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mooishbeam · 7 months

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『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity.

DING DING DING

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium.

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf.

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!”

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it.

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe.

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you.

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching:

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!”

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy”

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss.

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.”

“Then why is this happening?”

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice.

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily.

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life.

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest.

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect.

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished.

“Hm? Who’re you?”

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.”

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this.

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly.

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you.

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked.

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist.

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.”

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.”

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?”

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours.

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this.

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear.

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.”

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response.

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring.

“Wriothesley! Times up.” He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you.

“Two minutes.”

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe.

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.”

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line.

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads.

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette.

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand.

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.”

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you.

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand.

“No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy.

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.”

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.”

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him.

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze.

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips.

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips.

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction.

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl.

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence.

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head.

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair.

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone.

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle.

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant.

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face.

“Why are you being annoying-”

“Who were you talking to” he chides.

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.”

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.”

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel.

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word.

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners.

Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course.

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone.

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face.

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you.

He promised.

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address.

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again.

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly.

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse.

“What? I don’t know.” “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response.

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy.

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-”

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-”

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab.

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-”

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes.

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-”

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there.

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts.

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds.

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside.

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask.

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid.

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face.

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body.

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology.

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.

“So, um.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably.

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts.

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes.

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you.

“Sorry. For what I said.”

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit.

“You know I didn’t do it, right?”

“I know.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know.” you reassure.

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention.

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy.

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours.

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house.

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw.

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge.

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom.

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness.

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks.

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance.

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can.

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest.

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?” he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.”

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.”

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

#genshin smut #genshin au #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley #fontaine #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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mellowsaturns · 11 months

Text

in losing grip, on sinking ships (you showed up just in time)

BUCKY BARNES X FEM!READER

summary: when the avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of hydra was destroyed. one unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy but bucky knows it. he could recognize those eyes anywhere.

warnings: heavy angst, one sided enemies-to-lovers-ish, hydra!assassin!reader, hurt/comfort, happy ending, brainwashing, trauma, guns & knives, fighting, implied kidnapping of reader when young, all the feels, misunderstandings, poor attempt at writing action

wc: 4.7k

a/n: sorry it’s been forever but i hope my fellow buckyluvrs are still here <3 i actually wrote this a long time ago but never got around to editing until recently so i guess you can say this is (from the vault) ? inspired by the idea: what-if there was another winter soldier and bucky finds himself in steve’s position this time trying to get you back to him. anyways, i hope you enjoy this one :)

Bucky’s life was a never ending montage of gunfire and bloodshed. It didn’t matter if he was under the clutches of someone else, he still lived through the wars—the lingering smell of smoke and tang of metallic forever ingrained in his senses.

And just when he thought it was finally over—a glimmer of peace at last—it comes and steals that dream away from him.

Like deja-vu, he’s looking at faces that were once responsible for his pain.

On the screen, three Hydra officers stare back at him. All faces identified by Tony’s system. Alive. Last seen in the outskirts of some small country in Europe. Irrelevant low ranking officials that had managed to survive the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D and have been hiding and secretly continuing Hydra’s mission underground ever since. Low officials or not, it was one too many.

Bucky freezes in his spot when Tony swipes the screen. The billionaire goes on a rant saying this particular face cannot be identified, which was according to Tony, bullshit because his face recognition system is the best in the world. The rest of the team is arguing and flipping through countless files and internet archives. But Bucky knows. He knows that face and those haunting eyes that he still sees in his dreams.

“Buck,” a voice calls out. “You know her, don’t you?”

He looks up at Steve from his spot, his best friend's face worried and all knowing.

One thing about Hydra was that they were always prepared. They had backups and multiple plans ready, or else how would two heads take its place when one was cut off? Unfortunately for the world, Hydra managed to make another deadly assassin, one whose work was so discreet and nimble that even intelligence didn't know they existed.

You were a ghost story that lived in the shadows of the Winter Soldier. You were another one of Hydra’s prize possessions—less known, but just as deadly.

With Steve’s comment, all eyes are now on Bucky. A pregnant pause fills the air and he gulps before he confesses, “I wasn’t the only one.”

The room becomes tense. The war that they thought was over suddenly looms over like an unpredicted oncoming storm. “Jesus Christ, Barnes. You couldn’t have informed us about her earlier?” says Tony.

“I thought,” he says, shifting his eyes onto the ground, “I thought she fell with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Bucky couldn’t find you anywhere after he escaped their grasp. After he joined the Avengers, he tried once again secretly using Tony’s technology but it was to no avail—it always ended up being a dead end. And for that, he assumed Hydra had put you out of your misery the day they were caught.

But the face on the screen says otherwise. And suddenly, Bucky feels very guilty.

Steve clears his throat, “Well, they were picked up not too long ago heading north. If we leave now, we might be able to find them and stop them once and for all.”

Everyone looks at each other, debating on his proposal. “What the Captain said. Everybody, suit up. Quinjet leaves in ten,” says Tony.

On the jet, Bucky stares off into space but countless questions run through his mind.

Steve walks over and sits beside him. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks, voice quiet.

Bucky sighs, “I just… I thought she was gone.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

He looks up, wondering if he should tell Steve the truth. That he’s not brooding about the fact that he concealed you to them. After a moment, Bucky speaks up. “When we get there, let me handle her. Please.”

Steve didn’t know what kind of history Bucky had with you. But judging from the look his best-friend is giving, it’s more than what Steve could understand or even comprehend but he trusts Bucky and so, he gives him a nod. “She’s all yours.”

After scouting the area and tracing the location to a very hidden underground warehouse in the middle of nowhere, they split up. The warehouse was dark and dusty, surely abandoned, but Bucky knew better—it was their facade behind the most sinister of activities. Through the comms, Natasha announces that she has already taken care of all the troops in the West wing. Moments later, Sam reports that he has eliminated one of the Hydra officers. They wouldn’t last long. Hydra didn’t have much resources or time to rebuild—their current empire was weak, they were no match for the Avengers this time.

The only person Bucky’s truly worried about is you. The fact that he trained you, made you into what you were today already gave him the chills. He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore, but he was certain that you were still in that killer mindset that Hydra forced upon you.

Step by step, Bucky walks through the quiet hallway, the echoes of his footsteps the only noise. It’s cold here, he notices, which gives him flashbacks to those days in his dirty cell and the cryostasis chamber. Down a hallway to the next, round a corner and another, there wasn’t a single soul in the eerily Eastern wing.

But he spoke too soon, because seconds later, a garrote wire was around his neck. The swift invisible steps and the perfect pressure that was being used to quickly cut off his air supply was all too familiar. He knows this move, he taught this move. You’re here, and you’re dragging him backwards.

Before all oxygen gets cut off to his brain, he jabs his elbow backwards and hits you hard on the rib which releases the hold you have on him and sends you stumbling back. Bucky takes a moment to regain his breath but you’re on your feet again. He looks at you and for a moment he freezes, then you let out a sinister grin. “Nice to see you again, Soldat,” you taunt, before running towards him.

Bucky’s deflecting your punches one after another. Maybe he’s glad he was the one who taught you everything you know because your moves were predictable—if it were another person, there is no doubt they would’ve been on the ground with multiple concussions bleeding out already. You’re ruthless when you do a triple roundhouse kick on him. On the fourth one, he manages to catch your leg and twists it, sending you to the ground with a groan.

How familiar this scene was, Bucky thinks.

Some forty-years ago, Hydra brought a woman into the training room. There was no further instruction than to train you and that’s what he did. He could tell you were well trained already—compliant and pliable. You were good. And you were just like him, injected with a serum that made you a hundred times more efficient and stronger. In just under a year, Hydra would start sending you on missions. Sometimes with him, sometimes alone.

During training, the both of you would spar for hours, leaving each other bloody and bruised, but it didn’t matter to the overlookers, the both of you would heal in a few hours anyways.

Once you pick yourself back up, he pulls a gun out on you. “Stop this,” he commands.

You smirk, “You going to shoot me, Soldat? I want to see you try.”

He clenches his jaw. You continue to look at him, a dark look on your face that shows no sign of true recognition.

His thoughts are disrupted when you tackle him onto the ground. You kick his gun away and pin his arms down as you straddle him. “I’m going to kill you,” you declare, “I’m going to put a bullet through your head.”

When he looks up at you, your eyes are full of rage. Bucky doesn’t know whether that’s the brainwashed version of you talking or the actual you talking—maybe both.

“What are you going to do after you kill me?” he says, irritated. C’mon, please recognize me. “This is all that remains of Hydra. Half the troops are already dead. One of your new leaders is dead. In a few hours, Hydra will be no more. What will you do after that? What are you going to do after you kill me?”

“What does it matter? You’re my mission. I’m going to finish it.”

He groans at your stubbornness that was identical to his Soldier persona.

He says your name slowly. “Get off. You can walk away from this.”

You frown, but he continues, “I know how you feel. You’re feeling helpless.” He clears his throat, “There’s someone behind this version of you. I want to talk to her.”

“What are you talking about?” you utter in annoyance. “Stop stalling.”

He says that name again, with calamity and care. You want to rip out his tongue.

“Let me talk to her. Please.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” you shout, grabbing for the gun that’s strapped onto your waist. “Stop talkin–”

“I was in the cell next to yours. You liked the colour green. You were wearing white when we first met. You always wanted to visit Bucharest. You hated the leaky cold showers in the Siberian facility,” he rambles, trying to remember every single thing about you in a desperate attempt to get your attention so this version of you won’t shoot him in the face.

And for a moment, it works because your hand freezes on the grip of your gun. He takes that moment to flip you over, so you’re under him now, hands pinned above your head. He takes your gun and throws it behind him.

You snarl at him while trying to escape his grasp. “I know you’re under there,” he says. “Please, come through. Please talk to me.”

Your face scrunches in pain, not from him—he would never hurt you—but from the mental warfare that’s currently going on in your mind. You close your eyes as he speaks again. “Listen to my voice, you know me, don’t you? мой милая.”

My darling.

For a moment, your entire body tenses up and then you let out a painful breath. When your eyelids start to flutter open, he finally sees the eyes he came to know and rely on—eyes he came to love.

The both of you are looking at each other unblinking. A scene neither of you expected but always dreamt about.

You break the silence with a whisper of, “James?”

Bucky slowly nods at your disbelief. Finally, he thinks. But such respite doesn’t last long, because seconds later, you hook your foot under his and flip him over and escape his grasp.

There's darkness in your eyes and he can tell that the Soldate is back and the fighting resumes.

You’re chasing him down the twisting hallway and when you catch up, you grab his shoulder and throw a punch to his jaw. He stumbles back and then a voice comes through the comms.

“Just took down the second one.” Steve. “Bucky, how are you holding up? You’ve been quiet ever since we split up.”

He’s trying his best to block your hand, which now has a damn pocket knife. Your quick movements are starting to tire him out. Maybe he taught you too well, he thinks.

“Buck? Bucky. Confirm your status, right now.”

Groaning in frustration, he taps his earpiece. “I’m fine,” he grunts. A second later, “Shit!” he huffs out as you nearly slice his face.

“You don’t sound fine. Is she with you? I’m sending back up.”

“No!” he says, “Don’t send anyone. I can handle her.”

In truth, he’s struggling right now—your stamina has always been better than his—but he’s worried that you’re going to accidentally get hurt and even more agitated when people appear. His main priority was keeping you safe. Fuck the mission statement they talked about back on the Quinjet.

You’re angry—no, you’re extremely angry at him. It doesn’t take a genius to tell. It’s a mixture of pure rage from both the brainwashed and actual you.

He supposed he deserved it. You should be angry. Because for the longest time, it was you and him.

Other than turning you into a ruthless assassin just like him, an unexpected companionship also formed during those hazy in-between moments when the two of you weren’t frozen or on the metal chair getting fried by those machines—during the times when he was just Bucky and you were just you, two unfortunate innocent souls that shared the same suffering.

They weren’t pleasant moments. It was dehumanising. It was getting shoved into draughty cells with nothing but a blanket until it was time to train or time to embark on a mission. Luckily, your cells were next to each other and it made the endless nights a little more bearable. He was a little off-putting at first, but when he yelled at you to stop crying because they would torture you even more for it, you knew he meant well.

During your shared time together, glimpses of your true selves would seldom come up and you would tell each other about the little bits and pieces of a life once known. And the both of you would hold onto each other's memories and stories in case the other forgets.

And whenever they prep the two of you for the chamber due to there being no current missions for the time being, the two of you would look at each other—a look of longing with the secret squeezing of each other's hand before going under.

Despite the absolute awful situation the two of you were in at the time, the both of you were hopeful for the next shared moments together. Because even when all hope was gone, you had each other. And that was good enough for the two of you.

He misses you. So damn much.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

He didn’t even realise he said it outloud. “Well, I do,” he admits, his back hitting a wall.

“You talk too much, Soldat,” you say, creeping up on him. “I ought to cut your throat.”

“I’m sorry I left you with them.”

You halt in your steps and your jaw ticks. In a second, you pounce on him, your knife against his throat. He’s gripping your hand to stop you from continuing your job.

He says your name again. You’re pushing but he’s pushing back just as hard. “I’m sorry…” he repeats, “I’m so sorry.”

The desperation in his voice… You glance up at him slowly and he sees the pink forming in your eyes and your trembling lips. “What are you doing? What are you doing to me?” you whisper.

He sees the internal war behind your eyes once again. Bucky gulps for a moment before letting go of your hand, trusting that you won’t do any actual harm, and moves his hands so he’s cupping your face, firm enough so you’re forced to look at him. You look into his eyes for a second, then a minute, and for a moment, everything stops. Your breath hitches, because those eyes… those arctic blues… you know them. You fell in love with them many years ago.

A realisation washes over your face, one that Bucky doesn’t miss. You’re back.

The first tear falls. Then the second. “Bucky.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers.

You let out a small cry before you press the blade harder against his neck, your grip a vice from his betrayal. He could feel the sharp cold metal pierce through his skin ever so slightly, but he doesn’t try and stop you.

“Give me a reason to not kill you right now,” you grit through tears. “You left me. You left me behind to rot alone. You promised me. You fucking promised,” you say, voice laced with venom and so much hurt.

Bucky’s heart breaks at the sadness of your voice. Because he did promise. There wasn’t much to do in the cells other than throw around false hope. But whenever he told you he was going to escape one day and that he was going to take you with him—it didn’t feel like false promises at all because it wasn’t, and you knew it too.

Until he broke that promise and left you all alone.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to leave you there with them.”

“I waited for you,” you cry. “Day and night I waited for you to come back. Even when they relocated, I waited for you because I knew you’d find me.”

You remember that day clearly. Everyone was in a frenzy when the death of Alexander Pierce broke out and that they could not locate the Soldat. For a moment, you could taste your own freedom because government officials would come anytime now and finally arrest all these criminals. But right when they came, a few Hydra officers managed to escape and took you with them, and when you woke up, you didn’t know where the hell you were. But even then you didn’t lose hope because James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, the name you committed to memory, was going to come for you just like he promised.

Until days, months, and eventually, a year came with no sign of him.

You were angry at first, but it slowly turned into worry because what if something bad had happened to him? But what do you know? You were stuck in this building and only went out whenever they spoke those trigger words to you. And you were always under their watchful eyes, giving you no chance to even attempt an escape. Surely he would never break his promise to you so something must’ve happened to him, you told yourself multiple times.

But he was standing here right in front of you. Alive. We’re under attack, your handler said to you moments ago, Kill the Soldat before he kills you.

“You’re a liar. You never cared about me,” you hiss.

Sometimes, it got too much. But whenever reality was a bit too hard to endure, Bucky was there, always reaching his hand out to you through the metal cage, which you took and held tight. And it meant the world to you, that someone cared.

“All those moments, did it even mean anything to you?”

He uses this opportunity to pull your arms down slightly, knife finally away from his neck and his eyes start to sting from his own tears. “They meant everything to me. I care about you.”

You look up at him with a defeated expression and Bucky never wanted to punch himself in the face more. “Then why? Why didn’t you come back for me?”

“I did,” he chokes out. “When I escaped, the first thing I did was go back for you, but the facility had already been raided and there was no one there. I checked every inch of the building.”

Bucky had never felt so scared, because what if the government took you too? They would never understand—framing you as a villain even though that was far from the truth. But there was no news of your capture, so with a breath of relief, Bucky continued to look through other known Hydra facilities.

“I tried my best looking for you, but I also had to be careful because I was a wanted man at the time. When months passed by and there were no clues, I thought that maybe you had escaped. I was in Bucharest waiting for you. Remember how you said you always wanted to go there? I knew that if you escaped, you’d find me there. Even when you didn’t show, I never gave up. Steve… I think I told you about him once—he found me, he helped me and cleared my name. After that, I still searched for you but it all ended up being dead ends. And…” he pauses for a moment, “and so I thought you were dead. I should’ve tried harder. I’m sorry.”

He had mourned you and blamed himself endlessly for it.

He knows he should’ve asked for help, but instead, he took this task upon himself until it got too much—because that was the one thing he struggled with the most, asking for help.

When his side of the story finally comes to light, you break into a sob. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he says, “but please, drop the weapon and let me help you.”

You swallow hard at his confession. He never stopped looking for you. You didn’t even consider how hard it must’ve been for him after everything and yet you’re lashing out on him.

“How are you going to help me?” you say. “I’m a mess. All you have to do is say those words and I turn into a weapon.”

Twelve. Ember. Fragment. Nine. Academy. Order. Frigid. Yearning. Blue.

Those were your trigger words.

“I got you out of your trance, didn’t I?” he says with a gentle smile.

Hydra needed you to rebuild their empire and they relied on those nine words to do so. To them, those nine words were your greatest weakness but one of them, the last one, the one they liked to spit out in vexation, was also your greatest strength—your salvation.

Blue.

You think back, moments prior, when all he had to do was use his voice and all you had to do was look into the blues of his eyes. Hydra can repeat those words all they want, but Bucky would always be able to bring you back.

At that, your grip relaxes and the knife finally drops onto the floor, it’s noise ricocheting off the walls.

“There’s a place called Wakanda and I know someone there who can help you. Her name’s Ayo and she’s amazing. She helped me overcome my words.”

He brings his hands back up to cradle your face and you shutter at the familiar touch—at the calluses on his palms. “And I think you’ll like it there. It’s quiet and there’s so much… green.”

You let out a small laugh through your tears but doubt still fills your mind. “But… all the things I did,” you whimper, “I did such terrible unforgivable things. There’s… there’s so much blood on my hands.”

Sadness flares around his heart. It was all so familiar. He knows the feeling.

“It’s not going to be easy. God knows how long it took for me to believe that none of it was my fault. But let me be the first one to tell you,” he says, wiping your tears away with his thumb. “None of what you did was your fault. You were a victim.” He swallows a deep breath, “There are going to be days where it’ll be too much too bear and there are going to be nights where all those casualties will haunt you,” he admits. “But… but you’ll get there. Someday, you’ll learn to stop punishing yourself for something you didn’t do.”

And he vows that he’ll help you every step of the way.

You breathe out slowly, digesting all his words. “You can trust me,” he tells you, “I won’t let you down this time. I’ll be here.”

Blinking up at him, the small hesitant part of you so desperately wanted to say, “How can I trust you?” but his eyes were telling you everything you needed to know. Because it was filled with nothing but honour and truth.

He breaks away from you and reaches out his hand. An invitation. You stare at it for a while, then you slowly lift yours and brush your fingers amongst his before grabbing it tightly—a truce of sorts, a promise. He squeezes back in return, a loving smile on his face, just like all those nights many moonlights ago.

Your breath hitches when he pulls you into his embrace, your face burying perfectly into the valley of his chest. He wraps his arms around you in urgency, in fear, almost afraid you’ll slip out if he doesn’t.

“It’s over,” he mumbles into your hair.

Because two floors down an explosion erupts, finishing off the last remaining garrison of troops. Three hallways down, Natasha sets fire to a room that contained the other small red leather book that held those nine suffocating words written in Russian. Outside, the last Hydra officer attempting to flee falls to his knees from an arrow to the chest. And the only hope they had left to rebuild their regime was safely in Bucky’s arms.

He pulls away and uses his thumb to rub gently across your cheek, “It’s over. The war is finally over.”

Now that the worst is over, Bucky’s hopeful. There will be other conflicts to come, that was just how it worked, but this one, the one that held you and him underwater for years was finally over. War always took too much, but this time, it gave something back. Because among the ashes and ruins you came back to him, no more oceans in between.

“What do we do now?” you press nervously. You were taken at a young age and spent years in the Red Room before you were sold off to Hydra. Like Bucky, you’re in the wrong time period, there’s no one to go back to.

There’s so many things you could do, Bucky thinks. You can finally start living the life you deserved, the life that was taken from you too early. He’ll have to explain all this to his teammates but he knows they’ll understand. They treated him so well, there’s no doubt they’ll show the same kindness for you. Then, he’ll go with you to Wakanda, get rid of the words, maybe stay there for a while so you could heal—maybe show you the goats he took care of during his time there.

You’ll probably adjust to the 21st century better than him—you won’t need to start off with a flip phone, that’s for sure. He’ll make you listen to all the great records and watch all the movies you missed out on. There’s so many things he wanted to do with you. He knows you have no memories, no recollection. It didn’t matter, Bucky thinks, he would make new memories with you, ones worth cherishing and remembering. If you’ll have him, of course.

But first and most importantly, “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Then we can talk about it,” he says, rubbing the grime off your nose.

He grabs your hand and heads for the exit. But before he does, you pick up your knife from the floor and in one quick motion, you spin around and throw it. The knife embeds itself into the wall a few metres away, right next to a prying face. You stand in front of Bucky and stare at the intruder with a murderous gaze and Bucky’s heart races at the thought of you still wanting to protect him after everything.

The blond raises his arms up in surrender.

“Steve,” Bucky says from behind and you briefly recognize that name. You turn around to look at him and he meets your eyes, nodding. You relax your stance.

“Hi,” Steve says, voice slightly hoarse. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Bucky scoffs at him, as if he wasn’t eavesdropping the whole time.

Steve looks at the both of you, then a gentle smile adorns his face. “C’mon, the rest are waiting outside for you both.”

You step forward. This is it. Freedom. A new life. Bucky notices your hesitation as you suddenly stop in your tracks. Intertwining his fingers with yours, he squeezes with reassurance. You take a deep breath, then the two of you follow Steve to the exit, leaving behind the smoke and memories of your old life.

Outside, the sun comes up slowly but surely on the horizon, painting the awakening sky a gentle warm hue of oranges and pinks.

A new beginning awaits.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky #bucky barnes

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latanyalove · 5 months

Text

When You're Injured

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

This may have a part 2 so if you want a continuous of this, please support me by liking, reblogging and commenting this!

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Trafalgar D Water Law was the captain of the Heart Pirates and a former member of the Seven Warlords of the Sea. Law was a highly intelligent and cunning pirate, often outsmarting his opponents and using his wit to his advantage in a fight. He was also known to be a master strategist, capable of coming up with elaborate plans to defeat his enemies.

So why were you, one of his crew members, trying to hide the fact that you were dead sick?

The crew had taken a toll after being ambushed by a carefully calculated group of pirates. Even though they won the battle, people were still heavily injured and needed to be taken care of. The crew had been pushed to their limits and the captain was already doing all he could to nurse most of them back to health.

Your injury didn't seem severe compared to some of the other members of the crew who had sustained more serious wounds, including broken bones and deep lacerations.

In comparison, your injury was just a graze, and so you felt it would be better to hide it from the captain and not add to his already heavy workload.

Law looked around the deck, his gaze taking in each crew member. "Is everyone ready?" he asked, his voice steady but concerned.

The crew nodded in agreement, some with a slight grimace of pain as they shifted to get comfortable. "Yes, Captain," they replied in unison. You also said "Yes, Captain," trying to make your voice sound as steady as possible while your arm throbbed painfully in your grip.

Law looked around the deck one more time before speaking. "We're going to make camp on the island that we've anchored by," he said. "Get some rest, and I'll make a plan in the morning."

With a collective sigh of relief, the crew members cheered in appreciation of not having to move for more. Everyone was exhausted and the thought of having to move further was daunting. They welcomed the chance to rest and regain their strength, even if it was just for a few hours.

After the plan was laid out, the crew split up into two groups. One group would stay behind and set up camp while the other group was able to explore the island. The group that stayed behind worked quickly and efficiently to get the camp set up. Meanwhile, the other group was able to explore the island and enjoy its natural beauty.

You and Ikkaku were part of the group exploring the island, and were both excited to be able to take in the sights and sounds of the environment. You were also happy to have an opportunity to take your mind off of your injury and get away from the hustle and bustle of the submarine. You and Ikkaku walked around the island, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the environment.

Ikkaku looked over at you with a concerned expression. "Are you sure you weren't injured?" she asked as she walked. You shook your head and smiled.

"No, I'm fine," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

"That's good," she said. "We don't need any more injuries on top of what we already have."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a rush of relief that your injury had gone unnoticed.

Both of you came across a patch of bright flowers, and you were immediately fascinated. You were able to identify half of them with just a glance, but for the ones you didn't know, you quickly plucked them and placed them in your bag.

Ikkaku smiled as you carefully collected the flowers, noting your interest in the environment around you. You smiled back, feeling a sense of satisfaction that you were able to recognize and appreciate the beauty of the island.

Seeing how enthralled you were with the flowers, Ikkaku decided to mess with you.

Ikkaku glanced over at you with a mischievous grin. "So, what do you think of the Captain?" she asked. You blushed, feeling your cheeks heat up. "He's... he's a good leader," you said, trying to avoid the conversation and focus on the flowers.

Ikkaku chuckled. "Come on, admit it," she said. "You have a crush on him!" You shook your head, feeling a little embarrassed.

"No, I don't," you said, but you couldn't stop the smile that spread across your face.

Ikkaku laughed. "It's okay, I won't tell anyone," she said. You laughed and rolled your eyes, feeling relieved that the conversation had shifted to something a bit less serious.

Ikkaku was right though. Even though you were the most recent to join the Heart Pirates, you were quick to befriend Law and quickly developed a strong bond with him.

You didn't care if it was because of your devil fruit powers or not; you were quickly enamored with the Heart Pirates and grateful for the opportunity to join them.

You had eaten the Yume Yume no Mi (Dream-Dream Fruit), which gave you the ability to shoot a cosmic ray to make people fall asleep for an desired amount of time or fall sleep so deep that they can die. You had seen first-hand how powerful your ability was, and you had to be extra careful to not let your powers get out of control.

Law was intrigued by your devil fruit power and was eager to learn more about it. After some research, he discovered that you could also use your powers to control people's emotions, but with a catch - a flower was needed in order to do so.

For example, with a lavender flower, you can make someone feel calm and relaxed. The specific emotion that the flower induces depends on the type of flower used. A rose can make someone feel more passionate or in love, while a chrysanthemum can make someone feel more joy or happiness.

With the discovery of your devil fruit's power, you and Law became even closer. Whenever Law would get overwhelmed by the amount of paperwork, you would use your power to calm him down with a lavender flower. Law was amazed at how effective your power was, and how it could be used to help him manage his stress.

Law knew exactly when to give you a subtle glance when he was arguing with someone, like telepathy, "Use it on me now before I cut this person in two," would transfer to your mind and you would quickly wave a flower at him to help him relax before he lost his temper.

He was grateful for your devil fruit powers and the calming effect it had on him in those intense moments, allowing him to get back to a more level-headed state.

But these recent days, you could feel your heart beat faster when he would look at you or when he would lean towards you to whisper what flower to use against the enemy. You were surprised by these feelings and although you tried to keep them under control, the more you were around Law, the more your heart seemed to flutter with anticipation.

You knew that you were developing feelings for him, but you were unsure of how to act on them. You were scared of the consequences of your actions and you were hesitant to express your emotions.

You knew that your devil fruit power could help Law, but you also knew that it could not help you express how you truly felt.

You carefully examined the petals of the flower, trying to distract yourself from the thoughts that had been running through your head. You knew that your feelings for Law were strong, but you were not sure if he felt the same way. You were scared to make a move and risk ruining the friendship that you had built over the years.

With a sigh, you looked up from the flower and replied, "Me and Law are just... friends."

Ikkaku replied, "Are you sure about that? Because the way he looks at you says something else. It's like he can't keep his eyes off you. I think he may have feelings for you too."

You were shocked by Ikkaku's words and couldn't believe what she was suggesting. You had never considered the possibility that Law could have feelings for you, and you were left speechless.

You felt your cheeks heat up and you quickly looked away, not wanting to face the truth. You felt a mixture of emotions, ranging from joy to fear, and you were unsure of how to proceed.

"Let's separate to get more materials," you said, trying to come up with an excuse to be alone and process your thoughts.

You knew that the material was important, but you also wanted to take this opportunity to think about what Ikkaku said and to figure out how you could proceed in this situation.

She nodded and went off to the left, while you headed to the right. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves and clear your head.

As you walked, you thought about what Ikkaku had said and your feelings for Law. You were unsure of what to do, but you knew that whatever you did, it would have to be carefully considered.

Suddenly, you felt a sharp pain from your injured arm that brought you back to reality. The pain was sharp and pulsing, radiating from your arm and throughout your body. You winced and gritted your teeth, trying to bear the pain.

You felt a tightness in your chest and your breathing became shallow as you tried to cope with the pain. You felt a wave of nausea wash over you and your vision started to blur, but you forced yourself to take a few deep breaths and focus on the situation.

What was going on? Why had the pain suddenly become so intense? Was this pain connected to the emotions you were feeling?

As the pain intensified, you felt yourself beginning to lose consciousness. You felt your body swaying and you put out a hand to steady yourself, but it was too late. You felt yourself slipping away as the world around you started to blur and fade.

You tried to fight it, but you felt yourself slowly sinking into a deep fog. You heard a distant voice, but it was too faint to make out what it was saying. With one last effort, you tried to open your eyes, but you could not.

Darkness descended and you felt yourself slipping away into unconsciousness.

"Oh my! You will be my wife!" A familiar voice stated happily, "Oh, this must be fate! I knew the moment I saw you that you were the one for me. I can't believe I've finally found you again, my one and only true love!"

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

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maccreadysbaby · 4 months

Text

Writing Tips; Dialogue

Does your dialogue fall flat, or feel thin and strange? Does it feel like your characters are talking like robots? Do your conversations sound repetitive and monotone? We’ve all been there. It’s a very common occurrence amongst writers. Here are some of my favorite ways to avoid the monotone robot characters and add life and movement into your dialogue!

In this post, we’re going to have an example sentence that changes as I talk about different additions. Here it is in its naked, base form: “I know it’s real I saw it,” Nico said.

Now, let’s hop into making it lively, shall we?

1) PUNCTUATION

Commas and punctuation are your best friends! Use them. Use the crap out of them. Many people will say commas can’t go here and they can’t go there, but I say, in dialogue, it doesn’t matter. If you want your character to pause but you don’t want to use an ellipsis because it feels too long, use a comma. Put them wherever you want. Wherever your character pauses. If your character is rambling or talking really fast, take them out. It’s your dialogue. Use any and all punctuation to bedazzle up your lines. There is never too many or too little of anything if you want it that way, folks.

Keep in mind, punctuation can change the whole feeling of your sentence and the way your readers imagine your character talking. For example, your punctuation should differ between an excited and a sad line.

Here is the example sentence, punctuated in two different ways. “I know it’s real, I saw it!” Nico said. “I know it’s real… I saw it,” Nico said.

Can you see how just the change in punctuation changes the way you imagine him saying it? Really hone in on how your character is speaking and punctuate it to show that. (Keep in mind that this is your story and your character. You don’t have to obey punctuation rules and writing stereotypes, your story obeys you.) Put whatever punctuation you want there. Use thirty commas in your sentence. Use an ellipsis after every word. If it makes your character sound how you want them to sound, go for it, friends!

2) ITALICS

Some people hate reading over-italicized works, but that’s their own preference. Italics is a great way to add interest, movement, and a characters natural inflection into your dialogue. (I freaking love italics.) Italics helps readers understand what the character is focused on, and how they’re speaking. Again, people will say not to use it too much or only to use it so many times in a paragraph… but the key here is still to write it how you like it. Italics can make your sentences sound more human and more authentic.

Here is our pair of examples, now with punctuation and italics. “I know it’s real, I saw it!” Nico said. “I know it’s real… I saw it,” Nico said.

Take a minute and read through the example dialogue, imagining each word italicized one by one. Pay attention to the meaning and context it gives it. (For example, if the ‘I’ at the beginning is in italics — I know it’s real — that could imply that he’s talking to someone who doesn’t know or believe whatever he’s talking about is real.)

3) DIALOGUE TAGS

Tags. Tags, tags, tags! Tags are so important! Tags are brilliant for clarifying and identifying exactly how your character is speaking and how they intend for the statement to come across. If you ignore every other tip in this post, don’t ignore the tag! There are so many different words you could use instead of said that give life and context to your lines. Muttered, mumbled, yelled, shouted, exclaimed, whined, groaned, whispered, and a ton ton ton more. Use these to your advantage, like an outline for your dialogue. The tag is undoubtedly the easiest way to make your lines come across the way you want them to.

Here’s the examples with different tags! “I know it’s real, I saw it!” Nico defended. “I know it’s real… I saw it,” Nico mumbled.

Don’t be afraid to move your tag around, either! Sometimes, in order to make your conversations less repetitive, moving your tags are nice. You can put them at the beginning, middle, or end! (Middle tags are my favorite, I use them a whole, whole lot…)

Here’s the example sentence with a tag at the beginning and middle. Nico growled: “I know it’s real, I saw it!” “I know it’s real…” Nico muttered. “I saw it.”

Don’t forget, tags don’t always have to be how they’re speaking. It can also be what they’re doing or how they’re acting, which can be just as telling as other tags. (I use action tags sooooooo much. Action tags in the middle of dialogue is my jam.)

The example sentences with action tags: Nico crossed his arms, huffing deeply. “I know it’s real, I saw it!” “I know it’s real…” Nico averted his gaze, staring down at his shoes instead. “I saw it.”

Or, you can mix them both! An action tag plus how they’re speaking for maximum impact and description.

Here’s the example sentence with both! Nico rolled his eyes, hissing: “I know it’s real, I saw it!” “I know it’s real…” Nico uttered, poorly stifling a shudder. “I saw it.”

4) DESCRIPTION

Describing the way your character looks, moves, speaks, etc etc before and after the line can further help your readers know how they feel about what they’re saying. This is especially important if the character is not the main character and doesn’t have internal dialogue. Body language can explain things voices can’t or won’t. You can explore putting these descriptions before the line, after the line, in the tag, or after the tag. Whatever you prefer!

Here’s the sentence with descriptive sentences with it. I did one before the line & tag and one in the middle! He was practically fuming, his eyebrows knitted so closely together they looked like a single strip of hair. His eyes were flicking between his friends like he was trying to determine if they were joking, blue irises blurred with a rage-fueled haze. Nico finally rolled his eyes, hissing: “I know it’s real, I saw it!” “I know it’s real…” Nico uttered, poorly stifling a shudder. His eyes never left the floor, and he looked smaller, younger as he spoke. His breaths weren’t exactly even, but they weren’t too quick, either. “I saw it.”

Look at those two very different scenarios we got out of the same base line! This is the power you hold, folks, the power to un-bland your dialogue and make it into something intense and memorable for your readers! The power to make it portray exactly what you want it to portray! No more worrying how your readers took that line, because you set in stone how it was presented.

Remember, making a paragraph like that for every line might get tiring or repetitive to read. Sometimes tags alone are good enough in fast-paced or long conversations, and sometimes, if the dialogue makes it clear who is speaking, the line can suffice by itself!

If you have any writing tip requests, drop them in my inbox!

#original writing #creative writing #writers #writing #writing tips #writing help #writers on tumblr #writeblr #character dialogue #writing dialogue

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fawnpires · 9 months

Note

hi! if the requests are open could you please do sex pollen with Simon Riley? if you don't write smut, that's fine. thank you for your time and I wanted to say that ur blog is rlly pretty<3

ʚ LUST FOR LIFE. ɞ — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: sex pollen, car sex, porn with some plot, tit-fucking, size kink, manhandling, praise, unprotected sex, loads of dirty talk, missionary position, eye contact, cum play.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ notes: omg i've done a sex pollen fic with simon before and it was literally so fun to write for, i would def write for it again. (and tysm angel! you’re literally the sweetest, ty again for requesting. <3)

The assigned mission had gone in several directions — one being the fact that a majority of your team had split up directly after being ambushed by the enemy with smoke grenades filled up with this sour yet saccharine-smelling powdery substance which had not yet been identified by the general public. For seconds, you had somehow ended up slumped in the cramped backseat of a hijacked pickup truck on the outskirts of a well-camouflaged forest right alongside your brooding, composed lieutenant who had unfortunately been impacted with that same substance a great number of your other team members had been affected with too — including yourself.

And you don't know how, but somehow you ended up with your military uniform torn off of you and discarded onto the flattened floor of the truck with only the white lace of your panties encompassing around the curves of your anatomy — laying on your back against the plush of the backseat's leather while your head rested against one of the locked, closed truck doors. Your skin was clammy, head overcrowded with incoherent clouds of thoughts while that swirling aroma of that substance lingered within your nostrils and never seemed to vanish away despite being impacted so many hours ago. Those doe eyes of yours were angled upwards, taking in the rare sight of your lieutenant's naked and brawny statuesque frame towering right above your more vulnerable figure.

"You're drivin' me fuckin' crazy, doll. Keep those pretty eyes on me now." he pants out between heavy breaths spilling past his parted lips, his body now slanted over you which caused his shadow to envelop you in its entirety.

Those tactical jeans of his were left to be undone and forgotten at his ankles alongside the cloth of his boxers while the softness of your bare breasts engulfed the pulsating, girthy length of his kept cock as it thrusted between the flesh. His hands and arms of exposure, now bulging of some veins and hardened muscles, kept a firm yet gentle grip at your breasts — kneading them in calloused palms enhanced of faded scars, some new and some fresh; most hard to recognize beneath the provided lighting of the truck's dimmed dome light. Aroused sighs and moans of contentment were drawn from the deep backs of your throat, flowing out in undetermined intervals. Your thighs were pushed and rubbing together as it creating some sort of friction and a distraction from the substance's strangely arousing side effects while you were basically getting off on the sight of his cock fucking right amid the valley of your breasts.

Your eyes never wanted to leave his, something about them was so entrancing in the moment. Each thrust at the flesh left you in a puddle of a needy mess, the blunt head of his cock peaking out between the tops of your breasts while his thrusts grew more desperate and sloppy to reach his initial high. Suppressed grunts were pronounced from past the darkened black fabric of his balaclava, the corners of his eyes twitching as he threw his head back; large hands continuing to maintain a hold on your breasts, tweaking your nipples while he fucked them with a ferocity that left him panting like a dog in heat. Slick began to drool past your panties, running down your inner thighs in a line of fluid while your jaw hung open to discharge those sounds of ecstasy. The atmosphere of the truck smelled of sex, the panes of the windows beginning to fog up in a hazy mist.

"Gonna cover these pretty lil' tits all full of my cum, lovie. I can't believe I've never given this pretty body a chance. " he gets out while a loud groan comes from him, the more he desperately moved his hips through the sensual simulation your breasts provided him — the more his climax got onto the verge of spilling out of him.

"Lieutenant, please..." your voice had the slightest hint of a whine to it, almost pleading him in a more high-pitched tone of voice.

"You sound so good f'me right now, sweet girl. Just hold on a little longer for me, baby. Almost there."

With that, he gives one last and particularly vigorous thrust between the mounds of your softened breasts; his hands traveling down to either sides at your waist, fingers depressing upon the skin as his head slanted a little more further back in pleasure with satisfied groans no longer being held in. His seed jetted out in fervent pulses onto the smooth stretch of your chest, adorning the skin in a sheet of pure and sticky fluid. As his head slanted forwards again back in regular position, his pupils appeared to be more dilated — giving him the look of some sort of rabid animal, seeking out for a way to quench his hungering lust. (In this case, using your body would be that designated method for appeasing that hunger - thanks to the substance's effects on the man.)

In a craving manner, you find Ghost briskly pulling up the lower edge of that skull balaclava he almost always sports on the physical features of his face; head lowering towards the supple flesh while his tongue eagerly laps at the liquid, brushing over either one of your nipples periodically — drawing one of those needy and pent-up whines from you. A hand is felt dragging down between your thighs, parting them from each other as his index and middle finger formed circular motions at your pantie-clad cunt, your body slightly shuddering at the contact towards your wet and sensitive area.

"God, you look even better with my cum all over your tits," Ghost chuckles lowly against your breasts, suckling and licking at them with his exposed lips. "Didn't know you were this desperate to be touched like this by a superior."

"Can't take it, Ghost, please. I need you inside me already."

"I know, sweetheart, I know. Just a little bit more, I promise. Acting like a needy lil' thing, aren't you?" he responses in a breathless vocal tone, his accent more accented with each gravelly word spoken.

His fingers slip around the waistband of your panties, the wet article of clothing worn around your curves before it was yanked down your legs and left to be abandoned with the rest of your uniform. Ghost lets out a deep grunt at the sight of your naked figure, his lips granting both of your breasts subtle little kisses before straightening himself back up and imposing right over you. He was moderately leaned over you, his hands adjusting your legs to rest on top his shoulders before drifting down to settle at both sides of your waist. His now solid cock rests at your lower abdomen, kisses being pressed into your right calf while his body slowly grinds against the perspired surface of your exterior skin.

The precise, kept movement of his raw hips had your head rolling back against the door of the vehicle — right in a state of an almost overwhelming, yet such raw ecstasy — in addition to more sweat trickling and trickling down onto the leather beneath where you laid at. His mouth stayed attached to your calf, advancing and pressing those gentle kisses of his onto the clammy limb, (Despite his rough, cold-blooded presence out of the field; he was the most gentle towards you, almost in resemblance to a lover.) Your teeth bit into the flesh of your lower lip, gnawing feebly at it while your cunt throbbed excessively in unrhythmic patterns. His teasings were going straight to your aching head as the aftermath of the substance, now well-acknowledged to be running through the course of your veins, only seemed to worsen without relief.

Fortunately, he took notice of your practically pleading exterior on display just for him; causing him to lean back a few inches from your body before steadying himself over you, eyes never faltering from yours as his cock angled right at the entrance of your sopping cunt as he slowly inched himself inside the warmth of your walls accompanied with a squelch audible throughout the vehicle. His free hand was left to press up against the fogged pane of nearest window, a prominent cast of his palm being left there. His other hand held at your hip, beads of sweat outlining at his cloth-wrapped forehead while it trickled down past the visible eye area of his balaclava — combining with that black, smeared eye-paint gracing around those dulled brown eyes. A distinct grunt came from him at the sensation of your cunt engulfing him, and a whimper of a reached relief sourced from the initial contact of his hips pressed against yours.

"There you go. Such a good girl, taking me in so well." the lieutenant cooes from above you, his voice hoarse and slightly strained while his hips sustained a pleasant rhythm.

"Mmm— fuck, Ghost... feels so good." you moan out, eyes nearly closing to fully indulge in the sensation.

"And your pussy feels like damn heaven, Jesus." his words were spoken through a grunt, his hand at the window smudging at the fog. "Keep those eyes on me, want you to look me in the eye — know who's fucking you, making you feel this good."

The smallest smirk is held at one corner of his lips at your words of praise, his hand at your hip using the thumb to gently stroke at the skin while his thrusts increased in speed. Shamelessly, soft moans and various noises of pleasure were being pulled out of you now as his each pump of his hips into you was shaped into the interiors of your cunt. Your nails dug into leather below you, legs trembling out of bliss on-top of his sturdy and muscled shoulders tensing from the vast mass of euphoric feelings the both of you were undergoing. With each passing thrust within you, his motions quickened up through you, the head of his cock kissing right at your cervix repeatedly without stop.

Arousal was the only thing, the only emotion that your body could be running on at this exact moment — your inner thighs stained with your slick, leaving a small pool of fluid under you; evidence to how good he really made you feel when fucking right into you. Resonates of skin-against-skin and more noises of sexual matter filled up the once silent truck, the windows nearly curtained and blocked off with fog sourcing from the both of your bodies continually pressing up against each other. His hips angled in different kinds of ways, just to aim his cock right against the spots that would cause your back to arch off the seat and your hips to slightly raise in the air. More sweat began to form at your skin, glistening underneath the dim lights.

Your legs were more spread apart, nevertheless still perched on his shoulders as the positioned of your body arched off the seat raised body gave him a better approach to pound into you. His sweat mixed in with yours, cock drilling into your pussy at an pace that could be almost considered violent by the looks of it. He had his hand pushing down a little more into your hip, his build tilted over your own. Moans of his title — of his military title — were being moaned out from you in a head full of rapture where you saw stars in your vision, which fueled that arousal just about leading to his climax once he heard that angelic tone of yours speaking his name.

"You fuck me so good, sir." you whimpered in a fragile voice, that built-up tension in your stomach almost at its high.

Those words of yours were almost enough to drive him over the edge, but his composure was held onto just for a little longer.

"That's right, lovie. I'm the only man who can fuck you like this, nobody else, yeah?" he pants out, the violent pace of his beginning to stutter just at the slightest. His composure was slipping off now, without a doubt. "Can feel you squeezing me — shit, — let go for me, angel, come on."

With his words basically giving you the permission, your body stiffens while a series of whimpers and moans are mainly heard from a clear volume. Your cunt clenches around his cock while it remains still up against your cervix as he gives into a climax the same time as you do, his near-animalistic groans merging with your much softer moans. Ghost gives a single, last thrust before hot waves of pleasure spill from him as he fills your cunt to the brim with the warmth of his seed. Heavy breaths of almost exhaustion come from him for a few moments longer before he slowly pulls out of you, your weakened body vaguely at the feeling of it. His eyes sweep down from your eyes, to the rise and fall of your breasts, to the perspective of his seed spilling out from the puffy lips of your cunt and onto the splattered material of the seats.

By now, the influence of the substance has sufficiently gone down considering the quantities of alleviation that you and Ghost had managed to release off of each other. (In the most intimate, non-expected way possible — and during a full-on mission.) He cautiously lowers his hand at your hip to dip between your soaking thighs, the heel of his palm rubbing at your raw, delicate flesh dripping of both of your sticky releases. Your mind finally goes conscious for the first time since both you and him had temporarily hid out in this truck; a faint flush coming to rise at your cheeks once the realization hits you — you fucked a superior, your literal lieutenant.

It’s not like the either of you were to blame, you think.

He then leans down to you, palm still rubbing at your folds as you shakily sigh out, a kiss being pressed into your forehead. It was abnormally sweet, especially coming from someone like him. But you weren’t complaining, — as long as he wasn’t pissed about fucking a subordinate, such as yourself, or had any regrets about doing any of this with you; drug’s influence or not. You can’t help but allow your face to flush lightly at the kiss, a small blush blossoming around your cheeks. He then wholly lowers back the edge of his pushed-up balaclava, his full face now concealed like always.

“You regret any of this?” you asked quietly, not out shame or sadness, but a genuine curiosity to hear from his side. Your breaths were still coming out shaky from his rubbing palm.

It’s dead silence coming from him, before he then speaks up with a slight unpredicted chuckle.

“Regret this?” Ghost repeats back to you, his head cocked to the side as his eyes find yours once more. He looks at you as if you told some kind of joke to him — or just said something really stupid. “No way in hell would I regret doing something like this with a girl that has your looks, or your sweetness, sweetheart.”

“Good, but you better not be saying that because of the stuff we got hit with.” your said more teasingly.

“Nah. I only speak truth from my cold, dead heart, love.” his deep voice responds back to you, the corners of his black-smudged eyes crinkled in an indication of a grin.

#. ˚ ʚ — ꒰ simon riley. ꒱#ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley x female reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #female reader #.୨୧ fawnpires

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leclerced · 4 months

Note

Heyyy hope you have a good day, i come bearing new thots

Credit where credit’s due, the idea is an old and deleted roger Taylor fic and not from me.

HOWEVER. Im now obsessed with this scenario with either lando or oscar (ill let you choose <3)

Roommate!AU !!!

Imagine you’re friends and roommates with lando or oscar and he has to study for his upcoming biology exam at uni. The topic? Female reproductive organs🤭

He just genuinely struggles with understanding the anatomy of a vagina and that picture in his damn book is absolutely not recognisable.

And since him and reader are friends and she doesn’t think thoughts all the way through she offers him to look at hers. I mean hes seen her shirtless a million times its nbd.

And staring at her beautiful pussy really does help him - to an extend. Hes so into his studies he doesn’t really process that he asked her „can i touch it??“ and she just goes along with it bc it’s already lowkey awkward and theres no turning back now.

She tries to not make it more awkward by suppressing her moans when his finger brush over her clit all while hes just identifying parts with his thoughts oblivious to what he does to her.

And she cant keep in the moan when he pushes his fingern in and suddenly he realises what hes doing. But he sneakily keeps going until she cums and hes trying his best to keep up the ignorant act bc shes js too hot like that😩

Got damn it i need a full length version of this fic again 😭

-🫀

i want to write a full length version omfg this is incredible!!! pictured oscar immediately. kinda set in like the early 2000s in my head bc i wanted to mention dvd rentals One Time and that's not a thing anymore but that's the world i grew up in LMAO

sorry i like got too into this at first and forgot i made plans to game with my friend and rushed the ending im sorry. added read more bc it's just over 1k <3 i think i like this a lot other than the ending idk . lmk what u think i hope it meets the expectations set by the original

reader thinks oscar's an innocent idiot but he just probably shouldn't be in medical school because while he can find the clit, he certainly doesn't know the name of it.

Her roommate has been staring at the same page for half an hour, they're seated on opposite ends of the couch, leaning against the arms and facing each other. She has a Stephen King novel leaned on her propped up knees and Oscar has an open textbook balanced on one thigh and a notebook open to a blank page on the other. After another frustrated sigh leaves him, she drops her book on the coffee table and leans over to see what he's looking at. She almost laughs when she sees the miniature sketch of a vagina, "You know, the DVD rental place down the street has rated X movies."

Oscar snorts, "I'm trying to work, leave me alone. I'm supposed to learn all the anatomical names of a vagina, but the only drawing I have is in this stupid book."

She leans in further to the diagram and hums, "That's a horrible diagram, no wonder you're getting nothing done. How old is that that textbook?" He shrugs and stretches back over the arm of the couch, "Probably like thirty, the professor wrote it himself and he's ancient."

Her eyes get pulled to his hips as he reaches behind his head and groans, his shirt lifting the slightest to reveal soft skin before he drops his arms back down. She licks her lips as she directs her gaze up to his face, "I could show you mine, if you want." The swift inhale Oscar makes is audible, he keeps his gaze locked on the books in his lap as he says, "Really?" Instead of verbally agreeing, she just scoots back to where she was leaning moments before on the arm of the couch and shimmies her shorts down before she can think twice. She giggles at the look on Oscar's face as she kicks the shorts off her ankles and he takes in the sight of her panties, lacy and red. "Are you sure?"

She shrugs and teases, "Well it's not like they have 3D models. I'm sure, I wouldn't have offered otherwise. Are you sure?" He nods slowly and she tugs her panties down her thighs and smirks at the blush that creeps up his cheeks as she drops them on his lap. She doesn't know where the sudden confidence has come from, but she feels no shame as she opens her legs to him. She drops one foot to the floor and the other lifts to rest on the back of the couch. Oscar holds her eye for a moment before she watches his gaze drift down her body and he starts to lean in before pausing, "Can I get closer?" She nods at his question and answers, "As close as you want." Oscar lurches forwards, knocking the forgotten textbook to the floor as he fumbles to grab his pen and notebook to take notes.

She can't read his chicken scratch handwriting, so whatever he's scrawling about her pussy is undecipherable to her as she watches him analyze her. She's trying not to think about how this could be weird, how it is weird to offer to let your roommate use you as an anatomy dummy. It's not really the first time. He's done other things, like when he needed to practice IVs so she let him give her a banana bag the next time she was hungover. She liked teasing him about it, calling him Doctor Piastri when she let him listen to her heart with his stethoscope. Or when she comes down with a cold and she calls him into her room to diagnose and treat her, and he brings her cold medicine and soup from the deli down the street.

She's pulled out of her thoughts when he clears his throat and she meets his eyes before she hums quizzically. The pink tint that had spattered his cheeks turns into a bright red as he asks, "Can I touch you?"

She almost thinks she didn't hear him correctly, but there's no way he could have said anything else, so she tries to joke, "So you're a hands on learner, then?"

Oscar quickly counters, "Yeah, do you mind?"

It's her turn to lose her breath as she stupidly nods and blushes as she takes in the realization that he's about to touch her pussy. In the name of science, she agrees, "No, go ahead." Then, his hand is on her pussy and his focus is entirely on the space between her legs as he spreads her lips apart and she has to close her eyes and force her mind to other places as he tilts his had interestedly. She wishes she could stop her body from reacting to his touch, but she can't. Not when he pulls back the hood of her clit, she hears him writing something, then there's a soft pressure on her clit and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to not react. She tells herself not to make any sounds so it won't be weird, he's just trying to study, he's not doing anything to her really.

She can feel the wetness build under his fingers as he slips them down to her entrance and back up. She hears Oscar mutter something but she can't make it out over the blood rushing through her head as he presses his fingers back against her clit. "Is this... The labia?" The laugh she lets out is half a moan, "That's the- clit. Labia are the lips." He dips his fingers down and pinches one lightly, "This?"

She's somehow endeared by the curiosity, and sighs, "Yeah. That. Minora. The outer one is majora."

Oscar lets out a little huff, "How do you know the names? You're not even taking anatomy." His fingers find her clit again, this time lightly pinching it, and her thighs tense as he mumbles, "Clit." She hears his pen scratching across his paper and then dips his finger down to her entrance and presses inside. She wonders what he's thinking as he slowly thrusts his finger in and out of her, his other hand still writing on the paper. It's not until he slips a second finger inside of her and curls them as he suddenly presses his thumb to her clit that she breaks her silence, a whimper falling from her lips as the unexpected pleasure hits her. She somehow doesn't realize then that this isn't his first time like she thought when she saw the surprised look on her face. Then she flutters her eyes open and immediately realizes it because he's already looking up at her, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. She gasps, "You- you didn't really need help, did you?"

He shrugs innocently, "I still don't know the names, could you remind me?" She can't tell if he's being serious or not as he quickens his thumb on her clit and she's saved from responding as he pushes up her body and presses his lips to hers hungrily.

#ask #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri #op81 #op81 smut #🫀anon

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rin-and-jade · 3 months

Text

Are You? What about You? Them? : A Post about Differentiating Types of Parts.

We all know that spiderman meme where they pointed to each other because they share similar qualities that confuses their selves;

Like this. Right?

They all sounded so similar that we neither knew which is which at first glance..

And so, at the end of this post you will be confident in pointing out who is who, just like a spiderman who can tell apart from its own multiverse friends, that is. So let's get pointing to the smaller details!

How it works..

We know what it's like to be conscious, yeah? What if i were to tell you that yes, there are varying degrees of consciousness, and that we all can fluctuate on those levels too?

The levels of consciousness can vary from only being aware of its physical surroundings and react instinctually (lesser level), to being able to self-introspect and understand what they like and dislike (higher level). This is all dependent on many different factors and i want to clarify that it takes more than just 'awareness' to tell a fragment apart from an alter for example. But, still important to know what level its at.

This explains why shards, and fragments are less flexible when facing an issue, as they're more limited or not as equipped as an alter in terms of reasoning or level of logic/knowledge. So why is that? It can be from the intensity of dissociation, and other things like how much implicit and explicit memories it retains, this includes experiences.

How to tell them apart..

Sure, theres a spectrum to this too, as every type of part can be a bit different though still can categorized loosely, not meaning it has to fit perfectly to the box :

1. No sense of identity and, or tangible form/shape outside of performing a specific task, or hold a single memory/mood. (Shard)

2. Small sense of identity (a trait that is distinctive/distinguishable), possibly have a less blurry appearance than level 1 and still performs specific tasks, have little to no memories/range of emotions. (Shard)

3. Mish mash of small qualities, but not enough to encapsulate an identity/personality, may have a sense of existing, and can emotionally react to environment/situation. Usually have a defined innerworld form, and may retain some memories but depends on origin, still fixed on role. (Fragment)

4. Has a developed dominant facet, which can be seen more lively and autonomous compared from level 1-3,, but still a bit rigid and have a narrow/limited view in general. Can distinguish and identify feelings, and have goals/hobbies/interests, self curiosity/exploration to function outside role. (Fragment, leaning to alter)

5. Has a multifaceted personality in which it cannot defined by one word, fully knows its likes and dislikes, long term goals, morals, and a complex view on life. May have developed purpose outside role job, pursuing self-fulfillment. (Alter)

So in conclusion, shards are not wholly self aware and rely on current implicit memories, from my own system experience shards feels so blank, lifeless, somewhat robotic. Fragments have a partial sense of autonomy, it can rationalize and react to its own accord, reason, and learn/explore,, though had not fully know who they are. Alters are like any other usual people, where it has accumulated knowledge and experience that had shaped then throughout existing, reinforcing a faceted sense of self and purpose.

Growth to perfection..

Are you also wondering if shards and fragments can grow to an alter? The answer is, yes! Though some can be stuck in a certain stage, which is nothing to be ashamed about, and doesn't need changing.

Though, this takes a really long time and process, i note my own fragments will reach to a stage where it barely matches the loose category of an alter in 6 months, and to be a fully developed alter, it might need a whole year (okay this is my own calculations, other people will have it slower or faster).

To grow a shard towards a fragment category, my theory is that you have to interact with, and let them immerse/exprience the real world by supervision (outside of its role task) to develop more environmental, and self awareness. They will be very limited in terms of knowledge and names so this is a good time to start introducing these, and they may not even realize they exists themselves before sometimes,, try nudging them activities to experiment, and foods to taste, examine emotion wheel.. theres a lot to start from.

To grow a fragment to an alter, start introducing other views and complex topics, the goal here is to create a more developed understanding of life. From my experience, all my fragments have a dominant facet, e.g. angry dog vibes; and slowly let them learn how to be soft, or act more polite,, it will slowly solidify as a new facet, now capable of being kind and not always behaving threatening/i-will-still-bite-you attitude to every situation, as it now can be more flexible which facet it should use depending on situation.

Last words..

So, you are now an educated spiderman who can not only point out, but understand the basics of why,, and how to grow a part to have a better sense of awareness!

Let me know in the comments, i would like to hear why the part you had specifically picked/chose is possibly a shard/fragment/alter from your own reasoning and interactive mini discussion with me,, lets finally put them into real practice yeah?

Also, Happy Valentines, *offers you a free heart chocolate*

- j, your educational fiancée

#did #actually did #did community #did osdd #did system #dissociative identity disorder #sysblr #plural #system stuff #jeducates

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imagination-mess · 1 year

Text

Reality Show: Pro Heroes Wives (Aizawa Shota Edition)

Reference to Rika from Bakugou and Pro Hero from Kirishima and Midoriya

*mentions you have 3 children (Eri/Shinsou/your own with Aizawa)*

________________________________

There is a reality show where pro heroes' wives are on television and paid to be there. It is filled with juicy gossip and pure drama. There are few wives in this second season who were kept out of the spotlight which adds mystery and theories to be created about who they were married to.

The same winners who were in the group that couldn’t be identified are back this season as a surprise challenge. Unlike last season, it wasn’t told in the very beginning of this reason already revealed which Pro Heroes Wives will be featured

There are only a few left remaining without being matched, which were mostly underground heroes who people don’t typically pay attention to. Half of the cast already knew each other because their spouses have interacted on more than one occasion and are disqualified from participating in the weekend challenge of the show for those spouses. The others who do not know have to identify them, but the others did not spill any things that would clue who their spouse was.

This weekend's challenge was the ones who didn’t get their rating from the public are put to guess their opponent chosen by the directors of who their spouses are, people are having a hard time guessing at home as well. These wives have pictures of other pro heroes which confuses the public about who their spouses were. It was a friendly picture to professional pictures that had been taken.

The two members, Rika, and Pro Hero [Blank] who were also voted off from the show by their peers had made their decision. They make this decision based on their friends and notes taken throughout the show.

It was you, they had to guess who your spouse is. The two ladies stood on the platform while you were sitting on the red couch seat with a wine glass in your hands. There was a screen behind you with a black box with an enormous question mark. You were confident they wouldn't be able to guess correctly. You have been on the hot seat a few times. You also know they wouldn't be able to because they have very little information about underground heroes, which you have been told by your husbands’ former students' wives.

“We chose Pro Hero Mindjack,” Rika speaks into the microphone while the screen reveals the pro hero at the latest picture of the Hero Gala beside them.

There was an immediate reaction from you which was coughing on your wine with eyes widened. Your facial expression shows how shocked you were. and the crowd who were within the circle of the pro hero were screaming “HOW” to cough on their drinks.

“Based on the comment you mentioned this week was that your husband's quirk involves a specific muscle in the body.” Pro Hero [Blank] adding an explanation.

“What do you say to that? Miss [Former Last Name]?” The host asks for your input.

“Mindjack is a very handsome man, but he is way too young for me. Here is a clue, I am a mother of 3. I am confident my oldest son is having some sort of reaction to this but don’t expect a reaction on social media. You are not going to find it. Additionally, my oldest son is around his age.”

Meanwhile, on social media, people were going crazy about the fact you looked younger than your age to be a mother of three. No one could find the children that related to you, because you never did post them on your social media including your spouse. It was a very professional account which disappointed some fans of the show. They aren’t able to figure out who your spouse is.

Proherofan34 tweeted: All I am hearing is that [Name] is milf.

Uravityfan89 tweets: I need her skincare routine! *attaches its mighty need. *

There are videos of you including from seasons 1 and 2 clips of you with the audio sound of Mommy, sorry to step on me. Other videos of being a collaboration of your top moments of being unbothered along with your greatest comebacks from season 1. You humbled certain younger women. There were old videos of you throwing a man twice your size out of a nightclub along with videos of being a momma bear to those who needed help at the nightclub circling the internet.

There were multiple pictures of you and younger Shinsou with a few others such as Bakugou, and Kaminari at different metal musician group concerts that circled around the interest taken from the Pro Hero Chargebolt account.

The clue you had given to the cast and to the public had narrowed the options to two options the Pro Heroes who have 3 children had mentioned in interviews and such.

Pro Hero Eraserhead, Pro Hero Hawks, and Pro Hero Gang Orca.

Meanwhile, Eri is holding out her hand out at Hitoshi who was pulling out his wallet for the money. He has lost the bet. Eri is glued to the show and watching too intensely to the point that she is rambling about her theories with her brother and father.

Shota is just staring at them silently in disbelief with the toddler sleeping on his lap.

‘I am not gonna even ask.’

Pro Hero Deku Edition

Pro Hero Dynamight Edition

Pro Hero Shoto Edition

Pro Hero Red Riot Edition

Pro Hero Hellfire (Touya) Edition

Pro Hero Mindjack Edition

Reality Show: Unmasked Pro Heroes

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shota x reader #shota aizawa x reader #shota x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa shota x y/n #shouta x you #shouta x reader #aizawa x female reader #shouta x fem!reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader

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therealpie02 · 3 months

Text

One story at the hotel

Pairings: San x fem! reader x Yeosang

Summary: You and your friends stayed at the hotel after a good evening with alcohol. But alcohol wasn't to blame for what happened next. Your secret desires made you play with each other.

Word count: ~2k

Genre: smut 18+

Warnings: ITS A FICTION! Threesome, dom!San, dom!Yeosang, somnophilia, voyeurism (reader), oral sex (male receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names (kitten, honey, darling), squirting, let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: friendly reminder English isn’t my native language <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Judging by the way your head hurt, you had a great time with your friends at the restaurant. Then at the bar. Then on a visit. Then at the hotel. You hardly remember these places, as alcohol has taken over your head. Your mouth was dry, head ached, and it was cool under the covers. In general, the "best" hangover combo.

You needed to go to the bathroom. Opening your eyes a little, you couldn't see anything at first. It was probably still the middle of the night, and only the moonlight from under the curtains made it possible to see something. For example, you were able to identify who your roommate was. Yeosang was sleeping on the other side of the bed, and his beauty took your breath away. He looked like a sleeping beauty, his dark hair spread out on the pillow, a few strands fell over his face, which shone in the moonlight. You had a terrible desire to touch your friend, your thoughts were spinning chaotically in your head, and your gaze fell on his lips. Suddenly his lips parted and he moaned softly.

You're frozen in place. You tried not to breathe or blink. What just happened? Has Yeosang learned to read your mind in a dream? A simple coincidence? It's all alcohol in the blood, just a figment of your imagination. Yeosang was asleep, he couldn't moan. However, when he did it again, you lowered your gaze even lower. His magnificent body was completely naked, his chest heaved with deep breathing, the muscles of his abs tensed with one sigh, his stomach retracted and tensed, as if he was being given a blowjob. You were trying to keep all your composure when you realized that it turned out to be true. Above Yeosang's dick was San's face.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" your whole body tensed, you felt an incredibly strong arousal underneath. Maybe just knowing what's going on right now has made you so wet. You knew that there was a close bond between them, but you didn't realize that it was so close. And now you're in the middle of it all.

San, apparently, did this more than once, he slowly touched his lips to Yeo's cock, which, despite his master's sleep, became bigger and harder. The man didn’t want to wake up his friend, so he tried to do everything gently, slowly running his hand over the hardened cock. The pre-cum flowed from the head along the entire length and veins, and, frankly, the view was very appetizing. The naked San was lying on his stomach between Yeosang's thighs, his head slowly sank onto his cock, his lips captured the head and began to suck gently. From pleasure, San closed his eyes and with full pleasure continued to insert the cock further.

How hard you tried not to moan. Yeosang himself was still asleep, although he began to cry out moans more often while San enthusiastically sucked his cock. You couldn't even imagine such a thing, but you are watching them with your own eyes. You felt hot, you were ready to cry from how you wanted to touch your needy pussy. You gently lowered your hand to clit and slowly and silently circled it. A jolt of pleasure went through your body, but you didn't show it.

"Ah, mmff, ah" Yeosang began to wake up and at the same time slightly thrust his hips into San's mouth, to which the man sat down even deeper with a groan. Gods, your friend sucked another friend's dick. San started the cock by his cheeks, licked from the base to the head, without missing a single drop of pre-cum, smacking his lips with ecstasy took his thrusts. You have accelerated the movements of your hand, you feel that you will come very soon.

After a few more thrusts of Yeosang, you heard his long moan, saw how his stomach tightened and how he poured cum down his friend's throat. You wonder if Yeosang knows who did this to him? The answer didn’t take long to come. After San swallowed all the cum, he stood over Yeo's chest. With one hand, San caught him by the cheeks, forcing him to open his jaw, with the other hand he ran over his hard cock.

"San," Yeosang whispered, to which San ordered him to open his mouth wider with his hand. When you looked at San, you realized that San was looking at you. A heartbeat. You held your breath, your hand stopped masturbating. His closed eyes were looking at you, he smirked at you and cum on Yeosang's face. His cum got on his nose, eye, lips and mouth. Yeosang obediently took every drop with his mouth.

"Fuck," you whispered, squirming under the covers because you had never been so horny before. You wanted to hide and get free. You wanted to cum. And San realized it faster.

"Y/n, aren't we friends?" he asked, carefully pulling off your cover. You nodded.

"You won't mind, will you, y/n? Yeosang and I are friends, you and I are friends, and you want this too, right?" San pulled the cover off you, thereby revealing to himself a view of you in a T-shirt and in only lace panties. Yeo knelt next to San and also looked at your wet folds. Yes, you are friends. Yes, you wanted your friends terribly. Yes, you imagined these guys from your department fucking you. Yes, you wanted it to go on.

"Yes," you said confidently. San smiled, Yeosang smirked. They both reached for your face, and San kissed you first, wetly and casually, biting your lip. After that, Yeosang bit into your lips, forcing you to open up under his pressure. When you felt that he handed you San's cum, which was in his mouth, you moaned into his lips. Breaking away from you, San and Yeosang kissed and knelt down again. You didn't know if alcohol was playing with you or not, but you didn't care.

"Did you want to do everything yourself, kitten?" said San, spreading your legs wider. When he didn't get an answer, Yeosang grabbed your face.

"Did you want to play without us, honey?" left them without an answer, Yeosang pressed your face harder with his fingers. "Please answer."

"I... I didn't want to distract you."

"You wanted to leave us without fun, you bad kitten," San growled as he touched your horny clit. You felt everything begin to pull at the bottom of your stomach again. Gods… At this time, Yeosang pulled up that T-shirt, removing it from your body with one finger and clung to your nipple. You started to tremble and feel like you were going to make a complete mess. Right in front of your friends.

"San, no, no, now I..." you started, but San just started working faster on the clit.

"You're going to make a complete mess, aren't you?"

"San, Yeosang, let me go out, I'll come back, I..." you screamed when you felt two fingers pulling your panties apart and ending up in your pussy. They were Yeo's fingers.

"Do what we say," Yeosang flashed his eyes at you from under his brows, forcing you to give up all attempts to get out of this trap.

They continued to torture your pussy and you knew that you could no longer restrain yourself. Without stopping, with rhythmic hand works, your friends sent you over the edge of your mind. You screamed, not really worried that someone might hear, because you felt the most powerful orgasm in your life. Your juices started pouring out of you, but the men didn't slow down their moves, making you flow only harder.

"Damn, I..." You couldn't believe they made you squirt.

"Dirty dirty kitten" San smiled d to dimples on his cheeks "You just couldn't help yourself right in front of our eyes" he stroked your throbbing and wet pussy, making you tremble.

"I bet you've been wanting to do this with us for a long time, little slut," Yeosang's deep voice rang out.

"One day we will definitely do it again," and from these words of San, you loudly swallowed saliva.

"Now be a good friend, open your legs and mouth wider," San ordered, stroking your ass from below. You looked at Yeosang, who approached your face and took you by the hair. You obediently opened your mouth to his big and hot cock. He pushed half inside you, but you could feel the salty taste of his pre-cum and moan. Now you understood why San had such a face, it was impossible not to enjoy Yeosang's cock.

Meanwhile, San, watching you obediently accept a friend's cock with your mouth, entered your pussy with one thrust, forcing you to moan into Yeo's cock. He quickly picked up an accelerated pace and you couldn't focus on him.

"You better not get distracted, darling" Yeosang fixed your head with his hand and began to hip into your mouth, head touching the wall of your throat. The sensations caused tears to flow down your face, saliva to flow out of your mouth, and your pussy was approaching a second orgasm.

"San" after Yeo's conversion, San immediately came out of you and went to your face while Yesan came out of your mouth and took San's place. And you felt his cock in your pussy and the way he stretched you even more.

"You're such a good kitten, why haven't we played with you before huh?" without giving you an answer, San turned your head to his cock and entered your mouth at the same pace as a second ago into your pussy.

You were panting and moaning, you were squirming, but both guys were holding you tight enough. Who would have thought that you would live to see this? You felt Yeosang's hips become more chaotic and deep, knocking the air out of your lungs. After a couple of seconds, he pinched your waist in his hands and finished in you with hot cum. Damn it, your friend has cummed a whole bucket into you and you want to cum again at the very thought.

Still not fully recovering, Yeosang moved away and lay down next to you, returning the place for San and kissing your face and neck. San returned his cock to your pussy and moaned.

"You like to take everything from the two of us, right? Our friend's sperm has not cooled down in you yet, how are you ready to accept me?" you almost cum from these words. You started moaning and crying louder because San set an incredible pace of thrusts.

"Y/n, cum. Now," Yesan ordered in your ear and you obeyed him. Your walls tightened around San's cock and began to pulsate around him, from which San cum deep into you. After pausing for a couple of seconds to catch his breath, San came out of you and looked at that reddened and exhausted pussy, from which their sperm began to flow and he grinned at this view. San adjusted your wet panties and lightly patted your pussy.

He lay down on the other side of you and also started kissing your face along with Yeosang.

"You are so good, kitten, tomorrow you will walk with the same panties, communicate with others, knowing that our cum is inside you, feeling like such a pretty whore," San whispered stroking your whole body with his hand.

"You are a true friend, y/n," Yeosang whispered.

You lay with them and understood only one thing. Yes, you would like to repeat this night over and over again.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #san ateez #choi san #san smut #san x reader #yeosang #yeosang smut #yeosang ateez #yeosang x reader #kang yeosang

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mecachrome · 29 days

Text

landoscar ao3 stats — 2023 overview

notes

retrieved ~sometime in march 2024

methodology: scraped metadata for every fic in the landoscar tag and...... that's it. however one important constraint is that all temporal data is date updated (not posted), so the above timeline isn't exactly a true representation of fic growth but rather how many fics were last-updated at that time. of course this is still its own reflection of fandom health in a way since dead fandoms don't update old fic but well... it's just not quite the same!

this is just info about general trends, fic content, tags etc... so nothing about kudos/comments or any authors specifically

i decided to focus solely on fics last-updated in 2023 (unless otherwise mentioned) because i wanted a tidy set that i can maybe compare & contrast in a year's time, because i expect a lot of details to look different then (tho as stated above this set isn't exactly static... 🤷‍♀️)

ngl i had to re-scrape a bunch of times because i forgot about it for like 3 weeks and then there were 100 new fics 😭 so if there are some minor discrepancies across the post it's because of that halfskh.

also i wanted to include more global comparisons (aka how 814 stack up against the f1 rpf tag in general), but this is also considerably difficult in some contexts since i can't exactly scrape 31,000+ fics can i... or i didn't even want to entertain the thought of trying to do so!!!

why did i do this? who knows.

anyway here's some viz T__T

ship growth

as evidenced in the opening graph, landoscar have been a very fast-growing ship over the past year — although interestingly enough they didn't really start growing substantially until july / the ~better half~ of the 2023 season. here are two views showing their "growth" (by date updated) alongside two other ships on the fringes of the f1 rpf top 10 (sebchal & galex):

landoscar are very much on-track to surpass them and officially enter the top 10 soon, likely before mid-april ❗️ :o

ship characteristics

onto the ship content — another thing i was mildly curious about was how landoscar differs in certain areas from other f1 ships, or the f1 rpf "global" average you could say. for example, here's a breakdown of rating popularity in their ao3 tag:

seeing as explicit is their most common rating, and that i don't necessarily expect this to be true for all ships/fandoms, i compared these percentages with the general f1 rpf tag to see whether some ratings are more commonly represented in 814 fic than average, which produced interesting results:

do lando ships simply skew more HornyTM in general? is it oscar? a secret third thing??? who knows... actually i think it would be fun to do more analysis in this direction but that can wait for another time!!!

similarly i also wanted to see which ships are the most "public" on ao3, as in have the highest share of fic that isn't user-locked... i will refrain from peppering in my feelings about the 4th wall too heavy-handedly but i was curious to see whether some sort of perhaps... er, generational gap (?) of sorts between ships that are more public vs. not could be identified. however i don't pretend to have any takeaways from this LOL i conclude absolutely nothing. (for ref landoscar is currently 72% public, vs. a global avg of 63%)

note that this graph is current stats, not filtered for 2023

looking at relationship tags, i also wanted to know whether landoscar suffer noticeably from Second-Ship Syndrome, so i tallied the first-tagged ship of every fic to find out. i know this doesn't necessarily mean that it's always the "main" ship but it's a good enough approximation. the results were quite positive!

filtered to top ships with count of >1 only

i then also calculated the number of ships tagged for each fic to discern the profile of multi-shipping in 814 ficdom; i did have to do a little bit of string standardization (all instances of implied / background / hinted collapsed to hinted for simplicity's sake + removal of other redundancies), but otherwise i left everything mostly untouched.

as you can see, landoscar also have a fairly promising amount of OTP: TRUE fic:

by the time you get to the fics with 10+ ships tagged, landoscar are less likely to be the primary ship, which makes sense just on a basic statistical level... this is also a very small sample size though

i also lazily tallied the 10 most common ships that weren't NOR/PIA or NOR & PIA to diff their shares of the 814 tag vs. of the general f1 rpf tag, to see which other pairings are more represented in the 814 tag than on average (because lestappen are the most popular by pure count but this is also true of fandom in general, so it would be a misrepresentation to say that their popularity is out of the ordinary):

maxiel's gap isn't really that surprising since i think that, generationally, in terms of when both pairings were teammates there is quite a gap; with carlando—actually let me tally this again but including all instances of "implied" and "past" as being part of the same ship, since that's how ao3 tag-wrangles as well:

Aha ! obviously as a direct ship there is competition between 814 and other lando or oscar ships, but this difference is somewhat less pronounced once we include all formats. tbh none of this really means anything but i thought i'd add it anyway... (it's also very possible that there are several errors in this, in which case my b 😔)

before we move on to additional tags, there are a few more basic characteristics of 814 fic we can calculate. i realize i never offered an overview of Super Basic Stats, so here are a few:

plus, looking at word counts, here is a distribution of those in 2023-updated fic, which shows that a majority of 814 fics were under the 5k mark:

85% of landoscar fics were under 10k & nearly 97% under 25k

i don't really have any reason to believe that landoscar's wc stats differ significantly from average ? so this is kind of just Data To Have Data, and it most likely reflects normal ao3 trends in general... but i thought i'd include it anyway because i already made it lol. similarly, here are word count distributions but stratified by rating:

& same info but heat map view:

i feel like this is also probably something you'd find across fandom in general — that gen fic is likely to have a higher share of under 1k works, since Building Up to sexual content often takes... Literal & Metaphorical Foreplay ! and the longer a fic is the more opportunities an author has to include a sex scene or other explicit content (ofc, not necessarily just porn but also graphic violence & so on). but i thought this was fun to visualize haha

additional tags & aus?

back in my old f1 rpf stats post, i made a table comparing fluff/angst "ratios" (not exactly a direct ratio because of how tag wrangling works, but an approximation) of the most popular f1 ships, and now that landoscar are somewhat popular i thought i'd first do an update:

also current data, not 2023 to make things easier

just like before, simi are one of the most fluffy ships and brocedes are by far the most angsty, but it's interesting to see 814 also extremely high up on the charts, with far and away the lowest % of angst. will be exciting 2 see how that holds or changes as the seasons progress !

finally, i also wanted to do a bit of au/additional tag analysis because you can kind of see this when you use additional filters on ao3 but the previews are limited and get bogged down by the prevalence of *checks notes* Fluff, Angst, PWP, Anal Sex and what have you. which are nice stats to have and all but what of the rest !

disclaimer that the set for these tables is a biiiit outdated because by the time i'd wrangled everything i was like I Am Not Changing It Again. unfortunately i clean my data with shoddy queries and regex functions in googsheetz...

there were 48 tags with at least 10 instances from 2023 fics, shown below, with ones that are (some ~vaguely) nsfw in red just to kind of get a rough sense of which tags get commonly used in M/E fic:

getting a bit too much into small sample size / specific fic territory so if you're an author i sincerely apologize for that... do not mean 2 put u on blast... TT__TT but i also tried to tally the most popular aus people write for 814, which is a bit dubious because people tag in really different ways and i had to accommodate for a lot of string formats but ... it's close enough ! (?)

i feel like this is very little interesting info but idk what else to add so i will stop here for now... well!!! if you made it to the end i hope u learned something or even vaguely enjoyed reading T__T and most of all thank you :')

#*m #landoscar #in a sense 😔#tfw don't have a tableau license so i live life on the edge across multiple unsaved desktop public files......#if ur interested in anything specific pls lmk before my computer inevitably Dies and deletes everything...!#this is so useless nsdflshdfh. Anyway

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uhohdad · 9 months

Text

EXPERIMENTAL - Konig Fic Pt 3

Summary: Konig helps Researcher!Reader with a new technology they’ve been developing.

Warnings: Sexual Content, NSFW, bondage, DOM!Konig, size kink, light spanking, unprotected sex, possessive!konig, praise kink, the mask stays on 😈, Reader x Konig, injury, needle torture, PTSD, talk of standard war stuff, Non-con Voyeurism. No use of y/n,

Reader gender/sex is incomprehensible cause I do it for the girls, the gays, and the theys

Word Count: 10,2k

(tbh you probably don’t need to read the first two parts so if you just wanna read this slutty chapter it should be fine lol but if you do i’ll link them)

AO3

PART ONE

PART TWO

NSFW under the cut

You’re praying that he’s getting this.

There’s a million things that could go wrong - Konig not being near his device and you’re just streaming into an empty room. Or Ghost’s device wasn’t the one that was synced with Konig’s, maybe one of the matching copies or an earlier prototype. Or worse - Konig found out about the video and leaves you to your demise as he rightfully should.

You swallow as you watch Mohawk put the his phone away in his pocket, hoping his screen wasn’t exposed to the feed’s camera, “Thanks for making me have that on my phone, by the way. Do you know how many times I was forced to watch this?”

Stop talking about it!

“What else do you want to know?” You’re more willing to give out top-secret government intel than let Konig find about that fucking video.

Ghost senses you’ve been holding back on him, and he tilts his head down to look at you from above the projection, “What’s it do?”

“Everything.” You answer, “Anything I tell it to. It’s like VR.” There’s a bit of a slur to your words. You’re still aware enough to manage the long-con, but your eyelids are getting heavier. Just have to hold out awhile longer, juggle a few things at the same time. Don’t let Konig find out about how you ended up here, but make sure he knows you’re here. Don’t let skull boy and stupid-haircut find about the transmission, but don’t let them lose enough interest to turn the device off. Don’t give away too many government secrets, but don’t give out too little to keep the soldiers from doing anymore permanent damage to your brain.

And manage all of that while coping with the current level of brain damage you have.

They look at each other, trying to figure out if they’re satisfied with your answer.

That’s good. Just keep stalling.

Everything was threatening to crash down around you, but there’s a glimmer of hope so minuscule, you think you could actually pull it off if all the pieces fall together.

You’re no longer giving up.

We can fix this. Fix all of it. Fix your mess.

You’re going to give it a fair shot, you decide, and you’ll leave it up to the universe.

Ghost cocks his head, those intimidating eyes boring into you, “And what things do you tell it to do?” You can tell he’s irritated with the meaningless answer. You steer in the opposite direction.

You give a drawn out hum, “Identify the bad guys. Heat map, heart beats ‘n all that.” You’re trying to keep your thoughts together, but there’s too many to keep up with, and the concussion still has you in its hazy clutches.

Another idea, a back up plan, you’ll call it. You can’t tell if it’s a stupid idea or not, but you’re slipping and fast, “Can I get a smoke? I’m feening.” You give a smile, the residual of the painkillers making it easy to appear unassuming.

“No. What else does it do?” Ghost is straight to the point, and it reminds you of Konig, and you wish Ghost would stop doing that because you’re trying to do something here.

Another drunken hum, “What’d’ya want it to do? I can do it.” You wave your hand at him, casually flashing your restraints so Konig would get a clear view.

Ghost steps towards you and grabs the front of your gown, yanking your face inches from his, “What does it fucking do?”

A proud smile crosses your face, “Not your mom, ‘cause I got that covered myself.”

Mohawk puts a hand of warning on Ghost’s shoulder, reminding him not to get too violent with you.

Ghost ignores the warning, his fist connecting with your temple before you had a chance to brace yourself.

Skull boy packs quite a punch.

You’re reset for a moment, blinded by a bright white and the ring in your ears makes a blaring encore.

You can tell by the warm and wet feeling under your bandages that the gash from Ghost’s gun had split open.

You don’t know how long it takes you to get your bearings, but once you do you’re almost thankful Ghost had rocked you.

You’re hoping Konig can see the urgency of the situation and your injured brain being rattled around your skull gives you an excuse to lie motionless, hindering interrogation. They know you’re not useful to them when you incapable of coherency. It’s why Stupid-Haircut is trying so hard to keep Ghost from injuring you to bad. It’s why they went through the trouble of nursing an enemy back to health. If Ghost turns your brain to soup like you’re so clearly provoking him to do, you won’t be able to tell them what they want to know.

Okay, painful change of plans.

Instead of forcing yourself to stay clear enough to manage all the details through the fog of the concussion, you’re going to force yourself into ignorance by weaponizing Ghost’s temperament against him. It’s in their best interest to keep you cognizant, and it’s in your best interest to get Ghost irritated enough to torture you until you’re unable to speak.

It’s going to be brutal, but you’ve been feeling nothing but pain at the hands of him, and you don’t think you’re far off from the cozy clutches of unconsciousness as it is - that it won’t be long until you’re unable to feel anything.

Always the masochist.

You can’t help but smile, even though it all. A genuine one, toothy and face-wrinkling, one that wasn’t for anyone else in the room, but didn’t care if they saw. It wasn’t a desperate attempt to relieve your discomfort. Not a waste of your precious energy lulling strangers into their sense of comfort. Not a weak effort to influence the opinion of you belonging to whoever happens to be in your vicinity.

You feel like you’re watching yourself descend into madness, powerless against the euphoric feeling that floods through you. Warmth coasting through your veins. You could tell it wasn’t the drugs, the concussion and the growing list of other injuries, or even the idea Konig may be rushing to your rescue any minute now.

It was because in this moment, despite everything that has happened, you can’t help but be enamored with yourself.

You?

Of course. Of course it took these conditions to pull it out of you.

It’s always the hard way with you, wasn’t it?

“If you can’t restrain yourself maybe you should let me handle it.”

“Back down, Johnny.” Ghost warns in that low, cautionary tone that can’t help leave the receiver wondering just what horrible punishment would occur if they pushed. He doesn’t even have to look at Johnny to hammer the intimidation into him. It’s only accompanied by a low extend of arm vaguely in his direction.

Neither you or Ghost noticed the way Johnny’s eye twitched or lip snarled, but he heeds Ghost’s warning.

Ghost’s eyes lock on you, and you think everyone in the room has caught on to the predicament they’re in.

Johnny, who’s been up to speed since the start, walking the tightrope of being respectful to his superior without letting him damage the value of his informant.

Ghost, who’s long lost his respect for you before he even laid eyes on you, and since meeting you has only been sinking deeper into his hatred of you. He’s used to getting information from soldiers. Out of powerful individuals that could handle a hit and that stay conscious during an interrogation session. The ones smart enough not to antagonize and beg for the brutality. Ones that grit their teeth an at least try and suck it up to maintain a scrap of dignity. Not you. He knows he needs your brain but he’d be happy to put an end to all of it, right now. Pull the plug on your project the manual way. If they can’t have it, no one can. Maybe he’d get what he wants along the way if you’re coherent enough to squeak it out, but that’d just be a bonus in his eyes.

And you. Wonderfully brilliant, even if occasionally misguided, and as much as you hate to believe it sometimes, incredibly lovable, even if Ghost is looking at you like he wants to put your head on a stick. But you don’t care about that dummy. No, you’re not even looking at him or his Johnny. Even if he takes your life from you right now, you think you could accept that. Not for any necessarily suicidal reasons, even though the concussion has definitely knocked some dark feelings loose.

You close your eyes, and the smile still hasn’t left your face, even if your sore muscles were pulling on the edges of your headache.

“Too much morphine.” Ghost says, to no one in particular, not hesitating as he forcefully grabs your forearm and digs his thumb into the skin encasing your IV needle.

You immediately hiss through gritted teeth, but he doesn’t hesitate as he takes the beginning of the needle with his other hand, roughly poking around in your arm.

You try to pull away but he’s got a grip tight enough to force your arm extended. You’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises.

He removes the needle entirely before puncturing you in a different spot on your inner elbow, shaking the needle violently beneath your flesh. You gasp, pulling against his iron grip with what little strength you have.

“Where’d your smile go?” Ghost asks in a neutral tone, his eyes dead of emotion as he removes the needle before stabbing another hole in your arm.

You let out a yelp, eyes screwed shut as your other hand jerks against the restraints. You’re too focused on the sickening feeling of skewered veins to make up a good comeback.

He does it again, and your fists clench and a high grunt escapes through gritted teeth.

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to set an IV.” Ghost says dryly, his eyes cold behind the mask as he thrashes the needle.

“Keep practicing.” You hiss, pitch warbling through the pain.

And he does.

It’s brutal, Ghost flaying the crease of your arm repeatedly. It’s been less than a minute but you’re sure the torture started a lifetime ago. You just have to take it, it’s all you can do. Your verbal stalling wasn’t cutting it, so you’re just going to have to opt for this instead and hope you can piss him off enough to get just a little too violent with you.

When he’s done, he jams the needle back where it was, managing to lay it back in your vein. “There we go.”

You study each other for a brief moment, before he leans in close, so close his projection becomes obscured through your head. You’re eye to eye now, nothing between you two but the mask your nose is almost brushing up against.

He grabs your face, his gloved fingers digging into your jaw with the same force he had held your forearm. He holds your head still and all you can do is look at him, brows pinched in fury as your nails dig into your palms, fists fight the restraints.

His eyes twitch as they flicker between each of yours.

“I am going to ruin you.”

You shake your head in an attempt to free your jaw from his clutches, but his grip is strong and he makes a point of forcing your head still, looking down his mask at you.

“You can give me all the information you like. I’m not stopping until it’s finished.”

Ghost finally lets you go with a rough shove. He takes the device from his ear and his wrist, discarding them both over his shoulder. Johnny catches the ear piece with a slight fumble, and the wrist remote hits the ground with a ting, rattling obnoxiously as it rolls to a stop. Johnny’s got his hands full as he yells but you you don’t bother listening to what he’s saying.

You’re too busy relaxing into the attack as you let Ghost carry you to death’s door.

———————————————————-

Even wincing is painful.

You're finally stirred awake by the feeling of a gloved hand on the back of your neck.

It’s hard to open your eyes, and when you finally do you see him, from the chest up, he looks just like a just a blurry figure. Two of them, actually, doubled vision multiplying the lone man that stood before you.

Even with your damaged vision you can tell it’s Konig, making out the telling shapes of his gear and those biceps you’ve studied so close you could pick them out of a lineup.

The hood that always intimidated you, but now fills you with a comfort like no other. You can see the light of your projection shielding his eyes.

A blinding bright light surrounds him, haloing your vision and it hurts, but you can help but keep your weary gaze fixed on him inbetween slow blinks.

You’re sure you’re dead. That you’re passing over and this is your brain manifesting some hallucination to comfort you as you transition.

You reach out to touch his hood, just to see if you can. You wanted to see if you could feel him, the researcher in you testing the potentials of your delusions. The restraints cut you short for a final time, before Konig quickly cuts your hands free with a knife. He takes your weak extended hand in his and you can feel it.

It engulfs yours, the scratchy feel of his glove wrapped around your hand, and he feels real.

His other hand retracts from your neck and reaches up to turn his projection off to get a clearer look at you. His hand comes back from under his hood and moves carefully to the side of your face, his thumb tracing a bruise on your cheek. His can’t believe what he’s seeing, his eyes darting around to the various injuries plastered on you.

“Meine liebe…”

He says, and you’re not sure if he’s speaking a different language or if your Ghost gave you dyphasia.

“Who did this?” He asks, horrified as he realizes there’s anyone out there cruel enough to do this to you.

You thought his stares were scary before, but the way his eyes glaze and turn cold as they follow the swells and bruises marking your face appears animalistic. It shoots a feeling in your gut so unnerving it confirms that you’re definitely not experiencing some euphoric deathbed hallucination.

When you don’t answer, your eyes just flicking around his features as you adjust, he asks again.

“Who did this?!”

His voice strikes an urgent and menacing tone the second time. On your recording he had been able to see Ghost’s point of view, but not Ghost. A front row seat to watch you get brutally attacked but not being able to identify the aggressor himself.

Always determined.

You reach up with your other hand to your saving grace, and place it on his upper arm, “Don’t leave.”

He hears how delicate your voice is, how you barely have the power to speak. How your hand quivered as you reached out to him, how you had squeezed his arm with what little might you had to encourage him to stay, to join you in a world where your aggressors and injuries didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

And how can he say no to you?

His eyes soften again and you can’t help but smile at the man behind the hood. You’re smile immediately turns to a wince as it forces an uncomfortable tug on your fresh injuries.

“Come here.” He says softly and he picks you out of the hospital bed with little effort. He’s got one arm secured around your back and the other is under the crease of your knees like he’s carrying you from the alter. He tilts you gently so your head can rest on his chest while he carries you to safety.

You’re wondering if you really are dead after all. It’s too good to be true, your plan working and Konig carrying you from the danger like he’s a fireman rescuing you from a burning building. You can discern the capabilities of his muscles as he holds you tight. You’re not even slowing him down, he’s still able to hurry through the hallways, guided to the exit by your device without fault.

The jostling hurts, but he’s doing his best to hold you steady, and being in his arms, resting the less injured side of your forehead against him, makes the pain all worth it.

You can hear the sounds of gunshots in the distance, not even your impaired hearing could muffle the loud pops. They must have had a full team come out to do an extraction. You thought it was a lot of to-do for little ol’ you.

Konig gets you to nearest exit, carefully managing the door as he opens it to ensure it didn’t hit you, and carries you out to the getaway vehicle, setting you down across the backseat like you’re made of glass.

“Liebe, they need me.” He looks back to the building, “Can you stay here?”

You give a weak nod, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

“I’ll be back, I promise.”

And you have his word.

He rushes back into the building while you try and rest in the backseat.

————————————-

The safe house was incredibly depressing. A rundown little two-room shack in the country, decorated with outdated appliances and furniture. The wall paper is peeling from the ceiling and you’re not sure if it was originally a drab yellow or if it had been stained from years of abuse. You can tell no one’s been around to take care of the water damage, judging from the large brown stains spotting the ceiling. There’s a kitchenette in the corner with an oven, a fridge that hums too loudly, and a microwave that appears never to have been cleaned. A worn beige couch outfitted with two dusty orange cushions that sag with age. A few generic paintings on the wall that hardly comfort you. No internet and no cell service, but there is a small box-shaped TV that you’re sure is from the 50s, the picture warped and cloudy.

Base placed you here temporarily until you relocate, your apartment now too dangerous to live in as your address was in enemy hands.

Judging by the way your supervisor spoke to you when discussing the transition, they must be in the dark on what caused the breach.

Your secret is safe for now, but there’s no telling when it’s going to get discovered. Waiting for the truth to come out has left a weight in your chest that sticks around from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep.

They had assigned you a counselor to visit you and help process the trauma of the event, but you don’t trust them enough to give them the full truth. You just tell them about the violence Ghost inflicted, walking through the nightmares that result from it. You haven’t gotten a goodnight’s rest since it all went down, often waking up in the middle of the night kicking and screaming at the vivid night terrors of Ghost at the side of your bed.

Other than your counselor, the base associate that brings grocery to restock the noisy fridge on Thursdays, and the occasional check-up from your supervisor, you’ve been totally isolated from the outside world.

You don’t care about most.

Just Konig.

He had held you in his arms and carried you to safety at the risk of his own life. You knew you didn’t deserve it after what you did, but you can’t help but daydream.

Thinking about the way it felt to have your head on his chest, the cotton of his mask brushing your bruised cheek, his arms grasping you tight - protecting you - it definitely helps distract from the uncomfortable feeling lingering by your heart.

You wondered if he knew, if he had seen himself on Johnny’s copy of the recording, but still was kind enough to do such a favor for you.

Then you really wouldn’t deserve him.

You spend all your time thinking about Konig, bouncing between the depth of your guilt and the highs of the fantasy, just as you have been since you met him.

When he visits for the first time, it nearly triggered a panic attack. You had not been expecting visitors, and you were still haunted by the precious unexpected visitors you had. You’re delightfully surprised when you peek out the window and see Konig, looking nervously at the landscape behind him when you don’t answer right away. Your eyebrows spring up in shock and you let out a verbal exclamation at the sight.

You quickly run your fingers through your hair as a last ditch effort to appear somewhat put together before opening the door, forced to tilt your head back to look at him. His eyes widen at the sight of you, and he moves, almost like he’s about to step closer but stops himself.

You force yourself to contain your excitement at his visit, “Konig, It’s good to see you.” You look down at your clothes, still donned in loungewear, “Sorry about the jammies. Come in.” You open the door for him so he can step in before shutting the door behind him. He takes a few steps into the room before stilling, taking a moment to look around.

“Sorry for stopping by unannounced.” He says, followed by a clearing his throat. His eyes linger on the old beige couch before meeting your eyes again. “I‘ve been worried about you.”

You knew you were unreachable, he couldn’t have gotten in contact any other way, “Don’t apologize, you really have no idea how good it is to see you. I’ve been thinking about how to say thank you, for what you did, but I’m not sure there’s enough words between our languages to cover it.” You put your hand to back of your neck, looking to the floor for a moment before meeting his gaze again. You give a nervous laugh, “So I guess I owe you a bottle of wine, huh?”

You can tell he smiles under the mask by the way his eyes crinkle, “Just doing my job.”

You glance down at the arms that had held you so tight and wished they were wrapped around you again.

“Thank you, Konig. Really. I owe you my life.”

“It was my pleasure.” He says as he gives his head a little shake. His gaze shifts a bit higher, “You’re healing nicely.”

You touch a hand to the gash Ghost had left from his gun. You were most likely going to have a scar, but it had closed and the swelling had gone down significantly, the previous inflamed red now a medium pink. “Ah, well thanks for noticing. You know I made those skin cells myself?”

Huh?!

He tilts his head, “That’s good, I hear store-bought isn’t what it used to be.”

You giggle and roll on your heels a bit, not necessarily at the joke but at the fact that such a normally rigid and imitating man is now being cheeky with you, and it feels so nice to break the tension a bit.

“How are you holding up?” He says, and it reminds of the way your therapist inquires, with that gentle tone that clearly eludes to the incident without directly referring to the incident.

“Uh,” You trail off a bit, touching the nasty bruise on your inner arm, large from the spread of the internal bleeding, but now faded to a healing yellow. “Y’know? It’s actually been,” You let out another nervous laugh, “awful, actually. But that’s alright. Uhm, I think it’ll get easier with time.”

He nods and his eyes dart down to the bruise you’ve been mindlessly tracing with your finger. Something dark flickers behind his eyes but quickly subsides.

“If it’s worth anything, it does.”

You give him a weak smile and you have no way to confirm but you think he does the same.

A silence falls on you both for awhile, both of you picking a random point in the room to unfocus your vision on. The silence doesn’t feel awkward, more like you both were grieving for a minute - or maybe just lost in thought. Even if neither knew what to say to the other, you were still bonding over your traumatic experiences in your own quiet way.

You’re the one who breaks the silence, your voice a bit cracked from your dry throat, “What do you do about the nightmares?”

His eyes leave you for a moment as he considers it. “I leave a book by my nightstand. For some it’s TV, others crossword puzzles. There’s no stopping it. You just have to find what calms you down after.”

You give a nod. You knew there wouldn’t be a magic cure but you still have to take a moment to process that you’ll have to be dealing with it for the foreseeable future.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, “You dream of him?”

You swallow again, trying to make it easier for you to speak but bail, instead slowly nodding your head.

Another silence falls over you both. A longer, more drawn out one. You both get lost in thought for awhile.

When you interrupt the silence again, the words spill out of you fast, coming out in a jumble and before you can stop yourself. He had that effect on you, making you feel so vulnerable and exposed, ready to spill your guts. Deep down you knew that it’s time to rip the bandaid off. Free yourself from the guilt and the constant fear your world is going to come crashing down around you.

“Do you know what I did?”

He studies you, tilting his head, “What do you mean? About your SOS?”

His response tells you that he truly doesn’t know. If he knew what you did, he’d have known exactly what you’d meant. Regardless, you still make a futile attempt to jog his memory, hoping you won’t have to explain yourself, “How I ended up there? What caused the breach?”

His eyes squint in confusion, “I was told we didn’t know how they received your information.”

Your head tilts down in shame, and you have to look away from him.

You take a deep breath and rest your palms flat on your thighs.

“Okay, look, I’ve done something horrible. I have not been very good to you, and… that sucks! Because I really thought we could have been,” You hesitate for a moment, “friends.” You close your eyes and take another breath, “At first I thought I could keep it a secret from you, even if I believe you have every right to know, but the truth is I just can’t handle the guilt anymore. I’m exhausted waiting for the other shoe to drop, okay?”

Konig’s whole body is tense now, standing at attention as he waits for your words. You’re worrying him.

“The day we met,” You’re choking up now, the adrenaline coursing through you, causing you to shake and perspire, mouth dry, “After our day in the shoot house, I forgot to disconnect your feed.”

Your tone shifts from serious to a bit desperate, “It was an accident, I swear, Konig.” You look at him, pleading eyes begging him to believe you, “And I should have just disconnected the feed when I found it, I know,” You’re getting exasperated, “But I’m sick and curious and to be honest I just couldn’t help myself when I saw you.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his spot, and swallows hard. He knows what you mean, but he has to confirm it with you to believe it, “What did you see?”

You look away from him and to the floor. It takes you a moment to work up the courage, “I saw you getting off.” You say it so quietly, ashamed to admit it.

“I shouldn’t have watched Konig, I shouldn’t have. It was wrong and I know it doesn’t mean anything now but I truly am sorry. But I did watch and I heard my name and I’ve been wracked with guilt ever since.“

He stands still, his breathing escalating slightly. He doesn’t say anything and the silence drapes over you both for awhile.

This silence was definitely awkward.

His eyes tell you nothing and his expression is masked by the hood.

You swallow, knowing you owe him the full truth as you force yourself to continue. If he’s already disgusted with you under that hood, this will really put you over the edge.

Your fist clenches, “In a moment of pure stupidity, I kept the video.” You break eye contact for a brief moment before returning your gaze to him. “I sent it to myself.”

“Okay?” You spit, angry at yourself, “I kept it and I’ve watched it so many times because I am just addicted to the way you moan my name, Konig. I’m sorry. I heard it and I needed more. It made me feel so good, and so so terrible at the same time.”

You’re on a roll now, rambling like you’re talking about your research.

“And I have not been able to stop thinking about you!” You laugh a bit, “And I understand how serious this is. So if you want to go straight to head of command and have me discharged, I won’t hold it against you. In fact, if you don’t even feel like filing the report, I’ll pack up my things and leave now, and you won’t hear from me ever again.”

You pause, and he doesn’t fill the silence, so you keep going, the words coming out like vomit, “But there’s something else you deserve to know. When I sent the video to my phone - for personal reasons only, okay?! I was not planning on showing anyone, if that helps. When I sent the video, it opened a vulnerable point of entry for TF-141 to hack in. They… have your video. I’m so sorry, it was a major lapse of judgement, and I overlooked so many protocols, and I put our intel at risk. I put your private moment at risk. I put us all at risk. I-“

You cut yourself off, tears starting to well in your eyes. It was relieving to get it off your chest, but you knew what was about to happen. You knew you were lighting a fuse with one hand and holding dynamite with another.

“I’m so sorry, Konig.”

The tears start flowing and you’re powerless to stop them. You hoped it wasn’t coming off as a desperate attempt to gain sympathy.

For awhile you stand there, eyes fixed at the floor as you wait for his response.

Konig hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything, just stands in his spot, staring.

When you finally look at him, eyes full of heartbreak, he maintains eye contact for a few moments, expression unreadable.

After a moments to process, he uncrosses his arms to dig into his pocket, pulling out the device you had given him on that very first day. His boots slowly cross the linoleum floor and he gently sets your device on the dinky table behind you before removing the wristband and setting it down next to the earpiece without making a sound.

He doesn’t even look back at you before he turns his back and walking out the safe house door, shutting it with a soft click.

——————————————————————

It’s been three days since Konig left you alone in the safe house.

You’re wondering if you should cut your losses and leave. Change your name & get started with a new life.

You’ve already preemptively packed up your things to make it less painful on yourself when your supervisor comes to kick you to the curb.

Even as your life is dissolved and scattered to the wind, you actually feel a lot better than you have in months. Almost like the worrying was worse than the actual consequences. At least now you can live honestly.

Nonetheless, it was still pretty painful. Your latest infatuation finding out how you so deeply betrayed them. Watching him walk out on you had left you sobbing face down in the dusty orange couch pillows to muffle your cries.

It’s late at night on that third day, and you had managed to find some respite with a surprisingly warm shower and losing yourself in blurry reruns of a game show when you hear the light ting of metals.

At first you think it’s the ringing in your ears returning, it had been on and off ever since Ghost concussed you, but you quickly realized by the uneven rattles it had been coming from within the safe house.

Your eyes scan the room after switching the TV off, first starting with the fridge that hums too loud, but quickly dart your attention over to the movement of the safe house’s doorknob jiggling.

Not again.

You try and suppress the flashbacks enough to find somewhere to hide, but the safe house is one big open room with a small obscured bedroom that was more bed than room, and you don’t think the bed is high enough off the floor to crawl under.

So instead you freeze on the dingy couch, your heartbeat deafening in your ears as you watch your doorknob wiggle in its loose hold.

There’s a distinct click and then a long pause. You don’t even see the doorknob rotate because the door gets flung open with such speed and force it slams against the wall and bounces back.

“Konig?” You fear melds with confusion as you make sense of the figure rushing in.

He’s already closed most of the gap between you when you manage to squeak out a more alarmed, “Konig!”

It’s scary to have such a large man charge you, especially one you’re so used to being docile around you, one that usually stands hesitantly by the door until invited closer.

You don’t have a lot of time to think about it. Konig grabs you by the crest of the back of your neck with one hand, his other hand lifting up his mask to kiss you without room for arguing.

You let out a surprised gasp that was muffled by the kiss, and he takes that opportunity to have his tongue greet yours. His grip is tight on the back of your neck, his fingers digging in slightly to stake his claim. The stubble on his chin brushes roughly against your skin as he takes what’s his.

Once you catch up, you close your eyes and try to match his intensity but it’s difficult to keep up.

He finally pulls away, out of breath and letting his hood fall back over his mouth, his now free hand moving to the side of your face, “I’m sorry I left you, mein schatz.” He pulls away from your face slightly with a breath, “I needed to think.”

Your wide eyes flicker between his, mouth slightly parted as you nod. “Yeah,” your voice is breathy, the shock of the kiss having knocked the wind out you, “That’s uh, understandable.”

He brings his face closer to you. His eyes shift, and you see that dark flicker again.

“You have to understand, liebe, your deed will not go unpunished.”

Your brows retract as you swallow at the threat, looking up at him with concern in your eyes and your thighs pressed together.

You’ve been nervous around Konig before, maybe even scared, but you’ve never feared for your safety. Quite the opposite, actually. Such a large, strong soldier on your team gives you a shield of comfort - he made you feel safe.

But the way his voice had lowered and his eyes tinted with something primal shoots a tingle down your spine and raises the hairs on your neck. You’re not sure what he means, but your brain is coming up with ideas faster than you can sink your teeth into the details.

You’re almost ashamed at the warm feeling of arousal that sinks to your lower abdomen.

He kisses you again, this time closed and softer. When he pulls away his face stays dangerously close to yours, “You’ve done a very bad thing, liebe. You understand?”

His voice is low and husked but holds incredible authority. You can’t help but feel like a child being scolded in the principal’s office. You nod slowly, lips pursed and eyes still rounded in suspense.

He brings his finger up to your chin, his face close enough your noses are brushing, “I can’t hear a nod.”

The knot in your stomach doubles and your breath hitches a bit, shaking as you speak, “Yes, Konig, I understand.”

His thumb strokes your cheek, but it doesn’t soothe the mixture of fear and arousal flushing your skin.

“Would you like to right your wrong?”

You take a deep breath. You’re not sure what you’re agreeing to, but you’ve been desperate to fix what you’ve done since the moment you committed it. “Yes, Konig.” You nod your head, “I’d do anything.”

A pleased hum comes from him, and you're close enough to feel the vibration. You swallow nervously, gaze hesitantly watching his animalistic eyes stare down at you like you’re his prey.

“Stay.” He orders, pulling away from you and letting his hand linger on your face for an extra moment before turning away from you.

You obey, both fear of consequence and desperation to please not allowing an ounce of will to defy him. Your eyes are still locked on him as he steps to the dinky little table he had set the device on three days ago.

You had left it untouched, making it easier to swallow by still thinking of the device as his. As if Konig had just left it behind by mistake instead of intentionally returning your property to you.

He took both carefully in his hand before returning to you, boots asserting themselves as they slowly and confidently traverse the linoleum. He holds the devices out for you to take. “Feed on. Projection off.”

And you follow his instructions, what choice do you have? When his voice is strict and he’s standing over you, intimidating stature making you feel so small and defenseless. The shake of your hands causes your fingers to fumble as you struggle with the remote, his hand held out impatiently as you stumble with fluster.

When you finally get it, you place both devices in his palm, staring up with your eyes begging for his approval.

He gives you nothing, as usual, placing the earpiece under his hood and setting the wrist piece down simultaneously.

“You stepped out of line, liebe.” Konig takes closer to small gap between you you, “You humiliated me.”

His eyes are half-lidded now, boring into you with menace.

“And now I’m going to humiliate you.”

He touches your face with his thumb again. You can’t help but flinch at the gentle touch, on edge from unease and excitement.

He gives another light huff, reveling in his ability to intimidate you.

“On your knees.” He commands, finger pointing at the floor as he slides back to make room for you.

He huffs in satisfaction at the dumbfounded look on your face. Your mouth slightly agape and stuttering - it’s dawning on you now; exactly what you have to do to right your wrongs.

He squints at you, voice leaving no room for error, “Did I stutter, Schatz?”

That sinister glint in his eye returns again, and just the sight is enough to get you to slide quickly to the floor, assuming your position on both knees, neck slowly tilting back to take him in as he towers over you.

He leans in to to cup your face again, giving it a soft yet firm pat, “Good.”

Your heart flutters at the praise, even if simply articulated.

That’s all you want to hear. That you’re good. You want to be so good for him.

You’re dripping now, Konig already having you ache for his touch.

His strong hands slide down your face, four fingers cupping your jaw as his thumb brushes your bottom lip gently. When your lips part he slides his thumb in your mouth and you oblige, obediently sucking and showing him what you can do with your tongue.

He gives a low pleased hum before removing his thumb and reaching for his belt, the buckle jingling as he unlatches it and removes it from his waist in one swift pull.

Your stare follows the belt as he folds it in half, and he muses at your worried look. He likes the way your mind wanders, always running with the possibilities. It’s what drew you to him in the first place.

He doesn’t hit you, though, just taps it against the bottom of your chin to get you to fix your gaze back on him. Once he’s got your attention, he discards the belt and reaches down to pop the button on his pants, yanking each end to get the zipper down in one smooth move.

He slides his thumbs behind both waistbands, pulling them down just enough to expose his cock. It’s rock hard and practically springs from his pants, and you can’t help but let out a small squeak and just how big it is.

You’ve seen it before, studied it endlessly, imagined it so many times.

It did nothing to prepare you for kneeling before it. Just like the rest of him, his cock intimidated you, at full attention and already leaking precum.

“Wrap your hands around it, schatz.”

You follow his orders, softly gripping his cock. You’ve studied the video of him jerking off so many times, you know exactly how to please him. You start with a loose grip, your hand sliding from base to tip at a slow pace, as your other hand cups his balls.

At first he watches, enjoying how your hands looked so small around him. He can’t help but close his eyes and tilt his head back as he lets out a soft moan.

It sounds so much better in person, and your pace picks up, desperate to elicit more from him.

He tilts his head forward to get a better view of you.

“Suck.” He commands, and you hesitate for a brief moment, worried about the logistics, before ditching your fears and giving it your best shot.

You keep your hand steady on his shaft as you guide the tip to your tongue, a slow lick clearing the bead of pre-cum that had formed.

He lets out another low moan that makes you quiver.

You press your lips to him, slowing working the tip into your mouth as you tease with your tongue.

As you work steadily down his shaft, you have to fully unhinge your jaw to fit him in to avoid teeth, and even then it’s a close call. You’re continue carefully and he seems willing to be patient with you as you get used to his size.

You manage to somewhat comfortably fit half of him in your mouth, using your free hand to squeeze the base of his shaft. You start to move back and forth, pressing your tongue against him.

He watches in awe as you take him in, not holding back in his pleaded hums and groans.

“So good, Schatz.”

Warmth pools in your chest at the praise.

You look at him with a doe eyes and a full mouth, bobbing on his cock as you slick it up.

He moans at the sight, placing a hand on the back of your head. He follows it up with another order.

“Deeper. I want to see you choke on it.”

You’re not in a position to argue, so you oblige, letting his cock slide as deep as you can, but he’s not pleased with your attempt. He tightens his grip on the back of your head, fingers laced between strands of hair, and slowly forces his cock in until you’re squeaking out noises involuntarily, eyes welling with tears.

He starts to fuck your mouth, slowly at first, but picks up the pace. He doesn’t wait for you to get your bearings or catch your breath, savoring the lengths you’ll go to please him.

“There you go, schatz, so good for me.”

The tears are steaming now as he triggers your gag reflex, and your underwear is stained with your arousal in response to being praised and used.

He pulls out of your mouth, his cock still wet with your spit, and takes a step back to admire you. Your breath quickening to catch up, the flushed look of your face, the disheveled hair. He relished in the mess he was making of the intelligent professional he had come to know.

He gives a pleased hum at how you wait so patiently for his next order.

“Up. Clothes off.”

Your breath hitched, cheeks flushing a shade deeper. You wipe the spit from your mouth and slowly stand, hands shaking with nerves.

Your fingers dig into the hem of your shirt, desperate to grip onto something, and you hesitate at his command, nervous to let him see you even more exposed.

You ignore your nerves, too willing to please Konig, and pull your shirt over your disheveled hair and discard it on the couch. Your fingers fumble with the waistband on your lounge pants, sheepishly pulling them down your thighs and stepping carefully out of them.

You stand before him in your underwear, and you can’t help but cross one arm over yourself. The way he’s staring at you, not shy about his gaze mapping your newly uncovered features. He steps forward again, close enough his hard cock brushes against your warm skin.

He gives a low hum of approval and steps closer, his hands gently running along your sides until they find your waist, staking their claim with a firm grip. He leans in and you feel the drape of his hood caress your shoulder as he brushes his head against yours, lips in your ear.

“You’re so beautiful, meine schatz.”

You close your eyes as he plants a kiss though his hood on your neck, and you can feel his breath through the soft cotton.

It’s not fair that you’re naked while he’s still fully covered. You feel so vulnerable and exposed.

You quickly understand that’s exactly what you had done to him and let out a soft whimper at the realization that this is intentional, that he’s issuing this power play as part of your punishment. You’ve had your time to admire his body, now it’s his turn.

“Bedroom, now.” The softness leaves his voice with the demand and he pulls away from you once again to get a better view of you.

The knot is your lower abdomen doubles as you turn and head to the bedroom, giving him a good long look at the back of you.

You stand at the narrow space between the end of the bed and the wall, looking up at him when he enters, waiting for his next order. You can’t help but notice the jingle of his belt as he carried it with him. He sets it on the bed and takes his time committing your image to memory.

“On your back, liebe.” The pet name doesn’t soften the domineering tone, warning you not to dare rebel against him.

You follow his order, getting up on the bed and laying down for him, your upper half propped up by your elbows.

Konig follows, crawling over top of you slowly, his massive frame engulfing you beneath him as you lean into the bed. He appears even more menacing over top of you, strong arms and legs trapping you beneath him. You can’t help the nervous expression on your face as you stare up at those hungry eyes.

He brings a hand up to touch your face, leaning forward to plant another kiss on your lips, lifting up his mask as he does so. It annoys you that whenever he pulls away the hood falls, and you can’t even get a peek at what you assume is a strong jaw.

The hand on your face slides down your neck, fingers traversing the bumps of your collarbones before he shifts down to your chest, stopping for a moment to tease your nipples to attention. You suck in a breath and arch into the touch.

He hums again, low and devious.

Your hands reach up to touch his arms, but he doesn’t let you, removing his hands from your chest and grabbing your wrists firmly. He passes one off so he can hold both of your arms in one strong grip, and you’re amazed he’s able to subdue both of your wrists with just one of his massive hands. He leans back and uses his free hand to reach for the belt at the foot of the bed, before wrapping it around your wrists and fastening the buckle tightly.

He leans in close to your face as he places your restrained hands back above your head. He takes in the way your breath quickens through parted lips, eyes wide and cheeks flush with excitement and worry. He likes making you falter, likes watching you breakdown underneath his power.

“You’re all mine.” He reminds you, one hand keeping your bound wrists firmly above your head.

You nod, and when you speak your voice comes out quiet and broken, “All yours, Konig.”

It gratifies him, judging by his self-assured laugh and the way his cock twitches against your stomach. “That’s it, liebe.”

He removes his grip on your forearm with a firm squeeze to remind you to stay, and he scoots himself back so that either leg is straddling your thighs instead of your waist. His gaze shifts down, soaking in every inch as he cups you over your underwear, his careful touch taking advantage of your sensitivity.

You can’t help but grind your hips into his teasing, already leaking for him.

“Mm, I can tell you’re enjoying this. Such a dirty little pervert you are.”

You close your eyes and let out a whine at the teasing, both verbal and physical.

“Don’t worry, liebe, I’m getting impatient as well.”

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding his fingers along your hips to tease you a bit before sliding them down, having to readjust himself as he takes them off. He repositions himself between your legs this time, letting either of your ankles at his sides.

His hands slide up your quivering thighs, spreading you open and getting a good look at you. You try and fight the embarrassment under the heat of his stare, resisting the urge to bring your bound wrists down to cover yourself.

He takes his time slicking himself up with lube - he came prepared, you noticed. Premeditated passion. Guess he has to when he’s got such a large cock.

You’re worried about the logistics, but you get the feeling Konig wouldn’t dare hurt you in this way.

Once he’s nice and slicked, he lines the tip against your aching warmth, and leans down close to you.

“Are you ready, meine liebe?”

“Please, Konig.” You whine, rutting your hips to grind against him.

He closes his eyes as he slowly works himself into you. Your suspicions are confirmed as he stops just after the tip, opening his eyes again to confirm the level of comfort displayed on your features.

Your teeth are grit, but you nod your head in approval.

He’s continues, pace so careful as he pushes himself further into you. It’s been so long since you’ve got any action, especially action from someone so well endowed, you’re incredibly tight around him. He’s studying you, searching for signs of being pushed over the limit as he takes his time stretching you out.

You can’t help let out a soft moan when he’s halfway in, just at the feeling of being filled. Your eyes flutter shut, giving yourself the ability to concentrate on the cock working into you.

It takes awhile, it does. You’re so small and he’s so big, but he doesn’t seem to mind, enjoying using you as his cockwarmer, walls so cozy and tight around him. He thinks it’s so goddamn arousing that he’s so huge you have to push yourself to take him. He likes that he’s a challenge for you. He wants to train you and shape you in every sense of the word.

But for now, he allows you take the lead from underneath him, letting yourself grind your hips down on to him at your own pace as he lets low moans escape him.

When you’re finally at the point of desperately rutting your hips against him, you give him all he needs to hear.

“Fuck me, Konig, please fuck me.”

He obliges, unable to say no to your eager and breathy tone. His fingers grip onto your outer thighs as he thrusts into you. His pace is quick, but he’s still cautious not to force himself too deep inside you. He’s a disciplined man, after all.

Even without being all the way inside you, he’s still deep enough to hit the spot, forcing moans to escape from parted lips.

“Look at me, liebe.”

You oblige, and his cock twitches inside of you at the sight of your half-lidded eyes glazed in pleasure. He grunts, his pace picking up as he ventures deeper inside of you.

You can’t help the mutters and moans spilling from you. Your hands mindlessly move from above your head to his chest, tugging on the fabric of his shirt.

“You feel so good. So good for me, schatz.”

You moan in response, and he decides he’s worked you open enough to push all the way in.

You’re cockdrunk now. Breathy moans escaping without thought, eyes unfocused and body limp to his desires.

When he suddenly pulls out you whine. “Koni- please.”

“On your front.” He commands as he sits back on his knees, towering over you.

You’re flush and out of breath as you do as he says, positioning yourself the best you can with your hands bound. On all fours, head down towards the pillows as you arch your back.

The bed shifts under him as he scoots close before giving your ass a firm smack, the gasp leaving your mouth more out of surprise than pain. He gives you a few more, alternating between your cheeks. Just enough to leave handprints behind, marking you as his own.

He lines up with you again, pressing into you without hesitation.

You both let out moans at the return of warmth. He’s less gentle now, pounding into you hard enough the sound of flesh crashing together fills the room. The creaky bed is slamming against the dingy walls and your thighs are rippling on impact. You can’t help but quiver as the pleasure washes through you.

He’s got such a rhythmic pace, slamming into you while he grips your hips tight to keep you still.

“All mine.” He growls between breathy groans.

You can't even respond, practically drooling into the pillows as Konig fucks you senseless. A string of broken praises fall from your lips, mostly nonsense. Konig leans in and leaves little kisses down your back, without breaking his pace.

“Koni, I’m gon’na- fuck, Konig.”

“Come for me, meine liebe.”

Your eyes pinch shut and a broken moan leaves your lips as you ride the waves of intense pleasure washing through you. It’s enough to make your entire body clench, your walls gripping onto Konig.

He doesn’t let up, forcing your thighs open as he mercilessly pounds you through orgasm.

He gives your ass another firm smack, and your fingers are clawing desperately at the pillows, searching for any sort of stability but you’re powerless to Konig and his forceful cock.

You’re on cloud nine, feeling so far away from your body as you’re washed up on the shores of pleasure. Konig’s strength is the only thing holding you steady.

“I’m going to come, schatz.” He warns, moaning your name just like he did on the video before he fills you up and stakes his claim deep inside you.

His fingers dig into your thighs as his muscles tense under his clothes, his thrusts and moans becoming uneven as he loses himself to the euphoric gratification.

He pauses for a few moments after he slows to a stop, taking a moment to catch his breath as he lets his cock warm inside you.

He pulls out of you with a low grunt, watching the come that spills out of you. When he releases his grip on you, you’re too weak to support yourself, sliding limp on your front and basking in the afterglow of your orgasm.

He takes pleasure in knowing he marked you, completely broke you down and disheveled you. Made you feel so good you have to collect yourself afterwards.

He steps out for a moment before quickly returning with something to clean you both up with.

He’s gentle with the clean-up, wiping away the mixture of lube and come from you while minding your sensitivity, not wanting to disturb your bliss. He removes the belt from your wrists as well.

“Konig? Cuddle.” You mutter, arm stretching across the bedspread.

You don’t see the smile underneath his hood, but after he wipes himself off he joins you back on the bed, the mattress creaking for a final time as he pulls you in a spoon. You feel so safe and small, pressed into him like this. His strong arms wrapped around you. His chest on your back. You let out a pleased hum.

“That’s going to make a nice video.” He says, removing his earpiece and turning it off as he sets it on the bed.

“You can have the real thing anytime.” You say, eyes closed with a warm smile on your face.

He hums low in your ear and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “You’re forgiven, Schatz.”

“Thank you Koni.”

You both drift off, tired out from your intense finishes.

You stay close throughout the night, but having him pressed into you unfortunately didn’t stop the nightmares. When you wake up in a panic, kicking and screaming at the latest renditioning of your mind’s unresolved trauma, Konig’s there to press his hand to your heart, telling you that everything’s okay, it was just a nightmare.

Your breath is still rapid and your heart is still pounding as you steady yourself, transitioning yourself back to reality after the night terror.

He hugs you so tight, reminding you about how he’ll always be there to protect you, that no one will ever hurt you again, he will not let anything happen to you.

You steady yourself, and he knows well enough how hard it is to calm yourself after such an immersive terrifying experience.

“I brought something for that, Schatz.”

When he leaves the room you think he’s going to bring you a book, a puzzle, something to do to distract yourself.

What he brings back makes you tense, your eyes widening at the gift. He sets it down for you, getting back into the bed and resuming his position wrapped around you, protecting you. But your eyes are glued to the gift, the full implications sinking in.

Konig had set down Ghost’s mask.

“No one will find out about your secret. I took care of it.”

You don’t need him to explain further. You know Ghost will never have the opportunity to hurt you again.

“Thank you, Konig.”

He kisses your shoulder through his hood, “My pleasure, meine liebe. Sleep tight.”

And you do.

———————————————————————-

More by uhohdad:

Meine Perle: Reader is tasked with feeding enemy prisoner Octo!Konig

HIS: Konig has an unhealthy obsession with you.

Original Works Masterlist

#konig #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig modern warfare #konig mw2 #call of duty #cod #modern warefare ii #modern warefare 2 #konig x reader #smut #konig x you #x reader #fic #experimental #uhohwriting

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