#poorly written smut

[masked-menace]

Keegan Brain rot

lately this man has been in my head ALL THE FUCKING TIME. SO I am dumping my toxic Keegan brain rot here and I look I get it "why are you romanticizing toxic relationships?" But IM writing it and YOUR reading it so its very much a Girl what were YOU doing at Satan's brunch type thing okay? Okay.

This man is smooth as hell okay? He gets you with that deep fucking voice, and his fucking hot shit attitude. He is hot and he knows it. He walks like its heavy and it is. HE KNOWS IT. He got you so fucking downbad because for the first couple months you guys are literally so fucking in love in hurts. Both of you.

Yes TOXIC KEEGAN fucking loves you. He can't get enough. It's an obsession. Which is why when he sees that coworker talking to you he loses his mind a bit. Thought of anyone else having you? Quite literally breaks this man. You two fight, you break up. You are devastated. He's heart broken. How could he do that when all he was trying to do was keep you? Now though he can't get you out of his head.

He misses every fucking part of you and no matter who he fucks it never compares. So he ends up luring you back in with sweet words and toxic fuckin dick. He fucks you like he gets paid to do it. Hand on your throat in prone bone, fucking into you with almost body slams. Your fucking sounds fueled him because he missed them so fucking much.

He leaves hickies now, needing to mark you as his in hopes to keep other guys from getting too close. Which would have worked. If the guys that were approaching you were interested and not co workers or married friends. Didn't matter what you said to him. Though you aren't innocent in this either. Somewhere you learned that when he gets possessive, when he gets jealous...he fucks you so good that it replays in your head on repeat throughout the next month. When he starts the fights you fucking fight back. With words just as sharp.

It became a cycle before you knew it. Two years gone in it. Going two or three months happy and then one of you fucks it up. You only stay broken up for a month at a time. Its all he can bare. Longer if hes deployed but you bet as soon as he comes home from deployment hes at the bar he knows you like to go to. Tucking you away into a bathroom, caging you in against the sink of the single dirty stall. He knew what to say, and you wanted him so fucking bad. Even when you hated him a part of your body craved him. Craved him so fucking bad. You would pretend not to be interested, knowing it pisses him off. You were already soaked just from having him practically pinning you against the sink. Staring through your pretend uninterest. It would be a battle of who gave in and kissed first. He always lost. He would grab a fistfull of hair from the nape of your neck, pulling your head back enough to get a sweet little whimper from your lips before swallowing it with his own. Which would just give you more whimpers for him to swallow. His lips were always so hungry for you, to taste literally every part. Every inch of your neck and chest. Bruising hickies would litter any place he knew a man would look. When he was so hard he would hurt himself from his dick pressing hard against his zipper and seam of his jeans. He would finally unzip them, free his cock that twitched when freed. Twitched when he pressed it against you just to kiss you again, small grinds because he just needed the friction.

"Fuck..." He practically growl, "Do you have any fucking idea what you do to me doll?"

You would blink twice at him

"Piss you off?" You ask, to do what you may ask? Oh right piss him off because as I said you aren't innocent in this shit. It would work too. He would be fucking fuming. Hiking your dress up without removing his eyes from yours.

"Damn right you fuckin' piss me off." He grinds, his fingers finding your folds, this part always broke you. Every. Fucking. Time. Because his fingers were like magic. The warmth and friction bringing shuttering whimpers which as soon as he heard his cock pressed up against your stomach twitched again.

"You feel, so fuckin wet." He would whisper "I need you so fucking bad baby"

"Beg" You say, straightfaced. His eyebrow twitches in irritation. He should have seen this coming. Truthfully. It didn't matter if it was in a dirty bathroom. You would walk him like the dog he was. He sighs flexing a muscle in his jaw. Before slowly lowering to his knees. His eyes once again, never leaving yours.

"Please baby...I need you so bad" He says kissing your hips, messaging your thighs with your dress still in his hands, moving the fabric up and down your thighs with his movements.

"More"

"You" kiss "are" kiss "Everything" kiss "To me" His mouth hovering right over the one place he wanted to sink in the most. "Please, I don't have purpose when you hate me"

You scoff "Thought your purpose was to make me hate you?" You ask

"Only when we fight baby, I don't wanna right right now" He says smoothly planting another kiss around the one spot you both wanted his lips.

"Then make me forgive you" you say, a smirk crosses his lips before he devours you. Moaning vibrations into your core as soon as he tastes you.

"Fuck baby" He says against you, between laps that he doesn't break his eye contact for. "This is what I'm made for" He says, every lap, suck, flick, and moan is driving you crazy. Your whimpers during into panted mewls and whines.

"Kee..." you whine when you're close.

"I know baby, I know. It feels good. It always feels good. We feel good" He says, sucking on your clit while the high rises. "Let me taste how good I make you feel"

It was always so easy for him to make you cum this way. Your hands gripping the sink behind you as you struggle to keep your sounds under uncontrol. He always pulls away from your sweet core like it pains him to do so. Grabbing your hips and turning you a little too needily around to face yourself in the mirror.

"Fuck look at how good we look together like this baby. Keep watching, you'll see just how perfect we look together." He says, he looks down to guide himself into you and the familiar stretch breaks any resolve you had left.

The sounds your bodies make when they slap together echoed off the tile bathroom walls. Keegan had his hand over your mouth, letting your muffled moans feed his addiction and ego. You catch your reflection, your eyes and brows pulled into a fucked out pleasured expression. Your wetness was drinking down your own thighs and your legs were shaking.

His thrusts getting sloppier and his groans turning into whimpers that made you fucking melt every fucking time. He knew it.

"God you make a mess of me Angel. A fucking mess. All I am without you" he whimpers. "all i fuckin am"

he shoves himself so far inside you that the pressure is almost too painfil while you feel him pump his ropes inside of you. You were panting against his chest as he slowly removes his hand, then himself.

"Forgive me?" He asks as he zips himself up. You just silently nod, brain still fuzzy and feeling the mess he made inside of you leak out. It was filthy, but you loved it. He kisses your forehead. "Good girl, Let's go. I want round two but the ungodly things I'm going to do to you needs privacy"

and then the cycle fucking continues.

[fabuladorah]

[brigitoshaughnessy]

I’m not saying you should booze it up this Christmas, but if you happen to have leftover cognac laced espresso from making tiramisu, pour that shit over ice with some cream. You won’t regret it.

And don’t forget to hydrate.

[shotmrmiller]

thinking about being simon's link even though he's your superior because he needs a way to let off some steam that isn't him handing you your arse on a silver platter during spars and at first it's only after some real stressful missions.

he's rougher then, his hips snapping with a ferocity that makes your teeth clack together but it gets him to be civil by morning and you get one too many body wracking orgasms too.

win win.

he doesn't interact with you any more differently than before, eyes flat as you walk past even though you've got a bit of an awkward gait thanks to him and that works just as well because the last thing you need is soap giving you a hard time for fucking the one guy you complained about the most while you were still breaking in your boots.

and then you find yourself unable to keep him out of your pants during an op; bent over a table in a safe house, his hands curled around the strap of your vest, on your gloved hands and padded knees while waiting for price's next orders, a quick romp against the wall right before having to sit pretty and make eye contact with gaz in the helo. (he pulls out during these times, can't have you running after someone with his spend still dripping warm between your legs.)

things were fine for a while. your arse was safe from any unnecessary bruising, your toy sat retired in your nightstand drawer and you had no nosy men in your business, although it is strange that no one's mentioned anything. both you and simon have gone missing and later walk into a room together enough times to arouse suspicion but no. nothing. not a peep out of soap, a side eye from price or a raunchy joke from gaz.

good. great, even.

until soap stomps your way one crispy morning, grumbling under his breath before swiping the mug from your hands to take a sip of your coffee. "ye get in a fight er somethin'?"

what does he mean?

"ghost is in a mood today. not to be crass, bonnie, but if ye could, uh, fuck 'im in tranquility- we 'ave somewhere t'be today."

he finishes the rest of your drink, giving it a 3 out of 5 stars then shoots you a smile. "thanks, hen."

oaf. that'd been the last of the coffee.

it's only after you're left thoroughly worn out, thighs slick with cum, that you quietly bring up that johnny knows.

(he'd been right, though. you'd barely stepped a foot through the door before simon had you writhing beneath him, fucking you like he hated you)

"knows about wha'?" he mutters, smoke furling and twisting around his bare face.

this.

simon hums, unbothered. "so he does." he turns back go his gun, the familiar sound of the metal clicking and sliding filling the silence.

(kyle is the one that tells you that simon had been the one to out the two of you. he was markin' his territory, doll. nothin' out o' the ordinary, yeah?)

[b1mbodoll]

pairings: sim jaeyun x f! reader

warnings: werewolf! jake + knotting + biting + blood + dub / noncon + creampies + breeding + slight mention of impreg + dacryphilia

💌: haiiiii.. enjoy. BEWARE DUB / NONCON!!!!!!!!!! i love kinktober, unfortunately dont think i could ever participate but it’s october and i love wolves and jake and knotting

werewolf jake that tries so hard to keep his lycan side a secret from you. you’re so sweet, so fucking innocent and it drives him crazy; makes it harder to keep from fucking his knot into you as he pounds your tight cunt, harder to keep from sinking his teeth into your soft neck and claiming you.

but god, does he want to.

he constantly thinks about how you’d react if he exposed himself to you. would you be afraid of him? scream and cry as his thick knot swells inside of your tiny pussy? push him away when you see those long, dangerous canines inching closer to your vulnerable throat?

or would you pull him closer, wrap your legs around him as he rams your cervix with each thrust? maybe even tilt your head to the side and slide your hands into his hair, pressing his face into your neck so he can easily nip at you.

jake doesn’t know what he’d do if you began to fear him.. if you scrambled to run away before he had the chance to plug you with his knot. he doesn’t know if he’d be able to bring himself to stop fucking you.

it’s wrong and sick and he knows it, but he doesn’t seem to care when his instincts take over as he’s fucking you one night, his claws and canines itching to grow the closer he gets to cumming. there’s absolutely no way he can part from your tight hole that’s gripping him so tight he can barely pull out, so he doesn’t.

he all but growls when you clench around him, lost in pleasure and moaning when a particularly hard thrust has you squeezing your eyes shut and coating his cock in a ring of cream. it’s enough to send your boyfriend over the edge, his cock thickening up at the base before his mouth finds your tit and his teeth draw blood.

the pain brings you back to your senses and horror fills your mind when you see the furry ears on his head and the rivulets of blood staining his chin. you’d heard stories of werewolves but you’d never imagined jake, your sweet and kind jake was one.

you struggle and writhe beneath him but it’s no use; how can a human overpower an apex predator? it only works to anger him, a guttural growl making your eyes well up with tears and shake your head no, lost for words.

but he doesn’t seem to register your rejection.. or maybe he simply doesn’t care because he continues to abuse your sensitive cunt, using you for his pleasure, pinning you down with a single hand, and wiping your tears with a clawed finger.

he doesn’t stop, can’t stop, until youre properly bred: full of his thick, sticky cum and his knot keeps it deep inside, ensuring you’d carry his pups.

jake’s no longer in control of himself and it shows in the way he’s fucking you. each thrust is harder than the last and you swear his cock is going to split you in half, it hurts but a part of you likes it; you like being manhandled and used like his breeding bitch, the feeling of his tongue licking your sore chest and especially, the way his cock throbs and twitches inside of you.

all you can do is lie there and take what he chooses to give, cumming again when ropes of his warm cum paint your inner walls and the tip of his dick slides past your cervix, completely flooding your womb.

you’re so fucking full, his length deeper than ever and his knot stretches your hole, keeping jake from pulling out.

but it’s not enough for the wolfboy, his tail is.. wagging? as he humps into you, the push and pull of his hips making you whine.

you weren’t meant to take such a large cock but it doesn’t matter, he made it fit and he’ll continue to push your limits until he’s content.

[wildechildwrites]

Run, Rabbit

König/Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+, Violence, Injury, Smut, lightly noncon but in the way that you're fighting it but are down, König being insane

No use of Y/N

Summary: You're on a solo mission in Romania, and König goes hunting

A/N: "Oh look another predator/prey coded Konig fic how original" SHUT UP I KNOW

AO3: Run, Rabbit

18+

You’re in the forests of Romania on a solo mission, snooping around an abandoned military base that’s been the location of some suspicious activity, according to your sources. You find the ghost of the for-hire group Kortac in rat-chewed maps and files, faint footprints in layers of dust, but the trail has long gone cold, the building slowly being reclaimed by nature. The trees show no sign of the changes of autumn, but it's in the air, the late summer whisper of a chill in the breeze. You take your time picking your way along the overgrown roads, enjoying the tranquility of the forest. The extraction point is ten clicks west of your position, but you’re content with your steady pace, the sun still high in the sky, shining brightly through the thick foliage, and the hike is an easy one. Your meager findings are carefully folded in your bag of gear, your gun snug on your hip. Ten meters to your right, a red deer raises its head up, watching you warily, before bolting away into the trees. You smile to yourself and raise your face to better feel the sun. 

You hear the crack of the shot and drop, but not quickly enough. Your ears ring, your shoulder burning agonizingly, like someone’s pushing a hot poker against it. You fight against the nausea and pain, willing yourself to move, scrambling into the brush for cover. The shot came from your six, and you grapple for your binoculars, trying to locate the shooter on the hill above you. You recognize the mask first, the bleached tear tracks down an executioner's hood, the hulking form of the figure wearing it unfortunately familiar. König is standing casually, seemingly unafraid of any return of fire, staring down like he can see you through the trees. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle instinctually as he begins to move, a sauntering pace down the hill like the slow lope of a wolf. You drop down again, ignoring the pain in your shoulder as you crawl through the underbrush. 

Nestled low on a hill, large body half buried in the underbrush, König watches you through the scope of his rifle, toying with the idea of killing you. He recognizes you from the files he’s seen on the 141, but there was nothing left at the base for you to find, no reason to draw suspicion and attention back here. You were harmless like this, and magnetic, head tilted towards the sun, your face lit up in a wash of gold light that plays up the color of your hair. His finger brushes lightly across the trigger as he contemplates his options. He rolls his neck loose before glancing through his scope again.

You stop behind a small boulder, pressing your back to it, breathing heavily, and pull your radio off of your hip. “Bravo Six, this is Bravo Seven Four, over.” 

The crackle of the radio is a relief, Price’s voice faint but firm. “Go ahead Bravo Seven Four, over.” 

“Enemies one; direction east of my grid two hundred meters, injury sustained, six clicks out of extraction point, over.” You peek out from behind the rock, but can't see anything, so you continue your crawl, waiting for a response. The birds have stopped singing, a deadly quiet that warns of danger.

“Stay calm Bravo Seven Four–” Price’s voice is cut off by the sound of another bullet whizzing near you. You can’t have your radio giving away your position, and the squad is too far away to reach you before König could. You grab your radio and quickly press the button. 

“Bravo Six, silence, meet at extraction, over.” You turn it off, not waiting for a response, and tuck it back into your belt. Ignoring the growing burning in your shoulder, you move as quickly through the underbrush as you can. You need to cover more ground if you’re going to make it out of here, so you weigh your options, propping yourself into a low crouch, scanning the woods behind you. You can’t see or hear anything. You inhale deeply, then break into a sprint.

The cracking of branches is faint, but König is listening for it, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he searches for you. He immediately changes directions, moving towards the noise and quickening his pace. If you want to run, he’s more than happy to indulge you, relishing the adrenaline of the chase. Your trail is clear, broken branches like a beacon beckoning him closer. He spots blood on one of the low boulders, and swipes it up on his gloved hand, smiling under the mask. 

You're hyper aware of your disadvantage, the sounds of snapping branches as your pursuer draws closer, the sluggish flow of blood down your shoulder from where the bullet grazed you. Your lungs burn, head woozy as you run hard, branches scraping at your form. You risk a look over your shoulder, searching for König behind you, and your heart drops when you miss a step. 

All of a sudden, you're falling, hands stretched out in front of you as you tumble down a steep hill. You hear and feel the snap of your ankle in your boot, a whimpering sob yanked from your chest as you finally land heavily in some thorn covered bushes, branches scratching your body even through the thick fabric of your uniform. You pull yourself out, ignoring the pain as thorns drag against your face, drawing blood, then scan yourself quickly, the prognosis bleak. You can't run, not with what is definitely a broken ankle, and your shoulder is still oozing freely, but you won’t go down without a fight. You drag yourself through the dirt using your good arm, stopping periodically to listen to the sounds of König moving through the trees. Your entire body burns, and you fight against the growing fatigue that’s threatening to overwhelm you, trying to hold onto your quickly waning adrenaline. 

The sound of breaking branches draws nearer. He’s moving faster, heavy footfalls that make your leg muscles twitch with the urge to run. König whistles, high and loud, and you reach for your gun, cocking it as quietly as you can, turning around to face the direction of the noise, crouching low. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear creeping in, the weight of your situation crashing down on you.

“I heard you cry out,” a voice rings through the trees. There's something light in König’s tone, like this has all been a game of tag. “You can't be too far.”

Then the only sound is the breeze, rustling in the leaves. Blood from a cut on your forehead drips into your eye, and you resist the urge to wipe it away, scanning your surroundings as best you can without moving.

The unwelcome feeling of the muzzle of a gun presses against the side of your head, and your body shudders involuntarily. 

“Drop your weapon, Häschen,” König murmurs. You comply immediately, tossing it at his feet, unwilling to argue with a Beretta at your temple. The large man quickly kicks your gun into the bushes. “Sit up,” he commands, and you move slowly, trying not to aggravate your broken bone. 

The small shack hasn’t been used in a while, the table in the center of the room is covered in dust, and spiders have made their home in the corners, spinning silvery streamers that hang down, brushing against his helmet. König places you lightly on the small bed in the corner, stooping over uncomfortably in the low room. Your hair is full of sticks and leaves, your face scraped and bleeding. He needs to look at your shoulder, and the ankle you’d been hovering over protectively, but work comes first. You’ve thrown him off, his fingers tingling where he held you to him, the phantom pressure of your head on his chest as he carried your unconscious body through the woods haunting him even now. He grabs your gear bag, dumping it unceremoniously onto the table, pulling your medkit to the side before rifling through the papers you’d found. The information was outdated, but he shoves the papers into one of the pockets of his pants for disposal later regardless.

You knew he was large, but kneeling at his feet he feels like a goliath, towering over you, the gun held in his grip looking comically small in his giant hands. He holsters it, and you get a stupid, moronic, brilliant idea. In a quick motion, you’ve ripped your radio off of your belt, pressing down on the button and bringing it to your lips. “MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY–” König slams the heel of his palm into the back of your head, and the world goes dark.

He doesn’t bother stripping you properly, just takes his knife and slices it up through the collar of your shirt, baring your shoulder to him. His eyes, unbidden, trace the line of the now exposed column of your throat, and he swallows loudly in the quiet of the room. König draws his attention back to your injury with some difficulty. He barely even grazed you, the puckered wound bleeding sluggishly, and he quietly gloats at his own aim. When he pours alcohol on it, you awaken with a hiss, throwing your arm out hard in his direction reflexively before your brain catches up with you. He deflects you easily, wrapping large fingers around your wrist, enjoying the feeling of the delicate bones, watching with silent smugness as your confusion reads clear on your face. 

“Guten tag,” he says, pleasantly casual, as though you’ve run into him at the grocery store. Your head is pounding, and you’re thrown, trying to grasp your surroundings. Your shoulder is burning, and you’re suddenly aware of the air on your bare skin. You rip your hand out of his grasp, pulling yourself as far away from him on the small bed as you can manage. He tilts his head, studying you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice hard. 

König gestures with the alcohol he’s holding. “I’m patching up your injuries.” His voice is low, his accent curling around the syllables of his sentences like smoke. 

You blink at him, utterly disarmed. “Why,” you pause, biting your cheek as a wave of pain radiates through your ankle, “Are you patching up my injuries?” 

“Would you prefer it if I left them?” He volleys back lightly, tilting his head. 

You don’t say anything, staring at him with suspicion. He’s got you cornered, quite literally, and there’s no way you can get away from him with your ankle like this unless you can get your hands on a weapon. There’s a knife tucked in your boot, but you can’t exactly pull it out subtly. His beretta is on his hip, his rifle is leaning against the table, but you’d be lying to yourself if you thought you had a chance in hell of reaching either before he could. 

 König takes your silence for compliance and goes back to dabbing your wound with alcohol. You flinch when he places his hand on you, and he makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat. “Such a nervous little rabbit.” The mask conceals his expression from you, but you can hear the frown in his voice. 

“You shot me,” you respond dryly. “Doesn’t exactly foster trust.” 

 “Just a scratch. I could’ve killed you, if I wanted to.” He shrugs, a casual movement that’s unintentionally intimidating, your eyes on the way his shoulder muscles move beneath the layers of clothing he wears. 

You spend your time with large men, the boys of your team all averaging above six feet, but König is just startlingly gigantic. You scan his torso, eyes tracing across the wide planes of his chest, lingering too long to be decent. You catch yourself and drop your gaze down to your hands. “If you don’t want to kill me, what do you want?”

“I want to know what you are doing here.” His tone is still pleasant, but interrogative. His fingers are deliberate, surprisingly gentle as he bandages your shoulder, but there’s an unspoken thread of tension in the air. 

You’re much more docile when he patches up your ankle, an uneasy truce between the two of you. You sit still as he splints it, legs draped almost intimately over his lap, his large fingers curled around your injured leg, gentle pressure holding you steady as he works. He adjusts his hold, squeezing lightly on the meat of your calf, and your breathing stutters. His eyes flick to yours, something dangerous in their expression, and you hold his gaze as you deliberately drag your uninjured leg closer to you, your boot trailing across König's upper thighs intentionally. His eyes slip close at the sensation, just for a moment, and that's when you act, yanking your knife out of your boot and sinking it into his thigh and launching yourself to the floor. He lets out a snarling cry, and you scramble up, your vision going white from the pain of your ankle, but you push through it, sprinting out of the shack. 

“Chasing shadows.” You respond, your voice equally mild. You know he looked through your pack and probably found the papers. You wonder if he thought it was ironic that you came sniffing after KorTac, just to run right into him. You certainly did.

You can't run properly, reduced to a hobble that's made all the more difficult by the fact that you're on uneven terrain in the quickly growing dark. You need to figure out your location and find a way to contact your team, but you’re disoriented and disarmed. You haven’t made it more than a few meters when you hear the sound of the front door slam open. You pick up the pace, trying to put as much distance between you and the very angry Austrian hot on your trail. 

“Häschen,” König’s voice rings through the trees, and a trickle of fear runs through you. You duck behind a tree, pressing yourself against it firmly, trying to blend in with the darkness. 

“Always trying to run away,” he snarls, shoving his body against yours. He thrusts his uninjured thigh between your legs, pinning you further, and you let out an unintentional gasp at the sudden pressure of hard muscle against your core. König instantly pulls away, his eyes shooting down to your ankle with concern, before dragging slowly up your body, his gaze accusatory.  

He can hear you breathing, light and quick, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the heavy sound of his footsteps as he closes in on you. He whips around the tree you’re cowering against, and you try to bolt, but he wraps his fingers around your bicep, yanking you back, slamming his hands above your head, trapping you against the tree. 

“You like this,” he says, and you shake your head desperately. 

“I don’t–” he interrupts any denials you might have, deliberately grinding his thigh in between your legs. You clench your teeth against the noise it draws from your throat. 

He leans impossibly closer, your noses almost brushing through the hood he wears. “Did you like the chase as well?” His voice is a husky rumble, full of heat, and you have to bite back a whine. “I liked the chase.” You realize the hard length against your stomach isn't his Beretta, and an unwanted spike of arousal shoots through you in response.

“You’re insane,” you snap, grappling for some semblance of control over the building pleasure in your core. König pulls away from you abruptly, and you flush at how wet you are, soaking through your underwear. 

“How about a game, Häschen?” his voice has lost its edge, back to the pleasant tone he used in the shack, and your head spins at the sudden change.  “I'll give you five minutes to run or hide, and if you can make it ten minutes without me finding you, I’ll take you to your extraction point myself, safe and sound.”

Your heart races. You don’t trust him, but there's no way you'll get another chance to get away from him. “And if I can’t?” You ask. 

You know you’re fucked, but you scramble through the darkness as quickly as you can, trying to find a good place to hide. If your ankle wasn’t broken, you’d climb a tree, but you’re stuck searching for ground cover, listening with mounting paranoia to the quiet noises of the forest. You’re a celestial body pulled unwillingly into König’s orbit; collision unavoidable.

He says nothing, just purposefully presses his hard cock against your center. Traitorous want flows through you.

You hear him coming, branches breaking as he stalks towards you. You stand as straight as you can, letting him approach you, his eyes bright in the dim of twilight. When he comes within range, you lunge for his gun, almost succeeding in yanking it out of the holster before he grabs you around the waist and pulls you to the ground, pinning you roughly beneath him. 

Even as he manhandles you, you're hyper aware of the delicate way he avoids putting any weight near your injured shoulder. He's got your legs splayed around him, but he's careful, adjusting you just so, keeping your ankle tucked safely away, angled so he won't jostle it. His hips press obscenely against your ass, and you can't help arching your back into him, begging for his cock even as you swear at him.

“Get the fuck off of me,” you spit, and he just laughs, an off-putting, mean sound, before reaching around and ripping open your pants. The button pops off, and the zipper teeth split forcefully apart as he shoves a hand into your underwear. 

“Complain all you want, Häschen, but you're soaked for me,” he coos into your ear, roughly rubbing your clit. You moan at the contact, and he moves his hand lower, pressing his palm against your clit before shoving a finger into your wet center, roughly splitting you open. You gasp at the sudden stretch, König giving you no time to adjust as he pulls his finger out for a moment and plunges it back in, moving in and out at a punishing pace.

“Tell the truth.” He orders, adding a second finger. He curls them, stroking your inner walls, bullying you open until he finds the spot that makes you see stars.  “Say you want me to fuck you.” 

You're beyond words, making a derisive noise that transforms into a whine as you move your hips back, driving König's fingers deeper, your ass rubbing against his clothed erection. All you can focus on is the press of his body against yours, his fingers unspooling you, pulling you apart as he pants along with you. The tension is building, the knot in your stomach tightening as König forces you closer to the edge. 

He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you devastatingly empty and unsatisfied, and you let out an anguished whimper despite yourself. He pushes your pants roughly down around your thighs, and the purr of his zipper opening makes you clench reflexively around nothing. 

He presses right against your entrance, a breath away from splitting you open on his cock. You shove your hips back, trying to fuck yourself onto him, and he pulls back. “Say you want this,” he demands. 

“Fuck. You.” You snarl, even as your thighs tremble. He drags the head of his cock up through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, and you gasp. 

“Such spirit,” he murmurs. In a single motion, he sinks into you, splitting you in open, pulling the air from your lungs. 

He thrusts into you fast and hard, like he wants to tear you open, and it hurts, even with how soaked you are. You cry out, trying to squirm away from the pain. His fingers find your clit again, his breath hot in your ear. He dwarfs you, your legs shaking from pleasure and the weight of him on top of you, pressing you into the dirt. 

“You wanted this.” His voice is a panting snarl, his talented fingers stealing your senses as he forces you closer to your orgasm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the forest air as he pounds into you without mercy. “Say it.” 

“I want this,” you whimper. You feel the shocking whisper of his lips against the junction of your neck and shoulder and realize with a start that means he’s not wearing his hood. All thoughts are shoved out of your head as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and you wail as you snap, the sensation dragging you over the edge, your body trembling as you cum. His thrusts become sloppy, his cock twitching inside you as he shoves his hips against yours, filling you up. He stays like that, flush against you, as his dick softens, keeping you full and trapped under him. 

You lay in the dirt panting, hollowed out and raw. There are pine needles prickling against your skin, soreness awakening in your limbs as you come back to yourself. König climbs off of you, still cognizant of your injuries, and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a lover, the brutality melting into tenderness like watercolor. His hood is back in place, and the world comes crashing down around you as your senses return, the weight of your actions pulling you down as regret and shame bubble under your skin. 

The walk to the extraction point is silent. König holds you cradled against his chest; your hand fisted in the front of the vest he wears. His thigh burns, his entire body consumed with exhaustion, but he clenches his jaw against the pain, focusing instead on your face, turnt up towards him, open and vulnerable, eyes rimmed with red. If he was a better man, he'd be sorry. 

König notices your eyes glazing over, the warble of your chin, and reaches up a large hand to cradle your face, wiping away tears you didn't realize were threatening to fall. “Hush bunny, you did so well,” he croons down at you, his saccharine actions thrown in high relief against how violently he handled you before. “Such a good girl for me.”

He sets you down gently on a large rock, and pulls your knife out of a hidden pocket, his hand raised in a placating gesture as he slowly places it beside you. It’s still got his blood on it, dried to rust on the tip. You don’t reach for it, pulling your uninjured leg up and wrapping your arms around yourself. You look even smaller than you did before. 

He straightens his spine against the odd sensation in his chest. “Tell your captain to keep a closer eye on his men,” He orders, then reaches out a hand, hovering just above your cheek bone. Neither of you bridge the gap.  

You watch him disappear into the trees, the shadows swallowing him whole, the sound of a helicopter in the distance.

[sleepyswriting]

Sigh…. Humping Nanami’s pillow bc ur so needy and desperate and you can’t wait til he’s off of work. Rocking ur hips against the fabric of the pillow case getting that friction u so desperately need, it’s no where as good as Nanami but it’ll do for now. ur breathing speeds up as u get closer grinding faster n harder as u chase ur high. U throw ur head back as a few needy moans slip past your lips, only for u to hear someone clear their throat. U freeze and look at the source of the sound ur high disappearing almost instantly as u find Nanami leaning against the door frame, watching u with a lazy smirk on his face and bulge in his pants “so needy u couldn’t wait til i got home? Keep going, I didn’t say u could stop”

[vaaaaaiolet]

this is MY blog and i get to post whatever i want. euueguheghughuaghughg i can't do this

[cufflinksandsnapbacks]

i am allowed to be unhinged on my page, it's my page. i would apologise for my further words but it's not the time yet

Genuinely desperate to have Eggsy fuck me into a hotel bed but I would never go near Eggsy x Reader, it just doesn't vibe with me—

so I have to turn the next guy to live my fantasy; Harry Hart who's definitely a tart in disguise. No one is that crisp n proper n in command all the time, I swear I see you Hart. (honestly I'll fuck him myself)

For the love of all that is brutal, I hunger for more top!eggsy, I know that boy is sweet and lovely but my god the things he's willing to do for the people he loves that they can shape him into someone different. He'll be anything. So tell me why is that ao3 tag been below 70 results for months even though hartwin is at almost 6000 results

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

lati!! I've been following your works for a long back and I don't know if you still like enjou, but did you know they just officially posted him as white day celebration post on insta? the dev team definitely knows whats going on with the enjou enjoyers 😭😭

oh FR, one of those guys must've read my old cringey enjou smuts and went "lmao lets give the enjou enjoyers something to enjoy themselves with" and i will never be the same after this (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )づ♡

[fangel]

harvest of purity sunghoon…,.

but YAY my second fic is posted!! ik i have other wips planned but when i had this idea i just had to run with it. it was so fun to write and i thoroughly enjoyed the planning and writing process far more than i did for attic angel (bc this actually had an outline)

if you read it, thank you !! ♡ (ik it’s long asf idk what happened i was possessed by the voices) this fic is truly a piece of me ૮꒰ ˶> ༝ <˶꒱ა <3 i really loved writing this story and im kinda proud of this one :’)

lil fact : harvest of purity was originally (in plan) a jungwon fic :0 ? ! the original plot was v different tho. many changes. okie byee ♡ ♡

[girlbob-boypants]

People are debating what the "romantasy" genre is because apparently "a romance centric plot in a fantasy setting" isn't romantasy that's something else

[homo-ousios]

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” is how confession starts, btw.

Not “forgive me.”

“Bless me.”

It would be so beneficial to my health if all writers could LEARN THIS REAL QUICK.

[sleepyswriting]

Been thinking abt humping tojis thigh as a punishment. Chat now hear me out… u were acting out w him in public, pressing up against him after he warned u not to, subtle touches here and there that u know gets him riled up to the point where he’s gonna give you what u want or so u thought- instead he grabs u by the waist and forces u to sit on his leg so ur cunt is pressed against his massive thigh. U look at him with furrowed brows wondering why he isn’t bending you over the nearest surface, he just smirks and leans close to ur ear “you wanna act up in public, you can get yourself off on my thigh” he starts you off his hands grabbing ur hips as he slowly guides them back and forth making sure you get a good rhythm, after all he does want to see his pretty girl make a mess all over him even if it isn’t on cock he smirks as u whine begging him to touch n help u but he doesn’t budge, the most u get out of him is guiding u so move faster but once you speed up he lets go letting u take the lead again which only leaves u even more pent up and frustrated (idk chat I feel like this has some Sukuna vibes in it)

AN: if you saw that typo no you did not <3

[gothteddiesdotcom]

I think that part of what like. kills me about the whole media literacy and critical thinking aspect of enjoying media these days is that people refuse to like. contextualize that

A. Bad media can still hold significant meaning to people

B. Media made for a demographic you aren’t apart of is not inherently bad media

C. Media made for and consumed by the opposite demographic is not inherently shallow or flawed nor is it above criticism for its media tropes either.

[bluestrawberrybunny]

Um… either today has been really productive when it comes to writing or something cuz I wrote and posted 3 chapters of the Schmigadoon AU fic. They’re short chapters tho so… yeah.

Legit sometimes I’ve written 10,000 words in a day. My fingers need to stop.

But my brain is definitely shutting down because it hates all I write. Ye….