

Black, feathery wings stretch wide behind him.

“Eddie,” he greets, sounding out the name he’d affectionally given the creature only two winters ago. “I missed you.”

Eddie grins wide, all sharp white teeth and blood red lips.

He gathers Steve in one swoop, carries him easily to the den beyond the pines, nestled in the mountain.

Steve drops his bag. “I need to stay a while,” he says, unbuckling his belt, stepping out of his jeans as he warms up by the fire. “That okay?”

Eddie eyes him, humored. He saunters over to Steve and drapes himself across his body.

Steve feels the monster’s ridged length press against the small of his back, hot and erect.

He smirks, cheekily pressing back.

Eddie purrs, tightening his grip and rolling his hips into Steve.

“Only if you have something for me in return,” he taunts lowly, sharp claws scraping lightly at Steve’s skin, making goosebumps rise.

“Oh?” Steve murmurs, lilting his voice as Eddie's hand hovers over his plumping cock. “What do you want?”

Eddie's other hand snakes up to grip Steve’s chin. “Don't be foolish,” he snarls quietly. “You know what I desire.”

Steve leans back, baring his throat to the monster.

“So take it,” he whispers.

#steddie #steddie microfic

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34-gulse · 9 months

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"Tatil bitti,,Fniş 😥😥

Ve bugün istanbu a

Döneceğiz..

Sıcak günlerimize...

Gülse den Sevgiler

Selâmlar,,🙏🌹

Güzel gönüllere

Yada beni seven sevmeyen herkese.🤗

😍😎💕💕🥀

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selin-n · 1 month

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Yara/nı evde bırakıp çıkıyorsun sokağa...

.....yüzünde tebessüm, etrafın çok kalabalık...

Sen yalnızsın____//

🎼🎵🎶 💙🥀 Yolların kapalıydı zorlamadım...!🎶🎵

💙🥀

---Omuzunda ki yük den

Yüreğinde ki kırgınlık dan

Hasretin den

Özlemin den habersiz_____//

Herkes yabancı

Hiçbir şeye öfke duymuyorsun.....!!

Sadece kırgınsın➖!

Bulmak istersen, yeni bir yol mutlaka vardır_____//!!!

Sevgiyle kalın 💙

#selin-n

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papaver-decervicatus · 8 months

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Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 4, Mus Urbanus

Fatal attraction is one thing but stuck on a stakeout, a certain little mouse decides to push her luck with the cat who's been chasing her... just how far is too far, and how much more can they take?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Hahaha, remember how I said I was going to do shorter updates? Yeah well, I felt really bad for missing the previous week but I did have a lot of terrible IRL shit happen, so working through that was a priority. That being said, going back through all the amazing comments and everything everyone has written has been absolutely keeping me afloat! Thank you all so so so so so much, you will never know how much it all means to me.

There are a couple of Hannibal references in this part that, hopefully, will start to make sense by the last part of the story (which was, coincidentally, the first part written!) Not going to lie, I am just glad to publish this so I never have to think about this damned part again as I have been stuck on in for literal months. Also sorry if Soap's accent sucks, the only experience I have with anything remotely Scottish in the way of language tendency is my grandmother whose father was a Scottish immigrant and that's it.

Anyways, I hope you like agnst and interrogation scenes, because next week, König loses his faith in god and in mouse while tied to a chair! See you there!

❣️Cura ut Veleas ~ Caedis 🥀

PREV | Pt. 4 Mus Urbanus | 4.2k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

“Mouse?” A voice from in front of her calls out, but only after she deliberately drags her feet into the threshold of the neutral ground, alerting him of her presence.

“Quiet as a.” She utters her usual response, stepping into the little flat in Buenos Aries, Argentina. She hears the smile as Soap sucks in a breath at her little joke. Her callback should be old by now, shouldn’t make him smile anymore, but he does anyway. He’s easy to get along with, something hard to come by in war. She crosses the minimal space between the two and takes stock of his little setup.

For a mission, it’s luxurious. He’s sitting, in a chair might she add, with a scope poking barely out of an antique window on the 7th floor of an apartment building, looking into a busy market square. His arms rest on a table littered with little signs of life, a map of the area adorned with notes and coordinates in inexpensive ink, no less than 7 pens whose caps are chewed through (everyone’s got bad habits but this little sin of his drives poor Price up and down the goddamn wall), two disposable cups with sediment rings denoting how much instant coffee was drunk from them at a time before they returned to their places besides their drinker. Most notably, however, are two radios in a strange moment of near fornication– backs ripped open and wires crossed in an almost pornographic display of field ingenuity.

Damn demolition specialists, she hears the echo of Gaz say in her head and she absentmindedly rubs the scabbed over cut on her left hand where the shrapnel of a certain someone’s frag grenade got her two weeks ago. She wants to be mad but-

“Hear any good ones, lately?” Soap turns to her, he’s disengaging from his post, changing his guard for her to take his spot, just as command ordered. He’s been in this little nest for about 6 hours and she can feel his desire to scuttle and tinker about radiating off of him. As he takes apart his gun, already aware and familiar that she refuses to use anyone’s but her own, his eyes shine to life. The color of sky blue permafrost, yet they radiate a certain lived-in warmth impossible to distance yourself from. Eyes almost like-

She bites her tongue at the thought. Bad time to be thinking about König… she mourns. But, speaking of the man.

“Yes, but it’s bad,” she offers, in fake warning as she sheds her outer jacket before moving to unhook the case that stands between her and the assembly of her gun. She knows the warning will only intrigue the poor pyrotechnic more.

His smile is nothing short of sadistic as he raises an eyebrow.

“No, like, really bad,” she emphasizes, throwing a pleading look his way. His grin gets even more shit-eating-er if that sort of thing were even possible. “I mean it, MacTavish. Pass it along to your long-suffering Lieutenant, and you will be picking teeth out of your shit.” “I’m sure I’ve done worse to Ghost,” he supplies, rolling his shoulders. Yeah, I’m sure you have, she thinks but is much too self-preserving to say, especially aware that the Frankenstien’s monster of a radio he’s resurrected from two dead circuit boards is likely not secure enough to promise any real privacy. She would rather not alert Simon Riley that she’s become a dealer in his and Soap’s arm’s race of terrible jokes. He does not take prisoners, after all…

“Alright, alright, just don’t tell him it’s from me,” she smiles, putting her hands up defensively in a quick jest. “Okay, play along with me now,” he nods along as he steps away from the perch and lets her take his spot at the table.

“So, what's the difference between a piano, a fish, and a gluestick?”

“I know about two-thirds o’ this one.”

Mouse trap baited. She smiles.

“Give it a go, then.” She wiggles in the chair, pressing her cheek to the crux of the sight and its metal holder. She sighs into the familiar feeling of control that settles into her bones as she hunches over.

“Can tuna piano but’cha can’t tuna fish?” He supplies, half teasing her already.

“Yep, but you’re forgetting something.” She sighs and goes to fiddle with the red-light optics extension, Command is confident enough in her abilities that she was specifically told to take it off for this one. She hears Soap whisper a quiet ‘oh shite’ behind her when he realizes he probably forgot to himself and she laughs a little.

“What about the glue?”

Mouse trap set. Poor Soap, always getting himself into ambushes…

She smiles wide and hums remembering how excited her kitty-cat was to tell her this part.

“See, I knew you’d get stuck on that one.”

Mouse trap sprung. A moment of silence.

“Oh fuck me, that one is bad.” Soap chokes out a hearty laugh as he collects his discarded coffee cups from her side.

“No thanks,” she purrs as she finally sets herself into position. “Use it at your discretion, soldier.”

“Aye, that I will.”

Soap goes to rummage through the kitchenette to her right and she takes the moment she lacks supervision to indulge herself. She does not move her sights to alert the man with her of the wandering of her eyes, instead, she scans windows and alleys without visual aid. The stale air threatens to choke her as she rakes over the golden-hued morning scene with desperate efficiency.

After what feels like an eternity of stolen glances switching between her targeted area and anywhere he may be, she sees him.

Technically, she has no way to know for certain that it’s König, she doesn’t have his usual wave or cheeky grin (affectionately referred to as a Cheshire Cat Smile in her own belabored heart) to alert her to his presence. That being considered, there is a masculine figure barely peeking out of a window into an alleyway who is just shy of 7 feet tall and his face is covered. Yeah, probably König. She smiles despite herself and her company. She wonders if he has radio access to her little hideout.

(She remembers the seemingly endless weeks of his arrival to her perch. The early morning light hits the streets the same way it had hit the forest ground that day. Like a fairy tale prince, beseeching a princess on hand and knee, he would always somehow appear in her sights, nearly as though it was just meant to be!

His form stands out tall and proud from its surroundings and she recounts every single reason he should not be here. By the third time their eyes caught she’d decided he was doing it on purpose, but she never let him get away with it without some acknowledgment on her side. She can only imagine that if she’s getting hunted for sport, her calling out his position will, at least temporarily, halt his advance.

But by this rate, she’ll be in his mouth by the end of the year.

His eyes are cold and bloodshot red. Painted tears lick their way down the hood she’s never seen him without, possibly a feeble attempt at impersonality? Maybe if he looks enough like a monster people will just trust their first assumption and leave him alone. But she’s never been one to judge a book by its cover…

“I see you, König.” She warns out to him. He stills among the foliage, bathed in sweet-honey-like warmth from the rising sun. He does not shy away from his imminent death on the business end of her rifle, of course not! Instead, he raises his chest proudly, seemingly aware that the loneliness in her yields to whatever greater magnetism the loneliness in him commands. He’s an enigma, it bothers her that of all the people to put the effort into finding her, it has to be him. Mostly she curses herself for promising him a next time all those encounters ago, if she’d known what sort of a game it would inspire in the predator stalking her like prey despite her flipping sniper rifle, she never would have said a thing.

He may be in her scope, but he’s got her under a finer microscope to seek her out so faithfully. She wishes she got this sort of dizzying devotion from someone, anyone else. It is the third day this week he has found her.

What she expects to happen is what has happened for weeks now, 1) he hears her transmission, 2) he smiles at her as a predator smiles at pray, his eyes find hers and her hackles rise in utter terror, and 3) he hums to himself and turns away, self-satisfied enough to have won hide-and-seek for the time being.

That does not happen.

Instead, König sits down, right where he is, and pulls out that monster of a knife he keeps strapped to himself. He throws it up and catches it without looking at it, instead his eyes are laser-focused on Mouse. This is, of course, despite the fact he should have no earthly idea where she is. He plays with his knife idly for what must be an hour, but she does not- no, can not- look away from him.

She remembers her trigger finger twitching with sinful power, she remembers choking back the insistence at killing another lonely person, devoid of their autonomy on a basic level when they signed up for a mercenary-issued ticket to hell.

She remembers hopelessness. She remembers refusal. She remembers the smile reaching his eyes when she played along with his joke.

“Why don’t rats like cats?” Her radio labors out.

She half forgot what his voice sounded like, surprisingly excitable and shrill for a man of his stature. Her brain stutters around the implication of the only words she’s heard him say to her since the fateful ravine that gained Mouse her own personal 6’10” shadow.

She blinks a few times in surprise, genuinely pondering if her long hours hiking through the woods have made her susceptible to hallucination and general hysteria. She is not thinking when she timidly responds-

“Why?”

“Because they are weapons of maus-destruction.” Konig replies like it’s not the stupidest thing she’s ever heard in her goddamn life. Perhaps it's pity at the memory of his discomfort around his comrades. Of the thought of the way he tries to make his body so small when around others (truly an impossible task he routinely fails.) Maybe it’s irrational fear, twofold and buried in her instinct to shoot despite the clear disadvantage on his behalf and her insistence that she does not do her damn job, or fear of the inhuman man in front of her stalking her through the woods. Or it could be discomfort, no one ever prepared her for dealing with whatever the fuck this is in basic training or field school. In the end, it doesn’t really matter what it is.

In the sparkling, decadent light of a sunrise, her heart hammers in her throat at the first joke he’d told her, in some strange and desperate attempt to fill the meters of silence between them.

She laughs.

And he hears it.

And with his wide stance, his ghastly executioner’s hood in the place of a crown, and his knife back in its holster- his beautiful eyes seem to smile. Suddenly, his eyes look lived in, like someone has just put up new curtains in an abandoned house. His whole affect changes hinging on what was an irresponsible outburst on her behalf at best.

And for the first time, she does not fear a monster hunting her through the woods, silent and purposeful in his pursuit of prey. Instead, she wants to understand a man, whose eyes have lit up like a princess has just laughed when he kissed her hand.)

Soap wanders back into her small perch with two cups of coffee and sets one down next to her. She takes a quick glance and hums with appreciation. He takes another sip out of his and she remembers that they’re supposed to share shift for about an hour before his rotation ends.

“You treat all your girls to coffee in the morning?” She quips.

“Only the pretty ones,” he returns with an effortless charisma and her breath catches.

Not because of Soap, but because in that alleyway, where she really shouldn’t be looking, she sees the uneasy rise of two massive shoulders and-

Oh my god, did König just… get jealous?

The next idea she has is downright evil, really this is not the place or the time or any of that but-

Fuck it. She’s already flirting with the enemy, what more could this do? She’s already told the poor mountain of a man something dangerously adjacent to “God I really missed you when we didn’t talk to each other for three weeks like a horny teenager and by the way I love you desperately and think about you when I’ve got my hands down my pants,” and she probably imagined him tensing up, anyways. No harm, no foul.

Maybe, it's dangerous, to wave a steak in front of a mountain lion, but what if she wants to get mauled?

“Hey Soap, what page are you on?” She says, putting her terrible plan into action. She sees him look up from his report, or more likely an idle sketch, on her periphery.

“Ah, only the second chapter, did'ya move my bookmark?”

“Nope, the book’s in the leftmost pocket in my duffle.”

“Thank ya,” He says and moves from his spot to go fetch the book from it. She takes a quick sip of her coffee, delighted to realize he’s made it to her specifications as far as milk and sugar go, as he rummages around in her bag.

The impromptu book club started nearly eight months ago when Nova passed her copy of Emma by Jane Austen off to Gromsko to help him with his English. That turned into Mouse recommending the book Jane Eyre to Nova on the pure suspicion that she would hate it, which she did. Gromsko still needed to practice and enjoyed the spirited discussions so he joined the blossoming group with an English copy of The Doll by Aleksander Głowacki after he finished Jane Eyre. Never one to be left out, and surprisingly well-read when he wanted to be, Soap had pitched the idea of The Lord of the Flies (because to quote “Fucking Brits,” and he wanted to subject others to his high-school reading list.) If she remembered correctly, Farah and Reyes had also started sharing copies of books they enjoyed occasionally.

“Can’t believe it was Gromsko that put it in rotation.” Soap says, pulling out a well-worn copy of The Silence of the Lambs from the bag.

“He said he picked it up years ago in Polish thinking it was a cooking field guide.” She offers, as the man next to her idly thumbs through pages.

“Yer shitting me, yeah?”

She just shakes her head and smiles into her scope. Soap laughs and removes his homemade bookmark, a pencil sketch of a stake-out view somewhere in Mexico scribbled onto scrap paper. He keeps his thumb on the page and flips through to where hers is, much further along.

“Yer a right romantic, ain’cha Bonnie?” Soap laughs somewhere between the pages and somewhere behind her. “Hmm?”

“This part, that’ya highlighted,” she hears a well-meaning sneer in his words. “The one you put the hearts by and everything…”

Mouse’s mouth tethers itself into a terse line and she attempts her best noncommittal shrug.

Somewhere in her line of sight, a mountain shrugs himself chuckling lightly. She wonders what it would feel like, to lay on his broad, muscled chest as he laughs, how closely he would hold her, how she could rest entirely on top of his chest and not touch the ground beneath them and-

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She lies through her teeth. Soap’s laugh behind her is loud and proud. Suddenly, his casual sadism isn’t so amusing when turned around on her.

“Do you think it's because I like to look at you and think about eating you up—“ he reads from the book, voice dripping in mock chivalry and breathless romanticism. “About how you would taste?"

She feels her cheeks and ears heat up as Soap loudly proclaims her funeral to all those who may care, and she doesn’t miss the way König leans a little too close to his radio as he goes about mocking her. His stance shifts as if he hangs on the very words like he’s found a secret buried deep in her subconscious. Technically, she has no way of knowing, but Mouse knows in her heart that König is smiling. At least someone is having fun.

Once Soap comes down from his laughing fit he puts her bookmark back to its spot and talks at the back of her head.

“With your pressed flower bookmark and everything. Oh, it would be sweet if he wasn’t Hannibal the Cannibal.” Soap hisses out. “I always figured you were…” he pauses searching for the right word, “adventurous from how Gromsko talks bout ya, but seriously cannibalism?”

If she’s not mistaken, König’s hand grips ever so slightly tighter on the radio attached to the best. Maybe the battle plan has to change, but she’s still got some ideas.

Soap is completely oblivious to the electricity licking up the air between her perch and one man on the ground. He looks around frantically, seemingly desperate to find her, and look in her eyes. Mouse is a sniper, she really should hate the attention, but something fatalistic descends into her smile as she lets Soap continue his little outburst.

“I swear. You and him, yer sure there’s nothing there? He’s even given you special field medicine lessons, no one gets treatment like that from Gromsko.”

“His name is Sobieslaw.” Notably, it is not a denial. Technically, everything that’s just been said is the truth.

König’s shoulders rise.

He looks right down her site.

She smiles.

Come and get me, kitty-cat.

“See! That’s what I’m talking about. You’re the only person who calls him by his first name.”

“Because you never put in the effort to learn it.”

“That don’t mean a thing since I don’t have tits.”

“You do, just not as good as mine.”

“Aye, off it. Gromsko is into you.” She can hear from the way Soap’s voice carries haphazardly around the room that he is pacing and talking with his hands. She doesn’t turn her back, gaze still fixated on the looming shadow in her sights. Soap continues, entirely unaware of the exact type of beast he is tempting. “He swaggers around you, never even bothers to fucking ask to pick up your boxes, he just does it. His voice gets all soft around ya, too, like he’s cooing at a goddamn pet animal or something. He nearly got into an actual pissing contest with Ghost the other day when he bitched about you beating him in poker. Face the facts, Bonnie, he wants you.”

König’s eyes have focused with the ferocity of an apex predator and his chest labors out concentrated and sharp inhales and exhales. He resembles a recently sharpened knife, desperate for some carnage after a particular kind of attention. His body is crumpled in on itself not unlike a cat getting ready to pounce. His heels dig desperately into the cobblestones beneath his feet. His hand flicks out his beloved Glock field knife with all the reverence of a praying man.

In short, he looks every part like he does in immediate battle. He looks like he did the split second before he started sprinting for her in the snowy woods, the scene that occupies her lonely nights when she tries in complete vanity to recreate the feel of his hands cradling her sides.

Mouse should be scared of König.

Instead, she sees before her a scene of complete and hopeless adoration focused so intently on her alone that she should be afraid of. Realistically, she recognizes the clear and present danger of the moment. Is König upset at her? At Soap? At a potential adversarial suitor by way of Gromsko? She doesn’t quite know, but after a career of intentionally hiding like a coward, she basks infatuated by the calamitous captivation he exhibits.

He looks like he wants to maul something to death.

As keen as she is on getting him close enough to try to get over to her (and ideally, throw her under him,) in her infinite mercy, Mouse decides the teasing has gone on long enough.

“I like Gromsko just fine, but not like that.” Soap audibly scoffs and König’s entire form relaxes. Both men mutter something to themselves before an encore of gunfire breaks out. Mouse’s heart stutters to a stop when her radio comes in.

“Visual on Gaz, he’s hit!” Nova calls out, clearly alarmed. Soap grabs for the radio right next to Mouse and brings it to his face, holding onto a few loose wires as he does to ensure the amalgamation does not fall apart in his fingers.

“Where is he?”

“Two blocks from south from you, Gromsko is a click out.”

Soap looks at Mouse with his heart bobbing in his throat. The pain and worry on his face is palpable.

“Go.” She says. Soap looks around frantically at their supplies, seemingly taking a split second worth of inventory, making as many life-or-death decisions as he can in such little time.

“Soap, listen to me,” Mouse soothes. “I keep overwatch, you take my TAC vest and stabilize him until he can get a medic.”

“Mouse, I can’t just leave you-” “You can, and you will. Go.” She says with all the finality of a door slamming shut. Soap doesn’t look at her again as he gathers her supplies and nearly sprints downstairs.

Soap leaves. Quickly. Quietly. He never looks back.

Her stomach settles into discomfort and she looks through the door he closed with the same sad nostalgia she looked through falling snow and monumentous trees. She can’t help but think she would not get the same priority in Gaz’s situation. Like some terrible premonition, she imagines bleeding out on the ground as Soap turns away, never once looking back.

Would König come for me? She ponders, before she smothers the paranoia-induced delusion with the memory of his large hands on her sides. She looks down at her shoelace, where she carved a cylindrical hole through his effigy to attach it. The birchwood mouse carving that sleeps at her right toe gives a silent reassurance: he never really left you, did he?

By the time she looks back into her scope, in between the all-too-familiar white noise of war that’s broken out around her, she sees a shadow dart out from the alleyway one down from where König is. The figure is cloaked in the specific type of military fatigue denoting his affiliation, one that is unluckily for him, kill on sight. It ducks behind the building to the right, where König is. It stalks out, lining itself up behind the hooded man, brandishing a drawn pistol.

König doesn’t have the time to react to the blood spray that litters across his back from the other man’s head once Mouse pulls the trigger on her gun, silently thankful (as awful as it is,) that Gaz getting hurt allowed her to take the shot without Soap inquiring into her actions. (But maybe it’s her fault in the first place that König was distracted enough to allow someone to get the drop on him…)

König looks back towards her and his head lulls to the side like a heavy flower bloom weighed down by morning dew. His eyes, somehow the softest she’s ever seen, are also carving a large chunk of her soul like a knife cuts through soft wood. When he lifts his hood to blow a kiss to her, she knows she will never get her traitorous heart back.

“Danke, mein Engel,” the radio on her table whispers in his voice.

“It’s only fair. I did owe you, after all.” She responds, all together unconcerned with whether or not he can hear her. She smiles, thankful she can see those bright eyes another day.

When he turns away, she feels her entire heart walk away with him. With every step of his fleeting form, she feels less and less herself, as though someone had separated her shadow from where it meets her feet. Something has changed in the air between them, a sad resignation settles into her trigger finger when she releases it.

For the first time, she does not feel as though she wouldn’t run if he took her, but rather that some integral part of her is with him as he leaves.

All is fair in love and war, but she’s not sure just how much longer she can stand to play cat and mouse.

taglist!

@kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyy @haisebo @crowbird

And special thanks to @bucca2 and @ivymarquis for finally kicking my ass into gear to write this. Can't wait to read yall's WIPs!

#Navigation -> Cat/Mouse/Den #König #König x reader #König x OC #König MWii #König COD #Char: Mouse

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yusuf-iri-yusufum-yusuf · 5 months

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Bugün den Kalanlar aslında bazı şeylerin kısa sürmesine benzer "ömür gibi "⚘️⚘️🍂🍁⏳️🥀🇪🇭🇹🇷

#timblr

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su-alteza-emia · 1 year

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My tags ¡!

#Emia writes🖊️ - Me talking about my write or (someday) my actually writing.

#Enver's dying🥀 - When i feel sick and i actually feel like i'm dying.

#Dumy simps💋 - Me simping. That's it, that's the tweet.

#Phantom needs to shut up🪄 - Me talking nonsense.

#Ruler is a fangirl👑 - Me being a fangirl.

#Tristan's happiness🦔 - Me being happy.

#Savannah is listening songs🎧 - Me talking about music.

#The dream of your Highness💭 - Me talking about my dream (i want to be an actor<3).

#The queen is watching movies🎥 - Me watching or rewatching movies.

#Your majesty is rehearsing🎭 - Me in my rehearsals.

#Den meeting people🐲 - Me talking to new people.

#a message from the queen💍 - When someone ask me something<3.

#Crown loves philosophy💬 - Me loving or struggling with philosophy.

#Cedar my queen🦢 - me being delusional about Cedar*.

#Coraline's royalty💿 - Talking about Coraline*.

#The two queens👑 - Talking about Coradar*.

#God save the ruler🔮 - when i'm struggling with something.

#🦇 trying to be Organized - self explanatory.

#Know your queen⚜️ - me talking about me.

#Request to your majesty♠️ - request tag!

#Allan spends money💵 - me buying things<3

i usuallly mix all of them.

*Cedar is a oc from an au by @mxnique-gibeau

*Coraline is my character to date Cedar.

*Coradar it's the ship name of Cedar and Coraline.

🃏 - «Off with their head!»

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34-mavi · 1 year

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Sorma aklımdan gecenleri

Hiç boş yere yorma sen kendini

Bir gün belki anlacaksin

İsde ozamn yanımda olamayacaksinn

Solacak bütün cicekler

Ne sen den bir iz kalacak ne benden O sevgiler

🌼🌻🌹🌷🥀🌼☘️🪻💐

#mavipost

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fake-vz · 1 year

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Konversationenstarter:

❝ Eisbrecher ❞

Reblogge oder like diesen Eintrag, oder schicke ihn jemanden, um dir von deinen Freunden, Bekanntschaften, Unbekannten und Mutuals einen Emoji schicken zu lassen, damit ihr darüber eine Unterhaltung beginnen könnt. Tauscht euch aus und schicke bestenfalls deinem daraus gewonnenen Gesprächspartner*innen ebenso Emojis!

(Diese Konversationen können natürlich im privaten Chat geführt werden und müssen nicht öffentlich beantwortet werden!)

😂 — Was bringt dich immer zum lachen?

🎻 — Spielst du ein Instrument? Wenn ja, welches? Wenn nein, würdest du gerne eins spielen können?

👪 — Wenn du die Beziehung zu einem Familienmitglied ändern könntest, würdest du es? Mit wem, warum und wie würdest du sie verändern?

👁️ — Wie hat sich deine Perspektive auf das Leben mit der Zeit verändert?

♥️ — Sind Taten im Namen der wahren Liebe immer gerechtfertigt?

🔪 — Hast du jemals jemanden oder etwas getötet? War es ein Versehen oder Absicht? Würdest du es wieder tun?

🔮 — Bist du abergläubisch? Erläutere!

🎉 — Welche Feste feierst du jedes Jahr? Wie feierst du sie am liebsten?

💋 — (NSFW) Was sind für dich No-Go's in einer sexuellen Beziehung?

😱 — Was ist der gruseligste Ort, den du je besucht hast?

🤡 — Du wippst unruhig hin und her, wenn dich etwas wütend stimmt, oder kaust deine Nägel, wenn du nervös bist? Was sind deine Macken?

✨ — Du hast einen Wunsch frei. Was wünschst du dir? Etwas Materielles? Oder wünschst du dir etwas, das man sich nicht erkaufen kann?

👻 — Wovor fürchtest du dich?

🌬️ — Wenn du von heute auf morgen plötzlich verschwinden würdest, wovon würden deine engsten Freunde und Familie ausgehen, was passiert ist? (ein Prank von dir, ein Fluchtversuch aus dem Alltag, du hast dich in eine gefährlich Lage gebracht? Etc.)

🩸 — Was dekoriert deinen Körper? Tattoos? Narben? Prothesen? Piercings? Erzähle die Geschichten dahinter.

🥀 — Gibt es ein vergangenes Ereignis, das dich bis heute begleitet?

👶 — Hattest du eine schöne und friedliche Kindheit, oder eine Kindheit, die du am liebsten vergessen würdest?

🙊 — Hast du ein heimliches Vergnügen / "Guilty Pleasure"?

💕 — Was ist deine Liebessprache?

🏡 — Wo und wie lebst du? Beschreibe dein Zuhause und die Umgebung.

#konversationenstarter

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summerf0x · 3 months

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🪳shedroponmywigtillidie-deactivated-cycle-27

Casual reminder that Monster Kelp aren’t real ambush predators. They actively seek prey out instead of waiting for it to come to them.

🎄totally-a-real-pole

What the fuck are you talking about? Monster Kelp have been ambush predators longer than you’ve been clinging to the ceilings. Why don’t you log off and touch some wormgrass instead of projecting your preylessness onto us?

🪳shedroponmywigtillidie-deactivated-cycle-27

I’m the preyless one? At least I can move.

🚨 red_leech_collective

Honestly, we think that this argument is super dumb. Monster Kelp are lineaged versions of Pole Plants, and if Pole Plants are ambush predators then so are Monster Kelp. Typical landwalker L.

-Mod Red Leech 3

🐈 TheSurvivor

can you let go of me please

🪳shedroponmywigtillidie-deactivated-cycle-27

SMH average Red Leech behavior. Always sticking their suckers where they don’t belong. STAY 👏 OUT 👏 OF 👏 AMBUSH 👏 PREDATORS 👏 BUSINESS.

🚨 red_leech_collective

Are you saying that leeches are not ambush predators?

-Mod Red Leech 2

🐈 TheSurvivor

im so cold and i can hear the rain coming please i just want to find my sibling

🪳shedroponmywigtillidie-deactivated-cycle-27

Yes???? Everyone knows Leeches, regardless of color are parasites.

🚨 red_leech_collective

Parasites are a species type, not predator type. I swear, the average intelligence levels on this site are so low.

-Mod Red Leech 3

🐈 TheSurvivor

got a rock gonna throw it

🎄totally-a-real-pole AUGH FUCK

🐈 TheSurvivor

made it to the shelter im safe

🪳shedroponmywigtillidie-deactivated-cycle-27

lol if you hadn’t been so caught up in your stupid argument you would have eaten that Slugcat. I’ll have fun eating them next cycle.

🎄totally-a-real-pole

This loser isn’t in their den!!!

RAIN ATTACK 💧🌧💧🌧💧💧💧💧🌧🌧

🪳shedroponmywigtillidie-deactivated-cycle-27

MY EXOSKELETON

🚨 red_leech_collective

Imagine not being able to breathe water.

🥀 monster-whelp

Glad that asshole’s not going to be in this timeline anymore. But real talk? If you can’t handle Monster Kelp being considered an ambush predator unfollow now.

💣 Scavenger-Wizard-Money-Gang

I gained a net zero of information from this post

#rain world #rain world memes #survivor rw

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selin-n · 3 months

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🎼🎶 Ne güzel bir şarkı 🎶 Sting 'den "Shape of my Heart" ve o küçük köpeğin tatlı bakışı, bir şiir gibi 💙

💙🥀🕊️

#müzik #peri-han #sevimli hayvanlar #cute kitty

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papaver-decervicatus · 7 months

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Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 5, Royally Caught

While tied down in a cartel interrogation room, König is forced to his mental breaking point when a certain sniper makes an appearance. Is she a rat, or here to chew him free...?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care, graphic mentions of sex trafficking victims, abusive language, mentions of sexual violence.

Author's note: Please notice that warning have indeed changed for this chapter! Nothing happens in the story, but many hard themes come up as intrusive thoughts. Please be weary of these and feel no obligation in reading if doing so would make you uncomfortable!

Ahhh, well well well... it's finally here. Originally the concept of this chapter came from this YouTube Video as inspiration, specifically Labyrinth by OOMPH! And it sort of... wrote itself? The title is supposed to be a play on the phrase "Royally Fucked" because I did not feel like using a swear as a title. Anyways, you'll notice from my headcanons on König that I believe working as an insertions specialist for human trafficking seriously fucked him up. I also believe that he typically does not act out violently against women. So... what happens when he thinks Mouse is doing the very thing he hates so much? Well, you will have to see!

This chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, but the inspo was taken from the El Sin Nombre mission in MWii. Mouse is in the cartel house, undercover at a party and in an attempt to take out her target she saw an interesting video feed....

I must admit, this chapter has my favorite single or one off lines. I am really proud of it, please enjoy! But be warned, this is unabashedly horny/desperate/angsty/and the pining goes fucking nuclear. Have fun!

Also, if youre into the fake interrogation thing, then next chapter stays good for you, especially if you want mouse in the hot seat...

❣️Cura ut Veleas ~ Caedis 🥀 PREV | Pt. 5, Royally Caught | 4.2k words | Mouse POV | NEXT (coming soon!)

König did not expect his Friday night to end up with him locked in a storage container turned jail cell in Mexico.

Yet here he is.

At some point while raiding the Cartel Mansion in Las Almas, or more appropriately, trying to open an exterior wall so that KorTac could raid it, he had been shot with a tranquilizer gun. The shot didn’t knock him out entirely, the dosage was probably not completely calibrated to his weight, but it was enough to slow his escape down. He got about two miles out before men in an armored Jeep jumped him.

And he woke up, here, about three hours ago.

Two hours ago he broke his thumbs in an effort to get out of his cuffs, but someone must’ve caught his plan because immediately afterward two masked cartel members came into his cell and stuck a syringe into his arm. When he awoke for the second time, there was a durable cord keeping his wrists together instead. Feeling around he could tell that the rope had been burned into itself, creating a lack of weak spots for him to abuse in escape efforts.

His legs were in a similar position, chorded down thick and heavy to the legs of the rusty metal chair he was in. He was still in most of his combat outfit, save his vest, weapons, and any tools he had on him when he was captured.

They’d kept the hood on his face and they hadn’t removed his helmet. This, to König, showed an extraordinarily eerie amount of understanding for his position within KorTac. None of his comrades would recognize him by his face, and judging by the multitude of cameras in the room, he was intended to be… recognizable.

At first, anyways.

This cell was, unfortunately, familiar to him. The layout of the cot, the chair, the metal table, the haphazardly soldered-in door and door frame, the holes drilled into the sides of the metal container, and even the rudimentary sink and toilet combo was something he’d become viscerally acquainted with.

This was a typical Al Qatala human trafficking cell, specifically designed so that multiple humans could be chained up in one space without sacrificing the capacity for good camera angles. Typically, these were set up in storage containers twice the size of this one, but he doesn’t really have any room to be complaining about getting put into a non-standard torture chamber.

His specialty was cracking these when he was with the Austrian Special Forces. His real calling in life, his one true hatred.

Fall on the sword you forge, he thinks. The understanding of what will become of him in short order is horrifying. He’s one of the few people on the face of the planet who’s seen this exact routine played out for other prisoners of war, usually at the behest of desperate governments seeking his expertise in getting their soldiers out of such dire confines. He wrote the book on what happens in these situations, when it happens, and where the person ends up.

They never end up alive. Prisoners of war are different from sex trafficking victims. In some terrible way, it’s almost better to be the prior because at least then you don’t have to live the rest of your life after what’s happened to you. Death is a shitty kind of freedom, but it’s freedom nonetheless.

Of his 86 consults, only seven were successfully rescued.

Two of those died in trauma surgery.

The last five had been in custody for less than 24 hours, he had personally rescued that group. To his knowledge, they’d all recovered decently well. Their mental health, however, could be a different story. Not like he was allowed to ask.

He’s going over every possible route of escape when he’s shocked out of his plans.

The door directly in front of him opens, and his dark cell erupts with sickeningly bright, white light. His eyes strain trying to adjust to the intrusion as he takes in the form.

A silhouette stands in front of him, all soft edges of black, arms braced on either side of the door frame. The backlighting gives the figure an almost angelic quality, a soft and fuzzy etherealness blends outlines and light. It’s the telltale curves of a woman, of soft thighs, of ample hips, of a woman’s bust. Little strands of fluorescence peek through a crown of hair on her head.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, meine majestät.” The cruel Angel hums, voice like forbidden fruit any man could be forgiven for falling for.

“Maus?” He calls out, desperate and confused and ready to shatter.

“Quiet as a.” She calls back, composed as if entrenched in amber and equally as unmoved by his predicament.

He’s always wanted to get his teeth around her pretty neck. He’s always desired to have his hands around her waist. He’s always hoped to be able to pound down into her quaking form. He’s been desperate to have her underneath him since their very first chance encounter. These feelings have been constant since he heard her beautiful voice, but suddenly they’re not the same.

Now he wants all those things, but instead of their motivation being love, it is bloodlust.

And intense bloodlust at that.

He’s never wanted to kill a woman, he finds it despicable that women more or less get turned into cattle during war. He’s sure that Freud would have something to say about his neurotic insistence on not harming the fairer sex even with his typical caliber of violence, but he’s never once cared to self-examine that. His entire military career, in fact, was dedicated to saving women and children from the horrors of a very male, very sexual world. Insertions specialist, yes, but specifically for human trafficking situations.

Looking into his wartime paramour's eyes, the intensity of hellfire overcomes him. His entire world crashes around him. He’s breathing in debris and dust as comes to the terrible conclusion that this entire time, it’s been her that has been perpetuating the injustice he so hates. That it’s been the thing he’s romanticized that’s been the fall of Rome. That it’s his savior that’s really been the perpetrator all along.

Perhaps the devil was once an angel, but to see his Angel for the demon she is? It breaks his heart into gory chunks of splintered bitterness and hacked arteries where once love pumped.

Never in his life has he ever wanted to kill a woman, never in his life he had loved a woman so completely either.

Those two ‘never’s die loudly and crudely in his chest as he recounts how to kill her most painfully in his own mind.

For her now obvious position perpetuating his most loathed evil? For tricking him into loving her? For both and neither? He doesn’t know. He’s about two seconds away from frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal that’ll break its bones escaping a trap. He’s got nothing in his brain, just white-hot anger from the tips of his combat boots to the tips of his ears.

Not even the outfit, or more appropriately the lack thereof, that she’s wearing can dissuade his anger. In any other circumstance, to see her in a black draped silk dress with hip-high slits on both sides and a full set of harness garters holding up sheer pantyhose would make him go feral. It would make him kneel, it would give him all the power to break out of these bindings on his own with no help and slam her down into the metal floor and have her right here. He has the desire to do all these things right now, but for all the wrong reasons.

She’s taking something out from beneath her left breast as he recounts every thought he’s ever had about her and how foolish they’ve all been. He thinks that the only consolation he may ever receive for this betrayal is if he can crush her windpipe in between his teeth.

“If you can get your teeth around it, it’s yours.” He remembers her saying to him in one of her flirtations during their secret radio romances.

The phrase echoes rough and screeching in his head as he thrashes against the metal chair and restraints. He doesn’t formulate any words, he can’t, she doesn’t even deserve them, as she takes the lighter and cigarette she’s produced from her brassiere to her mouth. Her expression is unconcerned when she takes the flip-top lighter (that has a fucking crown carved into it, the audacity, his teeth clench and voice roars at the implication she’s been planning this for a long time) and its little flicker of brimstone to the end of the cancer stick.

She takes a short drag and holds it between two perfectly manicured fingers. She’s gotten a little lipstick on the filter.

“You don’t smoke.” That is all he manages to spit out. The only thought he can think of. Nothing makes sense and he’s liable to maul her to death over it. Her tongue darts quickly and sinfully across the filter, her eyes never leaving his. She tosses her stare towards him playfully, her hips swing wide as she waltzes closer to him.

“No,” she says, as she takes another step towards him. Even in those ridiculously tall, faux leather heels meeting the tips of his combat boots, she doesn’t particularly dwarf his size. She's got the tips of her shoes to the tips of his, her stance is wide to accommodate the positioning. The edges of the stockings on her legs disrupt in wave-like patterns where they collide with the rough edges of his tac pants. He looks and thinks about how if his clothes were a little thinner he may be able to feel her warmth. He wonders just how long it would take her corpse to go ice cold, because she clearly does not deserve to be alive. He forces himself to look up at her and he thinks about clawing out her eyes.

“But you do.”

She reaches her hand towards his hood and strokes his cheek through the fabric. He snarls and snaps his head away from her, reeling from the touch he’s so deplorably yearned for. Her placid expression drops entirely as she sees his reaction.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that his perfect little Mouse looked heartbroken over his refusal of her blandishments.

He wants to rip her still-beating heart out of her chest for the sheer nerve to display that sort of emotiveness to him. That she acted like there was something there when there very clearly wasn’t. That she lied so thoroughly to him.

That she made him love her when now he can see she never loved him back.

She takes a shuddering breath in and makes a concerted effort to put her expression back into place, to impose some sort of divine rule back over her features. It’s strange to see her trying so hard when she’s obviously been such a good actor for so very long.

“I just need some information, darling. No need to be so skittish, I brought you creature comforts for your cooperation.” She purrs, flicking some ash from the cigarette. “I know you could use a smoke right now, handsome.”

The bile in his stomach flips at the pet names he would usually kill for. Pet names he’s never had until this moment. His two addictions lay in front of him, together, wrapped up in black silk, and the only thing he can think about is how much he wants to tear it all to shreds.

Her hand follows his cheek to where it’s escaped her grasp. He is powerless to stop her as she rolls up his mask.

To his surprise, she stops rolling it up just high enough to expose his mouth and leaves the bunched cloth on the bridge of his nose. He wants to scream at the tenderness of the action, she’s giving him as much of his well-loved privacy and solitude as she can while bringing him, an active prisoner of war, a fucking cigarette while wearing the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

The cruelty of it all had found the border of divinity and reality and ripped it open like C4 explodes plywood doors. There must be a God, and he must be in hell.

She gets dangerously close, close enough for him to bite, and her hand with the cigarette makes contact with his jaw. Her sharp, black, fake nails trail from close to his ear, down to his mouth at a tantalizingly languid pace. She bends down and puts her lips a hair's breadth away from his ear and he is about to actually bite her neck to kill-

“I’m trying to get you out. Play along.” She whispers and flips the cigarette into his mouth.

He takes a long drag.

He feels the relief of nicotine in his lungs.

He closes his eyes.

He thinks about what she said.

He doesn’t quite believe her as she takes the cigarette out of his mouth before he has to fumble to exhale around it. Her thumb traces the outline of his thin, scarred lips. Her eyes bore into his from above.

She puts it back into his mouth.

He takes a long drag.

She takes it out of his mouth and puts it into hers. She takes a shorter drag. He doesn’t miss the way that she keeps all the smoke in her cheeks, not actually smoking it at all. A little taste of non flavored-wax sticks to his mouth from the lipstick and he wonders if she can taste his mouth too…

The takes the lipstick-stained tube out of her lips, taps it clean, and puts it back into his.

He takes a long drag.

She takes it back out of his mouth and wipes at his lips with the pad of her thumb. His brain is too busy switching between wanting to bite her thumb off and wanting to suck on it like a dog for him to decide what to do before the obtrusive digit has been taken away.

“Sorry, big guy. Got some lipstick on you.”

She retreats from his form and goes to sit on the metal table slightly adjacent to the chair he’s strapped to. She puts the still-lit cigarette to rest in an ashtray next to her hip. She also puts the flip-top lighter down. On the bottom of the lighter, he sees some engraving, but he can’t make it out from how far away it is.

She crosses her legs on the edge of the table and the black silk she’s wearing all but flees off of the expanse of her now exposed thigh. She taps her fingers slowly on the metal, the pitter patter of plastic-press-on-nails on metal goes in time with his heartbeat.

“Who are you with?” She asks, and he laughs. She knows.

“Nein.” He responds. Is he refusing her, or this little game? He doesn’t know. She seems to understand, though, when she leans into his personal space and he has to fight the urge to look down her lack of dress and perfect tits-

“That’s no way to act after I got you a present, now is it?” She hums at the pulse point between utter cruelty and complete levity. He tests the restraints keeping his hands tied and sighs at the realization that they are still tighter than he can manage to worm out of effectively.

“I will not repeat what you already know.” He bites out.

“Clever boy,” she smiles and he can’t help but think and hope that maybe this cruel Angel is being genuine, maybe she really does want to get him out of here. He murders the hope in his brain the second he recognizes what it is. “So tell me, what were you doing here?”

“You know.”

“I’m afraid I do.” Her lips tense into a thin line and she looks down at her watch. She begins to swing the foot of her raised leg idly and-

She puts her foot onto the back of his chair right on his shoulder and oh my god her cunt is right next to my mou-

“Audio just cut out. I’m undercover here. Site goes dark for 2 minutes or less in 30 seconds. I’m going to pretend to interrogate you for a little while after we come back online to sell it. And then I’m out.” She warns, voice low and quick.

Once again, he has to fight every electric cell in his body to not lunge at her and rip her clothes to tatters (and maybe her, the jury’s still out on her trustworthiness) as he breathes in the smell of fresh nylons and her cunt like a fucking dog. Not making eye contact with her panties is also a losing game, and it’s one he seriously wishes he had decided against playing because it’s a sheer black lacy pair, because of course it is, and he can very nearly make out the curves of her sex through it.

“How do I know how to trust you?” He spits and blood flows out of his brain when he sees a tiny, minuscule amount of his saliva landing on her clothed cunt. He snaps his gaze back to her face. She looks rather smug and pleased with herself, he scolds his inner monologue when he dares to notice just how hungry her beautiful eyes look... He wants to wipe the smile off her face, through a kiss or through slicing it off with a knife, he’s not sure yet.

“You don’t.” She shrugs and somehow scoots even the littlest bit closer to him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, if I was I’d have brought a little more stopping power.” Stopping power? What is she talking about? Her beautiful features soothe themselves into a giggle and Gott, she’s very pretty with eyeliner and lipstick on, the little vixen. I want to ruin it.

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed it. Put your cheek against my thigh.” She laughs.

Even if it’s a trick, König decides that if he’s going to die anywhere, it might as well be in between Mouse’s thighs in mere milliseconds. The throbbing in his pants also suggests that he’s probably forgiven her by now as well. He leans his cheek and feels cool metal hit it. He whips his head to look and tucked into her garter is a sizable knife.

When he looks back to her eyes he notices dumbly that she must be able to tell how desperately he’s in love with her because she’s smiling something wicked down at him. Angels aren’t supposed to be cruel, but he’s forgiven anything and everything she’d ever done wrong in exchange for the expanse of her thigh and the promise of a knife.

“If you can get your teeth around it, it’s yours.” She says with a smile like absolution. His mind alights with a terrible test of faith for her, with a truly awful proving method to try her loyalty to his rescue. He turns his mouth to the knife, and instead of taking it in his teeth, he takes her flesh in his teeth.

She whimpers as he teeth attempt to gain purchase through the nylon of her stockings. He gnaws at them until he makes a little opening, and through it, he punches down his teeth until he’s sure he will leave a mark, but not draw blood.

“Does that include you, mein Mäuschen?” He purrs into her now-exposed flesh. He peers up at her and he revels in the shock on her face. She shudders at his words and attention and something worse than pride finds a home in his hollow but newly hopeful chest.

She doesn’t move her leg away and he hums in satisfaction at the gesture. Instead, she looks worryingly down at her watch.

“You have 1 minute. Take the knife, keep it in your mouth under your hood, and give me 30 minutes to get out of here before you escape.” She says instead of responding.

While realistically he knows that she doesn’t really have an option in leaving him, that it would be too dangerous to leave together, that they are still technically enemies even on neutral ground- he can’t help but be disappointed that his Angel intends on leaving without him. Even more so that she doesn’t seem to want to answer him when she made the rules in the first place.

“Why are you helping me?” He asks, hoping for some clarity, for some tell-tale sign that this isn’t some weird horny fever dream he’s made up in his own little hell, worried that she will drag him back down from heaven and reveal that this, too, was part of the ploy to destroy whatever of him remained.

“Because I know you’d do the same for me.”

She says it without question but instead questions the motive. She says it like someone prays, like believing in the possibility of salvation but not quite sure how to get there. She says it like a guardian angel takes missions, unsure of her exact purpose but faithful in her understanding that there is one.

The deep cavern of his obsession temporarily closed and covered by the implication of her treachery, widens and deepens impossibly as he smiles into the knife on her thigh. It’s just a knife, but she believes in him enough to offer her only protection to him, and she believes that it is all he will need to make it back to her on the field.

He plucks the knife from her garter with his teeth. He tries to memorize her smell, her taste, the feel of her soft and plush skin on his cheek. It’s an intoxicating experience he isn’t quick to squander, but the implied hope that when not if he can get out of this she will be there waiting for him? That makes ending this warm-up worth it if it means he can get to the game and maybe, finally, win the prize.

She retracts her foot from his shoulder and lets down his hood from his face. She leans in terribly close and whispers, “After 20 yards, take your first left outside the second retaining wall. There’s only two guards there, it’s your best shot.” He hums in affirmation and adoration and she sits back into her position on the table. She looks at her watch and gives a curt nod: the game is back on.

She takes the cigarette back and draws the smoke into her cheeks and lets it flow out like a deadman’s soul floats to heaven, somehow rushed and languid all at once.

“We’ve been having quite the time trying to figure out your-“ he completely zones out whatever she’s saying in favor of watching the mark his mouth gifted her turn darker as the seconds draw on. It’s not like he could respond even if he wanted to, that would risk the knife she’s so lovingly gifted him into his lap and ruining the whole escape (and worse, endangering her.)

So, instead, he stares at her like the goddess she is. He burns the curve of her stomach between her hips behind his eyelids, he imagines resting his head there and kissing the smooth skin. He savors the way her ass flattens ever-so-slightly where it meets the metal table she’s sitting on, he thinks about holding her up by her ass alone and the plush yet firm give of her flesh. He drinks in the sight of her cleavage heaving when she emotes after a particularly loud question, he hopes what little he can’t see is the same type of perfect as the rest of it. Every once in a while he lets out a quiet huff around the blade in his mouth, in a vague response to something she’s said. Mouse gets “angry” in response, she even slaps him once or twice.

He doesn’t mind. It’s all a waiting game, after all.

König is many things, and a competitor is first and foremost.

If Mouse knows where he’s staring for the duration of their play date of an interrogation, she doesn’t mention anything. With one last stinging (and dizzying…) strike to the cheek, she all but yells “Fine! Let’s see if you’re so tough after 8 hours alone in this hell hole.”

When she turns to walk out of the door she came in, König feels a part of his heart leave with her. He breathes harshly over the outline of the metal in his teeth as he admires the confident sway of her hips. He bites harder on the metal when she tosses a sympathetic look back to him and blows a fucking kiss.

Sitting, alone in the dark of the converted storage container, he spends the most excruciating thirty minutes of his life occupied only with her phantom touch and his depraved fantasies.

“Because I know you’d do the same for me.” Echoes in his head in time with his heartbeat, in time with his imaginary minstrations on her form, in time with what he is sure will be the death of him.

That and so much more, he thinks when he finally, finally, manages to rid himself of his binds with the knife his Engel so graciously snuck him, 27 minutes after she leaves when some cartel member comes to check up on him.

König loses himself in the beautiful catharsis of stabbing the man who comes to fetch him so violently, that the blade to the knife literally snaps off somewhere in his bowels. He loots the cadaver for his gun and ammunition as well as another knife. He feels awful to leave one of her gifts discarded in the abdomen of some filthy cretin of a man, but he recognizes he really does not have much of a say in the matter when he hears the footfalls of his fellow cartel members rushing towards his location.

With one last sigh and a wayward glance to assure himself that he really did get his mouth around her and this wasn’t some dream, he prays in the form of bullets as he guns down anyone stupid enough to get in his way to escape.

Be safe, my darling Maus. I will be back for you.

I promise.

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