#and also that even if im bad enough off that i should be taking a break i should still do more

[plush-rabbit]

The One Where Adam Steals Lucifer's Babe

Word Count: 4.9K A/N: I had an idea about this, but I wanted to get it out. This was supposed to be headcanons, but it turned into a story!! woo(•_•)  This is also not done. Like I wanted it to be be headcanons so bad, but i need to establish a plot line because im like dumb. um, so yeah. if this does become anything more, i think max three chapter Its written as if Adam is a sinner so yeah!! -

Dating the King of Hell should be easy- nothing short of bliss and love. And it is easy being with the King of Hell, when he has to make appearances, and he has to put up a front. But being with Lucifer is much more difficult. You know he’s not over Lilith, and you aren’t even close to being a replacement for her. And yet, he keeps you around. You can trick yourself that he still wants you, that maybe he does enjoy being with you. But lying to yourself doesn't make anything easier. You walk out of the castle without a word to Lucifer, childishly hoping that he’d figure out that you weren’t there on his own. On your stroll to nowhere in particular, you check your phone constantly, hoping to see a missed message or call from him- some type of form that he still takes notice of you. You have to silence your phone when you feel tears prick your eyes at the empty screen.

You wind up in some sleazy bar, a bit too tipsy, and far too melancholic  to do anything more than swirl a glass of alcohol with melting ice. You watch the condensation drip down the side of the glass, creating a ring over the coaster. Beside you, the chair scrapes, and your spirits are lifted. It’s Lucifer! He’s chased you down and now he’s going to apologize and proclaim his- your shoulders fall when you realize that it’s not Lucifer. The realization leaves you cold and far lonelier than you initially were. Instead, it’s Adam- the First Man. You wonder for a brief moment if he even still calls himself that.

“Mind your fuckin’ business,” he sneers, sitting beside you. He lifts his hand, and the bartender pushes a glass and a bottle towards him, muttering something about a tab under his breath before turning his attention elsewhere. 

You heard he had become a Sinner- the very thing he sought to kill for entertainment not that long ago. However, you had yet to see him since he was stabbed by Niffty. You wonder if his new form has a hole in his back now.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he tells you, malice tinged at his words, but he makes no real motion to actively wave you off. You’re sure he would have if he was still divine.

A closer inspection reveals that he’s in far worse shape than you could have imagined. A beard that’s in the awkward phase of growing out, deep bags under his eyes, and gaunt cheeks. Hell has not been kind to him. But, what else could you have expected? He was an exorcist- the exorcist- and now, he’s stuck in Hell. Honestly, you should be surprised that his head isn’t mounted somewhere.

You turn back to your drink, and wipe a line of condensation off. “I’m surprised you’d even show your face around these parts,” you mumble, taking a swig of your drink. It burns going down, and you try to hide your displeased expression.

“Fuck you,” he hisses out, taking a long drink from the bottle.

“You know, as a former exorcist, I’d suggest being nice to demons around these parts.” You raise your hand at the bartender, and he walks over, and places the tab in front of you. “You never know who you’re gonna piss off next.” You leave a hefty amount, enough to cover your drinks and leave a pretty tip. 

“What? You’re gonna sick Lucifer on me?” You turn to him, embarrassment hot on your cheeks, and he wears a crooked smile. “Your face and his are plastered everywhere I look.”

With a sigh, you push the check away from you. “Must suck for you,” you mumble. His response is to take a drink from the bottle. “I hated having my picture taken before,” you tell him, unsure if he’s even listening or not. “I felt that they never really got my good side.”

“I’d get photographed all the time in Heaven,” he says in a low tone after a moment of silence. “Bitches could never get enough of me.” You scrunch your nose at the word, and fold the straw wrapper into squares. “Fucking loved it.”

“Wish I loved the camera.” You cross your ankles together, tucking them under the seat of the stool. “I hated being looked at.”

There's a pause in the conversation, long enough that you believe the small talk has ended. You could go back to the castle but if Lucifer hadn't taken notice of your absence, you'd surely have a breakdown. Maybe you could go to the hotel. Charlie would understand. “You still get your picture taken?” Adam asks, his voice startling you. 

You tilt your head to the side, underneath the seat, your legs twist around themselves. “Not as often as I used to. I think it was more like uh-” you wave your hand around and the folded wrapper unfurls itself- “shock value? I think. Like the King of Hell downgrading to some resident.” You smile bitterly. “Not even a Goetia or anything.”

“A Goetia?”

“These magical birds.” You look at him. “You’ve been in Hell for a bit, haven’t you? I’m surprised you haven’t heard or seen them.”

“I don’t get out a lot.”

“‘Cause you’re hated?” You ask, a wicked tone laced in your words. Adam responds by  mocking your voice with the same question. You scoff with a smile on your face. “I wonder why, if you’re such a peach.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

It’s silent. And you watch as the bartender grabs your drink, leaving the coaster behind. A memory of drinking with Lucifer pops into your head- his honeyed smile as he pours you a glass of wine that you would have never been able to afford, to even be aware of such a delicacy that existed in Hell. Never would he have taken you to some dingy bar where less than savory individuals reside. 

You’ve been taken care of. Pampered and adored for a considerable amount of time, before all the light had dimmed. You should have never allowed yourself to get used to such treasures. You glance over at Adam, and wonder if he can understand. “Do you come here often?” You ask him, crossing your arms over the bar. He chokes on his drink and slams the bottle down. He gives you a bewildered stare and you raise your shoulders defensively. “What? I’m just asking,” you say. “The bartender looks like he knows you.” You catch the bartender’s eyes and he quickly looks away. “Or at least enough to keep a tab open.”

“There’s not much to do around here,” he answers.

You fill your cheeks with air and let it slowly blow out through pursed lips. There's plenty to do- sort of. Minus the drugs and sex, most of Hell's greatest features are stuck in other rings. “There’s the Cannibal Sector,” you offer. “You gotta be careful but Rosie is nice and she sells pretty things. I have this hairpin in the shape of a human hand.” Adam gives you a look. “It might be a real hand, huh.”

“The fuck are you even doing out of your castle.”

You deflate. “Rough night,” you say with a sigh. “What about you?”

“Rough night,” he answers

You nod in solidarity. “I’m not usually a drinker,” you confess. “The taste is a bit too bitter for my liking. But being at the castle just wasn’t-” it’s not for you, the pampered life, acting as a placeholder, the King- “I didn’t want to be there.”

When Adam fails to say anything else, you feel embarrassed to even say something like that to the former angel beside you. He wouldn’t care. He shouldn’t care. Why would he ever worry himself over the likes of you, when your supposed partner couldn’t. He sniffs, and places the bottle down. It’s nearly empty. 

“Where do you want to be then?” His eyes are still golden, unblinking as he stares. 

Gold meets your own eyes, and you flicker to the horns over his head, curling overhead much like his former exorcist mask. You look back at his eyes, at the way he holds the bottle loosely. “I don’t know,” you confess. 

There’s a moment of silence, and he finishes the last bit of alcohol. You wonder how many he usually drinks before he goes back home. “You wanna come over?” He asks, and there’s a shade darker that brushes against his cheeks, and he tries to ask nonchalantly, but he toys with the words, and he swallows too harshly for him to not be worried about your answer. As if he’s asking some forbidden question. But, you’re lonely, and you don’t want to be alone in a bar longer than you already have been. 

You look at the exit, half-hoping that Lucifer would be there, ready to take you to his home, and a part of you is glad that he isn’t there. You look back at Adam, and nod your head. “Lead the way,” you tell him.

The sound of the bartender yelling behind you about a tab, has you smiling, feeling as if you’re dining and dashing despite you having paid for your portion. Adam doesn’t seem to care, walking without breaking a stride, just waving his hand without looking back. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re climbing up steps that need to be looked at, rust falling off with each bounce. You’re sure that you can hear something unsavory going on in a room, but a whistle from Adam has you scurrying along. There’s no reason that you should know anything more than you already do. 

You enter his apartment, and take a careful look around. It’s messy- clothes strewn across, dishes left out, and you feel pity for him. A single couch is close enough to the rather small television, a coffee table that has paint chipping and dents is one of the few pieces of furniture in the rooms. A sliding door is closed, a few broken blinds giving you just a glimpse into the outside. “You certainly,” you pause, trying to find something nice to say, “have a place,” you end defeatedly. You stand near the door, clicking the lock into place, as if that would protect you from any dangers out in the world. Perhaps you should be worried about Adam, about the angel who would bear his fangs and be drenched in blood, too excited about senseless murder. But you catch him kicking things under the couch, trying to spruce up the place even if just by a smidge.

“Fuck you,” he says without conviction. He grabs at a pile of clothes and tosses it on top of a chair, leaving the couch clear for you and him to sit. Smiling softly, you take a seat. He places himself close to the arm rest, and watches as you look around. “I uh, I clean- sometimes.” He sounds unsure of himself.

“I like cleaning,” you tell him, grabbing at a magazine on the worn out coffee table. It’s some tabloid, and you see a snippet of you and Lucifer in the corner. You turn to the page where you two are supposed to be. It’s titled as “Issues at Home?” You frown, and turn to another page. “I like organizing and stuff. Um, it helps uh, Lucifer. He does a lot of projects.”

“You don’t got any?”

“I have hobbies, but they come and go.” Your eyes skim the page, talking about Velvette’s new clothing line. You pull your lips into a thin line, a part of you wants to wear her outfits, but you aren’t sure you could pull them off. “It’s all just-” you flutter a hand in the air- “you know, stuff.” You place the magazine back on the table. “What about you?”

He smiles and leans back on the couch, the cushion creasing under his weight. “I like to play the guitar.” You perk at the mention, and watch as he rests his hands over his stomach. “I was in a band. Played the guitar, got all the chicks that I wanted.”

“Were you good at the guitar?”

He nods his head. “Oh, you should’ve fucking seen me. I was like a fucking god on stage.” He holds his hands out and mimics a guitar. You huff out a laugh, and watch as he lets his hands fall. “I got to fuck whoever I wanted. And I mean, who wouldn’t want to fuck me? Look at me.” he tosses you a lazy look, matched with a sly smile, and you can see how people would be attracted to him. “I was the first dick– of course, everyone wanted me.”

“What songs would you perform?”

“Rock mostly.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Crowd went wild.”

“You’d perform in heaven?”

He shrugs. “Most of the time. If I felt bold, sometimes the band and I would do a show on Earth. I’m telling you humans would just throw themselves at you, begging to be fucked in some grimy ass restroom.”

You scrunch your nose. “Sounds gross.”

“It was,” he says with a faltering smile. He cocks his head to the side, and there’s a softness to his words. “Gross as shit, but the girls were hot.” 

You cross your ankles together, and turn to face him. Your arm cushions itself between the couch and your head to watch him. “Do you not play anymore?” you ask hesitantly,

He sucks on his bottom lip, teething at the skin, before letting it go. “I haven’t tried to summon my harp- guitar- shit, thing, since I’ve been here.” He closes his hands into a loose fist and kicks his legs up on the beaten coffee table. “There’s this pawn shop a few streets down, and they have this guitar for sale.”

“Are you thinking about buying it?”

“I have other shit to worry about.” He gives you a look, a fleeting sense of  exhaustion and acceptance that washes over him, that makes him feel a bit more real, a bit more like you. “It isn’t even that good.” He sounds like a child, trying to justify something to themselves. “It’s beat up, and the strings are probably worn-” he shakes his head- “it's not worth it.” You open your mouth to reassure him that it probably is worth it. That despite the condition that it’s in and the price for it, if he wants it, it's worth it. Even if he could never play it, even if it’ll never be restored to its original beauty, it would be his. You only manage to suck in a gulp of air, when a knocking at the balcony door grabs your attention. “Some fucking bird that keeps bothering me.” He looks over at you, and glances back to the door, and back at you. “I have a balcony. Wanna sit outside?”

You nod quickly, closing your mouth. “Yeah.” 

He walks past the door, and leaves it open for you. Just like when you entered, you close the door behind you, half-heartedly hoping that it won’t lock behind you. His balcony holds two chairs- both different kinds and both equally as rough looking. A part of you wonders where exactly he got this furniture. There’s a dying plant shoved in the corner, the leaves brown and stem wilting under the weight of the dying leaves. 

“Quit judging,” he snips. 

You scoff, a smile teasing at the corner of your lips. The air of Hell is cool, wind breezing over your skin and you stare down into the streets, watching as Imps and Sinners live their lives, peacefully uninterrupted. Sitting down, your breath hitches when the chair dips under your weight. It’s quiet between the two of you, silence in each other’s company where you both just stare at the world in front of you. 

You can see the holy light from the embassy, and you can see Heaven’s light- the rings that are protected by wings. It lights up the night sky far better than the pentagram ever has, and sitting under the light of it, makes you wonder if anything is different in Heaven since Adam’s death- or rather, reincarnation. “Do you miss Heaven?” You ask, before you can register the weight of the words that it holds. You turn to him, almost scared of any answer that he would give.

“That’s a stupid question,” he spits out. You don’t respond, and you stay looking at him. He turns his head to avoid your gaze, his legs stretching out in front of him. After a beat of silence, he looks ahead of him. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “I do.”

“What do you miss about it?”

“Full of fucking questions, aren’t ya?” He stays silent, and after a moment, he lets out a soft sigh. “Everything.”

“There’s not many stories about Heaven down here. You know, minus the ones that we all know. The golden gates-”

“Pearly gates,” he corrects. You look at him, and he has his eyes casted down. “They’re pearly.”

“The pearly gates,” you correct, “the clouds, the happiness and peace. I just- Other than that, there’s nothing else to go off of. But I guess, why would I know. Heaven seems so far away, like some mythical place.”

“Your boyfriend doesn’t talk about it?” Adam asks with a sneer.

“No,” you answer without hesitation. “He doesn’t like talking about Heaven. Sometimes-” you lick your lips- “Sometimes it feels like he hates everything and everyone down here. Like he can’t stand the idea that he’s stuck here.” You scratch your neck, and pinch your legs together. “It’s like the memories of Heaven are too painful.”

“That magazine said y’all were breaking up.”

“Maybe,” you answer.

“You can talk about it if you want. Would make this night a helluva lot more interesting.” You look at him. “I’m all ears.”

“And horns,” you tease.

“Fuck you,” he says with an impish tone.

You smile, and kick out your legs. Your phone buzzes, and with hope, you believe that it’ll be Lucifer. Your heart sinks when it’s only a notification from Sinstagram. With a frown, you silence your phone. “In the beginning, it was easy to forget that he was married. I mean, I always knew. He has her portraits hanging, and he talks about Charlie constantly.” You smile bitterly and scratch at your phone case. “I don’t blame him for that, but-” you shrug- “it hurts knowing that he still clings to her.” When Adam stays silent, you continue. “He can be kind- real attentive and sweet. But sometimes, when he’s had a uh-” you struggle to find a word- “a bad day, he gets real low. And I hate to admit it, but he gets clingy and it’s nice to know that I can still serve him in some way.”  Your fingers pinch at the bridge of your nose, and you let your hand cover your mouth. “But then, there are moments, where it feels like he’s actually looking at me- where he’s just everything,” you say wistfully, your hand stretching out in front of you, clasping around the night air. You glance at Adam, who watches your hand as you pull it back to yourself. “Sorry, I uh, I didn’t mean to ramble.”

“So why’d you leave then?”

Perhaps you’d get a biased opinion- you’re aware of how Adam feels over Lucifer, and practically every other inhabitant of Hell. He thinks of himself above any other, his own pride being the very thing that made him unaware of Niffty running towards him. You chew on your lip, your hand scratching over your neck. You need to speak to someone. No one else at the hotel will ever give you a straight answer- or at least the answer that you want to hear.

With a sigh, you kick your legs out in front of you. “I like Lucifer.” You can feel his eyes on you. “But, sometimes,” you drag the word, and your body feels hot, “it’s like he’s not present in the relationship. He gives a lot, but he hardly ever asks for anything.”

There’s a pause. “What could you even give him?” he asks in sincerity. 

There’s a pang in your chest, wrapping tightly, threatening to crush your bones, and leaving you a battered and broken mess on Adam’s balcony. You can’t give him anything that he doesn’t want. He has his daughter, he had his wife, he has his title for better or for worse. All you can offer is a moment of content, and even then it seems that you can no longer do that.

You shrug your shoulders at an attempt of a weak answer. “I know that he’s still not over his wife. Or ex-wife. I'm not too sure of the title and I hate to ask. He gets all mopey and deflective.” You kick at the ground, and insecurity hugs you tightly, and drips into your words. “He stares at portraits of her, and well, it’s hard to compete with the literal Queen of Hell, when I’m just-” your jaw stiffens, and you look at the ground through blurring eyes- “me.” You stand in her shadow without even having met her. “Even when I dress up, I feel like a child playing pretend. I don’t- I’m not like her.” You’ve stared at her portraits that still hang in the palace, and they consume you. Her smile, her delicate hands, and the elegance that is so evident in portraits.  It feels childish to compare yourself to someone so regal and poised. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “My ex was pretty hot.” Your eyes widen, and you turn to him. “They both were.” He lets out a sigh, and keeps his eyes fixed in front of him.

“Adam,” you squeak out. “I’m sorry.” You shake your head, blood rushing to your face, making your body uncomfortably warm. “I hadn’t meant- I didn’t mean to talk about her with you. I’m so sorry.”

“The fuck are you apologizing for?” He asks, eyes narrowed and mouth twisting to an ugly sneer.

You cross your arms over your chest, bringing them to an ‘X’ where your hands curve over your biceps. “It’s just that I’m talking about Lucifer and your ex-wife.” You frown when he gives you an ugly look. “I just- I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He gives a shrug of his shoulders, his gaze still focused elsewhere. “Lucifer already talked shit about how he banged both of them. It's whatever.”

Your brows furrow, and you watch as Adam pats his pockets, fisting a hand into one of his pants pockets. He fishes out a pack of cigarettes, grabbing on and sticking the tan end of it into his mouth. He motions the carton at you, and you pull your mouth into a thin line. 

“If you're gonna bitch about smoking, you're one lame sinner.”

“Eve? He slept with Eve, too?”

“Oh shit.” The cigarette hangs between his teeth, until pulls it back into his mouth. “You didn't know.” He almost sounds apologetic. He grabs at a lighter and it takes a few clicks to light the white of the stick.

“He doesn't really talk about his sex life before me.” You slump further into yourself, your nails scratching over your skin. “It's in the past. I know I shouldn't be hurt over what he's chosen to share with me, but-” you toss your head back, and in the red sky, the stars are dim. “I don’t know. It just feels like another kick on a shitty night, ya know?”

“I’m shitty?” He almost sounds offended. 

“No, no” you shake your head. “If anything, you’re like the one good thing out of this night.”

“Yeah, well, you ain’t so bad yourself.” You turn to him, your head cocked to the side. “You got a nice body. If you weren’t stuck here, I would’ve bagged you already.” You stretch your lips thin, and Adam shrugs, blowing out a puff of smoke.  “You’re easy on the eyes.”

“Thanks Adam,” you say hesitantly. He holds out the cigarette towards you and you wave your hand. “I’m good.”

“So what now? You gonna go back to him?”

“I don’t even think he knows that I’m gone,” you say honestly. The confession makes you feel lighter than you thought it would. “It’s comfortable with him. It’s easy- I don’t have to worry about things, but, I also don’t have to worry about anything. And sometimes, I want to worry. I want him and I to argue about dumb shit, and I want to worry if he’s coming to bed or not, and not being resigned to the fact that I know he won’t.”

The silence is broken by the scraping of the chair, and you watch as he rises, stretching his arms above him, the cigarette pinched between his fingers. “Eve tolerated me,” he says quietly, letting out a breath of smoke. You look at him, biting at the inside of your cheeks. “She loved me for a while. She was devoted to me. But I uh- I’m pretty sure that was because she was made from me.” A hand cups over his side. “Blind loyalty or whatever. But when she bit that apple, whatever she felt for me was gone.” He speaks quietly, and slowly, as if the words and the thoughts of it were slowly piecing themselves together, a puzzle that he had long put away in order for it to never make sense. “She didn’t care what I did as long as I left her and the-'' someone below lets out a scream, and Adam turns to you, his face flashing a moment of vulnerability before he looks away and puts out the cigarette under his boot. “Well, Eve was Eve.” His brows soften, and he looks tired. “I didn’t tolerate her.”

“Meaning?” You ask quietly.

He shrugs. “I did love her. She had a part of me after all.” He looks over at you, and his hand tightens over his side, pulling at the fabric. “But that’s not important anymore.” He turns away, and walks back inside. You scurry after him, making sure to lock the balcony door behind you.

You stand awkwardly in the room, unsure of what to do next. Truth be told, you had planned to spend the night in some dingy motel if Adam hadn’t sat beside you. But now you’re here, in his dingy apartment, truths and insecurities laid out for the two of you to bear witness. A part of you wants to bid him goodnight, and maybe when you’d see him out in the streets, you’d give him a  cordial nod, and remember how he listened and talked about his ex-wife, and he’d remember you in positive light, despite you only being a mess of insecurities wrapped in sin. 

But now, you don’t want to leave. At least a part of you wants to continue this conversation, to keep the comfort wrapped tight around you. You tap your foot against the ground and Adam looks at you, his eyes staring at yours, unwavering from yours. You hadn’t realized just how powerful he stood beforehand. 

“You can stay if you want,” he says slowly, unsure of the words that he’s saying. “Take the couch or whatever,” he attempts to sound indifferent, but you can hear the sincerity in the words, uncomfortable, but sincere. “I got a spare blanket you can use.” His teeth are sharp, and they peek out to tease at his bottom lip.

“Really?” You ask, eyes wide and you take a step forward, and he looks away. “I can?”

His mouth thins into a grimace, and he gives a forced shrug. “Do whatever you want.”

You look at the couch. It wasn’t uncomfortable to sit on, but you’re sure you’ll wake up with a sore back. However, you don’t want to go back to Lucifer, and you don’t want to go to some dingy motel where you’re sure you’ll drink until you’re sick. Looking back at Adam, you nod, a smiling teasing at the corners of your lips, and he finally looks away from you.

“Yes!” You clear your throat. “Yes,” you say in a softer tone. “I’d like that. Thank you, Adam.”

“Whatever.” He walks into his bedroom, and you sit on the couch. He returns with a blanket, and he stands at the end of the couch, looking at you. “I’m not making you breakfast or anything. You gotta figure that shit out on your own.” You nod. The only real worry that you have is that your phone’s battery is at an uncomfortable percentage that you aren’t sure is going to last you.

“I hope Hell is nice for you.” He raises his brows at you. “It’s shitty and the smell of decay is always kinda there, but sometimes, it’s nice down here.”

“Hell is supposed to suck.”

“And it does,” you say with a shrug. “But not all the time, Ads.”

“Don’t call me that.” He tosses a blanket at you- it’s thin and threads have begun to unravel at the seams, but it’s soft. “I’m turning off the lights.”

“Goodnight,” you call out, holding the blanket close to you. You can only smile when the response is a closed door.  

#hazbin hotel #adam x reader #hazbin adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin adam #hh adam #im writing for him alot #also!!! #mammon is coming back?? #my king?? #my one and only?? #th sin that i apparently fall for every damn time?? #im blessed #i wanna see him #i miss my beloved #i'll get to some requests next week #jst because i have finals #so i see yall #and ill get there one day #next week for sure

[blueskittlesart]

Hi! As someone who now kinda wants to check out Trigun because of the hype, do you recommend that I can start with Stampede? Or do I really need to watch the OG anime first to better understand/enjoy it? Thank you! 🙋🏻‍♀️

you can start with stampede! i'd say knowing the context of the original enhances the experience but isn't necessary to enjoy the show. I would consider stampede more viewer-friendly, especially for those of us who are used to modern storytelling conventions (the original suffers the consequences of general writing trends in anime at the time it was produced and of the fact that it was produced long before the manga was finished, so the story is somewhat disjointed and has a lot of filler which makes it REALLY hard to get into.) if you do end up liking stampede, however, I'd suggest trying out watching at least SOME of the original because it adds a lot of cool nuance and context to the story that stampede tells!

#your only REAL handicap is that you're missing out on references that clue you into the context of the story early on #and quite a few references in the finale. but none of those references are hugely necessary to understand the plot so you should be fine! #i didn't DISLIKE the origial and like i said im glad i watched it first but it was. REALLY hard to get into. #even as someone who understands writing trends & enjoys a lot of older anime trigun is. a product of its time. #there's almost no context given for the story you're witnessing until a good 20 episodes in. #the main villain isn't named at all until halfway through the runtime #and even TWO EPISODES BEFORE THE FINALE i still did not have enough information to fully understand what the hell was going on #vash was going into the final fucking battle and i still didn't know what knives WAS let alone what the fuck he WANTED #not to mention nick was FULLY DEAD and i still didnt know what his deal was. like ok go off king have ur moment bleeding out in the church #but can you EXPLAIN WHATS GOING ON BEFORE YOU SUCCUMB TO THE BLOOD LOSS PLEASEEEEEEEE GOD #stampede does that whole thing WAY better imo. it sprinkles the backstory more naturally throughout the show #again. part of this is 90s writing conventions. but there's only so much i can take fr #it was like comparable to evangelion in terms of LACK OF CONTEXT #anyways. this isnt supposed to be me complaining about the original. it had its moments. i watched 24 episodes of it like it was not BAD #but like. i think the story really benefits from the way that stampede chooses to lay everything out. is what im saying. #tldr watch them in whatever order but if you like stampede try the original #you might not like it more than stampede but you WILL feel cool when you realize how it all relates to stampede #asks #vash is also WAAAAAY sexier in stampede. HOWEVER. the women of the show are like 10 times sexier in the original. so. pick your poison ig

[dullahandyke]

i look at some of u guys talking abt a new show u watched or a new thing u read and im like. holy shit thats a thing u can do. im in awe of u. i spend my time slowly ping-ponging between several interests whose base componants i can never experience because i get scard

#right now its danganronpa again grin. did u know ive been into it on and off for lets say 7 years at this point #and ive never once played it myself. i have it installed on this laptop ready to go and i just! never open it! #because if Im the one playing it then i have to pay attention and i get scared #but if im watching a lets player i just naturally pay attention without the pressure #ive talked before how i always feel i need to have the smart cool takes on shit #n this deep plays into that #idk boti was good for me bcos nobody fucking knew what it was so nobody could judge me for pardoning anotsu's crimes bcos he was hot #so i probs need to do that again #yknow a thing where i disconnect from anything that anyone knows about and get really really into some dipshit manga from 2008 #but also like. i get a lot of my media recs from people talking abt what they like #which then means i defacto have someone who is gonna know if my takes are shit #and like even now. im watching mop cycle w dri and im having fun w it #but i feel bad bcos i see so many ppl like This Is The Best Anime Ever and i just like. dont get it #like i can actively feel the messages and shit whooshing over my head #its a fine anime! i'm having fun watching it! but i don't get all the commentary abt pacifism or whatever #idk. something something my need to be The Smart Kid The Bookworm Kid that went unchecked too long without peers to challenge me #so now im here like Uh Oh #and like this wouldnt be the end of the world (save for its impact on my mood n stuff) #but also like. i am an english student. i should know this shit. but i stragiht up do not feel smart enough to sometimes #i keep coasting by on the assumption that im a smart kid and i'll automatically be better than my peers #and im being disproven #i got an english exam back tonight and i got like 63% #and i like college! i just dont like. college. #anywho its approaching 3am and i have a 9am tomorrow morning which means bedtime

[rubiesintherough]

.

#(( ooc. )) #venting tw #negativity tw #i know ive been bitching about this a lot lately but just let a girl vent pls #husband just got home and said 'you look tired you should go lie down ' #and i told him i cant. i have too much housework to do. 'well lay down after that ' #cant. because then i have more housework after that. #and he got all huffy at me like i was being dramatic #and he said 'how am i supposed to snuggle up with you if you arent laying down? c #and i shot back ' who's going to do the housework if i dont ' #and he rolled his eyes. straight up rolled his eyes. #this is the man that is constantly telling me to just ask him for more help. just make a list #yelled at me and stormed out of the house whej i told him to pls just use his eyes #bc i dont have time to make him a list of chores #and also the man who if i do ask him to do smth it doesnt get done #examples just from today. he was heading into town and i asked him to please bring the recycling with him. he didnt. #he yells at me for doing the cat litter bc its bad for my asthma. but then leaves it until its bad enough i have to do it #bc its unfair to the cats to expect them to use a litter box that bad. and then he gets mad at me for not just asking him to do it #like. its in the bathroom. right next to the toilet. he has to look at it when hes taking a shit every day. and youre telling me #he doesnt notice it? i have to remind him??? #and then i get yelled at and reprimanded for just doing it myself #' ASK FOR HELP DAMMIT! ' #i do. i do all the fucking time. i ask you to empty the garbage bc bending over makes my back scream. but you dont #and i have to power through and do it. #i ask you to bring the recycling into town to drop off. and as soon as you leave i find out you didnt even gather it up. #i ask you to please clear out the bathtub drain. for two weeks. and you brush it off until the day i decide to #do it myself and you get so passive aggressive about it and ' no ILL DO IT. the tool is back in my mom's room #guess I'll just go WAKE HER UP FROM HER NAP so i can grab it since you need it done! ' #im so tired of asking and then just being disappointed anyway. #if im gonna get yelled at anyway id rather just do it all myself so at least its done. and not sit there and beg for help and do it anyway

[kethabali]

yall.. ive been gathering up energy since the semester ended and i finally cleaned out my fridge today.. there was over 20 dishes to wash and a 30 gallon trash bag filled completely i also broomed and mopped my room and the kitchen and wiped down the counters

#it was insane bro #i cant believe i was living like that #like wow i knew livoing alone was gonna cause some chaos but this might be the worst it ever got so far #fortunately i am moving soon #so i think that will help a lot of things #for one i think theres a dishwasher (hopefully it works)and laundry in the building #two its 20 minutes from my school #three the layout is much smaller so it will be less cleaning #the layout is also a favorite of mine from other places ive lived so i think i'll even enjoy cleaning.. #bathroom is also my favorite layout so cleaning it and myself should be more approachable as well #overall if theres no hidden horrors in that place i should be much better off #also back in my favorite neighborhood so im happy about that very much #anyways i feel like ive been living in such chaos the last semester and now im resetting and its good but also im worried #bc what if it goes back to that state of chaos i just cant i hate when im in that state i cant think logically #and when i cant think money gets wasted and i feel like shit from not taking proper care #overall bad experience and i just want long term goodness and stability man #ive had enough last semester had to wake up early too much and classes were WAY TOO LONG ive learned 1.5 hr class 2x a week is better for m #actually audhd #actually adhd #actually autistic #🧃 #but one step at a time right.. i can do it.. #i wonder how much adhd meds would help #if only i could get DIAGNOSED somewhere grrrrrrrr #i bet they would help with the executive dysfunction #which is the main issue #and maybe i need to start paying more attention to my sensory needs so i use up spoons slower #i was doing more of that last spring and it was a good semester despite the stress from that chemistry class #this semester is all my favorite subjects and only 4 classes #earliest class is @ 11 and thats only twice a week

[heartyearning]

context for today’s rant is that i got the feedback on my jury’s written feedback in the ‘general’ section (meaning it comes from more than one person) that i’m disrespectful towards my teachers and fellow students (i got it phrased in 2 different ways for flavour) & when i asked around today who said this so i could see how i could change my behaviour (btw none of my fellow students think this which i know bc i asked and everyone was shocked that i got this feedback) all of them were ‘i dont think this but it was discussed that’ which is funny bc it means the school’s computer system has a ghost or no one wants to fucking apologise to me for a very personal and hurtful comment that they can’t back up, but anyway, i was asking for clarification & my most diplomatic teacher (who i dont for a second believe to have written this feedback bc she’d have said so to my face no doubt) was like “well some teachers are worried about you and [best friend]’s clique & think it might turn into an Intellectuals Vs Others thing” (i don’t need to tell you this is so fucking out there i nearly fell from my seat like i have never said this in my life and when this very teacher saying this made a comment about one of my less-well read fellow students i was one of the ones who ‘‘rallied’‘ or whatever in her favour) and anyway then she continued “some ppl feel like u make condescending comments & you just need to remember not everyone has had your trajectory in life” WHICH IS FUNNY because she says this bc my bestie’s got a whole philosophy degree but i’m a highschool dropout with a lower than average iq in certain subjects. which obviously isnt even close to being the point and i do know that but i’m clearly feeling very upset and mad about this whole situation.

#my mom says i shouldnt let this embitter me but i think they should either find an example of when ive been disrespectful #or apologise to me and take it off the written feedback #i had to sit there and listen to everyone say that they dont think im disrespectful which is so fucking humiliating #because i KNOW that. but i still spent all weekend long worried out of my mind & i sat there trembling like a leaf and fucking crying #because i feel so betrayed by all these people im ngl. like im supposed to open myself up to these people and i DO #and be vulnerable with them and i AM #and yet when something like this comment is thrown around in a feedback discussion no one stands up for me? #& i know that they dont like. know all of us individually THAT well like i know that im vulnerable and open with them and they dont like #remember specifics #but theres only 14 ppl in my class which granted is a lot but its not enough to just forget that ive never done anything disrespectful #to any one of my fellow students #in the words of my favourite wrestler: This Has Hurt Me. #and in the words of my best friend who is mentioned in the post: kinda sus the only two people who got this type of feedback #(she didnt get it QUITE so harshly but she got the feedback that she should be a little more considerate towards other students #which is still nonsense because literally like everyone else said she's the one we'd all come to if we ever had a problem) #but kinda sus that the only ppl getting this feedback are the two neurodivergents in the class #whatever. whatever whatever ive been crying im upset im somehow even more upset by one of my teachers being like #'this isnt ok esp this phrasing & i'm gonna look into this' like she's super nice and sweet and it does make me feel better #but its also like. confirmation that i SHOULD feel upset somehow? idk. oh it sucks so fucking bad #& i told one of the other ones about this in terms of like 'listen i have autism i dont always know how to interact w ppl #so when i do this or that this is what i mean' and she was like 'wow ive learned so much this discussion has enriched me' #werent the point bestie. the point was for you to please stop making assumptions when i am not the only person to react in this way #very unhappy right now. this has hurt me dot tweet

[bitchthefuck1]

were you a septiplier shipper because you give that energy

That's honestly the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me

#tbh i actually don't know anything about either of those people so I can't even say for sure how offended i should be rn but when has #'you give off the energy that you ship youtubers' ever been a good thing #i feel like this is kinda on me for saying id die before i admitted to what i shipped when i was 11-14 because my bar for what counts as #embarrassing enough to take to your grave is pretty low #like one of my not very online friends casually admitted to reading harry styles x oc fanfic on Wattpad as an adult and like. if i was her #you wouldn't even be able to waterboard that out of me id kill myself before id admit to it #like the actual answer is cringe but its not THAT bad #also im just pathologically opposed to shipping real people #like no thank you. not the vibe not for me

[donttouchtheneednoggle]

head hurty

#not any more like that but last night #love having a pain condition triggered partly by anxiety but also it caused the anxiety to be constant in the first place #i dont get chronic migraines bc i dont get them often enough its usually like 1 every 2 months nowadays but sometimes it can be 4 in a week #bc having one makes it more likely i have a another soon after #but i sure as fuck have acute migraines #i remember being in school and classmates being like oh i have a migraine going off to take their meds and then coming back to class?! #whereas as soon as i had an aura id go to the office and be like can you call my mum she needs to take me home #and i thought i was just being weak and i should just push through it #but you can't push through acute pain nausea vomiting and disorientation #there are literally parts of my brain or thoughts i can't access during one ill be trying to think of a word and i can't find it #they usually only last like 2-3 hours but it feels like a lot longer when you're sitting in the dark can't even lie down feeling like hell #and ik some peoples go on for days some people have them more days than they dont ik im lucky to have such short and fairly infrequent ones #but its still beyond horrible and feeling like a ticking time bomb constantly watching out for an aura #and worrying about going somewhere you can't easily get home from #and I've only just started to be able to talk about it i could never understand how other people could talk about theirs flippantly #when mine terrified me more than anything the amount of bad feelings #but she's working on it having realised after 8 years that it doesn't have to be like that 🤣 #mine #n e way sorry for the rsnt all good now chillin in bed ✌🤣

[cerbreus]

i may be bad at many, many video games. but i am comically bad at rdr2

#i keep accidentally killing ppl who attack me and then i get bounties #i keep taking too long looting when i've been mugged and i get even more bounties #i was trying to fight off a pack of wolves when the law men found me and had to fight off the wolves AND 6 law men long enough to run away #istg if i do anything other than hunt deer i get bounties put on my head im tired of paying them off #also i keep getting mugged by gangs more n more and fighting them is risky bc.. of the bounties... #i tried to save a man getting mauled by a wolf but i failed and he died #then some guy rides past me n this dead guy and reports it as murder and i get ANOTHER bounty #i've had to start giving ppl a wide berth when i ride past em bc 3x now if i was too close ppl got mad n started shooting me #and if i shoot back n kill them then there's ALWAYS a witness who reports it as murder christ #maybe i should just start hog tying ppl and leaving them like that #the game also hasn't taught me how to not kill ppl in melee fights so i dread getting challenged lmfao i don't want to kill these ppl! cmon! #anyway i tamed my first horse :-) #naming all my horses after beans #my stuff #i am not even to the 3rd chapter of the game yet i think i haven't even seen the bad predators or anything #major hijinks to ensue when bears start popping up fr

[moonlitsnail]

oh to not be traumatized....

#personal #been rlly anxious all week but today its like bad bad #probably should cry it out this evening? i know thatll fix it i just havent wanted to #started doing smthn for my mental health this week thats been insanely hard and i know itll be good for me once im thru #but currently its making me v v anxious #and that was not helped by being triggered abt an hr ago so im like..staving off a panic attack on my lunch rn #its mostly just like. i know other ppl would not have the same reactions i do to stupid shit and i know im behaving normally enough so ppl #dont know but also im gonna be exhausted tonight for sure bc it takes so much energy to maintain normal #this trigger feels like such a stretch too like cmon really? why are we doin this? logically i know its nothing but ugh

[imaginarypasta]

completely changing my stance on spoilers (hyperbole) because fundamentally i’m not a person that is bothered by spoilers in appropriate contexts i think & there are many flavors of spoilers that are imo permissible (respecting ofc that some ppl hate them im talking about receiving spoilers) & i think the text should stand on its own. but there are situations where people are so cavalier about deeply relevant reveals/twists/whatever, that are quite… disrespectful to the work.

like say you have this narrative where you spend the whole time thinking one thing but then something happens where it’s revealed the information you’ve been getting the whole time is wrong in some way and now that you know it, you can never go back, but having that change in perspective *and* having that initial reading (or whatever) experience was quintessential to the themes/narrative/etc (especially themes in this case). like i don’t think that should be spoiled (unless someone is like. asking. or you’re having a specific public conversation abt it and they like overhear or something but can leave. like that sucks but it’s also like. what can you do) and the act of spoiling those things just misses? doesn’t care? for the mechanical aspect of the reveal & what it does retroactively, practically, and for any future readings.

and like i get it i’m sure i’ve spoiled things like this for people by accident bc it’s not like i ever tag spoilers for stuff when im ranting to the void about whatever on here. but the specific context for this situation was advertising a book in a comments section of a post not about the book. and the recommendation itself was based on this super important reveal and it just so happened to be a book that i am in the middle of so it sucks

and i think most people are good about acknowledging/recognizing these moments. i say often “i’m not bothered by spoilers” but im also used to hearing (and saying) “i get it but this spoiler greatly impacts your experience. it’s relevant that you already have opinions on something before you learn more” or something along those lines. it’s just when it occurs to me, it always happens to be something i’m super invested in and would’ve thought was like the best twist ever ever

#personal #i’m generalizing the experience because it’s happened a few times to me lately all for situations in which the initial read through being #wrong was an important mechanic while reading #just like. i know im being really dramatic about it when i don’t need to be and also probably hypocritical (i can’t think of a specific #instance but i know for a fact im very cavalier abt revealing spoilers myself. i try to avoid this in one on one conversations but im not #perfect) #i’m literally just pissed and ranting about it. i do think as a general rule this applies to what i think but it’s difficult to put into #practice so it’s like. i need to adapt it i suppose #and it’s just worse bc like. i read the comment and im like ‘well shit that maybe ruins that for me which would probably be my favorite #aspect of the book’ and turned off my phone and left it for a while. (this was my fatal mistake) #and then i go later to open my phone and someone is like ‘oh yeah i was shocked when that happened. here is the specific line btw’ and bc #i’m in the middle of the book i have enough context to understand exactly what’s going to happen #like that’s my fault for not closing out the app but like how could i know and it’s like i’m mad but at who #and it is a situation where commenting ‘spoilers for book’ would be the same as saying the spoiler itself so really i just shouldn’t have #read the comments. but am i supposed to just not do anything for as long as it takes me to read the book?? that’s completely impractical #which is why i’m so cavalier about spoilers overall bc i think the text should stand on its own even when stuff like this accidentally #happens. but if the text relies on the mechanic of ignorance and later reveal i think that’s impressive not bad #AGHHHH it’s complicated and i’m mad… #this is how i feel about the ******** remake too. taking out the reveal (paraphrasing) is… ruining the #narrative is too hardcore but is what i think #see i almost did it myself :( #and yk what it’s also about **************

[savethepinecones]

sooo glad im moving next month

#sometimes i really hate living with my mom #idk what it is but sometimes when we get into arguments it turns into a shouting match #and like i never get like that with anyone else #like i never even yelled at that one roommate i had who was a total nightmare #who was like objectively far worse to be living with #longtime mutuals know the deep piney lore of the fake dementia roommate im not gonna get into it rn cuz thats not the point but like #it was Bad #anyway i got into a screaming match and i think i fucked up my throat and im pissed at myself for yelling #and during this argument i was told that i 'do less than nothing' and have 'given up on life' #and also that im relying on 'handouts' and 'mooching off others' because i 'dont want to work' #and also that even if im bad enough off that i should be taking a break i should still do more #i think the exact phrasing was 'im not saying you should do more im saying you could do more' #as if pushing myself to do more than i should isnt a big part of why ive had to stop working in the first place #like surprise surprise that shit catches up to you #anyway that really sucked and i was a sobbing mess but i had a good chat with my sibling in law #who is also gonna be my roommate once i move #and im feeling much better #also im going to visit them and my sister this weekend cuz my grandma is doing a family christmas party #and i live like four hours away so im gonna stay at my sisters place while im out there instead of getting a hotel #and i might go out a day or two early depending on how my morning goes parentwise #also gonna bring some boxes out there so i dont have to move all at once so im gonna have to lift stuff ough

[crescentmp3]

hmm. things on eye

#i am getting visions (random light appearing in the corner of my eye) #and my eyes are sore. #hmm! perhaps i need a doctor to check that out #i also had what i think was the very early sign of visual snow a few weeks ago. probably should get that checked out too #oh well. parents would die rather than take me to school #i have my glasses off right now and am depending on my muscle memory to type completely correctly since i don“5 want to have my phone - #- right up in my face... #im supposedly incapable of seeing far but its gotten bad enough that it's hard to see things right in my face too so i simply have my - #- glasses on 24/7. which may not be the best thing for me #hm. #🌙rambling #// take- take me to school? the doctor. i meant the doctor #i dont. know how i typed that #i have great typing skills that are so good im even great at typing what i literally did not say

[sadcop]

i said this on twitter but the dark knight quests are not made for ppl who react violently to coercion lol

#you tell me how i'm supposed to feel? i kill you and consume your body #once someone said i wasnt mentally ill enough to appreciate it but um. i want to murder fray. and eat them #so whos the real mentally ill person here. #i know theyre just part of the characters psyche and not 'real' but that just makes my want stronger. #but MAN frays behavior in these early quests piss me off so bad. i dont feel that way about the randos you say i feel it about #but i certainly feel that way about you! im going to fucking kill you! #are people just like. okay? with the way fray speaks to your character? it feels so manipulative. #and then of course the quests get really good after that so... #maybe im just too familiar with taking dark parts of myself and making it 'other' so fray is nothing new to me #but even my own dark parts wouldnt treat me the way fray treats the wol. i have more self worth than that #fray should tell you to murder more ppl tbh because everything else they do just comes off as being an asshole #i think they couldve gone harder with the bodyjacking thing also but what they did was good

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

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

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment. 

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze. 

 König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others. 

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!” 

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect. 

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up. 

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child. 

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru. 

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes. 

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest. 

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!” 

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away. 

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!”  König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture. 

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you,  König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you. 

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt. 

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny. 

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone. 

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge. 

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.” 

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction. 

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl. 

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance. 

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.” 

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!” 

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience. 

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done. 

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling. 

Evolve, or die. 

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later. 

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.” 

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants. 

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA. 

The Lieutenant is one of them. 

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead. 

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t. 

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact. 

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself. 

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins. 

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.  

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was. 

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding. 

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed. 

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes. 

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide. 

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady. 

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire. 

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock. 

Your finger slams into the trigger. 

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself. 

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König. 

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary. 

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch. 

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later. 

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure. 

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König. 

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone. 

Anyone but you, that is. 

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter. 

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced. 

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down. 

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm. 

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?” 

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment. 

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour. 

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you. 

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence. 

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up. 

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh. 

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest. 

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.” 

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given. 

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly. 

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.” 

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?” 

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

 König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?” 

He freezes, muscles going taunt. 

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?” 

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away. 

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate. 

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit. 

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over. 

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side. 

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air. 

König kneeled to you and bared himself. 

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this. 

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood. 

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug. 

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning. 

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he. 

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame. 

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears. 

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him. 

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat. 

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English. 

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril. 

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust. 

You find none. 

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening. 

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words. 

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize. 

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized. 

For you to come back to him. His partner. 

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths. 

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

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[destructive-path]

having ‘single hot lesbians in your area looking to fuck!’ ellie brainrot…..

tags: 18+ NSFW (duh) swearing, smut, strap usage, theres a x video linked for ur pleasure that loosely inspired this….

a/n: i had a much better ending to this but tumblr deleted it so sorry if the ending SUCKS also not proofread ( i have a gun ) IM LAZY

“fuuuuck.”

your grip tightens around your phone when the mystery woman you have been chatting with sends you a picture of herself.

the photo cuts off just below her nose, so you cant make out her full face.

her mouth is slightly agape.

the picture is illuminated by a red light.

the woman is wearing a black tank top and black jeans. she is slumped in a sitting position with one hand resting on her crotch.

its just bright enough for you to notice a tattoo on her forearm.

“fuckfuckfuck.”

this cant be real. is this real? she was hot. you couldn’t even see her face but you knew, she was hot.

“okay…”

hesitant to strike up a hookup with a possible catfish you took a second to consider the worst outcome of this situation. eventually you decided it was worth the risk, the longer you stared at the image on your phone the more the voice of reason dissipated. too eager to peak behind the curtain you let curiosity win.

when are you free?

E. 1 hour. you know the motel on 5th?

the creepy one or the 50s themed one?

E. …

E. the creepy one.

a regular romeo

E. 1 hour.

see you then xx

you clutch your phone to your chest and start to feel slightly manic. were you actually about to slut yourself out to some stranger you met online? on a website you found from a porn ad no less. apparently so.

with a toss of your phone across your mattress you sought out the bathroom in order to prep yourself for the night ahead.

—

this place wasn’t as bad as you remember, still creepy…but it had a solid remodel that eased your senses.

when you make it to the correct room number you stop for a moment just before your knuckle comes in contact with the door. should you turn around and forget this whole thing? being just inches away from your goal really made reality set in. before you can lower your fists and turn away the door swings open in front on you.

she looks even better in person. taking in the whole picture of her leaves you speechless. god those eyes. she was such a cruel thing to leave them hidden, you think.

one of her eyebrows raises at your frozen nature. but she doesn’t say anything and just leans against the door frame with her arm resting above her head.

“e-ellie?”

you question. with your hand still stuck in a fist formation as if you were still going to attempt to knock on the door. unable to move due to pure shock, you wait for an answer whilst the woman in front of you observes your state for a moment.

she gives your body a once over then steps aside to give you access to enter the room, still saying nothing.

“ill take that as a yes”

you say and make your way past her, twisting to the side due to the fact that she didn’t give you much room to enter the space anyway. once you land in the middle of the room your cheeks grow hot.

theres a king size bed in the middle of the room. for some reason the sight of only one bed makes you sheepish. it makes sense, you and ellie didnt link up to have a sleepover in some shitty motel in separate beds. still you couldnt help but feel nervous at what was to occur on that bed in the next few hours.

“youre late.”

finally she lets you her the sound of her voice. it shocks you. its more delicate that you imagined, its laced with some bass and a hint of rasp but still its, almost soft?

“im sorry?”

she’s unimpressed by your apology and growing clearly suspicious of your fidgety disposition.

“…”

you swallow thickly feeling intimidated by her stare. your eyes leave hers for a moment to observe her physique. her photo holds up in person.

ellie is less revealed in front of you currently contrasting to the image she had sent you earlier. a black button up hangs loosely around her shoulders, the top few buttons are left unclasped revealing the valley of her chest. you can spot freckles there. the shirt is cropped right above her belt buckle to which she fastens her equally loose fitting jeans. it creates a silhouette around her that makes your thighs rub together slightly.

“you’ve never done this before have you?”

you had stared entirely too long and you cursed yourself for it.

“are you- damn, is it that obvious?”

she leans into the doorway smirking slightly as she turns her head away from you. she’s attempts to hide her amusement, but you catch a glimpse of her grin.

“mhmm.”

she nods and bows her head. her tone reads like shes doing her best not to laugh at the current situation. like she should’ve known you would be this lost sort of thing, unsure of how to proceed with this sort of exchange. the notion has you riled up. she didn’t know you. what right did ellie have to decide that you were a prude? even if that wasn’t the case, you didn’t come here to be laughed at.

“so what your some sort of veteran?”

pure sass. ellies biggest vice. she hated retaliation from others.

“fuck off.”

you relished in the feeling of finally making her show you an emotion other than contempt.

“oh? its okay if you want a badge, just say so….”

your smiling now but as soon as you watch the woman push her weight of the wall and begin walking towards your direction you wish you hadn’t begun this dangerous game.

“careful. dont start something you cant finish.”

you were definitely in over your head.

—-

(consider)

if constantly chasing absolute pleasure was a sin, you were going straight to hell.

ellie had ruined you.

you werent sure how long it had been. whos sweat was sliding down your sides as ellie strapped into you with unparalleled precision. but you didnt care. everything had become so slippery, including your thoughts.

you had hooked up with other women before but never like this.

ellie was a grandmaster of pleasure. the bed room her chessboard. each move she made knocked over a piece of your fortitude. until you were left with no choice to fore-fit complete power insuring her victory in this match. having become bored of the somewhat vanilla hookups you endured, you sought out something a little more, dirty. something more raw, dangerous. maybe it was the thrill you chased, but there was one thing you knew forsure. ellie was filth personified.

if it were possible you would spend the rest of your life in the walls of this motel room. after what you could swear had been hours of experiencing pleasures (that you didnt know existed) you sought out more to no end. to ellies surprise, your stamina was impressive considering how foreign you seemed to intamacy this intense. something about that intrigued her deliciously. she had made it a point to see how far she could bend you until you broke. she wanted to see you cry. to scream her name for everyone in the motel to hear.

what ellie didnt expect is that she would begin to fold first.

you were so eager. the woman had flipped and fucked you every which way until her body was sore. but still you wanted more. your thighs were spread and knees pointed to the sky as ellies own resolve began to crumble. she supported her weight with her palm to your waist as she gave you what little energy she had left. too stubborn to let you steal an orgasm from her she struggled to fuck you at a consistent rhythm. you could feel her hips stuttering and the mere thought of her beginning to snap only made you move your hips against her faster.

jesus you were practically fucking ellie yourself now. even though she wore the strap it was you who was in control. every movement of your hips pressed the back of her harness in a way that massages her clit perfectly.

grip tightened on your hips as ellie began to chase her own high at the feeling of you rubbing against her.

“keep going. just like that.”

the sound of your voice oozing desperation, it was music to ellies ears. she was barely moving at this point losing strength by the second at your words. bending down to hear you closer she settles in your neck.

“yeah?”

she encourages more of that sweet music leaving your lips. the more moans you surrendered the more whines ellie rewarded you with. creating a symphony of lewd noises. the melody you two created so easily only fueled the fire in the pit of ellies stomach, which was now something closer to the size of a bonfire. her composure was burning at the seams and the only thing that eased the singe she felt was the taste of your sweat on her tongue.

once her mouth began its advances on your neck you could tell she wasn’t going to last much longer. you could feel the way she sucked on your skin like it was medicine. your pussy had brought her to a fever pitch and she would do anything to let it break. her tongue danced on your jugular and she swore she could taste your pulse. the suction she created with her lips left behind precious pink and purple marks in places where you couldn’t hide them if you tried. not that you cared, ellie made you feel so good you wouldn’t dare protest in fear you might miss a pleasure you were sure no one else on this earth could give you.

just a little longer, a little deeper you thought to yourself as your hands floated to the plush of ellies ass. pulling her so close to you that you began to feel her cock in the spot that made your whole body vibrate.

“t-there!”

you shout as your body resumes its involuntary progressions towards the womans hips. the pace of your hips doubling in speed finally makes ellie shatter into a million tiny pieces.

“w-wait baby im-“

you didnt mean to become obsessed with the feeling of it all. the way she thrusts into you until she cant move her hips any more, the feeling of her falling ontop of your body completely limp. the way her cock reaches so deep in you is too tempting. it feels so foreign and you feel so good that you have to see it through. until your broken and unable to move a muscle. you cant help but obsess with how she sounds in your ear while you buck your hips into hers. unraveling in your grasp.

you don’t pay ellie any mind as she comes while you roll your hips into hers. you cant. ellie had taken so many of your orgasms tonight that you relished in being the one making her succumb to a moaning mess. a string of ‘oh gods’ leaving her lips until finally she was chanting nothing but your name until you were seeing white.

with a final arch of your back at your release your bodies collide, the feeling of white hot pleasure mixed with skin to skin contact makes you both hum. your hand wraps around her back scratching there harshly before you bring her body back down to yours landing on the mattress with a soft thud.

two idle minds were all that was left in this space, too dumb to remember how to complete the simple act of breathing. neither of you can move as you desperately seek out any air to return to its rightful place in your lungs. needless to say it took a moment for you and ellie to form a coherent thought. or a coherent breath.

when a sliver of life entered ellies system she used her minimal strength to leave her home in your neck and support her weight just enough to remove the toy buried in you. the sight had stolen a chunk of strength. she sighed shakily at the way a string of your slick connected to her cock whilst she pulled away. the action causing her head to fall on your chest in awe. ellie was weak.

“perfect.”

you could barely hear the sweet complement leave her lips. before you could comment on it she placed a kiss on your sternum and trailed upwards until she met your lips in a tender peck. each time her lips made contact with your skin you twitched. even the smallest kiss left you feeling over stimulated.

you couldn’t help but curse yourself knowing that you just had the best sex of your life with a stranger you met online in a motel, and that if shed ask, you would definitely do it again.

****

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