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charliemwrites · 8 months ago

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Part 2!

Finally finished moving house so hopefully I’ll be updating semi-regularly again.

Content: brief and non-descriptive explanation of Rasputin’s backstory (injury and illness)

Agatha is over again.

You don’t know why. She doesn’t like you, your cats, or anything as far as you can tell. It seems her primary motivation for talking to you at all is to exercise her role as neighborhood matriarch. She “keeps tabs” on everyone, but especially you - the unmarried woman living alone that keeps odd hours.

A rebellious part of you wants to roll your eyes and make snarky comments whenever she sniffs at your life choices. The same part of you that would make scenes at holiday dinners or slam doors when you were a teenager. That girl has long been smoothed and polished - or maybe just worn down. It’s so much effort to make rude, nosy, traditionalists clutch their pearls. Much easier to smile in their face and do what you want anyway.

Still, that part of you itches at the surface sometimes. Makes your eye twitch.

“I know your generation is different but that’s just not the type of neighborhood we live in,” she’s saying.

You’re a bit foggy from a late night patching plotholes and haven’t registered much of anything she’s said. You really just want to go inside and stare at the TV until words make sense again.

“What do you mean?” you ask, for once not feigning your confusion. But of course this is the one time she doesn’t buy it.

She looks down her frail little nose at you, cornflower blue eyes baleful. You don’t feel scolded, but you sense that you’re supposed to.

“Now you know just what I mean. People will talk.”

People always talk, it’s an unfortunate byproduct of the human condition. Like a deaf bird, you’ve never understood all the chatter.

“Talk about… the buttercups?” you wonder, pointing at the blossoms. You’re quite proud of them actually.

Agatha puffs up and hisses out a breath. “You ought to keep to this side of the street. Away from those men.”

You blink. Men…?

A bang comes from across the street, followed by rough German cursing. (At least you think it’s cursing.)

Ah. Those men.

“I was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.”

It comes out of your mouth automatically, innocent excuses for something you remind yourself you don’t need to justify.

“I’d rather they didn’t feel welcome,” she snips. “Better they sell that awful house and go somewhere else.”

You flick your eyes over her bony shoulder. Konig passes by a window, massive biceps on display as he lifts something outside of view.

“They’re nice,” you say. Nice to look at. Krueger’s face alone quite makes up for his conversational shortcomings.

“The only reason men like that act nice is because they want something,” Agatha snaps. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”

Yeah, soooo respectable when Bertram rifles through your mail or Lisa looks into your backyard.

“Well,” you muse, “better to be on good terms with them, I think. They're not the type you want to piss off.”

That defiant streak lights up at the way her face sours. If only she knew what sort of words you use when it’s just you and the cats.

“You’ve just proven my point. Those are not the type of men young ladies should associating themselves with.”

You have to try very hard not to scrunch up your face. One blessed day, people will stop referring to you as “young lady” in that insufferably condescending tone. You can’t wait for that day.

Some of your mounting irritation must show on your face because she takes on a sickly sweet “teaching” tone.

“Neighborhoods are like gardens. Everything grows best when the rows are kept separate. That’s why the farmers plant them that way.”

You glance pointedly at your own yard, where the flowers are blooming in haphazard sprigs wherever you tossed the seeds. Agatha’s lips get thin.

“Best that you stay on this side of the street, missy. That’s the last I’ll hear of it.”

She spins on her heel and stalks off like a particularly drab bird. You stand on your porch for a second longer, face contorted in annoyed confusion. You don’t even have strong feelings about the three men; the simple act of someone - Agatha of all people - labeling them as “Off Limits” makes them instantly more appealing.

Maybe you should see someone about that or something. Then the pathetic cries of Guy through the window lure you back inside.

It’s nearly sundown when there’s a knock at your door. Still agitated from your talk with Agatha, you puff up like Shithead when Rasputin sits on her favorite toy. March up to the door, fling it open - and come up short when you see the three men looming on your doorstep.

Before you can recover, a little gray blob scrambles past your ankles, crying like the sky is falling.

“Oh!” Konig gasps in pleasant surprise. “Hallo, Bubchen!”

And all 6-foot-plus of Austrian instantly folds to scoop Guy up. You’ve barely managed a now-useless shout of alarm when Shithead wedges her fat head between your calves. Behind you, Rasputin politely screeches his little chainsmoker call.

And somehow, in the chaos of fumbling for furballs, you end up with all three men in your foyer.

Guy is purring away in Konig’s thick arms. Shithead is attempting to scale Krueger’s tight cargo pants. And Rasputin is pawing the air at Nikto, visibly calculating the jump to his wide shoulders.

Which leaves you with the clean serving platter you dropped off just yesterday. You blink at it for a moment, then glance at them.

“So… the cookies were good then?”

“Very good!” Konig rushes to say. Krueger and Nikto each nod, almost comically solemn.

“We have no baking or cooking skills,” Krueger continues, “so tell us what needs fixing.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he means. The house. He wants to fix your house. It’s surprisingly sweet, and you laugh a bit, shaking your head. “You don’t need to do that, I was just-“

“Is custom,” Nikto interrupts.

Konig nods with all the enthusiasm of a bobblehead as Krueger crosses his arms. (Whatever effect he’s going for is ruined by Shithead clinging to his pocket and screaming.)

“In our country, we bring gifts as guests. Our gift is repairs,” he explains.

You arch your brows playfully. “I don’t remember inviting you to be guests.”

He arches his brows right back. “We did not invite you either.”

Well shit.

“Okay, okay. I guess there’s a couple things…”

Konig perks up. “We would be happy to help, Biene!”

It’s strange having men in the house. You think you should be more nervous about it, can’t remember the last non-family man allowed into your space. Especially alone.

There’s a sharp awareness, of course. Hard not to be aware of them. It’s not just that they’re big, dwarfing all of your you-sized furniture. There’s a presence to them, something felt but not seen by your untrained eye. Maybe it’s in the set of their shoulders, the way they stand with both boots firmly planted. Maybe it’s the precise way they speak and move, not just separately but as a unit. Acting more like a collective consciousness than as individuals.

Whatever it is, you couldn’t ignore them if you tried. And you’re definitely not trying.

You set Krueger to work on the kitchen cabinet you’ve been meaning to replace. He clicks his tongue at the tape-and-lean method you’ve been using to keep the old one in place. Shithead immediately sets to work helping by gnawing at his shoelaces.

Konig is stationed in the guest bathroom, where the sink doesn’t run right. Guy comes mewing into your arms when he’s set down, effectively tattling that his new friend is mean and awful for withholding affection for even a moment.

You try not to visibly hesitate when you corner yourself in your own laundry room. Nikto has followed you right in, seemingly unaware that he’s invading your personal space. He’s not even looking at you though, eyes zeroed in on the dryer you point to.

“It’s not heating up, so the clothes stay wet or take forever to dry,” you explain.

He grunts in acknowledgement, then nods to Rasputin, who has taken up residence on the washer. His one golden eye blinks slow and serene at the two of you.

“What happened?” he asks.

You hum, softening in pleasant surprise at the question.

“I’m not sure how he lost his eye. It was infected when I found him. But I know for sure the tail and leg are from getting hit by a car.”

You sigh, scratching at Rasputin’s chin. A rusty purr starts up as he tilts his head, revealing some nasty scars around his throat.

“The vet said that that’s probably from a fight with another cat,” you add.

Guy steps from your arms to cuddle up to Rasputin, shoving his face into his ragged ear. Grooming time, then. That’s as good an indication as any that Nikto’s probably safe enough.

“I ran down from an office building to save him.” You blink hard, eyes stinging just from the memory. “But anyway, he gets to rest and be pampered now.”

When you glance up from Rasputin’s happy little face, you almost startle at the sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. Your face feels warm, even though you’re not embarrassed.

“I’ll, um, get out of the way,” you say, clearing your throat. “Keep an eye on things, Ras.”

With the men occupied, you find yourself once again at loose ends. You drift towards the den, but it feels awkward to sit on your ass watching TV while your neighbors fix your house.

You check the time on your phone - ignoring the text from your mother - and figure it’s not too early to start dinner.

“Will I be in the way if I start cooking?” you ask Krueger.

He flicks you a dimissive glance. “A little thing like you?”

You scoff and cross to the fridge. “You could have just said no.”

“Nein,” he snorts.

Rude bastard, you think - though not without fondness, unfortunately. The surly attitude is already growing on you.

There’s meat and spare boxes of pasta and veggies - that’ll work. You start tugging out ingredients, mentally doubling portions for your guests. They look like they work out even beyond the construction labor, hopefully you’ll have enough to satisfy their appetites.

“So what’s the plan with the house?” you ask as you get to work. “Just fixing it up to sell or…?”

“We will live there, the three of us,” Krueger answers. He swipes a screwdriver from Shithead’s batting paws. “Somewhere to stay when we are not working.”

You hum, biting back the next obvious question, loathe to become as nosy as the rest of your neighbors. Still… getting to know people, right?

It sounds like they expect to travel a lot. You can’t imagine them as business types - not in the traditional sense anyway. Though the image of Konig sitting in a tiny cubicle does make you smile a bit. Between their statures, their clothes, their shoes, and the occasional nasty scar, you take a guess.

“Are you guys military?”

“Contractor,” Krueger corrects.

You perk up. “Wait, really?”

He scowls. “Does it sound like a joke?”

You huff and turn back to the veggies you’re cutting. “No, no. I just - you know about guns and knives and things, then?”

He pauses. You shoot him a curious glance, only to quickly look away at the intense scrutiny directed your way.

“Yes,” he answers slowly.

“Then… could you maybe answer some questions…?”

His eyes narrow. “Questions?”

You keep your gaze on the cutting board. “Okay, wait, it's not suspicious. I’m a writer and it’s hard to google very specific questions sometimes. It’s just easier to ask an expert in person.”

Never mind that majority of your readers would never know the difference. It bothers you when things aren’t accurate.

He makes a considering noise. “A writer?”

You flush. “That’s what I do. Why I’m always home? I publish fiction.”

He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. You peek his way, shocked to see a task you’ve been putting off for weeks already done. Hell, it looks sturdier than the rest of the cabinet doors, too.

“And your fiction requires knowledge of guns and knives and ‘things’?” he asks.

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “Sometimes…”

“Fine. I will answer your questions,” he allows.

You beam. “Thank you!”

He grunts, snatches a slice of pepper and pops it into his mouth.

“What else needs doing?”

Dinner ends up much more pleasant than expected. Nikto abstains from eating, you assume because he doesn’t feel comfortable removing his ever-present mask, but he sits at the table with Rasputin in his lap. He speaks little, and has that intense gaze that prickles at your freeze instinct, but you grow used to it as the meal progresses.

Konig, however, becomes chattier with food in his belly. He’s much more forthcoming when he answers your polite and totally casual questions - though you notice Krueger kick him under the table once or twice.

You suppose he gets you back by effectively announcing to the others what your career is. Which just kicks off the usual line of questioning about how and why you got into writing. Still, there’s no judgment from these men that make their living in labors of blood and sacrifice, where you expected censure. You only find genuine curiosity and intrigue, good-natured questions. Not even Krueger makes backhanded comments about it not being a “real” job.

Before you know it, the moon is high and you’re sending the three of them off, bellies full and a little friendlier than before. Nikto nods to you (and Rasputin) as he leaves, a big Tupperware of his dinner portion in hand.

You tell yourself it’s not anticipation that goes through you, knowing they’ll be back with it soon.

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Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #cod krueger #sebastian krueger #konig #konig cod #cod nikto #polyamory #bad neighbours #men at work

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dinogoofymutated · 8 months ago

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NSFW!nightcrawler/GN!AFAB!reader

This is my fic for mine and @pompeii-for-elephants ' fic exchange!! Hope you like it!!! I know I said I was surprised at myself when I wrote the cable smut, but this??? HOT DAYMN. Also, special thanks to @blue-devil-of-the-lord for their guide on german phrases for Kurt!

TWS: MNDI!!! Very tender Sex, PNV sex, shower handjobs, praise, cowgirl position, Nipple sucking, creampie. Kurt Wagner marry me I'm begging you

You hated goodbyes, but worse than the goodbyes was the waiting. The nail-biting, anxious, unbelievably horrid waiting.

Kurt had been off on a mission with Logan and Rogue for about two weeks. You know it could be worse, understanding that some of these missions can take months at a time, but still. It was hard, being away from him for so long. You worried constantly about how he was, if he was okay, and if he needed anything. The moments where your mind was busy were moments of relief, as when you let your mind wander it always wandered back to him.

You’ve just dismissed your class for the day when Jean psychically gives you confirmation that the group of them would be coming home today, and you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You’re almost done grading assignments when you hear the jet above the school and practically scramble out of your chair. You hastily turn off the light and close the door, speed-walking down the hallway and then down the stairs to the bottom floor. You’re almost at the steps of the basement when you hear a *Bamf!* from behind you. You practically skid to a stop, whipping around and catching sight of Kurt with an excited smile.

You’re the first to tackle him into a hug. He hisses in a bit of pain, and you quickly try to pull away when you realize that he’s hurting. He’s not having any of it though, keeping you held tightly against his chest as he holds you close.

“Ich habe dich vermisst.” Kurt says, pressing his face into your hair and breathing you in. “I went to your classroom, but it seems that I had been just a tad too late.” You laugh at that, giving him a gentle squeeze before pulling away just enough to see his face. His smile is contagious, and you cup his cheek lovingly, rubbing your thumb against a dark bruise that looks to be forming under his cheekbone.

“Sorry to lead you on a chase. How are you feeling?” You ask. Kurt hums, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm.

“Better now that I’ve seen you, Schatz.” You cock an eyebrow at that, and all he does is give you an innocent smile, albeit a tired one. You’re trying to be reasonable here, but god if it wasn't for a wave of cuteness aggression. You catch his lips in a kiss, so very thankful to have him back home. Kurt eagerly returns it, and you’ve certainly forgotten that this is still a school at this point. On cue, there’s a cough from somewhere behind you, and you separate from Kurt, only slightly embarrassed to be caught. It’s Logan, giving the two of you a knowing look and a bit of a smirk as he crosses his arms.

“Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but you’re still needed for the mission report, elf.” Logan says. Kurt winces, and you frown at the thought of being away from him again. But, procedures were in place for a reason. Kurt kisses you on the cheek, taking your hands in his just briefly before he has to leave.

The whole afternoon has gone by with Kurt still caught up with his responsibilities. You’re getting ready for the shower with only a towel wrapped around you when you hear Kurt enter your shared room. He gives you a greeting that sounds tired, and you can’t help but peek out of the bathroom door, spotting sweet Kurt as he sighs and sits on the bed, exhausted. You try not to stare as he begins to take off his suit, but it’s admittedly hard. You frown at seeing his exhaustion, and the dark purple bruises that he reveals as he peels out of the clothing. You think for a moment, but come up with something you decide was more than fair.

“I’ll see you as soon as I can, Ja?” He whispers. You nodd, smiling in a way you hope is rather reassuring. He smiles back, before following Logan back into the basement.

“Hey, Kurt?” You ask sweetly, leaning against the doorway.

“Yes, love?” He asks. He does a double take when he looks up, giving you a tired smile once his surprise wears off.

“Join me?” You add on. His bright smile is all you need as an answer, and he scrambles to get out of the suit faster as you walk back into the bathroom. He teleports behind you as you start the water, dragging you backward into his arms to make you giggle.

“Let me help you with that, Mein Schatz.” Kurt says as he unravels the towel from you. He hangs it on the rack before turning back to you, and you can’t help but get closer to him, holding his face in your hands as you place a kiss on his forehead. His yellow eyes watch you fondly, his hands falling on your hips and his tail swaying happily as you hold him. Your hands stroke his cheekbones, before trailing down to his chest, rubbing your thumbs across his collarbones as you look at the bruises on his chest and abdomen. You frown, trailing a hand to the area to gingerly stroke the skin.

“You let Hank check you out?” You ask. Kurt nods, taking your hand in his own and pressing it over his heart.

“Alles ist gut, Don’t worry for me, Liebchen. I’ll heal soon enough.” He says, and you sigh at him, giving him a concerned look. Kurt had always been a defender and protector, and yet he still brushed off his aches and pains. Even now he stands here, telling you not to worry. He gives you a sheepish smile, brushing a hand through your hair soothingly.

“It’s wash night. Let me wash your hair for you?” He asks. You smile, but shake your head before pulling him to the shower.

“I was hoping I could take care of you tonight.” You say. Kurt simply chuckles in response, following you into the warm stream of water. You start by washing his hair, being careful around his ears and eyes when you rinse. Kurt has no complaints as you lavish him with attention, almost purring as you wash him and cover him in suds. You turn him around to wash his back, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades before continuing. You can’t help but be a little cheeky, hands trailing down south, teasing the skin around his hipbones before sliding back to grab a handful of his ass. Kurt jumps a little but only laughs, his tail swatting your hands away.

“Cheeky.” He remarks, and you can tell he’s smiling. You let out a small “Can you blame me?” before your hands travel back around his front. You kiss the back of his neck sweetly as your hands wander up and down his abdomen. Kurt sighs as he leans back into you, relaxing in your arms.

Your hands begin to wander, trailing down to his cock as you just barely brush your fingers along his length. Kurt gasps, tail curling around one of your thighs as his head leans back.

“Schatz…”

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” You whisper into his ear, hands moving to his thighs, tracing the sensitive skin. “I know you’re tired, so just… let me know.”

“No... no. Please, continue.” He begs, the tip of his tail swaying idly between your thighs. You kiss the skin below his ear as you begin to caress him again, gently stroking him to hardness amongst the soapy suds. His gasps and choked moans are lighting a fire inside of you as you stoke the one in him. You nip and suck on the sensitive skin of his ear, addicted to the feeling of him against you, and the sounds he makes in your hold.

He lets out a curse as you thumb the head of his cock, collecting a bead of precum as you stroke it back down his shaft. Your other hand drifts a bit lower, teasing his balls before you give them a gentle squeeze. Kurt lets out a little “-ah!” and a whine as you build him closer and closer to the finish line. His cock twitches in your hands, his breath coming in shaky pants. His hands reach back for your thighs, clenching and unclenching as he reaches closer to his peak. You pick up the pace of your strokes, and he lets out a loud whine when he cums. You stroke and kiss him through it, sucking a hickey into his skin as his hips thrust and legs shake. His cum coats your fingers when you’re finished, sticky and creamy in consistency.

“Feel better?” You ask. Kurt chuckles in response, taking one of your hands in his own, still coated in his cum. He kisses it before ducking it into the stream of water, cleaning your hands off before he turns around and kisses you. His tail wraps around your waist as he draws you as close as possible, only letting you go once he's had his fill.

“Let me have you,” He whispers. “Please.” You're breathless at the words, biting your lip as you think it over. You kiss him again, and then a second time for good measure.

“I don't want you to strain yourself. You've had a long day.” You tell him. Kurt pouts at you. His tail tightens slightly around your waist. You sigh with a smile at the look he gives you, his eyes half-lidded and needy.

“Okay, but I just want you to lay back and relax, alright? Let me do the work.” Your palms are set on his pecs, slowly sliding up and down the area. “Let me take care of you for a change.” You whisper. Kurt smiles at you, his tail unwrapping from your waist as he backs you up to the wall of the shower. He's got you cornered into the wall, and he brings a hand up, shutting off the water after pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“As you wish.” He says.

It's hard to keep up with what's happening between the shower and the bed, but once his back hits the sheets, you're engulfing him in love and praise, thankful to have him home and happy to serve him pleasure on a silver platter.

“You're so pretty, Kurt.” You hum, actively kissing across his fuzzy abs, a hand tracing the soft hair of his happy trail as you pay extra attention to the deep bruises he came home with. Kurt’s chest heaves, his hands clenching the pillow at his head as you lavish him in attention. The sight of him was stunning. Deep blue skin and pretty black curls… Kurt gasps underneath you as you drag your teeth bluntly across his nipple, and you can't help but smile at the sound. He's rock hard underneath you, flushed a pretty purple at his tip as his cock stands at attention. You don't let him stay painfully hard, stroking him slowly to scratch that itch he so desperately deserves to have scratched.

One of his hands unclenches from the pillow as you start to press kisses to his cock, teasing and licking the skin. The limb flexes by his hip, and you take the invitation to lace his fingers between your own. It was a bit awkward to figure out when the two of you first started dating, but there was no mountain you weren't willing to climb if it meant returning the love he gave you in such abundance. You know he would do the same for you if the roles were reversed. You stroke him a few final times, kissing the sensitive head of his cock and sucking it into your mouth as one last effort to hear him whine before you’re straddling him.

You grind your wet folds against his cock, perhaps a little more sensitive than usual. Kurt's lost in a world of pleasure, desperately trying to keep his eyes open to watch you. You're absolutely soaked, already feeling like you could take him in entirely, but you continue to grind against him, spreading your slick across his shaft to make sure that there won't be any struggle on either end. His other hand comes down to rest on your hip, kneading the skin as you move. You squeeze your intertwined hands, resting your free one on top of the one he's placed on your hip.

“I love your hands, you know that?” You murmur. Kurt responds with a moan as his hips jerk up, moving against yours. “-and your arms, your tail, and fuzz and- a-ah…” You bite your lip as the head of his cock catches on your clit. You're beginning to get impatient, even though you were the one who chose this pace in the first place. He just felt so good and warm against you- hitting all the right spots without even being inside you yet.

“Please, love, let me- hng… I enjoy your words, and your praise, but perhaps too much. Spare me, please.” Kurt breathes. His grip on your hip has gotten rather tight, his tail winding around your thigh once again, like he does when he doesn't quite know what to do with it. He's waiting for you, you realize, and you want to do nothing more than kiss him silly.

Instead, you do exactly what he asks for, and spare him. The head of his cock notches against your slit before he slides in without any effort, settling in comfortably for the both of you. Both of your moans greet the air at the action, surprised at the utter lack of resistance. You'd think that you'd have to be well prepared for this kind of thing, but no, seems that all you needed was Kurt.

“That was… You feel…” Kurt’s struggling to get the words across, his eyes fluttering closed at the pleasure. You're trying your hardest not to balance yourself by leaning on him as you begin to slowly work your hips.

“Believe- me, you did most of the -ah- work, handsome.” You say breathlessly. Kurt’s yellow eyes flicker open as you start moving earnestly, watching you ride him with conviction. Both of you moan when he happens to hit that spongy spot inside of you that feels so good.

“Danke, danke… Love- ah, fuck!” Kurt moans, his voice coming out breathlessly toward the end of his sentence. He doesn't curse like that very often, and it makes a flicker of heat light you up from the inside.

“So good Kurt, you feel so good.” You gasp, each bounce of your hips causing his cock to stroke your insides just right. His hand on your hip begins to move up to your waist before it goes further to just barely brush against your sensitive nipples. You gasp again at the feeling, letting out an almost embarrassing moan.

You're caught by surprise as Kurt is sitting up, letting go of your other hand to push you against him. He leans forward, his tail now flicking excitedly behind him as he sucks and nips at the skin of your chest. You rest your hands against his shoulders as you pick up the pace of your hips, addicted to the feeling of Kurt’s hums and moans as he sucks on your nipples.

“I’m…I'm close-” Kurt barely separates from your body to say the words, his hands clenching against you has he begins to tense and twitch.

“Ye-Yeah?” You ask, one hand tangling itself in his still-damp hair. “Okay, handsome- ah- I've got you.” You can feel him begin to twitch inside of you, each and every movement bringing both of you to your peaks. Kurt lets go of your chest as he kisses his way up to your mouth, catching you in an urgent and passionate kiss.

“Cum for me, please.” You say in between his kisses. He simply moans in response as your hips begin to falter, a telltale sign that you're about to reach that sweet, sweet pleasure.

Kurt cums first, tensing and shaking underneath you as spurts of his cum warm your insides. He brings a thumb to your clit to help you meet your own orgasm as you work him through his. Stars flash in your eyes as you hit that peak of pleasure, grinding against him, once, twice, three more times before you collapse against his chest. Kurt chuckles contently beneath you, rubbing your back and kissing the parts of you he can reach as you rest against him.

“You okay?” You ask the moment you're back down to earth again. “I didn't hurt you in any way, did I?” Kurt shakes his head at you, leaning back to look you in the eyes.

“No, not at all, Liebling.” He says fondly. “I'm not sure you could if you tried.” You can't help but smile at that, sighing into him as you rest against his chest. It feels good to have him back. He slips out of you before he lays both of you back down against the cushions, where you take your chance to pepper his face with kisses.

“Ich liebe dich.” He says softly. “So much. Much more than you know.”

“I love you more.”

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

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You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment.

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze.

König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others.

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!”

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect.

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up.

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child.

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru.

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes.

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest.

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!”

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away.

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!” König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture.

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you, König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you.

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt.

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny.

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone.

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge.

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.”

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction.

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl.

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance.

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.”

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!”

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience.

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done.

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling.

Evolve, or die.

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later.

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.”

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants.

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA.

The Lieutenant is one of them.

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead.

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t.

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact.

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself.

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins.

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was.

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding.

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed.

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes.

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide.

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady.

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire.

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock.

Your finger slams into the trigger.

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself.

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König.

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary.

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt.

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch.

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later.

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure.

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König.

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone.

Anyone but you, that is.

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter.

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced.

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down.

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm.

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?”

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment.

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour.

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you.

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence.

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up.

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh.

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest.

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.”

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given.

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly.

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.”

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?”

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?”

He freezes, muscles going taunt.

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?”

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away.

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate.

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit.

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over.

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side.

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air.

König kneeled to you and bared himself.

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this.

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood.

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug.

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning.

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he.

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame.

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears.

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him.

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat.

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English.

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril.

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust.

You find none.

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening.

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words.

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize.

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized.

For you to come back to him. His partner.

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths.

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

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miniwheat77 · 1 year ago

Text

Triple Threat. (Keegan, König, & Ghost X Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, unprotected p in v sex, double penetration, Sex Pollen, drugs, death, violence, poorly translated German, (sorry if I missed any.)

It’s been a long day.

You’ve been walking for miles behind the trio of masked men. You aren’t even sure why you were sent on this mission, considering the three men in front of you were the strongest. Physically and Mentally. They’re all skilled, more skilled than you’ll ever be. But you obey orders and even though you’re pointless to be here, you’re still enjoying yourself. König thought you’d be useful, you can’t argue there.

You’re lagging behind a bit, listening to everything going on. You’ve got a clear idea of how this mission is supposed to go. Capture the target, see what he knows, leave no survivors.

After a couple bomb threats from this person with the target of the base you all stayed on, you had no choice but to do this. You were getting too close to his operation and he was getting desperate. Which means whatever he has going on, is not good. You’d been walking a few miles, it’s where you were dropped off. You were closing in on the building he was in. It was all dense jungle around it. Nowhere to run.

As you approached the building, you noticed quite a few men outside. They were loading up a truck with crates of something. None of you had any kind of idea what it could be. “Keegan and Ghost, you two go ahead. You’re the quietest.” You nod. They give you nods of their own before splitting off into their own directions. “I’m going to go around, see if I can’t get a clear shot of some on the other side.” You mumble to König. He tilts his head. “Be safe, schatz.” You smile, “always.”

You make your way around, not having any idea of what awaits you ahead.

König watches through his scope, not sure why he’s out here when he did better with close combat, but nevertheless he kept quiet and stayed hidden. He watched Ghost and Keegan zero in.

“Y/N, how’s it looking?” He says into his radio.

He receives nothing but silence.

“Y/N? Do you copy?”

After another few minutes of silence, he begins to panic.

“Y/N isn’t responding, she circled around to get a better view, verrücktes Mädchen.” He mumbles the rest as he releases the button on his radio. “Shit. We have to get inside.” Ghost calls back.

“Keegan, do you copy?”

Ghost calls.

Goosebumps rise on his skin when he gets nothing in return. He’s breathing hard, resting up against a door. “Keegan?” He asks again. He sighs. “König. Keegan isn’t answering either.”

He takes in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He’s surprised when König doesn’t call back.

“König?”

Silence.

“God damnit.“ he breathes, taken by surprise when a dart is being shot into his neck. “What the f-“

That’s the last he remembers.

Slowly, one by one, they’re waking up. They’re on their knees with their hands tied behind their backs. They’ve killed most of the threats, but there’s still one. “Rise and shine.” He smiles. Their vision is blurry but they can hear you whimpering. When they fully register what’s going on, they start to panic. You’re strapped to a chair, fully naked. You’ve got a cloth tied around your mouth. “What the fuck is going on?” Keegan yells. “Ah, so you can talk.” The man smiles. He’s breathing hard, fighting against his restraints. He runs a knife over your chest and you close your eyes tightly, breathing heavily. “Deep breaths darling. Yeah, that’s it.” He chuckles.

König’s eyes darken. He wants to rip this man’s head off for touching you.

“Your precious girl here is infected now. Well… all of you are.” He chuckles. “This little dart here. Holds 1 Milliliter of the sweetest drug you can get your hands on.” He holds up the little dart. “I prescribe about 1/4 of that for my very special clients. You’re all infected with enough of this to kill a horse.” He laughs. “What the hell is it?” Ghost seethes. “Oh? You don’t know?” He smirks. “It’s a sex drug. A bit like the over the counter ones you can buy, but on steroids. When you take a little bit, you get aroused, you produce pheromones that attract people, makes sex intense. But when you take in more than the recommended amount..” he clicks his tongue.

“Heart rate picks up. Blood pressure rises. Keeps rising and rising until it bottoms out. You’ll either die of a heart attack or your heart will just give out.” He laughs. “So.. your girl here. She was infected first. Which means she’s going to die first, and you’re all going to watch her squirm. She’s going to beg for relief, beg for anything you’ll give her. But you’re stuck.” He laughs. “The only way she’ll feel better is if she gets fucked enough.” He laughs. He sits down in a chair, writing something down. “Ich werde dich töten.” König seethes. Looking up at him through his mask. “What was that big guy? Hm?” He laughs. He stands up once more. “You know what, I’ve got an idea. How about we get rid of the ridiculous costumes, show your real faces!” He claps his hands together. He starts with König, pulling off his hood. He glares up at him. Next was Ghost, he tugs his balaclava off. Ghost sends him a death stare. Next was Keegan, who had a smile on his face. “What are you smiling at?” He crouches down. “Just think your head is going to look perfect on a stick.” He spits in his face. He growls. “Whatever. Pay close attention to your little girlfriend, she’s going to start begging soon enough.” He mumbles. “She’s actually really sexy, might give her a go before her heart explodes.” He grips his dick through his jeans and that’s when König tugs at the ropes, feeling them start to give away. You whimper out, shifting in your chair. “Yeah, there we go.” He chuckles, sitting back down. He goes back to writing something down, and you squirming on the chair doesn’t help the situation at all. You’re rubbing your thighs together, raising your hips. You’re rutting them down into the chair for any sort of relief. As the time goes on, the worse it gets. Pretty soon, all three men are trying to ignore the tightening in their pants, shifting uncomfortably, trying hard to get out of their restraints.

“Awe. Look at you.” The man smiles. “Soaking the chair.” He chuckles. He runs his fingertips up your thigh and you flinch. “Stop.” Ghost growls. “Nah, I think it’s time I take her for a test drive.” He smiles. König rips through the ropes, the man freezes when he hears the click of a gun.

“Turn around.” He growls. “Woah… take it easy big guy. I was only joking.”

“Ich habe einen Witz für dich.” He smiles. “What?” He asks. Just then, König pulls the trigger. He hits the man right between the eyes. He falls backward, blood pouring from his head. König cuts the ropes off of Ghost and motions for him to free Keegan. König rushes to get to you. “You okay?” He asks. “No-“ you shiver. He kneels down, freeing you from the chair. “I know, it’s hard. But you have to fight it.” Ghost mumbles. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you?” He asks. You shake your head. “No.” You grit your teeth. “Where are your clothes?”

“I don’t know, it’s too hot anyways.” You pant. Your skin is hot to the touch. Keegan stands behind you, brushing your hair away from you to look at you. You’re completely clear aside from a tiny puncture mark from the dart. “The… the only way-“ you grit your teeth, closing your eyes. “The only way is to have sex, I can feel my heart beating out of my chest.” You whine. “I feel it too.” Keegan mutters. Ghost looks down. Agreeing silently. König nods his head. “So what do we do?” Keegan asks.

“We do what we have to.” Ghost mumbles. You nod your head.

The more aroused the three men get, the better they seem to smell. They’re attracting you so much. You bend over, crying out. “You okay?” Keegan kneels by you. “Can’t take it anymore.” You look up at him. Tears streaming from your eyes. “Cmon.” He mumbles, sliding his arm under the bend of your knees and your back. He lifts you up. “We’ve got to find a room or something. If we’re going to do this we have to start now.” Keegan mumbles. They nod. They quickly move through the building, Ghost first, König next, and than Keegan with you. They move in a line, just in case there’s more men they don’t know about. You whine into Keegan’s shoulder. Propping yourself up onto him. “Y/N- what are you doing?” He mumbles. “Need it- need it so bad Keegan.” You mewl. You grip onto him, wiggling out of his grasp so that you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist. You attack his neck with your teeth, grinding your hips into him.

“Shit- Y/N. We’re almost there. You have to stop-“ he grits his teeth, Ghost and König glance back at you, seeing you attacking Keegan. Your desperation has them aching.

“In here.” Ghost holds open the door, locking it behind you and propping a chair up on it just in case. It’s a bedroom, at last. “Ah- you’ve got to let go sweetheart.” Keegan groans. “No, please. I need it. Need it so bad.” You whine. Grinding your hips into him more. “I know, we’re going to help you. Just… for one second baby.” He breathes. You let go of him and he lowers you onto the bed. “Fuck..” he growls. Noticing the way you’ve soaked the front of him. The three men are standing at the edge of the bed, staring down at you. Like you’re the finest meal they’ve ever laid their eyes on. Keegan is first to break, reaching for his belt. Your pupils are blown out as you watch his hands move to unbuckle it. The other two follow his movements. You bite your lip, body shivering at the thought of what’s about to happen. You can’t help yourself, reaching between your legs to stimulate the sensitive nub that awaits any kind of relief it can get. A mewl leaves your lips and you tilt your head back. “She’s going to have to get used to me, I’ll go last.” König nods. They all silently agree. He’s right, he’s the biggest of the three. After admiring the way you touch yourself, they can’t anymore.

Keegan reaches out, grasping your hips and pulling you to the edge of the bed. “Poor girl. Just soaking..” he breathes. He rubs the tip of his cock over your aching hole, a whine leaving your lips as you raise your hips into him. He moves his hips forward, the tip of his cock pushing through your wet folds. You want to cry when he fills you up. The relief you feel is incredible. You can feel more tears welling up in your eyes as he starts to thrust himself inside of you.

The squelch from your wet pussy is the only thing they can hear besides your whines. You squirm around, the way he feels is almost too much. “Ah- you’re gripping me so tight.” He breathes. “Hold on.” Ghost mumbles. He lifts you up off of the bed, apologizing at the loss you feel from Keegan exiting you. You straddle him. “You wet enough from her?” He asks. Keegan nods his head. “Y-yeah. Fuck.” He groans. He’s never done anything like this before, nothing like he’s about to do. Ghost lines his cock up with your pussy, and you sink down onto him with a gasp. Clutching his shoulders. “There you go, now relax for Keegan alright?” You nod your head. You feel Keegan’s tip aligning with your ass. You’d be worried. If it weren’t for the drug, you’d be modest and shy away from what they’re doing. But as he fills your ass to the hilt with ease, the fullness you feel. You can’t even think straight anymore.

The pleasure you feel from them has you on cloud 9. Vision blurring, you can barely make a sound. Your lips are parted, eyes are blown wide as they start to move into you. A chuckle leaves Ghosts lips at your reaction to them.

“She’s feeling good.” He laughs. “Think so.” Keegan chuckles. You rest your head on Ghosts shoulder, turning to look at König. He’s pumping his cock quickly, he’s desperate too. You reach your hand out for him. He moves closer and you take him into your hand, pumping his cock. He gasps out, head tilting back. You can see them, all of them. More than just the color of their eyes. You can see their sharp jawlines, the small scars decorating their faces. You can see the curves of their lips, their stubble that needs to be shaved. You can see and feel all of them, and it’s too much. Your first orgasm is coming fast. Your thighs are shaking, your cheeks are flushed from the warmth moving through you. “I.. I’m so close.” You whimper. Your hand tightens around König and he hisses slightly. “Fuck.” He groans. You clutch Ghost hard with your other hand. “I-“ you freeze up. Body going rigid as you reach your first orgasm. You cry out, soaking Ghost’s thighs with your arousal. “Oh fuck.” He breathes, looking down. “Look at the mess you’ve made of me.” He chuckles. “Ah fuck- I’m gonna cum too!” Keegan pants. He grips your hips hard. Thrusting into you harder. He’s chasing after his high, using you to reach it.

He’s panting hard, moans getting more unsteady by the second. “Oh fuck!” He growls, teeth gritted as he cums. His thrusts are sharp and bruising as he rides out his high, stuttering to a stop against you. You feel full of him, turning to look at him. He grips your throat, kissing you hard as he slides himself from your ass. “Fuck-“ he breathes. He steps away from you for a second.

“I think she’s ready for you, König.” Ghost nods. Keegan takes a deep breath, relaxing back into a chair. “Does it feel like it’s worn off?” Ghost asks him. He nods his head. “Yeah. I think it’s only got her so worked up because she’s smaller than us.” He nods. “Probably, never thought about it like that.” You’re rocking your hips into him, desperate for more. “I’ll go make sure the rest is all clear.” Keegan finishes getting dressed. König replaces the chair on the door behind him before making his way back to you. Ghost slides you off of him and you mewl at the emptiness you feel. He chuckles at this, “Relax, just for a second darling.”

“Go to König.” He breathes. You nod your head, König lifts you up into him, swapping places with Ghost. He sits down, lining his cock up with your entrance. “I’m really big sweetheart, so don’t get too eager.” He breathes. “Schau mich an.” He raises your chin and you look him in the eyes. “Keep looking at me.” He presses his forehead to yours. You slowly sink down onto him, thighs shaking slightly. He’s big. You moan out, and he takes the opportunity to kiss you. Once he’s bottoming out in you, you can barely hold yourself up. Ghost has his cock nestled into your ass, like Keegan had. He was already so close. When they start thrusting, you can’t keep quiet. It’s so much, and König adds to it. Circling your clit gently. Sucking your nipples into his mouth. You being stimulated is what helps the l drug wear off. He’d do what he had to.

Ghost has a tight grip on your hips, his thrusts are getting sloppy. He hisses, feeling you tighten slightly around him. He’s right on the edge. He tilts your head back, tugging slightly on your hair. König has one of your nipples between his lips, sucking gently as he rubs your clit. Ghost kisses you hard, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. It’s by far the best he’s ever had. His body jerks hard as he finishes inside of your ass, pulling away from you completely. You moan at the loss of him, turning to look at him. “I’m going to go help Keegan.” He mumbles. He’s readjusting his cargo pants, buckling his belt. “Be safe.” You whimper. He nods. When he leaves this time, neither you or König are worried about the chair in front of the door. He lifts you up, turning around so that he can lay you on the bed. Smiling when you refuse to let go of him. “Relax, Ich gehe nirgendwohin.” He pushes your hips down into the bed, and looks at you. He’s not sure you’re ready for the force he’s about to use on you, but as desperate as you seem to be, he doesn’t think you’ll mind.

He starts at a fast pace, fucking into you hard. It only takes a few seconds and you’re nearly crying from how rough he is with you. His cock is big and you’ve never taken anything like the three of them ever before. You’ve got a death grip on the blankets beneath you, and you can’t stay quiet. He releases one hand, using it to rub circles into your sensitive nub once more, and that’s when you lose it. You’re sobbing when you finally cum again, raising your hips into him and flinching away from him when he continues his fast pace. “Doing so good for me. So ein gutes Mädchen.” He pants. He leans down to kiss you once more, his high is approaching too. The stimulation he feels is intense, you’re wrapped so tight around him, he just can’t take it anymore.

“Oh yes… yes so close.” He grips your hips hard as he slips over the edge, hips hammering into yours as he cums. You’re sure there will be bruises all over you. “Verdammt, so gut.” He cries. His thrusts halt, and he realizes he’s just filled you up with his cum. He sighs. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He breathes. You look up at him. Eyes feeling heavy as the arousal finally begins to wear off. You send him a lazy smile. “Don’t be.” You breathe. He slides out of you, groaning as he does so. He takes a second, panting. He’s trying to catch his breath.

He helps you get cleaned up, making sure to clean your skin if the mix of arousal between the four of you.

He wraps you up in a clean blanket. Lifting you up and carrying you back into the room this had all begun. He’s looking around for your clothes but can’t seem to find them. “It’s all clear.” Keegan nods. König nods his head. He places you down in a chair for a moment, picking up his hood and returning it to cover his face. Ghost and Keegan doing the same. “I can’t find her clothes.” König sighs. “I’ve got them.” Keegan nods. He passes them to König and he thanks him. He unwraps the blanket you’re in, helping you get dressed. You’re exhausted and weak, eyes getting heavy as he helps you. “I’ve got a sample of the drug and some paperwork. That’s all we needed right?” Ghost asks. König nods his head. “Yes. All in all this was a successful mission.” He nods. “Jedoch, this stays between us.” He laughs. Ghost and Keegan can’t help but laugh, even you have a tired smile on your lips. “Yes sir.” Keegan laughs.

König ties your boots, and returns the blanket around you, lifting you up with ease. That was one good thing about the massive man, he was strong. “Let’s get to exfil. We all need to be checked out.” Ghost says. Everyone nods in agreement. You’ve finally fallen asleep and König can’t help but smile.

This was going to be a day to remember.

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writersdrug · 1 year ago

Text

Konig x Reader: Fucking You to Sleep

All credit goes to @legitchase for this lovely idea! I had so much fun writing this, please send me requests if yall want to see more!!!

Summary: from @legitchase

"Ok ok hear me out new COD MEN idea

You and your cod man, you two came from a mission he is still sort of energetic while you are really exhausted.

As you two lay in bed he softly grinds against your ass so you gave him permission to fuck into you softly as you went to sleep, making little moans in you sleep as you man makes you feel so great while drifting off to sleep"

Warnings: smut, somewhat somnophilia but consensual, fingering, slight edging, p in v, size kink, stomach bulge, google-translate German, writer never played COD :(

Konig opened the door to your shared room, stretching his limbs and sighing. "Scheiße, it's good to be back." he strode inside, heading straight to the small coffee pot the both of you had stolen from the mess hall. He started making coffee, stretching out his left hip, then his right.

You trudged into the room, bags under your eyes, muscles sore, and shoulders slumped. Your feet dragged underneath you as you closed the door behind you. Tired was an understatement - you were exhausted to the point that you were perfectly content to pass out on the cold ground and call it a night.

The mission had gone smoothly, almost as perfect as one could ask for. Konig had been positioned near the outskirts of the field, obediently waiting for the hostages to be delivered to the pick up point. You, on the other hand, had been involved in clearing the way to the hostages, as well as the path to Konig's group. You had shot, stabbed, kicked, and punched so many enemy soldiers, sometimes fighting two at once. Your mind was overworked as well as your body, and you had a few sore spots from the occasional soldier that had landed a hit on you. You never got the chance to sleep on the way back - and your body was about to make that happen, whether you were in a bed or standing up.

Konig pulled off his sniper hood, watching with a smile as you dragged yourself to the bed and flopped onto it. He chuckled. "Schatz, aren't you ecstatic? You did a great job out there!"

"M-hmph..." you muttered, your face smushed into the pillows. You sank your muscles into the mattress, groaning in both relief and pain. If only KorTac hadn't deemed the massage therapist unnecessary...

You heard the coffee dripping into the pot, followed by Konig's heavy footsteps. He crouched down, gently turning your head so he could look at your face. You kept your eyes closed.

"Engel, are you tired?" he asked sarcastically, caressing the side of your face. His head was slightly tilted to match your eye level.

You huffed sarcastically. "Just a 'lil bit." you mumbled. You opened your eyes, meeting Konig's piercing blue ones. He had a small pout on his lips.

He ran his large hand down your shoulders, squeezing the muscle gently. You whined squeezed your eyes shut at the painful relief, furring your brow as he kneaded away. He moved down to your arm, skillfully massaging it with his calloused hands. He landed on your hand, taking it between both of his and flexing your fingers, rubbing each knuckle tenderly. You hummed in appreciation.

You opened your eyes again, noticing Konig's pupils had widened the slightest bit. Oh no... nope, nope nope. You thought. You were WAY too tired to give him what he needed right now. Not that you were ever unwilling to be his fuck toy when he wanted it - you just didn't know if you could stay awake for it.

"So schön, meine Liebe..." So beautiful, my love... He muttered. You felt his breath on your face as he planted a kiss to your forehead.

"You think this is beautiful?" You asked with a smirk. "You're a simple man, Konig." You smushed your face back into the pillow, ignoring the desperation in his eyes.

"Why don't you go get a shower, hmm?" He said, rubbing the palm of your hand. "I can grab us food from the mess hall - you can stay here and unwind."

You hummed and nodded in response. Konig pulled your hips to sit you upright, kneeling himself between your legs. Your head rolled to the side, unable to even hold it upright for long from the soreness. Konig gazed up at you lustfully. You pretended to ignore it and yawned instead.

He squeezed your hips once before moving away, letting you stand up. "I'll have some coffee first, then I'll go. You wash up."

You slipped off your boots and haphazardly dropped them by the edge of the bed. As you made your way to the bathroom, you heard Konig scoff, as he moved your shoes and placed them next to his, perfectly aligned and neat. You chuckled.

-----

The entire bathroom was filled with steam. You had the water as hot as it could possibly be. It beat fiercely against your muscles - exactly what you needed. Your braced your hands against the wall in front of you, savoring every sting and ache of the hot water against your skin. You didn't even have the energy to actually bathe yourself at the moment. You would attempt that in a little bit. For now, you soaked up the heat from the shower, letting it seep into your bones.

You heard the bathroom door creak open, then it shut. Konig hummed as he moved on the other side of the curtain. You assumed he just needed something and would leave in a moment. He rustled around for a bit, the sound of fabric hitting the ground, followed by his feet quietly slapping against the tile floor.

Moments later, he threw the shower curtain back.

"Holy shit!!" you exclaimed, jumping further into the shower, startled. "The hell - I thought you went to the mess hall?!"

Konig casually stepped into the shower with you, his eyes flickering over your naked body. "I was going to, but I probably need a shower too." He closed the curtain behind him. "Why waste the water, since you're getting one already?" He smirked mischievously.

"Konig, there's hardly any room in here for both of us." You stated. You were crammed against the shower wall, purposefully avoiding looking at his obvious hard-on. It rested against your stomach as he stared down at you, eyes half-lidded in lust. Your hands rested on his chest as you tried to create space between the two of you, although you didn't mind his muscular body being pressed into yours.

He ignored your protest. "Liebling, you haven't even bathed yourself." He said, running his hands down your back. "Let me help you, bitte? You just relax, I'll wash you."

You wanted to say no, since you knew where it would lead, and you were too drained to even think of it. But it was hard to deny Konig, especially as he ran his soap-lathered hands over your arms, delicately massaging the muscles under your skin. You let out a long sigh, leaning into his touch as he masterfully worked the knots out of your shoulders, your flanks, and then your hips, lingering there a while longer. His hands combined with the hot water and the smell of the soap... your mind was practically numb under his touch. You felt yourself relax more and more as he worked the tension from your body.

Konig stared down at you, pupils blown wide. You were the kind of person to get all shy when you were naked, even though the two of you had been together for a while now. But here, in your tired state, you wordlessly submitted to him. You had come back from the mission as a hard, cracked, and dry wad of clay, and Konig was using his large hands and the hot water to mold you into what he wanted. His cock was painfully hard at the thought of you, too tired to fully push him away from you, forced to give in to his advances as he fucked you in the shower wall. You're muscles were too sore for you to fight back - he would slam himself into you until you passed out from exhaustion, your overworked little body trembling and twitching as he held you against the tiles. Your little throat would barely be able to whimper his name out.

Just the thought of him fucking you to sleep was making precum drip from his cock. It rested heavily against your back as he was running his hands down lower, squeezing out the tension from your muscles. You involuntarily let out a soft moan - the feeling of his hands was soothing, comforting... and also getting you aroused. As tired as you were, every grip from his fingers sent pleasure shooting from your core to your chest. You felt his cock twitch at your moan.

You lazily tilted your head back against his chest, looking at him through your lashes with a soft smile. He smiled back, desire settling in his lower abdomen. He leaned down and kissed the crown of your head. Slowly, he snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest.

"Mein süßes mädchen..." My sweet girl... whispered, lips pressed to your head. "How about I make you feel good, yes?" His free arm climbed up your abdomen until it reached your breasts, grabbing the left one and massaging it between his fingers. "You did so well earlier - I want to reward you for it." He rolled your nipple between his fingers and tugged at it.

You arched your back against him, mewling and whining. His fingers were massaging the flesh of your stomach and pinching and pulling at your nipple... it felt so good, you would have let him take you then and there. But the more aroused you felt, the more you noticed how tired you were. "Konig, baby, can - can we please do this in the m-morning?" You whimpered out.

Konig groaned, half aroused, half frustrated. "I promise I can be gentle, schatz. I won't make you cum too much." He started grinding his cock along your ass, his arm squeezing tightly around your waist. His dick throbbed, aching to feel your cunt squeezing him tight.

You exhaled a shaky breath, before gathering your resolve and turning to face him. He let out a soft moan as your skin dragged along his cock as you spun. He gripped your shoulders tightly as you looked him in his eyes.

"Tomorrow morning, love." You gently held his face between your hands, smiling. "I promise. I'm just too tired tonight." You pulled his head down to plant a long kiss on his lips. He groaned against your mouth, before a sigh escaped through his nose.

He pulled back, caressing your face with his thumb. "Alright. Tomorrow then. Let's get you cleaned for now, and then some dinner, yes?"

The both of you continued to shower, Konig insisting on washing your hair. You stood with your eyes closed, basking in the feeling of his fingers massaging your scalp. You were starting to get frustrated yourself, between feeling both aroused and sleepy. But you focused on the feeling of his hands on your hair and the water hitting your skin (or whatever skin it could reach - Konig took up most of the stream).

Konig did his best to focus on washing your hair and body. His eyes kept wandering over your silhouette from above, cock throbbing as he watched the water running down your breasts, to your pussy, and then trailing off down your thighs. He pushed his desires away, concentrating on taking care of you.

-----

After your shower, Konig had left to grab some food, while you dried your hair and slipped into your night clothes - which consisted of your underwear and one of Konig's army-green t shirts. When he returned with some protein bars and bananas (the mess hall's only options since it was after hours), he faltered as he caught a glimpse of you. You were seated at the edge of the bed, practically swallowed in his shirt, nipples threatening to poke holes in it. You smiled gratefully at him. Despite having his sniper hood back on, you could see the tinge of pink in his face, as he quickly looked away.

The two of you ate your food, Konig splayed out in a chair across the room, sniper hood on the desk next to him, you still sitting on the edge of the bed. You talked about the mission, it's faults and it's victories, Konig saying that he would have preferred that you were the one to stay at the pick up point, and he should have gone to retrieve the hostages.

He always did that - he would complain after the fact that your team's captain would consistently put you in the more dangerous situations, rather than having you on the safer end of things. Konig would have even preferred if he could have been there with you, but that's never how it was. Either you were both in dangerous situations on opposite sides of the field, or it was just you, and he was forced to wait on the sidelines, far away from the danger. He never doubted your skill, and he would never try to hold you back. But he wished that you could be closer to him than the danger. You found it sweet, but preferred it this way. Better you close to the danger than Konig - you would never live if something had happened to him.

And if something happened to you, neither could he.

After dinner, Konig changed into sweatpants, opting to sleep shirtless. ("You're wearing my shirt, after all.") You climbed onto the bed, feeling Konig settle in behind you, wrapping a heavy arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You held it tightly and intertwined your legs with his. His warm breath fell against the back of your head as he nuzzled into your hair, which still smelled like your shampoo.

You felt safe. Finally home, finally in your bed, with your Konig. His hold on your body felt protective, something you didn't have the luxury of feeling for the entire mission. You were finally able to relax. You sighed contentedly... the cool sheets, Konig's strong arms, the rise and fall of his chest, the fact that you could sleep in tomorrow morning... It soothed you, and you let the wave of sleep slowly begin to pull you under, bit by bit.

Konig let out the smallest, quietest whine. He knew you were tired. He didn't want to disturb you. But he was still hard from earlier. His cock was so swollen and painful, he was going insane. He couldn't hold himself back any longer, especially not with your pussy just a few pieces of fabric away. He pawed at the flesh of your abdomen, using his other hand to rub down your thigh. Slowly, he began pushing his clothed cock against your ass.

You stirred; you had been on the brink of sleep, when you felt Konig kneading your stomach and grinding against you. You recognized the heat pooling in your pelvis, letting out a small whimper. "Konig, please..." you begged - not entirely sure if it was for him to stop, or to move faster.

"I'm sorry, prinzessin..." he said desperately... "I can't help it, I... mph, I'm going insane... I need to feel you around me, please?" He was now pathetically humping your ass, already pulling down his sweats until he was just in his boxers. You felt his pulsing, warm cock pressed up against you. "Bitte, liebe..." he began kissing your neck, right in your sweet spot.

You moaned lazily. "I'm just too tired, I'm sorry-"

"Schatz, you don't need to do anything." he cut you off with desperation in his voice. "Let me take care of you, bitte... you don't have to lift a finger. I just need to be inside of you right now... please, please..."

His hands groping your waist, his breath on your neck, his lips sucking at your skin... and his pathetic begging, won over your better judgement. You knew you wouldn't be able to hold him off in your current state, and he would end up taking what he wanted anyways. And despite being so tired, you were still aroused... Would you really be able to fall asleep if you deprived yourself? "Alright, love."

"You sure?" he answered immediately, whining needily.

"I'm sure."

And that was all he needed. Placing a kiss to the back of your head, Konig carefully removed your panties, letting them hang off of one of your ankles. With one hand, he pulled the waistband of his boxers down, freeing his cock and letting it slap against your ass. He moved his hand from your stomach down to your pussy, prodding at your clit with two fingers. You rubbed your thighs together, feeling a mix of soreness and wetness, as he rubbed your swollen bundle of nerves between his fingertips.

"So fucking wet for me..." he groaned in your ear, "... even when you're tired, you're so needy." He slipped a finger past your clit, running it along your lips. You didn't have the energy to buck against him - instead, you tilted your hips back, trying to angle yourself to feel as much pleasure as possible. He teased you, prodding the tip of his finger just past your lips, before pulling it back. You whined, your juices spilling over his hand as your arousal grew even more.

"Please, Konig..." you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. Despite the desire settling in your stomach, you could feel yourself being pulled back into sleep. Your moans were lazy and low, and your body was limp in his arms.

"I know, love, I know..." he whispered in your ear. He brought his hand to his mouth and licked your wetness that coated his fingers. He groaned, savoring the taste, his erection twitching painfully. "I'm going to fuck you to sleep, liebling. You deserve it, you worked so hard... Just let me take care of you, alright?" He dipped his fingers back down to your pussy, rubbing your clit in slow circles with the pad of this thumb.

You couldn't answer him. Instead, weak, soft whimpers fell from your lips, followed by the quiet clicking sounds of his fingers teasing your cunt, finally dipping inside. A pang of pleasure shot from your core, and your walls instinctively clenched around him, sucking him deeper into you. You pathetically mumbled in pleasure as he slowly dragged his fingers in, and out, and in, and out...

Konig kissed the side of your neck as your moans enticed him, making his length drip with precum as he continued to grind against your ass. He felt your walls tightening around his fingers, greedily sucking on him. He spread his fingers and pushed them against your walls, curving one of them just right to hit your sweet spot. You whimpered and rocked your hips lazily, trying to push him deeper into you.

"Hmm, look at you..." he whispered low in your ear, followed by a soft kiss on your temple. "I thought you were sleepy, mein engel..." he teased. You whined, barely audible, as more and more of your juices dripped onto his palm. "So helpless, so fucking small in my hands..." he pumped his fingers faster, flicking his thumb back and forth over your clit.

You felt the familiar coil tightening in your lower abdomen, and at the same time, you knew you were drifting off to sleep. You moaned as he continued to finger-fuck your cunt, unable to produce more than a high-pitched cry. Your thighs weakly rubbed together as your impending orgasm built in your core.

"Konig, please, bitte, bitte, bitte..." you babbled quietly, your consciousness drifting as your walls began fluttering around his fingers.

Your pleading in German stirred a fire in Konig's abdomen. He growled low, "Gutes verdammtes mädchen, das ist es..." Good fucking girl, that's it... He flicked your clit harder, relishing in the small, high whimpers that sent an electric shock through his core. He snaked his other hand under your side, coming around to gently squeeze at your throat. "Komm für mich, meine müde Prinzessin..." Cum for me, my tired princess... he grunted as he drove his digits into your pussy, curling them to prod against your g-spot. "That's it... yes, yes, yes..."

Your hips instinctively rocked against his fingers, mind going numb as your orgasm ripped through your body. Your one hand grabbed the one of Konig's that was deep in your cunt, pawing helplessly at his forearm. Your legs began to shake as the pleasure overtook you, making you mewl and whine. Your slick flowed freely over his fingers and into his palm, and you heard him growl and felt his cock twitch against your ass. You closed your heavy eyelids, his hand still firm around your throat, feeling yourself drift into the ecstasy...

Konig continued to flick your clit, hoping to overstimulate you for a while longer, until he felt your body go limp in his arms. Your legs were still shaking from your orgasm, but the rest of your muscles were slack against him. He smiled proudly to himself, pulling his fingers out of you slowly. He felt your walls clench one more time around him, as if they didn't want to let him go. He brought his fingers up and once more licked your cum off of his hand, making sure none of it was wasted. He softly moaned at your taste.

"Oh, liebling..." he said lowly, "I'm not finished with you yet." He used his wet hand to pump himself a few times - his cock ached under his touch, red and hot and desperately needing relief. "I said I was going to fuck you, and you're going to take every inch..." he pulled himself down the bed slightly, so that your dripping pussy was positioned right above his swollen member. "... even in your dreams."

With both hands on your hips, he slowly guided himself into your cunt. He stopped halfway, hearing you whimper in your sleep, your brow furrowed in pleasure. Your eyes remained closed, but your mouth parted slightly, sucking in a short breath.

Konig absentmindedly shushed you, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. "I know, schatz..." he said shakily, "I know, I know... you can take it, you're such a good girl, I know you can." He groaned lazily, feeling your walls stretch slightly around him, and he pushed the rest of his length into your cunt. His exhale caught in his throat, and his fingers gripped the flesh at your hips, sure to leave marks in the morning.

Your hips bucked slightly as your pussy squelched, trying to make room for all of him as Konig was balls deep inside of you. He panted, sweat covering his entire body. Your wetness felt so good as he twitched inside of you. Slowly, as he was trying to be considerate of your sleeping form, he ground his hips into you. He moved one hand to the front of your abdomen, feeling around until he found the buldge pressing forward in your stomach. He growled when he touched it, imagining his big cock barely fitting into your tight cunt. He pressed his hand down onto the bump, and your body reacted, shivering around him.

He stuttered in pleasure, biting his lip to keep his moans at a low volume. The quiet sounds of his balls slapping against your pussy echoed through the room, accompanied by his rhythmic grunting and your weak whimpers. His cock throbbed inside of you, sending jolts of pleasure through his lower abdomen with each thrust. His face was flushed and his pupils were blown wide as he huffed, burying his face into the crook of your neck, mumbling sweet nothings in German into your ear.

He felt himself teetering closer to his orgasm - the sounds of him fucking you to sleep, the feeling of the mixed juices coating his cock and his thighs, your high whines and mewls, the lingering taste of your cum on his tongue... He was so close to the edge, desperately trying to hold himself back as to not disturb you, and to last a few moments longer...

"I'm gonna fucking breed you, liebe..." he mumbled, whimpering as his orgasm approached quickly. "... gonna fucking fill you up, and there's not a damn thing you can do... Scheiße, so fucking tight... You take my cock so well, meine gute kleine Schlampe..." My good little slut... He felt your walls clenching rhythmically around his member, and your whimpers got higher and higher, your back arching against his as a second orgasm overcame you.

He felt his cock twitching, and a cord in his lower abdomen snapped. "Fuuuck, liebe, take it, take it, fucking take it, Scheiße..."

His thrusts became shallow and sloppy - he sank his teeth into your neck as an attempt to quiet his grunts and whimpers as he pounded into you, his cum spurting through his cock, filling up your cunt. "Mph, scheisse!" he whined into your neck. He rode out his orgasm, the room filling with sloppy squelching as his cum seeped out of you, dripping onto his thighs and the sheets.

He felt your body relax once more, his own muscles going limp around you. He lazily ground his hips into your ass, his cock still embedded in your cunt, now going soft. He gently thumbed his cum back into your pussy, pushing it in between his member and your lips. He sighed contentedly, wrapping both of his arms around your waist and pulling you closer onto him. He nestled his face in the crook of your neck, feeling the layer of sweat that covered you both.

"Du bist mein perfektes Mädchen..." You are my perfect girl... he mumbled into your ear, planting a kiss on the top of it. You stirred gently, your hips briefly moving away from his. He gently held you down on his cock. "No, schatz..." he hummed, eyes closing, "... I want to stay in this warm, sweet pussy of yours... oh, verdammt, I've missed you... I'll never let you go for so long again..."

He placed one last kiss to your neck, before hugging you tighter, his length still buried deep inside you. As he drifted off to sleep, he had one last thought. "Don't think I forgot your promise for tomorrow morning, liebling..."

#konig cod #konig x reader #call of duty #konig smut #cod smut #konig x reader smut #konig

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latenightdaydreams · 10 months ago

Text

Trucker!König x Stranded!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 2 🚚, Part 3, Part4, Part5

🚫MASSIVE TRIGGERS FOR DARK THEMES!!!🚫 If this is disturbing for you please turn back now. Your mental health is important and I hope you have an amazing day even if you keep scrolling! ily all! I hope you are all well and please take care of yourselves! You matter 💗

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, oral, cum play, non-con somnophilia, non-con, sleeping pills, kidnapping, non-con recording

2.3k word count

“Fuck!” You shout slamming the hood of your car down. On your way through the countryside on a road trip, your car decided to break down. You’re in a foreign country, the sun is setting, and having no one to help leaves you feeling overwhelmed and defeated. You sit back in your car and begin to cry. In your mind driving solo across Europe was going to be a piece of cake, yet here you are because you tried to save money and got a piece of shit car.

The sound of a semi-truck braking gets your attention as you look into your rear-view mirror to see a blue truck had pulled off and stopped behind you. In a hurry you pull down your visor to check yourself as you wipe tears away and try to relax your face. You close it just in time to see a massive man jump out of the cab of the semi and walk in your direction. A wave of fear rushed over you as you realized you have no items for self-defense on you.

A knock on the driver’s side window, and the tall trucker steps back and stares at you with piercing blue eyes. Taking a deep breath, you open the car door and step out. His eyes look you up and down.

“Are you stranded?” His voice is smooth with a thick Austrian accent.

“Yes, I am.” Your voice cracks from the nervousness you’re feeling. He is built like a tank and like, really fucking tall.

He gives you a small nod before extending his hand to you, “I’m König.”

“Y/n,” you grab his hand and shake it. His hand is massive and swallows yours.

“You’re not from here, are you?” He gives you a warm smile trying to be nice.

“I’m not…”

“Do you have anyone here you can call?” The question seems innocent enough.

“No, I don’t. My phone has no signal either.”

“Hm,” König looks at your car and then to you once more. “Well, I can’t possibly leave you here alone, especially with it getting dark... where were you heading?”

“I was heading to the German border.”

“Hm, that’s a six-hour drive Maus.”

“It’s okay if you can’t-”

“I can, I’m heading that way. I’ll drive you as close as I can get and help you get set up with a ride in.” He gives you such a genuinely warm smile that you feel your guard beginning to drop.

“I- I really appreciate that, König.” You turn to go to your car and open the back seat to grab two small suitcases out.

“I’ll grab those for you Fräulein.” König walks behind you and gently reaches past you to grab your bags. The sweet vanilla body lotion you’re wearing catches his attention and he tries to take a deep breath as discreetly as he possibly can.

You back away, slightly bumping him. “Oh, sorry. Thank you so much König. You’re like a God send.”

He smiles back at you while holding your bags and closing the car door, “Is this all there is?”

“Yes, that’s it.” You two begin to walk towards the semi-truck as you look around the farm land.

Once to the truck König opens the door for you and helps you climb into the cab, his hand grazing your butt seemed innocent enough so you brush it off. It was most definitely not innocent. He is simply testing your boundaries and seeing how you’d react.

You set you bag down on the floor as König walked around to the driver’s side. He walks to the back of the cab and puts your bags on his small bed back there. He finally sits in the driver seat and looks over at you.

“Are you ready to go?” He asks in a gentle voice.

“Yeah,” you look out at the car that broke down on you feeling slightly sad.

“Don’t worry about that car,” König says, noticing your sad gaze. “I will help you out, I promise. I can’t leave a young woman stranded.” His smile is so warm and genuine, but the look in his eyes shows he has different motives with you.

As he pulled back onto the road König found himself checking you out. His eyes are drawn to the curve of your breast in your tight shirt and the way your thighs look as you sit down in the seat. He was going to have fun with you.

“So, where are you originally from?” He asks, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

You answer and explain how you have always wanted to visit Europe so on impulse you decided to come.

“A bit far from home aren’t you Maus?” He asks with a sly smile on his lips. “Do you even have any friends or contacts in any of these countries?”

“No, I don’t.” You shake your head not realizing these are questions you shouldn’t be answering truthfully.

“That’s a shame, you could get hurt out here. Good thing I came across you and not some… pervert.” He turns his gaze from the road to you and looks at how your breasts bounce with every bump he hits. He couldn’t wait to see what they actually look like, but in his head, he is running through every possibility.

“Yeah…thank you so much for all of your help. Really. I was about to give up and go back home.” You giggle softly.

Your giggle was so genuine and soft. Your lips look tender and kissable. He wanted to see how your lips look wrapped around his cock or sucking on his full nut sack.

“That would have been a shame, it’s good to explore. See the world and expand your horizon.” He says it so casually as if he isn’t thinking of shoving your head down on his dick and making you give him road head. I wonder if she does anal…

You both drive while having small talk. Innocent topics like your hobbies, home life, any little question he can drop to get more information out of you. The sun was now completely set and König noticed your eyes becoming tired as the drive went on.

“If you need to rest, there’s a small bed in the back. It’s not much, but if I can sleep on it, you’ll do just fine.” There’s a friendly chuckle in his tone as his eyes look over at you. Watching as you turn in the seat and look into the dark tiny cab with the bed. His eyes trailing up and down your legs before going back up to your eyes.

“Oh,” you couldn’t explain this feeling in your gut. It was as if it were screaming at you, telling you no and that you should stay awake. You really shouldn’t even be in this truck. Shoving those feelings to the side and excusing them as anxiety, you look back at König.

“Don’t worry, y/n, I don’t bite.” König says with a big smile revealing his sharp K9s. “You’ll be safe with me.”

You nod your head as you begin to stand and walk to the back, it was dark so you used your hands to guide you back there. It was simple since it’s a small space. Taking your bags off the bed and setting them on the floor, you lay down and rest your head on the pillow. Grabbing the thin blue blanket on the bed to cover yourself, you feel so happy to be in a bed, even if its this tiny.

König turns his head slightly to look back at you. It has been ten minutes so he wanted to know if you were asleep or not.

“You settled in alright back there?” He waits to see if he hears your voice.

“No…” Your voice meek as if you feel bad you can’t fall asleep.

“Would you like a sleeping pill Maus?” Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes… “My doctor gave them to me to help with the uncomfortable sleeping situation.” He chuckles softly. That was a bold face lie, he got them from his handy dandy street dealer for a moment like this.

You know it isn’t smart to take medication from others, especially prescribed and from a stranger. You hesitate for a moment trying to think of your answer.

“Here,” he opens up a small pill organizer with one hand and holds them out for you to grab. His eyes are straight ahead still on the road.

You slowly get up and grab one, “Thank you.”

“You can take a sip of my water. I promise I have no gross germs.” He laughs, his laughs so warm and welcoming.

You take the sleeping pill and thank him again. Returning to the tiny bed in the back of the cab you try to get as comfortable as you can. You keep your eyes open for a while, looking at the little bits of König and the road you can see from the angle. By the time I wake up we should be close to the German border, and I’ll be able to continue on my way. This is just for a few hours…just…a few…more…

Twenty minutes pass as König continues to drive. There is a truck stop coming up where he can refill and where he’d usually rest. He looks over his shoulder at you again, “You still awake?” He asks rather loudly.

No response.

“Are you asleep?” He asks again at the same loudness, no response. “Perfect.”

König pulls into the truck stop as usual. He pulls up to the gas station and gets out of the semi to refill the tank and make sure all his wheels are in good condition. He buys you a drink and something to eat when you wake up from the concession area inside before you pay. He grabbed himself another water and a snack as well. Casually he got back to the truck and drove it around back to the parking lot where truckers can park and sleep for the night. He took his time setting up the window covers and making sure the doors were locked and safe. Standing in the now total darkness of the cab, he looks in your direction.

“Hey,” he said, lightly shaking your leg to see if you would wake up. You didn’t. Good.

He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and pulls the blanket off of you. His hand caresses the curve of your waist, hip, and ass slowly taking his time to enjoy the way the curves feel. His hand wrapping around your ass and squeezing.

He turns on the light from his phone and illuminates the small cabin. He crouches down beside you and gently pushes your body back so you’re lying on your back now. His hand gently runs under your shirt and caresses the soft skin of your abdomen. His hand reaching up and cupping your breast over your bra. He lets out a soft sigh as he withdraws his hand.

“You’re so beautiful Maus, so beautiful…” He says as he slowly begins to pull your pants down. He opens the photo app on his phone and begins to take photos of your exposed body, only your panties and bra to cover you.

As he continues to shine a light on you, he pulls your bra down and records himself gently shaking your breast and caressing your nipples until they harden. He leans in and begins to suck on each nipple, making sure it’s all on camera. With his free hand he rubs the erection that is growing in his pants.

Pausing the recording he stands and undoes his belt buckle and then his pants, pulling them down to around his ankles. He releases his aching cock, a bead of precum dripping from the pinkish red tip. He picks back up the phone and points the camera back at you as he jerks off over your body.

His loud pants being picked up on the camera as he stops occasionally to rub your pussy through the fabric of your underwear, feeling a wet spot begin to form, or play with your breast before continuing to pump his fist on his cock.

You remain asleep, completely unaware of what was going on as König kneeled into the bed a little and scooped your drool up with the head of his cock, gently rubbing his tip over your soft lips. He spread your drool around the tip of his cock and used it as a lube for himself. He slapped your lips with his cock twice before gently trying to push it inside of your mouth. He moved his hand from around his cock to your jaw to hold it open as he slid himself in. His breathing shakes as he feels the wet heat of your mouth.

He slowly bucks his hips forward into you as he inches his cock in your mouth little by little. “Ja, that’s my good little Hure.” He moans out, his free hand traveling to your breast and squeezing your breast.

“Oh fuck,” König quickly moves his hand back to his cock as he begins to cum. He pulls out slightly so he can cum on your lips and in your mouth. His breathing heavy and he moans your name. Releasing his full balls completely on to you he smiles at his artwork. He slaps his cock on your lips a few more times before scooping it up with his cock and shoveling it into your mouth, making you eat all of his cum.

König stops recording once he is done and puts the phone down on the bed and he picks his pants back up. He would usually have his fun and drop the girl off somewhere safe, but you… you’re so beautiful. Your tits are perfection and he didn’t even get to try that pussy yet. You’re the type of woman that would never even give him the time of day outside of these circumstances. He’s keeping you. You’re his now.

Part2, Part3, Part4, Part5

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hellsslibrary · 5 months ago

Note

sub...Michael Kaiser...with male reader...please...I'm begging...

Just saw the latest chapter and him saying "please" made me simultaneously combust.

What if he says that word but on a completely different context, iykwim 👀👀👀👀

"In an ideal relationship, pure love and dirty sex complement each other, not exclude each other."

#a.n. : You can't imagine how much fun it was to write this, different sides of the dominant were fighting inside me, it was wild.

MASTERLIST is here.

!!Warnings: top!dom!male!reader, sub!bottom!Michael, brat taming, humiliation, light strangulation, dry orgasm, you dig Kaiser to the point of half death, reader breaks the bed and unironically fights Alexis for a place in the hotel with Michael by playing tic-tac-toe (mention, I thought it was funny), Kaiser is literally folded in half, one bite to his ankle and a slight mention of blood, three phrases in German (my half-German roots take over), riding.

It was obviously not a revelation to Kaiser why this had started. He had started to understand it the moment you almost fought Ness to share a hotel room with him. After all, you, as adults and completely mentally ill people, played tic-tac-toe and you beat Alexis. After all, he could survive a couple of nights not in a room with Michael, but you? Oh no, you had too big of a plan for him.

He had figured it out himself, as soon as he saw that you were actually focused on winning this stupid game and not playing for fun... But I guess he didn't understand what exactly was waiting for him. Although that's the best part.

"G-gott! Y/n, slow d-down! This is, oh shit, this is too mu-much!" came out unintelligibly from his lips, while he grabbed the sheets beneath him with all his might, his graceful fingers almost tearing apart the poor fabric that was holding on with all its might.

"Are you sure?" you clarify, knowing he won’t answer because he doesn’t want to, but he also doesn’t want to seem too needy.

And so he does. He stays silent, burying his face in the pillows and pushing his ass back a little more to somehow meet your ruthless thrusts that didn’t allow him to breathe properly.

You squeeze his hips, pressing lightly on his stomach under your fingers, causing him to whine loudly, even muffled by the cotton pillowcases. His toned ass jiggles slightly with each thrust, making you want to bite one of his cheeks right now, but oh, what a shame the human body can’t bend like that, huh?

Kaiser felt too good as you admired his ass and his bulging back without any other thought. He felt like his whole being was melting, turning into nothing more than obedient plasticine in your hands, which you could bend as you wish.

He bites his lip to hold back another moan. It seems like he can hear his heartbeat in every part of his body, no matter how unimportant or far from his head. It seems like his blood is so hot that he is about to melt... Not that it is not true, considering how sweaty you both have been for the last few dozen minutes.

"Aren't you going to answer me, handsome? Or do you want me to stop and leave you empty and thirsty, hm?" your whisper sends involuntary goosebumps down his body when he realizes that your chest is rubbing against his back and he makes some kind of sound similar to hiccups, turning his head to the side.

"Shut up."

The phrase made your hips freeze almost immediately, your eyebrow involuntarily crawling up at the fact that he had the strength to speak clearly, and also to act like a complete brat, when you were obviously lifting him to Heaven and back with your actions.

"Move, idiot. Why the hell did you stop?"

Your eye twitched and you took a deep breath, looking down at his frowning, flushed face. There were traces of moisture all over his face from tears and sweat mixed together, his lips were slightly swollen from holding back moans, but most importantly, his eyes. The shine in them. He knew what he was doing, or rather, what he was saying.

Before he could come to his senses, your lips spread into an almost animalistic smile and your cock completely slipped out of him. Kaiser was about to complain, but you abruptly flip him over onto his back, and then immediately, without warning, you penetrate inside.

His next moan was probably heard by everyone in the hotel, or at least on your floor. And all the following ones, too. He was no longer holding back, moaning at the top of his lungs. His hands were looking for something to grab onto and wanted to close around your shoulders, but you would not allow him such luxury, so you squeezed his palms above his head.

"What a pity. If you want to act like a little slut, then I will have to treat you like one," you lean right over his face, sliding out so that only your tip remains inside him, and then penetrate in the roughest way you can.

"Ohhh, ple-please... Ple-please, fuck, s-sir, I b-beg yo-you... P-please!"

He himself did not understand what he was begging for, while you just let out a chuckle from this. Michael could barely form any coherent words, he was just mumbling obvious nonsense now.

Your fingers squeezed the blond's leg at his knee, throwing one of his legs over your shoulder, practically folding him in half. He muttered something unintelligible, tears starting to flow from his closed eyes while his hands clenched into fists helplessly in your grip.

"What? You decided to fix yourself in a couple of seconds, handsome? That's not like you. My dick makes you drunk?" he would never admit that it did, but his head shook in agreement too convulsively.

You bite his ankle, digging into the white skin, causing him to cry out in pain, but he doesn't complain. He just stares excitedly at the small trickle of blood rolling down his leg. Your free hand, not holding his hand, falls on his neck.

And God, something clicks inside him. He cums, but nothing comes out, in that same second, although your hand did not have time to settle down and squeeze properly. You only look at the pathetic state of the German while he experiences a dry orgasm and how his cock twitches.

"What a pity... Although you are a smart boy. Even without realizing anything, you do not dare to cum for real without my permission..." Michael only moans in response, not being able to say anything anymore, especially now that you are blocking part of his air.

"Please, Y-y/n," he manages to mumble somehow, looking at you with empty, smoky eyes, hazed with a haze of lust, and you feel how he squeezes around your cock. Probably on purpose, but now you do not care.

"Please what, baby? You have to speak clearly," he frowns, looking away and staring at some tasteless painting on the wall, trying to pull some kind of speech out of his brain.

"Let me cum... Bitte, mein schatz," Kaiser whines, managing to somehow rise up, although it is clearly uncomfortable and even painful for him, given the position he is in, and kissing the corner of your lips, missing the main target. "Bitte lass mich abspritzen, lass mich auf deinen Schwanz abspritzen..."

You feel something break inside you. He looked beautiful and didn't even seem embarrassed as usual by his obvious vulnerability and the state of some kind of toy in your hands. In the end, he even found the strength to kiss you and didn't even wince at the fact that he literally bent in half for a couple of seconds. Well, how can you not spoil such a boy, right?

His head falls back, he sighs raggedly when you begin to pound him with the maximum speed and roughness you can muster right now. The bed beneath you creaks pitifully, as does Kaiser himself, not expecting such pressure.

"Dann komm, Hübscher," your words send him over the edge immediately, squeezing your cock as if in a vice.

He paints your and his stomach white, cumming surprisingly much. And he doesn't react at all when you continue your thrusts with a same force, only small sighs escaping from his lips.

But then he screams and something cracks under you. You manage to catch him and throw his leg aside carefully but quickly, and press him to your chest.

"You... Managed to break the bed? Wow, new even for you," Michael mutters, watching the mattress and sheets sag in the hole in the bed, chuckling hoarsely and weakly hugging your shoulders now that he has this opportunity.

"I'll ask to change the room and pay for the bed... I don't even want to imagine the face of the girl at the reception, but..." You look up at the blond, who is now sitting on your lap and thoughtfully narrow your gaze.

"Ride you? Good," he understands what is needed, feeling that you have not yet finished and managed to twitch inside him even at such a moment. "You can't be trusted with the pace anymore, you're too wild... Next time we're in hotels, I'll ride you."

"Fair and sweet, I'm more than willing," he starts moving his hips, moaning with every movement, still sensitive from his orgasm, trying not to go too fast so you both don't fall off the bed... Until the broken part of the bed falls to the floor, causing a huge noise, but hey, you're facing the ace of German youth football, who cares? Especially one so rarely vulnerable and caring like this.

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comfortless · 11 months ago

Text

Only Other

chapter one of three.

Goth soldier! König x fem, Roman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, mentions of an arranged marriage with a large age gap, slight sexism, descriptions of gore, groping, dubcon sword/knifeplay. additional warnings will be added to the next two chapters.

notes: for @writersdrug’s request. ^^

wc: 11k.

The barbarians are here.

The dream of river water lapping over your knees and songbirds in swaying trees fades out into a hazy fog as you begin to rise, dropping your legs from the mattress to spur yourself to move across the small room as quietly as your feet can carry you.

Heavy footfalls and staggering hoof beats from their horses weighed down by heavy sacks of supplies is what has pulled you from sleep.

The flames of their torches crackle, accompanied by the shrieks of clanging, well-polished metals singing out as if in the throes of war becomes a dull song; weapons, wicked and crudely crafted unlike the spears of the soldiers donned in red you were so accustomed to by now.

You had heard the whispers on the wind of the untamed beasts from Germania filtering in, settling down here; their arms and their blood for just a sliver of land to claim, soil to birth farmland, a semblance of peace from within the walls of the great empire.

Never, in these small words from gossiping tongues, did you suspect that these rugged men would be taking to camp so very close to your city. Not only that… they’ve been accepted into the walls, the door flung open for them with their gnashing teeth and thick, ugly weapons. These men of myth were usually set further out into the countryside, far from view of polite people to sow seed in soft fields, build the little shacks that seemed far too fragile for their rugged forms that could never compare to the villas built here.

Peering over the sill of the open window, stretching your upper half out into crisp night air to catch a glimpse of torches sailing along the breeze, flames just as ever-shifting as their darkened silhouettes, your breath seems to halt entirely. They look the trueness of harbingers like this: each somehow more imposing than the one they follow behind. You count only two horses split between the eight men of this small band.

Could any of them even speak in your tongue?

What stories could they tell?

Had any of them ventured as far as the sea or had they only bathed in waves of warm blood?

With eyes wide, you even dare to perch there to watch on, never bothering to conceal your underclothes with the faith that the darkness would hide away anything more than a illusory view of your shape.

Through the faint glow of the yellow-red flickering flames, your gaze drifts to something large, hulking and brutish, darker still against the backdrop of a sable horizon.

The shadow walks in line with the others, their proud and raucous foreign voices feathering through the otherwise quieted air… only he does not speak, does not make a single utterance of mirth or glee. He stares only forward as his feet tread on just paces behind the rest of the group.

Nine, then.

Like the tales you’ve heard of the Goths, you’ve also listened in on the children spinning wild stories of monsters, the legends of heroes of old slaying cruel beasts told by their elders. You had always believed them, even without the evidence currently striding through the sleeping streets, dark like a crypt, like the underworld itself. A true titan.

Just as your eyes track the brooding, silent form, he abruptly turns his head in your direction.

The glow of a nearby torch paints the shrouded face in the color of a dying sun, casts a glint on the thick seax strapped to his hip.

In that moment, it isn’t wonderment curling through your blood, but surprise, maybe even a tinge of fear.

Your heart hammers as you pull yourself from the window to whisper hurried, hushed prayers to Juno, protectress of women, as you reject your curious nature and climb back into your bed. You’ll bring your offerings to her altar just as any devout: incense and a sweet pastry so long as she keeps you safe, chaste.

Buried beneath cushions stuffed with straw and thin fabric sheets to tuck yourself away, you wish only to return to dreaming of the river’s silt beneath your feet and colorful birds parading past in the open air that smells only of violets and honey.

Instead, you dream of fire.

You dream of the city bathed in gold, molten and angry as the walls come down around you.

You watch as your neighbors, friends, all begin to writhe and shriek as their skin begins to blister, boil beneath until it melts layer by precious layer to puddle like oil where feet once stood until the mighty, wraithful scorch takes even that away too. What once was human becomes smoke: women, men, children, it made no difference. It all becomes a mighty roaring flame as the structures wail and crumble around you.

Yet, you remain untouched.

Dawn breaks with the puppets sewn in shadow all but entirely forgotten, washed away in the fearsome tides of your own dreaming.

You startle and bolt upright as you wipe cold sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

You’re no oracle: it’s just a dream… Vulcan would never turn his fiery gaze to your people after you’ve all honored him so, the offerings paid at his altar had been plentiful this past year with the steady expansion of the empire and the need for well-smithed weapons.

There were no volcanoes here to sweep away your life with magma and sulfur… only the lemures that haunted old shacks with their wailing had paid a visit to you last night. You let them in with your fears, and you would ward them away next with your courage.

The sun’s warmth creeps its way in, sweeps up from your blanketed legs until it curls and caresses at your cheek. From its positioning, proud and impossibly high in the sky it’s almost as though Sol himself were staring down at you, radiant yet scolding.

You’ve overslept.

Hurriedly, you ready yourself for the day, cinching your waist, clasping the shoulder of the stola, and dutifully washing your face with still water held in a clay pot. There was little else to do than bide your time with tedium: the animals loitering about needed tending to, a neglected sewing project lay strewn across the floor that had long-awaited its completion, and as the questions began to stir in your mind again… perhaps, gods willing, you would safely be gifted the opportunity to peek at the barbarian camp. To see that peculiar titan that they kept tethered at their sides.

It was dangerous and unheard of for a maiden, of course, but with little else to do than work and practice stitching threads for a betrothed you held no true affection for, this was a significant reprieve from the humdrum of what was scrawled out into the stars.

You weren’t given the luxury of further studies and communing with the aristocrats at their hearty banquets, sipping wine and prattling onwards about politics and how to further Rome as a whole. A part of you preferred this simple life of taking to the street, to peruse the market with what little money you held clutched in your palm, to pet the horses and watch as bulls sparred out in the fields beyond. Returning home to an empty house was a comfort, too.

As always, the market is a lively place, full to bursting with people exchanging anything under the sun, either beneath painted wooden stalls or from the first floor of their very homes, all with very little regard for you.

The city was simply too full to take in every name and face, and only their chatter seemed to intrigue you anyhow. You didn’t need a scroll or a song about each individual, your people were easy enough to read: war, pride, and duty all embedded into their very blood. The only ones that drew your attention were the poets and bards, entertainers who spun their stories of lives vastly different from your own… but there were none awaiting coin on the streets today.

A man passes with his wife at his side, loudly bolstering onward about his progress on some expedition.

Women with flowers woven into the braids of their hair laugh softly behind their palms as they exchange their secrets in singsong whispers.

The children play and pocket with eager palms when salesmen are unaware, likely to be caught later on and have their hands whipped raw.

There’s no talk of the Goths.

With these foreign men, most of your people seemed unbothered, taking solace in the knowledge that the empire’s cavalry would ride to strike down any opposition. A tentative, arrogant sort of comfort that you knew very well not to trust entirely. Most were simply not as educated on the potential of what could be, hadn’t snuck around on quiet feet to listen in on the men discussing failed treaties and negotiations.

The Goths could find their own food, their own women and shelters after fighting for the empire for a time: likely what they were here to do… give up their lives in exchange for a sliver of a Roman dream. A band as small as the one you witnessed could never quite hope to topple an empire, anyhow.

That sense of safety brought forth disinterest and smug little grins with little else to say, whereas your mind only took to further conjuring curiosity.

The more you wander the more you question whether you saw them at all, or if they were mere specters, already slain and silenced on some field far off from here, long dead and forgotten by all but the sleep-addled mind of a maiden.

You’ve never felt so disheartened. Though the city remained constantly bustling and full of intrigue when you knew where to look, these days the ease of it all only seemed to further the boredom. If nothing were to come, it would be no surprise to find that Juno would serve her purpose, looking after all with her blessings. You almost regret calling for her safety last night.

If the barbarians were indeed real, had some plot to overthrow an empire with their small numbers, perhaps only a vulture would be pleased with your thoughts now: teetering on the cusp of anticipation and wonder. You would never think yourself treasonous, but to learn, to see more… Your appetite for something further than a life spent sewing and child-rearing after marrying a man that made your skin prickle with distaste in the coming winter was rational.

Maybe not to most, but to you.

The fruit stall pulls you from thought with its sappy, honey-sweet scent and brilliant colors littered in crates: reds, greens, even some soft and blue… You only then notice you’ve been standing entirely still here, lost in thought, as if expecting a bolt of lightning to split the world in two.

Two apricots were purchased, one for you and the other for the gray mare in the stable you had grown fond of. You give the merchant a smile and a few bronze coins and carry on your way, nibbling at one of the fruits on your walk.

There were usually servants tending to the horses just beyond the city's paved streets, but it seemed today they were busy with other affairs: Quinquatria would be upon the city soon, and there was much to prepare for such an important festival. The place was empty all apart from yourself and the horses, some off in the fields to gallop to their heart’s content, while others like your mare, secured by wooden gates and paddocks.

You feed her, cooing gently as she takes the pitted fruit from your hand and between her blunt teeth; then, allows you to lead her into the grass with your honeyed words and languid steps.

One day, you hoped to have the opportunity to ride her, perhaps far away to touch the waters of the ocean, to see the foreign trees in some great adventure that would leave you more fulfilled. Ideally, without being weighed down heavy with child.

Your hand strokes at her nose before she begins to tense, eyes wandering from your form to something just beyond, far off and nestled in tall, fluttering grass and small bushes. You track her gaze for a moment, finally turning to look over your shoulder.

The wind has the tops of the trees swaying along the hills, grass pushed down to kiss the earth with each flutter of air. It all smells and feels so gentle, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the soil and salt of the earth itself. Ceres would have found herself prideful at the sight; everything rich and lush with the spring… Harvests would be bountiful this year, and everyone would be well-fed and contented. It’s no surprise that after pilfering through old calendars and running his tests upon the soil, Gaius had declared that this was the year he would take you to be his wife.

Past the expanse of soft blossoms and a cavalcade of greenery, all sweeping and rolling, a beauty that would stifle anyone should they think to look hard enough… but amidst all of this sits a man that you recognize immediately. Though he remains utterly faceless, his stature is somehow enough to make a gladiator blush and turn tail in shame.

There, just where the hill dips down and gives way to the soft rush of the stream, sits your warrior. His head is lowered as he crouches by the water, hands tucked to his front as he busies himself with something in his lap. The bare expanse of his back presented to you is unfathomable even from such a distance.

The men from Germania were said to be huge, dwarfing those that you were accustomed to by lengths, tall and thick like the weapons that they carry. They were said to be handsome, too… and like some hazy dream you were already certain that he was, somehow, beneath the pelt tied round his waist to keep him warmed at night, the sable shroud hanging over his head as he works away at sharpening the blade laying over his lap.

Your legs feel weak like a freshly birthed lamb’s as you watch him; the muscles of his bare arms bulging and quivering, his nude back tensing with effort. The soft rays of the sun beaming down only seem to paint him golden, untouchable except by higherborn women and men who could pay well to have him dirty his blade or his cock. Radiant, cruel, maybe even a bastard son of Mars himself, because what better a place for a man so vast and laden with scar tissue to be than in the midst of some great war.

Someone like this, you know with a certainty, would have no time for fickle maidens with their heads filled with the fluff of fantasies, and in a way that only seems to solidify a plume of possessiveness stirred up within your head.

You wonder even, if he calls to Vulcan as he pauses to hold his blade up to the sun to marvel at his work, the sharpened silver glinting in the light. The weapon casts its rays to only further illuminate the paleness of his flesh, coupled with the gleam of the flowing water ebbing past it only serves to make him look the very picture of those old stories and myths. The older women in the city would have tapestries embroidered of this scene, no doubt, if they could see through your eyes now.

Your horse trots off, satisfied that there is no true threat here, and you feel yourself begin to creep forward.

The gods and goddesses must play their tricks, because you are no fool. The pull only feels undeniable, something that you could not fight with a stern will alone. You pacify your impromptu decision with the thought that you could turn away at any point in the meters it would take to reach him. Surely, if he turned to face you before then that same fear from the night before would come to surface and you would sprint, startled and wary.

Perhaps he would even give chase…

There’s no excitement to be held on him, either acutely unaware or ignoring your presence entirely as you draw ever-closer. The grass softens your footsteps, the breeze blanketing any sound from each shift of your legs beneath the linen stola. You’re near silent in your approach, only halting where the hill crests over the bank several paces away from where he remains seated.

Only then does he turn to look your way.

There’s no greeting, no display of friendliness. His body language remains closed off, distant, like that of a wolf in cautious preparation; deciding whether or not it would be necessary to bare his teeth, to snap and growl until your flesh rends beneath him.

So it’s left up to you and to Juno who remains harbored in your heart. The goddess would protect you most assuredly, you’ve left her offerings for as long as you could remember, prayed at her altars and devoted yourself entirely— perhaps not in the same way of the temple maidens, but certainly more so than most.

You take a breath, watching him with kind eyes and an air of unease about you that only seems sweet by comparison to the very danger that his presence proposes. He only returns your stare with something colder, detached and unamused beneath that ugly veil he wears: two holes for the eyes, dyed beneath with the red rimming yellow like the tissue a butcher may find in a plump calf.

“Can you understand me?”

There’s a long, tense silence that follows your frail question. The titan stares, looks you over from the crown of your head, briefly pauses midway- at your hips- then further. It’s both heated and cold, coaxing yet analytical.

Finally, the barbarian gives a curt nod in response, seeming no less frigid and closed off even as your voice feathers over the breeze. But he understands, can decipher your language, that’s a start.

“You are… one of the barbarians, yes?” Is that even what they preferred to be called? The word certainly sounded prettier on your tongue than the brutish pronunciation of ‘Goths’. There would certainly be some price to be paid if your blood was spilled over a mere insult…

Graciously, he only seems to overlook it as he sheaths his blade and rises to his full height, tall like the mountains you had only heard stories of, where gods and goddesses sit in council not meant for mortal ears.

Freed of any covering upon his upper body, you find yourself reluctantly mesmerized by the trail of light hair that runs from chest to abdomen and down further… until a little tuft peeks from the hem of the pelt tied around his narrow hips. The layer of fat over his midsection paves a way upward to reveal the muscles of his chest, wider and more prominent somehow than most breasts you’ve seen.

Unruly thoughts clutter that would have others questioning your status and devotion to your Gaius if they could hear them. It couldn’t be helped, you reason; you had never seen a man quite so vast, so meant for battle and breeding.

“That is what your people call me,” he huffs, bull preparing to charge. His words come out with a thick accent, northern. The trees and mountains would sound similar if they could speak at all.

He drinks you in with his eyes, fingers twitching at his sides as though itching to touch your most sensitive parts. Though he doesn’t move yet, you get the sense that all it would take is one false move, a skitter in your step that leaves you tumbling to the earth, and he would be upon you like the downpours of spring. You even wonder if he would roar like the thunder delivered from Jupiter’s weighty palms if he were to mount you.

Of course, what he sees before him is not a maiden of Rome. His people didn’t care for purity, for your religions and ideals: you’re a fertile little doe, wandering straight to a buck in his prime.

You swallow hard, a little bob from your fragile throat, to force those treasonous thoughts from your mind. Even talking to this man was a risk to your reputation… Your poor betrothed, nearing thrice your age and horribly delicate by comparison to this beast, would be up in arms if he were to find you here. More concerning, you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

“What do you call yourself, then?” Your voice comes almost breathless, thighs pressed together beneath your stola as your own body sends its signs and omens to tell you that you’re precariously close to the underworld just by gracing him with your presence. Perhaps it would be that dark, too, if this giant decided to push you to the soil, hover over you as he plucked you apart like petals from a flower.

His eyes track that subtle shift of your legs, crinkling at the outer corners when they roam back upward to your face. The beast grins beneath his hood, you’re certain of it, and those eyes of pale blue seem to glitter like the sun's rays on the stream to your side. He shifts, crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his hips just slightly forward, some strange display undoubtedly meant to tempt and charm you.

You don’t budge from your perch, despite your body’s persistent singing for him. Enticing scents and views of flesh could do that… this man wasn’t special, you were just curious. That’s all that it was.

“König.” He answers things plainly in that lilted voice, as though he’s trying to seem more of a man to spite that boyish way of speaking. And gods help you- it’s cute.

“Does it have meaning?,” you settle to ask when he does not request your name in turn. A bit rude, though you do wonder if perhaps the bullish men in his settlements see delicate things like you more like pets anyhow. The thought of this warrior whisking you away and naming you one day… You swallow that lump in your throat again, teetering back on your heels as if to place more distance between you two.

“What do you think it means?”

That simple non-answer does finally allow your pulse to settle, only to rise immediately to find it insulting— as if this wild man with no proper education had the right to insult you at all.

He only smiles again beneath that veil when your face sours. Awful, wretched, gorgeous creature… You’re no threat to him and he knows it. He’s only playing with you, dodging your pretension with a bit of his own, and unfortunately… This is the most pleasant conversation that you’ve had with any man.

Your betrothed was only arrogant and dull, there’s no light in his eyes when he smiles at you- everything is duty. Not here. Not with König, and surely the goddess of marriage and love is frowning down at you from her lofty throne, because you’re almost certain you’re infatuated with the brute by now.

“You’re a bit rude.”

“King.” He grins, a grin that you can see when he frees the leather flask from his belt and shoves his mask upward to take a heavy gulp of what is undoubtedly Roman wine. The glimpse alone makes you weak again, honey drips from your thoughts to your cunt, and you know now that you were never simply curious.

No, this brute would be the end of your engagement and even you if you allowed it.

You watch him take his fill, catch the bitter scent in the air as a bit trickles down from his rough jaw to his throat, all covered in scars. He’s been in battle for a long time, likely why he wears the hood at all. The rest of that handsome face is undoubtedly a wreck just as what could be seen of his body, all covered in memories of where he’s had scrapes and dances with daggers only to fell his foes one by one with that long seax dangling from his hip.

After the hood and the flask are in their proper places once more, he gives you a nod, then speaks, “How many coins?”

It takes a moment for the question to register in full; he isn’t asking what you have on your person, but how much you’re worth. How much it would cost for you to spend a night in his bed, tolerating this giant between your legs…

Your attractions billow up in smoke immediately, just as you expression sours and your hands curl to fists at your side, crushing the half-eaten apricot in the process. You toss the ruined fruit to the ground, allowing the sweet juice to coat your fingers as it flows downward.

You wring your hand as you very nearly shout, “You are an animal. I’m not here to sell myself.”

Your voice falters to a meek, little whisper with your final words, the breath a weak gust through the first tiny blossoms of spring.

Of course he catches onto your body language, to the way your thighs rub and tense beneath your skirt, the way your nipples peak at the mere sight of him and all of the infatuation and curiosity in your eyes. Men knew things like this, offhandedly, it seemed; if the others were correct then this beast could surely smell you, too.

The bastard only stares, eyes narrowing as his brow pulls together beneath the hood in some strange confusion. The whores wore their togas, not the stolas of maidens and married women, even a barbarian should have known that: his men were certainly no strangers to the sweet women with their faces chalked in lead.

Then, his shoulders pull up to fall in a shrug.

“Run, then, little one.”

It’s almost as though he knows your thoughts in and out, a lemure himself as he presents the bulk of him that would strike fear into any man, taunts and goads. You don’t want another fire dream. You force your courage and mirror his stance: chin up, back straightened as you look down upon him like a goddess sent to deliver her fury with… a pitted apricot at your feet rather than bolts of famine and misfortunes.

His eyes become stars, twinkling in earnest when he sees you then. You’re no aristocrat, no empress, but you certainly feel the part when the giant’s gaze finally relaxes its pilferage and settles upon your face instead.

Your act is all for naught, because you realize that his men are approaching, opposite the stream. One of them was enough, but a hoard of others… You were not even certain that he could understand you properly, and the others could be even less patient. Your gaze travels over their forms, smaller than this ‘König’, but each equipped with their own weapons and their own scars from battle.

They look from their leader to you, eyes grazing over the plush flesh that your stola dutifully conceals like starved dogs. One of them mutters something in a foreign tongue, harsh and guttural, his eyes never leaving your shape in a display of brazen appraisal.

König responds in turn, voice taking on a lower octave as he all but barks his response: harsh, unyielding language that you couldn’t hope to interpret… but if you had to guess, you were nearly certain that his men were asking who would lift your skirts and have their way with you first.

You depart from them with tentative yet hurried feet, and you don’t look back as you cross across the lush field. There’s no stopping at the stable, not a thought in your head except that you would most assuredly not be returning. The barbarians could have the field, the stream, whatever the city’s officials had allowed them.

Just not you.

It’s Gaius that greets you when you arrive home, to the little villa he had secured for you; to the place that would become less of a home and more of a prison once the two of you were wed. You’re barely a foot in the door when the man’s gaunt face turns to you, his lips set in a stern line.

“Where were you?”

You knew that look, it’s the very same that he gives to his slaves when he’s about to bleat out his orders like an enraged goat, shove them or grab at them to feel less small than he truly is.

Your brow pinches, a shaky breath leaving your mouth as you try in earnest to look the part of an innocent lady who had not just crossed a field and fantasized endlessly of some rude, barbaric oaf.

“In the field. With the horses,” you deliver your half-truth with practiced ease. This wasn’t the first time you’ve lied to him, and it certainly would not be the last. If the protectress of Rome could overlook your stunts and recognize your discomfort in this wretch’s presence… then she might even side with you; save you from a future of sharing this man’s bed.

Gaius relents then— as much as a stoic, old man could. He reaches out to cup your face with one weathered hand and you have to force back to urge to shudder.

It’s not that you mean to be cold, not after all that he’s done to care for you… it just comes as naturally as the seasons and the wills of the gods. Something about him always made you feel ill.

You eventually, tentatively jut your chin forward just a bit to force yourself into leaning toward the touch of his cold hand.

His lips curl into an unsightly grin; then, he pats your cheek and draws away enough to bless you with fresher air to breathe without his withering presence alone contaminating it.

“I brought you a gift, meum corculum.”

“Oh…” Your words come in a little hiss, your heart stuttering in your chest as you teeter back on the heels of your sandals. The straps along your calves feel tighter now, your stola too… maybe even the room itself: everything seems to close in, and you could only silently hope he doesn’t request your affections for doing such. “… you didn’t have to-“

“Nonsense.” Gaius raises both of his hands, arcs them before stepping out of your path to reveal a new dress lying on the wooden table just beyond him, dyed a light blue.

It’s pretty, well-spun and soft-looking… yet you still hesitate a bit when you step closer to run your fingertips over the fabric. It yields beneath your touch, bunches when you move each digit along the pliant linen, and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever touched, maybe even softer than the lambs and kittens you’ve played with in the streets.

“I thought that you might like something nicer to wear during Quinquatria,” he adds from just behind you. You feel his hands trace along your arms, further, until they reach your shoulders and give a gentle, but almost demanding squeeze.

It’s meant to be affectionate and he is your husband-to-be… but he still manages to make you feel ill. It’s only a blessing that he’s never requested more from you than a peck for his offerings to you.

What a man in his late stage of life could see in you, you couldn’t hope to imagine. A fertile womb, likely, and you could only hope that that isn’t also what he saw in the women he kept as slaves in his own home further toward the city’s center. Nosy, dull man that he was, of course he needed to be closer to the housings of banquets and discussions to feel some level of importance while he kept you locked away toward the wall and the slums like some filthy little mystery.

“I’m tired, my love,” you manage, voice thin as you slowly pull yourself away, from both Gaius and the delicate blue thing you would be forced into wearing for the coming festival.

The man balks, but doesn’t push. A few seasons and he would have what he’s awaited for years, the confident gleam in his eyes tells you that he’s certain of it.

It’s difficult to believe that someone you had once considered a hero and a friend could make you feel so much disgust now. You were naïve, then, and now you only feel how those poor horses locked away in the stables must feel, burdened with a constant yearning for your own freedom.

“Then rest.”

When the door shuts behind him, you’re only then able to expel your relief. The weight of what you must do settles upon you, heavy and unyielding, the boulder of Terminus.

You can not marry Gaius. You can not continue to breathe in the stink of the city from its miasmic aqueducts, perfumed only by the crowded marketplace full of mortals so contented with their own tedium. The unknown calls and calls, howling like a mother wolf to guide you. Even with the stories told of what fiends and horrors lie outside of the city you could almost feel with a certainty that you were destined for it.

You light your incense with a lump of coal in the burner of a clay pot. Just cinnamon would have to do for now. You make your peace with that promising Juno whichever sweet, flaking pastry that appeals most during the festival of Minerva.

Though you were more than content with your wish for nothing more to do with the barbarians after meeting with König earlier… he comes rushing back into your mind, rolling and lapping like waves as you begin to prepare yourself for sleep. The polished tin of your hand mirror reflects your face as you twirl the handle in a curled palm and you stare. Did he see beauty or simply a womb…? Had you taken offense to nothing? The questions stir up remorse as you strip away your gown and take to the bed.

Just one more meeting with the foreigner, maybe. Just to say your farewells, wish him luck in future battles, bless his seax and his shield with a touch and a prayer (if he even had the sight to keep any form of defense on his person).

When Quinquatria comes, when the people are busy and satisfied with their food, fortune telling and the gladiator games, you will take your mare and ride off into a sea of stars. Each light will be a point of guidance until you reach the riverbed you’ve only ever dreamt of, until you scale the mountains that sang so sweetly from the goth’s tongue…

And perhaps he will chase you.

— — —

Quinquatria used to be one of your favorite festivals. The fortune tellers were your favorites, always seeming to know so very much with so little insight into your life. Then there were the revelers donning their colorful masks, barking out song with bitter wine painting their tongues.

You try to listen in on them as a woman traces over the patterns in your palm, the curved lines and straight, fine indentations. Palmistry, rather than any proper reading with sacrifices and proper seers stood before a temple. You reason that this is for fun, just like the wine-drinking and the gladiators fighting for their lives and the horrible stink of the city’s streets: natural, reasonable, and dreadfully normal.

The fortune teller hums as she reads you through your hand, laughs a bit when she seems to note a secret or… something. You were not entirely sure. The woman was young, her belly likely as full of fermented fruit as everyone else’s as they dance and crowd the street where you two are stood.

“You’re unhappy, girl,” the woman muses, giving you a sympathetic look before another laugh pulls from her lips.

You give her a nod but don’t say a word as she continues to stroke at your palm. Of course you were, anyone could tell just by the frail look upon your face, as if you were indeed bereft and ready to cry at any moment in this horrible, dainty dress with your betrothed fondling some lady mere paces from you.

“Yet, so lovely,” she continues, nimbly running her fingers to your wrist. She curls them around you, turns your hand over and gives it a soft pat to signify that your reading is done.

“You’re destined for a summer wedding.” Winter, you want to correct. “And your husband… strong and brave like the sacred wolf.” Weak and old, you force back with a clenched jaw.

She releases your wrist with one last assessment, “Juno favors you, sweet girl.”

You want to call her a fraud, but instead you merely part with the bronze you had promised to her. With Gaius preoccupied, his wrinkled hands already tucked beneath the skirt of the other woman’s stola, now would be the best time to wrench the door of your little cage wide open… not make a scene.

Your chest feels tight, and for the first time it isn’t from some unknown fear, it’s excitement. Your heart hammers as the blood stirs within your veins, belly tense and breathing shallow, taking a stiff pace to walk along the shadow untouched by silver paths of moonlight.

There’s a bellow, a wail as the gladiators fight some distance off. Soft words and whispers filtering past like eerie words from something ghastly, moans from a brothel, bells on the wind, the stink of rot and perfume all from all that you’ve known for so long as you leave it all behind.

Your mare is pacing restlessly in the field, her ears flicking and tail swaying behind her. You’ve no saddle, you hadn’t even thought to procure food or any supplies. You’re not even certain that she’s been ridden by anyone, but you coax her over to the wooden fence that your body rests over; hands find the velvety fur of her gray snout, fingers moving to gently caress her mane and ears.

“We are going to be free,” you whisper as your hands curl over her neck. The mare makes her displeasure known immediately, huffing and tensing immediately… and you realize that this isn’t going to work, not without her bucking you off and leaving you injured or dead. You’re not stupid or brazen enough to break a horse or anything, really. Not Gaius. Not…

You would find König. Perhaps you could even trade the Goth for a horse already accustomed to being ridden… he had already revealed his intentions, and he was easy enough on the eyes to entertain the thought.

You give the mare a kiss farewell, right on the softness of her cheek and detach yourself from the fence to wander past the silver field, the gently flowing stream. The water dampens your dress, embeds it’s cold into your very bone where the sandals fail to protect. Spring or not, it’s hardly warm at night, and there are only so many rocks lying in the water to keep you from sinking in.

The clothes are drenched by the time you crawl to the other side. On the opposite bank, it’s only then that you turn back to look over at the city, one final glimpse of a place bathed in gold; cinder and ash from torchlight, flowers and the creeping scent of decay carry on the breeze. Even from the distance you can hear the music, chimes of steel on steel, the laughter and cries of mirth and pleasure.

Begrudgingly, you feel the first seeds of regret plucking at your heartstrings. You’ve nothing to your name apart from a few coins in a pouch strapped to your hip, no weapons, no food. You could die, you verily would if you went at this alone. And still, you force your face forward and continue your steady waltz to look the unknown straight in its bloody maw.

You won’t panic, won’t fear. Whatever awaits would be better— it had to be.

The barbarian camp comes into view some time later. You couldn’t be certain how long you’ve been walking, as though some spirit had plucked the chords of your mind and left you in some confused daze. It couldn’t have been your own desperation. Something greater had to be at play, a proper destiny: one much better than the life of Gaius’s wife, owned like a hound, imprisoned and uninspired.

Though their torches burn, their tents stitched together amalgamations of old pelts and cloth, the air is fresher here. You expected the reek of death, heavy on their skin, bathed in blood and the rot like visions of Mors herself. Instead, you smell smoked meat and wine on the air: a boar and fermented grape, fruit from the surrounding orchards, the heavy scent of men. There’s no celebration here, a few men talking quietly as their eyes wander over what you can only assume to be some sort of map— tactical discussion for their next bloodbath.

You puff your chest and steel your gaze as you walk towards them, expression set not unlike the stern looks your betrothed would give.

Your attempt at intimidation only earns a flicker of hunger in the gazes of these men, and then a bout of grating laughter. They glance at one another, discussing you in hushed voices in their mother tongue before one finally looks to you and asks a simple, “Was?”

“König,” you answer simply. “Where might I find him?”

The question undoubtedly goes uninterpreted, but the name does spark a wave of interest that passes between their faces. Finally, one points toward the tent at the far side of the camp: ugly thing, vast and layered in dark tones of gray and maroon, the very structure is a bleeding animal.

You hear the laughter behind you, the lewd whispers and jeers and only a simpleton wouldn’t be able to interpret the meaning; the titan that heads their little group has a lovely woman seeking him out like a wayward dream, and with adrenaline already coursing through you the thought of spending your night here doesn’t even seem an insulting prospect.

The flap serving as the door of the tent parts as your hands move to lift it, and sure enough… the beast lies in wait in his den, seated on a mattress made up entirely of fur. His hood remains over his head as he traces the carvings on the handle of the seax, under flickering flame and the shadow of the tent König seems further unearthly, god walking amongst men as he toys with his weapon in some strange sort of ritual.

The ritual only seems to be one of boredom, because his eyes light up when they rest over you, standing like a dream as your dress billows with the breeze creeping in. You’re drenched and dirty and pitiful in his presence, but he only seems to soften when he beckons you toward him with a curl of his fingers meeting his palm.

You obey with tentative steps, stopping next to him as he waits on the bed. If it were possible for your heart to seize and halt entirely without you collapsing to sink beneath the earth, it surely would now, so close to him.

“I need a favor,” you explain in whispers. “A horse.”

“A horse,” he repeats as his weapon is set aside, “Warum?”

You don’t want to explain a thing. He’s working with the very men that could drag you back to the city after being paid heavily by Gaius… your trust is blind and foolish and you almost want to break apart right here. How stupid to believe that you could find some solace here, with a giant that walks along the cusp between men and beasts. Your shaking hands reach out to drag along his vast shoulders, lingering on the healed wounds that dent and give rise to his flesh.

“I’ll do what you want,” you offer quietly, earning a pleased rumble from his chest.

Though after a moment, he only sieges your wrists, pulls you down to the mattress at his side. He touches you no further, only stares down at you in a twist of amusement, reverence and confusion.

“Warum?,” he repeats, “Tell me.”

You wind over onto your side, staring up at him with a desperation that you’ve never known until this night, clawing down from your throat to bed it’s way into your roaring pulse, frightened and pleading. Just give in, ask no more, you want to wail to him as your vision begins to blur with tears.

Mercifully, he doesn’t ask again. König lies at your side, mimicking the way you curl onto your side and again… he smiles, though this one is unlike the way he looked upon you by the stream. It lacks that boyish twinkle, the intensity of the lines forming beneath his eyes: it’s more of a pleasantry than anything genuine.

“You are married?”

“What? No…” You swallow hard, toying with a thread that’s begun to pull free from your hip, twirling it between your fingers. “…not yet.”

“Ach… but you belong to another, ja?”

You want to howl out your frustrations up to every god and goddess above, burn through the Elysian with your misery alone. You wish, yearn for the courage to cast off that mask and lure him in with a kiss, erase any memory of Gaius with the kindling of a truer passion.

Your voice doesn’t come, and your fingers steadily pluck at that thread, feeling more unsure of yourself with each passing second.

Again, your bastard god grants his mercy as he raises a hand to cup your jaw, the warmth of him singing away the memory of the weathered hand that had touched you there before. His hand is so much larger, strong and riddled with calluses; you swear that you can feel his own fluttering pulse through his fingertips when they press against your bottom lip.

“Not after tonight,” he hums.

When the shroud is tugged up and his mouth meets your own, König’s kiss is exactly what you had expected: a sloppy, eager clash of teeth and tongue. He steadies you with a hand pressed to the back of your neck as his grunts filter past your own lips. Your eyelids flutter, then close as you allow your mind to finally relax, coaxed into the ethereal with each swipe of his tongue and pleasured sound drawn up from the well of his throat.

He pulls away with a gentle peck to the corner of your mouth, gazing down at you as though he’s been deprived of light for the entirety of his being and had only now met the sacred flame. It’s incomparable to how easily your betrothed would cast his scrutiny; though the hunger is similar, there’s something far more enticing here.

“Do you trust me?”

König’s voice holds no apprehension as he speaks; the question is just as blunt as each bulge of muscle and peek of teeth through the grin on his face, only set aglow by dim candlelight in the tent. You don’t nod, don’t even reply immediately as you stare at him a little dumbly, still intoxicated by the ferocity of his affections.

“… I don’t know.”

He moves a hand over your eyes then, gently presses his palm over you until you’re bathed in such darkness that you shudder. It’s a disconcerting feeling— not because you fear him so much anymore, but because if this were Gaius you would have already been squirming away, rushing to hide. You want to kiss his palm, revel in whatever piece of him he gives to you.

“Sehr schön,” König coos to you in a whisper. You settle further, allowing the tension to leave you almost entirely as you fall into the velvety embrace of all of this darkness and the pelts beneath your back.

He shifts at your side, and almost immediately there’s a cold chill at your collar, something sharp that he rakes over the softness of your flesh, then down, down to snag at the top of your dress. Your gasp is quieted by a kiss as you feel his weight shift over you, and just as you begin to melt into it… the fabric begins to tear, shreds as he guides his blade further, past your breasts and along your sternum, your belly, further.

“Don’t..,” you manage to hiss against his mouth, immediately taken over by the feeling of his tongue lapping at your teeth. Your nipples peak at the sudden chill as your dress lies ruined to either side of your body, thighs trembling as the blade hooks along the linen concealing your maidenhood.

One more generous, gentle cut and that comes away too.

You’re entirely bare when he retreats to your side again, one hand still clutching the blade as he moves his head to lay over your breast and… never, never had you heard of a man lapping and suckling at a woman like a pup, but that’s what he begins to do; his tongue circles over the bud, tugging it between his teeth until you feel the wetness between your legs beginning to drip to smear upon the mattress.

It’s caught, quick, as he turns the blade in his hand to slot its grip against your sex. It’s cold, but his mouth is warm, attentive as he licks between the valley of your breasts to capture your other nipple.

The noises that leave your mouth are filthy, rivaled only by the sounds you’ve heard in brothels… König only seems appreciative of them, muttering praises as he grinds the cold metal against your cunt, careful as the ridges of it graze your throbbing bud, gathering your slick to make the glide that much easier.

When he moves to dive for your breasts again, you cradle his jaw in your hands, peering up at those moonlight eyes in silent pleading as you capture him in another burning kiss.

The blade turns again, its sharpness directed down so as to not bring you any harm as you desperately roll your hips against its coldness. He groans into your mouth, panting softly just as you begin to whine.

You’ve never heard of a man making love to a woman with a weapon… or of one suckling at her as though she’s lactating when she is not, but… it has the desired result when your body tenses and all that can escape you is a frail whisper of his name.

The heat sweeps from your foggy head to your middle as your thighs squeeze around the damned thing and König presses his lips to your temple. You climax for him, chasing wave upon crashing wave of intensity with stilted bucks of your hips. He clicks his tongue in approval when you’ve finished, holds up the seax again, smeared wet with your essence and twinkling as though it had been bathed in the stream once more.

You know with a certainty you’ve lost Juno’s favor. If he chose you to carve you open with his come-stained blade the goddess would not make her descent to save you.

“Gut,” he whispers into your hair. To your horror, maybe even fascination, he raises the dirtied silver to his lips and licks your sweetness from it with another low groan.

“Wh… why would you do that..?” Your rapture feels almost shameful as you watch him lap at the weapon, the long tongue meeting silver only warmed by your heat.

He’s mad, certainly, and you only find yourself further infatuated: you reason that you must be too…

König doesn’t answer you as he sets the seax aside again, not in words. Instead, he cups your face and directs your lips to his own where he laps at your tongue, suckling it in the same way he did your tits. It’s slow and sensual, and you can taste yourself in his mouth, smell yourself on him as his hands find your waist and tug you closer until you’re lying almost entirely over him; one leg thrown over his thigh with your hands splayed over his chest.

The titan is hard beneath the pelt he wears, felt against the plushness of your thigh, the brown fur wrapped around his hips is pushed to rise where it’s harboring something akin to a pillar… but he doesn’t force you to settle over it, makes no attempt to tug it free, despite its throbbing against your leg,

“I needed your blessing,” he mutters, a hand settling over your naked hip, tracing small shapes with his thick fingers. The other finds your shoulder to pull you into a cuddle, pulled so tightly against him that you’re hardly able to discern where your warmth ends and his begins.

“A.. a blessing?” Your voice comes as a trembling croak, head pressed into the gap between a broad shoulder and the column of his throat.

“We are leaving in the morning.”

“Oh…”

“I will give you the horse when I return.”

Your head feels like a mess. You’re not even certain of what you’ve just done— did that count as sex? Would he tell the Roman soldiers he works alongside of how he had convinced some pompous aristocrat’s lovely bride to lustrate his blade with her essence? You could hit him, demand the horse now and bolt, but you only melt against him: eyelashes fluttering as exhaustion takes hold and the tension leaves you entirely.

“That’s all?”

König pets you, running a hand along your spine and back up to repeat. He presses his nose to the crown of your head, nuzzling against it until his hand is freed from your form and only then does it coax its way beneath the fur covering his groin.

He laughs at the weak sound of surprise you elicit when that beast is pulled free, another, thicker weapon curled in his hand. The thickness, the length of it that tapers off to a layer of skin, eager and pulled back from the tip, leaking beads of milky white: something that would surely tear you if he were not careful, and the thought brings you to squeeze your thighs together, concealing the leaking, thrumming thing between.

“I will fuck you when I return, too,” he huffs into your scalp, causing you to further bury your face against him, intent not to let him see the effect his derangement seems to have on you. You would let him bury himself into your chest, steal the breath from your very lungs, but you don’t breathe a word of it. Something tells you it’s a mutual thing, perhaps it was all spelled out for you when he asked for your favor rather than from any of his foreign gods.

You count your undeserved blessings. He seems sated only ruining you with his touch for the time being, you’re very comfortable here, and though you dare not speak it… you do find this brute charming. He speaks where you fail to, whispers of your beauty being like that from myths and dreams.

He doesn’t force you to leave, either, only paws at and squishes your breasts until you squeak and whine your protests, already sore from his teeth leaving their marks all over them. When he tires of his fun, you’re pulled into a crushing embrace where he rests his head against your own, blankets you in himself entirely. You were right… the shadow he casts over you blackens out the sun, moon, stars all of it; dulls the haze of carnality with something far more tender.

Your night becomes entirely made up of König: his scent like forest and sweat, the furs from beasts he’s chased down and slain, his soft breathing and gentle snores when he does fall asleep against you.

No dreams come to you, no lemures to haunt you with their wails and flames. Not even Juno descends to punish you. You’re warm and soft and contented like the kittens curled up in clusters along the streets on cold nights.

It’s the first night of peace you’ve had in some time.

When morning comes, the brightness of the sun peeking through the flaps of the tent, you wake to find König already out of bed. He stands at the far side of the tent, strapping on pelts and gear and the leather pouch filled with wine. His seax is held up in utter revelry, and mortifyingly enough… you immediately note that he hadn’t cleaned away the remnants of what occurred last night either.

When you bring yourself to sit upright, the giant only drops to his knees at your feet and curls his arms around your middle, pressing a kiss to the valley between your breasts through the thick fabric of the hood.

And… it almost hurts, to realize then that this is something you’ve longed for. You’re not arrogant enough to believe yourself worthy of some foreign worship, but he seems to liken you of some devout little acolyte, as if your come and kisses could grant him favor while he butchers poor souls all in favor of your empire: the people he had likely been communing and trading with only months before. Traitorous, mad, utterly enthralling man… You’re not certain whether you want to relieve yourself from him or guide him back into bed for more frenzied pleasures.

“You will stay?,” he murmurs into your skin as his kisses trail up to your neck.

You hadn’t even considered what you would do, it never came to mind, but staying in a shoddy tent in wait for him to return with the horse he’s promised was far from favorable. You’re out from the city, still without food or weapons, your dress and underclothes are a torn ruin on the floor, nothing but the wind and the stream and König’s stinking furs… The bathhouse seems to call to you now more than ever. Your lower lip trembles when you think of returning to that stale place, to be questioned endlessly about your affairs from your ‘doting’ husband-to-be…

Your head shakes solemnly. “I’ll wait for you at home.”

König drags you up onto your feet and closer as he savors in another embrace. You’re cloaked in a gray pelt, tied up and over your shoulders like the gaudiest tunic in the world, but you bur your nose into its shoulder, humming in contentment when you find that it smells just like him.

He’s more confident and proud than you’ve ever seen him now. The filthy blade remains strapped to his hip when he gathers you up to sit at his front on the back of his horse— a dark stallion with a pelt the same shade as the night sky. It doesn’t even seem to flinch at your combined weight, just canters along smoothly as König directs it through the sprawling field and past the stream to lead you back towards the city’s gates.

You’re not thinking of Juno or Gaius or traditions when König cinches your waist with a thick arm to draw you in closer; there’s nothing but fluffy warmth pooling in your chest sent by Venus when you feel his hips shift to press himself against your back. His head dips to kiss at your neck, your burning cheeks, shoulder, anyplace that he can.

When the horse comes to a halt with a sharp tug of its makeshift reigns, some length of rope and twine, his hand is at your rear.

Everything’s incensed and floral when you’re lowered to the ground, when he lifts the hood to grin down at you, not only with his eyes this time. It’s a sheepish, gluttonous grin, drunk off your very presence.

“I will come back for you, meine Göttin.”

And you know now, that the palm reading had been true— there’s your wolf in preparation for a hunt, the man who’s unwittingly aiding you in your pursuit of freedom painted with mountains and vast, blue skies. You will convince him to come away too, lay down the blade you’ve blessed with your pleasure. A summer wedding… far from wars of greed and smirking old men.

Your head swims when he bids you farewell, rides off on his massive horse back to his camp to gather his own men to march. You watch him go, breath caught up in your throat, a burning longing in your chest that you can not entirely dismiss.

The walk of shame only comes when you’ve crossed the threshold separating König’s world from your own.

The stink of the streets immediately washes away any lingering scent of him on your skin, on his pelt you now hide away with your arms curled around your waist.

You catch your reflection in stagnant water held in a pot, swaying and ebbing gently as others breeze past you.

You’re in a foreigner’s clothes that just barely crest your thighs, hair a mess and the carmine you had worn to bring a false blush to your cheeks is smeared over an eye and down to your jaw. You look the part of an adulteress, maybe, even as you dip your hand into the water to wash the makeup from your face.

There isn’t much to be done about the marks left over the hints of your chest revealed beneath the fur, but you make your way home without anyone even bothering to ask. If anything, the festivities from the night prior only seemed to subdue the standard bustle. You could only imagine how exhausted the hungover soldiers may have been as they undoubtedly prepare for the expedition König had mentioned.

That overrides your shame, sobers you from that sugary elation somewhat. You’re worried. It’s not just about König himself, not about the threat of fucking you when he returns left unfulfilled— though, those are enough to make your heart begin it’s hammering, rabbit in the throes of a chase. The horse, too. That proud stallion, your hope of a swift escape before winter comes and it’s all lost. If his drunken allies fail him in battle, if some other barbarian’s spear strikes true and fells your titan then the dream is dispelled into smoke, sunken down to river bed to be lashed away by frothing waters.

Whoever decided that the day after revelry would be the time to move was a fool indeed. The deities couldn’t look at you after last night, you know if they saw their noses would be turned up in disgust… perhaps not Jupiter’s, he’s more guilty than you could ever be, but your offerings had never been for him had they?

You fret and hiss below your breath as you wind your way back to the villa with its white walls and terracotta-tiled roof. The sun bears down on you like the flame of your dreaming. You’re afraid again, letting the lemures find their way in through the gaps in your shivering limbs to haunt your dreams.

Gaius is not there to greet you, likely still recovering from his own fevered night. You’re grateful for that.

The little altar to Juno still stands atop a table in your room, the burner still smells of cinnamon, dried flower petals and a dish of honey still sat there entirely untouched. She hasn’t split it in two, abandoned you, but it does feel that way when you peel away the fur.

Your fingers nudge at the bruises laden into your skin, the marks that look like teeth to either side of your breast. You press into them, gently, immediately feel that coil of heat, and you don’t want to sleep. That fire from your dream only seems to have become a part of you: you know it intimately now, it comes with pleasure and bite marks and a heavy weight harbored in your chest.

You cinch your waist and tie your stola at your shoulder, brush your hair out with a comb made of ivory. You rub your bruises with a salve made of honey, bandage up what you can and hide away what you can’t by tugging up your breast band.

The same as any other day, you take to the streets of the city and peruse the marketplace, take to the empty bathhouse to wash away all that’s consumed you over the past day. And you watch the soldiers go as they march through the streets, women and children waving away their fathers and brothers with prayers and sentimental words.

They don themselves in red, clutching their gladiuses, spears and heavy shields as they filter out and away where your very being longs to be. Their faces are giddy, almost: the prospect of pillaging and felling each enemy another delightful treat just like those found in the gladiator pits and amidst rolling with the whores in their brothel beds. You can not hope to understand their mirth, the happiness in any of the civilians either.

You watch them leave wistfully, lips pressed to a thin line, fingers digging into the waist of the stola. You down your fair share of the wine Gaius has left in your cellar. The day merely passes you by, the sewing left undone on the floor, altar bathed in cinnamon and saffron as you make your prayers and beg like any dog.

The mattress feels lonely and sad without the warmth of a body made for war curled against you, without his breath in your hair and his arms wrapped around you. It’s cold, too, and far harder than his, all straw and thin sheets. None of this feels like home.

Your eyes eventually close as the last of the sun’s rays begin to die, blotted out by the dark, untouched by torchlight.

You dream of fire.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #konig x you #cod fanfiction #f: only other #tw: dubcon

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cmncisspnandmore · 1 year ago

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Dad!Simon is surprisingly lax with the rules he has in place for his teenage daughter.

She’s allowed to date, also long both you and Simon have met the parents of her partner. She can be out until 10pm every night but must have her locations on. She has to keep good grades, and do her chores, but other than that she can do as she pleases.

She’s a good kid.

Always has been.

Since the moment she was born Simon’s entire attitude towards parenting shifted. As he stared down at the pink, sleeping baby in his arms as the doctors finished up with you. He vowed to do whatever he could to make her life as amazing as it could be.

He took her to dance classes as a toddler, even going on stage with her when she got stage fright.

He never denied her the ability to play any sport or instrument she wanted. Even if she didn’t stick with it, he was always happy to support her next hobby.

He would find trinkets to bring her from his missions, his own little way of showing her he never stopped thinking about her. Building her a new shelf to store them on when the previous one was full.

Although Simon wasn’t as strict as people thought he would be with her, he had a good reason.

Simon had trained her well, by the age of 7 she could take down a fully grown man on her own. Simon even remembers the look on Soaps face as the seemingly innocent little girl in her bright pink dress took him to the ground.

By age 10 she could shoot better than some newly joined SAS members. Her shot hitting center almost every time.

Now as Simon sits on the steps of the front porch, he watches as you and your daughter lay in the grass. The stars bright in the dark country sky. You both talk softly, pointing out the different constellations.

Riley, the family German Shepherd, laying by your heads his ears perked as he listens to the world around you.

“Dad!” Your daughter calls, sitting up on her elbows to look back at him. Her brown eyes a mirror image of Simon’s.

“Hmm?” He looks over at her, a small smile on his face.

“Come join us!” She calls, patting the grass next to her. Simon can’t resist, he lets out a breath, pushing himself up from the stairs and walking across the grass. He settles into the space you and your daughter created between your bodies. As he lays down in the grass, your head comes to rest against his chest. His arm instinctively going around your shoulders anchoring you to him.

“Dad…” your daughter whispers into the night sky.

“Yeah Bunny?” Simon mumbles, his hand going to her hair to ruffle it.

“Thank you for being the best Dad a girl could ask for,” she looks over at Simon. Her lips turned up in a smile, as she leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Love you Bunny,” Simon smiles as she turns her face back up to the sky.

#simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley #simon #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod mwii #ghost cod #dad!simon #dad!simon riley

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fartcloudfartcloud · 4 months ago

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Simon Riley x Maid!Reader

based on this text post

Summary: Simon has a house cleaner come clean once a month. What happens when she goes on vacation, and you're her replacement?

warnings: sfw but theres tension 😋, will make an nsfw part two if you guys want it :), Simon being big and scary and offputting per usual, lots of internal dialogue

a/n: loved this concept, and since I actually worked a door to door cleaning job I thought this fit so well and needed to write it. hope u enjoy :)

You took a deep breath.

These were the steps you were to take in this job. You had no reason to feel unsafe or in danger of any sort. Yet, the thought of walking up and knocking on this door had your heart in your stomach.

Simon Riley Is what the work order had listed as the clients name. Ex Military. Large German Shepard named Riley. Liked his wooden floors cleaned with vinegar instead of the regular cleaning solution. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Except for the entry instructions. The small box on the piece of paper that would normally hold a few finely printed words, things such as "Homeowner will be not be home, key is under welcome mat"

or "Homeowner will be home and located in office on second floor, door will be unlocked"

had big, bold font to start. Your manager had to go in and manually change that detail, and knowing her, that must mean this is serious.

The box reads-

"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO OPEN DOOR. HOMEOWNER IS EX MILITARY AND EXTREMELY STRICT. RING FRONT DOORBELL ONCE AND WAIT."

Yeah. Very normal and not at all gut-wrenching.

You keep taking deep breaths as you go through your routine. Read the work order thoroughly once more, try not to shit yourself, go and grab your equipment, and follow the instructions.

Easy. Just follow the routine.

Your equipment is as big and clunky as usual. With a vacuum on your back, a bucket full of microfiber towels, a backpack full of chemicals, and knee pads on both knees, you knew for sure you were a sight for sore eyes.

You're not quiet as you walk either, each step making every plastic piece of your puzzle clunk and scrape in a cacophony of reminders of why you were here. You thunk and bang your way up the front porch, eyes everywhere but the front door, still taking deep breaths as you try to just focus on your surroundings, taking note of the nice front garden and walkway as you pass.

You finally settle on the front porch, your arms dropping the bucket and preparing yourself for the big push to start this job.

One ring, you remind yourself. Then wait. Deep breath.

You look up to find the door bell, hand pulling up in a search for the button when you see him.

He must have heard you, you decide as he stands behind the screen door with his arms crossed.

Simon Riley is massive, standing what feels like a clean foot taller than you, big muscled arms bulging from his tight t-shirt. They're as big as your head, his thighs probably twice so. His face was pulled down in a heated gaze, though the bottom half of his face was covered by a black mask. He was scary as he stood there, his aura menacing and doing nothing to sooth your nerves.

Yeah, ex Military makes sense, Jesus christ.

"Ya pissed of my dog, allat noise." You jump, the deep british voice startling you as he begins chastising you. His face frowns down it you, his eyes angry. You're speachless, "Well? Talk."

You stammer as you realize you were just sitting and staring in awe, mind suddenly back on track and then derailing again as you have no idea what to say.

The routine, Jesus christ the routine what's the next step. You scramble for your binder, pulling it open to his work order page and looking up at him as you muster up the courage to speak.

"Um, are you, uh, Simon Riley, sir?" You ask, stuttering and staggering between every word.

He reaches foreword and opens the screen door, getting a good look at you first before he can respond.

"Hm. You the cleaning lady?" He questions, the hand not holding the door open now stuffed in the pocket of his pants.

"Mhm, yeah, im- uh. I'm from Housekeeping Heros, you have an appointment for, um-" you start rustling through more pages of the binder, desperate to find the information, needing to prove to yourself more then him you were in the right place.

"I know i 've an appointment," He holds out his hand and halts your movements. You relax, all the horrible conclusions you were drawing coming to an end. Though, as per usual, they were quickly replaced with new ones, his voice still short and snippy with you.

Deep breaths, girl, we can do this.

He points to your small pile of equipment. "Ya need 'elp?"

You shake your head no, suprised he'd offered. Though he just responds with a head shake, motioning to give it here with his hands. And you do, you don't even second guess it, handing him your bucket and backpack without a second word, something in you submitting to him without a care in the world.

He turns around and walks everything into the kitchen where he gently rests it on the table, softer then you were expecting. You follow him in, feeling like a stray with your legs tucked between your legs as you fet settled. He looks at you expectantly.

Not sure what he's looking for, you start explaining the cleaning process, using your binder as a reference and pointing to each section. He stands behind you, arms crossed again and chin tucked down as he nods along with your words.

He points to the vacuum on your back, "Not round Riley, ya 'ear me?" He scolds. You take note of the large German Shepard snorring lightly on the couch.

"And none o' this shite," He kicks at your knee pads, pointing to a mop he had in the corner. Thank God, cleaning on your knees always sucked, and why your bullshit company made you do it anyways was a marvel.

"Oh, thank you!" You chirped up. He seemed to scowl further when your voice pitched up, so you slink back in on yourself. Understood, point taken, sir.

You still were not feeling great, the pit in your stomach unrelenting as you organize your stuff.

He looms close by. You figured he would, not doubting the "extremely strict" next to "ex military" on your work order at all.

You start with the first step of your process, filling the bucket up in the sink and soaking your towels in the cleaning solution.

"Where's yer boss?" He grumbles from behind you, making you jump.

"Um, Nancy?" Bucket now full, you throw the towels into the warm water with a dash of solution.

"Eh, whatever her name is," He grumbles. How polite.

"Haha, um." You giggle akwardly, "she's with family right now, I think," you stutter, trying to speak loud enough that he could hear you clearly.

He just hmphs in response. As your towels soak in the water, you reach for your extendable feather duster and start wiping the top corners of the room.

"Whats yer name?" He grumbles. It shocks you when he says it. He couldn't seem to care less about the other workers name, but he was interested in yours?

You told him, quiet, "sir," peeping out after. He just hmms again, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed as he watched you work.

It was nerve-wracking, having him over your shoulder. He hadn't said anything yet, but it felt like you could feel the complaints waiting to come. You just kept up the deep breathing, taking the clothes out of the water and dispersing them on the countertops throughout the house.

He had a very large home, no mcmansion that took up half the street, but a pretty place tucked in a nice down town area. Honestly, if the home and neighborhood wasn't so gorgeous, you probably would've turned around and told your supervisor to give the damn house to someone else.

But thankfully, or not, Simon seemed to harbor a certain comfort for his homes presentation. The indoors of his home reflected it as well, the house put together like it was being staged, every inch perfectly in place.

Maybe that's why it's not so surprising when the first complaint does manage to leave his lips in the form of a hiss as you go to open a cabinet door.

"Oi, what do you think yer doing?" He hisses, rushing over to grab your wrist and pull it from the knob. You gasp as he's suddenly in your space and touching you, flinching as he does.

"Um, I just gotta m-make sure the insides don't need to be wiped down, sir," your muscles shake as you speak— him actually coming over and grabbing had you a little shook up.

He waved his hand infront of your face, dismissing whatever you have to say, "None of that. Don't need'a open nothing that ain't yours." you just nod, taking your first breath once he's finally out of your space.

That would've been a very good thing to include in the work order, Nancy.

Well, at least that's a few less things to worry about cleaning, though you may have failed your task of not shitting your pants, because good lord. He's right back to his perch on the wall, observing you carefully now.

You get into your routine, floating room to room and doing each task per the work order. You slowly scrub the slight musky smoke smell that lingers throughout, instead replacing it with the smell of cinnamon and detergent.

He likes watching you work, but he knows he doesn't show it, not a flutter or twitch anywhere to be seen. He growls small, careful, watch it, leave it, keeping you on edge through every movement.

You do move much faster than your college though, much more gracefully. He notices your wandering eyes, lingering on the photos on the wall and the dates on his calender. He let's you get away with it, for now. Figured he'd picked on you enough, should probably just let you finish your work.

That is, until you approach the end of your routine. You'd been scrubbing and whipping and Simon snipping and snyding for almost an hour now, you'd made excellent time and you hope Simon knows that.

It's all you can think about, actually. Him and the way he has you doting on him, some broken part of you combined with the fear his giant stature instills has you easily folding to do whatever he says and respond to his every grunt. It has your mind a little clouded, even more so as you swing through every step of your routine with practiced care.

It was finally time for the last step of the routine, and you shivered out a breath as you unwrapped the vacuum. Simon had sank a little further away, now sitting at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to a newspaper, anxiety settling slightly without his prying eyes.

You get the cord untangled and laid out across the carpet, searching the perimeter of the room for an outlet. You couldn't see any in the open, and not wanting to risk pissing off Simon for moving furniture, you start to round the corner in your search.

Suddenly, you're against the wall, a giant hand against your sternum as the breath is knocked out of your lungs. His face is in yours, eyebrows furrowed and breath hot on your face as he spoke.

"Tha fuck ya think your doin'?" youre confused and breathless, small under him as he leers above.

"I dont- im-" "Been nothing but nice to ya since you clambered yer way up my damn porch, and I gave you one fuckin' rule." His voiced is raised at you now, chastising you in that brazen, gravely tone. "One! and what do you go and try to do?"

You're just confused, what had you done to elicit this response from him? You thought he was complacent and quiet at the table, what of his million little rules could you have broken?

That's when you see it. Her, you should say. Rylie, the big German Shepard he'd warned you to by no means vacuum around, was bundled up on the couch, inches from where you stand.

Fuck. how had you forgotten.

"Sir, i- I didn't realize, I didn't know she was there sir i-" You desperately try to make an excuse for yourself, but he's just shaking his head at you.

"Do ya think flutterin yer eyelashes a little is gonna make everything better?" He mocks you, his big blue eyes locked on you. You shake your head no, half of it to answer him, the other half just you shivering where you stand.

"No sir- I'm sorry sir I didnt- I forgot you told me and-"

He's clicking his tongue at you, a tsk tsk to put you to shame. To your suprise, each click when straight to your core, and suddenly the heat in the room is rising. Your body is flushed and your sure your face matches, if the way his eyes crinkle when he looks up at you says anything.

His hand doesn't leave your sternum, as he speaks, Inches from your face, "too good at this to be forgetting," he shakes his head, the praise a little shocking, and the soft, "too pretty," that follows it hammers the fact.

You breath is caught in your chest again as he leans into your ear, eyes wide and mouth clamped as he murmurs a deep.

"So how do you think I should go bout making sure you remember?"

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x housekeeper!reader #ghost #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fanfiction #ghost cod fanfic

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gh0stsp1d3r · 2 months ago

Note

Just anything with Jack Hughes but like make it a happy ending 🫶🏻

Ice skating

A/n: I can do that! it’s the time of the holidays… so I decided to make it something related to that (:

Warnings: none, all fluffy (: you fall on the ice once but

Finally, it had been his three day holiday break. It was Christmas, and it was the perfect time for a much needed date.

When you left the house, despite having a jacket, long warm leggings, hat and gloves, you were freezing. Jack noticed this, and wrapped his arms around you, warmth radiating off his body.

He had both of your skates in his free hand, both of you walking up to an open lake next to the house.

“And you made sure it was safe?” You asked Jack, him nodding.

“Checked twice just for you.” He began stepping into his skates, before grabbing yours and helping you tie yours up. You both stood up now, you leaning over to kiss him as a thank you.

He got into the ice first, holding his hand out for you to grab. You smiled at him, lacing your hand in his, stepping onto the ice next to him.

You wobble slightly as you do so, losing your balance for a moment before Jack pulls you back up with a laugh.

“You okay?” He asked you with raised eyebrows.

“Perfectly fine,” you replied with a breath.

The both of you began skating on the ice together, hand in hand over the frozen lake.

It was the perfect moment, and although a free date, it was the best you could have asked for.

“I think that we should get a dog.”

“A dog?” You giggled, “what kind?”

“Like a german shepherd or something.”

“I already got one of those. He’s right next to me.”

He raised his eyebrows, you smiling at him.

“Nah, I think I’m more like a… Jack Russell terrier.”

“Really?” You asked him, quirking an eyebrow at him, him shrugging, both of you making a turn on the ice. “Now that I think about it, you’re like a golden retriever.”

“I’m not a golden retriever. I’m more like a…” He trailed off, and while he was doing so, he ended up subconsciously moving his legs faster, something he tended to do while he skated, and practically dragging you from a snails pace to a faster one, causing you to trip over your own feet with a yelp, grabbing onto his body and pulling him down with you.

He fell on top of you, you letting out a groan and attempting to shove him off.

“Shit, sorry, honey.” He told you, quickly standing up and holding his hand out for you to grab onto so you could stand. You grabbed his hand, standing up and wiping the remnants of the ice off of your body. “You okay?”

You nodded, “I blame you for that.” You told him while he was helping you to wipe off the rest of the ice from your clothes.

“I take responsibility for that one.” He sighed, and when he turned around, you bent over, grabbing a handful of snow from the side. You curled it into a ball, smiling as you threw it at his back.

His eyes widened, slowly turning around to see you with a smirk on your face.

“Payback.”

“Oh you little-“ he started, before bending over and grabbing a snowball of his own, both of you entering a snowball fight like two children would.

He never would have thought he would have something as perfect as the life he did- but here it was, right next to him, holding his hand.

also I’m sorry this is so bad but I haven’t written in a hot minute, I’m in a funk rn and this nhl player writing is new to me!

#by ioveartfilm #𓈒♡͙ೃ࿔ asks #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #jack hughes fluff #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl players #nhl #nhl hockey #nhl x reader

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powerfultenderness · 2 years ago

Text

Bed

Summary: König’s new neighbor finds out how comfortable his bed is. König falls quickly.

Pairing: König/F!Reader (civilian)

Rated: T+

A/N: Just some fluff.

Word count: 2947

[Neighbor König masterlist]

It was nice to have his own place. Having been in the military most of his life, König was used to base life. The familiarity of it all was a comfort, but there were some, well, comforts that were always missing. Like his bed. The beds on base were little more than stiff uncomfortable cots, a little too small for him, causing his feet to hang off the edge of the bed. But his bed at home? Large and soft and yet firm enough to hold his weight, with ample room for his height. The pillows were like solid clouds. And the vanilla scented candle on his nightstand would fill his room with its delicious aroma and lull him into soft dreams.

That’s where he was headed now, ready to eat the take out he was carrying, take a nice hot shower and climb into his bed. But as he rounded the stairs to get to his flat, he was met with a slight block on the stairs. A woman was struggling with a box, bracing it against her knee and grunting with every step she tried to take.

“Excuse me,” he started in German.

You jumped, and let out an undignified squeak, when someone started talking behind you. The surprise made you drop your box, thankfully it was already low to the step and didn’t drop on your foot or anything. Still you were sure you heard something break. “Shit!”

With a hand over your heart you turned and had to hold back another startled reaction. The man at the foot of the stairs was big, giant even, and was wearing…some sort of…hood? A mask? What the fuck? It took a second for you to realize he was carrying a take out bag, he must be trying to get past you. “S-sorry, you just startled me.”

He raised his hands, a gesture to show that he meant no harm. “No, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He replied, this time in English. “Do you need some help?”

You smiled politely at the man, “oh. No thank you! I got it!” You chuckled nervously, still a little out of breath from struggling with the box, while you braced your lower back with one hand.

He smiled, not that you could see it, and gestured to the stairs. “Ok. After you.”

Right. Shit, right. You were blocking him, the big guy probably didn’t want to just push past you on the stairs.

You chuckled nervously again and picked up the box, trying to keep your grunts quiet, and heaved it up one more step. You could feel his eyes on you, another step, two more steps, then the landing. Whew! You gently dropped the box and straightened out your back to look up at the rest of the stairs.

You sighed, the little flight you just made it up was the easy part, now the long part of the stairs. The faint chuckling you heard from the foot of the stairs didn’t help either.

“Miss, are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“I mean,” you started with a huff, not out of anger, just an attempt to calm your breathing. “I don’t need help, I can carry it! But, help would be very much appreciated, yes. Thank you.”

He nodded and smoothly moved up to the landing, keeping his movements deliberate. Something he learned to do long ago around civilians, especially around women that were smaller than him, so he didn’t scare them. You showed signs of being wary of him —a good thing as far as he is concerned, as he is a stranger—and took a step back as he neared you. Since his face is covered, he can’t offer a mollifying smile (though he feels himself doing so anyway), and instead simply nodded at you again before he picked up the box.

He chuckled, watching you struggle with the box had him expecting a heavy thing, but, “this isn’t heavy.”

“What!” You squeaked, hands on your hips, “it’s like, fifty pounds!”

Even with his face covered (why?), you can tell just by the way his eyes darted over to you that he is smirking. “Where to?”

“Oh, not far. I’m at 203.”

“Neighbor,” he nodded as he started up the stairs. “I live in 205.”

You turned to him with a kind smile and introduced yourself, “nice to meet you, neighbor!”

“König,” he replied, now at the top of the stairs, and shifted the box so he was holding it in one hand. He extended his right hand to you

“Now you’re just showing off,” you say with an amused smile and shake his hand before leading him to your new flat.

He was surprised when you opened the door without unlocking it first.

“You should lock your door,” he followed you in.

You rolled your eyes a little with a short laugh and spread your arms out in the literally empty flat. “What, you think someone is going to break in and steal my nothing?”

“No. There are other things to take besides your stuff.” He half muttered as he set the box down by the wall.

“Huh?”

He looked at you, with your head tilted slightly as you questioned him, and understood. You were one of those civilians. Innocent. He can’t bring himself to put a damper on this interaction, in the back of his mind he realizes that now he’ll have to keep an eye and ear out for his new neighbor.

“Do you need help bringing anything else up?”

You gave him a strained smile, nervous, if the sound of your voice was anything to go by, and shook your head. “No, no I couldn’t possibly take up more of your time.”

You reached out and touched his forearm, intending to remind him of his dinner that he was carrying, but only drawing your attention to his muscles. “Oh. Wow.” You mumbled under your breath, before realizing that you’re essentially feeling him up and quickly drew your hand back.

König blushed at the soft touch, and again at your mumbled admiration. Not for the first time in his life he was thankful for the mask that covered his face.

“Uhm,” you cleared your throat and focused, “this was the heaviest box! I thought it would be best to start with that one! So I got it, really. Thank you, though.”

You smiled at him again and König decided then that he liked seeing you smile. “The food can wait. I don’t mind helping.” He offered one more time, that seemed to be the pattern with you.

Honestly, why were you even saying no to this hunk of man? Sure, you couldn’t see his face, but the form fitting long sleeved shirt he wore did little to hide just how fit he was. So you hummed and hedge, “I really don’t want to be an imposition-”

“You won’t.”

You smiled again, not a kind polite one like before, but bright and happy. He definitely liked your smile. “Well, in that case, König, I’d love your help!”

His stomach flipped at your words and smile, and he felt himself blushing even harder. He knew why. It wasn’t often that cute civilian women smiled at him like that. It was nice to have the attention of a pretty woman, even if nothing more came of it, as he expected.

“Let me put this down,” he lifted the bag of food a bit and you nodded, “sure!”

Out in the hall he paused and waited for you to lock the door. You scoffed playfully and obliged him, “really, someone taking those broken plates off my hands would be a blessing.”

He smirked but didn’t humor you, he wasn’t going to encourage your carelessness; what if something happened while he wasn’t around?

With König’s help it didn’t take long to bring up the rest of the boxes. The man doubled up on boxes on both trips while you carried light bags and just opened doors for him.

As he set the rest of the boxes down in the living room, you were rummaging through one of the bags you carried up, until you pulled out a wallet. “Thank you so much, König, let me pay you for all your help.”

“No.” He shook his head and raised a hand to refuse your payment, “it was my pleasure.”

Pleasure? Damn, where was this guy when you were moving out too?

“König,” you draw out his name in a small pout. “How can I repay you, then?”

Once again a wave of excitement rushed through him. He couldn’t help the inappropriate thoughts that ran through his mind for a second, that influenced his answer. “Have dinner with me.”

Normally he wasn’t so forward with women, and never with civilian women. But you were nice, and didn’t seem to be scared of him, and besides, he saw you checking him out at least once!

You were a little surprised by the request but smiled nonetheless. “Dinner? Sure, when-”

“Now.”

“Now?” Well now you’re really surprised. “König, are you offering to share your dinner with me?”

He looked around the apartment, the only thing you had were a few boxes, and shrugged. “What else will you eat?”

Oh. He had a point. You’re sure if you dug around in one of your bags, you could find a forgotten energy bar somewhere, but you didn’t have any real food around. “Well, ok. That’s true. Are you sure I can’t pay you? I feel like the person roping others into helping them move is supposed to pay for dinner.”

“No.”

You shrugged, “well, alright then. Let’s go. Oh, unless you want to eat here? I can offer premium seating on the floor!”

He chuckled and moved towards the door, holding it open for you. He once again waited for you to lock the door before leading you to his flat.

205 was a different layout than yours. It was one of the bigger flats with two bedrooms, two baths, a spacious living room and open kitchen. His place was nicely furnished, one of the first things that caught your eye was the big leather sectional in the living room. It was one of those deep couches, which made sense, considering how tall he was.

The table and chairs that he motioned for you to sit at were also clearly chosen to accommodate his size. You practically had to climb into the chair, and could easily kick your feet while he grabbed the food and some plates.

He had been so efficient in helping you, that even with the short delay, the food was still warm. You thanked him again and started to dig in when he set a plate in front of you. It’s only after your first bite that you noticed he was eating by lifting his mask for every bite.

Oh. “I’m sorry.”

He hummed, confused by your sudden apology. “Why?”

You gestured to your face, “you probably take off your mask when you’re alone in your home.”

Warmth bloomed in his chest. You were concerned about him? Of course you were, you were nice. A pretty, nice girl who didn’t want to be an imposition on him, who worried about his comfort, who didn’t lock her door.

He shook his head, “don’t worry about that. It is not a problem.”

There was something intense about his stare as he answered you, so intense that you dropped the matter and quickly finished your meal. He matched your pace, finishing his meal just as you finished yours.

You opened your mouth, you were going to thank him again and bid him goodnight, he was sure, but he spoke first. “Want a beer?”

“Oh. Sure.”

You smiled at him again, causing his blood to thrum in his veins. He wanted to remember your smile for the next time he was on a mission. The other men would brag about their women, and he had no one to think of, but now your pretty smile would keep his mind company.

Once you had your beer, you glanced around the apartment, taking it in. He had nice taste, the furniture was high quality, and even the TV looked like it was on the expensive side. Whatever he did, he was doing well for himself. But your eyes kept getting drawn to the couch. Maybe because you were currently lacking furniture yourself, it just looked so comfortable.

“König,” you started, not looking directly at him, “can I sit on your-”

Face? Dick? Yes, whatever you wanted, “yes.” He answered as you finished your question, “-couch?”

Oh. He deflated and took a breath to calm down. Of course you weren’t asking him to fuck you right now.

You set your beer down and moved to the living room. “It just looks so comfy.” You explained as you sat down and pushed yourself back into the firm cushions. You chuckled to yourself as your feet hovered off the ground when you were seated all the way back. Yea, this couch was definitely meant for taller people.

He grabbed your beer and set it down on the coffee table in front of you, to which you flashed him with another brilliant smile. He grabbed the TV remote and turned it on, “movie?”

You looked at him as he sat down next to you, his knee gently bumping into yours. “Dinner and a movie? Careful, König, I might start thinking this is a date.”

He laughed, boisterously, nervously, but relieved that you laughed with him.

The movie was of no consequence, but he felt encouraged every time you giggled at one of his jokes. By the time he was done with his second beer, he wasn’t even paying attention to the movie, instead he was telling you stories about his missions, nothing classified of course, but the way you stared at him with wide eyes, shining in anticipation as if he were more interesting than the handsome man on the television fueled him. At one point he even rolled up his shirt to show you a nasty scar on his side.

You gasped, eyes wide and looked up at him a little flustered as you asked him if it had hurt too bad.

“Ah, it was nothing! I barely felt it!” He assured you and cleared his throat as he rolled his shirt back down.

“Wow! That’s crazy!” You exclaimed as you shifted in your seat too.

His eyes flickered down for a moment and he noticed the way your thighs squeezed together before you found a comfortable position. You were closer to him now, and when he draped his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing your shoulder, you didn’t move or give any indication that you were uncomfortable. He grinned to himself, nervous adrenaline finding its way into his blood and he had to actively stop himself from bouncing his knee.

And that adrenaline faded as you nodded off to sleep next to him. Well, you had mentioned that you’d been driving all day, moving. So naturally as soon as you were comfortable you fell asleep.

He was only slightly disappointed, it was still a better night than he could have hoped for otherwise.

You woke to the sound of your phone buzzing. Your morning alarm. You sighed, you still had time before you really had to wake up, so you snuggled right back into bed. It was so soft and warm, but the temperature in the room was bordering cold, which made the warm and heavy blankets even more inviting. The subtle scent of peppermint and vanilla-

Wait!

You quickly sat up, eyes wide in confusion as you looked around a room you had never seen before. It took a moment for last night’s events to come back to you. Oh! This must be König’s room…but he was nowhere around.

You straightened out the bed, feeling slightly guilty about climbing into such a nice bed in your street clothes.

“König?”

“Good morning!” He called from the kitchen.

You followed his voice, glancing at the couch on the way to the kitchen and saw that there was a pillow and blanket folded neatly on one of the cushions.

“Did you sleep on the couch?” You asked once you were near the kitchen, stopping on the other side of the island counter. Like you, he was dressed in the same clothes as last night, mask and all, probably hadn’t wanted to wake you.

“Yes.”

“You should have just woke me up. Sorry I kicked you out of your room. Did you carry me to bed?”

“Yes. Breakfast?” He asked just as he flipped an egg.

You glanced away and fought down a blush. What you’d give to have him carry you to his room while you were awake!

“No, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I still have a lot of stuff to take care of, I should get started.”

“Oh.” He sounded so disappointed, and even his shoulders drooped a little.

You chuckled, “but thanks to you, I’m starting the day so refreshed!”

“Me?”

“Yea.” You nodded and smiled at him again, just like you did last night. “Your bed is so comfortable!”

“You like my bed?”

“Mmhmm!” You flashed him a devious smile this time, “maybe next time you can join me.”

The clatter of the spatula falling to the floor and him scrambling to grab it, echoed over your cute giggle. By the time he was standing up again, you were already by the door. “Bye, König!”

“G-goodbye!” He stuttered after you, already dreaming of what next time would entail.

#König x reader #konig x reader #no fancy format bc i'm on mobile #and König is just a side piece #no edits bc i'm on mobile #idk how yall who regularly post fics on mobile do it

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