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tryslora · 1 month

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On Writing Combat and Sex Scenes

Today I want to talk about writing sex and combat (and no, I do not mean combative sex). This post is inspired by a few recent events:

Once, a long time ago, I read a blog post that said “if you can write a combat scene, you can write a sex scene” and that was mind-blowing for me because while I was well-versed in writing erotica, I couldn’t write combat to save my life.

More recently, at Boskone, I participated on a panel about writing combat, and the research involved there-in.

Even more recently, I had someone look at me say, “You’re not a gay guy. How do you write gay sex scenes?”

So. Let’s begin.

I get it—sex and combat aren’t interchangeable. But at their core, they have some strong similarities which can be leveraged while writing. Both are intense, high drama, and can involve a lot of anxiety and quick thought. Both tend to narrow focus down to the moment and the current feeling and action. Both are heightened emotion and physical reaction. Both can involve actions that lie outside the author’s personal experience.

I started writing erotica when I was a freshman in college. I posted it online (does anyone remember rec.arts.erotica?) and was surprised (and pleased) by the compliments I received. Turned out my readers were not expecting the idea of emotion being entangled in their erotica. They were invested emotionally in how the stories went, and how my characters felt. Since I was writing from the point of view that made sense to me at the time, they were het stories from a female perspective, and they were very focused on the emotional connections and how the physical events heightened those emotions.

Male readers were surprised by the intensity of the feelings that these stories gave them (as opposed to pure arousal). It got me thinking about how I wrote, and why I wrote, and I tried to talk about it some at the time. I was eighteen. I was still a new writer. The internet itself was new. I wasn’t entirely certain how to frame it, but I remember getting one comment where a guy was surprised at how struck he’d been by the moment in the scene where everything shuddered to a halt due to an event in the story that interrupted the action, and I replied that that was because I wasn’t writing about the sex. I was writing about the character’s reaction to the sex.

Which has always been how I write. At the time, that was my only tool: put myself in the character’s mind, and write what they feel. If that’s affection and attraction and physical reaction, write that. Tangle it up, and hope the reader feels that entanglement.

Now, fast forward several years, and take a little side trip onto a tangent wherein I learned something very important about writing craft.

I was reading Syne Mitchell’s End in Fire, I think it was, and I kept having panic attacks. Now, I did most of my reading late, often when I woke in the middle of the night due to stress, or just because my brain refused to rest. I was in a rough place in life in general, with a lot of external work stuff going on and very small children. I wasn’t sleeping well. And it took me some time to figure out why I was struggling to read a book which I actually loved (and when I read it later in life, I enjoyed it greatly).

It was the sentence structure.

In order to induce the emotion of the scene, the sentences were short. Sharp. Quick. There was no time for the reader to breathe, much like there was no time for the heroine to do anything but act. The reader was caught up in the rising tension, to the point where my anxious, sleep-deprived brain, caught a panic attack from it.

The technique was brilliant.

Now back to our original timeline, wherein I read a post about how if you can write combat, you can write sex scenes. This post assumed that more people felt comfortable writing violence than sex. I was the reverse. I’d been writing about sex for over a decade when I saw this post, and it made a light bulb go off in my brain.

If writing sex was like writing combat… was the reverse also true? Could I improve my skills at writing battles by analyzing what worked when I wrote erotica?

So I tried doing just that. Back then, I found combat overwhelming. There was so much going on, and I was trying so hard to write good description that I lost all of the intensity. I was focusing on everything that was going on at the same time.

Thinking about how sex scenes were all intense emotion and narrowed focus, I applied that to my combat scenes. I wrote only what the point of view character experienced, and tied everything to their actions and reactions. I thought about how they breathed, how they moved, how they thought. I used those short, sharp sentences as they processed the scene.

That doesn’t mean I forgot about everything else going on in the scene. That’s impossible. After all, in any story the things the character doesn’t pay attention to might be as important as the things they do focus on. Stuff still happens, and there is still fallout. I needed to know what else was happening so that if the character moved from one place to another, or did something that put them in the path of a different part of the action, I could have them start processing it.

But it also meant that on the page, out of sight was out of mind. Everything narrowed down to the now. The immediacy. Suddenly my combat scenes snapped into focus.

During the panel at Boskone, all of the panelists had experience with different fighting styles (fencing, street combat, and of course, me with taekwondo). I spoke about how for me, that narrow focus is very real when I spar. I know there are some people who naturally see a move or two ahead while fighting; I don’t. I am stuck in act and react mode. Can I kick them now? Can I attempt a head shot? Oh, no, circle back and away or they’re going to hit me… that’s how my brain works during a sparring match.

It’s not like a total blackout—there should be a vague awareness of things around the character. Sounds in particular, or sometimes flashes of movement. Something distracting can catch the attention of the fighter, but the personal fight will always pull the character back.

Combat feels easy when I’m writing like that.

Of course, there’s still the question of writing about something if I’ve never experienced it. As someone did point out to me: I am not a gay man, so how does that affect writing sex scenes? I’ve also never fought with a sword. Brawled. Fought from horseback. I have, however, held a blade, shot a gun, shot an arrow, rode a horse. I have a vague idea of how these things work, much like I have a working knowledge of sex in general.

So yes, research gets involved. Sometimes research is observational, sometimes it’s reading (there’s so much good stuff out there). I highly recommend video for combat scenes—find things that have the feel that you’re going for, then put yourself in the place of the character you want to write about. Practice. Work through the ideas of how things fit together, and what your character will (and will not!) know during the fight.

If you need to, stand up and block the scene by thinking about how you would experience it. What can you see, and what is out of sight? If someone is coming at you with a blade, what are your options? How do height differences affect you? Yes, I have asked friends and husband to help me block scenes.

“Stand right there and show me what it looks like if you punch me. Okay, so if I do this then…” Yeah. It’s a thing. But it works.

When doing your research, remember that movie fighting (and hell, movie sex scenes) isn’t realistic. It’s meant to look good. For combat, if you can find re-enactments, or sparring videos, I highly recommend taking a look at those.

Anyway, the point is: I don’t have to have shot someone, and I don’t have to have had gay sex in order to write about them. What I do need to know is how it feels emotionally to do those things, and I can extrapolate that from what I do know. I need to know enough about the details so I can get it right, and that’s where research will help me. Also, use language to create emotion. Because emotions are where we grab the reader, and how we pull them into the scene.

Combat and sex aren’t so different when it comes to writing, and the personal experience. Now, go forth and write!

#writing #writing resources #writing sex #writing combat

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savagegood · 9 months

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@shinjiroatae1126: To all my fans, today was a very special day for me. For years, I struggled to accept a part of myself...But now, after all I have been through, I finally have the courage to open up to you about something. I am a gay man. It has taken me a long time to be able to say I am gay. I could not even say it to myself. However, I’ve come to realize it is better, both for me, and for the people I care about, including my fans, to live life authentically than to live a life never accepting who I truly am. I hope people who are struggling with the same feeling will find courage and know they are not alone.

ps, he’s released a new song, “into the light”, which you can watch here. part of the proceeds from the single will go to lgbtq+ organisations

@shinjiroatae1126: July 26th, 2023 was a big day for me. I finally gathered the courage to come out to the public as a gay man. I am grateful to have received media coverage from multiple platforms both within Japan and overseas.

To be honest, I was extremely anxious before all of this happened. However, I've been pleasantly surprised to discover the overwhelming amount of positive feedback pouring in from both my fans and people who have come across the news about me. It's heartwarming to see that my story is being acknowledged from all around the world, and this brings me immense joy. Although they may be baby steps, I sense that this world is gradually moving into the light. Yesterday, I made an announcement about resuming my career as an artist. I also released a new song titled “Into The Light”. The music video for the song is also on YouTube now. This song is packed with the emotions and thoughts leading up to this point, including my decision to come out. Living with anxieties and struggles is not limited to just LGBTQ+ individuals. I hope this song can be a source of encouragement for anyone carrying such emotions. I've aimed for it to become a song that can uplift those with similar feelings. A portion of the proceeds will be donated to Pride House Tokyo, Japan’s first permanent LGBTQ+ center, and ReBit, an organization providing resources and support for LGBTQ+ youth. I hope this song will touch many hearts.🙏🌈

At first, there was total silence. Then, there were shrieks, wild applause, weeping and shouts of “I love you!”

Fans of Shinjiro Atae, a J-pop idol who has been on a nearly two-year performance hiatus, had come to hear him talk about “the challenge of my life.” Standing onstage in a dark auditorium in front of 2,000 fans in central Tokyo on Wednesday night, he revealed something he has kept hidden for most of his life: He is gay.

“I respect you and believe you deserve to hear this directly from me,” he said, reading from a letter he had prepared. “For years, I struggled to accept a part of myself. But now, after all I have been through, I finally have the courage to open up to you about something. I am a gay man.”

Such an announcement is extremely unusual in conservative Japan, the only G7 country that has not legalized same-sex unions. Earlier this summer, the Japanese Parliament passed an L.G.B.T.Q rights bill but it had been watered down by the political right, stating that there “should be no unfair discrimination” against gay and transgender people.

In making a public declaration, the 34-year-old Mr. Atae, who spent two decades performing with AAA, a hit Japanese pop group, before embarking on a solo career, said he wanted his fans to know his true self. He also hopes to comfort those who might be grappling with anxieties about their sexuality.

“I don’t want people to struggle like me,” he said.

AAA debuted in 2005, with Mr. Atae, the youngest member, forgoing high school. He performed mostly as a dancer, and began appearing in TV series and movies.

His sexuality perplexed him. “It was a time when on TV, comedians would say two men kissing was gross,” he said. If anyone asked if he had a girlfriend, he just said he was too busy working.

Activists said they could not recall an instance when a Japanese pop star of his stature had publicly declared they were gay, because of anxieties about losing fans or sponsors.

“I think he has decided to come out in order to change Japan,” said Gon Matsunaka, a director and adviser to Pride House Tokyo, a support center for the gay and transgender community.

The decision to open up about his sexuality, he said, evolved over seven years of living in Los Angeles, where he saw how freely gay couples could show affection in public and built an extensive support network.

“Everyone was so open,” he said. “People would talk about their vulnerabilities. In Japan, people think it’s best not to talk about those things.”

Mr. Atae’s decision, he said, was not political. All he wanted, he said, was to “normalize” being gay. Coming out, he knew, would likely draw criticism. “Whatever you do, there will be haters,” he said. “I can only focus on the people I might be helping.”

#this made my week :')#please give his new song a listen and leave him a lovely comment on instagram #shinjiro atae #aaa #japan #jpop #queer #lgbt #lgbtq #gay #long post

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svgvru · 8 months

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✮ 𝗖𝗥𝗔𝗩𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡! despite how proud he might seem, he's a little boy starved for love and attention.

𝗗𝗨𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗖𝗧! ꒰ buggy d. clown / dom,m!reader ꒱: spicy ꒰ sex is mentioned ꒱, slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader is mentioned to be trans. op:la buggy in mind ꒰ but anime!buggy can be interpreted ꒱, "gay" can be interpreted for either of its meanings, this is just rambling about him frfr, some headcanons abt his past are incorporated!

𝐘𝐄𝐒, 𝐁𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. he's craved it from before his time on gol d. roger's ship, to now in his fame, where he's grown to be a feared pirate all across the east blue. his parents were assholes, assholes who abandoned him. and like deadbeat parent, they never gave him an ounce of love and attention. his apprenticeship on roger's crew didn't grant that much love and attention either. but no matter what time period, no matter what character arc he's in, your attention—your love mattered above everyone else.

no matter what time period, or character arc your in, he's always shouted for your attention in his own way. from the time you were just a girl—another brat on roger's crew, to the present where you've met with ivankov and became a man and a revolutionary. from pretending to do something grand, or taking credit for something shanks did on an island, he was always trying to impress you. even more so now that your a famous pirate and revolutionary, even more famous and strong. even more so now that your a man—that made his little gay heart jump at the sight of you.

and no matter how stupid he looked, whether it be trying to take credit for someone else's work, or fighting shanks, you always gave him your attention. the laugh that left your lips, and the smile that graced your face when he would do something goofy made him blush. it made him more determined to him have your eyes on him, no matter what he does, good or bad. he just needs your love.

a simple look of disapproval from you would bring a sting to his heart. he tried to be cool! he tried to get you to notice him like you did when you were on roger's ship. however, he went about it the wrong way.

how stupid could be, forgetting that you are in fact a revolutionary? the look you had on your face, a mix of digust and he could swear anger, when you heard of the "audience" he had aquired sent an arrow through his heart. and it wasn't cupid's type of arrows. how could he forget the reason you joined dragon in his efforts to destroy the world government. idiocy. it was idoicy on his part, and he desperately hoped you didn't hate him. if you were to hate him? there's no telling what buggy may or may do.

he deserved getting his ass beat by the ragtag pirate crew known as the "straw hats." he deserved having his plans ruined, and maybe you liked it? did you think it was what he deserved? if you did, then that it was.

and the anxious feeling he felt when he pulled back together the broken peaces of his "freaks" and heard that you were in the east blue was one like no other. just a few islands away, there was the man he's been craving attention and love from. he desperately hoped you would grant that silent wish of his.

of course, he was curious as to what a big shot like you was doing in the east blue instead of the grand line, though he didn't think on it too much. all was focused on was the image of your smile directed in his way.

it was only a "coincidence" that his ship pulled up right next to yours—looking quite small in comparison he might add. it was only a "coincidence" that he appeared at the same bar you were in out of 5 others on the island. it was only a "coincidence" that he happened to sit next to you at the bar when he ordered a beer. "buggy?"

the calm, smoothness of your voice made his heart flutter and he looked in your direction, pretending he "hadn't noticed you," as if he wasn't staring at you in the corner of his eyes. "whhaaat?! your here? shock—errr..."

you chuckled at the nervous chuckle he let out after his words. you always happened to love the way he speaks. the inflections in his voice and how constantly excited or host-like he seemed was adorable to you. although, you'd never out right say that. buggy hesitantly started the conversation, carefully asking what you were doing in the east blue, dodging questions about his circus in fear it'd bring that expression back.

he was awkward and like his 13-year old self again, he awkwardly blurted out his wish to converse with you longer, but elsewhere. "to learn about the revolutionary army," he said, and you clearly knew otherwise. everyone in the bar new otherwise. his crew, your crew, the bartender, and innocent bystanders could look at you do and practically see the tension the two of you have. "sure, we've booked an inn nearby," you suggest, walking backwards out of the bar while looking at him. you gave a quick glance and a smile to one of your crew, which he assumed was your right hand. the two of you talked with your eyes, and the man nodded back and started whispering to the other members of your crew.

"c'mon, bugs." you nod towards outside with the door propped open by your foot. bugs?! well, that means your not mad. his heart thumped and he silently gave orders to his crew and happily ran walked behind you.

you could see his puppy eyes, hell, they matched his behavior, following you to the inn like a lost puppy. cute.

buggy silently begged for your attention, your affection, wishing you could read his mind and look at him, smile at him. he desperately wished you were focused on him. he, of course, got his wish when the two of you arrived at the room you booked in the inn. his heart leaped at being so close to you after so long.

his breath hitched and his heart thumped when you looked up at him as you sat on the edge of the bed. his breath hitched when you told him to take off his fur-lined jacket, when your hand accidentally grazed his bare arm. his heart thumped when you got close to him, when your smile was wide and bright, begging for him to talk. his breath-hitched and halted when you smashed your lips against his. his heart thumped when your hands massaged his sides and slid off his striped, red tunic. his breath became ragid when you touched him all too delicately, prepping him for you. he swore his heart jumped from his chest from when you first slid into him and touched his prostate.

his eyes watered from your tender touches. fat tears rolled down his cheeks as you were being so gentle with him, cooing and reassuringly squeezing his thin waist. he only wanted to cry more when you missed away his tears and whispered the sweetest things to him. buggy the clown, a feared pirate of the seas, was crying because he finally felt the love and attention he so craved, specifically from you.

it would be you and only you who could do this him. you were the only one who could fuck him this good and reduce him to tears with your love.

buggy didn't think you loved him. no one loved him, so he'd buy that love, or make people love him. but the genuine love he felt from you was something he'd never experienced. it tipped the scales and nothing could hold a candle to it. to you holding him delicately, wiping his tears and kissing his lips with an "it's okay," with an "im here, baby." nothing would ever be better than this and he hoped and prayed to whoever would listen that this would last forever. that he would always be able to feel your warm touch and your love till the day he took his last breath.

his trembling lips mumbles an "i love you," and the moment you say it back, "i love you too, buggy," in the sweet voice of yours, he looses it.

no matter when or where, he will always crave your attention. and now, he was always get it. he'll always be fulfilled, he'll always be loved, by you. by the only person who dared to pay attention to him and grant him affection. he'll ask you to tell him you love him every day, every few hours. "do you love me? tell me you love me." "i love you, bugs." even when you put a ring on his finger and kiss him, promising the world, he'll still get insecure. "do you—do you still love me?" "yes, buggy. i still love you, always will." a quick kiss to his lips'll shut him up and he'll smile to himself. it doesn't matter who loves him now, he just needs yours and he'll be just fine.

꒰ n: i love him sm :( he's my baby and jeff ward was fantastic acting as him! i could talk about buggy for hours, okayy. ive got the urge to keep writing for him, so any buggy requests r welcome! ꒱

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lizzieisright · 10 months

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At least I got you in my head (smutty bonus)

prologue (8) end

Can you read it on it's own? Yes!

Summary: In the beginning of your relationship you ask Abby to go slow for her own sake, because you don't want to overwhelm her with gayness. Abby, on the other hand, is so sexually frustrated she can't think about anything except sex.

Tags: first time with a woman (Abby), communication (they can't shut the fuck up! i love it for them), top!Abby, oral, fingering, Abby turns into a victorian man once again.

Taglist: @abbyily @lillysbigwilly @gravygranules @blairfox04 @frogtits1 @ccinnamongrl @ninazenuk @urmomsgirlfriend1 @sunkissedbibi @couchgarbage @nil-eena @inlovewithelliewilliams @st4rluvrr @mai5mai @machetegirl109 @azelmawrites @rhae-blackqueen @vea-vea-vea @mnim58e @chubeline @strgrlxox @chrry1ovr @littletinyladybugs @shaemonyou @luvrmunson @saffronssapphic @zootedhoe @2012wannabe @elcantsleep (don't know if you guys would want to be tagged in this, sorry if not!)

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Abby was in fucking heaven. Being out and dating someone as gorgeous and smart as you? Being able to come back home to you? What could be better than that?

You were so attentive and understanding, caring, Abby even felt a little awkward, not really used to a partner who cares. You two talked a lot about being gay and how it changed both of you and how it was still changing Abby.

The first thing Abby enjoyed about being a lesbian was: she got to be dominant. With men she didn't really have an outlet for her natural dominance because well, gender roles and even if boys were okay with her being more assertive, they still expected her to be more of a seductress than what she had in mind. With you Abby got to enjoy initiating things the way she wanted to, grabbing you and kissing you, pressing you against all surfaces in the apartment - her favourite was picking you up and putting you on a kitchen counter where she could grope your thighs all she wanted - and you enjoyed it too. You told her so many times how much you loved her strength and Abby felt drunk on it, having someone to see it as something attractive instead of an obstacle.

"I'm scared to hurt you." Abby said, restraining herself from gripping you harder.

"Okay. We can do something with this." You smiled at her, your arms around her neck as you played with her braid. "Squeeze my thigh and I'll tell you if it hurts."

Abby squeezed carefully, not really using her strength, scared.

"Harder." Abby squeezed harder. "More." Now Abby felt like she was getting closer to what she wanted to do, but she was still anxious.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not yet. More."

Abby squeezed like she wanted the whole time, fighting her anxiety - you wouldn't lie to her, right?

"More."

Abby looked at you, surprised, but squeezed even more harder, digging her fingers into your thighs.

"Yeah that hurts a little, but still okay. Remember this feeling, okay? That's how hard you can go without hurting me. Works for you?"

How did you manage to fix all her worries Abby had no idea, but fuck she was thankful to have her first relationship with someone so understanding and open-minded when she was not sure what she was doing. It felt like fucking puberty all over again.

Abby was super fucking horny. Never in her life did she think about sex so much as she was thinking these days. And you were fucking mean.

(you were level-headed and wanted the best for her)

You told Abby you didn't want to rush things and let her have time to actually settle in her skin and not go head first into things so she wouldn't freak out, and yes, it made perfect fucking sense so Abby agreed to it.

Did she know you would not rush things for a month? No she fucking didn't.

No she fucking didn't.

Every time when Abby'd try to get a little further you wouldn’t let her, and if Abby could understand why two weeks ago, now she was thinking the problem was not that she was too excited, but it was something to do with you.

So the next time when Abby put her hands under your shirt while you were making out in the kitchen and you tried to stop her, Abby decided to confront you about it.

"You know, you told me we don't have to jump straight to sex, but you don't let me touch you at all." Abby said as she stood in front of you, bracketing you with her arms by your sides. "Why do I feel like it's not about me? If you're not ready to have sex for your own reasons that's fine, but-" Abby stopped, trying to find the right words to get her point across. "You can't make it look like this is about me when in reality it's about you."

"I just-" You averted your eyes from her. "I'm really scared. You're so important to me and I don't want to fuck it up. Fuck." You looked up and Abby saw how your eyes watered and it shocked her. Why was it so serious for you?

“Hey, look at me.” Abby took your face into her hands and made you look at her. You were on a brink of tears and Abby got worried. “What are you afraid of?”

You took a deep breath to calm down, irrationally nervous - you felt like an idiot. You knew objectively you were one, but annoying thoughts that consumed you in the past days sounded like a pretty plausible theory. Though now, when Abby cornered you and voiced her concerns you wanted to slam yourself in the face - you were an idiot. You knew exactly how to do it right, but instead you got delusional.

“I’m sorry. I was scared that once we have sex you’d be like ‘nope, this is weird, I’m actually straight’, but now when I hear myself say it I understand how stupid I sound.”

Abby looked at you, frowning.

“Yes, you do.” Abby said seriously. “You should’ve told me instead of deciding for me.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” You said honestly, looking at Abby and not shying away from her anger. She had every right to be angry with you. “I won’t push you away anymore.”

“No, listen, this is not the issue here.” Abby said impatiently and moved away to sit on the chair while you were still sitting on the kitchen counter. “It’s the fact that you don’t tell me what’s going on in your head. If you’re nervous and want to wait just say it, don’t cover it up with my lack of experience. Because not only is it condescending, but also makes it seem like you don’t trust me to decide what I want.” You heard the hurt and annoyance in Abby’s voice and it propelled your guilt into another level.

“You’re right. I got too insecure and it fucked me up. I’m sorry.” You looked at her again, trying to read her emotions.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Abby said under her nose. She was annoyed, but she couldn’t help but understand you. “I can’t believe someone as smart as you are can be so stupid.”

“I become very stupid when it comes to you.” You chuckled. It was true - all your confidence and rationality went out of the window when Abby was concerned.

“Yeah. Should’ve expected that.” Abby chuckled in return, softened by the fact that you liked her so much it turned you into an idiot. “Come here.”

You went over to Abby and she hugged you around your waist, poking your stomach with her nose.

“Next time be honest. Because I know I wanna fuck you.”

You swallowed as arousal washed over you. Your grip in her hair tightened and Abby looked up, smirking.

“You liked it, didn’t you?”

“You really want to?” You asked, ignoring her question, still worried that Abby didn’t know what she was signing up for.

“Yeah. I really want to.” Abby squeezed your butt and you yelped, surprised. “Do you?”

“We should build up our way here. Start with something.. small and safe.”

“You and your fucking worrying, I swear to god. You think I don’t know what naked girls look like?”

“But what about-”

Abby narrowed her eyes at you and you shut up.

“Be honest.” Abby ordered and your knees grew weak.

“Promise me to stop if you start to freak out.”

“Promise me to get out of your head. Otherwise I am going to freak out.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Abby stood up and tugged you in the direction of her bedroom, surprising you.

“What, you want to have sex now?”

“I’ve been waiting for a month, I’m not waiting any longer.”

You smiled and followed Abby to her bedroom - you noticed how impatient she was by how fast she was walking and how hard she was squeezing your hand, and once you entered the room, she spun around and pressed you into the door, kissing you. Abby wasn’t wasting time, immediately tugging your shirt off, fully knowing you didn’t have a bra on. So the moment your shirt hit the floor, Abby moved away a little just to look at you.

It was suddenly hard for her to breathe and her mouth literally watered as she stared at your tits, mesmerised. Abby wanted to put her mouth everywhere on your skin, so she pressed you back into the door, kissing you roughly as she caressed your sides before cupping your tits and groaning into your mouth: your tits were so fucking soft. You throbbed at the sound and arched into Abby to get closer while you carefully tugged on her shirt and she moved away again to impatiently pull her shirt off and throw it somewhere. Abby still had her sports bra on and you let her decide if she wanted it off, which she apparently didn’t.

“Bed.” Abby ordered in a low husky voice and you got wet just from this intonation.

“Tell me what you want.” You told her and walked her to the bed until she fell on it and you straddled her.

“Holy shit.” Abby looked at you, naked on top of her and she just couldn’t stop fucking staring, her dominance crumbling as she started to feel like a virgin, nervous and so fucking horny she was probably soaked through her sweats.

“Are you freaking out?” You asked, getting worried as Abby just stared at you with wide eyes.

“I- give me a second.” Abby took a few breaths to calm her nerves. Maybe you were right with this let’s not rush thing. “You’re so fucking pretty.” Abby ran her hands up and down your sides, squeezing experimentally. She finally settled on holding your hips, her thumb rubbing over your hip bones. “What-” Abby swallowed, her throat dry from arousal. “How do I make you feel good?”

“That’s what you want?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you thought about it before?” You leaned down and kissed Abby’s neck, making her sigh and tighten the grip on your hips as you licked her skin.

“A million fucking times, god.” Abby ran her hands up and rubbed your back. She could feel your nipples on her abs and it sent shivers down her spine.

“Let’s start with this. Do what you want to do in your thoughts.”

Abby gripped your waist and rolled you on your back, pressing you down into the mattress and you closed your eyes in pleasure - you remembered wondering how it would feel, having Abby between your legs, her weight pressing you down, and now you could say it was absolutely delicious. And Abby watched you, seeing how much you were enjoying it.

“Do you- do you prefer to bottom?” Abby asked carefully, not sure if it was okay to ask. She sure as shit didn’t enjoy being pressed into the bed, always wanting to fight back, but you were different.

“I like both. Or are you talking about control?”

“What’s the difference?” Abby asked, a little more calmed down now. In her head it was simple: the one on top was in control.

“You can top and I’ll still tell you what to do and control you. Or you can top and control me, I’ll just lie there and take it.” That sounded fun. The second part of it, at least: having you, confident and collected at all times, under Abby's control - that was a power trip she never knew she needed before.

“Do you have a preference there?”

“Not really. I just go with the flow.”

Abby hummed and kissed you, pressing you into the bed harder so she could feel you under her, how your thighs stretched to make space for her. You arched into Abby and bucked your hips in a desperate need of friction and Abby froze.

That was hot.

"You okay?"

"Do that again."

You bucked your hips again with more purpose now and Abby pressed her forehead to yours, panting, before grinding down on you just in time. You gasped, desperate - you wanted Abby to touch you so fucking bad.

"Fuck, this is so hot. Holy shit." Abby murmured. She watched your face, contorted in pleasure as you shamelessly grinded on her.

"You know, we can get off just like this." You panted, trying to keep your noises down because being loud from some humping that wasn't even good enough was embarrassing. You weren't fifteen. "Just move your thigh between mine and-"

"No." Abby stopped you. "I want to fucking bury my face between your legs and I will."

"Fuck." You whimpered, painfully turned on. Abby and her fucking honesty. "You sure?"

"How do I make you feel so good you won't be able to ask your stupid questions?" Abby chuckled and suddenly got brave. She moved her hand between your bodies and cautiously placed it over your pubic, not quite there yet, but enough to taste the waters.

You bucked your hips into her hand, so fucking desperate it was ridiculous, no one made you feel this way before - Abby hasn't even done anything yet except kissing and here you were, soaked and greedy.

"You want me to touch you?"

Was it dirty talk or was Abby serious?

"If- if you want to. I'd like it very much." You managed to say with a grin and Abby rolled her eyes.

"That was too polite." Abby laughed, slowly moving her hand down over your clothed cunt. "Save it for Caitlyn."

Abby was nervous, not sure what would be her reaction to touching you like this, even through the sweats you had on - she knew how it felt to touch herself, but touching another woman was still different. She knew she'd probably like it - otherwise she'd not have dreamed about it for so long, but it was still kinda scary.

But Abby's wasn't a coward, so she cupped your pussy slowly and barely held on her groan - you were hot and soft and wet, wet through your fucking pants - and it was a lot to take in, but Abby liked it way more than she expected. And the way you tensed under her, your eyes tightly shut - nothing in her life was hotter than this.

"Good?"

"Fuck, yes. If you make me cum in my pants I swear to god- ah!" Abby pressed slow circles to where she thought your clit might be and it worked.

"So that's how you finally shut up." Abby laughed and you kicked her shoulder playfully. "What?"

You opened your mouth to say something again, but Abby leaned down and caught your nipple into her mouth and you twitched and sighed.

"Fuck, yeah. I like it." You put your hand on Abby's hair and let her play with your tits as long as she wanted.

Okay, tits were fun, Abby decided, licking and sucking on your nipple while she squeezed the other tit with her free hand. You were making these pretty noises under her and Abby was losing her mind, so turned on it was unbelievable. Your pants were getting wetter and wetter as Abby drew circles on your clit and Abby wanted to feel it. She wanted to feel how wet she got you. Abby let your nipple out with a pop and looked at you.

"Can I take your pants off?" You opened your mouth and she knew what you were going to say, so she sped up, making you whimper instead. "Nuh-uh. No stupid questions. Can I take your pants off?"

"What the fuck?" You asked yourself as you laughed quietly, breathing hard. "Why do I feel like it's my first time with a girl and not yours? Yeah, take them off."

Abby sat back and tugged them off, taking underwear with them too - she wasn't going to waste her time on a tiny piece of clothing to, what did you say? Build up to it? No, she wasn't a pussy.

"Because you're worrying too much." Abby said as she helped untangle your pants off your ankles. "Fuck, you have such pretty ankles." Abby drew circles on delicate skin there, the thought that she could connect her fingers around them made her fucking black out from arousal.

"Thanks." You grinned, but you got nervous: Abby's hands felt like restraints and you weren't a fan of it. But Abby moved her hands up your calves, your knees and stopped at your thighs.

Abby was at her ultimate goal: you were naked under her and all she needed to do is to spread your thighs and put her mouth on you. But there was a problem.

Abby actually had no idea how to eat a girl out. Ellie's stories didn't cover that part.

You noticed Abby's hesitance and reached out to her hand, interlocking your fingers.

"What's up?"

"I uh." Abby swallowed as she looked you over, naked and pretty and looking at her with such tenderness and understanding Abby wanted to burst. "I don't know how to- How do I eat you out?"

"Oh." You sighed, surprised. You were expecting Abby to tap out, but her innocent question, her trust to be vulnerable and admit she didn't know what to do made your heart swell. "Okay. I can give you directions if you want. Or I can show you on you."

Abby tensed - the idea of you going down on her wasn't something she was ready for yet.

"Instructions would be nice."

"Okay."

You slowly spread your legs and bent them so Abby'd have a better view - you weren't sure she'd want that, but you trusted her - and Abby stared at your cunt with such intensity your face heated up. Abby was looking at everything, at your pussy lips, at your clit, at your wet hole that was glistening, and her mouth watered. Yeah, she didn't know what to do but fuck she wanted to taste you.

"Holy shit." Abby greedily squeezed your thighs and got closer, not taking her eyes from your cunt. "Am I in fucking heaven?"

You laughed.

"You really want to do this, huh?"

"So how do I make you shut up again?" Abby said playfully.

"Do you want me to guide you or do you want some tips and do what you want to do?"

Guidance was nice, but also Abby wanted to just focus on you and not hear a coherent word from you, so.

"Tips."

"Give me your hand."

Abby did as you told her and you put your mouth on her forearm, rubbing your flat tongue up and down to give her an example. Abby's eyes went dark as she watched you and she squeezed your thigh harder.

"Keep your tongue flat and soft and you're good. Your jaw will hurt, so take a break when you need one."

Abby took a breath to calm herself a little, because her impatience was making her rush and she wanted to savour it.

So Abby leaned down again and kissed you while she slowly moved her hand up your thigh, her fingers shaking a little in anticipation. And the way you spread your legs for her made Abby dizzy - you wanted her to touch you, you were at her mercy an fuck it was getting into her head.

Abby slowly parted your folds the way she did to herself a million times before and you gasped when her fingers brushed over your clit. Abby grunted, trying not to be so embarrassing but feeling your wetness on her fingers was fucking amazing.

"Shit, you're so wet." Abby sighed heavily and slowly moved her hand up and down your cunt, needing to feel how hot and soft you were. She moved her fingers over the curve to your hole experimentally, her fingertips touching just the edges and you bucked your hips, your nails digging into her shoulders. "Are you always this sensitive?"

"I didn't know I could be this sensitive." You huffed, embarrassed. "I guess a month without sex will do that to a person."

"You did it to yourself, idiot." Abby said affectionately and kissed your neck, slowly moving down your body.

"Fair." You sighed loudly as you watched Abby kiss your ribs, then stomach and then she finally moved down.

Abby kissed your hip bone as she rubbed your thighs. She wasn't rushing, giving herself enough time to appreciate what was happening and get used to her senses being attacked with your scent, your warmth, the feel of your skin under her chin - that was new but she liked it so much she stopped restraining herself and literally buried her nose in your pussy, breathing you in, and you yelped as your hands flew to Abby's hair that was so unfortunately braided.

"Fuck, Abby-" You panted. "Give the girl a warning."

But Abby wasn't listening anymore, she was too busy finally putting her mouth on you, exploring: she was curious to feel every part of your pussy under her lips. She kissed your pubic, the crease of your thigh, just above your clit, her chin was already wet and Abby swallowed because there was too much saliva in her mouth.

"How-how do you feel?" You asked her as you breathed heavily: for Abby it was an exploration and for you it was fucking teasing, the way you wanted to just buck your hips into her face was unbearable. But you restrained yourself: this was about Abby and not about you now.

"Like I was meant to be here all my life." Abby chuckled and kissed your pussy lips the same way she kissed your mouth: lips were lips, right?

You clutched the pillow when Abby's bottom lip brushed over your clit and Abby looked up to watch your reaction as she literally made out with your cunt: you were fucking magical. Abby didn't even notice how she used her tongue and licked your clit, your taste exploding in her mouth as you whimpered, just because she was too busy watching you, shifting into horny "do everything to make her feel good" mindset.

And now Abby was on a mission. She didn't waste any time, angling her head and latching onto your clit just as you told her, making her tongue as flat and as soft as she could, given that she never did this before.

"Oh shit." You sighed loudly. "Less pressure, Abby." You told her and Abby eased up - she was getting too excited again and was rushing things.

So Abby took a loud breath through her nose and let herself relax a little, taking a slow, gentle pace as she rubbed your clit on her tongue, her eyes rolling back when she picked up your slick - it wasn't even the taste that drove her crazy, but the viscous texture of it.

"Fuck." You sighed and interlocked your fingers with Abby's on your stomach. "Fuck, you're really enjoying it." You watched Abby's concentrated face as she was eating you out like it was her pleasure and not yours.

Abby made an agreeing noise and it went right to your clit and you hissed.

"You can- you can go faster if you want." And Abby picked up her pace as well your voice picked up volume: it felt so fucking good, Abby was really meant to be between your legs like this. Her pace haltered a lot from inexperience and because her jaw was starting to hurt, but you didn't care - she was still making you feel so good and your orgasm was starting to build up already.

But Abby needed a breather so she moved away and looked at you, frowning, as if she was calculating something.

"How do I make you cum?"

"You know you don't have to. I'm enjoying this as it is already."

"I want to. Can I use my fingers?"

"Yeah, yeah, you can. Start with one, okay?"

That wasn't what Abby was thinking about, but if she'd get to feel you like this, she was jumping this train right away.

Abby sat up in all her muscled glory and looked you over again, panting, naked and pretty and all for her.

"You're so fucking hot."

"Kiss me."

Abby leaned down to you and kissed you sweetly as she parted your folds, now more confident. She went up and down, smearing your slick and her saliva over the whole length of your cunt and then very slowly dipped her finger inside. She sighed into your mouth, surprised at how hot and soft you were inside, her mind reeling because she felt like was experiencing something holy now.

Thankfully Ellie's stories covered this part and Abby curled her finger, looking for- for- what was she supposed to be looking for?

"Fuck." You sighed and Abby watched your face, trying to guess what would feel better as she probed around with her finger. "Right- fuck, right there."

Abby immediately locked the position of her finger, trying to remember what she was feeling to find it later too, because she already knew she wouldn't leave you alone after this. The hunger Abby felt was building up for twenty years in her, and now she had you to feed her.

Abby didn't wait for you to tell her to go faster, picking up the pace enough to make you louder and grip her arm harder.

"You know, I like listening to these noises way more than to your worrying." Abby murmured into your ear and you gasped. "Can I add another one?"

"Yeah- and fuck you." You chuckled and Abby raised her brows.

"You meant fuck you? Because this is what is happening."

"You're so cocky."

"Yeah, maybe."

Abby slowly pulled out her finger and just as slowly pushed two back in - she was gentle, scared to hurt you because you were tight around her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, don't worry."

Abby started slow, basking in the feeling of your cunt around her fingers, the way you were all wet and hot for her, how soft your walls were when she curled her fingers looking for the same spot as before, but it wasn't that easy.

"Fuck, I lost it." Abby whispered to herself and you giggled.

"Don't worry about it, it feels good. I like it." You reached down and corrected Abby's hand position. "Here."

Abby nodded and curled her fingers hard, too eager to please you and you gasped, scaring Abby - did she hurt you with how hard she moved her hand?

"Shit, did I-"

"Do that again."

Oh. Abby smirked and went harder on you, practically holding you by your cunt with how hard she was curling her fingers inside and you felt yourself getting closer and closer with each touch of Abby's fingers. It felt amazing and you knew from experience athlete's hands wouldn't get tired too fast so Abby could easily make you cum like this, so you relaxed and concentrated on each thrust of her fingers as they were getting you closer to your climax, but then Abby stopped.

"Wha-" You asked, confused, but Abby moved back between your thighs and you laughed happily. "Okay, that works too."

"Were you close?"

Oh. Abby didn't notice it - of course she didn't, how many pussies she's been in before to know how it feels - and your face heated up.

"Yeah."

The shit-eating grin on Abby's face was so precious you didn't say anything in return and just interlocked your fingers again. It wasn't super comfortable to get in front of your pussy with no hands, but Abby wasn't going to let you go if her life depended on it. Somehow she managed to lie down while still having her fingers in you and now she had to figure out how to fucking multitask. Abby’s mouth watered as she watched her fingers disappear in you while you whimpered, and she put her mouth back on your clit, doing the same thing as she did before, gently rubbing your clit in a pace that was fast and didn't get her jaw tired too early.

You dug your nails into Abby's knuckles as you felt your orgasm getting closer - at this point if Abby could keep her fingers moving you wouldn't even need her mouth to cum. Your heavy breathing turned into squeaky moans at each time Abby's fingers hit right in time with her tongue and Abby watched you with dark eyes, clearly enjoying the way you were enjoying her.

Abby gently sucked on your clit to move her jaw a little and you jumped, holding onto her hand painfully. Abby got surprised and her pace broke for a moment, but it made her double her efforts, her fingers getting rougher and her tongue not changing the pace.

"Fuck I'm so close-" You sobbed. "Don't change anything." You managed to moan and Abby was more than happy to oblige.

And now Abby felt it, how you got so tight on her fingers it almost hurt and arousal went over her like in a hot wave. Abby closed her eyes, falling into lustful bliss, licking and sucking your clit just for her own satisfaction because it felt amazing, and Abby didn't notice how your thighs started to close around her head, but the new weight on her shoulders made her moan into your pussy and you suddenly got super silent.

Abby looked up, worried, but the moment she looked at your frown she knew you were cumming so she kept her pace and watched you shudder and moan so low it got loud, and then she felt your walls pulsate around her fingers in big waves and Abby blacked out again because she was experiencing God by this point. You clung to her hand, leaving crescent marks on her knuckles and tugged on her hair, but Abby was so out of it, collecting all your juices with her tongue, she didn't care about mild pain.

"Abby-Abby fuck-" You moaned because she wasn't stopping and you were getting too sensitive. "Come on, baby, come here."

Abby opened her eyes and you saw how blown out her pupils were - she was getting pussydrunk and you just laid back hopelessly and let her do what she wanted. Abby slowly took her fingers out and sucked them clean before diving back in and lapping at your hole, pushing her tongue inside and you whimpered, shaking, tugging on her hair.

"Abby, shit-" You sobbed. "Come here."

This time Abby actually listened and crawled on top of you, her chin wet. You held her face in your hands and wiped her chin gently. Abby kissed you, rough enough to press your head into the pillow and you hugged her shoulders, pressing closer to her..

“Was it good?" Abby asked, trying to hide her embarrassment, but you still heard it in her voice.

"What does this look like?" You showed her your trembling arm, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. "It was so fucking good, Abby, it’s ridiculous how good it was.” Abby laughed at your playful offense, relieved she didn’t fuck up. “What do you want me to do for you?"

Abby suddenly tensed - she wasn't sure she was ready for it yet, to be touched like this. She honestly didn't even notice how turned on and pent up she was, too lost in making you feel good, but her clit was pulsing and aching for some relief and Abby wanted to cum, she just didn't know how.

"We don't have to do anything." You reminded Abby when she hesitated to give you an answer. "But if you want to you can use my thigh or my fingers or my mouth, I'm all for it."

Maybe this is where Abby would like to start small and safe, because she knew for sure she wasn't ready for oral yet, thigh thing sounded awkward so she settled on good old fingers.

"Yeah, you can touch me."

You smiled, happy, and gently moved your hand between your bodies, trailing Abby's abs with your fingertips, making her flex her muscles.

"You wanna lie on your back?"

No she didn't. You saw Abby tense and didn't push further, clearly reading she wasn't yet comfortable with being vulnerable like this.

So you slowly pushed your hand into her pants, watching her reaction. Abby closed her eyes and gasped when you brushed over her clit, so you started rubbing it up and down carefully, not knowing how sensitive Abby was.

"Good?"

"Yeah." Abby said in a husky voice and squeezed your side.

You kissed her cheek and sped up just a little and Abby screwed her shut and started breathing heavily, knowing she wouldn't last long, too pent up after a fucking month of cock-blocking and seeing you cum just now.

"You're so wet." You sighed in wonder and sped up again, making Abby tense as she got overwhelmed and so close to the edge it was embarrassing. "I like seeing you like this." You told Abby as you watched her intently, her knitted brows and tense jaw as she tried to not be loud, grunting and squeezing your side painfully.

You circled her clit and Abby shuddered violently, cumming with a strained grunt, her head falling on your shoulder as her hot slick covered your fingers. You eased up on her but didn't stop to prolong her orgasm.

"Stop, stop-stop-stop." Abby panted and you obeyed, just cupping her pussy. "Fuck."

You chuckled and kissed Abby gently, feeling very soft and full of love for her and she relaxed on top of you, still breathing heavily. You slowly took your hand out of her pants and broke the kiss to suck on your fingers and Abby honest to god blushed as she watched you.

“Why would you do that?” Abby laughed, embarrassed, but you were too busy enjoying her taste.

“Why did you do it?” You laughed too and Abby pinched your side. "Was it good for you too?"

"Yeah." Abby nuzzled into your neck. "Can we do it again in like, ten minutes?"

Oh fuck, you thought as you laughed, Abby was going to be a fucking pussy fiend.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby anderson smut #aligyinmh

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uhohdad · 9 months

Text

EXPERIMENTAL - Konig Fic Part 2

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

Part one: X

AO3 Link: X

Warnings: Flirting, Sexual Content, NSFW, Reader x Konig, talk of standard war stuff, Reader is a bit of a pervert. Non-con Voyeurism. Reader has anxious thoughts/low-self esteem-ish? No use of y/n, abduction, bondage, blood and injury.

Word Count: 7.2k

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

NSFW under the cut

It probably didn’t mean anything, right?

How common is your name, really? He probably was just thinking about his girlfriend or wife at home who just happens to share the same name as you, the same wife he didn’t happen to mention during your introductions - even if it would have been a really good icebreaker.

Yeah, that’s it.

It couldn’t have been about you.

Could it?

Your thoughts are spiraling now, not giving yourself the room to dissect one detail before your brain throws another at you. You still haven’t moved, wide eyes watching warm light reflect on his skin as he basks in post-orgasm bliss.

He’s still for a while, and you’re wondering if the finish had tired him out enough to lull him into a nap.

After a few minutes of watching the rise and fall of his chest, you decide the show was over and closed out of the software. There was some part of you, some part you’d hoped wouldn’t ever come to light, that decided to keep his feed connected.

You’ve crossed so many lines already. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

You feel like you’ve ruined whatever chance you’ve had with him, violating his privacy like this. This was a man that wasn’t even comfortable showing his face, how did you think he was going to feel knowing a stranger has not only seen him fully naked but watched him jerk his cock to completion?

He doesn’t have to know. No one has to know. It’ll be our little secret and we’ll just pretend it never happened.

Yeah, you acted real casual today when you hadn’t done a horrible, awful, perverted thing. I’m sure you’ll act real casual the next time you have to look him in the eyes.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

You rest your head on your keyboard not-so-gently, accidentally booting up an ancient mail software that was sure to kick your laptop’s fans into overdrive. An audible groan leaves your mouth.

Who knew non-consensual voyeurism would leave such a horrific feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach?

That and the arousal that sits right underneath. Your underwear now had a wet stain from watching the show, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together as you had.

There was no way you were going to be able to focus on work now. You had been planning on staying late, but there’s no way you can analyze today’s data. Review his feed. Replay your conversations. Hear his breathing…

No, you just can’t do it right now. It’s too much.

You do a quick round of the lab, performing a sloppy iteration of your closing procedures, pack up your things, and head out for the day.

Before you do, you decide you might as well round out the horrific deed by doing one last terrible thing.

You pair your personal cell phone to the software and send yourself the erotic recording of Konig.

You’ll start fresh tomorrow, you decide.

————————————————————-

You most certainly did not start fresh tomorrow.

The next few days are a vicious cycle.

Go to work. Review Konig’s simulation footage. Fantasize. Feel guilty. Review raw data. Think about Konig touching himself. Feel aroused. Feel guilty. Rewrite codes. Go home. Watch erotic recording. Feel aroused. Get off.

Feel guilty.

You can’t help it. You’re out of control, an addict desperate to get their fix, ashamed of their actions but lacking the willpower to quit.

How are you supposed to stop thinking about him when all day at work you’re watching him fight his way through the shoot house, strong hands gripping his gun, and hearing to that laugh?

How can you go home and ignore the recording of him finishing while moaning your name?

You must have replayed it a thousand times. He moaned it like he was begging you, pleading with you. Such a powerful man choking on your name. Even after a full week had passed, it still had the power to excite you in ways you haven’t felt in ages.

Your next meeting with Konig was scheduled for today and if you had to judge solely by the feeling in your gut, you would’ve guessed you had eaten rocks for breakfast. Your brain tells you to flee and fast but your body is promised to these four walls. Your leg bounces as you pick at the fingers that beg for something to do besides type code.

You wanted to call it off. Tell Konig you weren’t feeling well and you’d try again next week. Or maybe hit the bricks entirely. Just walk out of the building and never look back. Forget about everything.

You’re reconsidering your career choices as a steady knock on the lab’s swinging door rips you from your thoughts.

Your wince before you look up, quickly plastering what you hope is a convincing smile on your face.

He catches your eyes through the glass and you notice them crinkle, unable to place an emotion to it. You’d been dreading this moment all week. Even going so far as to avoid looking at his live feed after the incident, just in case you weren’t able to feign the natural responses of hearing his recounts for the ‘first’ time. That in addition to the intrapersonal understanding that you couldn’t handle carrying anymore guilt-rocks in your stomach.

Looking him in the eyes was as hard as you imagined it to be. He pushes open the door and steps in, standing hesitantly near the entrance like he did last week. You notice he has a notepad in one hand, and it looks so comically small compared to his size. Like a giant holding a sticky note. In the other he holds your earpiece in an open palm, as if hesitant to wrap his fingers around it.

It doesn’t help that the first word that left his mouth as he entered the lab was your name. Flashbacks to his sweaty body, shuddering in pleasure as he came all over his rippling muscles grab your attention.

He had followed it up with something, but you had been too distracted to catch it. You close your eyes, touching your hand to your forehead.

You were not doing a very good job hiding your fluster.

“I’m so sorry- what’d you say?” You give a small laugh, partly to ease the tension in your chest and partly at the situation itself. It’s not funny, you know that. It’s terrible. So terribly ridiculous that you can’t help but laugh at yourself for getting yourself into this mess. Your hand follows through the rest of your hair in an effort to soothe yourself before falling back down at your side.

“Good to see you.” He repeats, tilting his head, taking just a few careful steps closer to you. His eyes dart to the side briefly before returning to you, “Is everything okay?”

You give another weak laugh, “Yeah, sorry. Just still in the zone.” You gesture vaguely at scattered papers and devices on the table. You don’t give him a chance to pry further, “How was it?”

He takes a moment to eye you carefully, and you are sure he’s about to call your bluff before he responds, “Remarkable.”

You swallow, breaking eye contact with him again. It’s always been hard for you to accept a compliment. You're hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth creeping up your cheeks, but you know you have absolutely no right to such a request after what you’ve done.

He clears his throat before he continues, “I promised you I would have feedback. It wasn’t easy.” He holds his notepad up briefly as he steps up to the table to carefully set it down along with your earpiece. You can see from across the table he’s got a few scribbled sentences spaced out on the notepad. You take note of his sloppy handwriting from across the table, before realizing he didn’t write in English.

He looks down at his notes and you’re thankful you have something to stare at that’s not Konig’s eyes or intimidating frame. You’re trying hard not to think about the body filling out his gear. You’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him naked that it’s almost strange to see him with his uniform on.

You can tell he takes a deep breath before continuing and you wonder briefly if he’s nervous about sharing his feedback, worried he will hurt your feelings. “You mentioned before that it scans objects?” The end of his sentence lifts, almost like he’s asking you a question, “I think it would be good to make sure that the user is always made aware of landmines. I’m positive it will save lives.”

“Yes, absolutely. That’s a great idea.” You nod as you jot his ideas down on your laptop, a reminder to update your code.

You’re happy to be talking shop. Even happier to be talking about defensive designs instead of offensive ones.

The way he rubs his bicep with his opposing hand triggers a realization. You finally look at his eyes, his still staring down at his notes, and watch him for a moment.

The idea didn’t come from thin air.

You wonder what he saw, what traumatic memories are being replayed behind the downcast eyes to inspire such an idea.

You feel an ache in your chest for him, the desire to alienate his discomfort but unequipped to do so. Instead you look at him, your eyes swollen with sympathy and the corner of your mouth pinched in a frown.

He takes a moment before looking back up at you. He notices your warped expression but misinterprets it, “Am I overstepping?”

Your voice is low and you press a hand to your heart, “No, Konig, not at all. This is very helpful.” You’re not sure what else to say to him. What do you say to a man haunted by the violence he’s witnessed?

The only thing you can do is make sure it doesn’t happen again.

You’re not working for the government anymore, you decided. You’re going to work for Konig. To tailor your device with the purpose to save and protect him.

So you stick to the topic at hand. “Any other ideas?” You ask, voice still soft with empathy as you glance down at the notes written in German.

“Uh,” He clears his throat again and touches the back of his neck over his hood, the fabric pulling a bit on the front, “Sometimes when we’re in the heat of things, I can’t always get to my remote.” He gestured to the band on his wrist. “Do you think it would be possible to have voice command?”

Your brain’s mulling over the possibility. You’re surprised you haven’t thought of it yet. You could eliminate the remote entirely, you’re sure your supervisor will be elated with the big savings on material costs. The earpiece already has a microphone for the comm, it wouldn’t be hard for you to configure it to an additional feature.

“Absolutely, voice control. That’s clever.” Your brain is already running with alternatives to the wrist remote as you type his ideas, “Do you go on a lot of missions that require stealth?” It’s easier to make eye contact with him when you’re discussing work. He nods, and you continue, “In addition to voice command, I could also add hand controls, able to identify and respond to the signal you give it - totally silent.” You tap your fingers on the table twice, “The only draw I can think of is having to memorize control signals.”

He thinks it over for a moment and shifts in his spot, “That’s even better.”

“I think it’ll be best to have both.” Your keyboard clicks under your fingers as you enter the ideas coming to you faster than you can get them down.

This is great. I’m not even thinking about-

Stop it.

“These are great, Konig, really. Anything else?”

Your encouragement makes him look away. You follow his stare as it darts to the side and then down to his notes. He places one hand on the table next to the notepad as he leans his weight onto it.

You briefly picture yourself between him and the table, his arm pinning you in as he towers over you, hunched to watch you like you’re his prey, chests so close they’re almost touching.

You quickly push the thought to the side, moving your attention back to your laptop. The only way to survive this meeting is to repress.

Repress your memories of what he looks like with his cock in his hand, arching his hips into the thrusts. Repress the sound of his moans and your name echoing clearly in your brain. Repress the guilt from the breach of privacy to the highest degree.

Please, just until we get through this.

You close your eyes and take a breath to collect yourself while he’s not looking.

He’s got other things written on the notepad, you’re sure. Unless the two ideas he’d already pitched managed to take up the whole page. “No.”

Your brows furrow, the question leaving your mouth without thought, “You’re sure?”

He pauses. You can tell he’s sitting on a thought, but you don’t know what.

“It’s okay. Like I said, it’s just a prototype. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

He straightens his posture before he speaks, “No. That was all I could think of.” He swallows, “If you feel I didn’t make good on my promise, I can fix it.”

“No, no!” You say with urgency, a hand shaking in his direction, “Those ideas you gave me were perfect. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t holding back on me.” A weak laugh escapes you. “I can’t stress how helpful this has been. I’m glad we’re doing this.”

Konig looks at you, those intimidating eyes staring at you from across the table. You wish you could see his face, hoping it would give some insight on what was going through his head. Even if you could you don’t think you’d be able to maintain eye contact.

He knows.

No, he doesn’t, shut up.

“I’ll keep thinking.” He says definitively, like he’s trying to right a wrong.

“You’ve only had it for a week,” you reassure, “Besides, you’ve given me plenty to work with.” You force a smile at him, not even caring how it’s coming off because you’re just hoping not to choke on the tension suffocating the room. You wonder if he feels it too, or if it’s all in your head.

He nods, and you look to your laptop in a futile attempt to thwart the dread suddenly pooling in your stomach. You’re reminded of what you’ve done when he crosses his arms, and your eyes are drawn to the same bicep on the arm that he used to pleasure himself. You’re picturing how it looks under his uniform, comparing it to your filthy reference. Your heart quickens and you can’t help but take in his build, even from across the long lab table. You feel extra small sitting on your stool while he stands, arms still crossed, staring.

The air between you two is definitely weird. Him getting off to probably-not-you and you watching but him not knowing that you know will certainly fill the room with a tension unlike any other.

These drawn-out silences are smothering you, not knowing what goes on being his hood.

He looks disappointed in you.

He knows.

“How can I help you in the meantime?”

You can’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief. You were planning on taking him back out to shoot house, running a few more simulations, and having him give feedback on a few more overlays.

You scrap that plan, looking forward to expanding on his ideas while your synapses are still firing.

“Well, here’s my thoughts so far. Landmine identification, the coding for that will be easy. The device already has the scanning capability for obscured objects. All I have to do is enable the specific object for full-time recognition. The hard part will be testing. I’ll have to meet with weapons development to develop prop landmines for simulation.”

You glance at the notes on your laptop, “Voice control - easy. Mic’s already installed and all I would have to do is add speech-to-text recognition, repurpose the wrist control coding, and then…testing.” Your hand finds the side of your face as you think it over, “Well, I may need to sample voice lines from you and a couple of your friends…” You loosely gesture with the same hand as you continue, “But there may be workarounds to that. Put a pin in that.” You’re on a roll now, “Now the hand controls - that might be more complicated. I’m thinking I’ll have to start fresh with the hardware.” You look up, “Then again… it already has the scanning capacity. I could probably just teach the current model with software alone. But the coding will take some time to figure out.”

Your eyes find him again. He’s staring and as per usual you can’t decipher it.

“Y’know,” you continue with a smile, “You could help me come up with hand signals?”

He nods.

He doesn’t give you much to work with, does he?

“I’ll need references of your hands. To teach the AI, is that okay?”

He looks down in a way that makes you feel so, so ashamed. If he is hesitant about recordings of just his gloved hands, how would he feel if he found out about what you did? About the video living on your phone?

After a moment he looks back up at you, “I’ll do it.” His voice is stern as usual, always treating everything with importance, with determination.

You give him another shaky smile, “Might be awhile. Wanna sit?”

He pulls up a stool to his end of the table and you instruct him to put his earpiece on as you return to your software on the laptop, trying not to trigger the memory of the last time you watched his feed. You pretend to resync your devices, glad he can’t see your screen. A wave of shame washes over you.

You’re both collaborating for some time, you offering a prompt and him stiffly coming up with a corresponding hand command. You supervise his feed, having him tilt his hands so the AI has references from multiple angles.

The rest of the meeting is professional and you manage to steady your obsessive thoughts as best you can. It’s hard to observe his hands and not think about the video, about what you watched those same hands do.

About how those hands would feel mapping all of the curves of your body.

How they would feel gripping onto your hips as you rode him.

How they would feel sneaking up your thighs, teasing you.

Somehow, you make it.

Once you decide you’ve covered enough references, Konig heads out, and you hope to continue staving off your thoughts by wasting no time on incorporating his ideas into your design. You’re hoping to have a least one rough draft done before next week’s meeting, so you plan on hunkering down and forfeit your Friday night to work overtime.

—————————————————————-

It’s late in the evening, you can tell by how your eyes are burning, strained from staring at your bright screen. You don’t bother to check the actual time. It would just bum you out. Spending your Friday night working. Not that you would have been doing anything partially exciting if you hadn’t. You probably would have just spent your evening analyzing footage anyway, just of a more perverted genre.

When you finally call it quits, the base is barren. Everyone’s gone home or retired to their quarters by now. It’s quiet after the base door shuts behind you, automatic locks clicking into place.

You’re feeling better after today’s meeting with Konig. Somewhere in the previous week you’d convinced yourself that he knew, that at any moment he was going to report you, and at any moment security would bust in the lab to escort you out.

Seeing him again, even though you couldn’t always figure out what he was thinking, reassured you that he hadn’t somehow telepathically figured out your terrible deed. You don’t think he would have bothered to keep helping you, or even be able to look at you without disgust if he did know.

The meeting also re-sparked your feelings of arousal and excitement. The knot in your lower abdomen made its presence known again. So much more desirable than the spiraling guilt. You’ve come to lean into the highs, enjoying it while you can, knowing soon you’ll be feeling nauseous at the thought of yourself.

You don’t know how much longer you can take the rollercoaster. This week has been exhausting. You can’t believe you’ve allowed this man to root himself into your life, seeping into every facet.

Career, personal, sexual, and - well, you’re still in denial about the romantic feelings - but it’s incredibly impressive how this man was capable of fucking your entire life up for the small price of a couple of hours and a few exchanged words.

When you finally get to the privacy of your home, you let out an audible groan. Loud enough to carry but quiet enough to not disturb the neighbors. You just needed to let something out, it was getting frustrating.

You didn’t want to think anymore, you didn’t want to think!

“Long day at work?”

You freeze, and the sound of heavy footsteps fill your ears. Two armed soldiers with fully equipped gear stride from the depth of your home, meeting you at the entrance.

The sight of them alone is enough to intimidate you. You instinctively back against the locked door, your trunk obscuring a hand moving towards the doorknob.

“Tsk, tsk. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”The taller of the two soldiers wears a black balaclava with a skull stitched in, his unimpressed stare drilling into you. You hear a click, and your wide eyes lock on to the gun in his hands, pointing right at your core.

You slowly release the doorknob, raising your shaking hands so they could see your palms.

“That’s good babe,” The other soldier speaks, but you’re too busy staring down the barrel of the gun to worry about it.

“I have to admit I’m a little upset with you,” Skull-face, as you appropriately nicknamed him, speaks as his eyes bore into you, “You kept us waiting a long time.”

He’s got some sort of thick accent laced into his grave voice, they both do, actually, but you’re too busy trying not to piss your pants to be able to place the region of origin.

A lump forms in your throat and you don’t think you‘ve taken a breath since you heard the unfamiliar voice in your home.

It’s violating. Them being here. Where you go after a long day of work to relax. Where you eat, sleep, shower, and just be.

How dare they defile and taint your safe place, where you hide away and pretend the exhausting world around you doesn’t exist?

You’re stuck, unsure of your next move and paralyzed with fear.

“We think you have something we want.”

You’re not sure what they mean, but you nod in compliance anyway. Not much you can say no to against two heavily armed men. You finally break your gaze away from the gun and take turns making frightful eye contact with them. You speak after a failed attempt of swallowing your fear, voice soft and broken, “Take it.”

They exchange a knowing glance with each other, the man with his face exposed bears an irritatingly smug grin.

Skull-face approaches you threateningly, sending fear down your spine and making your skin crawl as you push yourself further into the door. He leaves no room for pleas as he flips his gun around, the stock coming down on your forehead with enough force to knock you out cold.

————————————————————-

Your splitting headache was the first thing you registered when you came to. You can’t seem to concentrate, the fog in your brain so extreme your thoughts are incoherent. You let out a meek whimper as you attempt to open your eyes, the lights in the room stunning you and intensifying the throbbing pain in your skull. You wince, closing your eyes again to block it out.

A few moments pass - and the next thing you notice is the dryness in your mouth, unable to manage a swallow from the dehydration.

Water.

The only intelligible thought you’ve had after registering your discomfort, the instinctual desire stronger than the dizzy haze clouding your brain.

You lift your head, trying to move but your weakened muscles fail you.

Your muscles are weak, yes, but what’s really keeping you in place are the restraints.

You wince again, eyes scrunched to block out the brutal light as you tug to confirm you’re secured. Your wrists were bound behind you, your shoulders overextending around the back of the chair you were planted on. Your ankles bound to either leg of the chair. There’s another restraint wrapping under your arms and around the back of the chair, keeping your upper half upright. There’s a rashy burn underneath the coarse ropes that dug into your skin as your unconscious body leaned into it.

You let out another whimper from the back of your coarse throat. While you weren’t alert, every instinct within you notified you of the danger you were in.

Gotta move.

You try to squint one eye, but it still doesn’t save you from the flash intensity of your headache. Your eyes are stinging on top of it and you realize you’re partially blinded, vision blurred and doubled, stained red with your own blood.

You grit your teach, determined to figure out where you are. You try to concentrate your vision but to no avail.

Even so, you can tell you’re not at home, and you’re not on base.

Once you make your discovery, one that expended what little willpower you had, your eyes clench back shut, desperate to alleviate the migraine.

A secondary location, you thought to yourself through the pain, I’m fucked.

You can’t hear anything, the ringing in your ears deafening you.

You let out one more defeated whine before resting your chin on your chest, pinching your eyes closed.

You have no idea how long you drift in and out of consciousness for. During the brief moments you come to, you’re so disoriented you can’t make sense of your thoughts, and that coupled with the debilitating pain in your head is unnerving enough to make you cry tears of pure confusion.

It’s your neck snapping back to follow the hair yanking on your scalp that jolts you awake, and try to open your eyes to find the threat but they’re still not working as they should. Underneath the debilitating ringing, you can hear the sound of muffled male voices, unable to make out what they’re saying.

You gave up.

You were wounded & trapped, and in nature that meant a death sentence. You were in no shape to properly defend yourself. Couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

You were as done as the toast made from your own designs.

After wincing, your eyes screwed shut, you go limp and give in to the man physically controlling you like a sadistic puppeteer.

The muffled voices are louder, you still can’t make out their words but you can tell they’re having some sort of argument. They’re yelling at each other, and your scalp becomes collateral as the one tightens his grip on your hair to match his escalated volume

He’s right in your ear now and it’s not helping with the headache.

Just hurry it up, You manage through the haze, just hurry it up and put me out of my misery.

He throws your head forward to the position it was in before, slumped over as much as the ropes would allow with your chin pointed to the ground. The force rattles your skull in a way that makes you see a searing white behind your eyelids. What little water you had left in you was escaping through your swollen eyes lids and down tear-stained cheeks.

Just kill me, please.

——————————————————-

When you come to again, you’re no longer sitting. You’re flat on your back. Your neck secured so your head is in line with your spine. Your headache takes the front stage but the pain has noticeably subsided. You try to open your eyes again, but the lights above you are still excruciating.

You let out a low moan and shut your eyes again.

Your ears still ring, but a good portion of your hearing has returned to you. You hear your name, followed by, “are you awake?”

You grunt in response, unable to form sentences.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

You wince, trying to shake your head but unable. Instead, you grunt again before parting your lips. You tried to say, “Lights,” but your voice is so hoarse it comes out broken and cracked.

“What is it?”

You try and clear your throat, putting all your power into your strained voice, “Lights.”

They understand, and while you still can’t hear the flick of the switch, you can tell from behind your eyelids they’ve been shut off.

You try to mutter a “Thank you,” but give up a quarter of the way through.

You slowly open your eyes, still burning but blood wiped away from them. Your vision is still blurry, but no longer doubled.

“Do you remember what happened?”

You try to shake your head, but can’t. So you force a weak, “No.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“Do you know what today’s date is?”

You just grunt, closing your eyes again. You didn’t know the answer but you were too fed up with the questions to respond.

“Can you see?”

You grunt again.

“Okay, how ‘bout this? Can you wiggle your fingers for me?”

You try to lift your arm in the direction of the voice but your action is cut short, your arm jerked still by a restraint on your wrist. You open and close your fingers slowly at the maximum range the restraint will allow.

“How ‘bout your toes?”

Your toes move slightly, your calves aching at even such a mild movement.

“Good, thank you. How’s the hearing?”

Kill me or leave me alone, you think.

You eventually freeze the owner of voice out, finally leaving you alone to rest.

The next few days are a miserable, confusing blur. Somewhere along the way you’re informed you’re in medical, being treated for your extreme concussion. No skull fracture, thankfully, but they suspect the bruising is severe if it was enough to knock you unconscious.

The concussion had scrambled you good, and you were not nearly as sharp as you usually are.

It took you a whole five days, not that you could keep track of the passing time, before you realized that you were not at medical on your base.

You were in medical, restrained to a hospital bed-

in enemy care.

————————————————————

There was nothing you could do. Restrained to your bed, sedated with painkillers when they thought you were becoming too active.

“To help you rest.” They told you, but you couldn't trust a word that came out of their mouths.

Medics are supposed to be neutral, bound to an ethical code to heal the injured, enemy or not. That didn’t stop some medics from harboring grudges after years of patching up their own soldier’s brutal wounds of war.

The next time the medicine wears off for a long amount of time, with no medics in sight, you conveniently get visitors, the soldiers that had visited you in your home.

The events had been beaten out of you, but the traumatic event had seeped somewhere deeper into your psyche, and you knew deep down you were in trouble at the mere sight of them.

Skull-face especially, you don’t know how or why, but your intuition tells you he’s responsible for this. “Ready to answer some questions? Or do you need me to put you back to sleep?”

You can tell by the sharp edge in his voice he doesn’t mean the painkillers.

“Maybe I’d be able to answer your questions if you hadn’t given me brain damage.” Your patience is running thin, and an ember ignites a flame inside you, “Who knows what information you knocked out of me.” You stare directly into his eyes, brows furrowed, the tone of your voice inviting trouble in.

He already took everything away from you. At this point you don’t care if he puts you under. You’re begging him too. Every time you wake up you just want to go back to sleep. You don’t want to deal with it, any of it.

Skull-face makes a move to advance but the maskless soldier stops him by putting an arm out, laying it firmly across his to hold him back.

You don’t flinch, eyes now staring down the soldier with a stubbled jaw and a mohawk that ended in a widow's peak. It’s a haircut you find highly unusual for a soldier.

Your face doesn’t crack, but you squint at the pair, “What do you even want to know? I don’t even work on the field, I have no information.”

Skull-face looks down at you, “Oh, we know.” That stupid accent and that stupid mask. If you weren’t restrained you think you would have launched at him, risking it all to get a few good scratches in with your fingernails. He reaches into his pocket and your eyes widen and your brows retract at what he pulls out.

Not a weapon, no.

It’s your design, the AI-powered earpiece, and your wrist remote.

Skull-face notices the realization that sets across your face, “Awh, looks like your memory is working fine after all.”

The flame inside you laps at your skin, your features flushing with anger. A lot at Skull-face, for being such a cocky prick, but mostly at yourself.

You did this yourself. You figured your day of reckoning would come eventually. That karma would bite you in the ass, and those who are affected by your designs will stand by and laugh at your demise.

You should have just stuck with redesigning kitchen appliances.

“Why don’t you show us what you’ve been cooking up, huh? We know you’ve been busy.”

The pair share another knowing glance, Mohawk snickering at your expense.

“How did you get that?” You ask through gritted teeth, knowing there’s no way they could have gotten into the highly secured base.

“What is it?” Skull-face asks.

“It’s an intercom.” You grit, the ache in your head pulsing. You miss the painkillers.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

Mohawk steps in, “It’s okay, we all get embarrassed about our porn.”

You furrow your brows at him.

What the hell was he talking about?

Skull-face elbows him in the side, but it doesn’t keep his partner from smiling, “What is it?” He asks again.

“It’s an intercom.”

He’s getting sick of this game and he goes to step to you again but Mohawk cuts him short. “Ghost!” He says firmly.

Ghost, that was Skull-faces name. Or call sign, at least. You hated him, but you’d wished the other soldier would just let him at you. You didn’t care anymore.

Mohawk looks at you, “Look, there’s only so much I can do,” gesturing to Ghost, “Can’t we all just get along for a little bit, yeah?”

“How about you get along with deez nuts.” You laugh at your dumb joke, a laugh influenced by the daze of concussion and painkillers. You’re in hysteria, the laugh spills out and doesn’t let up. A release of built-up stress and frustration and anger that seeped out uncontrollably. Cackling at yourself for ending up in this situation. Only you would be capable of such hijinks. The laugh leaves you out of breath and with eyes full of tears. You don’t even care how it exacerbates the headache, or how you’re coming off as insane. It feels too good to let out the pent-up emotions, one way or another.

Your elation is cut short with a squeak as a gloved hand cuts harshly into your trachea. Ghost squeezes, roughly lifting you by the neck before shoving you back down on the hospital bed, his grip tighter than before. His voice is low and filled with caution, “I am getting sick of you.”

If you could breathe enough to talk, you’d tell him the feeling’s mutual. Instead you gag and sputter, which he takes as a sign that you are still getting air, and forces more of his weight onto your neck.

Your hands fail to defend yourself, the restraints holding you from fighting back. You’re getting close to blacking out, your laugh having already knock most of the wind out of you, but Mohawk pulls Ghost off of you, his hands firm on Ghost’s shoulders, “Stop! Stop.”

You involuntarily gasp, desperate for air, trying not to choke on your own spit. For a moment all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, flowing desperately to replace what Ghost restricted.

“Come on, last try.” He warns, and you can tell in your voice he means it.

You eye him carefully, still heaving for air. When you collect yourself, you speak, “I’ll show you.” You say, voice weak and breathy. You try to hold out your hand, but get stopped by the restraints.

Mohawk glances at Ghost, but Ghost keeps his stern eyes trained on you. He stays still for a moment, studying you with his arms crossed.

You roll your eyes, your chest still huffing as you reclaim your air, “Don’t trust me? Fine. I’ll walk you through it. Put the fucking bracelet on.”

He stares for another moment before taking the device from Mohawk. Must of handed it off so he could strangle you better.

He puts it on his wrist.

“Now tap the top.”

He follows your instructions, the wrist remote’s projection displaying above his wrist.

“Go ahead and open your settings.” You guide him through it, activating a few select overlays. “You got it. Now put the earpiece on.”

Ghost hesitates, looking over to his companion before he slowly reaches up underneath his balaclava, attaching the earpiece.

“Yep, and while you’re in there, go ahead and hit the button on the base.”

You watch as your design activates, displaying the transparent overlay over his eyes. He’s taken aback, unnerved by the unidentified design being so close to his vulnerable eyes.

“Ta-da!” You say sarcastically, showing off the full range of the restraints as you offer weak jazz hands. “So I’ve given you some information. Maybe you can give me a little information, yeah?”

He doesn’t say anything as he removes his hand from his mask.

“Where am I?” You ask.

“You know where you are.”

“How’d you find me?”

“We tracked your cell phone.”

You squint, “Why were you tracking my phone?” It doesn’t make any sense, there’s no way they would have been able to pin your cell phone information back to base. You don’t use it for work and there’s no way you had connected to the private Wi-Fi. It’s apples and oranges, you think.

Mohawk steps in front of Ghost and holds out his phone in your direction. It takes a moment for the image to come into view, your vision still impaired. When your eyes adjust, the screen shows you something that makes your blood turn cold.

It’s the video of Konig jerking off.

“Okay! Okay.” You wave your hands, “Just put that away, I get it.”

When you connected your phone to your software to transfer the recording of Konig, it briefly connected to your laptop.

Base internet has state-of-the-art firewalls and encryptions to prevent surveillance, hack-in, key logs.

Cell phones do not.

So they’ve been tracking you all week, and who knows what kind of information they were able to pull from your software? From your laptop, containing dozens of government secrets?

No, you think, they wouldn’t be going through the trouble of keeping me alive if they had the information on my laptop.

“What’s the matter? Embarrassed that gettin’ your rocks off caused a security breach in confidential information regarding warfare development?” Mohawk mocks.

Well, yes you were, now that he mentions it. You’re actually very worried your perverted little stunt will somehow end up forever immortalized in history books.

In the moment, though, your main concern was making sure that Konig wouldn’t find out, as you had started transmitting the device’s feed to him as soon as Ghost turned the earpiece on.

Part Three

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