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abbyshands · 4 months

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hers only

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

synopsis; gf!abby does not like clara, the gym trainer who can’t keep her hands off you. so who’s surprised when she loses her composure, channeling her rage in the form of rough, hard sex?

pairing; dom!abby anderson x sub!fem!reader

warnings; abby’s jealous as fuck, a little toxic!abby but not really, use of a strap-on, abby refers to the strap as her dick/cock, and strap is referred to as her dick/cock, throat-fucking (with fingers), fingering, choking, pretty rough sex, degrading (slut/bitch/whore, etc), a little praise, use of baby/honey, one use of y/n BEFORE the smut (sorry, it was necessary), spanking, reader cries, abby gives reader a sensory overload, dumbfucking, etc

a/n; hello! my name is kitlyn, kit for short :) i’m a huge writer, and tlou is my latest obsession. so, ofc, i had to get this fic out for my gf, and much more to come. i hope you like this, and if you have any ideas for me to write, please lmk!

p.s.; your daily reminder (or a fun fact), abby canonically bench presses 205 pounds. i rest my case <3

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

she could only make it a few weeks before her annoyance got the best of her.

you were bulking up for an upcoming mission, assigned to you by issac. in the area you would be in, scar presence was heavy, and you wouldn’t be back to the wlf for a bit, so gaining muscle was a necessity.

abby just wished she didn’t have to watch that girl’s hands all over you to get the job done.

she didn’t understand why she couldn’t train you herself, why issac wouldn’t fucking let her. he waved her off, giving her some bullshit about “a lack of focus.”

come on. if she knew you needed to bulk up, if it meant it would keep you safe, she wouldn’t lose her focus just because it was you.

maybe.

but this was the replacement. some other girl in the wlf, hands all over you as she helped you do pull-ups. your body was covered in sweat, and you had been at this for over an hour. the girl, whose name was clara, had her hands on your hips as you lifted yourself up and over the bar again and again.

“c’mon, give me ten more. you got it,” clara said. you were looking at yourself in the mirror as you let out a grunt with each pull-up you did, on your tenth at this point. but you did your best to push through.

“clara,” you groaned. “i can’t fucking—“ you began. but your trainer cut you off.

“don’t use your breath. just keep going. i’ve seen you do it before. you got it,” clara said once more, tone firm. you didn’t think it would be a good idea to deny her. so you went on.

but you were fully oblivious to the pair of blue eyes fixed on you across the room.

you had forgotten that abby also worked out around this time to lift with manny, so it didn’t even occur to you that she was gazing at this whole thing like a hawk.

“abs!” manny said to abby, accent thick. he snapped his fingers in front of abby’s face, and abby looked at him both confusedly, but also annoyedly.

“huh? what, what is it?” abby asked. she had fully spaced out, and her cheeks were red. but it wasn’t because of the workout.

it was your fucking trainer.

“estás bien? i lost you a few minutes ago,” manny said. abby had gotten used to his habit of going back and forth from spanish to english, to the point where she knew a thing or two. so she easily responded.

“yeah, i’m fine. let’s just finish for today, okay? i’m not feeling it,” she excused. but manny could see where her eyes were.

you.

“ah,” manny said. he seemed to understand now, a look of comprehension across his face as he said that. “okay. i’ll see you back at the room, then, sí?” manny asked as he held his fist out.

abby did the same and gave him the small fist bump he was looking for. “yeah, see you.”

once manny had left, abby began to pack up her gym bag. by now, you had finished your pull-ups, and were taking needy gulps from your water bottle. clara gave you a small pat on the back once you had finished drinking.

“that was good. you got any more in you?” clara laughed.

you smiled at her, shrugging. “not sure. i’ve gotta meet my girlfriend soon,” you said. really, it was in an hour or two. but you’d have to shower, change, etc. so, to you, it was soon.

nevertheless, you figured a bit more couldn’t hurt. so, you said, “but i think i can do a few more reps.”

clara just gave you a nod. each time you would bring up this girlfriend of yours, her demeanor changed like that. she’d tense, and pause her words.

you knew what it seemed like, and obviously, you didn’t like clara. but you did kind of need her.

and besides, if abby—fuck, if abby knew? it'd be a fucking field day to say the least.

you ended up choosing back squatting as a way to finish off your session with clara. you ducked your head under the bar, elbows flexing as you removed it from the rack. you caved a little under the heaviness of it, but with clara’s reassurance, you did your best to move.

clara put her arms under yours as you held the bar behind your back. she squatted along with you, body behind yours as she spotted you.

you could only make it ten or so reps before you failed on the eleventh, much to your surprise, as it had never happened to you before. clara put her hands on your chest quickly, and helped you move the bar back up to the rack.

“sorry,” you whispered in a huff, face red from the tension your body had just undergone. clara’s front pressed to your back for just a moment, and you felt a little uncomfy. she had spotted you before while doing a back squat, but not once did you fail one, forcing her to really touch you like that.

“it’s okay, it’s okay. you did fine,” clara smiled. this time, she put a hand on your shoulder, way too close for comfort. and then, she murmured to you, her own face red. “i’m proud of you.”

oh, that was fucking it.

abby discarded her gym bag on the floor. she tossed it somewhere. she would grab it later. but she couldn’t fucking watch this anymore. who the hell did this girl think she was, hands all over you like that? and who knows what she was saying to you? that was abby’s fucking job.

and hers only.

“y/n,” an all too familiar voice said from your left, and you didn’t need to look to know who had spoken.

you were thinking, my savior, once abby’s voice filled your ears. but when your eyes moved to hers, you were sure your soul left your body.

because she looked pissed.

clara moved her hand off your shoulder, and you hated the way she did it—like the two of you had been doing way more than just working out.

“grab your shit, we’re leaving,” abby said firmly to you, and she couldn’t help but send a small glare clara’s way. you weren’t the only one feeling scared, because clara was pale as a ghost. she had known you had a girlfriend, obviously.

but it was abby fucking anderson?

neither you nor clara said a word as you packed up your gym bag. once you had, abby was grabbing you by the waist, and yanking you out of the gym, leaving clara far, far behind you.

“abs—“ you tried, you really fucking did. but abby didn’t want to hear it.

“not a fucking word.”

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

manny knew better than to come back to the room once he saw abby eyeing you like that in the gym. it wouldn’t be the first, nor would it be the last, time that abby’s temper had ended in a room full of sex.

as soon as you were inside of the room, abby was grabbing your gym bag from your hands, tossing it far away, and kissing you aggressively. you responded with a whine, but let her, kissing her back with just as much passion. her hand gripped your neck as she all but slammed you onto the door, free hand running over your body like it was a temple she was born to worship.

really, it was.

abby put her free hand under your leg and held it up, pressing herself into you as her tongue battled yours. you moaned into her mouth as her grip on your neck compressed, her fingers digging into the soft skin of your thighs.

what a good day to have worn shorts…

when abby finally pulled back, your lips were spilling with drool, lips numb and plump from the belligerence in abby’s kisses. your whole face was hot, and abby’s face was red.

and, fuck, did she look mad.

abby smashed her lips back onto yours, and kissed you all the way to her bed. once there, she pushed you down onto it and got on top of you, her large thighs on either side of your lap.

if you weren’t in for it before, you surely were now.

abby reached her arm out to open the drawer of her bedside table, and it was only a moment or two before she was pulling out a very familiar item.

her strap.

“a- abs, wh- what are you—“ you began dumbly, way too curious to find out what it was she had in mind. but abby wasn’t feeling at all gracious.

you talk when she says you can.

“shut the fuck up,” abby damn near growled at you, the kind of tone she reserved for when she was really fucking angry. you had heard it many times before. when you were on a mission and battling scars. when issac reprimanded her for being careless in the field. when mel pissed her off one too many times.

bottom line, when shit didn’t go her way.

and the idea that she felt that way now both turned you on and scared the fuck out of you.

abby was quick to secure the strap’s harness to her waist. the view of the dildo attached to it always made your mouth fill with drool: black, veiny, seven and a half inches long. she’d made you cum with it so many times you lost count, and it was a million times better than the real thing.

especially when you had abby anderson on top of you, or behind you, or below you, encouraging you to take it like the good girl you were.

she grabbed your hips with fervor, forcing you to wrap your legs around her torso once your bottoms, and underwear, were out of her way. you let out a needy mewl as she slid the tip through your already wet folds, riling you up, just like that.

when your eyes closed as an answer, abby tutted, and moved one of her large hands down to grab you by the chin. “look at me,” she demanded.

and who the hell would you be to deny that?

your eyes were weak and needy as they met abby’s, pupils big with just a touch of fear, heart pounding in your ears. abby spoke firmly, and you could tell that she wasn’t playing around.

you had left fun and games behind the second you walked into this room.

“you’re gonna take this dick as much as i want you to, over and over again. n’ i’m gonna fuck you rough, ‘til you’re babbling out nonsense. do you hear me?”

your body felt paralyzed when those words left abby’s lips, her tone dripping in anger. you couldn’t manage much, and all you could do was nod. but she was not having that.

she squeezed down on your chin, which made you whimper out. “words.”

“y- yes, ma’am, i- i understand,” you weakly muttered out, and that seemed to suffice for her. abby let up on her grip, and her hand moved down from your chin to your lips.

“good. now suck.”

you didn’t delay. you opened your mouth for abby to push her fingers inside of it, index and ring beginning to fuck it. abby could feel your drool as she pumped the two fingers in and out of you, your tongue eagerly wrapping around them.

she doesn’t give a damn in the world as she pounds them to the back of your throat, making you gag, and your eyes close and roll back as she does so.

not for long.

“open your eyes. keep ‘em on me,” abby says in a rough tone, and you oblige a little too quickly. water’s already filling the corners of your eyes, and abby can see that when she looks at you.

and she’s barely begun.

“crying for me already, hm? why am i not surprised?” abby couldn’t help but mock you. you looked so feeble like this, choking on her fingers like the whore you were.

“i’d save your tears, honey. ‘cause there’s a lot more where this came from.”

just as you’re beginning to get used to the rough feeling of abby fucking your face with her fingers, she pulls them out, and you let out a small whimper of disapproval.

but it quickly blends into a moan.

her index and ring, the two fingers that you had just had your tongue around, that were soaked in your drool, pushed inside of you without so much as a warning.

“oh, f- fuck, abby,” you moaned as the suddenness of the moment took over your senses. your thighs clenched around her as she skillfully pumped her fingers in and out of your cunt, just as she had so many times in the past.

abby used her other hand to pry your thighs back open. “ah ah, baby. spread your legs for me.”

just when you figured this couldn’t get any more forceful, abby was pushing a third finger inside of you, her middle one, and using her thumb to rub your clit.

your response was way too fast as you grabbed one of abby’s broad shoulders, digging your fingernails into the freckled skin on it. you let out a loud moan as your eyes squeezed shut, letting it all sink in. three of abby’s fingers deep inside of you, pumping in and out of your wet pussy as she thumbed your clit like a fucking pro.

“fuckfuckfuck,” you groaned, and, god, did abby like that. barely begun with you, and you were already drunk off her touch.

but then again, that’s how it always went.

“look at you, fucking soaked for me. needy bitch,” abby degraded you mercilessly as she curled her fingers inside of you, easily hitting your g-spot.

“mmph, abby…” you could barely manage.

“hush,” she said harshly. your gaze moved up to hers as she fingered you, her usual pale blue eyes big, pupils enlarged. it was clear that she wasn’t letting up any time soon. “don’t talk unless i say you can.”

you didn’t.

abby had you soaking her fingers in your release soon enough, your orgasm spilling over you. she pulled her fingers out of you and moved them to her lips, leaving not even one drop behind as she sucked them dry. the view filled your abdomen with butterflies: that was for damn sure.

if this is how she made you feel with your fingers, you could hardly imagine her dick.

and abby didn’t delay. you didn’t get even a second to process before she was lining the tip of the silicone toy to your cunt, and pushing into you forcefully.

“abby, w- wait, fuck. t- too soon,” you whimpered, but you knew abby didn’t give a shit about what you had to say. she shushed you with her hand, putting her fingers past your lips once more.

“don’t care. you’re gonna take this cock like a good fucking girl,” she emphasized the word as she thrust into you hard. “and i don’t wanna hear shit. got that?”

you nodded, and didn’t try to speak again. you just did what abby wanted you to, sucking on her long fingers to keep you occupied while she pounded into your pussy.

“clara can’t fuck you this good, can she, baby?” abby rasped as each thrust grew more ravenous, both fingers pushing deeper.

so that’s what this was all about. well, really, you figured as much. you knew clara’s behavior would somehow bite you in the ass. but now that you had abby’s words to confirm it, you couldn’t be more sure.

you did what you could to shake your head, but let’s be real. it was abby fucking anderson. speechlessness was never an answer in her books. she took her fingers out of your mouth for the last time, eager to hear you talk now.

“say it.”

“n- no, abby. s’just you. s’only you,” your tongue slurred as the words left your lips, and abby couldn’t help but get off on the way you were speaking, a smug smirk on her face.

“mmhm. only i get to fuck this pretty pussy of yours, y’hear me?” abby let out in a grunt, her drool covered hand settling onto your neck, squeezing down. she was fucking you hard, no mercy as her hips thrust aggressively, pushing herself as deep inside of you as she could possibly go.

you were more than okay with that.

“y- yes, ma’am,” you let out a groan of your own as abby rutted her hips into you, eyes locked on hers. “i’m yours. a- all yours.”

you were a whining and whimpering mess as abby gave you a nod of approval, hand gripping your neck like it was her lifeline. “that’s a good whore. mine and no one else’s.”

“how do you think days like today make me feel, huh? fucking bitch with her hands all over you, gawking at you like you’re hers. well, let me tell you somethin’,” abby snarls. she pulls out of you, tip pressed to your folds, and for a moment, you think she’s going to make you beg for her to fuck you once more. but just like that, she’s slamming back inside, going, arguably, deeper than she had before.

“she doesn’t get to have you. no one’s ever gonna fuck you this good. no one’s ever gonna love you like i do. you’re all fucking mine, like it or not. got that?”

you’re not surprised by the aggression in her tone, but, damn, is she pissed. you can feel her anger seep into your skin as she fucks you like a toy, addresses you like a doll.

and you let her.

“m’sorry, abby, m’so sorry. i know i’m yours. i’m yours, swear to god i am. m’so sorry,” you moan dumbly as she squeezes your neck.

which you’re sure will have marks to show for it tomorrow.

“i know you are, baby,” abby rasps. her hand moves from her neck to your thigh now, and she digs her fingernails into it as she slams into you. “and you fucking should be.”

and again, abby has you cumming, her name rolling off your tongue like music as, this time, it’s her cock you soak in your release. “there you go, honey. know you like when i fuck this pussy like this. that’s it,” abby whispered.

your brain was way too foggy with the aggression of this session with your girlfriend to get your words out properly.

what was is it that abby had said about making you babble again?

“f- fuck, abby. oh, fuck,” you whined, body tired from receiving your second orgasm that evening. but abby was nowhere near done with you: both of you knew that.

abby didn’t speak as she pulled herself out of you, grabbing you by the hips and flipping your body over, so that you were no longer on your back. she forced you onto all fours, your ass poking up into the air. she yanks your bottoms fully off of you from behind, underwear following, and settles her hands onto your ass.

“abby, come on, please,” you all but cry out. you’re not sure how much you can take, not when it’s so sudden, anyway. abby’s anger is slowly going away, your caring girlfriend coming back little by little. but you weren’t quite there yet.

“you’ve got one more in you, baby, i know you do,” abby says softly, and she circles her thumbs over your ass. the move is almost loving.

“and you’re gonna take it, like the good slut you are. mkay?”

like you said. almost.

you grumble, but you can’t say no. not only did you not want to, but when it came to abby, that was one of the last things on your mind. probably. . .not a good idea. so, “mkay,” is what you say in response.

“good girl. can fuck you better like this, anyway,” abby hums. she begins to take your shirt off, and you lift your arms up to help her remove you tank top. and then, who’s surprised, she unhooks your bra with ease, discarding it on the floor somewhere.

the feeling’s familiar as abby pushes inside of your aching pussy once more. you’re sore and tired, brain fucked out from abby’s belligerence. but you need her, just as much as you need the very oxygen in your lungs.

and she needs you.

as if this isn’t enough, her arms move under yours, and squeeze each of your tits. it quickly reminds you of the way clara spotted you earlier, because that was one of the very things that had caused this in the first place.

but this felt so much better.

your eyes rolled back into your head as abby rubbed hard circles into your nipples, eager and needy to get you off for the third time in a row. she knew it wouldn’t be long now. each time she fucked you like this, round after round, your orgasms came in quick successions.

literally.

abby was pushing into your g-spot once again, and the feeling of it all was almost too much. if she wanted you to babble, then she got it: because there was no other way to describe the words spilling from your lips.

“a- abby, fuck, please don’t stop. you feel s- so good, f- fuck, please.” you weren’t making any sense by now, at least not to yourself. but abby knew what you wanted.

because she knew just how to please you.

“keep moaning, baby. you sound adorable,” abby chuckled as she fucked you, hips pushing deep into a spot you didn’t even know you had. “all cockdrunk off this dick, like the whore you are. my whore.”

she just had to add that. for good measure.

“tell me how much you like it. tell me how much you like it when i pound your pussy like this.”

you were licking your lips in the neediest way as she pressed her thumbs into your tits. you couldn’t help but push yourself back into her, that fucking needy for her. “i- i love it, abby. love it so much, fuck. you fuck me so good.”

abby moved one of her hands back from your tit and onto your ass, and gave you a small spank there. “fuck, yeah, i do. never gonna get it this good from anyone else, are you, baby? not clara, not any other bitch. just me, yeah?”

“mmph, mhm,” you murmured, and, fuck, were you on the brink. of course no one else could fuck you like this. no one could fuck like this period. some days, you wished the world could see just what abby anderson had to offer.

but that would involve a hell of a lot of sharing that you didn’t want to do.

“aw, i’m fucking you dumb, huh, baby? can’t even get a word out. dumb fucking slut,” abby smirked, slapping your ass one more time, then massaging the red mark with her thumb. “who do you belong to, hm?”

abby wasn’t wrong. your brain was fogged up, cloudy as she slammed into you from the back, and you couldn’t even see as your eyes rolled back into your head for the millionth time over. your words came out messy, drunken, incoherent. “i- i b—i’m—yours, i b- belong to—to you.”

you could feel your third orgasm bubbling up inside of you as abby pounded you from the back, and she had both hands on your tits once more, gripping both of them as she thumbed at your nipples. your face was hot, your lewd moans filling the room to the brim, as abby filled you.

“f- fuck, abby, don’t stop,” you whimpered out, and you had never sounded so broken before. “g- gonna cum.”

well, that much was obvious.

abby didn’t hold you back. she encouraged you with each thrust of her hips, every one increasing in speed with each second that passed by. she was a pro at this, and she knew it.

“that’s it, honey. cum on my cock, loud, like you mean it. wanna hear you scream for me,” she said with a small grunt, and she said it like it was a demand.

you obeyed.

you were yelling your girlfriend’s name as white spilled all over the silicone that was her dick, a series of pornographic moans falling from your swollen lips. your expression was just that, too: lewd, broken, because you had never been fucked like that in your life.

for the last time, abby pulled out of you, and unsecured the harness around her torso. once she put it to the side, she couldn’t help but put her fingers to your pussy for the last time, scooping a bit of your white release onto them. you shuddered as she did so, and looked behind you, just to see her suck her fingers off.

you lay limp on the bed as abby got up to grab a small towel. gingerly, she began to wipe your body clean, beginning with your thighs. she kissed up them as she did it, and it was so, so different to the way she had been manhandling you mere seconds beforehand.

that was abby for you.

once you were both clean, abby laid down beside you, and pulled you close to her body. she put her hands on your waist, and pressed a kiss to your forehead as you snuggled into her broad chest. you didn’t even feel awkward about the fact that you were the only one naked.

if abby didn’t care, then neither did you.

“you okay, baby? wasn’t too rough with you, was i?” abby asked, her thumb circling your cheek. you smiled up at her, a rush of butterflies soaring inside your abdomen at the small rasp in the way she cooed.

“no, abs. not at all. i mean, i always knew you got jealous, but—wow,” you couldn’t help your giggle.

abby feigned annoyance by giving you an eye roll, but you could tell that she was just being playful. besides, it’s not like she could deny the fact. so she smirked. “what can i say? you just have that effect on me. besides, you have to admit—clara was way too close for comfort.”

“mmhm,” you hum.

“but maybe that was a good thing.”

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

reblogs are very much welcomed <3

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#abby anderson #abby anderson fic #abby anderson fan fiction #abby anderson smut #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby tlou #the last of us smut #wlw ns/fw #wlw smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x y/n #tlou2 smut

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ozzgin · 5 months

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Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (II)

Reader is cozying up to her unusual home, and her new friend decides to surprise her with a romantic gift. Or at least what he considers to be romantic: a small reminder that no one else can mess with her. Continuation to the yakuza landlord idea!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

Content: Female reader, obsessive behavior, mentions of stalking, violence, death, mild gore

Tags: @depressed-but-make-it-cute

You search for your keys and open the postal box, retrieving a thick envelope. You've been living at the new apartment for several weeks now and truth be told, you could get used to this lifestyle. Your commute to work is much shorter, the path is never devoid of people, and there are multiple bakeries on the way back with some of the best pastries you've tasted in your life.

You turn around and look for Daitou, somewhat distracted and dreamy. It really feels like a Hallmark movie. A peaceful, idyllic life. Ah, there he is! The scarred man is standing guard before one of the stores. The curtains have been pulled, blocking any glimpse of the inside. You walk towards him with a certain joyful bounce in your step. As you approach him, you can hear muffled screams coming from the building. He notices you and flashes you a smile.

"Don't come too close, I hear the owner's been avoiding his loan payment and getting all friendly with the neighboring Family. We're questioning him in the back."

"Don't you usually do the interrogations?"

"Only if we don't need them afterwards. I'm not too good at keeping them alive, ya know?" He scratches the back of his head and laughs awkwardly. "Do you need anything?"

You open your mouth to speak, but it's a little difficult to formulate a full sentence with the interrupted moans and cries occasionally making their way out. The door is ajar and you avoid glancing in its direction, fixating on the man before you.

"I...uh... just wanted to know if this letter is intended for me or the landlord. It looks like an official document."

You show Daitou the envelope and just as he is about to grab it, he notices the blood stains seeped into his glove. He quickly removes it, wipes his hand on his shirt, and nonchalantly plucks the paper from your fingers.

"That's for Boss. I'll pass it on, so don't worry."

You nod and bow slightly before hurrying back home. Well, doesn't make it less of a movie, you suppose. Just more of a thriller. Or something like that. You drop your bag, slip off your shoes and throw yourself onto the futon with a loud thud. The warmth of the sheets envelops you and the wails of the shop owner become but a distant dream.

Without the worry of stalkers, or finding a roof above your head, you can finally rest.

Tonight is rather dark, with the moon shrouded in heavy clouds. Daitou yawns silently as he observes the masked man testing out passcodes for the entrance. Every now and then he lets out a whispered curse, crossing out another number combination on his little crumpled note. It doesn't take a genius to figure out this is the famed stalker you'd complained about earlier. No one else currently lives in the building.

Eventually, the keypad lights up and the door unlocks. The mysterious man lifts a fist victoriously and reaches for the handle.

"Oop! Not so fast!" Daitou drops his heavy, sinewy arm over the man's shoulders, pulling him in a friendly embrace. Like two old pals meeting at an intersection. "Let's take a walk together, what do you say? (Y/N) sleeps until noon on weekends, no need to hurry."

With a grunt, the stalker tries to shove himself out of the tightening hold, but the yakuza doesn't budge. He towers over his new friend with an unfaltering, unbothered grin.

"Now listen, I don't blame you one bit, ya know? I ain't blind, at least not in this eye", he continues as he points to the real counterpart of his glass prosthetic, "so I'm damn well aware of a pretty girl when I see one. And (Y/N)? That's some good taste alright."

He gives the man an affectionate pat over the chest, pulling him away from the building into one of the side streets.

"If you want, we can have a drink before the deed, I know a good place five minutes from here. We can share some stories of our favorite girl, eh?" Daitou looks at his watch, feigning mild concern. "But I'm afraid you're not leaving this neighborhood either way. In one piece, that is."

His arm goes limp and the masked man is released from the iron hold, tripping over from the sudden lack of support. He crawls against a wall and fumbles for something, swiftly pulling out what seems to be a pocket knife. His breathing is erratic and he points the tip of the blade towards the yakuza, now with his features darkened by a frown. He sounds like an entirely different person and the instant switch to a ragged voice startles the stranger.

"See, the trouble is, I promised miss (Y/N) I wouldn't allow a fucking dog like you to be in her presence ever again. Sadly for you, I'm a man of my word." Despite the threatening tone, his posture is relaxed and he stands before the stalker with his hands bare.

"If I were you, I'd use that little butter knife on my own throat. I don't go easy on horny cockroaches. Especially the ones that mess with my woman." His final words spill out in a bitter growl.

A small animal in the trashing jaws of a predator. Blood splatters and pools in the asphalt cracks and drained hands claw at the walls, hoping for an escape. As despair sinks in, the alleyway becomes quiet again, save for the merry whistle of the remaining party. Daitou carefully ties the trash bags with the focus of a child wanting to impress the parents with a chore well done. Halfway through he stops and gasps, surprised.

"Oh man, did I really just say 'my woman'? How embarrassing." He blushes and shyly pushes the wrapped slabs away. "I haven't even asked her out yet, ya know? Better not rat me out, Mr. Stalker." He snickers at his monologue and continues the cleanup.

"Can you really not refrain yourself from smoking in here?" You try to fan away the puff of smoke, scowling at the young blonde man sitting across the table.

"Why do you even care so much?" Kazuya groans and stuffs the remains of the cigarette in the ashtray.

"I don't want my carrot cake tasting like tobacco. You're lucky the old man is afraid of you, otherwise you would've gotten your ass banned a long time ago."

"You know, I've been thinking about it lately - haven't you gotten quite the attitude? You have a big mouth for someone surrounded by dangerous gangsters. I could blow your brains out right now."

He lowers himself in his seat and briefly lifts his shirt, flashing a carelessly tucked in gun. He stares at you for a few seconds, as if expecting a reaction, then lets out a chuckle upon seeing your indifferent expression.

"Shameless. You could at least try to pretend you don't know I have a soft spot for you."

"Just a wild guess, but your Boss probably wouldn't appreciate you shooting civilians in the middle of a café. That's all." You respond with a shrug.

Your banter is interrupted by Daitou's heavy footsteps nearing in your direction. Kazuya waves, signaling your location, and kicks a chair out, inviting his friend to join.

"Where the hell were you last night? I thought you'd come with us for drinks after that long ass questioning."

"Sorry, I had to take care of something." Daitou returns an apologetic smile and tilts his head to gaze at you. "Which reminds me, I brought you this."

Your eyes widen in surprise and a faint red tints your cheeks. Was there some special occasion you didn't know about? He places a small box in your hands and leans back in his chair with a cheerful smirk on his face. Kazuya watches the interaction, equally curious as you.

You open the mysterious gift, giddy with anticipation. The nauseating smell abruptly invades your nostrils and you can feel the contents of your stomach bubble up and pile at the back of your throat. You gag involuntarily and slap your hands over your mouth, as the box tumbles down. A single severed human finger and some teeth glistening with moisture roll out.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Kazuya jumps from his seat, toppling over the table in the process, and lunges at Daitou's throat. The latter can only stare in shock, baffled at a reaction he didn't foresee. There's genuine confusion shaping his features.

"But-...I thought..."

"What the hell did you think, that you'd show up with fucking human remains over some tea and cake?! Jesus, Daitou, she ain't our Lieutenant!"

"But I did- I did tell (Y/N) I'd..." he tries to find you with a pleading, worried look.

Once the risk of vomiting on the floor has diminished, you shove yourself between the men and gently try to remove Kazuya's arm, still clawed around the other man's throat.

"Let him go, Kazuya. He didn't mean to scare me." You glance at Daitou reassuringly. "Does that mean the stalker guy is now a solved matter?"

The yakuza nods energetically, his eyes now sparkling with pride. He knew you'd understand. Once the tension is lifted, you quickly sweep the gory tokens back into their box and explain the situation to Kazuya. He collapses back in his seat with a frustrated sigh, facepalming himself.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N), I should've told you he's being serious when he says shit like this." He glares at his friend. "She didn't actually expect you to go ahead and do it, dumbass. Couldn't you just mention it or something? 'Hey, I took care of that pervert following you around'! You think she would've demanded proof?"

Daitou is nervously fidgeting with his glass eye, as if searching for the proper words.

"But you always say women will like you more if you surprise them with gifts." He concludes with a pout.

There's a prolonged moment of silence and you burst our laughing, as the blonde simultaneously lets out an exasperated whine. You cannot get over the bizarre sight in front of you: someone as massive and imposing as Daitou, cornered like a punished school boy.

"See, this is what I've been telling Boss. You're a lost cause." Kazuya rests his elbows on his knees, closing the distance between him and Daitou and continuing with a lecturing tone. "If you got a crush on someone, you bring them flowers or something! What are you, a crackhead? Do I have to teach you basic manners?"

"More importantly, uh...what should I do with these? I guess jewelry made of teeth is a thing, but the finger? Won't it go bad?" you cautiously dangle the package next to your ears, listening to the rustle of its contents.

Kazuya rips the box from you.

"I'm starting to suspect you don't have all the tiles on your roof either. I'll get rid of it, so you better pretend nothing ever happened. Are we clear?"

Both you and Daitou nod obediently.

On your way back, the man can't help the excitement building up in his chest. You liked his gift, didn't you? He hasn't done anything wrong. Does that make it official, then? As he ponders the implications, he peeks at your small frame, barely managing to keep up with him. Would it be alright if he reached for your hand? Is he supposed to ask first? All these steps confuse him to no end.

Nonetheless, he couldn't be more thankful for you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #female reader #yandere yakuza #yakuza x reader #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere mafia #mafia x reader #original work #oc x reader #male yandere x reader #x reader

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wifelinkmtg · 8 months

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TUMBLR POST EDITOR WON'T LET ME TITLE THIS POST ANYMORE SO I GUESS THIS IS THE TITLE NOW. WEBBED SITE INNIT

So let's say you grew up in the nineties and that The Lion King was an important movie to you. Let's say that the character of Scar - snarling, ambitious, condescending, effeminate Scar - stirred feelings in you which you had no words for as a child. And then let's say, many years later, you're talking about it with a college friend, and you say something like, "oh man, I think Scar was some sort of gay awakening for me," and she fixes you with this level stare and says, "Scar was a fascist. What's the matter with you?"

The immediate feeling is not unlike missing a step: hang on, what's happening, what did I miss? You knew there were goose-stepping hyenas in "Be Prepared," but you didn't think it mattered that much. He's the bad guy, after all, and the movie's just pointing it out. Your friend says it's more than that: the visuals of the song are directly referencing the Nuremberg rallies. They're practically an homage to Riefenstahl. This was your sexual awakening? Is this why you're so into peaked caps and leather, then? Subliminal nazi kink, perhaps?

And then one of your other friends cuts in. "Hold up," he says, "let's think about what Scar actually did in the movie. He organized a group of racialized outcasts and led them against a predatory monarchy. Why are you so keen to defend their hereditary rule? Scar's the good guy here." The conversation immediately descends into a verbal slap fight about who the real bad guy is, whether Scar's regime was actually responsible for the ecological devastation of the Pride Lands, whether the hyenas actually count as "racialized" because James Earl Jones voiced Mufasa after all. Your Catholic friend starts saying some strange and frankly concerning shit about Natural Law. Someone brings The Lion King 2 into it. You leave the conversation feeling a little bit lost and a little bit anxious. What were we even talking about?

INTRODUCING: THE DITCH

There is a way of reading texts which I'm afraid is pervasive, which has as its most classical expression the smug obsession with trivia and minutiae you find in a certain vein of comic book fan. "Who was the first Green Lantern? What was his weakness? Do you even know the Green Lantern Oath?" It eschews the subjective in favor of definitively knowable fact. You can't argue with this guy that, say, Alan Scott shouldn't really count as the first Green Lantern because his whole deal is so radically different from the Hal Jordan/John Stewart/Guy Gardner Corps-era Lanterns, because this guy will simply say "but he's called Green Lantern. Says so right on the cover. Checkmate." This approach to reading a text is fundamentally 1) emotionally detached (there's a reason the joke goes, oh you like X band? name three of their songs - and not, which of their songs means the most to you? which of them came into your life at exactly the right moment to tell you exactly what you needed to hear just then?) and 2) defensive. It's a stance that is designed not to lose arguments. It says so right on the cover. Checkmate.

And then you get the guys who are like "well obviously Bruce Wayne could do far more as a billionaire to solve societal problems by using his tremendous wealth to address systemic issues instead of dressing up as a bat and punching mental patients in the head," and these guys have half a point but they're basically in the same ditch butting heads with the "well, actually" guys, and can we not simply extricate ourselves from the ditch entirely?

So, okay, let's return to our initial example. Scar is portrayed using Nazi iconography - the goose-stepping, the monumentality, the Nuremberg Lichtdom. He is also flamboyant and effete. He unifies and leads a group of downtrodden exiles to overthrow an absolute monarch. He's also a self-serving despot on whose rule Heaven Itself turns its back. You can't reconcile these things from within the ditch - or if you can, the attempt is likely to be ad-hoc supposition and duct tape.

Instead, let's ask ourselves what perspective The Lion King is coming from. What does it say is true about the world? What are its precepts, its axioms?

There is a natural hierarchical order to the world. This is just and righteous and the way of things, and attempts to overthrow this order will be punished severely by the world itself.

Fascism is what happens when evil men attempt to usurp this natural order with the aid of a group or groups of people who refuse to accept their place in the order.

There exists an alternative to defending and adhering to one's place in the natural order - it consists only of selfish spineless apathy.

Manliness is an essential quality of a just ruler. Unmanliness renders a person unfit for rule, and often resentful and dangerous as well.

And isn't that interesting, laid out like that? It renders the entire argument about the movie irrelevant (except for whatever your Catholic friend was on about, since his understanding of the world seems to line up with the above precepts weirdly well.) It's meaningless to argue about whether Scar was a secret hero or a fascist, when the movie doesn't understand fascism and has a damn-near alien view of what good and evil are.

There's always gonna be someone who, having read this far, wants to reply, "so, what? The Lion King is a bad movie and the people who made it were homophobes and also American monarchists, somehow? And anyone who likes it is also some sort of gay-bashing crypto-authoritarian?" To which I have to reply, man, c'mon, get out of the ditch. You're no good to anyone in there. Take my hand. I'm going to pull on three. One... two...

SO PHYREXIA [PAUSE FOR APPLAUSE, GROANS]

We're talking about everyone's favorite ichor-drooling surgery monsters again because there was a bit in my ~*~seminal~*~ essay Transformation, Horror, Eros, Phyrexia which seemed to give a number of readers quite a bit of trouble: namely, the idea that while Phyrexia is textually fascist, their aesthetic is incompatible with real-world fascism, and further, that this aesthetic incompatibility in some way outweighs the ways in which they act like a fascist nation in terms of how we think of them. I'll take responsibility here: I don't think that point is at all clear or well-argued in that essay. What I was trying to articulate was that the text of Magic: the Gathering very much wants Phyrexia to be supremely evil and dangerous fascists, because that makes for effective antagonists, but in the process of constructing that, it's accidentally encoded a whole bunch of fascinating presuppositions that end up working at cross-purposes with its apparent aim. That's... not that much clearer, is it? Hmm. Why don't I just show you what I mean?

Atraxa, Grand Unifier (art by Marta Nael)

In "Beneath Eyes Unblinking," one of the March of the Machine stories by K. Arsenault Rivera, there's a fascinating and I think revealing passage in which Atraxa (big-deal Phyrexianized angel and Elesh Norn's lieutenant) has a run-in with an art museum in New Capenna. The first thing I want to talk about is that, in this passage, Atraxa has no understanding of the concept of "beauty". A great deal of space in such a rushed storyline is devoted to her trying to puzzle out what beauty means and interrogating the minds of her recently-compleated Capennan aesthetes to try and understand it. In the end, she is unable to conceive of beauty except as "wrongness," as anathema.

So my first question is, why doesn't Atraxa have any idea of beauty? This is nonsense, right? We could point to a previous story, "A Garden of Flesh," by Lora Gray, in which Elesh Norn explicitly thinks in terms of beauty, but that's a little bit ditchbound, isn't it? The better argument is to simply look at Phyrexian bodies, at the Phyrexian landscape, all of which looks the way it does on purpose, all of which has been shaped in accordance with the very real aesthetic preferences of Phyrexians. How you could look at the Fair Basilica and not understand that Phyrexians most definitely have an idea of beauty, even if you personally disagree with it, is baffling. This is a lot like the canonical assertion that Phyrexians lack souls, which is both contradicted elsewhere in canon and essentially meaningless, given Magic's unwillingness or inability to articulate what a soul is in its setting, and as with this, it seems the goal is simply to dehumanize Phyrexians, to render them alien, even at the cost of incoherence or internal contradiction.

Atraxa's progress through the museum is fascinating. It evokes the 1937 Nazi exhibit on "degenerate art" in Munich, but not at all cleanly. The first exhibit, which is of representational art, she angrily destroys for being too individualistic (a point of dissonance with the European fascist movements of the 20th century, which formed in direct antagonism to communism.) The second exhibit, filled with abstract paintings and sculptures, she destroys even more angrily for having no conceivable use (this is much more in line with the Nazi idea of "degenerate art", so well done there.) The third exhibit is filled with war trophies and reconstructions from a failed Phyrexian invasion of Capenna many years prior, which she is angriest of all with (and fair enough, I suppose.) But then, after she's done completely trashing the place, she spots a number of angel statues on the cathedral across the plaza, and she goes apeshit. In a fugue of white-hot rage, she pulverizes the angel heads, and here is where I have to ask my second question:

Why angels? If you are trying to invoke fascist attitudes toward art, big statues of angels are precisely the wrong thing for your fascist analogues to hate. Fascists love monumental, heroic representations of superhuman perfection. It's practically their whole aesthetic deal. I understand that we're foreshadowing the imminent defeat of Phyrexia at the hands of legions of angels and a multiversal proliferation of angel juice, but that just leads to the exact same question: why angels? To the best of my knowledge, the Phyrexian weakness to New Capennan angel juice is something invented for this storyline. They have, after all, been happily compleating angels since 1997. We could talk about the in-universe justification for why Halo specifically is so potent, but I don't remember what that justification is, and also don't care. Let's not jump back in the ditch, please. The point is, someone decided that this time, Phyrexia would be defeated by an angelic host, and what does that mean? What is the text trying to say? What are its precepts and axioms?

Let me ask you a question: how many physically disabled angels are there in Magic: the Gathering? How about transsexual angels? How many angels are there, on all of the cards that have ever been printed for Magic: the Gathering, that are even just a bit ugly? Do you get it yet? Or do you need me to spell it out for you?

SPELLING IT OUT FOR YOU

There is a kind of body which is bad. It is bad because it has been significantly altered from its natural state, and it is bad because it is repellent to our aesthetic sensibilities.

The bad kind of body is contagious. It spreads through contact. Sometimes people we love are infected, and then they become the bad kind of body too.

There is a kind of body which is good. It is good because it is pleasing to our aesthetic sensibilities, and it is good because it is unaltered from its (super)natural state.

A happy ending is when all the good bodies destroy or drive into hiding all of the bad bodies. A happy ending is when the bad bodies of the people we love are forcibly returned to being the good kind of body.

Do you get it now?

ENDNOTES

It's worth noting that the ditch is very similar to the white American Evangelical hermeneutics of "the Bible says it. I believe it. That settles it," the defensive chapter-and-verse-or-it-didn't-happen approach to reading a text, what Fred Clark of slacktivist calls "concordance-ism". I don't think that's accidental. We stand underneath centuries of people reading the Bible very poorly - how could that not affect how we read things today? We are participants in history whether we like it or not.

I sincerely hope I haven't come across as condescending in this essay. Close reading is legitimately difficult! They teach college courses on this stuff! And while it is frustrating to have my close readings interrogated by people who... aren't doing that, like. I do get it. I find myself back in the ditch all the time. This stuff is hard. It is also, sorry, crucial if you intend to say something about a text that's worth saying.

I also hope I've communicated clearly here. Magic story is sufficiently incoherent that trying to develop a thesis about it often feels like trying to nail jello to the wall. If anyone has questions, please ask them! And thank you for reading. Next time, we'll probably do the new Eldraine set.

#phyrexia #not defining the ditch except by implication #thanks to all the very smart vorthoi on the flavor text discord server for helping me work through my thoughts on fascism and phyrexia #this is technically the march of the machine review also #or as much of one as i care to do

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screeching-bunny · 2 months

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Yandere! Townspeople Harem x Lucky Reader

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

A/N: I have no clue what I was on when I wrote this 💀. This is also inspired by a Reddit post I saw long time ago.

🌟 Yandere! Townspeople who are absolutely enamored by you and everything that you do. They treat you as if you are some kind of entity waiting to be put on a golden pedestal and paraded around town. You are essentially the town’s golden boy/girl/person, a mascot if you can even call it that. In their eyes everything that you do is inspiring and encouraged. It also doesn’t help that you were born with this amazing power that causes you to become extremely lucky. No matter the deed, every action was thrust into the spotlight as if it were a gracious gesture for the community's well-being. Take, for instance, if you ever fatally shot someone the townsfolk would erupt in applause, discovering the individual to be a notorious mass murderer and your action saved the town.

🌟 Yandere! Townspeople who can’t help but gush over every miniscule achievement that you got. You got a perfect attendance award? They wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Did you just get a participation trophy? Well they're cheering for you as if you just won the world cup. To say their actions are embarrassing is definitely an understatement. Everytime they cheer for you, you can’t help but die a little bit on the inside.

🌟 Yandere! Townspeople who absolutely cannot fathom the idea of you moving out of their town. They would much rather skin themselves alive and commit arson than to allow you to leave them. Everywhere you go, there will always be some form of eyes on you. There will always be some type of survance of you at any time of the day. Depending on the person, the townspeople's love for you can either be platonic or romantic. Basically half of the town wants to fuck your and the other half sees you as their beloved child or grandchild.

🌟 Yandere! Townspeople who may or may not be human. Like sure they might have the occasional human sacrifices but what town doesn’t!?!? This is totally normal behavior that people exhibit. What’s that? Did you just see a tentacle coming out from that woman over there? Nahhh. You must be imagining that! What a cute and overactive imagination you have there. In all seriousness, it would literally die for you. You're just a cutie patootie to them. Your small teeth are so cute compared to their razor sharp fangs. You know, you could really use that small mouth of yours and suck on their–

🌟 Yandere! Townspeople have a monthly ritual where they gather around to brag about all of the items that they stole from you. Never in your life will you see someone so happy to own a pair of used underwear that didn’t belong to them or some used pair of socks. If you looked up a textbook definition of “down bad” then a picture of the Yandere! Townspeople would be the first images to pop up. In your presence these people act as if they had never touched grass or seen the sun before. They all seem to have some type of mutual agreement that in your presence, they would try to act somewhat normal in order to not scare/scar you too much.

—

From a young age, your luck was apparent. In school, while others struggled with exams, you breezed through them effortlessly, always managing to stumble upon the exact answers needed to excel. Teachers marveled at your natural knack for stumbling upon solutions, even in the most challenging of situations. As you grew older, the extraordinary luck only seemed to amplify. Job interviews turned into job offers within minutes, as if the universe conspired to ensure your success in every endeavor. Colleagues joked that working with you was like having a lucky charm around, as projects that seemed doomed to fail miraculously turned into resounding triumphs whenever you were involved. It might seem great and all BUT DAMN WAS THIS LIFE SO FUCKING BORING!!!! Which is why you decided to spice up your day a little and rob a bank.

“Oh hello [Reader]! Is this going to be the usual procedure?” The bank teller asks you with a smile on their face as you hold a gun to their face. “You know… the weather is perfectly nice today. It would be a perfect day for a date don’t you think–”

Suddenly a thunderous crash was heard, the police burst through the bank doors, their badges glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. Guns drawn and voices booming commands, they swept into the lobby, faces masked with determination. Until the police chief sees you and lets out a tired sigh, “Guns down everyone, it’s just [Reader].” A faint sound of disappointed groans can be heard from the crowd of bank patrons from the back. “Why are the police here so soon, I didn’t get enough time to admire their pretty face.” another voice could be heard, “For real, their never this fast in an actual emergency. I mean they only just shot and killed one person, it's really nothing to worry about like who cares–”

—

“You are free to go [Reader], again.” the police officer states as she releases you from your handcuffs. “Turns out the man that you shot ended up being a drug dealer. You really have a special talent for catching criminals don’t you. She states as she gazes at you with loving eyes. “You know I’m free after this shift, you think we can–”

Before she can finish her sentence you walk away with a dejected look on your face. You couldn’t believe how boring a day this turned out to be. Seriously, you wished that something exciting would happen in this town for once you think to yourself. Failing to notice a scene behind you. One that consisted of a bunch of monsters eating the souls of the innocent while on their knees for a statue that seemed to look like you. They all seem to be gripping onto something though– HEY, WAIT A MINUTE ARE THEY HOLDING YOUR UNDERWEAR!?!!?

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere harem #yandere townspeople

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makyurini · 1 year

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Hi :). Ugh, I absolutely loved your könig fic. If it’s not too much trouble, König with a breeding kink?? tysm💕✨

when i tell you i've been absolutely bonkers lately thinking of this... you're an evil genius and i thank you for that <;3 (also couldn't resist little hints of obsessive behavior and maybe a teeny tiny bit of submissive könig for a few lines maybe perhaps)

cw/tw: NSFT, fem reader (AFAB anatomy, referred to as “mutter”, “mama”), talks of impregnating and being pregnant, könig kinda tosses reader around a lil bit, size kink, some marking (biting, scratching), a teeny tiny bit of choking if you squint, maybe even a lil bit of dumbification, very enthusiastic consent, implied no condom usage, not proof read bcoz my coochie wrote this, uhhh i think that's it?

König has never been one to try and push boundaries. Though he isn’t shy by any means when it comes to exploring things in the bedroom, he’s all too aware of how easy it would be to accidentally hurt you, and he’s not sure how he would cope with that guilt. He doesn’t think he could handle it, truth be told, because he’s gentle by nature; always placing tender kisses wherever his lips will reach while his fingers wander, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he lowers his cock into you, making sure to provide you with snacks and water and comfort after every time you’ve spent lost in each other. He’s worked hard to earn your trust, and he’d rather bite his own tongue off than have your faith in him waiver

But he can’t deny that there are times he wants to let loose a little, to throw caution to the wind and fuck you without a worry in the world, to toss the condom to the side and bury himself in you so deeply neither of you are sure where he ends and you begin. It’s damn near painful to hold himself back, bite marks marred into his bottom lip serving as evidence of his restraint, but he does it with pride

That is, until the night you tell him it’s okay to let inhibitions go and allow instinct to take over

“Mein schatz, you feel so good,” König pants into your ear as he continues to thrust into you. “S-S-So fucking good. Oh my god, schnucki, I want to stay inside of you forever”

Two weeks without seeing each other has left you leaving open-mouthed kisses on each other’s bodies before König could even fully unlace his boots, all hungry teeth clashing and tongues raving until clothes were strewn about and restraint was left at the doorway. Pictures and video chat could never replicate the peace of having him with you, hovering over you with his stormy eyes boring into yours, his heart slamming against his chest as if it were trying to reach you. König, your König, with his calloused hands caressing your thighs as he throws your legs over his shoulders. König with his scarred chest heaving and panting as he drills his throbbing cock into you. König with his addictive lips kissing and nibbling on your calves as you whine and wither beneath him. König with his rough voice spilling out praises and groans all over your body

König, König, König

Nothing could do him justice, truly, especially not blurry pictures and hushed phone calls late at night

“P-Please, König,” you whimper underneath him, and somehow find the strength to shimmy your legs down and attempt to wrap them around his waist, effectively trapping him. “Don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop, please”

“Wouldn’t dream of it” One of his hands comes down to cup your cheek, and you twist your face so you can kiss his calloused palm. A breath catches itself in his chest, and he lets out a low groan before dipping his head down into the crevice of your neck. “Do you know what you do to me, liebling, how crazy you make me? God, du bist schön” You are beautiful. And god, does he mean it. More beautiful than any sunset, any summer storm, any night sky he has ever had the privilege to see. He thinks you might be an angel. He knows, at the very least, one is envious of you

Your legs around him tighten, and he thinks for a moment he sees heaven. “Show me,” you pant and dig your nails into his back, earning a surprisingly loud moan from him. “Show me how crazy I make you, König”

His hips falter for only a moment, a concerned look flashing across his face. “Are you sure, schatz? I don’t know how much I can hold back”

“I don’t want you to. I want you to fuck me in the way you truly want to”

And there’s a set determination in your eyes, a challenge, that despite the fact that you’re already covered in a thin blanket of sweat and your thighs and calves are littered with bite marks, you still think he’ll hold back. I want you to fuck me in the way you truly want to. But what if that means hurting you on accident? What if it means leaving more marks than either of you are prepared to take care of? What if it means you’ll never be able to trust him the same way again?

As if sensing his hesitance, you squeeze your thighs again, forcing him to look you in the eye; and when he does, all he can see is love and trust shining in your irises and that, he thinks, no matter what happens, he never wants you look at him any differently. That if he could, he’d take a snapshot of that expression and put it in a locket to hold close to his heart. Precious, so precious. He never wants to lose it, to lose you, to ever stray so far from you that he forgets what it's like to love and be loved in return. So he does the only thing he can think of in that moment: he presses your legs down so your knees are nearly touching your ears, and sets a near back-breaking pace as he thrusts his cock into you

It’s absolutely carnal the way he grabs and pulls at you, how easy it is for him to pin you down exactly where he wants you, how he can bend and twist your body in ways you didn’t even think possible. One hand twists and pinches at your nipples, the other grips the meat of your thigh to keep in you in place, and he's sure this is what heaven must feel like. Pretty sounds fall from your lips and crash against him like a hurricane, and he's never been more thankful to be a human before this moment, basking in everything you provide him with, bottling every little noise fluttering out of you and bottling it away for safe-keeping

“König,” you cry out, shaking hands gripping onto the sheets beneath you for some sense of stability. “König, fuck, f-feels so good, so full”

His eyes roll to the back of his head, hips slapping into the back of your thighs and fingers digging into your flesh more. “Oh gott, liebe, tell me. Tell me how good I make you feel. Tell me how much you need me. Tell me, schatz, tell me you want all of me like I want all of you”

Your fingers are nearly splitting through your skin with how tightly you’re holding onto the last few shreds of sanity, red mist dousing your bodies as evidence of your dedication and passion. He’s so pretty above you, all low growls and moans as he’s losing himself inside of you more and more, begging for just a little more. Tell me how much you love me so I feel okay about how obsessed I am with you. I’ll crack my ribcage open for you, just tell me how pretty red looks on me

“Wan’ all of you, König,” you babble underneath him, voice wobbly with tears and carnality. “Need you so bad! Please, need everything from you! Fuck me pregnant for all I fucking care, as long as it’s yours!”

It’s as though a beast takes over König's body, one he thought he kept locked away from you, far enough to never come close, hidden enough that he often forgets it’s there, claws capped and mouth muzzled as to not be tempted to listen to its growls. He isn’t sure what sends him over, whether it was hearing how desperate you are to cum or to hear you wouldn’t mind him getting you pregnant. In one swift movement, König has you sitting in his lap and is bouncing your limp body on his cock, trembling legs wrapped around his waist and heavy head leaning on his broad shoulder for support. He’s not quite gentle with you, not quite rough, just enough to let you know he’s a man on a mission to have you nice and round with his child

“Look so pretty,” he coos in your ear, the rough sound of skin slapping skin a direct [contradiction] to the tenderness in his tone. “You’d look so pretty with a big belly, yeah? Wearing my shirts and waddling around. Gonna be a good mama, aren’t you? Gonna be the best mutter to our pretty lil’ baby, hm?” His accent grows thicker and thicker the closer and closer he gets to the edge, and you find yourself squeezing down on him even more, without a thought, without a care, so long as you can milk him for every last drop. “Tell me, mama, who do you think the baby will look like more, hm? Do you think it’ll be tall as me? Have your nose? Gott, I hope it has your laugh. Tell me, mama, tell me you can’t wait to be the mutter of my child. Tell me you want to be pregnant and full with my baby. Tell me, mama, tell me, please”

“Wan’ be the mother of your child,” you manage to slur, face nestled in the crook of his neck and breathing in his musky scent as his balls slap against the swell of your ass, legs shaking the more the knot in your guts tighten. “Fuck, König, wan’ you to take care of me while I’m so pregnant I can’t do anything for myself. Wan’ you to fret over me and spoil me so our baby comes out happy and healthy”

And suddenly, König is wrapping his arms around you and squeezing onto you as if you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. A part of you suspects that’s true. Another part, a part you’d rather ignore, hopes it’s true

“Ich komme gleich,” his rough voice pierces your ears. I’m going to cum. “Please, schatz, ich will in dir kommen” I want to cum inside you. “Lass mich in dir kommen, bitte, ich flehe dich an” Let me cum inside of you, please, I'm begging

“Cum, liebste, cum, cum, cum, please! Fuck, I’m gonna cum with you”

Your cries mix with his whines, and, just as abruptly as it all began, you’re both spilling over each other, praises and pleas and moans and whimpers pouring over your bodies and cocooning you in warmth and safety. Though he trembles beneath you, König gently nudges your forehead off of his shoulder so he can place a gentle kiss on your nose, then your cheek, and finally your lips, his cock spurting the last of his cum inside of you

Once he's sure you're both fucked out and blissful, he slides you off of his lap in order to inspect the mess on his thighs. Unsurprising to the both of you, some of his cum has managed to leak out of you, but he scoops it up and carefully slides it back into you, already half-hard at the thought of possibly fucking it back in you instead

“Do you really think I’d make a good mom?” you ask after he’s fetched you some water and a snack to nibble on. “Or was that just your way of going bareback?”

He playfully wrinkles his nose at your remark, and grins when you let out a snort. “I think you’d make the best mutter.” And his voice is so benevolent, full of so much adoration and love, that you can’t help but shyly smile up at him. He’s quick to place a chaste kiss on the crown of your head before getting up to wipe the sweat that gathered on his body, and you quickly swat at his bottom before he has a chance to dodge your hand

“What if I’m not pregnant though?”

The grin he flashes at you is such a perfect mixture of boyish and wolfish that, just for a breath, you forget what his profession is and good at it he is. “Then we’ll have to keep trying, won’t we?”

You have a funny feeling you’re going to be awfully busy for the next few months.

Reblogs/comments are always appreciated! ♡

#one day i'll be able to write smut without mutual obsession themes #today is not that day <3 #könig x reader #könig cod #könig smut #konig #konig imagine #konig modern warfare #konig x reader #konig cod #konig smut #könig modern warfare #♡.mine!#namedaftertheweather

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gremlingottoosilly · 2 months

Text

Maid-up problems (Konig x maid!Reader)

Konig goes to a maid cafe. Billions must perish. Tags and CW: yandere Konig, obsessive and creepy behaviour, Konig is a bit of a perv, colonel loser Konig, maids and maid cafes, general fluff, slight age difference, slight size difference, mostly from Konig's pov. AO3

— Welcome home, master. What your maid I get for you today, hm? König just died and went to heaven. Heaven consists of pretty girls running around in fluffy skirts, little aprons and putting on adorable headbands with white ruffles. Heaven filled with the smell of reheated pastries and pre-made snacks, with neutral sweet perfume and the stench of sweat from the customers. Heaven is filled with angels who run around in maid costumes and call him master – and all of this without going through the hassle of finding a cosplay-friendly prostitute in Vienna.

He honestly rolled his eyes the first time he saw the post about a new maid cafe opening in town. Horangi was the one to show him - the bastard didn’t even live in Austria and yet had followed all the news, maybe to only make fun of his colonel. He knows that the tiger has his dirty secrets too – ido girls, idol boys, some new band every week that he’d spend his paycheck to get all possible merch. Changing his gambling addiction to a k-pop one – all while his glorious commander is going crazy from the new maid hentai he just watched. Honestly embarrassing at his age…but he doesn’t care. He has money for the exclusive translations and elite figures – and he has some time on leave to visit the damn maid cafe. Then König meets you. He died, went to heaven and was greeted with an angel…no, a goddess. In a frilly apron, short skirt and adorable, albeit a bit embarrassed smile. You had your persona on – dorky and clumsy, useless little maid that customers liked to scold when you’d almost drop their drinks and then fake cry while apologizing. Some sadistic bastards like to play pretend by calling your manager while you’d beg for them not to. Some perverts with a hero complex would play into your pleads. König stares in awe as you drop the menu accidentally, not forgetting to show off your cleavage as you pick it up. Brushing it off with your finger, looking so tiny and shy…god, he fucking adores you already. — S…so sorry, master. Please, forgive me for dropping the- — It’s okay. Don’t worry, ja?

He reaches for your hand, but you shoo it away. No touching – the cafe policy, as dumb as it sounds. He knows it’s for your own good, to protect you from perverts and creeps – but you shouldn’t be so scared about touching him. He would have to train you to do this after. nothing that a few touches of a good military discipline wouldn’t fix though – and he is very good at breaking down dumb recruits and annoyingly stubborn people. Oh. Right. He still kinda has to order. His gaze immediately flicks to the most expensive thing on the menu – an exclusive dessert, probably too sweet for his tastes. He will have to make do though – there isn’t much on the menu, certainly is zero alcohol so drunk guests wouldn’t harass the maid girls, and a tiny portion of an omelet with some ketchup hearts squeezed all over it certainly isn’t to his tastes either. No, König had his eyes – covered by glasses, of course, he didn’t want to show off his scars and the expression of a serial killer forced to work in mercenary forces to cute girls in ruffled aprons – on a different prize. You.

And the exclusive photos and a hug from any waitress of the fine establishment that would come with this overpriced order.

König has never seen the manager of this cafe, but he is ready to give them all money he has – just for implementing this feature into the menu. Just for selling off their girls to any customer who is willing to pay almost 50 Euros for a piece of a pretty regular cake and some coffee.

You stare at his order for a few seconds, your mouth going agape. He is not hurt – it was weird, after all, for a guy like him to order something as silly as this. You’re probably weirded out, thinking that he accidentally put his finger on the order – but you know better than to ask again and risk him changing his mind. Your cafe gives off bonuses if guests want to take a picture with you so, naturally, you’re all smiles and nods, tilting your head to the side as you say, ever-so-sweetly, that you’d be back with his order. Now…is König ashamed of liking the pretty little maid so much? Not really, to be completely honest, he kinda adores having you around, and he’d pay even more for the opportunity to touch you. Too bad your cafe isn’t a front for some other body business – he’d be happy to raid it on the part of special forces and then save you from such a gruesome fate by making you his wife.

König wonders if your cafe has themed days. Maybe catgirls, cosplay, maybe housewives.

König wonders if he can get your number. Then his gaze falters to the reflection of his face in the screen of his phone – and, no, not going to happen. Not when he is fresh out of deployment, barely showered, and thrown a clean hoodie on which does very little to cover the smell of blood clinging to his body. It’s his cross to bear – his victims scratching at his ankles as the colonel sips on complimentary water from a pink glass and looks at all the other losers who coming to this fine establishment.

You’re lucky it’s a slow day – if König saw you being so sweet and touchy with some other lousy customer, he might have shot the whole place up. Master does not tolerate his silly servant being so nice to others, after all.

— Your coffee, master.

He whips out a stack of bills already, way more than what he was supposed to pay even with the exclusive offer he ordered. Your mouth opens to stop him, to remind him of the actual price of everything – then he breaks whatever good intentions you had when he starts to speak, his voice muffled a bit because of his black surgical mask.

— Do you have a boyfriend?

Oh.

Now, under normal circumstances, you’d yell for the manager to come and pick you up. You’d scream bloody murder and alert other girls and clients that you’re having a bad customer who is going into harassment mode very quickly – asking such personal questions at this place is something that shouldn’t be happening, no sir. Totally not happening.

But…the work has been a bit slow lately. You didn’t get as many bonuses as you wanted to, and the rent is coming up, and the phone bill is getting more expensive…sometimes you just got unlucky and his a streak of customers not liking your particular archetype – so if this weird dude who is totally killing people in his spare time wants a bit more than usual service and is definitely ready to pay for it.

You might have had a thing for guys in masks. Big, muscular guys in masks who looks like they can choke you with their thighs and then fucking destroy you. With money who can get you a bit closer to your savings goal. So, you’re not calling your manager, your friends, or the police. So, you play into the fantasy for a little bit, remembering all the acts your supervisors drilled into your head. — Of course I don’t, master. I’m here for you, remember? You smile and nod, hoping it will be enough. Hoping a guy like him could be satisfied with something as silly as this, something as tiny. You touch his hand a bit later, making sure to hold him for a while longer. A simple trick to enhance the amount of tip you can get – even tho you feel like playing with fire when you touch this guy so sweetly.

And, oh, König is…done for. Smitten. Shot right in the heart through his cock, somehow. This man survived battle after battle, destroyed more small countries than there is letters in his real name, but he was defeated by a pretty girl in a maid outfit in a cafe made for incels and otaku wannabees. If any of his lower officers saw him right now, with ears and cheeks burning angry red, with his heavy breathing and obvious, but concealed by table hard-on, he would be done for.

But, oh god, aren’t you just beautiful?

Obviously embarrassed and maybe a bit shy – he thinks it’s probably just your persona, a way to milk tips from the customers who like to play dominant, but König doesn’t even need to play. He knows he’d have to take you by the end of your shift, whatever this time might be. He is not the best person for the romance job, but he’ll be damned if he let a pretty thing like you just run away like a silly girl you are.

— Can I have your phone number? You want to say no, he can’t have your phone number. The guy smells of gunpowder and blood, looks like he is going to shoot the entire venue down if you disagree with him, and you do not want to die like a hero for a job that pays barely above minimum wage for the amount of public humiliation you have to endure to ensure good tips. The guy smells like danger and a bad time and a long conversation with your manager about the types of guests that they allow into this fine establishment.

You want to say no and yell but, then again, there are multiple factors that are screaming against such rush decisions. A huge chunk of money he still has in his valet is, embarrassingly enough, one of the biggest decision-making points. — We’re not really allowed to give our phone numbers, master… His hand goes to his pocket.

You’re not sure if he is touching his cock, his gun, or another stack of bills right now – but all of the options are kinda making you want to die before you can check your answers. It’s going to be bad either way, so you tilt your head to the side, trying to look as innocent as possible.

— But I can make an exception!

He actually startles, looking at you like you just agreed to marry him. You probably would, with enough bullet threats – but you still bite your tongue, not wanting to give the crazy guy an idea. You actually don’t know if he is crazy or not – but taking your chances isn’t something you want to do on a nice Monday dead work day.

You can see relief in his eyes. A little wrinkles of smile, too – his mouth is covered by a mask, but you’re almost sure he is grinning like an idiot under this thing. Oh no…you just insulted a customer in your mind. It’s really bad for business.

You write your number down and pass it right to his hand without anyone noticing…you hoped so, at least – you don’t want other customers to order the same special treatment and you know that the manager would have your head for overstepping the rules so much. No one would care that you’re saving this fucked up place from a massacre – they would only care about arbitrary rule-breaking. You lick your lips and smile as his hand lingers on you a bit too long.

His hands are big and warm, too – you’re getting lost in the touch, as he carefully caresses the back of your palm with his thumb. He is…surprisingly tender. As much as a killing machine can be tender, of course – but you do appreciate a softer, milder touch. You do appreciate his hands on your body, caressing it softly and maybe even leaning you for a kiss and a quick…

Oh god, what are you thinking. You need to stop, immediately.

He pulls from his table suddenly and you almost feel like you fucked up, somehow. Maybe he did wanted something a big more than what you were willing to give, maybe this guy wanted you in a way that was not friendly for the cafe – but he swoops you by your waist before you could say anything before your hands could go upright and smack him – and you stop right before hearing him saying the dreadful words. The words you wished he wouldn’t have enough money to say.

God, this is hopeless.

— Can I get my special offer now?

König makes it sound like the special offer would include you on your knees, choking on his cock. König makes it sound like it would include you on your back, taking pounding from him while he tugs on your dumb apron and tells you to cry for your master. König makes it sound like the short skirt of your outfit was not covering you enough, he makes it sound perverted, horrible, utterly despicable, he makes it sound like…

God, he doesn’t have enough self-control for you.

You just…look so scared. Nervous. You play with the fabric of your costume in your hands as the other maid – some faceless pretty thing for him, with his eyes glued to your side anyway – was making pictures. Polaroid, is overpriced for a couple of photos he will get…but he doesn’t care if he has to blow off an entire contract bonus if that means getting some bonus from you.

He gets to hold your waist and it’s so easily to imagine digging his fingers to your sides as he fucks you with as much passion as he could gather. It’s easy to imagine his cock pumping into you, your tummy bulging from the sheer size difference between you and him – poor thing, you’d probably be terrified as he would force himself onto you. Maybe you’d clutch your little apron adorably and beg for him to stop. Maybe you’d ask him to be rougher and more passionate – to make you his in all sorts of ways. He just…he can’t imagine not taking you home after this.

He hugged you, it’s basically a marriage proposal already.

You try your best to ignore the way his hand slips down, almost to the point of groping your ass. You ignore it, the girl who is taking the pictures ignores it too. No one wants a scandal, no one wants to point this out – everyone knows how tips are made here, and you sure as hell won’t be putting yourself in danger just because you feel his giant hand fondling you through the fabric of your silly dress. You forgot the protective shorts too - so there is only a matter of underwear and skirt between his hand and your ass.

Somehow, the sensation isn’t as terrible as you want it to be. Somehow, you feel like tips aren’t the only thing that keeps you from screaming at him.

König died and went to heaven – this much is obvious. He is taking a picture with a pretty girl, he touches a pretty girl in maid's suit and she doesn’t even say anything to him. He just went out from a successful contract that would keep his pockets full for a few months and went straight for his savings, and he killed more people than the last week – god, life is fucking beautiful. He fondles your ass with his hand, other is awkwardly limp to his side, and he already knows that he will be a regular here.

He hates getting his pictures taken – it’s normal for people in his line of work, being a mercenary and a socially active person isn’t something wise if you don’t want an enemy finding out where you live, but he doesn’t really care anymore – he will keep the pictures with you, hold it in his wallet and put a spare one in his vest pocket. You can be his little guardian angel, the pretty girl who is waiting for him to return.

And he does have your number with him.

— Are you happy with the pictures, master?

You tilt your head and König forces down the urge to squeeze your cheeks and kiss you. They way you say this, the way you call him master – he simply can’t resist, not when you’re too fucking adorable to miss out on. He knows it’s inappropriate, he knows you’re just working here, but it doesn’t stop him from leaving a hefty tip and making sure you know exactly what made him leave so much.

God, he can’t wait to make you his.

König wonders if you’d agree to wear a skimpier outfit once you’re at the safety of his house.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #call of duty #loser!konig #konig smut #konig x you #cod konig #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #yandere imagines #yandere male #male yandere #yandere #maid #maids

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