#not enough for the behemoth/ope

[mikimeiko]

The Expanse | 3x09. Intransigence

[haneys]

one piece is like sooo good-bad. because like it's bad, it's basicially exposure dump and exposure dump and exposure sumo and tell don't show over and over again and I'm like wow. but at the same time oda's skill as an artist, the action, the way he frames and positions everyhring in his panels, just how fucking goofy, wacky and dare I say silly the characters are, both in personalities and looks, the world they occupy, it's all sooo good. and I'm always like wow this is not good from the litersly perspective. but like, I'm 99% sure that I am having fun non the less because I keep on coming back and I wanna read more even tho it's bad. am I making any sense

[bunnys-kisses]

blow one's roof ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

john 'soap' mctavish

cw: drug use (weed), intoxication, baby trapping, breeding, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, lying, missionary, the consent is dubious, john is obsessed with you

a word from bunny: like the fic? suggest your own! really like the fic? leave a comment! reblogs are always appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

to blow one's roof is to get stoned. and to get stoned is frown upon in the british military. even for special ops. but while most of your fellow soldiers and commanders enjoyed their hard liquor, you had to get creative on how you got your fix.

enter john. john liked to play as the funny man to his more stoic counterparts. he wasn't a behemoth like his counter part, simon. but he was smart, the kind of smart that should be a concern. he was excellent at what he did, you once overheard a commander tell the scotsman that he could pull off anything he put his mind to.

and one days off, he only had two things on his mind. weed and your sweet pussy. so it was only natural that you worlds would collide. nobody would check his bag when he left or entered base, he was too high level to be caught up in something like that. so it wasn't hard to go to the nearby city and get what he needed for an afternoon with you.

you'd both leave base soon after, he'd take one of the trucks and drive out to the woods. he kept a hand on your thigh as he drove up to the beginning of the forests. you left the truck with two things, a blanket and enough weed for a fun afternoon.

you ventured so far that no one would find or smell you. you watched him roll a joint using paper from a bible he found lying around base. He shrugged and said "makes a good use for king james."

then you two got stoned in the woods, which led to you two getting frisky on the blanket you had laid out. you kissed one another laid out on it as he tugged at your uniform.

"fuck you're amazing." he said with a bit of drowsiness to his voice, "i wanna breed ya and keep ya." he chuckled before he looked into your eyes.

you got him out of the shirt he wore and he worked on his pants soon after. you were far enough out of anyone's reach to worry about having some decency. unless someone got really lost in the woods, no one would be able to find you.

"you can't breed me, silly." you chuckled, "you've been using condoms."

"yeah... yeah." he gave you a dopey smile, "been usin' protection. i forgot." but you were too stoned yourself to realize that he unconvincing tone was letting off his little secret.

he had been spending the last several months getting you stoned and fucking you in the woods with pierced condoms. the little holes did little to protect your vulnerable womb.

the rush of getting you pregnant and getting stoned left a thrill in john's body that he couldn't even begin to put into words. yeah, it was going to suck that you had to leave service to raise your little family, but don't you worry.

he had hearts in his eyes as he pulled away from you and rested on his knees. he gazed down at your naked body which only aroused him more. he laughed, "you look so good. fuck." he rubbed his red eyes before he took you by the hips as playfully rubbed his cock up against you wet slit.

"don't butter me up, soap."

"hey, don't be callin' me soap when it's just the two of us." he pointed at you, he nodded his head, "it's johnny when i'm fucking your brains out."

you blushed and covered your face with your hands. you could feel your heartbeat in the back of your head as he continued to tease you cunt. you moaned into your palms as he moved against you.

"yeah, that's my girl." he said with almost pride in his voice, "you have the most lovely moans I've ever heard."he blinked to keep focus, the excitement was too much for him.

he had hoped that you were too stoned to notice that he didn't put a condom on. but before he sank his length into you, your voice peeked through.

"johnny." you said so innocently, "the condom."

"ohhhh right, lovely." he gave you a big smile, "i guess i had a little too much."

you looked so innocent under him, you had your hands by your mouth as you said, "we don't have to do it if you don't want to."

"nah, nah." he waved a hand at you as he pulled himself towards his pants on the forest floor, "i always want to do it with ya. feels better when i'm stoned anyway." he pulled the condom quickly out of the pocket, he wanted to make sure you didn't see the holes in the foil.

you shifted your hips and laid there, waiting for him. he put the condom on while his side was turned to you. he wanted to make sure you saw as little of the condom as possible. he couldn't risk being found out, not when he believed his goal was so near.

he turned back to you and you were laid there before him. like a beauty aphrodite with the gently sounds of the forest around you. your eyes were closed, he worried that you were asleep. he touched your thigh and you giggled, 'that tickles.'

he got back between your legs and rubbed his cock up against you, "you look amazin'. the more i look at ya, the more i fall in love." john learned very quickly the the line between obsession and love was only a millimeter thick.

"i'm already sleeping with you." you giggled, "what else do you want?" you felt yourself grow wetter the more he teased you.

everything, he thought. everything he could take with his two hands. you have given him everything, but now you just had to be good and get pregnant. he knew you could do it, he believed in you. he'd spend years fucking you while you were high if it meant that he could see your beauty grow as you had his child.

he arched over you and looked into your eyes. you looked back at him, taking in the sight of how blue they were. they felt like they stared right into your core, but were slightly hazy due to the drugs.

"my beautiful girl." he said with a drawl to his voice, "take good care of ya." he held onto your thigh with one hand as he guided his cock into your wet sex.

you tensed up, but relaxed the further he got in. you held onto the blanket underneath you and felt your hole be stretched by his impressive size. while he wasn't the largest on base, at least according to rumors, it still felt like your innards were getting bruised every time he took you doggy style.

he exhaled deeply when he got all of himself inside of you. then the pace became a little more aggressive. he held onto your hips with both hands and thrusted into you like a madman. he watched your breasts and the chub on your stomach jolt with each heavy thrust.

you were certain that the pleasure plus the weed was frying all of your serotonin. alone in the forest you two fucked. it was brutal and fast, it felt like your uterus was in your throat from how hard his thrusts were.

he loved the sight of you, he marveled in it like a man coming to christ. his dog tags moved with each of his movements, they shined in the afternoon light. his head was full and empty at the same time. it felt heavy but there were no thoughts to be had, except for the echo in the very back of his mind that called out 'breed her'. it became what drove him to keep moving his hips against you.

he blinked a few times to get the dryness out of his eyes as he continued to thrust into you. the sound of your heavy breathing and the slick sound of your cunt filled the air. you were so docile under him, it was sight he wanted to admire forever.

"that's my girl, i'll take care of ya forever. rest of my days." he laughed, "get high with ya till we can't hold our own spliffs."

you giggled as you felt good all over. you were so stoned that you couldn't even register what he was saying. but soon your mouth hung open as you gasped for breath. you kicked out your legs in a manner that john found adorable as you climaxed.

the sight of you basking in pleasure made john quickly finish as well. he made sure all of his cock was inside of you as he came against your womb. if he was a praying man he'd be trying to make peace with the man upstairs to make sure you got pregnant.

he laid out beside you and buried his nose in your hair as you tried to catch your breath. he chose well, he thought to himself.

"we should get back soon." you murmured against his chest, your nose brushing against the hairs.

he rubbed the back of your head and said, "how about we get somethin' to eat first. then i'll park somewhere and i can get one more in ya."

"do you have enough condoms?" you asked.

he chuckled and nodded, "i do, don't worry, love. you're safe with me." his voice was a low purr and it made you moan in such a way that it made him hard. "you'll always be safe with me." <3

[graymanshoots]

Try

FWB!Ghost x GN Reader x pastHookup!Konig

Tags: Hookup,semi public sex, regret, angst, yelling, ginger konig, konig doesn't wear his mask constantly like ghost (Only on the field), vulnerability , crying, arguments,no beta we die like men

Part: 1 - 2

A/n: I finally finished this on two days of no sleep and a missing beta reader. Hope guys enjoy the tad bit of spice at the beginning and as needed 18+.

Seeing the head of ginger hair standing out not only cause of its color but because it belonged to the tallest person in the room, filled your stomach with stones.

The memory of the familiar face shot through your mind like a bolt of lighting igniting your nerves as you tensed next to your teammates.

You were all shipped up and sent to a warehouse a couple of weeks after finding out you’d be working with kortac.

Having arrived days before they had you were granted time to stop for a drink with johnny and kyle. Price didnt join claiming he wanted to be prepared and if price isn't coming neither did ghost much to your benefit.

Maybe if he had come you would be piss drunk with the team probably getting dragged back to the warehouse by the man himself, instead you were barely tipsy with your cheek pressed into the leather seating of a stranger's car.

His broad chest rubbing against your back with each harsh thrust, the car surely visibly shaking on the outside.

You dont even have to guess how fucked you would be if he remembered you and decided to ope his mouth.

You cross your arms over your chest and lean against one of the metal support beams that the building had an abundance of.

Despite your wishful thinking the red headed man's eyes fell on you and you knew he knew.

You were quick to notice the slight quirk in his lip before going stoned face once more.

He introduced himself as “konig” before introducing the rest of his team, his eyes occasionally flicking over to you.

“Fuck sake, this guys huge.” Kyle whispered to you coming around to your side.

Kyle had no idea how true his words were, the phantom feeling of being filled by Konig's thick cock.

You nod in acknowledgement to what Kyle says letting out a sigh, “Laswell described him as a battering ram, yeah” you say.

You don't fail to notice the way Konig eyes you up every chance he gets like he had done in the bar nights prior. When you saw him in the bar he was far more blatant with his staring, his interest apparent as he shifted his stance debating on whether to approach you or not.

Rubbing the sweat built from nervousness off his palms and onto the tight cargo pants he wore he finally came over when the boys were getting another round of drinks to approach you.

The conversation between you two was short as you both seemed to have the same goal in mind: get laid.

After Simon you hadn't slept with anyone else but it was a welcomed gift to feel wanted again.

Konig was definitely someone you found attractive, you wouldn't have had breathy moans pulled from your throat in the back of his car if he wasn't.

But he wasn't simon.

A small piece of you felt guilty while the rest was saying fuck it, ghost ditched you not the other way around.

You mentally return to the conversation when you hear your name being said, you realize price is introducing the team and you give a small acknowledgement, your fingers twitching at your hip.

“Oh, I’m familiar.” König responds to your introduction with quick ease causing your teammates eyes to fall on you. Johnny gave you a knowing look of mischief, his bright blues having seen you with the man before you disappeared from the group.

“Just a brief meeting in a bar, unfortunately I did not stay long enough to meet the rest of you.” He clarifies noticing your subtle glare.

The encounter was anything but brief, you thought to yourself as the conversation was then drawn off of you.

It’s wasn’t until later that you bumped into the behemoth of a man.

“You were so vocal a few nights ago now you walk around quiet as a mouse.” He comments a smirk playing on his uncovered lips.

“You pester all your random hookups?” You retort your lips stretching into a thin line as you looked up at him.

“Just the ones I have to work with, mein Freundin.“ he chuckles ignoring your unamused expression.

“Well if that’s all I’ll be going.” You sigh not wanting to get involved any further.

But as you pass his hand grips your wrist and suddenly your back in front of him with his other hand at your chin.

He forces your head to the side and a smirk comes to his lips as he looks at the newly exposed skin .

“So schön, sie sind wie eine Blume .” And then he’s gone and already halfway down the hallway by the time you gather yourself.

Ghost walking down the opposite side of the hallway having seen the interaction from a distance. His eyes arrow on you and then the retreating redhead.

You let out a huff of frustration when you see him and reluctantly start walking in his direction.

“You two seem close, got anything you want to share?” He questioned you his tone accusatory. After weeks of barely speaking to you he breaks the silence to ask about a personal situation.

“It doesn’t concern you lieutenant.” Your quick to respond but he doesn’t want to take that answer.

“It’s concerns me when it’s involves an enemy and You.” He grumbled crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why do I concern you Ghost? I’m just someone you used to use so fuck off cause I already know what your thinking.” The words come out harsher and more bitter than what you intended. Your frustration and resentment to the man you wish you didn’t love coming out almost full force.

Ghost stiffened at your words, his jaw and fists clenching as you brushed past him.

Once he could no longer hear your steps his entire body deflated his shoulders feeling heavy with shame.

He was being unfair to you and he hated himself for it but he felt so selfishly it was hard to stop.

Ghost adjusted his mask and shook off the guilty feeling that loomed over him before continuing down his path.

You could feel your skin buzzing with irritation, your palms stinging from being squeezed into tight fists. Why did he have to make everything in your life harder every time?

No matter how many steps you take away, ghost manages to still be right on your tail. You found yourself spacing for the rest of the day until your sat across from the same person you didn't want to see again that day.

Ghost sat across from you staring you down as you ate the unappetizing food served in mess.

His gaze was unrelenting; he looked as if he was aching to say something but stopped himself instead opting to tap his finger on the edge of his empty plate idley.

“Y’think Lt’s mad at ye?” Johnny questions quietly from his place beside you. You narrow your eyes at the sergeant, “Why would he be?”

Johnny had this look on his face like he did something he wasn't supposed to as he clicked his teeth and shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“He asked aboot whit we were up to at the pub, an i think i might ‘ave talked ye into some trouble.” he confessed glancing over at simon who was still boring holes into the side of your head.

You didn't have time to retaliate against your teammate for his loose lips before simon was standing from his seat arms crossed. “We need to talk, now.” His tone was sharp, his words spoken in that usual gruff manchester accent.

You sucked your teeth and agreed not wanting to make a scene in the mess hall, mentally you vowed to eventually get johnny back for damning you.

After leaving mess ghost lead you to an unoccupied meeting room shutting the door behind the both of you.

“Looks like you got a type.” Ghost started leaning against the door with his arms crossed.

“Don’t fucking start with me ghost, what i do outside of work is none of your damn business.” you hiss plopping down on one of the many chairs in the room.

“Don't tell me it's not my business when you have a drawer of shit at my apartment.” he retorted, his eyes narrowing on you. His body was tense and his shoulders squared like he needed to move but wouldn't allow himself to.

You could feel your eyes burn as your frustration grew, your fists clenching and unclenching.

“You can throw all the shit away, i don't even know why you still even have it.” you mutter looking down at ghost’s shoes avoiding his glare.

“I kept them because i ca-” you cut ghost off before he could say anymore, “Dont you dare fucking do that to me simon!” you snap meeting his glare with glazed eyes.

Standing from the seat you approached Simon's further tensing figure. “You're a jackass, Simon, y’know why? Because i told you how i fucking felt and you fucking left. Now im living my adult life and you want to act like im your fucking girlfriend or something, let me move on!” you were borderline shouting the frustration bleeding out of your eyes and into your voice.

Simon couldnt hold your gaze anymore he couldn't stand that look in your eyes or the dampness of your cheeks. He could feel the words crawling into the back of his throat but none of them were the right thing.

What could he say to fix this, what could he do when your fury spoke so loudly that he wanted to shrink away.

“I…” he took a breath “Im sorry” his arms hung loosely by his side, fingers tapping rapidly at his palm.

“Sorry doesnt change the fact that you left, then treated me like nothing, and ar now trying to grill me about my sex life when you removed yourself from all of my personal life.”

You wiped your face as your tone came down, the short burst of aggression dying down with it.

“I'm tired simon, I devoted so much to you for so long for it all to end because you cant figure yourself out.” You bring your eye’s down to the ground again before back up at simon.

“You’ve had years of us playing this cat and mouse game, if your still confused, if your still unsure, if you don't want…” Your eyebrows pinch together as you clench your jaw.

“If you don't want me, then why are you here? Why are we even having this conversation if your actions speak your truth, because that's all I have to go off of?” Your question struck Simon and his breath caught in his throat.

He rubbed his face over the mask, the feeling of the fabric suddenly becoming so suffocating.

The rough material rubbed uncomfortably on his skin as he pulled it off his chapped lips parting for a heavy breath.

He disheveled with his messy blonde hair and eye bags that seemed deeper than usual.

“You’ve ruined everything for me…” he starts your eyebrows furrowing at his words.

“Everything in my life is so fucking mixed with yours and i can let it go. I thought avoiding you would help make you leave every piece of my being but it just made it worse. You know what happened to my family, and i dont want to use that as an excuse but im fucking terrified of seeing you in my nightmares.” Simon's lips are drawn into a thin line and his body slumps into the wall, his shoulders dropping.

“I know im an arse and big fucking mess and selfish as all hell, but i feel different for you and i dont know what to do with it.” his shaky hands clasped together in front of him.

“You have no idea how many times we’ve been together and i just wanted to have all of you, how many futures that have lingered in my mind over our years together. I want you for the rest of my life but I don't know how long that life will even be.” simon looks to you with a tired sigh.

You feel frozen in your spot the bitterness and frustration in your chest deflating into an equal exhaustion.

“Where do we go from here simon? I love you and I've loved you for over a decade but I can't keep going if you’re going to take years to tell me what you want.” You say stuffing your hands into your pockets unsure what to do with them.

“I like who i am around you, and i dont want to loose one of the only good things left in my life cause im being fucking daft. Am I too late?” his tone was soft almost a whisper. It felt so uncharacteristic for a man like simon ‘ghost’ riley to say something like this, to speak so softly and seem so nervous. You almost felt unsure about how genuine his words were but his glazed eyes had crushed your doubt.

Bringing your hands from your pockets you hesitantly grabbed simons hands before pulling them around you. He immediately melted into the hug, his hands gripping at you as if you'd disappear if he didn't hold you so tightly.

You could feel his relief as you held onto him his shaky breath evening out and his muscles going almost lax.

“We can try again.”

[Good ending] :)

[vermillionwinter]

Fever Dream

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian f!reader

Summary: How many chance encounters can you have before you decide fate has intertwined your threads? With the 141 on leave pending an investigation, you appear to Simon, a lighthouse in the distance calling him to safety.

Warnings: Mutual attraction, slow-burn series (our boy's got a lot of work to do), Spicy thoughts-not explicit.

Note: I haven't had the will to write like this in years, but Simon Riley has reawakened a beast, and I need to get all the words out. So, this is a very rusty piece of work, but hope y'all find some enjoyment! Tattoos are the only physical descriptions I believe. the 2nd POV's are bringing me back to middle school Quizilla days.

Quiet. Everything in Simon’s Manchester flat was too fucking quiet, and the air stagnant when he was home. And that silence gave his thoughts the freedom to creep and dance to the murkiest valleys of his subconscious. Wrapping its tarry tendrils around the very memories Simon wanted to keep locked behind the chained door, dragging them out of him to relive every excruciating moment the darkness saw fit to unleash. 

Sitting in the single chair of his small, round table, Simon could catch wafts of soil and decay wrapping him in the tight confines of the damp wooden coffin. His lungs tightened, constricting the oxygen he needed. The fear of no escape webbed its way through the calm fog the prior glass of bourbon provided. It was as if the darkness narrowed in on him, boxing him into the point of full paralysis. The arms of his chairs he gripped tightly in his fists began to transform into the feel of the corpse that once was buried with him. 

HONK!

Simon’s eyes shot open, and he took the deepest breath he could muster as his lungs got used to the feeling of a full inhale and exhale. His eyes darted around in panic taking in every detail of his barren flat. It was sparsely furnished with essentials, one of them being a bed large enough the behemoth of a man could stretch upon comfortably. As comfortable as one could get when they're accustomed to the hard ground or the scantily padded cots.  

Simon shot back the bourbon he originally poured to savor and appreciate relishing in the slow burn it made down his esophagus. What he wouldn’t fucking do to get back out on the field. 

“As soon as we're back, gents, we are boots on the ground finding these bastards. We’ll find Shepherd and every lost Shadow.”

Ghost hadn’t been deployed since he took the last shot at Hassan in Chicago- weeks have passed. Bloody fucking investigation into Shepherd’s and Shadow Company’s off book deals called that all operators on the ops related to Graves’ and Shephard’s stolen missiles had to take mandatory leave pending investigation. Shadows were still getting wrapped up for questioning. There were few still on the run. But they’d find them. They didn’t deserve the courtesy of living their lives in fear. The face of death is all they were due. 

Betrayal. Betrayal got his family killed. Got Simon Riley killed. And now good soldiers lie dead in fields, their graves forever empty; and families lie dead in the streets of Las Almas. Innocent lives taken by those he once defended, defended the 141. 

Glass shattered against the opposite wall before Simon realized he threw the blown sand from his hand. Shoulders sagged, defeated, depleted, ready to give into the quiet of his home. The benched operator stood from his chair and made his way to the shower. He’d clean the mess later. He was alone after all. Always alone. 

Simon walked through the small crowds, prolonging the journey to his destination to walk to a path he didn’t have to squeeze through a throng of people. Wisps of the fresh air sauntered over him, releasing threads of tension into the open. Easing him from looking over his shoulder and checking his surroundings more often than they stayed in front of him. To his relief, no one was following him. Venturing out into society felt like an op in its own way. Having to blend in when you lived your life in anonymity. He wore a different mask in the calm of the world. One fewer people were familiar with than the ominous mask he donned on the field.  

And Las Almas was proof of why. Shephard was a loose-end that needed to be handled yesterday, and Simon couldn’t shake off the constant feeling he would be found. Just as Roba had found him. He couldn’t very well walk around with his most distinguishing feature on full display, a beacon where to strike next. Simon had to stay vigilant. For himself, but most importantly for them. Nothing could get to them. 

Sleep was an elusive luxury Simon would not allow himself since he was dismissed on leave, not that he had the best slumber before then. Running on cat naps, caffeine and spite. The blame and guilt eating away at him, letting those bastards go unseen. And all he wanted was five minutes alone with Shepherd. Ghost wanted the ex-general begging for his life as it left his very body. 

To…

All of Simon's plans of vengeance were halted when you stepped out onto the patio of the bakery he found a form of solace in on leave- emerald lace dress billowing around your body, combat boots peaked through with each step you took. Ethereal. A goddess among man. You were divine and entrancing as you stepped lightly, despite the clunky footwear you chose. He was in the door before he could notice where you sat, but hell he found himself praying at your altar you would be in perfect view. 

La Gouter was one of the few havens Simon had found in the area. The crowd was moderate, but constant. Tea was always fresh, and the man could not resist the warm, buttery treats. Today he sat with a chocolate croissant with his black tea- two sugars, no cream. Balance. 

A book tucked under his arm, he leaned against the mural of Paris- where he had a clear view to the left, right, patio door adjacent to his table, and the entry of the cafe itself. Which also gave him the view of his tea shop muse, and a sudden warmth rushed over him when you looked towards him, eyes honing in on his eyes. Target locked. 

Looking down quickly, he cracked open the book that accompanied him. Laying there waiting to be read, to transport the reader to another realm. A world where he didn’t have to be Simon Riley. Now he could get lost in the spice filled sands of Arrakis. Simon let his eyes settle on the pages behind the orange cover. 

Twenty pages in, half the tea gone, he felt his eyes drifting again. Black nails adorned your lithe fingers-wrapped around a pen you used to write in the notebook splayed on the table. Legs shifting, the slit of your dress exposed more tattoos scattered on your smooth leg. Wouldn't it be nice to run his fingers over the lines of each piece of art that was displayed there? To feel those hands wrapped around him instead? To lay you out in front of him the way your notebook was exposed to you. Lines of intrigue covering both flesh and paper. He wanted to know the webs of thought spinning from your head to paper. The sounds your lips would release at his touches. Were they soft and airy? Low and rough?

Fuck, he shook himself from the lasvicious thoughts (swirling in his head) throwing back the rest of his tea that he dearly wished was bourbon, and left for the gate. But as he threw his trash into the bin, he had that feeling. There was an energy when eyes bore into you. Watched your every move, like you were prey. Their target . Taking in even the smallest of twitches.

Chalked it up to being on edge after Las Almas, but fuck he needed to get back to his flat now. What if Shephard had found him? Ghost had no shortage of enemies that would crave nothing more than to spill his blood. Were the others still alive? Gaz. Price. Soap. But Simon wasn't met with a bullet when he turned around to face whoever was trailing him. No. Simon found curious eyes glistening in the sun- following his every move. Down to the smallest twitch.

Simon felt his heart stutter, a catch in his throat when you flashed a disarming smile, painted in dark red. Stomach in unfamiliar knots, he froze for a moment soaking in your warmth in the moment of vulnerability. He wanted that warmth to blanket him in its softest rays. It was terribly disarming. Blinking out of his stupor, he found tantalizing eyes paired with a shy smile greeting him. But, the brute didn’t know how to respond; his mind was still in conflict. And he left without another glance in your direction, all the while wondering how someone could glow in the dull skies of London. There was enough sunlight to bathe you in its golden rays. The shimmer upon your skin was like nothing Simon had ever seen, your beauty enraptured him. 

You watched the giant of a man turn-hands shoved in his pockets-and leave the cafe, and you couldn’t help the appreciative gaze as your eyes roamed the backside of the man who stopped dead in his tracks and stared at you for an agonizingly small amount of time. Whom you had caught staring at you minutes ago. His gaze, through red lenses, overwhelmed you, a vehement aura exuding and reaching.

He was statuesque, a gargoyle in the flesh wrapped in the darkness of his fabrics, sitting at the small metal table against the bright paints of the Paris mural. You certainly appreciated the contrast. Auburn beard covered a strong jaw, but his face was mostly obscured by the black Everton cap and red lensed shades. The hoodie did little to conceal the firm bulk of his arms, broad shoulders. When he broke eye contact to read his book, shades went to his hat, but angled his face to further obscure your view. A shiver chilled you. Why was he hiding? But you didn’t let your attention linger, though you did want to. You wanted to watch him read, and immerse himself in whatever tale he was venturing through.  

In. Out. In. Out.

The mantra on loop to keep his thoughts focused. Singular. Not focused on red lips pressed against his neck. Teeth grazing a path over a protruding vein. So he ran faster. Faster. Faster, until all he could think about was how to get enough oxygen to his lungs, Lamb of God blasting through his headphones. The opening notes of Walk with Me In Hell leading him through the end of his run. Spent. Overexerted. Exactly what he needed. He’d finally sleep, and just not fucking care what happened next.

Simon released a breath he had not realized he was holding until it left him. Disappointed relief. The tea shop siren was absent from his visit. It was strange. The wanton desire to be in the presence of another being. He was used to alone. It was easier to work when you didn’t have the reminder of how many lives were in your hands. It was effective, and he was damn good at it. You had his mind in a whirlwind of confusion. Not even the women he's fucked stayed with him the way you have. You've never even said a damn word to him, and he was crumbling. Under a spell you were unaware you cast. Synthesizing his dreams to your every whim.

“Fucking Christ.” A soft growl met his ears, eyes slid toward the culprit. And there you were, just as gorgeous and warm without the infrared glow of the burning star above. Even with the snarl across your painted lips, coffee spilled in front of you as you picked up the few items you dropped. The espresso color accentuated the shape of your plush lips, and he wanted to know what the supple flesh felt like between his teeth, tongue sliding in sync with yours. And fucking hell he’s heard your voice, further fueling his mind. Simon’s base instincts were bleeding through more than he would care to admit. Like some horny school boy seeing tits for the first time. He didn’t care for it, wanted it gone. Made him feel compromised. It was consuming him in a time he couldn’t afford distractions. When could he ever?

Your morning started out shit, and seemed to become progressively shittier. You had an assignment due by midnight. The internet at your place was out, and the company had been very little help with an ETA. It had been your day off, but Deana was out with some virus her kid picked up from school and you were the lucky winner to be on rotation that week for the store. All you wanted was the comfort and warmth of a white chocolate mocha, and now that was also ruined as the caffeinated beverage seeped into the porous concrete of the patio. 

You had been set and determined to complete your assignment covering the impact commercial farming has had on the environment and global economics. Then, you saw him. Shades sat atop his same hat, the once full beard had been trimmed, hugging the shapely jaw. You liked it, so much so that you stumbled on a table, coffee slipping from your hands.

You wanted to scream, cry, kick the chair, but instead you blinked back the tears and picked the empty cup from the puddle of cream, sugar and caffeine. Feeling like a bloody idiot for being that damn distracted by a bloke you’ve not actually seen yet. If he walked around without the hate and sunnies, you’d most likely not realize it was him. But hell if the mystery wasn’t all the more enticing.

 You sighed, paying no more mind to the gargantuan on your left-dizzy from the distractions- and set your workstation. Three hours. That’s all you had before your shift at the shop.

You sat with one earbud playing music as you began cycling through your notes finding topic points and sub plots for your outline. The angelic voice of Florence Welsh guiding you through the motions of the ebb and flow of your homework routine. And deep in your concentration and will to see this task complete, you did not notice a dark figure leaving its perch. 

“Excuse me?” you looked to see one of the younger baristas standing with a coffee. “Uh…some dude ordered this for you, and wanted me to bring it out to you?” 

You quirked a brow taking the drink from the nervous kid and thanked them. When they skittered back into the building you took a look around seeing Paris missing one of its Gargoyles of Notre Dame.  A jolt of excitement warmed you when the sweet velvet flow of the caffeine hit your tongue. A perfect coffee to lift your spirits from a perfect stranger.

[sapphire-weapon]

To be fair, despite my deep subjective love for RE6's lost potential and good elements that are there, the idea of trying to revamp it gives me a migraine lmao

I can't really blame any director for not wanting anything to do with that clusterfuck of ideas and vibes. Whatever director/producer does decide to take on that behemoth, they will not pay him enough (bc it'll definitely be a dude)

I mean- Just the mere detail that RE6 is an 'all in one' package. Leon's campaign is a horror game. Chris' campaign is an action game. Do you keep that? Do you revamp it into something singular for all campaigns in terms of gameplay? Or do you try to nail the balance that they seemingly tried to nail with the original RE6? Nah, that's literally a migraine waiting to happen

And that's not even touching on the story 💀

Honestly I don't want them going anywhere near RE6make until they figure out, build, and release RE5make anyway -- just for the co-op alone. RE6 is a much longer game and the co-op is so much more important in it.

RE5 and RE6 were both plagued by bad net code and awful AI if you were playing solo. Figure that the fuck out first please. Then worry about the intersecting campaigns.

[tojisun]

omg so sorry i didnt understand the sabrina carpenter post? different edm as in? sorryyy

omgg pls dont apologize!! edm as in edmonton, the oilers’ home ice!

post is basically op playfully (or is it…) begging the oilers to play better in home ice—“i beg you, don’t embarrass me, motherfuckers” LMAO—especially after todays game :’33

too much rambling under the cut, pls ignore again!!

the oilers scored FINALLY after a shutout on saturday’s game, so it was genuinely their first point in the finals round AND THEN THEY NEVER SCORED AGAIN 😭

panthers racked up points, and the game ended 1-4. the panthers took the lead in the series (2-0)

the oilers were always consistent in the way that they get back up in the second game, but today broke that streak so fans are stressing, and rightfully so.

the panthers are a behemoth. bobrovsky (their goaltender) is insane on his own; they broke down how much pucks make it past him and 0% of ones that are sent on the ice make it (idk how else to explain it but it’s when you hit a puck with your stick, and the puck glides on ice). he stops those shots 100% of the time. his weakness, they said, are pucks sent from the shoulders and up but those are rare so, in a sense, bobbys got those covered too 😭

and the panthers’ forwards? fucking assholes (positive). they’re so flexible and fast; you think they’re being marked properly, then next thing you know they’re angled to the goal and then the puck is flying and then boom—they score.

(im not an athlete so do forgive me for these nonsensical comments, im just really buzzed)

AND THEIR DEFENSEMEN? menaces. theyre hot on your heels, and they TAG TEAM PEOPLE. mcdavid has been, as ESPN eloquently said, “double teamed” (sounds like a euphemism 😭). they also tried to, and succeeded with, separating mcdavid and draisaitl because these are the oilers’ best duo. in their prime, their shots always made it in. in this season’s games, mcdavid would be checked by two players, and draisaitl would be slammed onto the glass protector or something, and the deliberate way they are being iced out of each other made it difficult for davo and drai to do their duo plays

and its not just them, but every hard hitter in the oilers would find themselves marked by two people once theyre in the offensive zone. its an insane play (i havent watched enough hockey yet to be able to put hockey reference but this type of defense is so consistent and prevalent in basketball, especially against bigger players. so seeing it be applied on ice was so sick too)

AND THEIR STEALS? DUDE. the panthers are so good at snatching the goddamn puck. sure it led to many MANY cross checks, but its still undisputed that in their aggression, they make insane plays

additionally: matthew tkachuk? a scrappy kitten. he is so terrifying on ice, cute when being pulled away from fighting, and his shaved sides reminds me of johnny 😭

BUT YEA. theyve always been an insane team but its different seeing them play against the oilers who, from what ive seen this season, were a beast of their own—with davo at the core of it

[hunterontheedge]

There’s all too much I have to say so I’ll be typing it out up here. o7

I have a ferocious undying love for indie games and most of them changed me to some capacity. Other games that aren’t indie but changed me are Pokémon Mystery Dungeon and PokéPark. I am a huge sucker for lessons in friendship and found family so without further ado here’s my list.

Undertale, to kick it off strong- has been my oldest and dearest fandom. A game held together by spaghetti code and a bunch of fantastic elements - despite the bad rep, the game itself is beautiful. If you somehow haven’t played Undertale for yourself, you should do so. I think it would be good for this game to be experienced firsthand; make up your own voices for the characters in your head, pick your path, show love or gain LOVE.

Battleblock Theater, a game best experienced with your friends! This game was a wild ride and often thought to be a crazy fever dream- but it wasn’t! And when you’re playing with your friend, it adds an entire new layer to the experience. The levels even change to fit the co-op experience! Blow eachother up. Help eachother out. Get in a call or some kind of chat and shake eachother VIOLENTLY. If you end up liking Battleblock, I will also highly recommend the Behemoth’s other games: Alien Hominid HD, Castle Crashers, Pit People, and Alien Hominid Invasion. All of their games are such a fun fun FUN ride.

Wandersong… I met a LOT of my good friends here. Shoutout to those and also that of who I’m reblogging this from because Wandersong is by far one of the nicest fandom spaces I have ever been in. People are so so so kind here and everyone is so beautifully unique, just like in the game. They made an AWESOME zine recently- organized by my buddy raekeiko/artseniccatnip. It’s all so colorful and the game itself reflects those who played it very beautifully. There’s a chorus of voices- and a dance of hands for those without. Even if you are not the hero, you still leave an impact that’s so powerful, it keeps the world from ending for just a little while longer. Everhood may not be a fandom I interact with, but people seem interesting. The game itself is one hell of a ride, and takes you on a trip that really makes you question life as a whole. Whether immortality is really all it’s worth. Everyone is also transgender and nonbinary and one of the mages is canonically gay but in the end? It’s all left up for interpretation. There are no absolute truths. You make your own path.

Underhero!!! I couldn’t have gotten far without this silly masked child and their hilt. I’ve met beautiful people in this fandom space, and— really, most of them were already my friends from Wandersong. The idea that you can break whatever cycle you’re trapped in— no matter how deep in— it’s fascinating. You may feel like nothing in the moment but once again, you’re so much more than you think you’re worth.

I could prattle on but I’ve said enough. Hugs, kisses, thumbs up, nods of appreciation— all of these go out to my friends and fandom mutuals. Your souls are beautiful. You are beautiful. I love you, strangers.

cringe culture is dead but also, no, an adult shouldn't base their entire personality on liking a single media property. neither should a teenager. a self-respecting fan of any age really ought to have at least, like, three things they'll make an absolute fucking fool of themselves over at the drop of a pin. diversify.

[destroyerarcher]

Alien Hominid HD - Return of a Classic

Alien Hominid HD is a rerelease of the game of the same name, primarily using the Xbox 360 version as a base. This means that for people revisiting the game, they will not experience the original space/ending cutscene music from the PS2/GC versions of the game, and other changes from the 360 version will persist in this version of Alien Hominid. Note that there is no online co-op functionality whatsoever, not even for PDA Games which formerly had online co-op support in the 360 version. Co-op will only work if multiple controllers are present, so there cannot be a mix of one keyboard, one controller player in co-op without having a second controller. Unfortunately, despite being a rerelease, not very many changes have happened between the original 360 HD version and this version. While preserving the old spirit of the original is good, I was hoping at least that the non-HD music tracks or adding an option for only one roll keybind instead of two keybinds/buttons would be added. While keybinds can be made playable enough where I earned all achievements with keyboard and mouse, controller still feels overall smoother even after I tried rebinding my controls primarily because of the two separate roll buttons.

In terms of new technical additions, the main differences are that the max framerate can now be up to 480 FPS and up to 4k resolution support. There is also a launcher that appears while starting up the game, which while mostly pointless, also does not significantly impact the experience overall.

Alien Hominid throughout the years has aged fairly well overall, given that it is effectively a Flash game given the content of a full release. While controls are a bit clunky, shooting FBI agents and the like still feels satisfying, and unleashing a charged shot on bosses always feels satisfying. Levels are different enough where you always feel like there is something fresh in each new level, and bosses never feel like they are insurmountable for long. The artstyle, given that this was The Behemoth’s first console release, is very much reminiscent of Adobe Flash, and I really like it even today. That being said, some people may not like that type of artstyle or gameplay, which is understandable. One thing that I am not a huge fan of is how fast the normal attack can be shot, which can feel extremely spammy and is used a lot in speedruns, which is essentially the main replay value of Alien Hominid.

Earning 100% achievements is a fairly fast task. I completed the game in 9 hours, and some of that time was spent messing around with settings or in co-op where I was not actively making progress on achievements. Two achievements of note that differ from the 360 version are Survivalist, which requires 10 minutes instead of the original 20, and Head Chomper, which now requires 10 consecutive head bites instead of 50. These changes make earning all achievements noticeably easier. Some achievements I recommend keeping an eye out for is Hungry Yeti, which I think might actually require the kills be in one game, and Perfect Fight, which requires beating the final boss without a continue and thus, fighting the boss on friendly while doing that achievement is recommended. For some more specific achievements, I personally used level 2-1 for Head Chomper, where I camped the outpost, Urban Challenge for Survivalist by staying in cars and charged shooting enemy cars, and camping on top of the first 3-3 computer for Killing Spree, as it is a safe spot for farming 1,000 kills.

Minigame wise, the offerings are just like that of Alien Hominid 360 HD. Of particular note is PDA Games, which are platforming minigames where the objective is killing all agents and reaching the exit. The content offered in them matches the 360 release with all DLC pre-included, so no additional purchase is required for all the content. There is no level editor for PDA games unlike the PS2/GC releases, and there is no longer online support for it in this version. Some other minigames include guiding a soviet missile and having it travel as far as possible, and a minigame somewhat like volleyball that requires another player and is effectively the only PvP mode included.

Even after 19 years, Alien Hominid still holds up well enough that I can recommend it at full price for people that have not played it before. That being said, if you do not like how the first level feels, you probably will not like the game as a whole.

[shinelikethunder]

btw THE way to have fun going down the SPN rabbit hole is to find one (1) gifset that makes you insane, scroll through OP's blog or organizational tags for a while, go back to the notes, find some reblog tags that make you want to gnaw on drywall, scroll through that person's blog for a while, and lather rinse repeat until you've told on yourself all over 12 different people's activity pages with your strings of likes. and - crucially, cannot stress this enough - do not touch the sitewide tags. do not touch the blogs that seem to share your interests but in a way you find a tiny bit annoying. find one tiny corner of the behemoth whose derangement is vibrating on your frequency and isn't full of dumb discourse, and blog-hop to construct a protective filter bubble of weird little freaks who are making shadows on the cave wall that fucking slap.

(if you're here because i told on myself all over your activity page but i haven't followed, it's because i'm still telling myself this is a brief fling and i will get well soon. know that your takes are sexy and i am kissing you on the mouth. if you're into that or whatever.)

[fraxiommusic]

thoughts on update 11.9?

not a super substantial update in terms of battle mechanics and new content, but those new units are. hm.

new ul - 200% wild doge (and other behemoth enemies) is officially in ul, also why lowkey and relic bun on the same stage. endgame players have fun on belated priest 3*

catman talents - dodge on a 440 range unit is a. choice

supercar cat - 1.7k hp 51k damage at lvl 30, 100% shield pierce/barrier breaker/kb vs all traits, single target, 140 range? definitely looks like an interesting unit, i think it's pretty balanced and not super op given how low its health is and its slow speed by rusher standards. definitely funny though

gloomy neneko - gains wave block and stands at 310 range, definitely breaks some specific wave stages, not as good as eva 00 or tokyo miku but considering its accessibility and that range? also not even requiring a gold cf seed lol

skull vars tf - pretty solid unit, 100% kb and slow vs zombies seems pretty useful for cadaver bear. good buffs but balanced

amakusa tf - gains minor hp buff and halved attack cooldown, now with 7k dps. i think this is really really really good because amakusa already has 420 range, which is enough to outrange fallen bear. he now has extremely solid dps, plus he already has surge immune and massive dmg vs aku. my expectations are high for satoru and lucifer

new sf ubers - i doubt we'll ever get these in en but they seem alright? base stats for both are pretty low, but one has massive dmg and other has strong vs all traited enemies.

new girlsmons uber - 380 range, LD, 2 part multihit with first hit from 1-381 and 230-630, strong vs and 50% chance to weaken all traited to 50% for 6 seconds. i think this is pretty damn powerful, as multihit raises it to 75% chance, plus she has a really wide LD and about 4-5k dps vs traited, which isn't too bad for LD, i'm for sure gonna roll on guaranteed girlsmons when it comes to bcen

brainwashed fish - slightly weaker stats than crazed fish, targets zombie instead of red, still has 735 cost. it could definitely be useful against zombies, especially considering its cost is reduced. i can see it being used alongside shigong for melee damage and tanking.

dracula yuki - seasonal yuki variant with weaker states, target vs. floating, and 30% chance to survive. i've heard some people say that the trait targeting isn't optimal, but honestly that's not a big issue. the survive lethal is a nice bonus. growing green is now 5 seconds faster i guess. also the design is sick as hell

i'm looking forward to 12.0, hopefully it'll drop in around october for bcjp? or maybe we'll just go onto 11.10 or something. i have no idea what might possibly come up for the end of ul or if we're going to get another set of legend stages, i just hope they add some new mechanics that change the game. also i'm looking forward to lore lol

[anghraine]

#oh op!!#I’d never considered the parallelism of lady Catherine and Mr Bennett#I feel like perhaps lady Catherine’s treatment of her charge (Anne) and her expectations of her as this grand lady as equates some how to#the possible road Darcy could have gone down with Georgianna#this is a half baked thought but anyways#you put it all into words very well here#1000000/10 (via @a-mythologynerd)

Thank you! I think that's a great reading, actually—Georgiana isn't in poor physical health or a fragile waif in appearance the way Anne is, but she's shy, vulnerable, and respects Darcy's force of personality and conviction to the point of near-awe (for instance, when the narrator briefly shifts to Georgiana's perspective, we find her believing "his judgment could not err"). It would be really easy for Georgiana to be completely overshadowed by him the way Anne has become this total nonentity in the shadow of the behemoth that is Lady Catherine's personality.

(This even extends to appearance, even though Georgiana doesn't look like Anne. Elizabeth notices on her first introduction to the Rosings ladies that while Anne isn't plain, she's forgettable and looks nothing like Lady Catherine; upon meeting Georgiana, Elizabeth thinks she's womanly and pleasant-looking but not as beautiful as Darcy. Elizabeth is not unbiased in either case, but it does seem that Darcy is physically and in demeanor a much more striking person and presence than Georgiana, much as Lady Catherine is re: Anne.)

I think we see some interesting indicators about this, actually, in Darcy's remarks about Georgiana to Lady Catherine, when Georgiana isn't even there. Lady Catherine is pushy and overbearing about Georgiana in a way that would undoubtedly overwhelm timid Georgiana if she were there. Darcy's responses are civil enough but equally clear and forceful in insisting that Georgiana does not need to be pressured.

From what we see of his relationship with his sister, Darcy seems to know how easy it would be for him (much less Lady Catherine!) to crush Georgiana's spirit without much effort. While he's a very present quasi-parental authority figure in Georgiana's life, he's clearly careful about providing opportunities for her to express things—he defends her constant musical practice, Georgiana talks more when he's around, he encourages Georgiana to join him in social niceties without putting it all on her, they write long letters to each other, etc. Anne doesn't receive this kind of careful nurturing (and as far as we know, she's never come as near to danger as Georgiana did—yet Darcy's approach to Georgiana doesn't seem at all determined by l'affaire Wickham). The Darcy siblings' relationship could end looking very much like Lady Catherine's with Anne given the temperaments involved, but instead Darcy is evidently going to a lot of pains to make sure that doesn't happen.

In a way, that (inverted) parallel reminds me of how Darcy and Lady Catherine are also paralleled in terms of their authority over the many people under their power. Both are highly active, involved authority figures in what they see as their social responsibilities where Mr Bennet is an irresponsible procrastinator (Elizabeth is nowhere near as bad as Mr Bennet, but doesn't appear to ever think about social responsibilities reaching beyond her own genteel/upper mercantile world until she meets Mrs Reynolds—by contrast to someone like Emma). There's almost a Mirror universe quality to how Darcy's proactive concern for those under his power has its recognizable but much worse counterpart in Lady Catherine sallying forth to settle her cottagers' disagreements, silence their complaints, and "scold them into harmony and plenty."

Even Lady Catherine's officious interference with Darcy's marital choices based on a plan for him made years earlier with Lady Anne has its echo in Darcy's own interference with Bingley's marital choices. Lady Catherine's motives are tied up with her relationship with her sister, with the prestige and wealth her daughter would gain (and her aggressive advancement of said daughter's interests), with her desire for an effective merger between the Darcy and de Bourgh properties via the Fitzwilliam connection (something that would benefit all three families including Lady Catherine), etc. It's not a villainous plot against Darcy, but a plan in which, on paper, everyone stands to benefit enormously (Darcy most of all, in fact)—but there's an obvious element of self-interest and self-aggrandizement in it for Lady Catherine, too.

Similarly, Darcy's motives are tied up with his relationship with his sister, who he'd like to marry Bingley. I'd argue that, socially, Bingley is far beneath what Georgiana could expect in the ordinary course of things, but not so far as to be inappropriate, and he's personally kind and gentle in ways that would be really good for Georgiana in a few years after what she's been through. But the convenience of the Darcys can't dictate Bingley's life choices and he doesn't see Georgiana that way at all.

At the same time, Darcy is also motivated by concern for Bingley's future, social advancement, and happiness based on a genuine belief that Jane is admirable but doesn't love Bingley. And Elizabeth herself earlier argued that someone who doesn't know Jane is very likely to reach that conclusion—she thought that was a good thing and Charlotte that it's unwise on Jane's part, but they agreed that it was probable before Darcy ever started evaluating Jane's behavior. His approach feels less obnoxious than Lady Catherine's because he's a more complex, intelligent, nuanced, and principled character than his aunt, and because he himself soon recognizes his misjudgment when it's pointed out to him (in very unfavorable circumstances!) and eventually takes active steps to fix things. So again, there are important differences in the finer points here—but we can still see an echo in Lady Catherine of the kind of person Darcy could be if he just lets himself follow his inclinations.

That's a lot of rambling, but I hadn't fully thought of the extra parallels/contrasts between them as parental figures, so I appreciate it!

I'm drafting a long semi-headcanon post as I try to phrase it properly, but I'm tired right now so I'll just leave you with the conclusion:

Mr Bennet has made Elizabeth into the closest feasible approximation of the son he wanted and never had, and relates to her through that framework as much as possible. Meanwhile, Lady Catherine can't quite acknowledge that her literal daughter is a disappointment to her, and instead just openly fantasizes about a totally unrecognizable version of Anne that has never existed. Her real spiritual daughter is Darcy.

[quietsun5268]

(Poll) Mass Effect Andromeda - Save Krogan Scouts or Salarian Pathfinder?

In the Mass Effect series there are some choices where you have difficulty choosing. Like which is right or not. This is one of them. It's especially difficult since Andromeda doesn't have a sequel yet so you don't know the consequences that would carry over to the next.

For this you must choose whether to save the Krogan Scouts, or to save Pathfinder Raeka.

Pathfinder Raeka is the last original Pathfinder and a close friend of Alec Ryder. She's a competent leader and has saved your life. She doesn't seem to see Krogans with prejudice. But if you choose to save her and the other Salarian Civilians then you not only have a pissed Drack (Who won't trust you enough to show you that Kesh has children), but also have to face Krogan Behemoths (Who are strong difficult enemies)

If you save the Krogan Scouts then not only Drack will trust you enough to show you that Kesh gave birth to a clutch of her own but you won't face difficult enemies (mutated Salarians aren't difficult to fight). The Krogan Scouts will also assist you in Meridian: The Way Home.

Priority Op - Krogan Scouts or Salarian Pathfinder?: https://strawpoll.com/qpzyszp91/r

If you wanna read about my opinion involving Shepard background and vote on their Background/Class preferences go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/663393551709863936/spoilers-poll-which-background-and-class-do

If you wanna vote on which Ryder you prefer as the Pathfinder, along with their training go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/664228741953748992/polls-who-do-you-prefer-as-a-pathfinder-sara-or

If you wanna vote on Who do you prefer Shepard and Ryder with go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/664759150421655553/polls-who-do-you-prefer-shepard-and-ryder-with

If you wanna vote on some of the First Mass Effect Choices go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/665228082527043584/virmire-who-should-be-saved

If you want to vote on "2 Polls About The Mass Effect 2 Choices That Can Be Difficult To Choose In My Opinion" go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/665425646903771136/some-polls-about-the-mass-effect-2-choices

If you want to vote on "Some polls about Major/Moderate Mass Effect 3 Choices" go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/665578001693540352/some-polls-about-majormoderate-mass-effect-3

If you want to vote on "Some Polls of Mass Effect Andromeda Choices and Consequences" go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/665684285938958336/some-polls-of-mass-effect-andromeda-choices-and

If you want to vote on "Which Gender Do You Prefer For Shepard?" go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/665784298876616704/poll-which-gender-do-you-prefer-for-shepard

If you want to vote on "Mass Effect Trilogy - What Morality Do You Play Your Shepard?" Go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/666153702970802176/poll-mass-effect-trilogy-what-morality-do-you

If you want to vote on "(Poll)(Redo) Mass Effect Andromeda: Post-Game - Ambassador Pick" go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/666343264744603649/poll-mass-effect-andromeda

If you want to vote on "(Poll) Mass Effect Andromeda: Accept Primus's Deal or No?" Go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/666264694341976064/poll-mass-effect-andromeda-accept-primuss-deal

If you want to vote on "Mass Effect 2 - Destroy or Preserve the Collector Base?" Go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/666788274845663232/poll-mass-effect-2-destroy-or-preserve-the

If you want to vote on "Which Choice Would You Make in Order To Reach A Ceasefire Between Quarians and the Geth in Mass Effect?" Go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/667320214731538432/in-the-mission-priority-rannoch-you-have-to-meet

If you want to vote on "Who is the Best Squad Members in the Mass Effect Trilogy?" Go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/667351678589255680/poll-who-is-the-best-squad-members-in-the-mass

If you want to vote on "Who is the Best Squad Members in Mass Effect Andromeda?" Go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/667381587860701184/poll-who-is-the-best-squad-members-in-the-mass

If you want to vote on "Mass Effect Favorite Outfits" Go Here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/667463292851191808/poll-mass-effect-favorite-outfits

If you want to vote on "Do You Prefer to Customize Your Shepard/Ryder Appearance, or Keep Their Default Apperance in the Mass Effect series? (You can still change Backstory and Class)" go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/667495752632877056/poll-mass-effect-trilogy-do-you-customize

If you want to vote on "Mass Effect 1 - Would You Recruit Wrex Before Dealing With Fist or After Dealing with Fist?" Go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/667501114440269824/poll-mass-effect-1-would-you-recruit-wrex

If you want to vote on "Mass Effect: Virmire - Rana Thanoptis: Kill or Spare?" Go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/667519764185464832/poll-mass-effect-virmire-rana-thanoptis-kill

If you want to vote on "Mass Effect 1: Virmire - Who Should Be Saved?" Go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/667538060929613824/poll-mass-effect-1-virmire-who-should-be

If you want to vote on "Mass Effect Series - Who are the Best Villains?" Go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/667573459648495616/poll-mass-effect-series-who-are-the-best

If you want to vote on "Mass Effect Series - Which is the Best Boss Fight In The Series?" Go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/667640196206133248/poll-mass-effect-series-which-is-the-best-boss

If you want to vote on "Mass Effect Series - Who Are Your Favorite Turians?" Go here: https://quietsun5268.tumblr.com/post/667751729089167360/poll-mass-effect-series-who-are-your-favorite

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[topaziraphale]

Any good nsfw aus or multi-chapter recs? I’m in dire need for Top Azira content 💕

There aren't actually many AU'S that I read. However, there are a few that have really caught my eye. I only have 4 stories for you here. Unfortunately none these are finished yet as of the time I'm answering this, and I don’t recommend WIPS on the off-chance they never get completed, but these are honestly just too good not to share. All fics listed are rated E on Ao3.

Getting Sacked by vgersix

Office-romance AU, where Aziraphale and Crowley are both humans that work in a London building for a major conglomerate. Crowley is introduced to the world of BDSM and explores submission with his new boss, Mr. Fell, who is an experienced Dominant. But kink is not the only kind of work Fell is hiding from his colleagues...

This story is unfortunately unfinished, and will not be continued. But I recommend this anyway because I think, not only is it a good read, it's also includes education on the nuances of queerness beyond the typical cis gay experience, and for kink, debunking some misconceptions about the practice. Crowley is gnc and queer (also implied/most likely nonbinary), and Aziraphale is explicitly asexual. Okay so I'm probably cheating by putting this fic here since it's strictly D/s and not top/bottom like you asked, but I can't help it, this is too good not to recommend.

Push(ing) Down on Me by raiining

This work is directly inspired by the fic above. Detective AU! Crowley is a D.I. investigating a human trafficking ring in London. When the Interpol gets involved with his case, he finds himself going on a deep undercover mission to infiltrate a BDSM scene with Interpol agent Fell, in order to expose something even bigger than they were initially going for. But Crowley hardly has an idea of what he's gotten himself into.

This is, just, really kinky, and I like it a lot. This might sound weird but it's sort of like a porny action movie, but, you know, with actual good production. For anyone that loves exhibitionism and/or knifeplay, THIS one is for you. The fic is actually done for the most part at the time of posting this! Just needs a finale epilogue chapter.

Rough Enough for Love by nekhen

Fake-dating-turned-real-dating human AU. Anathema sets Crowley up with one of her friends so that he won't have to attend a family wedding alone. Of course they end up catching feelings for each other.

This is a behemoth of a work, already past the 300k mark and going still. I don't even know where to begin with OP's writing. Their prose, their diction, their similes and metaphors and-- everything! Is just so incredible. The smut is scorching hot and the feelings, my god the emotions, are so intense and raw and so real. This really is a long, intricately thought-out story of two people in their middle age finding love after living most of their lives having failed at it. If the phrase "Gentle Dom Aziraphale" appeals to you, you have to give this one a shot. This Aziraphale is such an incredibly gentle soul and I love him SO so much.

Stitch Me Up by get_wrexed

Hospital AU! I’ll let fic’s actual description take care of the plot summary, because there’s no way I can cover just a small amount with anything less than a small essay. I’m just here to praise the amount of subject matter covered and how well it’s done. This fic tackles many different heavy subjects, and the biggest one by far is living and coping with mental illnesses and the trauma that comes with it. 

I’ll keep it real, this one gets heavy. This fic does not sugarcoat its subject matter. The highs are high, and the lows are low. But this is ultimately NOT a sad story, not by a long shot, not from what I can see so far. It’s an inspiring story. There is a beautiful balance between the good times and the bad times, much like they are in real life. Every single update is nothing short of a delight and a highlight of my day. 

~~~

(NOTE: For the last two stories on the list, there are a few occasions where a/c do actually switch, but the power dynamic remains the same. As in, Aziraphale is only ever a Dominant bottom and Crowley is only ever a submissive service top. I like it a lot, but I can see why those of you that followed this blog might not be interested in that. So there’s the heads up.)

[whileiamdying]

The Dakota: New York’s First Luxury Apartment Building

More than a century after it helped usher in a new era in haute living, the Dakota still has a hold on the city’s imagination

By Kim Velsey 09/30/15 11:30am

Skaters in Central Park shortly after the Dakota was built. It’s always been a standout.

New York owes its skyline largely to speculators and egomaniacs, and Central Park’s perimeter is no exception. From the skyscrapers rising along 57th Street to the surprisingly large quantity of flash-in-the-pan luxury development that has gone up (and not infrequently come down) amidst the stately limestone behemoths and whimsical Art Deco towers, the area’s atmosphere of genteel timelessness can be somewhat deceptive. But never when it comes to the Dakota.

Designed by Henry Hardenbergh—the architect who would go on to build the Plaza and the Waldorf-Astoria—and developed by Edward Clark, a lawyer who made his fortune as a co-founder of the Singer Sewing Company, the Dakota had an almost preternatural presence from the start. Though the oft-repeated tale that it was so named because the Upper West Side was as remote as the territory when the Dakota was built is untrue (Clark was simply charmed by Western names, so much so that he championed renaming Eighth, Ninth, 10th and 11th avenues Wyoming, Montana, Arizona and Idaho place, respectively), it was, from the beginning, a literal standout. When it was completed in 1884, there were few other buildings in its immediate vicinity, save for the recently constructed American Museum of Natural History and a smattering of rowhouses and shanties left over from the area’s quickly vanishing agrarian past.

The Northern facade of the Dakota, completed in 1884 and still a charmer. (Kenneth Grant)

But more significant than the role that the Dakota played in the west side’s development was the one it played in the city’s residential transformation. It was New York’s “first truly luxury apartment building,” architectural historian Andrew Alpern argues in his new book The Dakota: A History of the World’s Best-Known Apartment Building ($55, Princeton Architectural Press), which comes out on October 13.

The Dakota was the first apartment building well-designed enough to lure and keep the upper middle classes, who were reluctant to leave their brownstones for a form of housing associated with tenements. As Mr. Alpern notes, the Dakota had a number of antecedents, but it was the Dakota that finally won the city’s upper crust over to apartment living with features like 14-foot ceilings, oak and mahogany-paneled entertaining spaces, state-of-the-art kitchens, elevators and innovations that kept servants and delivery staff at beck, call and a seemly distance. The popularity of the building, whose 65 original apartments were all leased before the building’s completion, helped to usher in far denser residential development across the economic spectrum.

And unlike many other once-grand buildings that fell on hard times, the succession of owners who maintained the Dakota as a rental until it went co-op in 1961 never let the building’s opulent standards slip. The co-op board maintained it to the same level, even going so far as to restore all of the fireplaces to working order. Moreover, the Dakota has maintained its impressive stature without the stolidness of a 740 Park or 834 Fifth, its allure enhanced by the many famous artists, intellectuals and stars of stage and screen who have called it home: Lauren Bacall and Rudolf Nureyev, Leonard Bernstein, and of course John Lennon and Yoko Ono.

Henry Hardenbergh, the architect, who went on to design the Plaza and the Waldorf-Astoria.

The Observer recently conducted an interview with Mr. Alpern via email, during which we discussed the Dakota’s construction, its unique features and why it continues to exert such a strong pull on the collective imagination. The conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

Why does the Dakota remain such a source of fascination some 130 years after its construction? I believe that the Dakota is very well known for the wrong reasons. People all over the world connect it solely with the murder of John Lennon, especially as that horrible act took place at the instantly recognizable grand entrance to the building. And of course the continuing residency there of his widow Yoko Ono has kept the spotlight trained on the building. Although much diminished now, the scene setting at the Dakota of the movie Rosemary’s Baby added to the building’s worldwide visibility.

Do you think any more recently constructed residential buildings will have the same kind of magnetism? Part of the reason the Dakota has a hold on the imagination is its great age, and its appearance as a relic of an earlier time. Most of the comparable buildings of that period have disappeared, and those that remain can’t hold a candle to the visual impact of the Dakota. It is a unique landmark, very different from every other luxury apartment house in the city, and far older and bigger than most of them. The Osborne on West 57th Street and the Gramercy on East 20th Street are the same age, but they were lesser lights to begin with, and they never developed a mystique such as the Dakota has. There are no recently constructed buildings that I see as ever being capable of developing such a magnetism.

You write about the role of the apartment hotel—how it led to the development of the apartment house but was itself quickly outmoded. What were some of the major differences of the Dakota that marked it for extreme longevity?

It appears that initially the Clark/Hardenbergh team was planning a very grand residential hotel, where the tenants would make the place their permanent residence, but where all the amenities of a hotel would be provided. The nomenclature then was “family hotel” and the included restaurant would be open to both residents and the general public. For some reason, they decided fairly early to make the restaurant a private one exclusively for the residents and their guests, but to keep many of the other hotel-like features. The Dakota survived perhaps because its ownership was held by an exceedingly wealthy family that was not dependent on the rental income.

You write about how the Dakota was the first true luxury apartment building. What features set it apart from the other early apartment buildings?

The things that made the Dakota extra special and a real pioneer (and why it qualifies as the first truly luxury apartment house in New York) was space and amenity inside each apartment: very large rooms and lots of them, very high ceilings, all the materials, finishes and details that could be found in a really grand one-family house, the latest in modern equipment in the kitchens and bathrooms, electric lights in all the rooms and the public spaces (generated on site by the Dakota’s own dynamos); also size and grandeur in the building itself (developer Clark said that only very few people could afford to build a palace to live in, but his tenants could afford to live in a palace that he would build). Plus there was a rooftop promenade and play spaces for children on the roof as well (with views in all directions for miles around).

The decorative ironwork on the dry moat. (ScoutingNY)

What the dry moat a common feature of the time? A dry moat around a building creates a double advantage of providing light to the basement and protection and privacy to the first floor apartments. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries when sidewalks were wider than today, it was a very common feature of upscale buildings. Even with the incursion of a moat, there was still a wide enough sidewalk. When increased traffic throughout the city was the impetus to widen the roadways of the streets and avenues, stoops were shorn off residences, and moats were filled in, to the detriment of many grand buildings. Then building laws were changed to bar new ones from being constructed, as they trespass onto the public space beyond the property ownership line.

The apartment of late actress Lauren Bacall, which is listed with Warburg at $23 million and is currently in contract.

Do you believe that any developers or architects working now are as astute at responding to unseen needs and desires of their clientele as Clark and Hardenbergh were?

The architect who immediately comes to mind is Robert A.M. Stern. Bob has the something extra that Hardenbergh obviously had—the ability to understand the goals of the developer and to craft a project proposal in which his own ego (not insignificant) is subservient to that of the builder (often even bigger). Akin to what Hardenbergh did at the Dakota, Bob takes ideas of luxury living giant strides ahead of the competition and then works with the developer to loosen the budget sufficiently to make the added investment that will allow Bob’s ideas to be realized. He did that spectacularly with 15 Central Park West, where he and the Zeckendorfs created an over-the-top level of luxury that became instantly desirable amongst the über-rich. Proof of the concept is evident in the astronomical resale prices that apartments there have fetched.

At the time of the building’s construction, the decision was made to put the main entrance on 72nd Street rather than Central Park West, which would seem unimaginable to a developer today.

Many of the finest buildings in New York are accessed from the side street. The grand limestone-fronted masterpiece by McKim Mead and White at 998 Fifth Avenue has a grand 50-foot-long iron-and-glass marquee protecting its massive entrance doors on East 81st Street. There are practical reasons for this, as it’s easier and less obtrusive to come and go on a less-trafficked side street than on a major avenue. Many other newer buildings have the best of both worlds by keeping both avenue and side-street entrances open and manned. 15 Central Park West does that with its entrance driveway on 62nd Street and its pedestrian doorway on CPW.  

Bacall’s dining room—note how small the table and chairs look.

The Dakota remained a rental until 1961. However, there had been co-op schemes in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Why did the co-op take so long to catch on? The earliest co-ops were the Hubert Home Clubs, of which The Chelsea was one. They were hybrids that provided rental apartments whose income subsidized the maintenance of the building for the resident owners. They needed to be professionally managed, and that was done with mixed success. It is only with the generally-rising economic markets we have been experiencing since the end of World War II and the improved laws governing co-ops, that they have flourished.

When the Dakota opened it had some of the most modern amenities, but it now lacks many of those found in new skyscrapers, like pools, yoga and Pilates rooms, conference centers, etc.

What constitutes a luxury building has changed dramatically over the years. In the 1880s, a single bathroom would have sufficed even for three or four bedrooms, because small sinks in built-in marble countertops would be placed in closets for convenience, and people simply didn’t look on bathroom usage the way we do today. Closet space for clothing in today’s luxury apartments covers far more square footage than ever in the past. To bring the complement of bathrooms and closets up to modern standards, luxury buyers often sacrifice other space and make significant and expensive alterations. Some accept these burdens because they like the elegance and cachet of an older building. Others require all the bells and whistles of a new project. It is one of the drivers of New York’s real estate market that the city can support both camps.

The film Rosemary’s Baby used the Dakota for exterior shots—and it would seem, inspiration—though the interior scenes were filmed elsewhere. (Photo by Paramount Pictures/Getty Images)

The building is known for being home to actresses, intellectuals, dancers and famous artists. But the early residents had quite staid jobs, as your book illustrates—bankers, lawyers, businessmen. When and how did the building’s population shift to more artistic residents?

In the beginning, it was the staid segment of New York’s population that had the money to afford the luxury-level rents that the Clark family charged for the apartments. Over time, alternative newer buildings were constructed that appealed to the wealthy of the city, who have always wanted the newest and the best. But the Dakota remained a visually unique and romantic-looking building, which appealed to intellectuals and those in the arts.

Was there anything that surprised you greatly in the course of researching this book? In looking very closely at the many early photographs of the building that I uncovered, I was very surprised to discover how several aspects of the building’s architecture developed over time. In particular, I had always assumed that the pair of grandly huge gas-powered wall-mounted lights flanking the entrance were original to the building. They certainly look eminently suitable and venerable. In fact, they were late additions, as was the copper-clad sentry box and the pair of cast-iron urns on circular pedestals.

One of your previous books is Holdouts! about little buildings that stood in the way of big developments, which you co-authored with the late Seymour Durst. How did the collaboration come about?

Seymour was an old friend with whom I would periodically have dinner. Our conversation would range widely, but would often center around some current problem he was having in creating a property assemblage that he hoped would eventually be the site of a full-block office-building project. He personally dealt with the holdouts he encountered. One especially memorable conversation included stories of several past holdout situations he had experienced or knew about. When I said, “Seymour, there’s a story for a book there,” he responded, “So write it!”

[just-an-adventurer]

I am going absolutely WILD for this fic, op. I binge-read this all in once go and it was such a luxury to have all those parts in one. Because of its bulk, I jotted down little notes as I went along so I wouldn't forget to add them to my comment.

In lieu of any sort of cohesive review due to having no thoughts aside from my brain printing out a mental image of a shitty crayon drawing of König and reader covered in blood with little cartoon hearts everywhere, here are the reactions I jotted down:

The heady mix of it all! The tenderness!

The preparation beforehand! Unlocking the gate and checking for consent! He would be a perfect dom if not for the uh, murder and all that. But oh so absolutely PERFECT for a good fic!

The intimacy of him taking off his mask and putting it into her lap!!!

"You felt silly for thinking he knew where you lived" AAH.

Aw man op, from Vig to König you are always coming in clutch with murderous sexy men

His mannerisms are so good! The mix of his confidence with his anxiety (his careful preparation, the way he fiddles with the towel and secures it again as an excuse to break eye contact when the conversation breaks)

MATCHING SCARS ASSFHFJDJFB I AM CHEWING THROUGH DRYWALL

LIKE REALLY GRIM SOULMATE MARKS AAAAH

I love how their scars are in the exact same place, but unique to them

Hands laced together aaaaaah

Lube! Yes! The prep! The foresight! Especially given his size 😏

That sex scene was so fucking HOT. The way you write them is always so visceral, so natural.

The moment right after is so sweet! The way they're laughing after that cathartic climax is just aaaaah. So good.

Ah man, now that the lust has cooled, poor reader is trying to put all the pieces together and meanwhile könig is SO STOKED to snuggle and have everything go well.

And yet, "...No one?"

"No one."

That actually sounded kind of nice...

I am SCREAMING. THERE IT IS, THERE'S A HUGE PART OF THE APPEAL

Hnnnng feeding him a bit of the butchered carrot. The domesticity!

"Knowing him, though, he probably liked you threatening him with it." Pfffff

"If you were to kill him how would you do it?"

YESSSS a reader who has just enough screws loose to be into it. It was touched on in the very beginning but ooooh fuck yeah

Man, can König break the fingers of people I don't like one at a time? Pretty please? *twirls hair*

Their dynamic is everything to me aaaaah

Using italics for translated German is so perfect! It adds it in without breaking the flow of things and gives me the impression that the reader has picked up some of the language in their time together

His dialogue feels so in-character! Like I can imagine it with his voice super easily

Once again hitting it out of the park with the sex scenes! Now with sexy murderous undertones! There's something about kill-mode könig all hopped up and giddy on violence turning into a whimpering mess that has me fucking GRINNING

Yessssss double relationship dynamic of chaste sweet actions following lewd ones

The blowjob misunderstanding had me cackling - the fucking dialogue and back-and-forth was hilarious

Eye contact as part of their love language!!

These two freaks! Covered in each others' blood! Bonded together by brushes with death and hard-on for violence! I love them!!

Absolutely incredible work as always, my friend! This fic is fucking fantastic, the tags are fitting and spot-on (fluff included!). You do such a wonderful job making murderous characters really fun to read and I love that your reader characters are game for it (because of course! We're reading bc we're interested in playing with the idea so it's always fun when the reader character is down for it too!) And your dialogue and body language is always such a treat. I hope this comment makes some sense and it isn't too scattered! Thank you for writing and sharing this beautiful bloodstained behemoth of a fic!

Death's Angel

Pairing: König (stalker/serial killer)/Fem!Reader

Rated: Explicit. 18+

Summary: "Please just let me go! I promise I won't tell! I have a wife! I have a child!" He's heard all the pleas before, but König is finally struck with the oddest dying wish he's ever heard. "Can you kiss me?"

Word Count: 22,480

Warnings:  Rape/Non-Con: Sexual assault, I do NOT go into detail on that part, but uh, it's there. Dub-Con/Consensual non-consent: (+mentions of rape/cnc porn). CNC as a coping mechanism, which (in this case) is dubious as it is not discussed beforehand. + Blood play, knife play, degradation. (Non-consensual) voyeurism (König is a stalker). Violence (König is a serial killer). Fluff (lol it's actually pretty sweet)

A/N: Based on [an ask] I got a couple of months ago. 4 parts in 1. [Read on AO3] for chapter divisions.

[Multi-fandom Masterlist]

[Death’s Kiss]

He cursed himself for getting distracted. But, as much as the military would like to believe he isn't, he is only human. And a particularly buxom woman overtly flirting with him had drawn his eyes from his target. He rejected the woman's advances (maybe he will find her later, there was nothing quite like fucking after killing), and went about searching for his target. Unfortunately he had to be discreet, he couldn't just push people out of his way, as much as he would love to.

He caught sight of a back exit and followed his instincts, they hardly ever led him astray, and took the chance that his target had left this way. He’d only taken a few steps into the dark alley when he heard sounds of a struggle. ‘What’s this?’ He followed the sound of a frustrated groan quickly followed by a “fuckin’ bitch!” and a woman’s scream cut short. 

König stuck to the shadows, plenty around this late, and slipped his sniper hood on as he rounded a dumpster. There was his target, a man in his thirties, with one hand over a woman’s mouth and the other holding a knife he just shoved into the woman’s stomach. 

Interesting. König couldn’t exactly say what drew him to kill certain targets. He just saw someone and decided. Sometimes he’d do recon, other times, like tonight, he’d just see what the night had in store for him. This was the first time he had come across one of his targets committing well, if the woman’s torn dress and the man’s hand now stuffed under her skirt were anything to go by, sexual assault and likely murder. 

König could understand murder. He might even respect it. But he could not tolerate rape. There were always one or two men in his unit he had to keep an eye on. Who were likely to take advantage of the women of a war torn country. Not only were those the easiest of his victims to cover up, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the higher ups placed them on his team on purpose. Let him deal with the troublemakers before they get out of hand. 

Why he should have contempt for one heinous act over another was also something he didn’t bother to think about. Thus he didn’t bother to think when he pulled his target off of the woman. 

-

Red. He’d forever associate this moment with red. Your eyes, which caught his for a fraction of second as he grabbed the man’s shoulder, were red, either from tears or because the man had hit you, or both. There was a bright red ribbon that matched the color of freshly spilled blood hanging loosely from your hair, spiraling elegantly down your shoulder before getting stuck to your skin with blood. Blood, dark red and spilling freely in some places, already clotting in others, almost looked fake. Too…pretty. Most beguiling of all, were splashes of red across your lovely white dress, from the top, which was now ripped free of your body, to the flared skirt.  

Red had always been his favorite color. 

The man was quick enough on his feet to regain his balance and pull out of König’s grasp, if only for a moment, as he reeled and threw a wild punch at König.

König caught the first easily, smiling under his mask, as the man’s eyes went wide as he realized how much bigger König was. “F-fuck!” 

He tried to yank his fist back, which König let go of as he hooked one boot behind the man’s foot. He chuckled as the man flailed and fell on his ass with an undignified scream. Before the man could get back to his feet and run away, König planted his boot on his chest and leaned down. 

“What should I do with you, hm?” König hummed playfully while leaning down and pressing his weight onto the man’s chest even more. He had been planning on taking the man to a secondary location, an out of the way warehouse at the edge of town, so he could take his time. But even now he was aware of a second set of eyes on him.

“N-nothing! You can have her, let me go!” The man struggled against König’s boot, and struggled to breath as König pressed down again. 

“Her?” He looked over his shoulder at you, hunched against a wall with blood slowly forming a puddle around you. 

You should have been crying for help, or trying to get to your phone that he could see a few feet from you. You should have been trying to save your life. But instead you were watching him. Your eyes were glazed over as your life slowly drained away, but you were watching him. No. You were watching him kill your attacker, waiting to see what happened. And a shiver of excitement ran down his spine. He never had a witness before…

Then he looked down again, “what use is a dead woman?” 

That’s when the man screamed, using what little strength he had to try to punch König’s leg. 

“Ow.” König deadpanned, but removed his foot from the man’s chest anyways. 

He let the man scramble to his feet, but when he turned to run away, König grabbed him by the back of his head, his giant hand making a viscous grip in the man’s hair, and yanked him back. The man screamed, hands flying to the back of his head to try to pry König’s hand off of him. König lifted the man into the air before slamming him face first into the brick wall in front of them.

Not even the muffled and gurgled screams could drown out the sickening crunch of bone. While still holding the man’s face into the brick wall, he turned to look at you, looking for the familiar fear that should be in your eyes. There was none. Again, you weren’t even looking at him, not really. You were looking at the man, weakly struggling against König’s hold. 

Hm. There was no fear in your eyes. But you were alert to…something. Too close to Death, maybe? He wondered what it would take for you to react.

Without even looking back at the man, he pulled his fist back for a moment, the man gasping for air through broken teeth, and slammed him back into the wall. It was at that point that the man went limp in his hand. Your only reaction was to cough, blood spraying from your mouth and down your chin.  

‘Nothing?’

Returning his attention to the man, König pulled the back from the wall again and with his free hand grabbed the side of the man’s face. In one quick motion he pulled and snapped the man’s neck. That earned him…a cough for sure, but, was that a laugh turned to a cough? 

He dropped the man and kicked the body over, making sure that he was really dead, when he noticed you moving out of his peripheral. You had wrapped both hands over the handle of the knife protruding from your stomach.

“You’ll only bleed out faster.” He raised his voice and turned his head enough to look at you again.

You froze and looked up at him as he slowly turned from the man to you. From where he had planted himself, he took  in more of your appearance, of your wounds. Your hands, now resting weakly in your lap, were cut from a blade and scraped up from the brick wall you were pushed into and cement below you, proving that you had at least attempted to fight back before being overpowered. There was a large gash below your neck and over your collarbone that leaked blood onto your nude chest. A shame, a quick thought crossed his mind, that such a pretty pair of tits is going to die.

His eyes followed down the rivulet of blood from your chest to your waist. Oh. Cherries. What he initially mistook as blood splatter all over your pretty white dress was in fact part of the dress itself, a pattern of cute little cherries. What a vision you were, must have looked like a little angel before you met your fate. 

“Hey,” you croaked out in a heavy, wet, sigh. 

Since it seemed to take so much effort to get one word out, he did you the favor of moving closer to you. Once he was near enough to you, his eyes drifted down to the knife. He didn’t kill that man to save you. In fact, it was his intent to let you die. He could finish the job. Do it quickly too, as a mercy. 

“Can you-” You breathed out another heavy sigh, attempting to curb a cough. “-kiss me?”

König’s eyes snapped up to your face, blinking and his head tilting even more as he processed your question. Did he hear you right? “What?” 

“I want,” you paused and licked your lips that were both dry but slick in blood. “My last kiss to be my choice.” 

Ah! He blinked once more as he looked at your pathetically small body and the puddle of blood under you. You knew you were going to die. 

He never had a witness to one of his killings. He also never fulfilled someone’s dying wish. An odd night of firsts. He dropped down to one knee next to you and nodded. “Alright.” What was the harm in it?

With one gloved hand he gently tilted your chin towards him and lifted the bottom of his hood with the other. His eyes slid shut as he softly pressed his lips to yours. He meant for it to be chaste, just a small peck to honor your wish, but the metallic tang of your blood slipped into his mouth, and he liked it. The coppery blood was tinged with a hint of what he could only describe as sweet. He had never tasted blood like that. His own was acrid in comparison. He wanted more. 

He leaned down closer and pressed his lips just a bit harder against yours, agitating the cut on your lip. He swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, gently sucking on the cut in your lip to draw more blood into his mouth and he had to hold back a moan. As tempted as he was to shove his tongue further, a pained whimper from you stopped him. He pulled away, licking his lips as he dropped his hood back in place.

You coughed out a muttered “thank you,” and sighed, like you were ready to accept your death. 

Too bad he hadn’t met you earlier in the night, he thought as he looked at you again. Then, and he’s not sure why he even tried, he pulled a knife from his belt and began to cut away at the top of your dress that was already hanging off of your body. “Remain calm, Engel.” 

Once he had a sufficient amount of fabric he pressed it around the knife wound. “Keep pressure here.” 

Your hands, small and weak, took over and despite the pained cry, you did as he said.

He stood up quickly and picked up your phone, or what he simply assumed was your phone. The screen was cracked but still lit up as he pressed a side button. The emergency number was just one press away from being dialed. 

He hit dial and returned to you, helping you stem the bleeding once more, and held the phone up to your mouth. “Tell them where we are. You might live if they’re fast enough.” 

You coughed out an answer to the operator, barely managing a weak “help” with a street name and the name of the club you stepped out of. 

You were unconscious by the time he saw emergency lights, but at least you were still alive. He remained with you as long as he could, daring even a few seconds too long, and slipped away before police and paramedics found you. And the body of the man who attacked you.

Even as König sat in his truck, forcing himself to relax, he knew it would be better for him if you died. 

He hoped you lived. 

[Death’s Touch] 

A week ago he met a dying angel with sweet and pretty blood. He expected the police to show up within a day or two. Even if he hadn’t shown his face to you, or done something so stupid as to give you a name, how many behemoth men with Austrian accents were there in the city? That simple description of him was the reason why he was careful there were no witnesses to his killings. That simple description was why he had considered letting you die in that alley. 

But the police never showed up. 

König frowned as he fit the last piece of the gun he had been meticulously cleaning in place. Did the police not show up because you…died? He waited too long to help you and now he’d never even get to know your name.

Of course, he didn’t know for sure that you were dead, and that had him anxious. He had to know.

A few days later, and an I.O.U to Hutch, König was able to read the police report from that night. He learned three important things. The first was that you were still alive. The second was that there was no mention of him, or even a rescuer. No description of a large man. No APB out on him. And lastly, he learned your name and address.

You lived in a modest flat, the worst thing about it was its utter lack of security. There wasn’t even a gate. It was too easy to find various watch points that looked into your flat. Or would have. You apparently weren’t in the habit of opening your curtains. Only a good thing, as far as he was concerned, who knows what kind of creeps could be watching?

For a day, he wondered if he had the right flat. He’d been watching all day and didn’t see you once. Just before his patience wore out the next day, however, food was delivered to your flat and he finally caught a glimpse of you again. 

That was it. The confirmation he needed. You were alive and for whatever reason you didn’t tell the police about him. Both good things. 

He could leave. He could forget about you now. 

…

It was two days later when you finally left your flat. Yes, he was still watching your flat, a sense of relief flooding him every time you opened the door for food. 

He followed you until you parked at a clinic. He knew there would be cameras all over the place, so he continued driving and didn’t pull into the same parking lot as you. Instead he drove to the next light, made a u-turn and parked at the drug store across the street. 

An hour and a half later he saw you leave the clinic. You were fast, one might even say you were lightly jogging. As he started his truck to follow you, he realized that you walked at that same speed when you left the flat. 

“Oh, my little angel. Are you frightened?” 

Too scared to leave the safety of your home most days, and barely leaving to see a doctor. Well, he couldn’t blame you.

A part of him was content knowing that he would be able to easily find you now. 

Just his luck, though, his leave was up and he had to ship out to a new base. Hopefully, by time he got back you would still be holed up in your little flat, safely tucked away for him.

-

By the time he was granted leave again, it had been four months since you were attacked. It didn’t take him long to find you again. Of course you were at home, and that morning he followed you to an office, then back home. A routine. Having a solid routine helped with his own anxiety, of course it would ease yours. 

The only thing that did surprise him was that from his old vantage point, and with the help of a scope, he was able to see into your bedroom now. Not a full view, but the curtains were cracked just enough. The weather had been getting better, had you opened your window at one point and weren’t so diligent with the curtains when you closed it? 

Blue light softly illuminated your room as you settled into bed that night. He could sympathize with you. He knew plenty of men who could not sleep without the aid of some kind of white noise. But as he watched you through his scope he realized that the tossing and turning he thought was keeping you awake was more intentional than not. There was no mistaking the way you were rolling your hips.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he leaned forward in his truck, as if that could somehow get him a better view through your window. 

His dick twitched when you turned to lay flat on your stomach, your hips rocking faster against the pillow (or blanket?) that you had between your legs. He thought about you in that alley, looking all pretty so close to death, “-kiss me?” and tasting so sweet. 

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, your head hanging down but still turned away from him. Not that he could really make out your figure fully, his mind was filling in what he could not see. One of his hands dropped to his crotch to adjust his pants, but didn’t touch his semi-hard dick. He liked to think he had more self control than that. Until he remembered that little whimper you let when he kissed you too hard and he needed to hear you again.

Before he could stop himself to weigh his decision, he was already out of the truck and halfway across the parking lot. He was called a human battering ram, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be stealthy, or pick a lock. In fact, he was already trying to think of a way to get you new, better, locks since it was so easy to break into your flat. 

The lights were all off and in dark clothes and his sniper hood, it was easy to blend into the shadows. The place was small, the door opened into an open concept living room to kitchen. He paid no mind to furnishing, focusing instead on the light that emanated from the bedroom. 

As he got closer to the door, left slightly ajar, the sound of heavy breathing got louder. It was a sound that sent an excited thrum through his veins as he leaned against the wall and peeked into the bedroom.

In the time it had taken for him to enter your flat, you had switched positions again. You were sitting up on your knees, back towards him (the door, rather), with a blanket pooled around you and a pillow between your thighs. You weren’t wearing anything provocative, just a large tee shirt from what he could see, but it was bunched up around your hips just reaching your bare thighs. 

He could feel his body getting hotter, his dick getting harder, but he was trained well enough to keep his breathing steady, quiet. Fuck though, what he would give to see you from the front, or below. To have you riding his cock like that, your soft hands planted firmly on his chest as you were now bracing yourself on the bed. 

You let out a gasp, such a sweet sound that went straight to his dick, and arched your back, one hand flying behind you to steady yourself while the other pulled the pillow harder against you. He closed his eyes for a second, savoring your breaths, as he imagined gripping your hip, you’d probably cry out from how rough his hands were, but you’d like it anyway. He imagined watching his cock stretching out your little pussy while his other hand played with your clit.

When he opened his eyes again, he glanced over at the laptop (the source of light that he initially mistook for a television) but it wasn’t angled right for him to see what was on the screen. It was obvious, with the way you kept your eyes on the screen, though. There was no sound that he could hear, so he figured you were wearing earbuds. What kind of porn did his little angel like to watch? Huge cock, perhaps? Did you fantasize about taking a cock as big as his? 

Underneath his hood he had to bite down on his lips to keep from groaning, especially when you started to moan as you started to bounce and grind your pussy harder onto that stupid fucking pillow. He could give you something so much better to rub your pussy on. 

One of your hands snaked under your shirt to play with your tits, your whines getting a little louder and he squeezed his fists hard. If he touched himself now, he wouldn’t stop until he came, and that was a little too risky right now. 

Just as he was about to give in and stuff his hand down his pants, you let out a muffled moan, one hand covering your mouth, even though no one was (supposed) to be around to hear you. Your hips slowed down to gentle rolls as you leaned forward, slowly stretching out and riding out your orgasm. His hips jerked forward, seeking friction against nothing, and his eyes rolled back at your moan. 

Your little whimpers still filling the air only made his cock throb painfully hard in his pants. He remained still, watching as you slowly got up and moved to the other side of the room. Judging by the light suddenly flooding the room for a second only to fade when he heard a door close, he assumed it was the bathroom. He sighed, leaning against the wall, and took a deep breath, hoping to catch your scent. 

He quickly left while you were cleaning up, and took extra care to make sure your door was locked. 

As soon as he made it back to his truck, he tore off his gloves, shucked his pants down just enough to pull his dick out and spit in his hand. He leaned back, eyes closed as he recalled what he had just seen with vivid detail. 

"Mmm, fuck. Engel." He mumbled under his breath as his hand pumped fast strokes up and down his cock. 

He could still see you humping your pillow, still hear the symphony of your moans filling the air. He squeezed harder, rolled his hand over the tip of his cock and spread the ample precum down the shaft. He was so close already. His hips bucked up as he fucked his fist, picturing you bouncing on his cock. He groaned, your name slipping out of his mouth, even though you had yet to formally introduce yourself to him. 

His whole body tensed, his breath coming out in desperate ragged pants, as he stroked himself faster. A litany of curses, in both English and German, filled the cabin as he came. He continued to stroke himself slowly, with a loose grip, as he eased himself down, just as had. He even imagined himself burying his nose in the crook of your neck, or resting his forehead on your shoulder, making you whimper from lazy and sloppy kisses.

He finally opened his eyes, a spark of sadness in his heart as he saw nothing but the roof of his truck instead of the vision that was you. He sighed and reached the hand that wasn't covered in his own cum around the passenger seat to grab a few napkins he'd thrown there earlier. 

Once he cleaned up, as well as he could, he returned home. He just needed a few hours of sleep. He knew your schedule, he'd return later.

-

He arrived back at your flat after you should have left for work. He scanned the car lot to make sure your car was gone (it was) and made sure the coast was clear to break into your flat again (it was). This time he did take a moment to take in the space. Everything was meticulously clean, spotless, not even dust in high up places. He wondered if you were like this before the attack, or if this was a result of self isolation. 

Then he moved over to the bedroom. Just like the living room, everything was nicely in order and the bed was perfectly made. Excited warmth spread through him when he saw two pillows sitting on your bed. He slipped his hood off, hooking it in his waistband, and dropped onto the bed. He took a deep breath and nuzzled his face into one of the pillows. An incredibly intoxicating mix of perfume and detergent and you filled his senses and he hummed in delight. 

One hand reached up and gripped the other pillow, feeling the softness, about to bring it to his chest when he paused. He spotted your laptop on the nightstand and sat up. He picked it up, a tube of cherry chapstick rolling to the other side of the nightstand, and opened it up. He watched the screen as it loaded. 

No password? Well, he supposed that made sense considering you lived alone. 

Now, he tapped away, what had you so worked up last night? 

His eyebrows shot up, eyes a little wide, as he made his way through your browser history. “Oh, Engel.” He felt himself getting excited as saw various types of CNC and rape porn. “You still think about that night.” Honestly, he did too. 

Before he got too turned on, he made sure to clear the history and set the laptop back where he found it. Then he got up and straightened out the bed. 

If that was what you wanted, he would be happy to help fulfill your fantasies.

-

It had been four months since your attack. Everyone around you had been sympathetic at first. It was a bit overwhelming, having people you barely talked to go out of their way to make sure you weren’t feeling unsafe. It only took two months for them to move on. It was a blessing in that you felt like you finally had space to breathe, but now people were unpredictable, unwanted casual touches or getting too close to you, and it had you retreating back to your cubicle every time. 

When you declined invitations to go out, people would joke that you were being boring. Maybe it was time you moved on too?

The next time you were invited out, you agreed, on the condition that you didn’t have to go home to change. 

“Yay! That’s fine! Trust me, it’ll be fun!” Your friend and coworker said as she slapped hand on your shoulder.

You winced and moved out of her touch with the excuse of needing to get back to your desk. The rest of the day was thankfully uneventful and you soon found yourself at a new bar.

Thirty minutes in, once the appetizers were gone and the alcohol flowing freely, your work friends got to be a little much. You didn't want to drink, you were assured that no one would be getting drunk. That was wrong, of course, and you silently wondered if you were invited just to be designated driver and get everyone home safely. You were not going to do that.

It was easy to slip away unnoticed. You just needed some space and so headed towards the back where the bathrooms were. 

For a Friday night it felt oddly empty. Maybe because it was out of the way, maybe because it looked like an employee only area. Whatever the case, you’re thankful for-

You didn’t even have to catch your breath before you were suddenly pushed into a wall, a large hand clasp around your mouth preventing you from screaming. Fear and panic shot through your body as memories of the night you were attacked surfaced, fueling your struggle. Not again, not here, not with so many people around. 

Both of your hands pulled at the hand on your mouth and you finally looked up only to freeze. Even the panic in you seized up, unsure whether or not you were being threatened. Piercing blue eyes stared at you from underneath a black hood. The bleach stained tear streaks are a frightening illusion of humanity that you’re not certain is even there. 

“You!” Well, at least that what you tried to say, his hand still muffled your voice.

This man, the man who saved you that night, held you up against the wall, your toes barely scraping the floor, with one hand covering your mouth. It was almost the exact same position your attacker held you in right before he stabbed you. Part of you wanted to panic still, had your heart racing and breathing quickly. But another part of you was just…confused. He wasn’t doing anything else but holding you. If he had wanted to kill you, among other things, he could have done it back in that alley. Instead he saved you. He killed the man who attacked you. He helped you call an ambulance. He stopped you from bleeding out. You didn’t even say a word about him to the police. So why would he want to hurt you now?

You tried to calm your breathing as you stared up into his eyes. Cold blue locked you into place, but the danger in his eyes wasn't malice. It was something else entirely. 

Finally he lifted his hand from your mouth, you drawing in a gasp of air, and set you fully back on your feet. His free hand remained firmly planted on the wall beside your head, keeping you in place flush between him and the wall. Then he gently traced your bottom lip with his thumb, landing where a now healed cut once split your lip. Your heart raced, heat blooming across your face, as you remembered his kiss. That kind of intensity in a kiss, in any other situation, would have been erotic. Really, you had been on the verge of death and it was still probably the best kiss you'd had in years. 

You whimpered at his touch. He had been so rough even though he thought you were going to die and now the pressure of his thumb on your lip sent an arousing wave of fear through you. 

He leered down at you, eyes starting to dilate, "tell me to stop." 

With your heart hammering in your chest, it took a moment for you to register his words. What? 

You opened your mouth, no words forming, and his thumb slipped past your lips and grazed your teeth. You whined, which only seemed to spur him on, and he pushed against your jaw even more, forcing your mouth wider. “Speak up, Engel.” 

He was so close to you, his knee slid between your legs, rubbing against your core and pushing you higher against the wall again. You let out a shuddering gasp, your hands flying from him in an attempt to stabilize yourself against the wall, but you made no move, made no demand, to stop him. He rocked his knee up, grinding slowly and gently into your pussy, drawing a quiet moan from you. Your pussy clenched when he put pressure on your clit and you bit down on his thumb, hot tongue brushing against the invading digit. 

König grinned, though you could not see it, and chuckled. He leaned even closer to you, hood pooling over your shoulder and growled in your ear. “Fucking slut.” 

This time your gasp was cut short as he slapped a hand across your mouth again. He lifted you with ease, tucked you against his body and dragged you out of the bar through the back door, not one person seeing the quick departure. 

You struggled against him, hands flying to the one over your mouth and you clawed at him, you kicked your feet but he was so big and tall that he easily held you above the ground. He wanted to chuckle. You reminded him of a feral kitten caught by animal control. Just as cute, or cuter, even.

He didn’t drop you until he reached the side of the bar. There was a gate separating the dingy little alley and the parking lot, decorative trees planted near the gate. It was unlocked, he made sure it was before he approached you, but it still would still provide the illusion that you were trapped.  

You grunted when your feet hit the ground, stumbling forward into the brick wall. You tried to duck around the man, but he easily swung you back in front of him, pushing you against the wall, though he cushioned the back of your head with one large hand.

You looked up at him as you drew in panicked, quick breaths. Just like before, he leered down at you as if he was waiting for you to say something. You bit your lip, his eyes flicking down to watch as your teeth worried at your bottom lip. “Wh-what do you want?”

His eyes looked back up and slowly he lifted a knife you hadn't even seen him grab to your throat. You stilled and tipped your head back, attempting to get the blade away from your delicate skin. There was a scar on your neck that you usually kept covered up, but like this, it was exposed to him.

He traced the scar with the tip of his knife, “what do you want, Engel?”

You swallowed thickly, holding as still as possible so he didn't slice through your skin. And you didn't answer him.

He huffed, “do you want me to stop?” The knife dragged down the scar to the collar of your shirt. “That's all you have to say, my dear.”

As much as you tried to control your breathing, your chest was heaving, drawing his eyes down to it for a moment before he looked up again. That hood made it difficult to read him, but his eyes were so expressive. You knew what he wanted. The heat in his eyes matched the nearly overwhelming heat his large body gave off. The same heat you could feel swelling in your body. You swallowed again, your mouth refusing to answer his question.

“No?” The knife slipped underneath your collar and he tugged, slicing through the fabric. 

It was so similar yet different to the sound of fabric being torn apart and ripped off of your body. It was cleaner, sharper and the definite but soft scratch of the tip of the blade on your heated skin sent your pulse wild. He hummed as he cut open your shirt, revealing the plain bra underneath.  

You hadn't even realized just how hard you were breathing, how much your chest heaved with every breath, until his blade bounced on the swell of your breast and he sucked his teeth. “Stay still.” He growled out, eyes flicking up to your eyes and away from your exposed chest.

You bit back a high pitched gasp, holding your breath as he dragged the blade across your chest, until he reached the left bra strap.

You shivered as you heard the soft ping of the knife slicing through the strap. He once again looked up from your chest to your eyes, his own narrowing in disapproval. “Perhaps you want to be hurt, hm?”

You whined and squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to hold your breath again to remain as still as possible. He slowly moved the tip of the knife across your chest again, this time angling it so more of the edge touched your skin. Another ping and you flinched as the other strap of your bra was cut.

He was silent for only a moment, the flat of the blade resting near the middle of your chest, just by your left breast, every beat of your heart making it jump ever so slightly. You could hear his heavy breaths, almost feel them against your face, even through that terrifying hood. For a moment, in that silence, you thought you were safe. That he was done.

Until he quickly shoved his free hand up the back of your shirt and unhooked your bra clasp. You squealed, eyes flying open, and jumped as he ripped what remained of your bra off of you. You only caught a glimpse of his eyes, blown wild with lust, before he spun you around and pushed you face first into the brick wall.

Your hands, which had been covering your chest in an attempt to save your dignity, were now bracing you against the wall so you didn't smash your face into it. You shivered again, remembering how he killed your attacker months ago, by shoving him so hard against a brick wall that he lost consciousness.

The hand holding the knife came to rest to the right side of your face against the wall. The metal gave an unnerving scrape against the brick that caused another shiver to run down your spine. His left hand snaked around to grope your left breast. His large hand, hot and rough, cupped your soft flesh with ease.

“Such pretty tits,” he hummed as he pinched your nipple, drawing another distressed squeak from you as your nipples hardened under his touch.

Your eyes were screwed shut once again and you attempted to wriggle out of his hold. You pressed your body as close to the wall as you could, but that only made him close in on you more, his crotch now firmly resting on your ass. He moved his hand to grope your other breast and bucked his hips forward with a deep grunt, the hard bulge of his cock rubbing against your ass. You bit back a whimper as your pussy clenched around nothing, arousal starting to pool in your panties.

His hand traveled down, grabbing what was left of your shirt and tearing it, leaving it hanging open on your shoulders. Your body welcomed the sudden partial nudity. The air was hot and thick and it felt like a cool relief to be free of even the light cotton. He pressed his hand against your stomach, pulling you against him even more, and for a moment he froze.

All the roughness in his touch disappeared as his fingers gently traced the nasty scar on your stomach. You whined, not from desperate arousal but shame. After what happened to you, you should be trying harder to fight this. You shouldn't want this, no matter how deep down it was, or how hard you tried to deny it. You dropped your head against the wall, resting your forehead against one hand as you waited for him to finish his assault.

König growled at your reaction to the scar on your stomach. You had looked up at him with growing lust, as tentative as that was, when he traced the scar on your neck with his knife. But the scar on your stomach, evidence of how close your brush with death had been, had paralyzed you. You were too quiet for him to enjoy this. He wanted to hear you cry and whimper, wanted to feel you rocking your body against his as you had been only a moment ago. Most of all, he didn't didn't want you to fear him.

He steadied you with his left hand, his hand heavy on your bare shoulder, and used his right to rip the rest of the tattered shirt off of you. You gasped and cried, and not in the way he wanted to hear, as you stood facing the wall with both arms crossed over your chest and your eyes squeezed shut. Then he removed the simple field jacket he was wearing and draped it over your shoulders.

You froze again as you were suddenly enveloped in warmth and spun around to face your savior/attacker. He roughly pulled the jacket closed, deft fingers fastening the button that fell just over your belly button. You were still somewhat exposed to him, but the scar on your stomach was now once again hidden underneath a layer of clothing.

Your mind barely registered the glint of his knife before it was pressed to your neck once more. He dug the point of the blade into the scar, not enough to puncture, but enough to draw your attention back up to his face.

His eyes were narrowed, furrowed brows peeking beneath the crudely cut eye holes of his mask. If you could see the rest of his face, he would probably be scowling at you.

As much as you wanted to grip the jacket closed, you kept your arms stiff at your sides. One wrong move could open up the scar on your neck again. 

He leaned down, his face inching closer to yours, his blade biting just a little bit more. "Say it." His voice is half a whisper, half a frustrated growl. 

Your lips part, tongue darting out to lick them, but you remained quiet, afraid to give him the wrong answer to his riddle. 

He growled again and pushed you harder against the wall. "Say it!" He practically screamed, and his knife finally pierced your skin, drawing just the slightest bit of blood. 

You flinched, as fear and pain laced adrenaline rushed through your veins, to your core, your clit throbbing as the knife stung your skin. Unconsciously, you steadied yourself by bracing your hands on his sturdy chest. His eyes flickered down at the movement, at the way you were clutching to him and squeezing your thighs together and he grinned under his mask. Oh you were scared of him alright, and you wanted it.  “Filthy fucking whore.” 

Your gasp, perhaps a protest of his words, if you even understood them, is strangled as you find yourself facing the wall again, his thick jacket protecting your hands and arms from the rough brick. 

His right hand holds his knife against the left side of your neck, still pressed against the old scar as his left is shoved down your pants. You whine and gasp and squirm as he circles your clit with two fingers. He groans behind you and his hips jerk forward, the motion causing the blade to cut your skin some more, a thin trail of blood starting to stain your skin. 

You cry, biting your lip and dropping your head against the wall, at the mixed sensations, the stinging pain blending with the pure pleasure of his fingers slipping up and down, around, your clit.

He groaned as his fingers slipped further down and spread your slick around your pussy. You squeezed your thighs around his hand and he pants in your ear before shoving a knee between your thighs, preventing you from closing them. 

His knee between your legs pushes you up against the wall and your toes barely find purchase on the ground. “You want this, ja?” He says as he starts to rock your hips against his thigh as his hand continues to play with your pussy. 

His fingers, hot and thick, slip into you as his palm rubs your clit. “Ja.” He grunts as he sinks a second finger into you, slowly pumping them.  His fingers pick up their pace and you moan when he inserts another digit. He curls his fingers just right as he pumps them, drawing out whines that you try to quiet. You hide your face in your hands, finding odd comfort in the warm scent that lingers on his coat, and choke back a moan as your hips are rocked against his thigh faster.

He pulls his fingers out, soaked in your juices, and goes back to focusing on your clit. “Of course you want this,” he half chuckles and half pants as finally removes his hand from your pussy, strings of cum sticking to your exposed skin as he nudges your chin with the knife so your head leans back against his chest. 

He held his hand up, spreading his fingers to show you your own arousal. "You wouldn't be this fucking wet if you didn't want this." 

You tried to turn your head away, so you didn't have to look at those lust clouded eyes in soft darkness, but he tuts and shoves two cum covered fingers into your mouth. He hummed as he watched you gag on his fingers, at least he relented enough that you were no longer deepthroating his fingers. “Wouldn’t be fucking my thigh like a desperate whore if you didn’t want this.” 

You froze, as if just realizing that with one of his hands still holding a knife to your throat and the other stuffing your mouth with his fingers, the eager grinding of your hips on his thigh was entirely you. He laughed and rocked his knee up into your aching pussy, “don’t stop now.”

The drag of his knee puts perfect pressure on your clit and you whine around his fingers as your pussy clenches around nothing. “Keep. Moving.” He growled in your ear as he glides the knife down the old scar down your neck to just above your collarbone, a thin line of blood beading against your skin. It stings and your cries are smothered by his fingers and he rocks his knee up again and you slide against his thigh just right that the pain becomes pleasure. 

He moans with you as you start to grind down in his leg again, back and forth and you even do your best to bounce while your feet barely touch the ground. His hips start to move with you, his hard cock on your ass adding fuel to the fire that burns within you. 

He’s grunting now, everytime you bounce against his dick, and he drops his hand from your mouth and starts to grope your tits again, making your shudder as he squeezes, his grip is bruising but your clit still throbs, your pussy still flutters with every touch of his rough hands.

The knife finally drops from your neck and he holds it against your waist then leans down, the mask he is wearing falling over your shoulder and you feel his breath on your bare skin.

“You belong to me now, Engel.” 

You gasp and shiver as he mumbles darkly into your neck, head lolling back so you can look at him, but all you see is the black of his mask. His grip on you tightens, the handle of the knife pushing into your hip painfully, his hand fondling your breasts roughly, his thigh pushing up against your pussy pleasurably. 

His tongue, hot and big, laps at your shoulder in a smothered kiss before he bites down, his sharp teeth catching the edge of the cut on your neck and that’s enough to push you into orgasm. You pussy wildly, almost painfully, clenching as you cum against his leg. 

He hums, strangely gentle, and slowly rocks you back and forth on his leg, letting your orgasm fade until your wanton moans are no more than the occasional whimper. 

You stumble forward into the wall when he drops his knee. Your clit is still throbbing as you pull the jacket closer to you and hide your face in your hands. You’re mostly just trying to catch your breath and calm down, but somewhere in the back of your mind you still feel shame at the way your cum gushes down your thighs, soaking into your pants. 

You barely register the shuffling behind you until you feel his hands on you again. You flinch, expecting him to be rough, but his touch is gentle as he rubs your arms. “You did good.” He mumbles his compliment into your hair. “Let’s go.” 

You can’t exactly say no to him, as he easily swoops you up off of your feet and carries you through the rickety gate to the bar parking lot. You absently note how easy it was for him to push the gate open, but do not let your thoughts linger on it once he unlocks a truck and sets you down in the passenger seat. 

He’s kind enough to adjust the jacket to cover your chest entirely before he buckles you up. His hips brush against your leg and you break out of the dazed reverie when you feel how hard his cock still is. 

 “Where are you taking me?” 

The man, your…savior (you feel hesitant to label him as your attacker, even after what just happened), slips off the hood before he looks up at you. His hair is disheveled and matted down with sweat and even in the faint street lighting you can see a few scars scattered around his clean shaven face. His eyes, icy cold blue, the only part of him you could see before, shine with something…soft? Unexpected, certainly. 

“Home.” He answers and drops the hood in your lap before shutting the door and walking around to the driver side. 

You hold the mask up in your hands as he starts the engine. The bleached tear stains and empty eye holes stare up at you suggesting danger and pain and death, and safety.

-

When he said home, he apparently meant his home. You felt silly for thinking he knew where you lived. The place he pulls up to is nice. Much nicer than you expected for a man so dangerous, more importantly you supposed, it’s spacious. There was some good distance between his house and the last house you saw and that has your pulse speeding up as he opens the door for you.

He doesn’t even wait for you to move, for you to second guess everything, before unbuckles you and carries you inside. You want to insist that you can walk on your own, but you are sticky with cum and dried blood and honestly, he’s so warm.

When he mumbles something about cleaning up you just nod and let him place you in a shower. You only react when he strips down and steps into the shower with you. 

It could have been a sensual shower, it was certainly big enough and as you catch a glimpse of how big his dick is when it is soft, your clit twitches at the memory of it hard and rutting against your ass. But he is quick to wash himself, and though he spends more time washing your body (or maybe he was just taking his time to feel you up), it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. 

You want to tell him there isn’t really a point in applying that ointment he is gently spreading along the scar on your neck. It’s already healed to an ugly scar.  But he is so gentle as he bandages the fresh cut and rubs you dry with a soft towel as you sit on his very large bed. 

“What’s your name?” 

Would it have been better or worse to ask for his name before he fingered you in some dirty back alley?

“König.” He doesn’t give more than that.

“König.” You repeat and he looks up at you from where he is kneeling on the floor in front of you. “Thank you. For killing that man.” 

He hummed as he continued to pat your thighs dry with the oversized towel that was wrapped around you. “You didn’t tell the police about me.” 

It’s not a question. Somehow he knows that you didn’t tell the police, so you just shrug. “I told them I don’t remember what happened after I got stabbed.” 

His hands stop moving and rest on the outsides of your thighs, playing with the hem of the towel. “But you do remember?” 

You nod. “Everything.” 

There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence between you, his fingers start tapping against your thighs and he shifts his weight. The towel that he has wrapped around his waist threatens to fall loose and he uses the excuse to secure it as an opportunity to break his gaze with you.

“What you said back there, that I belong to you now. What does that mean?” 

This time he meets your eyes, “what it sounds like.” 

“...Does that mean you’ll protect me?” 

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.” And he drops a small kiss to your knee, letting his lips linger on your skin.

You reach out and gently cup his cheek to push him away from your legs. “Can you be gentle?” König moves his face just enough to kiss the inside of your wrist. “Yes.” 

Whether he takes your question as a suggestion, or he simply decided that it was time to move onto other activities, he leans down again and places another kiss to your knee, gently spreading your legs and moving his mouth to your inner thigh. As he moves his mouth to splay a kiss on your other thigh, one of his large hands comes up to remove the towel on you body, brushing against your covered breast for just a moment before he tugs on the towel. 

You don’t let the towel drop completely, holding it tight to your chest, and he pauses his sweet kisses.

“Look at me,” he demands, stretching up and leaning against the bed, one knee between yours as he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him. His grip is firm but not painful, not even close to how tightly he had grabbed you earlier in the night. 

Your eyes jump from one scar to another before settling on his steely eyes. “Good. Now,” he leans in closer, lips hovering over yours, “trust me.” 

His kiss starts off gentle before his tongue finds that spot on your bottom lip where it was once split, he nibbles and sighs as if he can still taste the blood that was once there. Your lips part when you feel his teeth and his tongue glides against yours. It’s slow and gentle and has you melting into his touch, dropping the towel that hides your scars from him. He wastes no time in tossing it off the bed, his lips never leaving yours even as he slides his hands over your waist to pull you closer to the edge of the bed.

You let out a little squeak at the sudden movement and he grins as he pulls away from the kiss, breathing against your lips. “Remember. Trust me.” 

You can only nod as he moves his mouth down your neck, placing soft quick kisses over the fresh bandages before he moves to the other side of your neck. His kisses on the juncture of your neck become sloppy, his tongue lapping at your skin like it is covered in something sweet. He bites down hard, teeth sinking into your soft flesh, turning your quiet little pants into a gasping moan. 

“You belong to me now.” He repeats his claim between gentle soothing kisses on the fresh bite mark he just made. 

You nod, accepting your fate, as you grip onto his shoulders. He hums and trails his mouth down your body, gently kissing the bruises that started to bloom on your breasts from how hard he groped you before. Your soft whimper, born of pleasure and pain, makes his cock twitch underneath his towel and he shucks that off too. 

He lays you down on your back and swirls his tongue around a nipple, enjoying the way you arch into his mouth. “Look at me.” He reminds you when he sees that you have closed your eyes.

When you look at him again he grins and playfully bites your nipple, laughing at the little squeak you let out before. Your giggles turn into a soft sigh as he moves to your other breast. His touch has you sinking into a cloud of lust. You want to throw your head back, close your eyes, and surrender to him, but you remember his order and keep your eyes on him.

You go tense when he trails his kisses down to your stomach. His eyes shoot up at you, making sure you are still watching him, as he traces the horrid scar with his lips and tongue. Eventually, with the help of his big warm hands running soothing touches up and down your body, you stop squirming uncomfortably. You’re still squirming, but for entirely different reasons. König notices and with a grin he pushes himself up, pulling you up with him and placing one of your hands on his stomach.

Admittedly, your touch and mind is drawn to the hard muscle, padded with a healthy layer of fat, flexes under your hand. You want to touch the rest of him, explore the rest of him. It is only after a second that you realize what you are touching. A scar. Raised skin in a jagged pattern, like someone attempted to twist the knife that stabbed him. You gently trace the scar as if you are afraid to agitate it. 

He senses your hesitation and laughs as he presses your palm against it even harder. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, Engel.” Then he reaches out to touch the scar on your stomach, smaller and cleaner, but fresher and still tender if pressed too hard. 

You look down at his hand on your scar and yours on his. They’re almost in the same place. He leans forward and presses a small kiss to your lips and rests his forehead against yours. “I should be dead. You should be dead.” This was simply proof that were meant for him, he was certain of that. 

Who needs matching tattoos when you have matching scars?

“König,” you breathe out, though you are not sure what you want to say to him. Instead, when his eyes meet yours, you kiss him. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and pull yourself as close to him as possible. 

He moans into the kiss and, tender moment over, pushes you fully against the bed again. He slides down your body again, stopping only momentarily to place a soft kiss on your stomach before he dives between your thighs. 

You don’t even have time to act shy before he’s spreading your legs and swiping his tongue through the folds of your pussy. He’s quick to circle his tongue around your clit, drawing out a soft moan between panting breaths, as your hips move up to meet his mouth. He groans, the subtle vibrations adding extra stimulation, and practically nuzzles your pussy, nose bumping against your clit as he sinks his tongue into your quivering hole. No matter what you do, hands pulling at his hair tightly or thighs clenching around his head, it only earns more moans from him. He laps at your pussy, your juices mixing with his spit and drags his tongue back up to your throbbing clit. 

He locks one hand onto your hip but the other travels up your body to your breasts. True to his word, he is gentle with them this time. No bruising grip sending you teetering on the edge of pleasure and pain. Instead he rolls your nipple, pinching just soft enough that it hardens under his touch. He moves his hand and repeats the action with your other breast, reveling in every little whine and gasp he pulls out of you. All the while he continues to eat your pussy like it’s his last meal.

He has you so needy and aching that it’s euphoric when he slips two fingers into you at once. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, reluctant to let him go but the slide of him pumping into you again makes you gush. One of your hands claws at his hair, gripping his locks to keep you grounded, but the other holds onto his hand that had been playing with your tits. Unable to properly play with your tits now, he laces his fingers with yours, holding your hand as he pulls and orgasm out of you,

Unlike the first time he made you cum, you don’t try to hold back your moans, you don’t hide your face from him, though at some point as he ate you out, you had thrown your head back and closed your eyes from how good it felt. He’d just have to forgive you for that.

König rests his check against one of your thighs as he watches you come down from your orgasm. 

It’s not until he gently squeezes his hand that is still holding yours that you look down at him. Somehow the sight of him between your thighs, face glistening with your cum, makes you blush even harder than you already were. 

“Ready for more, Engel?” 

You blink at him. “More?”

He chuckles and pushes himself up, first dropping a heated kiss onto your lips, his tongue sliding into your mouth and letting you taste yourself. As much as he could spend all night kissing you, right now he had another pressing need to take care of. He sat up on his knees, pushing your thighs further apart to accommodate him, and stroked his painfully hard cock.

Oh!

Your eyes are drawn to him and widen. You knew he was big. You’d seen him soft and felt it against your ass, but seeing it standing at full erection was another thing entirely. It’s easily the biggest cock you’ve ever seen, not even your favorite porn stars can hope to compete. 

You sit up and reach out to touch him, replacing his hand with your own and you swallow thickly. You wrap your fingers around the shaft, your pussy clenching when you see that your fingers don’t even meet. Still, you give gentle strokes, eyes glazing over at how much of his veiny cock you can still see around your fist. He’s already leaking copious amounts of precum, that you collect on your fingers to slick up your next stroke. You lean down and circle your tongue around the head, a shiver running down your spine when he moans wantonly as you wrap your lips around the head. 

You moan as you stretch your mouth around his cock and imagine what it would feel like stretching your pussy out. You let out a little gasp for air when you come back up, going from sucking to licking his cock, just so you can reach the base of it. König moans again and buries a hand in your hair. For a moment you think he’s going to force your mouth onto him again, but instead he pulls you up for another passionate kiss. 

“Another time. I need to fuck you.” He pants against your mouth when he pulls away.

You whimper and nod and throw yourself back onto the pillows, eager to accept the challenge of his massive cock. You drop one hand to your clit, rocking your fingers against the sensitive button. 

König produces a bottle of lube from the nightside and slicks himself up. In the future, he can take the time to make you cum enough times to take his dick naturally. But he is eager to feel you now. Besides, you look just as eager as he feels, as you watch him stroke himself. 

He nudges your hand away from your clit and replaces it with his own, rubbing lube along your pussy and drawing excited pants from you. He dips a finger in you, feeling your pussy clench around his finger and grins. “Engel?” 

You nod, “please, König!”

He slid the head of his cock through your folds, your pussy throbbing as the slick head rubbed against your clit. You whined at not being filled but the way his heavy cock bounced on your clit already had you desperately begging. 

He managed a strained chuckle, holding himself back from immediately fucking you was one of the hardest things he’s ever done, and pushed the tip of his dick against your entrance. He used his right hand to hold your hips, and used his left hand to rub languid circles around your clit. 

You choked back a garbled moan as you felt him begin to stretch you out.  Your chest heaved as you rocked your hips up, encouraging him to keep going. You were whimpering, writhing against the bed grasping at his shoulders as he sunk deeper into you. He was so fucking big and barely got the tip of his dick inside of you before you pussy began to frantically pulsate around him. He groaned and forced himself to stay still, for both of your sakes. You looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears and drool pooling at the corners of your mouth, and he almost lost it. He promised he’d be gentle though, at least this time.

He grabbed the bottle of lube again and squeezed some more out on his dick before thrusting forward again. Your pussy clenched around him, squeezing him desperately, as he slowly filled you. Though the size of his cock stretched you beyond anything you’d ever felt before, though it teetered to just the wrong side of pain, you couldn’t get enough of it. Especially with the way his thumb kept playing with your clit. You cried his name and tried to grind your hips up. 

He slowly dragged his cock out, moaning at the sight of your pussy clinging to him, and started another agonizingly slow push. 

“König,” you started with a breathy whine, “faster. Please.” 

He dropped down to one elbow and nuzzled his nose against the side of your face, missing your lips as he tried to kiss you and simply licking at your jaw. He muttered your name hotly in your ear, your pussy quivering at the sound of his strained voice. 

He snapped his hips forward, burying his cock deep in you and started frantic, rapid, strokes. You cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips, he was so big and heavy and hard that your world was reduced to the pleasure he brought with every stroke of his amazing cock. 

He promised to be gentle, he knew he shouldn’t do it, but he couldn’t help but clamp his teeth down on your uninjured shoulder, muffling his own obscene moans as your pussy spasmed around him. His eyes rolled back in his head and his thrust became erratic, chasing an orgasm, as blood filled his mouth. Your blood was still so sweet, divine, enough to send him over the edge. His hips stilled as he cock twitched inside of you, spilling inside of you. 

You moaned, or screamed, when he bit you, leaving a second mark on you, and the string of his bite brought with it white hot pleasure. Hot cum filled you, your pussy convulsing rapidly, milking him and refusing to let go. 

He pulled out with a long groan, the two of you overstimulated and your pussy was still clenching around him, and collapsed to the side of you. He draped an arm around you and held you close to him, muttering something about angels in German that you didn’t have the faculties to translate at that moment. 

He was the first to recover, propping himself up on his elbows and leaning over to lick and kiss the fresh bite mark on your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

You gave a breathless laugh and lazily pulled his face up to kiss you. “Don’t worry, I liked it.” As if the mind blowing orgasm that followed the bite wasn’t a big enough hint.

“Now, can you let go of me?” 

“No.” 

Your laugh was sharper this time, and it brought a grin to his face. “Let go, I have to pee!” 

He sighed dramatically and grabbed your hand, bringing to his lips to press a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “Come back to me?”

Even as you pulled your hand out of his, you could feel the smile that graced his lips upon hearing you giggle. But at least he finally let you go. 

Your post orgasmic high wore off while you were cleaning up and your mind, having been clouded by lust since he grabbed you at the bar, was able to think straight.

You walked back to the room, feeling shy at your lack of clothing, and saw that he had changed the top blanket on the bed. The other soaked in cum, apparently. 

He looked up and smiled, bright and energetic despite how tired he was. “Engel, you came back!” He joked as he rushed over and pulled you into a hug. 

You kept still, but with his arms wrapped around you, you could do little else. He picked you up, much as he had done back at the bar, and set you down in the bed before he curled up next to you and pulled the covers over both of you.

“König?” 

He hummed as he nuzzled his face in your neck, inhaling your intoxicating combined scents.

“...I never told you my name.” 

[Death’s Promise]

“...I never told you my name.” 

König doesn’t answer you, only tightens his hold around you. It’s only when you try to shift, to put just enough distance between you that you can turn around and face him, that he speaks. His voice deceptively calm, if the way his arms tighten around you again is anything to go by. “I already told you, you belong to me now.”

You frown. That was no answer to how he knew your name. Or, now that you thought about it, how he knew that you didn’t tell the police about him. 

“It. It wasn’t a coincidence that you were at that bar tonight, was it?” You try not to stutter.

He doesn’t answer, instead starts to press his lips into the hickey on your shoulder. A reminder of his claim. 

“How long have you been following me?” 

His lips continue to move from your shoulder to your neck, stopping to nibble at your pulse point. You can feel the grin on his lips when your pulse speeds up.

Whatever he is making you feel, you repeat the question. “How long have you been following me?” 

“Go to sleep, Engel.” 

“At least tell me why.” 

“To make sure no one else touches you.” 

Well, it’s not like you wanted anyone to touch you anyway. And his touch isn’t unpleasant. Quite the opposite, really.

You should stop this. Get away from him. You knew he was dangerous, you saw it first hand, and who knows how long he’d been following you. Maybe since that very night you were attacked.

And yet, “...No one?” “No one.” 

That actually sounded kind of nice…

-

Work sucked. Mostly because of one person and the fact that you felt like you could do nothing about it. All you could do was race out at the end of the day and get home as quickly as possible. 

Home…It took all of a week for König to move you from your flat (he said it wasn’t safe at your old place and you weren’t going to question what he meant by that) into his house. Was it a rushed relationship? Sure. Was it a questionable, leaning towards dangerous, decision on your part? Absolutely. Did you regret it? Not at all. 

You let your frustrations out on a bunch of vegetables, your knife chopping through them and onto the cutting board with increasing force. You didn’t even realize how hard you were chopping until a large hand stopped your own before it hit the board again. You froze, König’s other arm wrapping around your waist as he leaned down to rest his chin on your head. 

“Careful, Engel. You don’t want to hurt yourself.” 

“Oh! König! I didn’t even hear you come in!” You crane your neck back so he could place a soft kiss to your lips. He does so with a pleased hum. 

His face is bare, a sight you quickly came to love. He leaves the simple mask he usually wears hanging in the entranceway. (His sniper hood he only dons when he’s deployed or when he’s “hunting”). 

“How could you with all that noise you were making? What did that poor carrot do to you?” 

You let out a sheepish chuckle, “sorry. Just thinking about work stuff.” 

You picked up one of the carrot rounds and held it up by your shoulder, where he leaned down and nibbled it out of your hand. 

“What about work?” 

You resumed your chopping, much less forceful. “Ugh. Nothing really. Just this guy keeps bothering me.” 

He tensed behind you, his grip on your waist getting tighter, not uncomfortably so, just more protective, as he growled out his question. “Has he touched you?” 

“No! Well, not like that…” The shoulder squeezes and lingering pats on the back were unwelcome, but, as your supervisor said, meant nothing more than that the guy was being friendly. “It’s really annoying to have to pick up his slack, especially after all of his little inappropriate comments.” 

König nodded as he listened to your rant, but all he heard was some man had dared to put his hands on you, even if you didn’t think it was sexual, and said something inappropriate to you. “Want me to kill him?” 

“Yes!” You giggle at the joke.

“Ok.” 

You freeze and turn around to face him. “Wait. I’m kidding.”

He smiles and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Ok.” 

“No,” you press your lips in a straight line. “I’m serious. You can’t kill him.” 

The way he tilts his head is far too cute for someone as large as he is casually discussing murder. “Why not?”

It had been a while since he killed anyone. Why shouldn’t he kill someone you hated? Two birds, one stone.

“Because he works with me!”

“Not for long.” 

You laugh and gently push him out of the kitchen and into the living room. Once in the living room, you make him sit down on the couch, having to resort to pulling him down for a kiss to get him to settle. His hands naturally fall to your hips as you straddle him, clutching at the fabric of the simple cotton dress you had changed into after work. 

“Now, you listen to me,” you start with a firm poke to his chest, only to stop when you realize you were still holding the kitchen knife in your hand. Oops. Knowing him, though, he probably liked you threatening him with it. You twisted around in his lap just enough to drop the knife onto the coffee table in front of the couch and return your attention to him. “As much as I want you to kill the bastard, you can’t.” 

He furrows his brows, and is practically pouting as he asks his question again. “Why?”

“Because, everyone knows I have a problem with him.”

“And he still works there?” 

You had to bite back a laugh. He had a point. You were not the first to draw unwanted attention from the guy. Why complaints from more than one woman didn’t lead to any disciplinary action was questionable. Still, you ignore his question and continue.

“When the cops find him dead, or missing, I’ll be a suspect.” 

König chuckles as he moves his hands gently up and down your sides, moving your dress higher up your thighs with each pass of his hands. “You? Little one?” 

This time you do laugh a little. “Let me finish!”

Schooling his face, he nods. “Ok, tell me how you will be suspected of murder.”

“Not me!” You answer with a faux exasperated sigh. “They’ll look at me and realize I have a hard time even hurting a fly. But one look at you,” you start to drag your hands on either of his forearms, fingers dancing along his veiny muscles. “My giant, strong, military trained boyfriend and they’ll get suspicious.”

His smile has dropped, either from your prediction, or the way your hands continue to tantalize him and move up his arms to rest on his shoulders.

“Even if they don’t find proof, they’ll at least surveille you for a bit. Do you really want the police looking into you?” 

For a moment he is quiet, no joking, even his grip on your hips is still. He can’t pretend that what you said is entirely unsound. No matter how careful he was to leave no trace behind, the personal connection to you would always be suspect. 

“So,” you lean in close to him, your lips hovering close to his. “You’re not going to kill him, right?” 

He averts his eyes and doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to lie to you, and your reason, while sound, isn’t enough to deter him. 

“König,” your voice is stern and you grab his chin and force him to look at you. 

“This man has touched you.” 

You want to roll your eyes. You want to pretend like he’s playfully overreacting. Certainly a couple of lingering pats does not warrant murder, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about König, at least when it comes to you, is that he’s intense. He is one hundred percent planning on killing your coworker just because he touched your shoulder. 

Your hands slide down his shoulders to rest on his chest, just above his heart where you clench at his shirt. “Promise me you won’t kill him.” When he still doesn’t answer you frown and press your forehead onto his. “I need you, König. I need you to stay with me.” Your voice wavers a little as you lock your eyes with his. “I need you to protect me.” 

“Fine, my love.” He finally sighs and captures your lips in a gentle kiss; he can’t stand to see you looking so sad because of something he might do. “I will not kill him.” 

“Good.” You nod and smile at him, and your smile is so brilliant that it is enough to sate his bloodlust. 

You lean forward again to kiss him, with all intentions to pull away and go back to making dinner. But his grip on your hips tightens and he holds you close and deepens the kiss. 

He smiles against your lips as you giggle when he doesn’t let you pull away. 

“I am curious.” You start, voice dropping like it wasn’t just the two of you in the house.

He hums against your lips then starts to drag his kisses down your jaw to your neck, grinning as your next words come out a little breathless. 

“If you were going to kill him, how would you do it?”

He actually stops and looks up at you, wondering if this was some kind of test.

You smile and give him a small peck on the lips. “Just hypothetically speaking, of course.” 

König licks his lips nervously, only relaxing when you take his right hand in both of yours and start to idly play with his fingers. 

“He touched you,” he starts and pauses again. You nod and give a little hum to encourage him to keep going. 

“I’d start with his hands.” 

You shift your eyes up to meet his before looking back down at his hand. You nod and turn his hand over, palm down in one of your hands as your free hand gently traces the veins on his hand. His fingers twitch underneath your touch and you sweetly smile at him, “keep going.” 

“I’d crush one of his hands beneath my boot.” 

You place his hand on the top of your thigh as you nod once again. You let out a quiet excited breath as he squeezes your thigh, his large hands hot against your skin. 

“Just one hand?” You ask coquettishly as you drag his hand down to the inside of your thigh.

He hums again, eyes locked between your thighs, at his hand slipping underneath your skirt. 

“I’d take my time with his other hand.” His knuckles brush your clothed mound, putting the lightest pressure on your clit. “Break his fingers one at a time.” 

You bite your lip and lock your eyes with his as you roll your hips forward, turning his touch on your clit from feather light to firm. 

His eyes darken, blood thrumming with excitement, and he can hardly tell what has him excited more, watching you squirm against his hand or sharing the kind of thoughts he long ago learned to keep to himself. The fact that he was sharing these thoughts with you, feeling your arousal dampen your panties, makes his heart beat wildly. 

He shifts his hand, turning it so that his thumb can start to rub small circles around your clit while his fingers dip into the edge of your panties. The back of his fingers slide against pussy, collecting your slick and dragging it up to your clit. You jolt and let out a small gasp at his touch, grasping at his shoulders to keep you upright so you can keep your eyes on him. 

He continued to tease your pussy, reveling in every little reaction from you, until you were a wet whimpering mess on his lap. “Then I’d smash his face in, for thinking he was worthy of even looking at you,” you moaned as he slipped a finger into you, “of breathing the same air as you.” He slowly started to slide his finger out, a smirk on his face as you rocked your hips forward.

“Maybe knock his teeth out for daring to talk to you.” He slid in a second finger, breathing a little faster as you moaned and fell forward further into him. You kissed him, tongue lapping at his lips before finding his own, as he pumped his fingers faster.

His free hand moved roughly from your hip to your breast, squeezing hard enough to draw desperate whimpers from you. He groaned and shifted to sit more comfortably, mouth dropping from your lips to your jaw, and pulled the top of your dress down. His lips capture your breast, tongue circling around the nipple, while his hand continues to knead and squeeze your other breast.  

Your head falls back and you gasp when he inserts a third finger, using his palm to rub your clit. He takes the opportunity to leave a surprisingly gentle kiss on the edge of the scar that peaks above your neckline. You shiver, despite how hot your body feels, as he pulls you closer to the edge. Your hips rock against his hand, your breath coming out in a combination of desperate pants and whines, every stroke of his fingers winding you up.

“But I will kill him with my hands around his neck, so I can watch him regret ever looking at you, as the life fades from his eyes.” 

Your whole body shakes as you cry out and fall forward, holding onto him with all your strength, as your pussy convulses wildly around his fingers, coating his hand in cum. 

König stilled as he watched you come down from your orgasm, panting and making cute little whimpers as he withdrew his hand. You were...glowing. It could have been the single ray of light coming in from a crack in the curtains illuminating your half naked body. Or the light sheen of sweat coating your skin that he was tempted to lick off you. But, he knew it was something else.

You had just come on his fingers as he described how he wanted to kill someone. You were truly an angel. A fucked up little angel sent to him by the god of death. If the military wasn't going to reward his skills, at least the universe had.

You shivered again and giggled into his shoulder before looking up at him with a smile. You hummed, squeezing your thighs together momentarily before sitting up and fixing your dress. You grabbed the discarded kitchen knife from the coffee table and planted a sweet and chaste kiss on his lips, as if he hadn't just finger fucked you to orgasm. "I need to finish making dinner."

He knew the moment he laid eyes on you, covered in blood and all, that he wanted you. He had no idea that he didn’t just want you, he needed you. 

He needed you. And he was just sitting there with a painfully hard boner while you walked back to the kitchen, legs shaky and making you lean on the walls and counter. He let you have a moment to calm down before bending you over the counter, ripping your soaked panties off of you and wildly fucking you. 

-

Not deployed and not “busy”, König's world revolved around you (and if his last deployment was anything to go by, you were his center regardless). He insisted on driving you to and from work. It was all great until you mentioned you would be working late one night. 

He went stiff and barely managed to get through his question without shaking in anger. “Will Christopher be working late with you?” 

You sighed, already dreading the late night dealing with your annoying coworker. “Yea, he's on my team.” Then you grinned, “maybe he'll see you when you drop me off and think twice before approaching me!”

König chuckled and leaned down to kiss you before slipping his face mask on. Honestly, he hoped that wasn't the case. He wanted an excuse to kill the man. 

That morning, of course, Christopher was late and didn't witness your incredibly large boyfriend help you down from his truck (not that you needed it, but he was ever the gentleman) as he dropped you off. 

You did your best to avoid Chris, but as the night dragged on, he became more persistent. 

“Someone’s a pretty little liar.” 

You sighed. You were already packing up, getting ready to leave, and he had to come and bother you one more time. “What?”

“I talked to Deb, and she said you don’t have a boyfriend.” 

Deb, the office gossip. 

“She doesn’t know everything about me.” 

Your phone buzzed just as you picked it up, a part of you was worried it was your supervisor, but one glance at the screen and you smiled. “And that’s him. He’s here to pick me up.” 

“I was just heading out, I’ll walk with you.” He clapped a hand on your shoulder and squeezed as he smirked at you. 

You stepped out of his hold and hurried to the door, confused when you didn’t see König’s truck waiting out front. Oh no. 

Your phone buzzed again, König telling you that he was in the far parking lot. 

“Well, where is he?” 

“Parked back there.” You gestured with your hand, from that distance even the truck looked small.

“What he can’t come get you? Maybe I should walk with you, talk to the guy.” 

You rolled your eyes and sidestepped his hand again. Whatever happened next was Chris’ own damn fault for being so fucking predictable.

Disabling the security cameras in the parking lot was easy. König sat in his truck, the temporarily distressed engine running idle, knee bouncing and fingers tapping the steering wheel excitedly. 

You hadn’t told him much about this Christopher, but from what you did, it was pretty much a given that he’d follow you through the parking lot. And lo and behold, König saw you and a man walking towards the truck. Every so often you’d take a side step and whenever König saw the man make the same step, closing the distance between the two of you again, his pulse just beat faster. 

Finally when you’re close enough, he jumped out of the truck and rushed to the passenger side. The sight of him even had you tense for a moment. Sure he was big, and the black tee shirt he wore did nothing to hide how muscular he was. But it was the sniper hood covering his face that made you pause. 

“What the fuck?” The man next to you muttered under his breath as you walked up to König.

König was fast to reach out and pull you to his side. 

At least he leans down to let you peck his cheek, though you got his chin instead, as a greeting. 

“Get in the truck. And don’t look.” 

You frown and pinch the edge of his mask. You’d only ever seen him wear it once. “I told you-”

“I know.” 

To Christopher’s credit, he was smart enough to try to get away as quickly and quietly as possible. König wasn’t having it though, and all it took was one giant step from him and he clapped his hand on Chris’ shoulder.

“Not so fast, hm?”

A shiver ran up your spine as you stood next to the truck. That cadence in König’s voice…

Chris tried to wiggle out of König’s hold, but his struggle only made König grip down harder. 

“You touched her-”

“N-no! I didn’t! She lied!” 

König’s eyes narrowed and Chris tried to stutter out another denial but was thrown into the asphalt face first, with a pathetic cry.

As Chris was trying to push himself up, König grabbed him by the back of his shirt and turned him around, pinning him on the ground.

Chris, a man who was in considerably good shape, still thought he had a chance to get away. He struggled, attempting to punch König in the ribs to get him to let go, but König chuckled. He then punched Chris directly in the face, a delightful burst of happy adrenaline running through his veins as he felt and heard the other man’s nose break underneath his hand.

Chris screamed, blood filling his mouth,  and rolled away from König, well, as much as he was allowed to. König stood back up, though remained hovering over Chris, who was doubled over in pain. After a few minutes, in which he shakily turned around and looked up, he managed to gasp out another plea. “Ok! Ok! I’ll leave her alone!”

“Good!” König beamed, his head tilted just slightly as he looked down at the other man. “But that is not enough.”

“W-what!” 

König grabbed a fistful of Chris’ hair and easily hauled him up and dragged him to the front of the still running truck. 

“I promised her no one would ever touch her again. What kind of man would I be if I let you get away with touching her?” Through Chris’ screams, he shoved Chris’ face onto the hood of his truck, the engine still running hot and burning the man’s face. 

As satisfying as it was to watch Chris get his ass handed to him so easily, things had already escalated too far. “König! That’s enough!” You shouted over the engine, over Chris’ fading cries and over König’s jovial laughter.

König froze and looked up at you, standing some feet away from the two men, and let Chris slump to the ground. “I told you to get in the truck.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you walked over to him, being careful to step around your barely conscious coworker. You looked up at him, his eyes were still wild, and his chest was starting to heave with how excited he’d become. If he had excess energy, you knew just what he could do with it instead.

You slid a hand up his chest to grip his collar, the fabric of his mask pooling around your wrist. He let you pull him down to your level and with your free hand, you lifted the mask just enough to kiss him. 

He moaned into the kiss, turning it heated rather quickly, his big hands on your ass and hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

It was only a pained weak cough from Christopher that stopped you. You pulled away from the kiss, his hood falling back over his face, and grinned at him. 

“I think you should get in the truck now.” You say with a seductive smile and a gleam in your eyes that he couldn’t quite place.

He nodded and instead of setting you on the ground, walked around to the passenger side of the truck, kicking Chris one last time for good measure, before gently setting you inside the truck and rushing over to the other side.

You’re careful not to hit the gear shift when he slides into the driver side and you slide up to him, lifting his mask to the bridge of his nose so you can kiss him again. His hands grab at you, pulling you as close as he could in the cramped space. One of your hands clutches at his shirt, landing on his firm chest and the other rests on his thigh. 

He breaks the kiss just for a moment, his breath starting to come out in a pant, and reaches up to grasp at the edge of his mask, but your hand quickly grabs his wrist and stops him, “leave it on.”

“O-oh?” He stutters as you palm his growing erection through his pants. 

“I like it,” you say as you lean forward and drop a kiss to his shoulder, then another below that, following the hem of the mask until you reach just below his collarbone. Your hand that sits on his chest has moved to his pectoral, where you give his nipple a little pinch, sending a shiver down his spine right to his dick. 

“Hah,” he breathes out half a laugh as you start to unbuckle his belt, “you like it?” 

“Mm-hmm.” Your hand drops from his chest so you can unbutton his pants.

He swallows hard when you take his heavy cock out and with a firm grip you wrap a soft hand around it, as much as you could, anyway. “It’s. It’s supposed to be scary.” 

“Oh, it is.” You look up at him, hand lazily stroking upwards, “that’s what I like about it.” 

He lets out a quiet groan when your thumb swipes across the underside of the head of his fat cock. Whatever other protest about his sniper hood he had is forgotten when you slide down the bench so you can put your mouth on him.  

He’s hard in your hands before you even lean down and his thick veiny cock throbs as you slowly part your lips. His left hand has an intense grip on the door, but his right hand flies into your hair, though he shakes a little as he tries to keep it gentle, so he can have a clear view of you. 

You start with small, feather light, licks to his swollen cockhead, one, two, and he’s already let out a soft whine and starts to nudge his hips forward, his cock following your tongue as it retreats back in your mouth. You smile and hum, giving in and swirling your tongue around the tip before pinching your lips just over the head of his cock, adding light suction as you do so.

“Please,” he whines, fingers starting to tighten around your hair. “Please, don’t tease me.” The way he has slipped back into his native language, his voice pitched higher as he thrusts his hips upwards when you sink your mouth further down his cock, makes your clit twitch and you have to squeeze your thighs together to help alleviate your neediness.

You moan around his cock, tongue continuing to circle the head of his dick, flickering at sensitive spots, as you take him into your mouth as far as you can. You don’t deep throat him, not yet, so your hand makes up for it by adding firm strokes in conjunction with the bob of your mouth. The cabin is filled not only with moans but the sound of wet suction, especially when you pop his cock fully out of your mouth and give greedy sloppy licks down his entire shaft. 

König loses a bit of control and when your mouth envelops him again, sinking down as far as previously, his hand pushes the back of your head down even more. You had been expecting it, the tightness in his thighs, the way he whined even more and babbled incoherently, and even though you braced yourself, you ended up choking and sputtering around his cock. It only adds more spit, more slip to the already sloppy blow job.

You sit up a bit and take a breath, hand still stroking up and down, before you dive back down. This time you look up at him as you sink your mouth on his cock, your eyes locking with his, even with his eyes so dilated they’re so blue in contrast to the black material of his mask that nearly blends into the darkness of the night. His eyes are wide, watering even, and when he sees you look up at him, mouth stretched around his big cock, his own eyes roll back as his hips start to buck harder, faster. He cries out his impending orgasm, first in German though, for your sake, he remembers to repeat it in English as well. 

Not that it matters, you offer him an encouraging, “mm-hmm” around his cock, letting him know that you wanted him to cum in your mouth and it drives him over the edge with a loud obscene moan, shooting rope and rope and rope of cum into your mouth.

You swallow what you can, the rest sliding down the side of your face as you sit up for air. His eyes are still closed as he pants for breath himself. Since he doesn’t seem to be paying any attention, you get a mischievous idea and lean in close to him, and use the edge of his mask to wipe your face clean.

He chuckles but doesn’t stop you, only taking your hand in his when he feels that you are done. 

Most of him is limp against his seat, except for the grip he has on your hand, his knuckles resting on your thigh. 

“Hey,” you reach over and gently tug at his hood, to which he leans down just enough for it to slip off. “You ok?” 

He gives you a lazy grin, face flush and hair starting to mat down. He doesn’t quite answer you though, instead pulls your hand up to his lips and places a gentle kiss across your knuckles.  

You smile and, blushing strongly at the innocent gesture despite the fact that you’d just swallowed a load of his cum, take your hand back so you could buckle up. “Let’s go home.” 

The ride home is somewhat odd. He hasn’t said a word since you had his cock in your mouth and that silence is a little worrying. It’s not until you’re back home that you finally break the silence.

“König? What’s wrong?” You stop him before he can retreat into the bedroom.

“Nothing, Engel.” 

“Then why are you so quiet?”

It’s almost comical to watch a man so big try to shrink away from your gaze. He’s squeezing one fist over and over, trying very hard not to twitch under your gaze.

You gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth, as you put two and two together. “Wait! Did you not like- Did I…Did I give you a bad blow job?”

König’s head snaps up. “What! No!”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

“My love-” “Do you hate all my blow jobs?!”

He shakes his head vehemently and shouts your name, but you still talk over him. 

“Is it because I choke? I can’t help it! Your cock is just so big!” 

“No! My Engel,” he finally stops you with his hands on your shoulders, “I love watching you choke on my cock!”

You take a breath, forcing yourself to calm down and pout up at him. “Then what is it?”

He sighed and rubbed your shoulders for a moment before taking your hands in his. “I was just thinking about the first time we met.”

There had been a look in your eyes that night that he wrote off as you being so close to dying. But he saw it again tonight…

“Oh.” Your pout morphs into something much more stoic. “When that man…” You trail off, you both know what happened that night.

“Yea.” 

“What about it?” 

He glances away from you and chews on his lip before changing the subject. “Tell me, my love. Did you enjoy watching me kill that man?” 

“Yea.” You tilt your head, “why wouldn’t I? He got what he deserved.” 

He nodded. “Did you enjoy watching me almost kill your coworker?” 

This time it’s you that blushes and looks away. “Yea. I. I suppose being annoying doesn’t quite deserve that much violence, but…” what can you say? It was hot watching him so easily break the other man (oh and defending your honor too!). 

“And,” he paused, licking his lips, “did it turn you on?” 

Your face burns even more, “well,” you chuckle sheepishly, “that is why I blew you.” 

He frowned and dropped your hands, though remained somewhat hunched so he could properly look you in the eyes. “I kill people.” 

You squint at him, “yea…?” This wasn’t news to you…Why was he saying this? 

“Not just the man who tried to rape you. Not just in my capacity as a soldier.” 

Maybe you could understand where he was coming from. He never explicitly told you of his activities. You simply knew based on your first meeting and the way he spoke so casually about killing. “...Yea, I know…”

“I need you to know that, Engel.” 

You nod, “ok. Got it.” 

“But I would never hurt you.”

“I know. I trust you.” Which was a peculiar thing to say considering how just very recently you didn’t even know his name. 

Upon hearing your answer, König glanced away from you, face dusted pink and chewing on his lip. He was right. You were an angel made just for him.

You frowned, “what’s wrong?”

He was quick to pounce on you, giant hands on either side of your face and threading into your hair as he pressed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. He swallowed your surprised little yelp, his tongue sliding against your lower lip and teeth nibbling at a particularly sensitive spot on your lip before slipping into your mouth. 

He pulled you close, one hand solidly wrapped around your waist and the other pressed into your back, as you melted into his embrace. He only let go slightly when he moved his kiss to your jaw, down your neck, nipping at the scar below your neck. 

You sighed, resting your hands on his shoulders as he continued to sink lower, pressing gentle kisses over your clothes and dropped to his knees. 

He finally pressed a lingering kiss to the scar on your stomach, hands on your hips, and looked up at you, your name falling lovingly past his lips.

“You are perfect. Marry me.” 

You really didn’t think he was a marriage kind of man. You assumed that when he told you that you belonged to him, that he would protect you from then on, that it equated to marriage in his mind. But with the way he was looking up at you now, looking both very serious and very vulnerable, to him, this was more than that.

“Oh, König,” you reply softly, your hand drifting from his shoulder to cup his face. He leans into your touch and never breaks eye contact with you.

You bend down and place a soft kiss on his lips. “Yes.” 

He laughs happily when he pulls you into another strong kiss. He’s still laughing when he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom. 

[Death’s Haven]

Your husband was a killer. Not some vigilante with a twisted sense of justice. No, he simply needed to kill. For most of his life, this need was satiated through his career in the military. However, now that he was in the private sector, he had more time between jobs. Which led to the current reason you were home alone late at night.

He'd been between deployments for four months now. Yelling at recruits and paperwork was nearly driving him insane. When he started disappearing at night, when he spent his free time in secret, you knew what he was up to. You didn't ask him about it. You just made sure he had dinner and a clean home to come back to.

You were already asleep in bed when he came home tonight. When you felt him crawl into bed, hands sliding across your waist so he could hold you to his chest. He was very tactile like that, once he had you, he always had to be touching you in some way.

You let out a quiet sigh and shifted to get comfortable, vaguely aware that he was only wearing his boxers.

"I'm sorry, Engel. I did not mean to wake you."

"What time is it?"

"Three."

You grunted. Much too late (or perhaps, too early). Though you supposed coming home at three am was better than him coming home at five only to wake up at six to go to work.

You yawned and shifted, turning around so you could kiss his cheek. "Welcome home." You sighed, eyes already closing again as you cuddled up to him and started to fall back asleep.

König hummed, his hand gently moving up and down your hip, slipping underneath the tee shirt that you stole from him to use as a nightgown.

His soft touch chased away your sleep as his fingers dragged up and down your lower back. You wiggled your hips, attempting to get away from his touch by pressing your body further into him. "That tickles."

"Sorry," he muttered, lips brushing against your temple. "I missed you."

If your eyes weren't closed you'd roll them. Your big, strong, serial killer of a husband was sweet, cute even, acting like you hadn't seen each other for weeks.

But then you felt his hard on pressing against your thigh. Oh. He missed you like that. Yea. That made sense. Even though he slipped in late at night or early in the morning to see you before you left for work, you hadn't had sex since he started his recon a few days ago.

You nuzzle against his chest and smile, "did you?" You slide a hand down his stomach and fiddle with the waistband of his boxers. "I'd never be able to tell." 

He groaned and pushed you onto your back, knocking your legs apart enough for him to settle between. His kiss is rushed, tongue pushing past your lips eagerly, while he starts to grind his hips into yours. You let out an airy gasp when his kisses trail down your jaw to the scar on your neck. A scar you were once ashamed of, once associated with a moment of indignity. König insisted that your scars weren't ugly or shameful, they were proof that instead of taking you for himself, the god of death had given you to him as a gift. 

“What?” You rolled your eyes when he first told you such. “Is he a king and I'm one of his kids he can just give away?” 

He threaded his fingers into your hair and pulled, forcing you to expose your neck to him. “I am your only King. And you are my Angel.” 

Your leg hikes further up his waist, one of his hands splaying across the back of your thigh as he ruts into you again. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling his face back towards you as you attempt to kiss him again, instead he opens his mouth to mumble words against your lips.

“There was a witness.”

And you froze. The only witness he’s ever left before was you. For a moment you’re worried. Was this another damsel in distress that he saved? Was there another broken girl in his truck right now, waiting patiently to become your sister-wife? 

You push a steady hand against his chest that he ignores and continues to suck hickey onto your neck. “What?” 

He hums against your skin, moving his kiss down, where he nips at one of your breasts through the fabric of your chosen nightgown. He mistakes the concern in your voice as concern for him. He returns to your mouth, an eager heavy kiss pressed to your lips until he pushes his tongue into your mouth that you respond to tentatively. 

“I killed him too.” 

His hips grinding into yours, with his hard cock teasing your pussy through layers of thin fabric, draws out a needy whine from you. "O-oh?"

He grunts, breathing quickening as he starts to push your shirt up. "That's why I'm so late, my love.” He was quite eager, it seemed, as one of his hands slipped underneath your back to lift you so he could quickly pull the shirt completely off of you. “There was a lot of blood.” He finished his explanation (not that you asked for one) as he nuzzled his face between your breasts. 

You wanted to giggle, both because his slight stubble on your bare chest tickled and how silly you felt that he basically just motorboated you, but with the way he was already licking and sucking at your tits, your giggle quickly morphed into a moan. And then you finally registered his words. 

A bloodsoaked König, with his sniper hood hiding his face, looked like a monster straight out of a horror movie. The thought of it turned you on so much. “Yea?” Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer to you as you lifted your hips to meet his, pressing against his hard dick. 

He chuckled as he sat up on his knees, still between your thighs, and tugged at your panties. You raise your hips enough for him to pull them down and toss to the side.

He leaned over you once again, propping himself up on his left arm, while his right hand found its way to your thigh again. You sighed as he all but had you pinned between his large frame and the bed. There was something frightening about his size, he was almost too big to be human, and yet he also possessed the uncanny ability to make you feel safe, no matter how vulnerable you were.

His fingers dipped between your thighs, his chuckles fading into a low groan when he finds how aroused you are. “You like that, Engel? Want to see me covered in blood, hm?” 

A gasped, “uh-huh!” is all you can offer when his fingers, coated in your slick, rock against your clit. 

König pulls his hand away all too soon, and the frustrated whine you puff out isn’t missed by him. You almost think he is going to tease you, that he is going to revel in the way you’re so desperate for him already, but there is a vulnerable sincerity in his eyes when you look up at him. 

“...Are you proud of me?”

Your lust is momentarily forgotten as you slide a hand to his face, gently cradling his face. His eyes closed as he leaned into your soft and touch. 

It was one thing to know that you accepted his proclivities, another entirely to know that you loved that part of him.

You gently run your thumb over his cheek bone so he could look at you again. You supposed you hadn't shown much enthusiasm for his activities since he nearly killed your coworker. You pull him down for a gentle kiss, whispering your answer against his lips. "Yes."

You even have a surprise for him, but the kiss that followed was much less delicate and much more needy on his part. It’s like he’s trying to mold himself to you, trying to fuse your soul to his. It’s as if he doesn’t want to let you go. And you give into him, forgetting about the little gift. You don’t want him to let go either. 

You’re so pliable under his touch, the way you so easily give your body over to him reminds him of the first night he met you. When you were too weak to stop him from ripping the shreds of your dress off of your body, too weak to stop him from moving your hands to stem the bleeding of a knife wound that should have killed you. The memory of your body, pinned underneath him now, covered in the sweetest blood has him biting down on your shoulder roughly. You gasp and whimper underneath him, only squirming not to get away from him, but to get closer to him. 

He drags his mouth down your body, trailing searing kisses along your skin. As always he pays special attention to the scar that dips below your collarbone, tracing the contours with his tongue as if he hasn't already committed every inch of it to memory. As always as well, he takes his time with your breasts, switching between rough nips into your flesh and gentle swirls of his tongue around the nipple. Every little hitch in your breath, every whine that pushes past your lips, alights his blood on fire.

His hips buck forward, seeking relief in the friction of his hard cock against the soft warm plush of your thighs. You whine, one hand resting on his shoulder and one tangled in his hair, as you feel the hot velvety skin of his cock rubbing the insides of your legs, pre cum smearing on your skin and you're not sure whether to pull him back up so he can stuff your pussy with that massive cock of his, or to push him down so he can lavish his attention elsewhere on your body.

König makes the decision for you as he continues to kiss and nip and lick his way down your body. He attempts to repeat the loving kiss with the scar on your stomach, attempts to trace it with his lips, but you become impatient and push his head, making him chuckle into your skin, which in turn has you also giggling.

He presses a lingering kiss to your pubic bone with a grin plastered on his lips, "so eager for me."

You huff, and make sure to exaggerate the little pout you throw at him. "Don't tease. It's been too long."

This draws another chuckle from him, though he spreads your thighs further apart so he can comfortably fit between them. "Less than a week, my angel."

You prop yourself up on one elbow and reach for his face, forcing him to look at you as you hit him with a trembling lip and the saddest eyes you could muster in the moment. "You promised to take care of me, König."

He stills at your words, muscles tense and eyes so wide that even in the dim light you could see the whites of his eyes. You were right, of course. How could he deny his sweet angel what you desperately wanted, needed? Especially when it was him that you needed. He gently places a hand over yours, never breaking eye contact with you, as he pulls your hand from his face and gently kisses the inside of your wrist, taking your little teasing to heart. “I will.” 

That is all the warning you get before he is diving between your thighs. His breath is hot on your skin as he kisses and licks his way towards your pussy. He doesn't ignore any part of you, his left hand both massaging your inner thigh, kneading at the sensitive flesh and keeping your legs parted wide enough for him.

By the time he draws his tongue through your folds, you're already a quivering mess. His long, deliberate, slow licks have you moaning and gripping his hair. His right arm anchors your hips to the bed, keeping you in place as his tongue circles your clit. You try to muffle the obscene moans that fall from your lips, but König knows you, knows what you like, and drags his tongue down your slit, curls his tongue inside of you to lap at you juices. His own moans fill the air with yours, the subtle vibrations only driving you crazier.

His name is a chant on your lips, your hands gripping his hair even more as you try to fuck his face. He groans and releases the iron grip he has on your hips, right hand snaking up to your chest where he roughly gropes at your tits.

He holds you down for your sake, so he can lick and suck and nip without losing his place between your legs. But as you near your edge, he lets go because there's nothing he loves more than when you shove your pussy into his face. His mouth parted, tongue dragging over every inch of you and pushing into your pussy. His nose bumps and rubs against your clit as he enthusiastically moves his head, his stubble scratching pleasantly against the inside of your thighs.

He could, and probably should, stretch you out a little with his fingers, prepare you for the girth that is his cock, but he’s selfish and wants you to come on his tongue. He switches his pace, frenzied flicks of his tongue on your clit, followed by long firm strokes through your folds until he pushes his tongue into your pussy. He moans again, savoring the ambrosia that he pulls from you with every swipe of his tongue. 

It’s when he starts to rock his hips into the bed, seeking to relieve his aching cock, that it feels like a final wave pushing you to your orgasm. Your thighs squeeze around his head as you pussy clenches wildly around his tongue, aching to be filled and stretched out even more. He continues to slurp at your pussy, his tongue covered in your cum as he gently offers small and gentle licks to your clit, following the movement of your hips without holding you down. 

König is liable to spend too much time between your legs. Liable to ease you down from your orgasm only to pull another one from you. And you’re liable to forget that you were supposed to give him his gift before fucking.

“S-stop! I! I!” You cry and whine and try to push his face away from your oversensitive clit. 

With a grunt, he finally relents and drops a few soft kisses to your thigh before propping himself up on his elbows and running the back of his arm across his face. “What is it, Engel?” 

After a moment to catch your breath, you finally look at him and smile softly at the way he's looking up at you so adoringly. "I have something for you."

A grin breaks out across his face as he kisses your thigh and moves as if he's about to start eating you out again.

"Not that!" You laugh and lightly push his face away from your still sensitive pussy. "Come here," you pat the bed next to you, inviting him to sit down for a moment.

"I got you something," you say as you give him a quick peck to the lips when he sits down beside you.

His hand slides to your waist and you know he's about to pull you on top of him, but you pull away quick enough to turn to the nightstand and flip on the lamp.

There’s some shuffling beside you as you open the drawer. The first thing your hand catches is a bottle of lube, that’s not what you were looking for, but you set it on the table anyways.

One of his hands lands on your thigh and squeezes as he leans with you, his mouth dropping small kisses to your shoulder. “Do we have to do this now?”

“Oh, I guess not.” You say as you put a rectangular box on top of the side table and turn to face him again.

He’s shucked his boxers off, instead of shoving his dick through the opening in front, and has his left hand holding the heft of his hard cock. Your eyes drop down to the wide pink mushroom head and immediately forget that you had been trying to gift him something. 

His right arm wraps around your waist as you kiss him and he pulls you atop one of his thighs. You whimper into his mouth as you grind down on his thigh, your already slick pussy making the glide easier and the friction electrifying. Even as you rock your hips back and forth, one of your hands wraps around his cock, next to his own hand. You both groan at the contact, Him at the way you swipe your thumb over the tip of his cock, collecting pre cum and spreading it over down as you give him sensual little pumps. You groan as you and your pussy clenches achingly at the reminder of how big his cock is, the way there’s enough length for the both of you to stroke down, and the way your fingers don’t even meet around his girthy width. 

As you rest your forehead against his, lip tucked between your teeth as you continue to ride him, you notice his eyes flicker to the side table for just a second.

“You want to see it?” You ask with a breathless laugh, still chasing the pleasure grinding down on his thigh offers. 

He grabs the hand you have wrapped around his cock and makes you squeeze him harder, speaking with a groan as he thrusts his hips up. “Just tell me what it is.” 

“And ruin the surprise?” 

He grunts and grabs your hips, halting your gyrating, while simultaneously smashing his mouth against yours. The kiss is rough, aggressive even, as his tongue tangled with yours, preventing you from further teasing him. Still you moan and giggle into the kiss and blindly reach behind you until you find the box.

“Just open it real quick.” 

He sighed and reluctantly let go of your hips as he took the box from you. “What is the occasion?” 

The real reason? You wanted him to remember you. You were afraid you were nothing but a novelty to him. He wanted you for now, but soon he’d get bored of you and send you away. If you were lucky, he’d kill you, but you were never that lucky in life. He’d provide a safe home for you, make you feel safe standing next to him at the grocery store, or as he picked you up from work. Then he’d leave you, leave you fearing every shadow and bump in the night. To live in the hell that was his absence. 

“A hunting knife?” He unsheathed it, admiring the sheen and sharpness of the hooked blade.

It was deadly sharp, meant for skinning game. It wasn’t anything fancy. Perfectly utilitarian. 

You hummed and stretched out again, this time to grab the bottle of lube you set aside earlier. “You’re the one that asked me if I am proud of you.” You pour some lube into one of your hands, “I was thinking about what you do, and thought you might like this.” You wrap your hand around his cock, spreading the lube along his thick shaft, “at the very least it can make a cute paperweight for your desk.” 

König groans and shuts his eyes, leaning forward to rest his head against your shoulder, as you pump his now very slick cock. His hot breath fans over your skin as he mutters your name and nips at your shoulder. But he pauses when you lean to the side and expose the top of your scar to his mouth.

Suddenly he pulls away from you and looks back at the gifted blade. “You wanted to see me covered in blood, Engel.” 

It’s not a question, though you give him a quiet little “mm-hm" before you’re sitting stock still with a blade pressed against your throat. His cock throbs in your hands as your eyes flick up to meet his. His eyes, blown wide with lust, flicker between your own gaze and the knife he holds to your throat. 

“I have never seen blood as beautiful as yours.” 

Your heart thumps in your chest, and pussy, at his words. Did he think of your blood often? Did he still think of that night? 

You squeeze your hand, giving a tantalizing grip to his cock, and tilt your head to the side, whispering a loving taunt. “It belongs to you.” 

You see droplets of blood splatter across his face before you feel the sting of your flesh sliced open. You gasp, eyes squeezing shut, as pain catches up to you. There’s a clatter of the knife being tossed onto the nightstand before you feel his large hands digging into your hips and moving you so that you are fully straddling him. 

The head of his cock slides through your folds before nudging your clit and sends a wave of pleasure through you that distracts from the pain. You whimper and shudder when you open your eyes to see the look on his face. You imagine that this is what he looked like the night he saved you, but now you see him unmasked, see how the sight of you bleeding before him is nearly driving him insane. 

König moaned when he felt the first drop of blood hit his face, his cock jumping out of your hand and pulsing wildly. Your pained little gasp that followed did not assuage his desire, if anything it fueled it even more. He quickly discarded the knife and pulled you over him, his lubed up cock running along your slick pussy drawing moans out from both of you. 

He looked up at you, lost in bliss as you rocked your hips into him, rubbing your clit onto his cock, and snaked a hand into your hair to pull you down. He breathed in the air around you, filled with the scent of your combined arousal and sweat and, as he pushed his face into your skin, the light coppery scent of your blood. 

You whined again when he disturbed the cut on your neck, the fresh wound following the exact path of the previous one, only to cry out when he drug his tongue through the blood. 

“You have the sweetest blood, my angel.” 

And with a quick, rough, grip to the back of your head, he pulled you into a searing kiss. His tongue immediately found yours as if he was intent to share the taste of you, of your blood and cum. 

His face is smeared in blood when you pull away from his hungry kiss and look at him again. You rest your forehead against his and pant for breath, eyes locking with his as he lifts your lips and properly lines his cock up. 

You whimper when you feel the head of his cock start to spread you, but even his lust filled haze he’s aware enough of himself to go slowly, letting you sink down onto his girthy length at your own pace. 

“König,” you cry when you take him fully, your entire body hot and desperate to be close to him. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, his face tucked into your neck as you start to move your hips up, sliding back down with a moan as he fills you. 

He’s not quiet when your pussy squeezes and pulses around his cock, it feels too good to hold in the moan that rips out of his throat when you start to bounce on his cock. Slick. Your blood and sweat against his skin, your wet pussy around his cock, it’s all heavenly slick and he wants more. He groans and roughly guides your hips down to meet his own thrusts. You cling to him and moan as he easily lifts you only to slam you back down.

“My angel,” he growls hotly into your ear, his eyes rolling back when your pussy flutters tightly around his cock. 

He’s quick to shift positions, cradling the back of your head as he throws you onto your back. You only get to mourn the loss of his cock inside you for a moment before he is throwing one of your legs over his shoulder and bullying his cock back into your pussy.

The new angle allows him impossibly deeper, your moans are so loud you’re nearly screaming at this point. He moans loudly along with you when he glances down between your bodies and sees as he feels how your pussy clings to his cock, doing its best to not let go of him every time he pulls out. 

Your pussy aches and gapes when he pulls all the way out, slipping and accidentally brushing the head of his cock over your clit. You cry out, from the sensation of his slicked cockhead on your clit and for him, even this second without him filling you up is too long without him. You hook the leg he doesn’t have over his shoulder over his waist as he thrusts his cock back into you. It feels like he hits every nerve in your pussy, his pelvis grinding against yours and rubbing your clit and you can’t even say his name as your entire body begins to shake. 

Your orgasm is overwhelming, you claw and grab at König, yet at the same time the consistent grinding of his pelvis on your clit and his huge cock pistoning in and out of you has part of you wanting to push him away. He doesn’t let you, instead he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, chasing his own release. 

König’s head drops to your shoulder, chin hitting the cut on your neck, and groans loudly as you come on his cock, your pussy clenching around him dizzyingly tight. He growls and groans when you begin to struggle against him, sending him over his own edge. He breathlessly stills as his cock throbs, filling you with his cum as your pussy continues to clench around his cock. 

Eventually his hips slow down to a slow, sensual, grind, meeting your hips in the lazy aftermath. He drops your leg from his shoulder and braces himself on his forearms while he continues to nuzzle his face into your neck, sloppy open mouth kisses licking up blood and sweat.

“König,” you sigh and nudge him. He may be holding most of his weight off of you, but he’s still crushing you into the mattress and at this point it’s so hot that it’s starting to become difficult to breathe.

He grunts, his cock giving a final pulse as he pulls out, and rolls to the side. His hand lands heavily on your thigh, “give me a moment, Engel, and I will clean you up.” 

You whine at the sudden empty feeling and, with considerable effort, turn on your side and cuddle up to him, moving his arm around you. He embraces you, eyes closed as he basks in his post orgasmic bliss. 

“You look like a vampire.” You say with a light chuckle and brush a thumb across his chin.

He grins and opens one eye to look at you, “if I could live off of your blood, Engel, I would.” 

Your laugh is cut short with a grimace as you feel his cum leak out of your pussy. “Ok, I need to get up.” 

He sits up with you and pulls you into his lap before standing. “Let me.”

“You don’t always need to carry me to the bathroom!” 

“Can you walk?” 

Actually, probably not. 

König leaves the shower first, letting you relax under the hot water a little longer while he changes the sheets on the bed. There was too much cum, sweat and blood to ignore for the night. 

He’s waiting patiently for you when you finally get out of the shower. He’s thoughtful enough to lay one of his shirts out on the clean sheets for you to wear when he’s finished bandaging you up. 

“It’s not even that bad,” you say as you let him apply an ointment and a gauze bandage on the cut that’s barely bleeding anymore. 

He doesn’t really respond, just grunts and makes sure to secure the bandage properly before he turns around to set everything down on the nightstand. 

“Ah! König!” You gasp and slap a hand over your mouth when you see long scratch marks on his back, small beads of blood surfacing on his skin.

“What!” He turns quickly, eyes wide, afraid that he hurt you.

“I’m so sorry!” You squeak out behind your hand.

“What?” 

You hang your head and hide your face in your hands. “Your back is bleeding!”

“What?” He cranes his neck to look at his own back. 

“How embarrassing,” you mumble to yourself as you take the towel that’s wrapped around you and dab the bit of blood off of him.

His chuckles turn into a laugh, a full loud sound deep from his belly, as you fuss over him. He barely lets you touch his back before he is reaching behind him and pulling you onto his lap.

He stops your protests with a kiss, a smile still pulling at his lips even as he runs his tongue over your lips. “I cut you with a hunting knife, Engel, and you’re worried about little scratches?”  

“Fine,” you hum and pull away from him enough to slip on the tee shirt he laid out for you. “But if it scars, it’ll be the least cool story you’ve got.”

He turns off the lamp as you climb under the blankets. “I disagree. It’ll be my favorite. Next time, I will make you scratch my back even more.” 

König grinned at your little laugh as you settled into his embrace for the night. No, you didn’t hurt him and no he didn’t mind a tiny bit of blood spilled. He’d drown in your blood if he could, how could he not offer you the same?