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samaraxmorgan · 4 months ago

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Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time The Heater Broke On Christmas”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: frenemies to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, mutual pinning

Word Count: 2.44k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Christmas is always a hectic time of year, and after spending the last week in an utter state of chaos trying to get all of your friend’s and family’s gifts ordered and in the mail on time, cookies baked and hidden away from your ravenous roommate Sukuna who swears up and down that he doesn’t even like sweets but the ones you make just taste so much better, and staying up until midnight haphazardly taping in messily folded wrapping paper and scribbled “to and from” tags on countless presents, you were more than ready to flop onto your living room couch and pass out.

But you’re just not allowed to have nice things, it seems.

The apartment is freezing cold when you walk in the front door, cool air pinching your skin and the groan of annoyance escaping your throat leaving a puff of white air in its wake. Sukuna left shortly after you did this morning to spend the day with his brothers, and as you rush your way over to the thermostat to turn the heat back on you can’t even begin to fathom why he would bother turning the air off when you were both only gone for the day. Sure, the bills can get expensive, but he’s not seriously that broke… you hope.

But as you push the buttons on the thermostat and the little screen informs you that the air in fact is on, dread rushes through you. A quick call to the landlord ends exactly how you expected it to, sent to voicemail with a cheery little message mentioning that no one will be available until after the holidays.

You may as well just die in here, you think as you sit down on the couch. The cool leather is almost painfully cold, making you flinch when it hits your skin. Silently you contemplate going back to where you spent the whole day; even if there were tons of people and you ended up leaving early because you were dying for some peace, at least it was nice and warm there.

But you push that idea aside, getting back on the train would be a pain, you’d have to trek through the snow again on your way back to the station, you could come up with a million excuses but in the back of your mind there’s this little nagging feeling that you don’t want to admit is the real reason you would rather stay home. You haven’t seen Sukuna all day.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid, but you’ve been so busy and even though the two of you live together it feels like you haven’t been able to see him for almost the entire week. And even though you spent the whole day around people you love, you couldn’t wait to come back home to your dickhead roommate.

Obviously you’d rather die than admit that to him, already picturing that trademarked smirk plastered on his tattooed face, but you can’t deny that something about him is charming. He’s smug and sarcastic and cocky and annoying and- you could really go all day to be honest; but then he has those moments where he can take the air right out of your lungs. Sweet, kind little gestures where this big scary bad guy acts like a total gentleman and it makes your heart race.

You doubt you’ll ever understand how he has that hold over you.

The sound of the door creaking open is your only warning before Sukuna steps into the freezing apartment, pink bangs damp and disheveled falling over his forehead and snow clinging to his black leather boots. He shrugs off his coat with a fluid motion, tossing it onto the stair rail as he fixes you with a sharp grin, flashing his canines mischievously.

“Didn’t think you’d actually beat me back here,” he drawls, a sarcastic lilt in his tone, “Guess you couldn’t go a day without missing my charming personality.”

You roll your eyes, breath puffing out in a faint cloud as you speak, “Missed that loud mouth, you mean.”

“Cute.” Although the word is borderline dripping in sarcasm, you still manage to catch the way a smile subtly tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I don’t suppose you’re any good with fixing heaters?” You ask hopefully, Trying to suppress a shiver as you motion toward the uncooperative thermostat.

He raises a brow, kicking off his boots and stepping into the living room, “The fuck do I look like, an HVAC guy? Just call the landlord.”

“I did,” You flop back against the couch with a defeated thump, tossing an arm over your face, “No one can come out ’til tomorrow, holidays or whatever.”

Sukuna could literally hear the frustration in your voice as he plops down next to you on the cold leather couch, “Tragic.” His tone is teasing, but his crimson eyes linger on your shivering form; with an over dramatized huff puffing an icy cloud in the air he muses, “Guess you’ll freeze.”

You briskly rub your hands up and down your arms, a futile attempt to warm yourself up, “And you won't?”

He peers down at you, posture completely relaxed despite the icy air and an unimpressed frown on his face, “I don’t get cold.”

You can’t help but let out a snort at his audacity, “Yeah?” You prop yourself up on your elbows to grin up at him, “Same way you don’t get sick?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, letting his back sink into the cool leather cushions of the couch, “That was a fluke.”

“Such a big fat liar,” You tease, elbowing his arm. But the playful jab shifts into curiosity when you notice that his skin is actually warm against your frozen fingers. Without hesitation, you wrap your hand around his tattooed wrist, making him flinch and hiss dramatically

“Fucking christ-”

“You were actually serious?” You interrupt, scrambling upright to press your freezing hands into his arms.

“Yes, I was- fuck, stop touching me holy shit.” He swats your hands away, goosebumps forming on his skin, “How the hell have you not died of frostbite? You a fuckin’ reptile or some shit?”

“Are you a living space heater?” You scoot closer to him, grabbing at his forearms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself up.

“Quit grabbin’ me you fucking weirdo,” He stands abruptly, nearly having to yank his arm out of your desperate grip, rolling his eyes at the pitiful groan of disappointment that escapes your throat, “Just- give me a second, hold on.”

You watch pitifully as he jogs up the stairs, the already freezing cold room feeling so much colder without him sitting next to you, even in the mere seconds that he’s gone. It’s almost embarrassing how you came home early to see him, have missed him and his attitude so much, and then god forbid he walks away this cramped little apartment just feels empty. But within less than a minute you can hear his footsteps thumping down the wooden stairs, a large dark red comforter slung over his arm.

He can’t help but chuckle when he sees your eyes light up, gently shaking his head as he tosses the comforter over your head and watches you scramble to wrap yourself up in it, “How long were you home without considering a fuckin’ blanket?”

“Fuck off.” You mumble as you clutch the blanket in your shaking hands; it isn’t exactly warm, still cool to the touch from sitting on his cold bed, but it’s better than nothing. Shivers still run over your skin as you wrap your arms around yourself.

You can feel the cushions shift under Sukuna’s weight when he sits down on the couch. His eyes peer down to your shivering form laying up against his thigh, silently watching you for a moment as if he’s contemplating something. Without saying a word he squeezes up behind you, wedging himself behind you and pressing his chest against your back. His arm snakes over your torso, pulling you flush against him.

Your body grows stiff in surprise, a pink blush rushing to your cheeks, “What… are you doing?”

“What?” he mumbles, resting his chin on top of your head as if this was the most natural thing in the world, “Not allowed to do something nice? Quit complaining.”

You can hear that signature smirk in his voice even without seeing his face, but the warmth radiating from him is undeniable. His arm tightens around your waist to anchor you to him and you could swear that he had heat radiating off of his chest, flooding into your cold skin and seeping through the blanket to chase away the chill that so stubbornly clings to your skin.

Hopefully he can’t hear the way your heart is pounding.

And although you’re grateful for the comforter wrapped around you, you’re silently cursing it for putting a barrier between you and Sukuna. You need more, need him impossibly closer to you, to wrap yourself up in his embrace and tighten your arms around him. You squirm in his grasp to try and free your arms, and an empty cold immediately strikes you when he releases you within a millisecond, parting himself from you and shoving his back into the cushions of the couch.

“Shit, I’m-”

You unintentionally cut him off when you turn around to face him, slinging the deep red comforter over his tensed up body. From this angle you can see his face and he looks… surprised? For the briefest moment you could catch a look of panic in his eyes before he settled, eyes widened and his mouth dropped open into a small oh. As if he wasn’t the one who started this, but he’s silent as his apology is caught in his throat.

You tilt your head down and grip your fingers onto his waist, attempting to pull him back to you, “Why are you all the way over there? Come back.”

It takes him a moment, like he's trying to process what you'd said, before he shifts closer to press his body firmly against yours. You bury your head into the warmth of his chest where you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and your thigh finds a comfortable space to slot between his legs. His arms wrap around you again, but this time he holds you closer like he's trying to keep you locked against him, caging you against his strong torso in a way that feels almost possessive.

But it's so nice, the protective hold in his arms feels so warm and comfortable; and not just because of the temperature difference. You'd be lying if you said you'd never imagined yourself wrapped up with him, but never in any of your guilty daydreams did it ever feel so intimate. You and Sukuna have never been quite this close to each other, usually sharing nothing more than passive aggressive elbow jabs while trying to share the bathroom sink in the mornings, or maybe the occasional moment where he'll grab your hand in his when he sees you're about to trip and his touch lingers just a little too long.

But now you’re wrapped up in him, the smell of cologne on his neck embracing your senses with a warm woody scent, the heat of his body dripping onto your skin until your shivers finally come to a stop. Your racing heart slows to a steady pace and you let your eyes fall shut for a while, enjoying the peaceful quiet sounds of his breathing and his steady heartbeat.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of the old apartment and the distant hum of wind outside. Sukuna’s warmth envelops you completely, seeping into your chilled bones in a way that no blanket ever could.

“Better now?” His voice is low, almost a rumble in his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek where it rests against him.

“Much.” You admit quietly, your breath tickling his neck.

“Good. Maybe now you won’t freeze to death.” He mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. His tone is softer, almost fond, and his hand begins to draw lazy circles over your back.

You glance up at him, his face just inches from yours. His crimson eyes are half-lidded, his usual smirk softened into something gentler. You rarely see him like this, but lately you’ve been witnessing it more and more; he’s relaxed, unguarded. It’s a side of him that’s both unfamiliar and heart-achingly endearing.

“You’re awfully cozy for someone who didn’t want to be touched.” You tease, tilting your head slightly to study his reaction.

He scoffs, his cheeks darkening just enough to make you wonder if he’s blushing, “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be this pathetic about it. Consider it a favor.”

“A favor?” You raise a brow, unable to hide your amused grin.

“Yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, though his arm tightens around you ever so slightly.

Despite his words, you can feel the contradiction in the way he holds you, his grip firm and unyielding as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. And you can’t help but wrap your arms around him tighter, hoping this so called favor doesn’t have to end.

“You’re warm.” You mumble, almost to yourself.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me,” His voice is a low warning, but it lacks any real edge.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you says a word. The air feels heavy, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. His eyes flicker down to your lips for the briefest second, and your breath catches in your throat.

“You’re staring.” He mumbles, but he doesn’t look away.

“So are you.” You whisper softly.

The tension between you grows, fragile yet electric, until finally, he huffs and shifts his gaze away, breaking the spell, “Go to sleep, idiot. You’ll need it for when the landlord shows up tomorrow.”

Despite the abrupt shift, his tone carries no real harshness, and the arm around your waist stays securely in place. You press your cheek against his chest once more, unable to resist a small smile.

“Fine.” You whisper, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax fully into his warmth.

He doesn’t say anything, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear is answer enough. Whatever this moment between the two of you is, you’ll take it for now, tucked in his arms as the cold world outside fades away.

A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!! And thank you to everyone who has been so kind and supportive and patient with me during my writers block <3 I don’t think I’m fully back quite yet but I’ve made massive progress and I’m hopeful that I’ll be writing regularly again soon :) Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

#remember when I said I wasn’t gonna write a full fic and it was gonna be a drabble?#I fully expected this to be 500 words I am so serious #but instead this is one of the longer ones of the series ASSKKSLS #MERRY CHRISTMAS TEAM!!!#roommate Sukuna au #nav ryomen sukuna #my writing #jjk #jujustu kaisen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk modern au

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kissesz · 2 months ago

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𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞

caitlyn kiramman x f!reader

warnings : see above. mdni. angst. f!sub!reader. dom!caitlyn. mean!caitlyn, just briefly. cunnilingus. tribbing. vaginal sex. non-sexual intimacy. read: kissing. a lot of it. sapphic debauchery at its finest. arguing. emotional hurt/comfort. mentions of injuries & blood but not too graphic.

notes: (can be read as a standalone, part II of 'all that glitters') a oneshot—which, clearly, it isn’t anymore. i may have made a promise about making up. unfortunately, the dialogue is subpar at best, perhaps because i genuinely dread writing anything involving communication (which is why i attempted—only half-successfully—to compensate with overly long descriptions). on top of that, i’ve rewritten this at least a thousand times, meaning six and a half hours were spent agonizing over every single paragraph. i digress. i love you all, dearly.

Aged whiskey scorched a trail down your throat, amber liquid catching glimmers of the kaleidoscopic hues painting Piltover for Progress Day—sapphire tones of hextech glinting off effervescent fireworks, swirling and bleeding like watercolors through the fractured prism of your mind.

Or perhaps that was the alcohol, settling leaden in your veins as you draped yourself against the balcony railing.

Revelry echoed distant and muted from the streets below, laughter filtering through as if from ripples underwater. Each scintillating burst a reminder of her, salt in wounds unhealed—nights of bare skin illuminated by those same lights, susurrous promises you'd been foolish enough to believe. Skin and sweat and lies, impermanent.

So naive.

The crystal tumbler in your hand caught light, throwing severed rainbows across your fingers. Watching them dance, you tried (and failed) to focus on anything but the ache that had made its home in your ribcage months ago, a persistent throb that no amount of liquor could numb.

Then, a knock cleaved through the silence like a gunshot.

Your heart seized—a pavlovian response so violent it stole the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping. Two strikes against solid wood, precise, just like the woman behind them.

"Don't you fucking dare," you hissed to the empty air, fingers tightening around the railing until your knuckles blanched white against the dark metal. After months of absence, after countless nights spent aching and alone, after everything—she had the audacity to return?

The knock came again, more insistent this time, the sound like a second heartbeat, out of sync with your own yet impossible to ignore.

"Open the door." Caitlyn's voice, muffled yet unmistakable in its authority. That voice that had once whispered such honeyed poison against your skin now felt like sandpaper against raw nerves, abrasive and unrelenting. "Please."

Your laugh spilled out bitter, a broken sound for a broken moment. "Or what, Officer? You'll break it down? Add that to your litany of things you've destroyed?"

Silence stretched between you—taut and ready to snap. Then: "I'll wait all night if I have to."

"Go ahead." The drink seared going down, a familiar burn doing nothing to thaw the frost in your veins. "You're good at that, aren't you? Waiting until the perfect moment to walk away?"

More silence followed, heavy and sticky as molasses. For a moment, you thought she'd left, until you heard it—the soft thud of something solid against wood. Her forehead, perhaps, resting against your door as if she couldn't support her own weight anymore, as if the burden of her choices had finally become too much to bear.

"I deserve that," she said quietly, her voice carrying a of vulnerability you'd never heard before. A hairline fracture in her usually impenetrable facade. "I deserve all of it. But please... let me explain."

"Explain what?" The words clawed their way from your throat, each word tasting of copper and acrimony. "How you used me? How you'd come to me in the dead of night, take what you wanted, then vanish like I meant nothing?"

"You were never—" Her voice splintered on ‘never’, the sound slitting something in your chest, a fissure spreading through the walls you'd built to keep her out. "You were everything to me. That was the problem."

The crystal glass shattered in your grip, a startling crack that echoed the something rupturing inside you. Shards scattered across marble tiles like fallen stars, blood and alcohol—you couldn't tell which—dripping from your trembling fingers. The pain felt distant, secondary to the storm of emotions threatening to rend you apart.

Your feet carried you to the door of their own volition, possessed by a desperate momentum that overrode any semblance of self-preservation. The handle felt unfamiliar against your palm as you wrenched it open.

And there she stood.

Caitlyn Kiramman, in your foyer, like a washed out black and white photo of a deceased relative you couldn't bring yourself to look at. Her uniform was spotless as always, every button polished, every crease perfect—but her eyes—her eyes told a different story. They widened at the sight of your bleeding hand, that familiar concern suffusing her features before she could conceal it.

"You're hurt–" She reached for you, her fingers extending with such tender intent that it made your chest constrict, your heart stuttering behind the cage of your ribs.

You recoiled as if scorched, spine colliding with the wall behind you with a dull thud. "Don't." Your voice emerged raw, stripped of all pretense. "Don't you dare pretend to care now."

"Do you hear yourself? How ridiculous you sound?" She advanced, her presence flooding your space like smoke, cloying and suffocating. The scent of her, vanilla and gunpowder, so achingly familiar, made your head reel. Or maybe that was the blood loss. The whiskey. Turning everything soft at the edges except for her, sharp and impossible to ignore. "Not once, for a single second, did I stop caring. I left because I cared too much, because it was destroying me. Every time I chose you over my duty, every time I let my heart overrule my head, we were—"

"Oh, spare me the noble sacrifice bullshit, Caitlyn. Your precious integrity, right? Let me remind you of what you said: 'You know where I am if you need me.' Do you remember that? How you kissed me goodbye like it wasn't the last fucking time?" A dismissive sound tore from your lips, acrid.

"Enlighten me," you continued, voice quavering in a way that made you want to claw the weakness from your throat, "in all those months, all those nights I spent alone, where exactly were you? Because I needed you. Gods, I needed you every single day! And you were nowhere to be found!"

"It wasn't—" she started, but you cut her off, unwilling to hear whatever justification she'd made up for her absence.

"Shut up." Your palm struck her chest, leaving behind a bloody handprint stark against her pristine uniform. The fabric drank it in like it had been starved for it, marring perfection with your pain. Some bitter part of you relished it, wanted her to wear your anguish for once.

Hands caught your wrists then, a grip gentle but resolute, like you were something fragile, something invaluable she was afraid to break.

The calluses on her palms, from her rifle, from years of relentless training rasped against your pulse points. "You think it was easy?" Her voice trembled, her composure fracturing like a teacup on the verge of shattering. "You think I wanted to walk away? To lie awake every night remembering how you taste, how you feel, how you cry out my name when you—"

"Stop." You tried to wrench away but her hold was unbreakable, fingers branding your skin with unspoken apologies, with pleas for absolution. Your heart battered against your ribcage, that traitorous organ that still raced at her proximity, even after everything.

"Why?" She surged forward, and suddenly you were pinned between the heat of her body and the unyielding wall, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Her breath ghosted across your face, expensive brandy chasing crisp mint—she'd been drinking too. She'd been drinking too, and that realization struck you like a knife to the sternum, twisting viciously. "Because it hurts? Because despite everything, you still remember? How I'd touch you, how I'd make you beg, how you'd unravel for me like you were made for it?"

"Fuck you," you spat, even as your body responded to her, muscle memory overriding reason.

"You did, darling." The endearment dripped from her lips, sweet and searing like honey on a spoon. Her face was a hairsbreadth from yours, close enough to count the individual flecks of navy in her eyes, to feel the heat of her breath mingling with your own. "Countless times. And I remember every single one. Every sound, every sigh, every way you fell apart beneath my hands."

Your breath hitched, catching on a breath suspiciously similar to a sob. "I hate you."

You did, truly.

Hating her felt natural, instinctual.

"No." Her thumb skated over your bottom lip, coming away stained with the smear of your lipstick. The tenderness of the gesture was devastating, a brutal reminder of everything you'd lost. "You wish you did. Just like I wish I could stop loving you."

The confession hung between you like a noose, tightening with each shallow breath.

"Why now?" Your voice cracked, splintering, jagged and razor-edged. "Why come back after all this time?"

"Because I'm tired," she breathed, resting her forehead against yours, the contact like a livewire against your skin. Her skin burned feverish against your own, her breaths labored. "Tired of pretending I don't need you. Tired of walking past your building every night, aching to come up but telling myself I shouldn't. Tired of being half a person without you."

Closing your eyes, the nearness of her was overwhelming, intoxicating; it made you dizzy, memories crashing over you in waves—lips on your throat, hands on your hips, her voice in your ear whispering vows she couldn't keep, oaths she'd shattered like porcelain against stone.

"You broke me." Words falling from your numb lips, more honest than you'd allowed yourself to be since she left, since she carved out your heart and took it with her.

"I know." Her lips brushed your temple, a benediction and a curse. A tear—yours or hers, you couldn't say—slid between your pressed skin, salt and sorrow. "Let me put you back together. Let me try."

"How?" You opened your eyes, meeting her gaze, stripped of all pretense. Your fingers itched to trace the circles beneath her eyes, proof that maybe she'd been haunted by your absence just as viscerally as you'd been ravaged by hers. "How can I ever trust you again?"

In lieu of an answer, she kissed you.

Not like before—not with the practiced restraint of Officer Kiramman, the consummate professional. No, this kiss was desperate, woozy and salty of mingled tears. Her hands cupped your face like you were something hallowed, her thumbs sweeping away the evidence of your shared misery, your shared sin.

Kissing her back, it bordered on violence, every shred of hurt and longing poured into the crush of your mouths. Your fingers knotted in her hair, yanking hard enough to sting, needing her to feel even a fraction of the agony you'd endured in her absence. Silken strands twined around your fingers like they'd been waiting for your touch, like they remembered every time you'd gripped them in ecstasy rather than anguish.

She gasped into your mouth, the sound caught between a moan and a whimper, apology and plea tangled on her tongue. "I'm sorry," she murmured between bruising kisses, each word a fervent promise falling from kiss-swollen lips. "I'm so sorry. I love you. I never stopped. Please..."

You bit down on her bottom lip, hard enough to taste blood of her own, the metallic sting a twisted sort of penance. "Prove it."

Her eyes met yours, understanding dawning like the sun cresting the horizon. With deliberate, measured movements, she began to strip away her armor. Her utility belt hit the floor with a leaden thud, bullets rattling in their clips. Her badge followed, the metal making a mournful sound as it clattered against marble. Then her uniform jacket, each button slipping free of its mooring until the garment slid from her shoulders like a remnant of a past she was shedding, a chrysalis giving way to something raw and new.

Each piece of her fell away until only Caitlyn remained.

The woman behind the title, the beating heart beneath the badge. She stood before you in her crisp white undershirt, more vulnerable than you'd ever seen her, her chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths, her eyes wide and shining in the low light.

"I'm yours," she said softly, her voice replaced by something fragile and aching. "Just me, loving you, for as long as you'll have me."

You stared at her, this woman who could command an entire city with a single look yet now trembled beneath the weight of your gaze. Who could stare down the barrel of a gun without flinching yet now looked at you like you held the power to destroy her. Who had walked away from you once yet now stood before you offering her heart, her future, her everything.

"If you leave again..." you started, the words tasting like rust on your tongue, sharp and metallic.

"I won't." She stepped closer, her hands finding the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips, relearning curves and planes she'd once mapped in the dark, in stolen moments that now felt like lifetimes ago. Her touch sparked wildfires in its wake, your skin remembering her, craving her, even as your mind screamed for self-preservation. "I can't. Losing you... it nearly killed me. Let me spend the rest of my life making it right. Making us right."

You knew you should’ve resisted, should’ve made her work harder for your forgiveness, for a second chance at the heart she'd so carelessly shattered. But then her lips found that spot just below your ear, the one that made your knees buckle and your breath hitch, and all rational thought fled, replaced by an all-consuming need, a hunger that had gone unsated for far too long.

Her hands relearned your body with admiration that bordered on worshipful—each touch an act of contrition. Her fingers caught on scars she'd never seen before, on new edges and angles wrought in the crucible of her absence, but she didn't shy away. Instead, she traced each one like a devotee tracing the lines of a sacred text, committing them to memory, etching them onto her heart.

"I missed you," she breathed against your throat, her voice cracking on the admission. "Missed this. The way you melt for me, the way your pulse flutters beneath my lips." To illustrate her point, she pressed a lingering kiss to the hammering beat at the base of your throat, smiling against your skin as you failed to bite back a whimper.

Her name fell from your lips like a benediction, like a curse, like an invocation of something bigger than both of you. "Caitlyn..."

She pulled back just far enough to meet your eyes, and the naked adoration in her gaze stole the breath from your lungs.

Gone was the stoic persona, the enforcer of the law. In her place was a woman laid bare, stripped of all pretense. A woman whose eyes shone with unshed tears and unspoken promises, whose hands shook with the force of her need, her longing.

"I love you," she said simply, the words rusty from disuse but no less true for it. "I love your fire, your strength, the way you never once made it easy for me. I love the way you see me, all of me, even the parts I try to hide. I love—"

You swallowed the rest of her words with a searing kiss, your hands fisting in the fabric of her shirt, dragging her closer until you could feel her heartbeat against your own, a desperate staccato that echoed the racing of your pulse.

She caught you as you swayed, strong arms banding around your waist, holding you up, anchoring you to her as she'd always done, even when you insisted you didn't need it, didn't want it. "Let me take care of you," she murmured against your lips, the words akin to a plea. "Let me show you how much I've missed you, how sorry I am, how I—"

"Show me," you demanded, the words scraping your throat raw with their urgency. "Make me believe you."

The sound she made was part growl, part whimper, animal and anguished. Her hands glided down your sides to grip the backs of your thighs, fingers sinking into yielding flesh, and then you were airborne, your back hitting the wall with enough force to rattle the abstract art piece hanging beside your head. Your legs locked around her waist on instinct, muscle memory overriding the part of you still screaming for restraint.

"I'll spend forever making you believe," she vowed, punctuating each word with a press of her lips—to your jaw, the edge of your lips, the sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder. "Forever proving that you're it for me, that I'm done hiding from this, from us."

As she carried you to the bedroom, her steps never faltering despite the tremors wracking her frame, you realized with startling, terrifying clarity that you wanted to let her. Wanted to give her the chance to piece back together the remnants of you, to rebuild from the rubble and ashes she'd left behind.

A tangle of limbs and discarded silks draped upon the edge of your bed held nothing new, freshly washed sheets tousling as she haphazardly lowered you into their embrace.

And then, she was on you, her hand sliding up the apex of your thigh, teasing.

Finally, finally, her tongue met the barrier of your underwear, the fabric the only thing separating you from the heat and wetness that promised heaven. She took her time, tracing every inch of you, biting and nipping, until you were writhing beneath her, begging for more. And then she pulled them down, your hips lifting off the bed to accommodate her, exposing you completely to the cool air and the burning heat of her gaze.

Her mouth followed the path of your underwear, leaving a damp trail of kisses as she descended. She hovered above your clit for a moment, her eyes searching yours for permission, for reassurance. You gave it with a nod, and she took it as the invitation it was, her tongue flicking out to taste you, to show you without words how much she'd missed this, missed you.

The sensation was foreign in its familiarity, your entire body tensing before relaxing into the bliss she’d coaxed from you, licking and suckling, driving you closer to the edge with every pass.

And then, with a lingering kiss, she pulled away, leaving you panting and desperate. Deja vu, perhaps? "Take these off," she ordered, her voice thick with desire, gesturing to her own pants. You obeyed, your fingers fumbling with the zipper, eager to feel her bare skin against yours. When she was finally naked, she straddled you, the wetness between her thighs pressing against your stomach, leaving a damp heat that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

Her hands roamed your body, touching, everywhere, and you watched her, breathless, feeling your desire for her swell until it was a living, pulsing thing between you.

When she reached your breasts, her caresses were feather-light at first, teasing your already-sensitized nipples until they were hard points of pleasure-pain that had you gasping. Then, she took one into her mouth, her tongue flicking against the sensitive flesh, her teeth grazing the tight bud, sending skitters of desire straight to your core.

As she worked you over with her mouth and hands, each touch, each kiss, each lick brought you closer to the precipice. Your hips bucked against her, seeking more, seeking everything she had to give, needing to be filled, to be claimed by her again. You reached down to guide her, impatient (if it were another time, she’d make a show of rolling her eyes), fingers curling around hers, to show her where you needed her most, and she took the hint, sliding down your body, aligning herself with your aching sex.

Her hips rolled against yours, the friction building until you were both heaving and desperate. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the slick slide of skin on skin, the gasps and murmurs of pleasure. You felt her love in every stroke, every touch, every shudder of her body as she took you higher, until you were both teetering on the brink of oblivion.

The feeling of her was exquisite, the pressure just right—coiling tighter and tighter, until you were both ready to shatter. Your nails raked down her back, leaving red streaks on her skin, and she groaned into your neck. The sound sent you over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your climax, waves of pleasure crashing through you like a storm at sea. She followed, her hips stuttering against yours, her own release a hot, wet rush that mingled with yours, until you were both spent, limp and trembling in each other's arms.

Perhaps there would be no gold at the end of this, no sunset-fade and happily ever after. Perhaps you'd end up right back here again someday, bleeding out on memories gone septic with neglect. Perhaps you'd lose as much as you'd gain, in the end.

But what a thing it was—to be shattered and scattered, to cut yourself open on the fractured pieces and trust that the other person would help you staunch the flow of injuries after. To hold your own heart in your hands and decide that theirs was worth the risk anyway, every time.

So you sealed your mouth to hers and poured yourself into the spaces between, the cracks and scars and fault-lines cobwebbing you both. Let her lick the hurt from your teeth, suck apologies purple-dark into your skin until you couldn't tell her contrition from your clemency.

And later, when you laid tangled up in sheets that smelled of sex and forgiveness, her head pillowed on your chest and the ghosts of your names still ringing in the rafters, you thought that maybe this was a new breed of faith.

To believe, against all evidence, that you could piece each other back together. To know that you'd never be what you were before, untarnished and golden all the way through—but that maybe, just maybe, there was something rawer and realer and infinitely more precious to be found in those broken places.

To reach your hand between each other's ribs and hold tight to whatever you found there, battered and bloodied but beating still. Whispering: I love you, I love you, I love you.

I love you enough to stay.

I love you enough to bleed.

I love you in ways only the shattered know how to love.

I love you, and all your splintered edges.

I love you, and the way you carve yourself into me.

I love you, and I'll spend every breath I have left proving it.

I love you, and that's the best and worst thing I know how to do.

©️ kissesz

tags for the lovely sweethearts who requested a continuation: @prettyyyy-girl & @hiroklaiz

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thedropsofblood · 3 months ago

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So glad to see that your requests are open <3 love all your fics(especially general one..... what a man.....). Can I request a pirate/yandere x merman/siren reader? 👁👁👁👁👁👁👁

The moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?

Warnings: human x siren relationship, dom reader (?) but technically you're a switch, siren male reader, blood drinking, making out underwater, hand job (reader giving), GN but made with male reader in mind.

Summary: A pirate got too curious and almost became your meal.

It is said that meeting a siren in the middle of the sea is a pirate's worst nightmare, yet it felt like the opposite to him.

Him and his crew were celebrating a successful heist, the thick smell of alcohol filled the board, but instead of focusing on the music, he was distracted by the sight of you underneath the water. He rested his elbows on the wooden railings of the ship, looking down intently on the water. He knew he wasn't hallucinating you, there's no way he was, he was a criminal but he wasn't crazy.

Instead of brushing it off as nothing, he kept his gaze on the water underneath, almost mesmerized by his own curiosity. He only snapped out of his own thoughts when one of his crew members placed a firm grip on his shoulder. He excused himself out and back into his room, yet, he couldn't keep his mind off of your silhouette. There's something about you that's strangely mesmerising to him, it felt like he had seen you once before.

Laying on his head, he found himself sleepless despite his tiredness. His hand moving up to brush his hair out of his face out of frustration. He knew he shouldn't try and investigate you further, but he couldn't help it. There's something about you that just, draws him in, and he doesn't know if he likes it or not.

He clicked his tongue, lighting up his lantern before setting off towards the main dock where he spotted you earlier. The night was so much colder than he expected but he held on, before he could get onto the dock, his body tensed up completely at the sound of someone singing. The sound sends a shiver through his spine, making him swallow a lump in his throat nervously.

He carefully sets down his lantern somewhere safe before going over to where he previously stood. He scanned the surrounding water as much as he could with the moonlight, and his previous suspicions were correct. He wasn't drunk, he wasn't hallucinating, no, he did see a siren, and a beautiful one at that.

He couldn't even find the strength to breath as he's mesmerized by the sight of you, humming a song, looking up directly at him with a smile. And suddenly his knees felt like jelly, he knelt down onto the wooden floor as he leaned over to look at you. The way the moonlight shines on your face, that way the water dropped down from your hair, it felt magical.

So imagine how scared he was when you disappeared back into the ocean. And in a moment of panic, he found himself jumping down along with you. He tried searching for even a singular hint of you, for that similar face, for that siren tail, for your hypnotic voice, yet there was nothing but silence. The sense of dread that filled him in that moment was undescribable. He had always hated being in deep water for this reason, what if the figure he saw in the corner of his eye was a shark? What if you're just a hallucination and he's currently drowning right now? Worse, what if you're real and you just wanted to lure him to his death?...

That is, until he felt something pressed against his lips. And he frantically blinked to clear his vision, his gaze softening at the sight of your eyes. His hands moved to grip onto your waist, his other hand pushing the back of your neck towards him, as if wanting to trap you in this kiss forever, despite knowing how unreachable that goal is.

If anyone's trapped, it's him, both mentally and physically. He didn't want to leave you, and even if he wanted to, your tail wrapping the lower half of his body surely wouldn't let him go. This was dangerous, he knew it, yet he couldn't care any less. The water around his body only felt like a warm hug from you, and the kindness of you to transfer him air with your mouth? If you were a human, he's sure he'd have your hand in marriage by now.

He struggled to get out of the water and gasped for air when you bit down on his neck, licking off the blood mark. You had the decency to not pull him back down into the water right afterwards, instead, pushing him onto a nearby rock and continued your barrage on his neck. His hand gripped onto your hair as he grits his teeth, breathless gasps escaping his throat.

How lightheaded he was when your hands went to unbuckle his belt, the feeling of your thumb brushing over the tip of his dick, the gentle strokes that made him leak precum onto your hand and down onto the cold surface underneath. You were going to be the death of him one day, and he was completely content with that.

His hand gripped harshly on your hair to force your head back, stealing the breaths right out of your mouth and encapsulating you in a kiss, not even giving you a chance to catch your breath. He wanted to devour you whole, to make it so you'll never sing for anyone else but him, to make it so the only pirate you will ever eat is him and him alone, even if he had to die for it.

He bit down on your lips, tasting the irony of your blood in his mouth. You tasted like the finest meal he had ever had the luxury of getting his hands on, your cold touches were surprisingly comforting in the freezing night, the way you had him in the palm of your hand-

His vision went all white, he almost bit down on his tongue as his ears rang a loud noise. He pulled you off his lips, looking at your swollen ones and down on your cum stained hand. Shit, even his outfit was ruined beyond recognition because of the water earlier. He wasn't worried about being scolded by the other crew members later, he was more worried about not being able to see you again after this.

He was quickly proven wrong though, when you pulled him towards you and into the water, your arms wrapped around his neck and pulling him into a deep kiss, a stupid smile on your lips. If you want him to be addicted to you this badly, then he'll gladly cooperate.

As expected, he was brutally scolded by the other members for sleep walking out of the ship (you lured him), ending up with horrible cuts and bruises (you bit his neck and shoulders beyond recognition), and a nasty fever (also your fault for keeping him underwater for so long).

Despite that, he didn't seem upset at the punishments like he usually was. Hell, he even seemed happier than usual, to the shock of the other members. Some crew members even thought he went crazy or got possessed after hearing him speaking to himself in his room.

That is, until they peeked through the creek of his bedroom door and caught sight of him talking to you through the window, even feeding you spare shrimps and fishes he caught earlier today. They wanted to interfere until they saw him place a kiss on your forehead, causing them to halt and quickly scatter back to their duty. They didn't know what to be more worried about, the fact that their captain had managed to befriend a siren or the fact that you left your marks on him.

A/N: Thank you sm for loving my fics you don't know how much it means to me. I love that fic too ngl, I'm so sad past me did him a little dirty, I'm thinking of rewriting him just bc of it 😭🙏 Sorry your request took a while btw, I had to rewrite it 3 times bc tumblr kept rejecting to save the draft + I wasn't satisfied with one of them.

#male reader #bottom male reader #top male reader #oc x male reader #oc x gender neutral reader #oc x reader #idk what tags to add #vel fic #gender neutral reader #male reader insert #original character x reader #siren reader

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inseobts · 6 days ago

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Can you do a gn but soft feminine reader where they get worried that Shanks and them are drifting apart (theyre married) and that Shanks now even seems like he may have started cheating, even being caught on an island in like the pleasure district or something. Super angsty the reader is suffering and stuff but im sensitive obviously so it turns out he had also felt like maybe he had been too busy and distant with stress and planning (this is close to the current canon time) to pay proper attention to reader so the "cheating" was him trying to find out a way to like get them a romantic place alone. Like the pleasure district girls were just teaching him about different gifts he could get you and the best hotels/resturants to go to for a date. He chose them just bc he could pay for their time so no bothering random people and they were knowledgable about the finer stuff in life. Pls end fluffy and they actually make up and get along and stuff and go on the date. You can add smut at the end if things get heated at the hotel but if it feels like it doesn't fit in the story youre writing you don't have to add it.

sorry if i sent this twice i have bad memory and i dont remember if i actually sent it or not so just in case im sending it again its not me rushing you or spamming

Driftwood Hearts

shanks x gn!reader

a/n: at some point I forgot I was writing it as gn!reader, I tried to fix it but I'm not sure I didn't miss any. I also forgot he has a missing arm...

words count: 3.5k

tags: mild smut, angst with comfort, misunderstandings, emotional hurt/comfort, marriage struggles, pre-egghead

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The wind brushes gently across your skin as you stand at the railing of the Red Force, eyes fixed on the endless blue. It’s quiet except for the creak of wood and distant voices of the crew laughing below deck. But you don’t feel like laughing. You haven’t in a while.

The sea always feels colder without him by your side.

You swallow hard, fingers tightening on the rail. Shanks has been gone for four days now, anchored at a nearby island for “business”, but the way he avoided your eyes before leaving haunts you more than the distance itself. He kissed your forehead and told you he loved you, but it felt… forced. Or maybe that’s just your fear talking.

No. Something’s wrong. You feel it, you know it.

You haven’t slept well in weeks. Shanks has been distant, preoccupied, caught in whispered meetings with Benn or writing something behind locked doors. He touches you less, barely looks up when you enter the room, and when you reach for him at night, he turns away, murmuring that he’s tired.

But what scares you most is what Lucky Roux let slip last night over dinner.

“Yeah, I saw the captain heading toward the pleasure district. Guess he needed to unwind, huh?”

You didn’t ask for clarification. You couldn’t. The blood had drained from your face and you had excused yourself quietly, retreating to your shared quarters, where the bed still smelled like him.

You feel sick remembering it. You’ve tried to be reasonable. He’s a Yonko. He’s busy. He’s under pressure. But you’re his wife. And yet lately, it feels like you’re just… a fixture. A memory he keeps forgetting to look at.

Footsteps approach behind you. Your heart jumps instinctively with hope, but it’s Benn.

He gives you a small nod “He’ll be back before sundown.”

You just nod, eyes still on the sea “Thanks.”

There’s a pause.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine...” you lie, your voice soft but trembling.

He doesn’t press. He just gives a long sigh and leaves you be.

Later that evening you hear his boots before you see him. The heavy, slow step of someone who’s either dreading a conversation, or trying to steel themselves for it.

You sit on the edge of the bed, hands folded tightly in your lap, trying not to shake. Your heart pounds when the door creaks open.

“Hey,” Shanks says softly. His hair’s tousled from the wind, his cape half off his shoulder, and he looks… tired. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, your stiff posture, your swollen eyes, and something flickers in his face.

“You’re back” you whisper.

He closes the door gently behind him “Yeah.”

Silence. It stretches too long.

“I heard where you were...” you say quietly, almost apologetically, as if it’s wrong to admit you know.

Shanks doesn’t answer right away. He walks a little closer, but not enough. His jaw tenses.

“Is it true?” your voice breaks just slightly “Did you really go to the pleasure district?”

He flinches “It’s not what you think.”

You shake your head, tears burning hot behind your eyes “Then what is it, Shanks? Because lately, I don’t know where you are anymore. You’re here, but you’re not. You don’t see me. You don’t touch me. You barely even talk to me unless it’s about the ship.”

He stares at you, and his expression cracks “I know.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“I know I’ve been… distant.” He drags a hand through his hair “And I hate that I made you feel alone. That’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

“Then why?” your voice trembles “Why were you there?”

He takes a breath and crosses the room in two strides, kneeling in front of you “Because I’ve been trying to plan something. For us.”

You don’t understand “What?”

He smiles, but it’s bitter with guilt “I didn’t want to bother random people asking where to take my wife on the perfect date, so I paid women who know the best spots. Gifts. Food. Hotels. I asked them what someone like you would love. That’s all it was.”

You’re frozen. Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

He takes your hand gently “I was afraid I’d been too absent. That I hadn’t made you feel loved. And I thought… if I could find the right place, something just for us, maybe I could show you how much I still adore you. But I screwed it all up by not telling you.”

Your vision blurs “You weren’t cheating…?”

He looks devastated “No. God, no. Never. I love you. I love you more than anything. I’ve just been so stressed about everything. Egghead, the tension between the Emperors, the Marines breathing down our necks… I didn’t mean to push you away.”

Your body trembles, and finally you let go. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, and cry.

“I thought I was losing you...” you whisper, voice shattered.

He holds you so tight it almost hurts “You’ll never lose me. Never.”

The cabin is dark even though the sun has long since risen.

You haven’t moved from the bed.

Shanks had fallen asleep holding you last night, warm and solid, whispering apologies and promises, but the ache in your chest didn’t fade. If anything, it’s worse now.

Because you want to believe him. You need to.

But some part of you still hurts too deeply to reach for his words. That soft little voice in your head won’t stop whispering:

If he really loved you, why did it get this far? Why didn’t he notice sooner?

He’s gone again this morning.

You heard him slip out quietly hours ago. No kiss. No note. Just a hush and the sound of boots.

You stare at the door.

Was last night just guilt?

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, curling up in the center of the bed that now feels too big, too empty. You’re sick of crying, but the tears still come out. Quiet, desperate sobs that shake your shoulders as you muffle them into the pillow.

Why does love feel so much like breaking?

Flashback – A Week Ago “Do you need anything?” you asked him quietly, standing in the doorway of his study. He didn’t even look up “No.” You tried again “Even just… a few minutes? I miss you.” “I said I’m busy.” He hadn’t meant it harshly, you tell yourself. But the words had still hit like a slap. You remember standing there, fingers tightening around the edge of the doorframe, waiting for him to glance your way. He never did.

Present

You’re still trembling when you hear the door creak open again. Heavy footsteps. A pause.

Shanks.

But you don’t move.

He calls your name once, quiet. Then again, more hesitant “Baby?”

You don’t answer. You just lay there, eyes shut.

He walks closer, then sits on the edge of the bed “I went to confirm the reservation,” he says carefully “For the place I told you about.”

Silence.

He swallows “I want to take you somewhere beautiful. Just us. No crew. No stress. I wanted it to be a surprise…”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Your voice is raw.

He flinches at the sound of it.

“I didn’t know how to fix it,” he admits “I thought if I just did something big enough, maybe I could make it up to you. Instead of facing how much I’d already let slip away.”

Your breath catches.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees “I keep thinking about how I’ve failed you. You married me, and I still made you feel like you were second to everything else in my life. That’s on me.”

You finally turn your head toward him “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

The words land heavy. His shoulders tense.

“You’re everything I want,” he says hoarsely “I just forgot how to show it. And I was so damn afraid that if I turned around, you’d be gone.”

You sit up slowly, blanket still clutched to your chest “I wanted to leave. I started packing, twice. I kept wondering if I stayed, would it hurt worse than walking away.”

His eyes go glassy “You were gonna leave me?”

You nod, and it breaks him.

He falls to his knees beside the bed, burying his face in your lap “I deserve that. I deserve every second because of the way I made you feel.”

You stroke his hair, hands trembling “You don’t. But I was scared. You’re always looking out for the world, Shanks… and sometimes I wonder if you forget how small I am compared to it.”

He lifts his head, and the pain in his eyes is unbearable “You are my world.”

Then he reaches into his coat pocket.

A small, folded cloth. Inside some delicate jewelry, hand-crafted glass roses, a map with hand-drawn notes on the margins: circles around restaurants, sketches of views he wanted to show you.

“I went to the pleasure district because they know things, like what to buy, what’s romantic. I didn’t want to half-ass this. I wanted it to be perfect.”

Tears spill over your cheeks “You idiot.”

He chuckles weakly “That’s fair.”

“I don’t care about perfect.” You lean in, voice cracking “I just want you. Not a version of you that shows up with flowers once it’s already broken. I want you beside me when things start to crack.”

Shanks nods slowly “Then I’m here. From now on, I’m here.”

You’re both crying now. But this time it feels… healing.

When you lean in to kiss him, it’s slow. Deep. Raw. A kiss that tastes like sorrow and survival.

He presses his forehead to yours.

“Let me take you on this date.” he whispers “Let me try. Just one night, to remind you of us.”

You nod.

And in that quiet, your heart finally begins to piece itself back together.

The island air is warm as Shanks leads you up the winding path through the trees, fingers laced tightly with yours.

He doesn’t speak much, just gives your hand little squeezes now and then, like he’s afraid you’ll let go. You don’t.

You pass through ivy-covered archways and stone steps lit with lanterns, until you reach a quiet hilltop villa overlooking the sea.

It’s stunning.

Soft white fabric flows like waves around the open balcony. Candlelight flickers in tall glass lanterns, dancing over a table set for two. In the distance, waves crash softly against the rocks. But it’s the little details that stop your breath.

Your favorite flowers. A wine you once mentioned in passing, chilled and waiting. A pair of sandals that match the ones you lost on Dressrosa, placed by the door like a quiet apology.

“You remembered all this?” you ask softly.

“I never forgot.” Shanks murmurs “I was just too buried in my own head to show it.”

Your heart aches. But not the way it did before. This ache feels more like thawing.

You step inside the villa together. It’s private. Warm. Gentle lighting, music playing faintly in the background, a violin, lilting and slow.

Dinner is quiet at first.

You sip, you eat, you share pieces of food with soft smiles and hesitant fingers brushing. The air between you feels careful, like the two of you are still remembering how to breathe in each other’s rhythm.

And then, somewhere between the last bite and the second glass of wine, Shanks leans back and really looks at you.

“You wore that expression the first time we met” he says quietly, a ghost of a smile on his lips “Half curious, half like you already knew I’d ruin your life.”

You raise an eyebrow “You did ruin my life.”

“And you still said ‘I do.’”

You reach across the table and take his hand “Because even when you drive me insane, I know who you are underneath it. You’re not just a captain. Not just a Yonko. You’re the man who sits beside me when I cry and still calls me beautiful.”

He looks down, jaw tight “You scared me.”

You blink “I scared you?”

“You were slipping away, and I knew it, and I didn’t know how to stop it.” His voice is strained “I thought if I just held everything else together, the crew, the politics, the alliances, then we could get through it. But all I did was push you further.”

You let silence sit for a moment.

“Next time, just hold me.”

He nods, eyes glassy “Yeah. I will. I swear to you.”

Later, in the Villa bedroom the air gets softer. The light low, the sheets freshly turned, the balcony doors open to let the ocean whisper inside.

You both stand in the doorway for a moment, unmoving.

Then Shanks steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder “You still feel far away.”

“I don’t mean to” you whisper.

“I know.” He kisses your neck slowly “Can I get closer?”

You nod, turning in his arms.

The kiss you share this time is deep but it’s not rushed. Not lust-driven or demanding. It’s reverent.

His hands slide to your hips, careful, asking. And you melt into him, fingers curled in his hair.

Clothes fall away slowly. Like they’re being forgiven piece by piece.

Every inch he touches is a wordless apology. Every kiss is a promise to never let things get this broken again.

He looks so open, so bare... eyes soft, lips parted like he’s still trying to breathe you in.

Your hand finds his cheek “You look at me like that, and I’ll never be able to stay mad at you.”

“I’m counting on it” he says with a quiet smile.

The kiss you share is slow, lazy, lingering like you’ve both been starving for each other. And you have.

You sigh against his mouth as his fingers slide down your back, over your waist, to your hip. The weight of his touch is steady, but unhurried.

“Can I touch you?” he asks softly, breath brushing over your jaw.

You nod, already melting beneath him “Please.”

He shifts over you, body flush against yours. The feeling of his skin against your own is overwhelming, warm, grounding, real. Every inch of contact feels like a reassurance.

His mouth traces your collarbone, then lower, pressing gentle kisses over the parts of you he missed, like he’s trying to memorize you again.

His hand finds your thigh, sliding up slowly.

You gasp when his fingers brush where you need him most, already wet, already aching. He groans quietly against your neck.

“You’re already soaked.”

“It’s you,” you breathe “It’s always you.”

He sinks two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling them just right. You arch, hand fisting in the sheets as your body trembles under his touch.

“You feel so good like this” he murmurs, kissing your jaw.

When he finally moves over you, positioning himself between your legs, he doesn’t rush it. He just looks down at you, brows knit in something close to awe.

“I don’t deserve you” he whispers.

“Then earn me...” you whisper back.

And he does.

He pushes inside you slowly, forehead pressed to yours.

It’s lovemaking, real and deep and raw. His hands caressing your face, your thighs, your heart.

You whisper his name. Over and over. And he answers with soft gasps, broken praise, shaky murmurs of “I love you” between kisses.

When you come, it’s with your forehead pressed to his, tears in your eyes and nails digging into his back. And he follows just seconds later, trembling above you, holding you like he never wants to let go.

You end up wrapped in the sheets, tangled in limbs and whispered vows and bare skin warmed by candlelight. It’s not even about sex, though the want is there, steady and sweet, but it’s more about feeling. Rebuilding.

Later, lying against his chest, you trace slow shapes on his skin.

“I don’t need fancy” you murmur “I just need this.”

His voice is low against your hair “Then this is yours. Always.”

The villa is bathed in warm dawn light.

The ocean hums beyond the balcony, and the silk sheets are tangled around your legs. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you remember every second of last night, every whispered apology, every kiss, every way Shanks clung to you like he thought you’d vanish if he let go.

You shift slightly in the bed, and Shanks stirs behind you, breath brushing against your neck.

“Mornin’ beautiful” he murmurs, voice still low and rough with sleep.

You hum softly, stretching “I didn’t dream that, did I?”

His arm slips around your waist, pulling you closer “No, sweetheart. You’re right here.”

Shanks brushes a thumb along your cheek, your lips, your throat “You’re everything to me,” he says “You know that, right?”

“I do now.”

You kiss his knuckles and tuck yourself against his chest, warm and sore and whole again.

And this time, when you fall asleep, it’s without fear.

The villa is quiet again, but this time it’s not tense, but just slow and peaceful.

You stretch out on the linen sheets, the morning sun warming your skin. The space beside you is empty, but you can hear him in the next room, moving around, humming softly under his breath.

You smile before you even open your eyes.

A moment later, the door creaks open, and Shanks walks in shirtless, hair damp, a plate in one hand and two mugs in the other.

“Look at that,” you tease sleepily “You can be domestic.”

He grins “Only for you.”

He sets the tray on the bedside table and slides in beside you again. You sit up, and he hands you your favorite blend of tea without needing to ask. The mug is warm in your hands. His shoulder brushes yours, bare and solid.

You take a sip “This is nice.”

“It’s more than nice” he says, voice soft “It’s… right.”

You glance sideways. He’s looking at you like you’re made of glass, but not fragile. Precious.

“You okay?” you ask.

“I am now,” he says, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear “I don’t want to go back.”

You smile faintly “You mean the ship? Or reality?”

“Both.”

You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder “We can’t stay here forever.”

“I know. But I wanted one more quiet morning before I go back to being Captain Red-Haired Shanks, Yonko of the New World.”

You chuckle “You forgot ‘disaster of a husband’ in there.”

He nudges you with a groan “Ouch. Low blow.”

You finish your tea in companionable silence, then finally, reluctantly, start to move.

As you dress, he watches you from the bed, chin in his hand, that lazy grin creeping back onto his face “I’m going to be annoying about you for the next month, you know.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, pulling your shirt over your head.

“Mm. I’m gonna brag. To Benn. To Lucky. Hell, to Mihawk if he shows up. Gonna say, ‘See? That’s mine. I have someone who still loves me, even though I nearly fumbled it all.’”

You laugh, cheeks warm “They all already know that.”

He walks over, presses a kiss to your forehead “Yeah, but now I remember it again.”

Later on, the moment your boots hit the deck, you’re surrounded by the familiar sounds of the ship, the crew shouting to each other, seagulls overhead, the gentle groan of wood beneath your feet.

Benn is the first to approach, his expression unreadable “Welcome back, Captain. Y/N.”

You nod, trying not to shrink under his gaze. You’re not sure how much the crew knew… how much they saw before you left.

But Benn simply gives a short nod “Glad to see you two walking side by side again.”

Shanks smiles, hand settling warmly on your back “We’re more than side by side.”

Lucky Roux whistles from the helm “Damn right you are! Took you long enough, Captain!”

“You all knew?” you ask, half-embarrassed.

Yasopp grins from across the deck “We knew something was off. Man’s been moping like a kicked puppy for weeks.”

Shanks mutters, “I have not!”

“You were so depressing we started a betting pool” Bonk Punch adds.

Your eyes widen “A what?!”

“It ended yesterday,” Benn says, deadpan “Roux won. He bet you’d be back today.”

You cover your face with both hands while Shanks laughs, his arm tightening around your waist “God, I missed this dumb crew.”

“They missed you...” you say, a little quieter.

He leans down, presses his lips to your ear “I missed us.”

You look up at him, sunlight catching in the red of his hair, that boyish grin soft around the edges now, and suddenly you’re not afraid anymore.

Not of drifting. Not of breaking.

Because you both remembered how to reach for each other again.

That night, you’re wrapped in his arms in your shared quarters. The door is locked. The ship rocks gently beneath you. His fingers trace slow patterns on your back.

“I want more days like this,” he whispers “Not just now. Always.”

“You’ll have them,” you murmur “Just don’t shut me out when it gets hard again.”

“I won’t,” he promises “You’re my anchor. I only drifted because I forgot where shore was.”

You smile into his chest, heart calm for the first time in what feels like forever.

“I’m right here.”

And you are.

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daisymbin · 5 months ago

Note

hi!! may i request 39(angst prompt) with wonwoo but with a happy ending please🥺💖

of course lovely!!! 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // wonwoo's m.list

angst prompt #39: "why are you pushing me away?"

wonwoo’s been watching you from across the room, his fingers curled tightly around the edge of his drink. your laugh rings out, light and sweet, but it doesn’t reach him. it hasn’t reached him in weeks.

he doesn’t know when it started. the distance between you. the hesitance in your smile when you see him. the way you pull away from his touch like it burns. it’s suffocating, the way it all sits heavy on his chest, and he feels like if he doesn’t say something now, he might never get the chance.

so he crosses the room.

you notice him too late. he sees the way your shoulders stiffen, the way your expression flickers between surprise and something that looks like dread.

“can we talk?” he asks, his voice quiet, but firm.

“now?” you glance at your friends, at mingyu who’s watching the two of you with an expression that’s too knowing.

“yeah.”

you don’t argue. you never do, and that’s the part that kills him the most.

he leads you outside, to the quiet balcony where the noise of the party fades into the background. the cold air bites at his skin, but it does nothing to numb the ache in his chest.

“wonwoo, if this is about—”

“why are you pushing me away?” he cuts you off, his voice trembling despite himself.

your mouth opens, then closes. your eyes dart to the ground, and you wrap your arms around yourself like you’re trying to shield yourself from him.

“i’m not,” you say finally, but the words sound hollow even to you.

“you are,” he presses, stepping closer. “and i don’t—I don’t understand why. did i do something? say something? because if i did, just tell me, and i’ll fix it.”

“it’s not that simple, wonwoo.”

“then make it simple,” he says, his voice breaking at the edges. “please. i can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not. not when it feels like you’re already halfway out the door.”

your breath hitches, and he sees the way your hands tremble as you grip the railing.

“i’m not good for you,” you whisper, and the words hit him like a punch to the gut. “you deserve someone who’s... better. someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“what are you talking about?” his voice cracks, but he doesn’t care. “you think you don’t love me enough? you think you’re not enough? where are you getting this? where is this even coming from?”

you turn away, and it takes everything in him not to reach out and pull you back.

“i don’t want to hurt you,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “and i feel like that’s all i ever do.”

“you don’t,” he says immediately, but you shake your head like you don’t believe him.

“i do, wonwoo. i see it. in the way you look at me, like you’re scared i’m gonna disappear. and i—” your voice wavers. “i don’t want to be the reason you’re unhappy.”

he takes a shaky breath, his hands clenching at his sides.

“you’re not,” he says firmly, stepping closer again. “you’re the opposite of that. every time you smile, every time you laugh, even if it’s not at me, it’s enough to make my day. you’re the one thing in my life that feels like home, and you think you’re hurting me?”

you turn to look at him then, your eyes wide and glassy, and it shatters something in him.

“if i’m scared, it’s because i don’t want to lose you,” he continues, his voice softer now, pleading. “but if you push me away, that’s what’s going to hurt. not being with you—that’s what’ll break me.”

he watches as your defenses crumble, piece by piece, until you’re standing there with tears streaming down your cheeks and an expression so raw it makes his chest ache.

“i’m scared, too,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“then let’s be scared together,” he says, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles. “we’ll figure it out. i don’t care how long it takes or how hard it gets. i just—i just want to be with you.”

you let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“you make it sound so easy.”

“because it is,” he says, stepping closer until he’s right in front of you. “as long as we’re together, it is.”

you let out a breath, one that sounds like it’s been trapped in your chest for far too long, and then you’re closing the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest.

he freezes for a moment, like he’s afraid this is some kind of cruel dream, but then his arms come up around you, holding you tightly against him.

“i’m sorry,” you mumble against his sweater.

“don’t be,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “just stay.”

you nod, and he feels your arms tighten around him.

he doesn’t know what the future holds, but in this moment, with you in his arms and your walls finally coming down, he thinks maybe—just maybe—it’s going to be okay.

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jacy-gir1 · 1 year ago

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Heyyy, NSFW alphabet featuring shinsou. Obviously 18+

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is the kind of guy to be instantly tired, he wants to hold you, lazily kiss you, cuddle you as you fall asleep after sex. He doesn’t mind if there’s a little mess and your both naked he just wants you in his arms.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Thighs absolutely no questions asked. He wants to kiss them, touch them, squeeze them, put his head in between them, you name it. There’s no better way to relax after a long day of work then to lay down in your pillowy thighs.

C = Cum (Where does he want to cum?)

Back to the last one, thighs definitely. If they aren’t available then stomach, back, or tits. There’s just something about seeing himself sprayed on your body it’s like an animal marking there territory.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Actually really into dominantrics (idk how to spell that just go with it) but would never tell you because he’s super embarrassed. He secretly would enjoy being bossed around, told how to please you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s watched a fair share of porno but was a virgin before he met you, surprisingly he was a natural in bed, a quick learner you’d call him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary, some may say it’s boring but it gets all the right spots, he can kiss you while rearranging your guts, easy access to your clit and curves, and best of all your neck is so so easy to grab.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Very serious, so serious it’s goofy

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Carpet matches the drapes, purple stubble

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Less romantic then you’d expect, he’s a fan of hard kinky sex, not the type of stuff you’d call “making love” but it’s romantic in his own way.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

A lot, If he’s horny and your not available his hand is on his cock. He jacks off to pictures of you in a swimsuit. He has jerked off next to you in bed while you were sleeping multiple times, he dreads you waking up but also gets off on it

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

About the level of kinky as you’d expect, he’s into shibari, putting you in collars (a little pet play), and using his quirk on you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bed, it’s the most comfortable for both of you and you don’t have to worry about it not working for his favorite positions.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Mostly you teasing him but sometimes he just gets random boners. If you really want to get him going then strip tease when he’s not expecting it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Role play, he hates thinking about fucking anyone but you. Other then that he’s super open to whatever you want to try; my man does not kink shame

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Not very good at giving but lovvvvves receiving, it’s his favorite way to cum, with your mouth wrapped around him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Very rough and fast paced, this man rails the shit of you it is not gentle. However if you feel like it’s to much he becomes more gentle with you, your pleasure comes before him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not a fan of quickies, he prefers longs nights where you can do multiple rounds and fall asleep after

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Loves to push yours and his own boundaries, he’s not Risky in the sense of doing it in public though

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

About 4, you’ll know when he’s tired out

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

It’s hit or miss with toys but he loves putting you in collars and using controlled toys to tease and edge you with

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

His version of foreplay is teasing the shit out of you, but after that he just wants to get lost in you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s a grunter and whimperer definitely, loud in a quiet way if that makes any sense.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Reads cringy smut fanfiction and imagines you as main characters

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Like 6inches, not enough to be painful for you but big enough to make you feel like he’s in your stomach

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Depends, it’s like seasonal with this man, super horny during winter, super chill during summer.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Two fucking seconds after he cums he’s snoring while holding you tight, more cuddles the better

#mha x reader #mha #mha smut #smut #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou smut

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valentine-cafe · 6 months ago

Text

˖⁺. "hush, darling." :

﹙ naga literature uni student boyfriend x fem reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

﹙naga ˖ grim reaper ˖ poet character﹚. . . talisen 781 x fem reader !! 🍓 :

seems your bratty behaviour led to you getting railed by your boyfriend in the back of the threatre while there's a class next door

﹙ cws ﹚: penerative sex ˖ semi-public sex ˖ degradation ˖ praise ˖ rough sex ˖ multiple orgasms ˖ riding ˖ desperate sex ˖ talisen is soooo mean | wc : 1.6k

﹙ receipts ﹚: an old piece done up but we need people to release just how mean this man can be omnggg

꒰ other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore ꒱

"Yeah that is it — come on, bend your knees baobei fuck — that is it.”

Talisen’s husky breath pants against your ear, sends shivers down your spine. Plummeting straight to your core and boiling away at the arousal that rises every minute.

Your pussy quivers each time your boyfriend’s large cock thrusts forward and hits that specific bundle of nerves that leaves a desperate urge to moan behind. The thing is just,

You can’t.

Of course, you deserve it. Acting a brat earlier, but it was cruel of him to keep you quiet in the theatre hall specifically because there was a class in the other room.

What you dread more is that someone comes backstage and catches the two of you. The poet fucking you up against some of the props, though you doubt he’d care much. It made your tummy twist with excitement at the same time.

You gasp out when a calloused thumb presses down against your bud, swirling your arousal around your clit before applying more pressure to rub away at the sensitive bud, while he pounds you mercilessly. His thrusts shallow and painfully slow.

A moan is about to bounce off of the walls, join the wet sounds of your sopping cunt taking its favourite cock so greedily. Milking it. Like the slut you are. But a hand slaps against your mouth and a quiet hiss interrupts the blissful erotic noises your bodies make together.

“Uh-huh - ah ah, shh quiet, do not want to disturb the class, do we?"

A pair of long and slim digits press down on your lips to silence the cries and moans that emanate from your throat and beg for their freedom let out every time his hips piston up into you.

Maroon eyes narrow as they focus on the way your ass ripples every time he begins to slowly speed up the pace. The way your walls flutter to welcome him back in whenever he pulls out until the only thing left inside of you is his flaring tip.

“Ah, but truly,” he tuts

“You must enjoy this hm? A whore is very aware of her actions after all.” he sighs contently against your ear, you hate him. The grin in his voice. You can hear it and you hate him for it.

“J—Just want-te-gnhgh!” you attempt, only to end up having drool running down your chin as his fingers press past your lips and put weight on your tongue. It is getting very hard to be quiet when he is pulling tricks like these out. Your lungs are burning with the need to just let your noises out, along with your heavy breaths and pants.

“Shhhh. There we go, quiet. Like the soft serene silence of the day outside. Good girl.” He chuckles, satisfied with the cross-eyed expression he pulls from you as he begins thrusting harder, the feel of them shallow still. Yet faster. Finally.

Soft and quiet chokes cough out from your mouth, along with whines that you try to deafen as much as possible. Might as well listen to him, because he will not listen to you. Nor your nonsense. You don’t mind much either, this is exactly what you had aimed for earlier.

A bet with yourself, to see how much you can rile his arousal up.

Clenching and letting out a scattered moan, your legs shake at the feeling of him pulling out and delivering a harsh slap against your sore cunt.

His fingers pull out of your mouth, and you are turned over another prop. Put into a prone bone, and gasping at the feel of his cock fucking in and out of you over and over.

“T-Tal— ta-aha- ta- t-ahnghhh!” you stutter, tummy looping and flipping all of the right ways, while you feel your orgasm nearing. Pussy fluttering and throbbing more than previously. God, you can’t take it anymore. You just want release.

He sees it, oh he will make you scream his name as loud as possible.

With a grin his pace speeds once again, while his hands grip away at your waist. Pressing you down against the prop with his weight and keeping you in place.

The erratic thrusts brings the both of you to absolute bliss, your head reels around. Thoughts or shame gone and mind only full of him when you moan out his name and allow the slew of moans and cries that have wished so dearly to be spilt for the past few minutes.

But then you realised what you had done, and quickly, you shut your mouth and looked up at him with wide eyes. Only for them to narrow in confusion at the content smile on his face.

With a hand brushing away strands of hair out of your face. He presses a kiss to your lips and slowly begins thrusting in and out of you again. Starting out with a slow grind as usual.

“You know. If there truly was a class, baobei. Many would be in here pulling props out.” he chuckles. The deceit! You widen your eyes, only to moan loudly when he shoves you down on his cock and grind you down on him

“Y-You!” is all that you can pant, before moaning. A mewl breaking out of your throat as his hands move up to grope at your breasts through your shirt. Playing around with the nipples, before his left hand moves up to your lips and presses against them with his fingers and willing them to open for him.

The taste of your juices hits your tongue quick, leaving you squeezing and clenching around him mindlessly. Panting and whining.

“You’re so meean!” the muffled cried from you leaves him groaning.

Alongside with the vice grip your pussy always has on him, your words and whines are what really get to him. He can’t get enough of it. The contact of skin combined with all of your beautiful noises, good everything - he is depraved. He will admit to that happily.

Even as he fucks you into the pillows of one of the couch props after switching around and pushing you up on top of him, bouncing you onto him like a pretty doll. Or making you ride him just to watch you beg for him to take over again.

The way you take all of him, goodness. You could milk him dry but he is sure he’d still be leaking and willing after a few hours had passed. He adored all of you.

You were to be worshipped, each and every part of you. Truly, you are art.

The room echoed with the noises of pleasure and love all the way out to the theatre hall. Creating a symphony, the thrusts the drums, the moans the song, their skin against skin the violins the orchestra. All of it.

“can you take one more for me my dear? Jus-just one more?” the rough rasp in his voice and the quiver that is ever so evident easily steals away a slew of cusses from your lips as your juices squirt all over his cock.

You have made a clear ring around his base by now. A mixture of his cum and yours, the smell of sex, the sensual feel of his tongue moving across your skin. It twists all sorts of emotions inside of you.

Leaves you dizzy and light-headed, but you stay awake and grip onto him. So eager for more.

“Y-Yes— yes!” you whimper into his ear and swallow hard as his hips take on a sloppy and quick, desperate pace. No longer is there a rhythm, but instead a deep-rooted desperation to be closer. Have all of one another.

“I love you.” he whimpers quietly, gods. His whimpers send you to zenith, straight into the sky and heavens of bliss.

“G-Gege!” is all he gets in response. He doesn’t need more than that either. Your hips bucking into his, lips pressing to his messily, while you hold onto one another and enjoy the contrast between a warm and cold body is enough for him to know you’d say it back if it wasn’t for him fucking you full and into oblivion.

A snap of hips and a loud whine from you. He pulls your last orgasm out of you and himself. Fucking you full over and over again with the last drops of cum he has.

A back arches and cold hands move across the canvas below them. So beautiful, covered in a sheen layer of sweat that leaves you glistening.

“You are so very beautiful. The most ethereal of souls to walk this very earth my dear.” he whispers against your lips, pressing a few kisses against them before gently pulling himself out of you and lifting you into his arms. Massaging away at any aches that he may have caused from the rough to desperate lovemaking.

With gentle aid in dressing you up again, he takes you back home to his dorm and showers you. Assuring that you are taken well care of and fed.

Oh to love a poet is to find yourself in places you never would have. Such a creative mind taking you across the planes.

﹙ taglist. ﹚: @gayeepy @sincore @foxy-lisard @cascata-bianca @butachild @savagemickey03 @c4xcocoa @mazettn @cumslurs-world @danddgrunge @kitzusune @d34th-gxn @thatonedumbitch @kiiyoooo

﹙ tip jar. ﹚: like our work? consider suporting us 𖹭

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uhohdad · 1 year ago

Text

HIS

Stalker!Konig x Reader Fic

Summary: It makes him sick to think of the man he used to be. Who he was before you reduced him to an obsessive, jealous monster.

You ruined his life.

Word Count: 10k AO3

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, No use of y/n, AFAB & Feminine Reader, Unreliable Narrator, Non-Consenual Voyeurism, Stalking, Breaking and Entering, Abusive Relationships, Depictions of: Non-Con Sex, Choking, Hair-Pulling, Spanking, Slut-Shaming, Bad German, Orgasm Torture, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Smoking, Konig has a Love/Hate Relationship with Reader, Implications of Ghost x Reader, hopefully the reader isn’t too out of character for y’all, unfortunately this one had to be more detail oriented, you will be making an uncharacteristic amount of phone calls i’ll tell you that much

Continuation of this, but can be enjoyed stand-alone

He dreamt of you last night.

You were ethereal, liebe. A true angel - floating down to him in his dark isolation, basking him in your elegant golden light. He finally had your attention. The pleasure of having your gaze fixed on him, nothing but adoration in your sparkling eyes. Your hand extended gracefully out to him, delicate fingers cupping the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheek. A gesture of appreciation for the hours he poured into you, an acceptance of his protection. An apology, for denying him the ownership that he had earned over and over again.

An ownership he was overdue for.

A chill wrapped its fingers around Konig’s spine, unforgiving frost spreading from his core to his fingertips. Your expression had changed without transition, eyes suddenly pooled with malice, lips tightened in disgust. A growl thick with hatred reverberated through him when the thrust of your arm plunged a sword through his heart.

Frantic callused hands scramble to the wound, relieved to find only a shirt drenched in sweat as Konig shook the haze of sleep. Relieved to know you hadn’t seen him for what he really was, that you hadn’t rejected him so cruelly.

He was beginning to resent you for the sleep deprivation. He knew you were going to let him sleep in today. Every Saturday, after a long week of watching over you, you thank him with an opportunity to sleep in.

You ruined it.

Taunting him in his dreams - fooling him even after everything he’s sacrificed, letting him taste a moment where his fantasy comes true, only to rip it away from him so brutally.

Konig soothed himself by lying back, easing himself into the first half of his dream. He replayed the vivid image of you stroking his cheek, looking at him in astonishment after learning about everything he’s done for you.

Maybe he could forgive you for tearing open his chest. For letting him feel true bliss, even for a moment. To let him know what it would feel like to have you.

It’s the least you could do.

Konig doesn’t even recognize himself anymore. He’s entirely off the rails, fully succumb to his depraved behavior, helpless to the urges you’ve scraped to the surface. It makes him sick to think of the man he used to be. Who he was before you reduced him to an obsessive, jealous monster.

You ruined his life.

His passions, his dreams, his reputation - it all pales in comparison to you. Nothing he cared about before matters now. He feels like an addict, powerless to his addiction and chasing the high. He revolves around you, the center of his universe. He’s sure you’re the reason he’s alive. You consume every waking moment of his day, and now his dreams.

And you can’t even be bothered to look at him.

Ungrateful little brat.

You had a late start to the day, making Konig wait for you to sleep off last night’s drinks. It was well into the afternoon when you left your quarters, wearing your civilian clothes and attention glued to your phone as you navigated the paths of the base.

It was a breath of fresh air to see your face again. He’d been drowning, choking on his pitiful existence when you were apart. Dread eats him alive from the inside out, a swarm of maggots and flies deteriorating the meat of his flesh and organs. He doesn’t know how much longer he can stand without being with you every moment of the day.

But here you are, his light, his warmth. He can feel you coursing through his veins - another hit of the drug he couldn’t get enough of.

You looked perfect in your jeans and t-shirt. It’s nice to see you out of the drab and ill-fitting clothes the military forces on you. The denim hugs the curve of your ass and meld tight to perfect hips and thighs. He thinks of the show you gave him last night, the way your ass looked in the thin fabric of your panties. He knows what’s underneath those jeans. You can hide it from the rest of the world, but not from him.

You’re not paying attention, liebe. Fingers pecking away at your phone, only glancing up to make sure you didn’t bump into anyone.

It’s dangerous to be alone like this, even more so to be unaware of your surroundings.

You always do this.

How could you be so careless?

This is why he has to sacrifice everything to protect you. To keep prying eyes and itchy fingers away from you while your guard is down.

Your brows pinch as you focus on your phone, lips silently reading the text that fills your screen.

Who is so important that you must risk your safety to return their message?

He wants to sprint up to you, close enough that he can look over your shoulder to read your messages. It takes strength for him to restrain himself, to wait until you’re far enough away before standing from his bench, his boots following in your wake.

Konig’s longed to get his hands on your phone for some time. He knows that phone contains secrets about you he could only dare to dream about. It’s the key to knowing your inner desires, to put him in the position to serve you as best he can. Your intimate messages, browser history, photos.

He wonders if you have nudes on your phone. The very thought sends his blood rushing.

Swiping through your dirty pictures, a collection of obscene poses from his muse. One of you arching your back and pushing your tits out for the camera. Another with you sticking out your tongue, begging to taste him and ready to choke on his cock. On your back, thighs spread, displaying a wet cunt ripe for tasting. On your knees, ass up and waiting impatiently for him to pound you ruthlessly from behind.

His fantasy is tainted by the sharp and scorching realization that if you did have nudes on your phone - you’ve sent them to someone. The thought of another man daring to lay his unworthy eyes on you has his eye twitching, a searing heat already peeling his skin.

Why would you give yourself away, like you’re worth nothing?

He forces a deep breath, redirecting his focus to his pace, strides nearly double the length of yours. He hates having to follow you from so far away. He wants to walk beside you. Towering next to you - he wants everyone to know who you belong to, the mountain they would have to conquer if they wanted to get to you.

He didn’t take his eyes off you the entire journey to your destination, delightfully surprised when you step into the mall. He was worried that you were foolish enough to go somewhere unsavory all by yourself. It’s even better that you were going somewhere with plenty of people around, enough for him to blend in the crowd. Such a wide-open building, perfect for him to keep a watchful eye on you even from a distance.

Maybe today you’ll make it easy for him.

He’s getting tired of you being difficult.

When you duck into a clothing store, Konig can’t help the smile that creeps on his face.

Going to pick out new clothes to model for him?

Oh, you really were being a good girl today.

He’s eager to see what you buy, heart rate accelerating as he imagines the possibilities. He’s already dressing you up in his mind like his little doll.

He settles at a table in the food court with a perfect view. You seemed to be in a rush - not wasting time as you scrape hangers across the metal clothing racks. Eyebrows pinched in concentration, jaw slightly cocked as you pressed your tongue to your teeth. You look cute when you’re focused.

Konig’s brow perks when you stop in your tracks, attention caught by a dress on the end display. Your face relaxes when you lay eyes on it, delicate hands running over its fabric. It was beautiful - a soft pastel blue, intricate azure and yellow flowers blooming on its pattern, a thin white lace stitched along the neckline. It was a dress fit for a princess, fit for his wife. He dives headfirst into a daydream about you wearing it once he’s domesticated you, hem dancing when you greet him with a kiss after a long day. His hands would find your waist when you stand on tippy toes to give him his welcome home kiss.

You flip the price tag before moving on, and his smile falls flat.

That’s the one. That’s the dress you’re meant to wear.

You like it, don’t you?

You stop every so often to check the time on your phone, pulling a face when you do so. Running late to something, he’s sure. Where are you supposed to be? And what’s so important that you needed a new outfit?

He watches you pull a hanger free, a black dress you hold up high enough to obscure his view of you.

No, liebe.

Don’t even think about it.

He can tell from his spot across the walkways that it’s too revealing. It would cut short at your mid-thigh, neckline that’s designed to show off your cleavage. Skin tight and would leave nothing to the imagination.

The kind of dress that would attract the attention of the wrong people.

Of course you would do this.

Dressing yourself like the slut you are.

A scowl smears across his face as he watches you walk up to the cashier.

So you were going to be difficult today.

Just when he thinks you’re finally cutting him some slack, you go out of your way to misbehave.

You’re quick to leave, whorish dress packed away in a white plastic bag and resting on the crease of your arm. Your hands find your phone again, a slight wince at something on your screen.

He’s too disappointed with your clear lack of judgment to think about what’s on your phone that’s stealing your attention.

He has to close his eyes, a few deep breaths to calm himself before he loses control, before he gives in and teaches you a lesson that you so desperately need.

His fists stay tight at his sides, knuckles splotched white on tight fists as he follows you out of the mall in haste.

With a hitch of his breath the rage carried on tensed shoulders lifts.

It’s the sun shining on your hair that grounds him this time. Locks shimmering, revealing their true color to him as the breeze makes your soft tufts dance. Your skin glows in the sun’s warmth - it takes him right back to the euphoria of his dream. Your light, liebe - he can see it.

Your pace slows when you reach behind you, pulling your phone from the sheath of your jean pocket. He can’t see your face, but he watches from behind as you bring it to your ear.

He seized his opportunity to close ground, enough that he can hear your side of the conversation. He normally wouldn’t get so close to you, but you seem to be extra distracted today, and Konig is too curious to miss out on your phone call.

“I know! I know, I’m sorry. I’m almost at the subway. I’ll be there in 20.”

Hearing your voice makes his heart skip a beat. He missed that beautiful voice, silky smooth and goes down like honey.

Especially when you sound so apologetic.

Is this what it’ll be like when you finally own up to the grief you’ve put him through?

There’s a pause before you speak again, a small laugh escaping you.

“He can wait.”

He?

Konig’s thoughts race before you had even finished your sentence, his moment of enamor shattering like rose-colored glasses.

Who’s he?

Is ‘he’ who you picked out that promiscuous dress of yours for?

Anyone who would be okay with that dress doesn’t have your best interests in mind, liebe. Konig knows what’s best for you, and it’s getting harder to watch from the sidelines as you make mistakes time and time again. He’s ready to interfere, to take control away from you, since you’re clearly not responsible enough to do it yourself. Someone needs to put their foot down. You’re begging for him to step in, to discipline you until you can demonstrate you’re capable of behaving.

“Uh,” You trail off in a hum before you respond, “I don’t know about that. You didn’t say anything, did you?”

“I don’t know.” You say with a whine, “This is already a lot for me. I don’t… this really isn’t my thing.”

“No!” You squeak out, followed by a forced casual, “No.” You’re suddenly flustered, stopping in your tracks when a nervous laugh escapes you. You make a quarter turn and Konig flinches when he sees your face, searching around for a quick escape.

“Just because I talk about him a lot doesn’t mean I like him.”

Konig’s eye twitches at ‘him.’ Who are you talking about so often that you’re being accused of crushing on someone?

Maybe you were talking about Konig.

He doubts it, but the idea dulls the edge of the blade you’re slicing him with.

“Because…” You huff, bailing on a sentence you started without thinking through, “Okay, fine. I’ll try. For you.”

What mess were you getting yourself into, liebe? He doesn’t like the sound of this at all.

“Okay, okay. I’m at the station now. See you soon.” Your phone slips back into your pocket.

Going on the subway all by yourself. Look at you, inviting danger in.

He’s locked onto your ass as you make the descent into the underground, hips swaying with each step down the concrete stairs.

If you look this distracting in jeans, what attention do you think you’ll attract in that fucking dress?

You reach for your wallet once you’re down the stairs, the pad of your finger freeing your subway card from its slot.

Shit.

He doesn’t have a subway card.

His gaze flicks to the kiosks before back to you, already swiping your card and pushing through the turnstiles. He scans the crowd before he lands on a pair of cops monitoring the station, ruining his chance to jump the stiles.

He almost drops his wallet as he fumbles for cash, rushing to the kiosk to pay.

He’s pleading under his breath for the machine to process faster. He’s convinced the kiosk could sense his fear, uncooperative to the forceful press of its buttons. Panicked glances over his shoulder reveal you progressing through the station until you’re around the corner and out of sight.

He’s lost track of you by the time he secures his card. The crowd parts for him, his intimidating stature coming in handy as he makes laps around the station before he realizes you’re gone, with no way for him to know where you are headed. A blackhole of dread swallows him whole - sweat escapes the flustered heat that blistered his skin, heart pounding against his ribcage. His hand finds his head, quiet but rigid expletives riding his exhales.

Why do you have to make things so hard for him?

He’s failed you. He’s sorry, liebe. He’s supposed to be your guard. Anything that happens to you tonight will be his fault. He suspects you’re really going to be acting out tonight, going somewhere out of your comfort zone with other men, dressed like a prostitute. Your light on display for anyone to dim.

White hot flashes of grabbing hands, lingering eyes, and cheap compliments invade his thoughts, stomach tightening and threatening to retch.

This is your fault.

You’re just a foolish little girl who doesn’t know what’s good for her. You’ve pushed him to his limit, he can’t let this go on anymore.

If you won’t behave, he’ll just have to show you how a good girl acts.

It takes him too long to realize he’s holding his breath, fist clenched and teeth grit as his rage burns him from the inside out. His eyes pinch shut as he tries to recenter himself, forcing deep breaths through his tightened jaw.

Nothing too extreme.

A gentle nudge.

A push to test the waters, to see if you can handle the expectations that go along with being his. To give you an opportunity to change your indecent behavior before he puts you in your place the hard way.

————————————————————-

Konig’s taken the lives of countless men, a ruthless brute in the heat of the battlefield. He’s been in thousands of life or death circumstances, finding himself on the other end of blades and triggers on a near daily basis. He thrives in danger.

It’s nothing in comparison to the adrenaline coasting through his veins as he picks the lock to your quarters.

He can hear his heartbeat, the rush of his blood deafening him as he crouches in front of your door, head snapping side to side to ensure the coast remains clear. He‘s nauseous with excitement, stomach churning and sweat soaking his clothes.

There’s a part of him, a sliver thin remnant of the respectable man he used to be, that manifests as a weight of guilt in his stomach. He knows what he’s doing is wrong, that he was so far beyond the line he couldn’t even see it anymore. This was a new magnitude of violating your privacy.

He knows that if he got caught, he’d be discharged faster than he could explain himself. He’d lose you, his warmth.

You left him no choice.

If you didn’t want this to happen, you shouldn’t have run from him. You’ve given him the perfect opportunity. He’s got more than enough time to get his fix, and it’s the only substitute he’ll accept for missing an evening without his eyes you.

When the lock finally pops, hands fumbling for the knob, he miscalculates his strength and sends himself tripping into your room. Quickly but quietly shutting the door behind him, clicking your lock back into place before standing straight, hands falling to his side.

The rush of standing in your room crashes over him like a wave, dizzy and disoriented as he takes you in.

He can’t believe he’s here.

In your room.

It doesn’t feel real, an out-of-body experience. A dream. His dream.

He doesn’t dare move for a full minute, breathing heavily as he fidgeted in his spot.

When he finally works up the courage to move, he inches himself towards your captivating things. A gloved finger grazes across your dresser as he inspects the belongings scattered on its surface.

He picks up a perfume, carefully uncapping it and bringing it up to his nose. With a deep inhale, his eyes flutter shut as he takes the scent of you in.

Immediate warmth pools in the pit of his stomach, already straining against the give in his pants. He spritzes into the air, the sun shining through the slats in your blinds catching on the cloud of mist. He’s hoping your scent will linger with him during his stay. He snaps the cap on with a satisfying pop and ensures he places it down exactly where he found it, cautious to leave little indication of his visit.

A shimmer catches his attention, eyes drawn to a dainty necklace. Two fingers lift it in the air, letting its reflection sparkle while he inspects the metal. He wants to put it in his pocket, a little trinket of his visit. Something to remind him that it wasn’t a dream. A piece of you to bring him comfort whenever he’s away from you. A good luck charm.

He resists the urge, placing it back on the dresser in a pile of intricate looped chains.

Your hairbrush is next, shaky fingers wrapping around the handle. His thumb skims over the bristles, watching them through half-lidded eyes as they rhythmically spring back into place. He inspects the glossy stray strands left behind in a tangled mess, imagining you gliding the brush through your gorgeous hair, your fingers following in its wake as you hum a soft tune.

He’s setting all your things down carefully, not only because he doesn’t want to leave evidence behind, but because he knows the worth of your priceless treasures.

He leans down, giving him a closer view of a polaroid taped to the edge of your mirror. You and a friend, eyes crinkled with big cheesy smiles plastered on your faces, arms wrapped around each other in a close embrace. Konig finds himself smiling at the photo, touching the border with the pad of his finger. He wishes that was him next to you, him you were embracing tightly, him you were happy just to sit next to each other on a night out.

He steadily slides a dresser drawer out, mindful to the sound of wood scraping against itself. Inside he finds your pajamas. He pulls his gloves off with his teeth, reaching in to stroke the material with his knuckle.

He grabs the shirt on top, oversized and well-worn. Broken in and softened over hundreds of restful nights. He brings it to his face and takes another inhale, getting high off the smell of your fabric softener and the image of you drowning in the shirt.

Once you’re in his grasp, he’ll make sure you only sleep in his shirts, liebe. Exposed thighs and legs peeking out from beneath his shirt that barely clings to your shoulders. A clear representation of the size difference between you two. A reminder to you of just how small and powerless you are compared to him.

He brushes the fabric against his stubbled jaw to know what it would feel like to rest his head on your shoulder. To bury his face into your chest after a long day. To rest his head on your stomach while you comb your fingers through his hair.

He wants to take it with him. Cut eye holes and replace his hood with it so that he can wear your shirt over his head every day, high off your scent as he inhales you in with each breath he takes.

He gently folds the shirt and puts it back into its place, closing the drawer before moving on to another. He thumbs through the rest of your clothes until he gets to a drawer that makes him freeze, heart stopping and fingers still laced around the handle of your dresser drawer.

Your panties.

His cock is at full attention now, painfully hard and leaking precum. Trembling hands make a slow descent, meticulously choosing his favorite. He holds them up to get a better look, picturing you filling them out, just as you were last night. The lower half of your ass peeking out to tease him. He didn’t think he would ever be jealous over scraps of cotton, but he knows these panties have kissed your perfect cunt and soaked up your arousal, everything he was entitled to.

He can’t help himself this time, liebe.

You have to understand that he can’t just let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

A reward, for all of the hard work he’s poured into you. For everything he’s sacrificed for you.

He stuffs your panties into his underwear, casual and discreet, as if he were stealing them in front of a crowd. He even looks side to side, just to make sure no one was watching over his shoulder. The feeling of your panties pressed up against his cock had him throbbing, staining the fabric a shade darker with precum. With a slight twitch of his hips, the head of his cock forces against the bundled cloth, electricity sparking through his lower half. He swallows hard, mouth turned cotton.

Konig’s getting intoxicated off of you, less gentle when he rummages through your nightstand. His arousal is taking control now, he’s desperate to uncover more of your dirty little secrets.

He holds a sharp breath, lips parting when he uncovers your vibrator. A deep purple and molded into the shape of bunny ears.

There’s a twinge of jealousy, accompanied by a pull of his lips.

Why use a toy when you can have the real thing, liebe? You don’t need a toy when you have him. He’d pleasure your cunt anytime you ask, lapping at your clit until you’re screaming his name. His tongue coercing orgasm after orgasm until you’re begging for him to stop, tears streaming down your face at the overstimulation. He’ll make you regret even asking him to pleasure you.

The jealousy is shelved when he pictures you on your back, legs spread and displaying your perfect pussy for him. Glistening with your arousal, face twisted in euphoria as you sway your hips on the vibrations. Soft moans would spill from your mouth, breathy whispers of Konig’s name on your tongue.

He stumbles backward onto your bed, hand reaching blindly behind him to find the mattress as he studies the soft silicone of your toy.

He can’t help himself anymore. He’s sorry, liebe. His erection borders on painful, balls swollen and cock begging for release.

It’s your fault.

Putting your promiscuous toys and dainty panties on display for anyone to find.

He lies back on your bed that creaks and flexes under his large stature, his head nestling comfortably on your pillow.

He fumbles the button of his pants, sloppily freeing his cock from the restraint of his waistbands. He wraps the jumbled mess of your panties around his shaft, holding the fabric in place as he grasps his base and steadily pumps himself.

You’re straddling him, cunt grinding against him through drenched panties. Biting your lip while you rock your clit on him, looking down at him with eyes glazed with lust.

He’s had enough of your teasing, liebe. He’ll punish you for working him up like this.

Yanking your panties to the side, lubing the tip of his swollen dick on your slicked rim. Tight grip indenting the flesh of your hips as he forces you down on his thick cock, watching your face twist while you strain to work around his girth. The biggest you’ve ever had. He has to train you, stretch out your tight little cunt so you can handle a good pounding. He’ll ruin that cunt, leave you a gaping cum-filled mess for any other man that dares to try. No one else will ever compare once he’s finished with you.

“Konig, I can’t-”

“You will.”

You’re soaking, liebe, just a wet little mess dripping down his pulsing cock.

His fingers slide down to your thighs, nails digging into you once you’re flush with the base of his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you struggle to take him.

“Look at me.”

You obey like the good girl you’re supposed to be, looking to him with pitiful, pleading eyes as he lifts you, a sharp gasp escaping when he buries fully into you.

He holds you in place with a strict grip, hovering inches above him while he thrusts up, mercilessly fucking your hole like the cock sleeve you are.

Choking on your moans, overstimulated by a mixture of pain and pleasure that has you squeezing around him.

“Take it like a braves Mädchen.”

A sob leaves you as he pounds into you, limply doubling over before he catches your upper arms, propping you up like a rag doll.

“Alle meine. You understand me, brat? All mine.”

A raw cry scratches the back of your throat, tits bouncing relentlessly against your ribs as he tortures your g-spot. An involuntary whimper rhythmically with each thrust, arms sore from Konig’s harsh grasp.

He forces you forward, bending you at your core so he can catch one of your nipples in his mouth with a tight suck. He doesn’t waver from his strict plunges into your cunt as his tongue eagerly circles the sensitive bud. The pleasure amplifies under the stimulation, he can tell by the roll of your eyes and the way you collapse in his arms, hypnotized by his power and stuttering out his name with broken breath. Giving yourself to him.

A brain dead, cock drunk little slut.

His hand snakes around the back of your head to grab a fist full of hair, a stiff yank forcing your neck to crane and pulling him off your tit with a pop. His spit turns cool over your nipple, tightening the pink flesh with a chill down your spine. Nails scratching desperately into his glistened chest, begging for mercy.

You won’t get any from him, little girl.

You’re his.

A toy to dump his cum into, a wet hole for him to ruin, a doll to control.

The clapping of slicked flesh on flesh fills the room, tugging your hair down to keep you from wiggling away from the ruthless fucking. Your swollen clit slaps against his mound with each bottom out, intertwining with the unforgiving pleasure of your abused g-spot and knitting into a cruel euphoria.

“Listen to your pathetic moans. Everyone will know who you belong to.”

The hand gripping your hair releases suddenly, repositioning to clench around your throat, silencing your moans with a threatening squeeze.

Your eyes snap open, an intoxicating fear spread on your features as your eyes beg for release. Pointlessly clawing at his grip, fighting for your stolen breath. He’s addicted to the way your horror steadily builds with each passing second he doesn’t let go.

He waits until your expression loosens, until your eyes cross and you’re seeing double. When he morphs into a blurry figure, floating farther and farther away from you, and the only thing you can possibly focus on is the brutal pounding of your cunt.

He lets you go seconds before you faint, cunt squeezing down on him with each desperate cough for breath. He grabs onto two fistfuls of ass, spreading you apart. Opening that cunt, making sure to fill you to the brim with each slam into you.

“Ko- gn’na cum!”

“Beg for it.”

A desperate, breathless cry tears your throat.

“Please, Konig! Please!”

A hand winds back, full palm returning to give a harsh smack to your ass. When you gasp in surprise, his grip tightens threateningly, voice lowered to a vicious growl.

“Address me properly.”

“Pl-” You’re briefly distracted by the rhythmic pounding, trailing off before he leaves another imprint of his hand on your ass.

“Please, Colonel! I-” The words get stuck in your throat, but your desperation pushes them through, so raw and pleading it doesn’t register to you as your own voice. You let off on a whine, eyes screwing shut while your body is degradingly shaken under the powerful bucks of his hips.

“Do it, brat. Cum.”

He watches your face contort, mouth fully gaped, suddenly radio silent as you convulse on his cock. He doesn’t let up on you, taking advantage of your walls tightening around him.

When your voice returns, you’re squeaking out anguished whimpers, squirming away from the progression into overstimulation.

He doesn’t let up. Your pleasure is nothing but collateral, liebe. He’ll use you until he’s finished. Bully you with his fat cock, ignoring your weak begging and futile attempts to pry yourself from his grasp.

It’s the harsh ripples of his orgasm - the warm droplets of his cum landing on his stomach, the sound of him choking on a hitched breath in the dead silence of your bedroom - that shocks him back into his pathetic reality.

Tensed muscles relax seconds after he’s milked the last of his intense finish, his sweat and shame wrapping him in a suffocating blanket.

He’s defiled you, liebe. A slimy creep, breaking into your sacred space and getting off in your bed. Where you lay your head after a long day, hiding from the world under these cozy covers. He’s tainted the sanctity of an angel’s hollow.

A disgusting, selfish pervert.

He buries his face into your pillow, breathing you in as he catches his breath and wipes away his mess with your panties.

“Tut mir leid.” He whispers into your silken pillowcases. He’s sorry, liebe. He didn’t mean to lose control like this. To let him get this close to you, close enough his depravity bleeds into your personal life. He meant to keep his distance, to keep you safe from him and his degenerative sickness.

But here he is, in your bed, pretending that you’ve welcomed him here. That he was giving you a fucking fit for a whore.

He feels dirty, he wants to shed his skin, to get a fresh start. A life where he never even met you. Where he never gave you full control over him. Where he never succumbed to his atrocious urges.

It’s too late.

You ruined his life.

His best course of action was a shower, to wash away the evidence of his sin and maybe feel clean again. To feel worthy of you again.

To bathe in your scent and take it with him.

To steal just a sliver of your light and wear it proudly.

The warm water soothes his aching muscles, always sore after a long week of strenuous work. He lets the water take him away, calming himself as much as he was capable under the circumstances.

He wonders what you’re up to. Where you’re at, what mess you’ve gotten yourself into without his supervision. Probably in that slutty dress and giving your attention to undeserving men. Flirting with them like a common whore.

The scent of your shampoo wafting in the hot steam eases his racing thoughts, closing his eyes while he massages his hair.

He imagines you’re in the shower with him, insisting to scrub him. He has to lean over so you can reach his head. Gently scratching his scalp, giving him a tingling sensation as you wash him clean from your tiptoes.

You’d scrub his body next, making a careful loop around his neck. Gently soaping his chest, lingering around his strong biceps. Feeling the strength that protects you every day. You’ll slide down to his stomach, attention on his tight abdominal muscles.

It’s his cock you pay the most attention to, stoking him clean, your other hand massaging bubbles onto his balls.

Such a good girl, liebe.

Taking care of him after a hard day.

When you’re done with him, he’d scrub you down, rough hands squeezing soft soapy tits.

He’d take his time with you, making sure to give every inch of you the care it deserves before flipping you around and fucking you ruthlessly against the shower wall, water clapping obnoxiously as he clashes into your thighs.

Such a good girl, liebe.

Taking care of him after a hard day.

Konig finishes his shower, wiping himself down with one of your towels before wrapping it around his waist.

He spends some time poking around your bathroom cabinets, curiously reading the labels on bottles of medicines. Helping himself to your Q-tips, your skin care, your deodorant.

He’s getting closer to the perfect mixture of your scent, liebe. He’ll carry it with him as long as he can, surrounding himself in a cloud of you.

When he’s done drying off & redressing himself, he carefully folds his towel and tucks it into the middle of your stack of clean towels. He bites his lip at the thought of you using the same towel that dried him.

Once he leaves the bathroom, he’s ready to poke through the rest of your things. He starts with the three sliding drawers that support the right side of your desk.

Pens, highlighters, chargers, scissors, tape.

A notebook?

He prays it’s a diary, a glimpse into your internal dialogue. He runs a finger down the thin metal coil of the spiral edge before flipping the cover.

He’s enamored with your handwriting, unique and flawed in its own wonderful way. It crafts inked scribblings documenting your time in training. Meticulously written notes on the processes of your position. He skims through the pages, filled to the brim with dry information.

You’re brilliant, liebe. The amount of knowledge that it takes to fill your shoes speaks to how intelligent you are.

He stops on a page with doodles in the corner, touching the hint of you peeking through dull instructional pages.

When he’s satisfied he plops the notebook back into its drawer and continues his search.

Batteries, a flashlight, a spool of thread.

A book.

He stops to read its spine, running his fingers over the raised title on the cover.

A romance novel?

A dark romance novel.

His heart skips a beat as he flips the book over and reads the summary.

You’re just as filthy and deviant as him, aren’t you liebe?

This is what you wanted, isn’t it?

You want him to follow you, to control you, to dominate you. You want him, don’t you?

He settles onto your bed, back flush with the covers as he nestles into your pillow. He peels the cover back, swiping through the introductory pages with his thumb, eyes attentively soaking in the words of the first chapter.

He’s determined to figure out your ideal man, your perfect idea of romance. This is his guide, he’s sure. Exactly how he should treat you to earn your affection.

The first chapter details a young woman who had finally built her perfect little life. Engaged to a supportive, loving, and devoted fiancé and settled into a cozy home in the suburbs surrounding the city where she worked. Working her dream career, it doesn’t pay much - but isn’t she oh so happy?

The first chapter lulls him, losing interest during the wholesome exposition.

He sets the open book on his chest, arm propping behind his head as he memorizes your room. He closes his eyes, absentmindedly stroking your cozy blankets. Giving a pleased hum as he nuzzles his head further into your pillow.

He wonders what it would be like to fall asleep next to you. To have you nestled into the crook of his arm, cheek pressed to his chest, arm draped over his torso. Flat on your back, his head on your chest as he listens to your heartbeat and soft snoring. Curled on your side, your ass pressed into his cock in a spoon, letting him grind into you as you drift off.

It’s the rattling of your lock that wakes him, his eyes snapping open in a panic and finding your window, sun no longer shining through the gaps in your blinds. He can hear your muffled voice through the door, belongings brushing against the wood as you struggle with your keys. He can’t believe he’s let the time slip through his fingers.

It’s your fault.

He hasn’t gotten a full night's rest in weeks.

It’s an intense scramble to clean up after himself, hands fumbling for your displaced book, vibrator, and soiled panties. He stumbles over his feet in a last ditch attempt to have you avoid spotting him, hoping the sound of your wardrobe door sliding closed is quiet enough to be concealed by the sound of your entrance.

He’s dead-still in his cramped position, terrified he’ll rattle the hangers that held your day clothes surrounding him. You flick on the lamp, a line of light casts a vertical strip on his face, pupil dilating as he peers through the gap in the closet’s doors. His heart is pounding in his chest, loud enough that he’s sure you can hear it.

He has never been this close to you before.

“Look, I know I’m usually chill about shit like this but that was not cool, dude.” You’re talking into your phone, pinched between your raised shoulder and cheek. “You can’t just bail like that without saying anything, my clothes were at your place.”

You take a deep breath, setting your wallet and keys down before kicking off your uncomfortable shoes. Konig’s leering gaze finds your ass as you bend over, one hand gripping the wood of the dresser to steady yourself. You do look good in that dress, liebe. Plump full thighs on display for him, skin tight cut teasing every inviting curve.

Your voice is softened when you speak again, “I’m worried about you, okay? I didn’t like that guy’s vibe. Just, let me know you’re…”

You trail off as you turn around, freezing in your place.

Your attention was caught by the soft blue dress with the intricate azure and yellow flowers, displayed on a hanger Konig had hung on your bedpost.

His gentle nudge.

Shit.

You freeze for a suffocating four seconds, face stone cold as you process the sight. Konig can see your gears turning, his face pinched in hot regret.

“…okay. Call me back.” You whisper, tone no longer strict with annoyance.

You quickly end your call before blindly placing your phone on the dresser behind you, stare locked on to the dress.

“Did I…?” You mumble under your breath, slowly stepping forward and reaching a careful hand out to touch the dress. Your brows furrowed, features drenched in confusion.

You look over your shoulder, and Konig swallows hard. This is it, you’re going to search for the intruder and find him. He’s in for a world of trouble- and that’s only if you don’t kill him first.

Your head turns back to the dress, now holding it with two hands, hem lifting off the floor.

Put it on, liebe.

The fabric slides through your finger as you let it fall into place, returning to your phone and swiping at its screen.

You raise the phone to your ear again, free hand rubbing your fingers together in a fidget. You sway in your spot, eyes darting nervously around the room while waiting through a painfully long set of rings.

“Hey - uh, Lieutenant.” You nervously clear your throat, “Sorry to bother you on the weekend- something kind of weird happened and I uh- I just have a question for you.” You let out a small nervous laugh, “Sorry. Bye.”

You quickly hang up, cheeks flushed as you press the side of your phone to your forehead in a clenched fist. Cringing at yourself for your awkward voicemail with a curse under your breath.

Why is Ghost always the first person you call at the first sign of trouble?

Konig is supposed to be the one who protects you, who keeps you safe.

He has to force his jaw open to keep his teeth from grinding.

You’re fucking him, aren’t you?

It’s all making sense now. Of course Konig hasn’t been able to catch you two in the act, the only way you’d be able to get away with it is by keeping it a secret. If anyone found out about your affair you’d both be discharged. Sneaking around and being intimate when no one’s watching, getting off on the forbidden love of a subordinate and a superior.

Konig can fulfill that fantasy too, y’know.

Konig can see your mind racing from your cramped wardrobe, pacing in your spot while you fidget with your nails. There is just enough doubt on your features, just enough doubt that he thinks he might get away with it. Gaslight you into thinking maybe you did buy the dress. Maybe you made a trip back home in between the mall and the subway. Maybe ‘bad vibe guy’ spiked your drink and made you lose a chunk of your evening.

As soon as Konig’s thighs start to burn from the contorted half-squat he’s in to fit in your wardrobe, there’s a knock on the door. You take a sharp breath, head harshly turning towards the sound. You freeze again, lips parted and eyes squinted in unease.

Another rap at the door, followed by your name spoken in a familiar voice. “You in?”

Ghost.

Got your message and came running to your rescue. Tricking you into accepting him as your knight in shining armor.

His face twitches at the way your shoulders relax when you hear his voice, holding back a smile as you rush to open the door.

“Lieutenant.”

Untelling eyes look you up and down, and you follow his gaze to your outfit, almost surprised that you are still wearing that filthy dress you‘ve been parading yourself in.

That’s why you bought it, isn’t it? You picked it out to show your curves off to him, the professor to your little schoolgirl crush.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry Lieutenant. I-”You let out a nervous laugh as you look over his unreadable face. “I didn’t know you were going to, um, stop by.”

Liar.

“Nice dress.” He says, impossible to tell if he’s being genuine or making fun of you. Konig’s not sure which he prefers, but his jaw shakes at the very sound of his voice.

“I just got back from a night out.” You explain, words pouring quickly in a desperate attempt to save character.

“I can tell.” He says, flat and gravely. He gives you grace by changing the subject, eyes peering over you and scanning your room, “Got your message.”

“Oh, yeah. No, it’s uh, it’s probably fine. Sorry to put you out.”

“It was quite the journey from across the hall.”

Your voice raises an octave when you try to sound forced casual, “You didn’t go in my room, did you? It’s just, you’re the only one with a key.”

The thought of Ghost having a key to your place makes him sick to his stomach. He’s probably already been here, already dug through your things to get his filthy hands all over your belongings.

He could sneak into your room at any moment, liebe. Inviting him to break in and take advantage of you.

An eyebrow raises, the extent of his expression, “No.”

Your fingers rub together again, “Are the guys- are they hazing me or something? I mean, it’s fine if they are. I get it, new guy and all- but I just need to know before I lose my mind.”

“What’s going on?” He asks, cutting straight to the chase when he hears the distress creeping in on your rambled words.

You clear your throat, looking over your shoulder, “That dress.” You say, looking to it and trailing off.

“Pretty.” He says, not straying from his uninterested tone.

Konig’s face twitches when Ghost compliments the dress.

It’s not for him.

“Yes- it is.”

“Having a fashion show?”

“No,” You give another timid laugh before your nerves make your face slink. “I didn’t buy it?” You finish on a high, unsure note, “The dress wasn’t here when I left, right? And then I come home - and here’s the dress.”

“An unusual form of hazing.”

“No, no- that’s not the weirdest part.” You point to it again, “I went shopping today, and that dress - I saw the dress, I stopped to look at it. That exact dress. I didn’t buy it, at least- I think I didn’t buy it.” You clench a hand into a fist, “I’m sure I didn’t buy it. I just got home and there it was.”

Ghost doesn’t speak, just looks down his nose at you.

Your hand flops dramatically to your side, head turning away, “You think I’m crazy.”

He says the first thing all night you can tell he means.

“I believe you.”

Your eyes perk up, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. The same way you had looked to Konig in his dream. The same spark of appreciation that Konig was entitled to.

And you’re giving it to Simon fucking Riley for doing the bare minimum.

Konig’s the one who got you the dress, liebe.

Ghost doesn’t give you gifts, Ghost doesn’t love you like Konig does.

He shifts in your doorway, arms crossing and head slightly tilted to the side. “You think someone broke into your quarters?”

“I… guess? I’m more worried that I am losing it. That I did buy it and I just, I just forgot.”

He takes a moment to analyze you, skimming over your nightclub attire before finding your face again, “You drinking?”

You hold a hand out, almost like you’re physically stopping his train of thought, “I know what you’re thinking, I only had two. I’m a lightweight, but, c’mon. Not enough to forget.”

He doesn’t say anything, making his silent judgments through half-lidded eyes.

Your tightly pressed fingers raise to touch your lip.

“Oh, I’m losing it, aren’t I?” You say with a whine, hand falling dejectedly to your side.

“You’re not losing it, soldier.”

“I’m losing it.”

“No. Listen to me.” He uncrosses his arms to hold a finger in your direction, “You’re not losing it.”

Konig can’t believe he’s talking to you like this. Stern, strict, and commanding you like Konig should be doing. Squashing the doubt that would safeguard his plan.

“The boys are probably just fucking with you. I’ll talk to them, yeah?”

You nod, slow at first but then more assuredly, “Yes, yeah.” You close your eyes, words relaxing with a sigh, “You’re right. Sorry, again, for bothering you.”

“No bother.” His head tilts again, “You alright?”

“All-left, apparently.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I don’t want to take your time. I’m okay.”

“I don’t mind.”

Don’t give in, liebe. He’s just looking for an excuse to leer at you in that dress. To come into your sacred room, to get a look at your precious things.

Your eyes flick to the floor before back to him, “Ah, okay. Sure.”

“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” You ask when you turn away from him, giving him space to come in.

You’re always so thoughtful. Ghost doesn’t deserve you.

“No.” Ghost steps in while carefully eyeing your room. He inspects your window, nonchalantly checking over the locks before tugging at it to make sure it’s secured.

“No fun Saturday night plans, Lieutenant?” You asked with a cheeky smile, smoothing out your blanket to sit on your bed, feet dangling off the side.

“Not as fun as yours.” He says, eyes falling on your dress and lingering there a little too long for Konig’s liking. Ghost straightens out, leaning against your dresser to face you.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, adjusting the sleeve of your shoulder, “A friend dragged me on a night out.” You move to stand, moving towards the dresser Ghost blocked, “Not my usual getup. I’ll change.”

“Don’t feel obligated on my account.” He says dryly.

He doesn’t have your modesty in mind, liebe. Looking at you like you’re a piece of meat. He just wants you on display for him, a trophy.

You look at him, briefly attempting to decipher an underlying meaning of his statement. You glance to the guarded drawers before backing up to your spot on the bed. You tug the bottom of your dress down, eyes fixed on the ceiling as a stiff silence falls over you three.

“My friend, uh, set me up on a blind date.” You say after a clear of your throat, desperate to rid the awkward pause. You give him a small laugh, “It was terrible.”

“That so?”

You kick your foot, smiling at the ground, “Yeah, a friend of this guy she’s really into. All he talked about was basketball, and he didn’t ask me a single question about myself. I don’t think he even knew what my name was.” You roll your eyes, “And a bit too touchy-feely if you ask me.”

Konig’s sorry, liebe. That he wasn’t there to protect you. The thought of you being all alone on a terrible date makes him sick to his stomach. He’s sorry he’s allowed this to happen. He gave you too much slack on your leash, he should have kept you reined in.

“Must be difficult to gauge a woman’s comfort level when NC State is doing so poorly this season.”

You snort, happy to lighten the tension, “They’re actually doing pretty well. 4-1, apparently.” You say with a roll of your eyes.

Ghost gives an amused scoff, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever gotten from him. It catches your attention, and to his dismay Konig watches you purse your lips to hide a pleased smile.

Kick him out already.

“My friend ditched me, so I had to sit through all of the strategies the Celtics should have implemented last year, and she never even came back.”

“Mm, abandoned the buddy system. No good.”

“No good! Thank you. I had to walk home in stupid shoes I borrowed that don’t fit.”

“Now that’s just torture. Maybe we should start implementing that in boot camp.”

You deliver the laugh drenched in sarcasm, “Hah hah.”

“Next time, call me. We’ll do a full EVAC.”

That was Konig’s job.

You roll your eyes again, “I can handle myself.”

He gives a shrug and a shake of his head, “Don’t count out the buddy system.”

You pull your legs up on the bed next to you, thighs pressed together and bent almost underneath you. You look like you’re on a fucking casting couch, peering up at Ghost through thick eyelashes with those doe eyes, just begging for him to pin you down and expose what little of you was hidden under that dress.

“You really don’t have to stay.”

His eyes find the blue dress, still hanging on the bedpost, before he looks back to you, “I’ll leave if you want me to.”

The faintest blush spreads on your face, hesitating in your response.

“Smoke?” He asks after a few seconds, much to your relief.

“God, yes. Let me change quick.” You commit to shooing him from your dresser this time, pulling out the first shirt on top. The shirt Konig had touched to his cheek hours before, the unknowing and indirect touch filling him with a satisfying thrill. You grab a pair of sweatpants and disappear into the bathroom, leaving Konig to keep a close watch on Ghost through the crack in his wardrobe.

He starts eyeing your possessions, unworthy eyes befouling your priceless things.

Konig has to close his eyes to rid the sight. Stifling the urge to reveal himself and snap Ghost’s spine over his knee. He hates him, hates how he’s always coercing you from Konig’s safety, sneaking you away for the chance to get his hands on you. He’s never loathed someone more.

You’re just an empty-headed bimbo who bats her eyes and whores herself out for any man who pays attention to you. You’re too stupid to realize just how slimy he is.

Konig opens his eyes with the scrape of your bathroom door, watching Ghost follow you out to the hall.

Konig sighs a long breath once you’re both out of sight, he doesn’t know how long he’s been holding it. His fingers grip your things like he's trying to destroy them.

Fucking Ghost.

At least you changed out of that dress. The way Ghost’s attention drew to your chest and legs at every opportunity left him tensed in a seething rage.

Konig finally moves, taking his chance to stuff your cum-soaked panties and vibrator into his waistband, flexing the fingers that cramped up from his awkwardly clasped hands. He sets the book at his feet, popping his knuckles and stretching his legs while he considers the choice he has to make.

Does he sneak out now? You hadn’t suspected the wardrobe, now that you’ve changed you shouldn’t be digging in your closet until morning. He’s sure he’s sufficiently camouflaged, but there’s still the risk you’ll find him. This is his window to escape without consequence. He’d be able to supervise your smoke break, but he wouldn’t be able to sneak back in to watch the rest of your evening.

It’s the thought that Ghost might follow you back into your room, that he might try to take advantage of you in your vulnerable state, that keeps him in his spot.

Dread pools in his stomach when he’s away from you, knowing you’re under a predator’s stare. He’s probably got his hands all over you right now. He’s seen your thighs that beg for touch, your tits popping out of that dress that invites groping, a waist asking for a strong grip. Flirting desperately and using that charm that comes naturally to invite him to take you.

He’s stealing the attention Konig was owed. Basking in your light and adoration while he has to hide in the shade, longing for your soft warmth instead of this heat of irritability that boils under his skin. He pushes your day clothes from him in frustration, face twitching as he sifts through all of the worst case scenarios.

It takes you too long to return, Konig’s blackhole of obsessive thoughts intensifying with each minute you’re tangled in Ghost’s web.

“I hope not.” You say as you return, the smell of smoked tobacco clouding the room and singeing Konig’s nose.

“Here.”

Konig’s face pulls when Ghost takes the dress from you, manhandling and wrinkling the delicate fabric. It’s nauseating to watch him lay hands on Konig’s gift.

You’re supposed to wear his dress, liebe. Burn that slutty black dress, and accept the guidance you need. Give him even the slightest bit of control from you.

The rejection stings, turning him weak in the knees as the blood drains from his face. It tears his chest wide open watching you give his gift away like it was nothing. His face burns with humiliation, the prick of betrayal drying the back of his throat.

This is what he gets for going out of his way for you? For giving you a token of his affection? For the love and care he’s poured into you?

Fuck you.

You don’t get to make him feel this way. You don’t get to run from him when he knows what’s best for you.

“You want this back when I’m done?”

“Uhm,” You stare at it for a moment, the corner of your lip perking up ever so slightly, “Sure, yeah. It’s uh, it really is pretty.”

Konig swallows, eyebrows pinching and elated grin immediately plastered on his face.

You do like it?

Oh, liebe. He’s sorry he doubted you.

You do want him.

You can be a good girl for him, accept Konig’s redirection. You want to wear his dress for him, you want Konig to own you and teach you how to behave.

He can’t wait to see you in it.

“Will do.”

“Thanks for uh, y’know.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Night Lt.”

“Goodnight.”

When the door snaps shut behind you, Ghost sent packing, and Konig’s grin spreads.

You crawl into your bed, the same bed Konig had defiled hours earlier.

For thirty minutes you scroll on your phone, but Konig is happy just to watch your facial expressions as you react to the things on your screen. You watch silly videos, occasionally giggling at the content.

This part is just for him.

It sounds so wonderful to hear your laugh, liebe. He imagines it’s him making you giggle, a blush and coy smile as a result of a joke he made.

This is his favorite part of the day, when you settle in and he can watch you be your genuine self. It’s comforting to be with you while you unwind, he knows this is what it will be like once he has you, how you’d spend the evenings once you’re together.

And he gets to have his good girl all to himself.

The shower is the hardest part.

In addition to praying the evidence of his shower has fully drained, he knows you’re just a few feet away, completely naked and soaking wet. His cock twitches at the thought, still sensitive from his orgasm.

You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?

Teasing him like this.

He wants to follow you into the shower, see if he can peek at you from over the shower curtain. Offer to scrub you down, groping you like you’ve been asking for. Fuck you, how you deserve to be fucked.

His brow quirks when he spots your phone resting on the nightstand, charging after a long day out.

He waits until the sounds of the water hitting the ceramic loses rhythm, droplets now flowing down your body instead of raining on the tub.

He’s got time.

He takes a deep inhale before working open the wardrobe doors as stealthily as he can, cursing the creak of the wood under his shifting weight.

Mindful footsteps get him to your nightstand, shaking hands picking up your phone. With a push of your lock button the screen is illuminated, and his breath catches. He can’t believe you’ve left your secrets unattended for anyone to steal. How careless of you.

Your background is adorable, he can’t help but smile at the glimpse into an expression of your personality.

He swipes at the screen and his smile falls flat at the demand for a passcode.

Why do you always have to make things so difficult for him?

He huffs in frustration before he locks your device, using the dark screen and light from the lamp to search for fingerprints.

There’s a bunch towards the bottom, evidence of your fingers typing precious messages to your loved ones.

He needed those messages.

Konig thinks he can tell which smudges are your passcode. He’s got 6 possible numbers for a 4-digit code, and no way to tell which order.

He curses under his breath. He’s looking for a pattern. A birthday, a year, a sequence.

He’s got nothing.

You couldn’t have made it 1234?

He returns your phone to its spot. He’ll figure out your passcode, liebe. He’ll wait until he’s close enough to watch you enter it, get his fingers on it when you’re inevitably acting careless.

You don’t get to hide things from him anymore, liebe.

He’s earned it. You’ve lost the privilege of privacy.

This is a new level of immoral behavior, and now that he’s this close - he refuses to distance himself from you.

A rush so thrilling he can’t ignore it, a newly conquered high he’s never dared to risk, without the willpower to walk away from it.

It’s too late for you, liebe. He’s bleeding into you now, his sickness spreading into your life and infecting you like ink on cloth.

You’re his.

You just didn’t know it yet.

His (Part One)

Somethings Borrowed - Another Stalker!Konig Fic

The Girl Who Conquered the Mountain [Hunger Games AU] - Outcast!König x Reader

Meine Perle - Octo!Konig

Masterlist

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