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wife-of-all-dilfs · 17 days

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the five stages | f. odair

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summary: a journey back to a golden period of time of polaroid pictures, white knitted sweaters, and lively sea-green eyes. why? because in the present, those same pair of eyes are ruthlessly unrelenting and you have no other chance of their escape.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, vomiting, implied smut, depression, maggots, hallucinations, relieving fluff, mild horror. I don’t want to spoil the story too much, so I won’t be adding any more warnings, sorry y’all. this could be very triggering so please read at your own discretion. some descriptions are quite graphic!

notes: I’m super proud of this one—it’s sorta based off “little talks” by of monsters and men and “on the nature of daylight” by max richer. this fic probably won’t get many views, so I’ll be incredibly grateful for any—if any at all—type of engagement! <33

word count: 8k

The bedroom was cold; dark; empty. Empty even though I still resided in it.

My alarm had gone off two hours ago, yet I hadn’t moved an inch. When I finally turned my head to the side, I found that the space beside me was vacant. Cold; dark; empty—I reached out my hand anyway.

Thirty minutes passed before I wrestled myself out of bed and started making breakfast downstairs. The otherwise warm and flavourful plate of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast left my mouth feeling dry and my throat lodged.

It used to be one of my favourite meals. At least, when he was around.

Dishes were piled in the sink, dirty and untouched. I sat on the couch, pondering whether today was the day I would finally get to cleaning them. It wasn’t. I couldn’t. We always did that together. I wondered—if I left them in the sink long enough, would he return? Even just for five minutes to help me put them away? One month and seventeen days had passed, and yet I still entertained this thought religiously.

I wasted an hour running circles round the same contemplations before deciding fresh air, as cliché as it was, might do me some good.

Grey clouds concealed the sun’s warm golden light when I stepped outside, but that was fine—I didn’t like anything golden anymore. But he would want me to leave the house at least once a day, so that’s what I would do. I would go down to the beach beside our—my house and feel the sand collect between my toes as I walked to the water’s edge.

But wasn’t that where he was when it happened? Wasn’t he in water? Didn’t those things pile on top of him? Didn’t they sink their fangs into his neck and tear at his flesh until he was blown to…

Bits of egg, yoghurt and stomach bile sat at my feet. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a sandy, tear-stricken heap. Since my lower body had refused to cooperate any longer, it took me until midday to crawl back up the dune and to my front doorstep.

Fuck. I needed to rest.

“I need you to rest, sweetheart.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I whined. “I’m not sick.”

Finnick placed a bucket on the ground beside the bed. The room smelled of lemon disinfectant—a joy I often found in being sick… That is, if I were sick, which I was not. I must have drunk spoiled milk or eaten something bad during breakfast. Nevertheless, Finnick was not having it.

“You’re throwing up everything you manage to get down, and you’re shivering like it’s the middle of winter,” he said adamantly, tucking the comforter up to my chest. “It’s summer, and you’re very much not fine.”

I sat up, ready to heatedly debate the subject, but the room began swirling, and my ears were hissing like a staticky television channel without a signal. A quiet whimper buzzed in my throat as I hunched forward. Damn him, I was sick.

The mattress dipped as Finnick sat beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing it soothingly as he used his other hand to tuck away the curtain of hair concealing my face. I huffed, half in annoyance, half in an attempt to suppress the nausea rising in my throat, and then sunk back against the pillows.

“Not sick, she says,” he jested, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, though unable to hide the weak, betraying smile creeping across my lips. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, a gentle command. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

The wooden flooring welcomed me with hard, cold arms as I hauled my sandy body through the front door. Images of fangs, bloody flesh, and panicked sea-green eyes flooded my mind.

More breakfast, more bile. No lemon disinfectant.

My knees were folded beneath my body; my body was hunched over my knees. I was sobbing now, so hard that I threw up again (was there even anything left in my stomach at this point?), creating a thick puddle of vomit and tears beneath me. Cries and gasps for air bounced around the house. To call me a mess would be an understatement. I was a disaster. A disaster wrapped up in an unmendable tragedy with a ragged, threadbare ribbon barely holding me together.

And in case I wasn’t aware of this fact, the floorboards were so shiny that they mirrored a reflection of myself. My hair was a being of its own, all wild and unkempt, and my face was another story entirely—a red, blotchy thing I wasn’t too interested in delving into.

But the most unsettling aspect had nothing to do with me, it was that there was someone else in the reflection. Two green balls of light were glowing above my head.

Dishevelled golden hair…

Dimpled cheeks…

My forehead was pressed to the floor as I screamed.

“I don’t want to make you sick as well,” I said, contrarily enjoying the feeling of Finnick’s skin warm against mine, hot blood flowing through his veins.

A day had passed since I first became unwell, and the sickness had continued to wreak havoc inside me.

We were both under the thick covers, our limbs tangled together as he held me atop his chest. (my body didn’t register the scorching summer temperatures. I actually felt as though my core temperature was a few degrees below freezing. Meanwhile, Finnick was characteristically toasty warm. It was perfect for me, but not so much for him, evident in the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Nevertheless, he made no complaints).

My body rose and fell with each breath he took. I was trying to inhale whenever he exhaled in a weak attempt to prevent the festering sickness in my body from entering his, and though it was a futile gesture, I did it anyway.

“In sickness and health, remember?” he said.

I smiled. “We’re not even married.”

“Yet, you mean,” he countered. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, sweetheart. You know that.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of spending an entire lifetime with him—waking up in each other’s embrace each morning, the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds of our bedroom; Finnick calling me “Mrs. Odair” or “My wife” at every opportunity because doing so made us both giggle like two moronic, love-struck teenagers; and being unable to prevent the deep smile lines on both our cheeks as we age, a constant display of our perpetual happiness.

“Sixty more years of having and holding you,” he continued with a gentle musing in his tone. “For better or for worse... For richer or for poorer.” He then stroked the side of my face and brushed away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead. “In sickness and in health…”

“…Until death do us part,” I finished, my voice slow with fatigue.

Two fingers sat beneath my chin and tilted my head upward. My eyes connected with Finnick’s. They were soft. Heartfelt.

“Not even then. I’ll love you beyond the grave,” he murmured. Then his lips were slowly curving into a pensive smile. “When we’re both ghosts and haunting the next owners of this house.”

I was now smiling, too. “I’d hoped you would say something like that.”

How could he lie like that? There was no we. There were no next owners. There was only me, alive and alone in a comatose house. And mind you, I was sane enough to know that it wasn’t actually his ghost haunting me, though I wish I weren’t because having that knowledge was even worse. It meant he was truly erased from existence.

“Go away,” I whispered to the reflection on the floor.

He didn’t. His vacant green eyes kept staring down at my crumpled figure.

I shot off the floor and spun around, hot tears streaming down my face. “Go away!” His face remained expressionless. He looked like himself, only colder. “You said sixty more years! You said we’d be together!” I mindlessly picked up and flung a small picture frame at him, only for it to pass through his body and shatter on the floor behind him. “Why did you lie to me?!” My voice was frayed with fury, though underlined with grief.

He said nothing, did nothing. All he did was watch.

My legs buckled, and I was on the floor again. I was whispering, half-sobbing, the same question over and over until the words slurred together. “Why’d you lie? Why’d y’lie?” The only time I stopped was when my tongue grew too heavy to move anymore.

To my surprise, he eventually came and sat beside me, remaining cold and silent—as I too had become.

Glass fragments from the picture frame were scattered across the floorboards. The photo within had fallen out and, ironically, drifted towards me. I didn’t bother acknowledging him as I moved onto my hands and knees and began crawling forward—my palms slicing open and blood seeping out—until the photo was in my hands. My shins had granules of glass pricking into them, but I couldn’t feel the pain; all I could do was stare at the memory in my hands.

The picture had been taken in District Thirteen, a day before he signed up for… the mission.

I was drifting in and out of sleep when a sudden bright flash lit up my eyelids.

“Oops.”

Heavy eyes fluttering open, I was met with a small camera pointing down at me, which was being held up by a lengthy muscular arm, which was connected to an even more muscular and broad shoulder, which was connected to—okay, sorry, I think you get it.

“Finnick!” I shrieked, pulling the covers over my naked figure.

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling deep within his chest, beneath my ear. A soft whirring sound accompanied the polaroid sliding out of the camera, its black film hiding the doubtless embarrassing picture beneath. He placed the film on the sheets beside him, letting the photo develop in darkness.

“I was supposed to cover the flash,” he said, still chuckling.

I rubbed my eyes, which were twinkling with little sparkles of light. “I think you blinded me.”

“Lucky you,” he jested. “You’re finally free from my repulsive exterior.”

I started to reach for the picture beside him—“You’re an idiot”—but then he was rolling us over until his arms were pillared on either side of my head and he was hovering above me.

His hair was a mess, a testament to the night before (and very early hours of the morning), and he was sporting a beautiful, lazy grin. “Yeah? Well, you’re engaged to an idiot,” he said, tilting his head in an arrogant manner. “So what does that make you?”

The sea-glass ring hugging my finger gleamed in the lamp’s dull light as I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips brushing along the edges of his pronounced jawline. Tangled strands of hair and a beaming smile were reflecting back at me in his eyes. No one had ever loved anyone as much as I loved Finnick—disregarding the one exception that was staring down at me.

“Blinded by love,” I whispered.

Brief yet poignant emotion trickled through his features, his eyes. Then, like a flick of a switch, he covered it up and lowered his face into my neck, groaning the words, “So corny.”

My fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him close to me. “Liar,” I laughed. “You loved it.”

“I love you, which is why I put up with your corniness,” he murmured into my skin.

Even after all this time, my heart still leapt whenever he said those three words, even when he was being a jerk about it. I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

We laid like this for a short while longer—Finnick keeping his face buried in the warmth of my neck, his arms curled beneath my body; me playing with the golden waves of his hair that were somehow softer than my own. He was so heavy on top of me that it was starting to become difficult to breathe, but in no universe would I ever tell him to get off. It was a blissful sort of suffocation.

A sort anyone would snap a picture of just to keep as a reminder of how beautiful it feels to be smothered with love. With that being said, the picture that lay awaiting beside me was brought back to mind.

“Oh no,” I moaned, picking it up and taking a short glance at the developed photo. I covered my face with my hands, repeating the words, “Oh no.”

The photo was plucked from my fingers, and Finnick began humming contentedly to himself.

In the photo, my face had been nuzzled into his bare, muscular chest, eyes closed in sleep-drunken serenity, hair thrown over my shoulder and spilling across the pillow. My hand rested on his contoured stomach with just enough of my upper arm and low light to conceal my breasts. Finnick had a delicate hand draped over my waist. He was gazing down at me with a smile that was just… full of pure love.

I had to admit—it was a beautiful picture. Despite my initial disapproval.

“Beautiful,” I heard him echo my thoughts, his eyes still scanning the photo. Then his brows furrowed, and his head slightly inched forward as though he had just noticed something peculiar in the picture. “Oh, and you are too, I guess.”

My head tilted back against the pillow with an abrupt laugh. I shook my head, looking back at him. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning in closer.

His lips were on mine for what must have been the millionth time in the past few hours. The bedside clock announced that breakfast was soon approaching, though it was clear neither of us would make an appearance within the next hour (or two).

“You love me,” he whispered as he slid inside me.

And I did.

I really did.

The muscles in my cheeks were straining due to how hard I was smiling.

It wasn’t my idea to keep a picture of us half-naked in the entryway of our home. He always was a bit unusual like that. Completely unashamed of who he was and how he acted. Sometimes a little too boisterously, but that’s what I loved so much about him—how confident he was in his love for me, so much so that nothing else mattered, no one else’s opinion.

God, I love him so much.

Love…?

Wait.

That’s not right.

Shouldn’t it be “loved”?

And why was I smiling? I didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. He was gone. Our wedding never occurred. Our faces never wrinkled with smile lines. Our clasped hands never weathered with age. He was gone.

The polaroid slipped from between my fingers. My hands were covered in glass and blood, blood that had painted a dark red splotch in the middle of the shiny film. Figures.

After a short while of staring blankly at the scattered debris decorating the floor, I finally found it in myself to start climbing back onto my feet. My straightened legs wobbled and ached beneath me with the little energy I had. That’s what happens when you can barely stomach food anymore: no energy, always sleeping, always swamped by nightmares or bittersweet memories—at this point, they were one and the same.

Not a strand of gold or a fleck of green was in sight when I glanced over my shoulder. For now, at least. He liked making an appearance once or twice a day.

Pieces of glass crunched beneath my bare, stinging feet as I made for the stairwell. A mess for another day, I reasoned. Just like the dishes. Sticky red footprints stamped each wooden step I ascended, growing less prominent as I reached the second floor.

After taking a right down a short hallway, the encompassing walls littered with magnificent seashells and dried ocean flora, I turned the knob to the furthest room and entered. The floor was landscaped with mountains of clothes which drenched the room in a familiar, all-consuming smell. The scent kind of reminded me of receiving a warm hug, albeit from someone you know you should let go of in more ways than one.

His hair, golden and tousled, caught my eye as I passed the wall of string-hung polaroids in our… sorry, my bedroom. His smile was all dimpled and brilliant, and he had his tanned arms wrapped around my middle. Just moments after the picture was taken, he had tackled me into the water and rightfully earned a smack on the back of the head. In turn, he did it again.

But before that, we were both looking into the camera with the most joyful expressions—huge grins, bright eyes. Frozen in time.

I never let myself look too long at that picture anymore. And I never, ever looked into his eyes. Green used to be my favourite colour. I didn’t have a favourite colour anymore. It was safe to say I didn’t have a favourite anything anymore; everything favourable was a reminder of him.

I picked up a white knitted sweater off the ground and tugged it over my head, staining it with splotches of dark red. Knowing him, he would wear it regardless—whatever was mine, was also his, and was equally the same in reverse, even things as grotesque as blood.

Well, he would have worn it, I should have said.

The sweater had been specifically tailored for him. I remembered how the soft sleeves hugged his arms so well that every fluid curve of his biceps was visible, similar to a building wave before it crested. On me, the sleeves swallowed my arms whole, which I liked to think in their own unique way had also been unintentionally tailored for me, like someone out there knew one day I would need some way to drown in him when he was gone.

Finnick’s fingers tugged at the silk ribbons, unwrapping the opulent gift box that sat on our dining table. Capitol devotees would send extravagant parcels weekly, turning up in abundance on our doorstep. Sometimes Finnick didn’t even bother opening them; sometimes we opened them together just to get a good laugh out of whatever ridiculous item was inside.

He never, though, opened the perfume-scented letters marked with lipstick stains.

“Oh,” I said in surprise as he lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of fabric, knitted and cream-white and intricate, though still simple. It was soft to the touch; thick enough to retain warmth. I held it up with two hands, admiring the hand-sewed threads of cotton. Whoever’s handiwork this was, it was nothing to laugh at.

Holding it up to Finnick’s torso, I smiled and said, “Try it on.”

“What?” He shook his head and smiled quizzically. “No.”

“Yes. I think it will look good on you.” I pressed it further against him with conviction. “Try it on.”

He tilted his head and exhaled deeply through his nose, giving me a begrudging, squinty-eyed look. From that, I already knew I had won him over, and watched as he snatched the sweater from my grasp and tugged his shirt off with one hand. I averted my eyes, feeling the tips of my ears flush with heat—we’d been together for over a year now; you would think I’d have grown accustomed to seeing him shirtless.

His head slipped through the neckline and he pulled the sweater down his body. I was right. It looked really good on him. Perfect, actually. The measurements were so precise that the fabric sloped off his shoulders like a compact mountain of snow. The thick-knitted collar dipped into a deep, uneven neckline that partly revealed his chest and made his neck look like a strong, contoured pillar. He looked at me expectantly, as though to ask, “Well?”

“It makes your neck and shoulders look really nice,” I blurted out, instantly cringing inside.

His expression contorted into something of amusement and surprise as he took a slow step towards me. “My neck and shoulders, huh?” he said, grinning devilishly. Oh, now I’d done it. Leave it to me to rocket Finnick Odair’s already atmospheric ego. “Anything else?”

I began backing away, but his prowling strides were so long that the space between us only shortened. When my backside hit the edge of the dining table, I knew I was done for.

“You know,” I began, avoiding his unrelenting stare. “I think it was just a momentary lapse of judgement.” He was closing in now, placing his hands on either side of my body to trap me in place. “It—It actually looks terrible on you,” I said, feigning sincerity and adding a little nod to help further my case.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed down at me, lips curving into that seductive smirk he had mastered long ago. “No takebacks,” he purred, voice low and gravelly. Dear God, I could only pray I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle on the floor. He always did this—took every opportunity to flirt and render me a stuttering, bashful mess. It was his favourite game to play. “This is now my new favourite shirt. All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

But, given the right timing and ever-wavering amount of confidence, I liked to play too.

I inhaled deeply, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Maybe you should take it off then,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “So you don’t ruin it.”

His mischievous expression revealed his next words before he even spoke them. “Maybe I will,” he said, and then he was tugging his sweater over his head, and I was tearing off my own. As his hands slipped beneath my thighs and lifted me onto our dining table, I prayed the wooden legs wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our next actions.

My fingertips ran over the soft, rippling patterns on the knitted sleeves, my arms crossed in a self-soothing manner. After that day, the sweater had become a sort of good luck charm—or so we agreed upon as we lay panting on the tabletop. He started wearing it to a multitude of events and parties in the Capitol (basically any place in which he needed a pick-me-up, a reminder of what he had to come home to, who he had to come home to).

He even wore it the day we got engaged.

So many happy memories were associated with this one white sweater. So many times, those cloud-soft sleeves were wrapped around my body, suffocating me in the scent of him—if nothing else, at least that remained.

The last time he had worn it was the day of the Reaping for the Quarter Quell; the last time our lives were ever semi-normal. I had fought tooth and nail to reach him before he was escorted onto the train, despite being ordered, “No goodbyes,” by one of the Peacekeepers. In modest terms, I had significantly decreased his chances of reproduction.

When I reached Finnick, he had brought me into a kiss so harsh and fervent that my lips were bruised the next day. He then yanked off his sweater, leaving his upper body completely exposed to everyone around us in complete disregard for his trauma-induced fear of doing so, and shoved it into my hands.

I had just stood there frozen in bewilderment, watching as he called out, “I love you, sweetheart!” Two Peacekeepers were forcing him onto the train, but he too fought for the last word. “Don’t forget—I’m always with you!”

That statement had never been truer than it was now. For better or for worse.

My vision unblurred as I returned to reality. Dismal, grey light was peeking through the shutters that formed the balcony doors, the daylight hours seeming to tick away at a snail’s pace. I used to wish for the days to be longer, for time to move slower, so I could savour the moments I had of happiness and sunlight which used to be plentiful.

Why do wishes only come true when you grow to desire nothing but the opposite?

Slothfully, I crawled onto the unmade king-size bed, my limbs crumpling and balling to my chest as the side of my head hit the pillow. The imprint on the mattress beneath my body didn’t match my own. It was much larger and broader. How long would it take for the springs to forget his body weight and recoil back into place as though he never existed at all?

I inhaled the sweater’s scent with every breath I took (and I tried not to wonder how long it would take for his scent to disappear as well) and hugged my arms around my waist. No pain was worse than the fleeting moments I forgot the embrace was my own and not his.

Hours passed, and so did the evening. A beautiful orange sunset hadn’t slipped through the shutter’s cracks because the clouds never dissipated. Night-time brought no consolation either. Not even the stars or moon made an appearance. Everything that once gave me a shred of optimism was hidden behind a veil of gloom.

I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any different—the weather, my mood, his absence. Because the end of autumn was closing in, and the days were becoming bleaker. Trees would start shedding their leaves; the leaves would start to die.

I hoped I would too.

I was still curled up on my side, my body aching with stiffness, when my face began scrunching into this ugly, twisted mess of despair. My tears were slow yet heavy, synonymous with the day I had incurred.

But then something strange happened.

Someone called my name.

No. That couldn’t be right. I was the only one who occupied a house in the Victor’s Village; the others had either relocated after the war or were… dead.

But there it was again—my name, distant and eerie, yet spoken with a tone people often used to beckon over and aid a frightened, injured animal. My vision blurred, both from tears and concentration on the voice.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my surroundings transformed into a kitchen, just that they had and that I was no longer in my bed but standing upright.

Ahead of me, in the distance, the sun was beating down on the crystalline water, and white frothy waves were cresting on the smooth, golden sand. It was a perfect day; not a cloud was in sight. The only blemish that smeared the blue sky was the reflection staring back at me from the window I gazed out of.

In my hands was a soup bowl and a damp dishrag.

“Sweetheart?” That once distant voice, concerned and beckoning, was standing right beside me.

Blinking, I snapped out of my daze and turned away from the window.

He stood tall beside me, despite being half hunched over the kitchen sink and scrubbing the last of the few dirty dishes stacked neatly on the bench top. His head was turned towards me, his enamoured sea-green eyes peering into my own as though he was searching behind them for what troubled me.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, standing up straight. His touch was warm and gentle as he reached for my hand, leaving soapy bubbles on my palm and fingers. “Where’d you go?”

Three odd things seemed to occur at once: first, I flinched away from his touch, overwhelmed by its paradoxical unfamiliar familiarity; second, I felt an inexpressible relief from seeing him standing before me, seeing his cheeks painted with a soft pink hue as though blood-red roses were hidden just beneath his skin.

The third was an onset of disorientation. I couldn’t tell you why I felt disorientated standing in my own kitchen with the love of my life, just, simply, that I did. There was an answer—it was close by, right under my nose, yet unreachable. We did this every day, didn’t we? We would eat meals together and then wash up together. So, why did I feel so unsettled?

I shook my head, dispelling the confusion that muddled my brain. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” I laughed uneasily, without a hint of mirth.

He laughed too, not to poke fun or because he found my obvious turmoil amusing, but rather to comfort me, so I would feel less alone in my unease. “It’s alright,” he said gently.

Neither of us addressed what had happened; we simply resumed our routine of washing and drying in domestic silence. And as seconds turned to minutes, and as the sky remained sunny, I found myself smiling. All that mattered was that he was standing beside me and that the sun was beaming in the sky. So, I kept smiling.

After I finished drying the last dish, we began placing the plates, bowls, and an abundance of cutlery in their assigned drawers and cupboards, weaving past each other and giggling anytime we got in one another’s path. I was carrying a stack of white plates, eyeing the high cupboard they needed to go in, but before I could even attempt straining onto my toes, the plates were out of my hands and taken into another much larger pair.

The smell of sea salt and expensive cologne wafted from behind me as he towered over my shorter frame and placed the plates in the cupboard.

“I could have done that,” I said, smiling as I turned around to face him.

He had a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, right. What are you, like, four feet tall?” he joked.

It was an extreme exaggeration since I was no way near that height, but I suppose everyone was miniature in comparison to him, being over six feet tall and all. I feigned open-mouthed offence, to which he gave the side of my head a quick, playful kiss of apology.

He then leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “Plus, when was the last time you actually put these dishes away? I’m surprised you even remember where they go.” He was grinning at me in a teasing manner, but every ounce of humour had drained from my body.

My eyes drifted to the floor.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it—when was the last time I put the dishes away?

I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember what had happened this morning or the day before. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what we were doing before the dishes.

To be standing in a room, in a place you call home, and have a sense that nothing is in its right place, even though that is where everything has always been, is a disconcerting feeling beyond belief. To be perplexed by your own state of being—your existence—is even worse. I could almost describe it as a nauseating bout of vertigo.

My hands found the counter’s edge behind me, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

He stepped in front of me, one large and gentle hand reaching up to cup my jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with shallow worry lines as he inspected my face. I hated that. I hated that I worried him so much. Sure, partners were supposed to lean on each other for support in a relationship (as he too did with me when needed), but I always felt so guilty doing so. Hadn’t he already suffered enough… pain in his lifetime? Who was I to cause him any more?

A sunbeam suffused the room, oozing across his face. The illumination lightened his eyes into a refreshing mint green, though, in contradiction, unearthed a pain that had been previously been concealed. Pain from what, I wasn’t sure. From concern regarding my unusual behaviour? Maybe a thought that was troubling him? Or perhaps he too was enduring a spell of confusion and had an inexplicable feeling that he was out of place.

Whatever his pain regarded, seeing it had rattled the deepest structures in which held my mind together.

It was then that I suddenly realised I hadn’t answered his question, so I gave him a wan “I’m-not-too-sure-myself” smile and then began slinking back to the sink window.

He followed behind me. I could feel him staring into the back of my head, could feel his brows draw together and his lips pull into a tight line, patiently waiting for a further explanation, though I wasn’t sure I could offer him one.

I hadn’t noticed before, but on the windowsill was a small picture frame containing a polaroid picture of us in bed—I was lying on his chest, half-naked and asleep, and he was looking down at me, smiling fondly yet with a sort of mischievous knowability. Running down the middle of the protective glass was a small, jagged crack.

I plucked the frame from the windowsill, inspecting the picture in my two hands. It seemed to uncover a place in my mind—once clouded by disorientation—I’d forgotten. Whether this place was real or imaginary was beyond me, but the fear I felt upon its recollection was incandescently genuine.

“Do you think,” I spoke tentatively, “people can have nightmares while they’re wide awake?” My thumb ran over the crack.

I might have heard him inhale a quiet, sharp breath, but it also could have just been the waves breaking on the distant shore. “Like a flashback?” he asked, an unidentifiable unease in his tone.

“No, not exactly.” I searched my brain for the right words, the right way to tell him how I was feeling, but it was difficult when I could only conjure vague fragments. And it was all I could do to tell it to him elliptically, as I knew saying the words in any other manner would shatter my heart.

“I had this vision,” I began, my words apprehensively staccato, “where I was somewhere else.” My eyes flickered over the picture. “Somewhere… bad. Everything was grey and heavy, and I was alone. Sometimes you were there, but you—you weren’t really you anymore.” I paused and looked up to find him staring at me in the reflection of the window. He looked pained; it was then suddenly hard to recollect a time when he didn’t. My throat started to constrict. “You were gone and…” my voice quietened to a broken wisp of wind, “you were haunting me.”

The room was silent.

He said nothing in response

The transparency of his reflection in the glass was so familiar—so haunting—and it was like another forgotten matter had been dredged from the depths of my mind. Stinging tears brimmed my waterline, and, due to my inability to bear the sight of his translucent appearance, I forced myself to turn around.

I glanced up at him, smiling weakly as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as if my need to apologise was nonsensical (even I was unsure of what I was apologising for), and he then pulled me into a tight embrace. His chin rested atop my head; my face was buried in his chest, and his arms held me like I was some dilapidated structure that relied on his support to remain upright. Part of me knew this sentiment was correct.

I expected his next words to be ones of consolation or reassurance, maybe an “I’m right here, sweetheart” or an “I’ll never leave you”. Instead, I felt his head turn and heard him say, “Think it’s going to storm?”

With a sniffle, I turned my head towards the window. The arms wrapped around my body tightened as if he somehow knew I would need the extra support. Because when I saw the wall of dark, opaque clouds rolling through the sky towards us, an unshakeable dread zapped through my heart.

My hands clung to the fabric of his cream-white sweater, which then brought to my attention that an inexplicable tingling sensation was spreading down the fingers of my right hand, numbing them.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the once serene waves began cresting violently on the shoreline. The dread grew.

Before my attention could drift too far, my name was called again.

I looked up to find those green eyes gazing down at me, swelling with tears. He was crying. Why was he crying? And why was his hair wet? His usually golden strands had darkened to a deep brown and were drenched with cold water that dripped onto my cheeks, and his hair was swept haphazardly across his forehead, a reflection of someone who had just endured an intense storm or had just been fighting for his life against a swarm of—of—

No.

My own eyes began to burn.

“It’s killing me to see you this way,” he spoke, every second word breaking and wavering in volume.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis. Return did the disorientation, ravaging my mind more violently now. “What do you”—My chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths—“What? What do you mean?” My lower lip was quivering, and my eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. His words replayed in my head: It’s killing me to see you this way.

It’s killing me.

His hair was dripping—no longer with water, but with a thick, red substance that both dripped down and clotted on his skin. He didn’t look pained anymore; he looked like he was in pain.

It’s killing me.

But that can’t be right, can it?

It’s killing me.

Why?

It’s killing me.

Becausemy Finnickwas already dead.

I staggered backwards and out of his, no, this imposter’s arms. He stared at me as blood streamed down his forehead, pouring over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. I was going to be sick. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a newly invented punishment from Snow. But that wasn’t right either: Snow was dead too.

“F…Fi…” I tried saying his name, my top teeth prodding the inside of my bottom lip, but I couldn’t make a sound.

He took a step towards me, and I almost stumbled onto the floor. “Remember what I told you?” he asked, though it sounded more like an urge.

I frantically shook my head. No, I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember anything.

Something dark and mountainous appeared in my peripheral vision, and an odious smell singed my nostrils. My head snapped to the left. Stacks upon stacks of plates and bowls mounded the kitchen sink, each crawling with maggots that were falling to the floor in white, wriggling heaps.

Nausea boiled in my stomach; horror brimmed my eyes.

I quickly turned away, my eyes meeting green again. His face was no longer stained with blood, and his hair was dry, shiny, and golden with life. I was as speechless as my face was drained of blood.

He took one more step toward me, but this time I didn’t back away, either frozen with fear or desperation for one last experience of closeness with him. My heart thrummed as he reached out to cup my face. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him, I repeated madly in my head. Oh, but it felt so much like him when his warm hand met my skin.

“I told you I’m always with you, sweetheart,” he murmured. And I knew engaging with him, in whatever form he took, affirmed my mental unwellness, but I couldn’t stop from leaning into his touch anyway. “Remember that.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. “I love—”

A bolt of lightning flashed, and thunder boomed throughout the house.

I was back in my bed.

My eyelids were heavy with sleep as they fluttered open. I felt detached, destabilised, and unsure of my existence in the world for I wasn’t sure which of the twoI was currently in. Real or fake?

A few minutes went by before I managed to get a grip on reality, which, in fact, was the real one. The Somewhere Bad. I pinched the corners of my eyes, not only finding them damp with fresh tears but also realising that my right hand—previously tucked beneath my head—was numb.

None of it had been real…

The entire time, my body was trying to alert me, to save me from the inescapable heartache I would feel upon waking. He hadn’t held me in his arms. He hadn’t cupped my cheek nor helped me wash the dishes. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere (not even in his own marked grave because there was nothing left of him to be buried).

Even despite seeing the familiar tall outline standing in the doorway, his features illuminated with each flash of lightning, I knew it wasn’t really him.

Rain was pummelling the roof, almost loud enough to subdue the perpetual rumbling of thunder (apart from the one sky-splitting thunderclap that had woken me). In another time, I would’ve been scared—of the raging storm, of my phantom lover who was watching from the shadows of our bedroom. But not now.

In recent months, I had found that no emotion, not even fear, surpassed the soul-crushing realisation that you have irretrievably lost the one thing you lived for.

On a defeated whim, and for the first time since his death, I let the singular, weighted word breeze past my lips.

“Finnick.”

It was a trembling plea, a desperate beckon.

And he indulged.

His footsteps were silent as he walked towards the bed. I couldn’t see his legs from my position, prompting me to wonder if he even had legs at all. Or did he only have legs when I could see them? That would then insinuate that if I couldn’t see him at all, he didn’t exist.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? In my case, the answer was simple: no, it didn’t.

It wasn’t really Finnick. It wasn’t even his ghost. It was my mind.

He reached the bed’s edge, and I scooted over to my side of the mattress, allowing him enough space to lie down on his. His weight neither dipped nor shook the bed as he laid down and turned on his side to face me. His eyes were sad, and I’m sure mine were too. We stared at each other for a long, long time, long enough for my fatigued body to start playing tricks on me.

If I focused hard enough, I thought I could hear the sound of his breathing (the wind was picking up outside), feel the warmth of his skin spreading onto the sheets (the remnants of my own body heat were left behind each time I moved), and smell the musky scent of cologne and sea-salted hair (the sleeves of his sweater were tucked beneath my nose).

Maybe for a moment—just one sickly, self-indulgent moment—I could pretend it was really him.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you would haunt the next owner of this house,” I whispered as light-heartedly as I could, my voice obscured by the heavy rain pouring onto the roof.

He smiled, and it was one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful things I had ever seen. I think I might have given him one in return, though I couldn’t be too sure because the concept of smiling had become so foreign. The last time I was truly happy was… the last night we spent together. In each other’s arms, safe and warm and together.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Cressida, whom I had only spoken to once in Thirteen when the war ended, was the one to tell me how it happened. Katniss was too personal, too close to him; Peeta’s instability rendered conversation futile. So, I had asked Cressida to tell me every detail—every expression on his face, every word he screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was so I could cling onto those last few minutes where he was still alive and breathing, despite dying and bleeding; or so I could replay the moment over and over in my head, as if somehow, someway, I could change his fate.

“He talked about you all the time,” she had told me. “Actually, I don’t think he ever spoke of anything but you. No one minded, though. While we were out there, no one ever really smiled, but every time your name was mentioned, Finnick would get this great big grin on his face, and it was impossible not to look at him and start smiling as well.

So, we all started asking questions about you: ‘What colour is her hair? Her eyes? Where did you meet? What are her hobbies?’—just to see him smile… A week passed, and it was like we all knew you inside out. It was all we could do to hang on to some shred of happiness, even if it meant talking about a girl who, to all of us, was a stranger.”

I was inconsolable after that.

She kept talking, but my sobs had drowned out most of her words, so much that I had asked her to retell me everything later in the day, despite inducing the same outcome. So, she told it to me again, just as she did the day after that and the day after that and so on until I returned home to District Four.

“He also spoke about how you never felt comfortable living in the Victors Village. He had this idea that the two of you would move somewhere far away, outside the borders of District Four, though he emphasised remaining by the sea was very important—something about how you looked while swimming during sunset and the water was all sparkly around you.”

At this point, she had been holding my hand, knowing full well how debilitating it was for me to hear. Then she had spoken with a quiet incredulity and a facial expression to match, as though she’d never encountered a love like ours before. “He wanted to build a house for you…”

He wanted to build a house for you.

And now he never would. Our love was too ephemeral for that to happen; destined to remain history; to be a memory.

Finnick's eyes stared into mine, the green hue now a dark grey from the overshadowing dimness of the room.

“I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whispered to him, placing my hand on the sheets between us. “I would’ve travelled thousands of miles away from this place. Would’ve lived in solitary, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” A warm tear tickled the bridge of my nose. His eyebrows scrunched together in shared anguish. “God, Finn, I miss you,” my voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

I contemplated crying, sobbing, screaming, or begging for him to come back, but I was just too tired. All my energy had been spent on grievance throughout the following day, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second as my body was sinking further into a state of relaxation.

Between slow blinks, I watched Finnick’s large hand move to rest atop my own, and at that point, I knew sleep would soon catch me because I swear I could feel his warm touch.

Images flashed through my mind—incomprehensible and melting together, yet somehow still graspable.

Sky blue water rippling with calm waves, the surface glittering in the setting sun. A white stonewall cottage fronted by soft, white sand and tall palm trees. Two plates of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast. Three pairs of footprints in the sand, one larger, one smaller, and another between them so delicately tiny I could fit them into the palm of my hand.

Sea-green eyes above me. Golden hair tangled between my fingers. Finnick standing in the wooden doorway of our white stonewall cottage wearing a cream-white sweater and rolled-up slacks. Finnick grinning deeply and then throwing his head back with laughter. Finnick standing in front of our bed, taking my hand in his and guiding me towards him. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

Finnick holding our child.

I was between worlds now, both indistinguishable from the other. My eyelids were drooping, and I was quickly growing insensate. Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw Finnick’s—he who wasn’t really my Finnick—lips move. It wasn’t in my bleak reality in which I heard him speak, but rather in my mind, and God, did his words offer the sweetest relief.

“I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

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westwiing13 · 4 months

Text

caught

matt sturniolo x reader (female)

warning: this story contains smut and rough sex

hi everyone! this is my first story and i’m proud of it tbh, but i also apologize if you think it’s bad or… if i did something wrong. lmao idk, enjoy 🫶 oh also, sorry that it’s SO long 😭 i like a good build up.

It was a Friday night, 7PM, and I was hanging out at my boyfriend’s place, Matt. We decided to do a casual date night. That was something I loved about our relationship. We didn’t care for fancy dinner dates. Eating fast food at home, in the car or grabbing a quick meal at a restaurant was enough for us.

We are both sitting at the black kitchen table eating Mc Donald’s.

I pick up a french fry and before I put it in my mouth I ask, “So, we have the place to ourselves the entire night?”

“Yep.”, Matt says then grabbing his root beer soda and taking a sip. “Chris and Nick went to a party and won’t be home til later.”

I chew the french fry and swallow it. “You didn’t want to go?”, I ask.

“Nah. I’d rather spend my night with my girlfriend.” Matt places his right hand on top of my left and gives it a gentle squeeze.

A few moments have passed and we were both done eating our dinner. Matt takes our empty cups, french fry containers, wrappers from our burgers and toss it in the trash can.

I enter into Matt’s room with my right hand in his left. I lead him to the bed where I guide him to sit down and I sit in his lap with my legs wrapped around him. I wrap my arms around his neck, feeling the cold chain of his necklace against my bare arms. Matt places his arms on my lower back holding me. We look into each other’s eyes for a few moments taking each other in. Matt smiles at me and gives a little chuckle.

“What, babe?”, I ask while gently running my fingers through his brown hair.

Matt says, “Oh nothing. I’m just thinking to myself how did I get so lucky to have you?”

I blush and smile not knowing what to say because he still manages to give me butterflies and leave me speechless.

All I could say is “I love you.” I place my right hand on his chiseled jawline feeling his rough stubble underneath my hand, and trace his lower lip with my thumb. Matt says I love you back and moves his hands lower and gently squeezes my ass. I lean in placing my lips onto his. I slide my tongue into his mouth. Our tongues collide dance all around swapping saliva. I feel Matt getting hard underneath me. I slowly grind against his hard length. Matt lets out a deep moan. I feel his warm breath against my lips. Matt brings his lips back to mine and we continue to make out. I pull away from our kiss and teasingly bite on his lip. To finish it off I give him a quick peck.

I yawn feeling tired. I unhook my legs from Matt’s waist and get off of him. Matt says, “Hey! What are you doing? You can’t tease me like that.”

I giggle. “I’m going to take a quick nap if that’s okay.” I say while I move the decorative log pillows aside and untuck the sheets to get into Matt’s bed.

“It’s only okay if we get to continue this later.” he says while giving me a sexy smirk and a wink. I shake my head agreeing to his words. I climb into bed and get comfy.

Matt stands up from the foot of the bed, walks over to to me and leans over to give me a gentle kiss on my head. “I’m going to hang out in the living room so I can let you sleep, baby.” I let out a soft mhmm. Matt turns off the lights and shuts the door as he leaves the room.

I wake up in the comfort of Matt’s bed. I grab my phone to check the time. 9:30PM. I place my phone back down on the side table and close my eyes again. A few minutes went by when I suddenly hear, “God, Nick, you fucking suck at this game! You made us lose again! We haven’t won a single game tonight.” I jolted up and saw Matt sitting at his computer playing Fortnite.

“Geez, babe! You almost gave me a heart attack!” He didn’t seem to hear me so I grab one of the log pillows and threw it at him. “Hey!”, he says to me. He turns around and says, “Oh you’re up, baby. Did I wake you?”

“Sorta!”

“I’m sorry.” Matt puts down the PS4 controller and says into the microphone, “Hold on you guys, Y/N woke up. Be back soon.” I could hear Chris and Nick through the headset both saying alright.

Matt walks over to me and sits on the bed. “How was your nap?” he asks moving a piece of hair out of my face and tucking it behind my ear.

“I needed it.” I grab his hand that is near my ear and bring it down onto the bed. “Is that Nick and Chris you’re talking to? I thought they weren’t going to be home til later.” I slowly move my thumb side to side across his hand.

“Yeah, they decided to leave the party early.”

“Don’t they know that we’re doing a date night?”

“Yes. I tried to convince them to stay longer but they wouldn’t. Assholes.” Matt rolls his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Hey, Matt, it’s okay.“ I lean in and give him a peck on the lips. “I’m ready to continue where we left off now that I am well rested.” I say in a flirtatious tone. I can see Matt instantly get hard underneath his Nike grey sweatpants just from my words. I love knowing that I have that kind of control over him. “But Chris and Nick are here. And you and I both know you scream my name when I am absolutely destroying your sweet pussy.”, Matt says softly with a smirk and licks his lips. I lean forward and whisper into his ear, “Well, I’ll just have to learn to be quiet and if I can’t… well… that’s Nick’s and Chris’ problem. They knew we were having a date night.” I bring my hand to Matt’s throbbing dick, I glide my hand across it and he squirms under my touch. I continue to whisper in his ear, “Look at you. Already going crazy from my touch. You tell those boys that you are done with gaming for tonight.” Matt gets up from the bed, walks over to his desk and puts back on his headset and says into the microphone, “Hey, you guys, I am done with Fortnite for the evening.”

“Oh we knew the moment we heard Y/N say, ‘I’m ready to continue where we left off now that I am well rested’ .”, Chris says laughing. “Shut up, bro!” Matt raises his voice. Chris continues to laugh and says, “Forgot to mute your mic, bro.”

“Okay, this got weird fast.” Nick says.

“Goodnight.” Matt says with a serious tone. Matt takes off his headset, logs off of Fortnite and turns off his PS4.

I stretch my arms out in front and wiggle my fingers telling Matt I want to be snuggled up in his arms. Matt walks over to me places his arms around me and rests his head on top of mine. I breathe in his addictive scent of cedarwood and hints of citrus.

“I love it when you get mad, babe.” , I say with a laugh. “It’s both cute and hot.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

I nod. “I love big bad boy Bernard.”, I tease. Matt just rolls his eyes not even knowing what to say to that. Matt lifts his head off of mine, takes his hand puts it under my chin and tilts my head up. He stares into my eyes and puts his lips on mine. He slides his tongue into my mouth and our tongues are once again dancing.

I reach for the drawstring on his sweatpants and untie them while we are still exchanging a wet kiss. I tug on the waistband of both the sweatpants and his underwear. I break the kiss and say, “Take these off.” Matt stands up and removes his grey sweatpants first and I immediately become wet at the sight of Matt’s bulge compressed in his red underwear. He then removes his underwear and his dick springs out fully erected. I get off the bed and kneel in front of him.

“God you are so beautiful staring up at me like that. Put those pretty pink lips to good use, yeah?”, he says.

I first tease him by delicately moving my fingers along his shaft and then I gently lick the tip swirling my tongue around it.

“Please stop teasing me, Y/N.”, Matt begs. He bunches my hair into a messy bun and without warning he bucks his hips and all the sudden I feel his dick at the back of my throat. I place my hands onto his thighs for support. He then starts to thrust in out of my mouth at a steady pace.

“Your pretty mouth feels so fucking good around me.”, he says.

I unclip my black bra and remove it from underneath my shirt. I then lift my shirt up exposing my tits. My nipples go hard from the cold hair. I place both of my index fingers and thumbs to massage my hardened nipples for added pleasure. I begin to moan.

“Fuck, baby, with you moaning like that. I’m not going to be able to last much longer.” he says. He begins to speed up his pace forcing me to have to put my hands back on his thighs for support.

“I’m so close, Y/N.” Matt says with heavy breaths. He removes his dick from my mouth and begins to stroke his dick at a fast pace. Shots of his hot cum lands on my tits. “Fuuuuuck.” Matt says in a deep moan.

I stare up into his beautiful blue eyes and move all of the saliva that formed from the blowjob to my lips and Matt leans down and kisses me as we share the wet sloppy mess.

“You are such a dirty girl for me, huh?”, he says. I glide my fingers across my tits collecting his cum and licking it all up.

Matt takes my hand and helps me up.

“Now it’s my turn to make my princess feel good.”, he says.

He removes my shirt fully exposing my top half. He leans down and takes one nipple into his mouth. His warm tongue gliding across my nipple causing me to moan. I place my hands on his head and move my fingers through his soft messy brown hair. Matt stops for a second to help me lay back on the bed with him on top. He starts planting kisses on my neck and makes his way back down to my tits. He takes in the opposite nipple and swirls his tongue around it. He then makes his way further down while his hands massage my tits. Once he gets to my jeans he moves his hands down to unbutton and unzip them. He removes my jeans leaving me only in my black thong. He also removes his black tank top over his head.

Seeing Matt completely naked with only his horse chain/necklace on makes me feel a warmth down in my core.

Matt stands at the foot of the bed and I feel his blue eyes scanning over my body taking in the sight of me.

“Come on, Matt. My pussy is aching for you.”, I say as I begin to touch myself. I can feel the black fabric becoming wet.

Matt leans over and wraps his arms around my legs bringing me closer to the edge of the bed so he has easier access to my pussy. I can feel his hot breath against my flesh. I stop touching myself and let him take over.

Matt firstly moves my thong to the side with his teeth and then starts licking away at my clit. The intense pleasure caught me off guard and I yell, “MATT!” I immediately place my hand over my mouth knowing that Chris and Nick could’ve possibly heard. Matt says against my pussy, “Shhhh… Don’t want my brothers to know that I am eating the shit out of you right now.” He goes back to licking every crevice of my wet aching pussy. The clit, the folds and even inside. “Fuck, Matt. Don’t stop, please.”, I say with heavy breaths. I place my legs over his shoulders and place a hand in his hair grabbing it. Letting him know to not stop and that I am close. I begin to squirm under him and let out deep heavy moans. I feel his tongue going in and out of me at a rapid speed. God he knew how to use that tongue of his. He then goes back over my clit and that’s when I lose it. I feel a pleasuring sensation come over me as I reach my climax. My legs shake uncontrollably and I can’t help but yell his name.

A few seconds later I say, “Holy shit, babe. I think… that was… your best job yet.”, I say trying to catch my breath. Matt then licks me all over and tells me how good I taste.

He comes up, leans forward, and wraps his hand around my neck, whispering, “I told you to be quiet. Turn around and get on all fours for me.”

I do as he says and put my ass into the air. Matt removes my thong by ripping it off me in one swift motion. He spanks my ass and I let out a whimper. He grabs his hard length and glides it in between my folds teasing me.

“Babe, plea-“, before I could finish my sentence he thrusts into me super deep with no warning. I let out a gasp. He gives me a moment to adjust to his size before he starts moving slowly in and out of me.

“Goddamn, Y/N, you are so tight.” He gives my ass another slap and continues to move in and out of my wetness. Matt grabs my hair and pulls my head back as he begins to pick up his pace. My eyes begin to roll to the back of my head I can feel the familiar sensation forming in my stomach knowing I am close.

“Matt- I- I’m—“

“Me too, babe.”

His dick twitching inside of me knowing he is close. I reach for my clit and rub it with my fingers in a circular motion.

The door opens and Nick walks in, “Hey, Matt, do you know where—“ Both Matt and I look over and see Nick with terror in his eyes. I try to say something but I am so overwhelmed with pleasure and also close to reaching my climax that I can’t get any words out.

“Hey, bro! Get outta here!”, Matt yells.

Nick exclaims, “Oh shit! Sorry!” He exits so fast closing the door behind him.

Right after the door closes I feel my pussy clenching around his dick while I reached my peak. “Matt! I- I’m cumming! Holy—!”

“Yes, baby, cum for me.”, Matt says out of breath continuing move in and out of me.

Seconds later I feel Matt bucking his hips and his warm cum filling me up. Matt pulls out and collapses next to me.

“Holy fucking shit.”, he says, “that was so hot.”

I turn over and lay next to him. Our hot sweaty bodies touching.

“You should’ve locked the door, silly.”, I say with a giggle.

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #fanfic

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pelova4president · 4 months

Text

Bet on it

Georgia Stanway x AWFC!Reader

summary~ Georgia was an absolute douchebag, arrogant and cocky. Leah, one of your bestfriends thought you’d get along but clearly she was wrong, right?

You hated her. You absolutely fucking hated her.

How you met wasn’t ideal but that wasn’t the reason why you couldn’t stand her, at least not fully. The first impression was awful. She was cocky, selfish and just mean.

It wasn’t even on the pitch that you first met, if you did you could blame her behaviour on the game.

It was when you got introduced to each other that the hatred started. Leah and you being teammates at Arsenal and Georgia and Leah being being teammates at England, and bestfriends ofcourse. She thought the two of you would get along, maybe even be friends yourselves. But she couldn’t have been more wrong.

You and a few other Arsenal players organised a birthday party for Leah. Beth was in charge of the guests since she knew most of the people Leah would want to invite, Kim chose the location and organised most things. That left you and Vic to decorate.

It was all pretty last minute but the location still looked like a dream. You even convinced Kim to get a magician to perform at the party.

Vic and you couldn’t decorate it all without a little fun. The two of you made a little game ‘pin the smile on leah’. You were both really proud of your creation. It took about half an hour to put it all together since Vic can’t cut on the lines.

You had hung it up, next to the bar when someone came stomping in. Next to Beth stood a brunette. She was looking unimpressed around the room. Her facial expression let you know she didn’t think too good of it all.

When you walked up to her to introduce myself she shook your hand and looked you up and down, doing a full scan. “Yeah hi, i’m Georgia but you probably already knew that.” she said. She acted like a douchebag but then again, you did already know who she was.

Vic showed your creation to the two lionesses and Beth was actually proud of you. Georgia again, wasn’t really bothered.

It was 8pm and everyone started to arrive. Leah wouldn’t arrive until 8.30pm, when Viv would pick her up to ‘look at a puppy’.

You were sat at the bar, sipping on a martini when the bayern playing sat next to you. She ordered an espresso martini and turned to look at you. “So what do you do?” she asked me like Leah didn’t tell her about you, did Leah not talk about you like she told you about Georgia?

“Uh well, i’m a footballer. I play for Arsenal and The Netherlands.” you told her, flashing a smile. “Yeah, i figured. What position?” she asked, more interested in her drink on the bar than your conversation. “Mostly midfield, you?” you replied, knowing damn well where she plays on the field and for what club she plays.

At that question she looked up “Bayern and attacking midfield, thought you’d already know that” she said offended. “Yeah well i thought you knew who i was too” you snapped back. She laughed but before you could say anything back Jen yelled that Viv and Leah could arrive any moment.

The lights went out and everyone was trying to hide behind something, Georgia and you behind the bar. You heard Leah and Viv talking, Leah asking her if she was sure that they needed to be here. Viv told her she was sure and opened the door. Kim put the lights on again and everyone screamed ‘happy birthday!’.

Leah wasn’t as surprised as you hoped she’d be but it was still funny to see her shocked face.

After she made her rounds thanking everyone she walked over to you, with that cocky brunette next to her. “Hey, have the two of you already met?” she asked us and you nodded “yeah Beth introduced us to each other earlier.”.

You fell into a conversation with Leah, Georgia was just standing there listening. She kept looking at you, you could feel her eyes on you. You didn’t really focus on what Leah was saying anymore, you turned your head and looked Georgia in the eyes. “What’re you looking at?” You asked her annoyed. She rolled her eyes “nothing, you’ve just got somethin’ on your face” she smirked.

“Fuck you” you said and pushed past her. You walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, searching for the thing Georgia was looking at. You don’t even have anything on your fucking face. Why is she acting like this, you didn’t do anything to her, she doesn’t even know you.

You walked towards Vic who was sitting at the bar. You took a seat next to her. “Vicky, i don’t know what i’ve done but Georgia literally hates me.” you sighed. Vic hummed and told you not to think about it too much.

You tried to avoid Georgia as much as you could that whole evening. You chatted with Leah and her mom for a bit, a few of the other England girls but mostly with vic. You tried to get people to do the ‘pin the smile on Leah’ game and most of the people did, only Viv and Georgia didn’t. Vic and you were on a mission to get Viv to do it.

After a few minutes of convincing her (and a bit of blackmailing) you got her to do it. She actually won well.. you thought she won.

“Viv, you’re actually really good. I think you won.” you hugged her. “She didn’t win yet, i still have to go.” Georgia interrupted. “You’re not gonna win.” you said, rolling your eyes at her. “Oh yeah, wanna bet on it?” she asked arrogantly.

You agreed, if Viv won she would do what you said. If she won you would do whatever she wanted. Viv normally loved bets and a bit of rivalry but she got bored and walked away murmuring something like ‘children’.

Leah on the other hand was beyond entertained. She did think the two of you would get along, and she still thinks that. It’s just funny to see the both of you fight while she already knew the two of you were really really interested in each other, always asking about the other whenever she brought the other up.

She knew Georgia had a little crush on you but she would never admit that. She’d rather keep that cocky façade up, that was her way of flirting, of making an impression on you.

Georgia eventually won. You don’t think you would’ve hated it as much if anyone else won. She just milked it out. “Y/n, y/n, i think i’ve won. Don’t ya think?” she grinned. “Whatever” you mumbled. She laughed and you asked her what she wanted from you.

“Hmm.. i think i’ll save my wish for later.” god was she evil. she got closer to your face and whispered in your ear “Lighten up a bit baby.” you honestly wanted to kill her. You looked her dead in the eyes, her chocolate brown eyes. They were actually beauti- fuck what are you even thinking, she’s so fucking full of herself. “fuck you stanway” you said, walking off. “You wish y/l/n!” she shouted after me.

leahwilliamsonn posted on their story

Vic, Viv, Kim, Beth, Leah and you cleaned everything up when the party was over. Leah didn’t have to, she just insisted on helping all of you.

You looked at the notifications on your phone ‘leahwilliamsonn tagged you in their story’, you clicked on her story. “Leah fucking Williamson, i hate you so so much.” Leah giggled and tried to run away from you. “No no y/n/n you love me ssooooo much!” she yelled. You stopped running after her when you got another notification. ‘stanwaygeorgia started following you’.

You don’t know why but that made you way too happy. But you still refused to follow her back ‘don’t want her ego to get any bigger’ was your excuse.

It was another Champions League night… against Bayern München. Bayern München where the incredibly arrogant brown eyed Georgia played.

Minutes before arriving to the Allianz Arena you got a dm on instagram.

stanwaygeorgia

Ready to lose

y/n_y/l/n

you wish

stanwaygeorgia

wanna make a bet?

y/n_y/l/n

you’ve still got your wish

stanwaygeorgia

doesn’t matter. If i win this match i get a kiss. If you win you’ll get whatever you want.

y/n_y/l/n

whatever

stanwaygeorgia

deal or no deal?

y/n_y/l/n

deal.

The game didn’t go as planned. Bayern was pressing a lot. They were physical, very physical and that Georgia was covering you didn’t help.

She really wanted to win and you could definitely see that when she got the ball and dribbled towards your goal. You tried to take her down but a tackle wasn’t enough. She passed the ball into Lohmann’s feet and she got one on one with Manu. Sydney shot right into the bottom corner leaving Manu standing like a shocked tree.

Stanway jogged back to her half but not before she could tease you a bit more. “Looks like i’ll get my second wish” she laughed.

Unfortunately that was the only goal of the game. Fulltime: 1-0 for Bayern.

There was another game, in the Emirates. Still all to play for. But that kiss was still something you had to give her. It made the loss sting a little less but you would never admit that to anyone, let alone her.

Walking towards the tunnel you didn’t see her. Just when you wanted to walk to your changing room she stopped you. “I believe you still owe me a kiss hmm?” she smirked like she always did.

“yeah i guess” you rolled your eyes. “Come on, if you don’t want it we don’t have to, you know that.” she shrugged, feeling a bit guilty and walking away.

“No! ..i mean no, a bet is a bet right, i’m not a sore loser.” you told her before she could walk away. She smiled and held your head in her hands. “You’re so fuckin’ stubborn y/l/n.” she told you before her lips crashed into yours.

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted a kiss to last so long. She kissed you until it got hard to breath. You heard people talking and boots stomping on the ground. “I guess i’ll see you in about a weeks time hmm” she gave you a final peck on the lips and walked away.

stanwaygeorgia posted on their story

You eventually decided to follow the england midfielder back.

stanwaygeorgia

the princess finally decided to give me a follow back huh?

y/n_y/l/n

don’t get too big of an ego now, it’s already too big how it is

stanwaygeorgia

ouch.. you’ve hurt my feelings. kiss it better?

y/n_y/l/n

hmm maybe after the game

stanwaygeorgia

can’t wait

And just like that the two of you texted non stop the whole week. Georgia wasn’t only arrogant, she was funny, thoughtful, nice, sweet, beautiful. She was a lot more like Leah told you she was. You couldn’t help but like her, maybe even more than just a friend.

Just like you had every game, there was a bet. If you won she would take you out on a date, something Georgia doesn’t do. Leah told you all about Georgia and how she didn’t really do relationships but you didn’t believe her.

If she won, she got another kiss. A win win you might think. But there was more on the line than just a date or a kiss. You needed to win to go to the champions league final.

Walking out of the tunnel you tried to talk to Georgia but she was too focused on her mascot to notice you. She looked so sweet, something you wouldn’t have thought of her just months ago. Georgia was likeable, more than likeable, loveable and that’s how you realised. You loved her.

Vic nudged you. Everyone was walking out of the tunnel. The Champions League music echoing through a sold out Emirates. This is what dreams are made of.

The game was slow, both teams playing safe. It was the 70th minute when Jonas signaled for you to go into attack. It was the 73th minute when The Arsenal scored through an assist from you.

It was all even again. You still had 10 minutes to change the game and win.

Lohmann made an ugly tackle on Caitlin so you got a free kick, which Lotte took. She passed it to Katie who backheeled it into Vic’s feet. Vicky shot it into the air, it landed on your head and went right into the back of the net.

The crowd went absolutely wild. “I fucking love your head!” Vic yelled while Katie tried to murder you by jumping on your back.

When the whistle blew you couldn’t help but search for her. Georgia sitting on the ground, looking at the grass beneath her.

You sat down next to her and she looked up. “Congrats, i guess i have to take you out now.” she laughed awkwardly. “Yeah i guess so, you’re lucky i’m a good loser and a good winner.” you laughed with her. “I guess i’ve won the jackpot with you huh” she hugged you.

She did keep her promise and took you out for dinner. You went to a Greek restaurant not that far away from London.

stanwaygeorgia posted on their story

The first date went so good that she asked you out, again and again.

This time it was your turn to travel to Germany for your date. Georgia wanted to go to a museum and picknick after.

y/n_y/l/n posted on their story

The two of you have been ‘dating’ for two months now and Leah was starting to ask you about your secret girlfriend.

Okay so.. you didn’t really tell Leah about Georgia yet.

It was all just a bit fresh and new and if anything went wrong you didn’t want her to have to pick a side. Plus you didn’t even know what you are.

So when Georgia wanted to visit you again she was more than welcome. The two of you spent the day walking around London. Katie was throwing a little party so you brought Georgia with you. You got a few weird looks and it didn’t really help that when Georgia had had a few drinks she got very touchy.

You were sat on the couch next to Georgia when she pulled you into her lap, covering your face with kisses, which wasn’t so weird when you were at home. But you’re not home, you’re with the Arsenal girls who didn’t have a clue about your relationship until.. well now.

leahwilliamsonn posted on their story

It was around 11 pm when you decided it was time to go home. Driving home Georgia placed her hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze.

“I still have my wish right?” she asked looking out of the window. “Yeah you do. Why’re you asking babe?” You asked looked at her face before turning to look at the road again. “Well, what if my wish was for you to be my girlfriend.” you didn’t even have to look at her to know she was smiling from ear to ear.

“Well, i guess i’d have to be your girlfriend then hmm” you laughed. Georgia grinned and spoke again “My little loser, will you be my girlfriend?”. “Well if you ask like that i won’t!” you said offended.

“Okay okaaayy. My beautiful girl, will you be my girlfriend. Please.” she looked at you hopefully. “Yeah, i’ll be your girlfriend but don’t get too cocky now.” you kissed her.

stanwaygeorgia, y/n_y/l/n

liked by lucybronze and 48.472 others

made a bet, i guess we both won

comments

victoriapelova enemies to lovers kinda thing

↳ stanwaygeorgia i didn’t hate her

↳ y/n_y/l/n oh but i did

leahwilliamsonn who would’ve thought 🙄

katie_mccabe11 don’t eat each others faces next time you’re over

bayernstanway12 waittt they’re dating??

wosobronzey2 the best couple out there

A/N this might actually be the longest fic i’ve ever made but i kinda like it

#georgia stanway #leah williamson #georgia stanway x reader #engwnt #nedwnt #victoria pelova #lionesses x reader #arsenal wfc #bayern munich frauen #woso x reader #woso fanfics

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puck-bunnies · 1 month

Text

wet dreams

luke hughes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw 18+, unprotected sex (p in v), dirty talk, not proof read, blurb

word count: 913

going to bed needy leaves your mind to run wild, finding another way to let your dirty mind please you. your body secretly begging for your wet dreams to become reality.

i’m sorry for not writing for like a whole month. my bad. i’m going to try to write more again, i promise.

his uneven thrusts makes my insides shutter, harsh moans spilling out of my mouth. the only sounds in the room are me and luke’s moans mixing with the sound of our slapping skin. his hands gripping my hips harshly to keep me in place, my one leg propped up on his shoulder to let him reach untouchable places.

my walls clench around his thick cock, feeling every vein, bump and curve of him. the pleasure building up in my body, head having to roll back on the pillow exposing my neck. luke takes the opportunity to press his lips to my neck, harshly sucking and nipping at my sensitive skin.

whimpers and soft moans release from my mouth, my back arching off of the soft mattress beneath me. “look at you, taking my cock like a good girl.” he grumbles at me. his words send a shock through me, a loud groan entering the air.

my eyes roll back into my head as luke’s tongue dragging a line across my collarbone, sucking a harsh hickey onto me. he twists his hips, giving him a new angle to thrust into me from. “oh fuck, right there.” i scream out.

he smirks against my skin, pressing one soft kiss onto my neck. i can feel my stomach tighten, the familiar coming up of my orgasm making my moans turn louder. “you like that, pretty girl?” he snarls at me.

i can’t even form a response, the only thing that comes out are heavy breaths and incoherent moans. luke can tell my signs of my orgasms, moving one of his hands to my clit, rubbing harsh circles around my sensitive bud.

the new found pleasure causing my body to go on overload, my fingers digging into the mattress by my sides, trying to release some of the tension running through my body.

luke’s tip hits spots that i’ve never been able to touch, my hole clenching around with every sloppy thrust of his hips earning a soft groan into my ear. the pads of my fingers slowly run up his flexing arms, sliding my hands into his rough curls and giving them a short tug.

my orgasm comes closer, my hips buckling and moans doubling in volume. “i’m, i’m so close luke.” i gasp out. luke’s lips lift from their spot on my neck, his eyes looking down on mine. beads of sweat running down his forehead leaving his loose curls to sick to his skin. i brush my nails through his hair, loosening them.

the knot in my stomach tightens causing my eyes to wire shut. luke’s thrusts slow, “you’re going to have to look at me if you want to cum.” i quickly comply, his hips not rocking makes my nerves heat up, my gut wrenching as it chases my orgasm.

my eyes meet back with his as his lips curl into a proud smirk. hips starting to move against mine with one hard stroke, bottoming me out as my toes curl above his head. “that wasn’t so hard, was it baby?” luke breathlessly spits at me.

i can’t even warn him that i’m about to finish, not being able to hold myself from releasing all over his pumping cock. my loud moans of his name booming throughout the bedroom, feeding in his hips to go harder.

my orgasm makes my chest heave, luke eyes drip down to my liquids starting to spill down myself. with a few more deep and hard thrusts, luke follows me with an orgasm of his own. his arms softly shaking beside my head as he tries to hold up his own body weight to not collapse on me.

luke’s mouth opens to talk, as my brain fogs out of the dream. my eyes opening up to the bright light peaking through the blinds of my room. i let out a deep groan as i realize my much needed orgasm was only a distant dream.

stretching my bones and muscles out from my sleep, my thighs grind together, realizing the wetness that pools above my panties. i move my head up to see my boyfriend with his blown out eyes, their so wide that look like they’re about to pop out of his skull.

a blush beats onto my cheeks, heart pumping quickly as my drowsiness slips away. “what?” i question innocently, secretly praying that he doesn’t know what i do.

“what were you dreaming about?” is all he responds. my stomach drops into a pit as i realize he knows the wet dream i just indulged in.

“nothing.” i lie to try to get out of the embarrassment moment.

a smirk lines on his face, “is that why you were moaning out my name and grinding against a pillow?” he can’t help but let out a little laugh, and i can’t help but join him.

“i’m sorry.” the rose stays on my face, butterflies flying throughout my stomach.

luke’s hands grip my hips, pulling me closer to his body. “no need to apologize baby.” his hands running up the back of my oversized shirt, wincing as his cold hands rub against my hot skin.

“how about you tell me what happens in these dreams, maybe i can make them come true.” he whispers into my ear, goosebumps forming on my skin and tingles running up my spine. my wetness pooling between my thighs as i clench them together to gain friction for my needy pussy.

#luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes one shot #luke hughes fic #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey player x reader #hockey fic #nhl oneshot #nhl x reader #nhl fic #puck-bunnies

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thetriplets3 · 2 months

Note

When you're about to cry and he does that "hey, hey" thing

please do this with chris

❝𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬❞

chris and i have been together for almost 4 months now having met at a small get together of a mutual friend, which when it comes to them a small get together turns into a party.

-flashback-

i had wandered off starting to feel overwhelmed from the constant talking around me. soon enough i found myself in a room that was turned into a makeshift music studio. the room felt inviting and safe for me to hid in for a while. any open space that wasn’t cover with furniture of some kind was filled with more plants than i could name. the warm soft light beckoned me to make myself comfortable, choosing a bean bag nestled in the corner for an extra sense of security. i curled into myself getting comfy figuring it’d be a while till my friend wanted to go home since i went with her. shutting my eyes i listened to the soft sound of the music playing from the other side of the house. the sound of the mini fridge closing startled me, snapping me back to reality.

“oh shit my bad i didn’t think anyone would be here sorry if i scare you. i was just grabbing a pepsi and was hang out here for a bit but i can go if you wanna be alone i mean you came up here for a reason”

“no no you’re good you can stay i just needed to get away from the crowd it was too much for me. so much for a small get together i should have expected this”

“i get that that’s why i came up here. want a drink? there’s pepsi, root beer, water or iced tea?”

“iced tea please”

he grabbed my drink and made himself comfortable on the adjacent bean bag and didn’t hesitate to ask if i was okay and if i needed anything having heard me mention the party was getting too much for me. i had just met him and he wanted to make sure i was okay, something about that just warmed my heart how concerned he was. we began talking about how we knew the host and the more we talked the more we realized how much we had in common. i’m usually wary of men joining me if i’m alone at a party, you can’t trust everyone most of the time they’re drunk or have some weird intention, but something about chris just made me feel automatically safe. before i knew it it was 4 hours later my friend came in the room outta breath complaining how she’d looked everywhere for me and that she’s ready to go home. not wanting to keep her waiting any longer but also not wanting to leave chris, i begrudgingly get up from my comfy spot.

“i’m sorry i’ve gotta go she’s my ride. thanks for keeping me company i really liked talking to you”

“me too. would i be able to get your number? i’d love to see you again if that’s not too forward”

-5 months later-

safe to say i gave him my number. when we first started dating we both opened up about being hesitant of relationships seeing as it’s my first one and he’d been hurt before, the whole idea of dating was unfamiliar to us but we worked through it and i think getting all of our worries and insecurities out really strengthen our relationship.

despite bring together for a few months he’s yet to see me cry which i know isn’t a big deal but that’s just who i am. i’m a sensitive person but i hold it in and break when i’m alone. i was always a very emotional empathetic child the slightest thing made me cry whether it be sad or happy tears. constantly being told “stop crying” or “you’re crying over that?” really got to me now i try and keep my emotions in.

sure chris has seen me get upset or worked up about something so silly. one time i was putting the dishes away and could hardly reach the mug shelf but nonetheless i tried putting a mug in a spot that looked like it’d fit and pushed it a little too hard knocking the mug i made for chris when i did a pottery class on a friends birthday. the mug was coming straight towards i tried catching it but couldn’t and it landed on the ground with a loud smash. tears instantly pricked my eyes seeing the cup i was so proud of smashed to pieces.

third person

chris was playing video games in the living room with his headset on, one ear slightly uncovered so he could listen to you softly sing to your music finding comfort in your voice and presence. a shattering sound followed by your silence had him ripping his headset off and running to the kitchen to see you with the saddest frown on your face and your breathing picking up. rushing over to you he kicks the remnants of the mug out of the way.

-your pov-

“what happened? are you okay? are you hurt? did you step on any pieces?” his voice filled with concern as his eyes dart across my face for any signs of hurt.

“your mug. i broke your mug” my voice so quiet it’s barely audible but the cracks in it indicating in close to tears.

“oh baby it’s okay it’s just a mug i can get another one as long as you’re okay i’m not concerned about the mug. are you okay?” he says lifting my chin drawing my attention to him instead of the tragedy on the floor.

“but it’s the mug i made you your favorite mug and i just smashed it to pieces i’m sorry i shouldn’t have tried reaching when i knew i couldn’t. i broke your mug” i spew out apologies as tears start escaping my eyes.

“hey hey no tears baby. look at me forget about the mug for a sec i care more about you right now, are you okay?” he says cupping my cheeks as his thumbs rub across my cheeks in a soothing manner, wiping away tears as they fell.

“yes i’m okay”

“good i’m glad” he says as he lifts me onto the counter away from the shards and stands between my legs. “i’m not upset about the mug baby. yes it was my favorite mug but only because i know you made it and i loved how excited you were that you made a mug on your first try making pottery. it melted my heart that you could have made anything and you immediately thought to make something for me. it was the thought and love that went into the mug that made me love it. things are replaceable no need to get upset i’m glad you didn’t get hurt. i appreciate you putting the dishes away you didn’t have to do that”

“you had a busy week i just wanted you to relax and not have to deal with the dishes but then i made a whole scene and- and i- your mug” my voice falters, eyes still watery.

“nope don’t wanna hear it pretty girl i’m not upset or mad don’t worry about it okay. i’ll clean it up. how about for our next date we do pottery huh how’s that sound? then i can make you something too i have ideas already”

“i love you thank you for being so gentle with me and my silly feelings”

“i’d never get upset or over something like this or anything really. it’s not silly for you to be upset over this i know you were proud of it you’re allowed to be sad. i love you and i think it’s beautiful that you have the capacity to feel things so deeply” he wraps his arms around body one arm holding my head to his chest as he plants kisses to my hair.

i love the way he loves me

taglist: @antisocialties @iluvmatt @dwntwn-strnlo @fake-coolbeans @opheliaofficial07 @angelcake-222 @oneirophobic @strniolo @lollibumblebee @ssturniolo @20nugs @strniolo @abbie13sworld @luvsturniolo

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader

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stararch4ngelqueen · 6 months

Note

cute bath with jason, candles and bubbles and light music playing and he’s sitting behind you and giving you kisses as you just talk about eachothers days

—

Time Written - 10:50 p.m

—

“I saw somewhere that they sell these trays that hang on the tub, like hooking on the edges. You can use it to read your book inside. With a glass of wine or tea, or scotch too.”

Rough fingers along your back rolled any remaining knots in your muscles, calloused hands gently stroking along the junction of our shoulder and neck.

“Scotch?” Jason huffs in amusement. “C’mon, y’know I’m not a scotch guy.”

“Whiskey, bourbon. Whatever,” you giggle, leaning your head forward as you swipe along any stray wet hair, only to feel his fingers completely halt.

“You forgot my tastes??” Jason expressed with complete shock at this horrifying discovery. “Baby, I’m hurt.”

Any further giggling was unavoidable as you see his face; twisted into mock pain, his lips formed into a tragic quiver as he gives his version of puppy dog eyes.

“An’ here I was, so very very proud of myself to drive all across town to that lush store you like so much, All for the bath salts!” Vocally expressing his pain, he clutched his chest in one hand, dramatically swooping his damp curls back to dress his palm over his forehead.

“Oh my god, Jason!”

“And they weren’t even on sale!” Jason continues on, leaning his head back further with feigned agony. “I spent good money on my woman, an’ she forgets that I’m a bourbon man!”

“Jason stop it!” You turn yourself just a little more, both hands coming out of the milky waters to settle along his upper arms.

“I got you that bottle of Four Roses earlier, I know what my man loves.”

Jason smirks whilst withdrawing his hands from their prior positions. He can’t help but laugh a little himself, lowering one of his hands under water to rest along your hip.

“What I love is that pretty look on your face, Doll.” He pinches your chin with feather-like softness before kissing you.

Coming home to this everyday; you, was a gift.

Getting to spend every minute in your intoxicating presence. What drug or alcohol could be possibly infect himself with when his brain provided such ecstasy with one look at you?

The lights were dimmed, the water still clung to its toasty warmth. The milky waters seeping with sweet soap, pearlescent powders, crushed oats and herbal oils.

An exquisite tastes of both lavender and honey soothing elegance, bodies dripping in glittering gold.

In some cases, you didn’t wanna do anything sexual when Jason came home. This bath, for example, both of you were naked yes, but it was possible to not think such thoughts in a precarious state.

Your one and only was home safe and sound, You loved nothing more.

Jason was more than okay with that.

If you weren’t up to it, neither was he. Vice versa.

A perfect, consensual balance.

This was much better than a book, even better than a drink. The sleep he always got after these baths were heavenly, nearly slumbering like a baby each time.

“After the day I’ve had, I prefer this right here instead of a drink.” Jason re-swipes his soaking wet hair back along his head, growing slightly irritated from his dipping curls dripping onto his face.

“What a way with words, handsome.” You smile as you turn your body slightly, letting your upper half settle more comfortably against his. His hand settles along your back, running soothing circles against your glistening skin.

“Jason.”

“Hm?”

“If I did buy you that bath tray, would this mean you’d read to me in here?”

“Probably,” he replies, pondering over which book exactly. Also if he believes he could be comfortable enough with literature in the tub.

“Might as well do some skincare too,” you ponder over the idea, to Jason’s confusion.

“Like, some eye masks or something. Make it a spa day.”

Jason remained… intrigued, adamant. Only eye masks he’s seen you use were those glittery jelly ones you put under your eyes. He’s tried them once, per your request. They weren’t bad, but he didn’t understand the uses to this day.

“You’re just giving Dick more things to talk about.” Jason chuckles, his eyes closing as your hand readjusts his sopping wet, snowy curl out of his face.

“As if he needs to know what we do. This is our time, remember?”

“Mhm.” He leans close, pressing a kiss along your cheek before leaning just a little lower, leaving a softer peck underneath your ear.

“Our time.” He murmurs, feeling your head lean against his touches.

“The day I can dress you in a bright pink robe—“

“Babe no.” Oh boy. “C’mon—“

“-With feather lining and fuzzy slippers. You’d look adorable!” Your purposefully cheery accent had him groaning your name in false irritancy against your neck, rolling his eyes.

“There’s no deal you can make with me for that to happen, Princess.”

“I can be very persuasive, Mister Todd,” your tone drops from its cheerful tease into a more slow, much familiar tune he was well accustomed to.

His chest rumbles with amusement, teal eyes narrowing with interest in your statement. You’re really eager for him to do such? Now you piqued his interest.

“I’d like to see you try, pretty girl.”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #jason todd x y/n #my heart did flips #I liked this too much it’s too cute

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lovelybucky1 · 7 months

Text

Sweeten the Deal

Kinktober Day 4- Femdom

warnings: batgirl!reader, afab!reader, bondage, canon typical violence, implied batman x reader, degradation, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, spit as lube, unprotected sex, fade to black sex scene, 18+ minors dni

masterlist

kinktober masterlist

when you take the bag off of crane’s head, he is already conscious. he grins, though it’s lazy and dazed with his eyes unfocused.

“batgirl,” he drawls in that sickly sweet voice of his.

“crane,” you reply bitterly.

you had chased him down the streets of gotham in the rain. he had gotten some hits in, but your injuries were nothing compared to the uncomfortable squelching in your suit. when you finally caught up with him, you hit him in the back of the head with a rusty pipe and he was out. it’s not your most tactful capture, but it worked.

“i have to say, i’m a little offended they sent you after me instead of daddy. i guess i’m not as big of a bad guy as i used to be,” he smirks.

it’s a dig at your power, strength, and a slightly misogynistic one at that. you narrow your eyes at him. he can talk all the shit he wants, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s bound to a chair bolted to the floor.

crane looks around the warehouse he’s being held in, taking in the sight of the tall ceiling, dim lighting, and seeming lack of exit.

"this doesn't seem like the interrogation room they usually take me to," he notes.

you roll your eyes. "No, it isn't."

"have you bat-people finally taken over and judge and jury now, too?" crane looks far too smug for someone who is ultimately at your mercy.

"this isn't your typical trial, crane." you step closer to him. "you have information i need, so in return for your cooperation, i won't turn you in to the police."

crane leans his head back as much as he can due to the high back of his chair and raises his eyebrows at you. "you think you're doing me a favor by not turning me in? you turn me in and i'll just escape again, just like i did the last time, and the time before that. seems like those arkham employees really don't have their heads on straight," he smirks.

you pause for a moment, trying to think of a rebuttal. sure, crane has a phd, but you didn't think he'd be able to figure you out so quickly.

"how about we made a deal, then, crane?"

he looks at you with an unimpressed stare. "what, i tell you what you want to know and you stop torturing me?" he adjusts in his seat. "no offense, but a little girl in a costume doesn't really scare me." before you can respond, he's talking again. "besides, there is nothing you can do to me that i haven't already done to myself."

after that, he grins. it's unsettling, maniacal, and it reminds you that you're not just dealing with a guy who wears a costume and runs around the city. this guy is fucking crazy.

you exhale through your nose, resolving yourself to using a different interrogation method. you're not proud of it, but like crane said, there isn't any way to hurt or scare him. he already thinks you're only good for using your feminine wiles to distract enemies. what do you have to lose by confirming his suspicions?

"no, i'm not going to hurt you."

"oh, good. i have to say, i was getting pretty tired of batman breaking my ribs."

"i have something to offer you at batman can't," you say. you walk right up to his chair, almost standing between his bound legs. "sex appeal."

crane laughs, and the sound makes you feel slimy. "you must be one of those blind bats, or maybe batman really is your father." you furrow your brows behind your mask.

"but i can offer you something much more comfortable than what he would."

crane looks your body up and down, not trying to hide ogling in the slightest. "i see... so why don't you get on with it and take off that ridiculous suit."

"that's not how this works. you talk first," you say.

"how do i know you're not going to take my information and leave me here?"

you slip your leg over his hip and hold onto the back of the chair, lowering yourself onto his lap. he raises his eyebrows, looking up at you with a slight smirk on his lips.

"how about i give you some, you give me some?" he asks.

"fine. you go first," you say, not bothering to hide the annoyance from your voice. "tell me what you know."

"i know a lot of things. i'm a doctor, after all. i doubt most of it would be of any interest to you, though."

you sigh heavily. "tell me what you know about the drug supplier for arkham."

"hm, i'm not sure that rings a bell," he looks up at you with a devilish look in his eyes. you clench your jaw as you reach towards the base of your throat to grasp at the zipper to your suit. you drag it down slightly, revealing some of your cleavage.

"don't play dumb with me, crane."

"i have no idea what you're talking about."

"the original drug supplier for the asylum got bought out by some no-name company with no public records or anything."

"and why do you think this has something to do with me?"

you narrow your eyes. "because a week before the merger, the old ceo checked into arkham after a psychotic break. that has scarecrow written all over it."

crane chuckles. "it wasn't my idea. i was simply following orders."

"who's orders?"

"i don't know. i got back to my temporary residence and there was an unmarked envelope with my name on it. thirty-thousand dollars cash up front. the letter said they'd give me the rest upon completion of the job."

"so you did this without even knowing why? he was an innocent man," you say, voice almost a growl.

crane laughs mockingly. "oh, you precious thing. men like that are rarely innocent. he could've been corrupt, or an infidel, or a sexual predator. everyone is guilty of something. even batman, even you."

ignoring his bait for a reaction, you continue with your questions. "they gave you cash up front. why didn't you just take the money and run?"

"steal from a mysterious organization who knows my identity and where i'm hiding out?" crane scoffs.

"so you're-"

"if you want anything else, you better show some more skin," he interrupts.

glaring at him, you unzip your suit all the way but leave it on to show off the rest of your cleavage and down your stomach. his eyes trail over your skin hungrily.

"so you're just a hitman for hire now?" you ask.

"why, are you in the market?"

"have you done any other jobs?" you ask instead of answering his ridiculous question.

"maybe i have. maybe your precious batman is screaming and crying for you to come save him. wouldn't that be a sight? your mentor needing to be rescued from his bad dreams by you."

his voice is almost hypnotic, but you know better than to fall for his tricks. he's trying to persuade you to give into your baser urges, your jealousy, your need to be useful. fucking psychopath.

you reach around his head and twist your fingers in his hair, yanking it back causing it to knock against the metal back of the chair. he winces a bit, but it does nothing to quell the wild look in his eyes.

"shut up, crane."

"feisty," he remarks. "i did a few jobs outside the city, but those aren't in your jurisdiction."

unfortunately, he's right. outside of the city is too vague to track anyone down and connect crane to crimes.

"how did you do it?"

"do what?" he asks, looking at your tits instead of your eyes.

"do whatever it is you did to that guy."

"you want the dirty details, batgirl?" he smirks. "of how i strapped him down and injected him with my chemical that put the fear of god in him?" his hips thrust up, jostling you on his lap and making you grab onto his shoulder for support. he looks up at you with a sick smile. "he screamed and screamed, begging for mercy, for death to take him. he ripped out his hair and scratched his skin bloody. i think he was imagining spiders from what i could gather, but in my professional opinion, he just seems like your regular nutcase."

recounting his crime clearly feeds into some sick fantasy he has, but by playing into it, you're getting the information you need. you look down to see his cock straining in his pants.

"jesus, you're crazy," you say in disbelief, though you shouldn't be surprised.

"yet you still decided to crawl into my lap. you're just as crazy as i am, you're just afraid to get your hands dirty."

you can handle crane doubting your strength, your intelligence, your capability, and your worthiness to wear the bat symbol, but you refuse to let him compare the two of you.

"we are nothing alike," you hiss. "i don't torment people for my own enjoyment."

"what are you doing to me now?" he says, looking down at where your hips have shifted closer to his erection.

without thinking, you reach forward and harshly grab his cock through his pants. he winces and squirms, trying to get away from your touch or wanting more of it, you're unsure.

"you sick fucking bastard," you spit. "talking about your attempted murder got you this hard?"

"it was mostly the slut on my lap."

"you want me to hold up my end of the deal, crane? well it's going to be on my terms."

you climb off his lap and take off your suit, leaving you in your undergarments and mask. his eyes study you intently, making you feel more like a test subject than sexy.

when you step back over to him, you yank open the fly of crane's pants and take out his cock. he's hard and average sized; nothing impressive but enough to satisfy you.

standing in front of him, you spit into your hand and bring your wet fingertips down to your pussy. you open yourself up while he watches, unable to do anything else.

once you deep yourself open enough, you sit back on his lap and hold onto his dick, positioning his tip at your entrance.

"ask me for more," you say. "beg me for my pussy."

"this wasn't part of the deal," crane says, smug.

"i won't give you anything if you don't play by my rules. you're my prisoner right now."

crane rolls his eyes but resolves himself. "please give me your pussy," he says unenthusiastically.

"you can do better than that."

"please bless me with your fucking cunt, batgirl. i want you to use me." his tone could use some improvement, but the words were good enough to satisfy you.

you sink down on his length slowly to adjust to the size. by the time you're fully seated, crane is having a much more difficult time keeping his composure. his breathing is faster and small whines occasionally escape his mouth.

"how's that, crane?" you ask, voice breathy in his ear. "everything you thought it'd be?"

"looser than i expected. guess daddy treats you well," he chuckles, though it trails off into a moan.

you roll your hips a bit, gripping his shoulders tightly. perhaps you're holding on tighter than you need to, but pain clearly isn't a problem for crane.

"now you can tell all your freak friends- joker, harley, the riddler, whoever else you run with these days- that you got fucked by batgirl. i bet you'll spin it like you got me begging on my knees for you, but we'll know the truth. we know that you whimpered for my pussy like a little bitch."

“they don’t give a shit about you. but they’ll love to hear that i fucked batman’s bitch. does he know that you’re stepping out on him tonight?” he asks with a grin.

no, bruce doesn’t know what you’re up to tonight, and when you tell him, he’ll get the abridged version.

“stop fucking talking about him,” you hiss in his ear. “keep his name out of your disgusting mouth.”

crane moans at that. a genuine, low moan.

“i would’ve let myself get caught sooner if i’d known you were so easy to give it up.”

you’re riding him now, bouncing on his lap and using your grip on his shoulders as leverage. he watches as your tits jiggle in his face, staring shamelessly like the pig he is.

this doesn’t seem like much of a punishment for him, but fucking yourself on his cock is too enjoyable to care. besides, as soon as you finish, you will be promptly sending him back to arkham where he’ll be held in a much more secure wing.

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #scarecrow #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow smut #nolanverse #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane fanfiction

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mykoreanlove · 25 days

Text

my only one

Your engagement party was a full blast - the pittoreske venue was filled with the people you loved most. Everybody was dancing, drinking and celebrating your upcoming wedding.

You had been shaking firm hands and giving out heartfelt hugs all night long, so you snuck out onto the balcony to take a break.

The balcony was covered in golden fairy lights, slightly illuminating the breathtaking view in front of you.

You didn’t turn around as you noticed the door open, you had a gut feeling who it would be.

Strong arms hugged you from behind and a raspy voice whispered in your ear - your home had found you.

„Hey“, he whispered, „you okay?“

You nodded silently and grabbed his arm, squeezing lightly.

„Am now“, you smiled.

Namjoon chuckled and hid his face in the crook of your neck, resting silently for a moment or two.

„You know… you can still say no.“, he stated nervously.

You laughed out loud, filling his ear with the vibration of your amusement.

„Now why would I do that?“

Namjoon hugged you even tighter, merging into one once more.

„So you really mean it, huh?“

„Joon, you’re stuck with me. Forever.“

„Forever? Really?“

„Yes, you dumbass, forever. Were you really doubting?“

He let out a deep sigh, as if he was finally releasing the anxiety he carried in his heart.

„It’s just that sometimes I feel like this is too good to be true. You’re too good to be true, y/n.“

You pushed his head back gently and turned around, looking up into his saddened eyes.

„Listen up, big boy. I love you and you love me. It’s supposed to feel this good.“

You saw his cheeks redden, as he averted his gaze embarrassed. You reached for his big hands and squeezed them as tightly as you could.

„I’m not running away, Joon. I know you are the one for me.“

He turned to face you and smiled warmly.

„The one?“

Namjoon was a confident man, taking extreme pride in his talents and intellect but the slightest doubt could turn him into an anxious mess. Especially if the doubt was about you.

You nodded cheerfully, while making your point.

„When did you realize?“

„Pretty early on“, you said and turned around again, observing the beautiful landscape in front of you.

„Hey, wait. Tell me when! Please, y/n“, he whined into your ear as his arms found your waist again.

You let your head fall back against his broad chest and smiled, remembering those days fondly.

„Do you remember when we first met? How we used to be?“

He nodded.

„We were inseparable back then, always hanging out with each other or calling or texting. It felt like we were obsessed with getting to know each other“, you mused happily.

„That didn’t change“, he said as he left soft kisses on your neck.

„One time when we were on the phone we had a conversation that sealed the deal for me. From then on I just knew that I would marry you some day.“

„What did I say, baby?“

„Oh god, I can actually quote it. How lame am I?“, you laughed embarrassed.

„The lamest. But I love you for that“, he chuckled against your skin. „Now tell me.“

„You said you were proud of me. It was super random and I didn’t understand why. I had to ask for clarification.“, you reminisced.

„Wait, I remember that call.“

You stayed silent for a second, replaying the situation in your mind.

„I am proud of you because you’re doing so great, y/n. Eating your veggies. Drinking your water. Taking your vitamins. Going for walks. Taking care of your mind. Staying positive. That deserves all my proud, y/n.“, you quoted him.

Namjoon stood quietly behind you, already knowing where this was going.

„I didn’t tell you at the time but I was facing a lot of shit. A lot of heavy stuff that made my life a living hell. And I was not doing fine. At all. Taking care of myself, even the simplest things, were a heavy burden to me. But I was trying my best and yet somehow you caught that.“

You turned around once more and looked into his loving eyes, stroking his cheek as you exclaimed your love for him.

„You didn’t need me to articulate my pain. You just knew. It’s like you saw right through me and decided to stay anyway. To give me my time to come to you instead of pressuring me into telling you.“

Namjoon‘s eyes were filled with tears as he listened closely, this was the first time you ever spoke about it that candidly.

„You sensed the war within me and provided me with peace. To me, Joonie, there’s no greater act of love. And I promise to return that love every single day. If you let me.“

Namjoon wiped away the tears hastily, but you stopped him.

You reached up to him and kissed him, tasting his salty tears on his sweet lips. In this moment you were sure that this wouldn’t be the last time for salty kisses but you didn’t mind. As long as you got him by your side, you were good.

Your Joon. Your home. Your only one.

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sarahsmi13s · 1 year

Text

Rodeo

(not my gif)

pairing: robert ‘bob’ floyd x pilot!reader (call sign: rodeo)

characters: bob floyd, reader, dagger squad, penny benjamin, pete mitchell, some dick named john and his friends (who aren’t necessarily dicks)

warnings: fluffy bob, bob in a cowboy hat, fighting, drinking (of age), suggestive, i believe that’s it

word count: ~2.2k

a/n: this came in second place, but i love it just the same. and i’m very close to writing a part 2 for this ;)

quick summary: when your relationship with bob is reveal to the squad, hangman can’t help but wait for bob to stake his claim on you.

*************

You sat in the Hard Deck, nursing your beer and playing pool with Phoenix when the bell chimed.

You glanced up and saw the Texan himself walk in, hat on and everything.

“Hangman, what the hell are you wearing?” Phoenix asked, leaning on her cue. You looked him up and down, chuckling when you heard his response, “I wear this all the time.” His accent had gotten thicker after visiting his family.

You had all just visited your families for Christmas. It was only two weeks but it had given you all plenty of time to slip back into your old accents.

“Nice buckle, Bagman,” Rooster commented, obviously teasing the fact that the buckle looked like it weighed down the front of his pants.

Jake puffed out his chest, a smile gracing his features, “Thank ya, Chicken. Thought I’d bring it back with me, I ain’t worn one in a while.” Rooster sipped his beer, “You get it at Bass Pro or something?” Jake’s face fell and you couldn’t help but laugh. “You did not jus’ ask me that.”

You glanced at it, looking at the details.

“You rode?” Hangman turned to you, his smile returning, “Yeah, best there was.” You hummed, sipping your beer before sitting it down to line up your shot, “What made you quit?” “I wanted somethin’ different for myself. My older brother rode, my dad rode. I did it for the adrenaline, so I thought maybe I could get my high while doin’ somethin’ that had more meaning.”

Before you could retort, Jake had looked at Bob.

“Since when do you wear hats?” You smiled glancing back at the WSO, who was wearing a reddish-brown felt cowboy hat, before looking back and catching the way his pilot looked at you. “Well, Bagman, you ain’t the only one that grabbed something from home.” Jake nodded in mutual respect before looking back at you.

He took a quick glance down at your belt line, seeing the lights reflect off your own buckle.

“You rode too?” You nodded, taking the final shot of the game, “8-ball far left corner pocket.” You gesture with the cue before taking the winning shot. “That’s game Phee.” Nat rolled her eyes and slipped you a 20.

“So, what was your event?” “Barrel racin’.” “Were you good?” “Best there was,” you winked and sat next to Bob. “How’d you think I gained the name Rodeo?”

Hangman donned his signature smirk, “I could think of a lot of things.” You shoved him, “You’re gross.” “Come on, Ro. That was funny.” Bob shook his head and draped his arm behind you on the booth.

“What made you quit?” Hangman asked as he slipped into the seat across from you. You sighed, “I raced for nearly my whole life. My brother Bryan did too. I could say I got out for the same reason you did, cause it wouldn’t be a lie. But I was always just Bryan's kid sister, or Darrel L/N’s daughter. I made somewhat of a name for myself, but by the time people saw me as me-”

You shrugged, sighing, “I didn’t enjoy it anymore. It became more about the trophies than the experience. So I decided to be the best at somethin’ I was proud of. That could give me a family, like the rodeo used to.”

Jake nodded in understanding, he patted your shoulder before moving on to bother Rooster and Coyote.

Bob sighed and let his arm fall around you and pulled you close to his side. “You didn’t tell me that.” You looked up at him, “Sure I did. Did I not?” He shook his head, “No, and you know I listen to every word you have to say.” You scrunch your nose, “I swear I told you.” He shook his head, “Nope.” You pouted, “Oh, well now you know.” He nodded, “That I do.”

You both smiled and he pressed a kiss to your lips. “Bob-” “I know Y/N, I just-” You cut him off by grabbing his shirt and kissing him again. “I’m tired of hiding it too.”

********

Meanwhile, everyone was watching the two of you.

“I can’t hear a word they’re sayin’,” Hangman said, straining a little to hear you both better. “Dude, when is that gonna go away?” Phoenix asked, in reference to his accent.

“Oh, it’s always there, trust me. It’s normally strong when he's drunk or really pissed,” Coyote confirmed, laughing a little.

“Plus, you never complain about Rodeo’s accent,” Jake commented. “Yeah, but it’s cute on her and gets Bob all flustered.” The group hummed in agreement before turning back to the (no-longer) secret couple in the booth.

They watched Bob kiss you, say a few words before being pulled in again.

“Damn, when will it be my turn?” Omaha asked, shaking his head.

“Bob is so in love with her it isn’t even funny,” Phoenix revealed. “He always talks about her, and they went to see each other's families over our break.” “Really?” Yale asked, crossing his arms.

Phoenix nodded, “He’s been in love with her since the mission in May last year. And I’m sure it’s the same case with her.” Halo nodded, “Yeah, I had to listen to her talk about him all the time. And then Bob would talk to me if you were anywhere within earshot of Y/N. He’s fallen hard, they both have.”

Jake shook his head, his eyes trained on the couple as they talked, “We don’t know how in love he is with her though.”

Everyone just scoffed, “Do you not see how they are looking at each other right now?” Fanboy asked, looking at his fellow WSO and his second best friend. “It’s painfully obvious.”

Jake scoffed, “Cowboys have a special way of tellin’ each other a girl is off limits, other than a ring and a few hickies.” “Which is?” Harvard asked, stepping closer, intrigued.

Hangman glanced around and saw a few guys looking at you, “Okay, when Bob gets up and leaves her alone, one of these guys will try to flirt and Bob is probably gonna see. And being the silent and passive aggressive type-”

“Guys, Bob’s moving,” Payback caught their attention. Everyone shut their mouth and watched how you sat there, a grin on your face as you picked at the label.

Jake narrowed his eyes trying to pick out which guy was gonna make his move.

Coyote hit his arm, “4 o’clock.” Hangman turned his head, seeing a guy high fiving his friends before adjusting his posture and making his way to you.

You didn’t look up when someone sat across from you.

“You weren’t gone very long.” “Well I just got here,” the guy chuckled, and that’s when you looked up.

You glanced around for Bob, but didn’t see him.

“I’m John.” “Rodeo,” you said, leaning back in your seat. “Rodeo?” You laughed, “It’s my call sign. I fly for the Navy.” John tilted his head, “You’re not from around here are you? You sound funny.”

The pilots, who had discreetly moved closer, dropped their jaws. “He did not just say that,” Rooster hushed out. “Oh he totally just did,” Phoenix smirked, waiting for you to lay into the guy.

You just laughed, “You have no idea how to actually talk to a woman do you?” If that hurt John’s feelings, he didn’t let it show, “Oh, I can show just how I talk to women.” He winked, “If you wanna take a ride?” You scoffed, sipping your drink with an arched brow, “Sorry, pal. I’m not interested.” He scoffed, fidgeting in his seat.

The group knew he was getting frustrated and there was no sign of Bob coming back, so they had to prepare to jump in themselves. Especially Hangman.

“Look, John, while I appreciate the offer, I’m already scheduled for a ride.”

Omaha and Yale choked on their drinks. Rooster and Phoenix smirked proudly, both for you and Bob. “I wasn’t expecting that,” Payback said, leaning on the pool table.

“With who? That cowboy that just left you here alone,” John glanced around. “And doesn’t seem to be coming back.” He looked back at you, “Come on. I could show you a better time.” He placed his hand over yours, gripping it.

You sighed, really just wanting him to leave you alone, “John, you are aware of the rules in the bar right?” He scoffed, and tightened his grip when you tried to pull away, “Yeah, don’t leave your phone on the bar. What the hell does that have to do anything?” You glanced up, smirking.

“You missed a few. There’s also a rule against disrespecting the Navy and women,” Bob looked at the tight grip on your open hand, and the tenseness of your shoulders. “And from what I can tell you’re breaking both. I can get Penny’s attention right now, then you have to buy everyone a drink, or you can leave.”

John stood up, being the same height as Bob he could look him in the eye. “And if I don’t.” Bob glanced at you and you shook your head, not wanting him to get into a fight when it wasn’t necessary. “Well-” John punched Bob. “Bob!”

Hangman, Rooster and Coyote immediately jumped into action as you reared back.

“Rodeo,” Maverick had appeared, moving from his seat at the bar while Penny moved to the guy's friends telling them they needed to leave. Maverick had caught your elbow, “He’s not worth it. Help Bob, we’ll take care of him.”

You nodded and moved quickly to help your boyfriend, helping him up and grabbing his hat. “Are you okay?” He nodded, wincing slightly when you brushed your thumb over his busted lip. “That doesn’t look okay.”

He shook his head, adjusting his glasses, “I’m fine, Sweetheart. I’ve dealt with worse.”

As John’s friends dragged him out, calling him a ‘fucking dumbass’ and throwing out ‘I told you so’s, Penny came over with a small ziplock bag of ice.

“Thank you, Pen,” you took it and the damp napkin, pushing Bob to sit on the table. You gently wiped the blood from his lip, “Bobby, I’m sorry. I coulda-” “Stop, don’t do that.” You nodded, “Alright.” He smiled, but it was small so it didn’t irritate the cut.

The group watched. They saw how your tongue poked out in concentration, and Bob’s eyes looking up at you.

“So, Hangman, what’s the thing? How’s he gonna ‘claim his territory’?” Fanboy asked, crossing his arms. “It seems he already has, his eyes are basically hearts,” Payback commented. “That’s exactly why he’s gonna do it.” “Do what?” Rooster asked, propping himself on the table next to Hangman.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue, cowboy,” you said as you pressed the ice to his lip. He hummed, “Of course, Princess.”

He grabbed your wrist gently and moved the ice away from his lip.

“It’s gonna swell.” “I know a way to make it better,” he sat up straight to look at you and kissed you. You giggled and ran your free hand into the hair at the base of his neck.

When he pulled away, he tongued the cut on his lip, “I need a way to show everyone that you're mine. And I’m not allowed to give you visible hickies.” Both of you knew it was too early for marriage, not that it bothered either of you but you knew this wasn’t how Bob would propose.

You smiled against his lips, “I think they know now, Rob.” He adjusted his hat and chuckled. “Now, as much as I love kissing you, this will be sore without ice.” He nodded and let you place the ice back onto his lip.

“You know, I’ve got an idea.” You hummed, “What’s that?”

Jake watched with bated breath as Bob reached up to take his hat off.

Bob placed the felt hat on your head, “There, now everyone knows.” Your eyes brimmed with tears as you looked at him. “Bobby…” “I know we’ve only been together for 8 months but-” You pulled him in for a kiss.

When you pulled away, his glasses were askew and his cheeks were flushed. “I love you too.”

Bob smiled and looked over, seeing Jake smiling and dancing a little. “I think Hangman’s more excited about me giving you my hat than you are.”

You looked over and laughed, “Oh wow…”

“Do that!” The blonde pointed over at you two. “He gave her his hat, so?” Harvard said, sipping his drink. “In the south, that’s like a proposal. It’s like a promise ring,” Jake was still pointing excitedly at the couple. “Wait really?” Phoenix asked.

“Yeah, really,” you confirmed when you and Bob walked over.

Jake rubbed his neck, “Did you-” “See you dance like a teenager that just scored a touchdown? Sure did,” Bob said, ice pack muffling some of the words.

Phoenix smiled sadly at her backseater, “You okay?” He nodded, “I’ve been bucked off a horse and pull g’s everyday, a punch to the face is nothing.”

Hangman couldn’t stop smiling at the two of you.

“Hang? You okay?” He nodded, “Just happy for ya is all.” You smiled and hugged him, “Thanks man.”

When you pulled away, you reached back for Bob’s hand. He grabbed it and intertwined your fingers.

“Now, if y’all will excuse us. I think my scheduled ride has been bumped up. See y’all tomorrow.” You tipped your Bob’s hat and he waved as you pulled him out the door and to his Jeep.

********

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed!

thank you to those that voted for this story and i will be posting the last one tomorrow. i really appreciate all of you that voted!

if you want more polls for the ‘x reader’s that are just chilling in my docs let me know or if you have any requests for more fics please do so!!

love you guys <33

top gun tags <3: @milesdickpic @luckyladycreator2 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @sebsxphia

thank you guys for being here! i love you *mwah*

#bob x pilot!reader #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x reader #pilot!reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #bob floyd imagine #top gun imagine #top gun fic #top gun maverick #poll results #fic poll

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chloessleepystories · 9 months

Text

First Time

“... And there’s plenty of snacks in the fridge here, and a pizza in the freezer in case you get hungry,” said Mrs Thompson (“call me Mary”) as we finished the tour. “Now have you got all that?”

“Pajamas at 8, lights off at 8:30, and then pizza and TV until you get home,” I recited, and grinned. “No problem.”

It really wasn’t a problem. It was a nice house, clean, and looked like an easy gig. I hadn’t met the father yet, but Mary seemed friendly. Smiling, and a toucher—a hand on the shoulder to look into my eyes, a touch on the back to guide me from room to room ...

“You really are a very pretty girl,” she said suddenly, as she leaned against the kitchen counter—almost as if she had just noticed. “Has anybody mentioned that before?”

I blushed, a little, ducking my eyes. “It’s come up,” I murmured. Truth was, people were always mentioning it, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I was small and cute and blonde, but I hadn’t done anything to be those things. I was more proud of my grades and my writing—things I’d worked at—but people didn’t often seem to see that.

“Oh, listen to me, first I’m talking your ear off, and now I’m embarrassing you. I’m just going to get something to drink. All this talking has got me all dried out!” She rummaged in the fridge and poured herself some lemonade while I looked around the kitchen. I had the nagging sense of something off, or something ... missing? What had I missed? Something in the house tour?

“Do you drink?”

“What?”

“I asked if you drink, honey ... Were you somewhere else for a second?”

“I wasn’t—I mean I don’t—” I tried to answer two questions at once and got confused. “No, I’m not old enough,” I said. “I just turned 18.”

“Oh, an innocent!” she crowed (which I thought was a little odd, as she probably wouldn’t have wanted her new babysitter to confess to being an alcoholic!). “Then you’ll just have some of this lemonade. It’s very good, my husband makes it himself. Have this glass, I haven’t drunk any yet.”

I was a little off balance, and flustered, so without thinking I accepted the glass and took an obedient swallow. I must have needed it more than I thought because I gasped as it hit the back of my throat. “Mmm, it’s good!”

“Isn’t it? Let’s see now, where was I ... Oh yes, another glass for me ...”

I sipped the lemonade again. It was tart, and sweet, and something else I couldn’t quite name. For all I knew, the couple could make lemonade with vodka—I wouldn’t have recognized the taste! It was very good, though, whatever it was, and I was suddenly greedy for more, lots more ... I guzzled half the glass in seconds.

A warmth spread through me almost immediately, my muscles relaxing just a bit. I felt myself smiling easily, and a little sillily. Sillillilly? A silly, dopey sort of smile.

“Oh my, I guess you did like that. Here, let me take the glass for you, sweetheart, don’t want you to drop it ...”

My vision was kind of swimmy and I felt kinda ... slow, and relaxed ... Happy! I liked it! I struggled to focus on Mary’s eyes again as she touched my arm.

“It’s so sweet, the way girls are raised to want to get along with others ...” she purred, stroking my hair. “From such a young age, taught to agree, to serve, to play along ... to do as they’re told ... And even taught to like it! To want it! To want to be a good girl ...”

Her hands were on my hips, and she was leaning over me, her face very close.

“You like doing what you’re told, don’t you, Chloe? You like being a good girl?”

And without waiting for an answer, she kissed me! Her lips were warm, and soft, and sent shockwaves through my system. My heart was racing! And I—I melted. There’s no other word for it. I sagged into her, pouring myself into her mouth and dripping down the front of her body. I offered no resistance as she opened my mouth with her tongue and began to explore the inside ... On the contrary, I sucked on her tongue hungrily!

I had never dreamed that my first kiss would be with an older woman ...

“Oh, you are delicious,” she said huskily. “It feels so good to obey, doesn’t it ... Feels so good to do what you’re told, without thinking ...”

“Uh huh,” I whimpered, leaning my head back as she nipped at my throat.

The palms of her hands were warm on my stomach, my sides, as she explored under my tee shirt. “Let’s just take this off, honey, you don’t want that in the way ... And you don’t want this bra anymore either, do you ...”

I acquiesced meekly ... Anything to keep her touching me, kissing me, murmuring into my ear ...

“Mmmmm ... What beautifully perky breasts you have, sugar! And with such big fat nipples ... I know these must be extra sensitive, huh?”

I moaned as she stroked them, pinched them, cupping my boobs in her warm hands as she teased my nipples. I couldn’t think straight! Couldn’t think of anything except that I would do whatever she wanted as long as she kept making me feel like this ...

“Well well well ...” came another voice, and my eyes flew open at his deep baritone, and the knowing smirk in his voice. “And who do we have here?”

Mary moved fluidly behind me, still stroking my skin here, there, and everywhere. I was topless in his kitchen, his wife’s hands all over me, and he didn’t even seem surprised. She nibbled my ear and pressed her tits into my back as she presented me.

“It’s our babysitter, honey! Look!”

“Another babysitter? You know, one of these days ...”

“Sshhh. Chloe, this is Adam. Adam, Chloe here is feeling very good right now. She feels like a horny little slut, don’t you honey?”

“Uh huh ...” I whimpered. Any ability to resist, or even to think straight, was dripping out of my drooling cunny.

“And look at these beautiful perky tits with big fat nipples, they’re so sensitive ...” She kneaded them, showing them off to Adam. My brain was buzzing, I was barely aware of anything beyond the unending pleasure.

“Why, I bet someone who plays with these could get you to do almost anything, couldn’t they?” she cooed.

I’d never really thought about it ... But it seemed she was right!! I couldn’t stop staring at her husband’s bulge, and I knew whatever either of them asked of me, I would willingly do it ...

He stepped forward. “Feeling needy?”

“Needy,” I nodded.

“Submissive ...”

“Sub- uhh ... Submissive ...”

“Compliant ...”

Another pinch, and my knees almost gave out. “Compliant,” I gasped. “Obedient. Desperate ...”

“Good girl.”

I moaned.

“Strip,” he said.

I hurried to comply, struggling out of my jeans. Mary helped me from behind, pulling them down to my ankles as Adam held me pinned with his eyes. He cupped my face with one hand, stroking my cheek with his thumb. I looked up at him, dazed.

“You’re going to suck my cock today,” he murmured matter-of-factly, and as soon as he said it I knew it was true. “Have you ever sucked cock before?”

“No sir,” I whispered meekly.

“That’s all right. I’ll teach you to be my little Chloe Cocksucker.” He slipped his thumb gently between my lips. “Suck.”

I closed my eyes and gently suckled on his thumb, only dimly aware of his wife’s hands stripping my panties down my legs. I was completely nude, sandwiched between these two fully clothed older people, and I felt so submissive. So docile. So eager to serve.

And it felt so right.

“On your knees now.”

I sank down, still blissfully suckling on his thumb. His wife’s hands were on my breasts again, playing with my nipples, calling them my “slave buttons.” I don’t know how long I knelt like that, my mind far away, just sucking and squirming as electricity shot through my young body in new and unexpected ways, as she whispered in my ear about obedience and pleasure.

Finally he withdrew his thumb from my mouth with a wet pop. My eyes only half opened as I leaned mindlessly forward, my open lips seeking, the way a sleepy infant’s mouth would seek out the nipple it had lost. As if through a fog I saw Adam opening his pants, and his thick cock appear. He fed the head past my eager lips, and my eyes closed again in languorous bliss.

I sucked, and the head kept growing. I sucked, and he kept pushing. That hot, pulsing meat filled my mouth. Mary stroked my hair and pushed my head forward as he thrust in and out of my unresisting wet mouth, filling my throat every few strokes. I had the floaty sensation that my head was nothing but a hot wet hole for his use—and that the rest of my body didn’t exist—and I loved it ...

Mary grabbed her husband’s thick hard cock in one hand and started stroking it into my mouth. She knelt next to me, playing with my tits, coaxing me to keep my mouth open, tongue out, ready for his seed. But just before he exploded, she stopped. “Not yet,” she purred, and slowly licked his length, making it lurch. A milky pearl appeared at the tip. She looked up at him, her eyes big.

“I want to see you in her pussy.”

They each took one of my hands and led me, in a daze, to their bedroom. Laid me out on the bed, legs spread wide. Adam’s cock looked massive as he stood above me, Mary lying beside me, and I started to get nervous.

“I think I ... I think I should ...” I started, but I felt my dripping slit throb as I looked at it.

I licked my lips. “I don’t know if I should ...”

“Sshhh, ssshhh, honey,” she whispered in my ear, as she began caressing my nipples. “Needy ... Compliant ... Horny ... Submissive ...”

My eyelids fluttered as I gave in to her touch, and her words.

He pressed against my tight cunt, opening me up. I gasped. It hurt, but it hurt good ... Her mouth was on my aching bud, sucking, licking, distracting, as he speared into me, inch by agonizing slow inch. Pulling out a little, then pushing farther in ... Again, and again ... The pain ... I wanted more of it ... The pleasure ... I wanted it to stop ... I whimpered ...

He bottomed out, filling me completely, and my outstretched feet tensed. My toes curled. I stared at him, a little frightened, as I watched his face change. His eyes grew heavy-lidded and hooded as his chin came down. He was a man no longer, but a beast, and he glowered at me through his eyebrows as his jaw went slack with raw animal need. As he started to pull out, ready for the first of many hard primitive thrusts, a little drool collected on his lip. I knew he would have no mercy.

And I knew I would be back for more babysitting soon.

As he slammed into me, she bit down on my nipple, and I threw my head back. That first scream was not of pleasure.

But all the others after it ... were.

#first time #babysitter #innocence corrupted #mind control #drugged

722 notes · View notes

uhohdad · 9 months

Text

EXPERIMENTAL - Konig Fic Pt 3

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

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

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

Word Count: 10,2k

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

AO3

PART ONE

PART TWO

NSFW under the cut

You’re praying that he’s getting this.

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

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

Stop talking about it!

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

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

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

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

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

That’s good. Just keep stalling.

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

You’re no longer giving up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skull boy packs quite a punch.

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

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

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

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

Okay, painful change of plans.

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

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

Always the masochist.

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

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

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

You?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does.

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

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

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

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

His eyes twitch as they flicker between each of yours.

“I am going to ruin you.”

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

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

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

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

———————————————————-

Even wincing is painful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Meine liebe…”

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

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

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

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

“Who did this?!”

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

Always determined.

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

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

And how can he say no to you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be back, I promise.”

And you have his word.

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

————————————-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t care about most.

Just Konig.

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

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

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

Then you really wouldn’t deserve him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh?!

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

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

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

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

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

“If it’s worth anything, it does.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know what I did?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This silence was definitely awkward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry, Konig.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like to right your wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And now I’m going to humiliate you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wrap your hands around it, schatz.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He lets out another low moan that makes you quiver.

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

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

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

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

“So good, Schatz.”

Warmth pools in your chest at the praise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Up. Clothes off.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so beautiful, meine schatz.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hums again, low and devious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you ready, meine liebe?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck me, Konig, please fuck me.”

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

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

“Look at me, liebe.”

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

You can’t help the mutters and moans spilling from you. Your hands mindlessly move from above your head to his chest, tugging on the fabric of his shirt.

“You feel so good. So good for me, schatz.”

You moan in response, and he decides he’s worked you open enough to push all the way in.

You’re cockdrunk now. Breathy moans escaping without thought, eyes unfocused and body limp to his desires.

When he suddenly pulls out you whine. “Koni- please.”

“On your front.” He commands as he sits back on his knees, towering over you.

You’re flush and out of breath as you do as he says, positioning yourself the best you can with your hands bound. On all fours, head down towards the pillows as you arch your back.

The bed shifts under him as he scoots close before giving your ass a firm smack, the gasp leaving your mouth more out of surprise than pain. He gives you a few more, alternating between your cheeks. Just enough to leave handprints behind, marking you as his own.

He lines up with you again, pressing into you without hesitation.

You both let out moans at the return of warmth. He’s less gentle now, pounding into you hard enough the sound of flesh crashing together fills the room. The creaky bed is slamming against the dingy walls and your thighs are rippling on impact. You can’t help but quiver as the pleasure washes through you.

He’s got such a rhythmic pace, slamming into you while he grips your hips tight to keep you still.

“All mine.” He growls between breathy groans.

You can't even respond, practically drooling into the pillows as Konig fucks you senseless. A string of broken praises fall from your lips, mostly nonsense. Konig leans in and leaves little kisses down your back, without breaking his pace.

“Koni, I’m gon’na- fuck, Konig.”

“Come for me, meine liebe.”

Your eyes pinch shut and a broken moan leaves your lips as you ride the waves of intense pleasure washing through you. It’s enough to make your entire body clench, your walls gripping onto Konig.

He doesn’t let up, forcing your thighs open as he mercilessly pounds you through orgasm.

He gives your ass another firm smack, and your fingers are clawing desperately at the pillows, searching for any sort of stability but you’re powerless to Konig and his forceful cock.

You’re on cloud nine, feeling so far away from your body as you’re washed up on the shores of pleasure. Konig’s strength is the only thing holding you steady.

“I’m going to come, schatz.” He warns, moaning your name just like he did on the video before he fills you up and stakes his claim deep inside you.

His fingers dig into your thighs as his muscles tense under his clothes, his thrusts and moans becoming uneven as he loses himself to the euphoric gratification.

He pauses for a few moments after he slows to a stop, taking a moment to catch his breath as he lets his cock warm inside you.

He pulls out of you with a low grunt, watching the come that spills out of you. When he releases his grip on you, you’re too weak to support yourself, sliding limp on your front and basking in the afterglow of your orgasm.

He takes pleasure in knowing he marked you, completely broke you down and disheveled you. Made you feel so good you have to collect yourself afterwards.

He steps out for a moment before quickly returning with something to clean you both up with.

He’s gentle with the clean-up, wiping away the mixture of lube and come from you while minding your sensitivity, not wanting to disturb your bliss. He removes the belt from your wrists as well.

“Konig? Cuddle.” You mutter, arm stretching across the bedspread.

You don’t see the smile underneath his hood, but after he wipes himself off he joins you back on the bed, the mattress creaking for a final time as he pulls you in a spoon. You feel so safe and small, pressed into him like this. His strong arms wrapped around you. His chest on your back. You let out a pleased hum.

“That’s going to make a nice video.” He says, removing his earpiece and turning it off as he sets it on the bed.

“You can have the real thing anytime.” You say, eyes closed with a warm smile on your face.

He hums low in your ear and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “You’re forgiven, Schatz.”

“Thank you Koni.”

You both drift off, tired out from your intense finishes.

You stay close throughout the night, but having him pressed into you unfortunately didn’t stop the nightmares. When you wake up in a panic, kicking and screaming at the latest renditioning of your mind’s unresolved trauma, Konig’s there to press his hand to your heart, telling you that everything’s okay, it was just a nightmare.

Your breath is still rapid and your heart is still pounding as you steady yourself, transitioning yourself back to reality after the night terror.

He hugs you so tight, reminding you about how he’ll always be there to protect you, that no one will ever hurt you again, he will not let anything happen to you.

You steady yourself, and he knows well enough how hard it is to calm yourself after such an immersive terrifying experience.

“I brought something for that, Schatz.”

When he leaves the room you think he’s going to bring you a book, a puzzle, something to do to distract yourself.

What he brings back makes you tense, your eyes widening at the gift. He sets it down for you, getting back into the bed and resuming his position wrapped around you, protecting you. But your eyes are glued to the gift, the full implications sinking in.

Konig had set down Ghost’s mask.

“No one will find out about your secret. I took care of it.”

You don’t need him to explain further. You know Ghost will never have the opportunity to hurt you again.

“Thank you, Konig.”

He kisses your shoulder through his hood, “My pleasure, meine liebe. Sleep tight.”

And you do.

———————————————————————-

More by uhohdad:

Meine Perle: Reader is tasked with feeding enemy prisoner Octo!Konig

HIS: Konig has an unhealthy obsession with you.

Original Works Masterlist

#konig #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig modern warfare #konig mw2 #call of duty #cod #modern warefare ii #modern warefare 2 #konig x reader #smut #konig x you #x reader #fic #experimental #uhohwriting

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